Chapter 2: Chapter 2Notes:
This is the final "background" chapter before we get into the good stuff.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Fleur was clearing the half-eaten sandwich into the waste bin, deep in thought now that Shell Cottage was quiet for the first time in what felt like ages. Their visitors had arrived over a month ago now. Bill, Harry, and Ron were outside trying to kick some white ball the size of a Quaffle across the sand. Dean had got them all into it, but he, Luna, and Ollivander had left a week ago after they regained their strength, which made things a little easier to manage.
Thankfully, the boys were useful around the house, and more than willing to help Fleur with taking care of Griphook. In fact, the trio seemed to be with Griphook a lot these days. Bill was concerned about it and constantly grumbled under his breath when he detected the silencing charms on the goblin's locked door, but Fleur didn't think that worrying about the unknown was going to get them anywhere. They were obviously unwilling to discuss what they were up to, so they would just have to play their role as best as they could.
She was trying to make everyone comfortable but never had she felt so out of place in her own home before. It was strange for her and Bill to suddenly try to play the happily married couple when they were anything but that. Her "husband" was gay, and she needed a visa to stay in London until the war ended. It made sense for them to pair up and help one another out seeing as Bill was still nowhere near ready to tell his family that he had a steady boyfriend.
The sudden landing of their guests changed things for them rather quickly. War had always been there in the back of her mind and deep in her bones she knew it was coming soon, but now it had been bleeding at her doorstep. It was sleeping in her bed, literally. Bill had moved back to his room after Hermione moved into hers. Thank goodness, too. Fleur didn't think she could handle his deafening snoring any longer, but the brunette came with her own challenges, admittedly. The veela transfigured her chair into a comfortable cot and tried to find sleep between the fitful nightmares of her ward.
Hermione thrashed around constantly in the night, and between the two of them they didn't get more than a few hours sleep every night. She would cry, kick, and scream, and Fleur had learned not to touch her unless she began scratching at her own skin. She would just lay down on the bed next to her and speak softly in French, which seemed to help. Somewhere in there, she thought the brunette could tell she was not going to harm her; that she wasn't Bellatrix. Most nights she woke herself up repeatedly in a cold sweat and Fleur would stay in bed with her until her breathing returned to normal. They never spoke, which she assumed is what the Gryffindor preferred.
She was trying to give Hermione her space, but she was growing more worried for her as the weeks went on. Her first concern was her physical health, which seemed to be recovering. The brunette had gained back the weight she lost, at least, but it still didn't seem like enough. Fleur felt like her grandmother with how much she was trying to feed the skinny witch, but she only ate sparingly which maddened her to no end.
Thankfully, her broken ribs were healing nicely, and she stopped feeling the aftereffects of the torture curse. That was probably the most concerning aspect for Fleur, but they had subsided after a long week of tremors and random convulsions. She was incredibly glad they had, too, for those painful episodes would send the brunette into long hours of catatonic silence for which the blonde could only sit and wait beside her until she came back to reality. The nightmares were her only reminder now, but at least there was no more physical pain.
Next was her mental faculties. Harry and Ron had told her what they knew of her torture experience, but none of them had actually been there. All they could say was she had been screaming on and off for what felt like twenty minutes, which was a long time to be at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Fleur often daydreamed of what she would do to the deranged witch if she ever got her hands on her.
Luckily, Hermione had retained her mental capabilities. Fleur had heard she was an exceptional student all those years ago. "The Brightest Witch of Her Age," was a common phrase that circulated around Hogwarts during the tournament, and the blonde had seen it herself. The bushy-haired witch was reading nearly every waking moment at that drafty school. When she wasn't with her two best friends, she was spending her available hours deep in the library researching and writing foot after foot in her neat scrawl, fingers nearly always covered in ink stains. Fleur knew this because, even then, she had been fascinated by the young woman. She didn't stalk her, per se, but she liked being in the same section of the library as her. There was something soothing about her intensity she couldn't explain. Now, though, the veela realised there was much more than book smarts in there. So much more that she had never seen simply because she had never plucked up the courage to get to know her.
Hermione was incredibly perceptive and intuitive. She seemingly noticed every detail around her and filled in the gaps with unbelievable accuracy. Fleur found this out first-hand when she brought up her soup the second day. She was still unable to move much, but she refused to let the blonde spoon feed her, so they spent nearly two hours together as she finished the bowl with shaking hands. It was about halfway through when she was taking a break, that she spoke to her.
"You're wearing your ring," she said. Fleur's eyebrows drew together in mock confusion despite her surprise.
"Oui, I am married," she replied flippantly, but she felt a little hot under the gaze of her light brown eyes.
"But you're not, really, are you?" she said quietly, still watching. There was no judgement, as much as she wished there was. Hermione had been exceptionally unfeeling since she had awoken. The only time Fleur had seen emotion was at night when her nightmares took over. But now, she was just examining her apathetically. Her eyes were capturing every detail she knew was written on her face. Should she lie? Clearly, she would spot a lie if she had noticed all this in one day. No, she thought it better to just be straightforward. Somehow, she knew the brunette wouldn't take this information farther than this room.
"Non, we are not," she finally said, nodding a little and subconsciously spinning the ring around her finger. It felt so foreign there. She had never liked it.
"He's gay," she said bluntly, looking away and picking up her spoon slowly again, and Fleur couldn't stop her eyes from widening this time.
"'Ow do you…?" she started to ask, but the brunette just shrugged as best as she could, wincing a little when she did.
"I watch," she replied simply.
And watch she did. Fleur was impressed by how much detail was collected and processed by her sharp mind. It was often little things. She knew when Fleur had been gardening, even though she washed her hands twice. She knew Luna and Dean were romantically involved having only seen them for three minutes in separate rooms. She knew when Fleur had been down at the beach because her hair looked different. She knew her favourite colour, foods, and books, even though the veela had never told her. She knew when she had visited her family because her accent was slightly more pronounced for a few hours. Considering her observation skills, it was no wonder she excelled academically.
It scared Fleur a little. Everything was taken in by those intelligent eyes, but nothing was given, no matter how hard she tried. And Merlin she tried, but she also wanted to give her space if that's what she needed. She was captured by the woman recovering on her bed. She knew it was silly—foolish, even—to want to heal someone, if that's what this was. That wasn't her role anymore. She had done the physical part, and now it was up to the Gryffindor to heal on her own. Or want to, at least, with professional help. And she would, eventually, right?
She thought things would get back to normal. Or, some semblance of normal. There would be a lot of healing she would have to go through, but she thought she was more than capable of dealing with her trauma in a healthy, constructive manner. But after a few weeks, Fleur wasn't convinced anymore. There was something lacking behind those stunning eyes now. There was no hurt, no rage. Not once did she shout or fall apart. Not once did she scorn her situation or complain about the pressure on her to be the brains of the war effort. Not once did she try to talk to anyone about that horrifying day and what that woman had put her through. Fleur had enough sense not to try.
The veela knew she had feelings beyond indifference. She had seen it at Hogwarts herself. There was a twinkle in her eyes and a certain pitch to her laughter. There was a bounce in her step and an adolescent impatience she found endearing. There was stubbornness and tenacity in that small frame, and a deep thirst for knowledge at nearly every waking minute. Those were gone now, though. Or hidden, at the very least. Now, all she saw was vacancy nearly all the time. She just looked…bored. Uncaring.
There were sometimes flashes of more, but they were fleeting and hard to untangle. Being of creature descent, Fleur had a certain knack for detecting the emotional state of those in her vicinity. It had always been a talent of sorts, sensing strong waves of emotion like sadness, anger, and joy. She could use it to soothe others in times of turmoil or remove herself from escalating situations. At school, in particular, she used it to avoid hormonal boys and jealous classmates. So when she first detected desire from the brunette witch, the blonde had to admit she was surprised—and pleased if she was honest—but it didn't exactly help the overall situation.
She knew the brunette had likely seen her own interest. It was hard to miss, frankly, and subtlety wasn't exactly her strong suit (she was French, after all). Since becoming her caretaker of sorts, she had grown used to being around her, and their relationship had started to shift into something neither of them had the gall to vocalise.
It was mostly when she had to treat her cuts again. Fleur still remembers the first time she did it. It was nearly a week after they had landed at the cottage, and Hermione had just moved into her room. She had walked into her bedroom without a second thought, searching for the notebook she left in there.
Hermione had her arms in the sleeves of a fresh t-shirt with the expanse of her bare back facing the door. Her head quickly snapped to the side to see who had intruded before seeing the veela there. Fleur muttered an apology but seeing her shirtless it got her thinking of how her scars were healing. She swallowed and watched the muscles in her back flex gently as she pulled a shirt over her head.
The blonde walked in fully and closed the door gently, "Ermione, I've been meaning to talk to you, actually. I think we should treat your wounds again if you don't mind."
The brunette turned around, her expression wary, "Why?"
"There is still dark magic lingering in your blood. I can smell it. I—I asked my grand-mere 'ow to get it out, and she gave me a Veela salve we can try."
There was a long pause as she considered it.
"Okay, you can just give it to me," she held her scarred hand out, "I can do it myself."
"Ah, well it needs to be used in conjunction with a spell. A Veela spell," she added shyly, "Désolé, " She knew the witch didn't like accepting her help, but there weren't many options in this case.
Hermione's eyes darted around, trying to come up with another solution, but she finally relented. Her shoulders sagged in defeat, "Fine. Where do you want me?"
Fleur took a deep breath and gestured to the bed. She walked to her desk and opened the drawer to get the salve. Unscrewing the lid, she followed the Gryffindor and found her sitting in the middle of bed with her back against the pillows so that she was propped at a slight angle. The Frenchwoman sat by her hip at the side of the bed. She tucked her leg up to get comfortable as she faced her, an apology already on her lips.
"I'm sorry, but I 'ave to sort of…check something…" she trailed off, vaguely gesturing towards her body. Hermione quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head, suspicious evident in her body language. Fleur was too embarrassed to ask out loud, so she just slowly leaned forward, stopping a few inches away when the brunette froze against the pillows.
Fleur looked up to meet her distrustful eyes, "I won't 'urt you, je promets," she said quietly.
Hermione searched her face for a few moments before relaxing, but her eyes still displayed her confusion. The veela shifted to get closer and leaned forward again. She saw amber eyes widen slightly as she neared her face, but then she dipped, her nose stopping just above her pulse point. The blonde closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and she heard the Gryffindor's breath hitch slightly before she pulled back.
A light blush was dusted on her freckled cheeks, and Fleur grimaced, "Sorry. I need a baseline, so I know it's working," she explained.
"It's fine," she said, avoiding her eye contact.
Fleur smiled awkwardly but didn't respond. She just dipped her hand into the salve and looked to Hermione for permission again before she smoothed it over the scars on her right hand and wrist. She murmured the Veela incantation and felt the skin warming beneath her hands followed by a slight glow. The Gryffindor let out a short huff of air, and the blonde looked up to make sure she wasn't in any pain before she continued.
The brunette was watching her as Fleur worked her way up her arm. She finished with her right, and then moved wordlessly to her left. A few more minutes passed in comfortable silence before the veela spoke again, her hands stopping to rest in her lap.
"Um, it may be easiest to continue if you took your shirt off," she said quietly, avoiding her indifferent eye contact.
Hermione hesitated for a moment before nodding. Wincing slightly as she sat up, she pulled the t-shirt over her head and settled back down gently onto the pillows. Fleur scanned her briefly, trying to avoid looking at her breasts with great difficultly and quite unsuccessfully. She noted the hash marks on her upper chest and neck looked red and angry. Taking another deep breath, she scooted closer and dipped her hand into the ointment again, hesitating for just a moment before speaking.
"Do you mind where I start?" she asked quietly.
Hermione shook her head, so she started with her right shoulder. Fleur felt her chest dip as a deep breath left her body, and she could feel the younger woman's arousal start to creep across her skin like a shiver. At least it felt good considering that reaction. Blue eyes roam over her scars again, taking in the utter lack of pattern. When she met the Gryffindors eyes again, she was watching her with an unreadable expression.
"What's it like, being a veela?" she asked lowly, her bright eyes still not betraying her emotions.
The blonde was surprised, but the normal defensiveness that usually came with that question filled her belly. She weighed up her options. She never liked answering these sorts of things, but saying something would be better than nothing if it meant Hermione would keep talking. She forced herself to relax and continued rubbing in the salve as she answered.
"It depends on the veela you ask, I suppose," she responded diplomatically.
Hermione's expression didn't change, but the blonde could practically hear the eye roll in her answering tone, "I'm asking you. You don't have to tell me. I can see you're uncomfortable," she replied. Fleur's hands moved to her collarbone, her eyes glancing up briefly, and she spoke the incantation before speaking. The sensitivity made the Gryffindor inhale sharply and the feeling of desire coming from her skin increased again. She glanced at her, but the young witch only shook her head in silent reply.
"It's fine. I 'ad more challenges when I was younger and couldn't control my thrall. Not many teenagers are understanding of it, and they believed I used it intentionally," she confessed with a shrug.
Hermione hummed in agreement. Fleur's hands moved to the side of her neck, and this time her eyes fluttered shut and a shuddering sigh slipped out. Her hands tingled from the increasing feeling of lust the veela could sense on her skin. This was becoming more challenging than she anticipated. She swallowed and internally coached herself to relax as the brunette spoke again, her eyes still closed.
"It's ironic I think, our arrangement," the Gryffindor continued in a bored tone, tilting her head to give her more access, "You, my caretaker, couldn't be imperfect if you tried, and I'm basically a living bruise, marked forever."
The blonde stopped, her hands still on her neck. Hermione opened her eyes and looked back to her. Fleur's gaze swept over her face, her chest, and then met her resolved gaze with one of equal passion.
"Is that what you think?" she murmured.
"Yes," she answered immediately. Blue eyes narrowed and her finger twitched against her throat.
"You are a fool then," she snapped, finally looking away and picking up more salve.
Hermione frowned, "How am I a fool?"
The veela incanted the spell again as her hands rubbed more firmly into the base of her throat and top of her sternum. The pressure probably made it burn a little hotter, and a quiet moan escaped from her patient. She could feel it vibrate against her hand.
"You are speaking about the importance of appearances to a veela, as if I am not marked forever just as much as you," she explained tiredly, "Of course, I grew into this knowingly and steadily, whereas you did not and so in that regard, non, we cannot compare. My external beauty is its own curse, 'owever, and though it may look different it is one I have spent years trying to reconcile with, just as you will spend years reconciling with yours."
She moved to the other side of her neck and muttered her veela charm, letting Hermione collect her thoughts. Half a minute passed before she spoke again.
"You're right, I'm sorry" she finally said, looking away.
She stopped again, "Are you?" she asked seriously.
The brunette's head snapped back to her, anger finally filling those beautiful brown eyes after a week of emptiness, "Of course I am."
Fleur met her hardened gaze but shrugged eventually, letting it slide. They could get into her emotional capacity another day, perhaps. She was just glad to see some fire in her again. She moved her hands to her other shoulder, working into the uneven skin.
"Perfection is overrated anyway." Hermione was still studying her, and she took it as a sign to continue, "Trust me," she added dryly, "People look at me and only see one thing: sex. I am built to attract; to entice; to lure. What do you think people see on a deeper level, hm? Anything? Or is it just that? Based on my experience, it's mostly that," she said quietly, her hands continued their circular patterns, "You 'ave 'eard that scars tell a story, oui? Yours was gruesome, and I am sorry for what you went through, but it is a part of you and you should wear them proudly," she paused for a few moments before adding, "They make you look strong and...courageous."
She paused again, longer this time. She didn't know if she was speaking so much out of nervousness, but her skin felt itchy with Hermione's steady gaze on her as she continued to move across her chest to the swell of the top of her breast. She had no idea what the emotions were coming from her scarred skin now. It was starting to muddle with something unfamiliar.
The veela spoke again, more to herself than anything, "Perhaps I am playing the fool now, 'owever, and I am pushing my own biases onto you. I am envious of your imperfections, which probably sounds ridiculous, but it's true. Courage, bravery, sacrifice—these things can be left on the skin like a badge of 'onour, but my 'eritage will always overcome those reminders with blood made only to be beautiful," she spat, disgusted by the concept, "So, forgive me if it offends you, but I think they are perfect in their own way."
Hermione just continued to watch her blankly, but Fleur could feel her heart racing beneath her tingling palms.
Hermione remained quiet after that, and Fleur took the opportunity to quickly finish the rest of her upper torso. She asked permission before inhaling her scent again, pleased that it was less than when they started and that the lines covering her upper body looked less irritated. She had tried to keep her wandering mind in check, but she couldn't deny she had some less-than-innocent thoughts throughout her occupancy at Shell Cottage. The truth was the blonde thought the Gryffindor was gorgeous, scars and all.
Fleur knew her self-control wasn't great, and because Veela are physical creatures, she had been somewhat touch-starved having married a gay man against her better judgement. Having a beautiful, intelligent woman lying half-naked in her bed and sighing with her hands on her neck made their platonic treatment much more challenging for her, but it was helping and she needed to stay focused on that. Unfortunately, she knew they'd have to repeat it at least three more times to get it all out. During their final treatment, Hermione had spoken to her again.
"I feel your thrall, you know," she remarked absently, eyes focused on some spot on the ceiling. Fleur stopped over her shoulder for a moment.
She knew that already, but decided to play coy to keep her talking, "You do?"
"I think I do," she clarified slowly, as if unsure herself.
The veela nodded confirmingly. Not many people had a good understanding of how the thrall functioned, but it could be felt by men and women who found the female form attractive. Women tended to have better control around it and often redirected the feeling to infatuation rather than outright lust. Fleur's teenage years had her running rings around various female suitors, for she was always too annoyed and disgusted by the inelegant male advances. It was always nice to find someone who could still manage a conversation despite the effects of the unique sensation, and though she rarely had the patience to talk to others about how her thrall felt for them, Hermione was so clear-headed around her and she was interested in her experience.
"What does it feel like to you?" she asked lightly, hoping the brunette would want to go on.
Hermione looked pensive for a moment and Fleur watched with delight as she collected her curious thoughts, "It's…I can feel it on my skin. It reminds me of being in water. Sometimes it's light and playful, but sometimes it's heavy and forceful. Like currents, but the currents change according to your mood, I think."
Fleur smiled at that vivid description. It sounded similar to how she could feel her emotional state, "How does it feel right now?" she asked, but her hands slowed their patterns, unsure she actually wanted to know the answer.
Hermione finally looked at her and Fleur could feel her cheeks warming up with the lingering gaze. Her palms prickled with that same feeling again. Desire. Lust. Craving. She looked away and moved her hands again to distract herself, rubbing the cream gently over the scars on the side of her neck as she waited for an answer.
"It feels good," was all she said.
It was maddening, frankly. After weeks of having her there, she would sometimes see these small glimpses of the real Hermione in there. It wasn't just sexual tension, either. Although that was abundant, she was just glad they had finally got all traces of dark magic out. No, it was more than that. It was small glimpses of her curiosity, confusion, or fascination with a topic someone was talking about. Or the way her eyes blazed when a bee got in the house and she was a tornado in action to make sure no one squashed it.
It was so rare that she felt she may be manufacturing it in her head, but she knew she needed to see more of it. Fleur didn't consider what it meant that the younger witch came alive in her presence, but she knew she'd be there for her if that's what she needed. Everything else was so…lifeless. The Hermione she thought she had come to know in tiny segments was so far and few between. She didn't want her to be a shell of the person she once was, whoever that was. Fleur was determined to keep eye on her after the war was over. She would be damned if this stunning woman got lost inside her own head indefinitely.
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Fleur was vaguely aware that this was a dream. A nice one, but strange and she didn't know where it was going. It was the middle of a bright, sunny day and she was on the beach with Hermione and Bill. The redhead was whistling and flinging small stones lazily into the swaying tide with his jeans rolled up, and the brunette was sitting beside her on a towel. She could feel the sun warming her skin as the Gryffindor reached into a bag beside her and pulled out some sunscreen.
"My turn," she said with a smirk, and she pushed the blonde onto her back with a firm hand to the middle of her chest. The veela had her mouth open in anticipation as the brunette straddled her hips and squirted some sunscreen into her hands. Watching in awe as the cream-covered hands reached her stomach, and she moaned at the feeling at first, but then looked down when she felt a stinging sensation. Her body was covered in cuts. They were bleeding openly and it was turning into a pinkish paste from the sunscreen. The paste was becoming redder and redder, but Hermione was happily humming to herself as she worked her own blood into her skin. The stinging finally stopped when she removed her hands.
"There. All done," she beamed, raising her bloody hands. A bead of crimson raced down her wrist, "Now you can be beautiful too."
Fleur shot up suddenly with a gasp. The following breath she released was a little shaky and her hands were clammy as she gripped the blanket. She briefly reflected on how odd her dream was, but she paused that thought as she tuned in to her surroundings. Something was off. The room was eerily quiet and the bedside light she usually kept on for the brunette was turned off. She got up silently, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she pulled on the lamp's chain. The bed was empty. Wide awake now, she fully lofted herself over it to the other nightstand and ripped the drawer open. Bellatrix's wand was gone.
"Merde, merde, merde," she whispered to herself, jumping over the bed again and running out the door to the landing, flinging open the next door. Empty. She kept going to the next door. Empty.
"Putain! William!" she yelled, storming towards his door at the end of the corridor. She threw it open and found him sitting up, rubbing his eyes in a sleepy daze.
"What's happening?"
"They're gone," she said.
"All of them?" he asked, his eyes going wide and worry clear in his voice.
"Ouais."
"Fuck."
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Bill and herself landed in the Hog's Head with their wands at the ready, not knowing what to expect but following the instructions of Arthur's patronus. The blonde was surprised when all she spotted was a dingy bedroom and an old man with a thick white beard looking at them expectantly, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against a fragile doorframe.
He pointed a thumb towards the far wall, "Through that tunnel there," he said gruffly. His blue eyes watched them as Bill dragged her to the passageway. They had to duck their heads as they ran. Heavy breaths echoing around them as they got closer to the source of light at the other end. They could hear cheers and laughter behind a picture frame that suddenly opened, revealing them to a huge room filled with beds, clothes, and familiar faces. Ginny and Molly were talking to a small group of students. Tonks, Remus, Arthur, and Kingsley were clustered together, and Bill made his way over them. Fleur looked around, spotting the trio by the door speaking in hushed whispers.
The veela frowned, watching them. Whatever they had to do, she didn't think it had to be alone. What bullshit. She looked at Hermione, watching as Bellatrix's wand was twirled comfortably between her fingers. She was looking at the floor, distracted as Ron and Harry whispered to each other. Fleur bit the inside of her cheek and looked away.
McGonagall made an announcement and suddenly everyone was scrambling. Bill grabbed her hand and pulled her beside him. He began reciting the plan as they made their way to their stations, but she interrupted him after five seconds.
"You go. I am going to follow them," she insisted, pointing to the three people most valuable to this effort who had started to move towards the door unnoticed.
Bill looked over to them, and then back to her decisive face. He knew there was nothing he could say to convince her otherwise. He was a smart man and she was certain he knew what was going on.
"Okay," he said, "I will be on the offensive. Send a Patronus if you need me and…please be careful, Fleur."
She nodded, and he gave her a quick hug that she felt deep in her chest. She gripped the back of his jacket before letting go. He ran after Kingsley and Remus without a look back. She turned her attention to the trio. She narrowed her eyes as they left the Room of Requirement. Moving towards the door, she cast a Disillusionment charm on herself. The familiar feeling of a cool liquid being poured down her head settled before she silently followed them down the empty corridor.
Hermione was trying to control her breathing. The boys were gasping beside her as well, and it was too loud. They could easily be overheard. They were hiding behind a tapestry as a few Death Eaters passed by. Her hand twitched when she saw their black cloaks through the small gap. How simple would it be—a simple flick of the wrist and they'd be left blind, deaf, or dumb. She could manage them easily, then. She considered it, but a shout and a loud blast at the end of the hall pulled her out of her daydream.
Explosion to the west. Wait for traffic to pass, then engage towards it.
She pulled on Harry and Ron's sleeves to hold them back, and they all stilled until they heard footsteps stampeding past them. She let go, peeking around the end of the tapestry before she made her way west. The boys shouted her name behind her, but it was only two of them wreaking havoc on this part of the castle and the Gryffindor knew she could handle it. The big one was blowing up everything he could see, and the other was casting a shield charm so they could continue uninhibited.
Take out the shield.
She took two strides and cast a wordless blasting curse towards the shield, slightly surprised by the force of the spell she felt leaving the unfamiliar wand. The big Death Eater was shifting his stance.
Another, but prepare to move.
She sent it again and the shield weakened, fragmented. The large Death Eater sent a stunner her way and she rolled out of the way just before a shield was cast in front of where she had just been standing. She'd have to thank Harry for that one.
Options? Distract, then attack.
Her eyes scanned briefly and she directed her wand at the floor, covering the floor beneath their feet with water before freezing it with two wordless incantations. They yelped, slipping around on the icy surface, and she redirected her wand and blew out the glass from the windows towards them. The big one had to put up his own shield towards the glass, and she hammered the other shield with three heavy blasting curses as they fought to find their balance and defend the incoming glass shards. Each blast on the shield rang out like a bell until it finally cracked.
"Stupify!" she bellowed, and the force of the spell sent the one with the shield flying halfway down the hallway, landing onto the flagstones with a dead thud.
Hermione aimed her wand at the larger one again, who had foolishly dropped his shield to switch and attack her, but she was too quick. Ropes flew from her wand to restrain him as he knelt on the floor. She walked up to him. His sweaty blonde hair was sticking to his forehead, dark brown eyes looking at her in disgust. She was pretty sure she mimicked his appearance. She pointed her wand between his eyes, breathing heavily, as the world around her dulled and all she saw was his fear swallowing his irises. Just kill him. She pressed her lips together, pushing the tip of her wand farther into his skin, and seriously contemplated that decision.
"Hermione," she heard behind her, and she turned around quickly, training her wand on the intruder.
Harry. It was just Harry. He had his arms raised; eyes wide. She lowered her arm, her magic crackling in the air around from the potential threat. Her wand was sending out purple sparks in a show of sudden volatility.
"We need to move," she said firmly and quickly turned again to stun the Death Eater, who dropped to the stone floor. She strode down the hallway past Ron and Harry without looking at their speechless expressions. A few paces past them, a slight shimmer occurred on the right of her field of vision, and the smell of vanilla and jasmine reached her nose. She trained her eyes forward and hid her knowing smile.
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Two spells colliding a few feet above her and produced a kaleidoscope of colour as she lay on the ground, waiting.
Incoming fatal curse. One, two, roll.
A spell hit the ground where her body just resided, blowing the grass apart like it was dust in a strong wind. She got to one knee, gripping her wand and aiming it at the attacker.
Strong build, strong shield. Surprise attack.
She rolled again as a curse flew by her and aimed her wand at her forehead, casting a hasty Disillusionment charm on herself and becoming mostly invisible under the dark night sky. She stood silently and rounded back towards the confused Death Eater, slowing as she reached his back. He was pointing his wand at Ron now, who had frozen in fear on the grass with his wand held loosely at his side. She knew what he was going to do and her stomach dropped at the thought. She was behind him now.
"Aaavada—" he started, but she reached around and stuck her wand in his mouth from behind, halting the spell as he choked on it.
"Diffindo," she said calmly and watched as his upper jaw grotesquely separated from the lower, sliding off and falling densely onto the ground below. The rest of his torso collapsed pathetically into the grass. She observed for a few moments as the dead man bled out at her feet. His brown eyes were staring up towards the sky, the only source of light now coming from the castle reflected in them.
Feelings of shock, horror, and disgust should probably have registered by now, but her mind felt oddly quiet considering she just killed someone for the first time.
Could have just silenced him, she reflected eventually, but she chased that thought away, He was going to kill him. Good riddance.
Ron was looking over in a mixture of revulsion and gratitude and Hermione realised he still couldn't see her entirely, which was definitely a good thing. Shouting in the distance redirected her attention, and she moved away from the dead man before lifting the spell on herself.
She found Harry on her way back around and grabbed both their wrists as she passed, dragging them in the direction towards the Shrieking Shack. Towards him. They reached a damaged and drooping Whomping Willow just as two giants roared and smashed through the tall stain-glass windows of the castle. The trio ducked and ran as fast as they could down the constricting tunnel, Hermione taking up the rear as a feeling of dread and anticipation filled her stomach at what they would find on the other end. A fourth set of footsteps echoed from the mouth of the tunnel behind her.
Fleur watched as Hermione silently conjured a small flask and handed it to Harry. He stepped towards Snape and collected the weeping memories from the potion's professor and the brunette looked over to Ron to meet his anxious gaze.
She was standing on the opposite side of the trio in a large sitting room in this strange run-down shack. Invisible and trying to stay silent, Fleur shifted her weight, but froze as the floorboard creaked loudly beneath her foot. She held her breath as the brunette turned her head to the side instantly, her wand gripped tightly in her right fist.
Idiot! Silencing charm!
Brown eyes started scanning the room, and the veela could only watch nervously as those perceptive eyes took in each detail. Her Disillusionment charm was good, but it wasn't failproof and Hermione knew exactly what to look for, no doubt. All she could do was wait and grip her own wand, ready to cast a shield for protection against the deadly witch.
Her amber gaze flitted over her for just a moment before Harry returned with his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. Ron clapped him on the back comfortingly and they started back towards the tunnel, leaving Hermione and Fleur alone in the groaning room. The blonde was breathing in short spurts from her nose, trying to stay silent and ensure the floor didn't creak again with even the slightest movement.
Hermione wasn't even looking her way, thankfully, and the veela thought there was a chance she had missed her. The brunette was watching the boys retreating backs, but then took two steps forward and started walking directly towards her. Fleur's eyes widened. Shit. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She considered lifting the charm to show herself but found she couldn't move a muscle. She was cemented to the floor. The brunette was half a foot away now, though, and didn't look like she was going to attack her at all. Instead, she was somehow looking directly into her eyes with the strangest expression on her face.
"You should really be more careful, Fleur," she said quietly, and butterflies let loose in her stomach when her name rolled off her tongue. Hermione flicked her wrist and the charm lifted, exposing her finally as the cool feeling slithered back up her neck and head. The blonde let out a shaky breath she had been holding for a while.
A moment passed and the Gryffindor's eyes climbed up her newly presented body to meet her gaze.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, "I'm worried about you," the veela replied honestly.
The corner of Hermione's mouth pulled up and her eyes flashed, "Why?" she challenged.
The blonde didn't respond immediately. She glanced down at Hermione's lips.
"I think you know why," she whispered.
The air was thick between them as brown eyes bored into her, digesting her meaning easily. The younger woman's magical energy was rolling off her in waves, holding her in place against the wall. Her breath kept tickling her neck and causing goosebumps to trail down her arms. Fleur could feel it again - that creeping, seductive feeling emanating from the younger witch that she was coming to know well by this point - coming to rest heavily between her legs. The room creaked around them impatiently. Honey eyes glanced down at her mouth. Fleur's heart was drumming so loudly in her ears she swore the brunette could hear it.
Hermione sighed, breaking the moment. She looked down and shook her head, "You shouldn't," the daring in her voice gone now. She sounded...sad. Her brow was furrowed.
When she glanced back up, the life in her eyes had disappeared again.
Something about the brunette's tone and the way she was looking at her made it seem like she wouldn't get this chance again. Fleur leaned down slightly, closing the distance between them and pressed her lips gently against hers, sighing at their softness. Hermione let out a small sigh of her own and her mouth parted slightly. Her lips tingled—tickled almost—at the light touch, and she could feel the desire simmering on the brunette's skin dangerously. A wave of heat coursed through her body when smooth lips slid against hers. It was wonderful, just as a first kiss should be, but she needed more. She needed to taste more, feel more. Her hand came up to pull her closer, to twist into her wild hair and open her further, but Hermione suddenly pushed against her hips and took a step back.
She stood there for a moment with that same pained expression. Fleur could see some internal debate going on behind her eyes before she set her jaw and the brilliance left those brown orbs once more. They just looked back at her vacantly, like she was just a part of the wall again. Invisible. Just as she was about to take a step towards her, the brunette turned on her heel and left without a word, leaving a confused and speechless veela in her wake, heart still pounding in her chest and a mild throb between her legs.
She didn't go after her. There was no use and they had to get back, she knew.
Fleur had seen everything tonight and she never imagined she'd see such a powerful display from the Gryffindor. It was a little frightening, to be honest, but she couldn't deny she was in wonder of how she seemed to anticipate each assault. Hermione was clear-headed and immeasurably focused on the attack, calculating each variable, finding nearby resources, and creating distractions when it was required. Fleur was ready to shield the three of them at every moment, and she did more than once with the other two, but Hermione never actually needed it. She was remarkable. Dangerous.
And the fact that she knew she was there - likely the whole time - made her want to blush, but it also excited her and she didn't know why exactly. The veela didn't know what she was thinking when she kissed her. She barely even knew the woman and they were in the middle of a war for crying out loud! There was just…something had happened over Shell Cottage. Small, infinitesimal behaviours day after day that she suddenly realised she didn't want to be without. That she didn't want to leave behind. Plus, the look in her eyes just now twisted her gut uncomfortably, and she couldn't piece together what it portrayed or what the hell she meant.
You shouldn't.
Fuck that. Fleur didn't care. The way her heart was racing was proof enough that she needed more of her, whatever she was willing to offer. You couldn't fake that kind of connection - it was something she had been searching for her whole life. Something real and unpredictable. Someone who could see her; the real her. The blonde would be patient and supportive. She would be whatever she needed; a friend, a companion, a lover. Whatever she desired, and she would do anything to get through that tough shell. Anything. Everything.
Little did she know that she wouldn't get that chance, for those were the last words Hermione Granger spoke to her before she disappeared.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! Next chapter should be (if you'll allow my Californianism for a moment) hella dope my dudes. You nerds are gonna love it - I know I do.