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It isn't the heat that catches Bill's attention first: it's the lights. Everywhere they look, there are lights. Blinking, stagnating, moving, forming patterns, forming designs, and he knows deserts: this is not any Egyptian desert he's ever had the privilege to visit. Holding Fleur tightly by the hand, they step out into the bright-light-blinking-darkness and the hot hot hot that tells him this town being built where it is has to be some miracle of modern technology.

Up and down the street he looks, and then something catches his eye. Well, something beyond the crowds and the noise and the heat and the lights. He nods. "Look, love. Is that supposed to be the Eiffel Tower?"

Were they to turn around, they would see a pyramid with a jet of blue cascading up into the night sky.

"What is this place?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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*Fleur is very confused.*

Thiz iz not Paris. It iz too hot for July. And smellz like exhaust. And-- *She turns around* Bill! Look! A pyramid! Did Egypt get drunk and confuse itself?

*She spots a group of strippers coming out of a club for the night.* Oh, look, whorez! ...I want that one'z bootz. *She starts to follow the one with the thigh highs.*

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He laughs. "No, no, Fleur. We'll get you a pair to call your own."

That's when a sign catches his eye:

Welcome to Las Vegas!

Bill raises one eyebrow, pulling Fleur back from stalking the strippers. "I know of this place. People come here to gamble, to shop, to play, to get married." He makes the recitation from memory: he's read of this place somewhere along the line, in some travel guide or other, or in a history book, or in the newspaper. "I wonder what we ought to do first."

Perhaps the bar put them here for those thigh-high boots.

He reaches into his pocket. All he has is a handful of paper money: pound notes. He's not sure how they got there or why he has them, but he's certain they will come in handy.

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*She looks over Bill's shoulder. No door.*

...I guess we are telling your mother some other time.

*She gives the other tourists a once over. They standing in the middle of the main drag. There are pirate ships sinking down the street, tigers doing street shows, dancing midgets juggling flaming drinks, a sphinx--*

*Fleur blinks*

That waz a real sphinx!

*She tugs Bill's arm around her shoulders and leans them against a wall, out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the strip.*

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He turns and looks at the pyramid behind them and yes, catches the shadow of something large enough to be a Sphinx moving off into the background.

But Bill is nothing if not competent in new and confusing situations; he tucks Fleur against his body and glances at her for a moment before smiling. He speaks quietly. "Many, many cities have hidden sides to them, Fleur. Why should this place be any different?" He kisses the top of her head. "We're here. Let's explore, what do you say?"

His eyes have a mischievous twinkle to them.

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*Fleur blinks again.*

I say I need I drink.

*Several scantly clad dancers wander by, and Fleur gets distracted again.*

I think we need to go where ever they are going. *She tries to look very, very innocent as she hugs Bill's arm to her chest and starts to tug him in the mostly naked people's vague direction.*

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The corner of his mouth curls into a smile; they follow the mostly-naked people down the street until they turn left into what looks like a golden entryway. They walk inside and Bill looks up and up at the sky... no, it's the ceiling, painted to look like the sky and if the clouds were only moving, it would be like the ceiling in the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

But the clouds aren't moving, and it's impossible to tell what time it is in this place. The golden hue of the walls softly echoes up to the sconces lighting the ceiling or sky, and it really is a fairly breathtaking piece of work. The corridor is lined with shops and Bill can't help but laugh.

"Look, your boots. In..." he counts: "...seven colours, love. You can have a pair in each colour if you like." He points to a pair in international orange patent leather. "But first let's get you a drink, shall we?" They follow the walkway until they see a Roman Centurion standing guard.

A Roman Centurion.

No, it's just a costume; Bill walks Fleur to the bureau de change and turns a quantity of his Muggle paper money into a plastic card that reads Caesars Palace Las Vegas. Shrugging, he puts the card into his pocket and splits the poker chips with Fleur. He knows that by watching they'll be able to figure out exactly what they need to do.

And so they watch people sliding the plastic cards into something on a machine and then pressing buttons, and the lights and sounds are very, very pretty indeed, and a woman dressed in apropriately Romanesque clothing comes by to ask what they might like to drink.

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*Absently*

I am not dressing up as your Cannon'z team mascot again, minet. I don't care how much it clashez, you get to be painted orange for a week next time.

*She blinks at the wait girl.*

That iz not very period. Do you have firewhiskey?

*The little wait girl doesn't even look surprised and sidles off on her way.*

*Now, all those shiny things on the casino floor are getting Fleur's attention. She wanders toward the closest slot machine and watches a muggle make the machine work across the alley.*

Hmmmm.

*She does as she saw: slide card into slot, wait for blinking lights and numbers behind dollar sign light up, push the button, and watch flashing lights. The digital wheels spin. One, two, three jackpots. And the numbers behind the dollar sign starting rolling higher and higher before her little plastic card is spit out. The frantic flashing lights continue.*

...well, that waz pointless.

*And she wanders back to Bill.*

Forgive her, please. She only knows poker. She's never seen a slot machine before in her life.

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The crowd, however, moves Fleur back to the slot machine amid shouts of you won! and look at that jackpot! and one of the gladiators patrolling the floor is there in an instant, protective, and people are pointing at Fleur.

"She your lucky charm, buddy?" asks someone he's never seen before; that makes Bill laugh. "Always. Fleur, Fleur: what did you win here?" His arm around her, he watches the machine and then he realises what's happened. The crowd watching certainly has.

He watches as the number goes higher and higher. $100,000, $150,000, $200,000... and there it stops.

Bill's not sure exactly what it translates to in Galleons, but he knows it's a lot of money. More than he's ever had; more than his mum and dad have ever had and he thinks: won't this make a nice present for them. Smiling, caught up in the excitement of the sights and sounds and congratulations of the people around them, he holds Fleur tightly.

"I bet they're newlyweds," comes a voice from the crowd.

Bill turns round to face the speaker. "No, not yet." But it does give him an idea, and he reaches for Fleur's hand, kissing her palm.

"Oh, cute. They're English!"

Bill can't help but smirk.

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Erk!

*Fleur tries not to flail in all her confusion.*

OI! I am not English! I am French! I 'ope your next bottle of wine iz vinegar!

*Bill and Fleur are suddenly swept away by security and up a private elevator to a fanciful suite reserved for highrollers. At a discount, of course. At least Fleur got her firewhiskey free from the very friendly host after he triple checked her wand for any jinxes to help her win.*

*Fleur falls back on the water bed and floats with the jiggles. The room theme seems to be 'Atlantis' or 'Under The Sea' or 'How Many Topless Women With Tails Can We Get In The Room'. She really isn't sure which.*

*And she bursts out laughing.*

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There are mermaids on the walls, but his mermaid is lying on the bed laughing, and he loves the sound of her laughter. He takes in the suite in all its details: a parlour with dining area, sitting area, bar, food, the largest television he's ever seen, a spa-tub... and then the bed Fleur is on and another bath beyond that.

He sits next to her; the waterbed moves up and down in waves and it makes Fleur laugh again.

"I think that stranger in the casino was right, love: you are my lucky charm." He pats the little plastic card and opens the curtains; they've a spectacular view of the strip from here, up in the direction of the Eiffel Tower he saw earlier.

"Let's get married here, in Las Vegas. Tomorrow."

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*Fleur lays her head in Bill's lap. Not surprised in the least.*

Do I get to wear a tiara?

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Laughing, he strokes her hair. "Of course. You are a princess, and princesses must wear tiaras at their weddings. It's the rule." He nods to the window and the scene below. "I'm certain we can find one. It must be perfect, though and Fleur: have you any idea how much money you won down there? We can chalk it up to beginner's luck, but..." Bill does a quick calculation. "That's got to be over... 27,000 Galleons. I think that entitles you to not just the tiara, but to whatever else your heart desires."

He can't bend down to kiss her without disturbing her, but he does the next best thing: takes her hand in his and kisses each finger in turn.

Alas, the mermaids on the wall don't even giggle. Their smiles, captured mid-song, stay resolutely still.

"Take you tiara-shopping tonight if you want."

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*She giggles and pulls his hand down to kiss each knuckle in return.*

*And now she's flying across the room with Bill in tow.*

Come on, come on! We only have a few hourz! Only twenty-four, Bill!

*They wander back out on the strip after the casino shops does not to pass the first look through test. Fleur is only distracted by two strip clubs, and the first gets boring very quickly from all the silicon and no one can give Bill a proper lap dance. The second is entertaining until Fleur decides she knows how to pole dance better than the rest in four inch heels and Bill tries to get her off the stage.*

*Fleur is counting twenties as they continue on their quest for the perfect wedding accessories.*

You know, I think you should check your pantz, minet. That russian girl thought you were very cute.

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"There was a Russian girl?"

He glances away, a mischievous smile on his face: this entire thing has been too much fun, and they've only just arrived. In the middle of the street, surrounded by tourists, he takes her in her arms and twirls her round and round before planting a very solid kiss on her lips.

And something glittery in the window catches his eye. "Look."

It's a jewellery shop and the display is gemstones: alexandrite. Tanzanite. Emerald. Diamond. Opal. Tourmaline. And they're all simply exquisite, and Bill knows if he's got one measurable weakness besides Fleur it's for gemstones. "Let's go in and look."

Because for the first time, money is no object.

(And he's still wearing both trousers and pants, even if there was a Russian girl.)

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*Fleur zooms in on the lone fantasy style tiara. Gold, leafy, and full of real diamonds.*

'ello very nice American shop owner. Please may we see that? *She helpfully waves her wad of twenties to move things along.*

*The shopper owner laughs at the both of them. When Fleur finally manages to get the tiara settled on her head properly...she just looks up at Bill with wide eyes.*

Please?

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Bill turns his hands palm upwards, a why not? gesture; he's not entirely used to the American money but it won't be that hard to figure out. He nods to the shopkeeper.

"Lucky at the casino?" the man asks, watching Fleur primp in the mirror. "That's $3750."

But Bill just grins, counting out cash. "I was lucky before I got to the casino, my friend, and I'll be lucky when the casino winnings are long since spent." He hands over the pile of bills; the shopkeeper (who reminds Bill quite a bit of a younger Ollivander, quite honestly) double-checks and nods, satisfied.

"Anything else you two need?"

Bill shrugs, turning to Fleur. "Something else, love? A wedding band to match that engagement ring?"

The shopkeeper grins. "Getting married here?"

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Oui. Seemed like a fun thing to do.

*She is already comparing metals and plucking things from the open case.*

Minet, you get thiz one. *She holds up a plain gold band.* ...er. *She picks out a plain, white gold band for herself.* Matchz my ring. We can add something later. If you want. *She blushes slightly because they are actually doing all of this. They are getting married.*

'ere, have some stripper money. I do not know how to count it. *She pushes a large pile at the nice shop man.*

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He almost feels as if he's along for some spectacular ride: a whirlwind, a roller-coaster, and he doesn't mind in the least. He picks up the band and studies it, shrugs and nods, letting the shopkeeper find the proper size for the both of them. The rings themselves aren't terribly expensive; a pile of money comes back to them.

Bill hands it back to Fleur and doesn't even mind when she tucks it into the bodice part of her dress. In fact, it makes him smile again; he adores her and could watch her play like this all night.

Perhaps they will. He leans forward, addressing the shopkeeper. "So tell me, friend: we're visitors here. What does one need to do to wed in this town?"

The man behind the counter laughs: it's far from the first time he's been asked this same question. He takes out a small map and hands it to Bill. "It's about the easiest thing there is to do here, pal. Go to the courthouse right here on 3rd street, it's open till midnight on Mondays. $55 gets you a marriage license -- all you need's ID -- and then you just pick a chapel." He gives them both a smile. "They'll give you a list of places there. Heck, you could even do a drive-through wedding if you didn't want to get out of the car."

Bill looks at Fleur and grins, blushing, gathering up the bag with boxes of jewellery tucked safely inside. He thanks the shopkeeper, rests his arm around Fleur, and they head out into the night.

"What next, love?" He glances up at the next clock he sees. 9:45, more or less. They could do this thing tonight if they wanted.

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*Fleur thinks on it.*

Dress or the paperwork?

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"Hmm." He contemplates the question.

"Let's don't hurry ourselves. We've got rings, you've got your tiara. We know we can certainly bear one more night living in sin, as my Mum would say. Do you want a dress? Do you want to go barefoot? How about marrying in a t-shirt that says I Got Married in Las Vegas on it and nothing else?"

He wraps his arm round her, happy. "Whatever you like, my love. Whatever you like."

There is, he thinks, something to be said for celebrating the occasion their way and their way alone. "We might have time for all of it tonight. If not... we'll fill in the missing pieces in the morning. I can't guarantee first thing in the morning, but we'll get to it."

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*sweetly*

I love you. And I think you are trying to get me to kill you with that t-shirt thing.

I want old english lace. Which one of these placez lookz like they will have a gown with old english lace?

*She cuddles her tiara box close to her chest. This place needs more signs that make sense!*

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As surreptitiously as possible, Bill draws out his wand.

"Dress shop: point me."

The wand wavers in his open palm before pointing out the proper direction; they follow it down the strip, back in the direction of Caesars Palace and the Forum shops and sure enough, there is a wedding shop there.

"Just like magic. Shall we?" He opens the door for her; she's immediately circled by shop attendants.

You're so in your element. I love you, and I've never loved anybody more. I'll marry you tonight, I'll marry you tomorrow, I'll marry you the next day and every day.

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*There is stalking. There is haughty. There are very rude words in French.*

Stop trying to sell me that! It haz plastic beading.

*She shoos two little assistants away from Bill and uses him as a litmus test of several colors. Solid white looks to flash against red hair. Bone is lovely but there are only three dresses, and they have a square neckline or empire waists. Fleur settles on ivory. There are oval necks with antique lace, two piece dresses, slinky numbers that button up to the neck.*

Nothing, nothing, ugly, bad stitching, cheap, ugly--Bill! Help me! *Fleur helps herself by dropping the 'no, nevah in life' pile on Bill's head.*

That iz it! Thiz iz the last one. If it doez not fit, I am calling my mother in the morning.

*She stalks back into the dressing rooms with several attendants in hot pursuit.*

...oh

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He hands the no, nevah in life pile back to one of the assistants with a benign shrug. She'll either find the one she wants or not, but in the meantime, he decides he might as well look at the men's side of the shop. He's never been one to dress up; it doesn't suit his temperament or his demeanour, and when the shop attendant asks what he wants he answers just something simple.

He actually likes the first... what are they, suits? tuxedoes? the first whichever she shows him, and while he hears Fleur's voice, alternately loud and soft in tone floating over from her changing room, he takes his own suit to the dressing room to try it on, all those bags of jewellery safe with him.

He likes it. He may never wear it again, but he likes it. And so he dresses again in his jeans and shirt and boots and moves back into the shop, nodding to the woman, satisfied.

He's easy.

She wraps the outfit for him in a dress bag and he leans back against the counter, satisfied, while he waits for Fleur.

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*Fleur pops her head out of her dressing room. She looks hopeful.*

Bill? Um. Come 'ere? What do you--?

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He glances up and moves over. "Step out here where I can..."

Oh.

It's one of the most beautiful, breathtaking things he's ever seen and suddenly it hits him: she is doing this for them.

Because she wants to. Because she wants him.

He takes it all in: the lace, the drop off the shoulder, the perfection of it, the train on the floor behind her. The dress looks as if it were painted on: it's that lovely.

"I've never seen anything more beautiful."

He means every word.

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*This smile is a little shakey.*

Found it.

*She comes out of the stall. Hesitates, then rests her cheek against his chest, her arms wrapping around his hips.*

Sure?

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He's sure.

About every last bit of it: the dress, the tux, the rings, the tiara, Las Vegas, Fleur, marriage, happiness, determination, forever.

"It's beautiful. You're spectacular. I love you. I want for nothing when you're by my side."

Her head rises and falls with his breathing. Bill closes his eyes and can feel his heartbeat.

"I'm also sure about the dress."

With that he opens his eyes again and studies her one more time, painting the picture of this moment in his memories.

"I'm sure."

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*Fleur closes her eyes. And smiles.*

Had to ask.

*She holds tight to the calm of the moment. Then they are motion again, and Fleur is a giddy little whirlwind dragging Bill out the door.*

Come, come let uz--erk! *And she is chased back into the shop by the multiple little attendants so she can actually pay for the dress she is still wearing.* Sorry! Sorry! Please, please, pardon! I do apologize!

*Bill sits down outside the door and just laughs.*

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He loves her.

He simply loves her; she makes him smile in ways he never thought he could. From deep within his soul, from a place deep inside his heart and suddenly, inexplicably, he can't wait to marry her.

Bill has always let his heart dictate both the pace and circumstances of his life; he's never seen fit to live any other way. If his heart tells him now's the time, then now is definitely the time. With a subtle tap of his wand, he conjures two perfectly acceptable British passports; he's seen enough of them in Egypt to know exactly what they need to look like. They'll last a number of hours: certainly long enough to get the necessary paperwork from the courthouse.

He stands as Fleur leaves the shop, parcels in hand, and takes the dress and tux from her. He looks up at a nearby clock. "We've still got an hour and a half. Shall we?" Shyly, he shows her the two passports. He hasn't been wasting his time.

From:

*She takes a look at the funny muggle identity wallets things.*

Hmmm. Even got my birthday right.

I tease! I tease!

*She attaches herself to Bill's hip since he is covered in packages and bridal things.*

Let'z go! Where are we going? How do we do thiz? Do we need to find a photographer? What what what?

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Bill's never been married before; he really has no idea what or where or when or how. But he is good at taking a large task and breaking it down into its fundamental pieces. Tucking the passports away safely, he juggles the packages and jewelled tiara and every other thing in the world, it seems.

"Let's... put these things away in our room, love, and find the courthouse, and then we can go from there. Right?" Everything here is so close, after all, and they're right here by the hotel. And so with arms full and a very bouncy and excited Fleur at his side, they deposit everything in their suite, where Bill does have the foresight to put enough protective charms on everything so that nothing might be taken in their absence.

"Courthouse." He pats his pocket: passports are there and a quick check tells him that he's still got paper money to spend on this, and the clock tells him they've more than an hour for paperwork, though he doubts it will take quite that long.

A quick taxi ride deposits them in front of the courthouse where things really do go like clockwork. He gets the impression that the clerk there could really care less about the legitimacy of the passports; she does this by rote and with a congratulations and good luck! hands them a brochure with chapel names and locations and hours, and a State of Nevada Marriage License ("not valid unless signed," the clerk reminds them).

Bill kisses Fleur as they leave the courthouse: this is one time when moving quickly feels perfect.

And why, he asks himself, should anybody mess about with perfection?

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*Fleur giggles. One last thing and she has a new last name to go with her pretty pretty princess dress.*

Now, where...? *She starts going down the list of nicer chapels and theme places.*

I have no idea who 'lviz iz, but I do not like hiz flashy go-go bootz. There iz that pirate ship. Do you want to be Captain Jack? Or that place full of tigerz and cod piecez. ...Don't think you would like that one much. Or that pyramid. *She gives the casino a look.* ...I don't trust those Sphinex dancing girlz. And you will want to plunder the tomb in the name Merlin afterward. A gondola? Erk. I do not trust the canalz in the real Italy, why trust fake onez? ...Bill, what iz a Kling-on and do I want to be one?

*She looks up to twap Bill because he's laughing at her and not answering when nspiration Strikes.*

...Bill. We're getting married in that!

From:

Of course they are: he should have known.

It's as close as they'll get to the real thing, at least here in this town.

"After you, my love." With a nod of thanks in the general direction of the courthouse, Bill hails another taxi. It's crowded enough so that they could probably simply Apparate there, but...

"Paris, please."

The hotel.

He's got no idea if the chapel is open at this time of night, or if prior arrangements have to have been made, but he's fully confident that this will go their way: they've had nothing but the best of luck since stepping foot into this town. And as a last resort, he knows his bride-to-be can be extremely persuasive, and that no man can turn her down if she really has her heart set on something.

They step out of the taxi. Once it's all arranged, they'll only need a bit of time to bring over their wedding clothes and be ready. It's a curious feeling, Bill realises: he's about to wed the love of his life in a surprise ceremony in a place he never expected to be, and it couldn't feel more right.

He's full of wonderment for what's been created here as he steps into the lobby of the hotel but that wonderment will have to wait; they follow the signs to the office, but it's closed. He's about to tell Fleur that they might have to wait till morning to arrange it when the door opens and they find themselves face-to-face with the man coming through the door.

"We're closed..." he begins, but that's before he looks at Fleur.

Bill raises one eyebrow: he's seen people completely caught up in the Veela charm before. He has a feeling they'll get their way, and he leaves it up to Fleur entirely.

But he doesn't let go of her hand.

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*Fleur giggles.*

Non, you are not.

*She leans close on her tip toes so her mouth is against the host's ear.*

Help me marry my handsome husband on your big fake tower tonight. It will be good for your spiritual health!

*And she frog hops the man back into his office for the paper work with her free hand and Bill in tow. There is much giggling.*

Thiz iz very easy! 'oo can complain about wedding planning? Now, where do we change?

From:

Later, Bill will claim not to remember much about this half-hour of his life: being shown into dressing rooms, or Apparating from there back to the hotel to get their belongings -- and then again, having forgot the rings -- or helping Fleur to dress, or handing her the bouquet that the hotel provided. He'll claim not to remember the hotel photographer agreeing to stand as witness, or very many of the words spoken.

But deep inside, he hears it all and he listens to it all and he agrees to it all, and he thinks it's one of the best things he's ever done in his life. He hears the words about sharing and responsibility and love and honouring and cherishing. He sees himself hand Fleur her ring and he sees Fleur hand him his ring, and he watches, as if from far away, as they stand so solemnly and quietly side by side. He doesn't notice the stiffness of the white shirt and vest and tie against his skin, far more used to the soft cotton of a t-shirt, and he doesn't notice the tuxedo's tails falling to the back of his knees but he does know Fleur and her extreme beauty, and he knows he's never seen anything like it.

Like her.

He hears himself repeat the words I, Bill, take you, Fleur, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, to love and to cherish, from this day forward.

He feels them inside his soul. He feels them as an irrefutable and absolute truth, as an expression of the depth of his love for her.

He sees her soul when he looks into her eyes, and it's her turn for vows.

He might later claim not to remember, but it's all indelibly etched onto his heart.

From:

*In the back of her mind, she is thinking how Mrs. Weasley is going to skin her alive once she realizes she lost the chance to plan every detail of her oldest son's wedding. Or that her little sister did not get to be flower girl. Then, Bill finishes buttoning her into her wedding dress and kisses the curve of her neck where it meets her shoulder, and she remembers why this is a good idea. Planning would take too long.*

*And she is in front minister and witness out on the fake Eiffel Tower fumbling to get a ring on Bill's finger. He touches her shaking wrist and helps her, and if she wasn't in love with him before, she would have fallen for the smile he gives her as she recites her vows.*

I, Fleur, take you, Bill, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, to love and to cherish, from this day forward.

*The minister says something about joined hands and Na-va-da. All she hears is 'husband' and 'wife' as Bill lifts up her veil. She never thought she would cry. A few happy tears come to her eyes when Bill tilts her chin up and kisses her.*

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Bill's surprised he's so... calm.

He knows this is the absolute right thing to do: not just to marry Fleur -- he always wanted to do that -- but to do it this way, here, on the top of this tower, looking out over the city with all the lights blinking and flashing, and there's some poetic justice to this wedding taking place in a desert. Any desert, because it feels like home.

"Je t'aime," he whispers in his terrible French accent. "I love you, Fleur." He almost says Fleur Delacour but stops and realises for the first time that he doesn't know if she's planning on taking his surname or keeping her own. Not that it matters in the least: names are names are names, and they don't change who people are unless they want it to happen that way.

For this moment on this day, though, none of that matters. A cool breeze springs up for them and it makes her veil flutter back, and the bouquet of white flowers -- roses, lilies, calla lilies, stephanotis, greens -- cascading down dance in the sudden breeze.

The photographer-witness clicks away happily and it's quite possible that the... minister? justice of the peace? is also talking, but Bill doesn't hear either of them. He's simply transfixed by the look of pure sweet love on his bride's face.

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'orrible accent.

*She is laughing through her tears and tracing the line of his cheeks with her thumbs.*

'orrible, handsome man. I have a new name.

*The minister shaped person politely coughs and hands Bill their signed marriage license. Fleur pounces the man and he gets a triple kiss for his troubles. The photographer clicks away. Lucky man gets a friendly newlywed snog too. Bill gives a polite cough himself, and pulls his new wife back with his arms around her waist.*

*She giggles and tips her head back to look at him.*

'ello. Iz it time for the honeymoon, husband?

*And she just beams.*

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"It is time." With a nod to the two men and a promise from the photographer to have pictures delivered to their room the next day, they gather up their belongings and Bill is highly amused that non-wedding clothes take up so much less space than wedding clothes.

Not that Fleur ever wears much, anyway.

As surreptitiously as possible he shrinks their other clothes so they have less to carry. She's serenely beautiful in that dress with that tiara, and he twists the ring on his finger once, twice, thrice: an old good luck charm from someone in his family a long time ago; it's supposed to seal in luck.

Bill escorts his bride back down the elevator, through not-Paris, and out to the street where, thanks to a last-minute bit of planning, a limousine awaits them. Inside they have Godiva chocolates and Cristal champagne, and the driver takes them round the city on Bill's orders, out into the surrounding desert, and back again, just because it's all possible.

In the back of the limo he toasts Fleur with the champagne. "Happy marriages begin when we marry the one we love, and they blossom when we love the one we married. I love you, I love you, I love you."

From:

*She laughs because he is nuzzling as he 'I love you's. Her legs are thrown over Bill's lap, and he has a hand resting comfortably on her thigh after they both did a bit of search under the long train.*

I am going to spill my champagne! Bill--!

*Tickle spot! And she laughs even harder.*

Merde! We are bloody married and what are you up to? Are you trying to steal my knickerz in front of our driver? *She pretends to look very innocent and not at all encouraging.*

From:

He leans closer. "How can I when you're not wearing any?"

She's fun to tease; he takes her champagne and sets it down and kisses her very, very thoroughly, quite certain the driver's seen far worse.

He doesn't even care.

"Personally, I can't wait to steal your knickers. It will be my first prize as your husband, and I'll frame them and keep them on the wall of the little flat we're going to get in whatever town you choose, and we'll live happily ever after with that on our wall. How does that sound, my love?"

For the first time he's ready to start to plan for the future. It's a bit overwhelming.

"I do love you so very much." Now it's time for the champagne. The view out the window is desert, but the moon rises low and bright, illuminating the skies and he thinks that perhaps -- just perhaps -- they're two of the luckiest people in this or any universe.

From:

Oui but he doez not know that--! *And she is laughing as Bill kisses her again. And again and again and again.*

*They settle back together, lazy and comfortable.*

*a happy little sigh*

J t'aime, you 'orrible British oof. And do make sure it iz my good g-string. If company can not see me naked, they must see my best under thingz.

*And she knocks their foreheads togther.*

That soundz magnifique...mon mari. *She blushes and giggles* I can say that now! Mon mari!

*She kisses him again and tries not to spill champagne all over the both of them.*

From:

He's almost giddy. She's laughing enough for the two of them and he doesn't mind at all. Suddenly it hits:

"Fleur. We're married."

We're married.

And it's perfect.

"I can't wait to tell the world. But... the world can wait." The car turns round, the driver entirely silent behind the privacy window, heading back towards the city.

Tonight is for them. For celebrating this moment, this feeling, this most amazing night, this love that they have. As the city lights grow closer, Bill settles his arm around Fleur contentedly and kisses her.

And again.

And he loves her so much, and he knows that what he feels will never die, will never lessen. How could it: she's magic.

Magic.

From:

*When they finally arrive back at the hotel, they almost spill out on the pavement when the driver opens the door for them. He pretends not to notice.*

*Fleur laughs again, and she and Bill drag themselves and their assortments into the hotel. There is only a little foreplay in the elevator. Later, Fleur swears she never hit the stop button on purpose. Destiny made her do it. He told her.*

*Finally, they are back at their room. Fleur starts to open the door, but Bill stops her.*

From:

"Wait." He holds his hand up and opens the door, but then he picks her up in his arms and carries her in, straight over to the bed where he sets her down gently, her tiara still gleaming, her face glowing with an utter radiance from deep inside.

"Call me old-fashioned, but there are some things that simply must be done the traditional way." With a grin he sits next to her, stroking her back. "Here we are, love. Here we are."

We did it.

From:

Oui.

*She slides a hand up into his hair.*

As your wife, I order you to kiss me. Again. Until I am satisfied.

*And she tips his head down and kisses him herself.*

From:

Bill can't remember ever wanting to do anything more.

As his lips meet hers their clothing fairly flies off them: gown and tuxedo and garters and veil and dress shirt and vest and tie and trousers fold themselves neatly on a corner chair. Her bouquet settles into a vase, but neither of them really pays any mind to any of this.

Fleur wants satisfied; he'll make certain she's satisfied.

(He's good at that.)

With a flick of his hand the lights dim.

And everything else... there is no everything else. There's only Fleur.

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Bill Weasley

July 2006

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