A/N: Heya! Got a more plotty one for you all today. Sorry for the delay between updates, life has been toughhhh.
Also! If you like Harry Potter femslash, and you're 18+, you should join this Discord server: .gg/6anK88uNst
I'm on there most days and there's some great fic recs bouncing round in there.
Fleur nursed a coffee in her hands, wincing at the headache thumping through her brain. She was dreadfully hungover. Parts of the night were a haze, but Fleur vividly remembered the warm pleasantness of being nestled into Hermione's side at the bar.
Of kissing her back at the cottage.
Fleur shut her eyes tightly, cringing.
She had been so stupid. Hermione had just been so adorably protective, and so sweet. Fleur had entirely forgotten the irritation of the brunette teasing her at the start of the evening and got lost in the strange connection she had felt.
Fleur swallowed another mouthful of coffee, the bitter taste hitting her tongue with satisfaction.
How could she be so stupid?
Fleur hadn't regretted it at first when she woke up. After all, they were pretending to be married— it wasn't like they hadn't kissed before and it wasn't like they wouldn't kiss again. So what if Fleur had kissed her for her and not for the benefit of the act? Fleur deserved the luxury of some teenaged impulsiveness.
Normal teenagers get drunk and kiss other teenagers.
But Hermione wasn't normal and this wasn't a normal situation. The brunette hadn't been in bed when Fleur got up, and seemed to have already left the cottage. The implication wasn't lost on the blonde. Hermione felt awkward about it.
Regret, regret, regret.
It washed over Fleur in waves. Deeper and deeper until Fleur was sure it was going to swallow her up.
Why had she been so impulsive? Her and Hermione didn't like each other. They were always at each other's throats. Now Hermione would probably act weirdly around her and assume she liked her.
Fleur grimaced at the thought.
There was a knock at the door and Fleur gladly accepted the interruption to her hungover wallowing, sweeping over to answer it.
A grey and grizzled Remus Lupin was standing on the other side of the door, offering a lopsided grin to Fleur.
Lupin wasn't so bad. He and Fleur were hardly friendly, but at least he had never ogled her or spoken rudely about creatures. He was one of the more reasonable Order members.
"Hello, Fleur," Lupin smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges, "Tonks said you might be feeling a little worse for wear today."
"A little," Fleur said, sighing deeply, "To what do I owe the visit?"
"Straight to the point, as always," Lupin chuckled, "You're aware Gringotts are holding a gala tomorrow night?"
"I'm not going, I'm still on leave," Fleur replied, confused, "Besides, those galas are dreadful. They're purely to drum up business with high value clients, sell them all the largest vaults with the most elaborate curses. The goblins themselves don't even go! They send the dreadful wizards from the sales department."
"Those galas might be dreadful," Lupin said, inhaling sharply, "But they do provide certain opportunities. You might remember that Severus has had difficulty getting away from the crowd he is with to pass on information to us."
"Yes, I recall," Fleur replied. Severus had only made it to a single meeting since Fleur had joined the order. It seemed the Death Eaters were suspicious of him, despite him killing Dumbledore.
"Well, where else might sympathisers and opponents of the Dark Lord socialise without raising suspicion?" Lupin asked, quirking a brow.
Fleur groaned.
"I'd rather stab my eyes out," Fleur said flatly, "Those galas are the worst."
There was a roar of the fireplace behind Fleur.
"Professor Lupin!" Hermione's voice called out warmly, "What are you doing here?"
Lupin smiled again, his eyes crinkling once more.
"I'm not your professor anymore Hermione," Lupin replied with a smile, "I'm here as the Order are encouraging a large number of us to attend the Gringotts gala. It will be a lovely night, and everyone is encouraged to bring their partners and children, though it is formal dress."
"No problem," Hermione replied easily, coming to stand beside Fleur by the door. Fleur noticed that Hermione stood a distance from her, careful to prevent their shoulders from touching. Fleur felt her mood darken.
"Surely the Order don't need us there," Fleur interrupted tersely. Lupin's smile faded a little.
"The more of us there, the better," Lupin said firmly, before lightening his tone, "Besides, it will be a good chance to publicise your relationship some more as well as catch up with others. It will be at the Grand Hall in Thistlethorpe and there will be rooms around that we will be able to secure for discussions."
"Great," Hermione responded.
Fleur frowned, turning to her wife.
"No, Hermione," Fleur exclaimed, "Not great. We don't want to be involved in whatever is going on."
Hermione turned to look at Fleur finally, and Fleur felt a dull shock at the hardness in Hermione's usually warm eyes.
"I do," Hermione said before turning back to Lupin, "And please pass on that I would love to accept the Order's offer to be brought further into the fold."
"Hermione!" Fleur snapped disapprovingly.
She'd thought, amongst the haze and hastiness of the previous night, that she'd got through to Hermione about the caution to be had with the Order.
It wasn't just that Hermione would not be able to deal with the awfulness of how far the Order went. Fleur worried that they would find a way to get her involved in some of the more unsavoury activities that they carried out in their march for justice.
"I'll see you two tomorrow," Lupin said warmly, "And don't worry about the RSVP, the Order have already arranged this on your behalf."
"Of course," Fleur sighed, rolling her eyes.
If Lupin was offended, he didn't show it, waving them goodbye cheerily before leaving. Fleur turned to Hermione, but the brunette had already begun to march back towards the fireplace.
"Hermione?" Fleur called out, inwardly cringing at how her voice sounded. Like she cared.
Hermione, almost as if surprised, stopped in her tracks. She turned around. She wasn't quite looking Fleur in the eyes, determined to look everywhere else in the room. She was radiating a kind of anger and annoyance that Fleur hadn't experienced from Hermione since her year on exchange at Hogwarts.
"What?" Hermione replied flatly.
"Where are you going?" Fleur asked neutrally.
"Out," Hermione said coldly, "Need an outfit for this thing now, don't I? I'll be out most of tomorrow too, seeing Harry and Ron."
"Hermione, last night was—" Fleur began, in a weak attempt at explaining herself, though she didn't even know what she was going to say.
"This has nothing to do with last night," Hermione interrupted, folding her arms.
"It obviously does," Fleur scoffed, finding her own temper beginning to rise. She didn't like being spoken to with such an attitude, "You're clearly bothered by last night judging by the way you are acting."
"It's nothing to do with last night," Hermione said, her voice raising.
"Then what is your problem now?" Fleur asked, exasperated. She was hungover and tiring of arguing with the Gryffindor.
"You!" Hermione shot back.
Fleur reeled. She had thought they had been… what? Growing closer after the previous night?
The fireplace shone green and Hermione was gone.
Fleur stayed standing in place.
It had been a moment of illusion. She'd got lost in the alcohol and the pretence of the marriage. Hermione felt nothing for her but disdain.
Fleur felt the sickening emptiness inside her again.
Hermione got ready for the gala at the Burrow. She'd been avoiding Fleur ever since finding out about her mother and Voldemort. Ever since blowing up at her at their cottage.
But whatever the Delacours had done, Hermione had promised the Order she would play her part in the visa marriage.
Hermione straightened her lapels. She was wearing another fitted suit, this time one in forest green.
Ginny had helped her with her hair and makeup again, this time gifting her some of her makeup, perfume and hair products.
"Consider it a late birthday present," Ginny had said.
The redhead was clearly upset at the prospect of Hogwarts without Hermione. She had been moping around the entire time she had helped Hermione get ready. Despite Lupin explaining that children were welcome, the Weasleys had made it abundantly clear that Ginny and Ron were not going to attend. Harry, given his high profile, was also out.
Inwardly, Hermione had hoped Ginny was going to be set to attend. She'd grown used to having Ginny to talk to.
She hadn't told the boys or Ginny exactly what she had seen in the memory Apolline had given Fleur. Not yet. She was desperate to get their view on it, but something was holding her back from sharing. Instead, she had been discussing intently what they thought Fleur was useful to the Order for.
Unfortunately, they had all just heard the same story that Hermione had— the vague excuse about connections in France.
"So I take it from the desperate questions as to why the Order need to keep her around," Ginny said while finishing taming a lock of Hermione's hair, "That the marriage has already proven itself to be trying?"
Hermione swallowed hard. She was fuelled by an outrage and anger that cut deeply. Fleur's family had— very literally, in fact— been in bed with Voldemort all along. Yet Fleur had failed to mention it.
Another part of Hermione, one that had surfaced after she'd snapped at the blonde, was weak from kisses and holding the Frenchwoman tightly. Fleur had a hard exterior, but part of Hermione was convinced that she was vulnerable in all this. Hermione had stayed away from Fleur out of anger, but also so this side of her wouldn't cause her to falter.
Not before she had all the answers.
She had to find out once and for all from the Order, what they were up to and what Fleur's role in it was.
"She is… Difficult," Hermione said, clearing her throat, "Bloody difficult. It would have been easier if it were anyone but her."
Truer words had never been spoken. Something about Fleur confused Hermione deeply. Drove her to heights of irritation she'd seldom reached, enticed her like nobody else. She felt a blush creep at her neck at the thought of how much she enjoyed kissing the blonde.
"If you had to pick anyone else to fake marry, who would it be?" Ginny asked, her eyes dancing with an easy humour and curiosity.
Hermione regarded her friend. Fierce, toned, attractive. Straight forward to a fault. Possessing an open air that people like Fleur could only dream of.
Ginny was looking pretty in the evening light of her room, her fiery hair wild and freckles more pronounced from the summer sun. Her lips were not as full as Fleur's, but still looked soft; and Hermione found herself staring.
Hermione had a moment of realisation then.
This way she looked at Ginny, it wasn't new. She was just seeing it from another perspective.
"I… Have you ever found yourself interested in girls?" Hermione blurted, wanting to talk about what was suddenly dawning on her.
Ginny smiled widely, her eyes squinting with amusement.
"Why does everyone ask me that?" Ginny laughed, "Is it the quidditch girl stereotype?"
"Gin," Hermione replied, smiling despite the seriousness of what was bothering her.
"I dunno," Ginny shrugged easily, "I guess I used to have a bit of a crush on Padma Patil in Third Year. She's very cute, without the obnoxiousness of her twin. Yeah, I'd definitely snog her."
Hermione was staggered by the easy honesty of Ginny. She spoke about it as if it were no big deal.
"You like girls?" Hermione asked, surprised.
"Guys mostly," Ginny said, again unshaken by the topic, "Like Dean, and… well, you know about the crush on Harry."
Hermione giggled.
"I think anyone with eyes noticed the crush on Harry," Hermione replied good-naturedly, "Well, except maybe Harry himself."
Ginny groaned with a smile, miming shooting herself in the head with a wand.
"Why do you ask?" Ginny asked, before her eyes widening, "Wait… don't tell me— you haven't got feelings for Phlegm?!"
Horrified by Ginny's reaction, Hermione decided not to mention any part of secretly enjoying the physical side of her role in helping Fleur get a visa.
"I… Being visible in a same-sex marriage just got me wondering," Hermione said instead. It wasn't a lie, "I've never really considered my sexuality before."
"Really?" Ginny said, stepping back and admiring her work with Hermione's hair, "I guess I kind of always assumed you weren't the straightest wand in Ollivanders."
"I— What?" Hermione was caught off-guard by the entirely matter-of-fact way Ginny had said it.
There was a knock at Ginny's door and Molly appeared in the doorway, glad in a truly dreadful maroon velvet dress.
"You should head back to yours now if you want to arrive with Fleur in time, love," Molly reminded Hermione, "I can't blame you for wanting to spend time here instead, mind you."
"Er, right," Hermione replied. She turned to Ginny, who was still looking at her like she always had. Nothing had changed between them at all after Ginny saying she had always considered Hermione wasn't straight. It was heartening, giving Hermione a slight boost of courage she never knew she needed.
"I dunno if I'll see you again before I have to go back to Hogwarts," Ginny said suddenly.
Hermione felt a jolt of anxiety, the reality of the year to come.
"Be safe, Ginny," Hermione said, trying not to show how worried she really was.
"Me?!" Ginny scoffed, putting up a bit of bravado, "You be safe— and tell Harry and that idiot brother of mine that I say the same to them!"
Hermione pulled Ginny into a tight hug.
Fleur stood by the fireplace, tapping a stilettoed foot impatiently. Even with her habit of taking a long time to get ready, she had still ended up ready and waiting to leave — but with no Hermione in sight.
At first she had been depressed at the treatment the brunette had shown her, then anxious, and now she was back to being angry. How dare Hermione judge her? Hermione Granger always assumed she knew everything— and here she was, doing it again, to Fleur.
The flames flashed green and Hermione climbed out of the fireplace hastily, looking almost apologetic as she straightened herself up.
There was a blush at Hermione's cheeks that made her look more approachable than she had seemed in the past couple of days.
Fleur let her eyes rake up and down the brunette's figure. That goddamn 'daddy' energy again. By the boatload.
Hermione was in another dashing suit and heels combination, tall and elegant. The forest green of the suit complimented her colouring well. As much as Fleur was loathe to admit it, Hermione had a cursed sexiness about her when she wore suits. She looked confident.
Fleur felt her jaw twitch.
"Sorry," Hermione said briefly. She held her hand out to Fleur. Fleur stepped forward, a little annoyed that despite all her effort, Hermione had only briefly looked at her.
Hermione plunged her hand into the box of Floo Powder before tossing some in the fireplace and rattling off the address.
And, without another word between the two of them, they stepped into green flames.
Hermione struggled to keep her composure as she walked into the ballroom with Fleur, her hand resting at the small of the blonde's back.
When she'd arrived back at the cottage her wife had all but given her a heart attack with how she was dressed. Her hair elegantly swept back and knotted at the base of her neck, showing off her delicate collarbones and neck. Her body wrapped in a black silk dress that somehow managed to both show and conceal everything. It had a slit up one side that showed enough hints of Fleur's thigh that Hermione felt her pulse thumping deafeningly. To make matters worse, it was backless, meaning that every time Hermione was chivalrous and ushered the blonde around, her hand was touching skin. A toned expanse of skin.
The best Hermione could do was try not to look at the infuriating Frenchwoman. She knew if she looked too long, the sight would make her resolve weak.
"What is your perfume?" Fleur asked unexpectedly, as they gazed around the large room looking for familiar faces amongst the formally dressed crowd, "You wore the same one at our wedding."
"It's Ginny's," Hermione replied simply. She wondered if she imagined the look of jealousy that flitted across Fleur's face for the briefest of moments.
Fleur didn't reply, instead smiling gregariously as Professor McGonagall, Lupin and Tonks approached them.
Professor McGonagall was dressed in some dark tartan dress robes. Lupin was dressed in a charcoal grey Muggle suit. Tonks in an almost matching suit to Lupin, though in a vibrant purple. Her hair though, was relatively demure for once. It was black and cut in a tight bob.
"Good evening," Professor McGonagall greeted briefly, with a curt nod, "Hermione, we shall talk later about your entering the fold. Fleur, may I have a word with you privately?"
Fleur inclined her head regally in assent, before turning to Hermione. Hermione's eyes locked with an azure blue gaze, that dropped to her lips quickly before meeting her eyes again.
"I'll be back soon, baby," Fleur said sweetly, pecking Hermione on the lips before sweeping away. Hermione suppressed the urge to raise her fingers to her lips, to chase the feeling of soft sweetness as Fleur walked away.
However, Hermione couldn't suppress the urge to let her eyes roam hungrily over her wife as she walked away with McGonagall. The way her back moved in the backless dress as she walked. The way she walked with such elegant confidence in ridiculously high heels. The way her dress hugged her every curve.
"Very convincing," Tonks noted, drawing Hermione back to Earth.
Hermione blushed, clearing her throat awkwardly.
"Sorry, I, erm… Where's Lupin?" Hermione babbled, trying to recover. Tonks laughed good-naturedly, sweeping a wine off the tray of a passing waiter without missing a beat.
"He was pulled away for a discussion with someone he knows from back in his school days," Tonks grinned, "You probably didn't notice since you were so busy ogling your wife."
Hermione's eyebrows shot up and she blushed hotly.
Tonks moved closer, conspiratorially.
"So you were," Tonks smirked, "I knew it."
"Shut up," Hermione replied, "Can we talk about what we're doing here? What this is exactly?"
"Fine," Tonks sighed, looking incredibly disappointed that her fun had been scuppered, "But don't think I've forgotten about this. Gringotts, at the heart of it, is a private institution. They make money from lending money and people using their vaults. The bigger the vault, the more impressive the protections on it, the more expensive it is. Trust me… Some of the Black family vaults had dragons down there."
"So the gala?" Hermione asked, looking around at the sleek and well-dressed people mingling around them, eating and drinking merrily.
"A chance for Gringotts to drum up business," Tonks explained, "Invite some of the wealthiest clients and heir friends… Feed them some delicious food and liquor them up… Next thing you know, you've got a heap of new business."
"I don't see any goblins here though?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brow. From what Hermione knew about Gringotts, it was a long running goblin institution. Most of the staff were goblins, though they hired humans as well.
Tonks sipped at her wine, arching an eyebrow at some particularly snooty types that ambled past, giving her bold suit a withering glance.
"The goblins don't like these kind of things," Tonks explained, eyes still roaming the crowd carefully, "They'd rather do without the socialising with obnoxious, wealthy drunk people."
Tonks' voice had trailed off a little and she seemed to be in passive Auror mode, on alert and surveying everyone around them carefully.
Interested by Tonks' high level of alert, Hermione also took the opportunity to look around the room. She saw some familiar faces, high ranking officials from the Ministry of Magic. Ludo Bagman. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. The Parkinsons. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Amelia Bones.
Hermione's attention was suddenly caught by a familiar curtain of greasy hair, hanging long and lank either side of a pallid face. Severus Snape was skirting around a group of people. Hermione saw him subtly tap at Shacklebolt's back before weaving through to talk to the Malfoys.
"Remus said you accepted the offer to enter the fold," Tonks said quietly.
"I did," Hermione replied, returning her gaze to Tonks. The usually vibrant Auror looked tired all of a sudden.
"If that's what you really want to do," Tonks said evenly, "But once you know things, you can't un-know them."
"I already know about the Delacours affiliations," Hermione replied, a little testily. Tonks looked surprised— and like she was about to disagree— but before she could reply, Fleur herself returned to them.
Fleur swept back through the crowd, trying to ignore the stares of the men tempted by her thrall. Still, she was relieved she didn't have the thrall of a fully-blooded Veela. That would be even more dreadful.
Fleur plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray, enjoying the cool of the glass against her fingers. The room was stuffy, too hot. It felt even more so after a terse talking to from Minerva McGonagall.
McGonagall had chastised her, tipped off from Molly that she had "been aggressive" towards Bill Weasley when he had tried to say hello to her at Gringotts. Fleur bit her tongue for the entire conversation, knowing nothing that she said would sway McGonagall. The Weasleys made up a large faction of the Order, and what they said carried a lot of weight.
It was just the icing on the top of the shitty cake she had been landed with.
She was relieved just to get away from the conversation unscathed. McGonagall, in the aftermath of Dumbledore's death, had got a little ruthless in Fleur's opinion.
The blonde was relieved to saunter back to Hermione, who was still talking to Tonks.
Hermione looked a little rattled to see her, but actually looked at her this time. As her warm brown eyes met hers, Fleur felt a slight thrill run through her. She couldn't help it, Hermione's bossy confidence had an attractive charm to it when she was cleaned up in a suit.
Fleur, unable to quite help herself, but knowing it would fit with their charade anyway, reached up and ran her fingers along Hermione's jawline.
Hermione's eyes widened a little and her eyebrows raised.
Fleur leaned in to Hermione, grabbing a lapel of her suit with her other hand. She could feel Hermione slightly tremble as she closed the distance between their lips.
It was a soft and chaste kiss, over in mere seconds, but it lit a fire in Fleur's belly. She smiled, satisfied, as she released her wife.
"McGonagall asked if you could meet her for a discussion, mon amour," Fleur told Hermione reluctantly. She wished she could simply play wife with Hermione a little longer. Hermione had been so off with her since the night they had kissed alone, and Fleur had found herself actually missing the intimacy with the brunette— even if it was all an act.
Hermione, who looked like she was having an internal conflict of sorts, just nodded dumbly before jerkily walking away.
"What was that?" Tonks asked, a smirk in her tone.
"Simply doing what I am told," Fleur sniffed defensively.
Tonks grinned widely.
"Quite eagerly from where I'm standing," Tonks countered slyly, "Come on, Fleur… I like to think we've got to know each other fairly well by now…"
Tonks pouted at Fleur, cocking her head to one side.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Fleur replied flatly.
"Come onnnnn Fleur," Tonks wheedled, "I saw how you two were cuddled together at the bar the other night. You can tell me."
"Fine!" Fleur snorted, finding Tonks simultaneously irritating and amusing, "This is all your fault, anyway. Introducing her to suits when she looks like that in them…"
"I wear suits too," Tonks replied, puffing out her chest and winking at Fleur, "But you don't look at me the way you look at her."
Fleur took a large mouthful of wine, already annoyed at discussing this topic with Tonks.
"You don't have that goddamn daddy energy," Fleur muttered under her breath.
"Daddy energy?!" Tonks repeated, her face lighting up, "Oh my god, this is excellent."
Fleur facepalmed. She was never going to hear the end of this.
Hermione wasn't sure how she was feeling as she made her way to the private room where McGonagall was having her discussions with people.
Her mind was a rollercoaster. She had just been so sure that she had figured out Fleur and why the Order treated her like they did, but Tonks' face when she had mentioned the Delacours and the dizzying way that Fleur had made her feel was shaking her resolve.
As much as Hermione was loathe to admit it, she was coming to enjoy playing wife with Fleur.
The realisation sat uncomfortably with her as she entered the room, feeling the hum of unseen wards and silencing charms around her.
The room was dimly lit, just a few flickering lanterns illuminating it. It seemed to be like an old fashioned smoking room, with squashy elegant chairs and ornate side tables.
McGonagall was sitting in one of the armchairs, two glasses and a decanter at the side table beside her.
"Hermione," McGonagall greeted. She greeted Hermione as naturally as if they were simply meeting in her office at Hogwarts to discuss an assignment.
The fact that McGonagall had faked love letters to Fleur behind her back flung forward in her mind, and Hermione felt a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Sit down," McGonagall instructed.
Ever the dutiful student, even to this day, Hermione took a seat by her former Transfiguration professor.
"Our relationship has changed rather drastically of late, hasn't it?" McGonagall said conversationally, filling the awkward silence between them. She reached over and poured a dram of whiskey into each of the glasses.
"That's quite an understatement," Hermione replied.
McGonagall picked up one of the glasses, clinking it against the other one, before raising it to her wrinkled lips. She looked older in the shadowy light. She seemed more tired since Dumbledore had died. And tonight she looked positively exhausted.
"Hermione. I noticed Ronald Weasley walked you down the aisle at the wedding," McGonagall commented.
"Yes," Hermione replied, cautiously. She didn't want to say too much. Not until she knew where the conversation was going exactly.
"Your friends are like your family," McGonagall stated, placing the glass back down on the side table, "It's one of the things that became more apparent between you three as you grew up at Hogwarts. Potter, Weasley, and yourself are something of a chosen family."
"I suppose," Hermione replied. It was true, though she hadn't spoken to the boys about Fleur. Eventually, she supposed she would. Once she had worked out what she felt about it all. Thought about it all, she reminded herself firmly. She needed to remain rational.
"The difficult thing about welcoming you fully into the Order is that by necessity, Harry cannot know about some of the inner workings," McGonagall said slowly, "Dumbledore set it up this way— it is for Harry's wellbeing."
Hermione nodded slowly. She supposed it made sense. Harry had a tendency to be rash— to leap into action before thinking anything through properly. Sirius' unfortunate death was a harsh reminder of it.
"I can ensure Harry doesn't hear anything that might make him act dangerously," Hermione replied. That was probably for the best, actually.
McGonagall cleared her throat, again taking her whiskey and drinking it.
"Well… This is where things get difficult," McGonagall said, gripping her glass tightly. She pursed her lips, "You're an adult now, Hermione. You are of age in the wizarding community. You are joining the Order of the Phoenix."
"And I'm ready for that," Hermione replied, growing a little tired of being treated like an untrustworthy child, "Haven't I already shown that by marrying Fleur for the Order?"
McGonagall let out a short, sharp huff of air. As though she were teaching Transfiguration to a class of First Years who weren't quite getting it.
"Do you remember when I came to your house to tell you that you were a witch?" McGonagall said slowly, "Do you remember how you felt once you got over the initial scepticism?"
Hermione cast her mind back to the small eleven year old, confronted by a woman who had just morphed into a cat and back in the middle of her living room.
"Scared," she admitted.
"Terrified," McGonagall emphasised, "You were terrified because it didn't make sense. I told you that you just had to trust me until things made more sense. Tonight; I'm going to have to ask you to do that again, even if it might be frightening."
Hermione bit her lip. It sounded ominous.
"Okay," she agreed, stretching the word out, as if McGonagall were about to announce some kind of awful catch.
"Excellent," McGonagall replied, reaching into a discreet pocket in her dress robes and withdrawing a small diamond-shaped vial. It contained a curious burgundy liquid.
"What is that, Professor?" Hermione asked, ever the curious student— even now, in this darkened room, squirrelled away at an expensive gala for people with far more important surnames than her own.
"Minerva," McGonagall corrected, "Please, we are peers now."
"Minerva," Hermione conceded, "What is that liquid?"
McGonagall's jaw flexed suddenly, as if she were having to push herself to say what she said next.
"A Gagging Potion," McGonagall replied neutrally, "Severus dropped it off to me just before you came in here and helped me mark the room for it. A rare and complex potion, only discovered a few years ago by a bright witch in Sweden… Two sips and it will prevent even the loosest of lips from ever disclosing a conversation that happened within the bounds marked— even under the most severe pressure. I understand the Dark Lord and his followers have been utilising it a lot this time around."
"Why do you need it?" Hermione asked, though she already knew the answer. McGonagall already knew that Hermione knew the answer.
The older witch sighed, sympathetically.
"It isn't that we don't trust you," McGonagall explained, "It's just… What I'm about to tell you tonight is more than even some of the others in the Order know."
It didn't feel right.
There was a nagging scratch at the back of Hermione's brain, urging her to refuse— to just leave the room and not come back.
But Hermione needed to know what was going on. Even if she could never speak of it, surely knowing was enough to keep Harry and Ron safe.
"I encouraged the Order to let you in all the way," McGonagall said— a subtle stroke of ego, "The brightest student I have ever taught. You will help the cause in ways that we can only dream of."
She unstoppered the delicate vial, before holding it out to Hermione.
Hermione hummed. What could be so severe that Hermione could not speak of it to anyone? Though, if she thought about it… Dumbledore was awfully cloak and dagger when telling Harry about the Horcruxes and taking him along to hunt one.
She reached out, taking the vial from McGonagall.
It smelled and tasted like an old kitchen sponge.
"Just a small sip," McGonagall cautioned, "And now we wait a short moment while it enters your system."
Hermione felt a curious sensation, like vines were twisting around her tongue. She grimaced at the sensation.
McGonagall smiled a tight smile of approval.
"Excellent," McGonagall began, clearing her throat, "I apologise for the difficulty of the things I am about to tell you… But with Albus gone," McGonagall appeared to tear up a little, dabbing her eye with a plaid handkerchief, "Well… Molly Weasley is no strategist. We're in dire need of exceptionally bright minds to help us through the war."
Hermione smiled, her ego sufficiently stroked by the compliment.
"I'm more than happy to lend my assistance," Hermione replied proudly, subconsciously rolling her shoulders back and puffing her chest out.
"Where to begin," McGonagall murmured, tapping her wrinkled lips with long fingers.
To Hermione's total lack of surprise, McGonagall began with explaining how Voldemort had split his soul and stored it in Horcruxes. Hermione nodded along, as if this was news, wanting to cover the fact that Harry had shared Dumbledore's information with Ron and her.
So far, it didn't seem like it would be that bad that she couldn't share the information she was being told. Hermione was willing to bet the next part would be telling her exactly what she already knew about the Delacours, too.
"You see, the difficult thing about the final Horcrux," McGonagall said, her face becoming even more severe, "Is that Albus has been guarding it for many years now."
"Then why can't we just destroy it now?" Hermione asked.
McGonagall sighed, taking a large drink from her glass.
"I was always surprised you never showed much interest in Divination," McGonagall observed, swirling her glass in her hand.
Despite the serious discussion, Hermione couldn't help but snort.
"You have to be joking," Hermione uttered.
She couldn't believe McGonagall could even suggest that. She'd always thought the old Scotswoman had shared her disdain for Professor Trelawney.
"Prophecies are powerful things, Hermione," McGonagall cautioned. The light from the candles in the room was casting ominous shadows across McGonagalls lined face.
"Like the prophecy about Harry," Hermione replied, remembering with a chill the night that Sirius died. The night that they'd all almost died.
Hermione had always known the situations they ended up in were reckless, but that. That night was when Hermione realised how dangerous it really was being friends with Harry Potter.
Neither can live while the other survives… The words of the prophecy haunted Hermione. She could tell it haunted Harry too; in the pinch of his smile, the furrow of his brow.
"Yes," McGonagall replied, pursing her lips, "Like the prophecy about Harry."
"Is this about that?" Hermione began, in an attempt to cut to the chase, "Because we know plenty about where to go to from here."
"We know about the Horcruxes too, Hermione," McGonagall interrupted.
Hermione opened and shut her mouth. From the way Harry had described his interactions with Dumbledore in the lead up to the wizard's death, they had assumed Harry had been the only one Dumbledore had told.
Hermione struggled to digest this fact. She gripped her glass and downed some of the potent liquid, burning her throat.
McGonagall waited patiently for Hermione's response. When it finally came, Hermione didn't hold back.
"Then why have the rest of you not been helping?!" Hermione exclaimed, "Why is Harry left to flounder on his own?"
McGonagall inclined her head slowly.
"A fair question," McGonagall replied, "While it would be beneficial for us to assist, Albus was very firm that this was a task for Harry. This will become clear when he discovers the last Horcrux."
"Which is…?!" Hermione demanded. She couldn't believe The Order had withheld such important information from them.
McGonagall sighed heavily then. It was a sigh with her whole body, which seemed to almost slump in the chair. For the first time in knowing the intimidating witch, Minerva McGonagall truly looked as old as she was.
"We'll get to that in another session," McGonagall said, "The real reason I wanted to bring you in to the fold, and share confidential information with you, is that you hold a very special position now."
"As Fleur's wife?" Hermione surmised. Her mind returned to the disturbing scene that she had seen in the pensieve.
"Yes," McGonagall replied, "It might surprise you to learn that Apolline Delacour has a history with the He Who Must Not Be Named."
Hermione wasn't surprised. McGonagall shouldn't have bothered with the gagging potion.
"Unsurprising, given that many magical creature communities were on the Dark Lord's side during the last war— including Veela," McGonagall continued, "Fortunately for us, Apolline came to see what harm the Dark Lord caused and the atrocities he and his followers committed. She still harbours guilt from her history with him to this day."
"What does that have to do with me?" Hermione asked, not knowing quite how it connected. If Fleur was serving time with the Order due to family guilt— Hermione wasn't sure there was much she was supposed to do in particular.
"This guilt, and strong desire to right the wrongs of the past, led Apolline to come forward with a prophecy about one of her daughters," McGonagall explained, "While there has been much debate the prophecy, the long and short of it is this: Fleur needs to have her blood shed on the soil of the United Kingdom for the war to be won."
Hermione's jaw dropped.
"So… Fleur could simply get a paper cut and the war could be over before it even ramps up?" Hermione said slowly.
Why had they even gone through the sham of a wedding?
"The reasons that wouldn't work are twofold," McGonagall interrupted, "It must be by a Death Eater, or someone else aligned with the Dark Lord— the chances of them only leaving Fleur with a papercut are slim. Additionally, there is a large strategic advantage to Fleur being slayed by the Death Eaters."
McGonagall was speaking so casually, almost as if she were explaining a concept in her Transfiguration class. Hermione felt like her heart had stopped in her chest. McGonagall couldn't be saying what Hermione thought she was saying.
"A strategic advantage?" Hermione echoed. Her voice sounded distant and faraway, like it was not her own voice at all.
"As I mentioned, the Veela were aligned with the Dark Lord in the last war," McGonagall explained, seemingly oblivious to Hermione's state of shock, "As were the Giants and many other extremely powerful creatures. Hagrid is currently seeking to use his familial connection to bring the Giants to our side. The Veela have not been responsive to any efforts to align with us."
"And how does this relate to their alignment?" Hermione managed to choke out.
"Veela have an extreme loyalty and protection over their own, even if they are not fully blooded," McGonagall answered, swirling her glass, "The Veela will instantly seek to avenge her death and take down the Death Eaters."
Hermione was silent for a moment as a whole host of emotions washed over her. She felt overwhelmingly sick. But cutting through that— rising to the surface, was a white hot rage.
"So… What? Fleur's life is worth nothing? It's just a pawn in your game of chess?" Hermione countered, her voice beginning to rise in volume.
McGonagall sighed, a heavy sigh.
"It's more than that," McGonagall insisted, "The more firepower for the Light side, the better. You think it would be enough for Fleur to get injured by a Death Eater and then we carry on and win the war? Then what, Hermione? The Dark Lord and Bellatrix Lestrange simply go to Azkaban?"
"Yes!" Hermione replied emphatically, "There has to be a way to make it work. One that doesn't necessitate Fleur dying and causing god knows how many Veela to flock to the Death Eaters."
"No," McGonagall replied, her lips tightening into a thin line, "We cannot run that risk. Do you how many people have escaped from Azkaban now? Sirius Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rudolphus Lestrange… We would be forever looking over our shoulders."
"So Fleur has to die, and the Veela must be driven to put their lives on the line for our comfort?!" Hermione replied, her temper raising. It no longer seemed to matter that McGonagall was, until very recently, Hermione's most respected professor.
McGonagall frowned.
"For our lives," McGonagall hissed, "The threat of the Dark Lord has been on and off for longer than you have been alive, Hermione. You would do well to heed the advice of your elders. The best course of action is to end this once and for all. We must see this to the end. The war is not truly won until Voldemort and his followers lie dead and the Order of the Phoenix are seated at the table of the Ministry of Magic."
"This is about power?!" Hermione shouted now, getting up from her seat, "You gamble with everyone's lives for a shot at the Order running the Ministry?!"
McGonagall stood too, drawing herself up to her full height. She glowered at Hermione, who was now almost the same height as her. No longer the small and intimidated student, simpering to get her professor to like her.
"This is about lives, Hermione," McGonagall enunciated in a cold tone, "Do you know how many thousands were killed in the last war? How many will be killed in this one? And the next one? Do you want that to be on your shoulders?"
"Unbelievable," Hermione cursed, stomping to the door of the room. She put her hand on the door knob, ready to wrench the door open and leave.
"You're letting emotions get in the way," McGonagall stated firmly.
Hermione frowned, turning back to her former Transfiguration professor.
"And what of Fleur? Does she know her death will cause the Veela to put themselves in harm's way?" Hermione asked, her blood roiling.
"Fleur knows as much as she needs to know," McGonagall replied evenly, though she at least had the conscience to avoid Hermione's gaze with the answer.
"This is sick," Hermione spat, turning the doorknob.
"Hermione, this is for the greater good," McGonagall said, her voice softening, "A few lives now for thousands, maybe millions, saved later. Fleur knows that, that's why she agreed to apply for a visa and join the Order. I strongly recommend you let that sink in before we next speak."
Hermione didn't reply, too angry to trust the words that would come out of her mouth.
She wrenched the door open, stepping out of the room. As she left the room, she felt the sensation of vines around her tongue once more, only loosening their grip this time.