Chapter Thirty-Seven
Boxing Day found Fleur waking up in the second guest room bed, Bill nearly hanging off the other side of the narrow mattress. For a moment, Fleur smiled, then rolled into him, burying her head into his back. Already, faint light was filtering through the gauzy curtains, and Fleur knew she should get up, but it felt so nice to be snuggled close to Bill on a cold winter morning.
"'Lo," Bill muttered thickly. He rolled over, putting his arm around Fleur. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better."
The pair lie curled into each other under the counterpane for a quiet, peaceful moment, but as the light through the window grew brighter, Fleur's mind began to catalog a long list of concerns. She wondered how Mary and the baby were doing. Fleur did not know the first thing about feeding a baby. Would Molly return today? Somehow, Fleur suspected that she could not keep her mother-in-law away now that there was a baby under the roof. That was another concern. Mary could not stay at Shell Cottage. When could they safely move the two of them? And to where?
"You are too awake," Bill complained. "I can feel you thinking."
Fleur laughed. "We have much to zink about, I am afraid."
"We do," Bill allowed, but he burrowed his head further into the pillow.
"Will your mother come?"
"I'm surprised she's not here already."
"I should visit our houseguest," Fleur said. Reluctantly, she rolled out from under Bill's arm into the chill of the room.
"I grabbed some clothes from our room last night, so don't worry about getting my robes," Bill said as he sat up and stretched his arms above his head.
Fleur kissed Bill's scarred cheek before pulling on her dressing gown and padding down the hall. She stopped just outside her bedroom door, thinking about the woman on the other side. Pressing her ear to the door, Fleur could hear the faint sounds of crying. Not sobs, but the kind of tears that went on and on. It was all too easy to imagine what Mary must be going through. Had Fleur not nearly lost her Bill? Had she not watched her friend, Catriona Wood, mourn her husband? Yet, just like Catriona, Mary had a small babe who needed her strength, who would be her comfort. Picturing the squalling newborn, Fleur pushed down the lump forming in her throat and knocked on the door.
It was a moment before she was bade entry, but inside Fleur found the room flooded with morning sunlight. Mary was sitting up in bed, wearing one of Fleur's white nightgowns, her black hair straggling around her tear stained face. Looking around, Fleur spotted the baby swaddled in a bassinette.
"Where did zis come from?" Fleur asked touching the plain, wooden cot.
"Your husband…I think he is?" Mary's voice was husky from strain. "He transfigured a dresser drawer."
Fleur smiled. "Ah. He is very clever."
"You're the woman who delivered the baby?"
"Oui. I am Fleur, and zis is my home. Welcome."
Mary dipped her head. "Thank you. I don't know what would have become of us…."
She didn't finish her thought, and Fleur put it out of her mind. The alternatives were horrific, nothing but nightmares awaited that train of thought. Instead, Fleur looked down at the baby. The plain blanket was wrapped like a cocoon around his small body. Very straight, silky black hair stuck up in tufts all over his head. He was so soundly asleep that Fleur could have mistaken him for a doll, but the warmness of his cheek against her finger told another story.
"He is très beau," Fleur said softly. "Have you fed him?"
"Before Molly left. Is she your mother-in-law?" Mary responded.
Fleur glanced at the clock on the bedside table. "But zat was hours ago!"
Her memories were indistinct due to age and her youth at the time, but Fleur felt sure that Maman fed Gabrielle every few hours when she was this small. Frustration coursed through Fleur. She hated that she knew so little about the care of small babies and longed to run for her healing books in the library, desperate for an answer. What she really needed, and it vexed Fleur to admit it, was Molly.
"I zink perhaps you should feed him again," Fleur said.
"And wake him up?"
Fleur looked at the baby. Waking him seemed nonsensical, but so did not feeding him.
"I would like to shower," Mary said.
That, at least, Fleur felt sure she could manage. Huffing slightly, she fetched towels for her guest. Once she heard the shower running, Fleur went downstairs to prepare breakfast. Something else she could do for her guest without second guessing herself. She found her husband fully dressed and cleaning the kitchen with magic.
"You look troubled," Bill said. "Everything alright with mother and child?"
"I do not know," Fleur admitted. She summoned a scrub brush to start cleaning the stovetop. "Have you heard from your mother this morning?"
Fleur glanced at Bill, whose eyes were clouded with concern.
"It must be serious," he said. "If you want Mum around."
oOo
"Did you have a nice Christmas?" Percy pulled the hat off of Audrey and kissed the top of her head.
She swatted at him with a mittened hand. "Sarah finally told Mother that she left Albert. It was great! Were you lonely?"
"Um," Percy started. He hung Audrey's coat on the rack. Where did he begin? "It was a rather eventful holiday, after all."
"Oh?"
The shame he felt at walking out on Bill and Oliver sat uneasily in his gut. Percy didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to see Audrey's mouth purse in disapproval. Yet, she was looking up at him with those big, brown eyes—they were incredible, really—and all he wanted to do was confide in her.
"I was immensely stupid," Percy admitted.
"Oh, so nothing new then?" Audrey replied with a sly grin.
He laughed, despite the squirming in his stomach and heaviness in his chest.
"How do you do that?" he asked, brushing his hand through her hair.
"Do what?"
"Make me laugh when I don't deserve it."
She wrapped her arms around his middle. "Why wouldn't you deserve laughter?"
"Because I'm a terrible person?"
"Hm. I see. Well, that's the difference between the two of us, isn't it? I don't think you are terrible at all. Now, why don't you tell me what you've done, and we'll see about fixing it."
Twenty minutes later, they were sat on the sofa, and Percy had confessed all. He was clinging to the arm, legs crossed, and face buried in his hand. The telling had been awkward, filled with plenty of false starts and stumbling speech. When it was over, Percy risked raising his head to steal a look at Audrey. Her expression was blank, but not unkind.
After a moment, Audrey climbed onto Percy, straddling his lap. "You are an idiot, aren't you?"
"All I've ever wanted was to be a good son, a dutiful brother. Why am I so bad at this?" He rested his hands on her hips.
After that one last confession, neither of them said anything for a long moment. Percy tested the weight of his words in his mind, trying to gage just how truthful he had been, and the answer was that he had never said anything truer in his life. Being the "good" son had been what set him apart whilst he was growing up, all the other jobs having already been filled. And being good meant looking after his younger siblings, especially once Bill and Charlie left home. But no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough to escape the shadow of his older brothers or garner the respect of his younger ones. Percy closed his eyes, leaning his head against Audrey's chest.
"I'm no expert," Audrey murmured, stroking her fingers through his curls. "I've certainly had my fair share of family problems, but perhaps the problem is that you are trying instead of just being."
oOo
Fleur walked into the kitchen with her nose stuck in her healing book, searching futilely for any mention of the care of newborn babies. Blasted wizards, they were always more concerned with the magical than the ordinary. If the baby had been hexed, Fleur could have found a dozen counter-spells or potions to remedy that, but not a single word about the mundane. Growling, Fleur snapped the book shut.
"No help?" Bill asked. He was at the stove stirring a pot of porridge.
"None! Bill, do you remember when your brothers and Ginny were first born?"
Fleur's recollection of Gabrielle at that age seemed vague. The memories that Fleur held of her baby sister were of a tiny cherub who clapped and laughed, a far cry from the small bundle upstairs. Dimly, Fleur seemed to recall that her newborn sister was boring in everyway unless Fleur had been in the mood to snuggle.
"A bit," Bill allowed. "My memories of Percy and the twins are vague, but I remember Ron and Ginny quiet well."
"How often should a newborn nurse?"
"All the time, or that's they way I remember it. It seemed like Mum had Ginny to her breast day and night."
Fleur had thought as much.
"Seems like all they ever did was eat, shite, and sleep," Bill added, ladling porridge into a bowl and dusting it with sugar. "What does your Veela nature tell you?"
Fleur smiled. "Zat I should wake zat baby and have Mary feed him."
"There you go."
With a kiss on her forehead, Bill pressed a tray set with the porridge and a mug of tea into Fleur's hands to carry up to Mary. In the bedroom, Fleur found Mary sitting up in bed just like before, but now her hair was wet and she wore a fresh nightgown. Her face was perhaps even blotchier than it had been before. There was a strange mix of emotions swirling in the room. First, and foremost, was the heaviness of grief. Fleur found this understandable, of course, but there was another. Fleur's shoulders jerked up, and she glanced at the plain bassinette. Whatever this emotion was, Fleur did not like it. It was bland, like the porridge on the tray, and yet as insidious as fog.
"I brought you breakfast." Fleur said as she placed the tray over Mary's lap. "He still has not awakened?"
"No," Mary answered. "He just sleeps."
Fleur peered into the cot to find the baby sleeping as soundly as before. His blankets were as colorless as the porridge. Taking out her wand, Fleur changed the plain cotton to a robin's egg blue, the color of spring. Just that small change made Fleur smile, scooping up the baby and placing a kiss on his white cheek.
"Bonjour, monsieur," Fleur murmured. "He needs a name."
Mary did not answer. When Fleur looked up, she found the other woman staring out the window, spoon in hand. With a sigh, Fleur nuzzled the baby close, feeling his breath against her skin. She was at a loss. She did not know what to say or to do for this Mary. It was tempting to use her Veela magic again. She could alleviate Mary's grief, force her to show interest in her son, but to what end? Fleur's magic would leave her weak and useless, and Mary would return to this state.
More than that, Fleur could not understand Mary. The depression and grief were all too easy to empathize with. All Fleur had to do was imagine life without her Bill, it caused such an ache in her chest that she wanted to sink into the floor. It was this other feeling, this flatness, that Fleur could not understand, she could not even name. It was not Fleur's imagination that this emotion was to do with the baby. Fleur could not imagine a scenario in which she would not fight for a child of hers.
"We stopped talking about names after the invitation came from the Commission," Mary said at last. "How could he have survived when no one else did?"
"Perhaps he is a miracle," Fleur said quietly.
Mary said nothing to this.
"When you have finished your breakfast, you must try to feed him."
Fortune seemed to finally be on Fleur's side. By the time it was obvious that Mary would not eat more than a few spoonfuls, Molly was bustling in bearing a stack of linens. The knot of worry eased in Fleur's chest as she felt the force of Molly's personality wash over the room. Molly's smile was like sunshine as she tucked nappies and blankets away and chattered about the joy of new babies.
"But, dear, it must be hard on you," Molly said to Mary once everything was in order. "You lost your husband? Have you any other family?"
Tears came to Mary's eyes. "Th-they've all been killed. Snatchers."
Molly bared her teeth, and Fleur gasped.
"Well, they're not all gone, are they?" Molly said. She took the baby from Fleur, and smiled at her. "Did you change the color of the blanket, dear? How pretty."
A small smiled came to Fleur's lips.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Molly unwrapped the blanket. The baby was clad only in a white, cloth nappy, a bandage Spello-taped over the stump of his umbilical cord. He stirred, his spindly limbs jerking into his body. Molly smiled, placing the baby on Mary's lap. The other woman's hands fluttered up like startled birds, her breath hitching in her chest.
"You've still got this one," Mary said. "My Percy and Ron were gangly like this, still are I imagine. Now, we must wake him up so that he can nurse. A new baby must feed every two or three hours, but they are rubbish at telling you."
"I didn't know." Mary's lip trembled. "All of the baby books I bought were destroyed."
Molly clucked. "It's hard when you've no mother to help you. I had three children already when my mum passed, but I sorely missed her when the next four came. Especially the twins! They were a handful—but that is neither here nor there. Now, try to move his arms and legs about—there you go. Let's get him awake."
After a moment, the baby let out a short, plaintive cry. Molly moved him into his mother's arms, Mary's eyes large as she beheld the flailing child whose face was growing redder and redder by the moment. Fleur moved around the bed, craning her neck to watch as Molly adjust the neck of Mary's nightgown, the baby rooting at her chest and trying to jam his fist into his mouth.
"Fleur," Molly said without looking at her. "Bill was supposed to fix a bottle, be a dear and fetch that please."
Fleur had a mind to Summon the bottle rather than fetch it. She did not like being dismissed. How was she to know how to help Mary later if she did not stay to watch? Molly did not even afford Fleur the courtesy of looking at her. However, one look at Mary's tight face and glistening eyes ended Fleur's indignation. Quietly she slipped into the kitchen where her husband had a row of glass bottles and nipples freshly cleaned.
"What is this?" Fleur asked.
"Mother's Milk potion," Bill replied, pouring the concoction into one of the bottles. "Mum brought it with her, just add a few drops to cow's milk and it simulates the mother's."
Fleur accepted the bottle. "We used something similar with the lambs on the farm."
Returning upstairs, Fleur hovered near the door, doing her best to remain unobtrusive. The nursing session was short, and seemingly unproductive. Both mother and child were crying at the end of it, but Molly simply shushed them and took the bottle from Fleur. Encouraging Mary to hold the baby against her chest, he took the bottle greedily until he fell into a deep sleep once again.
After swaddling the baby and placing him in his cot, Molly hustled Fleur from the room into the hall. The two women stood in silence for a moment. Fleur was glad to be done with Mary for now. Wrapping her arms around herself, Fleur watched as her mother-in-law leaned against the closed door and wiped her eyes.
"That poor girl," Molly murmured. "She has a hard road ahead of her."
"At least she has zee baby, n'est-ce pas?" Fleur said, gripping her arms tighter.
"I don't think she sees it that way."
"How can she not?" Fleur demanded. "He is an innocent. He is her child."
"And there are few things in this world worse than the guilt of not being able to bond with your baby. I should know. It took months for me to properly love Ginny after my brothers died." Molly shook her head. "Come, dear, I'll show you how to mix the Mother's Milk potion."
Molly moved briskly down the stairs, leaving Fleur rooted to her spot. Her eyes moved from her industrious mother-in-law to the door of the bedroom. Suddenly, she saw both women with new eyes. In all these months, Fleur had only ever seen Molly as Bill's mother. A sometimes enemy, a sometimes ally, but always somebody who loved Bill as much as Fleur did. She had never thought of Molly as somebody capable of such lowering and human failings. Somehow learning that Molly, too, was fallible did not diminish Fleur's esteem, in fact she realized for the first time that she had come to love the stubborn, smothering woman. That love made it easier to empathize with Mary. After all, if Molly could suffer such a failing, then how could Fleur hold judgment for a weaker soul?
oOo
Bill opened the door, his eyes skimming over the top of Audrey's head to stare into his brother's eyes.
"You are nothing if not predictable," Bill accused, his mouth twitching with a suppressed smirk.
"What?" Percy demanded.
Audrey ducked under Bill's arm into the house.
"Mum left not forty minutes ago, and here you are," Bill said.
Percy closed the door behind him. "That wasn't planned."
"This time."
Percy opened his mouth to retort, but he was cut short by the high-pitched squeal of two women being reunited after a two-month separation. Both men grimaced, Bill shaking his ear with his finger. Yet he could feel the tension easing, and Bill was left happy to see his little brother.
"Why do they do that?" Percy asked, still squinting.
"I should think that's best left to the mystery of the ages."
Percy fussed with his hat and gloves. "I wanted to check on Mary and the baby."
"They're doing as well as can be expected," Bill answered, then sighed. "Fleur says Mary is in a bad way, emotionally."
"That's to be expected, too, I imagine."
"How did you and Oliver come across this woman?"
Percy blanched. He shoved his glasses up twice before saying, "That's a bit of a long story."
"I'll just put the kettle on then, shall I?"
Percy looked like he would rather eat slugs, but with a sigh, he sat at the table. "I reckon it all starts back in October. Do you recall Liam Williamson?"
That Percy's story took more than half an hour to relate was not surprising. Percy was nothing if not long winded. That Percy's tale included clandestine meetings with a spy within the Auror department left Bill feeling unsettled. That Percy had neglected to mention Mr. Williamson until this point left Bill decidedly unhappy.
"Were you ever going to tell Fleur or me about Williamson?" Bill leaned across the table, pushing his face near Percy's. "You've blindly placed your trust in this man and put the Order of Mercy in jeopardy."
"I never do anything blindly," Percy argued, a hard glint in his eye as he stared back at Bill. "You should know that about me by now. I took my time. I did my due diligence. Audrey, Oliver, and I—"
"What of Fleur? She organized this operation, she's put her life on the line for this. How could you endanger her like that?"
Percy wilted against the back of the chair. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I wanted to keep the circle of people in the know small. I mean, Williamson is risking his life, too."
"Maybe the person you should have included in your decision making was the person who organized this whole mad enterprise and not your best mate and the girl you're shagging."
"It was right after Fleur was attacked in Diagon Alley, Bill. It didn't occur to me to burden her with this after what happened."
"It was after we rowed." Bill crossed his arms, throwing his words down like a challenge.
Percy eyed him for a moment, then nodded. "It was. Look, Bill, call me a coward, or a traitor, or a git, but don't think me reckless. I would never do anything to put Fleur at risk."
His younger brother was staring Bill in the eye, daring him to believe his words. To believe one good thing of him. Leaning back, Bill reigned in his temper. Anything that hinted at danger for Fleur set his hackles up, but dammit, Percy was right. Of all people, Bill could trust Percy to be careful. Maybe not with his own well-being, but with others. Besides, having an inside man in the Auror department was certainly advantageous. Still, Bill might quiz Tonks and Kingsley about this Williamson.
"I know," Bill conceded, his teeth clenched.
"I should have told you and Fleur immediately," Percy allowed.
The two men stared at each other for a moment. This was not the same Percy who had come to Bill's office all those months ago. There was a confidence to this Percy that had been lacking in August. More than that, there was an ease to that confidence that Percy had never possessed.
"I think it's time for you to come home," Bill said.
Percy shifted in his chair, picking up his teacup but not taking a sip. "I wish I could."
"You've more than proved yourself, Perce, let me tell Dad and the twins—"
"No," Percy said, and looked Bill in the eye. "That's not what I mean. Perhaps I've earned my way back, but it can't be now. We can't risk bringing even more scrutiny to our actions. As long as I'm estranged from the family I'm just a useless parchment pusher, but the moment it looks like Dad and I are on good terms that is over. They'll be watching me. They'll be watching Dad even more closely than before. What would that mean for the Order of Mercy?"
Dammit, but what Percy said made more sense than Bill cared to admit.
"But there's a war on," Bill said softly. "There may not be time later."
Percy swallowed hard, and pushed his glasses up. "I think we have to do what's best for all of wizarding kind."
Bill cleared his throat. "I was thinking of sending Mary and the baby to Charlie in Romania."
"So far?"
"The change of scenery might do her some good, and the Reserve is a peaceful place."
"If you don't count the presence of towering, fire breathing lizards."
Bill smiled. "Yes, besides the monsters, it's lovely."
"Charlie certainly knows how to care for babies," Percy said, nodding his head. "It does make a certain kind of sense. How long until Mary and the baby can be moved, do you think?"
"It has to be soon, regardless. New Year's, I think. You should come with me. Maybe you can't have a touching family reunion at the Burrow, but you could see Charlie."
All color drained from Percy's face. "Charlie?" he moaned. "He'll punch me in the face."
"Don't worry mate, I'll fix your glasses."
Percy made a strangled noise in his throat, and Bill laughed.
"What's so funny?" Audrey strode into the kitchen with a bright smile.
"I was just telling your—whatever he is—that he should come to Romania with me to take Mary to Charlie," Bill answered.
"Well, actually, he's my boyfriend," Audrey said. She leaned against Percy, and he looped one long arm around her hips. "And I think that is a brilliant plan."
Percy looked up at her, a crease between his brows. "You do?"
"I do," she said, placing a hand on his cheek. "About time, don't you think?"
Percy scowled, heaving a sigh. "Alright, it's decided then I reckon."
Author's Note: Yes, this does mean that Charlie Weasley will be making an appearance very soon.