come and have a go if you think you're hard enough

He was the golden boy of Hogwarts  and now he’s breaking curses no one else’s ever heard of for a living

She is so beautiful she almost becomes ugly His disfiguration make him more alluring

She likes silk underwear and crosswords He enjoys raiding tombs and sudoku

Friday night’s game night at Shell Cottage

She yells at him in French when she gets angry He learns the language just to shout back (and never miss a word of what she’s saying)

People call her snotty and vain She puts a comforting hand on his tense arm when he wants to break their necks

People call him arrogant and self-centered He wraps her in a bear hug when her nails are turning into talons

She loves him He claims he loves her more

The Magic Begins → Favorite Canon Ship Bill Weasley x Fleur Delacour

okay but instead of coffee shop AUs: bil/fleur as internet friends

After the accident, Bill is left with scars that distort his once handsome features and completely alter his life together. At one time in his life, he would roll his eyes and try to hide a grin after his mum would question (again) if he had a special lady in his life. Of course, the bachelor had had several special ladies he was seeing thoroughly and often, but not in the girlfriend-verging-on-marriage-and-nine-kids way his mum would have been delighted to hear about. He was young and attractive and had women flocking to him and certainly no time to settle down. 

But that was before the accident and before his face looked as though it had been chewed up and spit out. Now his mum only asked how work was going and if he wanted a second or third helping. Bill tried to pretend like it didn’t bother him since any of his siblings could agree that their mother’s prying into their love lives was a rather irksome affair. But really it bothered him because he knew his mum knew there was no sense in it because Bill Weasley, months after it all happened, had no romantic life. The only looks he got from women were either those of pity (but ultimately disinterest) or revulsion. He didn’t blame either side. But he did feel awful lonely in bed by himself.

Then he discovered the website. This beautiful design called about-face.com for people who were afflicted facial or bodily distortions could connect and find love with other people who understood what it felt like to be seen as just your scars.

Fleur Delacour was his match. And through their messaging, she seemed to  good to be true. They had an instant connection talking about anything from all the countries they wanted to travel visit to their heated France vs. England debates (still at a stalemate) to why she should most definitely appreciate football more to why French vanilla was superior to ordinary vanilla to– well, just anything. They even began speaking on the phone.

There was only one thing strange about Fleur: she never showed a picture of herself… which was odd for someone who put herself on a website with people in her same predicament. 

“You know,” Bill said one while they were both (civilly) discussing their native countries again. He was in his one bedroom flat with the lights turned off in his bed that now felt less lonely. “London isn’t even far from Paris. I could show London’s superiority in person.”

“Oui, but you also promised me I was not allowed een your country unteel I stopped butchering ze language,” she laughed, making light of his proposal.

“Then I suppose you could show me just how inferior Paris is.”

She laughed again. “You do not know a word of French, and zen you be bored since everyzing ees een French and zerefore you would steell not appreciate Paris zey way eet should be and zen you would insist you were right. And zat would be unacceptable.”

Bill tried not to be disappointed by her light-hearted dismal. They had been speaking for months now, and she always found some way to refuse meeting him in person, or not sharing a photo without getting defensive or out right saying no. He was starting to get suspicious. Who was this girl? 

Fleur had her own reasons, though. She lived across the channel in France’s capital in a pastel flat with a pretty view of other pastel flats. She spoke French and English, and was the top student in her university. She had long hair she often decorated with headbands and always made sure her shoes matched. She was able to live independently and was beloved by her family. She was also completely alone and completely miserable. It was true she had nothing wrong with her face or her body; in fact she had been told several times just how beautiful and stunning she was. But no boy ever gave her a second thought after so many dates, or cared about anything besides her full lips or long legs. And so when she found about-face.com she had signed up because she felt too felt distress about outwardly appearances, unhappiness due to physical looks, and loneliness from feelings of isolation. Perhaps she wasn’t the expected user, but she still felt all those things and she still felt like there was something wrong with her for looking the way she did. And that’s why she couldn’t post a photo.

And she did love Bill. He love her beauty, he did just loved her because she was who she was. But now everything had gone too far. She knew how insecure he was about his looks, and how would he feel if he found that the truth? That there was nothing outwardly scarred about her? She didn’t know. And she was too terrified to find out.

So imagine her surprise when one day she opened the door to her flat and there he was. Her first coherent thought was how???–though she was still stumbling backwards–until she remembered they had exchanged addresses before, although she couldn’t recall why. Her second thought was how nice and snug his demins fit. But that was far from her mind because Bill Weasley was here at her door with flowers looking exactly like his photos, except with a nervous/unsure expression.

“Er, hello. Do you happen to live with a Fleur Delacour… this is the address I have for her…”

Merde, merde, merde, merde, merde!, she thought, trying to think of what to say.

Merde!

“Pardon?” He asked.

Had she said that last one out loud? 

Fleur couldn’t look him in the eye, but she did bring herself to confess. “I am Fleur, Bill." 

Perhaps if she didn’t use his name (as he hadn’t addressed himself), he would have thought this was a big misunderstanding. "Right, okay. Er, well I thought I would surprise you.” Fleur was stiff and staring anywhere but at him. “I brought you these.”

Fleur took the flowers, speechless. And then they both stood in her doorway. Silence took over.

Until Fleur burst out, “I am sorry. I know zere ees not anyzing wrong with my face, but you do not understand! I ‘ad to pretend zere was! Eet ees ze only way because men only want one zing from me and once zey 'ave gotten eet, zen zey are gone, but I am still 'ere. And eef you knew I was afraid you would be angry or you would leave too. I am sorry I am so awful. I am just awful and zat ees why no one loves me and I am just so sorry.”

The shorter one getting on their tiptoes to kiss the other

The taller one bending down to kiss them

The taller one making themselves smaller so they could hug the other person

The smaller person insisting that they can reach something really high while the taller person sits back and smiles while they stretch to reach the thing

the taller person giving piggyback rides.

The shorter person giving piggyback rides

THE SHORTER ONE’S FACE GOING INTO THE OTHER’S CHEST WHEN THEY HUG

JUST THINK ABOUT SLOWDANCING