Chapter 3
July, 2000
Bill held Fleur in his arms, thrusting in and out at a vicious pace as he murmured the filthy words he loved to say and she loved to hear. He was exhausted and nearly at his breaking point, but he managed to bring his wife to one final orgasm before letting go himself, coming with a rather animalistic roar. He rolled to his side, panting, and pulled Fleur into his chest, reveling in the pure feeling of her skin against his, her lips pressing adoring kisses across his chest. He loved that he could have nights like these, where they went round after round after round, not stopping until morning sunlight was beginning to peek into their room. Most of the side effects from Greyback's attack had been frustrating to deal with: the agitation that ran through him for days on end surrounding a full moon, the way his skin would itch and tear when the moon finally did reach its peak, even the simple things like preferring raw meat quickly became exasperating. Fleur often ended up cooking two separate meals to make him happy, and although he insisted time after time he could prepare his own food, he was after all a grown man, she insisted that she was his wife and it was a way of showing him her love. But it would still wear on her, he could see it. The only "perk", if one could call it that, that came from his semi-lupine state was an almost insatiable sex drive. Werewolves were, after all, part wolf, but Fleur was able to match him perfectly as Veelas thrived most when they received frequent sexual attention.
He couldn't stop running his hands over her, the gesture no longer sexual but instead tender, telling her through his touch how much he adored her. But the moment was suddenly shattered when he looked down, intending to kiss her, and found tears coursing down her cheeks. Instantly he was scrambling, trying to figure out what was wrong. "What is it? Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" he asked frantically, taking her face in his hands, but instead of answering Fleur simply pushed him away and sat up, gathering the bedsheet around her and covering her chest, refusing to make eye contact.
"I 'ave a confession to make, my love, and I need you to forgive me." she said tearfully. Still not entirely comprehending, Bill pushed himself up slowly until he was sitting beside her, staring and waiting silently, though he sensed that she wanted a response. It was a trick he had learned early on as the oldest when his siblings began coming to him rather than their parents; if he simply held his peace, letting his brothers or sister stew for a moment in his silence, they were rarely able to hold back. He made no promises and said nothing he might regret later on.
Just like his siblings, the discomfort of the silence broke Fleur down quickly, and then the words and the sobs were flooding out of her so fast that Bill almost couldn't keep up. When the torrent was finished (of words at least; the tears continued to flow freely), he slowly began piecing it together, leaving out her excuses and pleas and found that the truth was actually rather succinct.
"You cheated on me?" he asked, stunned. He probably sounded like an idiot, but in that moment he didn't really care. He needed clarity. Head in her hands, Fleur just nodded, and Bill heard himself take in an involuntarily sharp, heavy breath.
"Was it just a one-time thing?" he questioned, slowly scooting away from her and rising to his feet, beginning to pace in agitation. Again she gave no verbal answer but instead merely shook her head, slowly this time, as if that somehow might make the blow less painful. "Who?" he asked sharply, determined to make her speak.
"'Is name is Michael," she said so softly he almost didn't hear it. But Bill had so many more questions, and the interrogation continued with him not allowing her to hide behind tears and nonverbal communication. Fleur eventually admitted that she had been seeing this man, a coworker, for the entirety of their marriage. She insisted that despite the length of the affair, there were no feelings between them, that her heart belonged only to Bill. He had scoffed at that, then rolled his hand in a rather callous gesture for her to continue. She swore up and down that the only reason she continued to see Michael was because he was wealthy; he bought her fancy clothes, jewels, and took her on expensive dates that Bill simply couldn't afford on his Gringotts salary, not unless he returned to the highest risk fieldwork.
When he asked why she had insisted he stay at home when her affair would be much easier to carry on in his absence, Fleur had said again that it was because she loved him and couldn't bear for him to be away from her for so long, but here Bill started to see the holes in her story. Like any other Gringotts employee, Bill had to travel occasionally for work, but he was never gone longer than a day or two at most. What good were the gifts from her paramour if she could only use them three or four days out of the year? And if money was so important to her, then she absolutely should have allowed him to make the lucrative salary of an expert curse breaker. More and more questions began to bubble up, and he began to slowly pick at her story with a cool, collected tone that he knew would infuriate her.
Sure enough, after several minutes of this Fleur suddenly sprang to her feet, still naked, and rounded on him with the coldest look in her eyes he had ever seen. "Fine!" she all but screamed. "You want ze truth?" she demanded angrily, her accent growing thicker in her rage.
"I would rather like that, yes," Bill quipped, and for a moment he saw murder in her eyes at his sudden and apparent disinterest.
"I never loved you. Zat is ze truth. You know we Veela thrive on sex, and when we met I could see zat you 'ad potential to keep up with me as a sexual companion." Fleur all but hissed the words out at him. "And zen when you were bitten, I knew zat ze wolf it would awaken in you would not just be satisfactory, you would be ze perfect lover. But of course, you Weasley's 'ave honor. You would not be a- 'ow do ze Brits say it? A bit on ze side?"
"That's why you married me?" Bill asked in utter shock. "You married me to use as a fuck toy?" he spat the words out venomously, but Fleur just responded with a callous laugh.
"Exactement, mon amour. And zen I found a man zat can provide for me and does not mind ze sharing." She sneered at him, and Bill all but stumbled back. His beautiful, perfect wife had disappeared before his eyes and was replaced by a cold and calculating creature. But that realization was nothing compared to his next thought:
"Wait." he held up his hands, trying to think, trying to make sense of it without putting any more despicable actions on her shoulders, but it was practically impossible. "We've never used contraception, and we have sex nearly every day, how have you never...?" he trailed off. As soon as the question was out he wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Once again he was met with that laugh that sent chills down his spine.
"I 'ave, actually," Fleur said, seeming to revel in his pain as he realized what she was saying.
"You... without even telling me? Without even thinking about the fact that those were my children too?" Bill demanded, his tone so full of rage that Fleur actually took a step back, as if afraid he might charge her. But when he made no sign of actually attacking her (as if he would ever hit a woman, he thought to himself), she straightened and stepped back towards him, confident once more and thrusting out her breasts, sliding her hands seductively over her still-bare curves. She was trying to use her body to draw him in, he realized as she put on the sweet, charming smile that had so often broken him down in the past. That coy smirk had had him on his knees for her, naked or not, more times than he could count, but now the sight of her sickened him, and he nearly vomited at the words that followed it.
"Mon amour, zey would 'ave only gotten in ze way," Fleur said sweetly. "Our life togezzer is perfect now, as it is."
"Perfect? You've been having an affair, aborted I don't even want to know many of our children, and you want to tell me our life is perfect because we have sex every day?" Bill nearly choked on the words as they tumbled out of his mouth, grief hitting him hard, harder than he had ever felt it before. Suddenly, he couldn't even bear to see the person in front of him anymore. She was no longer his wife, the woman who had been beside him after his attack, after Fred died, at every important and meaningful moment of his life for the last three years. Now she was a stranger, and he wanted her out.
"Get out of my house," he growled at her. Fleur stepped back again, seeming surprised, though how she could be he didn't know. "Beel, my darling, let's talk about zis yes? We-"
He cut her off before she could get any further. "No. No more talking. Leave. And do not-" he surprised even himself with the vicious snarl that came out. "-come back. Accio trunk!" he snatched his wand and shouted the spell, summoning the largest trunk they owned and storming about the room, tossing her belongings into it. He ripped clothes down from the hangers, books were thrown roughly off the shelf, shoes and socks and anything else he could find packed away in the blink of an eye. Lastly, he tossed her the dressing gown hanging from the hook on their bedroom door, and he felt a pang in his heart as he recognized it: Molly had made it herself, from her very best materials, as a wedding gift for Fleur.
Fleur simply stood there, motionless, until he was finished. Then he turned to her, chest heaving. "Well?" Bill asked, raising an eyebrow and gesturing impatiently to the trunk that now waited between them at her feet. For a moment he expected her to argue as defiance flashed in her eyes, but then she wrapped herself angrily in the robe, grabbed the handle, and turned on the spot, vanishing in an instant.
Bill stared at the place where his wife had disappeared for a second longer, then turned and threw open the bedroom door, stormed down the narrow wooden stairs into the kitchen, and grabbed the biggest bottle of firewhiskey he could find. He tapped his wand a little too hard against the cork, sending it flying across the room, but in the moment he couldn't bring himself to care as he drank down a healthy swallow. He could find it later. For now, he had things to pack away and wards to adjust.