Disclaimer: HP is not mine.

When you are a little girl, about to leave for school for the very first time, your mother sits you down on your bed still pink and frilly and fluffy with childhood, and warns you of things that are only skin-deep. Of honey-flavored words that morph into well-intentioned and not-so-well-intentioned lies. Of wizard boys with firm jaws and toned arms that lack strength and substance and anything that actually matters. Of smiles that glow not with joy, but with flattery and the things that motivate it.

"Do not let such superficial things hurt you, my sweet one,"Maman warns, sadness darkening the blue of the eyes that both her daughters had inherited. But you are on the precarious brink between girl and woman, and your mother knows from experience that this world is not overly kind to overly beautiful people on that brink. Better safe than sorry. Better warned than hurt.

You take Maman's words seriously, and steel your heart against those who only see the surface of things. But everyone you meet, it feels, from Madame Maxime to the instructors to your classmates, do not bother to see beyond the surface, and so you enter school not vain, just afraid. Afraid of honey-flavored words and brittle, brutal smiles. The fear turn you rigid and aloof, and rigidness plus beauty is often mistaken for pride. Aside from misguided attempts to blunt your beauty with frank words, you do not bother to correct the misunderstanding.

Instead, you turns your weaknesses into your strength. If people will mistake you for vain, simply on the basis of your pretty face, you decide that you might as well reap the benefits of being haughty. And so. You push yourself to excel (the top student is part Veela? I thought they were too temperamental, lack the control to be top-notch witches?). You push yourself to grow stronger, strong enough to not need anyone to rely on. Strong enough to send boys with honey words and lie-bright smiles scattering with a single look.

More than anything, you push yourself to become untouchable, while you continue to search for something that can run deeper than your toughened skin.

When she was an even littler girl, she'd fall asleep listening to her mother's lilting voice weaving bedtime stories in the nighttime air. Her favorite story, naturally, told of how her mother met and fell in love with her father.

"He saw me," her mother would say softly in French, stroking her eldest daughter's fair hair, "Not just this," (she would gesture to her clear eyes and fine features with her free hand) "but this," (laying her long-fingered hand on her heart), "Me. The part that goes deeper and truer than just flesh."

"How did you know he saw that, Maman?" little Fleur would murmur in a voice heavy with drowsiness.

"I felt it. Like a spark was shooting between us. You will feel it to, someday, my dear one. You will know when he sees you. And when you meet a boy who is deep enough to see past facades, sweetheart, do not let him go, for he is your one true love. He will be worth holding on to. My mother told me that when I was your age, and she was right. She stayed by my papa's side until the day they both died, and you know I would not leave your papa for anything in this world."

Fleur spent her childhood falling asleep to promises of a true love, the proof of its existence shining in her bond she saw shared between her Maman and Papa.

Gabrielle is the only one you let in. Gabrielle, who is seven years your junior, and still in that place that is pink and frilly and fluffy with youth. Gabrielle, who does not know what it means to be afraid.

Your blue eyes darken at the thought that she might end up like you, one day. A heart so proud and cold as to be untouchable. Because hearts that cannot be touched cannot be broken. And hearts that cannot be broken cannot feel pain.

He makes you remember how to feel. One glance, blue eyes meeting brown, is enough for you to see that he sees. His eyes are clear of ulterior motives, unclouded by things that only flow as deep as skin. In that one instant, you know:

He sees you. A girl who is graceful and strong and and driven and loyal. Who believes in honor, and gratitude, and remembering. Who believes in true love. He sees you.

Your heart skips a beat as it restarts itself. It reminds you of the first time you met your wand, that feeling of completeness and of belonging. The way you feel every time you return home for the holidays and Gabrielle jumps into your arms. Despite never having met him before, despite not even knowing his name, you know him.

Because, just as he sees you, you see him. He is strength and substance and words that ring true. Something worth holding on to. And you resolve to never let him go.

You find him again, easily, because there is such a thing as true love and such a thing as fate and you believe in both of them. It's no coincidence that you end up working in Gringotts the same year he comes back from Curse Breaking abroad. No coincidence that he is assigned to help you improve your English. No coincidence at all.

You believe in him, and you believe in yourself, and you believe in the 'us' the two of you make.

When you see him, lying inert on a bed, wounded in battle, you feel emotions, so many emotions, more emotions that you're used to, coursing through you. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Pain.

And above it all, relief.

Because these wounds and these scars are only skin deep. And nothing that is only skin deep can matter.

You hurt now, heart pumping feeling all throughout your once-cold body, but pain isn't a sign of weakness. It runs deeper than skin, and, ultimately, it is your strength.

You will not let anything, anything, as superficial as a handful of scars and a penchant for rare meat hurt you. He's still Bill and you're still Fleur and he is alive. You haven't lost him. You refuse to lose him. Not for anything in the world.

A/N Reviews are lovely! :)