Part 10

HERMIONE POV

The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of old wood settling under the cool breath of the night. Hermione lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the covers twisted around her legs, too warm and too cold all at once.

She couldn't sleep.

Her mind was a battlefield, thoughts colliding violently, one after the other, relentless.

She felt... relief. A deep, dizzying relief that Bill wasn't Fleur's mate. Relief that, despite everything, the bond she had always half-envied, half-feared, hadn't existed between them. Veelas mated for life. If Bill had been Fleur's mate, Hermione would have been forced to accept, deep in her bones, that Fleur was tied to him forever — unbreakably, irrevocably. But he wasn't. He never had been. That thread was severed before it even began.

She pressed a hand to her chest, as if trying to still the fluttering there.

But relief wasn't the only thing.

Hermione also felt betrayed.

The word felt ugly, selfish, but it gnawed at her, relentless. Fleur was pregnant. Pregnant with Bill's child. And Hermione hadn't known. Fleur had been living a private agony, and Hermione had been... what? Flirting with Astoria, pretending to move on, while Fleur suffered in silence?

A sharp twist of jealousy churned in her gut.

Bill had touched Fleur. Even after everything. Even when their marriage was already crumbling, when Fleur should have been free, he had still left his mark on her — a permanent, living reminder of their bond.

And Hermione hated him for it. She hated the bruises he'd left on Fleur's face, the fear he'd placed in her voice, the heartbreak in her touch when she'd clung to Hermione on the couch earlier. She hated how he had stolen Fleur's light, dulled it down to something fragile and flickering, when once it had blazed like the sun.

Her fingers clutched the edge of the pillow tightly.

She knew it wasn't fair — they had been married. Fleur owed Hermione nothing. Nothing had ever been promised. Yet the irrational, burning feeling remained. Fleur had built a life with someone else. Loved someone else. Trusted someone else. Shared everything with someone else.

And now... now she was here. In Hermione's house. In Hermione's life.

Merlin, Hermione thought miserably, I shouldn't feel this way.

She should be thinking about Astoria. She should be missing Astoria.Astoria, who sent her thoughtful letters and flowers from France.Astoria, who had made her laugh and smile and had offered her affection without question.

But Hermione's heart — damn her heart — was aching for the woman asleep down the hall.

She groaned softly, pressing the heels of her hands against her closed eyes.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Fleur deserved someone strong, someone steady — not someone torn up inside by jealousy and guilt and longing.And Hermione — Hermione was supposed to be smarter than this. She was supposed to be the sensible one, the careful one, the one who didn't get herself tangled up in impossible, hopeless things.

And yet here she was.

Longing for a broken woman who carried the pieces of another man's life inside her.

Hermione turned onto her side, punching her pillow into a different shape, as if that would silence the chaos inside her chest.

It didn't.

Instead, her mind conjured Fleur's face — tired, bruised, but still breathtakingly beautiful.It conjured the way Fleur had clung to her, trembling, like Hermione was the only solid thing left in her world.It conjured the way Fleur's voice had broken when she said she was sorry.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stop feeling. To stop wanting.

But then... another image... Her fingers clutched the edge of the pillow tightly, white-knuckled.

Part of her — the reckless, furious part she rarely listened to — wanted nothing more than to Apparate to Shell Cottage this very second and beat Bill into the floor until he couldn't move, until he couldn't hurt anyone ever again.The image was visceral: her wand drawn, her magic crackling in the air like a thunderstorm, Bill finally, finally getting what he deserved.

It was only the thought of Fleur, asleep in the guest room, that anchored her.Fleur, who needed peace, not more violence.Fleur, who trusted her.

Hermione exhaled shakily, trying to force herself back into the present.

Eventually, sleep claimed her, heavy and restless.

When Hermione woke, the first thing she noticed was the pale, early morning light spilling across her bedroom floor. The second was the sound of giggles — light, musical, and unmistakably childlike — drifting down the hallway.

Frowning sleepily, she pushed herself up, rubbing her eyes, the memories of last night rushing back in a heavy, tangled wave. Fleur. The bruises. The whispered confessions. Hermione's heart twisted painfully.

She got up and padded quietly toward the kitchen, following the sound of soft laughter.

The sight that greeted her stopped her in the doorway.

Fleur was standing at the stove, barefoot, wrapped in Hermione's grey bathrobe — her hair still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the ends. The fabric clung to her body in places, emphasizing the natural curve of her figure. Even battered and bruised, even exhausted, Fleur looked heartbreakingly beautiful, illuminated by the soft blush of sunrise streaming through the windows.

Victoire sat at the kitchen table, her little legs swinging, her bright eyes glued to Fleur with unfiltered admiration. Every time Fleur flipped a pancake — clumsily, almost dropping it — the girl erupted into delighted giggles.

Fleur laughed too, though there was a sadness to it, a hollow echo behind the smile she gave her daughter.Hermione's gaze slid unbidden to Fleur's face — the swelling around her eye was worse this morning, and the bruised cheekbone was a sickly shade of purple now. Hermione clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached.

Bastard.

She forced herself forward, schooling her features into something gentle as she entered the kitchen.

Victoire stiffened a little at the sight of her — shy, unsure — but Hermione crouched down so they were eye to eye and offered a warm smile.

"Bonjour, Victoire," she said softly.

The little girl's mouth parted in wonder, the way children often reacted when adults used words they knew from home. After a heartbeat of hesitation, Victoire beamed and returned the greeting, her tiny voice high and clear.

Fleur glanced over her shoulder and gave Hermione a small, grateful smile that made her chest ache.

Hermione straightened, moving to lean against the counter, pretending not to stare, pretending not to feel her entire body responding to the domestic scene unfolding in front of her.

Fleur, barefoot and radiant, moving about Hermione's kitchen as if she belonged there.Victoire, chattering happily in a blend of English and French, the two languages twining together like ivy.The way Fleur would gently correct her daughter, slipping in the French words for "pancake," for "spatula," her voice soft and loving.

It was painfully beautiful.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to keep from feeling too much — but it was useless. She was already drowning.

She wanted this. This life.She wanted Fleur here every morning, barefoot and smiling, making pancakes and laughing.She wanted Victoire's giggles filling the house like sunlight.She wanted to come up behind Fleur, wrap her arms around her waist, and press her face into her damp hair, breathing in lavender and soap and safety.

And she hated herself for wanting it so much.

Because it wasn't real.Because Bill still existed.Because Fleur was carrying Bill's child — a fact Hermione couldn't stop herself from thinking about the moment her gaze, unbidden and cruel, dropped to Fleur's stomach.

It was still flat, hidden by the thick bathrobe. But it was there — a new life growing inside her. A life that was part of Bill.

Hermione swallowed hard, tasting bitterness.

She shouldn't feel this way. She was supposed to be Fleur's friend. Her safe place. Not someone who looked at her with aching, hopeless longing every time she moved.

And yet, watching Fleur now, the easy grace with which she tended to Victoire, the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled, tired but tender — Hermione felt her heart splinter anew.

This — this was the life she had never dared to imagine for herself.And now it was almost within reach. So close she could taste it.And still so impossibly far away.

Because of Bill. Because of the baby. Because Hermione wasn't supposed to want this.

Hermione tore her eyes away, blinking hard, willing herself to be stronger.She couldn't fall apart. Not now. Fleur needed her steady. Calm. Reliable.

Hermione forced a smile when Victoire held out a plate, a proud offering of a slightly burnt pancake.

"Merci beaucoup," she said, bowing her head in mock solemnity, and the little girl giggled again.

Fleur set another plate down for Victoire and then moved around the table to pour them each a glass of juice, her movements careful, almost mechanical. Hermione's eyes caught again on the bruising around her eye and cheek — stark against her otherwise glowing skin in the morning light.

"Fleur," Hermione said quietly as the Frenchwoman sat down opposite her. "You don't have to... do all this."

Fleur gave a small shrug, not quite meeting her gaze."I needed... something to do with my hands," she said, voice low and strained. She managed a small smile. "And Victoire likes pancakes."

"They're very good," Hermione said, taking a bite and exaggerating an impressed expression.

Victoire giggled again, delighted, and Fleur's smile grew a little less forced for a moment.

"Are we staying?" Victoire piped up suddenly, looking at her mother, then at Hermione with wide, hopeful eyes. "Can we stay here, Maman?"

Hermione felt the air catch in her chest. She set her fork down carefully, heart pounding.

Fleur hesitated, glancing nervously at Hermione, as if seeking permission.

Hermione met her gaze, steady and soft. "As long as you need. Both of you."

Fleur's lips trembled slightly, but she blinked rapidly and nodded. "Merci, Hermione," she whispered.

For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and full of things they couldn't say out loud.

Hermione looked down at her plate, forcing another bite past the lump in her throat. Victoire, oblivious to the adult tension, chattered about her toys and how she wanted to show Hermione her "dancing bear" later.

At one point, Fleur reached out absently to tuck Victoire's hair behind her ear, her touch achingly gentle, her smile tender and aching at once. Watching them, Hermione's chest tightened almost painfully.

She took a sip of her juice to hide the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

"So," Fleur said eventually, her voice light but brittle, "you went out last night?"

Hermione blinked, caught off guard. "Ah, yes. Just... a few drinks with people from work."

Fleur tilted her head slightly, watching her over the rim of her glass. "You seemed... happy," she said, and Hermione heard the faintest thread of wistfulness there.

Hermione shrugged one shoulder, forcing a laugh. "It was just nice to feel normal for a bit."

There was a pause.

"You deserve normal," Fleur said softly, her gaze dropping to her plate.

Hermione didn't know what to say to that. Part of her wanted to say so do you. Part of her wanted to reach across the table and take Fleur's hand and never let go.

Instead, she simply murmured, "We'll figure it out."

Hermione was about to take another bite of her pancake when the doorbell rang, sharp and jarring, pulling her attention away from the peaceful domestic scene in front of her. Fleur looked up, her face a mask of polite curiosity, as if expecting a visitor but not quite certain who it might be.

"I'll get it," Hermione said, standing quickly, her heart suddenly racing.

She crossed the living room, trying to steady her breath. When she opened the door, Astoria stood there, her smile radiant, her eyes sparkling with the fresh optimism.

"Morning!" Astoria greeted her cheerfully, stepping forward before Hermione could say a word. Without hesitation, she cupped Hermione's face in her hands and kissed her softly on the lips.

Hermione froze, her body stiffening with surprise. Astoria pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, her smile broad and bright.

"I missed you," Astoria murmured, her voice low, teasing, yet sincere. "I'm so glad to be back."

Hermione swallowed, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. For a moment, she didn't know how to react. There was still so much she wasn't sure about — Astoria's affections, her role in all of this, and now... Fleur. Her mind flickered to the woman still in the kitchen, making pancakes for her daughter, and a wave of guilt washed over her.

"I... I missed you too," Hermione said, the words coming out more clipped than she intended.

Astoria's eyes softened, and she gave her a knowing smile, as if sensing the shift in the air. "Sorry for the sudden visit, but I really wanted to see you first." Her fingers gently brushed against Hermione's wrist as she stepped inside, her attention quickly turning toward the kitchen.

Fleur was standing by the counter, quietly taking Victoire's plate from the table, who had now finished her breakfast and was busy running around with one of her toys. Fleur's bruised face, still swollen from the night before, caught Astoria's attention. A flicker of surprise — maybe even concern — passed through her eyes before she masked it with a cool smile.

"Bonjour," Fleur said stiffly, offering a tight smile, but her voice was guarded, uncertain.

Astoria's gaze flickered briefly to Hermione, then back to Fleur, her expression tightening just slightly. "Fleur... I didn't know you will be here," she said, her tone light but with an edge that Hermione didn't miss. "I see you've brought your family along. That's... nice."

Hermione tensed, her heart racing. She could feel the subtle tension between the two women. Astoria had always been full of charm, but this was different. The way she regarded Fleur, her cold politeness, was far from the warm, welcoming attitude Hermione had seen from her before.

"Fleur's... staying here for a bit," Hermione said quickly, trying to smooth over the growing awkwardness. She stepped in between them, hoping to divert the conversation before things went further.

Astoria's eyes lingered on Fleur for a moment longer than Hermione was comfortable with. "How... interesting," she said, her words polite but with a certain undertone. "I didn't realize you were, uh, quite so close."

Hermione felt her stomach churn, the weight of everything pressing down on her. She could see the slight tension in Fleur's posture, the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. There was something almost fragile in the way Fleur held herself in front of Astoria, like a wall was being built between them, and Hermione hated it.

Hermione interjected, her voice firm despite the knots forming in her stomach. "Fleur needs space right now. And... Victoire does too."

Astoria gave a small, almost dismissive nod, though her eyes flickered briefly over Fleur's bruised face again. "Of course she does," she scoffed, a faint smile curling on her lips. "And looking for it in your company, I suppose..."

The words stung more than Hermione cared to admit. She felt something shift in the air, an invisible rift between the three of them that she wasn't sure how to close. Astoria's presence was unsettling, a reminder of what Hermione had been avoiding — the distance between her and the world she'd been trying to build, and the unspoken tensions that were never going to disappear.

Fleur's voice cut through the silence, her tone soft but firm, like she was forcing herself to speak. "I'm not staying forever," she said, her eyes meeting Astoria's briefly. "Just until things... settle."

Astoria's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the glint of skepticism in them betraying her words. "Right. Well, I suppose it's none of my business," she said, her tone light, though Hermione could hear the sharpness lurking beneath.

Fleur didn't respond, and the room fell into an uncomfortable quiet.

Hermione stepped between them again, her gaze flitting from one woman to the other, but she didn't know what to say. The tension in the room was suffocating, and she realized, with a jolt, that she was caught somewhere between them.

Astoria cleared her throat, her cheerful smile returning as she turned back to Hermione. "I'm staying in the same hotel as last time. Let's talk later, yeah? You and me. I have a surprise for you."

Hermione nodded, her heart still pounding in her chest. She forced a smile, though it felt fragile, like it might shatter if she breathed too deeply.

As Astoria left, Fleur turned to Hermione, her eyes unreadable. "I don't want to be a burden," she said softly. "I should have... I shouldn't have put you in the middle of all this."

Hermione's voice was steady but her heart was heavy. "You can stay as long as you need, Fleur. Victoire too. It's no trouble."

Fleur nodded but didn't meet Hermione's gaze. She quickly turned her attention to Victoire, who was trying to get her attention, her small hands tugging on Fleur's sleeve. The older woman smiled faintly at her daughter, her movements quick and stiff. It was as if the very act of being here in Hermione's home felt like a burden on her, as if she was afraid of overstaying her welcome.

"Thank you," Fleur murmured quietly, her voice barely audible. She glanced at Hermione for just a moment, but her eyes quickly darted away, as though unable to meet the gaze of the woman.

The silence in the room stretched thin. Hermione, noticing the distance Fleur was creating, averted her gaze. She couldn't help but feel the heavy weight of the situation pressing in. This was all too much — too complicated.