For Fleur, this summer was turning out to be very different from the last. Last year, she was entirely on her own for the very first time; living in her own space, working her new job, making her own way. She'd spent her days shamelessly flirting with a handsome curse-breaker who had caught her eye, her family was excited for her adventure, and she naively thought the worst of her days were behind her.
But the worst wasn't behind her; she was learning that more every day. Her family was no longer particularly excited about this adventure for her, but she had pulled the handsome curse breaker and was going to marry him. She no longer had her own space, but instead shared a very crowded home with people she wasn't sure she'd have much to do with if it weren't for Bill. Her job was also no longer new; the shine had worn off now that it, too, was changing.
"They have cut my hours even more," Fleur told Bill as she read a notice she'd received at the end of her work day.
Bill frowned. He was sitting behind his desk in the large shared office he used, and she'd just caught him before he was due down in the vaults for the night. He'd reached forward to take her notice and read it for himself. It explained her five day work week had now been cut to three.
"I'd heard rumors they were going to start doing this," he said. "Cutting back on all non-essential employees due to security being increased. You saw how long it took us to enter the building this morning."
Nearly an hour, she'd thought. What used to take ten minutes now required a gauntlet of security spells and checks just to get into her section of the bank. The threat of Voldemort was looming ever present, even at Gringotts. She wouldn't be surprised if they started administering Veritaserum soon just to clock-in.
"Even clients are being forced to wait three or four hour to access their vaults," he added, still glancing over her notice. "The head goblins are genuinely worried that something is being planned against Gringotts. It's all I hear about in meeting after meeting. 'What can be done?' and 'We need bigger, better, stronger magic.'"
Fleur didn't doubt that. She'd heard Bill speak repeatedly about his frustrations; how if the goblins could swing it, they would do away with all wizards as soon as they could since it was their drama that was causing all of this.
And while she knew Bill has his own problems to deal with, it didn't make her feel any better that her schedule had been cut in half. One of the reasons she'd convinced herself to move into the Burrow was to help save money so they could buy a home. It was hard to do that when you could barely work...
"I have lost half of my hours," she mumbled.
He handed her back her notice. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's not just you, though. It's nearly everyone." He paused before mumbling, "Everyone but my department..."
Bill was having the opposite problem. His hours were increasing by the week and his schedule had been flipped around considerably, which was equally a good and bad thing. The good stemmed from the fact that the goblins were re-prioritizing their security concerns, so he no longer had to work overnight every night—just occasionally. The bad was that while he now worked more proper business hours, they often started very early and went well into the evening. He was working twelve, sometimes fifteen hours a day.
It was exhausting for him and she knew that, but she would be lying if she wasn't happy to have him home at the end of the day, even if it was late. Him being present at the Burrow when he could be—even in little bits—was the reason she was still sane. Because as it turned out, living at the Burrow was proving to be a test.
She'd moved in the day after Isabelle had fled back to France. She had packed up her most treasured possessions into two medium sized boxes and—with all of her clothes—taken them to the Burrow. She'd left all of her furniture and other miscellaneous items behind in the flat, hoping they would remain safe for the time being, even if 'safe' was a strange concept to wrap her head around at the moment.
It had been strange to lock up the flat for the last time, all while having to walk past Isabelle's now boarded up shop. The words, "Closed Until Further Notice" had been written in green letters across the front, something Fleur and Bill had helped with when her parents had been here. Bill had actually gone and performed the same protective spell on her shop as he had on their flats the night her family had visited. He claimed he often did the same thing for his brothers' shop after closing hours for peace of mind.
Isabelle had been exceptionally grateful for the added precaution, and Fleur had explained to her parents that this was part of what Bill did at the bank. She emphasized how good he was at protective spells and charms; how well he understood curses since he had to break them. If she didn't know any better, they seemed rather impressed by his spellwork. Her father even commented on how specialized the magic was; that Bill must have been very skilled to perform it.
She had decided to see that as a step in the right direction.
Most of the shops in Diagon Alley had started to look just like Isabelle's. Boarded up windows; closed until further notice. Posters of escaped Death Eaters were now being hung up all over the street—as if that somehow helped in the search. Most of the people who remained were part of the seedier underbelly of Knockturn Alley; they had started to emerge from their usual safehaven into the light of Diagon Alley more.
While they weren't Death Eaters per se, they certainly weren't about to turn any of them in. They much preferred their shadier business practices, such as selling useless curse repellents—that would do more harm than good—and protective potions that did nothing but make the user ill. With the fresh threat of violence and dark magic looming around every corner, there was apparently a market for all of this rubbish.
Fleur found that she couldn't even walk a few steps into Diagon Alley without getting accosted to buy these things from these horrible people, but Arthur Weasley claimed he'd soon put a stop to it. He was one of the wizards who was actively working to end this illicit activity given that he'd recently been selected for a special promotion by the new Minister of Magic.
It was news that everyone at the Burrow had been very excited to celebrate, though Fleur didn't quite understand why. The way Arthur described it, it seemed like far more work for only—and these were his words—"a bit of a raise."
"Only a bit?" she'd asked over one of her first dinners at the Burrow without Bill present. "A promotion where you will need to work much longer and harder, but you didn't ask for far more money?" She let her expression say she found that to be a mistake. "If that were me, I would have certainly made that a priority."
That comment had been met by silence and cool stares, the latter courtesy of Molly and Ginny. Arthur did finally say, "Well, it was more than a 'bit', I just wasn't going into detail..." which made Fleur wonder why he didn't just say that in the first place. Why would he downplay such an achievement instead of proudly announcing it? That didn't make any sense. Why was Bill's family like this?
But his family was like this. And it was taking quite a bit of getting used to.
With Bill working long hours, Fleur found herself one-on-one with the other Weasleys more often than not. Arthur worked nearly as much as Bill, though she rarely took issue with him even when he was around. When he was home, he was often out tinkering in his shed and keeping to himself. When he wasn't doing that, he was—thankfully—keeping Molly occupied and out of her hair.
Ron was also one she rarely had issues with, though that was because he didn't talk much when she was around. She would overhear him talking rather animatedly to his siblings or his parents, but when she would try to have a chat with him, she usually didn't get much in the way of conversation. Blank stares and stammered answers, that's what she got; not conversation though.
Ginny was also one she found herself unable to have a proper conversation with, though unlike Ron, it wasn't because she didn't talk. She talked plenty and always seemed to have something to say. Her issue was that none of the things she said were of the chatting variety.
She was frequently making comments or remarks about how things were done around the Burrow; how Fleur needed to understand their way of life and that there apparently was very little room for change. She was never particularly cruel or callous—Fleur could tell she'd learned how to tow that line from her mother—just snippy and always ready to fall back on the excuse of, "That's how things are done here" whenever Fleur tried to change something.
Fleur could see where the Molly comparisons came from now. It was clear to her that both of them were struggling with the adjustment of another female presence in their home—someone shaking up decades of routine established around being outnumbered by boys—but as far as Fleur was concerned, they would have to learn to bend. Yes, life at the Burrow ran on Molly's timetable and Fleur could respect that, but compromises would have to be made. She also lived here now.
To Bill's credit, he was pushing back against his mother when he was around. He would suggest to her to let Fleur do things her way sometimes, such as when she volunteered to make items for dinner using her recipes. He would get on anyone who sounded a bit too patronizing when attempting to explain how things were done at the Burrow, often snapping, "What does it matter as long as it gets done?"
He had even stood up to his mother's request that they sleep in separate rooms when she had arrived, which turned into the largest disagreement she'd seen Bill and his mother have to date.
"You are not married yet," she'd told him that first day. "And being engaged is not the same thing! She can take the twins' room. Or Percy's. Her choice."
Bill had stared at her with his jaw set. For the first time ever, Fleur thought he might actually have it out with her.
"Fine, if that's how you want it," he turned to Fleur, "I know I said we'd wait until next year, but I'm having second thoughts. I think we should go to the Ministry tomorrow and get married." He turned back to his mother and tersely said, "Because that's apparently what it takes to share a bedroom..."
"That's ridiculous," his mother said.
"No, what's ridiculous is that you seem to think I've some teenager trying to sneak my girlfriend into my room," he said, turning away from her and sighing out of frustration. "Mum, this may come as a surprise to you, but she and I have been sleeping together—as in, actually sleeping in the same bed—for the last year."
"I'm aware of that, Bill," she said. "I'm also aware it was probably much more than sleeping. I'm not an idiot. This is more about the rules of this house and the example you're setting for Ron and Ginny."
"For the love of Merlin…" Bill muttered, truly looking as if he'd never heard something so dumb in his life.
Fleur, who up until that point had been happily letting Bill sort this out for once, decided then to interject with, "It is fine. I can take whatever room you would like. I do not mind."
Both Bill and Molly looked at her as if she'd grown a second head—Bill especially. He actually looked a bit betrayed, as if here he was finally fighting a battle and she'd gone and jumped ship.
She had her reasons; the most important being that she was not looking to start things off with Molly entirely on the wrong foot. She was offering up her home after all; if this was her rule, then so be it.
It also happened to be an incredibly easy one to get around.
"Let your mother think we are in separate rooms," she told Bill later as she placed her things into Percy's room. "I can easily Apparate to yours wherever I want—and I will—without her being any the wiser."
"You underestimate how wise my mum actually is," he muttered.
She laughed. "Oh, I understand perfectly. And I do not think she is dumb enough to know we will not be up to something. But she wants to keep appearance for your siblings, so let her." She walked over and laid her hands on his chest, letting them run up and down to his shoulders. "I intend for us to be together as much as we ever were." She paused thoughtfully. "We will need to get better at silencing spells."
And that was ultimately the reason she was fine with putting up with all this nonsense around the Burrow—because at the end of the day, she got to be with Bill. She would pop into his room undetected after they'd gone down for the night. They would get their time alone to talk, or cuddle, or have sex—the sneaking around seemed to turn him on in a strange but amusing way—and they would fall asleep together for as long as they could before she had to pop back up stairs and pretend as if she'd been there all night.
But with her work hours having been cut and his day's now getting longer, she was going to have to start dealing with far more of this nonsense and not nearly enough payoff time with him.
This had become apparent in the days that followed, once Fleur's first full day without having to work came. Bill had needed to be up early to get to work, so she'd gone downstairs with him in order to see him off. Both of his parents were already up. Arthur looked as if he too was headed off soon, though his head was currently buried in the newspaper. Molly was preparing breakfast, but looked terribly distracted. Neither even seemed to notice her or Bill enter.
Fleur wasn't entirely sure what she was going to do with her day without Gringotts or Bill, though she was sure Molly would have something she would ask her to clean, or prep, or help tend to...all before telling her she was doing it wrong.
Fleur glanced over and saw that Molly was overcooking her bacon, which she would probably claim she wasn't, but she couldn't not say something. Before she could, Arthur had finally noticed them standing there.
"Amelia Bones was murdered last night."
Bill stopped in his tracks. "You're serious?"
He nodded. "Right in her home. There was apparently quite a struggle left behind, which means it was probably someone powerful because Amelia was a very skilled witch."
"It's awful," Molly said, staring straight through her bacon as it now certainly entered overcooked territory.
Fleur made a point to remove it from the heat, which Molly barely registered. "Who is Amelia Bones?"
"Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Arthur said as he set his paper down. "She was a higher up in the Wizengamot. A good person who you could always count on being fair and impartial, which is getting harder to find in the Ministry." He looked over at Molly. "Remember, she was the one who presided over Harry's trial last year?"
She nodded. "And thank goodness for her because he was given a fair chance."
"Who do they think did it?" Bill asked, stepping forward to grab at the paper. "And why? Do they know?"
"No," Arthur said. "Though she was very anti-You-Know-Who and she never shied away from letting people know that. We can assume it was someone having to do with him." He pulled up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "They did this same thing during the first war. Turning up in the middle of the night to people's houses to attack them."
"Or their jobs," Bill said as he read over the paper. "Like what happened to Florean Fortescue."
"The ice cream man?" Fleur asked, thinking then of the sweet-faced man who Isabelle always stopped to chat with in passing. "What of him?"
"He's gone missing," Bill said, looking over at her. "Found out yesterday, though I hadn't had a chance to check for myself. They said his store was found abandoned and in complete disarray."
"The papers said it was a mess," said his father. "Again, signs of a struggle. No word from him since, so no one knows if he's in hiding or if he's been kidnapped."
"What would You-Know-Who want with an ice cream man?" Fleur asked, thinking of how she had thought Isabelle had been overreacting when she'd wanted to abandon the country in the wake of all these changes. However, perhaps she had been onto something if they were kidnapping random shopkeepers.
Arthur shrugged. "Who knows? All I do know is that his attack happened the day before yesterday. Now Amelia last night." He looked at his wife. "It's starting to feel very familiar."
She nodded her head rather solemnly, though she suddenly turned to Bill. "You did put that protective spell on your brothers' shop after you left Gringotts, didn't you?"
He nodded before saying, "Speaking of which…" He stood up and plucked a piece of toast off the table. "I need to get over there before work and lift it if they plan on having any business today. Hard to sell anything if no one can get inside."
"I need to go as well," Arthur said, helping himself to several pieces of very crispy, brittle bacon. "After what happened to Amelia, I have a feeling it's going to be madhouse today." He looked around at everyone. "Also, I think given all of this, it's time we start actively using codewords and questions again."
Bill glanced over at Fleur, his expression very 'I told you so.' He'd been mentioning lately that he felt his father was days away from invoking this famed password technique that they'd used during the first war. According to him, it was just a matter of time.
Molly sighed, but seemed resigned to accept that fact. "Yes. Alright."
"We'll all come up with some and discuss them tonight," he said, looking over at Bill. "You think you'll be home for dinner?"
He shrugged as if he didn't know one way or the other. Fleur hated that he never knew.
"Well, then think up some on your own," Arthur added before he looked over at Fleur. It was then that he began reiterating everything Bill had told her about their password policy—explaining the details of how it worked.
"I know it can be tricky, but I'm sure Bill can help you figure out some good ones," Molly said, throwing her son a quick smile.
Fleur stared at her. Tricky? It was a question that required an answer. Did she really feel Bill was better equipped to handle that task than she was?
"I am capable of coming up with a question," said Fleur. "Perhaps asking what his favorite vegetable is." She looked at Molly. "If his own mother cannot remember, the Death Eaters will probably—"
"Alright, I need to go," Bill quickly said, stepping forward to kiss her goodbye. "I love you." He looked her in the eyes and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Please try to have a good day."
She smiled at him, wondering why that felt more like a plea than a request. "Of course I will."
Once he'd left, Molly had given her a choice to help feed and tend to the chickens or clean and dust the sitting room. Whichever she didn't choose, Ron and Ginny would have to do it. Seeing as they had far more experience with chickens than she did, it seemed like an easy choice.
There were apparently several tasks set to be completed, all under the pretense that they had company arriving soon. The only company Fleur knew that was coming was Harry, who was set to arrive in the next week. Apparently his arrival warranted a proper clean of the house whereas hers...hadn't. Or perhaps it had, only her standards for tidying up differed from the Weasleys.
She'd heard Ron and Ginny moaning and groaning once they'd heard what their morning chores were, though that was probably due to the fact they were not allowed to use magic to clean out a chicken coop. They seemed to work quickly though; both had finished their job when Fleur was only halfway through hers. She was making sure to dust and clean every nook and crevice very thoroughly, which she assumed Ginny and Ron had not done. It only reaffirmed her opinion that most of the people around here had very different definitions of clean than she did.
Once they had finished though, she noticed that Ron and Ginny were now settling in the sitting room for the remainder of their morning. They looked to be setting up a chess board.
She observed them playing from various spots around the room as she continued to charm the feather duster around, noting that Ron seemed very good at the game while Ginny seemed...well, she was playing. Fleur had no real room to talk—chess had never been something she enjoyed or was any good at—though Bill enjoyed it and had tried to get her to play a time or two. He usually won handily.
"Check," Ron said a short time later, smirking at Ginny as he did.
Ginny groaned and began scanning the board. "This is dumb."
"You say that because you're losing."
She said nothing and was clearly looking for her best move to get out of check. Fleur found herself dusting toward them in order to watch. Ron's white pieces seemed far more intact than Ginny's black.
"You are very good at this," she said to Ron, smiling at him. "You have destroyed most of her pieces."
Ginny made a point to look up at her for a moment before returning her eyes to the board. Ron had straightened up a bit and shrugged in a proud way. "Yeah, I'm not half bad." He grinned at her. "I enjoy chess. Something about feeling in control, you know?"
Ginny snorted a laugh. "Are you listening to yourself?"
"You got out of check yet?"
"It's difficult to concentrate under all the control you're feeling—"
He threw her a look. "Just move your piece already,"
"Bill enjoys chess very much," Fleur said, stopping beside them to watch now. "He's very good at it."
"We know," Ginny muttered. "He's the one who taught us how to play."
Fleur laughed a little. "Well, I can see he taught Ron how to play much better than he taught you."
It was Ron's turn then to snort a laugh, though he slowly let that grow into something far more resembling real laughter after a few seconds. Ginny once again looked up at her rather pointedly, apparently not appreciating...the truth. But what did she expect? One look at the board confirmed everything she'd just said.
Ron was still laughing when Ginny snapped, "It wasn't even that funny. You're just doing that to get on her good side." She threw Fleur a dismissive look before she stood up. "I'm done playing."
"Is it because you've finally realized both my bishop and queen have got you on the run?" Ron asked. "Or because your feelings are hurt?"
"No, it's because I want to go outside." She glanced again at Fleur, "It's suddenly very stuffy in here."
Fleur watched her turn to go, having already grown very used to Ginny's abrupt departures. They didn't bother her much since she knew how moody teenagers could be. She chose to pay them very little mind. This was simply how life at the Burrow was.
"We just need to drop this off at my brothers' shop and then we can head back to the Burrow," Bill told Fleur once they stepped out into the cool evening air after leaving Gringotts for the day.
He held up a care package of sorts that his mother had prepared for his brothers', one that was full of ready-made food and meals. He had somehow been wrangled into doing this drop off once a week by his mother, who was worried about the twins not eating properly—or at all—now that they were on their own.
While he didn't mind the task and enjoyed the excuse to pop in on his brothers, he did find the reason rather dumb. The lads were grown now and capable of fending for themselves. As far as Bill could tell, they were probably making more money than he was at the moment. They could be bothered to find their own food. No one was sending him weekly care packages in Egypt...
"Zere is no rush," Fleur muttered as she strode beside him on the short walk to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "I am in no 'urry."
He threw her a sideways glance and mustered a sympathetic smile. Fleur was always happy to be out of the house these days, which...he could understand. Life at the Burrow clearly was a bit trying for her, especially since, unlike him, she didn't have much outside work to distract her.
He really did have to hand it to her. She had been a champion of adapting to life at the Burrow lately. He could sense the tension at times. He watched his mother get frustrated with some of the things Fleur said and did; he saw his sister get up and leave the room when she entered, which sometimes prompted Ron to follow. He understood that cultural and class differences played a part—that on some level, most of his family would never quite "get" Fleur—but the same thing could be said of her and them. She could easily not "get" them, yet she was playing along wonderfully. She was doing chores, helping out, participating as much as anyone would let her. And while it was clear it wasn't her favorite thing to do, she did try. She didn't get up and leave the room when they entered.
His family truly underestimated her. If any of them actually bothered to really sit down and get to know her, they'd see this quickly. But outside of a handful of chats—most of which he was present for—his family didn't seem to really be listening to what she was saying.
Perhaps it was because of the blunt way she spoke—which was mostly due to the language barrier—but if Fleur was trying to make a point, she probably only had his family's attention for a sentence or two before they'd tuned out. He knew this because he would often repeat things she said to an entirely different reception. It was as if the French accent created a barrier in their minds, which he found more frustrating than not, but he tried not to let it show.
Because, to her credit, Fleur really didn't seem to let it bother her. She certainly had her complaints, but she generally put on a brave face and carried an air about her that she wasn't going to let it get to her. If anything, she seemed to want to let them know this was who she was; she wasn't changing for anyone. It honestly made him love her more.
"Would it not be easier for your brozers to learn to cook for zemselves?" Fleur asked as they approached the door to their shop, one of the few places in Diagon Alley that still looked as if it had any real life left in it.
"I can't claim I was much better when I was eighteen and out on my own for the first time," Bill offered, reaching out to open the door to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, only to find it wouldn't budge. He tried again, realizing quickly that it was locked and that a "Closed" sign was posted nearby. Closed already? That seemed earlier than usual for them.
He knocked harder, hoping to catch one of his brothers if they were in the back, but instead found that their "Closed" sign suddenly morphed into the message, "Can you not read?" It then began to flash the word "Closed" rather obnoxiously, completely with a honking sound.
"Charming," Bill said, glancing at Fleur. He banged once more on the door, already prepared to give up and let them starve, but that was before a head poked itself out of an upstairs window.
One of the twins called out, "Can you actually not read—?" but stopped when he seemed to recognize who it was. "Oh, it's you. Hold on."
With that he disappeared back inside. Bill and Fleur exchanged small smiles before a few moments later, the sight of George appeared through the window as he went to open the door. It took him a bit to undo whatever locks and security they'd put in place; Bill was happy to see that since that meant there was spell work involved.
Once the door finally pulled open, George stood there grinning at them. "Evening."
"You two ever going to get on sorting out your own meals?" Bill asked, thrusting the box into George's hands before he invited himself into the shop.
"Well, I hope you don't expect a tip," George muttered, stepping aside to make room for Fleur to follow.
"Closed early, have you?" Bill asked, glancing around and seeing that the shop looked as if it had taken in quite a bit of business throughout the day. They were clearly in the afterglow of a busy day; the need to restock and tidy up more than apparent given some of the bare shelves and messy displays.
George had shrugged as he walked over to the counter to drop off the box and free his hands. "There isn't much business after sunset, so there's no point in staying open."
"That, and it takes a bit to secure the place so we don't get any unwanted visitors in the night," came Fred's voice. Bill looked up to see him standing above them on an upper landing.
"Iz it terrible still?" Fleur asked.
"Yeah," Fred said as he took the stairs to join them, "Every night. But we've managed to avoid the worst of it. Between our spells and yours," he gestured to Bill, "they can't seem to crack us."
"Don't get cocky," Bill said. "It only takes one lax moment." He glanced over at the door that George hadn't even bothered to lock behind them. Fleur seemed to take the hint and pulled out her wand to tend to it.
"They tried to break some windows the other day," George said, walking back behind the counter then. "Didn't count on that rebounding spell that Fred had put on the glass. He's worked it so that whatever they throw at us, it goes straight back into the face of the assailant."
Fred, who'd also gone behind the counter to join George, started to laugh. "That one got a face full of brick the other day." He smirked at George. "Probably improved his looks."
Bill grinned a little, but couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy by the sounds of it all. Taunting Death Eaters didn't generally end well for people. They weren't the types to forgive or forget.
"How's life at Casa de Burrow," George asked, though he was specifically addressing Fleur. "You getting on well with the in-laws?"
Fleur forced a polite smile and nodded as she let her eyes start trailing over the nearest shelf of Wonder Witch products. "You mozer keeps zings busy. Always somezing to clean or cook..."
"I always did everything really poorly so she'd stop asking," Fred offered, which prompted George to mutter, "You act as if that mattered. She still made us do it."
"Mum's on a big tidying spree lately since Harry will be here soon," Bill said. "And with him arriving, that generally means more visits from people in the Order and even possibly Dumbledore. You know how she gets."
"Oh, is Harry due already?" George asked as he suddenly opened up his till and started pulling out money to count. "That was quick. Good to know he's not stuck at his horrible relatives house all summer."
Bill had started to nod, though Fleur was already chiming in with, "After what I 'ave 'eard about 'is family, I zink it iz awful zey make him return zere every summer. It does not make sense."
"Dumbledore had his reasons," Fred muttered as he pulled a quill and a ledger of sorts out from underneath the counter. "Something about the protective magic of his family and blah, blah…Dad explained it once."
"It's actually fascinating," Bill said. "The way ancient magical principles tie into protection of an individual who—"
"Blah, blah…" Fred repeated. George snickered.
Bill rolled his eyes, not in the mood for these two at the moment and ready to leave and get back home so that he could put this exhausting day to bed. On the contrary however, Fleur truly did not seem to be in any rush. She was busy reading the back of a box of edible dark marks before suddenly saying, "Well, I am looking so very forward to seeing 'Arry."
Bill grinned at her. She had been happily anticipating Harry's arrival, talking about how it had been "too long" and would be "so wonderful" to see him. She'd confided in Bill the day before that she felt a need to look at Harry with her own two eyes so she could see how he was truly doing, as if she didn't believe he couldn't be anything less than a wreck of a person lately.
"After everyzing 'e 'as been zrough," she'd added as she set the box down. "I worry about 'im terribly."
"Harry's a tough lad," Fred said as he started logging something in his ledger. "Tough as they come. I'm not saying you shouldn't worry, but he holds up better than most would."
"Which iz remarkable because he iz so young!" she said. "Grown men who are double and triple 'is age could not do what 'e 'as done!" She shook her head. ""E really iz so very brave."
George glanced up from the money he was counting to look at Bill. "Uh oh. You got some competition?"
Bill chuckled, though Fleur seemed confused. When she turned to him for an explanation, he offered, "He's saying that given how highly you think of Harry, that I apparently should be worried that he's going to get here and you're going to chuck me for him."
Fleur immediately rounded on George as if that was absurd. "Absolutely not. It iz nozing like zat! I admire 'Arry very much, but he does not measure up to Bill." She smiled back at him. "Not even close."
"I'm only saying," George said, grinning a bit, "the last time I heard someone that excited about Harry turning up, it was Ginny. And we all know what that was about."
Fred snickered, but didn't look up from his ledger. "I'd forgotten about that. She wouldn't shut up about him."
Both Bill and Fleur looked curiously at the twins, with Fleur asking, "What was it about?"
"Ginny used to fancy Harry," George said as he somehow quickly counted money and answered her at the same time. "She had this massive crush on him."
Fleur seemed to find that rather funny. "Oh, did she? Recently?"
George shook his head and looked back at Fred. "I wouldn't say recently. When was it? Her first year, yeah? Something like that."
Fred nodded as if that sounded right. "Yeah, she had it bad. She'd freeze up and turn all red around him. There was that one time she sent him that dreadful singing valentine that he—and everyone—was forced to listen to in the corridors."
"She didn't…" Bill said, cringing a bit as he found that both rather adorable, but also terribly awkward. A singing valentine in the corridors would be humiliating.
"She did," Fred said. "Lucky for her, it was anonymous so no one knew she'd done it, but George and I figured it out. Someone was taking the piss on Harry for it and she got far too upset."
"She cared too much," George added. "We just knew it was her."
"I don't think Harry ever figured it out, though," Fred offered. "Which is good because it was shit poem. If I remember correctly, it said something about how his eyes were as green as a—"
"Fresh pickled toad," he and George then said together, laughing as if they'd both just remembered.
"Awful," Fred added with a shake of his head.
Fleur's mouth had gone a bit agape. She turned and looked at Bill as if she found that quite funny. All he could do was shake his head and sigh. He had to admit that it did bring back some memories of his early days at Hogwarts and some of the little love notes girls would write to him. They could certainly be...creative. Though, thankfully none of them had been sung to him in front of an audience.
"I forgot how awkward that was," George said. "Can't imagine why Harry didn't eat that up."
"He didn't even pay it any mind," Fred said. "And it wasn't even fun to take the piss on Ginny for it because she was being so weird at the time." He looked back at Bill. "Because of the possession and all."
Bill groaned. "This was at the same time as that?" He shook his head. "Shit, poor Gin. She couldn't catch a break that year."
"I'm sure she's over it now," Fred said. "Found out recently she had herself some dolt of a boyfriend last year—that Ravenclaw prat." He looked at George. "What's his name? He was in the DA."
"I don't know," George said with a shrug. "I find 'Ravenclaw prat' works well enough."
Fred shrugged as if he could agree with that, just as Bill said, "Yeah, she mentioned that she'd had a boyfriend last term. Said she was talking to someone else now, so she may already have someone new."
"Who?" Fred asked, with George adding, "Already?"
Bill shrugged. "Dunno. She didn't say his name. Just that it was new."
"'Is name is Dean," said Fleur randomly.
Bill and the twins both looked at her. All of them seemingly surprised to hear that, considering Ginny was not the type to go around sharing this sort of thing with people, let alone Fleur. She barely spoke to her as it was and usually tried to pretend as if she wasn't around.
"How do you know?" Bill asked.
"Wait, Dean Thomas?" George asked.
Fleur nodded, looking bored by the admission as if she didn't see why it mattered. "Zat iz who ze letters she receives in ze post are from. 'E 'as written 'er at least twice and I 'ave noticed she iz always quick to respond."
Bill stared at her, slowly smiling. She'd picked all that up just by monitoring the post that was coming in and out of their house. It truly was next to impossible to get anything past her.
George made a face. "Mum won't let her and Ron leave the house. When does she have time to have a boyfriend?"
"That's some Bill-level shit," Fred said, pointing to Bill. "Girls never even had to be around and somehow you'd still always have a girlfriend. Without fail. They found a way."
"I didn't always have one," he said, looking over at Fleur with a lazily smirk. "Sometimes I did, I suppose."
She reached up and gave his face a playful sort of pat. "Wiz as 'andsome and as wonderful as you are, I would not doubt zat zey all wanted you. It only makes sense."
Fred made a face. "Does he pay you to say this?"
Bill threw him a cheeky smile. "Don't have to. Here's hoping one day you'll get as lucky as I am. Or at the very least find someone willing to have you..."
"I do fine in that department, thanks," Fred said. "I actually have an on and off again thing with a girl from school that is currently very much on. Right, George?"
He glanced over at him for confirmation, though George apparently hadn't heard him. Unlike earlier when he was busy multitasking, counting and talking with a quick ease, he now seemed to be focused very much on counting oddly slow. When Fred tried to get his attention again, he actually made a harsh sort of shushing gesture and started counting out loud.
Fred threw him a strange look. It was a rare sight to see the two of them out of sync, but it had been known to happen every so often. Bill glanced over at Fleur, who also seemed to have picked up on the smallest of shifts given her expression, but he decided not to let it dwell. He instead said, "Dad said he stopped in."
"Yeah, he comes by from time to time when he's out trying to bust up people for selling that fake curse repellent rubbish," George said, suddenly not so concerned with needing silence.
"Mum still hasn't," Fred said rather quietly.
She hadn't, Bill knew that. He knew a huge part of that was because she was afraid of what Diagon Alley had become recently; that she truly believed that leaving the house as little as possible was the safest course of action. But it still didn't make a whole lot of sense for her to have not spared a half an hour of her time to stop inside of her sons' very successful business venture. And it wasn't as if it was out of sight/out of mind. Ron and Ginny reminded her almost daily about how they would like the chance to visit, but she just kept telling them the time wasn't right at the moment..
"Soon enough, I'm sure," Bill offered. "Ron and Ginny will have to do their school shopping. Ron's going to need to robes given how much he's grown. She can't avoid Diagon Alley forever."
Fred shut his ledger and looked back at Bill. "Right. Yeah. Here's hoping she can fit us in."
Bill didn't quite know what to say to that, but Fred had switched gears almost automatically to how he and George needed to get to restocking—they apparently couldn't keep Decoy Detonators on the shelf—which was a clear cue to Bill to say his goodnights.
He and Fleur stepped out into the evening, already noticing some of the seedier looking types congregating just down the street. Their numbers were growing; no longer groups of three, but rather six or seven. There wasn't a single shop open in sight. Almost all of them had their lights off.
It was rather depressing, considering it was a beautiful night otherwise. The kind people should usually be flocking to Diagon Alley for an early evening, summer stroll; one where they could grab ice cream or window shop with friends and their families. This time last year, he and Fleur would do exactly that whenever they could. He would have already suggested grabbing a drink at the Leaky Cauldron so that they could spend their evening talking and getting to know each other better. They would have already had an entire evening planned.
These days though, according to rumors he'd heard, the Leaky Cauldron was essentially a ghost town during the day and a hot spot for shit starters at night. Being seen there after sunset was asking for problems.
Fleur was apparently now having similar thoughts, because she suddenly said, "Remember zis time last year? We were meeting at ze Leaky Cauldron nearly every night on your breaks?"
He grinned. "I do. I loved that." He looked back at her. "Even if you hated it."
"I enjoyed ze company," she said, smiling a little before growing very quiet. Just as he'd been about to ask her if she was ready to Apparate home since he now wasn't fond of the way the group ahead were now looking in their direction, she suddenly said, "I wish we could go back to zose days. All of it. Ze sticky floors, ze dirty glasses." She grew quiet. "I would take all of it over…" she gestured around the street, "zis…"
This was depressing. That was true. And the worst part was that he knew this was still just the beginning. If this was anything like the first war, things were going to get so much worse. Lives were going to be destroyed; people were going to die. The first war went on for eleven years—from the year he was born to the year he went to Hogwarts. He'd lost most of his childhood to that war; he didn't want to think about losing chunks of his adulthood too.
He hated to say it, but there will probably come a time when the both of them would be longing for the days where this—this Diagon Alley right here, with all of its mayhem—was the norm. How at least they could still show their faces outside, go to work, and move rather freely about.
Because if Voldemort was to get much stronger, they would have to lockdown the same as he did when was a kid; perhaps even go into hiding. The only difference between then and now is that this time he fully understood what was happening now. He knew how much they all had to lose.
And that was the most depressing thought of all.