What had started as a family dinner to celebrate their nuptials had very quickly become a small party in the garden. But that small party in the garden started to become not-so-small once Fleur and his mother started to really talk about it…
"I'm confused," Bill said to Fleur a week after the idea of having a party had first been suggested. He was up and about now more, his face healed more given two weeks had passed since the attack. Everyone claimed that it looked better too, though that he wouldn't know. He'd taken to avoiding mirrors at all cost.
But the physical pain was almost entirely gone, and while he still had his moments where, mentally, he wanted to just scream into the void at how fucking unfair it all was—how he wanted to throttle that monster Greyback with his bare hands—he knew he couldn't hide in his room for the rest of time. Not with a war to fight and a fiancée that, if he wanted to keep her, he would need to make an effort at being more present.
He'd lost a lot lately, but he refused to lose her too. She'd been nothing short of amazing these last two weeks, and if that meant letting her do whatever she wanted when it came to this "small" party then so be it.
"Why are you confused?" Fleur asked, glancing up from the kitchen table where she and his mother were sorting through a small stack of parchment that sat in between them.
"Because this is starting to feel far less like a small party," Bill continued, picking up a parchment receipt Fleur had acquired for…an ice sculpture? "and far more like an actual reception."
"Well, it's a scaled back version," his mother said, tending to some of the catering documents she'd been looking over as a help to Fleur. "Not as many people, you see. The decorations aren't as extravagant. The menu will be much smaller." She smiled at him. "It really is just a small party in the garden when you think about it."
"When I heard 'small party,'" Bill said, "I assumed fifteen to twenty people and some cake."
"Your numbers were only a bit off, dear," his mother said, handing Fleur her parchment and telling her that everything was perfectly in order. "It's more like fifty to sixty people."
"But zere will be cake," Fleur said with a smile, popping up from her chair to kiss him where he stood. As soon as she'd pulled away however, her face fell a little and she began scanning the table. "Speaking of cake, did we order ze cake?"
His mother was already nodding and grabbing at more papers. "Yes, the purchase receipt is somewhere in this pile…"
"What is happening?" Bill asked, rather bewildered.
And to be honest, Fleur didn't seem entirely sure either, though she was happily going with the flow. What had started as a small, intimate affair had snowballed into caterers, musicians, and ice sculptures. It was honestly madness how quickly everything had come together. As his mother told it, a simple inquiry into some food and table rentals had led them down a path of speaking to people who were more than eager to help plan a real party.
Apparently given the war and the general gloom of the current climate, proper wedding celebrations weren't in high demand. The proprietors and people who catered to such celebrations seemed desperate for some kind of business, and so many were available at a moment's notice. Many were making offers that were simply too good to turn down.
What had taken Fleur nearly a year to plan in France had taken days here in England; it all just kept coming together. And while it wasn't quite the same level of elegance and extravagance she'd originally set out to achieve, it seemed close enough. For a last minute change of plans, it was remarkable.
His mother had even found an officiant who was free that day and claimed he would happily perform the life bonding ceremony, so now they didn't even need to go to the Ministry anymore.
His mum had started contacting everyone on their side to let them know of the change, and Fleur had contacted her parents to have them do the same on her end. She feared her side of the guest list would likely shrink considerably with people not being able to make the last minute trip—or not wanting to because of the stories they'd heard about Voldemort—but she was holding out hope that those closest to her would still come.
Somehow, seemingly overnight, they had got themselves an actual wedding.
"Are you alright wiz zis?" Fleur asked Bill later on once his mother had gone and it was only the two of them in the kitchen.
"Why wouldn't I be alright with this?" he asked absently, reading over the proposed list of music.
"Because everyzing fell into place so quickly," she said, reaching out to brush his arm. "I did not stop to zink how you feel about it becoming a more grand affair—"
He smiled at her. He was back to smiling more regularly—at least at her. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I'm just glad we could end up salvaging a wedding after all because I know it was important to you."
She threw him a playful look—one that said just how pleased with herself she was. "Oh, zis will be far more zan 'salvaging'. You wait and see. It will be perfect."
He laughed a little, not doubting that for a second. "And your family? They're alright with—?"
"We will have to see 'ow most of zem feel," she said as her face dropped off a bit sadly. "I have already received four owls from various families, apologizing because they cannot make the trip." She looked back at him. "One said it was because they do not feel it is safe."
They'd expected that, but he knew it still crushed her a bit each time someone on her end declined. Still, at the end of the day, there were really only maybe ten people she really cared about coming. They were the ones who were most important to her.
"And what about your folks?" he asked.
"Zey are coming," she said, smiling then. "Zey were 'esitant, but your mozer and fazer assured zem zat zey would be safe 'ere. Zey invited zem to stay at ze Burrow."
Bill's eyes went a little wide. Was she serious? First of all, their parents had talked? They'd never met before—they didn't speak the same language—so this was surprising to hear. Second, they were coming to stay at the Burrow? Her posh and sophisticated parents were coming to stay…here?
Where the hell were his parents going to put them?
"Our parents talked?" Bill asked.
"As much as zey could," she said. "I translated, of course. By ze end of ze chat, my parents agreed zey would come and stay 'ere."
He blinked. Shit was getting weird by the day around here.
"Your folks at the Burrow…?" he managed to mutter. When Fleur nodded slowly, trying not to laugh at what had to be pure disbelief in his expression, he mumbled, "Well, that'll be…"
He didn't know what to finish that sentence with so he didn't, and it made both of them laugh. It felt good to share a simple laugh again. It felt good to know he still had that in him…
As the afternoon progressed and Fleur walked him through more party plans, the twins popped in randomly for dinner. This wasn't out of the ordinary, though Bill was happy to see they were capable of looking him in the eye again and acting normal. They'd visited him in the hospital and, like with Charlie, an uncharacteristic quiet side had emerged from the pair in his presence. George especially—who's always been the more sensitive of the two—didn't seem to know what to do at first and made an excuse to leave after a few minutes, whereas Fred at least put on a braver face and tried to carry on as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
Still, it was very evident he was trying hard to act that way.
Each progressive visit they were getting better and better. By now, they'd either gotten entirely used to things and were tired of acting weird, or his face wasn't nearly as bad as it had been before. They'd fallen right back into the old habit of cracking jokes and being nuisances. Bill wouldn't have had it any other way.
Their arrival also happened to coincide around the same time Ron and Ginny returned from a long afternoon spent working in the garden. The latter pair had originally planned on some flying and general summer laziness until their mother set in on them to help start tending to garden chores. According to her, there would be a wedding here shortly and there was much work to be done.
"I would like to personally thank you both for changing your wedding venue," Ginny said grumpily once she and Ron marched into the house before dinner, both of them looking dirty, tired, and sweaty.
"You're welcome," Bill joked without missing a beat. He tossed a piece of carrot at her that he'd just finished chopping for dinner. Fleur was cooking tonight and he'd been helping her prep.
"Oh, look at you two," George said from his seat at the table, where he and Fred hand planted themselves once they arrived. They were both watching Ron and Ginny as they gulped down glasses of water at the sink. "Such hard little workers."
"Is the garden nice and de-gnomed?" Fred quipped, smirking at the pair. "You didn't miss any, did you? Because if you did, you know they'll all be right back in the morning."
"Piss off," Ron muttered between gulps. Ginny proceeded to pour what little bit of water was left at the bottom of her glass on Fred's head.
After some swearing and wet hair flinging—that part Fleur scolded him for because he was flinging his wet head all over her food preparations—Fred turned to the rest of them and said, "I miss loads about living here, but not the housework. Never that. For that, I'm glad I'm gone."
"Don't think I won't put you to work just because you don't live here anymore!" their mother's bodiless voice suddenly called from…somewhere. They all stopped and looked around confused, with Ginny figuring out that it had come from just outside an open kitchen window.
Their mother was just outside in the garden. She added after the fact, "With so much to do in the next few weeks, everyone is expected to do their part!"
"She's honestly everywhere," George whispered, gesturing for Ron to shut the window since he was closest.
"She's always been everywhere," Ron whispered back, closing the window as he'd been instructed. "And this wedding stuff is going to make her go mental."
"Going to make her?" Ginny asked, wiping some of the dirt off of her face. "It's already started…"
Dinner was quite the success, in more ways than one. Fleur had finally got to make an entire meal at the Burrow without a single objection or suggestion from his mother. She'd been so focused on tending to her roses bushes all afternoon—"they're well overdue for a good pruning! Especially with so many people coming!"—that she'd simply left Fleur to her own devices.
And the food had been delicious, which Bill wasn't surprised by, but it was nice to hear so much positive feedback from the others. She'd outdone herself, and he'd been sure to tell her that—while he wasn't sure what she'd done differently this time—this may very well have been the best steak he'd ever had.
"Maybe it's because I've finally got my appetite back," he told her, staring down at his empty place. "It hasn't been around much lately."
She was looking at him a little funny, and only then did he realize she'd barely touched her own dinner. Her tone was curious when she asked, "You enjoyed it?"
He wasn't sure why she was surprised. He loved her cooking. "Yes?"
She hummed and glanced back down at her own barely touched steak. "I 'ad given you my plate by mistake, but you 'ad already eaten most of mine before I realized. Zis was yours."
"Was there a difference?"
"Only ze way it was cooked." Her face turned curious. "You usually prefer it not so…rare." She gestured to her plate. "You prefer zis."
He'd barely noticed, but she was right. Actually, looking at the meat on her plate, oddly enough he was now starting to understand why she'd commented a time or two about his family for meat that was too 'done.' Her steak looked like shoe leather…
After dinner, their mother was back to tending to her roses while there was still a little daylight left, and Fred and George were made to do the dishes since she had heard them teasing Ron and Ginny about needing to get back to their chores and to be sure to clean up after everyone. Both of the youngest siblings took a moment to gloat as they enjoyed seconds of pudding while Fred and George charmed plates to clean themselves.
"Laugh it up," George muttered to a very amused Ron and Ginny.
"Oh, we are," Ron said with his mouth full. "This is very funny."
"Speaking of funny things," Fred said, suddenly turning to his sister and making a point to look at her. "George and I saw Katie Bell the other day. She had some…interesting things to say about you, Gin."
"What are you on about?" Ginny said, her eyebrow raised in a way that didn't seem particularly excited about what was to come next. If it was important enough for Fred and George to bring special attention to it, it likely wasn't something she wanted to hear.
"Well, according to her, you and Harry have been…busy."
It was the way Fred had said 'busy' that caught everyone's attention because it was unlike the way he—any of them—usually did things. While he was clearly insinuating something, his tone was serious. Usually when one of the twins brought up something like this, they took the piss on whomever their target was. It would be played for laughs that someone dared to have romantic intentions. It's how they all worked.
This time though, the comment felt heavy. Even Fred's face—along with George's, since he was looking at Ginny too—was weighty. Bill couldn't help but let his eyes jump to Ginny as well. If this meant what he thought it meant—that she and Harry had got together—then this was big news. Not surprising news, Fleur had called it a year ago, but big news.
Ginny had barely reacted, though the amusement she'd been carrying moments earlier was now gone. Her face had dropped and she was staring rather fixedly at the bottom of her bowl. Ron had stopped eating as well; his eyes jumping between the twins and Ginny.
"Busy, how?" Bill said, asking the obvious question since no one else wanted to say it.
"You know, busy," Fred muttered at the same time George said, "Verrrrrry busy."
"I don't think it was that busy," Ron quipped.
Ginny rolled her eyes and stood up abruptly from the table. "Stop saying the word 'busy'. All of you. You sound like idiots."
And with that, she turned and suddenly walked to the kitchen door to exit out into the early evening. She let the door slam behind her.
The room went oddly silent, which was a rare sight when there were four Weasley boys present. It may have actually been a bit of a record in this kitchen.
"Alright, what exactly did you hear?" Bill asked the twins.
"That she and Harry are dating," George said. "Katie told us—"
"Were," Ron corrected. "They were dating."
Everyone turned to Ron, who sighed heavily and looked as if he clearly didn't want to talk about this. "They split up."
"Wait, what?" Bill said, looking as if he had several questions. Everyone apparently did, and they were all now headed straight at Ron at the exact same time.
When did this happen? How did this happen? How long were they together? Why'd they split up? When did they split up? How serious were they? Why didn't Ron stop it?
That one made Ron laugh, as if he had any say in things. He shot both of his twin brothers a look. "You go and tell Ginny what to do. Let me know how that goes."
No one argued that, though the overall consensus seemed clear. While all of this had taken them by surprise, it felt that they were—at least, Bill knew he was—more concerned about the 'what ifs?' this creates. What if something happened to Harry? What if someone tried to use Ginny as bait to get to him? You-Know-Who did that once, what if he did that again? He didn't want to see a repeat of the year she'd been possessed. That year had done a real number on her.
"Look," Ron suddenly said in a harsh whisper as he stood up and—in a rare showing of firmness with the rest of them—said, "We're done talking about this right now because mum and dad cannot know. I'm serious. Things cannot get strange around here for Harry."
He looked at the kitchen door that Ginny had vanished through minutes earlier. "At least, not stranger than it'll already be once Harry turns up and those two have to deal with whatever they're…."
He trailed off and looked back at the rest of them. "You haven't noticed how sad she's been lately? How much she's been keeping to herself? She's really upset about them splitting up."
"I assumed she was upset about what happened to Bill," George muttered. "And the attack at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore…"
"Yeah, you can't exactly blame us for not going straight to 'breaking up with her boyfriend' when everything else has also gone to shit lately," Fred said.
"Well, now you know," Ron said, his tone still firm. "But we're done talking about this because this is the only proper home Harry's got right now, and it doesn't need to be some place where everyone's going to make things weird all of the sudden because he and Ginny went out for a bit."
"No one's going to be weird with Harry," Fred said with a roll of his eyes, to which George nodded and added, "We like Harry, why would we—?"
"Mum will be weird!" Ron said, back to his whisper. "She will be weird if she thinks Ginny and him are…" He looked over at Bill and then Fleur. "She gets weird about that stuff. You know what I'm talking about."
They did know—Merlin, did they know. Fleur's face actually flashed for a moment that she knew better than anyone, but Bill couldn't help but think the situation was entirely different. Their mother clearly loved Harry like a seventh son and would probably welcome him with open arms. Fleur unfortunately hadn't gotten that sort of reception. Fleur and Harry would likely follow very different paths when it came to Molly Weasley's affections.
"Ron's right," Bill said, glancing over at his youngest brother and feeling proud of him for attempting to protect his best friend from a family dynamic he was all too well aware of. It was clear just by his conviction that he did not want this thing with Ginny to change things around here for Harry because…it could. Not that it should, but it could.
"The last thing Harry needs right now is more stress," Bill added. He made a slight face and lowered his voice. "Especially the kind that comes with mum if she even suspects he and Ginny might be—if she figures out they have a past."
He looked at each of them slowly. "This doesn't leave this room. Not unless Ginny decides it does."
No one spoke, though the silence carried a mutual agreement among the group. There truly were so many more pressing matters at the moment, and Harry needed a safe and comfortable place to come to—not one filled with piss-taking brothers and nosy mothers who found their way into business that didn't concern them. Bill knew just how awkward his mother could make things when it came to this sort of thing.
They were fortunate that their conversation wrapped when it did, since not even two minutes later, their mother had bustled back into the kitchen with a package of sorts—a large green box about three feet long and two feet wide. She immediately set it on the table, claiming two large owls had just dropped it off along with some other post.
"A letter for you Bill," she said, handing him a plain looking envelope. "And this—" she pushed the box down the length of the table toward Fleur, "is for Fleur."
"More wedding surprises?" Bill asked, setting his letter down as he pushed the box along the rest of the way toward her.
Fleur smiled, as if to say that was likely exactly what it was, and started inspecting it for a return address or some identifying marker. The more Bill watched, the more he realized it was a garment box of some kind—the type where the lid popped right off—and it was tied together with a white string. Fleur reached for her wand to sever the string, and once she did, she pulled the lid off to look inside.
"What is it?" his mother asked curiously, also apparently under the impression that it was something for the wedding.
Given Fleur's expression, she didn't seem to know what it was. She knitted her eyebrows and immediately reached inside to pull out a shiny, gold fabric of some kind. After a moment, it registered to Bill that it was a gown. There was a pink one in the box as well that Fleur was now also removing and setting on the table.
"Oh, those are lovely," said his mother, smiling. "What are they for?"
Fleur said nothing for a long moment, still staring at the gold dress that remained in her hands. "Zey are my bridesmaids' gowns..."
His mother made a rather excited noise as she went around the table to look at the pink one, still going on about how beautiful they were. Fleur, however, was not responding. In fact, the more Bill watched her face, the more he started to realize something was wrong.
Fleur had retrieved a note from inside the box and was now opening it. It didn't look very long, but Fleur seemed to take ages to read it. The longer he watched her, he soon sensed she wasn't reading it anymore at all. She was now staring through it, her face tightening and her eyes looking shiny and blank.
"What is it?" he said, standing then to try to see the note for himself. She didn't try and stop him—she didn't even move—but it didn't make a difference. It was in French and he couldn't read it.
"Is something wrong?" his mother asked, noticing Fleur's sudden change in mood. Everyone seemed to. Fred and George were now glancing over sneakily at Bill as if to ask what happened. Ron was making a point to look everywhere but at Fleur.
"Excuse-moi," Fleur said, her voice overwhelmed with emotion as she stepped away from the table. She immediately exited the kitchen toward the sitting room. Bill suddenly got four identical looking expressions staring back at him, all silently asking what that was.
He grabbed his own letter and shoved it in his pocket before immediately going after her, catching her before she was about to go out the front door and out into the evening. Rushing outside seemed to be the exit of choice for many of the women in this house tonight.
"Fleur, wait. What…?"
"I am fine," she said, not sounding fine at all but turning to face him with a brave face that she'd put on. "I only need some air. A few minutes on my own. Please."
He nodded. "Whatever you need. But did something happen?"
She swallowed something and looked away. He hated to say it, but he'd seen that look of sadness and disappointment on her far too much lately. He'd also seen her try to hide it just as much.
"Zey are not coming," she finally said. "Inés , Meline, zeir family— my family. Zey will not make ze trip. It iz too dangerous and zey do not feel safe. Zey sent ze dresses to me so I could find someone else."
Bill felt his shoulders slump. Fleur was very close to her cousins and, outside of her parents and her sister, they were the ones Fleur had most hoped would make it. Everyone else could have canceled—and many of them were—but she'd really, really wanted them there.
"I'm so sorry," he said.
She nodded, already trying to play it off as if it didn't hurt as much as it did. "I will be fine." She put her hand on the door knob. "I only want some air."
"I'm here if you need me," he offered, though she appeared to be half listening. He watched as she grabbed his traveling cloak and wrapped it around her. She was gone in the next second, the door shutting quietly behind her.
He sighed. This was…not good. That was really going to upset her. Fleur was strong, but with all this constant disappointment lately, there was likely only so much more she could take.
He turned to head back into the kitchen, though as he walked he remembered his own post letter that he'd shoved into his pocket. He reached his hand down and pulled it out, absently opening and scanning it to see what it said.
But what he read made him stop dead in his tracks.
"Holy shit..."
Fleur walked around the side of the house toward the back garden. Darkness had settled in for the night and a half moon was clear in the sky now. It felt colder than it should have for July.
There was a picnic table near the orchard and the edge of the garden that she immediately went and threw herself down on. The sounds of the wind rustling through the trees, an owl hooting in the distance and some gnomes trudging their way back over the nearby property line were the only sounds breaking up an otherwise silent night.
She watched the gnomes for several minutes as she digested yet another round of bad news—the sort of news that was all too common these days.
Her bridesmaids had canceled and their family was not making the trip. Her second family that she'd grown up with had made their choice. She knew she shouldn't even be surprised. It wasn't as if Inés hadn't told her this exact scenario would happen if she had her wedding in England. They had made no secret that they were afraid to travel here; afraid for her while she lived here. In her letter, Inés had said that while they thought long and hard about whether they could actually manage coming, Bill's injury had shaken them to the core. They couldn't do it. They were so, so, so very sorry and would make it up to her somehow.
And while they hadn't broken their word or done anything they said they wouldn't do…it felt as if they had. They were her cousins—her bridesmaids. She had secretly hoped they would have changed their minds for her; them not attending felt like a giant hole had now emerged right in the middle of her plans. This hurt more than she could have possibly imagined.
She thought of the two dresses that were now sitting on the kitchen table inside of the Burrow. Inés and Meline felt it was important to send them so that she had time to find someone new to fill them, but that was almost laughable. Who was she going to find at a moment's notice to stand up with her in her wedding? This wasn't a caterer or a baker—you don't just ask anyone to be your bridesmaid. It wasn't as if she had any real friends or family here...
The sound of footsteps caught Fleur's attention, and for a moment she felt the prickle of fear on the back of her neck. Here she was, sulking and sitting on her own with her defenses down, when who knew what could be out there lurking. Yes, the Weasleys had charms and spells to protect the Burrow, but if someone had managed to kill Dumbledore, then anything seemed possible these days. All these security measures didn't seem as foolproof as they once had.
She reached for her wand, but it turned out only to be Ginny, who'd appeared suddenly from the direction of the orchard. She stopped in her tracks, startled, when she saw Fleur sitting nearby.
"Why are you out here?"
Fleur didn't say anything. She just took a deep breath to compose herself.
Ginny had wandered closer, seeing as the table was along the path back toward the Burrow. She did stop when she was within a few feet to ask, "Is everything alright?"
Fleur shrugged lamely. "I found out some of my family will not be coming to the wedding. They feel coming here is too dangerous, especially after what happened to Bill."
Ginny frowned a little. She shifted her weight awkwardly on her feet.
"They were also my bridesmaids," she said, her voice faraway. "So now, not only will I not be able to celebrate with some of my most beloved family, I also have lost…"
She didn't finish that sentence. She instead stared sadly up into the night sky before muttering, "None of this was meant to happen. Not like this."
She was only partially talking about the wedding and the bridesmaids—those being some of the many things this war had decided to destroy. Outside of people's lives, her fiancé's face, her ability to sleep peacefully, her happiness, her mental health, her safety…It was taking its toll on everything.
"Yeah, You-Know-Who has a way of ruining everything, big and small," Ginny said quietly, walking over to lean against the edge of the tabletop.
Fleur nodded, but didn't look at her. She was still too busy feeling sorry for herself that it took her a moment to remember why Ginny was out here in the first place; that she likely very much understood the toll this war was taking on people's lives and relationships as well.
She looked over at her, watching as Ginny stared off into the distance at nothing in particular, but still looking as if she was watching it closely. Perhaps it was because Fleur just wanted to think about something else other than how much bad news she kept receiving—maybe misery was simply happy to have a little bit of company to commiserate with—because while she would have never bothered before since it just wasn't how she and Ginny interacted, everything else was changing. Why shouldn't this change this too?
"I am sorry about you and Harry," she offered.
Ginny shrugged, but didn't look at her. "It happens. It's over now, so…" She trailed off before taking a deep breath and looking back at the Burrow. "I care more now about that lot running their mouths and making a big deal out of things."
"They will not," Fleur said, retelling her the conversation the boys had earlier about keeping the peace and not adding extra stress into Harry's life. Ginny seemed hesitant to believe any of it, which made sense when you realized how most of her brothers were rarely of the peace keeping variety.
"Nice of them to consider Harry's feelings instead of mine," she muttered, rolling her eyes as she plopped down onto the seat across from Fleur. "Merlin forbid they just leave it alone because it's none of their business."
Fleur forced a watery smile as if to agree. "When everyone is closely involved, people find it hard not to make it their business. That is life, I have learned."
Ginny didn't say anything to that. She'd started absently running her fingers over a knot in the wood of the table. Fleur found it curious that she was still even here. There was a time not so long ago where the idea of them being one-on-one would have been what Ginny considered pure torture. She really must have wanted to avoid her brothers right now.
"Did you want to talk about it?" Fleur asked.
Ginny looked up at her, and Fleur immediately detected two completely contradicting responses in her face. A part of her was screaming she absolutely did not; that it was a dumb question. However, the other part seemed appreciative to have been asked because no one else had; that she desperately did have something to say
It was a look Fleur was all too familiar with from her own experiences. Whether it was her own hurt feelings when she'd been younger or a friend's broken heart, she could remember the times she'd so badly wanted to talk about that boy, whomever it was at the time, because it meant she wasn't trapped alone in her thoughts with him. Her cousin, Meline, was the queen of this—even if Fleur didn't want to think about her much at the moment. When Meline had a broken heart, the world needed to hear about it. It was part of her process to grieve the relationship.
And by the looks of things, Ginny hadn't grieved hers. Given everything Fleur had seen of her lately, she'd holed herself away and kept mostly to her own thoughts. She had six older brothers who didn't offer much in the way of emotional support—unless taking the piss on each other counted—and it was clear she didn't speak about these sorts of things with her parents.
She likely had friends since she seemed popular, though who knew how they factored now that it was summer holidays and Ginny was stuck at the Burrow. She and Hermione seemed close, but Hermione was clearly Harry's friend first and foremost, so Fleur didn't know where her allegiances fell when it came to that split. If she had to guess, likely to Harry…unless he'd been the one to do something awful to cause the split.
All Fleur knew was that she was willing to listen if Ginny was willing to talk. Nothing about this interaction between them was normal, but then again, what was normal these days? Normal didn't exist anymore.
"It is your choice, of course," Fleur added. "But I have always been a good listener about boys and relationships." She sighed. "And if I am to be honest, I would love a distraction from the madness that is my life right now."
Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but immediately shut it. She did it again, and for a brief moment Fleur thought she was about to stand and leave and tell her to mind her own business. What she got was Ginny finally mumbling, "What's to say? Harry and I got together and now we're not. That's it."
"How long were you together?"
"Two months."
That was longer than Fleur had originally thought. "I cannot believe you and Harry were together for two months and we are only now hearing about it. Harry cannot usually sneeze without it making the newspapers."
Ginny grinned a little. "Yeah, well this actually happened. The papers tend to print false stories about him. That's what they do." She looked away. "Nothing about this was fake."
After a beat pause, she cleared her throat. "I figured the news would get out fast once we left school. You heard Fred and George. People talk. It's only a matter of time before everyone knows, but I was hoping to keep it quiet as long as I could so people didn't make a big deal of it."
Fleur stared at her, wondering why she kept defaulting to this idea that it wasn't a 'big deal' when, to Ginny, it clearly was. She could see it in her body language; the way she spoke Harry's name.
"But it was a big deal, was it not?"
Ginny looked up at her as if she didn't understand the question. "What?"
"It was a big deal," Fleur repeated. "I have been told that you have had feelings for Harry for ages. Years, it seems. If you finally got the boy you wanted after all of that time, that would have been a big deal, no?"
"Who told you it was ages?" Ginny asked. "Who said—?"
Fleur waved her off as if she wasn't in the mood for these defensive, denial games Ginny wanted to play. She may have had to put that front up with her brothers, but Fleur had no time for it.
"Is it not true? I see it with my own eyes whenever he is here how you feel about him. It is very obvious."
"It was…not," she mumbled, looking away. She didn't seem confident in that response.
"And I could tell he had feelings for you at Christmastime," Fleur continued. "It only seemed a matter of time before something happened. So much build up for you—years of it." She looked her in the eyes. "You do not have to pretend it was not a big deal when everything else about you screams that it was."
Ginny stared back, her expression looking torn between wanting to curse her where she sat while also looking as if she'd been smacked rather unpleasantly with the truth. Ginny may have always been rather discreet with her feelings around the Burrow, but she needed to realize she wasn't invisible.
She finally heaved a very heavy breath—one Fleur was all too familiar with lately since it usually served as a precursor to letting an emotion hit you harder than normal in that moment.
"It was a big deal to me," she finally said. "I'm not saying it wasn't—because it was—but I just don't want it to be a big deal to anyone else because then it feels like everyone's invading my relationship and my feelings. And I don't want anyone to be a part of that. It's mine and Harry's."
Fleur nodded as she watched Ginny fidget where she sat. "You cared about him a great deal."
"I still do…" She trailed off, her eyes dropping to the table. "I always have. I tried to quit him when I figured he'd never feel the same and he was interested in other girls. I tried…." She looked back at Fleur. "But I wasn't any good at that. No matter how hard I tried, a part of me is always..."
She trailed off.
Fleur observed her carefully, watching her face as if it had more clues than her words did. "Is always in love with him? You are still in love with him?"
She nodded slowly. "More than ever. Those two month were the best months of my life." She started tying her fingers up together in an anxious way that didn't seem particularly like her. "I think he'd say the same. He told me something like that…"
"Why did you two end things?"
Ginny's eyes turned stony and cold. She looked hurt and angry at the same time. "Because he's trying to protect me. He thinks You-Know-Who will use me—hurt me—to get to him." She looked back at Fleur. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Harry's got this thing about saving people."
Fleur immediately thought of Gabrielle in the lake. Of the stories she'd heard about Cedric in the graveyard, Sirius Black at the Ministry, Ginny in the chamber—and those were only the stories she knew about. He certainly did have a thing about trying to save people…
"You-Know-Who's been known to set traps for him," Ginny said quietly. "Which, I understand—I do. But it's not as if You-Know-Who can't read minds. I know he can, I've been connected to him. Nothing is stopping him from reading Harry's since he's done it before.
"And if Harry meant all of those things he said to me when we were together—about how much he cared about me and how happy I made him—then he's not really protecting me. You-Know-Who can just read his mind, see how he feels about me, and still try to hurt me to get to him. There's nothing stopping him. Us being together or apart means nothing if those feelings were real."
She stiffened up a little. "It's why, now that I've had time—too much time—to think about things, it makes me wonder if it was less about protecting me and more about getting rid of me. As if he can just put time and distance between us and move on like we never happened."
Her eyes started to look a little glassy, but she blinked them away quickly. "He thinks he's protecting me when in reality, he's trying to forget about me so You-Know-Who has one less thing to use against him."
"But that is protecting you…"
"I don't need to be protected!" Ginny said, her gaze snapping toward Fleur. "And I don't want to be if it means he forgets about me. I'd rather be in danger every day for the rest of my life if it meant..."
She looked away. "That's what hurts the most. Because while I can't imagine forgetting him, Harry can just accept that's what needs to be done. Just like that. No turning back."
"I do not think it is that simple," Fleur said, knowing that while she could never begin to explain what went through Harry's head or what he was dealing with, if he was truly turning away from happiness, it likely wasn't as easy a choice as Ginny seemed to think it was. Everything she knew about Harry, he did things because he truly felt it was the right decision. It was the choice he felt would yield the best results.
"Or maybe it was exactly that simple," Ginny muttered, her tone cold. "And I know you're probably thinking I should have known what I was getting myself into. I went and fell for the Harry Potter, so what right do I have to be upset when he has to go off and be the Harry Potter? That I'm selfish for wanting him to want me as much as I want him with everything else going on, but I don't care if you or anyone thinks that. I feel what I feel."
"I do not think that," Fleur said. "I think you are upset and hurt. I think you have many emotions that cannot simply be explained because love is not easy to explain. They are not right or wrong."
Ginny said nothing immediately. Fleur couldn't tell if she was appreciative or annoyed by her lack of a real rebuttal. When she did speak, her voice felt heavy and there was a groaning quality to it.
"And he'll be here soon."
She thumped her head down on the table. "Which is both the best and worst thing because all I want to do is see him, but I know when he gets here it won't be the same. He'll keep his distance and try to act as if we never…" She picked her head up and looked at Fleur. "That we're just mates."
That would be difficult, Fleur thought. The awkward idea of having to share a small space with an ex—an ex she was still in love with—along with her entire family being present was the sort of thing of social nightmares.
Fleur folded her hands in front of her. At the very least, this was providing her the distraction she'd so desired. As heavy as it was—because Harry's reasons for breaking up with her were certainly not trivial—it also felt so typical and familiar. Boy and girl break up; what could be done about that? It reminded her of a more carefree time in her life where sitting around and advising her friends over their love lives was the most important thing in the world.
But, as far as she was concerned, Harry visiting did not have to be as awkward as Ginny seemed to think it would be. It could be a good thing.
"Then do not let him think that."
Ginny looked over at her. "Think what?"
"That you are only 'mates'," she said obviously. "Because you are not. You are more than that now." She shrugged. "If he is here, make him regret his decision."
Ginny stared at her as if she'd gone a little mental. "But I don't want him to regret…"
"That's exactly what you want," she said bluntly. "You just spoke at great length about how that is exactly what you want."
"No, I mean…" Ginny seemed to be struggling to phrase this. "I know we can't be together. I understand why. I don't want to make his life harder by making him feel bad…"
Fleur shook her head. "You do not understand. I am not saying win him back or convince him you should be together. That does not fit into his life now and he has made that clear. But you said you fear he is trying to forget and avoid you to protect you. I am telling you to not let him do that. Make him think about you."
Ginny stared at her as if she had no idea where this was going. "How…?"
"It is not hard to get a boy who is already interested to pay attention. That is very easy." She smiled. "It is actually something I am very good at."
Ginny's expression looked mostly skeptical, and a bit confused, though she didn't seem to have any sort of counter argument.
Fleur continued to smile. Perhaps Ginny would let her teach her a thing or two if they could keep having these friendly sorts of chats. Because when she wasn't being overly unpleasant, Ginny really wasn't bad company. They may even—dare Fleur think it—be friends if these interactions kept up…if they decided to actually get along.
"You have much to learn," Fleur offered, glancing over toward the house at the sound of a door opening and shutting. She saw then that Bill had emerged from the house and was wandering over.
The closer he drew, the less she could read what he was thinking, seeing as she was still learning how to read his new face. If she had to guess, he seemed surprised to see the pair of them sitting there.
"Am I…" he looked from one to the other, "interrupting something?"
Ginny shrugged noncommittally, while Fleur shook her head. It was her who said, "Nothing that cannot be discussed later." She threw Ginny a smile before turning that back on Bill. She noticed he was holding a piece of parchment in his hand as if he wanted to draw attention to it. "What is that?"
"Oh, it's a letter," he said, holding up the parchment. "Which I think you'll want to see."
Fleur sighed and rolled her eyes, already anticipating the worst. "Who has canceled now? Is it my parents? Have they changed their plans?"
Bill smiled larger than she'd seen him do in weeks—since prior to the accident—and held out the letter for her. "No, this is good news."
Good news? What even was good news anymore? She hadn't had much of that as of late, so she took the letter tentatively, as if not believing that was even possible.
He continued to smile at her, silently encouraging her to read it, before turning to also look at Ginny. She could hear him ask her if she was alright, to which Ginny said something about being fine and that she was going to go back inside. She'd stood then, leaving the pair of them to the letter.
It was too dark for Fleur to read what it said, though it seemed Bill was one step ahead and had already pulled out his wand to cast a "Lumos" spell. With a beam of light now shining down on her, she read:
Dear William,
Your mother has informed me your wedding will now take place here in England. This is most wonderful news as I am now available to attend. Of course, it is a shame it has come at the cost of your face, which I've heard is in a bad way. Such a shame since you were always a handsome boy, but at least you are alive. You must look on the bright side. Be thankful that pretty French girl of yours still wants to marry you.
Fleur looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. As if again already anticipating what she was thinking, Bill had preemptively started rolling his hand in a way that said, "I know, I know…Keep reading…"
But a deal is a deal and I am a woman of my word. Since you are now getting married at home, I will come down in price on Shell Cottage to 500 Galleons. That is the price your uncle and I originally paid for it sixty years ago, so needless to say this is quite the deal. Consider my generosity a wedding gift, especially in light of the fact that you likely need all the breaks you can now get in life.
I will be expecting your reply shortly.
Sincerely,
Muriel
P.S. I will have steak for dinner at your wedding, which I assume is an option. If not, make it an option. Don't cut corners.
Fleur blinked. Was she reading this correctly? Because this seemed too good to be true. 500 Galleons was a fraction of what her original price had been. 500 Galleons for a home was…nothing.
She looked up at Bill, her eyes growing wide as if waiting for the catch. There had to be a catch.
"500 Galleons," Bill said. "Can you believe it? We can pay that today. No loan. No blowing our savings."
"This cannot be real."
"It is," he said, smiling. "Muriel doesn't joke. She has no sense of humor."
"But…" Fleur stood up, still feeling this was too good to be true. "I do not understand. What is 'a deal is a deal'? What deal is she speaking of?"
Bill shrugged, stammering a little. "Eh…I…who knows? She's an old woman. It doesn't matter." He reached out to put his hands on her shoulders. "What matters is we just got ourselves a cottage." He looked her in the eyes. "We're getting our home."
With how terrible their luck had been lately, she almost expected someone to come and put the rug out from under them then. But Bill looked so confident and happy—easily the happiest he'd been in weeks—which made her think this was all really happening. They were going to get married, and move out of the Burrow, and get their own place, and burn that ugly bird painting and…This was real this time. It felt real.
She immediately moved forward to hug him, which he returned very tightly. After everything they'd been through lately, this sort of good news felt strangely foreign to her.
But then again, was it? Yes, Bill had been attacked, but also survived and not been turned into a werewolf—that was good news. Her dream wedding had fallen apart, but they'd come up with an alternative—that was also good news. Her bridesmaids couldn't come, but there would be many other people there who made the trip—that was, again, good news. They could now pay for their home outright and not go into debt…
These times were trying, there was no doubt about that. They likely weren't going to get any easier anytime soon, but it seemed there was some good news still out there if she simply readjusted her perspective a little. She was starting to realize that finding the strength to try and recognize the good amongst the bad was reality now. It was life.
It was something she needed to remind herself everyday if she was ever going to get through these dark days.