Beauty

Fleur remembered when she thought she was beautiful.

It wasn't really that long ago that, if asked, she would have confidently stated that she knew exactly what beauty was, for she owned many mirrors and looked in them often. As she stared into the mirror over her bathroom sink, she couldn't help but think about how wrong she was.

She took in the reflection that stared back at her. Her flawless face, silken hair, and delicate figure shone in the moonlight. She was good-looking, yes. She knew she was pretty, comely, and attractive, but she could no longer lie to herself and claim that the image in the mirror had anything to do with beauty.

Beauty was more than smoothness and symmetry. True beauty captivates every sense; it delights the mind and the soul as well as the eyes. Beauty should empower the spirit, and after today's disastrous events Fleur knew her pretty face was not enough to do that in this war-torn world. How she looked in her wedding gown and Auntie Muriel's tiara did little to comfort the guests who had endured round after round of questioning from monsters masquerading as Ministry officials.

She leaned down toward the sink to wash her face, scrubbing until her skin felt raw. She looked back at her own reflection, and watched disgustedly as the red marks on her alabaster skin faded instantly, as though they were never there.

She had no idea how long she had been staring at her own reflection when Bill appeared over her shoulder.

"We should get some sleep," he said, signs of exhaustion showing on his ruggedly handsome face. "I'm sure there will be a lot to do tomorrow."

"I will help," Fleur responded, in that defiant voice she had perfected when she was a young girl- that tone that clearly said I am more than my face and figure, and you will regret it if you doubt me. Bill nodded, and she wondered if she could ever love someone more than she loved him at that moment.

"My father said he will try to come by as soon as he can. It isn't safe for the Order to meet at the Burrow any longer."

"Then they can meet here at Shell Cottage," she replied.

"It will be dangerous," he said futilely.

"They attacked our wedding, Bill," she spat, turning around to face him directly. "They tried to destroy the beginning of our life together. If you stop me from fighting back, they will have succeeded."

As she stared at him she could feel her blood pulsing in a way they hadn't in years. She took a deep breath, willing the bit of veela magic she knew was flashing behind her eyes to stop. He held her gaze; if her anger alarmed him, he did not show it.

"I will send word when it is safe," he said finally.

"Merci," she answered, her voice thick with emotion. Bill approached her then and wrapped her in his arms. He shook and she held him tighter, until she could feel his tears on her temples. Then, she raised her head and kissed him, willing him to share his burden with her. His lips were salty like the tears running down both their cheeks and his tongue was sweet like the last bit of France's finest champagne they had managed to consume before all hell broke loose.

She pulled even closer kissed him more deeply than she had ever kissed anyone before, for he tasted of what little beauty was left in the world and she ached to experience it.

The twins visited more often than the rest of his family. Bill joked and said it was because they loved him so much that they just couldn't bear to be away from him, but Fleur knew the real reason. They were the most reckless of his siblings; well, they were the most reckless of the siblings who were of age and thus did not have to listen to his mother.

"We're all being tracked," Bill tried to explain over dinner. "It's best if you stay away from here."

"They can track us all they want," Fred replied. "We'll just show them a picture of our dear sister-in-law, and they'll understand why we can't stay away."

"Order of the who-what? Sorry Mr. Dark Lord, sir, never heard of it. Just wanted to go visit my brother and his wife. Have you seen her?" George continued, speaking to the empty chair next to him as if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had joined them for dessert.

"I know you haven't got a nose, mate, but if all your other-" Fred cleared his throat- "appendages are intact, I'm sure I won't need to further explain my reason for visiting." He finished, jerking his head in Fleur's direction. When Bill laughed in response, the younger boys knew they had won.

"You two are incorrigible," Bill said with a smirk. "I should throw you out for talking about my wife like that."

"Hey! Talking about your wife just saved us from being skinned by Lord Moldypants over here," George protested, gesturing again toward the chair at the head of the table.

"You don't mind, do you Fleur?" Fred asked her, fixing her with a look of feigned innocence. She responded with her famous haughty glare, but he winked at her and her resolved weakened.

"No," She responded with a smirk of her own, waving her wand to clear the dirty dishes off the table. "I am just glad I could help."

Fred and George beamed at her. Two sets of identical eyes danced with silent laughter, and two indistinguishable grins stretched across two faces, nearly reaching their ears- their one facial feature that was no longer a perfect match. As she stood and sashayed away from the table, she caught the rude gesture her husband aimed at his younger brothers from the corner of her eye.

As the three brothers laughed out loud together, Fleur couldn't help but think it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

"Has he said anything?" Fleur whispered to her husband as he entered the kitchen.

"No. I know I should ask again, but he looks so miserable. I think he's angry enough at himself for the both of us." Fleur sighed as Bill slumped at the kitchen table. His youngest brother had shown up on their doorstep weeks ago without his two best friends. He declared that he left them, and asked if he could stay the night. One night turned into many more, and he had barely spoken since.

"I will take him some tea," she said briskly, loading up a tray and gliding toward the kitchen door.

"I'm not sure that will help, Fleur," he called after her, but she ignored him. She climbed the stairs and entered the room Ron was staying in. He was sitting on the bed closest to the window with his head in his hands. He did not look up when Fleur crossed the room and placed the tea tray on the bedside table. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and he did not flinch.

She wondered briefly if Bill was sure this was his brother after all. She could not remember a time when Ron did not react to her presence. She turned and knelt on the floor in front of him, gently pulling his hands away from his face.

"Who did Ronald Weasley dance with at my wedding?" She asked. He stared at her with red rimmed eyes, but he did not answer. She repeated the question.

"What does that have to do with anything?" He asked, finally.

"It is a security question. I have asked, because I do not believe you are who you appear to be." Ron chuckled darkly. Fleur almost cringed at the hollow sound.

"Trust me. I'm Ron Weasley, the most selfish and disloyal bastard on the planet."

"That doesn't sound like Ron Weasley to me. Answer my question, or I will get my wand."

"Hermione Granger," he whispered. The sound of her name seemed to pain him, for he pulled his hands from hers and turned away, quickly swiping a palm across his wet eyes.

"What happened, Ron?" Fleur's head whipped toward the doorway, where her husband's voice had come from.

"I snapped," Ron answered, still staring out the window. "We're dealing with... with really dark stuff that I can't talk about, and I let it get to me, and I convinced myself of all these awful things- like, that they didn't need me and didn't even want me around- and I snapped at both of them and I left."

"So go back and apologize."

"It's not that easy, Bill. I don't know where they are. She's been hiding us with all of these amazing protections... if the Death Eaters can't find them, there's no way I'll be able to." Ron cleared his throat self consciously before continuing. "That's assuming they want me to find them."

"Of course they want you to find them, Ron. You know Harry needs you-"

"I'm not worried about Harry," Ron mumbled, but Bill was still speaking and did not hear him.

"She will forgive you," Fleur said suddenly, interrupting her husband. Ron's eyes found hers instantly.

"You don't know her," he answered.

"The wedding, Ron. I saw the way she looked at you, and the way you held each other as you danced." His eyes darkened at the memory. "Are you sorry you left?"

"You have no idea," he whispered to her.

"So find your way back. Apologize to her, and be patient. Hermione will forgive you eventually. I am sure of it." She and Ron stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment before he spoke.

"I'll try to think of something," he said, finally.

"Good. I brought you some tea," Fleur answered. "Bill and I will be downstairs if you need help." She crossed the room again to join Bill at the door.

"Happy Christmas, Ron," Bill said to his younger brother.

"Happy Christmas," Ron answered. He looked back to Fleur. "And thank you." His eyes were the exact same blue as her husband's, and they shone with hope and love and fear. She only smiled in response, for the look in his eyes was so beautiful that she was at a loss for words.

Fleur wiped her brow as she stood in the kitchen of her now-crowded cottage, staring out the nearly-full moon in the night sky. Bill's youngest brother had returned to Shell Cottage for a second time a little over a week ago, this time accompanied by a multitude of missing wizards, witches and other creatures. Fleur was glad that they all (but the poor house-elf) were safe, of course, but taking care of half a dozen new bodies, many of which were injured, had taken its toll on the young newlywed.

One of her house's new occupants in particular had caught her attention. Luna Lovegood was perhaps the strangest girl that Fleur had ever met, and she couldn't help but be both frustrated and fascinated by her. She spoke about her abduction and imprisonment as if she were describing a trip to the market; her nonchalance was refreshing, but it made Fleur uncomfortable. She had no time to dwell on those feelings, however, as many of her house's other occupants needed near constant attention on their way to recovery.

"Hermione's asleep," an unmistakable ethereal voice stated as its owner entered her kitchen. "I thought you would like to know. She has even been sleeping through the night lately."

"Merci, Luna," Fleur responded wearily.

"Where are the others?"

"Dean, Harry, and Ron are asleep in the sitting room. Bill has gone to bed, but I am sure he is awake. He has trouble sleeping sometimes, this close to the full moon." Fleur did not know why she was sharing this bit of information with Luna; the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. If Luna thought anything was off about her admission, she did not show it.

"The Weasleys are so interesting, aren't they?" Luna asked. Fleur frowned, for she did not know what 'interesting' meant to this very strange girl.

"I do not understand," she admitted.

"Yes you do," Luna responded serenely. "This whole house is full of Weasley energy. It is almost as alive as the Burrow is." The strange girl closed her eyes and stretched out her arms, rotating slowly in Shell Cottage's tiny kitchen. As she twirled she turned her face to ceiling and stood on her tiptoes, as if she was trying to make contact with something that was just out of reach on all sides.

Fleur couldn't help herself. She too closed her eyes too and turned her face upward, taking a deep breath as she did. The air she took in through her nose was exceptionally cool for early April, even on the waterfront. With her eyes closed, her sense of smell seemed heightened, and she was took in the scents of the sea, beachfront flowers, freshly baked bread from that night's dinner and the citrus shampoo from her guest bathroom that Luna must have recently used. Suddenly overwhelmed, she opened her weary eyes to meet Luna's perpetually protuberant ones.

"Isn't it lovely?" Luna asked, dreamily.

"Beautiful," Fleur replied.

Fleur frowned as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her hair had grown very long in the past very busy month.

"I like your hair long," Bill said from the doorway.

"How do you always know what I am thinking? It is not normal," Fleur insisted, but Bill merely laughed.

"BILL! FLEUR!" Dean's voice rang up the stairs. Dean and Luna were still living at Shell Cottage. Arthur had offered to move them to Muriel's soon after Harry, Hermione, Ron and the goblin left, but Fleur had insisted the pair stay with her and Bill. There was plenty of room for them now, and Fleur had grown used to their company. Besides, during their stay she had heard a few stories about the nature of the relationship between Dean and her sister-in-law, and she thought it best to spare the young people from awkwardness while they hid from evil.

"What's wrong?" Bill asked, meeting the tall boy at the door to their bedroom.

"Harry's at Hogwarts!" He exclaimed. He was holding a glowing Galleon in his hand. Luna was standing next to him, grinning, as if this statement made all the sense in the world.

"Neville is calling us," Luna explained. The words had barely left her lips when a shining silver goat bounded through Bill and Fleur's bedroom window.

"It is time," the goat bleated.

"Aberforth," she whispered, remembering the man who Remus Lupin had brought to their home earlier that year and the instructions he had given them. Bill looked back and forth between his wife and the two teenagers in front of him.

"Fleur and I will go," he started.

"We're going with you," Dean insisted. He drew himself up to his full height and looked Bill straight in the eye.

"You don't even have a wand, Dean-"

"I'll find one. Neville's calling us to fight, and we intend to join him, with or without you. I was just hoping you could help us get there quicker, seeing as neither of us can Apparate."

"Bill," Fleur said gently, "they are adults. Harry is their friend. They have a right to fight by his side." Bill's eyes met her own, and he silently pleaded with her to agree with him. Fleur stared back, refusing.

"Fine," he said finally. "Gather whatever you may need. There's some dittany in the guest bathroom, Luna, be sure to pocket that. We meet on the beach in five minutes."

A few minutes later, they stood at the water's edge. Bill took Dean's hand as Fleur took Luna's. Luna had the same expression on her face that she had that night in the kitchen, as if she were trying to capture this exact moment in time. Fleur squeezed the younger girl's hand tighter in her right and reached for her husband's other hand with her left.

"To the Hog's Head," he said. Fleur nodded.

Beauty was more than smoothness and symmetry, she thought, as she did her best to memorize the look in her husband's eyes and the sound of his voice. She took in the smell of the sea breeze and the taste of the salty air. She gripped Bill's hand so tightly it was almost painful, committing the feel of his strong palm in her own to memory.

As Fleur felt herself overwhelmed by the familiar pressure of Apparition and the scene in front of her swirled into black, she silently promised whoever was listening that if she and her husband made it through this war, the rest of their lives would be truly beautiful.