Greetings!I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I had written what I had outlined but it felt forced and lengthy so I chose to revise it again and again and again. This is just half of the original chapter but I think it flows better this way.
I want to remind everyone that this is an Alternate History fic; most of the events in the books/movies are kept canon except for Fleur's involvement. I'm sorry if I didn't make that clear in the beginning. I beg you to read it until the end, the first part is rough and should feel as if it doesn't belong but it does. I promise.
This chapter is dedicated to all you readers!
Chapter 4: Dreams
June 1996 – Fleur's return to Beauxbaton.
Fleur gripped the envelope in her hand with earnest, the paper creasing as she ran her thumb along its edges for the umpteenth time.
Around her, the space was quiet.
I miss this, Fleur thought, looking around the center room that she had called a second home during her adolescent years. Two pairs of ivory colored doors facing opposite each other lead to lone, private bedrooms. The wall she was facing, made almost entirely of windows, had a fireplace running down its middle. Fleur sat, curled into the armchair that faced a crackling flame, trying to breathe as the sun lowered into the horizon.
Her homecoming had been unnerving. Beauxbaton's students greeted her with seemingly natural smiles and gentleness as whispers and darting eyes spoke in hushed tones of her less-than-stellar performance. Still, she returned with her head held high walking next to Madam Maxim's large figure, trying to convince every curve of her body that, no matter what, the Triwizard Cup— ancient magic itself—chose her.
Aubrey's words and figure loomed behind her like a shadow, following every step she took, waiting for the day she would falter, stumble and dirty her hands in mud. Aubrey was, as she had been since their first year, waiting for Fleur to fail. In six years, Fleur had walked—with grace, discipline and elegance—against Aubrey. For six years she had succeeded. Until something changed in her final year and now she had more to lose than her own image.
Fleur ran her fingers against the envelope, wondering if she should open Hermione's letter and read it again. It was comforting, in some ways, seeing neatly scrawled words spelling out "kind" and "brave" in Hermione's handwriting. For what she was about to do, Fleur needed to be brave.
The door to the entrance clicked open and from the brisk noisy gait, Fleur knew it was her tortuous roommate, Aubrey.
Whereas students were divided into houses at Hogwarts, there was no such system at Beauxbaton. Being newer and much more exclusive, her school was based on seniority; where and who she lived with, her classes and privileges depended on the year of admittance. As such, she shared a large apartment style dorm room with other seventh year students, two of them bearable and the other being the devil incarnate.
"Aubrey." Fleur said, her voice steady and firm as she stood from the armchair, looking the dark haired girl directly in the eyes.
"Nice to see you standing, half breed." Aubrey began her verbal assault, brushing strands of wavy hair behind her shoulder. Aubrey hadn't always regarded her with open animosity but that quickly changed by their seventh year as graduation approached. "I was hoping to see you crawl."
"Let's cut the pleasantries, Aubrey." Fleur's fists curled, her wand gaining weight and presence in the pocket of her uniform. "I have an offer for you."
The other girl snickered immaturely, "What could you possibly give to me that I do not already have?"
"My sister's protection, from you and your friend's bullying." Fleur declared. She swallowed thickly her chest beginning to pain from the impending impact. Gabrielle attended much of the Triwizard Tournament on her first year; Fleur could shield her from harsh realities but she couldn't always be there. "In exchange, I'll do whatever you want."
Silence. Aubrey's face turned sinister in the dwindling light of the sunset.
"Whatever I want?"
"Whatever you want." Fleur repeated.
A menacing smile slithered across Aubrey's face. Fleur's stomach dropped. Aubrey would strip everything she had earned, take everything she had worked so hard to attain. It was worth it, Fleur told herself. For the sake of Gabrielle's protection from words like halfbreed and chimera; for her dear sister to be able to study at the prestigious school without harassment or discrimination she faced, Fleur would sacrifice it all.
Fleur had worked hard enough to gain the trust and respect of most of the staff and students there, even the ones that treated her with disregard in her first year. Others, she could intimidate into submission. Aubrey, however, she would have to stoop to bribing.
Anything for Gabrielle, she chanted in her mind.
"In three days' time, we will be graduating. Traditionally, the valedictorian gives the commencement speech. However, if you can make yourself scarce…"
"I will." Fleur gritted her teeth. Her graduation should be a proud moment for her—and her family—but they all could be proud at Gabrielle's graduation.
"Resign from your position as the Council's President." Fleur nodded. "You know what? Don't even attend tomorrow's practice assembly."
"Do we have ourselves an agreement?"
"No. I'm not done." Aubrey spat, "My things need packing, you'll see to it tonight."
"Fine." Fleur hissed.
"And…" Aubrey's eyes darted around the room, still thinking, before settling on Fleur's left hand. The hand that held Hermione's letter. "That."
"It is a friend's letter, Aubrey." She was becoming irritated at the pettiness. "Completely harmless."
"You should see your face when you read it, smiling like a fool. You've been attached to it since Harry Potter delivered it to you. He's only fifteen years old, you know."
"It's not what you think it is." Harry Potter merely delivered the letter to her because two Champions exchanging letters was less scandalous than Hermione's sudden interest in her. Hermione, after leaving her in the hospital bay that night, had an exam. Harry had explained such when he handed her the envelope in a crowded hallway.
"The letter." Aubrey repeated, obviously thinking something more was afoot. Of course she wouldn't miss an opportunity to send Fleur's reputation to hell.
Reluctantly, Fleur offered up the item, hoping that once the contents had been read, Aubrey would return it. The other girl snatched the letter out of her hand and opened it with zeal.
"Fleur, I'm sorry to say good bye this way. I wish to see you off but considering the situation… I feel it best to reach you via letter. It's been a pleasure to meet you." Aubrey read aloud in a mocking tone, making Fleur shake with fury. Hermione deserved no such treatment. Her kind words were being altered by Aubrey's high pitched, condescending voice. "I am happy to say that I've made a very kind and brave friend this year despite my initial judgement."
"Kind? And Brave? How about a disgrace to Beauxbaton's prestigious lineage?" The other girl snorted loudly and continued reading. "Enclosed are the address of my home and instructions on how to mail muggle letters. I look forward to hearing from you this summer.
Sincerely, Hermione Granger."
"Muggle letters?! A mudblood! Hermione? That clumsy girl with the big hair that seduced Viktor
Krum and Harry Potter?" Aubrey tore the letter from her view and looked at Fleur with disgust. "Finally, you've made friends with someone who is almost as low as you."
Something inside of Fleur wanted to break out, as if the blood beneath her skin had turned into fire. Aubrey could torture and bully her all she wanted but Hermione—and Gabrielle—deserved no such treatment. Hermione, with all her innocence and shy smiles, was not a mudblood; she was the future of wizardkind and anyone with eyes could see it.
"See? A harmless message." Fleur seethed, reaching out to grab the letter but Aubrey pulled away.
"If it's so harmless…" Aubrey made her way towards the fireplace.
"…then you won't be needing it."
Fleur watched the letter engulf itself with flames, the plastic of the stamps melting and bubbling in the fire until it dissipated into dark goo. She wanted to attack, wanted to take Aubrey by the throat and demand repentance, wanted to press her wand against the dark haired girl's chest until her eyes gave way to fear and pain. With the destruction of the letter, Fleur would have no means of contacting Hermione for the summer and she doubted Hermione would be interested receiving a letter from an acquaintance months after leaving.
She lost her chance.
Fleur thought she was ready to give up anything but she was wrong. The letter wasn't one of them.
Aubrey's high pitched laugh tore her from her thoughts, she already had her wand out and its tip glowed with the faint sparkle that marked the beginning of the Unbreakable Vow. "Do we have a deal?"
"Yes." Fleur growled, vehemently shaking from containing tears and trying to remember Gabrielle.
Anything for Gabrielle.
January 2001 – Present time
Hermione heard herself laugh, for the first time, in a very long time. Fleur was laughing with her—a clear, pristine laugh, containing as much grace and elegance as Fleur did.
"I guess I have been living with the British for too long," Fleur sighed pulling away and situating herself at the foot of the bed, armed with a pillow and smiling widely. "I have become very unladylike."
"How long have you been here?" Hermione asked, wiping tears from her eyes.
"Almost two years." Fleur shrugged, "I arrived shortly after the battle. You, Harry and Ron had already left a day earlier to tend to other matters. There was a lot to do in terms of repair. I helped where I could."
Hermione was surprised but quiet until she drew the connections. "Hogwarts' repairs are done. What are you doing here now?"
"Formally, I am the headmistress' aid. However, it is just a title. I help Minerva in whatever way I can, but my main purpose here is to pursue a masteries in Alchemy. Hogwarts has one of the most extensive texts on ancient magic, yes?"
"Alchemy?" Fleur had never mentioned her interest in the subject all those years ago. Whenever they studied together, Fleur seemed keen on Charms and Ancient Runes. "I would have never imagined you going into such a field."
"Life has a way of changing you, I suppose." Fleur smiled wryly.
"It does." Hermione thought back to her fourth year, she remembered being happy before Voldemort's revival, before the Order was formed, before running around the country living inside a tent. Before Fred…
She shook her head, pulling herself together. Hermione could feel the fabric of her conscience coming apart; hallucinations crept into the crevices of her mind, but she denied them access. On most days, it was easier. She usually had more control of herself, treading her thoughts carefully and never delving too deep into the war.
"I'm sorry," She offered an apologetic smile at the blonde who had saved her earlier. "Did you say something?"
"Are you alright?" Fleur's perfect forehead creased in worry. It was a look Hermione was used to, the same look Fleur would give her when she ate too little or studied too much.
Hermione nodded. Fleur smiled in relief, pools of cerulean blue shimmering in the candlelight.
"What?" She was suddenly insecure under Fleur's intense gaze.
"Nothing…" Fleur looked away, shy but still smiling. "It is just…this is the first time we have had a real conversation. My efforts are turning fruitful, yes?"
Hermione thought for a second, feeling the corners of her mouth lift. "It took you several months to get a girl to talk to you. If you see that as success, you're no better than a thirteen year old boy."
"It is good then, that I am not a male and much older, hmm?" Fleur's clever retort made her chuckle.
Hermione cleared her throat, suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings. "It's getting rather late. I suppose I should be heading back to my dormitory now."
"Why not stay the night?" Fleur laid a gentle hand on her knee. "Your school bag is already here, I have some sleeping gowns and extra toiletries you can borrow. Surely my bed is more comfortable than the school's."
Hermione huffed, pouting. She didn't want to invade Fleur's home. A part of her craved familiarity, her bed, her desk, her own room. There was only so much exposure she could take and Hermione knew that she was already on edge.
"Please? It would be a great offense to me if you left to weather the cold back to your room."
"…Fine." Hermione didn't want to brave the blisteringly cold walk back into Hogwarts with only her uniform on and she doubted Fleur wanted to either. A second later, she added, "Only if you sleep on your bed and I take the sofa."
"Don't be ridiculous, you are my guest."
"And you've been sleeping on the floor." She thought Fleur would have stopped the ridiculous habit a month into her stay but the blonde was resistant and stubborn. Instead of giving up, Fleur quickly mastered a cushioning charm and used it nightly to turn her comforter into a bed. "A night on your sofa won't hurt me."
"You are a guest," Fleur repeated with finality. "My mother would be appalled if she found out I allowed you to spend a night elsewhere."
They argued back and forth for a few more minutes until Hermione gave up. Fleur Delacour was dead set on being the perfect host and no amount of pouting and stubbornness was changing that. After showering and changing into borrowed pajamas, Hermione settled into Fleur's bed with a textbook. Her body and mind was tired. The sound of Fleur's shower and pleasant humming became background noise as she delved into her reading.
It took a little while for her to readjust to school but when she did, studying greatly improved her mood on days when her scar burned like she had bathed it in fire. It was easy to concentrate on hard, unchanging facts and figures, essays and spells. School was a world Hermione felt familiar and completely in control of which contrasted greatly with the fickleness of life. Hermione missed the routine of school work and, despite missing Harry and Ron's company, it was a nice to only worry about her own homework for a change.
The thought of Harry and Ron made her frown. Luckily—or unluckily, the door to the bathroom swung open and revealed Fleur clad in a short nightgown, somehow impervious to the cold. Hermione couldn't help but stare.
She rarely looked upon anyone that took her breath away—something about boys and men that made her recognize their handsomeness without truly appreciating their beauty. She knew good looks by the symmetry of someone's face, the complexion of their skin, the visibility of certain muscles but rarely did her eyes settle upon a sight that made her feel like she was looking upon a masterpiece.
That was what Fleur was—a masterpiece. The fine work of genetics, light blonde hair and long toned legs walking from the bathroom to her dresser. Hermione's eyes followed Fleur's tall, willowy figure as if she had only just realized the beauty that the blonde carried with her daily. She watched with shameful interest as Fleur stood in front of the full length mirror and summoned warm air currents from the tips of her wand, directing it at fine, golden white hair. Everything about Fleur was painfully beautiful in a way Hermione couldn't understand. Her features were exaggerated and, alone, they were disproportioned; large blue eyes, thin nose, full lips, small chin and long hair. Those features weren't meant to complement each other but did so to make a face that drew crowds of attention.
Hermione averted her interest to the ink of her book when Fleur's reflection caught her staring, blood rushing to her cheeks.
Hermione shut her book when Fleur reappeared in her bedroom carrying an armful of blankets and pillows then dropping them onto the ground. "I thought we agreed you'd spend the night on the sofa."
"Non, we agreed that you should sleep on my bed." Fleur replied as she moved the bedding around to make a makeshift sleeping bag.
Hermione groaned, not amused at Fleur's trick of words. "You are not sleeping on the floor in your own home."
"I said I was going to be here for you Hermione. We French take our promises very seriously." Fleur reminded. "What if you have a nightmare?"
"It is only for tonight."
"After the day that you've had? I am sleeping here."
"No, you are not. I already gave into your requests once, Fleur, so please heed mine."
"This isn't up for discussion, Hermione." In an act of defiance, Fleur called for the cushioning charm and waved her wand. Hermione wrenched the comforter above her and stood up, nearly stomping her way to Fleur. The other woman was already settling in, shifting to get comfortable in her improvised bed when Hermione hovered over her.
Fleur smiled winningly up at her from the ground. "Good night ma belle."
"If you're going to be that way…" Hermione pulled the covers from the bed and threw them on the floor. "I'll sleep here too."
They laid there on the somewhat cold and definitely hard ground for several minutes in silence. Hermione could feel Fleur glaring at her but ignored it. Apparently stubbornness is a trait we both possess, Hermione thought as she counted the dots on the ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep. The floor s supposed to be good for my back anyways, she reasoned as she shifted uncomfortably.
She was suddenly more impressed by Fleur's sheer will, realizing that the blonde had spent weeks on the floor without relying on any type of magic to comfort her. A pang of guilt and then great appreciation ran through her. When she turned to Fleur, the blonde was still glaring at her. Hermione raised a defying and testing eyebrow, as if daring Fleur to outsmart her wit.
"This is absolutely ridiculous." Fleur declared.
"It really is." Hermione agreed, not moving.
"I have a perfectly usable bed and yet, somehow, we are both on the ground." Fleur sighed. Hermione felt blankets and pillows shift beside her. Suddenly Fleur was standing and holding her wand.
Hermione suppressed a yelp as she was slowly rising from the ground. Expertly, Fleur directed her over the bed and then eased her down. Hermione's hand reached for her own wand, expecting to stop a binding curse until she saw Fleur pull up the covers and climb into the mattress.
"Absolutely ridiculous." Fleur grumbled, fluffing her pillow with great and unneeded force.
"Goodnight, Fleur." Hermione sing-songed, trying not to smile when they both settled into bed properly. She turned her back to the blonde and heard her mumble a response in French.
As expected, sleep eluded her. She lay awake until the candle on the nightstand burned out and moonlight poured through cloudy, dusty windows. Hermione was acutely aware of Fleur's body next to her. She could hear two sets of breaths echo into the room, feel the slight warmth that emanated from Fleur. It was the first time she had shared a bed with anyone but Ron—the jarring thought made Hermione shift uncomfortably.
When the nightmares started Ron was more than considerate, holding her until she stopped crying. As the months wore on, between long and tiresome days tracking Death Eaters, she could feel Ron grow more and more agitated with her constant nightmares. Hermione could tell he was relieved—his eyes betrayed him even when his words insisted otherwise—when she offered to sleep by herself, cloaked in a silencing charm.
For a moment, she wondered if Fleur would tire of her but it was a delirious thought and she banished it the moment it surfaced. Who was she to compare Ron, a previous boyfriend, to Fleur? Fleur was gracious, kind, considerate and constant. Hermione shook her head. Weren't those qualities supposed to be associated with Ron?
She sighed loudly, exasperated. At the noise, Fleur shook. Hermione quieted and slowed her breathing, hoping she hadn't woken the other woman.
"Hermione?" She had hoped wrong.
"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"
"Non." She could hear Fleur swallow. "It seems like I cannot get any closed eye tonight."
Hermione's face wrinkled, confused for a second at the awkward sentencing until she realized Fleur's mistake. "Shut eye. The idiom for sleeping is getting 'shut eye'."
"Right. Right." Hermione wondered if Fleur was blushing like she had so many years ago when Hermione would constantly correct her improper use of English idioms. "I suppose you are not having any better luck grasping sleep yourself?"
"I am not. To be honest," She paused to allow the knot in her vocal cords to dissipate. "I am kind of afraid to sleep."
A pause. Silence spilled into the darkness. The comforters and a couple pillows shifted. She could almost feel Fleur turn to face her.
"Would you like to talk about it?" Fleur asked. "About the nightmares or today's incident?"
The knot in Hermione's throat suddenly tripled in size until it swallowed her vocal cords. It was the first time since their argument that Fleur had pressed her to speak of her problems. She choked. Her mouth opened and then closed several times. How was she supposed to discuss her 'condition' with Fleur? Panic attacks coupled with extreme paranoia, a burning sensation on her arm and hallucinations when her thoughts delved too deep in the past? Anxiety, constant tiredness, nausea and irritability? Hermione was sure there wasn't a magical diagnosis for it.
More than anything, how was she supposed to tell Fleur the cause behind her illness? How does one explain the shame and guilt, the anger and pain that plagued her.
"You do not have to." Fleur reached out and touched her shoulder. "I'll wait until you're ready."
Touched, Hermione turned to face Fleur.
"I know—I know you worry about me. Just. Right now. I can't. I can't answer those questions. I am truly sorry." She genuinely couldn't, not without feeling as if her entire being would be shredded apart by guilt and shame.
Fleur nodded, the silvery glow that she emitted shining brighter than normal in the moonlight. "Please do not apologize. I understand that whatever sickness that is plaguing you cannot be cured overnight or in a matter of months. In the meantime, remember that I am here and I will continue to be here if you ever need me, hmm?"
"Yes. Thank you, Fleur." Hermione's chest swelled with appreciation." For everything."
For the first time in a very long time, Hermione reached forward and touched another person willingly. Hermione made contact with someone and it wasn't to push them away, similar to what she had tried to do months ago when Fleur first experienced her nightmares. Her hand grasped Fleur's own, their fingers tangling in each other.
"You are very welcome." Fleur squeezed her hand, the silvery glow that encompassed her body momentarily shining brighter. "Is there anything that I can do to help you sleep?"
She thought for a moment, considering all the nights when she would awake from a nightmare with Fleur already by her side, running a soothing hand up and down her back. Hermione blinked hard. She wasn't a child that needed to be coddled and cooed into sleep. She didn't have an answer to the question until the sound of a quiet hum from Fleur reached her ears.
"Tell me something pretty—something beautiful." Fleur went silent at the request, either taken aback or deep in thought. Hermione wanted to wager it was the latter of the two.
"Are you sure?" Mirth lined the corners of Fleur's voice when she finally answered, "I could go on forever about myself."
"Yes." Hermione stifled a laugh. It didn't matter what the other woman chose to speak of so long as she spoke in that calming voice of hers that often lulled Hermione to sleep.
Fleur took a deep breath and then began.
"My favorite activity in the spring and summertime is wreath making."
"I was an only child for most of my childhood until my younger sister, Gabrielle, was born. She is very lively, a bit of a palmful at times but I love her dearly. When Gabrielle was old enough, my Grandmere taught us how to make garlands by hand during the summers when I returned home from Beauxbaton. It became our favorite pastime." Fleur's voice reached a thick, soothing timbre as if it were honey on a hot summer day. "We would spend entire mornings searching for the flowers. Roses, lilies, pansies, they all grew in the meadows that bordered our cottage."
Hermione interrupted with a spark of realization, "Doesn't your name mean flower in French?"
"It does. How did you figure?"
"There's a spell called Fleur De Lis that rejuvenates wilting flowers. If memory serves, the spell is French in origin and means something like flower-lily?"
"Very clever! You are indeed correct." Fleur sounded pleased, "My name means flower of the court. My mother named me so because I was born on the spring equinox, the first day of the season."
Hermione thought it to be fitting; Fleur certainly had the beauty and grace to charm a royal court. "Ahh—please continue. I didn't mean to interrupt before."
"Around high noontime when the sun was directly overhead, I would go inside to make iced tea and Gabrielle would settle on the porch with her basketful of flowers. Being so young and full of energy, she does not stay still for very long but when it came to marking garlands—Gabi would sit still for hours." Hermione's eyes began to droop. It was endearing to listen to Fleur speak so lovingly about her younger sister. "We'd make them for each other or our parents, sometimes for our visiting relatives. When Gabrielle didn't like an aunt or cousin, she would weave several apricot flowers into…"
Hermione fell into sleep like a rock into a river, taking in the Fleur's melodic voice as she described the intricacies of wreath making and the meaning behind each flower they used. Faintly, she could recall the feeling of Fleur's warm hands still attached to her own as flowing darkness claimed her vision.
That night was a night of firsts for Hermione. It was the first time she laughed—in a very long time. It was the first night when she felt to her core, even if the feeling was brief and fleeting, that everything would be alright. It was the first night she would fall into her dreams and they weren't marred with dead hollow eyes and bloody hands.
Hermione awoke in a field of tall grass, the sun overhead shining brightly in her eyes. She felt the wind wrap around her, blowing long curly locks of hair away from her face. In the distance, a small house loomed at the horizon beckoning her to come closer. She took a few steps towards it, relishing in the feel of soft pasture between her toes.
Instinctively, she stopped walking after a few paces and willed the house closer. As if the laws of physics curved to her demand, the length between herself and the house shrunk. Hermione found herself standing in front of a quaint cottage, only slightly bigger than the Burrow, painted a creamy white. Vines ran up and along the side of the home, appropriately accenting it with its green hue.
A small pile of flowers sat on the steps that lead onto the cottage's porch and Hermione approached it with keen interest. It was as if her body moved on its own accord, as if intuition became action without her consent. She picked the small flowers up, its seven petals no bigger than the nail of her pinky finger.
"It's called a sundrop flower." Fleur said, behind her. Hermione should have been startled but she wasn't, as if Fleur's presence had always been there. "I gave it to my sister once. It symbolizes protection."
Hermione turned to Fleur, flowers in hand. The other woman was wearing a long white dress—similar to the one Hermione was wearing. In her hand was a bouquet of flowers; stargazers, pansies, white roses, a single stand along sunflower. For some reason she knew their names and meaning, despite never learning about them.
She tried to concentrate but to no avail. There was magic amidst but she couldn't pinpoint its source, as if it permeated the air that she breathed and the fabric that made her skin.
"Protection against what?"
"Whatever lies ahead." Fleur said cryptically.
"What is ahead of us?"
"What you have tried to put behind you."
Hermione shook her head. "How do you know about—? "
"I do not. This is the nature of dreams, oui? Knowing yet not knowing, feeling yet never touching."
As Fleur spoke, she began to let go of the flowers and they floated off into the horizon. The pansies went first, disappearing in a gust behind Fleur. Hermione watched them fly away and as she did, she grew increasingly bothered by their disappearance.
"People always end up of leaving." Hermione said when all that was left in Fleur's hand was a single white rose. "That's the harsh truth about life; when you die you go alone into the unknown."
"Does it scare you?"
"Sometimes." Fleur offered her the white rose and Hermione took it. The rose changed colors, turning yellow, then pink and back to white. "Are you going to leave? Am I going to lose you too?"
"Ah, ma chérie." Fleur shook her head, stepping closer to her. "I have lost you already, many years ago."
"Do you think I can be found?" Hermione closed the distance between them with her hand, letting a single fingertip touch the apple of Fleur's cheek and then trace down to her jawline. A strange warmth pulsed through her that began where she and Fleur made physical contact. It felt real.
Fleur nodded, shining eyes the color of the sky looking inside of her.
"I don't think you'll like what you find." Hermione noted and allowed the falling sun to eclipse their bodies, brightness overtaking her vision until she and Fleur ceased to exist.
And thats it! Do tell me what you think. :) Shoutout to Frosty and Indie and all the people who have been in the Fleurmione chat. Until next time, readers. Sweet dreams.