Chapter Text
July 10th, 1995 - Fleur
«Something is wrong with her,» Mamie’s familiar cutting voice, a hard and threatening tone.
«She cared about him, Mamie, they were friends.» Gabrielle’s gentle lilt. A lullaby against Mamie’s storm.
Fleur groaned, drifting deep below. Their voices were muffled by lakewater.
«They were friends,» a scoff, «just a human boy.»
The tremor in Mamie’s voice couldn't be muffled. Concern.
Fleur struggled for the glass surface of the water, reaching as far as she could, gaining mere inches with each labored pull. She dug deep and tried to will more strength into the burning muscles of her arms.
Mamie’s voice reached out like a hand to stop Gabrielle, «How close were they?»
«What?»
«Fleur and this boy. How close were they?»
Something was weighing her down. Her lungs clenched. She looked down and found a pale hand coming up from the blackness, wrapped around her ankle.
«I don’t know, they were friends. Why do you ask? What’s wrong?»
She slammed her heel down against the wrist until its fingers loosened and watched it sink back into the murk. Her heart went with it—dropped in her chest like a misshapen rock, an unwieldy and painful swallow that settled heavy in the pit of her gut.
She was drowning, icy lake water flooding her sinuses. The surface shimmered far above—she’d never reach it in time.
She opened her mouth to scream but water rushed in until she was choking.
«Fleur!»
Fleur shot upright, gasping. Air—real air—flooded her lungs, and she sucked it in until her chest ached. Her hands fisted in soft white linens. The familiar walls of her bedroom at Mamie's house blurred into focus.
Mamie and Gabrielle were at her side.
«You’re alright,» Mamie hushed, stroking Fleur’s hair.
Fleur swallowed and nodded, worked to even out her breaths.
«Gabrielle, please leave us.» The edge had crept back into Mamie’s voice.
«But—»
«Gabrielle.» Her tone left no room for discussion.
Gabrielle took one last look at Fleur, squeezed her hand, and left, closing the door softly behind her.
Fleur stared at her hands, willing the trembling to stop.
«You are still having nightmares about the cemetery?»
Fleur looked up. «No.»
«Something else, then?» The curiosity pressed.
Fleur licked her lips and shook her head, «I’m fine.»
Mamie sighed, her expression unreadable as she nodded. They sat quietly for a moment before her hand closed firmly over Fleur’s, stilling them. «We need to talk.»
Fleur pulled her hand away and fought free of her blankets, turning away and sitting at the edge of her bed, «I said I’m fine.»
«I believe you, Fleur, but something has changed in you. I can feel it.» The bed shifted as Mamie stood.
Fleur looked down at her toes, stretched a leg out to brush them against the floor, and blinked against the vision of that clutching, begging hand.
«Fleur,» Mamie had seemingly grown impatient waiting for a response. «Don’t you feel different?»
«Different?» It swelled behind her ribs, hot and suffocating, until Fleur was sure she couldn't hold it back a moment longer, «Different?!»
She shot to her feet, spinning to put the bed between them.
Mamie’s eyebrow arched, the corner of her lips curling. «Sit down, Fleur.»
Fleur's eyes dropped. She took a step back to the bed, lowered herself to the mattress in slow-motion. The anger drained out of her, everything moving in reverse like a broken vase reassembling after a hard fall. Until she'd never left the bed, never made an outburst at all. She let out a shaky breath.
Mamie circled the bed until she filled Fleur's vision. «Fleur, I am a bit worried.»
«I thought you believed me.» Her mouth was tacky, her voice cracked. «I’m fine.»
Mamie tutted. «You’ve been…acting strangely.»
«My friend was killed in front of me,» Fleur gruffed.
«That’s not what I meant.»
Fleur rubbed her face roughly with both hands, «Mamie, please…»
«You have been agitated, ruffled,» Mamie said, stepping away to pace with an air of deliberation. «You’ve been having trouble sleeping, your magic is—»
«My friend was murdered. In front—»
«—reaching for someone.»
Fleur froze. Mamie stopped, turning slowly to face her. «I am concerned that the boy…»
Fleur shook her head. «No.»
«I can sense it in your magic.» The fear in her song carried an undertone of excitement. «If he was your mate, Fleur…»
Even now. Even in the face of her devastation, Mamie was brimming with pride.
She was plunged back under—freezing, numb—but heat scorched through her, metallic and boiling, spilling from between her lips like blood. From her eyes like tears.
Like bronze.
The certainty of it struck.
«It wasn’t him.»
Mamie leaned closer, took a step towards her, «It wasn’t him?»
«Isn’t.» Fleur corrected. «It isn’t him.»
Mamie's gaze held hers. Fleur made herself stand tall under it. Finally, Mamie let out a sigh. Relief. «That’s…» She exhaled again, softer. «I’m glad to hear it.»
Fleur’s hands began to tremble all over again.
Hermione. Hermione Granger.
Mamie was waiting, watching. Fleur's gaze drifted to her palm, traced the deep furrow that curved around her thumb. Her fate line.
«She’s a human.»
Mamie let out a whistle—a low, barely audible register. «It’s...it’s alright, Fleur. They…» A sigh slipped through her nose, «it is still a blessing.»
A hollow laugh scraped out of her. «A blessing?»
Mamie’s eyes narrowed and she moved closer still, warning radiating from her in waves. «Yes, Fleur, a blessing. You are special.»
«I’m not special.»
«You are special.» Unyielding. The protest died in Fleur's throat. «I’ve always known. From the moment your mother placed you in my arms, I knew.»
Mamie shook her head, her voice an awe-filled aria. «My granddaughter, mate-bonded.»
«We’re not—» Fleur’s breath caught. «I-I can’t.»
«You can’t what?» A hint of talon.
She couldn’t. Hermione was…
She dug her thumb into that fate line, pressed until the nail bit sharp, until something gave and pain radiated up her forearm. «She’s not ready. I’m not ready.»
Silence. Then a laugh burst forth—harsh and wild—a murder of crows scattering into the air. «Not ready? Fleur, are you mad? This is the greatest honor a veela can experience. You have been chosen for this, brought into this world with a soul bound to another. It is rare, a blessing beyond measure.» The reverence in her tone curdled. «‘Not ready’ is not an option.»
Fleur closed her eyes, «It’s an honor, but—»
«But nothing!» An angry note, sharp enough to cut. «I’ll hear no more of it.»
Fleur's jaw clenched. Back straight, chin high. She looked past her grandmother. Through her.
«Denying your mate-bond is not an option, Fleur. This is your chance to be more than a half-breed.»
She absorbed the blow.
«This is your chance to claim the respect worthy of my granddaughter.»
Fleur clasped her hands behind her back, her thumb pressing deep into the line of her palm. She nodded stiffly. «Yes, Mamie.»
July 12th, 1995 - Fleur
«Is it true?»
Fleur rolled her eyes, sliding over to make room for Gabrielle at the table. «No.»
«Briana says you’re mate-bonded.» Gabrielle cooed, ripping a chunk of steaming bread in half.
«Ah yes, Briana,» Fleur muttered, snatching the remaining piece of bread from Gabrielle’s plate. She chirped sharply when Gabrielle glared in retaliation.
«Girls,» Mamie’s voice was a low warning from the head of the table.
They settled.
Fleur leaned closer and hissed, «What does Briana know, anyway? You should know better than to listen to your little fledgeling friends.»
Gabrielle tossed her hair back over a shoulder and shot Fleur a haughty look. «Both of her mothers are on the council, Fleur, she knows more than you think.»
Fleur scoffed around a mouthful of bread. «Since when do you care about council rumors?»
«Since they went from which girls should be chosen for the next sparring competition to»—she glanced around to make sure no one was listening, dipping into a quiet trill—«whether or not my sister, the half-breed has a mate.»
Fleur busied herself with her lunch, «I’m not mate-bonded.»
They ate, half-listening as Mamie outlined her plans to update the training grounds. Fleur cast her sister the occasional glance. A laugh came as she joked with their grandfather about something Fleur didn’t follow—something about mushroom hunting.
«We’re having dinner in the communal hall tonight,» Mamie called them to attention as her mate cleared their plates. «It’s important that you both arrive on time.» She aimed a pointed look at Gabrielle, who only fluttered past, pressing a kiss to their grandmother’s cheek and waving as she swept out of the dining room.
Mamie let out a tired sigh and rolled her eyes, but Fleur could see the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She ducked her head and hid her own spreading grin.
When Mamie cleared her throat, Fleur glanced up. The moment was gone. «Fleur, we should talk about your mate.»
Fleur stood, setting her napkin down on the table and taking a quick step back to avoid her grandfather as he passed through again.
«I have some concerns,» Mamie’s voice softened briefly as her mate brushed by, but hardened again as her gaze fixed on Fleur, «you don’t seem to be taking this discovery seriously.»
«What do you want me to do? The girl is a country away.»
One of Mamie’s arched eyebrows climbed further up her forehead, «Yes, that’s my concern.»
«I—»
«Fleur.» Mamie’s lips pressed into a thin line as she stood slowly, smoothing the front of her blouse. Fleur knew better than to take comfort in her lack of eye contact. «Tomorrow morning, you are to retrieve your mate.»
«Retrieve my—?»
Mamie held up a hand to silence her. «You will find the girl and you will bring her back here. She must learn to understand your power, understand her place in it.»
Something instinctual flared in Fleur’s chest. «She doesn't even know. What any of this means, the role she'd be expected to play in it. You want me to bring her here to-to…» Fleur’s anger faltered as her grandfather appeared in the doorway.
“Yes?” Mamie’s tone was cold, but she spared him a glance.
“The sentries have spotted Apolline just outside the village wards,” he said as he crossed to stand beside his mate, resting a hand on her back. “It seems Gabrielle...missed her mother and requested she apparate in.”
Mamie’s eyes narrowed, her mouth opening to continue her demands, but Fleur took the opportunity to slip past her grandparents and out into the hall, hurrying toward the front door.
Gabrielle was already there, perched on the bottom step of the staircase. «There you are,» she said, standing as Fleur rushed by.
“Did you send for Maman?”
Gabrielle breathed out a laugh. “Of course, I could tell Mamie was going to pressure you about your…” She waved a hand. «Mate situation, or whatever.»
«My mate situation?»
Gabrielle scoffed, “You’re a terrible liar, Fleur. The whole tribe knows.” She reached out, clasping Fleur’s elbow. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need someone in your corner. Maman can help.”
As if summoned by her words, the door swung open, and their mother stepped inside with a warm smile. “Hello girls.”
“Maman!” Gabrielle laughed and ran into their mother’s outstretched arms.
Fleur moved to step forward, but froze when Mamie came striding purposefully down the hall. «Apolline.»
“Mother.”
Maman touched her chin, tilted her face up. “Are you sure about this?”
“Of course I am.” Fleur's body sagged. She had been on the edge all afternoon, all week—every part of her was tired. She slumped onto the edge of her bed.
“Your Mamie and I agree on very little, but this…” Maman exhaled through her nose. “Fleur, she’s right.”
“Since when do you care what Mamie thinks?" Fleur dodged another touch meant to soothe her. "I thought you'd be the last person interested in the veela politics of this situation."
“Politics?” Her mother’s brows lifted. “Fleur, this has nothing to do with politics—”
"It has everything to do with politics. You know it does."
Maman's face pinched. She gestured to the empty space beside Fleur. She hesitated but eventually nodded, scooting further up the bed to make room. Her mother sat gracefully, tucking her hands beneath her thighs and crossing her ankles.
“Your grandmother is…” She paused. “It’s true that this development will legitimize you in the eyes of the more conservative council members. They will have a harder time dismissing you when she names you as her heir—”
“She wants to use this.”
“Yes,” Maman admitted, her hand finding Fleur's knee. “She does. But she's also worried about you. I am too. You've been unfocused, lashing out.”
Fleur shifted away. “My friend just died.”
“I know,” Maman's voice softened. "But this isn't grief, Fleur. Not just grief. I can feel your magic. It's restless, searching." Her hand hovered in the space Fleur had left. "You found your resonance, and now you're fighting it."
Fleur stared down at her hands, her fingers tracing the familiar lines on her palm. “I know.”
“You can feel it, can’t you?”
She nodded, a bronze tang lingering at the back of her tightened throat.
“It will only get worse. Your souls know each other now. They'll keep reaching.”
"I know." It cracked coming out. She dug her thumb into her palm and forced a breath. She could feel Maman's eyes on her. "Mamie wants me to bring her here."
Maman went very still. "Her?"
"Hermione," Fleur looked up. Maman's whole face had changed—eyes bright, mouth trembling at the corners. "Her name is Hermione."
Maman let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, cupped Fleur's face in both hands, pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Oh, Fleur." Another kiss. "I can't wait to meet her."
Fleur swallowed the lump building in her throat. She grabbed Maman's wrists, pulled them down. "Maman, I'm not bringing her here."
“Fleur—”
"She has a life. School, friends, family." Her voice steadied even as her hands shook. "I'm not dragging her here to sit on a throne and smile and make the council think I'm something I'm not. I won't do that to her."
Maman's jaw tightened, the disapproval flaring behind her eyes. Fleur looked away, thumb finding the line on her palm and pressing.
"I'm not seeing her again," she pressed harder. "I care about her too much."
The silence stretched. Fleur couldn't bring herself to look over.
"So you'll just live like this." Maman's voice had gone quiet. "Your magic always reaching for something you won't let yourself have. Always unsettled. Always less than you could be."
Fleur's jaw set. "If that's what it takes."
"The two of you together—you could be extraordinary. You're choosing to be half of what you are."
Fleur shook her head and stood. "One change in the game pieces and you're right back at the table with her."
"This isn't a game," Maman rose. "My only concern is for you."
But Fleur had already turned, hand on the door. "You sound just like her."
She was gone before Maman could respond.
July 18th, 1995 - Fleur
The village hummed with a comfortingly familiar rhythm. Women moved with practiced efficiency, voices and laughter weaving together, baskets heavy with herbs passing from hand to hand. The steady rhythm of tools against wood echoed from somewhere near the training grounds. The air smelled of fresh earth and smoke from the cookfires, tinged faintly with the sharp, bright edge of magic.
Fleur sat under an old oak near the edge of the clearing, her back pressed against its rough bark, a book of poetry balanced in her lap. Sunlight slanted through the leaves, warm on her arms, shifting patterns across the pages. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and turned a page without reading it. The lines blurred together, words slipping past before they could settle. She read the same stanza twice, then a third time, and still couldn't have said what it was about.
A woman passed nearby, her skirt swishing decisively against her ankles. It pulled her attention up, briefly, before her gaze slid back down to the book.
Two more women hurried past, their steps clipped, their words low and tense. From the direction of the forest came a faint commotion—muffled, indistinct, but enough to earn her gaze.
The wind had shifted.
Fleur closed her book, tucking it under her arm as she rose.
«Elodie,» she called, spotting one of Gabrielle’s friends moving quickly through the clearing.
The scout-in-training hesitated, glanced over her shoulder. «Fleur.» A respectful nod, but her feet were already carrying her away.
«What’s going on?»
«I have to go.» The words were already distant, thrown back without slowing.
Fleur frowned, watching Elodie's retreating form disappear toward the council house. She turned toward the center of the village. Women had begun to cluster in tight knots, their voices hushed, their bodies angled toward the forest path.
She moved around them, threading her way closer to the source of the commotion. The crowd thickened. Someone's elbow caught her arm. She pushed past.
Then she saw it.
A strecher on the packed earth. A scout lay across it, face pale, breaths shallow. One arm hung limp over the side, streaked dark with red. Dripping from her fingers and soaking into the dirt in slow, spreading blooms. Two young healers had met the scouting party as they'd entered the village and were working away at the most pressing injuries.
Blood, brighter than she’d ever seen before, flowed freely from a gash across his throat. His eyes were wide and white and rolling. A heartbeat later she pressed her open, filthy palm across the wound, pushing her weight onto it until he choked. She eased up but just barely. Blood seeped around her fingers.
«What happened?» Fleur's voice came out tight. She stepped closer.
Full feather and regalia, Olide, a senior scout, cut through the treeline. «It's being handled.» Her song echoed ominously. Her pace was clipped, wings still stretched and wet with blood, face still mostly beak and fire-filled eyes. She barely paid Fleur a second glance.
«We have the worst of it under control, but we need to move her,» one of the healers-in-training said in a shakey tone, not yet confident enough to give orders to a warrior in the flush of full transformation.
Olide's wings shook and settled, disappearing with an uncomfortable shift of her shoulders, her features were still sharp, though the beak had become a nose and the feathers had given way to smooth skin. She nodded, «Get her to Melosa, now.»
Fleur bent to help lift the stretcher.
A sharp chirp stopped her cold. The order hadn't been meant for her.
She stepped back. Others hoisted the stretcher in a single coordinated motion, leaving space for the apprentices to continue their work as they moved. The procession swept past her like she wasn't there.
Then Mamie, with Elodie at her heels. Neither looked over at her.
The crowd parted for them the way water parts for stone. Fleur's mouth opened, but Mamie was already through the door. Already gone. The wood swinging shut behind her with a thunk that echoed in Fleur's chest.
She stood there. Arms empty. Hands useless at her sides.
The blood on the ground was already going dark.
Minutes passed. She wasn't sure how many. The crowd had dispersed, women drifting back to their tasks with murmured conversation, casting glances toward the healer's quarters as they went. Fleur stayed where she was, close enough to the door that she could hear if anything happened inside, far enough that no one would tell her to move.
She listened so hard her ears ached. For a cry. A shout. The low hum of healing magic gone wrong. But there was nothing—just the breeze rustling the trees, a bird calling and then falling silent. Her own pulse, thudding slow and thick in her throat.
A marten crept around the corner of the house. It nosed at a basket of berries someone had abandoned in the chaos, whiskers twitching, utterly unconcerned with the drama of veela and their wounded.
Fleur watched it. It watched her back, one small paw raised.
The door to Melosa's swung open.
Her heart lurched. The marten bolted.
Mamie emerged first, already speaking. Odile followed close behind, jaw set and flecked with dried blood.
«Double watch at the northern ridge. Scouts in rotation through the night. And send word to the eastern outpost. They need to know what we're dealing with» Mamie's voice was clipped, carrying just far enough that Fleur could pick it up. «If you sight them again, do not engage unless you have no other choice. Observe and report only.»
Odile nodded once and was gone.
Fleur stepped forward. «Is Lisette alright?»
Mamie's gaze fell on her, held her captive for a long moment. «She will be. Come with me.»
Fleur fell into step. They walked in silence past the cookfires and the women who paused to watch them pass. Mamie's pace didn't slow. When they'd left the noise of the village behind them, she spoke without turning.
«The humans to the north are growing bold.»
Fleur frowned. «We've never had problems with them before.»
«No,» Mamie stopped, looking up into the thick canopy, «we haven't.» She turned slowly. Wind stirred the the branches overhead, sending shadows dancing across her face.
«Something is shifting, Fleur. Surely even you can feel it.»
The words landed like a slap. Casual, almost dismissive. Heat crept up Fleur's neck.
«Old fears are waking up. When wizards grow afraid, they remember what we are.» Her eyes narrowed. «They remember what we can do. And then we either become useful, or we become a problem.»
«You think wizards did this?»
«I think it doesn't matter.» Mamie's voice sharpened. «Fear spreads. Lines get drawn. And we will not be caught unprepared.» She took a step closer, and there was nothing soft in her gaze. «You saw what they did to Lisette. That is what happens when we let our guard slip. When we assume safety—especially in the presence of humans.»
Something behind Fleur's ribs cinched tight. She kept her face still.
Humans.
Her grandfather, who had held her hand through the forest when she was small, teaching her which mushrooms were safe. Who still looked at Mamie like she hung the moon after all these years.
Alain, who sang off-key while he cooked, and Valerie who combed through Fleur's hair with practiced fingers. The warmth of their friendship had kept her sane when she was far from home.
And Hermione, looking up at her with those sharp, searching eyes. The exact moment Fleur's blood had turned to bronze.
«Never forget it.»
Mamie held her gaze a moment longer. Long enough to make sure the lesson had sunk its talons in. Then she turned and walked on, leaving unspoken the command to follow.
And Fleur did, trailing only a step behind.