Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to J.K. Rowling.
"Mrs. Delacour," a Mediwitch said, "Mr. Weasley would like to see you."
Is he okay? Did they hurt him badly? Can he walk? What could she say? What could she do?
Her insides were coiled and her body was tense.
Fleur stood and followed.
There, he was.
She took a step forward. He shook his head and scooted back into his bed, his eyes turning to gaze listlessly into the window.
Why won't you let me get closer to you? Every part of his body acted as a siren, begging her to drown into him.
Oh how the mighty have fallen, a snarky part of her whispered. She was used to acting as a siren, as the Veela. She was used to boys, playing them like dolls with her Veela aurora. But, the red-headed male withstood her allure and demanded to have heart, body, and soul.
His hand were clenched into fists, tightening their grips as if she would rip the sheets off and make him bare all his scars.
Flashback
He's walking her to her dorm. She wants to smile, to laugh, even cry because its sort of funny. The one guy she likes, the one guy who withstands her allure, is the same guy that escorts her out of duty rather than wanting her company, craving her presence the way she craves his.
She'd never had her self-esteem take such a hit.
Then, something distracted her.
Fleur smiled, plucking the peach from the bush, "Me and my sister have a garden of these and plant them every summer with my mum."
"Well, that explains why you always smell like peaches," Bill said, smiling. It's the first one he's given her. "No wonder you do well in herbology."
"It was easy," she said dismissively, "It just was an interesting experience to clear up the misconceptions."
His raised an eyebrow at her contempt, a smile tugging at his lips, teasing, "I'm a little loss. The dark reaction only occurs at night, right?"
"No!" She sounded horrified, "Obviously, the dark reaction is a misnomer. It occurs all the time as long as the organism has sufficient nutrients and ATP. That's why you should use the terminology Calvin Cycle."
"I see," he hummed a little, "Give me a complex fact, but use a metaphor to help me get it."
"The first law of thermodynamics makes me think of energy as true love."
"Love?" he said quietly, eyes darkening.
"The first law of thermodynamics states that energy cannot be created nor destroyed, only changed in its form," she explained, pausing in her chewing, "So, I think of energy as like love. Love can't be created nor destroyed, at least not the true kind that lasts. But love can be transformed. Friendship between a boy and a girl can gradually transform into romantic love.
"The love is always there," Bill continued her train of thought, "It just takes people a while to realize it."
Fleur smiled, eyes delighted, before closing them to savor the taste of her fresh catch, "Exactly."
Her eyes opened, as she felt fruit juice squirt her cheek and reached to lick it off. "Want some of my peaches?" Fleur offered coyly, looking at him from between her lashes.
She saw his breathe hitched. She wanted to purr in feminine satisfaction, but felt her stomach sink as he clenched his hands into fists. She lowered her catch into the bushes.
"Why do you do that, Bill?" she said, frowning. She reached for his fist, and breathed a cool breathe into them. They were so cold on this chilly night.
"If you are cold, I will warm you," she promised.
Her eyes closed, and she pressed her lips as a tender kiss to each finger until they loosened into a flat palm and she felt him shiver.
Her dark blue eyes shot up in concern, and he laughed shakily, his fingers ensnaring hers and making her his willing prisoner.
"You tempt me, Ms. Delacour," he answered her earlier question, tucking a loose strand of blonde behind her ear, making her shudder this time, "I cannot kiss you, and I want to. I cannot touch what's not mine to touch."
Then, his body, his gaze, and most importantly his touch was gone as he walked two steps in front of her, his hands clenched into fists once again.
Heart hammering in her chest, she prayed for courage. She cared about this man so much. He wasn't like other boys. He was so much more and these feelings that threatened to consume her made her want to run away, teasingly laugh off his remarks, or ignore them. Fleur knew that once she tasted the fruit that was Bill Weasley, then all bets were off and she'd give him the power over her heart.
Her arm tucked into his, but she looked forward, avoiding those piercing blue eyes. "Well, what a coincidence." She can't help the way her voice drops to a husky and barely audible voice, "I cannot touch what's not mine to touch either."
The love is always there, Fleur knew. It just takes people a while to realize it.
End flashback
He wasn't looking at her.
He was still looking into that damn window.
His ponytail was loose, his red strands still straight and fair as ever. It looked as if he was using it as a curtain, to hide from her.
She wanted to bare her fangs like a real Veela.
You are mine.
She wanted to act like on her possessive tendencies.
You are mine.
She wanted to lunge across the distance between them, to yank on those red locks, and force him to look at her.
You are mine.
"It is bad taste to keep a fiancé waiting," She sniffles a little, dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief delicately. She can't help but run her fingers across the 'BW' stitched on it. "You are failing, fiancé of mine."
His earing with a fang dangled back and forth, gleaming from the moonlight from the window. However, that wasn't her focus.
He turned to face her fully for the first time since she entered the room, and she couldn't help but gasp.
The right side of his face was scarred from hairline to chin by three thick, red lines, vivid in color though they were somewhat healed. One line pulled down the corner of his left eye, another twisted the left side of his mouth into a permanent grimace.
Werewolf, she realized, her mind numb with shock.
He smiled bitterly, pulling her into a deep abyss of blue sadness as he clearly read the word she couldn't say out loud, "Then, perhaps you should obtain a new one."
"I love you, Bill," Fleur promised.
"It's not that easy," he said.
His reply stung her, "So, you have a furry little problem once a year. I am the descendant of creatures that lured men in beautiful forms into dark alleys and devoured men with glee as they returned to their ugly, original form. Bill, I love you. The rest doesn't matter."
"But, it does, Fleur. It does matter! What about the Veela community that you belong to? Regardless of your anscentry, they're still tolerated a lot more by the ministry than fucking werewolves. Will the Veela community be willing to support a union between a deadbeat monster and the most beautiful, but most spectacular girl in the world?"
"If they love me, then they'll accept who I love."
"Love isn't enough. What if we have a child? Can you safely raise a fucking werewolf?"
"If it was yours Bill, I'd cherish the child no matter what creature it was classified under."
"Is this before or after he claws your face off during his first transformation? Huh? Also, what about jobs, Fleur? Lupin can't hold a job in the magical world because of the fucking ministry and their laws that institutionalize discrimination."
"Bill," Fleur snapped, fed up, "I don't need gold and riches. Those are tangible things that I can't carry into the next world. I don't need money. I need you!"
"And I need to be the man you deserve!" Bill snapped.
"Oh Bill," Fleur sighed. It echoed across the room as a ghostly sigh. In a second, she at his side and he flinched back violently into the bed, voice a heavy growling command, "Step back."
She did so at once, heart sinking in his chest.
"Fleur," Bill said, "Never doubt that I love you more than I loved anyone in my entire life."
No.
"You mean so much to me."
No!
"But, I can't do this anymore."
"No!" Fleur growled, her blond curls flying in her face as she leaned over him, her fingers holding his chin, forcing him to look at her.
"You. Are. Mine." Fleur enunciated clearly, voice possessive, almost in-human.
His eyes flashed an unnatural yell as he flipped them over.
His body covered hers. His hands covered hers, trapping them like hand-cuffs to the bed. His lips skipped up her neck slowly, his mouth growling in her ear, "Don't. Move."
She froze, unable to breathe, unable to think.
"Merlin, Fleur. How can I be the man you want?" His nose skimmed neck, breathing in her neck, "You keep tempting me. I dream of peaches. I smell it all over my clothes. Even this room, it's filled with those damn peaches. How can I be the man you want?"
She shivered underneath him, as he asked, beseechingly, "How can I be the man you deserve?"
She pressed her palm to his cheek and he leaned into it, leaned into her. "Stay with me and we'll spend the rest of our lives trying to figure it out. Together."
She leaned forward, but he spoke before she closed the distance, "I don't know if I control myself right now, Fleur. I cannot kiss you, and I want to."
"Then, touch me," she offered, guiding him to rest his hand on her heart, "And we'll own one another."