Author's Note: I think we can all agree that there are not enough good George/Angelina fics out there, but I have a new one to recommend to you. My friend, Belfast Docks, just published Skiving featuring "George/Angelina before George/Angelina became George/Angelina." Besides being a wonderful one-shot about an underrated couple, it's also a fantastic missing-moment story set during Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. While you're at it, read her Threshold about Ron getting a tattoo. This one inspired my own story, Tattoo, found in the George & Angelina collection.

A/N2: This chapter is Not Safe for Work. Once Bill enters the bedroom, you might want to stop reading (for now).

Chapter Twenty-Five

Audrey stood outside Percy's door about to knock, or not. She'd been in the same place for the last five minutes, completely undecided. It just seemed as though maybe she shouldn't be here, at Percy's. Probably, if she were a good sister, she would still be at Kitty's doing….something. She wasn't sure what, Kitty and Sarah seemed to have everything in hand by the time Audrey left with Brian and Seth. In fact, the elder sisters seemed rather relieved to have fewer people about. Still, Audrey wasn't sure what she was doing outside Percy's door, or what she was expecting from him if she went inside. Coming here had been an impulse when she couldn't stand watching her brothers sit on the sofa drinking Butterbeers any longer.

As it turned out, Audrey didn't have to knock after all. The door opened to reveal Percy standing on the threshold with the rubbish bag hovering in front of him. At the sight of her, his eyes grew round and large for a split second before he tried to look less like a prat again. For the first time that day, Audrey truly smiled.

"Hello, Gryffindor," she said.

"Audrey, I-I've m—" He started, then cleared his throat.

Something clenched in Audrey's chest. Had he been about to say he missed her?

"You've not been around in a few days," Percy said with a careful evenness to his tone. "I was worried."

"I didn't mean—"

"It's alright," he said quickly. "Come inside, please."

"What about your rubbish?"

Putting one hand on her arm, Percy drew her inside. "It'll keep till later."

Percy closed the door, setting the bag beside it. For a moment, the two of them just stared at one another. Percy's eyes were warm as they scanned her face, she could see that his concern for her had been real, but then she never really doubted it, had she? Was she hoping to come here for a quick shag to take her mind off the last few horrible days? Was she hoping that Percy would drag her into the flat and kiss her breathless? Not exactly, but she wouldn't have objected. Then what did she want from him?

"Do you want a cup of tea?" he asked.

"Yes, that would be lovely."

While Percy disappeared into the kitchen, Audrey hung her coat on the brass rack and lay her hat and gloves on the hall table she'd made him buy from Felix Hancock. There needed to be a mirror to hang over the table, she decided, and maybe something besides his briefcase to sit on top of it. While she dithered, she heard the kettle whistle. Before she knew it, she was sat on the sofa with Percy handing her a cup and saucer.

"With four scoops of sugar, just like you like it," Percy said and sat beside her. "It occurs to me that you don't actually like tea."

"Of course I do!"

"No, you like sugar."

There was a small, amused smile on Percy's face, and his eyes were warm again. Not at all the same as the burning light she saw there when they were ripping each other's clothes off. The look in his brown eyes now was many degrees cooler, but not at all cold. There was kindness there, and empathy. He couldn't possibly know what was bothering her, yet he could obviously tell that something was weighing on her mind. What's more, he seemed to want to help her…like a friend.

Yet, they weren't friends, were they? There was all that talk of being friends who shagged, but the emphasis was on the shag part. That's what Audrey wanted, wasn't it? She didn't want to be Percy's friend, she didn't want to share confidences with him. It would be a quick jump from that to having feelings for Percy, and Audrey did not want to have feelings for Percy.

Setting her teacup on the coffee table, Audrey stood. "You know, Percy, I think-I think I should go. I'm not good company tonight and…and I don't know why I came over anyways."

Before she could step away, Percy took her hand. "Maybe you just needed a friend."

She watched as his thumb made wide, slow circles on the back of her hand, but she couldn't seem to find anything to say.

"I could be your friend," Percy said.

Audrey stared as his long-fingered, freckled hand curled around her small one. Its warmth seeped into her skin, the gentle caress relaxed her. There was a voice in her head that screamed for her to leave, that she was too close, too vulnerable, but every beat of her heart urged her to stay. Percy shifted his hand so that their fingers laced together, and Audrey was reminded that her hand fit inside his.

Without any real thought, Audrey found herself sinking onto the sofa once more. "Have you ever wanted something to happen, but when it does you realize that it was actually awful?"

"I think that sums up my entire career at the Ministry," Percy replied with a small smile.

Audrey laughed, which made Percy smile wider. As she settled into the sofa, with Percy's arm around her, Audrey felt lighter. It was good to laugh, even this little bit. It was even better to have someone to share her burdens with. Also, her head fit perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder when they sat like this, as if they were meant to go together in just this way.

"My sister, Sarah, left her dreadful husband," Audrey admitted. "I always hated Albert, but it was really terrible to watch her marriage end."

"The end of any family is unpleasant," Percy said and stroked her hair. "That doesn't mean it isn't for the best."

"Percy Weasley, Man of Understatement," she teased. She sneaked a look up at him and saw that he was blushing, but he was also smiling. Feeling quite pleased with herself, Audrey burrowed in closer to Percy. "It was dead awful, and I felt so useless, and then I fainted."

Percy laughed, then cleared his throat. "Um, are you well?"

"Oh yes, it was just a case squeamishness, but my brothers told Adrian Pucey that I fainted due to the sight of his naked chest. Horrid creatures!"

"Now hold on! What is this about a man's naked chest?"

"You can't be jealous?" Audrey tipped her head back so she could look at him. "Friends don't get jealous."

Percy was very red, and he adjusted his glasses three times before grumbling, "Of course not." He cleared his throat. "I just think you've forgotten a few important details, that's all."

Audrey laughed. "Well, it all started…."

oOo

The guestroom door was still firmly closed. Bill stared at it for a moment, irritation buzzing under his skin. He had half a mind the throw open that bloody door and pull his brother out of bed. Rolling his shoulders, Bill forced himself to go down stairs where he could hear Fleur making breakfast. Maybe he'd get a nice rare steak along with his steaming vial of potion this morning.

Stopping on the last step, Bill drew in a long breath and blew it out again slowly. He stretched his neck from side to side, rolling his shoulders again. Physically, there was nothing wrong with him—any more than usual—but his skin felt tight and itchy. His clothes were uncomfortable, and a headache buzzed behind his eyes.

It was the moon. The closer it came, the more irritable Bill felt. Once he drank the Wolfsbane potion, he would feel more like himself.

As excruciating as the pain of not transforming was, Bill hated this side effect just as much. He didn't fit inside his own body. His temper was tender to a flame. He didn't know who he was, or why he was angry. If the pain was like being turned inside out, this was like being an exposed nerve. At least the potion helped to control this symptom.

This month seemed more raw than others, and Bill knew why. Ron's presence still weighed heavily in the back of Bill's mind, growing, looming, gnawing. Fisting his hands, Bill felt his entire body go rigid. He remembered that tone of resignation in Fleur's voice from the night before when she told him that Ron would see. Bill hadn't wanted to think about that then, but it was all he could think about now, and he was not resigned.

He didn't want his brother to see. He didn't want him to know. There had to be a way to keep Ron from finding out. It was tempting to just send for Mum. The moment she knew Ron was at Shell Cottage, she'd descend upon the place like a Niffler on Gringott's gold. But Bill promised Ron he wouldn't tell anyone about his being there. Bill simply could not go back on his word once it was given.

Stepping off the last stair, Bill's feet took him not to the kitchen, but to the stillroom. No candles were lit, casting the small, windowless room into blackness. Regardless, the woody scent of herbs and cuttings welcomed Bill, reminding him that there was nothing to fear from the dark. He didn't need light to know where Fleur kept her potions—she was very orderly. Stepping forward, Bill picked up a small vial. The moment his fingers closed around the smooth, cool glass, his breath caught in his throat.

In his hand was the solution to his problem. His fingers trembled as he slid the vial into his inner coat pocket.

oOo

The backdoor banged shut. Fleur looked up from her garden to see Ron standing on the top step, staring out at the sea. The wind was ruffling his overlong hair, but the look on his face was pensive. There was still a sense of misery around the young man, but Fleur thought it encouraging that he had come out of his room for something other than nourishment. Sitting back on her haunches, she wiped one dirty hand over her brow.

"Help me in zee garden, s'il te plaît," Fleur called.

Ron tore his eyes away from the water to look at his sister-in-law.

"You did well in herbology, oui?"

Shoulders hunched, he came down the steps and into the garden. "Alright, I reckon. It was Hermione who was brilliant at herbology."

"Mais oui, your Hermione is brilliant in all things." Fleur handed him her basket of clippings.

Ron swallowed harshly. "She's not my Hermione."

Without looking up from her garden box, Fleur stole a glance at her brother-in-law. The wind blew his shaggy red hair into his face, and he pushed it back. From what Fleur had observed, Hermione very much fancied Ron. It had not been lost on Fleur that the younger girl resented her just as much as Ginny did, nor was it a mystery as to why. Hermione was often cool but polite when alone with Fleur, but if Ron entered the room, the other girl's demeanor became sullen and resentful. Wanting to make friends with somebody who seemed very welcomed in the Weasley home, Fleur tried not to be hurt by Hermione's attitude; after all, how would she feel if Bill turned into a slobbering idiot every time another woman came by?

Yet it was more than that. On a few occasions, when everybody thought Fleur too busy with wedding preparations, she was watching Ron watching Hermione. Fleur saw the way Hermione stood nearer to Ron than she did Harry. A budding romance was in the air, bursting with all the confusion and giddiness that went along with it. Amid the worry over Bill's health, the looming war, and a wedding that felt as though it was spiraling out of control, Fleur found the fascination the two friends shared for one another a welcome distraction. Now Ron's tone when he spoke Hermione's name was desolate.

The feeble afternoon sun trekked across the gray English sky, and Ron followed behind Fleur, carrying her basket, as she cut leaves and stems to use for potions. He was silent at her back, a dour presence that did nothing to recommend him to his hostess. When she was done, Fleur stood and pulled off her gloves.

"I zink I liked it better when you brooded in your room," she said archly.

Ron's mouth fell open. "Um, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a burden. I'll-I'll go—"

"Bah! Come and have tea, you silly man."

Looking like a frightened rabbit, Ron let Fleur pull him into the house. She sat him at her butcher's block and plunked a plate of biscuits before him.

"You're a good cook," he said as he shoved a third in his mouth.

Fleur curled her lip. "You are disgusting."

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "What? Do I—" He covered his nose. "Do I have a bogey?"

Despite herself, Fleur laughed. She could not say that Ron was in any way charming, but he was at least endearing. She levitated the tea service to the counter near the sink, despite Ron's muttered protestations.

"Come," she said, and slipped off her stool. "Bill will not be home for dinner tonight, we can use our time wisely and prepare zese cuttings for potions."

"I hate potions," Ron grumbled, but he followed her into the stillroom. "Is Bill on a mission?"

Fleur sighed and passed over a paring knife. "Oui, but it is only to meet smugglers wiz healing contraband zee Order needs. Nothing dangerous."

"Mere walk in the park, yeah?" Ron said darkly.

Tying on her apron, Fleur stifled the urge to sigh again, instead she forced herself to smile. "A simple task, and he said we should not wait up. Now, I need you to separate the cuttings by plant…."

oOo

It was well after midnight when Bill found himself finally walking up to his backdoor. Under the porch light sat Ron on the wicker settee with a cup of tea, a blanket around his shoulders. As he neared, Bill saw that his baby brother had his wand casually pulled out and pointed at Bill's chest.

"I changed your nappies," Bill said and smirked.

"Hardy-har-har, bloody wanker, tell me something only Bill Weasley would know."

"There are a lot of somethings only I would know, the question is: what does Ron Weasley know?" Bill held up his hands. "The summer you were in Egypt, I arranged it so that all of us brothers could go to a nightclub with belly dancers. You had your first fizzy drink and saw your first naked woman—or thought you did anyways."*

Ron lowered his wand, his ears turning pink.

"Seen any naked women since?" Bill asked and sat on the top step.

"Piss off," Ron grumbled.

"I'll take that as a 'no' then."

"Had my hand up Lavender Brown's shirt."

"Congratulations."

Ron crossed his arms over his chest, his beet red face set in stubborn lines. "Git."

"Fleur asleep?"

"Yeah, she paced about the sitting room for a bit, but she fell asleep a couple of hours ago." Ron sat on the step next to Bill, still huddled under the plaid blanket.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Couldn't sleep. Got tired of being cooped up in that room, really."

"Hm, I always thought you had a particular talent for moping, I would have thought you'd put at least another week into being a giant pain in the arse before you gave in."

Ron glared at Bill, who just laughed.

"You're a right bloody arsehole."

"That makes two of us, I think it might be a family trait."

Feeling smug, Bill waited for Ron to mutter something like 'shut it' or 'knob-end.' He wasn't expecting the sharp elbow that found its way into his left arm where part of the muscle had been gouged out. Sharp needles of pain stabbed Bill from his shoulder to his fingertips. With a gasp, Bill grabbed his arm and recoiled, off-setting his balance and tumbling off the steps to sprawl onto the ground below.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Ron exploded into laughter. "You—That—" He clutched his stomach, doubling over with glee.

Bill stared up at the stars. "Bloody hell."

"That about covers it, big brother," Ron said, appearing over Bill's prone figure. He offered his hand. "And to think, you're the cool one."

Bill took Ron's hand and gave it a yank. The younger brother pitched into the sand, and Bill pounced on him, putting him in a headlock.

"Still cooler than you," Bill panted.

Ron elbowed Bill's ribs. "Geroff!"

"Not until you admit it!" Bill dodged another elbow. "Say 'Bill is the coolest big brother ever.'"

With a grunt, Ron got a fistful of hair. "You don't even rate as the coolest big sister!"

Swearing and laughing, Bill grappled with Ron through his back garden. The older brother heard his cloak rip at one point, his arm felt as if it were on fire and his breaths were coming fast and short, but Bill couldn't remember the last time he felt so light. For a moment, the war and the worry were years and rumors away—something only a few wizened wizards whispered about, but the rest dismissed as impossible. Bill felt like a kid again whose biggest worry was getting his chores done in time for Mum to let him meet up with some friends in Diagon Alley during summer hols. It was only when the flat of Ron's hand busted Bill in the mouth that he was brought back to himself.

"Bloody hell!" Bill swore, and held his hand to his mouth. Red-hot pokers of pain struck him in the face, but he couldn't feel any blood and nothing was torn open. Bill glanced at his little brother, who was crouched and ready for another attack. Rolling away, Bill cried, "Uncle!"

Ron exploded with laughter, clutching his stomach and rolling onto his back beside Bill in the grass. "Damn, Bill, you got old."

"And you grew up," Bill grumbled. "I will pay you two Galleons to never tell Charlie—or the twins!"

"Make it five, and you've got a deal."

"Fine. Wanker."

The two men lie on their backs staring up at the stars, chests heaving from exertion. There was an easy sense of camaraderie that Bill had never known with this particular brother. The age difference meant that Bill was always put in charge of caring for Ron, they were never just brothers like Bill and Charlie or even Bill and Percy. It was not as if Bill needed another sign to tell him that Ron was all grown up, but at least this one was pleasant. As the eldest, Bill wasn't sure there would ever be a time when he didn't feel responsible for his little brothers and Ginny, yet it was good to feel as if they were equals. That Ron was someone he could count on.

"How is the family?" Ron asked quietly after a time.

Bill sighed. "We're all still alive, that's something. I don't suppose you heard about Ginny?"

"And the ruddy Sword of Gryffindor? Yeah, I heard, believe it or not. I can't believe she did something so mental—and Neville! I thought I could count on him to be sensible…or…damn, Neville must have bigger bollocks than I ever gave him credit for."

"Or brain damage," Bill suggested, and gingerly probed his lip with his fingers. "It's not so hard to imagine Ginny doing something so massively stupid and brave, is it? She is our sister."

"Yeah, sister. Aren't girls supposed to be smarter than boys when it comes to this shite?"

"Gryffindor girls? Not likely."

Ron was quiet for a moment, then, "Are they okay?"

"As far as we know," Bill replied, then paused before adding quietly, "Truth is, none of us want to think about what's going on up at Hogwarts."

"What about Fred and George?"

Bill was glad that Ron ploughed ahead so that neither of them had time to dwell on Ginny and Hogwarts.

"They're actively trying to get themselves killed, aren't they?" Bill said, and Ron laughed. "They've started up a program on the wireless: Potterwatch. There should be another broadcast in a few days, you should come listen with us. One of only two sources of real news these days."

"Yeah? What's the other one?"

Bill looked at his brother and smirked. "The Quibbler."

"Are you taking the piss?"

"No, I promise on Mum's good silver it's true. Ol' Xeno is blatantly supporting Harry, and has put his entire paper into the effort. Talk about bollocks, takes real guts to do what Lovegood is doing…and a certain amount of foolhardiness." Bill pressed his hands together. "Honestly, I've been waiting to hear that Lovegood is dead. I don't think the Death Eaters are going to let him continue much longer."

"I hope you're wrong," Ron said quietly, looking out into starry night.

"Me too."

"What about Mum and Dad?"

Bill heaved a sigh. "They're…managing. It's not easy to watch your entire family go to war, but there's no one stronger than Mum or braver than Dad."

"I reckon," Ron muttered then rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm knackered."

oOo

"Bill?" Fleur called groggily from the bed, half sitting up.

"Sorry, love, I didn't mean to wake you."

The room was dark, but Fleur could make out Bill's form as he swaggered to the bed. Yes, he was swaggering—it was a word that she had learned from Audrey in reference to the odious Roger Davies. Yet, Fleur had never found that lazily confident gate offensive on Bill. When he bent to kiss her lips, Fleur found one hand twisted in his shirtfront, and the other yanking her wand out from under her pillow.

"Zee rendezvous went well, oui?" she asked, and silently lit her wand.

"It was a long wait, but a textbook drop."

Fleur gasped at the sight of her disheveled husband. His hair was half-pulled from its tie, bits of it sticking to his cheeks, there was a rip in his shirt under the armpit, and his mouth was swollen and red. Pushing herself into a full sitting position, Fleur's eyes expertly scanned Bill's form for additional injuries.

"You have been in a fight," she accused. She grabbed a fistful of shirt and tugged it up, looking for bruises, checking that his old injuries had not been reopened.

"Nah, just a little horse play."

Fleur's hands skimmed over Bill's ribs. "Horse play? You have been playing with horses? I do not understand."

"No horses, just roughhousing with Ron."

"Ron did zis!" With a thunderous brow, Fleur swung her legs out of bed, but Bill caught her around the waist.

"Don't worry about my baby brother."

He pulled his ripped shirt over his head and flung it on the floor. With her wand, Fleur cut away the bandages on his left arm, then lightly ran her fingers over his sensitive curse scars. Closing his eyes, Bill moaned deep in his throat. There was a part of Bill that was disgusted by the pleasure Fleur could bring him by using her fingers, lips, and tongue on his scarred flesh, even as his skin shivered under her touch. Taking advantage of his momentary surrender, Fleur found the gouge in his arm and kissed it and licked it, willing him to know that she did not find him disgusting in any way. Bill moaned more loudly, his hands gripping her waist more tightly. She kissed her way up his shoulder, gently laving his marred skin there, before moving to the pristine, freckled skin at the base of his throat.

Cool air rushed over Fleur's body as Bill pulled her nightgown up and off, making her squeal. Goose flesh rose up in all the places his warm hands skimmed over, but then they were skin to skin, her back pressed into the rumpled sheets and her breasts against his chest. Fleur hooked her leg over his hip, cursing the presence of his trousers. So many layers, his rough, bunched blue jeans, her filmy silk knickers. When the two met, they both cried out.

"Shh!" Fleur hushed, giggling. "Or Ron will hear us."

"Sod Ron."

Pulling the tie out his hair, it hung over his shoulders when he bent to kiss her again. Fleur lost her fingers in his tangles, tugging him closer, tasting him. His big hands found her breasts, gently twisting and tugging on her nipples every time his tongue dipped into her mouth. Desire licked through Fleur's body. Every bit of her skin, all of her nerve endings, even her scalp needed his touch, but not as much as that place between her thighs that was like hot liquid need. She loved Bill like this, confident and playful. Fleur loved Bill in every mood, even the sour ones, but this Bill. He made her want to do dirty things.

Fleur ran her fingers down Bill's shoulders and found his flat nipples, playing with them. He growled, rocking closer to her. There was a magic between them, Fleur had known it from the first time she laid eyes on him, before the Third Task of the blasted Triwizard Tournament. Many people would tell her that she was a fanciful little girl to believe in love at first sight, but Fleur knew better. It was magic. That magic went beyond the physical, it went to their very souls. But his touch, his kiss, it lit Fleur on fire. Even in the beginning, when she was afraid and inexperienced, Fleur wanted nothing more than to burn with her Bill. Her hands drifted lower, over scars and muscles, until she grasped his belt and began pulling it free.

"Fleur," Bill groaned. He reared back, watching as she undid the buttons of his crotch and pushed his jeans down, followed by his pants. His cock sprang free, ready for her. She loved that word, cock. It was, she decided, the only English word she adored. Pushing Bill back into the pillows, Fleur finished tugging off his jeans and threw them on the floor. She knelt between his spread thighs, smiling down at her naked husband in the moonlight, so completely at her mercy.

"Love," Bill said, smirking.

"Sh! You will say something stupid, and zen I will not want to do this." She ran her hands up the inside of his thighs to the place where his cock stood. Everything quivered, begging for her touch. She skimmed her hands up his tight stomach and he groaned. Fleur grinned. Then she leaned forward, her hair spreading around them, caressing his skin, and took him into her mouth. Her Bill was nothing but nerves and groans and sinew as she plied him with her lips and tongue and hands.

"Fleur…." Bill muttered some vulgar words, tugging on her hair. "Fleur…stop…not yet…"

She sat back on her haunches, looking at her husband. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his lips parted and his eyes closed. Walking her fingers up his thigh, Fleur was very pleased with herself. Then he grabbed her hand, yanking her on top of him with a growl.

"Mmm…I love loving you." Running his hands down her back, sliding them inside her silk knickers to cup her bottom, Bill kissed her. "Tell me what you want."

A new rush of lust flooded Fleur's body, tightening her nipples and wetting her folds. "I want…" she started hoarsely, "you to kiss me…down there."

Bill's eyes flashed. "Thought so. On your knees, love."

He coaxed her to kneel over him, grasping the headboard for support. Clutching her hips, he didn't even remove her knickers. Instead, he licked her through the silk and Fleur moaned loudly. Senseless to the fact that anybody could hear her, helpless to her husband's mouth. She lost herself to his ministrations, writhing and gasping, her knuckles white from gripping the headboard. Then she was screaming and shaking, the whole world outside her bed was a place that no longer existed.

The next moments could have been eternities as Fleur gasped for breath and blinked in the darkness. Then Bill was behind her, pulling her knickers down and kissing her shoulder with his wet mouth.

"Ron definitely heard that," Bill said. She could not see him smirking, but she could hear it in his voice.

"You…are a…horrible man."

His pressed his hand low on her abdomen, his fingers brushing her pubic hair. Automatically, Fleur tilted her hips back, then he was there. Inside of her, his chest pressed against her back and his lips on her throat. It felt like a long time since they had made love like this. Since they shared this kind of abandon. Fleur reveled in it, knowing somehow that it would be a long time before it happened again. She did not let herself worry about Ron in the other room, or the war outside her door. She was in that moment, enjoying the aura of her husband's recklessness and the feel of his hands on her body. The thrill of his groan as he came close to the end, the power of his thrusts, and the way his fingers dug into her skin.

When it was over, they collapsed onto their bed in a sweaty, messy heap.

oOo

The morning of the full moon came only a few days later. Fleur woke up before the sun with a knot in her stomach. Careful not to wake her sleeping husband, Fleur slipped out of bed, crammed her feet into fuzzy slippers and pulled on her winter dressing gown. Padding quietly past the closed guestroom door, then down the stairs to the kitchen. She busied herself with the meticulous preparations for making café au lait.

Bill, like any good Englishman, preferred tea. He could take it morning, noon, and night, and several times in between. He was not particularly picky about his tea. When they were dating, Fleur had gifted him with a beautiful tea chest made of English oak and intricately carved with ivy, inside was a variety of fine loose teas from oolong to Earl Grey. To this day, it sat in her cupboard, saved for guests who were not Weasleys. Bill, no matter how long he lived away from the Burrow, or how far he traveled, still preferred the cheap tea bags that Molly served in her home.

Fleur, on the other hand, was a very French witch, and she loved nothing more than a fine cup of coffee. From a young age, she had learned the charm to grind the beans (only the finest, of course), then place them into the French press, to steam the milk to perfection, to pour each into a fine china cup simultaneously to create the creamy perfection that was café au lait. She could perform the tasks mindlessly, yet the routine was soothing to her, especially now when it was becoming a jealously guarded indulgence. This war was making it difficult to obtain even the simplest of pleasures.

As she sat at the kitchen table over her café, Fleur heard somebody stirring upstairs and put the kettle on. Most likely, it was Bill getting ready for work. Ron normally had a lie in, which was just fine as far as Fleur was concerned.

Ron, Fleur noticed, preferred the heavy breakfasts of eggs and bacon that Molly served at the Burrow, but not Bill. Even when Fleur had first met Bill, he took a lighter breakfast like the ones she was accustomed to at home. When she heard feet on the stairs, Fleur swished her wand at the bread box and watched as several slices flew out and into an oiled pan waiting on the stove, from the cooling cabinet came a jar of yogurt and a bowl of grapes. Citrus was hard to come by these days, though Fleur would like nothing more than a nice grapefruit at breakfast. By the time Bill walked into the kitchen, the kettle was whistling, and Fleur was still sipping her café au lait.

"You were up early," Bill commented by way of greeting. He kissed her before walking to the stove to finish his breakfast preparations.

Fleur stuck her hand in the pocket of her dressing gown, fingering the vial of potion she carried there. "I could not sleep."

Bill looked at the calendar and sighed, but said nothing.

"Have you told your brother about tonight?" Fleur asked when he sat at the table across from her.

Avoiding her eyes, Bill took a bite out of his toast and jam. "I thought, perhaps, we could slip him a sleeping draught."

Fleur took a long moment to scrutinize her husband. He would not look at her, but kept eating as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He was, she surmised, both serious and ashamed. As well he should be! With her temper burning red hot in her veins, it took every ounce of good breeding to keep Fleur from screeching at her husband like a harridan.

"I will not help you drug your brother," Fleur hissed over her cup.

"You don't have to," Bill replied, spoon hovering over his yogurt. "I can do it at dinner tonight."

"Non! You will not do zis despicable act in my home."

Bill looked at her then. His blue eyes revealed the war inside. Equal parts desperation and determination showed there. He was not seeking her permission or approval, Fleur knew that, though perhaps he was hoping for it. That hope was misplaced. Ron was family, he was a guest in her home, Fleur would not be a party to poisoning him. Yet, her heart clenched over the fact that such a notion ever occurred to her noble and brave husband. Keeping his condition a secret from his family was one thing, resorting to such extremes frightened Fleur.

"How can we keep him from finding out otherwise?" Bill said in an even tone, just as if he were discussing the weather.

"You cannot keep it from him," Fleur said. "You must tell him, you must let him see. Zis is the only answer."

Bill averted his eyes, the lines around his mouth going tight. "So he can look at me as an object of pity?"

"If he sees your plight and feels only pity zen he is an idiot."

"Well, Ron is an idiot. You've met him."

"He is not. He is a man, a young one, and he has seen suffering…he has known suffering. You cannot do zis, mon Bill, it is on your honor."

They held one another's eyes for a pregnant moment, then Bill pushed away from the table and stood. Leaving his breakfast, his chair shoved aside, he strode out of the kitchen. Fleur could hear his boots on the stairs, and she imagined him taking them two at a time. Honor was everything. When Bill had no money, he still had his honor. If he drugged his brother, then he lost his honor, it was one more thing taken by that awful monster.

Fleur placed the vial of Wolfsbane Potion on the table. Bill had consumed the dreadful, smoking potion each day this last week so at least they knew Fleur had not killed him with it, but today they would find out just how good her potion-making skills were. When Bill returned wearing a woolen cloak and his satchel, he stopped at the table and stared at the potion. Pulling out the stopper, a faint blue smoke rose up, Bill tipped it to his lips and sucked it down in one long go. Making a face, he handed the vial back to Fleur and took a sip of his tea.

"I will see you tonight," Fleur said quietly.

*Bill's memory, taking his brothers to see belly dancers in Egypt, is borrowed from the wonderful Hidden Chambers and Unseen Monsters by keeptheotherone.Thank you for letting me use that little tidbit, and for writing one of my favorite fanfics!