It all came back to Harry. No matter what, no matter how, it all came back to him.
Fleur was tired. Tired of running, tired of fleeing, tired of being tired. She loved Harry Potter, and that terrified her. She'd seen his life, his wars, his hardships. Harry was the adamant foundation upon which Atlas stood, a unbreakable stone that endured the infinite pressure that world seemed determined to heap onto him. Fleur was, not...
She'd seen him, his soul shining out through his being like a fiery star, and She'd ran. She was scared, terrified that if she went any closer that she would be consumed. But just like a star, Harry Potter had a gravity of his own. She was pulled back to him, again and again in the wake of the war. And each time he met her he was kind, considerate, and entirely too concerned with whatever cataclysm he had been sent to stop to take the time to notice how utterly smitten she was with him. The only way he would ever know was if Fleur told him, so he never knew. But the world kept bringing them back together, and Fleur was just *so tired *of running. She had to face reality, all her futures lay with him.