Part 15

The following morning, Apolline arrived early. She bustled into the house with a determined air, balancing a basket of fresh pastries in one hand and Victoire's favorite toy broom in the other. Hermione, still in her dressing gown, was caught mid-yawn in the kitchen.

"Bonjour, Hermione," Apolline said cheerily, setting the basket down on the counter. "I thought you might like some proper breakfast. And I brought something for Victoire. She must be awake by now, non?"

"She's in her room, playing," Hermione replied, tightening the sash of her robe. "Thank you, Apolline. This was thoughtful."

"It's nothing," Apolline said with a wave of her hand. Her expression softened as she added, "How are you holding up, chère?"

Hermione hesitated. "I'm... trying to focus on what's important. Victoire. Keeping the house running. Being present."

Apolline reached out and gently squeezed Hermione's arm. "You are doing wonderfully. And Fleur? How is she this morning?"

"She's resting. I don't think she's ready for more... just yet," Hermione admitted. "Neither am I."

Apolline nodded, understanding. "Take your time. Relationships are not repaired in a single day. And Fleur—she is as stubborn as her father. She will need to learn patience, just as you will."

Hermione smiled faintly. "Patience has never been my strong suit."

"Then you will both have much to practice," Apolline said with a teasing smile, before sweeping out of the kitchen to find Victoire.

Later that day, Hermione found herself drawn to the garden. Fleur was there, sitting beneath the shade of a sprawling oak tree. She looked out of place, almost like a ghost of her former self—pale and subdued, with none of her usual sharp confidence.

Hermione hesitated, then stepped onto the grass, making her way toward Fleur. She carried a book with her, though she had no intention of reading it. It was more of a prop, something to do with her hands if things became too tense.

Fleur looked up as Hermione approached. Her eyes were unreadable, but she gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

"Mind if I sit?" Hermione asked.

Fleur shook her head. "Of course not."

They sat in silence for a long while, the hum of bees and the rustle of leaves filling the void between them. Hermione finally spoke.

"You told me once that this tree is older than the house."

Fleur nodded. "Yes. My grand-grandfather planted it when he built the cottage."

Hermione glanced at her. "I love this garden. It's peaceful."

Fleur gave a faint smile. "It is. My mother would spend hours here, tending to the flowers. She said it was her way of finding balance."

Hermione tilted her head. "Do you ever do that? Garden?"

"Yes," Fleur admitted. "It requires a patience I don't always possess so it's a nice excercise."

Hermione chuckled softly. "Yeah, I know something about it."

For a moment, the tension between them seemed to ease, replaced by something almost resembling camaraderie. But it was fleeting. Fleur's expression grew serious again, and she looked down at her hands.

'Herbology was my second major subject right after Ancient Runes. If it weren't for working for the bank, I probably would have gotten a job at the herbalist's.'

'What made you decide?' Hermione asked with undisguised curiosity.

'I wanted to do something prestigious and working for the bank was. I wanted to shine, stand out among the Veelas, prove that I could be more than just an animal on a reservation.'

Hermione felt a knot in her stomach at the thought of young Fleur locked in a cage of her own beliefs.

'I felt the same way when I was studying at Hogwarts. I wanted to be the Minister of Magic and prove to all the pure-blood wizards that a Muggleborn could be anything they wanted to be.' Hermione chuckled.

'You would be a great Minister. Don't tell me you weren't offered a job at the Ministry after the war with Voldemort.' Fleur noted, looking at Hermione sideways.

'Of course Kingsley offered me a job. But after the war I realized that I would be more useful as a healer. I saw how they treated magical creatures. The policies of the Ministry did not agree with my beliefs.'

'That is why you could try to change something.'

'No... No Fleur, I could not change centuries of prejudice and how people see the world... I would not have the life to change it. Instead I chose to do something I could influence, to build a life that was possible in the time I was given on earth.' Hermione explained seriously.

'And you have such a life?'

'I have a family, I have a job I like, I live in a beautiful place... I can still change a few things, but overall I am in a good place in my life.'

'Even with me by your side?' Fleur asked quietly not believing Hermione's words but feeling her sincerity.

'Fleur... ever since I met you in my fourth year our bond has been a huge part of my existence. I couldn't erase you, forget you... I tried, believe me.' Hermione spoke slowly, sighing. 'I want to know you. I want to know who you are, to learn about you.'

'I want that too.' Fleur said quietly.

***

Over the next few weeks, small moments began to piece together the fragile beginnings of understanding between them. Apolline was a frequent visitor, often mediating conversations and bringing levity to the household. Victoire, oblivious to the complexities of adult relationships, provided a constant source of joy and distraction.

Aurelie returned to the picture as well, though she kept a respectful distance. She resumed her correspondence with Hermione, sending detailed notes on their potion experiments along with the occasional witty observation. Hermione found herself looking forward to the letters, though she carefully avoided mentioning them to Fleur.

One afternoon, Apolline and Aurelie arrived at the cottage at the same time. The tension was palpable as Apolline gave Aurelie a cool glance before sweeping into the kitchen.

"Bonjour, Apolline," Aurelie said, unfazed by the older woman's demeanor. "How is Fleur?"

"She is recovering," Apolline replied curtly. "And how is your work with Hermione? Productive, I hope?"

"Very," Aurelie said with a sly smile. "Hermione is an excellent collaborator."

Apolline's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing more. Hermione, sensing the brewing storm, quickly intervened.

"Would either of you like some tea?" she asked brightly.

"I'll help," Aurelie offered, following Hermione into the kitchen.

Once they were alone, Aurelie leaned against the counter, watching Hermione as she prepared the tea. "You seem more at ease lately," she observed.

Hermione shrugged. "I'm trying to take things one day at a time."

"That's all you can do," Aurelie said. She hesitated before adding, "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

Hermione smiled faintly. "Thank you, Aurelie."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of raised voices from the living room. Hermione and Aurelie exchanged a glance before hurrying back.

Apolline and Fleur were locked in an argument, their words rapid-fire and heated. Victoire stood nearby, clutching her toy broom with wide eyes.

"What's going on?" Hermione demanded, stepping between them.

Apolline huffed. "Fleur insists she's ready to resume her duties, but I disagree. She needs more time to recover."

"I am not a child," Fleur snapped. "I can decide for myself."

Hermione held up a hand. "Enough. Victoire doesn't need to see this."

The room fell silent, and Fleur looked away, guilt flashing across her face. Apolline sighed and stepped back, muttering something about taking Victoire outside.

As the door closed behind them, Hermione turned to Fleur. "You need to rest, Fleur. Pushing yourself too hard won't help anyone."

Fleur's shoulders slumped. "I hate feeling useless."

"You're not useless," Hermione said gently. "But you have to let us help you. That's what family is for."

Fleur looked at her, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you, Hermione."

Over the following months, the dynamics in the house slowly began to shift. Fleur and Hermione spent more time together, not as a couple, but as co-parents and tentative friends. They shared stories about their childhoods, debated philosophy over late-night cups of tea, and discovered common interests they hadn't known they shared.

Apolline continued to be a steady presence, offering wisdom and support when needed. Aurelie, true to her word, remained a confidante for Hermione, though she kept her feelings carefully hidden.

The days rolled into weeks, and the chill of winter settled over the cottage. Snow blanketed the garden, muffling sounds and turning the world into a quiet wonderland. Inside the house, however, life was anything but quiet.

One evening, Fleur found herself sitting by the fireplace with Victoire. The little girl was busy drawing on a piece of parchment, her tongue poking out in concentration as she carefully colored a crooked tree.

"Très belle," Fleur said softly, leaning over to admire her daughter's work. "You've captured the tree perfectly."

Victoire grinned, holding up the drawing. "It's for you, Maman."

Fleur's heart swelled, and she reached out to pull her daughter into a hug. "Merci, mon trésor. I will treasure it."

From the kitchen, Hermione watched the scene with a mixture of warmth and hesitation. Seeing Fleur's gentler side with Victoire was a reminder of the woman she had fallen for years ago. But it also brought a pang of uncertainty—were they truly capable of finding common ground, or was this newfound calm just a fragile illusion?

"Why are you standing there like a ghost?" Apolline's teasing voice broke Hermione's thoughts. She entered the kitchen carrying a tray of mugs filled with steaming hot chocolate. "Go sit with them. The fire is warmer than the stove."

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "I was just... watching."

Apolline raised an eyebrow. "Watching isn't living, chère."

Taking the tray from Apolline, Hermione moved to the living room. Fleur glanced up, her eyes meeting Hermione's for a moment before shifting to the tray.

"Hot chocolate?" Hermione offered.

Fleur nodded, accepting a mug. "Merci."

Hermione handed a smaller mug to Victoire, who beamed. "With marshmallows!"

"Of course," Hermione said, settling into the armchair opposite Fleur.

The room fell into a comfortable silence as they sipped their drinks. Victoire eventually wandered off, announcing that she needed to add "snowflakes" to her drawing. Hermione took a deep breath, breaking the quiet.

"I was thinking about taking Victoire into town tomorrow," she said, glancing at Fleur. "There's a winter market. She might enjoy it."

Fleur hesitated. "I... would like to come, if that's alright."

Hermione nodded, surprised but pleased. "Of course. It's a family outing."

The next day, they bundled up and headed into the village. The market was bustling, with vendors selling everything from hand-knit scarves to candied nuts. Victoire ran ahead, her laughter echoing as she tugged Apolline toward a stall selling glittering ornaments.

Hermione and Fleur trailed behind, walking side by side. For a while, neither spoke, content to take in the festive atmosphere. Then Fleur broke the silence.

"I used to come here as a child," she said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "It hasn't changed much."

"Did you have a favorite stall?" Hermione asked.

Fleur smiled faintly. "There was a baker who made the most incredible tarte aux pommes. I used to save my allowance just to buy one."

Hermione chuckled. "We'll have to find them."

They did, eventually, and Fleur's face lit up as she bit into the flaky pastry. Hermione watched her, a small smile playing on her lips.

"You're staring," Fleur said, raising an eyebrow.

"Am I?" Hermione said, feigning innocence. "I was just thinking how different you seem here. More... relaxed."

Fleur's expression softened. "It's easy to forget the weight of the past in a place like this. Near Christmas people tend to forget that we are Veelas..."

'With your beauty is impossible not to notice you in the crowd.' Hermione murmurred and Fleur blushed.

As the weeks passed, these small get together with Victoire became more frequent. Fleur and Hermione found themselves talking more - not about the past, but about their hopes, their dreams, and their shared love for Victoire.

One snowy evening, as Victoire slept upstairs, they sat by the fire again. Fleur leaned back in her chair, cradling a glass of wine.

"I never asked," Fleur began, her voice hesitant. "What made you stay? After everything."

Hermione looked at her, startled by the question. "For Victoire," she said simply. "And... because I couldn't just walk away. No matter how much it hurt."

Fleur nodded slowly. "I think I wanted to push you away. To punish myself, maybe. I thought... if I didn't deserve love, it wouldn't hurt so much when I lost it."

Hermione's chest tightened. "You don't have to punish yourself anymore, Fleur. We can start over. If you want to."

Fleur looked at her, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes. "I want to try."