Toasting Tomorrow

Fleur was curled into a comfortable C-shape on the Burrow's living room sofa, one hand on her slightly rounded belly, reading the latest edition of Witch Weekly and nibbling her way through a box of designer chocolates when Bill came home. She heard the familiar POP! as he burst into existence on the front lawn, then the clump, clump, clump of his dragonhide boots on the front stairs. A piece of her wanted to drop the magazine and scurry eagerly to meet him at the door, but the steadier side of her personality demanded she keep reading at least until he'd gotten inside the house. After that, all bets were off.

The double-decker front door swung open. "Honey, I'm home!"

Fleur giggled and allowed herself to close the magazine. "Yes, I 'ad noticed," she teased, arching one eyebrow in what she knew was an alluring fashion, pinning her husband with a playful gaze. "You make enuff noise to wake ze elephants in Africa."

Bill grinned at her as he tugged off his boots, setting them neatly beside the door. "But my Apparition is quieter than the twins, right?" he reminded her.

"This is true. You do not CRACK! You only pop."

"These are things we should be thankful for." He walked towards her and dropped to his knees in front of the sofa, placing a lingering kiss on her neck. "I missed you today."

Fleur sighed happily, raising her hand to tug away the leather thong which held his hair in check. The angry red scars that lined his face stood out vividly, even against his pleasantly tanned skin, and as his hair fell around his shoulders, Fleur allowed herself the opportunity to run her fingers delicately along one violent ridge of scar tissue. Bill moaned softly, pulling his mouth away, eyes closed. Fleur watched him quietly, tenderly touching each of his scars in turn. They would never heal completely, thanks to Greyback's werewolf contamination, and even now, months after the awful attack at Hogwarts, the scar tissue was sensitive. If she were to dig her nails into his face he would likely howl with pain; but Fleur had no intention of ever doing any such thing. Indeed, they'd found that this simple touching was soothing for the pair of them.

"I missed you, too," she murmured, running her thumb over his lips as her fingers traced a particularly wicked scar along his cheekbone. "When will you stop zis working and stay at 'ome wiz your wife, hmm?"

Bill smiled dreamily and kissed the pad of her thumb. "When I've set aside enough money to keep you in the manner to which you're accustomed," he said, eyes drifting open to fix her with the lazy gaze of a drowsy predator. Fleur was reminded again of the wolf that ran through his veins; there were times, when the moon was full, that his eyes almost seemed to turn yellow.

"Silly Bill," she crooned, grazing her knuckles gently up a scar on his opposite cheek. "I 'ave enuff money already from muzzer and fazzer to keep us both."

"I know, and you're going to keep it."

"I want to spoil you."

"But you're going to keep it, in case something happens to me."

Fleur furrowed her brow, shaking her head. "Shhh, do not speak of such 'orrible things," she scolded quietly, moving her fingers higher to run through his hair.

"Fleur-"

"I said Shhh, did I not? No talk of bad things, oui? See, you 'ave not even asked 'ow your enfants are doing today."

That set him to grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "How are they doing?" he asked, turning his attention downwards to rest on her stomach.

"Zey are quite well," she told him, combing her fingers fondly through his hair as he rested one warm palm on her gently rounded abdomen. "Zey missed zeir papa today, jus ' like zeir muzzer did."

"Did they now?" Bill leaned forward and kissed her stomach through her thin linen shirt. "Did you miss daddy today? He missed you, that's for certain. You and mummy."

Fleur watched him talk quietly to the children in her stomach and couldn't keep herself from grinning. Apparently whatever biological mechanics determined gender had come to an impasse where this pregnancy was concerned, caught between the rock of the Veela tendency towards daughters and the hard place of the Weasley tendency towards sons. The problem had been solved with a kind of genealogical detente: one of each. Mrs. Weasley had very nearly had a heart attack at the thought of another set of Weasley twins, and Fleur's own mother had been floored at the prospect of having a grandson in addition to a granddaughter; it seemed to rub the wrong way against the grain of her Veela heritage. She'd come around eventually, of course, if only because Gabrielle was so thrilled at the prospect of being an aunt twice over that it was impossible not to be excited.

No one had been happier than Bill, however, who had turned into a doting father within minutes of getting the news. "And that ridiculous woman from the PR Department was hitting on daddy again today," he was saying as Fleur drew herself out of her thoughts to pay attention. "She thinks he's desperate and that the scars on his face made mummy hate him."

Fleur laughed at that, leaning forward slightly to kiss his forehead. "Is zat woman still trying?" she asked, playfully ruffling his hair. "Does she not know zat I am mad about you?"

Bill grinned at her, eyes twinkling. "Without you flitting around the office anymore they seem to forget that," he told her.

Fleur sighed, rolling her eyes and slumping back on her pile of cushions. "I do not blame zem for forgetting me," she complained. "It is so boring being 'ere all day, wiz only your muzzer for company."

"Aw, come on now, Fleur. I thought you two were getting along better now."

"We are, we are," she conceded, and they were. The relationship between mother- and daughter-in-law was still awkward at times, but decidedly friendlier than a year ago. "But she will not let me do anyzing! I am getting so fat!"

Bill chuckled. "Well, there are reasons for that, sweetheart," he reminded her, patting her belly again.

Fleur gave him a disapproving look. "I do not mean zat," she protested. "When ze babies are born, zey will theenk they 'ave been born to a whale!"

This made Bill laugh out loud, straining the scars around his mouth until they turned white. "Fleur, sweetheart, if you're fat then I'm a Rockette."

It was impossible to fight the smile that was twitching on her lips, but she tried her hardest. "Well... I 'ave always said you 'ave very nice legs..."

Bill pinched her hip and she squealed, batting his hand away. "There's more where that came from, young lady," he said firmly but his twinkling eyes belied his tone. "Besides, I'd rather my mother spoil you than that you slave away like Cinderella, all right? You remember what the Healer said. You're to exert yourself as little as possible. Don't think I won't body bind you if I find out you've been running marathons."

Fleur stroked his cheek again, feeling the warm ridges of his scars beneath her fingertips. "Jus' because I am petite," she muttered unhappily, "zey tell me I can do nuzzing."

"Not just because you're thin, Fleur," Bill reprimanded her gently. "Because you're carrying twins and Veela aren't naturally equipped for that kind of strain."

"I am three-quarter 'uman!"

"Yes, but all anyone has to do is look at you to know you're not like most women, Fleur." He sighed, kissing her nose. She hated when he did that, because she loved it so much; it made her willing to do anything for him. "You and the twins are the most important things in the world to me, okay? If anything ever happened to you I'd lose my mind."

Fleur snuggled down into her cushions again, petulantly keeping silent. Bill leaned in and nuzzled her cheek, dropping soft kisses on her shoulder and throat, and she felt her resolve weakening.

"You will not lose us," she whispered after a minute. "I would never leave you, Bill."

"I know, sweetheart," he murmured against the pulse behind her ear. "But I worry anyway. I need you."

"Like I need you."

"More."

Fleur shook her head, taking his face between her palms and moving him back far enough that she could look into his eyes. "Non," she protested softly. "Non, zat is not possible. I would lose my mind, too, if you were taken from me, mon amour."

Bill sighed, passing a hand over his weary eyes. "Fleur..."

"Do not say my name like zat. It is true."

"Fleur, I'm in the Order. I'm a Curse Breaker. It's dangerous. You have to know there could come a day when I don't come home."

"Zat is supposed to mean anyzing to me?" she demanded, feeling her anger mount. "I am supposed to accept zat my 'usband may wake one morning and be dead by bedtime? Non! I refuse!"

"Fleur, I just want to keep you from getting hurt."

"By telling me you are going to die? Pfft!"

"Shhh... Fleur, please..." Bill sighed again, taking her face between his hands and pressing their foreheads together. Fleur bit her lip, still trembling under the weight of her Gallic temper but fighting to keep it under control. This was one of their most common arguments; ever since his wounding at Hogwarts, Bill had been obsessed with questions of his own mortality. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that he had been lucky to escape alive from Greyback's savage attack, but far from making him more cautious, the event seemed to have made him more reckless. Whether this was due to the wolfish instincts that now flowed through his veins or some other reason Fleur didn't know, but she wasn't convinced it was the former. After all, Remus Lupin was a full-blooded werewolf and she'd never met a more thoughtful, introspective man in her life, after Dumbledore; neither man would take an unnecessary risk. Bill, however, seemed to think he'd cheated death once, so it was no good trying to avoid it again by playing it safe.

"I will not be quiet, Bill," she whispered, rubbing his arms and watching his closed eyes. "You are not going to die, oui? Not until you are old and gray and you 'ave 'ad bushels and bushels of petits-enfants; grandchildren. Comprenez vous? I will not allow it."

Bill said nothing, but she knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. She doesn't understand, he was thinking. Someday she'll see.

"If I must accept you may die, zen what about you?" she asked quietly. "What if I die?"

That brought his head up, eyes sharp. "You won't," he said firmly.

Fleur gave him a soft smile. "Mon amour, you 'ave said it yourself. I am a Veela; zis pregnancy, it is not per'aps ze best situation for me, oui? I love you, I love zese babies inside me, but what if somezing goes wrong? What if you mus' be a fazzer wiz no muzzer?"

Bill's eyes were burning now. "Stop talking like that," he snapped. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

"Like nuzzing is going to 'appen to you?"

"It's completely different, Fleur, and you know it."

"Is it? I do not theenk so. Eizer way, ze dead one is dead, ze living one still living. I would say zat zey are exactly ze same."

"Fleur, stop it!"

"Why? Bill, I jus' want to keep you from getting 'urt."

Bill leveled her with a hard gaze, made all the more effective by the scars that criss-crossed his face. "That was low."

"Because I tell you what you tell me?" No one had ever accused her of being easy-going in an argument. She set out to win. "Bill, you are sounding like an 'ypocrite. No, shh," she silenced him, placing a hand over his mouth as he began to retort. "Leesten to me."

Fleur let her body relax, feeling the anger slowly ebb away. "I theenk we 'ave proven zat zere is no shortage of love 'ere, oui? I am loving you and you are loving me more zan is per'aps 'ealthy, but Veela understand zere is no denying ze heart; it is 'ow we live our lives. So why are we fighting? Because we both are wanting to prove zat we 'ave a better chance of dying zan ze uzzer? Or zat, if ze uzzer dies, we would 'ave ze worse reaction? Zis is a stupid argument! We are adultes, you and I, not children. Zis is an argument for ze lovesick adolescents in ze schoolyard." Here she affected a high-pitched, childlike voice. "I love you more. No, me! No, me! Non, I love you MOST!" Shaking her head – and noting that he was smiling – she went on. "We know better zan zis, do we not?"

Squeezing his shoulders, she continued. "Ze world, it is a dangerous place. I know zis. So do you." Her fingers traced the cruelest of his scars, a crescent shape that stretched from his left eye to the corner of his mouth. "But even if it were not, any day we might wake up and find ze uzzer 'ad left us. Zere are accidents, zere are mistakes; zere is ze work of Muzzer Nature 'erself. We cannot know today or tomorrow or till temps èternal what ze world will do to us."

Fleur cradled his face between her palms. "You are asking me to be afraid of what tomorrow will bring, but I do not wish zis. Ze greatest gift on zis Earth is tomorrow, and ze day after, and every tomorrow after zat. We should not be afraid of zem, we should not try to outrun zem; we should enjoy zem. Embrace zem!" Here she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself forward so she could press their noses together, denying him the chance to look away.

"Why are you so afraid, mon coeur?" she whispered. "What 'as scared you so much?"

Bill gazed into her eyes, unflinching. "I nearly had my throat ripped out by a werewolf," he answered, voice as flat as his eyes.

"Ah." Fleur gave a brief nod. "I see. So zis is where our perceptions, zey diverge. Because you tell me you almos' died, and zis is true. But zat is not 'ow I see it. Do you want to know 'ow I see it?"

She didn't wait for him to answer. Instead, she pressed her lips to his in a slow, lingering kiss, enjoying the warm pressure of his mouth and the familiar taste of his skin.

"Ze way I see it is zis," she murmured against his lips. "Très simple: you lived." Nuzzling his nose, she asked, "Do you not see ze difference? Not zat you almos' died, but zat you lived. Did I not tell you tomorrow is a gift, mon amour? Will you live always in ze past? Why?" Grabbing his hand, she pressed it to the warm swell of her belly. "Why, when ze future is so much sweeter."

Bill's fingers curled against her abdomen and Fleur smiled at the faint tickling touch. "I worry, Fleur," he whispered. "Every damn minute of every damn day."

"Then stop." She rested her cheek on his shoulder, tucking her face into the side of his neck.

"It's not that easy."

"Oui, it is."

"Don't you ever worry?"

"But of course. But not, as you say, every damn minute of every damn day." Snuggling even closer to him, curling around the comforting pressure of his hand on her stomach, she added, "I trust you not to die, mon Bill. Trust me to do ze same."

He sighed and she knew she'd won. Perhaps it would only be a short-lived win, and tomorrow they'd go over this same battleground again; but she'd earned another twenty-four hours before the demons came to call and started knocking down his door once more. She'd earned another tomorrow.

"Sometimes I think you like hearing yourself talk too much," Bill observed after a minute of companionable silence, but she could tell by his tone he meant it to be playful. "How am I ever supposed to win an argument with you when I can't get a word in edgewise?"

"Zat is a very good point, mon coeur. I suggest you theenk about zat and what it means for ze future."

"Meaning?"

"You cannot win. I am too good at zis game."

Bill snorted and kissed her, grinning. "Charming," he teased.

She gave him her brightest, most bedazzling smile. "I am glad you 'ave at last noticed zis."

"You're going to make me kiss you again if you carry on like that."

"You mean if I insult you, you will kiss me? In zat case, you are an arrogant fat'ead."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Nice one. Where did you pick up the fathead?"

Fleur preened happily. "I 'ave been eating many dinners wiz your family, Bill. It is not 'ard to learn zese things."

"Well you'd best get all your dirty-talking out of the way before the twins are born, unless you want them to grow up with a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush."

Fleur smiled wickedly. "Pardon, monsieur, but are you asking me to talk dirty to you?"

Bill beamed at her. "That's right."

"Wiz pleasure."

When Mrs. Weasley and Tonks Apparated back to the Burrow an hour later, arms loaded with groceries fresh from Diagon Alley, they found the house curiously devoid of Fleurishness and heard absolutely nothing coming from the eldest Weasley son's room. Nothing whatsoever; not even birdsong through the open window on the other side of the door. Molly had sent Tonks up to investigate Fleur's whereabouts, and she knew a Silencing charm when she didn't hear one.

"Oh, honestly," she muttered to herself as she climbed back down the stairs to help unpack the shopping. "It's no wonder they're having twins."

THE END