Nothing is mine.

This one is a touch longer on my website, and we all know why that is by now! That said, I despise this chapter; it does everything I want it to do, it's even an arc and a parallel I've been deliberately including since that little plot thread with Bill starts in the remaster of A Cadmean Victory, but I hate it. You'll see why.

Also, I shall briefly reply to my reviewer - who is most ironically named sadist43 (we assume something awful happened to the first 33 xD), because it is the sort of review that deserves a response (and not because someone is so upset about me adhering to British publishing guidelines on quotation marks they're PMing me death threats again or anything stupid like that).

I absolutely understand the frustration, impatience and why they exist. I do also read, so I'm aware of what it's like to be on the receiving end of this sort of thing, but I also believe a certain amount of frustration adds to anticipation rather than detracts, so I attempted to walk a knife edge with the story between letting you feel some of Harry's frustration and impatience, just enough of it to wind you guys up a little bit to make it more effective, and too much, where everyone rightly goes, screw this, I'm out. However, there is a snag with this, because I had to decide whether or not to factor in the extra frustration of the chapter release schedule - because a 2000 word chapter that's mostly OCs is fine when you're just reading right through the story; the perspective hops away from the characters you love most, but everything is still in the reader's head so you can see the relevance, and then you hop back to your favourites - but if there's a four day delay between these chapters, that suddenly all goes out the window. In the end, I decided to write the story as it will be read once it's complete, so the final version is the best it could be, but knowing it's not ideal for those who are following along week after week. And if that resonates with you, then I don't blame you in the slightest, take Sadist34's advice, and come back and read when it's finished, if you prefer. I think that's entirely fair.

A Summer to Remember

Heavy rain pattered down across the lawn, rattling at the kitchen window on the gusts of wind. A soaked brown leaf stuck to the glass, sliding down in the streaming rain and flopping away.

The sound of the rain and the wind besieged the still silence of the house, their muffled, muted clamour clawing at the thick quiet.

How long will Fleur be away? Harry pushed a cherry tomato around the small plate with his fork, cold anxiety churning in the pit of his stomach. Is Fleur doing wards or is she just gone again?

He stabbed the tomato and poked it into his mouth, chewing three times and forcing it down swallow by swallow, the tang fading from his tongue.

Why would she want to leave like that if she loved me? All the little questions bubbled up, rising on the stirring whisper of the storm. Why doesn't she want to wear her wedding ring anymore? Why didn't she want to go to Paris again? Why has it been so long since she last kissed me?

Little stabs of panic tore through him like stinging rose thorns pricking the tips of his fingers and beneath it, bittersweet despair smiled that small sad, knowing smile.

You know why. Harry's heart plummeted. You've always known.

'Perfect wishes…' he whispered, placing the fork down on the plate.

He let the world sink into the smooth shining silver tines; it drifted away out into the muffled wind and rain, fading into a still empty silence as thick and heavy as the darkness in the cupboard beneath the stairs.

No. Harry cut his heart free into the dark. It's impossible. She can't have given up in less than a second. He shoved his empty plate aside and tugged the next of Gabby's books on alchemy over, flicking through the first few pages. Better hope than despair.

'The Origin of Magic,' Harry murmured, huffing a silver hair off the subtitle of the first chapter and skimming the page. 'Stuff about the earliest known forms of magic. Speculation about simple transmutation being the root of all wild forms of magic. Sentience and complex transmutations…' He flicked back a few pages to the contents and ran a finger down the page. 'The development of complex natural transmutation.'

The wind and rain buffeted the window and Harry let the book slump closed.

This is so slow. A murmur of yearning rose, a swelling wave of simmering heat, sweeping his heart upon its foaming crest. There are two holes and none of these books on alchemy actually help.

Harry snatched up the next one and flicked through the contents. 'Principles of transmutation. Instinct and intuition.' He frowned. 'I've already read this one—' Harry added it to the other stack '—you belong over there.'

A golden phoenix burst into flames on the dark red cover of the next book.

'The Miracle of Emotion,' he murmured, opening the cover and flicking past the title page. 'I don't think I got to this one yet.'

Analyses of natural uses of transmutative alchemy in the magic of creatures like dragons have produced interesting theories on the origins of magic and alchemy. However, the fundamental tenet of all magic is feeling. Emotion is what focuses, directs and powers the intent, fuelling everything from spells to dragonfire. It is the source of our every miracle.

Harry brushed little red macaron crumbs from the page with a small sad smile and a soft pang. 'We miss you, Gabby,' he whispered. 'I haven't forgotten what I promised.'

No more hurting. And this is how. Maybe the only way, now I don't have my horcrux to stop Grindelwald's golden flames.

'In all well-trodden avenues of known magicks, there are spells that cannot be stopped,' Harry read. 'This is attributed to intent so strong that it overwhelms any intent to deflect or shield. Few people are capable of casting these magicks, but those that can are always possessed of fierce emotion.'

Fiendfyre. The Unforgiveables. They all require such selfish hate or rage or fear to cast. He drummed his fingers on the page. But Grindelwald's magic swallows them all and grows stronger.

Harry stared at the words, closing his eyes and letting the golden flames well up from his memory.

'They feed off anything they touch.' He frowned. 'Changing physical things is simple, but the magic of others…'

Change. The absolute will to change. Stronger even than hate or rage or fear. A grim certainty settled on him. That which issues from the heart alone, will bend the hearts of others to your own.

'It's not just those who follow and believe him,' Harry murmured. 'It's those who oppose him and even the intent of their magic. He bends it all to his will.'

And what can you do? It doesn't matter how strong your intent is; he's not fighting it, he's changing it. There's no shield or spell that can stop it. Icy dread trickled down Harry's spine, pooling in the pit of his stomach. Without using some magic that's purpose cannot be changed, all you can do is try to change it to what you want instead.

A wry bitter smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth. 'But you still have to want to change it more than he does, and he is absolutely certain, even more certain than Dumbledore was about saving people.'

Dumbledore's right. The only way to stop him is to show him a better way. Nothing can stop that magic. He sacrificed everything. Every dream. Everything he was. He turned himself into a spectre of horror and melancholy with his little book of names and his willing evil to work a greater good. Harry glanced down at the red macaron crumbs, his stomach twisting into a tight, hot knot of tangled thorns. I can't sacrifice everything like that. Without them, there'd be nothing left.

'It's giving him a better way, or watching him set fire to everything.' Harry breathed out the trembling taut heat in a long sigh and sucked in a deep breath. 'This is why. This is how. I just have to keep my promises and it will all come together.' He turned the page.

Fleur apparated in beside the sink, dropping Sarcelle's ring into the pocket of her loose dark robes.

Fleur. Harry offered her a small smile, holding his breath as his stomach shrank into a little ball of fluttering butterflies.

Her blue eyes swept over Gabby's books, lingering on the red crumbs; they darkened to midnight blue and Harry's heart sank.

When was the last time you smiled at me? He searched back through his memories, drawing up warm bright smiles with blue skies and summer sunshine.

The wind drove the rain into the window with a handful of soaked, tattered brown leaves.

Something's missing from how it used to be.

'You have not gone to visit your daughter today,' Fleur said, a sharp gleam in her dark blue eyes. 'Did you forget about her?'

Of course I didn't forget. Harry's heart wrenched. How could I forget?

'Did you miss me?' A touch of acid crept into Fleur's tone. 'Or have you been happy with your runes and your books and your new dream?'

'I always miss you when you're missing—' a little ice settled in Harry's chest '—but you're always gone. Maybe I should find some other pretty blonde witches for when my bird-wife is away. My sisters must have missed me.'

Fleur turned her nose up. 'Your sisters believe you are dead or missing. You cannot go to see them.'

'Daphne Greengrass it is, then,' he quipped. 'She thinks I'm dead too, but it's worth a shot. Her sister says we'd make cute ice cream babies.'

'That shallow selfish little girl does not deserve anything but fire. If you want to spend your time doing things without me, then I am sure I am more than pretty enough to find a cursebreaker to spend time with.'

A stab of panic tore through Harry, snatching the breath from his lips. She wouldn't. He clawed for breath through the dancing dark spots and the lightness swirling about his head. A fist of razor-sharp hot thorns clenched under his ribs, crushing the air from his lung. She loves you. She would never. She's been doing wards. That's all.

Fleur stared at him, a strange gleam in her bright blue eyes.

She wouldn't. You know she wouldn't. That small sad knowing smile waited with open arms, tugging at Harry's heart, dragging it down into the dark empty place below all the rest. But what if she really did give up? If she paid the price, why wouldn't she find someone else to love? Isn't that fair? You almost wanted her to, when you knew you weren't coming back and wouldn't have to see it…

The kitchen walls closed in around him, coiling tight about him like the thick, still dark of the cupboard beneath the stairs.

Out. Harry shoved the table and the piles of books away, his chair sliding back across the floor. I have to get out.

Fleur's forehead creased and she stepped toward him. 'Mon Amour, where are you going?'

Am I still your love? He sucked in half a gasp of cool air and shook away the black specks whirling before his eyes. I shouldn't have retaliated. I made it so much worse.

'I'm not going anywhere,' he said, tucking his chair under the table and holding his breath. 'I love you. I would never touch Daphne Greengrass or anyone, I couldn't. They're not you—' a little shudder rippled through him '—it can only be you.'

'Je suis désolée,' Fleur whispered, cupping his cheek in her hand. 'I would never. You are mine. And I am yours. We made a beautiful baby girl together.'

'Je sais.' Harry covered her hand with his, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. 'Je t'aime, mon Amour.'

'Show me,' she murmured, a sharp gleam in her blue eyes. 'I want to feel it.'

He drew her close, breathing in the faint sweet scent of cherry blossom and kissing the tip of her nose. 'Is that better?'

'Non.' Fleur crushed her lips against his, trailing hungry kisses along his jaw. 'I want to feel you love me.' She stepped back and pulled her wand from her waist. 'However you want to have me.'

Harry watched her place her wand on the kitchen table and wrapped his arms around her waist. 'Don't you always feel I love you?' He pressed a gentle kiss to her upturned lips. 'I always do.'

'I want more,' she whispered, lifting her hands to the collar of her loose dark robes. 'I want to feel just how much you need me.'

'Bedroom?' Harry asked.

'Non.' Fleur shook her head. 'Here—' she pulled her robes off and tossed them aside '—over this table.' Fleur turned and bent over the kitchen table, shoving the plate and books away and placing her palms on its top. 'Now.'

Harry trailed small kisses up her spine to the back of her neck.

'Unless…' Fleur shot him a smouldering gaze over her shoulder. 'There is something you would prefer I do first? With my mouth, non?'

'I—'

'Of course.' She smirked and pushed herself off the wooden surface, sinking to her knees. 'And the view is better without this, too.' Fleur unclasped her bra and pulled it off her right arm, shrugging the strap off her left shoulder. 'Better, non? You can watch me take all of you in my mouth.'

I want to kiss you. Harry cupped her cheek, staring at the soft pale rose pink of her lips.

Fleur reached up and slid his fingers into her hair. 'Get a good grip, mon Amour. You can make me take you as fast and deep as you like.'

The flutter of excitement wavered. But I want to love you.

'Fleur,' Harry murmured, giving her hair a gentle tug. 'Come here.'

She leant back and licked her lips, the corner of her mouth curving up. He reached for her waist, but Fleur's smirk widened and she spun on her heel, bending over the table in front of him.

'No teasing,' Fleur whispered, 'like you need to have me in every way.'

I always need you.

'But—'

'I want it to hurt a little,' she murmured. 'Watch me take all of you. See how perfect I am for you.'

'Fleur…' Harry drew back, a strange, sick feeling settling in his stomach.

The distance between them yawned open as she stared at him, little creases wrinkling her forehead. The crimson triangles of runes in the thorns of the rose tattooed across her hip shone against her pale skin, as bright as blood.

'Fleur—'

'I should go check on the wards of the willow tree,' Fleur said, pulling her bra back on and grabbing her robes off the floor. 'It's been a while since I made sure the Unyielding Shield or the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards were still strong.' She pulled her loose dark robes on and disapparated.

'You have to do that now?' Harry murmured as heat flashed through his thumb.

The acrid tang of bile clung to his tongue as his stomach churned and roiled; his thoughts snagged on the bright red rose thorns tattooed across her smooth pale skin, his heart plummeting. It's impossible to give up in an instant. But what if she planned it beforehand?

Harry conjured a red rose in his left hand and closed his fist around it, ignoring the sharp sting of the thorns biting into his skin and crushing the bright red petals into a pulp. What if she's so sure La Victoire Finale worked because she made it work her own way?

'No.' He clawed his heart back up and vanished the rose with a flick of his wand, watching the thorn pricks on his palm creep closed. 'I'll keep all my promises and when Grindelwald is stopped and nothing can steal our sunset, it won't matter that it hurts now; Katie will come back and Fleur will have her perfect moment after the pain.'

If nothing else will work, that will.

AN: The alternative to the put it down and come back when it's complete is, of course, to hop onto Discord and grab an extra chapter, or come support me and get access to about 20 chapters of my drafts that are posted for early access (and so people can help me find the dyslexic errors xD, all the links are in my profile!