* silken / 𝕤𝕠𝕗𝕥

Book in hand, Bill turned once he heard his wife. One of the only consistent things, or rather people through this war happened to be her. He would be lost without her, Fleur always made him feel extremely grounded. It was easy to stay grounded when they lived in a small cottage, but he always remembered the reason why he was fighting this war: for his family. 

He closed his book lightly, once he felt her physical presence. Bill squeezed her hand, a smile appearing along with it. “I may not have had to, but I wanted to,” He insisted, “I just missed you so much.” It was the small things that made him happy. Such as her coming home, knowing that his family was safe. Or at least thinking that. “Besides, it’s futile to try to sleep without you by my side.” He would be up anyways. “How was your day?”

there, in his company, is where fleur feels the safest. it’s in the way that her hand seems to fit so perfectly in his or the way that her heart still swells every time she sees him, as if it were the first time. for a moment, it’s enough to make her ( naively ) believe that no harm could ever come to them as long as they are together. and she knows if she were in his position, she too would be awake, unable to fall asleep until she knew he had arrived home safe and sound. “i missed you too. i always do.” it feels almost silly to miss him after less than a day apart, but she never tires of his presence. 

at his question, a sigh falls from her rosy lips. “long. tiring.” a hand absentmindedly moves through his hair, as it had done many times before, while she considers her day. “it’s getting worse out there.” it’s something she knows he’s already aware of, but it weighs heavily on her mind that evening. fleur is reminded of everything she experiences at work, of how it makes her fearful for her own family. it’s often what keeps her awake at night. “how was your day ?”

maybe it was the warm and inviting aura, or the memories that it was filled with, but the burrow never failed to cast a sort of protective shield over anyone who entered. what was once a place fleur used to dread visiting was now transformed into one of the only places that could provide her with a sense of real comfort. she relished in the tea that her mother-in-law always served, and laughed at all the lighthearted jokes that her father-in-law never failed to provide. it invariably reminds her of how lucky she is to be apart of a family filled with so much love for one another. her mind wanders to ginny ( the real reason for her visit ) and she can’t even imagine, doesn’t want to, what kind of memories this place might resurrect for her now. 

so instead of only imagining, she pours another cup of tea and excuses herself from the table. gracefully balancing the cups in her hands as she climbs the winding stairs to ginny’s old room, she notices the dozens of pictures that coat the walls, all painful reminders of what the war mercilessly took from them, but also of what they were so grateful to still have. this house might’ve been a refuge for her, but it was certainly no escape from the past or the newly bittersweet memories.  

finally arriving on the fourth landing, slightly breathless, she stops in front of the ginny’s door. she’s reminded of countless times she’d stood in front of this very same door years ago, hoping to be let in. now she knows it’s hardly necessary to even knock, though she always does. "ginny ? it’s fleur.” voice is reduced to a mere whisper as she taps against the door, pausing before giving it a slight push with her elbow. her head peeks into the room, sadness coating her eyes as they land on her. ”i brought tea. can i come in ?” she asks more out of courtesy, though she invites herself inside anyway. she wasn’t going to take no for answer, not after she had spent months of being shut out from her sister’s grief. it was her turn to share some of her burden now.

it’s late when she returns from work, so late that most of the world is already fast asleep. but the lights of shell cottage continue to shine brightly even in the darkest of nights, guiding her home. these days she’s always enveloped by an air of caution and she wonders, as she steps out of her shoes, if there would ever be a day where she wouldn’t have to disarm a handful of protective charms in order to safely enter her own home. though hope simmers inside her, fleur isn’t so certain the day would be arriving anytime soon.

the christmas tree still twinkles in the corner of the living room ( she insisted they keep it up until new years ) and a few remaining presents are scattered beneath, traces of the holiday not too far gone. the past couple of days proved to be a nice distraction from the war that surrounded them, but all it took was one day back at work to snap her back into reality, to remind her of the harsh cruelties that accompanied the fight they’d pledged themselves to. days like today make her especially grateful that she has such a safe place to return to.

she finds him on the couch, nimble fingers skimming along the edge before they find his shoulders, grazing over the fabric of his shirt ever so softly. “ hi, my love. ” words spill from her lips ever so quietly as she leans in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, as if not to disturb the peaceful aura of their home. it’s not long before she’s next to him, hand already moving to find his, as if she’s unable to bear another moment without his touch. a sense of relief washes over her, finally content to be in the presence of the one she's yearned to be with all day. “you didn’t have to wait up for me.”

[ PLOT ARC 31, PROPHECY 14, THE MELLIFLUOUS ] ❝ She was terribly beautiful, yes. You could describe the birth of a star and her, in the very same sentence. ❞ FLEUR DELACOUR-WEASLEY looks a lot like that muggle, ANGELINA JOLIE, right? Only 48 years old, that BEAUXBATONS alumnus works as a HEALER and is sided with the ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. SHE identifies as a CIS WOMAN and is a HALFBLOOD (¼ VEELA). [ LEAH, SHE/HER, 20, CST ]