He never thought when he first laid eyes on his bonny french rose, not even when he had already known to had fallen for her, that he would lead such a strange life.
A domestic life it is, yes, but even then there is a tiny of adventure in a domestic life with a Veela. He is not even talking about the sex, adventurous as that part of their life is. He has long since accepted that his life would never be normal, but of this was the kind of adnormal that is was going to be now, he thought as he sewed the pillow in which he had put his wife's feathers chucking to himself at the absurdity, he was ok with it. His wife was not human. You would never know to look at her, or even were you to interact with her in the way of colleagues, or even casual friends. You'd say 'that woman has a strange feel to her' or maybe you'd think she has a few quirks, if you know her better, but no one would guess at the extend of her inhumanity.
No, Fleur Delacour was most definitely not a human woman, despite any facade, despite the boundaries that social convention sets. He sees her when she is unbounded, though. She has no façade, no excuse to be other than what she is when she is with him. Yes, his life was not what people call normal, but if he was required to have a strange life by some quirk of the Fates, then he'd choose Fleur in this world and in a thousand more. He'd endure the life of a fated hero a thousand times more if that was the price set for choosing Fleur.
For she is his path, now and always, in this world or any other