Disclaimer: I may own all of the Harry Potter series' books and movies, but I don't own any of the copyrights to it. This fic is canon-compliant, which means it does not directly contradict any aspect of canon.


He was an idiot. He knew he was an idiot. He couldn't stop thinking about how much he had effed up, how much he regretted it. He replayed their fight over and over in his head, kicking himself every time he remembered the hurtful words he had said... the look on her face, and the knowledge that he had put it there.

He had taken to moping around the house between meals, not talking to Fleur no matter how she tried to pull him into a conversation. He would hover around the wireless, waiting for Potterwatch to come on, half-hoping he'd get some clue as to where they were and how they were doing but knowing deep down that he wouldn't - because how would anyone know, and why would they say it if they did? Beyond that, he was doing nothing.

Finally, Fleur got so frustrated with him that she shooed him outside after breakfast, telling him he ought to go and do something productive. He shrugged and slouched his way into the yard, scowling at the flowerbed he passed as he sauntered down the walk to the beach.

Just as he was considering taking off his shoes to dip his toes in the receding tide, he spotted someone else nearby. He was sitting there, a brush in hand, painting waves as they danced upon the sand. With every stroke he brought to life the deep blue of the ocean against the morning sky.

"Bill?" Ron uttered in disbelief.

The elder Weasley glanced up at his youngest brother when he heard his name called, but he quickly returned his attention to his work in time to stop an errant drip of water from smudging the shore below it.

"I didn't know you could paint," Ron offered, watching as Bill continued. He brushed a gentle cloud over the barely risen sun in the picture before waving his wand to prevent the pink mixing with the yellow. The sunlight merely filtered through the new cloud, turning it orange briefly until, as it inched its way across and off of it, it became pink again and the sun returned to a solid yellow. "You're really good," he added at length.

"Thank you," Bill replied. "I've worked hard to become so." A smile lifted his scarred face. "Fleur kicked you out, huh?"

Ron nodded, a moody frown reforming at the mention of his sister-in-law before he asked him, "Do you only paint ocean scenes?"

Bill laughed at that. "Tell you what, bro... For twenty galleons, I'll paint you anything."

Ron rolled his eyes - they both knew he didn't have that kind of money - then sat down next to him. "Could you paint me a Birmingham?"

Bill paused, absently gnawing on the already heavily chewed handle of his brush as he spelled the paint off of the bristles. 'Birmingham' was slang for 'happily ever after' in their family.

Ron's ears turned red as he felt Bill's burning gaze on him. He stayed resolutely facing the sea, however, taking Bill at his word that he'd paint him anything, his stated price notwithstanding. "Make it look just the way I planned..."

"A little house on the edge of town?" Bill posited, remembering the crudely drawn crayon artwork he had caught sight of on Ron's bedroom wall when he was little. "Porch going all the way around?"

Ron nodded, his eyes closed as he imagined what it would look like in living color. "Put her there in the front yard swing." He didn't have to say who that 'her' was; Bill knew, had known all along. "Cotton dress," Ron told him, "make it early spring." Then he whispered, "For a while she'll be mine again," before finishing, "if you can paint me a Birmingham."

He glanced up in time to see Bill look at him with knowing eyes, then Bill took a new canvas from a bag there by his side. Once he had picked up the brush again he said to him, "So, just where in this picture would you like to be?"

Ron sighed and said, "If there's any way you can... could you paint me back into her arms again?"