Abraxas Moody knelt before Demelza's bier in the cold grey light of morning. "Forgive me, my darling, for being such a fool," he whispered, half under his breath, not knowing if she would be there to hear.
Demelza appeared a few minutes later, insubstantial, like the sheen of hot air over a road, filling the air with the scent of lilacs. "I forgave you long ago, and you are punished enough by having to wait for your death until you can touch me, again."
Abraxas laughed bitterly. There was after all a war on, and his experience was needed. "It's enough to make me rush headlong into the fray like a bloody Gryffindor."
"Well, don't." Demelza snorted. "Get yourself killed on a battlefield and the Reaper'll take you for sure, and then where'll I be?" She sighed. "And the children still need you."
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