A/N: Like Fleur and Ginny, we've come a long way since the start, friends. This is the final drop; I'm posting the final two chapters together to finish the story. They're both pretty long chapters, but I keep finding myself really busy lately and I don't want to risk not getting to the next chapter for a few days. So here we are, the beginning of the end.
One year later
Fleur stood there shaking from nerves. A part of her wanted to claim she'd never been as anxious in her life as she had been these last couple of weeks, but she knew that was a lie. She'd been anxious plenty of times before, but those instances had been different. Today, it was a different sort of anxiety. Because there was also an excited element this time. Fear was still there as well, but it was mostly excitement.
Bill was kneeling down in front of her, his wand pointed at her stomach. He'd been in this position plenty of times in recent months, but this time even he seemed more at ease. It was strange to think either of them could be at ease about this after the last year.
"What does the spell say?" she asked after waiting for what seemed like an eternity.
Bill didn't immediately answer, though he did look up and smile at her. A smile was good. Smiles had been few and far between when he was in this position lately, so that had to mean…
"You're still pregnant," he said.
"Oui?" she asked, her eyes already filled with tears. "You are certain?"
He nodded. "As we've learned, this spell never lies."
She exhaled, feeling as if she'd never felt such relief in her life. She was still pregnant! After twelve weeks, she was still pregnant! This was the longest gestation period that her body had allowed her to reach! Usually when Bill checked, they'd get no response; the telltale sign that they'd again had a loss.
She could cry, she was so happy. Actually, scratch that—she was crying. Tears were already plopping down her face.
Bill pulled himself back up to his feet and hugged her. He too looked overwhelmed with joy and of this finally being a sign that they may, in fact, have succeeded in making this baby they both had been trying for.
Because they'd certainly been trying. They'd been trying so hard, but her body had been failing her every time. Usually in the most heartbreaking way.
They'd begun trying to start their family the previous year—while on their honeymoon. It had been an amazing trip—sexy and romantic, just the two of them enjoying beautiful beaches and sunny weather. It had been a perfect opportunity for practicing all the way to make a baby, though as it turned out, not even a day after she'd returned home, she'd noticed her body feeling very different to her. Swollen breasts and bloating, something she'd never experienced before; once a random bout of nausea and vomiting hit one evening out of nowhere.
She'd had a feeling she was pregnant before a single spell was cast. And once she made Bill check, given how many times his wand shook, she was roughly five weeks pregnant.
But five weeks ago was well before their honeymoon. That meant…the night after the Leaky Cauldron? That was the only way the maths worked out. Here they were trying and talking about wanting it to happen on their honeymoon, yet…they'd already done it.
"We're having a baby?" Bill asked, and she'd never forget the look on his face. He's been so happy and shocked at the exact same time. They'd embraced like never before—her feeling as if she was crushing his bones; him being oddly delicate with her. He'd been so excited.
And she was excited too…but she was also very nervous. This had happened faster than she thought. She'd assumed she would have had more time to mentally prepare…
Because her situation was not one that most women would have to think about. She had very specific concerns; ones she'd been pushing out of her mind and pretending she didn't have to worry about yet. They'd always been tomorrow's concern…
But tomorrow was now today. She was pregnant; she couldn't avoid thinking about it anymore. It was time to potentially worry.
It was also the time to call her mother.
"Tu es enceinte?" her mother had said, asking her if she was absolutely positive she was pregnant. The question was serious and to the point—devoid of the usual excitement that one would expect a mother to have for their newly pregnant daughter. Her mother now looked as concerned as Fleur felt.
"Oui," Fleur said into the Floo, nodding.
Her mother bit her lip, asking how far along she was. Fleur explained not very—five weeks at most. But they'd done the spell and she was definitely pregnant.
"Comment vous sentez-vous?" her mother said, asking how she felt. Fleur had told her fine so far. Things have been good so far. She was being careful; taking it easy. She knew the rules. She knew she just had to wait and see what would happen; that there was nothing she could do.
It was all about waiting.
Her mother nodded, forcing a smile as if she was just now realizing this could be very exciting news and she probably should react accordingly. In rapid French, she was suddenly stressing about how this truly could be amazing; not to fully worry yet. After all, she—Fleur—had been her first pregnancy; that had been wonderful and perfect. Gabrielle had been wonderful and perfect.
It could be wonderful and perfect.
It could. Fleur knew that. But she also was well aware of the words her mother wasn't saying. How it could also be terrible and awful, just as all the times between her and Gabrielle had proven to be for her mother.
She could remember those days; she hadn't been that young. She remembered miscarriage after miscarriage for her mother; she remembered it happening to her aunts as well. Because pregnancy was either two things for those with Veela blood running through their veins. Perfect and easy; or heartbreaking and impossible. It was never in between.
At the end of their conversation, her mother asked to keep her updated; she would call every day. Also, perhaps she shouldn't tell anyone else until Fleur knew the earliest stages were behind them; once she knew she'd made it out of the woods. There was nothing she could do but wait; if things didn't work out, she must remember, there was nothing she could have done.
"Sachez que ce n'est pas votre faute…" her mother said. Know that it is not your fault.
Fleur nodded. "Je sais." I know.
When they'd ended the Floo Call, Fleur sighed and felt more melancholy than she should have. Why couldn't this be normal? Just full of joy and excitement? Her feeling so blue and anxious was very much the opposite of what she would have wished for after this sort of announcement.
"What the hell was that?" she heard Bill ask. She'd turned to find him standing at the entrance to their sitting room, leaning against the frame of the entrance with his arms crossed. He looked annoyed.
"What do you mean?"
"Your conversation with your mum," he said, stepping into the room. "She didn't seem excited. She didn't even congratulate you."
Oh…he'd caught all that. His French really was getting much better.
"That's not like her," he added, making a face. "It was kind of fucked."
"Well," Fleur said, moving to standing up from the ground where she'd been using the fireplace; Bill was already walking over to help her to her feet. "That is because she is scared for me. Pregnancy is… frightening."
Bill stared at her. He made a strange sort of noise, which sounded like disbelief. "Alright? I mean, yeah, sure. But…why go straight to doom and gloom? Pregnancy can also be really exciting."
"Yes," Fleur mumbled. "If everything works out. If it doesn't, then—"
He stepped forward and put his hands on his shoulders. "Hey, no point in worrying about the bad unless we have to. My mum had six perfectly healthy, free of complications pregnancies. It can be done. Why stress yourself out over the 'what ifs'?"
She forced a weak smile at him. He didn't quite understand; he couldn't possibly understand. He was of the mindset that people could have complications for reasons they couldn't quite explain and that it was unfortunate. He wasn't taking into account who she was and where she came from. Because while she had made him well aware she could not have male offspring, she hadn't fully informed him that it was still possible for her to get pregnant with one. She was, after all, at the mercy of whatever his sperm impregnated her with. It was the risk any Veela or their descendants took when they procreated with wizards.
But if it was a boy, her body would reject it. The Veela blood she had running through her would not let her carry anything but a female to term. She would have a miscarriage if it wasn't a girl.
She knew this; her mother knew this; her entire family knew this.
As it were, she didn't think often of these painful periods between her and Gabrielle's births—the times where she had the misfortune of watching her mother try and fail for a second child for nearly a decade. If things had gone according to her parents' plans and wishes, Gabrielle would only have been two years younger than her. Instead, she was roughly ten years younger.
There was a reason for that, and it wasn't for lack of trying.
It hurt to remember her mother so upset by it all. Fleur had mentally blocked much of it out. How cruel it all seemed to give her one perfectly healthy pregnancy and then so many devastating losses. She could distinctly remember how her mother's sisters and friends would come over to console her; the house would be full of women for days at a time. There was always talk of, "There was nothing you could do," but it never seemed to improve the mood. Her mother would always be so sad; Fleur wouldn't see her for days at a time since she was often whisked off to an aunt's house for a sleepover with cousins.
When she would come back, her mother would seem more normal—slightly sadder and always full of more hugs for her. She always tried her best to act as if nothing had ever happened for her daughter's benefit, but Fleur knew something bad had happened.
In the early years, this would happen every few months. After two to three years of trying, it was every six months. By five years, once a year.
Then it stopped. Whether her mother stopped trying or stopped telling anyone, Fleur didn't know. But she knew it broke her heart that she couldn't maintain a pregnancy past a handful of weeks. Even Fleur was devastated—not only for her mother, but because it seemed clear she would never get the younger sister she'd always dreamed of. The one they all wanted so badly.
Her parents had never told her outright that Gabrielle came rather accidentally, but Fleur always suspected that was the case. It had been ages since she'd seen her mother put on that familiar sadness like a piece of seasonal clothes; she assumed her parents had stopped trying. It felt as if they had all reached a point where they were trying to move on and accept their lives as they were.
But then came Gabrielle—their little miracle. Everything had changed. Fleur could remember how happy her mother had been. She could remember how happy she had been. It was the most amazing feeling for all of them.
Because when it worked out, it was perfect.
But it didn't always work out.
She did choose then to sit Bill down to properly explain that it wasn't simply about her not being able to have a boy, but rather that she could not carry one and that her body would let them know very soon whether this pregnancy was viable or not. And while he listened and seemed to understand, he was still very much had the attitude of, "Let's not worry about it unless we have to" and "Let's cross the bridge when it comes."
That was easy for him to say…He hadn't spent his life watching the women of his family deal with pregnancy loss for years. He didn't have to shoulder all the responsibility…
It was around eight weeks that she had started to feel terribly ill. Her routine nausea became extreme; there were now strange pains that made it hard for her to even walk. Bill had taken her to St. Mungo's so that Healers could intervene. They did their best, but Fleur already knew there was nothing they could have done.
Even with knowing just how high a possibility loss had been, devastation didn't even scratch the surface of what she was feeling. She was beyond that. She felt like an empty shell of a person; a failure. As someone who didn't fail often, it was even harder to grasp that she couldn't do the one thing that she as a woman was supposed to do. Or at least, that's what society had made her believe.
Bill was nothing but supportive, and despite his own feelings of loss and disappointment, he was there for her and trying to make her feel as if she wasn't a failure; that it was something that unfortunately did happen despite everyone's best efforts. The two of them had to have another very long talk after that—about how this could keep happening again and again unless the stars aligned and everything worked out. There could easily be ages of heartbreak…
"Is that something you can handle?" he'd asked her.
She didn't know the answer to that. In her mother's case, she'd at least started things on the right foot. A baby girl on her first attempt before years of disappointment. At least she'd been successful once…
"I can handle it for now," Fleur said, her smile watery as she looked at her husband. "I want to keep trying. I will admit, I was hoping this would all be easy and I wouldn't even have to worry about this, but…it may not be as easy as I hoped."
Bill had smiled at her. It was sympathetic. "Then we keep trying." He suddenly looked down into his lap. "Can you all work with me here? Perhaps shoot girls instead of boys?"
Fleur couldn't help it. She laughed. "Are you talking to your testicles?"
He nodded, a cheeky smile on his face. "I need them to be aware of the task at hand."
She continued to smile for a moment, until it slowly started to slip off her face as she began to consider something. Bill caught sight of this and asked, "What?"
"You told me once that Ginny was some sort of 'first in ages' situation in your family tree—her being a girl," she muttered. "You told me the Weasleys are well-known for…having boys."
Bill blinked, but eventually looked away, as if he knew he had said that, knew what she was implying, and was now afraid to admit it. Because if the Weasleys were known for boys, and she couldn't carry boys…
"But she did come," Bill said, turning back to her. "It took a few attempts, but a girl happened." He smiled at her. "And it'll happen again."
She appreciated his optimism. She only wished she could share in it.
The first pregnancy had been lost in September, but they let themselves try again soon enough—resulting in a second pregnancy discovery in early November. She knew she was stupid for even considering it already, but couldn't help herself by thinking about the future and due dates and how this one would be in July. She even tortured herself by imagining what this one might look like. She hoped she'd have Bill's smile. He had the best smile. Her hair would be nice. She loved her hair.
As it turned out, fleshing the baby out in her mind only made the loss of this one that much harder.
This time it hadn't even gone on as long as the first one; it hadn't needed the hospital trip or caused her to fall violently ill. It had been shorter and terribly uncomfortable, but she managed it without Healers and instead with bed rest.
That made her feel even worse, as if she was failing to even get as far as she did before.
After that loss, Bill suggested they tell his parents.
"I don't want to tell anyone other than my mother!" Fleur snapped back at him, who—she could admit, she was annoyed with. He wanted to tell people? Was he serious? "My mother understands. Your parents will not. They will just think I cannot do this!"
"They will not think that," Bill argued. "They would be supportive. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You shouldn't have to do this alone."
"I am not alone, I have you," she snapped right back.
He sighed. "Fine, then maybe I'd like more support."
She glowered at him. "What do you need support for? You are not the one failing at this!"
"You're not failing," he said, sounding as if he was trying to be delicate with her—which annoyed her more. "And I'm also losing…" He trailed off. "That's why I might want to talk about with someone—"
"You're losing something because I keep failing!" she'd shouted.
She'd stormed out of the room at that. She knew she was being mean and dismissive of his feelings, but she didn't care. Between her hormones and her declining mental health, she was not in a good place. She couldn't explain why, but bringing everyone else down with her just felt…necessary.
When they got pregnant in January, she was actually surprised. She and Bill were so touch and go at the moment—afraid, but still determined—that sex had lost its appeal. They weren't having it casually, but rather more strictly for trying to get pregnant. In fact, this pregnancy must have been birthed from a rather uneventful occurrence where she'd gone up to him once he'd returned home from Gringotts and—in the most unsexy way possible—said, "We must do this."
"Do what?" he'd asked, looking genuinely confused as he hung up his cloak at the front door.
She sighed. "Have sex. Try for a baby."
He sighed, looking tired from a long day, and it was clear he wasn't super keen given how stressful everything surrounding sex and pregnancy was lately. However, before he could even respond, she muttered, "If we don't know, then the window of opportunity is…"
"Yeah, I know," he muttered, pointing upstairs and already working on his belt in a lazy way. "Let's…go."
Again she'd got pregnant, and again this pregnancy lasted about as long as the previous one had. This one too had started with illness and discomfort, and it was confirmed once Bill cast his spell at her stomach to check, only to return with no shakes of the wand. Another failure.
At this point, she was now in the mindset of things always ultimately failing. She was detached and shut off from feeling at this point. The mourning process was becoming quicker.
How did her mother do this for years? All she wanted to do was give up. This had happened several times now and they'd only got to eight weeks once. The others, never past four or five. Was this even worth the seemingly never ending pain? Her marriage felt strained; she could tell Bill was frustrated and at a loss as to what to do. Was it even possible to go back to the way things were before?
"I read about a potion you could take," Bill suggested one night.
"Potions do not work," she muttered, her mood immediately soured when she was approached with any kind of advice. "My mother tried them all. It strictly comes down to whether or not the baby is a boy or a girl."
"I mean," Bill muttered back, "potions have advanced since your sister was born…"
She threw him a look. She really did not feel like having him explain this to her.
"Fine, then let's stop trying," he blurted out.
She wondered if she'd heard him correctly. "You no longer want a family? After a few failed attempts, you want to quit?"
"I didn't say that," he said, sitting on the couch and looking as though he was tentatively trying to think about how to approach this. "I want one, but the stress of this is killing us both. Instead of always trying, why don't we let the universe decide—"
"The universe seems to have made its decision. It seems to be the only thing that had a choice in the matter because we certainly do not."
He reached up and started rubbing his eyes very hard, almost as if he was trying to rub them off. "Fleur, I'm not risking our relationship on this. You fall to pieces more and more after each loss—you seem to get angry with me, as if I can help this any more than you can."
He looked at her with an expression that was very close to helplessness. "I don't know what else to do, but after everything we've been through, I don't want this to be the thing that will do us in."
He wasn't wrong. Things had been so strained lately. They were both so close to a breaking point…
And it wasn't as if she hadn't been close to breaking points in her life before, but in those instances, she'd always had Bill there as her rock. When all else went to shit, she'd always been able to count on him. But now, the stress of the last few months was causing a rift that was cracking their usually strong foundation. They were pushing each other away. If they pushed too hard, what would be left?
After their conversation, Fleur did the only thing she could think of: call her mother. She had to seek her advice and ask her how she and her father had made it through those dark days. What had been their secret?
Not suffering in silence, her mother had told her, explaining to her that she had a huge and vast support system of sisters, cousins, and aunts who understood her plight had helped her tremendously. People who understood her sorrow and would listen and comfort her. That had been vital.
You cannot put all your suffering onto just Bill, nor he onto you. It is not fair to either or you and will do more harm than good. She'd even suggested coming home for a bit to be around her family and community of other women who understand her; to take a break. She told stories about how sometimes, when things were darker, she and her husband had needed some days and time apart in order to find themselves back together.
Because you cannot bring a baby into a house that is not solid.
It was sound advice, and when Fleur suggested to Bill that she'd wanted to go home for a bit, it almost felt as if he'd been thinking it himself. He actually seemed as if he'd been afraid to suggest it to her out of fear of her reaction.
Because that seemed to be where they were as a couple right now. Afraid of the other's reaction.
"I'm just happy you told me you wanted to go," Bill offered, the pair of them having a refreshing moment of non-hostile honesty. "Because I know you're not above just picking up and leaving for France without saying something."
"I did that one time," she said.
He hummed in a way that said one time was really all it took. He still clearly hadn't quite forgotten about that. This current tension in their lives was dragging up all sorts of old feelings and unforgotten slights.
She would spend two weeks in France, talking and heeling with her family. Her mother and aunts had more stories than she could count about similar experiences they'd dealt with about failed pregnancies. Even one of Fleur's old cousins had a story or two, though on the whole they seemed more successful with getting a girl early on. Fleur's younger or similarly aged cousins—the ones who were still unmarried or not even thinking about children yet—had all sat around listening and apparently learning a thing or two. There was a fair share of horrified reactions and complaints of this not being fair, but at least they would be prepared.
Because while Fleur always assumed she'd been prepared, that seemed naive in retrospect.
In the end, it had been really quite lovely and rather cathartic to get everything out. It was a true bonding experience for her and her family, and something she hadn't known she needed until she got it. She really was going to have to start making a point to get back to France and her family more often. When—if—she ever had daughters, she wanted them to be able to have this community as a part of their lives. They would need to visit as often as she could arrange it.
She'd come back home feeling better about herself and her situation. She decided to choose to stop trying for a baby at the moment, and instead reconnect with Bill and get them back to a place where having this baby was something they wanted—not just something they felt they needed to do. They'd let it get to that point and that was a problem.
Bill had been on board. He'd apparently taken his two weeks to come to the same conclusion on his own. He didn't want the pressure anymore; he wanted them to slow things down and work on themselves again. He wanted to go on dates and reintroduce sex into their lives that wasn't stressful and forced, but romantic and fun. He wanted to reconnect and pause the entire idea of starting a family for now. He'd even thrown out the idea of waiting another year before thinking about it.
They both knew that they needed to do what it takes to strengthen themselves first and foremost.
And it was lovely. For weeks, they went out together more and took proper dates; they'd make a point to enjoy strolls on the beach and romantic sunsets. Their recreational sex life eventually returned and they were allowing fate to have its way. They were enjoying each other again and having fun.
It lasted about three months; until she got pregnant again.
They were learning quickly that while she had many pregnancy issues, conceiving wasn't one of them.
"It was not supposed to happen this quickly," Fleur said anxiously, breathing fast and now pacing their bedroom. "It was not—"
"We can do this," Bill reassured her, watching her pace. "Each time is a new start. We can't compare it to the others and—" He stopped, already seeming to realize that the less they spoke about the past, the better. "We can do this."
"We can do this," she repeated, looking over at him. They both had similar expressions. They'd just got back to such a good spot. She was terrified of returning to that dark place again. But all she could do was wait now. Watch the calendar and wait.
She would make it to five weeks, which thankfully turned into six. Six to seven, then eight. By nine, both she and Bill were almost afraid to do much more than take light walks. By ten, Fleur had never been more in tune with her body and what it was doing. Every stomach gurgle; every hiccup had her feeling anxious.
Outside of that though, she felt…fine. The other symptoms were mild and typical. She was even craving things for once, something she hadn't experienced with any of the others. She felt lighter and different. She actually felt rather glowy when she caught her reflection in the mirror.
By eleven, her mother told her that she'd never had a failed pregnancy go that far. If they were not meant to be, then ten was as far as she'd made it. She said that if Fleur made it to twelve and out of the first trimester—feeling well and happy—that she may be able to actually relax. Only she and Gabrielle had ever made it to twelve weeks.
Fleur didn't think she'd ever quite be able to fully relax, not until a baby was born, but now that Bill had just told she was still pregnant at twelve weeks—something she'd made him check out of habit, just to be positive—she had to admit that, for once, she felt hopeful.
This felt right. Something inside of her was telling her this was it. This one was it.
"Can we finally tell my family on Sunday?" Bill asked her once they hit thirteen weeks.
She considered that question as she thought about their plans that weekend. Molly and Arthur were hosting a Sunday dinner—something they tried to do every month—though tonight was also in celebration of Ginny and Hermione having arrived back after finishing their final year at Hogwarts. They'd come back just a couple of days prior, and Molly had hoped this would prove to be a nice occasion to get everyone together.
It would be a good opportunity to share the news with Bill's family, she could admit that. They would all be there, save for Charlie. It would be easy to announce it all at once.
But there was the lingering fear in the back of her mind that as soon as the rest of the world knew, she was now asking for fate to intervene in a cruel way. Granted, she was five weeks further along than any of her other pregnancies and she felt different and happier. Her gut was telling her this was a girl, despite an accurate potion not being able to detect the sex for another week or so. The signs were all pointing to this being good and—had she not suffered prior miscarriages—she likely would have told everyone already. She hopefully would start showing soon enough and wouldn't be able to hide it.
Still…was it the right decision?
She looked over at Bill, still standing there with his sweet look of optimism on his face. He'd been so patient, heeding her wishes to keep things quiet out of fear for months now. She'd watched him have to answer questions from people about when they were going to start that family of theirs—him only answering with, "It'll happen when it happens…" instead of informing them that they'd desperately been trying since their honeymoon.
She'd at least had her mother to talk to; he'd only had her. And she knew she hadn't always been the easiest person to talk to about this topic. She had to accept that if something bad were to happen, Bill was right. The Weasleys would be supportive. She—he—shouldn't have to keep doing this in relative silence.
"We can tell them," she said with a smile. "If you want to tell them tonight, then…yes."
"You're sure?" Bill asked, though he was already smiling.
"I am sure," she said with a nod. "I think it is time we let ourselves be happy about the idea of a baby instead of afraid." She paused. "Even if I am still afraid."
"I've decided I'll always be afraid," he said. "Even when she's grown and off to Hogwarts."
Bill knew he wasn't supposed to—not yet—but he told one person that Fleur was pregnant.
This most recent time, that is…not the other attempts. He'd learned after the first loss that it was best not to get too attached to the idea of some sweet-faced little baby staring up at him until he knew it was more of a sure thing.
Even now, while he knew there was still a huge risk, he couldn't help but get his hopes up this time. Once the weeks started growing longer and longer, and the baby was still there; Fleur getting more and more pregnant, he was optimistic for once. Something in his gut told him he could get excited this time.
As it were, ever since he'd first heard the news nearly a year ago, he'd been having recurrent dreams of this little baby—a round-faced girl with bright blue eyes—and he'd gone ahead and fallen in love with that fictitious baby already as if she were real. No matter the loss and how many times it happened, it was always that little girl who kept popping back into his dreams; at times feeling as if she were taunting him.
Sometimes though, it was that little girl visiting him that gave him the strength to move on. He didn't try to compare his experience to Fleur's, she was dealing with so much on top of everything else, but it wasn't as if he didn't feel the pain as well. He was just as excited. He was also losing sleep over every ticking minute of her pregnancy; hoping with all he had that the clock didn't stop this time.
It was different, but it was still painful.
He'd also be lying if he said it wasn't a very lonely feeling. They were suffering mostly in silence together to hide the pain, and while he understood why Fleur didn't want to tell anyone so that they didn't have to reexplain things later when something terrible may have happened, it was hard not to feel miserably on his own.
She at least had her mother, who could sympathize and help her through the worst of her feelings, having been there before. He would listen to them go on for ages in French through the Floo, talking constantly through tears.
He didn't have anyone to sympathize with him. He didn't know anyone who'd been through this and he wasn't supposed to ask around to see if someone could because then their secret would be out. He was supposed to be tough and strong and Fleur's rock, but many times he felt more gooey than rock-like. Didn't stop him from trying to fake it for her, but it wasn't easy.
And even though he wasn't supposed to tell anyone yet, he'd cracked a bit once Fleur had hit twelve weeks on this attempt.
"Congratulations," said Clea after he'd told her the news. They were still working down in the deeper Gringotts' vaults after nearly a year—still tending to the aftermath Harry, Ron, and Hermione had inflicted upon the bank. While all of the physical damage had been tended to and mended, the new security procedures were still a massive work in progress.
The goblins had opted to avoid dragon usage in the future to avoid further incidents. That meant they needed to come up with new ideas.
Bill smiled, happy to have just said something to someone. Someone who was disconnected from anyone he really knew, and—knowing Clea—someone who didn't give enough of a shit about him to talk to anyone else about it anyway.
"Thanks," he said. "We're excited."
Clea pointed her wand at the current vault door they were trying to break into. Some of their cohorts had spent the last three days putting a very difficult protection curse on it; they were trying to crack it.
"Are you one of those people who has a preference on what it'll be?" she asked before casting her spell. "Boy or girl, that is."
He laughed a little humorlessly. "Uh, you could say that, yeah."
She lowered her wand, having not achieved her desired results since the vault was intact. "Let me guess. You want a little boy?"
"Absolutely not," Bill said too quickly, causing Clea to look at him strangely. He could admit his energy in the response had been too much.
"I'd like…a girl," he mumbled, feeling a bit silly, but not about to get into the details with her. "A girl would be ideal."
She hummed. "Interesting. Most men…" She pointed her wand again and silently cast her spell, causing sparks to fly from the vault in question. If she'd said anything more, Bill didn't hear it. He only just caught, "...just as long as it's healthy," as she was finishing up another failed attempt.
"That's all I'm hoping for," he said, forcing a smile.
Clea gestured to him that it was now his turn to make an attempt to break in. As he stepped forward to do just that, she said, "And to think. It seems like only yesterday you were tripping over yourself like a goofy loon to talk to her in the tearoom, and now she's having your baby."
"Right," he muttered. "Who could forget the days you had a bloody calendar out to compare Fleur's age against mine."
She let out something closely resembling a cackle. "That was a laugh, wasn't it?" She slapped him rather hard on the back. "But it all worked out for you in the end, didn't. You got the girl. Maybe you'll get your wish and get a second one soon enough."
It took Bill a second to realize she meant the baby. Clea, being snarky and awkward, easily could have meant several different things by that comment—none of them favorable toward him—but he quickly deduced that she'd come in peace in this instance. This was her being nice.
Now that he'd told one person, all he wanted to do was tell more. His family specifically, but that was hopefully set to be done that weekend, once they were all set to visit the Burrow for Sunday dinner. He'd have to wait a couple of days, but he'd gone this far. He figured he could manage a bit longer.
At least that's what he told himself as he walked through Diagon Alley that evening after leaving Gringotts, the baby on his mind as he set off on his usual post-work routine. These days, that routine always included swinging by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to—honestly—to check on George.
Because these days, it was fairly necessary to always check on George.
The trauma from the war was still ever present in everyone's daily life. That was a given, and it was something Bill could still see everywhere he looked. Mental and physical scars were everywhere, and for the last year, it had essentially been a collective effort in their community to heal together. To push forward; to struggle to feel normal.
In his own family, his mother and father had started talking with a Healing witch who specialized in grief—something the Diggorys had suggested—and she'd helped them navigate the ups and downs of Fred's loss especially. There were good periods and dreadful ones for them both, but on the whole, it felt like they were both doing better these days. They were coping.
He and Fleur had actually gone to talk to the same woman a few times—Percy as well. Ron and Harry both spoke of someone that the Ministry provided through their Auror training that seemed to do the same sort of work.
Even Hogwarts had brought on someone that students could talk to about grief and trauma if need be; McGonagall had insisted on having someone on staff this year for it. Ginny had even mentioned going to see them from time to time, joking she did it only to get out of Transfiguration, but it was evident she benefited from being able to properly talk to someone as much as the rest of them did.
He knew for he and Fleur, it had helped them in those initial months, though they hadn't kept up with it with the regularity his parents still did. For his folks it felt like a necessity, whereas for him, it felt like something he needed at very specific times. The pain could sometimes still feel so raw and real, but he often surprised himself with how "well" he felt he was managing to handle his life.
Before all the pregnancy issues arose, he'd have almost told people he was as close to normal as he probably would ever be able to consider himself these days. He felt his family had done what they could to work through their pain in a healthy way.
However, there had been a holdout. The one who refused to do much of anything to try and properly heal.
Simply put, George claimed he had no desire to talk to someone about how he was feeling; that they'd never understand what he was going through, so "What was the fucking point?"
He chose instead to generally self-medicate. His form of therapy usually came in the form of the bottom of a bottle and taking substances Bill couldn't even claim to have heard of. Strange energizing potions that would get him through the day; Firewhiskey that knocked him out at night. He'd become erratic. You never quite knew what George you were going to get when you saw him. It could be, "High, life of the party, always goading everyone to go as hard as he was" George. It could be "Drunk, sullen, angry, 'no, I don't want to talk about it'" George. It could be "Workaholic, clearly on something, 'no one should have that much energy'" George. It could be "Exhausted, no one's heard from him for days because he's shut everyone out, 'fuck everyone'" George. It could be "Annoyed by everyone, chaotic, want to watch the world burn" George.
Every time Bill saw him, he was different. The only constant was that he was always on something. Always.
And as he entered Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—which was thankfully open that afternoon and not randomly locked up hours before closing as it sometimes was—Bill braced himself for what version of his brother he was going to stumble upon today.
The shop wasn't particularly busy at the moment since it was later and near close—Bill only noticed a mother and daughter examining Self-Writing Quills; the girl mentioned how they could be good for when she started Hogwarts next term.
It was also noticeable that the store was sparsely stocked in places. Shelves either hadn't been restocked after a busy day, or…they'd never been stocked to begin with. This was usually dependent on whether or not George had supervision or help while he was here. If employees, or Lee, or someone in the family popped in to help, the shelves were often much fuller; the store would be in better looking shape. If it was just George, he usually just let it be; always muttering something about getting to eventually…
It was sometimes a struggle for George just to get the doors open. He'd reopened the shop roughly eight months ago with the help of friends and family, all of them hoping he would be able to keep things going without Fred. He wasn't currently developing any new products, nor did he have a desire to, but they'd all assured him that the shop could rely on their backstock of ideas that still sold as well as they did prior to Fred's death. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had enough going for it to get back up and running.
And it did. The shop still did well. George's demeanor had changed, but people still turned up to buy his and Fred's products like they did before. They still loved the brand.
When George was in the right mood, he was clearly the man in charge. He was like an actor on stage—pretending to still be the same charming bloke he'd been with Fred at his side. He had his good days where he'd burn the midnight oil and put on a show for patrons, but it was all so obviously an act. Bill would watch him be all smiles with a customer one moment, only for a shadow to pass over him the moment he thought no one was paying attention. He'd seen him walk away and into the back stock room to drink.
Hell, there were times Bill would turn up to find the shop closed up; George having skived off work halfway through the day because he apparently, "Felt like it."
You just never knew what George you were going to get. Though at first glance today, the George that Bill first viewed seemed a bit promising. He was sitting behind the counter with a quill out, scribbling over a book of some kind. He hadn't looked up when Bill had opened the door and entered, and he wasn't really paying much attention to anything in the store. Still, being distracted was better than many of the other options. At least the doors were open and he wasn't in the back room drinking.
"Hey, mate," came Bill's voice, walking up to the counter. "How it goes?"
George only half looked up from the book—which actually turned out to be more of a sketchbook—before looking back down. "What do you want, Bill?"
Bill forced a smile. "To pop in and say hello, as I usually do after work."
"Right," George muttered. "Well aware. Still can't figure out why."
"Because you're my brother and I love you," Bill said rather cheekily, knowing that if he tried to say that sincerely, George would bite his head off for being ridiculous.
George stared at him.
"Wasn't aware I needed a reason," Bill added, dropping the cheeky act.
George sighed, clearly not interested in this chat. "Well, unless you need something, I'm busy—"
"Drawing," Bill said, gesturing to his sketchbook. "Yeah, I see that. Though—" He gestured behind him and into the shop. "You're out of Nosebleed Nougats and really low on Fainting Fancies. Have you thought about restocking? Maybe having one of your employees—?"
"I sent them all home," George muttered. "And I'll get to the Snackbox stuff when I get to them." He paused. "Also, I'm not drawing, I'm designing product ideas, so sod off. Isn't that what you all wanted?"
'You all' in this case meant the family. And it wasn't that him designing again was what they wanted, more that they just wanted to encourage George to get back into things that had once made him happy. They wanted him to experiment with trying to work this out without Fred if he was planning to keep the store.
Bill didn't respond to George's comment. Instead, he looked down at his sketchbook and saw—Hold on. Was that a…?
"What are you draw—?"
George slid the book away the second he noticed Bill was really focusing on it. "None of your business."
Bill glanced around, noticing that the mother and daughter from before were getting closer to the counter, though still exploring the shelves. He lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Was that a dick?"
George rolled his eyes. "Don't be a fucking prude, Bill."
He hadn't lowered his voice, and the mother and daughter had both clearly heard him. The mother looked over, slightly shocked; the girl just stared wide-eyed.
"Sorry," Bill said to them quickly, feeling the need to apologize personally.
George shrugged, looking over at the pair, before back at Bill. "Please, you know she'll hear worse at Hogwarts everyday. Better get used to it."
"Doesn't mean she needs to hear it today."
The mother had put down her items and reached out to tug on her daughter's sleeve to signal that they were going. The daughter was hesitant, but eventually followed—her eyes watching George the entire way out of the shop.
Bill sighed. 'You just lost a sale."
George didn't seem to care. He even used his wand to point it at the "Closed" sign hanging at the door, causing it to flip itself over. "Good. They were taking fucking forever. 'Mummy dearest' over there probably would have ended up hating our shit anyway if she can't handle a bit of swearing. You need to not be a boring fogey to enjoy our products."
With the shop now empty, Bill let himself speak freely. "A sale is a bloody sale. And why are you drawing dicks, or whatever the hell that was, at the counter?"
George chuckled. "It's a fake dick because I've been thinking of expanding into more adult products. It's something I've always considered, but Fred was hesitant—said we should keep things more family friendly in the first five years while we build clientele, then revisit later on. But I didn't see why we couldn't do both. We could have a separate area upstairs sectioned off for…" He pointed upstairs with his wand, but his voice had also trailed off. "Anyway, now that it's entirely my say, I'm looking into what it might take."
"Adult products…?" Bill said plainly, his tone questioning the idea.
"Products for sex," George clarified very slowly, as if he was talking to a five-year-old. He often liked to slip into this patronizing prick mode as of late.
"I get that. But…joke shit? Or actual…?"
"Some would be for a laugh—like for hen or stag nights, for shits and giggles and all that. But I'd like to also help actually spice up some bedrooms. There's money in sex. Sex sells."
"So you do care about sales?"
"Fuck off, Bill."
Bill ignored him. "But your old stuff sells."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not looking to turn this into a sex shop. Just looking to expand. Have some laughs, help some sad bedrooms out there." He looked him in the eye. "And if that's something you, or anyone else may need—"
Bill frowned. "Why would I need that?"
George cracked a little smile. "No reason. Though, they do say things tend to cool off after marriage. Nothing to be ashamed of."
"Yeah, I'm fine," Bill said, knowing George just said this shit to piss him off and get him to go away so he could be left alone. Still, it was hard to not hate it when he leaned so hard into being an arsehole like this.
"I hit a nerve," George said, still smirking.
"You didn't, you're just being a prick."
George pointed toward the door. "No one's stopping you from leaving."
They stared at each other. As much as Bill wanted to go—he really didn't need this shit—he stood firm, knowing the last thing George needed was to further be made to feel abandoned. If he left, George would be fucked up within the hour, likely in the shop's backroom.
That being said, he was going to stand here and be his little whipping boy either. When George got like this, Bill had learned it was best to deflect and change the subject.
"So Fleur's pregnant," he said casually, hoping the bluntness of such a big reveal would throw George off his guard. It seemed to at least have at least a partial effect, because George let his eyebrows bounce a bit in surprise.
"We're telling everyone this weekend at dinner," Bill added.
"Fuck," George said, rubbing his eyes. "I forgot about dinner this weekend. I don't think I'm going to—"
"You're going," Bill said.
"Fuck off, Bill," George said, sounding exhausted. "It's not your job to be my keeper, or whatever the fuck this is. Go home and take care of your pregnant wife."
"I will when I'm done here."
"Done doing what!?" George snapped.
The actual answer to that question would take ages to properly articulate, and George wouldn't want to hear it anyway. So Bill instead chose the most succinct statement possible.
"Done checking in and making sure you know you've got people looking out for you—people who love you."
George didn't respond to that, he just looked away. The silence fell heavy and awkward, but that was nothing new around George these days. At least, not in their relationship.
Finally, and barely above a whisper, George mumbled something that started with, "Don't…" The rest was indecipherable.
"Sorry?"
"I said just don't name the baby Fred," he repeated much louder this time. "I don't know what ideas you've got, but if you think you're doing something by honoring Fred, don't do it. It's too fucking soon and I'm telling you now, I can't…I won't be around people calling after him and 'saying Fred this' and 'Fred that'. Just hearing mum call someone else that…"
He looked away again.
Bill said nothing for a moment. Truthfully, George gatekeeping the name Fred probably should have bothered him more—he was both of their brother, after all—but it didn't. He actually understood. Both for the reasons George had offered and for the reasons he clearly wasn't saying.
"It's a girl," Bill said quietly. "Fleur being part Veela means it's a girl." He paused. "So yeah. You don't have to worry."
George nodded, but didn't look at him. Bill even sensed he felt a bit foolish for the outburst. Perhaps because he'd let some raw emotion that wasn't solely driven by anger slip out; perhaps because he'd let himself show some vulnerability. Bill couldn't be sure, but it was good to know it wasn't all just anger inside of him.
He only just wished his brother would find a way to deal with it properly.
