Fic: Distractions (Fleur, Ron/Hermione)
Title: Distractions
Character: Fleur, Ron/Hermione
Word Count: 1016
Rating: PG, I guess.
Note: This contains spoilers for Deathly Hallows. The summary is beneath the cut.
Summary: Hermione needs a distraction.
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"How’s Hermione?”
“Better,” said Ron. “Fleur’s looking after her.”
- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, page 479 (US)
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Hermione is going to need a distraction, thought Fleur. The skele-gro is going to hurt like hell, and the rest -
Wish I could ‘floo her to Mungo’s, she thought, amazed at how acclimated she’d become to Britain in months since her and Bill had come back here permanently. But it was far too dangerous, so this gruesome task would be up to her.
Fleur had banished Ron from the bedroom, understanding the task before her would require time and a skilled hand. She’s told him it was because she didn’t like his constant pacing, and feared he would knock over her tray of potions onto her new wool and silk carpet, a wedding gift from relatives who spent a lot of time in India. You’ll likely ruin it, she’d told him. Go be with ‘arry, and I’ll call you when we’re done and she’s all rested up. But really, she thought that perhaps Hermione might need some privacy and some dignity during the healing process. She’s been through enough tonight, and she doesn’t need Ron to witness any more.
Hermione had bourn up surprisingly well until now, Fleur thought. When the girl had first arrived, pale, and shaking and covered in fine specks of blood, it was clear what she need most was healing. But what Hermione wanted was another matter - she wanted physical contact with Ron, to touch him and reassure herself that he was there - and that she was there for him. Fleur had stomped her feet, having been told bits of the story of Hermione's ordeal and knowing full well that she would need healing. But Luna, who had been mostly silent until then, motioned to her to let the young pair have a moment together. Fleur was unnerved when Luna’s characteristic singsong took on a fierce edge. His screams were more terrible than hers. Let them have this.
So Fleur, despite her better judgment, had given the couple some quiet moments to clasp hands, then more, as Ron’s arms gathered Hermione tightly to his chest. Her face, so pale, grew some color high in her cheekbones as he whispered at her, and Fleur could make out some of her feverish reply. I’m here, I’m fine, I’m whole, she murmured. I just need a bit of Fleur’s fixer-up elixir and I’ll be right as rain. The pair remained static together, entwined, immobile as statues as they fed from each other, nourished each other, and convinced each other that they’d come through this just fine.
Ahem. Fleur finally broke the spell. As the pair pulled apart, Fleur reached to support Hermione’s forearm, to provide some gentle support as she escorted her to the guestroom to be healed. She could feel Hermione’s arm wince, and her body shake slightly, as they shuffled off.
Not you, she’d said to him. Like I said, you’re a wreck, you’ll knock everything over and destroy my new carpet. We’ll be down in a bit. She was harsh, but it was necessary. The redhead looked at Fleur balefully, ready to knock down the door if need be to stay by Hermione’s side. But the grey girl just nodded her agreement, and told him to go be with the others. I’m fine.
Fleur opened the door. She led Hermione to the bed, and motioned her to sit before she fell over from the effort of walking up the narrow stairs of the cottage. The pretty, white eyelet bedding had also been a wedding present, and Fleur knew it would be destroyed today.
But it’s worth it. She’s worth it. This girl will be - is, really - my sister-in-law. She briefly imagined another Weasley wedding, this time one where the family could linger and celebrate without worry.
She gingerly began to strip the robe off Hermione, aware that the small flecks of red were rapidly becoming darker, more pronounced.
“Hermione, you need to tell me what happened. I need to know so I can make sure to give you everything you need.” Fleur hated the tremor in her own voice, but she knew that the Death Eaters knew no limits in their cruelty, and if they’d hurt Hermione like they’d hurt some of the others - like they’d used some of the others - than she’d have to know. “I won’t tell Ron anything.”
Hermione seemed to understand the implicit question. “Not that… they didn’t have time,” she whispered hoarsely. “Bellatrix threatened, and Greyback… but then everything happened… the chandelier fell, and I was here.”
Ah, the chandelier. That explains it. By then, Hermione was completely naked, and Fleur felt a great wave of sadness, and compassion, and pity well up. For her skin was now covered in tiny flecks of blood, some welling up as they spoke.
“It’s the crystal from Malfoy’s chandelier. I tried to get away, but it felt like the glass just kept spraying everywhere.”
The task would be gruesome, and it would take time. Each shard would have to be removed and healed individually. The delay - those precious moments Hermione had spent with Ron - probably meant that she’d always have the fine white scars to remind her of this day. The areas around her torso, where Ron’s arms had been so tightly wrapped, were the worst.
Fleur pulled her set of enchanted tweezers from her emergency medi-witch case, and began with a shard embedded near her collarbone.
“Oh, ‘ermione…”, she whispered, “The scarring…”
“It was worth it, Fleur. He needed it, I needed it.”
Fleur understood. After all, we’re both Weasleys.
She grabbed a small basin to hold the bloody shard, and those that would come next. She started tugging gently again at Hermione’s skin, this time dropping down past the collarbone to more sensitive skin.
“Hermione, talk to me. I never heard the story of how you and Ron met. Was it during your first year?”
Yes, Hermione was going to need a distraction.
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Character: Fleur, Ron/Hermione
Word Count: 1016
Rating: PG, I guess.
Note: This contains spoilers for Deathly Hallows. The summary is beneath the cut.
Summary: Hermione needs a distraction.
***************************
"How’s Hermione?”
“Better,” said Ron. “Fleur’s looking after her.”
- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, page 479 (US)
***************************
Hermione is going to need a distraction, thought Fleur. The skele-gro is going to hurt like hell, and the rest -
Wish I could ‘floo her to Mungo’s, she thought, amazed at how acclimated she’d become to Britain in months since her and Bill had come back here permanently. But it was far too dangerous, so this gruesome task would be up to her.
Fleur had banished Ron from the bedroom, understanding the task before her would require time and a skilled hand. She’s told him it was because she didn’t like his constant pacing, and feared he would knock over her tray of potions onto her new wool and silk carpet, a wedding gift from relatives who spent a lot of time in India. You’ll likely ruin it, she’d told him. Go be with ‘arry, and I’ll call you when we’re done and she’s all rested up. But really, she thought that perhaps Hermione might need some privacy and some dignity during the healing process. She’s been through enough tonight, and she doesn’t need Ron to witness any more.
Hermione had bourn up surprisingly well until now, Fleur thought. When the girl had first arrived, pale, and shaking and covered in fine specks of blood, it was clear what she need most was healing. But what Hermione wanted was another matter - she wanted physical contact with Ron, to touch him and reassure herself that he was there - and that she was there for him. Fleur had stomped her feet, having been told bits of the story of Hermione's ordeal and knowing full well that she would need healing. But Luna, who had been mostly silent until then, motioned to her to let the young pair have a moment together. Fleur was unnerved when Luna’s characteristic singsong took on a fierce edge. His screams were more terrible than hers. Let them have this.
So Fleur, despite her better judgment, had given the couple some quiet moments to clasp hands, then more, as Ron’s arms gathered Hermione tightly to his chest. Her face, so pale, grew some color high in her cheekbones as he whispered at her, and Fleur could make out some of her feverish reply. I’m here, I’m fine, I’m whole, she murmured. I just need a bit of Fleur’s fixer-up elixir and I’ll be right as rain. The pair remained static together, entwined, immobile as statues as they fed from each other, nourished each other, and convinced each other that they’d come through this just fine.
Ahem. Fleur finally broke the spell. As the pair pulled apart, Fleur reached to support Hermione’s forearm, to provide some gentle support as she escorted her to the guestroom to be healed. She could feel Hermione’s arm wince, and her body shake slightly, as they shuffled off.
Not you, she’d said to him. Like I said, you’re a wreck, you’ll knock everything over and destroy my new carpet. We’ll be down in a bit. She was harsh, but it was necessary. The redhead looked at Fleur balefully, ready to knock down the door if need be to stay by Hermione’s side. But the grey girl just nodded her agreement, and told him to go be with the others. I’m fine.
Fleur opened the door. She led Hermione to the bed, and motioned her to sit before she fell over from the effort of walking up the narrow stairs of the cottage. The pretty, white eyelet bedding had also been a wedding present, and Fleur knew it would be destroyed today.
But it’s worth it. She’s worth it. This girl will be - is, really - my sister-in-law. She briefly imagined another Weasley wedding, this time one where the family could linger and celebrate without worry.
She gingerly began to strip the robe off Hermione, aware that the small flecks of red were rapidly becoming darker, more pronounced.
“Hermione, you need to tell me what happened. I need to know so I can make sure to give you everything you need.” Fleur hated the tremor in her own voice, but she knew that the Death Eaters knew no limits in their cruelty, and if they’d hurt Hermione like they’d hurt some of the others - like they’d used some of the others - than she’d have to know. “I won’t tell Ron anything.”
Hermione seemed to understand the implicit question. “Not that… they didn’t have time,” she whispered hoarsely. “Bellatrix threatened, and Greyback… but then everything happened… the chandelier fell, and I was here.”
Ah, the chandelier. That explains it. By then, Hermione was completely naked, and Fleur felt a great wave of sadness, and compassion, and pity well up. For her skin was now covered in tiny flecks of blood, some welling up as they spoke.
“It’s the crystal from Malfoy’s chandelier. I tried to get away, but it felt like the glass just kept spraying everywhere.”
The task would be gruesome, and it would take time. Each shard would have to be removed and healed individually. The delay - those precious moments Hermione had spent with Ron - probably meant that she’d always have the fine white scars to remind her of this day. The areas around her torso, where Ron’s arms had been so tightly wrapped, were the worst.
Fleur pulled her set of enchanted tweezers from her emergency medi-witch case, and began with a shard embedded near her collarbone.
“Oh, ‘ermione…”, she whispered, “The scarring…”
“It was worth it, Fleur. He needed it, I needed it.”
Fleur understood. After all, we’re both Weasleys.
She grabbed a small basin to hold the bloody shard, and those that would come next. She started tugging gently again at Hermione’s skin, this time dropping down past the collarbone to more sensitive skin.
“Hermione, talk to me. I never heard the story of how you and Ron met. Was it during your first year?”
Yes, Hermione was going to need a distraction.
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