Author's Note: Hello, thanks for reading my story. Blame the Flowerpot discord for inflating my ego just enough to try my hand at another short foray into the world of fanfiction writing.
I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
Cheers.
A Lily By Any Other Name
A quiet pop echoed in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky. The twirl of a soft cerulean cloak sent a flurry of white snow back up into the air from where it had previously fallen to the stone street. The young woman pulled up her fur-lined, embroidered silver hood. Downy snowflakes fell calmly around the witch as she worked to reorient herself from her travels. The prepared, readied wand she held in her hand dragged through the air as the newcomer checked her surroundings. A complicated charm followed that would alert her of hostile intent settled over the boundaries of the town.
Looking up briefly she could make out the night's stars beginning to glimmer faintly, she didn't have long before her time ran out. She was expected elsewhere but had felt unusually drawn to this foreign place. The woman had learned to trust such pulls.
It was winter, so night came eagerly and early. However, the woman assumed it was the hour, right around dinner, that lent her a monopoly of the streets. She was thankful for it.
The elegantly dressed foreigner began walking sedately, her willowy legs graceful and sure against the snow-covered stonework that made up the lane. Cottages lined both sides of the road she walked, some had twinkling Christmas decorations while others stood dark and unwelcoming. She shivered, pulling the cloak tighter around herself. Neither she nor her family had ever been fond of the cold. She made her way with a purpose towards the glowing streetlight at the end of the lane, beckoning her to the village center.
Stepping into the muted golden gleam of the streetlamp, her shadow grew long in the unblemished snow to her left. Her steps faltered. Her throat felt tight and the hand that wasn't clenching the cloak closed in front of her slid to her belly where a sharp hollowness had sprouted.
A small square was alight by silently spluttering lamp flames. Several shops faced the town's focal point of activity. There was a post office just to the left of her, a pub to her right, and a little church with stained-glass windows backlit by candles across the way. But what had stopped the young lady in her tracks was the memorial standing tall in the town center. Light flickered just far enough away to partly illuminate the otherwise darkened statue. The snow around the monument was compacted, footsteps both big and small littered the pavement.
Her feet moved forward, seemingly of their own volition, bringing the cloaked lady closer to the object that had ensnared her attention. It was a simple thing, really. Three people depicted from stone, a man with familiarly untidy hair and glasses. A woman with long hair and a smile on her face… and a baby sitting in her arms. Small bits of snow had collected in the pits and recesses along the curves of the monument. Letters were placed lovingly on the memorial's platform around the figure's feet, stuck by magic to resist the wind.
One such letter, drawn in shaky, unsure writing, caught the woman's eye. 'Thank you,' it said, 'mama doesn't have to hide again this Christmas.' Mist from the woman's breath hung in the air, a breath she'd previously been unaware she had been holding. Her gaze traveled up from the letters to rest on the sculpted baby's face. Tentatively, slowly, she reached out. Long fingers grazed the cold stone just as softly as the snowflakes that fell upon it.
Drawing her hand back into the warmth of her cloak she set off again, around the side of the carving. She followed the curve until her path to the church was clear. It was a small thing, with a snow-laden roof that gradually gave way to a sharply-slanted steeple. The church, however, was not her destination. To its side was a small wrought-iron kissing gate. Beyond it, a quiet graveyard.
With a gentle push the entryway opened. The snow here lay thicker upon the dirt and unblemished. The woman ghosted across the white dusted ground, flurries still falling about her. The emptiness within her seemed to grow in the blackness of the night.
A flick of her wand illuminated her immediate surroundings and with it came slight relief. Names appeared along the headstones in the dim light afforded by her spell. She moved closer to the tombstones nearest the church, whose candlelit stained-glass disgorged a dazzling array of colors across the snowy tombstones. A study of the headstones bathed in multihued light left her still searching. Deeper she went into the blackness of the graveyard, left untouched by the warm glow of the church. A white marble tombstone arrested her steps. It seemed to shine of its own volition in the night.
The woman's hands rose up slowly to tug the hood of her cloak back down around her shoulders. A snowflake danced across her vision to land against her cheek. Bending slightly at the waist, the woman traced the names etched into the headstone. Names of people she had never met. Names of people she would never meet, or know, or love. People Harry would never know either.
Like a dam, the hollowness that had manifested first in her stomach before migrating to her breast burst. And Fleur Delacour cried.
Hot tears cooled quickly against her cheek, mixing with the ice that had landed there. With care, Fleur lowered herself to the ground in front of the grave of Harry's parents. There, in the dark part of the graveyard not lit by stained-glass colored flames, with her cloak spread out in the brilliant white around her, Fleur knelt.
The cold seeping into her knees calmed her. Centered her. She had come with a purpose and was determined to see it through. It was her first time meeting her partner's parents after all.
"Bonjour," she whispered, breaking the silence of the night. "No, wait," she muttered, shaking her head. With a sigh and a sharp jerk of her head upwards Fleur steeled herself. "Hello, my name is Fleur Delacour and I…" She paused, struck with a sudden uncertainty that caused no small discomfort at its arrival. She was unused to such feelings, having always been naturally decisive. Her gaze slid from the gravestone as she gave serious contemplation to her next words.
Her eyes, which had been focused on the hands clasped tightly in her lap, glanced up once more at the names written on the tombstone. Her tension eased and her demeanor softened. Taking a breath she began again, "and I love your son." The words felt right, leaving her tongue and saturating the air in the warm gust of breath it had been released upon. It lingered as Fleur considered her next move.
"We met in his fourth year. He was such a," Fleur searched for the right words, "adorable boy," she finished fondly. "I was sure when I first saw him that he didn't know what a comb was," she laughed delicately, the sound absorbed by the night around her. Snowflakes continued their swaying descent.
"Sometimes, when he first wakes he'll have a plume of hair sticking straight up," Fleur smiled conspiratorially, "I call it his rooster tail." She closed her eyes, recalling the countless mornings spent in bed with Harry, running her fingers over his tangled locks, flattening them briefly only for them to spring back upwards and outwards as her hand passed. Her lips quirked in a tender smile. Her chest felt lighter, relieved.
"We didn't get along at first," she admitted, "I wasn't… a good person, when we first met." Fleur took a shaky breath. "I was young and prideful, but he was only ever kind to me. I learned, slowly, that I was unhappy with who I was. Who I had allowed myself to become." Fleur gazed off into the night, watching as white powder drifted off in swirls from the blowing wind. "Your son has such a good soul," she murmured quietly.
Tuning her face back towards the recipient of her dialogue she paused.
"He gives so freely of himself and forgives so simply. I've learned a great deal from him."
One of her hands left her lap to brush pink lips. "He kissed me for the first time out by the willow tree near the Black Lake." She grinned, "I was completely shocked. I felt like a little schoolgirl, getting her first kiss." A throaty chuckle bloomed in the night as she reminisced how vulnerable she had felt that day. How she, a witch and Veela, had blushed as a boy three years her junior pressed his lips to hers.
Knowing what came next she sobered, "the next few years were… hard," she breathed. "The distance and time apart was difficult. But we had far bigger troubles to contend with his fifth and sixth year. The war that came after doubly so." She dragged a finger through the snow next to her, creating a slender rivet. "We both had to grow up, change. But through it all we had one another and that was… that was everything."
Returning her hand to her lap, Fleur sat for awhile. Listening to the silence. Feeling the soft thumping of her heart in her breast. She felt the cold but her insides were oh, so warm. "You would be proud of him," she murmured finally, "just as I am."
Fleur's fingers twisted together, nerves dancing underneath the surface of her skin. These next words were what she had come to say, their significance made them boulders, rolling about her vocal chords.
"We are getting married in a few days. He asked a few weeks after Remembrance Day. Neither of us want an extravagant affair. We don't wish to be gawked at by a crowd." She stopped to brush an errant flake from her eyelashes. "The front row on his side will be reserved and left empty. For you both, and Remus, and Sirius. His family." A sudden conviction washed over her, "I know you will be there," she murmured.
A soft breeze ruffled her cloak. It felt like a promise.
It was time.
Fleur reached into one of her cloak's inner pockets, bringing out a handful of flower seeds. In her other hand she gripped her wand tightly; the wood thrummed in acknowledgment of the importance her intended spell held. She had worked in secret at modifying the Herbivicus charm just right. Her tongue poked out, wetting her lips as she deftly swirled her wand point up and away from the seeds in her hand. They seemed to shimmer before her eyes as they formed together, growing into a long flower.
It was a bloom of her own design. A straight, slender stem whose head separated into an oddly-shaped arrangement. Three large petals, twirled and twisted around one another, bound themselves together at their base before extending upwards. Two petals on opposite sides rose gently before tapering off, curving on themselves, pointing downwards. The final petal was centered perfectly, rising straight to create the apex of the delicate blossom. The petals were a mixture of red and gold, the center of the middle flowerhead a shocking emerald green.
Pleased with the result, Fleur let out a breath. She placed her offering tenderly before the grave. On its side the flower appeared like a naturally occurring fleur-de-lis.
Fleur caressed the headstone once more. It had been two years since Harry's first and last visit here with Hermione. He had spoken haltingly of it and never expressed a desire to return. Fleur understood why. The melancholy, the loss. He had been trying so hard to rebuild himself since the final battle.
That summer had been almost harder on Harry than the war. Fleur had watched him through it all. When he tried to be the pillar of support for grieving families during countless funerals, when he gave his all to be there for Teddy, and when he learned how to be an adult wizard – finally free from the oppressive threat of death that had plagued him all his life. Fleur had been overcome by his strength, and so grateful of the man he had become.
She understood his unspoken reluctance to come again. It was difficult to move forward as he had been with one foot still in the past. Which was why Fleur found herself here alone, introducing herself to a family long since passed.
One day, Fleur hoped, she could guide him back here. One day, she hoped, it wouldn't be so hard.
With one last look at the names of the people who had given their lives for the man she loved, Fleur stood. She dusted her knees off and cast a quick spell to dry the clothes that had been soaked through from melting snow.
"Thank you for him," her words were quiet but strong. Simple in their devotion and earnest in their delivery. She turned and glided back the way she came.
In the snow-covered graveyard a gentle, lilting voice sang out, "pour avoir et tenir de ce jour vers l'avant, pour meilleur ou pour le pire, pour la prospérité et la pauvreté, dans la maladie et dans la santé, pour aimer et chérir, pour toujours."
The song faded away along with the light from the witch's wand and the small graveyard of Godric's Hollow was left silent and dark once more.
XXXXXXXX
For the second time that night Fleur found herself twisting into place from her apparition. This time, however, the cold wind that cut through her cloak carried no flurries of snowflakes. The crunch of compacted ice followed her as she moved up the pathway leading to the modest home upon a hill. Bright lights shone out, casting the surroundings in sharp relief. Movement across the windows caught her eye, laughter tickled her ears.
Fleur stopped at the steps leading to the wooden porch that wrapped around the entire house. The porch rails were dripping with festive garlands. Wind chimes trilled to the left. Mistletoe hung from the lamp that illuminated the entryway. She schooled her features, rubbing her cheeks between the palms of her hands, attempting to return lost color and warmth.
She let out a deep breath. Her heart felt much lighter now, much more ready for the night ahead. Feeling better she traipsed up the steps and knocked on the front door. And was immediately pulled into the quickly flung open entrance.
A force of nature with bushy brown hair hugged her tightly. "Oh, I'm so excited for you," her tone leaving no doubt regarding the sincerity of her words. Fleur couldn't help but smile.
Returning the hug, she buried her head into the curly, chocolate locks. "I am too," she confessed.
Hermione pulled away slightly but both women kept their arms around one another. "Everyone is already here, we've just been waiting for the guest of honor," the ecstatic woman babbled. "All the food is ready and I even planned some games, though of course I figured we'd all like to converse beforehand, you know – get to know each other – since a lot of us haven't met one another, your cousins are gorgeous by the way-." Fleur laughed and Hermione's mouth snapped shut in a sheepish expression. "Sorry, I'm just, well you know."
Fleur nodded fondly, appreciatively, "I do indeed, mon ami. Thank you once again for planning all of this, I hope it hasn't been too much of a bother."
"Of course it hasn't been," Hermione sniffed dismissively, "I'm honored you let me."
The two women were interrupted by a comet of platinum-haired exuberance. Excited French, muffled by Fleur's cloak, but rapidly delivered drifted up. Fleur placed her hand endearingly on her sister's head. "Ma sœur, English please. So our friends can understand you."
Gabrielle peeked up from the stranglehold she still had around her elder sister's waist. She affected a look of chastisement but a smile kept tugging at her lips. Movement behind her sister caused Fleur to look up, meeting the blue eyes of her mother, who beamed at her two daughters.
"Finally here, Snowflower?" Apolline asked, bemused at the flake-covered cloak.
Fleur nodded and, extricating herself from her sister, she swept the cloak off from around her shoulders. Nodding gratefully to Hermione, she passed it to her outstretched, awaiting hands.
She moved forwards to kiss her mother on the cheek but was shocked when Apolline's hand stroked the side of her face with shimmering eyes. With a sudden aching jerk, she felt her heart hammer within her chest. It was her mother's expression that finally made it feel real. She was marrying Harry.
Her eyes widened in comprehension and the older woman gave a watery smile in silent acknowledgment. She leaned her forehead against her mother's, words unnecessary to convey the emotions that resonated between them.
Suddenly the quiet hallway was filled with noise as a gaggle of women poured out from the adjacent kitchen. Giggles and raucous laughter carried the sweet mood away like a joy-infused bubble. Fleur smiled as she looked over at her friends.
Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell had their arms wrapped around one another as they cried laughing from the way Audrey Ethel, Percy's girlfriend, was twisting her hips in a comically exaggerated manner. Ginny Weasley was in deep, intense conversation with one of Fleur's cousins. Estelle Bibot was a chaser for the French Quidditch league, so Fleur didn't have to hear the topic of conversation to be sure of the content. Next to them were Fleur's school friends, Natalie and Josephine, who were tittering behind their hands to Fleur's other cousin, Angèle.
Upon arrival Angelina's eyes popped open as she spotted Fleur and, in a few long strides, wrapped her up in a hug that had her feet kicking in the air. With a disgustingly loud squelching sound Angelina smacked a kiss to the side of Fleur's face.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the blushing bride-to-be," Angelina announced. "Tell me, have you prepared yourself to perform your wifely duties? Audrey here was just giving the most helpful of pointers…" Fleur couldn't help but bark out a laugh. It was clear that the wine had already started flowing well before she had arrived.
"Let me down you giantess," she grumbled good-naturedly. The tall woman grinned as she complied.
Ginny shot a repulsed look from Angelina to Audrey, "you two better not subject me to tales of my brother's sexual exploits. I'll vomit."
Audrey's grin grew positively evil, "come now, Ginerva, surely the talent must run in the family. After all, just take a gander at your mum-."
"What was that dearie?" Molly Weasley asked, breezing in from the kitchen. A bottle of sherry in one hand and a small cake in the other.
Fleur bit her lip to stop herself from laughing at Audrey's thunderstruck expression. The other girls weren't so lucky. Katie's audible attempt to choke back laughter caused the rest of those assembled to burst.
Hermione chuckled as she walked up next to her, arriving back from putting away Fleur's cloak in the closet down the hall just in time to hear the exchange. "As you can see, the girls got started a little early." Hermione gave Fleur a sidelong glance, "probably before they even came here."
"Alright ladies," Angèle loudly proclaimed, "let's get this hen party started!"
Fleur and Angèle's sister, Estelle, groaned at the particularly bad pun. Apolline just shook her head at the emphasis her niece had purposefully used. Fleur had hoped that being around strangers would cause Angèle to lower the amount of poultry jokes. But alas, it was not to be.
Hermione guided them all into the living room, where plates were strewn about the place with food made to be held and eaten easily. It was an informal but intimate affair and Fleur was glad her bridesmaid knew her so well. The intelligent young woman was one of Harry's best friends, to the point where the line between companion and sister became blurred. Fleur was once again thankful that Hermione had been just as shyly excited to be her friend as Fleur was. She was now one of the Veela's most treasured.
The admittedly odd collection of witches sat themselves about the room. Conversations rose and lulled in waves like the tide. Fleur soaked up the warm comfort of sisterhood, feeling buoyed by it. The last week had been strange, she'd felt oddly unsettled for some indiscernible reason. At first, she couldn't figure out the source. She had no uncertainty about Harry, held no fear about marriage or becoming a wife and eventually a mother. But as the days went by she felt increasingly restless.
She'd realized it three days ago when Mrs. Weasley and her mother had mentioned the open front row on the groom's side. A sudden epiphany revealed that there was something unresolved, eating away at her unconsciously. She had never met Harry's family. At first, she had felt rather foolish. After all, it wasn't as though meeting them or not had been a choice. But the more she thought about it, the more important it became. By the end of the day she had begun work on her charm.
A nudge from Hermione broke her out of her reverie. "Are you alright?" She asked in a low tone, eyes shifting around the party as though she were a spy divulging secret information.
Fleur grinned at her companion. She peered around at the friends and family gathered, the people that were important to her and her fiancé. The eclectic bunch of witches that Fleur loved and who loved her in return. In stark contrast from the hollow feeling she had felt at the start of the night, her chest suddenly felt too full, too constricted. Meeting Hermione's watchful eyes, Fleur nodded. "I've never been happier."
XXXXXXXX
Dinner went quickly, the alcohol as well. The girls were getting increasingly rambunctious and loud. Especially Angelina and Audrey, who had struck up an unusual but hilarious relationship over the course of the year. Fleur's throat had started to feel the strain from laughing often and long.
Gabrielle had been pushed up to bed by Apolline around 11 o'clock, to her protestation. Fleur was certain Apolline had sent her away not due to the lateness of the hour but the raunchiness of the women. Josephine and Natalie had rather drunkenly started discussing the relation a wizard's wand length had to his anatomy.
That same Natalie was currently snoring on the floor behind the couch where Mrs. Weasley and Apolline were happily chatting. The two older women seemed content to deepen their relationship over non-wedding topics and let the youngsters have their fun. Not that Mrs. Weasley hadn't shocked the crowd stupid with some of her unexpected and off-the-cuff bawdy bouts of humor. Ginny had been particularly apoplectic after a comment regarding what Fleur strongly suspected was the young redhead's conception.
Fleur was enjoying catching up with Josephine, letters could only do so much after all. Josephine had decided to go to muggle university after graduation and had already been interrogated by Hermione who was strongly considering it herself. Fleur knew her friend well and judging by the sappy way she spoke of Durant, a man she had met in her sociology course, an engagement announcement wouldn't be too far off. Natalie was rooming with Josephine, for now, while she apprenticed as a herbologist with her father. It had been Natalie who had offered insight on how to shape a flower naturally through the Herbivicus charm.
A loud thud caused Fleur to look over at the 'Quidditch group' of Katie, Angelina, Estelle, and Ginny. Estelle was on her feet loudly bemoaning the inadequacies of the English League. Unfortunately for her listeners, it was in heavily slurred French. Josephine moved over to the ladies, whether to intervene or translate Fleur couldn't be sure.
Angèle inserted herself on the loveseat next to Fleur and Hermione, effectively trapping the bride-to-be in the middle. Hermione budged over slightly and kept her discussion going with Audrey, who Fleur could tell was using the exact same tactic she'd seen the young woman use countless times with Percy. Fleur bit her lip while she watched them, remembering when Audrey had explained her stratagem of letting Percy speak until he said something that obviously irritated him. Stage two was then agreeing about how terrible said thing was, slowly coaxing him along until he really got himself worked into a lather about a truly ridiculous, insignificant thing. The whole Burrow had been amused watching Audrey nod along seriously as Percy became incensed about how the new Ministry-issued ink bled through the parchment of his reports. Catching Audrey's eye, Fleur received a cunning wink.
Feeling a slight tug on her hair, Fleur turned to face Angèle whose face was a mixture of obvious affection and deviousness. "Are you ready, dear cousin? The wedding is in just a few short days, not getting cold feet are we?" The younger Veela licked her lips, "I'd be happy to take Harry off your hands, if you wish."
Fleur flicked Angèle's nose. "Listen here you blue-footed booby, stay away from what's mine or I'll serve you up in place of the Christmas turkey."
The blonde woman's mischievous grin caused Fleur to preemptively groan before Angèle spoke, "You won't even be here for Christmas, I'm unconcerned by your empty threats, flower. After all," the woman's expression turned sly, "I had assumed you wanted to get married in December so you could honeymoon somewhere... warmer."
She sniffed, "that might have been the laziest 'fly south for the winter' joke I've ever heard."
Angèle shot her a miffed look, "just for that I'm going to warn Harry about you scavenging the beach you're staying at."
"I picked up a few shards of glass and some seashells one time, you brat," she fumed, "I'm not a damn seagull."
Her cousin's grin grew positively malicious, "I bet he'll have you squawking like one-."
"Ahem." Both girls quieted at Apolline's artful rebuke. The corner of the matron's lip twitched in amusement as she attempted to gaze sternly at the two bickering girls. It was a losing battle, Fleur couldn't help but notice. Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly at them but not without a knowing glint to her eyes.
"Sorry auntie," Angèle said in false contrition. Apolline rolled her eyes, obviously not falling for the antics of the little imp.
XXXXXXXX
Sighing, Fleur kicked off her shoes in the entryway of the home she shared with Harry. It was late, or early depending on one's perspective. She felt wrung out but lighthearted. This was the gathering she had most looked forward to, more so than the night of dancing Natalie and Angelina had dragged the group on last weekend.
Feeling the cool wood underneath the bare soles of her feet, Fleur glided down the hall. A twirl of her wand checked the wards. Satisfied with their integrity, she ghosted her hand along the pictures upon the hallway wall. Gatherings, celebrations, and a particularly adorable picture of Harry as a baby zooming around on a toy broomstick. That particular photograph had been found in the Black vault and enlarged to its current dimensions.
Upon noticing Fleur, the young Harry stopped his daredevil flying and smiled beatifically from up under his eyelashes at her. Her heart clenched. Her hand traced the picture's wild black hair even as she rebuked herself for being too young to consider having a green-eyed poulette of her own. Tearing herself away from the picture, Fleur followed the hallway to the stairs that would lead up to the bedroom.
Halfway to the top she noticed what seemed like firelight dancing from beyond the stair's landing. From the way the light swayed she presumed the bedroom's fireplace was lit and the door open. She was correct on both accounts.
Harry sat on the edge of their bed watching the fire crackle across the room. Muted orange and yellow hues frolicked across his features. Fleur felt spellbound. He had always been an attractive man, even when she had first met him as a boy just a tad too shy to use his naturally roguish charm. His dark, thick hair was still as unruly as ever – as Fleur expected it always would be – but he wore it with confidence now. He would claim resignation, Fleur knew, but she had worked hard at helping him see himself in a better lens than the one afforded to him by his accursed relatives.
Fleur's gaze left a hot trail over Harry's body. She knew he had been aware of her presence long before she'd known of his but he seemed content to continue watching the fire burn merrily while she endeavored to catalog every inch of him.
She was unsure if it was a byproduct of the war but occasionally, like tonight, she was caught off-guard by his presence. Her heart would thump erratically and the hair on the back of her neck would stand on end. In those moments it felt like she was desperately trying to keep hold of something slippery and insubstantial. That if she let go, he would disappear as well. Fleur twisted the engagement ring on her finger. The cool metal band slowed her palpitating heart. The material proof of their upcoming union, their commitment to one another was a panacea for the anxiety that occasionally boiled up from inside her. Fleur had come a long way from the panic attacks that would send her spiraling just a short year ago, when flashes of Hagrid carrying Harry's body would erupt in her mind.
Taking a fortifying breath, she stepped into the light. Harry turned his head in acknowledgment, giving a soft smile just for her. Silently she drifted towards him, brushing fingertips along his jaw in greeting before sliding to the floor. She leaned against his legs, her head resting on his knee.
His hand floated up and down the river of her hair. Her eyes closed in contentment.
Harry's chuckle finally broke the companionable quiet. "Did you get much chuff for heading home tonight?" He questioned playfully.
Fleur hummed in her throat. "By the time I left I was the only one sober enough to probably notice." She let out a small laugh, remembering the unruly state of her 'hens' upon her departure.
He scratched her neck where it connected to the back of her head. She fought the embarrassing urge to purr just as a low moan escaped her lips. A short pause in his ministrations was the only acknowledgment of the sultry sound.
"Hagrid was still trying to lead everyone in a drinking song when I left. Only about a third of the party was still awake and only Ron seemed engrossed enough to follow along." Harry's laugh relaxed Fleur just as deftly as his hand's attentions. "Charlie gave me a dressing down for leaving my stag night along with Dean and Seamus. But by the time I put on my jacket I heard Seamus use my name while in a deep conversation with a lamp, so perhaps he thinks I stayed.
She cracked a smile at the antics of her lover's friends. For awhile, all that could be heard was the popping of the fire.
"Did you have a good night, my heart?" She asked, waltzing her fingertips around the leg she was leaning against.
"Yeah," he remarked, "I had a really great time." Fleur could have leapt for joy at the obvious wonder in his voice.
Harry valued friendship greater than any currency or object and she understood the cause well. The dark shadows that plagued a young boy in a cupboard under the stairs were hard to shake. Any time Harry was reminded of how loved he was by those around him was a moment she cherished. Her heart yearned for the day it would no longer be such a surprise to him.
"Did you?" He queried, a hint of worry saturating his tone. Fleur grinned, he was obviously remembering how she had loudly opposed last weeks dancing excursion.
"Very much so," she replied, putting his concern to rest. "It has been a lot of fun getting to know Audrey and Angelina better this year. They've been good influences on those incorrigible Weasley men."
He made a noise of agreement. "Percy and George are incorrigible for completely opposite reasons," he said.
Something was on his mind, Fleur knew. It had been obvious since she first saw him. His taciturn nature was an obstacle she was well-versed with. Patience was key, she'd let him talk when he was comfortable and ready.
She didn't have to wait long.
"I heard about the front row." Harry's voice seemed carefully void of inflection.
She let the question masked as a statement hang in the air for a moment. "Does it upset you?" She asked when he didn't continue.
His fingers stilled along the crown of her head. "No," he began tentatively. "It felt right. It was a kind suggestion by your mother." A pause. "I just wished they could have met you." Fleur blinked. "You have this wonderful family that has welcomed me so generously and you don't have anything in return. It's unbalanced."
She sat frozen, staring at the fire cheerfully burning in front of them. The tension ebbed out of her along with the rebuke that had formed on her tongue as a knee-jerk response. "Harry," she said, trying to inject the deep conviction churning with her into her voice, "your family has welcomed me." Fleur swallowed thickly. "Hermione and the Weasleys, Hagrid and McGonagall, Andromeda and Teddy." She carefully enunciated each name, drawing out their significance.
Harry's fingers resumed their travels so she resettled against him.
"Thank you," he whispered. "I just wish…," the sentence trailed off unfinished.
"I know," she said simply. "I know."
Shifting around so she could look up at him from his lap, she met his vivid green eyes. They glowed in the light of the fire and once again she found herself transfixed. But this time her captivation was born purely of love rather than an anxious need to keep him close and safe. He caressed the long strands of platinum hair that had fallen into her face from her movement back behind her ear.
"What made you come home?" Fleur inquired, curiosity overtaking her.
His eyes followed the planes of her face before locking with her own. "It's not the same," he began softly, "sleeping without you."
She smiled in agreement before rising up on her feet to press her lips to his.
XXXXXXXX
The fire had long since died, its final spluttering had thrown a frantic light into the room before everything went dark. A single moonbeam was the only source of illumination now. Harry's eyes were drawn to it as he lay awake. His mind refusing rest. Barely audible puffs of air swept evenly across his chest, evidence of his fiancée's state of unconsciousness. He turned his head slightly, kissing the back of her head tenderly three times. Each kiss representing an unsaid promise. Promises that couldn't be put in something as ugly and base as words.
Harry tightened his hold around the slumbering Fleur as he thought back on the day. His stag night had been fun, more than he'd expected truth be told. Neville had regaled the attendees with his misadventures involving his new job, and Ron's colorful commentary on his own ungainly forays into adulthood had been a hilarious start to the night. Harry felt his chest constrict in sheer gratitude at the friendship and brotherhood he had been bathed in.
Even with all of that, something had just felt slightly off. At first, he had attributed it to Fleur's absence, an occasional necessity that was never appreciated. But as the night wore on and his friends grew wilder and increasingly unseemly, the feeling had only grown until he knew what was missing. Who were missing.
Harry looked down at Fleur, peacefully sleeping, drenched in the pearl glow of moonlight. He would never mention how he had left the stag night early and apparated away to Godric's Hollow. How he had walked to his parent's grave and found a flower so lovingly, delicately woven from charmwork it could only have been done by a master. He would never tell her how he cried at her offering along with the knowledge that his family would never get the chance to meet the woman who meant the world to him.
Harry buried his face in the sweet-smelling hair woven of the very moonbeam that shone through their bedroom window. His eyes drifted closed as his heart beat in time to hers and finally, peacefully, he fell asleep.
Outside, the night was quiet and the snow fell gently.
Author's Note: For those who do not know, the fleur-de-lis is a stylized lily – "lis" being the French word for said flower. I always thought the joining of Fleur and Lily's names in such a way was rather poetic.
Additionally, the French Fleur uses in the graveyard is a traditional French wedding vow. Translated as: "to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, forever."