Never Forgotten


A Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour Fan Fiction


There were peaceful footsteps echoing through the night; the occasional sound of the breeze rustling the leaves was the only other sound that could be heard, save for the occasional twittering of a lone songbird.

Fleur was seated, legs outstretched. In front of her, a humble gravestone rested – the engravings on its face barely visible by the moonlight. She didn't need to read, however. Each letter was carefully etched into her mind; burned into every fibre of her consciousness.

She closed her eyes and allowed her fingers to grace the face of the stone, once again feeling the cold marble; the occasional tear drop stained its surface

"You should never have been there," Fleur whispered in her preferred French, allowing her forehead to rest against the cold marble, sighing a unintelligible name through her soft sobs. "Should never have been there," she repeated, her body trembling in sorrow.

It had become something of a ritual to visit this site each year for Fleur. Each May, on the second, she would come to pay her respects, leaving three tulips – one of each colour of the French flag; the red for her courage, the white for her purity, the blue for her sweet and mellow personality, for her smile.

Her wonderful husband, Bill, would wait at home for her, hold her when she returned, and help her mend the wounds that time could never heal. You see, despite the old adage, Fleur had learned that there are some things, some terrible things which leave a wound so profound that even time cannot heal them. One can never truly heal from the death of a loved one.

Friends. Family. They become part of you, Fleur had learned – and when that part is gone, torn away from the rest of you – never to return, never to heal – it leaves a hole. One can never truly be whole again.

Fleur stood, taking a last glance at the gravestone before her. She should never have been at the final battle of Hogwarts, she should have been at home, safe in Tours. But the problem with 'should have beens' is that they never are what was.

She read the name on the epitaph aloud, allowing the soft syllables to fill her ears.

"Gabrielle Victoire Delacour," she said softly, "Au revoir, ma petite sœur, au revoir."


Author's Note: A short story in response to the Sober Universe Forum's "Lie of Time" challenge. I hope you enjoyed. Please review!