A/N: Two chapters since I missed yesterday. :)
Everyone is desperate for you to return home to visit. The family, of course, most of all. Gabrielle misses you so much and is so eager to see you once she finishes her term at school. All of the girls miss you! And we have been receiving post and visitors who wish to speak to you from the French Ministry! The papers keep contacting us as well! Your name is all anyone can talk about. Everyone has heard the story.
Fleur stared at her parents. Ever since they'd arrived from France days prior, it had been a whirlwind of emotions. She'd gone from writing letters to them with the fear of never seeing them again to now being told she was being regarded as some sort of war hero back in France. The French Ministry even wanted to give her a medal of honor.
"Pourquoi veulent-ils me donner une médaille?" she asked, finding the idea of them wanting to give her a medal rather overwhelming. She hadn't done anything worthy of a medal of honor. She didn't think so, at least.
"Vous avez fièrement représenté votre pays!" said her father, telling her how she had proudly represented her country—they wanted to show her their appreciation. Beauxbatons was also hoping to give her some prestigious alumnus award on Madame Maxime's insistence; she was already inquiring about when Fleur would be available to attend so preparations could be made.
This was...insane.
"The French Ministry wants to give me a medal of honor," Fleur told Bill later on that day, once he'd come back from seeing Charlie off on his Portkey back to Romania.
He seemed both surprised and impressed, turning to look at her. "Really?"
"My parents told me earlier today. "They have been keeping it quiet until after Fred's funeral, not wanting to steal attention, but…apparently. They want me to make the trip home as soon as I can."
He smiled at her. "Wow. Yeah, well, we should certainly make the trip. You've been away far too long." He walked over to hug her. "But seriously. A medal of honor? That's amazing, Fleur."
"I do not understand why," she muttered. "I did not do anything for France."
He considered that. "I mean, who's to say you didn't? You were a part of the resistance effort that stopped Voldemort from taking over one country. Maybe he would have moved onto France next?"
She stared at him. While entirely possible that could have happened, it seemed like a bit of a stretch to get a medal of honor from some hypothetical.
"Babe, you're a bloody hero," he said with a smile. "Just as so many were that night. Who can blame the French Ministry for wanting to share a bit of the glory? Let them hoist you up. Let people celebrate. In fact, don't be surprised if we don't get something from our Ministry as well, once they figure out what's going on these days. Maybe you'll get two medals of honor?"
"Two?" She'd never have even entertained the thought, especially since she still wasn't entirely sure she was worthy. Harry had been the one to…All she did was turn up to help and…
"When's all this stuff in France all supposed to happen?" Bill asked.
When was it supposed to happen? When was anything supposed to happen?! She still wasn't even sure about tomorrow, let alone anything beyond that. She'd spent the last year never thinking more than just a day in the future, never even knowing if she'd have a future, but now she was being asked to return to the real world where people made plans more than days in advance?
That felt like a strange ask. It felt bizarre to genuinely contemplate the future when she was still trying to get to the next day. Life all around them was slowly attempting to return to "normal," but it still felt so foreign and bizarre.
As it were, the funerals had all mostly been held; people were trying to pick up the pieces; the Ministry was restructuring, and rumor had it that Kingsley Shacklebolt may have been the prime appointment for the next Minister of Magic. People were going back to work...
Bill was even talking about going back to Gringotts full-time toward the end of the summer; he even had plans to start partially working in a few weeks, seeing as the bank was still reeling from Harry, Ron, and Hermione's break-in. Fleur had overheard Arthur and Percy speaking of returning to the Ministry in due time now that changes were being made; she'd heard Harry and Ron discussing future living arrangements...
Hogwarts had even announced that it would soon start the rebuilding process, asking for any and all volunteers to come out to get the castle back into a habitable condition. It had every intention of reopening as a school come September. That declaration had come straight from the top—from the newly appointed Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall.
The idea of Hogwarts planning to reopen already...
That thought alone made Fleur's head spin. The world truly was attempting to move forward, whether or not people were ready. Or perhaps it was just her who wasn't ready...
It didn't help that with her family currently visiting and being ever present, they were unintentionally forcing her to confront that everything was changing whether she got on board or not. From talks of medals of honor and grand ceremonies that were to be held, everyone seemed determined to keep her focused on the future. On expecting it, on confronting it, on embracing it.
On enjoying it...
"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Fleur asked her parents the following morning, several days into their stay. They had just handed her an envelope over breakfast without a word as to what it could be. She was curious.
They were both smiling from ear to ear—clearly excited about something. Bill sat at their kitchen table with them, eating his breakfast and doing his best to follow along with the conversation. His French had grown much better during their isolation—he could certainly get by—but he still clearly struggled when she and her family really got going.
"Ç'est un—" her father began.
"Parler l'anglais," her mother said, urging her husband to speak English. "Bill should 'ear zis as well."
"Oui!" said her father, gesturing for Fleur to open the envelope, which she began to do. "We 'ave brought ze two of you a gift! We 'ave been waiting to give it to you!"
"Because we did not find it in good taste to give it prior to your brozer's memorial," her mother added to Bill, her tone sympathetic.
Bill said nothing, but did force a rather pinched smile.
Fleur, however, was pulling out the contents of the envelope, already wondering what else this could possibly be. This was now the second thing they'd waited until after Fred's funeral to spring on her, and given the last bit of news was a medal of honor, she couldn't possibly think of what her parents deemed worthy enough to follow that news with.
Inside the envelope was a folded piece of parchment, which she removed and began to scan it quickly. By the looks of it, it was something to do with les îles Canaries? The Canary Islands. There was talk of seven days, all paid for…
"What is this?" Fleur asked.
"A holiday!" her mother said happily, looking over to see Bill. Despite them speaking in English now, he still did not seem to be quite following.
"To les îles Canaries!" her father said.
"You…" Bill began to say. "Wait, I'm sorry. Just so I understand. You bought us a holiday to...?"
"The Canary Islands," Fleur said, looking over at him.
"After what you 'ave been zrough," her mother continued. "We want to give you a chance to get away. A change of scenery. You 'ave been shut away for so long."
"And you never got to celebrate after your wedding!" her father added. "You 'ad no…" He paused and looked from his wife to Fleur. "'Ow you say…voyage de noces?"
"Honeymoon," Fleur said for Bill's benefit.
"You bought us a honeymoon?" Bill said, sounding fairly gobsmacked by the idea. He was already looking over her shoulder to see the parchment for himself.
They had. It was all right here and entirely paid for. They'd bought them a sunny, island honeymoon, which...she'd long given up on the idea of one of those. A honeymoon had been something she and Bill had talked about once at some point in "the before", but that seemed like a lifetime ago. She'd never have thought they would actually still have a chance at one.
"Zink about when you would like to go!" her father said. "You 'ave one year."
"Summer would be best," her mother said. "Per'aps later zis summer?"
"And per'aps you can also visit 'ome before you go?" her father added, looking from Bill to Fleur. "On your way? A suggestion, of course…"
Fleur stared at them. This was...What was?...A honeymoon? One they wanted her to take later this summer? Come visit home on your way? She didn't know what to say. She probably should have been more excited than she was, but she was having a hard time making sense of any of this. She still didn't feel as if anyone had given her permission to start living normally again.
"I've never had anyone buy me a holiday before," Bill told her later that morning, once she, he, and her parents Apparated themselves to Diagon Alley for the plans they'd made for the day. Isabelle had returned from France and was set on investigating her shop and flat, so they were hoping to visit with her. Fleur also had plans to see if any of her old possessions from her old flat were still there, while Bill wanted to pop into Gringotts to speak to some goblins. There was much they wanted to see and do now that they were free to come and go as they pleased once more.
"It is very thoughtful," Fleur said, looking up to where her parents were walking several paces ahead of them, entirely out of earshot. "But I do not know. The idea of taking a holiday right now…"
She trailed off. She didn't quite know how to finish that sentence. Because while running off to spend a week with her husband, enjoying life and the sun and the beach sounded lovely, it also felt…strange. She was sure it played into her never ending survivor's guilt, but it seemed too soon.
Still, if they didn't plan for something in these next few months, they were essentially putting things off until next summer and that was another year away. Hadn't she been putting off life long enough? The last two years, all she'd done was put her life on hold; push everything off. What was the point of fighting for a better life if she was afraid to start living it?
Maybe they did need this?
"If I'm honest, I think I'm surprised because I don't think I've ever been on a proper holiday," Bill said. "Let alone the idea of someone gifting me one."
She looked over at him, surprised. "You have never taken a proper holiday? How was I not aware of this?"
He shrugged. "Not counting weekends at Shell Cottage as a kid, which, while lovely, I don't consider that much of a proper holiday. I mean, I did back then, but as an adult..."
He turned to look at her, apparently picking up on the surprise in her expression because he added, "Obviously the family couldn't afford big travel plans back then. In fact, the one time they came into some money and did go and have a proper holiday, it was to Egypt. To see me." He laughed a little. "I didn't get anything but visitors out of that."
She found herself laughing too. It was almost strange to be laughing in the sunshine of Diagon Alley alongside Bill—as if she'd stepped into the time warp—but she quickly shook the feeling.
"What about once you moved away? Once you were in Egypt? Did you never travel—?"
He shook his head. "I worked all the time back then. All of the time. If I had any time off, I either popped over to Romania to visit Charlie or I came back here. I definitely wasn't visiting the Canary Islands…"
"So you want to take it?" she asked. "The holiday?"
He stopped walking to look at her. "You don't?"
She sighed. "I do not know what I want. I cannot help but feel…guilt. I know we should enjoy life again, but…not so soon?"
Bill seemed to consider that for a moment. "I get it. But I think if surviving has taught me anything, it's that life is precious. Live while you can."
"While true, Bill, we can still barely sleep at night without a potion to keep us from the dreaming. The nightmares are so fresh…"
"And I'm not saying we should stop trying to figure out how to deal with that," he said. "We'll probably never stop, but I'd really love to start gaining some fresh happy memories to help fight off the bad." He sighed. "I've spent more of my life living in war times and afraid of the worst happening than I haven't. I don't want to take this down time for granted. I want to move forward."
Move forward…Easier said than done, but he was right. They certainly should not take it for granted. They'd been the lucky ones.
They continued to walk Diagon Alley, and it was clear how much damage had been done in ages since Fleur had last set foot here. Graffiti and vandalism; broken glass and objects; wooden boards still up on some still vacated premises. By the looks of it, who knew if those people were ever coming back? If any were like Isabelle's Beauty Shop, they'd been closed for years at this point, whether by choice or by force. Some may never reopen.
As they passed the ice cream parlor—for which the proprietor had been kidnapped and never seen again—Fleur was specifically reminded of all the people who were driven out of their businesses and homes; some never to return. In the ice cream parlor's case, it was clear someone had come along since and emptied out the premises and cleaned up the property. There was a "For Lease" sign on the front with a toothy wizard with a bright smile staring back at them with his contact information posted.
It wasn't the only shop with leasing information posted, but there were many others that appeared to be reopening on their own. The bookshop, Flourish and Blotts, had a sign that said, "Reopening Soon!" and Fleur could see two people inside looking as if they were tending to the shop, trying to get it back in working order after what looked like some damage. The Owl Emporium also had a similar sign, telling passerbyers that they were currently transferring owls—which had been relocated for their protection—back to the premises; they would be open at the end of the month. The Quidditch shop had banners up saying how excited they were for the new Quidditch season to resume its regularly scheduled season—that they would open by then for all your Quidditch needs.
The Apothecary and Dervish and Bangs were already up and running; their "Open" signs displayed proudly. The Leaky Cauldron was also open, and when Bill popped in to say hello to the innkeeper, Tom, he told them they'd never closed. He also mentioned that he hadn't been too fond of some of the clientele they'd been getting in recent months.
"Dodgy sort," Tom told Bill, his face turning slightly haunted. "And ya know, for me to say that, they musta be somethin' else. Things I heard. Things I seen…"
Tom seemed to disappear for a moment, almost as if his thoughts had been hijacked by an invisible force, but he eventually shook it off and muttered, "It's got me thinking maybe I should retire soon. Find someone else to care for the Leaky. I've been at this long enough. Two wars now." He shook his head. "I dunno. Something to think about, ya know?"
He then turned and looked at Bill, his expression changing entirely. "Sorry to hear about your bruva. He was a good lad. Always made me laugh, those twins. Give your folks my condolences."
Bill offered up a pinched smile and nodded. "Yeah…" He cleared his throat. "But thank you. I'll let them know."
They said their goodbyes to Tom, walking over to where Fleur's parents were standing idly by at the opposite end of the pub. Fleur could tell they weren't impressed by the facilities; her mother looked a little scandalized by a nearby table of very rugged, battle-worn looking wizards. This wasn't their scene at all, but they'd said nothing and remained politely silent until they'd at least walked back into the light of day. That was when Fleur overheard her mother, whispering in French to her husband, about how dreadful she'd found the place.
"Ce n'était pas si terrible," Fleur said, letting her know it was not that terrible. She also added in English, "It has its own charm…"
"What does?" asked Bill.
"The Leaky," Fleur said. "My parents were not impressed." She lowered her voice. "You are aware of how they can be."
Bill chuckled, and when Fleur looked over to see what was so funny, he said, "I just never thought I'd see the day that you defended the Leaky Cauldron. The same girl who used to place napkins down all around to avoid touching as much of it as possible."
She begrudged him a smile; she could to concede to that. "Well, that girl is long gone." She paused. "She had been gone for some time."
As they walked, they also found themselves passing Ollivander's, which also looked as if there was life in it again. That filled Fleur's heart with happiness, knowing Mr. Ollivander was well enough to be back at his passion. She'd honestly barely ever even acknowledged the shop in the past, usually walking straight by, but today she found herself pausing and smiling, wondering if Mr. Ollivander was in and if she could say hello.
Bill had stopped as well. A witch on a nearby stool outside the shop took notice of them.
"If you're looking for a wand," said the woman, "you'll need to make an appointment."
"Oh," Bill said, already shaking his head. "No. Sorry. We were just…You need an appointment to get a wand now? That's new."
She nodded, tucking a strand of curly gray hair under the hat she was wearing. "Mr. Ollivander lost nearly everything he'd created in the war—his entire back storage of wands was damaged or destroyed, so he's working diligently with an apprentice to meet the current high demand for wands. He is, however, only one man."
"He lost everything…" Bill said quietly, more to himself than anyone in particular. "All of those wands are gone?"
The woman nodded. "Mostly. And with so many Muggleborns having had their wands confiscated and destroyed recently, and a new Hogwarts' school year approaching in a few short months, he has his work cut out for him. So, if you have wand business and would like to make an appointment—"
"We are fine, thank you," Fleur said, realizing that right now was probably not the best time to say hello to the old wandmaker. It certainly sounded like he was busy.
As they walked away, Bill muttered, "That's a drag for all those future First-Years, not being able to walk in and see hundreds of wands and getting that experience of testing so many of them out. That was a special day."
Fleur shrugged. "I would not know. I have mentioned my wand was handcrafted for me. All of the women in my family have had the same person make our wands. She is the only wandmaker I have ever heard who will work with Veela hair. Most find it too difficult. Even Mr. Ollivander. I remember him telling me that once before the Tournament at Hogwarts..."
They had caught up with her parents as they approached Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, where there were no signs or announcements posted like so many of the other shops in the alley. The building had been ransacked and raided; windows were broken and it clearly hadn't been properly visited in ages. It looked as if there had been graffiti written along the storefront—Fleur could make out the remnants of the word "Blood Traitors"—but it also looked as if someone had come along to remove most of it. In fact—while very much disheveled—the shop looked as if someone had done a basic level of clean up.
She couldn't imagine it was George. Whenever asked, he kept claiming he didn't want to think about the shop yet. As far as everyone knew, he'd yet to even visit.
She and Bill stopped beside her parents, who had evidently taken notice of the name of the shop and were now looking up at it. She could hear Bill sigh sadly.
"Zis shop," asked her father, turning to Bill. "It iz your family's, no?"
"It's my brothers' shop," Bill said, shifting his weight on his feet a bit and staring up at the building. Fleur wondered if Bill also noticed how dim the colors seemed, or if it was just her.
"Ze one who passed away?"
"He was one of them, yeah," Bill said, nodding slowly. "Him and his twin. They were business partners."
"Oh non…" said her mother, putting her hand over her heart.
Her father was frowning sympathetically. After a quiet lull, he did finally ask, "Does he plan to reopen wizout 'im?"
Fleur threw her father a bit of a look. It was very much like him to get straight down to business—it was who he was and always been—but that seemed rather blunt.
"Um," Bill said, shrugging a bit. "He hasn't said, but I should hope so. They were very successful and I would hate to see all their hard work disappear. But they were also very collaborative in their efforts, and I don't think George has begun to quite work out how to do things without Fred." He paused. "And I don't just mean here at the shop, but in general."
He then forced that pinched smile of his. The one he'd become an expert at mustering lately. "We'll see what happens."
Fleur saw both of her parents nodding, eventually turning to move along through the alley once her mother mentioned that they shouldn't keep Isabelle waiting. Fleur hung back a bit with Bill; both of them gave the joke shop another long once over. It seemed like yesterday that it had only just opened and was filled with life and color.
"He will reopen, won't he?" she asked, her question sounding far more worried than she'd intended.
"Shit, I hope so," Bill said, dropping the tone he used with her parents and sounding rather anxious himself.
Reuniting with Isabelle had been a treat, as it always was when Fleur saw the woman her family regarded as an extra grandmother. Even if it was a bittersweet reunion, given that there was much destruction of the shop to witness. While Bill's charms had helped, it was clear vandals and troublemakers had spells of their own and had managed to pry off some of the boards and infiltrate the shop. Like the twins' shop, it looked as if someone had just gone mad with throwing things and destroying all of the hair potions and lotions. Murky liquids and broken glass were everywhere. The entire place was an absolute mess. It would take some real effort to tidy this up.
But apparently, that was going to be someone else's problem.
"I am selling the business," Isabelle told them as they all made their way upstairs to see if there was anything to salvage from their abandoned flats. "The past two years I have spent in France, I have found myself most comfortable."
Fleur frowned, though a part of her had expected that. Her parents had always mentioned in passing how happy Isabelle seemed to be now that she was back home. She could remember speaking to Isabelle at her wedding; her telling her how less stressful life was back in France.
"I am an old woman and I wish to live out what little time I have left there," Isabelle added.
Fleur smiled a little. "While that sounds lovely, you should not be so silly. It is not a little time. You have plenty of time."
Isabelle stared at her for a long moment, her expression curious. She slowly turned to look at Fleur's parents, almost suspiciously. They were both looking slightly uncomfortable, as if something awkward had been said.
Isabelle finally turned back to Fleur. "Has no one told you?"
"Told me…?" she asked, looking over her parents. "What do you mean?"
"That I am dying."
Fleur blinked. Had she just…? What? There was no way she'd said that so cavalierly. She must have misunderstood.
"Pardon?"
"Yes, mon choupinette," she said, reaching up to push a piece of Fleur's hair out of her face. "It is true. One of those incurable things. I have seen many Healers, but to no avail. They give me a year or so."
She's said that all so calmly, as if she were talking about the weather. How could someone say that so calmly? Fleur stood there shocked. This woman was like family to her—an additional grandparent figure in her life. Her middle name was after her; she had helped raise Fleur's father and had been such a support system to her and her family. Had it not been for her help, Fleur would have never been able to convince her to come and live in the U.K. after what happened in the Tournament. Her living here and being able to watch over Fleur when she had been eighteen had been the only reason her parents had been so willing to agree to let her come on her sudden whim.
And had Fleur not been able to move here, she never would have been able to serve her purpose to help take down Voldemort, and help Harry, and avenge Cedric. She'd also have never met Bill, she'd never fallen in love, she'd never had got married, she'd never…
Who would she even be if she hadn't moved here?
"I am at peace with the prognosis," Isabelle said, and only then did Fleur notice that Isabelle's eyes did look more tired than she remembered; her skin a bit more sallow—though, hard to catch under all of her makeup. She had grown so used to everyone looking so aged and exhausted lately, she hadn't initially noticed.
"Do not worry about me," Isabelle said. "I have lived a long and very exciting life and I plan to go out the same way. It is why I want to wash my hands of this shop for good. Un-tether myself from all of this here in England." She smiled. "Now, let us see if my flat has any damages."
She then moved away casually, as if she hadn't just dropped the most awful news onto this moment, and down the rest of the corridor toward her front door. She even made a rather cool comment on how no one had swept inside of this hallway in ages.
Fleur immediately rounded onto her parents.
"Saviez-vous qu'elle était en train de mourir?" she asked, demanding to know if they had already known about this.
"Bien sûr, nous savions," said her mother, admitting that of course they knew. Upon catching Bill's confused eye, she switched to English to add, "We did not want to tell you when we arrived because you 'ad many ozer zings you were dealing wiz, Fleur."
Fleur wrinkled up her face. Seriously? This was…what? The third piece of big news they'd kept from her since arriving? What was next?!
"Is there anything else you are keeping from me?"
"Non, non," both her parents mumbled, with her father adding, "You can see why talking about zis would upset me. Elle est comme ma mère. Ce n'est pas facile d'en parler…"
She was like a mother to him and it wasn't easy for him to talk about? Fleur bit her tongue as a strong sense of irritation overcame her. She was like a grandmother to her! This was the last thing she needed at the moment. Her mental state really could not take much more of this sudden and depressing change.
She looked over to Bill, who clearly sensed her mood shift and—in a subject-changing sort of way; one that sought to get her away from her parents—quickly said, "Let's check out your flat," as he walked over the door that led inside.
She followed him without comment, her head still buzzing, and breezed past her parents. She was not in the mood to sort this out right now. It was a new sort of coping mechanism she'd come to terms with in recent days—compartmentalizing the worst feelings and tucking them away for minutes and hours at a time. It would all catch up to her later. It always did. But right now, she was not in the mood.
"I cannot…" She began to say, ready to unload and vent a bit to Bill about her parents, but she instead stopped after entering the old flat that she's spent her first year here in England living in.
It was certainly messy. A window had been broken at some point, so a smelly, mugginess had already infiltrated the room along with a stale odor. It was clear some insects had infested the place as well—she could see a rather magnificent cobweb taking up a high corner of the ceiling—as well as some houseflies buzzing around. There was also a deserted bird's nest that had taken up residence on the top of her wardrobe. The place had evidently provided some refuge for creatures at some point since she'd left.
Otherwise, the place remained rather untouched. So many of her belongings, which she'd left here upon moving to the Burrow, were exactly where she'd left them last—furniture, linens, flower vases and small decor, all still here. They were dirty, some damaged, but honestly it was as if she'd stepped into a time capsule from years prior.
Bill was looking around, inspecting to see if anything was worth salvaging. They'd made a life for themselves in their new place—much of this stuff wasn't even worth trying to keep or move. He even picked up a blanket full of holes, which did not have the last time she'd seen it. Apparently, one of the woodland creatures that had ventured in for shelter had a bit of a snack.
"This has certainly seen better days," he muttered, setting it down.
"The blanket and I have that in common," Fleur responded, walking toward the kitchen. It was relatively empty since she'd taken all of her important cookware with her to the Burrow and stored it. All that seemed to be left in there were towels and some glassware.
"I'm afraid to touch your sofa," Bill offered, picking up a throw pillow and noticing it had a very bizarre look stain on it. He tepidly pulled it a bit closer to his nose, as if he was ready to sniff, but gave up pulling it all the way. His disgusted expression said he hadn't needed to. He could smell it from there.
She walked over to join him where he stood, looking down at the sofa with the lever that would turn into a bed. She'd spent many nights on this bed, both pleasant and unpleasant. Now it had strange stains, horrible smells, and parts where it had clearly been chewed through. She was sad to see the state it had got itself into.
"We had sex for the first time on that sofa bed," Fleur said to him.
"Correction," Bill said. "We had great first time sex on the sofa bed." He paused for a moment. "And now it seems to be a toilet."
They turned and looked at each other, both of them cracking very similar smiles before Fleur added, "That seems so long ago."
"Three years ago," Bill offered. "We had our first real date here too. You made dinner. Remember?"
"Our first real date was at the Leaky Cauldron," she said. "You are always so quick to remind me of that."
"And you're always quick to tell me it wasn't," he said, smiling as a noise at the door made them both turn. It was Isabelle, who entered with her eyes scanning the room—taking in all the damage. They finally landed on Fleur.
"My flat seemed to be in a very similar shape," she said. "Thankfully, there was no real damage. The clean up should be easy enough."
Fleur forced a smile, but looked away. She had a hard time looking at Isabelle right now. She instead busied herself with opening the drawers on her old dresser.
"Did you find anything you could still use?" Isabelle asked.
"Some things," Bill said. "If Fleur wants to keep them, that is. She got everything of real importance out the first time, so it's entirely up to her."
Fleur didn't respond. She'd reached the bottom drawer and opened it to see more bed linens, though there was something else there sticking out between the sheets that caught her attention. She quickly reached down and pulled out a copy of the Quibbler—the one with Harry's famous interview that he'd given; the one describing the night of the Third Task and what had happened to him.
She could remember how it made her feel the first time reading it; not wanting to throw it away, despite how upset it made her. Harry's face was still staring up at her from the cover, and she was immediately struck by how much younger he looked. Compared to today, he was a baby.
It wasn't that long ago…
She suddenly felt a hand on her back that she immediately knew didn't belong to Bill. A second later, she arms wrapping her up in a hug.
"I am sorry to have just sprung the news on you, dear," said Isabelle. "I forget that just because I have come to terms, does not mean everyone will take the news in stride."
As Fleur turned to face her, Isabelle released her and added, "I also—selfishly—did not account for how much you have been through lately." She looked over at Bill as if to include him in her comment. "I have heard of both of your bravery and your loss. Your brother, I am so sorry."
Bill forced his pinched smile.
She turned back to Fleur. "And friends of yours. There are truly no words. And I know it must come off as callous of me to be so casual about death when these people you knew did not have that choice." She frowned. "For that, I am sorry. I was not thinking."
Fleur continued to stare at her, but she felt her eyes start to tear. "It is not just that. Losing you…"
Isabelle reached up to touch Fleur's hair, stroking it a bit. "I know. You have lost much lately. But you have grown into a strong, capable woman, mon choupinette. And you have a wonderful support system and you will hopefully now live a wonderful, peaceful life with no more trouble and strife." She smiled at her. "I can only hope you are as at peace with your life as I am once you know the end is coming."
Fleur sniffled a little. Isabelle continued to smile.
"I only regret I will not be around to see what beautiful children you will have and raise," she said, casting Bill a quick look as well before looking back at her. "If they end up even half as lovely as you, they are truly blessed."
She then sighed. "You have done and seen more at twenty-one than anyone should have to admit, and I hate that for you. But promise me that you will not let that take a hold of you. Do not let the demons win. You have survived, do not take that for granted. Live and love—as I always did." She looked her dead in the eyes. "With an open heart and a take no-shit attitude."
Fleur laughed a little through her sniffles and teary eyes.
Isabelle gave her a pat on the back. "Your parents both tell me you have much to see and do back in France. When you do return, I hope you will be paying me a visit."
Fleur nodded. "It seems I will have to make plans to visit soon rather than later."
Isabelle waved her off. "You have an entire year. That is ages. Be sure to take that honeymoon of yours first. What a treat!" She paused. "Though your parents seem to think you were unhappy."
Fleur swallowed hard and started shaking her head, suddenly feeling a different sort of way about this honeymoon adventure now. "I am not unhappy. I was hesitant. But you are right. I should not take things for granted any longer. Especially time. There will never be enough of it and it will never be right. I certainly think Bill and I will take it as soon as we can."
Isabelle smiled, happy to hear it. She hugged her again and they shared a lovely moment; one Fleur was now actively keeping a mental inventory of since she knew they had an expiration date.
Because everything this had an expiration date. And all she could do now was attempt to reach them without any regrets.