AFiF 4, Chapter 32: To Be Loved

XXXII. To Be Loved

Dainty fingers combed through his hair. Harry winced slightly as Gabrielle shifted atop his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Gabby, it’s fine -”

“Shut up,” she snapped morosely, pulling yet another book towards her, “I just need to focus.”

It was night time. A golden fire burned beneath his mantle, bathing the marble-strewn room in an angelic glow. Harry and Gabby sat cuddled-up atop his grand bed, surrounded by open books and hastily-drawn diagrams.

“Severed flesh,” Gabby murmured, studying a diagram clenched tightly within her palms. She tucked her head into Harry’s neck, “That’ll be after the Skelegro . . .”

Harry sighed, pulling the diagram from her grasp.

“There’s no point, Gabrielle,” Harry whispered, “It was cauterized by Fiendfyre, not just normal flames. No normal healing magic is fixing this.”

Gabrielle’s gaze was wet. She tucked her head further into his neck. Harry could feel her tears sliding down his neck.

I think she might be more upset than me.

“Honestly, it’s not that bad,” he assured her softly, combing his fingers through her silver hair. He wrapped her single braided strand around his fingers, “I was my left hand. That was barely a part of me to begin with.”

Gabrielle’s sobs grew louder. Harry’s brow furrowed.

Wrong line.

Harry straightened up, repositioning Gabrielle atop his lap. He gently slid her arms around his neck.

“Hey,” he whispered, pressing his lips upon her ear, “Everything else went alright. We got your father out just fine, didn’t we?”

Gabrielle nodded blankly, her eyes hot with passion. Her lips trailed across his neck, pressing against his skin every other second.

“You d-did,” she murmured, her voice breaking. Unadulterated adoration coated her broken words, “You risked yourself for him. You - you -”

She pressed herself closer against him. Harry could feel the heat of her skin against his. Perhaps it was her heritage or perhaps something else, but for whatever reason, Gabrielle felt far warmer than any human Harry had ever felt before.

Not that I’ve felt very many.

Harry cleared his throat.

“It wasn’t nearly as heroic as you’re thinking,” he frowned, “I got my hand cut off while reaching for the medallion -”

“- which means you gave the medallion away without any fear for your own safety,” Gabrielle finished hotly, momentarily pulling herself from his grasp. She glared at him, “Don’t undersell yourself. Not to me.”

She tucked herself back into his grasp, her eyes still wet. Harry huffed.

Oh well.

He traced placating lines into Gabrielle’s back with his remaining hand, lost in thought. Countless strands of silver pressed against his cheek.

“I love you, Harry,” a faint voice whispered, “I love you with all my heart.”

Harry froze. A second later, he felt his lips curve into a smile.

“We’ve been a thing for like a week, you know,” he grinned, “I’m pretty sure this counts as love bombing.”

Gabrielle shifted within his lap, straightening up. Her pale blue eyes stared directly into his.

“I don’t care. I know who you are. I know how I feel.”

Harry breathed heavily. His fingers pressed tight against her hips.

“And how do you feel?”

The distance closed between them. Soft, smooth lips slid across his. 

“In love.”

She wrapped her fingers around his left arm, drawing it closer. Her eyes grew moist as Harry shivered with pain.

“It’s still fresh,” Harry murmured, staring at his stump of an arm, “I expect the pain will dissipate soon enough.”

“It will,” said Gabrielle softly, “All the Healing and Pain-Reduction Charms I cast will make sure of that.”

Gabby gently pressed her lips against his wounded arm before leaning back into him.

“I already wrote to Anaïs,” she told him, her head tucked beneath his once more, “She should have a false hand blueprint drawn up for you in about a week.”

Harry’s brows furrowed in surprise.

“Anaïs?” he frowned, “I thought the two of you were at odds?”

“We are,” the girl whispered, “Not that it matters. If she and Fleur can do this, they can consider themselves forgiven.”

Harry blinked.

“Just like that?”

Gabrielle nodded, gently kissing the underside of his jaw.

“Just like that.”

They sat in each other’s arms for some time. Harry allowed his mind to roam all the while. A number of odd hand designs wafted about the confines of his mind.

I wonder.

Harry plucked his wand up from his side, gently waving across his left arm. He forced his mind to focus.

A hand. Give me a hand.

Molten liquid the color of Gabrielle’s hair poured from the tip of his wand, coalescing before him. Harry watched with intrigue as it connected itself to his arm. It felt awfully cold.

Weird.

Harry flexed his fingers. They worked perfectly fine, though to Harry’s disappointment, he couldn’t feel it.

“What’s it made of?” Gabby asked, staring curiously at his palm. She intertwined her fingers with his.

“Silver and steel, I think,,” Harry whispered back.

Gabrielle frowned.

“That’s not possible. Silver is one of the exceptions to Gamp’s law of Elemental Transfiguration.”

Harry shrugged, smiling.

“Not to me it isn’t.”

He leaned back into his bed, pulling Gabrielle with him. The silver-haired girl stared at him, exasperated.

“How’d you do it?” she barked curiously.

“I told you, I’m special,” he grinned, “Not that it’s particularly impressive. I can’t really feel anything.”

Gabby’s smile faded.

“It’ll do until I’m done constructing the one Fleur and Anaïs design,” she noted, “And that one should suffice until we’re ready to reattach your arm-”

Harry sighed. Gabrielle gave him a pointed look.

“It will happen,” she told him seriously, “I’ve already soaked it in Murtlap Essence to keep it healthy.”

“So that’s why you wanted my hand,” Harry realised aloud, “I thought you were being weird.”

“I am not weird,” the girl hissed, flicking him across the head, “Although I definitely wouldn’t have let you throw your hand away, even if it couldn’t be saved -”’

Harry opened his mouth to retort, only to be stopped by the painful look in Gabrielle’s eyes.

“Fine,” he sighed before pulling her closer, “You’re right. I’ll get my hand back.”

Gabby smiled.

“You will. But, until then, you should probably cast a few Glamour Charms on your metal one. Unless you’re alright with all the attention.”

“Merlin, no,” Harry grimaced. He slid his wand across his left hand, watching as the silvery surface turned more flesh-like, “I don’t need anyone asking me how I lost a hand. I already get enough stares.”

The silver-haired girl nodded. Her eyes roamed the room, quickly falling upon a French tabloid by the base of the bed. Her lips curved upwards.

“Accio!” she whispered, summoning the paper. Harry could just barely make out the upside-down title:

‘Le Chevalier D'Or Sauve Le Ministère!’

Beneath the bold words was an image of a handsome young man adorned in little more than singed tatters. Golden flames surrounded him on all sides, the maw of a serpent to his left and its tail to his right. They bathed the man in a glow that made him look more dangerously alive than anyone Harry had ever seen. 

 I look like a fucking God.

Harry frowned, eyeing the image carefully. His green eyes were painfully prominent, his glasses likely tucked into the pockets of his torn robes. Pitch black hair loomed above the transfigured features he wore: somewhere between his own and those of one Emily Marvolo Riddle.

He sank back into his pillows as Gabrielle smiled softly, turning the paper towards him.

“You look very handsome,” she noted, her cheeks tinged the faintest of pinks.

Harry shrugged.

“It’s not even my face.”

Gabrielle snorted. She pulled his glasses from his face with one hand, tussling his hair with the other.

“Almost the spitting image,” she laughed, “All you really did was raise your cheekbones just a little bit. If it wasn’t for the lighting of the Fiendfyre you'd have been caught almost instantly.”

“Do the glasses really help that much?”

“Seems so.”

A Clark Kent situation, then.

Gabrielle tossed the tabloid aside, settling into his arms.

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

“No,” Harry admitted, shaking his head, “I could use the secrecy.”

“Does anyone else know?”

Harry thought for a moment.

“Nott, obviously,” he began, “Your parents too, I imagine.”

Gabrielle nodded solemnly.

“Maman has already instructed me to stay away until she has reached a decision on the matter.”

Harry’s heart lurched.

“And . . . are you going to?”

“Of course not,” Gabby glared, flicking him across the forehead, “But they won’t hurt you, anyway. Now that papa knows who you are and what you mean to me, he won’t touch you no matter how dearly he might like to.”

Harry nodded.

“And your mother?”

Gabrielle’s eyes darkened.

“She might try to change his mind,” she whispered, “But that is all she can do. Nothing more.”

Nothing more.

The girl shook her head, her fingers curling about his hair once more.

“Your friend Nott and my parents,” she reminded him eventually, “Anyone else?”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

Bellatrix and Emily, no doubt.

He stared at Gabrielle. The girl firmly met his gaze.

Maybe . . .

“I think Cerise has a suspicion, too, though I haven’t told her.”

Gabby’s eyes bulged. 

“Explain.”

“You pieced it together, didn’t you?” Harry sighed simply, “I think she did the same with the help of a girl at my school. Grace Weitts, she’s in Slytherin too.”

He watched as the silver-haired girl frowned for a long moment. Eventually she nodded.

“You should be more careful,” she whispered seriously, “She might be your friend, but her family is no different than mine. They are not your friends.”

“The Rosiers,” Harry nodded slowly, “Grindelwald’s most honoured.”

Gabby’s probably right about that.

He poked at his thoughts, searching for any others.

“I think that’s mostly it,” he frowned, “Astoria and Luna, too, actually. And obviously the witch in violet.”

A cold, hollow silence fell upon them. Gabrielle stared up into his eyes, a nervous thought on the tip of her tongue.

“The witch in violet,” she repeated morosely, “The one who attacked me that night when we fought over the diary.”

“She’s done more than just attack you, Gabby,” Harry whispered, “I think she’s been playing with our lives for a while now.”

He could almost feel Gabrielle’s heart stop.

“Explain.”

“She . . .” Harry struggled to find the words, “She led me to you. That night when we broke into Solkyss Peak - I only found you because her Patronus guided me to you. And that - that -”

Harry’s breath stilled.

That was the night the Truest spoke of. My Precious Puppet.

Harry’s heart ached. He took Gabrielle’s hands in his, drawing her closer.

“Gabby,” he whispered, staring into her shimmering eyes, “I - I have a lot to tell you.”

The girl leaned closer.

“I thought you already told me everything?”

“Almost everything,” he agreed, “But there’s a few things I think I’ve worked out. And a lot of things that can get you - you -”

“Hurt,” Gabrielle finished solemnly. Harry nodded.

“Or worse.”

He watched passively as Gabrielly gently placed a hand on either of his shoulders, moving the left one to toy with loose strands of his hair. A solemn look coated her face.

“If you’re - you’re about to play the hero and cast me aside,” she began, hurt faintly lacing her voice, “Harry, I -”

Harry shook his head.

“I need you,” he murmured almost lustfully, pulling her closer, “I can’t - I couldn’t -”

No matter how dangerous it might be.

Guilt tore at his insides. Harry struggled to meet his girlfriend’s gaze.

“Is that selfish?” he grimaced.

Cool, flawless skin pressed against his neck.

“Maybe,” her dulcet voice echoed, “Maybe not. I don’t care.”

Gabrielle leaned closer, pressing her lips against his. Faint sparks flickered through Harry’s body and heat pooled up in his chest.

“I just want you to understand,” Harry explained softly, “I need you to understand what’s at stake before I say it. I - I need to be absolutely certain I can trust you.”

The silver-haired girl frowned.

“Does Nott know?”

“Mostly,” Harry nodded, “He doesn’t know too much about Emily and I, but the rest . . .”

He winced as Gabrielle pulled herself from his grasp.

“Emily?” she whispered, her expression blank.

“Emily Marvolo Riddle. You would know her as Lady Voldemort.”

He watched as a fire lit in the girl’s eyes. She pressed herself against him once more, the ghost of bluebell flames lingering upon her fingers. Her nose looked oddly sharp and her usually smooth skin silky and feather-like. Harry replaced his palms along her lower spine.

“I need your word, Gabby,” he murmured, “I need you to promise -”

“I will,” she whispered, “Whatever it is, we’ll face each other until the very end.”

Harry took a deep breath.

“They’re controlling everything, Gabby. Everything.”

And he went off. Spoken memories he’d never so much as spewed from his thoughts - his many nights wasted with Emily, his tutelage under Bella, and eventually his meeting of the late Nagel. By the time he’d arrived upon the present’s doorstep, Gabbrielle had long since buried her head within his neck.

“I don’t know what they’re doing,” Harry whispered at last, “But I do know why.”

“For Grindelwald,” Gabrielle murmured sullenly.

“For Grindelwald,” Harry agreed, “I don’t know why or how - but in one way or another, everything leads back to him.”

“Or Voldemort,” Gabby whispered, “Him or Voldemort.”

Harry nodded silently. He leaned back as Gabrielle pressed her dainty fingers along his jaw.

“Don’t you think chasing his fake Resurrection Stone might be a part of this?” she frowned, “It sounds like they’ve been pushing you in that direction.”

“I’ve considered it,” Harry admitted.

“But?”

“But it’s too useful,” he whispered, “Grindelwald’s not even the main Dark Lord I have to deal with, remember.”

“I know, I know,” the girl whispered, re-burying her head into the crook of his neck, “It just worries me, that’s all.”

Harry soothingly rubbed at the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

“I’ll give it some thought,” he assured her, “Theo wanted me to focus on Blood Magic, anyway. It's just the easiest way.”

The only way, really, now that Garnier’s dead.

Harry’s jaw clenched. His lips quivered but no words spilled from his lips.

“No matter,” Gabrielle sighed, “That can wait until the second task. Which is . . .”

“February twenty-fourth,” Harry offered quickly, “Nearly two months away.”

Gabby smiled, sinking into his grasp.

“Two months away,” she repeated blankly, “For now, all that matters is me and you.”

-(xXx)-

The Beauxbatons Dining Hall was rather animated today. For the first time since arriving, only a few eyes latched upon him as he strode down the length of the fifth year table, eventually sliding into a seat near the very end. Beady eyes narrowed as he reached for a scarlet apple.

“What are you doing here?” Sylvain frowned. He watched as Harry took a large bite from the glistening fruit.

That’s delicious.

Harry lowered it, passing it between his two hands. While within his left hand - which he had of course charmed to look as flesh-like as possible - Harry could hardly feel the apple at all.

“Whatever I want,” he said plainly, still watching the fruit. He eventually stared back at the older boy, “What are you going to do about it?”

The French boy bristled. Harry watch as his lips parted, an angry retort on the tip of his tongue -

“Quiet, Toussaint,” Cerise snapped irritably. She didn’t so much as glance over, her entire focus fixated on a tabloid clenched tight within her hands, “I’m trying to read.”

“I didn’t even -”

“I said not now.”

Sylvain stabbed his toast irritably, glaring at Harry. Harry cheerfully flipped him off.

“You’re in a good mood,” Adeline Bardot noted curiously, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ears, “I thought you’d be a bit annoyed that your girlfriend’s dad got out alright.”

“Shut up, Bardot,” Aurore snapped. She quickly smiled at Harry, “She’s just being stupid. I know you wouldn’t wish for anything so cruel.”

Harry yawned.

“‘Course I wouldn’t,” he agreed lazily.

If I did, I wouldn’t have bothered saving him to begin with.

Harry tugged a few platters towards him, leisurely constructing a meal for himself. His eyes roamed the hall all the while, noting with faint interest that just about everyone seemed to be pursuing a copy of the French Tabloids. The familiar golden image of his other self surrounded him all along the hall.

“How big of a deal is that?” Harry asked, pointing at the paper in Aurore’s hands with his fork. He hastily swallowed his food, “You know, the Fiendfyre and the taking over the ministry stuff.”

“Insane, obviously,” Bardot snorted, “Imagine if a bunch of terrorists tried breaking into your Ministry to kill your leaders, only to be stopped by a boy.”

“A man,” Cerise corrected, frowning. Bardot turned to her.

“Think he’s older?” she asked, “I suppose he might’ve transferred his features -”

“No,” Cerise shook her head, “Well maybe, but that’s not what I mean.”

She straightened the tabloid in her hands, her eyes lingering on Harry for just a moment.

“This isn’t the doings of a boy,” she said simply, “This is the work of a man. Mother always believed there was a distinction.” 

Harry smiled to himself, helping himself to his food.

She almost definitely knows.

Not that it was particularly surprising. Her family was forever linked to Grindelwald. Given everything the man had done to meddle with Harry’s life as of late -

She’s bound to know. I’d be more surprised if she didn’t.

Harry pushed his plate aside, leaning towards Cerise.

“Your father was there, right?” he asked innocently, “Did he get away alright?”

I didn’t see him, after all. Not that I know what he looks like.

Cerise’s lips thinned.

“He was fortunate enough to escape early,” she admitted, fingering the medallion around her neck, “I think he used my mother’s medallion. She always makes him take it whenever he goes to events like these.”

Harry nodded slowly, lost in thought.

“Those medallions,” he began, nodding at the one Cerise wore, “How common are they? I keep running into them everywhere I go.”

The Violet One had one.

Cerise paused.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “I know the Delacour heirs each have one, and I obviously have my own.”

“Your mother owns one too, obviously,” Harry added.

“Obviously,” Cerise frowned. She eyed him carefully, “Those four are the only ones I know of.”

“Flamel made them, didn’t he? Before he died?”

The girl nodded.

“Do you know why?”

“No,” Cerise sighed, “That’s something you can ask my mother when you finally decide to meet her.”

Aurore and Helene snickered. Harry rolled his eyes.

“She’s the one who’s been ducking me,” he sighed irritably, “I waited with Oliver for nearly an hour back at your family’s gala.”

The smile faded from everyone’s faces.

“That reminds me,” Cerise murmured, “Oliver wants you to come to his grandfather’s funeral.”

What - oh.

“I - of course,” Harry nodded dutifully, “When is it?”

“This Sunday, two in the afternoon,” the dark-haired girl muttered, passing him a card, “He told me to pass that along. Should tell you everything you need to know about the schedule.”

Harry nodded, pocketing the card.

I’ve never been to a funeral before.

A sullen silence blanketed the group. It was broken nervously by Helene, who reached for a bowl of fruit.

“So,” she began faintly, “The Golden Knight . . .”

Cerise frowned, staring at Harry. Harry smiled back.

“What about him?”

The girl shrugged uncertainly.

“It’s just a bit odd, isn’t it?” Helene whispered, “Not even a month ago the Ministry was dogging on him.”

Cerise nodded thoughtfully.

“It is strange,” she admitted, “Or at the very least, it is at first glance. I think it reveals a few important things, though.”

Harry grinned at her.

“Like what?”

“For one, they must believe he can be controlled,” said Cerise firmly, staring at him, “If they didn’t, then portraying him in a good light like this would be too risky.”

“Maybe they don’t have a choice,” Harry smiled, “It sounds like a lot of people were there. And it would be rude not to credit the man that saved their nation.”

“That man made an unfathomably reckless decision in involving himself,” Cerise glared, “He put himself up against no doubt insane odds. He could have died.”

Harry laughed.

“Sounds like he knew what he was doing.”

He leaned back, returning to his food. The others all glanced silently between him and Cerise.

“Er - is something wrong?” Aurore asked nervously.

“No,” said Cerise pointedly, “Just two close friends talking about safety.”

She leaned across the table, her lips little more than an inch from Harry’s ears.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice your hand, idiot,” she whispered, “Use your brain next time.”

And she stalked off, hurrying down the hall and out of sight.

“What did she say?” Bardot asked curiously.

Harry yawned.

“If she wanted you to know, she’d have said it aloud.”

The girl huffed. Harry ignored her, his eyes instead widening as they spotted a blur of familiar white feathers.

“I do wonder who he is,” Aurore was saying as she pursued the tabloid, “He did save our Ministry after all - he’s all anyone can talk about.”

“And for good reason,” Helene whispered, “Look at him.”

Harry snorted, watching as Hedwig soared ever closer.

If Tom’s face is really that gorgeous, Emily and I would probably have gorgeous kids.

A second passed as the thought replayed in his skull. Harry’s nose crinkled in disgust.

There’s something wrong with me.

“Harry,” Aurore said suddenly, “You’ve got a visitor.”

“I know,” Harry yawned, “Although it’s a bit odd that you know what my owl looks like.”

“She’s not talking about your owl, genius,” Bardot snapped, eyeing something behind him. Harry turned around.

A girl with neatly-braided blonde hair stood behind him, her arms crossed. Astoria Greengrass looked positively furious.

“We need to talk,” she said angrily, “Now.”

Harry fought back a grimace. The hateful words of the Violet One whispered in the deepest depths of his mind.

Lust . . .

“Give me a minute,” he said simply, “Hedwig’s almost here.”

They watched uncomfortably as Hedwig soared towards them, coming to a swift stop atop Harry’s shoulder.

“Hey, girl,” Harry smiled, “Hungry?”

Hedwig barked loudly. Smiling, Harry offered her his goblet.

“You can have the rest of my food,” he said kindly, straightening up, “I need to talk to Tori.”

And he rose to his feet, pulling the letter from Hedwig’s talons as she hopped onto the table.

“Ready?” Astoria said faintly, watching as Hedwig dipped her beak into Harry’s drink.

“Just a sec,” Harry whispered. His fingers curved along the edge of the letter, his heart beating with familiarity. Though the magic that lingered upon it was faint, Harry would recognize it anywhere.

Bellatrix.

Harry’s jaw clenched. He tucked the letter neatly into his robes.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

He allowed the younger girl to drag him out of the hall, her grasp on his wrist uncomfortably tight. The tall, glass-like walls of the dining hall were swiftly replaced with open fields.

“So,” Harry began awkwardly as they reached a sudden stop, “Anything on your mind?”

Astoria stared at him, her eyes wet.

“You broke into the French Ministry.”

“Yup.”

“The tabloids said there were dozens of fatalities,” she whispered hotly, “Were any of them your doing?”

Harry sighed.

“They chose their side, Astoria -”

“I didn’t ask that,” she snapped, “I asked if you killed them.”

A weight was forged within Harry’s chest. 

“Yeah,” he breathed quietly, “Fiendfyre is pretty difficult to survive.”

Astoria stared pointedly at the earthen ground. Harry watched as a few tear drops watered the solid below.

“Luna said she warned you not to do anything,” she murmured faintly, “She hoped you’d listen -”

“Don’t get me started on Luna -” Harry began hotly.

“She’s scared,” Astoria hissed, “And not just for me. For you.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. Astoria stared into his eyes, edging closer.

“She said you lost something,” the young blonde whispered, “What was it?”

Harry stared at her for a long moment. He could almost see the fear and worry in her eyes.

This is going to sting.

Sighing, he pressed his wand against his left hand. A muffled sob escaped Astoria’s lips as his arm glimmered silver.

“Astoria -” Harry began softly. Before he could finish, small hands wrapped around his waist, dragging him to the earthen floor.

“Idiot,” the girl whimpered, “You stupid fucking idiot -”

“Daphne’s not going to like that language,” Harry laughed.

“She’ll l-like seeing your hand a lot less,” Astoria sobbed faintly, clinging onto him for dear life. Harry’s heart dropped.

Fuck. I didn’t think about that.

“I - I can talk to her about it this week,” he decided aloud, “I’ve been meaning to visit her anyway.”

He rubbed his hands soothingly into Astoria’s back, just as he had for Gabrielle. Her face fluttered through his mind, accompanied by Cerise and the Greengrass sisters.

Odd how everyone seems to be a lot more worked up about this whole hand debacle than me.

Astoria shifted in his grasp, brushing her hair out from her eyes. Fear shown in their icy depths.

“I saw in the paper that Garnier died,” she whispered, “That - that’ll make things harder, w-won’t it?”

Harry shook his head reassuringly.

“No,” he promised, “No, it won’t. I found another way.”

Astoria stared at him, hope and belief coating her very being.

“I knew you would,” she whispered with an air of certainty, “But it didn’t - reading what happened.”

“Relax, Tori,” Harry said placatingly, “I promised you everything would be fine, didn’t I -”

“You lied,” said Astoria hurtfully. Her small hands wrapped around his silver hand, “This isn’t alright -”

“I wasn’t talking about me,” Harry laughed, “I was never going to be alright, what with Grindelwald and Voldemort . . .”

He trailed off, spotting the pale fear as it spanned Astoria’s features.

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he promised her, “Just focus on your schooling and you’ll be fine.”

“I know,” the girl murmured faintly, “It’s just - it’s hard.”

I know.

A woman adorned in silky violet robes stalked before his mind’s eye, smiling wickedly at him.

‘You don’t love her. You love the idea of her,’ the woman laughed, ‘A little sister who you can save in the place of your parents -’

Harry pulled Astoria tighter, pressing her closer.

“I love you Astoria,” he whispered, “I - I care about you. Not just because you’re Daphne’s sister.”

He moved to pull back, only for Astoria’s grasp to tighten.

“I know,” she whispered, her soft lips pressed a little too close to his own for comfort, “I love you with every part of my being, Harry.”

Every last part . . .