Cause I wasted the light
Between both these times
I drew a really thin line
It’s nothing I planned
And not that I can
But you should be mine
Across that line
If I traded it all
If I gave it all away for one thing
Just for one thing
If I sorted it out
If I knew all about this one thing
Wouldn’t that be something--Finger Eleven
“I suppose we should pick up the mess we made,” Bill whispers against my temple as we sprawl across the tangled sheets of our bed, “I’m sorry I broke the night stand…and I’m pretty certain you won’t be able to mend the shirt you were wearing either.” He fights to hold back a chuckle. I simply laugh.
“I theenk zat maybe we were too boisterous in our love-making zis time, no?” I lift my head to survey the damage to our bedroom. Everything is knocked off my dresser; I am uncertain whether or not any of my trinkets and bobs have been broken, but I do not care.
“Too boisterous or too angry,” he smiles as he brushes back my lustrously wild hair, tousled in the aftermath of our mad and heated passion. “Why didn’t we ever put our anger with each other to such good use way back when? When we used to fight we never took advantage of the situation this way.”
“Maybe we ‘ave learned from our mistakes,” I reply before I lean in to kiss him. “And I theenk I do not want to clean up until tomorrow morning. We should go to sleep and worry tomorrow.”
“A splendid idea,” he tightens his arms around me as I lay my head on his bare chest. I close my eyes and think back to the afternoon…
“…and I will wait for you ‘ere. Today is a lovely day and I do not feel like following you around a smelly Quidditch supply store.” I cannot for the life of me, figure out why Bill would want to go into a Quidditch supply store. I roll my eyes and find a seat on a bench outside the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop in Hogsmeade, across from Zonko’s. I shoo Bill on and have a seat, passing the time on this fine sunny day by inspecting the purchases I have made. But by the time I have looked inside the first shopping bag I am interrupted.
“Excuse me, Miss? Oh wow, it is you! Oh wow, oh wow,” for a moment a young blond-haired man in his mid-twenties stands in front of me stammering in disbelief.
“Of course it is me, you silly man. Who did you theenk it would be?” I reply in confused irritation.
“Myron, Willy,” he shouts excitedly over his shoulder, “It’s her; I told you. I know it’s her.” Two more men around the same age as the first walk up behind their friend. All three of them are wearing goofy expressions of awe as the original trespasser extends his hand to me. I take it so as not to be rude and he shakes it vigorously. “Oh Miss, this is such a great honor. Oh wow, I’m star struck.” One of his friends shoves him forward and the poor boy-man stumbles against me. “Stop it, you dumb git! Oh, not you Miss, never you. Oh gosh, I’m Samson, Samson Studacheck. I’m a big fan of yours.”
“And I’m Myron Womsby,” the man who pushed Samson finally speaks.
“And I’m Willy Stone,” the third offers, each man shaking my hand in turn.
“It is very nice to make your acquaintances, I am sure,” I say as I look at each of them.
“Oh dear Merlin! She’s French, she’s French,” Samson sputters as he stares at his hand, “I’ll never wash this hand again.”
“Of course she’s French, you wanker,” Myron scolds his mesmerized friend. “Her name is Fleur Delacour. Of course she’s French. Are you daft?” But Samson is oblivious to Myron’s taunts as he continues to gawk down at me. He looks strange. I hope he does not get sick on me…
“What I think our friend means to tell you, Miss Delacour,” Willy comes to the awestruck Samson’s rescue, “Is that he is a great fan of yours, as are we too.” He gently elbows Samson and whispers, “Why don’t you just ask for her autograph, Sammy?” Samson responds by pulling an issue of Quidditch Weekly from under his robes, that, and a self-inking quill. Willy has to actually guide Samson to hand me the issue and after I sign the page that holds one of my Wicked and Wonder Witch advertisements the poor man just gapes at my signature with wide eyes. “I think you’ve put the whammy on old Sammy here, Miss Delacour. Could you sign my copy too?” Willy continues, “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re biggest fan here gets home safe and sound.”
I smile and make petty small talk with the three men, who speak of the advertising campaigns that feature my loveliness. I make sure to write nice things on both Willy’s and Sammy’s magazines. “And what about you, Myron?” I ask the one who teased his friend earlier, “Do you have a Quidditch magazine for me to autograph too?”
“Nope,” he smirks, “I’ve got something better.” He brushes back his cloak and unclasps the top half of the buttons of his shirt. “Right here,” he points to the center of his chest, “Sign your name right over my heart.” Samson stares on in envy as I sign the man’s chest, but before the three of them leave, I am sure to kiss Samson on the cheek to make up for the slight. I have a smug smile on my face when I turn around to look into the Quidditch store…and Bill is standing right there.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing talking to strange men like that?” Bill demands. The scowl on his face is evident as he sets his jaw.
“I am speaking to some of my many fans and giving zem autographs, zat is what I am doing!” I plant my feet and cross my arms, shopping bags dangling from my elbows.
“They could have been lunatics or worse,” he steps forward, “I don’t want you speaking to strange men anymore. And I certainly don’t want you to put your autograph on some horny bloke’s chest…not ever again.” I will not tolerate Bill barking at me in such a fashion.
“You, you cannot tell me what to do!” I shriek. “You are NOT my ‘usband. Vous vous êtes assuré de celui il y a quatre ans! (You made sure of that four years ago!)
Pure rage flashes from his eyes as he grabs my wrist and marches both of us to the alley between Zonko’s and Gladrags across the street. I try to wriggle out of his grip as I jerk my arm a few times, but it is to no use. When he reaches to point in the alley next to the side door of his brothers’ business Bill spins on his heel to face me.
“How dare you!” I scream as I finally yank my arm from his grip and shake my finger in his face. “How dare you…you, you beast!”
“I’m not nearly the beast that some of these crazies that could put you under the Imperious Curse and kidnap you are,” her retorts.
“You sound just like my Mère with your commands,” I say, and know that I have cast the right spell to get him reeling.
“Don’t EVER compare me to that woman,” he growls as he steps back and smoothes down his hair. But I do not let him escape. Instead I follow him too closely. He turns and I bang into him. “Fleur,” he pants, “I'm beginning to think that you working for Fred and George isn’t going to work out for us. I want you to stop it, quit.”
“What?!! Ce qui la baise?”
“You heard me, Fleur.” How dare he make such a demand. The jealous porc. He cannot tell me what to do.
“You are just jealous zat I am getting ze attention, zat I am in ze light and not you,” I cry. “You always wanted to control me so it would make you feel more like a man!”
“That’s not true and you know it!” He steps forward and I flinch but do no step back. With a great deal of forced direction he softly takes my arms and rubs them. “I learned the hard way a long time ago that I could never control you.”
“And besides,” I interrupt, “I make too much money from your brozzers. I make more money zan you and I could ever spend.”
“But you don’t have to, Fleur,” he says, “I make enough money to support the both of us.”
“And a bébé as well?” I ask. “You forget, I ‘ad ze job you ‘ave right now and I know for a fact zat it did not pay zat well. I do not want to raise a family zat way, from pay check to pay check.” I look up to him and he stiffens, dropping his hands from my arms. “Oh, Goddess, I am so sorry…,”
“I’ll have you know that I am quite capable of making enough money to take care of a house full of children AND the selfish notions of their mother!” He turns sharply, jerking away from my touch. “I’m a curse breaker, Fleur. Did you know that I am the most highly sought after curse breaker in all of Europe?” he asks sarcastically. “And do you know what I’m doing? Do you? I’ve chained myself to a desk so I can handle vault security at a fucking bank. What a fucking waste of talent! And for what? An ungrateful witch who isn’t even my wife! I gave up EVERYTHING for you!”
The vitriol of his words is like a slap in the face. But the irony is that I know he is right. But I am right too and if he were not such a stubborn and proud goat he would see that.
“I never asked you to give it up. I never did, not even in ze beginning, zat summer. You made ze sacrifice willingly. Did you know zat I asked Père to get me a job wis ze Gringott’s in London because of you…‘oping you would come to me,” I yell. “You cannot theenk zat a Tri-Wizard champion would stoop so low as to chain ‘erself to a desk simply to ‘andle vault security for a fucking bank! I was ze darling of all Wizarding France and I gave it up just to be with you!” I refuse to cry and show him weakness, and I fail miserably as my eyes well with tears. “Oh! You are impossible! Go back to your silly curse breaking if zat is what you need to feel like a man. Do not let me ‘old you back any longer!”
“I just might do that!” he snaps. “There are a few jobs coming up…on the other side of the world, mind you. It would give me plenty of time to get you out of my system!”
“You silly man!” I laugh, “Don’t you know zat you will NEVER be able to get me out of your system?” I smile wickedly, confidently. “Say what you will, but you are only fooling yourself!”
“God damn it!” he shouts in fury and grabs my arms again, this time much more brusquely. For a split second fear and wrath possess me, then melt into something more as he leans forward and sniffs my hair. “Are you as turned on as I am?” he asks.
“Oui, plus,” I gasp as he pulls me roughly against him and with a swish of his wand he Apparates us to the bedroom of our cottage…