Some scars are visible. Some are not. Bill Weasley considered his scars a badge of honour, most of the time.
Scars in the Mirror
"Seriously, Fleur… have you considered using a glamour on your man? Those frightful scars!" 120-year-old Great Aunt Minette Delacour's voice boomed as it always did.
Bill flinched. He knew he did despite the steadiness of his arm as he poured coffee from the heavy coffee pot at the Delacour's dining table. His wife frowned slightly but made a joke in French that had her cousins giggling like schoolgirls. Aunt Minette's thoughtless remark was deftly swept away and forgotten – for now.
Bill Weasley stared at the full-length mirror in the Delacour Mansion's second-best guest room. The best always went to Aunt Minette. They had brought the children over to visit their Delacour cousins for the summer. The Delacours were all about beauty and elegance. A rough-and-tumble Cursebreaker was the far from the ideal son-in-law the family had in mind for their daughter.
His red hair was braided back into a queue with beads woven into it. More piercings glinted in his ears. All were amulets favoured by professional Cursebreakers as protection. He pulled his shirt over his head and stared at his half-naked reflection.
He had collected more than his fair share of scars from his work as a Cursebreaker. The worst came from the werewolf Greyback. Most of his scars had faded to a pale silvery white on his tanned skin. On his face were the three claw marks that ran from his hairline down his left cheek to his neck. Another had caught the edge of his upper lip and the scar tugged it upwards when it healed.
The goblins never had any issues with his scars. On the contrary, the scars were considered a badge of honour in their culture, won in war. He would wear a scarf or hood when working with fellow wizards or in Muggle neighbourhoods. His appearance was too memorable.
He turned to expose his neck. More scarring there. Pomfrey had told him how lucky he was the claws and teeth of that beast had not ripped open his jugular. He was lucky it had not been a full noon when Greyback attacked him. He did not need to fear full moon nights like the late Lupin did.
The scars were always a part of him where his children were concerned. Little Lucy had cried the first time she met her Uncle Bill before her sister shushed her. He had been away for much of her two years of life than on an extended assignment in Cairo.
Ugly. There was no denying it. The scars were ugly reminders of the past. The attack by the werewolf. Curse-breaking assignments gone wrong… Failures. Instances where he had not been decisive enough, quick enough, alert enough.
"Bill? Darling?"
Fleur stood behind him, her face reflected in the mirror.
"What's wrong, love?" she wound her arms around his waist from behind.
"My scars… they are ugly. I am ugly…" Bill stuttered.
"Non! Forget Aunt Minette's silly words… You are the same Bill Weasley I fell in love with – handsome, brave, and incredibly charming…" Fleur kissed his shoulder where a cutting curse had left its mark.
"Scars are not pleasant to look at, but they are a part of you, a testimony to your character," his wife whispered into his ear.
Bill gasped as her hands slipped to his waistband. She pressed against him. He tentatively felt for her Veela Allure but felt nothing. His wife smiled at him in the mirror. She did not wish to use her Allure on him - they were both aware he was capable of resisting it. Their lips met. They kissed until they needed to come apart for air.
"Come, Bill…" Fleur pulled him away from the mirror towards the bed. "Let me trace your scars, and you tell me how you came by them… All of them, my brave knight," she winked flirtatiously.
"Wait," Bill hurriedly cast a locking spell on the door, followed by a muffling charm.
Author's Notes:
Just a short ficlet. I seem to have covered most of the Weasley clan in some form – time to tackle the hero and heroine of the series.