After everything he had done, he had been given another chance. He put his indomitable will on his self-appointed task. The chance would not be in vain. He would do better this time. He would be better this time. This knowledge, this determination, and the presence of his brother, the most valiant of them all, made bearing his shame at least a smidgen easier.
But how could he face her? “If you would abandon me and your sons, you are an untrue wife!” On furious wings so quickly had the words flown out of him, and in the grips of rage’s madness he had believed them, even as he had turned his back to her and left.
That was long past, in another life, but Harry knew he couldn’t face Fleur, couldn’t face her. Not after he had hurt her so.
Not even the Dark Enemy’s foul swarming servants could drive him back, and he had fought them to his death, but faced with her, he chose discretion over valour.
And so he hid in a dusty classroom, the first living being to be there in decades. He bowed his head and begged his beating heart to calm down. Of course she deserved another chance, much more than him. Deep within his soul, icy flames rose and seared his entire being, freezing him in place. She deserved more. Even a mangy dog was better than him.
A click of the lock nearly stopped his heart, and the sight of her entering the room nearly stopped his breathing.
She was much changed, much like he was. Fair was she called by many, the fairest flower of Beauxbatons. The hair crowning her head painfully reminded him of the Light he had once captured in his creation, only to release it in repentance. Her face was even gentler now than it had once been. All could see her fairness now, but he could see her as she had once been, through the sharp eyes that once had been his.
Brown hair that shone as burnished copper reflecting the light of his forge, and the face which had been called not the fairest. But even then he could see what others couldn’t, and had fallen for her.
Eyes, her eyes remained the same, however, and even now looked at him as they once had. He could not bear the sight and averted his gaze. How could he look into the eyes of the Wise?
“Here you are.” Her voice, at once different, yet still the same, almost sent him to his knees. “It is unlike you to run, Verno.”
Tears burst from his eyes and words died in his throat now that she stood in front of him. When she reached to touch him, he flinched back.
“You remember.” She frowned at seeing his reaction. “But what all do you remember?”
“I remember pride.” He looked at the ground in order not to sully her further.
“I remember wrath.” Bitter tears stained the dusty floor.
“I remember harsh words and rash deeds, and flames and shadow.” His legs gave up and he fell to his knees.
Her hand, strong enough to shape the hardest of stones and gentler than a fallen petal, caressed his bowed head. “Your words, your decision, your deeds, they all wounded me deeply. Have we both not sworn before the Wind, under the Stars, by the Flame Imperishable to stand by each other, love and honour each other in life and in death?”
She lifted his head to be able to see into his eyes. “You hurt me even more when you took away our children and led them to their doom, one by one. In death you were reunited while I waited in vain. Well I knew pleading for clemency would fall on deaf ears, I heard the Doom.
Tenderly she held his head, yet firmer than rock was that binding and thus he was forced to gaze into the eyes of the Wise. Kind eyes, tender eyes. Eyes he had longed to gaze into so long. Eyes he dreaded.
“I knew I had to wait until the End. Then you repented and broke your creation. Released the Light.” Her other hand now caressed his cheek. “Yet still I waited patiently. You were yet to come. But you know what?” Her touch was feather-light, and yet he felt it more acutely than a flaming lash. “I knew the heart of my Verno.”
He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, the sweetest of torments.
“And so when I learned you would come here, there was no question for me. Here I am. And so are you. Open your eyes.”
He did so and beheld precious stones glittering in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, splashing on the floor.
“Our love overcame the scorn of others, it was stronger than your fears, strong enough to give us seven sons. Our love outlasted our world,” she spoke and filled his senses. “Do you remember our love?”
The most broken of whispers fled his throat. “I do.”