Word count: 640
By the time the interrogations are over, Bill is exhausted, but he can't even bring himself to relax as he returns to his childhood home. He's still shaking and so angry that he can feel his blood boiling, but, really, he hardly cares about himself. His eyes flicker to Fleur, still so beautiful in her wedding attire, but looking just as tired, and guilt ties his stomach into knots.
He sighs and shakes his head. "You deserve so much better than me."
It isn't fair to her. This isn't her war. Why should she have to bear this burden just because she fell in love with him?
Fleur huffs, eyes rolling. "I have chosen well," she says, folding her arms over her chest. "Don't you dare insult my taste in men by implying I have made some sort of mistake."
Despite it all, Bill can't help but grin. "You're ridiculous."
She returns his smile. "You're the one who married me."
It doesn't reassure him. He wishes this light, teasing moment could make everything all better, but it doesn't. He opens the door to the Burrow, frowning. His family, minus Ron, are all gathered in the living room, talking among themselves. He doesn't want to sit in on the discussion right now; all he can think about is making sure Fleur is safe. He takes his wife's hand and guides her upstairs to his old room.
"You have to return to France," he says once they're alone. "Stay with your family until this whole thing blows over."
It hurts to say because he knows there's a chance this may never blow over. Worse, still, there's a chance he may die and leave her a widow. He tugs anxiously at his earring, the idea of the future maddening. No matter what, it seems like there's really no hope for them. Perhaps he had been foolish to get married in the middle of a war. His parents had done the same so long ago, and it had worked for them. But what about Bill and Fleur? This war is darker than the one before, and Fleur has no place in it.
"No. I'm staying," she says firmly, squaring her shoulders and giving him a look that silently dares him to contradict her.
Bill shakes his head. "It isn't up for discussion."
"Not giving the other person a choice doesn't really qualify as a discussion."
He sighs. Maybe she's right, as much as he hates to admit it. In the end, she's a grown woman, and she is more than capable of taking care of herself. Who is he to tell her what she can and can't do? That isn't the sort of love he wants, and she deserves so much better than that.
"I want you to return to France," he says, his voice quiet, a hint of a quiver in the words. "I don't want to lose you, Fleur."
"I know." She leans in, kissing his cheek. "But I am staying, my love. I want to."
He takes her hands in his, offering her a hint of a smile. These are dark times, but, as much as he wishes Fleur would return home, so he knows she's safe, at least he doesn't have to go through them alone. "I love you."
She smiles. "I love you too. Now, take a deep breath."
He does. Once, twice, then a third time. The tension begins to melt, and it's a little easier for him smile. "Thank you."
"Now, we should go downstairs before you family begins to worry."
As the two of them descend the stairs, Bill finds himself smiling. This isn't the sort of life he had hoped for when he and Fleur became engaged, but it doesn't matter. This is their life now, and he will make the best of it somehow.
