Beauty fades. Even the shine of a Veela must die eventually, leaving only subtle hints that suggest the dead and buried perfection. Maybe it's the way the eyes shine when the mouth parts into a pretty smile. It had been a while since anybody had regarded her as beautiful. "Oh, who is that, Fleur?" Visitors would ask, peering into the glass cabinets at glossy, framed photographs. "Isn't she beautiful…" They would say, admiring the angelic blonde-haired girl.
"That's me," Fleur would croak, throat closing up with sadness.
Beside the girl in the pictures was a boy. Red-haired, with only slightly freckled skin, and several scars adorning his rather unremarkable features. There was nothing exceptionally grand about the boy at all, unlike the girl. But they were the same smile as they laughed together. He looked at the girl with such devotion, nobody could deny the young couple were madly in love.
And although beauty had faded, their love had not.
"What's wrong?" Bill Weasley asked his wife, walking behind her as she stared into the mirror. Fleur twisted and turned at all angles, trying to find something she liked about her reflection. Her eyes began to sting once more. Bill laid a hand on her shoulder, turning her towards him. "Fleur? What's the matter?"
They had been married over fifty years. Fleur was well into her sixties now, silver-haired with crinkled skin. Her vanity was her most prized possession. It had propelled her effortlessly throughout life. She rendered men speechless and could create envious, green-eyed monsters from any average woman. Over the decades, slowly, like a fire nearly extinguished, it had began to slip away…
"It's me." She said sadly, looking up into the kind eyes of her husband. Poor old Bill. How many times, Fleur wondered, had somebody looked from Fleur to Bill, before asking incredulously. - 'how did he get her?' But to her, Bill was her everything; a beautiful person with a beautiful soul. "How can you even look at me? You fell in love with that." She gestured to the moving photographs, a snapshot of their youth and the beginnings of love. "I'm hideous."
Bill turned her towards the mirror. Fleur was reluctant in seeing her appearance once more, but didn't struggle. They stared into the glass, eyes locked on each other. Bill smiled. "You will always be beautiful, Fleur." He whispered, meaning every single word. Bill adored his wife, "You still leave me breathless."
