13
The waiting room was oppressively quiet, the kind of silence that made every sound—the creak of a chair, the shuffle of a footstep—feel deafening. Hermione sat at the edge of her seat, her hands clutched tightly together as she stared at the door to Fleur's room. Her mind raced with every worst-case scenario, each thought more unbearable than the last.
Inside the room, Madame Riviere and the healers were finishing their work. The antidote had been administered hours ago, but there was no sign of improvement. Fleur's pale, fragile form remained still, her breathing shallow and uneven. The brief moments of consciousness that had given them hope in the earlier days were gone. Fleur was now completely unresponsive, slipping deeper into a state that felt terrifyingly final.
"She is strong," Madame Riviere had said to the family earlier, her voice calm but grave. "But this will take time. Days, perhaps. there is no guarantee, but we must wait."
Wait.
The word was a dagger twisting in Hermione's chest. How could they just wait while Fleur's life hung by a thread? Every passing moment felt like a countdown to something irreversible.
Hermione felt herself breaking under the weight of it all. She had been holding everything together, focusing on action—finding Margot, uncovering the truth, getting the antidote. But now, with nothing left to do but sit and hope, the reality of Fleur's condition came crashing down on her like a tidal wave.
Across the room, Ginny, Harry, and Ron sat together, their expressions heavy with worry. Gabrielle was curled up in her mother's arms, her soft sobs muffled against Delphine's shoulder. The entire room felt like it was teetering on the edge of despair.
"Hermione," Ginny said softly, her voice cutting through the silence. "You should eat something. Or at least rest. You've been going non-stop."
"I can't," Hermione replied, her voice hollow. She didn't look up, her eyes fixed on the door. "What if something happens while I'm not there?"
"You are going to make yourself sick if you don't step back for a bit." Harry said gently
Hermione shook her head, her throat tightening. "You don't understand." A lump of emotion rose inside Hermione, hot and suffocating, until it spilled over. Tears filled her eyes, and before she could stop herself, she broke. "She doesn't know," Hermione choked out, her voice cracking as the tears began to fall. "I didn't tell her."
Ginny moved closer, her brow furrowed. "Didn't tell her what?"
"That I... that I am falling for her," Hermione admitted, her voice trembling with anguish.
The room fell into stunned silence. Harry and Ron exchanged wide-eyed glances, and Ginny sat back slightly, her mouth opening and closing as she processed the confession.
"What?" Ron finally managed, his voice quiet but laced with disbelief. "Do you mean like love? Falling in love?"
Hermione nodded, the tears streaming down her face now. She buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled as she continued. "We—we've been... together. Not officially, but... we've been... close. For months. I didn't know how to end things with Viktor. I didn't know what I wanted. But now I do, and it's too late…and I didn't even tell her."
Ginny was the first to recover. She placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder, her touch firm but comforting. "Hey," she said softly. "It's not too late. She's still here"
"Ginny's right," Harry said, his voice steady despite the shock still lingering in his expression. "Fleur's strong—she has fought dragons for God's sake. If anyone can pull through this, it's her."
Ron, though still visibly stunned, nodded slowly. "Yeah. Don't give up on her now."
Hermione sniffled, lowering her hands to look at her friends through tear-filled eyes. "You must think I'm awful," she whispered. "Viktor doesn't deserve this. He's been nothing but kind, and I..."
"Stop," Ginny said firmly. "This isn't about Viktor right now. This is about Fleur. You're allowed to feel how you feel, Hermione."
Hermione swallowed hard, the weight of her guilt and despair threatening to crush her. But as she looked at her friends—their faces filled with worry but also unwavering support—she felt a faint glimmer of hope.
"We're going to get through this," Harry said, his voice resolute. "Fleur is going to get through this. And when she does, you'll have your chance to tell her everything."
Hermione nodded slowly, though her chest still ached with fear. She wiped her tears away, taking a deep, shaky breath.
"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice barely audible.
Her friends said nothing more, but their presence was enough. Hermione clung to their reassurance, even as doubt and fear continued to gnaw at her.
Inside the room, Fleur lay still, her breaths shallow, her complexion pale and fragile. The antidote's effects, if any, were agonizingly slow to reveal themselves. All Hermione could do now was wait, hope, and hold on to the faintest sliver of belief that Fleur would come back to her.
The waiting torture hung over everyone at St. Mungo's. Fleur's condition had not improved. It had been over a day since the antidote had been administered, and still, there was no sign of recovery. The Veela healer, Madame Riviere, maintained that it could take time, but the room was filled with an unspoken fear—what if time was the one thing Fleur didn't have?
Hermione was a wreck. She hadn't left the seats near her room except for the moments when Gabrielle or Delphine insisted she take a short break to eat or rest. Even then, Hermione spent those moments in the waiting room, wringing her hands and staring at the enchanted glass that separated her from Fleur.
The others did their best to support her. Ginny, Harry, and Ron took turns keeping her company, offering quiet reassurances or simply sitting in silence. Hermione had broken down in front of them once, her emotions spilling over in a confession of love for Fleur that had stunned them all. They hadn't brought it up since, sensing that Hermione couldn't handle any more pressure.
Viktor Krum stood outside the Holyhead Harpies training grounds, pacing anxiously as he waited for Ginny to emerge. He had returned to England a few days earlier after his family's crisis had stabilized, only to find Hermione unreachable. She hadn't responded to his owls, and her flat was empty whenever he stopped by. He hadn't wanted to bother Ginny, knowing how busy she was with her training, but now he had no choice.
When Ginny finally appeared, sweaty and tired from practice, she froze mid-step at the sight of him. "Viktor?" she said, blinking in surprise.
"Ginny," Viktor said, his thick accent as prominent as ever, though his voice was laced with concern. "I need to know where Hermione is. She hasn't answered me in days."
Ginny hesitated, her mind racing. She knew Hermione hadn't told Viktor about her feelings for Fleur or their secret relationship, and she wasn't about to betray her friend's trust now. But she also couldn't outright ignore Viktor, especially when she could see the genuine worry in his expression.
"She's... at St. Mungo's," Ginny said finally.
Viktor's face paled. "St. Mungo's? Is she alright?"
"It's not Hermione," Ginny explained quickly. "It's Fleur. She's... she's very sick. Hermione's been at the hospital with her."
Viktor frowned, his brow furrowing deeply. "Fleur? What happened?"
Ginny sighed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "It's a long story, and honestly, we're not even sure about all the details. She was poisoned—by accident, we think—and it's been bad. Really bad. Hermione's been helping as much as she can, but Fleur's still not improving."
"I will go to her" he said.
Ginny hesitated again, not sure if she should ask Viktor not to go, she sighed "Alright. But don't take it personally if Hermione isn't herself. She has not been able to rest much"
The same day, Viktor arrived at St. Mungo's. The hospital was quiet in the early morning hours, and the atmosphere was heavy with worry and fatigue. He asked a healer for directions to Fleur's room and made his way there, his heart pounding in his chest.
He found Hermione in the waiting area just outside Fleur's room. She was slumped in a chair, her head in her hands, her normally bushy hair hanging limply around her face. She looked utterly exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and her shoulders hunched with the weight of worry.
"Hermione," Viktor said softly, stepping closer.
Hermione looked up, startled, her red-rimmed eyes widening at the sight of him. "Viktor," she said, her voice hoarse.
"I came as soon as I heard," Viktor said, sitting down in the chair beside her. "Ginny told me about Fleur. How is she?"
Hermione shook her head, her lips trembling. "There's been no change," she whispered. "We gave her the antidote, but it's not working. She's just... sleeping. Barely breathing."
Viktor reached out for a kiss, which she avoided, he didn't complain, placing a comforting hand on hers, understanding that perhaps this was not the moment. "I am so sorry, Hermione. I know Fleur is one of your closest friends"
Hermione's heart clenched at his words. He didn't know—he didn't understand how much Fleur meant to her. And Hermione couldn't bring herself to tell him, not now, not like this.
"You shouldn't have come," Hermione said quietly, though there was no anger in her tone.
"I wanted to come," Viktor said firmly. "You are here, Hermione. And Fleur is my friend too."
Hermione looked away, guilt twisting in her chest. She knew Viktor's feelings for her were genuine, and his presence should have been comforting. But all she felt was the unbearable weight of everything she hadn't told him, everything she couldn't say.
As Viktor squeezed her hand gently, Hermione's mind drifted to Fleur. She was running out of time—Hermione could feel it in her bones. The door to Fleur's room remained closed, the uncertainty beyond it suffocating. Every moment that passed without improvement was another thread unraveling in Hermione's fragile hope. She wasn't sure how much longer she could hold herself together.
It was nearly dawn when the first signs of change came the next day. Fleur's breathing, once shallow and irregular, began to steady. The pallor of her skin softened, and her heartbeat grew stronger under the watchful gaze of the Veela healer. Madame Riviere, ever poised, allowed a faint smile to touch her lips as she examined Fleur's improving vital signs.
"She is responding," Madame Riviere said softly, her French accent thick with satisfaction. "The antidote is working. the worst is over."
Hermione, who had been sitting in a chair at the edge of the room, let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Relief surged through her, overwhelming in its intensity, and tears pricked her eyes. She turned to Delphine, who stood at the other side of Fleur's bed, her hand gently resting on her daughter's.
"She will recover?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling.
"Oui," Madame Riviere replied, though her tone remained measured. "But it will take time. Days, perhaps weeks. For now, she must rest, and we must be patient."
Hermione nodded, her chest tightening with emotion. Patience she could handle—so long as Fleur was going to be okay.
Over the next few days, Fleur's condition continued to improve, albeit slowly. She remained unconscious, but her vital signs grew stronger with each passing hour. Hermione rarely left her side, though she made sure to give Delphine, Gabrielle, and Monsieur Delacour the space they needed to be with her as well.
Delphine, who had been watching Hermione closely since the ordeal began, seemed to sense the depth of her concern. Though the Delacour matriarch had been understandably protective of her daughter, she began to allow Hermione more time alone with Fleur.
One evening, as the others took a much-needed break, Hermione sat by Fleur's bedside, her fingers lightly brushing against Fleur's hand. The warmth of her skin was a stark contrast to the icy cold Hermione had felt in those first terrifying days.
"I thought I'd lost you," Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don't know what I would've done if..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I'm just glad you're still here."
Hermione didn't notice Delphine standing quietly by the door, watching with a thoughtful expression. She had seen the way Hermione had thrown herself into finding the antidote, the way she barely ate or slept until Fleur's life was no longer in immediate danger. It was a level of devotion that spoke volumes, and though Delphine said nothing, she allowed Hermione to remain by Fleur's side as much as she wished.
In the days that followed, Fleur began to have brief moments of semi-consciousness. Her eyes would flutter open for a few seconds, unfocused but alive, before she drifted back into sleep. Each of these moments filled the room with cautious hope, especially for Hermione, who found herself clinging to every small sign of improvement.
One afternoon, Fleur stirred again, her lips parting slightly as a faint, breathy sound escaped her. Hermione leaned forward, her heart pounding.
"Fleur?" she said softly, her hand lightly gripping Fleur's.
Fleur's eyes opened just a fraction, her gaze hazy and unfocused. Her lips moved, though no sound came out, and Hermione's chest ached with a mixture of relief and longing.
"I'm here," Hermione whispered, tears filling her eyes. "You're going to be okay. I promise."
Fleur's eyelids fluttered, and her grip on Hermione's hand tightened ever so slightly before she drifted back into sleep.
Behind her, Delphine placed a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder. "You are good to her," she said quietly, her voice warm but tinged with emotion. "Merci, Hermione. For everything."
Hermione looked up, her tears threatening to spill over. "I just... I couldn't let her go," she admitted, her voice cracking.
"You have a kind heart," Delphine said with a faint smile. "And my daughter is lucky to have you by her side."
Viktor had been visiting St. Mungo's in between his training sessions, bringing Hermione tea or food and offering quiet support. At first, he believed Hermione's worry was simply a testament to her caring nature. But as he watched her—how she seemed more at ease when sitting by Fleur's side, how her face lit up at even the smallest sign of improvement in Fleur—he began to suspect there was more to it.
One evening, as they sat together in the waiting room, Viktor glanced at Hermione, his brow furrowing. "You care for Fleur a great deal," he said carefully.
Hermione tensed, her hands tightening around the cup of tea Viktor had brought her. "Of course I do," she said quickly. "We're friends."
Viktor nodded slowly, though his expression didn't change. "I know you are friends. But... this is different, yes?"
Hermione's heart raced, panic bubbling up in her chest. "What do you mean?"
Viktor hesitated, then shook his head with a faint, sad smile. "Nothing," he said, though his tone carried a weight that Hermione couldn't ignore.
He didn't press further, and Hermione didn't offer an explanation. But as Viktor returned to his training sessions, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing a piece of the puzzle.
Fleur's condition continued to improve slowly, but the uncertainty still lingered. Hermione's hope grew stronger with each passing day, but a part of her remained terrified. Even with the antidote working, Fleur's recovery was far from guaranteed.
As she sat by Fleur's side one evening, the weight of everything—her feelings for Fleur, her guilt over Viktor, her exhaustion from the ordeal—settled heavily on her shoulders. But for the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they would come out of this on the other side.