"But you love Hermione and she loves you." Harry's voice had a pleading quality. Fleur admired his romantic nature. It took a lot of boldness to approach her like this on today of all days.

"Harry, when Hermione and I met —how can I describe it? I wore my whole self on my sleeve. I still do. But she could never truly accept me. I'm a veela, Harry. I need my love wanted. I need my heart seen."

"But—"

"You are an ill-timed cupid, Harry. It is my wedding day."

She was smiling, though Harry could see that her eyes were somewhat sad. He conceded with a nod and began to walk out of the room. Pausing right at the exit, in a last attempt, he asked, "Is this fair to Bill?"

"Bill knows my heart and my wants. He accepts me."

Fleur's words held confidence. Something Harry realized Hermione did not have in her unrelenting and unfulfilled bond with the veela.

"You deserve all of those things, Fleur. I wish you the best."

"Thank you," Fleur replied.

She turned and let Harry slip out. Her hand automatically touched the paper she had just been reading before Harry came. It was the only letter from Hermione that alluded to their friendship. It reminded Fleur that life has the potential to feel full at times even when it is more than often not.

Fleur,

It's strange that with so much danger and loss, I can still sometimes watch a sunset and it seems to look and feel like it should. Even when nothing is right in the world! Proving (against my logic and the seemingly ever-pressing heartbreaking darkness) that many moments can offer a glimmer of fulfillment.

I know what you are thinking. "What of the heart?" Yes, I agree that hearts can be counted on for that too. They keep us connected and out of the dark. The heart is fascinating because is not completely of the mind or the physical. Also, I feel that hearts exist beyond the present tense. I believe they can be at once, both in the past and present. I can think of moments in the past, and my heart travels right to the very place. Hearts are curious things. We carry them inside, but they travel wide and far outside of ourselves, at times into the hearts of others. Like when we read the words of friends.

Be safe,

Hermione

=0=0=0=0=

I had sent Hermione letters after I left Hogwarts. They were usually just light words—my feelings on magic, or a few lines of prose that moved me at the time. Of course, they could become quite heavy too. Voldemort had bred new, fearsome shadows which seemed to lurk behind every happiness. Sometimes it was impossible to feel light.

Hermione didn't respond often. Strangely, it was whenever I planned to stop contact that suddenly I would receive her words. Not surprising, they were always stirring, whatever the subject she chose.

We never wrote of love. I never wrote of what it felt like on that last day at Hogwarts when our hands touched. How against the rough, perfect bark of my favorite tree I had finally felt her seeking me.

=0=0=0=0=

Hermione let Harry hold her hand during part of the ceremony. During the reception, everything changed for the worse yet again when news of the ministry falling came upon them so shockingly. Harry wasn't sure if the witches even got to talk at the party before he, Ron, and Hermione disapparated away. The subject wasn't something to think on at the time. It was usually when he saw Hermione rereading letters from Fleur when she believed him asleep that his thoughts would mull on their separation. Their situation was just one of the many things to be sad about.

A/N: thanks for being with me on this little journey. :)