This is written for the finals of the International Wizarding School Championship! Go Beauxbatons! The following is judging info for that competition! Happy reading :))

School & Theme: Beauxbatons — Fighting/Facing Fate

Mandatory Prompt: [quote] "You'd be surprised who the love of your life turns out to be. After all, Adventure fell in love with Lost." — Erin Van Vuren

Additional Prompt: [song] Light On by Maggie Rogers

Year: 5

Word Count: 3,066

Disclaimer: None of the characters returned to Hogwarts after the war. This takes place only a couple months after the end of Deathly Hallows. Also, warning for swearing!

Dedicated to my fellow Beauxies! Your support, help, and encouragement has made me a better writer, and I'm so happy that I was part of this team. You're all amazing!

.: Invisible String :.

"And isn't it just so pretty to think, all along there was some invisible string, tying you to me?" — Taylor Swift

Harry Potter hurled the Daily Prophet to the table, where it landed with a satisfying smack. As he glared down at the offending article, he debated picking the thing back up and slamming it down again just to vent his frustrations thoroughly.

The morning had been one thing after another: a haughty Ministry owl waking him before dawn with a bite to his nose, his morning tea steeping too long then burning his tongue, and his favorite pair of jeans ripping in the knee when he'd put them on. The headline staring up at him was yet another slap to the face.

In black ink and thick, bold lettering, the headline read, Harry Potter: Marriage Material?

The Prophet liked to speculate about everything in his life. Harry's friends and family all knew the newspaper's credibility was in tatters—the editor was easily bought and its journalists were just as easily swayed—but that didn't stop the general public from reading and taking the paper's words as gospel.

Harry had thought the vultures at the Prophet would finally grant him some peace after the war's conclusion, but they'd done the opposite. Everything he did was ruthlessly dissected and given meaning that he'd never intended—from his shopping habits (he'd made the mistake of following Hermione into a jewelry store, which spawned the aforementioned headline), to his clothing choices, to the expressions he showed when speaking to strangers.

It was exhausting. Life was exhausting.

Seeing his life laid out on the front pages for all to see—whether the media's interpretations were positive or negative—gave him the shakes and cold sweats. Even more so when something that got reported was actually true. It reminded him all too clearly of sitting in Dumbledore's dark office, dried tears on his face and bone-weary, as he listened to Trelawney's disembodied voice foretell his future.

He glared again at the discarded newspaper.

Maybe…Maybe England was the problem. Being in England.

Harry stalked from his kitchen with an agitated huff.

Running from his problems was against his nature. He was a Gryffindor at heart, and as Hermione always said, there was a true solution for every situation if you only put your mind to it.

Leaving England wouldn't be a permanent solution to anything. The speculation that would surround his disappearance from wizarding society would ensure he never faded into anonymity. Not to mention, if he ever returned, the questions would doubtlessly be more invasive than they already were. Waiting out the talk was probably the best course of action, but the prospect of doing so filled him with dread.

Everything about leaving felt right.

Harry sank into the faded armchair in his living room and looked out the window. It was still early, the sun just cresting the horizon, but the street was already busy. If he stepped out his front door and walked two streets over to a wizarding area of London, he'd be swarmed, and far too many hands would reach out to touch him.

That prospect exhausted him. Life exhausted him.

Harry stood and Disapparated with a crack.

He reappeared outside the red door to Hermione's new flat and pounded on it till his fist ached. When it finally swung open, Hermione was in the process of pulling on her lavender dressing robe, still flushed and sweaty from sleep. There were pillow creases on her face, and her hair was still in its silk, protective sleep-wrap. Her eyes were wide and worried as she looked at him.

"What—"

"I'm leaving England."

"What—" she tried again, but Harry pushed past her into her flat. He slumped into one of her kitchen chairs and stared at his hands. He spoke the majority of his plan to his palms, tracing his life line with his eyes and wondering if what Trelawney had said about them was true.

Thirty minutes and an entire pot of tea later, he finally looked at his best friend for longer than a second. She was glassy-eyed as she reached forward and grabbed his hands with her own.

"Am I insane?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

"No." Hermione's grip tightened. "I think…I think it sounds like an adventure, Harry. A good kind of adventure, where it doesn't matter if you get lost. Not at all like anything you've done before." She paused. "I think it's a wonderful idea. I just wish I'd been the one to think of it."

"Really?"

"Truly. I've seen you struggling, and I've tried to think of ways to help, but nothing sounded right. But this…I support you in this, Harry."

Harry stared at her, worried.

"And once you settle, Ron and I can come visit," she continued, and a single tear fell from her eye. She quickly brushed it away. "And you'll write often, of course. You won't lose us by leaving—any of us, Teddy included. You can send him some fancy baby food from France, and he'll forgive your absence."

Harry sighed and couldn't help a small smile. The fact that Hermione knew what was holding him back wasn't surprising. He liked that she wasn't afraid to voice anything. It helped when his nerves got the better of him.

"When are you planning on leaving?"

Harry grimaced. "Tomorrow."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't hesitate. "Then I'll come over and help you pack. You go and tell Ron," she said, suddenly business-like as she rose to her feet and disappeared down the hallway. "Shut the door on your way out, and don't let Ron talk you out of this! Or let him rile you! Or let him drag you off to a pub for a farewell!"

Harry grabbed their empty mugs and walked to Hermione's sink, grinning. As he rinsed out the dregs of tea, he yelled, "It's nine A.M., Hermione!"

"You haven't let that stop you before!"

Harry up-ended the mugs on the drying rack and walked to the front door. He knew Hermione would have something else to say, so he paused with his hand on the knob and waited. Sure enough, her head peeked back around the wall.

"I can't pack your things by myself." She pointed a stern finger at him. "And I expect to be invited to farewell drinks."

Harry grinned again and pulled open her door. "Wouldn't dream of excluding you. See you soon."

22 October '98

Dear Hermione,

Finally moved into my new flat! You were right, as usual—I should've looked at flats before I left. The one I've rented is about the size of my old cupboard, but at least there are fewer spiders, and it's warm. Plus, the old woman across the hall has already brought me homemade biscuits. She patted my cheek and said my face was "agréable," so I think I like her. You can inform Ron I've made a friend, so he can stop telling me I made a reckless choice in leaving everyone behind.

You'll be happy to know my French is not improving. I asked the grocer yesterday where the pasta noodles were, but I definitely didn't say it correctly because she blushed and left me in the cereal aisle with my empty shopping basket. I'll get there one day—it's only been two weeks, after all—and the book you sent should be a big help.

I think I'm going to try to brew my own potions. Don't laugh—or raise your eyebrows; I know you, Hermione Granger—but I really did enjoy sixth-year potions when they actually turned out right. I know I'll never be a master brewer, but I need hobbies now that I'm no longer responsible for the fate of the wizarding world.

I'm going to visit Place Cachée within the next few days so I can finally see if I'm less noticeable here in France. Don't lecture me, but I've been avoiding the wizarding district because I'm afraid it'll be more of the same. If this has all been for nothing, I think I'll actually go mad.

Write soon,

Harry

13 November '98

Dear Hermione,

You'll never guess who I saw at Place Cachée! Draco bloody Malfoy! Did you know he'd left England? Did you know he was allowed to leave England? I mean, he was acquitted of all charges, but still! I feel as if this is something I should've known, Hermione.

Anyway, he almost mowed me down in the doorway of the apothecary, and he started apologizing in super-fast French (did you know he spoke French?) before he realized it was me. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt, so that's a plus. And you know how bad I am at small talk, but it turns out, under all his pointy-ness and his ridiculous posh accent, he's as bad at it as I am. It put us in a great position, let me tell you!

Can you imagine us? Blocking the doorway to the apothecary and mumbling at each other? But I behaved. I wasn't at all rude. I did abandon my trip altogether afterwards, though, because the whole encounter stressed me out. I had to go back the next day for my potions ingredients.

Well, this letter was meant to be about my complete invisibility among French wizards, which is a major relief, but I don't have any parchment left. I never knew how much stuff a person has to buy when they move. I have no parchment in my flat at all—I even had to rip my grocery list off the top of this letter. Sorry I'm such a mess.

Miss you,

Harry

22 December '98

Dear Hermione,

Happy Christmas! I hope this reaches you before the holiday, so you can put my presents to you under the tree with the rest. I don't think I'll ever get used to my letters taking so long to get to you. I'm used to hearing back from you a day after I write, and I admit the time between correspondences is starting to get to me.

I know you were hoping I'd return to England for the holidays, but I'm just now getting used to being on my own. I feel better than I have in years, Hermione, and if I go back to England and my name shows up in the Prophet, I think I'll freak out.

Plus, I actually have plans for Christmas (shocking, I know). Well, not really plans plans, but plans all the same. I hope you don't sic a group of Mind-healers on me when I tell you this, but I'm spending Christmas with Malfoy. I know, I'm certifiable, but I saw him again last week, and before I knew what I was doing, I was asking him to go for a drink.

Turns out he's not returning to England for the holidays either—his mum is visiting Lucius in Azkaban, and Malfoy refuses to see the man—so instead of us both being sad and alone, we're going to get a proper dinner with all the fixings.

I'm expecting us to argue about everything, and if we end the night without coming to blows, I'll be more surprised than you were when I told you I was sodding off to France. But, I'm excited about it all the same. There's something about a familiar face—even if it is his face—that's comforting.

Love,

Harry

14 January '99

Dear Hermione,

You were right. I owe you five Galleons. I don't want to hear any teasing, and the fact I won't be able to see your face when you read this letter is the only reason I'm 'fessing up at all. How, in Merlin's name, did you know I would kiss him? You gave up on Divination, remember? You're not supposed to know these things. I didn't even know these things until they happened.

Anyway, we're kissing now. It's a thing. Don't ask me to elaborate, because I'll roast from the inside out.

As for potions updates: I'm still a horrid potioneer. Malfoy, on the other hand, is amazing at it (the prat), and he's since banned me from the potions lab in his penthouse (yes, potions lab! yes, penthouse! He's such a snob) because I burned through his fancy copper cauldron. So I'm moving on to better things: cooking.

Yup, you read that right. Cooking. I was always pretty good at it when I was forced to do it for the Dursleys, so I figure I'll give it a go with real recipes. (Plus, I haven't died yet, and I've been cooking for myself since I got here. I suppose I've got some potential.)

Don't spend your winnings all in one place, you know-it-all.

Harry

24 January '99

Dear Hermione,

This will be short today, sorry. I hadn't actually planned on writing till next week, but I need your advice. I know you said you weren't surprised by Draco's and my relationship, but I am. I'm so surprised, and I feel as though the rug is constantly being pulled out from under me. What the fuck am I doing, Hermione?

Harry

5 February '99

Dear Hermione,

I choked on my tea when I read your reply. I expected your letter to be full of well-worded advice and metaphors I wouldn't understand, so imagine my face when I read the words, "What the fuck do you want to be doing, Harry?" I've never heard you swear in real life, but as usual, it was exactly what I needed to hear—or rather, read.

It wasn't until you spelt it all out for me that I realized how true it was. I really have spent my entire life doing what was expected of me—what was foretold of me. I knew I needed to escape the press when I left, but I think I also needed to escape the person that I was. Does that make sense? Thank you for the advice. I really appreciate it.

I feel as though ending this letter with an update about my cooking would be underwhelming, so I'll just say this: Draco told me my eggplant risotto was the best thing he's ever tasted. That's saying something, considering he's as particular about his food as a toddler who says they like carrots one day and splatters them on the walls the next.

Love,

Harry

9 February '99

Dear Hermione,

I'm about to do something extremely stupid and rash and ill-thought-out. I made Draco a special dinner three nights ago—don't get ideas, by "special," I mean the oysters cost me an arm and a leg—and he told me I should open a restaurant. He might've been serious, he might not have been, but I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

There's this bakery on Place Cachée that just went up for sale, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm going to buy it. It's small, the kitchen is perfect, and it'll be easy to convert the front room into a little dining space. (Draco has already said he has lots of ideas—which scares me even more, to be honest.)

This endeavor might fail in a month, and I might regret it more than that last date with Cho Chang, but I'm going to own a restaurant.

This is all I can write now. Draco's nagging me from the doorway, saying someone is going to snap the place up if I don't get off my arse.

Hope you don't think this is as crazy as I do.

Harry

22 March '99

Dear Hermione,

I can't believe it's been over a month since I've written to you—it's inexcusable, and I'm a horrible friend. Draco tells me the only reason you shouldn't have been concerned about my well-being was because the fabric of the earth was still intact. Apparently, if the Boy Who Lived had succumbed to a tragic death, there'd be locusts descending from the heavens. (Don't worry, I've already teased him about this.) But I am sorry. I'd say it won't happen again, but that'd probably be a lie.

There's just so much to do here! The restaurant is great. We've only been open for a week, but Hermione…I swear I could do this for the rest of my life. I've hired a few people to help me out; we're only open for dinner, so my small staff is perfect. Frankly, everything about this is perfect. I'm stressed all the time, and I worry about everything way too much, but it's a good worry, you know? And a good kind of stress.

In other news, I gave up my shoe-box flat and moved in with Draco. Living with him has been a dream—even if he's beyond annoying about how to put away dishes and the temperature of the bedroom and the way to fold clothes. He also—oh wait, I guess I should say "we" now. That's strange. We also have a guest room, and I'd love it if you and Ron came to visit. It's been too long since I've seen you both, and I finally feel settled here.

I don't feel so lost anymore.

Harry

16 April '99

Dear Hermione,

Draco and I are sitting on our terrace, and he just asked me if I'd like to stay out here and watch the sunset. Sunset is still two hours off, but the only possible answer was yes. I don't know why I had to take a moment—why I felt so overwhelmed.

And now here I am, writing to you while the love of my life waits for me on his ridiculously expensive outdoor furniture. I guess I just need to tell you that I'm sure now, sure in my bones, that I made the right choice in leaving England. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have found Draco. Who'd have thought Draco and I would end up together? Certainly not me. There's so much about us that doesn't make sense, so much about us that other people wouldn't understand—that they'd be surprised by. But I'm no longer surprised, and the rug is firm under my feet.

I was afraid I was running away, but it seems I just ran to find my true place in the world. It also turns out that "place" is actually a person, and I chased him all the way from England without even realizing it. I thought I was fleeing my fate, but it turns out I was meant to be here—here with Draco.

Hermione, I think I'm truly happy for the first time in my life.

Love,

Harry

Thank you for reading! Epistolary novels have always been so interesting to me, so I thought I'd try my hand at writing one. (There's no time like the final round of a competition to try something new, right?) And fun fact! The dates of the letters are all birth dates of my family/friends. It even hit my best friend's and my brithday right on the head, year and all lol. I hope you enjoyed this fic :)

Note for IWSC judges: Firstly, the tswift quote at the beginning is not meant to be part of the story/word count. It's to show where the title came from. Next, for the song prompt, I do not use any lyrics; rather, the sentiments/themes I believe the song emulates — themes of hope, trust, and friendship persevering. I've decided to add this note so my motives were crystal clear!

Hermione reassures Harry that he will always have a place with them (his friends and family) in England — that, essentially, she'll "leave a light on" for him. Secondly, there's the trust aspect — "would you believe me now?" — where Harry is initially suspicious of Draco, but grows to trust him over time (enough so to fall in love and move in together). Also, the entire first verse of the song echoes Harry's feelings about remaining in England, where he is bombarded by both the press and his memories — most notably, the line "thought I was gonna break." And lastly, the line "'you must be so happy now.'" The line is in quotes, implying that the person is not actually happy, and people are just telling them they should be. However, the last line of this fic is Harry admitting that he's truly happy, so I've spun this line on its head.