It had thankfully been a rather breezy Order meeting that evening, seeing as things were quiet at the moment. For that, Bill was thankful because for this one single night—a night where he was hoping to get out early for once—he considered it a blessing. Death Eater rumblings were at a minimum, reports were that Harry was well and accounted for with his Muggle relatives, You-Know-Who hadn't been heard from for weeks—even Dumbledore hadn't attended that evening due to a prior commitment, and if Dumbledore was comfortable enough to not attend this meeting, Bill felt no guilt in wanting it all to be over as quickly as possible.

Dumbledore's absence also meant things tended to move along much faster than normal. Mad-Eye caught everyone up to speed with the latest happenings around the Department of Mysteries; Mundungus regaled everyone with some rumors he'd picked up while down in Knockturn Alley; and Kingsley had some reports from the inner workings of Fudge's circle, but it was mostly business as usual. Things were thankfully looking to be wrapping early.

"Last thing on the agenda," Mad-Eye said, sitting at the head of the long wooden table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. "Tomorrow we've got intel that the Death Eaters Avery and Nott will be potentially meeting with a Department of Mysteries employee by the name of LaSalle at the Leaky Cauldron. Now, Dumbledore has it on good authority that this meeting will take place tomorrow as an information exchange of some kind."

"From who?" Sirius asked from the opposite side of the room. "Snape?"

"One can assume," Mad-Eye offered. "Dumbledore didn't mention it one way or another. And Snape's not here to ask because he's off—"

"With Voldemort," Sirius muttered. "Yes. Right. We know. So helpful, that one."

Across the table from Sirius, Remus was slowly shaking his head at him. Bill, however, met Sirius' eye with a smirk. He didn't particularly trust Snape either.

"Can we get back to LaSalle and the task at hand?" Mad-Eye barked.

"LaSalle always seemed like such a good man," Arthur said from his spot at the table. "Not the type to get mixed up with You-Know-Who. I can't understand why…"

"No one ever can, Weasley," said Mad-Eye. "And for all we know they've got him under the Imperius Curse, or they're threatening his family. Or he's just a filthy sack of vermin who's decided to hitch his wagon to the Death Eaters. I can't say either way, and I won't be able to for sure until we know he's meeting up with Death Eaters tomorrow. Now, Nymphadora will—"

"It's Tonks," Tonks called from across the room, where she was seated beside Remus and Vance. She was looking at Mad-Eye with a sort of wild look of frustration, as if they'd probably had this conversation a hundred times before.

Mad-Eye's good eye rolled. "Tonks. Fine. She will be the one to go to the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow to intercept them and get an ear on their plans. She'll naturally be in disguise so as to not be detected, and she's always been almost too good at eavesdropping on conversations..."

Tonks grinned. "For the record, that ability predates my Auror training."

"Is she going on her own?" asked Hestia Jones, glancing down the table at her. "No one else?"

"Well, we're not looking to send half the bloody Order in there for a tea party," Mad-Eye sniped. "The majority of us are already well on Voldemort's list as known associates of Dumbledore. We can't exactly expect Death Eaters to conduct their business in front of us."

"I was just going to say," Jones said tersely, throwing Mad-Eye a look, "that won't it look rather suspicious with her there on her own and trying to get close to a random group of Death Eaters?"

"Plenty of people sit around the Leaky Cauldron on their own," Bill offered, speaking up then. "I'm there practically every night. I see it all the time. It's a pub, after all."

"You eat at the Leaky Cauldron every night?" asked his mother, looking rather concerned by this admission. "Every night?"

"It's the closest place to the bank and I need to eat," Bill muttered. "But that's beside the point. What I'm trying to say is no one will blink an eye at her being there on her own. I eat there on my own all the time."

Well, I used to, he thought as afterthought with Fleur once again creeping into his thoughts. If this meeting would just end he could go and see her...

Jones shrugged. "I was just thinking it might look less conspicuous to have someone go along with her. I was going to volunteer."

"You're on watch tomorrow night," Mad-Eye said. "You're spoken for, Jones." He glanced around the room. "Though, you may be onto something."

"I often am," Jones quipped, though Mad-Eye ignored her.

"Sending someone along with Nympha…"

Tonks audibly scoffed.

"Tonks," Mad-Eye said irritably, "would make things look more natural." He looked directly at Bill then and said, "Weasley," though when both he and his father snapped their heads up, he clarified, "Bill. You say you're there every night? So, you're a regular? You being there tomorrow night wouldn't look out of sorts?"

Bill sat up straighter and stared back at him. "No, it wouldn't. But I'm working tomorrow night—"

"Yes, but you said it yourself, you need to eat," Mad-Eye said. "It'll be safe to say you'll be making an appearance. What I'm going to need is for you to turn up when you can and help Tonks in whatever way necessary. Two sets of eyes and ears are better than one. It'll look better to have you two kids—"

"Not a kid," Tonks said rather abruptly, crossing her arms across her chest. She looked as if she was about done with Mad-Eye tonight.

"Two young people," Mad-Eye corrected, "looking as if you're out having a drink or food or some fun together. People won't think anything of it. You could both keep an eye out for Avery and Nott."

"And if they don't turn up?" Tonks challenged.

"Then you have a drink and call it an easy night," Remus offered. "I agree with Mad-Eye. It'll look less suspicious to have two people there. Plus, it should be nice to have the company."

"Sure, but why does it have to be two young people?" Tonks asked. "I can easily age myself up to whatever age I need to be. I can go with anyone." She glanced at Remus. "I could go with you."

"Remus has his own things to do tomorrow," Mad-Eye said, sounding even more irritated. "Not to mention, Remus is nice and high on the Death Eaters list. They know what he looks like, just as they know most of the Order. But Weasley here—" He looked at Bill, "having just moved back home hasn't quite attracted their attention yet. This is why it's the best scenario. Tonks, you'll change your appearance to look like a twenty-something—-"

"I am a twenty-something."

"One that isn't a known Auror!" Mad-Eye barked back before turning to Bill. "Bill, you go as you are and for as long as you can. You keep an eye out for Avery and Nott. You get as close as you can without raising suspicion. Are we clear?"

He almost seemed to be presenting this as a choice, but Bill wasn't sure he had any real say. Mad-Eye had this uncanny ability of making him feel fifteen again, and so he nodded to say he understood. Meanwhile, Tonks was practically rolling her eyes and muttering, "Clear as day, Mad-Eye." The room seemed to be in agreement.

"Looks like we've got a date tomorrow, Weasley," Tonks told Bill after the meeting, slapping him rather hard on the back as everyone else was gathering their things and saying goodbye to the ones that were not staying for dinner. "If we were still back in school, I know of at least ten girls that would hate me right now." She faked an over the top swoon.

"Stop it," he said with a lazy smile. Though hearing the word date did remind him that he needed to get a move on. He'd actually brought a change of shirt and was hoping to clean up a bit before heading over to pick up Fleur.

"Mum, I'm not staying for dinner," Bill had said once the bulk of the crowd had left for the evening. Mad-Eye, Tonks, and Remus had clear plans to stay behind to eat, as they were all now chatting around the table with Sirius and Arthur.

"Oh, no?" asked his mother, who'd stood herself and looked to be charming bowls and cutlery down from a high shelf. "Why not?" She looked at him. "After hearing you're spending all of your time at the Leaky Cauldron, I'm thinking you could use a home cooked meal."

"I have plans tonight," Bill said, reaching for a bag he brought with him in the hopes he could escape to change his shirt. "I actually need to change."

"Change for what?" asked his mother, now looking over at him with piqued interest. "Where are you going?"

"Out," he offered without any extra details. "I'm meeting someone for dinner."

"Someone?" she asked, now full on staring at him; her tone definitely curious. "What kind of someone? A friend?"

"Yes," he said, choosing not to elaborate as he made for the exit of the kitchen and decided then to use the lavatory upstairs to get ready. He proceeded to pull out a much nicer looking shirt than the one he'd been running around at the bank all day in; he used his wand to get the wrinkles out. He washed his face, brushed his hair, dressed, and was straightening himself out himself out in the mirror when he heard voices in the corridor talking as they passed.

"I'm not saying I don't appreciate them," came Ron's voice, "I just don't understand why you bothered."

"Because we're nice," said one of the twins. "Can't we be nice and buy our brother a present?"

"It's not something you're known to do..."

"Look, you looked like a bloody fool in those dress robes last year," said one twin—Fred, if Bill had to guess by the tone. "And when you look like a fool, by extension, we do as well. You're hurting our brand."

"Your brand?" said Ron, with a laugh. "You can't be serious. What brand?"

"The one you're hurting by dressing like a batty old cat lady in public."

"Seriously, keep showing up to things dressed like that and you'll never get a girl to even look at you. Even Hermione won't—"

"Alright," Ron said abruptly, cutting him off. "I get it. Those old robes were shit."

"Do you want the new ones or don't you?"

"I'm not going to say no," said Ron. "I just don't understand—"

"And what else is new? I'd be more surprised if you did understand something."

"Sod off," Ron said. "Where'd you even get the money for these anyway?"

"What a rude question to ask someone who's giving you a gift," said a twin. "Who raised you?"

"And the answer is nunya," said the other. "As in nunya business."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, alright?" said the other as Bill walked over to open the door and look out into the corridor then. "Honestly, this is the last time we do something nice for you…"

He spotted his brothers, all three of them standing just down the way at the landing at the top of the stairs. They must have heard the door creaking open because they all turned to look; they also all looked surprised to see him there.

"Speaking of dressing up," said Fred, smirking as he observed Bill standing there. "Look at you. Where are you going?"

"What's all this, then?" Bill asked, ignoring the question as he stepped out into the hall and adjusted his sleeve. He nodded to the package in Ron's hand.

"It's nothing," said George, who was also smirking like Fred was. Even Ron seemed rather amused to see him standing there looking more cleaned up than usual. "Did you get all dressed up for an Order meeting? Are you trying to impress someone?"

"My money's on Mad-Eye," said Fred. "That one good eye of his is quite enchanting."

"I didn't dress up for the meeting," Bill said. "I changed because I've got plans."

"What kind of plans?" asked Ron.

"And can we come?" asked Fred, though he quickly added, "'We' being me and George. Obviously not Ron."

Ron sneered at him.

"No, you cannot come," Bill said, turning then at the footfalls of someone coming down the stairs behind them.

Ginny and Hermione had appeared then, the former of which was now smiling brightly when she spotted him. Ginny sped up her pace and proceeded to meet him and wrap her arms around his middle, hugging him and immediately asking, "Why are you all dressed up?"

"Because I am," he said, giving her a quick squeeze before messing up her hair. She wiggled away, fixing her hair almost instantly with a few pass throughs with her hand. She stepped back to stand beside Hermione and observe him. The whole lot of them were standing there staring at him now as if he were some zoo animal.

"If you must know," he muttered. "I'm having dinner with someone."

"What kind of someone," asked Fred, winking for good measure. "A someone of the attractive female persuasion?"

"A nunya," Bill countered.

"You've got a date," Ginny said with a smile.

"You've got a date," Bill mimicked in a purposely bad attempt at impersonating her, which made her laugh. "So nosy."

"How attractive are we talking?" asked George, wiggling his eyebrows a few times.

"Yeah, what's she look like?" asked Ron a little eagerly, earning him a rather pinched look from Hermione. He didn't even notice; Bill realized then that his baby brother really had no clue. He had half a mind to thump him on the side of the head for being so obtuse, just as he had with Charlie time and time again when he'd been fifteen.

"This is Bill we're talking about," Fred said. They're always fit. The gorgeous ones always throw themselves at him."

"Seriously," George muttered. "You really could have left some of those good looks for the rest of us. Didn't have to take them all and leave us fighting for scraps."

"Speak for yourself," said Ginny, while Fred immediately quipped. "Um, I'm quite the stud. Now the rest of you..."

"Get off it," Bill said, stepping across the landing toward the stairs. He gave Fred, George, and Ron light, rather playful smacks on their faces as he passed. "I think you're all as cute as buttons."

"Geroff," Ron said, brushing Bill's hand off of him while George and Fred both squirmed away. The girls had started to giggle just as Tonks appeared halfway up the stairs, stopping once everyone noticed her standing there. She gave Bill a surprised sort of once over.

"You look nice."

"Thanks," he said, checking the time. He should get moving.

Tonks was scanning the faces of the rest of them. "Your mum wanted me to tell you lot that dinner was ready and that you can come down to eat now." She turned back to Bill. "Where are you headed?"

"Out. I have dinner plans."

"He's got a date," Ginny said in a sing-song way, poking him in the side as she swept past him and down the stairs.

There was muffled laughter as the group of them all made their way down the stairs as well, though Tonks had remained on her step and was still staring at Bill. She was grinning now. "A date, huh? I didn't know you were dating anyone."

He shrugged. "It's new. Too new to call it anything."

"The least you could do is give us some of the fun details," Fred muttered, having doubled back up the stairs. "Something. Anything."

Bill sighed and grabbed Fred by the shoulders, moving him along and guiding him down the stairs. "Are your lives truly so dull that you need to nose around in—?"

"Yes!" Fred said loudly, and George was already nodding as they approached the ground floor. "We've been stuck here all summer being banned from Order meetings and not being allowed out. Obviously our lives are dull. You know this!"

"Just answer me this," George said to his brother once everyone was downstairs. "Just so we can live vicariously through you—what's she look like?"

"Why does it matter?" asked Hermione, who was staring at both of the twins in an exasperated way.

"Because it does, so mind your business," Fred said to her. "I haven't even seen a proper girl in weeks, so I need these visuals."

"And what are we?" asked Hermione, narrowing her gaze on him. Beside her, Ginny was rolling her eyes at her brother.

"I mean, technically your girls," added Fred, "but not in the way I care about."

Hermione scoffed while Ginny muttered, "You're an idiot, Fred," before she turned to walk off toward the kitchen.

"Just ignore him," Ron said to Hermione. "Obviously you're a girl."

"Yes, obviously, Ron," said George. "Good of you to notice."

Ron shot him a look before he tugged Hermione by the elbow and urged her to follow along after Ginny toward the kitchen. The group of them soon disappeared behind the swinging door.

"Would you lay off him?" Bill said, turning back to his brothers.

"No," said both of the twins in unison, while George added, "It's one of the many ways we pass the time since, unlike you, we're stuck here while you're going off on dates."

"I'm going to be late for my date if I keep standing around talking to you two," Bill muttered, turning then to head toward the exit. He threw Tonks a lazy wave. "I'll see you tomorrow at the Leaky. Do me a favor and come find me when you see me since I won't be able to pick you out of the crowd."

She nodded, just as George said, "I want to go to the Leaky Cauldron. Can we come?"

"No. Order stuff." Bill then reached out and ruffled both of their hair before adding, "You know how it is, lads. Maybe one day when you're big boys."

That earned him identical scowls from both of his brothers as they both reached up to fix their hair, all while George muttered, "Git." Truth be told, he didn't even feel bad. It was so rare anyone could give them back what they dished out; he prided himself on being one of a few people who could. Charlie was actually the best at it. No one could put the twins in their place quite like Charlie.

"Have fun on your date," Fred said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

"Thanks," Bill said without a trace of sarcasm. "I will."

Fleur stared at herself in the full-length mirror of her small, studio flat; she turned to look at the back of the green dress she had on. This didn't feel right. She'd only brought about half of her outfits from France with her, and she was now starting to regret not having brought exactly what she needed. She could practically visualize the perfect little red number she had hanging in her wardrobe back at home. As it were now, she was stuck with...this.

She turned again in the mirror for another angle and sighed. It was a dark green, knee-length dress that was fine. She looked lovely in it—that wasn't the issue. Once upon a time, it had been perfect for dressing up around the boys she'd gone to school with, but they were easy to please. Now she was playing in a whole new arena. Bill wasn't some boy; he was grown. She needed to step things up.

It simply wasn't quite as sexy as she was hoping to look; she wanted something different from the smart, professional outfits that Bill had already seen her in. She wanted to look older and more sophisticated. She wanted him to see her as a confident adult woman, not some girl barely out of school who happened to clean up well and look good while doing it.

And if she were honest, she wanted him to look at her and see sex and someone he wanted to have it with.

She sighed. Time was running out. She needed to make a choice because there was still much left to do for the dinner she was preparing for them and he could show up at any minute. They hadn't made precise plans, but he'd seemed sure he would be done with his plans before nine. It was now ten after eight.

She clicked her tongue as she took one last look at herself. It seemed this green dress was the best she was going to do. She'd make it work; she always did.

She checked her makeup and ran a brush through her hair one final time before emerging from the bathroom to walk straight into her small kitchen. This was something else she was not accustomed to—a kitchen that was barely bigger than her closet back at home. Very little counter space, a handful of cupboards, and a stove were essentially what she had to work with, but she was fairly skilled when it came to cooking. Just as with her clothing, she would make it work. She always did.

Her roasted potatoes were currently roasting. Her haricots verts were on the stovetop waiting to come to a boil. She was waiting for Bill to arrive to start the steaks, though they were prepped, trimmed, and ready to be seared and cooked. Though—she looked around—she was missing the proper pan to do it on. They really should be cooked on cast iron...

With that thought, she exited the kitchen and slipped into a pair of house shoes that allowed her to leave her flat and walk the one door down to her neighbor's place. Perhaps landlord was a better term for the woman who lived beside her since she was the actual owner of her flat; the one who was renting it out to her—or, rather her father.

The woman, Isabelle, was a family friend; someone Fleur's father had known for ages due to her longtime friendship with Fleur's grandmother. She was eighty-four and had helped to raise Fleur's father, essentially becoming part of their family in the process. Fleur had only known her distantly since Isabelle had moved to England before she was born, but her father had always spoken very highly of her. Fleur's own middle name was in honor of her.

She ran a beauty potion shop in Diagon Alley and lived directly over top of it in one of the many flats. She had recently purchased the neighboring flat—Fleur's—in the hopes of increasing the size of her own home, but had put her plans of expansion on hold and agreed to host Fleur for this gap year for a steal of a price.

It had been an ideal scenario for Fleur and her family. She had been given a place to live for the year and her family now felt comfortable that someone they knew was around to help if needed. Not that Fleur needed help since she made due on her own; she actually rarely saw Isabelle unless she was in desperate need of something—such as a cast iron skillet.

She knocked on Isabelle's door, hoping to find her home since she tended to always be down in her shop. Thankfully the door did open to reveal the older woman, standing there in a long silk robe and her hair done up in rollers. She had a half lit cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. She smiled a touch as she gave a Fleur a once over.

"Bonjour," Fleur said. "Désolée de vous déranger. Avez-vous—?"

Isabelle quickly shook her head and wiggled her finger at her. "No, no. You told me you wanted to work on your English while you were here and that I should keep you fully immersed so you picked it up faster. Let us try that again."

Fleur stared at her. She was regretting having said that to the one other person she knew around here who spoke French fluently. Sometimes she needed the break. "I was wondering if you had a cast iron pan I could borrow. I am cooking—"

Isabelle held up her hand to silence her again. She was already gesturing to Fleur's outfit and general appearance. "You are all dressed up to cook?"

"Yes," Fleur said. "I have a date. I am cooking dinner."

Isabelle stared at as if unimpressed. "You could not get him to take you out? I find that hard to believe. A girl as pretty as you should have these boys eating out of the palm of your hand. When I was as young and looked like you, I could get them to take me to Rome. To Barcelona. To—"

"There is time for all of that later," Fleur said quickly. She really didn't have time for a trip through one of Isabelle's long and always detailed memories. "I wanted to cook. I enjoy it. We 'ave been out already..."

While technically true, she refused to acknowledge the Leaky Cauldron as 'out'. However, she also knew that if she told Isabelle that specific detail about the Leaky, she'd probably start lecturing her on how she needed to chuck Bill and find someone who wouldn't dream of taking her to a place like that.

Isabelle's judgmental eyes suddenly seemed immediately intrigued. "Oh, I did not know you were seeing someone special. You are bringing this boy back to your place for a private evening, are you?" She seemed as if she wanted to wink at her, but didn't.

Fleur smiled. "I must get through dinner first…"

"Oh, darling," Isabelle said, stepping back into her place and gesturing for her to follow her into her much larger flat than the one that Fleur resided in. "Who needs dinner when you look like that—" She pointed at her dress, "in that outfit. You look simply magnifique, ma choupinette!" She put her hand over her heart and gushed. "My, how I miss the days where I could pull off an outfit like that. Who am I kidding? I miss the days where my arse looked like that…"

Fleur cracked a smile, watching as Isabelle pointed her wand directly toward her kitchen and summoned a pan to come flying off of a hanging pot rack. She caught it with both hands before handing it over to Fleur. "Is he handsome?"

Fleur threw her a look that could only be read as obviously.

"Of course he is!" said Isabelle with a dreamy sort of sigh. "Those were the days. Beating handsome men off with a stick. Shagging and breaking the hearts of half the men in this town." She smiled, looking as if she were now lost in thought. "I miss it so."

"I do not need half the town. I will be perfectly happy if I can just shag—" Fleur faltered, still getting used to working her mouth around that particular word, "him. I fancy him very much." She smiled. "This will sound mad, but I think I may be falling in love with him."

Isabelle's face fell, which Fleur had expected. Isabelle, who'd spent her life bouncing from man to man without ever settling down, was not one for the ideas of love and commitment. She was the type who felt Fleur should be going out and living her life, flirting with loads of men, bringing them all home and shag their brains out only to never see them again. As far as Isabelle was concerned, Fleur had her whole life to settle down and be monogamous if that's what she wanted. Right now she needed to be young and free in the short window of time youth had afforded her.

"Fleur, you have only been living here less than a month," she said. "You would have just met this man. You can't claim to be in love yet."

Fleur wasn't about to argue, and instead stepped toward the door to get back to her place. "It sounds silly, I know. But I knew the moment I saw him that he was special."

"Oh, ma choupinette," said Isabelle. "I feel you are confusing love with lust. Perhaps you're blinded by—"

"I know the difference."

"I can't help but think you're getting ahead of yourself. Just take this one day at a time."

"I am," Fleur said matter-of-factly. "And I 'ave. But something keeps bringing he and I together when we should 'ave gone our separate ways long ago. It brought us to the same country when we both lived elsewhere, it brought us to the same bank, it brought us to the same pub, and now it has brought us to tonight. He is perfect and thoughtful and...I cannot help how I feel."

Isabelle half smiled, though it seemed forced. "Well, I will never tell anyone how to live their life, but...be clever about this, alright? Make good choices."

Fleur nodded in an obligatory fashion, eventually giving away into a sly sort of smile that she flashed before turning to exit. "I have been. I would not have got this if my choices were poor."