A/N: I am so sorry about the delay getting this chapter up. The weekend and following week were wicked crazy. I'm hoping to get the next chapter up next Thursday before I go out of town.

This chapter makes references to Daphne and Fleur's "bonding" moment in Chapter 19 of my prequel, Daphne Greengrass and the 6th Year From Hell. Daphne's rather unfortunate encounter with the music store clerk occurred in Chapter 30 of the same story.

I own nothing. Thanks to stella8h8chang for the beta-read.


Chapter 3: At the Burrow

"Who eez zere?"

Ginny jumped up, not expecting any late-night interruptions during her attempt to recreate her mum's hot cocoa. Had it been a Weasley who had snuck up on her, she would've been warned by a thunderous onslaught of heavy footsteps down the stairs, regardless of whether or not it was after midnight.

However, the throaty, accented voice heralded not another Weasley, but—

"Er, Phl- . . . erm, Fleur?" Ginny caught herself before uttering her future sister-in-law's nickname.

"You could not sleep, Ginny?" Fleur asked, sliding into a chair at the Weasleys' dining table.

(Wow! Brilliant you are, what with me being up in the middle of the night--)

Ginny held back a very loud snort, and instead opted for civility.

"Yeah. Thought Mum's hot cocoa would help."

"Oh, I zee! I do know your mother made some very good chocolate chip cookies just yesterday. Zey might go well wiz your drink, non?"

Ginny goggled at Fleur for a few moments.

"What? Did I say something?"

Ginny shook her head. "Er, non. I-I mean, no, Fleur. I just . . . that'd be cool, yeah."

Fleur nodded and got up to retrieve the cookies while Ginny continued to stir.

The two girls remained silent while Ginny poured two mugfuls of the piping hot, creamy drink.

"Marshmallow?" Ginny asked Fleur.

Fleur nodded, fairly enthusiastically, to which Ginny chuckled with amusement. She tossed a few of the soft, white treats into both of their mugs and sat down in an empty chair. Both girls proceeded to sip at their beverages and munch on their cookies.

The silence felt rather thick, almost oppressive. Ginny chewed slowly while watching Fleur take dainty bites of hers. Ginny wondered what in the world they could talk about. They had nothing in common, other than the fact that they both loved Bill.

But Ginny was so not ready to discuss her brother's love life.

Not with the girl he was most certainly "doing it" with.

Truth be told, as surprising as Fleur had been at Bill's bedside the night Dumbledore died, Ginny was almost as surprised that Fleur had never brought up that she knew the girls called her "Phlegm". Fleur never treated Ginny poorly because of it. In fact, Fleur treated her quite normally, even nicer than before.

(If I had found out some girl had called me some crazy nickname, I definitely would've spiked her food with Wheezes and thrown Bat-Bogey Hexes—)

"So, you do not like me?"

(Bugger!)

"What? No! I-I mean, er . . ." Ginny stuttered.

Fleur looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

Ginny sighed and fell back in her chair. "I'm sorry I called you 'Phlegm'." Ginny tore off a corner of her cookie and tossed the dislodged chip into her cocoa.

Fleur gave a little hum and giggle. "Eet eez fine. Zere 'ave been many, many times zat I 'ave been mean and snobby to others." Fleur nodded her head to the redhead. "I apologize eef I 'ave been like zat to you."

Ginny winced. "Honestly, I really can't remember if you've ever been mean to me." She felt a blush creeping up her face.

(It's fine and dandy to admit when you like someone, but try telling them you didn't like them before.)

"I think that, well," Ginny traced patterns in the grooves of the wood of the table with her fingernail, searching for the right words to say. "I just sort of, um . . . was jealous." She whispered the last word, causing Fleur to lean forward.

"What?"

"Jealous. I was kinda jealous. All right, really jealous." Ginny scrunched up her nose. "S-sorry."

"You were jealous of moi?" Fleur gestured toward herself with her palm pressed against her chest. Ginny thought there was a disingenuous tone to her voice, but she quickly realized it was Fleur's accent that was throwing her off.

"Are you surprised?"

"I am, yes." Fleur cocked her head and gave Ginny a rueful smile.

Ginny was perplexed. "Why?"

"I was zee one 'oo wanted to be a part of your family. I wanted to be accepted by you and your mother and brothers. I wanted to get along wiz you, also. I 'ad 'oped that you might t'ink of me as a big sister if you needed one." Fleur twirled the mug against her palms, her beautiful face set in an inscrutable manner.

Ginny took in a couple of breaths. "I didn't like feeling that we were losing Bill to you. Honestly, I--" she stopped and looked at Fleur. Ginny decided that she needed to be honest with this girl, Bill's future wife and her first sister-in-law. "It might be completely idiotic to think like that, but you're the girl in his life now. He doesn't really need us anymore. He'll move on—"

"Ginny," Fleur interrupted, "I am sorry, but I really 'ave to say something here." Fleur set down her mug and looked Ginny squarely in her eyes. "You weel never lose Beel. Your family weel never lose Beel." Ginny jumped back a bit in surprise as Fleur took her hand. "From zees point forward, your family weel only get bigger, non?" Fleur smiled and Ginny, despite her deep desire not to commiserate with Fleur Delacour, couldn't help but return the expression. "I promise to you and to your 'ole family that nothing weel ever come between any of you and Beel." With a small, but firm, shake of her hand, Fleur sat back in her chair. Ginny raised her eyebrows as she thought about this little moment of honesty between her and Fleur.

"I would like to offer to you my ear, you know. If you do ever need to talk about anything."

Ginny turned to look at the other girl, who had just gotten up out of her chair.

"I am tired, Ginny. I weel see you in zee morning?"

Ginny nodded soundlessly. Fleur once again smiled, and gave Ginny a small pat on her shoulders.

"Sweet dreams, Ginny."

And Ginny watched as Fleur slowly walked up the stairs to her room, leaving her alone in the kitchen to think about the ways in which she had been so quick to judge people over the past few years.


Living among the Weasleys as they prepared for a proper wedding was more insane than Daphne could've ever imagined. It was more common than not to hear Fleur say something in French and Daphne could work out that she was probably swearing in her native tongue.

Daphne at least reckoned that "Merde!" probably didn't mean "unicorns" or "candy".

It had surprised Daphne greatly that, upon her arrival at the Burrow, Fleur Delacour had greeted her with quite an enthusiastic hug and had chided her in a very friendly manner that Daphne should have written her over the spring term. She had had the presence of mind to look very sheepish at Fleur's reprimand, and French girl had made her promise to write more during the upcoming year.

"Daphne, I would like eet eef you told me what was going on wiz you at 'ogwarts. If you 'ave any problems or anything you would like to talk about, do not 'esitate."

The Slytherin nodded; she turned around to glare at Ron as he snickered at the very unusual pair of friends.

"Oh, you should not make fun, Ron," Fleur said, pinching his cheeks and ruffling his hair. "You should remember that I am marrying Beel in a few weeks. I will 'ave access to many, many secrets I am sure 'ermione would love to 'ear." With a sneaky grin and nod, Fleur walked back toward the kitchen. Ron blanched at the good-humored threat.

"You'll tell me anyway, though, right Fleur?" Daphne called out.

Fleur turned back around, winked and held up a finger to her upturned lips.

Daphne noticed that Molly Weasley was very tightly wound; she was so very focused on wedding preparations that it made her wonder if Ron's mum thought it was a necessary distraction to take her mind off of the war. She had only been at the Burrow for a day, and Daphne could feel a combination of tension, excitement, and nervousness, all mixed with something darker, some feeling of inevitability.

Shadows would fall over Molly's face whenever she would hear the distant pop of family members Apparating outside the Burrows' wards, or when various members of the Order of the Phoenix would stop by, either for news or for a quick chat to take their minds off of the war surrounding them.

"I think your mum should try something to relax," she said to Ron after her first full day as an official resident of the Burrow.

Ron shrugged and looked befuddled. "I'm open to suggestions, if ya got 'em."

Daphne scrunched up her face. "Obliviate the wedding from her brain?"

"Or Portkey her to a tropical resort?"

"Oooh! A weekend in the countryside?"

"Daphne, we're in the countryside, if you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, yeah," Daphne said with exasperation. She sighed. "She's gonna run herself into the ground if she keeps going like this. Just because she's planning this wedding doesn't mean the war has suddenly stopped."

At this, Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Actually, I think she's more nervous about Harry and Hermione and me and what we might do after the summer's over, or after the wedding, even."

Daphne turned to Ron, her brows furrowed. "What d'you mean?"

"We're not going back to Hogwarts."

Daphne's face fell. "Wh-what? What?! What do you mean, 'not going back to Hogwarts'?"

"Well, when I say 'not', it's the opposite of 'going to go back'—"

She rolled her eyes. "Why aren't you going back?" Daphne huffed.

"We've got to do something, something that Dumbledore wanted Harry to do, something that needs to be done before, you know . . ." Ron trailed off, gesturing with his hands as if silently continuing the sentence.

Daphne regarded him carefully. "This has to do with his lessons last year, doesn't it?"

Ron nodded. "I can't tell you more than that, though."

"Your mum knows?"

He shook his head while shrugging his shoulders. "Dunno, really. I think she suspects something." Ron snorted. "Somehow, she always knows what's going on."

"So you're just not going back, then? Even Hermione?"

Ron nodded again. "She's taking care of her family, making arrangements for them to be safe while we're gone. And I'm actually working on an idea to cover my prolonged absence from Hogwarts, so no one'll get suspicious."

Daphne raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to turn your tongue into lead. Permanently."

She snorted. "Seriously Slytherin there, Weasley." And Daphne gently nudged him with her arm.

Ron smirked. "I remember a time when I would've been completely offended by that remark."

"And now?"

Ron smiled and shook his head. "As long as it's coming from you, I'll take it as a compliment."

And they smiled and chatted and teased each other to take their minds off of much darker things.

There was no denying that the Burrow was alive and kicking and breathing, but Daphne found that it was more comforting than not. She realized, after a couple of days, that slipping into a routine of flipping through past copies of Witch Weekly's Weddings, writing down suggestions for the celebration, and listening to the many details that still had to be planned pushed out the other negative, nasty thoughts that would try to sneak back into her mind.

Her first weekend with the Weasleys had arrived. Daphne found herself sitting with Arthur at the dining table.

Ron's father had a most serious expression on his face.

"Daphne, I wanted to ask you something, and I need your complete honesty about this matter. Did you visit a shop on Berwick Street in Muggle London some time last week?"

Daphne felt all the color drain from her face. She stammered, "Um, er . . . okay, well, the thing with that, Mr. Weasley—"

Arthur raised his hand. "I'll take that as a yes." He turned and looked at her sternly. "We do not tolerate behavior such as stealing and performing risky Memory or Confundus Charms on Muggles in our house to steal merchandise from stores, Daphne."

Daphne pursed her lips together, refraining from saying, "Oh, but Dumbledore can practically Imperio people to get his way!"

Instead, Daphne mumbled, "Butdumbledorecan."

Arthur leaned forward. "I'm sorry, Daphne. What was that?"

"But Dumbledore did it to force you to take me in. He did it to get his way!" Daphne heard the harsh, bitter edge of her voice. She'd been backed into a corner by this . . . this . . . man, and he was condemning her for doing what that old bastard had done to her Muggle caseworkers.

Arthur coughed into his hand, and Daphne saw what looked like a smile starting to curl the edges of his mouth. "Well, I'll admit that Dumbledore probably didn't use the most ethical of methods to make sure you would have a home and that you would be protected while you finished up at Hogwarts, but," Arthur said, leaning forward to make sure Daphne had his full attention, "I do not condone using magic on Muggles to steal. I do not allow my children to do that—"

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not your child," Daphne muttered.

Almost inaudibly.

SMACK!

Daphne jumped as she heard Arthur's hand hit the table with a tremendous amount of force. She quailed at the look on his face.

"Daphne, it is not in my nature to lose my temper with my children." Arthur spoke in a measured tone. "I do not spank my children. I do not yell at them. However, I cannot nor will not allow using magic on Muggles, stealing things from Muggles, or any other witch or wizard, or any other disrespectful behavior in this house. Particularly now, with everything going on in the world, and everything going on immediately around us. The Ministry's power is tenuous at best; there is no telling if or when it might fall, and I do not want to draw any further attention to our home or family than is necessary."

Daphne's mouth fell open. Never had she heard Arthur Weasley talk like this.

(Great Merlin's Ghost! He can be scary when he's like this!)

"We care about you, Daphne. We care about your well-being. And not because Dumbledore asked us to. We honestly, truly, and wholeheartedly want you to be here, to feel like you're a part of our family. But, I can't force you to want to be here. The only thing Molly and I can do is tell you that you will always have a home with us, but there will be rules, there will be obligations, and you will have to obey them." Arthur peered at her, stern and serious.

All Daphne could do was look at him, moving her mouth up and down, without a sound.

"Can you answer me? Can you let me know you understand?"

Daphne, still shocked into complete silence, could only make herself nod very, very slowly.

She watched as Arthur's face returned to its normal, kindly appearance. "I'm glad we could reach an understanding, Daphne. Now," he said, rubbing his hands together, "down to business. I was able to intervene with the M.L.E.s once it became known that someone had performed magic on the Muggle clerk working there. A young man named Jay."

If Daphne slunk any further in her chair, she was certain she'd slide right out of it.

"Nobody will be pressing charges against you, Daphne, even though they'd be well in their rights to. Instead, you will pay off the amount of the merchandise you took in Muggle Pounds. Bill's already figured that the three musical items that you took, as well as the Muggle music contraption that you also stole comes to approximately seventy-five pounds."

"Crap," she muttered.

"And Ron also said you might owe some money to a few people from school."

At this, Daphne looked at Arthur, her lip curled in apparent disbelief. "What? Why the bloody hell would Ron say that? I don't owe anything to anybody!"

She hoped Arthur wouldn't see through the indignant tone of her voice.

Arthur gave her a look that told Daphne he didn't believe her for one second.

"Have you ever had a job, Daphne?"

She groaned audibly.

"Fantastic!" Arthur said, with a horribly enthusiastic look on his face. "It looks like today's your lucky day! There's a flourishing shop in Diagon Alley that is in desperate need of warm bodies to help with sales." To Daphne's great disgust, Arthur gave her a great, big, cheerful wink. "Fortunately, the shop owners owe me a . . . well, let's just say I've given them a great deal of things over the years—"

"Like endless patience," said a voice to Daphne's left, "right, George?"

"Personally, Fred," came the reply from Daphne's right, "I was going to say his fatherly love."

"Not to mention a surplus of charm—"

"And intelligence, Fred! Oh, and our dashing good looks!"

"We owe you so much, our dear, beloved Father!" George put his hand over his heart.

Daphne groaned and slouched even further into her chair.

"Greengrass! You're less a witch, and more a—"

"Wet noodle, right, brother of mine?"

Fred snapped his fingers decisively. "Right-o, George!"

"You can't be serious?!" Daphne exclaimed to Arthur Weasley. "I can't work with these . . . these—"

"What's that, Greengrass?" Fred leaned toward her from her left. Daphne looked at Fred, and snapped her head around . . . only to face George who was leaning in, smirking in her face.

"Clowns!" Daphne exclaimed, holding out her hands desperately to Arthur.

"Oh, Daphne," George said smugly, "I'll have you know these 'clowns' are currently the owners of the top retail business in Diagon Alley these days."

"Apparently, in dark times like these," Fred said with a Cheshire Cat-worthy grin, "people still need the funny!"

George nudged at her with his elbow. "Wouldn't you want to help out with that, Greengrass?"

"Do it for them!" said Fred.

"Do it for you!" George replied.

The twins looked at each other, smiling and wriggling their brows.

"Do it for your country, Daphne Greengrass!" they exclaimed in unison.

And again, Daphne groaned and flopped forward, dropping her head into her folded arms resting on the Weasleys' dining table.

"Somebody . . . please release me from the misery of my existence!" Daphne pleaded with a muffled voice.

To her annoyance, the only sound she could hear was Arthur Weasley chuckling in response.