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Hermione sat at her kitchen table, her leg jiggling incessantly as she chewed on her nails. She glanced up at the clock, then rolled her eyes when she realised she’d forgotten to pick up batteries for the third time that week.

She winced as her nail tore slightly, pulling her fingers away from her mouth – she could practically hear her mother scolding her for the filthy habit. It’ll ruin your teeth, Hermione! Unfortunately, it was the one habit that cropped up every single time she was nervous. And Hermione was very, very nervous.

When the world first learned that there was a secret society of people living among them, unseen by most and only ever suspected by those deemed ‘crazy’, she had been just eleven years old. At the time, this revelation had felt incredibly important. Which it was, of course: it turned muggle society upside down. For one, they learned the word ‘muggle’. But still, Hermione had sensed this magical world was important to her specifically – and on a far more personal level.

For a time, she was even convinced she was a witch. A ‘muggle-born’, as she’d heard them called. But no. She was just a regular muggle with nothing extraordinary or magical to offer.

Well, by wizarding standards. By muggle standards, she was incredibly privileged. She owned her own maisonette in London, had enjoyed a prestigious education, and, very shortly, would become the CEO of her family’s orthodontics company.

Did it make her a terrible person if she said she wasn’t sure this was what she wanted?

She wasn’t ungrateful! She had two loving, wonderful parents who had given her everything she’d ever wanted. However, those beautiful gifts had come with an awful lot of expectations and responsibilities. As an only child, she had always known that she would one day take over the family business – after all, it was their other baby. But what she hadn’t expected, never could have predicted, was that the position would also come with a ‘merger’ of sorts.

God, she was marrying a witch. A witch she’d never met, a French witch, just to satisfy her parents’ concerns about securing a competitive edge in the ‘age of magic’ and meeting some weird government guidelines. The Labour government and the magic one.

When her parents had first sprung it on her a few weeks ago, introducing her to her future in-laws before even informing her of the arrangement, she’d been shocked. The level of her shock was such that it rivalled the moment her best friend since the first day of primary school, Harry, told her he was a squib.

Well, once he had explained what a squib actually was.

She knew that these things happened, of course. The rich and powerful of her world had been quick to recognise the same within the magical, and they’d already formed their own alliances. She just never thought that she’d count herself among them. A part of her almost wanted to protest, to say she was powerful enough to expand the company all on her own. Why did she need some witch? Was she just supposed to live a life where she sat back, watched her future wife, and admired her as she waved her wand because she was too lazy to do things for herself?

She glanced at the clock again, then let out an aggravated sigh. Getting up from her seat, she stomped over to the fridge, picked up a pen, and wrote ‘BATTERIES’ on the notepad stuck to the door via magnet.

The door to her balcony burst open, and Hermione jumped, cursing the crooked frame that gave in every time the wind picked up a bit. However, she froze when she saw what had caused the sudden gust – four giant, white, winged horses hauling an even whiter carriage were flying over the roof of the building.

They were here.

***

Fleur had no idea what her promised wife was like. All she had was a name and the small, motionless photograph of a brunette wearing an elegant suit with a not-so-elegant, grumpy cat on her lap. It wasn’t much to go on. Nonetheless, today was the day: she would finally meet this supposedly oh-so-important person from the muggle world. Was she even partly a witch? A squib? Fleur didn’t know, but truthfully, she didn’t much care.

Sitting in the carriage, Fleur studied the photo for the hundredth time as she waited for her little sister, Gabrielle, to join her. As far as she understood, her parents had already met the woman during their trip to England a few weeks back – it was then that her fate had been sealed.

“I’m here!” Gabrielle exclaimed as she hopped into the carriage.

Fleur couldn’t help but grin when she saw her sister’s outfit; it matched the carriage perfectly.

“Mum said our outfits should match each other, not our ride,” Fleur mocked her, folding the photo and slipping it into the pocket of her robe. She looked her sister over from head to toe. “And she definitely didn’t say that you should look like a bride.”

Looking equally annoyed and amused by Fleur’s comment, Gabrielle grunted. “It’s just a white dress. Besides, you’re the real beauty here.”

Was Gabrielle serious? Or mocking her? It could be so hard to tell…

All she’d done was put on her nicest powder-blue robes and tie up her hair in a proper ponytail. Her years at Beauxbatons had played a tremendous part in defining who she was; thus, she felt that wearing her school colours and honouring her background as a witch equalled baring herself in front of someone she didn’t know from Nicolas Flamel.

Maybe it was too much. Not enough? Too weird?

As soon as Gabrielle closed the door and sat down, the Abraxans took off.

Fleur put her thoughts to the side and grinned once more. “And is that flower in your hair there to seduce your future sister-in-law?”

Embarrassed, Gabrielle lowered her head and bit her lip, crossing her arms awkwardly.

She admitted, “It was actually to look nice for you…” and Fleur felt her heart swelling with love. Incapable of holding back, she placed a hand on Gabrielle’s cheek and kissed her forehead.

“Well, I think you look delightful, sweetie.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going through with it.”

Fleur let go of her sister but didn’t look away.

“It’s my duty. One day, you’ll understand.”

Did she even understand it herself? Partly. She knew it was a good move for both families to form an alliance, and being the eldest of the Delacour heiresses, she was well aware that she was destined for the task. It had to be her. Better her than Gabrielle, at least. How she hoped her little protégé would be able to choose her own partner one day – if she even felt like being with anyone, that was!

“What if she’s a horrible person who treats you like a House Elf?”

“Then I’ll turn her into a frog,” she joked, winking. Gabrielle laughed.

Deep down, Fleur hoped everything would work out just fine. Or that she and her future bride would be able to communicate, at the very least.

“Does she even speak French?” Gabrielle asked, echoing her thoughts in a strange way.

“I don’t know, but I don’t suppose so. It’s my understanding that English natives don’t bother learning other languages. They merely expect everyone to learn theirs.”

“How will we communicate, then?”

“To show our goodwill, we’ll speak English. You think you can do that?”

“It’ll be easy! Who do you think I am?” Gabrielle brought a finger to her chin, frowning as if she were thinking intensely. Suddenly, she declared, “Fingers in the nose!”

Although Fleur tried to remain serious, she laughed loudly enough that her mother would have disapproved.

“It’s ‘piece of cake’,” she corrected, taking pity on her sister and deciding to stick with French for now.

“Uh?” Gabrielle’s confused expression was quite adorable, to say the least.

“What you meant to say was ‘piece of cake’. When something’s easy, that’s what you say. You can’t just translate things directly!”

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Because ‘fingers in the nose’ does?”

“Of course, it does! It’s easy – you can basically do it anytime you want. How is cake easy? What if there’s no cake around?”

“Why don’t you go ask the Abraxans and see if they know the answer?” Fleur teased.

This time, Gabrielle stayed quiet for a little while – well, at least a second or two – and turned her attention to her right, looking through the window with her arms crossed.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“I do, actually.”

Despite the seemingly light atmosphere, Fleur knew very well that, deep down, Gabrielle was anxious – it was why she was acting like such a child.

Perhaps it was because she was her blood, or maybe her magic played a part in it, but she nearly always knew what her sister truly felt. It was almost as if she could feel it herself. She scooted closer to Gabrielle, tucked her long silver hair behind her ear, and wrapped an arm around her sister’s petite body, gently forcing her to rest her head on her shoulder. In turn, Fleur rested her chin on her sister’s head. Even though Gabrielle was now twelve, she was still her baby sister and would be treated as such. Besides, the girl certainly leaned into the label based on her behaviour half the time.

“Do you remember when you were too scared to sleep on your own after you read that book about trolls?”

There was a short silence.

“No…” Gabrielle lied, but Fleur knew she was listening.

“Well, I do. You would come to my room every night and jump into my arms because you believed that as long as I was there, nothing could happen.” Fleur paused, analysing Gabrielle, who tightened her embrace and closed her eyes. “And you were right – as long as I was with you, no harm would come to you.”

Gabrielle loosened her grasp without letting go and lifted her head, locking her gaze with Fleur’s. “Are you implying that… What are you implying?”

“As long as we’re together, we can face anything.”

Fleur sounded determined and hoped it came through. But, just in case it didn’t, she leaned in and kissed the tip of Gabrielle’s nose before launching a sneak attack and tickling her. Gabrielle’s loud laugh filled the large space.

“But apparently, you still can’t face me!”

Suddenly, buildings could be seen through the window as the carriage flew lower. It finally landed and came to a stop, causing the two girls to calm themselves and pretend nothing had happened. Ready for what was to come, Fleur took out her wand and summoned their papers. Soon after, a man knocked at the door; the window shimmered, then vanished.

“Morning, miss,” the muggle man said in English. “Passports?”

“Ah!” Another man stepped forward, this one dressed in the fashion Fleur had come to associate with English wizards. “No, no! Remember, it’s not a passport.”

The muggle man looked irritated at the interruption and waved the wizard off. “Right, yes – registration papers?”

“Of course,” Fleur replied with a polite smile, handing him the papers. “For you, monsieur.”

“In English, Fleur,” Gabrielle whispered, obviously making fun of her.

After an uncomfortably long pause, during which the muggle man stared blankly at the papers and the wizard, in turn, stared at the muggle man, he nodded. “Everything seems to be in order,” the muggle spoke again, handing the papers back to her. “What’s your business here?”

“I am ‘ere to see my…” Was she really going to say it? “…my fiancée. She is a Londoner. I ‘ave the certificate, if you wish to see it?”

The man shook his head, dismissing her. “That won’t be necessary; you’re good to go.”

Fleur thanked the strange, vaguely rude muggle, and back in the air they were – but not for long at all. They were getting closer and closer to their final destination, and although Fleur was as calm as ever on the surface, her heartbeat quickened, and her palms started to sweat. When it came to ideas on how she could remedy the situation… She wasn’t sure about her heart. After all, it was a result of her nervousness; she was stepping into unknown territory. As for her sweaty palms? Gloves would do the job – not to mention complete her outfit.

The Abraxans’ hooves met the stone floor, and the wheels of the carriage soon followed. As far as she could tell, they had landed in what looked like a small courtyard surrounded by tall buildings. Vaguely wondering where she’d be able to stable her Abraxans, she peered through the window.

Turning around to take Gabrielle’s hand with a reassuring smile, she asked, “Ready?”

“Together?” Gabrielle murmured, uncertain.

“Together,” Fleur confirmed.

3, 2, 1…

Fleur opened the door and felt the cold breeze on her face. First impressions: where was the sun and its warmth? The blue sky, with its twittering birds?

As her feet met the ground, her gaze fell upon the doorstep about five metres away. How much was it in that odd British measurement system… Fifteen feet? Twenty? In any case, she felt her heart beating in her throat the moment she looked up.

There she was, right in front of her.

Her future bride.

***

“Hello,” Hermione greeted, her accent obvious but the word, nonetheless, spoken in French.

“Hello,” Fleur returned in her native language, smiling politely. As Gabrielle came to stand beside her, she slowly went on, “Do you speak French?”

“Yes, fairly well,” Hermione said, her own smile widening at her fiancée’s obvious surprise. “I got an A-star in my GCSEs, and I went on a school trip to somewhere near Rouen – I forget the name.”

“GCSEs?” Fleur repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“Fleur,” Gabrielle groaned, “Why did I just try to remember all my English if we’re speaking French anyway?”

“Gabrielle!” Fleur scolded, appalled at her sister’s total lack of decorum in front of someone who was essentially a stranger.

However, Hermione just laughed. Switching to English, she said, “My apologies, Gabrielle. And how rude of me to just stand here gabbing; I should help you with your things and show you in.”

“Gabbing?” Fleur repeated, glancing at her sister and feeling more and more lost by the moment. Was this another muggle word, or was it just a weird English one?

“It means talking,” Hermione said with a smile, moving towards the carriage before she realised that it hardly looked big enough for more than a couple of suitcases. Which were stored… where? “You call someone ‘gabby’ if they talk a lot.”

“Oh, that’s you!” Fleur exclaimed immediately, pointing at her horrified sister. “My little sister Gabby!”

“No, Fleur, eet eez ‘orrible!” Gabrielle exclaimed mournfully. “I’ll tell Mum you’re being a monster and calling me names!”

“In English, Gabby,” Fleur mocked, pulling out her wand and charming their trunks to float out of the carriage, one after the other after the other after the other, until they were all patiently waiting to follow Fleur. Hermione watched on in wonder.

“You are an awful seester,” Gabrielle grumbled with a mock scowl, sticking out her tongue. Fleur did the same in return.

“Um,” Hermione interrupted hesitantly, reminding the sisters that they had an audience. Fleur looked slightly embarrassed, but Gabrielle just grinned cheekily. “Shall I lead the way, then? We can… leave the carriage where it is, for now. Figure that one out later.”

Fleur nodded and gestured for Hermione to lead on. She opened the door to a stairwell, explaining that the lift worked fine, but it was a bit slow and probably wouldn’t handle quite so much luggage. Fleur stared at the shiny metal doors, stunned to think that muggles had so quickly embraced wizarding inventions such as lifts – though she did wonder how they managed without the levitation enchantments.

After a couple of flights of stairs, Hermione paused outside another large metal door. This time, she pulled a set of keys out of the pocket of the strange blue trousers she wore. However, rather than using any of the keys in any lock Fleur could see, she pressed a small plastic object to a plain metal panel on the wall.

“It’s a fob system,” Hermione explained, as if that word made any sense. “I’ve got a spare which we can use for a while, but I’ll need to get a duplicate made at some point.”

“Oh, I can do that!” Fleur said excitedly, understanding at least one part of what had been said.

Hermione pulled the door open and turned with a confused frown.

“You know how to make fob keys?”

Fleur blinked, still not really understanding. “I can duplicate it,” she answered, gesturing to her wand with her other hand. “Magic.”

“Oh,” Hermione replied, surprised. “Oh, well, that’s… very useful.”

She was starting to see why her parents had been so insistent.

Leading the silver-blonde pair along a corridor, Hermione finally came to a stop in front of her front door. She took a deep breath.

This was it; she was truly letting someone into her space, her life.

She’d never felt so scared.

Hermione was trying to see things from a logical point of view – her home was clean, bright, and spacious. That alone was not easily found in London, especially considering she actually owned it. Perhaps, in the future, she would consider getting a second place, or maybe they would move somewhere bigger – it all depended on what her French bride wanted. She knew better than to judge a book by its cover, but based on Fleur’s outfit and body language, Hermione feared that what she had to offer wasn’t enough. Not that she cared much, but she couldn’t disappoint her parents when they’d already done so much just to make this union possible.

At least Fleur seemed… nice? There was something about her that Hermione couldn’t quite put her finger on. Actually, there was something about both of these silver-haired witches that seemed different from any other woman she’d ever met. Were all witches like them?

“Is everything alright?” Fleur asked, expecting something to happen and wondering if this strange lingering-by-the-door process was all part of some muggle tradition.

Hermione shook her head. She ought to snap out of it and put her best foot forward.

“Of course,” she declared, forcing a smile so small that Fleur likely couldn’t see it.

With a shaky hand, she opened the door and stepped aside to let the two sisters in before her, their numerous trunks floating along and arranging themselves into a neat pile. Their faces were unreadable, to say the least.

She let her gaze travel throughout the open space; the kitchen was well organised and spotless, the cushions were placed tidily on the plush sofa, and although today didn’t offer the brightest weather, a few rays of sunshine were still illuminating the large window at the end of the room, reflecting off the white walls to create a light, airy atmosphere.

“You ‘ave a lovely foyer,” Fleur offered, walking in like she owned the place. She let her fingers travel along the surface on her left, near the small kitchen area. Hermione felt her stomach drop at the word ‘foyer’; did Fleur think there were more rooms hidden away somewhere? Apart from the pair of bedrooms and bathroom upstairs, this was all there was!

Hermione swallowed as Fleur gestured towards the stairs, seeking her permission to continue the exploration. Hermione nodded, feeling a little queasy. She watched as Fleur began her ascent, Gabrielle following behind quickly and taking her older sister’s hand. Was she truly twelve years old?

~

Gabrielle and Fleur arrived on a small landing in front of a set of shelves filled with dozens of books. She lifted a hand to brush a few of the covers with the tips of her fingers, the corner of her lips rising slightly. Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief from where she watched at the bottom of the stairs; at least Fleur seemed to think knowledge was important.

Suddenly, she asked, “Your butler is not ‘ome?” She waited for Hermione’s reply, then prompted, “‘Ermione?”

No response. Was there some sort of secret passageway in this place, like the ones at Hogwarts? She hoped not – that castle was an utter maze, and Fleur hadn’t enjoyed it in the least. Fleur turned around, not letting go of Gabrielle’s hand (who wouldn’t have allowed it anyway) as she peered down the staircase with raised eyebrows.

“Uh, no,” Hermione replied with a frown, her gaze flicking around from object to object as she came back into sight. She cleared her throat, visibly uncomfortable. “That’d be quite odd, considering I don’t have a butler, wouldn’t it?” She let out a small yet melodious laugh.

Fleur noticed the insecurity in her voice and the unnatural, stiff way her future bride held herself. But most of all, she noticed her gentle, almost non-existent smile. The corners of Hermione’s lips were barely lifted, but while it didn’t necessarily look like a happy smile, it still made her heart flutter. So, she stared. And stared. And stared. Why was Gabrielle pulling her arm?

“Fleur, she asked you a question,” Gabrielle whispered not-so-quietly in her native tongue before sighing in despair.

Fleur blinked a few times.

“Forgive me, I was caught in your smile,” she admitted shamelessly, her piercing blue eyes studying Hermione from the top of the stairs as if she were oh-so intriguing. “You were saying?”

~

The term ‘confused’ didn’t even begin to describe how Hermione was feeling at this point. Had the French witch really just flirted with her so openly? Was it even a compliment? Was she making some back-handed comment about Hermione not smiling enough? No, she wouldn’t be that rude. Maybe it was all in her head? Sure, they were about to get married and move in together, so it was in their best interests to make sure their alliance was strong and believable, but… No, it was probably just a French thing. Teething problems with cultural differences. After all, from her time in France, Hermione knew very well that the French were often charming, even flirtatious, without meaning to be. That was it. It was, wasn’t it? She was definitely thinking about this too hard.

“There are two bedrooms,” Hermione repeated after an uncomfortable pause. Should she smile? Apparently, Fleur liked it when she did… Too late, the smile was awkward now. She dropped her face to something she hoped was neutral, thought that might make things even weirder, and ended up just offering an uncomfortable grimace.

She finally made her way up the stairs to join the two witches, avoiding eye contact altogether.

“Both have double beds, so I assume you’ll want to stay together?”

Her teeth shining brightly, Fleur took the last few stairs up from the landing and onto the next floor proper, only to turn around once again.

“Why, of course not,” she said, as if any other idea were absurd. “We will sleep together tonight, ‘Ermione. We are soon to be married, are we not?”

Hearing Fleur’s words, Hermione’s eyes widened to a comical degree. She wanted to have sex? Tonight?

Then it hit her.

“Oh, you mean that you’ll sleep next to me, in the same bed. Just sleep. Is that it?”

Wait, how did that make it any better? Awkward, awkward, awkward!

~

“Yes!” Fleur replied brightly, glad that her fiancée was comfortable with the arrangement. Then, with a swift, elegant turn, she practically floated into the first bedroom – only to find a very fluffy, very scraggly pillow on the bed. Gabrielle, of course, couldn’t help but touch it, and the pillow… hissed?

“Crookshanks, get off the bed,” Hermione scolded the pillow, which promptly turned into a cat, jumped off the bed, and ran out of the room faster than a ZouWu. “Sorry about that. He’s not used to having people around.”

“It is alright, ‘Ermione,” Fleur reassured her, letting go of her sister’s hand in order to take her future bride’s instead. Through her gloves, Fleur felt Hermione’s soft palm and touch. “It is your cat from the photograph, yes?”

“It is,” Hermione confirmed, her gaze growing strangely guarded for a moment. “Right, I’ll show you our bedroom, then.”

Her nose scrunched up slightly as if the phrase left her feeling strange, but Fleur just smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging manner. She wondered whether the woman was aware that she had such an expressive face.

Gabrielle waited for no one, and despite Fleur’s disapproving stare, she was the first to reach the master bedroom.

“Excuse my sister. She is so full of energy all the time, I—” But before Fleur could fully apologise on behalf of her dear sister, that very same sister interrupted her, shouting something that even she had trouble understanding.

Slightly embarrassed, she kept her calm facade and entered the room, ready to reprimand Gabrielle once again. Whatever happened to a good first impression?

“What is it?” she asked in French, frustration clear in her voice. However, she got her answer as soon as she set foot in the bedroom. Right in front of the bed, a large portrait the size of a Mooncalf was propped up against the wall – a painting of Fleur, which Fleur herself had commissioned especially for her betrothed. The painting wasn’t moving at all, and although the French witch had intentionally requested it that way in order to show her willingness to learn muggle ways, it was still strange to see.

It was also a fair bit larger than she’d expected.

When Hermione finally came in, there was a silence, then a giggle – courtesy of Gabrielle. When she’d received the small photograph Hermione had sent, Fleur had realised that a painting might have been a little much. That opinion was only reinforced now that she saw it in the room. However, she decided to commit to the act and double down.

Hermione was looking at the painting with burning cheeks and sounded a little off-kilter when she said by way of explanation, “It was the only place with the wall space…” Clearing her voice, she changed the topic. “So, do you like the room?”

Fleur gave a playful smile. To say Hermione was adorable wouldn’t do her justice; she was so cute that Fleur felt affection welling up within her. She inhaled, desperately wrangling her thrall so that it wouldn’t yet influence the muggle – that was a conversation for another time. “It will look even better with a painting of your beautiful face next to mine.”

If Hermione had been blushing before, now she looked like she might combust.

***

Fleur lay in bed, her eyes closed as she listened to the deep, rhythmic breathing of the muggle sleeping next to her. She guessed that it had been about half an hour since Hermione’s breathing had evened out, but she’d been unsuccessful in her own attempts to fall into Morpheus’ embrace. Their first evening together kept playing before her eyes; suffice it to say, it could have gone better.

She’d attempted to be chivalrous and had offered, in the absence of any House Elves, to show Hermione the wonders of magic by making them dinner. A large box that Hermione called a ‘TV’ had exploded when Fleur had cast the first spell, and then the food itself had turned out to be inedible. For the first time in her life, Fleur found herself wishing that she’d attended the class Beauxbatons offered on home and household magic. Thankfully, Hermione had come to the rescue with a small device that Fleur was half-convinced used magic itself. The user simply browsed a menu, spoke their selection into the device, and waited for a muggle to arrive with, in their case, pizza.

Fleur had also tried to stupefy a panel on the wall known as ‘the buzzer’, but in her defence, there were a lot of objects in the maisonette that made strange and alarming sounds out of nowhere. Gabrielle had nearly hurt herself laughing at her, but Hermione had been very sweet and understanding about the whole thing. When Fleur had tried to repair the TV, her fiancée had just insisted that they could buy one of the new, magic-resistant models.

Although truth be told, the part of Fleur that wasn’t absolutely humiliated was a little glad that she’d embarrassed herself so early into the relationship; it seemed to be the only thing that had gotten Hermione to relax. She’d clearly been tense from the moment they’d met, although Fleur still wasn’t sure whether it was due to the overall situation or Fleur specifically.

She hoped it wasn’t the latter.

Or maybe she did? But only in a good way…

Fleur rolled over, peering at Hermione through the darkness. She could just about see the outline of her curls spilling across her pillow. Fleur reached out a hand, intending to touch her face, then froze in place. She was getting ahead of herself.

Instead, she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed to feel the cool wood under her feet. Standing, she picked up her wand and muffled her steps with a quick charm before sneaking out of the bedroom. She rapped gently on the door to Gabrielle’s room as she entered.

Gabby looked up from where she’d been reading by wandlight and sleepily murmured, “What is it?”

Fleur smiled fondly; her sister had always had a habit of staying up late to read. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d snuck into her little sister’s room to put her wand away and tuck her in.

Fleur shrugged a shoulder, perching on the end of the bed. “I just wanted to say goodnight to my baby sister. Is that a crime?”

“No,” Gabrielle replied, closing the book and giving Fleur her full attention. Fleur smiled when she saw the title and realised it was something from Hermione’s collection. “But we already said goodnight an hour ago, when we went to bed, and I thought it was established that I’m not a ‘baby’ anymore. The real reason you’re in here is because you want me to tell you that you weren’t horribly embarrassing earlier.”

Fleur groaned dramatically, flopping down. She rubbed her hands over her face tiredly. “You’re right, that’s exactly what I want to hear. But there’s something else.” She waited for a second or two and Gabrielle winced, half annoyed, half asleep. “Tell me I’m pretty.”

“Fleur, you blew up her TV, ruined dinner, and nearly killed the muggle who delivered the food,” Gabrielle said, pushing herself onto her hands and knees so she could lean over Fleur with a very serious expression. “It was one of the most embarrassing displays I’ve ever seen, and for reasons only Circe knows, your future wife found it utterly enchanting. You’d better not do anything to ruin this, because there’s no one else on this planet who could see something like that and think it was cute. And you know you’re pretty.”

Fleur sat up and shot Gabrielle a suspicious look. “How do you know that?”

Gabrielle moved back and picked up her book again, pulling it up and tucking her chin down by her chest so she was mostly obscured. “What, that you’re pretty? I have eyes in my head.”

“Gabby,” Fleur said with some amusement, although there was a warning tone in her voice.

“What?”

“How do you know that she found it ‘enchanting’?” Fleur pressed, growing irritated with her sister’s purposeful avoidance.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Gabrielle Marie Delacour,” Fleur hissed, yanking the book away from her sister. “Tell me you didn’t!”

“I just said I didn’t do anything!” Gabrielle protested, but the tips of her ears were turning a bright red that instantly told Fleur she was lying. Fleur had to take a deep breath to calm herself, remembering that Hermione was in the next room. When she spoke, it was in a serious tone that Gabrielle rarely heard addressed to her.

“I need you to promise me,” Fleur began, “that you will never, ever use legilimency on Hermione ever again. It is a total violation of her trust – and she probably doesn’t even know it’s possible!”

To her credit, Gabrielle’s cheeks were red with shame.

“I know,” she muttered, sounding very small. “I know it’s wrong, but… I just wanted to know if she likes you! And it’s so hard to not listen, especially to muggles! They just think so loudly.”

Fleur sighed, pulling her sister into her arms. She understood the motivation to peek, really, but even though Gabrielle was a natural legilimens, that didn’t mean Fleur could start cutting corners or skipping stages if she wanted to build a healthy, lasting relationship with Hermione. Which she recognised was ironic, considering they’d shortly be wed.

“I understand, sweetie, but if she likes me, she’ll tell me that when she’s ready. We can’t rush these things.”

Gabrielle nodded glumly, snuffling slightly. Fleur pressed a kiss to her head before she stood, letting her overly emotional sister know that she’d been forgiven.

“Get some sleep, Gabby,” Fleur teased as she left the room. “Don’t stay up reading all night.”

“She does, you know,” Gabrielle piped up. Fleur turned around with a questioning expression to see her sister chewing her lip, clearly unsure whether she should be sharing what she wanted to say. “She likes you already. Thinks you’re pretty.”

Fleur felt her heart stutter in her chest.

“Goodnight, Gabby.”

***

Hermione woke up feeling much warmer than usual, immediately conscious of the second body in her bed. It wasn’t like she’d never woken up next to anyone before, but there was something startling about the knowledge that she was going to be waking up next to this woman – this witch – every day for the rest of her life.

She kicked off the covers but kept her eyes closed for a moment, letting the world come back to her bit by bit. It was early, maybe a little after six if the sounds of the nearby Sunday market were anything to go by. It was also surprisingly warm for the time of year. Fleur was still fast asleep beside her, a high-pitched, whistle-like snore sounding every time she exhaled.

Hermione stretched out her legs, wriggling her toes and enjoying the breeze coming in through the window. As she arched her back and lifted her arms above her head, something soft brushed against her arm.

Assuming it was Fleur’s hair, Hermione cracked an eye open and turned her head to the side.

Hermione let out an ear-splitting shriek as she threw herself out of the bed and onto the floor in her attempt to get away from the monstrous bird creature occupying the space next to her.

Her shrieks woke it, and it sat up, ice-blue eyes opening and immediately focusing on Hermione. It rose to stand at its full height, human legs holding it steady atop the bed, and its massive wings spread to almost fill the room as its curled, clawed hands reached out towards her.

It lunged, opening its cruel beak as it screeched, “‘Ermione!”

Hermione screamed again, blindly throwing a punch in the monster’s direction. Her fist connected with its sharp beak, bones crunching painfully on impact, but it was enough to send the thing sprawling backwards onto the bed.

Hermione saw her opportunity and took it, bolting for the bedroom door and flinging it open with her good hand. As she stumbled out of the room, she slammed into Gabrielle, knocking the young girl into the wall.

“What is it, what’s happening?” Gabrielle slurred in French, half-asleep and pointing her wand in random directions.

“Monster!” Hermione shrieked incomprehensibly, pointing her shaking, broken hand in the direction of the master bedroom. Gabrielle bolted into the room wand-first.

There was a brief silence. Hermione backed up towards the stairs, waiting for a scream, a flash of light, anything.

“‘Ermione?” Gabrielle called. “Eet eez okay, you can come een now!”

Hermione crept up to the door and peered around it. Gabrielle was sitting on the bed, her hand on Fleur’s shoulder, and her expression halfway between amused and concerned. Fleur, in turn, was clutching her broken and bleeding nose. There was no sign of the bird monster.

“Fleur?” Hermione asked tremulously, cradling her hand as she made her way into the room.

“Goob morbing, ‘Ermione,” Fleur mumbled through the blood, attempting to blink away the pain. “I bib bot mean to – Gabby, cab you pass me my wabd?”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes at the nickname but reached over and retrieved Fleur’s wand. Hermione watched in astonishment as, with a wave and a word she didn’t catch, Fleur had fixed her nose well enough that she was promptly wiping away the blood and sniffing.

“Sorry,” she apologised sheepishly, “I probably should ‘ave warned you that I sometimes transform at night.”

“Transform?” Hermione muttered dumbly, suddenly realising that the bird monster was Fleur. “You, uh, you turn into a giant bird?”

“Well, it usually only happens when I mean to! But sometimes, very rarely, I will ‘ave a dream or something and transform in my sleep,” Fleur defended herself, although she looked a little worried.

Hermione suddenly burst into laughter at the situation, feeling just a little bit hysterical. She was marrying a woman who might turn into a giant bird creature on any given night – and she’d just punched her in the face. Had her life turned into some kind of reality show? Hermione was this close to believing hidden cameras had been placed around her home.

When she had calmed herself enough, she looked down at her broken hand. It was really starting to hurt, but Hermione didn’t particularly feel like spending half the day in the hospital’s accident and emergency department. What would she even say?

Unless…

Considering her fiancée and soon-to-be sister-in-law as they sat on the bed, she simply lifted her hand in the air and asked, “So, can your magic stick do anything about this?”

Fleur chuckled and nodded, gesturing her over.

***

“I said no, Gabby. You’re not coming with us,” Fleur repeated for the tenth time as Gabrielle bounded about, clearly unsatisfied with her sister’s answer. At this rate, Fleur would never get ready for her breakfast with Hermione.

Her fiancée needed to leave the residence early in the morning for a meeting of sorts, so they’d agreed to meet at the Time Turner – a restaurant Hermione particularly favoured that served all the classic English dishes from different periods of history, or so she’d said. Fleur rejoiced in the idea of spending a little alone time with Hermione, but someone didn’t seem to share the same sentiment.

“But why!? I just don’t get it, Fleur. Don’t you love me anymore?” Gabrielle stuck out her lower lip and batted her eyelashes with a tearful gaze. Obviously, Fleur knew better than to fall into her trap; instead, she kept trying on clothes from her countless trunks in front of the long mirror on the wall. Why was nothing fitting her today?

With a serious expression, she teased Gabrielle, holding a light blue flannel shirt in front of her before throwing it to the side. “Sometimes, I wonder.”

“Okay, ouch!?” Gabrielle hopped onto Fleur’s bed, swinging her legs and almost compulsively drumming her hands on the mattress. “But you didn’t answer my question – why can’t I come with you? I thought you said we’d never be apart!”

Wasn’t it obvious? Oh, Gabrielle…

“I need to spend time with my future wife. Alone.” Fleur let out a deep, frustrated sigh as she threw aside another piece of clothing which magically folded itself, as all the others had before it. “Look, Gabby.” She spoke again with a calmer, softer voice, turning away from the mirror to face her sister. “It’s not that I don’t want you with me – you know I’ll always want you around, don’t you?” she asked, tucking a stray of Gabrielle’s silver hair behind her ear. Gabrielle nodded. “It’s just that,” she paused, choosing her words carefully as she sat down next to her sister, “we’ve been here for almost a week now, and Hermione’s been working so much, and we’ve spent the rest of the time all three of us—”

“All four of us. You forgot Crookshanks,” Gabrielle corrected her, and Fleur let out a soft laugh. “But yeah, alright. I guess I kinda know what you mean,” she admitted half-heartedly, rolling her eyes.

After wrapping an arm around her sister, Fleur kissed the top of her head before resting her forehead against Gabrielle’s temple. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

Silence. As her Maman had always said: silence speaks louder than words. In Gabrielle’s case, one swift look from Fleur was all it took to notice the red stains spreading across the oddly quiet girl’s cheeks. Clearly, she was jealous. Or envious, at the very least.

After a few seconds of looking like a Phoenix ready to burst, Gabrielle spoke. “It’s just that you always talk about her, and she always thinks about you.”

“Gabrielle, what did we say about reading her mind without her consent?” Fleur reprimanded her. “You need to control yourself!”

Although Fleur knew that her little sister didn’t mean any harm and could barely restrain her curiosity, reading muggles’ minds couldn’t be tolerated. Hermione was soon going to be a part of their family, and Fleur – all of the Delacours, for that matter – valued trust more than many things. Thus, breaking it before the marriage was even made official was not an option.

“Then tell her not to think so loudly! Some of us would like to not think about water streaming down your bare skin while you’re showering.”

While Gabrielle winced in disgust, Fleur raised an eyebrow, surprised by the words her sister had just uttered. It had only been a few days, but Fleur, too, had thought about the beautiful Brit in many different ways. For one, each night after Hermione had fallen asleep, Fleur would find herself wanting to brush her soft cheek with the back of her hand, to slowly slide her thumb down the bridge of her nose, to trace the line just above her upper lip.

For the time being, her dark blue eyes were proof enough of her excitement.

“She’s fantasised about me?” Fleur asked before realising what she was doing. What kind of example was she setting for her sister? She had to get back on track! After clearing her throat, she straightened her back and grabbed her sister’s hand. “That’s beside the point. No more reading her thoughts, Gabrielle! I’m serious. How would you like it if someone read your thoughts, and you only found out after the fact?”

Fleur’s voice was much softer than it had been but a moment ago. She could never really get upset with Gabrielle, who knew all too well how to soften her heart.

Seeing as Gabrielle hadn’t responded and was just staring at her swinging feet, Fleur placed her hand under her sister’s chin and gently forced her to lift her head. Despite her obvious wish to keep her gaze down, Gabrielle looked Fleur in the eyes.

“We’ve already had this conversation,” Gabrielle finally said, her gaze fleeing to the side. At Fleur’s disapproving look, she spoke again. “I know, I know. I won’t do it again.”

Fleur kissed her cheek, letting out a loud ‘mwah’.

“Thank you.” She straightened back up and put her hands on her hips, staring at her pile of clothes. “Now, can you help me find something proper for my date?”

***

Passing the front door of the Time Turner, Fleur was welcomed by the delicious smell of grilled bacon and warm beverages – a combination she never thought she’d enjoy so much. Once the tip of her nose had stopped twitching, she let her eyes wander about the relatively small yet cosy and inviting space. The wooden floors, tables, and bar reminded her of a pub that she and other Beauxbatons students had visited during their time at Hogwarts, although everything seemed newer. It was almost as if she were back in her own world – the only difference was that there were no spoons stirring of their accord in cups of coffee, no croissants levitating to tables of hungry customers, no broomsticks sweeping the floors, no dwarfs shouting for another round of Whisky Pur Feu or Bièraubeurre.

“Good morning, Fleur,” a melodious voice came from behind her, speaking in her native tongue. She turned around with a bright smile ready to shine. Truth be told, hearing Hermione speak Flamel’s tongue did something to Fleur that she could barely explain.

“Good morning, ‘Ermione,” Fleur answered in Merlin’s language before offering her arm. “Shall we?”

With a small laugh, Hermione accepted, and they walked to one of the few free tables near a large window. Fleur helped Hermione sit in the cushioned wooden booth before taking her place in front of her date. Because that was what it was, right? A date?

“Silly me,” Hermione said suddenly, getting up again. “I forgot the menus.”

Fleur raised a hand, preventing her future bride from going any further, and took out her wand. With a quiet accio, the two menus shot over to their table, drawing the stares of the other customers. Fleur didn’t much care about drawing their attention, for she knew muggles to be easily impressed with the simplest charms. What she did care about, however, was Hermione’s frown.

“It is not as complicated as it looks,” she explained, taking one menu and handing the other to Hermione. “Per’aps I can show you some other spells when we get ‘ome. What do you think?”

She hoped with all her heart that her fiancée was willing to accept her world as it was, the same way Fleur accepted hers. She loved the magic world, and although she was willing to tone it down for her soon-to-be beloved, she couldn’t imagine a life without magic.

After a few seconds passed that seemed to stretch on like someone had stopped time, Hermione spoke again. “We might have a problem.”

“A problem?” Confused, Fleur frowned and turned around to follow Hermione’s gaze. She was immediately greeted with a series of blinding flashes. It felt like meeting Rita Skeeter all over again…

***

“Yes,” Hermione said, running a hand through her hair in stress as she paced back and forth across her office, phone pressed to her ear. “I know that they’re interested in us; I was there! What I don’t understand is why!”

She stopped in front of two papers laid out on her desk. One, The Daily Mirror, bore a large black-and-white shot of them exiting the restaurant shortly after they had been so rudely interrupted. Hermione’s hand was raised in an attempt to block their faces, but her disgruntled expression shone through regardless.

Fleur looked flawless, obviously. She’d explained that she’d had some experience with the press in a strange tournament that, to Hermione, sounded like it violated about a dozen health and safety regulations.

The other newspaper, The Daily Prophet, had captured the same shot in full motion. It was this version that arrested Hermione’s attention time and time again – not the way her hand had risen to block them, nor the way her face had twisted in irritation, but the way Fleur’s arm had wrapped around her waist and protectively pulled her closer.

Sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose, she walked over to the large glass windows and leaned against them. Watching people rush through the busy street below, she had the fleeting desire to be someone else.

“Hermione, are you listening?”

“Yes, sorry,” she responded, although if pressed, she wouldn’t have been able to repeat a single word. When her parents had first insisted she hire a personal PR agent – a magical PR agent – she’d never imagined having to actually talk to him about this stuff.

Draco sighed over the phone. “Look, if you want real answers, speak to your wife.”

“Not my wife yet,” Hermione corrected, still observing the people moving like ants down below. She vaguely wondered how many were witches and wizards.

“Oh, good, you are listening,” Draco said with a tone of surprise.

Probably none of them – witches and wizards seemed to prefer fireplaces. Or just appearing out of thin air, like Fleur and Gabby had done the other day when they’d absolutely scared the shit out of Hermione. Which she swore was somehow intentional on Gabrielle’s part, even Fleur was the one in control of the spell. In fact, she was a little worried that Gabrielle might have gone off her for some reason. And she really, really, really didn’t want that, since she was kind of falling for Fleur already. A lot.

“-tonight, okay?”

“What?” Hermione asked, realising she’d spaced out again.

“Merlin’s beard, Granger!” Draco exclaimed in exasperation. “No, wait, scratch that, who’s your beardy guy? Jesus Christmas!”

“Jesus Christ,” Hermione groaned.

“Whatever. Will you just promise to listen to me this time? Or, you know what, maybe I should just apparate over there, because these muggle things clearly aren’t working!”

“Draco, do not appa-” Hermione stumbled over the word, then huffed at Draco’s low chuckle. “Do not just show up here again! You only want to because you know it makes me jump. And get to the point, will you?”

“I’ve gotten to the point twice already!” Draco squawked back. He sighed, seeming to remember the need for professionalism, and said, “Look, there’s not much I can tell you about the why, but you know that the Delacour family is quite renowned. Fleur herself competed in the last Triwizard Tournament and attracted a lot of attention in this country, so of course the wizarding press is going to be interested in her. Which obviously means the muggle press is going to be interested because, a decade on, they’re still struggling to make heads or tails of what matters in the wizarding world versus what doesn’t.”

“But famous witches and wizards marry muggles all the time,” Hermione protested, hating the whine in her voice – but hating not knowing something even more. “Why should we be any different?”

Draco sighed again, and Hermione swore she could make out the sound of ice clinking against glass over the static of the phone line.

“Like I said,” Draco answered, the ‘if you had been listening’ going unspoken, “you’re going to have to talk to Fleur. Tonight, preferably, so I can stop answering your inane questions and start implementing the plan for how we’re going to spin this.”

“Spin what, Draco?” Hermione pressed.

“Talk. To. Fleur.”

The line went dead.

Hermione exhaled in irritation and pushed off the window, intending to place her phone back in its cradle on the desk. However, she raised her head to see Fleur standing there and jumped, clutching her chest in shock.

“Oh my God!” Hermione exclaimed, a startled laugh bubbling up. “When did you get there?”

“Just now,” Fleur replied with an amused grin. “I knocked on the door, but you seemed like you were deep in conversation. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Hermione said, her automatic response whenever anyone asked her that question. However, Draco’s irritating little voice still rang in her ears, prompting her to say, “Actually, there was one thing I wanted to ask you. Or Draco thought I should ask you, really, since he seemed pretty unwilling to tell me himself.”

“Ah,” Fleur said in acknowledgement, nodding slightly. In the week or so that they’d spent together, Hermione felt that she’d gotten to know her fiancée fairly well. However, it didn’t take a genius to work out that Fleur was uncomfortable with the topic at hand. “That is actually what I came ‘ere to talk to you about. It ‘as been brought to my attention that I per’aps should ‘ave informed you of a few things.”

“Meaning?” Hermione asked tentatively, taking a seat behind her desk. Even if she wasn’t technically CEO yet, only acting in the role in the interim, there was something about the large chair and formal setting that grounded her. She didn’t like to think that she was drawn to power, but she certainly enjoyed control.

“Last night, Gabrielle pointed out, and rightfully so, that there are a lot of things you do not know about the magical world,” she began tentatively, taking a seat opposite Hermione and crossing her legs at the ankle, hands folded in her lap. She looked every inch the proper lady. “This is not just ‘ow to cast a spell or what our laws are like, but things we take for granted as a normal part of society. Like, for example, ‘ow some witches and wizards are not actually ‘uman.”

Hermione blinked stupidly.

“Pardon me?”

“Some of us,” Fleur explained, looking more and more awkward by the moment, “might even look exactly like ‘umans but have part-creature blood. Like Gabrielle—”

“Gabrielle?” Hermione repeated immediately, barely aware she’d cut Fleur off. She leaned back in shock, her mouth hanging ever-so-slightly open. She closed it again, then opened it, then asked, “She’s part-human?”

Fleur looked slightly alarmed, as if the conversation had taken a turn she hadn’t expected – but Hermione didn’t see how that was possible, considering she was the one sharing the information in the first place.

“She… is, yes,” Fleur said slowly.

“Is that why the media is so interested in us?” Hermione said, a hint of disgust entering her voice. “Just because your sister is only part-human? She’s a normal girl! A witch, of course, but normal – what does it matter if she’s got creature blood?”

“Right, exactly,” Fleur tried to interrupt, but Hermione was on a roll.

“If we started treating people differently based on their blood… I mean, it would be the 80s all over again!” She stood up and leaned forward over the desk, looking intently at Fleur. “I promise you, Fleur, Gabrielle has nothing to fear from me. I would never, ever treat her differently because of who she is! Okay?”

“Well, that is good,” Fleur murmured, looking a little sheepish, “considering Gabrielle and I are full sisters. Same parents. Same blood.”

Hermione found herself dumbfounded once again.

“Oh.”

***

‘Was it two floors up or three?’

‘Why aren’t they showing themselves?’

‘I didn’t drink my tea this morning…’

‘Non-human?’

‘God, I’m hungry.’

‘First witches, now monsters. What’s next? Talking hats?’

The thoughts of the dozens of vultures standing outside, waiting for either of the Delacour sisters to come out, invaded Gabrielle’s mind far more easily than she wished. Despite Fleur’s demand she control herself, it was impossible– how could she ignore those muggles’ thoughts when said muggles wished harm on her family? It was like being stalked by a bunch of Skeeter doppelgangers, having all of this attention focused on them. If this was the only thing the muggle world and magic world had in common, then Gabrielle would do everything in her power to take her sister back to their well-protected residence in the Kingdom of Alsace. Her parents would probably be pissed, and she didn’t even want to think about how Grand-mère would react, but if this was the only solution to get her sister away from this Nundu’s den, then so be it.

“Do you want me to pick you up?” she heard Fleur ask loudly. Pulled out of her thoughts – of everybody’s thoughts, rather – Gabrielle turned her head to look at her sister. Fleur was standing in the corner of the room, using both hands to hold the telephone with the tips of her fingers. She had it far enough from her face that it looked like she was afraid it was about to come to life and eat her. “It is no problem, ‘Ermione. I can be there now if you– But… Alright, I will see you shortly, then.”

Sitting on the sofa, Gabrielle laid back and crossed her arms, her pointer finger tapping nervously against her forearm. She watched Fleur put the telephone back on the wall very carefully, then let it go faster than she could say ‘Veela’. It would have brought a smile to Gabrielle’s face if she hadn’t been so preoccupied.

“Maybe we should put a stop to this and go back home,” she breathed out, both hoping and worried that Fleur heard her. Crookshanks hopped onto the couch and lay down next to her, expecting to be petted behind the ears. Gabrielle didn’t disappoint.

Fleur didn’t make a sound at first. She simply put her hands on her hips, keeping her back to Gabrielle. “We can’t leave ‘Ermione here.”

“Sure, we can. It’s her world, not ours!”

“Gabrielle!” Fleur shouted harshly, turning around to face her. The anger was obvious in her deep blue eyes, so dark they were almost black. Gabrielle stilled. She had never seen her sister react that way. She was always composed, even more so when Gabrielle was involved.

Despite Fleur’s reaction, Gabrielle dared to speak again. “I like ‘Ermione, I do! And you know how hard it would be for me to leave Crookshanks.” She looked down at the ball of messy fur, scratching his cheeks as he purred. “But I’m not staying another second in this sunless, cold place if it means we’ll have to stay hidden for the rest of our lives.”

Walking to the window, Fleur pulled the curtain to the side slightly in order to gaze upon the swarm of journalists in the street. “We’re not leaving ‘Ermione. End of discussion.”

“Then let’s ask her to come with us.” It didn’t have to be more complicated than that!

Although Gabrielle would much rather have gone back with Fleur alone, if they had to bring Hermione with them to get out of there, then she was ready to make that sacrifice. However, judging by Fleur’s face as she put the curtain back in place and walked away from the window, things weren’t going to be that easy.

“This is her world. She has her whole life here: her family, her friends, her job. I wouldn’t do that to her,” Fleur replied more calmly, although frustration was still present in her voice.

“So, what? It’s okay when you’re the one giving up your world and loved ones, but not when it’s her?” That made no sense.

Fleur sighed, making her way to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. “It’s not like that.”

“Why not let her choose instead of making the choice for her?”

At that moment, Gabrielle saw the change in both Fleur’s aura and her appearance. She immediately knew she was in trouble. As Fleur’s hair glowed brighter and her gaze turned so dark that Gabrielle could no longer differentiate her sister’s iris from her pupil, she snapped.

“Gabrielle, that’s enough! It’s clear you don’t understand what’s at stake here, and I don’t expect you to, but don’t act like none of this matters!”

“That’s not what I—”

“Because it matters to me. We’re talking about my future wife here; there’s no way I’m leaving her in this situation, and I’m not taking her to a world that’s too dangerous for someone without any magical abilities or knowledge!” Fleur closed her eyes for a moment and lowered her head, leaving her glass of water untouched on the kitchen table.

Gabrielle was well aware that her sister’s reaction couldn’t only be because of her responsibilities. She had noticed Fleur’s lingering gaze as Hermione would cook, watch the television, read, work, or do anything, really. She didn’t want to imagine what it was like when Hermione was sleeping.

After a few seconds of silence broken only by Crookshanks’ purring, Gabrielle spoke again. “You know, Fleur, I’m not a child anymore. Instead of treating me like a baby who can’t understand a thing, maybe you could just talk to me.”

Gabrielle could understand Fleur’s frustration, but it didn’t give her the right to ignore her, did it? She missed her sister’s attention…

“And maybe you could show me a little bit more respect. I’m your big sister; I have more experience than you, so what I say goes. Is that clear?”

Although Gabrielle knew it wasn’t fully Fleur talking, and all of this was due to the stress caused by the peculiar situation they found themselves in, she still felt her heart clench. She had always supported her big sister (even if it wasn’t obvious), and not feeling supported in return was hurtful. Maybe she was overreacting, but that was how she felt, nonetheless.

“Yes, Mum,” she replied with a dissatisfied look as Crookshanks rolled to the side, putting all his weight on her thigh. “Next time, you shouldn’t even bother bringing me with you.”

Truth be told, when she saw the exact moment Fleur’s heart broke, Gabrielle couldn’t help but regret her words. Maybe she shouldn’t have let her impulsivity talk on her behalf, but just as she was about to apologise, the front door opened, and Hermione walked in. Gabrielle was immediately hit with a jumble of thoughts – the office, Draco, the media, and a load of fragments that she couldn’t figure out. Gabrielle tried to imagine a shield around her mind, picturing the way the wards around her family home shimmered when you touched them. The thoughts got quieter. As Hermione closed the door and threw her key on the table, Fleur, of course, hurried to greet her, her eyes turning back to their original shade.

At least Crookshanks stayed by her side…

“‘Ermione, ‘ow are you?” Fleur asked, taking Hermione’s hands in hers. Did she really have to? “It was not too ‘ard getting through the journalists at the gate?”

Gabrielle swore she could see Hermione tighten her grip on Fleur’s hands. Alright, she could let go now!

“Nothing that I couldn’t handle,” Hermione reassured her with a soft smile, locking her gaze with Fleur’s. Gabrielle heard the thought ‘so pretty’ come through, crystal clear.

Flamel’s lacy corset!

Fleur let go of one of Hermione’s hands and led her to one of the cushioned chairs, a worried expression on her face. “Come, ‘Ermione. You should sit and relax now.”

Hermione chuckled and offered Crookshanks a quick pet as she sat by Gabrielle, which caused him to get up and move to Hermione’s lap instead.

‘Not you, too,’ she thought to herself, crossing her arms again and pouting. She tried to lighten up and look a little more concerned for the muggle woman, as she knew Fleur would reprimand her again when she caught wind of her sour mood. Or she would, if she actually took her eyes off Hermione, that was…

Gabrielle had nothing against Hermione, really. From the moment she and Fleur had arrived, Hermione had welcomed them. She’d never made Gabrielle feel like she wasn’t supposed to be there. Sometimes, when Fleur would be taking a shower or getting ready for bed, she’d even have fun with the British woman, and she was confident her English had gotten better in the few days she’d been there.

“Gabrielle?” she heard a distant voice say. She looked up to find both Hermione and Fleur staring at her.

“Uh?” What did they want from her?

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked with a concerned look on her face. Why did she have to be so nice?

“I’d feel better without those idiots outside,” Gabrielle replied in Flamel’s tongue. She couldn’t be bothered today. Surprisingly, Fleur didn’t scold her.

“Of course,” Hermione said in Merlin’s language before switching to French. “I promise it won’t stay like this. Draco and I have found a way to sort it all out.” Petting Crookshanks, who was purring again (traitor), she paused. Making sure she had the attention of both Fleur and Gabrielle, she cleared her throat and spoke again in her native tongue. “We have a press conference tomorrow evening, at six in the evening.”

“A press conference?” Fleur repeated. She then looked at Gabrielle, obviously worried. “I do not want Gabrielle to be a part of this.”

“And she won’t be. I talked to Draco today, and he agreed to accompany us in order to watch over Gabrielle during the conference.”

Someone to watch over her? What kind of joke was this?

“I do not need to be watched!” Gabrielle argued. “I can defend myself, I can support you—”

“Gabby, please,” Fleur cut her off, raising a hand. This time, however, there was no frustration in her voice – only worry. Still standing, Fleur turned to Hermione again, looking as determined as ever. When she spoke, there was a strength radiating off of her. Gabby could feel the protective, loving embrace of her sister’s thrall, and she wondered what it was like for the muggle – for once, Hermione’s thoughts were silent. All of her attention was on Fleur. “If these people want to see who I am, then they will. And they will see that I do not want war or to incite fear, but simply to learn from this world and accept it as a part of my own.”

Hermione and Gabrielle were speechless. Actually, even Crookshanks had stopped purring and seemed to be staring up at Fleur with wider eyes than usual.

“I will not disappoint you, ‘Ermione. We will come out stronger, yes?”

Fleur’s voice was gentle, with a hint of hope. It was different from anything Gabrielle had ever heard her sister express before. If Fleur seemed so hopeful about the future, then maybe Gabrielle could be, too.

***

Standing inside Hermione’s office, Gabrielle watched through the window as Draco welcomed the journalists down in the street below, making sure none of them crossed the magic line he had set up. With one witch in attendance who stood out from the crowd wherever she went, Gabrielle was surprised to find that she noticed an acid-green quill moving across a floating notebook before she spotted the woman who accompanied it. Rita Skeeter’s curly, straw-blonde hair stayed unnaturally still despite the wind, and a muscle worked relentlessly in her sharp jawline as she stood there, chin up, lips moving as the quill recorded each of her words. Flamel’s knickers, what was she doing here? The mere sight of the woman was enough to give her chills.

Gabrielle moved away from the window and sat down on a little sofa pressed against the wall. From there, she could see – and hear – Fleur and Hermione talking in the hallway.

“I am fine, ‘Ermione. Do not worry about me,” Fleur assured Hermione, holding her hands. What a surprise. “We will go together and show them a united front – prove that what we ‘ave is real.”

Hermione lowered her gaze for a moment before locking it with Fleur’s once again. Why did she look so shy?

“Is it?” she asked.

Fleur frowned, obviously not understanding what Hermione meant, before offering a tender smile once more. Gabrielle, of course, was the only one who could hear Hermione’s silent, ‘Do you love me?’

Fleur tucked a free stray of Hermione’s hair behind her ear. “Of course it is.” She placed a hand on Hermione’s cheek, brushing her skin gently with her thumb. “If it were not, I would not be ‘ere with you, would I?”

Gabrielle could have sworn she saw Fleur wetting her lips as Hermione gulped. Truth be told, she was too afraid of what she’d learn if she decided to read Hermione’s mind any more than she already had. Thus, she decided it was better to mind her own business and let them have their moment. Or, more accurately, to look away and start chanting ‘lalalala’ in her head to block out any thoughts that might trickle through her steadily-improving shields.

Thankfully, Draco showed up before anything more dramatic could happen, indicating that it was time. The three of them followed him downstairs, and then Gabrielle was left alone with him once they got outside. They took their places to the side as Fleur and Hermione went to stand behind a lectern that had been set up in front of everyone.

“Miss Granger, right here!” one of them shouted.

“How can a regular muggle and a failed champion make it work?” Skeeter accused, lifting an eyebrow as her quill moved swiftly across the notebook.

“Aren’t you afraid of the repercussions?” another man shouted.

Hermione cleared her throat and raised a hand, silently asking everyone to calm down. “I know you all have lots of questions, but I’d like to start this conference by saying that an attack on Fleur and her family is an attack on me. It will not be tolerated.” She looked over at Fleur, who gave her a partly grateful, partly encouraging smile. “Just like I don’t care about the colour of one’s skin, their beliefs, or their traditions, I don’t care what kind of blood runs through Fleur’s veins. I’ve never felt safer than with her by my side. But, more than that, she and her family have taught me a great deal about her world – for which I’m infinitely grateful.”

Gabrielle felt her heart swell with affection. She didn’t need legilimency to know Hermione was telling the truth; they could all hear it in her voice, see it in her face. The only sounds that could be heard other than Hermione’s voice were those of photographs being taken and feet shuffling.

“Miss Delcor,” a journalist suddenly spoke up, his pronunciation highly questionable, “some say you hypnotised Miss Granger and enticed her to enter our world. Is this true?”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. Apparently, the truth wasn’t what the beasts were after.

With all eyes on her, waiting for the next big news, Fleur shrugged. “If ‘Ermione is ‘ypnotised by me, I ‘ave not ‘ad anything to do with it.”

Hermione let out a small laugh and shook her head. Suddenly, she spoke, too. “I can assure you that Fleur doesn’t need to do anything in particular to mesmerise or hypnotise me. Have you seen her?”

This time, it was Gabrielle who couldn’t help but laugh at Hermione’s comment. Deep down, she was happy that, out of all the muggles in the world, Hermione was the one who had ended up as her soon-to-be sister-in-law. After all, Fleur never seemed to be as happy as she was in Hermione’s company. Or even just thinking about her, for that matter.

She may have been twelve, but she still thought love was kinda gross.

Still, Hermione Delacour… It definitely had a ring to it! Or would it be Fleur Granger? Granger-Delacour? Surely the two brides would figure that out in due time – and Gabrielle would be there to help, as always.

Welcome to the family, Hermione.