Warnings: One French curse word?
Author's Notes: Written for Challenge 2 of bwfd_ldws. Thanks to miss_daizy for all of her help! :D
Awakening with a start, Fleur jumped up, causing her chair to rattle against the stone floor. In the eery silence, the noise was as loud as the most obnoxious of the twins' products. She glanced around frantically for a long moment. Merde! This was the hospital wing. So not just a nightmare, then . . .
The convenient moonlight sneaking through the gap in the curtains allowed Fleur to squint at her watch. Time again already. Rising from her chair, she uncapped the smelly ointment, and carefully, gently applied a fresh coat of the foul stuff to Bill's torn face. She tried to breathe through her mouth, but the pungent aroma still penetrated her nostrils.
After washing the slime from her hands in the nearby basin, Fleur dropped the towel on the floor and Banished it. Then she Vanished the dirty water, refilling the basin with Aguamenti. She recapped the jar, and slumped back into her chair. The stench of that potion still permeated the entire room—even her clothing smelled. She wanted a shower, but she was not leaving Bill. As she stared at her sleeping husband-to-be, the rise and fall of his chest brought her inexplicable comfort.
Fleur wiped the wetness from her eyes, grasped Bill's warm hand in hers, and placed her head on the bed next to him. Surrounded by a cloud of exhaustion-induced almost-sleep, she felt Bill squeeze her hand. She looked up, her questioning eyes meeting Bill's pleading ones.
Bill pulled on her hand more insistently, and budged over in the bed. Fleur shook her head. Carefully turning on his side and still holding her hand firmly, Bill weakly patted the bed next to him, his eyes dark with longing.
Those eyes. Fleur climbed into the thin stretch of bed next to Bill. Cuddled up in his warm embrace, she quickly fell asleep.