11

Hermione knew the truth now—her feelings for Fleur were undeniable, and they eclipsed whatever affection she had for Viktor. But every time she worked up the nerve to end things, Viktor would do something so genuinely kind, so impossibly sweet, that she faltered.

One evening, as they shared dinner at a small wizarding bistro, Viktor reached across the table to take her hand.

"You make me so happy, Hermione," he said softly, his dark eyes shining with sincerity.

Hermione's stomach churned, her smile faltering for just a moment before she forced it back into place. "You make me happy too," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

But it wasn't true. Not entirely. And she hated herself for the lie.

The following week, Hermione finally resolved to end it. She rehearsed the words over and over in her mind, trying to find a way to let Viktor down gently without breaking his heart completely.

But when she arrived at his flat, Viktor was packing a small bag, his expression unusually serious.

"I have to go back to Bulgaria for a few weeks" he explained, his voice subdued. "My father says my grandmother is not well. He needs my help around while he tends to her"

Hermione's resolve crumbled instantly, replaced by a wave of guilt and sympathy. "Of course. Do you need anything? Help?"

"Just your patience. I promise I will make up for my absence when I return" Viktor said softly, pulling her into a gentle kiss.

Hermione held him tightly, her heart aching with the weight of everything unsaid. She couldn't break up with him now. It would be selfish. She would have to wait.


That evening, back at the flat, Hermione sat on the couch, staring blankly at the fire in the hearth. Fleur entered the room, her presence commanding as always, and Hermione glanced at her, her heart twisting at the sight of her.

Fleur noticed the look, her sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Hermione. "You look... troubled," Fleur said, her voice calm but edged with curiosity.

Hermione hesitated, her hands twisting in her lap. "It's Viktor," she admitted finally. "He had to go back to Bulgaria. His grandmother is... unwell. And I couldn't break it up with him yet, I will have to wait for him to come back. I'm sorry"

Fleur nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. "I see"

Fleur said nothing more, but the tension in the room was palpable. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its warmth doing little to dispel the sudden chill that settled over Hermione, who sat in silence, her mind a tangled mess of guilt and uncertainty.

"By the way," Fleur said, her voice light, almost casual, obviously trying to change the subject "merci for the chocolates you left for me at Gringotts. they were... a pleasant surprise."

Hermione blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Chocolates? What chocolates?"

Fleur tilted her head slightly, her expression shifting to one of faint amusement. "Do not play coy, Hermione. the box you sent me" Fleur's lips quirked into a faint smile. "I assumed it was you."

Hermione shook her head slowly, a knot of unease forming in her chest. "Fleur, I didn't send you any chocolates. If I were to give you a surprise you know that I would have—wait, when did you get them?"

Fleur's smirk faded, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Hermione's face. "Yesterday. A small black box, tied with ribbon. It simply said, 'I miss you.'"

Hermione's stomach dropped, her hands twisting in her lap. "That wasn't from me," she said, her voice quiet but firm.

For the first time, Fleur's serene composure faltered. She straightened, her gaze growing colder, sharper. "If not you, then who?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you still have the box? Maybe we can figure out who sent it."

Fleur set her wine glass down with deliberate care, her movements precise as always. "I left it in my office," she said. "I will check immediately."

"I'll come with you—" Hermione began, but Fleur held up a hand, her expression turning icy once more.

"Non," Fleur said firmly. "It is late, and there is no need to trouble yourself. I will handle this."

"Did you eat them?" Hermione asked, but Fleur didn't hear her as she swept out of the flat.


The dimly lit corridors of Gringotts were eerily quiet as Fleur made her way to her office, her heels clicking softly against the polished stone floors. She unlocked the door with a flick of her wand, stepping inside to find the room just as she had left it—neat, orderly, a sanctuary of precision.

But the box of chocolates was gone.

Fleur frowned, her sharp eyes scanning the desk and shelves as she searched for the black box. She even checked the waste bin, thinking perhaps a house-elf had disposed of it. But there was no sign of it anywhere.

Her stomach twisted with unease, but she forced herself to remain calm. She closed her eyes, focusing inward as she ran through the techniques she had learned during her curse-breaking training. She examined herself carefully, searching for any signs of magical interference or lingering effects.

Nothing.

Her breathing steadied, and she straightened, brushing a strand of silver-blonde hair from her face. "Perhaps it was simply an admirer," she murmured to herself. "And perhaps the box was discarded by the staff."

It wasn't entirely convincing, but Fleur didn't allow herself to dwell on the matter further. She left the office, her composure firmly in place, determined to put the unsettling incident behind her.


Over the next few days, Fleur began to feel unwell. It started subtly—a faint headache here, a wave of nausea there, some random pain across her extremities. But it quickly escalated. By the third day, she was pale and weak, her usual poise slipping as she struggled to keep up with her work.

Ginny and Hermione noticed immediately, their concern growing as Fleur's condition worsened. But Fleur, ever stubborn, brushed off their worries with a faint wave of her hand.

"It is nothing," she insisted, her voice quiet but firm. "Just fatigue. I will be fine."

But she wasn't fine.

On the fifth day, Fleur fainted in the middle of her office at Gringotts. Her colleagues acted quickly, summoning help and rushing her to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Ginny and Hermione were notified immediately, as her primary contacts given they were roomates. The news hit Hermione like a thunderclap, her heart racing as she grabbed her bag and Apparated to the hospital with Ginny.

By the time they arrived, Fleur was in a private room, her pale complexion almost ghostly against the white sheets. Healers bustled around her, their expressions grim as they cast diagnostic spells and examined her with wands and enchanted instruments.

"What's wrong with her?" Hermione demanded, her voice sharp with panic.

"We're not sure yet," one of the healers replied, their tone professional but tinged with concern. "Her symptoms don't match any known illness or curse we've encountered so far. We're running more tests."

Ginny placed a comforting hand on Hermione's arm, her face pale but determined. "We'll figure this out," she said firmly.

Hermione nodded, her jaw tightening as she fought back the rising tide of fear. "We need to let her family know," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

It took some effort, but they managed to contact Gabrielle, Fleur's younger sister. The news hit her hard, and she promised to come immediately.

As the days passed, Fleur's condition worsened. The healers were baffled, their treatments yielding no improvement. Hermione couldn't shake the suspicion that the box of chocolates Fleur mentioned the other day had something to do with it.

"I think it was cursed," Hermione said one evening, pacing the waiting room as Ginny watched her with worried eyes. "It has to be. Fleur wouldn't just get sick like this out of nowhere."

Ginny nodded.

"Sometimes curses are subtle," Hermione continued, her voice tight. "They don't always act immediately. They can be... insidious."

Ginny nodded slowly, her expression grim. "We need to figure out who sent them. And fast."

Hermione's heart ached as she glanced toward Fleur's room, her pale figure barely visible through the enchanted glass. Fleur, the woman who was always so strong, so composed, now lay helpless and fragile, and there was nothing Hermione could do but wait.

The atmosphere at St. Mungo's was heavy with worry and silence, a stark contrast to the usual bustling energy of the hospital. Fleur's condition had not improved. Days turned into a week, and despite the best efforts of the healers, no one could determine what was wrong with her. She remained pale and frail, her once radiant complexion now ghostly.

Her family had arrived from France. Delphine Delacour, Fleur's mother, was a commanding presence even in her worry. Her silver-blonde hair fell in perfect waves, her sharp features set in a determined but sorrowful expression. She spent every moment by Fleur's bedside, her hand brushing gently against her eldest daughter's as though willing her back to health.

Monsieur Delacour was equally concerned, pacing the waiting room with a mix of anger and despair. Gabrielle, Fleur's younger sister, sat quietly in a corner, her wide blue eyes filled with tears as she clutched one of Fleur's favorite scarves to her chest.


Hermione found herself dividing her time between the hospital and every library she could access, pouring over obscure magical texts and research. She was fixated on the idea that the chocolates had been cursed, though without the box or its contents, there was no way to prove it.

"I know it was the chocolates," Hermione said one evening in the waiting room, her voice tight with frustration. "It has to be. Nothing else makes sense."

"But how can we prove it?" Ginny asked, leaning back against the wall, her arms crossed. "Without the box or the chocolates, we've got nothing to go on."

"We don't need to prove it," Harry said, his tone firm. "We need to figure out who sent them, to fix this."

Ron, who had been sitting quietly with his arms resting on his knees, suddenly straightened. "Wait a minute," he said, his brow furrowed. "Didn't Margot send her a bunch of letters? And didn't she show up at her office and the flat?"

Ginny's eyes widened, and she exchanged a glance with Hermione. "You think it was Margot? She stopped reaching out to fleur weeks ago, I am not sure it was her"

Ron nodded, his expression grim. "Think about it. She's obsessed with Fleur, right? And she wasn't exactly taking the breakup well. Maybe she sent the chocolates as... I don't know, a last-ditch effort to get Fleur back"

Hermione's stomach turned at the thought. "But why curse them?"

"She could've wanted to make Fleur suffer, to get even" Harry said quietly. "People do crazy things when they're hurt"

Ginny stood abruptly, her jaw set. "If it's Margot, we need to find her. I know where she lives."

Without hesitation, the four of them sprang into action. Ginny led the way to Margot's flat, her wand gripped tightly in her hand as they approached the door. Hermione's heart raced, her chest tight with a mix of anger and fear.

Ginny knocked loudly, her voice firm as she called out, "Margot! Open the door!"

There was no response.

Harry stepped forward, casting a quick detection charm. "She's not here," he said after a moment, his tone clipped.

"Maybe she's at work," Hermione suggested.

Ginny shook her head, her expression darkening. "She asked for time off. One of my teammates mentioned it the other day."

Hermione's stomach sank. "Do you know where she might have gone?"

"No," Ginny admitted, her frustration evident.

They searched the area, questioning neighbors and nearby shopkeepers, but no one had seen Margot in days. By the time they returned to the hospital, the cold reality had set in: Margot was gone, and without her, their only lead to uncovering Fleur's condition was slipping away.


The chocolates weren't meant to harm Fleur. Margot had convinced herself of that.

It had been a reckless idea, born out of desperation. If Fleur wouldn't talk to her, wouldn't let her in, then maybe a little magical nudge would help. Margot had spent hours crafting the love potion, telling herself it was harmless. The effects would only last a few days—enough time for Fleur to feel something for her, to listen to her.

But deep down, Margot knew it was wrong. As she sealed the box of chocolates and wrote the note, her hands trembled. She ignored the voice in her head that whispered of guilt, of consequences, and sent the package anyway.

When she learned that Fleur had collapsed, the guilt became unbearable, she didn't mean to hurt Fleur. Margot was terrified—not just for Fleur's life, but for what would happen if anyone found out what she had done. She stopped answering owls, took time off work, and retreated to her sister's home, her thoughts spiraling into a dark, chaotic mess.

She told herself that she hadn't meant to hurt Fleur, that it had been a mistake, maybe she made the potion incorrectly or there was some inexplicable magic that cursed the chocolates without her really wanting to, but the truth was harder to face. Her own obsession, her inability to let go, had brought them both to this point. And now, it was too late to take it back.


Back at St. Mungo's, Fleur's condition had worsened. She was in pain, though the healers had placed her under a series of charms to ease her suffering. Most of the time, she remained asleep, her breathing shallow and uneven.

Hermione stood by her bedside, her hands trembling as she reached out to brush a strand of silver-blonde hair from Fleur's face. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Delphine placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder, her touch gentle but firm. "She is strong," Delphine said, her voice thick with her French accent. "She will fight."

Hermione nodded, though the ache in her chest only deepened. She glanced at Fleur's pale face, her heart breaking at the sight of her lying so still, so unlike herself.

"We'll find out what's wrong," Hermione said softly, more to herself than anyone else. "We have to."

But as the hours turned into days, and Fleur's condition showed no signs of improving, the weight of their helplessness grew heavier. The waiting room was filled with tense silence, the air thick with unspoken fears.

And somewhere, out in the world, Margot was missing.