"Bill," came a far away sounding voice.
He opened his eyes, slowly trying to make sense of what was happening and what he was doing. He'd been asleep on his stomach, dreaming about being in a jungle of some kind, but now he was back in a white, clean flat that in the early morning daylight seemed even brighter than it had the night before. His head was ringing a bit—a typical response after drinking red wine—but he otherwise felt fine. Tired, but fine. He wasn't used to being up this early.
He turned over to see Fleur sitting just beside him on the edge of the bed—as pretty as a picture and dressed for the day. She smiled at once.
"Whatareyou…?" he stammered, still trying to wake up. He forced himself onto his elbows and the blanket he'd had pulled up around his chest fell to his waist.
"I did not want to wake you," she said gently, "but I need to leave for work and I did not want to disappear wizout saying somezing."
"Work?" he mumbled, pulling himself all the way into a sitting position. "It's Friday, isn't it? You have to work this morning."
"Unfortunately," she said with a lazy smile.
That was unfortunate. They'd been up late. Very late. The last time he looked at the clock it had been three o'clock in the morning, and he wasn't entirely sure they went to bed straight after that. It had been one of those nights where sleep seemed to be the last thing on either of their minds.
They'd spent quite a bit of the night talking—about their lives, their dreams, their fears, their families. It had been a fairly intimate conversation; one he couldn't claim to have had with too many women in his life. She'd opened up and gone more in depth about her Tournament experience, and he could tell that she was sharing something deeply private with him; something she wouldn't tell just anyone. He'd let himself open up and be more vulnerable with her—stressing how anxious he felt about You-Know-Who's return and what it meant for him and his loved ones.
And despite his lips being entirely preoccupied for most of the evening, he still did manage to keep them sealed about all things to do with the Order. He'd nearly come close a few times, but it wasn't because he couldn't keep a secret; rather because he wanted her to know about it. He did, even if he knew he couldn't tell her. He trusted her and was convinced she was on the same page as he was—as the Order was—but he knew he couldn't bring something that huge up this soon—this early. Yes, he trusted her, but the Order was about more than trusting someone. You couldn't just talk about it or invite people to join. That was Dumbledore's decision.
After all, there was always a chance this relationship ended today and Fleur would now have incredibly powerful information to take to...anyone.
Outside of the talking, they'd kept themselves busy in other ways. A flash of so many perfectly sexy memories came flying through his brain as he woke, that he didn't know exactly what to focus on. Fleur's enthusiasm for all parts of him, much of which she'd demonstrated with her mouth. His reciprocated effort, for which he was now certain there wasn't an inch of her that he hadn't kissed or touched that night. He'd known she was perfect just from looking at her, but underneath her clothes she probably had one of—if not the most—amazing bodies he'd ever been allowed to explore. On top of that she was truly exciting in bed; she didn't just lie there and let things happen or expect him to do all the work. She could be rather assertive, but in the best possible way. Even her moans and groans seemed sexier, and knowing he was the source of them worked him up nearly as much as her.
All he wanted was to do it again; be with her again. All of the talking, all of the laughing, all of the sex, all of the everything. He'd never sleep again if he could relive it all and do it again and again.
With that said, he had to admit he was tired. Fleur, however, sitting there and probably running on about three hours of sleep herself, still somehow managed to look perfect. She honestly looked as if she'd slept ten hours, had time for a shower, and maybe even a nice breakfast. She didn't have a single hair out of place; if it weren't for a subtle sleepy quality to her eyes, he'd never had known she'd spent most of the night on top of him.
"I forgot you had to work," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Now I feel bad that I kept you up all night."
"I do not," she said with a smile, reaching out to run her hand up and down his upper arm. "It was worz every minute of lost sleep. Last night was amazing. "
"It was," he said, though he chuckled to himself a little before asking. "But would you tell me otherwise?"
"If it was not, I would not say anyzing," she said, pulling her hair back and off her neck for a moment. Even the sight of her neck made him want to kiss it again—go yet another round. "I would probably 'ave snuck out zis morning before work and not said anyzing to you at all," she added, standing up and smoothing out her clothes.
Right. Work. She had to leave. That had already slipped his mind again. He started moving himself out of bed and scanning the room for his clothes. "You probably need me gone so you can go—"
"No," she said quickly, shaking her head and holding out a hand to gently stop him. "You do not need to rush. Take your time. I trust you. As long as you lock ze door when you leave, you can stay as long as you like."
He did need a minute to wake up a bit more. Or maybe four more hours of sleep. He'd never been a morning person and it did usually take him at least a half an hour to peel himself out of bed. He smiled and nodded. "Thanks."
"But I do need to go," she said, checking the clock.
He nodded, but reached out to grab her by the wrist before she was out of arm's length. He tugged her a bit and she let herself be pulled over, where he pulled her into his lap. She even smelled exceptionally good right now.
"When do I get to see you again?"" he asked, kissing her on the shoulder.
She reached up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Whenever you want. It iz Friday, so you work tonight. I can meet you at ze…" She paused to purposefully sigh in an overdramatic manner, "Leaky Cauldron. But I was also zinking zat we do not 'ave to always go zere. You could come 'ere instead. I can always cook again. We could use ze extra time to…"
She kissed him then, slowly and sensually; in a way that this thin blanket wasn't going to do much to hide the reaction she was starting to give him underneath it. He had half a mind to ask her how she felt about being a couple of minutes late for work, but then his brain decided to startle itself awake upon processing the words 'Friday' and 'Leaky Cauldron'.
He was supposed to go to the Leaky Cauldron tonight on his break and meet Tonks. Death Eaters were supposed to be there. He was providing a cover story. Order business. Shit.
He pulled away and sighed loudly, letting his forehead press into hers. "So, I forgot to tell you that I can't meet with you tonight. I have this thing I have to do."
She pulled back and looked at him a bit curiously. "For work?"
He took a slow breath. That was probably the easiest way to explain it, since the truth was far more complicated and would require far more context. "Yes."
She frowned and faked a pout, which he immediately went to kiss away. He could feel her smile against his lips as she pulled back and said, "You can come over after work tonight, zen."
"It'll be late," he said, letting go of her as she made to stand herself up.
"I do not mind," she said with a sexy little smile. "Plus, I do not 'ave to work on Saturday, and you do not 'ave to until ze afternoon. We could stay up all night again. I would not 'ave to run off in the morning. Plenty of time for a naked lie-in."
He let out a breathy sort of noise that practically screamed that was all he wanted in life. It made her laugh as she finally turned to walk toward the door. "Zink about it and I will see you when you get in to work later."
"See you," he called after her, listening as the door shut behind her and he was now on his own. He looked around at all of her expensive looking things before letting himself plop back down on the sofa bed. He let his eyes shut and his thoughts linger back to some of the better parts of last night.
The days of this being nothing more than a work crush were obviously long gone; his feelings were now legitimate. He fancied her a lot. Actually, more than a lot. Actually, maybe more than fancied. This very well could be the real deal because he'd never felt this sort of draw toward someone before, and he'd fancied plenty of girls in the past. He'd gone through phases where he probably fancied someone new every night at every bar in Egypt—but this felt different. This felt as though fancying someone new next month made his stomach turn uncomfortably; he didn't want to fancy anyone else. He wanted her.
And as of right now he had her. He may not have time, but he did have her.
Fleur had practically floated into work that morning, even though she was running on next to no sleep. She didn't care. Everything was perfect. The world was perfect. Life was perfect.
She was in love. There was no other way to describe it, there was no other feeling comparable. She'd never felt this way; no one had ever made her feel this way; she didn't want anyone else to make her feel this way. She wanted him to be the last person she saw before she fell asleep at night and the first person she saw when she woke up the next day. She wanted it to be him who she could spend half the night talking to, only for that to turn into the sexiest roll in the sheets she'd ever experienced. Last night had truly been one of the best nights of her life.
They'd talked—really talked—which had led her down a path of confessing to him how much the Tournament had shaken her world. Even outside of the terror of the third task, she still had recurring dreams of dragon's fire blazing down on her; of hands gripping her legs and pulling her deeper and deeper down into the depths of an icy, black lake until there was no breath left to take. She would often wake soaked through her clothes; just as drenched as if she had actually escaped from the lake all over again.
That one always truly shook her to her core, which she told Bill during a quiet, post-coital moment. She'd never been much of a swimmer, despite growing up near the sea and loving the sights and sounds of it. Her mother had always claimed it was because she had Veela blood running through her veins. As she put it, they were beings who coexisted and drew power from the magic of fire. Water naturally didn't agree with them.
This was also how her mother excused Fleur's poor performance in the second task to people. "She and water simply do not mix" was her message, though Fleur didn't know how true that was. She was only a quarter Veela, after all.
At that, Bill had looked over at her from his spot lying beside her on the bed. "You're a quarter Veela?"
She didn't look back at him right away. That was the other thing she'd confessed to him for the first time that night: her Veela ancestry. She'd slipped it right in.
It wasn't that she was ashamed—she wasn't—it was that some people tended to react strangely to the news. There had been a few people throughout her life who had called her a name like half-breed in a derogatory fashion—ignorant morons and jealous cows. She didn't initially understand why they said it, but her mother had taken the time to carefully explain to her that some people—people who cared about pure and untainted magical blood—may see her as a lesser being because not only was she not of pure magical blood, but she was technically not even a pure human.
It had been hard to accept as a child, but she had come to terms with it as she grew; even embracing it. When the news got out around Beauxbatons during her first year, even at eleven, she'd always owned it before people could weaponize it against her. She'd made it seem cool and exotic before people really knew what to make of it; she learned young to use the powers that came naturally to her thanks to her Veela blood—her charm, her beauty, and her ability to command attention. She made being part Veela seem desirable because, as far as she was concerned, it was.
It was all of that, combined with her intelligence and her attitude to not be treated with anything but respect, that had done her well in life. Outside of an occasional jealous girl or bitter boy trying—and failing—to dredge up her Veela heritage in a whispered way around the school to disparage her, it wasn't ever brought up. Once she'd become popular and well-liked, no one seemed to care. She had set the tone.
But Beauxbatons had been a controlled environment; one she'd worked on for years to paint the picture she wanted seen. Now she was out in the real world, where people's prejudices and outdated opinions were alive and well. Where a madman was out to kill and destroy anyone who apparently wasn't of pure magical blood—which she did not have. Given the current climate, offering up that she was part Veela to just anyone wasn't something she did readily.
It had been why she'd wanted to get to know and trust Bill before she told him. It had been why she'd wanted Bill to get to know her for who she was before he found out. He didn't seem like that type who would care, but...there was only one way to find out.
She flipped onto her side to face him, pulling up the blanket over her in a protective sort of way. "I am. My maternal grandmother was."
He was quiet for a moment, which she didn't know how to interpret. Was he angry? Was this bad? It was a very long ten seconds before he offered up, "Well, yeah. It would have to be your maternal grandmother, wouldn't it? Veelas aren't known to reproduce males, are they?" He now seemed to be thinking something over. "I have to assume your grandfather was a wizard, because otherwise your mother would have been a full Veela as well. But you didn't mention your mother, you mentioned your grandmother—" He looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to confirm his theory.
She smiled a little. He wasn't bothered by any of this. In fact, he seemed more intrigued than anything; he seemed more interested in learning about her family tree. "Yes, my grandfather was a wizard. They had my mother, who also married a wizard—my father. Then I was born."
He nodded as if that was the answer he'd expected. "Right. And you've clearly retained some Veela traits, such as the hair, the incredible beauty—"
She smiled even wider at that.
"—but then not some of the others. Those didn't get passed along."
"Correct," she said. "I cannot shoot fire out of any part of me. Not literally. And I do not have scales or wings hiding in my back."
"If you did, I didn't see them," he said with a little smile. "And I've spent much of the last hour exploring you, so I would have found them if they were there."
She turned and laughed into a pillow, thrilled to know she had him pegged exactly as she thought—someone non-judgmental and agreeable. He truly didn't care. That was a huge weight lifted off of her.
He turned himself toward her, slinging his arm around her waist. "Is there a reason you waited to tell me that?"
She pulled her head out of the pillow and looked back at him. "Some people care a great deal about bloodlines and heritage. It is something I am careful to admit."
"Especially these days," he mumbled, pulling her a little closer.
She nodded. "Yes."
"I understand," he said, making a point to look at her. "But know that I don't care about that sort of thing. All that blood status shit ultimately means nothing."
She cocked an eyebrow at him, thinking back to him offhandedly mentioning his own bloodline to her once in passing. "Are you not a pureblood? Is that not easy for you to say?"
He chuckled a bit. "You may think that, but while my blood is apparently pure, my reputation—that is, the one that comes along with my last name—is basically dirt. 'Blood traitors' is the term they use because we dare to mix with Muggles and Muggleborns. Merlin forbid I don't cherish this—" He made air quotes, "'pure blood' that I happened to be born with. I don't give a shit."
"Some people take it very seriously."
"Because some people are twats," he said with a lazy smile.
Bill now knew her truths and her deepest thoughts. He'd listened, he'd offered comments, he hadn't reacted negatively to anything. If that wasn't truly perfect; if it wasn't truly love, she didn't know what was. She'd never felt this sort of connection before, and perhaps she was being naive—perhaps she was being swept off her feet by the first handsome, mature man she came in contact with in England—but it felt real.
And, for the first time in ages, with Bill was sleeping beside her, she didn't have a nightmare or any kind about the tournament. The little sleep she'd had was perfectly peaceful.
"Is it not a perfect day?" Fleur said at random back in the office at Gringotts as she stared out the window of her shared space, watching the people buzzing around Diagon Alley below. She wondered if any of them could possibly be having as good a day as she was.
Her coworker, Raymond, who was honestly just a ball of anxiety on any given day, just stared at her as if she were mad. The annual numbers seemed to really be working a number on him the last couple of weeks and he was currently elbow deep in about fifty deposit files that he was trying to sort out.
"Even the weather is beautiful today," Fleur added, turning away from the window and walking back across the room to her desk. "No clouds."
Daphne was watching as Fleur passed her desk and took to sitting at her own. She'd actually stopped her work to stare at her rather curiously. "Are you alright? You seem...very cheerful."
"And why should I not be?" Fleur asked in a chipper way, grabbing a stack of folders to get to work.
And get to work she did. Despite only having a few hours of sleep, she found she had a pep in her step that she usually didn't carry around Gringotts with her. It was one she hadn't felt since her last year at Beauxbatons—that is to say, the last year she was on campus. Back when she was on top of her marks, her peers, her extracurriculars; back when people associated her with the words accomplishment and success. Back before she'd entered that tournament and had the wind knocked out of her sails. She'd almost forgotten what it felt like to complete everything rather effortlessly.
While everyone else was buried in their work and struggling to keep up, she'd found it in her to work double time. She'd burned through her assigned files before lunch, and she'd managed to help the rest of them with their files after that. Something had clicked for her today; everything was making sense and the answers to her questions came effortlessly. Even her supervisor had swung by to comment how incredibly productive they'd been as a team, even though Fleur was the one who'd worked through most of it..
"I don't know what's got into you," said Raymond to her at the end of the day once everyone was packing up. "But whatever it is, keep doing it."
Daphne, who was grabbing her bag and straightening out her desk was nodding. "I think this is the first Friday in a month where I'm not considering coming in tomorrow to make sure I'm caught up for Monday."
Fleur smiled confidently. She didn't want to admit that she'd always been capable of this kind of productivity; she'd just hadn't felt it necessary before since she felt no reason to stand out. After all, she hadn't necessarily planned to stay in England long term, so rising to the top of her job and earning promotions hadn't been a priority. But now that she'd met someone worth staying in England for, perhaps they'd be seeing her true capabilities more often. If she was going to stay here longer, she was going to stay on top.
"I owe you a drink at the Leaky Cauldron tonight," Raymond said to her as he and Daphne walked toward the exit once all was done. "It's the least I can do for getting a weekend off for once."
Fleur shook her head as she pointed her wand at the lights, ready to extinguish them. Now that she'd stopped working, she could start to feel the waves of exhaustion slowly start to wash over her. Her day running non-stop; her lack of sleep—not to mention, Bill had promised that he would come by after he was done tonight. She really wanted to rest up before he did.
"It's Friday," Daphne said to Raymond in an obvious manner. "She meets Weasley on Fridays for their little romantic dinners. Where have you been?"
"Not caring about your love lives?" he offered.
Fleur ignored him and instead spoke directly to Daphne. "Unfortunately, there will be no meeting with him tonight. He is working."
Daphne frowned sympathetically, just as Raymond asked, "Which Weasley are you dating?"
"Bill," Daphne and Fleur said together; the latter of which smiling involuntarily at just mere the sound of his name.
Raymond looked confused as they all turned to exit the room. "Was he that Seeker for Gryffindor?" Thankfully for Fleur, Daphne went about setting the story straight.
"We had our first proper date last night," Fleur said to Daphne as they walked the corridor toward the lifts, happy to finally get to say something about it. She'd desperately wanted to tell someone about her amazing night—about how wonderful Bill was and how she was certain she'd found the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with—but, seeing as her best friends were still in France, Fleur once again chose Daphne as her outlet.
"How was it?" Daphne asked. "What did you do?"
Fleur smiled, biting her lip and finding herself checking the time. If Daphne truly wanted to know, she really should give her the entire story. She was dying to tell someone; brag a little. After all, it was only just after five in the afternoon. Technically she had time to go for a drink as long as it was just one. She could always nap afterwards.
"You know, I think I will join you for a drink after all," she said with a smile. "Just one."
As Bill walked into the Leaky Cauldron that night at just after seven o'clock, he immediately noticed that the pub was busy. Travelers, after work drinkers, diners, and people passing through were all crowding the tables and the bar top. He saw many of the familiar regulars he was used to seeing; some even nodded and waved as he passed. He scanned each face for...well, he didn't know. Tonks really could be anyone tonight.
He also gave the room a quick once over for these Death Eaters they were supposed to be keeping an eye on, but he didn't know what exactly he was looking for. He had to assume they weren't about to turn up here in their masks and cloaks, brandishing the dark mark and making things obvious. He supposed he was merely searching for a type, but the type really could be anything these days.
"How it goes, Bill?" asked a large bloke called Roscoe, who never seemed to leave the Leaky Cauldron and may actually live here. He patted Bill on the back as he passed his usual bar stool. "You on your own tonight? Where's that cute little bird you've been attached to lately?"
Bill smiled and shrugged, but didn't stop to chat. "Just me tonight."
"Aw, shame," Roscoe called after him. "Did it not work out? She was a looker, that one. Nice little bum…"
Bill ignored him and pressed on, forcing himself to walk away from that comment. He only had an hour, and a back and forth with drunk arseholes was not in the cards tonight.
Suddenly, a hand reached out from a spot at the bar and grabbed him by the arm. It belonged to a freckle-faced woman with long red hair that honestly resembled a grown-up version of Ginny. It actually threw him for a minute, as if his sister had somehow aged herself and appeared here.
"I've been waiting for you," she said, smiling up at him. "I saved you a seat."
He blinked. It wasn't the first time a girl rather boldly attempted to get his attention. Objectively, she was very pretty. If she didn't remind him of some weird copy of his baby sister, he might have been able to properly acknowledge that. That being said, he now knew one-hundred percent that he was completely into Fleur, because he wasn't the least bit interested in talking to this girl. Not even politely.
"I'm sorry, I'm looking for someone…"
"Yeah, me," she said, throwing him a rather obvious look. Something flashed in her eyes then that he recognized immediately. He didn't want to say it aloud since she was undercover, so he'd started to mouth the word, "Tonks?" to be sure, but she'd cut him off before he could get to the letter K in her name.
"Wotcher!" she said loudly, standing from her seat and acting as if she were greeting him as an old friend. It certainly was a bit performative, she even hugged him, and as soon as she was done she lowered her voice back down again and said, "Good to see you, mate. It's me. Nancy."
"Nancy?"
"Nancy," she said matter-of-factly.
"Right," he said with a nod. "Well good to see you." He gestured to her hair. "Nice hair. That's a choice."
She shrugged, her eyes scanning the room absently as if checking to see if anyone was paying them any attention. She leaned into him and whispered, "I figured I'd do my best Weasley impression tonight. We could be long-lost cousins or something. Whatever works." She again gestured for him to take the stool she'd saved for him. "And did you seriously think I was some girl trying to pick you up?"
"It wouldn't be the first time a girl in a pub has grabbed me," he said, sitting himself down beside her.
"They actually grab you? Just like that?"
"It's not unheard of."
"Seems aggressive," she said, making a face that was very Tonks like. "Does it ever work?"
"Depends on the girl; depends on my mood," Bill offered, throwing a nod to another regular he knew down the bar top. When he turned back to Tonks, he asked, "And do you mean to tell me you've never been grabbed at by some bloke looking to get your attention before?"
"Oh, I have," she said. "But it's never worked. Not my style. I usually have my wand out in their face ready to curse them within seconds. Then for some reason…" She smiled. "They seem to lose interest."
He smirked and watched as she scanned the room an effortless sort of way—clearly taking in more than the average person would, which probably came with all the experience and training she'd had as an Auror. He could just sense she saw things that he wouldn't have picked out in a crowd, but she didn't do it in a showy way. It all seemed very cool and collected.
He casually asked her what he was supposed to be doing since he felt awkward, and she told him whatever it was he would normally do here during his break. As she put it, he was here to lend her company—help run interference on unwanted chatterboxes or people who might provide a distraction to her once LaSalle and the Death Eaters turned up. When that happened, she needed to be able to focus. Merlin forbid, she had to deal with some random nutter or eager bloke trying to pick up a single girl at the bar.
"Why not an old lady?" Bill asked after he'd ordered his own dinner and a drink from Tom, the Leaky's Innkeeper. "Or an old man? Or just a big, scary bloke that no one would want to talk to?"
"It's a delicate process," Tonks explained, sipping on her pint—which she had told him was non-alcoholic since she never drank when she was working, but she'd ordered because she wanted to blend in. "Now, while it's not unheard of for an old lady to be bellied up to the bar, look around—"
He did as she gestured around the room, where the crowd was decidedly not filled with older ladies on this Friday night.
"Again," she continued, "natural is key. As for the man thing, that can go in a bunch of different directions as well. You wouldn't believe how many people want to just sit and chat with you if you're on your own, and it doesn't change whether I'm a pretty girl or an elderly man. The topic of conversation certainly changes, but some people just want to talk. As for someone big and scary that no one would want to talk to, we're not looking to draw extra attention. Those are the sorts of people you pick out immediately. I'm trying to remain mostly forgettable."
She then nodded to him and lowered her voice again. "Now when deciding earlier what I wanted to be, I did factor in that you would be here. Immediately my mind went to you hanging out with some pretty girl. People wouldn't bat an eye at that since that's probably your usual weekend—"
"It's really not."
"Right. Sure," she said dismissively. "Anyway, that was my thought process earlier." She then again scanned the room again in that quick but attentive way she kept doing. Apparently, no one was turning up because she kept letting herself relax every time she'd finish.
"Nothing?" he asked.
She shook her head. "There's always a chance it doesn't happen. Plans change constantly." She looked up at the toothless barman called Hopps, who was helping Tom behind the bar. She immediately asked if she could get the non-alcoholic bottle in a new glass, but Hopps really didn't seem amused by the order. He mumbled something about needing to go see if they had any in the back as he trudged away.
"I'm fairly certain I could ask for a glass of dragon spit and get less of a reaction than ordering a non-alcoholic beer," Tonks mumbled.
Bill chuckled as his steak and kidney pie arrived, for which Tom the innkeeper smiled at Tonks politely before glancing back at Bill. He quipped, "Do you have any friends that eat with you?" as he again gave Tonks a polite smile before turning to walk off and attend to someone calling his name down the bar.
Bill knew what he meant—he was referring to how Fleur never ate because she hated the food here—but Tonks was looking at him a little curiously. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Lately, when I'm having dinner on my break," he said, opening up his wrapped silverware. "The girl I've been seeing meets me here. She's not a fan of food because…" He pointed to his mushy looking pie, which didn't look as appetizing as he once found it. "Yeah….She usually just has a drink while I eat. Now here I am sitting with you, and you're not eating…"
"Girl you've been seeing," Tonks said in a rather sing-song way. "Wait, I knew you had a big date last night, but 'seeing' implies several dates. More than one. I wasn't aware this was a repeat occurrence."
Bill took a bite of his pie and nonchalantly said, "We've been out a few times. It may be getting serious."
"And…?" Tonks said. "What's her name? Did you meet her when you came back home? Do I know her? I have to know her. You're not that much older than me and we know all the same people around here."
"I don't think you would," Bill said, turning to look at her. "For starters, she's not from here, so we didn't go to school with her. Another reason…" He hesitated. "She's a bit younger. She's my younger brother's age."
"I'm your younger brother's age," she said obviously, though he knew she was referring to Charlie. They'd been in the same year at school.
"No, see," Bill explained, "there's a difference there. You're talking about Charlie, who I would call just my brother; not my younger brother. It's the other four I call my younger brothers."
She stared at him. "But he is your younger brother."
"Technically, yes," he said, taking another bite. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but when you've got five younger brothers, you get to choose how you see them." He shook his head. "But we're not even talking about Charlie. I was talking about Percy."
"Oh," Tonks said a little blankly. "Wait, how old is he these days? I know I have a few years on him…"
"Eighteen, but he turns nineteen soon," Bill said. "My girl's the same."
"So, she's eighteen?"
"Yes..." Bill said slowly, waiting for the inevitable comment about how that seemed a bit young for a twenty-four year old man. Even when he thought about it, there was always a nagging sensation that it sounded like quite the gap. However, whenever he was with her, it never even crossed his mind. She seemed wiser, more mature, more collected than her years suggested. They felt like they were on the same level, which either meant she was far more mature for her age or that he was far less than he'd always thought. Still, it was only when you said it out loud that it sounded big.
"And I know you're probably wondering what I'm doing carrying on with someone barely out of school," he began, "but it's not like that. I wasn't looking for someone young, I just happened to meet someone and we hit it off. We have loads in common and we get on well. She's beautiful and she's got her shit together, which is more than I can say for even some of the women my age—"
"I wasn't thinking anything like that," Tonks interrupted a little distractedly since she was taking the moment to scan the room and do surveillance. When she looked back at him, she said, "I wasn't. I get it."
"You do?"
"You can't help who you fall for," she said. "And I'm sorry, eighteen is plenty old enough to make an adult decision as to who you want to spend your time with. Let's not act like this girl—nay, woman—can't make her own choices. People love to infantilize women and I'm over it. Plus, you're not a hundred, your twenty...what? Four?"
He nodded.
"That's nothing," she said dismissively. "I look at it this way, I went into Auror training at eighteen. You mean to tell me I'm old enough to be put through that madshit wringer of intense and sometimes brutal magical tests that most wizards couldn't handle on their best day, but yet I'm not ready to decide that I want to be with someone because they might be a decade or so older?" That's rubbish."
"It's not a decade," he said. "It's only about six years…"
"Two people don't have to be born in the same generation to be compatible," she continued, her expression getting oddly tight.
"Well, hold on. It's the same generation," Bill said. "Again, six years. It's really not that large a gap in the grand scheme of things. It only seems that way now because—"
"But if you're letting yourself get hung up on stupid details such as age," she continued, looking as if she wasn't listening to a word he was saying and was off on her own tangent, "instead of what's inside that counts. The things you have in common, the connection, the attraction. If you ignore that because of a number—because it's not high or low enough to what society considers normal, even if it's perfectly legal—then you might miss out on the love of your life."
He stared at her, noticing that she was frowning and absently examining up her empty pint glass. She was giving off the distinct impression that she wished there was something—perhaps something stronger—inside of it.
She looked back at him then, and a part of her expression seemed to have realized she may have gone a touch overboard before she softened slightly and said, "If you're happy and she's happy, then be happy together."
"Thanks. That's how I see it." He grinned. "So far it's been nothing but happy. She's amazing."
"That's great, Bill. I can tell by your smile you mean that. What's her name? I missed it if you said it earlier."
"Fleur," he said. "She's French. You might have heard her name before from—"
At that moment, Hopps interrupted after having returned with a dusty looking bottle after vanishing for what seemed like ages. He made a point to blow the dust off in front of them as sort of a bizarre performance—as if he was mimicking a wine presentation in a place far posher than this. He then set the bottle down in front of Tonks and growled. "You wanted a glass?"
"If I didn't before, I definitely do now," she said, watching as he slapped a new pint glass down on the bar top.
"How long do you reckon that bottle's been in the back?" Bill asked as Tonks proceeded to pour her drink into her glass. She chuckled before making some sort of joke about Merlin himself having ordered this here, but her voice quickly drifted off and she straightened up a bit. After a brief pause, she very quietly said. "Don't look straight away, but near the back is a bald man who had just arrived and sat down at a table on his own."
Bill took a beat pause before casually looking around the room as if he were randomly taking things in. Sure enough, near the back, an older looking bald man sat wiping his brow with a handkerchief as he removed a bowler hat. He looked a bit fidgety, but perhaps Bill was seeing what he wanted to see.
"That's LaSalle," Tonks said in an equally quiet voice, though she was keeping her eyes on her drink. "He looks as if he's expecting company, wouldn't you say?" She picked up her drink. "It's just a matter of who and when?"
"What do we do?"
She gestured to his half finished pie plate. "We're grabbing a table a little closer to the action. Change of scenery." She threw him a look. "And remember, act naturally. I'll take care of the rest."
There was a group of bank people already at the Leaky Cauldron, seeing as it was well after five by now and Fleur and her cohorts seemed to be late comers. Raymond made good on his promise and bought her a drink, but he soon disappeared off to be with his girlfriend and some friends from finance; many of whom made a point to come over and throw Fleur particularly warm hellos and smiles. One actually tripped over himself. They promptly found themselves ignored.
Daphne was meeting with some of her school friends—including that Penelope girl—and Fleur had begun recalling some of her previous evening activities to the group at large. Daphne really had meant it when she'd said people knew who the Weasleys were. Outside of having to answer, "Which one are we talking about?" there was little other explanation necessary.
"He sounds sweet," said a girl with dark hair who had arrived with Penelope and whose name Fleur hadn't bothered to catch since she'd been too excited to tell her story. "And very…" She paused and giggled a bit, "skilled."
"He is very skilled," Fleur agreed with a proud sort of smile.
"Yeah, that particular skill is certainly not genetic," Penelope muttered, standing then and excusing herself to get another drink.
Daphne had smiled at Fleur. "You can tell you really fancy him."
"I have never met someone like him before," Fleur said rather happily. "When we are together it is simply perfect. Everything is perfect. I wish this sort of feeling for everyone." She looked around at all of them. "Perhaps one day for all of you."
A few pinched and watered down smiles appeared around the table, though no one said anything to that. The subject was actually quickly changed to something that had happened in the lobby of the bank today with a disgruntled customer, but Fleur found herself not particularly interested in the details.
One glance at the clock told her it was time to head home for a shower and a nap, but before she could announce her departure, Penelope had returned and come sliding into the booth in a frenzied sort of way. She'd spilled a fair amount of her lager in the process, causing her friends to scoff and ask her what she was doing.
Penelope ignored them and immediately set in on Fleur. "Didn't you say Bill was working tonight?"
Fleur nodded slowly, letting her eyes drift down to the puddle of liquid on the tabletop that Penelope seemed to be ignoring. She was apparently going to leave that there.
Penelope seemed to have inhaled an entire lungful of air then, but she was now holding it and not immediately releasing it until she said, "He told you he was working tonight?"
"Yes," Fleur said, now wondering if this girl was always this much extra effort to deal with.
"Interesting, interesting," Penelope said in a very put on sort of way. "Because I just saw him at the bar." She paused. "With a girl."
Fleur stared at her for a moment, but eventually let herself laugh. "You must have been mistaken. He is working tonight."
Everyone else in the group was already craning their necks toward the bar to see what they could see. Daphne was actually standing from her seat. "Where?"
"Around the bend near the corner," Penelope said, still watching Fleur for some sort of reaction. "It was him. I know it was. He and some very pretty red-headed girl. They looked to be having a lovely little chat."
"I don't see any of these people," Daphne said, now squinting up toward the bar. "No red-head, no Weasley—"
"Because he is at work," Fleur said immediately, knowing that Penelope was mistaken. Bill wasn't here. Why would he be here? Why would he have lied about that?
"They're being obscured behind that post," Penelope said, though just as she spoke the site of a pretty redhead and Bill appeared to be walking away from the bar and—Fleur followed their movements like a hawk—toward a table on the other side of the room. Toward the cozy little table they'd say in last time. She watched as they sat. Bill's back was now toward them.
Fleur felt as if her heart stopped. It was him. It was definitely him. She'd know him anywhere. But he'd said...He'd lied...How?...Why? What was happening?
Everyone around her became deadly quiet, and it was clear they were all trying to gauge her reaction without outright asking or staring at her. It was a tense, cold sort of silence that people generally didn't know how to break; not that Fleur cared to break it. She was too busy feeling as though the world was being spun out of control.
This had never, not once, ever happened to her before. Usually, once she'd hooked a boy, she'd always had them until she'd decided she was done with them. She'd never been rejected or dumped. She'd never not been chosen. She'd never been cheated on or stepped out on or...whatever this was.
Because while she knew she and Bill hadn't had that conversation yet about being official or not seeing other people, there was no way—no way—that they could have had the night they'd had together and not come out the other end with a plan to make this more serious. She'd practically been ready to accept a marriage proposal five minutes ago, and yet he was still seeing other people? He was still dating?
But he'd barely had time to date her! That's what he'd told her! He was always so busy. How did he have time to play the field and—?
She felt something drop into the pit of her stomach…what if the jokes she frequently made about him having a secret relationship were true? Was that how he really spent those mysterious nights where he "had things to do?" Was she—Fleur—actually the 'other' in this story? One of many? He'd clearly lied about not being able to come here tonight since he was working. What else was he lying about?
"She's got red hair," Daphne said obviously, the first one to speak. "Maybe she's a Weasley too?"
"Yeah, maybe a sister," the dark-haired girl said.
"His sister is a child," said Penelope matter-of-factly. "That is a grown woman."
"A cousin?"
Penelope was shaking her head. "Percy never once mentioned a cousin while we were at school. And she actually doesn't look that much older than any of us, so realistically we should recognize her from around Hogwarts if she's from around here. British wizarding society isn't that large. I feel we're all, maybe, two degrees of separation from each other."
Fleur knew Penelope wasn't wrong. Her words had sparked another memory of something that Bill had mentioned to her just last night while they were talking. It had been after she'd told him of her Veela heritage and they'd discussed further how everyone born for generations through her maternal side had been a female.
"It's the opposite in my family," Bill had said as he absently stroked her hair as she lay with. "My dad's side is known for its abundance of males—hence my herd of brothers. Up until recently, the only women were the ones who married into the family; even the few cousins I have are all males. My sister was the first girl born in ages, so she was a bit of a surprise."
He had no female cousins.
"Pen," said Daphne, throwing her friend a hard look before looking cautiously at Fleur. Her tone softened. "You know, perhaps it's work related?"
"Right. Of course," everyone offered sympathetically, though Fleur was now taking a deep breath and gathering herself.
Well, if it was work related, there was one way to find out. She would walk over and say hello, because why wouldn't she? That was only normal after all—if you saw someone you knew out in public you would say hello. If he became shifty and awkward, she would know the truth. If he responded normally, then perhaps it really was nothing.
That would be the mature way of handling this—not the flying off the handle response that she was currently fighting. That would do no one any good. She kept telling herself he wasn't her boyfriend; they'd never agreed to those terms, but after last night—after the things he's said, the way he'd looked at her, the things they'd shared—she couldn't accept that he could just put that act on one minute and be out with another girl the next. That would make him some sort of twisted monster.
She stood then and edged her way out of the table without a word. It was Penelope who asked, "You're not leaving are you? I would think you should go and say something. Don't let him get away with this."
"Pen!" Daphne snapped. "Stop trying to start—"
"I am going to say hello," Fleur said.
"Wait, you are?" Daphne asked, her face a little fearful. Penelope, however, looked fairly excited.
"That is the polite thing," Fleur said matter-of-factly, smoothing out her robes and running a hand through her hair. She put on a perfectly presentable smile for the group of them before quipping, "Wish me luck."
"Good luck," Penelope offered. "And if it turns out he's rubbish, don't say I didn't warn you. Those are the Weasleys for you."