Chapter Text
Fleur Delacour luxuriated in the eucalyptus and rose scented water that caressed her slender, naked body. Her hands skimmed along the calm surface as the toes on her left foot playfully teased along her other submerged calf. She tipped her head back, long silver strands of hair haloing her face as the candlelight played across her delicate features. She raised a hand to touch the crystal wineglass hovering magically at the lip of the claw foot bathtub. She sighed in contentment and peace, her body melting into the pleasure and warmth surrounding her. At this moment she could not be any more grateful to Ginny Potter.
With the party happening at the Potter’s manor in Godric’s Hollow tonight, and with Molly and Arthur Weasley undoubtedly already in attendance, Fleur’s sister-in-law had offered for Victoire to come early as well. No doubt the red-heads plan was for all the elder kids to watch all the younger and hopefully Ginny would be able to get her house in order. Fleur had offered to arrive with her daughter to help but had politely been rebuked; Ginny had only demanded that at some point in the future Fleur would return the favour and grant Ginny a children-free afternoon.
It hadn’t taken Fleur long to pour herself a glass of wine and end up in the tub of her personal bathroom. It was a more modern room than in the rest of the house and had been a gift to herself several years ago. The tiles were white with black accents and the fixtures all silver and chrome. The white porcelain tub she resided in was the oldest feature of the room but Fleur couldn’t comprise with its comfort. She had brought herself a few articles to read that had caught her eye over the last few weeks but she hadn’t even looked at them yet. She was pleased she had taken the time to scent and salt the water and her skin just felt so delicious she could do nothing but soak.
Her wand was floating beside her wineglass and a spell before she had entered the water kept the temperature sinfully warm. With her eyes closed the passage of time meant little to nothing and it wasn’t until she heard the whoosh from downstairs that signalled the Floo had deposited someone in her living room that she realized how late it must have gotten. Still, she didn’t move from her soak. A small pleasant smile touched her lips as she heard the unmistakable footsteps of her husband, her best friend, on the stairs heading in her direction.
She still didn’t open her eyes until after he had knocked politely and she’d bid him enter. Bill Weasley was still tall and ruggedly handsome. His long red hair was in its customary ponytail though the earrings he now wore were golden hoops; gifts from his wife many years ago. His meeting today had been at Gringotts so he was wearing simple grey robes instead of dragonhide pants and a jacket. His smile was warm and it brought a lightness to his face even through his facial scars.
Fleur noticed that Bill kept his warm eyes directly on hers. She knew that he was long since used to the thrall that surrounded her, and pervaded the senses of those around her, but he also didn’t react simply to the fact that she was naked before him. Her thrall, the magical senses she inherited from her full-blooded Veela grandmother, retreated further into dormancy.
“Hullo love.” Bill leaned over the tub and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Do you feel better?”
Fleur knew he only referenced the headache she had mentioned in passing this morning before he left and smiled at his thoughtfulness. “The bath ‘as cured me of my ‘eadache.”
“Oh good.” He smiled again. “Vic already over there?”
“Your sister was ‘opeful she and James and Teddy would watch the younger ones and keep them out of her ‘air.”
“And who was keeping mum out of her hair?” Bill teased and Fleur chuckled.
“Well it certainly wasn’t Molly’s favourite son.”
“Why, what was Harry busy doing?” Bill joked and Fleur laughed again. It was so very easy to laugh with Bill. “Should we start getting ready?”
“Yes, we should.” Fleur sighed but she really didn’t mind. She stood from her bath, water flowing down from her hair and trailing across her skin. Her hands reached upward, accentuating her chest, as she gently gathered her waist length hair to wring the water from it. She noticed from the corner of her eye that Bill watched the action but it was almost absentmindedly.
She stepped from the tub, her movements graceful, and he seemed to shake himself out of his introspection. He reached out for a fluffy white towel and held it out for her so Fleur could wrap it around her body.
“Sorry love,” he said of his delay in the action, “was lost Merlin knows where for a second. Are you wearing robes, or more casual wear? It’s not a dress event is it, because then I feel like I need to be in a suit.”
“You don’t need a suit.” Fleur grinned at him. “But you look ever so ‘andsome in one.”
His face twisted. “Aw man, you are wearing a dress?”
Fleur was using most of the towel to gently touch the ends of her hair now that her skin was no longer glistening. “No, silly man. Would you like me to pick out your outfit?” She was teasing but he grinned in relief.
“Sure, you’re the best love.” With that he pecked a kiss against her wet hair and let himself out of her bathroom. His footsteps had only reached the landing of the stairs before they returned but Fleur had already banished her towel to the laundry room and stood naked before her floor length mirror. “I almost forgot,” he said, hands in his inner robes as he walked back in the bathroom, “oh sorry love.” She merely arched an eyebrow and stood before him completely confidently and unabashed.
“Yes?”
“There was post waiting, you had a letter. The owl is waiting for a return.” He handed it over and left her with another smile. Fleur hardly noticed him leaving. Her entire being was focused on the letter for she recognized it immediately.
They were always the same when they came and she was always waiting for them. The parchment was bland and generic. It was also weathered, as though it had traveled a great distance to get to her. It had no wax and was simply sealed shut with magic. Her name was embossed on the front in simple black ink; only her first name was included. The letters always simply read Fleur.
The presence of the letter sent a lightning bolt of energy through her system; her magic crackled in her veins and her thrall hummed in her blood. Her fingers shook slightly as she touched the envelope, feeling over its entire surface with her fingertips before tracing the letters of her name several times.
Fleur.
Fleur.
She had no care for her naked state. She had no thoughts of the party she was supposed to be getting ready for or for her husband downstairs waiting. Her only thoughts were the letter. Her thrall danced around her body and she idly knew that likely anyone in the room with her right now would have difficulty fighting off its effects.
Her wand was in her hand and she magically split the envelope open down the one side. She did it neatly, for she always kept even the envelope. Her eyes were greedy, filled with anticipation and longing for the words she knew to be penned purposefully on the single sheet of parchment. As ever, she wasn’t disappointed. The sender would never disappoint her; not in this.
There was no introduction, nor a greeting. There was no signature or send off at the bottom. The only words were penned in the middle in eight simple lines.
A rose in bloom wilts anew so soon
Petals settle under the rose, blood red turning to gold
Brown hues infuse, decay washes away the scent
Lament the flower, the love to empower is gone, passed on to the earth who shelters in her loving embrace
Is it a misplaced disgrace that the symbol of love wilts so soon, or does the embrace of nature know more about the nature of man
Greedy hands, extensions of greedy eyes, prize in sight and forever reaching, leaching the innocence of the flower
The eyes of greed is the reason nature gifted the rose with thorns, it warns the hands, demands attention as the guardian of roses
And so it begins again, blood from the thorn stains the hues of brown and from the decay rises a new rose another day.
Fleur felt a little like her legs would not support her. Her body was infused with feeling. The words touched her and her thrall reacted so strongly she could feel it influencing even her. The words, the poem, on the page were filled with such heartbreak, such longing, such pain. But even still they spoke of such hope that Fleur couldn’t help but want to cry in release of the pain. Fleur sat down on the lip of the claw foot tub, still naked, and somehow that felt more proper to her. She was naked and vulnerable, without mask or barrier; as the person who poured their heart out on the pages was.
As impossible as it was, Fleur felt more seen from just this letter than she had felt at any other point in her life. She had always been set apart and outside of everyone in her life. Her Beauxbatons schoolmates had always placed her on a pedestal because of her class and her beauty; but every remark showed that they couldn’t see through her thrall. She was always discussed as the most beautiful and sought after in the school instead of the most accomplished dueler or the academic top of her class even though those things were also true.
Even after the war she was always set apart for some reason or another. She was too French in Britain, or too feminine to be a good curse-breaker. Even now with her family who could see through her thrall they still set her apart even if they didn’t mean to. The family she surrounded herself with were amazing people and they didn’t let it influence them; that was also part of the problem. They forgot her thrall was there. They forgot that one of the most important parts of Fleur’s heritage was as a magical creature. Fleur had sat through many an awkward casual discussion about the rights of magical creatures, half-bloods and quarter-bloods and yet no one thought about the quarter-blood sitting with them. Didn’t think that perhaps Fleur would have an opinion about how her own people were treated by the magical community.
Her fingertips had not stopped shaking as she touched the letter. But now she felt seen. She would spend days reading and re-reading the poem until she had it memorized; until it had become an engrained part of her being. Her blue eyes scanned over the words again; even her thrall seemed to shudder as she read the lines about greedy hands and eyes again. She had spent her life surrounded by greedy hands and eyes. Those that assumed her thrall meant every advance was wanted; and warranted. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, tears welling in her eyes again, but a small smile touched her lips by the time she had finished.
From the decay rises a new rose another day.
And Fleur had. She had risen. She had battled through every stigma, every assumption, every stereotype. She had found someone, someone kind and gentle and honourable, who wasn’t influenced by her thrall and made her feel safe and content. She had produced the most wonderful child, a beautiful girl who lit up Fleur’s world with wonder and curiosity.
She stroked the words that had been written for her again. Her thoughts turned outward, away from herself, and wondered at the experiences of the author. She wondered what had caused these particular words to be inked onto parchment. The first few letters, years and years ago, had been copies of professional works that Fleur had either known or been pleased to discover. And then the words had changed from famous poets, long since dead, to amateur; Fleur had known immediately that they were original and unique. That the author had taken the time, had the patience and the inclination to write them just for her. Fleur had loved the works all the more.
“Fleur?” A shout up the stairs broke her introspection and she jumped, almost slipping off the tub and instinctively hiding the parchment behind her back. She chided herself a moment later for reacting like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “Have we decided we’re not going? I already made an attempt at an outfit.”
Fleur rolled her eyes affectionately. “Coming, dear.” When she rose Fleur set the letter down on her makeup table in front of the mirror. She couldn’t help but read the poem one more time. She paused at every word, noticed the stroke of the quill, the beautiful but precise penmanship, the care in every word and she let the soul of the work flow over her body once again. She could do nothing else except appreciate the work and hope the author was alright.
Please be alright Hermione.
**
Dinners, parties and get-togethers with her British family were always the same and Fleur was comforted and content by the predictability. The children were wild when they were all together and their energy ran circles around all of the adults. Molly would fuss and Harry would run polite interference between his mother-in-law and his wife. Arthur would catch up with Bill and Charlie and Percy about the Ministry and the bank and Quidditch while George would duck out of the boring conversations by playing with the children or getting Ron into trouble. Ron himself would drink too much firewhiskey and get himself into trouble with his mother and the cycle would begin again.
Fleur, for her part, would be seated with the rest of the wives after dinner. Ginny and Angelina Johnson, George’s wife, and Audrey, who was married to Percy, would convene to gossip and bemoan their husbands and their children while truly being affectionate about everyone and everything. Fleur had very little to complain about and often joked that Bill must be too perfect.
Others would come and go from the parties, old friends and new colleagues alike. Neville Longbottom, with his wife Hannah in toe, would almost always make an appearance. Arriving this time quite out of the blue was Luna Lovegood and her husband Rolf Scamander.
“To Harry!”
The sudden toast almost startled Fleur and she raised her goblet, which she belatedly realized to be empty, a second late. Harry was blushing being the center of attention, as he still did, but Fleur could easily read the happiness on his face while surrounded by all his loved ones. Happiness suited Harry, and the stress that had been off his shoulders for a year now made even more of a difference. His hair was still wild, his eyes still startlingly green, and the scar on his forehead that had been what set him apart from everyone else was still present on his skin. But now he seemed to stand even straighter; he had gained muscle and healthy weight from the lanky boy he had been when Fleur first met him but now it seemed like his soul had lost weight. Several people called out for Harry to make a speech and he refused with a shy hand until Ginny rose to clutch his hand in both of hers, taking her place beside him. Harry, as he always did, melted into the warmth of the firey red-head at his side.
“I’m happy you could all be here to celebrate this little party with us.” Harry started looking around at everyone. Even the children had slunk back into the drawing room where the adults were, and various parents reached out to hold them still while Harry spoke. Fleur smiled at Victoire, her silver haired mini-me, happily leaning into her father’s side. “It’s officially now been one year since I quit being an auror at the Ministry,” Ginny’s cheer was the loudest at this reminder, “and I’ve officially completed one year as a teacher at Hogwarts.” More cheers and claps followed this proclamation and Fleur smiled warmly at the happy couple.
Ginny had spoken to her for years about Harry’s work as an auror. He was unquestionably good at what he did and no one would ever take away the good he had done in the Magical Law Enforcement Office. But only Ginny was witness to Harry at home. Harry took too much to heart. Fleur remembered being heartbroken at how Ginny had broken down because she felt like she was watching her husband waste away and crack under the weight of what he was doing. Every case he couldn’t solve in time, every life lost, every colleague hurt; Harry wore those failures like a personal demon. Fleur had actually highlighted the situation the simplest and Ginny had used her words to confront Harry.
“Just because he is good at something,” Fleur had whispered into Ginny’s hair as she cried, “doesn’t mean it is good for him. It doesn’t mean he was meant to do it.”
Harry had quit the department last year with no regrets and his family had delighted in watching the light return to his face and eyes.
“I don’t think I could have done it without the help of my family and fellow Professors at Hogwarts.” Harry continued. “Fleur,” Harry singled her out and Fleur smiled warmly while all the eyes in the room flicked to her, “and Neville.” Fleur touched her empty goblet again, wishing it was full, once the eyes had turned to a bashfully smiling Neville. “You guys helped keep me sane and confident when it felt like the students were going to overrun me. I thank you for everything you both did to make sure my first year was successful. And I’m so happy to announce to everyone that we must have done something right, because I’ve been chosen to represent Gryffindor as its new Head of House.” More cheering and clapping followed this announcement from the predominately Gryffindor party. Fleur did clap along with everyone else though her grin was also a little wry.
Headmistresses McGonagall had undoubtedly made the right choice; but it had also been her only one. Last year Harry, a first time teacher, and Neville had been the only two Gryffindor’s on the teaching staff and this year Neville had turned down McGonagall’s offer. It wasn’t that Neville hadn’t wanted the responsibility again, he had simply decided that Harry should be the one representing their house.
Fleur was the only professor not attached to a particular house. McGonagall had offered to sort Fleur when she’d accepted the Charms teaching position three years ago but Fleur had declined. She had said she wanted to remain true to her Beauxbatons roots; this was true, however she also didn’t want to put a hat on her head that had been on the heads of thousands of others. She just hadn’t mentioned that last part to McGonagall.
“You look like you need this.” Ginny’s voice was suddenly near her ear and she noticed the red-head pouring her more wine in her goblet. Fleur hadn’t even realized that the hosting couple had separated and Harry was busy getting a dozen pats on the back in celebration.
“Excusez-moi.” Fleur almost blushed. “I’m simply a million miles away tonight.”
“Everything alright?” This question garnered the attention of Angelina, sitting on Fleur’s right.
“Yes, of course.” Fleur said automatically. Angelina and Ginny shared matching raised eyebrows.
“Hmm.” Angelina hummed low in her throat. She leaned closer and dropped her voice down. “That sounded like the same “yes of course” I gave when Fred and Roxanne were running me ragged and George was hurt from experimenting with the new Wildfire Whiz-bangs. Don’t you think Gin?”
“Sure do.” Ginny agreed with a sassy look. “And the same “yes of course” I gave when watching Harry drown in his sorrows without reaching out for me was breaking apart my marriage.” They both waited and Fleur could do nothing but shrug.
“Everything is fine ladies.” Fleur assured them. “Everything with Bill is wonderful, Victoire is ‘appy and ‘ealthy, I love my job at ‘ogwarts.” Fleur couldn’t help but feel a little defensive as her sister-in-laws continued to stare her down as if she was hiding something.
And she wasn’t. Fleur didn’t have a secret, she had nothing to gossip about. Her life was perfectly on track and ordinary; she was content in the comfort of it. All she wanted was to gather her husband and daughter later and return to their home.
A niggling thought encroached upon her defences. She did want that; she did want to go home. But it was to return to Hermione’s letter. She hadn’t gotten a chance to finish her response and the owl, she knew from experience, wouldn’t wait around forever for it. She had been preparing her return message for a week now, knowing from the date that Hermione’s letter was soon to come, but something about her own missive had just never felt finished to her.
It wasn’t until Ginny laid a hand on her arm that she realized she’d drifted away again. Angelina and Ginny, so completely opposite in appearance with Angelina’s dark skin and dark eyes, were somehow giving her the most identical concerned looks. She was saved from having to defend herself, and her life, from them again by the appearance of the children. Fred and Roxanne, with Albus right on their heels, tore through the room at high speed almost taking out Molly Weasley coming in from the kitchen with desserts. Ginny and Angelina both sprang into action to corral their kids and Fleur slipped away from the table.
Bill was still enjoying his conversation with Charlie and Percy so Fleur let him be. Victoire had disappeared from his side so Fleur glanced around to see where her daughter had gotten to.
“Need something to drink?” Ron asked as she passed him. He had been changing the station on the radio in the corner and getting another bottle of firewhiskey from the top shelf above it.
Fleur answered almost without thinking about it. “Oui. Would you pour me something?” Bill hadn’t touched anything all night save some Butterbeer to her knowledge, and one glass of something stronger wouldn’t hurt her. Ron looked surprised but didn’t comment.
Ron had grown so much since Fleur had first met him. He had always been particularly effected by her thrall, though in the last several years he had either learned to control himself better, or gotten over it. He was almost impossibly tall, edging out all of his older brothers, though his chest and arms weren’t as scrawny and stretched as they had been. His freckles were already popping on his pale skin even though it was only the beginning of summer.
“Here you go.” His voice, a little less deep than Bill’s but so similar, made her think of her husband. “It’s mostly Ogden’s, but I put a splash of redcurrent rum in there too.” At her pleased hum he grinned.
“That’s really quite delicious. Thank you Ronald.” The burn on her throat, soothed by hints of berry flavour, was exactly what she wanted.
“Can’t let those bartending skills go to waste.” He joked. Fleur was glad that he still seemed in high spirits. It was common knowledge in the family that Ron had been jealous, and embarrassed, when his auror application had not gone through on the first try as Harry’s had. Ron, without a seventh year at Hogwarts and no NEWT’s to his name had been forced to take any job he could to try and help his parents while he still lived at home. He had ended up employed by Tom, the landlord and innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron, to help tend the bar. He had worked as a bartender for almost two years before George convinced his younger brother to join him at the joke shop.
“Well it is quite the drink.” Fleur remarked.
“I saw you escape from Gin and Lina’s clutches.” Ron admitted. “Thought maybe you could use it.” Some in the family might be surprised that Fleur actually enjoyed her time with Ron perhaps the most out of all Bill’s brothers. She doubted that Molly, and maybe even Ginny, even knew that they actually spent time together socially. There was just something about Ron’s emotional, honest observation and remarks that made him seem a little French. Fleur had found a friend in her husbands’ youngest brother. He was a good companion, albeit a brash one, that made her miss home a little less.
“I think they were searching for something that wasn’t there.” Fleur said while she sipped her drink again.
“You got no gossip to give?” Ron eyed her carefully. “So you and Bill have had sex recently then?”
“Ron!” She shushed him and slapped his arm even as his words made her laugh. He accepted the slap on his muscular bicep without comment and no one around them, thankfully all out of her earshot, thought it anything odd that Ron would need reprimanding. “That’s none of anyone’s business, including yours.”
“So that’s a no, then.” He chuckled as he tipped back his own drink and finished it. “Fleur. You told me you wanted wild and passionate sex-”
“Ron!”
“And if big brother isn’t cutting it-”
“Ronald!” She slapped his arm again but her giggling belayed any actual anger. Any proposition Ron gave her was always in jest and she knew, deep down, it was Ron’s way of trying to get her to open up. “Bill and I are very ‘appy, d’accord? Your brother loves me, and we love our daughter, and I am very-”
“Content.”
“Pardon?”
“I knew you were going to say content, because that’s what you always say.” Ron rebuked her gently. He was reaching for the bottle of firewhiskey again but at her arched eyebrow he groaned and snagged a Butterbeer from Arthur who was passing them instead. “You always say content.” He continued. “I believe you. But we weren’t talking about content. We were talking about the wild passionate sex you’re missing.”
“And what wild and passionate sex are you ‘aving?” Fleur tried to turn the tables on him, but Ron was ready for her.
“Zero. And that’s why I’m only content with my life, and not happy in it.”
Fleur scowled at him. “Vous êtes impossible.”
“You only call me impossible when you can’t think of something else to say.” Ron didn’t politely give her a moment to collect her thoughts like someone else might have. She never begrudged him his honesty, even if he had little tact.
She finally sighed and tipped down the remains of her own drink. “Perhaps after one more of these delicious drinks of yours, I shall go home with my ‘usband and have wild, crazy sex.”
“I hope one of us gets some.” Ron toasted her with his glass. “Are we still on for drinks this weekend? I’m positive now that I’ve done it a few times I can master bowling without cheating.”
“You’re ‘opeless at bowling Ronald, but if you want to keep losing sickles to me betting on it, I’ll ‘appily meet you in muggle London this weekend. I was just saying-” her words were cut off when James, Harry and Ginny’s oldest, came tearing into the room and almost knocked into her elbow.
“Oi!” Ron hollered after him.
“Sorry aunt Fleur!” James called. The apology drew the eye of both Ginny and Molly and suddenly James found himself the centre of attention.
“What have I told you about running in the house?” Ginny demanded.
“To not do it.” James, recently finished his first year at Hogwarts, replied somewhat cheekily.
“You want to ever play outside again you’ll start listening to those rules.” Ginny threatened but James was grinning again, clearly knowing he was going to get let off easy with his entire family present.
“Mom can I ask war questions now?” James blurted out while he had his mothers attention. Ginny in an instant looked mortified.
“James!”
“What?” The eleven year old seemed not to know what he had said wrong. Mercifully Harry wasn’t in the immediate vicinity as even Ginny turned to make sure her husband hadn’t heard. “This morning you said there was a time and a place!”
“And this is not the time nor the place.” Ginny hissed quietly, although most everyone was at least pretending not to hear her moment with her son.
“But everyone at school knows more about the war than I do!” James complained again. “I have questions! Not bad ones! Just like, what happened to Hermione Granger?”
Every conversation absolutely ceased in a heartbeat. The last sound Fleur heard was the breath Ron sucked in until only the softly playing radio behind them broke the silence. Fleur and Ron both turned to see Harry, completely frozen returning from the kitchen and staring at his son intently. Fleur couldn’t reach him, but she could comfort Ron. She laid a hand delicately on his arm; his muscles were flexing and bunching beneath his skin like he was in fight or flight mode.
“Son.” Harry only had eyes for James. “Why do you ask that?” The happiness that had been so prevalent in Harry’s face had dimmed; it made his green eyes look murky.
“We learned about her in school.” James looked around, seemingly able to feel what his question had done to all the adults in the room. “Even our textbooks say she’s yours and uncle Ron’s best friend. But we’ve never met her. Teddy and Vicky and I,” Fleur tensed at the mention of her daughter, and found James’s apparent co-conspirator once again hiding behind her father, “even checked on the memorial at school before we left but it doesn’t say she died.”
Harry swallowed thickly. Ron’s jumping arm muscles finally relaxed a degree as Harry took a knee in front of James. “Son, the reason we say that there is a time and a place for everything is because…this is hard for us to talk about. We lost…so many loved ones and friends in that war. And I wish you didn’t have to hear or know anything about it, but it’s important you do so we don’t ever repeat past mistakes.” James was getting awkward under the attention and Harry reached out to grip his shoulder. “But I’m sorry. If you’re curious and have questions we shouldn’t shut them down. I’d rather you hear some things from us, from our family, than by gossip at school.”
Ginny stood at Harry’s back. “Is that what happened?” Ginny asked quietly. “You and Victoire heard something at school about Hermione?” She was so seldom mentioned anymore Ginny’s mouth almost looked awkward saying her name. James nodded to her question.
“I understand your curiosity.” Harry soothed his son, who was getting upset. “I know it’s a lot for you, being my son, and uncle Ron’s nephew. I know you get asked a lot of things, and I’m sure that makes you feel badly when you don’t know the answers.”
“We couldn’t even answer if she was dead.” James said. He didn’t know that to most of the adults in the room, his father especially, those words felt like a physical blow. The energy was being sapped from the room, the happiness draining away to memories of war times. Bill had scooped up Victoire, though at eleven she was usually too old to want to be held by her papa. Angelina had surrounded George, holding the man who would always and forever be missing his twin, while her husband still managed to outstretch a hand to hold Molly’s, who had lost a son.
Harry’s breath shuddered like his chest was cracking under the pain the question caused him. Fleur’s own heart broke watching him and Ron crumble. Her thrall, usually dormant around her family, surrounded her like a child might get wrapped up in a safety blanket.
“I,” Harry’s eyes were filled with tears now, “I can’t answer that, buddy. I don’t know if Hermione is alive. She could be…”
Fleur never decided to speak. She didn’t think about anything other than the poetry that was still burning its way through her soul. “’ermione isn’t dead.” She declared. “She’s alive.” She said the words very matter of fact and only after realized her mistake as every single eye in the room turned to stare at her.
Merde.