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Chapter Text

There’s something peaceful about this, Hermione thought as she looked up into the inky sky. She was propped up against the thick trunk of a tree, rough bark digging into the raw and torn flesh of her back. Her thoughts drifted to Harry, who had taken off deeper into the Forbidden Forest in search of his godfather and past self. She hoped that he made it in time to save Sirius. Blinking back tears, Hermione continued to stare through the foliage, trying to see the moon and stars. Not that the view mattered much anyways, she from going to die in a pool of her own blood as it were.

And if she were to survive?

Well, Lupin was sure to be consumed with guilt.

Shouldn’t have called him over here, Hermione thought glumly.

Looking back at her rash decision, the werewolf had caught onto Hermione’s scent faster than she anticipated, and although Buckbeak tried to protect her, the hippogriff hadn’t arrived in enough time to stop Lupin from sinking his fangs into Hermione’s throat. It was a slim chance, but if she survived this and got back to the hospital wing, there was hope that magic was strong enough to fix the mangled flesh that was supposed to be the left side of her neck.

There was movement off to her right, a few branches cracking underneath someone or something’s weight. She let out a shaky wheeze of a laugh at her luck.

Or I can get finished off by whatever else is in the forest .

As the thought floated through the foggy haze of Hermione’s mind, a tall figure with a long white beard appeared from within the trees, a twinkle of blue within the darkness.

Dumbledore.

The old man’s emotions were unreadable as he approached Hermione with caution, wand drawn and illuminating the area in a warm glow. The young witch flinched slightly at the sudden brightness, blinking rapidly to try and focus on the Headmaster.

“Time is quite the fickle thing, isn’t it?” Dumbledore said softly, kneeling next to the brunette and pressing his wand to her neck. Hermione let out a garbled sound of pain as magic pulsed through her body; torn flesh sewing itself together as blood seeped back into her veins.

“I find that all things happen for a reason,” he continued. “Even if the results are… unpleasant.”

Hermione didn’t say anything throughout the process, not that she could. Her throat felt dry and she could taste iron in her mouth from the blood that had previously been pooled there. She gave the old wizard a look of confusion, trying to understand the riddle that were his words. Once he finished healing a few more of the major injuries Hermione had sustained, Dumbledore helped the young witch to her feet.

“Professor…?” Hermione rasped, vocal chords still sore from screaming out when Lupin attacked her and the subsequent canines tearing through them.

Even though there was a question on the tip of her tongue, Hermione was sure she knew the answer to it. Dumbledore had known that she was going to be attacked by Lupin when using the Time Turner. Yet, that didn’t answer the question of why the attack needed to happen.

“All in due time, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said with a knowing smile. “Until then, I believe you have some lives to save.”

Hermione didn’t get a chance to speak again before the old wizard was gone from sight as there was more movement coming from behind her. Turning around, Hermione saw Harry walking alongside Buckbeak. The hippogriff was looking at her with what she assumed was an apologetic look. Harry was smiling, brimming with pride as he approached. He stopped when he saw the state his best friend was in. Her hair was matted down and she looked like she had broken into a cold sweat, a patch of dampness at the collar of her shirt. The back of her pink sweater was torn and bloody, deep red stains seeping into Hermione’s jeans.

“Hermione!” Harry rushed forward and hugged her gently. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’ll t-tell you later,” she mumbled, turning back to where Dumbledore had been standing, lost in her thoughts.

***

End of 3 ^rd Year/Summer of 4 ^th Year

Although she had been right about Lupin’s reaction, Hermione was doing her best to not pay attention to the mournful look he was giving her as they sat in Dumbledore’s office. When her former professor had arrived, he had fallen to his knees in front of her, apologizing profusely for what he had done. She tried to tell him that it was okay, but he refused to accept her forgiveness.

When she had told Harry and Ron about what happened, and that she was now afflicted with the werewolf curse, they had taken it rather well. Although, Harry did feel guilty for leaving her to save his godfather; while Ron thought it was “wickedly cool” and asked a bunch of questions about the changes she had felt within the first 48 hours. Hermione didn’t have any answers for him on that front. She felt normal, or as normal as one could feel while coming to terms with becoming a magical creature over night.

They were still waiting for Dumbledore to arrive when the door to the office creaked open. The Headmaster strode over to his desk, smiling gently at professor and student as he sat down. The pair had been summoned to discuss what would be happening moving forward after the events that transpired but a few nights ago. Although the first thing that came out of Dumbledore’s mouth threw them off.

“Remus, you will be Miss Granger’s legal guardian for the foreseeable future.”

Wait, what?! Hermione’s eyes snapped to see Lupin’s reaction; the man’s eyes were wide with shock and mouth slightly ajar. She looked back to Dumbledore, “uhm… sir, what about my parents?”

“They will be informed of the delicacy of this situation.” Hermione didn’t like the familiar twinkle in the old wizard’s eyes as he spoke.

“You can’t just take the girl away from her family,” Lupin said, his voice shaking.

“Miss Granger is welcome to visit her family as often as she pleases, but muggles raising a teenage werewolf is not something that the Ministry would stand for. It’s far-”

“Too dangerous. I know, Albus. But why leave her in my care?”

“I believe she can learn much from you. Hermione will do fine in your care.”

“I’m not in the best position to take care of another person though,” Lupin grumbled.

Hermione frowned as the two wizards talked as though she wasn’t there. She cleared her throat before speaking, “as the person being discussed, I find Professor Dumbledore’s proposal reasonable. My parents would be safer if I wasn’t with them all the time. Plus, wouldn’t it be better to learn how to deal with this affliction from the person that gave it to me? Pack mentality and all that?”

Lupin stared at Hermione with a mix of shock and sadness. He let out a shaky breath as he glanced towards Dumbledore, “I don’t have a place for us to live.”

“Ah yes,” Dumbledore hummed as he stood from his desk, walking over to one of the many magical cabinets in the office. “It was a little last minute, but I was able to find some lodgings that fit some criteria. Far from any muggle or wizarding settlements, forests within the surrounding area, etc. I’m quite particular to one of the homes in France, but alas, that would be much too far away.”

Returning to his seat, Dumbledore placed a thin manila folder on the desk. From what Hermione could tell, there weren’t many places that actually met Dumbledore’s stipulations. Lupin took the folder, turning awkwardly towards Hermione, “Miss Granger…”

“If we’re going to be living together, Professor, you can call me Hermione.”

“Uh, yes…” He smiled softly at her, handing her the folder. “I’m sure I can leave our new living situation to you? Whatever you end up deciding on, I’m sure it will be fine. And since I am no longer a teacher, I believe the honorific is moot.”

Hermione blushed and mumbled a ‘thanks’ to her former professor, running her thumb along the edge of the folder. The meeting finished soon after, Dumbledore informing the pair that they would need to have a home picked out within the next two weeks. It was just enough time for Hermione to get her affairs in order and explain the situation to her parents. As they left Dumbledore’s office in tandem, Lupin hung back slightly when Hermione turned to walk back to Gryffindor Tower.

“Hermione,” he spoke suddenly, stopping the young witch. “I am deeply sorry for the inconvenience that I have brought into your life. Although you say you have forgiven me, I will do my best to properly earn that forgiveness.”

“It’s alright,” Hermione said with a shrug. “You weren’t all there that night.”

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” Lupin pointed out with a confused frown.

“Just another year at Hogwarts, sir. Nothing surprising about it.”

With that, Hermione turned on her heel so that she could cry to her friends and figure out what she was going to do about breaking this news to her parents.

***

Hermione wasn’t surprised by her parents adverse reaction to hearing that their daughter had been cursed with lycanthropy. There a few choice words directed towards Dumbledore and his management of Hogwarts. It didn’t help matters when Lupin made an appearance at the door. Hermione had to hold her father back from decking her former professor. In contrast, her mother had been a sobbing mess the moment Hermione had broken the news.

The surprise came from her father telling her that she needed to leave, his tone flat and emotionless.

Hermione felt numb, trying not to let the tears fall as she dragged herself up the stairs and to her room. She had only been home for a few days, most of her things still packed away in her trunk, so if she was in a rush to pack, it wouldn’t take her very long. Hushed conversation pricked at the edges of Hermione’s hearing. Lupin was trying to reassure her parents that she was still their daughter. She tried to tune it out, not wanting to accept the possibility that this was her parents breaking point.

But, the danger Hermione posed to her parents…

Well, it wasn’t something that she wanted to think about right then.

Finished packing, trunk filled to the brim, Hermione made her way downstairs. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the handle to her trunk. As she passed the kitchen, Hermione gave her parents a mournful look, not sure what to say to them. The silence felt deafening, so she turned towards the front door, taking a few steps…

Before being enveloped in a tight hug from her parents.

Choking back tears, the Grangers promised that they wouldn’t stop loving their daughter. That they cared. Her mother made her promise to write and visit on holidays when she could. The heavy weight that had settled over her heart lifted at their affirmations.

As she walked out of her childhood home, Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

“Ready?” Lupin asked with a fond smile and an outstretched hand.

Smiling softly, she took his hand.

“As ready as ever.”

And with a faint pop, the pair disapparated to their new home.

***

Her first full moon doesn’t happen until a few weeks later, after she and Lupin had settled into their new home.

And Hermione was filled with excitement and dread at the thought of turning into a wolf.

She had spent a decent amount of time pouring over any information she could find in the Hogwarts library on werewolves for Snape’s essay. Some of the diagrams in the textbooks had been rather graphic, some even moving to show what could happen during the shift. The rather crude depiction crept across Hermione’s thoughts throughout the day as she tried to prepare for what would happen that evening.

Most of her day was spent wandering around the lodge she had picked out for herself and Lupin. It was a modestly sized log building situated deep within the Scottish wilderness. It looked like a ski lodge Hermione had seen in a travel magazine once at her parents’ practice.

There were two floors to the lodge: the upper floor held one bedroom with an attached bathroom and the study, which Hermione had promptly claimed as hers; while the first floor had the master bedroom with en suite bathroom, medium sized kitchen, and a large dining/living room space.

A good chunk of Hermione’s time was spent in the study or sitting outside underneath a tree at the edge of the forest that was their backyard. But today, she had been aimlessly wandering through the lodge or sitting in the study, re-reading the same page over until the sun set on the horizon. There were a few candles lit in the study, but bright moonlight shone through the window, pricking at the edges of Hermione’s magic.

It was a weird sensation, a shiver running up her spine as the moonlight touched her skin. Hermione didn’t think on it long though, jumping from her armchair and sprinting out of the study. As she made her way down the stairs, Lupin appeared around the corner, his green eyes tinted with yellow. He smiled weakly at her, nodding towards the back door. She smiled back nervously, wiping clammy hands against her jeans and bounding off the last step.

The pair walked into the summer night, a gentle breeze from the mountains to cool their skin. Hermione inhaled the crisp air deeply, letting the breath out slowly as she looked over to Lupin. The wizard was doing the same as her, inhaling the evening air and re-centering himself for what was about to come. She also had to guess that he was extremely nervous about helping to raise a young werewolf.

“Alright, Hermione,” Lupin said with a grim look, turning to look at Hermione. “I’m going to walk you through the change this first time ‘round. I’ve got a few more years on you, so I’ll be able to hold my change off just enough to ease you through yours. Understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione replied, nodding vigorously.

“Now you’ve read up what its like to go through the change?” A nod. “Whatever is written in those books is a mere fraction to what we go through. The change is different for everyone.”

“Is it as painful as its described?” Hermione asked with wide eyes.

The look Lupin gave her did not instill confidence.

Another question was on the tip of Hermione’s tongue when pain shot through her. There was no clear source for it, but it radiated throughout her entire body, causing her to fall to her knees with an ear piercing scream. The thundering of her heartbeat roared in Hermione’s ears as it sped up. She tried to look up at Lupin, but her eyes were clenched tightly and holding back tears of pure agony.

Pressure started to build up behind her eyes, forcing Hermione to open them. Her vision was blurred, darkness creeping up around the edges. Warm and viscous liquid ran like tears down Hermione’s cheeks, her eyeballs being forced out of their sockets. The first eye dropped onto the grass with a wet thump, followed by a scream of terror from the young witch and another thump as the other eye fell next to its brethren.

There was nothingness as more pain ripped through Hermione. Her muscles convulsed causing her to curl in on herself. It took all of Hermione’s power to fight against the shift. She just wanted it to stop.

Gods, did she want it to stop.

“Don’t fight it, Hermione,” Lupin’s voice broke through the haze. His tone told her that he was distressed by what was playing out in front of him. There was also the strain of him trying to stop his own shift from happening.

Seeking out Lupin’s voice, Hermione turned her head and opened her eyes. Expecting to experience continued darkness, the young witch felt a brief moment of relief as she saw Lupin, bright and in colour, a few feet in front of her. His jaw was clenched tightly, hands balled into fists and knuckles turning white. The man looked like he was in just as much pain as Hermione was.

But the moment of clarity quickly vanished as Hermione’s body twitched and twisted with a sickening crunch.

Her spine curved back before snapping forward again, causing Hermione to slam her hands down to stop from smashing her face into the ground. She inhaled sharply, letting it out in a shriek as her ribs started to expand and crack into a new shape. Sound was muffled for her again, but Hermione could hear the threads and fabric of her clothing stretch and break. She went to remove her clothing, hoping to salvage it, but was unable to grasp the fabric.

Breaking through the middle knuckles on each of her hands were thick black claws, making it impossible to bend her fingers. Dark brown fur was sprouting around the claws as they pushed through Hermione’s human features. Getting a glimpse of the fur made Hermione feel suddenly itchy. Almost like there was something just beneath the surface of her skin. With her what was left of one of her hands, Hermione dug her fingernails into her shoulder, and started tearing flesh away in bloody chunks.

The witch’s screams had turned into snarls and growls as she continued to rip skin away to reveal wet dark brown fur just beneath. Her former professor continued to watch as great golden eyes snapped up to look at him.

Hermione’s mouth was open in another howl of pain, her incisors dropped to the ground, only to be replaced by large canines. Sharp teeth continued to replace human teeth as the snout of a wolf forced its way out of Hermione’s mouth. The human face of the young witch was torn and splitting like tissue paper as the wolf’s muzzle broke through.

And then, in a burst of bloody chunks, it was all over.

Standing in front of Lupin with her ears snapped back against her skull was a beautiful dark brown wolf the size of a bear.

Golden eyes scanned the wizard, teeth bared at him in a snarl.

Lupin chuckled, shaking out his body and letting the shift taken him over. Unlike Hermione, his change was far quicker, a mousy brown wolf bursting forth.

The pair of wolves looked each other over for a few moments, the younger one unsure of how to perceive the older one. It didn’t take long for Lupin’s wolf to butt its head against Hermione’s neck. He gave a chuffing sound before bounding off into the forest. Not one to pass up a challenge, Hermione chased after Lupin, letting the moon’s magic wash over her fully as she disappeared into the forest.

***

Hermione woke up to the sound of barking laughter and the chirping of birds. She groaned, her muscles sore from the shift back and the branches that were digging into her back. Trying to find the source of the laughter, she locked eyes with Lupin. The man was in tears he was laughing so hard. She frowned at him, wanting to ask him what he found to be so hilarious after a night as a wolf. It probably wasn’t because she was naked, she remembered him reassuring her that he was probably going to be as embarrassed as her when they were back to their natural states. So what was so funny?

When she stood up, Hermione felt something long and soft slap against her thigh. She looked down to see that at some point in the night, she had grown a penis. Hermione shrieked in horror as she covered up her new appendage. She glared at Lupin, who had stopped laughing, but the look on Hermione’s face had him burst into laughter again.

“It’s not funny!” Hermione snapped.

“You’re right,” Lupin said, trying to school his features. He was still grinning like an idiot. “It’s bloody fucking hilarious!”

“How did this happen!?” she hissed, motioning to the appendage.

“Didn’t get to the part about mates, then eh?”

“No! I was interrupted by the fucking moon!”

“Looks like yours is a female,” Lupin laughed as he started walking back to the house. He heard Hermione give an indignant squeak before she followed him.

Grumbling, Hermione followed her former teacher, inhaling the deep forest scents. She could pick up the earthy tones and pine that hung thick in the air. She had read that after the first shift, her natural senses would sharpen accordingly. It was exhilarating to experience as they walked through the forest. Although, it did feel weird walking beside Lupin while naked. Gotta make sure to tie some clothes to my leg next time, Hermione thought as they broke through the treeline to the back of the house.

They had been staying there for less than a month before the first change, but had gotten into a routine of sorts. Lupin insisted that Hermione learn more defensive spells, so they would train for most of the day. That was followed by showers and some sort of food before Hermione was buried in a book about werewolf biology and the changes she would be going through after the initial change. She noticed that most werewolves were registered by the Ministry, which she hadn’t done yet.

“Pro...Lupin?” Hermione asked entering the living room in a fresh pair of clothing, consisting of very loose sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Am I registered at the Ministry? I know Professor Dumbledore had my legal address and guardianship transferred to you. I assume there would have been questions about that…”

“No, you aren’t registered,” Lupin said with a frown, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I trust Dumbledore has a reason for that though.”

“Okay…” Hermione replied with her own frown. She was forever curious about what Dumbledore was playing at.

“Hope that monster in your pants wasn’t too much trouble,” Lupin said with a chuckle. Hermione blushed and glared at him. “We’ll have to tell Dumbledore about it though. Might be able to knick yerself private quarters.” He heard the soft growl come from the witch. “I doubt you want to explain to your dorm mates why you have that.”

“Fair,” Hermione grumbled and took the armchair across from Lupin.

“Oh! Arthur owled me the other day, said to make sure you’re at the Burrow last week of summer. He’s got a surprise for you lot.”

***

The next three years of Hermione’s life are a whirlwind of adventure and danger. Being the friend to one Harry James Potter tended to do that. Their fourth year was supposed to be a normal one. Trouble free, even. Yet, there was someone out to kill Harry.

Again.

Harry’s name getting spit out of the Goblet of Fire had thrown a wrench into the nice and normal year Hermione had been hoping for. The Triwizard Tournament had her in the library constantly, nose buried in some book on how to fight off dragons, or how to survive underwater for an hour. That coupled with her regular studies, Hermione had to deal with Ron being a prat towards Harry for being caught up in something the boy didn’t wish to be apart of. Until the redhead cooled off after Harry nearly died to a Hungarian Horntail, and the trio continued on as usual.

The Yule Ball had been an entertaining affair. Hermione planned on going stag, but at the last minute, Ron asked if she wanted to go with him. No one else had asked her, and the redhead clarified that it was merely as friends. During the World Cup, Ron had approached her about his feelings. After Hermione explained her stance and why it wouldn’t work, Ron had been grouchy. He had stomped off, only to return a few hours later to apologize, letting her know that he understood and still loved her like a sister.

Everything, as always, came to a head at the end of the year. During the Third Task, Harry had been portkeyed to a graveyard, along with Cedric Diggory. Only one of them returned to Hogwarts that evening, while the other cried out the return of Voldemort.

It felt like the beginning of the end, Hermione had thought as she watched Amos Diggory clutch his son’s lifeless body.

The summer going into her 5 ^th year, Hermione could feel the tension in the air. It was thick in both the muggle and wizarding worlds. Almost like the energy was waiting to burst like a bubble. It definitely didn’t help that Lupin had signed her up for a summer stuck inside a house that had once belonged to blood purists. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was being used as a hideout and meeting location for the Order of the Phoenix. Along with the Weasleys, Hermione was spending the summer there to help clean it up. It made her feel a bit better that Ron and Ginny had to suffer through getting rid of doxies and dust bunnies as well.

There were a number of Order members that would flit through Grimmauld Place, many were familiar faces to Hermione. Mad-Eye Moody being one of them. The man unnerved her, since her brain associated him with a different scent, but she had been able to hold a few conversations with him during dinner. Although, the few new faces Hermione did see were welcome intrusions on the days they would show up. Nymphadora Tonks was one, startling Hermione one day while she was fighting off a doxy. The woman came into the room with bubblegum pink hair and a duck bill, quacking at the younger witch as she entered. That incident had given Ginny quite the laugh.

Eventually, Harry arrived at the dreary house, having been swept away from the Dursley’s in the middle of the night by the Order. He wasn’t very happy with her and Ron, since they had been sworn not to tell Harry anything by Dumbledore.

It still didn’t sit well with Hermione that the Headmaster had asked that of them. She figured he would want Harry to know what was going on, or even be here with them instead of in Little Whinging where anything could happen to him. Which was the only reason why he was finally there. Harry had been attacked by dementors, using magic to protect himself and his cousin. Thankfully, the charges brought again the boy who lived didn’t stick and he was off to Hogwarts with his friends once more.

Once again, it seemed like things were going to be relatively quiet that year, until the introduction of Dolores Umbridge was announced at the beginning of term feast. The ministry had finally made its way into the walls of Hogwarts, and their plan was to take up the Defense against the Dark Arts position. Hermione’s hackles raised when Harry leaned over and whispered that Umbridge had been one of the members to be at his trial. There was very little hope that they would be learning anything in that class or from their new professor.

With Umbridge breathing down their necks, it became clear that they needed a way to teach themselves, and secretly. The creation of Dumbledore’s Army brought forth the opportunity to learn to defend themselves against the coming war that was brewing on the horizon.

The most frustrating spell for Hermione to learn had been the Patronus charm. No matter the type of memory that she tried to use to draw happiness from, only a silvery wisp would spew from the tip of her wand. It wasn’t like she considered herself to be a sad person, there just wasn’t a memory that seemed to produce the desired effect. It bothered her greatly, until one meeting, Harry pulled her aside and walked her through his process to conjure the Patronus.

With a nod of understanding, Hermione focused on her family and friends, smiling to herself as she did so. An image of Lupin howling with laughter as Hermione fell for another of his pranks at home floated across her mind. It spiraled into thinking about how he had become like an older brother to her, and how he had guided her the last few years through all the quirks of their shared affliction.

“Expecto Patronum.”

The spell slipped from Hermione’s lips and a shimmering form burst forth from her wand.

“Bloody hell, ‘Mione!” Ron squawked as Hermione’s Patronus, the silvery form of a Harpy Eagle, flapped in front of him before flying around the room and perching itself onto Hermione’s shoulder.

At least it didn’t end up like Lupin’s , Hermione thought to herself as the eagle disappeared in a wisp of magic. A werewolf with a wolf patronus? How cliché that would have been.

The end of the year wasn’t much better than the previous one, Harry almost running off without Hermione and Ron to go rescue Sirius from the Ministry of Magic. Everything about the vision that Harry had been given by Voldemort screamed that it was a trap, but she followed him, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville to London on the back of Threstals anyways; deep into the depths of the Ministry of Magic in search of Sirius and a prophecy.

Hermione doesn’t remember much after Sirius dropped through the Veil, only that a ball of light that smelled like Lupin slammed into the Death Eater that was holding her roughly by the hair. There had been a few spells thrown her way, one of which grazed the right side of her collarbone. Pain seared through her bones and she could smell the blood before everything went dark. When she came back to consciousness, Lupin was carrying her into a fireplace, green flames licking around them before she passed out once more.

As the trio entered their sixth year of Hogwarts, the bubble of tension in the air finally burst. Now that the Ministry acknowledged Voldemort’s return, it seemed like the Death Eaters were released from their restraints, reeking havoc upon both Muggle and Wizard alike.

Walking through Diagon Alley didn’t hold the excitement of a new school year like it used to that September.

The year passed with a grey cloud overhead as the war escalated outside the walls of Hogwarts. Although the castle and its wards protected them from the dangers trying to breach it, Hermione still worried about how Harry was handling things. Dumbledore had taken the young wizard under his wing more frequently than she had ever seen from the headmaster. The old man’s refusal to help Harry until the very last minute the previous year had left a sour taste in her mouth. It made her question if Harry was better off not being close to Dumbledore.

On nights when he would return from the headmaster’s office, Harry would look sullen and deep in thought. He would immediately retreat to his room before either Hermione or Ron could make sure he was alright. Questions were always on the tip of her tongue, but Hermione refrained from asking. Somehow knowing that Harry wouldn’t tell her, even if he could.

It was a few days before the end of term when the Death Eaters finally broke into Hogwarts.

Hermione had been sitting at the shoreline of the small lake, deep within the Forbidden Forest, when the loud boom of something exploding caught her attention. Her ears snapped back at the dull sound, thinking it was merely the distant thud of centaur’s hooves. Until the scent of smoke and burning wood reached her nose. Running as fast as she could, the young wolf tore through the forest, towards Hagrid’s hut. The sound of spell fire pushed the wolf faster as she broke through the treeline. To her right was the burning hut, but no sign of Hagrid.

A small bout of relief washed over the wolf.

It was brief though as Harry was tossed across the grass like a ragdoll. Yellow eyes snapped over to the boy’s assailant to see Snape advancing on him. In a blink, the wolf was standing between Harry and Snape, snarling and baring sharp white teeth at the professor.

The man looked at the wolf, sneering as he did so, “I see even as a beast, Ms Granger has the habit of sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

A low growl rumbled from the wolf.

“Potter’s got a guard puppy?”

The shrill sound of laughter caused Hermione to crouch down, yellow eyes darting to look behind Snape. It wasn’t the first time Hermione had seen Bellatrix Lestrange, but the sight of the woman unnerved her. Tangled mess of black curls, black eyes that seemed to bore into the soul, and deranged. The Death Eater took a few steps towards Hermione, wearing a childish grin and not seeming to care that the creature was ready to lunge. This only caused the wolf to tense even more and snap her teeth in the direction of the woman.

“Bellatrix, we must be going,” Snape said, his demeanor shifting slightly at the glint in the woman’s eyes. Her gaze was fixated on the large brown beast that stood between them and Harry. “Our Lord is waiting.” The mention of Voldemort pulled Bellatrix’s attention away from Hermione. The wolf relaxed slightly as both Death Eaters made to depart.

Before disapparating though, Bellatrix turned on her heel, onyx and yellow meeting very briefly as sickly sweet words echoed through Hermione’s head.

Until next we meet, mud puppy.

With a crack, Bellatrix and Snape disappeared into the night, leaving a very confused werewolf and distraught teenager to deal with the aftermath of the evening.

***

Hermione’s hands were shaking as she wiped tears from her eyes. She was standing in the drive to her parents home, struggling to keep her emotions in check.

In theory, what she had done was simple. One single spell to keep her parents from being casualties of the war she was going to be fighting. It didn’t make it hurt any less that she had just erased her existence from her parents’ minds for the greater good. She just prayed that it was not in vain and they remained safe in the coming months.

Maybe even years with the task she was about to undertake with Harry and Ron.

Even in death, Dumbledore was sending Harry off on a seemingly impossible mission.

Find Voldemort’s remaining horcruxes and destroy them.

When Harry told Hermione and Ron that he was going to be skipping out on their seventh year and taking the task on alone, Hermione cornered her best friend. Eyes flashing yellow and a smile that showed too many teeth was enough to convince Harry to take them along. It was foolhardy of him to believe they wouldn’t follow him to the bitter end.

Swallowing the grief that was building inside, Hermione disapparated back to the lodge. It would be better for her to breakdown there and not in the middle of a Muggle suburb. She also needed to be back at the lodge when the Order member arrived to bring her to the Dursleys. Tonight they were bringing Harry to the Burrow, and Hermione still had a number of things she needed to pack and prepare for their search.

When her feet hit the ground, Hermione dropped to her knees and let out a cry of anguish. There was nothing but the wind and trees to hear the young woman break down into sobs. She was thankful for that though, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to let anyone know what was bothering her if someone happened to ask. No one was to know where they were going after Lupin and Tonks’ wedding.

The young witch continued to kneel in the grass, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to process the potential consequences of her actions. It wasn’t until the low rumble of thunder echoed from the sky that Hermione started to make her way back to the lodge. She didn’t walk quickly to avoid the coming downpour, hoping it would help her feel less numb. By the time Hermione walked through the back door and into the kitchen, she was drenched from head to toe. She sighed as she glanced at the clock. Her trip had taken longer than anticipated and now she would need to rush before the Order member arrived.

In hindsight, Hermione should have asked Lupin who was going to be escorting her to Privet Drive. If it was someone she didn’t have any interaction with, then she wouldn’t know if Polyjuice was involved. Although, the Order didn’t seem like they would incompetently assign pairs if such was the case.

Yet, that didn’t make it any less startling when she opened the door to find herself face to face with Fleur Delacour.

Chapter Text

Hermione did her best not to go slack jawed at the sight of Fleur on her doorstep. The Veela was the last person she had expected to show up from the Order. Although, now that she was thinking about it, she didn’t even know Fleur was in the Order. Red flags started sounding in the back of her mind as she took in the former Triwizard champion.

Fleur, for the most part, hadn’t changed from the last time Hermione had caught a glimpse of the woman. She stood in the doorway regally, but almost in a relaxed manner, dressed in an outfit similar to the one she wore for the final task. Although, the sweatpants had been swapped out with some jeans, and her hair was off to the side in a braid instead of a high ponytail. There was nothing odd about her or rather her scent, which was vaguely familiar from the few times Hermione had passed by Fleur during fourth year.

The smell of the ocean was strong, prickling Hermione’s nose. It was a tantalizing aroma to her senses. She tried not to inhale deeply as she spoke, “hullo, Fleur.”

“Bonjour, ‘Ermione,” Fleur said with a kind smile. “Are you ready to go? Moody has a schedule, and I don’t wish to have him yelling at us.”

Hermione blushed a little, she still hadn’t finished getting her things together. After entering the lodge, she went straight to the shower and curled up under the hot water. It was the best she could do to keep the guilt from consuming her.

“I’ve a few more things to get together, but come in and take a seat. I won’t be long.” Before Fleur could respond, Hermione was making her way up the stairs to her room.

The last thing she wanted was an Order member to follow her and see the stack of books she still hadn’t packed; books that were very much not for her seventh year at Hogwarts. Sighing as she reached her room, Hermione flicked her wand out, sending the remain ing stacks of items she had into her bag. Books, parchment, camping supplies, and clothes flew through the air and straight into the open top of her beaded bag. Earlier that week, she had charmed the bag with an undetectable extension charm. If they needed to disappear sooner than planned, then having the purple sack on her person would be inconspicuous compared to three overstuffed hiker’s packs.

Just as the final item jumped into the bag, the stairs creaked as weight was put onto the bottom step. Fleur was coming to check on her. In a panic and another flick of her wand, Hermione sent the beaded bag into her trunk, cringing when she heard the dull sound of books tumbling in it. Rushing to her closet, she grabbed a sweater and a few pairs of jeans and shorts to stuff into her trunk.

“Need any help?” Fleur’s voice floated in from the hall.

“No, just finished. Thank you though,” Hermione said, clicking her trunk closed and turning quickly on her heel.

As Hermione stepped out into the hall, Fleur was turning into the bedroom. The pair c ollided into one another, causing Hermione to dropped her trunk and lose her balance. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the soft impact of the floor. Yet, it didn’t come. There w ere warmth and delicate, but strong arms wrapped around her, then she was standing up straight.

“Je suis désolé,” Fleur said.

The Veela’s voice was closer than Hermione expected, making her eyes snap open and immediately lock with dark blue eyes.

Her vision tunneled into eyes that were like a never ending sea, shaking Hermione to her core. It felt like her body was burning up as she clenched her jaw. Nothing in her research on werewolves had prepared her for this moment, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to relish in it. She had to help Harry, even if it meant not acknowledging that she had just found her…

The thought snapped Hermione from her staring, stumbling back and almost tripping over her trunk. She started to stammer something out, but stopped. What do could she even say in this moment?

Sorry, we can’t talk about this happening because we’re at war and I’m about to disappear for Merlin knows how long?

That certainly wouldn’t suffice.

Hermione chanced a glance at Fleur, the Veela was standing there in her own state of shock and contemplation . Unlike at the front door, her demeanor was tense and guarded. The blonde’s gaze was focused on the wall just behind Hermione’s head. Fleur ’s gaze flickered over to the brunette causing her to relax slightly. Hermione’s heart almost broke at the sweet, nervous smile Fleur gave her. The day refused to keep punching her in the gut.

“We should get going,” Hermione blurted out, absently waving her wand at her trunk and shrinking it before placing it in her back pocket. “Don’t want Professor Moody to be cross…” She did her best not to let the torn and hurt look Fleur gave her sear itself into her memory.

“Oui,” Fleur said, clearing her throat and turning towards the door. “Constant vigilance…”

Hermione watched as Fleur turned and headed back to the foyer, leaving her to take one last look at her room.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione prepared herself for the next few hours. They were going to get Harry and bring him back to the Burrow. It was the safest place for him now. If all of them were to make it back tonight, she was going to have to push what had just happened to the back of her mind.

At least until the end of the war.

***

She’d been avoiding Fleur for the past few days. It wasn’t without difficulty though. After they had arrived at the Burrow, both of them avoiding serious injuries during the battle, Fleur attempted to talk to Hermione about their situation. Thankfully, Harry and Ron had swept her away from the Weasleys and Order members before the veela had a chance to ask anything other than if Hermione was okay.

The first day at the Burrow saw Molly sending them about the property to get it prepared for Lupin and Tonks’ wedding. There had also been an unpleasant visit from the Minister of Magic that had left Harry, Hermione, and Ron with more questions than answers . I t was just the thing Hermione needed to focus on and it allowed her to avoid Fleur for a good chunk of most days . Wolf hearing and smell were also a bonus. Anytime the blonde tried to corner her, Hermione would immediately apparate to the makeshift quidditch pitch at the far end of the Weasley homestead. It was the last place anyone would look for her, and if someone knew, she trusted that they wouldn’t reveal her location to the blonde .

It wasn’t like Hermione was enjoying the game of cat and mouse. Every fiber of her being was pushing her towards Fleur. Her heart and soul thirsted for the blonde, but she couldn’t react to what her instincts were craving. No matter how hard she tried to quell it, the fire burning inside of Hermione refused to stop until she accepted what happened back at the lodge. She felt like she was broken in two.

Even if a conversation were to happen, there was only so much Hermione would be able to use as an excuse for why they couldn’t rejoice and embrace the gift the fates had given them. The thought made her scowl in distaste. It felt like a cruel twist rather than a gift. Yet , below her surface emotions, Hermione was happier than she’d been in a while. In that brief moment in her room, she forgot about the war, the insane mission she was about to go on, and obliviating her parents. It was the first time in years Hermione had felt at peace. Then she had to rip herself away from it because there was a war going on and she erased her existence from her parents only a few hours prior. The guilt in that moment had been overwhelming.

Hermione didn’t register that she was crying until wet drops hit the page she had been attempting to read from The Tales of Beetle the Bard . There were only a few hours left before guests would start arriving for the wedding and she had managed to slip away to the pitch for a bit of peace before she was forced to be around Fleur.

Thinking of Fleur, the woman had made no attempts to talk to her that day; Hermione assumed the message finally got across. The thought of having to reject the veela caused a mournful whimper to slip out. Her wolf ached to be near her ma-

“Fuck,” Hermione growled, slamming the book closed. “It’s not like I want to do this!”

“Don’t want to do what, ‘Mione?”

Hermione nearly jumped from her spot on the bleachers at the sound of Ginny’s voice. She glared at the youngest Weasley as she sat next to her, “nothing, Ginny.”

“This wouldn’t have to do with you avoiding Phlegm, would it?” Hermione didn’t take the bait, but looked across the pitch at the little wooded area. The reaction only egged Ginny on. “Bill says she’s not been herself since you lot arrived. Ya think he did something to offend her?”

Hermione was trying her best to ignore what Ginny was saying, but the mention of Bill offending Fleur seemed to triggered a response, “how would Bill offend Fleur?”

Ginny’s eyebrow raised as she smiled at the somewhat growled out question, “Dunno, but you’ve been pretty scarce the last few days. I don’t think I’ve seen you at supper since you arrived. If you aren’t avoiding Fleur , then who are you avoiding? Did Ron do something idiotic again?”

The muscles in Hermione’s jaw tensed as she continued to ignore the redhead, even though she knew Ginny wouldn’t stop until she got an answer.

“Unless you are avoiding someone French, blonde, and sometimes insufferable.” Ginny prodded. The grin she was wearing only got larger when she saw the flicker of yellow flash in Hermione’s eyes. It was a dangerous game getting the brunette to open up about what was going on between herself and the veela, but it was a challenge Ginny was willing to take.

Bill had approached her after breakfast, vaguely mentioning that he hadn’t seen Hermione much since arriving at the Burrow. He sounded disappointed that he’d been unable to have a talk with the elusive young werewolf, wanting to discuss some of the symptoms he had been dealing with since Greyback attacked him. Something about not wanting to depress Lupin while the man was trying to plan and prepare for a wedding. It seemed like a reasonable thing to mention, even Ginny hadn’t been able to spend much time with Hermione since they brought Harry back to the Burrow.

Then Bill straightened up and looked around the room they were in, before speaking in a hushed whisper. He gave her a brief summary of what Fleur had told him, and even then it wasn’t much to go on. It sounded like he was trying to pulling a prank on her.

Fleur and Hermione were mates.

It sounded like the most preposterous thing that Bill could say to her; and he’d said some pretty crazy things throughout her life. The idea made even less sense when he mentioned that anytime Fleur would walk into a room that Hermione was in, the brunette would either be on her way out or already gone. Ginny didn’t know much about magical creatures and their bonds, but she was pretty sure avoidance wasn’t a feature. Bill also revealed that Fleur had been downright depressed. The veela wasn’t acting like herself, and seemed to be putting on a front as to not ruin the joyful atmosphere they were allowed in this time of war. He said it was like spending time with a permanent rain cloud above his head. Bill wouldn’t go into much more detail than that, begging Ginny to try and convince Hermione to talk to Fleur. There wouldn’t be a way for the two to avoid each other the entire evening without it drawing some sort of attention.

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” Hermione said tersely. She just wanted to get through the wedding and then leave with Harry and Ron. It would make things easier .

“So you’re just never in the same room as Fleur for no reason?” Ginny pressed. “I know we were harsh about her during the Tournament, but this is on another level, Hermione.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Ginny!” Hermione snarled, getting to her feet. “I can’t be near her right now.”

“Is the reason you can’t even acknowledge your mate the same reason Harry…”
Hermione didn’t hear the rest of what Ginny said, her ears were ringing from hearing that word. The word she refused to say herself, because if she did, it would make what had happened at the lodge all the more real. Her body started to shake, pressure building behind her eyes.

Have to help Harry d efeat Voldemort. Finish the mission. End the war.

The mantra echoed through her mind as she regained some sort of composure. Exploding into a wolf in front of Ginny wasn’t the most ideal outcome. She had to think logically in giving Ginny a reason for avoiding Fleur, but it could also reveal what the trio’s plan was, even if she wasn’t forthright about it. Taking a deep breath, Hermione turned to Ginny and repeated what she had been saying to herself the last few days, “we’re at war, Gin… I don’t think now’s the best time, y’know?”

“You sound like Harry,” Ginny scoffed, standing up. “ Now is the best time to grasp onto any bit of happiness we can find. If you want to avoid Fleur and ignore something that we’ll be celebrating tonight, be my guest. But you won’t be able to do it forever.”

With that, Ginny made her way back to the Burrow, leaving Hermione in stunned silence. She was right, and Hermione didn’t have an appropriate exit strategy if Fleur approached her that evening.

***

Hermione was watching the guests crowded on the section of hardwood that had been conjured for the dance floor. Luna and her father were doing some sort of strange dance that she had never seen before. Lupin and Tonks were in the center, grinning at each other as they swayed to and fro. Others were moving to the rhythm of the music. Along the edges of the dance floor there were others mingling at tables under the tent that had been resurrected to cover the reception. Molly had put a lot of work into making the gathering as peaceful as possible. Almost like it was to block out the dangers mounting in their world.

Even with the music and movement around her, Hermione was hyper focused on a pair dancing and laughing together. Bill and Fleur were twirling around the dance floor. Jealousy flared in Hermione as she grit her teeth and forced herself to keep her distance. It wasn’t as though she had good reason to feel jealous; staying away was her own choice.

If avoiding Fleur had been a chore beforehand, it was multiplied by the little distance she could put between them under the tent. T he red dress she wore was perfect for the late August evening, but it felt like she was burning up just underneath her skin. Not enough to cause a sheen of sweat to appear, but just below the surface, waiting to burst forth. It made her feel itchy and irritable. She only correlated that it was due to her proximity to Fleur because she hadn’t felt like this the last few days. Unless she had suddenly come down with a summer flu.

“Uhm, Hermione?” Harry’s soft whisper broke through her brooding.

“What?” She hissed, eyes darting over to her friend sharply.

“It’s, uh, just your eyes…” Harry motioned towards his own eyes and blinked rapidly.

“Oh…” Hermione blushed deeply and did as Harry had done. Her intense focus on Fleur had caused her eyes to take on a golden hue.

After a few blinks, Harry nodded approvingly, giving her a sad knowing smile. She didn’t think she had been that centered on Fleur, causing her to blush again and try to look anywhere that wasn’t in the veela’s direction.

Eventually, Hermione got tired of having small conversation and mingling with the other guests. The air under the tent was starting to get stifling and she needed to find something other than wine or Fire Whiskey to drink. Acquiring a cup of water from the refreshments table, she made her way out from under the tent. The evening air was much crisper and Hermione inhaled deeply. Her heated skin soothed by the cool temperature. She felt tension leave her shoulders that she didn’t realize she was holding. Just another brief moment of peace that she would have to relish before reality sunk in.

Hermione spent the next little bit staring up at the sky and enjoying the distant music and soft chatter coming from the tent. The calmness reminded her of that night in the Forbidden Forest, bleeding out before…

Her body went ridged as she heard someone walking towards her. The smell of the field mingling with that of the ocean assaulted her senses. Before Hermione could think about turning and running, there was a crack , and suddenly Fleur was standing in front of her.

“You are a very difficult person to track down, ‘Ermione Granger,” Fleur said with a frown . Hermione gulped and did her best not to look into mournful blue, instead taking in the outfit the veela had chosen for the evening.

It was a royal blue floor length gown with a slit up the right side of the skirt. The dark brown leather straps of a wand holster could be seen just underneath the fabric . It had a semi-strapless design, a silver ring holding the front and back pieces together to form a strap on the left shoulder. The ensemble was tied together with a pair of white heels and diamond bracelet. The veela’s hair was hanging loosely over her shoulders, making Hermione feel a little unworthy of this woman as her mate.

“Sometimes being a wolf is useful,” Hermione mumbled, turning her gaze to stare at the ground.

“Nowhere run off to this time, though?” Fleur asked with a raised brow.

Hermione’s eyes snapped up, finally looking at Fleur for the first time in days, “not much I could do with you apparating in front of me.” She knew her tone was indignant, but didn’t care.

“How else was I supposed to stop you from leaving? You ‘ave not made it easy to do so. We need talk about what ‘appened.” The sadness in Fleur’s voice made it clear that Hermione wasn’t going to be able to avoid the conversation that was about to happen.

“I know, but we can’t,” Hermione sighed and took a few steps away from Fleur. Maybe if she got enough distance...

“Why can’t we discuss this?” the veela hissed, her accent thickening. “There is no better time than now. You ‘ave been avoiding me since that evening, why?”

Hermione’s mind was racing trying to come up with a better reason than what she had told Ginny. There was nothing she could say that would be an appropriate explanation. She listened to the thundering in her heart, the sound mingling with the somehow calm beat of Fleur’s. It was a soothing sound, allowing her to calm down just enough to get her thoughts together. She knew the answer she was about to give wouldn’t be suitable, but it was all she had .

“I can’t explain.”

“You expect me to accept such an answer?” Fleur scoffed, crossing her arms. “Is this because you are returning to ‘Ogwarts, or that we are at war?”

“ A little bit of both, ” Hermione replied, clenching her jaw. Lying to Fleur made her stomach knot up with guilt.

“That is all the more reason to embrace this while we still ‘ave it,” Fleur said sharply. “Why wait when it could be too late?”
“Fleur, I…” Hermione started to say, looking behind her as if she was turning to leave.

“Non!” The veela snapped, grabbing Hermione’s arm and turning the brunette back to face her. “Why do you avoid something that is so sacred amongst our kinds ?”

Sighing heavily, Hermione looked behind Fleur, making sure the raised voice hadn’t drawn any attention. She placed her hand on Fleur’s, pulling the woman further away from the tent so they wouldn’t be heard. Stopping, she gazed at Fleur for a moment, not sure how she was going to formulate the proper words for what she was feeling.

“There is nothing more that I would like than to acknowledge what happened at the lodge. My whole body burns because of it. When I- When-” Hermione paused, swallowing thickly. “Even if I push away and avoid this, this feeling of- Well, I don’t really know what to call it, but it burns inside of me. Its like a fever. But I made a promise that I can’t break, not even for my mate.”

It was as raw and open as she could be in that moment and hopefully it was enough. Fleur was watching her silently, making Hermione feel self-conscious about what she had just professed. It was short lived as something just behind Fleur caught the brunette’s attention.

What looked like a shooting star was hurtling towards the tent. Squinting, Hermione recognized it as the blue light of a patronus . It burst through the fabric roof, startling the guests within before it was so quiet you could hear the crickets in the distance.

“ The Ministry had fallen. The Minister of Magic is dead. They are coming.” A chill went up Hermione’s spine as Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice broke through the silence.

Without hesitation , Hermione took off towards the tent, Fleur in tow. Over the rising panic of the fleeing guests, she did her best to try and pick out Harry and Ron in the mess of noise. They had made contingency plans for this sort of thing happening, and if they were separated in the process, but Hermione was praying that they could get out of there together. As they reached the tent, billowing plumes of black smoke crashed into it, lighting the fabric on fire, sending more guests scattering into the night.

The acrid smell of smoke burned Hermione’s nose as she burst into the burning structure. There went her ability to sniff the boys out, but it wasn’t needed as she heard Harry shouting Ginny’s name. He was running towards the youngest Weasley on the opposite side of the tent, as she fought off one of the Death Eaters that had crashed the wedding . Hermione watched as Lupin grabbed Harry, shoving him away and towards Ron. The redhead caught him while frantically looking around for familiar brown curls. Hermione and Ron locked onto one another, Ron dragging Harry with him and away from Ginny.

Hermione started making her way towards them, shoving past fleeing patrons and shielding herself from rogue spellfire. She was on a one track mind to get to her friends, but was vaguely aware that Fleur was still close by. It was oddly calming, but also tripped up her moti vations ; challenging her base instinct to protect her mate and her commitment to the mission . A quick glance behind her was met with Fleur expertly blocking a few spells that were aimed at the pair. A wave of guilt and grief that washed over Hermione.

She was going to have to leave her friends and mate in this chaos, not knowing if she was ever going to see any of them ever again.

As the th ought crossed her mind, Hermione was jerked back by Fleur before she was crushed by series of flaming tables that had been flung into her path. The burning furniture was blocking her immediate route to Harry and Ron.

“Hermione!” Ron shouted, eyes wide with panic. “What do we do?!”
She scanned the area, a lump lodged in her throat. There wasn’t a way to get to them safely. They were going to have to regroup.

“Go!” Hermione hollered over the roar of the flames and crash of spells.

“But-!” Harry looked like he was about to run through the fire to grab her.

“No, Harry, go! We know where to meet. Twenty-four hours then leave!”

With a nod, Harry grasped Ron’s arm and apparated away from the Burrow. Now that the boys were away, Hermione was snapped back into the moment when she felt Fleur’s arm wrap around her waist and the familiar tug of apparation pulled at her stomach. The inferno consuming the wedding reception swirled into darkness before she could protest.

When their feet hit the ground, Fleur released her hold on Hermione. The brunette stumbled forward slightly, catching herself before she tripped. It took her a minute to get her bearings, her sense of smell still buggered from the smoke, but she could tell they were near a forest . Wherever Fleur had taken them wasn’t familiar to Hermione at all.

They were standing on a dirt path that lead up to a large red bricked mansion with hedges as tall as her surrounding the perimeter. A wrought iron gate was the only entrance she could see to the property , making it hard to see much more than the dimly lit porch in the distance. Unlike the Burrow, it was chillier standing outside in just her dressing gown. Frowning, Hermione turned to Fleur.

“Where are we?”

“My family’s villa. It is safer than being in England,” Fleur stated bluntly.

“I can’t stay here. I have to go back,” Hermione said as calmly as she could. It was bad enough she had been separated from Harry and Ron, but now she would have to deal with leaving Fleur face to face instead her original plan of disappearing .

“’Ermione, I know you want to make sure you’re friends are alright, but it is suicide to go back,” Fleur said, her tone pleading.

“I have to go Fleur,” Hermione repeated, trying to emphasize t hat there was no talking her out of it .

A brief silence fell between them as Fleur studied Hermione carefully as though she was deep in thought. It made Hermione feel like she was under a microscope.

“Then I will ‘ave to come with you.”

Hermione was taken aback by the statement, she didn’t expect the blonde to follow her. Although now that she was thinking about it, they didn’t know much about one another. The need she was feeling deep within was a mystical bond, but it didn’t mean that it came with the ability to just know a person. If she was going to leave there without putting Fleur in danger, Hermione was going to have to be more upfront in such a manner that wouldn’t betray Harry’s confidence.

Sighing, Hermione shook her head, smiled softly, and took Fleur’s hand in hers.

“I don’t mean to offend you by saying this, but you aren’t coming with me. I- I have to go do something. Something that I can’t really explain because of that promise I mentioned. But know, that its for the best that you don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing. We may not know each other well, Fleur, but I have this strong urge to not let anything happen to you. So, please, trust me when I say, I have to go and I can’t explain.”

Hermione let the words sink in, noticing the flicker of understanding in the veela’s eyes.

“It might be silly and a bit unrealistic,” Fleur spoke softly, thumb rubbing the back of the Gryffindor’s hand. “But, promise me that you will return to me safely, so that we may know each other better at the end of all of this.”

Hermione let out a small laugh, squeezing Fleur’s hand tightly, “I don’t think I’ll come back unharmed, but I promise to make it back to you.”

It was bittersweet when Fleur pulled her into a tight hug, something Hermione hadn’t expected, but warmly welcomed. Hermione returned the embrace, just now noticing that there was a small height difference between them. The blonde was a few inches taller than her, so Hermione’s cheek was resting on Fleur’s shoulder. She was surrounded by the veela’s scent; the subtle smell of the sea soothing her worries in that brief moment. Hermione wanted to stay like that for a little while longer, but knew she needed to be on her way. Harry and Ron were likely already waiting for her at Grimmauld Place and were probably worried about her. She reluctantly pulled away from the comfort of Fleur, not sure what to say; giving a weak smile when the veela nodded knowingly.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione turned to take a few steps away from Fleur; but suddenly, she was spun around and had warm lips against hers. The kiss was intense, filled with fear and unspoken passions. In a weird way, it reassured her that things might work out for their side, even if it took ages. As quickly as it started, the kiss ended when Fleur took a few steps back, putting up a strong front.

Hermione, a little dazed and feeling a bit more confident, gave Fleur one last look before spinning on the spot and apparating back to England.

Chapter Text

Stupid!

She had been so fucking stupid!

Leaving her scarf on that tree for Ron to find after he had left. Only for…

BANG!

Dirt sprayed into the air and against Hermione’s cheek as another spell from the Snatchers narrowly missed her. She was running as fast as she could through the Forest of Dean, doing her best to dodge the spells being sent her way and trying to find Harry and Ron. They had been together when the Snatchers arrived, bolting in the same direction, but with the trees in their path, splitting up had been their only option. The wind was whipping past her as she tried to listen for her friends. To the east she could hear the dull thud of a body hitting the forest floor, the clink of chain rattling into place as Ron went down with a grunt.

Before she could focus on finding Harry, a tree to Hermione’s left exploded, shooting bark through the air. Another spell blew out the trunk of a tree to the right, the shards hitting her side bluntly. With a frustrated growl, Hermione threw her arm behind her, sending a Bombarda at her pursuers. An eruption of dirt, rocks, and twigs caused the Snatchers to stumble and fall over the other, trying not to get hit by the force of the spell. It gave Hermione enough time to hear Harry’s footsteps heading towards the small clearing that was ahead of her. The only problem were the Snatchers closing in on them from all directions.

Their luck had finally run out. There was no narrowly escaping this.

With a burst of speed, Hermione reached the clearing before Harry; what little time she had left was giving the area one last scan before Harry burst forth from the trees. She snapped her wand up, a burst of light hitting Harry dead center in his face and knocked him onto his back. If they were going to get caught, might as well make sure the Snatchers didn’t realize they had just captured Undesirable No.1 and company. Rushing over to Harry, she took his glasses off, giving him an apologetic look as she shoved them into his coat pocket.

“The Hallows exist…” Harry rasped in a low voice, not seeming to care that she had hexed him. “But he’s only after one of them. The last one; he knows where it is. He’s going to have it by the end of the night. You-Know-Who’s found the Elder wand.”

Hermione tensed at the knowledge, worry building that Harry’s connection to Voldemort was still an open line. There wasn’t time to respond as one of the Snatchers pulled her away from him. She clenched her teeth, instincts ushering her to fight off the mercenary and tear the group to pieces. It didn’t help matters when Ron tried to lunge toward her, only to get punched in the gut.

“You betta tell ‘im to sod off, girly, or we’ll do much worse,” the man wearing her scarf and a tattered leather coat sneered. He looked over the trio, stopping at Harry, who’s face had swollen from the Stinging Jinx Hermione had cast. “What happened to you, ugly?” The Snatcher holding Harry by the collar gave the leader a confused look. “Not you, ‘im. What’s yer name?”

“Dudley. Vernon Dudley.”

“Check it,” he commanded before turning his attention to Hermione, sauntering over to her. “And you, my lovely… What do they call you?”

“Penelope Clearwater, Half-blood.”

Before he could ask more, a Snatcher with a list called out, “Scabior, there’s no Vernon Dudley on this list.”

“You hear that, ugly? Says you aren’t on the list. How come you don’t want us to know who you are?” A nondescript Snatcher holding Harry snarled.

“The list’s wrong, I’ve told you who I am,” Harry insisted with a wheeze; the Snatcher was holding him by the throat.

Scabior walked over to them, squinting at Harry as he drew his wand. Hermione ‘struggled’ against the hold of the Snatcher holding her. It was maddening not to be able to use her full strength as she watched with bated breath. Scabior’s wand rested against Harry’s forehead, moving aside the bit of fringe that was in the way of his scar. After a moment of silence, Scabior said, “Change of plan. We’re not bringing this lot to the Ministry.”

***

The Snatchers side-along apparated the trio to the end of a wide gravel driveway with large hedges curving with it. Harry was at the head of the group, his arm firmly gripped by Scabior, while Hermione and Ron were escorted on either side. Hermione wasn’t sure how long the drive was, but it felt like ages as they were marched down it before reaching a wrought-iron gate. The group halted at the entrance, Scabior shuffling his feet as though he were anxious to be where they were. It was dark out, yet, Hermione could still make out the silhouette of what looked to be a handsome manor just beyond the darkness. It made her feel uneasy, like there was nothing beyond the perimeter but dark magic.

The group waited there for a few more minutes before a slender figure appeared from the darkness. Every fiber in Hermione’s being went numb as Bellatrix Lestrange slunk up to the gate. If Voldemort’s right hand was there, they were either at the headquarters of the Death Eaters or what she assumed was Black or Malfoy Manor. She watched as Harry was brought forward, face pushed close to the gate so Bellatrix could inspect him. It was silent for a moment before the dark witch barked an order to bring the trio into the manor and for someone to ‘get Draco’.

The gate turned into black smoke as they were escorted to the entrance of the manor. An ornate door swung inward as Bellatrix approached, seeming to open on its own. The entrance hall to the manor was large, dimly lit, and decorated extravagantly. The stone floor was covered with an impressive rug. Pale-faced portraits lined the walls of the hallway, some taking notice of the filthy appearance of the group as they walked past. At the end of the hallway, Bellatrix opened a bronze-handled door, leading them into a drawing room.

The room looked like it could be the largest in the manor, with its wide proportions and ceiling reaching 30 feet. At one end stood a pipe organ with a chandelier hanging on either side; the other end an ornate marble mantle piece with a gilded mirror. Its purple walls were covered with more portraits, while the center piece of the room was a large crystal chandelier. Positioned just in front of the mantle, were two wing-backed chairs and an oval-shaped oak table. Sitting in those chairs were Lucius and Draco Malfoy. A woman Hermione assumed was Narcissa Malfoy, stood by the mantle in emerald robes, icy blue eyes darting to each of the new arrivals. When the scrutinizing gaze landed on Hermione, she stared intently at the floor. They were in a room full of Slytherins, one of which was the most powerful legillimens in Britain.

Bellatrix grabbed Harry and dragged him a few feet away, her wand pointed at his throat. She tugged his head back by the hair, revealing the puffy indentation of a lighting bolt. Draco stood up and approached his aunt; Hermione could hear the thudding of his heart the closer he got to Harry.

“Well?” Bellatrix pressed, watching her nephew intently.

“I can’t be sure,” Draco said shakily.

Lucius approached his son, hand grabbing the back of the boy’s neck as he spoke, “Draco. Look closely, son.” He glanced back at Hermione and Ron, eyes squinting as though he’s never seen them before. “If we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord…everything would be forgiven. All would be as it was, you understand?”

That didn’t go over well with Scabior as the Snatcher frowned and took a few steps towards Lucius, “now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught ‘im, I ‘ope, Mr. Malfoy.”

“You dare talk to me like that in my own house!?”

“Lucius,” Narcissa whispered, approaching the man and pulling him gingerly away from Draco. It was interesting to see that the family was also suffering from the war.

“Don’t be shy, sweetie. Come over,” Bellatrix crooned, taking Draco’s hand and bringing him the final few steps to Harry. “Now, if this isn’t who we think it is, Draco, and we call him, he’ll kill us all. We need to be absolutely sure.”

“What’s wrong with his face?” Draco asked after a few seconds of looking at Harry.

“Yes, what is wrong with his face?”

“He came to us like that,” Scabior grunted. “Something he picked up in the forest, I reckon.”

The smallest exhale of relief left Hermione, hoping that the explanation from the Snatcher was enough to persuade Bellatrix.

“Or… ran into a Stinging Jinx,” Bellatrix mumbled, turning to Hermione. “Was it you, dearie?”

The dark witch moved towards Hermione, Ron, and the Snatcher that was holding onto them roughly. “Give me her wand. We’ll see what her last spell was.” Grinning maniacally, Bellatrix kept her gaze fixed on Hermione as the Snatcher moved to the side. “Ahh, got you.”

When Bellatrix turned her attention to the Snatcher that was holding onto the trio’s belongings, she abruptly stopped at the sight of what the man was holding in his left hand. Glinting, as though it had never seen battle, was the Sword of Godric Gryffindor.

“What is that?” Bellatrix asked, her voice low and dangerous. “Where’d you get that from?”

The Snatcher in question was confused by the question, but answered honestly, “it was in ‘er bag when we searched ‘er. Reckon it’s mine now.”

The grin he wore was short lived as he was thrown across the room, back slamming into one of the stone pillars. Hermione heard the bones of his spine crunch on impact. The rest happened all too quickly; the Snatcher that had been holding Hermione and Ron let go of them when a snake wrapped itself around his throat. Scabior attempted to speak, but was cut off as Bellatrix’s wand tip morphed into a whip and constricted around his throat. The Death Eater jerked her arm back, retching the the man to the floor before releasing the spell.

“Go! Get out!” Bellatrix shrieked at the confused Snatchers, watching them scamper out of the drawing room. “Cissy! Put the boys in the cellar! I want to have a little conversation with this one, girl-to-girl.”

Suddenly, Hermione’s personal space was invaded by the mad woman, their noses almost touching. With nowhere else to look, she was forced to look into dark eyes. This only caused the Bellatrix to grin wider as she grabbed Hermione by the collar of her jacket, ripping her away from the wall she had pressed herself against. The momentum caused her to stumble, but she was kept upright as Bellatrix dragged her to the center of the room.

Hermione’s mind was racing. There was nothing that she could feasibly do until she knew what Bellatrix was going to do to her. She assumed it would be torture of some kind. The thought made her pale; the woman’s signature was the Cruciatus Curse, but if she remembered that Hermione was a werewolf…

Her mind flashed to the description Moody had given her about the Death Eater, Fenrir Greyback. Her blood went cold at the twisted imagery that floated through her mind.

“Cruicio!”

Hermione was ripped away from her thoughts as all her nerve endings lit up like they were on fire, sending her to floor to writhe in pain. She kept her jaw clenched and eyes closed, refusing to cry out in pain; she faced worse during the full moon. When the pain finally stopped, she could hear the clicking of heels close to her. Bellatrix was pacing anxiously, muttering about how the Dark Lord would punish her for this grievous mistake. Letting out a soft groan, Hermione rolled over and attempted to stand. It hurt to move, but she needed to get away from the Death Eater before she was forced into a stress induced shift.

As she got to her hands and knees, the same searing pain tore through her again. Her body tensed at the overload, a scream threatening to be let loose. When her body relaxed, Hermione slumped to the floor, gasping for air. Tears ran down her cheeks, face red from trying to hold in her screams. She tried to move when Bellatrix started towards her again. The woman jammed her foot underneath Hermione and kicked her over.

“You’re going to tell me where you got that sword, filth,” Bellatrix said.

Hermione swallowed thickly. Quite honestly, she didn’t know where Harry and Ron had found the sword. The night Ron had returned to them, the boys had come back, grinning ear to ear. Harry looked as though he had taken a swim, and Ron was holding the broken locket of Salazar Slytherin and the sword of Gryffindor. Hermione had been so furious with Ron that she didn’t think to ask where they had found it. Last she knew it was sitting in Dumbledore’s office at Hogwarts.

“I don’t know,” the young witch said.

“You don’t know?” Bellatrix asked, eyes widening. The woman let out a shriek of laughter. “You don’t know?! Did it just drop out of the sky in the middle of nowhere?” She grabbed Hermione by the collar of her jacket, jamming her wand in the girl’s neck. “Do you think me a fool, you filthy mudblood? That sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringotts. How did you get it? What else did you and your friends take from my vault!?”

“I didn’t take anything,” Hermione whimpered. “Please. I didn’t take anything.”

“I don’t believe it,” Bellatrix hissed.

Blinding pain exploded through Hermione’s head as Bellatrix spoke the curse, wand tip still pressed firmly against the young witch’s neck. This time her body convulsed violently as dark magic coursed through her. Then she hears screaming, but she isn’t sure if its hers, even when her throat feels raw as she gasps for air. When the pain finally subsides, Hermione feels numb, body twitching from aftershocks. Thankfully she watches Bellatrix walk away from her, too tired to listen to what the woman was saying.

There’s movement near the stairs leading to the cellar, someone walking down the stone steps before two sets of feet return. Although her vision was bleary with tears, Hermione watched as Peter Pettigrew escorted a goblin she vaguely recognized over to Bellatrix before slinking back into the shadows. She let her gaze wander though, it drifted behind Bellatrix as she questioned the goblin.

The Malfoys had retreated to the far wall during Bellatrix’s outburst. Lucius wore a bored look, while his wife and child appeared conflicted. Draco was drilling holes into the floor as he tried to remain as still as possible. The only movement sporadic when he would bounce his leg for a few seconds before stopping and repeating the process. Through dull senses, Hermione could hear the young man’s heart still thundering in his chest.

Narcissa, on the other hand, was standing as still as a statue, her face showing no emotion to the torture that she was witness too. Yet, much like her son, the woman betrayed herself. Her eyes were glued to the closest pillar, obscuring her view of Hermione. At the angle Narcissa was standing, she would only be able to catch glimpses of the act. Hermione would have questioned the action if she had been in her right mind, but it hurt to think too much. Her brain felt like it was as fried as the rest of her body.

“I’m only going to ask you once more, goblin,” Bellatrix’s voice has Hermione’s eyes dart in the direction it had come. “Think very, very carefully before you answer.”

There was a moment of silence before the goblin spoke, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Why weren’t you doing your job? Who got into my vault?” Bellatrix’s voice was quiet, but her tone was frantic. “Who stole it? Who stole it? Well?”

“When I was last in your vault, the sword was there.”

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to block out the voices. She needed to gather what little strength she had left so she could get to Harry and Ron. Bellatrix had left her close enough to the stairs that she could crawl towards them, but even the slightest movement draw the woman’s attention. Even if she were to make it down to the cellar, they didn’t have an escape. Well, they did, but Hermione refused to do that and she was already teetering on the edge. That third Cruciatus at point blank range had flicked a switch in the young witch’s brain. The pressure behind her eyes and the itch just underneath her skin was evidence of that.

It was during fifth year when she found out she didn’t need the full moon to shift. Umbridge had been desperate enough to believe Hermione’s lie that Dumbledore had a weapon in the Forbidden Forest. The falsity had tumbled out of her mouth when Umbridge had threatened to use an Unforgivable on Harry. In the quiet of the forest with Umbridge’s wand pointed at their backs, Hermione was trying to think on her feet. Between herself, Harry, and Ron, she preferred to have a plan ready. Spontaneous action in a time of stress had never been her best skill, and when spells started flying, she tended to rely on instinct. When the centaurs stopped their barrage on Grawp, only for Umbridge to harm one of their herd, Hermione snapped. She still remembers the girlish scream Harry let out when she burst into a snarling wolf right beside him.

“Consider yourself lucky, goblin,” Bellatrix said, pulling Hermione back to the present. “The same won’t be said for this one.” The Death Eater loomed over her, wand pointed lazily at the young witch.

If Hermione could laugh through the pain, she would have. She was probably about to die and all she could think was that it wouldn’t be as peaceful as dying in the Forbidden Forest. Her eyes closed, wanting to imagine the way the canopy of trees had looked; dark navy the backdrop with stars peeking through the leaves. She thinks that would have been better than staring up into the cold, empty eyes of a blood purist.

“Like hell,” Ron’s voice was soft, but determined as it broke through the silence that had fallen across the drawing room. Hermione wasn’t sure she’d actually heard him until he bellowed out ‘Expelliarmus’. The crack of spellfire sounded through the room, Harry and Ron dueling Narcissa and Draco.

Without another thought, Hermione scrambled to her feet with a surge of adrenaline. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do without her wand. Her mind raced through the very few options she had. She could either turn and run or tackle Bellatrix to get her wand back and join the fight. The first option meant abandoning her friends and Hermione wasn’t going to do that. Option two, though, meant getting into a physical fight with a Death Eater; and she wasn’t sure she would be able to hold back her wolf much longer. Hermione spun on her heel to face Bellatrix, ready to do what needed to be done.

The dark witch was sneering at her, wand raised and a spell on the tip of her tongue. Gathering all her Gryffindor courage, Hermione ran towards Bellatrix, causing the woman to startled. Only those she deemed to be fouls were hardy enough to take on Voldemort’s most trusted. Yet, the gall of the unarmed mudblood had her laughing. At least until strong arms were wrapped around her waist, the full force of Hermione’s body sent Bellatrix off her feet and onto her back.

With a pair of grunts, they hit the floor, rolling away from the duel. Hermione’s hand was firmly wrapped around Bellatrix’s left wrist, being somewhat careful to not crush bone. Her other hand was firmly around her wand. Which wasn’t the best idea because it left Hermione open to an attack. Bellatrix punched the younger witch in the stomach. Hermione let out a rush of air and rolled off of Bellatrix, but refused to relinquish her wand. They lay there in a tug of war of sorts, Bellatrix failing to pry the hand from around her wrist.

How dare this filth touch her, the Death Eater thought as she gave another jerk of her arm. The pressure that was holding her in place tightened, making the bones in her wrist creak with warning. She didn’t understand the stark change in the brunette until the grip around her wrist loosened. Confused, Bellatrix locked eyes with Hermione, recognition dawning as she stared into panicked golden eyes.

Hermione’s eyes widened when Bellatrix started to smile, showing too many teeth in the process. She figured the woman would be in some sort of pain with the death grip Hermione had on her. The smile was eerie and reminded her of the Cheshire Cat.

“Hullo, mud puppy,” Bellatrix said before lifting her knees up and using all her strength to kick Hermione square in the chest.

Darkness crept into Hermione’s vision as she skidded across the floor, coming to a halt next to an unconscious Lucius. Her breathing came in sharp wheezes, but she didn’t have time to recover, Bellatrix was already coming towards her. Thankfully, she could feel the familiar wood of her wand in her grasp. Doing her best not to vomit from pain, Hermione struggled to stand before having to step back from a spell.

“I’d forgotten Potter’s filthy little friend was a werewolf,” Bellatrix said with bemusement. “Not even Greyback could withstand that many Unforgiveables before devolving into an animal, let allow one straight to the brain.” The woman made a shooting motion with her wand at her head. “Resilient little beastie, aren’t you? I wonder how many it will take you to break? Or maybe good old fashioned torture? Thousand cuts by silver; what do you think?”

“Fuck you,” Hermione growled.

Bellatrix scowled as she flicked her wrist, shooting a ball of fire towards Hermione. The brunette dove out of the way but it was painful to roll back onto her feet and take off towards one of the pillars. There was the whoosh of something whipping through the air before Hermione was yanked down to the floor by the rope that wrapped around her ankle. What fight she had left drained away when Bellatrix pressed the blade of a knife against her throat. Her teeth grit together at the sting of the metal cutting into her neck.

“Get up slowly, pet. Wouldn’t want my hand to slip, now would we?” Bellatrix said, grabbing the back of Hermione’s coat and pulling up.

Hermione did as she was told, getting up slowly. Once she was standing, Bellatrix pressed the knife more firmly against Hermione’s throat, forcing the girl to look towards the ceiling. The death eater used her like a shield, turning them towards the duel once more. Harry and Ron had kept it together the last few minutes against the Malfoys, although they looked as though they were wearing thin.

“Stop!” Bellatrix shouted. Harry and Ron looked over in confusion and then fear at Hermione being held captive. “Drop your wands.” The boys hesitated, unsure if their compliance would make a difference. “I said, drop them!” The wands clattered to the ground.

“Pick them up, Draco. Now.” There was a shuffle of movement before Bellatrix sauntered forward with Hermione. “Well, well, well, look what we have here. It’s Harry Potter.” The name was whispered menacingly against her ear. That meant the jinx she used on Harry had dissipated. “He’s all bright and shiny and new again, just in time for the Dark lord. Call him.”

Silence fell in the room, the sound of fabric rubbing against itself as someone pulled up their sleeve only broke it briefly. Yet, when the quiet returned, it was disrupted by a squeaking just above them. Everyone in the room looked up to see Dobby the House Elf sitting on top of the chandelier, casually unscrewing the bolt that held it to a chain in the ceiling.

Things slowed down for Hermione in that moment as the chandelier started to fall. Bellatrix pushed her away and into the impact zone. Luckily, she was prepared enough to use the last bit of her strength to move out of the way and into Ron’s arms. Her body felt weak, unable to keep herself up and slumping into him. He put a protective arm around her, stopping her from crumpling to the ground. The goblin, who Hermione now recognized to be Griphook, stood next to them holding the sword; Harry and Dobby were last to huddle up with them.

“You could’ve killed me!” Bellatrix shrieked, her eyes burning with fury.

“Dobby never meant to kill. Dobby only meant to maim or seriously injure.”

Narcissa took that moment to raise her wand for an attack, only to lose her wand to a snap of Dobby’s fingers. The wood easily fell into the elf’s hand.

“How dare you take a witch’s wand! How dare you defy your masters?!” Bellatrix continued to rave.

“Dobby has no masters,” the elf said proudly, puffing up his chest. “Dobby is a free elf. And Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends.”

Dobby reached out his hands, the trio and Griphook grabbing them firmly. The last thing Hermione saw before they apparated was Bellatrix’s knife soaring through the air, it’s silver blade glinting in the light.

***

The crack of apparation startled the occupants of Shell Cottage. They were not expecting to entertain guests, having just seen Molly Weasley the day prior. Bill Weasley was on his feet immediately, wand drawn and at the ready. He peered out the small window in the front door, seeing figures in the distance. The smallest of the three figures vanished, leaving the remaining two to walk towards the whitewashed cottage. As the figures got closer, Bill recognized them as Luna Lovegood and Ollivander, the wand maker. His jaw dropped as he flung the door open, shouting at Fleur to get the medical supplies.

When Bill returned, Fleur was waiting in the kitchen, potions and bandages at the ready on the table. Her eyes widened at the state of Ollivander; the old wizard was frail, eyes sunken, various cuts and scraps adorning his face. Luna was far less worse for wear, only a few scratches marred her face and hands. It seemed Ollivander had been in captivity longer than Luna, but both looked tired as they took seats at the kitchen table.

As Fleur attended to their wounds, Bill questioned them about how they had gotten there or even knew how to find the safe house. When Luna mentioned that Ron had told Dobby where to take them and that Harry was with them in the cellar, Fleur stopped what she was doing. Bill rested his hand on her shoulder, noticing the way the woman tensed up. Fleur glanced over anxiously when nothing more was said. Luna was wearing a soft, but confident smile, although her eyes revealed a sadness for Hermione.

“They’ll make it back,” Luna said with a reassuring nod.

Silently, Fleur went back to mending the bones in Ollivander’s fingers. She might not be as skilled as the mediwitch at Beuxbatons, but smaller bones were easier to mend then a leg or collarbone. All of Fleur’s focus went into tending to their injured guests, using it as a distraction from the panic that was gnawing away at her. Time moved by agonizingly slow as she went about making tea for everyone. The others were quiet as well, the only sound coming from the waves crashing against the cliff. It wasn’t until a half hour later, that another crack broke through the silence.

Fleur was already opening the door and sprinting across the beach when the first shouts came from over a small sand dune.

“Dobby!”

“Hermione!”
Harry and Ron’s voices carried over the crashing waves and wind as Fleur took off in their direction. She put as much force into her steps as she could, the sand causing her to lose some momentum.

“Hermione… What’re you… Ron! Get back!” Harry’s panicked cry spurred the blonde on as she scrambled up and over the dune.

Harry was closest to the bottom of the dune, crouched low with his wand drawn and holding the shaking, bloody body of Dobby. The house elf’s left arm had been severed at the elbow, a scrap of Harry’s shirt wrapped around the stump. A few yards in front of them were Ron and Hermione. She had to hold back a gasp when she realized why Harry had been warning Ron.

Hermione was next to Ron on her hands and knees, her left hand was grasping the handle of something that was sticking out of her right shoulder. Blood was streaming down her cheeks, making the whites of her eyes red with gold in the middle. An animal-like snarl erupted from Hermione when she ripped the object out of her shoulder. Blood splattered onto the sand followed by the silver knife that had been embedded in the werewolf. Her breathing was already uneven, but it was now coming out in ragged, sharp gasps. Her body started to shake before the violent sound of her bones cracking and being realigned caused Ron to back pedal away from his friend.

Fleur looked away when Hermione’s wounded arm snapped outwards only to twist back with a sickening crunch. Sliding down the dune, Fleur positioned herself in front of Harry. From the look on the young man’s face, he’d never seen Hermione like this. His eyes were welling up with tears while he watched on. Ron was standing just behind Fleur now with his wand drawn, but his knuckles were white around the wood.

An ear piercing scream tore itself from Hermione’s throat as she started to claw at her skin. Where nails once were, dark claws protruded. Strips of skin and chunks of flesh dropped to the sand with wet thumps. A growl rumbled from within the young woman, and in the next moment, the dark brown muzzle of a wolf started to force itself out of Hermione’s mouth. Fleur couldn’t believe her eyes when the rest of the human skin covering the wolf melted away in gory bits, leaving the large beast standing before them. Golden eyes snapped to Fleur and the others, the wolf rising on it hackles and letting out a harsh snarl.

“What do we do?” Ron whispered.
“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “She looked fine to you when we apparated right?”

“Mate, I don’t think anyone would be fine after…” Ron stopped talking, eyes darting over to Fleur, who had yet to say anything. She was staring at the wolf as it sniffed the air and let out another growl.

“Is this new?” Fleur asked in a low voice.

“Iunno,” Ron said. He’d never been in a position to see Hermione shift before.

“No,” Harry said. “Well, there was this one time, but it wasn’t like this. This looks like how she described the full moon transformation.”

“Take Dobby to the cottage,” Fleur said calmly.

“But-”

“’Arry, take care of your friend, he is not as resilient as humans.”

“What are you going to do?” Ron asked, hesitant to leave Fleur alone with the beast before them.

“Calm ‘er down,” Fleur replied. “Now go.”

With a nod, Harry started to stand, gingerly lifting Dobby as he did so. The wolf’s eyes were glued to the young man as he backed away and up the dune. Ron gave Fleur a reassuring look, more for himself than for the blonde, but Fleur didn’t mind. He turned and followed Harry back to the cottage, leaving Fleur alone with the wolf.

Taking a deep breath, Fleur took a careful step towards the wolf. Already prepared to attack, the wolf let out a warning growl as it watched the woman come closer. Fleur stopped moving at the sound, not sure if Hermione’s wolf would recognize their bond. If her study of werewolf mating was accurate, the wolf would know who she was, but it was on the defensive. So, the pair were at a stalemate for the moment, giving Fleur the opportunity to properly look at the wolf.

The wolf was tensed and ready to lunge at any sign of danger. Its great golden eyes had yet to leave Fleur, continuing to watch the woman; either trying to guess her next move or with intrigue, Fleur couldn’t tell. Although the wolf was on the defensive, it was evident that the creature was in pain, putting most of its weight on the left side. The fur was matted down with blood where the wound was. Fleur grimaced when she noticed that the bleeding had yet to stop.

“’Ermione,” Fleur whispered softly, not wanting to startle the wolf. Its ears flicked towards the sound of the blonde’s voice, but made no other indication of acknowledgment. Reaching out slowly, Fleur spoke with a pleading tone, “mon amour, please let me help you.”

The wolf growled in warning again, teeth bared as it limped back a bit. Fleur let her arm fall back to her side. She wasn’t sure what to do, at a loss of how to communicate with the distressed wolf. Wherever the trio had come from, Hermione had suffered greatly enough that it caused her wolf to surface in an act of preservation. Fleur watched as the wolf awkwardly laid down, having decided the woman wasn’t going to cause any harm. Fleur sighed and slowly lowered herself, it looked like she was going to be there for a while.

Slipping her wand out of her sleeve was a difficult task, not wanting to startle the wolf as it continued to just stare at her. Once her hand was firmly on the handle, she pointed her arm to the right, whispering a Patronus charm. The silvery form of a wolf appeared, sitting promptly in front of Fleur.

“Take this message to Bill: Don’t worry. I’m fine. ‘Ermione cannot move yet.”

As the patronus took off towards the cottage, movement out of the corner of her eye caught Fleur’s attention. She turned to find herself face to face with the wolf. Golden eyes bored into blue ones, searching for something; ultimately deciding to lay down once more but with its head in blonde’s lap. Fleur remained still, allowing the wolf to get settled. Once the weight was nestled on her legs, Fleur gently placed her hand on the wolf’s head. The fur was soft to touch as she ran her fingers through it, bringing a small sense of comfort to Fleur.

Hermione was still alive, and by some gift of the gods, had returned to Fleur.

A wave of emotion washed over the woman as months of bottled up worry and stress released. Tears welled up and with a choked sob, Fleur cried in relief. Ever since Hermione left her in France to go on whatever secret mission with Harry doing gods knew what, Fleur had thrown herself into her work at Gringotts and with the Order, trying to occupy her mind. Then it became too dangerous when the Death Eaters and Snatchers started rounding up those with half-blood status, forcing her to hole up at Shell Cottage with Bill.

With nothing to do but wait for orders, there was only time for worry. Listening to the radio every morning and gripping her mug so tight it threatened to break, waiting to hear Hermione’s name became apart of her routine. It never came, but knowing her mate was in the cross hairs of You Know Who kept Fleur at the radio, waiting for what she thought would be the inevitable. Yet, here Hermione was, injured from something that Ron wouldn’t mention in front of her. She made a mental note to talk to the boys once she got Hermione back to the cottage.

After taking a moment to compose herself, Fleur turned her attention to oozing wound on Hermione’s shoulder. She was going to need to work slowly as to not disturb the wolf nestled on her. The wolf was breathing evenly, almost like it had drifted off to sleep. Fleur shook her head fondly and gingerly moved bits of fur to the side. There was a sizable gash in the broad shoulder, showing off sinewy muscle. It was difficult to see much more through the blood slowly seeping out. Glancing nervously down at the wolf, Fleur pressed her wand to the wound. With a few whispered words, the tip of her wand lit up and cauterized the wound.

The only reaction from the wolf was an annoyed whine.

It took Fleur a second to calm down, her heart thudding in her chest. She had been prepared for the worst; for Hermione to lash out at her. Yet it seemed that the wolf was content enough with her current situation. That worked out fine for Fleur as she cleared away the remaining droplets of blood. She took her time stitching the skin back together, hands shaking from the effort. Once Fleur was done, she felt drained from the meticulous work. The sun had started to set, turning the sky into a gorgeous blend of reds and purples. She watched the sunset until the weight in her lap suddenly lessened.

Looking down, Fleur was greeted with the sight of bushy brown hair sprawled across her lap. Hermione had returned to her human self, laying naked in sand and shivering slightly at the change in temperature. Fleur summoned a blanket, draping it over the brunette. She waited, not sure if Hermione would stir, but the girl was blissfully asleep. Carefully, Fleur moved out from underneath Hermione, wrapping the younger witch up in the blanket. With a flick of her wand, she lifted Hermione off the ground and started to make the walk back to the cottage.

Chapter Text

The first thing Hermione noticed was the soft surface she was laying on. The last thing she remembered was grabbing hold of Dobby’s small hand before being whisked away into darkness. She hears people arguing below her. One is female; the other is male. The male voice is familiar though.

Harry.

She’s not sure what they’re saying, but she can tell its a heated conversation. Cracking her eyes open, Hermione squinted into a dimly lit room. Her vision was a bit blurry as she blinked and rubbed sleep from her eyes.

The room was quite small with just enough room to comfortably move around. There was an armchair to her left, situated right next to the bed along with a night table. It looked like it had been used recently, a blanket draped over the back and a book laid down on the seat. The rest of the room was occupied by a dresser and small table next to the door. She didn’t know this room and that thought had her jolting up right.

When the pain in her head and shoulder caught up with her sleep addled brain, Hermione let out a hiss of pain at the dull sensation that tugged at her temples and muscles. She laid back down and stared at the ceiling as her memories slowly came back. Bellatrix had thrown her knife at Dobby and Hermione reacted the best she could while the group apparated. When they landed on the beach, all she could remember was the searing pain of the silver embedded into her shoulder and the thick coppery scent of blood. She doesn’t remember much after that, although through the haze there’s a vaguely familiar blonde hovering over her.

Fleur?

Had she been dreaming that the veela had been on the beach with her? Or had it been a delirium induced mirage?

Hermione inhaled deeply, mulling over the scents that lingered in the room. Harry and Ron’s distinct smells were a few hours old. Mixed in with theirs was a fresher, more inviting smell. Hermione sat up slowly, grimacing in pain only a handful of times until she was standing. Walking sluggishly, she headed out into the hall of the second floor. The stairs were to her right and she headed down them towards the sound of conversation that had yet to die down.

“… I know that, but we need to go,” Harry’s voice carried from the kitchen.

“It has only been a day.” Bill’s voice.

“One day too long.”

“Baiser, ‘Arry! What could be so important zat you three cannot rest?” Fleur snapped, causing Hermione to pause and sit at the bottom of the steps to listen. “We don’t even know the extent of ‘ermione’s injuries.”

“She always bounces back,” Ron said confidently. “When she wakes up, we’ll get out of yer hair.”

There was a slam against the table, followed by the breaking of ceramic before Fleur appeared from out of the kitchen, eyes red and puffy. Hermione smiled softly at the angry French being muttered under the woman’s breath.

<Careful, someone might understand you,> Hermione said, hoping her French didn’t sound awful.

Fleur looked around in confusion before seeing Hermione sitting on the steps. A series of emotions flashed across her face: fear, anger, sadness; before finally landing on relief as she walked over.

“I didn’t think you would be awake so soon,” the blonde said, taking a seat on the last step.

“Werewolf healing.”

“Do you remember much of how you got here?”

“Bits and pieces. Its still a bit hazy.”

“And what of the Manor?”

Hermione stared at the carpet for a moment, not sure if she could answer. She was still trying to get a grasp on what had transpired. Her nerves still felt fried from the Cruciatus, and she could feel her muscles twitch ever so slightly with the after effects. Thankfully, the dull ache in her head had subsided. Bellatrix had tortured her and emotionally, she felt was numb. She wasn’t ready to tell Fleur that.

<Another time,> Hermione muttered, placing her hand on Fleur’s leg reassuringly.

Fleur went to question the action before stopping, seeing why Hermione had put an end to their conversation.

Harry and Ron were leaving the kitchen, both looking worried, but unharmed. Ron was the first to notice the pair sitting on the stairs, nudging Harry in the side. The young man pushed up his glasses as he looked from the floor over to Hermione. A small smile spread across his face as he greeted her, “hullo, Hermione.”

“Hey.”

“Alright?” Ron asked, walking closer. “Thought we almost lost ye there for a second.” Hermione gave him a confused look. “You don’t remember?”

“Not very well, its hazy. Why? What happened?” The confusion was replaced with a frown.

“You, uh, you wolfed out pretty hard. I’m not even sure how Fleur was able to calm you down.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Hermione’s voice filled with panic as she looked over at Fleur, scanning the woman for any injuries.

The blonde gave her hand a squeeze, “no, not by you. ‘Arry and Ron were able to get to the cottage with Dobby.”

“Is he alright? I tried to shield him.”

“Shield him?” Fleur asked in bewilderment. “You risked your life for a house elf?”

The trio frowned at the question, Hermione’s eyebrows shooting up as she stood from the steps. “And what if I did? Dobby risked his life to save us.”

“Non, Hermione, you misunderstand. It is an anomaly for witches and wizards to go out of their way to stop harm towards creatures like Dobby. I find it commendable that you tried to protect him.”

“Tried to?” Hermione looked over to Harry. His eyes were brimming with tears as he shook his head at her unasked question.

“Dobby lost… a lot of blood,” Harry mumbled as he stared at his hands blankly.

“We’re not even sure how it go stuck in you,” Ron piped up. “Probably somethin’ similar to splinching.”

“Maybe,” Hermione hummed, rolling her shoulder. The muscles were still tight, but it didn’t hurt as much to move. “Did… Did you bury him somewhere?”

“Up on the hill behind the cottage,” Fleur supplied. “It has a nice view of the ocean.”

“Figured he would’ve liked it,” Harry said.

Nodding, Hermione stood up, limped over to Harry, linking their arms together, and tilted her head to the door for Ron to follow. Fleur looked as though she was about to protest.

“We’ll be back,” Hermione reassured Fleur before heading out the door with Harry and Ron in tow.

The grave sat atop the small hill overlooking the cottage and ocean. Patches of tall grass were clustered against the small boulder that marked the site. Words were inexpertly etched into the boulder’s rough surface.

Here Lies Dobby

A Free Elf

“Thank you for saving us,” Hermione muttered, running her fingers of the words. “And I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Hermione,” Harry said. “I asked him for help. I brought him into this…”

“Harry James Potter, don’t you dare blame yourself for his de-”

“Both of you shouldn’t blame yourselves,” Ron interrupted. “We’re in the middle of a war. If anyone is to blame for the casualties, its You Know Who.”

Stunned, Hermione watched as Ron’s face hardened as he spoke. He wasn’t wrong; there was no point in arguing who was to blame. There were casualties in war and they would have to live with that. It was strange to hear it coming from Ron though.

“You’re right,” she said, turning once more to Harry. “What were you and Fleur arguing about?”

“Told her that we were on our way out once you woke up. She didn’t like that idea.”

“I could tell.”

“So what are we doing next?” Ron asked. “You didn’t say much else other than leaving.”

“We’re no closer to knowing where the other horcruxes are, but we’ve got Gryffindor’s sword now to destroy them.”

“Bellatrix panicked when she saw the sword.” Hermione said, swallowing thickly. “She kept asking me what else we took, like the sword wasn’t the only important thing in her vault.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “maybe one of the horcruxes is in there?”

“Exactly, but that means breaking into Gringotts. I know you wanted to leave as soon as I was awake, but we need to plan for something like this.”

The trio spent the rest of the morning brainstorming how they were going to attempt to break into Gringotts. The higher levels of the bank already had their own tricky form of security, but they were destined for the lowest of the lower levels which were another story. Information pertaining to the safeguards down there were mere rumors. For all they knew, they could run into a dragon or a sphinx if they got past the standard security. Ron suggested they ask Griphook since the goblin was also recovering from his time at Malfoy Manor.

When it came time for lunch, Hermione’s stomach growled loudly.

“Worse than me now, eh?” Ron laughed as they made their way back into the cottage.

They found Bill in the kitchen listening to Potterwatch while he ate. Three other plates with sandwiches sat on the table; the trio wasting no time to dig in. Hermione was halfway through her meal before she realized that someone was missing.

“Bill, where’s Fleur?”

“I think she went to check up on Mr Ollivander and Griphook.”

Excusing herself, Hermione made her way upstairs. She failed to ask Bill which rooms the others were staying in, but she picked up on movement in the room across from the one she had woken up in. As she arrived on the landing, the door opened and Fleur entered the hallway.

“Merci, Monsieur Ollivander,” the woman said before shutting the door and resting her head against it. She took a few deep breaths before standing up straight and turning towards the stairs. Not expecting Hermione to be standing at the top of them caused Fleur to startle, “merde, ‘ermione. Do you not make noise?”

“Only when the occasion calls for it,” Hermione said, shrugging. “How’s he doing?”

“Better than I expected for how he looks,” Fleur said while walking over to Hermione. “I can only do so much here though. St.Mungo’s would be my suggestion, but it isn’t safe to do so. We need to bring a professional here.”

Hermione looked at the ground, her voice low as she spoke, “can he wait until we’ve left? No one must know that we were here.”

“Leave? With the injuries you sustained and how the lot of you look, it could take days for you to heal properly...Even with the healing of a loup-garou.”

The younger woman closed her mouth and blushed deeply under the steely glare Fleur was giving her. She was right though, even with her healing factor, it would take Hermione more than a few days to be back at full strength. Strength she would need for their next course of action.

“If you have to bring someone here, it has to be someone that you trust implicitly. We can’t have Order members knowing that we were here,” Hermione’s voice was stern as she spoke. “Only you and Bill.”

“That isn’t much to work with, but I will do my best.”

“Thank you…”

They stood across from each other awkwardly. What was someone to say to their mate after 8 months apart and flimsy, at best, relationship? If they could call it that. It didn’t stop Hermione from wanting to reach out and hug Fleur tightly and never let her go. In the back of her head she knew it was the bond drawing her in, but she didn’t care.

The woman was staring at something behind Hermione, hands folded neatly in front of her. She seemed to be as unsure as Hermione about what to do.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Fleur abruptly asked.

“Oh, uhm, sure.” Smooth Granger.

Fleur smiled softly, tilting her head to the stairs. The pair descended, but instead of going out the front door, Fleur led Hermione through the living room to the back door. They walked out onto a loose cobblestone path that led out onto the beach. Hermione noticed a small fenced-in garden to the left of the path; an assortment of flowers and vegetables sat in wooden planters adding a splash of colour against the washed out cottage. She continued to follow Fleur away from the building and towards the ocean.

Dark clouds were rolling in, the brewing storm kicking up the waves. The crash of the tide accompanied the women as they walked in silence. Hermione didn’t say anything, walking a few steps behind Fleur. She was determined in her step, like where there was a purpose to where they were headed. It made Hermione swallow nervously. She hadn’t been sure what ‘a walk’ would entail, but it wasn’t this. Still she remained quiet as she followed the veela across the beach. Eventually, they came upon a rocky crag jutting out into the water.

Hermione watched as Fleur climbed the rock like it was second nature. She moved with the same fluid grace she had during the Beauxbatons’ entrance in fourth year. If she wasn’t enthralled by the movement, Hermione would have started her own awkward ascent up the crag. Her jaw was clenched tight to stop it from dropping.

“Do you need assistance?” Fleur called from above, humor lacing her tone.

“No…” Hermione said, blushing as she grabbed a hold of the rough surface in front of her and hoisted herself up. She wasn’t as quick as Fleur though, taking a few minutes to climb the fifteen foot rock face. Once at the top. Hermione scowled at how high up they were; she never liked heights. Turning her attention away from the ground, the scowl deepened at the amused look on Fleur’s face.

“What?”

“Took you long enough,” Fleur said, taking Hermione’s hand and pulling her away from the edge. “Come, there is a spot to sit and watch the storm comfortably.”

They moved carefully along the crag until they reached a point that was above the water instead of land. There was a section of rock that had been fashioned into a makeshift bench embedded into the crag. The seat and back of the bench were smoothed down so the once sharp rock didn’t dig into their backs. Fleur motioned for Hermione to sit down, withdrawing her wand and casting some spells. Magic glistened in the air as a dome surround the pair, muffling the deafening sound of the waves. Blue flames floated towards the bench, stopping a few feet away and warming the small pocket Fleur had created. Once she was finished, Fleur sat next to Hermione, leaving a bit of space between in the middle.

Silence fell between them, the pair watching as thunder clouds drifted towards the shore. It wasn’t unpleasant, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of Hermione’s mind that Fleur had brought her out here for privacy.

The younger woman broke the quiet atmosphere after a few moments, “what is this place?”

“I come here to be alone when things get to be too much,” Fleur replied, staring out at the water. “When Bill and I first came here after the Death Eaters started their crusade against those they deemed to have impure blood, it was calming to be near the water. I believe it has something to do with my Veela heritage. The sound of the ocean is soothing to me, much like being on a broom. I’d always hoped to bring you here if you were to return.”

“I kept my promise,” Hermione said with a small smile.

“Oui, but not on purpose,” Fleur stated, looking out to the ocean. “I know you and your friends will only be here temporarily.”

“We… We have something important we have to do.”

“So you and ‘Arry ‘ave both said.”

“Fleur, what we’re doing could end the war,” Hermione pressed. She could tell by the tone in Fleur’s voice that she was searching for more than the vague answers she was being given. “No one else can know what we’re doing.”

“Why?” Fleur faced Hermione, blue eyes burning with anger and frustration. “Why must you take on this mysterious task alone?”

“There are risks that the three of us are willing to take.”

“Why does it have to be you three?”

Hermione shrugged. Any answer she could think of all lead back to Dumbledore, and the man was dead and buried. Why he thought three teenagers could end a war was beyond her. If she was being honest with herself, she’d begun to resent the Headmaster over the last few years since Voldermort’s resurrection.

Fleur sighed and faced the water again, seeming to accept that she wasn’t going to get a straight answer from the younger woman. The storm finally hit the shore, rain pelted against the dome of magic that protected them from getting drenched. Silence returned, other than the soft patter of rain around them and the periodic crash of thunder. The weather was making Hermione’s mood worsen. Being at Shell Cottage wasn’t on the top of her list of things to be doing, nor was having to heal, but there had been a small hope upon seeing Fleur that they would be able to spend the brief amount of time they had together getting to know one another.

The thought prompted Hermione to ask, “what did you end up doing after the Triwizard Tournament?”

Fleur looked perplexed by the question at first, until she turned to face Hermione. The brunette was looking at her expectantly, awaiting the answer with curiosity. She smiled as she spoke, “When I visited Hogwarts, I was in my final year. After we returned to Beauxbatons, I graduated and found myself working as a curze breaker at Gringottz.”

Hermione gave her an incredulous look. She didn’t remember much about the blonde, only what Ginny and the other Gryffindor girls said about her. Most of which was rather unkind. Up until that day at the lodge, Hermione had always assumed Fleur had the personality of a snobby heiress.

Merlin, had she been proven wrong.

“What made you want to be a curse breaker?” Hermione asked.

“I ended up working there part-time to work on my English. They had me doing paper work, which is razzer dull and I wanted to do more with myself than that. Curze breaking was far more interesting than shuffling papers all day. It was an easy decision to make. Plus, it allows me to travel all over the world.”

“Wow,” Hermione mumbled, not really sure what question to ask next.

“You almost sound surprised,” Fleur said dejectedly.

“Yes… No, I mean, just that,” Hermione stammered over her words, looking away from the woman. “I-It’s just that it sounds fascinating. I was going to ask more about it, like where have you been that you enjoyed the most?”

Fleur took a moment to respond, smiling fondly when she did, “Its ze first assignment I had been partnered with Bill on. We were looking for a cursed artifact that would slowly turn the wearer into a beet, starting with their feet before progressing upwards. We were deep in the Australian Outback…”

Hermione did her best not to react to the mention of Australia, but Fleur’s words muffled as her thoughts turned to her parents. They were in Australia with new names and no way to be tied back to her. She hadn’t thought about them in quite a few months, avoiding Death Eaters and hunting Horcruxes consuming her every waking minute. Her decision to erase their memories and the guilt she carried for making that choice bubbled up, rearing its ugly head. She reasoned she did it to keep them safe, but Hermione felt like a terrible daughter in that instant.

“‘Ermione, are you alright?” Fleur asked, sounding concerned.

Blinking back tears, Hermione nodded, “yeah, I’m alright.”

“Did I say something to upset you?”

“No, it wasn’t you. I was just thinking about my parents.”

“Oh.” A hand rested on her back. “You’re worried about them?”

“Mhm, but I know they’re okay,” Hermione said with faux confidence. If she believed in it hard enough, maybe it would remain true. As far as she knew, they were still alive.

“I’m sure they are,” Fleur said reassuringly.

They fell into a comfortable silence this time, watching the stormy weather until sitting on the stone bench began to get uncomfortable. It was quiet in the cottage when they got back, the others having turned in for the night. Bill was sleeping soundly on the couch. As they reached the second floor, Hermione paused.

“Fleur, how many rooms does Shell Cottage have?”

“There are four bedrooms. Two guest rooms, Bill’s room, and mine. Bill gave up his room for ’Arry and Ron. Monsieurs Griphook and Ollivander are in the other two rooms. Leaving us with my room. I hope you don’t mind; I wanted to be close at hand if anything were to happen while you slept.”

“In that uncomfortable chair?” Hermione questioned. Fleur must not have gotten much sleep.

“The space is small but I was able to transfigure the chair into a cot. I will be doing the same tonight.”

“I can sleep on the cot. I’m feeling much better now,” Hermione rushed out as they walked into the bedroom. “Really, I don’t want to impose more than we already have.

“Go lay down in the bed, ‘Ermione. You may be a fast healer on ze outside but fighting ze pain is just as bad as the initial injury,” Fleur said firmly. “I’ll sleep on the cot.”

“T-Thanks.”

***

Hermione’s not sure how long she’d been asleep before the sound of her screams woke her up. A high pitched growl tapered out into a scream of agony as she was ripped awake. She jolted upright, grasping at her chest. Her heart was thundering in her chest and it was hard to breathe. Her vision tunneled as she stared across the room into the darkness.

The nightmare had been so real.

Pain from the Cruciatus coursing through her body until she couldn’t handle it anymore.

Pain from shifting under duress.

The coppery sweet taste of blood rushing over her tongue as she tore into meaty flesh, thinking she was attacking Bellatrix.

Only to return to normal surrounded by a pool of blood and the tattered remains of her friends.

Their cold dead eyes looking up at her.

The squeezing in her chest tightens as she takes a breath to try and steady herself.

She catches movement out of the corner of her eye and she tenses, letting out a growl subconsciously.

“ “Ermione, are you alright?.”

Fleur’s voice grounds her slightly, enough to get her vision to stop tunneling and look at the blonde. She was standing, mid-step towards the bed, eyes wide with concern and hands up as if to protect herself.

“Fleur…” Hermione said, her voice rough and foreign sounding.

No, she’s not alright, but she’s not sure she can vocalize that.

Hermione shakes her head in response.

“What do you need me to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you be opposed to be me holding you?”

Hermione shook her head again, not disliking the idea.

Fleur approached her slowly, almost as if she was wary of how the panicked werewolf would react. Hermione tensed at the thought, wondering if her eyes were golden in the darkness. She felt Fleur getting on the bed beside her. The blonde got comfortable leaning against the headboard before reaching over and gently pulling Hermione over to her. Tense muscles relaxed when Fleur’s scent wrapped itself around her. She allowed herself to rest her head on Fleur’s chest, above her heart; the veela guiding her there.

The steady thump of the veela’s heartbeat eased the tightness Hermione felt in her chest. Slowly, her thundering heart slowed to beat in time with Fleur’s. It became easier to breath, letting her relax more, melting into the soothing scent of the woman holding her.

Hermione’s eyes slipped close, sleep claiming her once more.

***

They’re at Shell Cottage longer than a few days. They stay for almost a month. Not intentionally, but it allows them to get their plans in order and determine any contingencies.

Harry had complained about it the first week, saying that they couldn’t take an ‘extended vacation’. The cold look Fleur gave him was enough for him to snap his mouth shut. The two had been at odds since the trio had arrived, but Harry mellowed out after that discussion. Ron, for once, was faring much better, enjoying the time with his brother and having a warm meal three times a day. Hermione was the only one that wasn’t sure how to feel about the pause in their mission. On one hand, the mere fact they had time to plan for once removed a large weight off her shoulders. The last few plans the trio had executed ended in their favor, but always by the skin of their teeth. While on the other hand, she was enjoying the time she was able to spend with Fleur.

After spending the night sleeping next to one another, Hermione felt the pull to Fleur become incessant. Like a nagging in the back of her mind, always pushing her towards the veela. Sometimes she would get a hint of Fleur’s scent in the air and start following it before she would snap out of the trance and return to what she had been doing previously.

“Oi, Ron, what’s with her?” Harry asked during their first week at the cottage. Hermione was across from them, staring off into the distance, eyes slightly glazed over.

The redhead frowned as he watched Hermione get up from the kitchen table and take a few steps before shaking her head and sitting back down abruptly. “’Mione, you alright?”

“Y-Yeah, totally fine,” Hermione stammered, startled by her behavior. “Ehm, let’s, yes. What were we talking about?”

The boys gave her confused looks before returning their attention to the parchment they were using to jot down ideas on how to break into Gringotts.

That’s how she would spend her days. The morning hours filled with planning and revising with Harry and Ron, determining if they would agree to Griphook’s terms for help. The goblin had said he would be of aid to them, but the price was the sword of Gryffindor. If they accepted, they would be down their only viable option of destroying the remaining horcruxes. The rest of her time was spent with Fleur or alone in with her thoughts.

Her time with Fleur was enlightening, learning more about who her mate was. The woman was intelligent, courageous based on the stories Hermione heard during dinner from Bill, and held a strong sense of loyalty. The rude and snobby teenager that had been painted to Hermione did not hold true to the woman that Fleur had become; warm and caring, if a bit stubborn. They spent hours talking, debating, and sitting in comfortable silence. It was the most comfortable Hermione had felt with someone.

One of the topics they had a chance to discuss was Fleur’s Veela heritage. The blonde was vague about it, stating that the Veela were very secretive; a precaution her ancestors took because of the greed of wizardkind. What she did tell Hermione was that finding one’s soulmate was becoming rare among her kind. Fleur’s pairing with Hermione was one of only a handful in the last fifty years.

“My theory is that ze pureblood veela population is starting to thin due to old age, so the magicks that create these bonds is slowly fading over the generations,” Fleur was saying one afternoon as they walked along the beach. “When I was younger, grandmere would tell me stories about what it was like to find one’s mate. I am glad I never romanticized the concept.”

It might have been innocuous, but Hermione flinched internally at the comment. As far as the magical world was concerned, what Hermione had done by rejecting the bond at first was akin to leaving someone at the alter. She hoped Fleur would forgive her when there were no longer at war.

They come to a decision to accept Griphook’s help by the second week at Shell Cottage. Harry tried to stall it as much as he could, but they could only ask Fleur and Bill so many subtle questions about the bank before it would start to look suspicious. Thankfully, it only took a few hours of questioning the goblin to get useful information about the wards and safeguards they were likely to encounter.

Now all they needed was a plan.

One morning Hermione catches sight of a pile of shredded and bloodstained clothing sitting in the corner of the room. She recognizes the denim and pink fabric that had once been her jacket and sweater. One of the boys must have gone back to gather the scraps for her, knowing that she would attempt to repair the clothing. Her skill in sewing magic was not up to par with that of Molly Weasley, but it looked as though the clothing was beyond saving. She sighed and went to wave her wand at the pile to dispose of it, when something caught her eye.

Somehow in her tussle with Bellatrix, a few locks of curly black hair had landed on her jacket. How the strands remained on her clothes after that and the subsequent werewolf shift was beyond logic, but Hermione wasn’t going to question her luck.

She blushed bright red when Ron shouted that she had a four leaf clover up her arse when she said they could Polyjuice their way into Gringotts, wiggling the vial of Bellatrix’s hair in front of him and Harry. Now they had a solid plan, all that was left was to prepare and say their goodbyes to the residents of the cottage.

***

When Harry announced the trio would be leaving in two days, there had been a lull in the conversation during lunch and the mood had been easy going. Now, tension was thick in the kitchen as reactions were gauged.

Harry looked anxious, but confident as he had a stare down Fleur, waiting for the veela to argue against it.

Ron and Bill looked uneasily at each other, while Hermione quietly stared at her plate.

She knew Harry would have said in the morning, but the full moon was that evening and Hermione was uncertain that her wolf had fully recovered from the Manor. An uneasiness had settled over her after Fleur explained what happened on the beach when they arrived at Shell Cottage. Although she had control over her wolf, Hermione still had the same worries that all werewolves do.

Loss of that control.

Knowing that she had been a mere few feet away from her best friends and mate as a wolf on the defensive bothered her deeply. Harry had told her that the wolf always recognized him whenever he saw it. Hermione’s knowledge of werewolf mating added to her concern, since her wolf was supposed to recognize Fleur as their mate. It had taken several minutes for the wolf to be fine with Fleur, and even then it was apprehensive of the veela.

Hermione didn’t want to take the risk that Bellatrix’s torture had done permanent damage to her psyche. And if there was, well, she would have the time to recover from it.

“I want to come with you.”

Fleur’s statement caused Hermione’s head to snap up and Harry’s jaw to drop in disbelief.

“What?” Harry and Hermione asked at the same time.

“Take me with you,” Fleur said.

“Absolutely not,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “We’re not putting you in any more danger than you’re already are with us being here.”

“I agree with Hermione,” Harry added. “We don’t want to cause you anymore trouble then we already have.”

It got quiet as the room waited for Fleur’s response. The muscles in the veela’s jaw worked in frustration as she looked between the pair that turned her down.

Someone cleared their throat and everyone turned to Ron, who looked nervous about what he was going to say.

“I think we should take her.”

Silence followed the redhead’s statement. Hermione couldn’t believe it and from the dumbfounded look Harry was giving his best friend, he couldn’t believe it either. Fleur looked as shocked as the rest of them.

“Hear me out, mate,” Ron said, addressing Harry. “Who better to have as a contingency? What if something were to go wrong? Having a curse breaker that goes down to the lower vaults would be handy. I get why you don’t want to drag more people in on this mission, Harry, but as I’ve said before, we’re no closer to finding these damn things with the resources we have. Hermione’s agreed on that as well.”

Hermione hated when Ron turned her words against her.

“And ‘Mione, you have a different horse in this race, but Fleur is a capable witch and can handle herself. Its practically her day job to hunt down cursed artifacts. Its in the job title.”

She wanted to argue.

She really, really did.

There were minor arguments she could make against bringing Fleur with them, but they all fell on wanting to protect the veela from dangers she was roughly already aware of or dealt with as a career. If they brought her into the fold, there was a higher probability of the trio finding the horcruxes sooner rather than later.

With a sigh, Hermione turned to Harry and crossed her arms in begrudging acceptance, “I hate to admit it, Harry, but Ron makes a good point. I… I don’t agree with it on a personal level, but it would be the most logical option to let Fleur come along.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blonde in question smile softly and reach out to touch Hermione’s hand. She let her hand fall to the table to be squeezed gently in thanks.

“Lower vaults?” Bill piped up, brow furrowed as though he was now piecing together all the questions Ron had asked him throughout the first week of the trios stay. “You’re not trying to break into Gringotts, are you? Because if you are, that’s a bloody suicide mission.”

“We made a deal with the goblin,” Ron shrugged, and motioned to Fleur. “Now we have back up.”

“I appreciate ze confidence you have in me, Ronald, but what you three are planning is impossible,” Fleur said with wide eyes, her grip on Hermione’s hand tightening. “Breaking into ze lower vaultz, it is insanity.”

“It’s the only option we have,” Harry said in a guarded tone.

Fleur frowned, looking from Harry to Hermione. The veela was trying to gauge how the werewolf was feeling, but Hermione was staring intently at the table, curly hair like a curtain over her face. She knew the younger woman was apprehensive of her joining their cause, but Fleur wasn’t sure she could bear seeing Hermione leave again. Especially now that she knew there was the likelihood that the brunette would never return.

Her gaze returned to Harry, the young man looked deep thought, muscles in his jaw flexing every so often when he clenched it.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Harry finally asked after a few moments of silence.

Fleur nodded earnestly.

“Alright then,” he sighed, shoulders slumping in defeated acceptance. No matter what way he tried to argue with himself, Harry knew they would need someone that was more trustworthy than Griphook to navigate the lower vaults of Gringotts. “We’ll need to catch you up to speed. Bill, might be best if you know as well.”

The eldest Weasley’s eyebrows raised to his hairline, both surprised and excited by the prospect of helping the trio. He’s spent the last few months pushing paper for the Order. Even if he wasn’t seeing the action, adrenaline pumped through his veins.

The group used the remaining hours of daylight to run through the plans they had already devised. With the combined help of Bill and Fleur though, they were able to iron out any hiccups that might cause issues, such as going through the Thief’s Downfall while under the effects of Polyjuice. Their revised plan had Hermione disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange, who would appear to be alone, while Harry and Griphook were under the invisibility cloak. Fleur would accompany Ron, who would be disguised as Bill. Being curse breakers, there wouldn’t be any suspicion if Fleur and Bill were to access the lower vaults. It would allow Fleur and Ron to meet up with Hermione, Harry, and Griphook at the Lestrange vault; pending nothing went wrong.

Hermione had her doubts that they would pull this off without causing a commotion, but she could always dream.

When the light started to fade into darkness, Hermione excused herself from the table. The prickly feeling she got under her skin before a shift had started and the need to itch it away had started to become overwhelming. Harry and Ron hugged her before she left the kitchen, Bill giving her a knowing nod. She had asked him once what he felt during the full moon, describing her experience to him. He said he felt the itchiness, but not enough to ‘tear his skin away’ as he stated. Fleur, though, followed the young woman out of the cottage.

They walked past the garden, hand in hand, and walked to the crag Fleur had brought Hermione to. It was a decent distance from the cottage and any living beings. The brunette was being extra careful during this shift.

Hermione smiled weakly when Fleur pulled her into a tight embrace, which she returned. They didn’t say much when they pulled apart, but Hermione could tell that Fleur was concerned for her mate. The veela could tell the werewolf was brimming with anxiety, Hermione’s body shaking as she held back the change.

“I’ll be here in the morning,” Fleur said, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s forehead. “Don’t chase too many rabbits.”

“I’ll do my best,” Hermione giggled. “Make sure everyone stays inside tonight?”

“I will.”

With that, Hermione turned and jogged off into the night, leaving Fleur to watch her form disappear in the distance. As the blonde reached the cottage, a howl broke through the silence of the evening. It was unner ving to hear after her first encounter with the wolf, but also soothing, easing the worry that had settled over her that day. Fleur swore to herself that by the end of this war, they would both make it out alive and spend their days together.

Chapter Text

Fleur watched Hermione down the Polyjuice Potion in one shuddering gulp. She cringed as she watched her mate scrunch her nose in disgust at whatever taste Bellatrix Lestrange’s DNA had produced. If Harry’s potion had been gold with a subtle metallic taste, she feared what the taste of a dark witch might be. Fleur frowned as Hermione’s skin began to bubbly unnaturally, body making the morphing to fit the subject’s chosen form. Tan skin paled while auburn curls darkened. Smooth skin aged while Hermione’s athletic physique shrunk and she thinned out, showing gaunt cheeks. The part that was most unpleasant was bright eyes darkening.

“What does she taste like?” Ron asked. He raised his hands in defense when Bellatrix’s scowling face rounded on him. “What? I’m joking! Blimey, ‘Mione, if looks could kill.”

Fleur and Harry chuckled from beside the redhead as he quickly drank his potion. Not much changed for Ron other than a few feature changes, his hair lengthening, and scars appearing on his face where Greyback had attacked Bill.

“If you must know, it tasted worse than Gurdyroots.”

It was jarring to hear Hermione’s voice come from the lips of Voldemort’s right hand. Fleur grimaced at the comparison to the onion-like plant.

“You’re sure this will work?” Harry stepped forward with his Invisibility cloak in hand and Griphook at his side.

“As sure as I can be,” Hermione replied. “Just remember to stick together. We’ll meet Fleur and Ron in the lower vaults. All we have to do is hope that we don’t have to improvise like we normally do.”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, swallowing thickly at the numerous possibilities of their venture to secure the next Horcrux, if it did indeed lay in the Lestrange vault.

***

Hermione’s breathing was ragged even though they were sitting in the magical cart and making their way to the lower vaults of Gringotts. Adrenaline was still coursing through her body from attempting to fool the goblin that was running reception for the bank. If Harry had not stepped in and used an Imperious Curse on him, they would have already been in custody due to her weak portrayal of Bellatrix. Almost as if to make matters worse, they were rapidly approaching the Thief’s Downfall and the effects of the Polyjuice Potion had yet to fade away, so she was still wearing Bellatrix’s face.

Ice cold water washed over her as they surged through the waterfall that rushed above and over the tracks. The cart slowed down to a stop on the track, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Griphook suspended above a chasm with no discernible depth. Before any of them could question what they were going to do next, the bottom of the cart vanished from beneath them, sending them falling to their demise. Hermione let out a shriek as wind rushed past her ears as she fell. Squinting, she could see that there was an end to the chasm and it was fast approaching. Quickly, she pulled out her wand and shouted, “ARESTO MOMENTUM!”

The group started to slow down before abruptly stopping a few inches from the ground. Hermione released the spell, grunting softly as she hit the rock floor. Above them, the cart started to make loud squawking sounds while slowly making its way down the track and out of sight. Groaning, the group dusted themselves off.

“Oh no, you look like you again,” Harry said, frowning as he looked at Hermione.

“The Thief’s Downfall washes away all enchantments,” Griphook supplied. “Can be deadly.”

“You don’t say,” Hermione scowled. “Is there any other way out of here?”

“No.”

Suddenly, a roar echoed off the walls of the cavernous area the group stood in.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Harry said, giving Hermione a worried look.

With Griphook leading the way, the group made their way towards the ominous sound that was coming from further down in the vaults. It took them a bit to walk over the craggy floor, Hermione nearly tripping in the heeled boots she was wearing. How Bellatrix did anything in her chosen outfit was beyond her. She felt constricted by the corset and tight fabrics that encased her body. It also didn’t help that the clothing was still a bit damp from the waterfall. She had attempted to dry herself and Harry, Griphook scowling at her when she tried to offer him help, but the water seemed to not want to take on the effects of the warming charm she produced.

They eventually made it to a large open room from the ledge they had been walking along. Thick green pillars shot up from the ground to the ceiling. There was a second floor that wrapped around the pillars in a semi-circle with a hallway that led back up to other areas of the bank. The vault doors were brass, but looked as though they had been polished to a shine. Yet what drew Hermione’s attention was the dragon chained to one of the pillars and laying on the white marble floor. Its pale skin was rough with scar tissue and the creature looked malnourished.

“Is that a dragon?” Harry asked as he followed Griphook to a wooden box placed on the outskirts of the marble floor.

“Ukrainian Ironbelly,” Griphook supplied. He reached into the box, pulling out a clacker-like device from it and handed it to Harry before retrieving one for himself. “Useful beasts for guarding treasure.”

The goblin started to make his way past the dragon, causing pale eyes to open and watch the intruder make their way past. Its great mass started to unfurl from its wings, large head lifting from the floor it had been resting on. The dragon looked as though it was preparing to attack until Griphook shook the object in his hand, creating a ring from the bell that was the centerpiece to the device. The great beast recoiled, whining in pain from the sound echoing through the chamber.

Hermione frowned as she watched the dragon slink away from their little group. She felt disgust at the goblins treatment of the majestic creature. Putting her remarks to the side, she followed Harry and Griphook to the vault they were attempting to break into. Harry and Hermione carefully watched Griphook run his crooked nail along the center of the brass door. The mechanical clicking of the door opening was muffled until the door slowly swung open to reveal the contents of the vault.

Heaping piles of glittering gold filled the vault to the ceiling. What little of the floor could be seen were emerald tile paths that led to different sizable mounds of coins that littered room. There were a couple dozen chests either precariously placed onto of the gold, while other’s were sitting at the foot of the piles. In the center of the room was an ornate table with a few goblets and jewelry cases placed neatly on top. Hermione glanced over at Harry, whose eyes were wide as he scanned the vault for what they were looking for. However, they weren’t sure what exactly they were looking for. It could be anything in the vault.

Harry took a step into the vault, Hermione and Griphook following suit. The door shut behind them, leaving them in darkness. Lighting the tips of their wands, Harry and Hermione glanced around the room, ready for something to happen. The stories they had heard of wizards attempting to rob the bank were at the fore front of their minds. They stopped a few feet away from the ornate table.

“Accio Horcrux,” Hermione said, briefly forgetting that it hadn’t worked the last time they tried the spell.

“No kind of magic would work in here,” Griphook said with a scowl. “Makes it difficult for thieves.”

Harry ignored both of them, walking past the table and towards the opposite corner of the room. Hermione watched him carefully, paying close attention to the way Harry’s head subtly twitched to the right and left like he was listening for something.

“Can you sense something?” she asked. Harry nodded, his eyes locking onto what he was looking for. The upper most corner of the room was a small golden cup with two finely-wrought handles. If she squinted, Hermione could vaguely make out some artwork that was engraved on the side. She took an unconscious step forward to get a better look at the cup, but knocked into a table hidden beneath treasure. The thick band of a bracelet grazed against her hand, burning the skin slightly, and causing her to hiss in pain.

The bracelet hit the floor with a clatter, spinning a bit before violently shaking and producing two more bracelets identical to it. When those two bracelets repeated the same process, Hermione took a step back to only knock into Griphook by accident, leading the goblin to bump into a chest that had treasure sitting on and around it. When one of the plates hit the ground, it also began to multiply. Hermione’s eyes widened as she realized what was happening.

“Harry, we need to get out of here quickly. They’ve added the Gemino curse. Everything we touch will multiply!”

Harry turned around, arm outstretched, “Give me the sword!”

Hermione drew Gryffindor’s sword from her beaded bag and tossed it towards Harry. He grabbed it and started slashing at the multiplying treasure, all while creating more items to fill the vault, to fight his way to the cup. The treasure was heavy around Hermione’s ankles, but she refused to move, lest she trigger the curse again. Harry scrambling up the increasing pile was the only movement in the vault, the clattering of metal echoing against its walls. Hermione watched as he slipped the sword into one of the handles, tipping the cup down the length of the sword. Although he had stopped moving, the treasure continued to multiply until it had amassed around Harry, swallowing him whole.

It was quiet in the vault, but Hermione could still hear Harry’s frantic heartbeat and breathing. She watched the vast pile of treasure burst forward, Harry slashing his wand across his body to throw the metal away from him. He was free enough, but as more treasure multiplied, his foot cause caught and his slid down towards the door and Griphook. The goblin had somehow positioned himself at the entrance after recovering from his fall.

The cup slid off the blade of the sword, landing in front of Griphook. Before Harry could reach out and get it, Griphook grabbed the cup, grinning wickedly. Hermione let out a growl of warning while Harry glowered at the goblin.

“We had a deal, Griphook!”

“The cup for the sword!” Griphook shouted over the noise. He looked over at Hermione warily, noticing the werewolf’s yellow eyes.

Grinding his teeth together in frustration, Harry tossed their only hope at destroying the Horcruxes over to Griphook. The cup was tossed over to Hermione, who was trembling with anger, which only provided the curse more reason to add duplicates of treasure to the overwhelming mass.

“I said I’d get you in,” Griphook said with an arrogant smirk. “But I didn’t say anything about getting you out.”

Hermione didn’t see what the goblin did next as her senses were surrounded by darkness and crushing pressure from all angles. She knew the door had been opened, having heard it before everything became muffled. Taking a shallow breath, as to not add to the weight around her, Hermione listened carefully for Harry. She couldn’t tell if he was close, but he was still alive, and most likely trying to figure out how to get out of the pile as well. With all her strength, Hermione threw her arms through the treasure, breaking through the layer that confined her. She fought her way out into the hall, which was now overflowing with gold and items from the Lestrange vault. A moment later, Harry was forcing himself out of the treasure, murder in his eyes as he ran down the hall and back to the dragon’s chamber. Hermione followed closely behind, hoping that Fleur and Ron were having better luck than they were.

***

They were close to the vaults of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and Fleur was running down the hall with Ron in tow. They had been held up by one of Fleur’s coworkers asking her if a knitting charm could be used for lethal purposes and what one would do to counteract its effects. They were about to board their cart to the vaults when the alarms started sounding. Fleur tried to reason that there could be any number of reasons that the alarms were going off, but when a number of security ran by them on the platform, she started to think otherwise. When she started the cart, Ron barely had the chance to sit down before it was taking off down the track.

The pair made it to the platform for the lower vaults, taking off at a sprint down the halls to their destination. As they turned around a corner and down another hall, angry shouting could be heard at the far end.

“Griphook!!”

“Thieves!”

“Griphook, get back here!” Harry shouted as Fleur and Ron saw him and Hermione standing at the railing to a great open chamber.

“’Arry! ‘Ermione!” Fleur exclaimed as she reached them, relieved that they seemed to be unharmed.

“Is that okay?” Ron asked with concern as he watched Griphook run off with Gryffindor’s sword and the group of security guards fast approaching.

“Don’t suppose our contingency plan is going to work?” Hermione asked Fleur with a grimace.

“Not with ze cavalry already ‘ere,” Fleur said with a shrug.

No one was able to suggest another option before spellfire hit one of the pillars they were next to. The four friends separated, each hiding behind stone as a flurry of spells came in their direction. Hermione growled in frustration. They could never catch a god damn break.

“We can’t just stand here. You got any idea?” she nodded at Ron.

“You’re the brilliant one!” he snapped back.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione peeked around the pillar, glancing around for any way out. The dragon had started to defend its territory from the security guards, fire spewing from its mouth. She turned back to the group.

“I’ve got something, but it’s mad!”

“Whatever it is, its worth a shot!” Fleur encouraged.

“Reducto!” Hermione pointed her wand at the railing, causing it to explode off its hinges and fall to the ground. She waited for the dragon’s back to be towards them before running and jumping off of the ledge and onto it’s back. Grabbing a hold of one of the many spines on its back, Hermione situated herself between some, twisting in such a way she could point her wand backwards.

Harry and Ron stared blankly at their best friend. Hermione willingly putting herself in a position to fly? Unheard of. Fleur, on the other hand, was amazed by her mate’s thinking. There were very few people who would climb onto the back of an untamed dragon.

“Well? Come on, then,” Hermione snapped. Fleur, Harry, and Ron all jumped onto the back of the dragon, each grappling onto a spine and holding on tightly.

“Relashio!” The chain keeping the dragon grounded snapped apart when the spell hit it.

The dragon, hearing the tink of metal breaking behind it, stood up more. The lack off tightness around its throat allowed it to move more freely. Allowing it to look up towards the speck of light that it longed to reach. It spewed more flames towards the security guards, shaking its body in preparation to climb up the rocky walls of the cavern. As the dragon made its way towards the light, a cart of goblins and guards was rapidly making its way down the track. The guards flung spells haphazardly at the dragon’s yet to be noticed passengers. They didn’t last long though when the dragon grabbed hold of the track their cart was on and snapped one of the sections in half. The cart went careening off the track and into the depths of Gringotts.

In the Gringotts lobby, goblins counted galleons, sickles, and knuts. It was a quiet atmosphere, none of them the wiser that there was a commotion going on beneath them. The crystal chandelier was the only indication that something was amiss as it shook like it had never done before. The quiet was broken by the tearing of metal and the screeching of the dragon as it smashed through the bottom of the elevator. Chaos ensued as goblins, witches, and wizards fled from the destruction the dragon wrought. The dragon looked up once more, searching for the light it so longed to experience again. It found its exit through the glass dome that was the lobby’s main source of light aside from lit torches.

Glass and metal crumpled beneath the might of the dragon as smashed its way through the dome to the first breaths of fresh air it had experienced since its capture. Fleur, Harry, Hermione, and Ron braced themselves as debris fell onto the dragon’s back and past them. The dragon stopped making its retreat, breathing in deeply and enjoying the gentle breeze that graced Diagon Alley that day.

“What now?!” Harry shouted, not sure if they were going to wait for the dragon to take off or not.

Hermione pointed her wand at some debris next to the dragon’s tail, causing it to explode. It was enough to get the creature moving, launching itself into the air and attempting to take flight. Its wings spread and it took a few clumsy flaps and stepping on a few more roofs before it was able to take to the sky. Once they were well and truly in the air, the trio, plus one, laughed with relief.

“That was brilliant!” Ron shouted in awe. “Absolutely brilliant!”

Hermione’s body was starting ache by the time the dragon started dropping its altitude. They were flying over a large expanse of water that cut between two land masses somewhere in the country side. She wasn’t sure how far the dragon had taken them nor how long it took, but they were in the middle of nowhere.

“I think we should jump soon,” Hermione shouted over the wind whipping past them.

“When?” Ron questioned.

The dragon sunk further towards the ground and they were running out of water to dive into when Harry shouted, “Now!”

Hermione let go of the spine she was holding onto, Fleur, Harry, and Ron letting go of the dragon at the same time. Straightening her body and breathing deeply, Hermione broke through the surface of the dark water that had been beneath them. The cold water was a shock to her system, making her more alert. She began to swim upwards, vaguely aware of the others around her as they did the same. Hermione broke through the surface, breathing deeply and scanning the water’s surface for her friends. Ron and Fleur broke through soon after she had, leaving Harry the only one left to resurface. Before worry could begin to form, Harry’s head popped out of the water, the young man gasping for air. The group swam towards the closest bit of shore they could find. Hermione was barely out of the water when Harry started speaking.

“He knows. You-Know-Who. He knows we broke into Gringotts.”

Hermione listened to Harry warily, reaching into the beaded bag at her waist for Pepper-Up Potions and following him further up the rocky bank.

“He knows what we took, and he knows we’re hunting Horcruxes,” Harry finished.

“How do you know this?” Fleur asked, confusion evident on her face.

Harry glanced over at Fleur with a guarded expression, “I saw him.”

“You let him in?” Hermione paused in her stride. “Harry, you can’t do that!”

“Hermione, I can’t always help it! Well, maybe I can. I don’t know.”

“What happened?” Ron pressed.

“Well, he’s angry…” Harry said, his teeth chattering from the cold. “And scared too. He’s knows, if we find and destroy all the Horcruxes, we’ll be able to kill him.” Harry stopped walking the cold finally getting to him. Hermione was already prepared, handing a vial with red liquid inside to him. He nodded his thanks and swallowed its contents before continuing. “I reckon he’ll stop at nothing to make sure we don’t find the rest. And there’s more. One of them is at Hogwarts.”

“What?” Hermione asked in shock. She handed Ron and Fleur potions of their own. “You saw it?”

“I saw the castle and Rowena Ravenclaw,” Harry confirmed. “It must have something to do with her. We have to go there, now!” He was stripping out of his wet clothing while Hermione sat there and watched him dumbly.

“Well we can’t do that, mate,” Ron said, tossing aside the vial and getting out of his clothing.

“We’ve got to plan, we’ve got to figure it out!” Hermione said, returning to her bag to retrieve dry clothing.

“Hermione, when have any of our plans ever actually worked? We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose.”

“He’s right,” Ron said with a shrug. “One problem… Snape’s Headmaster now, we can’t just move go through the front door.”

“I might have a solution for that,” Fleur piped up, taking dry clothing from Hermione. “Zhere is someone in ‘Ogsmede we must meet.”

***

They apparated into Hogsmede, the wizarding village was blanketed in darkness. Undesirable No 1 posters were plastered on the outer walls of the shops and houses. If wizard-kind didn’t already know what Harry Potter looked like, they would surely know now. Alongside these posters, were Undesirable No 2 and No 3. These were fewer in number, Hermione and Ron’s faces still rare in the sea of Harry. There was still snow covering the ground in this part of Scotland, the cold air nipping at exposed skin. Hermione was thankful for the warmth of her pink flannel shirt and jean jacket when their feet hit the ground once more.

Almost as suddenly as they appeared, an alarm sounded. The scratchy yowling noise echoed through the village, alerting whoever was awake to their presence. Fleur pulled them into an alley off to the side before they could be seen. She weaved them through the streets of Hogsmede towards the Hog’s Head. Upon reaching the door to the establishment, Fleur knocked a soft rhythm against the wood. Hermione was scanning the area and listening intently, thankfully only hearing the soft thud of footsteps approaching the door.

It creaked open a sliver, letting a bit of light. A man with a white grizzled beard and blue eyes peaked through the crack in the door. The eye widened in disbelief, the door opening fully.

“Get in, quickly,” the man said gruffly, motioning for the group to enter the bar. He quickly scoped out the area before shutting the door and locking it once more.

Now that they were inside, Hermione got a better look at the man. He was tall and thin, with a great deal of long, stringy grey hair and beard. His eyes were similar to that of Albus Dumbledore, brilliant and soul-piercing, but they were hidden by the dirty lenses of his spectacles. He wore the casual attire of a bar keep, but as she had noticed at the door, his demeanor was grizzled and somewhat grumpy.

The man pulled out his wand and pointed it directly at Fleur. Hermione growled harshly, taking a step towards the stranger that dared threaten the Veela. She stopped when Fleur motioned for her to do so.

“Ask your question, Aberforth,” Fleur said to the man who was now looking over at Hermione warily.

“With how fiercely Granger snarled at me and the colour of her eyes, I’d say those three wouldn’t have followed you if you weren’t yourself,” Aberforth said, putting his wand away. “But, you’re bloody fools thinking of coming here. Have you any idea how dangerous it is?” He glared pointedly Fleur, who looked like she was a child being admonished.

Harry, who had not been paying attention to the conversation, was looking at a mirror with a triangular piece missing from it that had caught his attention upon entering the pub. He pulled out the shard of mirror he had been carrying since they started their search for Voldemort’s horcruxes, noticing that he could roughly make out part of his face reflecting back to him in the shard. He spun around and looked at Aberforth, “it was you who I’ve been seeing in here? You’re the one who sent Dobby.”

Aberforth frowned at the mention of the elf, “why’ve you left him?”

“He’s dead.”

“Sorry to hear it, I liked that elf.”

“Where did you get that mirror?” Harry questioned.

“Mundungus Fletcher, bout a year ago,” Aberforth said with raised eyebrows. He wasn’t sure why Harry’s tone was accusatory.

“Dung had no right selling that to you. It belonged to-”

“… Sirius. Albus told me,” Aberforth said, taking a few strides towards Harry. “He also told me you’d likely be hacked off, if you ever found that I had it. But, ask yourself; where would you be if I didn’t?”

Harry clenched his jaw, working it as he thought about the question. He glanced over to Fleur, Hermione, and Ron, each watching the exchange quietly. Ron shrugged his shoulders in a vague sort of agreement to the implied answer Aberforth had given them. Harry’s shoulders slumped in silent welcome instead of saying anything.

“Right then,” Aberforth said with a light clap of his hands. “you lot look hungry.”

Aberforth returned a few moments with four mugs of butterbeer with bread and cheese on a cutting board. Ron and Hermione immediately reached for food and drink, each trying their best not to wolf down their bread. Fleur smiled softly at the display, wondering if the pair knew the similarities they shared.

“Do you hear from the others much? From the Order?” Hermione asked, her thoughts turning to Lupin and Tonks.

“The Order’s finished,” Aberforth said bluntly. “You-Know-Who’s won, anyone who says otherwise is killing themselves. Which leads me to a question of my own; why are you doing here?”

“We need to get into Hogwarts,” Fleur said. “Tonight.”

Aberforth stared at her with a look of shock and then frown deeply. The lot in front of them seemed to welcoming death with open arms.

“Dumbledore gave us a job,” Harry added, as though this was a way to justify their reasoning.

“Did he now?” Aberforth scoffed. “Nice job? Easy?”

“We’ve been hunting horcruxes. And we think the last one’s inside the castle, but we’ll need your help getting in.”

“This job my brother’s given you is a suicide mission.”

“So we’ve been told,” Hermione said, tilting her head towards Fleur.

“Do yourself a favor; go home,” Aberforth said. “Live a little longer.”

“Dumbledore trusted me to see this through,” Harry said confidently.

“Trusted teenagers with an insurmountable task without any help? That does sound like my brother. What makes you think you can trust him?”

Hermione’s eyes widened at the jab towards Dumbledore. There had been many that spoke out against the man, most were Ministry entities, but no one from the Order ever spoke against him. If there had been any that disagreed with Dumbledore’s methods definitely didn’t say it around them. Knowing that Aberforth was Dumbledore’s brother didn’t ease the shock she felt at the statement though. It felt like a lifetime ago, but she had thought those same words when Harry had told her and Ron about the mission Dumbledore had left for them. She had to stop herself from nodding in agreement with Aberforth’s statement.

“I trusted him,” Harry said in return to the cutting statement.

Aberforth scoffed at this, “That’s a boy’s answer. A boy chasing Horcruxes on the word of a man who wouldn’t even tell him where to start.”

Again, Hermione found herself agreeing with what was being said. They had nothing to go on but what Harry had been able to piece together from Dumbledore’s cryptic lessons in sixth year and the items they received in the will. It had taken her weeks to figure out why he had left her The Tales of Beedle the Bard. That would have been time they could have spent finding the horcruxes, not sitting aimlessly in Grimmauld Place, hoping they would stumble across an answer. It had been a stroke of luck that they were able to find who RAB had been and linked Slytherin’s locket to Umbridge.

“You’re lying,” Aberforth continued, pointing his finger accusingly at Harry. “Not just to me, that doesn’t matter. To yourself as well. That’s what a fool does. And you don’t strike me as a fool, Harry Potter!” The older wizard was now a few inches feet away from Harry, glaring at the boy with an anger that wasn’t truly directed at him. “So, I’ll ask again, there must be a reason.”

Harry frowned, taking in the emotion that swam in Aberforth’s eyes, “I’m not interested in what happened between you and your brother. I don’t care that you’ve given up. I trusted the man that I knew.” Harry cleared his throat, looking towards the others. “We need to get into the castle tonight.”

Aberforth clenched his jaw, letting Harry’s words sink in. He looked towards a portrait of a young girl in a blue dress and holding a book, “you know what to do.” The girl nodded, turning around and walking into the background of the portrait, slowly fading into the distance as she did so.

“Where’ve you sent her?” Harry asked warily.

“You’ll see,” Aberforth sighed, turning to leave the room. “Soon enough.”

Hermione watched the little dot that was the girl finally vanish from sight, now realizing who the portrait was of. “That’s your sister, Ariana. Isn’t it?” she asked, halting Aberforth in his retreat. “She died very young, didn’t she?”

His hand was on the handle to the door, he stared at it for a moment before answering. “My brother sacrificed many things in his pursuit of power including Ariana. And she was devoted to him. He gave her everything she wanted… but time.” There was a deep sadness in Aberforth’s eyes as he left the group alone.

“Thank you, Aberforth,” Fleur called as they watched him leave. Harry and Ron gave her a weird look. “He’s ‘elping us get into ‘Ogwarts. There is no need to be so hostile.”

“And he did save us twice,” Hermione added. “Kept an eye on us in the mirror. That doesn’t seem like someone who has given up.”

Harry nodded meekly, turning his attention to Ariana’s portrait. Ron was now squinting at it too, seeing movement coming towards them from the background. Hermione followed their gazes, also taking note that Ariana was already returning. Much to the groups surprise, there was another shape following behind Ariana that they could vaguely make out.

“What’s that with her?” Ron asked, taking a few steps back as the figures got bigger.

As Ariana made it to the foreground of the portrait, now completely obscuring the other figure behind her, the frame creaked open, revealing a dark tunnel behind it. Standing within the opening was Neville Longbottom. He looked like he had been in a fight. His right eye was swollen and there was dried blood on his bottom lip from a split. He gave them a lopsided grin.

“You look-” Harry started.

“Like hell, I reckon,” Neville finished. “This is nothing, Seamus is worse. Shall we?” He nodded towards the dark tunnel behind him.

***

The group walked down the dark passage, the only light provided by the tip of Neville’s wand. Harry had asked about the passageway, noting that he didn’t know that this one existed. Neville informed them that once Snape became headmaster that the seven secret passages were sealed off before the start of the school year. The passage they were currently walking through was the only way in or out of Hogwarts without alerting the number of Death Eaters and dementors guarding the grounds.

“How bad has it been since Snape became Headmaster?” Hermione wondered.

“Hardly ever see him,” Neville said with a shrug.

Apparently the ones the students had to look out for were the Carrows. A pair of Death Eater siblings that were in charge of discipline. Neville pointed to his eye, noting that the Carrows enjoyed punishment.

“They did that to you?” Fleur asked, not shocked by the information.

“Today’s Dark Arts lesson was practicing the Cruciatus curse,” Neville said. “On first years. I refused.” He shrugged it off when Hermione growled softly from behind him. “Hogwarts has changed.”

As they approached the other end of the tunnel, Neville grinned, “let’s have a bit of fun, shall we?” He pushed the backing to another portrait, letting light from the other side spill into the tunnel. “Hey, listen up you lot! I’ve brought you a surprise!”

Hermione couldn’t see behind Neville, his body blocking the entrance to what she assumed was a room. She heard Seamus Finnegan’s voice from somewhere within.

“It’s not more of Aberforth’s cooking, is it? We’ll be surprised if we can digest that.” There are a number of chuckles and murmurs of agreement that followed.

She didn’t see the look on Neville’s face before he turned around, but he was smirking as he revealed Harry to those in the room. It was quiet for a moment as the students in the room registered who was in front of them before a raucous of applause and excitement filled the room. The group standing in the tunnel dropped down to the floor as the students, varying from first years to seventh years; Ravenclaws to Gryffindors, crowded around them. Many of them hugged Harry, the Gryffindors making sure to engulf Hermione and Ron is hugs as well. Hermione was shocked to see that Luna Lovegood had returned to the school after leaving Shell Cottage.

Behind her, Fleur gently tugged the sleeve of Hermione’s jacket to get her attention, “I must alert Remus and the others that we are here if Aberforth has not already done so.” Hermione nodded, squeezing Fleur’s hand before watching the veela retreat back to the tunnel towards the Hog’s Head.

Once the crowd has settled down, Neville asked what they needed. All eyes were on Harry now as they waited for him to give an order or some inkling as to what to do next. Hermione heard Harry swallow thickly before speaking, “there’s something we need to find. Something hidden here, in the castle. And it may help us defeat You-Know-Who.”

“Alright, what is it?” Neville asked.

“We don’t know.”

“Where is it?”

“We don’t know that either.” The students stared at Harry blankly. “I know its not much to go on.”

“That’s nothing to go on,” Seamus said.

“I think it has something to do with Ravenclaw. It’ll be small, easily concealed.”

“Well, there’s Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem,” Luna said. Ron scoffed, earning him a swift jab in the side from Hermione. Quiet followed Luna’s suggestion. “Lost diadem of Ravenclaw? Hasn’t anyone heard of this? It’s quite famous.”

“Yes. But Luna, it’s lost,” Cho Chang said. “For centuries now. There’s no person alive today who’s seen it.”

“Sorry, but can anyone tell me what bloody diadem is?” Ron asked, taking a few steps away from Hermione as he did so.

“It’s a sort of crown. You know, like a tiara.”

It wasn’t much to go on, but it did fit the requirements of what the Horcruxes had been so far. Small, easily concealed. And lost. Hermione scowled, thinking of how they would be able to find something if no one alive had seen it. There was the likelihood that maybe a ghost had seen it…

The sound of a door magicking itself into existence stopped her train of thought as Ginny Weasley arrived, looking frantic. She stared at Harry, the pair just standing there taking each other in. Hermione tilted her head at this interaction, smiling softly. She was happy that her best friend had someone.

“Hasn’t seen me in six months and acts as though I’m a no name first year,” Ron grumbled beside her.

“She’s got lots of brothers, there’s only one Harry.”

“Shut up, Seamus.”

“What is it, Ginny?” Neville asked, breaking Ginny and Harry from their staring contest.

“Snape knows,” Ginny said. “Snape knows that Harry was spotted in Hogsmede.”

***

After Ginny had arrived to tell them about Snape, the entire school was called to assemble in the Hall. The students that resided in the Room of Requirement had shared wary looks but Harry looked determined, as though this was something he was hoping would happen. He asked Seamus if he had a spare robe he could borrow to blend in with the rest of the students. Hermione had made to protest but Harry reasoned the surprise would give them the advantage. Before she could argue, Harry was following the rest of the Gryffindors out of the Room of Requirement. Hermione and Ron were left waiting with Neville and Dean for Fleur to return.

Hermione was pacing while Dean, Neville, and Ron watched her when Fleur returned. She had been pondering what Luna had said about the diadem. If no alive had seen it, how were they to track something down with no starting point. It was like they were back at the beginning of their Horcrux hunt. Yet this time, they literally had nothing. Even if they found the Horcrux, how would they destroy it? Griphook had their only viable option.

“Careful, Hermione, you might run a path into the stone,” Remus Lupin called to her from the tunnel.

Hermione stopped mid-step and smoothly turned to face Lupin as he dropped to the floor. He hardly had time to react before he was engulfed in a hug. Lupin blushed brightly at the affection while returning the hug with the same fervor Hermione had given him.

“Wotcher, Hermione, Ron.” Hermione pulled away from Lupin to see Tonks smiling warmly at them. “Glad to see you lot.” She hugged them both before shuffling off to the side as a number of redheads approached.

Molly and Arthur Weasley were staring at their son, relief washing over the parents as they marched towards Ron and hugged him tightly, behind them were Bill, Fred, and George. The twins looked more relieved than Bill did, as the eldest brother had seen Ron a day or two ago. Following up the Weasleys were Kingsley Shacklebolt and Fleur. After everyone was greeted, Hermione getting a rib breaking hug from Molly, the Order members, along with Dean, Hermione, Neville, and Ron made their way to the Great Hall.

They encountered little resistance as they made their way through the castle, only halting once to make sure the coast was clear. As they approached the large oak doors, Hermione heard the muffled voice of Severus Snape before it became quiet. A few steps before the doors, there were sharp intakes of breath from the students inside at something that happened.

And then Hermione heard Harry’s voice loud and clear.

“It seems, despite your exhaustive defensive strategies, you still have a bit of a security problem, Headmaster.” It seemed perfectly timed when Kingsley opened the door and they stepped forth into the Great Hall after Harry had spoken. “I’m afraid it’s quite extensive.”

There was a lack of shock on Snape’s face upon seeing the members of the Order. His eyes were stuck on Harry as the young man continued to speak.

“How dare you stand where he stood? Tell them how it happened that night! Tell them how you looked him in the eye… A man who trusted you, and killed him. Tell them.”

Snape drew his wand and pointed it at Harry. The next second, students were scattering out of formation and closer to the walls of the Hall as McGonagall pushed Harry out of the way, wand drawn towards Snape. There had been no reaction to Snape drawing his wand. Behind him, the Carrows were prepared to provide support.

Hermione took note of the hesitation in Snape’s movements. His wand dropped slightly and he backed away. His expression less concentrated than before. He readjusted quickly, hoping to anticipate McGonagall’s attack. She highly doubted the deputy headmistress would require support, but Hermione’s wand was at the ready.

There was a pregnant pause before the first swish of a spell was cast. A plume of fire left McGonagall’s wand tip. It was met with an invisible wall. A dozen more similar spells were fired off in succession. Each hit a wall except for two shots that were redirected into the Carrows, dropping the Death Eaters to the ground. Another spell was sent towards Snape which he blocked before whipping around in a black mass of cloak and apparating out the stained glass window behind him.

McGonagall shouted after him, “coward!” as she took to the front of the hall and lit the lanterns with bright light. The students, many of which were not housed in Slytherin, erupted in celebration. It was short lived as the lights started to dim again and a cold, slithering sensation crept up Hermione’s spine. There was a sharp pressure against her skull as the atmosphere changed and a thick silence hung over the Hall. The enchanted ceiling darkened with black clouds as a second year girl started to shriek from somewhere among the students.

Padme Patil’s screamed joined a moment later, her hands clasped over her ears like she was trying to block out the sound.

She didn’t understand why until Voldemort’s raspy voice penetrated her mind.

“I know that many of you will want to fight. Some of you may even think that to fight is wise. But this is folly. Give me Harry Potter. Do this and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have one hour.”

The pressure in her head receded as the lanterns began to glow brightly again. She turned her attention towards Harry, who was surrounded by students that were either staring or starting to back away from him.

“What are you waiting for?” Pansy Parkinson shouted. “Someone grab him.” A number of Slytherins nodded in agreement.

Ginny stepped in front of Harry, shielding him from the Slytherins. Hermione walked forward and kept close to Harry’s back. Cho Chang and Luna joined the front, and slowly but surely, more students grouped around Harry as if to say ‘try it’ to any Slytherin that wanted to turn Harry over to Voldemort. The stand off was broken up by Filch sprinting into the Hall, shouting that the students weren’t in their dormitories.

“They’re supposed to be out of bed, you blithering idiot!” McGonagall snapped from where she was standing.

“Oh… Sorry, ma’am.”

“As it so happens, your arrival is most opportune. If you would, I would like you please, to lead Miss Parkinson and the rest of the Slytherin house, from the hall.” McGonagall was walking toward Harry, wanding pointed at the quarter of the Hall the Slytherins were grouped together.

“Exactly where is it I’ll be leading ‘em to, ma’am?”

“The dungeons would do.”

There was shouts of excitement at the command from the other Houses. Most of the Slytherins continued to look disgruntled while some looked disappointed that they being sidelined. The excitement from the others made Hermione queasy. The likelihood that any of the Slytherins would turn on them in the middle of the battle was fifty-fifty chance. If they were relegated to the dungeons, they had no escape if the fighting were to cause serious structural damage to the castle. It didn’t seem right to make that kind of choice for the entire House just because they could be a son or daughter of a Death Eater.

“Professor!” Hermione ran up to McGonagall as Filch started to lead the Slytherins towards their dorm. “I don’t think we should lock them in the dungeons,” she whispered once she was close enough. “If they want to fight, let them. They’ll do it either way.”

“Do you think that’s wise, Miss Granger?” McGonagall questioned, her gaze scrutinizing.

“No, but I don’t think who their parents are determine if they should live or die.”

McGonagall’s gaze softened at the sentiment, “very well. But first, Potter, I presume you have a reason for returning. What is it you need?”

Harry had been walking towards them when McGonagall spotted him, “time, Professor. As much as you can get me.”

“Do what you have to. I’ll secure the castle.”

***

Hermione had followed Harry out of the Great Hall along with Ron after talking to McGonagall. When they passed the Order members talking with some professors, Fleur joined the trio out into the corridor and towards the Grand Staircase. Harry was making his way through the throngs of students heading in all directions. Hermione wasn’t sure where he was going, but she had thought of a solution for destroying the horcruxes. She would need his help in doing so though.

“Harry!” He stopped on the landing at Hermione’s shout. “It doesn’t matter if we find a Horcrux. Unless we can destroy it.”

“Oh,” Ron’s eyes widened as the thought dawned him. “Riddle’s diary.”

“What?” Harry asked, looking between his friends with some urgency.

“You destroyed it with a Basilisk’s fang, right?” Hermione asked.

“Right…”

“Well, I know where we can get one. Ron should go with you and I can take Fleur with me.”

“Okay, but take this.” Harry handed her the Marauder’s Map. “That way you can find us when you get back.” He turned to continue heading up the stairs, Ron in tow.

“Wait, how do you say ‘Open’ in Parsel...tongue?” The boys were already out of earshot before she finished. Hermione let out a sigh and looked towards Fleur. The veela was staring at her in confusion, having not understood what had transpired between the friends. “What?”

“’Arry fought a basilisk? And how does ‘e know parseltongue?”

“I can explain on the way.”

Hermione took Fleur’s hand and made her way to the 2^nd Floor girl’s bathroom. Along the way, she told Fleur about the Chamber of Secrets and the monster that lurked within its depths. How the Chamber was opened during their second year at Hogwarts; how Harry entered the Chamber with Ron to save Ginny from the basilisk. Fleur’s reaction was stunned silence before wondering where Hermione had been. The werewolf shrugged when she told Fleur she had been petrified and laying in the hospital wing for that adventure.

When they entered the girls bathroom, there was no sign of Moaning Myrtle to Hermione’s great relief. She stopped in front of the sink that was different from the rest. It was the smallest difference not easily spotted to the untrained eye. However, Harry had shown Hermione where the sink was upon her insistence. The snake embedded into the pipe was faint but recognizable. She took a deep breath, trying to remember some of the sounds Harry had spoken in his sleep or the few she had asked about over the years.

The raspy hiss that left Hermione’s lips set Fleur’s entire being on edge. The sound belonged to those that used dark magic. It grated on her ears more than the stone and porcelain scrapping against each other as the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets opened once more. She turned to see that Hermione was grinning with pride as the entrance was revealed. Hermione turned towards her, grin wavering at the grimace Fleur was wearing.

“Probably not my best work, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Zat was an unnatural sound,” Fleur said with a shudder. She leaned over the edge of the entrance and her nose scrunched up in disgust. “Not only does dark magic permeate this Chamber, but it stinks as well.”

Hermione laughed and took Fleur’s hand, “we’ll get you straight into a shower after we’re finished saving the wizarding world.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

They jumped down the pipe, sliding down through a thin layer of sludge towards the Chambers main entrance. When they landed, the sick crunch of bones snapping under their feet echoed in the dark chamber. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and then again when Fleur lit the tip of her wand. Hermione took the lead, tracing the steps Ron and Harry had taken five years prior. She was looking for what might remain of the shed snake skin or the pile of rocks that blocked the circular door to the chamber with Salazar Slytherin’s statue. Upon reaching the rubble blocking their path, the witches had to widen the small space that led to the other side.

Once through, they approached the rusted green circular door with snakes. Hermione stood before the door and hissed again. From the corner of her eye, she saw Fleur tense at the noise and grip her wand a bit more tightly. The door started to open, each snake slinking out of sight as a latch was released.

“I think Harry might be a Horcrux,” Hermione said softly while they waited for the door to swing open. “That’s why he can speak Parseltongue.”

“Pardon?” Fleur asked, perplexed by the statement.

“You asked how Harry knows Parseltongue earlier. Never got around to telling you, but that’s just my theory. I don’t think Harry’s thought much about how he has the ability. The last few months though, I’ve been wondering… He’s can track the objects. Like he can sense them or, from what he’s told Ron and I, hear them whispering to him when he’s close. His connection to You-Know-Who.. How Harry can see his thoughts and feel his emotions? I think its all connected.”

Hermione fell silent. She hadn’t voiced her concerns to either of the boys, as she wasn’t entirely sure it was accurate. Too many things added up though and she had to ignore the thoughts the followed if her theory was correct. Fleur remained silent, pondering on the information she had been provided.

The door to the Chamber of Secrets opened, revealing a long and wide room lined with snake statues on either side. At the furthest end was a large open area with a pool of water covering half the floor. On the wall facing the entrance was the stone face of Slytherin staring blankly forward. The most notable part of the room was the massive half rotted carcass of the basilisk. The dead creature was laying on its back, mouth opened and showing off rows of teeth that seemed to remain in pristine condition. Its stomach had started to rot away, revealing rib bones and fleshy innards. Hermione had to resist the urge to gag at the smell of rotting flesh while walking closer to the corpse.

Fleur followed tentatively behind Hermione, eyeing the basilisk warily. She knew it wouldn’t attack them, the amount of decay it had gone through since its demise evidence of this, but her healthy fear of basilisks overwhelmed her rational thought. It did not help that the further they walked into the Chamber, the more she felt dark magic surround her. She watched Hermione approach the basilisk’s mouth and carefully pull a few venom filled teeth from within. All but one of the fangs were placed in an unbreakable jar Hermione procured from her beaded bag. She placed the loose fang on the ground and rummaged around the bag, pulling out Helga Hufflepuff’s cup.

“Is zat what you retrieved from Lestrange’s vault?” Fleur asked, eyeing the cup curiously. It didn’t seem like the type of item one would hide a piece of their soul in.

“Yup,” Hermione said.

“What now?”

“Well, I figured one of us hold the cup and the other stabs it.”

“I’ll hold ze cup.” Fleur hastily grabbed one of the handles and placed the cup on the ground between herself and Hermione.

“Fair warning; I’m not sure how the horcrux is going to react to this,” Hermione said sheepishly.

“But you said that you’ve destroyed one of these before.”

“Harry’s destroyed a couple and one of them was with Ron’s help. I wasn’t there for either of those.”

“So, prepare for ze worst?”

“Just to be on the safe side.”

Hermione took a deep breath before bringing the basilisk fang above the cup. She brought it down with an exhale, the tip of the fang barely puncturing the golden metal before the cup started to spin out of control. It scuttled across the stone floor with a clatter. The water pools in the room started to bubble with movement. Water rushed forth from the pools to accumulate into one large mass before Hermione and Fleur. They had started to back away the moment the cup had skittered out of Fleur’s grasp but it still didn’t feel like they had put enough space between themselves and the wall of water. Forming within the water was Voldemort’s face. The eyes were black holes and the mouth was wide open as if it were screaming. Hermione felt the air get sucked from her lungs as the water rushed towards them. She felt Fleur tug her backwards to keep their distance, but it felt like a struggle to move.

And as suddenly as the water roared to life, it was crashing over them, soaking them through.

They stood there silently for a moment, heavy breathing the only sound now that the water had stopped sloshing about. She’s not sure who initiated it first, but Hermione’s lips were pressed hard against Fleur’s. Much like their kiss after fleeing the wedding, this kiss was filled with emotion that was hard to put into words in that moment. When they pulled apart, the goofy grin Hermione was sporting made Fleur’s heart melt a little. Their moment was cut short when the ceiling of the chamber shook violently.

“We should go find Harry,” Fleur suggested, hooking her finger back towards the chamber’s door.

“Right.”

Hermione pulled the Marauders Map from her jacket’s inner pocket and tapped her wand against the blank parchment, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

She noted that Harry and Ron’s footprints were on the move and away from Ravenclaw Tower, heading towards the sixth floor. She wasn’t sure how they were going to make it back quickly. The Chamber didn’t show up on the Map so they wouldn’t be able to find an exit that way. Harry and the others had been flown to the surface by Fawkes, but Hermione was sure the phoenix had vanished when Dumbledore died. It was unlikely Fawkes would come if called. The basilisk had used the pipes to get around the castle, but how had Ginny done so? Maybe a broom, but they didn’t have one.

Hermione scanned the room for a possible exit and her gaze settled on the basilisk remains, specifically the bones. They could magic some bones to fashion a ladder and there was an endless amount in the room at the end of the entrance pipe. Yes, that’s what they would do. It would be relatively quick. She told Fleur her idea, getting a disgusted look from the woman in response, but Fleur agreed that it could work. They made their way back to the bottom of the pipe and were back in the girls bathroom promptly. Checking the map again, Hermione noticed that Harry and Ron had stopped and standing in front of a wall on the seventh floor before they vanished from the map entirely. It was likely they had entered the Room of Requirement to find the diadem. She motioned for Fleur to follow and they made their way through the castle.

The castle had yet to fall into complete chaos as they made their way up the Grand Staircase. Students were panicking and running in all different directions. Some professors remained inside to direct the flow. The others had been tasked to build the magical barrier that would protect Hogwarts. As they passed a window, Hermione noticed that the barrier was currently burning up. The magic used to create it was fizzling up in the sky and drifting pathetically to the ground. Whatever had caused such an effect must have been what caused the ground to shake earlier.

It didn’t take long before first thunderous sounds of battle started to reverberate through the castle. Students started screaming as a black cloud hurdled towards a window at the top of the staircase Hermione and Fleur were running towards. Glass shattered as the cloud crashed through the window. More screams followed as students ducked to avoid being hit. Fleur reacted first, hitting the cloud with a stunner and causing the Death Eater within to collide with a stone pillar. Spellfire broke out as more Death Eaters crashed into the castle. Hermione spotted Bill coming towards them from down the steps.

“Bill!”

“You alright?” Fleur asked him as he approached.

“Fine, for now. We need more skilled folks at the head,” he said, giving Hermione and apologetic smile.

“It’s fine,” Hermione said. “I know where to find the boys.”

“I will find you when this is over,” Fleur said and kissed Hermione softly. “Be safe.”

With a nod, Hermione turned and made her way to the seventh floor corridor.

Chapter Text

The blast of heat that forced itself through the doors to the Room of Requirement was stifling. Hermione was trying to catch her breath as adrenaline pumped through her. Goyle was idiot for trying to use FiendFyre. Her attention turned away from the wall the Room’s door once was and towards Harry. He was sitting on the ground against the wall, looking as though he was in pain. She frowned and walked over to him with Ron.

“Its the snake… and she’s the last one. The last horcrux.”

Hermione’s frown deepened as she watched Ron kneel next to Harry, encouraging him to look into Voldemort’s mind. She was starting to believe that her theory was right after all as she watched Harry do as Ron suggested. His face was scrunched up in concentration for a moment before he opened his eyes and looked at his friends.

“I know where he is.”

Hermione and Ron helped Harry to his feet before they took off running through the castle. The fighting was one-sided. The students that could defend themselves were being put between Death Eaters and the younger students. As they ran through the corridors to the Bell Tower courtyard, Hermione caught glimpses of first and second years cowering together. She tried to not pay attention to the number of dead eyes she saw. When they reached the Grand staircase the damage to the inside of the castle was evident in the chunks of stone wall that were littered about. Some bits of debris were large enough to cut off access to the upper and lower floors.

As they made their way down the staircase, a couple of Death Eaters tried to stop them. Harry proceeded to knock out the one in front while Hermione dealt with the one that tried to sneak up on her. When they reached the door to the courtyard, Harry had to pull Hermione back from getting hit in the face with a spell that whizzed by. He had barely spotted the Death Eater before he had been hit by a spell. Harry dealt with the dark wizard quickly before heading outside with the others following him.

If the destruction within the castle walls was severe, the assault on Hogwarts was tenfold to its outer walls. The covered pathways that enclosed the courtyard were in ruins. Entire sections were reduced to rubble which blocked the paths. The bell from the tower lay in a dented heap on a pile of bricks, somehow knocked from its perch during the fighting. Pockets of fire raged in the area from explosive charms. Duels were scattered about the courtyard. And at the center of it all was a troll that was swinging a half-moon shaped axe towards anyone that got within its range.

Harry dodged a spell just in time, the watery magic burst a few feet away from him. Hermione and Ron followed him forward, the group halting as the troll’s swing brought them to its attention. They started to backpedal and changed directions towards the dented bell for cover. Hermione’s brain rattled as the bell chimed around them when the axe struck it. Harry led them forward from the bell towards a pile of rubble stretched out in a defensive line. They were once more pushed back as a swarm of acromatula started to skitter towards them. Hermione led them away, having taken up the back of the group. She ran between the troll’s legs and headed towards a cluster of dueling. Stray spells shot past them as they made their way through. Harry did his best in taking out any Snatchers or Death Eaters as they passed. Taking what shelter they could from the battle, the trio took to the ruined pathways and continued forth until Harry abruptly stopped.

As Hermione bounded over some rubble, she caught sight of what caused Harry to stop. Her heart dropped to her stomach at the sight of Lavender Brown’s body. Her skin was pale and the light that had once shone in her eyes had faded. Blood coated her neck and was splattered up across her cheek. The source of the wound was still on top of the Gryffindor’s corpse.

Fenrir Greyback.

She’d remembered the implications from Bellatrix. She said Greyback wasn’t able to endure the Cruciatus Curse for long before succumbing to his baser instincts. Yet, seeing the creature he had become was far more unsettling than Hermione ever imagined.

Greyback was no longer human nor wolf, but a cronenberg mix of the two. His legs remained human, but looked like they’d been bent into the shape of a wolf’s hind legs. The feet had a similar look to them; the bottom of his feet had toe pads much like a paw would. Although fur covered most of his lower half, mange was evident by the thinning patches of fur and signs of rash. The upper portion of the creature’s body was identical to the lower with thin wispy fur struggling to exist on human-like skin. Greyback’s arms looked like they’d been stretched. His elbows jutted too far back as he hunched over Lavender.

“What the fuck is that?” Ron asked.

“Greyback.”

The creature’s head turned towards them when Hermione spoke it’s name. Like the rest of his body, Greyback’s facial features were a mutilated combination of human and wolf. The ears stayed in their original position, but became pointed like wolf ears with bits of flesh torn away from the tips and sides of them. His eyes were hollow with shiny orange beads for pupils. The muzzle was the hardest to look at. He looked as though someone fused the snout of a wolf onto a human skull before pulling the skin back over it. The thing’s mouth was all gums and teeth. A permanent haunting grin. Beady eyes stared at Hermione, ears twitching in annoyance at the interruption and baring yellowed teeth. Bloody drool dripped from its jaws as it snarled at the trio, turning its bloodthirst towards them.

“Go!” Hermione urged suddenly and pushed Harry and Ron in the direction of the boathouse. Harry hesitated, but Hermione gripped his shoulder tightly in reassurance. The boys needed to get to the boathouse before Voldemort left. They had to find and kill the snake. If Hermione needed to distract Greyback then so be it. She had been wanting to let loose since the fighting started.

Hermione turned towards Greyback in enough time to side step the deformed wizard’s lunge. Snapping jaws almost clamped down on her shoulder. Greyback didn’t take much time to recover, charging at her once more. There was enough space between them that allowed Hermione to deflect the attack with a shielding charm. This halted Greyback mid-air. The tips of his claws sunk into the magical wall before he pushed off the barrier.

The adrenaline that rushed through Hermione should have been brought on by fear, but she felt excitement as she and Greyback waited for the other to attack. There had never been a time in her life where she felt like she could truly let loose during a duel. When she used magic, it was calculated and influenced by what she learned in books. Her wand was less of an extension of her arm, but rather a tool to direct her magic. After Lupin bit her, her magic became wild like that of a child’s accidental magic. The parts of magic that were influenced by the werewolf curse wanted to burst forth violently during duels. Hermione wouldn’t allow it though, even in moments when she and her friends needed it the most. She could have easily taken down the Death Eater that held her captive in the Department of Mysteries. She didn’t want to reveal her trump card to the enemy. No one other than her parents, the members of the Order and Harry knew that she’d been bitten.

Her name never even ended up registered with the Ministry of Magic.

But now? They were in the middle of what was the final battle for the wizarding world and there was nothing to hold her back. The tension that had been building up within her snapped as got lost in the rush of combat.

Greyback took the first move and shot forwards to try closing the distance between himself and Hermione. Keeping a good grip on her wand, Hermione flicked it towards one of the thin pillars to the right of Greyback. The stone exploded, sending specks of dust and debris into Greyback’s face. The creature stopped in his tracks, snarling in frustration and rubbing the grit from his eyes. Hermione took the few seconds she had to run towards the courtyard. Although she was confident in her close quarters combat, she wasn’t willing to risk accidentally shifting in such a small space. In his mutilated state, Greyback was much swifter than Hermione would be on four legs. So long as she remained human, she would be to make it through with minimal injury.

Hermione could hear the scrap of claws against stone as Greyback pursued her. She spun around to send shoot off a Bombarda when a stray spell from another duel collided with her. Hermione hit the ground as pain ripped through her left arm and blood soaked through her jacket. Ignoring it, she started to get up before getting tackled by Greyback. Her back hit the ground and her nose was assaulted by the smell of rotting flesh. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was Greyback’s breath or body that was expelling the stench, but it made her want to vomit.

“I’ll get...a pretty… prize for bringing you...to the… mistress.” Greyback’s words came out slow and drawn out like he was struggling to remember how to form a sentence.

Hermione was confused by the statement at first. Greyback served Voldemort, so why was he talking about his ‘mistress’? Unless he was talking about… Hermione’s eyes widened realizing that Greyback was talking about Bellatrix. Her heart stopped at the thought of facing the dark witch again. The close call at Malfoy Manor and the proceeding shift at Shell Cottage worried her. If she were to shift in such a way and lose control… She shook the thought from her mind. She wasn’t holding back like she had at the Manor. She wouldn’t succumb to induced madness at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.

With all her might, Hermione kicked Greyback off and sent him flying into a pile of rubble. With a pained growl, she lifted herself to her feet and sent a string of spells towards the downed creature. A few of the spells hit their target when Greyback picked himself up from the rubble. His balance wavered and Hermione took the opportunity to rush forward. Her shoulder connected with the beast, sending them both sprawling to the ground. Hermione jumped up, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid another attack from Greyback.

Sharp fangs sank into her into her leg as Greyback went low and clamped down tightly on Hermione’s calf. She bit back the urge to scream. Instead, she focused on grabbing pointed ears and tugging on them to pull Greyback away. With a yowl, Greyback let go of her and pulled himself out of her grasp. Hermione breathed through her teeth, clenching her jaw in pain as she tried to put pressure on her injured leg. Greyback was already encroaching on her again and she had to make a decision fast. Using her good leg, she lunged forward and reached out with her arm. Instinctively, Greyback went for the outstretched arm. Hermione heard the click of teeth as his mouth snapped closed around nothing when she pulled her arm out of his reach.

When Greyback’s attention turned to Hermione’s moving body, they were inches from each other and a wand was pressed firmly against his sternum. Hermione’s goal had been to get close and she succeeded in doing so, but to her detriment. Greyback’s powerful jaws snapped down her shoulder. Hermione let out a shouted in pain. When Greyback ripped away the fabric of her jacket, revealing bloody and torn tissue, Hermione cast her spell.

“Confringo.”

The area that had once been the middle of Fenrir Greyback’s torso exploded outwards through his back. A fine mist of blood splashed back against Hermione while chunks of flesh and innards blew out and onto the ground. Greyback choked as blood spluttered out of his mouth. What remaining brain function he had made him look in shock at Hermione as she stepped away. He raised a hand to touch his chest, but there was nothing but a cavity of gore left behind.

Hermione watched Greyback’s body slump to the ground lifelessly. Her hands were shaking as she went to wipe the blood and bits of flesh off her wand. She never had to take a life before and despite current events, she’d hoped she would never have to. The warm, gooey remains on her hands were sure to haunt her, but she would process that once the battle when it was over. Turning on her heel, she made her way to the boathouse hoping that she wasn’t too late.

***

Voldemort’s call to cease fire still echoed in Hermione’s head as they left the boathouse. Voldemort gave them one hour to hand Harry over or the fighting would begin again. She was trying not to think about the casualties the light lost, but it was surely more significant than the Death Eaters. It was a handful of qualified wizards and witches with the support of children defending Hogwarts. The odds were not stacked in their favor.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron made their way to the Great Hall in silence. Each of them ruminating in their thoughts. Hermione was keeping a close eye on Harry as she limped along next to Ron. He’d cleaned Snape’s blood off his hands with an eerie calmness that she’d never seen him exhibit. It made sense in its own way. The first and only time Snape showed Harry any sort of kindness was on his death bed. She never did like him, but the Potions professor looked at Harry with genuine care in his final moments that she questioned if the man ever truly hated the boy. Whatever memories were hidden in Snape’s tears were a mystery and Hermione was sure that Harry was mulling over why the man begged him to take them.

When they entered the Great Hall, it smelled like death. Hermione wished for any other scent to grace the air so she wouldn’t have the smell burned into her memory more than it already would be. Ron broke away from their little group and ran towards his family. Harry hung back a few feet from Hermione, taking in the devastation that been wrought for their cause. Hermione limped onward, catching sight of Fleur hugging Bill. Relief washed over her to see that her mate survived the fighting. The veela was covered in dirt and a few scraps, but appeared to be fine other than that.

The Weasleys were crowded together around someone. Bill was blankly staring at the floor where his mother clung to the motionless body of one of the twins. She heard Ron’s cracked sob when George turned to engulf his younger brother in a hug. It didn’t take Hermione very long to realize what happened. Fred was dead. She went to go comfort Ron when she stopped due to a familiar scent catching her attention.

Lupin.

Hermione turned towards the direction of the smell, dusty parchment and home. Her gaze drifted towards the floor. Dread washed over her, cold and chilling the blood in her veins when she took in the pair of bodies laying next to each other. Lupin and Tonks were side by side, their hands centimeters apart, like they continued to reach out to the other in death. It looked as though they’d been pulled out from underneath some rubble. Their skin was blemished with bruises and scrapes, dust covered their clothes. Their eyes were closed, leaving them to look peacefully asleep. She wasn’t sure when it happened, but Hermione was on her knees with her hands clenched in the fabric of Lupin’s sweater as she hugged the man’s motionless body.

Her sire. The man who turned her.

Her mentor. The man who taught her at school and about life with their affliction.

Her father figure in the magical world.

Tears started falling onto Lupin’s tweed jacket as Hermione quietly broke down. She felt the shaky sobs wanting to break through to the surface, but contained them. The only sign that she wasn’t completely numb was the shaking of her shoulders as she cried. She sat there for what felt like an eternity until placed their hand on her uninjured shoulder. Fleur’s scent surrounded her, grounding Hermione as she took a few deep breaths.

“Come with me, mon couer,” Fleur muttered while gently pulling Hermione up.

Hermione nodded numbly and let Fleur lead her out of the Hall. They made their way up a few flights of the Grand Staircase before taking a seat. What little control Hermione had over her emotions broke forth from the dam with a shuddering cry. Fleur pulled Hermione against her and hugged her tightly. She sat there feeling unsure of what to do other than gently stroking her mate’s hair. She felt as if she was back on the beach with Hermione’s wolf snarling at her. Unable to truly provide the support the young woman needed. They sat there until Hermione stopped crying. She looked up at Fleur with puffy eyes and a determined look.

“Do we know who did it?”

“’Ermione…”

“Who was it?”

Silence.

“I’ll feel better knowing,” Hermione said. She didn’t believe the words very much. She wanted to avenge Lupin and Tonks.

Fleur gave Hermione a skeptical look while worrying her lip.

“Fleur, please.”

“You won’t like the answer,” Fleur said. She looked away from Hermione’s burning stare, now noticing that the young woman’s eyes had taken on the shade of gold.

“Was it her? Was it Bellatrix?” Hermione growled. Fleur’s answer was a look of distress and taking Hermione’s hand in hers.

Her wolf wanted to immediately take vengeance against the dark witch, but the soft and warm skin pressed against her hand soothed the building rage. The urge remained but more as a thought at the back of her mind. Taking a deep breath, Hermione squeezed Fleur’s hand apologetically. They sat in silence for a little while. Time ticking by slowly. It wasn’t until Ron was jogging up the stairs towards them that Hermione wondered where Harry had gotten off to.

“I thought he was with you?” Ron asked in confusion. “Did he go to the forest?”

“He was… But then I saw Lupin… Oh! I’m so sorry about Fred.”

Hermione pulled Ron into a tight hug. One which he gave back equally, muttering his condolences about Lupin. When the friends pulled apart, the subject in question, Harry, walked towards them looking as though he discovered a great truth.

“Where’ve you been?” Fleur asked, concerned by the young man’s appearance.

“I thought you went to the forest,” Ron said.

“I’m going there now,” Harry said simply and continued to walk down the steps past them.

“Are you mad? No...” Ron spluttered. “You can’t give yourself up to him.”

Harry stopped before the next flight of stairs. He stood there and Hermione could hear his heart skip, but he didn’t respond.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked, dreading the answer. Concerned that he was about to confirm what she had been thinking about the last few days. “What is it you know?”

Harry’s shoulders tensed as he turned towards his friends, “there’s a reason I can hear them. The Horcruxes.” He paused for a moment to swallow thickly and looked at Hermione. “I think I’ve known for a while. And I think you have too.”

Hermione tried to hold back her tears as she took in Harry’s determined expression.

“I’ll go with you,” she choked out.

“No, kill the snake. Kill the snake and then it’s just him.”

Before Harry could turn to leave, Hermione hugged him. She hugged him like she had never done before. She was saying goodbye to one of her best friends. Forced to watch him march to his death. When Harry pulled away, tears continued to streak down Hermione’s cheeks. Harry smiled at Ron sadly, noting the confusion on his friend’s face and the shock on Fleur’s.

Silently, Harry made his way down the Grand Staircase for what was likely the last time, leaving behind his best friends to finish their mission alone.

Roughly an hour and a half later

Hermione was supposed to be focused on finding the snake with Ron. She’ll blame it on the adrenaline if anyone asks her what happened. It’s not a complete lie.

And she knows Ron will be able to handle the snake on his own. He’s proven that. She’s not justifying what she was about to do. Plus, she’d been humming with energy ever since their entrance in the Great Hall to confront Snape and her fight with Greyback. It’s not that she wasn’t solely focused on the snake as they headed into the castle when the fighting started again. There’s a smile on her face at seeing the pillars of black smoke retreating from the grounds.

But seeing Bellatrix throw a spell at Fleur while the veela’s back was turned made Hermione see red. Before she or anyone around her really knew to react, Hermione was charging towards Bellatrix. She saw the stunned faces of Fleur, Ginny, and Molly as she tackled the Death Eater out of a window. Hermione groaned when she hit the grass with her bad shoulder. Madame Pomfrey healed what injuries she received in her fight with Greyback, but magical healing always left her muscles stiff for a few days. Jumping to her feet, Hermione backpedaled away from Bellatrix. The woman’s wide grin and cackling unnerved her.

“Does the mudblood want a rematch?” Bellatrix asked with glee. “You were a naughty pup last time. Holding back you were. Not this time!” Hermione’s eyes widened as Bellatrix’s wand snapped forward. “Waddiwasi!”

“Protego!”

Small chunks of unknown material shot towards Hermione. They thunked into the protective magic in front of her. Bellatrix continued whipping her wand around, causing a rhythmic thumping against Hermione’s shield. It was a relentless torrent that pushed Hermione backwards in an attempt to corner her. She knew that her back was going to hit the castle’s walls before she was able to send a spell back. The only problem was that they didn’t have much room to work with. The window she sent them through only opened into an awkward patch of the grounds that backed up against a cliff. The only way back was to go through the window or attempt to apparate. Hermione didn’t want to resort to physically touching her opponent again when she could throw herself over the edge with the Death Eater.

“C’mon, mudblood!” Bellatrix goaded, growing impatient from the lack of response. “I know you can do better than that!”

Bellatrix’s taunt made Hermione drop her shield. She hissed in pain when sharp material sliced across her right cheek. Clenching her jaw, she flicked her wand towards some of the vines that climbed up the castle walls. The vegetation wriggled to life and lurched towards Bellatrix. The dark witch defended herself quickly. A wall of fire met the vines when they shot off the wall towards their target. Hermione used this opportunity to gain some ground on her opponent, sending a volley of spellfire towards Bellatrix.

Hermione was wary of the cliff’s edge as she pushed Bellatrix back. Unlike Greyback, she didn’t want this fight to end quickly. She wondered if she secretly enjoyed their encounter at Malfoy Manor, even if the end resulted in her nearly eating her friends. The fight at the manor had been, as Bellatrix said, one Hermione held back in. And she didn’t want to hold back anymore.

With her attention towards the cliff, Hermione didn’t notice the curse hurtling towards her. A burst of blue light slammed into her with enough force to throw her back towards the castle. She felt some of her ribs break, her head cracking against the wall. Her vision blurred and the violent urge to vomit overtook her. She could see the fuzzy silhouette of Bellatrix coming towards her.

Before Hermione could recover, the front of her shirt was being grabbed violently and then the pit of her stomach twisted. There wasn’t time to react from the apparation because she was shoved backwards. Her ass hit the ground roughly and the sound of fighting was loud in her ears. Bellatrix apparated them from the small space to a different part of the grounds. She recognized the smoldering towers that were once the Quidditch Pitch, and the circle of stones where she punched Draco in her third year.

“Bombarda!” was the only warning Hermione had before the ground inches from her left hand erupted and sprayed dirt and grass everywhere. She scrambled to her feet and growled at Bellatrix. This only caused the woman to laugh.

“Why did you apparate us?” Hermione asked. She’s surprised Bellatrix cared for where their battle took place.

“Not that its any of your business, mudpuppy, but this is the final fight,” Bellatrix said with a sneer. “Potter isn’t going to get up when my lord kills him. Again.”

Hermione gripped her wand tightly, feeling the wood creak in warning, “is that so?”

“The space was also far too small, you’d hold back.”

“Why do you suspect that?”

“Wolves never like to fight in places they can’t shift.” The knowing smirk Bellatrix wore irritated Hermione. “Now, no holding back, pet.”

Hermione growled, eyes shimmering yellow as she lunged at Bellatrix. She didn’t understand the dark witch’s knack for getting under her skin, but she was going to shut her up. Unlike the last two times she tackled Bellatrix, the dark witch was expecting Hermione and side stepped out of the way. Her laughter rang out at the snarl of frustration that emanated from the young wolf. This only egged Hermione on. She felt the itch under skin, wanting to burst forth. If she were to shift, it was her last ditch effort if she lost her wand. She preferred to not rely on her wolf at every turn.

“Incendio.”

The ball of fire shot from Hermione’s wand, aimed at Bellatrix’s center. She hoped that it would be enough of a distraction to hide behind one of the upright stones and get her barings. When her back rested against the cold stone, she took a sharp breath as pain pricked at her side. Scanning the area, Hermione noted that Bellatrix apparated them to a rather open area of the grounds. There was very little cover to hide behind. If she wanted to run for it and head to towards the trees, Bellatrix would immediately get the jump on her.

“Come out, come out, where ever you are!” the death eater’s voice cooed from somewhere to Hermione’s right. Her eyes darted to the left as an explosion of rock caught her periphery. A rock two away from her right also exploded a few seconds later. Her mind was going a mile a minute, trying to map how many slabs there were in the circle and where they were. She waited for another rock to explode, this one was to the left. It was accompanied by a shout of frustration before the top of the rock Hermione was hiding behind blew up and showered her with debris. She took off to the right, only to be swallowed up by a dense fog.

The spell wasn’t spoken out loud, causing Hermione to halt in her movement. If Bellatrix cast the spell upon seeing her, she guessed the woman was patiently waiting for her to move. Calming her breathing, Hermione listened for any sound as she waited for the fog to dissipate. She couldn’t hear anything over the fighting in the distance until it was too late. A rush of air was pushed out of her lungs as she was caught in the side with a set of heavy chains. They wrapped around her waist, trapping her arms to her sides. The force of which they hit her was enough to be toppled onto her side. With a grunt of effort, Hermione pulled herself into a kneeling position. She scanned the thick fog for Bellatrix, seeing the woman come through the din. With a pout, Bellatrix crouched in front of Hermione and tilted her head curiously.

“How pathetic. I was hoping for a better duel.” Her tone was child-like as she spoke. “There’s usually more fight in wolves. Maybe we need to yank it out of you.”

The dark witch withdrew a knife from the ankle of her boot. Its silver dipped blade glinted in pale morning light. Hermione glared at Bellatrix defiantly. She dared not look at the weapon that was being brandished, all too aware of the searing pain she was about to experience.

“If the Cruciatus curse won’t break you,” Bellatrix said with a manic smile and kicked Hermione onto her back. “Perhaps some good old fashion silver.”

As Bellatrix straddled her, the sharp sting of metal slicing across her cheek rapidly turned into a burning that dulled a few seconds later. Hermione clenched her jaw in mild discomfort. If that was what she was to be put through, she could handle that without succumbing to the shift. The second cut was like the first, a little jolt of pain before fading away. The third cut is when Hermione realized Bellatrix was gauging her tolerance. This slice was slow and deep, the blade making a path from her collarbone to her shoulder. Her jaw clenched tighter as her skin felt like it was being burned to ash. She could feel every inch of the blade bite into her skin and split it apart. Pressure started to build up behind her eyes as Bellatrix continued the long drawn out slice.

When the knife was pulled away from her skin, the burning sensation was accompanied by the sting of air against the open wound. Bellatrix didn’t give Hermione a moment’s relief though, bringing the knife dangerously close to her left eye and grabbing the young woman’s face. The tip was pressed below her lower eyelid before being brought down towards her chin. She did her best to remain silent, but the toxicity of the silver was starting to seep into her bloodstream. She let out a gasp of pain when the knife was pulled away, dully aware that she’d closed her eyes at some point.

Hermione’s scream was piercingly loud when Bellatrix stabbed her shoulder. It was the same shoulder the woman tossed a knife into at Malfoy Manor. Pain bloomed in her shoulder and spread throughout the rest of her arm and chest. Her eyes stared to push out of their sockets as Bellatrix cackled in triumph.

“Come now, mud puppy, surely you can withstand more than that!”

The knife was ripped out of her shoulder and subsequently stabbed into the other one. Hermione let out a howl of pain again. It was accompanied by the creaking of metal. The chains wrapped around her were struggling against the sudden force she was exerting. The infernal itch below the surface of her skin started to become insufferable and bloody tears ran down her cheeks. This only seemed to entice Bellatrix further.

Pain blossomed across Hermione’s chest, from the sternum to throat. The fabric of her shirt was torn and became soaked with blood. The harsh snarl in response was joined by the breaking of the chains as Bellatrix was thrown across the grounds. With some effort, Hermione stood up. She was hunched over, watching crimson droplets hit the grass. Bellatrix was slowly recovering from Hermione tossing her, but the young woman knew it wouldn’t take the dark witch long.

She needed to take action and quickly.

Her wand wasn’t near her., having been knocked out of her hand when she was hit with the chains. There wasn’t enough time to look for it nor did she feel confident in her wandless magic.Ive got The sound of Bellatrix getting up made Hermione let out a sigh of resignation.

“If I don’t make it out of this…” Hermione mumbled and straightened up to face the death eater. “Forgive me, Fleur.”

With a deep breath, she succumbed to the shift.

In a burst of flesh and blood, the young woman was replaced by a bear-sized, dark brown wolf with golden eyes. The wolf let out a growl of warning at Bellatrix as the woman got to her feet. The dark witch was grinning with glee, waving her wand like it was a toy to play fetch with. The wolf’s eyes tracked the movements, anticipating an attack.

“Gonna come and get me, mudblood?”

Hermione bared her teeth and growled again.

The death eater took a moment to take in the beast before her. The wounds she’d inflicted on the girl no longer remained. They’d been shed along with the human skin that bore them. Bellatrix pouted, “you’ve gone and washed away my work. I don’t like starting over!”

Fire erupted from the tip of Bellatrix’s wand, forcing Hermione to bolt to the side. It gave her a clear target to her opponent's side, but the fire would be easily redirected. Singed fur was the least of her concerns. She took the risk and rushed towards Bellatrix, catching the woman off guard. The heat from the flames grazed the wolf’s side as her body collided with the death eater. Bellatrix let out a grunt of frustration as her spell extinguished and she tumbled to the ground. The wolf was on her heels, snapping at her ankles while she scrambled to stand up.

“Flipendo!”

The charm hit Hermione square in the snout. The wolf let out a yelp and rubbed her nose with a paw. The spell didn’t necessarily hurt, but the force was enough to make her back off. Bellatrix started running towards the Forbidden Forest to find some way to distance herself from the werewolf. The thunder of paws bounding towards her made the death eater’s heart pound in her chest. Bellatrix felt genuine fear in that moment when the snapping jaws clicked very close to her hip. She needed to make it to the forest for cover. She was so close.

A pain comparable to the likes of the Cruciatus curse graced Bellatrix’s right leg and she let out a shriek of agony. Powerful jaws bit down with such crushing force that she could hear her femur being snapped into thirds. Bellatrix’s eyes watered in pain as she crumpled to the ground a few feet from the forest’s edge. She dug her fingers into the grass when she felt the first rough tug on her leg. It made her see stars. She nearly blacked out when she was lifted off the ground and tossed lazily back towards the castle.

The deep growl that rumbled from within the wolf as it approached with bared fangs pulled Bellatrix out of her stupor. She would not allow herself to be best by a mudblood half-breed. With a flick of her wand, a burst of flame shot towards the wolf. It allowed Bellatrix to muster what strength she had left to crawl away. The wolf let out a snarl of frustration and closed the distance quickly.

It was just enough time for Bellatrix to find what she’d been crawling towards.

Hermione was running on pure instinct. The only thing on her mind was to kill. She didn’t see the knife until it was too late and her teeth was sinking into soft flesh. Blood rushed into her mouth. The coppery taste made her release her hold on Bellatrix. Then she felt pain. A lot of it. The source of it seemed to radiate from her stomach. Looking down, she saw Bellatrix’s arm covered in blood and protruding from her abdomen was the hilt of a knife.

Fur molted off of the wolf as it shrunk in size and shifted back into its human form. The first thing Hermione did was cough up blood. Red spittle flecked across Bellatrix’s pale and waxy skin. The death eater was somehow still clinging to life with shallow breaths. Bellatrix grinned wildly as she ripped the knife across the werewolf’s stomach to her ribs. Hermione grabbed stomach in shock before collapsing to the ground next to the woman. She watched as Bellatrix took her final breath. It was unsettling to see the woman look as though she’d achieved peace in her final moments. Onyx eyes were staring up into the dawn-lit sky as though she were being greeted by an old friend.

Hermione rolled onto her back and looked up at the sky. The darkness of the night was being washed away to red, orange, and pink as the sun rose over the Scottish hills. Even though she could smell the death that surrounded her, it didn’t deter from the beauty of the moment.

Hermione was laying in a pool of her own blood, a situation not unlike the end of her third year. The viscous red liquid was running off of her bare stomach. She was unbothered that she was laying naked on the grass and bleeding out. If this was her end, Hermione accepted it. She could understand the peaceful expression on Bellatrix’s face. Dying for a cause she thought was just. Except for Hermione, it was her experience. The time spent with family and friends. What little time she spent with Fleur...

Why is there always something peaceful about this?

The thought made her want to laugh, but she couldn’t with the gash across her mid-section .

Then she realized that every thing was very quiet.

The battle that had been raging near the Quidditch Pitch no longer hung thick in the air, other than its aftermath littered across its dewy grass. She didn’t have much energy, but when she twisted her neck to look around there was no sign of anyone. Panic started pump adrenaline through her body.

Was Harry dead or did he finally defeated the looming shadow of Voldemort once and for all?

Through sheer force of will , Hermione lifted herself up into a sitting position, biting back the pain that tore through her. Blood bubbled up her throat, threatening to choke her, but she ignored it as she struggled to her feet. It took a few moments, but she was able to stand, if a bit shakily. She strained her hearing to locate where everyone went since it appeared that no one was starting to check on the bodies in the courtyard yet.

With great difficulty, Hermione headed in the direction of the Great Hall. Along the way grabbing a cloak to wrap herself in from one of the many dead. If there was any place for a triage set up or victorious gloating, it was likely to be held there. Her mind was muddled from the amount of blood she’ d lost; which continued to drip out of her, leaving a splotchy trail in her wake as she stumbled over bodies and rubble.

The first person she saw at the entrance to the Hall was Filch, attempting to move rocks out of the doorway. He gave her a wide eyed stare, wary of th e Gryffindor. His gaze drifted over her battered body and to the small puddle of red at her feet . Hermione was pretty sure her vision was playing tricks on her because Filch seemed to give her a small smile before returning to his task. She smiled back weakly before continuing on her way into the Hall.

She almost threw up at the assault of scents that hit her upon entering. Death, blood, and sadness clung to every surface; it was overwhelming.

The massive room was divided into two sections, one side was lined with the dead . Wooden bleachers were shoved against the other wall with survivors sitting in quiet remembrance or being treated by Madam Pomfrey. She scanned the room for any sign of Harry or Ron, praying that her friends made it out alive. Huddled on the far end of the hall were the Weasleys. Among the sea of red hair, Hermione was able to pick out Harry and Fleur.

A cry of relief escaped her at the sight of her mate. S he was worried that Fleur had been hit by the spell Bellatrix had cast . Her cry startled everyone in the hall. Some even going for their wands at the sudden l oud shout. All eyes were on her as she fell to her knees, finally succumbing to the pain as whatever adrenaline was left was sapped from her body.

Her vision blurred from shock as her knees hit the stone floor and her hearing suddenly deafened. She could pick out Fleur, Harry, and Ron rushing towards her. Darkness started to creep around the edges of her sight, but she was able to remain conscious enough to see the tears brimming in sparkling blue eyes. Fleur was the first to reach her, dropping down to Hermione’s level. Her hands reached out to the brunette but stopped, not sure if her touch would inflict more pain. Amber and blue locked, almost a confirmation that they were still there.

That they were alive.

Then there was a flurry of motion around Hermione.

Harry and Ron were holding back the rest of the Weasleys. T hey’d followed the trio over to the broken and bloody werewolf. Madam Pomfrey was next to her, trying to get her to lay down on her back, but the brunette slumped forward in a haze. P ain and numbness rocking her system again as her chest hit the stone floor.

Blood was warm and sticky against her cheek as she closed her eyes.

She was tired.

Oh, so very tired.

Fleur’s anguished sob echoed through the hall as everything faded to black.

Chapter Text

Moody was demanding when he sent Fleur off to Remus Lupin’s home to accompany Hermione Granger to Number Four Privet Drive. His tone told her that there was no questioning the strange assignment. Fleur knew nothing about the young woman, merely that she was intelligent and close friends with Harry Potter. They engaged in no prior interactions over the years, not even a passing glance during the Triwizard Tournament. It didn’t make sense for her, that in a time of war, she would be the one sent to pick up a stranger. Yet when she opened her mouth to question Moody, he gave her a stern look and snapped at her to leave immediately. Although the harshness ruffled her feathers, Fleur nodded and said she would meet them promptly at Privet Drive.

Apparating to the home nestled in the Scottish wilds wasn’t hard, but Fleur wasn’t sure how things would go if Hermione were to be suspicious of her presence there. She was stuck on how forceful Moody had been about her being the one to retrieve the young woman. She’d seen George go to speak and offer himself as replacement. Any reason she came up with was as ludicrous as the first. Maybe he was playing some sort of joke on her, but the man didn’t have a humorous bone in his body. Maybe it was Dumbledore’s doing before his death? Fleur heavily doubted the Headmaster had such strong foresight.

When she arrived at the lodge, an odd sensation she heard about from her grand-mere settled over her. A feeling that was magnetic in the way it pulled her to the lodge. She couldn’t quite place her finger on what it was, but it got more powerful when Hermione answered the door. It wasn’t until she and Hermione collided in the doorway and locked eyes that gave Fleur an indication of what the feeling truly was.

Fleur unexpectedly stumbled across her mate.

The first thing she felt was elation. It was rare for veela to find their mate; so rare that it was determined to be a myth among the youngest in the clans. The second was heartbreak when she saw the panic in Hermione’s eyes and the younger woman’s dismissal of what transpired. The excuse the brunette gave her was enough to put Fleur’s mind at ease, at least until they brought Harry safely back to the Burrow.

***

It was the day of Lupin and Tonks’ wedding and she was pacing back and forth in Bill’s room. She was frustrated and hurt. It been a few days since they arrived at the Burrow and she had yet to intercept Hermione to discuss their newly found bond. Fleur had written off the night of their arrival since Harry and Ron whisked her mate away. The following morning, as Fleur was coming down the stairs and entered the living room, she caught a glimpse of curly brown hair before Hermione was out the front door.

Fleur saw hide nor hair of Hermione for the rest of the day.

The next day, Fleur did her best to remain quiet as she came down the stairs. This time there was the crack of apparation as her foot hit the last step and she knew Hermione wasn’t in the house anymore. Fleur entered the living room to see a very confused Harry staring at the spot she assumed where Hermione had been sitting.

On the third day, Fleur didn’t attempt to be subtle, rushing down the steps to try and catch the elusive werewolf before she could disappear. It was to no avail. She skidded around the corner to the living room to see Hermione rush past Molly and leave through the kitchen door. She then apparated a few feet away from the edge of the field backed up against the Weasley’s property. It was at that point Fleur gave up. She spent the remainder of the day in a depressive slump. Not even Bill and Ginny could cheer her up.

“I do not understand,” Fleur said to Bill as she paced in front of him. “Even among ze loup-garou, finding your mate is cause for celebration. It is what we are doing zis evening for Remus et Tonks.”

The eldest Weasley child watched his friend with amusement, having never experienced this side of Fleur. The normally composed veela had sobbed in both happiness and sadness when she told him she found her mate. Her accent was a little thicker in her distressed state.

“And you haven’t been able to corner Hermione at all since we’ve arrived?” Bill asked, stroking his chin in thought.

“Non!” Fleur cried. “’Ermione has been elusive, always one step ahead. She must ‘ear me approaching.”

“That’s makes sense, heightened senses and all.”

“Is zere nozzing that I can do?” The veela sat down on the bed next to Bill, head in her hands. “I am not fast enough to catch up to ‘er.”

“If you’re comfortable with it, I could ask Ginny to knock some sense into her.”

Fleur winced, unsure if she wanted the youngest Weasley to know about her predicament, but it was probably the best option. Ginny seemed to have a way of getting through to the members of the Golden Trio.

***

She could feel Hermione’s gaze on her as she danced with Bill at the wedding reception. It made her unconsciously shiver. The pull that she felt at the lodge was stronger than before, tempting her to walk over to the table her mate was sitting at.

Fleur refused to act on those instincts, instead asking Bill to dance with her to keep her occupied. If she paid close attention to the chocolate eyes boring holes into her, she would have seen how rapidly they turned gold when Bill wrapped his arm around her waist. Ever the gentleman, Bill lead their dance, making sure that Fleur’s back was towards the table Hermione was sitting at. He felt bad for his friend, even though he didn’t know the extent of what magical creature mating was like. Even when the veela laughed at his jokes, the joy never reached her eyes. He could see the sadness seated deeply in Fleur’s heart.

“She’s been staring at you very intently,” Bill said, spinning Fleur and causing her to laugh hollowly.

“I know,” Fleur hummed. They fell into a companionable silence after that, lazily moving to the music with other guests.

It was a few songs later when Bill stopped their dancing, whispering to her that Hermione had just left the refreshments table and was standing outside of the tent.

It was now or never.

***

“It is with heavy hearts that we must bring sad news to you today; Bathilda Bagshot was found dead in Godric’s Hollow…”

Fleur was sitting in her usual spot that morning, staring out the bay window at the ocean. She sipped her tea, hoping that it would keep the chill away. She was listening to the little radio in the living room as she usually did when Potterwatch was being broadcast. The show became apart of her routine since she arrived at Shell Cottage, having decided that retreating to an Order safe house rather than the Burrow a wiser decision. If the Death Eaters saw her apparating away from the wedding with Hermione, they would seek her out. Bill arrived a few days later after receiving her patronus. He brought her news that no one had been injured and the Order was going into hiding, so they were in the dark as to what was going on other than the occasional visit from Molly. Listening to Potterwatch eased her mind while the hosts filled their listeners in on the dangers of a world that was under Voldemort’s threat.

She listened to the program to ease her worries over Hermione. If the werewolf’s name was not spoken, then Fleur could get sleep at night. Not that it was restful sleep. The veela’s dreams woke her in the early hours of the morning. She would wake with her heart racing and drenched in a cold sweat. The nightmares were too realistic. She didn’t know if Hermione’s fighting skills leaned more towards magicks or physicality. If it lent towards magicks, then the images were more subdued, Hermione’s dead eyes looking up at her. If it lent towards physicality, the images turned gruesome. Fleur knew that werewolves were tactile creatures, whether they were in their human form or their wolf form. The bloody fashion in which she saw Hermione torn apart in her dreams haunted her.

She wondered where the trio were currently. It was nearing the new year and the winter months had been dreadfully cold. Fleur doubted that the friends would stay in an inn or anywhere they would be recognized. It was better to keep away from any wizard heavy populations. Maybe they were camping or staying at muggle inns. All Fleur knew was that she wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew for certain that Hermione was safe. The reports from Potterwatch were but a small comfort when they aired. She would immediately go back to being worried sick within a few days. It was a maddening cycle.

Thankfully, Bill was there for her. His company helped when Fleur felt herself starting to have an anxiety spiral. Being cooped up with nothing to do with her days other than read was making her stir crazy. She was thinking about going back to work since it would keep her abroad. It was doubtful that the death eaters saw her leaving the wedding with Hermione.

She sighed.

There wasn’t much she could do but wait and pray that Hermione would return to her safely.

***

Numb.

That’s what Fleur felt.

Completely and utterly numb.

Everything around her was moving in slow motion. She could vaguely hear Madame Pomfrey shouting for assistance. Harry and Ron were keeping the rest of the Weasleys at bay. Someone was touching her shoulder, trying to get her attention. None of it mattered though. Her gaze was firmly locked onto Hermione. The young girl was being rolled onto her back by Slughorn so Madame Pomfrey could see the extent of her injuries. Blood and dirt were caked on one side of Hermione’s face as though she’d sustained a traumatic head wound.

The thundering of her heart in her ears deafened the world to around her. She watched the mediwitch check for a pulse before waving her wand over the young woman. The diagnostics spell was a myriad of colours. Red was the most prominent. The squish of blood soaked fabric shook Fleur a bit, somehow grounding her and making` time sped back up to normal.

When the robes were pulled away from Hermione’s chest, Fleur stopped breathing. There was a seven inch gash running diagonally from the young woman’s midsection to her right side. Through the mangled flesh, the white of bone could be seen. Blood oozed from the wound, tainted with streaks of black like there was poison running through Hermione’s veins. The only sign that she seemed to be alive was the very slight lifting of her chest, indicating breathing.

Unconsciously, Fleur reached forward, wanting nothing more than to confirm that Hermione was alive. The hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“...leur?” Bill’s voice broke through the haze of shock Fleur was in. She turned to look at him fearfully. Her eyes were wide and she couldn’t seem to formulate words. “You need to let them do their jobs. She’s in good hands.”

Fleur nodded weakly, allowing herself to be hoisted up from her position on the floor. She refused to look away from Hermione though, watching intensely as Madame Pomfrey assessed the damage. It became evident that the resources at Hogwarts were not enough to treat the extensive injuries Hermione suffered. A stretcher was conjured for Hermione to be placed on to travel to St Mungo’s. When the healers arrived, Fleur refused to let them leave without taking her with them. If she still had sight of Hermione, then she would be able to keep the thoughts that were threatening to overwhelm her.

Bill is the one that apparates with her to St Mungo’s and sits with her in the waiting room. He watches her pace back and forth, muttering in French and trying not to breakdown, but the tears start to fall anyways. Before Fleur knows it, Bill’s pulling her into a hug and she’s sobbing into his chest. Her mind racing with probable outcomes. All of which predicted doom and gloom, imaging Hermione’s death. The black ichor that was oozing out of the werewolf’s wounds was concerning and she feared that alone would end the life of her mate.

In the back of her mind, she knew who caused those wounds, having caught a glimpse of bushy brown hair and chaotic black crashing through the window she’d been near in the Great Hall. There was no time to fully register what happened because she was also deflecting a spell that came from nowhere. Much like she knew that the cause of the black ooze in Hermione’s blood was silver poisoning. Fleur’s knowledge of the effects of silver against werewolves was limited, mainly what she’d read during school. She scolded herself for not doing more research once her bond with Hermione was recognized. Her mind was whirling with the possible side effects and it made her clutch to Bill harder.

What felt like hours later, one of the healers entered the waiting room. Harry, Ron, and Ginny were sitting with Fleur and Bill; all of them anxiously waiting to hear the fate of their friend. The healer was a squat looking wizard, his face neutral as he approached the group.

Fleur’s throat tightened and her heart dropped to her stomach at the look.

“Miss Granger has stabalized, but we will be monitoring her closely. Her vitals show that there is a significant amount of silver poisoning in her bloodstream. We’re not sure what state Miss Granger was in when receiving her injuries; however, it does seem that she is likely to recover from this ordeal.”

Fleur let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and a new wave of tears threatened to come forth. She gripped Bill’s hand tightly, needing to ground herself, lest the panic that had been settled in her breast burst forth.

“Can we go see her?” Harry asked.

“You may, but she is sleeping. We’re not sure when she’ll wake up due to the extent of her injuries.” The healer warned before directing them of the room Hermione was in and left with a nod.

When they enter the room, Fleur had to stop herself from rushing to Hermione’s side and grasping onto the slumbering woman’s hand. Instead, she slowly approached, holding her breath as she watched Hermione’s chest move up and down steadily. It was stronger than it had been in the Great Hall. Her own breathing started again in time with Hermione’s breaths. Taking a seat next to the bed, Fleur gently placed her hand against Hermione’s cheek.

There was a pale thin scar running from the jaw up to the bottom of the eye. The wound, Fleur realized, was the source of the blood that once covered half of her mate’s face. The image of Hermione covered in blood and collapsing onto the stone floor replayed in her mind. It made her shudder and pull her hand away, placing it on Hermione’s arm instead. She could feel the steady pulse of Hermione’s heart through her hand. It allowed her to relax a little bit as she watched over her mate.

Fleur remained in the same spot for several days. She worried that if she left Hermione alone for more than a few minutes, something would happen. Whether it was the brunette waking up from her deep slumber or fading away peacefully in the night, Fleur needed to be there. She took all her meals next to the hospital bed and only left when she felt it necessary to freshen up. At night, she would transfigure her chair into a cot since sleeping in the chair the first night had left a horrible kink in her neck. The healers tried once to remove Fleur from the hospital room not even a day after Hermione had been admitted. The icy glare from Fleur and a conversation from Harry Potter were convincing enough that the veela’s presence wasn’t questioned again.

Fleur would wait there until Hermione woke up.

***

Seven days after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione woke up.

Her fingers twitched as if she was reaching out for something. Her eyes moved rapidly behind her eyelids before they fluttered open. The bright lights of the hospital room confused her. The last thing she remembered seeing before promptly passing out was the Great Hall and Fleur running towards her. She went to move, but her body felt heavy and refused to move an inch. That’s when the pain started to creep in. It started in her abdomen and radiated through her body. Her hand twitched again, feeling something soft against her fingers. She gripped whatever it was tightly and tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes.

“Hermione?” A voice from her left said. It was familiar and somehow soothed the pain spreading through her.

“Fleur?” Her voice is rough and mouth dry.

“Oui, mon couer,” Fleur said, her voice shaking with emotion. “’ow are you feeling?”

“Water…” Hermione croaked, looking over to Fleur. The blonde’s eyes were rimmed red and tears were streaming down her face. It made her heart hurt to see the veela looking so sad. It was worse knowing that she was the cause of such sadness, having landed herself in the hospital.

“Of course.”

Fleur stood and walked out of sight, returning a moment later with a cool glass of water. She gently tipped the glass so Hermione could take a few sips. The moisture was heavenly on her tongue as she drank. When she was done, Fleur placed the glass on the night stand next to the bed and patiently waited for Hermione to speak.

“Everything hurts…” Hermione mumbled.

“Let me summon the healer. They’ll be able to give you something for the pain.”

“Stay…” Hermione reached out to grasp Fleur’s hand, stopping her from leaving.

“Okay.”

They sat in silence for a while, simply staring at one another. Hermione watched the way Fleur breathed and how she was trying to subtly check every inch of Hermione’s body for a new injury.

“What happened?” Fleur finally broke the silence, her eyes landing on Hermione’s.

Hermione stared at the ceiling, swallowing thickly, and remembered her fight with Bellatrix. She could still taste the warm coppery blood on her tongue. It made her want to vomit. Her stomach clenched at the phantom feeling of a knife being pulled from it. She squeezed Fleur’s hand before describing her fight with Bellatrix. Fleur was quiet, blue eyes burning with an emotion Hermione couldn’t quite place. When she finished speaking, Hermione wet her lips and waited for Fleur to say something.

Fleur was silent, eyes brimming with tears and jaw clenched tightly. She looked like a pipe ready to burst. She was shocked when Fleur to let go of her hand and leave the room. Her blood froze in her veins watching the blonde leave the room. If her body didn’t feel so heavy, she would have gotten out of bed and followed. With a growl of frustration, she laid there and waited for Fleur to return with the healer.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Miss Granger!” a thin, mousy woman said enthusiastically upon entering the room. “Are you able to sit up a bit?” Hermione shook her head. “Let’s help you with that; doubt the ceiling is very interesting.”

The healer, with the help of Fleur, eased the bed forward so Hermione was sitting up. The pain in her abdomen came back with a vengeance, making her grit her teeth. Now that she was sitting up, the hospital room looked less dreary. There were a number of ‘Get Well Soon’ cards on the rolling tray at the end of the bed with a balloon tied to one of its metal legs. Sweets and flowers cluttered the tray. Some of the wrappers had been open. The culprit likely being Ron. The room looked like it had enough room to fit another patient, yet Hermione noticed she was its only occupant. She wanted to protest while the healer ran a few diagnostic spells on her. The was no need to give her special treatment.

“Feeling any pain?” The healer asked, mistaking the scowl on Hermione’s face as a pain response.

“A little bit,” she mumbled.

“If it gets to be too much, take this,” a vial of green liquid was placed on the night stand. “If there’s anything else you need, just holler.” The healer made their way to the door before turning back towards Hermione. “Thank you for what you’ve done, Miss Granger. The wizarding world is in your debt.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in response. With a nod, the healer left, leaving her alone with Fleur once more.

Up until the healer left, Fleur had been standing off to the side silently. The eerie quiet remained as she sat back down next to the bed. It bothered Hermione, the silence that fell between them, because she didn’t know how to respond to it. All of her Gryffindor bravery wilted at Fleur’s icy gaze. It made her question why the gods saw it fit to pair them together. If she was being fair, the pair did not have the proper time to spend together other than the trio’s short time at Shell Cottage. This was territory that she was new to in how to handle it.

“Fleur, are you okay?” Hermione asked tentatively.

The question made Fleur splutter out a laugh, “Am I okay? I should asking you that.”

Tears dripped onto the pair of jeans she wore, leaving dark spots. Her hands clenched together in her lap as she tried to find the words to express how she was feeling. When she’d left to get the healer after Hermione’s tale, she remembered how numb she’d felt seeing the brunette laying in a puddle of her own blood. Then she felt fury, burning bright and hot, at the violence Bellatrix wrought upon her mate. Fury that would have no outlet since the perpetrator was buried six feet deep.

“Oh. I mean- I’m fine. Just very sore.”

“That’s good to hear, but what you shared with me?” Fleur gave Hermione a once over, “It is a lot to take in, especially as your mate. Veela are very protective of their mates. To see what that foul woman did to you? What you looked like when you stumbled into the Great Hall? I wanted nothing more than to find her and kill her myself.”

“Fleur, revenge wouldn’t have made you feel any better!” Hermione was shocked by the declaration.

“Non, it would not. I nearly lost you. It would have been my dying act.”

Hermione frowned, confused by the shift in response, “I’m definitely not worth killing yourself over!”

Fleur’s face crinkled in confusion before she realized what she’d said and how Hermione could perceive it that way. They hadn’t discussed their bond to its fullest. Fleur decided to withhold some information until after they made it through the war.

“You misunderstand, mon coeur. Veela mate for life. If their mate dies, they are soon to follow.”

“That sounds horrible,” Hermione said, letting the implications of Fleur’s statement sink in.

“It is bittersweet in its own way,” the blonde said with a faint smile. “When you were on the run, my days felt grayer. Not as bright. A world without you would make that feeling become tenfold. I would simply die from grief.” Her fingers twisted together nervously as she let Hermione process her words. It looked as though the young woman was digesting the information bit by bit before formulating a response.

Hermione was staring a hole into the foot of the bed. Mind churning away and mustering up the courage to speak. Fleur was right, it was bittersweet. Her heart fluttered in her chest when the veela implied that she brightened her day. When she thought about it, Hermione emphasized with the feeling. While on the run, she’d felt dull and barely holding on. When she was at the Burrow over the summer and at Shell Cottage, Hermione felt reinvigorated. She didn’t want to exist in a world where Fleur was no longer around. She wasn’t sure how to express her thoughts as elegantly as Fleur did.

“I, uhm- I know how you feel,” Hermione managed to stammer out. Her cheeks burned brightly from embarrassment. She hoped she would figure out how to express her emotions with more finesse.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Fleur said. She took Hermione’s hand in hers and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Ditto, but about you.” Hermione nervously chuckled. “How is everyone else?”

For the next few hours, Fleur filled Hermione in on the last week since the war had ended. The Ministry was rounding up the remaining Death Eaters that fled from Hogwarts. Trials were being held in the coming weeks for their crimes. Kingsley was the acting Minister for Magic and was currently leading repair efforts to undo the chaos wrought by Voldemort’s control. Harry and Ron were helping the aurors in the Death Eater hunts. The Weasleys were at Hogwarts helping with repairs, along with other members of the Order. A memorial was built outside the castle walls for the lives lost during the final battle. They already had a funeral for a number of the members from the Order.

The gut wrenching reminder that she would need to return to home without Lupin caused Hermione to take a shaky breath.

“I will be there with you when you’re ready to return,” Fleur said. Hermione gave a weak nod in response.

Lastly, Harry, Hermione, and Ron each received an Order of Merlin, First Class for their bravery and significant roles in ending the war.

It was a bit overwhelming knowing the world continued to go by so quickly while she’d been asleep. Of course, Hermione didn’t expect it to stop just for her, but she wanted to recover quickly so she could assist in rebuilding the wizarding world. This was easier said than done though. It took her a few more days before her body felt strong enough to even lift herself into a sitting position. Her every move made something ache or cause a wave of pain. The two weeks spent in St.Mungo’s was the most frustrating time of her life.

Fleur remained patient throughout, experiencing the different highs and lows of Hermione’s emotions. It was particularly interesting that the young woman’s hair became electrified the more frustration she exhibited. Anger was accompanied by yellow eyes and bass reverberating in Hermione’s voice. Fleur watched and learned more about Hermione through the healing process than she expected to. It did worry her that it was taking the young woman so long to recover from her injuries. The ones she’d sustained while at Malfoy Manor healed within the week.

They were informed during Hermione’s discharge that the silver poisoning she suffered during her fight was hindering the young woman’s healing factor. Although the poisoning wasn’t fatal, it would take her a non-magical human amount of time to heal from her injuries. After hearing the news, Hermione grumbled the entire way to the Burrow. By the time they made it to the front door, Fleur was rolling her eyes and leaned in close, muttering, “mon amour, I’ll take care of you. I’ll even wear one of those silly Muggle nurse costumes.”

Hermione turned bright red and stared at Fleur with wide eyes. She started spluttering out a response when Molly answered the door and engulfed Hermione in a bone crushing hug only a mother could give.

They remained at the Burrow during Hermione’s recovery. The young woman wasn’t ready to go back to the lodge, nor in a fit enough state to hunt down her parents and restore their memories. She was required to not do anything strenuous, Hermione refused to sit around and do nothing. Once she was able to walk without assistance, she headed to the Ministry of Magic to help in anyway she could. Working closely with Kingsley, they developed a strategy to change the Ministry by rooting out the corruption and pureblood bias. When she obtained a clear bill of health, Hermione returned to Hogwarts to help with repairs, along with Fleur, Harry, and the Weasleys. There were many others helping piece the castle back together after the battle.

It was hard for Hermione, walking through the rubble filled corridors and destroyed grounds. The place she’d called home and made memories with her friends were reduced to piles of stone and ash. It didn’t help that some of the students who died on the grounds had come back as ghosts. She was with Harry when they stumbled across Colin Creevey. The young Gryffindor’s ghost casually floating down the corridor. It was one of the few times Harry grabbed a hold of her to keep from falling to his knees.

The hardest area for Hermione to go was the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She would stand at the stone circle and stare at the empty patch of grass where she’d left Bellatrix’s body. It almost became a ritual for her to stand in the same spot, the fight replaying in her head. The way her teeth sunk into flesh so easily and the sickly, coppery taste of blood awash her tongue. She didn’t like this habit, but continued to return to that spot before heading back to the Burrow every evening. Fleur noticed the pattern one day and asked Hermione why she did it.

“I’m making sure she’s not coming back,” Hermione whispered.

Fleur didn’t bring it up again. Instead, she started accompanying Hermione whenever she went. Observing her mate in quiet contemplation.

Hermione would never say, at least not for many years, but having the veela with her in those moments helped keep her from tipping over the edge. When Fleur was there, things were lighter. Not completely, but light enough that Hermione could make it through the day. Make it to the other side of these dark times and towards a brighter future.

Chapter Text

Moody was demanding when he sent Fleur off to Remus Lupin’s home to accompany Hermione Granger to Number Four Privet Drive. His tone told her that there was no questioning the strange assignment. Fleur knew nothing about the young woman, merely that she was intelligent and close friends with Harry Potter. They engaged in no prior interactions over the years, not even a passing glance during the Triwizard Tournament. It didn’t make sense for her, that in a time of war, she would be the one sent to pick up a stranger. Yet when she opened her mouth to question Moody, he gave her a stern look and snapped at her to leave immediately. Although the harshness ruffled her feathers, Fleur nodded and said she would meet them promptly at Privet Drive.

Apparating to the home nestled in the Scottish wilds wasn’t hard, but Fleur wasn’t sure how things would go if Hermione were to be suspicious of her presence there. She was stuck on how forceful Moody had been about her being the one to retrieve the young woman. She’d seen George go to speak and offer himself as replacement. Any reason she came up with was as ludicrous as the first. Maybe he was playing some sort of joke on her, but the man didn’t have a humorous bone in his body. Maybe it was Dumbledore’s doing before his death? Fleur heavily doubted the Headmaster had such strong foresight.

When she arrived at the lodge, an odd sensation she heard about from her grand-mere settled over her. A feeling that was magnetic in the way it pulled her to the lodge. She couldn’t quite place her finger on what it was, but it got more powerful when Hermione answered the door. It wasn’t until she and Hermione collided in the doorway and locked eyes that gave Fleur an indication of what the feeling truly was.

Fleur unexpectedly stumbled across her mate.

The first thing she felt was elation. It was rare for veela to find their mate; so rare that it was determined to be a myth among the youngest in the clans. The second was heartbreak when she saw the panic in Hermione’s eyes and the younger woman’s dismissal of what transpired. The excuse the brunette gave her was enough to put Fleur’s mind at ease, at least until they brought Harry safely back to the Burrow.

***

It was the day of Lupin and Tonks’ wedding and she was pacing back and forth in Bill’s room. She was frustrated and hurt. It been a few days since they arrived at the Burrow and she had yet to intercept Hermione to discuss their newly found bond. Fleur had written off the night of their arrival since Harry and Ron whisked her mate away. The following morning, as Fleur was coming down the stairs and entered the living room, she caught a glimpse of curly brown hair before Hermione was out the front door.

Fleur saw hide nor hair of Hermione for the rest of the day.

The next day, Fleur did her best to remain quiet as she came down the stairs. This time there was the crack of apparation as her foot hit the last step and she knew Hermione wasn’t in the house anymore. Fleur entered the living room to see a very confused Harry staring at the spot she assumed where Hermione had been sitting.

On the third day, Fleur didn’t attempt to be subtle, rushing down the steps to try and catch the elusive werewolf before she could disappear. It was to no avail. She skidded around the corner to the living room to see Hermione rush past Molly and leave through the kitchen door. She then apparated a few feet away from the edge of the field backed up against the Weasley’s property. It was at that point Fleur gave up. She spent the remainder of the day in a depressive slump. Not even Bill and Ginny could cheer her up.

“I do not understand,” Fleur said to Bill as she paced in front of him. “Even among ze loup-garou, finding your mate is cause for celebration. It is what we are doing zis evening for Remus et Tonks.”

The eldest Weasley child watched his friend with amusement, having never experienced this side of Fleur. The normally composed veela had sobbed in both happiness and sadness when she told him she found her mate. Her accent was a little thicker in her distressed state.

“And you haven’t been able to corner Hermione at all since we’ve arrived?” Bill asked, stroking his chin in thought.

“Non!” Fleur cried. “’Ermione has been elusive, always one step ahead. She must ‘ear me approaching.”

“That’s makes sense, heightened senses and all.”

“Is zere nozzing that I can do?” The veela sat down on the bed next to Bill, head in her hands. “I am not fast enough to catch up to ‘er.”

“If you’re comfortable with it, I could ask Ginny to knock some sense into her.”

Fleur winced, unsure if she wanted the youngest Weasley to know about her predicament, but it was probably the best option. Ginny seemed to have a way of getting through to the members of the Golden Trio.

***

She could feel Hermione’s gaze on her as she danced with Bill at the wedding reception. It made her unconsciously shiver. The pull that she felt at the lodge was stronger than before, tempting her to walk over to the table her mate was sitting at.

Fleur refused to act on those instincts, instead asking Bill to dance with her to keep her occupied. If she paid close attention to the chocolate eyes boring holes into her, she would have seen how rapidly they turned gold when Bill wrapped his arm around her waist. Ever the gentleman, Bill lead their dance, making sure that Fleur’s back was towards the table Hermione was sitting at. He felt bad for his friend, even though he didn’t know the extent of what magical creature mating was like. Even when the veela laughed at his jokes, the joy never reached her eyes. He could see the sadness seated deeply in Fleur’s heart.

“She’s been staring at you very intently,” Bill said, spinning Fleur and causing her to laugh hollowly.

“I know,” Fleur hummed. They fell into a companionable silence after that, lazily moving to the music with other guests.

It was a few songs later when Bill stopped their dancing, whispering to her that Hermione had just left the refreshments table and was standing outside of the tent.

It was now or never.

***

“It is with heavy hearts that we must bring sad news to you today; Bathilda Bagshot was found dead in Godric’s Hollow…”

Fleur was sitting in her usual spot that morning, staring out the bay window at the ocean. She sipped her tea, hoping that it would keep the chill away. She was listening to the little radio in the living room as she usually did when Potterwatch was being broadcast. The show became apart of her routine since she arrived at Shell Cottage, having decided that retreating to an Order safe house rather than the Burrow a wiser decision. If the Death Eaters saw her apparating away from the wedding with Hermione, they would seek her out. Bill arrived a few days later after receiving her patronus. He brought her news that no one had been injured and the Order was going into hiding, so they were in the dark as to what was going on other than the occasional visit from Molly. Listening to Potterwatch eased her mind while the hosts filled their listeners in on the dangers of a world that was under Voldemort’s threat.

She listened to the program to ease her worries over Hermione. If the werewolf’s name was not spoken, then Fleur could get sleep at night. Not that it was restful sleep. The veela’s dreams woke her in the early hours of the morning. She would wake with her heart racing and drenched in a cold sweat. The nightmares were too realistic. She didn’t know if Hermione’s fighting skills leaned more towards magicks or physicality. If it lent towards magicks, then the images were more subdued, Hermione’s dead eyes looking up at her. If it lent towards physicality, the images turned gruesome. Fleur knew that werewolves were tactile creatures, whether they were in their human form or their wolf form. The bloody fashion in which she saw Hermione torn apart in her dreams haunted her.

She wondered where the trio were currently. It was nearing the new year and the winter months had been dreadfully cold. Fleur doubted that the friends would stay in an inn or anywhere they would be recognized. It was better to keep away from any wizard heavy populations. Maybe they were camping or staying at muggle inns. All Fleur knew was that she wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew for certain that Hermione was safe. The reports from Potterwatch were but a small comfort when they aired. She would immediately go back to being worried sick within a few days. It was a maddening cycle.

Thankfully, Bill was there for her. His company helped when Fleur felt herself starting to have an anxiety spiral. Being cooped up with nothing to do with her days other than read was making her stir crazy. She was thinking about going back to work since it would keep her abroad. It was doubtful that the death eaters saw her leaving the wedding with Hermione.

She sighed.

There wasn’t much she could do but wait and pray that Hermione would return to her safely.

***

The world around Fleur stopped when Hermione’s body hit the stone floor. She knew she was rushing towards the fallen woman, but it didn’t feel quick enough. Her knees hit the floor once shes closed the short distance. She reached out, desperately wanting to do something, but unsure if she would just cause her mate more pain. When their eyes met, Fleur experienced a brief moment of relief. It quickly turned to fear. Hermione’s eyes were starting to glaze over while closing. Her ragged breathing became shallow and it looked like the tension she was carrying was leaving her body.

When Hermione’s eyes shut and her final breathe released, something inside of Fleur broke.

There wasn’t a way to explain what Fleur was feeling in that moment. The sadness created a knot in her stomach that made her nauseous. It felt like someone ripped her heart out and shoved it down her throat. She’d been told stories as a child what it was like to lose a mate. They were sad tales, but they lacked an explanation on what the veela or their mate felt when they lost one another. It was doubtful that the veela experiencing this loss were in the right mind to write down what they were feeling. The stories always told of the tragedy, not its effects on those involved.

Fleur watched Madam Pomfry in vain hope as the mediwitch checked Hermione’s vitals. She knew it was futile. Hermione was no longer with them. Her soul passed through the veil to the other side. When Madame Pomfrey confirmed what she already knew, Fleur crawled over to the bloodied brunette. She threw herself over Hermione, breaking down into gut wrenching sobs and clinging desperately to the mate she’d barely had the chance to know.

***

No one save for Harry and the Weasleys truly understood what they were witnessing. Many watched on in confusion, while others did so somberly. If one were to ask what it felt like to be there, some would say that it felt surreal. The few moments of silence that filled the Great Hall was broken by footsteps approaching the women in the center of the hall.

Bill, who was watching and listening to Fleur closely, could no longer hear the muffled sobs coming from the blonde. He vaguely remembered Fleur telling him old Veela stories about soulmates. He wanted to be prepared for the inevitable whether his friend lived long or saw her end during this war. Kneeling down next to Fleur and Hermione, Bill placed his hand on the veela’s back. Though she still felt warm, Fleur was no longer moving. Checking her pulse, Bill confirmed that she was gone. Grief attempted to overwhelm him, but he calmly stood up and went to find McGonagall.

What happened afterwards was reported by the Daily Prophet. The article highlighted the heroism displayed by Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Giving special care to an in memorium for Hermione. In death, the young woman received an Order of Merlin, First Class for her bravery and vital role in ending the war. Fleur also received the award posthumously for her allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix and her role in helping the Golden Trio in the endeavors. For many muggleborns in the wizarding world, Hermione Granger became a symbol of hope.

And what became of the werewolf and her veela?

Bill, Harry, and Ron found a spot for the pair near Shell Cottage, not too far from the makeshift grave they’d made for Dobby. An obsidian tombstone can be found a top a cliff along the coast. Those who visited often would see this engraved in the black stone :

Here lie

Hermione Granger

&

Fleur Delacour

May they find peace in death

and find one another on the other side