Bill could hardly fail to notice the upsetting goings-on, though it was unlikely anyone but Fleur could detect that he was concerned. He was used to being cool under fire; after all, a significant part of curse-breaking was convincing the people around you that you knew exactly what you were doing, even when you were making it up on the spot. When the memo came winging in and dropped onto his desk, however, his stomach dropped. Was she all right? What had happened?
With a force of will, he stopped himself tearing over to her. If she was at leisure to write him a memo, she had probably not been taken into custody or otherwise immediately endangered. He took the pretext of collecting a few documents relevant to her position, in case he needed a reason ("checking on my wife while Death Eaters are about," while a good reason, wasn't the sort you told the Death Eaters themselves). He paced his steps carefully so as not to look like he was hurrying, though his usual office strolls tended to happen at half the speed.
"Fleur? You needed me?" Well, at least she was not surrounded by deat eaters, though she did look pale and frightened.