A/N: Okay, welcome to the shit show. Sorry for the delay, my personal life is a bit of a mess at the moment and I'm stresssssssssssssssed. If I had it my way, I would only be sent money and never bills- but hey, we deal with what we get.
This chapter is dealing with the fallout of Hermione finding out, lots of ups and downs. It's meant to be confused between them, but if something just flat out doesn't make sense or there's a typo- let me know and I'll fix it.
As always, if you love the lady/lady Harry Potter fics, give this discord server a join- it's a bunch of likeminded people shooting the shit about our fave fics and pairings, as well as sharing memes etc: discord dot gg slash d4wgtA5jrA (spelling it out coz FFN keeps messing with my links).
Z
Fleur placed the empty glass of her fourth champagne on the tray of a passing waitress. She had spent the better part of the evening trying — and failing — to evade Tonks. The young auror had found it beyond interesting that Fleur had inadvertently admitted an attraction to Hermione, and was refusing to let the subject drop.
There was nothing Fleur felt less like discussing than Hermione. After how cold the brunette had been after their kiss at the cottage, Fleur was more than aware that the two of them would never be able to get past their differences.
As if on cue, Hermione came storming over to Fleur. She seemed enraged, her entire demeanour changed. She was striding with angry purpose and her eyes were positively ablaze.
Fleur found herself forgetting her train of thought, her jaw slackening slightly.
Fleur, out of the corner of her eye, saw Tonks spot her and begin to make beeline towards her. Tonks didn't have time to catch up with Fleur though, as Hermione quickened her pace and reached Fleur first.
Without a word of explanation, Hermione grabbed Fleur's wrist tightly, pulling her with her.
Either unable or unwilling to resist— Fleur herself wasn't sure— the blonde allowed herself to be pulled through the ballroom and out into a large outdoor area. It was far less crowded; only a few people scattered far apart.
Hermione pulled them to one side near a brick wall, seeming agitated.
Fleur could guess what was wrong with the brunette. The Gryffindors from Hogwarts were known to have over-sized moral compasses. Hermione had evidently found out the truth about the plan she had become a part of— and was enraged about it.
"You know, then," Fleur said calmly.
"Yes!" Hermione snapped, "This is absolutely horrific."
Fleur shrugged. Yes, it was a bleak situation. But somehow it made it feel a better not being entirely alone in it.
"I have come around to the idea," Fleur replied, "Besides, perhaps the attack won't kill me? I mean, it is incredibly unlikely, but they only need my blood to complete the prophecy."
Hermione opened her mouth immediately in response— but no sound came out. Hermione's eyebrows raised, her eyes bulged, and she drew her hands up to her mouth as she opened and shut it with no noise.
"Are you okay?" Fleur asked, confused. It almost looked like Hermione was choking.
"Goddammit— the potion," Hermione cursed. Fleur was even more confused.
"What potion?" Fleur asked,
Hermione seemed like she was choking again, frantically waving at her mouth. Fleur was truly concerned now.
"Are you… choking? Do you need help?" Fleur asked, looking around for a waiter outside that might have a glass of water.
There were no waiters, but she did spot a couple of well-dressed men speaking to a squat woman dressed all in purple. Fleur narrowed her eyes and let out a sigh. Umbridge.
Hermione exhaled heavily, drawing Fleur's attention back to her.
"I'm not choking, I'm fine… well, not fine," Hermione began, looking angry all over again, "The point is, yes, I know— and apparently that's all I can manage to say about it thanks to a blasted potion."
So The Order had interfered again, somehow. Fleur wasn't surprised. She'd been disillusioned by The Order as long as she'd known them.
But somehow, it was okay. Even though Hermione looked livid— she knew. She knew the impossible situation that Fleur had been placed in.
And for now, that was just enough to turn Fleur's night around.
Fleur wondered how long it had been living off crumbs like this. Of settling for the small positive in the shitty situation she had ended up in. Fleur no longer cared what latest reason had caused Hermione to be cold and distant towards her.
Fleur stepped forward, right into Hermione's personal space. She noted with satisfaction that Hermione's eyes widened, the anger momentarily slipping off the brunette's beautiful features.
"Fleur…?" Hermione asked, her voice suddenly raising an octave as her eyebrows raised.
Fleur delighted in finally eliciting a reaction from Hermione. She pressed herself against Hermione, effectively pinning her to the outside wall of the building. Hermione let out an 'eep' as Fleur slipped her thigh between the brunette's leg.
Even with her high heels on, Fleur was only the same height as Hermione. She leaned her face into Hermione's ear, smirking.
"Umbridge is over there," Fleur explained, in what she hoped was a low and sultry voice. She could have sworn she felt Hermione shiver, despite the heat of the summer night. Maybe it was wishful thinking.
It was frustrating, really. Fleur had seldom met someone— man or woman, that would've been able to stay composed with her pressed against them like this.
But then Hermione was snaking her hands around Fleur's waist, holding her tight and secure. Fleur leaned back so she could look at Hermione. The intensity was back in her eyes, but she seemed a lot calmer now.
"Why would you go along with this?" Hermione asked softly. She seemed genuinely curious, though horrified.
Fleur winced.
"The lives of innocent people are on the line," Fleur deadpanned, "And… The prophecy didn't specify whether it was Gabrielle or me."
"You think if you didn't agree they would turn to Gabrielle?" Hermione asked, incredulous.
Fleur shook her head, her mind too full of conflicting thoughts. The entire subject was messy and stressful.
"No… I don't know," Fleur frowned, "Honestly, with the decision-making of the Order and the selfish guilt of my mother, who knows?"
One of Hermione's fingers was tracing a circle on the bare skin of Fleur's back and it was growing far more distracting than Fleur would ever like to admit.
Hermione looked like she was trying to say something again, but couldn't. Fleur assumed whatever interference the Order had run on Hermione was working again.
Hermione swallowed heavily, cursing under her breath.
"You shouldn't do it," Hermione managed finally, "There has to be another way out. I can work it out. We can work it out."
"Why would you help me? You've been ignoring me for over a day now," Fleur said flatly. Apart from a few flashes of—probably one sided— attraction, it had seemed pretty clear that the two of them were destined not to get along.
Hermione's hands tightened their grip on Fleur's waist. Fleur felt her stomach flip dizzyingly at the feeling.
"Because this is bloody mad," Hermione said fiercely, "They're almost as bad as the other side!"
"It does feel like that sometimes," Fleur agreed. She was enjoying leaning into Hermione, the slight blush on the brunette's cheeks despite the seriousness of the topic, the firm grip on her waist.
Hermione's gaze seemed to soften the longer they stood there together.
"We should go back inside," Fleur said finally, reluctantly, "The Order will think something is wrong."
"Yeah," Hermione said slowly, her gaze softening further as she kept looking at Fleur.
Hermione leaned in, gently brushing her lips against Fleur's. Fleur, though still a little put out at Hermione ignoring her lately, accepted the kiss. This time her stomach was doing somersaults.
Hermione was smiling slightly when they finally pulled apart.
Fleur stepped back, releasing Hermione from the wall. Hermione smoothed down her suit, before offering her arm to Fleur. As Fleur took it, she looked around the outdoor area. Umbridge was no longer in sight.
Hermione was surprised by how much holding Fleur had quelled her temper.
But as she walked back into the gala with the svelte blonde on her arm, her anger returned. She saw The Order making the rounds, forwarding their agenda. She remembered the way they had left Fleur to fend for herself during the Death Eater attack at their wedding. She remembered the total lack of protections on their cottage.
She remembered McGonagall informing her of their plans to take over the plum positions in the Ministry.
There was a time when the thought of the Ministry of Magic being led by the likes of Minerva McGonagall would have excited Hermione and filled her with hope. Now, it just left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Tonks approached the two of them, a smug look on her face. Hermione's brows furrowed as she wondered how much Tonks knew. Hermione had trusted her too.
"Well, well, well," Tonks greeted, eying Fleur's hand in Hermione's arm with a grin.
Fleur shot Tonks what appeared to be a warning look.
Hermione didn't know what it was about, and didn't care. It felt like there was a cord inside of her, drawing tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.
"How dare you?" Hermione asked immediately, introducing a sharp tension to the conversation.
It seemed to slice at Tonks, who winced.
"Talk didn't go well, then?" Tonks asked, attempting a friendly smile.
Fleur's hand tightened on Hermione's arm.
"Baby, I think we should keep things calm tonight," Fleur said soothingly, casting a look at the throngs of people around them.
Hermione still felt the awful anger, tensing within her. She wanted nothing more than to shout at every single member of the Order until they justified themselves to her.
But there was something soothing about Fleur's touch on her arm, and in her sweet voice telling her to keep calm. Hermione tensed her jaw, considering pushing the conversation anyway. But then she simply shook her head and put her hand on top of Fleur's.
"You're right, darling," Hermione said through gritted teeth, "But we will be discussing this, Tonks."
Tonks swallowed, looking uncomfortable, but nodded.
"How about we get you a drink, babe?" Fleur asked, attempting once more to push the conversation on.
She slipped her hand down Hermione's arm, before taking her hand, entwining her fingers with the brunette's. Hermione hummed, enjoying the sensation despite her conflicted mind.
Fleur tugged at Hermione's hand, pulling her away from Tonks and the possibility of conflict.
"Why are you so okay with this?" Hermione muttered to Fleur, as she allowed the blonde to lead them to a tray of drinks.
Fleur plucked a glass of champagne from a waiter's tray with a polite 'merci,' before handing it to Hermione. Hermione took the cool glass from Fleur's manicured fingers. Fleur met her gaze with a sea of fierce blue.
"Because I need to be here," Fleur said, leaning into Hermione, "Regardless of whether this is messed up or our side is flawed— The prophecy stands."
"But…" Hermione trailed off as Fleur pressed herself against her. She had to take a sip of her champagne to steady herself.
"We can discuss it further, later," Fleur said, taking a step back, "For now, I just need you to be my wife. Okay?"
"Okay," Hermione relented with a sigh, "But this subject is far from over."
Fleur smiled graciously, as if nothing in the world were wrong, inclining her head so Hermione could see a long and soft expanse of neck. Hermione wanted Fleur pressed against her at this gala all night. Wanted to yell, scream, shout. Wanted to walk out of the room and never come back.
The cacophany of strong and competing emotions was overwhelming. Hermione had to wonder how Fleur had held it together dealing with the weight of all this.
But perhaps it explained her veneer? The impenetrable wall of ice that had been driving Hermione crazy. Perhaps Fleur kept these walls up because it was the only way to deal with the dreadfulness she was tied up in.
Hermione's eyes couldn't stay off the blonde with this new information. Every cold smile, every reserved nod. The way she stood perfectly tall. Tense. Hermione hadn't noticed it before, but it was like Fleur couldn't relax. Her blue eyes were roaming the room, her body poised.
Waiting, alert.
Waiting for the awful prophecy to be fulfilled.
Hermione snaked her arm around Fleur's waist, pulling her close. She couldn't help the protectiveness that came over her.
Fleur didn't complain— a nice change. Though maybe it was just because they were in public and had to act the part of the happy couple.
"Salut," Fleur greeted a boring man in boring dress robes.
The blonde may have quelled Hermione's temper with Tonks, but the anger was still simmering under the service. As Fleur talked politely with guests at the gala, Hermione's hand on her waist was the only thing keeping the brunette calm.
How dare the Order use Fleur like she was simply a pawn?
How dare they let Hermione unknowingly assist in the death of Fleur?!
"Salut," a male voice mockingly using the French greeting snapped Hermione out of her musings with a frown.
Bill Weasley was standing before them, his eyes only on Fleur. His gaze was so possessive of the blonde that Hermione was practically forgotten.
It did nothing for Hermione's mood.
"Bill," Fleur greeted guardedly. Hermione instinctively moved closer, her grip on Fleur's waist tightening. Her jaw tensed.
Bill Weasley was infuriatingly handsome, his long red hair slicked back for the occasion. He wore a pinstriped suit for the occasion. Hermione thought it rather made him look like a used car salesman.
"You're looking amazing," Bill said, his eyes running up and down Fleur in a sleazy kind of appreciation. Hermione could practically feel Fleur shuddering in response. She felt tenser, Hermione could feel it.
"She does," Hermione interrupted pointedly. She ran her hand up and down Fleur's side, as if to signal don't you dare try to harm her.
Bill smirked, his gaze turning to Hermione now. He seemed smug, challenging. Hermione couldn't be less in the mood for this.
"When're you coming back to work, Fleur?" Bill said, sliding his eyes back to Fleur.
"I am still on leave for a little while yet," Fleur said in a very clipped tone. Hermione's skin was crawling. Each little injustice that the Order was bestowing upon Fleur.
"I miss you around the vaults," Bill said, mostly in a sneer. Hermione couldn't stop her brow from furrowing, despite her promise to Fleur to stay calm.
"I certainly am enjoying a break from the grime in those deeper tunnels," Fleur replied over-politely, "Even the carts down there are dirty. I'm not sure I will ever get used to it."
"Oh, I dunno Fleur," Bill said, his smirk growing, "I'm sure you know your way around a shaft, maybe when you're back you can show me your expertise."
If Hermione had been paying attention, she would have seen Fleur simply roll her eyes and fold her arms tightly across her chest. But Hermione wasn't paying attention. The tight cord within her, that had been pulled so taut by McGonagall's truths, Tonks' avoidance and Bill's smirks, had finally snapped.
As she had done years before with Malfoy, Hermione lunged forward. In a flash she lashed out, a short and sharp punch directly to the nose. She felt a sickening crunch beneath her fist, but the anger within her drowned out any disgust. She wanted Bill to hurt. To feel as small as he tried to make Fleur feel.
It felt good. A moment of relief, as Hermione nursed her knuckles and Bill doubled over with a pitiable wail.
But then reality came crashing back. The gala had fallen silent— the silence of the upper crust witnessing something decidedly unsavoury. She could see some of the faces of the Order dotted amongst the crowd looking on. Shacklebolt looked mortified. Tonks had a look between amusement and shock on her face. McGonagall simply pursed her lips, eying Hermione with a steely gaze from afar.
Fleur was furious.
"Hermione!" Fleur hissed, "I told you to keep calm!"
"Er," Hermione was at a loss of words. The onlookers were muttering. She spotted Umbridge in the crowd, looking on with interest.
"We're leaving," Fleur said firmly.
Hermione gaped at Bill, blood dripping on the expensive flooring from behind his clasped hands.
"Now!" Fleur snapped, grabbing Hermione's hand.
Fleur was stunned. She tore Hermione out of the gala and back to their home as fast as she could, not wanting either of them to face the wrath of a displeased McGonagall or Shacklebolt. Let alone Molly Weasley.
She marched Hermione to the small table in the living area, sitting her down at it. In short order she had cast a simple spell to assist healing on Hermione's already bruising knuckles, placed a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table, and sat across from the young witch.
"Talk," Fleur demanded.
"I… You heard what he said!" Hermione said, defensive. She pouted — adorably, Fleur thought distractedly— and narrowed her eyes as if the blonde was being entirely unfair.
Fleur exhaled, frustrated. She poured them each a generous glass of wine.
"So what?" Fleur said, sipping at her own wine.
"So what?!" Hermione echoed, almost jumping out of her chair, "He can't talk to you like that!"
Fleur scoffed. Sometimes it was so clear that Hermione didn't know her.
"He's hardly the first to speak to me that way," Fleur said tiredly, "And he certainly won't be the last."
This seemed to anger Hermione further. She swore. Which was cute coming from Hermione. The uptight Gryffindor never swore— Fleur assumed she was too much of a goodie two-shoes. Though that theory had just gone out the window with a right hook to Bill Weasley's nose.
Hermione took her own wine, taking a chaotic gulp from her glass and wincing as she swallowed it. Again, cute. She wasn't used to drinking as widely and as regularly as they had been lately.
Fleur tried to suppress the wayward feelings of attraction for the curly haired brunette. They weren't going to help her. Though part of her— a small part of her that she kept locked up tight— felt hopeful at Hermione's reaction to the prophecy.
"Look," Hermione said, taking a deep breath, "If we're going to stay married, a couple of things are going to have to change around here."
Fleur bit her lip. Something in Hermione's tone and in the fierceness of her gaze was intoxicating.
"Bill can't talk to you like that," Hermione said, her voice rough with anger that was still not out of her system, "He just can't."
Fleur huffed, annoyed again. Talking to Hermione was always a rollercoaster of emotions like this. Dizzying attraction followed by a free fall of annoyance.
"That's not my fault," Fleur growled, "I hexed him very well when he tried to… When he…"
Fleur trailed off. The communication had been flowing a lot more between the two of them, but Fleur couldn't quite get the words out.
"When he tried to what?" Hermione asked. Fleur could see a muscle in the brunette's jaw tensing.
"Get handsy," Fleur answered distastefully. She would rather not relive Bill Weasley roughly groping her. It had been enough of an indignity to suffer it and then have the Order pressure her to apologise. Apologise! If she hadn't hexed him, who knew how far he would have pushed?
"Why are you suddenly so protective?" Fleur asked, deciding to pivot the conversation away from herself.
The question seemed to ruffle Hermione.
"I… I couldn't stand the way he spoke to you," Hermione said uncomfortably, "And the Order— The Order with the way they're using you."
Fleur, in an uncomfortable moment, wondered if Hermione was pitying her. It made her stomach churn. Fleur frowned, straightening her back. She didn't need pity.
"I have a lifetime of looking after myself," Fleur said, her tone significantly colder now, "You think someone goes through this world with Veela blood without getting used to being spoken to like an object? Without being used?"
Hermione looked annoyed, then outraged, then sad— all in quick succession.
Fleur expected her to say something. Some overly gallant Gryffindor line. Some know-it-all rant about magical creatures. Some pitying tirade.
But Hermione was silent.
The duo sat sipping on their wine in silence. The red wine had a pleasant smokiness to it that teased Fleur's tastebuds.
Hermione didn't seek to explain herself further— and neither did Fleur. They were at a stalemate again. But this impasse felt more comfortable than previous ones.
As they sat at their small table in the cottage on the hot summer night, Fleur felt, for the first time in a long time, not alone.
So, for now, the events of the night had been settled. Though Fleur was sure there were many more difficult discussions ahead of them.
Later they got ready separately for bed, as usual. Fleur pulled the sheet up over her shoulders as she settled in. She felt the mattress sink a little as Hermione climbed into the other side of the bed.
What was it that Hermione could not say?
The thought pricked at the edges of Fleur's mind as she nestled into her pillow. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to will herself to stop dwelling on it.
Hermione shuffled closer behind her. Fleur felt a strong arm move around her waist as Hermione cuddled into her back.
It was dark in the room and Fleur felt herself smile slightly as she lay in bed, held tightly in Hermione's arms.
It had been a long time since Fleur had ever allowed herself the luxury of relaxing around another person. But for once, Fleur felt oddly content as she slipped into sleep.
Hermione jerked awake, vaguely aware that she had been having a nightmare about shadowy figures, heart pounding. Her knuckles throbbed, reminding her sharply of the gala the night before. The weight of what she knew returned, as well as the sickening anger and fear.
Fleur shifted in her sleep, still in her arms. Hermione felt her temper ebb momentarily.
She wasn't sure what had drawn her to do it — the horror over Fleur's situation, the few wines they'd shared, or simply the need for comfort following a tough day— but Hermione had found herself holding Fleur as they fell asleep.
Hermione felt like McGonagall's revelations had brought Fleur into focus. Hermione felt like she was seeing Fleur clearly now. What she had mistaken for pride, was in fact the same heavy obligation that she had seen Harry carrying around all these years. What she thought was sulking and spoiled behaviour had really been the result of the dread Fleur must have been feeling.
It was like a veil had lifted and all the frustration and anger Hermione had been feeling towards the blonde Frenchwoman had gone. What was left… Well, that was complicated.
Fleur shifted in Hermione's arms and the brunette instinctively tightened her grip on the smaller woman. She felt protective of Fleur.
It was stupid. After all, Fleur was older than her. She knew far more advanced spells. She'd even survived competing in a Triwizard Tournament.
Hermione knew all this.
But for some reason, when she looked at Fleur now— knowing what she now knew— it made her chest ache.
There was a loud thumping at the front door downstairs.
Fleur stirred in her arms. Hermione released the blonde, sighing heavily as she sat up in bed. Fleur sat up too, avoiding looking at the brunette. It was strange. There was an awkwardness between them as if something intimate had happened between them the previous evening, though all they had done was argue and fall asleep in each others' embrace.
But it was daylight now, and whatever had passed between them was not a pressing matter.
Hermione leapt out of bed, fishing around her belongings before finding a light cotton scarlet dressing gown. She donned it, turning to Fleur with a dark look.
"Please wear something when you come downstairs this time," Hermione advised.
This seemed to snap Fleur out of her awkwardness, as she quirked a cocky grin.
"As if you didn't enjoy the view," Fleur retorted.
Hermione was glad she had to whip downstairs to answer the door so Fleur couldn't see the blush that had taken over her face.
There was another curt and impatient knock at the door as Hermione reached it.
To the young Gryffindor's surprise, it was McGonagall. She had been hoping to have some more time to digest what the Transfiguration professor had told her before having to confront her again.
"I'm worried about you, Hermione," McGonagall said, sweeping past Hermione and into the cottage without any introduction.
"Worried I'll tell people?" Hermione responded drily, "Hardly an issue with the potion you gave me."
McGonagall pursed her lips, looking around the interior of the cottage briefly before fixing Hermione with a severe gaze.
"No matter how much you are struggling with what must be done," McGonagall said seriously, "There is no excuse for striking a fellow Order member. Particularly in front of a large crowd of people. Particularly during a delicate event where some of our members are undercover."
Hermione frowned. She loathed being told off by McGonagall. Even if she didn't like to admit it, a small part of her— the perfect student at Hogwarts— longed for the approval of the older witch.
"You didn't hear what he said to Fleur," Hermione defended, "Not to mention the fact he's behaved entirely inappropriately around her in the past, too."
"We can't be bogged down by childish playground tiffs," McGonagall interrupted severely, "This is a war, Miss Granger. I don't care what Bill Weasley said to Fleur. He's a fellow Order member and you ought to have his back as he has yours. You're lucky it's me coming to see you this morning— I had my hands full with Molly Weasley this morning having to hold her back from having this discussion with you instead."
"Have each other's backs?" Hermione repeated hollowly, "But never mind if Order members bloody assault one another, is that right? As long as we win the war?"
She felt rather Harry-like in that moment, standing her ground against a respected teacher. Perhaps a good thing or two had rubbed off from Harry after all.
McGonagall's face pinched a little. But when she next spoke, her tone was far softer.
"Hermione, I know you have no concept of what is happening— of what is to come," McGonagall said slowly, "But there are far worse things ahead of us than someone simply saying something rude. There are lives on the line, and I need you to be focussed. I need you to do what needs to be done."
Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. She didn't trust herself to speak. She felt patronised. As if she didn't understand the weight of the situation they were all in!
There was a creak of the stairs as Fleur padded into the room quietly, dressed in a tidy summer dress. Her hair was loose and fluttering, giving Fleur an oddly angelic look in the sunbeams streaming in from outside.
"Fleur, thank you for handling the situation last night and removing Hermione from the event," McGonagall said quietly to Fleur.
Fleur simply nodded.
"Really, Fleur?!" Hermione replied in disbelief, her voice raising.
"Miss Granger," McGonagall chided.
"You aren't my professor any more, Minerva," Hermione said in a hard voice, "And you certainly are not in a place to be lecturing to me about the weight of lives on the line. Not when you're marching my very own wife to her demise like a lamb to slaughter."
"You're processing a lot right now," McGonagall said, changing tack to a soothing tone.
"I'm processing some bloody horrific revelations about the people I once looked up to!" Hermione retorted loudly.
There was a loud pause. It seemed to extend for hours and echo in Hermione's ears.
"I'll leave you to think on your actions some more," McGonagall replied again in a soothing voice, "I urge you to come with a calm mind to the next meeting of the Order. We cannot work effectively with you being so… emotional."
Hermione, who had long prided herself on her simple rationality and her morals, felt cut to the bone by the insult.
But before she could retort, McGonagall had thanked Fleur again and left the cottage.