No Matter what, you will always be Ours Chapter 15 -CuttinStrings&Blurrinlines, a harry potter fanfic

And we are back! Ugh when I say it's been a journey, it has absolutely been a journey. This update is again quite an emotional one. But I promise, we will start moving forward in the timeline next chapter. I just felt it was really important to explore a bit more of the development beginning to take place between our ladies. So please enjoy some Andromeda angst, Dora being an emotional lil sweetheart, Narcissa finding her voice and Adharia solidifying her own healing, friendships and strength.

As always however, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE I APPRECIATE YOU ALL SO MUCH! I cannot get over how incredible you all truly are. And yes I will absolutely remind you all of that every chance i get. You all rock and the world is a better place with you in it!

On another note, I am thinking of picking another of my fics to begin the editing process, to do so would mean slightly slower updates on this story but I've had so many requests for updates on some of my other works that I wanted to put it to you all for thoughts. Though to be clear I will absolutely still continue to work on this story it'll just be more of a gap between updates. (Two weeks, rather than weekly?)

All my love - Nell xoxo

...

~ Apolline Delacour's POV ~

~ Friday 8th September 1995 ~

~Beauxbatons carriage, Hogwarts ~

The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension as Apolline and her wife sat across from their unexpected lunch guests. Apolline could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on them, the air charged with unspoken emotions.

Narcissa, ever the embodiment of pure-blooded elegance, sat rigid beside her. Her beautiful blonde hair was swept into a meticulously styled bun, every strand held in place with precision. Her back was straight, shoulders poised, hands delicately clasped in her lap—an exquisite mask of control honed over years of practice. It never failed to impress Apolline, the way Narcissa could command a room with nothing more than her presence. She was a vision of refinement, untouchable in her poise. Yet, beneath that icy exterior, Apolline could sense the storm brewing within her wife, a tempest of long-buried emotions clawing their way to the surface.

They had known, of course, that Andromeda Lestrange had been hovering around their daughter. They had known from the moment they had stepped into the infirmary the night before and found her there, seated at their baby's bedside, a silent guardian when they had been unable to be. A part of Apolline, the rational part, felt grateful to the woman. Even before she had known who Adharia truly was, she had protected her, had tried to shield her from the cruel world that had stolen her from them. And for that, Apolline was thankful.

But gratitude did little to smother the resentment simmering in her chest. It was not Andromeda's fault, Apolline was aware of that. And yet, the knowledge did not lessen the ache, did not quiet the voice in her mind whispering that Andromeda had been there when she had not—that she had been the one to comfort Adharia in her darkest moments when it should have been Apolline herself.

Yet, that was not the most troubling aspect of this encounter. No, what unsettled Apolline most was the way Andromeda's presence reopened wounds in Narcissa that had never quite healed. Wounds carved deep by fourteen years of silence. Fourteen years of lost weekends, of unreturned owls, of Floo calls left unanswered.

The once unbreakable bond between them had disintegrated into nothingness. No explanation. No closure. Just absence.

Narcissa, for all her icy demeanour, possessed one of the kindest hearts Apolline had ever known. It was a trait that all three of their daughters had inherited—an innate warmth, a capacity for love that could not be extinguished, no matter how harsh the world had been to them. Narcissa loved fiercely, wholly, without reservation, and once upon a time, she had loved Andromeda like a sister. She had doted on her, protected her, adored her.

As girls, Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Black had been inseparable, bound together by deep admiration, friendship and circumstance. Narcissa and Bellatrix had been a formidable pair, and from the moment Andromeda was born, she had been folded into their world, shielded beneath their wings. They had been everything to one another. And then, all at once, it had fallen apart. First, Bellatrix had been lost to Azkaban.

And then, only months later, Adharia had been stolen from them. Narcissa had clung to the hope that Andromeda would remain at her side, that they would grieve together, heal together - search together. But Andromeda had disappeared, leaving behind nothing but silence.

The hurt had never faded. Apolline had seen it in her wife's eyes, in the way her fingers twitched towards a letter that would never come, in the way she stared into the fireplace as though willing the Floo to burst to life. And now, after all this time, here Andromeda sat, brown eyes wide and pleading, searching for something—anything—in Narcissa's gaze.

Beside her, her daughter lounged with effortless confidence, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. Nymphadora Lestrange was a riot of colour against the sombre backdrop of old wounds. Her short, spiked hair was a vivid shade of pink, her red Auror robes crisp against the heavy black boots she had propped carelessly beneath the table. There was no hesitation in her, no sign of the nervousness most witches of barely twenty would exhibit beneath Narcissa's piercing gaze. If anything, she seemed amused by the weight of it, as though she had walked into the lair of two apex predators and was entirely unbothered by the danger they posed.

Apolline found herself impressed despite herself. Few witches—few people—had the audacity to meet Narcissa Delacour's gaze head-on and smirk.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, and beside her, Narcissa remained composed, unreadable. Only the faintest tremor of her upper lip betrayed her turmoil. It was enough to ignite Apolline's fury. Her Veela instincts roared in protest, rebelling at the sight of her mate in distress. The urge to lash out, to remove the source of her pain, to make them hurt as her wife had hurt, was almost unbearable.

Yet, she held herself still. For now.

Andromeda swallowed hard, hands clenching against the table as she forced herself to speak. "Cissy, I—"

Apolline's nails dug into her palm as Narcissa inhaled sharply, the sound barely audible, but to her, it was deafening.

The tension thickening even more - if that were possible. Andromeda had better choose her words wisely.

"Do not call me that." Narcissa's voice was like a blade, slicing through the fragile silence. The words dripped with venom, the finality in her tone leaving no room for argument. Whatever Andromeda had been about to say died on her lips, smothered beneath the weight of a name no longer welcome.

"You lost the right to address me with any sort of familiarity fourteen years ago, Andromeda."

Her gaze was colder than Apolline had ever seen it. A glacial, impenetrable wall that even the fiercest inferno could not thaw. The sight sent a shudder through her, forcing her to cling to the very edges of her control. Her Veela instincts coiled within her, desperate to rise, to lash out at the source of her mate's distress. But she would not allow it. Not here. Not now. This moment was too precarious, too delicate, for her to let her fury take hold.

Narcissa was not angry. Not truly. Apolline knew her wife too well, knew that beneath the ice, beneath the cruelty of her words, lay something far more dangerous: grief. This was not hatred. It was pain—long-buried, festering pain, sharpened by fourteen years of silence and abandonment.

Out of the corner of her eye, Apolline caught the subtle shift in Nymphadora's posture. The girl had straightened at the sharpness of Narcissa's words, her spine rigid, her hands clenched just slightly tighter than before. She said nothing, made no move to intervene, but Apolline could feel the change in her. Could see the tension in the set of her jaw, the storm brewing behind her dark eyes. The restraint, the quiet observation, the way she absorbed every detail without reaction—it spoke of her training. It was the mark of an Auror, of a woman who had learned to temper her emotions and analyze a room before making a move. And despite herself, Apolline was impressed.

"Narcissa—" Andromeda tried again, her voice quiet, resigned. She did not argue, did not protest the rejection, merely accepted it with a quiet nod. Her shoulders, once squared with hesitant hope, now sagged beneath the weight of the distance Narcissa had placed between them. And Apolline did not blame her wife for it.

Andromeda had once been family, once been cherished. And she had left. She had chosen silence when her pseudo sister had needed her most. She had chosen absence over loyalty.

"I have no excuse for my absence," Andromeda continued, her words barely above a whisper. "I won't try to justify my actions." There was a rawness to her voice, a fractured honesty that mirrored the hurt in Narcissa's eyes.

"All I can say is that I am truly sorry. I failed you. I failed your girls. I failed our bond, and for that, I will never forgive myself." She exhaled shakily, her magic flickering through the air, reaching, pleading. Apolline could feel it, that desperate, aching energy, stretching across the chasm that now separated them.

"But Morgana be my witness, Narcissa," Andromeda vowed, voice thick with unshed tears, "I will do everything—anything—in my power to right the wrong between us."

Apolline did not need to look to know she was crying. She could hear it in the tremor of her voice, feel it in the pulse of her magic—the way it quivered, fragile and uncertain, like a lifeline cast into a sea of regret.

And still, Narcissa did not move.

Her face remained unreadable, a flawless mask honed over years of necessity. There was no indication that Andromeda's words had even registered, no flicker of acknowledgment in her ice-blue eyes.

"When Bella was imprisoned, Nymphadora was distraught. Then Sirius was sent there too. The rumours about their crimes were endless, and Regulus—he simply vanished. The Tapestry still claims he's alive, but no search has ever found him." Andromeda's voice wavered, her eyes glistening with truths she had never dared to speak aloud. "It felt like I was drowning, like the family magik itself was consuming me in its desperation to right the wrongs done to our bloodline."

She hesitated, her hands curling into tight fists in her lap. Then, after a deep breath, she pressed on.

"At first, I distanced myself because you were happy. Bella was imprisoned, and you had a new baby in your arms. You didn't need my grief adding to the weight you already carried. And then, when Adharia was taken—" Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. "It was too much. I couldn't help. There was already a distance between us, and I was afraid. I didn't want you to think I came back only because Adharia was gone." She exhaled shakily. "I didn't know how to reach out. And the longer I waited, the harder it became."

Now, the tears came freely, carving silent paths down her cheeks. Her shoulders trembled with quiet, choked sobs, her anguish laid bare at Narcissa's feet. But Narcissa gave no sign of softening.

Apolline almost pitied the woman. Almost.

But until Narcissa forgave her, Apolline would not.

She had not grown up beside Andromeda, had not shared a childhood filled with whispered secrets and laughter. Andromeda was not her burden to grieve. But Narcissa—her wife, her mate—had suffered most in all of this. Andromeda had abandoned the bond they once shared, leaving wounds so deep they had never fully healed.

And if there was to be any reconciliation, it was not Apolline's to give. It was Andromeda's responsibility to bridge the chasm she had created.

And it was Narcissa's choice whether to let her.

"I do not expect forgiveness. I do not deserve such a kindness from you. But please, Cissy…" Andromeda's voice faltered as the childhood nickname slipped past her lips, unbidden. She tensed, wary eyes snapping to Narcissa's as if bracing for a sharp reprimand.

But none came.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken history. Andromeda swallowed, forcing herself to continue.

"Please… hear me when I say that failing you is the greatest regret of my life. And I will spend eternity doing whatever you ask of me to make amends. I never wanted to hurt you." Her final words were barely more than a whisper, raw with remorse.

Apolline's gaze flickered to Nymphadora as the young Auror reached for her mother's hand, grasping it tightly.

Her expression remained unreadable, carefully controlled even as the weight of the moment bore down on the room. She is strong. The Veela within Apolline purred in approval, satisfied that Lady Magik had chosen well in choosing this witch for her youngest daughter.

Silence fell once more. Andromeda's head remained bowed, her eyes fixed on the hand clasping her own—perhaps the only thing keeping her grounded, keeping her from fleeing the overwhelming tide of emotion that sat so heavily between them.

"I forgive you."

The words were so soft, so unexpected, that for a fleeting moment, Apolline thought she had misheard.

But then she saw it—the way Narcissa's icy composure wavered, the way something fragile, something long-buried, cracked open beneath the weight of those three words. Forgive her?

Apolline watched in something close to awe as Narcissa turned, storm-grey eyes seeking hers first. A hand, gentle but sure, settled on her knee—a silent reassurance. I am right here. I am safe. I am okay. Apolline exhaled, her Veela instinct settling at the silent promise.

"I forgive you," Narcissa repeated, her voice steadier now. Yet it carried the weight of fourteen years of grief, a warning wrapped in quiet steel. "But I will not forgive you a second time. If we are to have any sort of relationship, you will earn it. Starting with you being the mother of my youngest daughter's mate."

Pride swelled in Apolline's chest at the sheer strength in her wife's voice. She could hear the tremor beneath Narcissa's calm, could feel how much it cost her to say those words. She wants to forgive. But to do so without condition would be a betrayal of her own suffering.

Andromeda had lost much, yes. She was wrecked by her own guilt, drowning in regret. But Narcissa—Narcissa had grieved a child, two friends who were like sisters, and the home that had once been hers. And she had done it alone. Andromeda's absence had cut deeper than betrayal. It had been abandonment.

"Understand this Andromeda," Narcissa continued, her voice quiet but unyielding. "If not for our daughters, this conversation would not be happening."

Tears slipped down her face, silent but relentless. But her gaze—fierce, unwavering—remained locked onto Andromeda.

"I am not yet at a place where I can say the pain I have experienced, caused by your inaction has healed. But I am willing to try."

Apolline felt something shift deep within her own chest as she watched her wife, a kind of aching hope she hadn't dared to believe in for years, reigniting as her wife spoke. For the first time in far too long, Narcissa was not just surviving. She was fighting for herself. Her voice firm, an image of confidence that had vanished so long ago that Apolline feared it would never return no matter how hard she had tried to reassure her wife over the years.

She could see it now, the glimmer of self-worth creeping up her wife's spine, the certainty in her magik. The ignition of strength.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the moment she began to find herself again.

"I understand, Narcissa. Whatever you need of me, I will do."

Andromeda's voice was steady, but beneath it lay something deeper—an unshakable determination, a silent vow woven into every syllable. Apolline studied her carefully, seeking any hint of hesitation, but found none. The devastation that had weighed so heavily on Andromeda mere moments ago had shifted, replaced by a quiet resolve.

And Apolline believed her.

Narcissa remained silent, her sharp, discerning gaze locked onto Andromeda for a lingering moment before, at last, she nodded. Without a word, she reached out for Apolline, and the older Veela responded instantly, as if drawn by instinct. She took her wife's hand, her grip firm but comforting, and began rubbing a soothing thumb across the back of her mate's hand—a gesture as natural to them as breathing. Their bond sighed contentedly at the contact, humming with warmth.

Even now, after nearly two decades, Apolline sometimes struggled to believe how fortunate she was in her mate. Narcissa was everything she could have dreamed of—strong, loving, fiercely protective, and clever beyond words.

Her family was a blessing. One she would cherish for eternity.

"Now," Narcissa spoke again, her voice cool and composed. Any trace of previous upset had vanished, replaced with the calm, precise authority that had always commanded a room. The shift had an immediate effect—tension eased, postures straightened, and all present refocused. "I am almost certain you did not come here today simply to grovel. What is it you wish to discuss?"

Apolline barely managed to suppress a laugh. The mirth in her eyes flickered to Dora, and she found the young Auror struggling just as much to keep a straight face. Amusement danced in Dora's green eyes, her lips twitching at Narcissa's pointed dig at her mother.

Andromeda let out a breath before straightening, brushing her hands through her neatly styled curls. Her expression smoothed, the last remnants of distress carefully tucked away as she regained her composure. "Yes. I wished to discuss Adharia with you, and Nymphadora had some questions about her bond with your youngest daughter that she wished to understand more thoroughly."

That caught Apolline's attention immediately. She sat a little straighter, her focus sharpening.

She wished to discuss Adharia?

"Adharia first, and then we will address any questions you have, Nymphadora," Apolline replied, her curiosity evident as she glanced between the Lestrange women seated before her.

"Please, call me Dora, Lady Delacour. I loathe 'Nymphadora,'" the young Auror interjected, nodding respectfully. Beside her, Andromeda scowled, her disapproval clear. Evidently, Dora's name was a point of contention between them.

"Dora, then," Apolline agreed smoothly. "And please, Lady Delacour is my mother. Call me Apolline."

"And I, Narcissa, if you may," her wife added with a barely restrained shudder. Apolline didn't miss the way Narcissa's lips curled in distaste at the mere thought of being likened to her mother-in-law. Though she adored the woman, Apolline new there was no one quite like her mother.

Dora nodded once more, and for the first time, a genuine, almost childlike smile graced her features. It was unfair, really. Apolline had expected—no, had wanted—to be at least a little wary of her daughter's mate. It was a mother's prerogative to be sceptical, to take her time warming up to the person who had bonded with her child.

But Dora was making it difficult. Infuriatingly so.

Because the more Apolline observed her, the more she realized that Dora was exactly the kind of person she had prayed the universe would send to Adharia. And with that realization came something unexpected—relief.

Adharia would never be alone again. Never again abandoned, never again unprotected. No force on this earth—mortal or magical—would ever take her from them.

"Now, Andromeda," Apolline continued, gathering herself, "what is it about Adharia you wished to discuss?"

Andromeda cleared her throat, briefly squeezing her daughter's hand before placing her own in her lap. "There are a few things," she admitted, "but let me start at the beginning."

Both Delacour women nodded in silent encouragement. As she spoke, Narcissa rested her head against Apolline's shoulder in that effortless way that always made Apolline feel invincible.

"I first met Adharia as Hermione Granger the summer before her first year," Andromeda began. "She was ten years old and had been taken to Diagon Alley by McGonagall. She and Draco ran into one another at Flourish and Blotts—knocked themselves off their feet, if I remember correctly. From the moment I saw her, I felt… something. A connection. Familial, familiar, protective."

Apolline nodded. That made sense. The call of blood magic was undeniable, especially when an injustice had been committed. Lady Magik had ways of correcting wrongs. She had likely guided Andromeda toward Adharia, urging recognition, longing to restore what had been stolen.

"She was looking at advanced books, so I tried to engage her in conversation," Andromeda continued, voice steady but tinged with something close to regret. "She was nervous. Skinnier than any child should be. Her clothes—worn, dirty, too small for her slight frame. Then Draco asked about her parentage—or rather, he asked her if she was a 'Mud-blood.' Courtesy of Lucius, of course."

A sharp edge crept into her tone at the mention of their brother-in-law.

Apolline's grip on Narcissa's hand tightened just slightly. Lucius.

Narcissa's twin, yet her opposite in every way that mattered.

Where Narcissa was kind, Lucius was cruel. Where she was full of love, he harvested hatred like it was gold. His obsession with blood purity was his greatest flaw—one that had long since tainted his soul.

It was why the Delacour's had distanced themselves from him. Visits were minimal, interactions kept brief. It was infuriating every single time his snobbery bled through his carefully constructed mask.

And now, it seemed Bellatrix's darling boy was following in his father's footsteps.

Bella would be livid.

"I issued a warning through Draco," Andromeda continued, her voice calm but firm. "Hermione Granger was off-limits—protected under House Lestrange and House Black. That was enough to keep most of the pure-blood children in check. Draco told me there had only been one incident of bullying—on the train, the very first day."

Apolline held her breath.

"She held her own."

Pride flickered in Andromeda's voice, quiet but unmistakable.

"She cast a wandless, wordless Shield Charm and held it while under spell fire from older Slytherins. She was unharmed. And once Draco spread word, Slytherin never made another move against her."

Silence settled over the room for a long moment. Apolline exhaled slowly, something indescribable coiling in her chest.

Adharia. Even then, even as a child, she had fought.

Apolline lifted her free hand, pressing it gently against her heart.

Oh, ma chérie. You should have never had to fight alone. But you will never, ever, fight alone again. Apolline thought sadly. Her heart hurting for her baby girl. The image Andromeda was painting of her at such a tender age was devastating to the Veela mother. Her little girl had clearly – even then – experienced far too much of life's cruelties. Where she should have grown with love, with acceptance and safety, she had clearly experienced the opposite and that knowledge destroyed Apolline.

From the way Narcissa sat up, her sharp grey eyes fixed on Andromeda, her fingers tightening around Apolline's hand as if drawing strength from the connection, it was clear that she felt the same devastation. Neither woman had spoken since Andromeda began recounting what she knew, but the way they leaned in—silent, unblinking—told the brunette that they were absorbing every syllable, desperate to learn all they could about their stolen child.

"I saw her before she boarded the train for the first time," Andromeda began, her voice steady but thick with restrained emotion. "When I approached, she looked ready to bolt as soon as she had the chance. The moment I reached out to help her push her trolley, placing my hand on hers, she flinched." Her lips pressed into a thin line. "She tried to cover it up as if she had something to hide, but I saw. I started sending her care packages, letters, books—anything to let her know she wasn't alone, that somebody cared for her. She never responded." She took a breath and Apolline could see just how badly Andromeda had truly wanted to help their daughter in the pain present in Andromeda's eyes. "She was sorted into Ravenclaw after a near twenty-minute Hat Stall." She paused, momentarily lost in thought. Narcissa and Apolline remained silent, unwilling to interrupt, unwilling to break the spell of these long-awaited revelations.

"At the end of her first year, I received a letter from Draco. It was short—just a single sentence that simply stated: 'Hermione Granger is in the infirmary.' When I went to see her, I found her covered in healing bruises, including one on her head. Apparently, she'd gotten herself caught up in Harry Potter's reckless schemes and followed him and Ronald Weasley – Molly Prewett's youngest boy - into the depths of the castle to confront a professor they believed was after the Philosopher's Stone." Andromeda inhaled sharply, her voice tightening with barely restrained fury. "They were right—the professor was after the stone. But what they didn't realize was that he was also playing host to Lord Voldemort. They were attacked." Narcissa's grip on Apolline's hand became bruising. Apolline's own magic surged within her, her Veela pacing, prowling, her fury barely contained beneath her skin as they listened to Andromeda recount all their daughter had been subjected too. "She was knocked unconscious, trying to protect the two idiot boys—boys who, from what I've observed, use her for her knowledge and skill. Nothing more." Andromeda's voice was like steel, every word laced with disdain.

"When she woke in the infirmary, she was hesitant to talk about any of it, but I managed to persuade her to open up. She told me about the bullying. The loneliness. How the entire school either tormented her or avoided her and how Harry and Ronald had made it a point of demanding her help." Apolline's breath hitched, and Narcissa closed her eyes, swallowing against the pain those words inflicted. "I held her until she cried herself to sleep." Andromeda's voice wavered for the first time, but she pressed on. "After that, she slowly began replying to my letters. But midway through her second year, the letters stopped. Not long after, Draco informed me that she'd been petrified by the Basilisk." Her voice turned venomous. "A creature that had been living under the school for over fifty years. Apparently undetected by the professors. Adharia was one of twenty three perceived Muggleborns targeted and nearly killed under the protection of Hogwarts finest." Apolline's fury flared, a wildfire beneath her skin. Her magik crackled, begging to be unleashed.

"I visited her a few times while she was petrified, trying to track the school's efforts to heal her. There were none each time. By the time she was finally revived, things had escalated with Rodolphus' family, and I was unable to get away to visit her before she was released from the infirmary and sent back to the orphanage for the summer. After that… she avoided me. I tried to inquire about taking her in, explaining my concerns, my observations. But the Ministry wouldn't budge." Andromeda exhaled sharply, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her robe—an uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. "They dismissed me, assured me she was 'perfectly healthy, completely safe' and under the care of a magical guardian."

Andromeda barely got her next words out through clenched teeth, her words clearly furious and bitter in her throat. "She was not healthy. She was suffering. And Dumbledore allowed it."

The weight of her fury sat thick in the air, and for a long moment, no one spoke.

Apolline too was angry, her Veela infuriated by the many ways in which her daughter had been failed by the school. The sheer volume of harm that had come to her, all because of Albus Dumbledore. She could feel the way her Veela paced, her magik whipping in her veins like a tightly coiled spring ready to snap and she had to force herself to take a breath. The steady pressure of Narcissa's hand in her own the only thing grounding her. Preventing her from truly caving to the anger that was surging through her.

"The next time I saw her was the summer just past," Andromeda continued, voice quieter now, but no less intense. "She sent me an owl. No explanation, just a request: 'Come to me.' It was strange, uncharacteristic of her when she had spent the entire year deliberately ignoring my existence. Every book, every gift, every letter, returning to me unopened." Apolline could almost taste the concern in Andromeda's tone. The woman clearly lost in the memory as she told it. "In the time she refused to engage with me she was once more roped in with Potter's constant mess, she faced Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, a werewolf, and there was some sort of a time-turner incident that somehow entangled her in the affairs of my cousin." She sneered at Black's name. "Yet she never spoke a word of it to me Refusing to divulge any sort of detail pertaining to what had actually gone on."

Apolline had gone whiter than she believed possible with her already pale complexion. Her heart now hammering to such a degree she feared it would escape her chest if it kept going.

"When I apparated to her location when I received her letter, I found her in the attic of her orphanage." Her breath hitched, and for the first time, her composure cracked. "She was huddled under a pile of dirty, threadbare blankets. The walls were covered in Narcissus flowers and Fleur-de-lis. The whole room smelt like damp and rotted wood. Her magik was saturating the air around her. She looked… ill. Burning with fever, shaking, sweating, in so much pain she could barely speak to tell me what was happening. She kept saying she could hear too much, smell too much, that she'd been locked up for the summer after an 'accidental magic' incident. Her matron had confiscated her wand, all her belongings. The entire orphanage had been horrific to her." Andromeda paused once more, taking a slow steadying breath as her eyes haunted by an image the Delacour's couldn't see, closed as if to erase the unpleasantness completely.

Apolline's vision blurred with rage. Narcissa trembled beside her, her breaths uneven.

"I ran every test I could think of in my attempt to identify what was causing her to be so ill. I honestly… I feared for her. I found nothing physically wrong, yet her body bore the scars of years of mistreatment. Her magical signature was tampered with—glamours, suppressions, spells I couldn't even begin to identify." Andromeda turned to Apolline now, her gaze burning fiercely with an anger that Apolline felt deeply. "Her history is riddled with untreated injuries—fractures, bruises, broken bones, all clearly not healed correctly or with magic. How Madam Pomfrey never noticed—never reported it—is beyond me."

Apolline's Veela roared. She forced herself to breathe. Breathe. She forced herself to focus, trying to find some comfort in the knowledge that as Andromeda spoke, the way she cared about Adharia was evident. And Apolline was grateful - truly, that there was one more person out there that cared for Adharia as fiercely as Narcissa and she did.

"I was helping her manage her pain and symptoms as best I could, though when I tried to remove the glamour and the unknown magic I quickly realised I wasn't strong enough alone and there was no one else she trusted enough to let help. I enquired again at the ministry, even showing them my reports but again Madame Bones made it clear I was overstepping and Hermione was perfectly safe." Andromeda hesitated, her eyes flickering to her daughter. Nymphadora had been silent, still, her expression unreadable throughout the entirety of the discussion.

Apolline held up a finger, silently asking the woman for a minute to collect herself, she and her wife reeling from the onslaught of horrific but necessary information.

"There's something you haven't said," Narcissa bit out, her voice dangerously calm and Apolline winced at the fury laced in every syllable that Narcissa spoke.

Andromeda exhaled shakily, nodding hesitantly, reaching for Dora's hand. "When I was with her this summer, when she was fevered, she was in and out of consciousness, It got to the point that I had to strip her down to help regulate her temperature. It was the only option left, the next step would have been taking her to St Mungo's" She explained, her voice now barely above a whisper, she closed her eyes. "Her back and thighs…

She paused once more, shaking her head sadly. Her eyes flitting over Nymphadora as if whatever it was she was about to say shook her beyond measure and she needed to reassure herself that her own child was in fact safe.

"Out with it please Andromeda." Apolline whispered, unable to bear the silence and hesitation. She needed to know what about her darling girl had shook this woman so.

"They're covered in scars." Apolline's heart stopped.

"looks like cane scars." Andromeda's voice barely carried, yet it felt like a scream in the suffocating silence. "The scars – there are some as old as twelve years."

Twelve years ago Adharia was barely two years old.

A choked sound escaped Narcissa, her body curling inward. Apolline's vision swam. A guttural growl built in her throat, her magik lashing like a tempest as her Veela roared, her vision bleeding red. The sheer horror the woman depicted was unbearable to contemplate yet it had been her little girls reality.

"You are sure?" she asked, teeth clenched as her eyes wavered between their sea blue and the bright crimson of a very much awake Veela calling for blood.

Andromeda nodded, an expression of anguish etched on her features and Apolline felt as if she were about to lose all control. Her wife cried beside her, anger and upset coursing through them unbidden.

And then—

A pulse of pure, seething fury crashed through the room.

The auror who had sat stoically throughout the entire discussion, her expression one of neutrality and her eyes ever present and watchful now looked murderous. Her hair was a deep void like black, her normally warm eyes hollowed with darkness. Her once neutral expression now flushed with a fury that Apolline knew she mirrored. Yet despite the clear fury on her face Apolline caught the tears that streamed freely down the until now, unshakeable Auror's face. Heartbreak shinning in her eyes in a way that halted Apolline in her tracks.

The Veela's fury evaporated. Her razer sharp gaze fixed on her youngest daughters soulmate.

"Dora," she commanded, stepping forward despite a still distraught Narcissa's protests. She hated to move away from her wife, but Apolline knew that Nymphadora needed her more in this moment. "Breathe." Her words were quiet but forceful. The young Auror startled, her eyes locking onto Apolline's. For a moment, there was no recognition, only raw, overwhelming grief.

They had clearly underestimated how awake their daughters Veela was for the witch in front of her to be affected so badly by what she had just heard.

Apolline knelt down in front of the young witch. Hands coming up to rest on Nymphadora's shoulders, directing the distraught witches focus towards herself.

Andromeda's panic flared. "What's happening?" she demanded, fear and confusion lacing her tone, eyes searching frantically between Dora and Apolline for some clue as to what was going on.

"The bond that ties her and Adharia is new, they haven't even had time to spend any sort of time together. Or adjust to the bond that exists between them." Apolline answered, hands rubbing the young witches forearms gently as she silently hoped the contact would help ground the young auror quickly. "She's feeling the weight of it all—the suffering, the pain, the rage she knows Adharia was put through. She doesn't know how to process it yet." She explained as briefly as she could, trying to reassure Andromeda while keeping her focus on Dora.

"Adharia is safe now. She is safe." She informed the younger witch gently, releasing a little of her thrall into the air around the Auror. Instinctively knowing that it would be the only way to get through to her fast enough to prevent her from harming herself or anyone else in her devastation.

She kept her voice soft, gentle in a way that was only reserved for her children and her wife. "Adharia is safe."

"Breath." She instructed again, this time breathing her own breath of release as the girl in front of her began to follow the command. Lost eyes locking with her own. A flicker of recognition seeping back into the aurors gaze.

Dora's breathing hitched.

"Breathe with me." Apolline exhaled slowly. Dora followed.

"Good," Apolline murmured, steady and certain, anchoring the storm within her. "Adharia is safe now, Dora. She is safe." Nymphadora nodded. The movement stilted and awkward as she fought to regain control.

"Just keep breathing." Apolline reassured once more. Making sure to exaggerate her own breaths for the auror to copy. Again and again. "She's safe now." She murmured again. Her voice portraying a calm she didn't truly feel. But she knew Dora needed to recognise the harm Adharia had come too was done with, her family had found her. Dora had found her and she would never be left to face any storm alone again.

"What happened?" Dora's voice shook with emotion but Apolline was relieved to see her eyes had slowly started turning back to their usual green, warmth bleeding back in to her gaze the more the breathed together.

"You and Ari share a bond that is both beautiful and unimaginably complex, young one." Apolline's voice was steady, carrying the weight of centuries-old knowledge as she slowly stood, smoothing the folds of her dress robes before settling back beside Narcissa. Her mate instinctively curled into her arms, seeking the comfort of their closeness, and Apolline held her tighter in response.

"When an awakened Veela meets their mate, the bond forms instantaneously—unbreakable, irrevocable. It weaves the souls together in a way that transcends conscious thought. To harm the human half of a bonded pair is to harm the Veela. To kill one…" She trailed off, sparing a glance at Nymphadora, who had gone unnervingly still. "Would mean the death of the other. There is no living without the other, for a Veela the mere thought of losing their mate is shattering." Her voice softened, though the weight of her words pressed heavy upon the room. "It is one of our most closely guarded secrets."

She turned slightly, her sea-blue eyes meeting Narcissa's stormy grey ones. A single tear had slipped down her wife's porcelain cheek, and Apolline instinctively reached out, brushing it away with a gentleness that contradicted the storm brewing beneath her composed exterior. Her arms tightened protectively around Narcissa, grounding them both.

"Ari's Veela is waking far too early, which means her Veela—like her—is young, untrained, and unsteady. It has no real control over itself, no understanding yet of its nature. And yet, the bond remains absolute." Apolline's gaze shifted back to Nymphadora, watching intently as the young Auror absorbed every word. She had always known this moment would come – that one day she would have to explain the intrinsic complexities of Veela and soulmates to her youngest child's mate, but never this soon, never before Fleur or Gabrielle's and especially never under such harrowing circumstances.

"She knows you," Apolline continued, her voice quiet but certain. "Her Veela recognizes you in the same way your soul already knows her. The moment you met, the bond was sealed. However, it was never meant to manifest this early—Adharia should not have been able to feel her Veela at all until her sixteenth year." She watched as the Auror's expression flickered, comprehension dawning, though not without resistance.

"Because the bond is in place," Apolline pressed on, "your reaction is precisely what we would expect from a newly bonded mate. You are feeling everything too deeply, too intensely. Learning of what has been done to her—what she has suffered—has triggered an overwhelming response. But the magic that ties you together is unsettled. You do not know each other. You have not had time to learn the rhythms of your bond, to acclimate to the presence of one another's magic."

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair to push it back from her face before placing her hand gently over Narcissa's smaller one on her knee. "The intensity will settle in time. As your magics learn that you are both safe, the weight of it will ease. But for now, you must be patient with yourself. With her."

Apolline could see the thoughts forming in the Auror's mind—the rapid shift of emotions as she worked through the information. Her head tilted slightly, her fingers picking at an invisible flaw in her robes, hair shifting once more—now a deep shade of cobalt blue. Eyes distant, unfocused, yet sharp in their scrutiny.

Apolline smiled. It was small, almost amused, but filled with quiet understanding. This young witch was no stranger to processing difficult truths, but this… This was different.

Nymphadora would need guidance. Reassurance. A place to anchor herself amidst the chaos of the bond. And Apolline, for one, was relieved.

Her daughter's mate was not only competent but kind. Intelligent. Worthy.

And Apolline would make certain she had everything she needed as they moved forward—together.

~ Adharia's POV~

~Hermione's room, Ravenclaw Dorm~

~Friday 8th September 1995~

The Origins of the Veela

Long before the rise of modern wizarding society, when magic was still whispered through the forests and sung by the rivers, there existed a tribe of witches known for their grace, wisdom, and unwavering kindness. These witches, ancestors of the Delacour line, lived in harmony with nature and the creatures of the magical world, offering aid to those in need without fear or prejudice.

It is said that their fate changed when three of their own intervened to save a young Siren child from slaughter at the hands of ruthless hunters. The Sirens—mystical beings of the sea, revered and feared for their beauty and enchanting voices—had long remained distant from human affairs. But when word of the witches' selfless act reached the Siren Queen, she was deeply moved. Taken with their compassion and the ethereal beauty they already possessed, she chose to bestow upon them a gift—one that would forever set them apart from other witches.

With an ancient blessing woven from the tides and sung into their very blood, the Siren Queen granted the witches' tribe the essence of the Veela. Her gift transformed them, elevating their magic and bestowing upon them an aura of otherworldly allure, powerful charm, and an innate connection to the natural world. This was the birth of the first Veela clan, their lineage forever tied to the grace of the Sirens. From that moment onward, they were no longer merely witches—they were Veela, a new and distinct magical race.

Unlike other magical inheritances, the Veela essence is not diluted over generations. The Veela gene passes in its entirety from mother to daughter, ensuring that every female born of a Veela is a full-blooded Veela, never a half or a quarter. They are whole and complete in their nature, carrying the legacy of the Siren Queen's blessing within them.

Perhaps the most sacred aspect of the Veela's magic is the bond of the soul. Every Veela has one true mate, a soulmate whose presence awakens the deepest parts of their being. This bond is rare and unbreakable, a tether of fate woven from the same enchantment that first birthed the Veela into existence. To a Veela, love is not fleeting—it is eternal, just as the gift of their kind has been, from the very first Veela to those who carry the legacy today.

Thus, the Veela remain a testament to the power of kindness, beauty, and magic intertwined—an immortal echo of the Siren Queen's song, still carried in the daughters born to the now expansive Veela clans worldwide.

Adharia hummed softly, the sound barely audible in the quiet room as her eyes traced the elegant script flowing across the page. The book—ancient yet lovingly preserved—sat reverently in her hands, its weight grounding her in a way she hadn't known she needed. A gift from her grandmother, it was more than just parchment and ink; it was a thread connecting her to the history that had been stolen from her.

She drank in the words with an insatiable hunger, her mind sharp, her magic thrumming in quiet exhilaration.

The more she read, the more she understood—not just about the Veela, but about herself. About the bloodline she had never known she belonged to, the legacy that ran deeper than mere ancestry.

It was strange, surreal even, to sit here curled up on her bed, the world beyond still steeped in darkness, while Cho slept soundly beside her. Strange to wear the skin of Hermione Granger when she now knew, with absolute certainty, that she had never been meant to be that girl. She had never been meant for that life—small, caged, filled with suffering. No, she was Adharia Apolline Delacour, daughter of the most formidable witches she had ever known, a descendant of a people whose magic sang through their veins like fire and storm.

And she could feel it. The difference. The way her magic no longer curled in on itself, no longer fought to fit within the limits imposed upon it. It was free now, coursing through her like liquid sunlight, filling every inch of her with an awareness so potent it nearly stole her breath. Beneath her skin, woven into her very being, was the whisper of her ancestors—the first Veela, the untamed magic of a lineage as ancient as time itself.

She had fallen into sleep almost the moment she had showered the night before, exhaustion dragging her into the deepest, most undisturbed rest she had known in years. She had wanted to read then, to begin unraveling the history denied to her, but her body had given in the moment her head touched the pillow.

Yet at five-thirty sharp, her eyes had snapped open. Not sluggish, not weighed down by the remnants of restless sleep, but alert. Ready.

For the first time in so long, she had awoken without the crushing weight of fear. Without the instinct to brace herself for whatever the day might bring.

Her hands had been steady as she dressed, movements efficient as she packed her bag, prepared herself for the day ahead. There was clarity in her mind, a purpose that burned in her chest like a steady flame. And then, drawn by an urgency she couldn't quite explain, she had curled back up on her bed, book in hand, heart in her throat.

She had lost so much time. So many years stolen from her, shackled to a false existence.

What is a Veela?

A Veela is a being of duality—both witch and creature, seamlessly intertwined. They are not mere part-human hybrids; they are a perfect fusion of two natures, each one essential to their existence. The Veela essence is dormant in a girl's early years, a quiet presence resting beneath the surface of her magic. It is only as she nears her sixteenth birthday that the awakening begins.

When the Veela stirs, it is not a simple transformation but a reckoning—a merging of self and instinct, magic and nature. From this moment onward, a Veela must learn to coexist with her other half, to embrace the creature within rather than resist it. The Veela is not a separate entity but an extension of her soul, intrinsically woven into her very being. To deny it is to fight against her own nature, but to accept it is to unlock a power unlike any other.

When called upon, the Veela can shed its human skin and reveal its true form—a towering, bird-like creature of ethereal beauty and deadly grace. This transformation is a fearsome display of Veela power, a form designed for both defence and dominance. Their inhuman strength is unmatched, their taloned hands and feet razor-sharp, their bodies covered in pale, near-luminous feathers. While most Veela have piercing green eyes in this form, those of the Delacour bloodline are set apart—their transformed eyes burn a striking, unnatural red, a mark of the ancient Siren Queen's blessing.

But even in their human form, Veela are otherworldly. They exude an effortless elegance and beauty, their movements like liquid poetry, their presence commanding without effort. More than simple allure, their magic pulses with an undeniable pull—an instinctive connection to nature, to life, to the magic that binds all living things together. Animals trust them, plants seem to bloom in their presence, and the air itself seems to hum when they walk by.

Their magic is stronger than that of ordinary witches and wizards, not just in raw power but in depth and instinct. It is ancient, untainted, tied not to wands but to will and intent.

Yet perhaps the most profound aspect of a Veela's existence is the nature of their bonds. Love, to a Veela, is not fleeting or fragile—it is absolute. Their soulmate bond is the most well-known, an unbreakable tie between a Veela and the one meant for her. But beyond that, Veela are bound just as deeply to their families. These ties are as powerful as the mate bond, a force of loyalty, devotion, and protection that transcends mere blood. A Veela's love is eternal, as is her wrath—those who threaten her own rarely live long enough to regret it.

A Veela is witch and creature, beauty and fury, magic and instinct—not two beings, but one.

Cho stirred beside her, shifting beneath the covers with a soft sigh. Adharia's fingers paused on the delicate pages of her book as she turned her gaze toward her sleeping friend, watching for any sign of wakefulness. A flutter of movement, the brief scrunching of her nose—then Cho simply rolled over, burying herself deeper into the blankets, her soft snoring resuming almost instantly.

Adharia chuckled under her breath. Some things never changed.

Cho had always been a much better sleeper than she was, slipping into slumber with an ease Adharia had envied for years. She had spent countless mornings nudging, shaking, and even bribing her friend awake in time for classes, only to be met with drowsy grumbles and bleary-eyed resistance. Mornings, to Cho Chang, were an inconvenience, something to be endured rather than embraced. She was utterlymiserable until she had consumed at least one cup of tea, preferably two.

With a flick of her wand, Adharia cast a quick Tempus. The golden numbers materialized in the dim light of the dormitory, glowing softly in the space before her.

7:00 AM.

She exhaled, resisting the urge to groan. Breakfast would be served between 7:30 and 8:45, and while she would have happily forgone the entire ordeal in favour of sinking deeper into the words of her book, she knew better than to suggest such a thing. Skipping breakfast would earn her nothing but Cho's indignant wrath and a firm scolding about the importance of not starving herself out of stubbornness.

With a reluctant sigh, Adharia carefully tucked her book into her bag, smoothing a reverent hand over its worn cover before rising to her feet. Her room was still cloaked in the hush of early morning, outside her room her housemates were still blissfully lost in sleep. She padded across the floor, slipping into the bathroom and turning on the dim light.

Her gaze lifted. And froze.

The mirror reflected the face of Hermione Granger. Wild brown curls, freckles and a somewhat large set of teeth that had always been unnatural.

Honey-brown eyes blinked back at her, familiar yet wrong. The face she had worn her entire life, the one the world recognized as hers, now felt like an ill-fitting disguise—a prison made of flesh and bone.

She swallowed, gripping the edge of the sink as unease curled low in her stomach. She had only seen her true reflection once, only for a brief moment the night before, but already this stolen face felt suffocating.

Gone were the delicate, sea-blue eyes that had tethered her to her mother and sisters. Gone was the silver-threaded hair, the ethereal glow of her Veela magic resting beneath her skin. Instead, she was staring at a lie, a mask carved by the hands of a man who had never had the right to shape her.

A slow, creeping anxiety slithered up her spine as reality settled like iron in her chest.

She would walk out of this room and into a castle where no one knew the truth. She would sit through breakfast, surrounded by familiar faces who did not know her—who had never known her.

And worst of all…

She would have to face her sisters.

She would see Fleur and Gabrielle, the bond that tied them singing through her very blood, and she would have to pretend they were strangers.

The thought sent a sharp, twisting ache through her heart—a restless, consuming discontent that burned hotter than she had anticipated. Her Veela hated it. It writhed beneath her skin, clawing at her ribs, unsettled and furious at the idea of denying its own blood, its own kin.

But she had no choice.

She was not just Adharia Delacour.

She was a girl wearing a stolen name, fighting a battle that had begun long before she had ever known to raise her sword.

And for now, for now, she had to keep up the illusion.

Even if it hurt.

Merlin knew it already was.

Adharia exhaled slowly, pressing her palm against the cool porcelain of the sink as guilt curled around her ribs like ivy. Through the crack in the bathroom door, the dim light illuminated Cho's sleeping face, casting delicate shadows across her peaceful features. Untouched. Unburdened. Adharia envied her for that—for the quiet, for the blissful escape of not knowing.

Because knowledge was heavy. It changed everything. And now, as she stood here, suffocating beneath the weight of her own reality, she wished—just for a moment—that she could unlearn it all.

Her life was a mess—one she had not created, yet somehow had become the centrepiece of. Powerful hands had shaped her fate without her consent, moving pawns, scripting her story as if it had ever been theirs to tell.

But why?

What had Dumbledore's intentions been?

Kidnapping her was no small act—it was a calculated move, a deliberate strike. There had to be a plan, a grand scheme woven into the very fabric of her existence. And as she sifted through the pieces, something became clear—Harry Potter. From the very first day, the old man had maneuvered her into his orbit, subtly but persistently ensuring that she stayed by his side.

Was that the goal? A weapon for the Boy Who Lived? A shield? A pawn in some larger war?

A flicker of something hot and volatile burned in her veins, but she forced it down. Now wasn't the time for anger.

She turned on the tap, letting ice-cold water flow freely before cupping it in her hands and splashing it over her face. The shock of it was grounding, the chill sinking into her skin as droplets trickled down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose, willing herself to remain calm.

One step at a time.

A soft murmur broke the silence.

"Mia?"

Adharia tensed, her muscles going rigid as she glanced toward the door. The voice was sleep-heavy, thick with exhaustion, but it still sent a pang of guilt twisting through her.

Waving a hand over her face, she cast a silent drying charm before pulling in a steadying breath. She had to pull herself together.

Stepping into the dormitory, she was met with the sight of Cho sitting up in bed, the quilt pooled around her waist, dark hair sticking up at odd angles. She blinked sluggishly, sleep still clinging to her eyes, but there was something sharper beneath the haze—concern.

"What happened?" Cho repeated, her voice more awake than Adharia felt she had the right to be at this ungodly hour.

Adharia huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Straight to business, then?" she drawled, turning away and busying herself with tidying her room. Her hands moved methodically—dusting shelves, stacking books, straightening parchment. A deliberate distraction.

Cho said nothing.

She didn't have to.

The silence stretched, and when Adharia glanced over, Cho was watching her with that infuriatingly patient expression, her brow delicately arched. It was a look that said, You can keep stalling, but we both know I'll wait you out.

With a sigh, Adharia caved.

"It's a long story," she admitted, voice quiet but firm. "But I need you to swear—you cannot tell anyone."

Cho's gaze softened, and she tilted her head slightly, as if offended that Adharia even felt the need to ask.

"You know I would never speak a word to another when it comes to you, Mia."

The response was simple, but it unravelled something inside Adharia.

Her shoulders sagged, the tension she hadn't realized she was holding finally loosening. She turned fully, letting her mask slip just enough to reveal the vulnerability beneath. It was Cho. It was safe.

Cho straightened, her expression sharpening with concern.

"I swear it, Hermione," she said suddenly, her voice carrying absolute certainty. "On my magic—I will never betray you or your secrets."

A pulse of blinding white flashed through the air, sealing the vow with the ancient force of magic itself.

Adharia flinched. Not at the oath—she had never doubted Cho—but at the name.

Hermione.

Hearing it spoken by someone she loved, someone she considered family, felt… wrong.

But she nodded anyway, pushing aside the discomfort as Cho patted the empty space beside her. She sank onto the bed, inhaling deeply before finally speaking.

"I'm not Muggle-born," she said carefully, watching as the words shattered the sleep still lingering in Cho's eyes.

Cho's brows furrowed. "You're not—?" She stopped, blinking rapidly, her voice pitching slightly. "You're not Muggle-born?"

Adharia shook her head. "Apparently not."

She hesitated for only a moment before saying it—her real name, the one that had been stolen from her.

"My birth name is Adharia Apolline—"

"Delacour?!"

Cho's gasp cut her off, the name leaving her lips in a near squeak of pure shock.

Adharia nodded. Summoning the parchment from her bag, she placed it between them. The delicate script detailing her inheritance, her lineage, her stolen birthright gleamed under the soft morning light. "I was kidnapped six weeks after I was born," she continued, voice even despite the weight of the words. "And left at an orphanage."

Cho's hands hovered over the parchment, but she didn't touch it. Instead, she stared at Adharia, lips parted, something horrified etching itself into the delicate lines of her face.

"My mum," she whispered, voice barely more than a breath. "I remember her telling me about the Delacour's—Mia, they searched for years. They offered millions in reward money for anyone with information about their missing daughter. My mum said…" Her voice wavered. "She said Narcissa Delacour became a shell of who she was. Cold, detached. The entire family left Britain in their grief."

Adharia swallowed hard, her chest tightening. She had known this. Of course, she had known it. Her parents had told her as much. But hearing it—having it confirmed by someone who had witnessed the aftermath, who had grown up hearing the stories—was different. It was real.