Disclaimer: This all belongs to JKR (and is not a prequel), and thanks to diva-gonzo for the prompt :) Trigger warning for death mentions.


Bill was walking passed the open door to the living room when what he saw there caught his eye, so he paused and retraced his steps. "Are you feeling quite yourself?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

His wife was building up a stack of cards that was almost as tall as he was, using her wand to construct a twisted tower that looked very like the turrets of Hogwarts. Apart from when they had once played strip poker (he had lost spectacularly), he didn't think he'd ever seen her pick up a playing card in his life before. "I am bored," she said with feeling. "Bored, bored, bored!"

"Well, thank you very much," Bill replied, mildly insulted. "I thought we had to wait until at least a year of marriage had gone by before we no longer entertained each other."

"Send me the divorce papers and I shall sign zhem at once," she said haughtily.

"Do it and I'll knock over your tower," he said, flopping down in the sofa opposite her.

Fleur, levitating a card up to the very top, paused and looked outraged. "You would not dare. It ees my one source of entertainment because my 'usband ees too old and boring to entertain me." With a flourish, the card landed in position. She looked at her artfully constructed tower, and sighed.

Bill looked at her ruefully. "What do you want to do?" he asked.

"I want," she began excitedly, then stopped. "I want," she said again, sounding somewhat sheepish. "Don't laugh. I want to go to work."

He did laugh, but it was a small snort of sympathy. "Me, too. Some normality would be nice, wouldn't it?"

About a month ago, they had both had to leave the bank for good—at least temporarily. The new regime had finally made it clear that it would not tolerate any part-humans working at Gringotts, and as Fleur was part-Veela and Bill, though not a werewolf, looked like he was, they had been prime targets. The goblins were still there, of course, but until Voldemort grew more powerful, he wasn't able to fully take them on, especially as many had sided with him. They both worked in separate departments, doing very different jobs, but along with a few others, including a terrified old muggleborn woman who worked in HR, they had been marched out of the building one rainy Tuesday and told not to return.

Bill had tried, and had been lucky to escape with his life.

Fleur had helped the muggleborn woman to escape to France two weeks ago, but since then they had had no contact with anyone at the bank. She was particularly worried about her friend Annie, whom she had heard nothing from for six weeks. Annie's mother was Irish, though, and Fleur was hoping that she, too, had escaped across the sea. It was easier than trying to entertain any other possibility.

And so she occupied her days with pointless activities, like building card towers, to give herself something—anything—else to think about for a moment.

"Normality," she sighed. "I should like," she continued after a moment, "to go to the shops—not for clothing, I do not need anyzhing to make me more beautiful, of course—but the food shops, the library and so on, without 'aving to look over my shoulder for evil every moment. Very much I should like zhat. And I should like not to 'ave to construct the wards outside our 'ouse, so we are not killed in our beds. And I should like to turn on the radio and 'ear zhem say 'today, all the news ees good. Everyzhing ees wonderful. Now listen to a nice song'."

"You know that the nice song would be Celestina Warbeck, though," Bill replied.

"Bah!" she exclaimed.

He laughed. "If you're bored, I could invite my mother round and tell her to bring her records. I'm sure you'd both like that!" Fleur said something in French that he couldn't translate, but was sure was very rude. "What would your mother say?!" he added, mock-scandalised.

"She would understand if she too 'eard zhat...caterwauling!"

"That's a big word, I'm impressed!" Fleur flung a cushion at him, narrowly missing her card tower, and he laughed, catching it. She pretended to sulk for a moment, before noticing that his expression had faded into one of wistfulness.

"Bill? What ees it?"

"Do you really want all that? A job, a house, a proper life, not this madness, I mean?" he asked.

"Very much so," she nodded. "But I know zhat if we wait, if we work for the Order, it will come."

"We shouldn't have to wait, though," he said. "We could go to France tonight, you could have that and more by mid-week. What do you think?"

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "No," she said. "Because you will not go, and I will not leave you. Let's not argue," she said, as he opened his mouth. "You know zhat I speak the truth. We do not know 'ow much longer France will be safe. And if it remains so—you are too stubborn to leave your family."

"And you are too stubborn to leave me," he sighed. "What a fool you were to marry me."

"I am no fool, Bill Weasley," she said, holding his gaze.

He smiled at that. "I know. Maybe I am the fool. The luckiest fool in all the world..." They both looked out of the window of their lovely cottage, at the beautiful view before them, both wanting nothing more than to escape it for just five minutes.

After a moment, he reached out, knocking down her careful constructed tower by tweaking one card ever so slightly. She disappeared from view for a moment, in the fluttering cards, then reappeared, face utterly and completely outraged. "You!" she exploded, clearly too cross to come up with an expletive in English or French.

She launched herself at him, landing on top of him on the sofa, trying to tickle any part of him she could. Not for the first time, he regretted telling her that particular weakness. It did not take much for him to overpower her: she may have been his equal in a duel, but physically he was the much stronger of the two, and he could pin her down easily. Not that she usually complained about that.

"Let me go!" she protested feebly, snuggling into his side.

"Never," he promised, and he kissed her. It still felt, every time, like the first time.

It might have gone further—would have gone further, for they were a newly married couple stuck at home with literally nothing to do—but just as she shifted on top of him, his father's Patronus entered the room. Immediately, they both straightened up, wands out, already on high alert.

"Rumours are swirling that something big is occurring," his Dad's voice said. Fleur reached out and squeezed his hand tight, but she didn't take her eyes off the weasel. "We don't know anything more yet, but it's likely you'll both be needed. Stay alert tonight, and keep in touch. Be safe."

The weasel vanished, and they both exhaled as one. "What do you think ees happening?" Fleur asked. Bill shook his head.

The last time such a message had come through, it was because Death Eaters had attacked and killed six muggles in Godric's Hollow. The time before had been when Kingsley Shaklebolt had been lucky to escape with his life, after they had raided his house. Clearly, Bill's immediate family were safe—though who knew what was going on with Ron these days—but that was little comfort, without knowing what could happen next, or to whom. But there was little sense in wasting energy panicking.

"I'm going to double-check the wards, make sure we're not at risk of any unwanted visitors," he said, standing up. "I'll send a Patronus back to Dad: message received and understood, get in touch if we're needed."

Fleur nodded. "I shall make us a quick meal," she said. "I know it ees early still, but we may not get a chance later. And we should keep up our strength."

"Good plan," he agreed, leading the way into the kitchen. He was at the backdoor when he stopped, turning, and saw her reaching up to the pans hanging above the cooker, and he crossed the room in two strides, twisting her round to face him and pulling her close. He put his forehead against hers and she ran her hands through his hair, winding them around his ponytail.

"When this is over," he said, his voice low. "We're gonna go away. To France and Egypt and all the other places you want to go to. We're going to live, just us, doing what we want and it's going to be normal."

She gave a tiny grin, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards. "I would not call zhat normal," she said. "It sounds...exciting. Exotic. But all zhat travelling is not exactly average..."

"I don't want average," he breathed, looking at her. "But we're gonna do it, then we'll come back here and be safe. Leave the house when we want, and exist together like normal people do." He kissed her then, hard and fast and passionate, because that was what war did: it gave snatched moments to declare everything, in case everything was ripped away a moment later.

"I love you," she answered him. "I love you, I love you, I love you." She said it over and over, in English and French and that language only lovers know, fiercely and gently in one breath.

They had no time; there was never enough time. They both had things to do, tasks to attend in preparation for who knew what. They began, wondering what the coming night might bring. And they prayed, selfishly and selflessly that it would spare the other. There was never enough time.