The party started at noon and lasted until after dark.
They had so much to celebrate, someone had said. Probably Molly. It was Arthur and Molly's thirtieth wedding anniversary. Ginny's birthday had been the week before, and Percy's was coming up the week after. Ron and Harry (and Neville) had been accepted into Auror Training. Kingsley had been elected Minister of Magic. Ron and Hermione had just returned from Australia with her parents. George had re-opened the shop. And besides, everyone could use a little comfort these days and it would do them all good to be together.
But the smiles didn't reach their eyes and the laughter was hollow and no one mentioned anyone who was missing. Fred. Percy's girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater. Remus and Tonks. Sirius. Moody. Dawlish.
A little too much firewhiskey was consumed. It didn't matter that Arthur and Molly hadn't provided any. Most of the guests seemed to have their own.
The party began to break up by eight, and by ten, nearly everyone had left. Hermione had gone home with her parents, despite the Weasleys' protests that there was plenty of room for them to stay. Harry and Ron had gone home to Grimmauld Place, accompanied surprisingly by Percy, who had downed enough alcohol to not blink as he told his mother he couldn't sleep with the memories in that fucking house. George went to wherever he was spending his nights lately, as they were all pretty sure he wasn't staying in the flat without Fred. Ginny was spending the night with Luna and her father, in the tent on the land where their house once stood, so Great Aunt Tessie could have her room for the night. The only Weasley children spending the night at the Burrow were the two who had been gone from home the longest, Bill and Charlie.
Unfortunately, a fiery redhead, a hot tempered veela, and an abundance of firewhiskey are not always a good combination, and the shouting began as Kingsley was saying goodnight.
" ... not going back to Egypt!" a heavily accented voice shouted. "Not unless I go weeth you!"
This was only the latest installment in an argument that had been carried over several times since the fateful night at Hogwarts. Charlie discreetly silenced Aunt Tessie's and Aunt Muriel's doors as he passed on the way to Ron's old room. Molly and Arthur bid goodnight to the last few guests, went to their room and turned out the lights.
The shouting continued in the garden, heard only by the two doing the shouting.
"Egypt is not a place for a woman!" Bill yelled back. "I'm only going to be there six weeks, and then I'll be home for three months!"
"And then weel be gone again!" Fleur fumed. "There are plen'y of jobs for cursebreakers that are not in Egypt!"
"But they're around a lot of other people!" he shook his head. "We've been through this before!"
"Yes, and you still do not see reason!" she put her hands on her hips and stomped her foot. "You woul' be breelliant at St Mungos! I am seek of having dis fight!"
"If you can't understand my reasons, obviously you're not listening to me!" he roared. "And if that's the case, I don't see any hope for this marriage!"
He turned and stomped out through the cornfield.
She watched until she couldn't see him any more, and then waited a full minute for him to come back.
He didn't.
"Bill!" she called after him. "Bill, come back! We weel talk about dis!"
There was no answer.
A sob welled up in her, starting somewhere deep and bursting out as a keening wail of his name.
There was still no answer. She turned and ran into the house, only to find it completely dark and silent. She rushed up the stairs to the bedroom they were using, not caring that she stomped and cried and probably woke anyone who hadn't silenced their room.
She threw herself on the bed, the rickety old frame shaking with the force of her shuddering tears.
There was a soft knock at the door.
"Go 'way." she whimpered.
Instead the door opened and his tall, lanky shadow filled the door way.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly.
She couldn't see his face, couldn't see anything except his darker outline in the darkness of the room, except the slightest glint of red around the edges of his long hair where the moonlight shining from somewhere down the hall lit him from behind. But she could hear the concern in his voice, so she launched herself across the tiny room into his arms.
"I'm so sorry." she murmured, pulling his head down until she found his whiskey flavoured lips with her own.
His entire body went rigid, and he tried to push her away. "Wait ... no ... Fleur ... "
"Talk later," she whispered. "Kees now."
"Fleur," he growled.
He wasn't playing fair, using that voice when he knew she loved it, loved him, the man and the wolf deep inside him. So she didn't play fair either, and used the veela pheromones on him as she attacked his mouth again. He groaned deep in his throat and pushed her backwards again, but this time he was moving with her, reaching behind him to shut the door. He turned his head enough to break this kiss, muttering locking and silencing spells in the general direction of the room's entrance. Her lips moved over his throat as her fingers anxiously tugged at the buttons on his shirt.
They fell onto the bed in a frantic tangle of lips and limbs and clothes that were pushed aside rather than removed. Their coupling was frenzied and tender and rushed and everlasting all at once, until they collapsed together in a breathless, delirious heap.
She murmured something in French that he didn't understand, didn't even fully hear. He made a noise that sounded like an affirmation, so she curled into his side and whispered "I love you so much," satiation and relief and drink swirling together to create a blissful warmth.
The voice he heard in his head, in his heart, was lower and throatier and didn't have a French accent. He couldn't trust himself to respond without his own voice cracking, so he just kissed her and nuzzled her hair. It was enough for her, as she sighed and fell asleep within moments.
He slipped out of the bed as soon as he thought he could move without waking her. He straightened his clothes, shoved a hand through his hair, and tiptoed through the silent house to sit on the front steps.
He looked up at the stars, imagining that they were the souls who died in the war, wondering which one was Fred, and which one was the dear friend that his family would never know he had loved as so much more than a friend. He imagined their faces and heard their voices, concentrating until tears were clogging the back of his throat.
Because grief was easier to bear than the guilt of what he had just done.
A shadow fell across his line of sight, and he looked up into the scarred face of his older brother.
"Are you all right?" he asked, unable to make eye contact.
"I just needed to calm down." Bill shrugged. "We'll work it out, we always do, but when we're both that angry the best thing to do is to give us both some space."
"I hope you do work everything out." Charlie told him sincerely.
Bill patted his brother on the shoulder as he walked past. He didn't notice how Charlie flinched.
Charlie was gone when everyone woke the next morning, and he didn't come back for a very long time.