CHAPTER EIGHT: These Three Remain

Faith.

It had been an interesting year, to be sure. William Warrington-Hughes collapsed in an armchair in one of the gilded living rooms of his family’s manor at Rushcliffe, and let the remnants of his experience at Beauxbatons settle heavily around him. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The Tournament was over and he was glad of it�”the past year had been oftentimes blissful, but oftentimes too chaotic for its own good. Second place was quite admirable, especially for a replacement Champion, and now that his schooling was over, William could begin to look forward to a more settled life. The brief sojourn at Hogwarts before the end of term had been a veritable coronation, and William had basked in his adopted glory, torn between pride at his good work and painful longing to have his best friend by his side.

George had given his life, and for what? For a frivolous trophy? For a bag of Galleons that would have amounted to mere pocket change for the Potter family? For Hogwarts? William had yet to answer this question, though it haunted his every move. George’s killer remained at large�”the Muggle attack and subsequent events at the end of the tournament had rendered it impossible to find a time to question Aleksandr Gregorovitch about the veracity of his words: that Emil Kerensky had murdered George Potter.

William let his head fall back into the chair and felt the familiar velvet envelop him. For the time being, he was alone. He had rarely been alone these past two months, what with his father’s constant presence, the rigors of the Tournament and regular schoolwork, and the courtship of his fiancée, Angeline Laplanche. He could not help the smile that flitted across his face as he thought of her, though he instantly regretted it as guilt permeated his every thought. He should not delight in his betrothed, not when there was still so much to be said, to be contemplated about the year. William was missing any sense of closure�”it was as if it he had been rudely awakened in the midst of a bizarre dream.

The truth hung ominously in the air, however: it was no dream. This life, this year, these events, were staunchly real. While certainly good had come, any bliss he felt was ever-tinged with sorrow. Would it remain thus forever?

He was shaken from his morose reverie by a sharp rap on the front door. William sat upright, fully aware that to be caught lounging in a chair was tantamount to high treason in his father’s eyes.

It was not Jonathan but Henry Somerset who entered, however, and William felt relieved. Somerset smiled as William leaned back again in his chair. “Hello, William. I do not want to take too much of your time, but I thought I would inform you that the International Statute of Secrecy was passed early this morning.”

William’s eyes widened. “Really? How did the vote go?”

Somerset sighed and crinkled his nose. “It was not without commotion, to be sure. The nations of Western Europe are not yet unanimous in their views, but all were finally persuaded to vote to ratify the statute. There are many details left to be worked out, but for the time being, we hope that this will be an adequate first step toward curbing the violence and attacks.”

William nodded. He wanted to ask more, but was ashamed that he had not been following the negotiations recently. “Thank you,” he stated awkwardly.

The duke laughed. “I am hardly responsible, but I appreciate your sentiment, William.” He paused. “May I come sit?” He moved to an identical velvet chair as William nodded. “I know this year has been… difficult for you, Will. I’ve just seen the Potters recently, and they can still hardly believe it. George’s brothers are shocked�”Charles keeps carrying on about revenge and it is all Lord and Lady Potter can do to keep him from flying off to Moscow.”

“Do they still suspect Gregorovitch?” William asked, his brows furrowed. Aleksandr had not turned out to be too bad, and what with all that had happened at the end of the Tournament, William would hate for his peace to be assaulted.

“I am not sure if it is Gregorovitch or still just a general prejudice against the East.” He sighed again. “I am afraid that my hopes were a bit too optimistic, William, and that even with the statute there will be a line drawn between East and West. It is a shame. I met Gregorovitch during the tournament and he was incredibly well-spoken and�”as we all saw�”a prodigiously gifted wizard. It is not fair that he should have to live his life burdened with a prejudice he does not deserve. But what can one do in times like this?”

The walls creaked against the strong summer wind as William and Henry sat still in the sitting room. Finally, in one sweeping motion, Somerset rose from his chair and moved toward the door. “Apologies for intruding on your time, William. I hope to see you in the coming weeks when the Laplanches come to visit.” He winked.

William rose and shook the duke’s hand. “It will be a pleasure to see you and the Duchess again.”

Somerset chuckled. “Well, I suppose we shall have to give up our titles, no longer being affiliated with the Muggle Kingdom of England, but we shall put on airs nonetheless.”

William frowned. He had not fully realized the implications of the statute, but of course Somerset could no longer be a Duke. William wondered what exactly would happen to his own family, but his thoughts were not his own for long: “Do not think too much about it, William,” Henry said. “Whatever happens will happen regardless of our actions. Somehow, I think we will all turn out fine. As I said before, what can one do in times like this?”

Somerset left the room and William was alone again, perhaps more alone than he had ever been. Henry’s words resonated in his mind. What can one do in times like this? If the tournament had taught him anything, it was that even with his wand and his years of magical training, it was entirely possible to feel entirely powerless. And he had so much protection on all sides: society, wealth, a good family name… What would it be like to live in Moscow? Would Somerset have said the same things to Gregorovitch, that somehow we would all turn out fine? William desperately wanted to have faith in this statement, but something held him back. Again, this lack of closure haunted his thoughts and impeded his full happiness.

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. He was realistic with himself: William Warrington-Hughes was not an adventurer, not one to stick his neck into trouble. He could not solve the murder, especially not from the confines of Rushcliffe. But he could help. He could, at the very least, try to put minds at ease, not the least his own.

He crossed the room in a few steps and sat at an old writing desk in the corner, unaware if it even contained writing implements or was just for decoration. After a few moments of rummaging, he managed to find a few musty sheets of parchment, quill, and inkpot.

Gregorovitch, he began to write, before ripping the top of the parchment off and starting anew:

Aleksandr,
I know this letter can do nothing to help your situation, be it your physical situation or the events taking place around you, and I apologize for not being able to do more. We must all work in our own milieu, you know.

He paused again. “Work in our own milieu?” Chuckling a bit to himself, he shook his head. Everything was so formal. He hoped Gregorovitch would understand the sentiment. Dipping the quill into the ink, he resumed the letter:

I want to apologize for the many events of the Tournament that were regrettable, especially actions on my part. Regardless of how we try to look at the world, we cannot ignore that certain lines and barriers divide our lives. Prejudices, even. I am sorry to say that I am�”or have been in the past�”frequently done in by these prejudices, even when they have no basis in truth or merit. As much as I try to see the world differently than my father does, to have faith in the goodness of people and of society, I find it a nearly impossible task at times.

Please permit me, then, to say that I am turning over a new leaf, or at least making the attempt. What happened during the tournament (to you, to George, to Mme de Tuileries) has made me realize that we are connected, deeper than we could have ever imagined. This became more than a competition between our three schools. Who would have known that it would turn into such a disaster?

Regarding Emil Kerensky: I appreciate your tip. I was never able to respond to you�”rather, I chose never to respond to you. I suppose there was a part of me that did not want to find George’s murderer. It was much easier to place all my blame on a nameless foe, to concentrate my anger not towards one individual, but towards many. I admit that I did count you among that number at first, whereas I am certain now that you are and always have been innocent of that crime.

Unlike perhaps what George himself would have done, I am not going to track down Kerensky. That errand would end badly for the both of us, I am sure. Is it foolish of me to believe that the universe will unfold as it should? A very wise man recently told me that somehow everything will turn out fine. I find that I have no choice but to believe him. I want to believe him. I do believe him.

As you have no doubt heard, the International Statute of Secrecy was just passed. I sincerely hope that it will lessen the troubles in your part of the world. So too do I hope that as wizards across the globe are forced to retreat into ourselves we do not lose touch with those around us. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance during the tournament. You are a fine wizard and you certainly made Durmstrang proud. It was an honor to lose to you, and I do hope that our paths will cross again in the near future.

Your friend,
William

There. That perhaps revealed a little too much of the inner workings of William’s mind, but he was satisfied. It felt good to apologize, good to get his thoughts on paper. He would post the letter this evening. Whether he would hear a response was up to Aleksandr, but William had a feeling that they could both let bygones be bygones.

Other steps remained, of course. William would have to pay a visit to the Potter boys and convince them to call off the hunt. No good could come of three boys attacking full-grown Durmstrang wizards, no matter how talented Charles Potter was with a wand. It was a wonder his parents had managed to keep him in Britain thus far, William thought with a rueful smile. The Potter family would be all right. Time heals all wounds. George left a legacy that would be taken up by his brothers and his brothers’ children, grandchildren, and beyond.

William knew that he would have to talk Remy de Tuileries out of any attack plans as well. Remy’s wedding was in little more than a month, and recent letters hinted that Remy was anxious for one last adventure before he had to settle down. Well, there was plenty of French countryside to be explored, and William would have to just steer him in that direction. He knew Remy was still opposed to Josephine’s relationship with Gregorovitch�”if that relationship even existed anymore. Regardless, it would be best to keep out of Moscow right now, at least until things settled down.

He moved back to the velvet chair and swung his legs over the side, breathing deeply. Finally, he felt some of his burden lifted. He could focus again on his future, on Angeline, on his career.

Everything would be all right. Against all odds, he would have a happy ending.

***

Love.

Remy’s wedding was two days away and it was all Josephine could do to remain calm when every moment she threatened to collapse into tears. She was happy for her brother, so happy for him, but there remained a gaping hole in her heart where her own love should have been.

She had not heard from Aleksandr since the International Statute of Secrecy had been passed a month ago, and she was unsure if she would ever hear from him again. Worse, she could not shake the impossible guilt she felt at the situation. It was her fault, all her fault, and she could not convince herself otherwise.

Josephine often thought back to the day of the third task, the day when her world had turned on its end. Images of Aleksandr constantly flashed across her mind’s eye: of him waving at her from the dais as it rotated downward, of him catching sight of the mob, of him making the ground shake, of him falling.... If she had only turned her head, if she had only caught sight of the mob, if she had done anything as they advanced on the assemblage….

How she had panicked as she saw the Muggle aim his weapon at the three Headmasters hurrying to help Aleksandr stave off the attack. How she had screamed to see him stumble with the force of Alexei’s spell and discharge his weapon at Alexei instead! She remembered not much more after that: she had run to Aleksandr and crumpled on top of his motionless form, certain that it was all over. It was only hours later, after she awoke, that she was able to piece it all together.

Suddenly, she had been able to see much larger connections. The Muggle attack at Beauxbatons was not an isolated incident. The divide between Muggles and Wizards had become insurmountable, and she had been so blind to the truth for so long. She had spent many nights thinking of Pascal. His reticence in his later letters, her sense that something was wrong, the total silence between the two of them for much of the year… He must have fallen victim to the prevailing attitude among French Muggles. Why had she not confronted Pascal before it was too late? Had he been involved in any anti-wizard mobs? Would he have shot Aleksandr if given the chance? At times she wondered if he had ever cared for her at all, or if she had been merely a ploy to get information to wizards’ whereabouts. Though she could have no idea if Pascal had used her in this manner, she suffered countless sleepless nights berating herself for falling for someone who could betray her so deeply. What would Aleksandr think?

Aleksandr… her very soul felt anguish when she recalled the look on his face as he came to. She held his cold hands, usually so warm, and apologized�”for what, she was not sure. For her foolishness at loving a Muggle? For her naïveté at the state of the world? She saw something move across his eyes as he looked in her own. It was not anger�”she could have dealt with this. She could have come to terms with Aleksandr’s anger that she had ignored the dire warnings from the East and fallen for someone so potentially dangerous. No, it was not anger. Rather, it was something akin to disappointment that she could have been so foolish to fall for a Muggle.

No matter how many times he tried to convince her in the following days that he was not disappointed in her and that he still loved her, she could not ignore the look in his eyes or the emptiness that resonated in his words. No matter how many times Angeline told her that it would only take time, that his reserve was not due to her, she could not fully convince herself of his love.

On their final day together after his coalescence, they went to their favorite clearing, no longer caring who saw them go or what they thought. He limped down past the lake, her arm in his own, but there was something so different in the way he carried himself. There was something so… hollow. As the sun set, he looked into her eyes and caressed her chin with his hands. He kissed her and she wept, wondering if this was goodbye…

He had sent a few letters at the beginning of summer, but she still sensed reticence. Her father had cautioned her that things would be different after the statute passed, that wizards around the world would be occupied with taking measures to hide themselves. She nodded and used this as an excuse for why Aleksandr was no longer writing to her. Inside, though, she knew it was over. In that moment in the infirmary, something had happened, something larger than them both, something that could not be undone.

Meanwhile, there was plenty to do for distraction. It was hard to be anything but happy when she looked at Remy’s glowing face and his excitement over his impending marriage. And William Warrington-Hughes would be staying with her family, which meant that Angeline was also over the moon. Love persisted all around her, so she would find ways to delight in it.

As she pondered these things, Remy and his fiancée Sophie entered the room. She rose to greet them, kissing them each on the cheek. “Brother,” she said, “and my almost-sister! I cannot express how excited I am for your wedding.”

“It will be an event without parallel, to be sure,” Remy said with a wink. “For now, though, I must leave you, my favorite women, for William is due to arrive and I am to meet him.” He passed Sophie’s hand to Josephine’s and leaned down to kiss his sister once more. He glanced at her before he took his leave, and Josephine saw there was such concern in his eyes. Remy was no fool. He knew all that had passed between she and Aleksandr, and he knew that the loss weighed heavy on her heart.

Josephine felt herself swell with compassion for her brother as she looked in his eyes. She wanted to express to Remy how much love she had for him, how he had been such a constant source of happiness in her life, and how proud she was of all he had accomplished, but she felt even her most sincere smile could not convey the deep feelings in her heart.

Remy surveyed his sister for one more moment before bowing and leaving the room. Sophie squeezed Josephine’s hand. “He loves you so much, Josie,” she whispered. “He is lucky to have you.”

“And I him,” she responded, turning to her future sister-in-law and smiling. “And I him.”

She would always love Aleksandr, of this there was no doubt in her mind. She cherished the moments they had spent together, the embraces they shared, the kindness in his words, his touch, his eyes. If he were ever to forgive her for this unspoken grievance, she would run to him with open arms.

Until then, she could only wait. There was much to do. There was much to love.

***

Hope.

Gregorovitch’s Wand Shop was bustling. Summer was drawing to a close and parents were eager to buy wands for sons and daughters heading to Durmstrang. The money was rolling in again, the Stars and Herald had proclaimed Gregorovitch’s to be the finest wands in all of the East, and Aleksandr had not seen his father this content since before the Dragomir incident.

Aleksandr was content, too. He refused to sugar coat the world as so many were doing, but there was a definite improvement sweeping through the streets. Winning the Triwizard Tournament for Durmstrang would have made Aleksandr a celebrity anyway, but doing so while at the same time fending off a Muggle mob made him no less than a king, it seemed. He was the savior of Durmstrang, of Russia, of the East. Even Professor Novokov had bestowed one of his rare smiles upon his star pupil as they left Beauxbatons some months earlier. His prize money had helped revive the wand business, and his father’s steps were imbued with a new spring. Aleksandr was proud. Yes, he was happy.

However, the world was not without problems. The International Statue of Secrecy had passed two months previously, and all were adjusting to their new clandestine lifestyles. Muggle attacks on wizards had drastically decreased, and Aleksandr hoped the same could be said for the reverse, but part of him knew that even with the punishment imposed by the statute, there were certain wizards who would never be able to resist Muggle baiting, especially not after the attack on Beauxbatons.

He shuddered at the thought of the attack, and automatically reached down to touch the scar on his leg. The wizard healers were skilled, but none had ever dealt with a metal bullet before.

His thoughts often drifted to that day, and to Josephine. What had happened between them in that fading twilight at Beauxbatons? What was she to him now? He honestly did not know. Aleksandr knew he still cared for her, still loved her, but he was so afraid. He dared not hope that they could be together. Not now. Not in these times.

He had no idea how she felt. When he had awoken from his potion-induced sleep that day at Beauxbatons... had it all ended there? She had apologized for loving a Muggle, and he had tried to convince himself that it did not matter. She had stopped loving Pascal before she had started loving him�”of this he was sure. However, his eyes must have betrayed him: he was afraid she had noticed his look of disappointment, though it was involuntary at best. He regretted that look, regretted the thought of being disappointed at her for something far beyond her control. Yet ever since then, things had been different, and his deepest fear was that they could never be mended, never be whole.

Sometimes he wondered if she was afraid of him. She, like all the spectators, had seen him perform that wandless magic atop the dais during the third task. In the confusion afterwards they had not had a chance to discuss it. But what would he have said? Aleksandr hardly knew, for he himself hardly knew what had happened.

“Father?” he called suddenly, looking over the mass of people to see his father helping a young boy with a wand. The elder Gregorovitch looked up and could see the urgency in his son’s eyes. He signaled Aleksandr to finish up with the customers, then strode to the door and turned the sign on the front.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we will be closing for an hour’s lunch break. Please return this afternoon.”

A few grumbles punctuated the din as the crowd shuffled out of the store, but Aleksandr knew they would all be back. He also knew his father must have had a suspicion as to what was troubling his son, for what else would make him close the shop?

Indeed, Aleksandr had barely even opened his mouth before Pyotr Gregorovitch held up his hand and twitched his mustache: “I know what you are going to ask. Frankly, I am surprised it has taken you so long.”

Aleksandr nodded. “I suppose… I suppose I am afraid, father. Doing wandless magic is never a good thing.”

His father grunted and moved to one of the stools behind the front counter. “It is only associated with the Dark side because too many Dark wizards have abused it. There is nothing wrong with wandless magic: in fact, it is quite the talent, Alexei, and I was very proud that you could use it during the task.” The old man’s wrinkled face twisted into a smile for the barest of instants before resuming its natural scowl.

“Thank you, father,” Aleksandr started. He wanted to let his father think that it had been skill�”not luck�”that had allowed for the feat, but he could not lie. Not about this. Not when there were so many questions. “I must confess, though, that it was through no skill of my own that I used wandless magic. I have no idea how or why it happened, only that all of a sudden, things became very clear and I knew what to do. Is that how it normally works?”

“Hmm…” his father mused, nodding his head slowly. “Indeed, most wizards perform the magic on purpose. That is not to say you did not, but it does make your case a little more rare. Lucky for you, Aleksandr, your father happens to be a world-renowned scholar of wand lore.” Pyotr readjusted the glasses on the bridge of his large nose and continued: “The lore regarding this situation is exactly as I suspected: no one else could have performed that feat up on the dais with your wand. A wizard’s wand is an extension of himself, as you know, and most wizards feel a connection to it, if only sentimental. In your case, as in mine, as in your grandfather’s, you are much more connected to your wand. Your time and effort were spent creating it, and it has therefore been… bonded to you, let us say. This is not the precise word for it, but wand lore is incredibly complicated, ancient magic, and not even I understand all of it.”

Aleksandr nodded, all the while grabbing his wand. His palm felt sweaty as he listened to his father’s words, which rang so true. He had always felt that his wand was more “bonded” to him than other wizards’ wands. At times, it felt like the wand was controlling him and not the other way around. Certainly up on the dais during the task, he had hardly been in control. That prospect was slightly terrifying, and he wondered if others had noticed it, too. He wondered if Josephine had ever perceived this…

“It is nothing to be afraid of or ashamed of,” his father said, knotting his eyebrows in remonstrance.

Aleksandr smiled. Had he been so transparent? “I am not afraid, sir,” he said. “I just wonder if other wizards feel the same way about their own wands, or if that has ever happened to one of my friends. It would seem to be unlikely, since you made most of their wands. When I finished the third task, I felt as if the entire arena was whispering about me, afraid of me, or thinking that I was a Dark wizard. It was unnerving.”

The old man nodded again. “I can imagine, Aleksandr. There are very few in the world who would understand what you went through and even fewer who have experienced it. You are in rare company. Too many people fear what they cannot understand, and you felt the repercussions of that. You know the truth, and that should be enough.”

He said it with such finality that Aleksandr knew the conversation was over. Indeed, a brief moment passed before Pyotr rose from his chair and shuffled into the back of the store, leaving Aleksandr alone.

He could hardly piece together his thoughts. He was so relieved that he had not done anything sinister or wrong, though he had never really suspected it. Still, he knew there were some wizards who still thought him evil, and some who still blamed him for George Potter’s death. Aleksandr feared he could never truly be exonerated from that crime.

William Warrington-Hughes had sent him a letter earlier in the summer, a letter that Aleksandr had yet to respond to. William had many kind words to say, and Aleksandr fully accepted all his apologies, but had not yet figured out how to deal with the Kerensky situation. If William said nothing to the authorities, the burden was on him, Alexei. Yet Aleksandr knew that even among the ranks of the Muscovite wizard authorities there were some who still distrusted the Gregorovitch name. He would not be surprised if Kerensky had bribed a portion of them to stay in his pocket and clear his name. For Aleksandr to turn to the authorities now would be essentially to turn himself in.

He sighed and ran his fingers idly along the polished wooden counter of his father’s store. What had William said in his letter? Is it foolish of me to believe that the universe will unfold as it should? Aleksandr thought it perhaps a little foolish, but he still held so much hope for the world. He could do nothing but hope that there would come a time when the dust would settle and Kerensky would be accused. That time was not now. But Aleksandr knew it would come, and soon.

Only one thing remained, and it weighed heavy on his heart. Josephine. He ached to be with her. He spent countless hours recounting all their time together, all their embraces. He had left her in tears, but who had caused them? In this matter, it was so difficult to trust in hope, even when it was renewing the rest of his world.

He hated to be so morose. It was unbefitting a Triwizard Champion, after all, and certainly bad for business. He knew what he had to do to stave off these feelings. He knew where he had to go. He had just enough time to get there…

***

Faith, Hope, and Love.

The wedding was over. Not a drop of rain fell from the sky, though the clouds had been quite threatening. The new Mr. and Mrs. de Tuileries had been bonded for life in a beautiful ceremony and now it was time to celebrate.

The newlyweds took to the floor for their first dance and the wizard orchestra struck up a lilting waltz. Josephine watched her brother glide easily around the floor and felt herself overcome with emotion for perhaps the hundredth time that day. She longed to dance and was about to seek out a cousin to partner when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she found William Warrington-Hughes extending his hand. She smiled as she accepted and together they moved to the dance floor. “Are you not afraid of Angeline’s jealousy?” she asked playfully.

“It is a scary thing, to be sure, but we shall just have to risk it,” he responded with a wink. All were in good spirits this night.

Both were accomplished dancers and they glided across the floor with ease, their dance filled with complicated turns and maneuvers. It was during one of these turns that Josephine caught sight of something as she whipped her head around. “Mon dieu,” she whispered.

“What is it? Did I step on your toe? It happens all too often, I am afraid,” William responded, still steering her around the floor.

“No, no, it is not that. Just… I thought I saw someone. It is nothing.” As they continued to whirl, however, Josephine craned her neck in every direction hoping to catch sight of him, but to no avail. Aleksandr could not be found. Had it even been him?

The music was drawing to a close, but Josephine heard Remy call out for another waltz. As the violins took up the beat again and more couples joined the already-teeming crowd, Josie felt another tap on her shoulder. This time, it was Angeline, and Josephine gladly relinquished her spot as William’s partner. She gathered up the taffeta folds of her skirt and began to weave her way through the crowd and out from under the tent�”she found herself very much in need of fresh air. The lights started to spin as Josephine was jostled by the masses of people all around her and she felt faint until�”suddenly�”she felt a strong hand on the small of her back and a familiar voice whispered in her ear. “Josephine.”

Her heart threatened to bound from her chest and she felt her fingers quiver as she slowly turned around, not daring to hope that it would be him… Unbeknownst to her, she had shut her eyes tight and felt quite foolish as she slowly opened them. As hers met his, she found it impossible to stop the tears that careened down her cheeks. “Aleksandr!” she breathed, sinking into his embrace.

The rest of the couples slowly weaved in and out, up and down to the strains of the waltz, but Aleksandr and Josephine stood still, her face pressed into his chest, his hands caressing her dark brown curls. “Can we take a walk?” he asked, tilting her chin up with two fingers. “There is something I have to say to you.”

She nodded and grabbed his hand to lead him into the gardens, not noticing that their actions had caught the attention of both Remy and William from across the floor. Remy had tensed and stopped mid-waltz to see Gregorovitch with his sister, and William had halted his own dance to see his friend react so strongly. He took a few steps toward Remy. “It is all right, Remy,” he said, placing a steadying hand on Remy’s chest. “You have nothing to fear from Gregorovitch. He is a good man.”

“He broke her heart,” Remy spat, his blue eyes cold and steely. “Probably murdered George, too!”

“That is not true and you know it, friend,” William said, surprised at his own resolve. Somehow, he knew that this meeting was meant to happen, that he was bound to see Gregorovitch again, and that it was his job to make sure nothing went awry. “Remy, it is your wedding day. Enjoy yourself, do not trouble with these matters.”

“I do not want him here,” Remy growled.

“Then why did you invite him?” William countered.

For a moment, they were at an impasse before Remy exhaled and grabbed Sophie’s hand once more. “Fine,” he said. “If he is as trustworthy as you say, I will let it go. However, since it is my wedding day, will you do me one favor?”

“Anything,” William responded, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“Keep an eye on them. Go see what he is up to with my sister.”

“Your wish is my command. Now return to your beautiful wife!” He excused himself from the de Tuileries and Angeline and wove through the crowd, following the trail made by Josephine and Gregorovitch. It was not long before he came upon them in a secluded section of the rose garden. Fairy lights twinkled softly all around them, their brightness tempered with hazy starlight, and William felt guilty for intruding on the moment. Nonetheless, he had a duty, and so cleared his throat. “Gregorovitch,” he said. “Aleksandr. Good to see you, friend.”

Gregorovitch looked up, startled, but he smiled as he saw it was William. “And you, William. I appreciated your letter very much.”

William nodded his thanks and for an instant there was no sound to be heard except the far away strains of the orchestra and distant laughter that floated easily on the warm summer breeze. William cleared his throat again. “I wonder if I could have a moment to speak to you, Aleksandr?”

“Ah, I am afraid I cannot acquiesce, my friend. You see, my time is very limited, and there are things I must say before I am needed back in Moscow.” He smiled and glanced to his left where Josephine stood, silently basked in light. “However,” he continued, turning back to William, “if this is about Monsieur Kerensky, I can assure you that there is hardly anything left to worry about on either of our parts. I must trust�”as you do�”that the universe will unfold as it should. It has a way of righting itself. It is a magic beyond our control, perhaps.” Aleksandr smiled at his own words as if they were a private joke.

“I confess I am honored that you remembered my words so closely,” William said, realizing that his absence was desired, yet also believing fully for the first time that all was and would be well with the situation. This true and faithful harmony seemed to hang in the air around them, as if it were something that could be touched. It enveloped the three young wizards like a cloak and all found themselves speechless until William finally bowed and took his leave. “It was an honor and pleasure to see you again,” he said before smiling and exiting the rose garden.

Once he had walked away, Aleksandr turned again to Josephine and clasped her hands in his own. “Sweet Josephine,” he said, “I cannot apologize enough that my presence here must be so brief. Know that I think of you every day and when the time is right, we will be together.”

Josephine nodded and brushed her delicate fingers across his wrinkled brow. “I hope this is true, my love.”

“I know it is true,” he responded, moving his rough hands up to her neck, weaving his fingers into her hair.

She held his gaze for a moment before casting her eyes down to the ground, and when she spoke, her voice was unsteady and her words laden with remorse. “Alexei, you must allow me once again to apologize for… well, for anything I might have done to bring you harm.”

He turned her head up toward him. “There is no need to apologize, Josie. You have done no wrong. What has passed is past, and all that remains now to be spoken of is present and future, is love. I love you.”

Without another word, he moved closer and pressed his lips to hers, softly at first, then harder. They stayed together, swaying in the garden before he pulled away and rested his forehead on hers, his hands still clutching her hair. “I have to go,” he whispered.

She nodded against him. “I know.”

“I will see you again.”

“I know.”

He finally let her go, took two steps backward, and Disapparated on the spot, leaving nothing behind. All the noise of the party came rushing back to Josephine as she stood silently in the rose garden, her fingers pressed lightly against her lips.

There was no doubt in her mind that they would be together again. She had faith. She had hope.

She had love.