Rating:
R
House:
Astronomy Tower
Characters:
Fleur Delacour Fred Weasley
Genres:
Romance General
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Goblet of Fire
Stats:
Published: 07/18/2004
Updated: 07/18/2004
Words: 6,085
Chapters: 1
Hits: 950

Inferiority Complex

WiltedRose

Story Summary:
The Weasleys are having a family reunion. The twins are already unhappy about attending, but when Bill shows up, they're positively sick of Molly fawning over him. It's time for a little payback... Weasley style. Can they get Bill's girlfriend, Fleur, to cheat on him? FW/FD

Posted:
07/18/2004
Hits:
950
Author's Note:
This was originally written for a Fred and George ficathon on Livejournal. It's not my usual ship by any means (as you might guess, I'm more of a Fred/Hermione girl), but it's something new and unusual. Please read and review.


"Not another bloody family reunion," groaned Fred Weasley as he scanned the owl from his mother. "Seems like we just had one."

George looked up from the piles of galleons, sickles, and knuts he was counting--the day's takings from Weasley Wizard Wheezes. "87 galleons, 170 sickles, and some inhumane number of knuts, remember that," he muttered, scribbling a figure with his wand in the air, where the numbers lingered, glowing green. "We didn't just have a reunion, we just had a christening."

Fred settled himself down at the table, next to his twin. The store-room was pleasantly cool in the hot summer weather, with only one window illuminating the long oak table and the boxing of skiving snack boxes and canary creams surrounding it. Fred seized a pile of gold and began to count.

"No!" George stared with dismay at his disrupted counting. "God damn it, Fred, now I've got to start all over again!"

"Why don't you just use a counting spell?" Fred suggested, and set his own wand to the task. He reread the owl. "We'd better clean up, George my boy. We're off bright and early back to the Burrow."

___

The twins apparated with a crack in the kitchen of the Burrow, where Molly Weasley was already bustling about, charming pots and pans in the misty dawn sunlight.

"Hello, Mum," the twins said brightly in unison.

Mrs. Weasley ran to hug her sons. "Oh, Fred! No, sorry, George." She stood back, and both twins could see what the war had done to her. Though the danger had gone when Harry Potter had defeated You-Know-Who three years ago, the grey streaks in Mrs. Weasley's hair and the weary lines on her face remained, a memento of the recent fear and sacrifice. "So sorry, George dear."

"Mum, honestly. I'm George," piped up the other twin, face deadpan. Mrs. Weasley looked intensely at each twin before making her decision. "Fred," she announced, thrusting a plump finger at Fred. "George. I do wish you wouldn't do that anymore."

George, already helping himself to a sandwich from a platter which looked as if it could have fed all of Hogwarts for a good long week, asked "So, anyone else here yet?" With a look of disgust, he spat out the bite he had just taken. "Eurgh. Corned beef!"

Molly shook her head good-naturedly. "I don't understand why you boys hate it so much," she sighed. "You two and Ron! Oh yes, speaking of which, Ron and Hermione are here with the baby, and Bill and his new girlfriend should be here soon. Charlie came in last night--careful not to wake him, he's in your old room. Ginny said she'd be flying in in an hour or so." She glanced up at the ceiling with faint annoyance. "And your father is still asleep."

"You would have thought Ginny could have passed her apparition test, wouldn't you?" wondered George. "She got O's in half her subjects for NEWTs."

"Well, she splinched herself first try, didn't she? I'd be scared shitless to try again."

"Fred, do watch your language!" Molly exclaimed. "Especially around the baby. And I do hope you haven't brought any of that horrible Weasley Wizard Sneezes--"

"Wheezes, Mum."

"Whatever it is, I hope you left every last bit of it at the shop. If one person turns into a giraffe or gets his tongue blown to the size of a small dog, neither of you are ever attending a family gathering again," she said sternly.

"Pity." George smiled, slightly sarcastically. Molly looked at him crossly, but then laughed.

They heard footsteps coming down the rickety staircase. The figure that emerged had red hair, of course, and was tall and still gangly, even at 23.

"Ronnikens!" the twins cried, and launched themselves at their younger brother. Ron looked groggily at them as they drew back. "Gred? Forge?" He thought a moment before shaking his head vigorously. "Sorry. Fred, George. It's too bleeding early, mum," he said, addressing Molly. "Ginny and Bill are coming, and Aunt Whatsit--Celia. Who else?"

Molly, who hadn't yet greeted Ron, didn't bother to look up even as she spoke. "'Morning, Ron. Aunt Celia's bringing her daughter Alice, she's seven, and we've got Great Grandmother Prewett. Bill's bringing his new girlfriend--some French girl from Gringotts, Flora, or--"

"Fleur," the three boys supplied together, the twins with delighted malice, and Ron with a groan.

"Worried you'll be distracted from your lovely wife, Ron?"

"Oh, lay off, Fred. Give him a break--she is half Veela, aft--"

"Quarter," Ron muttered, the tips of his ears going fiery red, clashing terribly with his ginger hair.

Molly bustled over to Ron and handed him a slice of toast. "Don't complain--you're 22 years old, you can get your own breakfast."

"I'm 23, Mum."

"Yes, yes. And," Molly's voice went noticeably quieter, and the pot of soup she was stirring seemed to be particularly fascinating. "We sent Percy an owl, but he hasn't responded." She sounded as if she was going to cry, and the twins each wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Ron, having finished his toast, grabbed a sandwich from the platter, and took a hungry bite. He hastily spat it out.

"Corned beef," explained George, a bit too late.

Ron's answer, however, was drowned out by a faint wailing coming from upstairs. "The ghoul's acting up, is he?" asked Fred, throwing his head back to gaze at the ceiling.

Ron laughed mirthlessly. "That ghoul is my darling daughter."

And true enough, a moment later, Hermione Weasley entered the kitchen, gurgling to her and Ron's red-haired daughter Rosaline. "See, Rose, see, there's Grandma, and Daddy, and Uncle Fred and Uncle George..." Rosaline stared at her family with wide blue eyes, and then smiled shyly.

Two loud pops reverberated through the house, and Fred looked at the Weasley clock, where he saw Bill's hand swing to Home. The clock, which used to have nine hands, now only had eight. All but Ginny's were pointing to Home--Percy had been removed only a few months ago, after Molly finally acknowledged that they hadn't heard from him in nearly five years.

"And here's Uncle Bill!" exclaimed Hermione in a baby voice, rather like the one Molly used when speaking to kittens or Ministry officials.

Molly and Ron, rushed into the parlor to greet the new arrivals, their voices shouting greetings as they ran.

"Hello, Hermione," Fred kissed her on the cheek and would have wrapped her in a hug had it not been for Rosaline. Hermione blushed--for two years before she and Ron had started dating, she and Fred had dated, and had even lived together for about six months before a terrible row during which Fred had spent a good amount of time as a cockatiel. All was well now, but there was always a hint of tension, especially when Hermione's daughter was around. Fred now turned to his niece. "Hello, Rose. Did you have a good trip? Daddy didn't drop you off his broom?"

"Very funny, Fred. We took Floo," Hermione said with a smile. "And I would never allow Rosaline on a broom with Ron." Ron had been working at the Ministry in the Sports and Games department for four years, and still played Quidditch for the department team. He was reputedly the worst keeper to play in the ministry league in 20 years.

"Hello, Hermione," George greeted her from across the kitchen, where he had conjured himself a full English breakfast. "How's Auror school going? Moody still teaching?"

Hermione laughed. "Yeah, but no one ever speaks in his class--the last person to ask a question ended up with a week-long holiday in St. Mungo's. We then had three weeks of lectures on how we all had to display 'constant vigilance.'"

The sound of breaking china reached the kitchen, and was shortly followed by a pale, shaking Ron. "Just knocked over a vase, easily cleaned up," he explained in a strangely high voice. Hermione gave a disapproving tut.

Fred turned to his twin. "I, at least, would like to see Bill's hair, and Mum making a fuss about someone other than us." He retreated to the parlor, shortly followed by George.

"Hello you two!" exclaimed Bill, giving each twin a slap on the back. "Fleur, these are my two brothers, Fred and George. Twins, never go anywhere without the other. I think you may've met them at the Triwizard." The two twins gave small bows, and were rewarded with a dazzling smile from the gorgeous blond on Bill's arm. She obviously didn't object to Bill's hair, which was in a ponytail past his shoulders, or his earring, a large dragon fang.

"Ah, oui, I remember you. You grew the very long beards when you tried to get at the Goblet," she chuckled. Her hair hung down her back in waves so blond they were nearly white, and her blue eyes lit up at the twins' good looks--much like Bill's, but 15 years younger.

"Put us off facial hair for a good long while," said George, stroking his own clean-shaven chin.

Fleur laughed, a sound that resounded around the cluttered room like the tinkling of bells. Fred noticed that George had gone rather glassy-eyed, and trod on his foot.

"Fleur, dear, I hope you don't mind sharing a room with Ginny. It's the only place there's room."

Fleur shook her head, sending her sheet of sliver-blond hair swinging around her face. "Zat would be fine, Mrs. Weasley."

"Molly, dear, please. Bill, I suppose you could squeeze in with the twins and Charlie--"

"No he bloody can't, Mum! That room's tiny, even with just two people. And last time we tried to expand it, mushrooms started growing all over everything--"

"Including us," George finished obstinately. Molly shook her head, and a few wispy strands of red-grey hair escaped her bun.

"Well, you can't have yours and Charlie's old room, because that's going to Great-Grandmother Prewett, and Aunt Celia and Cousin Alice have the other empty room. That only leaves the attic, and I'm sure you don't want to share with Wilbur." Wilbur was the old ghoul of the Weasley residence.

"I can deal with Wilbur, Mum," Bill assured his mother, who looked at him lovingly with teary eyes.

"Of course you can, darling. Silly me."

"Hold on a minute, Mum. He didn't offer to do anything special," Fred said sullenly. "Why does he get soppy looks and we get threats of disownment?"

"Disembowelment, more like," George added in an undertone.

Molly looked sternly at the twins. "Because you're constantly worrying me and disobeying me."

"Fine then," muttered George. "We're only 25, you know, I think we can make our own decisions." The twins stormed to the stairwell. "Let her moon over Head Boy Bill, with his long hair and gorgeous girlfriend."

"And he's too old for that dragon hide jacket," Fred fumed. "He's nearly 40, for Merlin's sake!"

"Hell, he's too old for his girlfriend!" George said quietly, and Fred recognized the look that came over his brother's face. He was sure, judging by the idea forming in his head, that the same evil expression was emerging on his own features.

"She's only a year older than us--that means she's about 14 years younger than Bill. She'd look better with one of us," he thought aloud.

"It'd just be in fun, of course."

"And hey, if she's that easily distracted, she doesn't deserve him anyway," George said ponderously.

"And you'd like to get into her robes," Fred said with a grin, heading up the stairs two at a time and laughing as George chased him up to their old room.

A tousle-haired Charlie met them at the top of the stairs. Short and stocky, like them, Charlie had the same red hair as the rest of the Weasleys, which matched the large burn on his arm, which was the result of his work with dragons. Dressed in only pajama pants, Charlie squinted at his younger brothers. "Fred! Georgie! Nice to see you, mates. Sorry for the state of your room, I didn't have time to even magic my stuff away, because I only apparated around four in the morning," he said, and ushered them into their old bedroom.

"Oh yeah, you can tell it's ours," said George with a grin.

"I see Mum still hasn't managed to get that armadillo bile stain off the wall," Fred sighed, faux-nostalgically.

"Or that burn-mark out of the carpet..."

Charlie smiled, shaking his head. "I don't even want to know how you did all that, to be perfectly frank." He gave a stretch, and padded with pare feet over the large bleach-mark on the floor to his trunk, from which he pulled a set of muggle clothes. "If you'll excuse me a moment." He waved his wand, and stood before the twins, dressed in jeans and an England Quidditch team t-shirt.

"Sorry for waking you up, Char," said Fred, sitting down with a plop on his old bed.

"Wasn't you, no worries. Hermione and Ron argued their way up the stairs. Something about a veela--I didn't quite catch it in my state of consciousness, but Hermione was obviously quite unhappy."

"That would be Bill's girlfriend. He's brought her along with him. Fleur Delacour's her name."

Charlie threw a glance at George. "Wasn't she that Beauxbatons girl? Did terribly in the Triwizard?"

"Yeah. Anyway," Fred shut the bedroom door with a wave of his wand. "My esteemed colleague and I," he motioned to George, "have got a little plan brewing, involving our darling oldest brother."

"You notice that Mum loves Bill best."

"There's no denying it."

"And that he always gets the best deals."

"Good pay."

"Well, Fred, we've got that," interjected George with mock seriousness.

"Dragons hide coats."

"Well, Fred, we've got those also."

"But we aren't 40, are we George?"

"Ah, yes, silly me," George conceded.

"Mum adores him, because he was Head Boy at Hogwarts first."

"Before Percy, that is. And, to add insult to injury--"

"To kick us when we're already in the mud--"

"To make us simply feel fucking inferior--"

"He's got a fabulous looking girlfriend who's not only 14 years younger than he is, but a quarter Veela."

"Now, Charlie, we put the question to you," said George. "Is that fair?"

Charlie, who had been listening to the twins with a slightly amused look on his face, conceded that it wasn't completely just.

"Exactly. So, we're considering a little pay back." Fred explained. "We're simply going to see if we can get her to sleep with one--"

"Or both," interjected George.

"Or both of us, during the two-day reunion. We figure if we can't, then we'll make a public declaration of inferiority."

"As much as we love Bill. If she does, then she's not good enough for our Bill," George finished, and the twins looked at Charlie with eager faces.

Charlie looked from one twin to the other. "You're mad. The both of you. You think you can get into your own brother's girlfriend's robes, under our mother's nose, and claim it's for his own good?"

"Yes," the twins said together.

Charlie shook his head, sending red hair flying around his freckled face. "If you do it, I'll eat a fucking broomstick."

"Nimbus or Clean Sweep?" asked Fred with a sly grin.

___

Lunch was a very chaotic affair. There were 13 people seated tightly around a long table in the garden, which was cold and slightly damp. Rosaline sat on her mother's lap, whimpering, as Cousin Alice, a malicious redheaded child, made faces at her across the sausages. Alice's mother, a burly woman who reminded George of what he had heard of Harry's Aunt Marge, did nothing to stop her daughter, but was in deep, and very loud, conversation with an unhappy looking Ginny about her days as the only female beater on the Wimbourne Wasps.

"Those Chudley Cannons aren't doing very bloody well, are they, Ginny?" she boomed. A large witch in a tweed coat and trousers, Fred thought she wouldn't look out of place holding a riding crop.

>

On Ginny's other side, Molly was trying, remarkably unsuccessfully, to engage Great-Grandmother Prewett in conversation. Fred chuckled at this, as his great-grandmother was stone deaf. To the twins' disgust, Bill and Fleur were whispering to each other, their hands together, as Charlie, who was sitting across from the couple, kept glancing between the twins and Bill and Fleur with a curious look on his face. The other young couple, however, was arguing as usual over their daughter's head, this time about what their one-and-a-half-year-old was permitted to eat. Luckily for Fred and George, their father Arthur Busy working on a report for work, so this left them free to discuss their plans.

"It'll certainly be something if we pull it off," George whispered, glancing at Fleur. He shoveled a forkful of potatoes into his mouth. Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he whipped around tensely, as if afraid that, though at the opposite end of the table, Bill had overheard him.

But it wasn't Bill, it was Ron. "Pull what off?" His face darkened. "You aren't blackmailing anyone again, are you?" he said, referring to the time, nine years ago, that the twins had blackmailed Ludo Bagman, his current boss, over a bit of trouble with a Quidditch cup wager.

"Don't be stupid, Ron," said George testily.

"Whoops, too late..." Fred chuckled quietly.

"Of course we aren't blackmailing anyone, Ron. We're plotting a murder,"

George told his younger brother casually. "And if you don't butt out, it'll be yours," he added threateningly.

But Ron stood his ground, whether because he'd been told off one too many times by his brothers, or because Hermione was sitting on his other side, glowering darkly at him. "Seriously, you two. I hate to sound like Percy," he said in a furious whisper, "but if you two get arrested, it goes on my record at the ministry. And I'm sort of trying to get a promotion."

Fred and George bowed their heads in mock shame. "We're sorry, Ronnikens. We won't do it again," they said.

"What do you need a promotion for, Ron?" Fred asked, momentarily distracted from Fleur, who was now laughing merrily at some joke Bill had evidently told her involving an aardvark and a half grape fruit.

"None of your business, is it?"

George reached over his younger brother for the sausages, saying "Is the mean old Ministry not paying you enough? Even with those 100 galleons a month we send you from the shop?"

Ron went a furious shade of red, and looked at the table. "I told you, it's none of your business. You've got your secret, I've got mine."

"So," said Fred through a mouthful of beans, "if we tell you, you'll tell us?"

This idea had obviously not struck Ron, but he saw he was defeated, and nodded.

In an undertone that they themselves could barely hear, the twins explained their plan.

"Only you and Charlie know," George finished. "Now you." The twins rested their heads on their hands like interested school children.

"Hermione's pregnant. Again," Ron muttered.

George whistled loudly, causing their end of the table to look oddly at him. "You old dog!" he crowed.

Fred, however, didn't share in his brother's glee. This news had obviously depressed him, and he sat silently, staring down the table at Hermione. Fleur had flown from his thoughts completely as he watched the woman he still loved feeding Rosaline acceptable food.

"Could have been mine," he murmured to himself.

Ron, still bright scarlet (a condition certainly not helped by the sudden attention of everyone in the room besides deaf Great-Grandmother Prewett), looked at Fred with a look of disgust. "Fred, the woman turned you into a cockatiel when you proposed to her! I'm not saying that you wouldn't have been happy, but," here he lowered his voice, "do you really want two little brats for Mum to coo over?"

Fred smiled broadly. "Of course not, Ron. I'll let you deal with the little monsters."

"Cheer up, mate," George said with a slap to his twin's back. "No use crying over spilled potion!"

Unfortunately for Ron, 11 pairs of eyes were now directed towards them.

"What's all this?" asked Arthur Weasley mildly.

Ron glanced at Hermione, who smiled widely back at him, their fight forgotten. He took her hand and rested them on the table. "Hermione's pregnant."

There was a thunderous cacophony. Molly looked flustered and excited, and tried to explain it to Great-Grandmother Prewett in a very loud voice. Arthur jumped to his feet to shake the hand of a highly embarrassed Ron. Ginny and Fleur were gushing congratulations to Hermione, and Bill and Charlie were discussing the obligations associated with nieces and nephews, especially around Christmastime. Aunt Celia was making not just Ron and Hermione very uncomfortable by answering Alice's questions, almost all of which involved details about where babies come from, in a loud, booming voice.

Lunch finished with a massive apple tart, and everyone left the table cheerful and full. As the family dispersed themselves around the house and garden, George felt a tap on his elbow. Twirling around, he found Great-Grandmother Prewett behind him, smiling kindly.

"Hello, dearies. What have you been up to since Great Granny Prewett last saw you?" she said in a voice like a staticy radio.

"Actually, Granny Prewett, we've started a very successful joke shop," Fred stated loudly, puffing out his chest a little in pride.

The old woman's face, already wrinkled as a walnut, crinkled a bit more.

"What dear?"

George grinned evilly. "Fred was just telling you how he plans to fuck Fleur blue," he said, quite loudly, but not loudly enough for their deaf great-grandmother to hear it.

Great Grandmother Prewett displayed magically white dentures. "That's lovely, dear."

"And, well, George here used to wank so very often, we were all sure he'd go blind," grinned Fred, for which he was rewarded with a jovial nod from the wizened old lady.

Not to be out done, George said "Fred here has twelve illegitimate children scattered around London, you know Granny."

"Wonderful. Very nice," Great-Grandmother Prewett said, still smiling.

Ginny emerged from the house to bring in more dishes. "Stop messing with the old biddy."

"Oh, you're no fun anymore," pouted Fred. The twins each levitated a couple dishes with their wands, and followed their little sister into the house.

"For once, you're helping," exclaimed Molly, gratefully taking the plates with her wand and directing them towards the sink. "Would you mind getting a couple more, boys?"

"Sure, Mum. Then we'll go ref the next Thunderer-Warrior game," George laughed as the twins headed upstairs. "I do hate these family gatherings very much, you know that," he muttered as they reached their landing. There they found small Alice, glaring at them with beady brown eyes.

"Alice, if you go away, Cousin Fred will give you a nice box of Fizzing Whizbees." Fred smiled tensely, displaying clenched teeth. George attempted to slide past the little girl into their room, but to no avail.

"I want Fizzing Whizbees! Fizzing Whizbees!" she shrieked loudly. Fred ducked into the twins' bedroom, and fetched out a box of sweets, which the little girl seized greedily. As she scampered downstairs, Fred grinned.

"They aren't Fizzing Whizbees. They're Giraffe Gumdrops."

___

Dinner was as chaotic as lunch had been, if not more, thanks to Alice's sudden transformation, and as they headed to their respective rooms, the family was warm and full, if a bit frustrated.

Lying in bed, a heavy rain bouncing off the roof, George and Charlie fell asleep instantly. Fred, however, was not so lucky. He stp at the ceiling, examining the familiar cracks and stains. Much to his dismay, images of a livid Hermione shrieking at an orange cockatiel kept appearing unbidden to his mind.

Careful not to wake his brothers, he stood quietly, groaning inwardly as the floor boards did so outwardly. Rather than risking waking others as he walked downstairs, he waved his wand and arrived with a loud pop in the kitchen.

A sheet of blond hair swished, and Fleur stared at him from the table, blue eyes wide.

"Oh god, I am sorry!" exclaimed Fred, taking a step backwards. "I didn't expect anyone to actually be down here... it's midnight..."

"I'm very sorry. I was thirsty, and could not sleep," Fleur explained, as embarrassed as possible while still remaining beautifully haughty. She was dressed in a rose-colored dressing gown, which shone from the torch she had lit.

"You couldn't sleep either, eh?" Fred said as he slid into the chair to Fleur's right. "The rain keep you awake?"

"Actually, it vas somezing else," she said shortly. Fred, curious but thinking that prying would ruin his chances, changed the subject.

"Amazing, isn't it? Rain like this in the middle of July. You're going to be able to sail an arc out there by morning, you will..." He watched the sheets of rain through the window, and thought it could be quite pretty. With a sudden loss of reality, he turned to his left. "Let's go for a walk in the rain."

Fleur looked doubtful. "My dressing gown is silk..."

"You can fix that with magic," said Fred dismissively. "I'll show you around the village. My mum doesn't know, but George and I used to go into the village at night, you know, interact with the Muggles."

Fleur looked even more unhappy at the idea. "But what if we get locked out? Or if we get lost?" She eyed the rain with obvious displeasure, and took a long drag of the steaming tea before her.

Fred shook his head. "We won't, alright? C'mon, please?" Slyly, he raised one eyebrow, and stood.

"Fine," Fleur said tersely. "As you're so intent on me getting wet, Fred, may I at least wear shoes?"

He conceded, and got a pair of old Wellingtons from the door, which he pulled on over the cuffs of his flannel pajamas. Fleur slipped her delicate feet out of their silk slippers and into a pair of black shoes by the door that looked distinctly un-waterproof.

Opening the door, Fred said "Ladies first," with a small bow. Looking very miserable indeed, Fleur stepped out into the rain, shortly followed by Fred. He, sopping wet after less than five seconds, offered his arm, which his companion took gingerly, as if afraid she would belt I she touched bare, wet flesh.

Within seconds of walking down the garden path, they were both completely soaked. Fleur's hair, usually so light and floaty, was now weighed down with rain that plastered it to her back, and Fred had to blink frequently to keep rain out of his eyes.

"The village is just down this way," he said, leading her out the front gate and out onto an unused, dim road. They walked for a while in silence; Fleur was obviously regretting her decision to join Fred, and Fred was painfully conscious of her hand on his arm.

As was to be expected at midnight, almost all of the thatched cottages of Ottery St. Catchpole were dark except one, which had what looked like electric lights shining into the wet darkness. Fred, who had been there many times, recognized the building immediately.

"The Turtle and Rhinoceros is open," he informed Fleur. "That's the pub. Care for a drink?"

Fleur, who's face said quite clearly 'I could have had a drink at home, you mad person,' shivered and nodded, and they continued down the little road to the cottage that housed the pub.

Inside was only a young, eager-looking bartender Fred didn't recognize, and two elderly Muggles, obviously arguing. Fred opened the door for Fleur, and they entered, choosing a small table in the corner. The fire right next to them made their cheeks flush with warmth.

"A stout for me, and a lager for the lady, please," Fred called to the bartender, who smiled and started the taps.

"Actually, I'll just have a butterbeer," protested Fleur. "Or even just a warm gillywater."

Fred grinned. "This stuff is much better, believe me."

She evidently didn't quite believe him, and when the glass of pale amber liquid was set in front of her, she looked at it uncertainly. Watching Fred take a swig of his beer, she took a tentative sip. Her face contorted as she tried to force it down her throat. "I've had better drinks from sewers!" she exclaimed loudly. The bar tender and the two wizened Muggles looked at her, angry at having been disturbed.

"Shhh," Fred whispered soothingly. Trying to start a conversation that insulted no one, he said "So, I suppose we never really got a chance to talk while you were at Hogwarts, what with you being the champion for your school and me being related to Ron the git." Fleur laughed haughtily.

"I did enjoy my stay zere very much, but I gained almost three kilograms! Your 'eavy Engleesh food." She wrinkled her very pretty nose. "It is also what you eat at 'ome, I see."

Suddenly conscious of his stockiness and trying to ignore the insult to his mother's cooking, said "Yeah, well... I said sorry when I hit you at the Yule Ball, I think. How's that for intellectual conversation?"

"Are you still dating her?" asked Fleur with interest.

"Angelina? Nah. We broke up after Hogwarts, because she was heading over to America." Fleur nodded knowingly, and Fred had no idea as to what to say next.

"Did you, er, ever play Quidditch?"

"I did for a bit, at school, as a, oh, what do you call zem here? A seeker. They made me stop after my Veela blood got ze better of me, and a boy fell off 'is broom from sixty feet." She shrugged as if it were a mistake anyone could have made.

Fred nodded, not sure how to answer. 'Oh, yes, I had a similar problem myself'? 'Oh, yes, that's a big problem in Quidditch, Veela charm...'

They sat in an embarrassed silence for a while, Fred fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. "Would you like a glass of wine?" he asked.

Fleur laughed derisively, and looked at him as if he had just insulted her and all her ancestors.

"English wine is like the piss of cats."

"I suppose you've tried all this, have you? Sewer water and cat's piss?" said Fred sulkily.

"Can we please leave?" she asked gloomily.

Consenting, Fred left a piece of Muggle money (he wasn't quite sure how much) on the table, and they went out to brave the elements once again.

They walked through the sleeping village, still arm in arm. The cottages looked like they were straight out of a fairy story, and Fred said so. On a sudden whim, he added, "Let me show you something." Pulling Fleur by the hand, he started to walk briskly up the hill towards the neck of a woods. When they arrived, muddy and yet wetter, Fleur was pouting slightly. She looked very displeased when Fred pulled her down on the grass.

"You can see the whole village up here. I used to come here when I was younger--it was my hideout, I suppose. I've only ever shared it with George, you know, I didn't even show it to Hermione, even when we lived together." These words had the desired effect on Fleur--all ills of the night, the rain, the beer, the mud, forgotten, she gazed at him with a touched look.

"It is beautiful, especially in the rain," she murmured. Fred removed his hand from hers, and snaked it around her waist.

"So are you," he said softly. He knew how stupid it must have sounded, but he was determined not to have to admit to the entire family his inferiority.

Fleur smiled coyly, which Fred considered a bit rich, as she and Bill had been kissing amazingly intensely at the dinner table. All thoughts disappeared, however, when she kissed him softly on the mouth.

"Merci."

Fred stared, his mind flying quickly away. His lips stung, and he vaguely remembered something from Magical Creatures class about the properties of a Veela's kiss. Before he could retrieve the information from his muddled brain, Fleur slapped him.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" he shouted, rubbing his cheek. He had been rudely awakened from a very blissful state, and was unhappy about it.

"Well, I want you to be conscious when we make love," she said matter-of-factly. Fred felt his jaw drop.

"You're, er, serious, are you?" Fleur nodded, and pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his once more. He felt her tugging at his t-shirt, and he raised his arms so she could slip it off. He fumbled her robe open. Underneath was a skimpy nightgown. He wasn't sure what to do with it, so he left it, instead entwining his hands in her wet hair. He had a hazy idea in his head that he didn't really care for her at all, it was all Veela charm, but it was quickly erased. Trying to keep his balance, he kicked off his wellies so Fleur could pull his pajama pants off. Fleur broke off, and looked at him sultrily. Fred could feel her eyes tracing his body and he shivered, although that could have been the fact that he was standing in nothing more than boxer shorts in the cold rain. Fleur pulled him over to a tree, which she leaned on.

"Take this off," she whispered, and Fred complied. He had never seen such a perfect body, so svelte and smooth. She kissed him again, and he felt her hands pulling off his boxers.

"You know," he said, embarrassed, "I've only actually ever slept with two women." But Fleur obviously didn't care a bit.

Fred had never had sex like this. His hands pressed painfully into the back of the tree, and he tried to imagine what it was like for Fleur, here whole bare back pinned to the rough wood. She was more ferocious than Angelina or Hermione had ever been, and when, finally, they both collapsed onto the wet grass, they simply lay there, panting, on the ground.

"So," Fred started once he had caught his breath. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Oh, only zat Bill asked me to marry 'im zis evening," she murmured in an offhanded manner.

Fred stood up very quickly, and realized that he was arse naked in the freezing rain. "And what did you say?"

"Why, yes. Of course. Bill is the only man I've ever actually loved. It's very hard for me to love, you see."

Fred stared at her. He hadn't minded casually fucking his brother's girlfriend, but his brother's fiancée was a completely different matter. "So, you're getting married, then?"

Fleur looked at him as if he were the most stupid person she had ever met (and he knew this wasn't true--she'd met Roger Davies). "Yes, Fred, usually when people are engaged, zey are going to get married. I azumed you didn't zink this actually meant anyzing," she laughed. He hadn't, it was true, but she'd only been his third.

"I don't suppose you'd consider running off to Wales with me?" he asked opefully, but the look on her face answered him. "No, no, of course not. Silly me." He realized that he was still naked, and dressed and dried himself with a swish of his wand. He was about to apparate, but he turned. "Here," he said, tossing her a packet of sweets from his pocket. "Sherbet lemons. They're lovely." With that, he disappeared with a pop.

Fleur examined the sweets carefully, before popping one delicately into her mouth. Nearly instantly, she felt herself sprouting feathers.

___

"And therefore, we officially declare our brother Bill to be completely superior," finished the twins with a bow. The family, while confused, started in tentative applause. /div>

As the rest of the Weasleys headed fearfully to the three-legged race organized by Molly, Fleur hung back.

"While I dislike the fact you turned me into a canary," she started angrily, "I do appreciate you not telling Bill. I've never felt this way about anyone, and I couldn't bear losing him." She kissed him gently on the cheek, and ran gracefully to join her fiancé.

Hermione, walking by arm in arm with Ron, tutted. "Not you too," she moaned.


Author notes: Thanks to my Beta! Please review honestly- I like a good review as well as the next person, but nasty ones are helpful!