A Bill and Fleur PWP romance
After Bill's scarring at Hogwarts, the Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour grow close… closer than either thought possible. Running with the assumption of Fleur being around 20 and Bill around 27.
Written by Jag-Fel
After many hours in their current positions, Fleur Delacour decided that what worried her most was how quiet and still Bill had been since the werewolf attack a few days earlier. Madame Pomfrey had assured her that Bill's condition was stable and nothing out of the ordinary, but Fleur worried still. Even after spending hours reflecting, trying to discern the source of her concern and trying to search her feelings for why she'd spent the last forty seven hours at Bill's bedside.
Sure, before the attack they'd been close. But this was absurd. Deep inside, a quiet voice within Fleur was reminding the girl that there had always been more too Bill than a casual platonic regard. No, despite what Fleur could wish or want, the Veela had fallen hard and fast for one Bill Weasley.
Which made it all the worse that he laid before her in his comatose state. The claw marks covered his chest and face, barely hidden beneath the blood-stained linen bandages and enchanted salves.
There were alone in Hogwart's hospital wing. For the time being, the room was hauntingly tired, illuminated by only the setting sun. This would make for Fleur's third night spent at Bill's bedside. Three nights during which he had not moved or reacted to her presence in any way.
From her padded seat beside his bed, Fleur looked down at Bill's still form. His face had taken the worst of the injury. The marks were still red and angry, glaring up at there from his once-perfect skin. So bright were the unhealed scars that they very nearly outshone his flaming red hair. Absently, Fleur lightly traced the facial scars with her slender finger, training down from his hairline, across his brow, past his temple, over his cheek, to his lips, and finally down below his chin.
There was a twinkle in her steel blue eyes as she surveyed and hand-inspected the severity of Grayback's onslaught. Her heart was breaking for Bill. Unshed tears threatened to fall her from eyes. Preparing to settle in for another night with Bill, Fleur slid her lithe form onto the narrow space between him and the edge of the bed. She pressed her face into the corner of his neck and shoulder, inhaling deep his spicy scent of shampoo and cologne. Even though he'd never know it, Fleur pressed a kiss against his cheek. She held the kiss for a long moment, wishing it was his lips and that he'd return the tender touch of affection.
Her thoughts began to wander there, in the hospital wing of Hogwart's, intertwined with her boyfriend. She thought back to her Beauxbatons' Academy days and how simple they had been. To her childhood with Gabrielle and her parents. To the picturesque French countryside.
"Ah mon cher," Oh my dear, Fleur sighed quietly, still pressed tightly to Bill's side. "Je souhaite que vous ayez été ici, avec moi, près de moi." I wish you were here, with me, close to me.
She trailed a hand across his bare chest, minding his injuries, and brushed it against his other cheek, turning his head toward her. Closing her pale blue eyes, she pressed her rouged lips against his pale lips, kissing him deep and sure, as if challenging him to awaken and return the passionate encounter. When he did not, Fleur lost control of her unshed tears.
And for the first time since childhood, Fleur Delacour wept. The tiny crystal tears dropped against Bill's cheek, leaving miniscule trails of despair down his worn skin. She looked down in alarm, before burying her face in the pillow and letting the wracking sobs take over. The Veela in her scolded her for such childish displays of emotion, but the girl in her couldn't control it anymore.
As the sun finally set and gave way to the cold blue moon, Fleur cried herself to sleep beside Bill's still form.
Move. Move. Move. Move, dammit. Do something. It took every fiber in him to will even the slightest movement. There, he thought at last. Open an eye. Take a look around you.
Finally Bill Weasley blinked an eye open gradually, attempting to survey his surroundings. It was dark, that much was for sure, but with an ethereal glow and seemed to concentrate around him.
So I'm dead then, Bill considered. That's a damper. Ah bollocks.
A shimmer of silver in the corner of his eye alerted his attention. Bill willed his other eye open and turned his head. There was a body snuggled tight against his own with a head lying still, sharing his pillow. The shimmer of silver were the tears still in her eyes.
Touch her, he commanded his aching body. Dammit, I don't care how much it hurts, you will touch that girl.
With great pain and effort, Bill caressed her cheek with his hand, fingers plying the tears away and smearing their delicate trails on her pale cheeks. She stirred only slightly, and a pang of guilt echoed through Bill. He hadn't wanted to wake her, but part of her wanted nothing more than some of her attention.
Her eyes shimmered open, long lashes revealing pale blue eyes.
For the first time in three days, their eyes met. Sapphire to Emerald, they were connected and just stared at each other for a long while. He continued to caress her cheek, unable and unwilling to halt the ministration. Her sparkling eyes bored into him with half disbelief and half longing, such longing that she hadn't known possible.
"Mon Bill," she murmured quietly, pushing closer.
"Fleur," he mumbled through split lips, his voice little more than a rasp.
She pressed a finger to his lips. "Ne parlez pas, mon Bill. Nous pouvons parler plus tard. Pour maintenant, repos." Do not speak, my Bill. We can talk later. For now, rest.
He continued looking at her, as if in disbelief that she was present. The ache in his body urged rest and the effort of raising a hand to caress her cheek had taken its toll on an already damaged body. His body demanded rest, but Bill's heart fought for more time here, with Fleur, as if he'd never get the chance again.
Come Hell or High Water, Bill Weasley would not go back under without letting Fleur know. He spent every last ounce of energy to wrap his hand behind her head, and pull her down to him and capture her lips with his. It wasn't the first kiss they'd shared, but it was the most important.
He kissed her with all the passion of a dying man and she returned it with all the desperation of a fleeting moment.
"Bill," Fleur murmured as they broke apart. "Je t'aime. I love you."
Bill Weasley didn't cry. He was a powerful wizard and had been a curse breaker in Egypt for years. But he couldn't control the single tear that traced down his broken cheek. "I love you too," he breathed back, unable to properly return the sentiment though broken lips and dry mouth.
"Now you will rest, mon cher," she replied, briefly pressing her lips to his again.
If he could have nodded, Bill would have. His eyes must have conveyed compliance, because Fleur rested her head back down beside his, her arms still wrapped protectively around him. Her platinum blonde hair forming a halo on his pillow, like some sort of angel. She was dressed in white, he observed now. Maybe being dead still wasn't out of the question.
Here he was, after all, in the arms of an angel. My Angel, he thought. No, he corrected, Mon Ange, turning to Fleur's native French.
I might continue this into Bill's recovery, and maybe even toward the wedding time permitting. That depends on reviews. Please R&R, even if it's anonymously. Feel free to mention any errors in the continuity. I don't have my copy of HBP with me.