CHAPTER 1: PROLOGUE
The weather was unforgiving on that fateful day. England's winter seasons were usually cold and windy, stretching over three long months. Snow wasn't always a given, but this year was an exception. The winter had brought snow, and along with it, an overwhelming sense of pain.
Not everyone saw the snowfall as a curse, though.
On the outskirts of the small town of Godric's Hollow, an open playground was blanketed in pure white snow. Children and adults alike could be seen frolicking in the knee-deep snow, building snowmen and engaging in spirited snowball fights. Laughter echoed through the air, adding to the festive atmosphere of the brief winter season.
Well, almost everyone was enjoying it.
From the kitchen window, he stood silently, watching a group of children embroiled in an intense snowball fight. Their laughter, clear and infectious, filled the air. Usually, such scenes would bring a smile to his face, but this year was different. This year, the winter's cold seemed to seep into his very soul.
He was jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of coughing from the bedroom. Quickly, he gathered a bowl of water and a soft towel, then made his way to the bedroom.
Gently placing the bowl on the bedside table, he turned his attention to her.
Victoire, Dominique, and Louis were already there. They had arrived at Godric's Hollow that morning with their families. Victoire and Dominique, both mothers now, had brought their children along.
Lying on the bed, frail and shrunken, was a woman who had once been the epitome of beauty to him. Now, only traces of that beauty remained, her sunken face a testament to the relentless battle she was losing to cancer.
"How is she today?" he asked quietly, looking at Victoire.
"Not good," Victoire replied, her voice trembling. "The pain is getting worse."
Dominique reached out to touch her mother's hand, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "Mum, we're here," she whispered. "We're all here."
Louis stood silently at the foot of the bed, his face pale and drawn. He had always been the quiet one, but the gravity of the situation had rendered him almost mute.
The woman on the bed stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She looked at her children, a weak smile forming on her lips. "My darlings," she rasped. "You're all here."
"Yes, Mum," Victoire said, her voice breaking. "We're here, and we love you so much."
The woman's eyes moved to the man standing by the bedside table. "And you, my love," she said softly. "Thank you for everything."
He swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "It's nothing," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "I just want you to be comfortable."
She nodded, her eyes closing again. "I am, now that you're all here."
For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of her labored breathing. The family stood together, united in their grief and love for the woman who had been their world.
Outside, the children's laughter continued to ring through the air, a stark contrast to the somber scene inside the house. The snow continued to fall, a silent witness to the pain and love within.
Finally, Victoire spoke again, her voice a mere whisper. "We'll get through this, together."
"Yes," Dominique agreed, squeezing her mother's hand. "Together."
Louis nodded, his eyes never leaving his mother's face. "Together," he echoed.
The man at the bedside table reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from the woman's forehead. "Together," he repeated, his voice filled with determination.
And in that moment, despite the harsh winter and the even harsher reality they faced, they found a sliver of hope in their unity.
He sat right beside her. Wetting the soft towel he had brought with him, he began to wipe his wife's face, hands, and feet, hoping it would help to contain the excessive body heat generated by the flu she had contracted a few days ago. The flu had certainly done a number on her already severely weakened body.
As he did that, he began to recall the conversation he had with Cassandra Osman three days ago...
Saint Mungo's Hospital, Three Days Ago
From the entrance to the ward, Harry watched solemnly as Healer Osman ran a series of diagnostic spells on Fleur. She had contracted the flu a few days ago, and due to her condition, he couldn't take her to a magical clinic in Godric's Hollow. Instead, he had called in Healer Osman, who happened to be their neighbor and a close friend of Fleur, for help. Cassandra had advised him to take Fleur to the hospital, insisting that it was the only way to handle the sickness effectively. Harry had objected at first, worried that Fleur's already fragile state from her cancer treatment would make the trip too dangerous. However, he had relented when Fleur's condition worsened.
Healer Osman finished her diagnosis and wrote her findings on a piece of parchment. After ensuring that the IV drip—a muggle invention adapted by the magical community—was in order, she walked towards Harry.
"How is she, Cassy?" asked Harry, his voice heavy with concern.
Cassandra sighed, taking off her glasses and looking at Harry intently. "The virus that infected her is a common flu strain. Fatalities only occur in extremely rare cases. Usually, a person with a decent immune system would be completely cured within four to five days, a week at most. But Fleur no longer has any of those defenses. The cancer treatment she underwent wiped everything out. She was already severely weakened before she got the fever, Harry. The flu has made it even worse."
Harry glanced at his wife, who was lying unconscious on the bed not far from them. Without taking his eyes off Fleur, he said, "And here I thought magic could solve everything."
Cassandra, understanding his sentiment, shook her head. "There isn't much difference between us and muggles, Harry. Many diseases can still kill us. The only respite we have, if we're lucky enough, is that our normal lifespan is far longer than theirs."
Harry turned to look at her, desperation in his eyes. "Isn't there anything more we can do for her? Any potion, any spell?"
Cassandra placed a comforting hand on his arm. "We're doing everything we can to keep her comfortable and manage her pain. Palliative care is our focus now. It's about quality of life, not prolonging suffering."
Harry's shoulders slumped. "I just don't want her to be in pain."
"We'll make sure she's as comfortable as possible," Cassandra assured him. "And being with her, supporting her emotionally, is just as important. She needs to feel your love and presence now more than ever."
He nodded, the reality of her words settling in. "Thank you, Cassandra."
"Isn't there anything you could do? Anything?" asked Harry hopefully.
"At this point, there isn't anything else I can do, Harry. I could give her something to ease the pain, but everything else will entirely depend on her."
"Cassy, please. She needs help."
"I know that, Harry. What do you think I'm trying to do? We've done everything we can based on what we know about the flu, but right now, as I said before, everything else depends on her. I hate to say this, Harry, but her will to live could be the only thing that ensures her survival. That's the only thing that could save her, Harry."
Harry sighed. For some unfathomable reason, he already saw what was coming. Feeling dejected, he said, "I'm not ready to lose her, Cassy. She's the only one I got."
"You still have your children, Harry," reminded Cassandra, a little bit sternly. "I know how much you care for her. I care for her too. We have long been best friends, even before you came along. Like you, I also don't want to lose her. But being a healer and after seeing so many deaths, has taught me to become more pragmatic."
Harry shot her a look. "What do you mean by that?"
"Harry," said Cassandra softly. "Fleur is already more than 95 years old. She's older than even you. She is not as strong as before, you know that. She can only suffer so much."
Harry didn't say anything at first. He simply stared at her. "You're asking me to let her go?"
"No. I'm asking you to be prepared. Despite the level of advancement we've achieved over these past few hundred years, there are still things we can't control. You know what I'm talking about. You've taken good care of her, Harry. Even better than I had imagined. You have loved her, cherished her, and protected her all this time. You've held resolutely to your vow from your wedding day. You've been a good husband to her and a good father to your children. They have grown up beautifully because of you."
Harry's eyes filled with tears. He looked at Cassandra, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to say goodbye."
"You don't have to say goodbye just yet," Cassandra replied gently. "Just be with her. Love her. That's what she needs the most right now."
Harry nodded, wiping away the tears that threatened to fall. "I'll do my best."
"I know you will," Cassandra said, giving him a reassuring smile. "And remember, we're all here for you. You don't have to go through this alone."
Harry didn't say anything.
Cassandra took advantage of Harry's silence and continued, "Harry, at this point, Fleur will need another service from you. Something only you, as her husband, can give. Be strong for her, Harry. Let her be at peace."
After a few moments of silence, Harry finally nodded.
Cassandra smiled. "Thank you, Harry," she muttered. She gave him a tight hug before she left for her office.
Harry's gaze followed Cassandra until she disappeared around the corner. Sighing, he slowly entered the ward where an unconscious Fleur was kept and took a seat beside her bed. He reached for her hand and began to caress it. It was still soft, but Harry could feel that it was no longer as strong as the first time he touched it.
The conversation with Cassandra kept playing in Harry's mind as he continued to attend to Fleur. The weight of her words, urging him to be strong for his wife, echoed within him, filling the silent room.
That night, Fleur started to have breathing difficulties. Harry quickly administered the inhaler, but her condition did not improve. Her breathing kept getting worse until, at one point, she had to breathe through her mouth. Her chest heaved with every breath she took.
Harry knew that the time had come. He quietly asked his children, with the exception of their spouses and his grandchildren, to gather inside the room. Both Victoire and Dominique were silently crying. Louis, their only son, didn't cry, but traces of sadness lingered on his face as his eyes remained transfixed on his mother.
Harry sat beside Fleur on the bed. Slowly but lovingly, he cradled her head. Fleur's eyes fluttered open. Her gaze found his, and despite her condition, her lips managed to form a smile.
"Harry."
Her voice was still soft, just like the first time he had heard it properly, right after he 'saved' Gabrielle. But now, that beautiful voice was frail.
Harry forced a smile. "Everything is going to be fine, honey. You're going to be fine."
Fleur smiled further. "You're always the more optimistic one, Harry. But one day, you'll learn not to speak things that have no truth in them."
"Fleur—"
"I heard what Cassy said to you the other day. I'm willing to accept what is coming to me, Harry," said Fleur softly. "And you should too."
Harry didn't say anything.
With much difficulty, Fleur turned to look at her children. Her frail hand reached out for them. Victoire was the first to grab it. The other two immediately moved closer to her.
Fleur's bright blue eyes traveled between her three children. She could see tears lining the cheeks of both her daughters. Her only son didn't cry, but she knew he was on the verge.
"Don't cry," she whispered.
Victoire looked up. "Maman?"
Fleur smiled, her voice barely audible. "You have all made me so proud. My beautiful children... I love you all so much."
Dominique choked back a sob. "We love you too, Maman."
Louis finally let a tear escape, his voice cracking. "We'll take care of each other, Mum. Just like you taught us."
Fleur's gaze shifted back to Harry. "And you, my love... thank you for everything. For the wonderful life, for our beautiful children... for loving me so completely."
Harry's voice broke as he replied, "I love you, Fleur. Always."
Fleur's eyes softened, her breath becoming more labored. "Promise me you'll stay strong... for them."
"I promise," Harry whispered, tears streaming down his face.
With one final, contented sigh, Fleur's eyes closed. Her breathing slowed, then ceased altogether. The room was filled with the quiet sobs of her family, each of them holding on to her, feeling the profound loss of their beloved matriarch.
Harry gently laid her head back on the pillow, his heart breaking. He leaned down, kissing her forehead one last time. "Goodbye, my love," he murmured, his voice full of sorrow and love.
Fleur croaked up a smile. "Don't cry for me, sweetheart, for I will be going to a better place. I will be going home where your grandmother and grandfather are already waiting for me. And someday, you will be home too, and I shall be waiting for the day we are all together once again."
Both Victoire and Dominique sobbed even harder. Louis had traces of tears lining his cheeks.
"Until that time, my loves, be strong for your children. Be strong for your loved ones. Be strong for your father. Promise me that you will endure all the pain and suffering of this world with your heads held high, just like your father and I did."
It took a while, but Victoire, Dominique, and Louis finally nodded.
Fleur smiled further. "Thank you," she softly said, her eyes never wavering from her children. "Thank you for being such wonderful children. Thank you for being the light of my stars that shine through the night. Thank you for all the happiness and love you have given me. I hope I have been a good mother, and I hope that everything I did was enough in your eyes. Forgive me for not being able to do more."
Nobody said anything. Her daughters continued to cry. Harry had to look away. He did not want Fleur to see him failing to conceal his own anguish. He tried very hard to fight back his tears.
"Now," Fleur's voice was heard once again, "there's something I need to say to your father before I go. Could you...?"
Luckily, her children understood. They each gave her one last tearful kiss and hugged her tightly before filing out of the room.
The door clicked closed. Harry retook his seat on the bed beside his wife and took her hand in his. His green eyes stared deeply into her blue ones.
"Harry," Fleur began, her voice softer than ever, "you have been my rock, my constant source of strength. I need you to promise me something."
"Anything, Fleur," Harry whispered, his voice breaking.
"Promise me that you'll continue living, not just existing. Find joy, find laughter, find a way to keep your heart light. Our children need you, and you need to be there for them, truly there."
Harry nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I promise, Fleur. I'll do my best."
"Remember our moments together, the love we shared, and let that be your guide. You are a good man, Harry, and you deserve happiness, even after I'm gone."
He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "I love you, Fleur. Always have, always will."
"And I love you, Harry. Forever and always," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
With one final, contented sigh, Fleur's eyes closed. Her breathing slowed, then ceased altogether. Harry held her close, feeling the profound loss but also the deep, unending love they had shared.
"Harry?" Fleur's voice was a soft whisper.
"Fleur?" Harry responded, leaning closer.
"Harry," she said softly, "I have loved you for the past 70 years, and if given the chance, I would gladly do it all over again. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being a good friend and a good father to our children. I truly can't ask for more."
"I tried my best, honey," Harry said, continuing to caress his wife's hand.
"Indeed you have," said Fleur. "And the best is what you have always given me. I am so proud of you, Harry."
Harry said nothing, his emotions too overwhelming for words.
Fleur took the opportunity to continue. "Harry, there are so many things I want to say to you. So many things I want to tell you, but I'm going to wait until we're together again." At this point, her face took on an angelic quality, as if she were heaven-sent. "With you, the spring would forever be in bloom, and whenever we're apart, it would be the winter in my heart."
Harry's body began to quake as he tried with all his might to stop the tears that were coming. "Harry," said Fleur. "You know where I'll be waiting. I love you, Harry."
"I love you, sweetheart," said Harry, his voice breaking. "Kiss me."
It was her last wish, and Harry dutifully obliged. He bent down and kissed his wife's lips one last time.
As if on cue, Fleur's breathing began to slow down, and moments later, she drew her last breath. Her eyes were completely shut, and a small smile adorned her lips. She was finally at peace.
Harry continued to hold her throughout the night, weeping for the beacon of his life that had extinguished forever.
The quiet of the room was filled with the echoes of love and loss, and outside, the world was a silent witness to the profound bond that had defined their lives. Each falling snowflake seemed to carry a piece of Fleur's spirit, a reminder of the beauty and strength she had brought into their lives.
The family stood united in their grief, their hearts heavy but filled with the unending love and memories that Fleur had left behind. Harry, though shattered, knew that her legacy would live on through their children, their shared memories, and the enduring love that would forever bind them together.
Godric's Hollow Cemetery, Eight Days Later...
The tombstone read:
Fleur Isabelle Potter 1977 – 2072 "With you, the spring would forever be in bloom, and whenever we're apart, it would be winter in my heart."
Five days had passed since the funeral, and for five consecutive days, Harry had not missed a single visit to his wife's grave. The funeral was a modest affair, attended by a handful of the couple's surviving friends. Among them was Cassandra, a dear friend. Hermione, now widowed for five years after Ron's heart complications claimed him, came alone. Neville and his wife Luna also attended. The most unexpected guest was Draco Malfoy. His transformation after the second Great War was remarkable. Harry had never considered him a close friend, but Draco's change of heart was a welcome surprise.
Fleur was laid to rest beside the graves of Harry's parents. Each day, Harry stood by her tombstone, gazing at the inscription for hours, his silent tears flowing freely. He never wiped them away, finding a strange solace in his sorrow. Standing so close to her yet unable to see her brought a profound sense of despair. He knew Fleur was resting peacefully beneath the snow, unaware of her husband's presence. The feeling of hopelessness enveloped him, and Harry often wished he could join her beneath the snow, escaping the pain of their separation.
That day was no different from the others. In the morning, with the help of his walking stick, he embarked on the three-mile journey from his house to the cemetery. It was a challenging trek, especially for a man of his age, but he endured it nonetheless. The thought of being apart from Fleur for too long was unbearable. As he reached her grave, he stood there, as he had done every day before, for hours on end.
Harry's silent vigil was interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Harry," Hermione's voice was soft, filled with concern. She approached him slowly, her eyes reflecting his pain.
He turned to face her, his eyes red and swollen. "Hermione," he acknowledged, his voice barely a whisper.
She stood beside him, looking at Fleur's grave. "She was a wonderful woman, Harry. She wouldn't want you to be in so much pain."
Harry nodded, his gaze returning to the tombstone. "I know. But I can't help it. Every day without her feels like an eternity."
Hermione placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's okay to grieve, Harry. But Fleur would want you to find some happiness, to live your life."
He sighed deeply, leaning on his walking stick for support. "I just don't know how to move on. She was everything to me."
They stood in silence for a moment, the winter chill biting through their clothes. Finally, Hermione spoke again. "You have friends who care about you, Harry. We're here for you. You don't have to go through this alone."
Harry gave a faint smile, appreciating her words. "Thank you, Hermione. It means a lot."
As they stood there, a snowflake landed on Fleur's tombstone, a delicate reminder of the changing seasons. Harry took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, and for the first time in days, he felt a glimmer of warmth in his heart.
Later, as Harry made his way back home, he was joined by Neville.
"How are you holding up, Harry?" Neville asked, his tone gentle.
Harry glanced at him, managing a small smile. "It's tough, Neville. But having you all here helps."
Neville nodded. "Luna and I were talking about the old days. Fleur was always so kind and full of life. She wouldn't want you to lose yourself in sorrow."
Harry sighed. "I know. It's just hard to let go."
Neville stopped walking and looked at Harry earnestly. "You don't have to let go, Harry. You just have to find a way to carry her memory with you and still live your life."
Harry looked down, thinking about Neville's words. "You're right. I need to find that balance."
As they continued their walk, Draco Malfoy appeared, heading towards the cemetery. He paused when he saw Harry and Neville, then walked over.
"Potter," Draco said, nodding in acknowledgment.
"Malfoy," Harry replied, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Didn't expect to see you here again so soon."
Draco shrugged. "I figured I'd pay my respects once more. Fleur was a remarkable woman. She brought out the best in you."
Harry was taken aback by Draco's words but appreciated the sentiment. "Thank you, Draco. That means a lot."
Draco gave a small smile. "Don't mention it. Take care of yourself, Potter."
As Draco walked away, Harry felt a strange sense of camaraderie with the man he once considered an enemy. Perhaps, in their shared grief and experiences, they had found common ground.
Harry continued his walk home, feeling a little lighter with each step. He knew the journey ahead would be long and difficult, but with the support of his friends, he felt a flicker of hope. Fleur's memory would always be with him, guiding him through the winters of his heart until he could find the spring once more.
That night, Louis came into Harry's bedroom. After their mother's death, each of his children took turns looking after him. Harry didn't like to burden them, knowing they had their own lives to live, but his children insisted. Fleur had done a wonderful job raising them; none of their children neglected their parents.
Louis sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his father with concern. "How are you holding up, Dad?" he asked softly.
Harry gave him a tired smile. "I'm managing, Louis. It's just... different now."
Louis nodded, understanding the weight of his father's words. They chatted for a few moments, discussing mundane topics to keep the conversation light. Louis made sure Harry had everything he needed before deciding it was time to leave.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Dad," Louis said, leaning in to kiss his father's cheek.
"Take care, Louis," Harry replied, watching as his son climbed into the fireplace. With a whoosh, the emerald green flames erupted, and Louis disappeared.
Harry returned to his bedroom, turning off the lights and slipping into bed. As he lay there, memories of his long life flooded his mind. The adventures, the friendships, the love he shared with Fleur—all of it played like a film reel in his head. Just before sleep took over, he turned to look at the empty space beside him, where Fleur used to be.
A tender smile formed on his lips. "Good night, love," he whispered into the darkness.
But just as he closed his eyes, something extraordinary happened. A blinding white light engulfed his body, and within seconds, he was gone.
Harry opened his eyes to a serene, ethereal landscape. The air was filled with a soft, golden glow, and a sense of peace washed over him. He looked around, bewildered, until he saw her—Fleur. She stood a few feet away, radiant and smiling.
"Fleur?" he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.
"Yes, Harry. It's me," she replied, her voice like a soothing melody.
He rushed to her, embracing her tightly. Tears streamed down his face as he held her, feeling her warmth. "I've missed you so much," he said, his voice breaking.
"I've missed you too, Harry," Fleur whispered back. "But we're together now, and we'll never be apart again."
In that moment, all the pain and sorrow melted away. Harry knew he had finally come home. Together, they walked hand in hand into the light, leaving behind the world they once knew, but taking with them the love that had always bound them.
Back in the mortal realm, a sense of peace settled over Harry's home. His children, though grieving, felt a comforting presence, as if their parents were still watching over them, united once more.
"Harry! Harry! Harry!"
Someone was shaking his shoulder vigorously. Harry blinked a few times, disoriented as a bright white light pierced his eyes. The surrounding sounds of the rattling train and distant chatter filtered through his grogginess as the familiar compartment of the Hogwarts Express came into focus.
"Uh, what-?" he grumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"HARRY!"
The urgency in the voice snapped him awake. "I'm up! I'm up! What's all the fuss abou—" Harry suddenly froze, his heart pounding.
"Ron?!"
Ron Weasley was standing over him, his face pale with worry and his red hair even more disheveled than usual. The compartment was dimly lit, with the glow of the setting sun streaming through the window, casting long shadows.
"Harry, thank Merlin you're awake!" Ron exclaimed, his voice trembling. "We've got a problem."
Harry sat up quickly, pushing aside the blanket that had been covering him. "What's going on? Is everyone alright?"
Ron nodded but glanced nervously towards the door of the compartment. "Yeah, everyone's fine, but there's something you need to see. It's in the next compartment."
Harry grabbed his glasses from the small table beside him and put them on. "Lead the way."
As they hurried through the narrow corridor of the train, Harry's mind raced with possibilities. "Ron, what happened? Why did you wake me up in the middle of the journey?"
Ron hesitated for a moment before answering, "It's Hermione. She found something... something important. She said it couldn't wait."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. If Hermione thought it was urgent, it had to be serious. They reached the next compartment, where Hermione was pacing anxiously near the window. Her eyes lit up with relief when she saw Harry.
"Harry, thank goodness," she said, rushing over to him. "I found this in one of the books we brought along. It's a map, but not just any map. It's a map of Hogwarts, and it shows... well, it shows something strange."
She spread out an old, parchment map on the seat, and Harry leaned in to examine it. The map was covered in intricate lines and symbols, with parts of the castle he didn't recognize.
"Look here," Hermione pointed to a section near the dungeons. "This area isn't supposed to exist. There's no record of it in any of the Hogwarts history books."
Harry furrowed his brow. "Could it be another secret passage or room? Like the Chamber of Secrets?"
Ron shook his head. "It's more than that. This area is massive, and it looks like it's been hidden for centuries."
Hermione nodded. "I think it might be connected to the founders of Hogwarts. We need to investigate it, but we can't go alone. It's too dangerous."
Harry looked at his friends, determination burning in his eyes. "Alright, we'll go together. But we need to be careful. If this place has been hidden for so long, there must be a reason."
Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, then nodded in agreement. "We'll be ready," Ron said.
"Let's make a plan," Hermione suggested. "We should gather what we need and figure out how to approach this once we get to Hogwarts."
As they discussed their next steps, the rhythmic clatter of the train wheels on the tracks seemed to echo their growing anticipation. The hidden section of Hogwarts awaited them, and whatever secrets it held, they would face them together.
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