Part 6

FLEUR POV

Fleur was not herself.She moved through the house like a ghost trapped in a place she no longer recognized, her skin prickling constantly with anger she couldn't name and pain she couldn't bear to look at. Every sound grated on her nerves — the clatter of dishes, the thud of Victoire's little footsteps, the creak of the door when Bill came home from work.

Worse than the sounds was the silence that fell between her and Bill when they weren't actively arguing. A heavy, choking quiet that filled up the spaces where tenderness had once lived.

And beneath all of it — sharp and poisonous — was her fury at Astoria.

Astoria, who had everything now. The legacy that should have been Fleur's, the blood and honor of their clan handed over as if Fleur had never mattered. And now — Hermione.Hermione, whose laughter Fleur had begun to crave more than she craved food or sleep. Hermione, whose mind shone like a star, whose smile had started to feel like the only real thing left in Fleur's world.

Astoria was free. Free to flirt, to chase, to take.Fleur was the one who had chosen — once, long ago.And now she could only watch the pieces of her life fall into other people's hands.

Her magic — her very Veela soul — was growing restless. It scratched at her skin from the inside, hungry and wounded, furious at being ignored, suppressed, chained.She could feel the full moon approaching, pressing down on the house like a great heavy hand. Bill grew more irritable with every passing hour, the infection of Greyback's bite deep in his blood making him volatile when the lunar pull grew strong. Fleur had learned to endure it over the years, but tonight... tonight her own patience was wearing through, thread by thread.

It was after dinner, the house heavy with the smell of food Fleur hadn't touched, when the final blow came.

"By the way," Bill said casually, tossing his jacket onto the back of a chair. "I canceled Victoire's spot at the preschool. No point wasting money when Mum's happy to have her during the day."

Fleur froze."You did what?" she said, her voice low, dangerous.

Bill shrugged, pouring himself a drink. "It's better this way. Family should help family. And it saves us a load of Galleons."

"Elle mange trop de sucreries chez ta mère!" Fleur hissed, slipping into French without thinking. "She comes home sick, with stomach pains! You know that!"

"It's just sweets, Fleur. She'll survive," Bill said, exasperated. "Stop overreacting."

Overreacting.The word hit Fleur like a slap.

She set her glass down sharply, rising to her feet, her whole body trembling with the effort of containing herself. "You had no right to make that decision without me," she said.

"You're always at the Ministry anyway!" Bill snapped. "Busy with your bloody laws and your bloody Veela pride. What's the point? You're not even here!"

"Because I am trying to make something of myself!" Fleur shouted, the dam finally breaking. "Because I am trying to matter!"

"You matter to me!" Bill yelled back. "You matter to Victoire! Isn't that enough?!"

The words twisted inside her, turning the blade."No," she said, barely above a whisper. "Not when you don't even see who I am anymore."

Bill's face darkened. The moonlight caught the sharp edge of his cheekbones, the slight shimmer of sweat on his brow. He took a step toward her — too close, too fast.

"You think you're so much better than the rest of us," he snarled. "Just because of some bloodline nonsense? You're just like your grandmother, always thinking like some fucking queen!"

Before she could even flinch away, his hand struck her.A sharp, ringing blow across her cheek.

Time stopped.

The only sound was Victoire's soft singing from her bedroom upstairs, oblivious.

Bill's eyes widened in horror at what he had done."Fleur, I—" he began, reaching for her. "I didn't mean— I swear—"

She stood frozen, her face throbbing, her magic crackling in the air around her like a live wire.He cupped her face in his hands, frantic, ashamed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, love. Please forgive me. Please."

Fleur closed her eyes. She wanted to scream, to tear the walls down around them, to run until the world fell away behind her.But she didn't.

Instead, she let herself be kissed. Let him guide her to their bedroom.Let him apologize with his hands, with his mouth, with his body.She let herself float through it all — numb, distant — because fighting would break her into pieces too small to gather up again.

And afterward, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling while Bill slept heavily beside her, the imprint of his hand still burning on her skin — inside and out.

The morning was slow and grey.Fleur sat at the kitchen table, absently stirring a cup of tea gone cold long ago. Bill had left early, taking Victoire to Molly's for the day — despite all his soft apologies, all the flowers he had brought home last night, he hadn't changed his mind about that.

And Fleur... Fleur hadn't argued.She hadn't had the strength.

The house felt too big, too empty without Victoire's laughter. The bruised tenderness on Fleur's cheek throbbed dully under her light makeup, a constant reminder she could not quite escape.

When the owl thudded against the window, she barely moved. Mechanically, she rose, letting the Daily Prophet slide from the bird's claws onto the counter. She dropped a few Sickles into the pouch and unfolded the newspaper, her mind sluggish, not expecting anything.

And then she saw it.A large photo, front and center on the Society page.

Hermione.Laughing — truly laughing — her head thrown back, her curls wild and shining under the restaurant lights.Astoria was seated across from her, her hand reaching forward to touch Hermione's wrist in an easy, familiar gesture, her own smile small and dazzling.

Golden Girl's New Flame? the headline teased in bright letters.

Fleur stared at it.Something inside her seemed to twist, to fold painfully in on itself.

She knew this was good.This was what should happen.Hermione deserved happiness. Deserved to have someone beautiful and charming and free to chase her openly.Not someone broken like Fleur.Not someone who chose duty and now paid the price in silence and bruises and too many nights spent crying into a pillow.

It's better this way, she told herself fiercely.Better if Hermione forgot about her — if Fleur could tuck all her foolish hopes away like an old love letter and move forward.

Tomorrow, they would meet for the final time at the Ministry to finalize the legislation.Tomorrow, Hermione would become just another distant acquaintance — a bright light Fleur would learn to live without.

She would smile, she would pretend, and then she would go home to a life she could barely recognize as her own.

Her hand brushed over the newspaper, over the image of Hermione's laughing face.Fleur closed her eyes against the rush of longing that threatened to drown her.

You made your choice, she whispered to herself, bitter and raw. Now live with it.

Upstairs, the clock chimed noon.The house creaked and shifted in the summer heat, but Fleur remained sitting there, unmoving, a ghost tethered to a home she no longer belonged to.

The air in the Ministry office felt heavy, thick with unsaid things. The final meeting was here — the culmination of weeks of hard work. Fleur sat at the long table, her hands folded in front of her. Her eyes were focused on the paperwork in front of her, but her mind was far away.

Hermione sat across from her, her usual calm composure barely masking the tension in her eyes. The project they'd worked on together was nearly done — the legislation was almost finalized. But it was the last meeting, and Fleur could feel the distance between them now, thick like a fog that neither of them had been able to lift.

Hermione cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "So... it's done, then. Tomorrow we'll present it. We've come a long way."

Fleur nodded, her smile small, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yes. We've done good work."

Hermione's gaze lingered on her, soft and searching. "You don't seem yourself, Fleur. These last few days... you've been so distant. What's going on?"

Fleur let out a breath, sharp and shallow. She wanted to say so many things. But how could she? How could she say anything when she had already made her choice? When she knew she would never be the woman Hermione needed, never be the partner she deserved.

"I have been distant," Fleur murmured, her voice quiet but filled with an edge of sadness. "I just... I don't know how to handle everything anymore."

Hermione leaned forward slightly, concern etched in her features. "Is it the work? The pressure of everything? I know it's been a lot, but we're almost through it."

"No, it's not the work," Fleur said, her voice small, almost apologetic. "It's... everything else. What I've chosen. What I've given up."

There was a long pause. Hermione, still searching her eyes, seemed to catch something in Fleur's tone, something fragile. The space between them felt charged, like the air before a storm.

"What do you mean?" Hermione's voice was gentle now, quieter, like she was afraid of the answer.

Fleur swallowed hard, her eyes dropping to her hands. "You have so much to look forward to, Hermione. You deserve to be with someone who can give you everything you want. Someone who isn't burdened by... legacy. By obligations." Her eyes flickered up to meet Hermione's. "You should try... you should try being with Astoria."

Hermione blinked, surprised. "Astoria?"

"Yes," Fleur said softly, her voice trembling with something close to regret, but also hope for Hermione's happiness. "She's truly special. I've seen the way she looks at you. And I know... I know you two could be good together. She deserves a chance. You deserve someone who can give you what you need, Hermione. And Astoria... she's someone who understands that freedom, that need for lightness."

Fleur's words hung in the air, soft and heavy. She felt a pang in her chest — a quiet ache for what could have been, for what she had let go of. The image of Hermione with Astoria flashed in her mind, and despite everything, it made sense.

"You really think that?" Hermione whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Fleur nodded, her throat tight. "Yes, I do."

She paused, letting the silence stretch between them. Fleur's heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn't bring herself to look away. This was the hardest thing she'd ever said. The hardest thing she'd ever done.

Finally, in the softest voice, barely a whisper, Fleur added, "You deserve to be happy, Hermione."

The words felt like they shattered something deep inside her, but she didn't regret saying them. She needed to say them. Because it was true. Because Hermione deserved someone who could give her a life full of the joy and freedom she had always yearned for.

She stood up slowly, gathering her papers, her movements stiff. "Good luck tomorrow," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady. "With the vote... and everything."

As she turned to leave, Hermione stayed seated, her eyes following Fleur as she walked out of the room. Fleur didn't dare look back.