Incondite: ill-constructed; unpolished.
August 1, 1997
As Dawn's rosy fingers crept over the horizon and into the fields and farm houses of Devon, a frustrated growl escaped from the cellar of a crooked, red-roofed building on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. The flicker of an oil lamp came from beneath the door. At the bottom of the rickety wooden ladder that had seemed old even when the house was built sat Bill Weasley, groom-to-be in a few hours' time.
"This is bloody mental," he muttered to himself, crumbling up yet another piece of parchment and chucking it across the low, earthy room lined with his mother's preserves.
With perhaps a little more anger than it strictly deserved, Bill ripped off another piece of clean parchment, spread it on his knees, and started sketching out letters with agonizing slowness. After a few painful lines, he dropped the quill and reread his words.
"She's gonna hate me," he declared to the preserves, letting the parchment slip from his fingers and slumping back against the ladder with another frustrated exhalation.
The door opened and bright, early-morning light flooded into the small room, dazzling him.
"Bill?" his father's voice said groggily. "What're you doing down here?"
"Nothing," Bill told him quickly, gathering up his scrolls, ink pot, and quill. "Just, you know, couldn't sleep. No – don't bother coming down. I'll make you some coffee, shall I?"
But Arthur had already begun climbing, and in a minute he was sitting beside his eldest son on the rough planks of the cellar floor.
"I haven't been down here in ages," he mused, blinking interestedly at the jams and apple crates surrounding them. "Not since you took off for Egypt, at least. None of the rest fancied the cellar quite as much as you did."
"Well, yeah. That's because I told them all a giant, bloodsucking snake monster lived behind the shelves, dying to feast on little children," Bill explained, smirking a little.
"I would've thought that would draw them down here like flies to honey," Arthur chuckled.
"I might've borrowed one of your vacuum hoses and some of Mum's cherry jam, – er, among other things – to scare the twins away a few times," Bill confessed.
Arthur burst out laughing, which was exactly the opposite response this would have elicited ten years before. "Maybe they shouldn't be the only ones running a joke shop," he chortled.
Bill shrugged. "I had to get some peace somewhere in this madhouse."
Arthur nodded understandingly. "Why do you suppose I built the tool shed?"
For a few minutes they sat in amiable silence, Arthur taking note of the many jars of his favorite marmalades that were hidden away down here, Bill doodling absently with his quill. But eventually Arthur decided it was time for the real subject to be broached.
"What brings a groom down here at five in the morning on his wedding day?" he inquired amiably.
Bill fidgeted, but kept his eyes on the quill he was turning over and over in his long fingers. A perfect image of his teenaged self whenever Arthur had caught him sulking in this very spot for some reason or another he never wanted to divulge.
"Wedding jitters?" Arthur pressed gently.
Bill looked surprised. "No! Of course not! I mean, we've been planning this for an entire bloody year. I can't wait to get it over with."
Arthur eyed the parchment and quill suspiciously. Then he stood up and crossed the room to scoop up a crumpled wad of discarded parchment. His eyebrows rose as he straightened it out, and he turned to his son.
"Don't tell me you're still writing your vows," he said incredulously, holding up the scribbled out lines. Bill's tortured expression was enough of an answer. "Bill, you're getting married in less than twelve hours!" Arthur exclaimed exasperatedly.
"I know!" Bill interrupted, flinging up his hands hopelessly. "But everything I write is so terrible even I would leave me at the alter for saying it out loud."
"It can't be that bad," Arthur tried to reassure him, rejoining his son at the base of the ladder. "All she wants is to hear why you're marrying her. It doesn't have to be an epic poem or anything. Just right down some nice things and tell her what kind of husband you plan on being, and it'll be fine."
Bill gave him a dubious look.
"Go on," Arthur prompted. "Let's hear what you're thinking."
"Alright," Bill cleared his throat. "Fleur, you're the most amazing –"
"Mm-mm," Arthur interrupted, holding up a hand and shaking his head. "Remember you've got a mother and a sister listening to this, and they're already finding it difficult to share the number-one-girl spot in your life."
"But she's my wife," Bill said exasperatedly.
"Trust me, son."
"Alright," Bill sighed. "Fleur, you're one of the most amazing people I've ever –"
"Oh, you can't say that to her in front of her entire family!" Arthur cut in incredulously. "She's your wife, not just anybody."
Bill gaped at his father, frustration strangling his words.
"Best to stay away from superlatives all together," Arthur advised, clapping him on the shoulder. "Go on, what else?"
"She, er – she's got the most lovely eyes?" Bill offered cautiously.
Arthur nodded. "Good for a first date, but you've got to be a bit fancier for a wedding."
"She's got a heart of gold" – Arthur smiled approvingly – "and skin like – like painted iron. She's so much tougher than she looks."
"Er, let's stick with the gold thing," Arthur suggested carefully. "What makes her golden to you?"
"She's… kind, and… sincere. And her hair might shine silver in the sun, but it's what's inside that counts. Girls like lines like that, don't they?"
Arthur tried not to wince. "You know what, Bill? The best kind of love is impossible to put into words. That's why they've already got the important promises covered in the standard vows."
"But Fleur already has hers written," Bill told him miserably. "She's had them done for ages! What'll she think if I can't even muster a few words about why I love her?"
Arthur smoothed out the tossed-away vow attempt he'd picked up. "I think if you show her this, she'll understand you want to use the standard vows because you love her."
Bill snatched the parchment away, blushing as his father snickered.
"I blame you, you know," he accused, tearing it into pieces. "You never taught me how to write a proper love note."
Arthur guffawed as he pulled himself to his feet. "Son, you're a talented boy, but I don't think any amount of tutoring could help you here."
"Aw, be quiet," Bill complained as his father mounted the ladder, still laughing. "You took the easy way out and eloped. You never had to deal with vows!"
"Maybe your brothers'll be wiser," Arthur called. "But since you weren't, you might as well bring up some peach jam while you're down there."
"No need to worry about this marriage not lasting," Bill muttered, crawling over to the peach jams stacked in the corner. "This is the last wedding I'm ever having."
A/N: Oh, Bill. Well I hope you all enjoyed his struggle anyway :) What d'you know, I got another chapter up! :) I'm terrible lately, aren't I? Probably'll need another go-around to catch all the days I've missed. Oh well. It'll keep me busy next year, too :)
Thank you all for reviewing! You make my day! :) A little over 200 to go before August 20th! So I've decided to add a little incentive! If you review and tell me your favorite character, I'll try to write a story for them and dedicate it to you! So get typing!