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“The war is over.”
Harry Potter breathed the words into the chilly air as if those four words spoken in that moment made it true. They possessed a solemnity, a finality, as if he hadn’t vanquished Voldemort almost five months ago. A cloud of air accompanied them, lifting the truth into the afternoon sky and setting it free.
As soon as the breath of fog dissipated, he had an irrational urge to reach out and fist the words. What if voicing them made them false?
Harry dragged his hand down his face, hiding from the world. He was exhausted, and sleep was nothing more than a daydream. Oddly enough, nightmares weren’t what kept him awake for an unhealthy amount of time; if it was something that simple, he would’ve taken a Dreamless Sleep Potion and crashed for however long he could manage. The empty seats at the house tables didn’t keep his eyes open, remembering past classmates. Ginny’s relationship with Michael Corner didn’t steal his rest either.
She kept him awake.
“You tear my heart to pieces,” said Harry, another cloud of breath carrying his words off. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared mindlessly at the tossing waves of the Black Lake. The sight reminded him of easier times, back when Voldemort was a deformed thing, back when Cedric Diggory was alive, and Harry’s greatest worry was avoiding Snape.
Harry crouched down, and then sat on the massive rock behind him. His trousers became damp, and he gave a fleeting thought to the robes he had left in his dorm room that morning. The cold, hard surface of the boulder supported him and kept him steady as his thoughts raged.
Before the war, Harry had hardly ever noticed her; he had very rarely spoken to her. Then again, he had barely any contact with students from the other houses until fifth year, preferring to keep close to Ron and Hermione. Even when his circle of influence grew, he didn’t really reach out to anyone. It was only now that he consciously understood why. Harry was afraid of losing anyone important to him, and Ron and Hermione were his best friends; he couldn’t risk that by befriending anyone—not when he was young and insecure.
“Poor me,” he muttered sarcastically.
Maturity leant itself to open-mindedness in his case, and Harry was just starting to see how closed-off and self-centered he had been. In protecting himself from potential rejection and harm, he had managed to reject many others.
She, however, despite the loss of so many relatives in the first war, had always had a smile on her face, and a kind word for everyone. That was before the second war, before Voldemort murdered her aunt, and before the Death Eaters systematically eliminated everyone else closely related to her.
“I lost Sirius and Remus, who I barely knew, and I fell apart.” He closed his eyes in remembrance. “She lost her aunt and her parents, and she’s still . . .” Harry gulped, wishing he could say that she was all right. It wouldn’t be the truth, though. She still came to school, still worked unbelievably hard, and still helped others, but her smile was broken now; it never reached her eyes. Her eyes didn’t sparkle, her cheeks didn’t dimple, and her laugh was never more than a rasping whisper.
“I want to fix you, Susan Bones.”
It was a foolish desire, because she wasn’t a defective toy that he could just mend. Even if he used the Resurrection Stone, the shades he returned to her wouldn’t be her lost loved ones; such an effort would be useless, causing more harm than good.
The splintered smile and lusterless laugh cut at him, grating along his magic. Each time he saw her or heard her speak, he felt an overwhelming urge to use the Elder Wand, as if it were a panacea, to make everything better. The childish wish, and his magic’s push to help, only served to frustrate him. He had never been good at talking to strangers, and the last thing he wanted was for her to think his sentiments were insincere. She deserved better than that, better than him.
But he knew he couldn’t let her go.
The sound of crinkling paper filled the air as he withdrew his hand from his pocket and smoothed out the sheet. If Hermione found out he had ripped a page out of a library book, she would’ve killed him. However, the book had anti-copy charms on it, and he was too stunned to write it out by hand. He had torn out the page and fled the library before even considering his actions.
Harry stared at the picture of the lovely white flower in disbelief as he read the information again. Susan meant “lily”, and “lily” meant “to be joyful, bright, or cheerful”. What were the odds that the meaning of Susan’s name was his mother’s own name? He would wager they were astronomical. It fit her, though. Before the war Susan had been joyful, cheerful, and bright. Harry longed to return her to her former glory.
Before, when he was dating Cho and Ginny, Harry had never felt this all-encompassing need to know. He hadn’t been overcome with a desire to protect his girlfriend from anything. His greatest desire hadn’t been bringing a smile to their faces. Now that he saw the depth of Susan’s suffering, he understood the other girls had been mere passing fancies; he finally understood what could have kept his father going for years in the face of constant refusals.
“One smile would be worth all the effort. One kiss would be a dream come true,” he sighed. He scrunched the page back up and stuffed it in his pocket, eyes locked on the crashing waves once more.
If he had to repeat the second task at this exact moment, he knew a different redhead would await him at the bottom of the lake. It would be a witch, not a wizard. She wouldn’t have any freckles, and her hair would be closer to a burnished bronze than ginger. But most importantly, she would have no idea why she had been chosen as Harry Potter’s hostage, and she wouldn’t expect him to actually come save her.
And that would never change if he didn’t openly pursue her.
James Potter never let anyone doubt his determination to win Lily Evans. Harry figured it was about time he should follow in his father’s footsteps. Using a spell he had found in one of his father’s journals (after he explored the Potter family vault, following the war), he Transfigured multiple blades of grass into a beautiful bouquet of flowers. A white lily for chastity, because he knew Susan to be a virtuous witch. A Peruvian lily for friendship, because he wanted her to know she could always come to him. A white stargazer lily for sympathy, because he understood what it was like to lose everyone you loved. A pink stargazer for prosperity and wealth, because he was Lord of two Noble and Most Ancient Houses, and could provide whatever she desired. Lilies of the valley, because he was devoted to her and wanted nothing more than to humbly beg for her affection and love.
Harry inhaled the sweet fragrance, garnered his courage, and strode away from the lake. The walk back to the school seemed to take five times as long as the trip to the lake had. Probably because his attention was focused firmly on the possible outcomes of his current actions.
Following the war, witches and wizards had leapt into relationships without a second thought for the consequences. Many were so relieved that Voldemort was gone that they had forsaken all propriety. He had the misfortune of stumbling across Malfoy and more than one girl in a compromising position. And though he would never reveal their names, his map had informed him about assignations between two pureblood witches and (from the overlapping dots) their lovers.
While Harry was thrilled the threat of Voldemort was gone, he didn’t believe jumping into bed with anyone was an appropriate way to celebrate. Perhaps it was the Dursleys’ constant rants on “trollops”. Perhaps it was Sirius’s assertion that any witch worth marrying would never offer her virginity to anyone but her bonded husband.
Perhaps it was his father’s words, written in elegant handwriting, describing how a portion of the Potter family magic worked—alerting its master or mistress to the filthiness and darkness of others as a way to keep them safe. Witches who gave away their chastity outside of wedlock felt dirty, for lack of a better word, to Harry’s magic. According to his father, that was because they were blessed with the ability to give life to the next generation, and such unions could only be blessed by Magic inside marriage. Love making was a literal joining of two peoples’ magic, and without the bond they didn’t meld together, just rubbed shards off on each other like cat hair sticking to clothes.
This ability was how he knew that Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott had bonded over the weekend, even though they hadn’t announced it yet. It was also how he knew Susan Bones hadn’t lost herself in lust to try to escape the grief and pain that ate away at her. Susan felt more pure than every other of age witch in Hogwarts, including some of the bonded ones.
“What if she’s not interested?”
As soon as the question escaped his lips, he paused. He had long since gotten over the inane desire to be “just Harry”. Sirius had helped him acknowledge his place in society and all the good his name could do. Titles were power, and “Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, Chosen One, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses of Potter and Black, Vanquisher of V-------t, and Conqueror, meant he could essentially do whatever he wanted and people supported his decisions.
That didn’t mean Susan would want her name attached to his, though. She might have no desire to be thrust into the limelight and stand at his side. His wife would be revered by many of the wizards for being his chosen, and reviled by most of the witches out of jealousy.
Most of all, though, he didn’t want Susan to think she had to accept his offering because he had killed Voldemort—thus avenging her family’s deaths.
Harry knew many witches in her position would accept him for variable reasons: honor, lust, a desire for power, to be the lady of two Ancient Houses, or simply to be seen with him. He was placing all his trust in the Sorting Hat and what he knew of Amelia Bones. If Susan accepted him, it would be because she loved him, and she would remain loyal all her life.
His hands trembled as he continued toward the school and up the front steps. Now that the war was over and everyone was pairing off, he felt even more alone than he had before. Now that he was not only of age, but the confirmed Lord of his Houses, it felt like half his magic was missing. He needed a companion. His magic fairly begged for completion and nudged him toward Susan, reaching out to caress her whenever they were in the same room. Her own magic never rose to meet his, but she also never asked him to cease . . . so he could only hope that meant she was truly interested in him and was showing restraint, instead of throwing herself at him as a countless number of witches had during the past five months.
Gossip spread like Fiendfyre the second he stepped into the entrance hall and people saw him carrying the bouquet. Anyone with a pureblood education would know what they meant; everyone else would just see Harry Potter with flowers, which meant he had to be giving them to someone.
“Who do you think they’re for?”
“He spends a lot of time with Granger and Lovegood.”
“Think she’ll say yes?”
“Quite daring arrangement if you ask me!”
“So sweet! I hope they’re for me.”
“Are you crazy? They’re obviously for me!”
Several witches whipped out their wands and began casting hexes and jinxes at each other, but Harry only rolled his eyes. Immaturity was the last thing he needed in a partner. Poise was clearly undervalued by the petty witches battling for his favor; it was a pointless fight, and they all should have known that.
Harry’s magic suddenly stretched out eagerly, like a puppy seeking affection. He glanced toward the pull just in time to see Hannah and Susan step off the main staircase. Their eyebrows were lifted in disbelief as they glanced around the entrance hall. Susan’s lips didn’t curve at the ridiculous sight, and her eyes showed only a passing interest. She seemed detached from the whole scene, as if she were a ghost observing silly humans, and not a living person herself.
Dad succeeded. So can you, Harry thought as he stiffened his shoulders.
One step led to another, and Harry was soon striding across the entrance hall, removing the distance that separated him from Susan. His magic twined through her gorgeous, burnished-red hair, insinuating itself through her long plait. It mimicked the bonding process, in which magical melding was sometimes referred to as plaiting or braiding.
He didn’t stop until he reached her.
Susan glanced up at him, her face blank and her magic tucked into her skin. He hated seeing her like this; he missed her passion, her fire, the brilliant eyes, and radiant smile. He wanted to feel and sense her presence, not just see her with his eyes.
“Harry?”
Even spoken without inflection, his name sounded right coming from her mouth. His magic practically tangled itself in her hair in response.
Harry took a deep breath and savored that one word. She was one of the few people who he didn’t mind addressing him so familiarly. A name had power and spoke of certain levels of intimacy, and he desperately wanted to hear her address him one day as “husband” and “love”.
He swept into an elegant bow, lowering himself farther than protocol demanded; he bowed deeper than he ever had to anyone before. When his head was level with her chest, he peeked up and silently offered her the bouquet of lilies.
“Her? I’m prettier than her!”
“She’s so uptight, Potter. I can serve you better.”
“I’ll be happy to provide you with heirs!” more than one witch exclaimed. “We can practice right now!”
Pretending the nattering, uncouth witches didn’t exist was hard, but not impossible. More than once he wanted to hex someone’s mouth shut. He could barely believe that multiple women were blatantly propositioning him in public. Had they no shame? The young and pure witches had no need to hear such filthy and lewd comments! Utterly disgusted, he erected a silencing barrier around them, so Susan and Hannah wouldn’t be bombarded with inappropriate words.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he said, anger and embarrassment giving his cheeks a red tinge.
“It’s not the first time,” said Hannah. Her nose was wrinkled as she stared out at the witches whose mouths kept flapping. “They have no shame.”
Susan’s fingers traced the edges of the lilies. The sight of her slender fingers caressing the smooth petals transfixed Harry. Her left ring finger was bare, but he wouldn’t let it remain that way, as long as she was consenting, of course. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she gently tugged the bouquet from his grasp.
Triumph caused his face to split in an enormous grin as he straightened before her. He stared at her face, awed by the tender smile that curved her lips. Her eyes were sparkling with pleasure.
Susan’s eyes never left his face as she carefully removed the white lily from the bouquet. Her hand was steady as she offered it back to him—the flower that symbolized her chastity, her purity, her innocence, and her love.
His breath snagged in his chest, knotting into an unrecognizable mess as emotion consumed Harry. He cupped it in his palms, ensuring he would never damage such a priceless gift and proving that he would protect and honor it.
“Innocence is fragile,” whispered Susan.
“I know how to handle priceless items with care,” Harry vowed. He would never abuse the sacred gift she was giving him—herself.
Susan stepped away from Hannah, moving slightly closer to Harry. Absolute trust filled the emptiness of her features as she studied him openly. “Your word, Lord Potter?”
His heart trilled at the request. Liquid honor ran in every Potter’s veins. Once their word was given, it was absolute. They could not renege, even in death. “I’ll be gentle. I’ll treasure you all my days.”
Then Susan’s magic spilled from her skin, escaping its confines and rushing to meet Harry’s. They clashed and coalesced, melding into perfect harmony. Harry clutched her to his chest and closed his eyes, fighting back tears as they bonded. She filled the raw, gaping wound that existed inside him.
For the first time in his entire life, he felt whole.