It’s only a vague memory by now.
A stupid competition, something he wanted no part in. A hate that he couldn’t deal with. Everything falling apart. The weight of the world, expectation of others, he can’t remember anymore how everything went down. All he could remember now were the laughs, the looks. . . The pity.
Squib
His thoughts died with the shower, walking out, the morning routine as he tried to quell the rest of his routine led him to the kitchen. Buttoning up his vest as he poured himself some coffee while at his temporary flat in France.
1800, right on time.
Brushing the past away, and moving on, he left the flat, quickly to the streets, making the quick 15 minute walk to the little cafe he was supposed to meet her.
Then again. . . As he drank from his cup, hearing the chime of the door. He allowed the first smile of the day.
After all, the flow of her silver toned hair and those intense crystal blue eyes. Her face was composed, sharp, and a frowned was placed on her beautiful face. As though the tiny cafe was not appropriate for the aristocracy that was herself. . . How wrong.
Those thoughts, and the impression she gave melted- as did all the others within the cafe- as she let out a small, coy smile upon noticing him. Almost floating, she moved across the slowly filling cafe moving into the seat.
”Salut, ma cheré.”
“Fluer.”
“Coincidence to see you here. . . Non?” She said teasingly.
“Maybe it was fate?”
“Mm, is that what you call it now? All those years ago.”
“Losing my magic saved Britain.”
“Yet the great ‘Arry Potter is now a squib, dropping out of hog warts, and dissapearing from the Public’s eye for years now.”
“I met you.”
The silence afterwards as he drank his coffee. Body welcoming the caffeine as they shared a small smile.
Somehow, despite it all, here they were years later.
A story where Harry refuses to be in a world where he constantly endangers those around him, and in the process during the triwizard tournament. Refuses to participate. Losing his magic in the process. picking up the pieces is hard. Yet, through all that. A French woman is there with him. maybe a squib lift wasn’t the worst