Hi everyone! Fleurmione is my all-time favourite ship. I just can't enough of it and at times wishing that JK Rowling would write a book specifically dedicated to Fleurmione. I've always wanted to write one Fleurmione fic to contribute to the fandom but never had the idea on what to write. A couple of nights back I felt compelled to write and just had this idea that made me feel like my brains were going to burst.

I've found my muse.

So here's my take on a Fleur/Hermione pairing, one that's been filling my mind constantly for the past few days. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.

All comments and reviews are welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I'm writing this purely for personal enjoyment, not for profit.

Like most things, it started at the most unexpected time. There she was, enjoying her shepherd pie amongst her group of trusted friends, thinking that the age of peace had come at last. She was a proven fighter, a decorated warrior, a hardened soldier; yet the assault came, silently but surely, attacking her at her weakest spot. It was a crescendo of pain, of cruel whisperings and harsh words, of cold laughter and despaired cries. But the worst were the unknown screaming, faceless voices of the innocents who were begging, pleading, asking for mercy, asking for help. Her help. She heard newborn babies crying to reach out to her, their mothers' wails desperate for her to end their suffering. She heard children begging her to tell them where their parents were, that they were hungry, tired, and cold. She heard things she never wanted to hear, yet was unable to see any of it happening.

Because it was all in her mind.

Hermione Granger, part of the Golden Trio, heroine of the Wizarding War, recipient of Order of Merlin First Class, most brilliant witch of her age, was broken.

When she awoke in St. Mungo's after fainting from the first assault, she was informed, gently, with her closest friends by her side to support her, that she was just stressed out. Over thinking things. She went home, unconvinced, but wisely kept her mouth shut. After all, the Healers might be right – the war did take a toll on everyone, herself not excepted.

But the assaults still came, thought infrequently and for a short time at first. Hermione would just pass it off as migraine, and concerned friends would come up with a list of things to combat it: a change of diet, different types of exercises, and even dragging her to countless hours of Quidditch matches (bless Harry, Ron, and Ginny for their stellar efforts) to the point she'd wish for the assault to come during those blasted matches just so that she could add a new magical medical disease – Quidditch Allergy. Alas, the stars were not on her side and thus Hermione still had to endure watching a game she barely understood.

As time went by, the assaults came at alarming frequency to the point Hermione got used to it and could stand an hour's worth of assaults before she started perspiring and showing signs of pain. She searched for clues but nobody and nothing could tell her (or perhaps they did not want to tell her, she thought darkly) what ailed her. Her health, aside from her bouts of 'migraine', seemed fine. She was not in a life-threatening condition. Her brains were still in great shape too.

Once, during Harry's twenty-first birthday party, the assault came. She was laughing and chatting with Ginny, Harry, Charlie, and Neville. When Hermione opened her eyes after a minute of closing them and endured a faceless maniacal laughter, her heart nearly dropped to the floor. The downside of being brave was having a hard time to conceal one's emotions, and Gryffindors were famed to be wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Hermione saw pity and concern in her friends' eyes. Not the kind of concern one would want from one's friends, but the kind of concern that said I-think-she-is-getting-insane-like-that-deranged-Bellatrix. This was not what she wanted.

She excused herself to the bathroom and, upon return, overheard her friends debating on the best way to persuade her to see a mind Healer (and take up permanent residence in St. Mungo's, more likely). Fear gripped her heart but Hermione steeled herself and rejoined the party with a relaxed face, as if nothing had happened. For the rest of the evening, she kept on visualizing how Draco Malfoy acted like nothing of importance was happening even when the situation was horrible. She bet Malfoy would die of glee and happiness if he was to ever know that.

A month later, Hermione had sold off her childhood home (she decided not to intrude upon her parents' life after the war but that's another story), resigned from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry, cancelled all her subscriptions, withdrew all her money from Gringgotts (the goblins seemed happy to see her leave – they still held a grudge), broke up with Ron, and moved away with the excuse of 'I need time and space to myself after the breakup'. Understandably, her friends were shocked but she had disappeared before any of them could stop her.

With the proceeds from the house, rewards from the Ministry for her part in the war, and savings from when she was working, Hermione bought a small lake in Wales and built a small house there. She erected all the magical barriers that she knew to ward off strangers, visitors, and the adventurous hikers. She took the idea from Grimmauld Place, making the place unplottable. The only way another person could set foot in the place was if Hermione herself physically brought the person. Writing the address on a piece of paper would not suffice.

She built a small jetty at the lake and constructed a rudimentary raft. Sometimes, when nothing else helped, she'd row the raft to the middle of the silent lake and lie there, staring at the brilliant blue sky until the pounding subsided. Had she known that a poorly-constructed raft in the middle of a small, deserted lake somewhere in Wales would do the trick, Hermione would not have done the things she did to numb the pain: various muggle and wizarding illegal substances, taking different lovers to bed nearly every night (fortunately she was not sharing a place with Ron, so he never knew), watching illegal sports (underground boxing, cock fighting), and even yoga. Wait, she did not mind the yoga – it helped her to keep fit.

The alarm's blares sounded throughout the property, pulling Hermione away from her thoughts. She groaned and swore. She chuckled immediately after, imagining the shocked faces of people if they heard her swear like a sailor. The Hermione that entered Hogwarts when she was eleven was not the Hermione that helped brought down Voldemort, saved the world, and being constantly barraged by faceless, unknown voices. The former Hermione strived to score perfect marks. The latter only wanted silence and peace, nothing more.

Hermione got to her feet and started rowing back to the jetty, cursing herself for leaving her wand in the house, next to the alarm clock itself, of all places. But her three hours ago self was adamant to row the raft without any magical means and did not want to be reminded of anything magical. The wizarding world destroyed her. Magic made her this way. She was unable to return to the muggle life without risking stalkers and admirers who'd be convinced that she was better off being a public figure in the wizarding world, playing a happy and smiling persona, preferably hitched to one of the war heroes as well. The lake was her safety, her refuge. Her personal hell where only she and her unknown demons existed.

Hermione secured the raft to the jetty and ran inside her house, grumbling about being deafened by the blasted alarm clock. She killed it and the lake was silent once more. Breathing a sigh of relief, she sat on the edge of her bed, contemplating whether she should keep her promise or returned to the middle of the lake where serenity beckoned. Staring at the moving hand of the clock, she decided it would be a waste to not wear the new dress she bought for this occasion.

A year after disappearing, Hermione knocked on the doors of Grimmauld Place, a chocolate cake in hand, nervously waiting. A surprised Ginny answered the door and jumped at her, squeezing her to death. The cake survived. So did Hermione. That night, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione had dinner at Grimmauld Place, chatting as if time never passed.

"So where have you been all these time? We're so worried about you – our owls kept on returning without managing to even reach you," Ginny looked slightly hurt. She refilled Hermione's glass of wine.

"I'm sorry about that, I didn't mean to worry any of you," Hermione replied gently, a cover story at the ready. "I was trying to figure out what it was I wanted in life. I mean, I just broke up with someone whom I thought I would be with forever, but when I realized I had no more feelings for him, it was… unreal. It was weird. Strange. Difficult. Suddenly I felt suffocated for no reason and I had the urge to get away somewhere quiet. So I stayed for a bit at this lovely beach in Spain and uh… before I continue, both of you must swear secrecy. The only reason why I appear now after a year is because I got the clearance to do so."

Harry and Ginny shared a glance.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, a worried look in her eyes.

"You must swear it first," insisted Hermione.

"I swear it, because I trust you, 'Mione. You saved me countless times. So whatever it is you'll be telling me, I swear I won't tell anyone else," Harry said quietly. Hermione gave him a grateful smile.

"It's not that I don't trust you, but I'm just worried for you. But I swear to keep quiet and I also swear if anyone hurts you I'll hex them to oblivion."

Hermione gave Ginny a quick hug, glad to see the fiery protectiveness of the girl had not sizzled out.

"Well, to make a long story short, I'm working for a government as a secret agent," Hermione said in a low voice, causing both her friends to inched nearer. "I'm unable to tell you much, because I'm holding quite a high position and I'm involved in many high-profile cases. I've been busy doing… things. Official things. Which is why I haven't been able to visit and why none of you were able to reach me."

"Are you some sort of Unspeakable?" asked the redhead.

"Sort of, but a mixture of that and an Auror."

Harry smiled. "I can imagine how workaholic you're becoming."

"Hey! I'm just busy!" Hermione swatted Harry's arm.

They laughed. It was good to laugh together again. Especially when her mind was not assaulted. Throughout the night the laughed and chatted, happy to be together again. As Hermione took her leave, both her friends promised to keep quiet about her job and would support her if their other friends started to be nosy. Hermione felt only a tiny little bit of guilt for telling them such absurd lies but was convinced they did not need to know the truth. None of her friends deserved the truth. Hermione did not want to see that look in their eyes anymore.

Since then, Hermione dropped by at Grimmauld Place as irregularly as she could. She never mentioned about the rest of their friends, and they never brought up the subject. Somehow, both Ginny and Harry understood to just let Hermione do things at her own pace. Hermione admired Ginny's patience and self-control, not even pushing her to try and meet at least one other person. Or perhaps, both Ginny and Harry thought Hermione was lying low due to some extremely hush-hush mission. Considering Harry was an Auror, that was likely to be the case.

Six months after the first time Hermione dropped by unannounced, Ginny excitedly informed her that Harry proposed and they were going to get married soon after. The blushing groom found his cup of tea was highly interesting and fussed with it for a bit before Hermione gave him a long hug. She was happy for him. She was happy for the both of them. They had all been through so much pain, so much sadness, so much hardship. It was time for them to be happy.

Except for me, Hermione thought sadly. I am too broken and cursed to have any happiness.

So there Hermione was, getting herself ready to go for Ginny's hen night. Half of her filled with dread – was it held at public venue? How many people would be there? Hermione had never asked, and Ginny had never told. All Ginny said was to be at Grimmauld Place latest by 7 p.m.

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror, scrutinizing every inch, wanting to make sure she would not look out of place. She bought a silver dress, modest yet revealing, and a pair of gorgeous heels to go with it. Her hair was tied in an elegant bun, the bushiness gone. For a moment, she wondered whether she was making a mistake – this was Ginny's hen night, and for all Hermione knew the Quidditch player might be dragging her to some sporty arena where she'd be forced to get on a broom and play sports. Ugh. But wait, the dress would be a perfect excuse on not getting on a broom.

Hermione grabbed her purse, stuffed her wand inside, and Apparated to the front door of Grimmauld Place. She grabbed on the knocker but hesitated. Her stomach knotted uneasily. Should she hightail it and send a letter of apology with a basket of fruit, using her job as an excuse? 'Sorry Gin but I had to do things that I can't even tell you because it's secret'. Understanding might the redhead be, but she had a temper.

While standing there, unsure on what to do, the door opened and Hermione nearly fell, her hand was still gripping the knocker. Harry caught her before she could kiss the floor.

"Easy there, 'Mione," he murmured gently.

"Harry, don't leave the door open, damn it! You're letting the wind in," Ginny's voice called out from the house. Moments later, the grumbling redhead appeared and she grinned seeing Hermione.

"You came!" Ginny hugged her best friend.

"I'm here," agreed Hermione.

"Alright, I better leave now. You girls have fun, okay? I'll see you tomorrow, love," Harry kissed his fiancée before hugging Hermione.

Both ladies watched him Disapparating with a 'pop'.

"He's going to his own stag party," Ginny was dragging Hermione inside, into the living room. There usually homey room changed – it now held tables of finger foods, wines, beers, and punch bowls. There were several chairs randomly scattered throughout the room.

"Uh…"

"Okay so I'm sorry I never tell you this but please don't get angry and pay attention," Ginny held Hermione's shoulders firmly, looking serious. For some reason, the redhead's black gown distracted Hermione and it took all of her energy to focus on Ginny's eyes. Hermione needed a drink.

"I invited several girls, my close friends. This is my third hen night, but this is the most special because it's a very private affair and only the girls that mean a lot to me are here tonight. So please, even if you do hate some of them, just ignore them, alright 'Mione?"

"Er can you explain?"

Ginny took a deep breath. She was nervous.

"Pansy is coming – we've become quite good friends. Lavender is coming – she's a pretty decent girl now and not lusting after Ron anymore. Luna, Hannah, the Patil twins, Angelina, Katie, Susan and several other girls you never had any beef with are coming as well so I'm sure you have people you can talk to. And oh, Fleur is coming too."

"Fleur?"

"I know it sounds absurd to you but Fleur's a pretty chill lady," Ginny laughed nervously. Hermione relaxed her face, not wanting to give Ginny the impression that she was hating this and wanted to run away (even though she badly wanted to hide). "Um, ok let me update you on things: Pansy bought the Holyhead Harpies and turns out she is actually a nice human being. Lavender is dating Neville, of all people, but they seem happy. Ron is dating Luna." Both Hermione's eyebrows rose at this. "Fleur and Bill divorced months ago because Bill wanted to become a monk or something to conquer his inner wolf and Fleur felt the love they shared had changed to something akin to close friendship. Mum's the only one pissed about it but at any rate, Fleur and I somehow managed to befriend each other so she's coming."

"How did Luna and Ron even happen?" Hermione was genuinely curious. That was something she would never expect.

Ginny shrug. "I don't know but Luna is Luna, so yeah. Are you alright with it?"

"Gin, I'm fine," Hermione gave her a reassuring smile. "If Pansy and Lavender can be civil toward me, I will be civil toward them."

Ginny hugged her.

"You're the best."

Despite herself, Hermione enjoyed the party (it felt like a gathering instead of a hen night). Not a single soul asked her where she had been all these time or what she was currently doing. Hermione silently thanked Ginny and Harry, for they must have warned their friends not to bother her with such questions. She felt a slight pang of guilt for lying to Harry and Ginny, but she swept that thought away. Hermione had a nagging feeling that the hen's night was Ginny's excuse to drag the brunette back into society but she had no proof.

To her surprise, Pansy and Lavender were polite – and friendly even – with her. Time really changed everything. Including her. Unfortunately, not for the better, but for the worse. Everyone around her seemed happy and content with the lives they were living. They had normal concerns that Hermione would kill for. Why was she the one having this…madness? She sacrificed so much, yet this was what she received? One of Hermione's theories was that Bellatrix' tortures had messed with her mind. Yet none of the Healers she went to found anything strange. Hermione had a normal, working mind, albeit slightly damaged due to what she had seen during the war.

The more she thought of it, the moodier she became. Hermione just had to get some air, just had to get away. She disappeared to the second floor and went to one of the balconies. The chilly breeze calmed her enough to prevent her from having anxiety attacks, but she was still tense. She chugged the wine bottle she snatched from one of the tables, and instantly felt heady. She was never strong with wine, and rarely allowed herself to drink so much since the assaults started, as the assaults were stronger when she was intoxicated or having hangover. But tonight, she cast all caution to the wind. She was bound to be assaulted sometime soon anyway, so why worry?

A hand pried the bottle from her grip firmly but gently.

"Hey give me back!" her words started to slur and she had to hold onto the railings for support.

She felt strong hands held her waist, steadying her. She felt indignant – Hermione fucking Granger was not a child anymore and she could drink herself to death whenever she wanted to, thank you! And no, she did not need any help whatsoever; she could stand on her own.

"You're always so fiery," a gently voice chuckled lightly.

Hermione felt slightly embarrassed – had she spoken out loud? She looked up and focused her eyes to see into Fleur's warm, deep blue ones.

"F..Fl…Fleur," the brunette stammered, all anger forgotten.

She had been avoiding the French throughout the whole night, for reasons she herself did not know. Every time Fleur had turned her gaze on Hermione, the brunette would panic and walked away to talk with the furthest person in the room, distancing herself from Fleur. Every time Fleur approached her, Hermione managed to slip away to another side of the room. The brunette knew her behaviour was inexcusable, but she did not even understand why she was doing what she did. All she knew was that her stomach turned to a knot whenever Fleur was on her radar and her first instinct was to flee. Honed by countless battles, Hermione allowed her body to take over whenever her instincts screamed at her to take flight.

But now they were alone, on a deserted floor, with Hermione stuck between the railings and Fleur. Not only that, the brunette's mind was impaired from the alcohol, making her unable to think clearly.

"So much sadness, so much pain," murmured Fleur. Hermione broke away eye contact at that.

"You're taller," Hermione blurted the first thought that came to mind. She could smack herself. The brightest witch of her age indeed.

"We've never stood close enough to measure our height differences."

Hermione felt Fleur inching closer, and for some reason the brunette's heart raced.

Oh my god, don't let her come nearer, she screamed internally. Yes, come nearer.

Hermione was confused. Did she or did she not want Fleur to be nearby? She felt Fleur's body against hers, no space in between, and allowed her chin to be tilted upward, making her look into those dancing blue eyes again.

"How tall do you think I am, Hermione?"

Hermione's palms were clammy. She gripped the railings harder. The combinations of alcohol, stress, morbid thoughts, and strange urge to run away from Fleur but at the same time stay there with Fleur made it difficult for Hermione to breathe properly.

"I…I…"

She tried to take a deep breath. She tried to control her breathing. She tried to count to ten and think of cute baby unicorns.

She failed.

The next moment, Fleur gathered her in her embrace, with one hand rubbing her back gently, rhythmically.

"Follow my breathing, Hermione, follow my breathing."

The voices started again. It was a male laughter this time, giggling gleefully while lecturing her on why shooting an arrow on a person's right knee is much better than the left. Without realizing, she gripped Fleur's dress and closed her eyes, begging the person to leave her alone tonight. She was half-aware of Fleur stroking her hair while repeatedly saying something that sounded soothing. Hermione wanted to tell Fleur that she was fine, that this was common, and that this will be over soon, so could Fleur please go away and leave her alone to deal with this madness because if not Fleur could get it too?

Hermione had no idea whether she successfully drove Fleur away because the brunette could feel she was slowly sinking into the darkness, the comfort and familiarity of the cold, lonely place.

There was a dull ache in her head, thumping like the rhythms of the drums. Hermione was relieved that the madman stopped lecturing her about arrows and knees. For the time being, her mind was quiet. But pounding.

Hermione groaned and slowly opened her eyes, swearing at the sun for being too bright. It took her forever to finally able to open her eyes without hurting, and she was shocked to see Fleur looking at her, concern in the blonde's eyes. Hermione looked around and did not recognize her surroundings. She was lying on a king-sized bed with extremely comfortable red duvet, surrounded by a sofa, three chairs, a small wooden table, various articles of clothing and random stuff scattered throughout, a kitchenette, and a slightly opened door that revealed a small bathroom.

Fleur closed whatever book she was reading and, in just one step, sat on the edge of the bed, placed a palm on Hermione's temple and asked gently, "How are you feeling?"

Hermione glanced around and then looked back at Fleur's concerned deep blue eyes. This was wrong. It felt so wrong. An immaculate person like Fleur had no business being in such a horribly messy place.

"Where…are we?"

"You're at my place. You fainted last night and nobody knew where you lived so I decided to bring you here. I didn't want to leave you at Harry's because the rest of the drunken ladies would be staying there and you looked like you needed your own space."

"Your…place? Here?"

Fleur nodded.

"But you're not…messy."

Fleur chuckled.

"I'm living the life of a single bachelorette, I think I can afford to be messy."

Fleur took a potion from the bedside table and offered it to Hermione.

"It helps with the headaches."

For a moment, Hermione froze, thinking that Fleur knew what was going on. But she relaxed herself, realizing that Fleur was referring to the hangover. Hermione allowed Fleur to help her drink the potion and lied back on the comfortable bed. Hermione felt herself getting lighter and slightly happy. She knew this feeling, she was glad to get reacquainted with this kind of sensation. It had been a long time since she took any drug, both legal and illegal, and she missed it a little. She allowed the sensations to envelope her and led her to some sleep, albeit filled with nightmares (well, what was she expecting?)

Hermione had no idea how long she slept but when she awoke, the sun was hanging low and her stomach rioting. Her eyes found Fleur's deep blue ones and the brunette wondered whether Fleur had been sitting across her all these while.

"I made some soup. Would you like some?"

The gentleness in Fleur's voice shook Hermione. The kind, accepting deep blue eyes frightened her. She wanted to cry. She needed to get out of here badly. She needed to breathe. She needed to eat the soup. No. Not that. She needed to leave. Immediately.

Hermione forced herself to sit and swung out of bed. Fleur rose quickly to help steady her, the second time in less than twenty four hours.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the brunette mumbled, desperately trying to push Fleur away without being rude about it. "I need to go now. It's late. I'm late for work. See you around, Fleur. Bye."

Quick as lightning, Hermione grabbed her purse and wand, got out of the door and Disapparated to her lake before Fleur could react. Hermione blinked her tears away, rummaging her wardrobe. She got out of her dress, nearly tearing it apart, and put on an old tee and sweatpants. She ran to her raft and rowed to the middle of the lake, this time with her wand firmly in hand.