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[thecoolone]

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?"

Comments

[thecoolone]

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.

[leplusbeau]

*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?

[thecoolone]

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?

[leplusbeau]

*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!

[thecoolone]

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.

[leplusbeau]

*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?

[thecoolone]

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.

[leplusbeau]

*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.*

[thecoolone]

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.

[leplusbeau]

'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.*

[thecoolone]

"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."

[leplusbeau]

*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.*

[thecoolone]

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.

[leplusbeau]

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.*

[thecoolone]

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.

[leplusbeau]

*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.*

[thecoolone]

"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.

[leplusbeau]

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.*

[thecoolone]

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.