Inell's Fanfiction Archive

She watches him with curious eyes. He's explained this tradition to her in broken English and given her books to read. For once, she doesn't consult the text because words lack the emotion that every word he says conveys. This isn't about understanding the history of the ceremony or knowing what the red and white fabric represents. This is about his culture, becoming part of a tradition that has been in his family for centuries.

"For you, Her-my-knee," he says as he slips the woven fabric onto her wrist. She no longer corrects him when he says her name. In the months since they met again in Diagon Alley, he has managed to get closer than he did when they were younger. She rather likes it, his name for her, and she smiles as she leans forward to kiss him.

Her fingers brush black fringe from his broad forehead and she simply listens to his words, understanding nothing from his native language but knowing everything. When he offers her his hand, she slides her own woven band, made by her during the last week, onto his wrist. It is snug but fits well enough.

His lips brush against her palm as their eyes meet. She doesn't quite understand what they just did beyond words of harvest and protection, but she knows it's important to him. As she moves into his arms to watch the remainder of the ceremony, she sighs happily. For once, she doesn't need answers. He's happy and, really, that's all that matters.