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When I was seventeen, I was chosen to represent my school as champion in the Triwizard Tournament. It was known to be extremely dangerous – so dangerous, in fact, that this was the first time it had been held in decades. I was honoured to be selected as the finest of Beauxbatons Academy, but at the end, only three of the four champions were left alive.
When I was eighteen, I moved away from home and worked in London at Gringotts Bank. There I fell in love with a man seven years my senior. He helped me with my English, and seemed to look beyond my beauty to the woman I was inside. I didn't care that he was poor. We loved each other, and that was all that mattered.
When I was nineteen, we became engaged. My mother was shocked at my choice, but she loved me and just wanted me to be happy. His mother was a little more than shocked, but there was nothing she could do. I moved in with Bill's family, and though I tried my best to make them like me, I could tell that no matter what I did, they only saw me as a stuck-up snob.
When I was twenty, my fiancé was horribly injured. He was attacked by an untransformed werewolf, and though he would never be a full werewolf, we were told that he would have "wolfish qualities." He was scarred almost beyond recognition. It was only his long red hair and dragon-tooth earring that convinced me that the mutilated face belonged to my Bill. His mother tried to push me away, but I'm afraid I lost my temper. I told her in no uncertain terms that I didn't care what Bill looked like. It was the man inside that I loved, just as it was the woman inside me that he loved. For the first time, my future mother-in-law looked at me with respect. We were married a few months later.
When I was twenty-one, Harry Potter defeated Voldemort. One of my husband's younger brothers was killed in the final battle. He grieved with the rest of his family, and though I know his heart will never be the same, he's been able to move on. And despite the scars covering his face, I can still see the sadness around his eyes and mouth that will never go away.
When I was twenty-two, I became pregnant. Bill was overjoyed, but I think nothing can compare to his mother's reaction when she heard the news. She nearly strangled me in her over-exuberance, and it took both Bill and her husband to pry her off me. We were good friends by this time, but even so, her constant presence began to grate on me. Bill finally suggested that we go to visit my parents, and I agreed enthusiastically.
When I was twenty-three, my first child was born, a girl. We named her Victoire in memory of the victory won over evil just two years before. She will look like me, of course, but even at that young age, I could tell she had inherited her father's personality. Strong-willed, a little jealous, and full of fun.
When I was twenty-four, I took Victoire to visit her grandparents. Bill had been sent on a trip to Egypt, so it was the perfect opportunity for us. It was wonderful to be back home, speaking my native language again, visiting friends I hadn't seen in years, seeing places I'd frequented in my childhood. My parents doted on Victoire, and it was easy to slip back into some of my old habits of staying up late into the night with friends. One of those friends was an old ex-boyfriend of mine, back when we were at Beauxbatons together. We'd dated for three years, and everyone – our parents included – thought we would marry each other. His name was Philippe.
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I had been out late, as usual, but what was unusual was that Philippe and I were alone. It wasn't intentional. The rest of our friends had left one by one, and by the time we realised we were the only ones left, we were having such a good time that it didn't occur to us that we were being improper. After all, we were just friends, and I was a married woman.
When the club closed, we walked slowly back to my house, laughing and talking, still trying to catch up with each other after more than five years apart. Even though the romantic feelings between us were gone, the friendship was still there. It was a little lonely in England, though I would never complain, and I revelled in Philippe's attention.
At my front door, I turned back to say goodnight to Philippe. And it seems that I was the only one who thought the romance was in the past, for he kissed me. I was startled, naturally, but as soon as I could think, I pulled away.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of red hair in the light of the streetlamps. Bill. He'd seen. He'd seen, and he wouldn't understand.
I shoved Philippe away, but it was too late. Bill was gone. Apparated who knows where.
I didn't know what to do. I had no idea where Bill would go – he couldn't Apparate all the way back to England. So I left Philippe standing on the doorstep and raced inside to tell Maman what had happened. By the time I had finished my story, I was in tears.
She hugged me, told me that everything would be fine, and I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that Bill trusted me, but I knew he'd always been afraid he wasn't good enough for me. That fear had intensified after his attack, but I'd stayed. I'd stayed with him for four years. I'd given birth to his child.
I'd also just kissed another man.
I told my mother that I had to leave, had to find him. She agreed to keep Victoire until Bill and I had worked things out. Papa arranged for the next possible Portkey while I packed and kissed my little girl goodbye.
The Portkey took me to London, and I Apparated from there to our cottage by the sea. It was empty. Frantic, I went to the Burrow, but he wasn't there. I Flooed every member of the family – George and Ron's apartment above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes – Percy and Penelope's house in Yorkshire – Harry and Ginny's apartment in Holyhead – Charlie's cabin in Romania – even Bill's great-aunt Muriel, whom I despised.
Nobody had seen him.
I returned to Shell Cottage for the night, hoping that Bill would come home so we could talk this through. When he hadn't returned by morning, I knew I couldn't handle his absence without our daughter, so I returned to my parents' home to collect her.
The next day, Bill's boss Flooed to ask why Bill hadn't come to work. I fought back tears as I told him that he was out of town due to a family emergency, and I didn't know when he would be back. It was partially true, I told myself.
That evening, Harry and Ron stopped by the cottage. They told me that they could find Bill for me, if that's what I wanted, but I told them no. I was too proud. If Bill wanted to come back, then he would.
I tried my best to go about life as usual, but there was a void in everything around me. I don't think I'd realised how much his presence meant to me. Even when he was away on business, I knew he was coming back, so he lingered even when gone. Now, memories of Bill haunted me, taunted me. His clothes on the floor of the bathroom. His scent in our bed. His muddy boots by the back door. His stack of steaks in the freezer.
Two more nights passed. I thanked whatever was holy that Victoire was too young to know what was happening as I tucked her into her little cot and set the Charm to play her favourite lullaby.
Since the night Bill left, I hadn't given in to tears. But I couldn't hold them in any longer. I tiptoed out of the nursery, stifling my sobs, and rushed down to the den where I collapsed in Bill's chair. Curling up, I breathed in Bill's familiar scent and gave in to the misery of being alone, the fear that he would never return, the guilt of letting myself be alone with Philippe.
I was crying so hard I didn't hear the crack of Apparition, nor the latch of the back door give way, nor the steps that crossed the hall and paused behind my chair. But I did feel the warm, familiar touch of a hand wiping away my tears, brushing my tangled hair from my face, and the strong arms wrapping around me, picking me up and then cradling me close.
I clung to my husband, pouring out nonsense in garbled French and English as he held me. Gradually, I calmed enough to tell him how sorry I was, but he wouldn't let me finish. He silenced me with fierce kiss, and I responded in kind. My fingers clenched in his hair as our tongues tangled together, and soon his hands had crept up the back of my shirt.
Eager to show him that I was his and his alone, I began unbuttoning his shirt, my hands smoothing across the planes of his chest as our kisses became deeper. I scratched my nails lightly down his back, and Bill groaned into my mouth, biting at my lips before moving to suck and lick along my jaw. Gasping, I turned in his lap to straddle him, pressing myself as close as I could. I never wanted to leave his arms again.
We were already bare to the waist, and it did not take much longer for the rest of our clothes to make their way to the floor. As we moved together, finally together, I pressed kisses all along Bill's face and told him how much I loved him, how much I'd missed him, and how much I wanted him. At last, he captured my mouth with his as he spilled inside me, groaning his release, and I followed, shattering above him and crying out his name.
I lay against my husband's chest as he stroked his fingers through my hair and murmured sweet nothings. I felt so at peace, so content, like a cat sitting in the sun. There was no need to explain what had happened in France. Bill was home. He was home, he was mine, and he knew that I was his.
Gently, Bill lifted me in his arms and carried me to our bed, laying me down gently before curling up behind me. I pressed a kiss to his hand and snuggled closer, revelling in the warmth of his body behind mine as I drifted off to sleep.