When Fleur woke the next day she felt a warm glow spread from her chest to the tips of her fingers and toes as she recalled the night before. Please let it not have been a dream. She glanced over at her nightstand, and felt another rush of happiness as she saw Bill's amulet on top of it, conclusive proof that she had in fact gone to his flat for Christmas, that they had walked in the snow and eaten Christmas dinner and drunk hot chocolate in front of the fire, and she had kissed him and he kissed her back. She remembered talking softly as the fire burned down to glowing embers, and falling asleep in his arms. And she remembered him lifting her once again, the squeeze of apparation softer than she was used to, and carrying her to her own bedroom before leaving her with a final kiss goodnight.

She actually laughed out loud with happiness, thinking of her trepidation about coming to England in the first place; imagine if she had never opened the letter! She would never have guessed at the time, never have dreamed that only six months later she would not only have met Bill, but kissed him.

She pushed the covers back and slid out of bed. Bill was going to come by later, but she had the morning on her own. Slipping into a sweater, she sat down in front of her desk and reached for her quill. She hadn't been particularly good about writing home lately, and she thought it was about time she sent a decent letter to her family - especially since she had some proper news now.

She uncovered her ink pot and dipped her quill, letting it hover over a blank piece of parchment as she thought of how to start. 'Dear mum. I'm completely in love with the most amazing man in the world.' No, much too sappy. Also rather abrupt since she had only vaguely mentioned him in previous letters, as in 'some of my co-workers are very nice and helping me with my English.' At the time she had been almost afraid to mention him, afraid that writing it down or telling someone would make her hopes more real, and more painful if they were never fulfilled.

Dear Maman, she began. How is everyone at home? Did you spend Christmas with the Belles and the Lessards again this year? I miss you all, but I think it's been good for me to be away. I'm meeting new people, and work is going well. I spent Christmas with a friend from work, he's very sweet and we made dinner together.

Fleur paused, thinking. It was probably best not to say too much about Bill all at once. Her mother would instantly guess more, but she still thought it would be better to break the news slowly. She wrote a little more about work, then set her quill down and looked out the window. The sun was breaking through the clouds, and the blanket of snow that remained from last night shone brilliantly white. She suddenly had the desire to walk outside, breathe the crisp air, hear the crunch of snow under her feet.

She dug a pair of gloves out of one of her drawers, pulled on some woolly socks and jeans over her flannel pajamas. Grabbing her jacket she headed for the door, putting on her fur-lined boots before stepping out into the morning air. It was quite cold, and she fastened the collar of her coat around her chin as she walked up Diagon Alley. There were a few people out, but not many; most were probably still sleeping in after a hearty Christmas dinner.

She paused in front of Gringotts, looking up at its intricately crafted doors and columns, feeling suddenly very grateful. It was in part because of that intricate facade, those marble halls, even the demanding goblins within, that she was here. She had never really believed in fate or destiny or god's will or whatever you wanted to call it, but there was something striking about how everything seemed to have come together in the last few months.

It was a little frightening as well; she realized that she had never had so much to lose. It was strange, perhaps, but she'd never been in a real romantic relationship before. Sure, she'd had 'boyfriends,' if one could call them that, but they never had deep personal conversations, never made her feel safe when she was frightened or comforted her when she was sad. She thought back to her last little fling, with that good-looking boy from Hogwarts. Had it really been only a year ago? She felt like a completely different person now. The idea of sneaking off after a dance to make out with a relative stranger held none of the excitement now that it had then. Bill had changed everything, and she couldn't imagine wanting to be with anyone else.

Bill took his time, walking from his flat near charing cross towards the leaky cauldron rather than apparating directly to Diagon Alley. As he trudged through the snow, he thought about the night before, when everything had changed in a moment. 'So much for being cautious about personal relationships,' he thought wryly. It was dangerous, dangerous for both of them. But he remembered what his father said to him in St Mungo's, and the feeling of her in his arms. He remembered her standing in his living room, trembling with fear and suppressed tears, how he had seen her distress and pulled her close to him without thinking. It was a strange feeling, as though in that moment he had suddenly realized that caring for her was his very reason for being, as though he had been looking for her all along without knowing it.

He passed through the Leaky Cauldron to the hidden gateway behind it, entering Diagon Alley. The magical street was insulated from the noisy muggle city, and with the layer of snow over everything it was very quiet. He walked by Quality Quidditch Supplies, Eeylops Owl Emporium and Flourish and Blotts, all decorated festively but shut with no lights behind their windows. He passed Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor (which had a sign in the window showing several of the hot drinks and treats he served in winter) and kicked carelessly at a small snowdrift on the pavement.

"Bill."

He looked up, and there she was; standing right front him, her long silvery hair tousled and spilling over her shoulders, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

"Fleur." He reached for her hand, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek. "What are you doing out here? You can't love work that much."

She smiled at him.

"What do you mean?"

"It's the day after Christmas, Gringotts isn't even open, and you don't have work until next week," Bill gestured up at the bank's front door "yet here you are."

She laughed softly.

"No, I was just thinking..." She moved closer to him, entwining her fingers with his.

"About what?"

"About zis building." Bill looked at her curiously.

"Gringotts?"

" 'Ow it is because of zis building zat we 'ave met. If it were not for zis building, I would probably still be in France, and you would be...who knows where."

Bill looked up at the intricate facade, the marble columns, the heavy bronze doors. He'd never thought of it like that, but it was true. They might never have met, and she would have been nothing but a vague memory of some girl he'd seen at Hogwarts. He'd occasionally thought about her, after he returned to Egypt from his meeting with Dumbledore. He'd wondered whether he was right about her being more than met the eye, but he'd never thought he would get the chance to find out. Ironically, it was also thanks in part to Voldemort that he had the chance; if it weren't for the Order, he would probably still be in Egypt now.

"And I was thinking 'ow glad I am for zis building, zat you are 'ere with me. I don't know what I would 'ave done without you."

He met her eyes and felt that strange ache in his heart again, along with a curious mixture of joy and fear.

"You would be alright without me," he said quietly, hoping he was right.

The words were more for himself than for her. Sometimes, often late at night on guard duty, he would get a strange feeling that he wasn't going to survive the war. That something terrible was going to happen to him in the fight against Voldemort, a fight which was rapidly drawing nearer. Dumbledore was worried about the dementors and Azkaban, had urged Fudge to at least add some alternative security, but the minister would hear nothing of it. When the lines were drawn, the Order was going to be seriously disadvantaged, and Bill had no illusions; some of those who fought were going to die.

He didn't quite understand the fear that rose in her eyes when he spoke. She suddenly gripped his hand very tightly.

"What do you mean? What are you saying?"

Bill shrugged his shoulders helplessly, wishing he could explain.

"I just...it's...well, these are kind of dangerous times here. Something could happen to me..."

She looked confused for a moment.

"You mean because of Voldemort?" she said slowly. "Because 'e 'as come back?"

Bill nodded. Fleur looked suddenly relieved, though he wasn't sure why.

"What's is it?" he asked. She looked down at the ground and mumbled something almost inaudible.

He reached up to her chin and gently tipped her face up towards him. "What's wrong?" he asked again, softly.

"I was afraid..." she hesitated. "I was afraid you were going to leave me."

"What?" Bill was bewildered. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you said zat I would be alright without you, as though I would 'ave to be..."

"No..." He pulled her into a hug, "No, I'm not going to leave you...I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." He felt her slender arms wrap tightly around his chest, and for a few minutes they just stood there outside Gringotts. Fleur was often confident and self assured, but there were some things she was very insecure about. He didn't really understand why their relationship seemed to be one of the latter; he couldn't imagine any man rejecting her.

Slowly Fleur relaxed and took a small step back, looking a little embarrassed.

"Sorry. I am being silly, getting upset for no reason."

Bill shook his head.

"You don't need to be sorry. I don't think you're silly at all." He reached out to ruffle her already messy hair, which nonetheless managed to look elegantly tousled rather than disheveled.

"Well, maybe a little silly looking. But I don't mind that too much."

She actually laughed a little at that.

"I think you are ze only man I 'ave met who 'as called me 'silly looking.'"

Bill grinned back.

"Well you can't have met very many honest men, then. If you had, they surely would have told you you're as silly looking as can be."

" 'Ow am I silly looking?" she argued playfully. Bill pretended to think for a moment, then leaned close as if studying her face.

"Well, this spot right here," he said quietly. He brushed her hair back from her left temple as though examining it, then pressed a his lips to the spot. "Definitely silly looking." He pulled back, for a moment, considering. The playful smirk on her face faded slightly, her eyes widening a little.

"This spot over here." He kissed the top of her opposite cheek, "also very silly looking."

He felt her hand slip into his as he gently lifted her jaw with a finger. "Here's another silly bit." He kissed just to the right of her chin.

"This part is just preposterous," he said, kissing the tiny crease between her eyebrows,

"and this bit is pretty absurd too." He lightly touched his lips to the tip of her nose.

"And this part right here," he whispered, his lips hovering just over hers, "completely ridiculous."

Even after Christmas was over and Bill and Fleur both had to go back to work, they still spent practically all of their free time together. Unfortunately, because of Bill's double set of commitments, that wasn't as much time as either of them might have liked, but they made excuses to drop by the other's office, ate lunch together almost every day, and often dinner as well.

They were discreet enough about showing their affection while at work, though there was apparently no fooling Bill's boss. Actually, he seemed to find the whole thing rather amusing. One afternoon he came into Bill's office, carrying a folder with a serious expression on his face.

"Bill," he said. "I've got something I need you to do."

Bill looked up from a complicated vault diagram on his desk.

"What do you need?"

Benelli opened the file and rifled through it briefly.

"I have this file full of blank parchment that I'd like you to take over to Eugene's office, and give to his assistant."

Bill stood and took the file; sure enough its only contents were blank sheets of parchment with the Gringotts watermark on them. Bill looked back at his boss, nonplussed.

"Well go on. I'm sure Eugene's assistant needs those. And I expect it will take you at least half an hour to deliver them to her."

He nudged Bill out of his office and down the hall.

"You work too hard, Bill; you get all of your projects done on time, and it's making me look bad. I'd better not see you back in this office in under thirty minutes, or I might have to fire you."

That evening, Bill came home to find a brownish-grey lump of feathers on his doorstep. He picked it up gently, and it gave a feeble sort of squawk.

"Errol," he groaned. The bird opened one eye and looked woefully at him for a moment, then closed it again.

"I suppose I should be grateful you're still alive."

Bill brought the bird inside, tried and failed to set it on its feet, and finally laid it on the counter by the sink. He untied the small note attached to its leg, unrolling it.

Bill, the healers think they have found a cure for your father's injuries. Come see us at the hospital; if it works, they'll let him come home tonight. The children go back to school tomorrow, and I'm sure they'd love to see you as well.

- Love, Mum

Bill rolled the note up and stuffed it in his pocket. He looked back at Errol, who was stirring feebly on the counter. Hastily, he pulled some meat scraps out of the icebox, tore some crust off a loaf of bread, and filled a small dish with water, setting them in front of the owl. He opened the window over the sink.

"When you're ready, you can go home." The owl hooted feebly in response as Bill apparated to St. Mungo's.

When he arrived, he found his father already dressed, and without any bandages.

"Bill!" he called. His mother looked up and waved at him cheerfully. "Healer Smethwyck finally found an antivenin. Everything's healed up; we were just going home."

Bill smiled and hugged his parents.

"That's great Dad." He glanced at his mother. "You didn't try any more muggle remedies, did you?"

Arthur shook his head, looking slightly disappointed.

"No, it was just a rare potion. I still think the stitches might have been a good idea..." he seemed to notice his wife's expression, and quickly added "though it was never really likely to work."

They had to sign a few release forms at the front desk, but within a few minutes they were able to apparate home. They materialized on the front porch of Grimmauld place, and entered.

"I never thought I'd say it, but I'm glad to be back here," Arthur laughed. "Much longer shut up in the hospital and I think I would've gone mad."

At the sound of his voice, Ginny and Hermione both came out onto the first floor landing. Seeing her father home, Ginny shouted up the stairs

"Hey, Dad's back!" then came running down to hug him. Fred, George, and Ron soon followed, coming down from the attic. There was a few minutes of happy chaos in the entryway, then the family headed downstairs towards the kitchen.

Bill followed Hermione down the stairs, but suddenly heard his father's voice devoid of the happiness of a moment before.

"What's going on here?"

Bill hurried to join his parents in the kitchen, and almost ran into Severus Snape as he swept past. Snape did not make eye contact. He found Sirius and Harry standing in the kitchen, Harry looking nervous and Sirius furious.

"What's been going on?" His father asked again.

"Nothing, Arthur," Sirius answered, though it was plainly untrue.

Sirius and Harry both continued to look distracted all evening, and said little. The rest of the family, though clearly a little shaken by whatever had happened between Sirius and Snape, soon got over it. The twins, of course, were back to their usual selves in a matter of minutes.

"So, Bill, how was Christmas? We missed you, didn't we George."

"We did indeed, Fred. Though I doubt Bill missed us, probably had much more...entertaining company. "

"Impossible! Who could be more entertaining than us?"

Bill just rolled his eyes.

"Remus, could you pass the sprouts?"

"Oh come on Bill, why so secretive?" George reached across Fred to takes some sprouts as well, while Bill filled his glass with water. "It's not like we can't be trusted."

Bill snorted into his drink.

"Yeah, you're the epitome of innocence."

"Where were you at Christmas, Bill?" Ron was across the table, buttering a large slice of bread.

"I was-" began Bill, but Fred interrupted him.

"He was having a nice, cosy Christmas with Fleur Delacour, just the two of them."

Ron dropped his butter knife.

"Really? Are you having me on?"

Bill shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"She would have been spending it alone otherwise."

"Yes, how gallant and self-sacrificing of you, Bill," George mocked.

"Not really," said Bill. "It was as good an excuse as any to get away from you two."

"So are you, you know, together then?" asked Ron.

Bill shrugged his shoulders again.

"I suppose, if you want to call it that."

"What would you call it, Bill?" Fred helped himself to Ron's bread, which lay forgotten on the edge of his plate.

Bill thought for a moment. What would he call it? He thought of Christmas night; of the feeling of Fleur's lips on his, of his sudden realization of what exactly he wanted to have with her. He thought of her in his arms, the way she trusted him, how much he wanted to be worth that trust, and that strange ache in his heart. He thought of his duties to the Order, how her presence in his life magnified his fears about the war, how desperately he wanted to protect her from it, but at the same time how the thought of her could carry him through it. And the answer came to him, as suddenly and simply as if he had known it all his life.

I love her.

But he didn't say it out loud.