Fleur hated calling it an anniversary. To her, anniversaries were celebratory; an occasion to reminisce upon fondly. Her anniversary with Bill, for example—which was only a few short weeks away—was a proper anniversary. She was excited about that.
But the day that would be upon her tomorrow, the one that marked one year since the third task of the tournament, there was nothing worth remembering or celebrating about that. If she could somehow forget all of it, she would.
Tomorrow was a remembrance; a day she would be forced to face for the rest of her life, though certainly never celebrate. That was how she chose to see it.
She had awoken on the eve of that day with a familiar knot in her stomach. She'd been getting these knots on and off for a year now, but over the last two weeks she'd been guaranteed to have one. It always felt as if she could be sick, though she never was; it simply wanted her to feel that way. She carried the knot with her throughout the day, sometimes thinking of nothing else and sometimes allowing herself to be distracted enough that she barely noticed. It always seemed to be there.
She was starting to wonder if it would ever go away.
It had been at its weakest while she'd gone home to France—a trip she hadn't planned, but once even things with Bill had gone to shit, she'd needed her creature comforts. She wanted to hug her parents and let Gabrielle cozy up to her until they both fell asleep as they often did when her sister had been smaller. Back then, Fleur had been the one doing the comforting when Gabrielle had been afraid of monsters or strange noises.
Now the situation was reversed and Gabrielle was the one telling her it would be alright. Fleur didn't have the heart to tell her the monsters were real now; she had seen them and couldn't seem to unsee them.
Her mother had doted on her with all her favorite things; Gabrielle had barely left her side; and her father had asked her to seriously consider coming home. She had to admit, a part of her did think it made sense to do that.
Her anxiety was less noticeable at home; she had support here. Her friends and family were here, and so many of them had turned up to see when they found out she'd popped in. Her cousins and closest friends had all listened as she shared her frustrations; she couldn't remember the last time she'd had this many people there for her. In England, all she had was Bill...and while she loved him, she wasn't sure if that was enough anymore.
She sometimes felt so helpless in England; alone to battle her demons when Bill was off working his long hours or spending time with the Order. All of this while she...wasn't doing anything. She'd gone to England to do something to help and make a difference. That had been the point of moving there, but after a year, what had she accomplished? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Bill had been the only good thing to come from her year and even he could only fill the void she often felt so much.
That wasn't even taking into account how he didn't seem to understand how much it was killing her to see him being a part of something that she wasn't allowed to touch. How did he not understand how hard this was for her? He had even got angry with her for writing to Dumbledore, when...what did she want him to do? She'd been patient. She'd been more than patient. She was done being patient.
Not that it mattered. Dumbledore hadn't responded to any of her letters. That had felt like the last straw. No one cared about her involvement. They all seemed to underestimate her, and that was fine. If they didn't want her, then why should she want them? What was the point of staying in England if no one there truly cared about her struggles, but everyone here in France did?
She began to wonder if maybe she should let the tension she'd left behind with Bill fester. Let it grow like a sickness and destroy what they had; then she truly would have nothing left in England. She could go and gather her things and be home by the end of the week. She'd probably be happier long term.
But when she thought about Bill, about how he made her feel when things were good—about how no one had ever come close to making her feel that happy—she knew that in the short term, she would be devastated. It was next to impossible to picture her life without him anymore.
"Tu surmonteras," her cousin, Inès, had told her, reiterating that while it was never easy to end something, she would get over him. They would be other men. She would have everyone here to help her through the heartbreak. She would have everyone back again if she came home.
It was hard to argue any of that.
When she had returned to England after her short stay, she'd been nearly convinced that she'd be Portkeying back home with all of her things within a week's time. Everything here had a bleak, bitterness attached to it. The colors even seemed duller; it was always so cloudy here. What was the point?
She dreaded having to talk to Bill, so when turned up to talk to her, she'd been prepared to push him away. She still hadn't wrapped her head around ending things with him, but she was hoping the angsty energy they'd left things on was still lingering. That it would grow and make it easier to want to end things; perhaps in an angry shouting match that she wouldn't let him walk away from for once.
But it hadn't happened like that. He'd turned up and something had shifted in him. He'd immediately apologized. He kept telling her he knew how hard everything must be and he was sorry for adding to it. He wanted to be there for her. He missed her. He loved her.
None of this was prompted. She hadn't even hinted at ending things and moving home, so this wasn't a last ditch effort on his part. He'd come to her with all of this on his own; he'd held her while she cried and poured her heart out to him; he'd listened to her for an hour and didn't once contradict her about her feeling left out from the Order or being brushed off by his mother. For once, there were no excuses—no "it's not as bad as you think" or "it just takes time…" He'd simply listened. And that was honestly what she'd needed him to do.
Once they spoke, it had felt as if a world of pressure had been lifted off of her. He'd asked her for another chance when it came to the Order—how he'd even start writing to Dumbledore if he needed to—and that he'd push it so much harder now. He'd stop being so dismissive of his mother's passive aggression toward her and call her on it more. He wanted them to be a team, and he wanted her to feel like an equal part in it.
He even wanted to take her away that weekend, though he didn't say where. It was a surprise; an opportunity for them to escape together and forget about the rest of the world for a few days. He was trying to distract her from her third task, or at least give her a change of scenery to process it. She found his efforts thoughtful, though it wasn't as if his thoughtfulness had ever been in question. He'd never not been thoughtful.
After that conversation she no longer felt rushed to pack her bags. There was time left to give to England—a 'last chance'. A part of her felt that the returning trauma of the third task may have been putting thoughts in her head—perhaps that was the real reason for all these doubts and fears—and if she got through it, life would once again feel a little brighter again. That's what she hoped.
But there was only one way to find out. That was to push through.
There was little time to dwell in the days that followed; so much happened that she almost forgot about her concerns. Harry and his friends had been forced to meet Voldemort and his Death Eaters again, the Order had turned up to fight, and several people—including Bill's siblings—had been injured. One member had died, and from what she had been told, he was Harry's godfather. That only made her heart break further for Harry. Truly, how much pain could one person take?
Bill and his family had been shaken, and she tried to help where she could by cooking and running errands. She would have loved to have done more, but she was still on the outside looking in at the Order. Dumbledore was apparently out of hiding now that his name had been cleared and Voldemort had been seen. She was hoping to make one last appeal to him as soon as she could.
In the meantime, Bill hadn't wanted to cancel their weekend getaway, which meant that when she'd awoken that morning with the knot in her stomach, she could only hope that whatever Bill had planned was something that would ease the ever present reminder that it was there.
"You ready?" Bill had asked her once he'd turned up at her flat to collect her.
She finished double checking her overnight bag to make sure everything was packed before she smiled and nodded that she was.
He'd walked over and taken her hand in his, telling her to hold on tight. A moment later, he'd pulled her by side-along Apparation to somewhere very windy. Her hair immediately flew into her face and obstructed her view, though when she went to fix it, the smells and sounds of sea air immediately hit her senses. She could hear waves crashing nearby, and when she did manage to look around, a vast seascape stared back at over the edge of some rather steep cliffs.
"Where are we?" she asked, turning then to see a wooded area not far in the distance. To the left of those woods was a small, solitary cottage that stood out as the only other noticeable object in sight.
Bill squeezed her hand and tugged her along toward the cottage. "Tinsworth. It's near Cornwall. A bit more southwest than the Burrow. That there—" He pointed to the cottage, "we call it Shell Cottage. It belongs to my great aunt and it's where I used to holiday as a kid from time to time." He looked back at her. "I have good memories of it and I know how much you enjoy being by the sea."
She did. The sea reminded her of being home and the vast sights, rhythmic sounds, and salty smells had already calmed her without much effort. The idea of falling asleep to the noise of waves crashing in the distance was immediately cathartic. She already felt more at peace here than she had in the busyness of Diagon Alley on any given day.
The views were stunning, and the cottage itself had a quaint quality about it that immediately made her want to ask Bill why he had hidden this little gem away from her for so long. She couldn't help but take in so many of its details-the embedded shells, the weathered exterior-as he led her up to the front door and tapped his wand to the entrance.
He smiled at her as he pushed the door open, offering to let her go first. She did just that, stepping over the threshold into a foyer of sorts—one with stairs directly in front, an entrance to what looked like the kitchen to the right; to the left, a sitting room with a large fireplace.
As she entered further, she couldn't help but notice how outdated so many of the fixtures and decor were. Bill had mentioned it belonged to a great aunt, and that was never more clear than a look at the fifty-year-old sofa and other ancient furnishings in the sitting room. Nothing about the place was modern in any way, but she had to admit there was a charm to that. Not only were they secluded from the rest of the world, but apparently they were secluded from time as well. They were truly alone.
Bill came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her as she continued to scan the sitting room. She could feel him kiss the top of her head and leave his chin resting atop it. "It's a bit dated. It apparently doesn't get used much these days now that my aunt is older. I had to come out here earlier today and tidy up a bit. Clear away some dust and cobwebs."
She hummed. Outdated as it was, she found the place positively charming. While she would obviously make a hundred different choices for interior design, there was something here that one couldn't emulate. It was a certain beauty the place simply radiated. It felt very comfortable.
"It is lovely."
"It has its charms," he said, squeezing her a bit before letting her go. "You want to look around?"
She nodded, curious to see what else this little treasure held. He'd led her into a decent sized kitchen, which again needed serious upgrades, but the cupboards were a rich mahogany color that she loved. There was a nice outdoor garden through the kitchen window that offered picturesque views of both the sea and woods. Whoever had built this clearly appreciated their views while cooking.
Up the stairs were three bedrooms, two smaller and one master at the end of the corridor. Fleur had noticed the same antique furniture that looked as if hadn't been slept on in ages as she poked her head into the first two rooms. She was sure the master was more of the same, but she hadn't had much of a chance to register the state of the room since she was immediately distracted by the sight of hundreds of rose petals all over the floor and bed.
Bill, who'd been bringing bags up the stairs behind her, suddenly called out, "Wait! Don't go in..." and then groaned a bit. "You weren't supposed to see that yet."
She turned to smile at him. "No?"
He sighed. "No. Pretend you didn't, will you?"
She continued to smile. "You came early only to tend to dust and cobwebs?"
He shrugged, but also smiled as he stepped around her and went to shut the door so she could no longer look inside. "I might have had a few other reasons to swing by."
She continued to smile as she stepped forward and put her hands on his chest, letting them drift toward his belt. In a much lower, much more suggestive tone, she asked, "Is there a reason I must pretend? Are we waiting for something…?"
"Um," Bill said, and he actually looked as if he might have been waiting. Usually, this little move already had him working at the hem of her blouse or the waistband of her bottoms; at the very least he'd already be kissing her and moving her to a second location. It was nearly guaranteed, but here he was hesitating.
"It's just...it's nearly sunset," he said. "And I was hoping we could go for a walk at the beach? If you're keen."
She let her hands drop to her sides. A sunset walk on the beach did sound lovely. A bit unlike him to rather do that than have sex, but given the work he'd put in on that bedroom with those rose petals, it was still clearly on his agenda for later. Perhaps he really just enjoyed sunset beach walks?
She nodded, which prompted Bill to say, "Fantastic. Let me just put these away," he held up the bags, "and we'll go."
With that, he moved to disappear into the bedroom, going so far as to actually shut the door behind him. She stared at the door for a moment before deciding to let him have his private little moment without question. He was up to something, but she got the impression she would find out soon enough what that was.
She wandered back downstairs, stopping near the bottom to stare at a very ugly picture of a hideous bird—why would anyone hang that up?—when Bill suddenly returned and said he was ready. He wasted no time leading the way out the door and toward the shore, already commenting about how he knew a particularly great beach to stroll on not far from here.
As they walked, he began regaling her with tales of how he and his brothers used to run and play along the beach here. He was talking very quickly for some reason about burying Percy in the sand once; how Fred and George had got in trouble for trying to bury him entirely. She'd shared some of her own stories about growing up in the same sort of environment and how she and her cousins would do similar things; them taking turns to bury each other in the sand. They did this at least until Gabrielle and her younger cousins came along. Then they made them do it.
"This feels much like home," she told him as they strolled hand in hand, her eyes rarely leaving the sight of the waves crashing against the shore. "It is chillier, of course, and not as sunny, but the smells and the air feel the same." She stopped walking and inhaled deeply, taking a moment to soak it all in. "I truly do love it. Thank you for bringing me here."
"I'm glad you like it," he said, swallowing a bit and seeming rather antsy. For as relaxed and at peace as she felt, Bill was giving off a very different energy. He kept looking around at random, and there was a bounciness to the way he was standing. If she didn't know any better, he seemed nervous, which she hadn't noticed earlier in the day.
It made her wonder if this was an effect of what had happened earlier in the week; after the attack at the Ministry, the loss of his friend, and the injuries on his siblings. Was this a new normal? Both of them taking turns to be anxious balls of energy and nerves?
She walked over and wrapped her arms around his midsection. She felt guilty for finally finding a moment of calm while he was clearly bothered by something. "Are you alright?"
"Great," he said a little too quickly. "I'm fantastic. Yeah." He nodded out toward the sea. "It's windy."
That was a terribly obvious comment, but she smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. "We can walk back to the cottage if you would like."
"Oh," he said, again looking around at random. "Um, yeah...maybe in a bit. Actually, I was hoping to first…" He stopped and stared at her. "I have something to give you."
She let her eyebrow raise curiously. "Do you?"
"I do," he said with a small laugh as he stuck his hand into his pocket. "It's something you've been waiting for, and while I should have done it yesterday when I got it, I wanted the moment to be special."
She took a step back and watched him feel around in his trouser pocket. Why did she suddenly have a feeling as though something significant was now going to happen? That what he might pull out of his pocket was going to change things...?
She cast a quick look around. The beach, the sunset, the romantic getaway, the fact that whatever he wanted to give her seemed small enough that he was having to search for it in his pocket...and then his nerves. He'd been acting so nervous since they'd reached the beach.
Hold on. Was this…? Was he about to…?
He pulled his hand out of his pocket—holding something small that she couldn't immediately identify—and smiled at her. She then watched as he started to lower himself down onto one knee as though he actually was about to…
Oh, this was happening. Everything suddenly felt as if time was slowing down to a crawl; her breath caught in her chest. They'd, of course, talked about the future before—they were moving in together—but she hadn't expected him to actually propose yet.
This was all so sudden; so surprising. She knew she wanted to marry him, but that had always been in a 'hopes and dreams' sort of way. She simply hadn't taken the time to think that this day may already be here. That he'd be asking her today and she would have to then answer him.
And to think, a few days ago she had wondered if this relationship needed to end! That she may have needed to move back to France and leave everything, including him, in England. How was it possible that in just a few days time she could swing from feeling that she had to move on with her life, to now feeling a level of excitement that she never knew she could experience at the idea of spending her life with him. He was so perfect kneeling there; so ridiculously handsome, that this almost felt like a dream. It was madness. Beautiful madness.
He was down on his knee now. He then slowly held up…
A small, rolled up piece of parchment.
She stared at it. What did that…? What was…? That wasn't…? What?
"It's for you," he said, urging her to take it.
She had no idea what was happening now, but as she tentatively reached forward and plucked the roll up from his hand, her confused eyes met his amused ones. She unrolled the note and proceeded to read it.
The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London
She read it again; the three times. Was this what she thought it was?
"As you can see, that is the address to the headquarters of the Order of Phoenix," he said, still in his kneeling position in the sand. "Straight from Dumbledore, the secret keeper, himself. Now that you can read that, you now know where we're located and you're free to join us at your earliest convenience." He smiled at her. "You did it. You're in."
She stared at him, her eyes darting from the paper to him and back again. This wasn't at all what she'd thought was happening one minute ago, but the pieces were quickly coming together.
"This is real?"
He nodded.
"This is not a trick?"
"I wouldn't dare."
"You are serious?"
"I am."
She slowly began to break into a grin as she read it again and realized exactly what all of this meant. She'd finally been allowed to join the Order! No more being on the outside looking in, no more secrets! She and Bill could talk openly about things; she could actively contribute to helping; she could help avenge Cedric's death and tackle her survivor's guilt properly. This was amazing!
"It has happened!' she said, her smile somehow growing wider and she bounced a little on the spot.
"It has," he said. "Dumbledore said he appreciated your letters and that he's sorry he didn't personally write back, but there's no denying you convinced him." He'd reached out to pull her toward him by the front of her jumper. "You did this."
She let herself be pulled, bending down to grab him by the face and kiss him for a very long, very sweet moment. She was so happy she didn't know what to do other than kiss him.
This almost made up for the fact that she had thought he was proposing, which—now that she knew he wasn't—actually left her a bit sad. Not enough for it to trump this amazing feeling of finally being allowed to join the Order, but in a 'what could have been' way. She realized now that she had already let herself mentally say yes before she'd even heard the question. Apparently, she was more interested in the idea than she thought.
Though, that wasn't her fault. He'd tricked her.
When she pulled away from him, she looked at where he was still kneeling down and reached over to push him onto the sand. She didn't even feel bad about it; he deserved it.
"You are awful, teasing me like that."
He was laughing. "Teasing you like what?"
"You had to realize I thought you were proposing."
He pulled himself up onto his feet and dusted himself off. "Now what would have given you that impression?"
She threw him a look that only made him laugh more, but she chose to ignore all of that and instead stare excitedly back down at the words Dumbledore had scribbled onto that parchment. 12 Grimmauld Place, London.
"You'll have to destroy that," he said, appearing beside her then and gesturing to her note. "No one else's eyes can see that. Consider it your first Order duty."
As much as she wanted to keep this, feeling that it was almost a trophy of sorts, she understood. She turned away from him and looked out at the sea. The sun was beginning to dip lower below the horizon line now. Night would soon be upon them.
Burning it would probably be the most effective way to make sure it was destroyed entirely, so she pulled out her wand. Holding it in one hand and the parchment in the other, she cast Incendio to the tip of the paper and watched for a moment as it slowly—then quickly—began to catch fire. Ash particles began immediately catching in the wind, blowing behind her and away from the sea. She dropped the last bit so as not to burn herself and watched as it fluttered to the sand below, burning itself up before it hit the ground.
She then glanced out at the sunset again and smiled. It was the end of the final day before a full calendar year would close on the moment that had changed her life forever. She wasn't exactly where she thought she would be after a year, but in a way that was a good thing. Bill seemed convinced hard times were coming. If that were true, then perhaps she should not think of the last year as a failure to do more, but rather a calm before the storm. A chance to get her bearings, find her place, and make connections.
She'd certainly done that with at least one important person. Even if he had a bizarre sense of humor about fake proposals.
"The next time you have important news for me," she said, still staring ahead into the sunset, "do not deliver it on one knee."
"Fair enough," he said from somewhere behind her. "But if I'm actually proposing I can, right?"
"Then and only then," she said, smirking to herself as she turned back toward him.
What she found, however, was him once again down to one knee. In his hand this time was not a piece of parchment, but rather….a box with a ring in it.
He was smiling a little nervously. "In that case…"
She stared at him, a little afraid to ask what was happening for fear of being wrong again, but also….she knew this time she wasn't wrong.
"So the last week has taught me much," he said, and even his voice appeared to be a bit shaky—though he was hiding it well. "I've learned that when you disappeared and wouldn't talk to me for days—when there were moments I thought I may have lost you—I felt incomplete. I felt awful. It's not something I ever want to feel again."
He cleared his throat. "And I've learned that life is too short not to live every bloody day like it's my last, because it might be." He looked her in the eyes. "And if any of these days are my last, I want them to be with you. I've known you were special since the day you burnt your hand on that tea kettle, and I knew you were the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, maybe, a week later."
She laughed a little at that, though that was mostly to mask a sniffle and hide the fact that she already felt the tears coming.
"I know tomorrow is a dark day for so many reasons," he continued, "but it's also the day we first met. And while that pales in comparison to everything else you went through, it tells me there is light to be found in even the darkest places. That's the only way I think we can get through these next months—maybe even years. Finding light in the darkness. As far as I'm concerned, you are that light and I want nothing more than to be with you forever." He smiled again. "I love you."
She wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. The tears were openly coming now, the first two already streaming down her cheeks. "I love you too."
"So," he held up the ring box a little higher. "I hope I say this right, because I'd hate to kill my momentum, but," he took a deep breath, "veux-tu m'épouser?
He had said it right. He'd asked her to marry him in perfect French, something he had improved upon so much since they'd first met. Everything about them had improved so much since they first met. It was a sign. They were destined to only get better.
She nodded and reached up to wipe a stray tear off her face. "Yes. Of course I will marry you."
There must have been a part of him that had been afraid she'd say no, because the relieved smile on his face was brighter than the sun that had just disappeared behind the horizon. He grinned from ear to ear and he asked, "Yeah?" which only prompted her to nod again before she practically tackled him into the sand, hugging him tightly.
If someone would have told her a year ago that the handsome man she'd been shamelessly eyeing at Hogwarts would end up her fiancé, she would have never believed it. This time last year, she wouldn't have dreamed of moving to England. She wouldn't have dreamed of falling in love with some Englishman. She wouldn't have dreamed of happily agreeing to marry him already. A year ago, none of that had ever been part of the plan.
But life had changed. It would continue to keep changing. In some ways it was wonderful, in others it was not. But she'd got this far on her own. And now, she could go the rest of the way with him.
A/N: And with that we're done with OotP! I stuck around with that one more than I thought I would, but things needed to be built. Next up HBP (my personal favorite book) and the summer of HBP!
Plans are to update soon. I'm in the zone with this one right now, so I might ride that out through another update before messing around with my other project. As always, thank you so much for reading, commenting, and giving me an outlet to play around with my HP ideas. :)