The Living

by WardenInTheNorth

Harry and Fleur reconnect at Ron and Hermione's wedding. Post-war AU.

Hi everyone!

Most special thanks to the Betas that gave their time to help in editing in this fic. Thank you to Raph, Kellar, HonorverseFan, x102reddragon, and Steelbadger. They, along with me, can be found at the Flowerpot Discord. It's a really great community, and I urge you all to join us over there.

Anyway, here it is!

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Fleur wished she hadn't sat down. But, she wished for a great many things these days.

She wished she had ignored the letter that had flown its way into her hands two months ago, stating that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were to be wed and that she was invited to their wedding reception. And she especially wished she wasn't back in England, at her ex-husband's family home, in their green and lush back garden, awaiting the newly-married couple's arrival.

Throughout her life, Fleur had been very good at wishing. As a child, she would run through the meadows of her own family's home, pulling the newly seeded dandelions from the grass. She'd close her eyes, the seeds would spread, and for a moment, her world and her dreams would overlap behind her closed eyes.

They would come true, too. A day later, Fleur would have the dress she and her Maman had wandered past along the streets of Paris. A month later, her Papa would walk through the front doors of their home with a violin in his hands. And years later, her parents would call her down into the living room, sit her down, and tell her that she would soon have a sister.

At thirty-one, Fleur still played the violin on occasion; she played very well, too. Paris did not hold a single dress that she wished for. Gabby was the most beautiful soul she'd ever had the grace to meet, brilliant, and beautiful, and healthy.

Fleur searched the green grass of the Burrow. She couldn't find a single dandelion as the Weasley had pulled them up and manicured them away. They left only the immaculate, artificial perfection.

Bill was there. He had a new wedding band on his finger. Gold when theirs had been silver. His appearance had changed over the years. At the end of their marriage, he had undergone experimental treatment to remove the scars that Greyback had carved upon his face.

After their separation, Fleur had spent no time at all in England. Mrs Weasley had not yet extended a single invitation to afternoon tea, nor had Bill brought one with him on the occasions that he picked up and dropped off Victoire.

He looked happy. She tried not to look.

Not at his smiling face. Nor at his new wife's smiling face. Or at the adoring look in Victoire's eyes as she looked at her new mother's smiling face.

But Ron and Hermione had not yet arrived, so there was little else to notice. As far as Fleur could see, every other guest had taken their seats.

Sat beside the head table were Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood, already dipping into the wine that sat beside them. Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas were there too, as were Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones.

A cluster of Weasleys sat on the table across from them. The Grangers, low in number but not in voice, were beside them. There was some reserved mingling occurring. The most ardent mingler was Arthur Weasley, his tall red form flitting through the crowds.

Bill was in the middle of it all. The epicentre of everything. His table held Victoire, and he and his new wife, as well as Andromeda Tonks and her grandson. They were all neighbours, Fleur knew.

Mrs Weasley was nowhere in sight. Fleur knew she would be overseeing the catering. She wouldn't be able to stop herself, today of all days.

Outside of the focal point of the bridal couple's families and their closest friends, the rest of the tables dotted around the garden. Most of the tables held people of an age with Hermione and Ron, and they wore muggle dresses and suits. The others, the dim and distant cousins, wore antique robes and sweated through the thick materials under the mild English sun.

Fleur's table was miles away from them. The Weasleys had hidden her in a corner covered by the shade offered by the Burrow's tall walls, the building's highest rooms hovering over her head.

Occasionally, a set or two of eyes would drift toward her in passing fascination. Unabashed, they would take her in. If Fleur cared, she would call it leering.

Such was the nature of her life. C'est la vie.

Over the next few minutes, she planned her evening. Fleur would stay for perhaps a couple of hours. Long enough not to appear the wounded ex, and long enough to see her daughter happy. Then, just as the speeches ended, she would say her goodbyes, if indeed anyone cared enough to notice her. She would offer Victoire the opportunity to come home with her, rather than stay the night with her father. Victoire would refuse, and then Fleur would disappear back to Paris.

In the time she'd taken to devise that plan, a shadow had grown in her view. Eventually, it was enough to wrestle her from her thoughts, as the figure to whom the shadow belonged succeeded in blocking the sun completely.

"I'm sitting here," he said, the brusque statement dulled by the genteel quality of his English tones. "Nice to see you again, Fleur."

"Harry," Fleur said back, the name coming to her lips with only slight slowness. She did not stand to greet him. "You're sitting here?"

He sat down in the chair opposite her and the sun's light returned to Fleur's world, the table's full width separating her and Harry. Only then did Fleur recognise the strangeness that was their table, the only one that held two chairs.

"It was last minute. I didn't think I'd be able to attend at all." Harry smiled briefly. "And you know how Hermione is. Wouldn't change her plans for anything."

"You know her better than I do." Fleur allowed herself to take a journey along the image that Harry offered, adult that he then was. Far removed from the child he had been.

He looked old. Older than Fleur did, and older than his peers did. He wore a beard that had already faded into brown from the black his hair once had been. In his hair, streaks of grey glinted in the sun, and wrinkles formed in the corners of his eyes.

The same wretched scar carved through his face. The same big, solemn eyes pondered the sight of her.

"How is your godson?" she asked. She did not know why she asked. She didn't care about other people's children. No one did.

Harry looked over to Teddy Lupin, who sat, enraptured, as Bill talked at him. From Bill's gestures, he was draping a glamorous veneer over his grave robbing. "Healthy, happy," he said. "Looking forward to learning magic."

Fleur hummed. "I suppose it is of some comfort that you know he holds magical ability," she said, watching as Teddy turned his hair a distinct shade of red. One that forced Fleur to look away, her eyes falling to her left hand. "How is he being taught currently?"

"Andromeda and I teach him." Fleur's head tilted back as she began to appraise Harry. "I take him to as many sports clubs as possible so that he sees people his age, but he's taught by me at home."

"Are you not too busy for that?"

"I left the Aurors a few years ago. Teddy is far more important." He jostled his glasses against his nose. "How is Victoire?"

A question she hated. "Top of her class. I was fortunate enough to get her into one of the better private academies in France."

"She'll attend Beauxbatons?"

"Without question." Fleur met Harry's solemn green eyes. "You ought to think about the same for Teddy."

Harry's spine stiffened against the dark wood of his chair. "Why's that?"

"Hogwarts is not long since burned down." She placed her hand upon the table, twisting the Hessian tablecloth in her hand. "It is a wonderful school, with a wonderful tradition, but Beauxbatons is as immaculate as ever." She gave him a cool smile. "If Teddy were ten years younger, I would not hold any such reservations."

He folded his arms. "I think we'll stick with Hogwarts."

"Why?" Fleur mirrored Harry. "Do you think you're better than Beauxbatons?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "I just disagree with you, and even if I didn't, my opinion is not the only one that matters."

Despite how much she wished to rise from her seat, she did not. "It is hardly a matter of opinion. It's the objective analysis of where a child is best placed to learn."

"Based on subjective reasons."

"Safety is not subjective," Fleur said, her words spoken through gritted teeth. "It is always the problem with you Englishmen. So arrogant. So assured that your tiny little island is the centre of the universe."

Harry sighed.

With the sigh, his back lifted away from the back of his chair. He ran a hand through his hair and his grey streaks glinted in the sunlight. One by one they glinted, as if by marching order.

"Why are we arguing?" he asked. His voice was suddenly tired. "I've not spoken to you in years. We got on then. Why aren't we getting on now?"

Fleur felt her strings snapping. "Pardon?"

"What's the point?" He shrugged. "Why are we arguing?"

"We're not," she said. "We're debating."

"It's irrelevant." He uncrossed his arms to steeple his hands together. "I don't care about what we're saying; I just care about why we're saying it."

Fleur wanted to build her bluster again. For her anger to soar and roar as it always did. She went searching for it, digging at her mind for words to say.

"I don't know," she said. The words felt tiny. She hated speaking English. "I'm not sure why I'm here."

A raucous noise erupted behind Harry as the guests descended into furious applause.

Hermione and Ron finally made their grand entrance.

Harry spun to watch them. Fleur instead watched Harry. She watched Bill too, and Victoire, but she watched Harry most of all.

He did not join the applause; nor did Fleur. His arms rested slack by his sides, his palms open. When the other guests rose to their feet as the couple arrived at the head table, Harry was much slower to move. His focus did not alter at all, however, as he was absolutely entranced by the joyous image that his two childhood friends made.

Hermione was a wonder to behold. Her beauty pulled in admiration as gravity pulled in planets. Harry, her oldest friend, was not immune to such a pull.

For a moment, Harry's face transformed before Fleur's eyes and he was fourteen again. They were at Hogwarts and it was Yuletide and the world was more hopeful. Hermione's dress was blue instead of white and Harry's face was young and clear again.

Harry looked at Ron and he was old once more. Fleur followed his eye, curious.

Ron looked like Bill, except taller and younger. Fleur did not spare him a second glance.

The applause went on beyond what was necessary. Whistles sailed over the din often enough for Ron to begin bowing, which drew laughter, which only prolonged the applause.

Eventually, Hermione reached onto her table and grabbed a wine glass and a spoon. She clinked them together until the guests quietened to a low roar. Then, Mr Weasley placed his finger and thumb inside his mouth and whistled until there was silence.

Hermione laughed. "Thank you, everyone!" she called out.

Ron laced his hand into hers and they took their seats. With brief hesitation, the rest of the guests did too. Harry did so before everyone else, meeting Fleur's eyes with a slight smile.

"Did you go to the ceremony?" he asked.

"I was not invited," Fleur told him. "Did you?"

Harry shook his head. "I had other things I…needed to do."

"More so than Hermione and Ron's wedding?"

"Unfortunately."

Fleur frowned. "The list of such things is very small, non?"

Harry didn't answer her. He turned away and returned to watching the wedding, but mostly Hermione and Ron, and his godson. On occasion, Teddy would wave, and Harry would wave back with a smile. Teddy's hair would turn black, and Harry would smile more broadly.

On occasion, Victoire would look over to Fleur as Teddy would to Harry. Victoire would smile, and Fleur would want for nothing more than to jump out of her seat, rush over to her daughter, and whisk both of them away to France. She'd conjure them both a set of wings and take them far, far away.

"So what are you doing for work?" Fleur asked. Her words grabbed Harry's attention all at once.

"I'm a tutor."

"Presumably for more than just your Godson."

Harry smiled. A flickering sort of thing. "I help students taking their mastery exams."

"So you're a master amongst masters."

"Something like that."

Over Harry's shoulder, Victoire rose from her seat and commenced making her way toward Fleur's table. "And are you good at your work?" Fleur asked. "Do you enjoy it?"

"I keep getting work, and I keep taking it." Harry parsed the tips of his fingers over the front of his hair, the speckled grey glinting. "It's difficult to say if I'm good at it."

"I don't think so." Victoire was rushing over now. "My Charms work saves lives. That is my difference. I know I was placed on this Earth to do one thing, and so I live safe in the knowledge that I am doing it."

Harry glanced over at the head table, but Fleur paid him hardly any mind as Victoire was soon bursting up and throwing herself around Harry's midriff, driving most of the air from his lungs, her face poking around his side.

He turned Victoire in his arms until she sat on his knee. "Victoire!" he exclaimed in earnest delight, mussing her hair. "It's been so long."

Victoire pouted, folding her arms. She hurried to correct the mess Harry had made of her hair. "Dad said I should say hi," she said. Her voice struck Fleur's ears oddly. She spoke English as her father did; the same accent. "You have a beard now."

Harry laughed. He passed the back of his hand over his cheeks. "I thought I'd best cover up my ugly mug," he said. His voice held that peculiar sort of energy that people often used when talking to children. Nonetheless, Victoire giggled. "How was the wedding?"

"So romantic."

Harry gave her a tight-lipped smile that faded quickly into a crooked sort of grin. "Teddy is always mentioning you."

Victoire's skin blushed pink. "I'm cross with him," she said, folding her arms with a huff. "He keeps calling me Vicky, even though he knows I hate it."

Harry frowned. "I'll have a word with him."

Harry looked over to his godson. Teddy waved again, his hair black, and Harry's frown evaporated.

Around the rest of the garden, a low din took the air as the guests grew expectant of their meal. Hermione's head was on a near-constant swivel with the minor calamity of it all.

"Thank you, Mr Potter," Victoire said, at last turning to look at Fleur. "Bonjour, Maman."

Fleur shook her head. "English while Harry is here," she said. "Have you had a good time with your father?"

Victoire nodded excitably. "It's been great!" she said. "Tracey is so nice. She's teaching me all these spells I need to know for when I'm at Hogwarts."

Fleur straightened her spine against the back of her chair, her nose rising into the air. "You're not going to Hogwarts though, are you, darling?"

"But I don't know anyone in France!" Victoire exclaimed. She jumped off of Harry's knee and rushed around to Fleur's side of the table. "All my friends are in England!"

Victoire's words drew curious looks. Fleur shushed her, and her daughter bowed her head slightly. Fleur quickly wrapped her arms around Victoire's shoulders. She carded her hand through her daughter's hair, smoothing it down.

"Then all the better to go to Beauxbatons." Fleur smiled. "You'll meet all new friends, and you'll still have your friends here."

Victoire fidgeted out of Fleur's touch. "No I won't!" she said. "No one's going to like me."

Fleur sighed. "I understand, darling, I do," she said, her words still holding a shushing note, "but Beauxbatons is our school. It's the school that your Mamie, your Tata Gabby, and I all went to. Every Delacour there has ever been has gone there."

Victoire shook away her mother's hand. "But I'm not a Delacour, Maman," she said. "I'm a Weasley. And Weasleys go to Hogwarts."

Fleur inhaled sharply.

She let go of her daughter but kept the smile on her face. "We can talk about this later, and we have a full year before things need to be decided," Fleur said. She cast a glance toward Bill. "Why don't you go and sit with the Weasleys, then. The meal will be ready soon."

Victoire grinned broadly. She kissed Fleur's cheek. "Thank you, Maman," she said. "Dad said that I could stay the night with him, but I needed to ask you first."

"He did, did he?"

Victoire fiddled with the hem of her dress. Fleur had bought it for her especially for the wedding. After a day's activity, it was beginning to fray. "Lena is staying with Dad and Tracey, and she said she wanted to have a sleepover."

Fleur sighed as her eyes drifted closed. Lena was Tracey Davis' younger sister and Victoire's friend. "Of course you can. Just make sure your father has you home by midday. We're going to see Mamie."

Victoire threw her arms around Fleur's middle. It drove the wind from Fleur's lungs. "You're the best, Maman."

Fleur gently guided her daughter's arms off of her. "Off you go, darling," she said. "Have a nice time. Be good for your father."

Victoire gave Fleur one final squeeze before she bounced away. Rather than walking, she skipped all the way back to Bill's side.

With folded arms, Fleur watched her daughter return to the arms of her father, her jaw tight.

She shot Harry a look; he did not return it. First, he studied the Hessian of the tablecloth, but he soon returned to his old fascination.

"So, why are you not sitting with them?" Fleur asked. Her face was still burning. "Why are you here with me?"

"Hmm." Harry blinked behind his glasses. They were as unflattering as they had been in the years before. "Pardon?"

"Why are you sitting with me?"

"Do you want me to move?"

Fleur shook her head. "No. I want you to tell me while you're here."

Harry turned to address her fully, his back to the rest of the party. The guests' din, by then, had grown into a dull roar in their restlessness. "It's none of your business."

"I don't care if it's my business. I want to know."

"Then I guess you're not getting your way."

Fleur's hand dropped to her wand, her eyes pinching closed. Harry caught the movement. He leaned back in his chair.

"Apologise," Fleur said. Her lips hardly moved. "Right now."

"For what?" Harry asked. "If you can tell me what I did, I'd gladly hear it."

"God, you're an asshole."

"I think we both know I'm not the reason you're angry."

Fleur pulled her hand away from her wand. "I'm not angry."

Harry smiled through his greying beard. "Of course you aren't." He placed his elbows upon the table. "Whatever it is we're doing is pointless. We have to be here for however long we're here; there's clearly no way past that. Let's just sit still, be quiet, and pretend to be civil for the rest of the afternoon."

A vacuum formed in Fleur's lungs. She had no air to breathe, and yet her body decreed that she breathe anyway. Her eyes stung with the pain.

"Why not?" Fleur offered. She forced a laugh. "After all, it seems you are most skilled in hiding, 'Arry. We should always play to our strengths."

The low roar of the guests met with the synchronous clatter of a hundred plates and their accompanying utensils appearing from thin air as dinner was then served.

If one had a choice in what they were eating, then both Fleur and Harry were not around for the choosing, as they were both served roast lamb. Accompanying the meat were honey-glazed roast potatoes and asparagus.

One bite alone was confirmation enough that Fleur was being served an undercooked offcut. The lamb was bland and tough.

The wine was no saving grace, either. A saccharine rosé that was already a touch too warm to be properly enjoyed. Truly, the drink's only interesting feature was that when one finished a glass, the glass filled itself anew.

"I imagine all this is quite horrid for you, non?" Fleur asked. She pushed her plate into the middle of the table, nearly untouched. "To see your best friends moving on and leaving you behind. It only makes sense, though." She swirled the rosé around her glass. "The Boy-who-lived. No one makes mention of the man who comes after."

"Subtle as ever, Fleur."

"You know, your being here does make me wonder," Fleur began, her eyes surveying the garden without much focus. With the immediate needs of food and drink catered for, many of the guests began taking notice of their table. Of Fleur and only Fleur. "How does it feel to know your life peaked at seventeen? That it will never get better than that?"

With a stillness falling into his actions, Harry placed his fork upon the tablecloth and regarded her. "What are you aiming to get from this, Fleur?" he asked. "Is it attention?" He looked at Bill. "Is it the fact that over there, Bill is perfectly happy, with his new, younger, kinder wife, without so much as a glance in your direction? Is that what this is?" He took his own glass of rosé in hand. "I just want to know where you're coming from is all. I want to help."

"How benevolent." Fleur smiled. "I suppose what I'm curious of is why none of your friends care about you?" She looked at Ginny; the younger girl's head was still nestled against Luna's, even as they ate. "I mean, take Ginerva. Did she not, once upon a time, claim to love you? Now she cannot even summon the effort to notice you."

Harry laughed. He sounded amused. "Another thing we share in common, Fleur. We can never keep them interested for very long, can we?" He looked toward Luna, and then Hermione and Ron. "There's always someone better. No matter how much we might try, our beauty never stays beautiful for long enough in their eyes."

"I can't imagine that is much of an issue for you these days." Her eyes ghosted over his withering edges. "The years haven't been kind, 'Arry."

He passed his hand along his faded beard, just as he had when Victoire had drawn attention to his facial hair. "But they have been honest." His eyes perused her. Not leering, but rather his eyes watched as one does whilst judging the artefacts in a museum. She hated it more. "Even as time ticks on, you're trapped behind your pretty veneer. Forever telling a lie you never even give breath to. I bet it's exhausting."

Fleur's glass emptied, and then filled. Harry's glass emptied, and then filled. Over the quiet hush and low clinking of the meal, Fleur could hear her own breathing.

She inhaled sharply.

"You're here alone," Fleur said.

"As are you."

Fleur waved his words away with her free hand. "That is uninteresting. What is interesting is why you're here all alone." Her gaze strayed over Harry's shoulder to Hermione and Ron. Their hands held champagne and their eyes held only one another. "For Hermione and Ron to have grown weary of you I totally understand, but it still surprises me that you're just all alone. Stuck playing house with a child that is not yours."

A hairline crack formed along the edge of Harry's glass.

He repaired the broken glass without his wand. The only remnants of his anger were the damp stickiness of his hands.

What struck Fleur most was that he made no move to leave.

"This is pathetic," Harry said. A burning heat had grown to his cheeks. "We're adults. Not children."

He was right. Children had the wisdom to drop pots and pans after they burned themselves.

"So why has the world forgotten you?" Fleur asked. Harry ran a hand through his hair. "You can call me any name under the sun, but my interest does not shift."

Harry didn't answer as a shadow fell over him. By the absence of the great clatter of plates, the meal had mostly finished, and with its end began the migration of guests from one table to the next. Talking to old friends and new, family distant and close.

"You've been gone a while, Harry," said the shadow's voice, thin and wavering as her words floated along the air. Luna's voice, Fleur recalled. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Harry stood at once, drawing Luna into his arms for a hug holding a comfort Fleur had not seen in him before then. He hugged her as if she was his daughter and, by their appearance, such a relation was not ridiculous.

"You look incredible, Luna," Harry said.

Luna had entered into a second sort of adolescence in her adulthood. The sort that made blocks of marble become statues. Harry's hands trembled as she hugged him, and it was as if he was brushing his fingertips over the Venus de Milo.

"I'm…I'm sorry," Harry said. His eyes held a solemn cast, impossibly big all of a sudden. "I've been busy."

Luna smiled. "No, you've not." Harry pulled her from his touch to blink at her. "You won't be here long, will you?"

"Probably not."

Luna turned to Fleur. They shared a smile and, with that contact, Luna looked much younger. A foggy mist shawled her eyes; Luna could not maintain their shared gaze for very long at all. "Ginny thought she'd seen you, Ms Delacour," Luna said. "I must thank you again for letting me stay in your home."

"You've said that more than enough times," Fleur said. "It is the past now."

"But without it, there would be no present and no future." Luna turned on her heel in a half-moon. Back and forth, back and forth. Its apex was Ginny who, Fleur soon learned, was watching their conversation. Its end was Fleur herself. "Are you still working within the Charms field?"

"As ever." Fleur inclined her nose. "Is it still an interest of yours?"

"No," Luna said, smiling again. "The creatures of the world hold enough wonder for me."

Fleur smiled, tight-lipped. "Admirable," she said, "but you were a very good Charms student. It seems a shame to let such aptitude dissipate, non?"

"We only have one life, Ms Delacour." Luna placed both of her hands behind her back. Where before she turned, then she was still. "And a life lived against your own purpose is no life at all."

"But, that is…intangible. When I am gone, my work satisfaction does not remain. The world does not remember if I greet my office every day with a smile or a frown. But, the world does remember the spells I create and the lives I save." Fleur's focus drifted to her handbag. "I must give you the address of a master who I know is looking for a new apprentice."

By Luna's side, Harry studied the rim of his wine glass with a focused stillness. "I prefer to live amongst the intangibles, Ms Delacour." Fleur ground her teeth. "My joy, whilst fleeting, is enough for me."

Fleur drank a mouthful of rosé. "You think you are the only one of us that has any joy in what they do?"

"No, how you live your life is not for me to say," Luna said, her voice as sweet as ever, "I would never presume to tell someone else how they should live their life." She turned back to Harry. "It's been so nice to see you again, Harry. I hope to see you again soon."

Luna took a step to turn away, her eyes finding Ginny, only to stop immediately afterwards. From behind her ear, she drew her wand, conjured herself a seat, and sank into it. A deckchair, with floral patterns and thick cushions.

In her hands, Luna twirled her wand absentmindedly. "I've been seeing a lot of Helena these days." Her voice was softer then. Younger, almost. "Hagrid has been struggling with the new syllabus at Hogwarts, bless him, and I've popped in for a few of the NEWT classes when I've found time." She pointed the tip of her wand at Harry as an extension of her hand. "Have you thought about doing that for the Defence position?"

Harry's demeanour did not shift, despite her haphazard gesturing. "I don't think that'd work," he said. "I'd only feel comfortable with that when Teddy is at Hogwarts, and the last thing he needs is me watching over his every action at school."

"Would you not want to be there?" Fleur asked. "To make sure he is safe?"

"He will be safe. He's at Hogwarts."

"Because you never found an ounce of danger there."

"It is a different school now."

"Those are words of hope, not rationality."

Harry pointedly shifted to direct every inch of his body in Luna's direction. "You were saying, Luna?"

Luna crossed her legs; her left leg over her right. "I've been seeing a lot of Helena these days," she said again. Harry laughed for a reason beyond Fleur's reckoning. "She's much happier."

Harry grinned. "That's wonderful."

Luna nodded. "She's got a new friend."

"Who?"

"Lavender."

Harry drew a sharp, uncomfortable breath. The beginning echoes of a death rattle, by Fleur's ears.

"She's a ghost?" Harry asked.

"Very much so," Luna said. She smiled enigmatically. "I haven't spoken to her much, though. She was never much of a fan of me in her first life. I don't think she ever managed to call me Luna in the five years I knew her." She shrugged, one of the straps of her dress nearly slipping as she did. "I can't imagine death has warmed her to me."

Harry reached out to take one of Luna's hands in his. "I'm sorry."

"Those pains are years away, Harry," Luna said. Her voice held the edge of a whisper. "You were there for me when they hurt most." She paused to regard him. His eyes, mostly. "And now you're here, long after they're healed."

Another death rattle scraped across his vocal cords. By then, Fleur realised that she, just like everyone else in that garden, disappeared from their awareness. Even Ginny, who still watched, forever watched, went unnoticed.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

"Your sorrow is misplaced." Luna smiled. "Lavender's shade, as Helena tells me, disappeared into the Forbidden Forest after most of her left this world — away to the lands of all and nought, as my father calls it — and studied amongst the centaur. She'd even sworn them to secrecy."

Harry smiled. "Did she, really?"

Luna nodded. "So, her spirit learned all that a human could learn of the stars and divination, and then about five years ago, she came to Hogwarts. Since then, the two of them have been inseparable. One soul in two bodies, as Helena says." Luna's eyes dropped to her wand, pondering. Harry went stock still. "Some of the students have begun to call Helena the Lavender Lady. Helena doesn't mind much."

Harry grasped Luna's hand in quiet, unneeded support. "I didn't know ghosts could just…change like that. I thought they were stuck as they'd been before."

"Certainty to magic is oil to water," Luna said. "Many adult ghosts have not changed, but most adults do not change a great deal. Helena, even as an ancient teenager, is a teenager still. Perhaps all her life — both her lives — had been leading up to now. That destiny had finally befallen her, in the hands of the one true student of destiny that Hogwarts has produced."

Harry's hand slipped away from Luna's. "Do you think she'll be able to move on?" he asked. "Does she think she'll be able to move on?"

"I don't think so," Luna said. "Especially not now she has something to stick around for." She stood from her chair. With an errant wave of her wand, she removed her conjured deckchair from this world. "I think it's out of her hands. She'll just have to trust the fates to decide for her."

Luna leaned over to kiss Harry's cheek, her free hand cupping the other. "Am I going to see you again?" she asked. "Or are you going to disappear on me for another six years?"

"I didn't realise it was that long," Harry said, quietly.

Luna smiled. A touch too joyfully, by Fleur's view. "You didn't, did you?" She shook her head. "So, are you going to be back again, or is this it?"

"I don't know."

Luna was still. Her hand did not falter away from his cheek, but she did not move. Her eyes, once so vibrant, calmed.

"Your love is not a curse, Harry."

With that, Luna left Harry. Left their table, and returned to Ginny's side.

Ginny snatched Luna into her arms and pressed an eager kiss to her mouth, her glass of wine nearly spilling with her fervour.

Fleur found herself focused completely on Harry. His elbows rested upon his knees, his mouth hidden behind his palms. Yet, even as he hid, the sound of his breaths rushing through his lungs was inobscurable. By anger or anxiety, Fleur could not tell, as he'd pushed his glasses away from his nose to press his fingertips into the corners of his eyes, then obscuring his eyes too.

"You were not meant to hear any of that," Harry muttered. "Not a word."

There was a strangeness to his words that made Fleur listen.

So, she drank her saccharine rosé until it ceased being saccharine. Until her chest felt light, her cheeks hot to the touch, and her spirit half its age. She had forgotten, somehow, of the giddy joy that wine could bring. In her recent years, wine had served only as the road from her study to her bed.

Her eyes would journey over to watch Bill who, as Fleur then found, was on his own personal journey. His involved firewhisky and his hand. The whisky fell down his throat, and with equal urgency, his hand fell further and further down the backside of his new wife.

Such acts were charming when it had been her arse he'd been grabbing. They'd been younger then, too, and his acts were in direct contrast to the decorum of her own upbringing. Fleur was ignorant enough then to kid herself into thinking they were being discreet, too.

He was close to forty now.

Bill was clever enough to move Victoire and Teddy along to more responsible adults before he tipped his head against his new wife's, pressing a kiss to her brow, and then her cheek, and then her neck. They would disappear behind a crowd, or behind the Burrow itself, or behind a tree.

Fleur could always see. Always.

Over the time spent on these journeys, Harry's breathing faded into quietness, his mouth returned to the view of the world. He sat straight in his chair — incredibly straight — and eventually, he opened his solemn, green eyes to watch the world again.

The reception had gotten into full swing by then. Soft music played throughout the air and, as had happened at Fleur's reception some years ago, a dance floor had appeared from nowhere and taken up a central space of the garden. Some brave souls had even congregated to its most outer perimeter, but none were quite well-oiled enough to dance truly.

"So…so, if I am to guess," Fleur said, having then outgrown her patience in maintaining their personal silence. The rosé in her glass stood tall, Fleur's lips still sticky with her latest swig. "Ginny left you for Luna, and you took it poorly, I imagine because of some misguided lessons learned from your muggle upbringing. You ran away to Merlin-knows-where, and you've not come back since. Ronald 'ated you for it; still 'ates you for it, but 'Ermione insisted you be invited for today. You've grown beyond whatever idiocy took you away, but have not grown beyond the shame of its taking." She folded her arms, her glass resting only millimetres from her lips. "'Ow close am I?"

"You're still in love with Bill." Harry swallowed the fullness of his rosé. Fleur's glass melted under her touch. She allowed it to do so for one or two moments. "How close am I?"

Her anger then, as it seemed to tend to in Harry's company, burned away quickly. In moments, her chest held nothing except the emptiness that her shallow breaths had brought.

She felt numb then. Her arms were heavy, her legs slow, her wand graceless. All that her hands could seem to want to do was drink that horrid, horrid rosé.

"The only good thing about us being like this is that we're not likely to ever see one another again," Harry said. "Andromeda and Bill will take Teddy and Victoire to see one another if they are still friends after you no doubt force Victoire to attend Beauxbatons." He emptied the contents of his glass and then watched it fill once more. "I will never seek you out ever again. Ever. I know you will do the same."

"I don't care enough about you to use what you say to 'urt you."

"And I, you."

Fleur tipped her glass back to wet her lips. "Then, yes," she said. "I am."

The words conjured nothing from her. No weight shifted, no turning of any screw.

"Fair is fair, I s'pose," Harry said. "Yes, Ginny and I separated partly because she realised she was gay. No, I didn't care. I was quite relieved, in fact."

"Relieved?"

"Made a difficult conversation a lot easier." Harry smiled. Flickering, as ever. "Fewer people crying the better, I think."

Fleur rolled her eyes. "So, why did you leave?" she asked. "Why did the world forget you? Why has no one, except your leetle blonde friend, spoken to you?"

Harry sighed. Heavily.

"I left Britain because I was tired of it all," he said. His voice matched the cast of his eyes. "I was tired of being in view of everyone. After the war, I couldn't sleep. I'd go days without eating, and I was responsible for Teddy, and I couldn't let him grow up like that."

"So, instead of going to therapy, you decided to turn tail and run away from everyone."

"And rather than move on with your life, like a grown adult, you're busy pining over a man fondling a girl my age."

"Something like that."

"Then yes, something like that," Harry said. "I moved to Iceland. Teddy spends a couple of days a week with me, the rest with Andromeda. After breaking up with Ginny, I had no reason to stay, so I didn't. Hermione and Ron said I was being selfish, that I was putting myself in front of them again. I agreed, and then I left anyway." He looked into the sky, and then around the garden. "And I've been gone six years and, wouldn't you know it, Britain hasn't sunk into the sea, so I guess I made the right decision."

"And no visits, no nothing."

"No visits, no nothing."

"So," Fleur said, "why now?"

Harry's eyes shot to meet hers.

He didn't speak until she stared back. And, when she did, she found his eyes full of that youthful rage that had once defined him.

"I wanted to make sure I was right. And I don't hate them, nor anyone here. I really love Hermione, and Ron too. They're the people I've been closest to in this world, and if, even now, they think I'm worth inviting to the happiest day of their lives, I'm not the sort of person that's going to disagree. My pride can accept a day's penance." Harry steepled his hands. "Why are you here?"

Fleur hummed. "I wanted to make sure I was right, too," she said. Her voice started strong, but with every word it grew thicker, her throat tighter. "I wanted to see 'ow much it 'urt to see zem together."

"Is this the first time?"

"In-person, yes."

Harry leaned in. "And how much does it hurt?"

Fleur swallowed. Her own death rattle.

"Agony."

Her glass melted in her hands. She did not stop until the glass formed a ball, her rosé a spill on the tablecloth.

She'd had enough.

"And how much does it hurt you?" Fleur asked quietly. "To see the world pass you by. To see your old face amongst your friend's youth."

"Not in the slightest," Harry said. He smiled, the dimming light of the sun making him look smug. "It's a relief, more than anything. When I was young, I thought I was the centre of the universe. That it all revolved around me. It's nice to see I was wrong."

"I don't believe you."

"That's because you've always wanted to be admired." He held his index finger up. "Not desired, admired. You want other people to think of Fleur Delacour and be impressed. To have your name amongst the history books as one of the greats. To have your name in the history books at all." Harry set his glass upon the table. "You're miserable, and you think significance will fill that hole." He rose from his seat. The height that he stood served only to emphasise the wrinkles of his face, and only cast yet more light into the grey of his hair. "It doesn't. I promise you."

"How eloquent," Fleur bit out.

"A lesson I spent a lifetime learning," Harry said. "Farewell, Fleur. I hope we never see one another again."

"Enjoy your misery."

"And you, your loneliness."

Harry smiled, all craggy face and scraggly beard, and disappeared into the crowd.

---

It was a lie, but Harry hadn't come to Hermione and Ron's wedding to tell the truth.

The reception fell silent. The music stopped. The not-quite dancing on the peripheries of the dance floor stopped. Harry, too, stopped.

And, no matter what Harry had intended to do, he was forced to watch, amongst the crowds of faces he half-remembered, as Ron stood, rising above the rest of the reception.

He looked a lot like Arthur then. He had his father's nose. His frame. His awkward manner of moving, with his size more of an obstacle than an advantage.

"Erm, hullo everyone," Ron said, and even his voice sounded much like a pale imitation of the beloved Mr Weasley. Ron searched amongst the sea of faces, and Harry stooped in the crowd. They'd invited him, of course, but he didn't wish for them to clap eyes on one another for the first time in six years then. After years of disappearing, he'd gotten rather good at it, too. "I'll keep this short because I'm sure the last thing you all need to hear is my voice when there's an evening to enjoy."

The crowd laughed.

Hermione didn't. Because she'd finally spotted Harry.

Harry's eyes found hers and never left.

She was utterly breathtaking. Absolutely beautiful.

If the world turned then, it did not for Harry. The sight of Hermione had ripped away space and time, and the Earth and everything that existed around him.

While her eyes were looking into his, the world did not just fade away; it evaporated.

It never was. The sight of her rewrote destiny and eternity and everything. He was a boy of eleven and an angel all at once. Dead and alive. Alight amongst the infinities and a speck in the infinite abyss, glowing only because she drew light from him.

A feeling he'd held for fifteen years. Without reprieve.

Amongst the light of the common room, the library, his dorm room, the Great Hall. When she'd gotten the best marks on an exam and glowed for the rest of the day, and would burst up to him and he would feel like he was laying under the golden light of the summer sun. When he'd done well on his OWLs because he knew she'd be proud of him. When all was said and done, and they'd laid in the ruins of Hogwarts, holding one another until the light of dawn illuminated the tomorrow they could spend together.

Amongst the dark of nights spent together under his cloak, hiding from Professors and prefects. Summers where they would creep into the living room and stay up all night talking about their days whilst the rest of the house slept. Sleepless nights helping her revise for exams in a panic, watching her get every question right and yet continuing because her peace of mind was always always always worth more than his sleep.

One soul, two bodies. Six years had passed, but that feeling had not.

There were a hundred people between them, at her wedding day, and it was the closest he'd felt to another soul in years.

Hermione looked away from him, and the world reappeared with raucous applause.

Ron sat down. Mr Granger was stood up, mid-speech, talking about how delighted he was to see his daughter, his pride and joy, happily married with a man he was so proud to call his son-in-law.

Harry left the crowd at once.

His mind was thoughtless, impressionless. His legs took him out of the garden as he instead sought reprieve inside of the Burrow itself knowing then, of all moments, it was likely to be empty.

He didn't need to see Hermione have her first dance. That was not what he was there for, either.

He'd been twenty-two when he'd seen the Burrow last; a grown man. Oddly, it appeared bigger than it had in his mind's eye. The many renditions of his memories that his mind had called on had cut away much that was not Hermione.

There were chairs in the living room that he only then remembered as he walked around them. Doorways and staircases that existed in the deepest, falsest parts of his brain, yet were then freshly repainting for his mind all over again. New things were there too, with the wedding preparations, but he paid them no mind at all.

Harry wished the garden was empty so he could remember the days he'd spent flying around, looking down to Hermione every so often while she read. He wished those memories weren't staged in the background of someone else's life; that he wasn't interloping on someone else's story.

He'd gotten good at wishing over the years. They never did come true.

And as ever, even as he wished to be alone in the Burrow, he soon learned he was not.

As, in the kitchen, sat at the table was Mrs Weasley. Her nose buried in a handkerchief, her hair mostly grey, her eyes red and damp, but mostly the same as she was in his wretched memories.

Harry knocked softly on the glass of the kitchen door, the sound pitter-pattering its way to Mrs Weasley's ears.

"Hello," Harry said, his voice quiet. He brought his hands together by his navel and fought against the urge to wrench his hands together. He fought against the urge to rush his hands through his hair or move his glasses along his nose. Eventually, his hands escaped themselves, and he gave a short little wave. "It's been a while."

Mrs Weasley stared at Harry just as Teddy had the first time he'd seen magic.

"Is it really you?" Mrs Weasley said. She reached out with her hand, brushing away any apparitions that she might well have imagined. He was still there after her hands stilled. Her face split into a beaming smile. "It's really you!"

Mrs Weasley stood to her feet and rushed toward Harry, and for another moment, he was a child again. She crushed him against her in the warmest hug Harry had received in a decade, and his chest warmed. Beyond the wine, beyond the heat, beyond the occasion.

"It's been far too long," Mrs Weasley said, as Harry let himself be hugged. "I can't believe you decided to come."

"I can't either."

Mrs Weasley brought him at arm's length to allow her to meet his eyes, and she knew. Of course, she knew.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

He didn't look away. There was nothing else he would wish to hide.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Mrs Weasley said. Her eyes glistened. "It's not your fault; how you feel." She gave him an odd look. "You look so different now. I could hardly recognise you."

"I'm sorry for disappearing for so long."

She shook her head. "All that matters is that you're back." She turned toward the kitchen counter. "Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?"

Harry nodded. "Coffee, if you wouldn't mind. I can get it myself if you'd want?"

Mrs Weasley shook her head. "I've not had the chance to feed you for years, and you think you're taking this from me?" She laughed to herself. "No chance. Sit yourself down, and I'll get you a drink."

He did as she bid him to, sinking into the chair opposite her own as she flitted around the kitchen. The chairs were not as comfortable as they'd been in his memory, where he'd spent hours upon hours with Hermione, making coffee after coffee for her as they talked and she read to him passages from her favourite novels.

Harry had not liked coffee at first. He'd not gone a week without since.

"How was the ceremony?" Harry asked.

Mrs Weasley stopped her rushing for a moment to shrug. Harry had never seen her shrug in all his years. "It was nice enough," she said. "Honestly, after so many, they all start to fade into one."

"Thank you for saying that," Harry said. "What was it like, really?" He smiled, scratching his cheek through his beard. "You can tell me. I'm not going to break."

For several, long moments, Mrs Weasley did not speak. Only when she had dropped his mug in front of him and sank into the chair opposite did she reply.

"It was really, really lovely," she said. "I've never seen Ron happier than he was when Hermione said 'I do'. He cried when she walked down the aisle. I cried at both of their vows." She rested the back of her hands at her hips. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Harry sighed.

"Of course not."

"Then why did you ask?" Mrs Weasley asked.

"That's why I'm here." Harry swallowed the first mouthful of his coffee. It burnt his tongue, but he did not slow. "To confront the truth, no matter how much it hurts." He laughed. "I need to be reminded that I can't have everything sometimes, I think."

"Oh, Harry."

Harry slammed his spine into the back of his chair.

"What?"

"Well," Mrs Weasley said, her voice little more than a breath. "What have you had?"

"More than my fair share. Two more lives than everyone else," Harry said. He could feel his heart race with the caffeine. "I have a question for you, though. Why is it that you're in here, anyway?"

She laughed. "You don't need to worry about me, love. I was just having a moment to myself."

"Do you want me to go?"

"Not at all!" Mrs Weasley said, reaching out to grip his arm loosely. "I'd much rather have your company."

"If you're sure," Harry said. "So, why're you in here?"

"Never mind that." She swatted his arm. "How's Teddy? You know he's welcome here any time."

"I think Andromeda would kill me."

Mrs Weasley huffed. "Never mind her too. He's as good as my grandson, and he's welcome here whenever you like."

Harry shook his head, fond. "Teddy is really happy. But I think he can't wait to be free of me."

"They're always like that. They never realise how good they've got it until they're gone." She had a sip of her coffee, and winced with it, too. "Bill was exactly the same. Never came home for Christmas, hardly ever wrote. And now?" Mrs Weasley threw her hands up. "First one to Sunday roast."

"I can't imagine what it's going to be like without Teddy."

"It'll be quiet, at first, but you'll soon find things to keep you busy. Howlers to write, for one." Harry chuckled. "You find you get a bit more of your own life back, too."

He sighed. "Yeah."

Harry's eyes shot down to study the bottom of his mug. He pinched his eyelids together, his jaw forced tight.

Of all the places he could've been, he was here.

Mrs Weasley rushed around the table to drape her arms across his shoulders, drawing him into her.

"You'll be okay, Harry," she said. "You'll find someone else."

Harry tried to laugh but found his throat too dry. "I've found someone already. She's perfect, really," he said. "Only issue is that she's married. To your son."

Mrs Weasley rubbed his arm. "You're not the first person in the world to want something they can't have." She scoffed. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't wish that I have my Fred back. There's not a moment on days like today that I don't want him to be standing beside Ron in the pictures."

She shook her head.

"There's always a gap in them. Always a space that can't be filled." Mrs Weasley laid her cheek on his shoulder. Her voice became watery. "And you, my dear Harry, have only made that space bigger. You're never here. Ever." She sobbed. "We — I needed you. And you were gone."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I…"

Mrs Weasley lifted her head to wipe away her tears. When she finished, she brought him close again. "I don't blame you. I don't. Merlin knows you'd never choose this for yourself. But why did it have to happen? It's like the world never gave you a chance."

"It gave me plenty." He swallowed. "I never took them." Harry stood up suddenly, brushing away Mrs Weasley's arm. "I ought to go. I—I knew this would never work. I should've just stayed at home."

She clutched onto his arm, even as he stood. "Harry, please…."

"I just can't. I'm sorry, but I can't." He swiped his hand beneath his glasses. "All I find here is what I don't have."

"But what about all the things you're leaving behind? That you've left behind?" Mrs Weasley pleaded. "So, so many people here love you. Ginny, Luna, Me, Ron. Ron still bloody loves you. Still." She stood up to her fullest height. Mascara had smeared her eyes black. "Hermione loves you. And if you loved her, you'd stop being so precious about the way she loves you, and you'd love her in the ways that you can.

"Love isn't jealous, or greedy, Harry. It's selfless. It's putting someone else before you again, and again, and again." Mrs Weasley brought her hands to her hips. "You say you love her? Then prove it. Love her and stay."

"No."

Mrs Weasley gasped.

"No," Harry said again. "I came here to see if it still hurts, and it does. It just does. I—I don't need to be hurt every day of my life to know whether or not I'm in love. I love her, and I can't have her. I was never an option, and I can live with that, but I don't need to be told it every fucking day of my life."

He turned his back to her and faced the door.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Weasley," he said. "I—I think this might be goodbye."

Mrs Weasley sank to the floor, her knees colliding with the wooden floorboards.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, Harry. Please stay."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, for one final time, before leaving the Burrow, and leaving Mrs Weasley.

---

By the time he returned to the world outside, the speeches had ended, and the music was loud and fast. So the first dance had been and gone, too, by Harry's reckoning.

He had seen enough for one day. Heard enough conversations. Spoken enough words.

The party, by then, was in full swing. His old peers were well-watered and had taken to dancing arrhythmically about the Burrow's garden, soaking in the early evening sun. Harry didn't search amongst the faces, however.

His last port of call was Teddy. By long-standing agreement, the weekends were Harry's time with his godson, but he imagined that tonight would differ from their usual rhythm.

Harry found his son standing beside Andromeda. Teddy was watching the dance floor, but not joining the fray, even as the other children his age filled the space. His head bobbed frenetically with the pace of the music, his foot tapping along, his hair even cycling its colour with the beat, but he never rushed forward.

When he caught sight of Harry, he jumped into the air, his hair darkening into the black Harry's once had been.

Teddy leapt at Harry and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist. Harry rustled the wild, raven hair he'd then affected.

"Hi, Dad!" Teddy said.

"Hi, sweetheart," Harry said. Over the boy's head, he met Andromeda's eyes. They shared a smile. "Having a good time?"

"The best."

Teddy's eyes were bright and lively. They made Harry smile.

"Are you not going to dance?" Harry asked.

"Not until Vicky gets here." Teddy shook his head emphatically. "If I don't dance with her, she won't dance at all."

"That's very good of you, Teddy." Harry frowned. "You know she doesn't like being called that, though."

Teddy's bottom lip jutted out. "But when I try to say Victooare, she just laughs at me!"

"That's not very nice of her," Harry agreed. "And I'm sorry that she does that, but just because she's being nasty, that doesn't mean you have to be too."

"I know."

Harry ruffled his hair. "She's your best friend, right?" he asked. Teddy nodded under his hand. "Well, I think she'd like her best friend to put a little bit of effort in and learn to say her name properly. Or, until you do, maybe you could ask her if there's a name she would like to be known by?"

"Yes, Dad."

Harry hugged Teddy. "Good lad."

"Oh, Dad!" Teddy then called, jumping in his excitement. "Uncle Bill said that I could have a sleepover with Victooare and Lena and Molly and Fred." It took Harry a moment to remember that he meant the children of Percy and George. "So can I go?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Just make sure you let me know what time you're going to be back."

"Thanks, Dad!" Teddy said, nearly squealing. "You're the best."

"Just be good for Uncle Bill."

"You know," Andromeda said, her voice regal as ever, "if he's too late, he can get dropped off straight to me. You can have the Sunday to yourself."

"I've not got much on," Harry said. Beneath him, Teddy watched their conversation as if it was a tennis match, his head to-ing and fro-ing. "Honestly, you have him most of the time anyway. I'd hate to impose on you so much."

"It's no imposition," Andromeda said with a careless wave of her hand. She wore a grey dress that impressed upon any who saw it that its wearer was of the highest class. "I love having Teddy around, and you'll still be over on Tuesday to take him to Diagon Alley, won't you?"

Teddy loved going out with the two of them. With Andromeda so young for her age, and Harry so old, most people thought they were a proper family. Teddy grinned incandescently whenever a waiter or shop assistant assumed as such.

"Of course," said Harry. He bent his knees to meet Teddy's eyes. "What do you say, Teddy? Where would do you want to go?"

Teddy worried his bottom lip between his teeth, his forehead scrunching in concentration. "Well, Grandma did tell me we could go to the cinema, and I haven't been in ages!"

Harry smiled as warmly as he could. "Sounds great," he said. He reached into his jacket pocket, fishing out a tenner. "Buy yourself some sweets from me."

Teddy stared at the floor, bashful. "If you're sure…"

"Have fun," Harry said, patting Teddy on the shoulder. Over Teddy's head, two streaks of silver-blonde snapped into view. Victoire looked giddy, taken by the excitement in the air. Fleur's face held that odd sort of smile that adults indulged children with. "Looks like you can finally start dancing."

Harry turned Teddy around until he was facing Victoire and Fleur. The boy bounced with excitement. He could not remain still for long.

Teddy rushed out of Harry's hands to rush up to Victoire, dragging her along with him to the dancefloor. The act left Fleur far behind, discarded, and social pressure pushed her toward Harry and Andromeda.

Only Andromeda, in truth. She didn't spare Harry a glance.

"It's good to see them getting along so well, isn't it?" said Andromeda, after she and Fleur exchanged kisses on their cheeks. "I do worry after Edward after, well you know, but it's good to see him so well adjusted."

"Quite," Fleur agreed. The wine-haze had disappeared from her piercingly blue eyes. "I'm so sorry it's been so long since I saw you last."

"It's alright. I imagine your work keeps you busy enough."

"That is true. Quiet days are rare."

"And your family is very well to do, aren't they?" Andromeda asked. "I hear hundreds of stories about your sister and some charity or another."

Fleur sighed. "What a relief," she said. "I worried for a moment you'd heard about her boyfriends."

They shared a laugh.

"I'm going to get off," Harry said, startling away their joy, their eyes fixed upon him at once. "I have an early start in the morning."

Neither believed him, Harry knew.

Then again, every word they'd spoken had been a falsehood. Spoken as if there was a taboo on the word divorce.

He hugged Andromeda before leaving. A quick, affectionless thing.

"If Teddy needs anything," he said, "I'll be there in a heartbeat."

"Of course," Andromeda said, quick to leave his side, quick to return to the comfort that distance offered. "Enjoy your evening, Harry."

He nodded. "Nice to see you, Fleur."

"And you, Mr Potter," Fleur said, her voice quiet, little more than a mutter.

Harry turned away from the party without a second glance and aimed himself to a field in which he could apparate. He did not use the appointed area of apparition as he could spot one or two bodies there, and then he wished to be well enough alone.

The music, once loud, faded until it was pleasant, and then to its most pleasant. Silence. The golden hour of the evening was upon the south of England, and in the distance, fields of golden wheat as far as Harry's eyes could see.

Soon, the pure green grass of the Burrow abruptly ended, which signalled the end of what the law deemed their land. Of course, the house was remote, and so there were still hundreds of meadowy fields stretching left and right, up and down.

There, the grass grew to his waist, and the dandelions were bountiful. Wildflowers were everywhere, and Harry walked amongst them. His hands grazed against the flowers as he walked to the gate that opened to the field that he aimed for.

It was, Harry recalled, the field that Dumbledore had apparated them into, in the summer before his sixth year. The field had been more of a bog then, but this year's summer had proved hot enough to drain away much of the moisture from the earth.

A pop sounded in the air.

"You're leaving."

He knew that voice.

Harry stilled.

"Seems so," he said. He didn't dare turn around. "Why are you here?"

"Because you're here."

"And I matter more than your wedding?"

Hermione didn't answer him. But she did place her hand upon his shoulder to gently turn him around.

Harry did not know why, but he did turn for her.

Hermione was…Hermione.

The one person he knew himself to be born to love. Wearing a wedding dress with a hem poking through the grass and her hair breaking free of whatever constrictions she'd placed upon it.

And the most beautiful sight Harry had ever seen.

Hermione stood in the everglow of the sun. Her eyes, her hair caught by it. She smiled when they caught one another's eyes, and even then, he wanted to live inside the world of her joy, and in the glow of her.

"I didn't think you'd come," Hermione said. She still smiled. Thank God.

"I wasn't going to," Harry admitted. "Up until…well, about two hours ago."

"I left a space for you in the church."

"I can't imagine you were surprised when it stayed empty."

"Not really, no," Hermione said. She brushed away the hair that laid upon her neck, and God, even then. "But I still hoped you would come."

Harry's jaw tensed. "Why?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "What?"

"Why did you want me there? " Harry asked again. "Why did you invite me?"

"Because…because you're my best friend. You've always been my best friend, and even now, I can't think of anyone I want beside me on the biggest day of my life more than you."

"Why are you lying?" Harry asked. "Why are you lying now, of all times? You gain nothing by it."

Hermione's hands curled into fists. "I'm not lying."

"Yes, you are." Harry ran a hand through his hair. Hermione uncurled her right hand to do the same. "We're not friends. Not now. Not in the future. Nor in the past. Especially not the Forest of Dean."

Hermione jumped as if she'd been struck.

"It seems like the truth and you don't know one another very well anymore," Harry bit out.

"That was a mistake."

"No, it wasn't." Harry shook his head. "If it was a mistake, we wouldn't have kept making that mistake for years." He closed his eyes. "You wouldn't have told me you loved me. And you wouldn't have meant it."

"Harry," Hermione whispered. "We were at war. And that was a decade ago. Everything has changed since then. I've grown beyond that."

"So, Ron knows?"

"You know he doesn't."

"And why doesn't he know?"

"Because he wouldn't understand," Hermione said. "He doesn't need to live in doubt. I love him, and that's all that should matter."

"I'm sure it's wonderful to plan a life with someone you have to lie to at every turn, lest his fragile ego implodes," Harry bit out. "He left us, Hermione. In our darkest moments, we only had one another. Me and you. And we made it out because it was me and you."

"And you've been gone what, six years and three months?" Hermione asked. "You abandoned me far longer than he ever did." She wrung her hands out. A tic she'd long since grown out of, or so Harry thought. "That's the problem with you, Harry. You exist in moments. You think because you're there to save the day that it makes up for the times you're gone chasing your own tail."

"I just…I just can't see you two together," Harry said. "I can't see the woman I love choose someone other than me. And I especially can't watch you lie to yourself, and be with the wrong man." He stopped. "If that — If that hurting too much to see means that I've abandoned you, then yes I've abandoned you. I'm sorry."

"You still love me?"

Silence.

Pure silence.

And then.

"Of course I do," Harry said. "Why would I be here if I didn't?" He ran a hand through his hair, which by then pointed in every direction. "Even now, all it takes is one word from you and I'm here. Loving you is the only thing I've ever been really good at. It's the only thing I've ever really wanted to do."

"And when you were with Ginny?"

"Killing time. Both of us were." Harry shook his head. "It's all I do these days. And I'd like to say that I don't want to love you, that I wish I felt nothing and that I was callous and distant to it all, but I'd be lying. You're all I want. Have been since I was sixteen. Even after you left me the second Ron came back, and never apologised or even talked about it."

"I wish you didn't," Hermione whispered. "I want my friend back."

"I know you do," Harry whispered back. "This doesn't change anything, does it? We both already knew all this. You're going to keep being a coward, and I'm going to keep throwing my fucking head against a wall."

Hermione's arms shook with how tightly she clenched her fists. "So this is goodbye."

Harry shook his head. "We said goodbye years ago. Six years and, what was it, two months ago?" Hermione nodded automatically. Harry took a step forward. "Question is: why are you here now?"

She did not answer immediately, though nor did she move away after his advance.

"Hope," she said. "Hope brought me here."

"Hoping that I'd changed how I felt?"

"Hoping you'd grown up."

"Once upon a time, you used to like how committed I was."

"Before I knew it had neither direction nor limit. Before I knew you would let it ruin us."

Harry took another step forward. Hermione stood still. Neither meeting nor fleeing.

"So, what?" he asked. "You followed me out here, and for what?"

Hermione swallowed.

"I don't know."

"So, on your wedding day," Harry said. He paused to allow his words to take the air, and to take another step forward over the dandelions. "You left that all behind to hear the same words you heard six years ago?" He shook his head. "I don't believe it."

Harry took another step closer.

"I think you've realised that you've made a mistake, but your pride isn't letting you admit you could ever be wrong. You thought you were picking the safe choice, the smart choice. You could have your perfect little life, with everything you wanted," Harry said. "Except now, you're married to a coward, and all you see in your future is a lifetime coming home to a weak-willed manchild that would run at the first sign of trouble. So, you'll shave away all the parts of yourself that scare Ron until there's nothing left."

Harry was close enough for his shoes to brush against the hem of her bridal gown.

"And now, you're here. You've given me nothing for six years, and I still love you because I know that love is not a service. Love is a bond. One that neither time nor space can shift," Harry said. "There is not a single part of you that I do not love, and will not continue to love. If our time apart proves nothing, it proves that."

Hermione studied the hem of her dress. "I don't love you, Harry," she said. She let out a quiet sob. "I don't."

"If you didn't love me, you wouldn't be standing here. You wouldn't have come to me."

Harry took one more step toward her. Until they were sharing air.

Hermione pushed him back. Her warm, brown eyes squeezed closed.

"I don't love you," she said. Her voice was even; it shook Harry's bones. "I didn't come here to run off into the sunset with you because I'm not a bloody child." Her arms remained outstretched, to force their distance to remain. "I…I don't recognise you anymore."

"I haven't changed," Harry said, his voice as soft as a sigh.

"You have. You don't look like you anymore. You don't feel like you anymore," Hermione said. "Before, I used to feel so safe around you."

"Doing what you are supposed to can feel scary, Hermione." He chanced another step her way, meeting her hands. Her wrists eased backwards, but her arms remained as they were. "You've let yourself get comfortable. Not safe. Comfortable."

"No, Harry, I haven't. I've grown up. I've moved beyond who I was at eighteen." Hermione's eyes opened. Their warmth had cooled. "You're right, actually. You haven't changed. I have."

She dropped her hands and took a step backwards. And then another. And then, another.

"You've loved me. You've loved the person I've been, but you don't love me as I am now, because you don't know me. You're still the same eighteen year old following his first impulse until it damns him, in a rotting body. Still incapable of allowing himself to be happy. Still incapable of just living, without some grand, terrible purpose." Hermione smiled. A beautifully easy smile. "Feel free to love me for the rest of your days. Feel free to rot your life away in that saccharine love you hold so tenderly. I will never return it."

Hermione took another step away, and then another. She stared at Harry without a hint of doubt.

Harry had no words. But he could not look away.

"I hope you soon find the next great catastrophe, Harry," Hermione said. "It's the only place you've ever truly belonged."

Hermione gifted him one final smile.

"Goodbye, Harry."

And she disappeared with a pop.

Harry sank onto the tall grass. He sat amongst the wildflowers and the dandelions.

The world was cold down there. The wind had picked up, and then a gust blew in that ran through his skin and his sinew, kicking up dust and dirt from beneath the grass upon which Harry sat.

There was a storm in the air. Hidden behind the furthest reaches of the bright summer evening, lurked high pressures and dark clouds. This day was humid and sapping, but tomorrow the rain would soak the world through and through.

Summer would end soon. Autumn would come and Teddy would go, and Harry would be alone. Ice would soon take the nights and the crops would be reaped or they would die, and then the sun would hardly warm the world at all.

Winter would rip away all the dandelions and the wildflowers, and the crops and the grass. The sun would disappear for some days, and the snow and the ice would take its place. And then spring would come, and the world would go on again. Forever and ever.

Time would not stop. The relentlessness of time would not bend to mortal hands. It would march and march and march and march and march and and and and and and and and and…

Harry would stay as he was. Tired and alone.

Such is life. C'est la vie.

A shadow loomed. It crept up on him. Beginning as only the slightest of disturbances, but soon growing long and terrible, stealing the light of the sun.

"And how much of that did you hear?" Harry asked. His voice was no more than the dust that scattered on the wind.

"Enough to know you're a liar, 'Arry."

There stood Fleur. Endlessly beautiful Fleur. Timeless Fleur.

The sun would die before her beauty.

Harry felt numb. And he felt old.

Fleur held out her hand. Harry met her eyes and took it to pull himself to his feet.

"I have no desire to be alone tonight," Fleur said. "And I grow tired of pretending." She paused as the wind whipped around them. "You have nothing better to do than to join me, and so you will."

Harry's legs faltered in the grass. "Why?"

"Because you should be with someone now who understands. Even if we don't like one another, we know the pain we share," Fleur said. "My house has fine wine, and a nicer kind of silence. The winds there will not rattle your old bones."

Fleur tugged gently upon his wrist.

"Come," she said. "We are not made to be alone."

---

Paris was light.

The sun danced along the Seine and the white stones of the city's architecture gleamed. Underneath Harry, the city's people flooded through the streets like the blood in his veins, from one organ to the next, and the next, and the next.

Bars filled. Cafés filled. The bridges along the river bulged with people, throwing them over the water. For so many, it seemed, their aim was the Eiffel Tower, which stood alone, spearing into the sky.

To the very distance, Harry could see the edges of the Louvre peeking around the bend of the Seine over the top of the Concorde, glowing directly under the setting sun.

The air was still. The air was warm.

Harry and Fleur stood on a balcony on the highest level of an apartment complex. Behind him, a door stood which would lead into Fleur's apartment, though Harry paid it no mind; Paris proved too interesting.

The balcony was small. Space enough only for a table and two chairs.

Harry took one, Fleur took the other. He turned to address the city, rather than her.

"This is my apartment," Fleur said. "These words will mean nothing to you, but this is Trocadéro. The magical arrondissement of Paris is beneath us. Invisible to the muggles, I assure you."

For the first time in his memory, Harry found Fleur's voice calming.

"There are no purely wizarding areas in France, save for some of the châteaus my peers and their families bought in the last century or so," she said. "My family owns the only château bequeathed by a King still standing. The others were destroyed, either by Napoleon, time, the revolutions, Grindelwald, or Hitler."

Fleur drew her wand and directed it toward the door, summoning a bottle of wine and two glasses. They flew toward the door, but just as they met, the door gave way and the wine bottle and glasses sailed onward. Onward, to Fleur's hand.

"Have you lived in Paris long?"

"Since the divorce," Fleur said. She poured as she spoke. A Burgundy, by the bottle's inscription. "There is only so much lonesome sea air I could take before I longed for the rush of people again."

Fleur passed along his glass. Harry took it without hesitation.

The wine was dry. An acquired taste. But already it was leagues better than the rosé they'd suffered.

"How is it?" Fleur asked.

"Fine," he said.

"And the air?"

"Warmer."

"Good," Fleur said. She gave him a smile that was very nearly warm. "Have you spent any time at all in France?"

"Hardly any," Harry said. Already, his glass was half gone. "An afternoon or two, a few years ago."

Fleur tipped her head back and allowed the full contents of her glass to caress her mouth.

"This will not work," she said suddenly. "What happened with you and 'Ermione?"

"Pardon?"

"You know exactly what I asked." She poured herself another glass. "You are not here to hide, nor do I care enough for you to allow you to hide. What happened?"

Harry studied his wine. Held the glass to the setting sun and watched the colour lighten.

"I loved her. She loved me. She chose someone else."

Fleur waved him away with her glass, sending the Burgundy into tidal waves up and down the sides. "That is what always happens, 'Arry. That is what happened with me and Bill. It is uninteresting. In the details lay the intrigue."

Harry finished his glass. Without a look, he passed it to Fleur, who filled it once more, and returned it to his waiting hand.

"Though what came of what we said before were lies, the sentiment remains true," Fleur told Harry. "We are among rare company. Aware, and yet indifferent. And truly, after this evening, what else have you to lose?"

Harry studied his wine.

"The human mind craves stories, 'Arry," Fleur then said. "We must have narratives that allow us to traverse from one moment to the next. Our universe may be cold, and painful, and random, but our experiences are not, because we may interpret them purposefully. It is how we find peace in this life."

"And what?"

"You have been writing your story for years. It must be heard eventually, or you will never find peace." Harry caught her smile in the corner of his eye. "So, tell me your story. Of you and 'Ermione. You have the setting, the audience, and now you have been given its end."

Harry shook his head. "Why do you care?" he asked. "Earlier today, you never wanted to see me again. I can't imagine much has happened that would make you change your opinion, save for you wishing to laugh at me."

"I did not change at all. But you did. In my eyes, you did." Fleur laughed; the sound plucked from the strings of a violin. "I thought you were some young greybeard. A creature of ash and oaken misery, but truly, there is still youth to you. Still some life you have not yet managed to waste."

"And you wish for me to waste the last of it with you."

"No," Fleur said. "I wish to see how a good man died. How one of the finest heroes this world has known came to covet his best friend's wife."

"I didn't covet her."

"But you wanted her, non?" Fleur gave a quizzical hum. "You desired her?"

"As she desired me."

"Then tell me how," Fleur said. "Tell of how you surrendered yourself to sensuality to one who has done the same."

"I doubt our lives are quite so parallel."

"Yet, we are both still here. Alone." She finished the last of her glass. "My marriage to Bill was one such surrender."

"Hardly a failure. It gave you Victoire."

"If children were our life's only purpose, we would still live in caves. I am more than Maman, just as you are more than Dad." Fleur gave Harry a long look. "Or they should be if one were to make any true attempt at happiness."

Harry had no words, and so finished the last of his glass instead. Fleur, as ever, took the empty glass, filled it, and passed it back.

"The story, 'Arry," Fleur said. "You are not telling it to me. You're telling it to yourself. I am only here to let you."

The wine had warmed him by then. The sun was gently setting over the top of the Louvre, the Seine ran true and unending.

They had been there before Harry had even been a thought, let alone a person. They would be there when he was gone.

Harry looked over to Fleur, her blonde hair gilded in a celestial halo. A heavenly body.

"It began in the summer when we were sixteen," Harry said. "I lost Sirius and I learned of my supposed purpose. I saw the path I was to walk and realised the only person I would ever walk that path for was Hermione. For five years, she'd always chosen me. She had always put me first, and no one else did that. No one. It took me a while to realise what that meant, and when I did realise, I did the same for her."

"And what did it mean?"

"That she loved me. That I loved her." Harry smiled. It flickered and then died. "So, in that summer, we were inseparable. We barely talked to anyone else. I didn't want to talk to anyone else."

"Hermione hated me then."

Harry smiled. "She was envious of you."

"You found that charming?"

Harry sighed. "Yeah," he said. "But anyway, the week before we left for Hogwarts, we kissed for the first time. And, because we were fools, we stopped talking after that." He smiled a dying smile. "I had a lot going on, and I suppose I wanted for Hermione to bridge the gap between us."

"But she didn't," Fleur said. "She went where she felt she was wanted."

"She went where she was needed," Harry said. "The real world then held what she truly wanted, and it called for her to be brave, and instead she got scared and ran to the safest, easiest place she could find."

Fleur grinned. "And what did they say to you, when you found out?"

"Ron bragged. Hermione didn't say anything, at first."

Harry emptied half of his wine.

"At the end of our year at school, she would send for me. Send me letters to meet with her without Ron knowing," Harry said. "And I would go, and it was…wonderful. It would be like summer all over again. She was my one oasis as everything fell apart. The one person that made me feel like a person."

Harry laughed, hollow. "And Hermione would tell me the nicest lies. She'd say that she was going to break up with him next week, and then next week, and the next week. That it was all pretend with him, and what we were doing was real, and the only reason she was still going out with him was because she didn't want to hurt him by breaking things off suddenly," he said. "And I'd believe her. I'd believe every word she'd said. And God, when she said that I was her soulmate, and we were born for one another and that nothing else mattered other than that, I'd believe her then, too."

He emptied the other half of his glass, his cheeks flushed with the drink. Fleur summoned another bottle, having polished away the last of the first, and set about pouring him another drink.

"Then the three of us were on the run. And when I'd wear that locket, the only thing that kept me going was Hermione. Ron left." Harry shrugged. "Ron left. He left Hermione. He left us. He left. And I didn't care, because it was proving what Hermione had been saying to me in private for a year. It was a relief, truly. I could finally have the person I was born to love."

Harry met Fleur's eyes. He anticipated boredom or cool disinterest, but not their blue depths alight and fascinated.

"I only had two months with Hermione, but they were the best two months of my life. It feels ridiculous, but it's true. Despite the fact we were running from our deaths every day, and we had nothing to eat, and nothing to do except panic, and I had a Horcrux around my neck that tried to kill me every second of every hour of every day, having Hermione made it all worth it."

"It is not ridiculous," Fleur said, her voice surprising Harry. "There is very little else to live for, other than love. It can make the darkest places…light."

"We slept together for the first time then. Both of our firsts. We had a Christmas together. I saw my parent's graves for the first time with her. We made plans to run off and leave England behind completely." Harry smiled. "We were going to run away to Canada, and we'd get married. We'd pose as muggles. She'd go to university, and I'd work on the farms and lumber mills to help her through. Eventually, she'd be a Professor, and we'd have our own little house, and we'd have kids, and by then the ICW would've intervened with Britain, but we wouldn't even go back. We'd just grow old and happy and grey together."

"That sounds lovely," Fleur said, smiling around the rim of her wine glass.

Harry grinned back. "It does, doesn't it?"

"So, what happened?"

"Ron came back," Harry told Fleur, and the joy upon his face died. "And it was as if nothing had happened. Hermione forgot it all in an instant; she forgave Ron just as quickly. Never mind that he'd abandoned her, and how happy we were, she just threw it all away to play at something she'd never be happy doing.

"We had moments after that. Moments where Ron was out collecting firewood or searching the area around our camp, and we could be as we were. And we would be. I'd skip sleeping on the days that Hermione had her night's watch. When we were at your cottage, we'd send Ron away with you and Bill so we could be alone. And, when I went off to Voldemort, I came back for her. Just for her."

"And then," Fleur said, "the war ended, and so did you and Hermione."

"Not even then," Harry said. He swiped his hand across his cheeks to cool the growing heat. "Even when we were at the forefront of the wizarding world, we would disappear for days together. I'd have a case, and she'd have a diplomatic visit but instead we'd disappear off to Canada together."

"And Ron and Ginny never knew?"

"Ron didn't, no. Ginny knew, but she was too busy with half the Harpies' team to worry overmuch, so we came to an agreement. I would tell no one that she slept with women, she would tell no one about Hermione and me."

"She would not tell her own brother?"

"She cared for him too much to shatter the illusion," Harry said, his face twisting into a grimace. "Or she was too weak to bear the news." He swallowed a mouthful of wine. "So, that is how we lived for four or so years. With one another, but not, to spare the feelings of a coward. Then, the news of you and Bill came out."

"Of his affair," Fleur stated. "With a woman young enough to be his daughter."

"Hermione got scared then. She realised her perfect public life would shatter as Bill's did. So…she ended everything," Harry said. "And I knew she was making a mistake, so when we were both at the Burrow together, playing at being the Happy Weasley Family, I took her to their garden and I proposed to her. And when she said no, she said it loud enough that the rest of the Weasleys heard."

"So, you left," Fleur said. "Ran to Iceland, because your beloved loved you no more."

Harry sighed. "Something like that, yes."

"Or, ze more likely, that she never loved you in ze first place. First, she was pragmatic, and knew that to win ze war, you would need to have a reason to keep going, so she gave you one," Fleur said. "And afterwards, she loved ze power she held over you and kept it for as long as she could."

Fleur stood then. She walked to the edge of the balcony, her long blonde hair swaying in the gentle summer breeze.

Harry drew breath, but no words came.

"And so, you have wasted your adult life loving a woman who would never return your affections," Fleur said. "She is a brilliant woman, but a better liar. And she would ruin your life, your friendships, and your happiness, all for her whims."

Fleur offered out her free hand for Harry to take. He did not move, but after a gentle smile from Fleur, he did. Harry stood beside Fleur at the edge of that Balcony, with all of Paris at their feet.

"She made a game of your life for ten years, and today, she won," Fleur said. "She is now with Ron until she finds better sport elsewhere. So, today is a good day. The first day that you are free of her game."

Harry met Fleur's eyes.

"So, what now?"

"Now, you may crawl from your cave, and see ze rest of the world again. You are hurt now?" Harry nodded. "You've hidden from zis pain for years; now you cannot. Now you may never forget it. Zis pain will not go away. You will live with it forever, just as I do. But now, joy may come again. You may become a person again, not some…miserable husk as you were."

"And if I don't," Harry said. "If she is truly the love of my life, and today is the goodbye to the one person I could be happy with."

Fleur smiled warmly, her lips burgundy. "You have such a young man's soul," she said. "'Arry, the world is bigger than Hermione. Now, after today, your world may be too."

Harry squeezed Fleur's hand, and then stared out into the city of Paris, and thought of what Dumbledore had once said to him.

Do not pity the dead, but pity the living. Pity those who live without love.

And as Harry stood above the world around him under the light of the sun, he rose above the pain that had swallowed him in the years before. His mind was tired with it, his bones ached with it, and his heart scraped against his chest with it.

But then, Harry rose above it.

Then, he was little more than flesh, bones, and magic, he knew. He lived, and he lived pitifully. A failing body, a thoughtless mind, and a covetous heart.

He was tired. But then, he rose above his weary self. He did not turn to the door.

Instead, he watched the sunset with Fleur.

He had only one life. He had wasted good years, but time had not yet conquered him fully. Time would forever turn its relentless turn, but Harry would suffer it no longer.

The sun set to his west. Over the Louvre and, looking further, over England. He had seen enough of there, but the world was still his to see.

Harry was a young man still.

---

By the day after the wedding, the Burrow was quiet again, especially in the morning. Even as the sun rose, hardly a soul moved.

The kitchen was empty, the garden empty. The guests remained in their beds, sleeping beyond their usual rest.

Except for two.

Teddy and Victoire had slept late, far beyond their usual bedtimes. But, they had woken early, conscious of their limited time together before they were forced to return to their families.

And rather than walk the well-plotted grounds of the Burrow, they decided to go exploring instead, in the fields that surrounded the Weasley home. It was rare that either spent much time at all there, so they made the most of the opportunity.

"If we get lost, then we don't have to go home," Teddy had said, as they meandered through the fields, the navel-high grass and the head-high wheat. "And we can stay and be best friends forever!"

That had sold Victoire well enough, and so they'd gone tearing away in the countryside as far as their legs could carry them until, eventually, they came upon a field unlike the others.

This one had dandelions.

"My Maman taught me about these," said Victoire, clutching a handful of the wildflower, seeded but unflowered. "All you have to do is close your eyes, and make a wish, and when you blow the seeds everywhere, all your dreams will come true." She separated one of her dandelions from the rest. "Like this."

Her blue eyes closed, her forehead scrunched in thought, and then she blew upon the dandelion.

Her eyes opened to a storm of wishes.

Teddy watched her, and then took one of her dandelions, as she offered them in her hand. He closed his eyes, and then he too sent the seeds flying everywhere.

"So, what did you wish for?" Victoire asked.

"I'll tell you if you tell me yours."

Victoire bit her bottom lip.

"I wished that we could see each other more," she said. "I like being your friend so much, and because of you going to school at Hogwarts, I'm never gonna see you again."

Teddy smiled.

"I wished the same," he said. "Honestly, I don't see why I can't just go to Beauxbatons." He folded his arms. "My dad says Hogwarts is really boring."

"You don't know French."

"But I could learn it," Teddy said. "You learned it, so how hard could it be?"

Victoire slapped his arm. "Take that back!"

"I'm sorry," Teddy said, contrite. "But you could teach me, and then we could go to school together, and it'd be amazing."

Victoire grinned suddenly.

"Or, we could set Maman and Mr Potter up together, and then we'd never even have to say goodbye to each other!" she said. "We could hang out all the time."

Teddy thought then, for a moment. Of his dad.

Then, he grabbed the rest of Victoire's dandelions, closed his eyes, and made a hundred thousand wishes.

And he laughed, and Victoire laughed, and they spent the rest of their morning picking dandelions until the sun reached its zenith and, with it, brought Auntie Luna. She was walking from the Rookery to the Burrow.

As she was walking she spotted Teddy and Victoire, and apparated over to them.

Luna smiled. "Having fun?" she asked, as she took notice of the multitudes of headless dandelions around them.

"Yes, Aunt Luna."

"Have you seen Hermione anywhere?" Luna then asked. She met Teddy's eyes. "Your Dad told me something this morning, and I need to talk to her."

"Is Dad alright?" Teddy asked.

Luna nodded, grinning. "I think he is better than he's been in a while, love," she said. "It's just something for an article he thought I should write." She bent at the waist. "So, neither of you have seen Hermione?"

"I think everyone is still inside," Victoire said. "Everyone seemed really tired last night."

Luna gave her a smile, and then drew both of them into a hug.

"Be safe, you two," Luna said, meeting their eyes. "Take care of one another."

Luna apparated away, leaving the two of them to lose themselves playing in their field until the skies started to darken, the sun hid away, and a storm came rolling in.

---

There it is!

Thanks for reading, and feel free to let me know what you thought.

Until next time!