A/N: This is exactly what it sounds like--not nessecarily the weddings themselves, but the stories of devotion between one person and another. I plan to go through all my favourite HP ships eventually. Bill and Fleur just needs to be first. It'll be our first canon wedding, so we might as well enjoy a bit of it now.

It was also the easiest to write. I always liked Fluer, from to outrrrrageous! accent, to her arrogance. And I always knew that she would hook up with Bill, from that first moment she saw him. But, to my surprise, I found that a lot of people did not like her--it was understandable of course, but I was so glad for her retribution in HBP. She truly loves 'er Biiill, and always will.

Ah, gotta love HP canon. Anyhow, the time frames on these little vignette's of a sort will be... everywhere. Some will be long, some will be short, some will mention names, and some you'll just have to figure out for yourself . The point of these is to celebrate what I love most about Harry Potter and, let's face it, what I love best about ANY series (be it TV, Book, Comic, or Movie): Love.

So enjoy! You're all invited to the weddings of...

A Series of I Do's

Part I: Being Normal

She knew she looked beautiful—she always did. But this morning, this particular morning, Fleur knew she needed to look beyond spectacular. She knew she needed to look perfect. She also knew that Bill wouldn't care if she walked down the aisle in a Niffler suit, but for Fleur her appearance had always been one of her highest priorities.

As a matter of fact, before she met Bill, it had been her only priority. It had been her only real friend for a long time. She was ashamed to admit the things her beauty had made her. Fleur's vanity and narcissism had convinced her that everyone was jealous, and that she could trust no one.

She could not really be blamed. All her life from the age of nine on men had thrown themselves at her—she was their "very vision of a princess," she was their "goddess." One could only blush away so many comments before they began to work their way under her skin. It was only a matter of time before she believed them.

And then it went beyond believing. Those comments which had made a young girl smile were no longer good enough for her. Her beauty, she esteemed, was far beyond anything those men could dream of deserving. She could do far better than any of them. She was arrogant at the age of 10, snubbing any man who would pay her any attention. She laughed at them, and she goaded them, and she might have continued in that fine manner were it not for the curse of age: puberty.

Suddenly, what she had treated with such disdain before became her power. She understood that she could get men to do anything she wanted, just by smiling, just by pressing forward the steadily growing chest, just by walking and shifting her ass they way they liked. She could flaunt, tease, and work all she required out of them. She had power. And for almost six years, that was enough for her.

Fleur loved her mother, but she had never seen eye to eye on the subject of Fleur's father. She never understood just what her mother meant when she spoke about him. When Fleur was younger, her mother would show her pictures: pictures of her wedding day, pictures of her father at her birth. Fleur could not see why someone as gorgeous as her mother would have been with someone so… not.

Fleur's father had died one year after Gabrielle was born, but Fleur barely remembered him. He had only been in her life for five years. She could remember little things, enjoying when he came home, enjoying when he tickled her stomach, but from then on memories faded.

Her father was a plain man with a thin moustache and glasses. He was not as tall as her mother, not as graceful. Her mother told her that he was one of the smartest wizards in the land and one of the bravest. But Fleur had never understood. She did not see what her mother saw in such a humble fellow, and, more importantly, Fleur could never see herself falling in love with and marrying a man like that.

Until one day she knew exactly what her mother had meant. Fleur could not explain the sudden rush of knowledge, but she could pin-point the moment and the person she was with when it hit her. She was almost 17, and she and her boyfriend were together on the couch. He wasn't really her boyfriend—he was an object, an item. Something that she was using at that moment to relieve her teenage sexual frustrations. He was a boy who she allowed to touch her and feel her; and she didn't care about him.

It was the moment that he was done that she felt it. She had a trouble identifying the sudden feeling of emptiness. Where had it come from? Was she not as satisfied as she thought? She shoved him off by habit, saying she was tired, and rolled over on the couch, feeling miserable. And then she knew: she wanted to be held. She wanted to be treated special, not because she was beautiful, but because someone truly and honestly thought she was special. Fleur dissolved into tears, and knew that, at least now, she could identify with her mother, for Madame Delacour had found love amongst a sea of fools, while Fleur had been swept away in them.

But old habits were hard to break. She knew what she wanted now, but didn't know how to achieve it. She tried in vain to find some sort of solace in the boy she was with at the time, but none came. Nor did any come afterwards. Fleur suddenly began to feel that it would never come, for she couldn't find anyone who would treat her as a human, not an object. After a few months hopeful dating, Fleur's newly found heart began to turn, and she became bitter. If no one would love who she was, then she would love no one. Men were a game all over again. Not a game of fun, but a game of causeless revenge. She became a cruel temptress who lured men in and broke their hearts. They were all handsome, every one of them. And she felt nothing.

And then she saw Bill.

He was standing with Harry Potter and a plump, good-humoured looking woman at Hogwarts. After one quick glance, she saw that Bill was exactly her type. He was handsome and, from the lack of a ring on his finger, very available—at least available for all her intents and purposes. She at once set herself into 'go' mode—she fluttered her eyelashes, gazing at him over her mother's shoulder.

Fleur didn't know why she did it—try to draw in men (and succeed) with whom it was possible that they could have been happy, possible that they might have had a long-standing relationship. She knew it was wrong, and certainly not good for her, but she couldn't stop. She was driven by some tainted Cupid with poisoned arrows. Besides, she would reason eventually, they never passed her test.

She knew that she gave them no chance. A beautiful girl showing interest in any man will grab his attention, and they were drawn like moths to a flame. All had followed this pattern. Everyone had walked into her clutches.

But Bill never looked back.

He never looked once in her direction, even though she was doing everything in her womanly power to gain his notice. Even when he walked past her out the door, he was still devoted to the conversation he held with the Potter boy and his mother. He never saw her.

And she knew that he was the one.

Fleur smiled at herself in the mirror. The dress was beautiful. It was white and fitting, high fashion and perfect against her creamy white skin. Her teeth flashed back in her reflection, and, as she put the last final touches on her makeup, she stepped back for examination.

For the first time in her life, as Fleur took notice of everything in her appearance, she found to her surprise that she didn't care. Because Bill didn't care. He loved her. He loved who she was, the way she laughed, the way she cried, and the way she pouted. He loved to tease her, he loved to mock her vanity, and he loved to tweak her nose then sweep in for a kiss afterwards. He loved her, and she, more than anything, loved him.

And today she was marrying him.