Written For:

QLFC / Round 3: Captain - Write about a character confessing a Truth OR write about a character Daring him/herself to face his/her fears.

Word Count: 1,498

oOo

It was never supposed to be her little sister.

Before Voldemort was destroyed, Bill and Fleur had a blossoming relationship. Things were new, fresh, and the threat of losing loved ones made them cling to each other and what they had. Their world was awash with shades of red: the splattered blood of their friends, hatred for the enemy, a lust that overcame them in the dead of the night, and desperation for things to improve.

Bill thought that things would be better after the war was over. But war changed things.

oOo

It was never supposed to be his little brother.

Fleur loved Bill. She had loved him since they first started to engage with one another, and no evil dark wizard could destroy that love.

But as they sat at opposite sides of the white wooden table at Shell Cottage, Fleur knew that in a way, Voldemort had won. Their world was grey now, a dull echo of what used to be. The shadow of the loss of family and friends hanging over their heads, and a distinct lack of emotions between them.

Fleur never thought that things could be so different. But war changed things.

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After the war, Fleur took up smoking. It was a habit that Bill hated, but Fleur insisted that the cigarettes calmed her nerves. She smoked all day long, sometimes breaking off during meals to have a cigarette, sometimes choosing smoking over dinner. Her waiflike curves became skeletal, her rosy cheeks deflated and hollow, and her skin grey and haggard.

But Bill didn't care about her appearance, he just wanted her healthy. During the war, they had frequently discussed having a baby if their life improved, but Fleur wasn't healthy enough to grow another person.

The smoking was just one of the things that caused Bill to see less and less of her. After he complained of the stench of old smoke in the house, she took to doing it outside. By the time Bill usually felt bad enough to insist that she came back in, Fleur was enjoying sitting on the cliff edge, smoking mournfully and looking out at the ocean.

He became trapped inside the cottage; its romantic decor a painful reminder of their once fruitful, happy relationship.

oOo

The truth was, Bill's presence irritated Fleur, but she was far too proud and ashamed of her feelings to talk to him.

He spent so long mourning for his dead brother, hating himself for spending so much time away from the family in Egypt, and for allowing himself to be bitten by a werewolf, that Fleur began to wonder if their relationship could ever turn back to the way it was. She knew that he had to grieve his losses, and she did too — but they needed to move on with their lives, too. His melancholic attitude towards the world depressed her.

Around her, the rest of the Weasley family were moving on. Ron and Hermione and Harry and Ginny had recently married in a wonderful double wedding, the reception of which was reminiscent of Fleur and Bill's own wedding at The Burrow — but when Fleur had looked to Bill with a sparkle in her eye, hoping he would take her hand and invite her to dance, he hadn't even spared her a glance.

Another hand was offered to her, and Fleur looked up into the crinkly eyes of Bill's brother, Charlie. "Doesn't look like he's going to dance with you, does it?" he chuckled, rolling his eyes lightheartedly in Bill's direction. Slightly bewildered, Fleur had allowed Charlie to clutch her body to his warmly, and sweep her around the dance floor for the rest of the night.

Her eyes never once left Bill, but he hadn't even noticed that she had left the table.

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Fleur wasn't at home when Gabrielle started coming by.

First, the young girl appeared with flowers for Fleur; a beautiful bouquet of blue and white roses, wrapped up in a silver ribbon, but she wasn't there to accept them.

The second time Gabrielle came over from France, she was carrying a large wicker basket, full of all her sister's favourite French treats and fancies; but again, Fleur wasn't there to accept them.

It was evident from Bill's face, the third, fourth and fifth times that Gabrielle stopped by, that Fleur was hardly ever at home. In truth, Bill didn't have any idea where she was — but he knew better than to ask.

At least, that was the excuse he told himself. Secretly, he enjoyed not finding cigarette butts in the garden and painting over the yellowing window panels. He wouldn't admit that sometimes, he didn't care to know where Fleur was.

Gabrielle was a breath of fresh air to Shell Cottage. She reminded Bill of the Fleur he first met, with her pearlescent hair tied back in a neat ponytail and dressed in pressed blue skirts and blouses. The younger Delacour was bright-eyed and smiling; as she walked into the cottage, she seemed to bring in the warmth of the sunshine outside with her.

The warmth thawed Bill's grief slowly, ebbed away at it with each visit that Gabrielle paid him. She gave Bill the kind of attention that he hadn't realised he needed — a small hand laid comfortingly on his shoulder as he spoke, making him a cup of tea when she walked through those doors, leaning towards him when they sat in silence, breaking the gap between them with her lips…

Bill wanted to back away as soon as Gabrielle kissed him, but the flicker of recognition that sparked in his chest was too strong to ignore. She smelled familiar, like talcum powder and flowery perfume; her hair was soft between his fingers; her lips were full and warm and inviting.

Kissing Fleur's younger sister there, by the kitchen table in their marital home, made Bill forget about every dismal thing that had happened since the war began. There was a power in Gabrielle's small hands; as she ran her fingers down the nape of his neck and his back, she worked away the worries that had built up under his skin.

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It was easier for Fleur to ignore her guilt when she stayed at Charlie's apartment, which overlooked Diagon Alley.

She thought that she found peace by the ocean, but in truth, the sound of the waves crashing over the white cliffs below only made her thoughts thrum louder. Looking out of the window in the apartment, Fleur watched the crowds of witches and wizards milling by, listened to the steady vibrations of their voices, and that's where she found true peace.

Charlie was a red-hot aid in forgetting her troubles. His calloused palms burned her icy exterior, rubbing heat and passion into her skin. She knew it was wrong — he was Bill's brother — but once he started littering kisses across her collarbone and the crook of her neck, she was little more than putty in his hands.

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"I have to tell you something," Bill told his wife a year after his affair had begun, while she was pouring hot water into a teacup.

She turned around, looking scarily thin in an oversized chiffon robe, clutching the tea with shaking hands. Bill noticed that, for the first time in a while, she didn't have a cigarette tucked between her fingers. "I 'ave to tell you something, too."

Bill looked at her questioningly, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Fleur turned her gaze to the floor. "I'm...I'm 'aving a baby."

There was a silence after Fleur spoke, while Bill did the math in his head. They hadn't been intimate for a very long time. So long in fact, that he couldn't remember when it had last happened. "Whose is it?" he asked quietly.

"You're not angry," Fleur murmured.

Bill took a breath. "I've been having an affair, too."

This time, the silence was deafening. Fleur should have known that Bill would stray from their marriage while she was so distant, and Bill had his suspicions that Fleur was cheating on him, too. But confessing it out loud made it seem so real.

"Who is it?" Bill and Fleur asked in unison.

"Gabrielle," Bill was the first to speak. He kept his eyes on Fleur, waiting for her explosive reaction. A brief flicker of anger passed through her eyes, but she didn't speak. "You're not angry?" It was his turn to say.

"The baby," Fleur whispered. "It is Charlie's."

oOo

They separated on silent terms. There was nothing that the other could say. It would be unfair for them to shout and scream and rage at the other, when they had sunk so low as to have an affair with a sibling of their significant other.

There was a lot that Bill wanted to say. There was a lot that Fleur wanted to say.

But in the end, there was nothing to say.