Thinning of the Veil
by ChatterChick
Summary: There is one night a year when the veil between the living and dead is the thinnest.
A/N: This was written for Slytherin, in Quidditch Little League Round Three at QLFC. We were supposed to use a lesser-used genre and mine was "Spiritual". It was also written for the Hangman Challenge at HPFC. Let me know if you have any feedback! Cheers!
The flames danced merrily. They were almost hypnotizing to watch.
Red, orange and yellow tongues licked at the large logs Charlie and George had piled into a bonfire. If she stared long enough, she would catch a lone green or blue flame intermingled with the rest. It almost looked like a trick of the light for if she blinked, it disappeared. Most likely though, it was the result of some sort of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes product that George tossed into the fire.
Fleur pulled her cloak tighter around her, feeling a chill that, for once, may not have been associated with the cooler, English weather. It was a familiar feeling, one she had experienced her year at Hogwarts when she accidentally stepped through a ghost. That eerie chill that was associated with the dead. There were no ghosts that lingered around the Burrow, but perhaps they had some spirits visiting them this evening.
After all, tonight was the night the veil between the living and the dead was the thinnest.
Even the Muggles noticed something otherworldly about this night, a rarity given that they were usually happy to remain ignorant about anything they couldn't explain. They had given this time of the year many different names over the years; All Saints' Day, All Soul's Day, All Hallow's Eve, Halloween. Halloween was becoming popular in the wizarding world, with the ever increasing influence of Muggle culture. She had even heard Harry, Ron and Hermione call this a 'Halloween Party' and there were funny, carved pumpkins with little candles inside of them decorating the picnic tables that had been set up with food and drinks.
The old wizarding families knew tonight by another name. Samhain. It was the holiday that celebrated both life and death.
She wondered which of their lost friends were silently gathered among them tonight. Most definitely Fred, she thought. There had been the traditional plate and cup left out for him in the seat next to George's during dinner. Perhaps Remus and Tonks were among them, or maybe they were spending their evening watching over the tiny sleeping form of their son, Teddy.
Not much was known about the dead who passed through the veil, choosing to move on rather than stay bound to the earth as ghosts. It was agreed among magical folk that there was some sort of afterlife and that the souls of the departed could somehow watch over loved ones. Beyond that, death was one of the greatest mysteries.
Fleur was startled out of her thoughts by a pair of arms that wrapped themselves around her waist.
"Jumpy, are you?" Bill teased.
Fleur relaxed into her husband's embrace. "Merde! You scared me!"
She had been fluent in English before the Triwizard Tournament, but since then, her complete immersion in the English country had caused her thick accent to fade. These days it was more pronounced when she was exhausted or emotional.
Lately she had been both.
"It's a bit chilly out, did you want my cloak?" Bill softly asked. His lips were inches away from her ear as he spoke.
"I am fine," she insisted.
"Are you sure? I don't mind, it's warm by the fire."
Her husband, the chivalrous Gryffindor, would freeze himself to death so he could give his cloak up to his lady. Fleur gave a rather unladylike snort. If she was really that cold she could easily cast a warming charm on her own cloak.
"I know it's getting late too, any time you want to leave, we'll go. I imagine you must be exhausted."
Fleur cocked an eyebrow in amusement. Bill was going to turn into his mother with all of his fussing and worrying. He would deny it, of course. The comparison would no doubt horrify him as he thought his mother was much too overbearing.
"Bill, I am pregnant. I am not sick or dying. And if I did not wish to be here, you would know," said Fleur. She had never been exactly subtle when she didn't like something or didn't want to do something. Feeling stubborn, she added, "Since it is so warm out, I will take our cloaks inside, yes?"
"There's that stubbornness I love so much."
"And I thought you married me for my looks," she teased.
"Well, that and you're the only person in England who doesn't overcook their steak."
They were soon joined by Charlie, who had been making the trip home to England more frequently since the war. Three tumblers of firewhiskey floated in the air behind him, one of them nudging Fleur until she accepted it. Tapping her slender fingers against the glass, she wordlessly turned the amber liquid into pumpkin juice. She was ten weeks into her pregnancy, but she and Bill were only planning on telling the rest of the family at the end of the first trimester.
Until then, she didn't really want anyone to know. If anyone suspected that Fleur was pregnant, they hadn't let on so far.
Part of her felt selfish for keeping such joyous news from everyone. It had been a year and a half since the war ended, and the Weasley family had been cloaked in grief for so long. What news could possibly be happier than the first Weasley grandchild? Or the first Delacour grandchild for that matter.
Yet part of her enjoyed the calm before the storm. She knew carrying the first Weasley grandchild was going to put her in the centre of a lot of suffocating attention from her in-laws. Never mind her family! Her mother and sister would probably show up in England and wish to move in with them until the baby was born.
She shared a secret smile with Bill as she raised the glass of pumpkin juice to her lips in a toast to the dead.
Midnight was greeted with a rather impressive display of Weasley Wildfire Whiz-bangs. Hot-pink Catherine wheels and rockets with silver tails lit up the sky. They went off for a good hour, as each time the fireworks collided, they set off a new chain of them. They were joined by purple and orange peonies and lime green crosettes. Finally, as they were dying off, George let off a giant dragon that swooped through the air, causing all of them to duck. It rocketed upwards before exploding into several different colours, 'Happy Halloween' glittering in the night sky.
Fleur fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow hours later when she and Bill finally made it home. She was exhausted from the festive dinner Molly had prepared as well as the party that had gone long into the night.
That night she dreamed. In this one, she found herself walking along the shore in front of Shell Cottage. It was warm and sunny, with a gentle breeze off of the water. Unlike most dreams, Fleur was fully aware that this one was in fact, a dream. If she wanted to, she could easily force herself to wake. Instead she continued along the shore, enjoying the warm weather she didn't get to experience in her waking hours. She wondered if she had any control over this dream, wondered if maybe she could summon a dream version of Bill to enjoy this with.
She could hear laughter, a great booming laugh that she had come to associate with the Weasleys and a tiny, tinkling laugh that sounded out of place next to it.
In the distance, there walked hand-in-hand a red-haired man and a little girl with strawberry-blonde hair. Fleur gasped when the man turned around, catching his face. It couldn't be George, for this man had both ears while George had lost one years ago.
It was Fred.
The little girl turned around, seeming to stare right at Fleur. She looked almost identical to how Fleur looked as a little girl, only she had freckles across her pale skin and Bill's blue eyes.
Fleur stirred, blinking in the soft morning light that streamed in through their window. She could hear the soft crashing of waves outside their cottage, and the calls of seagulls. The dream was still firmly in her mind, feeling much too real to be some fantasy. Unlike most of Fleur's dreams, this one did not fade away as she thought about it. Her hand instinctively cradled her stomach, the little life growing inside of her.
Next to her, Bill's eyes fluttered before he shut them again. He was clearly half-awake, but refusing to open them and rejoin the land of the living. Fleur decided to fix that. She kissed his lips, before working her way down his jaw and onto his neck.
"We are having a little girl," Fleur whispered in between kisses.
Bill's eyes cracked open, looking at her in surprise. Fleur pulled back with a large grin on her face.
"How do you know?" Bill asked, turning on his side to face her.
"I just do," she replied. She wasn't sure about sharing the entire contents of the dream, suddenly feeling a little nervous that she had been the one to see Fred when she had barely known him. "I had a dream. She was beautiful, she looked like me of course, but with her papa's eyes."
"We're in trouble then," Bill laughed, "because a girl as beautiful and brave and stubborn as her mother is going to be the death of her father."
"Je t'aime aussi."
Six months later, Fred Weasley's deathday became Victoire Weasley's birthday the morning after Beltane. Fleur couldn't help but wonder if that was another sign from beyond the veil. A sign that all was well.