Disclaimer:The author is not directly affiliated with J.K. Rowling or any of the publishers of the Harry Potter series. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: Why I'm writing this instead of reading up on my majors, working on my essays and my editorial and editing the college yearbook, I don't know. This plot bunny hit me last night and wouldn't let me sleep, so I decided to have it down. But not before making myself a banner. cringes Yes, I know. It's still him. I promise I tried to make the plot work with Remus, but I just could not. So there. It's him again. Maybe I really am in love withhim. LOL.

Chapter Summary: He wouldn't let her go. Not yet. She wouldn't cry. Not yet.

PROLOGUE
Not Yet Goodbye

The gentle twinkling of the clock that hung on the wall made Celeste Laurent glance hopefully at the door. It was already eight in the evening; surely he would arrive any moment now? Even after what he told her last night... She sat up straighter, drumming her fingers nervously on the wooden dining table.

Please, keep him safe.

Faint footsteps outside the door grew louder, and Celeste immediately stood up. Rooted to the spot, she waited with bated breath for him to call her name.

He first knocked thrice, the way he always did. "Celeste," he called. "It's me. I'm home."

Relief flooding through her at the familiar voice, she ran to the door, threw it open and flung her arms around the tall, dark-haired man on her doorstep. She held on more tightly as he returned the embrace, giggling softly when he swept her off her feet like a child. She heard him close and lock the door afterwards.

The man carried her until he sat on the couch and set her on his lap. Celeste stroked his face lovingly. "I thought you weren't coming back."

He smiled, although it did not quite reach his eyes. "Why would you think that?" His question was reproachful and yet tender.

All the doubts that had been troubling her spilled out. "Well, you told me last night that you've finally remembered everything," Celeste answered thoughtfully but calmly. With her manner, one would think her husband's revelations weren't short of earth-shattering. "I expected you to have gone and inform them already."

"And so I have," he replied gravely, noticing her piercing blue eyes darken—but only slightly.

"Oh." She fell quiet after that.

He planted a light kiss on her forehead. "You didn't say what's for dinner."

Immediately, her face lit up. "Chicken in cream of mushroom and chocolate pudding."

"Mmmm. I can almost taste them."

"I left it simmering on the stove. Can you stay?" Celeste blurted, her lower lip trembling. "Until it's done?"

"Until I've had five helpings," he assured her, seeing her eyes become misty. "And even long after." Drawing her near with his hand at the back of her neck, he melded his mouth with hers and kissed her passionately.

"Come," she said afterwards, a little out of breath. "You must be hungry." She took his hand and led him to the table.

At dinner, talk turned to more pleasant things as though empty words could drive away tomorrow's tidings. He spoke of his success in selling insurance plans that day; she told him she had received high marks in her immunology exam.

"You're really brilliant," he said, his eyes glowing with pride. "You will make a magnificent doctor someday."

"And you," she countered teasingly. "What do you do with your clients—charm them?" The both laughed, and she added, "I won't be surprised if you end up being the firm's chief executive years from now."

Celeste did not miss his jaw clench, and that cloud of despair loomed over her once more even as she tried to fight it. Expectations for the future were futile, she knew. That everything was still normal was all for show, but if it would help them get through the night, she was willing to play her part.

Husband and wife cleared the table and washed the dishes together before retreating to their upstairs. She took her shower first. Celeste allowed the lukewarm water rain down her back, wishing it could wash away the dread weighing heavily on her heart. Something told her tonight would be the last, and conflicting thoughts of what should be done tormented her. She could either keep her distance in the hope of bracing herself for the forthcoming pain, or she could relish these remaining moments with him. She sighed, turned the shower off and reached for her bath robe.

She stepped out into their room to see him lying on their bed with his hands behind his head. They locked gazes for several intense seconds, and then his hazel eyes slowly travelled down to her toes.

"It's your turn," Celeste said, her cheeks colouring even after all the months they spent with each other. She watched as he gracefully swung one leg over to the side of the bed and stood, towering over her. Weak at the knees, she stepped past him and walked to the closet to get her clothes. Once dressed, she slid under the covers and hugged herself for warmth.

Roughly fifteen minutes had passed before she heard the light switch flick off. She then felt the other side of the mattress sink as he reclined beside her. Celeste's pulse thrummed erratically, wondering if he would still hold her.

The springs creaked, and she knew he had inched closer. The heat radiating from his body, which she was also acutely aware of, proved her suspicions. Tentatively, he wrapped his arm around her waist and brought his face closer to her neck.

Her heart thundered in her ears, reason spiralling out of control. "We mustn't—not anymore," she protested feebly.

"There's something I didn't tell you," he whispered, ignoring her plea. His breath blew against her skin, and she shivered against her will.

"What is it?" she questioned shakily.

There was a heavy, uncertain pause before he spoke again. "The truth is that I've known for over a month."

Celeste went rigid for an instant and then turned to face him. "You mean... You've regained your memory... You've known, and still you've been living with me?" She searched his hazel eyes for a hint of a lie but found none. Her throat tightened. "Why?"

His thumb fanned her cheek, and she melted under his caress. "I didn't want to leave you," he admitted hoarsely. "Not yet." He pulled her against him so that his nose glanced hers. He'd taken off his glasses, and even in the dark, pain shone brightly from his eyes.

"I talked to my best friend a while ago," he went on. "He was, as expected, very happy to see me. He told me I should go home straightaway."

"Your wife must miss you so much," Celeste said in an undertone. "It's been nine months."

You're my wife too, he wanted to say. But they both knew that wasn't the truth anyway. So instead, he reached for her hand and entwined her slender fingers with his. "I know, which is why one more day wouldn't hurt."

Today or tomorrow, it will still hurt. "They'll be here to get you tomorrow?"

"Yes," he said, nodding imperceptibly. "Nine in the morning."

Despite knowing what the future had in store, she smiled, touched by his gesture and thankful that he was with her that instant. It was all that mattered, and it made her mind up. She burrowed into his embrace, her bare skin touching his, inhaling deeply and savouring his scent. A rush of exhilaration coursed through her as she felt their clasped hands slide over the contours of her body, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"This is the closest I'll ever get to touching you again," he murmured huskily, almost remorsefully.

Celeste sighed, her lips still curved upwards as she basked in the glorious sensations of their shared intimacy.

The hours dragged on, languorously and yet too quickly. She realised that he had not moved for quite some time already and assumed him to be asleep. She lifted her head from under his chin only to look straight into his eyes, wide with attention and trained on her. She uttered a low chuckle.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I thought I was watching you sleep," he returned, smiling mischievously.

With a brow raised, she playfully asked, "Why did you want to watch me sleep?"

His characteristically strong features became sombre once more. "Because I want to commit everything about you to memory, while I still can." He brushed butterfly kisses on each part as he named it. "Your silky raven hair, your bright blue eyes, your plump cheeks, your soft lips..." His voice trailed off as his mouth suddenly found itself occupied with hers, pressing with intent. And when he insisted his entrance, she did not deny him anything anymore. Celeste embraced him tightly, moulded her body to his and kissed him with every once of strength and every drop of emotion she possessed, for she might never get the chance again.

"You should get some rest," he said. "Try to sleep."

She shook her head. "I cannot sleep. Not tonight." Tears sprang to her eyes, but they never fell. She blinked them back and smiled at him again. "There'll be plenty of time to sleep later on. But not now. Not yet."

The outside sky lightened despite her fervent prayers that the night never end. Time was creeping up on them, surely and steadily, and soon it would catch up and conquer them. With her index finger, she traced the hard lines of his neck, trying to find the beat in rhythm with hers.

"Tell me," she quietly said, staring into the depths of his eyes. "Did you ever love me?"

He smiled, his hand cupping the small of her back. "Yes," he responded simply. "It was why I married you. I love you very much, Celeste Laurent."

His sweet words cheered her heart just as the sun's first rays streaming through their window would. With his affirmation, there would be no more regrets—none at all. It would all be worth it. "I love you too..." Celeste raked her hand through his messy black hair and mussed it up, memorising its texture on her fingertips. "I suppose you can now tell me your real name?"

The handsome man sharing her bed took her hand and brought it to his lips for a reverent kiss.

"It's James," he stated. "James Potter."