I’m the Land You Flooded with Your Waters (фемслэш)

Her spirit floats, runs away. Runs to the memories, where the pain meets the pleasure, where the sadness meets the euphoria, where things are bittersweet rather than outright bitter.
She swims—no, she runs—no, she drowns—
She travels back. Back to the first time Fleur sank into her arms, weeping uncontrollably, a fountain bursting and leaking against her chest; the first time her lips found Ginny’s, insatiable and trembling with sadness. The kiss was sloppy, animalistic—almost surreal in how little it made sense.
“Do you, Charlie Weasley, take Fleur Delacour—”