Fleur made a mad dash down the corridor toward Bill's hospital room, absolutely cursing herself for not being here when he'd woken up. The Healers had assured her it would take him hours to come out of his sedated state, so she'd decided to go and shower—she hadn't in days—and take a quick nap since she also had barely slept. She wanted to be fresh and ready for Bill when he woke up, not stinky and tired.

But leave it to Bill to wake up after roughly twenty minutes instead of the hours the Healers had accounted for. He always was such an overachiever.

Fleur had been at the Burrow when Molly had returned to inform her of Bill being awake. He was apparently responding well to his potions and the Healers wanted to release him the following day, which was of course amazing news.

She'd also told her that he'd seen his face, which Fleur had immediately cursed loudly in French at. She cursed even louder once Molly warned her that when he'd seen his injuries, he'd gone straight into a dark place; that he was not in the best of moods.

It wasn't supposed to have happened this way. She had wanted to be there for him when he first saw his face. She had wanted to support him and tell him how much she loved him and how they would get through this. She had wanted to be his rock. Instead, not only was she not there when he woke up—the only time in two days she'd stepped away—he probably was having wild thoughts of her abandoning him now that he'd been injured and disfigured. That was the last thing she'd wanted.

She reached the door to his room and immediately pushed it open. With her bad luck, she would probably find him asleep or sedated again, but it seemed that wasn't the case. What she found was Charlie sitting in a nearby chair next to the bed playing cards with Bill while he sat propped up, his face bandaged again. His dressings weren't nearly as heavy as the last time she'd seen him; he looked far less like a mummy-ish now than he had in the last two days.

"There she is," Charlie said, throwing Fleur a lazy smile before looking back at Bill. "See, I told you. Mum's probably been home now for, what? Five minutes? And Fleur was here in six."

Not that Fleur didn't always appreciate having Charlie around when he visited, but he may as well be wallpaper right now for all she cared. She immediately breezed right past him and moved to the open side of Bill's bed, her eyes filling with tears for the first time in days—though these were the happy kind. She smiled as she took him in, wanting to kiss him so badly, but knowing she had tread carefully.

"You are finally awake," she said, taking his hand and kissing it since that seemed safe. She proceeded to squeeze it and not let it go. She wasn't sure she'd ever let it go.

Bill couldn't show much of a reaction, though she thought his eyes spoke volumes as they seemed to brighten. He squeezed her hand back tighter than she'd ever felt him squeeze before.

"Hey, beautiful," he managed to finally say. "You are a sight for sore eyes."

"Sore, swollen, bloodshot, lucky to still be in your skull…" Charlie quipped, tossing his cards onto the bed as he made to stand up.

Fleur threw him a look, since she knew Bill couldn't. It prompted him to add, "Right. Yes, I know. I'm going. I'll see myself out."

"I am so sorry I wasn't here when you woke up," Fleur said once they were alone, reaching up to touch his hair on the top of his head, which was happily visible again and no longer bloodstained like she'd last seen it. "I thought I had hours. I would have never left had they not told me I had hours."

"It's fine," Bill said, squeezing her hand again. "You're here now and that's all that matters."

His eyes looked sad and happy at the exact same time, which absolutely broke her heart and made the tears well more. All she wanted was to take the pain and sadness away by any means necessary. She likely could have been persuaded right then to seek the bloody Dark Arts out if it meant Bill could be happy.

She now understood how people could be drawn to something like that if they were weaker.

"You had me very scared," she whispered, letting a tear escape and run down her cheek.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching out to wipe the tear off of her face with his thumb, causing her to grab his hand and rest it against her face. "I really am so sorry."

She slowly shook her head. "You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault."

"If I'd just been more careful," he said, his voice sounding upset. "If I'd been paying better attention…"

"Bill, none of this is your fault," she repeated, though it didn't stop him from immediately recounting the battle from his perspective and what he could remember prior to his attack.

By the sounds of things, he'd been so concerned for Ron and Ginny's safety, he'd stop accounting for his own. He'd been brave and put his siblings first; he'd tried to protect them, which she expected nothing less from. He was naturally protective; she'd known that from the start of this relationship. Whether it was over his siblings as the oldest brother, over his family's name when people tried to disparage them, over the Order's secrets, over his mother when she was upset, and over her—her feelings, her thoughts, her place at the Burrow when his family disagreed with her or when people weren't getting along. He always stepped up. His protective instincts were part of who he was.

It was one of the reasons she loved him so much because she knew he would always be there for her.

He'd grown quiet for a long moment, his hand still squeezing hers as his eyes traced the ceiling. After about a minute, he said, "My face is a mess. It's…"

She squeezed his hand harder. "Your face will be fine."

He shook his head. "It won't. I've heard the word disfigured about ten times since I've woken up."

"People like to talk and carry around much doom and gloom," she said matter-of-factly. "I pay them no attention. I would rather keep a positive outlook."

He looked over at her. "Where's the positive in this?"

She shrugged as if that were a simple question. "You are alive. You were not taken from me. You have me." She pushed her hair out behind her ears and looked him in the eyes. "Because at the end of the day I do not care what you look like."

He stared at her as if he wasn't sure he believed that.

"Because I do not," she continued. "Because I know your face will not stay open and swollen forever. It will heal into scars, which will become very sexy."

He made a noise that sounded like a very doubtful laugh.

"They will," she said confidently. "I already know they will be sexy because they will show off your bravery. How you sacrificed yourself to protect others. Proof that you fought off a werewolf and not only lived to tell the tale, but also did not turn." She shrugged. "I will find them very sexy."

He continued to stare at her as though he still wasn't sure he believed that, which caused Fleur to decide to double down then and inform him of the thought that she'd had at least a hundred times since his attack. She'd practically rehearsed saying it to him because she knew he needed to hear it. And she knew he needed to hear it from her specifically.

"My love, I will not lie and say I did not love that face of yours," she said, rubbing her hand up and down his arm. "That face caught me, but it was not the reason I fell in love with you. You are the most caring, clever, amazing man I have ever met. No one makes me smile like you do. No one can I make eye contact with across a room and already know what I am thinking. No one can calm me down with just a look or a comforting touch as you can. No one can do what you do to me."

She waved her hand rather casually, as if this wasn't her confessing all of her most sacred thoughts to him but rather any normal sort of conversation. "While I can keep listing everything you do that makes me love you, we would be here for ages. But you must know that those things are why I love you and want to marry you. Those are the things that—I hope—will not change, even if your face has. Because it will take much more than some scars to scare me off from you. You are the person who completes me."

Bill didn't speak right away. He was hard to tell with all the bandages, but he might have been getting emotional. She saw him swallow hard and look up at the ceiling as if to avoid her gaze.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you," he managed to get out as he finally looked back at her. "I don't deserve you."

She smiled a little. "Yes, you do. You deserve the best. And that is what I am."

He laughed a little at that, which also made him recoil in pain and mumble how much that had hurt. That was a sign that his pain potion was wearing off and he was due for more soon. Fleur made a point to say she'd take care of it, immediately trekking off to fetch a nurse and remind them.

Potions were administered and bandages were changed, which allowed Fleur to see Bill's face for the first time since that morning. Perhaps it was wishful thinking but she thought it looked a bit better this afternoon; the swelling was really starting to subside. The Healers truly had done a remarkable job repairing what they could despite the cursed wounds.

Charlie had returned as well, having been nice enough to get Fleur a cup of tea and Bill some cold water since the Healers were still advising him against hot beverages. Watching Bill attempt to drink around his bandages was hard, but she made a point not to stare or draw attention to the fact that he was struggling. Charlie did the same, instead choosing to tell her some story about how he'd been stuck in this very hospital once when he'd been younger after nearly burning the Burrow down.

"How long are you planning on staying?" she asked him.

"I'll stay for the funeral tomorrow and leave after," he said, finishing up his tea and tossing his cup in the bin. "I need to get back to this newborn Horntail we've got."

"Wait? Dumbledore's funeral?" Bill asked, having set his glass of water aside. "That's tomorrow?" When Charlie and Fleur both nodded, he added, "I want to go. If I get out of here like they're saying, I want to go and pay my respects."

"Are you allowed?" Charlie asked.

"Why wouldn't I be allowed?"

Charlie made an obvious expression before pointing to his own face, indicating Bill's injuries would likely be a factor. Fleur had to admit she also was wondering if Bill should be out and about in his condition right away, but if it was important for him to attend and he was in any shape to do so, they would figure something out.

"I am sure we can make it work," Fleur said breezily, not at all concerned. "If the Healers discharge you, then I do not see why we cannot go."

"For the record, it's not that I don't think you should go," Charlie said. "It's more I don't want you overdoing it, Billy. Heal up properly, you know? Dumbledore would understand."

Bill sighed and looked away. "I'd like to go if I can. I'd regret it if I didn't."

"Just take it easy is all I'm saying," Charlie continued. "I know you, and I know with your need to never disappoint anyone, you'll push yourself to do things you may not need to be doing straight away. I'd wager that you've already started trying to figure out when you can get back to work. You're probably working the maths out in your head right now as to how many days you'd need off…"

Bill looked back at them, his tone alarmed. "Does Gringotts even know what's happened? Has someone contacted them—?"

"Yes, you workaholic knob," Charlie said with a funny look, though Fleur quickly assured him that they knew.

"I have spoken to them and they are well aware. They say to take your time. To feel better."

"The goblins said that?" Bill asked, his tone clearly not believing that.

She smiled as she sat back down beside him and again placed her hand on his. "I have taken care of everything and told everyone who needs to know. Your job now is to rest."

He took her hand into his and squeezed it again, which felt so cathartic after having no proper contact with him for days. All she wanted was to soak every second of this; to capture in a bottle and appreciate every day they were now allowed to have together.

"So I'm back to Romania tomorrow," said Charlie, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed the pair of them. "And seeing as I was due to see you two again at the end of the month for the wedding…" He paused and looked from one to the other. "I'm wondering—not to rush the conversation—but do we think that's happening as planned?"

Fleur looked down at her and Bill's hands. Obviously she'd thought about the wedding in the days since his accident. She'd contemplated postponements and cancellations. She'd realized they'd have to discuss if having it in three weeks was something they even wanted to do anymore; if it was even something they could do. Who knew if Bill even had it in him to now stand in front of a large group of people so soon after his injury? Who knew if he'd want to see anyone?

She'd had a feeling for days now that plans would have to change. She hadn't wanted to broach the subject with him yet because she hadn't wanted to bother him with such things. There were so many details and decisions to think about, and he wasn't ready for that. He didn't need to think about anything other than healing.

But they would need to figure something out in order to let people make plans. Charlie was staring at them this very moment, obviously in need of some sort of answer in order to get his life on schedule. Everyone was going to have the same question. Was the wedding still happening?

"There will likely be some changes," Fleur finally said with a nod. "There are many things we need to consider now. But as Bill's best man, you should certainly plan to come for the end of the month because, no matter if the wedding happens or not, Bill and I will be married. Whether that is at the Ministry, or the blasted Leaky Cauldron, or somewhere else, it will happen. I won't wait any longer."

Bill turned to look at her, but didn't say anything. She just felt his thumb running up and down her hand.

"Life keeps reminding us just how short it can be," she said. "And it is time we listened."

Bill's face had to get worse before it could get better. That's what the Healers told them.

A week after his attack, once they were back at the Burrow, the swelling had vanished and the wounds were starting to heal themselves with the help of routine ointment treatments, but parts had started to scab and look rough. While the open sores had been horrific, the scabbed over injuries and red and purple bruises weren't much better. They also seemed to hurt just as much seeing as they made Bill's face seem tights and scaly.

The ointments had now been paired with additional moisturizers—some of which were still getting applied hourly. Bill hated this process and was now at the point where he wanted to skip treatments entirely because he simply couldn't take it anymore. Fleur still religiously stayed on top of him, often waking multiple times a night to help apply creams.

Things were stressful. Bill was often irritable and went through mood swings and waves of depression by the hour, especially once he started weaning himself off his pain potions. He didn't seem to understand just how much pain he'd been in until he started cutting back on his doses.

Some days were better than others. On Monday he wouldn't want to get out of bed or leave his room, but then on Tuesday he could be found downstairs for small stretches of time talking to his parents or his siblings. He always made an effort to appear when Remus popped in, but other Order members were hit or miss if he even bothered to come downstairs.

He had become a bit of a recluse, not wanting to see many people in those early days. Fleur was the only one he let spend any real time around him, and for a while, they'd spent many of those long hours silently—her reading or attempting to work out this wedding; him sleeping or just staring into the void for hours on end.

He'd put in a leave of absence at Gringotts, so he had no work to distract him; Order business came and went, and while he tried to keep himself involved, Fleur and his parents were often relaying messages to him. With Dumbledore now gone, there was much confusion about who would take charge and what needed to be done. Kingsley and Mad-Eye had stepped up as the de facto leaders, and both were attempting to come up with a plan to move Harry at the end of the month; once he turned seventeen. He would soon no longer be protected by the ancient magic that kept him safe from You-Know-Who at his aunt and uncle's house, and it was apparently non-negotiable to get him away and back to the Burrow before that date.

That was yet another worry that sat on the horizon. Between Order shake-ups, the constant treatments, dealing with people, and Bill's varying moods, Fleur found herself constantly very tense. It didn't help that she never was quite sure which Bill she was going to wake up to, though to his credit, even when he was in a particularly foul mood, he was always quick to apologize and assure her it wasn't her.

"It's just the pain," he muttered to her one afternoon as he sat on the edge of his bed, his face currently covered in white ointment and nothing more since he'd given up wearing bandages during the day. "And the changes, and the…" He trailed off and stared out the window.

"I know," Fleur said from the cot she'd set up next to Bill's bed. It was easier this way given he needed his space. Also because, at least up until a few days ago, his face would still sporadically bleed, or ooze fluid, or get ointment everywhere. They'd been washing his bed linens daily.

"I fucking hate this…" he mumbled, often saying this multiple times a day lately.

"It will be easier once everything has properly healed," she offered. "The Healers have said in another week or so, when the scabs begin to scar over and the pain subsides—"

"I know what they said," he snapped, likely tired of the same story again and again that everyone kept repeating to him. "But right now it's not, and I fucking hate this right now."

She looked away but said nothing. This snapping had also become typical. She was giving him the benefit of the doubt since he was likely still in so much pain and the Healers had explained this sort of irritability was to be expected. She only hoped it was short term.

Bill sighed and immediately followed with, "I'm sorry. It's not you…"

"I know."

And she did know, though it didn't make it any easier most days.

For once in her life, she was actually happy for Molly's overbearing and interfering nature—something she'd never thought she'd ever say. What had started out as her assuming she could help Bill manage his treatments entirely on her own had quickly turned into her now readily allowing Molly to intervene whenever she offered. Which was often.

"He is in a mood today," Molly said one afternoon, roughly a week after Bill had returned home. She'd just returned from upstairs, having helped him apply his ointments, and found Fleur sitting at the kitchen table while Ginny made tea.

"Is it bad today?" Ginny asked as she fussed over a kettle. "He was in a good mood yesterday."

"Everyday is different," Fleur mumbled as she drummed her fingers on the table's edge. "Yesterday was one of his best days since the accident. Today…" She frowned.

Molly was nodding as if to agree, already charming teacups to set themselves on the table. "I don't think I've ever heard him swear quite so much…"

Fleur forced a smile as she watched them both work to get the tea ready. Bill wasn't the only one acting differently these days.

Molly had actually been downright pleasant since the accident, always asking Fleur if she needed help with anything—and not in a patronizing way, but genuinely. She never attempted to overstep herself with Bill or his treatment unless he or Fleur requested it, and had even taken to simple things like assisting with their laundry for them without having to be asked. Her entire demeanor toward Fleur had softened, which Fleur was still getting used to, but she did appreciate. She had enough on her plate with Bill.

Ginny also was similarly different, though it wasn't as obvious. Her snark and bark had disappeared as of late, though that also could be because she, too, had become a bit of a recluse. She spent a lot of time on her own either flying outside or alone in her room; it was clear she'd been affected by the events of late because she seemed a little haunted. Her eyes sometimes looked like she'd been crying.

When she was present however, while quieter, she was more helpful. This tea, for example. In the past she would have not even considered offering to make Fleur any, but today she'd walked in the room and asked her straight away if she'd like some.

It was all very nice, though Fleur would have much preferred it under different circumstances.

"How did the chat with your parents go?" Molly asked Fleur as she took to charming the kettle to pour hot water into each cup.

Fleur didn't answer immediately. In her mind, she was already reliving a conversation that had transpired about a half an hour ago; one where she'd sat down to speak to her parents about…well, everything. Her mother had owled her probably twenty times since Bill's accident—initially just for wedding questions, but after they'd read the news of an attack on Hogwarts and the mysterious murder of Dumbledore in the newspapers, which hadn't been reported nearly as accurately as what had happened, her messages had grown more urgent and concerned.

They were already terribly afraid of her living here with the war and the general chaos. Telling them what had happened to Bill—after years of her assuring them she was perfectly safe—was going to be difficult.

And that wasn't even taking into account all the last minute wedding tasks that she'd seemingly abandoned. She had planned on one more trip home before the wedding to finalize everything, but that had fallen through. Now she wasn't even sure there was going to be a wedding…at least not as they'd planned.

Still, she knew she couldn't avoid her parents forever.

"They were troubled to hear of Bill's attack," Fleur told Molly and Ginny as the image of her mother during their Floo Call, gasping in a rather horrified way after being told the news, would likely now stick with her forever. It had apparently been so loud, her father had come running into the room having assumed his wife was struggling for air.

"Est-il un loup-garou?" her father had asked once Fleur had assured them that Bill's injuries weren't life threatening; that he would have some facial scarring, but choosing to downplay the severity of it and instead focus on Bill being alive and recovering. That was what mattered most, after all.

And while her parents were happy to hear that, her father naturally went straight to the obvious question: Would he be a werewolf?

"Non," Fleur said, explaining to her parents in great detail everything she'd been told. She knew already that the news of Bill's attack would spread around her family like wildfire now that her mother knew. She would likely be getting asked about werewolves for ages…

"Qu'en est-il du mariage?" her mother asked, asking the next most obvious question. What about the wedding?

That question was harder. She didn't have the answer to that because she still had no idea what to do. She'd given herself a week after the attack to see how Bill was faring and how he felt about things, but with just over two weeks to go, she knew actual decisions had to be made. She couldn't keep hoping for a miracle, or for Bill to suddenly come to terms with his new situation and be back to his old self overnight.

Postponement was now the only thing that made sense. She'd asked her parents to contact everyone and put things on hold for the time being.

Both Molly and Ginny both looked at her sympathetically at hearing her officially announce the postponement. It was Molly who said, "I think we all assumed that would be the case. Even if Bill's injuries heal considerably in the next two weeks, just the work and the pressure to get everything done in time to travel and see everyone. Then take into account the Order's plans for Harry…"

"What are the Order's plans for Harry?" Ginny asked as she sat up straighter.

"Still being worked out," her mother said. "Though Mundungus actually had a suggestion about using decoys to move him that Mad-Eye said may be our best bet." She pulled a slight face. "To think it came from Mundungus…" Her eyes flashed in a rather disapproving way before adding, "Well, you know what they say about broken clocks being right twice a day."

Ginny nodded just as her mother added, "They're working that out, but according to Mad-Eye, he'll be moved from his Muggle relatives and brought here sooner than I thought."

"How soon is sooner?" Ginny asked rather urgently.

"Dumbledore was apparently very insistent on the date of his move. Kingsley said that it must be the Sunday before his birthday. I'm not sure why, but Dumbledore had his reasons."

She looked back at Fleur as if shifting gears back to her. "Now, trying to have such a big wedding so soon after everything's happened…it seems like quite a bit to deal with. No one will blame you for postponing."

She knew no one would, though she could not help the sick feeling of sadness that now settled in the pit of her stomach. She could never say it out loud given that there were so many more pressing matters at the moment, but she was truly crushed that her wedding—her dream wedding—was now…well, who knew if it would ever happen. Perhaps she'd been a fool to think she could get properly married in the middle of a war in the first place.

"I do wonder if we can still marry that day?" Fleur pondered out loud. "At the Ministry. Bill and I had spoken in the hospital about making the marriage official whether we had the wedding or not."

"Oh, well," Molly said, setting her teacup down. "That's positive news. If you do, perhaps we can have a little party afterwards? Invite some family and close friends. Have some dinner and cake." Her face brightened. "We can even do it out in the garden with some decorations."

"So…" Ginny said with a raised eyebrow. "Like a wedding reception?"

"Well, yes, but no," Molly said, "But not a proper one with all of those people." She turned toward Fleur. "You'd be welcome to invite your family, of course."

"This is starting to sound like a 'proper one with all those people'," Ginny said.

"Our family, plus Fleur's family, and a few close friends is not a proper wedding."

"It's a proper small wedding," Ginny countered. "The rate you're going, Mum, you sound as if you'll be asking Fleur to forget about the Ministry part and instead just have an officiant over in the garden for a small ceremony on top of the small party."

Molly was throwing Ginny a look as if she was being ridiculous, though she also seemed to not hate that suggestion either. "Well, that seems a bit much, but we could…"

"I was kidding."

Molly had stood up to grab at a calendar she kept in a cupboard. She was already checking dates. "Let's see. Now, Fleur, you were planning on getting married on that Saturday. You can't go to the Ministry on a Saturday because the registrar's offices will be closed, so the earliest you and Bill could be married after that is the following Monday…"

She paused suddenly, her face falling as she kept reading the calendar. "Oh, wait. I don't know if that will work. Because if Harry is definitely to be moved Sunday, then all of that is just getting very bunched up. Perhaps planning a party before we know what's happening with Harry isn't the best idea. Maybe later in the week?"

She flipped through her calendar for the next couple of days, mumbling, "Now what day does Harry's actual birthday fall on because we should also probably avoid that if we—?"

"It's on a Thursday," Ginny said automatically, as if she didn't have to think about that. It had been so quick, Fleur looked at her, surprised.

Ginny did nothing more than shrug. If Fleur had to guess, her feelings for Harry were still alive and well.

"Right," said her mother. "Well, it is on a Thursday." She looked back at Fleur. "Perhaps if you waited until that Friday—the first of August? Harry's move will be behind us. The registrar will be open, and we can plan something for the evening to celebrate?"

Fleur nodded a bit. It was an idea worth considering, sure. It wasn't the wedding of her dreams, but it was something—which was better than nothing.

Molly continued to stress that there was no pressure and no decisions had to be made unless Fleur and Bill wanted them to be. They could do something as small as a family dinner or a bit larger. According to Molly, there were so many options. Fleur just needed to let her know what she felt was the best.

And while it all sounded lovely, in the end, Fleur knew it wasn't entirely up to her…

"I told my parents that the wedding will be postponed," she said to Bill that night as she helped him put his ointment on for his latest treatment. He'd had a nap earlier in the afternoon and seemed to be in decent spirits that evening. She'd decided to take the opportunity to finally have a proper discussion with him.

He looked up at her curiously, both eyes now visible these days since the swelling in his one eye had disappeared. Again, it could be Fleur's imagination, but his face truly was looking better every day. She could already start to make out the scar patterns and how they would heal.

"It needed to be done," she added, gently rubbing white cream into one of his more severe spots. "People have been asking. I did not want to put pressure on you to force your recovery. Our wedding is supposed to be a joyful occasion, not a stressful one."

He didn't argue with her; his silence seemed to say that he agreed with that.

"I know we have talked about it, but I do think we should still get married very soon," she added, finally finished with his face and reaching over to grab a hand towel to clean herself. "If that is something you want to do."

"Of course I want to," he said, speaking up finally. "If you still want to marry me, I still want to marry you."

She met his gaze rather sharply. "If I still want to marry you? Why would you be saying 'if'?"

His expression was silently stating the obvious; he may have even been presenting his face as evidence. Fleur let her own expression remain firm and unchanging, almost daring him to say the words out loud.

"I just want to make sure this is something you still want," he muttered. "Things have obviously changed from when you entered into this agreement."

She forced herself not to roll her eyes. He was in a strange headspace lately, she didn't need to make him feel bad about that. "Things will always change. That is life. We would be fools to expect everything to stay the same as always. What matters is how we grow with these changes."

She tossed the towel to the side. "As I was saying, I was thinking the first of August would be good. That will have given you more time to heal. It is also a Friday, so the registrar will be available to marry us. Your mother has already offered to throw us a party afterwards—"

"You've talked about this with my mother?"

"It came up as an idea and she became excited," she said, sitting down beside him on the bed. "People are asking questions, Bill. I did not want to burden you with them."

"I don't consider us getting married a burden…"

"I should hope not," she said. "But the planning and the smaller details did not interest you much before the attack. Why should they interest you now?"

He seemed to concede to that, though did mumble rather grumpily, "Not as if I have much else going on…"

"That will change soon," she said as she stood. "You are supposed to be recovering now, so do that. I will take care of everything else." She paused to reach out and brush back a stray piece of hair that had fallen onto his face and was stuck to his ointment. "As long as you are in agreement for the date—"

"Is going to the Ministry really what you want to do?" he asked.

"What I want is to marry you. The parties and celebrations do not matter to me anymore. I only want us to be together."

She then leaned in and kissed him very gently on his lips, which she hadn't done since his accident. She kissed so many other parts of him, but she'd been avoiding most of his face to save him the pain that everything that touched it seemed to cause him.

But earlier in the day she'd noticed he'd been wincing and complaining much less with each ointment treatment; that things didn't seem to hurt as much. She'd taken a chance.

"Did it hurt?" she asked once she pulled away and examined his expression.

He'd cracked a little smile—a rare sight since he didn't smile much lately. This was the first once she'd seen him muster that didn't also make him wince.

"Kissing you could never hurt," he said before he let himself nod with a purpose. "Alright then. The first of August, it is. Let's get married."