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Chapter Text

Hermione carefully navigates the foot path that leads back to the main road, every once in a while swiping her hand down to free her skirt from prickly shrubs. She looks up and brushes back the strands of hair that have fallen loose from the ribbon tying her hair back, glad that she went without a hat today, not that she likes wearing them in general. Given the shadows and how the light breaks through the canopy, she judges she has about two hours left to forage before it gets too dark.

Plenty of time to get back to the road and walk to a section of the forest she hasn’t visited in a few months. Her handbasket already holds all the ingredients she was looking for, but the other part of the forest may hold a surprise or two, and she has her favorite herbs and fungi book inside the leather pouch strapped to her belt just for this purpose.

A yelp followed by men’s laughter breaks through the silence, sending birds flying up into the tree tops. She’s encountered enough ill-intentioned men to recognize the predatory glee in it, and she clenches her jaw.

Her first instinct is to run towards them to help whoever they’ve accosted. Thankfully the more cautious part of her is more persuasive. She quietly walks until she reaches a tree close to the road, setting down her basket. Peering from behind it, she takes in the scene.

A striking blonde woman stares challengingly at two men; one tall, the other short and stocky. 

She’s dressed in a dated men’s style, albeit very tailored to her size and of a high quality not ordinarily seen in these parts. She wears a cream-colored linen shirt with a light blue jerkin and then a low-cut dark blue leather waistcoat over it which matches the color of her breeches, and very soft-looking brown leather boots. A long white plume billows out of the light blue bycocket hat perched on her head. Instead of brandishing the rapier sheathed at her hip, she holds a quarterstaff in her hands.

“This is your final warning,” says the woman in a French accent. “Pass as friends and I will forget your rudeness.”

Rather than complying, the men grin and spread out. The woman takes a couple of steps back to keep them in front of her.

“We’ll take our chances,” the taller man says in a gravelly voice. “Now hand over your purse.”

Twirling her staff, the Frenchwoman adjusts into a fighting stance.

“Foes you shall be then.”

From the seriousness on her face, and the twinkle in her eyes, Hermione has no doubt the woman is ready to fight. She might even welcome it. Despite the danger she’s witnessing, Hermione’s heart flutters. The woman is beautiful and fearsome. 

And then something happens which causes the jaws of the men and Hermione to drop.

“Ho! Haha! Guard! Turn! Parry!” the woman yells, maneuvering her quarterstaff through the various moves as she speaks.

All three of them gape at the blonde as if she’s lost her mind. When the woman finishes with a downward swinging motion on the word ‘Thrust’, the staff bounces off a low-hanging branch and hits her on top of her head.

Staggering back, the woman holds up her hand.

“Un moment s’il vous plaît.”

The men roar with laughter, and Hermione’s laughter is about to break free as well, until she notices the men abruptly stop. A dazed look passes over their faces while they stare dreamily at the woman, who ignores them as she proceeds to slowly go through the motions again, mouthing the order of her moves until she’s satisfied.

“I am ready now,” the blonde says, and the men shake their heads, confused and wary. 

The tall man recovers first and takes out his knife, moving towards her. 

“Careful, Bob,” the stocky man warns.

Hermione hurriedly looks around. She has to act but unfortunately has to stay within certain bounds. Hand on her waist, the small blade she uses to forage for her ingredients won’t be a useful weapon. There is a thin, sturdy branch on the ground she could use, though. Long and straight enough to be a walking stick. It’s been a while since she’s engaged in physical combat but she’s familiar enough with common weaponry, and she’s glad she wore her comfortable peasant garb today which will make it easier to move. Grabbing it, she charges forward with a yell.

They all turn towards her, and the blonde’s eyes widen, her lips parting in surprise before stretching into a pleased smile.

“You’re here,” the woman says, a strange mixture of disbelief and expectation in her tone.

“Hello to you, too,” Hermione replies distractedly, positioning herself beside the woman.

The tall man lunges with the knife, and the blonde instantly swings her quarterstaff and misses. Or rather, she misses him, instead hitting Hermione squarely on the chest, knocking her off her feet.

“Ah je suis désolée. I’m so sorry, I was attempting to parry.”

“Keep attempting,” Hermione grunts through clenched teeth, hurrying to stand and wave back their assailants with her stick.

The blonde removes her hat and throws it off to the side, glaring at the men.

“I’ll make you pay for causing me to hurt her. Ho! Haha! Guard!”

Hermione rolls her eyes and makes sure to give the blonde plenty of space this time by moving in front of the tall man’s companion. The tall man, Bob, doesn’t seem to find it humorous anymore and looks poised to attack. 

The stocky man in front of her draws a knife and smiles. Hermione wipes it off his face with a few well-placed strikes on the head with her stick, knocking him unconscious.

“Jack!” growls Bob, turning his anger back towards them. “Time for fun is over, girls.”

He doesn’t give them a chance to reply. Without warning, he throws himself bodily at the blonde, his elbow hitting her chest while he wrests the staff out of her hands at the same time.

Pouting from her spot on the ground, the blonde protests, “I was going easy on you but your offenses are too many to count. Give me back my quarterstaff and we shall continue.”

Hermione smiles at the woman, exasperated by her incomprehension of the very real danger they’re in and endeared by it at the same time.

Bob doesn’t even bother to acknowledge the woman on the ground. He confronts Hermione, holding the staff securely in his hands.

Her fingers curl around her stick, calculating the odds of victory if she continues fighting in this manner. The weight advantage isn’t hers. And her stick may be strong but it’s longer than she’s used to. A potential hindrance if her opponent is even half-competent with that staff.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Hermione says under her breath, deciding it isn’t worth it. She drops her stick and draws her wand. “Stupefy!”

The man is thrown backwards against a nearby tree, passing out on impact.

She points her wand at the other unconscious man and levitates him over to his partner. Just as she begins to mutter to herself about having to obliviate three muggles, the two men and the woman she’s just saved, ropes appear and bind the men.

Hermione spins around, feeling both betrayed and astounded.

“You’re a witch?!”

“Part witch,” asserts the blonde flippantly, lowering her wand. She summons her hat, places it on her head, summons her staff, and holsters her wand. Taking a bow, she says, “Fleur Isabelle Delacour, at your service. As happy as I am to see you, I must say I’m disappointed you’ve ruined my fun. I would’ve had them if you hadn’t interfered.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure your skillful use of the quarterstaff had them shaking in their boots.”

“Exactement,” Fleur says matter-of-factly.

Hermione lets out a sharp laugh, her brow furrowed, looking about and waiting for someone to appear and tell her she’s walked into some sort of traveling performance act.

“Now if you will kindly show me the way to Sherwood Forest, I will reward you handsomely. I’d rather not use apparition, however. There’s a reason I chose to portkey here to start my adventure.”

“Here? You mean four hundred miles north of Sherwood, in Scotland here?”

“Is it really four hundred miles?” Fleur asks happily. “Beaucoup de temps.”

A lot of time? A lot of time for what? wonders Hermione.

She asks incredulously, “And you want to walk?”

“Walk or ride, assuming we can procure horses.”

“Why?”

“Pardon?”

“Tell me why you want to go to Sherwood or I’m disapparating right now–”

“Have you heard of the outlaw Robin Hood?”

“Oh no, you’re one of those,” groans Hermione. Now the woman’s outfit makes sense. “And don’t interrupt me. It’s rather rude.”

“What do you mean by ‘one of those’?” questions Fleur sharply. “I’ll have you know I will not tolerate any discrimination against Veela. We are a fierce, proud people, and the Delacour clan is the most powerful in France.”

Hermione does a double-take. She’s never met a Veela before. She knows very little about them except that they’re secretive, their hearing and sense of smell are supposedly enhanced, and the women have a thrall which can bewitch those who are attracted to them. It explains the way the men lost their heads when the woman needed a moment after hitting herself with her own staff. Why didn’t Hermione feel it, though?

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Hermione says with as much sincerity as she can muster. “And I’m Hermione Granger. Erm, why would a Veela be interested in Robin Hood and Sherwood Forest?”

The woman smiles enigmatically.

“You are forgiven, Hermione Granger,” Fleur answers, seeming to relish her name. “And today I will share two reasons for my journey. The third after we get to know one another better. One, he has been my hero since I was a little girl.”

Hermione forces her expression to remain neutral. She’s encountered people like this before. People so fascinated by the legendary outlaw that they wish to emulate him in some manner, usually with their attire. It just so happens that she’s from Nottingham and, as a muggleborn, she knows all the tales and legends of Robin Hood and his so-called Merry Men. But they’re just stories. It’s not like the man really existed.

“Look, I can’t just traipse off with you to Sherwood because you’ve got a thing for fairytales. I’m the Potions Master at Hogwarts and the schoolyear starts in a few months–”

“Ah oui, I understand,” Fleur interrupts, an impressed expression crossing her face.

Hermione is about to scold her again for interrupting but then the woman waves her hand dismissively.

“Do not concern yourself. I’ll get my grand-mère to owl the headmaster. She is the leader of my clan and will make the request for you to be given a year-long sabbatical.”

Hermione scoffs. She’s only been the Potions Master for two years, certainly not enough time to earn a sabbatical yet. It’s late-June now. If they used apparition, they could be done with whatever Fleur has to do and she’d still have enough time to prepare for the schoolyear. But the woman appears serious about not wanting to travel that way. And also serious about wanting her around for a year.

“What’s your second reason?” Hermione asks warily.

“I am on a quest on behalf of the Delacour clan to fulfill a four-century old promise to Maid Marian herself. Did you know she was part Veela?”

Opening her mouth and shutting it again, Hermione can’t find the words as everything she knows reorganizes in her head. If Marian was real, does that mean Robin Hood was real, too?

She doesn’t like that there’s a third reason being withheld from her, but at least Fleur was upfront about it. And if the Delacours are really powerful enough to get her a sabbatical, she would be a fool to turn it down. This also gives her an opportunity to learn more about Veela.

“Well, Fleur Delacour, I guess you have yourself a guide. But if you’re truly set on wearing clothes that will make people wonder if you’re cracked in the head, at least change the color. You’re far too conspicuous in that blue.”

“Oh, I thought the blue might be more attractive but if it’s not to your liking I will change it,” says Fleur, a light pink dusting her cheeks. She draws her wand and waves it over herself. The linen shirt and boots stay the same color, but now the jerkin and bycocket are a more muted olive green, and the leather waistcoat and breeches are dark brown. Even the feather has been changed from a large white plume to a more common pheasant feather. The woman looked beautiful before but now that she blends in more with the colors of the forest, she is even more breathtaking.

Fleur arches an eyebrow. “You find this more pleasing, I think.”

“It’s fine,” she squeaks, and her eyes widen at the sound. Her cheeks burn bright red and she spins around. Clearing her throat, she marches back towards the tree she hid behind earlier, muttering all the while.

“I just– have to get my basket– we can disapparate to Hogsmeade at least– use the owlery to write your grand-mère– wait for the headmaster’s permission– and oh we have to obliviate these two…”

The woman’s charming laughter echoes through the forest just as she reaches the tree.

“Her laughter is not charming,” Hermione argues to herself, glad she went to get her basket herself rather than summoning it.

“But of course it is, ma belle!”

Hermione winces at having been overheard. Blasted Veela and their enhanced senses.

This is going to be a long year.

Chapter Text

It takes a few days for Hermione to determine Fleur has an overly romanticized view of Robin Hood. But the Veela presents a compelling case for his and Maid Marian’s existence, and after revealing more details, it inspires a gnawing curiosity in Hermione.

She is also happy about having a sabbatical from her position at Hogwarts. She enjoyed her job but it isn’t as fulfilling as she thought it would be. Like something is missing.

Growing up, it’s always felt that way. That feeling there was something beyond the known world that she was meant to know. She thought she found it when she got her letter from Hogwarts and was introduced to the magical world. Finding her place there did satisfy her for a time, being told she could become more than the washerwoman her mother was will do that for a young girl, and yet the feeling there was something else waiting for her remained. The few friends she has said she was lonely. Considering they are all married now with young children, it makes sense for them to think that and to worry that she is still unattached at twenty-three years of age.

Before she met Fleur she was supposed to use that summer to figure out what it was she wanted. And then she did meet Fleur, and the woman’s quest became a convenient excuse to put it off.

At first, Hermione had a difficult time taking Fleur’s efforts at swashbuckling seriously. The woman is so chivalrous and honorable, she can’t even bring herself to rob from the rich as her hero Robin Hood had done. It’s something Hermione would have trouble with, too, so they content themselves with helping villages rid themselves of corrupt officials, righting wrongs, and putting evil-doers in their place. All perfectly fine and aligned with her own ideals.

It is how this is all done that has Hermione scouring her books for a salve to ease the tightness in her shoulders.

Fleur’s earnestness and cocky taunts are not the cause. While the barbs are certainly absurd in a fight, especially when she’s so often outmatched, Hermione has come to expect them. No, what continues to amaze and worry the brunette is how Fleur seems to lack any awareness of how poorly she uses her quarterstaff. Or used to anyway. There’s been some improvement after Hermione suggested training sessions disguised as practice. But even so, the blonde continues to insist on this weapon even though she’s so much more highly skilled with others.

In their travels, Hermione has learned the Veela is an expert duelist with her wand, a master wielder of Veela magic, and excellent in weaponless hand-to-hand combat. When the need to hunt for food arises or a long-distance threat needs to be dealt with, Fleur draws a bow and a quiver of arrows from her extension charmed satchel and impressively demonstrates archery skills that easily outshine Robin Hood’s storied accomplishments. 

Despite all this, the woman remains determined to battle muggles without magic, her thrall only minimally used when the need to temporarily pause the fight arises. Otherwise, her chosen weapon for close-quarter combat is a quarterstaff.

Hermione has no such compunction about using magic. While it is better to avoid it when engaging with muggles (the soon to be signed statute of secrecy makes this an imperative), and she is a competent fighter, if the odds aren’t in their favor she doesn’t hesitate to draw her wand in order to ensure their victory. She rationalizes this by saying they’re allowed to protect their lives however they can, and she is very skilled at memory charms in those instances. Fleur can scold her all she wants, and she has on many occasions, but Hermione knows the blonde is secretly glad for it. After all, her willingness to use magic means Fleur can stay true to her goal of fighting without it, as her hero did.

The worry it causes notwithstanding, overall Hermione has learned to respect Fleur’s wish to fight on her own terms. It helps they have become friends in the course of their journey. In fact, Fleur is the closest friend she’s ever had. So much so she isn’t quite sure what she’ll do when the quest ends and she has to return to Hogwarts.

It’s partly the reason why she hasn’t brought up her attraction to the other woman.

If it were only one-sided it wouldn’t be so bothersome, except it’s not. There’s been far too much tension, and no small amount of flirting and prolonged staring, to believe Fleur isn’t attracted to her. What adds to the problem is that Hermione’s side of it has extended so far beyond friendship, and Fleur hasn’t shown a clear enough sign of feeling the same, that it’s foolish to consider saying anything at all.

She still remembers the moment she realized it.

::

“Why not the rapier, Fleur? You wear it and I’ve never seen you use it,” Hermione points out several weeks into their journey.

Fleur sharply inhales and looks away, almost ashamed. “I haven’t mastered it yet. I’m adept with a dagger and other short blades but Maman made me promise not to use the rapier until I learned to stop lopping off pieces of my own flesh.”

Having become used to cockiness and bluster, instead of giggling at Fleur’s admitted clumsiness with the rapier, Hermione is taken aback by her vulnerability. At the worry in her expression. Like she thinks Hermione will think less of her.

She enjoys seeing this side of Fleur. It makes the pitter-patter in her heart skip even more than it does when the light shines on the blonde’s face just so. The warmth in her chest deepens and aches.

Alarmed by these unfamiliar sensations, Hermione changes the subject.

::

Her musings are interrupted when Fleur speaks.

“Hermione, stop your brooding and look around. Can you believe we’re in Sherwood Forest? The actual Sherwood Forest.”

The brunette turns her head back and forth in a slow exaggerated motion.

“Yes, amazing,” Hermione says sarcastically, observing the familiar surroundings. “Sherwood Forest. So similar to… every other forest. And it only took us ten months to get he–”

“Look over there,” Fleur exclaims in excitement, ignoring Hermione's beleaguered exhale at being interrupted again, and pointing to a log that bridges a small stream. “What if that’s the actual log Robin Hood fought Little John on?”

The blonde hurries over, springing onto the log in a graceful leap and walking across to the other side.

“Come on, Fleur, it can’t be the same log. Does it look over four hundred years old to you? And you promised to remember that the stories of outlaws who lived that long ago are not very reliable.”

“At least you’re acknowledging he existed now.”

“How can I not when you remind me every day that Marian was real?”

“I shouldn’t have to remind you, though. You grew up here. The stories are in your blood.”

Hermione snorts, exasperated and fond. She’ll miss bantering with Fleur like this. The squabbles that double as flirting.

Ignoring the pang piercing through her, she looks around. She knows parts of these woods like the back of her hand. This area around this very stream was a familiar haunt in her youth, wandering through the trees, ignoring the lovers’ clearing where couples would come for some time alone. Hermione sighs. Being here means they are closer than ever to completing Fleur’s quest. Closer to the day Fleur will return to France to take up her role as heir to her clan’s leadership.

Fleur walks onto the log again and begins her quarterstaff routine.

Admittedly, the French witch has gotten better at it over the last couple of months, and only after hours of training. But the Veela is still at that point in her learning where she gets caught up in form and technique when she should instead be focusing on defeating her opponent.

“Come and practice with me,” urges Fleur.

“Why, so we can fall into the stream? The water is sure to be cold.”

“S’il te plaît, Hermione,” begs the blonde, exaggerating a pout as she does so.

“Fine,” relents Hermione.

The brunette walks over and steps onto the log.

“Aren’t you going to take out your staff?”

“Impatient for me to trounce you?” Hermione quips.

Fleur laughs, and Hermione tries to ignore how the sound reverberates through her body. She reaches inside her leather pouch which has an extension charm on it. Fleur starts her routine, the same pattern of moves she saw when she first met her.

Getting an idea, her fingers move from the pouch to her disillusioned wand holster. Just as Fleur says ‘spin’ and predictably twirls the staff in front of her in a rapid motion, Hermione draws her wand and sticks it into the spin, abruptly stopping the quarterstaff in place. This results in Fleur losing her grip, but instead of letting the staff go, she reaches for it, causing Fleur to lose her balance.

With a surprised yelp, she falls backwards into the water.

Hermione breaks out into laughter, doubling over when a soaked Fleur stands up. Expecting anger and a stern glare, she is stunned by the way Fleur throws her hat to the path they came from and removes the leather cord holding her hair back. Rivulets of water trail down her face and over her throat. Her clothes, already tight before, cling even tighter. Hermione swallows hard when her eyes meet sparkling blue ones.

“You think you’re so clever,” Fleur says in a low, sultry voice, cocking her head to the side and wiping a hand over her neck, drawing Hermione’s attention to the beauty marks that lie there.

“No, I don’t,” Hermione stammers, turning away to walk off the log onto the side of the stream they approached from. “I just used a very small stick to beat you without any magic whatsoever.”

She doesn’t see the amused smile that briefly flashes on Fleur’s face. What she does see is Fleur wordlessly taking out her wand to wave it over herself as she walks over to the bank, drying her clothes and hair as she steps up onto the grass. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair billows out in a silky sheet as the wand blows warm air over it.

Hermione catches herself staring, her mouth dry. Fleur doesn’t even bother with guile. The woman knows exactly what this is doing to her. Her brazenness is essentially a dare to do something about it, a familiar occurrence in recent weeks, proving once again the attraction between them goes both ways.

It’s flattering really. To be desired by a beautiful Veela. To feel it grow between them over these long months. Nevertheless, she has to stay strong. Their paths diverge after this quest. Being desired is not the same as having feelings, and it would be a mistake to indulge in something she won’t get to keep. Especially considering how much she would want to.

Clearing her throat, she puts her attention back to the task at hand, dries Fleur’s hat and tosses it to her, then slips her wand back into its holster on her belt. 

“We should probably get the horses and head back to the road.”

“Wait, I want to try something first,” Fleur says, biting her lip as she gazes upwards. She swiftly climbs a tree, her demonstration of agility and strength leaving Hermione breathless. When she’s on top of a high limb, she calls down, “Where are the vines to swing on? These are not strong enough.”

“Vines to do what?” The brunette’s brow furrows. What does Fleur want with vines?

“Never mind, I’ll just make my own. And away!”

Fleur leaps off the limb, hands gripping a glittering dark vine and falling at a slightly slower rate than expected. A slowing charm must have been employed. As she swings by, her attention and smile are directed at Hermione, and she doesn’t appear to notice the vine is too long and she’s about to collide into the trunk of a neighboring tree.

The cocky wink tempts Hermione to let it happen.

In the end, fear for the French witch’s safety overrides her pettiness, and Hermione draws her wand and casts a shield for Fleur to bounce softly against. The blonde laughs and releases the vine, flipping backwards as she falls and lands on her feet with a cheeky bow.

“Bloody show off,” Hermione breathes under her breath, knowing that Fleur can hear her, and telling herself that her racing heart is due to saving the careless woman yet again and not from how amazingly acrobatic she is.

“Can we go to the road now, please? You can tell me the story about the treasure again.”

“But you complain every time I repeat it. Perhaps my voice irritates you, hm?”

“Don’t be silly. Y-you have a very nice voice,” the witch replies. Frowning at how Fleur might take her compliment, she says more nonchalantly. “I’ve grown accustomed to it.” 

Fleur tilts her head, and Hermione almost snarls at the anticipated tease, except it doesn’t come. The woman simply says, “And I yours, ma chérie. Come. I’ll tell it again as we go.”

The softness of the Frenchwoman’s tone pulls at the emotions in her heart.

Instead of wasting the time they have left, perhaps she should be using it to find out exactly what is going on between them. Does Fleur feel the same or not? Or will their friendship be done as soon as they find this treasure?

Not wanting to dwell on the sadness which overcomes her at that thought, Hermione listens attentively as Fleur launches into the story that began her quest.

Over the many repetitions in the last ten months, the Veela will occasionally reveal a new fact that either clarifies or adds to the mystery.

But here’s what Hermione knows thus far.

Two of Robin’s men, Kit and Hugh, both twenty years of age, encountered an old man riding alone on a side road through the forest. Hugh said some words intended as a joke but were taken as an insult and he was somehow knocked unconscious by the old man. When he awoke, the old man was stumbling off in the distance before seeming to disappear in the trees, and Kit was lying gravely wounded on the ground, holding the old man’s saddlebag. He told Hugh to take the man’s horse and get help.

It turns out Kit was a muggleborn wizard from Nottingham who dropped out of Hogwarts just before his seventh year to take care of his ailing mother and younger siblings, and the old man was a wizard who was never identified. It’s unknown whether the duel was an unfortunate misunderstanding or whether the wizard had nefarious intent and the two young men were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, after Hugh rode off, Kit magically hid the saddlebag and, in his dying moments, cast a patronus with a message for Maid Marian to tell her what happened and that she needed to find the saddlebag because its treasure concerned Veela. His breath failed him before he could say what it contained or what marker to look for to help her find it, or how he knew she was a Veela, but he managed to send the patronus with the incomplete message before he died.

Marian was unable to locate the saddlebag on her own even with the Veela magic she’d inherited from her full-Veela great-grandmother. The rest of her lineage was muggle so she was not a witch. Robin and his men also searched the area thanks to Hugh mentioning Kit holding a saddlebag which was missing when they returned to help, but they didn’t find it either.

Since the unknown contents were Veela related, and Marian was worried over potential conflicts of interest with the local clans, she only notified her ancestral clan back in France, the Delacours. The Delacour leader at the time, Adda, replied and promised they would send someone as soon as they could. In the meantime, Marian only minimally helped the witch from the Wizards’ Council who came weeks later to confiscate Kit’s wand, ask some customary questions about what was witnessed about the wizard who killed him, and to make sure Hugh remained ignorant of the magical world.

Many wars, muggle and Veela, interfered with the Delacours’ ability to come to England in order to keep that promise. Only one attempt was known to be made; an unsuccessful search approximately twenty years after Marian first contacted them. More years went by and Marian’s letters along with the notes about Kit’s background were eventually forgotten in the clan leader’s vault.

Until fourteen months ago when Fleur found them while accompanying her grandmother to the vault as part of her leadership training. The younger Veela, long enamored with the tales of Robin Hood, became obsessed with being the one to fulfill the clan’s promise to Maid Marian.

“I can’t believe she just let you rifle through centuries-old secreted-away parchments,” muses Hermione out loud, adjusting her grip on her horse’s lead as she walks alongside him.

“Well, she may have been distracted at the time,” Fleur responds with a wink, also walking alongside her horse.

Hermione shakes her head, imagining an exasperated and proud older Veela acquiescing to her granddaughter’s demand to go to England by herself.

She’s really going to miss her.

“All right, let me look at that map again.”

Chapter Text

The map Fleur hands to Hermione is one which Marian sent to the clan laying out the location of her mark noting the area where Kit encountered the wizard.

Given the age of the map and the changes that might have occurred between then and now, Hermione thought it prudent to consult with someone before entering the forest. Which is why she took Fleur to the village of Edwinstowe yesterday to consult an elderly woman about the old roads and paths in Sherwood. The village is closer to the forest and happens to have ties to the Robin Hood and Marian legends, even if much of it has been fabricated over the years, but she thought Fleur would like to see it anyway. 

Edwinstowe is also where Hermione was born and where she and her parents lived before her father died when she was fourteen and her mother relocated them to Nottingham. It’s easier to tell people the larger village is where she’s from instead of having to talk about losing her father and having to leave the place of her birth. With Fleur, however, she tries to be more open, so she told her. Fleur was very understanding. In fact, the French witch wanted to go to Nottingham and meet Hermione’s mother, but knowing her mother would pick up on her feelings for the Frenchwoman and prolong their visit, the younger witch convinced the blonde they could do that after they find the treasure.

Using the map and the tips from the old woman, it doesn’t take long to locate Marian’s mark. Fleur discovers it with her hand raised to sense the presence of Veela magic in the trunk of a gnarled tree just off an old side road, now a little-used footpath an hour’s walk away from the stream they were at earlier in the day. According to Fleur, the mark glows in the clear shape of a small hunter’s horn. Hermione is unable to see the glow but upon looking closer she can see the clean cuts that have faded over the centuries.

The next two days are spent searching for Kit’s mark, making sure to magically hide their camp. While there isn’t yet any strict enforcement of the international statute of secrecy which was finally signed a couple of months ago, the last thing their quest needs is interference from the Wizards’ Council due to an accidental encounter with muggles. They want to make sure they go unnoticed by wizarding folk as well.

She and Fleur cast revealing charms with their wands to search for either the mark or a buried saddlebag, but sometimes Hermione catches Fleur holding her hand up in front of a tree the way she did to find Marian’s mark. The brunette is unsure why the woman expects there to be more Veela magic involved, but she figures Fleur is just utilizing every method at her disposal.

On the third day, they conclude Kit must’ve realized hiding the treasure so close to where he died would only risk its discovery by non-Veela. After packing up in order to begin searching a different part of the forest, Hermione asks something that’s been bothering her. 

“Why was Kit so adamant about protecting Veela?”

She initially thought he was like her in wanting to respect others’ cultures. Now she’s beginning to question that assumption.

“Wouldn’t you want to return something you know didn’t belong to you?” Fleur answers evenly, handing the reins of Hermione’s horse to her, and leading her own horse along the footpath towards the main road. The brunette follows, noticing that Fleur tucked their quarterstaffs under their saddlebags.

“Of course I would, but how did he know it was Veela related in the first place? And why did he care so much?”

“Ah well.” Fleur pauses. It’s rare to see the woman look nervous, so Hermione knows to pay close attention to what she says next. “Do you remember how I said Adda sent an owl inquiring about Kit to the Hogwarts headmaster?”

She takes a deep breath before answering, her patience wearing thin at yet another piece of the puzzle Fleur hasn’t thought important to reveal until now.

“Yes, you said the old Veela clan leader wanted to know more about his background.”

“Oui, but what I haven’t said is that she too wondered why a wizard would do what he did and she wanted to know if Hogwarts had any Veela students at the time of Kit’s attendance. Adda’s suspicion proved correct. Kit was very close with one who was in the same Gryffindor house and year as he. Elenor. She was in a different clan, a Welsh one, but she undoubtedly shared many things with him. She and her family had to move to Japan for her parents’ work the summer before her seventh year, and as you already know, Kit’s family needed him so he withdrew that same summer.”

“Did they keep in touch?”

“Maybe,” Fleur replies, and Hermione has the feeling the woman is holding something back. “The Delacours were at odds with Elenor’s clan at that time so inquiries were limited. We do know Elenor died during her seventh year at Mahoutokoro. Illness. Very tragic.”

Kit having a close connection to a Veela does explain his knowledge, Hermione thinks to herself. For her to share so much with him, they must’ve loved each other.

“Since Kit’s a wizard not a Veela, he would’ve used whatever spells he knew to hide it.”

“To hide, oui,” Fleur says slowly, and then more quickly adds, “I have put myself in Kit’s place many times, wondering what a dying man would’ve done given that his strength was failing.”

Hermione hums in agreement. “A simple spell for sure.”

Their guess is that Kit magically buried the saddlebag but he had enough wits about him to know that if the old wizard survived and returned, he would likely cast revealing charms near where Kit died, which means his mark has to be unassuming and in another part of the forest. 

When they reach the main road, they decide to go back in the direction from which they came, starting in an area closer to the village.

After a while, Hermione starts mulling over the facts again. With this new piece of information about his likely being in love with a Veela, she wonders if it influenced Kit’s mark in some way. A Veela symbol that Marian would recognize perhaps. Then again, anyone familiar with Veela symbols would recognize it, too, so he couldn’t have used something so obvious.

“Fleur, do you think–”

“Shh.”

Hermione blows out a breath through gritted teeth, about to argue yet again about the rudeness of being interrupted when she spots why Fleur did so.

A dark-haired woman holding a rapier and two men with clubs step out from behind some trees and onto the road. 

Fleur and Hermione promptly grab their quarterstaffs from their horses’ packs. The woman looks to be around ten years older than they are and wearing men’s attire, and she would be attractive if not for the obvious intent to rob them. The men look to be around the same age, but lumber about clumsily.

“Good day, ladies,” says the woman brightly. She stands in front of her companions and holds her rapier like she knows how to use it. “You may call me Maggie. My friend tells me you’re looking for treasure here in Sherwood. From the time of Robin Hood, he says. What a coincidence. We would also like to find treasure and would appreciate you telling us everything you know.”

The man the woman gestured towards looks familiar. Hermione whispers harshly to Fleur, “I told you that you were being too loud when we spoke to that old woman.” 

Realizing her quarterstaff will not be enough against someone who can capably fight with a sword, she tosses her staff behind her, reaches towards Fleur’s hip, and draws the rapier. 

“It is no matter,” Fleur answers flamboyantly, twirling her staff. “We’ll show these ruffians the error of their ways.”

Maggie snorts, and Hermione barely resists doing the same. The next moments are a blur of grunts and a clashing of weapons, with Hermione dueling the woman and Fleur handling the men, which she actually does without assistance.

In between thrusts and parries, drawing Maggie away from Fleur, Hermione watches the French witch. She really has gotten better with the staff, taunting the men while smacking them across their faces and knocking the clubs from their hands. It helps that the men don’t seem used to fighting against someone as quick and agile as Fleur.

“That’ll teach you. And you. How humiliating for you all. Look at how my Hermione bests your leader. We will surely defeat you and then honor our victory by carving our names in that tree over there,” Fleur boasts.

The phrase ‘carving our names’ sticks out for some reason but there’s no time to figure out why when the rapier just misses her head.

Laughing, the woman teases. “Your lover distracts you.”

“What? She’s not my– we’re not–”

Before she can finish, Maggie takes advantage of her lost composure by coming at her with a flurry of cuts and thrusts which she fortunately manages to fend off. A strike to the woman’s knee, slicing through the fabric in her pants and drawing blood, gives the brunette time to take a few steps back to catch her breath. Fleur knocks the men down and joins her side while the robbers regroup. 

But Hermione isn’t really thinking about the fight because Fleur’s words come back to her again. In her mind is a vivid image of the lovers’ clearing near the stream they were at the other day. The carvings in the trees that have accumulated over the years. 

Kit was from Nottingham. He knew this forest, too.

“Fleur, you’re a genius!” Hermione suddenly blurts out, grabbing the back of the blonde’s neck and pulling her in for a hard kiss.

Stunned, Fleur draws back, staring at her in elated wonder.

“Not lovers, eh?” Maggie tsks, regaining their attention. “Well, as much as I would very much enjoy that particular show between you and Robin Blondie here, and maybe even ask to join in, my empty purse insists we get back to the treasure talk.”

The lustful gaze directed at Fleur has Hermione wanting to tackle the woman.

“You can take your treasure talk and shove–” Hermione starts.

The rapier slashing at them interrupts, and Fleur jabs her quarterstaff into the woman’s chest in response, proceeding to swing her staff wildly back and forth to force Maggie and the men back.

“Here’s another lesson for your feeble minds to remember. No one interrupts my Hermione except for me!”

Fleur’s left hand draws her wand, dropping her staff at the same time, and she stuns and incapacitates their attackers so quickly, Hermione is convinced they didn’t see it coming. Checking their unconscious bodies once more, Fleur holsters her wand, strides confidently towards Hermione, and tries to pull her in for another kiss.

“Hang on,” Hermione says, pushing against Fleur’s shoulders. “You used your wand.”

“Oui, and?” Fleur leans in again.

“Magic, Fleur. You’ve refused to use magic against muggles all this time. Why now?”

“But…” Fleur’s eyes flit between Hermione’s eyes and down to her lips impatiently. “They were interrupting a very important moment, Hermione. Remember?”

Hermione quite enjoys how flustered Fleur is becoming. It feels good to be on this side of riling someone up. She squeezes Fleur’s shoulder sympathetically while she slides the rapier into its sheath at the woman’s hip.

“Well, important moment or not, thanks to you, your Hermione knows where we have to look.” She steps away, grinning at the blonde’s huff. 

The robbers appear as if they’ll be out for a few hours. Just in case, she uses her wand to carefully remove the memories of the treasure and their encounter, then moves them off the road and behind some bushes.

Summoning her staff, she walks towards the horses and when she passes Fleur without stopping, the woman whines, “Hermione! You just kissed me. That means something, oui? We are… you know. And you just called me a genius. Geniuses deserve more kisses, Hermione Granger.”

The brunette bites back a laugh and doesn’t respond, not because she doesn’t want to kiss her, but because she wants to kiss her more than anything else in this world and she’s afraid she’ll lose her train of thought if she succumbs to her desires now. It can wait until after they find the treasure.

Going to her horse, she slides her quarterstaff into her extendable leather pouch, and pulls herself up into the saddle.

“Come on if you’re coming. It’s not far.”

Fleur grumbles about kisses with each step to her horse, begrudgingly following Hermione down the road.

They go back to the stream they were at on the first day, and after they dismount and tie the horses, Hermione leads Fleur to the clearing nearby.

“I usually ignored the lovers’ clearing when I was younger, thinking it all a bunch of rubbish, but sometimes I would get curious and study the carvings the couples would make. I told myself it was because I wanted to make fun of the need to permanently scar and damage a tree out of some misguided infatuation. Deep down, however, I also wondered when those feelings would ever come over me. They never did.”

“Oh,” responds Fleur in a deflated voice, unable to hide her disappointment. 

Hermione smiles at the Veela. “They never did until I met you, silly.”

At this, the French witch puffs out her chest and smiles in triumph. “This means we kiss now, oui?”

“Not yet,” chuckles Hermione, finding herself tempted by the resulting pout on the woman’s beautiful face. She turns away. “I don’t remember all the carvings but assuming this existed as a place for lovers back then, and assuming Kit got chances to explore the forest like I did, he would have surely known about it.”

Understanding at last, Fleur exclaims, “Of course! What better place to hide a mark than to surround it with so many others.”

Hermione nods. “You take that side. I’ll take this one.”

They move from tree to tree, focusing on the ones old enough to have been around four centuries ago, looking for K and E in the various carvings, but the one they do find has nothing hidden in the ground beneath the tree. About to admit she perhaps has it wrong, Hermione suddenly remembers Kit is a diminutive of Christopher and maybe that’s the name Elenor used for him. They start again, searching for C and E this time. There are a few but there’s one in particular that appears to be the right age.

Fleur holds her hand out, the way she did over Marian’s mark the other day.

“Why would there be Veela magic?” Hermione asks under her breath.

Fleur, hearing her because of her blasted Veela senses, gives her a smile and extends her other hand towards the brunette. “This is the third reason I haven’t told you about yet.”

Hermione’s brow furrows but she trusts Fleur, and she takes her hand. All at once the mark glows a blinding white.

She bites her lip. “If I held your hand at Marian’s mark, would I have seen it glow, too?”

“Oui.”

“I don’t understand. I’m not a– and Kit wasn’t–”

“Non. But I long suspected this would happen. There is no record of it, customs and expectations were different back then, but given the magic that is here, it confirms Kit and Elenor were mates and that they bonded before she died. The plan was likely to tell her clan after she graduated so they could hold the bonding ceremony. With her death, Kit had no cause to tell them. Even so he would’ve had that bonding magic within him in order to make this mark, which by the way doesn’t harm the tree since Veela magic was used.”

Hermione frowns, taking her hand back. If the glow has to do with Veela magic, she wonders why holding Fleur’s hand allows her to see it. And what are mates?

Fleur waves her wand in the area around the tree. A rumble sounds, and a mound of moss and dirt pushes up beneath them until a perfectly preserved saddlebag is revealed.

They smile at each other and kneel to the ground. Fleur brushes away the dirt and opens the bag.

A solemn expression crosses the blonde’s face and she lifts her eyes to the carving as she hands the bag to Hermione.

Hermione looks inside and takes out two narrow bracelets. They’re made of wood and wrapped with colorful strips of cloth, string, and other decorations.

“Every Veela has a soulmate. A true love,” Fleur says in a low voice. “These Veela bond bracelets are exchanged at the bonding ceremony, which is like a wedding. They can be made of different things, and they are worn only in ceremonies, but one component they’ll always have is Veela hair from one or both partners, which makes them sacred to us. And unfortunately, also valuable to magical non-Veela. Given the size and design of these ones, I would say they belonged to two women.”

It makes sense now, Hermione thinks as she hands the bracelets to Fleur. Elenor probably described bonding bracelets to Kit before or after they bonded, however that’s done, and it’s why he called the contents a treasure. Furthermore, as a potioneer, Hermione is well aware that Veela never allow their hair to be used by anyone other than a Veela. While it’s possible the wizard who Kit encountered was part Veela or was bonded to one, Hermione suspects his being a thief was more likely.

Fleur says, “Kit was dying and wouldn’t have been able to return these bracelets, and only a Veela can honorably dispose of them by burning them with Veela fire. But since Marian was a Veela, Kit knew she would know what to do. Robin was her mate so they would’ve had bracelets of their own.”

The Frenchwoman places the bracelets back in the saddlebag and closes the flap. Then, bringing out her wand, she magically pushes the earth back down in front of the tree until it looks undisturbed.

Eyeing the carving as she stands up, Hermione pictures the glow she saw. All these months of tension and flirtation. This final reveal of Veela mates.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Hermione asks quietly.

Fleur stands and waits for Hermione to meet her gaze before speaking. 

“Would you have believed me?”

“Not at first. But it’s been months, Fleur.” 

Ten months of growing feelings so big she didn’t know how to handle them. Ten months of falling and pining.

“I know. But I wanted for us to get to know each other and for us to have a friendship and develop our connection before all the mates knowledge made you question everything,” Fleur explains. 

Hermione’s heart leaps at this acknowledgement that Fleur’s feelings have grown just as hers have. Emotions fill every cavity inside her chest until she bursts.

“Question everything? I’m in love with you, you big dumb idiot!” Hermione yells, stepping back and clenching her fists. “The only thing I’ve been questioning is whether it was worth telling you since you have to go back to France. And now you’re telling me we’re soulmates?”

Fleur steps towards her. “Well I love you too and you’re coming with me of course. That wasn’t any ordinary portkey that brought me to Scotland, it’s a Veela portkey tied to our magic meant to take us to our mates. I already had a sense you would be in one of the British islands, so when I found Marian’s letter, I knew it was time to find you. And it worked. I felt it the moment I saw you. But you’re right, perhaps I could’ve said something sooner. Except then we wouldn’t have this beautiful first declaration of love in front of Kit’s carving dedicated to his bond mate Elenor. It is a very romantic moment, if you ask me.”

“Bloody hell, Fleur, did you just bury your first ‘I love you’ to me in a cocky ramble?” Hermione asks, throwing her hands up. 

“You rambled your ‘I love you’ to me as well! And you kissed me first, don’t forget about that.” Fleur places her hands on her hips with a self-satisfied smirk and a wink. And then another one for good measure.

Hermione sputters, her cheeks reddening. “You’re just assuming I’ll go with you. You haven’t asked me properly. As if I don’t have an important position to get back to.”

“A position you no longer care for, chérie. As you’ve said many times. But if it makes you feel better, I promise to ask properly. Afterwards.”

“Afterwards? What do you mean by afterwards? After what?”

“After you introduce me to your mother so I can ask for her blessing to marry you,” Fleur replies matter-of-factly. “And after we take these bracelets to Elenor’s clan. I recognize the markings. How long will it take us to get to Wales?”

“We can be there today if we use apparition,” Hermione says breathlessly, wondering if she should point out Fleur has just proposed marriage to her, albeit in a roundabout fashion. She bites her lip at Fleur’s shaking head. “All right, not apparition. On horse, maybe three weeks–” Fleur’s eyebrow arches “–I mean, three months?”

“Beaucoup de temps,” says Fleur, a gentle smile growing on her face. More softly, she says, “If… if you are agreeable to all I suggest, that is?”

The hope and love in those blue eyes tell her everything she needs to know, and it’s everything she wants.

“I am,” Hermione replies, gulping hard, the earnestness in Fleur’s expression making the heat in her cheeks feel like flames. She tries to bluster through it. “We’ll need all that time for me to teach you how to use that rapier of yours, after all. And for you to get better at the quarterstaff. We should also brush up on your knife work.”

Fleur chuckles as she steps closer to Hermione. The brunette’s heart skips when strong arms wrap around her waist. “I look forward to all of your lessons, mon amour.”

The brunette huffs and rolls her eyes. “And I suppose I could fit in owling potential employers in France while we’re–”

Lips press against hers, swallowing the rest of her words.

Hermione pulls back and opens her mouth.

“I know, I know. Stop interrupting,” Fleur says huskily, pressing little kisses along Hermione’s chin.

“It is rather rude. But… exceptions and so forth…”

“Mhm.”

Nodding, she whispers, “Good. As long as we’re clear about that.”

Fleur continues pressing light kisses against Hermione’s neck, and it’s lovely and wonderful, but her pent-up desire needs more. So, Hermione grabs the back of the blonde’s head to pull her into a more heated kiss, and because she uses more force than intended, the two of them fall to the ground with a loud oomph. A fortuitous circumstance considering it allows them to make full use of the soft grass of the lovers’ clearing, where Hermione learns exactly how Veela mates bond, much to their mutual joy and delight.

And later, after making sure they’ve cleaned up and are presentable for a visit to Hermione’s mother, she and Fleur carve their initials beneath Kit and Elenor’s, preserving the letters with their own newly formed bond magic.