Leigh!fic | Don't Blink (2/2) | Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour
Title: Don’t Blink (2/2)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairing: Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour
Word Count: 10,023
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Trust me friend, a hundred years goes faster than you think. So don’t blink. Bill reflects on his life-- and the remarkable woman he shared it with.
Warnings: Extreme angst. You only think I’m kidding.
Author’s notes: This was written for the 2011 hp_canon_fest, using this quote from Dragonfly in Amber-- "Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God! I loved her well." To my wonderful betas, elle_blessing and fiery_flamingo, thank you for being you. I honestly don't know what I'd do without y'all. The title of this story comes from the song Don’t Blink by Kenny Chesney. I think it’s quite appropriate. I hope you all enjoy! Oh, and if you hover your cursor over the French words, you’ll see the English translation.
July 14, 2004
He supposed there could never been a simple holiday celebration in their family. Christmases were loud, birthday parties usually resembled circuses, and while Bill had never been one to celebrate Bastille Day, Fleur insisted upon spending le fête nationale with her family outside Toulouse.
Bill had tried to talk her out of it, but she hadn’t listened. His wife was stubborn and headstrong to a fault.
“But Bill, I ‘ave not been ‘ome in months, and my parents will be wanting to see Victoire.”
Not for the first time did he curse his inability to say no to Fleur. All she had to do was look up at him with her blue eyes, one hand resting on her swollen belly, and he’d been a goner.
But if that hadn’t been enough, he’d had Victoire in his arms, jabbering on about Grandmère and Grandpère and horsies.
That had sealed the deal.
Besides, Fleur hadn’t been due for another three weeks. She’d promised that she’d been feeling fine, and he’d taken her word for it.
Right. Fine. Of course she’d started having labor pains not two hours after arriving in France. It was only natural, right?
But that was alright, really. For now, he was content to watch from the doorway of the hospital room, watching as his wife introduced their four year-old to her new sister.
“Fait attention, Victoire,” Fleur cautioned, showing the little blonde how to support the baby’s head. Her arms were around the pair of sisters, ready to take over in case Victoire decided she was tired of holding the newest Weasley.
She needn’t have worried, though. The little girl was seemingly infatuated with the tiny baby, from the soft pink blanket she was wrapped in to the tuft of bright red hair on the top of her head.
“What’s her name, Maman?” she asked, tipping her little face back to look at Fleur.
“Dominique,” his wife answered with a fond smile, brushing her hand over Victoire’s long hair. “Dominique Ginevra Weasley.”
“After Aunty Ginny?”
“After Aunt Ginny,” Bill said from the doorway, smiling when his little girl looked up to give him a toothy grin. “Do you think she’ll like that?”
“Well, she looks like Aunty Ginny, so I think so,” Victoire replied, giving an empathic nod.
Bill couldn’t help but laugh as he crossed into the room, perching on the edge of the bed next to his wife and daughters. “How does she look like Aunt Ginny?”
Victoire gave him a look that was quite reminiscent of her mother. “Because, Papa,” she said, “she has Aunt Ginny’s hair.”
“So she does.”
The little blonde wiggled around, handing her baby sister off to her mother. As soon as Fleur had taken control of the newborn, Victoire squirmed across the bed and threw her arms around Bill’s neck. “Love you, Papa.”
“I love you too, Princess.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he murmured, “I love you, too.”
*~*~*~*~*
February 3, 2006
"You, my love, are amazing."
"Je sais."
Bill smirked and settled back against the headboard, pulling his wife into his arms. "And so modest, too," he teased, throwing the phrase she'd once said to him back at her. "Whatever will I do with you?"
"Mmm, I 'ave no idea," Fleur replied with a snort as she moved closer to him, whimpering softly as the movement aggravated her sore body. Bill started to voice his concern, but she waved him off. "Bah, eet ees nothing I 'ave not felt before."
"Yes, you're getting quite good at this childbirth thing." Reaching into the bassinet beside the bed, Bill lovingly picked their newborn child-his son-- and settled him into his arms. "Isn't Maman brilliant, Louis?"
Louis merely yawned, his tiny mouth widening in an 'O' before he settled back into his slumber.
Fleur laughed softly. One delicate finger reached out, tracing over his soft cheek tenderly. "'E looks like 'is father, I theenk."
"Then he is going to be one deadly handsome wizard."
Thunk!
Bill laughed and leaned over, pressing his lips against Fleur's in a brief kiss. "Come now, sweetheart, it isn't nice to physically abuse the father of your children. What kind of example are you setting?"
"I am showing Louis 'ow not to treat a witch," she replied, sharp teeth nipping at his bottom lip. "'E will need to know eet eef 'e does not wish to be 'exed."
"He might like it. I know I do."
"Well, you 'ave always been a masochist." Pulling back, her blue eyes were sparkling with amusement. "After all, you were ze one who married me."
He smirked. "And I thank Merlin every day that you don't spout wings and talons when I make you angry." Just her little claws, which he didn't mind… especially when she raked them down his back in pleasure.
The blonde rolled her eyes and tugged Louis close to her chest. "N'écoute pas à ton père. Ta grand-mère fit tomber sur la tête comme un enfant."
"Oh come now, love, that's not nice," Bill said, his expression one of faux-hurt. He put his hand to his chest and gave her an earnest look, dramatically fluttering his lashes. "How could you do that to this face?"
"Quite easily," Fleur replied, flashing her white teeth in a grin.
"Heartless harpy," he groused, his amused eyes belying the words. His gaze dropped from her lovely face down to the tiny baby in her arms, and he felt a tugging in his chest. It was the same sensation he felt every time he looked at Victoire and Dominique, his two little princesses; different as night and day, one blonde like her Maman, the other with a head full of Weasley red hair.
Speaking of…
"He doesn't have any hair."
Fleur snorted. "Not all babies 'ave 'air when zey are born. Ze girls were ze exception."
"Yeah," he nodded, "but what color hair do you think he'll have? Care to make a wager?"
"Oh?" she lifted a brow at him in question. "Name ze terms."
"Ten galleons to me if he has blonde hair," he said in challenge, smirking. He could see his son with his Maman's pale locks.
She gave him a long, appraising look, then nodded. "Bien. So when 'e 'as red 'air, you give me ze ten Galleons."
"Done." Ducking his head, he gave her a quick little kiss. "And sealed with a kiss."
*~*~*~*~*
September 1, 2012
"Are you sure you 'ave everything you need?" Fleur asked-not for the first time-as the family hovered at the edge of the platform.
Victoire merely nodded. "Yes, Maman, I haven't lost anything between here and home," she said, the touch of pre-teen sass in her tone quickly evaporating at the arch look her mother gave her.
"But if I forgot something, you can owl it to me," she quickly finished, giving Fleur a bright smile.
"Zat ees better," she said. Leaning down, Fleur pressed a kiss to their eldest's forehead. "You will write us as soon as you are settled tonight, D'accord? We will be wanting to 'ear about your Sorting."
"Bien sûr," Victoire replied in flawless French. "And you'll send macaroons?"
"Eef we 'ear you are doing well in your classes, then per'aps a trip to Pierre Hermé can be arranged…"
Dominique, who so far had been particularly down at the thought of being left behind, brightened up. "Maman, may I have a macaroon, too?"
Bill laughed and ruffled her flaming red hair. "We'll see if we can't convince Tante Gabby to bring some back for the three of you when she comes to visit, alright?"
"Anyway, ze train ees about to leave. Say good-bye to your seeblings, chéri."
"Bye Dom, bye Louis," Victoire parroted dutifully, giving each of them a little half-hug as if she didn’t want her classmates to see her being sweet to her brother and sister. Grinning up at Bill, she went up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Bye, Papa," she whispered. "Love you."
"I love you too, Princess," he whispered back, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Make us proud, kay?"
"I'll try." Pulling back, she grabbed her book sack and slung it over her shoulder, hopping onto the train just before the Hogwarts Express started to pull away from the platform.
He wasn't going to tear up. Bill would not be one of those parents he'd often mocked, sentimental and morose as they watched their precious baby angels disappear around the bend. He would not. But that didn't stop him from following the train to the edge of the platform, waving at Victoire until she disappeared from sight.
"Ees someone going to be 'aving separation issues?" Fleur asked, quirking one blonde brow at him when he finally returned to his family.
Bill scoffed. "Course not. We've still got these two little monsters to take care of, don’t we?" he queried. Reaching down, he picked Louis up off the ground and swung him around, grinning as the little boy giggled and kicked his legs.
Settling his son on his shoulders, Bill held his hand out to Dominique. "Come on then, Weasleys. Let's go home."
*~*~*~*~*
June 5, 2024
"Louis Charles Weasley, just because you 'ave finished with your schooling does not mean you are too old for me to take my wand to your backside, tu l'as?"
Bill snickered as he watched Fleur snap her fingers at their youngest, pointing to the patch of grass next to her. Their son, full of excitement on finishing Hogwarts, could barely contain himself. His grand tour was all set and he was ready to leave upon the morn… if his Maman let him, of course. If Louis didn't listen to her and join them for a family picture, Bill highly doubted any force on earth would allow him out of her sight for the summer.
Louis ambled over, his red hair brushing his shoulders as he walked. "D'ac, Maman, I'm coming."
"You 'ad better 'urry. I want un photo before Molly brings out ze cake."
The gangly boy wrapped one arm around Fleur's shoulders and squeezed her to him, pressed his lips against her cheek in a sloppy kiss and ignored her yelp of protest. "You love me, Maman."
"At ze moment, I 'ave no idea why, petite gitan," she groused, wiping the excess saliva away from her cheek. "Bill, Teddy, Victoire, Dominique, allons-y."
"Best not argue with Maman when she's in a mood," Victoire said sagely, tugging her husband along behind her. "Come on, dear."
Behind them, Dominique was snickering. "Teddy's whipped, Teddy's whipped," she chanted in a sing-song voice, grin widening as her brother-in-law shot her a glare.
Bill rolled his eyes and poked his middle child in the side. "Are you twenty or twelve, Dom?"
"Oh please, like you weren't playing pranks on Uncle Charlie well into your thirties."
It was probably best not to mention the Puking Pastile he'd slipped into his brother's butterbeer earlier in the evening. Charlie was still in the loo, where he would stay until Bill decided to give him the reverse caplet.
Or until Molly noticed Charlie's disappearance and came after Bill's hide with her wand. Not for the first time, he noticed the similarities between his mother and his wife. For as different as they were physically, they could both be downright scary when it came to mothering their brood.
"Of course not," he lied smoothly, tugging on the end of her hair. "Let's all get in a neat little row for your Maman."
The three children-four, really, counting Teddy-allowed Fleur to arrange them just so in front of the camera, enduring her admonishments of "Stand up straight" and "Louis, get your 'air out of your eyes."
Behind the camera-formerly a Muggle one, lovingly tinkered and modified for the fun of it-Arthur clicked and snapped away. After a few snaps, he and Fleur stepped out to have a few photos of the children taken, Teddy joining them so there would be a few photos of just the three Weasleys.
It was hard to believe they were all grown up Bill mused as he wrapped one arm around his wife's waist. Victoire shouldn't be married; she was supposed to still be his cherubic blonde baby, toddling across his study and demanding he read to her. Dominique was too young to be in culinary school, and it seemed only yesterday that Louis had been born. Now he was finished with Hogwarts!
"We did an alright job of it, didn't we?" he murmured, pressing a kiss into Fleur's hair. "Raising the lot, I mean."
"Mmm, oui," Fleur said softly, tipping her face up to look at him. A smile tugged at her lips, and her blue eyes were alight with warmth. "Je t'adore, chéri."
Bill merely smiled and ducked his head. As he lowered his lips to hers, a shrill voice pierced the air, interrupting the once-tender moment between husband and wife.
"WILLIAM ARTHUR WEASLEY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR BROTHER?!?!"
*~*~*~*~*
October 25, 2025
"What on earth could possibly be taking so long?" Bill asked, clearly agitated as he paced back and forth in front of the plain brown door. They'd been at the hospital since nine o'clock that morning, after Teddy had frantically Flooed to inform them that Victoire's water had broken.
They were about to be grandparents.
And by Merlin's saggy left Y-nut, it was taking forever. Was something wrong? Was his little girl okay? What about the baby?
Fleur, for her part, merely snickered as she watched him pace. "Bill, chéri, eet 'as only been six 'ours, and eet ees Victoire's first labor. We could be 'ere all night."
The look Bill gave her was one of abject horror. "What do you mean, all night?"
"I mean zat ze baby could take quite a while coming," she said, giving him a Gallic shrug. "Remember Louis' birth?"
"Yes…" he said slowly. "That didn't take this long, though."
His wife gave a delicate snort. "Chéri, I was in labor for thirteen 'ours."
"No. It wasn't that long!"
She quirked a brow at him. "Yes, eet was. But you were not ze one 'eaving and straining to push ze baby out of your body. I suspect eet was much easier for you zan it was for me."
"You about ripped by fingers off, I wouldn’t call that easy," he muttered. It felt nice saying it aloud, but he wasn't daft enough to say it where she might be able to hear him.
Her wandwork was still quick as it'd ever been.
The door creaked open, and Teddy, his hair its usual shade of flaming turquoise, slipped through. In his arms… was a tiny pink bundle.
"Would you like to meet your granddaughter?"
Bill started to reach out for her, but his arms were batted to the side as Fleur stepped in front of him, relieving Teddy of his precious burden. He would have been irritated if the sight of her cooing away to the infant in French wasn't so heartbreakingly familiar.
"Does she 'ave a name?" she asked, glancing up from the baby to look at their son-in-law.
"Isabelle," Teddy answered quietly. "Isabelle Nymphadora Lupin."
For a long moment, Fleur was quiet as she looked down at little Isabelle. Bill didn't need to see her face to know she was fighting back tears. After a while, she nodded.
"C'est un bon nom," she said softly, brushing a kiss over Isabelle's tiny forehead.
His throat was suddenly full, and Bill had to take a deep breath and swallow before he could nod in agreement.
"A good name, indeed."
*~*~*~*~*
December 22, 2027
It was a perfect night; cold, but the heating charms placed on the tent kept all the wedding-goers toasty warm. The sounds of the waves crashing onto the beach mingled perfectly with the band, and as Dominique and her new husband twirled around the dance floor, a soft breeze tugged at her red curls.
"I'm too young for this," Bill muttered.
"Chèri, you said zat four years ago when Victoire was married. And I theenk you said it when Isabelle was born," a voice said behind him, and he didn't have to turn around to know that his wife was smiling.
He shrugged and turned to face her. "Well, it's still true. Dominique isn't old enough to be married."
"She ees twenty-three years old, Bill. I was barely twenty when we were married." Fleur lifted her shoulder in her familiar little half-shrug. "Eet 'appens. And she 'as been with 'im for nearly four years…eet was only a matter of time."
"Still doesn't mean I have to like seeing my baby girl married. And at least Victoire had the good sense to stay nearby; Dom's moving to France!"
Fleur laughed and slipped closer, her thin arms wrapping around his waist. "Chèri, she 'as been in Paris for nearly two years. 'Er job ees there."
Bill sighed and let his chin rest on top of his wife's head. "I guess I always thought she'd come back," he murmured as one arm slid around her, tugging her even closer. "She doesn't need me anymore."
"She will always need you, you're 'er Papa." Tipping her head back to look at him, she reached up to cup his scarred cheek, one thumb tracing a particularly deep ragged mark. "She ees grown up, oui, but you are 'er father, and she will always need you. Jean-Michel ees a good man, and 'e will take care of 'er, but 'e will never replace you."
"Promise?"
"Je promis," she murmured, "mon homme loufoque."
"Not nice to kick a man when he's already down, Fleur," he replied. Turning his face to the side, he reached up to cage her hand in against his skin, his lips pressing against her warm palm. "I love you."
"Je t'adore, aussi."
"Papa?"
Bill had been leaning in to kiss his wife, but stopped and pulled back when he heard his name. Even though it was not the first time he'd seen her that day, his breath still caught at the sight of his little Dominique in her wedding dress. She looked absolutely stunning.
"Hey there, angel," he said with a smile. "Where's Jean-Michel?"
She waved in the general direction her husband had gone. "With his Maman, I think. I wanted to see if I could steal you for another dance."
Tears pricked at his eyes, but he hurriedly blinked them away. Maybe Fleur was right after all, maybe Dom wasn't replacing him. "Of course, Dom. If it's alright with your Maman, of course."
Fleur gave a dismissive wave. "Bien sûr. 'Ave fun."
"You're so benevolent." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and murmured, "I'll be back," before holding his hand out to his little girl. "May I have the honor of this dance, Madame?" He was delighted at her girlish giggle as she swept an elegant curtsey.
"Bien sûr," she answered, echoing her Maman. "It would be my honor, Papa."
He smiled and led her out to the dance floor, sweeping her into his arms. It was her night, her time to shine, but the honor?
That was all his.
*~*~*~*~*
August 1, 2047
"Excuse me, Excusez-moi, can I have everyone's attention?"
The witches and wizards clustered around the little tables quieted and turned their focus to the pretty witch standing at the head table. Her once long blonde hair was cut short in a more-sensible cut, and though her skin was no longer as flawless as it had once been, she was still a beauty.
Victoire Weasley-Lupin smiled at the gathering. "Thank you. My siblings have asked me to give the toast today, and though I'm not sure I deserve the honor, I'll do my best." She raised a glass of champagne to her lips and took a small sip, whetting her lips before, with a deep breath and a little swallow, she continued.
"This year-2047-is a very important year in our society. Fifty years ago, the last great war of the wizarding world began in earnest. History remembers that time as a dark one, full of horrible acts of violence-which it was. It was on this day fifty years ago that Rufus Scrimegoeur, the Minister of Magic, was murdered by Death Eaters, and the Ministry was taken over by the forces of Lord Voldemort."
No one in the room needed to be reminded. They had either lived through it, or they had read about it in their history books, heard tale from their parents. But Victoire had her audience in rapt silence as she continued to speak.
"But that wasn't the only important event to take place on August first. Because on August 1st, 1997, in the little village of Ottery St. Catchpole, William Arthur Weasley and Fleur Isabelle Delacour were married."
Her blue gaze glanced down the table to where her parents sat, hand in hand. She could see tears falling down her Maman's face, and her Papa's chin was held high, his eyes bright with emotion.
"Many of you were at the wedding. Obviously, I was not, but I've heard my parents-and my aunts and uncles-talk about that day. How the Death Eaters arrived during the reception, and how Papa and Maman helped fight them off. I can't imagine what that was like, but thanks to the actions of my parents and their friends and family, I've never had to live in a world of darkness, fear, and hatred. I've never had to wonder if my Muggleborn friends would be carted off to Azkaban-or worse-because of their so-called "blood purity."
Victoire paused and glanced down at her husband. Her lips twitched in a reassuring smile, which grew when he reached up to lace his fingers through hers and squeezed lightly. Looking back up at the assembled room, she began again.
"Over the course of my life, my parents have taught me time and time again the value of love. But they never had to say a word; all we had to do was watch them. Because in all my years, I have never seen a couple more in-love and committed to one another than my Maman and Papa. There are so many things I could say, but then we would be here all night, so I'll just say this:"
Reaching down for her champagne glass, she held it aloft. "Maman, Papa, you have endured so much over the course of your marriage, strains that would break a lesser couple. And through it all, you have taught Dominique, Louis, and myself how to be the best version of ourselves we can be. Thank you for showing me what a true relationship looks like, and I can only hope that in twenty-six years-when this is Teddy and my's fiftieth anniversary-that Isabelle will be able to stand up and say that I did half as good of a job as you two did."
With a smile, she said, "So please join me in wishing a very happy fiftieth wedding anniversary to Bill and Fleur Weasley. May the next fifty years be just as blessed and happy as the first."
*~*~*~*~*
January 2, 2066
The small cemetery in Ottery St. Catchpole was nearly full to capacity with mourners, nearly a hundred black-clad attendees crowded in the churchyard. The window howled, shaking the bare branches of the nearby weeping willow tree. It was cold, and there was a light dusting of snow over the grounds from the night before.
Snow didn't feel appropriate, Bill mused. It should have been raining; thunder and lightning should be darkening the sky. Snow was too happy, too light.
He had always loved snow. Louis. Even as an adult, he had taking his children out to play in the powdery white stuff, patiently teaching them to make snow forts and snow men, engaging in mock battles with the numerous Weasley cousins.
Perhaps it was fitting, then.
The Ministry official was speaking, but Bill wasn't listening. His gaze was locked on the gleaming mahogany casket in front of him, the top of which was covered with a spray of crimson roses. Fleur had painstakingly designed it, hand-plucking each individual bloom from the bushes in their little solarium. He didn't know how she'd done it; he was having a hard enough time processing everything that had happened. Once again, his wife's mental strength floored him.
Because no parent should ever have to bury their child.
Scronfungulus. That had been the cause of it. Louis had come down with it on Boxing Day, and less than a week later, he was gone. That was it. No warning, no time to prepare, nothing. One minute, he'd been there with them, and the next…
Fleur's hand was cool in his, the gnarled and knotted fingers covered with a kidskin glove. Next to her was Amy, Louis' wife-his widow-- and their four children. Victoire and Dominique, too, with their respective families, along with the rest of the Weasley brood. All there to say goodbye to their husband, brother, father, grandfather, son.
It didn't matter that Louis had been sixty when he'd died. It was still too soon. For a wizard, he'd barely reached middle age.
The sounds of sniffles reached his ears as his focus was brought back to the present, and the family around him began to rise from their seats. One hand grasping his cane, he wobbled to his feet, then leaned over to help Fleur. Neither of them were as agile as they'd once been, and her body never worked properly in the cold weather.
She wasn't crying. There was a deep sadness in her blue eyes, but tears didn't track down her cheeks. In her old age, Fleur had started internalizing her emotions. Where she once would have sobbed and clung to him, now she quietly endured whatever pain-be it emotional or physical-came her way.
But her hands gave her away. They were trembling.
His hand tightened around hers, lending her support. After sixty-nine years of marriage, they didn't really need words. And that was alright with him.
He wasn’t sure he had them, anyway.
*~*~*~*~*
October 15, 2077
In the time that had passed since Fleur's episode-a stroke, the Healer had said, something that affected her brain and movements-Bill had taken to bringing his wife her morning tea while she stayed in bed. Her motor skills weren't what they had used to be, and he didn't want her to scald herself with the kettle.
They'd moved their bedroom down to the ground floor of Shell Cottage to make it easier for the both of them. At their age, climbing the stairs multiple times a day was simply out of the question. Isabelle or Andi would stop by to see them every day, their own children in tow. Bill loved seeing his granddaughters and his great-grandchildren-their visits were often the highlight of his day.
Fleur loved it, too. She often had trouble speaking, and her hands would tremble as she reached out for a hand to hold, but he could see the delight in her blue eyes.
His hands were shaking as he waved his wand, preparing her tea and morning croissant. One-hundred and seven years old, "And still young at heart," he often joked, just to make his wife smile. His Fleur, the darling girl he'd married eighty years ago, was still there, beneath the frail skin and confused mind.
The Healers only thought he missed their low conversations with Victoire and Dominique. He could see the way they looked at Fleur, the way they shook their heads and whispered with his children in the corridor. He didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it, but with each passing day, he was forced to gradually accept the truth.
She was running out of time.
The teacup rattled against the saucer as he set the cup down, another wave of his wand letting it float in front of him. His feet shuffled slowly, and one hand gripped his cane tightly as he began the long-or seemingly so-trek back to their bedroom. Once, he'd traversed this path in a matter of seconds; now, it took more than five minutes to walk from the kitchen to their room.
He knocked lightly on the door, in case she'd dozed back off. "Fleur? I've brought your tea, love."
Silence.
Bill's brow furrowed as he moved further into the room. "Sweetheart?"
Nothing.
As he moved closer to the bed, he could see his wife's hands folded neatly over her chest, just as they'd been when he'd left her a few moments earlier. Her face was peaceful, the age lines faint, and her lips held a hint of a smile.
But she wasn't moving.
He didn't even hear the cup and saucer fall to the floor and shatter, sending hot liquid and china spattering over the bedskirt. His already-shaky hands were trembling so hard, and it was an act of God that he didn't lose his cane and fall over.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he slowly leaned over and pressed his ear to her chest. He listened intently, praying that his feeble ears were failing, and that he just couldn't hear her heart beat. But there was nothing to hear. Her chest was no longer rising and falling with her breathing, and her heart had stopped beating.
Fleur was gone.
*~*~*~*~*
October 15, 2078
Twin tear tracks ran down both wrinkled cheeks as Bill's mind slowly came back to the present. She'd been gone one year to the day, and he could still smell her perfume in their bedroom. Her clothes still hung in the closet, her bathrobe on the back of the bathroom door. He hadn't let the grandchildren pack up her things; instead, they remained where she'd left them save for a few choice items.
Fleur's wedding band went to Victoire, her fiftieth anniversary earrings to Dominqiue. Her wand had been gifted to Isabelle's youngest daughter, and her prize dueling saber to Anaïs.
The rest could be dealt with when he'd joined his wife.
Bill let out a shuddering breath and glanced up at the sky. It was a beautiful cerulean, a rare sight in England.
"Lord, you gave me a rare woman," he whispered to no one, "and God! I love her well."
The breeze picked up, tugging at his blanket. He imagined it was Fleur's way of reassuring him. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear her voice.
"Chèri, please do not cry. Eet will upset Anaïs eef she sees you crying over me."
She was right, of course. Fleur was always right.
"Granddad?"
He glanced up to see Anaïs at his shoulder, her red hair plaited in a short braid. Worry was clearly written on her freckled face, and he managed a weak smile-just to reassure her.
She glanced down at the flowers in his lap. "Would you like me to put those down for you?" His throat felt too full to answer her, so he merely nodded.
Leaning down, the tall girl pressed a kiss to his forehead and picked the bouquet up out of his lap. Moving around his chair, she knelt down and laid the roses reverently in front of the marble marker. She stayed there, crouched in front of Fleur's final resting place for a long moment before she stood again.
"Au revoir, Grandmère. We miss you."
Her task finished, she reached down to squeeze his hand. "Are you ready to go home?"
Bill nodded. "Yes," he managed to whisper, giving her hand a squeeze in return. "Thank you, sweetheart."
Anaïs gave him a sweet smile and moved to grasp the handles on the back of his chair. "We'll come back next week, Grandmère. Je promis."
"I promise," he echoed. As they started to wheel away, he struggled to turn and look over his shoulder at his wife's grave. Just as he had with his children on each trip to King's Cross, he kept his gaze on Fleur until he could no longer see her.
What he had shared with her couldn't be defined. It was love, but it was also something much, much deeper than that. Anger, passion, lust, devotion, love, hope, fear; everything, rolled together and parceled out over eighty years of marriage. No man on earth could count himself as lucky as Bill Weasley. He had had a loving wife, wonderful children, and enough grandchildren and great-grandchildren to field half a Quidditch League. And all throughout it, he had shared each heartache, pleasure, and pain with Fleur Isabelle Delacour-Weasley.
He truly was a blessed man.
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairing: Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour
Word Count: 10,023
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Trust me friend, a hundred years goes faster than you think. So don’t blink. Bill reflects on his life-- and the remarkable woman he shared it with.
Warnings: Extreme angst. You only think I’m kidding.
Author’s notes: This was written for the 2011 hp_canon_fest, using this quote from Dragonfly in Amber-- "Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God! I loved her well." To my wonderful betas, elle_blessing and fiery_flamingo, thank you for being you. I honestly don't know what I'd do without y'all. The title of this story comes from the song Don’t Blink by Kenny Chesney. I think it’s quite appropriate. I hope you all enjoy! Oh, and if you hover your cursor over the French words, you’ll see the English translation.
July 14, 2004
He supposed there could never been a simple holiday celebration in their family. Christmases were loud, birthday parties usually resembled circuses, and while Bill had never been one to celebrate Bastille Day, Fleur insisted upon spending le fête nationale with her family outside Toulouse.
Bill had tried to talk her out of it, but she hadn’t listened. His wife was stubborn and headstrong to a fault.
“But Bill, I ‘ave not been ‘ome in months, and my parents will be wanting to see Victoire.”
Not for the first time did he curse his inability to say no to Fleur. All she had to do was look up at him with her blue eyes, one hand resting on her swollen belly, and he’d been a goner.
But if that hadn’t been enough, he’d had Victoire in his arms, jabbering on about Grandmère and Grandpère and horsies.
That had sealed the deal.
Besides, Fleur hadn’t been due for another three weeks. She’d promised that she’d been feeling fine, and he’d taken her word for it.
Right. Fine. Of course she’d started having labor pains not two hours after arriving in France. It was only natural, right?
But that was alright, really. For now, he was content to watch from the doorway of the hospital room, watching as his wife introduced their four year-old to her new sister.
“Fait attention, Victoire,” Fleur cautioned, showing the little blonde how to support the baby’s head. Her arms were around the pair of sisters, ready to take over in case Victoire decided she was tired of holding the newest Weasley.
She needn’t have worried, though. The little girl was seemingly infatuated with the tiny baby, from the soft pink blanket she was wrapped in to the tuft of bright red hair on the top of her head.
“What’s her name, Maman?” she asked, tipping her little face back to look at Fleur.
“Dominique,” his wife answered with a fond smile, brushing her hand over Victoire’s long hair. “Dominique Ginevra Weasley.”
“After Aunty Ginny?”
“After Aunt Ginny,” Bill said from the doorway, smiling when his little girl looked up to give him a toothy grin. “Do you think she’ll like that?”
“Well, she looks like Aunty Ginny, so I think so,” Victoire replied, giving an empathic nod.
Bill couldn’t help but laugh as he crossed into the room, perching on the edge of the bed next to his wife and daughters. “How does she look like Aunt Ginny?”
Victoire gave him a look that was quite reminiscent of her mother. “Because, Papa,” she said, “she has Aunt Ginny’s hair.”
“So she does.”
The little blonde wiggled around, handing her baby sister off to her mother. As soon as Fleur had taken control of the newborn, Victoire squirmed across the bed and threw her arms around Bill’s neck. “Love you, Papa.”
“I love you too, Princess.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he murmured, “I love you, too.”
*~*~*~*~*
February 3, 2006
"You, my love, are amazing."
"Je sais."
Bill smirked and settled back against the headboard, pulling his wife into his arms. "And so modest, too," he teased, throwing the phrase she'd once said to him back at her. "Whatever will I do with you?"
"Mmm, I 'ave no idea," Fleur replied with a snort as she moved closer to him, whimpering softly as the movement aggravated her sore body. Bill started to voice his concern, but she waved him off. "Bah, eet ees nothing I 'ave not felt before."
"Yes, you're getting quite good at this childbirth thing." Reaching into the bassinet beside the bed, Bill lovingly picked their newborn child-his son-- and settled him into his arms. "Isn't Maman brilliant, Louis?"
Louis merely yawned, his tiny mouth widening in an 'O' before he settled back into his slumber.
Fleur laughed softly. One delicate finger reached out, tracing over his soft cheek tenderly. "'E looks like 'is father, I theenk."
"Then he is going to be one deadly handsome wizard."
Thunk!
Bill laughed and leaned over, pressing his lips against Fleur's in a brief kiss. "Come now, sweetheart, it isn't nice to physically abuse the father of your children. What kind of example are you setting?"
"I am showing Louis 'ow not to treat a witch," she replied, sharp teeth nipping at his bottom lip. "'E will need to know eet eef 'e does not wish to be 'exed."
"He might like it. I know I do."
"Well, you 'ave always been a masochist." Pulling back, her blue eyes were sparkling with amusement. "After all, you were ze one who married me."
He smirked. "And I thank Merlin every day that you don't spout wings and talons when I make you angry." Just her little claws, which he didn't mind… especially when she raked them down his back in pleasure.
The blonde rolled her eyes and tugged Louis close to her chest. "N'écoute pas à ton père. Ta grand-mère fit tomber sur la tête comme un enfant."
"Oh come now, love, that's not nice," Bill said, his expression one of faux-hurt. He put his hand to his chest and gave her an earnest look, dramatically fluttering his lashes. "How could you do that to this face?"
"Quite easily," Fleur replied, flashing her white teeth in a grin.
"Heartless harpy," he groused, his amused eyes belying the words. His gaze dropped from her lovely face down to the tiny baby in her arms, and he felt a tugging in his chest. It was the same sensation he felt every time he looked at Victoire and Dominique, his two little princesses; different as night and day, one blonde like her Maman, the other with a head full of Weasley red hair.
Speaking of…
"He doesn't have any hair."
Fleur snorted. "Not all babies 'ave 'air when zey are born. Ze girls were ze exception."
"Yeah," he nodded, "but what color hair do you think he'll have? Care to make a wager?"
"Oh?" she lifted a brow at him in question. "Name ze terms."
"Ten galleons to me if he has blonde hair," he said in challenge, smirking. He could see his son with his Maman's pale locks.
She gave him a long, appraising look, then nodded. "Bien. So when 'e 'as red 'air, you give me ze ten Galleons."
"Done." Ducking his head, he gave her a quick little kiss. "And sealed with a kiss."
*~*~*~*~*
September 1, 2012
"Are you sure you 'ave everything you need?" Fleur asked-not for the first time-as the family hovered at the edge of the platform.
Victoire merely nodded. "Yes, Maman, I haven't lost anything between here and home," she said, the touch of pre-teen sass in her tone quickly evaporating at the arch look her mother gave her.
"But if I forgot something, you can owl it to me," she quickly finished, giving Fleur a bright smile.
"Zat ees better," she said. Leaning down, Fleur pressed a kiss to their eldest's forehead. "You will write us as soon as you are settled tonight, D'accord? We will be wanting to 'ear about your Sorting."
"Bien sûr," Victoire replied in flawless French. "And you'll send macaroons?"
"Eef we 'ear you are doing well in your classes, then per'aps a trip to Pierre Hermé can be arranged…"
Dominique, who so far had been particularly down at the thought of being left behind, brightened up. "Maman, may I have a macaroon, too?"
Bill laughed and ruffled her flaming red hair. "We'll see if we can't convince Tante Gabby to bring some back for the three of you when she comes to visit, alright?"
"Anyway, ze train ees about to leave. Say good-bye to your seeblings, chéri."
"Bye Dom, bye Louis," Victoire parroted dutifully, giving each of them a little half-hug as if she didn’t want her classmates to see her being sweet to her brother and sister. Grinning up at Bill, she went up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Bye, Papa," she whispered. "Love you."
"I love you too, Princess," he whispered back, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Make us proud, kay?"
"I'll try." Pulling back, she grabbed her book sack and slung it over her shoulder, hopping onto the train just before the Hogwarts Express started to pull away from the platform.
He wasn't going to tear up. Bill would not be one of those parents he'd often mocked, sentimental and morose as they watched their precious baby angels disappear around the bend. He would not. But that didn't stop him from following the train to the edge of the platform, waving at Victoire until she disappeared from sight.
"Ees someone going to be 'aving separation issues?" Fleur asked, quirking one blonde brow at him when he finally returned to his family.
Bill scoffed. "Course not. We've still got these two little monsters to take care of, don’t we?" he queried. Reaching down, he picked Louis up off the ground and swung him around, grinning as the little boy giggled and kicked his legs.
Settling his son on his shoulders, Bill held his hand out to Dominique. "Come on then, Weasleys. Let's go home."
*~*~*~*~*
June 5, 2024
"Louis Charles Weasley, just because you 'ave finished with your schooling does not mean you are too old for me to take my wand to your backside, tu l'as?"
Bill snickered as he watched Fleur snap her fingers at their youngest, pointing to the patch of grass next to her. Their son, full of excitement on finishing Hogwarts, could barely contain himself. His grand tour was all set and he was ready to leave upon the morn… if his Maman let him, of course. If Louis didn't listen to her and join them for a family picture, Bill highly doubted any force on earth would allow him out of her sight for the summer.
Louis ambled over, his red hair brushing his shoulders as he walked. "D'ac, Maman, I'm coming."
"You 'ad better 'urry. I want un photo before Molly brings out ze cake."
The gangly boy wrapped one arm around Fleur's shoulders and squeezed her to him, pressed his lips against her cheek in a sloppy kiss and ignored her yelp of protest. "You love me, Maman."
"At ze moment, I 'ave no idea why, petite gitan," she groused, wiping the excess saliva away from her cheek. "Bill, Teddy, Victoire, Dominique, allons-y."
"Best not argue with Maman when she's in a mood," Victoire said sagely, tugging her husband along behind her. "Come on, dear."
Behind them, Dominique was snickering. "Teddy's whipped, Teddy's whipped," she chanted in a sing-song voice, grin widening as her brother-in-law shot her a glare.
Bill rolled his eyes and poked his middle child in the side. "Are you twenty or twelve, Dom?"
"Oh please, like you weren't playing pranks on Uncle Charlie well into your thirties."
It was probably best not to mention the Puking Pastile he'd slipped into his brother's butterbeer earlier in the evening. Charlie was still in the loo, where he would stay until Bill decided to give him the reverse caplet.
Or until Molly noticed Charlie's disappearance and came after Bill's hide with her wand. Not for the first time, he noticed the similarities between his mother and his wife. For as different as they were physically, they could both be downright scary when it came to mothering their brood.
"Of course not," he lied smoothly, tugging on the end of her hair. "Let's all get in a neat little row for your Maman."
The three children-four, really, counting Teddy-allowed Fleur to arrange them just so in front of the camera, enduring her admonishments of "Stand up straight" and "Louis, get your 'air out of your eyes."
Behind the camera-formerly a Muggle one, lovingly tinkered and modified for the fun of it-Arthur clicked and snapped away. After a few snaps, he and Fleur stepped out to have a few photos of the children taken, Teddy joining them so there would be a few photos of just the three Weasleys.
It was hard to believe they were all grown up Bill mused as he wrapped one arm around his wife's waist. Victoire shouldn't be married; she was supposed to still be his cherubic blonde baby, toddling across his study and demanding he read to her. Dominique was too young to be in culinary school, and it seemed only yesterday that Louis had been born. Now he was finished with Hogwarts!
"We did an alright job of it, didn't we?" he murmured, pressing a kiss into Fleur's hair. "Raising the lot, I mean."
"Mmm, oui," Fleur said softly, tipping her face up to look at him. A smile tugged at her lips, and her blue eyes were alight with warmth. "Je t'adore, chéri."
Bill merely smiled and ducked his head. As he lowered his lips to hers, a shrill voice pierced the air, interrupting the once-tender moment between husband and wife.
"WILLIAM ARTHUR WEASLEY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR BROTHER?!?!"
*~*~*~*~*
October 25, 2025
"What on earth could possibly be taking so long?" Bill asked, clearly agitated as he paced back and forth in front of the plain brown door. They'd been at the hospital since nine o'clock that morning, after Teddy had frantically Flooed to inform them that Victoire's water had broken.
They were about to be grandparents.
And by Merlin's saggy left Y-nut, it was taking forever. Was something wrong? Was his little girl okay? What about the baby?
Fleur, for her part, merely snickered as she watched him pace. "Bill, chéri, eet 'as only been six 'ours, and eet ees Victoire's first labor. We could be 'ere all night."
The look Bill gave her was one of abject horror. "What do you mean, all night?"
"I mean zat ze baby could take quite a while coming," she said, giving him a Gallic shrug. "Remember Louis' birth?"
"Yes…" he said slowly. "That didn't take this long, though."
His wife gave a delicate snort. "Chéri, I was in labor for thirteen 'ours."
"No. It wasn't that long!"
She quirked a brow at him. "Yes, eet was. But you were not ze one 'eaving and straining to push ze baby out of your body. I suspect eet was much easier for you zan it was for me."
"You about ripped by fingers off, I wouldn’t call that easy," he muttered. It felt nice saying it aloud, but he wasn't daft enough to say it where she might be able to hear him.
Her wandwork was still quick as it'd ever been.
The door creaked open, and Teddy, his hair its usual shade of flaming turquoise, slipped through. In his arms… was a tiny pink bundle.
"Would you like to meet your granddaughter?"
Bill started to reach out for her, but his arms were batted to the side as Fleur stepped in front of him, relieving Teddy of his precious burden. He would have been irritated if the sight of her cooing away to the infant in French wasn't so heartbreakingly familiar.
"Does she 'ave a name?" she asked, glancing up from the baby to look at their son-in-law.
"Isabelle," Teddy answered quietly. "Isabelle Nymphadora Lupin."
For a long moment, Fleur was quiet as she looked down at little Isabelle. Bill didn't need to see her face to know she was fighting back tears. After a while, she nodded.
"C'est un bon nom," she said softly, brushing a kiss over Isabelle's tiny forehead.
His throat was suddenly full, and Bill had to take a deep breath and swallow before he could nod in agreement.
"A good name, indeed."
*~*~*~*~*
December 22, 2027
It was a perfect night; cold, but the heating charms placed on the tent kept all the wedding-goers toasty warm. The sounds of the waves crashing onto the beach mingled perfectly with the band, and as Dominique and her new husband twirled around the dance floor, a soft breeze tugged at her red curls.
"I'm too young for this," Bill muttered.
"Chèri, you said zat four years ago when Victoire was married. And I theenk you said it when Isabelle was born," a voice said behind him, and he didn't have to turn around to know that his wife was smiling.
He shrugged and turned to face her. "Well, it's still true. Dominique isn't old enough to be married."
"She ees twenty-three years old, Bill. I was barely twenty when we were married." Fleur lifted her shoulder in her familiar little half-shrug. "Eet 'appens. And she 'as been with 'im for nearly four years…eet was only a matter of time."
"Still doesn't mean I have to like seeing my baby girl married. And at least Victoire had the good sense to stay nearby; Dom's moving to France!"
Fleur laughed and slipped closer, her thin arms wrapping around his waist. "Chèri, she 'as been in Paris for nearly two years. 'Er job ees there."
Bill sighed and let his chin rest on top of his wife's head. "I guess I always thought she'd come back," he murmured as one arm slid around her, tugging her even closer. "She doesn't need me anymore."
"She will always need you, you're 'er Papa." Tipping her head back to look at him, she reached up to cup his scarred cheek, one thumb tracing a particularly deep ragged mark. "She ees grown up, oui, but you are 'er father, and she will always need you. Jean-Michel ees a good man, and 'e will take care of 'er, but 'e will never replace you."
"Promise?"
"Je promis," she murmured, "mon homme loufoque."
"Not nice to kick a man when he's already down, Fleur," he replied. Turning his face to the side, he reached up to cage her hand in against his skin, his lips pressing against her warm palm. "I love you."
"Je t'adore, aussi."
"Papa?"
Bill had been leaning in to kiss his wife, but stopped and pulled back when he heard his name. Even though it was not the first time he'd seen her that day, his breath still caught at the sight of his little Dominique in her wedding dress. She looked absolutely stunning.
"Hey there, angel," he said with a smile. "Where's Jean-Michel?"
She waved in the general direction her husband had gone. "With his Maman, I think. I wanted to see if I could steal you for another dance."
Tears pricked at his eyes, but he hurriedly blinked them away. Maybe Fleur was right after all, maybe Dom wasn't replacing him. "Of course, Dom. If it's alright with your Maman, of course."
Fleur gave a dismissive wave. "Bien sûr. 'Ave fun."
"You're so benevolent." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and murmured, "I'll be back," before holding his hand out to his little girl. "May I have the honor of this dance, Madame?" He was delighted at her girlish giggle as she swept an elegant curtsey.
"Bien sûr," she answered, echoing her Maman. "It would be my honor, Papa."
He smiled and led her out to the dance floor, sweeping her into his arms. It was her night, her time to shine, but the honor?
That was all his.
*~*~*~*~*
August 1, 2047
"Excuse me, Excusez-moi, can I have everyone's attention?"
The witches and wizards clustered around the little tables quieted and turned their focus to the pretty witch standing at the head table. Her once long blonde hair was cut short in a more-sensible cut, and though her skin was no longer as flawless as it had once been, she was still a beauty.
Victoire Weasley-Lupin smiled at the gathering. "Thank you. My siblings have asked me to give the toast today, and though I'm not sure I deserve the honor, I'll do my best." She raised a glass of champagne to her lips and took a small sip, whetting her lips before, with a deep breath and a little swallow, she continued.
"This year-2047-is a very important year in our society. Fifty years ago, the last great war of the wizarding world began in earnest. History remembers that time as a dark one, full of horrible acts of violence-which it was. It was on this day fifty years ago that Rufus Scrimegoeur, the Minister of Magic, was murdered by Death Eaters, and the Ministry was taken over by the forces of Lord Voldemort."
No one in the room needed to be reminded. They had either lived through it, or they had read about it in their history books, heard tale from their parents. But Victoire had her audience in rapt silence as she continued to speak.
"But that wasn't the only important event to take place on August first. Because on August 1st, 1997, in the little village of Ottery St. Catchpole, William Arthur Weasley and Fleur Isabelle Delacour were married."
Her blue gaze glanced down the table to where her parents sat, hand in hand. She could see tears falling down her Maman's face, and her Papa's chin was held high, his eyes bright with emotion.
"Many of you were at the wedding. Obviously, I was not, but I've heard my parents-and my aunts and uncles-talk about that day. How the Death Eaters arrived during the reception, and how Papa and Maman helped fight them off. I can't imagine what that was like, but thanks to the actions of my parents and their friends and family, I've never had to live in a world of darkness, fear, and hatred. I've never had to wonder if my Muggleborn friends would be carted off to Azkaban-or worse-because of their so-called "blood purity."
Victoire paused and glanced down at her husband. Her lips twitched in a reassuring smile, which grew when he reached up to lace his fingers through hers and squeezed lightly. Looking back up at the assembled room, she began again.
"Over the course of my life, my parents have taught me time and time again the value of love. But they never had to say a word; all we had to do was watch them. Because in all my years, I have never seen a couple more in-love and committed to one another than my Maman and Papa. There are so many things I could say, but then we would be here all night, so I'll just say this:"
Reaching down for her champagne glass, she held it aloft. "Maman, Papa, you have endured so much over the course of your marriage, strains that would break a lesser couple. And through it all, you have taught Dominique, Louis, and myself how to be the best version of ourselves we can be. Thank you for showing me what a true relationship looks like, and I can only hope that in twenty-six years-when this is Teddy and my's fiftieth anniversary-that Isabelle will be able to stand up and say that I did half as good of a job as you two did."
With a smile, she said, "So please join me in wishing a very happy fiftieth wedding anniversary to Bill and Fleur Weasley. May the next fifty years be just as blessed and happy as the first."
*~*~*~*~*
January 2, 2066
The small cemetery in Ottery St. Catchpole was nearly full to capacity with mourners, nearly a hundred black-clad attendees crowded in the churchyard. The window howled, shaking the bare branches of the nearby weeping willow tree. It was cold, and there was a light dusting of snow over the grounds from the night before.
Snow didn't feel appropriate, Bill mused. It should have been raining; thunder and lightning should be darkening the sky. Snow was too happy, too light.
He had always loved snow. Louis. Even as an adult, he had taking his children out to play in the powdery white stuff, patiently teaching them to make snow forts and snow men, engaging in mock battles with the numerous Weasley cousins.
Perhaps it was fitting, then.
The Ministry official was speaking, but Bill wasn't listening. His gaze was locked on the gleaming mahogany casket in front of him, the top of which was covered with a spray of crimson roses. Fleur had painstakingly designed it, hand-plucking each individual bloom from the bushes in their little solarium. He didn't know how she'd done it; he was having a hard enough time processing everything that had happened. Once again, his wife's mental strength floored him.
Because no parent should ever have to bury their child.
Scronfungulus. That had been the cause of it. Louis had come down with it on Boxing Day, and less than a week later, he was gone. That was it. No warning, no time to prepare, nothing. One minute, he'd been there with them, and the next…
Fleur's hand was cool in his, the gnarled and knotted fingers covered with a kidskin glove. Next to her was Amy, Louis' wife-his widow-- and their four children. Victoire and Dominique, too, with their respective families, along with the rest of the Weasley brood. All there to say goodbye to their husband, brother, father, grandfather, son.
It didn't matter that Louis had been sixty when he'd died. It was still too soon. For a wizard, he'd barely reached middle age.
The sounds of sniffles reached his ears as his focus was brought back to the present, and the family around him began to rise from their seats. One hand grasping his cane, he wobbled to his feet, then leaned over to help Fleur. Neither of them were as agile as they'd once been, and her body never worked properly in the cold weather.
She wasn't crying. There was a deep sadness in her blue eyes, but tears didn't track down her cheeks. In her old age, Fleur had started internalizing her emotions. Where she once would have sobbed and clung to him, now she quietly endured whatever pain-be it emotional or physical-came her way.
But her hands gave her away. They were trembling.
His hand tightened around hers, lending her support. After sixty-nine years of marriage, they didn't really need words. And that was alright with him.
He wasn’t sure he had them, anyway.
*~*~*~*~*
October 15, 2077
In the time that had passed since Fleur's episode-a stroke, the Healer had said, something that affected her brain and movements-Bill had taken to bringing his wife her morning tea while she stayed in bed. Her motor skills weren't what they had used to be, and he didn't want her to scald herself with the kettle.
They'd moved their bedroom down to the ground floor of Shell Cottage to make it easier for the both of them. At their age, climbing the stairs multiple times a day was simply out of the question. Isabelle or Andi would stop by to see them every day, their own children in tow. Bill loved seeing his granddaughters and his great-grandchildren-their visits were often the highlight of his day.
Fleur loved it, too. She often had trouble speaking, and her hands would tremble as she reached out for a hand to hold, but he could see the delight in her blue eyes.
His hands were shaking as he waved his wand, preparing her tea and morning croissant. One-hundred and seven years old, "And still young at heart," he often joked, just to make his wife smile. His Fleur, the darling girl he'd married eighty years ago, was still there, beneath the frail skin and confused mind.
The Healers only thought he missed their low conversations with Victoire and Dominique. He could see the way they looked at Fleur, the way they shook their heads and whispered with his children in the corridor. He didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it, but with each passing day, he was forced to gradually accept the truth.
She was running out of time.
The teacup rattled against the saucer as he set the cup down, another wave of his wand letting it float in front of him. His feet shuffled slowly, and one hand gripped his cane tightly as he began the long-or seemingly so-trek back to their bedroom. Once, he'd traversed this path in a matter of seconds; now, it took more than five minutes to walk from the kitchen to their room.
He knocked lightly on the door, in case she'd dozed back off. "Fleur? I've brought your tea, love."
Silence.
Bill's brow furrowed as he moved further into the room. "Sweetheart?"
Nothing.
As he moved closer to the bed, he could see his wife's hands folded neatly over her chest, just as they'd been when he'd left her a few moments earlier. Her face was peaceful, the age lines faint, and her lips held a hint of a smile.
But she wasn't moving.
He didn't even hear the cup and saucer fall to the floor and shatter, sending hot liquid and china spattering over the bedskirt. His already-shaky hands were trembling so hard, and it was an act of God that he didn't lose his cane and fall over.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he slowly leaned over and pressed his ear to her chest. He listened intently, praying that his feeble ears were failing, and that he just couldn't hear her heart beat. But there was nothing to hear. Her chest was no longer rising and falling with her breathing, and her heart had stopped beating.
Fleur was gone.
*~*~*~*~*
October 15, 2078
Twin tear tracks ran down both wrinkled cheeks as Bill's mind slowly came back to the present. She'd been gone one year to the day, and he could still smell her perfume in their bedroom. Her clothes still hung in the closet, her bathrobe on the back of the bathroom door. He hadn't let the grandchildren pack up her things; instead, they remained where she'd left them save for a few choice items.
Fleur's wedding band went to Victoire, her fiftieth anniversary earrings to Dominqiue. Her wand had been gifted to Isabelle's youngest daughter, and her prize dueling saber to Anaïs.
The rest could be dealt with when he'd joined his wife.
Bill let out a shuddering breath and glanced up at the sky. It was a beautiful cerulean, a rare sight in England.
"Lord, you gave me a rare woman," he whispered to no one, "and God! I love her well."
The breeze picked up, tugging at his blanket. He imagined it was Fleur's way of reassuring him. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear her voice.
"Chèri, please do not cry. Eet will upset Anaïs eef she sees you crying over me."
She was right, of course. Fleur was always right.
"Granddad?"
He glanced up to see Anaïs at his shoulder, her red hair plaited in a short braid. Worry was clearly written on her freckled face, and he managed a weak smile-just to reassure her.
She glanced down at the flowers in his lap. "Would you like me to put those down for you?" His throat felt too full to answer her, so he merely nodded.
Leaning down, the tall girl pressed a kiss to his forehead and picked the bouquet up out of his lap. Moving around his chair, she knelt down and laid the roses reverently in front of the marble marker. She stayed there, crouched in front of Fleur's final resting place for a long moment before she stood again.
"Au revoir, Grandmère. We miss you."
Her task finished, she reached down to squeeze his hand. "Are you ready to go home?"
Bill nodded. "Yes," he managed to whisper, giving her hand a squeeze in return. "Thank you, sweetheart."
Anaïs gave him a sweet smile and moved to grasp the handles on the back of his chair. "We'll come back next week, Grandmère. Je promis."
"I promise," he echoed. As they started to wheel away, he struggled to turn and look over his shoulder at his wife's grave. Just as he had with his children on each trip to King's Cross, he kept his gaze on Fleur until he could no longer see her.
What he had shared with her couldn't be defined. It was love, but it was also something much, much deeper than that. Anger, passion, lust, devotion, love, hope, fear; everything, rolled together and parceled out over eighty years of marriage. No man on earth could count himself as lucky as Bill Weasley. He had had a loving wife, wonderful children, and enough grandchildren and great-grandchildren to field half a Quidditch League. And all throughout it, he had shared each heartache, pleasure, and pain with Fleur Isabelle Delacour-Weasley.
He truly was a blessed man.