Chapter 8: Chapter 8Notes:
If I were to name a chapter, this one would be titled, "The Rollercoaster."
Chapter Text
"Ooft!"
"Ow!"
Fleur's back met hardwood flooring. She groaned when a solid weight landed on her chest, her body tensing as her eyes flung open to pitch blackness. They were inside somewhere, but there were no signs of natural light. Not even a sliver of a shadow, like someone had their hands over her eyes. Either she was in some dungeon underground where she would meet her final days or Hermione had magically altered wherever they had landed for unknown guests. She rather hoped it was the latter.
There was a grumble coming from above her as Hermione shifted, and Fleur stilled when she realised the position they were in. The Gryffindor stilled then too, and the blonde swore she could feel her heartbeat thrumming against her chest. A leg was wedged in between her own, rather tantalisingly, and she could feel a warm cheek against her neck. Arms were underneath her shoulders as if they were embracing.
Two sets of lungs seemed to exhale at the same time, melting them further together. Fleur's hands were on her back. She couldn't see anything, but the younger woman's scent so close was making her head feel light. Hermione shifted a little again. Fleur felt the tip of her nose on her neck. That small, diminutive touch was enough to set the veela's body on fire. Her fingertips gripped onto the back of her jacket. How easy it would be to just pull her closer. Grab two fistfuls of leather and make her see what she had been missing out on. Her legs shifted and more weight was pressed into her. The brunette exhaled and the warm air tickled her neck.
The beautiful stranger's voice at the club suddenly echoed in her mind, She's dangerous. She makes you see what you want to see.
Fleur's eyes shot open and she froze again. Hermione stilled above her. They were both breathing far too heavily in the quiet room.
"'Ermione," she finally said, hating the way her voice sounded. She dropped her hands from the younger witch's back.
"Yes?" she answered quietly. She felt the breath on her ear.
Fleur swallowed, "Why are you still on top of me, and why is it pitch black?" she asked.
"Oh shit, sorry," she said, scrambling to get up, "I forgot you can't see."
Fleur felt her shift again, and all of a sudden everything was visible to her, as if someone turned the lights back on to the world even though it was still light outside. Hermione was the first to stand up, her cheeks a little pink as she pulled Fleur up from the floor as well.
Getting to her feet, she straightened herself before meeting the Raven's expectant gaze with a steely one of her own. They stood awkwardly in the middle of the brunette's entryway room for what felt like ages. The veela stepped closer to her with one thing in mind and saw her hold her breath. She looked as if she was going to speak, but Fleur was too fast. She slapped her across the face as hard as she could, her head whipping to the side from the impact.
"Bloody hell!" she whined, her hand coming up to rub her reddening cheek, "What was that for?"
The blonde glowered, "You know what that was for. You broke my nose."
"You tore my favourite jumper," she spat back, still rubbing her face.
"You 'eadbutted me."
"You tackled me!"
"You deserved it!"
"You wouldn't let me go!"
"You left!" Fleur shouted, her voice echoing around them. Her chest was heaving. She was trying to calm down but it felt like she was reaching a boiling point.
Amber eyes glanced between her own for a moment, reading her. She hated how calm she looked all of a sudden. Hermione ran her tongue over the inside of her cheek before she spoke again, although this time it was much quieter, "You're not going to get what you want from me, Fleur."
The veela took an intimidating step closer and looked down at her with narrowed eyes, "And what is it you think I want?"
"An apology," she said harshly, looking up with fire in her eyes, "Me, grovelling on my knees for leaving without an explanation. I don't owe you anything. I don't owe anyone anything. If that's what you think this is, you can leave," she said, breathing heavily through her nose by the end of her outburst.
"You think that's what this is? You," she jammed a finger to her sternum, "came to find me."
Hermione clenched her jaw and poked her back, "And you were about to swallow Death. I'm trying to help you!"
"'Elp me? Ha, that's rich," she said humourlessly and got even closer until they were practically nose to nose, "You're the reason I'm in this mess! Do you think all the restaurants I visit end up blown to pieces?! You're a wanted woman and I'm an Auror! Don't pretend this isn't just to save your own backside."
Another paused filled the space between them. Hermione eyes suddenly glinted wickedly and one of her eyebrows flicked up. Her mouth slowly pulled into that smirk that Fleur was really starting to dislike.
"Been thinking a lot about my backside, have you?"
"Oh my god, I can't fucking believe you!" she cried, throwing her hands in the air. She began walking towards the living room to avoid slapping the infuriating witch again, cursing under her breath the whole way.
"You know I can speak French?" Hermione yelled from the entryway.
"Does it look like I give a shit?!" she shouted back. She made her way past the foyer into a modest living room. Books and papers were strewn across every horizontal surface in the living room, which housed a plush beige sofa and a modern coffee table. The shelves to her right were filled to the top with books of all shapes, sizes, and colours.
Hermione followed her after a few moments, her cheek still red and streaked with her handprint. The veela took a few deep breaths at the sight and tried again, hopefully setting her anger aside this time. The younger witch edged into the room cautiously, looking anywhere but her blue eyes.
She took two more deep breaths, her heart rate finally slowing down. After opening and closing her mouth a few times, she finally got it out, the thing that she should have said instead of hitting her, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't 'ave done that. It's just…this is a lot."
Hermione took a deep breath before her shoulders dropped, "Yeah, well, it's a lot for me too," she said simply before walking past her to the kitchen.
Fleur sighed. She knew they had more pressing issues right now, but it would be difficult to just completely avoid their past forever. Just seeing her felt like she was in a dream still. She didn't know how to navigate it all. There was so much they had to discuss, but how do you do that without bringing everything else in along with it? She didn't know what she expected from the brunette, but she reasoned that patience, understanding, and respect was going to be needed. Hopefully Hermione was feeling the same.
A deep corner of her mind questioned if she should feel safe here, but her gut told her she was probably safer here than anywhere else.
She finally followed her into the kitchen after a few more calming breaths, finally taking in more of her surroundings. There were no personal items anywhere. No photos or cards. Not even a music collection. No indications that she did anything besides work and read. Hermione wasn't paying attention to her curiosity. She was currently pulling out a few glasses from her cabinet.
Fleur continued to take in every detail of the comfortable house, "This is…"
"My place, yeah. Well, one of them. Sorry for the mess," she said, flicking her hand at her living room as all the books and papers flew onto the shelves and into a neat filing folder.
"One of them?" she inquired, coming up to the kitchen table to lean against it as the brunette rummaged in another cabinet. Fleur could hear glass clinking as she spun a few wine bottles around to read the labels.
"Yeah, I, erm, bounce around a lot, as you might have guessed," she said distractedly before humming and finally making a decision for wine. She set it on the counter by the glasses.
"And where are we now, exactly?" Fleur asked, crossed her arms comfortably and looking out the window to the setting sun atop an unknown hillside outside.
Hermione marched across the kitchen to her refrigerator. She stopped with her hand on the door and looked back to the veela watching her. Her warm brown eyes glanced down before she caught curious blue again and gave a crooked a smile, "If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," she said, pulling open the door and hiding herself from view as she rummaged and muttered to herself.
Fleur rolled her eyes, "Oh, now we're speaking in clichés? How original," she said sarcastically, but something about the reality of the situation settled in her stomach uncomfortably.
She was in Hermione's home, wherever the hell that was. She was standing five feet away from the woman she thought to be dead or missing not three months ago. The woman she had recently discovered was anything but those things and was actually an exceptionally talented mercenary who was now wanted for murder. The woman who she was supposed to be tracking down and bringing back to the Ministry to interrogate legally. The woman who had her in a headlock last week, yet saved her life a few minutes ago. The woman that drove her to the top of every wall, but who she thought she might have very strong feelings for. Even after all these years. Even though she knew what she represented; who she is and what she does.
She is dangerous.
A sudden retching sound distracted her. Hermione had her back to her and was leaning over the sink with two fingers in down back of her throat. Fleur's nose wrinkled as the younger witch emptied the contents of her stomach a few times. Though she was somewhat incapacitated, her other hand was still flicking this way and that and the blonde was getting whiplash trying to keep track of everything still moving in the kitchen.
A few wedges of cheese, a sleeve of crackers, apple slices, and grapes zoomed onto a cutting block that levitated over to the coffee table in the living room. She whirled back to see the hunched over brunette flick two fingers of her unused hand at the wine bottle as the cork slid off with a satisfying 'pop!' The bottle tilted itself and poured out two measured glasses of dark red wine. A small red bag suddenly whizzed past her head and landed next to the sink, where the Gryffindor had finally stopped making herself sick.
Unzipping the bag, she pulled out a toothbrush and toothpaste and hastily began scrubbing for a few minutes before standing and waving her hand again to banish the mess in the sink. Fleur still had a look of mild disgust as the brunette passed her a glass of wine on her way to the sofa, a smile ghosting her lips.
"Sorry about that. This one's not poisoned, I promise," the Raven said with a wink as she took herself over to the couch.
"That definitely could 'ave been accomplished in the toilet," Fleur remarked, slowly following her to the living room. Hermione just shrugged and started cutting up slices of cheese.
The veela reluctantly followed. Her mind was still racing and her stomach felt a little queasy. This whole thing felt surreal. She took a sip of wine to settle her nerves. Standing by the couch, she watched as Hermione casually nibbled on a cracker as if this was the most normal circumstance in the world. How was she so calm right now? Didn't she care that they hadn't seen one another in so long? That the last time they were alone and this close they had beaten the shit out of one another? That the time before that they had kissed? That—
"Will you sit down? You're making me nervous just hovering there," Hermione said, gesturing towards her.
Fleur rolled her eyes again, took another sip of wine, and sat on the opposite side of the couch. The distance between them felt strange and misleading, like she was close enough to reach out and touch her, but still miles away. Silence took hold of the room. She could hear the Gryffindor's sharp jaw click a few times as she chewed on an apple. She had so many questions—so many things she needed to know—but this would only work if she respected her unspoken wishes to not drudge up their history. What a task, but Fleur was willing to try. She started elsewhere.
"Why do you need to make yourself sick if you've immunised yourself?" she asked.
Hermione hummed as she took a sip of wine before setting down her glass, "I might not die, but if I'm not administering the dose myself there's never a guarantee. Even if I survive, I can still feel some side effects."
Fleur nodded slowly in understanding, the scene at the restaurant replaying in her head. The conversation, the water, the chef, the shield charm protecting them. It all happened so fast.
"Thank you, by the way," she started, "I—"
"It's fine," the brunette interrupted, "Come on, eat something. I know you need some food after your dinner plans were blown apart," she said with a smirk before she threw another grape in her mouth.
Fleur glared at her again, but her mind kept whirring. Where was the distant Hermione at Shell Cottage? The one who wouldn't speak for days on end and stared blankly at the walls as the weeks dragged on without her. Did she really heal? Was this…occupation—the distance—actually helping her? And who was this, then? Was this her? The one Fleur wanted to get to know? Making jokes and being surprisingly hospitable and…flirty? Or was she someone else entirely?
She's dangerous. She makes you see what you want to see.
She shook her head, as if it would rid herself of these spiralling queries. Her stomach was in knots, as it had been seen Hermione sat down at the restaurant, but she knew she needed to try and eat. They nibbled on the charcuterie in silence again. Minutes passed awkwardly. The salty crackers felt like a dry paste in her mouth, but she swallowed them down with a few gulps of wine.
Hermione reached for an apple slice. Fleur watched her designed hand bring it to her mouth. Blue eyes roamed up, taking in more of the black ink on the side of her neck until it dipped below her neckline.
"You covered the scars," she said, before she could stop herself. So much for starting elsewhere.
Hermione didn't look at her, she just nodded and gave her a quiet, "I did," as she stared intently at something on the wall.
"Why?"
"For work. I'm around a lot of Muggles," she explained impatiently, looking to Fleur expectantly, as if she knew there would be more questions.
"Ah, yes…work," Fleur repeated, trying and failing to hide the distaste in her voice. She could see Hermione shake her head out of the corner of her eye. Another silent pause filled the space between them.
The blonde looked over at the designs on the hand resting on her thigh, "What are they?" she probed.
The Gryffindor leaned back with a huff and ran her hand through her hair. She glanced over at the veela perched uncomfortably on her couch and let out a long breath through her nose, looking grumpy and irritated. Amber eyes assessed Fleur for a few seconds, like she was trying to see something written behind her face.
Finally, she looked away again having made her mind up about whatever she was looking for. Speaking in a calmer tone she explained, "They're runes, mostly. Symbols of good and light on one side; evil and darkness on the other. A balance—or struggle, depending on how you look at it—of both realities."
Fleur watched her, taking in everything. From the bob in her throat as she swallowed anxiously to the tight muscle in her jaw. The symbolism of her tattoos wasn't lost on her. Based on her reaction, she very much doubted she had ever told anyone that before. If there was anything to be appreciative of, it was that. Fleur could tell she was trying just as much as she was despite how strained this felt.
"They look good on you," the veela commented.
Dipping her head, she muttered a, "Thanks," into her wine glass.
Another tense silence. Fleur wondered how many there would be tonight. Perhaps she should start counting them.
"So," she tried again, "You mentioned you need to tell me some things. Am I to infer that it 'as something to do with my attempted murder?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Hermione perked up at the impersonal question, setting down her glass and getting comfortable.
"Yes, exactly, but you need to start. I need to know what you know," she said offhandedly.
The veela frowned, "Non. That is not 'ow this is going to work. You are a criminal. I am law enforcement. You are going to tell me what I need to know, or I will drag you back to the Ministry."
Hermione looked at her for a few beats, seemingly torn between fighting her on this. A sudden grin stretched across her face, "Alright, fine. I will tell you what I know, and you will drop the case."
"Quoi?" she spluttered, nearly spilling her wine.
"I said," she met her eyes, "I will tell you what I know if you agree to drop the case. Give it to someone else."
"Why the 'ell would I do that?"
"This is dangerous, Fleur. It's not some game. Someone is framing me, which I know you've likely caught on to because you aren't trying to detain me, but you were nearly killed just now! You're a target, and you need to get as far away from this case as you can," she explained heatedly.
"You 'ave no grounds to ask that of me," she spat back, her temperature rising again, "I am a trained Auror, an exceptional investigator, and not someone who will simply roll over because you asked me to!" Fleur retorted, "And 'ow dare you presume I can't take care of myself!"
"I am not trying to presume anything, it's just…I don't know who it is, okay?" she ran her hand through her hair again, "I have a few ideas, but for them to go to this extent seems crazy. Why not just deal with me directly if they have a bone to pick? No, it doesn't make sense and I have been racking my brain for a month trying to work it out, but until I do there's a very strong chance that you are in danger in the meantime."
"So?" she asked incredulously, "That's my job, 'Ermione. There's obviously something going on and I intend on figuring out what it is."
Hermione made a noise of frustration and stood up. She began pacing in front of the couch, a hand coming to rest on her chin as her brow furrowed and her thoughts spilled out uninterrupted.
"Okay, fine, fine, but I need to think. I need to think. Let's start at the beginning. How did this happen? Where did it start for you?" she asked. Fleur knew it was rhetorical, this was a method she herself used frequently.
Hermione walked the length of the living room and back, talking to herself and staring at the rug beneath her feet, "A few murders cropped up in France. You were assigned to the case," she started, her eyes distant and her hands gesticulating as she spoke, "The murders continued. You, or someone, found out they were across Europe. The Ministry starts looking for a connection, but the only similarity is a black feather. The feather of a raven, which doesn't mean anything until you got a name: The Raven. That name means something in my circles, and it's fairly obvious off the bat that it's a setup. I mean, who would be stupid enough to leave a clue like that at a dozen murders? The Raven doesn't have a signature. Never has, but law enforcement didn't know that. No, they wouldn't have known…" she trailed off, her eyes far away for a moment before they came back.
"You must have learned about the name from someone, maybe a tip-off?" she paused and looked over to Fleur for confirmation, who narrowed her eyes but gave a curt nod. Hermione continued pacing, "Okay, so someone went to the Ministry and planted this seed. Sure, makes sense, makes sense…but then…how do you know it isn't me?" she asked, her intelligent brown eyes coming back to her. Fleur sighed. Evidently, she would need to share some information.
"Intuition, I suppose," she shrugged, "It didn't add up. The informant described a woman called the Raven with a set of unique skills, which led me to believe you were involved. Not that you need the reminder, but advanced combat with an Auror combined with your lengthy disappearance didn't exactly 'elp you out there," she remarked dryly.
"Anyway, the motive wasn't fitting and there was an undertone of foul-play that was easy enough to pick up on. They should have picked someone with more than four brain cells to deliver their message. 'E kept talking about us needing to take you out because you were a risk, which is ridiculous because 'is informants were in just as risky of a position by telling us. In the end, I suspected that whoever the Raven was, you, was being framed. 'Is response to my theory more or less solified my hunch," she shrugged, finally looking back to the brunette.
Hermione was looking at her with a glint in her eye, "You are really good at this, aren't you?" she said softly. Fleur tried to beat the blush down, but she felt the tips of her ears getting warm.
"I like to think so," she replied swiftly before clearing her throat and continuing, "I began looking at the establishments we know of where a certain lawlessness is not uncommon. I asked around for the Raven but got the same answers. I 'ave been reaching out to turncoats that we 'ave under our protection. Trying to see if they could 'elp me locate you or pinpoint me to anyone who would want to 'arm you. Needless to say, your list of enemies is not unsubstantial."
Hermione cracked a quick smile and sat back down. She popped a grape into her mouth and Fleur suddenly felt a little warm as she watched her swallow it.
"You're not wrong there," the brunette admitted, "I have a few loose ends I need to tie up, but something tells me it's not that simple. So, what you're saying is this…informant…was aware of your suspicion?"
Fleur grimaced, but nodded slowly, "Unfortunately, yes. I made it quite clear I 'ad my doubts about the credibility of what 'e was sharing."
"Shit," Hermione muttered, "So they know you know it's a set-up, and they are targeting you too to silence you."
"Oui. The other side must know. In the event of my untimely demise, someone else would be assigned to the case—someone who 'as no affiliation to you—and they would seek out the Raven without a second thought. Considering my theory is unsubstantiated it's the only thing they have to go on."
"Have you shared your suspicions with your boss? Or anyone else?"
"Not directly, thankfully, but it's all in the transcripts. If someone wanted to find it they could."
The Raven nodded, her eyes far away before they came back. Amber eyes flicked over to her for a moment before she looked at the carpet. Her brow furrowed. Fleur just waited, knowing what was coming.
"And you're sure I can't convince you to—"
"Non."
Silence. Hermione grumbled to herself and grabbed another cracker, "Fine, but you need to keep your guard up. No more walking to work, no more showing up at clubs in London, okay?" she said, gesturing with the cracker in her grip.
"I am well aware I need to be cautious moving forward. Please stop acting like I 'ave no clue what I am doing, okay?" she mimicked, and Hermione's grin grew.
"You're right, I'm sorry. I suppose I am a little…out of touch," she admitted.
There was another pause.
"You don't 'ave to be," Fleur said softly. Hermione didn't look at her, but she could see her shoulders sag slightly.
"I do, Fleur. Look, I…I…." she sighed, and turned to face her, "I don't want you get the wrong impression about this," she gestured between them, "I am not…good, okay? I do bad things to bad people, but they are still bad things. I am perfectly content with that, and you, as an Auror and…whatever else… you have to know that whatever fairy tale ending you are envisioning here isn't going to happen. I am not coming back. I'm never coming back."
"You can't do everything alone forever, 'Ermione. Think about us, now, hm? Does it really 'urt so bad to let someone in? To get some 'elp?"
"I don't want help," she said with an air of finality, pressing her lips together in a thin line.
"I don't want 'elp either, but 'ere we are," Fleur replied with a small smile. Hermione looked at her, and her stern expression cracked after a moment. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards and she shook her head, looking away again. The silence fell over them again, but it was moderately more comfortable this time.
Fleur plucked a few grapes off the stem and waited.
"Look, maybe we just need some ground rules, okay?" she ran a hand through her curly hair again, "We keep this focused and impersonal. We don't even have to see each other. I will do whatever I can to figure out who is behind this, and you can just run rings at the Ministry until it's handled."
"Non, I will be investigating this case to my fullest power. I told you, I am not going to roll over because of a close call," she said firmly.
"But you don't have any leads!" Hermione cried, "You don't know anyone in the business. You don't know my contacts."
"Then I suppose we will 'ave to work together on this, non?"
"No. No way. Not happening."
"'Ow else do you expect to do this?"
"Well, I was hoping you would sit this out and I can figure it out on my own, considering it's my mess, as you so kindly phrased earlier."
"It is your mess, but for the last time, I am not sitting anything out," she gritted out, "Either you work with me or you don't, but I'm not going anywhere," she said, crossing her arms.
The Raven narrowed her eyes. Fleur stayed put. She knew she had the upper hand on this one. There was no reasonable way she could make her quit the case. Ten slow seconds passed and Hermione finally let out a short sigh.
"Fine. We need to talk more about your boss, then," she said.
"My boss?"
"You said he set up your meeting."
"Ouais," she replied slowly.
"The meeting that ended up with your chair being blown to halfway to New Zealand. I think it's safe to say he's a suspect, don't you?" she questioned.
Fleur leaned back on the sofa with a frown. She hadn't had a chance to consider that yet, but she supposed there was an element of truth to it. Julian had been adamant that she attend the dinner tonight, and the lack of patrons and her dinner guest was somewhat obvious.
"Rambourg is…not someone I would normally consider—"
"But—"
Fleur held her hand up, silencing the brunette as she continued, "But, considering the events that took place this evening, I think you are right. I will pay closer attention. Same goes with the gentleman I was supposed to be meeting with. Everyone is a suspect at this point."
Hermione nodded, a little sheepishly, "Okay, good."
"Okay," she paused, thinking briefly about how illegal it was to be doing this, but there were crazier theories out there than an inside job. No, she needed to do this alone. Well, alone with the help of the main suspect.
Fleur rubbed at the headache starting to form in her temple, "Who do you suspect on your end?"
Hermione squirmed in her seat, "I have…some ideas, as I alluded to earlier. Don't worry about me. I will handle them."
"That's not what I asked," Fleur said with a scowl. The imbalance of this arrangement was starting feel much more pronounced.
The Gryffindor looked over when she caught onto her tone. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, "Look, I—I know you are capable of taking care of yourself, and I know I am being unfair, but I just...Can you just believe me when I say I will sort my end out?"
"Non. As I mentioned earlier, I don't think I need to believe anything you say at face value."
Hermione huffed again, "It's not that simple, Fleur. I can't just…tell you everything," she said exasperatedly.
"And why not?" she snapped, her blue eyes boring into hers, "I am putting my job on the line by even speaking to you. I am putting my life at risk, and for what? To prove your innocence? What does that even mean? We both know you aren't innocent in any capacity," she spat, "You could be keeping things from me, or outright lying for all I know. Where is my assurance in all of this, hm?"
Hermione dropped her gaze again.
"You don't mean that," she spoke quietly.
Fleur took a deep breath, "I don't know what I believe, 'Ermione. This is…I just don't know."
"I wouldn't do anything to hurt you," she said, stronger this time.
The blonde looked down at the wine glass between her palms, "I don't know that either," she replied.
Hermione leaned forward and put her head in her hands. Fleur watched her ribs expand as she took two deep breaths. Sitting back up, the look in her eyes was carefully devoid of any emotion.
"Okay, what do you want to know?"
"Who do you suspect on your end?" she repeated her question from earlier.
"I have two leads," she said, staring at the plain wall again, "One is Westin Poling, an ex-client who got a little handsy once and ever since we have had a rocky relationship. He likes to get what he wants, so it's become something of a project for him to try and…persuade me," she said distastefully, her eyes burning for a moment before the wall was back up.
"Next is Nicolai Sandoval. He runs an agency in my line of work. As my clients grew, I started to take some of his business. He tried to recruit me, but that didn't work so he has taken to threatening me over the years. It was nothing crazy; a finger in my P.O. Box here, a poisoning attempt there," Fleur raised her eyebrows, "I think he's interested in scaring me rather than killing me, but this lavish serial murder scheme seems too risky for him. Nevertheless, I will check him out."
"Bon. Merci," she said, digesting that information slowly. Whatever 'means' Hermione would need to use to get that information she didn't need to know. Or, rather, she didn't want to know. "So, 'ow will this work, exactly?"
"I'm not sure," she admitted, looking down at her knees.
"Well, we need to figure it out. We're going to get nowhere if we can't communicate effectively."
Hermione didn't meet her eyes. She just muttered, "We'll see," before they fell into more silence.
After a minute or two the Gryffindor finished her wine and picked at a loose thread on her throw blanket, lost in her thoughts. The veela tapped her finger on the armrest to an unknown beat in her head as she ran through her own, but then the quiet brought her back to the reality of where she was.
The silence was fine for Fleur. She was comfortable in interrogation rooms where hours had passed without a word or sound, but this felt different. It felt like a permanent one. It wasn't weighty and stifling like silences could be. This was like the silence in your head as you're stood at a loud bar, staring down into the dregs of your drink. It was the kind of noise that the child who eats his lunch in the bathroom stall hears. The kind of quiet that a widow hears as she looks down at a new gravestone.
It was the sound of solitude, of loneliness. Fleur pictured the room without her own presence. Just Hermione sitting on the couch with a sad glass of wine and the company of a cheeseboard and books. The quiet she must hear between these four walls all the time. The isolation, the void of anything lasting and anyone that matters, day in and day out.
For the first time this evening, Fleur felt she needed to break the silence, but she couldn't think of anything except melancholy and heartbreak.
"Harry misses you," she blurted out, and then grimaced when she realised what she had done. Shit.
It was as if she flicked a switch. Amber eyes shot to her, anger written clearly in their depths. The veela catalogued each movement as tattooed hands twitched and gripped the meat above the knees they had been resting on. She let go. Fleur's heart was thudding in her chest.
The Raven set her glass on the coffee table and stood up, "I think you should go now," she said in a low, wavering voice. Her fists were clenched loosely by her sides and veela could see them shaking a little.
For the first time since being in her home, Fleur felt wary. Unsafe. She slowly set her own glass down and stood up.
"I'm s—"
"Don't."
Hermione walked away. She quietly followed, letting out a trembling breath and reprimanding herself for being such an idiot. It wasn't as if she made herself unclear that she wanted to keep this away from their personal history.
They made their way down a well-lit hallway and the brunette opened the first door on the left. A library. She stifled the laugh that tried to escape. As if the hundreds of books in the living room weren't enough, the thousands in here must be closer to the mark. A soft cream colour coated the small portion of the walls that weren't covered in bookshelves. The large wooden desk that held an inkpot and quill was positioned beneath a window that overlooked the rolling green hills outside. Fleur took a deep breath in through her nose and grinned to herself a little. It smelled overwhelmingly like Hermione in this room. The air was still, but a strange ambience surrounded her snugly, like it was enveloping her in a hug.
The clearing of a throat interrupted her trance. The Raven was standing next to the hearth with a black bag in her hand. She could practically feel the anger vibrating from her rigid form. Fleur walked over, an apology already on her lips but Hermione silenced that with another austere look. She sighed, sticking her hand into the floo powder and making her way onto the pile of ash in the fireplace. She was biding her time, she knew, but she had to ask.
She turned around and met honey eyes, "When will I see you again?"
"If all goes well, you won't."
"And if all doesn't go well?"
Hermione walked a few paces to put the bag of ash on the mantle. She met blue eyes with an apathetic gaze, her honey eyes skilfully masking the anger Fleur knew was still in underneath somewhere.
"You can see yourself out," she left the bag on the mantle and walked away again, shutting the door to the library behind her.
The blonde let out a shaky breath and eyed the empty room again, taking one more deep inhale of its unique presence. Stating her address, she threw the floo powder down and twirled away, wondering if she'd ever get to see it again.
The rushing sound of flames had just died down into stillness again before a muted yell followed by breaking glass could be heard in the other room.