William Weasley awakens in the gray dawn to the sound of robins.
He is in his old bed at the Burrow; though for years he has lived in London, he has come back in these past few days. He breathes deeply, smells musty quilt and flowers, freshly turned earth, scones and brewing tea. He has not opened his eyes yet. There is another scent, faint, lingering, perhaps on his clothes or his skin, one that recalls a certain blonde girl whose ancestors could calm the storms.
You rise like a wave in the ocean
And you fall gently back to the sea
Now I want to know how to hold you
Return to me
Return to me
There have been stormy nights these past two months, nights when he awakens screaming from dreams of blood and ravening hunger. She has never left him, calming his fears and tending his injuries, staying awake with him during the full moon, holding him while he sleeps. He has become used to the soft sound of her breathing, the scent of her hair, the weight of her body beside him. He has not slept alone for a long time, and he has found himself reaching out for her in the night.
You shine like the moon over water
And you darken the sky when you leave
Now I want to know how to keep you
Return to me
Return to me
Return to me
Return to me
A soft knock sounds at the door. “Bill?” asks his father’s voice. “You awake, son?”
“Yes, Dad,” he says, opening his eyes to the morning light. He sees the relics of his younger days scattered on the shelves, souvenirs and knickknacks typical of a teenage boy. Hanging from the wardrobe door is a suit of formal clothes, gleaming black and white.
“Come on then, breakfast is ready. There’s a lot to do, so don’t dally.”
“Coming,” he says. He sits up and gently swings his legs over the side of the bed. The old mattress is lumpy and has given him a stiff back. He levers himself erect using the bedside cabinet and kneads the small of his back with his fists. He catches sight of himself in the mirror; he is still not used to his short hair. The mediwizards have had to crop his hair close to treat his injuries, but it is growing back. Now he very closely resembles his father.
Everything I tell you has been spoken
And everything I say was said before
But everything I feel is for the first time
And everything I feel I feel for you
Downstairs, his mother putters with dishes and cups, laying out eggs and bacon and scones and crumpets. She has been up for hours. When he comes down, she bustles over and hugs him tight and fusses with his hair. “Goodness, you look a fright. Still, it’s better than that shaggy mess you had. You look more respectable this way.”
He chuckles. “Mum, I was always respectable. And I’m going to be even more respectable by the end of the day.”
“That’s true. Now eat; there’s a good chance you won’t get any lunch. I’m going upstairs to see how Ginny’s doing.” She flicks at a few last strands of hair and heads for the staircase. He sits at his father’s right hand and begins to eat.
“Are you nervous?” asks his father.
“Are you kidding?” Bill holds up his hand. It is trembling slightly. “Steady as a rock.”
His father laughs. “I remember the day I married your mother. I was so nervous that I didn’t eat at all the night before. I passed out at the altar, went tail over appetite right into the minister.” His father claps him on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you. Fleur’s a wonderful girl. Even your mother says so.”
“Really? After all that time she spent calling her ‘Phlegm’?”
“Well, it’s that veela blood. Veelas make men do very foolish things. Your mother was afraid that Fleur was trying to control you, that all she saw in you was a handsome face and a comfortable life. But when she stood by you after the attack… it was plain that she loved you for you. We all took her very seriously after that.” He looks at the clock. “Look at that, we’re running late. Finish up, then go shower and shave. They’re expecting us spot-on at ten.”
I am here calling the wind
I am here calling your name
I am here calling you back
Return to me
Return to me
The Delacours have arranged Portkeys for their foreign guests. The wedding is to be held in an open field on the Île d’Ouessant, high on the cliffs overlooking the sea. Pavilions have been set up here and there, one for the bride’s party, one for the groom’s, one to cover the altar. When they arrive, Ginny kisses her brother on the cheek and heads off to the bride’s pavilion. The groom’s pavilion is a nexus of chaos as everyone tries to dress. Family members cycle through to offer advice or take pictures. Charlie is in from Romania, Fred and George have arrived separately from London. Ron, Hermione, and Harry are in from Surrey for the day. He shakes hands and gives embraces as required, turns down the shot of homemade eau-de-vie Fleur’s crazy uncle Jean-Pierre offers him. Somehow, he manages to get dressed. Charlie is his best man, and he checks Bill over carefully to make sure everything is in place. “You look good, big brother,” he says. “Maybe someday it’ll be my turn.”
I know what it means to be lonely
And I know what it means to be free
Now I want to know how to love you
Return to me
Return to me
It is time. The sound of drums and cornemuses calls the assembled guests to their seats. The bridesmaids and groomsmen walk slowly up the aisle and take their places on either side of the altar. Bill comes up last, glad of the slow pace, trying to hide the wobble in his knees. Then Fleur comes out of her pavilion in her wedding dress and tiara. The sight of her is enough to catch his breath in his throat. Everyone stands as she processes towards the altar, stately as any sailing ship, on the arm of her beaming father. She smiles at him as she reaches his side, and he feels like the luckiest man in the world.
I am here calling the wind
The service is half in English, half in French. It might as well be in Breton, for all that he can understand it. He is intensely aware of her beside him, standing, kneeling, and reciting vows, her eyes shooting him sidelong glances full of a wicked mirth. When the time comes for the kiss, he turns to her and leans in, trying for a chaste kiss. Fleur is having none of it. Her arms tighten around his neck and her mouth blooms like a flower under his. He relaxes and gives himself over to the kiss. Let them look, he thinks. The crowd erupts in applause and whistles.
I am here calling your name
They stand in the reception line along with the wedding party, shaking hands with the guests one by one. Both mothers are weeping, secretly basking in all the attention. Bill sees Harry hanging back, clearly not wanting to go through the line for fear of facing Ginny. “Go see if you can sort him out,” he whispers to Ron.
I am here calling you back
Ron frog-marches Harry into the line and stands with him so he can’t escape. He dutifully shakes hands with everyone, then pauses as he moves in front of Ginny. They look at each other, lips parted, emotions chasing across their faces, stunned into silence.
Return to me
Simultaneously they lunge into each other’s arms, holding each other tightly, whispering into each other’s ears.
Return to me
Bill glances over at Fleur, and she smiles at him. This is a good day to be in love.
Wedding Day by Tabletop_Joe
Chapter Notes: Standard disclaimers apply: none of the characters, song lyrics or locations are mine, and I expect to make no profit from this. Song lyrics are for "Return To Me" by October Project. Who says men can't write fluff?