I am so sorry! This was the absolute chapter from Hell. I erased the whole thing three times. I thought you guys'd rather have a halfway decent chapter than what this originally was. I hope this makes up for the long wait... this is the longest chapter I've ever written, and I still don't like it at all. But there's no point messing with it anymore... I don't think I can do much more with it.

Thank you to all my readers... oh, and to the person who was confused about Fleur's reasonings for being angry at Bill, yes it was because she was jealous. The other thing was just what she told her mother. ;)


ChapterNine: The Lady doth Protest.

It was here. After weeks of guessing games and mysterious hints and asides, Madame Delacour was about to do something that would top her entire visit to London.

She was going to go home. No explanations.

Fleur was mildly furious. Not only was her mother leaving her with no clue as to why she had suddenly dropped in for a visit sans her father, but was now going to have to deal with Bill Weasley all by herself.

Not that she couldn't handle that, of course.

She was, however, less than happy about what her mother was planning on next.

They argued back and forth as Fleur helped her mother pack, folding clothes neatly before her mother shrunk them and put them in a small, white case that she called her 'trunk'. Fleur sat on one edge of the bed and her mother on the other.

She shrunk a neatly folded robe and handed it to her mother. "What about Gabrielle, Mama? Whatever Papa may have done… you can't make her pay for it. She needs you."

"I know," her mother sighed reluctantly. "But she is a very smart little girl. She can deal with a few weeks without me." Fleur opened her mouth to protest, but her mother cut her off. "And if this is not settled after that, I will come back and not speak another word of it." Her voice was low and sad.

Fleur touched her mother's hand. "It would help a great deal if you would just tell me what the trouble is… I could talk to him…"

"No!" Her mother yanked her hand away. "No," she said, less forcefully. "My problem, remember? I don't want you to get hurt."

"I am hurt," Fleur snapped, irritated. "And I'm not a child, Mama. Stop treating me like one."

"I don't think it would help anything in your father's eyes if I brought either of you girls into this," said her mother sternly. "Although I think Gabrielle already knows more than she should. I'm trying to protect you, Fleur," she said softly. "At least try to understand."

Fleur took a step away from her mother and crossed her arms. "Two weeks. In two weeks, you'll stop chasing after Papa and take care of Gabrielle."

Her mother nodded, raising a pale eyebrow.

"Why don't you think you'll find him by then, Mama? He has the memory of a slapped puppy at the very best of times!"

Her mother actually laughed. "I know. Perhaps I am merely overreacting. But, somehow…" She sighed again. "It's just different now."

Fleur blinked. "Yes Mama." She was going to Owl her father the moment her mother was safely off. This was getting ridiculous. Her father most likely had no idea that anything was still wrong and had gone off on a business trip again…

She wordlessly folded another of her mother's robes, observing her curiously as she expertly twisted the silky length into a neat roll before handing it to her mother. Her mother took it after a moment, then pointed her wand at it to shrink it…

They both screamed as the garment suddenly burst into flames.

"Mama!" Fleur shrieked. "Get it off of the bed!"—And vaulted over the bed to get her wand, which she had foolishly left on the nightstand. She spun the instant her fingertips had grasped the smooth wood and yelled the first spell to come into her head.

Moments later, the fire was reduced to a damp pile of ashes on the carpet

Her mother stared at her for a second before looking mournfully down at her trunk.

"Mother," Fleur hissed after taking several calming breaths. "What was that?"

"Incendio, daughter," answered her mother absently, staring down at the burnt garment. "I was thinking of how your father gave that nightdress to me and how very much I would like to see it burn…"

Fleur gasped. But, just as she was about to say something she most likely would have regretted, she noticed Gabrielle standing in the doorway, a shocked look on her face. "I'm not apparating with her," she said bluntly.

Madame Delacour's eyebrows rose. She pursed her lips at her younger daughter, but said nothing to her.

Fleur frowned at her mother's back. "You might want to walk to the Portkey. It's only a few streets over," she said stiffly. "Come, Gabrielle, I think Mama needs to be left alone."

She steered the younger girl out, shutting the door a bit harder than was necessary.

Gabrielle seized her robes the instant the door had closed. "I don't want to go home," she whined, clutching at her sister.

Fleur detangled Gabrielle's hands from the fabric of her robes. "So you don't wish to back to school? See your friends?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "I don't want to go back with her," she staged-whispered, shooting the door a nasty glance. "She's…"

"Oh, Gabrielle," Fleur said, exasperated. "Don't do that. It's not seemly."

"You do it," Gabrielle protested, pouting.

Fleur gently pushed at Gabrielle's face. "Arrange your lip into a human expression, please. And yes, I do it. But not in a disrespectful manner and I've earned the right. You've got a ways to go yet. She's our mother and you will respect her, clear?"

Gabrielle nodded. To her credit, she managed to keep most of the surliness she must have been feeling out of the gesture.

"Now," Fleur gave her push towards her sitting room. "Are you finished packing?"

Gabrielle nodded, her expression mirroring her mother's when she was deep in thought. "She planning on leaving me with Maria," she informed Fleur. Maria was the latest in Gabrielle's long line of private tutors.

Fleur nodded, sitting stiffly down on her couch. "And you're not happy about this?"

Gabrielle shook her head, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, her back to her sister. "I want to go to school… but I don't want her to leave me."

"It'll only be for a little while," Fleur said softly, rubbing her sister's back, pulling at her shoulders to force her to stop slumping.

"I know." Gabrielle sounded resigned. "I only wish…" She shrugged. "I guess, I wish…" She bit her lip. "I only wish I knew what was wrong with her. Do you think I did something?" she said suddenly, anxiously. "Do you think they fought about me…? Maybe…"

"Maybe you're making up stories, little one," Fleur said firmly. "Don't always assume the worst in everything."

Gabrielle turned around, resting back on her elbows. "I heard little bits and pieces," she said reluctantly. "About you and me. Papa said they shouldn't let you run wild in a war zone and Mama said that it would be just as dangerous when I went to school and what on earth did he mean 'war zone'? Then they really started screaming… and then Maria made me go to my room. I tried to sneak out and listen in… but someone had put a silencing charm on the dining room."

Fleur gave her sister a look. "You really need to stop doing that."

Gabrielle made a face at her.

"Gabrielle…" Fleur said warningly. But her body seemed to have gone numb. Her father worried about her sometimes, she knew, but he was proud of her. He trusted her. Didn't he? What Gabrielle had heard seemed almost the opposite of her parents' typical arguments. Usually it was her father on the defensive side of things. What had he done now?

After a short while, her mother had gotten over her melancholy state and floated into the sitting room, her trunk trailing behind her of its own accord. Her slightly wet hair had been combed and her robes changed. Without a word, she flicked her wand and Gabrielle's little bag swarmed after her.

She was still angry, then.

Good. Let her be angry, Fleur thought coldly.

Veela women… even half-Veela women were bound to have conflict. A full Veela had temper of a dragon deprived of its eggs… and human blood did little to dilute this trait. As a result, disagreements in the Delacour household were a serious thing. However, the calm nature of Fleur's father did work wonders… when he was home, of course. When he wasn't, they resorted to completely ignoring each other during their infrequent spats.

Although a small part of her nagged at her to at least pretend to be civil to her mother before she left, she ignored the impulse.

She never saw her mother throw a mournful look in her direction. She never saw her reach out to touch her arm half a dozen times only to pull back at the last moment.

In the end, they both put on emotionless faces and bid each other a stiff farewell… Gabrielle rolled her eyes and shot them both annoyed glares.

Fleur walked her family down the stairs. It was still early morning…only half-past six, in fact.

She stood in front of the old building, looking both ways down the street. "Write to me, Gabrielle," she said softly, kissing her sister on top of the head. Gabrielle nodded, throwing her arms around Fleur's waist.

"Come home for Christmas?" she asked hopefully.

Fleur frowned. "I'm not sure I have Christmas off, little one," she admitted. "But we'll see."

Gabrielle started to look resentful again. Madame Delacour gave her a stern look and the pout immediately vanished.

Taking her daughter by the hand, and waving half-heartedly with the other, her mother walked away down the cobbled street, soon fading from sight into the early-morning fog.

Fleur stood still for a moment, hugging herself against the chill. "Je vous souhaite un bon voyage, Maman," she whispered, once she was sure her mother couldn't hear her. Sighing almost inaudibly, she turned and started to go back up the stairs. She hadn't made it very far, however, before she caught sight of something familiar. She stopped, crossed her arms and waited.


Although England certainly had its perks, Bill had to admit, he missed Egypt. He missed having just the tiniest bit of danger and fun in everything that he did. He missed the heat, oddly enough, the heat and the clear, cloudless sky. He missed the bumps and bruises that didn't remind him that they all might be dead soon every time he looked at them.

Here, danger was just…danger. Real, living breathing danger. There was a grim, cold feeling over everything; not the accomplished little thrill curse breaking gave him.

Of course, it was like that everywhere now.

And he was fighting to get things back to the way they had been. Fighting to have a day when he could sleep peacefully without getting big brotherly pangs and going to check the odd clock that his mother had brought from the Burrow. Or being able to go up to bed while his father was still at work. It had become a habit between him and his mother to wait up for his father. Drinking tea and talking about odd things. He just wanted to see her really laugh again.

And if it took getting fired to do it, then so be it. He knew the Goblins were going to do a sight more than just fire him if they caught him down here… but it was best just to think of one thing at a time. After all, the thought of being boiled alive would ruin anyone's concentration.

He was currently sneaking about one of the lowest levels of the Goblin's personal stores. Here they kept their own personal gold, their more important customer's records—along with their own.

The Order had its doubts about certain Goblin's current alliances. The best way to tell one way or the other was to check their accounts… what was coming in, what was coming out. As Bill was the only Order member able to get at these secret vaults without being grabbed and questioned the moment he left public domain, he was given this task.

Gold—and the acquisition of more of it—was the only thing that mattered to the Goblins. They were reasonably easy to bribe. Some wouldn't blink at using their vast resources in many different countries to help a Death Eater cause trouble or hide from the Aurors, if need be. If they openly switched alliances, the results would be absolutely disastrous.

Goblins were also suspicious of everyone, including their own kind, so he doubted that he was going to able to find everything he needed here. Most of the personal records were likely fakes.

Bill smiled evilly. He was going to be getting the records of a certain family by the name of 'Malfoy'. If only for the fun of it.

It was dank and almost lightless on this level… making it rather hard to see where he was going. He didn't dare risk a light. Although he had timed his little trip down here very carefully, during the switch in the outermost guards, they liked to be unpredictable and pop in to have a look at the gold at the most inopportune moments.

After clearing the corridor and creeping across the vault room (feeling distinctly exposed and not liking it at all) he reached his target.

It was a small door, metal by the feel of it. There was a Muggle-looking combination lock on one end. This was a sham, of course. It merely provided another means for trapping any intruders, unlikely though they may be at this level. Bill almost laughed after doing a standard check of the handle alone.

"Not taking any chances, now are we?" he chuckled softly. This was going to be fun, after all.

Keeping roughly ten feet from the door, he began to perform some of the simpler counter-jinxes… it was like unraveling a delicate weaving. Pull on certain threads, and it comes apart smoothly and neatly. If you weren't careful, you were left with a hopelessly tangled mess. And he needed to be able to put everything back together when he was done. The Goblins would figure out that their wards had been breached very soon, but if he moved quickly, he was fairly confident that he could get away without any undue trouble.

Oddly enough, some of the wards seemed to have been cast by humans…

His muttered spells filled the chamber, echoing slightly as he backed farther away. He had never been much good at silent casting… much to his teachers' annoyance.

It wasn't easy, and it involved him getting thrown backward onto the hard stone floor several times… and narrowing avoiding serious burns many more… but he finally managed, with the help of a few of Mad-Eye's interesting toys, to gently move most of the wards aside.

Mad-Eye had Stunned him after he'd returned from patrol the previous night and kept him out for a full hour because he'd been 'acting suspiciously'. And he had been. Just not for the reasons the older man thought. He had proceeded to give Bill a lecture about reporting in properly, and handed him a few of his dark detectors.

Now, he thought, staring at the smooth, metal door. Here we go…

He moved his wand in a quick, complicated series of gestures, whispering a few words to go along with the wand movement. The final ward on this particular door would incapacitate him before causing a chain reaction that would close up the entire chamber and take the air with it. Nasty, this one.

Making the final movement, he took a rapid step back, wand still raised. Nothing happened. He narrowed his eyes…

And managed not to end up on his back half-way across the room as a jet of red light shot out from the door. No, he just ended up flat on his back ten feet away from his target, banging his head against something or other in the process.

He moaned, rubbing his head before propping himself up on his elbows and surveying his work. A quick check revealed that he had successfully, well… destroyed the curse on the door. He grinned and picked himself up off the floor, retrieving his wand, which had been knocked out of his hand as he fell.

After a moment of listening to see if his efforts had attracted any attention, Bill moved quickly towards the vault. He chuckled incredulously at finding the thing was actually fitted with a Muggle lock. That was somewhat clever, really. As the lock was obviously resistant to unlocking spells—most people in the Wizarding world had no idea how to pick a lock.

Thanks to his father's borderline obsession with Muggles, though, Bill did.

Once inside, he went directly to the back of the large vault, where a line of sturdy cabinets rested.

This vault, unlike many of the ones open for more public use, had walls of polished rock and various types of storage units lining each wall. The cabinets were also charmed to resist intruders, but not nearly as heavily as the entrance had been. That had been… troublesome.

It was rather ironic, Bill mused as he magically copied several of the rolls of parchment he had just retrieved, that the Goblins taught their cursebreakers the very tricks they would need to rob their employers blind. But maybe that was expected. The Goblins had made sure that anyone who even tried to touch any of their gold without proper authorization would pay with more than their lives. It had never occurred to them that a thief might be after something else entirely.

After all, who'd care how much the first undersecretary to the seventh senior counter spent on Firewhiskey in the moth of July?

A muffled sound, the sound of clicking heels caused Bill to look up sharply. Not good. He tucked his illicit copies among his legitimate reports in his bag, muttering charms to make them look like something less… incriminating as he did so.

The low murmur of voices soon joined the clicking footsteps, growing louder every moment.

"Don't worry…" He heard a female voice say cheerfully. "It was probably just a fluke…"

"I should hope not! Very embarrassing…" a rather pompous, male voice joined hers.

Bill realized with slight annoyance that he knew that voice. Little Sam was still here, was she? Strange…

The third voice was guttural, low. Goblin. Angry. Getting closer.

A loud clank sounded… probably from down the chamber, where the gold was kept. Of course they'd check the gold first…

He pushed the heavy metal door open, peering out cautiously. Three figures were visible against the torchlight, their backs to him.

Pulling his cloak's hood over his bright hair, he slipped out of his hiding place and crept along the chamber to the exit.

It was a long climb back up to the surface, along the long, slipper staircase that no one ever used. There was only one cart up from that level, and it ended, as they all did, in the lobby.

Bill, although he would not have admitted it, was slightly shaken and somewhat annoyed with himself. He had nearly gotten caught and he knew it.

The important thing was, though, that he'd successfully evaded his co-workers, not gotten boiled in oil, and had come away with what he'd come for.

He had gotten out of the bank and halfway down the street before his watch read 6:00. Grimacing slightly, he adjusted his bag, remembering that he had to go to work in an hour.

Henceforth, I will conduct secret missions on my day off.

"Got a paper sir?" a female voice asked lightly. An elderly woman had suddenly popped up right at his elbow. She smelled vaguely of sausages and mash and was smiling broadly.

Bill closed his eyes. "Don't sneak up me like that."

"Why?" The woman ducked under his elbow in an agile way. "Scared you, did I?"

"No." He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "But Fred and George cultivate self-preservation instincts. My natural reaction to someone popping up behind me is to hit them in the face."

"Oh." She laughed, swinging a yarn-dangling knitting bag from one arm as they walked along together. "Got my paper, have you? Your mother's having kittens over this. She spilled breakfast all over me for once.

Bill took a look around and casually handed her the disguised documents. "Have fun, Grandmummy."

She moved to hit him over the head with her bag, catching him on the shoulder as he ducked. Several knitting needles spilled out over the street. "Stop that or I'll do more than hit you, young man," she said airily.

Bill chuckled softly, feeling the tension draining out of him. "Tell Made-Eye that his obvious attempt to get me arrested failed… and that they'd better make good use of these."

"Will do." She looked glum suddenly. "It's very creepy in that house without the kids around, you know. Well, better be off." She suddenly broke off their shared trek and ducked down a narrow alley between two tall, leaning residential buildings.

Bill shook his head, staring after he for a moment. Miss Nymphadora Tonks (just Tonks. Never forget the just Tonks) was a very odd girl. Very odd indeed… good for a laugh… although he still missed his brothers and sister. She was right… everything seemed very empty without them now that he'd gotten used to being around his family for the entire summer. Or maybe he did just miss Ginny and Ron…

Oh Merlin. He'd forgotten were he was walking.

Fleur Delacour was standing on the steps of the building directly in front of him, arms folded and foot actively tapping against the stone.

Bill smiled coolly at her, expecting the fall out from the other night to start. "Hullo," he called, waving slightly.

She actually smiled, if rather wanly. "And just what are you doing 'ere?"

"Thinking up ways to further irritate you, of course," he said. "And why are you waiting out on the steps, then?"

Her face darkened. "My muzzer and sister 'ave gone back 'ome. I wuz seeing zem off."

Moving closer, he peered up at her. Her eyes were brightening, glistening in the early-morning light. Bill knew his mother and sister enough to know what that meant. "You'll see them at Christmas, y'know," he offered. "The Goblins'll be a bit more open to suggestions for a few days."

"It's not zat!" she protested, her face wrinkling. "I do not wish to speak of it."

"Naturally," he muttered, sighing. He sat down on the bottom step. She followed suit, sitting a few steps above him, folding her robes over her arm so that they would not sit in the dust. "I trust you're still mad at me?"

"About what?" She sounded confused.

He looked up at her wryly. She sighed, shrugging minusculely. "I do not know. I zink I should be."

"Probably."

"You 'ave no feeling about it zen? You are ze one who…"

He sat to face her, leaning back precariously. "Doesn't matter what I think."

"Doesn't eet?" She smiled humorlessly. "I 'ave no idea 'ow I should react, what I should say. Part of me wants to slap you for even zinking about touching me."

"Then why didn't you?" There was no answer. Sliding smoothly off the stairs, he stood up, extending a hand over to her. "May I ask why we're talking about this out here? I'm cold and I'm guessing you are, too."

It was true. She was only wearing the thin robes that she used in her overly warm flat. Reluctantly, she said, "Oui."

"And I will further speculate that you don't want me in your flat." It wasn't a question.

She rolled her eyes, but took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled up, brushing her robes off with her free hand. "You assume much. But I cannot cook and I do pensez zat you cannot either." The last was said with a raised eyebrow and a half-averted glance.

There was a moment of silence. Then Bill said, sounding rather amused, "You want to go to breakfast, then?"

"Perhaps," she said simply. "But it is not me zat matters, no?"

Now he laughed outright. "No, what matters is that you didn't slap me. I am much obliged. I owe you breakfast."

More silence. "Fine zen. But we weell go someplace were ze food iz not so 'eavy, yes?"

And so it went. It wasn't until many minutes later that they set off for a respectable pub… with non-greasy food and plenty of windows, walking a respectable distance from one another and talking almost amiably about the nutritional benefits (or lack thereof) of English cooking.


Edit- Thank you guys for pointing out that the chapter repeated itself. Must have happened after I uploaded somehow... because my document sure as heck didn't do that. Bizarre...