Chocolate and Ginger
(Bill/Fleur)
By
Bad Mum
Honeydukes Best (July 1995)
"Why are you crying?"
"I am not!"
Hell. Why did the best-looking man in the bank have to be the one to see her like this? The only man in the place she didn't see mentally undressing her every time he looked her way. The only one under forty who hasn't asked her for a date. The only one she actually wouldn't mind going on a date with.
"It looks like you're crying to me. I guess you call it something different in French, but it's still the same thing. What's up? Can I help?"
"Please. Zhust go away. I am not crying. I am fine."
"Okay."
He shrugs and leaves.
Hell, hell, hell.. Why did she tell him to go? He was being kind. He was treating her as a human being rather than as a servant (the goblins and her human boss) or a sex object (every other human male in the place) or an object of jealousy and malicious gossip (the other secretaries). Why did she tell him to go? Hell.
He comes back. She is still crying, but he doesn't comment on it this time.
Why has he come back? Why is he bothering with her when she was so rude to him?
"Here, I brought you something."
He lays a slab of Honeydukes best chocolate on the desk in front of her.
"Chocolat?" She lifts a tearstained face to his. He is half-smiling, but there is a look of concern in his eyes.
"My sister swears it helps when you're feeling down."
"You 'ave a sister?"
"Yeah." He perches on the edge of her desk, long legs stretched out in front of him. "You might know her. She's at Hogwarts."
Mon Dieu, but he is gorgeous. That hair, those eyes…She does not want him to leave again. Talk to him. Think of something to say. At least she has stopped crying.
"She 'as red 'air like you? Zhinny?"
"That's the one." He smiles. "My baby sister."
"You'ave bruzzers too." It sounds like an accusation: too abrupt. "'Arry's friend and zose twins."
"'Those twins'?" He grins. "Yeah, that pretty much describes Fred and George. And Ron – Harry's friend. And Percy, who was one of the judges in the Triwizard when Mr. Crouch wasn't there. And Charlie, who was there with the dragons for the first task. Seven of us. Charlie said you did well against the Chinese Fireball."
She shudders and bites her lip.
She is not going to start crying again, but she wishes he had not mentioned the Tournament. The dragon was the best bit, though it had scarcely felt like it at the time. After that was Gabrielle, the merpeople, the grindylow… Then the maze and – Cedric.
She shudders again.
"Sorry." He looks contrite. "I was trying to cheer you up, but I guess the Tournament was the wrong thing to talk about. Eat your chocolate. It'll help. Why were you crying?"
"I was not crying."
"Of course you weren't. Sorry."
She breaks off a piece of the chocolate and puts it in her mouth. It is creamy and sweet; indefinably different from the French chocolate she is used to.
Damn. She is not going to cry because the chocolate tastes wrong. She is not going to cry at all. She is not.
She pushes the slab of chocolate wordlessly towards him, and he helps himself.
"Zat is where I 'ave seen you before I am come 'ere. You were at 'Ogwarts for ze last task."
He nods. "Yeah. Ron – my brother – is Harry's best friend. And Harry doesn't have any family of his own. Or none worth mentioning."
"I know. Poor 'Arry."
She eats another square of chocolate, blinking rapidly.
She is not going to start crying again. She has a family. A family who love her. She misses them. She wants to go home. She wants to go home.
"Fleur, why were you crying?" His voice is kind, the concern in his eyes looks genuine.
He is not supposed to call her that. He is meant to call her "Miss Delacour". Gringotts is nothing if not formal. No one has called her by her first name since she got here. Why does someone being kind to her make her want to cry even more?
"I was not…"
"Yes you were. Can I help?"
She shakes her head and takes another square of chocolate.
He was right. Chocolate does help. A bit.
"I am – I do not know ze word in Eenglish. I want my 'ome. I miss ma famille."
"Homesick?" he asks gently.
She nods. "Oui. If zat is ze word. I am 'omesick."
She tries the word out on her tongue. It is unfamiliar, like the chocolate.
"I'm sorry." He looks like he really is. "That's a horrible feeling."
"You know?" She looks up at him in surprise.
She is not sure she believes him. With his easy self-confidence he does not look as if her were ever scared or worried or – homesick – in his life.
"I know." He helps himself to more chocolate. "I went to work in Africa for Gringotts straight out of Hogwarts. I was horribly homesick at first. It gets better – really."
She swallows, wanting to believe him.
"I 'ope so. I cannot go 'ome. I zhust cannot."
"Why not?"
She lifts her chin proudly.
"I am not effrayée. I am not a coward. I 'ave to show zem I can do zis. Zat I am not zhust…" She hesitates.
She does not want this man to think she is vain.
"Beautiful?" He finishes the sentence for her. "You were a Triwizard Champion. I don't think you have to prove anything to anyone."
"I came last."
He grimaces. "Someone had to. And in view of what happened to Cedric, perhaps coming last wasn't so bad."
They both reach for the chocolate at the same time. Their hands touch. She feels herself blushing. He smiles and hands her a piece of chocolate.
Cedric. She does not want to think about him. He was kind, brave, handsome. He is dead.
She shivers, and looks up again.
"Do you sink zat 'e is really back? You Know 'Oo?"
He nods, his face grim and his eyes suddenly hard. "Cedric didn't drop dead of his own accord, and I don't believe the Ministry line that it was an accident. Harry's telling the truth. He's back."
"Miss Delacour!" The female voice behind them is harsh, making them both jump.
He is quicker than she is. He slides the remains of the chocolate into the desk drawer and shuts it before she has even realised what he is doing. Then he pulls a piece of parchment and a quill towards him, scribbles rapidly and folds it over.
He turns to the intruder with a smile.
"Miss Delacour was just helping me with something, Miss Payne," he says. "I am so sorry if I've distracted her from her work."
Few women are able to resist Bill Weasley when he smiles like that.
"That's quite alright, Mr. Weasley," the older woman simpers, unconsciously smoothing her robes with her hands. "No problem at all."
"Thank you Miss Delacour." He gives her the ghost of a wink as he straightens up. "If you would deal with that later, I'd be grateful." He indicates the parchment, and smiles at her as he leaves.
When her boss has gone, Fleur unfolds the parchment.
"I'll meet you outside after work. You need to be introduced to English beer as well as English chocolate. B.W."
She smiles.
Perhaps working here will not be so bad after all.
-
Hot Chocolate and Marshmallows (December 1995)
He should be here by now.
She is trying hard not to worry, but she cannot help herself. She saw him last night. He said, "See you tomorrow." Nothing about not coming into work today. He would have told her if he was not coming.
Something has happened.
Something has happened to him.
She does not know the details – he will not (or cannot, she is not sure which) tell her, but she suspects he is involved in the resistance against You Know Who. She fears rather than knows that what he is doing is dangerous.
She knows she has not missed him arriving. She has not stopped watching the door since she arrived herself. They are discreet and professional at work, call each other "Mr. Weasley" and "Miss Delacour". Only his friend and fellow curse-breaker Zoran Madic and the Austrian secretary with whom she has become friendly know that there is anything more than a work relationship between them, although there have been rumours. (Gringotts is a hotbed of gossip.) But there has not been a morning since that day in July when they shared that chocolate that she has not looked out for his arrival, that he has not given her a wink or a grin as he passes.
So where the hell is he now?
Something has happened.
Something has happened to him.
By the end of the morning, she is so edgy and irritable that even Gisela is avoiding talking to her. (Gisela Schenke is the one real friend she has here. She is a foreign trainee like Fleur, and comes from Vienna. She is much more popular with the English girls than Fleur is herself. Fleur tries to stifle the uncharitable thought that it is because Gisela is – to put it kindly – ordinary looking.) Miss Payne has told her off for inattention three times this morning, and Fleur has to admit that – for once – she deserves it. Her mind is far away from the columns of figures in front of her.
Where the hell is Bill?
She eats lunch at her desk, pretending to read a magazine, but watching the door the whole time. He still does not come.
She wonders if Zoran Madic knows where he is. Can she fabricate an excuse to go up to the curse-breakers' floor and ask him? She is desperate enough to try it.
Then – finally – as she is screwing up her courage to go to Miss Payne, she hears his voice. She must have been gazing blankly at her hated paperwork when he came in, because she did not see him arrive. But now he is in the foyer outside the secretaries' large office, having an intense discussion in Gobbledygook with Ranget and Dungmin. (She has no idea what they are saying, her own grasp of Gobbledygook having failed to progress beyond the most basic of greetings, but she is so pleased to see him – to see him safe – that she has to force herself to remain at her desk; to at least look as if she is working; not to run out and fling her arms around him.)
He finishes his conversation, and heads for the stairs, shooting a quick glance and a wink in her direction. She smiles back, hoping that The Payne and the more bitchy of the English girls will fail to notice. He looks awful – unshaven, pale-faced, with lines around his eyes and mouth that are not normally there, and dark shadows under his eyes that make it look as if he has not slept all night. She wants to run to him and hug him; to ask what the matter is; to somehow make it alright for him. She cannot do anything of the sort. Gladys Porlock, the cattiest of the English girls, is watching her closely. Gladys has had a crush on Bill Weasley for months (that is an open secret), and suspects Fleur of having designs on him. She will not miss an opportunity of getting "that French bitch" into trouble. Fleur sighs, and returns to the columns of figures.
- - -
He really could have done without coming into work today. What he really wants to do is go home, have a shower and sleep. But he doesn't have a choice. Ranget and Dungmin would be angry enough at him taking the morning off at no notice without him taking the afternoon too. Zoran would do his best to cover for him: he was a good mate. But he couldn't expect Zoran to finish the backlog in the Indian and Egyptian treasure input on his own.
At least if he goes into work, he will see Fleur. That on its own is actually a good enough reason to go in. The very thought of her makes him smile, despite the night he has just passed. Sometimes he is frightened by the depth of his feelings for her and by the speed at which they have developed. He has had girlfriends before, of course – plenty of them – but she is different. He lists the objections to her in his mind – she is too young for him, she is foreign, he knows instinctively that his mother (and probably Ginny too) will hate her, he should not be getting involved with anyone while being a member of the Order. It makes no difference. There is no way he can get uninvolved with Fleur now.
Ranget and Dungmin collar him the minute he enters the building, and it is a while before he can free himself from them and their complaints and head for the stairs. He glances over to where Fleur's silvery fair head stands out among the browns and blacks of the other secretaries, and shoots her a quick wink. Even at this distance, he can see the warmth and relief in her expression as she smiles at him. He is tempted to brave Miss Payne's wrath and go over to her; to tell her what has happened; to see the sympathy and concern in her eyes, but he knows that he can't. She will get into much more trouble than he will if he does so.
He will see her later. She will be waiting for him after work. The thought gets him through the afternoon.
He is late leaving, but she is waiting for him in the usual place, outside a boarded up shop a little way up Diagon Alley. She is huddled in her coat and scarf against the damp and cold, and he suspects she is cursing the English winter, but her face lights up as she sees him coming. She practically runs into his arms and hugs him tight.
"But where were you? I was so worrieed. Somesing 'as 'appened?"
He holds her tight, burying his face in her hair.
"My Dad was-was hurt. He's-he's in St. Mungo's." His voice is shaking, despite his best efforts to keep it level. Fleur pulls away from him, holding his arms and looking up into his face.
"Come." She takes his hand, and tows him down Diagon Alley. She has a tiny flat – one room and a share in a bathroom – above Eeylops' Owl Emporium (she can hear the owls hooting all night, and it drives her mad). She pulls him up the stairs and into her room, depositing him in the one armchair. He is too worn out to protest or argue. He likes the way she has taken charge and is taking care of him. This is a reversal – up to now in their relationship, he has been the one in charge, he has been the one looking after her. She goes to the tiny kitchenette at the end of the room, and returns with two mugs of hot chocolate. She hands one to Bill, and perches on the arm of the chair.
"Your fazzer?" she asks. "'E will be alright?"
He takes a gulp of his drink. It is warm and comforting, like Fleur herself.
He nods. "Yeah. It-it looked like he might not be for a while, but – yeah, he'll be okay."
He is trying not to think of how his father looked when he arrived at St. Mungo's – so still and pale, as if he were dead already. Even more, he is trying not to think of the look in his mother's eyes when she told him that the Healers thought that his father might not make it. He chokes on a sob, and puts his drink down, burying his face in his hands.
Fleur puts her own drink on the table beside his, and wraps her arms around him. She frees his hair from its ponytail, and runs her fingers through it.
"Can you tell me what 'appened?" she asks gently.
She feels him shake his head. "I'm – sorry Fleur. I just – can't."
She sighs. She knows there are things he cannot – will not – share with her. It does not matter. She loves him. She will take those things on trust.
She holds him close, stroking his hair, and murmuring to him in French as he cries. He understands less than one word in four, but it helps. Eventually, he stops crying.
She re-heats the chocolate and finds some marshmallows to go with it. He pulls her onto his lap and holds her close as they drink.
He is not going to let this girl go.
-
Coffee and Chocolate (February 1996)
"Fleur, I'm sorry."
"Yes. So you said."
"I don't know what else you want me to say."
Damn. This is the nearest thing to a row they have had. She is not going to cry. She is not going to admit that she is being unreasonable. It's just a day. An ordinary day. (No, it's not, it is Valentine's Day. Their first. It is a big deal. It should be a big deal to him too. He is the one being unreasonable.)
"You will not even tell me where you are going."
"Ican't Fleur. You know I can't."
"I know you will not. You do not tell me why you cannot."
"I would if I could. Don't you trust me?"
"Ifyou trusted me, you would tell me where you are going."
"That's not fair, Fleur. I do trust you, but I can't tell you. I just can't."
"So you keep saying. Zis is getting us nowhere. I will see you on Monday?"
"Yeah. I'll be at work on Monday. We'll go out Monday night."
"Oui."
She turns her face away when he tries to kiss her.
She cries when he is gone. Now he will be angry with her. But it is not fair that he will leave her on her own on what should be their first Valentine's Day. It is not fair.
He should at least trust her enough to tell her why, to say where he is going.
(Oh God. What if what he is doing is dangerous? What if something happens to him? What if the last conversation they ever had was an argument?)
- - -
"This is a hell of a way to celebrate Valentine's Day."
Bill smiles at his companion, though he can barely see in her in the faint light shed by their two wands. "So who is he then?"
"Who is who?"
"The person you'd rather be spending Valentine's with. Come on, Tonks, spill the beans."
She sighs. "He's hypothetical unfortunately. And I could do without the hypothetical person just for a cup of hot chocolate and somewhere warm. Anything would be better than sitting around here in the dark and cold watching out for Death Eaters."
"You have a point there."
There is a rap at the door of the magically-constructed hide, and they both point their wands at the door.
"Who is it?" Bill calls.
"Me. Let me in, it's cold out here."
"Password?"
"Memphis. And why you have to pick on American towns is beyond me."
"Egyptian, not American," Bill says with a grin, as he flicks his wand to open the door of the hide and admit Remus Lupin. "Anything happening out there?"
"Dolohov just arrived. And someone else – Goyle by the build of him. Godric, but it's cold. There are lights on in the main room, but there doesn't seem to be much movement. My guess is they're just talking."
Tonks grimaces. "So we're freezing here for nothing."
Lupin raises his eyebrows at her. "Would you rather they were off attacking Muggleborns?"
She has the grace to look slightly ashamed of herself. "No, but at least it might keep us warm."
"True." Lupin rummages in his bag and pulls out a large bar of chocolate, a flask of coffee and three mugs.
"Remus, I think I love you," Tonks enthuses, tripping over the bag as she goes to hold a mug for Lupin to fill, and being caught by Bill.
Once they each have a steaming mug and a chunk of chocolate in their hands, Lupin turns to Bill. "Since it's Valentine's Day, I want to know about this jeune fille of yours."
Bill slops his coffee on the ground and swears. He is glad that it is dark enough that they cannot see him blush. "Who have you been talking to?" he demands.
"I have my sources. Sirius actually, via Harry who got it from Fred – or George."
Bill groans. "That figures."
"Who is she?" Tonks demands. "I can't believe you were teasing me about Valentine's earlier."
"Smokescreen," Bill admits. "Fleur Delacour, if you must know."
"The Beauxbatons champion? She's too young for you."
"Merlin, Tonks, you sound like my mother!"
"So your mother knows?" Lupin asks slyly.
Bill groans again. "No, of course she doesn't. Unless the twins have said something to her, in which case I may have to kill them. I mean she sounds like my mother would if she knew."
"Is it serious?" Tonks enquires.
"Yeah. Yeah it is actually." He doesn't realise he is smiling, and it is too dark for the others to notice.
Lupin looks at his watch. "Ten thirty. Someone ought to go out again."
"My turn." Bill drains his mug and sets it on the ground. "Give me a password."
"Beauxbatons," Lupin says seriously.
"Very funny."
Tonks and Lupin's laughter follows him as he pulls out his wand and leaves the hide.
- - -
Fleur and Gisela decide to make the best of a bad job and celebrate Valentine's Day together. (Gisela's boyfriend Gottfried works for the Austrian Ministry of Magic, and is at a conference this weekend. Fleur has to stifle the uncharitable thought that at least Gisela knows what he is doing.)
They go to a Muggle cinema, and see a ridiculously soppy film about a couple meeting on top of a skyscraper on Valentine's Day. It makes them both cry.
Then they return to Fleur's flat (Gisela's is even tinier than hers) and share a takeaway, a bottle of wine, Austrian coffee and French chocolate.
They have a surprisingly good time.
(But Bill and Gottfried don't need to know that.)
-
Chocolates and Couscous (February 1996)
Both Gisela and Fleur have something waiting for them on their desk when they arrive at work on Monday morning. Gisela has an enormous bunch of red roses from Gottfried. (Fleur can hear Miss Payne moaning about the room they take up already, although she has not actually turned up yet.)
Fleur herself finds a heart-shaped box of chocolates (French ones – Bill knows her pretty well by now) with a red rose attached. There is a note too: "Fleur love, I am so sorry about Saturday. I missed you all weekend, and I can't wait to see you. Forgive me? Please? Love always, Bill. xxxxxxx" She cannot help smiling as she pops a chocolate in her mouth and stows the box in her drawer away from prying eyes. It is too hard to be mad with Bill for long. She catches Gladys Porlock shooting her a look of pure malice as she straightens up, and smiles at her sweetly. She can afford to be magnanimous. She – not poor Gladys with her magically dyed blonde hair and her slight air of desperation – is the one the best-looking, kindest,loveliest man in the bank missed all weekend.
She only sees him twice all day, and then briefly, mid-morning, The Payne sends her up to the curse-breakers' floor with a sheaf of papers for Delloran Gumble, the head curse-breaker, to sign. Bill's office door is open as she passes, and she glances in and sees him and Zoran Madic both deeply absorbed in examining a jewel-encrusted casket that looks both valuable and somehow sinister. He does not notice her, and she tries hard not to mind. (It is not his fault. He is busy.) In the afternoon, he comes down to their floor to see Miss Payne about something, and gives her a grin and a wink in full view of Gladys, who pouts and scowls, and makes remarks about "pushy French tarts" for the rest of the afternoon. Fleur ignores her. She can afford to. She is the one going out with Bill this evening.
For once, he is at their meeting place before she is. (She is not sure why they continue to meet at the boarded-up shop further down Diagon Alley rather than at the bank. Their relationship is pretty much an open secret at work now. Perhaps it is just a habit.) He sweeps her into his arms when she arrives, kissing her hard and long.
"I missed you so much," he tells her as they break apart. "Have you forgiven me?"
She smiles, and links her arm through his. "'Ow can I not forgive a man who buys me chocolats Francais?" she asks, laughing up at him. "Where are we going?"
"Wait and see," he grins, putting his arm around her, and pulling a battered looking quill from his pocket. "Portkey," he tells her. "Are you ready?"
"Why can't we zhust Apparate?" she asks.
"Too far. Ready?" The Portkey is glowing blue, and she puts her hand on it, touching his.
The place where they land, him holding her upright (she hates travelling by Portkey), is warm, smells spicy, and is definitely not in England. Not France either.
"Where are we?" she gasps, as she regains her balance.
"Look over there," he tells her, grinning.
Pyramids. Mon Dieu, this is a man who takes her to Egyptfor dinner? Egypt? She cannot help laughing.
They eat couscous and lamb in a tiny restaurant where Bill is obviously known. Of course, he worked here for several years. His Arabic is halting at first, but comes back to him as the evening progresses.
They talk and laugh, and the evening passes far too quickly. He asks her about her weekend, and she has to admit that she had a good time with Gisela on Saturday night. He pulls a face when she describes the film to him though.
"A skyscraper? In New York? In February? Sounds bloody cold to me," he says.
"I sink I prefer zis," she admits. "'Ow was your weekend?"
"Bloody cold. But not in New York. No skyscrapers either." (He briefly considers telling her the truth – that he spent it with a werewolf and the girl he fought with his brother over when he was seventeen. But he doesn't think that would go down well. Particularly the last part.) He sighs. "I wish I could tell you, Fleur. I want to. I hope I'll be able to soon, but it's not up to me."
She smiles and takes his hand. "It's okay. I trust you. I am sorry I was 'orreeble about it."
"Thank you." He leans over the table and kisses her. "Are you ready to go home?"
"I guess so. Back to reality," she sighs.
"Reality with you is pretty good," he tells her, as he settles the bill and pulls out the Portkey.
He spends the night at her flat, but for the sake of appearances they leave to go to work separately in the morning. As she passes the boarded-up shop where they meet, she notices a new sign above it: "93 Diagon Alley. Let Agreed." It does not matter. They do not need a secret place to meet any more. As far as she is concerned, the whole world can know that they are together.
It would be nice if it was to become a chocolate shop though.