So, this is my first story on this account and I'm really excited. :]

I have never written anything about Bill and Fleur, so hopefully this will not too bad. Please let me know what you think. :]

I know that some things might not be specifically canon to the book, but for this I was going off of the movie because I just saw it and it's on my mind. By the way, this was inspired by the Bill and Fleur GIF with them pressing their heads together, I'm sure the avid fans have seen the GIF and everyone who's seen the movie has seen it.

I don't want to insult anyone's intelligence, but in case anyone doesn't know "chasse" is a dance move where one foot chases the other and "chassed" is the past tense of it. I just wanted to inform people if anyone doesn't know the term.

The cool summer evening air was drifting through the white tent that housed the guests for the wedding. Even though people were on edge these days, this evening, the wedding had brought the joy back into their faces. They were all slowly forgetting about the world around them; they were only seeing the joy and excitement within the tent. The flames were dancing in their frosted glass holders creating shadows along the purple décor; wine glasses were refilling themselves with champagne, and people sitting at the circular purple draped tables were happily chatting with each other. Tonight there was no war, no fear; just a wedding. There were two people in particular who had forgotten about the world completely. They were encircled by guests, clapping cheerily standing along the edges of the dance floor, as they chassed back and forth grinning wildly at each other. Nothing else existed. Fleur's pure white smile widened to an almost impossible length as she looked up toward Bill's face. Slender and pale with flaming red hair longer than Fleur's field of vision, which completely centered on his face. The corner of her smile did not even flinch when her eyes found the scar that ran down the left side of his face; the worst, deepest one. Since the day Bill had gotten that scar, Fleur has loathed its prominence, it's refusal to dull. At first she looked upon it with anger; the brutal monster that had done that to her husband deserved the worst of fate. Bill had almost died and there were plenty of people that had been hurt much worse than he had been. After her anger faded slightly, she dwelled on it with sadness. How horrible it must be for Bill to wake each morning and look in the mirror to see that scar staring back at him, a reminder of that horrible day. However, Bill never took an extra moment to look at the wretched scar. He went on as if nothing happened. His spirit never changed, nothing changed except for his preference of raw stakes. Now Fleur almost smiled at the scar, and certainly did not dare let it cut a smile short. Now it only served as a reminder of her husband's courage and bravery, his willingness to fight, and his strength. As Fleur's eyes were solely focused on Bill's face he was entranced with her eyes. Fleur's eyes, deep ocean blue, were Bill's favorite physical thing about her. He often caught himself just staring at her eyes, forgetting what he was doing before. Not even her pure white smile and perfectly straight teeth could distract him from those eyes. He laughed as she shook her head to push her long silvery-blonde hair, curled for the occasion, back behind her ears. His own eyes moved back to staring at hers. Her eyes, although stunning in appearance alone, meant so much more to him than that. Her eyes, wide and caring, showed all that she had been through. She showed her emotions, even the most discreet of them through her eyes. Bill could notice the most miniscule change in them from a mile away. They had seen so much, been through so much. The fear he had seen him them when Fleur sat next to his bedside after he was attacked was a picture he would never forget and desperately hoped her would never see again.

All the people donned in their best dresses and robes faded into a mix of colors as the newlyweds danced along the floor. The people began to join the bride and groom on the floor as the music picked up, but Bill and Fleur still only focused on each other. They could not wait for their lives to begin, they had their own house—Shell Cottage, a small cottage near Tinworth, along the sea—a surprise wedding gift from Bill to Fleur. Fleur was ecstatic to have her own home, even if it was in England and not France. She and Bill imagined their lives together as they danced. Their lives were going to be perfect; living in the small cottage with a family, spending summer days at the beach, and going to the Weasleys' for holidays. There would be no war, no fighting, no fear, only happiness.

Somewhere amidst the people chattering at the purple draped tables, the music drifting through the tent, and the laughter and smiles filling the dance floor, a ball of light shot through the tent to the center of the floor; a singular ball of silvery light. To a mere observer the silence that filled the tent and the confusion that flooded the guests faces would almost seem humorous. What could such a small ball of light possibly do? Everyone was still focused on that silvery light. At its appearance each wizard drew his wand instinctively. Bill and Fleur stood together, nearest to the light, completely still, Bill's wand held straight towards it. They had not expected this. As the silvery ball, a patronus, began to unravel and a whispering voice emerged from nowhere, Bill pushed his arm in front of Fleur as if to protect her from the voice. Gently, yet forcefully, he quickly pushed her slightly behind him; she held tight to his lower arm as the voice broke the silence. "The ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming…they are coming;" it faded and the light disappeared. The fear swept over the guests like frigid December wind. People wrenched about, unsure of what to do. Within seconds the candles began to shake and the ground began to rumble. People began to dart every which way. Apparating at every second, seizing loved ones' hands, screams erupted, and crashes resounded. Fleur turned to her husband, terror overcoming her, but she did not let it show. Bill leaned his head on hers, the bridges of their noses almost touching, the height difference prohibiting them. Bill's boyish look had come through as he looked at his new wife; nervousness flooded his eyes. Fleur's eyes, determined, focused straight on his, trying her best to keep her strength and not to show her fear. They whispered inaudible words of their love for each other and their assurances that things would be ok. Fire ripped through the purple drapes, the champagne glasses crashed to the floor, and people's shrieks replaced the music that had been playing. The whirling mixture of color they had seen before was all too real now. Their dreams were falling apart around them. Wands drawn, they broke their faces away from each other. Hands still clasped tightly around each others, Bill pulled Fleur through the screams and crashes and spells, casting whenever he could. Rushing in terror, they only hoped the by the time the night was through they would each still have a warm hand to grasp.