Chapter 8
The Walls
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Her feet finally came to a stop. She stood in front of a large wooden door that had seen the passing of time. Its aged ridges and rusty hinges now so familiar after all the time she spent here rather than her own room. Hermione found herself back at Fleur's quarters. Not exactly what she had planned, but the familiarity of the place felt like home. Though this time, the heaviness in her heart made her feel a bit more like a stranger.
Hermione half expected to be greeted by Fleur when she gingerly opened the door to peer inside, but no one was there. The room was dark except for the small red glow of the dying embers in the fireplace where a roaring fire once stood earlier that day. It was quiet, and calm. Fleur was nowhere to be seen. The disappointment and fear that the girl managed to quell earlier started to rise again, but she ignored it and stepped into the room. The Auror must have forgotten to lock the door before they left, or maybe she just trusted Hogwarts to a fault. This was the first time the witch was here without her mentor, and it felt empty.
With a flick of the wrist, the flames that had almost extinguished soared back to life, and new logs of firewood were gently placed for the fire to feed on. The Gryffindor watched the flames greedily consume the logs, before turning to survey the room once more. The darkness receded slightly, though not entirely. But something had caught Hermione's eye. She couldn't see it before where she stood by the door, though now, something glowed in the darkness in the back. Something she had not remembered being there, or rather, forgotten it had been there every time.
Anything was a welcome distraction to the images that replayed in Hermione's mind.
The bold witch approached the glow and expertly weaved behind the sofa to take a closer look.
It was the Pensieve Hermione had once asked Fleur about. Its cool stone bowl cast a light, almost ethereal light, as a silvery liquid and white streaks lazily circled each other. The glow was soothing. There was a slightly cold aura that came from the basin, and against the warmth of the fire behind her, it almost felt… inviting.
The witch knew Pensieves were a very personal and private item that shouldn't ever be accessed by anyone other than the person whose memories these silverfish belonged to, however, Fleur had become so close to her, and had been so open to her about everything, that it almost felt like had the Auror been here, she would have simply told her to dive right in. Hermione felt like the silver tendrils beckoned her. They reached up and now swam around her daring finger, gently caressing them. A tug of guilt in the back of her mind tried to push the witch back, the more rational side of her. But the mental exhaustion from pushing the thoughts of Fleur with another had whittled her down and before she knew it, she felt herself yanked from where she stood and into a thick fog that engulfed her entirely.
The young witch felt a sense of panic. She didn't mean to look through Fleur's memories without her consent, and she didn't remember putting her head anywhere close to the bowl. Had it taken her? Or had she lowered her defenses and accidentally fallen in like the klutz she berated herself to be? With a quick turn, Hermione readily poised herself to jump out of there, but before she could, a laughter rang out from the thinning mist.
Out of reflex, Hermione abruptly stepped back to let children run at an alarming speed through her. There was a moment of doubt in the Gryffindor's mind. Did she just imagine those kids trailing with tail feathers? All the questions were overwhelming. Hermione momentarily forgot the urgency of removing herself from these memories.
The children were nowhere to be seen now. Instead, she was greeted with the sight of a large and lavish garden filled with elegant flowers, vases, sculptures, and equally beautiful people that were dressed in suits and dresses meant to impress, while eagerly chatting with one another. The people were all so beautiful, that she couldn't help but stare in awe. The girl almost felt ashamed for being there with her Hogwarts robes, while all these intimidatingly beautiful people stood tall with their champagne flutes, even if they couldn't see her. All of them had silver hair.
The fog still lingered around. Hermione looked around for the children again. Laughter rang out through an elegantly trimmed hedge pathway. It felt strange, walking through a thick fog that slowly revealed its surroundings as she walked further. The path of foliage felt narrow, and the weaves and sharp turns reminded her of what Harry described the Triwizard's hedge maze to be, but it eventually opened into a small clearing. There they were, the kids that Hermione could have sworn had tailfeathers. Except, their faces weren't that of humans- rather, a weird hybrid between a human and bird. Tailfeathers peeked from under their dresses or tailored jackets in various colours and their arms stretched into these long wings, barely contained by the sleeves of their outfits. The seams of the sleeves puffed out and feathers spilled out here and there. It was an odd sight. Almost like anthropomorphic birds that took a liking to wearing human clothes. They had their backs turned to Hermione, but as she approached, she realized that they were standing over a small girl who had fallen to the ground.
Unlike the other two, this child was entirely human- or at least, not transformed in any way. Her hair was silvery but took on a bit more of a blonder hue. Her eyes, however, were the bluest Hermione had ever seen. Eyes widened in recognition. That little girl had to be Fleur.
"Ha! T'as vu? Elle peut pas se transformer!" [See? Told you she can't transform] One of the bird kids mocked in French with a hint of an accent Hermione remembered Viktor Krum had once spoken with.
Young Fleur glared at the boy, getting up and dusting herself, but the other bird kid pushed her roughly, trying to get her to fall again. Hermione's blood boiled, and she wanted to grab that kid by the scruff of its feathers but the young quarter Veela pushed back against the bully.
"Si je peux! J'ai juste la flemme d'avoir à me prouver." [Sure I can! I just don't find the need to prove myself to the likes of you] Little Fleur retorted, eyes dangerously narrowing. The Gryffindor recognized that very familiar look of pure danger anywhere. Smaller version of her anger, but still just as potent.
"Menteuse," the little Harpy boy sneered, "J'ai hâte qu'elle viennent voir à quel point tu n'est qu'un sale imposteur," [I can't wait for her to get here and see how much of a phony you are] spat the boy. His wicked smile was only amplified by the sharp teeth he bared. He looked like a demon.
"She's not even half a Veela. Mom said she's a measly fraction of our race," one of the girls drawled out obnoxiously. "Shouldn't have been allowed to our village's celebrations. Bet she can't even use a thrall. Your straw hair and ugly face will never compare to our standards."
Hermione didn't realize how hard her jaw had been clenched. This intense feeling of wanting to protect Fleur from these bullies coupled with the feeling of powerlessness made her anger more palpable. She had no idea what kind of bullying Fleur had been subjected to as a quarter Veela. Even her blonde hair became the target of abuse. The only thing she wanted to do was stand between them and the younger version of her mentor, and tell them how wrong they were. And how these kids and adults were all demons and carbon copies of each other, while Fleur's beauty and uniqueness made her amazing in every way. She wanted to scoop up the younger Fleur and tell her everything would be okay. That life gets better. But she couldn't. Instead, Hermione was subjected to watch the girl fend for herself. One against two.
"Je m'en fou de quoi vous pensez. Foutez moi la paix!" [I don't care what you guys think. Leave me alone!] Little Fleur started to walk away but the two Harpy children grabbed her and pinned her to the ground, using their wings and their sharp talons. Fleur cried out in anger, trying to fight them off but it was no use. They easily overpowered her.
Hermione wanted desperately to get the kids off of Fleur, but their talons dug in deeper, drawing a bit of blood on her forearms. Never had she felt this frustrated to know she couldn't touch any of them. She was so distracted by what was happening to the young Fleur that she only noticed the other presence when the other kit harpies cleared out immediately, leaving the blonde girl to get back up by herself.
Surprisingly, for a child of that age, Fleur already showed incredible resilience. The young girl picked herself off the ground, dusting her little blue dress and just wiped the blood off her forearms. There were no tears, but only a look of mild annoyance at best. A burning feeling in the pit of Hermione's stomach told her she was used to being picked on like this. Though a surge of pride to see Fleur stand up to them with her usual uncaring demeanor made her also understand where Fleur's emotional walls came from. When they first met, she thought of her as obnoxious and haughty. However, the Gryffindor girl couldn't blame the quarter Veela for building up those walls to protect herself. All this time. She was only protecting herself.
Young Fleur was now glaring with more intensity. Her little frame did nothing to intimidate, but if looks could kill…
"T'as pas de place ici," [You don't have a place here] A new voice rang through the clearing. Hermione spun around to see another young girl, around the same age, but taller and a lot more imposing. She couldn't believe her eyes. The child had long, sleek hair with a similar sheen to the other Veela kids around her, only it was jet black. So black, it felt like light disappeared through those sultry curtains. Her eyes, however, were the bluest hue she'd ever seen, though still second to Fleur's. Hermione never thought a mere child could look this imposing. Nor did she ever think that Veela could have black hair. The black, summer dress that the child wore aged her a bit, making her look perhaps older than the others.
The little dark Veela stood there, arms crossed, and aloof.
"Toujours incapable de te tranformer, Fleur?" [Still can't transform, Fleur?]
Young Fleur merely glared at her. She didn't need to explain herself again. Her poise said it all.
"C'est vraiment dommage que ton héritage vient d'une famille aussi réputé que les Delacours," drawled the taller Veela, "La matriarche à choisi un humain au lieu de garder le sang pure. C'est un insulte que vous soyez ici au rituel d'âmes sœurs, ou on fête notre héritage et notre culture. Je crois que la responsabilité à t'apprendre ta place parmi notre peuple tombe sur nous. On ne veut pas de Veela à sang impure." [A true shame that you're an offspring of such a respected family. It's a disgrace to have your family be at our soulmate celebrations, where our heritage is most important. It always falls on us to teach you where you belong, vermin.]
Anxiety threatened to spill over, and Hermione wanted to scream for those kids to leave Fleur alone, but before she could attempt to stop the unstoppable memory, the surroundings became hazy, and everything vanished. The fog condensed into a silvery wind that spun around the brown haired witch, and a new memory took place. This time, Fleur was sitting next to what Hermione assumed was her mother, as they shared a lot of likeliness. They were in an office, talking to an impossibly beautiful figure, staring sternly at them through her golden framed glasses behind a large, oak bureau. The Gryffindor had a hard time adjusting herself to the change. Her hands still shook slightly from witnessing Fleur being bullied so violently. It reminded her of her own impure blood and all the times she's been attacked about it.
"I'm sorry Madame Delacour, but unfortunately, we cannot accept Fleur into our Veela Academy," the lady sitting at the desk slipped back a piece of parchment towards the family. Fleur's head hung low, but her face looked a little bit relieved. The same couldn't be said about her mother. She stiffly stood from her seat, took Fleur by the hand, and stormed out.
The surroundings around Hermione started to shift again, leaving her in nothingness as soon as Mrs. Delacour exited the room. Fleur's young face last to disappear behind the fog, expression defiant as she looked back at that principal.
Hermione hadn't even noticed that she now stood in the Great Hall of a school she didn't recognize. The grandness of it reminded her of Hogwarts, only a lot fancier and probably cleaner. A very tall woman sat at the elevated table at the front of the room, illuminated by beautiful chandeliers. She recognized her as the Headmistress of Beauxbaton, Madame Olympe Maxime. Just in front of her, stood Fleur. Now clad in the trademark uniforms all Beauxbaton students wore and aged since the last memory. Hermione fondly remembered that uniform and those colours on Fleur, as it suited her better than her darker Auror attire.
Fleur's figure had developed beautifully into the woman she remembers staring at during Hogwarts Triwizard tournament. She wore a confident face, and stood there, proudly. Her smile didn't reach her eyes, however. Madame Maxime's booming voice echoed throughout the Hall, announcing that Fleur was going to represent the entire school of Beauxbaton, at the Triwizard Tournament being held at Hogwarts. There was a hushed whisper. Hermione could hear a table full of Beauxbaton students nearby talk about how this was only possible thanks to her Veela charms and her thrall. The Gryffindor witch couldn't believe her ears. No matter where Fleur went, there was always a part of her that people held her accountable for. Everyone made her feel like she never belonged anywhere. Her heart ached as she watched the Quarter Veela bow in front of Madame Maxime.
Fleur's face remained unchanged. She expertly wore the mask of indifference as she bowed with the other students that had been nominated, before exiting the platform. Though through the stoic mask, Hermione knew that Fleur could hear the other students talk about her. It was hard to miss, as the collective whispers repeated themselves all around the blonde girl like a quiet, but persistent howler.
The Beauxbaton hall shifted and changed. The walls darkened, and the cobblestone floor that was once bright, turned into a darker, grimier version of itself. The white painted elegant tables turned into the aged oak. Sconces illuminated this dark hall, and four large tapestry posters, each depicting a different animal, adorned the walls of Hogwarts. Hermione wondered for a second if she somehow made it back to the Great Hall of her own school without noticing herself pull away from the Pensieve. But the hall was full of students, sitting at the four tables, each with their own House Colours. Hermione happened to be standing behind her younger self. Fourth year Hermione's eyes were glued to the entrance of the Hall, expression full of wonder and curiosity. Present Hermione remembered all too well her confusing feelings for the Beauxbaton student that was about to come through those doors.
Everyone was waiting in hushed anticipation. Their attention was turned to the entrance to the Great Hall. There was a moment of silence before the familiar creak of aged wood pierced the tension within the room. Hermione's frustration dissipated and instead, was replaced with familiar awe and warmth. Her heart skipped a beat as the colours of Beauxbaton entered the Great Hall in a dance she had repeated in her head so many times. There at the front, Fleur led the dance. It was just as she remembered it. Weaving expertly in beautiful arches before ending the choreography with a bow. However, through Fleur's memory, Hermione didn't remember Fleur staring right at her as she lifted her head from the bow. It was as if time slowed. The witch looked to Fleur who stared right at her. What stood out to Hermione this time, was how her eyes contrasted from their usual hardened self, to what felt like an actual, genuine smile, and a hint of... interest for her?
Before Hermione could approach Fleur, who maintained eye contact with the younger Hermione sitting at that table, she could feel herself being pulled backwards by the nape of her robes. Her surroundings instantly vanished, and the shock made her gasp. It was as if she had been ripped away from a warm bath and into the frigid cold of the night. Only- it was much worse.
Staring back at her were those same piercing blue eyes, only this time, they were between a mix of betrayal and anger.
"I don't remember giving you permission to look into my memories," Fleur's voice was icy, barely concealing the hurt behind it.
"Fleur I am so sorry, I-"
"I think that's enough for tonight. It's time for you to leave," the Auror's eyes hardened. The glimmer that she had seen in the Great Hall of Hogwarts wasn't there. Instead, they were the same dead eyes that Fleur had worn for a great deal of her life, just like the ones that Hermione saw in the memories from the basin.
Hermione breathed in and took a step back. Her mind was reeling with the emotional roller coaster that was the pensieve, the initial search for Fleur with Gwenog, and finally, the boundaries she had crossed. It almost felt like she had been fighting the thrall again, only this time, she was actually hurting a person she cared tremendously about.
For the first time in her entire existence, the brown haired witch couldn't summon the words. Every other time, Harry or Ron were the ones to do something they weren't supposed to, but this time... this time she was the one who acted impulsively on her own selfish need of a distraction. The witch mentally cursed herself as she watched the Auror break her icy stare to something entirely worse. Fleur stared at the floor, avoiding Hermione, her disappointment now clear.
Hermione steeled herself to say something, anything, but her mouth went dry. Instead, she found herself opening her mouth a few times, before closing it in shame. The feeling of her heart thumping against her chest was so strong, it felt like it burst and in this moment she would have welcomed it.
A silence permeated between them. Thicker than the darkest parts of the Forbidden Forest. It was deafening. Hermione didn't remember making her way to the door, but the sound of Fleur's door closing behind her resonated between the stone walls of the dark corridor of the tower. Everything was a blur. She couldn't even remember making her way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, and climbing into the cold bed, emotions still raw. Her mind kept playing the loop of Fleur entering that Great Hall and the stare of someone who looked like they wanted to know everything about her- to the cold icy glare of Auror Fleur who caught her in the memories she wasn't supposed to see. The loop played back at least a million times before sleep finally took the suffering away for the little time left before sunrise.
Hermione leaned against her favourite window in the library. The early morning sun pierced the horizon and dispersed the heavy bed of fog that blanketed the grounds below during nighttime. Beneath the haze lay a white wonderland, and behind it was the grand lake. The large silhouette of the Giant Squid could be seen zipping close to the surface before darting back down, catching breakfast. Sometimes, a large tentacle could be seen splashing about, flashing in the early rays of the morning.
As much as Hermione thought this to be an amazing spectacle, her spirits were completely crushed and it was becoming increasingly hard to find much joy in anything. It had been some time now since Fleur had asked her to leave after catching her diving about in her memories. THE memories that were actually traumas, and probably kept the Auror awake at night. THE memories that she had most likely stored in the pensieve to be able to actually sleep. And Hermione just waltzed in and took a dive right into them. The brown haired witch had replayed the moments before finding herself in the pensieve on a never ending loop, but she couldn't figure out the moment it happened. Had she just fallen in? Did she fall asleep and accidentally allowed herself to lean into the contents? But no matter how it happened, the Gryffindor Prefect knew this was no excuse and Fleur had every right to feel betrayed. Overwhelming guilt made it hard for her to know what she should do. And so hours, days, and finally weeks passed since they've talked. Fleur would pass her in the corridor without a word nor a glimpse. It was as if she stopped existing. Even in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, when Fleur was present for more conversations about the Veela, when Hermione would raise her hand to answer a burning question, the Auror would go out of her way to pick anyone else. Daphne Greengrass seemed to be her new favourite.
"The claws of a Veela when in Harpy form are imbued with a powerful venom that paralyzes prey. Even the slightest cut can induce paralysis, but if larger quantities make it through the skin, then even a werewolf in its full moon form can die."
"Very good, Ms. Greengrass," said Fleur, ignoring once again Hermione's raised hand. The Slytherin girl looked pleased with herself. "Even with a slight cut, this could be fatal if not treated within the day." The Auror produced, as if from nowhere, a white feather from her hand. "This is the key ingredient to an antidote for Veela poison. A feather from the creature themselves, steeped in hot water- much like tea."
Professor Snape and Fleur had seemingly reached an agreement between themselves. At the end of every class, for ten minutes, the Auror came in to teach about Veela, and how to defend against them. Each class, Hermione felt uncomfortable at the thought of having to fight one- or even the fact that they needed to possess this kind of knowledge.
Though even if it stung, the young bright witch knew that jealousy had only brought misery so she adamantly swore to herself to try and deal with the real emotions behind the green eyed monster.
"Why can't you just go and tell her you're sorry?" Ginny asked Hermione simply. At first, the simplicity of her suggestion felt a little insulting. It was much more complicated than just apologizing. But the more Ginny asked her why it wasn't that simple, the less Hermione was able to come up with a good reason at all. The guilt that sat like lead in her stomach made it hard for her to project herself apologizing to Fleur. Whatever she tried to come up with to tell the Auror ended up always sounding like a half assed apology, and the image of Fleur turning away without accepting anything she had to say made her heart twist itself into a wreck of a mess. Eventually, the Gryffindor had to excuse herself. Her mind was overwhelmed with rejection and the thought of losing Fleur as a friend when they had just begun to truly get each other was too much to bear.
Just a few days ago, Hermione had stormed out of the first Quidditch game of the season, when Ron, drunk on his first win as a Keeper, commented on her "sudden reappearance" within their group. It ended in Harry having to push Ron back after he'd told Hermione that not even Fleur could stand to be around her. The Gryffindor jinxed Ron before leaving while clutching her wand so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. She found herself walking towards Hagrid's hut, even if the Half-Giant had made it clear to the trio that he was not happy with them for not taking his class. Her subconscious didn't know who to turn to for comfort that night. Ginny and Harry were most likely busy trying to undo her jinx on Ron, so this left Hagrid. Today, it felt like the world hated her, so perhaps this long and overdue apology could mend something in her life.
Hermione was so lost in her own misery that she hadn't noticed Fleur's elegant silhouette, lit by the lonely light on Hagrid's porch, standing next to the Half Giant himself and Buckbeak. Just her luck of always running into the Auror even though the other had requested space away from her. She couldn't help but feel like this would drive the blonde further away.
This time, however, Fleur remained in her spot when the student approached, stroking Buckbeak's feathers lovingly as the Beast nuzzled her. The Auror didn't make any move to acknowledge the student, but it was an improvement from her promptly leaving the premises at least.
Hagrid was the one to greet her first, though it came with a rather grumpy tone. " 'Mione, whatever you doin' round here at this hour?" he asked with a tinge of hurt evident in his voice.
The young witch felt a knot in her throat. Whenever Fleur was around, she couldn't find her words.
"I'll be taking my leave then, Hagrid. It was nice to see you," the Auror spoke softly. "Madame Maxime sends her warmest regards."
Fleur turned around, now facing Hermione who stood fast to her spot in the darkening grounds. They had a brief moment where their eyes met, but before the Gryffindor could greet her, she was gone. Blonde hair reflected the dusk and the darkness that overtook and her silhouette soon disappeared completely in the veil of dark.
The disappointment must have been evident on her face because Hagrid eventually ushered her in for tea and rock cake. She was thankful for his hospitality and even managed to smooth things over with the Half Giant. That was a win in her books, she'd truly take anything at this point. Her spirits were certainly lifted and she welcomed the distractions by Hagrid's tales of what they've missed in his classes. It sure seemed like his students were getting in all sorts of trouble with the Magical Beasts he brought in. Maybe she should have enrolled in his classes this year. Hagrid wasn't the best of teachers, but she did miss having all sorts of interactions and connections with the Magical Creatures that graced them with their presence. Hagrid was one of the few people who held such respect for them, while a good portion of the Wizarding world treated them less than. Hermione can't imagine the Veela population being treated much better after having also been placed under such a category.
Later that same night, the dream that had been plaguing her since that night at Professor Slughorn's had come back to haunt her but this time, the dream had been excruciatingly amplified. Hermione always found herself back at Fleur's quarters, apologizing for the millionth time in a different speech, but the Auror would never listen. Just like the time they had dueled, she backed her into the wall, pinned her hands above her head, but this time, Fleur kissed her passionately.
Caught by complete surprise, Hermione's eyes widened. She could feel Fleur's soft lips caressing hers, and the pressure of her hips, pinning her against the wall firmly held her there. Had it not been for the Auror holding her in place, she wasn't sure that she would have been able to stand. The initial shock quickly changed into an overwhelming need for more. The brown haired witch made it evident when a moan escaped her lips. That seemed to excite Fleur further as she broke the kiss, breathless. Delicate fingers grasped Hermione's face, blue eyes questioning hers. The Brown haired witch took a moment to take in the need and the desire from the other, and tried to lean in towards the Auror. But she was pushed back against the wall, denying her reciprocation. Fleur gently guided Hermione's face to the side, exposing her neck and before she could register what the other wanted next, those same soft lips she yearned to kiss again, instead found themselves on her skin, as if lighting everything she touched on fire. Her body lit with pure ecstasy, and she could feel herself getting wetter, her breath catching in her throat. Fleur herself made groans of pleasure when Hermione couldn't stop herself from expressing her needs. This only served to excite the blonde even more. The Auror's leg had now placed itself between her own. A strong, lithe, thigh pressuring against her center. She could feel herself arch her body into Fleur, clearly wanting to direct her attention there. With a chuckle that sounded like bells, the Quarter Veela slowly slipped her fingers under her shirt, long fingers barely touching her, but the ghost of a feeling somehow felt like the most teasing presence in existence. Fleur's lips traveled lower until they reached her collarbone. Her fingers finally made themselves known, but still teased her, caressing her waist while tracing a path towards her chest. Hermione could feel herself brace for something she never knew she needed so much as now-
"-Mreowww."
It was the rudest of awakenings the poor Witch had ever had in her lifetime. Crookshank looked at her curiously, peering at her from where he had perched himself. Tail wagged furiously, indicating his less-than-happy mood with his mother. Bleary eyed, Hermione stared back at her cat who didn't shy away from a staring contest, his paw still raised from having swatted at her face. The brown haired girl sighed in defeat as she took him by the midsection and brought him close. Poor cat must've been kicked awake during her especially spicy dream. She didn't blame him for being upset, but she also couldn't believe she didn't get an ending to that dream, nor how powerful that lust had become. It had all felt so real. The ghost of Fleur being against her, then waking up to nothing felt extremely disorienting, but what felt worse was how much Hermione realized her crush on Fleur was becoming uncontrollable. The shame and embarrassment of yearning this hard for the Auror made it extremely hard to dwell on the dream. It was harder now that they weren't even on speaking terms, so any reminder of her meant also remembering her mistakes.
Dawn hadn't quite broken yet. The dimly lit room and the occasional soft snores were a relief to the girl who had a hard time controlling her breathing. A wetness between her legs was the only thing that actually transcended from dream to reality and she was thankful that everyone was too fast asleep to notice her awkwardly walk to the bathroom fully flushed from head to toe.
It took a moment for the Witch to regain composure, even after the coldest of showers. She eventually made her way into the darkness and silence of the empty corridors after getting dressed and grabbing her bag full of books. The cold stone of Hogwarts echoed her light steps, while the flames of the sconces on the walls barely pierced the thick veil of darkness. Hermione didn't mind it, and felt more at peace with the silence of the night. She much rather it than the bustle of the day.
The Great Hall was not much more populated. A few House Elves could be spotted decorating the premises with festive decorations. Today, the sky from the Hall mirrored an atmosphere that matched Hermione's mood. A gray, stormy cocktail of clouds and sleet hailed down.
Today Hermione promised to go to Hogsmeade with Harry, even if it meant having to be around Ron. His half assed apology in the Common Room the night she came back from Hagrid's did little to make anything right, but Hermione, emotionally exhausted from Fleur's silence, and the dream that still replayed in her mind on loop this morning, decided to just tolerate his presence without having to talk to him.
"Are you alright 'Mione?" Asked Harry, sitting down across from her and reaching for pastries that Hermione had not noticed being placed there. She must have been sitting in her thoughts for a long time at the table.
The brunette jolted upright, "Harry! Come on now, we should get going to Hogsmead before it gets too late." She clumsily reached for a glass of orange juice while avoiding eye contact with the Boy Who Lived.
Harry gave her an amused smile, "the grounds aren't even open for us to make our way there, yet. Are you sure you're alright?"
Hermione sighed, cheeks reddening slightly. She tried to think of anything to say, but that's when her eyes caught a glimpse of the Quarter Veela who was making her way out of the Great Hall. Her silvery blonde hair was tied up in a high ponytail and her elegant, long, black jacket accented her light blue blouse, just like what she wore the time they had a duel in her living quarters, and in her dream.
Harry turned to follow where Hermione's gaze stopped, and found himself understanding a little better. He watched the Auror disappear through the large doors before turning back to his friend who was now downing her glass of orange juice, her face barely concealing the redness.
Before he could bring it up, however, Ron had finally joined them for breakfast, and the Boy Who Lived didn't have the heart to question his friend with an audience.
Ron brought energy to the table, his mood reflecting his excitement for Hogsmeade, as most of the students did. The Great Hall was buzzing with chatter and Harry watched silently as Hermione eventually became more relaxed.
Eventually, the trio made their way out to the Grounds. As expected, sleet and hard wet snow made their journey to Hogsmeade harder that day. On good days, they would normally be able to smell the buttery goodness of pastries being sold in town as they approached, but today, only the cold and dampness.
Their steps became heavier with each footfall, clothes clung onto them from melted snow. Hermione rolled her eyes when Ron shivered. Once again, everyone ignored her suggestion to charm each other with water repelling spells as they hurried out the doors and into the snow.
It felt like an eternity before they reached Hogsmeade. Once they finally made it through the entrance to town, Harry spotted a figure amidst the crowd. A balding man hunched over as he tried his best to hold as many possessions in his arms as he could, while hobbling through people. Hermione recognized his wide frame and shifty posture as Mundungus Fletcher. One of theirs in the Order of the Phoenix, though, she never liked him.
It didn't take long for Harry to catch up to the man who dropped everything when he caught sight of the trio. The older man was clambering to cover the items that dropped in the snow, but it was too late. The Black family crest goblets and golden plates were hard to miss, and Hermione could feel Harry's blood boil. She didn't blame him. The man whom they considered an ally, had stolen Harry's heirloom and was clearly trying to sell them to make a quick buck. Revolting in every right.
Mundungus tried hard to make excuses as to why he carried Sirius' Family possessions here in Hogsmeade, but it was to deaf ears. The anger that coursed through the poor boy's veins muted anything coming out of the thieving wizard's mouth, and before Hermione could stop it, Harry had his wand in hand, ready to hex that man into the next year.
A flash of light zipped soundlessly out of the wand, but just as quickly as it appeared, the white light deflected into a heap of snow a few feet from them, turning into steaming, purplish goo.
Mundungus stared in horror at what used to be a pile of snow. Bubbles rose into the air and popped eerily as people walked around it in a hurry, away from the commotion. Harry ignored whatever or whoever had deflected his spell, rightfully enraged at the man, but immediately calmed down as a familiar sensation hit them.
Hermione immediately stiffened as she felt the intoxicating mist surrounding them. Her heart skipped a beat even if this no longer had an effect on her. Harry lowered his wand, but the scowl on his face remained despite being under the Veela thrall. Ron, on the other hand, rivaled the purple goo, his face melting into the widest smile. Despite all those classes where they learned how to resist Fleur's thrall, Ron's raging hormones always won over his brain.
Fleur appeared next to Hermione, reaching out an open hand, asking Harry wordlessly to hand over the wand. The bushy haired girl blushed as the Auror brushed past her. With a huff, the sixth year handed his wand to the blonde woman, and started telling her about what the shifty wizard had been up to.
The Quarter Veela had released them all from her thrall, except for Mundungus whom she kept at a leg's length. Her foot was comically planted on his forehead as he tried to crawl towards her without much success. She wasn't even looking at him, and silently nodded to what Harry was telling her, arms crossed.
With a sigh, Fleur's eyes darted icily to the man sprawled awkwardly beneath her. Hermione could feel the thrall around him get tighter as his face became even more pathetic than Ron's.
"You. Get up." The Quarter Veela demanded in a tone that reminded Hermione of young Fleur. Mundungus clamored back to his feet, Sirius' possessions left forgotten in the snow. "I want you to apologize to Harry, and return all of these back to where they belong."
"Yes, absolutely my Queen-"
"-And don't call me that."
If a man could shrink, Mundungus did a great job at it. People had started to gather around them as they watched the bald wizard profusely apologize to Harry before gathering the objects he had brought with him from Black Manor, and apparate away back whence he came.
Fleur's icy glare then turned onto the crowd that gathered. Their wide eyes definitely showed that they were aware of what the Auror was capable of, and within moments, everyone went about their own ways, some muttering about how a beautiful day it was for a walk.
"Thanks Fleur," Harry sighed.
"No need, Harry," said the blonde girl. "You should thank Tonks instead. She's the one who spotted you first."
As if on cue, Tonks poked her head from behind the pile of purple goo that Harry's spell jinxed instead. She made a low whistle, proudly admiring his work. "Oi!" Her familiar voice brought smiles to three students. "I see my little pro handled this rather well!" She hooked her arm around Fleur's neck, though the blonde stood firm, arms crossed against her chest, her face unreadable. "I'm slowly learning about this fleeting Auror! And how she's more than meets the eye!" Tonks poked her finger in the blonde's cheek, earning her a bit of a death glare, but also a bit of a smirk as the younger girl swatted her hand away. "If you buy her a few drinks, she'll definitely start showing how dorky she can be! Wanna see?"
Fleur protested, but Tonks already started leading her "little prot é g é" as she lovingly nicknamed her, with a tight arm around her shoulders towards the Three Broomsticks pub. Harry, and Ron followed them eagerly. It was definitely a good way to pick up the atmosphere after their grueling walk in the storm and the souring encounter with Mundungus. Hermione could see a faint blush on Fleur's cheeks and ears. Has Tonks managed to get the Quarter Veela tipsy? It was truly a feat, since she's seen the blonde girl down full bottles of wine and still be fine. With a sigh, the sixth year prefect decided to follow them into the pub as well. Perhaps there could be an opening for them to talk.
It was noisy inside. The dimly lit pub was bustling with clients that also had the same idea to find warmth and comfort in the dingy ol' pub while it snowed outside. They were seated at a table much too small, and were practically sitting on each other to fit around it.
Tonks ordered them a first round. Butterbeers for the students, and harder stuff for the Aurors, even if Fleur was barely of age. She was only two years older than Hermione after all.
Fleur, who was sitting between Hermione and Tonks, didn't say much at first. Not until Nymphadora prodded her about an earlier conversation they had about finding the proper partner. Only then did the blonde girl excuse herself with haste to the bathroom.
Hermione had hoped that perhaps she could apologize to Fleur earnestly if she had a chance- however, the Auror had disappeared for a while now ever since she promptly got up to avoid a conversation on relationships.
The Animagus chuckled and looked in Hermione's direction before taking on a much more tense demeanor as she started talking about Remus to the boys. As much as Hermione wished she could listen in on the conversation, she couldn't hear a single word, not with all the noise and chattering patrons of the pub. She'd make it a point to ask Harry and Ron what Tonks was talking about afterwards but for now, her eyes scanned the place in search of Fleur.
It took her a while but she finally found her, leaning against the bar, chatting up the owner of the Three Broomsticks, Madame Rosmerta. The way the Quarter Veela leaned in towards the barkeep, who also seemed quite interested in what Fleur had to say, made Hermione's stomach knot itself tightly.
Feeling a surge of liquid courage from her own fifth butterbeer, and an empty stomach, the brown haired witch made her way to the bar where Madame Rosmerta was pouring Fleur another free glass of Firewhiskey. She made her presence known by taking the glass that Madame Rosmerta poured her and sliding it just out of reach of the blonde girl, who raised a perfect eyebrow at this display of uncharacteristic boldness.
Madame Rosmerta laughed heartily, "Oh! Looks like you have company Fleur! Thanks again by the way for protecting this place from unsavory fellows the other day," she genuinely smiled at her, before returning to tend to patrons who had been trying to get her attention for the last twenty minutes. There was a collective groan of relief when Madame Rosmerta finally turned to help them.
For a moment, the Auror and the ex-student stared at each other. Eyes locked in a battle of stubbornness. To Hermione's surprise, she won. Fleur looked away, cheeks redder than the last time she saw her at the table.
"Did you come here to claim what's mine again Granger?" Although the words were hurtful, her voice had no malice.
Hermione sighed. "No. I'm not. I just… I think you've had plenty to drink."
"That's not for you to decide," the Auror summoned the glass out of the Gryffindor's grasp without a word or wand.
Realizing her mess, the Gryffindor Prefect tried to backpedal, "No- I'm sorry. That's not that I meant. I just overheard some girls in the bathroom the other day, saying they'd love to slip you a Weasley love potion. So you can invite them to Slughorn's Christmas party and-"
"And maybe I will. Maybe I will let them charm me into loving them. And what will you do? Come and rescue me? Just because you saw a helpless little girl in those memories, that doesn't mean you get to decide what's best for me. I'm capable of taking care of myself, Granger."
Hermione felt like her nightmares were finally becoming a reality. She had already ruined any chance of repairing any type of friendship they once had. Fleur's walls were so high, she couldn't fathom any way of de-escalating the conversation she escalated in the first place. For a split second, Hermione swore she saw fear in the blonde witch's eyes, reminding her exactly of that fearful young Fleur from the pensieve. But it disappeared just as quickly.
"Fleur… I…" The brunette could hear her heart in her ears. She couldn't possibly make this worse. Time felt like it slowed, and it was now or never. Nevermind the countless times it was rehearsed in her head, here went nothing, "I'm sorry." Despite the loud bantering of the patrons in the pub, Hermione felt like it was only them two. Everything else melted into the background, becoming a distant murmur. She reached out and rested her hand on Fleur's. Thankfully, the other girl didn't pull away, but her hand slightly twitched on contact. Hermione continued, "I'm sorry I went into your pensieve without your consent. I'm sorry I took advantage of the trust you had in me, and broke it into a thousand pieces." Her hand tightened around the Auror's. "I'm sorry I took advantage of your vulnerability, and betrayed your most intimate memories. I am truly the worst friend. I will understand if you decide to cut me from your life, and I accept the consequences. I just really wanted to let you know how much I regret that night. My choices, and how I've made you suffer because of them. I miss having you in my life, but if you rather we go our separate ways, I will respect that."
Fleur wasn't looking at her. Instead her focus was on the Firewhiskey, though eyes distant, looking past the glass and its content. The silence was deafening, but Hermione had already breached her boundaries once, so with one last squeeze, she let go and made her way towards the door of the pub. It felt liberating to finally get that off her chest, but she wasn't ready to hear Fleur tell her how she didn't want to see her ever again just yet, so she left the pub. Heading back to Hogwarts in the comfort of the library to wrap her head around everything was all the young genius could think about.
Even with inadequate layers of clothes and no rain deflecting or warming charm, Hermione didn't feel the difference in temperatures when she opened the door and started walking in the worsening storm. The conditions had deteriorated, but she felt numb to it all.
Sleet turned to a sharp, dagger-like snowflake that painfully stung into her face, but she welcomed it as it took her mind away just for a little bit. It wasn't until she felt herself get shoved forward that her mind snapped back to her surroundings. Hermione hadn't noticed the bickering Gryffindors that were mere paces behind her until one of them barreled into her, dropping something in the process.
Confused with what had just happened, the brown haired witch turned in time to see Katie Bell drop a package she had been holding. It was once wrapped with a cloth but was now fully revealed to be a kind of necklace, laid out on the icy ground after sliding just a few steps away. Hermione apologized to Katie but for some reason, the other girl couldn't be bothered and seemed almost in a trance-like state. The bundled up Gryffindor tried to reach for the necklace and help Katie retrieve what she had dropped but before she could, Katie's friend grabbed onto Hermione to inspect if she was alright before yelling at Katie for bulldozing another student, and not listening to her.
"Katie, why are you acting so weird?!" She said, but Katie completely ignored her and had already gotten up to retrieve the pendant who started to disappear under the fast accumulating snow.
Leanne, Katie's friend, tried to reach for her friend but the girl was pushed back when Katie suddenly lifted into the air by something unseen, her arms outstretched. Everything happened so fast she barely had time to register what was happening or how. Both girls froze as they watched in horror the body of the older Gryffindor soar higher into the air until none of them could reach her. Suddenly, her eyes and mouth opened and she let out a piercing scream.
Hermione quickly whipped out her wand and tried a few spells to bring her back, but nothing worked. It was as if Katie was being cursed by something unbreakable.
In her newfound shock, the girl didn't even notice the very Veela she had been so torn about a few moments ago, grab and turn her around, eyes no longer cold, but rather filled with worry.
She heard Fleur sigh in relief before white, large wings unfurled behind her back. Hermione thought she looked very much like an angel often depicted in the stories her mom used to read her when she was a child. The Gryffindor couldn't believe her eyes. At first, she believed that Fleur had eventually managed to find a way to transform into her Harpy form, but then remembered depictions of the Magical Beings, and recalled the wings replacing the arms. Fleur very much still had her arms and the wings were on her back. She must've partially transmuted. The ease of her doing so probably meant she had done this many times in the past.
"Stay put," she said sternly. In one leap, Fleur soared into the sky, reaching Katie whose body went limp. The Auror caught her in time and brought her slowly back down to the ground. Katie was unconscious in Fleur's arms, face still contorted in a pained expression.
"What happened here?" She turned to ask Hermione and Leanne, eyes searching them. It didn't take long for her to spot the necklace that was half visible under a wrapping and accumulated snow.
"I- I don't know!" Exclaimed Leanne, tears welling up. "We were arguing about this package she received in the bathroom a-and then she just… I tried to take it from her but it ripped and she went to retrieve it before this happened!"
Fleur and Hermione looked at each other. It was clear that the necklace had to do something with Katie's current state. Hermione looked at the necklace and cast a wandless spell which re-wrapped the cursed item back in its wrapper. She then cast another spell that made the dangerous package float.
With a thankful nod, Fleur summoned the item to her side without it touching her. It hummed ominously as it waited in mid-air.
"I need to bring her back to Hogwarts immediately," Fleur's wings spread again as she crouched, ready to take off. "Please hurry back, too."
With one last glance to Hermione, brows still furrowed in worry, the Auror gracefully leaped into the sky. Her angel-like silhouette quickly disappeared into the storm, necklace floating after her in tow. It didn't take long for the brown haired witch to sprint after her, dragging Leanne with her against the sleet and wind.
Time became irrelevant when anxiety ate away at thoughts. Those thoughts racing over in a mind can make a person lose themselves in the endless what ifs, and Hermione was all too familiar with it all except this time, her thoughts raced for Katie who had been in the hospital wing for hours now. Leanne was taken into Professor McGonagall's office by Fleur, which left the brown haired witch to wait outside of said room, in her own thoughts once again. The poor girl, Leanne, had been so distraught that all she could get from her as they ran back were mostly sobs, along with mentions of how Katie was acting weird after coming back from the bathroom at The Three Broomsticks, where she had also previously been with Harry and Ron. All of her theories all pointed back to the fact that Katie must have been under the Imperius Curse. There was no doubt about it.
There was the sound of a click, a doorknob turning and then the familiar creak of Professor McGonagall's door swinging open. The footsteps that approached her huddled figure on the floor next to the classroom were distinctively Fleur's.
"Come with me," Fleur said, the previous worry in her voice now replaced with her stoic mask.
At first, Hermione thought they were headed to the infirmary, if not McGonagall's office. But as she followed the Auror, they went the opposite way. Curiously, she peered at the blonde witch that walked a few paces in front of her. Fleur's walk felt a little off. She seemed… exhausted. Her usual perfect poise now ever so slightly slumped. Only very slightly. There were rips on the back of her long, black overcoat where her wings previously had sprouted from. Fleur didn't bother to fix it yet, and Hermione couldn't blame her. Though any trace of inebriation she had at the pub was now gone.
A few weaves here and there, past the Common Room corridor, and up the tower. Hermione realized they were headed for Fleur's quarters. She wondered if the Auror would interrogate her experience there, or why it wasn't with McGonagall.
The taller witch finally stopped at her door, then opened it and stepped aside to let Hermione in. Her face was stoic and unreadable as ever. The Gryffindor could feel her heartbeat quicken. She wasn't sure how Fleur felt towards her after her apology in the pub, and so navigating this interrogation could become uncomfortable. Not to mention she wasn't sure if she was welcomed here anymore. Though, for Katie, it was important she got it all out, so she stepped in.
Fleur's temporary living space had changed. It felt darker, colder, and certainly less lived in. Even the flame in the fireplace that normally greeted her every time she was here was almost extinguished. Only embers remained, casting a low glow over the otherwise dark space. Maybe the Auror had not been spending much time here in the past weeks.
The door behind her closed. Hermione turned around to ask about how Katie was doing but before she could open her mouth to ask, she felt herself being wrapped by long arms, and then pulled into a tight hug. Fleur buried her face into Hermione's thick curls, her hand, holding the Gryffindors head against her heart. Hermione, initially surprised by this sudden change, hesitantly raised her arms, but she never knew how desperately she needed this, and so returned the embrace with just as much fervor. They stayed like this for a while, neither of them breaking the moment.
Hermione could hear Fleur's heartbeat, and it matched her own. Comforted by the welcomed warmth of the other girl's body, she could feel herself melt into her arms, and every inch of her tense body, relax. It felt like she returned home after an eternity in the darkest, loneliest corner of the world. Everything felt like it would be okay.
"I'm sorry, too," Fleur whispered after what felt like forever.
Hermione didn't understand why she was apologizing. It was her fault that they had grown apart. Though words left her mouth before she could stop them, "Can I stay for a bit?"
"Only if you make me dinner, I'm exhausted," Fleur broke the embrace but still held her close, and smiled at her through tired eyes. Hermione couldn't believe it. She thought for sure that Fleur would hate her for the rest of her life. This entirely felt like a dream. "Also it looks like you've been working out," the Auror gave her a quick squeeze, teasingly feeling her toned arms, effectively making the shorter witch blush profusely. Hermione didn't realize how close their faces were.
"I hope you like greasy English food."
A groan, "an exception for today."
Notes:
I… Don't even know where to begin. I'm sorry this chapter once again took so long to bring to you all. Though, believe me when I say that seeing you review my story even recently means the world to me. Having people even remember this story is insanely flattering.
This chapter was harder to write. I wrote, then re-wrote, then re-wrote… Never felt satisfied. I'm trying to build a world for Fleur that makes sense and actually feels palpable and gives her proper backstory. Based on a lot of world injustices and trauma that some of us may be familiar with. This chapter is a bit more angsty than the other! But I promise this angst is for good reasons! I also am planning a nice character arc for Hermione. Fleur won't always be taking all the credit ;).
This fic will, and I truly mean it when I say it- will be finished. I've had this story in my mind for so long, and I have a literal notebook plotting out the entire thing, that I just can't see myself abandon it. And it won't be. Thank you for continuing to support me, even if it takes a while to get to it. I'm always thinking about it, but I am also always working long hours. You're the reason I still manage to get around to it when I get a sliver of a chance. I've also emerged from a dark period of my life last year and I'm glad I'm still around to write, and read all of your reviews. I'm thankful and appreciate your words of encouragement- they were with me and helped me through it all. I'm just really happy I still get to read about how people still come back to read my story. Thank you.
Actions