Part 13

FLEUR POV

The days had been a blur. The comforting silence of Hermione's apartment surrounded Fleur as she sat on the couch, holding a cup of tea in her hands. She stared out the window, watching the early winter light filter through the glass. It had been a quiet reprieve from everything, but the weight of reality was starting to settle back in. Only the sound of paper rustling as Victoire drew at the table broke the stillness. Fleur watched her for a moment, feeling a sense of relief in her heart that her daughter was safe here. But after a few days of this quiet reality, Fleur couldn't shake the weight of thoughts about the future.

She felt it in her bones—this strange mixture of exhaustion and guilt. Every night she went to bed with thoughts of Bill, of how everything had crumbled. And during the day, she did her best to keep herself busy, to distract herself from the ache in her heart. But today, the thoughts felt too loud.

Fleur's thoughts were interrupted as Hermione entered, looking as calm and composed as ever, but Fleur could see the concern in her eyes.

"Hey," Hermione said, sitting beside her. "You're looking a little lost today. You haven't touched your breakfast... you should eat, Fleur, especially now... Everything okay?"

Fleur forced a smile, trying to push her worries down. "Just thinking... about... everything." Her voice faltered, and she looked away, unable to meet Hermione's eyes. "I'm still figuring things out, I guess."

Hermione's gaze softened. She didn't push, didn't prod. She simply sat there, waiting for Fleur to speak when she was ready.

"I keep thinking about the healer... I should go. To check on the pregnancy, but... I don't know. Bill always handled those things, finances. I can't—" Fleur's voice broke as the weight of her dependence on Bill hit her again. "I don't even know how to start doing this alone. I'm starting to realize that he was right... without him I'm nothing and I'm left with nothing... the house is his, the money in the bank too... I haven't worked for a few years." Fleur said, blushing with shame."

Hermione placed her hand gently over Fleur's, her touch warm and comforting. "You don't have to do it alone. You know I'm here for you, right?"

Fleur's chest tightened. She could feel Hermione's warmth, her presence in the space between them. It was almost too much to bear. Fleur swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check. "I know... I know you're here. But I just... I don't want to be a burden, Hermione. We live here with you, we eat your food, because of me you even had to take time off work to help me sort things out..."

"You're not a burden," Hermione replied, her voice firm but gentle. "We all have moments where we need help. You helped me without thinking when I was weak and needed constant care in those weeks after Bellatrix... and what you're talking about..." Hermione shrugged. "It's just money. I have plenty of it and I'm happy to share it."

Fleur's heart fluttered at her words, but at the same time, it made her feel vulnerable in a way she wasn't sure how to process. She was again clinging to the support of someone else. Someone who was offering it so freely, but for whom she wasn't sure she could give anything of value in return.

"I'll take you to the healer tomorrow," Hermione continued, as if reading her thoughts. "And if you need anything else, I'll be here."

Fleur stared at her for a moment, torn between gratitude and something else, something deeper. She felt her chest tighten. She couldn't bear to let Hermione see her this way, weak and vulnerable. But Hermione wasn't judging her. She was simply offering her a lifeline.

"I don't want to rely on you like this," Fleur whispered, the words catching in her throat.

"You don't have to be ashamed of it," Hermione said softly. "I want to help you. You're not a burden to me. You never will be."

The words settled between them, warm and soothing, but they also made Fleur feel a strange mix of emotions—relief, fear, and something else she wasn't ready to acknowledge yet.

Fleur nodded slowly, still feeling the tightness in her chest. "Thank you, Hermione. I don't know how to say it, but... I don't know what I'd do without you."

Hermione smiled, a small, gentle smile. "You don't have to say anything, Fleur. Just... take things one step at a time."

Fleur felt a pang in her chest at the thought of everything that still lay ahead. It wasn't going to be easy, but somehow, with Hermione beside her, it didn't seem quite as impossible.

Later that week, Fleur sat at the kitchen table, staring at the divorce papers. The envelope was unopened, the letter inside from Bill still fresh, a constant reminder of everything she had hoped wouldn't come to pass. He wanted to meet. And she knew she had to face him.

Hermione put down a tray with tea and biscuits, but she paused when she saw the papers.

"Fleur?" she said softly.

Fleur took a deep breath and looked at her. "Bill wants to meet."

"If you want I can go with you." Hermione offered, her eyes worried.

"No... I don't think he would do anything to me... it's more a matter of clearing things up between us." Fleur sighed heavily. "I have to do this myself."

Hermione studied her for a long moment, her eyes soft but full of concern. "I understand. But if you change your mind, I'll be there."

Fleur nodded, grateful.

Hermione's gaze lingered on her, and for a moment, Fleur felt an ache in her chest. She knew Hermione was offering friendship, more than just help.

As Fleur watched Hermione leave the room, she felt her heart beating faster. She wasn't sure where any of this would lead, but she knew that whatever happened next, Hermione would be there. That certainty was both comforting and terrifying.

And as she looked back at the letter from Bill, Fleur knew that no matter what came next, she had to face her past before she could even begin to consider a future.

***

The café was quiet, save for the soft clink of cups and murmurs of conversation that lingered in the air. It was a typical late autumn afternoon in Diagon Alley—chilly, but not quite winter. Fleur had arrived early, sitting at a small corner table, her hands folded around a cup of hot chocolate, steam rising in delicate spirals. She felt her heart pounding beneath her ribcage, each thud a reminder of the weight of what she was about to face.

When Bill walked in, his presence seemed almost muted. He was thinner than she remembered, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of everything—the divorce, the family, the failure—had settled permanently on him. He glanced around, his eyes falling on Fleur, and for a brief moment, their gazes met. He gave a small, broken smile as he made his way toward her.

Fleur's chest tightened. She hadn't seen him in days, and the space between them now felt vast, too wide to cross with a single conversation. But they had to. For their children. For what was left of their family.

"Fleur," Bill said softly as he sat down, his voice hoarse. His blue eyes, once full of fire, now looked dull, clouded with regret. "I...I wanted to apologize first... what I did to you is..." Bill swallowed hard. "A man shouldn't behave like that. I'm sorry, Fleur."

She nodded but said nothing. She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to bridge the gap that had grown between them. The space that had once been filled with love, passion, had shriveled into something hollow. But the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable—it was familiar, like they had both already accepted the inevitable.

Bill cleared his throat, trying to find the right words, though they seemed to catch in his throat every time. "I know I... failed you."

Fleur glanced at him, her eyes betraying a quiet sadness. "You didn't fail me, Bill. You... you didn't know how to handle what happened. But this..." She gestured between them, "this was going to happen. We've been drifting for so long. I just held on to the thought that maybe we could go back to the way things were... and that was my mistake."

Bill swallowed hard, his hand trembling as he took a sip of his coffee. "I don't want to hurt you anymore. I really don't." His voice cracked, and for a moment, he seemed smaller—defeated. "But I know I can't be the man you need. I've always wanted you to be mine since the day we met. Even knowing... especially knowing that somewhere out there in the world there was someone who was meant for you, your mate... that motivated me to keep you in a bubble, to not let you meet that person..." Bill confessed sadly. "I know it was selfish. My jealousy and insecurity destroyed what we had. And fate did its thing anyway... and so... it connected you with her..." Bill chuckled darkly and for a moment Fleur saw in him that flash of aggression she had seen when he had first hit her. But after a moment the flash disappeared, replaced by that gloomy, unrecognizable man who had once made her fall in love with him so easily with his charm.

The mention of her—Hermione—was like a sharp punch in the gut. Fleur's heart clenched painfully. But she forced herself to stay calm, her voice steady despite the flood of emotions rising within her.

"You're right," she said, softly but firmly. "I never wanted to hurt you either, Bill. But I couldn't keep pretending. Not after everything we've been through. Not when I couldn't give you what you wanted—what you thought you wanted. I'm sorry for that."

Bill nodded, his face pale. "I know. I know I... don't want to make things harder for you, Fleur. I want to be there for the kids. I'll pay for everything—whatever you need. The pregnancy... Victoire's schooling... You won't have to worry about that. I'll take care of it all."

Fleur met his eyes, her heart aching. He was trying so hard to do the right thing, but the truth was, it wasn't enough anymore. The years they had spent together—building a family, sharing dreams, building a life—had been fractured beyond repair. She couldn't pretend anymore, not for him, not for them.

"I appreciate that, Bill," she said quietly, her voice cracking slightly. "But... I don't need you to fix it. Not anymore."

Bill nodded again, and for the first time in what felt like years, he looked truly defeated. He closed his eyes, as if trying to block out the weight of it all, then opened them again, meeting her gaze with an almost desperate look.

"I just want to be with them. The kids. I want to see them every weekend. I need to be a part of their lives. I need them. I can't lose them. Not after all of this."

Fleur's heart tightened, but she forced a small, sad smile. "I'll make sure you see them. They're yours too. But you have to understand, this... us... it's over."

Bill sighed deeply, his expression hollow. "I know. I know it is." He looked down at his hands, fingers twisting around his cup. "I never wanted to lose you, Fleur. But I was never enough for you, was I?"

Fleur didn't know how to answer that. The truth was, she had always loved him in her own way—deeply, fiercely, in a way that was impossible to erase. But the way he had handled their relationship, his inability to let go of his possessiveness and jealousy, had crushed whatever was left between them. She couldn't keep living that way.

"I think... we just weren't right for each other anymore," Fleur said, her voice low, barely above a whisper. She reached for her bag, pulling out the divorce papers and sliding them across the table. "This is the best thing for all of us, Bill. For Victoire. For the baby. For me."

Bill looked at the papers, his expression pained but resigned. "I guess this is it then," he muttered, pushing the papers aside.

Fleur stood up, her heart heavy, but her mind made up. She wasn't sure what the future held. She didn't know what was going to happen with her life or with Hermione. But for the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of clarity.

As she turned to leave, she felt Bill's gaze on her, a silent plea for something she could never give him. And though it hurt to walk away, she knew it was the only way to move forward.

"You'll be alright, Fleur," he called after her, his voice small.

Fleur didn't turn back. She didn't need to. She was walking towards something new, something that might be better than what had come before. And for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was heading in the right direction.

***

The ward at St. Mungo's smelled faintly of lavender and antiseptic. Fleur sat on the examination bed, her robes neatly folded on her lap, hands resting on the swell of her stomach. It was still small, barely noticeable beneath her clothes, but to her, it felt immense—like a secret that hummed quietly beneath her skin.

Hermione sat nearby, leafing through a pamphlet on prenatal potions with that familiar crease between her brows. She looked up as the Healer came in, an older witch with kind eyes and ink-stained fingers.

"Well," the Healer said, waving her wand gently over Fleur's abdomen, "everything looks perfectly healthy. Heartbeat is steady, growth is on track. You're doing just fine, Miss Delacour."

Fleur let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"You will need to eat more regularly, though," the Healer added, a touch stern now. "Your blood sugar's a little low. Small, frequent meals. And I'm prescribing you a set of vitamins—vitamin D, iron, and a few magical supplements to help with stamina."

Fleur nodded, suddenly tired, and grateful not to be alone.

Hermione stood, already digging into her satchel. "We'll pick those up on the way home," she said briskly. "And I'm going to start making proper lunches. No more tea and crackers at two in the afternoon."

Fleur smiled faintly. "Oui, Madame Granger."

Hermione gave her a look. "Don't test me, Delacour."

That week, Hermione took Fleur on short walks through the quiet parts of London, bundled them both in scarves and gloves, and insisted on resting every twenty minutes. She charmed the flat to stay warm and stocked the kitchen with everything Fleur might crave. At night, when Victoire was asleep, they curled on the couch with books and hot chocolate, not speaking much, but not needing to.

Victoire, with her mother's silver-blonde hair and Bill's playful grin, was adapting well. She liked Hermione—was fascinated by her books and let her braid her hair in the mornings. But one evening, as Hermione was tidying up dinner, Victoire crawled onto Fleur's lap and asked in a small voice, "Maman, when do I see Papa again?"

Fleur's throat tightened. She kissed her daughter's head and said gently, "You'll see him this weekend, ma chérie. Just for a little while."

Victoire nodded solemnly and wrapped her arms around Fleur's neck. Neither of them said anything more.

After that, time passed in slow, healing increments.

Fleur started reading job listings in the paper. She knew she couldn't do anything too intense while pregnant, but she wanted to earn again—to feel useful.

Hermione supported her, but also warned her not to overextend. "You're allowed to rest, Fleur," she said one morning over tea. "This isn't failure—it's just a different phase of your life. You're allowed to take care of yourself."

With Hermione's help, Fleur enrolled Victoire in a small Muggle nursery down the street. It was bright and welcoming, and full of children of all kinds. Fleur hesitated at first, worried about whether Victoire would fit in, but her daughter adjusted within days—coming home with paint-stained hands and stories about new friends.

The flat began to feel like a home.

Then, three weeks later, a letter arrived by owl: the official decree finalizing her divorce. Just like that. It was over.

Fleur held the parchment for a long time in her hands, staring at the seal, the Ministry's insignia stamped beside her name and Bill's. She sat alone in the kitchen, a mug of cooling tea beside her. She felt... hollow. Lighter, but also strangely untethered. She hadn't realized how much of her identity had been tied to being a wife—his wife. Now, she was just Fleur.

Hermione came in quietly and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt," she said gently.

Fleur blinked rapidly, then nodded. "I know."

That weekend, Appoline arrived.

She swept into the flat like a storm, arms full of expensive shopping bags and perfume clinging to her elegant cloak. Victoire squealed with delight and ran to her, and Appoline scooped her up in one fluid motion before turning her sharp eyes on Fleur. Hermione looked at them awkwardly.

"You should have told me," she snapped in rapid French, "immediately, Fleur."

Fleur stiffened. "I didn't want to worry you."

"I am your mother. I deserve to worry!" Appoline set Victoire down gently and kissed her forehead. "I had to hear it from Astoria, and only because she showed up at our family dinner, after three months of travelling! Saying that Bill beat you up and that you're living with Hermione!"

Fleur's stomach twisted. "Astoria is back?"

As if summoned, Astoria leans out from behind Apolline, whose entrance and overwhelming presence left no room for her cousin Fleur to be noticed right away. There she was—Astoria, tanned from travel, her blonde hair pinned loosely at her neck.

"I came to talk," she said, looking past Fleur, her gaze landing on Hermione.

The air shifted, sharp and brittle.

Hermione glanced between them, then smiled stiffly. "Would you like to join me for lunch? There's a place nearby you always liked."

Astoria looked at Fleur again, hesitant, but nodded. "I'd like that."

They left together, and Fleur stood frozen in the living room, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"You're jealous," Appoline said plainly.

Fleur exhaled. "No. Yes. I don't know."

Her mother studied her with a cool, knowing expression. "You think you have nothing to offer. But you are wrong, ma fille. You have survived what would have crushed many others. That makes you infinitely more valuable than you think."

Fleur swallowed hard.

Appoline softened. "You were not born to be someone's possession, Fleur. You were born to be your own."

They sat together, the quiet hum of the city drifting in through the windows, and Fleur let herself lean into the moment of comfort. It was a start. The pieces of her life were still scattered, but she was beginning to see how they might fit back together—differently this time.

And somewhere out there, Hermione was walking beside another woman. But Fleur wasn't going to chase. Not now. Not until she could stand fully on her own two feet.

Appoline sipped her tea — elegantly, as always — while Fleur stared into her own cup, barely touched.

"I know I should have told you," Fleur murmured at last, her voice small.

Appoline set the porcelain cup down with a gentle clink. "You should have. But I am here now."

Fleur nodded, but her shoulders remained tense, her hands curled tightly around the mug.

"It's not just that I didn't want to worry you," she said slowly. "I didn't want you to see me like this. Divorced. Broke. Pregnant. Living in someone else's flat. I was embarrassed."

"Fleur—"

"I thought I could do it all. To hold on to this life that I have chosen and that you advised me to reflect on..." Her voice wavered. "But I couldn't. I let him get away with too much. And now... I have nothing."

Appoline didn't flinch. She waited, calm and composed — the storm in her daughter's heart nothing she hadn't weathered before.

Fleur continued, her throat tight. "I'm scared, Maman. About money, the baby, Victoire. About Bill changing his mind and taking her from me. About Hermione..."

She swallowed hard.

"She's been so kind, so patient. And I... I feel things I shouldn't. Not now. Not when she's probably with Astoria again." Her voice dropped into a whisper. "And why wouldn't she be? Astoria is beautiful. Accomplished."

Appoline's face softened.

Fleur laughed bitterly, wiping at her eyes. "I feel like I'm nothing. No job. No money. No home of my own. Just... a burden."

"That is nonsense," Appoline said sharply, but without malice. "You may have lost your footing, but you have not lost your worth. And that's what Hermione sees in you, my daughter."

Fleur stared at her. "You don't understand, Maman—"

"I do." Her mother reached across the table, took her hand. "You think you have to build your life all over again with nothing but your bare hands. But that is not true. You have your family. Your name. Your roots. You have people who love you."

Fleur looked down.

"You can always come back to France, ma chérie. No one has cast you out. You still have your inheritance, your share of the estate. No one would dare dispute it. And we would be happy to have you. Victoire could have the vineyard to run around in. You'd have space. Peace."

Fleur blinked fast.

"But I don't want to run," she said, voice hoarse. "I want to stand on my own this time. Even if it takes me longer. Even if it's hard. And there's Hermione... I've denied my mate for so long... I don't want to be far from her again, although I'm not ready for anything more yet... I feel calm and safe here."

Appoline's eyes glistened, but she nodded.

"Then I will support you however I can. But do not for one moment believe that you have no place to turn."

Fleur let out a long, shuddering breath and leaned into her mother's arms, feeling for the first time in weeks like a child again — not in weakness, but in the safety of being loved.

For a while, they sat like that in silence.

Then Fleur whispered, "I think I love her."

Appoline brushed a hand through her hair.

"Then give yourself time to be someone who can love freely. Not from fear. Not from desperation. From choice."

Fleur began to cry again, thinking about Hermione and Astoria.

"But now, when she's finally starting to look at me differently... I'm pregnant with someone else's child, I'm divorced, barely scraping by, and my cousin is back. It's all... so messy."

Appoline squeezed her hand a little tighter.

"Fleur," she said gently, "the mate bond isn't just passion or destiny. It's patience. It's understanding. It's fate that sometimes needs time to unfold. And fate, as you well know... always finds a way."

"What if she chooses someone else?" Fleur asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Then you'll have every right to grieve," Appoline said honestly. "But you'll also have the strength to carry on. Because the bond works both ways — if she truly feels the same, then no Astoria, no past, no complication will stand in the way of what's meant to be."

For the first time in a long while, Fleur smiled—small, shaky, but genuine.

"Thank you, Maman."

Appoline stroked her cheek tenderly.

"You don't need to thank me. Just don't forget who you are. You are a Vélane. You are my daughter. And you are stronger than you think."