As usual, the standard disclaimer applies, since I do not own anything from JKR's Wizarding World, and have no intention whatsoever to make profit out of this hobby.
Warnings
Character deaths, self-harm, implied intercourse. (Nothing drastic, but still rated M to be safe)
A/N
First and foremost, I would like to thank and acknowledge all my amazing beta readers from the Flowerpot Discord server, without whom this story would have been a mess.
So thank you to gomez36000 (a.k.a. Liberty Prime), HonorverseFan (a.k.a. LTCMDR Michal Drápalík), DavidtheAthenai, x102reddragon, hannibal1234, NerdDragonVoid, and a few anonymous reviewers.
About this one-shot, I wished to warn you, my dear reader, that this is my first published work. I have written this piece for a community exercise by the Flowerpot discord server. If you want to check out the amazing pieces done by the other authors for this event, check out the full collection at fanfiction DOT net/community/Flowerpot-Garden-1/133114/ (remove the blank spaces and replace the dot). And don't forget to subscribe to this collection to be notified of the upcoming stories, as we are planning to do this again!
You can also find all the authors from this one-shot collection on Discord with the following link: discord. gg/Np2zjAH (again, remove the blank spaces)
(And you will get to meet all my wonderful beta readers there too!)
Enjoy.
-o- -o- -o- -o- -o-
It was finally time. Time for him to die.
He was still seeing his parents from the corner of his eyes. Standing beside him, invisible to the rest of the audience.
Time crawled to a halt.
Almost.
The sickening, green light of the Killing Curse was still approaching him.
But even if he could have moved, he wouldn't have avoided it. He had accepted his fate. He was always meant to die, to be reunited with his family. Never had he been meant to truly live. He was a Horcrux, and one of the last two stains on this reality preventing Voldemort from finally dying. He'd trust Ron and Hermione to finish his job. Neville too, at least for the snake.
The jet of light was almost upon him now. Among the jumble of thoughts and memories coursing through him, one particular thought suddenly stuck itself at the forefront of his mind. He had cheated Fate. He was never meant to be happy, or to taste what living felt, but he had. He had been truly alive with her. A small smile graced his lips. Tearing his eyes from the green spell, he moved his gaze heavenwards as he mouthed "Merci Fleur."
And he knew no more.
He was lying on the hard, cold floor. His body shivered slightly at the sudden chill on his skin.
Now that he thought about it, he was feeling the chill on his naked skin. What was he doing lying there, au naturel? Where was he?
He pried open his eyes, but he had to blink several times, blinded by the pure white light assaulting his eyes.
After a few seconds, he sat himself up, ascertaining his surroundings. This place was familiar, yet it felt different. He was lying on an octogonal bandstand, surrounded by well manicured French gardens, about a hundred yards away from a renaissance style mansion. But instead of the vibrant green of the grass and hedges, swaying in the gentle warm breeze, and the colourful flower beds lining the gravel paths, he was surrounded by a muted, chilly greyscale version of the Delacour home.
Realisation suddenly hit him like a rogue bludger.
He was dead.
Images of the last hours rushed through his psyche, dizzying him slightly, as he remembered what he had done, and why.
"So this is what my afterlife will look like..." he mumbled, transfixed by the house in which he had made the best memories of his short life. By far.
He tore his gaze away from the house, towards the south, and the sea visible in the distance, at the foot of the narrow valley. Looking at his new home was too painful for now because he knew she wouldn't be there.
He got up and walked towards the railing. Leaning against it, he reminisced about the most glorious memories of his life. Two years ago, he had arrived here by portkey, on this very pavilion, to visit a friend and stay safe during the summer, away from the turmoil in the UK.
He had met his new family, for the first time he had truly belonged.
Apolline and Jean-Philippe had been amazing to him. Never before had he understood what he had missed his whole life. He was now convinced that this was how a family was supposed to interact.
On his first day here, Apolline had taken him to an out of the way room, and she had asked after Cedric. At first he had thought she was extremely blunt, uncaring and impolite. But he worked through his own revulsion, his self imposed rules not to talk or think about Hogwarts's Champion. And after a while he had noticed that it was becoming easier for him. By remembering the good times with the Hufflepuff seeker, honouring his best deeds, and recounting how his qualities shone through, Harry had changed what came to the forefront of his mind when Cedric was mentioned. From then on, he thought of the man Cedric was instead of how he died, and he figured it was a much better way to honour his memory.
That was the first of many times Apolline had guided him to face his demons, to accept his past and rebuild on top of it. Caring for him, she had simply listened to him. She had escorted him on the road to recovery, and before he knew it himself, she had become his surrogate mother.
After Cedric, the next order of business had obviously been Sirius. And while it had been much harder to help Harry with his own guilt, the process of remembering the good times instead of the deadly battle had been much smoother this time around. Still, Apolline being the amazing mother she was, succeeded on both counts and had him realise he didn't hold all of the responsibility for his godfather's death. The blame for such actions should lie on the adults responsible for him, and even more on the murderer, not on a teenager, even one as hotheaded as Harry was.
That was still a bit hard to accept, but Harry figured he might be able to see Sirius again now he was here. Wherever this was. He hoped he could meet his lost ones soon even if what he saw now was his new family's home. He thought his biological parents wouldn't be too upset that he now had two sets of parents. He had his mother Lily and his father James. But he also had his mum Apolline, and his dad Jean-Philippe.
Where Apolline had helped him with his own personal issues, Jean-Philippe had all but officially trained him to be more socially aware and active. He had taken the family out to many places. From a theme park -Harry's first- to the gigantic museum of Le Louvre. From a movie at the theatre, to a night at the opera. From a dinner at a fast-food, to a charity gala at a magical ambassador's residence. From a muggle shopping district to a haute couture fashion show for wizards robes. And through all these experiences, he had taught Harry the ropes of human interaction.
Jean-Phi had a very hands-on approach to 'teaching'. That meant that he would give Harry a couple of vague tips, and playfully throw him into a group of strangers to put these pointers into practice. The man had even pushed as far as to implement the 'throw' literally a couple of times. To create interesting situations according to him… Surely it had been interesting enough to watch Harry squirm in front of a group of gorgeous Veelas during a family reunion. After he had nearly ripped apart one of their dresses as he clung to it in a vain attempt to remain upright, he had proceeded to land face first right between the woman's legs. He had been teased mercilessly for half an hour afterwards, his face burning redder than a setting sun all the while.
But behind the fun and lighthearted banter, the sensible adult also had some more serious subjects to teach the young man. He made sure Harry understood that there was a mutual responsibility between them now. The Delacours would protect him, they would take the brunt of any repercussion one of his mistakes could cause.
"That's what you do for your kids," dad had once said, shocking Harry into silence. In return, their new son was expected to behave himself, and think of his family before taking any drastic or ill-advised course of action. That had definitely struck a chord after the Department of Mysteries debacle. Harry had come out of these varied situations with a renewed confidence in himself, and with a lot more practical experiences to draw from. Not to mention all the great memories he had made along the way with Fleur and Gabrielle.
Speaking of which, Gabrielle, he had very quickly adopted as a little sister. She was the epitome of sweetness, the very image of innocence. Always lively, happy and smiling. Exactly as a child should be. Playing with her was the best way to clear his mind from any fear, or doubt, or worry. When he was with her, he was simply living in the moment, enjoying every second of it.
Many days had started with Gabby taking him by the hand, and dragging him from the breakfast table and outside towards the grounds and forest. They'd spend some time playing hide 'n seek in the gardens surrounding him now, building cabins in the woods on his right, or playing tag on their brooms on the makeshift Quidditch pitch over there at the very bottom of the garden, behind the maze of hedges. And suddenly night would be falling, with Harry having no recollection of where his day had gone.
Fleur was another matter entirely, with her caring nature, her self-assurance, her fierce protectiveness, her ambition, her gentleness, her beauty, and everything else that made her unique, that made her Fleur. She had quickly become his newest best friend. Sometimes fun to banter with, others a shoulder to cry on. They spent most of that month of August together, be it day or night, chatting the hours away. They'd discuss Charm homework in the morning, go out for a sandwich and a dip at the beach at noon, and talk about their past in the evening, tucked away in a comfortably charmed bench on the grounds.
They had no taboo with each other, and both shared some of their stories for the first time. Harry talked about how hard it had been to live for 10 years completely ignored by the whole world, except by people who would torment him. Kids can be really cruel. Fleur talked about her time at Beauxbâtons, where she too had felt utterly alone. For years on-end nobody, except her family and professors, would talk to her out of jealousy, or disgust, or both. Thankfully Beauxbâtons was not a boarding school and she could get back home every night, feeling like she was still loved. And she also had her revenge when she was chosen as the most worthy of them all the year before.
In less than a month, he had fallen head-over-heels for her. It took him some time to understand that what he was feeling was actually romantic love. She was his first, and by the time he realised it, he was helpless to stop it. And then there had been what they would later call "the dancing around phase", where he thought she might like him a bit, but he wouldn't believe it himself. His self-confidence had been boosted, yes, but not that much. She was Fleur Delacour after all. So he'd pine for her, silently despairing about his poor chances.
Until one glorious summer night, when she had had enough of his tiptoeing. She had kissed him down there, within the maze at the bottom of the garden, hidden from view behind a hedge. He still hadn't believed it. Not before she had forcefully silenced him for his stupid, babbling comments about 'not deserving her attention', by kissing him again, much more fiercely.
That had gotten through his thick skull at least.
The week afterwards had been the best of his life up to that point. But of course it had to end quickly. He couldn't be left alone to be happy now, could he? No, he had to go back to Hogwarts for another miserable year, where he had felt more alone than ever before, what with his friends ignoring him most of the year. Thankfully Fleur had kept him sane through this ordeal, through anonymous mail since they couldn't afford to expose her identity.
That's when Dumbledore went and got himself killed.
He sighed and dropped his head in his hands, his elbow now resting on the railing and supporting him upright.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he forced himself to look back out to sea, and to keep thinking positive.
He had spent the first part of his summer here again. Without the shadow of a doubt, that had been the best few weeks of his life. He had spent time with Fleur and with his new family, enjoying every second of it all. Fleur helped him again with all his issues and worries, especially coping with Dumbledore's demise. He had by then seen people die three years in a row. Three deaths for which he felt he held most of the responsibility. But she supported him, and helped him through it all.
Her family helped again too, Apolline with his guilt, Jean-Philippe with his self-worth, and Gabrielle simply by brightening his days. For the first time in his life he had felt truly normal, loved, wanted. And he could never repay them enough for that.
Another thing went better than ever that summer. Himself being in a better mental place had helped his relationship with Fleur to grow, to deepen, and to flourish. They laughed, they talked, they were happy together. They were two teenagers simply in love. It was perfect.
"Better than my dreams," he remembered thinking every night as he fell asleep.
They understood each other, they clicked. It was simple yet beautiful. But the relationship was not only a mental compatibility, they also attracted each other and they grew closer each day. And as the month of July waned, their relationship became more physical, one step at a time. Up until his birthday where Fleur had a very personal gift for him.
He smiled, still able to bask in the amazing afterglow of that night with the love of his life.
But quickly he sighed again. He knew what came next, and he didn't exactly look forward to reliving these memories. Unfortunately for him, he was not able to stop his mind from continuing with its train of thought.
He had had to return to the Burrow the very next day to start on his mission with Ron and Hermione now that he was of age. The day where the Ministry had fallen, triggering a chain of events that had led them on the run for nearly a year until finally they ended up in Hogwarts.
That had been where he learned he was a Horcrux.
As a result of his misguided moral compass, he had had to go and die. Because it was the only way to finish off the monster that had robbed him, and so many others, of a normal, happy life.
Now he only had to wait here until he could see her again. But obviously by then she would have met someone else, married, made a family. So why would she want to spend her afterlife with him? Bitterness clawed at his insides as he contemplated the opportunity he had wasted with his sacrifice. He actually wanted her to move on, to live a long and fulfilling life. But irrationally it still hurt him immensely to imagine her with another, faceless prick. Then again, love had a tendency to be irrational. Or at least that's what Apolline had told him once, even though he hadn't understood it at the time.
"I'm stupid," he chided himself for believing, however briefly, that he could still have any claim on Fleur's future now that he was dead.
"I hope you'll find it in yourself to forgive me, Fleur. I couldn't keep my promise and come back to you."
All his dreams of a future with Fleur were crashing and whirling in his mind, as he forced himself to keep in focus why he had forfeited them, why his death was necessary for Fleur to be safe.
Tears starting to well up in his green eyes, he continued "I really do hope you'll be safe, away from the war, and that you'll be happy. I love you so, so much."
Taking a ragged breath, he finally croaked "Thank you."
And with that he let the dam break. He silently sobbed, tear filled eyes unseeing. Droplets rolled down his face, making their way slowly down his neck, down his still naked body.
Quite suddenly, warm, soft, gentle arms encircled him from behind. A moist cheek rested between his shoulder blades, long hair tickling his back.
"It's alright Harry, I have nothing to forgive. I am happy, and I love you too," a voice he would recognise anywhere whispered behind him.
How? Why? Panic gripped at his guts and he whirled to face her.
"Fleur! W-what..." he spluttered. "What are you doing here?"
And with a heart wrenching plea clear in his eyes he waited for her to answer, for her to deny the conclusion his mind had reached to justify her presence here.
When no answer came, he felt his body tense.
And it got worse when Fleur stared down to the floor, with something in it akin to… was it shame?
"Fleur?" He asked, his voice trembling. "Please, talk to me."
"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered, barely audible even in the all-encompassing silence they found themselves in.
"S-sorry? Sorry for what?" Desperation now tainted his tone. "What happened? Were you attacked during the year? Was there a raid I wasn't told about? And what about your family, is everyone okay?" He hurried to ask in a single breath before Fleur silenced him with a gentle finger on his lips, raising her gaze back up to meet his. Her amazing blue eyes were shining with unshed tears and it was tearing his heart apart to see it.
"I'm sorry because I never told you the full truth about myself, about my heritage." He frowned slightly at that, his questioning look never leaving her, but he kept silent. After taking a steadying breath, she let her hand drop to his chest, above his heart and continued "I'm here because you are."
"Wh-"
"Shh. Please wait for me to explain this, Harry."
Another sigh.
"I'm dead because you are dead, because on your last birthday I chose to intertwine my life with yours. I bonded my magic, my life, my love with yours. And after doing that, I cannot live on without you by my side."
"B-but why would you do that? You knew it was so dangerous because he was after me! And I know you, you wouldn't forfeit your life easily. There's something you are not telling me..."
"Of course, you are right," she said with a soft smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't exactly want to bind my life to yours. It was more a side effect of what I decided to give you that day. You see, a veela can not do that without actually choosing her lifelong mate. Our first one is supposed to be our last one, though very few still adhere to this tradition." she elaborated as Harry's eyes widened in horror-struck realisation.
"Why didn't you tell me? I could have waited. It was too dangerous Fleur!"
"I did not want to wait anymore. It was my choice."
"But it was so risky! And now I'll have to move on, knowing I caused your death too. Another life forfeited for the Great Harry Potter," he countered, dejected.
"You didn't cause my death Harry-"
"Yes I did," he cut her off, "I as good as killed you myself by stepping in front of Tom's killing curse."
"No!" she cried out. "You did not cause my death, and you certainly did not kill me. It was my choice, my desire to become one with you, in more senses than one. I knew the consequences and I still did it. If I had to do it again, I would, alright?"
"No, it's not alright, because you didn't know everything. I was a Horcrux. It means a piece of Riddle's soul was latched inside my head. I had to die for Tom to become mortal again, and I did just that. When I learned about it I went to him, and I let him kill me. You are dead because of who I was, because of what I was! You were safe in France, you could have waited for the war to pass and met someone else. You could have rebuilt, you could have had a future. You could have been happy. And I robbed you of this. I am as much of a monster as he is now!"
Shaking her head slightly, Fleur wiped a solitary tear that finally managed to escape her glinting eyes. Her voice cracking with emotion, she argued, desperate for Harry to understand, to believe her.
"I pledged my life to you because I love you Harry, and you alone. Je t'aime! Nobody else could have made me as happy as you do."
"Still, you could have found someone else to be happy with. Even if you think you wouldn't have been as happy, you would still have been loved. You would still have had a full life with a family. And now I ripped you from any possible future. I. Killed. You. And it's on my conscience."
"No! You didn't know. I didn't tell you that by doing what we did I would be bonded to you. I didn't want to burden you with this knowledge, because I wanted you to feel as happy and as loved as I felt while in your arms. I made that choice, and I do not regret it. I will never regret it because you completed me. You were my one true mate and I'm forever grateful for it."
She kissed him. It was featherlight, and barely lasted a couple of heartbeats. But this got through to him at last. Where words failed to convince him, the raw, pure love she poured into this single kiss settled his nerves. At least they were together, and they would be forevermore.
Separating from him, her hands still resting on his bare chest she said with a horribly fake smile. "I'm going to miss you." Her unconvincing cheery tone fooled no one.
Tensing again, fear settling a cold mantle on his mind, he blurted "What do you mean?"
"You have to go back, only you can finish this."
Still confused, he repeated. "What do you mean?"
Taking him by the hand she guided him out of the bandstand. In his highly stressed state he didn't even notice how she was as naked as he was. Her perfect figure swayed with grace at her every step, silvery hair flowing down her back. A few months ago — scratch that — a few hours ago, he would have worshipped her body, but right now he was so overcome with dread that he didn't even savour the moment. Reaching the bottom of the steps, she took him off the gravel path, onto the plush grass and directed him back to the base of the pavilion's foundation, next to the stairs. There in the shadow lay a horribly malformed baby-thing, oddly reminiscent of Voldemort before the ritual to revive him.
"This is it. I don't know how I know this, but that is the piece of him that was inside your head. And that is what will die today because of the killing curse you took. You will return soon, and we don't have much time left."
She kissed him again, more passionately. And he reciprocated with unabated love and desire. But his thoughts wouldn't settle, so he broke the kiss and rested his forehead on hers.
"But, Fleur… What about you? I can't leave you here!"
"Yes you can, and you will, Harry. And let me make myself crystal clear here: I forbid you to waste your life in a stupid hotheaded suicide mission. You get your ass back out there, finish off this monster, and then you will live a long, full, and happy life like you deserve! Do you hear me?"
He knew he couldn't answer that question truthfully, and he didn't want to lie to her. So he stayed silent.
"Do. You. Hear. Me. Harry?" she practically growled, fire burning in her eyes.
He didn't want to go back. He wanted to stay there with her.
A new set of tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, because deep down he knew he had no choice in the matter.
He never had any choice in his life when Fate could interfere.
No sooner had that realisation hit him than he felt it.
Just like that, before he could think of an answer.
Before he could say a last goodbye
Before he could tell her how much he loved her.
He was pulled back into his aching and battered shell, deep into a damp and foreboding forest. Deprived of her warmth that would never grace him again.
Fleur Delacour
7 Août 1977 - 2 Mai 1998
Fille, sœur, obligée,
trop tôt arrachée mais jamais oubliée.
You were truly 'Better than my dreams'.
-o- -o- -o- -o- -o-
"Hello dear, I know you didn't expect me until Sunday, but today is a bit special." Said the man as he knelt in front of the weathered but well maintained marble gravestone. A hint of sadness tainted his otherwise casual tone.
"I know you wouldn't want me to feel like that, but today I just can't help it. Today I can't ignore that I am the reason you are dead. I just can't… Forgive me," he finished in a whisper.
As he absentmindedly tended to the grave and its surroundings he soldiered on, despite his raging emotions. "And I can't take the guilt anymore. Not alone."
"I miss you."
"I miss everyone."
At that point he froze, his gaze unfocused towards the distant sea. Immobile in the silent dawn until the rising sun hit his face, alighting it with a false glow, a false life. A bystander would now be able to make out his features. There was a young man that couldn't be more than 20, with his smooth face, and his jaw not yet fully defined. He wore tattered yet clean black garments, and his frame seemed brittle. As if he had given up on everything, and a simple shove would break him.
But there were no more bystanders. He was all alone. Alone with his warring thoughts, hidden behind a bland mask of indifference. His black hair was all over the place, and could have been endearing, had he taken the least bit of care. Instead it made him look unkempt. His eyes, once full of emotion and determination, were now dull. Lifeless. His waxen skin was pale and drawn, blemished only by that iconic scar on his forehead. He looked like death warmed over, but just barely.
Yet, despite his gaunt looks, his mind was alight with too many conflicting thoughts, and he was alert, recalling all the joys and tragedies he had lived since she had been taken away from him. Unfortunately, the tragedies far outweighed the joys.
The first hit had been losing Ron. Ironically, he had quit the Aurors barely a few weeks before to work in a less dangerous occupation. He had his growing family to think about. But Fate was a bitch, and the last Death Eater raid of the 2nd Blood War took place in Diagon Alley where he now worked with George. Of course Ron was a true hero, and he couldn't stand-by and wait for reinforcements. He went out there and battled the monsters with all his might. Saving numerous lives at the price of his own. Harry had just entered the Alley with his team when he saw Ron fall, using his last breath to send a Patronus to his pregnant wife. Ron's expression in that instant was still scorched into his memory. Clearly on display on Ron's face, Harry had seen the bittersweet pain his friend had felt, thinking about his best memory with his family to send a final goodbye to his beloved wife. Hermione had never shared with anyone the content of this message, but she never failed to cry when it was mentioned.
A few years later Molly passed away. She had slowly withered away after losing two sons, so when the illness took over her, she didn't have the strength, nor the will to fight anymore. Arthur had never been the same afterwards. The Weasleys had always been at the forefront of the fight against bigotry and had paid dearly for this. Over the next few years, Harry had lost and buried the entirety of the first family that had hosted and loved him.
Finished with his manual ministrations, he got his wand out, and started casting a wide array of vanishing, cleaning, scrubbing, and polishing charms at the grave of his beloved. He had done this so often that it had now reached the level of muscle-memory for him. It was a ritual ingrained in his very being that he could perform without any conscious thought. Which was too bad really, since it freed his mind to continue on its depressing road.
Teddy had been the next hard blow. His godson has succumbed to a freak accident at his work in the Department of Mysteries. Of course they had never known what really happened. He had been the first one of the next generation to go.
"It was way too soon for you Teddy." Harry mumbled, lost to this world. His eyes had started shining with unshed tears, and as hard as he wished he could stop himself, he knew it was a battle already lost. This particular train of thoughts would inevitably carve its way through him daily, with the subtlety of an insulted hippogriff. He knew what was coming but he was powerless to prevent it.
Just like he had failed to prevent the death of his daughter.
Gulping visibly at that thought, he fought down the bile that rose in his throat because of the painful constricting of his stomach triggered by his own guilt. Blinking away the prickling in his eyes at the sudden pain, he forced himself to concentrate, to focus on something else.
He conjured an intricate wreath of white lilies, and set it down on the marble slab, against the headstone.
Sighing deeply, he despaired that this distraction only relieved him for a mere instant.
Rose hadn't been his actual daughter. But after Ron's death he had moved in with Hermione to help her cope with her loss, and to assist her with her children. He had never left. He had stayed there and, together with his best friend, they had raised Rose and Hugo. He had been the missing 'Father figure' of the house, and he had loved these two as his own.
Which is why it had hurt so very much when she had died in his arms, barely a week before her wedding.
And it had hurt even more to hold a grieving Hermione in his arms a couple days later, knowing that it was his fault, because he had missed the clues that showed it wasn't an accident but an assassination. A political warning aimed at her mother, who was campaigning to become Minister.
Some Auror he was…
He knelt down on the now shining slab, and traced the epitaph with the tip of his fingers. So many funerals he attended. So many graves he visited. Yet the pain never lessened.
To her credit, Hermione had stayed strong. Stronger than he himself could have ever been. So she had ploughed on, refusing to let the sacrifice of her daughter's life be in vain. And she had succeeded, obviously. She became Minister and stayed in office almost 30 years, until she passed away at the ripe old age of 72. She had slowly killed herself with too much overwork and too little sleep. Naturally, she had had a national homage, praising her for all her achievements. And the next day they had started tearing down all the policies she had implemented. This had led indirectly to the Secrecy War, and Hugo's demise.
Looking up at the sky again, he observed the puffy greyish clouds above him. The ever-present reminder that dust was yet to settle. It looked like it would rain that night. The tomb would need another cleaning next time to remove the ashes.
Ashes...
Hugo had told him at his mother's burial that he wanted to be incinerated rather than buried. He had argued that a grave would only encourage those he left behind to keep visiting him instead of moving on with their lives. This had been a prophetic discussion, as a couple of years after Hermione's passing, the muggles found out about the Wizarding World because wizards had grown complacent again. Their lack of foresight and understanding had first induced diplomatic incidents with the muggle governments, which in turn escalated into skirmishes, before eventually war broke out. By that time Hugo was already a well-respected veteran Auror in his fifties, and he was Harry's partner. Together they had been called to intervene in a skirmish taking place in central London, near Diagon Alley. They had gone there and Hugo had died like his father, a hero. He had sacrificed himself to save several hundreds civilians from a rampaging Fiendfyre. And yet again, Harry had to bury his child.
"No parent should have to bury his children, ever."
By that point in his recollections, Harry had started breaking down. His head lowered, shoulders sagging, fists tight, he had scrunched up his eye in a vain attempt to slow down the flow of tears.
"It's too cruel." He was taking great gasps of air to stop his sobs. He had lived through 2 wars, unscathed. But he had lost so much. So many loved ones.
"Too unfair."
The only one he had left by that point was Gabrielle. She too had lost too much.
"Because of me," he couldn't stop himself from thinking bitterly.
Yet she had always been there for him, always by his side. And he had always been there for her. Like true brother and sister, they had helped each other one day at a time, to cope with their immense losses.
At least that's what he had believed until she too had died, at the venerable age of 141 years old.
When, with her last breath, she had told him that she had always loved him.
That she had stayed by his side to help him cope with his loss, hoping that one day he wouldn't be so broken. Hoping that one day she could be the one to bring back a smile to his face.
"At least I'm happy now, I'm in your arms." she had said. And then, she was gone.
And he was still there 70 years later. And it still hurt as much as the first day. He had fallen down on all fours by now. His desperate screams scraping his throat raw. His tears staining the marble slab below him. Guilt, and remorse were racking through him for depriving such a sweet, lovable girl from happiness, from her very chance at life.
"I didn't deserve to live, you did. Every single one of you had more right to life than I do. So why? Why is it always me that keeps on going while you were all taken from me? Why?" His last question dragging on, becoming an uncontrollable howl of pure despair.
It had been many years since he had lost the will to live, but it wasn't enough to die. The longest career ever as an Auror, a global nuclear conflict, and a new lightning shaped scar over his heart from that one time he had tried the Killing curse, all attested to that. Everyone had died.
Everyone except him.
He was alone, condemned to live because he had had the misfortune of amassing all three of Death's relics. Inevitably, invariably, he would wake up again, disorientated. He would blink a few times, blinded by the sudden light, with hope soaring sky-high through his mind before he would crash back down, seeing that he was in fact alive and well.
He looked up at the gravestone, still on all fours on the tomb's slab.
"I miss you so much. I wish I could be with you." was his coarse whisper. His greatest wish since Voldemort's fall.
He had wanted to die for a long time now, and it had been even longer since he had wanted to live. "... neither can live while the other survives." It didn't guarantee that one could truly live afterwards either. The irony of this had gnawed at his insides relentlessly.
"You were my reason to fight, to stay alive. I had hope with you, that we could fulfil my lifelong dream, that we would have a family. Our very own family. And today, it's been 200 years since I've been robbed of that dream, robbed of your presence, robbed of your smile, robbed of your support, robbed of your love, robbed of you. Why am I punished like that? Why couldn't it be me who died that day?" His voice rose steadily as his anguish fuelled his speech.
He straightened on his knees. Looking heavenwards, arms stretched on the side in a call for justice, he finally bellowed with all his might "I went into that Forest to die, so that you could live, so why did you have to die? And why couldn't I go with you?"
His head lowered again.
"I'm so sorry Fleur, for taking a full and happy life away from you." He was whispering again, his sore throat not allowing even a rasp.
He dropped down on the slab, resting on his side.
"Maybe I do deserve that punishment after all."
He rolled onto his back, looking skywards. His speech was halting, great sobs wracking his unhealthy, neglected frame once again.
"But I c-can't take it anymore, it's just t-too much." Harry wailed, now blinded with tears as he looked up towards the grey, overcast sky of the nuclear winter, slipping something out of his pocket.
"P-please let this work, at last." he prayed to unknown higher powers, still gazing towards the heavens "Please."
Harry then pointed a wand to his own head. A white wand he had buried 200 years ago with its previous owner, vowing never to use it. But he was finally about to break that vow. Maybe the wand preventing him to die would be the one that would, in the end, free him from his shackles. At least, that was his hope. His last hope.
"Avada Kedavra."
A bright green flash, and Harry knew no more.
Harry felt his body lying on the hard, cold floor.
He blinked several times, blinded by the white light assaulting his eyes.
Then, remembering what he had done, he bolted to a sitting position. He asserted quickly his surroundings, before closing his eyes again and resting back down on the floor.
He sighed deeply.
With a small, barely noticeable, melancholic smile on his lips he whispered, a new tear rolling on his cheek, "I love you so much, Fleur."
-o- -o- -o- -o- -o-
Final A/N:
As I said earlier, this was my first attempt at a real story worthy to be published. I hope you enjoyed reading this, and that my inexperience didn't hinder the storytelling too much.
Again, I invite you to check out the full collection of stories written for this event at fanfiction DOT net/community/Flowerpot-Garden-1/133114/
Also worth checking out is the subreddit for the pairing /r/harryandfleur/ . On it you will find a permanent invite for the Discord server in case my link at the beginning failed.
If you are interested here is the prompt I chose to follow-up, that I had previously published on the aforementioned Flowerpot Discord server:
Harry and Fleur got together anytime before the Battle of Hogwarts. Fleur Veela-bonded to Harry. As a result and unbeknown to him her life is now linked to his. So when he dies taking Voldemort's killing curse, she dies too. And she is the one meeting him on Platform 9¾ (instead of Dumbledore). What will they say to each other?