All magicals have the ability to live forever; immortality, as it were. However, this immortality is intrinsically linked to one’s soul, which is split into three pieces at birth. When someone falls in love, a true, deep love, one of those pieces is given to the person they have fallen in love with.
You die once you’ve run out of pieces of your soul.
Many people have lived long lives, falling in love, falling out of love, and then falling in love again, sometimes with the same person. Eventually, no matter how many times they fall in and out of love, every single magical, without fail, falls in love one too many times, and breathe their last.
Every single magical, that is, except for two.
Harry Potter, the man who has never fallen in love, and Fleur Delacour, the woman who leaves a trail of broken hearts and souls in her wake, making others fall in love with her in order to prolong her life. These two have never crossed paths, only knowing each other by virtue of being the only two immortals, until one day, they bump into each other as spectators in the 283rd Triwizard Tournament.
What follows is a story of love, of the inevitability of death, the heart-wrenching pain of falling in and out of love with the same person for centuries, and the slow, inevitable march of one of the two eventually falling in love with the other for the last time.
I wish you all a short and happy life.
Inspired by Aeternum, a Percabeth PJO fic by Fangirl Shrieks