"Remember," his mother said to him as the pair approached the front door of Muriel's large townhouse. "Muriel's always been fond of you, so be sure to just be as polite and as lovely as you've always been."

Bill smiled, amused that she felt the need to give him tips on how to act as if he were a small child. "Right."

"I'm sure all of this will go well," she said, sounding as if she were reassuring herself as she reached up and used an ornate looking knocker to rap on the large front door. She threw him one last reassuring smile before the door swung open to reveal a spritely looking house elf with large tennis ball sized eyes. She bowed and greeted them very properly, quickly squeaking out that her mistress was to be expecting them. They were welcomed to have a seat in the lounge until she arrived.

He and his mother did as they were told, Bill scanning his surroundings and noticing that everything looked the exact same as it had the last time he had visited. That had been ages ago, but everything from the decor to the furniture to the wallpaper looked as if it had been frozen in time from decades before. Shell Cottage actually had a very similar feel—one of it having been decorated once and never changed since. His aunt clearly liked what she liked and stuck to it.

Inside the lounge, they came upon another house elf scurrying about and setting up tea sandwiches on a fancy look platter. The moment this one's big eyes settled upon them, they seemed startled to have been noticed and immediately placed the rest of the sandwiches down. With a hasty bow, they quickly took their leave.

"How many house elves does she have?" Bill asked his mother as they both sat side-by-side on a sofa. Even the most posh of families he knew only usually had one. "Why does she need more than one?"

His mother had opened her mouth to answer, but was immediately cut off by a rather abrasive sounding voice that quickly offered, "Because I do. That's why."

At the threshold of the room, his Aunt Muriel was already standing and observing with her judgy eyes and her beaky nose pointed right at them. She was in robes of bright purple, which given her skinny statute made her look like an oversized purple carrot. Her expression gave off the impression that she was just as perturbed by life as ever.

His mother and him both stood from the sofa at once—Bill already knowing that if he didn't, his aunt would pester him about bad manners. His mother made to quickly greet her with a hug, which his aunt returned with something that may have actually been a smile. He wasn't entirely sure since the action seemed foreign to her face.

"Molly, my dear, always so good to see you," she said, taking her niece's hands and squeezing them affectionately. "I always look forward to the days you visit."

"As do I," his mother said, still smiling. "You're looking well."

"Not so bad for one-hundred and six," she said proudly, though she did suddenly let her expression turn concerned. "Though I must ask how Ronald is doing after his poisoning. I still cannot believe it…"

At that, she lowered her voice to mutter something about hoping that his mother had strong words for Dumbledore for allowing such recklessness to occur.

"Don't let him get away with that happening on his watch."

"He's doing much better," his mother said, a relief in her tone that even months after the fact was still present. It had been a stressful ride the day they'd got news Ron had come inches from death—on his birthday, no less—after drinking a poisoned mead meant for Dumbledore. He'd luckily been with Harry, who'd had the good sense to use a bezoar to stop the quick effects of the potion from killing him, but it still had put him in the hospital wing for a bit.

It had also opened up a very deep discussion at Order meetings about all the strange happenings at Hogwarts and who exactly had it out for Dumbledore. They'd discussed that at length.

"He seems to be completely back to normal from what I've heard," his mother added, glancing over at Bill as if to include him in the conversation and get his input.

He smiled and nodded. The one time he had popped in to visit his brother a couple of days after the incident, he'd been in decent spirits and certainly on the mend. Hermione had been sitting at his bedside the entire time, which Bill took to mean they were speaking again. It actually wasn't lost on him that she was the one there and not the girlfriend he'd last heard about.

"William," said his aunt, cocking her head rather curiously to one side as if appraising him. "So good of you to pay your old auntie a visit. I haven't seen you in ages. Certainly not since you've moved home from…" She looked at his mother. "What country did you let him run off to again?"

"It was Egypt," he said, answering before his mother could. "And I didn't run off, really. It was for work—"

"Egypt, yes," she interrupted, releasing his mother's hands and gesturing for everyone to sit as she moved to take a seat on a sofa directly across from them. "I knew it was some dreadful place like that. I've never been a fan of—"

"I wouldn't call it dreadful," Bill said.

"Don't interrupt, William. It's impolite." She glanced over at mother and threw her a look as if to say she should be tending to that. Once she did turn back to him, she gestured to his head. "Your hair has grown far too long."

He chuckled in the politest way he possibly could, despite wanting to tell her to sod off. "Well, I personally like it this way."

"But you look like a girl."

His mother fidgeted. "Oh no, I don't think…"

He forced his tone to remain polite, though his smile was trending a bit more on the 'fuck you' side of things. "Would you believe no one's yet to confuse me for one?"

She hummed, seemingly doubting that, just as her main house elf from the door reappeared with a tea tray and proceeded to tend to pouring and distributing tea to everyone, starting with Muriel. Apparently she had quite a few instructions as to how she took her tea, which the house elf happily obliged without missing a beat.

"It's because you've still got that boyishly handsome face," Muriel added once everyone had their cups. "There's no confusing that face for a girl." She looked at his mother. "He always was a very handsome boy. Especially when he kept his hair shorter. You shouldn't have let him grow it out."

She shouldn't have let him…? He glanced at his mother, who looked back at him with an awkward smile. A part of him wanted to remind Muriel that he was sitting right here—she didn't have to talk about him as if he wasn't in the room. However, he kept that part to himself and decided to instead say, "Well, I'm a grown man. She doesn't get much of a say in how I—"

"Mothers always have a say," Muriel said. "Or they should until a wife is in the picture." She gave Molly a funny look. "Perhaps you're not trying hard enough?"

"What's to try?" Bill asked. "I—"

"Now speaking of this future wife," Muriel interrupted, speaking directly to his mother. "The French one. She's fine with him looking like this?"

"Er, yes," his mother said with a nod. "She's very fond of—"

"I'm right here," Bill said, proceeding to wave a bit and again wondering why Muriel was talking around him. "And yes, she likes it."

Muriel hummed again. "Likely because she's French. A strange group of people, the French. Anything goes down there. You couldn't pay me to visit."

He was sure the entire country of France would be positively heartbroken to hear that; he only wished he could have the same pleasure.

Though, at that news, that likely meant she wouldn't be coming to the wedding since it was in France. He suddenly found his mood immediately brightened.

"Is there a reason you decided to marry a French girl instead of a British one?" Muriel asked.

The way she was looking at him, she seemed to honestly expect an answer to that as if it was a legitimate, completely normal question. He took a heavy breath. "Well, that's just the way it turned out. She's brilliant and charming—"

She hummed again and looked over at his mother, as if she expected a rebuttal.

"Fleur's a lovely girl," his mother offered, which…why did she always say these things about Fleur when she wasn't in the room? What he wouldn't give for her to actually hear her say that to Fleur's face.

"I've heard she's quite pretty," Muriel said to him.

She'd said that oddly, as if there was some loaded meaning behind her words that he couldn't quite figure out. He chose to just agree. "She is. Yes."

She hummed again. "Well, I would have liked to have seen just how pretty she is." She sipped her tea. "But it seems she's too busy to come with you today."

"Well, she's gone home to tend to wedding preparations," Bill offered. "She was unavailable."

"Gone home? To France ?"

He nodded.

"You're getting married in France?"

He smiled. "Yes, I feel it has been established that Fleur's from France. That's where she wants to have the wedding."

"But what about you? You're not from France."

"I'm not?" he asked, knowing he shouldn't be cheeky but not being able to help it. He felt his mother nudge him as if to say stop it, but as far as he was concerned that one was worth it.

Muriel stared at him. "What's wrong with getting married here in England, William? That's where you're from. That's where you live. Where your family lives."

He shrugged. "Nothing is wrong with it, but that's not what we're doing. Fleur wanted to get married at home, so we—"

"Yes, but what about what you want?"

Why did Muriel think she knew the first thing about what he wanted? What was she on about?

"I want whatever makes my fiancée the happiest," he said rather bluntly. "I personally don't care if we get married at the Leaky Cauldron—"

His aunt flinched.

"—the 'where' isn't important to me. It is, however, important to her. And she wants to get married where she grew up."

His aunt looked over at his mother as if she couldn't believe she was letting this happen. "And you and Arthur are fine with this? This doesn't bother you?"

"Well, no," she offered, looking a bit caught off guard. "It is their wedding..."

His aunt scoffed, looking as if she thought the whole lot of them had gone absolutely mad. "This is most unfortunate. I cannot see how I am expected to attend a wedding in France."

"It's fairly simple. You just catch a Portkey," Bill offered, earning him another nudge from his mother.

"I have no desire to Portkey to France, William," she said more to the point. "As I've mentioned, you cannot pay me to visit that place."

"Oh well, that is…a shame," he said, attempting to make his face look earnest despite fighting off an intense urge to smile.

"Auntie Muriel, I really do hope you'll reconsider," his mother said sincerely, sitting forward in her chair and setting her teacup down. "It's not everyday one of my children gets married. It would mean the world to me if you attended considering how important a figure you are in my life, especially since my parents' passing. The idea of you not being there…"

Made absolutely no difference to him…

"...would break my heart."

It seemed flattery got you everywhere with his aunt, because her face had softened at hearing that. She seemed to actually be considering this, which…he supposed if it made his mother happy, he could deal with it. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be entirely preoccupied on his wedding day to notice Muriel anyway.

What he hadn't expected was for his mother to now nudge him again, looking at him as if he should be speaking up as well. He blinked and took the hint, tagging on, "We'd love it if you could come. If you want, that is. If the trip is too much for you, we obviously understand."

For some reason, his aunt smirked as if she were highly amused at something. He couldn't imagine what he'd said that was so funny.

"We, we, we…" she said with a laugh, "Speaking about the two of you as if you're already one unit." She looked back at his mother. "You are right, Molly. He is very taken with this one."

He raised his eyebrow, curious as to why she made that sound like a bad thing. "Considering that I'm marrying her, I feel as though that goes without saying…"

"Tell me William, you do plan on living here in England once you two are married, do you not?"

"Yes," he said, realizing then that this was the perfect opportunity to segue the conversation toward Shell Cottage and why he came in the first place. "Speaking of living here—"

"And if you are to have children with this French girl—"

"Her name is Fleur."

She ignored him. "Do you plan on raising any future children here in England?"

"Um, yes, I suppose so. But we're taking things one day at a time and looking to get through the wedding—the war—first, so we haven't thought that far ahead."

"You do want children, do you not?"

"I do."

"And does she?"

"She does."

She hummed, looking over at his mother. "That is at least good to hear. You never know with the French."

He couldn't help it, he said the quiet part out loud. "You never know if they want children? I would think an entire country of French people constantly reproducing would show that it's not something they're against."

"Bill was actually hoping to speak to you about his future plans to live here!" his mother piped up in a very subject changing sort of way. "About Shell Cottage and—"

"Ah, yes, the cottage…" his aunt said, letting her gaze travel back to Bill. "Your mother has told me that you are quite interested in making my holiday house your permanent home once you're married."

"Yes, I am," he said, again forcing his demeanor to be polite now that they were back on track. "I'm very interested. I've heard how you were looking to downsize—"

"It is a lovely place," his aunt said in a faraway tone, as if not even listening to him. "I've had many wonderful holidays there, as I know your family has." She smiled. "I can still remember that your great uncle and I acquired it for a bargain. Something like 500 Galleons." She paused. "I could likely fetch something ten times that amount now…"

"Oh, I don't know about ten times," his mother said, glancing over at Bill. "That seems a bit much…"

It was definitely a bit much. He'd been anticipating half of that. Five times—maybe six if his aunt really wanted to go high. Ten, however, was mental. It wasn't worth ten. He could buy two perfectly nice, regular houses for that kind of money.

"Wow, you only spent 500 Galleons?" he asked, deciding then to half joke, "Any chance you'd be willing to sell it for what you paid?" He put on a hopeful smile, even if he knew it was futile. "I could buy it off of you today if you did."

She smirked at him, as if suddenly enjoying the position she had in this back and forth. "That would not be a very wise move on my part, now would it? Especially since we put so much work into it to make it what it is today. It was basically a shanty shack when we purchased it and now it's a lovely cottage."

She paused and sipped her tea. "Or at least it was the last I saw. I haven't been in ages."

"Well, it's certainly in need of some updates and repairs," Bill said, wanting her to know that it wasn't this perfect place she may remember it as. Because if she realized that, she perhaps may realize it wasn't worth the insane amount she now had in her head.

"But," he continued, "I'd be willing to buy it as is and do the work myself, which would free you up from having to put anymore money or time into it—"

"William," she said bluntly. "You work at the bank, so I assume that means you're good with money?"

He was good with money, but that had nothing to do with the bank considering he didn't actually work with numbers or money; he worked in security. But given the look on his mother's face, it was better to let Muriel think what she wanted.

"Yes. Sure."

"Then why don't you tell me what you think a fair price for the cottage is?"

"Oh," he said. "Well…"

His mother gave him an encouraging look as he reached into his pocket and pulled out all the numbers he'd run; the research he'd done. He'd spent weeks comparing property values to other homes in the area; he consulted financial goblins and other advisors at Gringotts. He'd done his homework. He always did his homework.

"I was actually thinking something along the lines of this…"

He leaned forward and handed her the parchment that succinctly put all of his findings onto one neatly lined sheet of information—including the price he'd been hoping she'd agree to. It was a fair offer, if not a touch on the lower side because a part of him was still hoping she'd see the benefit of keeping it in the family.

It certainly wasn't ten times the asking price. And that was becoming more and more apparent the longer his aunt looked over the document.

He cleared his throat. "I think you'll find if you look into comparable properties—"

"This is half what I had in mind," she said, frowning.

"Right. Well, what you had in mind is a bit unrealistic…"

"Do you think so?" she asked, looking up at him then. "Because I certainly think I could find someone to pay it."

He stared back at her, deciding to choose his words carefully. "Perhaps…but I didn't make up that number on my own. I consulted professionals. This is what they—"

"Well, then perhaps I need to speak to these professionals," she muttered, tossing the sheet aside as if she couldn't be bothered with any of the work he'd done. "Because I'm almost positive I can get far more than that."

"While I think you may be able to get a bit more, it's not as much as you think. It's Tinsworth, not the…" He paused before saying "the south of France…" knowing that wouldn't quite go over well considering her feelings toward France. "Not the beaches of Spain."

She hummed in a dismissive way. "Tell you what William, I'm feeling generous."

That was good.

"Considering you are Molly's son, I will make you a deal."

The way she'd said the word 'deal' hadn't exactly been reassuring. Something in her tone gave him a pause, but perhaps he was just overreacting considering the source. If she was willing to come down to anything near his price, he was willing to do just about anything.

"I'm going to pretend all of that," she gestured to his parchment that she'd tossed aside, "is correct information. Because you've always been a brilliant young man and I know you wouldn't dare come to my home and try to swindle me."

He immediately said, "I wouldn't," just as his mother said, "Oh, no, never. We're family."

"So what I will do is give you that price…" She smiled at Molly and then back at Bill. "And I'll even knock off ten percent more."

This was a very odd change of pace all of the sudden. While he wanted to just believe her at her word, he still sensed something was up.

"Really?"

She nodded, her eyes drifting to his exposed wrist, where his uncle's old watch rested. "It's only right. You never did a proper watch like your brothers did." She glanced over at his mother again, who sat up stiffly. "So unfortunate."

His mother squirmed a bit beside him, clearly still under the impression that he had no idea the truth about the watch business. She looked nervous that Muriel was about to expose the truth of it all and cause some fireworks.

"Though if I agree to this reduced price, I will require something of you."

"And that would be?"

She sipped her tea again, and as casually as she could said, "You'll have your wedding here in England."

He'd have to…what? He stared blankly for a long moment before looking slowly over at his mother as if to check this was actually happening. She seemed just as confused as he was and they shared similar expressions. Was she serious? She couldn't possibly be serious.

"It's two months away," he said. "Most of it has already been planned…"

"Arrangements have been made," his mother added.

"Fleur's been working on this for nearly a year," he continued, sitting forward on the sofa at attention. "The one thing she was completely set on was getting married at home."

"Well, she can get married in her new home," Muriel said, sounding bored. "Have it at the cottage for all I care. I'd like to attend, but I'm an old woman and I refuse to go to France."

She was fucking serious…

He let out a nervous laugh, knowing this was an impossible sort of ask. Sure, he could run this by Fleur; she might even agree since it meant they could afford their house much easier, but if she did, he'd be crushing her dream. After two years living in a foreign country away from her family—living with his family, a job in itself—she'd had her heart set on this one thing. He and his family had got everything so far in this relationship—all of their time and their moments—this was supposed to be the thing she got to do on her terms. He wasn't about to take that away from her.

"Fleur would be heartbroken," he finally said.

"It's your decision," his aunt mumbled. "If you still intend to marry in France, I will have my people look into the property and provide you with my number. And I am hoping for a decent sum."

She smiled at him as she plucked a finger sandwich up off the table. "And if you're still interested in purchasing it once you hear that number, don't worry. You may still count on me taking off a small percentage to make up for the fact that you got stuck with that watch." She gave it a sideways glance. "It's only right."

"I didn't get stuck with…" He shook his head, not wanting to derail the conversation at hand. "Just so we're clear, if I convince Fleur to move this wedding to England, I'll get my number for the cottage? If I don't…"

"You'll get mine.".

That was apparently that.

The rest of tea was…unpleasant to say the least. He'd mostly shut down from speaking, letting his mother and aunt chat while he silently drank tea and wished for this all to be over. He couldn't get over the audacity of his aunt to make such an ask—WHO ASKS THAT?—and how angry it all made him.

Even if Fleur didn't have her heart set on getting married in France, the wedding was nearly entirely planned. They'd done almost everything. They couldn't just pick up and change everything in two months. That was a joke. It was an impossible task, which just showed him his aunt had no intention of actually giving him his number for the cottage, but she sure as hell wanted to make him think she did.

He was happy to leave once the time came, and his goodbyes were nothing if not stiff. He still had to play somewhat nice since his aunt still had him in a precarious position, but the truth was, if his aunt's number was as high as she wanted, then he and Fleur truly would have to reconsider all of this cottage talk. They would need to start looking somewhere else.

"Are you going to say something to Fleur?" his mother asked once they were back at the Burrow.

"No!" he said obviously. "Mum, you know how hard she's worked to plan this wedding. You've seen her around the house; you've listened to her talk about getting everything perfect. It's less than two months away!"

"I know…"

"Even if she were open to the idea, it's too late. We'd have to re-plan everything. We're talking two entirely different countries."

"Yes, dear, I know, but…" She gave him a look. "I would think it's something you should at least talk to her about."

He shook his head. "No. Not after everything Fleur's done. I'm not caving to that woman's stupid demands." He threw himself down at the kitchen table. "I'll just continue as if she never asked. Pretend as if it's never happened, and once we get the number Muriel's willing to sell it for, if it's not something mental, we'll go from there."

"There are plenty of lovely homes the two of you could get elsewhere—"

"I know that, Mum," he said, sounding irritated. "And if I have to, I'll look into those."

His mother nodded as if to say she understood. He was at least happy for that because he really didn't need to hear anything more about any of this; about how he was making a dumb choice by not telling Fleur about the offer and letting them both decide. He refused to have her even entertain that idea.

Everything was going to continue on as it was; nothing was changing. Fleur was going to get the wedding she wanted after everything she'd been through. That much he knew.

He just wished he could shake the feeling of guilt he had now lingering at the back of his mind. Because had it been up to him, and him alone, he would have probably moved things just to keep them out of debt and get the house of their dreams. He truly did mean that he would get married anywhere. He didn't care as long as she was there.

But Fleur deserved more. He'd figure something else out.

For Fleur, the end of June was a confusing time. It had been two years now since the Tournament, and two years since Cedric's murder. Not a day had gone by when she didn't think of him, or of the grindylows, or of the dark and haunted feeling maze, or the screaming…

But thankfully some things had changed. She'd had time to process more. Her nightmares were less constant; she did get some reprieve from them. She'd taught herself tricks and habits that reminded her to focus on the positives in her life if she became overwhelmed. Lately, that meant occupying her time with wedding planning to keep her mind busy.

Also, Harry had helped a great deal, though he couldn't have known that. It was more in the way she viewed him; how her perception of him had been altered. In the past, she had always been terribly concerned for his well-being. She had assumed he was a scared and destroyed young man—because why wouldn't he be?—after everything he'd been through. She assumed he was somewhat fragile, if not physically then certainly mentality.

But now that she'd spent summers and holidays with him around the Burrow, she'd learned that depiction was not entirely accurate. He wasn't nearly as fragile or as broken as she assumed—or if he was, he hid it well. If anything, he was a fairly typical teenage boy, running around and being silly with Ron and Ginny; eating much of the time; having a laugh. Yes, he still dealt with considerable pressure, but the person he presented seemed to handle everything better than Fleur had expected.

And it was this behavior—Harry's apparent "normalcy"—that had helped her cope with some of her own unresolved issues. After all, if Harry could carry on living life in the most typical way he could manage, then she could as well. It was all about pushing forward, not living in the past. That was what she needed to remember.

June also wasn't all bad now, as it now carried happy memories as well. Bill had proposed this time last year and they were now to be married in just a few short weeks. Wedding preparations had kept her in a great spirit, and they had also kept her busy. So busy, in fact, she'd barely had time to remember that it had been two years since the Tournament. Between that and trying to buy their first home, her time had been very occupied as of late.

On the home front, Bill had attempted to present an offer to his aunt for Shell Cottage, though he hadn't seemed confident that she was going to bite on it. When she had pressed him for details, he'd seemed mostly frustrated, explaining that his aunt expected far more for the property than it was worth; that she seemed to think their offer was low.

"How can she expect that number," Fleur had asked him, once he'd told her the number his aunt had suggested, "when the property has not been updated in fifty years?"

He'd shrugged. "She's got a sentimental attachment to it. I mean, even if we could afford it at that price, it's going to cost us a fortune just to get it up to date with repairs and more modern conveniences."

That was true. Fleur immediately thought of the horrid cupboards, the ugly wallpaper, the out-of-date fixtures, that terrifying bird painting that—if they did get the cottage—she would burn first thing. All of that needed to be updated, and it wasn't even taking into account the furniture and household items they would have to buy to make the place their own. There was much work to do.

But that work wouldn't be possible if they didn't have any money left after his aunt took all of their savings for this house. Their ideal scenario was to get a fair price; take out a small loan, which combined with their savings, would get them the house. If that happened, they would have enough left over, plus wedding presents and money that she knew much of her family would gift to them, to fix up their new home.

That was the best case scenario. Unfortunately, 'best case' didn't seem to agree with his aunt's agenda.

Fleur had sighed, staring up at Bill and feeling as frustrated as he looked. "There must be something we can do to get your aunt to reconsider such a high price?"

His eyes met hers then, though she felt a strangeness behind his gaze as if something was bothering him. He was actually staring right through her, clearly lost in thought, though in the end he just looked away and shook his head. "I don't think there is. We'll just have to wait and see what she says."

Wait and see. She wasn't good at waiting and seeing…

But they did, and it had taken a couple of weeks—his aunt had made them wait until the very last day of June—when she'd finally sent her owl with her desired price on it.

It had happened while she and Bill were in his room after dinner, both having worked earlier that day and doing what they always did after a long stressful day at Gringotts. It had become a bit of a tradition for the two of them to unwind alone together during this time—both of them needing to simply cuddle or talk about their days…or grouchy goblins, or angry bank patrons, or Molly's nonsense, or wedding concerns. It was their time—their sacred time—before they needed to rejoin society; back where the world and the war came screaming back into focus.

Fleur absolutely cherished this time.

And in this instance, she'd been lying on top of him, playfully kissing him all over his face—which generally led to different kinds of kissing; another benefit of this sacred time together—when the rustling sounds of something entering through the nearby open window snatched both of their attention. When they looked, an impressive looking eagle owl quickly dropped a letter on top of the dresser before immediately exiting straight back through the window it came from.

They glanced at each other before she leaned down and kissed him again, this time on the lips, before hopping off of him and going to fetch the message. Upon inspecting the envelope, the outside was addressed to him; there was no visible sender information.

"For you," she said, walking it back over to where he was still lying down. She handed it to him before she sat down beside him to watch as he opened it.

His expression didn't look entirely excited as he ripped open the envelope, which she could understand because nothing he received lately in the post was usually fun. His letters were almost entirely work related or coded messages from the Order instructing him of when he needed to turn up for a night watch.

"Let's see who needs something now," he muttered, his eyes now scanning the letter.

She smiled and began to affectionately rub his leg, still watching his face as he read. It had only taken a moment for his expression to turn from blank indifference to something resembling confusion. He'd started to frown a little.

"What is it?"

"My aunt's set her price for the cottage."

At that, Fleur practically dove in beside him to be able to see what he was reading. With her head now rested on his shoulder, she started to scan the handwriting, though his aunt's script was rather difficult to decipher straight away. She'd barely got a sentence in before Bill said, "She didn't go ten times over what she paid. She went seven."

She looked up at him. "And we wanted…?"

He continued to frown. "Five. Six was the high side. Seven is…" He handed her the letter and sighed in a way that she knew meant he was annoyed.

She pulled herself up to sit and look down at him, glancing over the letter but not really reading it. "What do we do now?"

He took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. "Well, if we proceed, we would need to take out a bigger loan, which I'm not excited about. But it's possible. Now it's just a matter of asking ourselves if this is what we want, because that number is…" he shook his head, "above our budget."

She stared at him.

"And we have to ask ourselves if that's something we want to do. If it's worth it."

It was what she wanted, but he had her second guessing herself. That was the thing about Bill, he grounded her in ways she'd never had to think about before. Her family had always had money and she'd never known a life where they simply didn't get what they wanted. They weren't exceptionally wealthy, but they'd always been comfortable. Budgets—if her parents ever had one—were wide and flexible. They may have set a number for something, but there was always wiggle room to go up a bit if necessary.

Bill had obviously not come from that sort of situation. Budgets for him were strict and specific. If he had a number, that was the budget. He may have had some wiggle room, but he didn't like to wiggle. Any extra money was supposed to be saved for emergencies or necessities—he was very much about saving. He hated the idea of impulse buying or spending more than he had planned; he was always fearful of over spending and not having enough money for what they needed.

Being with him had taught her that perhaps she couldn't have everything she wanted—at least not right away. She and Bill weren't her parents, not at this stage in their lives. They couldn't afford everything right now. Sometimes, sacrifices would have to be made.

But she hated the idea that Shell Cottage might have to be one of those sacrifices. It just seemed so perfect for them to start their new life in, and nowhere else in this country had made her feel so peaceful and...at home.

"Do you think we could find something similar somewhere else?" she asked, thinking that maybe they had the budget to find another place near the sea if they really looked.

He sighed and shrugged. "I think we'd be paying just as much, if not more for much less. We wouldn't be getting as much privacy, which as wizards is usually a good thing to have."

He looked back over at the letter from his aunt. "Perhaps my aunt is onto something with that number. I never really did take into account that we're not only getting the cottage and the land, but also the lack of neighbors for miles. After growing up here at the Burrow with all this space, I forget that's not always normal."

She nodded. She'd grown up with quite a bit of space as well. Perhaps not 'no neighbors for miles', but her family had their privacy. It was something valuable for magical people to have, though it wasn't a necessity. Plenty of wizards did live perfectly normally among Muggles…she and Bill had just never been those types of people. They would have to learn to do it if they made that choice.

He reached over and took her hand in his. "Hey. We can still make it happen. It'll be work, but we can do it. If this is what we want."

"Is this what we want?" she asked, meeting his gaze. "Because while I do, I sometimes wonder if you still—"

"It is what we want," he said without missing a beat, though she wasn't sure he was saying it because he meant it or because he was trying to appease her. He really was so laid back and agreeable at times; she often wondered just how much he gave up or worked toward just for her—for them.

She truly was so very lucky to have found someone who cared about her and what she wanted the way he did, but she was starting to wonder if all of this was worth it when—at the end of the day—home would be wherever the two of them ended up together.

As long as it was anywhere besides the Burrow…

" We want this," he reiterated, sitting up then and kissing her rather quickly and he moved to get off the bed. "And we will get it. It's decided."

She watched him curiously, wondering why he was standing up. As soon as he did, he said, "I'll owl Muriel tomorrow and counter her offer. I'll see if I can get her to come down a bit more, but I'm done having it out with her. I'm ready to get things moving. The wedding is less than a month away, and I'd like for us to have all of this settled beforehand, so…"

Wait? Did that mean they were going forward with this? That they would hopefully have the sale part of this done by the wedding so that then they could start the fun part? The moving part? The living in their own home part? The burning of ugly bird paintings part?

"Does this mean we are agreeing to pay…?"

"We're getting the cottage," he said matter-of-factly.

"Before the wedding?!"

He smiled. "Why not? That is what you want, isn't it?" When she slowly nodded, he added, "Good, because that's what I also want. It's time we just pay her the money and get our house."

This was happening! It was going to cost them more than they wanted, but…they would manage. They would. And she couldn't be more excited.

She jumped off the bed then and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him out of sheer elation. He kissed her back, grabbing her and pulling her toward him, both of them clearly happy that they'd finally made this decision. This was happening.

The way they were kissing, things could have led to even more of a celebration—one of the horizontal, bed squeaking kind—but Bill did suddenly pull back and let his eyes already offer an apology that she hadn't seen coming. "As much as I'd love to let this play out, I can't. I've got that thing at Hogwarts tonight."

"Thing at Hogwarts?" she asked, not entirely sure what that meant. "What thing?"

He rubbed his eyes. "I'm part of the watch tonight. Tonks and Remus are on it as well. Dumbledore's leaving the school tonight."

Fleur sighed. That sounded vaguely familiar. Whenever Dumbledore would leave the school on business lately, he always called in a backup of Order members to patrol and stand guard. Usually they'd only had to do the outside, but in the last several months—since Ron's poisoning—Dumbledore had asked for them to actually enter the castle as reinforcements if he was away. He never specified why he now felt it was necessary for them to be inside, but everyone knew better than to question Dumbledore's decisions.

While she had been asked a few times to stand watch outside the castle, she'd never been asked to do anything inside. Bill seemed to think it was because she wasn't as familiar with Hogwarts as everyone else, which was true. She could remember how maze-like it had felt the few times she had explored it the year she'd visited.

"But," he said with his sweet smile, making sure to meet her eyes. "Here's hoping whatever Dumbledore's up to doesn't go too late," he started rubbing the sides of her waist, "and we can continue where we left off."

She nodded and smiled, reaching up to kiss him again and now wondering what she was going to do with the rest of her night. She supposed she could work on seating charts for the reception…

When they pulled apart and he set about getting himself ready to depart for Hogwarts, he chose that moment to make one of his favorite, terribly morbid jokes that he often made before disappearing to do a watch. He did it every time.

"If I don't make it back alive," he said. "Just know I love you. And I'll do my best to haunt you."

She rolled her eyes—she hated that joke—and reached out to swat him, muttering, "I love you as well, but stop it! You know I hate when you say things like that."

He laughed. This back and forth always made him laugh. And when he laughed, it made his whole perfect, handsome face light up in the most lovely way. He had the best smile; the most joyful eyes when he was happy. There was nothing more beautiful to her than him when he was truly happy in a moment.

And while she couldn't have known it then, this moment—his face in that moment—would eventually become a memory that became forever frozen in time to her, similar to the first time she ever saw him. If she'd have known at the time it was the last time she'd ever see him like this, she likely would have savored the moment that much longer.

But she didn't know. She couldn't have known.

The month of June simply refused to go out quietly for her. It may have waited until its very last hours to do it this time, but one way or another, June was set on always changing her life forever.