A frigid wind hit Bill the moment he Apparated outside of the Burrow. Fleur appeared seconds later beside him, her hair whipping around in a way he knew she probably wasn't keen on. She'd just spent the last hour getting ready to meet his parents and a blustery wind was now undoing the work she'd put in.
It was a terribly dreary and dark evening. Bill looked toward the house, noticing the chimney was smoking and several of the lights in the house were lit. That was the only current source of light, seeing as it was otherwise cloudy and moonless. It felt particularly quiet.
"It iz so very windy," he heard Fleur mutter as he led the way toward the front door.
"Looks as though a storm is coming," he said, stopping just outside the front of the house. He paused and looked around, finding it strange to be using the front door since he tended to favor the kitchen one. But the front gave them a bit more cover to collect themselves before entering. He knew Fleur would appreciate the time to straighten herself out, whereas he just needed a moment to gather his thoughts.
He was a little nervous about Fleur meeting his parents for the first time. He'd made the mistake of putting it off for a month or two longer than he probably should have, so it had sort of been built up for everyone. His mother especially had made him feel as if this was a very big deal—and perhaps it was. He'd never really brought a girl home before; not one he was serious about. He'd had a proper girlfriend at school, but he'd never brought her to the Burrow; never introduced her to his parents. He'd brought girls to the house before, but they were more casual things—a friend or two who he may fancied a bit and fooled around with if the opportunity presented itself.
Fleur was the first girl he was actually bringing home who he was serious about; the first girl he'd ever fallen head over heels for. With her, he saw a future, not just a fling or a couple of months of enjoying each other's company. Every day he spent with her was starting to feel as though she might be the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
And the wild part was that that idea didn't scare him, but rather excited him. It made him realize just how truly great what they had was.
While he knew deep down everything would be fine—Fleur was perfect; his parents were great—he still felt apprehensive at these two parts of his world colliding. He'd felt it since the moment his mother had proposed this evening to him days earlier.
"Did you want something special for dinner for your birthday?" she had asked him over a cup of tea; on a morning before he'd needed to get ready for work.
It had become sort of their morning ritual to chat over a cup, whether he was waking from upstairs or getting home early to dress for work after having left Fleur's. The latter of those two scenarios his mother had needed to adjust to—he often found her sitting at the table with a raised, judgmental eyebrow when he rolled in just after dawn—but she'd mostly stopped commenting on it after the first month.
He had a feeling his father had spoken to her after the two had a lengthy conversation about how things should be handled now that the three of them were all back at the Burrow. Yes, it was good to have them all here for Order related business, for extra security, to be kept in the loop. Yes, he ultimately did love his parents very much and had spent years, if not most, of his life being the always agreeable, model son. But...things were different now. They had to be. It was the only way they could live together, which his father understood. His mother, however, was a harder boulder to move.
She was making the effort though, even if he knew she was biting her tongue half the time. She didn't like him rolling in at dawn, but they'd all come to agreement that if he was going to be out late, he would stay out. Him creeping home at all hours of the night given the current climate of the world was enough to sound alarms in his parents' mind about who could be entering or moving around the home at all hours. Bill had felt that was a fair rule, and this way no one got cursed in the kitchen at two in morning.
He'd even decided to still come home most mornings to get ready for work so that his mother knew he hadn't been killed by Death Eaters in the night—which five years ago would have been an extreme overreaction, but these days it was an ever growing possibility. He knew having him around made her feel better, so he did what he could to placate that. Despite any of her critical opinions about his choices lately, a part of him would still always strive to be her mostly agreeable, model son. The part he was born to play.
It was this that brought him and his mother together nearly every weekday morning over tea. It was him putting in the time for her, knowing how much it meant to her.
"For my birthday?" Bill asked, having almost forgotten it was creeping up on him now that November was drawing to a close. "What day is my birthday? I don't even—"
"It's on Wednesday," she said, not missing a beat.
He grinned as he sipped his tea. Of course she knew. "There's no Order meeting on Wednesday."
She shook her head. "No. Not as long as there are no surprise arrests or further shake ups at Hogwarts." She made a face. "If not, you should be free." She suddenly paused. "I wasn't sure if you had...plans."
He looked over his teacup at her, already knowing what she was playing at. She liked to play aloof when it came to the subject of Fleur, and it was partially his fault why she did it.
She'd been asking for months now to meet her, having been shocked when she found out the girl he'd been seeing was the same one from the Triwizard Tournament. He'd had to run the gauntlet of typical questions—"Isn't she a bit young for you?" and "Does she plan on staying here in England?" and "You haven't told her about the Order, have you?"—and he'd given all his standard answers about how their age gap wasn't that significant; that they were taking things day by day; he hadn't told her about the Order or any of the details because he couldn't—though she knew he was up to something and he trusted her explicitly with what information he could give her.
That last part had even made his father nervous; still Bill reiterated that Fleur knew exactly the right amount of information she needed to know in order to not chuck him for sneaking around all the time, but not enough to do any damage with it. Not that Bill didn't want that to change and include her more, but he'd only tiptoed around that topic with his parents so far. He was letting them get used to the idea of her being a major part of his life before springing inviting her to join the Order on them.
And perhaps that was subconsciously one of the reasons he hadn't brought Fleur around to meet his parents yet. While he trusted her and knew she was capable, bringing her into the Order was a huge step not only for their relationship, but for so much more. He was clearly being selfish by not speeding up the process and getting her face to face with actual Order members like his parents—whose approval would sway the likes of Dumbledore. But a part of him was enjoying the only simple, happy part of his life—the only Order free part of his life—that would inevitably have to end some day when those worlds merged.
And that day would first start with him introducing her to his parents.
His mother was more than keen to set things up. Her way of dealing with the fact that he hadn't arranged a meeting yet was to often speak of Fleur and his relationship as something almost mysterious—because as far as she was concerned it was. She didn't know this girl; he spent most of his free time over at her place; and he never really got into many details about her since he'd never been the type to talk much about his private life even before her. His mother—despite knowing Fleur's name—would often call her his "girlfriend." When he would comment on it she would simply say, "Well, if you'd just introduce us, then I would feel more comfortable using her name. As it is, I don't know her."
This, he realized, was how his mother handled being left out of the loop. Passive aggression.
Bill had sighed and rubbed his stubbly chin, which he probably needed to go upstairs and shave. "Now that you mention it, I think Fleur said something about wanting to do something for me for my birthday." He finished his tea. "I'll have to ask to be sure."
"Well," his mother said, sipping on her own tea. "Even if you two do have plans on your birthday, I was thinking we could celebrate with dinner here the night before. There's also no Order meeting then, and I know your father is off duty. It's just a matter of if you were free." She paused. "You would be encouraged to bring her as well. Your girlfriend. We'd be happy to have her."
He stared at her.
"Happy to meet her," she added as an afterthought.
He could only put this off for so long before both his mother and Fleur would start to wonder what the hold up was. He supposed a birthday dinner was as good an opportunity as any.
"Yeah, alright. I'll see if Fleur's free."
His mother's face perked up. That was apparently wonderful news.
Outside of the front door of the Burrow, Fleur was already casually running her hands through her hair now that they had the house to shield them from most of the wind. Each and every piece of hair fell perfectly back into place as it always did. He couldn't help but watch her do it—it was nearly unreal how even when she got swept up or knocked off kilter, it only took her moments to correct herself back into a bloody vision.
"Somezing iz wrong?" she asked, noticing that he was staring. She immediately ran her hand through her hair once more for good measure. He could detect some nerves in her tone, which...was she nervous? He'd never seen her nervous before.
He shook his head and quietly said, "Not a thing." He smiled. "I love you."
She smiled. "I love you." She then looked at the front door, took a deep breath, and he could practically see her turn it on—the smile, the confidence, the personality—before she asked. "We should knock?"
He'd already had his wand in hand and was tapping the door, laughing a little as he said, "It's alright. Turns out I live here."
He stepped forward to open the door and go first, noticing immediately that the house smelled amazing. He knew exactly what his mother was cooking before anyone even had to say it and he'd be lying if he wasn't excited. She was going all out—a roast, potatoes, Yorkshire pudding if he had to guess. He briefly wondered if this was solely for him for his birthday or if his mother was cooking to impress.
In the sitting room, Bill's father was reading over some parchment in the chair he'd always favored near the fire. He'd looked up at the sound of the door opening, and was already standing by the time Bill stood aside to let Fleur enter. He was smiling warmly at the pair of them.
"Glad to see the wind didn't slow you down," his father said, gesturing toward the door. "Looks like there's a storm coming." He turned his smile from Bill to Fleur. "Hello there." He put out his hand. "You must be Fleur. So nice to finally meet you. I'm Arthur."
Fleur took his hand and shook it return, her charming smile preceding her similar comments of how it was nice to meet him and to thank him for having her. His father's expression seemed very much as if it was no inconvenience, which Bill knew to be true. He was probably happy to have the extra people here seeing as the house was always so quiet these days.
"Zis iz for you," Fleur began to say, holding out the wine to him, "to zank you for 'aving me—"
"Oh that wasn't necessary," he said, though his smile was cordial. "But thank you. Very sweet." He smiled at Bill, and he could have sworn he caught traces of being impressed in his smile, but he said nothing more than, "I'll let your mum know you're here, but please sit." He gestured to the sitting room. "Or Bill, did you want to show her around? That's up to you."
"I've already given her a tour," Bill said, taking Fleur's cloak to hang it up along with his own.
"Oh," said his father. "I wasn't aware she'd visited before."
Bill turned to look at his father, smiling a little as he said, "Yeah. A few times. When you and mum were…" He stopped short of saying Grimmauld Place, seeing as Fleur was present. As far as she knew, his family had simply spent the summer away at a relative's house and popped in occasionally to check in on things.
"When you were away for the summer," he finished. "When I had the house to myself."
His father threw him a funny sort of look; one that clearly knew exactly what they'd probably been up to in an empty house, but also one that didn't seem particularly surprised. If Bill was thankful for one thing, it was that his father was always a wonderfully non-judgmental man who seemed perfectly fine with Bill living his life however he chose. He truly did see him as a grown man these days; he didn't cling to the memories of the child that once paraded the stairs with a tattered blanket in tow. It was a nice balance to have considering some people still—
"Arthur, do I hear voices?" came his mother, bustling into the room in an apron over one of her nicer jumpers. She looked nice, which Bill acknowledged with a quick smile. Everyone was making a proper effort tonight, it seemed.
His mother's gaze immediately settled on Fleur; for the briefest of moments, she didn't seem to know what to make of her. She seemed surprised, as if this moment she'd been planning in her mind for ages was finally playing out in front of her. At least, that was how Bill interpreted her polite, but timid expression.
"Hi, Mum."
"Hello, dear," she said, snapping out of it and redirecting her gaze onto him. "I didn't expect you yet." She turned back to Fleur, again looking as if she wasn't sure what to say. Fleur, in turn, was smiling and looking at Bill expectantly.
"I didn't realize we were early," Bill said, reaching out to put his hand on Fleur's back to draw attention toward her. "Mum, this is Fleur."
His mother put out her arm in a sort of strange, sweeping handshake gesture that Bill wasn't entirely sure what she was prompting. She did smile and say, "Yes, of course. It's nice to meet you. Bill has told us so much about you."
"This is my mother, Molly," Bill said to Fleur, who hadn't seemed fazed a single bit with the introduction and instead moved forward rather effortlessly to kiss his mother on both of her cheeks. As she pulled away, his mother gave a quick start and quipped, "Oh. Hello" at the gesture.
"It iz so nice to finally meet you," Fleur said cheerfully, smiling sincerely at her. "Zank you for so much for 'aving me."
His mother had begun to comment how it was no trouble at all, but Fleur was already pressing on. "You 'ave such an interesting 'ome. It iz so very…" She paused as if looking for the right word. "Cluttered?" She looked at Bill. "Iz zat…?"
He gave her a quick shake of the head. "No, that's not the word—"
"I only mean zere iz just much to see and look at," Fleur said, "Every centimeter different from the next with such a collection of…" She paused again and looked around. "Zings. So many zings. It iz certainly unique and unlike anyzing I 'ave ever seen."
She'd smiled a perfectly earnest smile at his mother then, and while Bill knew she meant well, he could also understand why his mother now looked confused. He threw her a quick and awkward smile, as if to signal this was clearly a language miscommunication, and then told Fleur, "I think eclectic may be more what you're going for."
She started nodding, seemingly satisfied that her point had been made. His mother, meanwhile, straightened herself up taller and suddenly looked over toward her husband and said, "Yes. Well, we're very happy to have you here. Arthur, perhaps we should…?" She stared at him, as if expecting him to finish that sentence.
"I could open this?" his father offered, still standing idly by holding onto the wine they'd brought. He was observing the bottle now. "If anyone's keen?"
"Yes, that's a wonderful idea," his mother said with a nod, informing everyone that dinner would be ready shortly and that they should make themselves comfortable. "I'll just go check on things in the kitchen."
"Iz zere anyzing I can 'elp you wiz?" asked Fleur.
"Oh no, dear," his mother said quickly. "You're our guest. Don't be silly. I wouldn't want you to have to mess around in the kitchen."
"Don't confuse her for me, Mum," Bill said, giving Fleur an encouraging rub on the back before looking back at his mother. "Fleur's an incredible cook. She'd single-handedly turned me off from eating at the Leaky Cauldron most nights of the week, which is saying something because you know I lived there. She'd be a great help if you need it."
Fleur smiled to say she couldn't argue that, though his mother did nothing more than say, "Well that's nice to know, but I'd hate for you to dirty up that very pretty dress of yours." She smiled. "Please sit and enjoy the wine you brought. I'm nearly done. I'll join you shortly."
With that, his mother had turned on her heels and disappeared toward the kitchen. Bill watched her go before he chanced a look at Fleur, who he caught looking down at her dress rather curiously. She caught his gaze and motioned that she was defaulting their next move to him. He gestured toward the sitting room.
Fleur took a seat on the sofa, though Bill had walked over toward where his father was using his wand to charm the bottle to pour glasses of wine for everyone. When he noticed Bill approaching, he grinned. "I don't know much about wine, but this seems very nice."
"That's Fleur's department," Bill said, reaching out to take two of the glasses his father was offering. He lowered his voice. "Mum alright? She's acting...off."
His father smiled a little, though he relaxed it almost immediately. "She won't admit it, but I think she's a bit nervous."
"Why?"
"Something about you being very serious about this girl. She said she can tell in the way you talk about her. I think it all makes her nervous since she now needs to confront the idea that she's got grown sons who could easily be serious about a girl one minute and married off the next."
Bill pulled a face. "Let's get through dinner before we worry about anyone getting married off. For at least one more night, I'm only twenty-four."
His father chuckled as he sipped his wine. "Bill, by the time I was your age I was married with two sons—one of them already five years-old." He looked at him over the top of his glasses in a very particular way, driving the point home that he was the five-year-old in question. "You're not that young. And that's something I remind your mother frequently." He sipped his wine again, humming his approval and clearly finding it tasty.
Bill returned to the sofa while his father sat nearby, both listening as Fleur proceeded to ask his father what he did for a living. She already knew all about the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office from some of Bill's stories, but his father was always happy to talk a bit more about it when prompted.
He actually went off on a bit of a tangent about some office incident that had occurred between him and his office mate, an older bloke called Perkins, and Fleur did a masterful job of appearing far more interested in than the story called for. She shined in a polite and rather adorable way that he could tell even his father took notice of, seeing as his storytelling energy grew more and more animated the more he went on. She seemed to have his old man at least partially charmed.
Bill glanced toward the kitchen door. They'd been chatting in the sitting room for a good fifteen minutes now and his mother had only briefly reappeared to grab a serving platter from a cupboard in the sitting room. She'd chimed in that dinner was nearly ready, and when Bill asked if he could help her with anything, she'd told him to stay put as she'd done before.
"I 'ad moved 'ere in ze 'opes of perfecting my Eenglish," Fluer said when answering one of his father's questions about her reasons for settling down in England. She reached over and took Bill's hand in hers as she added, "I am lucky to 'ave met Bill along ze way because 'e 'as been a tremendous 'elp."
"Yes," came his mother's voice, who they all turned to see had reentered the room and was standing and observing them near the kitchen's entrance. "Bill has always been such a thoughtful boy. I often joke that his father and I had so many children because our first attempt was such a wonderful experience. We could only hope the rest would be the same."
"I think we learned fairly quickly once Charlie came along that it was not going to be the same experience," his father chuckled. "And if not then, certainly by Fred and George. Though they're all special in their own ways."
"Special is one way of putting it," Bill joked, which caused Fleur to grin at him. He felt her grip his hand tightly then, which he took to mean that she felt this was going well. He thought it was going well. Everything seemed lovely so far, not that he had any reason to feel otherwise.
"Well, if you'd all like to join me at the table," said his mother. "Dinner's ready."
"Mum, everything smells amazing," Bill had said as they went to sit around the table. He had pulled out a chair—one of the many different kinds they had gathered around the table, none of them matching the next— for Fleur to sit. The chairs were one of the many things about the Burrow that had taken Fleur by surprise when she'd first arrived here, seeing as she truly had never seen anything like it before. Her family and friends were far more traditional in their approach to decorating, whereas the Weasleys seemed to thrive in this diverse and wild collection of items and knick-knacks. One thing was for certain, there was always something to look at.
Molly smiled fondly at her son, which Fleur noticed was the first genuine looking smile she'd seen out of her since they'd arrived. She wasn't quite sure if she was imagining it or not, but she felt as if there was a tight, almost forced, quality about his mother. Bill had warned her earlier in the day that his mother could be a bit protective and self conscious about how strangers perceived them, so Fleur was trying to give her coolness the benefit of the doubt. Some people were simply awkward with introductions and new people.
"I went all out and made so many of your favorites tonight, dear," his mother said, gesturing around the table at all the items. There was a roast, some mashed potatoes, a gravy, some savory looking pudding-ish item that Fleur couldn't identify, Brussels sprouts—which, since when were Brussels sprouts Bill's favorite? She'd never once seen him eat or ask for them. He was always eating peas. Peas were his favorite.
"It's the first birthday we've come close to celebrating with you in ages," his mother continued, sitting across from Fleur at the table while Arthur took the seat across from Bill. "Since you were…" She stopped to think about that. "Eleven, I believe." She smiled. "It's a special occasion."
Bill blinked, seemingly surprised that it had been that long. "Wow, has it been fourteen years?"
"It has," his mother said, using her wand to charm the roast to start slicing itself. It was clearly freshly done and still hot enough to be steaming once it was cut open. "I always felt awful that we only ever got to celebrate the summer birthdays properly. That left out nearly all of you since only two of you were born during the summer. We never got to do anything for the rest of you."
"Yeah, but it's something most families deal with," Arthur offered, looking over at Fleur then. "Am I right in saying that? Were you ever home for your birthday or were you away at school as well?"
She shook her head. "My birthday was during the school term, just as Bill's was. I have not been home for it in many years. I was in England for it this year."
"See," Arthur said, looking at his wife. "It's typical. Most kids aren't around to celebrate it with the family year after year."
"But," Fleur added, now remembering her school breaks fondly. At home, her parents would dedicate the first day she was home for her winter holiday to her as a belated birthday celebration. It was tradition. Her mother had even already written to her telling her she'd already planned something very special for when she came to visit in a few weeks.
"When I would come home after my birthday, my parents did very much still celebrate the occasion. There would always be a nice meal or a party with friends and family." She found herself smiling the more she remembered. "Always with a magnifique cake and gifts. My parents always made the effort to make me feel very special. They always made it up to me."
Molly and Arthur stared blankly at her for a moment, with the latter suddenly looking over to the potatoes and helping himself, "Well, that sounds nice…"
Molly continued to stare at her.
Bill had suddenly reached out to help serve pieces of the roast. "Speaking of birthdays...Mum, you and Fleur have nearly the same birthday. Just a day apart. She's the twenty-ninth of October." He looked at Fleur. "My mum's the thirtieth."
Fleur smiled at her and had been about to mention that made them both Scorpios, which she'd done some studying into astrological signs when she'd been younger in Divination class. Given everything Bill had told her about his mother being both quirky and also a bit controlling, the label of a Scorpio mother seemed to fit her to a tee.
However, she never got to draw that parallel because Bill was already passing her a plate full of meat—which, while cooked perfectly well to Bill standards, was a bit overdone for hers—and switching the focus back to how wonderful all the food looked. He was helping himself to everything.
Everything but the Brussels sprouts, she noticed. He'd barely taken any of those.
The meal was actually quite nice and Fleur ate a bit of everything; much of which was excellent—if not a bit rich for her tastes. Still, she could see why Bill had fond memories of his mother's cooking and made a few mental notes to remember how Molly prepared things so that she could potentially do the same. Bill had been doing such a wonderful job adapting to many of the things she cooked, it was only fair to meet him in the middle. Perhaps she could surprise him one night with this Yorkshire pudding thing he enjoyed so much. It seemed easy enough.
"Do you have anything special planned for tomorrow?" Molly asked the pair of them as they ate. "For your proper birthday?"
Bill was shaking his head. "I have to work most of the day, so…" He looked at Fleur. "Just a quiet night."
Fleur grinned. There really wasn't anything quiet about the night they had planned, but she wasn't about to hint at that in front of his parents. She simply nodded in agreement. "The plan is a quiet dinner and some cake. It is what Bill wants."
"Oh, are you making the cake?" Molly asked her.
Fleur nodded. "Yes, of course."
"I only ask because I've made such a large chocolate cake—a family favorite—tonight. Too large. That sometimes happens when you're so used to cooking for so many people." She laughed a little. "We're sure to have plenty of leftovers. If you would like, you can spare yourself the trouble of baking a new one and take the rest with you."
Fleur stared back at her. The image of a partially eaten, half missing birthday cake with some candles now painting her thoughts. That wasn't at all how she'd pictured her and Bill's romantic birthday dinner. It seemed...lazy.
"That is...so nice of you to offer," Fleur said as she set her silverware down on her place, having finished. "However, I had already planned to make a cake. I have a family recipe for lemon cake that is absolutely divine." She shrugged and smiled back at her. "I am very excited to make it."
Molly was sawing well through the last bit of roast beef on her plate with her knife. "Of course. I just thought, perhaps, you might want to save yourself the work since there's already a perfectly good cake—"
"Mum, Fleur enjoys it," Bill said, having also finished his dinner. "She loves to cook and bake. And she's amazing at it, so I'm excited to see what she comes up with." He let out a light-hearted chuckle. "Stop trying to talk her out of it."
Fleur smiled at him, which he returned in his perfectly handsome way that made everything inside of her feel as if she could swoon on the spot. Even months later, he still had that effect on her. She reached under the table to touch his leg affectionately.
"I wasn't trying to talk her out of it," said Molly, throwing her son a bit of a look. "I was trying to be helpful." She looked back at Fleur. "A family recipe, you said? That sounds lovely. Is that where your love of cooking comes from? Your family?"
Fleur was nodding again, picking up her napkin to wipe her mouth for good measure. "Yes, very much. My mother is a tremendous cook and has taught me to appreciate being in the kitchen from a very young age. I have been cooking for as long as I can remember. We have bonded very much over food."
"That's very sweet," Molly said, just as Arthur added, "It sounds as if you're very close to your mother."
"Very much," Fleur said with a nod. "My sister as well." She laughed a little. "And not to discount my father, he is just a very busy man. Wonderful, but busy."
"I can only hope my children would say the same about me," said Arthur with a funny sort of smile in Bill's direction. In turn, Bill smirked and quipped, "I think you're doing alright for yourself, Dad."
"When was the last time you got to see your family?" Molly suddenly asked her. "Do you make it back to France very often? How does that work?"
"No." Fleur exhaled deeply for added emphasis. "Not as much as I would like. The last I saw of them was this summer. Before I moved to England. I have been busy with my job and establishing myself here—"
"And it doesn't help that I keep making her hang out with me," Bill joked, placing a warm and reassuring hand on her leg.
"I do that very willingly," she said, smiling back at him.
From across the table, Arthur was smirking a bit as he finished up the last few bites of his Brussels sprouts. Molly was sipping on her glass of wine and glancing around the table in an absent way before adding, "Has everyone had their fill? Can I get anyone anything else? We seem to have quite a bit of Brussels sprouts left..."
"Everything was wonderful, Mum," Bill said, his arm still resting comfortably on Fleur who was readily agreeing with him. "As always, you've outdone yourself."
"Well, I hope you've saved room for the cake," she said brightly as she pulled her wand out and began clearing some of the empty plates from the table.
"Oh, did you make a cake?" Bill asked, throwing Fleur a funny, sideways sort of glance. "I had no idea."
Fleur couldn't help herself and giggled just a bit, though his mother replied with, "Don't be cheeky," as she pointed her wand toward the sink.
The plates she had charmed were now neatly clearing and readying themselves to be scrubbed. A tea towel had appeared from a cupboard, as well as a brush for scrubbing. The sink was already filling itself with hot water, and a bottle of soap appeared from...somewhere. It was all happening very fast. Molly very clearly had quite the command of her kitchen.
"Was dinner alright?" Bill suddenly asked in a whisper tone, leaning into Fleur and checking to make sure she was satisfied.
She smiled and nodded, actually feeling quite content. "It was wonderful." She glanced down at the table and subtly gestured to the remaining Brussels sprouts before whispering. "I did not know they were your favorite."
He glanced over to where his mother's back was turned toward the sink and his father was helping to clear a few of the other plates. Once it seemed like they were busy, he leaned directly next to her ear and whispered. "Because they're not. They're Charlie's favorite. I actually don't care for them much." He then quickly kissed her on the cheek before pulling away and standing himself, reaching out to clear his and her plates. When she caught his eye, he smirked and shrugged as if he actually found it rather funny.
Fleur stood to help clear a few plates as well, though Molly was quickly shooing everyone away and telling them all to please sit and relax; that she had everything under control. She'd instructed Arthur to make everyone some tea, though Bill told the group he would take care of it.
"So, do you have any plans to get home soon?" Arthur asked Fleur now that it was just the two of them at the table. "Perhaps for Christmas?"
She nodded, feeling a natural kindness radiating from him that felt familiar. He came off as a man who asked questions and actually listened to the response intently, which was something Bill also did. It was one of her favorite parts about him, and she was starting to see where he got it from.
"Yes, I will be returning home soon for Noël—Christmas—for two weeks."
"I'm sure you'll enjoy—"
"Two weeks?" Molly cut in, stopping what she was doing to turn back toward them at the table. Her gaze slowly drifted over to where Bill was messing about with teacups and a kettle. "Bill hadn't mentioned...Well, that's a bit of time away. Bill, whatever will you do with two whole weeks to yourself?"
Fleur couldn't tell if she was teasing him or genuinely asking, but quickly said, "Hopefully we will not be apart for the entire two weeks. We were talking just earlier of him coming with me."
Molly's face fell off at that. She seemed confused and...some other reactions that Fleur wasn't entirely sure how to place. She was staring at the back of Bill's head. "I'm sorry? He certainly hasn't mentioned that. Are you going away for Christmas?"
Bill turned around then, apparently sensing that the entire room was now looking at him. He seemed confused by the question. "I don't...Perhaps? It's something Fleur and I have only just talked about. What does it matter?"
"What about work?" What about…?" She trailed off and threw him a very hard look, as if she was trying to say something without saying it. She looked immediately at her husband, looking for a backup. He, however, averted his gaze away from her almost immediately. He landed it on Fleur, who didn't quite understand what was happening.
"I would have to work that out," Bill said shortly, his tone growing a little defensive. "It was something I was going to look into."
"You haven't been home for Christmas in years," Molly said. "I'd thought you would be here."
"Alright…" Bill said, still not appearing to understand why this conversation was happening. He crossed his arms over his chest. "But Fleur wants me to visit and meet with her family. Christmas seemed as good of a time as any since she doesn't get home often."
"I just don't see why you feel the need to venture off for Christmas of all days," said Molly, looking at Fleur. For a flash of a moment, she almost felt as if she were being scolded for something.
Molly looked back at Bill. "And are you two honestly at the point in this relationship where you're dividing time for major holidays? After, what is it now? A few months?"
"Nearly six," Bill said. "And yeah. I suppose we are."
Molly looked at her husband. "I didn't spend a Christmas with your family until we were engaged. We'd been together for years."
Arthur had started to open his mouth, but he was immediately cut off by Bill stating, "Are you not counting the Christmases you two spent at Hogwarts together from the very start? Because those are the stories I was always told. Sixth-year, seventh-year…Inseparable from day one?"
"That was different," Molly said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We had been together longer than six months…"
Fleur caught Arthur's face flinch. It seemed he wasn't sure he believed that.
"We were in love," she added matter-of-factly. "We were already well aware of our future together."
"Alright then," Bill said bluntly, gesturing to Fleur rather obviously. "So are we."
There was a strange stillness that filled the moment then; no one said anything. Arthur was letting his gaze bounce from his son to his wife before casting it up toward the ceiling in a tired sort of way. Molly had her mouth slightly ajar and her eyes glued to her son, as if she was still attempting to comprehend the words that had come out of his mouth. Bill was doing nothing more than staring at his mother.
From her spot at the table, Fleur sat silent; wondering what even was happening. She didn't know what to say or if she should even bother to try. After all, she'd assumed she had been making an innocuous comment about her Christmas plans. She'd had no idea that it would have caused such a stir between Bill and his mother.
For a brief moment, she almost felt as if she should excuse herself and allow this family tiff to play out without her as an audience, but she also didn't want to do that. She wanted Bill to know she was here for him if he needed it. Also, if she left she would miss out on the comments like the one he had just made. He'd admitted to his parents that they were in love and growing ever more serious by the day. Hearing him say that out loud to other people—to his family—filled her with a sense of joy and confidence that made her feel she could take on the world.
Or at least that she could take on his mother if she kept looking at Bill the way she currently was...
Bill's heavy sigh cut through the silence; he reached up to rub his eyes. His body language softened and when he spoke, his tone was now much calmer. Fleur knew immediately that none of this would escalate further. He didn't like to argue.
"If I'm being honest," he said quietly. "I wasn't aware that not being here for Christmas mattered to anyone given I'm never around anyway. It's never been an issue—"
"Yes, but that's just it," Molly said, her tone still as tight as before. "None of you are. The twins have N.E.W.T.s and Ron has O.W.L.s this year, so they'll likely stay at school. And if they are, Ginny will as well. Charlie hasn't been back for Christmas in ages. And then Percy—"
Her voice cracked then and stopped speaking. She immediately turned away and toward the sink, resting her hands on the basin and seemingly taking a moment to gather herself. No one spoke, though this time it looked as if Bill and his father were having a silent conversation between themselves.
Arthur stood and walked over toward his wife, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I would also be upset if I had to spend the holiday with only me for company…"
Molly laughed a little despite herself, and while she drastically lowered her voice to speak to her husband, Fleur could still make out her saying, "With the way things are, who knows if this is any of our last Christmas together?"
"You can't think like that—"
"I can't help but think like that, Arthur."
Fleur looked over at Bill, whose face now seemed wracked with entirely different emotions than earlier. She could quickly pick out guilt, first and foremost, just based on the way he was now watching his parents. While she wasn't surprised to see him blaming himself because that was how he worked, she tried to silently convey that he hadn't done or said anything wrong.
But he wasn't looking at her. He was watching them.
"I know," Arthur said in a reassuring whisper, rubbing his wife's shoulder for good measure before adding, "We'll talk about it later." He turned and forced a smile onto his face and addressed the group. "We'll take a few minutes before cake, shall we?"
The rest of the evening was rather awkward. Arthur thankfully took charge leading most of the conversation, talking about a hobby he had that involved collecting Muggle objects and studying them. He was currently attempting to make sense of something he called a blender; telling them how he'd cut himself on one of the blades when taking it apart and showing them the mark on his hand.
Molly, meanwhile, had stopped offering anything more than short answers, which had brought out a reaction in Bill that Fleur wasn't entirely familiar with. He'd begun talking—almost rambling—far more than usual. It was as if he was making a deliberate attempt to get things back to the more cordial place they'd been earlier. He kept attempting to engage his mother with questions and comments to get her involved, and the more she didn't respond, the more he tried.
After twenty minutes of this, Fleur quickly realized that her boyfriend could not handle his mother being cross with him. He truly could not handle it. It apparently did not happen often because he didn't know what to do with himself. It was almost strange to witness since she'd never seen this side of him before.
"Everything was fantastic," Bill said for probably the tenth time since they'd finished their cake and cleaned up. The pair of them had started going through the motions of saying their goodbyes and were headed to gather their cloaks. "Truly fantastic, Mum."
Fleur nodded and smiled politely as they walked them to the door. "Yes. Thank you for having me. Molly, you will have to share that cake recipe with me because it was wonderful."
"Oh well, that's a secret family recipe," Molly offered. "It was my mother's, so I'm very protective of it. Only to be passed down amongst family, you see. But…" She suddenly smiled tightly. "It seems that if this keeps up the way Bill talks about it, then…" She paused and took a deep breath. "Perhaps some day soon. Hm?"
Fleur didn't know what to say to that and looked over at Bill, who was looking back at her as if he was also at a loss. He forced a smile and said, "Sounds good, Mum."
"But, as I said earlier," Molly continued, "you're welcome to take as much cake as you'd like with you. Plenty of leftovers."
She'd looked at them almost expectantly.
"No, that…" Fleur began, trying to politely decline just as they had earlier, but before she could Bill cut in with, "Yeah, alright. Sure. We'll take it."
She turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow, her expression screaming, "Will we?" Molly, in turn, seemed delighted at him having changed his mind. She said she would quickly gather them something to take; she was gone back toward the kitchen in a flash.
Fleur continued to stare at Bill, who only caught her eye for a second before looking away. "It doesn't hurt to just take it."
"It also does not hurt to say no."
"You may think that, but you have no idea," he muttered under his breath, just as Molly returned with a large cake dish.
She held out the dish to Fleur, presumably, for her to take. Fleur wanted to remind her it had been Bill who had agreed to this, not her, though thankfully he had stepped forward then to take it off his mother's hands.
Molly smiled at the pair of them. Her first real smile since before the Christmas conversation earlier. It was somehow very sweet looking, but Fleur sensed something more behind it—something almost victorious. It was as if everything had worked itself out after all, just as she'd hoped.
Fleur forced a smile back. This was not going to be the last time she or Bill were going to come up against the wall-like force that was his mother. This was a woman who was used to the way things were; the way she called the shots. She and Bill had a routine to their relationship; while that was well and good and even sweet at times, Fleur was starting to sense Bill didn't always necessarily benefit from this. His mother didn't always take his wants into account.
Someone should start doing that.