To Know Most Truly

by Excited-Insomniac

SEQUEL TO "CHAMPION", POSTED PREVIOUSLY. Nita Linese has survived the Triwizard Tournament and graduated Hogwarts, and is now navigating life in the wider wizarding world. But evil is on the rise, and she is in its sights. What's a not-quite Muggleborn to do when she's thrust alone into the worst peril yet? COMPLETE EXCEPT FOR EPILOGUE.

9. To Know Most Truly

To Know Most Truly

At 9 in the morning of the 1st of August, I pack an overnight bag and Rachael walks me to the pub. Fleur's wedding isn't until the afternoon, but as a bridesmaid I'm supposed to be there early to get ready with her. And the reception is going to go quite late, so the Weasleys have agreed to put me up for the night so I don't break curfew going home. I'd have Apparated, only my license has been revoked, and we haven't got a Floo connection at the flat.

The pub is still strange and empty without Tom, even though it's usually quiet at this hour of the day. Rachael bids me goodbye and to have a nice time, give her best to Fleur and Bill and all that, and I step into the Floo, requesting "The Burrow," on Fleur's instructions. Green fire sends me spinning, and I land rather gracelessly in the hearth of a cluttered but cosy kitchen. A long rectangular table stands in the middle of the room with the remains of a large breakfast spread over it, and the sink is full of soapy water and dishes getting scrubbed by a charmed sponge.

I stand and brush myself off, and a woman calls, "Hello, who's that?" from the next room over.

"Um, Nita?" I reply, and mentally kick myself for sounding unsure of my own bloody name. "I'm a bridesmaid."

"Nita Linese?" a different voice exclaims, and a short, sturdy redheaded man bursts around the corner: Charlie Weasley. "Dragon girl!" He's grinning fit to burst, and grabs my hand to shake it enthusiastically. "I can't tell you how excited I was when Fleur said you were one of her bridesmaids. I've been dying to pick your brains, see if there's anything I can take back to the Sanctuary for everyone. Or actually, do you need a job? We've still got open spots if you want an assistantship or something. Pay's rubbish, but the work is, cor, amazing! Sorry, you've just got here and I'm already talking your ear off. Do you need anything? Drink of water? Tea? Breakfast? Mum, do we have any eggs left?" A woman who can only be the Weasley matriarch bustles in, in the middle of putting her hair up with pins. "Mum, this is Nita Linese! Remember that letter I sent you after the first Triwizard Tournament task? She's the one who spoke to the dragon!" He indicates me with a flourish, as though to say 'ta-dah!'

Mrs Weasley gives me what seems to be a sincere smile and bustles around the table. "Hello, dear! It's a pleasure to finally meet you!" She gives me a squeezey hug, and I stiffen in surprise and discomfort. When was the last time anyone hugged me? "I hear you were quite impressive during the Tournament, you and poor Harry…"

"It was, um, a few years ago now…" I mutter awkwardly.

"Of course, onwards and upwards as they say!" I flinch. If only that were true. But the fact that they're saying such things mean Fleur hasn't been telling them of my misfortunes, so that's a relief. "Did I hear you need breakfast? I can whip up something for you if you need."

"No no, I'm fine," I say hastily. "I think I'm supposed to help Fleur get ready? Is she upstairs?"

"She's around the place somewhere, I reckon. I can go find her if you like," Charlie offers.

"Oh, that's alright, if she's busy—"

"No trouble!" he says cheerfully. "She'll be glad to know you're here, and that we've met. I think she wants us paired when we all go down the aisle later. See you!" I'm left reeling as he hurries outside, trying to catch up with everything he said. It's nice to be recognised for something positive, even if it was from years ago during the Tournament. And he's offered me a job? Where is the dragon sanctuary? Can he really just give me a job like that? It's tempting, I have to admit. And we're to walk down the aisle together? The crush I had on him when I was eleven rears up, interested, but I brush it away. Those feelings are years old, and were never serious anyway. But such an enthusiastically positive reaction is not something I'm used to getting anymore, and I'm feeling a bit off kilter after the whole thing.

I follow Charlie to the door and look out into the beautiful summer day. I'm not sure exactly where The Burrow is, but there are orchards and unmowed fields under a gorgeous blue sky, and closer on, though still a ways down the lawn, stands a huge white tent with a golden flag snapping in the wind at the top. That'll be where the wedding happens, clearly. There are a loose crowd of people hanging about the tent, lots of them redheaded men like Charlie, and I wonder mildly what it must be like to grow up in a place like this, where your family is large and loving and looks like you. That's what Fleur wants for her and Bill, and it's clearly what Bill and the rest of his brothers had. Soft envy fills my heart. But the possibility of this never existed for me, so it's not a real, true, deep feeling. It's more a longing.

"Nita?" Mrs Weasley says, and I jump. "Sorry, dear." The lines on her face seem made equally of smiling and worrying, but it's a smile she offers me with a mug of tea. "Didn't mean to startle you. Can I tempt you?"

I can't think of how to say no, and even though I already had tea earlier, another cup sounds nice. I accept it with murmured thanks.

"You must be quite good friends with Fleur?" she says, and for a moment she sounds just like Madam Malkin when she thinks she's asking a sneaky question that will get her loads of information about my personal life. The likeness is so acute it almost makes me smile.

"I suppose. We weren't at first, during the Tournament, but we met again when she started working at the bank, or a bit after I suppose, and got on much better."

Mrs Weasley gives a rather wry smile. "That seems to be the way with her, doesn't it?"

"Um?" I say, taking a slurp of tea to avoid having to answer her strange rhetorical question.

"Oh, I'm afraid we had a rather rough beginning, she and I. Or rather, she and all of us. But since last month with Bill's… well, we're all over it by now."

I suddenly remember Fleur asking about the meaning of 'phlegm' and a jab of dislike startles me. I didn't make the connection at the time, but intuition tells me I'm right about where she heard it: an unkind Weasley relative. But if they've got past that, it's not my business to hold her grudges for her.

But as though our conversation summoned her, Fleur hurries out of the tent and up the lawn towards us. «Nita! I'm so glad you're here! Welcome, welcome!» She's in a pretty knee-length blue dress, hair braided carelessly. She's beautiful, of course. She kisses my cheek as she comes up close. «And you've met my almost-mother-in-law, good!» This seems to be sincere, and I fully let go of the tiny dislike I had felt. «You're the first bridesmaid to arrive, except my sister—oh, she'll be so excited to have another French-speaker here, she does not have good English yet, I'm afraid. We'll be getting dressed upstairs. Is that your things for tonight? And your dress? Yes, excellent. Come on, it's this way….»

I follow her up a twisting coil of a staircase till we come to the second landing and into a room that was obviously Percy's until wedding prep took it over: there's a neatly made bed, a small chest of drawers, a bookshelf with staid-looking books, a small desk, and a wall calendar, still showing its July page with a picture of a fancy fountain pen. There's a little block of text next to it, presumably explaining why it's so special. The window over the bed looks out over the orchards, a sort of sunlit sea of green that shifts lazily in the wind. But knowing Percy, he never thought of the view in such terms in his life.

The entire floor is covered in wedding paraphernalia, and most of the bed and desk as well. «You can put your bag in here. You might end up sleeping on a sofa somewhere, we're still not certain how many people will need to stay over, but for now you can consider this your base of operations. We'll all be getting ready here after lunch.»

«Okay, thanks,» I say, placing my bag in an empty corner. «What is there to do in the meantime?»

«Oh, everything!» she declaims. «Come outside, there's more than enough to keep us busy til lunch!»

She's right: between setting up the hundred or so dainty golden chairs, decorating the tent poles with white and gold roses, de-gnoming the garden (a mystifying task more akin to a strange, painful sport than a chore, it seems), and the several dozen other sundry tasks that go into making the Weasley property wedding-ready, three hours fly by and we all tuck in for lunch at a long trestle table outside, since the kitchen is too small. It's an eclectic group, made up mostly of Weasleys (the Mr to the Mrs I met previously, all their sons, and it turns out I'd forgotten a daughter as well) and Delacours (Fleur's father, mother, and sister Gabrielle), but a few oddities round out the numbers: there's me; Professor Lupin who taught Defence my sixth year; the pink-haired Auror woman I'd seen a few times at the Ministry whose name is Tonk, or maybe Tocks, I couldn't quite hear; Hermione Granger; and Harry Potter. I'm quite a ways down the table, with Percy on one side and Professor Lupin on the other, so I don't get a chance to say much to him, but we exchange nods, and that suffices.

After lunch, several people Apparate into the field just beyond the garden fence in quick succession, and by Fleur's delighted greetings, they seem to be the remaining bridesmaids. Her cousin Veronique (from the Veela side, clearly) and three best friends from Beauxbaton Elvire, Giselle, and Aline, are introduced all in succession and I lose track of which is which before they're even done. Fleur assures them I know French and can act as a translator if need be—a distinction I had not anticipated and feel quite morose over, not that I show it.

In short order the whole crowd of us—Fleur, her sister, her cousin, her mother, her three best friends, and me—are trooping upstairs to Percy's room, and I'm witness to a scene unlike any I've ever imagined. Percy's room should not be large enough to accommodate all eight of us and all the stuff they've brought along to help prepare, yet it somehow does. Fleur takes pride of place at the desk chair, and someone finds a small mirror and enlarges and leans it against the wall on the desk. There's such a to-do over her makeup and her hair and her nails that it almost becomes funny, except no one else laughs. French flows freely between them all, and, when I'm awkwardly addressed, I answer in the same language, feeling all the more the outsider despite my fluency. It's almost like being back in the Gryffindor girl's dorm, only none of these people dislike me, that I know of anyway.

By some strange trick of time travel I can't seem to master, the other girls all find time to get themselves ready in between all of Fleur's preparations, so I'm the last one to hurry off to the lavatory to get into my dress.

Fleur had been as good as her word on the dress design: the neck is high, the chest completely covered. I won't have to worry about my burn at all. Otherwise, it's sleeveless, which is fine considering the season, and belted high at the waist, with long skirts covered in many layers of fluttery chiffon. She said my Yule Ball dress inspired the design, and I can see how, but she'd toned down the colour, made it a more gentle gold than my old dress, which had looked almost metallic. This dress is like a steady candle flame, moving through the air like a memory of gold rather than an advertisement for it. The shoes that go with it are simple slippers, thank goodness, as I don't fancy my chances with heels on grass even with stability spells.

The mirror on the back of the door is streaky and spotted with age, but even though I can't get my face out of its solemn cast, I think I look nice. It's a strange feeling.

After a moment's thought, I slip my wand into the narrow pocket on the side that seems to have been designed for that purpose. I don't expect to use my wand for anything (I don't use it very much at all these days, since it was Traced), but it's too much of a habit to leave it behind.

«Nita, you are perfect!» Fleur enthuses when I return to Percy's room. She has gotten her own dress on while I've been out, a lovely silvery thing with seed pearls etching fine lines that accentuate her figure. Her mother is dabbing her eyes in the background while Gabrielle unpacks a small box that seems to be mostly full of tissue paper. «This is just the effect I was hoping for for you, truly,» Fleur goes on, smiling radiantly. But is there also something slightly underhanded about the look? It must be my imagination. «Elvire, would you do her hair? Something like that sweet little thing you did on Aimee for the Winter Formal that time? And a bit of makeup?»

Fortunately those instructions mean something to Elvire, who spins me smartly around, expertly gathers all my hair up, twists it somehow, and does something with her wand that makes it stay in place. I touch it gingerly and she slaps my hand down, saying the more I touch it, the faster the spell wears off. Obediently, I tuck my hands behind myself and let her brush something glimmery over my cheeks and eyes, and a light pink lipstick on my lips. Then I stand aside and watch the last of the preparations. The thing Gabrielle had been looking for in all the tissue paper turns out to be a delicate silver tiara, and when Fleur puts it on, everyone seems somehow more beautiful than before, even her. Madame Delacour is sniffing quite loudly now.

It's a bit past 3, with the ceremony set to start at 4, when we help Fleur downstairs to the sitting room. Mrs Weasley is there in a flattering amethyst dress, along with Charlie and Percy and a great many golden and white roses. Charlie and Percy are in gold waistcoats, the same as the bridesmaid dresses, with white roses in their buttonholes. Small bouquets of white roses are distributed to me and the other bridesmaids, and Fleur takes up the only bouquet of gold roses. I imagine wherever Bill is, he'll have a gold rose in his buttonhole to complete the pattern.

«Nita, do you mind translating to English for people?» Fleur asks, and I nod my agreement before really thinking about it. I haven't done any translation work in months—will I remember how?

I do. It takes about a sentence of Fleur speaking French for me to get the simultaneous listening-and-speaking trick back, but from there it's fine. "She says that once everyone's seated and Bill is inside, we'll all gather at the entrance, and Mrs Weasley, you and Mr Weasley will go down the aisle first. Then me and Charlie, then Percy with Giselle, Elvire with Fred, Aline with George, Veronique with Ron, and then Ginny and Gabrielle right before Fleur with her parents. Charlie, you'll stand closest to Bill, with your brothers and Ginny after you in order, and I'll be furthest from Fleur, so like reverse order of how we arrive, on her side. Does that make sense?" The gathered Weasleys nod, all of them except Charlie looking a bit startled at my easy translation of French. "I went to school for it," I say, made uncomfortable by their attention. This mollifies them, and Mrs Weasley goes out with a handful of roses, saying she has to make sure her boys all have their flowers done properly. Elvire fans Fleur with a hankie, while Percy tries out a rather nervous, "Er, bonjour," on Giselle, who, after a glance to her friends, smiles and responds.

A dithering of last-moment preparations swirl around me, but I feel strangely detached. I'm happy for Fleur: she's my friend, of course I'm happy. But like so much of what I've felt recently, it's happiness at a far remove. All the excitement and giddiness is like a play happening on a stage I can't get to. Life behind a pane of glass.

In no time, it seems, Ron and Fred and George hustle in from outside to say that everyone's seated, and Monsieur Delacour arrives with Mr and Mrs Weasley and Ginny, and then the whole pack of us are outside in the breezy, lovely afternoon. Truly the nicest summer wedding Fleur could have hoped for. It feels oddly informal, to be gathered to the side of the tent's entrance with the bride and her and the groom's whole families, all of them doing last minute button and belt and strap checks, and Madame Delacour really hardly holding it together anymore, and Fleur's friends whispering to each other in French about which of their assigned partners is most handsome—George is missing an ear? Since when?—and then all at once Mr and Mrs Weasley are going into the tent together, and Charlie is offering his arm so that we can follow. I brace myself, and take it. The inside of the tent is packed with people, and I stay carefully focused on my feet and the carpet. It wouldn't do to cause a scene at Fleur's wedding by tripping on something before the ceremony even starts. So I pay exacting attention to each step I take, and hold harder to Charlie's arm than my usual wont would be. An older wizard with hair sprouting from his head in odd directions stands at the end of the aisle with Bill. I'd noticed before, but not gotten a good look, that he has some serious scars on his face, almost like he was clawed by an animal sometime. Was that what Mrs Weasley meant when she mentioned something happening a month ago? I certainly don't remember him having them at Hogwarts, at least.

Charlie and I part ways in front of Bill and the officiant, and I turn and walk to my spot at the edge of the carpet, leaving room for all the bridesmaids to come after me. Giselle and Percy are already almost here. Once I'm confident I'm not in the way, I finally look out over the crowds. Everyone is looking backwards, to where Ron and Veronique have just come in the tent, but I think I recognise the backs of some people's heads. Hagrid's hard to miss, at any rate. And I reckon that's a bloke I've seen in the pub, I think he works at the bank. And that's—

Oh God.

Everyone is facing the back except for one person.

Fleur never told me she invited Viktor.

I want to be angry with her—there was something sneaky in her smile as we got ready!—but I can't. He's staring straight at me, eyes wide with… awe? Desire? Nostalgia? I can't tell. Any of those would be bad. It's been ages: he shouldn't still feel that way about me! All at once, realisation bolts up my spine: I'm trapped in just the situation I've been afraid of. There's no way I can escape without talking to him. I can't Apparate, and the Floo is all the way back at the house. He'll talk to me and I'll fall for him all over again and let him ruin his life by taking him back and…

He looks the same as he did two years ago at Christmas, only maybe he holds himself straighter, and his eyes are deeper, and he's grown a short beard that makes his jaw look even more defined. But his nose is still big and his eyebrows are still thick and it still looks like his default expression is scowling. He's perfect, he's Viktor, he's here.

And what am I? Registered Muggleborn daughter of a wizard, former student of some of the best linguistics teachers in magical Europe and favored translator for the Head of the DMLE and the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries, who now scrubs pots and cuts vegetables like when she was twelve. And he's still brilliant, still famous, still rich, still… Viktor.

"We are gathered here today to witness the union of two faithful souls," the officiant announces resonantly, and I jolt back to reality. Fleur has joined Bill at the end of the carpet without my even noticing, and the wedding has begun. It's an effort of all of my willpower to stay focused on my friend, and even then I don't totally succeed. The officiant's words go in one ear and out the other, and a lot of my attention is tied up in my sweaty back and wildly pounding heart and the feeling of Viktor's eyes on me like heat, like if I don't move before long I'll be burned.

"...then I declare you bonded for life," the officiant declares, after an eternity that somehow only takes five seconds. The balloons that float behind the officiant burst, releasing a cloud of golden bells and birds of paradise. Everyone stands up to applaud, and the officiant waves his wand and all the delicate golden chairs they'd been sitting on rise into the air. Simultaneously, the sides of the tent vanish, revealing the orchard and fields in lush late-afternoon sunlight. A golden dancefloor spills out under our feet, a neat trick I don't have the capacity to admire right now, and all the chairs settle into new arrangements at little round tables with white tablecloths that grow out of the floor like flowers. Lots of white-jacketed waiters start circulating with trays of drinks while the gold-jacketed band begins to set up, and the mass of guests begins to mingle. This is my chance! I dare a glance around, and find that several of Fleur's Veela relatives have accosted Viktor, so I'll have at least a moment. But social obligation forces me through the thickening crowd towards Fleur and Bill. «Congratulations,» I tell her once I'm close enough for her to hear. They're surrounded by well-wishers, but she turns to me with an expression that's mostly joyful, but a bit guilty as well.

«Thank you,» she says, and pulls me in for my second unexpected hug of the day. «I'm sorry,» she murmurs into my ear. «He begged me not to tell. Is it truly so bad to see him again? Sometimes things do work out, you know, if you let them.» She releases me from the hug, but keeps hold of my hands so I can't get away. A hot, prickly, trapped feeling begins to needle between my shoulder blades.

«That's not an option,» I choke out.

Her brow creases in ethereal concern. «Is it truly not?» she asks. «Or are you just frightened of it?» I stare at her.

"Fleur. I vish you much happiness."

Fleur looks past me with a smile, and releases my hands at last, and too late. "Viktor, sank you for coming," she says. "Eet ees a pleasure to see you again. You remember Nita?" This is said so lightly, so brightly, as if she really were just reintroducing two people with some incidental connection. For a moment I do hate her.

But Viktor says simply, "Yes," in a voice so laden with feeling that it compels me to finally turn around and face him, despite how much I want to hide.

He's so somber, so serious, and he's wearing a black turtleneck and suit. It all makes him look like he's at a funeral rather than a wedding. Except the red rose in his buttonhole. "Nheeta," he says, roughly. Fleur turns away to greet more guests, and we stand alone in the crowd. "You look…" He shakes his head. -Please, can we talk?- The switch to Bulgarian jars me, but in a welcome way. Languages are what I'm good at, not feelings. Certainly not using language to express feelings.

It's been more than two years since I spoke Bulgarian, but it's like flicking on a switch. -I can't.- I press my lips together, hoping to stop them shaking. It works, mostly. Now it's just my hands. -It's not…- Not what? Not what I want? I do though. I do so much. But I can't. -...not a good idea.-

-Please, I—- His voice breaks a little and he bows his head, frowning. -Just to talk,- he says, looking at me again. His face is full of yearning, of unexpressed longing, of the awareness that there are people all around and this is not the sort of thing that can happen in a crowd, even if no one else speaks the language we use. -Just to talk.-

It is the gentleness that breaks me. I've spent so long missing him, so long denying my wish to write him back, that I have become quite good at resisting. If he had come to me demanding answers, demanding my time and my emotions and everything else, I could have stood up to that very well. But he softly pleads to talk, and I can't say no.

But it's just talking, I tell myself urgently even as I nod. That doesn't mean he's going to try, or even to offer, to get back together. He could still be safe from the walking disaster that is Nita Linese.

Tense, hopeful, eager, he offers his arm just as Charlie had, and I take it with even more trepidation. It's warm, and solid, and holding onto him is even better than I remember. We walk slowly around the edges of the crowd, watching groups form and dissipate, conversations rise and fall, laughter, smiles, happiness.

-I have been terrified for you,- he finally says, a confession and more. -Fleur and Mr Bigby told me you were alright, but—-

-Bigby?- I interrupt, shocked. I knew Fleur was writing to him, but Bigby as well? He never told me! Anger rushes in, hot and eager, and it would be so easy to be angry, I know anger, I can use it—but I resist. I swallow down the furious words, the bitterness, the feeling of being conspired against and tricked. I force myself to remember that Bigby cares for me, and if he was writing to Viktor, then he thought it was for a good reason. The fact that he's wrong doesn't mean I should lash out at Viktor about it. -I see,- I say, and Viktor must sense my feelings because his next words are contrite.

-At first it was only that I was worried when my dandelion tattoo started to lose colour,- he says. -I thought I wasn't taking care of it properly. But he explained some of what was going on, with you and the Ministry and everything, and he thought it might be because your… your spirit might be suffering. That since we both know you well, and lo—care for you, and he painted it and I bear it, that it could be sort of… linked to you. He's heard of times when tattoos react to things like that.-

I consider the idea uncomfortably. I don't like anyone having a, a cheatsheet on my spiritual well-being, or whatever. I already felt guilty that Viktor has the tattoo at all, and now it's going to keep reminding him that not only did I break his heart, but the world is trying to crush me—and succeeding, why lie? -I bet he could remove it if you asked,- I say, brusque and not sorry for it.

He stops walking, and I, with my arm through his, have to stop as well. He's looking at me as though I've suggested he kill a kitten. -I don't want it removed,- he says fiercely. -I told you when I got it that I would like it forever, remember? I wasn't lying. I don't lie. But I wasn't talking about the tattoo, Nita, or at least not only. I meant you. I meant I would love you forever. Didn't I tell you? All those times when I asked if you knew I loved you, you said yes, but I don't think you understood! I love you, Nita, and I need you to know it! I need you to know most truly!-

I try to take a steady breath, but tears betray me. Why couldn't Mrs Haslet's countercharm have been permanent? What good has crying ever done me? -You were supposed to forget me,- I say thickly, looking away from him and the happy crowd in the marquee. Into the dappled light under the trees, where tears could hide. -You were supposed to move on. Live your life.-

-I could never forget you,- he says, low and intense. From the corner of my eye, I see him lift his hand towards my face, but then withdraw as though thinking better of it. -How could I move on from my own heart?-

My throat catches, hard. -You can't—just—say things like—that, Viktor!- I cry, and the tears have well and truly broken free now. I wipe ineffectually at my cheeks, and glimmery blush smears on the backs of my hands. -Do you know how much I've missed you? How hard it was not reading your letters?- Hiccuping sobs interrupt me, but I force myself on, no matter how broken the words get. -I hated not being with you! But how can you not see that this is the better way? I'm a mess! My life… God, I'm not even a real witch anymore, practically! I would be nothing but trouble for you, just a, a millstone, something for you to worry over and protect like a pet! And you'd hate me! After enough of that, you'd hate me! This is the better way. Even if it's painful, at least I'm not a burden to you, can't you understand that?-

"I say, is everything alright over here?" a concerned but pompous voice interjects.

I bite back a swear word, wiping my face once more before turning, even though I must still look a mess. Percy and the bridesmaid he'd walked the aisle with, Giselle, are standing together with flutes of champagne, looking at us with very similar expressions of concern.

"Yes, we're fine," I say. "Just—just talking."

They give us matching dubious looks. If Percy's met his match here tonight and ends up happily settled with someone just as persnickety and interfering as he is, that'll be some good thick irony.

"We're fine," I insist.

Percy doesn't look convinced, but he nods, and I relax, slightly. He and Giselle turn back towards the party, where Bill and Fleur are dancing together. I sigh shakily, more relieved than I want to be.

-Do you want to…?- Viktor asks, indicating the trees and the relative privacy I'd coveted earlier.

I hesitate. I do want to be further from the crowd, further from all the Percys and Giselles, with their invasive concern. But that means being clearly and purposefully alone with Viktor. He's looking at me so patiently, so hopefully, that I want to say yes, but I know that the longer this goes on, the harder it will be to resist him. He's said he still loves me; I've said I miss him. The next step would be so easy… But I'm still convinced that I'd only be a hindrance to him, a burden. That thought will have to be enough to keep me strong. -Yes,- I say. He does his smile, shoulders back, eyes alight. It makes my heart clench and stammer, just as it always has.

We walk slowly away from the marquee, not arm in arm this time, but still close together. The air under the trees is cooler, the slanting light of the late afternoon making a play of shadows over the grass. It's a soothing thing to focus on, and I wander a few steps away from him, trying to settle my emotions.

-Nita…- he says carefully, and I steel myself. -There's something I want to understand. You decided to… end things between us, and that's your right and I can accept it if, if it was because you didn't love me anymore, or if… if it was because I hurt you in the maze, or—- Horrified, I try to cut him off, try to correct him, but he keeps on going. -But you said, in your letter, your last one… and again just now… do you really think I could consider you a burden?-

He sounds so confused and unhappy, it's clear he still doesn't understand what I was saying. -It was nothing to do with the maze. I told you, I know that wasn't your fault. You would never…- I swallow. -Being a burden though… I didn't mean it as… as a judgement on you or anything,- I say, desperate that he should see what I mean. -It's me. I'm… I mean look at us now.- I finally manage to turn around and face him. He's frowning, but that's normal. Maybe it's funny or pathetic that I've missed his frown so much, but I have. -Your career has, well, soared these last years, right?- I've been avoiding the sports section of the Prophet for exactly this reason, so I'm not positive what he'll say. But he hesitates, and nods. I nod as well. -I'm not legally allowed to have the career I studied for,- I say, keeping my eyes on his, watching for comprehension. -You're in control of your finances, right? You earn money and spend it as you want?- His confirmation comes with a deeper frown. Perhaps Bigby hadn't shared this aspect of my humiliation? Kind of him, I suppose. Only now I get to share it instead. -I'm not permitted to have my own bank account anymore, as a registered Muggleborn. Bigby is the primary account holder now.-

-But it's your money,- he protests, frown becoming more severe.

I shake my head. Evidently that particular decree wasn't one that made it to whatever news source he's been using -Yes, that's part of their point, I'd imagine. But that's not all, Viktor. Not being able to stay in the Euro-Glyph School without verified magical parentage, not being allowed to work at the Ministry, having my wand Traced, bloody Bagman, I mean…!- I lift my hands helplessly, frustrated at his continued inability or unwillingness to see what I'm trying to say. -It was never about my feelings for you, Viktor. My feelings never changed. But how could I expect you to be happy with me when I have less than nothing to offer? I'm not your equal anymore, if I ever was. I hardly feel like a real person sometimes. I would hold you back, I would need too much support, I would be… a burden. I was already becoming one when I ended things with you. In all your letters, you were so worried, and… I couldn't let it go on.- There. I've said it as well as I can say it. If he still doesn't understand…

But instead of comprehension, his face looks as though he's witnessing some sort of horrible injury, all pained and empathetic. -No,- he says, and before I can decide whether to yell at him or give up, he crosses the space between us in a few large steps and enfolds me in my third surprise hug of the day. -Nita, no,- he says into my hair. His arms are impossibly warm and strong around me, and everything in me aches to respond in kind, but I don't. I don't know what he's doing. Is this goodbye? Has he seen sense? -Nita, my heart, you were never a burden. Loving you was never a burden. Loving you is a privilege. And I'll never stop.- Something deep inside me, deeper than my heart or lungs, unclenches. I breathe, and it feels like the first real breath I've taken in years.

-Really?- I ask quietly. I hate myself for the vulnerability of the question, the pathetic smallness, and everything it reveals about my withered, battered heart, but I have to know. I have to be sure. Even if it means I've been wrong this whole time.

His arms tighten around me. The rose in his buttonhole presses fragrantly against my chin. My old burn prickles a complaint. -I'm so sorry that no one else has said this to you before.- His voice vibrates in his chest and I let myself relax into it. This is Viktor. I can trust Viktor. -I want to love you, and worry for you, and help you through difficult things. And I want to celebrate the good things too, and be the first to say I'm proud of you, and tell everyone I know how amazing you are until they're all sick of me. That is what love is, to me. It doesn't matter that there have been more bad things than good things lately. None of that matters. Let me help you. Let me love you."

-I don't think you quite understand what you're asking,- I whisper, but my arms are going up around him anyway. He smells of roses and soap and broom polish. I missed him so badly. Is it true, what he's saying?

-I don't care,- he says tightly.

-My life is a wreck,- I tell him. Held close in his arms, it's hard to believe all that is still real, but it is, and it would be unfair to let him think otherwise. A lie.

-I think it's Britain that's the wreck,- he replies, and I almost laugh.

-Same thing, really.-

-No, because you could leave.-

The idea stuns me. Just… leave?

He seems to sense my reticence, and releases his arms from around me. I drop mine as well, feeling shockingly empty. But he takes my hands instead and looks at me searchingly. -Come to Bulgaria with me.-

An instinctive No rises inside me. I can't just run away, I'm not a coward, running won't solve things… But isn't wizarding Britain saying it doesn't want me, just as Mum had? Why shouldn't I leave the country like I left her? The faces of my friends rise in answer, and the pub, and… But no one I know has been as affected by the situation as me. Rachael, Madam Malkin, Jacek, Bigby, they'll all be fine because of their blood status. Unless Rachael tries some other dramatic thing to make her point, and she has been estranged from her family…

-I know it's not a question that can have a fast answer,- he says. -You should take time, think—-

-Yes,- I blurt. He looks at me. -Yes, let's go to Bulgaria. I can't… I can't have the life I want here. Or the person.- I squeeze his hands a little. -But I can there. I've built a life once from scratch, so I can do it again.- Something is burning in me, something I haven't felt in ages. Determination? Triumph? I can't waste time figuring it out.

The way Viktor looks at me is the most wonderful thing I've ever seen. The deep golden sunlight shines across his face, where amazement and joy are melting together into one expression of glorious happiness. His eyes, his shoulders, his whole body is smiling. And I can't help but smile back, even though the reality of the choice I've just made is starting to creep up on me. I'm going to leave. I'll be safe. I'll be with Viktor. I won't be a burden. It's so huge and sudden that I feel small and rattling, but somehow it's a good feeling. And Viktor lets out a wordless exclamation of pure giddy jubilation and throws his arms around me again—four surprise hugs, but I've stopped caring. This is perfect, this is everything. I hug him back, tightly, properly, trying to show him how I never want to let go again. How in the world did I get so bloody lucky? And why did it take me so long to see it?

And he kisses me then, urgently, tenderly, with all the passion and care in the world. His beard is a bit prickly, but not uncomfortably so, and it makes the experience novel, different from the kisses we shared at Hogwarts and when he visited two Christmases ago. His hand cups my head and who cares if it'll make the spell on my hair wear off sooner, this is exactly where I want to be. I kiss him back, putting two and a half years of longing and love into it, till I can hardly think straight and the sky might as well be the ground since we're falling towards it—

A sudden cheer from the direction of the marquee makes us break apart with gasps of confusion and startlement. There's a crowd along the edge of it, all of them facing us and laughing and clapping and cheering. Had they heard Viktor's shout? Fleur is right in the middle, looking so smug I could smack her if I weren't so happy. "Kiss—Kiss—Kiss—Kiss!" they all chant at us, and acute embarrassment makes me bury my face in Viktor's chest, and his laugh is a warm reverberation. He kisses the top of my head. -Do you want to go in, or stay out here?- he asks.

-Only if I get to hex Fleur,- I mutter, straightening up. My face is hot, and I am actually cross to have been interrupted, but my overriding feeling is still a deep, steady joy. He laughs again, and I hear the same joy there. -But I am getting hungry,- I confess.

-Me too,- he says. He kisses me once more, just gently, lightly (prompting another, smaller cheer from the marquee), and we head towards the dissipating crowd, hand in hand. We get many grins as we pass inside, and my face is hot and probably deep red, but I keep my chin up anyway. But then there's Fleur, and she's got the widest grin of the bunch. "I knew eet," she declares. "I knew you boz would see sense! Nita, Veektor, my friends, zis ees perfection! Ze best gift you could give!" And she leans in and kisses first him, then me, on the cheek. As she does me, she whispers, «I can make sure you have a room to yourself tonight if he is going to stay as well now.»

«What!» I mean it to be an affronted shout, but it comes out more of a squeaky splutter. She makes an innocent face and glides away with a little wave over her shoulder.

"Vot did she say?" he asks, peering down at me.

"Nothing!" It's way too shrill to be believable, his raised eyebrows tell me so beyond doubt. -Nothing I'm going to repeat in English, certainly,- I mutter, and now his eyebrows are up in a wholly different way.

Leaning closer so that no one else can hear, even with the precaution of Bulgarian, he asks, -Will you tell me later?-

A shiver if heat passes through me. -Maybe!- I squeak. I hadn't thought it was possible for my face to get any hotter, but it does. -Later! Let's get food!-

We do that, and then spend some time mingling with the other guests. Several of Fleur's Veela relatives seem miffed that Viktor is attached all of a sudden, just based on their sour looks at me, so reminiscent of my last term at Hogwarts. I notice Charlie at a table with Hagrid and another man, and wonder how a job at the dragon sanctuary might work with this new plan. How far apart are Romania and Bulgaria anyway? They share a border, don't they? Percy and Giselle find us again, and apologise for interrupting us earlier. Giselle doesn't seem to know much English, and Percy's French is extremely bad, but they seem to be getting along nevertheless, and I repent the unkind thought I had of them earlier. Giselle did not come to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament, so she is fascinated to hear all the details Fleur couldn't give her about the place. Percy talks to Viktor about Quidditch—I hadn't realised he was such a fan—and I wonder whether he remembers the last time we met, two or so years ago now, after he'd been fired and gotten smashed at the pub. Probably not, considering, but I can't help but wonder what he might be doing if Crouch hadn't fired him. He'd be working for the Minister of Magic now, after Crouch's elevation, and probably helping him do all sorts of dastardly things to Muggleborns and everyone. I like to think he's happier here, but there's no way of knowing.

Afternoon fades into evening, and as the moon and stars come out and the dance floor gets more crowded, Viktor and I leave the marquee again and stroll over the dark lawn.

-What will we do in Bulgaria?- I ask idly. It still feels like a dream, this plan we've made, and I want to fill it with all the best things before the mess of reality descends.

-Everything,- he says, swinging our interlaced hands between us. -Anything we want. I will sign a new contract at the end of the season, and you will get asylum and work as whatever you want. A translator again, if you want that. Or a language teacher. Or the world's first dragon tamer. Anything,- he repeats confidently.

-I'd like…- I start, then stop myself. It's still such a vague idea, even though I've had it for years.

-What?- he prompts. -We'll do whatever you want.-

-I've always wanted to find a way to, to help people,- I say, ducking my head. Low self-confidence doesn't disappear in a day, and it feels presumptuous to even talk about helping anyone. I haven't even been able to help myself, after all. But I go on anyway. -Kids, like I was, who don't always have a place to go. Not an orphanage, just a… place. A reliable place. A home.- I glance up at him through my lashes and find him looking back at me with glowing pride. I blush all over again. -I don't even know if Bulgaria needs that,- I mutter.

-Everywhere needs that,- he says stoutly. -It is a wonderful idea. I want to help.-

I smile, practically fizzing with pleasure.

We walk in silence for a while.

-Is it later enough for you to tell me what Fleur said?- His tone is teasing, but there's real curiosity there too.

I'm glad of the darkness so that he can't see me blush yet again. -Oh God…- I groan. -The plan was for me to stay here tonight, so that I wouldn't break the curfew by going home. She said earlier that I might end up on a sofa somewhere because they weren't sure how many people were going to have to stay, but then… she said she could make sure we had a room to ourselves, if you stayed over as well.-

-Ah,- he says, and I can't read his tone at all. Hopeful? Embarrassed? Which would I rather?

-But you probably have plans already,- I say quickly. -I'm not assuming—-

-It's fine,- he says, equally quickly. -I did make reservations at a hotel since the Portkey back isn't til tomorrow afternoon. You could… come with me, if you want. Or stay here and I can come back in the morning. Or… I could stay, or… whatever you want.- He's definitely uncomfortable now, but I'm glad. For once I'm not the one putting my foot in my mouth.

-I think it's better if I stay here,- I say, thinking aloud. -I don't know if I'm allowed Side-Along Apparation during curfew, and I don't guess they gave you a Portkey directly to your room?- He shakes his head. -Right. So I, at least, have to stay here. If you stay too…- I swallow my nerves down as best I can. -That would be fine.-

The words sit in the air around us. I don't know what he's thinking. I don't even know what I'm thinking.

-And tomorrow?- he asks. -What's the plan?-

Relieved, I jump on the question. -I'll have to pack. And say goodbye. And Bigby will need to help me empty my Gringotts account. And then…what time is your Portkey?-

-Half past two.-

-Can I buy a spot at the last minute, do you think?- My heart is racing. Sorting these practicalities makes it seem real. In only sixteen hours, I'll have left England behind and started new in Bulgaria.

-We'll make it happen,- he says confidently. -And the sooner we get you away from here, the better. I knew your Ministry was inventing slander against Muggleborns, but I didn't know that older bigotries were still so present, even here, at the wedding of someone who considers you her friend.-

The harshness of his voice surprises me. -What do you mean? Fleur? She doesn't believe any of that stuff.-

-No, not Fleur. A guest. A man I saw when I was waiting for you to arrive. Fleur told me you would be here, but not that you would be in the wedding party so I got here early to wait for you. This guest, he wore a pendant… I told you once of my family's history with Grindelwald? How his followers killed my grandfather?- I nod, more affected by the story than the first time he told it. His grandfather's situation feels a lot more real now. -Grindelwald had a symbol he used to mark his victories and identify his followers. I saw it on the walls of Durmstrang every day for years and it made me sick. To see this man wearing it…. I wanted to challenge him. I should have challenged him.-

-Probably better not to duel at a wedding,- I suggest. He sounds like he means it though.

-Hmph,- he grumbles.

-Let's not think about that,- I suggest. -Let's talk about—oh look, a shooting star!- I point up into the sky, where a speck of light seems to be falling out of the moon towards us.

-Are you sure that's a star?- he asks after a moment, when the spot of light has gotten slightly larger rather than soaring off across the sky as it ought.

-No,- I say, frowning.

It grows faster and faster, and soon it's clear that it's definitely not a falling star, but some sort of magic, a shape made of silver-white light, heading directly for the party in the marquee.

-Should we do something?- He sounds alarmed.

-I think… it looks like a Patronous,- I say, my confusion beginning to fade, only to be replaced by concern. -They can carry messages sometimes. Come on.- I hurry towards the marquee, Viktor following, hand tight around mine. We arrive at the edge of the crowd at the same moment the Patronous soars through the top of the tent, and a resonant voice fills the space.

"The DMLE are coming with the Minister. Get out while you can."

Cries of consternation and confusion fill the space as the Patronous dissolves, but before any sort of action can be taken, a drumroll of Apparation cracks sounds all around the marquee, and a voice thunders, "THIS IS MINISTER FOR MAGIC BARTEMIUS CROUCH WITH THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT. ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, WE DEMAND YOUR IMMEDIATE SURRENDER. YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST."

"Order of the Phoenix?" I repeat, stunned.

"DROP YOUR WANDS WHERE YOU STAND AND EXIT SLOWLY. WE ARE AUTHORIZED TO EXERCISE EXTREME PREJUDICE."

"Vot is he talking about?" Viktor's voice is almost lost in the hubbub and dismay of the wedding guests.

"He's saying that this is the Order of the Phoenix! Is he mad? I don't—"

Another voice rises loud and commanding, this time from within the crowd of guests. "THIS IS A PRIVATE, PEACEFUL CELEBRATION OF A WEDDING. THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH US. PLEASE LEAVE US IN PEACE."

"OUR INFORMATION IMPLIES OTHERWISE," Crouch replies. "DROP YOUR WANDS." There are dozens of figures out in the darkness around us, all with their wands drawn and aimed, and my palms go slick with sweat. My wand is in my pocket, but the Ministry will know every spell I cast.

"THIS IS A PEACEFUL—" the second voice says, but the sharp snap of a spell being cast behind us cuts him off. A cry of pain—one of the Aurors, by the distance, but that's the last thing I understand clearly. Crouch bellows something, spells fly every direction, people shout and fall or cast their own spells in response, everyone is running but all in different directions, and the bangs of people Disapparating are almost continuous. Viktor still has hold of my hand, and he pulls me away, but an invisible force slams us sideways and out of the marquee: someone's stray protego caught us.

We land several meters apart from each other, sprawled over the grass. My ears are buzzing, and when I look up the marquee is a madhouse of duelling figures and spellfire. Fleur and Bill fight back to back, and Hagrid is taking Stunners like they're nothing. Hermione dives at Ron Weasley and another redheaded boy I don't know, another Weasley probably, and Disapparate. I shake my head, and as I do, I see Crouch limping slowly out of the darkness towards me.

"It is you," he says, delighted and savage. "To think I should be so lucky. Taking down the last bastion of the true Order, and the interfering Mudblood who nearly ruined my Master's plans, all in one night." I scramble backwards, legs tangling in the skirt of my dress, towards Viktor's muzzy calls of, -Nita? Who is that? Nita?- Crouch smiles, but it's full of teeth and cruelty. His twirls his wand almost lazily between his fingers, limping closer and closer. "It has been sweet, I will admit, slowly boxing you in these past few years," he says. "Imagining your anger and pain. Of course I wanted to simply kill you, but there really is something to be said for delayed gratification. Tell me of your humiliations, Linese. The longer you talk, the longer you live."

My mind is spinning in wild circles. Boxing me in? Kill me for what? What Master? "It's all been on purpose?" is the first thing that falls out of my mouth.

"It's all been on purpose?" he mocks. "Yes, you stupid bitch, of course it was. We had to convince the public, didn't we? That you and your sort are the real threat. Now when my Master emerges from the shadows, it shall be to the glory and adulation he deserves!"

I gape, too stunned to even care that his wand is still pointed right at me. He means You Know Who, he must. He did come back after the Triwizard Tournament! But Mr Crouch never served him, that was his son, wasn't that what McGonagall said when she explained what she thought happened in the maze? The man who had been impersonating Moody all year. Impersonating… "You're Crouch's son," I breathe.

"Oh, well done," he says. "And all it took was essentially a full confession. However, a point of accuracy: as Crouch's son, I am still a Crouch. And since my father's untimely death, I am the only one left. I thought once he was dealt with, no one would be able to interfere. So where in hell did you come from? How the hell did you, a worthless Mudblood of no discernible consequence, come so close to ruining everything? I even used the dunderhead Krum against you, yet still! I should have been there, not Pettigrew, he should never have been entrusted with such a task…." He's ranting now, distracted, and I sneak a look over my shoulder at Viktor. He's gone, and my stomach twists in shock. I turn back to Crouch, my fingers tremblingly going to the pocket where my wand rests. Crouch is raving still, on and on about a glorious pureblooded future without trash like me mucking it up, and his wand has gone loose in his hand as he gesticulates. But I can't tell if this is a good thing for me or if he's getting ready to kill me like he said he would. But then I spot Viktor, nearly invisible in his black suit and shirt, creeping up behind Crouch. He hasn't got his wand, and although I'm relieved to see him, I'm more worried what he thinks he's going to do.

I get my answer when he leaps on Crouch's back and wraps an arm around his neck. -Nita, go! Run!- he shouts, as Crouch makes choked noises and staggers under Viktor's weight. I'm on my feet in an instant, but I can't just run and leave Viktor! Running away from England with him is very different than running away while he literally fights my battles for me. I watch for a tortured moment, but all at once the leg Crouch limps on buckles and he and Viktor tumble to the ground. "Stupify!" Crouch screams, and a jolt of red light slams into Viktor's back.

"No!" I sprint towards them, finally drawing my wand and shouting the first spell that comes to mind. "Incarcerous!" Coils of rope materialise around Crouch's body and begin to squeeze. I reach Viktor, shake him ineffectively. He's breathing, I think, but deeply unconscious. I have to get him out of here. I pull him up to sitting—he's heavy with muscle, and limp, I struggle with him, but I get my arms around his chest and focus, revoked Apparation license by damned.

Just as darkness closes in around us, a hand shoots out and latches into my ankle like a grindylow. Crouch. I swear at him furiously, but can't let go of Viktor to make him release me, and the three of us twist through the Apparation together.

Budge shrieks with shocked excitement as we all land in the middle of my bedroom, and launches off the curtain rod to fly dizzy circles around and around. Viktor sprawls out of my arms, and I kick out at Crouch to make him let go. The ropes of my enchantment are tight around him, but one arm is still free, the one he grabbed me with, and as he lets go of my ankle he reaches down towards his trapped arm, where he still clutches his wand. Panic fills me, and I shout again, "Incarcerous! Incarcerous!"

He's bound then, well and truly, and relief is potent. But he's making different noises now, like the ones when Viktor had his arm around his neck, and his face is going red, now purple. One of the ropes is around his neck, squeezing. His eyes open wide, wider, wider, he's choking and I'm frozen because he was going to kill me, he said so, I can't let him free or he'll just go right back to that, and worse, he'd hurt Viktor too, but he's choking, he's dying from my spell. But I can't let him hurt Viktor…

He doesn't struggle for long.

A/N

I can't deny, I enjoyed writing every single bit of this chapter. The reunion, the feelings, the death there at the end: delightful. However, serious trouble will result from this. See you next week!

Happy Thanksgiving to those celebrating today!

E.I. signing out