Everything Is Eclipsed by the Shape of Destiny

In the weeks following Bill’s proclamation of undying love for Emerson, many things had changed. Remus returned home, begging his beloved Tonks to forgive him having been such a coward. Tonks, though overjoyed by his return, was determined to make him pay for having put her through hell. What ensued was a week of silence, in which Tonks didn’t acknowledge his presence. Remus was frantic. He did everything in his power to try to make her speak to him, to look his way. He cooked, he cleaned, he took her fresh flowers every morning, but nothing he did worked. And by week’s end, Remus was even more broken than when he’d first returned. Tonks, feeling that her husband had suffered enough, spoke to him and invited him back into their bedroom, where he swore to her that he would never again turn his back on her or their unborn child.

Remus’ return was the only positive change that occurred during those two weeks. The war grew worse with each passing day. More and more people, muggles and wizards alike, went messing or were murdered. There wasn’t a day in which there weren’t at least three or four casualties. The list of the dead grew longer, and it became increasingly more difficult to keep the muggle realm from discovering the Wizarding war that was raging throughout the land. The ranks of the Order continued to shrink. Members were searched out, tortured for information, and ultimately, murdered. There were few Order members that gave information while being tortured. Those were the ones that thought maybe, just maybe, Voldemort would let them live, that their continued survival would not be an offense to him. That, of course, was not the case. No member of the Order lived. It was for that very reason that the vast majority of them went to their graves without uttering a single word. All Voldemort got from them was their pained howls.

Bill had almost been among those captured by Death Eaters, among the list of the dead. During a mission, he had found himself in a compromising position which led to two Death Eaters cornering him. They took advantage of the situation; torturing and then binding him with magical rope. Luckily for Bill, Emerson was also on that mission, and the moment her ears caught him scream, the entire world around her vanished. She didn’t hesitate in turning into her jaguar form. She was in such a hurry to get to him, to protect him, that she didn’t bother stripping herself of the clothes that she had recently purchased. All she could think about was getting to him and ensuring his safety. She wasn’t conscious of the spells zooming by. A few even struck her, but a simple spell could do no harm to her, a group of wizards would have to attack her simultaneously if they wanted to bring her down, and so she ran, she ran through the rubble, through the fighting, she ran into she found him and his captors.

Her eyes narrowed in indignation when she finally discovered them. How dare they harm her imprint! Didn’t they know what he meant to her? Didn’t they know that without him, there would be half of her missing? No. They did not know, and even if they had, the odds were that they wouldn’t have cared. And so, without losing a moment, Emerson pounced at them. She murdered both Death Eaters, sinking her teeth into their flesh, tearing them apart, limb by limb. It was savage. It was primitive, but when she saw Bill in danger, her human mind relinquished its control, gladly handing it over to the beast that would do whatever necessary to ensure her imprint’s survival. That was the only thing that concerned her. Morals had no value. What people would think, mattered not. The only right thing was to protect him, and protect him, she did.

Those that would do harm to Bill were killed, left a bloodied mess that their fellow Death Eaters would have trouble identifying. Then, while still in jaguar form, Emerson tried to throw Bill over her back. It took a few tries, but eventually she managed to do so, and she took off towards the Order stronghold. It was there that Bill was tended to by Meredith Vance. She unbound him, offered him water and did the basic check up that she was used to doing in her profession as a healer. Emerson was offered a long sleeved shirt that fit her like a short dress, by Kingsley, whom then turned around to offer her privacy. Emerson quickly returned to her human form and threw on the shirt, grateful to have something covering her body.

The endeavor had been unfortunate for her appearance. There was blood smeared all across her body, flesh lodged in between her teeth, and in her hair, if one looked closely enough, there were veins and bits of fat and muscle that had nestled into it, but despite her ghastly appearance, Bill rushed over to her. He swept her into his arms and buried his face into her hair, not caring if his face would be smeared with blood. He just needed to hold her.

In that moment, all he wanted to do was kiss her, to tell her that he loved her, to thank her for having had the courage to do the unspeakable in order to save him, but he couldn’t, because despite the fact that weeks had passed since they’re confessed their love for one another, Bill was still married to Fleur. It wasn’t because he loved her or because he wanted to be married to her. It was because he had to stay married to her. It was crucial for the safety of Emerson, his family and the Order that he remained married, because the last thing that they needed was to have a heart broken Veela spill their every secret to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He had, initially, not believed Fleur capable of such an act, but after speaking to Charlie, he now knew there was a possibility that such a thing could happen. So he’d have to endure. He’d have to stay married to Fleur, when the only thing he wanted to do was to be with Emerson.

“I love you.” Bill whispered softly into her ear, his voice hoarse and swelling with emotion that made understand his words a difficult task.

Emerson gritted her teeth and fought back the sobs that threatened to erupt. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she whispered. “You hear me? If you do, I swear to Merlin that I’ll fuck you up so bad that your ass will be in the hospital for weeks.”

He meant to say a witty remark, but his emotions overwhelmed him.

“Te quiero,” she whispered. “So much, Bill, but you’ve got to let go. This hug has taken long enough.” Emerson pulled away. “You feel alright? Want to go home?”

“No, I think I should –” he began to speak.

“Take him home.” Kingsley interjected. “This battle has ended. There will be no more fighting on this night.”

“But we’ve not won.” Emerson protested.

“When have we?” ask Kingsley. “Enough blood has been shed on this night. It is time to retreat. Take him home.”

Before Bill could protest, Emerson wrapped her arm around his waist and apparated them to Shell Cottage. Bill had half a mind to tell her off. He didn’t want to be home. He didn’t want to fake affection for his wife and feel like an asshole for not being able to return the feelings that the Veela so warmly felt for him, but not even fourteen seconds after they apparated, the door was thrown open and Fleur rushed out to greet him. Her arms immediately wrapped around his midsection, pulling him close to her body. She hated when he left. She hated the uncertainty, the fear. So whenever he arrived back at their cottage, she treated him like a conquering hero returning from home.

Emerson hated seeing Fleur so affectionate of Bill. She knew it was wrong of her. She had no right to hate Fleur. Fleur was, after all, his wife. She loved him, cared for him, but despite that Emerson hated Fleur for having what she so desperately wanted. And she hated the fact that Fleur always treated her with kindness, because it made her feel like a cunt for hating Fleur, for coveting what was legally hers.

When Fleur pulled away and saw the condition Bill was in, she let out a scream. When her eyes landed on Emerson, she nearly fainted. She’d never seen that much blood on a person. It was unnatural. The stink of death covered Emerson. Fleur immediately asked if Emerson had to go to the hospital. When Emerson said that she didn’t, Fleur asked if there was someone in particular that she wanted her to call. Emerson assured her that she didn’t want to call anyone and that she was perfectly fine. And after Bill explained what happened, Fleur backed off with the pestering, but flung herself at Emerson, thanking her for having saved Bill.

It was moments like those that made Emerson question if she was doing the right thing. Fleur was so kind to her. Yes. The young Veela had her moments, but her anger had never been directed towards Emerson, nor had an unkind word ever passed her lips. Overall she’d been nothing but genteel and amiable, to Emerson. And how was Emerson repaying her? By plotting with her husband, by telling her that she loved him and musing aloud about what they would do when he finally left Fleur. She felt horrible, but what made it worse was the fact that despite how bad she felt about the way she treated Fleur, she couldn’t truly bring herself to regret wanting to be with Bill. They were meant to be, each made for the other. She just hoped that Fleur would find someone that truly made her happy. Someone that would love her as Emerson loved Bill, as Bill loved Emerson.

After Fleur was pried off of Emerson by Bill, Emerson bid them goodnight and apparated back to the home in which she was a guest of. Bill wasn’t so fortunate. He stayed in Shell Cottage where was pestered by Fleur. She wanted to know everything that had transpired, and he was in no mood to communicate that information. He wanted to shower. He wanted to eat. He wanted to sleep. That was it. Talking was not something that he had the energy for. He told her that, swore that first thing in the morning, he would tell her everything, but Fleur didn’t want to wait until morning, she wanted to know what happened and she wanted to know at that very moment. So Bill promised that as soon as he finished showering and sat down to eat, he’d tell her.

By the time that his storytelling was to commence, Marceau had abandoned the guest room and situated himself beside Bill at the dining room table. He listened intently as his brother in law recounted the harrowing adventure. He was stunned that Emerson had put herself in harms way for Bill, and jealous because he wished that she would be willing to do the same for him. But she hated him. She’d made that clear in the last few weeks by telling him time and time again that she wasn’t interested, that he should take his ass back to France and find someone there. She was determined to hate him. He was determined to make her love him.

Things had gotten so out of hand that even Molly had stepped in, telling him to just leave Emerson alone, that maybe separation would be best and make her realize that she, perhaps, still entertained feelings for him. Molly knew that Emerson had no feelings for Marceau, nor was she likely to ever have them again. The only reason that Molly had for telling Marceau those words was because she wanted him to leave Emerson alone. She had enough to deal with, without adding an obsessed Frenchman to the equation. Also, though Molly would never voice this opinion to anyone other than Arthur, she still hoped that perhaps the twins or Charlie would be lucky enough to romance her.

“And that’s what went down. Nothing more to tell,” Bill concluded.

“So thing are worse then, with ze Order?” inquired Marceau.

Bill nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping forwards. “Death Eaters are swelling in ranks, our numbers are dwindling.”

“Then, perhaps, it is time I join.” Marceau declared.

Fleur immediately placed her hand atop his and shot him a disapproving look.

“They need help.” Marceau argued.

“Not yours!” she snapped.

“But why not?” he questioned, his resolve growing stronger.

“Fleur’s right.” Bill interjected. “It’s good that ya have the spirit to fight, but this isn’t your war. Don’t trouble yourself over it.”

“Nor is it Emerson’s.” Marceau reminded. “Yet she helps. I wish to do the same.”

“Because she’s a shifter!” bellowed Bill. “That’s why she helps. Are you a shifter? Can ya turn into a wolf? A bear? A bloody hippogriff? Or are ya, looks and charms all you’ve got?”

Through gritted teeth, Marceau said, “I may not be a shifter or an Auror, but I am quite capable of defending myself.”

“You are a fool!” cried Fleur. “Defense was not a strong suit for you. Or ‘ave you forgotten ze low marks you received? ‘Onestly Marceau, I know you want to woo her, but zis is not ze way. It is not”

Bill’s eyes flickered in realization. “Fleur’s right.” His voice softened. “Marie won’t be smitten just because you’ve joined the Order. Spare Fleur the heartbreak, Marceau. She already has a husband in danger. No need to add a brother.”

“But –”

“No!” Fleur declared. “Now come. I wish to speak to you in private.”

Fleur forced Marceau to abandon his seat and almost immediately, she began screaming at him in French. Bill having lost his appetite decided it was time for a smoke, so he placed his dish in the sink and walked outside, he’d only taken a step out before he realized how freezing it was and walked back inside to grab his coat. With his coat now guarding him from the cold wind, he journeyed to the edge of the garden where he had buried a few cartons of cigarettes. Sure enough, there they were, protected by magic and the metal box that they’d been buried in. He grabbed two cigarettes from an obliging carton and then reburied the others, making it seem as if he’d never crosses its path.

He journeyed towards the shore, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he lit it. He needed to quit smoking. He’d been trying to quit for the last three years, but quitting during a war was not such an easy task, especially when the toxic smoke was the only thing that managed to soothe him at night when the pangs of loneliness struck him. Fleur would be furious if she found out he was still smoking. She’d curse at him in French; perhaps throw a vase or two, like she had when she caught him sneaking a cigarette a few months back. He cringed at the thought. She meant well, she did, but he just didn’t love her, her concern was no longer endearing, it was annoying.

He sat there in silence, the sound of the waves, the burning tobacco and his breathing, acting as the night’s soundtrack. There was a time when silence had unnerved him, when he’d needed music or a person’s voice to fill his ears, but now silence was what he treasured most of all, because he so rarely got it. And he sat there, in silence until he heard a very loud POP ring out from a few yards away. He leapt from his feet, thinking that Emerson had returned, but when he saw the masculine figure standing there, when he saw the face illuminated by the moonlight, he knew it was Emerson. It was Ron.

“R-Ron?” he stuttered.

“Yeah, it’s me, Bill.” Ron stepped towards him.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Bill. “What are ya – oh . . . OH! He’s done it! Hasn’t he? Of course, he’s done it! That’s why you’re here. Merlin’s beard! It was about bloody time. Wait till I tell the –”

“NO!” cried Ron, frantically. “He’s not done it!”

“Then why are you here? Ron? What are you doing here if he’s not done it? Oh . . . please, no. Don’t tell me ya abandoned them. Did ya? Ron! How could ya do that to your mates?”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Ya didn’t mean to?” yelled Bill. “How is that ya abandon them without meaning to, because I'm trying to figure it out but just can’t wrap my mind around it. Did you go off for a piss and when ya went back, they weren’t there? That it?” he questioned, gruffly.

“That’s not it!” Ron snapped.

“Then what happened? Why are ya here?”

“Because . . . because we got in a row, alright? Things hadn’t been going as – well, things hadn’t been going at all. Hadn’t really made any progress and then, I was snappy, he was snappy. The air was fucking tense and we just – we had a row.”

“And you left?”

“No – yes!” he lowered his face in shame. “I left, but it was just cuz I was so hotheaded. Wanted to go back as soon as I’d been gone ten minutes, but Hermione put enchantments up so no one can find it, and . . . and I looked, I looked for weeks but didn’t have any luck. And I was caught by snatchers, managed to get away from them, then hid in Diagon Alley, a-and now I don’t know what to do. Was gonna go home, I was, but didn’t want to be told off by mum and dad. So I came here. I didn’t know where else to go, Bill.”

Bill could hear the regret in his voice, could see it on his face. “You know you’re always welcomed here, Ron. It’s just; I thought that something had happened . . . that Harry had killed Voldemort.”

“I wish I would’ve come here because of that, but no. I'm a coward that couldn’t control his temper.”

“S’alright. What matters was that ya tried to go back.”

“I did. Really, I did.” Ron’s eyes welled with frustrated tears. “I went on foot for nearly two weeks before the snatchers caught me. Thought that eventually I’d find them when they were just getting somewhere, but I didn’t have any luck, ya know? Seemed like a decent plan. Didn’t work out though . . . and now I just wish I hadn’t gotten so hotheaded over the lack of progress. I was so angry that I didn’t stop to think about how hard the task was. I just wanted results! And we wasn’t having any.”

“So no results?” whispered Bill, his heart clenching at the thought of the war lasting any longer.

“None worth mentioning,” replied Ron.