12
The tension in St. Mungo's had reached a fever pitch, and Fleur's family was desperate. Days had passed, and while the healers were doing everything in their power to keep Fleur stable, her condition continued to deteriorate. Gabrielle rarely left her sister's bedside, and Delphine had taken charge of coordinating efforts to find a solution, her Veela blood lending her an air of fierce determination even in the face of helplessness.
It was Delphine who finally made the decision to contact a Veela healer from France, a specialist familiar with the intricacies of Veela physiology. Through connections and no small amount of persuasion, she managed to bring one to St. Mungo's.
The healer, an older Veela named Madame Riviere, arrived in a flurry of elegance and precision. Her silver hair was swept into an elaborate twist, and her sharp eyes immediately assessed Fleur's frail form. She wasted no time, casting intricate diagnostic spells that flickered in pale gold and silver light around the bed.
After hours of careful examination, Madame Riviere stepped away, her expression grave as she addressed Fleur's family and close friends.
"She has been given a love potion," Madame Riviere said, her voice calm but firm, her French accent thick.
Hermione's eyes widened, her heart pounding. "A love potion?"
"Yes," Madame Riviere confirmed, her gaze sweeping over the gathered group. "For most, such potions are harmless, though manipulative. But to Veelas, they are like poison. their bodies reject them violently, and the effects become toxic. If we do not determine exactly what potion was used, she will die."
The weight of her words hit like a hammer. Gabrielle let out a soft sob, clutching her mother's arm for support. Delphine's jaw tightened, her hands trembling slightly as she placed them on Gabrielle's shoulders.
"But we don't know what potion it is," Ginny said, her voice strained. "What do we do?"
"We cannot simply guess," Madame Riviere said, shaking her head. "Experimenting would be too dangerous. Each potion has unique properties, and the wrong antidote could kill her instantly."
Hermione's mind raced, her thoughts circling back to the chocolates Fleur had received. "It must have been in the chocolates," she said, her voice trembling with urgency. "I knew they were cursed, but I didn't think... a love potion. It makes sense."
"But we don't have the chocolates," Harry pointed out, his brow furrowing. "And we don't know who sent them, do we?"
Hermione's gaze hardened. "It was Margot," she said with certainty, her voice low but fierce. "It has to be."
Hermione wasted no time. She requested days off from the Ministry, citing personal reasons, and threw herself entirely into the search for Margot. Harry and Ron, ever loyal, agreed to help without hesitation.
"Like old times, eh?" Ron said with a faint, wry smile as they gathered in the kitchen of the flat.
Hermione gave him a tight smile in return, though her mind was elsewhere. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Both of you. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Don't mention it," Harry said, clapping her on the shoulder. "We'll find her."
Ginny provided them with what little information she had about Margot's whereabouts, including the address she had used when she first started dating Fleur. The three of them set out, retracing their steps to Margot's flat.
The building was quiet, its faded brick exterior blending into the gray streets of London. Hermione's heart raced as they approached the door, but their search turned up nothing. The flat was locked and empty, no sign of recent activity.
"She's not here," Harry said after a moment, stepping back and looking up at the windows. "But this is definitely her place."
"She must be hiding somewhere," Hermione said, her voice tight with frustration.
Ron tilted his head thoughtfully. "If she's not here, she's probably gone somewhere she feels safe. Family? Friends? A place she visits often?"
Ginny's earlier words echoed in Hermione's mind: Margot took time off work.
"She's not just hiding," Hermione said, her brow furrowing. "She's planning to be gone for a while. If she's not working, she might've gone somewhere familiar. Somewhere out of the way."
Harry nodded. "We'll split up. Ask around, follow any leads. Someone must know where she's gone."
The search consumed the next two days. Hermione barely slept, her determination driving her to scour every possible lead. Ginny joined them when she could, and even Luna lent her assistance, offering her unique perspective on Margot's possible mindset.
Finally, a breakthrough came when Harry spoke with one of Margot's neighbors, an older witch who had seen her leaving with packed bags.
"She said she was going to her sister's house," the woman said, wrinkling her nose. "Didn't say where that was, though. She's a bit... strange, that one."
Ginny, who had been standing nearby, snapped her fingers. "Her sister! I remember Fleur mentioning something about Margot's sister living near Ottery St. Catchpole."
Hermione's eyes lit up with determination. "Then that's where we're going."
The group stood at the edge of a quiet village, the evening sky painted in shades of deep blue and gold. Hermione's heart pounded as they approached a modest house set back from the road, its lights glowing faintly through the curtains.
"This has to be it," Ron said, his voice low.
Harry nodded, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. "Ready?"
Hermione stepped forward, her resolve firm. "Let's end this."
They moved toward the house, the tension between them crackling like static electricity as the door loomed closer. Inside, Hermione knew, was their only hope of saving Fleur.
The air was thick with tension as Hermione, Harry, and Ron approached the modest house. Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, a mix of rage, fear, and desperation swirling inside her. She could feel the weight of Fleur's life pressing on her shoulders—every second they wasted here felt like another moment stolen from her.
Harry knocked firmly on the door, his wand drawn but held discreetly at his side. There was no answer at first, and Hermione's impatience boiled over. She pushed past Harry and knocked harder, her voice sharp as she called out, "Margot, we know you're in there. Open the door!"
A tense moment passed, and then, slowly, the door creaked open. Margot stood on the other side, her red hair disheveled, her face pale and drawn. Her green eyes widened at the sight of them, flickering between their wands and Hermione's furious expression.
"Please," Margot said immediately, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."
Hermione stepped forward, her hands trembling as she clenched them into fists. "Fleur is dying," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Whatever you've done to her—whatever you put in those chocolates—you need to tell us now."
Margot crumbled instantly, her composure breaking as tears spilled down her cheeks. She stepped back into the house, motioning for them to follow. "I didn't mean for this," she said, her voice cracking. "I didn't want to hurt her. I just—"
"Explain," Hermione snapped, her rage barely contained as she stepped into the small, cluttered living room. Harry and Ron followed close behind, their wands still drawn.
"I... I made a love potion," Margot admitted, her hands trembling as she wrung them together. "It wasn't supposed to last more than a few days. I thought—" She let out a shaky breath. "I thought if she... if she felt something, she'd talk to me. Give me a chance to explain."
Hermione stared at her, disbelief mingling with her fury. "You poisoned her for a conversation?"
"I didn't know!" Margot cried, tears streaming down her face. "I didn't know it would hurt her! I swear! Something must have gone wrong when brewing it!"
"She didn't knew veelas react to love potions like poison," Harry stated, his tone sharp.
"I was afraid... afraid of the consequences. I didn't want to go to Azkaban over a potion. I thought it would wear off before anything serious happened!"
Hermione closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. Her rage, though still burning, had begun to soften under the weight of Margot's obvious regret and fear. She couldn't waste time being angry. Fleur didn't have time.
"What's in it?" Hermione demanded, her voice firm but quieter now. "What did you use to make it?"
Margot hesitated for a moment, then nodded quickly. She darted into another room, returning moments later with a small notebook and a vial of faintly shimmering liquid. "This is it," she said, holding out the notebook and the vial. "The recipe, and the potion. I kept some... just in case."
Hermione snatched them from her hands, her heart racing as she glanced at the notebook's detailed instructions. "This had better be accurate," she said, her voice low and deadly.
"It is!" Margot insisted, her hands raised in surrender. "Please... I'll do anything. Just—don't send me to Azkaban."
Hermione stared at her, her chest tight with conflicting emotions. Margot was a mess—remorseful, terrified, and completely broken. As much as Hermione wanted to scream at her, to demand why she'd been so reckless, Fleur's life mattered more than vengeance.
"Leave Fleur alone," Hermione said finally, her voice cold but steady. "From now on, you stay away from her. No more letters, no more visits, nothing. Do you understand?"
Margot nodded frantically. "I promise. I won't bother her again. I swear."
Without another word, Hermione turned on her heel and strode toward the door, clutching the notebook and vial like lifelines. Harry and Ron followed, their faces grim as they stepped back into the chilly night.
"Will she actually stay away?" Ron asked as they walked down the path.
"She will," Hermione said firmly, her jaw set. "She won't be a problem anymore."
The race back to St. Mungo's felt like an eternity, though they Apparated as quickly as they could. Hermione burst into Fleur's room, the notebook and vial clutched tightly in her hands. Ginny and Gabrielle, who had been sitting at Fleur's bedside, leapt to their feet at the sudden commotion.
"You found it?" Ginny asked, her voice trembling with hope.
"We found it," Hermione said breathlessly, holding up the items.
Madame Riviere swept into the room moments later, her sharp eyes narrowing as she examined the notebook and the vial. "Zis is it?" she asked, her voice steady but urgent.
"Yes," Hermione said, her voice cracking slightly. "Can you make the antidote?"
Madame Riviere nodded, her movements brisk as she began issuing instructions to the healers. "This will take time," she said, glancing back at Hermione. "And there is no guarantee it will work. Her condition... it is very advanced."
Hermione's heart sank, but she forced herself to remain steady. "Do whatever you can," she said firmly.
The next few hours were a blur of activity as the antidote was brewed under Madame Riviere's precise supervision. Fleur's condition continued to worsen, her breathing shallow and labored. Delphine and Gabrielle stayed close, their hands clasped together as they watched helplessly.
When the antidote was finally ready, Hermione stood at the edge of the room, her hands trembling as Madame Riviere administered the potion.
For a moment, nothing happened. Fleur remained still, her pale face ghostly against the pillow. The tension in the room was suffocating, every second stretching into an eternity.
"Will it work?" Gabrielle whispered, her voice barely audible.
Hermione couldn't answer. She could only watch, her heart pounding in her chest, as they waited for any sign of change.