"I 'ate ze rain," Fleur mutters and puts her back against the wall of her building, trying to melt into the brick to get away from the wetness, scowling at the sky as if to say, stop that.
Bill says, "Well, then, England might not be for you" and raises his eyebrows at her.
Fleur shrugs, noncommittally and grins. "Well, England 'as bad wezzer and bad food and an 'ideous language. But it also 'as you. So I think I will stay, just for a little while."
He smiles widely at her and tentatively puts his arm around her.
She lets him.
-
But, wait.
We should start at the beginning.
Yes, the beginning:
-
Cassandra Blackwood wears purple robes and black boots and too much silver jewelry to work. She has a loud carrying voice and flirts too much with everyone, especially Bill. And, yes, Bill flirts back, but that's because Bill flirts playfully with everyone, even Helena who is married with three children.
(She's not a pureblood, despite what she would have you believe, though. Her mother was a Muggle doctor somewhere in New Jersey.)
She is American, though, and her English is flawless, however crass her accent might be, and her skin is blemish-free and her mahogany brown hair is straight and sleek. But she's one of the nicest people at Gringotts and has a great sense of humor and never hesitates to help Fleur with her translations.
(Fleur isn't jealous of her, though, Merlin, no.)
So when she asks Fleur, "So… whaddya think of Bill Weasley?" Fleur simply says, "oh, 'e is nice enough. 'Andsome, too."
Cassandra nods and glances across the room where Bill is deep in conversation with Jasmine Gray and smiles.
The next day, Cassandra comes in with a new spring in her step and a smile on her face. Without anyone asking, she announces, "Bill and I are going to dinner tonight!"
Fleur says nothing, merely presses her lips together and when it comes time to turn in her report at the end of the day, she slams it down on Cassandra's desk with a little more force than necessary.
-
This is how Bill and Fleur meet:
She eyes him up at the Triwizard Tournament and after the Third Task, everything that happened in the hours and days just prior to that become a blur, so that doesn't really count, does it?
No, instead, Fleur is carrying a stack of parchment to Bill's office and she's in a bad mood because she used to think her English was good, but translating things from ancient Egyptian to English is harder than fighting a Welsh Green and she has paper cuts on her fingers and ink on her robes and she just wants to go home.
(Home means her parents' house in the heart of Lyon and not her cramped apartment above the Leaky Cauldron, by the way.)
"'Ere are ze reports you asked for, Mr Weasley," she says, offering him a small smile.
"Thank you, Cass – oh, you aren't Cassandra, are you?"
"Cassandra 'ad to go 'ome early because she 'as family over," Fleur tells him. "My name is Fleur Delacour."
Bill stands up to take the reports from her and, oh, he's handsome. Tall and wiry with long red hair and a thin, attractive face. He's wearing a leather jacket and fine dragon skin boots. "Thank you," he says. "Weren't you the Beauxbatons Champion last year?"
"Oui!" Fleur answers proudly. "I mean… yes. Yes, I was."
"Your English is better than the others downstairs let on, you know," Bill says with a slight smile.
Fleur says "merci," just to be cheeky and smiles prettily, tossing back her sheet of blonde hair, not letting on that it bothers her that people are talking about her behind her back. Her mother told her that it went hand in hand with being a veela and that she would need to learn to grow a thicker skin to protect her against petty gossip and hateful words.
"You could improve it, though. Do you want me to set you up with an instructor?"
"Oh, um… Zat would be wonderful, thank you." Fleur smiles one more time and turns around, a blush rising in her pale cheeks.
-
This is how Bill Weasley becomes Fleur's English instructor:
Fleur is scheduled to meet her instructor at 5:45 PM on Thursday. She sits at her desk, legs crossed and hands in her lap expectantly.
5:45 comes and goes and no sign of her instructor.
5:50. 5:55. 6:00.
She starts tapping her fingers against the polished wood of her desk.
At 6:07, she hears a clomping noise and Bill Weasley comes down the stairs. "Fleur?" he asks. "What are you still doing here? You should have left over thirty minutes ago."
"My instructor never showed up," Fleur tells him with a shrug.
And Bill claps a hand to his forehead. "Shit, Fleur, didn't Jenny tell you? Morlock had to go to Germany on an assignment." He mutters under his breath and Fleur assumes that he's swearing, but she doesn't recognize the words. Then he sighs and runs a hand over his face, mutters something and she hears the word "Jenny". "Come on, get your stuff."
"What?" she asks.
"I'm taking you to dinner and we'll start your lessons. Morlock won't be back for another month, they think."
-
He takes her to a sit-down restaurant that is decidedly casual where the waitresses wear aprons that only cover their laps, chipped nail polish and have ponytails that they pull over their shoulders.
Fleur crosses her ankles and puts her napkin over her lap and doesn't wrinkle her nose at the smell of beer mixed with greasy fish and chips. "What is good 'ere?" she asks, taking the menu. She assumed they didn't have French food and she longed for her mother's carpaccio de boeuf.
Bill shrugs off his leather jacket and opens his own menu. "Well, their hamburgers are amazing."
"What is an 'amburger?" Fleur asks, feeling ashamed that she doesn't know. I was a Beauxbatons champion, I should know everything, she thinks furiously.
He doesn't seem to notice her embarrassment. "It's a ground beef patty in between two buns and it has tomato, lettuce, pickles and onions on it," he answers brightly. "They're really great when they're cooked right."
"Oh," Fleur says. "I 'ave never 'ad an 'amburger before."
"Seriously?" Bill asks. "Not even when you were at Hogwarts?"
"Non," Fleur says. "I mostly stuck to ze French food zey served."
"You should try it."
Fleur looks at him doubtfully.
When the waitress comes, Bill orders first – a steak, well-done with a side of mashed potatoes and carrots. When the waitress turns to Fleur, she says, "I would like one 'amburger, please."
"Do you want cheese on that?"
Fleur looks at Bill. "Should I get cheese on it?" she whispers, face flushing.
Bill nods and smiles at her.
"Yes, please," Fleur nods, handing her menu to the waitress. "Oh, and I would like some chips, too. Please."
She sees Bill chuckle a little out of the corner of her eye and when their waitress leaves she asks, "What is so funny?" she asks.
He shakes his head and takes a drink of water. "Nothing. Just… I've never really met anyone like you before."
"Is zat good or is it bad?"
Bill smiles at her again. "It's good."
The wait for their food is long and awkward, full of throat clearings, shaky smiles and laughs, but when their food comes, the conversation starts again.
Fleur eats all of her hamburger and it is the best thing she's ever tasted.
Bill laughs when she tells him this and Fleur bites her lower lip and lowers her eyes.
He pays for their dinner.
-
After dinner, they walk down the street to a small café. He buys them both a cup of tea and even though Fleur is reluctant, she sips it slowly. "So," she begins. "'Ow are we going to do zis?"
Bill looks thoughtful for a moment. "I dunno. I guess… we could just talk?"
Fleur's eyebrows nearly graze her hairline. "Do not tell me you 'ave not thought about zis all ze way through."
"We could just talk," Bill tells her. "You know, meet up a few times every week and have regular conversation."
At her blank look, Bill says, "Well, how did you learn English in France?"
"I took lessons over ze summer from a private tutor several times a week," she says. "And 'e usually 'ad books and cards wiz ze English word on one side and ze French word on ze uzzer."
"Flashcards?" Bill asks.
"What?"
"Flashcards," Bill says again. At her blank look, he clarifies: "The cards with the words on the sides."
"Oh. Would you be willing to make zose?"
"Yeah, sure. But until I do, we should just do my plan which is just casual conversation in only English." He smiles a bit. "No French allowed."
Fleur nods. "All right. I can do zat."
Bill's smile grows. "It's getting dark. Do you want me to walk you home?"
Shyly, Fleur looks down at her teacup. "Zat would be nice."
-
They meet the next day at 5:45 and Bill is early. Fleur is packing up her things when he comes down the stairs.
If she notices the fresh shirt he's wearing, she doesn't say anything.
-
He takes her to the same low-key restaurant where she has another hamburger with cheese ("cheeseburger," Bill corrects her and Fleur asks, "Wait, what is zat?")
When she offers to pay, he says, "No, of course not. It's my treat."
-
This is what Bill learns about Fleur over one week of lessons:
She was born in Paris, France but has lived in Lyon for most of her life.
She's been to Berlin, Barcelona, Madrid, Florence, Rome, Istanbul, Moscow, and all over France. Her Italian is better than her English.
She likes blue and doesn't like orange, because "I knew a girl 'oo dyed 'er 'air an awful orange color at Beauxbatons and she was dreadful."
Her sister Gabrielle is her best friend and she loves her parents. "I miss zem most of ze time," she confesses, rolling the stem of her spoon between her thumb and fingers. "Does zat make me immature?"
Bill shakes his head. "No, of course not. When I lived in Egypt, I missed my family like hell every day. Wrote my mother three times a week." He flashes her a crooked grin. "How's that for immature?"
Fleur frowns. "Zat is not immature. You missed your family. Zat is a natural reaction to being away from zem for a long time."
"Yeah, but I was about twenty then. You'd think I'd be over that."
"I do not think you ever stop loving your family," Fleur says. "It is natural to want to communicate wiz ze people 'oo you 'ave known your entire life." She pours some more sugar into her tea, stirs it three times clockwise and four times counter-clockwise and takes a sip.
Bill pauses before saying, "You know, you're a lot smarter and more insightful than people give you credit for."
Fleur shrugs and smiles a bit, but it's a sad, sort of defeated smile. "People think I cannot be smart because of my looks and my 'eritage and broken English. It is absurd, but what can one do about it? I am done trying to force people to see me in a certain way."
"I'm sorry that people doubt you based on bullshit reasons," Bill murmurs.
"What is bullshit?" Fleur asks.
He chuckles. "It's a curse word. I'm sorry, I shouldn't teach you to swear."
Fleur brightens. "Non, you should teach me curse words, so I can curse at people fluently in three languages!"
-
They stop meeting under the guise of English lessons, but Bill keeps paying for Fleur's dinner.
Every time she offers to pay for herself, he waves her off. "It's my treat."
"I should be paying you for ze lessons," she tells him with a frown. "I feel awful making you pay."
"Let's call it one flat payment once Morlock gets back," Bill tells her with a smile. "Besides, I want you to like me."
Fleur brightens. "Why is zat?" she asks.
"Because we're coworkers and I've had coworkers not like me before and, trust me… it's not pretty," Bill chuckles.
"Oh," Fleur says, hoping he doesn't see her dejection. She sips her tea in silence.
-
On a warm day, Bill leads Fleur to a small park and they have a picnic on the grass. He has Molly make him an extra turkey sandwich which Fleur devours in a few bites. "'Ow is my English now?" she asks.
It's been three weeks since their lessons began and Fleur is dreading the day that Jeremy Morlock comes back from Germany.
"It's good," Bill says. He looks out at the horizon. "It's really good." He furrows his brow, deep in thought.
Hesitantly, Fleur reaches out and touches his shoulder. "Are you all right, Bill?"
"I should go," he says, standing up abruptly. He hardly looks at her as he brushes off the seat of his jeans and Apparates away.
Fleur bites her lower lips and squeezes her eyes shut.
-
Bill sends her a note the next day. He gives it to Jasmine, who gives it to Fleur.
Fleur –
Can't meet today. Sorry.
-B.W.
His handwriting is cramped and messy.
She tears it into tiny scraps and throws it away.
-
The next day is the day that Cassandra comes in, talking about how she and Bill are going to dinner that night.
And, no, Fleur is not jealous.
-
At 5:30 on the dot on Friday, Fleur slams down her quill and parchment and storms upstairs to Bill's office. She catches him right when he's coming out the door.
"Bill!" she shouts.
He turns and she doesn't imagine the flicker of happiness on his face. "Bill, why did you end our lessons? Did I say something or do something?" And, oh, Merlin, no, she's choking up a little now, stop it, Fleur. "Please, Bill, you are one of my only friends 'ere and I do not want you to 'ate me."
"Fleur – "
But she's on a roll now and she absolutely cannot stop talking. "Because I 'ave 'ad too many people 'ate me for stupid – for bullshit – reasons and I do not want you to be one of zem. Because you 'ave 'elped me out so much for ze past few weeks and if I did or said something to make you 'ate me, please, let me know so zat I can – "
And suddenly she can't talk anymore because Bill's mouth is covering hers and his hands are resting on her hips and he tastes like ink and parchment and pumpkin juice and surprise and Fleur kisses him back for a half-second and puts her hand over his before he breaks away. "I've wanted to do that since the moment I you walked through my door," he breathes.
Fleur is blushing now and Fleur Delacour never blushes and she wonders if she's feeling feverous.
But she stands up straight and glares at him. "Zen why 'ave you been acting so oddly?"
Bill sighs and sort of rocks on the balls of his feet. "Because I'm scared of getting close to you and I didn't want to have a relationship with you, because you're so young – "
"I am nineteen; I am not zat young," Fleur mutters and Bill continues like he hasn't heard her.
"Because you're so young and bright and talented and clever and beautiful and honestly? You scare the shit out of me."
"What does zat mean? 'You scare ze shit out of me?'" Fleur asks, tilting her head.
Bill laughs a little, breathless, "You scare me, Fleur."
Fleur snorts derisively. "'Ow could I scare you?"
He takes her hands in his; his hands are long and thin and calloused and hers are white and firm and smooth. "Because I'm scared that I'll let you down, because you have so, so much to offer and I don't want to ruin that."
And Fleur snorts again. "Oh, please. As if I would let anyone ruin me." But she smiles at him and stands up on her toes and kisses his cheek. She frowns again. "Why did you and Cassandra go to dinner zen?"
"Oh, that? That was to go over some new ruins uncovered in Cairo." He chuckles. "We've had this running joke about us dating since she started here. No, she has a boyfriend and he works on my floor. She was doing that to make Madeline jealous."
Fleur blinks and raises her eyebrows. "You English are very strange," she comments. "I must let you know zat if we are to 'ave a serious relationship, you will not flirt wiz any uzzer girls." She is deadly serious. "I mean it, Bill. I will leave you like izat/i if I catch you." She snaps her fingers to further her point.
"Okay." Bill says simply.
There's a pause. Then:
"Okay." Fleur smiles and laughs a little. She bites her lower lip. "Okay. Will you… Will you walk me 'ome?"
He looks out the window. "It's raining," he observes. "Do you want to Apparate instead?"
"No, I would razzer walk. We could 'ave anuzzer lesson on ze way zere. And when we get zere, I could make you some tea."
Bill smiles and offers her his hand. "I'd like that," he says.
-
end