Summer 1997
"Is that what you're wearing?"
Bill looked up at mother, who had just entered the Burrow's sitting room with an expression of mild displeasure. For all of his mother's everyday nit-picking, she hadn't commented on his clothes in ages. She may have had opinions on everything else, but she'd stopped speaking to his appearance ages ago once she realized it did no good.
He glanced down at his clothes—a dark t-shirt, torn jeans, and his boots. He wore this sort of thing all of the time and saw nothing wrong with it.
"Yes?"
She exhaled heavily, evidently not happy with that answer. "Have you considered…" she hesitated, "that perhaps robes would be more appropriate for our visit? You know how Muriel is. Very proper. She has opinions about the sort of things wizards should wear."
He made a face, stopping short of rolling his eyes. "Proper or antiquated?"
She waved him off. "Call it what you will, but your great-great auntie is a very old woman who is set in her ways. And since you're hoping to win her favor with this whole cottage situation, perhaps it's best to play her game by her rules for an afternoon."
Play her game by her rules. He couldn't help but think that trait must run in his mother's family…
He blew a frustrated breath through his nostrils, though he knew better than to argue. She wasn't wrong that he had a bit of a game to play today; he likely did need to dress the part.
That was because today he and his mother were paying a visit to his Great-Great Aunt Muriel's home to not only personally invite her to his wedding, but also to finally hash out the details that would allow him and Fleur to purchase her beachfront cottage for their future home.
It was a visit that was necessary, but he wasn't particularly looking forward to it. His aunt was a very sour and grouchy woman, one who he would rather not spend more than five minutes in conversation with if he could help it. But after going back and forth through his mother and various post owls over months, it was time that he took on the task and spoke to his aunt face-to-face about Shell Cottage.
"She's very excited to see you," his mother had told him days earlier, claiming that the last time Muriel had seen him had been when he was still a teenager. His mother was under the impression that Muriel had always liked him, which he found hard to believe because he wasn't sure she was capable of emotions that didn't come from a negative place. Still, his mother insisted Muriel frequently asked about him and often called him "Molly's handsome and well-mannered one."
Well-mannered. Apparently him only offering up basic pleasantries and then standing silent in the hopes that the conversation would end soon equated to him being well-mannered.
Then again, compared to most of his brothers, perhaps that was all it took. Either way, according to his mother, Muriel was always asking about him. She seemed thrilled by his desire to visit.
They were both getting something out of this meeting. He was hoping to use some of that goodwill she had for him to negotiate a fair price for the cottage; she got visitors for tea. If he had to suck up a likely dreadful afternoon with the grouchiest woman he'd ever met in order to ensure he and Fleur got the home of their dreams, then so be it. He'd done worse.
Fleur was the lucky one, having managed to escape it all since she was in France for the weekend for wedding dress fittings. It was actually a good thing, and he was happy that she was to be spared all of this. The second he'd read in Muriel's letter that she hoped they were bringing "that French girl" along, he'd realized this was best left up to him. Outside of his aunt not being thrilled that he was marrying a French woman, she truly was an old curmudgeon who was set in her backwards ways of the past. Fleur, with her modern disposition and strong opinions—and never afraid to show them—likely wouldn't sit well with her. She was the type of woman who felt her advanced age granted her automatic respect and authority over anyone younger.
He also knew that his mother—who had a unique and close relationship with his aunt—clearly spoke of the happenings in her life with Muriel frequently. Who knew what she'd mentioned over time about Fleur given their rocky relationship. He certainly didn't need to drag Fleur into that snake pit. He would fall on this fire for the both of them.
"You know, the steel blue colored robes you sometimes wear to work should do," his mother offered, already straightening out her own magenta colored robes that Bill wasn't even sure he'd ever seen her wear before. Either they were new or they'd come from the back of her wardrobe—her special occasion wear. She seemed especially self-conscious as to whether they looked right.
"Fine," he muttered, standing from the sofa to trudge back upstairs. "I don't even know if they're clean since I wore them a few days ago—"
"Oh, I made sure to wash them yesterday," she said.
That earned her a strange look. She didn't do his laundry anymore. Either he or Fleur did their laundry. His mother hadn't done his laundry in years.
"Why…?" he asked.
She again waved him off, though this time it was as if he'd said something silly. "I assumed you needed them for today and I wanted to make sure you had them ready. You look very smart in them." She paused before quickly adding, "Even Fleur says how handsome you are in those particular robes. In fact, she's the one who mentioned they were her favorite."
He stared at her. He wasn't entirely sure if he should be concerned that these were the sorts of chats his mother and Fleur were having when he wasn't around, or happy that they agreed on something. He wasn't exactly sure what was happening right now, so he instead said nothing and excused himself upstairs to change.
As he discarded his preferred clothes in favor of robes, he couldn't help but run his plans for the discussion he was about to have over and over again in his head. He really needed today to go well because he'd certainly spent enough time living here at the Burrow. Months had turned into two years; he'd even moved Fleur in. Sure, it had helped them save money and offered them safety, but it truly was time to move on with his life and get a proper space of his own.
And hopefully that space was Shell Cottage.
He and Fleur had got their hearts set on the cottage just over a year ago. It had been a bit of a wild dream at first, but after a few months of talking it out, it had become more of a realistic idea that they felt they could manage.
He'd broached the topic with his mother, who'd taken the idea to his aunt and asked if she would even consider selling the property to him. Muriel's response hadn't been immediate—she'd actually hummed and hawed for weeks—until she'd finally come around and said she'd be willing to hear him out. She rarely visited it anymore; the upkeep was getting to be too much. She'd thought about selling in the past, but never went through with it for one reason or another.
Fleur had considered the fact that Muriel had wanted to rid herself of it, but never did, a sign.
"Ze opportunity was not right until now!" she'd told him excitedly. "We are meant to get zis cottage. It iz fate!"
He truly did find her adorable when she got all excited about something like this, though he couldn't get behind the whole 'sign' business. If you asked him, it was less about destiny or fate and more about luck. They were lucky she was too old and tired to have got around to selling it yet.
It didn't change the fact that selling it for a proper offer was still something she was keen on doing. They may have been lucky in that it was still in her possession, but that was where their luck ran out.
"She's aware she can fetch a decent amount of money for the property," his mother told him them. "In the past she's had people offer her substantial sums, but she couldn't bear to part with it. And while she'll be happy to consider selling it to you two before anyone else, she claims that you shouldn't be expecting a family discount."
Fleur looked over at him, a small frown playing on her face. He exhaled slowly. Neither of them had expected anything for free, but he'd be lying if he hadn't hoped for a little break due to the family connection. Because while he did well enough in his career, he didn't quite do seaside home well enough. Given the war and the uncertainty of everything, he wasn't exactly in the position of getting a raise any time soon—no one was. He could afford to buy them a house in many places right now—especially when Fleur's income and all the money they'd saved by living at the Burrow was taken into account—but private beach property was a bit above their budget.
He knew this because he'd actually run the numbers at Gringotts with multiple goblins and several of his accounting associates, attempting to figure out the best course of action to make this work. He'd been given the best budgeting advice one could find in British wizarding society; he'd been handed specifically tailored financial plans drawn up by the top goblins at the bank. They'd already been pre-approved for a loan, and while he and Fleur would have to borrow some money, the last thing he wanted to do was take out too much and be in debt to his employer…or the goblins he worked with on a day-to-day basis.
Because he'd seen how business relationships with the goblins around the bank changed when you owed them too much money. He didn't want to be in that position.
What he wanted was to pay off as much as possible up front, take out a small loan for the rest, and have all of that sorted out by the wedding so that he and Fleur could gift themselves a brand new home as a present to each other.
What he didn't want was for all this time and planning to be for naught because his aunt wanted some ridiculous amount of money, especially since it wasn't as if she needed it—she had plenty of money—but he knew that wasn't his place to say one way or another. Seaside property was expensive; everyone knew that. She was in a position to turn a profit, so why wouldn't she? He'd merely hoped she would be enticed by the idea of keeping things in the family and knocking off a few Galleons.
Because, and while it likely would surprise most people who knew her, Muriel could be quite generous at times. She was a very well off woman, having been born and raised on a well-to-do branch of the Parkinson family tree before marrying into the Prewetts, his mother's family. She and his uncle had inherited much of her family's wealth and always lived very comfortably up until his death years before Bill was even born.
They'd never had children, but did enjoy their nieces and nephews—and great-nieces and nephews, which included his mother. The way his mother told it, Muriel was the aunt who had always actually been quite generous during her childhood. She would host fancy dinners with unique foods, offer up her cottage by the sea for family holidays, and always give lovely gifts.
As she often told Bill, "She really was quite lovely. The grumpiness has come with age."
He wasn't sure he'd go so far as to say lovely, but he knew his mother and her aunt had a special relationship built on fond memories. It was one that had grown stronger, in one form or another, even once his mother had grown and married his father.
As the story went, his aunt hadn't been thrilled by the pairing of one of her favorite nieces to the rather "common"—that was the word his father used when he told the story—Arthur Weasley. Still, she had eventually supported her niece's decision and even gifted them with a modest sum of money for their wedding. It was apparently that money that allowed his parents to purchase the land the Burrow currently sat upon.
Because again, as his father put it, "She didn't think I'd be able to get us properly set up for a home on my 'meager Ministry salary' straight out of Hogwarts. Perhaps if I'd only tried harder in school to better myself—"
"She never said that," his mother had protested. "Muriel simply wanted us to get off on the right foot. It was a lovely gift that I'm forever thankful for."
His father had shot Bill a knowing sort of look. Speaking ill of Muriel around their mother was a lost cause.
And he could understand why his mother was so protective of her. He could remember growing up overhearing conversations between his parents about bills piling up; how were they to be paid? The answer was always, "We'll figure it out…" and they always did. He hadn't questioned it much since it always worked itself out, but the older he got the more he realized that it hadn't solely been mending holes in trousers and hard work that had got them through the worst of times. Sometimes there had been a bit of help…
"Bloody hell, is that new?" a nineteen-year-old Bill had asked Charlie, observing the brand new gold watch that he'd received for his seventeenth birthday. They'd both come home for Christmas that year—Charlie from his seventh-year at school; Bill from Egypt—so it was the first time he'd had the chance to see Charlie, or his gift, since his birthday two weeks prior.
"It is," Charlie said, showing it off proudly. "Brand new. Can you believe it?"
No, he couldn't. He actually boggled as the pair stood in their shared room, inspecting it. How in the hell had their parents managed to afford a brand new watch for Charlie? He'd just overheard them earlier that day speaking in low whispers that the Christmas presents for the family would be scarce this year, but evidently the reason for that was now abundantly clear. They'd spent all their extra money on Charlie's bloody watch.
"I just assumed I'd get a secondhand one like you did," Charlie said to him. "But then I opened this one up and…" He grinned, staring down at it rather fondly. It certainly wasn't every day that anyone around her got anything nice like this.
Bill sure as hell hadn't. Not that he'd actually cared until seeing that Charlie had got a new one. For his seventeenth birthday, he'd also received a gold watch—as was customary for when a wizard came of age—but his had once belonged to his mother's deceased brother, Gideon. There had been much ceremony at the gesture; that as the oldest, he was to be honored with the decision to receive such a prized possession of his mother's.
And he had felt honored—his uncle had been a great man and he felt special to be connected to him. Sure, it wasn't new like some of his mates got, but he'd grown used to not getting new things for some time now. He hadn't expected anything new.
But he also hadn't expected Charlie to get anything new either. He'd assumed Charlie would have got his mother's other deceased brother, Fabian's, watch. She had two of them, so it only made sense the two eldest sons got them.
Or so he thought…
"You alright?" his father had asked him later that day, having cornered him after dinner taking care of the dishes while everyone else readied themselves for Christmas Eve activities. He could already hear his mother turning on Celestina's program on the wireless in the sitting room.
"You've been unusually quiet tonight," his father added, now helping by charming plates to dry.
He almost had wanted to ask how he'd even noticed he was quiet over the twins and Percy squabbling with each other over dinner; Ron complaining loudly that Ginny had taken the last of "his pudding"; Ginny calling Ron a liar; and Charlie talking non-stop about how stupid N.E.W.T.s were and how Quidditch really should have an exam available. That was on top of their mother swooping in on everyone and trying to bust up their negativity to remind them that it was Christmas and they all needed to get along.
He shrugged at his father. "Sometimes I just forget how loud it can be back here. I'm not used to it anymore."
His father threw him a look. "You forgot? I find that hard to believe." He pointed his wand at a plate and a flannel appeared to dry it. "You just seem rather off tonight, as if something was bothering you. I thought I'd ask."
Bill shrugged again, though a part of him did suddenly have the inclination to ask what was up with Charlie's watch. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for his brother—it wasn't even that he cared that he wasn't likely getting anything else for Christmas other than a jumper—he just couldn't help but think of the younger ones; how their Christmas was apparently now going to be limited because his parents had decided to splurge on a single birthday present instead of just giving Charlie the other secondhand watch they had. How were they to explain that?
He'd also be lying if he didn't admit that he wanted to know why he hadn't got the same treatment.
"I saw Charlie's watch."
His father was nodding, though he was stiff. "It's very nice."
"It's also very new."
His father looked over at him, almost as if he may have suspected where this might be headed. "It is."
Bill glanced at the soapy water in the sink. "Is there a reason he didn't get Uncle Fabian's watch?"
His father sighed, glancing then toward the entrance to the sitting room as if checking for something. "There is, actually…"
"Because I was told it was an honor to get Uncle Gideon's," Bill continued. "So I would have assumed the same could be said for Uncle Fabian's—"
"It is an honor," his father said, lowering his wand. "Your uncle was a remarkable man; brave as they come—"
"And Uncle Fabian wasn't?"
"Of course he was," his father said, again glancing toward the entrance and now lowering his voice. "And don't for a second let your mother hear you question that. You know how much her brothers meant to her. She was elated to pass that watch on to you."
"But not onto Charlie?" he asked, looking his father in the eyes now. "So what? Is this about him not being deserving? You two don't think he's worthy—?"
His father let the flannel he'd charmed fall to the counter. "Of course we don't think that, Bill. This has nothing to do with Charlie or his 'worth'. You're all just as deserving as the next."
"Then why didn't he get it?" he asked, feeling bolder the more he spoke. "Why did he get a new one when…" He let his voice drop to a whisper, "I know you and mum can't afford—"
"Don't you worry about what your mother and I can and cannot afford. That's our business."
Bill laughed a little humorlessly. "Sorry, Dad, but I've had to worry about that for the last decade. It's not something I can just switch off."
His father stared at him, several different emotions playing on his face. Some of it seemed to come from a place of anger, but most of it seemed embarrassed. There was a sense of shame in his eyes at being called out for creating an environment where their lack of money and privilege needed to be taken on not only by him and his wife, but also by his children. It was the sort of thing that was obvious—he knew they weren't stupid—but it wasn't discussed. And if it wasn't discussed, then it was easier to act as if no one really knew the truth.
But they did know the truth, and Bill felt he was old enough now to let it be said.
"I overheard you and mum saying Christmas would be light this year," he added, looking away. "That the kids wouldn't be getting much. Now I don't care about myself, but after hearing that, I took it upon myself to go out and buy a few little things for everyone—nothing special. More stuff for them to open tomorrow. I mean, Ron and Ginny are still little. They deserve—"
"Bill…"
"It's not a big deal," he said. "I have a job now. I have my own money." He looked back at his dad. "I'm just more confused as to how you could reconcile spending all of that money on Charlie's watch when you had a perfectly good one to give him. And had he just got that one, everyone could have also had Christmas—"
"Bill…"
"Because a secondhand watch was apparently good enough for me," he continued. "And I assume that maybe money was especially tight that year, but now with me supporting myself, perhaps you've had some extra to put toward Charlie's—"
"We don't have extra money lying around," his father cut in sharply, seemingly frustrated now. "That is to say, we may technically have some, but it's spoken for and going toward other things. It's not available for just anything. It's very much being used to support this family."
That didn't make a lick of sense. Did Charlie's watch just appear from thin air, then?
"Then where did the watch—?"
"We didn't buy the watch!" he snapped in a very quiet voice, almost fighting himself to admit that. As soon as the words had come out, he looked as if he regretted saying them; as if he'd let out some secret he shouldn't have.
Bill stared at him. "What?"
His father sighed in a defeated way, as if he'd lost some sort of internal battle that had been waging inside of him. He again checked the entrance of the room to see if anyone was coming.
"We didn't buy the watch. We couldn't afford something like that right now. We were given the money."
Bill continued to stare at him. "By who?"
His father suddenly looked at him with a sense of understanding that Bill was only recently used to seeing. It wasn't the sort of look he'd got much when he'd been younger, but at about fifteen or sixteen, he'd started to see it very often—as if something very adult was about to be discussed.
"This stays between you and me. No one—not even Charlie, and I mean that Bill—hears about this. Do you understand? If it gets back to your mother that you know…"
He immediately nodded. "It won't. I promise."
His father rubbed his face before letting himself slump a bit against the counter. "Your mother's Auntie Muriel gave us the money. Your mum went out to visit with her not long ago—she hadn't seen her in a bit—and Charlie's birthday came up. She'd asked if we'd bought him a proper watch for the occasion, and your mum told her he'd be getting Fabian's, just as you'd got Gideon's.
"Well, that didn't go over well at all. She seemed horrified that Charlie wasn't getting something of his own, just as she was horrified to hear that we'd given our eldest son a secondhand watch. Your mum tried to explain that she considered it an honor to pass her brothers' watches along to her sons, but Muriel wouldn't hear of it. She'd practically scolded her and told her it wasn't right."
He sighed. "Obviously it came up that we aren't in a position to be buying new gold watches, which…" He rolled his eyes, "if you know your aunt, opened a whole other can of worms aimed right at me. But Muriel took it upon herself to say that she wouldn't stand for any of this, and that she would personally purchase each and every one of the kids' coming of age presents if it meant things were done 'properly'." He made a sour face. "As if she's the authority of what's proper…"
Bill stood there letting this all sink in. This made more sense than the idea of his parents blowing through all their savings to buy a watch for one child, knowing they were setting a precedent for the next five. He had actually wanted to ask what the plan for that was—how they were planning to afford this gesture five more times.
"Funny thing is," his father continued, "even after that conversation with your aunt, your mother still refused to not give Charlie your uncle's watch. That had been the plan and she felt it was far more important to give Charlie the watch with more sentimental value to her. She also didn't think it was fair to you if Charlie got something new."
"So why didn't she…?"
"Because at the end of the day, we have five more children to think about," his father said. "She only had two brothers, and Percy will be seventeen before we know it. We won't have the ability to make this choice once your uncle's watches are gone, so what were we to do? We can't manage something brand new on our own, and secondhand isn't so special when it doesn't have the family attachment to it."
He picked himself up from the counter. "As much as I hate the idea of Muriel feeling we're in need of charity, you all are owed some special things in life. What kind of father would I be to turn that down?"
He suddenly rolled up his own sleeve of his robes, showing off his own well-worn watch that he'd also received many years prior for his own seventeenth birthday.
"I still have mine." He smiled. "Or I do for now, because had Muriel not offered to do this, it likely would have gone to Percy." He looked back at Bill. "And I would have been sad about that because I do love this watch."
Bill smiled a little. "And you'd have had to figure out the twins next…"
"Exactly," his father said, his eyes getting wide for a brief moment. "Two at the same time. I don't even know what we would have…" He trailed off. "It was why your mother realized we didn't have much of a choice. You and Charlie could be figured out. Even Percy, but after that…"
He frowned. "So we did as Muriel requested and bought Charlie a new one. He doesn't know Muriel is behind it and that's the way she'd prefer it. Doesn't want credit because she claims she doesn't want anyone thinking they can just sniff around for money."
He threw Bill a very serious look. "This means you're the only one outside of your mother and me that knows, and if it gets out, your mother will know I told you the truth. I think you're owed it because obviously you'd have questions, but her plan if you asked was to just reiterate how special your watch is. That while it may not be new, it's one of the few things she had left of her brother and she entrusted you with it. That it's your privilege as the eldest."
Bill glanced down at his wrist, where his own not-so-shiny, certainly seen-a-thing-or-two, watch rested in the same spot he'd been wearing it for the last two years. If he was honest, now that he knew the whole story, he was glad he hadn't got the brand new watch. He could buy himself his own bloody watch one day if he wanted one so badly, but he couldn't buy the history and meaning behind this one.
And he felt if Charlie knew the truth, he'd actually be disappointed he hadn't got Fabian's watch for himself. Nothing about Charlie was shiny and new; he was rough and worn, just as Bill was. Sure, he was likely excited to get something new—only because he rarely did—but if he'd known the truth, Bill could see him being upset.
Nothing good would come from anyone knowing the truth, so it was better to let everyone think that their parents simply had taken the time to splurge on these very special occasions. Because they'd all reap the benefits of that eventually.
"I won't tell anyone," Bill finally said. "And truthfully, after constantly living in my hand-me-downs, Charlie's owed something brand new. So are the others."
"Your hand-me-downs were often handed down from me," his father said. "Which means you're also owed some brand new things." He put his hand on his shoulder. "I'm just sorry I couldn't always give you that."
"I'm fine," Bill said with an affirmative nod. "I got more than the others can claim to have. And I can buy my own stuff now, so don't worry about me."
"Always so noble." He smiled a little sadly. "And while I'll forever appreciate that about you, I hate that you have to be. You deserve everything as well. Just know that it truly does mean the world to your mum that you—" He stopped and made sure to look him straight in the eyes, "you got her brother's watch..."
In time, both Bill and Muriel kept their words. Percy had got a brand new watch on his seventeenth, so had Fred and George. Ron had only just got his a couple of months earlier when he'd turned seventeen. Ginny—who'd likely get a necklace as was customary for girls—still had another year.
Bill never did say anything about the truth to anyone—even once Ron had specifically asked how their parents had pulled off two gold watches for the twins during a year where he couldn't even get a set of dress robes for the school ball that weren't a hundred years old.
Muriel certainly was capable of generosity, and Bill was acutely aware of what she'd made possible over the years just so that his family could have some—even if it was just a little— special treatment. He now just hoped that perhaps his aunt would see it in her heart—as cold as it appeared at times—to bestow some of that generosity onto him in relation to Shell Cottage. After all, he'd never got the fancy new watch. Even if she saw it fit to subtract the cost of one of those from her desired price, that would be nice.
When he appeared back downstairs in his smart, appropriate looking robes, he found his mother waiting by the sofa for him so that they could leave. She smiled at the sight of him, happy to see he'd obliged.
"Do I look appropriate enough for Muriel now?" he asked, gesturing to himself.
She nodded, though stopped suddenly and seemed to be examining his head. "Well, she'll probably have something to say about the hair and how long you've let it get. The earring as well. She's never been a fan or that sort of thing."
"Well, I can't win them all," he said, reaching up to adjust his hair as he spoke about it. "I'm sure I could offer her a few suggestions about her appearance if she'd like…"
"You won't," said his mother, her tone warning him. "For your own good, you'll be on your best behavior."
That was an unnecessary statement if he'd ever heard one. Whenever was he not well behaved?
"Have you forgotten who you're talking to?"
For a brief moment, it almost looked as if she may have—perhaps a residual habit given that she usually was quite serious in needing to tell particular members of this family to behave themselves—though she just as quickly smiled and said, "Of course not, dear. And I know you will. I've never in my life had to worry about you not behaving."
He stepped forward to lead the way outside, throwing her a quick smile. "And you never will."
"Tu es belle!" said Fleur's mother, which was immediately followed with happy gasps and excited noises of agreement.
That was because, for the first time, Fleur had stepped out from behind a changing curtain and presented herself—and her wedding dress—to her mother, her sister, six of her cousins, and two aunts. It was the first time even she'd put it on, so it was quite the occasion for everyone. They all seemed to agree that she looked absolutely beautiful and were still "oohing" minutes after the fact.
Fleur smiled as she took a raised podium in front of several full length mirrors. Even the modiste, who'd designed and sewn the dress, beamed proudly as if she'd never seen the gown look quite this lovely until this moment. She put her hand over her chest and claimed Fleur somehow made it look more magnificent.
Every woman in the small dress shop was humming their approval, studying the white bridal gown for its finer and more delicate details. Fleur watched her reflection in the mirror, almost overwhelmed that the exact dress she had always imagined was staring back at her. It was a simple A-line silhouette with a scalloped v-neck lace bodice; it was light and airy feeling, something she'd stressed to the modiste about since the last thing she wanted for a beach wedding was something heavy or ornate. She'd wanted simple and elegant; she'd wanted it to feel like an extension of herself.
That was exactly what it felt like. She felt amazing.
And given everyone else's reactions, she apparently looked amazing too. Gabrielle commented that she was glowing.
Today was the day—the dress day—something Fleur had been painfully excited about. Up until today, she'd only just discussed the dress, planned the dress, and ordered the dress to be made—but today she finally got to see and wear the dress for the first time. Today everything felt so much more real. Her wedding was less than two months away now. It was all starting to happen.
"Il n'a pratiquement pas besoin de modifications," said the modiste as she adjusted the hemline of the dress, seemingly shocked that it hardly needed any alterations. "C'est un ajustement parfait."
Fleur smiled. It was a perfect fit. Truly perfect. This felt like a dream.
Fleur, you look stunning. Fleur, that dress is so perfect for you. Fleur, you could not look any more beautiful… The comments continued to fill her ears as each one of her relatives gushed and complimented her. Her mother looked teary-eyed the longer she watched her; her Aunt Agathe was actually shedding tears. As it were, Fleur was the first of her generation of cousins to be getting married. It was apparently a huge deal for everyone.
"Vous serez la plus belle des mariées," her mother told her as she appeared at her side, observing her in the mirror with a smile. Fleur had to agree. She would be the most beautiful bride.
"Fleur, es-tu sûre de vouloir porter du blanc?" asked one of her more blunt cousins, Léa. She was playfully teasing her, asking her if she was sure she wanted to wear white—the implication being that it wasn't entirely accurate since white was considered virginal.
There was giggling among the group at that, including Fleur, though her own mother and aunt's expression seemed to say this sort of chat was better left for when young ears such as Gabrielle and some of the other younger cousins weren't around. Her older cousins took no notice and continued pressing.
"Je sais que tu n'épouseras pas quelqu'un qui n'a pas démontré ses capacités," Léa added with a sly grin, flat out stating that she knew Fleur had more sense than to marry someone who wasn't capable of handling himself in the bedroom.
"Tu n'as pas à t'inquiéter pour ça," Fleur said with a smile, letting them all know that all was well in that area. No need to worry about that.
That was followed with more giggling, and Gabrielle asking what they were talking about. That only prompted her mother to throw all the older girls rather quick looks before suggesting that Gabrielle and the other bridesmaids should try on their dresses.
Gabrielle's face lit up at that, and the modiste immediately went to fetch the dresses for her and their cousins, Inès and Meline. The three all disappeared appeared behind another curtain to begin their fittings, though a couple of dismayed sighs and huffy breaths quickly filled the rest of the room. There was no attempt to hide them, not that Fleur was surprised. Her family never hid their true feelings about anything.
Despite the mood and the day being mostly joyful, there was a tinge of mild jealousy in the air since Fleur had only asked two of her cousins—the two she'd always been closest to—to be in her wedding. While her immediate family was only her sister and parents, she did come from a large extended family. Her mother had been the second daughter of four, and all of Fleur's aunts had three to four daughters a piece. Fleur had eleven female cousins she could have asked to stand up with her, but given Bill had wanted a smaller wedding party with only Charlie, she had to make choices as to who to include.
It was Aunt Agathe and her four daughters that Fleur had spent most of her life with. Her other aunts and cousins, while all very dear to her, had grown up in different parts of the country and only visited on holidays. But Aunt Agathe and her family were there year round. Inès, who was a few months older than Fleur, was more her best friend than a cousin; they were generally inseparable when together. Meline, who was a year younger than Fleur was practically present in every memory Fleur had of growing up. She already had plenty of guilt from not being able to include all of Aunt Agathe's daughters in her wedding; that wasn't even taking into account everyone else she was leaving out.
Ever since the engagement, she'd been fielding questions from her family as to who would be in the wedding; why was everyone not included? Bill could be allowed one person if he chose, but that didn't mean Fleur couldn't be allowed more. They felt eleven cousins, plus Gabrielle, would have been perfectly fine; it would be a vision to see with all those women standing up beside her and supporting her. People wouldn't know where to look.
But that was the point…
Fleur wanted people to know exactly where to look, and that was at her on her wedding day. Her cousins were all as beautiful as she was; most even bearing a striking resemblance to her. She loved each and every one, but there was something to be said about standing out—especially on one's wedding day—instead of blending into an equally lovely group of stunning women. It was selfish, sure, but Fleur wanted the attention on her for her day.
And while she may have mostly blamed the decision on Bill's desire to keep things smaller, she wasn't at all bothered by limiting numbers to those who were truly closest to her.
Gabrielle popped out from behind the curtain first, looking lovely in a surplice tank chiffon dress with a flowy floor-length skirt. The neckline dipped just a bit in a V, but remained perfectly appropriate for an eleven-year-old, which had been both Fleur and her mother's instructions. She looked positively elegant while also remaining youthful. One glance at her mother—who seemed very pleased with the results—told Fleur that this was a winner.
"La couleur est rose?" asked Elise, one of Fleur's other cousins who was also along for the fittings.
Had she decided on pink? Fleur walked over to examine Gabrielle closer. She still wasn't sure pink was what she wanted, but the modiste had told her it was easy enough to charm the dresses another color. She could technically wait until the day of the ceremony to choose what she wanted, but she would go ahead and make the dresses in pink in order for her to get a feel for the color.
"Peut-on essayer l'or?" Fleur asked, looking over at the modiste and asking to see how gold would look.
With a flick of her wand, the modiste changed Gabrielle's dress to that of a gold color, earning "oohhs" and "ahhhs" from their party. Gabrielle laughed and twirled a bit, looking beautiful in both, though Fleur was still struggling to decide which was better. All around, her family was giving their opinions, with half of the room saying the pink looked romantic; the other half saying that the gold looked more sophisticated.
"Les deux sont fantastiques," her mother offered, claiming they both looked fantastic.
All of this indecisiveness wasn't helping.
"Voyons Inès et Méline," offered her Aunt Agathe, suggesting that they should look at the other girls' dresses to perhaps get an idea for what was best. Fleur wasn't entirely sure how that would help, considering both women had the exact same coloring and hair as Gabrielle did. They would probably look very similar and just as beautiful in both colors.
Meline appeared first, her dress pink just as Gabrielle's originally had been. The style was very similar to Gabrielle's, only it was a bit more mature. The neckline plunged lower, which gave the dress a bit of sex appeal. Not that Meline—or Inès, who appeared behind her sister—needed any extra help in that department. Both women naturally radiated it, but the cut and fit of the dress certainly didn't hurt.
More "oohs" and "ahhs", with one of Fleur's non bridesmaid cousins bluntly stating something about how she would look amazing in that dress had they also been allowed to be a bridesmaid. Fleur ignored her, instead having Meline's dress change to gold to compare both side by side.
Again, there was no real winner and the room was evenly split in half once more with their choices. Meline claimed she liked the pink; Inès liked the gold.
Fleur looked at Gabrielle. "Lequel aimes-tu?" she asked, wondering if perhaps she could be the tie breaker and tell her which one she liked.
"J'aime ce que tu aimes," she said with a shrug.
She liked what Fleur liked. She evidently didn't not want to be the one to make this decision.
Fleur sighed. She usually had no problem making these sorts of choices. Why was this one so difficult?
But a part of her already knew the answer was because it was her wedding and she wanted everything to be perfect. Everything had gone according to plan flawlessly so far, which—considering she was also dealing with a war back in England—was saying something about her luck. She'd got the location she wanted, the florist, the baker, the caterers; the ice sculptures were ordered, the music was taken care of. The dresses were all coming together exactly how she planned; everything was what she wanted with little to no hiccups so far.
That fact that pink or gold was the hardest thing she'd had to deal with just showed how well everything was going.
The modiste's voice cut into her thoughts, reminding her that she still had up until the ceremony to choose a color, something Fleur's family all nodded along and reiterated. It wasn't something to worry about now. She would figure it out.
As they all changed out of their dresses to allow any final last touches and hemming, Fleur and her family all emerged from the shop talking about what else was planned for the day while they were in Paris. The early June weather was beautiful with the sun shining and the sky a brilliant blue.
Fleur had to admit that being in such loving and warm company made her truly feel at peace, and that wasn't something she got to experience much of lately. Whether it was due to the larger picture—the war brewing feverishly back at home—or the smaller one—spending endless hours at the Burrow and dealing with Bill's family, she didn't get much time to just enjoy herself or the peace of the day.
Inès appeared at her side then as the group walked around the wizarding shopping district in Paris, much like Diagon Alley. She linked her arm through Fleur's and told her how much she missed her, adding, "J'aimerais que tu sois là tout le temps pour que nous puissions faire ça plus."
Yes, Fleur too wished she could be here more often to do fun things like this. The once a month she'd been getting clearly wasn't enough, though it was world's better than the previous year where she'd only got home twice. Being here with her family, laughing and talking with people who truly loved her and understood her had energized her in a way she never quite understood growing up. And while England was her home and her future now, she already knew she would have to make it a point to come back here more often once she and Bill were settled.
If they all survived that war, that is…
"J'aimerais que tu ne vives pas en Angleterre," Inès added, coming right out and saying that she wished Fleur didn't live in England. Oddly enough, there was a sadness in her tone, which seemed to go beyond just the usual lengths of missing her closest cousin.
When Fleur looked at her curiously, as if to ask where that comment had come from, Inès plainly told her that she was worried about her. That they all knew how dangerous things in England were right now and that they'd heard the stories of the madman whose name people would not even speak. Apparently, this concern over her living in England was due to the war rather than anything to do with simply missing her company.
Fleur swallowed hard. "Ce n'est pas si grave…" she said slowly, because it wasn't that bad…not really. That is to say, it wasn't good, but…
She truthfully didn't even know what to say to her cousin about this. Telling her things were fine was a lie because people were still dying and going missing everyday. You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters hadn't stopped terrorizing people and there was no end in sight—not until he could be stopped, and who knew when that would be. The last war had gone on for eleven years. It had taken up Bill's entire childhood.
But she couldn't reveal any of that without sending her family into a tizzy, so she simply squeezed her cousin's arm and told her she was fine. She would be fine and not to worry.
"Je suis reconnaissant que vous vous mariez ici," Inès said, telling her that she was grateful Fleur was getting married here at home. "Where it is safe and we are here. If you had chosen to get married in England—"
"Je n'allais pas me marier en Angleterre," Fleur said matter-of-factly, reiterating that she would not get married in England. Yes, her new life and Bill were in England; yes, England was her home now, but England had got so much of her these last few years. A part of her felt like she barely saw the French side of her anymore and she hated it. Sometimes, even hearing someone speak French back to her gave her a strange jolt that she'd never experienced prior to moving to England. There was almost an unfamiliarity with it on her ears.
When it came to her wedding, it had been very important to her to get married in France; it had been her first and most important request. Thankfully, Bill never objected or questioned it; he often joked he would get married at the Ministry tomorrow if he had his way, so if it meant that much to her for it to be at home, that was where it would be. He would be there with dress robes on.
It had been yet another piece of the puzzle that had just easily fallen into place with all this wedding planning. She kept getting lucky that everything was going so well.
Inès smiled at her. "Je suis content pour ça," she told her, happy to hear that Fleur had made that decision because, apparently, had she chosen England instead of France, there was a chance she—and the rest of her family—would not have been able to go.
Fleur found herself startled to hear that, and she wasn't particularly fond of the answer once she asked her cousin why that was.
Inès shrugged sadly, though she spoke her words with conviction: It was too dangerous. They hated the idea that Fleur was in the thick of things, but they certainly couldn't see themselves entering a war zone where non-magical people were being hunted and harmed. The picture Inès painted made it feel as if she believed people were getting tortured in the street, which…it wasn't every street. Just…some.
She must have noticed Fleur's sullen expression because Inès immediately brightened up and told her none of that mattered anyway because she was getting married here. They would have an amazing day; Fleur would look perfect. She could not wait to celebrate with her.
Fleur smiled, realizing she was right. There was no need to focus on the negative when there was so much positive. It was going to be an amazing day. Luck was on her side.