OCEAN
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It was the third of May 1998. The Cardleman household in London had recieved an owl in the early hours of the morning. When Charlotte had seen it soaring towards her window as she prepared for school, she'd felt  jolt in her stomach and a flood of hope as she flung open the window. If there was post, that meant there was no fear, and if there was no fear, that meant-

Charlie,
The war is over. We'll be home soon. I can't wait to see you.
Love,
Theodore.

After reading the letter, she'd stumbled across her room, banging her hip on the table in order to pick up the black picture frame which rested on it, and read triumphant. She'd released a relieved exhalation, chest heaving.

It hadn't taken her long to fly down the stairs and into the white living room, press the button Sirius had charmed to connect their fireplace to the Floo network and left, leaving behind a note to her father which she attached to the fridge door.

Both Richard and Gretel were asleep, the ginger lady had left for maternity leave several months earlier, and now the baby was due to arrive any day.

Charlotte landed in her old home, dusting off cinders that had settled onto her yellow school uniform and rushing to brush out her hair, and wash her face, and put on a little bit of makeup. She wanted to look her best.

Now, as she sat by her bedroom window, she felt sick to her stomach. People would be dead. Understandable, and unfortunately inevitable- but who were the ones who wouldn't make it back? Her mind had instantly gone to Harry, for she knew he would have been on the forefront of it all. Triumphant didn't necessarily mean alive.

Charlotte must have been at the window for hours, for the sun had risen high up in the air and she'd had to get a book in hand, before someone finally Apparated into the cinder covered streets. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Harry Potter, trudging towards the front door, but Charlotte Cardleman beat him to it, rushing downstairs and flinging open the door to find him standing there with his fist raised to knock.

She was at a loss for words as Harry smiled shyly, holding a hand behind his back. With the one that was free, he held it out to her, and she placed her palm in his, for him to raise them to his lips, kissing her hand gently, before revealing his hidden one, in which he carried a single red rose. The rose was charred from fire, and blackened at the edges, but it still preserved its shape, beauty, meaning.

"I kept this safe," he told her, as she took the rose. "Through the entire battle. 'Cause when I saw it, on a bush in Hogsmeade... I had to give it to you. This was the only one that had bloomed. It's not much of a present but... I promise I'll get you something better, once the bank and the shops are running normally again-"

"Come inside," she beckoned, breathlessly after thanking him, as she stepped aside, putting the rose in a skinny vase that rested on a shelf on the wall, discarding the dead white one that was already resting there. She turned to face him, her heart racing but her mind slowing her down, reminding her to take precautions. And then, once her hands were free, she made her way to the sitting room, where he had dumped his bag.

They stood directly across from one another. Charlotte, in her yellow skirt and socks and pristine white school blouse, and Harry, in his jeans which were ripped, not for fashion, but to expose cuts on the skin beneath, and black jumper, which he held onto the cuffs of. His hair was wet and he smelled of soap, and she wondered when he'd had the time to wash after everything she could only imagine had happened. She resisted kissing him.

"What's my favourite Disney film?"

"Cinderella," Harry answered immediately. "What was the last thing you said to me?"

"I said have fun at school," Charlotte said. "But I meant to say I'll miss you. And I should've said I love you."

"I should have said I love you, too," he uttered, and hastily, she threw her arms around his neck and he lifted her up as she wrapped her legs around his middle, and kissed him hard.

Charlotte was overcome by an urgent need for comfort as she yielded to his warmth, his arms sure and steady around her and he was everywhere. He was writing all over her skin, engravings in her heart, pressure against her chest and the taste on her tongue. He was Harry, and there was no room for anything else.

They held each other like they were the only solid things in a world of pure ocean, and they had finally come up for air.

"I thought I'd lost you," she mumbled against his lips, both of their cheeks wet from tears. "I didn't know if you'd be back."

He set her down on the ground again, and the bright spring sunlight shone through the window as she lookd at him while he shielded her eyes from the harsh light. "I am back. We're both here."

She'd never been more here than in that moment, as she urged him to sit down on the settee and she brought mugs of tea and she could see in his face and his body that he was awfully exhausted, his fire extinguished. And he told her everything.

He told her what had happened after and while she had been taken, told her how he wanted nothing more than to bring her home from the Death Eaters' clutches, but that his school, and her brother, and his quest had stopped him. He told her what his quest was. And the many obstacles he faced when hunting Horcruxes. He told her that until less than twenty four hours ago, he had been one himself.

And Harry told her about the battle. He told her about the hours of combat, and sinister messages, and visits from ghosts. But none of it stuck with her as much as the last thing he told her.

"Theodore is still at the castle. Layth is with Hermione somewhere," Harry said, holding the mug of once steaming hot tea in his hands.

"Layth fought?" Charlotte asked, remembering the boy's loss of eyesight.

Harry cracked a smile. "Nobody could stop him. But he had a temporary potion that helped him see."

Charlotte laughed, and Harry didn't laugh with her. He was watching her carefully, examining her eyes and her mouth, as if he'd never see her laughing again. A feeling of dread filled her. Theodore and Layth were accounted for, but where was Zara? "What's wrong?"

"I shouldn't be the one to tell you... but Theodore is too- there's no telling how long it will be before he speaks to anyone again," Harry started and she frowned. "At least, he wouldn't talk to me at all once the battle was over. Wouldn't even look at me. Well, he had a few things to say, but none I want to think about."

"What happened to him?" Charlotte asked, scared of the answer she would receive. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do enough," Harry said, and he fell silent once more, throat bobbing as he blinked- once, twice, three-four-five times- holding back tears. "But that's not what matters right now."

Tenderly, she took his hand, her heart sinking ten feet underground. She posed one simple question, one which she already, partly, knew the answer to. "Who is dead?"

"It's Zara."

Night fell. Charlotte felt her face slacken, her brain explode, as she said- "No,"- because there was no possibility that Zara Afasy was dead. That the brave, resilient, determined, intelligent Zara Afasy was dead.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, quietly, after she had stood from her seat and hurled her hand-made navy blue clay mug across the room, where it had smashed into the glass window, and shattered both materials. Charlotte looked at the broken pieces and started to sob. Harry stood and took her into his arms once more. "She's in a better place."

"It's the fucking mug," she blurted as she cried, her cheek resting over his heart. "I made that mug with Zara, when she dragged me to a class in summer '94. That was before everything changed. And I just broke it. And now I'm crying over- over a stupid mug."

The two of them knew that the mug was not the reason for her tears, but neither of them said a word about it. As Charlotte stared down at the shattered ceramic, she noticed that she'd never felt more connected to the mug, never identified with it as much as she did now. It was laughable.

Harry stepped away and reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wand. He then pointed it at the broken ceramic and glass, muttering: "Reparo."

"Thank you," Charlotte whispered, as he pieced the ceramic back together. Then neither of them spoke for what felt like years.

"I'm sorry I only come with bad news," he said, eventually.

"You're alive. That's great news," she cried. "But gosh, she's a part of me. She can't just- this can't be it, there's so many things we wanted to do- the florist, travels- we were supposed to go to fucking Paris, ever since we were small we wanted to go to Paris, God she couldn't wait to go to Paris- I-I'll stop, I'm sorry- you're so shaken up I can practically hear your heart from here- I'm not helping am I?"

"No, you- you're okay," Harry said. "It helps that we can, y'know, look after each other like this?"

"Harry, if there's one thing we must promise to do," Charlotte began, clutching onto his shirt. "For however long we last, be it a week or twenty years, it's that we will always look after each other."

Harry smiled, holding up a pinky finger. She linked hers with his. "I hope we have way more than twenty years together, Lottie."

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Hi everyone!

DOUBLE UPDATE AREN'T YOUS LUCKY! God I've read and reread and this chapter so many times I'm completely numb to it lol idek if it packs any punch at all but hEY YOUR FAV KIDS ARE REUNITED HOW CUTE

I'm really happy bc now the story can actually continue properly and I won't have to write boring chapters and guys prepare yourselves bc Charlotte is about to get hella whiny like even more whiny than usual oops! I love her for It though

QOTD: fave takeaway food
AOTD: obvs pizza

-Amber.