Author's Note:This is the last time you have to read me thanking my betas. So to them, thank you. Enjoy!
The chimes of the clock irritated her. The idea of smashing it to bits had crossed her mind nearly a thousand times, yet every time she knew it would break Molly's heart. She loved that clock and the nine hands that slowly moved around the various states. The woman briefly smiled at the hands placed at home and work. The mere fact that one of them stayed firmly placed at mortal peril was pushed away from her mind.
She looked back down at the book in her lap, something that had been recommended to her by Ron's friend. What was her name--it always slipped her mind, although she'd never admit it. Either way, the book managed to distract the woman from her thoughts. She was often lost in the world of Muggle tragedy, her own tragedy set aside.
She leaned back into the comfortable cushion, focusing her attention on the piece of writing before her. The swirling dialogue of a character named Romeo and one of Juliet wasn't tempting her as it did nearly every other day. Something about the small text and the silence of the room made it hard for her to truly care.
"My darling Fleur," called out a voice from the kitchen, one she knew very well. A soft smile crossed her face as another followed. "Shut it, my brother. For she is mine and only mine," the first man's brother cried, falling through the doorway dramatically.
"Oh my love, how I have missed you so," George Weasley mushed as he spotted her, sinking into the cushion beside Fleur. He seized her hand, Fred following behind. "But it is I, dearest Fleur, that have missed you the most," he said taking her other hand opposite the one his brother had taken.
"You silly little boys," Fleur played along, prying her hands from their grip. "You must know by now that I am much too good for eeizer of you." A smile played across her face as she ignored their protesting cries.
"Surely not!" exclaimed George, jumping up in complete outrage. "We know it is one of us Weasley boys you desire--if it is not me, then who else? Ronald?" A laugh came from Fred. "If so, you're a mad woman."
Fred shook his head, taking Fleur's hands once more, "It can't be Ronald, he is not as handsome nor as smart as I. So it must be me!" Fleur shook her head, although the smile on her face still showed her amusement, "Is it Charlie? Do dragons tickle your fancy?"
"Surely not," Fleur mimicked George, still smiling.
"Then it has to be one of us. It can't be Bill, he's--" George stopped, eyes wide. The smile on Fleur's face dropped nearly as fast as Fred's hands dropped hers.
"I..." George stammered, sinking back into the comfortable seat. How could he even mention such a thing. "I didn't mean to..." he trailed off again, afraid to look up at Fleur.
"Eet's all right," she said shortly, closing her book. A tiny glance towards the ticking clock made her heart sink even more.
"No," he answered, shaking his head, "It's not okay--I shouldn't have even mentioned him."
Fleur sighed, this time standing up. She gripped the book tightly to her chest, wishing she could lose herself in its pages. "Leeve it be, George," she whispered before leaving the room, hoping to go anywhere the clock wasn't in sight.
She stepped out into the bushy garden, imagining the scowls George was now receiving. Really, it wasn't his fault. It hadn't been more than a few months since that day, so how was he to know it still stung her? Fleur sighed, placing herself onto the ground, running her hands through the thick grass.
Opening the yellowing pages, Fleur attempted to focus on those words for the millionth time. But all she could think about, all she could hear were the sobs of Molly and the feeling of more hugs than she needed. The smell of the sickly sweet flowers still filled her nostrils and she was certain the site of headstones would forever haunt her.
Above the thought of those flowers and the stones, the constant ticking of that clock drove Fleur to near madness. She could barely look at it, knowing on of its hands continued to stay put while the others moved. As the rest of the family moved forward, even close to talk about him again, Fleur could only focus on that bloody clock. Its ticking and its chimes ringing throughout the house. Indeed, it had been months but she didn't think she could take one more sound it made.
The tiny print of the page blurred as she faintly heard the ticking of the clock. Maybe she was truly mad or maybe it was truly that loud. Either way, it pounded in her ears, egging her on. Fleur groaned, pressing her palms against her ears. But it wasn't helping, as the constant ticking grew louder and louder.
She closed her eyes tight, remembering the day she was told. The day he was gone forever. His freckled face lay lifeless on the streets of Diagon Alley, Aurors fighting all around him. It was said to her that one Auror in particular collasped into a corner, tears streaking her face. Her wand had fallen to her side, dropped during the excitement.
Fleur cried out in pain, leaping up from her spot as if it had burned her. She stared through the door back in the Burrow, the clock in full view. Fleur stepped into the house, the sounds of her steps on the carpet seeming to echo through the room.
In near seconds, she stood before the clock, staring at the unmoving hand. It had sat in ithis position for months, not once quivering. Fleur reached up and tugged on the gold handle, pulling harder for it wouldn't budge. Tears slid down her cheeks as she gripped the handle with two hands, tugging with all her might.
Fleur was roughly shoved backwards the second his hand sprang off the clock. In her hands it lay, his freckled and scarred face staring up at her. She closed her hands around it, tears falling faster now. She felt herself move towards the door, heading back to the garden. Fleur was dimly aware of her knees hitting the floor, her pale hands digging into the dark dirt. She dropped the hand into the small hole, shoving the dirt over it.
An echoing sob escaped her, the mixture of new and old tears on her face ignored by her need to grieve. She had finally given him the proper end, put in the place he would lay.
Forever.