House: Slytherin
Category: drabble
Prompt: [Speech] "Nothing can be that important."
Words: 419
A/N: My thanks to the amazing Mags and the terrifying Dark Lady Kristina for beta-ing :)
oO0Oo
When he cracked his eyes open, the world was swimming around him. He lay on familiar sheets, staring up at the ceiling, his entire body aching. Beneath his bandages, he could feel gaping wounds. The battle had gone badly for him. When he had seen Fenrir Greyback stalking his little sister, and known there was no spell to stop the partially-transformed werewolf from reaching her, he'd jumped between Greyback and Ginny, screaming for her to run.
And now he was mutilated beyond repair. He already knew that he'd always have the thick, ropy scars which marred his face and body; Greyback had bit him and clawed at him mercilessly. "W-water," he croaked, trying to lift his head but collapsing back onto his pillow when even that slight movement made his every nerve screech in protest. The world around him was blurred to his eyes. "Wa-water."
Within seconds a woman with long, silvery-blonde hair stood before him, a cup in hand. As she tipped the water down his throat, murmuring soft words of encouragement in a heavy French accent, Bill couldn't stop his tears.
Although he would never have let Ginny come to harm, he knew he was damaged now. He had fought, and now thin, silvery scars would mar his body, and the werewolf's curse would lie upon him, too. Fleur would never want him now. She was so beautiful, ethereal, fairy-like — she deserved a husband as perfect as her. Once, he had envisioned their marriage; now, with his scars and his partial werewolf status, he could never have that. Tears trickled down his cheeks and into the cotton bandages covering his chin.
"He eez crying!" he heard the silvery-blonde woman exclaim in a heavy French accent. "Bill, why are you crying?"
It couldn't be Fleur, though. Fleur was gone, or perhaps that was her, wanting to wish him goodbye before she disappeared from his life forever. "Fleur," he rasped. "You can go. You don't have to say goodbye."
"Did he 'it his 'ead?" he heard her say. Someone answered, but he wasn't listening to them — he was far too busy committing this final blurred image of her, along with her beautiful accent, to memory. He wouldn't see her or hear her again for a long time, if he ever did again. But then she said, "Bill, I am not going to leave you."
"But— my scars— I'm ugly, part-werewolf—" he protested weakly.
"Oh Bill," she sighed. "Nothing can be zat important. Not when I love you."