In his life, Bill's lost a lot of things. He's lost gemstones and portkeys and girlfriends and directions. He's lost keys to doors and telephone numbers and ideas and clothes and business cards and money, but he's never lost family, and elderly little-known aunts or uncles don't count ( Read more... )

Last year, he didn't do the thing himself: he asked Bar for a birthday present for Fleur. She gave him an engagement ring and really, nothing could have been more perfect. But this year in the midst of everything, Bill's done it himself ( Read more... )

Alexandria ( Read more... )

There, the thing is settled. Taking a deep breath, Bill walks into their flat: he wants this done before Fleur gets back. Wand drawn -- he knows this spellwork intimately -- he begins methodically dismantling the flat and packing everything into three trunks, shrinking items as he goes. It doesn't take so very long and it's clear that this isn't ( Read more... )

Bill's thoughts are not fit for public consumption. They're barely fit for his own: he paces the floor of Room 42. Back and forth, back and forth: does she think he's stayed away this whole time over a buggering fight? Has she got his letter yet? Does she have a sense he's trying to reach her and can't? All the thoughts, of course, are punctuated ( Read more... )

This room has been a place of happiness and of reunion and of love and of communion, but now it feels little better than a prison. Of all the times to not be able to leave ( Read more... )

He would pick her up and carry her over the threshold, but that's for newlyweds.

He would bring her tea and sandwiches, but he suspects she's not hungry.

He would shower her with kisses.

I can do that. But first, he closes the door behind them and walks her over to their bed and pats the spot beside him as he sits. "Tell me, love: tell me ( Read more... )

There's a full moon out there. Bill stands by the window to Room 42, gazing out.

Werewolves are out there; the bar has a full complement of them, after all. An occasional howl makes its way to his ears. He stares out at whatever orb passes for the moon here on the asteroid and feels...

nothing.As he's done the past several months, he's monitored ( Read more... )

It's time. I promised Fleur.

As he rises to answer the knock at the door, Bill swallows hard: he doesn't like admitting he needs help. Never has, most likely never will, but there are things he simply doesn't know and has to find out ( Read more... )

( for Albus Dumbledore )