Chapter 3

By: HPRairPairsOnly

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its warm glow casting flickering shadows across the darkened study. Fleur sat in one of the high-backed chairs, her fingers wrapped around a delicate crystal glass, half-filled with a deep red wine. She stared into the fire, watching as the flames danced, her mind clouded by the weight of everything she had been forced to do. She had lied, manipulated, and built walls around herself that even she could no longer tear down.

The wine slid down her throat, warm and bitter, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in her chest. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the room where Hermione and Luna were, to the haunted look in Hermione's eyes, the way her voice had trembled when she asked why Fleur had bought her.

Why do you want to keep me?

The words echoed in her mind, twisting the guilt deeper into her core. Fleur hadn't meant for things to be like this, hadn't wanted to keep Hermione and Luna like prisoners. But the world was no longer forgiving of good intentions. Survival demanded sacrifice, and sometimes it demanded you become something you hated.

She took another slow sip of wine, feeling the heaviness settle in her bones, when a sound—soft but unmistakable—reached her ears.

"Fleur?"

Fleur frowned, setting the glass down on the side table and standing. She turned toward the door, her brow furrowed in confusion. The voice was quiet, but there was something unnervingly calm about it, almost detached. She recognized it immediately.

"Fleur?"

It was Luna.

Fleur's pulse quickened, and she stepped out of the study, her feet moving swiftly across the cold stone floors. She followed the sound of Luna's voice, her heart pounding as she approached the hallway that led to their room. Luna was standing just outside the door, her pale face illuminated by the faint glow of the nearby lamps, her eyes wide and calm in the way that only Luna's could be.

Fleur's pulse quickened as she moved through the darkened hallways, her thoughts racing. Every step felt heavier, her mind a swirl of worry and calculation. Had the servants seen Luna wandering through the halls? She had given strict orders to keep Hermione and Luna's presence a secret, but servants had a way of being everywhere and nowhere at once. All it would take was one of them catching sight of Luna, and real danger would begin. Right now, their identities unknown, kept them safe.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she quickened her pace, the cold stone floors beneath her bare feet sending a chill up her spine. She cursed herself for leaving them alone, for thinking they would simply be able to rest after all they had endured.

When she reached the end of the hallway, her breath hitched. Luna was standing there, pale and still, her face illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of the lamps. Her wide eyes were as calm as ever, unsettling in their serenity. She looked like a ghost, her pale blonde hair shimmering in the faint light, her gaze fixed on the door as if the chaos inside didn't touch her at all.

Fleur's gaze darted around the hallway, searching for any signs of movement, any of the servants who might have been wandering nearby. But the corridor was silent, empty. Still, the fear lingered. Luna couldn't be seen like this. None of them could.

"Luna," Fleur whispered urgently, closing the distance between them. "Did anyone see you?"

Luna's wide eyes blinked slowly, as if the question didn't quite register. "No," she said softly, her voice almost dreamy. "They didn't see me."

Fleur exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, relief flooding through her for a brief moment. But it was short-lived. She knew that Luna's calm detachment wasn't the same thing as caution, and her fear of discovery was far from gone. She placed a hand lightly on Luna's arm, steering her gently back toward the door. "Stay inside, Luna. We can't risk any of the servants knowing who you are."

Fleur moved past Luna, pushing the door open and stepping into the dimly lit room. Her eyes immediately sought out Hermione.

The washbasin sat in the corner, the water still and cold, and there was Hermione. She was completely bare, her clothes discarded in a heap beside the basin, the remnants of Bellatrix's cruelty still fresh on her skin.

Hermione's body was limp, her arms submerged in the water up to her elbows, her head hanging so low that her chin almost touched the surface. Her once vibrant curls clung damply to her face, now matted and tangled, barely resembling the strong, fierce woman Fleur had known. Her body trembled faintly, but she remained unnervingly still, as if she had given up the fight.

Fleur's breath hitched in her throat as she approached, her eyes scanning Hermione's bare skin—pale and bruised, the bruises forming dark patches against the cold paleness of her flesh. Without clothes, Hermione seemed even more vulnerable, fragile, as though every part of her had been stripped away, leaving only a shadow of the woman she had once been.

Kneeling beside her, Fleur hesitated for a moment before reaching out. Her fingers brushed lightly against Hermione's shoulder, and Fleur recoiled slightly from the shocking coldness of her skin. It felt like ice—far too cold for someone alive. Her hands trembled as she pressed down gently, trying to coax Hermione out of the water.

"Hermione," she whispered, her voice soft but urgent, "You need to get out of the water."

There was no response. Hermione didn't even flinch. Her body remained limp, her head still bowed, her arms submerged in the freezing basin. Fleur's heart raced as she gently shook Hermione's shoulder, but still, nothing. Her skin felt icy beneath Fleur's touch, her breathing so shallow it was barely noticeable.

"Hermione, please," Fleur said more firmly, her voice rising in panic. She gripped Hermione's shoulder tighter, pulling her out of the basin with a little more force. Hermione's body was heavy, unresponsive, her arms slipping out of the cold water and dripping onto the stone floor as Fleur pulled her fully out of the basin.

Hermione's body slumped against her, cold and bare, her wet skin chilling Fleur's hands. Fleur wrapped her arms around Hermione, feeling the frailty of her thin, shivering frame. Her fingers brushed over the bruises that covered Hermione's arms, the rough patches of skin where Bellatrix had left her mark, and Fleur's heart twisted with guilt.

"Hermione," Fleur whispered again, her voice cracking. "Please…"

Hermione's head lolled to the side, her eyes half-open, but vacant, glassy. There was no recognition in her gaze, no awareness. Only emptiness.

Fleur's breath caught in her throat as she carefully lowered Hermione to the floor, her heart pounding in her chest. She pulled the blanket from the bed and quickly draped it over Hermione's bare form, wrapping her tightly in the soft fabric, trying to bring warmth back to her cold, lifeless skin.

The coldness of Hermione's body seeped through the blanket, chilling Fleur to the bone as she knelt beside her. Her hands trembled as she smoothed the damp hair from Hermione's face, her fingers brushing against her cold cheeks. Hermione's lips were pale, cracked, and her breathing was shallow, almost imperceptible.

"Luna," Fleur called softly, not taking her eyes off Hermione's frail form. "Get more blankets."

Luna, who had been standing quietly by the door, nodded and moved swiftly, gathering every blanket she could find in the room. She draped them over Hermione's shivering body, her movements calm and deliberate, as though this were all just part of some dream.

"I tried to help her," Luna said softly, kneeling beside Fleur. "But she wouldn't listen. She's too far away."

Fleur's fingers brushed through Hermione's tangled hair, her heart aching as she looked at the broken girl lying so still in her arms. Hermione had always been so strong, so full of life. Seeing her like this—so cold, so fragile—felt like a betrayal, as though Fleur had failed her.

"I don't know what to do," Fleur whispered, her voice trembling. "She's so cold. She won't respond."

Luna tilted her head slightly, her wide eyes fixed on Hermione's face. "She's hiding," she said quietly, as if she were simply stating a fact. "She doesn't want to be here right now."

Fleur swallowed hard, her chest tightening. She knew what Luna meant—she had seen people retreat into themselves before, after enduring the kind of torture Hermione had faced. But hearing it spoken aloud made the weight of it unbearable.

"Let's get her to bed," Fleur said, her voice barely holding steady as she gently lifted Hermione from the floor. Hermione's body was so light, so cold, and the blankets felt like a flimsy barrier against the chill that had settled deep inside her.

Luna helped, her hands steady as they moved Hermione to the bed. Once Hermione was lying down, Fleur tucked the blankets tightly around her, her fingers lingering on Hermione's forehead. Her skin was still too cold, her breathing still too shallow.

"I don't know how to help her," Fleur whispered, her voice breaking as she brushed a strand of hair from Hermione's face.

Luna looked at her with that same calm, distant expression. "She'll come back when she's ready," she said softly, her voice full of quiet certainty. "But it might take time."

Fleur swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, though the fear gnawing at her heart refused to ease. She leaned down, pressing her forehead gently against Hermione's cold skin, as if her touch alone could bring Hermione back from wherever she was hiding.

"Please," Fleur whispered, her voice barely audible. "Please come back."

But Hermione remained still, her body cold and motionless beneath the weight of the blankets. And all Fleur could do was sit there, waiting, hoping that somewhere beneath the layers of pain and fear, Hermione could still hear her.

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