Harry didn't think being the Master of Death would be this difficult until he realized what it truly meant.
Immortality wasn't a gift; it was a curse.
Fleur asks: "How many times have I died?"
Harry doesn't answer.
London tastes like smoke, like burnt paper. The smell lingers in Harry's messy hair and in his mouth. He thinks he might not be able to taste anything else again.
The heat stings his face.
He doesn't forget the screams.
Pop music makes him feel reborn. There's something exciting about Los Angeles. Harry feels the beat fill every part of his being, until he's drunk on music.
He's drunk on other things too, cheap cocktails and craft beer are what he goes for. It's the first time in a long time that he doesn't miss Fleur, like a constant worry tugging at him.
Instead he dances, the lights and sounds of LA his backdrop.
He finds Fleur singing at a club, her voice sweet, her hair shimmering under the lights. Harry feels his heart skip a beat, and certainty sits heavy in the pit of his stomach.
"Hi," Harry says, approaching afterwards.
"Hi," Fleur says, and smiles.
It all comes back to a well.
He's walked all night, his feet sore. The first sip of water brings relief. Harry drinks so fast he gets hiccups, and has to try again. He falls asleep under some trees.
When he wakes up, his feet feel better.
When he wakes up, a stranger attacks him.
Harry defends himself, and his wound heals itself. He's still not sure why. He walks away, shaken.
"I think we've met before," Fleur says, smiling. There's something playful in her voice, but Harry can only hear sincerity.
Harry holds Fleur's hand gently. He kisses her wrist softly. He thinks about her heartbeat, and all the times they might have met before.
"Maybe," Harry says finally, unsure of where to start.
The first time Fleur asks him how old he is, Harry is only around six-hundred. Old enough to know; young enough to not understand. He touches Fleur's silvery-blonde hair and tries not to think too hard about what's to come.
They have a few years in a small house by the sea. It's cozy and smells of salt. Harry's clothes are always a bit damp.
He doesn't mind.
It's illness in the end, like it is so many other times. Harry only remembers it because it's the first - Fleur's face pale beneath his touch, her breathing labored. Harry cries until his body hurts.
He doesn't return for a long time.
Salem is one of the worst. Being called "wizard" isn't new - Harry's been called that for so long he can't recall when it started. But the hunts are never pleasant.
Burning hurts, even when you can't die. It sears the back of Harry's throat and he coughs up ash for days.
He doesn't find Fleur that time. Doesn't know how. Doesn't have the time. Maybe she's still in France. Harry thought it'd be better to come over when he could, but maybe it was a mistake.
He goes south, aiming for New Amsterdam. His skin heals over on the way.
"Your father won't approve," Harry murmurs, kissing Fleur.
Fleur's eyes sparkle in the dark. Harry smells her perfume. "I don't care what he thinks."
She giggles, spinning them, and Harry laughs. He pulls her close, feeling warm and happy. Fleur's kisses are sweet and gentle.
Sneaking around in the gardens feels exciting and fun.
"With a boy?" Harry whispers, imitating Fleur's father. "Fleur, how could you?" He holds her close.
"Oh, Harry," Fleur sighs, smiling.
They kiss and laugh, enjoying their secret moment together.
"What's it like?" Fleur asks. She's sleepy, her eyes half-closed.
Harry touches her face gently. "What?"
Fleur smiles a little. "Not dying." She kisses Harry's hand.
"It feels like..." Harry starts. He pauses. "It feels like waiting for something that never comes. It feels lonely."
Fleur opens her eyes. She hugs Harry. "I wish I could stay with you."
"No," Harry whispers, though his heart says otherwise. "You don't."
It's childbirth once.
Only once.
Harry remembers the pain on Fleur's face, the hours of effort. She holds his hand so tightly he's surprised the bones don't break. It wouldn't have mattered if they did.
The baby doesn't make it. Harry holds him for a while, whispering the name they had chosen. He examines the tiny fingers, the small face. He's got Fleur's hair, wisps of silvery-blonde.
They'll move on from this. Fleur will wake in the morning, and they will cry, and they will move on.
But -
Fleur doesn't wake up. She's cold when Harry stirs from sleep.
Harry buries them side by side. Never again, he tells himself, walking away. Never again.
When he really finds out -
It's a silly accident. Who goes swimming during a storm?
Harry gets pulled under. His last thought before drowning is "oh no."
He wakes up on a beach days later, wet and coughing but alive. Fleur, somehow there and still beautiful, is touching his forehead gently, looking worried.
"I know you," Harry whispers, his voice rough. Fleur's name is on the tip of his tongue. "You're supposed to be gone."
Fleur covers Harry's eyes with her hand. "Shh," she says. "You're safe now."
One time:
Riding on a bus in Paris. Harry looks up, and there she is, a few seats away, her face half-hidden by a book. Her eyes are the same, and Harry feels their gaze long after they part ways.
Later Harry wishes he had said something - called out, waved, anything. He spends days looking through Paris for Fleur and finds nothing.
He remembers the brightness of Fleur's eyes, and waits for the next time.
He stops counting around 1600. Age doesn't matter when there's no end. Harry would rather remember other things.
"Would you live forever with me?" Fleur whispers to Harry, cuddling close in bed. Her hands are in his hair, her words a bit sleepy.
Harry blinks slowly. The room is cozy and warm. He's had a bit too much to drink. His friends will tease him again. It's not how a responsible adult should act. Harry's also sure a responsible adult wouldn't be sharing a bed with Bill's wife of a past life, but he hasn't told anyone about that yet.
Fleur kisses Harry's cheek, giggling. "You haven't answered me."
The soft light makes Fleur look radiant. Harry touches her face gently. Fleur smiles at him, making Harry's heart flutter.
"Yes," Harry says. "For you? Yes."