Author's Note: It's been an entire year since I last posted anything. In that time, I quit my job, moved across the country, got accepted into university, and was even reunited with a cat for the first time since she disappeared at almost the same time as I last uploaded. What I haven't done, more than anything else, is write. Almost all of this story was full written by the end of april last year. In fact, the only thing that wasn't done was the last part of the last scene, which blankly refused my every attempt to put words on the page until today. But now it's done, and I couldn't be happier with how I left things. This is not goodbye, or at least I hope it isn't. There are still so many stories left to tell. So, thank you for your patience, and enjoy. But first, enjoy this copy/pasted AN paragraph that I include in everything I've posted.
That said, I would never have gotten even this far if it were not for the support of many people over on the Harry/Fleur Discord server, the link to which is in my profile. There will also be a fanfic recommendation at the end of the chapter. Thanks to DaveAthenai, Gearheadbsnist, Charlennette, and x102reddragon in particular for inspiring me and encouraging me to write these stories. If you enjoy the story please leave a comment telling me what you liked and how you think I could improve. I always read them and they bring a smile to my face every time.
Fond Goodbyes:
Chapter One
"Tabula Squiray."
Fleur watched in satisfaction as the piece of parchment floated off to one side, exactly two-thirds arm-length away and just below shoulder height. She flipped her wand in hand, holding it upside down like a quill, and began to write on the parchment's surface. It resisted the pressure of her hand, feeling for all the world as if she were writing on a smooth, solid surface despite the parchment hanging in mid-air, flowing script appearing on its surface from the point of her wand with no need for ink or quill. It even made her writing neater, the letters formed as much by her mind as her hand and wrist. She smiled.
"What have we here?" said a voice to her left, and Fleur looked around to see Aimeé Beaucort approaching, having just walked through the test chamber door.
"New Spell?"
"It is," she confirmed, gesturing to a thick stack of bound parchments on a worktable along the wall. "And there is the theory."
Aimeé looked at it with a raised brow, then turned back to Fleur with a slowly widening grin.
"It wouldn't happen to be a charm, would it?"
She grinned back.
"It is."
"And am I to understand that you brought me here to examine it?"
"You are."
Aimeé let a short laugh of delight, swooping over to the table and beginning immediately to rifle through Fleur's documentation.
"Happy Birthday," Fleur said, walking over and placing an arm on Aimeé's shoulder, smiling as she turned around with a start.
"Oh?" she said, pausing as Fleur's words registered and turning, ehr eyes going wide. "But it's not for another week?"
Fleur shrugged.
"The timing is a little off, I admit, but I made progress faster than I anticipated."
Aimeé nodded, then paused again as her expression went slack in realisation.
"Wait, if this is a gift, then…"
"I want you to partner with me for the final publication," Fleur confirmed, relishing the way her friend's eyes lit up at the offer.
"Fleur, I…"
She stammered for a moment, her mouth open and nothing coming out, then she closed it with a sigh and smiled.
"Thank you, Fleur."
"You are welcome, Aimeé."
~0~
The gate opened with a slight creak as she passed through and began making her way up the path by the olive grove, tilting her head to the side and enjoying the slight breeze as it crossed her face and carried the scent of growing things.
Aimeé was still in the lab, going through Fleur's project documentation and familiarising herself with the spell, and Fleur couldn't help but smile as she remembered the expression on her face as she got to work on her first publication.
Fleur had only made two such publications previously.
The first had been only a year after she began working at the Department of Experimental Magics and Artifacts and was based on the practical experience she'd gained in the war. Having served as a lead warder and enchanter for Harry's forces, and having had the opportunity to experiment with magics ranging from the legendary wards of Hogwarts itself to the most intricate and subtly dangerous magics woven into Voldemort's horcruxes, she had used that breadth of practical experience to enhance her academic base to great effect in her publication on a new frontier of intersectional magics, bridging the gap between otherwise alien spells and magical properties in ways that were not only safe but which allowed for practical interaction and usage.
Her second publication had not been nearly so groundbreaking. More limited in its focus, she had studied the different mechanics of how the ancient runic languages focused magical energies, similarly to wand-movements and incantations, and then bound those energies in place to sustain the effect over an extended period. None of which was new, strictly speaking, but, in examining the origins of the linguistic differences, Fleur had found ways to apply her previous experience to bridge the barrier between languages and combine the effects of one or more language's runic symbols into a single spell without muddling together the precise meanings of any involved.
It wasn't perfect, and if the languages were too drastically different then a significant amount of additional work was needed to combine them safely, but it theoretically enabled a caster to combine the full strengths of every runic language and negate their weaknesses in a single spell for almost limitless application, albeit at the cost of making the spell vastly more complex as each language added.
And, of course, she also had enough material on Edward Snyde's amplification array to publish thrice over, but those secrets she would take to her grave.
Their house came into view as she rounded the bend, her spirit lightening automatically as it always did on coming home.
She glanced at her watch as she neared the veranda, the timepiece telling her that Harry and Isabelle wouldn't be back from practice for at least another fifteen minutes, and as she stepped in through the front door and hung her coat on the hook she decided to make coffee and tea to be ready when they arrived.
~0~
They made dinner together.
Harry cooked the chicken and Fleur chopped the ingredients for the soup, and Isabelle stood on a stool in front of the stove stirring all the while.
Stories were exchanged, Fleur told them about the new spell she was publishing with Aimeé and Isabelle talked about the performance Mme Dubois was planning for Christmas, Swan Lake.
After the food was cooked and dinner eaten, they sat down for a game of Gnomes and Burrows in the parlour, Isabelle delighting in how the Weasley-crafted board managed new and strange ways of sending them back down to the garden each time they landed on a red square. Soon enough it was time for bed and, with Isabelle tucked in, Harry and Fleur had a bit of quality time all to themselves.
~0~
She let the warm water cascade over her, thoroughly enjoying the sensation as the heat penetrated her muscles and washed the usual soreness away. Harry moved outside the shower, the sounds of his evening ablutions reminding Fleur of the necessity of finishing her own, reticent though she was to leave the relaxing warmth she'd found. Still, the promise of their bed and Harry beside her was the more enticing, and she shut off the water with a reluctant sigh.
The door closed as Harry exited the room just ahead of Fleur drawing back the shower curtain and a part of her was disappointed that he hadn't stayed to look, though she was more grateful that he hadn't let the heat escape. A drying charm, a quick rubdown with a towel, and a teeth-cleaning charm later, Fleur exited the room, a mischievous grin playing across her features as she sauntered over to her dresser, thoroughly pleased with herself as she watched Harry go still.
"Forget the towel?"
"Did I?"
Her grin broadened as he shook his head, his gaze finally leaving her as she began to put on her nightclothes, already dressed in his own. She was ready in short order and slid into bed beside him as he doused the lights with a flick of his wand, turning her back to him and snuggling in deeper as he put an arm over her and buried his face in her shoulder, his breath fluttering over her neck as it slowed in time with her own.
~0~
"Is Isabelle up yet?"
"Non, she was still asleep when I poked in."
Harry nodded without turning, busy as he was with the coffee press, teapot, and tray of toast he was carrying over to the kitchen table. She joined him, walking over and sitting down across from him, murmuring a thank you as he passed her a small plate and her favorite mug.
They tucked in, mostly focused on the food and beverages as they waited for themselves to be fully awake. But just as she began to feel her brain catch up with the fact that she was no longer in bed, an owl swooped in through the kitchen window.
It was clutching a letter in its talons and dropped the parchment envelope in the middle of the wooden worktable as it flew, not stopping as it banked and soared out again through the open terrace door.
It was gone as quickly as it came, and she blinked in surprise, exchanging a puzzled look with Harry who shrugged slightly, picking up the envelope and checking the address before passing it over with a frown. She looked at it, turning it over to see what had prompted the expression, before frowning herself as she read the address, written in a looping hand that was vaguely familiar.
Fleur Delacour
She opened it, slitting the envelope with a butter knife Harry had just spelled clean and slid over to her, pulling the folded parchment out from within and beginning to read with an odd sense of trepidation.
Dear Fleur, I hope this finds you well.
It's been years since we last saw each other, and I know that we didn't part on the best of terms, but recent events have made me realise that past mistakes are not worth the loss of shared history.
We used to be friends, all of us, and that friendship was one of the best parts of my life at the time.
I would like to invite you and the others to lunch at Le Moulin Vert in Place Caché on the 13th, around one o'clock. There's no need to reply, but I hope you do choose to attend.
With love,
Marie.
The frown never left her features despite the whirlwind of changes taking place within. Her chest felt too full, as if she had started breathing in but never stopped, but when she forced out a sigh it didn't go away.
And the signiature, she'd been sure it was going to be from Ca—
"Fleur?"
She started, the feeling of pressure abruptly vanishing as she looked over at Harry, who was watching her with concern.
"Are you all right?"
"I-"
She paused, taking a moment to compose herself.
"Yes, Harry. It is just unexpected. It is from Marie," she said with a tight smile, offering him the letter by way of explanation.
His frown deepened, and he raised an eyebrow, glancing up at her before starting to read.
"From Beauxbatons?"
"Oui."
"… I see."
They lapsed into silence as Harry read the letter too. She took a sip of her coffee and found that it had gone cold, warming it with a quick charm as Harry finished the letter and the feeling of pressure began to faintly rise up in her once more.
"Well…" he paused, seeming to search for the right words. "Do you want to go?"
Hell no.
"I am… not sure."
The brow was lifted in her direction once more.
"Not particularly," she admitted.
He nodded, looking back down at the letter to reread the last few lines.
"Well, she said not to reply, so you've got a few days to think it over. The thirteenth is a Sunday, no?
"Oui."
He nodded, setting the parchment down on the table and leaning back in his chair, studying her closely, waiting for her to speak.
"I have not spoken to them in almost twenty years."
A flash of hurt accompanied the admission, the old wound never fully healed.
"But a part of you wants to."
She paused, struggling to put her feelings into words.
"The good times were still good, non?"
Harry held her gaze for a moment then blinked, sighing as he raked a hand through his hair.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But if nothing else, it's a chance to find out."
She bit her lip, her gaze unfocusing as grappled with it all.
"Sunday," she said eventually, the sound of her voice almost surprising to her ears. "I have until then to decide."
Harry held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded.
She picked up the letter, sliding it back into the envelope and placing both into her bag as she stood, putting it from her mind for now. Harry stood as well, accompanying her up the steps and to the door, where she stopped and turned to kiss him.
He wrapped her in a hug and held her tight, and she closed her eyes for a moment and enjoyed the simple feeling of his arms around her as the pressure in her chest faded again away.
"I love you," she said, pulling back to look at him.
"I love you too, have a good day."
"I will certainly try," she replied, a soft smile crossing her features as she turned to leave.
~0~
Fleur could not focus.
Her assignment was engaging, a consult from Magical Healing on a new technique reported coming out of India, a way to undo the damage of cursed injuries previously thought incurable. Their team had been unable to find any means of accomplishing the feat, despite an isolated example of something similar in Britain a few months prior, and had sent a request to the DEMA for assistance. Fournier had been assigned to the biological side of things while she attempted to reverse engineer the curses to identify what could break them down, but they were just too incompatible for any single piece of magic to dismantle them all.
But she could. not. focus.
She stared sightlessly down at the report in front of her, a copy of a submission at St. Mungos regarding the British case, but her eyes glazed over the words.
…date of injury Oct. 1st 1999… …previous attempts ineffective… …deemed permanen… …inor success in pain management via special potions trea… …unable to contact previous heale… …issappeared overni… …nexplained…
It was just as she realised that she had skipped over the last line for the third time and stubbornly attempted to read it again that the thought of the letter returned unbidden to the fore of her thoughts once more, and she groaned in frustration as she hung her head.
"I'm faring no better, I'm afraid."
She looked up to see Fournier standing there holding a fresh stack of parchment, and looking just as spent as she felt.
"Hello, Jean Claude," she said with a sigh, sitting up and sweeping her gaze across the mess of papers already on her desk. "More reports?"
"I have identified another dozen or so treatments it can't possibly be," he said, the older man's tone of forced cheerfulness at odds with his expression. "You?"
"About the same, though I find myself distracted," she replied, holding out a hand and taking the stack of parchments when it was proffered to her. She thumbed through it quickly, skimming over the type of potion used in each before setting down atop the mound.
"A lack of progress can make even the most interest subject seem tedious."
"Indeed," she murmured, glancing at the clock to find already nearly noon.
"Lunch?" he asked, following her gaze.
"Oui," she said after a moment's thought. "I shall get nothing done at all in this condition. Care to join me?"
"Non, I have promised to meet with Moreau."
She nodded, standing with a stretch, a slight shudder going down her spine.
"Good luck to you, then. Perhaps you will make better progress there."
"Perhaps," he said with a sigh, nodding and going on his way as she turned to leave as well.
~0~
She took a bite out of her panini with a silent groan.
Harry had made it with a flame-grilled chicken breast and balsamic reduction, fresh basil wilted in said reduction while it was still hot, with fresh mozzarella and tomato layered evenly on top before the whole thing was pressed. It was unfairly good, an example of her wonderful husband's thoughtfulness as well as his dedication to his hobby, and just the right thing to help her relax and stop thinking for a moment. Another bite, the flavours just distinct enough to be appreciated individually while still being cohesive.
She closed her eyes.
"Hello, Fleur!" said a voice to her right.
She started, her nerves buzzing uncomfortably at the intrusion as a warm blur entered the periphery of her vision and a tray thudded down next to her spread.
"Another four-star meal from Cafe Harry, I see," said Aimeé, glancing at her sandwich with a grin.
"I was wondering if you had a moment to talk to me about the spell publication," she continued, pulling a few parchments out of her bag and spreading them on the table in front of them both, speaking between bites. "The spell works just fine, but there are a few edge cases and interactions with other magics that need to be looked at."
"Such as?" she said, finally managing to get the feeling of expanding pressure under control.
"Well, there's the radius for one thing," said Aimeé, tapping a particular bit of parchment on the left with the butt of her spoon while lifting a piece of bread to take a bite.
"It keeps the parchment floating at a set distance and angle from the shoulder, what of it?"
"It functions similarly to the boundary defining the edge of the bubble-head charm, no?"
"I- yes, I suppose it does."
"Well, what if someone is using them at the same time? Would the writing surface try to float right next to the face or would the bubble try to stretch out to the length of the arm, or even move to the shoulder instead of the head?"
"I am not sure," she admitted after a second's thought, her spine deflating as she realised it was more than just a minor issue.
"And look here," Aimeé continued, gesturing to the core mechanics of the spell that allowed the caster's wand to write directly on the page. "The imprinting and levitation sections of the charm are completely separate."
"And?"
"Well, it means they can be decoupled."
"To what end," she snapped, a sudden burst of frustration welling up within her.
Aimeé blinked in surprise at her tone, looking at her strangely, and at once she felt ashamed.
"So that we might expand the spell to work on more than just parchment," she said slowly, studying Fleur's features as she did so. "Are you alright?"
The feeling left her, and with it went her energy as she sagged in her set, her wonderful, amazing sandwich drooping in her fingers.
"Not particularly, though it is nothing extraordinary," she said tiredly, not looking at her. "I find myself faced with an old problem long overdue to be solved."
Aimeé continued to study her a moment, then nodded. "Well, whatever it is I'm sure you can handle it. But if you need anything, let me know, okay?" She placed a hand on Fleur's shoulder as she spoke, squeezing gently and looking at her seriously.
"Thank you for the offer, Aimeé," Fleur said softly, smiling gently and nodding.
"Okay," Aimeé said after a moment, standing and gathering her things. "I'll talk to you about the publication on Monday, does that sound good?"
"Oui," Fleur gratefully replied, waiting until Aimeé had left the room to slump slightly in her chair, staring forlornly down at her now-cold, but still delicious, sandwich, and wishing she had half the confidence in herself that Aimeé did.
~0~
The reports wouldn't address themselves.
Fleur resigned herself to her task, going one by one through the writeups of the theories the healers conjected, comparing them against Fournier's notes and her own, dismissing them one by one. The brief interlude had done her some good in that respect as she was no longer running her gaze sightlessly over each line and had managed to work her way through the reports at a decent pace, though she was no closer to understanding how it had been done.
She managed to read and cross-reference the last report around two o'clock, finally reaching her actual task of the operation as she began checking for any possible effect that would cause what they had observed. The search was mercifully brief, there being no spell or magic she could think of that would cover even half of the cases, let alone all of them, but their department had been consulted for a reason and, as she knew Fournier was also doing, she began to theorise about the magics that they didn't know about yet which might be the cause.
…there is something inherently physical about each report's description which leads me to conclude that the patients are not recieving treatment that is solely focused on the spells, or spell damage, themselves, but which is instead more holistically restorative in design.
Given the wide range of effects countered, I suspect a more general sort of inversion is taking place. One that is not reliant upon the conventional cursebreaking methodology of applying a counterforce to each element of the targeted magic in order but which instead causes the spell and spell damage to apply itself in reverse, unraveling in the same manner that it was applied.
Confer with Mstr. Fournier for an analysis of the physical changes, but I suspect his conclusions will mirror my own.
Consider temporal manipulation, transmutation, and sacrificial magics for further inquiry.
~Fleur Potter, Master of Runes
She signed the report wearily, though she was satisfied with its quality.
A glance at the clock showed that it was only three in the afternoon, and she checked her intray only to find no new assignments waiting for her. The letter sprang to mind at once, followed shortly by the thought of the papers Aimeé had showed her. Instinctively, she began to focus her thoughts on the spell publication, but something within gave her pause.
Quite aside from the fact that she would be unable to make nay meaningful progress without access to the project documentation, Fleur knew that it was her avoidant tendencies encouraging her not to think about it and lose herself in work instead.
Her thoughts flashed back to that day in the park with Isabelle, and the then blank letter to Charles Basset that had sat on her bedside.
Another glance at her intray, still empty, and she sighed.
The letter.
She reached down to her bag, a satchel gifted to her by Hermione that was enchanted to keep itself organised and to prevent ink bottles from spilling, and fished out the letter.
She read it again, her eyes running over lines whose contents was just the same as it had been that morning, and finally reached the signature at the bottom of the page.
With love,
Marie.
That in itself had been surprising, she had never been one of the leaders in their little group. That role usually fell to Catherine, Fleur, or, in the the few months between their estrangement and Fleur's leaving for the Triwizard Tournament, Anäis.
Marie had always been the one to smooth things over when they got rough, though she had given up on Fleur and Catherine just a month after they parted ways. Still, perhaps that was enough to explain the invitation, she had said something had happened, after all.
The feeling of pressure began to rise up within her once again, a tightness in her chest that nonetheless felt like it was too full, and she found herself pressing hard into her desk with the tips of her fingers.
The desire to flee was there, but she took a breath and ignored it.
What was the worst that could happen?
Instantly, her mind was transported back in time to the sound of Lucie's voice in a dim corner of the library, tentatively telling her what Catherine and Guillaume had done. Then later, to breakfast the next morning when she had been sitting with Lucie and Marie, both of them freezing in place as Catherine walked in and, seeing Fleur, halted, Anäis by her side. Then later again, sitting silently on the landing of the north tower staircase looking out the window on one of the few rainy days they'd had that term, Anäis next to her with an unspoken offer to listen.
In each instance, she had stood and walked away.
But she had been only sixteen then.
She was Fleur Delacour, talented but uncertain, only a glimmer of the accomplished and respected witch she would become.
What was the worst that could happen?
Catherine could be there. Anäis, Marie, and Lucie could be there.
And if they were?
Then… what?
They would talk, perhaps argue, perhaps confirm the secret fears she'd had ever since she walked away, that every bridge had been rebuilt but hers and that she was the only one unable to cope with what had happened.
And if it was so?
Then… she would move on.
Fleur sighed, forcing herself to relax as she sat back in her chair, grateful for the cushioning charms on the hard wood.
She had faced far worse things than a jury of her peers and she had emerged intact from all of them. Not unharmed, but she had survived and, in time, she had found someone to thrive along with her.
The thought of Harry brought a brief, half-smile to her lips before she let it go, allowing herself to sink fully into the feeling of anxiety that was threatening to overwhelm her. It was not so fearsome up close, the dread of the thing almost more powerful than the thing itself, and as it washed over her she closed her eyes and accepted it for what it was, but also for what it was not.
She would be okay.
~0~
That night, she sat at the desk in their small home office looking down at a blank piece of parchment, the happy sounds of Harry and Isabelle coming in from the next room.
Marie had not stipulated a reply, but it would be easier to keep her nerve once committed and so she put quill to page and drafted out a simple response.
Thank you for the invitation, I will be there.
With love,
Fleur.
AN: Thank you for reading. If you liked the story, please leave a comment telling me what worked and what didn't. I see and read every single one, even long after the stories are posted, and I appreciate them all!
Harry/Fleur Discord Server: Link in my bio
Fanfic Recommendation: Delenda Est Rebooted by Lord Silvere. A fresh take on an old classic with ongoing updates, a much slower and more grounded look at the war by the same author as the first one. To be honest, this is just the only fanfic I've been reading since I took my Hiatus, but it is really good.