The past months had dramatically impacted Fleur moreso than she had realized. Perhaps it was a culmination of the entire war - a war they lost and continued to fight - that had changed her. The bright, arrogant but naive teenager from Bauxbatons who had packed up her life to follow a man whom she only knew his name following a brief conversation had been replaced by a more world-weary woman with a fierceness unlocked by the horrors of war. Even after Harry had died she never wavered in the belief the world wouldn't come crashing down.
Until it did when her husband failed to return home for several nights in a row with no news or information on his whereabouts. At first Fleur's fear and obsessive drive to find him consumed her, only backing down when warned that her questions were drawing the wrong kind of attention. This was followed by anger: how dare Bill up and leave with no instructions on how to reach him! How could he not leave any trace? Not even a hint. She refused to leave Shell Cottage for too long in case her husband returned. This turned into bitter avoidance of the cottage and excuses to work late as to not come home and feel that terrible emptiness in her heart. Still, she didn't give up hope until the morning in the hospital after her attack, and cried. Bill hadn't returned, ever after his family had been attacked. Finally, Fleur was able to admit into the crook of George's neck between muffled sobs that Bill might never come back.
The morning of Bill's return she had only been out of the hospital for a few days and thought her husband had been a sort of fever dream or hallucination from the pain potion until he - gently - held her in his very real and very solid arms. This broke a tempest of emotions in her: mostly crying and several choice French phrases, but also covering him in kisses and holding on so tight she wasn't sure where he began and she ended.
With Bill here a new feeling had taken hold in the back of Fleur's mind and she indulged when out of sight. The voice whispered this moment of happiness in this little bubble they had created wouldn't last. Bill would have to leave again and then what? Would they be so lucky next time? She wanted to help and to do more than play the pretty little receptionist at the bank who swipes secrets when the opportunity arose.
"Hm oui?" She'd been lost in thought, staring out at the iron gray sea lapping lazily on the full yellow sand with unseeing eyes. Combing her shoulder length hair (George's handiwork had faded from shocking pink to a beautiful pale blush) away from her face, Fleur wrapped the thin dark blue jumper tighter around her frame and wandered toward Bill. "I was just watching the waves wh-" Her explanation died at the image of Bill, holding glasses of wine and the incredible bath behind him. A sigh of admiration escaped her lips, followed by a grin. "And what is this, hm? A special occasion?"