So I've been doing NaNoWriMo, not writing a novel but just a series of random short things to get my hand back into this writing lark. I discovered that including fanfic I actually wanted to post was a bit of a nuisance in that I had to make it at least vaguely coherent rather than the usual NaNo thing of thinking, "editing is for December!"

But chapter 4 eventually got written, though it didn't go in the direction I expected at all!

I hope you enjoy it.

I'll be there tonight, I believe
I'll be there so high
I'll be there tonight, tonight.

Four

They might be home, but it seemed that they could not avoid going – or being summoned – away at least twice a week. Bill's parents and siblings seemed to regard him as the first port of call in any emergency.

"Bill, can you persuade Charlie he needs to come home on at least some of his weekends off?"

"Will you come with me to the shop on Saturday, Bill? I can't face going on my own."

"There's no point me and Harry going back to school if Kingsley wants us as auxiliary aurors, but Mum doesn't see it like that. Can you talk to her, Bill?"

"Ginny's gone to the graveyard on her own again. Can you go and find her and bring her home?"

"Can you look in on George in your lunch hour, Bill? He needs all the support he can get right now."

"Percy's really down this week, son. Will you see if he'll talk to you?"

"You are coming for lunch on Sunday, aren't you dears?"

"Tell Mum I'm not coming this weekend. She won't take it from me."

It was exhausting, and Fleur was becoming increasingly worried about the effect it was having on her husband. No one seemed to remember that he had lost his brother too.

Or, for that matter, that Bill and Fleur had not yet been married a year, had spent most of that time fighting as part of the Order and harbouring refugees in their house, and that they might like some time and space to actually have a private life. But it seemed that Bill's family couldn't get out of the habit of regarding him as the person to solve all their problems.

On a bright Thursday evening in early June, Fleur put down her English grammar book and sighed impatiently. It was past eight o'clock and Bill wasn't home yet. He had told her he was going to look in on George at the shop after work – at his mother's request, of course. Although Fleur knew her husband well enough to know that he would almost certainly have checked up on his brother without being asked. They all felt like that – his family and his friends too – about George, which was right and proper and natural. But Fleur did feel that Bill was shouldering rather too much of the burden. And checking up on someone shouldn't take two hours or more.

She heard the faint pop of Apparition outside and stood up as Bill came in through the back door and into the living room where she had been sitting near the open window .

"I'm sorry I'm so late, love," he said, drawing her to him and kissing her. "I went to see George and – well, he wasn't good."

Fleur sighed and pulled Bill down into the chair she had been sitting in, perching beside him on the arm. Bill looked exhausted, and there were lines of strain around his eyes and mouth that had not been there even during the long months of the war. But there was no point in arguing about it. She had tried to tell him he was doing too much for his family, and he dismissed it impatiently. They were his family, he was the oldest of the children, what did she expect him to do? Wouldn't she do the same for Gabrielle if she needed her? Or for her parents?

Well, of course she would, but there was only one of Gabrielle, not five, and she hoped her parents would have enough common sense and detachment to see that she deserved a life of her own apart from them. She was pretty certain that Mr and Mrs Weasley (she had not yet got used to thinking of them as Arthur and Molly, and was not sure she ever would) did not think that way about Bill. Being a Weasley meant being entangled for life in a web of Family with a capital "F", however much you might need a break from it.

But she could not expect Bill, entangled as he was and as he had been all his life, to see it as she did. So now, she merely kissed him and asked if he had eaten, and went to the kitchen to fetch the steak and salad which had been ready an hour and a half ago. Bill tried to keep up his side of the conversation as they ate, but Fleur could tell that more than half his mind was still on George. Perhaps sometimes she should just bow to the inevitable.

"Is George going to be okay tonight on 'is own, do you sink?" she asked bluntly, and Bill looked at her with a mixture of worry and gratitude.

"I – don't know" he admitted. "I hope so, but…" He shook his head. "He was very down this evening."

Fleur stood up and began to clear the table.

"Go and fetch 'im," she said. "It is not as if we are not used to 'aving people sleeping in our spare room. Go and fetch 'im and per'aps it will be better for both of you."

"Fleur..." Bill stood up, but he clearly did not know what to say next.

"Eet ees fine, eet is okay," she said, reaching up to kiss him. "'E is your bruzzer and you 'ave to know zat 'e is safe. Go and get 'im. I will see you both soon."

"Thank you," Bill said, and headed for the door.

Once he was gone, and the dirty plates were washing themselves in the sink, Fleur sank down into her chair again and closed her eyes.

Bill needed a break. They both needed a break. But she really couldn't see when they were going to get one.