Set during the end of HBP, to somewhere near the end of DH.

since feeling is first

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers.
(e.e. cummings)

Bill had always been a happy-go-lucky child, a things-will-be-all-right-in-the-end friend, a you're-safe-with-me boyfriend. He had always seen reason to hope.

But hope was being snuffed out all over England as the news of Dumbledore's death travelled, and he was frightened, and he hurt more than anything.

And he had Fleur.

Fleur, with her proud eyes and that way of tossing her hair, and he was acutely aware of how lucky he was to have her at all.

"Fleur," he began, tracing a pattern on the clean white sheets with his finger.

"No."

He glanced up at her, startled by her flat interruption before he'd even had a chance to really think through what he wanted to say. "No?"

"No," she said, more vehemently. "You are going to tell me that I would be much safer outside of zis war, zat it ees not my place, and you are wrong, William!" He winced, not only at the use of his near-forgotten full first name, but at the cold, English way she pronounced it. "I was ze Champion for Beauxbatons, and you seem to zhink ze best Beauxbatons could offer ees not good enough for your country!"

There were a number of holes in her argument, even allowing for the fact that he thought her the very best of witches. She had only been Champion for her year, after all, and she had hardly won the thing. But then, Bill thought sadly, raising a hand to brush through her hair, the entire Wizarding World had lost at that Triwizard Tournament.

"I only want to keep you safe, Fleur," he said gently.

She shrugged, turning her head so her hair fell out of his grasp. "I only want you," she replied fiercely. "Even though you are a very silly man."

Bill couldn't help it – he smiled at that, however much the ensuing pain made him wish he hadn't bothered. "I can try to be more serious, if it would please my lady," he offered. When she raised her eyebrows at him, unimpressed, he let out a laugh, or what passed for a laugh given the circumstances. "I didn't actually ask you to leave, you goose. I know you. I know that I couldn't keep you here if you didn't want to be, and I know that I couldn't make you stay away if you didn't want to."

There wasn't any point in telling her to leave, after all. In his mind – even though he had lived abroad and thought he might spend his life on foreign soils, once – if Britain fell, the world fell. France was only a stone's throw away from England by Voldemort's measures.

Fleur's set, white face softened. "Oh, Bill," she murmured, and he studied his sheets again, waiting for her to collect herself. Usually – as he was painfully aware – he would have reached out and drawn her into a hug, but today he simply couldn't bear to. If she started to cry, he thought he might break.

Dumbledore's death seemed to have imposed time limits on their own lives. Bill's heartbeat felt like a countdown rather than an affirmation of life.

"I – I z- th-ought you would tell me to leave," she said quietly, brushing his hair back from his face.

"I couldn't," he replied, equally softly. "I need you, Fleur."

She smiled, dropping a kiss on the top of his forehead, carefully avoiding the patchwork of cuts across his face. "You are more pack already."

"Pack?"

"Oui. You 'ave been a lonely lion too long, my love. You 'ave not been a Gryffindor for years."

Bill swatted at her side playfully. "I'm not a lion, dearest. I assure you that I do not need reminding of this point." Because the wounds from being too weak, too helpless without his wand were still fresh, after all. He didn't think it appropriate to point out that lions lived in packs as well.

"You could 'ave fooled me," Fleur said airily, using an expression he supposed she'd picked up from their mutual friend Jasper. "You 'ave always been ze leader, no? Wiz your bruzzers and Ginny, and when you were ze 'Ead Boy."

It was true. He was no longer first. Not first to be marked by the Second War. Not first to have been attacked by Voldemort's followers. Not even the first in the family.

To stave off his melancholic train of thought, he asked, "So, where's Mum, then?"

Fleur shrugged. "She was 'ere earlier, but said she would come back later. We are friends now."

Bill gave her a wary look. "How long was I out for?"

She laughed, and some of the pressure weighing Bill's heart down lifted. He thought maybe things might be all right, if only he could just keep Fleur laughing. The sound stopped all too suddenly, and she raised his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. "We found somezing we 'ad in common after all."

He understood her meaning right away, but he didn't want to talk of nearlys and almosts, even as he was contemplating a world in which his mother and sister got along with his sweetheart. Well. Maybe expecting Ginny to give up her inexplicable hatred of Fleur was a bit farfetched, but it was something to look forward to. And in a world in which Voldemort was climbing back to his former, feared position, surely having something to hope for was wonderful and inspiring?

Dumbledore probably would have thought so.

"You are very quiet, my love," Fleur muttered, pressing kisses to his shoulder.

Bill had been holding his breath without realising it, and slowly, he grinned. "I feel caught half-way between the here-and-now and my old Hogwarts days. It's being stuck in here that's doing it," he added, waving a hand around to indicate the hospital wing. "Spent loads of time here when I first started trying to play Quidditch. Wasn't that good at it, of course. Charlie ran rings around me in his first practise session."

"I cannot imagine that," Fleur said loyally, but Bill could, in his mind's eye, still see Charlie's triumphant smile, and the many, many letters he had received from the twins once they had found out. It hurt a little less that Charlie had been the best player in years. Not that the twins had cared.

Suddenly needing her closer, he shifted over awkwardly in his bed, and wordlessly held his arms out to her.

"You are not serious, Bill," declared Fleur. "Your Madam Pomfrey, she will 'ave my head for zis."

"She'll have to get past me first," Bill said, mock-seriously. "Come on, Fleur. No one's going to mind, not now... not now."

Those large blue eyes fixed on his, and then she nodded, clambering into the bed beside him. The bed rocked slightly as she settled – it was intended for single teenagers, and not two fully-grown adults. Discomfort was nothing, however, and it was even worth risking Madam Pomfrey's wrath to feel some of the ache ease from Dumbledore's death.

"I love you," Fleur murmured drowsily, her eyelids fluttering closed. He smiled, and pressed a kiss to her hairline, ignoring the cramp setting into his arm as she fell asleep against him.

They discussed postponing the wedding, but it was only half-hearted, and it was nice to have a wedding to plan to offset the horrors of war. Even if Fleur expected his opinion on daft things like what kind of chairs the guests sat on. Would anybody notice, so long as they had a seat?

Still, he made the effort to pay attention, because his life was filling up with Imperiused colleagues, and Death Eaters wandering around in plain sight, still stinking of Azkaban. Whatever flowers they had were insignificant in comparison, but he wanted Fleur to have the wedding of her dreams – as far as was possible, at any rate.

Dreams descended into the stuff of nightmares when Kingsley's announcement sent shockwaves through the wedding.

"Go to Shell Cottage," he murmured to his wife of just a few short hours. Surely, surely this wasn't going to be taken from him now. "I'll meet you there later."

"You go," Fleur answered mulishly, steel in her eyes, "and I will meet you there later."

He took her in, her fierce, proud stance, and that thrust of her chin, and felt a rush of elation that they were married. It was a small light that burned inside him, which no amount of Death Eater smirks or sharp demands could dispel. Whilst the Death Eaters ransacked the house, Fleur laid her head on his shoulder and threaded her fingers through his. Despite everything, they had this now.

Bill's throat was dry as he waited for the inevitable questions about the ghoul, and his wand hand twitched, but the questions never came. Nor were there awkward moments when Harry's stuff was discovered – because Harry's stuff wasn't there anymore. Not for the first time (and, he suspected, not for the last either), he was impressed by the nous of his kid brother and friends. They'd need every inch of talent to get through the dark days ahead. Seventeen. He'd been snogging girls and studying at that age.

"They're breaking our wedding gifts," Fleur said mournfully, closing her eyes against this fresh horror. "No, don't move. You'll make zem worse."

"I'll buy you more things," Bill promised, hand tightening in hers, and finding her wedding ring cutting into his palm.

She gave a low laugh. "I do not need things, Bill."

It was dark before they were able to leave the Burrow, and they stared in mute horror up at their marital home, which had already been paid a visit by Death Eaters. Evidently the thoughts they'd entertained of enjoying the remainder of their wedding day were going to remain a fantasy.

"Well? Will you carry me?"

Or maybe they could have some things. He cast a few spells, ascertaining there were no curses or enemies lurking in their precious cottage. Satisfied, he turned to Fleur, finding the invitation in her eyes.

"I do not understand," Bill heard Fleur say as he Apparated into the kitchen. Cautiously (how he longed for the days where he didn't suspect every guest), he pulled his wand out, and crept towards her voice. "Ze ozzers, zey are gone?"

"Yeah. Look, can I stay here or what?"

Bill breathed a sigh of relief as he recognised Ron's defensive tones. Nevertheless, it didn't hurt to be careful. He entered the living room, his wand trained on his brother. "What was the score of the first Quidditch match Ron went to see?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Is that really necessary? You couldn't have asked anything else?" Bill raised his eyebrows, his wand unwavering though he was now certain this was Ron. "Fine. 690-0. The Chudley Cannons' biggest defeat to their local rivals," he explained to Fleur.

"What are you doing here?" Bill asked, pocketing his wand.

"Thought I'd come here for a visit," Ron answered uneasily, looking at the carpet. "D'you mind?"

Bill's eyes flicked to Fleur, and she shook her head. "Why didn't you go to the Burrow?"

Ron's cheeks burned. "If you don't want me, I'll be on my way."

"I didn't say that," Bill reminded him. "But if you want to stay here, you need to fill me in on a few things."

Tactfully, Fleur exited at that point, declaring that Ron was looking peaky and could do with a good meal. The prospect of food calmed his youngest brother, who sat rubbing his eyes, and suddenly looking far older than seventeen. "Did you ever come across a curse that got inside you?" Ron asked quietly, massaging his neck. "Something that got inside your head, say, and maybe affected the way you acted?"

"What kind of curse?" Bill enquired, taking Fleur's vacated seat. "Did somebody place it on you, or was it a spelled object?"

"No – nothing – I can't," Ron said brokenly. "Never mind. Look, I left them. It's hard – it's so hard knowing you've got to steer clear of the entire flipping country, otherwise you're not only putting yourself in danger, but your whole family. The other two, they don't have family. They don't get it."

Digesting this, Bill drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "So you left them to make it easier on Mum and Dad?"

"No!" Ron burst out. "We argued, and I left just for a second, and then I got attacked, and by the time I got back, they were gone. Or I couldn't find them. I tried, Bill. I didn't know where else to go."

It was difficult to judge Ron's actions, when his kid brother had faced as much – and now, perhaps more – than Bill himself. Bill didn't know if he would have been able to handle things, were he in Ron's shoes. Fleur took a far more black-and-white view of the matter when he recounted it to her in bed late that night.

"Ron should 'ave stayed," she said bluntly. " 'Arry, he did not 'ave much to start wiz, and now zhere is even less."

She did not, to his relief, bring this opinion up around Ron, and they merely adapted their life to suit their outlaw, until he vanished on Christmas morning. Bill believed, because the alternative was unthinkable, that he'd found his way back.

"Now we are all alone again," Fleur whispered when the disappearance was discovered, her fingers at the clasp of his cloak. "We must find some way of filling our time…"

They had refused an invitation to the Burrow so Ron wouldn't spend Christmas alone, but Bill had to admit, he was enjoying Fleur's way of celebrating.

Wartime got blacker and blacker. One night, huddled up in their favourite armchair, they had to have the talk about children, and decided that it wasn't the right time to bring a baby into the world. They would wait for victory, and keep faith with the resistance movement that it would come eventually.

They had Kingsley to stay for a few weeks, feeding him up before he went on the run again. Fleur declared privately how she would hate to be hunted in that way – when, all of a sudden, Ron did the thing he had feared, and put the whole Weasley family in danger.

Not that Fleur complained when it happened, save for having to wait on a troublesome goblin. It was nice to have the house full, even if it was overspilling with fugitives. The secrets and deceptions itched at Bill; he longed to be included, though he knew the three trusted only each other. It was better, safer that way – but still, over-reliance on the goblin would be to their detriment. There were two things he could think of which would cause them to need a goblin; Gringotts, or treasure. Neither left him feeling easy.

"I thought we agreed to stay out of it," Fleur reminded him, after having caught him speaking to Harry in the kitchen. "Zat we didn't want to make zheir lives any 'arder by forcing zem to tell us ze truth – or forcing zem to lie to us. Zat is what you said, no?"

"Yes," he agreed, sighing. "I just want them to be careful. Especially now."

"Oui," she said, stretching out in bed, her blonde hair fanning out beneath her. "And after 'aving been on ze run since ze summer wizout your 'elp, zey are in need of it now?"

"They never had to rely on a goblin before," Bill murmured darkly. She had a point, a way of looking at things that always made him change his mind. It was sometimes a little hard to swallow, that was all.

"You are certain of zis?" Fleur enquired – and he had to admit, he wasn't. "If you must advise somebody, you could tell Luna my 'ouse is not infested wiz Nargles."

Bill chuckled, reaching out to cup her face in his hand. "I would have more luck getting information out of those three."

"We are both in need of a little – distraction," Fleur suggested.

They did not, as it happened, need to distract themselves for long; Ron, Harry, and Hermione soon made their departure, along with Griphook. That evening, Dean and Luna vanished after dinner, leaving Shell Cottage suddenly seeming very big and empty.

Not half an hour after that, Bill's heart was in his mouth as George's patronus materialised – we shouldn't have let them go, we should have made them tell us the plan, we should have done things differently – but it was a call to arms. Finally, finally, they were able to act, after months of sitting on the sidelines.

"Wait," Fleur entreated, taking his hands in hers. She searched his face, though he didn't know what she hoped to find amid the scars. "I love you."

He freed one of his hands to slip his fingers under her chin, and raise it for a kiss, aware as he did so that it might be the last. "I love you too."

fin.

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