Title: Fluidity
Author: Richan
Warnings: none
Spoilers: through OotP
Pairing: Bill/Harry
Summary: Bill ponders on how Harry moves
Words: 570


It starts with the roll of a foot. Bill had always been amazed by how fluid Harry walked, as if he was walking on air rather than the packed earth of the back garden of the Burrow, that first time he'd seen him.

From there, it is a smooth transition and play of muscle as toes flex and a knee bends. Hips that glide rather than swagger, almost as if taught an elocution that's no longer made available to humble wizards like Bill himself.

It was the walk that caught his eye, all those years ago, when he'd been introduced to the skinny, black-haired boy who stuck out so wildly in the midst of red that was his family. It was the same walk that caught his eye after the war had ended, still smooth despite everything that had been done to the one doing the walking. Bones had been mended, sinews sewn seamlessly together to make it all flow like water over a gentle drop, resulting in a splash so small it is unseen by the naked eye.

Harry had come back over the hill, where he and his opponent had been hidden from the view of every single person fighting in front of the towering castle. Light and Dark had been spellbound by how he walked: confident, broken, and everything in between by what had just transpired to make Harry the victor and consigned Voldemort to the deepest regions of hell. That time the walk had been more of a sloping gait, with the barest hint of a limp, as if he were trying his hardest to not let anyone see his hurt.

Bill knew, though. He'd seen the scars and bruises and memories that had almost brought the fluidity to an end. He'd been the one to coax it back to life, been the one to coax Harry to life. He'd been the first graced with a stride made by the angels, by the gods, by all things glorious.

Now it was that fluid grace that was bringing Harry over to where Bill stood, bringing him to Bill's arms, where he fits so well. It is as if Harry is a cat, all lean muscle over a flexible frame that enabled a feline to land on its feet. Much like Harry always manages to do.

He nuzzles like a cat and purrs like one in the bedroom, but that is behind closed doors and they are most certainly not behind them now.

Bill and Harry are in the middle of friends and family, young and old, who savor the warmth of a summer sun, on one of those perfect days in August when a breeze has blown the heat away to leave the scent of honeysuckle behind and the lazy droning of a bumblebee as it moves from petal to petal.

It is days like this when Bill looks forward to watching that walk, the beauty and fluid movements that are so much a part of Harry that it is impossible to separate. Not that he would. To separate them would be to cut Harry out of his life completely, and Bill would not do that for anything.

Bill also waits for the day when he can fondly remember the gliding motions as Harry moves, the day when they are old and it is time to move on from this plane to the next, when everything will be fluid once again.

Fin.