Chapter Text
« Thank you so much for doing this so last minute. Hermione has never been good with waking up in new places after her naps. » Mary quietly admitted, all the while she lightly bounced in place as she held her sleeping toddler close. The statuesque blonde across from her waved the frazzled mother’s worries away, her own body language relaxed as she leaned against her kitchen counter.
« Don’t worry so much, Mary! I’m happy to take her for the afternoon. You’ll also get the added benefit of being able to focus entirely on finding the right house instead of on a fussy toddler. Besides, » Apolline Delacour’s eyes flicked to the open doorway, where she spotted her personal miniature attempting to hide behind the frame as she spied on the two adults. Or rather, on the little brunette in her mother’s arms. « I’m sure that there’s someone who would love little Hermione’s company. Assuming of course, that someone didn’t sneak down from what’s supposed to be her own nap… »
There was an audible squeak! before a quick pitter patter of feet rushed back up the stairs to the nursery. The adult part-Veela did her best to hide her giggles at her daughter’s attempts at stealth. Mary was a little more successful, though her chest rumbled in time with her silent amusement. All the while, little chestnut locks were jostled as the almost two year old fidgeted in her sleep but thankfully didn’t awaken — much to the relief of both mothers. The English dentist wasn’t kidding when she said that Hermione did terribly when she woke up in unfamiliar places. While normally a well-behaved child that happened to be a little on the reserved side, she could get terribly cranky in the wrong circumstances. And when Hermione was cranky, the oddest things tended to happen.
The lights would flicker, various items would be thrown about, all the portraits in the house would be turned exactly thirty degrees to the left… The Delacours were kind enough to inform the Granger parents that this was just a form of accidental magick. It certainly gave the term “terrible twos” a whole new meaning.
Thankfully, the newly identified little witch had no issues with the recent introduction of new environments. It had only been about a month since the Granger family had decided to vacation in France and subsequently had their surprise introduction to the Delacours, but they’ve already made a number of trips back. This was because Tybalt Granger was absolutely serious when he told his wife that he was all for selling their house and relocating to France. Regardless of the decisiveness of his intentions, a life altering decision such as uprooting their lives and starting anew in a foreign country would doubtlessly be a time consuming and paperwork nightmare of an endeavor.
Or at least, it would have been under normal circumstances. In their case, they were fortunate enough that the same people who flipped their world upside down also happened to be ridiculously connected. The Delacour Clan had political and financial allies both in France and across the channel, which was helpful because there was apparently a ridiculous amount of paperwork involved with changing the magical citizenship of a muggleborn witch. That didn’t even take into account the fact that the Ministry of Magic in charge of the UK was currently in chaos with the war that was going on right that moment. At the very least, their house was well on its way to being sold.
Which was why Mary and her husband had made the trip today, they still hadn’t found the right house to move to! For today’s venture, they were going to look at places in the mixed magical-muggle residential sector of Bordeaux. Fortunately, this was actually where the Delacours were situated so they not only had their realtor — a lovely squib woman by the name of Marcelle — but also Garen to help guide them.
Mary pointedly chose to ignore the casual ease at which Celestia Delacour suggested that the Grangers move close by. The English dentist didn’t care how old the woman seemingly was, that conniving little twinkle in the Delacour Matriarch’s eye made her want to toss an apple at the manipulative witch’s head — no matter how well intentioned she may have been.
Thankfully, Mary had a much easier time getting along with the annoying woman’s daughter. Apolline was like a sea of calm in the chaos that now consumed their previously mundane lives, but unlike her mother she was also quick to explain whatever may have gone over the dentists’ heads. And she did it without a single enigmatic twinkle!
Needless to say, the two mothers got along very well and Mary was more than happy to entrust her daughter to the French witch.
« Now let’s get Hermione settled so you can get as much done today as possible. I have a crib set up in one of the guest rooms. »
The two women made their way upstairs, but when Apolline opened the door to the guest room there was no sign of the aforementioned crib.
« That’s weird, I could have sworn I had one of our elves bring the crib here. Ananas? »
With a soft pop! a little wrinkled figure appeared in the hallway, clad in a neat toga style of dress and an aura of nervous tension. Mary barely managed to control her flinch at the sudden arrival, but thankfully little Hermione only let out a soft whine before she burrowed her face further into her mother’s shoulder.
« Ananas, I thought I had asked to have the spare crib placed in the guest room? »
Apolline gestured to the clearly cribless room and the house elf huffed and grabbed its ears in what seemed to be frustration.
« But Ananas did, Mistress! Ananas dids be doing that rights away, but… » At this, the frazzled creature surreptitiously made eyes at a brightly painted door covered in what seemed to be an array of drawings on parchment made in crayon. The lady of the house snorted and waved off the poor thing’s concerns with a lazy hand and a sardonic smile.
« Say no more, Ananas. I know exactly what happened now. »
The house elf sighed in relief and at its mistress’ casual dismissal, and popped away again. Apolline led them to the door in question and made a show of jiggling the handle and slowly opening it. Mary, a mother of nearly two years but a dentist to many a child for nearly a decade, knew exactly what her friend was doing. Once the room within was in full view, it was easy to see where the crib had gone — it had somehow ended up smack dab in the middle of Fleur’s nursery. What wasn’t so easy to imagine was how it had ended up there. This wasn’t some gaudy modern plastic piece on wheels found in the baby section of a department store. This was a handmade, beautifully carved cherry red wood crib with stylistic accents that ran along the grain and a molding that tricked the eye into thinking that the entire piece of furniture had been grown into existence. It was just as much of an art piece as it was a bed for a toddler.
It was also easily ten stone in weight. Had it been more than a month prior, Mary would’ve been baffled at the very idea that an almost four year old had managed to move the entire thing out of one room, down the hall, and into her own nursery without a significant amount of help. But that day at the Jardin du Luxembourg had been an enlightening one, and the vexed English mother had no doubt that when push came to shove, little Fleur was more than capable of doing whatever she put her mind to.
Like kidnapping. Or the total disregard for physics and logic as Newton may have perceived it. Mary didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that she was quickly getting used to the idea that every time there was something she couldn’t quite explain, that it was perfectly acceptable to think “eh, it’s magick! What can you do?”
Garen had off-handedly mentioned that she had the mental self preservation instincts of a “Slytherin,” but the exasperated woman had no idea what that meant.
(Years down the line she would finally understand what this meant. A certain Scottish Witch would loudly disagree on principle, but everyone, even her affable husband with the heart of a “true badger” would agree that Mary Granger would have made one hell of a snake.)
And there, off against the side of the spacious nursery but still well within view of the crib was a quaint little child sized bed made from the same expensive wood as the furniture piece that had been haphazardly placed in the middle of the room. The cherry red contrasted well with the cream colored sheets and bedding that adorned the mattress, though neither woman could focus on that. Instead, their eyes were drawn to the little body sprawled underneath the blankets, seemingly asleep and unaware of their presence.
Mary kindly tacked on ‘seemingly’ as if she couldn’t spot the obvious way the almost four year old had her eyelids jammed close, as if the sheer force by which she blocked out the world could determine how well she could convince either her own mother or the mother of her bestest friend that she was most definitely asleep. A single blue eye tentatively opened to peek at her audience, only to immediately snap close when it was clear that both women were staring directly at her.
Thankfully it was so quick that she didn’t get to properly see how badly Apolline and Mary wanted to laugh. It was adorable, and both mothers silently agreed to not call the precocious toddler out on her ruse. Apolline dramatically threw her hands up in the air, looked to the ceiling and in a faux serious voice threw out a « Well, I guess there is nothing we can do but have Hermione nap in here! »
It was really hard to not laugh at the sudden sound of childish triumph muffled underneath cream blankets, but the two managed it. Barely.
In no time, Mary had managed to transfer the sleeping brunette into the beautiful crib without waking her and the two women made to leave. But before she did, the English mother moved to kneel in front of the still (not) sleeping Fleur and spoke in a soft voice.
« While I know you’re very busy napping, I hope to ask a very serious favor of you Mademoiselle Fleur. » At this, the tight squeeze of clenched eyelids lessened but was replaced by a furrowed brow of curiosity. « I’m hoping that after both of you have your naps, you could watch over my Hermione. Like you, she can be quite the little troublemaker and I would feel much better if you could make sure she stays out of trouble. Is that okay? »
Mary waited a few moments, and was rewarded when Fleur gave her a slow nod of acceptance. All the more charming by the fact that the little blonde still had her eyelids scrunched closed. Mary gave a soft thank you, and both mothers left the nursery, their mirth quietly contained until they were well out of earshot of tiny ears.
-oOo-
When one imagined the heart and home of the Delacour Clan, one often thought of an ancient manor home nestled deep within a sprawling forest that was as far from prying human eyes as magick would allow. The imagery was unironically fantastical, with a heavy tinge of fairy tale-esque fervor. It suited the imaginings of the general public and it was hardly ever refuted.
It was also unabashedly wrong.
While the various Veela of Clan Delacour were more than capable of surviving out in the rugged wilds, they sure as hell didn’t want to. If given the choice of toughing it out in the woods for a night or drinking her body weight in artisan wine with her sisters at a classy restaurant, Apolline would laugh, hex the idiot for his stupid joke and then ask what time they were meeting so she could get to the venue early and cajole the waiter into letting her pre-pay for the bill.
(Modern day Veela asserted their dominance in the flock hierarchy by stealing the cheque and paying for the entire group’s meal, like a true goddamned Alpha. Garen learned very quickly in their relationship to never bring his wallet to dinner. The obsession with wine was just because the Delacour women were unapologetically functioning alcoholics.)
But just because they’ve progressed past the need to live in the treetops like their ancestors, did not mean that there wasn’t some echo of that past life. Only, instead of the tops of the tallest foliage, the Veela of the Delacour Clan had taken to living on the top most floors of whatever buildings they had decided to live in. They were scattered throughout the city of Bordeaux, with an excessive presence literally above everyone else.
Celestia Delacour likened her family to a proud collection of fiercely capable individuals, both born and married in, that demanded a respect so palpable one could taste it.
Apolline jokingly compared them to a band of easily amused city pigeons that liked to perch up high and make fun of the locals down below while drunk.
Regardless, they were a sizable flock. And as the heir to the clan itself, Apolline was in charge of managing and maintaining many of their collective family assets and connections. Which really just meant that she spent an absurd amount of time doing paperwork in her home office. After the birth of her daughter, this was greatly convenient since Garen often had to travel as a cursebreaker for Gringotts and Apolline’s Veela upbringing would not allow her to leave Fleur with a nanny elf or the like for more than an hour at a time.
And even now, ensconced as she was among her piles of parchment work, she had an eye on the two precious bon-bons in the room down the hall. She did this with an enchanted scrying mirror, which was made so that it could specifically spy on anything within her house. At the moment, she was taking a break from her clerical work so she could amusedly watch the antics of the two adorable witches.
Hermione herself looked to be wide awake, and was standing at the bars that her tiny fingers were wrapped around as she observed her temporary roommate. Fleur in the meantime was zooming around the room, her focus on getting every pillow, blanket, and stuffed animal in the vicinity; of which she threw at the floor in front of Hermione. Which was… now a sizable pile on the floor. It wasn’t surprising, considering her daughter’s obsession with stuffies, that there was a veritable impromptu mattress on the floor of the nursery now. In an impressive display of accidental magick — from either Hermione, Fleur, or both; Apolline wasn’t actually too sure — the siding on the crib slid down and the fluffy landing was actually tall enough that the brunette was able to climb directly on top of it without fear.
Not that the half-Veela was at all worried. The house was baby proofed and heavily warded for safety by both herself and her incredibly paranoid teddy bear of a husband. Not to mention the house elf that was no doubt stalking after the troublesome duo while invisible. She watched as Fleur led little Hermione by the hand and carefully toddled out of the nursery at a pace that Apolline wasn’t even aware that her daughter was capable of.
Careful. Slow. Watchful.
The two walked down the hall, Fleur’s voice a mile a minute and at odds with the slow gait she had adopted to accommodate her tinier companion; Hermione eager to babble back an answer to whatever the blonde had said. Apolline had absolutely no idea what either of the two were talking about, but she felt her heart swell up at the sight of her daughter’s thoughtful consideration. The older Veela was so busy gushing at the mirror’s imagery that she nearly missed the fact that the steady stream of toddler conversation was just outside her door.
At the sound of the resolute knock on her door — followed by a wholly necessary repetition by enthusiastic fists eager to emulate her older and wiser companion — Apolline jumped up and swiftly opened the door. Fleur beamed at her mother, little Hermione’s one hand clasped in her own.
« Maman! ‘Ermione hungry! »
“Fam!” Hermione dutifully provided, and though Apolline doubted the little muggleborn had any idea what she was saying, she was still quite proud of the child’s first attempts at French. Apolline knelt down and cooed at them both.
« Hermione’s hungry then? Well, how’s about we all take a snack break, hm? »
The two children cheered, one for food and one because Fleur was cheering, and an audible pop resounded through the hallway as the previously hidden house-elf gleefully rushed to prep food for the trio.
(The house-elf way of determining hierarchy was getting to orders and tasks first and then shoving everyone else out of the way that was too slow to realize when there was a job to do. There was a lot of shoving involved.)
-oOo-
The rest of Apolline’s day was relatively uneventful, but no less adorable. She spent most of her time in her office, though she took frequent breaks to watch the two girls run about by way of the scrying mirror. There were times she had to see her daughter’s antics in person though, if only to prove to herself that they were actually happening.
It had become apparent that Mary Granger’s earlier words to her daughter had a bigger impact than either woman had originally thought at the time.
Some of Fleur’s actions were subtle, like for instance when the two girls would travel anywhere in the house. Normally the rambunctious blonde would run as fast and as haphazardly as she could at any opportunity she was given. But with Hermione in hand? She would carefully walk at the brunette’s speed as they conversed at each other in an odd combination of French, English, and seemingly senseless babble. And Apolline had to admit that she was more focused on how utterly adorable the scene was than the fact that the scene was happening in the first place.
But then there were the more… overt attempts by Fleur. Like when Hermione got on the rocking horse in the nursery, the nearly four year old came out of nowhere to put several books at the front and back of the toy to prevent it from well… rocking, essentially. Almost as if she were afraid that her younger friend would go flying if the brunette was too enthusiastic while on the horse.
There were moments when they were in the family room where Fleur literally placed herself between Hermione and every available piece of furniture with a hard surface, as if to prevent the inanimate pieces from suddenly coming to life and ramming into her charge.
It got to the point where Fleur had collected all the pillows, blankets, and stuffies in the house again to make a nest around the brunette in the living room.
Celestia would’ve found the overprotectiveness endearing and a good indicator of the healthy status of the bond that they would later develop in life.
Apolline was honestly getting a little concerned that her daughter was developing a kafkaesque style of paranoia. Garen would’ve been so amused that he would’ve joined their daughter on her quest to effectively put baby Hermione Granger in a padded bubble for the rest of her life.
And it wasn’t like Hermione or Fleur were going to get seriously hurt anywhere in their living space, not with the amount of magical baby proofing the entire house had gone through. No, Apolline was more concerned for when the inevitable happened, because as fervent and determined as her daughter was…
-oOo-
Hermione was having so much fun! She remembered curling up against her mummy to nap, but when she woke up mummy wasn’t there. She was in a dark room, in a place she didn’t know, and she felt super scared. But before the fuzzy feeling in her tummy could come out to make the books fly or the lights turn on and off, the nearly two year old was surprised to see bright blue eyes staring at her!
She recognized those eyes — it was Fleur! Suddenly, everything was better and Hermione forgot all about the fact that her mummy wasn’t there or that it was dark or that she didn’t know where she was. Her friend helped her escape the unfamiliar crib and talked with her the entire time so she knew she wasn’t alone. Hermione had no idea what the other girl was saying, but her mummy and daddy made noises like the ones Fleur was making, so they had to be important!
The little brunette would work on that. Anything Fleur or her mummy and daddy had to say, even when they made funny noises with their mouths, was worth figuring out.
So they had snack time, and they had adventures all around the house. Fleur would hold her hand and walk with her, but she would never go too fast that Hermione had a hard time following. They sat on super soft pillows and blankies and played and played and played.
Then she and her friend were rolling a ball back and forth, rolling or even throwing the ball at each other. They would throw it harder or in sillier ways that left them both giggling endlessly. Then Hermione tossed the ball over Fleur’s head, and the little blonde went to chase after it as it bounced further down the hallway away from them. Almost without thinking Hermione got up to run after the other girl in turn.
But she wasn’t good at running yet, not like Fleur was, and before she knew it she fell forward and landed on her face.
Hermione didn’t register the fact that there was a soft fuzzy feeling, like a sponge or a marshmallow that prevented her from actually getting hurt. She didn’t realize that the familiar sting that accompanied the few times she had actually gotten hurt in the past was missing from the equation. All she knew was that when she looked up, she saw the shocked and horrified look on Fleur’s face. The two girls, one nearly two and one nearly four, stared at each other for a solid five seconds as they both processed what had happened before Hermione scrunched her face up, opened her mouth and let out a mighty—!
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
-oOo-
… something would inevitably happen. Apolline had seen what had occurred, so she didn’t bolt like a panicked Tigress in defense of her cubs — no matter how much her instincts screamed at her to do so in response to that wail. Instead she calmly popped out of her office to go to the two girls who were just outside in the hallway. Hermione was nearly face first on the floor, her voice all encompassing as she cried right then and there for all to hear. Her poor Fleur on the other hand was frantic as she hovered over the other girl, not actually sure of what to do and looking like she was on the verge of tears herself.
Before a second set of water works could take place, Apolline sat herself on the floor and gently scooped up the upset little brunette into her arms and coaxed her stalwart protector to sit flush next to her mother. Both children immediately burrowed themselves into the readily available maternal figure, and it was only then that the half-Veela allowed her previously curbed instincts to run free. Her thrall proceeded to encompass all three in a soothing blanket of calm and safety, which helped to mollify the distraught girls enough that Hermione had stopped crying and Fleur had ceased her worrisome shaking.
The trio sat on the hallway floor for a while, just wrapped in a cocoon of pheromones and instincts. For a while, Apolline thought that they would stay in that position in silence for the rest of the night. Or at least until the Grangers and her husband returned for dinner. Then her daughter looked up, and the part-Veela mother felt her heart break at the sheer guilt in her little girl’s eyes.
« Maman, ‘ermione hurt. »
Maman, I failed.
It didn’t matter that there were wards to prevent any actual pain, or that it was likely just the surprise of what happened that sent little Hermione to a fit of tears then any real hurt. Nor did it matter that Mary Granger hadn’t actually expected Fleur to take her words as seriously as she did. What mattered was that her baby felt such sheer, unadulterated disappointment in her inability to prevent the frankly impossible that she felt like an utter failure.
No one deserved to feel such crushing defeat, and especially not a child that hadn’t even seen her fourth birthday.
Apolline saw the tell tale signs of oncoming tears, but with the arm not busy with Hermione she hugged her daughter close and gently shushed her.
« Non, mon trésor — there is no need for tears. You did nothing wrong. » Fleur opened her mouth to argue, as if to point out that yes, there was every reason for tears. But her mother simply kissed her child on the head and continued on. « I will tell you a secret, and you need to promise me that you will try your very best to remember, alright? »
Fleur’s brow scrunched at the mention of a secret, but nodded at her mother to continue on anyway.
« Watching the people we love get hurt, it is very scary, non? » At the tentative nod from the little blonde, Apolline hummed and pressed on. « But even then we must remember — there will be times that even when we try our very hardest to keep them safe, they may still get hurt. When that happens there is one very important thing that we must remember. »
Fleur looked both upset that her precious people would possibly be hurt, and curious as to what her mother was getting at. The elder of the two part-Veela smiled at her beautiful little girl.
« That even if and when they get hurt, we must always be there for them. » Apolline gently tugged her daughter into her lap and closer to the tiny brunette. It was then that Fleur realized that Hermione wasn’t crying, or even looked the least bit upset. Instead chocolate orbs looked at her friend, no longer shocked or horrified and the younger of the two children smiled. It was a toothy thing, one that used every bit of her adorable face to do, but it was a smile for Fleur. « See, mon trésor? No matter the hurts of our most treasured ones, our love will see them through the pain. Promise me you won’t forget that? »
At the reminder of the promise to be kept, Fleur straightened her back and looked at her mother with all the seriousness that a child at her age could possibly muster before she nodded in resolution.
Her beautiful daughter, even this early on, was so dutiful. She was Veela, even as diluted as she was.
But Apolline would forever swear that her daughter had the heart of a Valkyrie.