Chapter 2
No. Absolutely not. There is no possibly way that she, Hermione Granger, is married to Fleur Delacour. Not in a million years. Never. It was impossible.
Fleur Delacour was not someone that Hermione could ever fall in love with. Yes, the blonde was obviously very beautiful, much like the rest of the veelas that visited Hogwarts during the Triwizard tournament, but her beauty could not cover up the nasty personality that the blonde had with herself. Fleur was spilt, arrogant, and downright vindictive, and Hermione knows this because the blonde found great amusement to making Hermione’s life a living hell during her fourth year, even though she was already dealing with enough drama as is, courtesy of the stupid fight between Harry and Ron after Harry became the fourth champion to participate in the tournament.
Hermione could still easily recall the many situations she was forced into because of Fleur and her fellow veelas, being cornered in the bathrooms, harassed in the library, and worst of all, tormented along the lakeside when she was trying to escape the madness of the tournament, as well as the fan girls of Viktor Krum since Hermione had suddenly become the primary target of jealousy of all the girls in Hogwarts because of her appearance as the Quidditch player’s date at the Yule Ball. But jealous girl Hermione could handle, it was the sneers and sharp words made by Fleur which really got to her. The blonde almost seemed to know about every insecurity of the brunette and would slice them open with an enchanted knife coated with honey words which packed a horrendous burn.
Fleur Delacour became the bane of Hermione’s existence during her fourth year, and the following years afterwards, she only proved to the most vile individual that one could ever become despite the obvious luxury and privilege that she had which could aid others in the battle against Voldemort and his followers. Fleur became the paragon of everything that Hermione hated in a person, to the extent that Hermione even viewed Draco in a different light because compared to what she experienced with Fleur to what she experienced with Draco, there was an obvious difference of cruelty between the two.
So, Hermione refuses to believe that she was married to this she-devil. There was no possible way that it could happen unless she was under the effects of a love potions. But then again, with her given past with Fleur, could she really put it past the blonde to do something like that?
…
..
.
It was definitely something the blonde could do, especially since she had such a fondness of cruel pranks and tricks that tended to play around with the emotions of others. Must be a veela trait, since they are renown for the feminine wiles and seductive charms.
“No, I’m not.” Hermione immediately replied, shaking her head at the blonde as she continued to stare at the brunette. “I’m not your wife. There is no way that we are married.”
Fleur stared at her from her seat, a dimness in her bright blue eyes that almost seemed wrong. Despite her obvious disdain for the blonde, one thing that Hermione could admit that Fleur probably had the most beautiful eyes that Hermione has ever seen on a person. It was almost as if all the blue in the sky had been filled in the blonde’s orbs, reflecting the various shades of blue that shimmered on the spot. So seeing them look so…dull, it was very bizarre for the brunette to see, especially since she could only recall glee and arrogance shimmering in them constantly during her time with the blonde in her fourth year.
“But we are. We have been for the past six years.” The blonde confessed; her hands perfectly placed on her lap but her fingers seemed to be twirling the ring on her finger. Noticing the movement, Hermione glanced at the ring on her own finger, coming to the slow realization that the two rings in fact seemed to match one another. Hermione shook her head again.
“No. There is no possible way that I would have married you. No way.”
Hermione didn’t care if she was being harsh or not, the brunette simply could not comprehend for even a singly moment that she would ever be compelled to marry Fleur Delacour. For it to be simply put, the blonde hated her and the sentiment was shared by the brunette. The blonde made her feelings for the brunette more than obvious when she tormented her during her fourth year along with her fellow veela, and that type of behavior and attitude did not change overnight, not even if a war is issued against all the magical beings in the magical world.
A bully was always a bully no matter the passed time.
Fleur Delacour could and would never change the type of person she is: an entitled, arrogant, and vain creature that was only after one thing in life, and that was the heartbreak of others. Whatever prank she was trying to pull right now was not going to work, not when Hermione already knows the way the blonde liked to play her games.
Hermione refused to believe anything that the blonde was going to say, turning her attention instead to Miriam, who was watching the two witches’ interactions with almost a remorseful look, her eyes lingering on Fleur who was still staring at Hermione, although the brunette refused to turn back to those haunting blue eyes.
“What is wrong with me?” Hermione demanded, trying her best to ignore the words of the French witch that she was married to her, instead trying to focus on the other revelation made by the older healer witch. “You said I have amnesia?”
Miriam shifted her attention to Hermione, realizing that the brunette was asking her the question. She sighed, glancing at Fleur for a second time before turning back to Hermione and nodding at her.
“Yes, to be more precise, you have dissociative amnesia, which was caused by the severe trauma caused to your head during the attack at the ministry.”
Hermione felt an intense pressure building up in her head, trying to recall such a thing happening, but she simply could not remember. It was frustrating her. Hermione hissed when the pressure intensified, bringing her hand to head to clutch at it, which in turn prompted Fleur to suddenly leap up from her seat and hurry to Hermione’s side, her hand touching Hermione’s arm.
“’ermione, are you okay?” The blonde asked, her touch only prompting Hermione to scowl and tug her arm away before looking up at the blonde with a glare.
“Obviously not. Don’t touch me!”
“I…my apologies.” The blonde apologized, a pained expression flashing across her face as she took a step away from the brunette’s bedside to give her some space, the action and words surprising Hermione to a small degree.
Did Fleur Delacour just apologize? To her, of all people?
Noticing Fleur’s obvious pained expression to being rejected by Hermione, as well as Hermione’s slightly stunned expression at the blonde’s words, Miriam cleared her throat to grab the attention of both witches again, both heads turning around to face her. Miriam flashed them an apologetic look.
“My apologies, but I do believe it is important for the both of you to understand the extent of Hermione’s amnesia in order to take the appropriate steps which could lead to her recovery, as well as the possible recovery of her memories.”
Hermione couldn’t help but glance at Fleur in that moment, the blonde doing the same thing so that the two of them locked eyes. Hermione immediately looked away. There was just so much confusion bubbling up within her that she felt like she could float away like a balloon with how lightheaded she felt. She simply could come comprehend the fact that she has amnesia of any kind. She has always been the careful sort, despite the company that she tended to keep to, namely her two idiotic best friends. Even when she was battling against Voldemort and his followers, she never suffered any injuries worse than some nasty cuts and bruises.
She has seen plenty of movie about people losing their memory, amnesia almost being a romanticized aspect in the media. But in real life…it was one of the worst things that could ever happen to a person. Hermione felt like she was still seventeen and was in her seventh year, finally trying to get some semblance of control back into her life again, only to find out that she was nearly thirty years and old and was married to-
No.
No, she is not going to go there.
Hermione felt the Fleur’s gaze on the side of her head, almost silently demanded for the brunette to look back at her but Hermione was not going to do it. She was already confused enough with all the information that has been tossed her away, and it only seemed to get worse when she looked at Fleur and the diamond ring that matched the one on Hermione’s finger. She did not want to accept anything that the blonde was saying because she was afraid that it was the truth. It could not be the truth, it simply could not. So instead of turning to look at the blonde again, Hermione looked back at Miriam.
“Please…please can you just tell me how I can get my memories back?”
Hermione felt like a stranger in her body, her mind not matching her body, and she wanted to fix it. The last time she ever felt uncomfortable in her body was when she was experiencing puberty during her second and third years, her fourth year putting her in an awkward stage as she tried to come to terms with herself. She simply wanted to escape this sensation, and it seemed that Miriam was the only one that could answer her and relieve her of this sensation.
“I will try my best dear, but unfortunately, it is not up to me to bring back your memories.” Miriam said with a regretful look, which only made Hermione’ throat tighten with emotion. Miriam eyed her warily before continuing. “Dissociative amnesia is a type of memory loss that is caused by stressful or traumatic events, with yours being severe trauma to your head during the attack. This means that a you end up forgetting a part of your life, ranging from your childhood, school years, and at times, recent years of you current age. In your case…it seems that you only remember your life from when you were at Hogwarts after the war, as well as when you were not…married.”
This time Hermione couldn’t help but turn to Fleur, the blonde being the only person from her past memories that she could recall, only none of them were really any good. But instead of the blonde looking at her in return, she was staring at Miriam with an almost haunted face, her skin slowly growing pale as she continued to listen to the head healer. Even though she probably felt the brunette’s eyes on her, she did not turn to look at Hermione as Miriam was the only person of interest to the French witch.
“When will she recover her memories?” Fleur suddenly asked, blue eyes fixed on Miriam as the hands on her lap tightened into fists. Hermione turned back to look at Miriam, the same question in mind, a certain anxiousness building up within her. Miriam flashed them a remorseful look.
“Unfortunately, I cannot answer that. Dissociative amnesia is a very variable type of amnesia. It can last a day, a month, a year, or even a lifetime. The brain is protecting Hermione to the extent that is has wiped away some of her memories, and it will only allow her to remember once it believes she is ready for it.”
“There ‘as got to be something we can do to ‘elp ‘er. Potions? Memory charms? There muzt be zomething we can do!” Fleur exclaimed, her voice becoming panicked and her French lilt getting heavier the more she spoke. Hermione’s throat tightened even more with emotion, Fleur’s panicked voice spiking Hermione’s own panic, but she tried her best to control it as she stared at Miriam helplessly.
“Surely there must be a way for me to remember everything.” Hermione said, swallowing thickly as she stared at the elder witch. But Miriam shook her head.
“Unfortunately, there is not. Potions can only help ease the physical pain that comes with memory loss. And memory charms…they are simply too dangerous to use on someone whose memory loss was caused by a physical injury. If Hermione lost her memory due to the obliviate spell, then it would possibly work. However, in this case, it would not. Hermione has to heal on her own, and these is also the possibility that…she could never recover her memory.”
…
..
.
Miriam’s final words soaked in both Hermione and Fleur, and a sense of horror dawned on Hermione as she realised that there was a possibility that she could never remember everything that she has forgotten. She has forgotten more than ten years of her life and…she didn’t know if she could ever get them back.
Hermione glanced in Fleur direction again and noticed the blonde was frozen in her seat, staring wide eyed at Miriam as her bottom lip seemed to tremble. She was completely pale faced, unable to stare anywhere else except at the Miriam, the head healer flashing an apologetic look to both her and Hermione, although did Hermione did not pay mind to the older witch as she watch Fleur slowly move her hand to grip the ring in her finger again, only she did not twirl it. Fleur instead held onto it, in an almost protective hold as she slowly lowered her gaze to stare at the ground, her body tense while her lip continued to tremble, unable to do anything else as the prospect of Hermione not recovering her memories dawned on her.
Despite the situation, Hermione found herself also moving her hand to clutch her own ring, holding it in place as she stared blankly at Fleur, the blonde’s actions confusing her beyond belief. She simply was so conflicted at the sight of the blonde, and yet at the same time…comforted by the fact that the blonde seemed horrified at the prospect of Hermione never recovering her memories.
…
..
.
Why was that?
A week had passed since Miriam had informed Hermione of her condition and to say the brunette felt smothered would be an understatement.
Healers flocked the brunette almost every twenty minutes, making her toss back potions or making various notes on their clipboards which they absolutely refused to let Hermione see. Miriam had perhaps checked in with her every second day, taking about an hour out of her day to converse with the brunette and try informing her of the various changes that happened to the magical world after the defeat of Voldemort. Most of the changes sounded quite nice and tranquil, but when Miriam started to speak about the changes which Hermione has made as the new Minister of Magic, that was when she hit a roadblock.
She struggled to comprehend with the idea that was the Minister of Magic. She was still young, very young, and for her to become the Minster of Magic at such a young age…it almost seemed impossible. It also did not help that whenever Miriam branched out about aspects of her past, then did the intensifying pressure in her head start to develop in her head to further itself into a throbbing migraine. Hermione felt like she was going on through an endless loop, never finding an end to the eternal madness.
And then of course, there was Fleur.
The blonde absolutely refused to leave Hermione’s side despite the brunette demanding it. The blonde simply continued to remain in the seat beside her bed, choosing not to react too horribly to the brunette’s insults and demands.
It felt very unnatural for the blonde to suddenly try help Hermione when it was finally deemed appropriate for her to try move her legs a bit and start walking. Hermione stumbled from the bed, not quite able to balance herself properly since it had been so long since she has stood, and Fleur was immediately by her side, catching her before she could fall. The blonde’s arms were warm and strong, offering her endless support, but Hermione didn’t want it. She pushed the blonde away, uncaring if it meant she was going to fall flat on her face. She didn’t need the help, especially not from her.
Pain and hurt always flashed in Fleur’s eyes whenever the brunette pushed her away, but it always disappeared as quickly as possible because the blonde would be offering her help against to Hermione despite the brunette almost always turning her aid down immediately. Although the one time Hermione had no one else but Fleur to help her when she felt the intense need for a shower, being condemned to the bed for so long. When she tried to communicate what she wanted, horrible might she add, the blonde cocked her head at Hermione and smiled softly.
“Are you asking me to give you a sponge bath?”
“Wha- No! No! Absolutely not!”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“I…I…c-can you…just…help me to the showers?”
Hermione felt absolutely humiliated by the fact she was asking Fleur of all people to help her, but the blonde seemed to light up at the requested as she nodded and reached out to touch Hermione, her hands immediately going to her hips. Hermione flushed and immediately gripped the blonde’s wrists.
“What are you doing?!”
“Helping you get out of bed.”
“I can get out on my own!”
Hermione all but shoved the blonde away and definitely stood up from the bed…only to nearly topple over. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, Fleur caught her and gently guided her back to her feet, a tender smile on her face as the two stood barely a few breaths apart.
“Are you alright?”
“I…s-shut up!”
Hermione stubbornly started walking in the direction of the showers, refusing to give the blonde a single look despite her having a supportive arm wrapped around her waist with her other hand holding her forearm. She absolutely refused to let the blonde into the showers with her, deciding to give her a brief thanks before slamming the door in her face.
It was difficult for Hermione to come to terms with the minuscule possibility that Hermione was married to the blonde witch. The hatred which Hermione developed for her during her fourth year was still prominent, even now. Nothing the blonde witch could say could change her opinion towards her.
Fleur Delacour was the devil, and that would never change no matter the circumstances.
The very proof that the blonde was the still the arrogant, vindictive woman that Hermione has always known her to be was displayed the whole time the blonde remained by Hermione’s side by St. Mungos. The blonde positively terrified anybody that dared to come close to the brunette, literally making some kind of growling noise whenever a healer came to close to comfort to the younger witch, at one stage even leaping up from her seat when the healer experimentally prodded at Hermione’s injuries which had caused the brunette to yelp from the pain.
Fleur was practically a hazard to everyone in the hospital, creating some sort of heavy atmosphere in the room that even escaped into the corridor, intimidating everyone from entering the room, which in turn caused Hermione to become completely isolated. It infuriated Hermione and when she demanded for the blonde to stop, she was fixed with a hurt but resilient look.
“It is my job to look after you.”
Hermione simply did not know what to say to those words. She somewhat recalls saying something that completely undermined the blonde’s connection to her, which in turn caused Fleur to adopt a pained expression which looked very unnatural on the blonde, but Hermione tried not to focus on the wrongness of such an expression. She tried not to focus on the blonde at all, since all she did was bring turmoil to her life, the present not any different from the past.
When Miriam eventually arrived to her room to inform her that she was allowed to leave, Hermione almost cheered in joy because she felt she was going crazy from being cooped up in the single room. But then a thought crossed Hermione’s mind which caused her to refrain from cheering.
Where was she to go?
While Hermione remembered herself being a fourth year, her age told a different story. She was a fully grown woman nearing her thirties, and she was apparently the Minister of Magic, a very prestige job to have, especially for a muggle-born. There was no possible way that she could stay at Hogwarts despite her memory, and since she has not seen anybody else aside from Fleur, she can only assume that she was meant to go her adult home that she apparently has. But…since Fleur claimed to be her wife, that meant she was going to a house that the two shared.
…
..
.
Bloody hell.
“Please refrain from doing too much too soon dear. While your body is strong enough for you to go, it is important for you not to push yourself. Your mind is still in a delicate state, and we don’t want it to get any worse.” Miriam said, flashing Hermione a kind smile as the brunette slowly stood up from her bed. Hermione frowned.
“How could it get any worse?” She asked rhetorically, making Miriam only smile at her in response before she turned to look at Fleur, who was at Hermione’s side before she even realised it.
“Please be mindful of what I told you earlier Mrs Delacour, the best thing that your wife can do is give herself time to slowly remember everything that she can. It would be good for the both of you to maintain a regular routine in order to have some semblance of normalcy during the current and upcoming times.” Fleur nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
“Excuse me, but please don’t talk like I’m not here.” Hermione quipped, glaring at the two witches from the separate conversation. Miriam just smiled while Fleur flashed her a guilty look.
“My apologies dear. But please remember not to push yourself too hard into remembering. The memories will come when they ready. Until then, please be sure to meet with the healer I have assigned your case. Talking to someone objective will help you during this time.”
“Yeah…sure.” Hermione said, frowning at the idea of meeting with yet another healer, but if it was meant to help her get her memories…so be it.
“Thank you for your services. We will be leaving now.” Fleur said, her hand suddenly taking Hermione’s before tugging her towards the door, the brunette dumbstruck for a few moments before ripping it out of the blonde’s grip.
“Don’t touch me.” She warned, her tone making the blonde turn back to her with an unreadable look before she sighed, pressing her now empty hand against her side.
“I’m sorry.” She said, the tone somehow making Hermione even more angry.
“Stop apologizing!” The brunette demanded, shoving past the blonde and continuing her way out the room and down the corridor before stopping in her tracks.
She had no idea where she was supposed to do.
“The floo system is this way.” Fleur’s voice called out behind Hermione, causing the brunette to turn and look at her, noticing the blonde pointing in the opposite direction that Hermione was marching in. Feeling herself become flushed, Hermione cleared her throat and walked back towards the blonde and past her in the indicated direction.
“I knew that.”
Fleur didn’t say anything and instead following Hermione as the two walked through the magical hospital, the blonde softly directing Hermione until they finally entered a room filled with many fireplaces, wizards and witches coming and going. Hermione spotted an empty one and headed towards it, ready to step in, only to stop at Fleur’s voice again.
“We will have to go together.” The blonde said, her blue eyes fixed on Hermione’s face as the brunette turned around to look at her. Just as Hermione was about to refuse, the blonde continued to speak. “I am the only one who knows our home address.”
…
..
.
Hermione could not argue with that logic, even though she really wanted to. So she reluctantly allowed the blonde to squeeze herself next to Hermione into the fireplace, flinching when the blonde took her hand again. Before Hermione could rip it away, she was stopped by the blonde’s words once again.
“So we don’t get separated.” She whispered; blue eyes locked with brown ones with their faces close together.
While Hermione did not want to acknowledge it, the blonde’s hand was very warm in Hermione’s, her palm and fingers smooth and soft as she gently squeezed the brunette’s hand as she grabbed a handful of floo powder and uttered an address name that she did not recognize before they were suddenly enveloped by flames.
Some of the powder had travelled up Hermione’s nose, causing her to sneeze and cough as her feet landed firmly on the ground in the new floo. Hermione couldn’t help but stumble from the impact, falling into the warm body that belonged to the blonde witch beside her who then wrapped her arms around Hermione to steady her.
“It’s okay, you’re okay mon amour.” Hermione heard Fleur whisper, the blonde rubbing comforting circles on her back as she continued to hold her, not bothering to move out of the floo despite its cramped space.
Hermione didn’t even realize that she was clutching at the blonde’s shirt until she finally relaxed her hands, the fabric soft in Hermione’s hands, similar to the blonde’s hand albeit it only being clothing material. Suddenly aware of her close proximity with the blonde witch, as well as understanding the nickname that fell from the blonde’s lips, Hermione pulled away and pushed herself out the floo with some ungraceful steps.
“Don’t call me that.” She coughed, dusting the floo powder off her clothes before she finally decided to take notice of her surroundings.
They appeared to be in a living room of some sort, it not being too large but not too small. There were two navy couches in the middle of it with a coffee table between them, along with some muggle equipment in the room, such as a large stereo and a television. Hermione noticed that there was a large bookcase pressed against the wall, filled with multiple books that it was heavenly for the brunette to see, and from some of the covers that she could see, Hermione could almost feel that the bookcase was mainly used by her. There was a soft carpet underneath the furniture, covering the dark mahogany floor that covered the entire area until the walk-in kitchen that Hermione noticed, a rather updated kitchen from even muggle standards.
Despite entering the room for the first time, Hermione could immediately sense the homely feel that the room possessed that guests would welcome. It was a lovely room, but that was all Hermione could say. She felt nothing else towards the room. She felt like a stranger walking into somebody’s home for the first time and considered the circumstances…she was practically a stranger. She felt no jolt of memory or sensation.
She felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.
And for some reason, it upset her.
Hermione felt eyes burning at the back of her head while heeled footsteps walked behind her until a warm hand pressed itself to Hermione’s back, prompting the brunette to whirl around to glare at Fleur as she raised her hands up in defense. No words were uttered, Hermione was very clear with her message towards the blonde.
Don’t touch me.
Fleur stared intensely at Hermione, swallowing slightly as she was the recipient of the harsh glare from the brunette, slowly lowering her arms before sighing. She bit her bottom lip before flashing Hermione a tender expression, something Hermione was once again not used to seeing.
“Would you… like a tour of our home?”
Home.
Our home.
…
..
.
Those two words simply did not sound right to Hermione. This was not her home, the only place that could even remotely be called her home was Hogwarts, the second place most likely to be her parents home. But here…this was not home to her. It was just a house she was standing in, a place that held no semblance of sentimentality to her.
She wasn’t home.
But…it seemed it was the only place Hermione could even remotely call home with her mind being in such a mess, and since Fleur is the only thing connecting her to her present life, she might as well accept her help. So Hermione nodded.
“Alright.”
The smile that Fleur flashed her should not have had an effect on her, but it did. Hermione felt a seed of warmth flourish at the sight of the serene smile that Fleur gave her, but she did her best not to react as the blonde stepped past her and indicated her to follow, her voice smooth and steady as she began to guide her around the house.
Turns out that the house was actually a large apartment which the two of them had purchased together when they decided to move in with one another. It had a living room, kitchen, a study, two bedrooms and a bathroom, the blonde leading Hermione through the first three rooms, carefully watching the brunette as she walked around, probably hoping for a spark of memory, but Hermione did not remember anything. Not even when she was paging through the documents which were on the desk which she apparently occupied when she worked from home sparked anything. She didn’t even recognize some of the things that were being said on the document. It was as if she was looking at new study content for the first time ever.
Once they had exited the office, Fleur began to guide them down the small corridor that contained the bedrooms, but Hermione noticed that the blonde seemed to hesitate, her eyes glancing between Hermione and one of the closed bedroom doors. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows and opened her mouth to say something, only to suddenly notice something on the wall. There were photos on the wall, only they were different from the photos which Hermione had noticed in the living room. While the living room had some photos of Hermione and her friends, along with some remnants of her apparent past as an adult, such as her first day of working in the ministry and a newspaper clipping of her giving her first speech as the Minister of Magic, the photos on the corridor wall were much different because they seemed to be a collage dedicated to Hermione and Fleur.
The photos were of the magical kind, all of them moving accordingly as they reflected the emotions of glee, happiness and love in them, stunning Hermione as her eyes analyzed every single one of them. There was a photo of the two witches sitting in a café, both drinking from teacups with their eyes fixed with one another, playing clinking their tea cups together while their hands remained entwined on top of the table. Another photo contained the two of them wrapped up in a warm embrace in Winter clothes, snow falling around them as photo Fleur lifted her head to press a kiss to photo Hermione’s forehead while the brunette smiled at the affectionate gesture with closed eyes. There was a photo that contained the two witches riding on two horses, photo Fleur on a black horse while Hermione was on a white one, a perfect representation of contrast and unity as the two women reached to hold each other’s hands for a few moments before letting go to smile at the camera.
There were so many photos of Fleur and Hermione in a romantic setting, a few of them consisting of the two hugging or kissing one another in some sort of way. But there were two photos which stood out the most to Hermione, the brunette subconsciously stepping closer to stare at the pictures more closely in stunned confusion.
The first photo consisted of Hermione and Fleur being in two wedding gowns, both in crisp white, albeit Fleur’s dress had a unique design which consisted of black lace. Fleur’s dress showed off Fleur’s airy, delicate figure with a flow out white dress, decorated with a pair of phoenixes that face each other on the bodice and form the silhouette of a heart. Her hair was loose aside from the braid that delicate pulled the blonde’s hair out of her face, finished off with small silver tiara on top of her head. Hermione’s dress was a little simpler than Fleur’s, but it still radiated its own type of beauty. Hermione had a white lace dress with the lace falling to the ground, creating a twirling effect as she danced in the photo with Fleur, the two photo women smiling serenely at one another as they appeared to be sharing their first dance together as a married couple.
The two photo witches looked so positively in love, arms wrapped tightly around one another as they rested their forehead against each other, seemingly oblivious to the other wedding guests as they were on a world of heir own, eventually leaning in for a sweet kiss that could only communicate the love and adoration that the two photo women had for one another.
Seeing her photo self being so affectionate with Fleur, looking so in love with her, it brought a sickening feeling to Hermione’s stomach. It looked far too intimate, far too…unrealistic for the two of them since the two of them so obviously detested one another when they first met at the Triwizard tournament. But the photos served as a supposed proof that the two of them were connected in some kind of way, as no talent wizard could make edited photos like this. Not even someone like Rita Skeeter would be able to pull off something like this. And it frightened Hermione.
There were a few other wedding photos of Fleur and Hermione together, a picture of the two of them cutting their wedding cake, an impressive six tier cake, and the two of them sharing a toast with one another, but those photos failed in comparison to the second photo which worse the sickening feeling in Hermione’s stomach.
The photo consisted of Fleur and Hermione being dressed in very simple clothes, albeit it mainly consisted of Fleur being in comfort clothes and Hermione seemed to be in some kind of robe garment. Hermione was sitting in a bed, her back resting against the headrest while Fleur was pressed closely to her side, an arm wrapped around her while her other hand seemed to be cupping the back of a small bundle that was laying in Hermione arms. Both photo witches were staring endearing at the small bundle in Hermione’s arms, the photo being taken in such a way that the viewer could see the smiling profiles of Fleur and Hermione, as well as the face of the small baby that was laying in Hermione’s arms.
…
..
.
Hermione slowly turned her head towards Fleur, brown eyes immediately meeting blue eyes as the blonde witch stood frozen on the spot as she watched Hermione look at all of the photos on the wall, looking visibly terrified as Hermione raised her hand and pointed at the photo that had her transfixed.
“Who is that?” Hermione asked, her voice sounding so fragile and terrified that it was almost as if Hermione was being possessed by someone else. Fleur didn’t even bother to glance at the photo that Hermione was pointing at because she knew immediately who she was referring to. She swallowed thickly, her bottom lip trembling as she stared intensely into Hermione’s eyes.
“Our daughter.”