Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavor and context.
I greatly appreciate HonorverseFan taking the time to edit this chapter. Your friendship and suggestions are a constant source of inspiration.
I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
Cheers.
Epilogue: Unfurl, Blossom
Green grass waved gently upon the ground, pushed to and fro by the capricious breeze that blew from the South. Yellow-hued sunlight glinted happily from above, un-obstructed by a single cloud in the wide-open cerulean sky.
There was a busy hum of activity in the small town where Fleur found herself one fine Spring day. Winter's snows had finally melted away to reveal the burgeoning plant life valiantly fighting their way through hard, cold dirt and into the warm air.
The cusp of Spring was always a special moment for Veela, but this year, especially, was one she had looked forward to since nine years ago, when sleepy green eyes first peered up at her from the cradle of weary arms.
Liliana Jaime Potter was finally old enough to attend her first rite as a Veela, the Telling. Her beautiful chicklet had practiced hard during the last year, memorizing and readying herself for the day when she could finally join her aunts, cousins, and mother.
Much preening of feathers had been done while Fayette looked on enviously.
The young Veela wore a simple crown made of lilies, bleeding hearts, and dahlias. Flowers she had picked out from the Potter garden earlier that morning. The stems had carefully been interwoven and affixed by gentle Veela song, the ornament interlaced with the last gray featherdown of Lili's childhood.
Her garland was a stark contrast to her mother, who wore garnets threaded through her piles of silver hair.
Fleur watched, lip trembling slightly, as her daughter knelt gracefully upon the ground, a small hand reaching out tentatively, yet tenderly, to rest against cold, white stone. Perfectly-formed, slender fingers traced a namesake, a grandmother she would never know.
"Mama?"
"Yes, chicklet?"
"How can I miss someone I've never met?"
A bittersweet smile bloomed upon Fleur's face but she responded with a strong, sure voice. "Because we can feel their love for us, even without knowing them. Because we can imagine our life so easily with them in it."
"Do you think Papa misses them?"
Fleur thought of a charmed flower in the snow, a cold and dark night… an introduction hopefully given. "Everyday, ma poullete. He is not alone, I miss them too… just like you. Even though we've never met them, we hold them close to our hearts, do we not?"
A nod of a tiny head was all she got in response before both lapsed into silent contemplation of the people whom the grave represented and the words that could never be said.
"Papa took me here, once," Lili finally murmured, her voice dancing upon the wind with an airy quality not unlike a song. "Before your accident. I've always wanted to come back here but I don't think papa likes to."
Fleur sucked in a breath, trying to sort through the scrambled mess of her thoughts. Her mind, finicky and obsessive, kept fixating on the strange reveal. Harry nor Lili had ever mentioned their journey and she could only hope that it meant some form of catharsis had been reached. Perhaps even closure.
"He struggles," Fleur finally replied. "This place brings up memories and wants that he tries not to remember." She considered her next words with some measure of care. "Your father had a difficult childhood, a tale for another time, but this grave represents the better life he could have had if his parents lived. Sometimes it can be difficult to see what you don't have. You understand, ma poullette?"
"Oui." A brief consideration. "Like when I wear the necklace you and Papa gave me on my first day of school. It reminds me of Jasmine and how much I miss her."
"Indeed," Fleur agreed, sympathetic sadness rising in her chest for her daughter's first friend, gained and lost so quickly. "But you and I…" she swallowed the lump in her throat, "we can come back here. Whenever you wish."
The young witchling rose to her feet, dusting off the front of her cloak that had lain against the ground. "I'd like that." Curious green eyes peered up through silver lashes. "So one day you'll tell me about the wars Papa spoke of? Why Papa and the Weasley's have so many scars? Why I'm not allowed to read the newspaper?"
Fleur rubbed the bridge of her nose, shaking her head slowly. "Your eyes see much, little chick. And yes, one day you will know it all. The good, the bad, and everything in-between." Her heart swelled for her inquisitive, insightful daughter. "Your father and I… we've both struggled in the past. With who we are and how the world views us. For similar reasons if in different ways. I hope that it will not change how you see your father. Or any of us."
Lili's face screwed up in thoughtful perplexion before smoothing out into childlike resolution. "Nothing could change how I feel. I love you too much."
Fleur crouched down to be eye-level with her daughter, who was so young, yet spoke such beautiful things. "And I love you Moonbeam, with all the feathers on my wings, and every song in my heart." She stroked the silkiness of Lili's cheek in a simple caress, blue eyes gazing into green. "But let us not tarry here any longer, or dwell on melancholic thoughts. Today is born of glory and magic."
Green eyes sparkled with renewed light, their brilliance so similar in hue to her father's that Fleur's heart pitter-pattered in her chest. Standing, she took hold of her daughter's hand and led them to the apparition points of Godric's Hollow where, with a smart turn, they popped out of existence to land a second later in a densely wooded forest.
The forest of Chaux in France was a gorgeous sight to behold. One of the last old growth forests in the world, groves of untainted woodland both precious and guarded.
Apolline, her cousins Estelle and Angèle, her sister Gabrielle, and even her aunts Celine and Novalise were present and waiting. All wanted to be present on this most auspicious day.
Each wore simple garments of lightweight material, ranging from silk to cotton. But each Veela present had spent the bulk of their morning preparing by styling their hair. Some wore it loose and delicately curled, while others had gone for elaborate knots and buns. But all had weaved their own personal ornaments throughout their tresses of gold and silver.
Novalise, cheerful and warm, sat in her wheelchair, which had been bedecked in sunflowers and forget-me-nots. The oldest sister Celine, whimsical and aloof, wore a viridian dress with pearls, beads, and corded leather laced throughout her long plait. Apolline sat demurely upon a conjured chair, eyes like smoked glass, with amethysts decorating her elaborate twist of silver hair.
Her cousins stood a ways off together, chatting amicably in the sunbeams filtering through the towering treetops above.
Estelle wore her hair short and, even though she typically sidestepped any and all forms of femininity, she had capitulated on this most sacred of days. She was at odds with her sister, Angèle, who delighted in all things mischievous, tasteful, and expensive. One wore blue and another green but both were gorgeous in disparate ways.
Lili skipped towards her grandmother and grandaunts, who all spoiled her most terribly, while Fleur drifted towards her sister who sat upon a large rock sunning herself.
Golden hair, rich and soft, draped down the side of the mossy stone. A stormy grey eye drifted lazily open upon hearing the crunch of nettles underfoot, hinting at Fleur's approach.
"Joyous Equinox to you dearest sister," Gabrielle stated liltingly, only a hint of mockery in her tone.
Fleur curtsied pompously. "May you feel the love of your sisters past and present. Today and always," came the rote reply.
Gabrielle squirmed her way sideways to make room for Fleur, who perched atop the rock.
"Is Lili excited?" Gabby asked, her eyes falling closed once more.
"Mhm." She picked at the brown-green lichen idly, letting the birdsong and woodland noises wash over her, feeling inundated by nature. "We visited Harry's parents today."
"Hm."
"I wish she could have known them."
"She does, in a way. Through you and Harry. Perhaps that is the most important."
Fleur reached out to clasp her sister's hand, stroking her fingers up and down the delicate palm. An unspoken acknowledgement shared between the two who both loved the same man.
"Will you lead the dance today?" Fleur finally asked, breaking the easy silence.
Her sister shifted, attention more focused. "Is it still hurting?" She mumbled.
Fleur shook her head. "No, sometimes I get chilly and sluggish but I'm fine. My fire comes readily again."
"Good," came her sister's relieved reply. Returning to the original topic, Gabby spoke. "As the youngest I'm supposed to lead but isn't it the Mother's right during a Telling?"
"One I'm happy to give to you."
Gabby opened a single eye once more, searching Fleur's face inquisitively before closing, accepting the deeper sentiment being offered.
"You should dance with your eldest," Gabrielle responded, giving a languid stretch. "But I'd be honoured to lead for Fayette when she comes of age."
"Nothing would please your goddaughter more, I expect."
Fleur pressed her lips to the back of Gabby's hand. "You've been overworking yourself lately. Come visit us more often, please?"
A sigh. "I will. Missing you all is hard on me as well. But I can't let this opportunity slip through my fingers, you know?"
"I do," Fleur responded, a grin taking over her face. "I'm so proud of you Gabby."
Her sister scoffed even as a slight blush suffused the tips of her ears. "It's nothing," she demurred. "Just a few dresses here and there."
"It is not nothing," Fleur interjected fiercely. "It is what you've always wanted."
Gabrielle had been smashing herself against the wall known as wizarding fashion for years but had finally met some give just a few short months ago.
The same witches who had decried "creatures with supernaturally enhanced features" being allowed to model or even make clothing had been met with a changed public opinion. Not only had Harry and Fleur's tell-all been released, documenting their trials and tribulations over the terrifying few months two years ago, but Luna and Padma's book on Veela had similarly been published to widespread acclaim.
The two friends had lived and worked within Veela Aeries for nearly three years straight. Going from the Carpathian Mountains to Bialowieza in Belarus, Uzunbodzhak and Doupki–Djindjiritza in Bulgaria, and even Vinatovača in Serbia. Their chronicled account worked to dispel many of the folklore and bigotry ingrained in wizarding culture against the secretive Veela, most notably, cutting the sale of Veela bodice-ripper novels in half.
Coupled with the Sentient Beings Rights and Welfare Resolution and domestic policies around the world slowly changing, new opportunities and challenges were cropping up everywhere. It wasn't perfect, far from it, but the progress they had fought so tirelessly for was, at least, now possible.
It had already begun to change Gabby's life for the better. Fleur could only hope that by the time her children were ready to take their place in the world it would be more welcoming.
"Teddy told me that Hagrid has clippings of all your runway shows in a collage he shows to every student that visits his hut," Fleur remarked with a grin, charting a course to lighter waters.
"Loveable oaf," Gabrielle groaned with a pretty snort. "He Floo'd me balling the night of my first show."
"Well, now he is definitely the best dressed half-giant in the world. Not even Headmistress Maxime can compare."
"Anything was better than those odious pelts," her sister sniffed.
Fleur smiled down at Gabrielle who had become Hagrid's greatest defender and benefactor, staunch friendship a light in both their lives.
"Girls," Apolline called, "come and take your places. Spring is knocking upon our door and we have much to do."
Dusting herself off, Fleur hopped down from her seat, offering a hand to Gabby on her own way down.
The two sisters held hands as they strode towards the other gathered Veela, taking place in a circle amidst the tall trees in the centre of the small clearing.
"Mama!" Lili cried excitedly, "Look what grand-tante Celine gave me!" The little Veela held out her hands, a slender cylinder of glass in her hands.
"Oh!" Fleur exclaimed, hands reflexively covering her mouth in surprise. "What a wonderful gift." Her eyes snapped to Celine, wild and free, whose usually stoic face broke before the radiance of her smile.
The cylinder of glass was encased around a gleaming strand of silver hair, enchanted and plucked from Celine's head on the Solstice. It was an irrevocable treasure to receive a Veela hair willingly given, a ritual no less sacred than the Courting Dance. A gift that could be given only a single time.
"You honour us, Mother," Fleur whispered with gratitude, using the title for a revered elder of their kind.
"She is a good girl, strong of spirit and mind. Her wings will stretch far." Celine nodded resolutely after she spoke, as though it was already decided that Lili would achieve great things. Her aunt who had always traveled where the wind blew her, never allowing herself to be tethered down, had willingly formed an unbreakable bond. An attachment that could never be erased. The same one that Fleur's grand-mère had bestowed upon her when she was just a chick.
Turning, Fleur bent at the waist to pet her daughter's head. "We will ask Mother Zlata to sing you wood for a wand then, little bird." Her heart seemed to find its way to lodge in her throat. "My oh my, how fast you are growing up."
Lili beamed with excitement at the praise but Fleur could only give a watery grin at the bittersweet realization. Veela wands could only be made from wood of ancient trees and strands of Veela hair. It was yet another sign that childhood was giving way, just as winter did for spring.
All too soon her precious girls would leave their nest.
"Come now sisters," Celine said, her voice both tender and authoritative. "As our mother and her mother's mother once danced, so shall we."
The elder Veela took their places once more in a circle, from oldest to youngest, with Lili stepping forward into the centre.
As the Equinox approached Fleur began to dance. She let go of her thoughts and just allowed herself to be. To feel the grass underfoot and the sun in the sky. To relish the brush of a breeze upon her skin and the dirt between her toes. She had waited many years to share this moment with her daughter and now that it was here…she felt complete. Perfect. Happy.
Each Veela danced differently, born with a natural rhythm personal to their unique soul, but the gracefulness inherent to their kind was ubiquitous as the other's joined in.
Lili swayed as though in a trance and began to sing.
Instantly, the velvet tones of her daughter pushed her gently back into misty reminiscing and half-formed memories. Fleur remembered her own Telling when she sang songs of their folklore in a forest of old wood as Spring arrived. She had strained her voice so as to wake her ancestors from their slumber within the oaks, ash, and willows, bidding them to journey out into the world. To enjoy the sun and rain before returning upon the Winter Solstice.
That would be Lili's next ritual. Most young Veela took a pilgrimage to their forest of origin in Bulgaria upon maturity for the Guiding. Where they would sing once more to usher the Veela and Samodiva back to the Place Beyond the Trees before the cold truly set in. It would begin at midnight and last till dawn.
Even now, Fleur could feel the rawness of her throat, the fear, the passion, and the joy. How close she had felt to a lineage she had been teetering on the brink of abandoning. Her body had felt too small, too weak for the divinity that had hummed within her. And, mystifyingly, at some point during the Guiding her body had gone through its final change. Wide white wings had unfurled from her back to brush against the snow about her ankles, finally free and strong enough to lift her skyward.
Today, Lili would feel something similar. Though she would not be graced with a true set of wings until her Guiding, she would shift fully for the first time. No longer would she have the gray featherdown of childhood, nor would her transformations be capricious any longer.
Sinking back into the present, Fleur listened to the song her daughter had chosen to start with. Her favorite from childhood and one that had struck close to home, The Gown of Feathers. Lili gave the tale new life, breathing emotion into the story, weighty with experience.
The birds had gone quiet, retiring to their varied roosts to listen and watch. The trees bent and swayed as though frolicking, even when no wind blew. A prickling of the skin and a tingle along the spine gave rise to the presence of other moving about them, in revelry and recognition.
As the first tale wound to a close, the elder Veela's wings sprouted from their backs as they continued to dance. Their feet moved in tandem as they circled clockwise around the young chicklet, who, slowly but surely, was changing.
Tiny, fluttery wings poked their way through the slits on the back of Lili's dress. They gave an unconscious, tentative flap, as though testing their newfound freedom. Feathers began to spring out upon the girl's skin, coating their way downwards from her collarbones to her ankles. Fingers elongated into dull talons, just before a beak slowly formed upon her face.
Fleur watched as her little girl took her first step into womanhood and cried. How different her life would have been had she not fallen in love with Harry that day upon the bank of the Black Lake. How lesser.
She would have given up this unique, mystical piece of herself, lived an ordinary life as a witch, and never taken part in a Veela ritual again. To give up the Guiding was to jettison all parts of self that were Veela. She would have been happy, certainly. Settled down and birthed witches and wizards. But never quite whole. Never all that she could be.
Instead she found herself laughing as she wept upon this perfect day. Effervescent joy bubbling inside her breast and bursting out of her pores as feathers erupted across her body. She met the sparkling eyes of her sister who danced with her, sharing the wondrous moment.
For many hours the women sang and danced, celebrated and cheered. The family tied together by ceremony, love, and many, many feathers. Until, finally, it was over. The sun sunk beneath the horizon and night arrived, stars twinkling into existence overhead.
Lili smudged a hand across her eyes sleepily, swaying precariously upon tired feet. Fleur wrapped her precious daughter in her white wings, enveloping her from behind. Their slight but warm pressure nudging the chicklet into her arm's embrace.
"I'm so proud of you," she breathed, pressing her lips to Lili's cheek. "You did so well, Moonbeam."
An exhausted but assured smile stretched across Lili's face, devoid of the conceit and arrogant pride that had tainted her mother many years ago. "It was…" green eyes shone in the dark, "it was magic. It was everything."
Fleur hummed in agreement, pressing another kiss to Lili's forehead. "Come, my tired Veela, let us get you home."
The two were given hugs and goodbyes from the other assembled witches, each making plans to gather again soon, before Fleur apparated them back to the outside of the Potter wards.
The rolling hills and forest surrounding the estate were softly illuminated by twinkling starlight, offering just enough vision for Fleur to spy her husband leaning against the knotty trunk of an aspen.
"Ah, my intrepid Veela return," he cooed, striding forward to take Lili's snoozing form away from Fleur's outstretched arms. He brushed his lips against their daughter's forehead before making their tingling way across Fleur's cheek.
"Fayette?" She asked.
"She's been asleep for the last two hours or so. Tried to stay up to see you and sissy come home but…" Harry peered down at Lili's peaceful face fondly. "How did it go?"
Awe and pride coursed through Fleur's veins. "She did spectacularly."
"I expected nothing less." Harry glanced her way. "Come, my love, let us put tired Veela to bed."
"It is certainly past her bedtime," Fleur agreed as they began their trek towards home, comfortable and inviting atop the hill.
"I was referring to both of you," Harry remarked teasingly, shifting his slumbering passenger to one arm so he could grasp her hand. He pulled her gently closer so her shoulder brushed his and nudged her hip with his own.
"It is past my bedtime as well," she admitted with a soft chuckle. Her muscles were sore but the ache gave her a sense of satisfaction. "I think I'm looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow morning as much as Fayette."
Harry pushed open Lili's bedroom door with his foot before gently placing the still asleep chicklet snuggly into bed. Giving her a final kiss goodnight, which caused her face to scrunch up adorably before nestling deeper into her blankets.
"I was thinking breakfast in bed," Harry noted with a grin that lit up the night around them. He eyed her roguishly. "And a massage tonight. I know how much these days take out of you."
"Don't get any ideas," Fleur admonished even as the primal nature within her blood heated in response.
"You know, having ideas was never what got me in trouble," her husband replied. "Now… acting on them on the other hand…"
"You're incorrigible."
"You're impeccable."
"Improper."
"Inspiring."
"Idiotic."
Harry chuckled at their brief sparring of words, compliments from him, barbs from her. He tugged her close so he could capture her lips beneath his own. Tenderly, coaxingly, he pried her mouth open, slipping a hot tongue past her defenses to sweep inside and claim her heart for his own. Only when she capitulated by raising her own tongue to meet him, did the kiss turn fiercer, more possessive. Her husband was no longer the young boy pressing an unsure kiss to her lips, he had long since made an artform of the act.
He left her trembling and breathless, yearning for more. Even after all these years he could still affect her so. She found it ridiculously unfair. Fleur gazed into his eyes, his face still temptingly close to her own.
An easy delight swirled within brilliant green irises and he shifted so his lips were right next to her ear. When he spoke, his deep voice sent delicious vibrations jolting down her spine to settle somewhere low in her belly. An intimate, heady thing.
"You are intoxicating," he whispered, voice like a caress. He nipped the tip of her earlobe and her heart beat wildly. "Irreplaceable." A flash of tongue along the shell of her ear. "Immaculate." His lips traced a journey across the underside of her jaw and top of her throat.
She drew in a ragged breath, mind short-circuiting from the overload of sensation. She was drowning in him, mind racing only to jolt to a stop as it fixated on another aspect of this sensuous, sumptuous torture.
Her eyes snapped to his as soon as they came into view, a pulsating need thrumming in her veins.
His mouth moved but it took her sluggish mind a second to register what he said, but the words sent crackling exaltation racing through her nerve-endings. "You are integral."
With a tight grip she hauled him towards their bedroom, as her predatory, obsessive nature took over. Fleur was resolved to make the night as magical as the day.
Spring had arrived and with it new beginnings. Life, love, and laughter had replaced the worry and gloom of their lives. The world was still a strange and scary place, filled with dangers and challenges but they would face them together. As partners, as family.
Fleur smiled as she pushed her husband, sending him toppling backwards to bounce upon their bed. And as she settled atop him, tracing the heart-achingly beautiful planes and angles of his face, she leaned down and purred in his ear.
"You, mon cœur, are simply irresistible."
Her heart beat in time with his, singing the same song it had since her Guiding all those years ago, now a duet. It was the music of a life well-lived that bled from her fingers and bow whenever she played her cello. The harmony of a life forever changed by a young boy beneath a swaying willow tree and the rhythm that she had danced to in courtship one wintry night.
She leaned her forehead against Harry's, sinking into the depths of his eyes. Green irises that reflected her own feelings back at her, communicating what words could never fully convey.
There was love, so much love.