A Harry/Katie/Fleur fic that is actually Katie/Fleur
Fleur was dead. After all the rides and unexpected joy she had found, after all the love and care she had never thought to have, she had died. The prove of her death laying unmoving on her arms, cold and not really Harry anymore. She wished for her body to be as dead as her soul was, but fate was a fickle mistress, and nothing that night could touch her. Almost without imput of her own she survived the night the dark lord rose to power and the world changed. She would have moved away, gone somewhere else. Back to france, maybe. But she could not leave the land where his blood had been shed, she could not leave the house she had bought with the hope that the war would end up differently. And so she sat, the sun falling on her with a cheerness and warmth she did not feel, the river carrying perky sounds that meant nothing but hurt to her anymore, the whispering of the willow leaves cutting deep into her. Yet she breathed in, letting herself feel it all, and breathed out. In her pain she still could feel his company
Katie bell though she was going to die there and there, and not because of the spells, the falling rocks, the monsters or the enemy attackers. No. She felt like something inside her broke when she saw the body of Harry Potter laying unmoving in the arms of Delacour, his skin almost as pale as hers. Never did she think she would hurt more than the day that Harry had turned her back on her for Fleur. But the piece of her that she had thought died that day had merely wothered, and the difference was pretty apparentnow that it had actualy died. A world where his goodness did not exist was not a world with any ammount of worth. She fought that day, harder than she had ever done anything else before. She screamed and casted, she raged and let her pain out on everyone that was unfortunate enough to stand in her way. She was determined to one thing. She would not let anyone else be destroyed like she was. She would not let anyone else die and leave someone behind.
Harry Potter was definetely, absoolutely, and without a single doubt, dead. But then again, his death could of course not be any ammount of normal. No, he would not get that reprieve even in death. His afterlife would be as particular as his life had been. He could see. He could see most of everything. It was all blurry, to be fair, but under that strange, transparent marble world that encased him now, over the whimpers of that flagelated, terrible thing that gave him company, he could see two particular spots with absolute clearness. He could see the places his heart had been left behind
He could see Fleur. He could feel her pain, her void, her despair, could see how her unmmarrable features had wasted away in her grief and not even then looked any less magnioficent. He could feel her rage as she catch her reflection and could not see an ounce of the pain that haunted her reflected there. The worst insult she could get. The indifference of her body to her soul’s pain.
He could see Katie. Little more than a scarred wraith as she carried a tray with colourful drinks for the sons of patrons she had tried to kill not months ago. She went through life like an automatos. Moving through paces set by men ruled by greed. Men for whom power meant more than love. Men that would never understand what she had lost. Men who would see herpain and sneer. A tear fell in the glass shecarried, and her pain remained hidden.
Harry knew he was anchored here. Neither can live while the other survives. His live and Voldemort’s were bound. He had died, but he could not move on, not while he basked in his eterness.
That was okay though. He did not mind. This marble palace was very peacefull, and he could see the woman he had given his heart to. Both of them. That made him some kind of aweful person, he was sure, but he could not care. He would dedicate his unlife, his undeath, to give those two a life worth living. That was his goal, his mission, and Harry was nothing if not dedicated.