Part 10

FLEUR

The weight on Fleur's chest lifted ever so slightly as Hermione's words sunk in. It wasn't much—a promise to try—but it was more than she could have hoped for. Fleur's heart swelled with relief and a cautious hope. She could feel the bond between them easing, the jagged edges of their emotional scars beginning to smooth, even if just a little. It was a small victory, but Fleur clung to it like a lifeline.

That evening, after putting Victoire to bed, Fleur found herself in the garden, staring up at the stars. The cool night air was a welcome relief against her warm skin, but her thoughts were anything but calm. She had spoken to Hermione, made her intentions clear, and though it had gone better than expected, the road ahead was long.

The faint sound of footsteps behind her broke her from her reverie, and she turned to see her mother, Apolline, approaching. The older woman's face was calm but lined with the weight of her daughter's struggles. Fleur felt a pang of guilt rise within her—she had not only hurt Hermione but had distanced herself from her family as well.

"Fleur," Apolline said softly, coming to stand beside her. "You seem troubled."

Fleur let out a soft laugh, more a breath than a sound, and shook her head. "Troubled doesn't even begin to describe it, Maman."

Apolline turned to face her fully, her hands clasped together in front of her. "You've made mistakes, Fleur. We all have. But what matters is how you move forward."

Fleur looked down at her hands, remembering the times she had chosen to hide instead of fight, how she had rejected her family's advice, and how she had broken Hermione's heart. "I don't even know where to start. I've hurt Hermione so deeply..."

"And yet she is still here," Apolline interrupted gently. "That means something, doesn't it? It means she's willing to give you a chance. You cannot change the past, but you can fight for the future."

Fleur swallowed hard, her mother's words sinking in. She had always been strong, a fighter, but in matters of the heart, she had faltered. Fear had driven her away from what she truly wanted, and now she was paying the price. But Apolline was right—Hermione was still here, and that meant there was hope.

"What about us?" Fleur asked quietly, her voice trembling. "I know I've hurt you too. You and Grandmother... I left when you didn't want me to. I rejected the life you had planned for me."

Apolline sighed softly, her gaze softening. "Yes, we were hurt. We didn't understand your choices, especially marrying Bill. It went against everything we had taught you about our Veela traditions. But Fleur... you are my daughter. My love for you is unconditional. I may not have agreed with your choices, but I will always be here for you."

Fleur blinked back tears, her throat tight with emotion. She had always feared disappointing her mother, and hearing these words, this reassurance, was more than she had hoped for. "Thank you, Maman. I... I thought I had lost you."

Apolline stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Fleur, pulling her into a warm embrace. "You will never lose me," she whispered. "No matter what."

Fleur closed her eyes and allowed herself to lean into the comfort of her mother's arms. For the first time in a long time, she felt a sliver of peace. She had a long way to go to make things right—with her family, with Hermione—but at least she wasn't alone.

It was easier to say that she would give Hermione time than to do it. Suddenly, the absence of her wife, about whom she had pushed her thoughts away every day for the past few years, became more unbearable. Although now Hermione was only sleeping in the next room, Fleur felt that she was further away from her than when she was stuck in her marriage to Bill. She watched with a sense of guilt as Hermione played with Victoire, as the girl recovered under the tender care of the brunette and Celine, and Fleur... only watched from the sidelines. Although no one from the reservation made malicious remarks to her, she still felt Veelas' eyes on her. Her grandmother was also not as forgiving as Apollone. She kept Fleur at a distance, talking only about matters concerning Victoire. Aurelie was Fleur's biggest problem. The blonde couldn't stand the ease with which Hermione opened up to her cousin. Aurelie accompanied Hermione at every step. They spent hours in the laboratory or the reservation, unless the Englishwoman was in Paris, where she had started her own muggle medical practice. Fleur gritted her teeth every time she saw Hermione laughing at Aurelie's side. She also didn't miss the little gestures and touches her cousin made towards Hermione. A handshake, a kiss on the cheek, a shoulder massage as they sat on the veranda drinking tea. Fleur could only watch and feel an unsatisfied desire, because Hermione only let her hold her hand when the lack of closeness was already unbearable for both of them.

In addition, every time Fleur wanted to talk to her about it, Hermione found excuses to avoid the topic. The blonde even began to envy her daughter the attention the brunette gave her. Hermione spent every free moment with her daughter, probably wanting to make up for lost time. Just like Apollone, who found various excuses to constantly visit the newlyweds and spoil her granddaughter. Armand also accompanied her sometimes and just as often disappeared into Hermione's office, having long discussions with her about God knows what. Fleur was just washing the dishes after dinner when she felt her wife's presence behind her. She turned off the water and turned around. "What's the matter?" She asked cautiously. "I'm leaving for London for a week tomorrow." Hermione stated, nervously biting her lip. Fleur dried her hands and sighed. She had no right to ask and felt worse about it than she could imagine. She just nodded and moved, wanting to hide in the bedroom. But the brunette grabbed her wrist. 'You forget that I can sense your emotions. You don't have to worry. I'll go back to Victoire.' 'Only to her?' Fleur blurted out before she could bite her tongue. 'I'm not going to leave you.' Hermione muttered, letting go of the blonde's wrist. 'I'll meet up with Harry and Ginny.' 'That's your business, you do whatever you want.' FLeur huffed angrily. 'Oh, so you don't care who I meet up with?' Hermione said, the corners of her lips turning up slightly. 'So I can meet up with Aurelie more often? She suggested camping recently, maybe I'll go...'

'Don't you dare!' Fleur hissed, her eyes dark with anger. Inner Veela was already tearing herself away to hurt her cousin, who clearly wanted to seduce her wife.

'I thought so,' Hermione tutted, smiling slightly. 'Goodnight.' And she did something she never did before - she kissed Fleur on the corner of her mouth, leaving the blonde speechless in the kitchen doorway.

Fleur stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, her heart hammering against her ribs as Hermione disappeared up the stairs. The ghost of that kiss lingered on her skin, searing and tender all at once. It was the first hint of affection Hermione had offered in what felt like a lifetime, and it left her both elated and restless.

She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to follow. That kiss wasn't forgiveness—it was something else. A warning? A tease? She couldn't be sure.

The night was restless. Fleur lay awake, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling of their bedroom. She hated this distance, the gnawing ache that came with being so close to Hermione yet feeling further away than ever. Her Veela instincts churned within her, whispering to claim, to demand, but she forced herself to stay still. She couldn't afford another misstep.

The next morning, Hermione was already packing when Fleur ventured into the guest room where she had been staying. Hermione didn't look up, her hands methodically folding shirts and tucking them into a neat suitcase.

Fleur lingered in the doorway, her voice soft. "Do you need help?"

Hermione paused but didn't turn. "No. I'm fine."

The air between them was heavy, fraught with all the words left unsaid. Fleur stepped inside anyway, her feet moving of their own accord. She stopped just behind Hermione, the faint lavender scent of her hair stirring something deep within her.

"Hermione..." she began, her voice trembling.

Hermione stilled, her hands gripping the edge of the suitcase. "Please, don't. Not now."

Fleur bit her lip, forcing herself to hold back. "You said you'd come back," she whispered instead.

Hermione turned then, her eyes meeting Fleur's. They were filled with a mix of emotions—anger, hurt, but also a flicker of something else. Hope?

"I said I'd come back, and I will," Hermione replied, her voice steady but quiet. "But Fleur, this isn't just about me coming back. It's about whether you're really ready for me when I do."

Fleur felt the words hit her like a tidal wave. "I am ready," she insisted, stepping closer. "I know I made mistakes, but I—"

"Being ready isn't about knowing you made mistakes," Hermione interrupted, her tone sharper now. "It's about fixing them. It's about understanding why you made them in the first place."

Fleur's breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening. "I know why," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "I was afraid. Afraid of losing myself, of losing control. But I'm not afraid anymore, Hermione. I just want to make things right."

Hermione's expression softened, but the wariness didn't fade entirely. She reached out, brushing her fingers against Fleur's arm. The touch was brief, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt through both of them.

"I need more than words, Fleur," Hermione said quietly. "And I think you need time to prove that to yourself as much as to me."

Fleur swallowed hard, nodding. She wanted to argue, to plead, but deep down, she knew Hermione was right.

"I'll wait," Fleur said finally, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

Hermione studied her for a moment before nodding. "Good," she said simply, zipping up her suitcase.

As she left, Fleur felt the emptiness of the house settle around her. But this time, it wasn't just a void. It was a space to grow, to prove herself—not just to Hermione, but to the part of herself she had lost along the way.