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Leaning against her desk and her arms crossed over her chest, Fleur Delacour was fuming. Next to her, her colleague Hermione Granger, the so-called brightest witch of her age, was inspecting her ten scrolls of runes and calculations for what seemed like the hundredth time.
A pointless task, if you asked her. Fleur’s calculations were always correct.
Usually, Fleur was a model of patience with her aggravating co-worker, allowing her to triple-check everything she did. While Hermione wasn’t technically her boss, she was the instigator of the project they were working on and considered it to be baby. As such, Fleur had to obediently follow her lead whether she liked it or not.
But right now, Fleur couldn’t suppress her murderous glare. She had a date with a cute guy tonight and Hermione was going to make her late!
Weirdly enough, she had to work very hard to get that date. Seducing a man or a woman was usually relatively easy for Fleur. She was a Veela and as such was endowed with natural beauty, but more importantly with the thrall, an extremely effective tool to charm people.
Unfortunately, Bill Weasley was one of the few ones to be immune to it. For weeks, he had been oblivious to her advances but Fleur wasn’t one to turn down a challenge. She had seeked advice from her non-Veela friends in France and had to endure their mockeries for not knowing how to flirt without her thrall. She had had to mask her exceptional intelligence as it was obvious that Bill was more attracted to subdued women and she even went as far as faking interest in Quidditch, the man’s passion. But her efforts have paid off. Tonight, they would no longer be friends but lovers.
Unable to bear it any longer, Fleur placed both of her hands on the edge of Hermione’s desk and said, “No need to check my calculations, Granger. I’m never wrong, you know?”
The other witch raised a finger, her eyes still on the parchments. “Just checking that you didn’t screw up anything, Delacour.”
Fleur’s blood was boiling. She sat back on her chair with a loud groan while Hermione resumed her verifications.
She had to admit that she was also nervous because there was a lot at stake with today’s experiment. It was the culmination of their joint research and if it succeeded, it could convince the Head of the Department of Mysteries to keep on financing the project.
Ten years ago, all of the Ministry’s time-turners had been destroyed in an accident, even though no one told Fleur how it happened exactly. Hermione, after having won a war against one of darkest wizards and after a brilliant academic career, has been tasked to study time-travel in the hope of recreating the artefact.
Fascinated by alchemy, she had achieved something that no one thought possible. Instead of transmuting base metals into gold or plants into medical cures, she had managed to locally transmute time itself in order to alter its fabric. To do so, she mixed the theories of arithmancy, different types of ageing spells and stabilised everything with an impressive usage of encasement runes. The first experiment Hermione conducted three years ago on a paperweight seemed to have failed at first since the object just vanished, but the following day she was surprised to find it back in its place on her desk. She quickly figured out that she had found a way to travel to the future and not to the past.
The Head of the Department was very interested in her unexpected results, but unfortunately for Hermione, the arithmancy involved to improve her invention required a lot of very complex and time-consuming calculations. The Ministry had thus requested of her to work in tandem with a specialist of arithmancy and that is how Fleur had been recruited.
It was the opportunity of a lifetime for her and she had accepted it without a second thought, even if it meant leaving her beloved country, her friends and her family. The subject was fascinating and Hermione was renowned as the brightest witch of her age, it was a privilege to collaborate with her.
But the English woman had shown a dislike for Fleur from the start. She had barely involved her in any thinking process or decision making. After a few weeks, the Veela understood that Hermione would have rather continued to work alone and that she hated not being in control. Fleur had to break the ice with the younger witch and prove her worth countless times.
After many tries, a few disappointments and a considerable amount of hard work, Hermione and her had created their first functional prototype a few months ago. They’ve successfully managed to travel seven minutes and twenty-one seconds into the future.
Today should be a milestone to their research. The glass jar on Hermione’s desk contained a drastically improved version of their prototype, one that would allow them to travel months into the future.
If only Hermione would stop checking her calculations!
Fleur read the time on the Muggle electronic clock that Hermione had installed above their blackboard and groaned.
25th of June 2001 - 17:35
At this rate, she was going to be late for her date with Bill. Of course, they were supposed to come back from their travel in time at the exact moment when they left but there was always a chance of a small deviation.
Fleur was tempted to release her thrall on the woman to speed things up but knew it was useless. She’s tried it before but to no avail. Since her thrall had no grip on people not attracted to women, Fleur had concluded that Hermione was completely straight, a theory confirmed by the fact that she had a boyfriend she seemed very happy with.
After what seemed an eternity, Hermione finally took the time-turner from the secure jar and examined it one last time before looking up at Fleur.
“Ready, Delacour?”
“I’ve been ready for thirty minutes, Granger. But thanks for asking!”
Hermione smirked and then both witches stood up to meet at the centre of the room.
“One turn for one month forward, right?” she asked as she slipped the golden string around her neck, then around Fleur’s. “And after two hours, it will bring us back here and now?”
“Yes,” Fleur huffed. “And hurry up, I don’t want to be late for my date!”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well then, allons-y, Alonso!”
Fleur briefly wondered if Hermione was quoting the Muggle TV series Doctor Who, which would be quite fitting, but refrained from asking. She didn’t want to delay their experiment any further, especially since Hermione was finally activating the time turner.
Fleur would have gladly travelled a few years or even a decade forward, but she had to give it to Hermione, there were some very serious arguments against it. This was only a test after all, and if they ended up stuck in the future for some reason, they wouldn’t have missed too much of their lives. Hermione initially wanted to travel only one month ahead so the fact that they agreed on two months was a small victory for Fleur.
After the second turn of the time-turner, Fleur and Hermione’s surroundings started to blur until there was nothing but silence and darkness around them. But Fleur knew from their last trip that it was the calm before the storm, and soon enough it felt as if the ground had suddenly collapsed beneath their feet.
The fall seemed endless and Fleur wanted to scream and reach out to grab something to hold on to. But, going against all of her instincts, she closed her eyes and breathed in and out evenly. Concentrating on the movements of her ribcage or on the feeling of the air entering and leaving her lungs helped her greatly keep her calm. By her side, Hermione was most certainly doing the same.
After what felt like minutes but couldn’t have been more than a dozen seconds, the dizzying sensation disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Fleur waited for a few moments until her stomach settled before opening her eyes.
The first thing she noticed was the absence of furniture in their small office. Their desks were gone, as well as her colleague’s ridiculously overpacked bookshelves.
The second thing she noticed was Hermione’s furious gaze.
“Oh, seriously Delacour!” she yelled. She hastily removed the time turner from Fleur’s neck and pocketed it under her collar. “Seven years. Seven years!”
Fleur whipped her head towards the Muggle clock and her jaw almost dropped.
13th of January 2008 - 14:49
Beneath it, the blackboard where they usually scribbled their notes or calculations simply read the following message in big white letters:
You screwed up your calculations, Delacour.
Fleur came closer to the blackboard to better inspect the message. She didn’t know why she did that because there was nothing out of the ordinary here and the clock looked exactly like it always had, but at least it gave her time to think.
She didn’t understand where she could have made such a huge mistake. She had checked her calculations multiple times, going as far as using two different methods to solve her equations. She had been the one to calibrate the time-turner and, while Hermione had magically carved her runes, the required quantity of sand had been weighted by none other than herself.
They could not be wrong. She could not be wrong.
Fleur turned around. Hermione’s arms were crossed over her chest and the look she was giving her was deadly but the Veela held her ground.
“There’s no way we’re in 2008. That’s your handwriting on the wall, I’m sure future-you pranked me.”
“Prank you…” Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “Clearly you don’t know me at all.”
“We’re not in 2008,” Fleur reiterated. “Come with me outside, I’ll prove it to you.”
“What? We’re not supposed to leave. That was the plan. Nobody can see us, especially not ourselves!”
“You have a good memory, right? Well then you’ll remind me not to come to the Ministry today.” Fleur opened the door of their office and held it open, looking at Hermione expectantly. “Are you coming? I don’t have all day.”
“I’m tempted to stay here and travel back to our present without you, Delacour. I’ll let Bill know that you’ll be seven years late to your date!” she said with a fakely sweet smile.
“You’re too nice to do that, Granger, and we both know it.”
Hermione’s face fell and the two witches stared at each other for a few tense seconds. Fleur was bluffing, of course she wouldn’t leave without her colleague. In the unlikely possibility that they were indeed in 2008, she didn’t want to be stuck so far into the future.
“Why are you so stubborn?” Hermione groaned. “The atrium and then we’re out. Don’t talk to anyone.”
Fleur smiled triumphantly as Hermione passed by her, eliciting another groan from the brunette, and the pair walked through the corridors of the Department of Mysteries in silence. When they reached the elevator, its doors opened and two Ministry employees stepped out of it, a man their age that Fleur couldn’t place and a younger woman she had never seen before.
“Hermione!” the man exclaimed happily with an overconfident air that Fleur immediately disliked. “It’s been a while since—”
“Sorry, Cormac. We’re in a rush,” Hermione said as she and Fleur entered the elevator. The doors closed behind them, muffling the apology of the man.
Fleur was impressed by her colleague, not that she would ever say it out loud. Hermione had used the right amount of authority and finality so that the man did not question their motives while being courteous enough as to not sound too rude. Fleur wouldn’t have done better.
“We could have asked your friend Cormac for the date if you’re so worried about people seeing us,” Fleur whispered. She grabbed one of the handles on the roof before the elevator started and abruptly jostled them backwards.
“First, he’s not my friend. Second, do you often get asked what year we’re in, Fleur? That would have sounded very suspicious.”
“I don’t think so. People expect weird things from members of the Department of Mysteries.”
“Are we still working for that department, Fleur? After seven years, it’s unlikely.”
“Six years and a half, not seven,” Fleur corrected. “And you’ve thought about everything, have you?”
“Yes, something you visibly didn’t do,” Hermione quipped.
Fleur side-eyed her colleague menacingly but the other woman wasn’t looking at her. Hermione was even smirking, probably happy to have the final word and Fleur felt anger bubble up just below the surface.
At this time of the day, the atrium was luckily almost deserted. Fleur made a beeline to the kiosk near the visitor desk and grabbed a copy of the Daily Prophet. When she read the date, her face fell. They were indeed in January 2008.
“See, Delacour, you were wrong.”
Fleur’s head whipped up. Hermione was standing nonchalantly, her hands in her back pockets, and had a very unnerving smile plastered on her face.
“I did not screw up my calculations.”
“Fleur,” Hermione sighed like she was explaining the most basic thing to a child for the hundredth time. “There must be some factor that you didn’t take into account.”
“Are you sure you carved the runes correctly? You must have made a mistake.”
“You are impossible! Is it so difficult to admit that you’re at fault here?” Hermione whispered-yelled.
“Oh because you have? You were so prompt to blame me.” Fleur waved the newspaper in front of Hermione. “Hell, even seven years later you’re still blaming me!”
“It’s because I think seven years is a long enough time for us to figure out that you—”
“Leaving already, Hermione?”
Fleur froze. Too engrossed in their argument, they hadn’t noticed a third person approaching. But here, right next to them, was Ron Weasley, the younger brother of her date Bill and also Hermione’s boyfriend. He had his usual goofy smile and was looking at them amusingly.
They’d have to trade carefully. Meeting an acquaintance was one thing but Hermione had known the boy since they were kids and Fleur knew he was much more astute than he seemed to be.
“Yes, we were just on our way out. Right, Fleur?” Hermione said with acid in her voice.
“Oh, I see.” Ron wagged his eyebrows. “Took your afternoon off to have a little bit of fun?”
“Exactly,” Hermione said with a predatory grin. “I was thinking of strapping her down a—”
“Eww!” His face contorted in disgust, Ron covered his ears with his hands and took a few steps backwards. “I don’t want to hear about your weird kinks, Mione!”
The red-headed man turned on his heels and left without a goodbye. Fleur was relieved to see him gone but at the same time puzzled by his behaviour.
“I don’t know what’s kinky about me tying you up on a bridge and blowing the whole thing up…” Hermione mused.
“Hon, hon, hon,” Fleur deadpanned. She placed the newspaper back on its stand. “Your boyfriend is just weird.”
“I don’t think he’s— Never mind.” Hermione shook her head and forcefully pushed Fleur towards the end of the atrium. “Out! Before someone else sees us.”
In preparation for today's experiment, Fleur and Hermione agreed that, should anything happen, they would leave for Muggle London. There, the chances of meeting someone they knew was non-existent and it would give them time to decide what to do. So Fleur was not surprised when Hermione led them to the only exit that led to the Muggle world.
When they arrived in the busy shopping street next to the Ministry though, what she had not anticipated was the rush of cold air that seeped into her bones. Fleur tightened her thin leather jacket even if she knew it was no use, they were just not dressed for the temperatures of January.
Hermione didn’t cope much better. She was walking briskly in front of her, her arms wrapped around herself, while she was ranting about how everything had gone wrong because of Fleur.
Fleur waited patiently for her to go silent before she called out, “Do you have Muggle money? I’d love a coffee right now!”
Hermione stopped right in her tracks and turned around. Her gaze was murderous. “Do I look like I want to buy you a coffee?”
“Yes?” Fleur tried. Hermione huffed and resumed walking. “Come on! It’s freezing, we need to get somewhere warm!”
But Hermione didn’t answer. After a few blocks, she took right on a more secluded street and drew her wand. Fleur was afraid that she was going to be hexed, but Hermione only grabbed onto her hand and Fleur was suddenly overwhelmed by the nauseating feeling of apparition.
“Thanks for the warning,” Fleur said sarcastically. She breathed in deeply to ease the lurch in her stomach and took in her new surroundings. The noise of the traffic had given way to the gentle singing of the birds and family houses that looked similar to one another were lined up on a neat and tidy street. “Where are we?”
“In front of my parents’ house.”
“What? You’re busting me because we met Ron and you’re bringing us to your parents’?”
“They won’t ask any questions if I act oddly, they’re used to it.” Hermione looked at the name written on the mailbox and smiled shyly. “Plus… I just want to see if they’re okay.”
Fleur hadn’t expected this honest explanation from her co-worker and all her witty retorts died out. She could totally relate, though. If she had the possibility, she would travel to France right away to check on her family too. The answers could be terrible, but this was the kind of morbid curiosity that was impossible to resist.
She was just surprised to see the usually inflexible and nitpicking English witch willing to throw her principles out of the window for her beloved ones. Hermione was so insufferable and so dedicated to her work that Fleur often forgot that she was actually a human being and had flaws like everyone else.
Hermione walked down the pathway and knocked. Fleur couldn’t help but notice how she was fidgeting nervously
Fleur followed Hermione on the pathway and couldn’t help but notice how the other witch was fidgeting nervously after having knocked, and how her shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly once a woman who looked an awful lot like her opened the door.
“Hermione, Fleur! You’re early!” The woman’s bright smile fell slightly as she took in their appearance. “You must be freezing, why don’t you wear a coat?”
She ushered them inside and Fleur relished in the warmth of the house. The only thing missing now was a nice cup of coffee.
“Well, let’s just say that there was an unexpected error in our schedule.” Hermione side-eyed Fleur. “And we had to take our afternoon off. Sorry about that, mom.”
“Don’t apologise, honey!” Hermione’s mother said. She then pointed to the upper floor. “She’s still asleep but she should wake up any minute now.”
Fleur could only guess that ‘she’ was Hermione’s daughter. It wouldn’t be surprising that Ron had knocked her up after all those years. The couple would be in their early thirties at this point in time, it was as good an age as any to have a first child.
Hermione’s mother told them to wait in the living room while she went into the kitchen to prepare tea. Once she was out of hearing range, Hermione filled Fleur in on basic information about her parents, like the fact that their names were Jean and Michael and that they were dentists. Fleur only listened absented-mindly though, she couldn’t see how that info dump was relevant. Sure, Jean seemed to know her, but they were surely nothing more than acquaintances and would probably not blame her for not remembering her first name.
“Now sit down and don’t touch anything,” Hermione ordered as she settled on the sofa.
Fleur didn’t move though, she let her gaze wander around the small but functional room and its adjacent dining room.
The matching sofa and armchair were in the beige tones that did not contrast with the pale blue of the walls. The furniture was sparse and very ordinary even if it seemed to be of good quality, and the chimney at the end of the room appeared to be purely decorative.
This place was miles away from the vibrant and colourful house Fleur grew up into, and she now understood where Hermione’s tidiness came from. Nothing was out of place and if it were not for the toys lying on the coffee table and the pictures on the mantelpiece, she would have wondered if anyone was actually living here.
“Hey, do you think she can make me a coffee?” Fleur asked.
“My parents don’t drink coffee. Sorry, princess. And now sit down!”
Fleur smirked. It was the first time Hermione called her ‘princess’ and quite unexpectedly, she liked it. “You English people don’t know how to make a good coffee anyway…”
Hermione crossed her arms on her chest and scoffed. Fleur was in a playful mood and wanted to aggravate her colleague even further. She walked past Hermione, towards the chimney, and studied the three pictures on the mantelpiece.
In the first one, a very young Hermione was wearing a school uniform that didn’t harbour the Hogwarts crest. She took it in her hand and waved it.
“Oh, you’re missing a tooth. I didn’t know you could look cute!”
In the second picture, Hermione was in her Hogwarts school robes, a younger version of Jean on her left and a man who could only be her father Michael on her right. In her hands, she proudly held a rolled-up piece of parchment that Fleur assumed was her diploma.
The last frame as well as the announcement card next to it cleared any doubt Fleur might still have about the person napping upstairs. In the picture, Hermione was holding a newborn in her arms and despite the large dark circles under her eyes, she looked serene and happy. It was a beautiful and endearing sight to see.
Fleur reached out for the announcement card but Hermoine startled her by ripping it out of her hands.
“Oh no you don’t,” the English witch said. “You’re not gonna learn my daughter’s name before I do.”
Hermione opened the card and stifled a laugh. She looked between Fleur and the card, her eyes open wide in shock, but before the Veela could ask her what ridiculous name Ron had come up with for their child, an exquisite aroma made her salivate.
Coffee.
“Here we go!” Jean exclaimed. She was carrying a tray with three mugs, a tea pot and a sort of big glass filled to the brim with coffee. On top of the glass was a thick orange lid with a thin metal rod sticking out of it.
Attracted like a bee by the lingering smell of her favourite beverage, Fleur rushed to the sofa, forgetting about Hermione and her shell-shocked state. As much as she liked living in England, she missed a good coffee and this one looked promising despite the strange item Jean had poured it in.
“Tea’s ready,” Jean said after a few seconds of silence.
Hermione looked up at her mother, then at Fleur for a few seconds as if she was trying to solve a riddle before shrugging.
“Yeah, why not?” Hermione said, more to herself than anything else. She placed the card next to the other pictures on the mantel and sat next to Fleur on the sofa. “No trouble with the little monster, today?” she asked her mother.
“Oh, no, not at all! We went to the park this morning and Vicky charmed everyone, as usual,” Jean gushed. “Oh, and I saw Ms. Bergstrom with her grandsons. She says hi.”
“Oh, how is she doing?”
While Jean answered her daughter, who then discreetly asked about her father and other relatives, Fleur observed the contraption containing her coffee curiously. It was big enough to contain at least a large cup and the coffee powder seemed to be floating inside.
Under the orange lid was a sort of metallic circle. Fleur lifted the glass, which conveniently had a plastic handle, and noticed that the thin rod seemed attached to it. She wondered what would happen if she were to push it down.
“I used the Arabica that you told me to buy the other day,” Jean said. “Two spoons. Is there a problem with the French Press?”
“The French what?” Fleur deadpanned. “That thing is not French.”
“I think it has brewed long enough,” Hermione said pointedly. “You can push the piston now.”
Fleur levelled Hermione’s disgruntled gaze for a few seconds before doing as ordered. The metallic circle happened to be some kind of filter, letting the water through while pushing the coffee powder down to the bottom of the glass.
Brilliant! No wonder this thing was French.
She poured herself a cup and brought it to her lips. The smell was so exquisite that Fleur had to repress a moan. She knew that Jean was watching her rather curiously but she couldn’t care less. She finally had a good coffee in England and couldn’t believe that she had to travel through time for that.
The conversation between Hermione and her mother resumed and pleasantly flowed until it was interrupted by a baby crying.
Hermione rubbed her hands over her jeans and smiled. “I’ll go get her.”
She leapt up to her feet and ran up the stairs two at a time, leaving Fleur alone with Jean and with no idea what to say to the woman. She would have gladly kept silent but Hermione’s mother seemed to have a mind of her own.
“Are you alright, Fleur? You seem a bit off.”
“I’m fine, thanks for asking. I just had an altercation with my boss. She’s a bit of an ass sometimes.”
“Oh, I thought your boss was a goblin. A male goblin,” Jean said.
“Ah yes, er, the other one I mean. It’s… she’s new.”
Fortunately, before Fleur could make a fool of herself, more than she already had at least, Hermione came down with her daughter in her arms.
Vicky couldn’t be more than two years old and looked nothing like Fleur had imagined. She didn’t have Ron’s red hair but was a cute curly blonde with delicate features. Her eyes were a shiny shade of blue and Fleur was immediately reminded of her little sister Gabrielle when she was a toddler.
“Have you seen that, Fleur?” Hermione was beaming. “She’s so cute when she wakes up.”
Fleur rolled her eyes. “She’s just a baby.”
“Just a baby?” Hermione shook her head. “But she looks so much like you when she’s all grumpy like that, don’t you think?”
Fleur crossed her arms, not wanting to grace Hermione with an answer and not liking the mirth dancing in her colleague’s eyes.
When Hermione sat next to her on the sofa, the baby launched herself at her. Luckily, Fleur was able to catch her before she fell and was about to chastise her for her recklessness but something made her freeze.
Vicky undeniably smelled like a baby but she also sported that distinct scent that was characteristic of all the members of Fleur’s species.
At this precise moment, she finally puzzled everything together. Ron’s reaction to seeing them earlier, Jean’s familiarity, Hermione’s shock when opening the announcement card, everything now made sense.
But it couldn’t be. She couldn’t believe it.
“She’s Veela,” Fleur whispered to herself.
“Of course she’s Veela, she’s your daughter,” Hermione exclaimed.
Fleur stood up abruptly, Vicky still cradled in her arms, and took a few steps back from a beaming Hermione and a very confused Jean.
“No, she can’t be mine. You see, in order to get you pregnant, we’d have to perform an ancient Veela ritual whose prerequisite is romantic love and mutual respect. And frankly, I can’t picture a world in which you and I would want to have a child together!”
Hermione leaned back on the sofa and crossed her arms. Her cocky smile was unnerving. “Fleur, she has blue eyes, blonde hair, she’s Veela and she has a French name. Whose do you think she is?”
“Victoria is not French. One of the Spice Girls is named Victoria! Ah!”
“How do you know about the Spice Girls?” Hermione shook her head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Her name is Victoire.”
“She’s not mine,” Fleur spat while bouncing the baby in her arms. “Did I mention that the ritual must be performed while having sex, Hermione? You and I, having sex! Seriously?”
“Oh, I see! If it’s not you then I must have married your sister!”
“Ma petite sœur?” Fleur froze on the spot and her eyes squinted. “No, you didn’t! Not Gabrielle!”
“Bla-bli-ble?” Vicky squealed. “Bla-bli-ble!”
“Oui! Gabrielle!” Fleur smiled down at the child in her arms. “Et n’écoutes pas ta maman, elle ne raconte que des bêtises…”
Vicky laughed and Fleur placed a kiss on her forehead. This kid was undoubtedly too cute not to be hers.
“Are you two okay?” Jean asked in a hushed voice to her daughter.
“Yes we are, mom. I wish I could explain but I can’t. Let's say it's a wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff.”
Jean's brow furrowed before realisation hit her. “Oh.”
Fleur rolled her eyes. She couldn't believe that Hermione had made her mother understand the situation by quoting the fictional time-traveller, Doctor Who. The other witch even had a smug smile on her face, certainly convinced that Fleur hadn’t picked up on her reference to the famous British TV series. What she didn’t know, though, was that the Veela had been raised with an open mind by her parents and was actually enjoying Muggle culture a lot.
Deciding to let it go, Fleur sat Victoire down on the sofa between Hermione and her. The toddler pointed towards the pile of books underneath the coffee table and Hermione, not needing to be told twice, let her daughter choose between a book on trains and another one on birds. Fleur was extremely offended when her daughter, a Veela, pointed excitedly at the trains.
Knowing that nothing would surprise Jean anymore, Fleur decided to ask her about her family in France. As far as Hermione’s mother knew, both her parents as well as her sister were doing good. Fleur didn’t dare ask about her great-grand-mother though. Her health was already precarious in 2001 and there were some questions that were better left unanswered.
After a pleasant discussion and an excellent cup of coffee, Hermione informed Fleur it was time for them to leave. They had designed the time-turner to release a surge of warmth approximately ten minutes before their trip back and Hermione must have felt it.
Victoire didn’t seem to be ready to see her mothers go, though, and as Hermione and Fleur were bidding their goodbyes to Jean on the hallway, she made the most adorable pout.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Fleur said to Jean. “I’ll definitely buy one of those French things.”
Jean laughed. “Of course you will, you were the one to give it to us after all!”
Hermione kissed her daughter on the forehead and whispered, “I look forward to meeting you again, little one.” She then turned to her mother. “Bye, mom. And don’t worry, our normal selves will come pick her up at the appointed time.”
The moment Hermione placed her hand on the doorknob, little Victoire started to cry and squirm in Jean’s arms.
“Or maybe we’ll come in five minutes,” Fleur said. “Right Hermione?”
“Agreed!”
Fleur’s heart broke at hearing Victoire’s sobs and she had to fight the urge to hug her and make her smile again. But she knew that the sooner she left, the sooner the other Hermione and Fleur could arrive and comfort her.
The two witches left the house and walked down the little path leading to the street.
“Don’t look back, Fleur. I’m pretty sure we’re right behind.”
“But it hasn’t been five minutes!”
“Have you seen that pout? I’m pretty sure she leads us around the nose and that we can’t stand the idea of leaving her crying for too long.”
Fleur found herself agreeing with Hermione, something that happened so rarely that it was worth noting. If her daughter was anything like Gabrielle and herself when they were kids, she already knew how to coax the adults around her.
“This thing is dangerous, don’t you think?” Hermione asked while they were walking down the street. Fleur didn’t know where she was leading them but decided to trust her.
“What? Victoire’s pout?”
Hermione laughed. “No, the time-turner. The prospect of learning about the future, it’s both exhilarating and scary. It will drive people crazy.”
“The old time-turners used to drive people crazy too.”
“Yes, but their usage was restricted and it was almost impossible to go further than a few hours back in time. Our technology is radically different. I’m afraid of what the Ministry will do once they learn our trip was a success.”
“You could always tell them that it didn’t work,” Fleur shrugged.
“Why not? At least it will buy us some time to decide what we’re going to do.”
Fleur was pleasantly surprised that Hermione was willing to include her in the reflection. She was so accustomed to being looked down on by the other witch, but maybe today’s visit to Hermione’s mother opened her mind. Maybe she realised that Fleur could be a partner instead of a burden imposed by her hierarchy.
Soon enough, they arrived in front of a small church. Hermione led them to a secluded area, at the end of the left aisle, and they sat on a bench in the back row. Here, nobody would notice their sudden disappearance, especially since they were basically alone at this time of the day. Fleur observed her surroundings and couldn’t help but wonder if Hermione used to come here often as a kid or if her or her parents were even religious.
“In any case, I’m glad that we only learnt minor things today,” Hermione sighed.
“Minor things! How can you be so cool about this? You’re going to break up with Ron and marry me, it’s huge!”
Hermione looked at Fleur with that superior air she hated so much. “You see, that’s something I was prepared for.”
“Of course you were.”
“I’m not Vicky’s mother. And I’m not married to the Fleur Delacour that lives here. Not yet. Six years and a half is a lot of time, and I’m pretty sure that, whatever happened — or will happen to be more precise — will be for a good reason. I trust my judgement, even if I really don’t see how I would want to have a child with you…”
“Finally something we can agree on!” Fleur crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. “I’m pretty sure you were the one who did all the pinning anyway.”
“Oh I don’t think so.”
“Yes you were. And after a few years, I must have taken pity on you and delivered the amazing sex you were begging for. That’s the only plausible explanation!”
“I’m usually not the one to do the begging,” Hermione said bluntly. Fleur’s eyes opened wide and she looked at her neighbour in shock. “And I saw our wedding pictures when I went to fetch Vicky. You looked quite smitten.”
“No as smitten as you, I bet.” Fleur grunted before her curiosity got the better of her. “Oh, am I wearing a dress or a suit?”
“Spoilers!” Hermione winked. She slid closer to Fleur and placed the time-turner around her neck.
“Are you quoting Doctor Who again?” Fleur asked curiously, remembering how this was one of River Song’s favourite retorts.
“You know Doctor Who?!”
Fleur shrugged. “Of course! When I moved here, I took an interest in the culture of the country.”
Hermione gave her a playful nudge on the shoulder. “Well, maybe I’ll marry you after all!”
Before Fleur could reply, though, the dizzying sensation of time travel engulfed her until there was nothing but darkness. She closed her eyes and started her breathing exercises. The trip back in the past was as nauseating as expected but Fleur was pleasantly surprised when she felt a hand grip her own. It was soothing.
When she opened her eyes, Hermione had already retrieved the time-turner and placed it back under her shirt. The church looked exactly the same and was still deserted.
“17:36, we left for barely one minute!” Hermione exclaimed as she stood up. “Plenty of time to prepare for your date.”
“My date? Oh, right!” Fleur exclaimed. She couldn’t believe she forgot about the date she had worked so hard to get.
“See, you’re smitten already! That’s cute.”
As Hermione walked away, Fleur released her thrall. She knew it had no effect on the other witch whatsoever but it was as good a way as to let some steam off after this eventful day.
Needless to say, when Hermione stopped and turned around, her mouth hanging open and her gaze slightly unfocused, Fleur was genuinely surprised and even slightly panicked.
“Fleur?” Hermione tilted her head to the side and slowly walked towards the Veela, a weak smile on her face. “Your eyes… I never noticed how beautiful they were…”
Fleur didn’t understand. In her freaked out state, she tried to remember as best as she could everything she’d been taught about the thrall but she couldn’t find an explanation as to why Hermione suddenly reacted very strongly to it.
Was it because today she realised that she was not as straight as she thought she was? Such a thing was unheard of but Fleur couldn’t completely rule it out. She’d have to talk to her grand-mother.
Once Hermione was close enough, she bent down and grabbed the collar of Fleur’s jacket with both of her hands. She brought her nose to the Veela’s neck and inhaled deeply. When she breathed out, the rush of hot air Fleur felt on her skin sent delicious shivers down her spine.
“Oh, Delacour,” Hermione purred in her ear. “Your thrall, really? You’ll have to try harder than that.”
Hermione pulled back and looked her in the eyes with a smug smile. She patted Fleur’s cheek twice before walking away as if nothing had happened.
Of course Hermione was immune to the thrall but could still feel it.
Fleur’s eyes followed Hermione and she noticed for the first time that the way the woman was swaying her hips was rather pleasant. The Veela pulled at the collar of her shirt. Was it supposed to be that hot inside of a church?
But Hermione didn’t seem to want to put Fleur out of her misery because right before she disappeared, she said with a wink, “Oh, and don’t think about me too much when you’re with Bill tonight!”
Fleur squinted her eyes at her retreating form and whispered too low for the other witch to hear, “Two can play at that game, you know? You don't seem to realise what kind of beast you’ve unleashed.”
Already, a plan to sweep Hermione off her feet was drawing up in Fleur’s head. It would be easy even if she’d have to trade carefully. She’d just have to prove to her that she was much more brilliant and fascinating than her boyfriend Ron. She wouldn’t even have to play a role like she had to do with Bill, she simply had to be herself.
Fleur readjusted her leather jacket and stood up with a new resolve.
Hermione may have won this battle, but Fleur would win the war. She would erase the smug smile from Hermione’s face. She would make her scream her name and beg for more. She knew for sure that it would work, she had just witnessed it.
And even if it were to take months or years, Fleur wasn't one to turn down a challenge.