Free Day- Soulmates
Hermione is born with splotches of color on her skin.
It’s the worst omen a newborn can have.
It doesn’t happen often but everyone knows the outcome when it does occur.
The baby disappears.
Not yet, not immediately. Sometimes a person can grow to adulthood, even into their old age—but they always disappear.
There’s more theories on the colors than anything out there. Aliens marking humans like cattle, the government tracking potentially powerful children, the list goes on.
To have a baby with writing or drawing means the absolute knowledge that the child will be taken.
No one knows who takes them or where they go.
It’s a stigma.
The marked—the damned.
Hermione Granger is born a dead girl walking.
Swirls of vines and flowers would bloom and her parents would shut down.
Yellow finger paint streaking down her arms in the shop causes workers to make stressed sounds and hurry away.
Words that she couldn’t read would appear and the neighborhood kids would turn away from her—talk around her.
She learned—as all muggle children with a soulmate do—to wear layers and never let anyone see the marks.
It doesn’t help. Everyone knows. Sometimes Hermione feels as if someone can look at her and just know. It’s this great big obvious thing that sets her apart—makes her different.
People do not like Hermione Granger and she is going to be taken.
These are two facts that she has always dealt with. She likes to think she is not liked because of her ominous fate.
She fails to believe it.
She tries to embrace it.
If they already don’t like her then she’ll be the know it all they think she is.
She’ll be even worse.
She’ll make them hate her for a real reason—something beyond the swirls around her ankle or script on her arms.
No matter how much she tries to embrace it, she ends up alone in a park at the end of the day.
She spends a lot of time alone.
That’s where she learns the writing on her arm is french.
She learns to read and write french—if only to keep an eye out for whatever the aliens or monsters want with her.
She thinks it’s more likely a government scheme of some sort.
At least until weird things start happening.
Aliens seem more likely when she accidentally explodes a vase.
Learning she’s a witch isn’t as earth shattering as it might have been.
Her parents barely even react. They rarely do. They see her turn a chair into a misshapen toilet and nod, as if it all makes sense. Why wouldn’t the marked kid turn their brown carpets blue?
She’s a ghost to them. She died when she was born.
They let McGonagall in. They sign the necessary paperwork. They agree to let her leave. It’s not like she was ever going to stay.
McGonagall is one of the few people to really look at her—the others being the librarian and the lady who walks her ugly terrier by the park every afternoon. McGonagall sees the way Hermione’s parents awkwardly edge around her and she frowns. She isn’t surprised.
She isn’t surprised.
How many ghosts does McGonagall know?
“Do you know many ghosts?” She eventually asks McGonagall. Curiosity will always win over sensitivity. It’s not that she doesn’t realize that asking about ghosts could be considered rude. It’s just that she cares more for the answer than tact.
McGonagall decides to stay for tea and Hermione’s parents are on the other side of the house. They even closed the door between them. Hermione wonders how long McGonagall usually stays. Is she watching the clock? Is she watching the arms tick and hoping they can go faster?
A classmate said her favorite part of the day is when the bell went off during their last class together.
“Then I don’t have to look at your ugly marks.”
Does McGonagall want the bell to go off?
Do Hermione’s marks make McGonagall uncomfortable?
McGonagall takes a sip of watery tea. It’s not very good. Hermione has many skills but they’re all learned from books. She hasn’t had the need to learn tea for company.
“Why do you ask?” McGonagall asks.
McGonagall seems like someone who generally disapproves of antics, lies, or loudness. She reminds Hermione of Claudette.
Claudette wears long sleeves and a collar because she’s the sort to like them—not because she’s hiding anything. Every button is snapped shut and her collar is starched. She never has a hair out of place.
She glares out over her red rimmed glasses whenever anyone makes a peep.
Hermione loves her. She might be Hermione’s favorite person. Anytime the kids from school stomp around the library or kick over her stack of books, Claudette is there with a severe look.
Claudette makes good tea. She always gives Hermione a small cup so long as it’s nowhere near the books. She lets Hermione sit behind the desk with her. She clears away books as they share tea and Claudette asks about whatever book Hermione is reading.
She makes Hermione start practicing how to speak French when she notices how many French books Hermione tears through. There’s a knowing gleam to Claudette’s eyes that makes Hermione worry she knows the real reason. Claudette never makes her feel like a dead girl or a freak.
“Are they nice?” She wonders what the other ghosts are like. Are they angry like she is? Are they lonely?
McGonagall lets Hermione switch the subject. “The ghosts? Yes. They’re often sad.”
Hermione understands.
McGonagall takes Hermione to Diagon Alley. She finds a cat with a smooshed face that hisses at everyone except Hermione.
McGonagall smiles for the first time since she met her. Hermione reaches a hand out to the cat with an eager look. The cat lets her pet his head.
Hermione carries him in her arms and he lets her.
She wants Claudette to meet Crookshanks but she doesn’t think the librarian would appreciate Crookshanks in the building.
Claudette gives her a stack of books. They’re worn and smell of Claudette’s heavy perfume.
Claudette’s sleeve lifts and there’s writing on her wrist. Amongst the wrinkles and sunspots Hermione can easily read it.
‘we need eggs, damn chickens aren’t pulling their weight’
Hermione stares at it.
Claudette smiles at her and nods. “It doesn’t make sense yet but it will.”
“You talk to them.”
It’s unthinkable.
Horrible.
Claudette sighs and looks away. She rubs at her eyes. “I can’t explain it, Hermione. It will make sense. They aren’t monsters. Whoever is on the other side of yours will be very important to you.”
Hermione doesn’t think Claudette is wrong about much.
You never bend the corners of pages.
You never rest a cup on a book.
You always return things back on time.
The Dewey Decimal System is brilliant.
Claudette is wrong about soulmates.
The writing is an omen. It’s the reason she has no friends and her parents can’t even look at her.
The pretty French words proclaimed her worse than useless—a tragedy that hasn’t quite struck yet.
Hermione traces the lines of a detailed pretty cat on her wrist. “I don’t want to know them.” Hermione swears and Claudette nods.
“I know.”
Claudette—the most serious person Hermione has ever met—hugs her before she leaves. “You’re going to do great things. Don’t let your fear stop you.”
She doesn’t want to let Claudette go but she still has another goodbye.
There’s no one at school she wants to talk to let alone say goodbye to.
There’s Eleanor.
She looks overdressed as always. Eleanor has been walking the same route for years. She always stops and talks with Hermione. Her dog always sits in Hermione’s lap.
She always makes it around the bend when Hermione is at the park. Hermione can hear her coming from the yapping of her tiny dog.
Hermione hears the same yapping as always.
Hermione smiles a little before Eleanor is visible. Eleanor is trying to hold a large cake but seems to be losing her balance.
“Hello, little Granger.” Eleanor comes to a stop and Rat licks at Hermione’s hand.
The first time she saw the dog she called him a rat. She thought he might have been. Eleanor had laughed heartily and cooed to her dog about how mean children are.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.” Hermione tells her and Eleanor nods.
“I remember, dear. I brought cake! You’ll be off to great things, I expect.”
Hermione feels sad all of the sudden and kisses Rat on his head. “I’m scared.” Hermione admits.
Eleanor’s eyes twinkle as she smiles. “That’s because you’re smart. We’re all scared, it’s just about what you do next. Be brave, little lion.”
Hermione isn’t a lion. She barely even likes lions.
Owls are much more interesting.
Cats seem like something the french alien would like. There’s always a cat doodle someone on her arms.
She kisses Rat goodbye and just like Claudette, she isn’t sure if she’s ready to let Eleanor go.
Her parents see her off the next morning. They don’t have books or a ragged dog.
They just pat her on the shoulder.
Magic is…amazing.
She’s been researching and practicing since McGonagall came to her house but it’s something different in person.
All of the students—muggleborn and pure-blood alike—all gawk at Hogwarts.
It’s meant to astound.
They shuffle through the halls and take it in.
The welcome speech includes something that disturbs the muggleborn students.
Soulmates.
They’re finally told what soulmates are.
The muggleborn students all shift and whisper as Dumbledore explains soulmates. There’s an unease in the air.
Magic they could deal with.
They have been causing accidental magic and it’s hard to argue that magic isn’t real when a woman turns into a cat.
Soulmates?
There’s a unique experience of every muggle child having the same thought at once. Ah, so here are the aliens.
These are the government goons in suits who are going to abduct them.
“You’re going to steal us. You said it was optional!” One boy pipes up—his voice shakes with fear.
All of the muggleborn children look scared and the magical children look worried. Some of them—the boy with gelled blonde hair—sneer at the muggleborns. Most of the others look worried.
The other students—the older students—don’t react.
This happens every year, doesn’t it?
“We understand that this comes as a shock. The magical world is forbidden from revealing itself to the world. This includes soulmates. The staff, your prefects and head of houses, as well as your peers are available to talk with about this. Every muggleborn student has a class during their first year to help teach an accurate history and meaning behind soulmates.”
Hermione couldn’t think of a bigger waste of time.
Hogwarts is lonely her first year.
She misses Claudette’s muffins and Eleanor’s silly hats.
She likes McGonagall. She challenges Hermione and assigns her extra work.
She never tries to talk about soulmates with Hermione. She never looks at Hermione’s skin or asks invasive questions.
She’s just one woman.
There’s a sea of people who have no interest in Hermione. Worse, she’s still hated by all of her peers.
She doesn’t even have the excuse of her marks this time.
They hate how much she knows. They hate that she’s always first to raise her hand and quick to correct them. They hate that she’s the best in their year.
Everyone hates her until a troll and a bathroom.
Harry and Ron eventually become Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Harry understands her. He understands what it means to grow up with someone else’s markings. He knows what it means to be excommunicated from birth.
Ron does not.
It’s a point of tension in their friendship.
Everything proceeds as normal.
If normal can be defined by basilisks, time travel, and attempts on her life.
She has friends now.
She thinks that’s weirder than the near death experiences.
The writing has matured over the years. The lines have grown more refined and less sloppy. The cats and silly doodles have all but disappeared. Notes in French take their place.
They’re a witch or a wizard.
They’re French.
Occasionally they ask Hermione questions.
Are you there?
They ask it in every language under the sun.
They have to know she exists.
Despite her best efforts, she still gets smudges of ink on her fingers occasionally.
Will you talk to me?
Evidently, they don’t have the common sense to realize that she wants nothing to do with them.
I think about you. I make up stories.
I think you’d have a magnificent frown, you just give me that kind of feeling. Am I wrong?
Hermione does huff a laugh at the compliment-insult.
Would you shut a door in my face. I can see it now.
Her soulmate grows attached to these jokes.
Hermione thinks it’s how her soulmate works through the frustration of no answers.
“I write mine.” Harry admits one night. They snuck onto the quidditch field. They’re laying on their backs on one of the benches. Hermione chose the one above Harry with a challenging look and he just laughed.
Ron is busy with Seamus and Dean—leaving the two of them alone.
It’s the only time they broach this subject.
Huh, she never realized how few other muggle-raised people they’re friends with.
“Why?” Hermione asks. She’s proud she’s able to withhold most of the accusation.
Harry turns his head towards Hermione. “I know the muggle world is awful about soulmates but they were there for me. Sometimes, I’d be in the closet for days. I dreamed that they’d take me away—no matter who or what they were.”
Hermione grabs his hand halfway through the admission and holds it tight. “They?”
Harry’s cheeks go pink. “They. There’s two.”
Hermione laughs and Harry’s cheeks turn red. “Ron is going to lose his mind when he hears.”
Harry groans and rolls off the bench dramatically. “Don’t remind me. You know he doesn’t get the soulmate thing.”
“It’d be kind of nice though, right? Not having to get it.” Hermione stares up at the stars.
“Yeah. I don’t want to have to talk about it with mine. I just want to skip over that part?”
Hermione closes her eyes. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Harry.”
Her life has always been on a clock.
It rotates as surely as the earth. Each rotation brings it closer. The ticking echoes through time. No matter where she is, she can always hear the ticking—the counting.
She feels like some greater power looks at the clock—waiting and judging.
Something controlling haunts her. When she was younger she humored aliens and monsters, now she thinks it may be magic itself. It forces the hands forward even when they tire of turning. They will meet the hour.
She will be where magic wants her to be.
Magic has its due course and the whims of humans will not hinder it. It wants Hermione to meet her soulmate.
She knows her time is running out. It always has been.
The clock chimes when the triwizard tournament is announced and Beauxbatons flood Hogwarts.
She knows when French chatter fills the halls as easily as English.
She knows.
I am somewhere new. You see me, don’t you?
Even her soulmate knows.
She does see her.
The first time she sees her, she can hear the ringing of an alarm. Time’s up.
She’s a swirl of blonde and blue, smiles and winks. She’s playful, rude, and airheaded. She’s the opposite of Hermione—well, minus the rude part. She has been told more than once she’s off putting.
It’s not intentional. She swears Fleur enjoys insulting people.
She hates Fleur Delacour.
She despises her.
She is vapid, vain, rude, loud, and Hermione’s soulmate.
It’s not hard for Hermione to figure it out. Fleur stands out and she always knew her soulmate would. Her soulmate always seemed unafraid. Fleur easily weaves herself into a foreign environment. She doesn’t know anyone at Hogwarts but everyone wants to know her.
She can flounce over and steal their bouillabaisse. She can stupefy all her friends. She can insult their school and culture.
Everyone lets her.
Hermione has always been an outsider because of this woman and now she has the audacity to have no sign of ever being effected. She has never suffered ostracization over markings—she can’t understand how stupid and hurtful it is. None of them do. She would wear her soulmate status like the other pure-bloods. They get to be ignorant of how they affect their muggleborn soulmate.
She swears she’ll avoid Fleur and scowl at her whenever she can. She will utilize every ounce of aversion she’s ever learned.
Fleur—who’s likely never been told no in her life—notices and decides she doesn’t agree. Morgana forbid there’s one person who doesn’t fall over themselves for her.
She always watches Hermione.
“Your friend does not like me very much.” She pouts at Ron and he swallows his tongue. Fleur’s accent is thick. Hermione wonders how her French would fare. Fleur would probably laugh at the English accent. She doubts Fleur would correct her.
Hermione believes people need constructive criticism or they’ll keep making the same mistakes. People need to be challenged. Fleur seems like she was just laugh and make fun of her without actually helping her fix the issue.
Fleur’s eyes glimmer with humor and mischief as Ron formulates his words. “Hermione!” Ron eventually manages to shout too loud. Several heads turn towards them. He goes redder. “Likes. She likes.”
Fleur’s tongue presses against her teeth and she looks like she could devour Ron. She turns that same hungry gaze into Hermione. “Do you like me, Hermione?”
Hermione is just trying to read and doesn’t want to be part of this girl’s games. She closes her book with a slam and stands up. She grabs her bag and walks away from the group.
“I think that’s a no, Casanova.” A girl shouts across the room in French. A group of Beauxbatons laugh and Fleur curses back at them.
Fleur does not give up.
Fleur sits beside her in every class they have together because of course she does. She doesn’t say anything the first few days. She just sits down and takes up Hermione’s space.
Hermione wants to bite her head off but doesn’t want to draw more attention to herself.
She has to be able to see Hermione’s glares and realize where she’s not wanted. Hermione walks away anytime Fleur approaches their group. She shifts away from Fleur.
Hermione is as obvious as one person can be.
A week in, during a lecture about an underwater fungi, Fleur leans in.
“Hogwarts did not plan for the other schools. Care to share?” Fleur gestures towards Hermione’s books and notes.
“You should have been more prepared.” Hermione says cooly and Ron chokes. Harry slaps him on the back
Fleur’s smile tightens but she doesn’t lean back. “I think our schools should bear the blame.”
Hermione makes an uninterested sound. “I think everyone is responsible for their own education.”
Fleur nods. “I agree. That’s why I’m asking the most prepared girl in class for help instead of…blowing it off.”
Hermione doesn’t believe Fleur’s innocent act. “I’m not going to let my grades suffer to help someone I don’t even know.”
Fleur’s smile is forced now but she looks amused. “I’m not asking you to tutor me, I’m asking for you to share your book since mine isn’t the same.”
Hermione gives up and slides the book over. She doesn’t want to keep having this conversation. “Merci bien.”
“De rien.” Hermione replies with just as much sarcasm. Fleur makes a surprised noise.
Fleur grows frostier yet seems more intrigued than before. Hermione probably shouldn’t have replied in French.
Fleur finds even more reasons to talk to her friends. If Hermione stays, Fleur always claims the seat next to her.
I met a girl I think you would like
I think she hates me
I’m obsessed with her
Hermione traces it and doesn’t know how to feel.
Why would Fleur enjoy the fact that they don’t like each other? It makes no sense.
Fleur is completing an assignment one afternoon when Hermione finds herself opening her mouth before she can think it through. “Why are you in my classes?”
Fleur groans—evidently it’s a sore spot. “They mixed up my records with a year four.” That’s not what Hermione was asking. Hermione tries to hide her grin but Fleur notices it. “Do not mock me. My classmates already do so relentlessly.”
“Why even try at the class then?”
“Would you want to do poorly because of a technicality? I’m not going to fail a fourth year class.” She didn’t think Fleur really cared about grades. She seems too pretty to care.
“That’s not what I was asking.” Hermione clarifies and Fleur grins.
“I know.”
“I don’t like you.”
“I don’t like you.”
They sit there for a moment. They both laugh and some sort of tension breaks. “I do like you.” Fleur says wistfully.
Hermione sideeyes her. “Why?”
“It’s just fun, isn’t it?” Fleur rests her head on her hand and looks at Hermione.
Hermione feels her cheeks warm and she scoffs. She looks away and gives up a fight against her smile. “It is.”
Fleur grins at her all day and tries to draw her into conversations in French. Hermione pretends she doesn’t hear her but has to look away to hide her amused grin.
“Fleur strikes again.” The Beauxbatons groan and complain when Hermione doesn’t immediately leave or bite Fleur’s head off at lunch.
Fleur’s grades are not doing well.
“Why are you struggling?” It’s blunt and exactly the reason half of Hogwarts still avoids her.
Fleur glares at Hermione’s book. “Everything is different. The teaching style, the books, the material, how professors want the assignments. I am not happy.”
If looks could kill, Hermione’s book would be on fire.
She has overheard Fleur insulting Hogwarts numerous times. She just thought it was school superiority not a genuine academic issue that apparently no one is helping with.
“Don’t threaten my book.” Hermione protectively pulls it towards herself.
“Tell it to stop being useless.” Fleur grumbles. Hermione pats the book in comfort. She can never be too safe, who knows when these things are sentient or not.
Don’t say it.
“I can help you.”
Fleur looks shocked before reeling it back in. “What happened to me not dragging you down?”
Hermione scoffs. “It’s just so you don’t end up back here once they straighten everything out.”
Fleur nods seriously. “Of course.”
In Hermione’s defense, she expected a horrible vapid creature.
Hermione should have known. She’s known her soulmate is witty and charming for years. She knew her soulmate was smart and talented. It was just hard to bridge the gap with Fleur.
Fleur spends her time annoying Hermione. She does poorly in class. She has no respect for Hogwarts professors.
She has to face the fact that she has the wrong idea about Fleur.
“Non, non! Cat hair?” Fleur is a loud person. Her laughter is loud, her humor and joy is loud, even her hand gestures are loud.
Hermione is finding it less obnoxious despite her paper-thin determination to hate Fleur.
The thing that is special about Fleur is that her loudness is…genuine. It’s infectious. Fleur smiles and people want to smile—Hermione wants to smile.
Fleur makes Hermione want to show up to their unnecessary tutoring lessons considering Fleur’s situation has been sorted. Fleur can pull an embarrassing story like the damned polyjuice potion from Hermione without trying.
“It was a hairy situation.” Hermione deadpans. Fleur grabs onto Hermione’s arm so she doesn’t fall off the bench laughing.
“That’s awful!” Students walk by their bench outside but don’t approach the pair. They garner their share of odd looks.
The insufferable know it all and the most popular girl in any of the schools.
Everyone watched them snipe and pick at each other for weeks. Everyone knew to expect verbal blows when they crossed paths.
Now they’re laughing together on a bench.
“You’re telling me. I had to hide in the bathroom.” Hermione grumbles.
“I meant your horrible use of hairy.”
Hermione smirks. “I haven’t used Harry since the last free round for the boy who lived.”
Fleur slowly shakes her head at Hermione. “I do not know you.”
Fleur makes Hermione feel more like herself. She has a similar effect to Harry and Ron. She knows she can tease Fleur and vice versa. Fleur has never called her a know it all or even hinted to it.
It makes her guilty for the things she thought and said to Fleur but doesn’t know how to address it. “I’m…sorry.”
She can also just…apologize.
She’s been watching Ron and Harry go at it for months and she’s tired of useless fighting. She cannot stand Ron’s ugly jealousy towards Harry. She hates that her only real close friends can’t even be in a room together. She’s had Fleur during this whole fight.
Fleur has never missed their tutoring sessions.
Hermione could flee Ron and Harry’s unbearable tension and Fleur would be there.
Fleur would make a cutting remark about someone that Hermione doesn’t like just to cheer her up. She’d ask a question that Hermione knows Fleur knows the answer to.
The least she can do is apologize.
Fleur waves it off. “It’s alright, I bring that reaction out in a lot of people. Besides, it was both of us.”
Hermione laughs. “We were awful.”
“It was exciting.”
“We can be mean again.” Hermione offers and Fleur snorts.
Fleur’s smile is smaller and softer than usual. “I thought you were only tutoring me so you wouldn’t have to spend time with me.” She teases.
They haven’t even brought their books the last four times.
Hermione laughs and looks away from Fleur. “Of course, why would I want to see you?”
Fleur wraps her arm around Hermione’s. “That’s more like it. Don’t get nice on me now.” Hermione scoffs and turns to Fleur. She’s closer than Hermione had planned and her heart explodes. She feels the words dry up in her mouth. “Silent treatment? I didn’t think that was your style.”
“It’s actually highly effective. Anytime the boys irritate me I just stop talking to them. It makes them uncomfortable.”
Fleur laughs and the moment is blissfully broken.
What do you do when a pretty girl apologizes to you?
No answer? Me neither.
Hermione can’t stop looking at the word pretty. She can almost hear it in Fleur’s voice.
Hermione notices Krum spends time in the library and she lets him sit with her. He watches her over the top of a book that he’s clearly not reading.
She isn’t sure what to make of him.
Fleur certainly does not have the same issue.
I do not like Viktor Krum.
She has no idea what Fleur’s problem is with Krum. She hasn’t brought it up to Hermione.
After the first task, Harry and Ron finally make up.
“Will I become chopped kidney now?” Fleur asks as Hermione tries to study.
“You know it’s liver.” Hermione doesn’t look up from her book. The test is in two hours. She might start screaming if she doesn’t get the formula memorized.
Fleur takes the book from her hands and then sits on it.
“Run.” Seamus whispers to the rest of the boys.
Ron pales.
“Suppose she’ll overlook us since it was all Fleur?” Harry asks—already packing his bag.
“No chance, mate.” Ron answers—accepting his fate.
They clear out in record time.
Hermione leans back from the table and glares at Fleur. She knows her hair looks as wild as her first year and her tie is loose from tugging at it.
“Fleur.”
Fleur smiles winningly—as if she isn’t moments from death. She doesn’t have Fleur nearly as well trained as her housemates.
Lavender and Parvati walk into the common room, see Hermione’s expression, and turn back around on the spot.
“You’ve studied enough. I have a question for you.”
“Is it the composition of a blue-scale brew down to the percentages? Because that’s what I need to know.”
“The Yule Ball.”
Hermione blinks at Fleur several times. “Come again?”
“Go with me? It won’t be any fun without you.” Fleur is working the charm. She’s smiling at Hermione in that way where she gets people to do anything she asks.
“Why me?”
Fleur rolls her eyes. “Who else have I been spending every day with? Ah, I should have invited Ron. You’re right.”
“No!” Hermione shoots to her feet and Fleur’s grin grows. “I’ll go.” Hermione grumbles. “I’m surprised you didn’t make it into a whole…thing.”
“I wanted to. I like gestures, Hermione.”
“I know.” Hermione replies flatly.
“I know you would prefer something simpler.” Fleur admits.
“How quickly did you shove the quartet into the carriage when Gabrielle reminded you of that?”
“It only took a minute or so.”
I asked her to the ball.
Will you be there?
Are you still there?
Am I alone?
Hermione ignores the guilt and empathy she feels.
She can admit she likes Fleur. She really likes Fleur.
She still is not sold on the soulmate situation. Not after everything.
She was treated like her fate was contagious—as if people would disappear if they interacted with her. She spent her childhood being other. That doesn’t just go away.
The anger at her marks, her soulmate, and the whole damn system doesn’t just get solved by a smile. She has the right to her issues.
She still feels guilty about the way it obviously affects Fleur.
She’s torn between wanting to protect herself and keep to her beliefs and assuaging Fleur’s worries.
She spills a considerable amount of ink on her fingers that night.
Thank you.
Ron loses his mind when he sees Hermione and then they’re yelling at each other. She doesn’t even know why they’re fighting. She doesn’t enjoy the way one of her few friends just couldn’t be happy for her.
Krum grimaces in a way she thinks is his smile and he compliments her.
Fleur steals her breath away.
She’s a vision. If anyone ever asked, Hermione didn’t see anyone else in the room.
Fleur never did mention if this was a friend invite or…
“Hermione.” Fleur gasps. Fleur takes her in until another Beauxbatons student elbows her. “You look amazing.”
Fleur doesn’t look away from her all night.
The only time she leaves her side is when she’s needed as a champion or another Beauxbatons student tears her away for a dance.
She never does ask how Fleur meant the invitation but she doesn’t need to.
She dances with her arms around Fleur’s shoulders and their bodies flush. Her fingers play with Fleur’s hair. She feels like she’s smiled more during the night than she has in a year.
They don’t stop dancing until they’re eventually kicked out.
Hermione’s feet hurt for days and she can’t stop smiling.
I’m so confused.
Write.
Hermione’s hand shakes as she holds the pen. Just write. Tell Fleur it’s okay. Explain it all to her.
Help her.
Be brave.
Fleur’s skin gains no new marks.
“I despise your slytherins.” Fleur complains as she takes a seat next to Hermione. The library is quiet except for them.
Hermione grins. “Did you run into Malfoy?”
“I’ve met more personable merpeople.” Hermione snorts and covers her mouth. Fleur’s irritation fades away and she looks pleased with herself. “You were told, then. I have to properly thank your friend. Where I failed, he saved my sister.” Hermione nudges Fleur’s hand at the tone of self-deprecation.
“I’m sure he’d not awkwardly embarrass himself at all.” Harry and then all of the gryffindor boys would surely make fools of themselves.
They still haven’t gotten over themselves and Fleur is practically a staple in the gryffindor common room.
Fleur’s mind is elsewhere. It only takes Hermione a few moments to notice how she keeps drifting.
“What’s wrong?”
Fleur starts and looks chagrined. “I cannot hide anything from you.”
Hermione shrugs. “You’re about as subtle as Ron when something is bothering you.”
Fleur’s face twists up with offense. “I am far subtler.” Hermione nudges Fleur and she sighs. “We’re told not to ask muggleborns about soulmates.” Hermione’s entire body tenses and she looks away from Fleur. “Merde, I am sorry. You don’t have to answer.”
“No, it’s—what’s your question?” Hermione can do at least this much.
“I think my soulmate is muggle or muggleborn. They won’t talk to me but I know they’re there.”
Hermione takes Fleur’s hand. There’s ink stains—unintentional this time—on Fleur’s fingers. “There wasn’t a question.”
Fleur nods. “Can you tell me what it was like?”
Hermione debates it. Fleur deserves the truth and Hermione wants to tell her. She wants to tell her about a childhood that only Harry knows bits of. She wants to tell Fleur what her breaks from Hogwarts are like. She wants Fleur to understand why her soulmate—why Hermione—is terrified.
“I was still in diapers the first time someone apologized to my parents for their loss in front of me.”
Hermione tells Fleur and she listens.
Fleur grows angrier and angrier until she’s hissing words. “How dare they. How dare they.” Fleur—the loudest person in Hermione’s life—is deadly silent. Her words barely reach Hermione’s ears. “They say it’s bad but they never—”
Fleur has to stand—has to pace.
She keeps murmuring under her breath, growing more and more agitated.
Eventually she stops and lifts her sleeve, violently scribbling on her forearm. Hermione can’t look.
“You are not some outcast. You are not a ghost. If they could see you now, they would die with jealousy.”
Hermione isn’t sure if Fleur is talking to her soulmate or Hermione but she hears both.
You are seen.
You are alive.
You will always be wanted.
Hermione thinks she might love Fleur.
She thinks Fleur might love her.
The world doesn’t love either of them.
She’s so worried about Fleur and Harry that she forgets to worry about Cedric.
His father’s cries haunt the school. None of the ghosts leave the same sense of sick horror. The whole school watched as a father collapsed over his dead son.
They watched Harry try to claw his way back to Cedric like a wild animal.
She wonders if Harry still has both of his soulmates.
She doesn’t ask and he doesn’t offer.
The year closes in quiet sorrow. Even the goodbyes are muted.
Fleur hugs her tight for long minutes. She was closer to Cedric than Hermione was. They were friends. Notvery close but friends all the same. “You will write to me.”
Hermione nods. “Who else will teach you about blue-scale potions?”
Fleur smiles and pulls away.
Hermione doesn’t want to let her go.
She still does let her go—just as she did with Claudette and Eleanor.
Why is time never on our side?
Hermione wishes she had the answer.
She misses Fleur over the years.
Hermione writes to her at least once a week and Fleur writes on her daily.
It’s a solid weight of absence. It feels physical. She isn’t sure if that’s normal or not and she isn’t going to ask anyone.
She has to focus on Harry and then the war.
She never stops missing Fleur.
The only blessing is that she feels the clock ticking again. It has to be counting back down. Magic wants soulmates in each other’s lives.
They will be in each other’s lives again.
War is ugly and it makes things simpler.
It makes things harder.
She learns to survive off what she can get. Sometimes that’s Fleur’s dwindling words or curling up with Harry.
“Your soulmate wrote.” Harry notes and Hermione twitches. Hermione looks at her forearm.
I made a death eater trip five times consecutively.
I’m quite proud of it.
“You still haven’t written back?” Harry asks.
Hermione shakes her head. “We could die, Harry.”
“Exactly.”
“I think writing back now only to disappear forever would be…cruel.”
Harry’s jaw clenches and he looks away. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Ron left.” Hermione broaches.
“He did.”
“What are we going to do?”
Harry is quiet for a long time.
Harry hugs Hermione to him and she pretends she doesn’t feel him cry. “I shouldn’t have told him to leave.” He confesses.
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I was just so angry.” He hates it. He hates the way Voldemort crawls in his head or horcruxes play with their emotions.
“I know.”
I miss you.
A cackle explodes through the room and Hermione violently shivers. The air feels ice cold on her overheated skin. Sensitivity plays with her nerves.
“Who’s the unlucky soul? Shall we leave them a pretty picture?”
Halfway through the “u” she passes out and comes back to. The fear snaps her back into consciousness.
Will this show up on Fleur?
Fleur is always worried about her soulmate. She’s always thinking about her soulmate. Who is it? Where are they? Are they okay?
Hermione has left her with nothing but silence and the questions have built.
It’s unfair. It’s unfair to Fleur and them that the first thing Fleur would see could be this. She wishes she would have drawn earlier—the million times she debated it.
Every time she fell a bit more in love with Fleur.
Every time Fleur wrote.
Every silly doodle of owls.
She wishes she told Fleur years ago.
Why was she so scared? Why did she let that stop her?
Is it too late now? Was there a second clock all along?
She just needed time.
She needed time to come to terms with everything. She needed to heal on her own instead of forcing something.
She forgot that time is the enemy. Time is unrelenting.
She was indecisive so time took matters into its own hands. She was straddling two paths for too long. The universe will nudge you along and let you choose your path but if you don’t listen, it will lay you out.
She wasn’t prepared for the push—the fall.
It’s a wound, right? Wounds and scars don’t reflect on soulmates.
It’s just a wound.
This can’t be it. She just needs a little longer on the wall. She can decide. She knows what she wants.
She doesn’t want this on Fleur.
She doesn’t want this on herself.
She wants to land on her path—feet first.
She passed out again during an “o”.
It’s quiet. It’s quiet enough that hushed sounds carry.
The wood creaks, the waves wash over sand, Harry quietly cries, and Hermione shakes.
She shakes hard enough that she thinks she’s creaking instead of the wood.
She wakes up sweaty and shaking and desperately wants to see Fleur’s writing on herself.
She lifts her arms to search herself and pulls on the wound. She lets out a cry and drops her arm. Footsteps thunder to the room and Fleur is there—in the flesh.
Fleur’s entire body sags with relief.
Fleur looks wrecked. Her eyes are red rimmed and there are dark circles beneath them.
Hermione looks away from Fleur. She can’t bear to look at her right now.
She can’t bear to look away.
“You’re awake.” Fleur walks over and presses the back of her hand to Hermione’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”
Hermione reaches up with her good arm and takes Fleur’s hand. She wants to push up Fleur’s sleeves and see. She’s nearly sick with anxiety.
Her body shakes.
The sound of cackles and screams is louder than the clock.
Fleur rolls up her sleeves and dips a cloth into a bowl of water.
Her arms are bare.
Hermione closes her eyes with relief.
She swears to never let Fleur know everything that happened that day. The boys will never speak a word of it.
She doesn’t think she ever wants the people in her life to know about it.
Hermione honestly worries that if Fleur knew everything, she’d charge off without a plan or back up.
Hermione presses a pen to her skin the moment Fleur leaves her alone.
The ink spreads along her skin but she doesn’t write.
Not like this. Not broken and bloody.
Fleur takes care of her over the next few days as the after effects of the curse fades.
Hermione is finally sitting up. Her muscles finally don’t feel like they're all shredded. Fleur is ranting about a boy who was flirting with Gabrielle. She’s sitting in a chair beside Hermione’s bed. She rests her hand on Hermione’s knee whenever she isn’t gesturing about how she wants to murder said boy.
“You’re kind.” Perhaps an odd opinion while Fleur is detailing a murder plan for a besotten boy but it isn’t any less true.
Fleur genuinely cares for people. It’s not that she’s particularly nice or good, it’s that she’s kind. She invites Gabrielle any time she does something with her friends, she’ll sing a dragon to sleep rather than hurt it, she withstands Molly and Ginny’s ire for Bill, she stayed by Bill’s side while he healed much like she is now for Hermione.
Fleur is rude and yet so kind. She will tell someone that they look awful in twelve different ways. She will criticize a host, insult Hogwarts, sneer at the houses, and spit on English cuisine.
She’s also the first person to get to know the other school’s students. She befriended people from Hogwarts and Durmstrang without blinking. She was as likely to be seen walking with Cedric or Hermione as she was a friend from Beauxbatons.
She saw a bitter bookworm that was disillusioned and decided to sit next to her. She decided to prod and poke Hermione until she eventually opened up.
Fleur chose her and hasn’t forgotten her. Not even with years of distance or a soulmate that Fleur loves.
Fleur hasn’t left her side. She’s been taking care of Hermione’s wounds and helping her with breathing exercises. She knows Hermione’s doesn’t want to talk about it and finds ways to help without knowing everything.
Fleur hasn’t left her side.
Fleur makes a disagreeing sound. “Few of my thoughts are kind at the moment.”
Hermione knows.
I want to kill them.
It won’t fix anything. It won’t help her.
Hermione’s barely healed by the time they’re needed again. Fleur argues and glares at the three of them but their shoulders are set.
This is their responsibility. This is the war they’ve been in since year one. No one is going to stop them.
Fleur’s practically vibrating with the force of will it takes to let them go. “I expect you three in one piece.”
Hermione grins for what feels like the first time in weeks. “It’d be three pieces unless you want us as an amalgamation. French, honestly. What are they teaching you over there?”
“They’re making up words again.” Ron grumbles to Harry.
Harry pats Ron on the back.
“Hogwarts never did create free thinkers.” Fleur sniffs.
They stare at each other for a moment but the obligation of war is beckoning. “Think you can tutor me after we save the world? I might be a bit behind after this year.” Hermione says and the last she sees of Fleur is a brilliant smile.
I think we’re going to be okay. We’re in good hands.
Fleur loves Rat.
Rat also has oddly not aged at all since Hermione went off to Hogwarts. “He is adorable.” Fleur coos and Hermione shakes her head.
“Fleur, that’s the ugliest dog that’s ever existed.”
Hermione scratches behind Rat’s ear and he sets his head down on her shoulder. “You love him.”
Hermike glares at Fleur. “Shut up. I hate him.”
Eleanor smiles wide and her eyes look teary. Hermione moves to pass Rat back and Eleanor shakes her head. “Giving him back so soon?”
“We’re going to the library.” Eleanor hums and sets off in the direction of the library. “Wait! We can’t bring Rat into the library. Claudette will burn him alive with nothing but contempt.”
Eleanor smiles goofily.
Hermione stops before entering the library and Eleanor rolls her eyes. Rat jumps out of Hermione’s arms and races inside. “Breathe, Hermione.” Fleur teases her.
Claudette glares at Rat over the rim of her glasses. “What is that hideous thing doing in here?”
Eleanor laughs and picks up Rat. “Hermione missed you. Pay attention to her and leave our dog alone.”
Hermione’s brain seizes for a moment.
“She’s your soulmate.” Hermione realizes.
Claudette’s severe look softens. “All that magic of hers and all she does is preserve her animals. Nothing useful like making a cage so that beast won’t escape.”
Hermione slumps. “How did I not realize? Eleanor always came from the library.”
“You were preoccupied.”
Right.
“Speaking of, is this your soulmate?”
Right.
Hermione is still debating how to tactfully answer that when Fleur takes a step forward. She offers Claudette her hand. “We met at school.”
Claudette notices their side stepping and their winces. She has never in her day shied from an awkward topic. “Don’t tell me neither of you want to meet your soulmate.”
“And you say I’m bad.” Eleanor laughs and sits down.
“My feelings towards soulmates have changed.” Hermione admits and Fleur’s stares at her.
“Since when?”
“Since I had to face certain death multiple times and I realized what was important to me. I do want to burn the Statute of Secrecy to the ground.”
She cannot fathom why wizarding society hasn’t thought ahead to negate the damage soulmates do to muggleborns. She has the influence to do something now. She knows Harry feels the same way.
They don’t have to eradicate the statute fully but there could be some explanation that would make muggleborn soulmates less of a stigma.
“Need some help?” Fleur asks.
Hermione smiles at her. “Why not?“
Fleur nods and looks back to Claudette. “I’ve always intended to meet mine. They have been understandably reluctant.”
Claudette stares right at Hermione. Hermione knows that she sees the truth clear as day. “Perhaps you’ll have luck soon.”
Hermione and Fleur part as they always do—with possibility.
Either of them could take the next step but neither do.
They both have their own reasons.
The war is over.
Fleur and her are both still here.
The closest thing she has to parents gave their approval.
It feels right.
The clock stops ticking and she grabs a permanent marker.
She sits on her couch and looks at her arms.
I’m sorry it took me so long.
She wonders if Fleur will recognize her handwriting. Nerves build as she waits for Fleur’s response.
Was it a while? I didn’t even notice.
Hermione huffs a laugh. Hermione talks to Fleur everyday. She shouldn’t be so nervous or elated. She’s smiling and leans her head back on her couch.
Is this what it feels like? Is this why Lavender and Parvati would stay up gushing about the boys they like?
It might have taken a few days.
At least two
Maybe three
Would never accuse you of more than four
Why now?
I love you
I want us to be happy
I’m ready to be brave
You know me
There’s no question mark.
No wondering.
Yes
We are going to have a very long talk
About appropriate wait times
And going to a ball with someone WITHOUT TELLING THEM THEY’RE YOUR SOULMATE
AND LEAVING THEM CONFUSED FOR LOVING SOMEONE THAT ISN’T THEIR SOULMATE
Very long
Would it make my case worse to say it would be awkward if I wasn’t who you think?
Fleur does not write back.
Hermione paces nervously and waits. She sits back down and stands back up several times.
Hermione hears a pop and then a knock at her door. Hermione can’t even get out of her seat before the knocking turns into banging.
Hermione opens the door to a breathless Fleur. Her hair is out of place and she’s scowling. “I was right, you do have a magnificent frown. Are you going to close the door in my face?”
Hermione opens the door.