Fleur glanced at the clock. It was 7:12. Bill being late was something she was used to, though she usually knew in advance that it would happen. He had to work until eight, but didn't get out until eight-thirty. He had an Order meeting that should be over by nine, but then it would go until ten. She was used to that and had begun padding him hours from the start; always preparing for him to be late and being pleasantly surprised if he wasn't.
But he wasn't usually late if it wasn't work or the Order. That was out of the ordinary. If he was out and about, when he said seven, he usually meant seven. If anything, he was usually early.
Him being late like this had her considering one of two options: something terrible had happened to him—something she always now fretted over—or dinner at the Burrow had run very late. Perhaps he'd had loads of catching up to do with his brother? Perhaps his mother had tried to keep both of them at home under her watchful gaze?
She let her eyebrows jump at the thought of that last one. She certainly wouldn't be surprised to hear that.
She sighed and wandered over toward her sofa, where she plopped down to continue waiting. She was excited for tonight in a way she hadn't been in ages. Excited and nervous—but in a good way. Bill had always claimed his brother Charlie was his best friend, so she wanted to make a good impression. It would be nice to have more allies in Bill's family who saw how well she and him were together. As opposed to...the ones who were convinced they didn't.
"Charlie will love you," Bill had told her. "You'll charm him instantly. He's the best. Life of the party. The only thing you could say to sour him on you is if you spoke ill of dragons or dragon causes." He then turned and stared her directly in the eyes. "Don't do that."
She had no plans to do that—she tended to avoid speaking of dragons these days if she could avoid it—and was actually hoping for more of an evening where she could get to know someone who truly knew Bill as a person. Someone who could tell her funny and embarrassing stories of him being an adorable child without the filter of perfection his mother always ran him through.
It was now 7:16. Where were they?
She sighed and reached over to a stack of magazines she kept on her side table. They were almost entirely from France, things that reminded her of home, and decided to pass the time by flipping through one. Unfortunately, she grabbed without looking, causing much of the small stack to tumble to the floor. She swore before pulling out her wand and charming them to place themselves back on the table.
It was then that a crumpled magazine found itself sticking out rather awkwardly from the otherwise uniform stack. She immediately frowned.
It was the Quibbler. The issue where Harry had given his interview depicting the events that had occurred the night of the third challenge in the Triwizard Tournament.
It had been a harrowing and terrifying reminder of everything that had occurred that night; even things she could distinctly remember happening inside the maze. She'd been named and referenced when Harry spoke of her being stunned by the impostor Death Eater; she'd been triggered by the mere mention of several of the creatures Harry spoke of encountering, having completely forgotten about their existence—or blocked them out—until she'd read that interview.
Then of course the graveyard. Cedric's final moments. Harry's torture. His duel. His escape. It was worse than anything her imagination could have possibly conceived. It had made her nightmares more vivid now; more terrifying. She frequently woke up in a cold sweat with Bill trying to comfort her before she even knew where she was or what had happened.
She knew she probably shouldn't have read it, that it would affect her so strongly, but there was no way the entire world could know what had happened that night and she didn't. People would speak about it; they would ask her. She knew she could either find out from the source herself or hear the tales secondhand from strangers. She decided against the strangers.
She'd had Bill read it first to gauge it. His face had been like stone the entire time; completely unreadable and serious. When he had finished, he had looked at her with overwrought eyes and told her she needed to read it privately and when she had time to really digest it. This was not something to simply skim over her tea break. She could tell by his tone just how serious he was.
It had probably been one of the longest nights of her life reliving that story, and it certainly re-traumatized her in many ways. But she was also so very proud of Harry for speaking his truth. He'd been so brave for sharing his experience, Cedric's experience, and for enlightening all of the naysayers, who at this point—if they didn't believe him—they could fuck right off. She had no time for any of them anymore. Not that she had much beforehand, but especially not now.
She could never read the article more than once; she didn't even know why she'd kept the magazine because she couldn't stand looking at it.
But she also couldn't bring herself to bin it either. That felt...wrong.
She reached out and carefully plucked it out from the pile, Harry's sweet, tired, "seen too much for his age" face now looking back at her. She smiled a little as she observed him, but quickly walked it over to a nearby dresser chest. She pulled the bottom drawer open and removed some bed linens that she'd stored there. Once it was empty, she shoved the magazine to the bottom and replaced all the linens on top of it. She then shut the drawer and stepped back.
While she couldn't bring herself to dispose of it, out of sight/out of mind was going to have to be the next best thing. She couldn't continue to torture heself by stumbling upon Harry's face on the cover any longer.
A knock at the door suddenly gave her a start; she took a deep breath to compose herself. It was now 7:20, which was definitely late, but she was happy Bill was finally here. She'd never been more in the mood to see him or to get out of this flat than she was right now.
"I know I'm late," Bill said once she opened the door. "And I'm just as tired of saying that as you are of hearing it."
"If tardiness was a problem in this relationship, we would have been over long ago," she said with a wry smile.
"I blame Charlie," Bill said, leaning forward to kiss her. "And he's already agreed to shoulder the blame, so you can be angry with him."
She laughed, her mood already improving significantly after that kiss. She turned and shut the door behind them, letting Bill take her hand as he led her down the stairs and explained that Charlie was waiting for them outside.
As they emerged into the evening air, she cast a look around for this brother of his. She knew vaguely what he looked like based on pictures she'd seen around the Burrow, though most of them were older and outdated. Even the photos of Bill that his parents tended to keep were all mostly school-aged—he in his Hogwarts robes with his hair much shorter; still as attractive as ever. He really had always been terribly handsome.
She assumed his brother would also be an older looking shadow of the young man whose photograph hung around their family home; her suspicions were confirmed when they emerged onto the street to find a man with that very distinct Weasley red hair leaning up against the shop window. He was a bit shorter and much stockier than Bill; he also looked as if he clearly spent loads of time outdoors. She reminded him more of the twins she'd met at the Burrow rather than Bill.
Charlie stood up straighter and smiled politely, glancing at Bill to make introductions. He did just that with a quick, "Fleur, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Fleur."
Fleur put on her best smile and stepped forward to greet him with a kiss on both cheeks. "It is so lovely to finally meet you! Bill has told me so much about you."
"All wonderful things, I'm sure," Charlie said, glancing at his brother before looking back at her. "But I can say the same about you. You've really done a number on him. He talks about you incessantly."
She smiled rather proudly at that, watching as Bill threw his brother a look that begged to question his choice of words. "Is 'incessantly' really the right word? Because I don't think I do it incessantly—"
"As long as it still means 'all the bloody time'," he said. "Has the definition changed since I went away?"
"It's not all of the time," Bill said a little sheepishly, turning to Fleur and putting his hand on her back. "Ignore him. He's got a pitiful vocabulary..."
"I've got a robust vocabulary," Charlie countered. "One that permits me a propensity for enriching and compelling conversation." He shrugged. "I just don't use it very often because dragons don't care and most of the people I work with tell me to cut it out with that 'posh' shit."
That last bit seemed to make him laugh before he added, "As if anything a day in my life could be considered posh."
Bill cracked a smile as he observed his brother. "I stand corrected. That being said," he looked back at Fleur, "I definitely talk about you loads, but it's not incessant."
"It's incessant," Charlie offered with a cheeky smile. "But it's fine. Young love and all that. He's smitten. I get it."
Fleur continued to smile at Bill, noticing that he seemed to be a little embarrassed at the claim, though she was honestly flattered. Why shouldn't he talk about her—about them—to the rest of the world? They were amazing. It certainly gave her a wonderful sense of satisfaction to know that what little precious time he spent talking to his brother, he may be discussing her.
Bill somehow managed to sigh and laugh at the same time as he turned to lead the way toward the Leaky Cauldron. "This is going to be a long night, isn't it?"
"I'm just warming up," Charlie said, stepping directly up next to Fleur. "So, everyone's always going to tell you how clever and perfect and amazing Bill is, but I'm here to tell you the real stuff."
"The real stuff?"
"Yeah, the good stuff."
Charlie was certainly a character, that was for sure. If she had wanted her share of silly and adorable Bill stories from his childhood, she quickly got exactly what she'd asked for. It was apparent he'd very much been the cautious older brother type, whereas Charlie was apparently the polar opposite. The more she got to know his brother, the more she saw why Bill had adopted such a responsible persona over the years—he seemingly had to. Half the stories Charlie told were about how Bill had either talked him out of something reckless or saved him from getting into serious trouble once he had.
Watching them together, it was almost startling to see how different they were, yet how close they seemed. Bill seemed lighter and happier in his brother's presence; he laughed more, especially after a couple of drinks. He made jokes that she couldn't see him making under normal circumstances; he left his more serious side at the door for the night and it was truly lovely to see. While she loved the man she knew more than anything, it was rather wonderful for this silly, more carefree side of him to emerge. She wished she could see it more often.
"He slept with this tattered old baby blanket until he was fourteen," Charlie said from across the table, where he sat on one side and she and Bill sat on the other. He was draining his third pint at the same time that Bill was finishing his.
"I was not fourteen," Bill said, his arm slung comfortably across the back of Fleur's chair.
"Sorry. Fifteen.".
"I was eleven," Bill said to Fleur, leaning in and kissing her on the side of the head before he went to stand up. "And I stopped because I went to Hogwarts. He has no idea what he's talking about."
"Are you getting another one?" Charlie asked him, gesturing to his empty glass.
"Yeah, I'll get the next round." He smiled at Fleur. "You need another, sweetheart?"
"I would," she said, having just finished her first one. She was certainly not keeping pace with these two, but she was fine with that. Bill had been so stressed lately, he needed this night to cut loose.
Bill looked back at Charlie. "Can I trust you to not make me look like an arse for a few minutes?"
Charlie made a face that said there were no promises. She, however, took the moment to smile at Bill and say, "There is nothing he could say that could make you look like an arse."
"I feel like that's a challenge," Charlie said.
Bill ignored him and instead leaned in and kissed her—hard. It was far more passionate than normal for a public place. She was used to this when they were alone, but not around other people. She definitely liked it. If his brother wasn't here she would have tried dragging him back to her place for more.
When they pulled apart, he let his hand affectionately squeeze the back of her neck as he turned to venture up to the bar. As she watched him go, she found a big, silly smile spread across her face.
"You two are good together," Charlie said suddenly, his voice more serious sounding than it had been most of the night. When she turned to look at him, he too was watching Bill walk off.
"We are," she agreed.
"I've never seen him this happy before with anyone else." He turned and looked at her. "I keep taking the piss that he's smitten, but he honestly is."
She couldn't help but smile. "I feel the same about him. He is an amazing man."
"He absolutely is. And I want nothing but good things for him. If that's what you bring to his life, then I'm glad he found you."
That was sweet of him to say, but as far as she was concerned, he had that backwards. He may have been glad Bill had found her, but she was the one who was glad to have found him—because she'd needed him. She hadn't known she'd needed him until she met him, but he was the reason she'd managed to find a way to pick up the pieces of last year. He was there to hold her when she had a nightmare or console her when she fell into that hole of despair that her thoughts of the tournament often led her to.
He was the reason she'd found her footing here in England and was now happy to call it home; why she was doing so well at work since he'd given her a reason to want to stay and rise within the ranks of her career. She hadn't been sure what the gap year had held for her once she'd arrived, but now she knew she wanted to stay and make a life here. She wanted it to be with him and she was so happy that they were taking the next step and moving in together to make that happen. She truly couldn't wait to start working the details of that out.
Without Bill around, Charlie was suddenly toned down. He asked her about herself, what her family and life in France was like; the typical Beauxbatons versus Hogwarts discussion she seemed to keep finding herself having. Charlie seemed ready to defend his former school as they all did, though he couldn't seem to argue how she'd spent seven years at school and no one she knew had died or nearly died. No monsters had taken her younger sister into a Chamber to waste away.
"The only time my sister was taken anywhere," Fleur said, "which was to the bottom of a cold, dark lake, was at Hogwarts."
Charlie's face seemed to say she had a point. All he could seem to offer was, "To be fair, that's current Hogwarts. Ten years ago, it was much quieter. Boring, even." His face fell a little. "Everything was quieter and more boring before."
It was now her turn to agree. Life was so very different now; every day it felt as though things were changing more and more. All she wanted was to feel more connected and a part of things—to help.
At that thought, she suddenly took Charlie in a bit more curiously. If Bill was in the Order, and his parents were in the Order, and his twin brothers wanted to be in the Order but couldn't because of their age, it was safe to say that Charlie was also part of the Order. And if he was part of the Order, that meant he was yet another person she could attempt to convince that she would be a welcomed new addition. She wondered how Bill would feel if she asked Charlie about it…
Then again, since when had she become the type of person who needed to run things first by her boyfriend before she could ask a question? She didn't want to be that person.
She looked around. The pub was crowded tonight and the last thing she wanted to do was something and the wrong person overheard her. She practically whispered, "May I ask you a question? Are you part of...the organization? The one Bill is also a part of?"
He stared at her for a moment, his brow furrowed. He too lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "The Order?"
She nodded, which prompted him to say, "Yeah. Why? Are you?"
She shook her head. "Not for lack of trying. Bill has been asking how I can join, but apparently…" She looked him in the eyes, picking her words carefully. "Dumbledore is a very busy man."
"He is," Charlie offered, nodding slowly. "I can't claim to know what he does with all of his time, but he keeps busy." His expression now seemed to be studying hers. "How much has Bill told you? How much is he allowed to tell you?"
She grinned a little. He'd told her almost as much as Charlie just had, seeing as he unknowingly had confirmed her suspicions that Dumbledore was that man in charge. It wasn't as if she hadn't figured that out ages ago since Bill's lack of confirmation was as good as a proof to her, but now she knew for certain.
"As much as he can, which is not much," she said, still talking in a low voice. "I know the purpose; what the goals are. I want to help. I want to be a part of it. I understand the responsibility. I am not afraid."
"You don't seem like the type that gets afraid easily."
"I do not," she confirmed. "And I know my name has been suggested. Bill has even said Dumbledore did not see why I should not join. I cannot seem to make it official."
"You need...what? Final approval?"
"Yes," she said with a heavy sigh. "Everything comes through Bill, and while I believe him when he says he is trying, he does not alwasy push hard for things—"
"It comes from years of having things handed to him," Charlie offered.
She stared at him, feeling rather taken off guard by that comment. Having things handed to him? The impression she'd always got is that they'd grown up rather poor; there wasn't much to go around, let alone be handed to him.
"Pardon?"
"I don't mean that in a spoiled sort of way," Charlie clarified. "It's not like that. What I meant is that he's always had these terrific opportunities presented to him. More than most people.
"Just being the oldest in our family, he got to be the first at everything. My mum always made sure he had exactly what he needed because he was the clever one; the model child; the one destined for greatness. Then he went to school and all the professors propped him up too because he's so smart and charming; everyone loved him.
"Even when he was looking into his career, Gringotts went hard for him. They wanted him. But so did the Ministry. He had his choice of what he wanted to do, which most people don't have that luxury. They have to put in the work. They don't have all these important people personally owling them to get their attention like he did."
Fleur blinked. She was only half following all of this.
"Even with girls," he gestured to her, "the opportunities always just presented themselves. Always the best looking ones, the cool ones, the fun ones—they were always queued up. He could take his pick." He shrugged. "Pick of jobs, pick of girls, pick of everything."
He then laughed a little and looked around the room. "And I'm not for a second saying my brother doesn't work hard and deserves everything he's got—he does. He doesn't half-arse anything and he really is the cleverest person I've ever met. But he's so used to opportunities simply falling into his lap, that he doesn't know what to do with himself when a door doesn't immediately open."
He was using a lot of English metaphors, which she had to admit took her a minute to process. What she gathered he was saying was that because Bill was often given amazing opportunities straight away, he rarely had to chase anything. And because he rarely had to chase anything, he struggled when something actually needed to be chased. He was so used to everything simply happening for him, that when it didn't, he often seemed...
Lost.
She looked down at the table top, all of these thoughts marinating in her mind. That honestly...made sense. It explained so much. About how Bill often claimed he didn't know what else to do except to talk to Dumbledore—or the powers-that-be—when he had the chance. He was so used to asking and getting, that his plan had been to just keep asking until it happened. But asking wasn't cutting it. Nothing was happening.
This was exactly the issue. She'd never been able to put her frustrations into proper words until now.
"Just realize with Bill," Charlie added, "that he's so used to hearing yes to everything because people want to make him happy, it trips him up to hear no. He doesn't know what to do."
"Yes!" Fleur practically shouted, so very happy to hear someone else say it. "That is Bill. That is it. It has clearly done him very well in life, and I do not usually have a problem with it, but when it comes to this Order business—"
"It's affecting you."
"Yes," she said, as if letting out a heavy breath she didn't know she was holding. "Yes. I know he is trying, but his trying and my trying are very different. His trying is to ask once and then wait weeks to ask again since he does not want to be a nuisance, whereas I would ask every day until it is done. Until I had an answer."
"So go get an answer," he said in a rather nonplussed way.
If it were that easy, she would; she let her expression say as much before saying, "How do you suggest I do that? I could not find Dumbledore even if I wanted to."
"Owl him."
She stared at him. Owl him? Just...owl this great and powerful wizard who was busy leading a resistance effort, among the hundreds of other things he was probably doing. That's it? Just owl him. That was his suggestion?
"What do you have to lose?" he asked, noticing the skepticism on her face. "You're no worse off if he doesn't answer you, but at least you've taken things into your own hands now."
He leaned back in his chair. "If it were me, I'd tell him that you'd like some follow up on the conversation he had with Bill. Keep sending him owls until he answers you. Make him tell you no, or yes, or whatever. Squeaky wheel gets the grease, you know?"
Squeaky wheel? What wheel…? What did that mean…?
"The louder you are, the more attention you're going to get," he clarified. "I live my life by that. Now, your man Bill lives his life by the mantra that the best looking, most likable wheel gets the grease."
She laughed.
"But sometimes," he added, "you need to be squeaky."
"Need to be squeaky…" she repeated. She could be squeaky. Now that she knew for certain that Dumbledore was that man in charge, it only made sense to take what she could into her own hands and not leave it up to Bill anymore. Who had time to wait on others to control their future?
"I think I will do that," she said to him, nodding affirmatively. "We've done it Bill's way, now it is time to do it mine. He may not be a fan of the idea..."
"Yeah, but it's not his idea to be a fan of," Charlie countered. "It's yours. Bill likes to keep the peace as best he can, but sometimes the boat needs to be rocked whether he likes it or not."
"He does not like to rock the boat," Fleur said, figuring that metaphor out quickly.
"He doesn't," Charlie said. "But he wouldn't be where he is if he didn't have people in his life who showed him it's not the end of the world." He grinned at her. "It's why you're good for him. Because you're willing to rock the boat."
She smiled at that, though eventually let her gaze land on Charlie. "Do you always speak using so many metaphors?"
He shrugged. "When I'm drinking, I do." He suddenly looked around the bar. "Speaking of drinking, where the hell did Bill go? I feel like he's been gone for ages."
He had been gone a while; he wasn't wrong about that. She turned and scanned the pub for him, but she didn't spot him at the end. He may be on the other side of the room, but that seemed strange to venture over there to get a few drinks. Perhaps he'd gone to use the toilet? He'd have to be back any minute.
They chatted more about what life was like for both of them now that they lived abroad, and naturally more about Bill. She did notice that when Bill wasn't around, Charlie's stories tended to be far more complimentary about his older brother than the silly and embarrassing ones he told when he was present. She appreciated both, though not as much as she appreciated the glimpses Charlie had into who Bill truly was a person. This was the real treat in speaking to him: he understood him similar to the ways she did.
"You two ever row?" Charlie asked. "Like a proper one?"
She shook her head. "We do not fight often, but when we do, he will walk away before there is any real shouting."
"Sounds right. Used to drive me mental because sometimes I just wanted him to scream in my face," Charlie said. "But no. He'd go away and get all calm and want to talk it out later, which…" He pulled a face. "Isn't my way of dealing with things, but that's probably why everyone loves him whereas I...made an enemy or two in my day."
"It has changed the way I see arguments," Fleur said with a smile. "I also will shout and yell, but I feel it has been better for us to calm down and talk."
"Yeah, it's also probably why he and I get on so well. My younger brother, Percy—I'm assuming you've heard of him? He would row back with me and we'd shout and yell." He sighed. "We don't get along."
"I have heard. None of you seem to get along with him."
"We'll be here all night if you get me started," he muttered, staring down at his empty glass. "But he and Bill never fought. They always got on." He smirked. "Because Billy gets on with everyone."
How true that was. She and Bill had been together for nearly a year and she couldn't claim a single person who didn't like him. Quite the opposite, really. She didn't think she'd ever known someone who managed to charm nearly everyone he met so effortlessly. Even the goblins seemed to like him more than the other curse breakers...and they didn't like anyone.
"That is one of the many reasons I love him so much," she said.
Charlie had managed to flash a kind smile at that comment, though it vanished in the next moment when he spotted something over her shoulder. When she turned to look, she saw Bill finally reappearing—with a purpose to his step. He looked preoccupied, and if she had to guess based on his face alone, something had happened while he was away.
"It's been fifteen bloody minutes," Charlie said. "Where have you been? It does not take that long to...Did you even get drinks?'
He hadn't. Bill's hands were empty as he approached and stood at the head of the table. His face was not only preoccupied, it was concerned.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, reaching out to touch his arm.
"Yes and no," Bill said slowly, though he directed all his concern onto Charlie. "Guess who I found?"
"Who?"
He suddenly stepped back and gestured behind him as he was revealing something, which forced Fleur to rise in her seat to get a proper look. She'd barely moved in her chair before Charlie already exclaimed, "What the fuck...?"
"Can I trust you to not make me look like an arse for a few minutes?" Bill said to Charlie as he stood up from the table.
Charlie made a face that didn't instill a whole lot of confidence in him, but he ultimately knew that Charlie would behave himself while he left he and Fleur alone for a bit. His brother may have thrived on silly chaos for shits and giggles, but he ultimately always had his back.
"There is nothing he could say that could make you look like an arse," Fleur said as she turned to him with that sweet smile.
"I feel like that's a challenge," Charlie said, though Bill ignored him.
He was three pints in now, still riding the high from the fact that he and Fleur were going to move in together, and was entirely too focused on how much he loved his girlfriend. She'd sat here like a pro all evening listening to he and Charlie's back and forth nonsense—some of which bordered on them sounding like dumb fifteen-years-old again. She'd laughed, she'd smiled, and she'd been effortlessly charming. He could already tell Charlie was impressed. It was a great feeling. It had been a great night.
And the way Fleur was looking up at him at the moment, she looked incredible right now. He actually found himself fighting the urge to go and tell his brother to bugger off for a bit because he wanted her right now so badly. Every time she touched him, even innocently, it was getting harder to resist. He lived for these moments—these perfect moments—where he felt so drawn to her; so in love and in lust that nothing else in this world mattered outside of this moment.
Unfortunately, he couldn't have his way with her right now, so he settled for the next best thing and kissed her as if they were truly alone. He may not be able to have her, but he wanted her to know how badly he was thinking about it.
He was still grinning once he got to the bar, thinking about how fantastic the evening was going. How much he'd needed it; how much he'd need to see Charlie and laugh and turn off his thoughts for a single evening. Real life could wait until tomorrow.
Because everything outside of his love life had been so shitty and stressful lately. All the Order business; that Quibbler interview rocking Fleur; the bank growing ever more busy for him as summer drew closer; the head goblins already riding his arse to prepare for all of the late night security tests again. Vampire hours were around the corner, which would drastically affect all the other aspects of his life—including how much he got to see Fleur…or daylight. Last summer had been hard enough and that had been when she and him were riding on a honeymoon feeling, fueled by excitement, growing intimacy, and everything being brand new.
A year later, it would be harder to push through those endless hours and late nights. Not that he didn't think they could do it, but it would be harder. Moving in together would lessen the blow...at least he hoped so.
In the meantime, he was just trying to get through the next few months the best he could. Put his head down at work and push through; get through Order business and hopefully get Fleur inducted soon; help her navigate the anniversary of the third task and Cedric's death, which was approaching in a few months and she was anxiously dreading. Her nightmares had become bad enough lately after reading that Quibbler interview, he knew things were only going to get worse as the anniversary approached.
"Oi, Bill," came the sound of Tom, the innkeeper, who had appeared at the bar and was looking to assist him. "What'll it be?"
"Three more pints," Bill said, already reaching into his pocket for money to pay for it with.
Tom nodded and set to work. "Didn't know your bruvas was in town. Bit of a family reunion, innit?"
Bill nodded as he glanced over his shoulder where Fleur and Charlie were still chatting. "Yeah. Got in from Romania earlier today. It's been nice since it's been a bit since we've seen each other."
Tom had placed one of the pints down in front of him on the bartop. "Romania? Innit that where Charlie lives?"
"Yeah," Bill said. "That's why I said he got in from Romania…"
"So you have more than one bruva that lives in Romania?"
What? Where had he…? He shook his head. "No, just Charlie. The rest live here."
"Then why'd you say they got in from Romania?"
"I didn't say that," Bill said, starting to wonder what exactly the two of them were talking about. "I was talking about Charlie. He just got in." He pointed behind him, where Charlie was visible at the table across the room.
"Ohhh," Tom said, nodding slowly. "So he just got in from Romania?"
"Yes," Bill said slowly, feeling as though that had certainly been established by now. Tom was a lovely bloke, but Bill was starting to wonder if he'd been dabbling in some of his own supply tonight. Perhaps even taking up some of the illegal potion deals that occurred regularly at the bar by some of the dodgier patrons.
"Then where'd your other bruvas come from?"
Alright, now Bill was just lost. It was probably better to just pay for his stuff and get back to Fleur and Charlie. "I'm not really following, mate, but cheers for this," he said, placing his money down before reaching out to pick up his pint glasses.
"The twins," Tom said, collecting his money. "I was just talking to them and they said they only just got to town."
Yeah. He was definitely on something. Something strong.
"You were just talking to the twins? My twin brothers?"
"Yeah, ten minutes ago." He shrugged. "Not even."
"That's impossible," he said. "Fred and George are at Hogwarts. Term's not over yet."
"They were at Hogwarts," Tom said with a rather toothless smile. "Right now they're here. They just asked for a room. Wondered why they weren't staying wiv your folks, but I don't ask questions, you know. Not my place."
Now Bill wasn't sure whether he'd had too much to drink or not enough. Tom seemed to be under the impression that his brothers, who were currently at school, were here in the Leaky Cauldron. Which didn't make sense for multiple reasons. Even if for some reason they weren't at school, they sure as hell wouldn't be looking for a room at the Leaky.
"Right…" Bill said doubtfully. "Did they happen to mention why they were here?"
Tom shook his head. "Only that they were done with school now. That they'd had enough of that old cow who's in charge. The one they put in after they went and run Dumbledore off."
Now that did actually sound like something Fred and George might say. But even if they had, there was no way they would have just up and left school on a whim. They were certainly rebellious, but this was extreme even for them.
Bill grinned a little. "Well, if they left school with two months to go, my folks would go mental. They wouldn't even be able to show their faces at home."
"Might be why they needed a room," Tom said before turning to help someone else.
Bill's face fell. Shit, they would…
"Tom, you're sure it was my brothers?"
"Sure as sure," he said. "I know a Weasley when I see one. I've known the lot of you since you were knee-high."
"What room did you give them?"
Bill had dashed up the stairs minutes later, still hoping that Tom was mistaken and that he was about to knock on the door of some other red-headed twins that closely resembled his brothers. If that door opened and Fred and George were standing behind it, then that meant shit was about to hit the fan.
"Who's there?" called one of the twins unmistakable voices as soon as Bill had knocked. There was absolutely no denying it now that he'd heard that voice.
"Housekeeping," Bill answered.
"You think we're thick or something?" called the same twin—or perhaps it was the other. "There's no housekeeping here. It's the Leaky Cauldron."
"Yeah, piss off," said the other.
"You piss off," Bill called back. "It's your brother. Open up."
There was a silence until one of them asked, "Which one?"
"Sounded like Bill."
One of the twins swore. Even through the door Bill could hear the other say, "I told you he practically lived here. He's told us that. But no. You said we'd go unnoticed—"
The door swung open then. Standing there with his hand on the knob was George. Across the room, sitting on one of the two beds was Fred. It was him who sighed heavily before saying, "Do we have a bloody trace on us or something?"
Bill stepped into the room and gave it a quick once over. "No. You walked into a pub I frequent and it's full of people who talk. News travels fast." He looked at them both. "Why are you here?"
Fred shrugged. "Because mum and dad apparently weren't satisfied with three children and decided to go for four." He pointed between him and George. "Got five. Still weren't satisfied."
"Why are you here right now?!"
He looked specifically at George, who of the two tended to be likely to break first. The two were generally an impenetrable wall together, but if anything was going to slip out, it was going to be from George. Bill had learned through the years that when separated from Fred for questioning, George always provided more details than Fred ever did. Not much, but more.
"You're supposed to be at school," Bill added.
"About that..." George said, smirking a little.
"Yeah, we're done," Fred said, standing then from the bed.
"What does that even mean?" Bill asked, turning from one to the other.
"It means we're done obviously," Fred said slowly, looking at George then as if he shouldn't have to be explaining this. When he looked back at Bill, he said, "And you actually did finish school…"
Then there was Fred, who always had to be the louder one. The snarkier one. The one that pushed the limits that much more.
"Yeah, I did finish," Bill said to him. "Because that's what you're supposed to do. Who quits with two months to go?"
"Those of us who have to live in that hellscape currently pretending to be Hogwarts," Fred countered. "You have no idea how bad things are there right now. Especially since Dumbledore got sacked."
"It's a nightmare," George muttered, his arms crossed over his chest. "And we'd had enough."
The pair then launched into a long and animated tale of what their seventh-year had consisted of. Umbridge and her insane rules and decrees, suspensions from Quidditch—"She took our brooms and locked them up!"—torturing them with some horrific sounding quill that sliced into their skin—"I still have the marks!"—Dumbledore's sacking, them no longer giving a fuck and releasing a crate of fireworks throughout the school, on top of them also setting off a magical swamp just today as they essentially told Umbridge to piss off and fled the school in rather epic fashion.
The only highlight of their year was the secret organization that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had started that they'd all joined—the D.A. or Dumbledore Army. They'd been meeting to work on defensive spells; Harry had been teaching them how he'd survived Voldemort. It had been a bit of a safe haven for all of them; a place to plan and be free from the watchful eye of Umbridge and her supporters. However once that had been exposed and essentially dissolved, Fred and George had decided they had nothing left to stick around school for.
"We don't care about our exams," George said once they were done. "We don't need them. We have no intention of getting some ruddy old office job."
"Yeah," Fred agreed. "We have plans. All that joke stuff—this stuff mum calls rubbish—well it actually isn't. It's actually quite lucrative. George and I have been doing well for ourselves establishing a smaller scaled version of our business while at school. We've been turning a profit." He looked at George. "Though, I think the swamp and the fireworks may have eaten a bit into our funds."
"Cost of doing business," George said. "Everyone saw and they knew it was us. You can't buy that kind of publicity."
"Wait, hold on," Bill said, still looking from one to the other. "Your business?"
"Our business," Fred said without even the slightest trace of amusement on his face. "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."
"That's the name?"
"That's the name," Fred said. "We've already registered it. We've already signed a lease for our premises in Diagon Alley. We plan on opening over the summer."
"Opening a shop?" Bill asked, finding himself sounding far more shocked than he'd meant to. "An actual shop?"
George and Fred nodded. "We've got all the plans drawn up. We've got loads to do in terms of mass producing inventory, but we've got a plan for that too. We've been working on it for ages."
"With what money?" Bill asked, finding it hard to believe that whatever money they managed to drum up at school could afford not only the capital to start a business, but also maintain it and rent an actual premises.
Fred stood up straight and stared Bill in the eyes. "We've told you. We've had an investor. People do believe in us and our products."
"Because they're great products," George added, giving Bill the same sort of serious look that Fred was. "Everyone says so."
They were serious. Deadly serious. These jokes and gadgets of theirs that Bill had always assumed they were mucking around with for a laugh were making them money. Decent money by the sounds of it. And if they were making money, it was easy to see why they wouldn't feel the need to put up with the shit at Hogwarts anymore when there were more important things waiting for them outside of those castle walls.
"This is mad," Bill said, though he only said it because he was more shocked than anything else. When did his brothers become entrepreneurs with an actual start-up? They were only just discussing dumb sounding poo products last summer. Was that what people were buying? Was that what this was about?
"Is there seriously that much of a market for poo stuff?"
Both of them looked confused for a moment, though it was George who looked at Fred and said, "He might be talking about the early testing stages for U-No-Poo. We were workshopping that last summer, remember?"
Fred nodded. "Right. Took us a bit to get that right." He rubbed his stomach then almost out of reflex.
"Wait, hold on," Bill said, processing the name they'd just said. "What did you call it?"
"U-No-Poo," Fred said. "It's a pill you can take to…" He shrugged. "Makes you—or whomever you give it to—poo."
"A constipation sensation," George quipped, causing Fred to swing around on him rather urgently, his own eyes now wide as saucers.
"Oh, shit, that's good! Write that down!" He smirked to himself and repeated, "A constipation sensation…" He paused for a moment. "That's gripping the nation!"
"Yes!" George said excitedly. "Yes! Even better!"
"Write it down!"
"I am!" George said, already at the side table where he'd retrieved a quill and was scribbling on a discarded piece of paper.
"What in the bloody…?" Bill murmured, watching as Fred walked over to observe George's work. They both seemed very pleased with themselves, clearly off in their own world of...whatever it was that went through their heads. Bill couldn't decide if this was absolutely brilliant or absolute madness.
"It's not just poo shit," Fred added after a moment, glancing back at Bill.
"Poo shit," George repeated, giggling to himself.
"We've got loads of ideas. Loads of already tested products ready to go. Some for a laugh, some useful—like the Extendable Ears. This isn't something we just decided on a whim. We've been planning this for years now. School's actually what's been slowing us down."
"And let it be known, we would have finished school if it were any other year," George said, pocketing his new catch phrase in his robes.
"We would have finished had Dumbledore not been sacked," Fred added. "Don't think we wouldn't have sucked up two more months versus the lecture we know we're going to get from mum."
"We went back and forth for a while on that," George said, pulling a face. "Which is worse? Mum once she finds out? Or two more months of Umbridge?"
"Mum nearly won," Fred added. "Any other year, she would have."
"But Hogwarts is truly that bad right now," George said in all seriousness.
"And that's why we came here," Fred said, gesturing around the room as if to indicate the Leaky Cauldron. "To avoid mum for as long as we can."
"You're aware she probably already knows you've left school?" Bill said. "They get owls to the house from Hogwarts all the bloody time. Every time there's a new decree—"
"Shit, that's every hour," George muttered.
"—Umbridge informs the families. Well, the wizarding ones. Dad heard somewhere she doesn't give much thought to the Muggleborns…"
"Shocking," Fred said with a roll of his eyes. "She's usually so thoughtful and inclusive."
Bill smirked at him. "What I'm saying is that I'd bet money she and dad already got a letter from the school about you running away. She's probably worried sick."
"She's probably hacked off and ready to find and curse us," George countered.
"The two aren't mutually exclusive, mate. What you need to do is go home and tell her everything you've just told me. If you're done with school and ready to be proper adults with your own bloody business, then go and act like it."
As soon as he'd said that, quite a bit of very un-adultish scoffing and swearing followed. They were rumbling and grumbling about how mum was going to kill them; how there was no right way to have this conversation with her, but Bill just kept reminding them it had to be done. They kept reminding him that it was easy for him to say.
"Mum's never shouted at you a day in your life," George said.
"Yes, she has," Bill said, being reminded of Charlie then and how he often made that type of comment as well. It was then he remembered that Fleur and Charlie were still downstairs. They probably were wondering where the hell he'd gone off to.
"'ll tell you what," Bill added. "After your day, I'll buy you a pint since you're all grown now. I'll even toast to your new endeavor and this business of yours." He looked from one to the next. "But after that, you go home and talk to mum and dad."
Identical frowns stared back at him, though when they glanced at each other and began having one of their silent, seemingly telepathic conversations, they both seemed to eventually concede to the idea.
"I could have a drink," Fred said. "What about food? Can we get food too? I'm starving…"