A/N: What's up with ffnet? After posting yesterday, things were unusually quiet over here. I wasn't getting ANY emails—not even the one's I should get just for updating. Made me realize I haven't got an email from this site in ages, despite people leaving comments and stories I follow updating. Ended up down the rabbit hole and found out ffnet has stopped doing emails unless you jump through some hoops to turn them back on. They automatically default everyone to "off." What...?
Well...that sucks. It's frustrating to write for followers who aren't being informed that you're updating. I feel like this is a good time to remind everyone that I'm also on Ao3 under the handle Sweasley as well, lol. Because after seeing some of the changes around here...I don't know what to think.
Fleur's twenty-first birthday wasn't the celebration Bill would have planned during normal times, but it was nice to get some people together and attempt to talk about something other than the doom and gloom in the world.
And by people, that meant a very small group of people. A large gathering, this certainly was not.
They had it at Shell Cottage, which he and Fleur had finally fully moved themselves into. Fleur had been working tirelessly to unpack and organize; clean and paint their new home. She'd truly done an amazing job modernizing it and bringing it up to date with the times. Gone was so much of the ancient looking decor; replaced with more contemporary—and even stylish—furnishings that they received for the wedding or as housewarming gifts. Bill was honestly amazed at how Fleur could do so much with so little, but as usual when she put her mind to something, she was rather masterful at achieving what she wanted.
They hadn't acquired all the furniture and decor they needed quite yet—it was hard to pop out to the shops these days—so their style was a sort of hybrid 'new and old'; various spaces around the cottage looked very different from the other parts. Their bedroom upstairs was lovely and fresh feeling, but the guest rooms were still as Bill remembered them from his childhood—dated and old. The beds, curtains, and linens hadn't been updated from when he used to holiday here as a child—and before that, the time of Merlin—but it seemed for the time being, this was how they would stay. As Fleur told him, redecorating in those spaces would be the first thing she'd do once this war was over.
And while she never said it, Bill couldn't help but think that if she ever properly finished that thought, he'd hear, "...if we survive."
But the places they spent all of their time in—their bedroom, the kitchen, the sitting room—those felt very much alive and "them." Their style, their sense of coziness, their idea of comfort. A mix of seaside colors and neutrals, of eclectic and minimal style, Fleur had done a really amazing job of making do with the best she had. The place had come alive and out of the 1920's; it was lovely and comfortable and Bill couldn't imagine having to hide away anywhere else for the next…well, who knew? But if he had to hide away somewhere, he was glad it was here and with Fleur.
They would have loved to have had a larger housewarming party—and Fleur's birthday would have made for the perfect opportunity—but that was out of the question. They weren't in a position to be hosting big gatherings and drawing attention to themselves; as it were, they were forced to split the party up a bit since both his mother and father couldn't attend at the same time.
This was because the Burrow couldn't be left unattended with "Ron" there and Death Eaters lurking about. Someone needed to be there at all times in case of emergency, which meant if his mother was present, his father was home—and vice versa.
But they'd managed to make a night of it, with a dinner full of Fleur's favorite things and nice wine, as well a cake his mother had made for her—though not chocolate. Bill had asked her for anything but chocolate. His mother attended for most of the evening—ooh'ing and aww'ing over how the cottage looked and making decorating suggestions of her own—though his father had popped in at the end to say his hellos and snag a piece of cake.
The twins had come as well, and Remus—but no Tonks. As it was, neither he nor Fleur hadn't actually seen Tonks since the wedding, though Remus would visit both Shell Cottage and the Burrow regularly. He always came with some news he'd managed to pick up; whispers he was hearing through various channels.
Tonks, however, had practically gone into hiding early on. It was suspected that it had to do with the trauma she'd experienced at the wedding.
Remus only half confirmed these suspicions. He never came right out and admitted it; he simply claimed she was in nesting mode and looking out for the baby. She'd grown exceedingly protective of her unborn child and was doing whatever necessary to keep them out of harm's way. Apparently, she feared deeply that the Cruciatus Curse that had been used on her at the wedding may have potentially damaged the baby or hindered its development. She blamed herself.
"I tell her it's not her fault," Remus had said on Fleur's birthday after everyone else had gone, sipping from an after-dinner glass of Firewhiskey.
Bill could generally count on Remus to be the last to leave these days. He often hung out well after everyone else had said their goodbyes. He seemed to like it here, if only because they still hadn't attracted any Death Eater attention. At the Burrow, there was always a high chance for them to be waiting outside, but never here. When Remus managed to shake any sort of tail he had, he often turned up here and polished off a few very healthily poured glasses of wine or whiskey.
It was noticeable that had been drinking more, ever since Tonks had moved out to instead stay with her mother. She was still very cross with him and how he was handling the pregnancy, but Remus always tried to play that off as only a small reason she'd left. According to him, they were no longer living together not because of his behavior, but rather because her father—a Muggleborn called Ted, who had narrowly escaped capture the same night as the wedding—had gone missing. Tonks and her mother had only heard from him once since he'd gone on the run. They were understandably upset.
And as Remus told it, that was why Tonks had returned to live with her mother. Because she had felt it important to stay with her in her father's absence. He barely had anything to do with it; he and Tonks were doing fine.
Though given everything Bill and Fleur had heard, that definitely didn't seem to be the case.
"Zen why do you not live wiz zem?" Fleur had bluntly asked him, her filter having disappeared after a few glasses of wine. It was clear she was tired of listening to him pretend his relationship was fine when it wasn't.
"If you and Tonks are 'fine', zen why are you not living wiz 'er?"
"Because it's better I stay away," he said shortly. "To keep her and the baby safe."
"Safe from you?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Safe from the people who'd be happy to see me dead given my condition," he countered.
She rolled her eyes. "Zey want to see us all dead! Conditions or not, we all 'ave targets on us!" She then muttered under her breath, "Toujours des excuses..."
Remus evidently didn't understand the French, and Bill pretended he hadn't either despite having understood her perfectly. She was accusing him of always making excuses. Fleur's patience for Remus' behavior lately was wearing thin.
Remus, however, stuck by his story. He did not allude to the fact that he and Tonks had been having problems since the wedding, and Bill was beginning to suspect things went far deeper than anything outsiders knew. The war, the baby, the constant anxiety…it was enough to break anyone, let alone break any relationship. Remus was certainly having a hard time with it all.
"If something's wrong with the baby, it's not her fault, it's mine," Remus said later on, finishing up his third glass now. "The baby's going to have a shitty life and that's my fault. I shouldn't have let it happen. But she doesn't understand—or refuses to accept it—but the child is doomed."
Bill said nothing. He stared down at his own half-full glass of Firewhiskey that he'd been nursing since they'd poured them. It was clear that the prospect of fatherhood didn't seem to be sitting well with Remus. He was fully convinced that Tonks was naive and kidding herself into thinking they were potentially going to get some healthy, happy little boy or girl; that she was in denial that the kid wouldn't end up a werewolf; shunned by society before it could even walk.
It seemed Tonks' optimism that the baby could be fine annoyed Remus more than anything, and he'd said as much. How if she just accepted the truth, this would be easier to deal with, but he wasn't about to pretend otherwise. As far as he was concerned, there were no best case scenarios or sunshine and rainbows. There was no chance this baby was not set for a terrible life.
"You do not know zat," Fleur told him, crossing her arms over her chest and letting her gaze hyper-focus on his.
Remus stared at her, the pair of them continuing to have this tense back and forth tonight. For a flash of a second in his drunken haze, Remus almost looked like he wanted to tell her to shut up. He didn't though, seemingly thinking better of it.
Wise move.
"I do know," he said. "Trust me, if anyone knows, it's me. Lycanthropy is a genetic condition. One that is all but guaranteed to be passed onto the offspring of people like me. You know it and I know it."
Fleur learned forward in her seat toward him. "'All but'? So it is not certain? Zat is what you are saying?"
Remus scowled and started rubbing his eyes. "You know, of all people, I thought you'd be the one who'd be a bit more understanding, Fleur. That you'd be more realistic and not buy into all this 'maybe the baby will be fine' and 'let's hope for the best!' rubbish because you're someone who understands magical hereditary conditions better than most."
Bill looked over at Fleur, not immediately understanding what that meant. Given Fleur's tight expression, it was hard to tell whether or not she did either.
Remus' gaze hardened. "Because correct me if I'm wrong, but don't Veelas pass along very specific traits to their children?"
She didn't respond.
"Tell me," he continued, "how often does your Veela side of the family question the gender of their babies? You and Bill have mentioned wanting a family one day." He looked from her to Bill and back again. "How many little boys are you envisioning in that future scenario?"
Fleur sighed heavily; Bill now saw where this was going. It was well known that Veelas—and women of direct Veela descent—were incapable of having male offspring. Veelas strictly produced females, and their female descendants were known to carry that trait through generations. Someone like Fleur, whose grandmother had been a Veela, was barely removed. She'd told Bill from day one, if they were to have children, they would be girls.
"It's almost as if," Remus added rather sarcastically, "the same thing happening over and over again has taught us a thing or two about patterns."
He gulped down the rest of his drink then before dropping the glass back down on the wood table with a thud. "And as I'm sure you're well aware, Fleur, anyone telling you to hold out hope for a boy would be considered foolish. Just as I know it's foolish to think that my future child won't be forced to carry the horrible burden that I've had to carry for decades."
"But 'ow can you be positive?" she countered.
"Were you not just listening? The lycanthropy is passed down—"
"But iz zat only when combined wiz regular magical blood?"
His eyebrow rose, as did Bill's. Was Fleur about to whip out some lecture on blood purity? What the hell was 'regular magical blood'?
"Are zere examples of ze effects of lycanzropy when combined wiz different kinds of magical blood?"
"Different kinds?" Bill asked. "What do you mean…?"
"Blood like mine iz different," she said obviously. "Blood like Tonks' iz different. She iz a Metamorphmagus. Does zat not mean she has components zat can change at will?"
She looked at Remus. "Per'aps her genes are stronger zan yours? Per'aps she can change ze lycanzropy? Wiz 'ow rare Metamorphmaguses are, I would assume zere are no examples in ze past of one conceiving a child with a werewolf. 'Ow does anyone know what will 'appen when you consider zese variables?"
Remus said nothing, though Bill found himself glancing from him back to Fleur. He had to admit, that was an interesting point. Metamorphmaguses were exceptionally rare; something like a one in a million. And seeing as the wizarding population of the entire world was maybe two million, it was probably highly likely that Remus and Tonks were the first two people to combine their very specific genetic makeup together.
When Remus still hasn't spoken, it was Bill who offered, "It's an interesting theory…"
"I would zink it iz certainly interesting enough to offer some sort of hope," Fleur said, her eyes never leaving Remus' face. "Which iz all Tonks likely wants from you. To allow yourself to consider some scenario where zere iz hope."
There was silence, until Remus stood suddenly and muttered something about needing to go. Bill could sense his abrupt departure was likely due to no longer wanting to have any part of this conversation—he even tried to talk him into staying for a bit longer—but Remus' mind was made up. He thanked them hastily and was out the door in a flash.
To her credit, Fleur didn't seem to care one way or another that Remus had left on a sour note between the pair of them.
""E becomes so angry whenever someone challenges zis bleak worldview he 'as," she muttered later on once she and Bill were getting themselves ready for bed.
Bill pulled his shirt off and changed into pajama pants before slipping into bed beside her. "I mean, it must be exhausting to have to listen to people day in and day out tell him to have faith when, for all we know, it is futile."
"But iz it futile?"
He smiled at her, turning his body so that he was facing her in bed. "You wouldn't like it if, one day, people started telling you to keep holding out hope for a son."
"Only because zey are not ze same zing. You will never see me moping or sad because I cannot 'ave a son."
"I agree that having girls and having a werewolf child aren't the same, but the whole, 'You never really know and should act as if there's a chance…' thing is."
She shot him a look from her side of the bed. "But you never do know. Yes, it iz 'ighly unlikely we will ever 'ave a son, but it iz not impossible."
He propped himself up on his elbow, finding that comment rather curious. She had always given him the impression it was impossible. Now she was walking that back?
"Veelas aren't capable of having males," he said as a matter of fact.
"I am aware of what Veela's are capable of," she said rather obviously. "And it iz true. Veelas are not capable, but I am not a full Veela. And wiz each passing generation, ze more our blood mixes wiz other bloodlines, the possibility for a male does increase."
They both knew that, but she'd always been relatively firm that the chances of that for her were nil. Hearing her offer this new outlook was ceetainly surprising.
"Does it now?" he asked rather curiously.
She looked at him strangely, as if she suspected he may have been questioning everything she'd led him to believe up until this point. She then sat up and tucked her hair behind her ears.
"Minutely, Bill. Ze possibility grows minutely. I still 'ave too much Veela blood. Our future daughters will likely still be too close as well, but zeir chances would be greater. Our granddaughters may be able to, though I would not be surprised if zey did not. Minute still allows for a chance, zough. Zat is all I am saying. Chances exist."
She paused and let her voice drop off. "We would not want a boy anyway."
"We wouldn't?" he asked, wondering where that had come from. It wasn't as if they'd ever expressed a particular interest either way in the gender of their children. He'd honestly just been led to believe from the start that girls were their future.
She shook her head. "If legends are believed, no."
"What legends?" he asked.
"Legends among ze Veela," she continued. "It iz said zat if one were to 'ave a male, ze male would live a cursed life."
"Seriously?" he asked, unable to stop himself from laughing a bit. "But how would they know since it never happens?"
She shrugged. "I do not know where zey came from. I 'ave never known or 'eard stories of any Veela 'aving a boy, so who iz to say? It iz an old witch's tale, but zat it what zey say. Girls are to live wonderful and charmed life full of beauty and opportunity, and ze boys are to be plagued with demons, grief, and strife."
He couldn't help it; he chuckled again. "As in literal demons or are we talking more personal demons…?"
She rolled her eyes and swatted him. "I am only telling you what zey say." She paused to throw him a funny look. "Why are we even t discussing zis? I was only telling you zat 'aving a son iz not impossible and I would be a fool to say it was. Zere iz a chance, it iz simply very small."
She laid back down. "And I believe zat iz all Tonks wants Remus to acknowledge. Zat zere iz a chance—no matter how unlikely it may seem—for zings to turn out differently zan Remus expects."
She then frowned. "But she iz dealing wiz zis version of him who stuck in his grumpy, mopey ways—"
Bill reached over and laid his hand affectionately on her stomach. "In his defense, it's really hard to not fall into the grumpy and mopey trap lately. We're all guilty of it." He paused. "And that's without considering the potential werewolf baby."
Fleur said nothing, but given her expression, she seemed to be able to concede to that at least. The conversation lulled into a comfortable silence.
If Bill was honest, he couldn't even imagine having to worry about being a father on top of everything else going on right now. The stress Remus and Tonks were likely under was immeasurable. He wasn't sure how his own parents did it with six of their seven children.
Still…with thoughts of impending fatherhood now on his mind, he couldn't help but glance down to where his hand was resting on Fleur's stomach. Already he was having quick flashes of a future someday where he could lie just like this beside her, hand on her stomach, only their own little baby would be inside. They'd be lying here speculating about their daughter—because he only envisioned girls in their future—instead of other people's children.
He was excited to one day feel a baby kicking and moving around inside Fleur; knowing he'd helped create life. He remembered his mother letting him feel his siblings moving around in her stomach on the many occasions she'd been pregnant. He didn't remember Charlie or Percy when they were in there, but Fred and George had been very wiggly and caused his mother great discomfort. He could remember her complaining of Ron's constant hiccups, which tended to make her jolt; with Ginny, it was sharp kicks in the ribs.
And with his siblings that had all been well and nice—the miracle of life and all—but when it happened with Fleur, that would be their child. That was an entirely different, mad thought; a scenario he was both very ready to start embracing, but also…cautiously avoiding for obvious reasons.
Because they couldn't have kids right now. Not yet. Not until things were better. If they were ever better.
They'd obviously talked about having children before. Even before they'd got engaged, they both had said they wanted them. Fleur had explained the whole "They'll be girls" situation from the start, and that had honestly never bothered him one way or another. He wasn't one of those types that needed some male heir to feel accomplished. He would be happy with whatever, as long as they were healthy.
Plus, it wasn't as if he hadn't had his fill of a house full of boys growing up. Girls would likely be a nice change of pace.
Fleur always said she wanted two children, like her parents had, but closer in age than she and Gabrielle were. She'd expressed an interest in wanting to duplicate what he and Charlie had—an immediate and forever best friend—though Bill was always quick to point out that being close in age didn't automatically create best friends. Percy was a great example of this.
That was why he wanted four kids so there would be variety. He liked the idea of having a large family, though he wasn't keen for it to be as big as his own. Four felt like the smallest number that still felt large. Four was a nice even number.
"Four girls?" Fleur had asked him the first time he'd mentioned it, a startled look on her face. "All under one roof? You are serious?"
"Yeah," he'd said. "I know it'll be chaotic at times, but it's not as if I don't understand what it's like to have a bunch of kids growing up on top of each other."
She stared at him. "Bill, 'alf of your stories from your child'ood are about 'ow one of your brozers was annoying you, or not giving you privacy, or breaking your zings."
He laughed. "Yeah, right. Good times. Looking back, I wouldn't trade it for the world."
"Would sixteen-year-old you say ze same?"
"Sixteen-year-old me had loads to learn," he said. "But twenty-six-year-old me is happy for the lesson I got."
"I zink sixteen-year-old you would try to curse twenty-six-year-old you for not properly understanding ze lesson," she muttered. "'E would be trying to remind you zat less is more."
He'd come up behind her then and grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her on the neck. "If they're all like you, then why would I not want a house full of them?"
She laughed loudly—purposefully—at that. "You say zat because you did not know me as a young teenager…"
Ultimately, he knew that it was Fleur's decision how many times she'd be willing to be pregnant—two, or four, or ten times. He'd be happy just to be a dad when all was said and done.
If this war ever ended, that is. That had to happen first. Neither him nor Fleur saw the point in bringing a child into a world where Voldemort was in control.
"What are you zinking about?" Fleur suddenly asked, and he could tell by her expression that he'd been lost in thought while absently running his thumb along her stomach.
"The future," he offered. "Us starting our own family. How nice that will be."
She cracked a smile and moved forward to kiss him. As soon as she pulled slightly away, letting her forehead press against his, she said, "'Opefully zat will be soon razer zan later."
He nodded and kissed her again, sweetly at first, but pushing it further and ramping things up a bit quickly. After a few seconds, he moved himself so that he was now straddling her, already kissing down her neck and fumbling for the ends of her top before mumbling out, "Doesn't hurt to practice, though."
They both laughed at that, immediately giving into the moment—the kissing and the touching. They would let themselves practice the hell out of making a baby right now; it was something they did quite often these days. One of the good things about being forced to stay home more and having their own place was that they could have sex wherever and whenever they wanted. They may not have got to have a proper honeymoon, but their bedroom couldn't tell the difference.
After a solid hour of rolling around and being thankful that they didn't have neighbors for miles who might complain about the shouting and moaning, Bill had wandered back downstairs for water in nothing more than his boxers. He lumbered into the kitchen, piling his hair messily on top of his head into a sloppy bun and cursed himself a bit for leaving his wand upstairs. That meant he'd actually have to go and retrieve a glass the old-fashioned way.
He wasn't sure he had the energy for that. He was exhausted.
"Fleur, you want water?" he called out, hoping his voice reached up the stairs, though second guessing why he was even asking. Of course she wanted water. They'd just had a major workout; if he felt like he'd just run a marathon, she likely did as well. It was important to hydrate.
He retrieved two glasses and began to fill them from the tap when he lazily glanced out the window that sat above the kitchen sink. It was too dark to see anything properly, though during the day, this window offered optimal views of the sea and the horizon. Right now, thanks to the moonlight, he could just make out the treeline of the nearby wooded area, the reflection of the moon in the sea waters, and a part of their garden. It seemed to be a still and quiet night.
He laughed to himself. Definitely quieter than a few minutes ago.
A sudden movement across the garden caught his eye, though it was gone the moment he tried to focus on it. Something had definitely moved, and if he was not mistaken, it had also just appeared out of thin air. Unlike an animal that may have sauntered out of the woods or a bird suddenly diving into view, this thing—this human-sized thing—had appeared as if…it Apparated here.
And given the direction it moved in, it would have been heading toward the front—
A pounding at the front door made Bill jolt. He set the glasses down and stepped back, the pounding repeating itself. He glanced at the door from his spot in the kitchen. It pounded for a third time.
"Bill?" came Fleur's voice from upstairs. "Is someone—?"
"Yeah, toss down my wand," he said slowly, crossing the kitchen toward the stairs; his eyes never leaving the door.
Fleur didn't respond, but given the sounds of the footsteps from above him, she'd gone to do as he'd asked. He continued to watch the door as the pounding repeated for a fourth time, though this time growing weaker.
He had no idea who was at the door, though he didn't necessarily have a bad feeling about it. There was something about the pounding that was…desperate. Even strained. It certainly wasn't the kind of pounding that someone attempting to break down your door would do. There also was no shouting or demands to open up. However, there was no call to announce themselves either, which is what Remus or any of his family would have done.
A pair of trousers suddenly fell onto his head as he stood there, covering his eyes briefly before he realized Fleur had thrown them down. Up until that very moment, he'd forgotten he wasn't wearing any. As he pulled them off his head, he glanced up to see she was coming down the stairs with two wands in hand, having dressed herself as well. The moment she reached the ground floor, she handed him his wand.
"Bill!?" called a voice from the other side of the door as it pounded again. "Bill!? Are you home? Please open up if you're home!"
He knew that voice, and he could tell by Fleur's expression that she recognized it too. They exchanged looks as he quickly pulled on his trousers; Fleur said what they were both thinking.
"It sounds like Ron."
It did. It absolutely did sound like his baby brother.
He swallowed as he stepped forward so that he was inches from the door. When he glanced back at Fleur, she already had her wand raised before he had to tell her. They were well trained at the point to never just accept the obvious. He wouldn't put it past some clever Death Eater to impersonate a desperate sounding Ron and turn up at their door.
He shouted back. "Who's there?"
There was silence for a moment—long enough that Bill grew concerned that either Ron or this impostor had left. He found himself torn as to whether that was a good or a bad thing. It was good if it was an impostor since that meant their charms were working. It meant they gave up easily.
Bad, obviously, if it was the real Ron and he'd felt forced to give up and leave.
"Bill!" said Ron's voice. "Bill, you're home! It's me. It's Ron!"
He looked back at Fleur, who whispered, "You must question 'im."
He nodded and looked back at the door. "Ron, what are you doing here?"
"I didn't know where else to go," he said, and he sounded distressed. "It's a long story." There was a pregnant pause. "But I swear it's me. You can ask me anything. I can prove it's me."
Bill pursed his lips, again looking back at Fleur before back to the door. "If you're my brother, then what advice did I give you on Christmas Eve last year? When it was just the two of us in the kitchen. What did I say to you?"
The voice didn't immediately answer. Bill's heart was pounding, terrified of the thought that this wasn't his brother; that it was some impostor and that there was some plan now to get into his home.
"You told me to tell Hermione how I felt about her," the voice finally said. "To cut the shit. You couldn't sleep that night because Fred and George were snoring too loudly and mum had made you sleep in their room because Remus was in yours. I couldn't sleep either, so I'd come down for a snack." He stopped for a moment. "I hope you don't want me to remember what I ate though, because I don't."
Bill cracked a small smile before glancing back at Fleur, who was waiting to see if that was correct. He nodded at her before pulling open the door, expecting to find the familiar tall, lanky, freckled-faced Ron staring back at him.
Instead, what he found was a sickly, rather gaunt looking shadow of his brother standing there as pale as he'd ever seen him, his hair stringy and filthy, and his hand wrapped in a dingy looking cloth. There was fresh looking blood on the rag; Ron was visibly trembling.
He looked like absolute shit.
"Ron!" said Fleur, stepping forward to help Bill usher him inside since he practically toppled over the threshold. "What 'as 'appened? Are you alright?"
"No," Ron said, shaking his head rather erratically back and forth and letting himself lean into Bill for support. "No. I'm not."
"He has done nothing but sleep all day," Fleur had told Bill in a low whisper the day after Ron had arrived, the pair of them standing in the doorway and peering into one of their extra bedrooms. Inside, Ron was practically comatose in bed. If it weren't for the occasional snoring, Fleur might have been inclined to inspect him to make sure he was breathing.
"All day?" Bill whispered back, his eyes never leaving his brother's lumpy form under the blankets.
She shrugged. "He must have woken briefly. I left a tray of food here for lunch and it was empty when I came back. Perhaps he'll wake for dinner?"
Bill sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair before he stepped back into the corridor. "Let's not push him. He needs rest. Let him sleep."
She nodded as Bill excused himself to go and change out of his work robes, She, however, remained standing there staring in on Ron for another moment. He looked so different from the young man she'd last seen at her wedding. What exactly had he been through these last few months?
The prior evening had been unexpected. She and Bill had managed to get a freezing, sickly looking Ron to the sofa, only to notice that his hand was bloody and that he was injured.
Bill had taken to grabbing ointments and potions to tend to his hand, while Fleur had set about finding blankets to wrap around him to keep him warm. She'd immediately set to making tea, listening as Bill asked Ron what had happened to his hand. He was apparently missing entire fingernails.
"Splinched it while I was trying to escape," Ron had mumbled, his voice hollow sounding.
Fleur had returned with piping hot tea then, holding it as Bill finished up wrapping bandages around Ron's fingers. It was hard not to stare at how pale and frail looking he was. Ron had always been a skinny boy, but now he truly was a beanpole.
"Escape from where?" Bill asked, using a towel Fleur had brought him to clean his own hands. "From who?"
"From this gang of maniacs who said something about rounding up Muggleborns," Ron muttered, his face twitching. "Said they'd get money for me if they turned me in. Thought I was a Muggleborn on the run."
Ron had been almost caught by Snatchers? Fleur nearly dropped the tea, but thankfully didn't since that would have scalded all of them.
"You got caught by Snatchers?" Bill asked plainly.
"By what?" Ron asked.
"Snatchers," both Fleur and Bill said at the same time, the latter of whom taking the time to quickly explain to his brother what exactly Snatchers were and what their objective was.
"The Ministry pays them to collect Muggleborns who are running off," Bill continued. "You look like you're of school age, so they probably thought you were a truant on the run. You said they thought you were a Muggleborn?"
Ron nodded.
"So they didn't recognize you?" he asked.
He shook his head. "They kept asking me my name, which I didn't tell them. I gave them another name. Stan Shunpike. They seemed thick. No one really questioned it."
Bill and Fleur exchanged looks; she immediately knew what he was thinking. This could be bad. If one of them had recognized Ron, then that blew up the entire plan of hiding him at the Burrow. Just as Arthur said, if Ron was spotted that meant they were all compromised.
Bill sighed. "How many were there?"
"Five, I think?"
"And what about Harry? Was he captured as well?"
Ron didn't say anything straight away. He was actually quiet for a long moment before muttering, "No."
"How can you be sure?" Fleur asked.
"Because he wasn't there," Ron said quietly. He'd taken to letting his gaze fall on the teacup in her hand in an expectant sort of way. She immediately held it out for him to take, though even that gesture took him a moment to respond to.
"Were you on your own?" Bill asked.
Ron nodded.
"Why?" Bill began to ask, though Fleur had asked at the same time, "You believe Harry to be safe, then?"
Ron did nothing more than shrug. All of his movements and gestures now felt rather empty. He'd averted his eyes to the floor and somehow looked more exhausted all of the sudden.
"Ron, what—?"
"I don't want to talk about it right now!" he snapped, the most animated he'd seemed since the door had opened minutes earlier. "But as far as I know, he's not in danger right now. No more than he ever is. Who knows?"
He looked back up at them. "I was the one who got caught. I was the one who fucked up."
Fleur sat down directly beside him on the sofa and laid a comforting hand on his arm. "You cannot blame yourself for that, Ron."
He laughed a little humorlessly. "I can…"
"You managed to escape. That is remarkable."
"I never should have been in that situation to begin with," he muttered. "If I'd only…"
He trailed off, looking upset and angry. Both she and Bill glanced at each other again and neither seemed to know what to make of it all. Somehow it seemed Ron had got separated from Harry, he'd been caught by Snatchers, he'd narrowly escaped, and he'd come here to seek safety. It certainly seemed traumatizing, though it almost seemed like Ron was blaming himself for getting into it instead of the Snatchers for causing it.
Or…that's what she'd believed for all of an hour; until Ron managed to calm down, warm up, and had enough to eat to give him the strength to tell them exactly what had happened to get him to this point.
"You left?!" Bill had said, staring at his brother over the kitchen table right as Ron finished his fourth sandwich. Fleur had actually made a point not to put the bread and cold cuts away seeing as Ron couldn't seem to stop eating. Every time she offered to make him another one, he'd nodded ferociously, acting as if this was the first proper meal he'd had in ages.
By the looks of him, it probably was.
"You abandoned your friends over some bloody row?" Bill added, sounding as if he couldn't believe his ears. "Are you serious, Ron?"
Ron looked briefly sheepish, though the food had evidently forced a bit of life back into him because he was quick to say, "It wasn't just any row, it was a massive row. You weren't there, so don't look at me like that."
He stared down at his bandaged hand. "It was the sort of row you need to get away from because you're angry and you need to calm down, only…" He frowned. "I couldn't go back. They were too well hidden. Once I realized I'd made a mistake, I tried to go back. I did. But I couldn't find them."
Bill reached up and started rubbing his eyes. "What could you possibly have rowed about so badly that you were willing to up and leave—?"
"Because it's shit out there!" Ron snapped. "It's absolute shit! And I don't just mean the fact that we have no food and we're starving, or that the days stretch on repeatedly into the same miserable, endless camp out. But because we barely have a plan. Harry's barely got an idea what he's supposed to do and all he's got to go on are some vague tips Dumbledore left behind that don't make a lick of sense."
He suddenly pulled the collar of his shirt aside, revealing a poorly healed over gouge mark near his shoulder. Fleur immediately recoiled. Whatever that was, it looked as if it had hurt terribly.
"And I nearly splinched my arm off—"
"That's from splinching?" Bill asked, leaning forward to inspect his arm. "Shit, it looks bad—"
"Because it was!" Ron shouted. "Dittany. That's all we had to attempt to keep me from dying of infection or…whatever."
Fleur wrinkled her nose. Dittany was more for common household wounds; it would not have been enough for a severe splinching accident. By the looks of it, that would have required proper medical attention from a Healer. But obviously that would not have been an option for Ron. He couldn't exactly turn up at St. Mungo's these days. Not for anything that wasn't Spattergroit related.
"Between the pain, and not healing properly, and the starving, and the…always feeling hopeless, I found myself not doing too well," Ron mumbled, picking at a crumb on his plate. "And Harry and Hermione are also miserable because we're not getting any answers, so we all started having it out with one another. Harry and I go at it, and…"
He hung his head. "I fucked up. I left before I really thought better of it—maybe a part of me thought it would be easy to come back—but it wasn't. I spent ages looking for them before the Snatchers caught up to me, but it didn't matter."
He looked back over at Bill. "And I know you judge me because I judge me, but what's happened, happened. I can't take it back."
Bill sat there observing him for a long, silent moment—his expression visibly displaying trace amounts of judge, jury, and executor all in one. Ron clearly detected it too because he fidgeted under Bill's gaze and looked away. He instead looked at her.
She chose to offer him a sympathetic smile. He was right—what happened had already happened and it couldn't be taken back. What was the point of making him feel worse about it? He seemed to realize he'd made a mistake; telling him off for it wasn't going to fix things. Helping him to get back on his feet and work things out might, though. They were in a position to do that.
Plus, it's not as if she hadn't felt the need to run off to escape a hopeless feeling situation before. The year prior, when she'd felt helpless over not being allowed in the Order; when she felt Bill wasn't doing enough and not taking her concerns seriously; when she'd been racked with guilt and anxiety over the anniversary of Cedric's death, she'd fallen to pieces and gone straight back to her family in France. She'd been prepared to break up with Bill, move home, and make mistakes that would have altered the entire course of her life.
When you're at your lowest point, rational thought doesn't always make sense.
She'd thankfully stopped herself before making a bad situation worse, but that was in large part to having a support system that pulled her out of it. It was why she knew Bill—despite his clear frustrations over what his brother had done—would ultimately not judge him too harshly. He was a man who, at his core, wanted to help and protect the people he cared about; not chastise them.
Ron offered Fleur a feeble return on her smile, just as Bill exhaled heavily. He was ready to make his final judgment.
Fleur didn't even feel the need to speak up because she already knew the direction he was going to take. He'd be firm, but kind with this person he had a hand in helping to raise—much like she would be with Gabrielle. It was a teaching moment, really.
"You're an idiot," Bill finally said, sounding tired. "Truly an idiot."
She threw him a look. That really could have been more eloquently stated, but she supposed she couldn't discount the relationship between the Weasley brothers.
"I know," Ron said heavily. "If you want me to go—"
"We do not want you to go," Fleur said immediately, in case she'd read this wrong it wasn't panning out how she thought. She looked at Bill to confirm that he agreed, knowing that even if he was angry with Ron, he wouldn't be so dumb as to let him walk out of this house right now. He could not be out there on his own.
Bill had started nodding. "Fleur's right. You can't leave. I mean, you look like shit. You look ill. Loads of good it will do you being in poor health trying to fight Death Eaters."
Ron looked down at his bandaged hand again. "I got away from those Snatchers…"
"Snatchers are ones who are too thick to be proper Death Eaters," Bill muttered. "You need to rest. You need to properly heal from splinching yourself. I can get you more effective potions." He pointed at Ron's empty plate. "You bloody well need to eat something—"
"I had four sandwiches…"
"Do you want another?" asked Fleur.
"Yes, please," Ron said, looking suddenly relieved she'd asked, as if he hadn't wanted to impose.
Bill let out a breathy sort of laugh, almost as if he didn't know what to make of his brother. He glanced over at Fleur then as she set to preparing yet another sandwich. "He'll have to stay here."
She was nodding, having already figured that out. With the Ministry popping in regularly on the Burrow and turning it upside down, there was no way Ron could go there. He—they all—would be exposed immediately.
"Burrow's not safe," Bill continued, looking at Ron. "The Death Eaters turn up there nearly every day to make sure you've still got Spattergroit and that mum and dad aren't hiding Harry in a cupboard."
"Every day?" Ron asked, sounding shocked. "They check in every day?"
"Nearly every day," Bill corrected. "But yes, they pop in frequently to make sure we're keeping our stories straight. Always fun. It's driving mum rightfully mental. Though, she'll likely get some reprieve when she hears you're here and alive—"
"You can't tell mum I'm here," Ron quickly said as Fleur placed yet another sandwich in front of him. He was apparently very serious about this request because he didn't immediately attack his food as he had the other four times.
"Or dad, or Fred, or George or any of them," Ron continued, now his tone rather pleading. "Please don't tell them I'm here."
Fleur let her brow furrow, glancing over at Bill. He, too, looked confused.
"Why not?"
"I…" Ron shifted awkwardly in his seat. "I can't…I don't want anyone to know what I've done."
"What do you—?"
"They'll never forgive me for leaving like I did," Ron said. "Fred and George alone…" He frowned and made his eyes go wide with something very close resembling shame. "I can't handle that right now. It's too much on top of everything else that I…"
He trailed off, now staring rather forlornly at his sandwich. "There's a reason I came here and didn't go to the Burrow. A part of me did think that maybe it wasn't safe, but it was mostly because I knew they'd all think I was a coward and a failure."
He looked back at Bill. "I thought you'd be the most forgiving."
"Ron," Bill began to say, "you're not—"
"I am a failure!" Ron snapped, his voice rising. "I know it, you know it, we all know it. I'm not clever or cool like the rest of you. I just take up space. The one thing I had going for me—the one thing that set me apart—was being Harry's friend and helping him, and I can't even do that right. I can't do anything right!"
"Ron," Fleur said. "You made one mistake…"
"I am one mistake."
That comment had dropped like an anvil, causing an uncomfortable silence in its wake. It was clear given the seriousness on Ron's face that she and Bill could tell him until they were hoarse that it simply wasn't true, but he wouldn't believe it. He'd made up his mind. He was deep in that hole.
When you're at your lowest point, rational thought doesn't always make sense.
Bill cleared his throat, attempting to shake off the awkwardness. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but I promise you no one thinks you're a mistake—"
"I bet Harry and Hermione do," he barked back. "I bet they had a long conversation about it. How they're better off without me."
"I don't think—"
Fleur laid a hand on Bill's shoulder, urging him to stop. He was going into supportive big brother mode, not realizing that Ron was unreachable right now. He was angry, he was upset, he was sick, and he was exhausted. There was no reasoning with him in this state. These comments, however well-intentioned, were just making him angrier.
"I think you're overwhelmed and in desperate need of rest," she said to Ron, noticing Bill staring at her out of the corner of her eye. "Finish your sandwich and then you can wash up. I'll make up the guest room. You can stay for as long as you need to."
Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed that Ron's defenses dropped slightly at that. He nodded and swallowed. "Thanks. I won't stay long. I don't want to be a burden."
"You are not a burden. Stay as long as you need to," Fleur reiterated, and for a moment she could have sworn she felt her own mother's voice come out of her. "We can help you get back on your feet and then help you work out what happens after that."
She looked at Bill. "And perhaps the less people who know he is here, the better."
Bill threw her a funny look, as if he couldn't believe she'd said that. They didn't usually keep secrets like this from the others. The war effort was a family affair. All hands on deck.
"It is for their protection as much as it is for Ron's pride," she continued. "Especially if one of the many Death Eater visits they get one day includes an interrogation or Veritaserum. It is just as your father said after the wedding—when he instructed everyone not to go looking for Ron, Harry, and Hermione. You cannot give up information you do not have."
Bill didn't seem convinced. "My family would die before they gave up—"
"But why put them in a position to test that theory?" she threw right back at him.
They stared at each other for a long moment; the only real sound now was Ron's quiet chewing across the table. It wasn't a terse or awkward stare down, rather Fleur took it as them attempting to silently work out how to get themselves on the same page. She and Bill always worked best when they were on the same page. Things tended to be far more difficult when they were in different parts of the book.
Finally, Bill rather reluctantly muttered, "Yeah, alright. Fine. Ron stays here and no one else has to know. Unless they do. Then all bets are off."
"What's that mean?" Ron asked.
"It means if we get wind that something, god forbid, happens to Harry or Hermione, and mum's crying her eyes out wondering if you're dead, I'm putting her out of her misery."
Ron's face fell at that comment. Perhaps it was because of the thought of something happening to Harry and Hermione. Fleur couldn't be sure.
But it was now clear to her that he, like the rest of them, would now know exactly what it felt like to spend most waking hours wondering if Harry was still alive to make it through another day.