April 1996
"I read Aurors spotted Dumbledore up in Manchester walking around a Muggle street, but he managed to escape them again before they could take him into custody."
"Why would he be walking around on a Muggle street in Manchester?"
"What else has he got to do now? He doesn't have a job anymore."
Bill looked up at the two witches who were currently passing in the corridor of Gringotts. He'd been leaning against the wall, waiting for Fleur to turn up, and had overheard them. That was the third group of people today to bring up that silly Manchester story.
It was the newest one of these daft rumors that the Prophet had been peddling lately; all of them detailing random sightings of Dumbledore in the most ridiculous of places. They were each as dumb as the last—one had even sworn he'd turned up in a beach in Blackpool in swim flippers—and the general public didn't seem to know what to make of them. They certainly enjoyed discussing them though.
As of two weeks ago, Dumbledore had vanished; gone off the grid due to the Ministry issuing a warrant for his arrest. According to them, he had been using Hogwarts to brainwash several students into joining a "cult like organization" in an effort to rebel against the government. Ever since, headlines such as, "Mad Professor Dumbledore's Newest Arrest Attempt" were spun nearly every day now.
The stories were full of their usual "Dumbledore's a crackpot" narrative, going so far as to detail the night that the Minister had turned up to Hogwarts to remove a "dangerous old man who had well overstayed his welcome" from his Headmaster position. Dumbledore naturally hadn't decided to comply. He was apparently quoted as saying, "I will not go quietly!" before he had vanished without a trace before any arrests could be made. He was no longer acting Headmaster—he'd been replaced, unsurprisingly by that awful Umbridge woman—and was currently in hiding.
No one had heard much from Dumbledore since. He hadn't turned up to any Order meetings, and Kingsley and Mad-Eye only claimed to have received a few correspondences from him. His messages always seemed to be about how the Ministry was on high alert and he was lying low, but that he was still aware of what was happening and would turn up when he felt it was appropriate.
Bill suddenly felt a soft touch on his arm, followed by the slinking of arms around his waist. Before he could even smile at the source, a voice said, "You are 'ere early. Zis is a first."
"Told you I'd get out early today," he said, smiling back as he wrapped his own arms around Fleur. She hugged him tighter and looked up at him with those piercing eyes that really could ruin him if he let them. Some days he honestly felt like letting them...
"You did, but I did not believe you," she said, biting her lip in that adorably sexy way he was convinced she did on purpose. It made him laugh, and he couldn't even fault her for saying it. He was rarely ever on time; she knew him well enough to know that anything he said to the contrary would come off as a complete excuse. But it wasn't his fault work kept him insanely busy.
"Let's get out of here," he said, happy to be out of work early for once. He usually didn't get to leave with everyone else—often staying an extra hour or two—but he'd chosen today to cut work a bit early since he had plans.
"Are you sure you don't want to come for dinner at the Burrow?" he asked as he grabbed her hand and led her toward the exit.
"I am sure," she said with quick assurance, throwing him a matter-of-fact look for good measure. She seemed to want to make him well aware that she did not regret her decision to skip this dinner whatsoever.
"It'll be fun," he offered.
She made a face that said she didn't agree with that.
He reached out and gave her back a rub. He wasn't going to push it, as much as he would have loved for her to be there since Charlie was arriving from Romania today—popping in a few days for a quick visit home. Having him and Fleur meet was something he was especially keen to facilitate, but he also knew they didn't have to meet at dinner. That part wasn't necessary, especially since he and Fleur had come up with an alternative plan for them all to meet later in the evening for a drink. She seemed to think it would be nice to let him and his parents have some time one-on-one with Charlie to catch up without her adding something new to the dynamic. He, however, suspected she had other reasons for not wanting to pop in.
It had become quite clear to him over the last few months that Fleur didn't feel entirely comfortable about face time with his mother, something his mother also seemed to reciprocate. In his mother's case, she never seemed to quite know what to make of Fleur or how serious her part was in his life. In Fleur's case, she didn't seem to understand why his mother had so many thoughts on the matter.
It wasn't that they disliked each other, they just didn't seem to click. Fleur seemed to think his mother could be controlling; that she couldn't accept anything that wasn't her way or the way things that had been done for ages. His mother seemed to think Fleur was "very opinionated" and—as she put it—that was something that must have come from being "so posh" and "so French."
They were oil and water. Two things that Bill needed in his life, but he'd come to accept they may never mix. As far as he was concerned though, as long as his mother kept her furrowed brows at bay and Fleur kept her attempts to challenge the status quo to a minimum, all was well. They both ultimately did know how to play nice for appearances when they had to.
But in the last month, the tension had come to a head on Fleur's end. This was because she had somehow got the impression that the reason she hadn't been formally asked to join the Order of the Phoenix yet was, in some way, due to his mother's interference.
After the chaos at Christmas and his conversation with Dumbledore, Bill had felt more inclined to let small bits of information about the Order come out. After all, Dumbledore had been open to the idea of Fleur joining, and it wasn't as if he could tell her anything damaging. She actually figured out on her own that it was called the Order of the Phoenix from old newspaper clippings; she also figured that his parents were involved given their close relationship with Harry.
When Bill had explained to her that he'd pleaded her case to join to the person in charge, she'd outright asked if that person was Dumbledore. He hadn't confirmed nor denied that, though his silence had evidently spoken volumes to her. Now she spoke openly to him about Dumbledore being in charge, as if trying to trip him up and get him to admit to the truth. He hadn't yet, but it didn't stop her from trying.
But she'd been genuinely excited once she heard she was being considered; they both assumed it would be a few weeks until all of that was figured out. She'd probably be in the Order by month's end.
But that hadn't happened. And while Bill couldn't be sure of the details as to why, he didn't believe it was his mother holding things up. After all, if Dumbledore had his mind made up, it wasn't as if his mother had the power to sway him.
"You really do not zink it iz your mozer trying to control ze situation, yet again?" she'd asked—snapped, rather—a month prior after a very emotional evening. She'd finally read the recent Quibbler magazine after it had published an interview with Harry days prior; one where he had vividly recounted the events of the third task and Voldemort's return.
Fleur had avoided reading it for two days, having wanted to get in the right headspace for it. Bill had been there for her, already knowing—having read it when it first came out—that it would be especially hard for her to take given how detailed Harry had been. It was everything Fleur was afraid it would be; he knew it would be hard for her to read.
And it had been. It had been a night full of tears, anger, yelling, and very highly charged emotions. Fleur had gone from sobbing one moment to shouting the next, only to be sobbing again moments later. They'd been up very late that night.
But the one good thing that had come from it was a stronger resolve in Fleur to be part of the resistance effort. Whereas before when Dumbledore had asked him if he could say for sure that she would be willing to die for the effort, he now knew she completely understood the risks. He'd never seen her so fired up and wanting to do something—anything. She'd told him that night she needed to start getting answers; that she would find them herself if she had to.
"My mum has no power over who joins the Order and who doesn't," Bill told her, watching her as she paced the room of her flat for the two-hundreth time that night.
"You told me zat she does not want your brozers to join because zey are still in school! Did she not 'ave a say in zat?"
"That's different. The twins are barely adults—"
"Barely?" she said, swinging around on him. "Zey are a year younger zan I am! Am I barely—?"
"A year and a half ," Bill corrected immediately, wanting that distinction made. "And they're still in school, Fleur. They haven't finished their education. You have. There's a big difference in that year and a half. I agree with my mum about that, but she has no reason to hold you back and she wouldn't. I've told you, when I spoke to—"
"Dumbledore," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her expression was daring him to say that she was wrong.
"The powers-that-be," he corrected, "they had no issue with you joining."
"Zen why can I not join?" she said as she walked over and picked up the copy of the Quibbler off the sofa. It was looking much worse for the wear now, seeing as she had crumpled most of the pages when she'd clenched it while reading.
She suddenly lobbed it at him, which he caught. "You read zis too. You read 'Arry's words. You read what he went zrough—what Cedric went zrough. Zere is no way I can sit back now and pretend it was not as bad as I zought. It was as bad. It was worse!"
He looked down at the cover; at Harry's sheepish looking expression staring back at him. She wasn't wrong. It had been worse. Far worse than the images he had even cooked up in his imagination. He knew for Fleur—who had been adjacent to all of this; who had been a few different circumstances away from being in Cedric's place—it was devastating.
"If it iz not your mozer," she said, still looking at him. "If ze-powers-zat be are accepting of me, zen who iz stopping it?"
He didn't have an answer. He'd only seen Dumbledore once since the day at St. Mungo's. Given the ever increased Ministry surveillance on him both at Hogwarts and away, Dumbledore's presence at Order meetings was now as rare as a unicorn sighting. In his absence, his messages would still come, though none of them had to do with Fleur's impending membership. He could only assume that Dumbledore was simply too preoccupied at the moment to worry about new members.
"I don't know…"
"She does not want me in your organization," Fleur snapped. "She does not want me in your life. She wants you to wake up and find some typical little Eenglish girl who wants to raise chickens and—"
"Fleur, I know you're upset, but stop," he said. "My mum doesn't think that. Even if she did, none of that matters. I don't want to raise chickens with some English girl, I want to raise chickens with you." He paused. "If you want to raise chickens, that is. I don't really care one way or the other…"
She glared at him. That comment had clearly not landed the way he'd hoped.
"I get my mum's bit much, but I promise you she's not the one stopping this from happening. I don't know what is, but I will find out."
And that had been the goal. To corner Dumbledore; to talk to him; to get this all sorted out as soon as possible. But given recent events and him now in hiding, that was evidently not happening any time soon. They'd hit a bit of a snag.
"Will it only be your parents and your brozer at dinner?" Fleur asked once the pair of them exited Gringotts and stepped into the late afternoon sunlight. When Bill did nothing more than nod, it caused her to hum rather curiously.
"Why?" he asked.
"I was only wondering if per'aps you were 'aving ozer people over," she said. "Or even going somewhere else. Wiz Dumbledore still missing, I am assuming you 'ave zings to discuss wiz ze Order."
Bill cracked a small smile. "You seem awfully convinced Dumbledore is behind everything."
"And you seem awfully convinced I am—how you say? Zick?"
"I don't think you're thick," he said. "That's not true at all."
She smirked at him. "Zen stop acting as if it is not obvious zat he iz behind everyzing."
He didn't know what to say to that, so he instead pivoted the conversation. "Alright, well, if you think that will be a hot topic tonight, you should come to dinner."
She rolled her eyes. "If I come to dinner, zen ze ''ot topic' will suddenly become 'ow I do not know how to properly dry a plate. Or zat my suggestion of 'ow to season potatoes is very much 'not ze right way', or if I mention 'ow ze weazer 'as been nice, I am apparently wrong."
"The weather has been lovely lately," he agreed.
"Your mozer will not zink so," she muttered. "Unless you say it, zen she will agree."
He smiled a little lazily as he walked over to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but I promise you she means well."
He could hear her laugh rather humorlessly into his chest.
"And I love you even if you can't dry a plate or comment properly on the weather—"
She immediately looked up at him with eyes that could have cursed him. It caused him to laugh and put his forehead against hers. "Obviously kidding."
She pushed him away, but it was mostly playful—if not a bit frustrated. He walked her the rest of the way back to her flat, with her bringing up the topic of how she'd spoken to Isabelle—the woman who she rented her flat from—and how she'd reminded her that her lease was up in three months. Fleur had only signed up for a year, seeing as she hadn't known whether she was staying in England or not when she'd moved. Isabelle had been gracious enough to let her stay in her extra space—a space she soon needed back.
Now that Fleur had decided to stay in England for the foreseeable future—something she'd told her parents just a week prior—she needed to start making plans for that future. It had actually got him thinking about how they should consider making plans...together.
He was certainly open to a new place to live. As much as he loved his parents, it had nearly been a year at the Burrow. He really needed to get back to having his own space and his own room that wasn't the same one he'd grown up in. And seeing as he and Fleur practically lived together anyway and he spent all of his time over here, if they moved in together, it would barely be an adjustment. It would just be official. Which...was a big step. But as far as he was concerned, it was the right step. He wanted to start making those kinds of steps with her.
"I will need to look for a new flat," she said as they approached her door, her eyes already looking up at the building.
"Probably should," Bill said. "I can help you look. There are loads of little places around here."
He hesitated for a moment, stopping himself from coming right out and suggesting that there were also places that were a bit bigger as well...in case two people wanted to live there.
She looked back at him. "'Ave you zought about finding a new place to live? You 'ave said several times you were 'oping to get out of ze Burrow."
He nodded, feeling like this was now the perfect moment to bridge this topic. "That was actually something I wanted to talk to you about—"
"That we should move in togezer?"
Well...she'd just come right out and said it. That was...she did not beat around the bush. "Uh, yeah. I was going to say we should talk about that."
"What iz to talk about?" she asked, though she smiled as she said it. "Do you want to or do you not?"
It was almost funny how she seemed to be making this major life choice as though she were asking him to choose what was for dinner. "I do, it's more that it's a big decision and I didn't know if we should take some time to think about it."
"I do not need time," she said with a shrug. "We essentially live togezer and zis seems like ze appropriate next step for us." She looked at him. "But if you need time to zink about it, zen take some."
Well, then. She really didn't need time to consider this. She'd either already convinced herself this was a good idea or she didn't need to because...she knew it was. And he knew it was, but he'd always just been taught to think things over; never make impulsive decisions that could change your life on a whim.
But was this really impulsive? And it wasn't as if he hadn't been making impulsive decisions lately that weren't paying off. He'd decided to move back to England after one conversation with his father. Sometimes, you just know…
"You know if we move in together, you're stuck with me, right?"
She smiled. "You say stuck, I say lucky."
He pulled her over to plant a playfully aggressive sort of kiss on her cheek. "When you put it like that, how can I not want to move in with you?" He nodded. "Let's do it."
She'd seemed excited to hear that and they made loose plans to start looking around soon. Given the time, he needed to get over to the Burrow for dinner since Charlie's Portkey would have arrived, but they said they'd discuss it more later. They had plenty of time to work out the details; plenty of time to work out their life that was becoming more intertwined every day.
This was a good step. As far as he was concerned, they were taking the first step toward a future together that he knew would eventually lead to him asking her to marry him. Because he already knew that was going to happen someday.
Sometimes, you just know.
Bill Apparated outside of the Burrow, where smoke billowing out of the kitchen chimney signified that his mother was already hard at work cooking a dinner that would be composed of Charlie's favorites. His Portkey should have arrived fifteen minutes prior, so as long as he caught it—which, knowing Charlie was always debatable—should already be here.
He pushed open the door to the kitchen to find his mother tending to peas on the counter. She smiled warmly at him as she charmed the vegetables into a smaller cauldron and sent it to cook over the nearby open fire.
"Hello, dear," she said, watching as he shut the door behind him. "Oh, is it just you then? I didn't know if you were bringing—"
"Just me," Bill said. "Fleur...had to work late. She wanted to come, of course."
"Of course," said his mother, now busying herself with charming a knife to cut onions. "A shame she couldn't."
He inhaled a bit at that, but decided to change the subject. "Charlie here yet?"
"Yes, he's only just got here. He's in the sitting room with your fath—"
"Is that Billy?" called Charlie's voice, which was immediately followed by the rest of him appearing at the doorway. He immediately beamed, looking nearly identical from the last time Bill had seen him—tan, freckled, and weathered from all the time he spent outdoors. His hair was getting long behind the ears, as if he was growing it out, and he had a new looking burn scar on his forearm that looked rather fresh, but otherwise it was the same old Charlie.
Bill immediately returned his smile. "You made it. It's good to see you!" He moved forward to hug him.
"You too," Charlie said, returning the hug rather tightly and nearly crushing him. When he stepped back, he started looking him up and down. "What the hell happened to you? You look like a bloody ghost. You're so...white."
"I spend most of my time underground with goblins," he offered a little lazily, feeling a bit jealous of Charlie at the moment. All of the sun and color he'd picked up in Egypt had long since faded into a more pale complexion, but there had been a time he could have rivaled Charlie.
"Your social life sounds just as exciting as ever," Charlie joked, weaving out of the way once Bill had reached up to tug a tuft of his longer hair. "What are you doing—?"
"You growing this mop out?"
"Maybe," Charlie said as he swatted him off. "You've inspired me. You make long hair work, I thought I should give it a go."
"Oh, I don't know about that," said their mother, who had turned away from the counter where she was tending to dinner prep to look from one to the other. "Not everyone can. Bill has the bone structure, Charlie. Yours is very different. Far more round."
She'd turned back to the food at that, leaving Charlie to stare rather blankly at the back of her head. He blinked a few times; he even opened his mouth to speak, though seemed to instead bite his tongue before he looked at Bill as if he really shouldn't have been surprised by that comment.
"Far more round," Bill teased, pointing to Charlie's face and trying to hide his laughter.
Charlie flipped him off right in his face, muttering something about, "Of course, you have the bloody bone structure…" before Bill let his laughter win out and loudly fill the room. He reached out and affectionately shook his brother by the shoulders. "I've missed you."
"I'm sure you've managed to fill the void," Charlie said as their father wandered in to join them. He threw Bill a friendly smile, just as Charlie added, "Speaking of, where's this girl I've heard so much about? I thought you two can't be apart. I assumed I'd get to meet her straight away?"
"Can't be apart? Who told you that?"
Charlie's eyes shot to where their mother was now focused on stirring something. Even their father, who was standing just behind Charlie's shoulder, had glanced at his wife. She, however, hadn't bothered to turn around or add a comment to that question.
"She couldn't come to dinner," Bill said, letting his gaze linger on his mother's head before looking back at Charlie. "Had to work a bit late. We'll see her later. Figured we could grab a drink at the Leaky tonight."
Charlie's face perked up at that. "Excellent. We're going out then. I'm ready to make a night of it." He glanced around the kitchen before walking over to see what was cooking in the fire. "But I am excited to eat first because it's been ages since I've had a proper meal."
"Well, I've made all of your favorites, dear," said their mother as she joined him by the fire to stir at something that was in a cauldron. "Lamb stew with carrots. Peas with—"
Charlie snorted a laugh at that, causing his mother to stop and look at him rather curiously. Bill already knew what he was going to say before he said it. A part of him wished he wouldn't, but he knew when it came to Charlie those wishes were usually futile.
"Alright, I know that I'm mostly the forgotten child, but…" He smiled at his mother. "Peas are Bill's favorite."
"You stop that," she said, shaking her head before adding, "You are certainly not forgotten. Also, Bill's favorite is Brussels sprouts."
"My favorite is Brussels sprouts," Charlie countered. "Bill hates them."
"He does not." She looked at Bill for confirmation, as if waiting for him to clarify this whole mix up. He instead said nothing; he only looked down and tried to keep himself from laughing.
"Bill," his mother prompted.
"...hates Brussels sprouts," Charlie reiterated in a cheeky whisper, clearly trying to drive the point home.
When he looked up, his mother was still staring at him. All he could offer was, "I wouldn't say I hate them, but I don't love them either..."
Their mother looked as if someone had just pulled a rug out from under her. Charlie, meanwhile, was rolling his eyes. "You're seriously going to be diplomatic over a bloody vegetable? Just say you hate them, would you? You can say it."
After the discussion of vegetables and who liked what concluded, dinner did eventually follow; it was delicious, as it always was. The entire sit-down was lovely as Charlie had a proper chance to catch up with the rest of them. He had filled them in on how he had plans to visit a local dragonologist in London; he also had plans to attend his first in-person Order meeting, for which he'd yet to be home for since it had reformed.
He seemed excited for this, which had immediately prompted them to discuss newer Order business over pudding. Charlie had found out later than usual about Dumbledore's sacking; he was finding out quite a bit now that he was home, seeing as with the Floo Network being tightly monitored and the post always under threat of being intercepted, he'd only been receiving half stories for months now.
Their father had gone and walked back the last few months of Death Eaters escaping Azkaban and Umbridge's reign of terror over Hogwarts for him; all the events that led to this moment, including the fact that—according to Kingsley—the "cult like" organization that Dumbledore had been blamed for forming had actually be started by Harry and his friends, including all of the Weasley kids currently at Hogwarts. They had started a secret organization of their own inside the school as a mini-resistance effort to undermine Umbridge.
According to Kingsley, they had been trying to pin it on not only Dumbledore, but on Harry as well. Dumbledore had taken full blame to spare Harry the trouble. Not that the Ministry would ultimately believe that, but his confession had certainly saved Harry some grief.
"We all saw the writing on the wall," their father said as he bit into the end of a biscuit. "Ever since that Quibbler interview, the tone has changed at the Ministry. People are thinking Dumbledore's less of a nutter and Fudge can't have that—not after how hard he's worked to say that he is. He's wanted to get Dumbledore for something for ages now. This just happened to be it."
"I still can't believe that of all the things that caused people to question whether or not You-Know-Who is back, it's the bloody Quibbler," Charlie said with his own mouth full of biscuits. "If you want to talk about nutters, that's old Xeno Lovegood."
He then randomly pointed toward the sitting room, which Bill took as him signaling in the direction of where the Lovegoods lived a handful of miles away. Bill only knew them vaguely through various interactions with his parents over the years, but there had been a time or two when he and Charlie had gone wandering as young teenagers on long summer days toward the Lovegoods side of town. On one of those occasions—the one that Bill had to assume Charlie was basing his nutter comments on—they'd seen Xenophilias Lovegood standing on the roof of his home in what had looks like a short robe—a toga, even—attempting to blow a horn of sorts and shouting rather madly into the wind.
Charlie had wanted to stay and watch what he assumed was someone having a bit of a breakdown; whereas Bill wanted to get back home and inform their parents of the strange behavior. Once he had, neither had seemed overly concerned. They'd both chalked it up to "Lovegood being Lovegood."
He didn't have the best reputation for facts and truths with that publication of his—it was usually considered more a rag than anything reputable—but he'd got something right with Harry's interview last month. And if it was helping people see through the Ministry and their smokescreen, then they'd take what they can get.
"Has Kingsley or any of the others heard from Dumbledore recently?" Bill asked his father. "Last I heard, things had been quiet."
He shrugged. "It's hard to talk at work since nothing at the Ministry is actually private anymore. But I got the impression there was some new information. We'll find out tomorrow. He may very well turn up at Grimmauld Place for the meeting."
Bill found that doubtful, considering they hadn't seen or properly heard from him in weeks, but his mother took an alternative stance and offered, "I'm sure we'll hear from him soon."
She didn't sound entirely convinced, but added as an afterthought, "It's not like him to go more than a few days without any word."
"It's not like him to be wanted for arrest by the Ministry either," Charlie muttered. "Things are changing."
Their mother frowned. "I'm less worried about Dumbledore because I know he can handle himself. I'm more worried about everyone at Hogwarts. That horrible woman has it out for Harry and all those close to him, which of course means Ron. It means everyone else who joined them in that organization."
"Which most definitely included Fred and George," Bill said, thinking about how much they'd wanted to join the Order and how this was the next best thing. "They would have been there with bells on to sign up for that sort of thing."
"And Ginny as well," said their mother. "If all of her brothers were involved, she would have gone right along with them."
"As she should," Charlie said. "Good on all of them for doing the right thing. What's happening at Hogwarts is madness."
"Ginny is only fourteen," their mother said.
"Which is how old Harry was when he was fighting You-Know-Who in that graveyard," Charlie countered. "Fighting him for the third time, or something. If any of this has taught us anything, it's that you're not too young for any of this."
Their mother continued to frown. She clearly wasn't happy to hear any of this, but she also couldn't seem to argue it either.
Their father cleared his throat. "I can only assume that Umbridge lost it when she discovered there was an underground student organization right under her nose."
"Which is what concerns me," their mother said. "Dolores Umbridge losing it on anything that involves my children, or Harry, or their friends is something I want no part of for them."
"They just have to survive two more months until summer," Charlie offered in a rather solemn, far away tone. "And if Harry's shown us anything, it's that he can survive." He paused for a long moment before adding, "That interview he gave truly was haunting."
"Oh, please don't even bring it up," said their mother, standing from the table rather hurriedly and clearly bothered. "I can't bear to even think about it anymore. I can't even sleep some nights thinking about the things he said."
A rather heavy silence fell over the table then, everyone clearly mulling over their own thoughts. It wasn't until Charlie broke things up by asking Bill, "How'd Fleur handle that? Reading about—"
"Cried on and off for hours," he said without waiting for him to finish. "She was very upset."
Sympathetic looks filled everyone's faces then, though none more pronounced than his mother's. She actually seemed very bothered to hear that, even whispering, "Poor girl. I can't even imagine…"
Bill nodded, though couldn't help but wonder where this sort of tenderness toward Fleur was when she was actually present. If it came out more, Fleur might start to believe him when he claimed his mother really didn't have it out for her.
His mother quickly changed the subject to tidying up after pudding, which prompted Bill to notice that it was nearing the seven o'clock hour. As he, Charlie, and his father went about helping to charm the rest of the kitchen clean, he heard his mother remind Charlie to make sure he took his bag upstairs and not leave it in the sitting room.
"Where are you sleeping?" Bill asked Charlie once they'd finished up and found themselves milling about the kitchen.
"Oh, I'll just take my room…" He stopped and threw his parents a rather sarcastic look. "Oh wait, that's right. I don't have one. The only one who doesn't..."
Their father's face silently said, "Don't start," while their mother merely rolled her eyes in an unbothered sort of way as she cleared what was left on the table. "I've made up Percy's room for you—"
"I'm not staying in Percy's room," Charlie said. "I can't be trusted in there. I'll break his things."
Bill snorted a small laugh, though his mother muttered, "Honestly, Charlie…"
"He brought this upon himself," he said with an unapologetic shrug.
"Percy's taken most of his things when he moved out," their father said.
"He didn't leave anything?"
"A few things," Bill said, thinking about some of the books and nicknacks that Percy had left behind in his room. "Stuff he likely doesn't care much about."
"Good, then he won't care much when I break it."
"Well, then, where do you want to stay?" their mother asked, sounding already tired of this conversation. "The twins' room?"
That caused Charlie to immediately make a face. "I'd be afraid that room would break me. What about Ron's room?"
His mother's body language seemed to find that acceptable. "That's fine—"
"You'll have to deal with the ghoul up there," Bill reminded him. "He's louder these days than he was when we were kids."
Their father was already brushing off Bill's comment. "He's always like that when the house is quiet. Bill only notices it now because he's had the place to himself more."
Their mother was nodding in agreement. "If you go moving about in Ron's room he'll quiet down quickly. He always does when Ron's home."
Charlie sighed heavily. "I don't know if I have the patience for the ghoul banging on pipes in the middle of the night. That really only leaves me with…" He frowned. "Percy's room."
"Or Ginny's," Bill offered.
"Gin's room smells too nice," Charlie muttered. "Too flowery."
"And that's a problem?" their mother asked, her eyebrow raised as if seriously questioning his reasoning.
Charlie ignored her. "Last thing she'd want is me in there mucking up the place with my dragon musk." He sighed. "Maybe I could kip on the sofa?"
"Not with your dragon musk, you won't," said his mother. "You'll sleep in Percy's room and that's that. I've already made it up and it's perfectly fine."
Charlie shrugged, clearly not in the mood to argue as Bill swatted him and gestured to the clock. "It's nearly seven. We should go. Fleur will be expecting us."
"At least my dragon musk will be appreciated at the Leaky," Charlie said.
"Not only accepted, but encouraged," their father joked.
Both of them gathered their cloaks and shoes and readied themselves to leave. Their mother had just finished telling them to be careful—as she always did these days—and to stay out of trouble as Bill went to the door and pulled it open. As soon as he had, a plain brown post owl flew through and landed on the kitchen table. He and Charlie both glanced at it, but once they'd acknowledged the visitor, they paid it no mind and proceeded to exit.
"See you," Bill called over his shoulder, but his parents were no longer paying attention. He could hear his father say, "It's from Hogwarts."
"Oh, what is it now?" their mother muttered. "Educational Decree number one-thousand…"
On that, Charlie snapped the door shut behind them.
"Diagon Alley?" he asked once the pair of them were outside.
Bill nodded. "Yeah, Apparate to just outside of Gringotts. Fleur doesn't live far from there."
If Charlie had a comment to make, Bill hadn't stuck around to hear it. He'd Apparated then, appearing moments later outside of the bank that was practically his second home. Well, third when he accounted for Fleur's flat.
There was a quiet pop a few yards away, causing him to notice his brother standing there with his eyes already squinting up at Gringotts. He was frowning.
"They still got a dragon being held prisoner in there?"
Bill followed his gaze and let himself shrug. If he admitted the truth to him, at best that would unleash a world of angry rants from Charlie all night; at worst, a visit from security personnel—ones Bill personally worked with—once Charlie went and gave the bank a piece of his mind. Seeing as he really wanted a normal night where his brother could meet his girlfriend and have some fun, he wasn't about to go ahead and admit anything.
"I don't…" He looked away. "There are parts of the vaults I'm not allowed into, you know."
He could feel Charlie's gaze settle onto him. He clearly didn't believe that. "There are parts of the vaults you're not allowed into?"
He nodded. That wasn't a lie. He wasn't allowed inside people's vaults, after all.
"Aren't you in security? Aren't you high up in security? An expert of some kind?"
"Something like that. It's not—"
"So wouldn't that mean you'd have access to all levels of the bank? You know, in order to secure them?"
"It's a bit more complicated than that…" Bill said, gesturing in the direction of Fleur's flat and stepping in that direction. "There are a few levels I'm not needed in."
"Why?" Charlie asked. "Because they've got a poor dragon being tortured and held against its will doing the security on that level? Is that why you're not needed?"
Bill hummed a bit, trying to cut through a bit of the tension. "That would explain some things. I should really ask."
When Charlie's face still remained stone cold and not amused by that joke, he added, "Mate, I don't know what to tell you. If I did, I would. You're basing all of this off of a rumor you heard once."
"From a very credible source."
"A drunk goblin is a credible source now?"
Charlie stared at him as if trying to read him. Bill hated lying to his brother, but Charlie would go up there and start causing a scene if he heard the truth. When it came to dragon causes, he had very little time for anything other than blind support.
Charlie finally looked away. "It must be a rumor because I know you wouldn't lie to me." He looked back at him. "Not my noble big brother."
Bill forced a smile. He'd always been very good about looking sincere even if he wasn't. So good that even Charlie often believed it, and he had always been the one who had known him best. It was all Bill could do because he certainly couldn't open his mouth anymore on the subject.
Charlie looked back at the bank with all the hatred he seemed to be able to muster. He then flipped it off, muttering something about "criminals" that made Bill realize Charlie still wasn't convinced that he was telling the truth.
Bill sighed. "Can we go get Fleur now? Or did you want to go and try to burn my place of employment down?"
"Do we have time?"
Bill checked his watch. "Unfortunately we do not. We're running behind." He looked back at Charlie. "Such a shame."
Charlie begrudged a chuckle, but ultimately conceded before urging him to lead the way away from there. Bill was happy to put the matter of Gringotts and dragons behind them, instead refocusing on the fact that two of the most important people in his life were minutes away from meeting.
"She lives just up here," Bill said as the pair walked the main thoroughfare toward Fleur's flat. "Not too far. Just above that beauty shop."
"Can't wait to finally meet 'the girl'—the ten—who's got you all wrapped up," Charlie said, taking the moment to glance around the street that was probably very familiar to him, though also very different seeing as he hadn't been here in ages. "The way you talk about her, she's got to be something special."
"She absolutely is," Bill said, smiling as the pair kept pace with each other.
"Shit, even the way you just smiled at the thought of her," Charlie said. "You've got it bad, mate. I've never seen you have it this bad."
Bill laughed before he looked over at him. "I don't deny it." He looked over at his brother. "We're making plans to move in together."
"No shit?"
He nodded. "I haven't told anyone other than you, but she's decided to stay in England and she needs to find a new place. And I'm more than ready to get out of the Burrow."
Charlie laughed. "I'm shocked you made it this long."
"I am too," Bill said, though quickly added, "We practically live together anyway. I'm always at her place. It just makes sense, you know?" He shrugged. "We've only just talked about it."
"Moving in together is a big step," Charlie said. "Before you know it, next you'll be proposing."
"Probably," Bill said rather casually, thinking about how he'd entertained the thought several times already. "I've started thinking more and more about it lately. We haven't hit a year yet—that'll come this summer—but I can't see myself with anyone else."
"Shit," Charlie said again, sounding a bit shocked by the confession. "I can't believe you're seriously thinking about marriage."
Bill shrugged again. "Well, yeah, I'm thinking about it. I don't have a plan or anything, but the idea has started to cross my mind. I figured we'd get through the first year, move in together, then maybe by the holidays if things are still great? Perhaps even a bit sooner. Her birthday is in October. She'll be twenty."
"That's good. You won't have to propose to a teenager then."
Bill's face grew dark, though it only made Charlie cackle with laughter before Bill muttered, "I hate you sometimes."
He had continued to laugh, though immediately reached out a quick arm to throw around Bill's shoulder and shake him playfully. "I'm taking the piss! I've already told you plenty of times, who fucking cares?"
"Some people," Bill muttered, though if he were being honest, he didn't really hear much about it anymore. The only time Fleur being young was even mentioned these days was sometimes by his mother in rather innocuous ways—as if stating fact. It never came off as judgmental. He didn't think so, at least.
"Mum will have some opinions," Bill added.
"Then it must be a day that ends in bloody 'Y'," Charlie said. "You could want to marry Merlin himself, and she would have opinions about it. This is mum we're talking about."
"True."
"And for her, no one will ever be good enough for you," Charlie added rather exhaustively. "You or Ginny. Her favorites. The expectations are sky high for those two future partners."
Bill rolled his eyes. "Stop it."
"You know I'm right," Charlie said. "You should really warn Fleur. I can do it tonight, if you want."
Bill immediately thought of his mother and Fleur's constant tension. How Fleur would probably be the first person to agree with Charlie if he did make that comment; how they'd probably find a way to bond over it. Not that he exactly wanted that to be something they bonded over. He didn't even want to entertain the idea as being true…
"Meanwhile," Charlie added, "as far as mum's concerned, me and the other lads can go and marry trolls and she'd probably just be happy someone bothered to love us."
Bill couldn't help but snort a laugh, despite not wanting to encourage him. "Come off it."
"Don't get me wrong, she'll still have opinions on everyone," he continued. "Well, everyone but me since I can't see myself ever settling down. I'll likely be spared it all, but that just means I'm in for a whole new set of questions and opinions."
"'Why haven't you found someone ?'" Bill offered, poorly impersonating his mother. "And 'Don't you want a family?'"
Charlie was nodding as if that was exactly what he'd been referring to. "No Mum, I do not. She thinks I'll change my mind, but I won't. As if spending my youth half-raising five other kids didn't give me my fill of family for the rest of my life." He made a face.
Bill had stopped walking, having reached the beauty shop that Fleur lived above. It was almost funny how differently he and Charlie approached life and relationships. He had dreams of emulating his parents' loving marriage and having a family as they did—though not as large—and Charlie wanted nothing to do with any of that. He'd also half-raised his siblings, but he'd never felt burnt out by it like Charlie had; he'd actually felt that prepared him for eventual fatherhood. It excited him.
"My dragons can be my kids," Charlie said in a final sounding sort of way. "Mum should be thrilled to know she'll have options in grandchildren." He looked at Bill. "Why are we stopping?"
"Fleur lives up there."
"Great." He looked up. "Go and fetch her and bring her down. Let's meet the future wife."
"Again, thinking about it," Bill said. "Not there yet. Which means you don't go running your mouth—"
"I would never," said Charlie, sounding completely sincere for once. "I'm not an idiot. What kind of future best man would I be if I went and ran my mouth?"
Bill smirked. "What makes you think you get to be the best man?"
Charlie snorted his own laugh. "This should be good." He urged him to continue. "Go on. Let's pretend you have someone better in mind. Who is it?"
He considered that. "I'd have to see if Percy's free..."
Charlie actually laughed loudly at that, eventually letting himself taper off into a dramatic sounding sigh. "You're an arsehole."
Bill smiled, turning then to head into the building. "We can revisit this once I actually decide to get engaged." He stopped briefly and looked back at him. "But it would obviously be you."
"Just wanted to hear you say it," Charlie said, matching his smile.