Everything was shit.

That was the first thought that had occurred to Bill once he'd finally had time to properly process everything that had happened during Harry's move from his Muggle residence. Everything about that journey had gone to complete shit from the moment they'd taken to the sky. The Death Eaters had been waiting for them, ambushing the entire group of them instantaneously with little time to think or breathe, and the curses had come quickly and without hesitation.

Bill was lucky to be alive.

He was lucky Fleur, his family, and Harry had made it out alive. He was lucky they were all mostly in one piece, even though George had lost an ear during the incident. Snape—the traitor—had been the one to sever it off with a nasty curse; by the looks of things, it couldn't be magicked back due to dark magic being cast.

It seemed no one would have a problem telling the twins apart from now on.

And not everyone had made it out alive. Mad-Eye…hadn't. Bill had seen it happen, as had Fleur. They had been relentlessly attempting to shake off their own surprise tail of Death Eaters, and Bill was all too aware that Fleur was the most vulnerable of the pair given that she was sitting, exposed, at the back of the thestral.

She had been amazing, knocking off curse after curse, and even striking someone down, while Bill did everything in his power to fly their thestral out of harm's way. He'd never actually ridden one before, but he'd done his research on them prior to the plan. Charlie, with his wealth of creature knowledge, had offered him a crash course in everything he knew about them; Hagrid had given him and Fleur multiple pointers before they'd taken off. And while he was grateful for it all, when it came down to it, he'd never self-taught himself a new task more quickly than he had that night.

It had been when Fleur screamed, "'E iz zere!" that Bill had turned to see Voldemort materializing in the air like a ghost, flying—actually flying!—right behind Mad-Eye and Mundungus. Just as Mad-Eye had suspected, he'd been targeted first and most aggressively. Voldemort's wand was pointed right at them; Bill had felt every fiber of his being tense. He had his own wand out and at the ready—he yelled back at Fleur to keep cursing everyone she saw—and he'd been about to send a few curses of his own when it happened.

Voldemort began hurling killing curses at Mad-Eye, and Mundungus clearly got scared. He'd Disapparated on the spot, leaving Mad-Eye vulnerable and wide open. At some point he'd lost his wand and, in a flash of green light, a killing curse struck him straight in the face before he even knew what hit him; it knocked him off his broom and caused him to tumble toward the earth.

Fleur screamed.

Bill let out an instinctive, "NO!" but there was nothing that could be done. He watched as Mad-Eye disappeared from sight, only to notice the tidal wave of Death Eaters who had been flanking Voldemort now turning toward the next, closet target.

Them.

Their only saving grace was that Voldemort himself had disappeared, apparently having other plans. He'd still left nearly half a dozen Death Eaters behind, all of them ready to strike him and Fleur.

He wasn't entirely sure how he and Fleur had got out alive. He'd gone into pure adrenaline mode almost straight away, trying to keep the both of them alive, hurling curses over his shoulder while also trying to get the thestral to maneuver more strategically through the sky. The winged-horse was thankfully incredibly fast—faster than anything Bill had ever ridden in his life—and once the thestral was at top speed, the Death Eaters had no way of keeping up.

After a very chaotic ten to fifteen minutes, they'd managed to shake the lot. Before Bill knew it, they were sailing over the English countryside, headed toward their safe house location at Shell Cottage.

It would take them roughly an hour to get there, which would be how long it took for the adrenaline, fear, and confusion to dissipate. As it were, Bill didn't know what to think. He had no words. He'd honestly need that hour just to process what the fuck had just happened.

The only words he could have managed to find would have been to ask Fleur whether she was alright, but were going too fast for him to hear or properly speak to her. All he could do was squeeze her tight hands—which were wrapped with a death grip around his middle, holding on for dear life. He could feel her forehead pressed into his back and her face buried there. Whether it was because she was trying to break the wind or that she was crying—or both—he wasn't sure.

Once they landed outside of Shell Cottage and slid off the thestral, Bill could tell by Fleur's face that she had been crying. She looked to have gathered herself at some point over the hour because there were no longer tears, but her eyes were still glassy. Her face was as blank as a slate.

"We are alive," she croaked.

He pulled her toward her and hugged her like he'd never hugged her before. If it was too tight, she didn't complain. She hugged him back just as fiercely, a small sob escaping her which also caused him to swallow hard.

He kissed the top of her head and said, "You were amazing. I saw you take out that Death Eater."

She didn't say anything to that, she merely held onto him for a very long minute before slowly looking up at him and saying, "Mad-Eye…"

"I know. I saw. There's nothing we could have done."

"Do you zink anyone else…?"

"I don't know," he said, barely forcing a whisper out. "We'll know soon enough."

They were to rendezvous at the Burrow at—he checked his watch—ten minutes ago. Fantastic… They hadn't exactly accounted for the added thestral traveling time, which meant everyone was probably wondering where they were or thinking they were dead. And they couldn't exactly leave the thing here while they Apparated over, so they would need to ride it there and get it back to Hagrid. That would take twenty minutes more…

"We need to get to the Burrow," he told Fleur, turning toward the house to retrieve the two large raw steaks that Hagrid had told them to have ready for their thestral after the journey from London. As well as he and Fleur had done, he had to give credit to their flying friend here. Without him, they would likely be dead.

"But 'ow did zey know?" Fleur asked once Bill had reappeared out front, steaks in hand and wondering how exactly one fed a thestral.

He had to assume she meant the Death Eaters. How did they know they would be moving Harry that night? How had they been so prepared?

"I'm not sure," he said, placing the first piece of meat on the ground in front of the thestral and watching as it almost instantly approached it.

"Someone told zem," Fleur said, her tone as cold as ice. "Someone told zem we were doing zis tonight."

He looked back at her, the sound of meat being chewed and masticated now filling the air. "So you think someone purposely…?"

She shrugged and didn't answer, but her expression spoke volumes. She didn't think this was a coincidence; she was accusing someone else as being a double agent, just as Snape had been.

"I don't see who would…" Bill muttered. "I mean, with Snape there was always a suspicion at the back of my mind that he was a spy, but with everyone else—"

"It may 'ave been someone simply saying too much," Fleur added, her arms crossed over her chest. "Mundungus could 'ave easily told one of 'is awful friends and zey could 'ave relayed ze message. 'Agrid when he drinks gets very chatty. Anyone could 'ave let too much information come out."

It really was too much to believe that practically every Death Eater, as well as Voldemort himself, was present tonight out of coincidence. Sometimes the simplest explanation was the correct one, and that would have been that someone said something. Whether on purpose or accidentally, someone let their plans slip to the wrong person.

And now Mad-Eye was dead because of it.

After the quick steak snack and a few affectionate pats and "Just one more ride tonight, mate," directed at the thestral, both Bill and Fleur climbed back on top ready to travel for the Burrow. Bill truly hoped there was some good news to be found there since he knew they would be the bearers of bad news.

Outside of George's injury, everyone else had made it back alive and mostly unscathed. The room had gone deathly silent at the news that Mad-Eye hadn't made it, and Bill thought it only appropriate to raise a glass in his honor among their present company. Tonks had seemed the most shaken by the loss of her mentor, only further cementing that the pair had a very special relationship.

The mission had ultimately been a success in transporting Harry, but it had certainly come with an unbearably high cost. The loss of Mad-Eye, so soon after the loss of Dumbledore, was devastating; not only on a personal level, but on the Order as an organization as well. Their leaders were getting picked off one-by-one, and if Bill were Kingsley, he'd been feeling a bit restless right now.

And if he were Harry…well, that was an entirely different level of pressure that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. At least the others had volunteered for their leadership roles. Harry had all of this thrust upon him.

He and Remus had volunteered to go and search for Mad-Eye's body that night, though if Bill were honest, he had no idea where to even start looking. The attack had happened nearly straight away from leaving Harry's Muggle house, but that could mean anywhere from one mile to ten miles away given the speeds they were traveling. His body could have gone anywhere.

He had come up with the plan to contact Kingsley with the news, not only to keep him informed, but also because he had connections within the Muggle Prime Minister's office. If the body of a man falling from the sky occurred anywhere noticeable to Muggles, it was likely that he would have heard about it through some Muggle channel by now.

"Kingsley said there were no reports of any bodies falling from the sky," Bill told his parents and Fleur very early the next morning—practically at dawn—once he'd returned from his outing with Remus without having found Mad-Eye's body. "Not via Muggle sources or Wizarding."

"So what does zat mean?" Fleur asked, sitting on the sofa with tea that she'd prepared for him once he'd arrived back.

"It means that he didn't go crashing through anyone's roof or landing in someone's garden," Bill said, rubbing his exhausted eyes. "But it also means no one found the body. If someone had found it, they obviously would have contacted the authorities and we'd have heard something by now. The Ministry would have dispersed wizards to diffuse the situation."

He looked over at his father. "It means one of two things. His body is still out there somewhere hidden, waiting to be discovered, or the Death Eaters went and retrieved him before we could."

His father sighed; his mother looked positively beside herself. Fleur was frowning, looking as if she was very deep in thought as she stared at the floor. He had already spoken at great length at how he and Remus combed through every wooded area within a ten mile radius of Harry's Muggle home. They'd used revealing charms at every body of water they'd come across; they'd checked every hidden sort of corner they could find. They'd given neighborhoods a thorough search, but after hours and hours of searching and coming up empty handed, Bill was starting to suspect his worst suspicions were confirmed.

The Death Eaters likely had got there first. There had been so many of them, there was nothing to stop one or two from peeling off and following the falling body.

The idea of them treating the great Mad-Eye Moody as some trophy made Bill want to be ill.

"You need to rest," Fleur finally said, standing and walking over to lay a hand on his shoulder. It was evident she hadn't slept either—neither had his parents—and he could only imagine what he looked like since he felt like death.

As he made his way up the stairs to the Burrow to have a shower before collapsing in bed, he passed by the floor his room shared with Ginny's. The immediate sound of someone bustling behind her door caught his attention, and before he could walk up the next set of stairs, the door burst open and there stood his sister. She was staring at him wide-eyed, full of concern.

"Did you find him?"

He shook his head.

Ginny's face fell. She immediately turned to her left and shook her head at someone else in the room—Hermione, he assumed—and Bill could hear a faint whimper of frustration float out of the room.

By the time he reached the next floor with the twins' room, nearly an identical scenario occurred, this time with Fred popping his head out and asking the same question. When Bill again shook his head, Fred swore under his breath, almost sounding as if he was trying to keep his voice down. Maybe he was. George likely needed rest after the attack and his blood loss last night. He may have actually been asleep.

Not even a minute later, the sound of footsteps coming from above greeted him just before he reached the bathroom. Ron and Harry appeared at the same time and with the same expressions as the others. Ron took the time to ask if he was all right first—giving him a concerned up and down—though only barely before Harry said, "Please tell me you found him."

Bill shook his head.

Now it was Harry's turn to swear, looking both upset and frustrated. Ron had sighed in a tired way that reminded Bill so much of their father—that same exasperation and frustration—that it was never clearer that he was Arthur Weasley's son. All the while, Harry was muttering something about, "I can't just sit around anymore when I should be—"

Ron nudged him in a way that was both silencing and settling; Bill couldn't immediately tell whether Harry resented or appreciated the gesture. Either way, he stopped talking, though his mind was still clearly elsewhere.

A part of Bill had almost wanted to ask him, "Knut for your thoughts?" but he wasn't sure there was enough money in Gringotts to cover everything Harry likely had going on up there.

It was probably a very busy place as of late.

It was strange to switch gears from intense mission prepping and cursing Death Eaters off of brooms to finally choosing between gold and pink as the color for her bridesmaid's dress, but that was where Fleur currently was.

It was a distraction, which was how she tried to live her life these days. Moving from one distraction to the next and trying to keep herself from dissolving into a mess of both current and repressed trauma. She'd watched a man die the other night, the rigidness of his body as he'd tumbled to the earth reminding her immediately of how stiff Cedric's body had been the night she'd seen him. It was a sight so triggering that she'd nearly frozen in terror.

Only she couldn't freeze or else she would have been the next body tumbling toward the ground.

So she'd fought and somehow lived to tell the tale. Once more, her survivor's guilt was overwhelming, just as it had been after the Tournament, but she had to push through. Falling to pieces was no longer an option. They were at war and this was going to keep happening. The way the Order bustled in and out of the Burrow every day now—different members with different questions, different ideas, different plans—she knew they were on the highest of alerts. Everything could change in a single moment, quite literally. Everyone was living on tenterhooks.

But Fleur had her distractions, which she'd thrown herself entirely into because things needed to be done; because it helped her remain sane.

She and Bill were spending time at their new home, trying to get it in order so that they could properly move in after the wedding. They could have gone straight away and lived in the mess—which a year ago Fleur would have jumped at just to get away from Bill's family—but these days, the Burrow wasn't so bad. It was comfortable and filled with people—filled with distractions—that made sleeping a bit easier at night.

It was also safer, and given that Fleur suspected Voldemort had his Death Eaters had likely seen Bill's face that night on the back of a thestral, she was very worried about his well-being. It was never a secret that the Weasleys were close with Harry, but to see them in action actively participating and aiding in his escape…well, that created a more direct target.

Bill didn't seem as worried. As he put it, "Being a Weasley already makes me a target." He was even planning to return to work for the first time since his attack, which Fleur thought couldn't have come at a worse time. They were to be married in a few days time and they had loads to do at the house. While his face had healed and he was doing as well as he could adapting to life with his scars, he really could have afforded to take some extra time. She found it hard to believe he couldn't have taken another week or two.

"I've received three different letters from Gringotts," Bill had told her. "From Clea and two of the goblins. They're really struggling with some of the security measures right now with all the increased threats and could use my help. It'll only be for a couple of days. They know I'm getting married on Friday."

Fleur stared at him.

He smiled at her. "I had to go back to work some time."

Did he? In this climate? Out in the open with the last name Weasley and his face now burned into Death Eaters' minds? She had to wonder. Her position at the bank had been done away with months ago—along with any non-essential Gringotts' employees. While she knew Bill's job was far more necessary, they'd clearly got on just fine for the last month. They'd got on just fine for centuries prior to Bill's existence…

But perhaps Bill also just needed all the distractions he could get. New home, back to work, preparing for the wedding and the arrival of their guests…Whatever it took to keep him busy.

"Gold or pink?" asked Molly, bringing Fleur's mind back to the Burrow.

In front of her stood Ginny in a bridemaid's dress. The three of them were in Ginny's room, with her standing on a crate that Molly had procured in order to find the right length to adjust the dress to. Inès and Meline were much taller than Ginny, so a good several inches would need to be taken off. Ginny was certainly smaller than Fleur's cousins, definitely not as busty. She had a petite little figure that still looked lovely in the dress, but it certainly needed to be taken in several spots.

As for the question at hand, Fleur found the answer coming very quickly. All those months of back and forth and not being able to make up her mind between the gold or the pink, and apparently the solution was just to ask a redhead to be her bridesmaid. The pink clashed terribly against Ginny's hair, whereas the gold flattered her tremendously. Fleur knew Gabrielle looked fantastic in either, so it seemed they finally had their winner.

"Gold," she said, flicking her wand and changing the color immediately, just as Molly stood back from the pins she'd been charming at the hem to observe.

"Oh, the gold is lovely!" said Molly, smiling. Ginny, meanwhile, was checking herself out in the full-length mirror. She seemed pleased with what she saw and was currently straightening out her posture and elongating her neck. She seemed to be happy with the reflection staring back at her.

"We'll only need to take it in a bit at the waist," Molly continued, pinching at some of the fabric. "And up here at the bust."

Fleur nodded, agreeing that it did need to be cinched a bit, if only to properly accentuate her figure. Otherwise it looked baggy.

Molly had stepped back to observe the neckline of the dress carefully, which was not terribly plunging, but certainly showed off more skin than Ginny usually exposed. It wasn't anything scandalous, though Molly's expression seemed to be studying it with concern.

"I could easily take up the neckline," Molly offered, using her hand to demonstrate how far she apparently thought she should go. She covered much of Ginny's exposed skin in the process and practically took the neckline up to her collarbone.

Ginny immediately pulled a face. it seemed she wasn't keen on that idea.

Fleur had to agree. Even Gabrielle would have been exposing more than that, and her dress was nothing but chaste.

"Mum, it's fine," Ginny said, shaking her off.

"It is a bit low cut. Remember this dress was originally designed with a much older girl in mind."

"Not that much older," Fleur quipped. "Meline is eighteen."

"Ginny is fifteen," Molly reminded her.

"For two more weeks, then I'm sixteen! I'm not a baby."

"No one said you were, but—"

"It's ultimately Fleur's decision," Ginny said quickly, catching Fleur's eye through the mirror and looking as if she was hoping—pleading—that Fleur would use her authority as the bride to pull rank and silence this discussion in her favor. It was clear she liked the dress; that this was yet another example of her desperately wanting to not be treated like a baby and instead treated like the young woman she was becoming.

Fleur smiled at Molly. "I think she looks perfect. We can make the other modifications, but I see nothing wrong with the neckline. I would have worn that dress at her age. I likely had several very similar ones."

Molly sighed as if she wasn't fond of that answer, but didn't argue. Perhaps deep down, even she knew her daughter was growing up and it was futile to fight this battle. There were plenty of things Molly made sure to remind Ginny that she was too young for at the moment, but wearing a dress that showed a little cleavage did not have to be one of those things.

"Thanks for that," Ginny told Fleur later on when it was just the two of them, once Molly had finished hemming and fitting the dress to Ginny's measurements. She'd immediately taken it downstairs to make sure it was properly pressed.

"For not letting her change the dress."

Fleur waved her off, charming bits of fabric and leftover dress materials from the floor in order to tidy up. "I designed the dress that way for a reason. No offense to your mother, but modern style is not something she is known for."

Ginny grinned a little, which was certainly a different reaction than the days where Fleur couldn't even blink in Molly Weasley's direction without having to face the complete wrath of Ginny and her snarky remarks. That time had passed, and these days Ginny seemed happy to occasionally have an ally in making Molly understand that not everything would always be as it was when Ginny was small.

She and Ginny didn't agree on everything still, but there was very little remaining hostility between them. They coexisted pleasantly enough.

"You looked fantastic in the dress," Fleur added once she picked up the last of the materials and set them in Molly's sewing basket. "You will turn many heads that day."

Ginny shrugged and muttered, "Only one I care about turning…"

Fleur picked up the basket and set it on her hip, observing Ginny. Harry had been here for a couple of days now, and while everyone had behaved and not brought up the elephant in the room, Fleur suspected that even if she hadn't known the truth about Harry and Ginny, she would have figured things out quick enough. Every time the pair was in a room together, they were always painfully aware of where the other was.

As far as Fleur witnessed, whenever one wasn't sneaking glances at the other, that just so happened to be the exact time the other was doing just that. Their eyes had connected a couple of times even just at dinner the night before, but that was the extent of it. Fleur had yet to witness them actually chatting or sharing more than a couple of polite words with each other. That didn't mean it wasn't happening, only that they weren't allowing for witnesses.

"How have things with Harry been?"

Ginny shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Fine, but in the worst way."

"Have you two spoken?"

She shook her head. "Not about us or anything like that. We spoke yesterday night while setting the table at dinner. He admitted that his plan is to go and kill You-Know-Who, though when I pushed him on it, he said he'd been kidding." She looked at Fleur. "He's not kidding."

Fleur let the basket go slack in her arms. "Go and kill…how?"

Ginny shook her head as if she didn't know. "He won't tell me—and neither will Ron or Hermione. All I do know is that the three of them aren't going back to school come September. They're planning something, and they'd be gone already if it weren't for Harry being underage. They're waiting for him to turn seventeen."

"That is later this week."

"On Thursday, yeah," Ginny said. "Though, Ron's said they'll stay through Friday for the wedding. So don't worry about that."

She wasn't worried, and was actually far more focused with the idea of Harry, Ron, and Hermione going off to hunt Voldemort on their own. That was…insane. She'd heard the rumors around the house that they weren't returning to school—Molly was often musing about it in a grumpy sort of way, while Arthur argued that with Dumbledore gone and the rumors of his replacement being not favorable, Hogwarts may not have been the best place for Harry anyway—but Fleur had been so preoccupied with her own business, she'd never stopped to consider if they were true.

"But where are they…?" Fleur began to ask, though she was met with the same stoney look from Ginny as before.

"They won't say," Ginny said. "Sometimes I wonder if they even know where they're going. They have some sort of plan, but…" She trailed off and looked away. "I don't even want to think about it."

She looked back at Fleur. "I just know that every day I worry that they're all going to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night to avoid my mother's questions and I'll never see any of them again."

That was a dark thought.

Fleur cleared her throat, desperately in need of a distraction or a subject change. "Um, you said Harry's birthday is Thursday. Did you get him a gift?"

Ginny's expression almost seemed to say that was a silly question. "I'm not trying to make this any harder than it already is. Anything special that I'd want to give him would make things awkward, and anything small I'd want to give him comes off as dumb."

She then looked out her window, where Fleur saw that Harry was out there speaking to Ron and one of the twins—George, actually. She could see the hole on the side of his head from up here. Just when she'd started to be able to tell them apart normally, now there would be no reason to question it.

The group looked as if they'd been tending to some garden chore, though had clearly stopped to take a break. It apparently must have run too long, because Molly came into view moments later seemingly scolding them all. She immediately broke Ron and Harry apart, sending the former off toward the house. She'd been separating those two a lot lately. And Hermione too. Given what Ginny had just said, it suddenly occurred to her that Molly was likely attempting to keep them from working on their plans.

Ginny suddenly sighed, her gaze still outside. "And anyway, it's not as if there's a gift that says, 'I still care about you, and I understand this needs to happen, but please don't forget about us and come back alive.'"

"Perhaps not one you could purchase in a shop," Fleur said, "but there are certainly ways to send that message."

Ginny tore her eyes away from the window. "If you're about to tell me to go and tell him how I still feel, it's not going to happen. Again, I'm not trying to make things harder than they already are."

"But what if you, as you said, never see him again? Would you not want him to know?"

She didn't answer right away. Her gaze had gone back to the window, clearly still on Harry. When she did finally speak, her voice was quiet. "He already knows."

Fleur let that hang in the air for a moment, though when she spoke, she forced her tone to be lighter and playful. "Well then, there is always another way to send that message without words."

Ginny turned to look at her, her expression silently asking what that was. Fleur was already gesturing around Ginny's room in an obvious sort of manner. "Find a private moment and give him what most men love for their birthday." She laughed. "For every day…"

Ginny's brow furrowed. She blinked once or twice before blurting out, "What are you saying?"

Did she actually have to explain this? She sighed. "When you and Harry were together, did the two of you not—?"

"No."

"No?"

"Are you talking about sex?"

"I am certainly not talking about playing Quiddich."

"Then no," Ginny said, shaking her head. "We did…things. But not that."

Fleur hummed, surprised to hear that. Personally, if she was in love with someone for years and had finally had them for a couple of months—someone who had a chance of dying nearly every time he stepped outside—she would have made that more or a priority. She'd only had a proper crush on Bill for a couple of weeks before she'd been keen—and if she were being honest, she would have jumped him on day one had the opportunity presented itself. But she was older and needed to take that into account. Ginny was only fifteen.

"Well, were these 'things' that you did with each other something he enjoyed?"

Ginny blushed a touch, though there was a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Um, yes…"

"Then do those!" Fleur advised, putting on a sly sort of smile. "Grab him, kiss him as though you may never see him again, and let things go where they may. You have spoken about not wanting him to forget about you." She gave her a look. "Make your moment count. Burn that memory into his brain and give him a reason to get back."

Ginny continued to crack a small smile, but it seemed a bit anxious. "I don't know. I mean, what if I try and he doesn't want to? What if he just starts lecturing me about how we already talked about this and I've made things harder—"

"He won't."

Ginny made a face. "How do you know?"

Fleur wanted to laugh, but didn't. How did she know? Because boys weren't hard to figure out. They never had been. The way Harry made a conscious effort to always know where Ginny was in every room they shared together told her everything she needed to know about whether or not he'd reciprocate any physical efforts on Ginny's part.

"Because I do," Fleur offered plainly. "I can see with my own eyes, that is a boy who would happily let you seduce him—"

Ginny let out a snort of a laugh at the phrase 'seduce him', almost as if she couldn't believe this was a real conversation. She probably didn't hear advice like this often, but it was exactly the type of advice Fleur was prepared to give. If she could bring anything into Ginny's life, it was some fresh and modern perspective on owning one's sexuality. This wasn't the old days; they were nearing an entirely new millennium soon enough.

"Ginny!" called Molly's voice up the stairs. "You must be dressed by now! I've asked Hermione to help dust the inside of some cupboards and it would be good if you came down and helped!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "She's just making up chores at this point." She glanced back at Fleur, almost as if studying her. "But you really think that if I—?" She glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. "If I got Harry on his own, that he'd—?"

Fleur started nodding confidently, taking a step toward the door. "If I am wrong, I owe you a Galleon."

"I don't know if my heart being stomped on is worth a Galleon…"

"You have nothing to worry about," Fleur reiterated. "I am never wrong about these things. It is a gift I have. And it really is so very easy to seduce someone who is willing. They become like putty and will do whatever you want."

Ginny pulled a slight face. "Alright, well this is more than I ever needed to know about my brother's sex life…"

Fleur rolled her own eyes. "I know you are not naive enough to think he did not have one."

"Oh, well aware," Ginny muttered, making it to her door first. "We share a bedroom wall, Fleur. And believe it or not, you two aren't always as quiet as you think you are."

Fleur stopped and stared at her. "We always use the Silencing Charm."

"You always think you use them," Ginny said. "There's been a time or two where the headboard bangs…" She made a face, as if she was suddenly having second thoughts about finishing that sentence. "Let's just hope your other spell work is a bit more accurate. Otherwise, I may find myself being an aunt sooner rather than later."