A/N: Figured I'd drop a few more chapters I finished. I think I've decided to definitely take this through the end of the HP series; maybe do a part one (B/F inside the HP books) and then a part two (B/F next gen and within my other other stories). That's my plan for now. I have ideas, so we'll see how it goes. In the meantime, I'll be posting these next four chapters over the next couple of days and wrapping up 1995 for B/F.

November 1995

"I do not like this one either," Fleur said of the burgundy patterned dress she was wearing, now shimmying out of it and letting the outfit fall around the floor at her feet. She quickly kicked it to the side, where four other dresses were now piled up, and stood in her underwear in front of all the clothes she had charmed to hover and display in front of her. A pale blue dress toward the end caught her attention. Perhaps that one...

From behind her on the sofa, the sound of Bill crunching an apple barely fazed her. Though when he followed with, "You realize you look amazing in literally everything, don't you?" she did turn away from her clothing selection.

She threw him a look to say that wasn't helpful, to which he added, "Well, you do." He bit his apple once more and gestured to her standing there in front of him. "You also look amazing in nothing. In fact, I say you stay like that, I shake off this—" He pointed to his own clothes, "—and we say sod it to all of our plans and instead have loads of food and sex and enjoy a truly nice evening."

She threw him a lazy smile before turning back to look at her clothes. "We cannot say 'sod it' to your parents. They have insisted on having us for dinner for your birthday."

"Right, my birthday," he said. "Shouldn't I get to choose how to celebrate that? Which leads us straight back to the food and the sex and the you not putting on anymore clothes than you're already wearing…"

She shook her head and laughed a little, now summoning the pale blue outfit toward her so that she could try it on. "Your actual birthday is not until tomorrow." She turned back to look at him. "That is when we can revisit talk of sex and food. That is when I will let you dictate how much clothes I do or do not spend the evening in. Until then..." She held up her dress. "Perhaps this one…?"

Bill sighed, resigned to the fact that there was not getting out of their evening plans to venture over to his house—his parents' house—and sit for his birthday dinner with his mother and father, both of whom Fleur had still yet to formally meet.

They'd been together for five lovely, wonderful, charmed months that Fleur had enjoyed tremendously; even with all the obstacles in the way. The summer months—up until mid-September—had felt as though they stretched on forever thanks to Bill working his ridiculous vampire hours well into the night, but things had since flipped and become better now that he was working proper banking hours. They both now worked similar schedules, though his days tended to go longer than hers. Longer was still better than living on a completely opposite schedule, which had proven to be difficult. Luckily for them, those early months had been new, fresh, and fun; that time in every new relationship where concessions could be made for any inconvenience because they simply adored everything about their other.

And while she still did adore everything there was about him, she had to admit that if she had to keep waking up at one o'clock every morning just to be with him, she would have slowly gone mad. She'd have still done it, but she'd have gone mad.

Luckily, they now got to spend most free nights of the week together—if he didn't have one of his secret meetings or some random obligation that forced him to rearrange their plans last minute. That happened more than Fleur would have liked to admit, but when things were typical the time they spent together was wonderful. They could grab dinner together before cuddling up after work at her flat. Sometimes it would lead to sex; sometimes it would lead to a quiet night of listening to the radio, talking and sleep. No matter the end results, it was all it was all very domesticated and blissful.

She'd never had a relationship last this long, and she'd certainly never had one this serious. Bill practically lived with her, seeing as once the school year had started and his siblings had to return to school, his parents had arrived home and given him two new housemates. He claimed it wasn't as bad as it could have been since it was only the three of them, not the entire gaggle of siblings as well, but Fleur knew he much preferred their private twosome.

But his parents were still very much a part of the picture, which did sometimes cause Bill some unwanted stress. His mother, for example, seemed to be a very involved woman. She had been repeatedly inquiring about her—Fleur—since Bill now spent so much of his free time with her, and had begun asking him regularly to bring her around so that they could meet her. According to Bill, his mother had been asking since August, but he'd told her he would do it when he felt it was time. Not because his mother was pressuring him for an introduction.

"Perhaps you do not want me to meet your family?" Fleur had teased him on one early September night after he—again—mentioned how his mother was asking to meet her.

"Don't think for a minute it's you," Bill said matter-of-factly from the spot where he was lounging beside her on her bed. He had his hair down and was letting her twirl a piece aimlessly around her finger. "It's more that it's become this bizarre back and forth between me and my mum. She seems to think I'm being secretive and sneaky. I see it as more an attempt to have a semblance of private life, which as an adult I'm allowed to do. I'm not a kid who's going to do as she asks because that's the way it's always been. I'll bring my girlfriend 'round when I bloody well please."

Fleur smiled. She understood where he was coming from. She was hearing this a lot lately since his parents were back home. A constant back and forth over their shared space and the way Bill was choosing to live his life. His mother apparently expected things to be a certain way—more the way things were the last time he lived at home at seventeen—whereas Bill felt the need to constantly remind her he was grown and made his own choices and decisions now.

He always made it seem like it was more bickering and pestering rather than anything serious. He and his mother didn't fight about things and never had, but Fleur sensed that was more Bill's general demeanor than anything more. Bill didn't like to row—she'd learned that about him—and he tended to walk away and cool down instead of arguing in the heat of the moment. It actually proved to be a nice balance in their relationship, seeing as she did like to argue and fight when angry, but he never let her. The couple of small arguments they'd had never turned into much because he never let them get to that point. He always was good about deescalating things before she got too heated.

But he did walk away. And when it came to his mother, he always ended up walking away and straight over to her small flat.

"I am happy to meet them whenever you are ready," Fleur said with a shrug, stretching her back before letting herself lean directly on him. "I am good with parents."

"I don't doubt it," he said, reaching his arm around her and pulling her so she was now completely resting against him. "You're perfect. It's them—or rather, my mum—I'm worried about. She'll have all the questions and opinions. My dad will like you because I do. That's how he is."

"Your mother sounds as if she is having a hard time accepting you are your own man now," Fleur offered, looking up at him. "You do not need her the way you once did."

"Which would make sense if I were fifteen, but I'm nearly twenty-five," he muttered. "That ship has sailed. She can focus that energy on my actual teenage siblings and give me a break."

"Yes, but they are not here. You are."

"Lucky me," he muttered. "It's as if moving home has made her...I don't know. It wasn't like this before I came back. It really wasn't."

"I am sure all of the stress and change due to You-Know-Who does not help," she offered.

"No, it doesn't," he agreed. "And I can understand that, but still…I can handle myself. If she knew half the stuff I've been involved with at work, in life, with other people, she'd probably drop dead on the spot." He threw Fleur a funny look. "If she knew half the stuff we got up to in this bed right here, I'd probably put her in hospital."

Fleur laughed and swatted him before she pulled away and laid out in front of him so that she was facing him. He was smiling himself before he decided to add, "You know, I feel bad because I feel like all I ever do it bitch and moan lately my folks lately, but they really are the loveliest people." He sighed. "They're just driving me mad right now."

She smiled at him as she propped her head onto her arm. "Parents will do that. Sometimes I miss that I do not see more of mine to let them drive me 'mad'."

He forced a grin, looking away with a rather distant gaze. He was stressed; everyone was. She wasn't even in the loop of things like he was with his secret, special meetings, but she could feel the shift even without being allowed to attend. Between the small bits that Bill could tell her about rumblings in the Ministry—including an awful Ministry plant being placed at Hogwarts to keep tabs on Harry, as well as the recent arrest of a man Bill knew by the name of Podmore that seemed to have caused him some distress—Fleur sensed these were all instances that were much bigger deals than they sounded. Add to that, the newspapers were still constantly publishing awful things daily about Harry and Dumbledore, and the whispers and conversation around the bank were still tense and leaving everyone on edge. It was clear something foreboding was in the air. Things were brewing.

Everything felt so tightly wound lately that even the most mild mannered people—like Bill—were clearly cracking a bit here and there. Sometimes she felt it was her job to remind him that it wasn't only him. That he shouldn't think it was.

She reached out and rubbed his hand. "This will all calm, though I cannot say when. Until then, you are always welcome wherever I am. I will always take you in when the world is driving you mad. I will always listen. I will do my best to keep the madness away."

He looked back at her and she smiled at him; the two of them holding each other gazes as they often did when the topics of conversations tended to trek into heavier territory. It was a long, lovely sort of quiet moment before Bill finally said, "You really are the only thing keeping the madness away."

She let her smile turn playful. "I am good at what I do. I always have been."

"You don't need to tell me that," he said, leaning down and forward to kiss her swiftly. Like most of these instances where their kissing began to pick up on her bed, she was already convinced that this was going to go the way of their usual favorite naked way to de-stress and bring a bit of calm to the day, but Bill had suddenly stopped and pulled back a bit. He let his forehead rest on hers and looked her right in the eyes before he said, "Want to hear some French I learned?"

She pulled off his forehead and stared at him. That was...random. It wasn't that she didn't want to hear it—she loved that he was making the effort lately to learn her language—and they often sat around with her teaching him words and phrases. It had become a little game they played, but now didn't quite feel like the time. Usually they did this over dinner, or during weekend lie-ins, or when the mood was much lighter. The atmosphere right now felt charged; as if they should still be kissing and he should be working her out of her clothes and ravishing her. Not taking language lessons.

"I did this one on my own," he said, leaning in to slowly kiss her again. "Je suis…" Their lips met, but only for a few seconds before he finished with, "amoureux de toi."

Did he say…? She pulled back and immediately met his eyes with hers, noticing that he was clearly watching her for her reaction. She now knew this had nothing to do with pronunciation and everything to do with him eagerly anticipating how she was going to react to the fact he'd just told her...he'd said...in French...in her French…the French that he was learning for her...

That he was in love with her.

She broke into what had to be a ridiculously silly grin and felt herself melting to the spot. He'd said it. She'd wanted to say it for ages now—since they'd first got together—-because that was how long she'd felt it, but she hadn't wanted to seem young and rush things. She had been giving it time to truly grow into something.

But he'd said it. She'd never felt so happy in her entire life than to hear those words—those French words!—come out of his mouth.

Bill chuckled a little as he watched her face. "I take it that I didn't mess that—?"

He didn't get to finish that sentence because she'd practically lunged at him where he sat and wrapped her arms around his neck. She began peppering him with kisses, though stopped between one to say, "Je t'aime aussi." She kissed him again, though once again stopped to say, "I love you."

He grinned as he wrapped his arm around her, letting her wrestle her down to the bed so that she was now looming over him. She wasted no time kissing him yet again and was already reaching for the bottom of his shirt when she said against his mouth, "Say it in English."

"I love you?" he asked curiously, though not getting to say anything further since she'd immediately once again captured his lips, hummed her approval into his mouth, and pulled him in as close as he could get then. Hearing him say it in French was romantic and sweet, but hearing him say it in English was genuine and...so very him. That was the Bill she knew and loved.

And it turned out he loved her too. So while the world remained chaotic on the outside, inside their small, little bubble—for a few fleeting hours a day—when it was the two of them, life was grand. It was their happy place as long as they had each other.

With the blue dress now on, Fleur finished adjusting herself and turned to Bill, who was finishing up his apple but stopped to nod his approval. "You look amazing."

"You always say that."

"I always mean that," he said, standing from the sofa to retreat into the kitchen. "You don't have to particularly dress up for a meal with my folks. I can't see them dressing up." He returned back into the room and stood there observing her. "And I'm wearing what I wore to work."

She walked over to have him zip her up in the back of her dress, which he inferred without her having to ask. She'd moved her hair to the side and he pulled the zipper up as she asked, "Do you plan on wearing what you wore to work when you meet my parents?"

"No," he said, giving her neck a quick peck before standing back and letting her view herself in the mirror. "But only because I assume I'd have to meet your parents in France, so I would already have the day off…"

She exhaled a bit of a scoff, though her focus was more on the reflection in the mirror. It agreed with the vision she was going for tonight—sophisticated and polished, while not being too flashy or revealing too much. She hadn't wanted to wear anything too posh or expensive, seeing as she knew Bill came from humble roots and had mentioned that sometimes his parents could show self-conscious tendencies when confronted with more opulent items or spending. She made a mental note about that.

"When I meet your folks I'll wear whatever you tell me to wear," he suddenly said. "Because I trust you to know best. Just like I hope you trust me when I say we're going to the Burrow. For a dinner that's probably being served on the same plates I've been eating off since I was a toddler. Dressing up is not, nor will it ever be, required." He reached out and pulled her in for a quick hug. "But you do what you want. You truly do look amazing."

She hugged him back before sighing and pulling away from him; she caught herself yet again in the mirror. This would do. Outside of wearing t-shirt, she really could not dress herself down much more. This was how she dressed—nice, well, put together. It was how she'd been raised to dress; to care about what she put on herself and to always put her best foot forward when it came to her appearance. She genuinely wasn't trying to look overly special. This was simply how she did things.

She looked back at him. "When you meet my parents, I will be putting you in your finest dress robes," she teased, walking over to search for a pair of shoes to match her outfit.

"I'll need new ones," he said, checking his watch for the time and indicating they had to leave if they wanted to be on time. "But I can't say I'm surprised. That does fit the image I have of meeting your family."

She looked up at him as she slipped into her shoes. "What image is that?"

He shrugged. "That you all live in a nice, big chateau sort of house with a large garden. That you probably have several palatial rooms and the sort of dining room that would require dress robes for Sunday dinner."

She laughed. Did he seriously think that? "We do not wear dress robes for Sunday dinner. My home is very nice, but it is on the modest side compared to many people. I would not call it particularly large, but it does have a spectacular view of the sea, which is why my parents chose to live there. It certainly is not this manor you have pictured in your head. The Burrow is larger."

Bill pulled a face. "You know bloody well there's a difference."

She stood up straighter now that she was fully dressed and tucked her hair behind her ears. She walked over to gather her cloak, seeing as the temperature outside was starting to dip into rather frigid territory, but not before rounding on Bill to say, "I think you need to see it for yourself."

"See what?" he asked, walking over to join her and grab his own cloak. He'd taken hers from her and held it up rather chivalrously to allow her to put it on.

"My home," she offered, slipping into her cloak and pulling her long hair out so that it wasn't trapped underneath. She reached out for the bottle of wine she'd picked up to bring to dinner for his parents. "France. To meet my family."

"I'm game," he said, pulling on his own cloak now. "Sounds great. I could use the holiday. Let's work something out."

"How about next month?"

He turned rather quickly and blinked at her. It was then she realized that—while he was agreeing to the idea—he hadn't expected her to actually have a plan in place. "Next month? As in December?"

She nodded. "You are aware I am going home for two weeks for Noël—Christmas. I know you have to work, but we could arrange that you could come for a bit." She smiled as she reached forward and wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him. "You could even come for Noël if you wanted."

He still seemed a bit surprised by the invitation, though he had automatically returned her hug and was looking down at her. "We could spend Christmas together."

"We could!" she said excitedly, now wondering if he'd actually consider this. She'd already made peace with the fact that she was headed home at the end of December to see her family for the first time in ages; that she wouldn't see Bill for those two weeks. He had to work many of those days, and their relationship was still so new that it had made sense that she would simply spend the holiday with her family while he spent it with his. She'd never even considered asking him before this moment, but...if there was a chance she could see him, have him come to France for Noël, her absolute favorite time of year, then perhaps...

"I would need to work some things out," he said, looking as if he was trying to figure out the details in his head. "Look at my schedule…"

"Think about it," she said, reaching her head up to kiss him quickly. "You do not need to decide this minute. I will talk to my parents, but I know they would love to have you! They love a full house for Noël! We have the space."

'Well, I figured that much," Bill said, smirking at her. "In one of your twenty bedrooms, right?"

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Four. And how many rooms does the Burrow have?"

"Again, not the same."

"If you say so, mon amour," she said, swatting him playfully and breaking apart so that she could walk toward the door. As excited as she was about this potential development, she needed to tackle the task of first meeting his parents. She had to meet his before he could meet hers.