Ah. Um, mixed reactions to that last cahpter... But that's okay... Really must go now.

Chapter Eleven: Watermarks.

Romances in the stories are all the same. The brave, dashingly handsome hero falls for the beautiful (and completely incompetent) heroine and, after much peril, they ride happily off into the sunset. They never speak a cruel word to the one they love. The beautiful heroine never stomps away from her lover in a full-out fit after he has been less than tactful.

Reality, unfortunately, is nothing like that; Fleur thought idly, tracing the spine of the novel her mother had left out of her suitcase the day she had left. Accidentally, of course. Fleur had started reading it out of pure boredom.

It was ridiculous… (for Wizarding authors fall into the trap of perfect love just as often as their Muggle counterparts)… and even more so for it to belong someone like her mother.

Or maybe not…

Fleur smiled. The flighty, absent heroine of the novel was very like her mother in some of her worst moments.

Truth be it told, she hadn't been in anything that could be described as a genuine romantic relationship before. She'd dated a few boys during her last years in school… if only to see what it was like… but had never been able to keep it up. The boys would either stutter and make general fools of themselves whenever she came into the room or treat her like a trophy. It was just too much trouble. She had had better things to do than make doe eyes at a boy. And she had been rather of being tripped on.

Bill was different. Perhaps it was because he was older; perhaps it was because of his singularly odd personality. She didn't care.

But there were problems with this sort of closeness. She was used to keeping her emotions, her problems to herself.

He'd ask if something was bothering her and she couldn't answer. The differences between them often frustrated him, she knew. Talking… or, in some cases, shouting things out was common in his family. Hers wasn't like that, of course. Shouting wasn't dignified. Communicating without words was often a vital skill.

Therefore, Bill and Fleur did not have fights in the traditional sense. In the three weeks they had been together, she could remember many times where she had given him what he described lightly as the 'cold shoulder'.

It wasn't anything conscious on her part. She just… stopped. Froze up and couldn't do anything other than straighten her posture and purse her lips.

"…I know you're thinking very hard, but could you please take your displeasure out on something other than my arm?" an amused voice cut into her thoughts.

Fleur jumped, startled, and came back to herself. She'd forgotten Bill had been sitting right next to her, sprawled slightly on the floor by her sofa as he wrote up his reports. And she was digging her fingernails into his wrist…

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, unclenching her fingers.

It had become their habit to walk the short distance to her flat together during their lunch break. It was quiet and… more importantly, private.

"'S'okay," he murmured, apparently concentrating hard on whatever he was doing. She frowned, seeing his reports were all ready finished and curled up neatly on the sofa by his head.

Her eyes narrowed, she leaned forward and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Zat is not for ze bank?"

"What would make you think that?" He was still murmuring.

"You do not pay such attention to ze reports from ze bank. You laugh at zem…"

"…Because the people who turn the incidents in are an interesting brand of idiots," he finished. "I know."

Sliding off the sofa and draping one arm about his neck, Fleur attempted to snatch the parchment from him, as he would often do to her when she refused to show work-related jargon to him. It didn't work, of course, as he had much longer arms and had moved away and started reading again without missing a beat. "Nice try." He finally looked over at her, smiling a little wearily. "Really. But it's nothing that would interest you."

"One might say the same about ze things you take from me, yes?" she said wryly, twisting about to lean back on her elbows and looking at him challengingly.

"That's different," he replied calmly, taking no notice of her insistent tone.

"Why?"

"Because you hide those things on purpose so that you can be mysteriously upset all day long…"

"You are upset. And no I do not." He had indeed looked rather worried… which was not exactly normal for him.

He glanced up again, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not upset. Just a little tired. Yes, you do." He was teasing her. It seemed to be something men did… so she had decided to ignore it.

"You remind me of Gabrielle," Fleur said, pouting slightly.

He laughed now. "I'll take that as a compliment."

At least he was smiling. She loved his smile. Even if he was being infuriating. "If you must." Sighing, she got up. At his questioning look, she explained, "I do not wish to be late again. Zat causes annoyance to my employer…" She retrieved the light scarf and cloak that she had draped over the edge of her armchair. She proceeded to pick Bill's things up as well and threw them haphazardly over the sofa despite his protests.

A pillow flew back her way, clearly being directed by magic, and hit her square in the chest. "That hurt," he said calmly.

She threw the pillow back at him. "And I zought English men 'ad spine!"

Two more took her by surprise. "We do. We just learn to use it in the right situations."

"Hah! Mensonges! You are all timid, shrinking vines." She laughed under her breath, triumphantly as he made a small noise when she tossed the pillows back at him. Too soon. She'd underestimated how quickly he could move when he really wanted to…

A kiss on the forehead later, he returned her wand (which he had nicked) and was out the door in front of her with his parchment-filled bag and cloak draped over one arm.

Unwilling to let him win, Fleur hurried after him, his strange behavior forgotten for the moment.