A/N: This story sprouted from an idea posted by DavidTheAthenai over on the Flowerpot discord, so it's partially his fault.
Thank you DavidTheAthenai, Ajjax, OfficeSloth, Doenerkint, HonorverseFan, and Xrde1 for beta reading this dumpster fire. Without your advice and help this thing wouldn't be half of what it is.
Disclaimer: HP doesn't belong to me. Neither do the three quotes. Those would be by The Longest Johns and Friedrich Nietzsche.
.
.
After fourteen years I left the sea, for a life upon a lake
After all the storms I'd seen, I needed a good break
I thought still waters would mean peace for me
But that was a mistake
For the place I chose was bedevilled by a giant evil drake
.
.
We had won the war.
At least, that's what we had told ourselves, anyway, as we tried to rebuild. We'd won, or more accurately, no one had said we'd lost. Those of us left to pick up the pieces of our ruined world had done our best, fixing our homes, burying our dead, and making a general effort to find some sense of normalcy after years of suffocating darkness. To return to whatever normal was before Voldemort. Some of us…some of us struggled harder than others, for we had never really known what normal looked like, our lives being beset by evil from birth.
For me, that meant leaving Voldemort behind. He had taken my years at Hogwarts, he'd done everything in his power to bring about my demise, and he'd made my life like a living hell from which I struggled to break free of. Yet, I found normal difficult to grasp.
What came easy for others, forgetting the horrors of war and moving on, had put me in a state of unease. There was no great threat looming, no imminent attempts on my life, just a calm serenity that made me uncomfortable. I didn't know how to do normal. I was a soldier who had found himself lost in his own home, unable to find a way forward.
Then she came back into my life.
I had known her since…the tournament? Yeah, the tournament, and I hadn't seen her since either. I hadn't forgotten her though, her lithe figure and preternatural silver hair remaining etched into my mind alongside the elegance of her movements that I'd not found in another person since last we met.
After the loss of Bill at the Battle of Hogwarts, however, like a tree in autumn, her composure had fallen, exposing what was beneath to the world, and when she looked, the vivacious sea of her eyes had gone still as a lake. A sort of sadness you'd remember. The Weasley's, in their grief at losing Bill and Fred, had largely ignored the suffering of the former bride-to-be, though not out of malice or contempt.
I had gone to her, at first to simply be there for her, someone willing to sit by her side and keep her company through a dark time in her life. Seeing her heartache, I knew that I had also done it to get away myself, to hide from a world looking to me for guidance when I could provide none.
I offered no words of encouragement or empty platitudes. Sometimes just the knowledge that you aren't alone is enough. So, we just...shared the same space often, slipping into an easy silence that seemed to come naturally…the easy silence that often fell between us.
We would frequently be found in each other's company, gravitating towards one another during Weasley gatherings or pointless Ministry events. A professional greeting, a courteous smile for the occasional well-wisher. Even then, we rarely needed words to communicate. In those early days, we had an almost supernatural way to know what the other was thinking. Eventually, however, we slowly began to open to one another, revealing parts of ourselves we had kept hidden.
When Fleur Delacour spoke to me it was as if the world had stopped and, for a brief moment, everything was right.
I always knew that the way I heard her voice was in my own mind and the allure of a Veela, but I ignored it because I had finally found something special that only I could hear.
When I spoke to Fleur…it was like a sturdy anchor to the world while at sea, taming my restlessness but freeing me at the same time.
She spoke of Bill, of what it was like before the darkness, and her pain was palpable, breaking her into a million pieces that she desperately tried to collect each time she remembered.
I spoke as well, initially for her, to allow her a reprieve from her pain while she witnessed my own, a way to keep her from falling back into a dark place. It was…a confession, as well, a way for me to lay my sins bare, to speak of the responsibility I held for those that had died and the ones left behind. I was responsible…and I had failed them all.
Fleur had disagreed strongly with my guilt. Very strongly.
But if the war had taught us anything, it's that life finds a way to go on. So, as time passed, gradually, we both began to heal. It was slow, and we stumbled and we fell, but we were always there to pick the other up. Each day spent together felt like…like slowly stepping out of an incredibly dark cave the two of us had been in for far too long.
It hadn't been the discussions, however, but rather, the act of listening that we both found comfort in. We were both looking for another person who would just listen without giving unsolicited advice. A connection to be a sounding board for our own personal tragedies, without the pressure to feel like something must be understood or made sense of right away. The comfort of knowing that we wouldn't be judged for what was said, but rather, would just be accepted for what we were. We traded unspeaking understanding for silent acceptance.
"I'm glad we came back into each other's lives, Harry," Fleur had said one night as we ate dinner. A French dish she had insisted I try, if I recall correctly. "I think…I think that I am beginning to feel better about what we've all been through, and, well, I have you to thank for that. So, thank you Harry, for being…for being you."
I don't know if it was the deepening of our friendship that had happened or something else, but at some point, I fell in love with Fleur.
It happened slowly, in an almost mundane way, until one day it wasn't. We were practically inseparable after the war, any time not spent at the Ministry for me or Gringotts for her we were together. Sometimes that meant simply sitting together silently doing our own thing while other times it meant walks out in the country or visiting with friends and family.
Regular meals became unofficial dates and outings with friends went from "Harry will be there" to "Harry and Fleur will be there." Unconsciously, I would show up at her home to make breakfast in the morning or she would be at mine in the evening making dinner. Neither of us acknowledged the closeness of what we had, preferring to simply let it play out and take us where it would.
Realizing you were falling in love with the most beautiful person you had ever known was not easy…in any way. It's exciting, exhilarating, but above all, more terrifying than facing down a dark lord and often I'd find my palms sweatier than they'd ever been. Struggling to find the right time to say something became a daily question for me, the nagging feeling that I would ruin our friendship at the back of my mind, gnawing at me constantly. Then it happened. Walking back through muggle London one evening after dinner, hand in hand, in a moment that felt right, we kissed.
I'd never experienced another like it. The world was suddenly on fire and my chest burned hot until all that was left was her.
"I love you, Fleur," I had said, breaking the kiss and pressing my forehead against hers, unwilling to lose the closeness. "I think I have for a while."
She smiled at me, a loving glint in her eyes and a desire I had never seen before, as if my words had unlocked some primal instinct within. It was slightly terrifying…and the most intoxicating thing I had ever experienced.
"I love you too, Harry," I heard her say, before she kissed me again.
All our friends were happy for us, once we had officially gotten together, though most had simply rolled their eyes as if we were the last ones to know.
"About bloody time" were Hermoine's exact words, in one of her rare bouts of crude language.
We had found in each other something that had been missing before and we were happy, perhaps for the first time since the war.
I asked Fleur to marry me six months later, at the same spot where we had shared our first kiss, her eyes dancing with that same look they had when we'd first come together.
Despite her elegance and grace that was befitting a large, sweeping affair, we had agreed to a small ceremony, both of us wanting only those closest to us to share in our joyous day. Seeing her in her dress for the first time made all the pain and suffering we had all gone through worth it. The radiance and beauty she exuded that day, all of it directed at me, struck all thoughts of death and loss from my mind, replaced with the warmth of her glow.
"Do you know anything about Veela bonds?" she had asked that night. Shaking my head, I told her no, I didn't, though I was not surprised at the topic. Sebastian Delacour, my future father-in-law at the time, had told me while Fleur was away with her grandmother visiting a Veela enclave in northern France that this conversation would take place. "The two of you will speak of Veela bonds after you are wed," he had explained, "Do not be concerned. It is nothing to be afraid of. In fact, it will be something special."
"Veela bond only once in their life, as we do not give our love lightly," Fleur said, her eyes filled with affection. "To be bonded with someone means to give all of us to them, and they to us. It links us forever. Our fates become intertwined in such a way that not even Magic itself can break it apart. Through the bond, we use our power to mark someone as worthy."
"Worthy of what?" I asked.
"Worthy of mating with us and playing a part in carrying on the Veela line," she said, purring slightly. Pulling me close, she looked up at me from her position on the bed. "Will you bond with me, Harry Potter?" I simply caught her lips in another kiss in response, words being an unnecessary addition to our night. Fleur Delacour knew that I would do anything she asked.
.
.
He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster.
And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.
.
.
The changes were subtle initially, beginning…I don't know when, but it was my eyesight that I noticed first. Waking up in the morning after a particularly long night, I walked into the kitchen where Fleur was already eating, a cup of coffee steaming next to her plate. As I walked past, she gave me an odd look, and I saw her staring at me in my peripheral vision as I grabbed some eggs and toast. Sitting down at the table, I smiled at her.
"Good morning, beautiful," I had said, before looking down at the paper to begin reading. She raised an eyebrow.
"Where are your glasses?" I rolled my eyes.
"They're on my fa…" I had started to reply, touching my face, only to realize I didn't have them on. Looking back up, I just shrugged.
"Guess I must have misplaced them last night during the cleanup of the potions lab we raided," I pitched.
"Harry," Fleur started, sounding confused, "You're blind without your glasses, why are you trying to read the paper?" I shook my head.
"That's the weird part, I'm not. At least, not anymore. I've started to be able to see better without them. It's been happening for a while. This past week I went a couple days with only needing them once or twice. Wild, yeah?" I said, before turning back to the paper. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up, so I knew she was still looking at me.
"Honestly, Fleur, I'm fine," I said, sending her a smile. "I know you. You're worried this will make me feel less close to my dad. It's not, I assure you. Being compared to him due to our shared nearsightedness, while flattering, got old long ago." I leaned forward and kissed her, bringing a smile to her face. Later, she would remark how bright my eyes looked without the glasses.
I never put them on again.
Even after I put my glasses away forever, changes never jumped out at me. Instead, they worked their way into my life gradually, over long periods of time, until I would be forced to see it.
We had just finished dinner with Fleur's family one evening when her father said something that gave me pause.
"Harry, I'll be honest, I'm a bit surprised," he said, his face taking on an anxious look, "You've changed, and it shows." I winked at Fleur before looking over to him.
"How's that?" I had asked.
"We've been having regular weekly meals for months and haven't eaten any of that old British food in quite some time. And your selection of wine? If I didn't know better I'd say you were French!" Fleur's eyes got wide.
"Papa, don't be rude!" she said, glaring at her father. I had placed my hand on her arm to calm her and reflected. I realized then that my eating habits had changed. Drastically. I couldn't pinpoint when, but I hadn't eaten poorly in quite some time. Looking back to the older man I had just shrugged.
"It seems my tastes have changed recently. Honestly, thinking back to what I used to eat and drink makes me a bit queasy, so I'll gladly take my new diet any day of the week."
At the time I attributed this to a man getting older and his body telling him to eat healthier. Fleur had been, surprisingly, rather subdued about my change in tastes to be more refined and less heavy, though she did express her pleasure, which just made it that much easier for me to ignore any questions that may have come to me. If Fleur was happy, so was I and the thought of making Fleur happy kept me from poking too much.
Making Fleur happy had, by that point, become the highlight of my day.
It wasn't until my mannerisms and habits changed that I started to feel something was wrong, or at the very least, not completely as it should be. I likened it to wearing socks from different pairs: Your feet are still warm, but the thickness and feel of each sock is different, thus causing an odd sensation on your feet.
"Fleur has been such a great influence on you, Harry," Hermione had said with a smile as we were coming out of an Opera one night, Ron looking thoroughly bored, "Your posture is better, you're not as crass as you used to be, and you've taken an interest in things other than quidditch. You carry yourself with this, I don't know, this air of renewed self? She's clearly made you more sophisticated."
"Ugh," Ron groaned, "I think I preferred it when it was quidditch and a pint."
Inwardly, I questioned Hermione's statement but had simply laughed and replied, without hesitation, "You know what? I think you're right." My reply lingered with me the entire night, an uncomfortable feeling welling up in my chest that I couldn't shake off.
The night I became fully aware that something was certainly not right wasn't special. It was a simple Wednesday evening, Fleur and I enjoying a meal she had prepared as we sat at the table, catching each other up on our respective days. A rather dull affair.
"I worry about you, Harry," she started, placing her fork back onto her plate and looking at me, an odd look in her eyes. "You're always going to these dangerous places as an Auror. Perhaps it's time to think about something safer? Something that doesn't require you to risk your life most days?"
This conversation was one that had been had before, so it wasn't shocking for her to bring up. The two of us had disagreed about me being an Auror before, and while her point about me being in harm's way was valid, I wasn't quite ready to hang up the robes for something else. Being an Auror was something I was good at, and there were very few things that I could claim to be good at. As I began to formulate my response, I heard myself speak.
"I think you're right. I'll talk to Robards tomorrow morning about moving me into a training role." Before I could comprehend what I had said, or why I had said it, she stood and kissed me on the cheek, the smell of her perfume hitting my senses and all doubts began to recede.
"Thank you, Harry. I love you more than anything, so I just want you to be safe," she said. I had made Fleur happy, and that was what mattered.
.
.
Shortly after that night, the dreams began. Or at least, what I believed at the time to be dreams as they would come to me only during my sleep. They were simple, an inky black void filled only with a white cage in the distance and the sound of...something crying out from a great length. The void stretched beyond the horizon, a thick mist encompassing the entirety of what I could discern, an eerie stillness to the place that caused shivers to run through my entire body.
No matter how far I walked or ran, my feet sloshing through the thick substance that covered the ground, the black void never ended or shifted, the cage always the same distance away, the only light in an otherwise dense fog. Worst of all was the sense of hopelessness that permeated everything. A sense that would, for an instant, make me believe that I had nothing left to live for.
The first time it happened I awoke in a cold sweat, my breath labored and mouth dry, the taste of something bitter on my lips as my heart booming in my chest like the bass of a drum.
"Get a grip, Potter," I mumbled as I splashed water on my face. "It was just a bad dream. You've had them your entire life. This is nothing new."
As these dreams became a more frequent occurrence, however, I sought external remedies to ease my nightly slumbers.
The dreams still came to me after taking Dreamless Sleep.
Eventually, they no longer contained themselves to my sleeping hours, becoming these…these…waking nightmares, from which I was unable to escape. There was no rhyme or reason to when I would find myself back in the void, the cage inching closer. The monster's cry tearing at my mind, all the while, my life played out in front of me, no one wise to my new ailment. Over and over these nightmares would take me, each time driving me further to the brink.
"LET ME OUT!" I would yell, thrashing against the invisible chain moving me closer-and-closer to the cage, as if drawn to it like a moth to flame.
It was then that the voice started, a faint whisper, initially only heard in the quiet moments.
She is your beloved.
My life changed drastically over the ensuing months as my mind fell deeper into chaos. My words and actions were more frequently no longer my own, happening without my input, much to my horror. I continually found myself back in the void, its oppressive atmosphere causing me to feel an unnatural cold as I struggled to maintain my distance from the cage.
Had I been cursed? Perhaps I had picked up a spirit or demonic force during a raid? In my initial naive refusal to accept the reality of my situation, I thought I must have been sick, so I had Hermione, under the guise of not feeling well, check me over.
"I don't want to worry Fleur and going to see a healer will make the papers run wild with speculation," I explained, as if we were talking about the weather.
She found nothing.
My time was split between work, Fleur, and research into what could be going wrong, all the while I began to truly question my own sanity. Perhaps I was having a nervous breakdown? I took a few days off work and lost myself in the muggle world, leaving all my responsibilities behind to clear my head. The black void of my mind remained, shrinking bit-by-bit, leading me closer and closer to the cage. My screams of protest and begging remained unheeded by whatever was the cause.
She is your bonded.
As the months went on the incidents became more frequent, faster and faster they came, as if racing to win some unseen competition. I lived with a constant, dull ache in my head due to the dreams, yet my outward appearance never belied my internal pain. I began agreeing to appear at Ministry events, ones that I had previously shrugged off as part of my desire to remain unseen from the world.
My mind seemed determined to live a life not of my own making. To the outside world, I was the king of every ball with the most beautiful woman in the room on my arm living a life of luxury. Inside, I would sit in the void, knees tucked to my chest, staring blankly into the empty abyss, willing myself back into my life despite the increased hopelessness creeping further into my thoughts.
"Please...please let me out," I would ask…no, beg, mustering up what fight I could, though no response ever came.
Our friends seemed to think these changes in me were a good thing, as to them it meant I was finally coming out of my shell. The worst part was that I quickly found out that I could speak of none of my plight, my mouth simply refusing to put words to what I was screaming about internally. Instead, I would find myself saying more things that were not my own. Trapped, I realized, with this madness known only to myself.
I never tried bringing it up with Fleur. I could not worry her with such things.
"Harry, it's good to see you," Molly had said one Sunday when we all gathered at the Burrow. "It's been too long since you and Fleur stopped by." Ron nodded, nudging me with his elbow.
"Yeah mate, you've been so busy living your fairy tale you've forgotten about the little people!" he joked, eliciting laughter from the room.
"Is it a fairy tale if it's real?" I responded, "Fleur made me see I needed to start living my life, so that's what I'm doing." Internally, I could only watch, helplessly, as I lied to my friends about what I had been up to. I was screaming "HELP ME" but no one could hear me.
She is your world.
I studied and contacted experts from all over the world, but none had been much help. It was difficult to explain what was going on without being able to speak plainly, so I had to frame my research as part of an academic study on such an affliction. Some had theorized that perhaps such a thing was a curse from Magic itself, some form of punishment for a past misdeed or grave crime.
Fitting, I thought, for my life to end up being cursed by the thing that I believed was my salvation at the age of eleven.
I traveled to places of old magic, under the guise of ensuring Voldemort had no remaining tricks to cover for my trips, paranoia permeating my every move. I spoke with old tribal leaders and shaman from anywhere I thought could help me fix this...madness I was suffering from. This cage that I was finding myself slowly being trapped further into with each passing day despite desperately fighting against it. My time in the void grew longer with each incident and my worry increased as the search for answers came up empty time and time again.
Throughout my panic, Fleur had been my rock, the one point of reference that I could look to and steady myself, at least briefly. A reminder, a hope, that this wasn't a permanent affliction and that I would find a solution to ensure her happiness. Even that, however, had begun to be…infected by this madness...
Our love for one another had never been stronger, but her voice, that unique sound that had lifted my spirit for so long, had begun to change. No longer did it hold otherworldly qualities but had slowly shifted into something…different. It had started to become almost…mundane, perhaps? I would do anything to reverse this, I had told myself, as I could deal with the madness, but losing her voice would erode any fight left in me.
That had spurred my desire for her happiness even harder.
Now here I am, well into the evening hours, standing at the sink, hands on either side of the bowl, head dropped low. I feel mentally exhausted. The paranoia, loneliness, and creeping sense of hopelessness are starting to win this battle. Looking down at myself, I let out a deep sigh. My body has started to change, though like everything with this madness, how I do not know. I am, at the very least, certain it has only been a few days since it began.
I have always been rather under-developed for my age group. I found that out when I got to Hogwarts, years of malnourishment at the hands of the Dursley's had taken its toll on my growth. Despite being many years removed from that hell, my body had settled on some sort of amalgamation of my early and later years, never quite figuring out if it should remain as it was or fill out with age.
As I look at myself, I see a changed form, one that hadn't been there before. My muscles are more defined, and I no longer held onto the last bits of fat that had clung to my stomach during my time as an Auror. What's there now is the form of a man who works to maintain and build his body, not that of a man who trains new recruits for a living. I consider myself an active person, but nothing I could be doing could result in the change I now see before me.
Looking up into the mirror I nearly gasp, as the features of my face have shifted slightly. My cheekbones sit a tad higher. My nose, a bit more symmetrical. My lips, ever-so-slightly thinner. Nothing noticeable to anyone but one who knows every curve of my face, as I do, but a change nonetheless. As I examine my features, pawing like a cat desperately trying to make sense of a puzzle, my face shifts in the mirror to someone I no longer recognize. The face of a monster, it's wide, sadistic smile of toothy nails stares back at me and speaks.
"She is your everything."
"NO!" I yell, punching the glass as hard as I can, shattering it and cutting my hand upon the pieces of glass which then fall to the bathroom floor. I nervously back away until I hit the wall and slump down, defeated. Whatever was wrong with me had taken itself to another level, and I no longer felt like me anymore. To everyone else, I was living a fantastic life with a beautiful wife, loving friends, and a job that brought me home safely each night. I was, to the rest of the world, living the dream that is Harry Potter's life.
Internally, however, I'm a broken shell of my former self, no longer living my own life but watching it play out before me. It's like watching a film of my own life in real time, with someone else playing the part of me. I begin healing the cuts on my hand and banishing the broken glass, noticing in some of the bigger pieces that my reflection, at least for now, once more resembles me. As I finish, I hear a tapping on the window. Opening it, a large black owl lands, deposits a letter, and takes off again, its massive wings taking it out of view quickly.
Looking at the envelope, I notice it's from the shaman I had met with in Northern Africa several months ago. A large, towering figure, his gentle demeanor had contrasted with his imposing frame, but he had attempted to help me to the best of his ability. He had seen through my deception with wise, knowing eyes, and quietly understood that my inquiries were about myself and not mere academic study. After several days, however, he had exhausted all that he knew, but said he would keep looking and notify me.
Ripping open the letter, it contains a single sentence, but my mind sees only two words.
Veela bond.
A mixture of desperation and rage, unknowingly pent up for so long, explodes within me and I sprint down the hall towards the room Fleur uses as her study. Nearly blasting the door off its hinges, I storm in, flicking my wrist to light the magical lamps before striding to the desk and hastily going through every single piece of paper on it. No matter how small or insignificant it seems, I consume it, the faint hope that answers may lie somewhere upon the old, worn oak surface. I shortly lose track of time, papers being discarded to the floor in rapid succession, until finally I pick up a letter and freeze.
A small paragraph written in a language I could now speak as if it were my native tongue. As I scan the page I feel weak in the knees and overwhelmingly sick, but my body doesn't know if it should collapse to the floor or expel the contents of my stomach. The only thing I know for certain is one thing: she knows.
My Dear Fleur,
The Transformation will be nearly complete now, especially if he is starting to undergo the physical portion of the change. Soon, even this message will disappear and it will all be over. Stay strong and visit me if you need.
Love,
Grandmother
I had searched the entire globe as the madness had crept in, taking over my life, yet the answer had been here in my own home the whole time. Right under my nose. I would laugh, if the truth weren't so shocking.
Faintly, I hear the roar of the fireplace and Fleur call out, "Harry, I'm home. Where are you? I'll be in the kitchen."
Numbly, without thinking, though still in control of my own actions, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen, still clutching the letter. My mind is no longer racing, no longer looking for a solution to a puzzle that seemed to have no answer. I am just numb. I open the kitchen door and see Fleur sitting at the table, sipping an espresso and reading a book. As I approach the table she looks up, her smile replaced by a look of concern.
"What's wrong, Harry?" she asks, and my head shoots up as I back away several paces, the numbness replaced with something I never thought I would ever feel in the presence of my darling Fleur: revulsion. Her voice. The sweet sound of her voice had changed once more. No longer did it contain the uniqueness it had my entire life, its warmth wrapping me in its embrace and making me feel like everything would be okay if I remained within its touch.
Now, it was terrible and disgusting. It had changed into something utterly loathsome.
She notices the page clutched in my hand. "What's that?" she asks. I could feel the madness attempting to take over, to take control, but for the first time since this started, I put up more than just a token resistance. I fight back with everything I have, with every fibre of what remains of me, I fight it until the madness recedes. Walking to the table, I place the page on it, refusing to meet her gaze. As she picks it up and recognizes its contents, she gasps.
"What's happening to me? Why am I changing?" I whisper, not able to conjure anything more than the smallest of voices, my resolve nearly at its end. I feel a faint shift in the magic swirling about the room, as if some unseen barrier has been breached by my words. My ears pound, briefly muffling all sounds until something breaks through that I never thought I would hear at this moment.
Fleur is crying.
Looking towards her, she has her hands in her face and the tears flow freely down her cheeks, staining her cheeks with the eyeliner she wears. With great effort I sit down in the chair opposite of her and watch her cry, offering no shoulder or hug for her pain, my own heart breaking as I watch but am unable, or perhaps unwilling, to comfort the love of my life. I simply wait patiently as she continues to cry and remember the monster in the mirror. The thing that I had become. The thing that she knew about.
"What's happening to me?" I repeat, a bit louder as I cast my gaze back to the table. Looking up at me, tears still flowing, she shakes her head.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she says, and I resist the urge to recoil once more, my hatred of her voice continuing to grow the more I hear it. I slam my fist on the table, causing her to jump, before taking a deep breath and releasing my fist.
"I need to know what's going on, Fleur. I need you to tell me what's happening." With a grief-stricken look, she nods, before averting her eyes from me.
"To bond with a Veela is to be linked forever. I told you that the night of our wedding. Do you remember?" she asks. I nod my head; the memories of that night threatening to surface and overwhelm what little resistance I'm putting up. "For most, the bond mate of a Veela is simply tied to them, their magic becoming intertwined. That is how it is for my mother and father as well as my grandmother and grandfather."
"You and I, well, we weren't so lucky. Our bond is a Soul Bond. Our very essences are linked, not just by magic, as a traditional bond is, but at the core of our magical beings."
"That is what has happened to us," she finishes, a fresh bout of tears starting as I stare off into space, looking for something that isn't there, trying to process what she has just said. Minutes pass as we sit there, her soft cries the only thing breaking the tension. My mind runs through many questions before settling on one.
"If a Soul Bond is possible, why the hell did we even bond?"
"The Enclave said that a Soul Bond hadn't happened since the time of Hogwarts founding, so there was little thought given that it may happen again. I wasn't even aware of such a bond before our marriage," she explains, her voice taking on a slightly more methodical tone, as if her mind was reeling and simply going down a list to keep from breaking down.
"When my grandmother realized what was happening, she brought me back to the Veela enclave. In their hubris, they didn't deem it necessary to speak of the Soul Bond before our union. I was…furious with them when I found out. I…I never wanted to hurt you, Harry, I swear." There's an almost pleading quality to her promise, but also something more. As if she needs to believe it herself as much as she hopes that I do.
"That explains the how," I say, still not able to look her in the eyes, "But I need to know why. Why am I changing? Why are my actions not my own? Why does my head pound all the time? Why am I going mad?" Fleur shakes her head, her silver hair flowing back and forth.
"You are not going mad, my love, you are simply undergoing The Transformation." Picking up her wand, she points it at the fireplace along the far wall of the room and it comes to life, the crackling interrupting the crushing silence. She stares into the fire for a long time as I watch her, finally feeling brave enough to look up, she begins, once again her tone surgical, all her focus put into simply telling me what I ask.
"Veela, at their very core, desire suitable mates to carry on the Veela line. Those of mediocre magical ability, poor health, or low social standing are unappealing to the animal within all of us. Love, however, will always be stronger than our base instincts and, therefore, we will marry for love irrespective of what the Veela genes want." She pauses, as if turning a page in a reference book on the subject, before continuing.
"For those that happen to be Soul Bonded, however, we do not control the instincts within us after bonding and it will do what it has done since the dawn of the bond. The Soul Bond will initiate The Transformation, which slowly changes the bond mate into the ideal specimen for a Veela."
Fleur rises from her seat at the table and walks to the fire, placing her hands out to warm them as she continues to stare into the heat. Though her tears have stopped, her usual elegant radiance has been replaced with great sadness and despair, two things I never wanted her to experience again, two things I had sworn to protect her from. My own heart breaks, and I fight against the instinct to run to her, cradle her in my arms, and tell her it will be okay, knowing that I need to hear everything.
"The Veela are descendants of the Fae. Not many people know that," she says, pain evident in her voice, the straightforward recitation of the information clearly the thing keeping her from simply disappearing into herself. "The Soul Bond…The Transformation…it's old Fae magic that the Veela have been attempting to find a way to stop for generations, with, I suppose you could say, limited success. They are the last vestige of when the Fae preyed upon humans for survival, when their continued existence depended on the height of the human species being available for them to force the Soul Bond upon."
"When I say you are not going mad, I mean it. You aren't mad, Harry, you're being changed."
"Into what?" I ask.
"Into a construct of Fae design," she replies, though her voice is beginning to crack. "The optimal specimen to help pass on our genes to the next generation. Your mind, body, and magic are being changed to fit what the Fae deemed to be ideal centuries ago."
I lean back in my chair, her words crashing into me, but not in the way I had anticipated. I had expected there to be a tornado of outrage at what had been done. That I would be beyond reason with whoever had cursed me to a slow descent into the abyss. Instead, I simply feel...nothing, as if the anchor she had given me so long ago grounded me no more. I feel nothing except the knowledge that I'm not going mad. That I'm not imagining everything.
"And the voice?" I ask, her back still towards me.
"That is the construct," she explains in a strained whisper as tears begin anew. "It's the...thing growing within you. Not a being, but an idea that the Fae used to...to..." Fleur struggles, unable to complete her thought.
"Used to what?" I ask, with a bit more force than intended.
"Used to replace the bond mate," she says quietly.
At her words, the sensation of being dropped into a pool of freezing water washes over me. The madness, the voice, it was all the product of what was supposed to be a happy union. All the happiest moments of my life had now been tainted by this...this...demon magic that's coursing in me, no…between us, its subtle trickery having woven itself into the fabric of our lives.
I was not mad; I'm being evicted from my own body.
I'm dying while my body keeps living. I have never feared death, but the thought of being replaced with some...construct of another's design is worse than any dark lord.
"Why keep this from me?" I ask, without thinking, my own instincts driving me as I need to know before the end.
"The Fae magic is...complex, and the Soul Bond is the greatest shame of my people. When a Soul Bond is initiated, it affects not just the bond mate but the Veela as well. Believe me when I tell you, I wanted to say something, so badly, but the Soul Bond it…it fought back every time, overpowering my desire to speak until I was forced to give up and it never relented until you became aware of it tonight, even if you didn't know the name." She shifts uncomfortably as if her words are tearing at her…as they are me.
"More than that, it, well, compels me into helping it, such as forcing me to suggest you take a safer job in order to keep you out of harm's way. It's believed that this was done to prevent any fallen Fae from revealing the true nature of the bond to a human unless he brought it to her first. Or to prevent the human from ending its life before the construct could enter the final stage of The Transformation."
I raise an eyebrow. "What's to stop me from killing myself now?" I ask, gripping my wand tightly.
"You have begun the physical portion of the change. The Fae magic will not allow you to truly harm yourself now," she says sadly.
"How long have I got left?" I ask.
"Not long."
Sighing, I run my hand through my hair, soaking in the words until a bout of anger bubbles up inside of me and I slam my fist on the table once more.
"So, I'm going to be replaced by this...this…thing, and you get to keep on living?" I demand, nearly shouting. I instantly know my words are not fair and cutting, but my anger has briefly overtaken me, blunting my own instincts that scream at me for hurting her.
"No. Not really."
"No?" I question, the fire instantly snuffed out. "Why?" Finally, she turns to me, tears still glistening in her eyes and a sad smile on her face.
"Because once the construct takes over, I won't remember that we're Soul Bonded."
I stand, walk over to her, and wrap my arms around her as she cries into my chest. Tears begin to fall from my own eyes, the gravity of it all finally crushing me and driving itself into my heart like a spike, repeatedly. We simply stand there, crying in each other's arms, neither wanting to move. I had been prepared to accuse, blame, and cast out the woman I love over this, and yet here I was, holding onto her like these were our final moments. Grimly, I realize that may very well be true.
"Why won't you remember?" I ask.
"After the last Soul Bond, the Veela had some success in changing it, though they couldn't completely remove it, they were able to minimize its likelihood and dampen its effects," she says. I stare into the fire and breathe out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding.
This wasn't Fleur's fault, and as she revealed what was happening to me, the horror of her having to live with what the bond had done was…unfathomable. That she would not remember us being Soul Bonded was, perhaps, a small relief. I know, even without the construct telling me, Fleur is everything to me, and her happiness still means more to me than anything. Even if she may be ignorant of it, I'd rather she keeps living in ignorance than wallow in grief.
"Once the construct takes over I, and all other Veela, will forget that a Soul Bond has happened. At least for a time."
"For a time?" I ask. She nods.
"When you die, no…when your body dies, I will remember. It was part of the payment the Veela offered to change the Fae magic. The Soul Bonded forgets until her bond mate dies, and then lives with regret once she remembers." I hug her more tightly.
"Oh, Fleur..."
"No, Harry, it's okay," she says, pulling slightly away from me, her eyes no longer full of tears. "This will be my burden when you are gone. The burden I will carry as punishment for bringing this upon you."
I lean down and press my forehead against hers, the memory of our first kiss coming back to me, my lips tingling with the ghost of a moment that feels so, so long ago. The memory of how one kiss engulfed my heart in fire and replaced it with her. A small part of me wonders if the Soul Bond started then, but I don't care. I know what I feel for Fleur is real.
"The only thing I can give you is this, my love," she whispers, cupping my cheek with her hand, "Our children will be free of Veela genes, as that is the other success that my kind has managed to make against the Soul Bond. Our children will be powerful Harry, more powerful than most, and the thought that they will not have to fear a Soul Bond is the one thing keeping me from completely falling apart." She finally pulls away from me completely and wipes her tears, a look of determination on her face.
"My voice, it has…changed, hasn't it?" she asks as she lets her hand fall, to which I simply nod in response. "It's the construct. It takes what the host loves and turns it into something disgusting. By the time it completely takes over death is…death is a welcomed release."
She takes a small step back and releases me completely, her hands fidgeting in front of her. "So, no more words." I close my eyes and breathe deeply before reopening them.
No longer did my lovely flower stand in front of me, replaced with a hideous beast, it's charred black wings and long, sharp horns radiating the same feeling as the cry of the monster from my nightmares. Her flawless skin was replaced with cracked flesh and her hands appeared almost talon-like. A twisted, grotesque image of some ghastly mutated evil drake.
It's wide, toothy smile, matching my own monster within, looks at me with a predatory glint in its demonic eyes, but I feel no fear or uncertainty. No longer do I fear what is happening, instead, deciding to accept it, firmly believing that my Fleur will be safe. Taking the jagged hand of what I know is my beautiful wife, I smile at her.
"Let's go for a walk, like the one we were on when we first kissed. We've never needed words to communicate with each other, so let's simply do what we've done before: enjoy the quiet moments between us and know that what we have is stronger than any magic forced into our lives."
As the door closes behind us, I feel the void encroaching, I see the cage being pulled shut, and I hear the cry of the monstrous drake with black Fae wings. Unlike before, however, I offer no resistance, knowing now that the madness is at an end.
.
.
Without forgetting it is quite impossible to live at all.
.
.