The Osiris Song

A MONTH AND A HALF LATER

Fleur's eyes snapped open, instantly awake, but she did not sit up. She had been plagued by the same nightmare every night since the FIRST night, but it had lost its terror sometime after the second week. The fear had been replaced by a gnawing, bone deep grief that left her exhausted and shaky when she woke. In these first few minutes, she had found it was important not to move; movement expended more energy than stillness, and energy would have to be renewed, which meant she would have to sleep again. But she didn't want to sleep; sleep held no rest for her. Instead, she lay still and silent and stared blankly at her ceiling, trying to ignore the memories which haunted her like an attic full of restless spirits.

The house was quiet as the rest of the Weasley family slept peacefully. Almost two months had passed since Fleur had found Bill dead in their bed, and her mother-in-law, Molly, had insisted the bereft veela move in with the rest of the family. It must have taken great strength for the grief-stricken mother to make that offer; Fleur knew that every time Molly, or Arthur, or Ron or the others saw her, they thought of Bill, and each memory of Bill could only be painful because there would be no new ones. She knew this because she had felt it as well. Each time she looked into Ron's face, or George's, or Fred's, or even Ginny's, she saw her Bill. Son coeur; her heart. Then the pain would come; a hollow, searing ache in her chest cavity, where her heart had once beat with such strength. She didn't think she had a heart anymore. The doctors assured her it was still there, but she only half believed them, and then only when the pain was too great for her to believe her breast was empty.

After a few minutes had passed, she rolled onto her side with a sigh. If Bill had been with her, he would have rolled onto his side as well and wrapped a comforting arm around her, even in sleep. Instead, Fleur had an unobstructed view across the room to the simple window which decorated the facing wall. The moon was round and full, looking like a slightly tarnished silver pie plate. It cast an ethereal, luminous glow over the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. So many people, Fleur thought quietly, staring at the moon's face and deciding it looked like Bill. Have they lost love, too?

She didn't know how much time had passed, but she must have drifted off again, because the next thing she was aware of was a hand gently squeezing her arm, and a soft, matronly voice murmuring, "Fleur? Fleur, dear, wake up. Fleur?"

The veela rolled onto her back and gazed up at her mother-in-law. "Oui?" she murmured groggily. The moon had long since set, and the sky outside her window was painted the pale gray of very early morning.

Molly seemed hesitant. There was something about the line of her mouth and the color of her eyes that told Fleur the older woman was debating sharing a secret with her. It was obviously quite a big secret, since the normally faint wrinkles around the Weasley matron's mouth were dark and deep. "I..." she began, then stopped herself, visibly debating.

Fleur was curious now. "Molly? What iz it?" She pushed up on her elbows, refusing to break eye contact with the other woman until she knew the secret.

Mrs. Weasley bit her lip, something Fleur had never seen her do. It was a sign of indecision, and Molly Weasley was rarely, if ever, indecisive. "I don't know if I should tell you, dear," her mother-in-law finally admitted. "I'm not sure how you'll react, and I'm not sure how I would react to your reaction, whatever it might be."

Fleur sat up fully, letting the blankets fall around her waist. She was wearing one of Bill's button downs as a nightshirt; his long, lanky body meant that all his shirts swam on her. "Molly, please," she half begged. "Please, you mus' tell me. Iz... Iz it about... Bill?"

When the other woman didn't answer, she knew it was.

"Please," she said again, thoroughly begging now. She grabbed the other woman's hands and held them tightly. "Please, Molly. What do you know?"

Something crumbled inside the older woman, and Fleur saw her features soften. "They've found him, dear," Molly said quietly, squeezing Fleur's hands in return.

Fleur tilted her head, confused. "But... 'e was not lost."

Molly shook her head. "No, dear. I didn't... I didn't mean they've found Bill." She sighed, then continued. "They've found the one who did it, dearest. They've found Peter Pettigrew."

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Molly tried to stop her, but Fleur would not be stopped. She took just long enough to splash some water on her face, pull a comb through her immaculate hair, and dress in her most severe, fitted business suit - the one in ice white with a corset sewn into the jacket - before she stormed down the stairs, heading for the front door.

Molly was beside herself. "Dearest!" she called out, catching at Fleur's arm. The veela shook her off. "Dearest, don't do this. Bill wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want you wasting your life on revenge and bitterness. Please, sweetheart, stay here. Let the Ministry handle Pettigrew."

Fleur stopped in the doorway and spun around, eyes flashing. Her anger was not directed towards the kindly older woman, but Molly took a step back nonetheless. "Ze Ministry? What will ze Ministry do? Send 'im to Azkaban? Zat is too good for zat monstre." She shook her head firmly. "No. Zey will zend 'im away, and zen what am I to do? Will zey let me see 'im? Will zey let me ask 'im WHY? Non. Zey will keep me away, becoz zey KNOW zat I will kill 'im." Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "Zat is why I mus' reach 'im BEFORE ze Ministry can spirit 'im away comme un voleur la nuit!*"

Molly looked close to tears. Fleur hated doing this to her sweet mother-in-law, but she could barely think, barely breathe, scarcely close her eyes without remembering how cold Bill's skin had felt against her palms; a sickening dichotomy to the warm silkiness of the rose petals that had covered the bed like a blanket. "Fleur, Bill wouldn't want this," the older woman repeated, though her voice sounded weak and distant. "He wouldn't want you to ... act like this." She reached out a hand and cupped Fleur's cheek. The veela didn't pull away.

"He loved you too much to let you kill for him, dearest," Molly said softly, a sad smile touching her lips. "He loved you so much, I think it would hurt him to see how angry you are. You have to let that anger go, Fleur, or neither of you will ever move on." Her thumb stroked her daughter-in-law's cheek. "Don't you want Bill to rest peacefully?"

Tears built in Fleur's eyes, threatening to cascade down her face at any moment. "Non," she whispered hoarsely.

Molly's brow furrowed with concern. "Why not?" she asked quietly.

Fleur reached up and took the other woman's hand from her cheek. A few tears spilled over her lashes as she did so, making silvery tracks down her face. "Becoz I want 'im wiz ME," she rasped, hardly able to bring her voice above a whisper. "But zat ... zat... rongeur** took 'im from me, and I want to know WHY!" Her fingers tightened around Molly's hand as she stared into the older woman's eyes with something approaching desperation. "Don' you know ze 'ell of NOT KNOWING? Don' you FEEL it? It burns, oui? Burns 'ere," she pressed a fist to her chest, knuckles white. "Doesn' zat wake you at night, Mère Weasley? Don' you want to KNOW?"

Molly stared into the younger woman's eyes for an extended minute, and Fleur let her see everything. A month and a half's worth of nightmares and lingering regrets were reflected in the veela's eyes as her fingers bit into her mother-in-law's hand.

Finally, Molly nodded; a single dipping of her chin. Fleur gasped with relief, unaware that she had even been holding her breath. "You go and you find out, Fleur," the other woman said firmly, squeezing her hand. "But don't you kill him, do you understand? Don't let him make you a murderer. He isn't worth that."

Fleur nodded and released Molly's hand. Wrapping her arms tightly around her, Fleur murmured, "Zank you. I will be back zoon, Je promets, and I will 'ave ze answers. I swear it."

Molly said nothing, but hugged the young woman in return. Finally, Fleur managed to extricate herself from the embrace and turned to fly out the door.

It was dangerous to Apparate when your mind wasn't clear, or when you were overly emotional. Doing so could mean you would end up in a wall or under the sea. Fleur ignored the dangers and closed her eyes, thinking of where she wanted to be. It was a place she knew well; the safest place to house a criminal like Pettigrew. Azkaban was too obvious, and too easy a target for the Dark Wizard's minions to stage a prison break. No, the Ministry was being tricky this time around; they were taking no chances.

The goblins would have to fall for her veela charms this time around, because she wasn't going to waste time explaining to them why she was at the bank. She was going to find Peter Pettigrew's "cell" if she had to tear Gringott's apart brick by brick, and God help any living creature who stood in her way.

TBC...

*comme un voleur la nuit!: "Like a thief in the night!"
**rongeur: "Rodent"