Hey all! I'm back, can you believe that I've been able to stick to these regular updates? because neither can I and I am LOVING it! I really do feel such a passion again for my writing and I am determined to keep going with it.
This chapter we see all three sister's interact for the first time and here's the warning - all the emotions! I am a sucker for the Hermione falls into the loving arms of her true family tropes but this one has turned out a little more realistic, Hermione's character here has been through a lot and when she is experiencing this it is important to note she has had a horrible summer with unexplainable pain, heightened senses and her magik has been whack for weeks so our girls exhausted. Couple that with an emotional breakthrough with her best friend and then overwhelming magik connections that she can't explain and it makes for a very scared and emotional gall.
Don't worry though it wont always be so heart-breaking, andddd... Nymphadora makes her first appearance in the next chapter. I know it's taken a while but i thought it was really important that we really got to see in to Hermione's world and her life before our Dora comes along to sweep her off her feet. Well not quite sweep her off her feet, that wont come until much much later but Nymphadora is a beautiful sole that just want's to make Hermione smile and beat up anyone that makes her cry. :)
I know there has been a few questions regarding how closely related Hermione and Nymphadora are going to be. The truth is there is going to be a very distant relation between them but that will be explained in time.
I'd like to take a minute though to thank you all for the unbelievably positive comments and support you guys show me. You are a blessing and I am so grateful that you have followed me on this journey so far.
Please always be you 3
all my love - Nell xoxo
~ September 6th 1995 ~
~ Hermione's POV ~
~ Astronomy Tower ~
Hermione and Cho had finished with their breakfast that morning long before most of their peers had even made their way down to the Great Hall. Hermione had opted for toast and scrambled eggs—something filling but lighter than the full cooked breakfasts on offer. Cho as always had loaded up on the French toast. For the most part, they had sat in companionable silence, simply appreciating each other's presence after the weight of their morning. Hermione was deeply grateful that Cho, as always, had known exactly what she needed to hear earlier.
The reassurance, offered so freely, had been more than she felt she ever deserved from her friend, after years of guarding herself from harm so tightly. Her walls had been high—too high—and in doing so, she had hurt her friend on many occasions. Not intentionally, but she had. Seeing Cho so distraught over her had been a shock to the brunette. Morgana knew she had no idea what she had done to deserve someone like Cho, but she knew, without a doubt, that she would cherish her forever.
Near the end of their meal, Luna Lovegood had joined them at their table, and to Hermione's surprise, she found it easier to be open to her than she had previously. Luna had always been kind, and Hermione had always felt a quiet fondness for her, though like Cho, Luna too had often faced Hermione's walls rather than her trust. but that would change. It had too. Knowing how much Cho cared for the petite blonde too made it easier to let her in, even if just a little. Luna, who was so often dismissed by their housemates and bullied by the wider school, had a quiet intelligence that Hermione had always admired. There was more to her than the whimsical daydreamer she presented to the outside world—her words carried a weight that most overlooked.
Hermione, however, did not.
That morning, Luna had been practically buzzing with excitement, her magic pulsing gently in time with her animated chatter about the Beauxbatons students. Apparently, she had known the Delacour sisters forever, going so far as to declare the youngest, Gabrielle, her best friend. Hermione found it sweet, especially seeing the way Luna lit up as she spoke about them. But she didn't quite understand why Luna felt the need to share so much about them. They sounded lovely, really, but Hermione doubted they would ever want much to do with her once they learned she was a Muggle-born orphan. And they—at least according to Luna—were royalty. Even more reason for them to avoid her, in her opinion.
Yet, Hermione couldn't bring herself to dismiss Luna's excitement. It was refreshing—comforting, even—to know that no matter what revelations she had about herself, Luna would always remain unapologetically, authentically herself. There had been many times in the past when Hermione had envied the innocent wonder with which Luna viewed the world, a quiet sadness creeping in every time she realized she would never see it the same way. But now, she was beginning to understand that maybe it was for the best. That it was always meant to be this way. Maybe she wasn't meant to share in that innocence—maybe she was meant to bear witness to it, to help protect and strengthen it. Because, without quite realizing when or how, Luna had slowly become someone Hermione would do anything to keep safe.
So instead of tuning the blonde out like she may have before, Hermione found herself listening intently as Luna spoke about the memories she shared with the Delacour sisters. That same aching loneliness crept into her bones as she listened to the younger girl, her own inner child screaming at the injustice of it all—her own dark lonely upbringing starkly contrasting those of her peers. Around half past seven, Cho made an excuse for them to leave, and Hermione could tell her friend had sensed her shift in mood. She politely hugged Luna goodbye, ignoring Cho's concerned gaze for now, silently hoping her friend would not question her until they were away from the great hall.
They promised to meet Luna in the dungeons in an hour before slipping out of the Great Hall, walking side by side in quiet understanding. Neither spoke as they made their way up to the Astronomy Tower, the solitude of the castle's heights offering them the privacy Hermione desperately needed. Once they were away from the main throng of students the brunette felt Cho take her arm gently - a gentle prompt.
"Do you ever just feel like everything is so inherently unfair in the world, like we were all destined to lead the lives written for us long before we are even born?" she murmured in response to Cho's gentle squeeze. Cho remained quiet, and patient, letting her continue. "I wonder how different things would have been if I'd grown up in a family like yours or Luna's." Her voice carried that same sadness it always did when she spoke of her past—an old wound that would never truly heal for her. "What I would have been like if I had been loved the same way. Encouraged, supported… instead of abandoned and ostracized by those that were meant to protect me."
She turned her gaze toward Cho, only to look away just as quickly when she saw the older girl watching her back with a quiet sort of sorrow. Hermione wasn't used to being looked at like that—with such open care and acceptance. It made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn't quite name.
"I can't say I ever thought about it before Mia," Cho admitted softly, resting her head against Hermione's shoulder. "Not until I met you, anyway. But for what it's worth, I wish you had been raised in a more loving family too. You deserve to have been cherished." They sat together in silence, gazing out over the grounds as their words settled between them. The Black Lake stretched below, and Hermione watched the giant squid's tentacles breaking the surface, sending wave after wave toward the Durmstrang ship – soaking all that were on the ships open deck. The poor creature was clearly irritated by the unwanted disturbance, the ship an awful eye sore that Hermione couldn't blame the Giant Squid for resenting.
"It physically hurts me, you know?" Hermione whispered hesitantly, pressing a hand to her chest, just above her heart, as if trying to soothe the ache that resided deep inside her. "It feels like there's so much I'm missing—it's like an emptiness that's always been there, but now… now it refuses to sit quietly in the dark."
Cho lifted her head. "And the fever Hermione? The pain in your abdomen, how is all that this morning?"
Hermione exhaled, sinking onto the ledge of the Astronomy Tower. Without a word, she cast a Sticking Charm on both of them as Cho moved to sit beside her. "The fever's still there. The pain too. But it's not just in my abdomen anymore—it's everywhere." She rubbed at her temples, weary in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. "I still have that migraine, and I can still smell and hear things I shouldn't be able to." The confession seemed to drain the last of her strength, and she slumped against Cho, as if speaking the truth had stripped away the last of her defences.
Hermione had never felt smaller than she did in that moment, gazing out at the world from so high above it. As if the whole world could swallow her up and no one but Cho—and maybe Luna—would notice.
"You need to send that letter." Cho murmured quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Aware that even after everything they had uncovered in the last twenty-four hours, Hermione might still shut down if she was to be pushed too far, too quickly. Andromeda Lestrange could very well be the too far, too quick she was hoping to avoid, if she wasn't careful. She understood that the older woman had been helping Hermione in recent weeks, but she was also painfully aware that Andromeda Lestrange was a sore spot—just another adult in a long line of many who had let her friend down.
"I've written it. I just need to send it to her." Hermione admitted, just as quietly. To Cho's relief, there was no sign that she was about to withdraw from Cho again. "I am hoping she may have more of an idea about what's happening to me now. She said she wouldn't stop looking until she had answers for me."
"Did she say what she thought it could be?"
"Not exactly no. She whispered something about magical signatures blocking mine and mentioned something about how my magical core appears to be older than it should be. But no, nothing else unfortunately. It's infuriating." Frustration crept into Hermione's voice, and when she realized it, she flashed her friend an apologetic smile. She wasn't annoyed at her friend—only at the situation she found herself in. One that had only become increasingly more complex and maddening over the past several weeks.
"What about the professors Mia? Have you spoken to them?" Hermione shook her head slowly, grimacing at the thought of talking to any of the professor's. Cho's perfectly sculpted eyebrow shot up in disbelief.
"Not even McGonagall or Madame Hooch!?" Her friend exclaimed and Hermione winced at her friends tone.
"No not them either. Truthfully Cho, I don't trust any of the professors." She replied quietly.
Cho's exasperation was palpable. "Mia, they're your guardians in the wizarding world. Why wouldn't you—"
Hermione cut her friends protest off with a gentle smack to the arm. "No. For the love of Merlin, don't give me the speech, Cho. The one about how I need to trust some adults, that they're not all bad. It's not about that, I promise."
"Then what is it about Hermione?" Cho pressed, her arms crossed now, her voice tinged with frustration and her face set in a grim line. "Because I am really struggling to understand why you refuse to talk to anyone about this when you are very clearly dealing with something magical and possibly dangerous." Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. Cho was empathetic, understanding and wore her heart on her sleeve—but she was so naïve in some ways. Trusting adults blindly was something Hermione simply couldn't do. Not just because they had failed her numerous times before, but because she simply knew better.
She knew adults weren't infallible. They were just as prone to mistakes and emotion as any youngster she knew and were often crueller about it too. Not that she would say that to Cho.
"Because things in this school don't add up, Cho. And they never have." She continued, taking a deep breath, when Cho motioned for her to do so, briefly nodding in assent as she too silently admitted there had been a lot of things that didn't exactly add up.
"I've been thinking about it for a while now Cho. How come Harry, Ron, and I always seem to get caught up in danger every year? And not just minor danger—life and death type of danger and all situations were ones that should've been easily preventable if an adult had stepped in?" She let out a humourless laugh. "Take last year. Sirius Black was forced back on the run because Albus Dumbledore, Head of the Wazengamot, mind you, chose not to arrange a trial. A trial that would've cleared his name if anyone had actually bothered to hear his case. Or first year—how did three children manage to find the only book in the entire castle explaining the Philosopher's Stone? And how did we get past a series of obstacles that should've been a challenge for seasoned witches and wizards, let alone two less than average eleven-year-olds, and me – a ten year old?" She huffed, pacing now, her magic prickling beneath her skin.
"Second year—an extremely large killer snake sneaks through a castle full of highly skilled witches and wizards attacking muggle-born children undetected. A snake that had supposedly been living in a secret chamber no one knew about for fifty years, Cho. Fifty. And we're supposed to believe no one had any idea about it? None! not even Dumbledore? Even though it is not the first time the giant snake had harmed a student! Only last time the girl died! And all the staff just chose to do nothing at all?" Cho remained silent, but Hermione could see the flicker of reluctant agreement in her expression. "A mass murderer was living in the castle as a rat for years—how did he get past Dumbledore's wards? The same wards that are supposedly altered to prevent unregistered Animagi from entering unless they're specifically keyed in by the headmaster himself?" She turned back to Cho her eyes burning with conviction. "It all feels too coincidental, and I don't like it," Hermione continued, running a hand through her frizzy hair. "If the professors aren't actively part of whatever game Dumbledore is playing, then they're just as complicit in my eyes. Because they chose to stay silent. To do nothing while all of this was happening."
Hermione stopped pacing, forcing herself to take a breath. She had been ranting, voice sharp with frustration, her thoughts spilling out faster than she could control. With effort, she made her way back to Cho's side. Retaking her seat on the ledge of the tower beside her friend. "I just… I don't understand how no one has questioned any of it," she admitted, voice softer now, but no less urgent. "So no, Cho. I can't go to the professors. Not about this. Not when they can't even guarantee any of us will survive each year."
She watched her friend closely, reading the multitude of emotions that flickered across the dark haired girl's pale features. Yet, Cho didn't seem in much of a hurry to respond, her mind carefully working through everything Hermione had just divulged to her. A restless unease climbed up Hermione's spine as she waited for the other girl to respond in any way. Had she said too much to her friend?
Was she over analysing everything, seeing deception where there was none? Creating deceit that wasn't even there? Was it all just a coincidence?
The silence stretched between them until, finally, Cho whispered, "Wow…" The word was barely audible, yet in the quiet, it felt deafening. It yanked Hermione from her spiralling thoughts, and she turned sharply toward her friend, eyes searching.
"I… I… wow," Cho murmured again, sounding almost dazed.
Hermione's anxiety spiked. "Wow, what? Merlin, use your words, you're killing me here!" she burst out, dragging her hands down her face in frustration.
"Sorry, Mia," Cho said, her voice much firmer now. "It's just… just a lot to take in. I mean, I get why you'd think all that, and logically you are right, none of it makes any sort of sense but… but would Dumbledore really put all the students in danger—deliberately?" She met Hermione's gaze, conflict shadowing her expression and Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for her friend.
Cho had never truly seen how even the kindest, most revered people could hide true cruelty beneath a veneer of warmth and wisdom.
"I don't know for sure, Cho," Hermione admitted. "It's truthfully just a theory until proven otherwise. But what I do know is that I can't trust him. I don't think anyone can." Her voice was quiet but carried a raw honesty that made Cho hesitate briefly—then nod in reluctant agreement.
"Alright, fine. We don't trust the professors," Cho conceded. "But my point still stands—send that letter. Hopefully, Lady Lestrange will have some answers." Her tone was firm yet accepting, and something in her certainty eased the tension in Hermione's posture. The brunette exhaled, a small smile ghosting across her lips as the invisible grip around her throat loosened.
She stood, brushing the dust from the back of her robes before extending a hand to her friend. "Come on. If we're late for class, Snape will be even more intolerable than usual."
~ Gabrielle's POV ~ d
~Same day ~
~ Potions classroom ~
Walking into the dungeons where her first class of the year awaited them, Gabrielle visibly shuddered. The dimly lit grey-stone walls, coupled with the ominous portraits of long-dead figures that lined the walls, painted a grim picture of those who dwelled here. Was this really where an entire dormitory was located? The sheer lack of sunlight surely couldn't be healthy!? Then again, perhaps that explained why her dear little cousin Draco always looked so pale these days. It would also explain the constant dour face of the professor that resided here. Severus Snape's reputation preceded him. Gabrielle having heard many a story from her friend about the greasy haired man.
"You get used to it after a while. This part of the castle has never been very welcoming or warm to most—unless you're a Slytherin, that is." Luna remarked beside her. "It's surrounded by those sneaky little Noxfire Sprites." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but Gabrielle had long since learned that Luna saw things others couldn't. Rather than question her, she simply nodded thoughtfully.
"Yes, I've heard of them," Gabrielle mused after a pause. "Some say they carry the dying thoughts of those around them—like little secrets vanishing in the darkness as the sprites flicker and die out." She recalled a passage her Maman had read to her not long ago, describing the many strange creatures whispered about across the world. Gabrielle had never been particularly interested in such things herself, but Luna was, and that was reason enough to pay attention. Luna's love of the more unique creatures of the world really was the only thing that could have forced Gabrielle to sit through story after story about Veil Wraithes, Rune hares and Star Whisps of all things. Because Merlin knew there was only so much make believe Gabrielle could – well, believe really.
"Oh, yes! Daddy said the same!" Luna exclaimed, her voice bright with excitement. Gabrielle couldn't help but grin like a fool, the infectious energy of her friend momentarily dispelling the dungeon's gloom. The warmth of her laughter, chasing the chill from her skin in a way that only Luna ever had. Gabrielle hoped, with every fibre of her being, that she would always have the honour of calling this girl her dearest friend—for Luna Lovegood was, and always had been, the brightest light in any room.
"Of course," Gabrielle agreed easily, pausing at the classroom door and letting Luna lead her inside.
Nothing, not even Morgana herself, could not have prepared her for what awaited inside the grimy classroom.
The moment she stepped in, her gaze locked with the petite brunette that was seated on the back row beside Cho Chang. Gabrielle felt her magik surge - that longing, insistent pull that she and Fleur had felt since arriving at Hogwarts thrumming through her veins - louder than it had ever been.
Her magik Converging.
Rushing.
Its sole focus—the honey-eyed girl who, impossibly, was staring right back at Gabrielle's now ruby red eyes, her Veela flashed in her eyes but Gabrielle clung to her control. Refusing to scare her sister. A thought that has her Veela retreating, acknowledging the truth in her statement. For as far as they were aware, Adharia had no idea who they were let alone the what of their creature heritage.
Gabrielle moved without thought, drawn forward as if by an unseen force, desperate to be closer. Her magik reaching out instinctively, twining and soothing, embracing and overwhelming all at once. The feeling threatened to send her dizzy. The grip she had on Luna being all that stopped her knees from giving away beneath her as brunette and blonde gazed at one another intently.
It couldn't be right?
It had to be some sick joke. A trick of her mind.
And yet, she could feel the other girl's heartbeat as if it echoed alongside her own. The same way she had always been able to feel Fleur's. Their magiks twisted together in quiet elation, recognizing something deeper—something unspoken that resided between them. A silent promise of unity, of belonging and of acceptance.
A tear slipped down Gabrielle's cheek before she could stop it.
This was her.
This was Adharia.
Every fibre of her very being screamed for her to move forward. To cross the room as quickly as she could, to haul her baby sister out of that chair and into her arms—to hold her tighter than she had ever held anything or anyone. To whisper every reassurance she had longed to give, to promise that they would never be apart again.
A thousand words swelled in her throat, desperate to be spoken.
Every word on the tip of her tongue.
She almost did.
Almost.
"Ms. Delacour and Ms. Lovegood."
Severus Snape's voice cut through her elation like a jagged blade, each syllable dripping with irritation.
"I would appreciate it if you ceased staring at my students and took your seats. You have disrupted my lesson enough. Don't. You. Think." The sneering emphasis on those last three words sent both blondes ducking their heads in guilt. Without a word, they rushed to the only two available seats—to the left of Cho, and directly beside Gabrielle's baby sister.
Gabrielle could barely breath as she sat, eyes flickering to the girl beside her. But Adharia didn't look up.
Gabrielle saw the flicker of longing, the disappointment that flashed in her little sister's honeyed eyes before she turned away, letting wild curls fall forward on to her face like a shield, blocking her from the older girl's view.
It felt like a door slamming shut between them.
And Gabrielle had never wanted to break something more.
Her inner Veela wailed in outrage, furious at being shut out by the very girl they had been searching for all her life. The ache of it was unbearable—sitting so close to her sister yet unable to do anything to soothe the storm of emotions rolling off her in waves. Gabrielle could feel it all. The fear. The anxiety. The way Adharia seemed to be crawling in her own skin, every breath tense, every movement restrained. It shattered something deep inside her.
This is my sister.
Never had she felt so powerless.
Severus Snape droned on about poisons and their antidotes, his monotone voice fading into a distant hum as Gabrielle focused instead on the rise and fall of Adharia's breathing. Inhale. Exhale. It was the only thing anchoring her. The only reminder she needed that her sister was here. Alive. She wanted to reach out, to tell her the truth—that she was loved, wanted more than all the money in the world. That she had never been forgotten. She wanted to shout it, as loudly as she possibly could, then and there. But they couldn't risk Dumbledore catching on.
It took everything in Gabrielle not to simply blurt it out then and there. But she had made a promise to Fleur—not to act on reckless impulse, not to risk Adharia's or her own safety. And she intended to keep it. Even if it hurt like hell. She inhaled deeply, matching her breath to her sister's, grounding herself in the rhythm. If she could sense Adharia's magik this fiercely, then surely, the younger girl could sense hers as well. She had to stay calm, to keep control.
To stay calm. For both of their sakes.
The last thing they needed was for professor Snape to notice something was amiss. Or worse—for him to report it to Albus Dumbledore.
Once Gabrielle was certain that she had regained control over the storm of emotions that were warring within her, she took a moment to survey the classroom. A simple task, yet one she had neglected upon entering the room, too distracted by her sister to notice her surroundings.
Like the corridor outside, the classroom too was dimly lit— illuminating just enough of the room to see, but not enough to work comfortably without an additional light source. Merlin, it was a wonder anyone completed anything as precise as potion making in such condition. Along the far wall, several arched windows stood, blacked out from the world beyond it's ancient panes, ensuring that not even the faintest sliver of sunlight could reach the room's occupants within.
A chill lingered in the air, threading through the space like an unseen spectre. Even beneath her fur-lined robes, Gabrielle felt its bite, the fine hairs on her arms standing on end in silent protest. She was wholly unimpressed by the terrible gloom before her. She wondered quietly if the dour professor willingly chose to work in such conditions or if there was something more to it—something beyond mere preference for the dark in which he surrounded himself in. He certainly looked extremely uncomfortable as he paced before the class, his onyx robes billowing around him like a shield as he was explaining their next potion—an antidote using bezoar stones. In Gabrielle's opinion, he looked ill, as if he had been forced to swallow his own brand of poison.
Beside her, Luna shifted, drawing Gabrielle's attention back to the present. The blonde Veela flashed her friend a small guilty smile, immediately catching the curiosity shinning in Luna's silvery grey eyes. Those perceptive eyes flickered over Gabrielle's face before settling on the girl beside her, head cocked adorably to the side.
"That's Hermione. You didn't meet her yesterday, but she and Cho are my friends." Luna informed her, as if sensing Gabrielle simply didn't know who the girl was.
If only it were that simple.
A flicker of amusement passed through Gabrielle, her mind always quick to find humour, even when there really was little room for it. She had always been that way. Sometimes, she wondered if she would be quite so loud and outspoken had she grown up alongside the girl sitting beside her, her face still buried in a mess of curls.
On some level, Gabrielle had felt the need to be everyone's laughter. The day Adharia had been stolen from them, the laughter in their home had died. Warmth and joy once woven into the walls had vanished, leaving only an aching silence in their wake What was to be their childhood home had become a nightmare in the matter of a single night.
It now stood - barren and cold. A cruel reminder of all they had lost.
But if she was always loud and funny, her parents laughed—just a little. If she was boisterous and unfiltered, her mother's eyes, for a fleeting moment, lit with warmth. It didn't matter that the laughter never lasted once she was gone from the room. She just couldn't bear to see the sadness in her Mum's baby-blue eyes or the longing on her Maman's face.
And Fleur—sweet, protective Fleur—who had fooled herself into believing Gabrielle had been too young to remember much of their precious baby sister. Her pain had perhaps been the most devastating of all to Gabrielle. When Adharia was stolen, Gabby had in a way lost both her sisters. Fleur became the impenetrable heir of the Delacour clan. Their protector. Their leader. The perfect image. She followed every rule, never straying from what was right, as if sheer discipline could shield them from further loss. Gone was the sister who once laughed and played for hours, who hosted tea parties and dressed up in silks and ribbons. Those moments had disappeared, too. So Gabrielle had made it her mission to remind Fleur to live. To pull her, if only briefly, from the weight of duty. Sometimes she succeeded. Sometimes she didn't. But she never stopped trying.
And Adharia? The girl beside her was nothing like the child she had once been. The fear rolling off her in waves felt unnatural—wrong. Her sister was meant to have been loved, to have grown up running free in the golden fields of Marseille with Fleur and her. Gabrielle was meant to pull her hair and tease her about her first crush. She was meant to teach her, and love her and annoy her. She was meant to be the infuriating but adoring older sister.
Instead, she sat here—unable to move closer, yet incapable of pulling away. It was ironic, really, that she, Gabrielle Amilie Delacour, should be rendered speechless when she was renowned for her gift of the tongue.
"Thank you, Luna," Gabrielle murmured at last, turning back to her friend when she realized Luna had been watching her. A small part of her was afraid to look away from her sister—afraid that, if she did, Adharia might vanish all over again.
Gabrielle had no doubt that, given the chance, Adharia would run as soon as she could—flee as far as possible from the bond that was still pulsing urgently between them. And Gabrielle couldn't blame her. She was a fourteen-year-old Veela girl who had no idea she was Veela, let alone any knowledge on the intricacies of Veela bonds. Gabrielle understood what was happening between them. Adharia didn't. And that alone would be terrifying for anyone—especially someone who had clearly already endured more than most could imagine.
As the end of the class approached, Gabrielle felt her anxiety escalate. Somehow she knew, she had to do something – anything to ensure her little sister didn't flee without at least knowing that everything wasn't as it seemed.
Without another thought, she scrawled a quick note, in her neatest writing. Not much, but enough. Enough to ensure that, when the truth inevitably unravelled over the next few days, Adharia would at least hesitate—pause—long enough to question it. She slid the note into her sister's Potions book, sending up a silent prayer to Morgana that Adharia would in fact come looking for answers.
She had barely tucked the note into place when the bell rang, signalling the end of their double lesson. As expected, Adharia bolted from her seat, her magic rolling off her in chaotic waves as she grabbed Cho and all but dragged her from the room.
Gabrielle felt the loss instantly, her heart aching and her magik raging, painful and insistent. Gabrielle winced, holding her breath as she clenched her teeth. A desperate attempt to stop herself both crying out and following after her sister. Until tomorrow, all Gabrielle could do now was hope.
The loss hit Gabrielle instantly. Her heart clenched, her magik raging through her veins—painful, insistent. She winced, biting down hard, forcing herself to stay rooted in place. Don't cry. Don't follow. Don't cry, Don't follow. She repeated silently, breath held as she stood slowly. Making herself leave the room at a much slower rate than her sister.
Until tomorrow, all Gabrielle could do was wait. Wait and hope.
~Hermione's POV ~
~ Her room, Ravenclaw Tower ~
~ That evening ~
'Hermione - Albus Dumbledore cannot be trusted. Thing's are not as they appear. If you want the truth please meet us in the courtyard tomorrow night just before curfew. – love always, Gabrielle Delacour.'
Hermione stared blankly at the note in her hand, her bloodshot eyes unfocused and distant. It had been an exhausting day—the kind of day where every second dragged like an hour, and nothing seemed to go right.
The morning had started off well enough. Great even. She and Cho had enjoyed a peaceful breakfast together, and for once, Hermione had found it easier to open up. Easier than she ever had with anyone before. Her and Cho's late night revelations having seemingly truly eradicated her desire to hide from her friend. Even the Weasley twins had greeted her in passing, flashing mischievous grins as they rushed by on their way to whatever undoubtedly suspicious scheme they had planned. Calling a cheerful "Hullo Hermione" over their shoulder as they flew past her.
And it was after then that her horrible, no good, bad day had truly started.
In walking into her double potions class she was at first surprised to realise that the class was an unexpected mix of fourth and fifth year student. Professor Snape had explained – rather begrudgingly - that there was fewer and fewer students that met his standards enough to be trusted with more complex potion brewing in the upper end of the school. As a result, he had made the executive decision to combine classes and years, extending class time in hopes of fostering what he called "true mastery under his tutelage." Whatever that meant.
Hermione had never known Professor Snape to have ever cared much about anyone's success, unless they happened to be one of his precious Slytherin's. The only time she had ever glimpsed anything close to compassion from the gloomy man was years ago, back in the prefects' bathroom during her first year. When he had uncharacteristically offered Hermione a brief moment of comfort.
As she found her seat, a familiar restlessness stirred within her. Her magik, already volatile and longing as it had been for weeks, roiled under her skin with a renewed vigour, pulsing with an uncomfortable intensity that filled her with terror. Her heartbeat quickened, erratic and forceful. For a brief moment she feared it would beat right out of her chest as she struggled to steady herself. She could feel it, harsh and insistent as it urged her to look. So insistent that Hermione complied and that had been a mistake.
Or at least it felt like a mistake now as she sat here at her desk feeling more dazed and confused than she ever had.
Because when she had looked up she came face to face with the most haunting sea-blue eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that were as equally piercing as they were achingly familiar. The wave of familiarity that crashed over her was almost debilitating in its intensity. The girl those eyes belonged to seemed just as unable to look away from her as Hermione was. And the emotion swirling within them—was raw, unspoken, and impossibly deep—and it made Hermione's heart ache in a way she didn't understand.
Then, something shifted.
Her magik stirred, reaching out instinctively, twining with the magic of the girl that stood before her. It was intoxicating. The blonde's magik felt like true warmth, like starlight on the darkest of nights, like something that had always meant to have been there—a missing piece that Hermione had never known to search for. It pulsed against hers gently, playful yet steady, as if this connection was the most natural thing in the world. Hermione's hands trembled. The aching loneliness that had shadowed her life for years seemed to ebb, replaced by a small, foreign spark of belonging that ignited deep in her heart. And it terrified her.
The girl took a step forward, and Hermione's heart pounded painfully against her ribs. The magik between them danced and pulled, whispering in a language she couldn't understand but somehow felt in her very bones. It urged her closer. Told her this girl was home. Was safe.
Hermione recoiled.
Home?
Safe?
Those words had never belonged together in her world. This—whatever it was—had to be some cruel trick, a carefully orchestrated prank. Probably the work of some wretched Gryffindors looking for a new way to humiliate her. She was certain of it. Because Hermione Granger didn't have a home. She was an orphan. A nobody.
A hollow laugh echoed in her mind. Whoever had devised this was truly wicked, preying on her in the cruellest way imaginable.
But even as her mind tore through every little insecurity she possessed, her foolish heart clung to the impossible truth—that whatever was happening between them was natural, necessary. That this girl, this complete stranger, was somehow more important to Hermione than anyone she had ever met in all her years.
Ridiculous.
She had forced herself to look away then, fixing her gaze on the worn tabletop, pretending to be listening intently to Professor Snape as he droned on and on about something she couldn't quite process. His words were insignificant really, compared to the way she could feel the girl beside her—her heartbeat, her presence, as if they were one and the same.
She could feel the girl's anxiety, her impatience, her longing. Morgana help her, Hermione had struggled enough with the intensity of her own emotions. To feel another's so acutely, so intimately, left her breathless—on the verge of combustion.
She didn't understand. The longer she sat there, feeling paradoxically safe yet utterly out of her depth, the more fear began to creep in. She needed to get out. To escape this dangerous illusion of safety. It was a lie. It had to be. Because safety had never been meant for her. She couldn't be trusted.
Vaguely, Hermione registered the sound of the girl's voice—soft, melodic—speaking to Luna. And despite the haze clouding her mind, her sharp intellect pieced it together. This was clearly one of the Delacour sister's that
Luna had mentioned at breakfast. The casual closeness between them, the way Luna sat completely at ease in her presence, only confirmed Hermione's conclusion. Gabrielle Delacour.
The moment the bell had rung, signalling the end of their double Potions class, Hermione had shoved her belongings into her bag at speed and all but dragged Cho out of the classroom. She moved quickly, desperate to put as much distance as possible between herself and her—that girl, unable to remain calm in proximity to her and the strangeness that lay in their magik, the way it had called to her.
For the rest of the day, classes thankfully passed, without further unpleasant surprises. Yet no matter how hard she had tried, she couldn't stop herself from thinking about her. Fighting the relentless urge to find her. Her magic and heart ached in a way that unsettled her even more, filling her with an unpleasant sense of dread that bubbled up in her stomach. Heavy and unpleasant.
What was happening to her?
At lunchtime, driven by fear and a need to escape, Hermione had retreated to the kitchens deep in the recesses of Hogwarts. Logically, avoiding the girl—or the Great Hall, for that matter—was neither wise nor sustainable for the brunette. But in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to face it. So instead, she sat at a small wooden bench in the corner of the kitchen, nursing a cup of cocoa and a cheese sandwich prepared by her house-elf friends, Tully and Saph. The two had long since grown accustomed to her random appearances when things became too much.
When Hermione had first encountered house-elves, she had been horrified by what she saw as their enslavement—tiny, subservient creatures bound to the whims of wizarding families. In her mind, they were all miserable, mistreated servants to masochistic pureblood tyrants like Lucius Malfoy. It wasn't until second year, when she met Dobby, that she truly began to understand just how complicated the situation was. Because, of course, life wasn't black and white. She should have known better than to judge the elves' lives through the narrow lens of her Muggle upbringing, biased and narrow minded as the muggles she had grown up with were.
Dobby, for all his good intentions, had been an unhinged little thing. His abuse at the hands of the Malfoy family had left him deeply traumatized—so much so that he had betrayed them, something almost unheard of for a house-elf. His subsequent freedom, granted by Harry Potter, had spiralled him into a kind of madness. He had needed to be bound to another magikal lineage to stabilize once more. Curious and in need of answers, Hermione had asked the elves in the kitchen about it. To her surprise—now that she wasn't trying to force them into freedom—they had been more than happy to explain things to her in great detail.
House-elves, as it turned out, thrived off the magik of the families they served. It was the foundation of their existence. For centuries, they had lived symbiotically within wizarding households, tending to daily tasks, helping raise children, performing duties that tied them intrinsically to the family's magic. In return, the bond nourished them, allowing them to grow, to belong. Tully had explained it simply: 'We love our families Mione. It is our bond to our family that keeps us thriving. Without a families magik we house elf's would perish.'
Of course, there were others like poor Dobby, whose unwavering loyalty had been twisted into something dark and cruel: forced servitude, used against him by the cruelty of the Malfoys. That, more than anything, was what enraged Hermione—the lack of protection for elves like Dobby. And there were many. She understood now though that not all house-elves were mistreated, that many were valued, loved like precious family. But the ones who weren't? The ones who had no safeguard against abuse? That is where Hermione's heart roared in her outrage for no one, no creature or human should ever be treated in such a fashion. It was inhumane and one day, she vowed,, she would change that.
For now, though, she sat with Tully and Saph, listening intently to their stories about the daily goings-on of Hogwarts and the gossip she had missed regarding all the other elf's, allowing their steady presence and easy going nature to ground her.
And yet, despite the warmth, the comfort, and the familiarity of it all, Hermione spent the entire lunch hour locked in an internal battle.
Fighting the desperate, traitorous need to find her again. The voice in the back of her mind, soft but insistent, whispered over and over again—
Home. Find home.
By the time dinner had rolled around, Hermione was too exhausted to resist when Cho practically dragged her out of their last class and down to the Great Hall, brushing aside her feeble protests. "You've barely eaten in days, Mia," Cho stated matter-of-factly, her tone firm in a way that left no room for any sort of argument. "It's time you had a proper meal." Between her unwavering voice and the intense frown on her face, Hermione knew she had lost the battle with her friend. Resigned, she let herself be pulled into the Great Hall and over to the Ravenclaw table.
And that was when things went from bad to worse.
Much, much worse.
For not only did Cho unknowingly force her to sit merely a few students down from the very girl she had wanted so desperately to avoid all day, but said girl was sitting right beside the girl's sister. Both of whom seamed to sense her at the same time Hermione's magik did that excited little surge it had that morning, as it reached out towards the Delacour's. Her heart once more hammering in her chest as her breathing all but stopped.
No. No, no, no. The word echoed in her mind like a desperate mantra.
This wasn't fair!
Yet even as she bemoaned the situation she found herself in - her magik surged again and again, playful. Excitable. Eager. Rushing and twirling as it reached out to the Delacour's Magik, bringing with it that same aching familiarity as she had felt earlier with Gabrielle.
And again she could feel it, that steady little heartbeat beside her own, only this time there were two, because of course she could feel Fleur Delacour's magic and heartbeat as surely as she could feel Gabrielle's.
What was it about these two sisters? Why her?
She didn't want this. Didn't want to be hounded by unpredictable magik, heightened senses she couldn't explain, or the constant, aching awareness of them. She hadn't asked for any of it. She just wanted to study in peace, to keep her head down, to laugh with Cho and Luna about whatever nonsense they were discussing.
Hadn't she suffered enough?
"Excuse me, Hermione…" A melodic voice spoke from directly behind her, and Hermione nearly leapt across the table. A sharp gasp escaped her as she recoiled, startled by the sudden proximity.
She hadn't noticed anyone move. Had been too caught up in her rising panic, her mind spiralling beneath the weight of fear and confusion. Yet, even as dread threatened to consume her, she could feel it—the Delacour's' magik reaching out, wrapping around her own in soothing waves, each spark laced with quiet reassurance.
She whipped her head around toward the voice, her frightened gaze locking onto mesmerizing blue—eyes so full of emotion and warmth, so impossibly deep, she felt as if she could sink into their safety if she let herself.
"Are you… are you finished with it?" the same lilting voice asked. Hermione blinked, struggling to process the girls words.
"F… finished?" she stammered out, grasping for some semblance of composure, but her voice was too high, too fragile—too much to truly portray such a thing.
The girl in front of her smiled, soft and patient, and the warmth of it seeped into Hermione's once again traitorous heart. What would it be like to see that smile every day? To know that kind of gentleness?
Home, Safe.
Those retched words again, whispered in the back of her mind.
"Yes, finished, petite sœur. The Bouillabaisse. Are you finished with it?" There was kindness in her tone, an effortless grace that had Hermione blushing before she could stop herself. She managed only a quick nod, afraid to speak again. Her voice had already betrayed her once—she wouldn't risk it a second time.
The girl smiled once more, and Morgana, why was Hermione proud of earning that smile? The girl leaned in slightly, flicking her wand in an effortless silent spell, smoothly levitating the dish off the table from just beyond Hermione's shoulder. But Hermione barely had any time to react before the girl's wandless hand landed gently on her shoulder. A soft, warm touch—yet it sent a pulse of magik through her, setting her heart stuttering.
Warmth and belonging and hope filled her once more. It was all too much.
A choked sob escaped Hermione before she could stop it, her entire body trembling under the weight of it all.
"Thank you, Hermione. It is an honour to meet you." That voice—so warm, so kind—was the last straw. Not caring that the entire school was watching, nor that the girl was standing so close she could still feel her touch, Hermione launched herself out of her seat. She barely managed a fleeting, apologetic smile before she turned and fled.
She had to go. She couldn't stay there, couldn't just sit there drowning in that Merlin-awful feeling of safety, kindness, and warmth. Of hope. She had to get away.
She couldn't take it.
Tears streamed down her freckled cheeks as she ran, her hurried steps carrying her far from the Great Hall, from them. She didn't stop until she reached her dormitory, slamming the door shut and sealing it with every silencing, privacy, and locking charm she could muster in her turmoil.
Crookshanks let out a startled meep as she threw herself onto the bed, burying her face into the pillows as great, heaving sobs shook her small body.
What is happening to me?
Her mind was a mess. Her body ached. And her heart—Morgana, her heart mourned the very magik she had just fled from.
She had remained there, across her bed for hours, curled up with Crookshanks, his deep, insistent purring a constant vibration against her arm. She knew he was trying to comfort her and his purr was comforting, his soft warm fur soothing and his occasional headbutts as endearing as ever but nothing—nothing—could ease the confusion clawing at her chest.
Eventually, when her tears had run dry, she forced herself up, moving to her desk with trembling hands. She needed to do something—anything—to ground herself.
Lady Lestrange.
She needed to send a letter. She had reached the point where she could no longer deal with this alone. Emptying her school bag onto the desk, she resolved to at least attempt her homework while she was at it. She reached for her Potions textbook, pulling clean parchment from her drawer as she did. But before she could so much as uncap her ink bottle, a small folded note slipped from her textbook, landing in her lap.
Frowning, Hermione picked it up, unfolding the parchment with careful fingers. The message was short, direct—yet filled with a familiarity that sent another painful pang through her chest.
She read it once. Twice. A hundred times. And still, she couldn't fully grasp the intent behind the older girl's words.
'Hermione - Albus Dumbledore cannot be trusted. Thing's are not as they appear. If you want the truth please meet us in the courtyard tomorrow night just before curfew. – love always, Gabrielle Delacour.'
Her breath caught. What did she mean Dumbledore… can't be trusted? The truth of what?
Hermione knew Dumbledore couldn't be trusted—hadn't she just come to that conclusion earlier with Cho?
But what did Gabrielle Delacour know of it? She had been at Hogwarts for less than a few days.
What truth was she speaking of?
Who was this girl?
And her sister? Morgana, she could still feel the spot on her shoulder where the eldest Delacour had touched her—gentle, fleeting, yet impossibly present.
Her mind was a tangled mess of questions, so many that it was a wonder they weren't tripping over one another as they tumbled through her thoughts.
~ Fleur's POV ~
~Great hall ~
~ Same day~
Fleur stood frozen for a moment, her heart hammering wildly in her chest as she gazed longingly in the direction her little sister had just fled. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to follow, and her inner Veela too agreed -wholly.
This was her sister.
This was Adharia.
Gabrielle had been right. The girl she had ran into that morning, the girl Fleur was now gazing after was their sister. When Gabby had told her at lunch she had run in to their little sister. That she now knew exactly who she was, the older blonde hadn't dared to hope it were true. Far too afraid of the disappointment she knew would inevitably follow if Gabby was wrong.
Yet there she had been. Adharia.
Her sister.
Fleur had known it the moment the girl had entered the Great Hall—both her and Gabrielle's magik had surged, reaching out instinctively, searching, seeking that missing connection they had longed for their entire lives.
And then, there she had been. Fleur could hardly believe their luck. She had come to Hogwarts, accepting her role as Beauxbatons' Triwizard Champion, not just for the tournament, but to start her search for answers. She had expected a long and difficult road ahead.
Instead, she had stumbled upon those answers—upon her—within a single day.
And It was really her!
Yet, as they had sat at the table, Fleur had seen the way the girl had trembled, her body visibly reacting to the way their magik had coiled together, drawn together like a force of nature. That wouldn't settle quickly, Fleur knew. It would take time—extensive time spent together—for their magik to fully align. It should have happened naturally when they were small—their magik should have been able to grow together, from strength to strength, to bond as effortlessly as hers and Gabrielle's had. But they had been denied that chance. And as much as Fleur had basked in the feeling of her little sister's magik, in the undeniable confirmation that she was there, it was also a painful reminder of everything they had lost.
Everything they had missed.
But that would change now.
They would bring her home—where she belonged.
They would get their chance to bond, to grow, to rebuild what had been stolen from them.
And Fleur would take late over never any day.
As they had sat at the Ravenclaw Table, she had seen her sister's distress from across the table—felt it in the way her magik trembled, raw and uncertain. Fleur's heart broke. What has happened to you, ma petite sœur? she wondered silently, aching to reach out, to take away whatever pain had left such deep scars on the girl who should have never been lost to them.
Witnessing her sister's distress had propelled her to her feet without any thought, quick strides carried her around the table, until she stood behind a cascade of wild brown curls. Fleur hadn't meant to approach so suddenly, hadn't intended to come up behind her so recklessly, but once she was there, she had to say something—anything. Especially when the other girls had turned in her direction, watching her expectantly.
Her gaze had dropped then, to the bouillabaisse in front of Adharia. "Excuse me…. Hermione?" She had called, seeking the younger girl's attention. Yet Fleur had hesitated upon saying the name Gabrielle had informed her their sister went by now. The name felt foreign, unnatural, bitter on her tongue. It wasn't her baby sister's name, no matter what lies Albus Dumbledore had fed her. But Fleur didn't truly have time to dwell on that particular bitterness—because at the sound of her voice, her sister had tensed, flinching as if she had been struck. Fleur's inner Veela howled in protest, distressed at having caused the girl even a flicker of fear.
It was no wonder the girl had fled the room—fled from them so quickly—when their magik had all but crackled with restless excitement as it brushed one another's. Fleur had felt breathless, overwhelmed even and if it was this intense for her, she could only imagine the sheer terror it must have caused in their little sister who had no idea what was going on. She cursed softly, anger flaring anew at what that narcissistic, manipulative excuse for a man who had done—to her family, to her sister.
And the worst part of it all? Was that now that they knew exactly who she was, they couldn't just track Adharia down and explain everything. Here and now. No, their family had a plan. Maman, Grand-mère, mother, all of them had a plan, and it was Fleur's duty to follow it. Dumbledore had backed them all in to a corner with his clever deceits, he had left them no choice in how to handle this, and as much as it tore her apart not to chase after her little sister, to hold her and tell her the truth, she forced herself to remain still. Adharia needed to find out publicly, in a way that Albus couldn't then erase the truth once more. So Instead of doing as she craved and following after her, she carefully levitated the bouillabaisse toward her side of the table, retaking her seat beside Gabrielle with deliberate composure, portraying the picture perfect Clan leader in training that she had perfected so long ago.
A glance toward the Professor's table eased some of the tension Fleur was carrying in her chest—Headmaster Dumbledore was locked in a heated discussion with Professor McGonagall, her posture screaming irritation. The Transfiguration professor looked quite furious, even more so than she had the day before. Fleur found herself quietly grateful for whatever had irritated the formidable witch in such a manor; it meant Albus Dumbledore's cursed eyes weren't on her or Gabrielle for now.
"What do you think they're arguing about?" Gabrielle whispered conspiratorially beside her, tone light, teasing—but despite the playful words Fleur could hear the strain hidden beneath each syllable her sister spoke, the way her sister masked her unease with playfulness was obvious to the older blonde.
Under the table, Fleur reached out, and Gabrielle's own slim fingers found hers with the instinctive ease of sisters who had spent a lifetime side by side.
"Probably the Tournament, Gabby" Fleur murmured her tone matching that of her sisters. "The Hufflepuffs were saying this morning that some students died the last time it was held, one hundred years ago. From what I can tell, McGonagall cares about her students. She hates that the headmaster has put them in harm's way." Her explanation caused Gabrielle to roll her eyes.
"Because of course he is willingly putting his student's in harm's way." The younger blonde retorted sarcastically. This time, Fleur giggled for real. The uncomfortable truth in her sister's words felt almost ironic. How was it that the rest of the wizarding world hadn't seen the malice hidden behind this man's actions?
How many lives had he interfered with?, how many lives had he ruined? The thoughts crept in unbidden, sending a shiver of horror through her. They were valid questions—after all, he had kidnapped and hidden a baby from one of the wealthiest, most powerful families in wizarding Britain, with no one the wiser. If he was capable of that, what else had he done? What other schemes had he orchestrated? A sickening realization settled in her gut. This man believed himself to be some sort of god. His kindly features were nothing more than a carefully constructed mask, concealing his true self—one untouched by the scrutiny of public opinion.
For years, he had gone uncontested—never once held to account—allowing him to execute his nefarious plans without opposition.
"You have a point their Gabs. But hush, lets finish our food and report back to Grandmama" Fleur whispered sensing that their conversation was straying into dangerous territory for such a public space. It was alright to privately hate the man that had ruined their lives but to do so publicly right now would just risk the dastardly man's attention.
Gabrielle nodded, settling back on her seat as she returned to her dinner, and Fleur did the same—determined to eat as quickly as possible so she could inform their parents of everything she and Gabrielle had discovered that day. There conversation would be continued then, It was safer to discuss such matters within the walls of their carriage. By now, Albus Dumbledore almost certainly knew about the Ministry's plans for tomorrow, which meant he was undoubtedly scheming, plotting a way to come out on top.
Yet Fleur took comfort in one undeniable truth—there was nothing Albus Dumbledore, in all his power-could do to stop the inheritance tests. The Ministry would arrive in the morning, and every Hogwarts student would be tested. Adharia would be identified, and a renewed investigation into her disappearance would begin. The truth would come out.
Fleur was even willing to offer her own memories up for scrutiny. Her Grandmother was convinced Dumbledore had cast some form of magic on her to suppress her recollections of him. But his arrogance had blinded him to one crucial fact: Veela minds were exceptionally resistant to enchantments. Their creature blood, combined with the strength of their bonds, made them nearly impenetrable to mind magic. He had only succeeded in altering her memory temporarily because she had been so young. That was why it had taken her so long to remember his face. But once she had seen him again, the memory he had stolen had resurfaced once more.
His ignorance would be his downfall.
He wouldn't be able to hide behind his lies much longer. Not now.
One thing was certain—by the time Fleur and her family were finished extracting their pound of flesh, Albus Dumbledore would wish he had never heard the name Delacour - let alone crossed them in such a horrific way. They would ruin him, dismantle the empire he had built for himself, and when he had nothing left—when his carefully constructed world lay in ruins at his feet—they would leave him to rot.