whatever a sun will always sing
"I have to go," he says.
Fleur says nothing; she knows that he's right, that he has to go—she turns her face away from him.
He understands the meaning of her stony silence that words could never articulate. "Dumbledore needs me," he tells her.
He is right again, like he always is—Dumbledore needs him and the Order needs him and Harry needs him—
But she needs him too.
He leans down and kisses her, softly, gently, and deeply. It is a beautiful kiss, but Fleur wishes it didn't seem so much like a goodbye.
(She wishes she would have kissed him a little bit longer, held onto him a little bit tighter, not waited as long to find the words to say—)
But it's too late. He's already gone.
When she first sees him after the battle, bloody and bandaged and lying still and cold on that hospital bed, she fears the worst.
(He's dying and it's all her fault she should never have let him go and oh God please don't let him be dead—)
She can't bear to look; it's too horrible—the scars and the blood and Mrs. Weasley's sobbing form—
(She's sobbing because of her, it's all her fault)
And the guilt leaps up and nearly swallows her whole, but she forces it back down because the bloody body lying on that hospital bed is her fiancé, her Bill, and now he needs her.
She rushes over to him and covers his scarred face with kisses.
It takes some time, but when Fleur looks at Bill now, she doesn't just see the scars and feel the guilt, she sees past that and stares into the eyes of the man she loves.
But when she pictures him in her mind, his face is clear and unblemished.
(She sees a handsome, brave, strong man who gave up so much for his family and his friends and the man that she knows will love her forever—)
But she stops herself, because this is still Bill—he is still a handsome, brave, strong man who gave up so much. And he still loves her.
Now she doesn't see the scars at all.
On their wedding day, when Bill embraces her at the altar in the blinding sunlight visible even past the tree tops, his smile is brilliant.
(And hers is too, she's sure of that, because she's never been happier in her entire life)
As he says the binding words (I do are now Fleur's favorite words in the English language) he pulls her closer and leans in.
And now it doesn't matter that his face is scarred or that they're in the middle of a Wizarding War or that Aunt Muriel is mumbling nastily under her breath, there is just Bill, nothing else. Not the Bill of her subconscious thoughts, the Bill standing before her. About to kiss her.
And as she kisses him, she knows that when she remembers this moment, the face in her memories will not be scarred.
(Or maybe it will, but does it really matter?)
Non. Pas du tout.
I really enjoyed writing that. I think Fleur is one of the less-explored, most misunderstood minor characters. Hopefully I'll be writing more from her POV soon. Oh, and hurray for French: 'pas du tout' means 'not at all.' Anyway, review. I'm trying out a new writing style and I'd like to hear feedback. The title is from E.E. Cummings's poem, "i carry your heart with me." It's quite possibly the best poem ever.