Never Say I Love You

A/N: Ahh… the Epilogue. I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has supported this story. It means a lot to me if you could take the time to review this last chapter. Tell me your thoughts about the whole thing… what I could improve on… what you would like to see in the sequel or in my other stories… that sort of thing. It has been a blast writing for you all. I truly appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.

And for the last time, I give you the concluding chapter of Never Say I Love You –Chesca.

EPILOGUE

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June 30, 1982 Marseilles France

A young woman with long raven hair and bright green eyes lay comfortably on a large bed. She was propped half-way up by at least half a dozen of goose down pillows. She gritted her teeth as another wave of pain washed over her. An attendant clad in pale pink robes approached her.

"Madam," the attendant began in a heavily accented English. "Are ze contractons more free-quent?"

The young woman could only nod. Yes they were more frequent, and yes, they were more painful.

"Very vell zen, I shall call for ze heeler."

"Please –" the young woman managed to get out. "I need my brother too. He was also caught in the blast like I was, but we got separated. I need to know if he's okay as well,"

The attendant nodded.

"Hees name?"

"Rigel de Noir,"

"Very vell. I zhall ask for Monsieur de Noir,"

"Th-thank you,"

A few minutes later, the aide came back with the healer, who was clad in the palest blue. She had red hair and very deep brown eyes that was almost black. She spoke to the young woman kindly.

"Dear, you are about to give birth." The healer began in perfect British accent. "I need you to give me a push –a big one –the next time you feel a contraction, okay?"

"Where is my brother? I need him, please."

The healer and the attendant exchanged meaningful looks.

"Ze police, zey ar steel looking for im," the attendant said.

"But –"

The rest of the young woman's words turned into a full-blown scream as she felt the most painful sensation she had ever felt in her entire life. The healer was back again in her element."

"Alright, deary. I need you to push the next time you feel the same pressure –"

About half an hour later, soft cries began to fill the air.

"A perfect little boy," the healer gushed, bringing a blue bundle right next to the now exhausted young mother. "What shall you name him?"

The new mother thought for a while as she eyed her tiny miracle in her arms. The baby had soft black hair that fell in gentle waves, framing his angelic face, thick lashes, a rather prominent but aristocratic-looking nose, and thin, but fiery red lips. She would have to wait and see if he would get her emerald eyes, or her brother's sapphire ones. The young woman smiled. Her little angel might have been a product of a potions experiment gone wrong, but she knew in her heart that she would love him to the ends of the earth. She planted a soft kiss on his forehead. The baby in her arms stirred.

"Hello, my little prince," the young woman cooed. "Now, what shall I name you? My brother, your Uncle Rigel, says our family follows a tradition of naming children after stars and constellations. But I couldn't name you Nebula now, can I?" The baby fidgeted as if saying he was totally against it. The young woman chuckled.

"There, there. Of course not, my little prince." She then sighed. "Well, what if I name you after an angel? You are mine, after all." The baby cooed as if giving approval. The young woman smiled.

"I think it is time to break tradition, right Seraphim – Seraph?"

The baby cooed contentedly. The young mother turned then, to the healer.

"This is Seraphim Michel de Noir,"

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Scotland

Albus Dumbledore sat in his desk. Beside him stood the perch of his magnificent Phoenix, Fawkes. The magical bird was resting at the moment, as his master finished penning a reply to one of his colleagues abroad. As he sealed the flap of the envelope, the door to his office opened, permitting a tall man with soft black hair that fell in gentle waves, framing his pale face and prominent nose, and eyes that were as dark as a starless night sky.

"You wished to see me headmaster?" The man's deep baritone asked.

"Severus, please, call me Albus. Have a seat. Lemon drop? Tea?"

Severus shook his head.

"No, thank you, head- Albus. I was merely here to know what you require of me,"

Albus smiled.

"Always direct to the point, aren't we, my boy? Well, I shall not waste any more of your time… I believe you have heard of the bombing in Marseilles, South of France?"

Severus looked curious as he nodded.

"The muggles deem in to a terrorist bombing, sir."

Albus eyes twinkled.

"Ah, but of course, we know better, my boy. A breakaway group of Death Eaters managed to infiltrate France through their ports. We need to figure out their motives now that Voldemort has been rendered incapacitated, who and how many they are."

Severus nodded.

"I shall see to it, headmaster. Will that be all?"

Albus nodded.

"Yes. We are forever in your debt, Severus. By the way, are the dungeons to your liking? We can always move your quarters above ground if –"

"No sir, they are adequate. Thank you."

"Very well," Albus gave him a cheery nod. "I shall –"

But before Albus could finish his goodbyes, Fawkes let out a soft trill as one of the many heavy tomes the headmaster had in his office fell out of its shelf. Severus, with his quick reflexes caught it in his hands and carefully set it on the headmaster's desk.

"Ah, thank you, Severus. I keep on forgetting not to put that up in such a high shelf. In fact, I should just leave it on my desk. At that rate it is going, this book should be falling off of the shelves more often within the next few months."

"What is that book, sir?" Severus asked curiously.

"This, my dear boy, is the Book of Magical Heritage. Every magical child born that is destined for Hogwarts gets their name in here. And Fawkes, being the lovely dear that he is, had just alerted me that another child's name has been added here –the book falls off of the shelf to get my attention –it has been charmed by the Founders themselves –ah, here we go," Albus said as he flipped through the pages. "Oh, will you look at that –French. What a coincidence." He then turned the book towards Severus who read the glittering name, done in gold."

"Seraphim Michel de Noir,"

Albus sighed.

"It seems like little Mr. de Noir had been born at the same time as the occurrence of the bombings, the poor dear. I do hope his parents are well."

Severus stared at the name, finding himself unable to take his eyes off of the letters. The child was born today, eight months after the defeat of the Dark Lord –when little Harry Potter stopped the megalomaniac after the evil wizard had killed the little boy's parents. Severus still felt a pang of hurt cross his heart when he remembered that fateful day. The ex-Death Eater turned spy and now, Hogwarts Potions Master extended a finger, and with it, traced the golden letters absent-mindedly.

"I hope –that you are right, headmaster. I hope that you are."

****FIN****

(for now :D)

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A/N: *Sniff, sniff* Again, I thank you all. Please feel free to leave a review. I need it now, more than ever if I am to give you a sequel worth waiting for! :D I do not care how long after this has been published, that you give them to me, I will still read and treasure them. In the mean time, please continue to support me and my other stories! -Chesca