Chapter Text
“G’night. Love you.”
Bill bit back a chuckle. Getting Harry drunk hadn’t been the plan, but it made it easy to get him to go to sleep. He shook his head and crossed the tent to pick up the glasses from the floor by the entrance. From the stories he’d heard from his siblings, Harry had been through a lot in the past few years.
Bill drained the last few drops of smoky whiskey from his glass. How would he feel in Harry’s place? Terrified, most likely. Harry may not agree, but it struck Bill as quite the normal reaction to almost dying (again), having your life unexpectedly saved by a rival, and then being confronted by a Death Eater intent on killing you. And the ‘you’ in question being barely fourteen. Harry would no doubt hate to hear it, but fourteen seemed so young to him. So young to be facing so much.
Ducking under another flap of canvas, Bill passed into the kitchen, turning the tap and letting the water fill the sink. Even as (ostensibly) an adult, the events in the Top Box had been hard for him, and his perspective was, of course, different from Harry’s. He’d only been vaguely aware of what was going on with the Death Eater, his focus taken up by the smouldering form of the Malfoy heir. His healing skills had seemed woefully inadequate for the task. Bill wasn’t sure he’d even been all that much help; the Bulgarian Minister had done most of the work. They’d kept the boy alive though, that was the main thing.
Bill submerged his hands and the glasses in the now bubble-filled sink. The warmth calmed the slight shake in his fingers. He couldn’t help but think — what if the fireball had hit someone else?
What if it had been Ron burnt beyond recognition? What if it had been Ginny seizing as her airways tried to close up from the damage? What if it had been Harry —?
With a shake of his head, Bill tried to dislodge the thoughts. He couldn’t let his mind go down that path. There were too many what-ifs. Too many possibilities.
One at a time, he scrubbed, rinsed, and dried the glasses. He could have done it much quicker with magic, but the Muggle way had something soothing about it.
Bill paused, the last glass clasped in his hand, halfway to the open cupboard. The ‘what-if’-ing over his siblings was to be expected, but Harry? Why was he featuring so prominently in Bill’s anxieties? Perhaps it was because he’d been the closest to being the victim of the fireball. But it felt like more than that.
Whilst Bill may not have grown up on tales of Harry Potter like his youngest siblings had, he knew the stories as well as anyone else. He’d known of the Boy-Who-Lived for years, but he’d only met Harry, as he’d reminded him, the evening before. And yet, it felt to Bill as if he’d known Harry — Harry, not the Boy-Who-Lived — for much longer.
Ron considered Harry another brother. Most likely Fred and George did too, though Bill wasn’t entirely sure what Ginny felt for him. Fred and George still teased her about her uncharacteristic behaviour around Harry the summer before her first year. Bill had no idea if she still fancied him. She’d certainly blushed a lot when Harry arrived at the Burrow the day before, but that could just as easily have been embarrassment because of her previous behaviour.
Having finished washing the glasses, Bill returned the whiskey bottle to its cabinet, carefully replacing the charms that kept the youngest of his siblings from getting at it. Fred and George would drink themselves stupid given half the chance. Ron probably would too, if they let him in on it.
Bill left the kitchen, peeking in to check that Harry was still asleep before settling down in the living room with a book. His newest — though not youngest — sibling certainly triggered his protective instincts. Harry attracted more trouble than any of the others. Possibly combined. And that included the riotous twins and a dragonologist.
Whilst keeping half an ear out for said trouble magnet, Bill allowed himself to get lost in his book. The armchairs in the borrowed tent were surprisingly comfortable, and he slumped with his legs over one arm in a way Mum would certainly tut at, resting the book against his thighs.
Eventually, raucous noise pushed its way into the tent, sweeping aside the silence, soon followed by his siblings, Dad, and Hermione as they spilt in like a jabber of jarveys.
“Where’s Harry?” Ron asked. Bill jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Shh! Don’t wake him,” he admonished, as the noisy crowd led by Ron started towards the sleeping area, apparently having planned on doing exactly that. “Come here and tell me what I missed.”
Ron dove into telling the story, arms waving as he demonstrated the players’ moves. “— and then Krum, well, you know the Wronski Feint, right?”
“Of course he does, idiot,” Fred said, George shaking his head beside him.
“I do,” Bill agreed, unable to keep the smile from his face as Ron ploughed ahead. Fred, George, Ginny and Charlie interjected from time to time, each sibling (save Percy, off talking to Dad) eager to share their favourite part of the match.
Behind the flurry of waving arms and excited voices, Hermione eyed the book Bill had closed and was holding on the arm of the chair. Without interrupting the chatter, Bill held it towards her. Her face brightened, either in thanks or because of the allure of new knowledge. Perhaps both. With a smile, she took it, sinking into one of the other chairs.
They eventually moved outside to make dinner around the campfire. Bill considered waking Harry but, after checking and finding him sleeping soundly, suggested they save him some food instead.
The atmosphere was lighthearted; the campfire crackled yellow-orange flames that licked around the sausages, making them hiss and sputter. Sparks lit the faces of his family, and Bill couldn’t help but smile. As much as he loved his job, living so far from his family was hard at times. It was nice to be with them.
With perfunctory protests, the younger contingent had all been sent to their beds. Deep velvet stretched overhead, dusted with stars and the singing moonlight. Bill leant against Charlie, listening to him telling an almost definitely elaborately embellished work story, when the seams of the night tore apart. He sat up sharply.
“Was that a scream?”
Charlie stood, pulling Bill to his feet as he did. His eyes narrowed and Bill followed his gaze across the sea of tents. Half cloaked in darkness, they wavered in the flickering of the campfires. The sound came again; it was definitely a scream, joined almost immediately by another. Magic flickered obscenely in the distance.
On the other side of their campfire, Percy stood stiffly. “I’ll get Dad.”
As he disappeared into the tent, Bill and Charlie drew their wands.
Stepping closer to Bill, Charlie asked, “What do you think is happening?”
Bill shook his head. Some kind of accident? A wild animal on the loose? An attack? The screams drew closer. Figures darted through the darkness. Bill raised his wand, but they weren’t attacking. They were running.
“What’s going on?” Dad asked, eyes sharp beneath sleep-mussed hair as he appeared with Percy from within the tent.
“Death Eaters!” The answer came from a little wizard stumbling past them. “Run, run!”
Ice dripped down Bill’s spine. “We have to get the children out.” He turned, racing into the larger tent. Pausing by the kitchen, he summoned a hangover potion before following Dad into the room where the boys were sleeping.
“Boys! Get up,” Dad called urgently. Harry groaned. “Up! Quickly!”
Dad seemed to be doing a good job of corralling Fred, George, and Ron, but Harry was wincing and struggling to sit. Kneeling beside Harry’s bed, Bill grabbed his arms and helped him up. Harry’s glasses were on the bedside table where Bill had left them, and he pressed them onto Harry’s face. Harry opened his eyes, blinking at Bill blearily.
“Here. Drink this.” He passed Harry the phial. “It’ll help.”
Putting trust before thought, Harry gulped the liquid. “Thanks.”
“Got your wand?” The screams were getting louder. They needed to be quick.
“What’s going on?” Ron asked.
Cracks of concern threatened to make a mosaic of Dad’s stony expression. “Death Eaters.”
Harry stumbled, face paling, and Bill caught his elbow, urging him onwards until they passed through the tent flap. Chill air greeted them. Charlie had fetched Hermione and Ginny, who were outside with him, Fred, and George. Their thin nightwear seemed woefully inadequate against the summer night. Even Harry, still in his jeans and t-shirt, would quickly be too cold. But there was no time to do anything about it. The scent of smoke stained the air.
“Fred, George, you’re in charge,” Dad continued. “Go to the woods. Hide. Stay together. Do not leave until one of us comes to find you.”
“We can help! Tell them, Harry.”
Bill was not surprised by Ron’s shout but stilled at the unexpected questioning glance Harry sent him. He shook his head.
“Your dad’s right, Ron. We should go, come on.”
Fred grabbed Ginny’s hand, and George beckoned Ron, Harry, and Hermione to follow. Bill’s heart went with them, leaving an aching void. The six hurried away, disappearing into the flow of the crowd trying to escape into the woods. He tamped down the frisson of worry; no time for that now. He had to trust that they would all stay safe. Shaking the thought off, he turned, straightening and looking at Dad for instructions.
“They’re playing with the Muggles,” Percy reported, having somehow managed to find out what was going on. “No reports of Killing Curses yet. Aurors have been alerted.”
Dad nodded. The cracks in his expression had stabilised. “Watch out for each other,” he instructed. “Let’s try to get the Muggles safe. Leave the Death Eaters for the aurors.” Like a snidget in a field of flowers, his gaze flitted from one son to the next. “If you can take any down, do. But your safety, your brothers’ safety, comes first. Understood?”
The instructions were familiar. As Bill joined his family, pushing against the flow of the crowd, cold memory shivered across his skin. His childhood had revolved around that instruction. Keep your brothers safe.
You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters had cast a persistent shadow over his formative years. He, and to some extent Charlie too, had been raised on the mantra of protecting their younger siblings. The years ingrained the protectiveness into him, etching it into his very skin. The marks that were left lasted long past You-Know-Who’s death and the gradual disappearance of the Death Eaters. But now the shadows were spreading once again.
Bill slowed, grabbing Charlie’s arm. Dad and Percy stopped, too. Ahead of them, robes coiled in and out of the shadows. Only the cold glint of magic reflecting off pallid masks betrayed where the darkness ended and the robes began. The monsters that had haunted his childhood.
The Death Eaters gathered in a rough clearing of trampled tents near the building belonging to the Muggle family that owned the campground. There were perhaps twenty of them. Not a huge amount, but even one was too many. He would have given anything to keep Death Eaters from blighting his younger siblings’ lives. And twenty certainly outnumbered them; five to one.
Maybe the numbers were better than that, he amended. Other witches and wizards slipped through the shadows around the edges of the clearing. The Death Eaters had yet to notice any of them, intent as they were on their revels.
The Muggle family floated over the heads of the Death Eaters: a father, a mother, and two small children. Blood dripped from the nose of the unconscious father. The mother was crying, scrabbling desperately at the skirt of her nightdress as she flipped upside down. The little girl had curled into a tight ball, and her younger brother was being spun like a top, head flopping back and forth.
Nausea gripped Bill. All he could see was his family. His siblings. Releasing Charlie’s arm, he pulled his wand.
Whether Bill cast the first spell, or one of the others did, the air soon sizzled with magic. It didn’t last long.
As soon as the Death Eaters realised they were under attack, they abandoned their cruel sport and fled. A few managed to apparate away before someone threw up an anti-disapparition jinx, at which time the remaining Death Eaters simply ran. Some of the crowd gave chase, but Bill knew his priorities.
Percy fell, one of the fleeing Death Eaters elbowing him in the face as he ran. Flicking his wand, Bill raised a shield between Percy and some variant of a paralysis curse an opportunist sent his way. The dark teal spell fizzed against the barrier.
The second Percy was safe, Bill turned his attention to the Muggles. Dad, Charlie, and Percy were among those who had cushioned their fall when the Death Eaters ended their spells. Bill hurried to join them, standing almost back to back with Charlie in front of the whimpering girl. Brandishing his wand, Bill eyed the darkness.
“Is it safe?” Percy’s voice was as puffy as his nose. Wand-light sparkled along the trail of blood swiped from nose to cheek. Bill’s hand twitched towards Percy, reaching through the years to the five-year-old who, trying to understand what the news of You-Know-Who’s defeat really meant, had asked the same question.
“They seem to be gone,” Dad said, wand still clenched in his hand as he peered beyond their circle. Behind them, an unfamiliar voice murmured healing spells.
Someone approached. Bill wasn’t the only one turning his wand on the intruder, only to lower it immediately. The person wore the uniform of an auror.
“Auror Savage.” Dad tucked his wand away and dragged a hand through his thinning hair.
The auror nodded, glancing over the group. “Your family are all safe?”
Dad looked over at Bill and his brothers. Bill mirrored his action. Charlie was flexing his fingers. Percy looked shaken, the fleeing Death Eater’s bloody signature scrawled across his cheek. Raising his wand, Bill healed Percy’s nose, the tightness around his eyes dissipating alongside the swelling.
“And the rest of your group?” the auror asked. Bill couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting towards the distant treeline.
“They’re safe where they are,” Dad said, and Bill refocused. “How can we help?”
The post-battle hush starkly contrasted the shouts that had echoed through the night not so long before. Wand held steadily in his hand once more, Bill went through the motions of repairing the damage the fight had caused. Drawing the tip of his wand across a rend in the canvas before him, his focus drifted to the distant trees. They shivered in the half-light. If only the leaves would part and show him his siblings, safe and well.
Past a clump of already repaired tents Percy, still blood-spattered, spoke quietly with his colleagues. One sibling safe, at least. Twitching his wand at another torn tent, Bill twisted the other way. Charlie’s footsteps — two safe — crunched across the debris to join Dad, who had been busy working alongside the obliviators and healers attending the Muggles.
With the tear fixed, Bill moved on to the next tent, slumped and swaying from broken guy ropes. Another twitch of his wand shifted through the detritus until he found two of the missing tent pegs, nestled together. Twins. His heart thumped against his chest. A flash of Fred and George, beckoning the others into the night. Into the forest. Away from the fight. Surely they were safe.
A hand on his arm startled Bill. Charlie’s tired gaze searched his face. Were the bags under Bill’s eyes as obvious as those Charlie sported? A glance at his watch showed it was gone five. Dawn would break soon.
“Dad suggested we find the children.”
Bill dropped the tent posts and followed Charlie. Someone else could clean up. He needed to know his family was safe.
They weaved between the tents in silence. Here and there, people had returned to the abandoned field of canvas, furtively digging through their belongings and packing up tents. Bill couldn’t blame them. Stiffly, he followed the path, ignoring the tenseness tightening his muscles. The sooner we find them, the sooner we can leave. His stride increased to match the urgency in his mind, Charlie keeping step easily.
They reached their borrowed tents and turned to follow the direction Fred and George led the others hours before. Even here, the campsite was a mess. Miraculously, their tents had avoided damage, but others had fallen victim to the desperate pushing of the crowd.
Silver-gold light spilt across the horizon as they reached the treeline, bleaching the sky. It wasn’t yet enough to brighten the forest, and they lit their wands as they moved between the trees.
“How are we supposed to find them?” Bill asked, slowing to peer through the gloom.
“Follow the tracks.” Charlie stepped past and waved at the broken undergrowth. “The crowd went this way.”
Bill let him take the lead. Though Charlie had more expertise in tracking, even Bill could puzzle out the way they needed to go. The light of their wands illuminated the footprints in the softer areas of ground and the broken branches people had pushed through.
Soon, murmuring voices streamed towards them in whirls and eddies. Bill pushed past Charlie, hurrying through the trees and into a clearing. There was something incongruous about the crowd, clumped in twos and threes in the undergrowth like strange fallen fruit. Everyone looked distinctly out of place.
The very clearing tensed at his intrusion, each human-fruit clump shrivelling warily as the groups shrunk back into the trees, clutching at one another and staring with guarded eyes.
“Is it over?” somebody asked.
Charlie’s voice washed over Bill’s back, the tone reassuring. Red hair shone across the clearing. Bill pushed towards it, ignoring everyone else. Nestled between the roots of a large oak tree were Fred and George, the latter fast asleep with his head on the former’s shoulder. Ginny was curled up between them, also sleeping. Fred’s eyes brightened, though exhaustion still etched the planes of his face.
Heedless of the mud and leaves, Bill knelt beside them. He pressed his forehead against Fred’s. “Thank Merlin,” he breathed, before repeating the action with George, who was slowly blinking into wakefulness.
Sitting back on his heels, Bill dropped a hand and gently brushed Ginny’s hair away from her face. She was still fast asleep. He turned, peering around the clearing. “Where are the others?”
Fred grimaced, and Bill’s stomach clenched.
“Where are they?” he asked again.
“We lost them,” Fred admitted.
“Lost them?”
Too sharp; his words must have punctured Ginny’s sleep — she jerked awake. Bill shook his head, trying to clear it. Surely he’d misheard. How could they have lost them? Fred and George had been given one job. One job. Keep the children safe. The same job that had been ingrained in Bill. Written onto his skin, carved into his soul. And they’d lost them.
Charlie gently squeezed his shoulder. Right. Bill forced himself to take a deep breath.
“Where did you last see them?” Charlie asked.
“Not long after we left you,” George admitted, pressing closer to Fred’s side as Ginny sat up. “They were behind us and then…” He shrugged.
“We tried to find them but…” Fred glanced at Ginny, trailing off.
Bill took another deep breath. He didn’t envy the decision; choosing to keep Ginny safe rather than hunting through the forest for the missing trio and getting all of them lost. Reaching a hand out, he took Fred’s, pulling him to his feet and wrapping him in a hug.
“We’re sorry,” Fred said, voice muffled against his chest.
Bill shook his head. “It’ll be all right.” He hoped to Godric that it was the truth. George stood too, and Bill wrapped an arm around him. “Let’s get you three back to camp and then Charlie and I will find them.”
Leaving the forest with only half the group was excruciating. It felt like desertion. Intangible hands grasped his limbs, trying to pull him back, turn him around.
Bill couldn’t give into temptation. He had to concentrate on the siblings that were with him. Get them to safety, then worry about the rest. Fred and George were unusually quiet though, and Bill suspected Ginny had fallen back to sleep as Charlie carried her on his back. Dad and Percy greeted them at the tent, the concern on their faces a mirror of the ache in Bill’s chest. Still, some of the tightness eased as he left Fred, George, and Ginny with them.
Within minutes, Bill and Charlie were back amongst the trees, letting the clawing hands lead them deeper into the forest.
“Any ideas?” he asked, voice balanced on the edge of a precipice.
Charlie twisted the onyx ring on his middle finger as his gaze scoured the undergrowth. “The thing is,” he said slowly, “we have no way of knowing which tracks are theirs.”
A reassurance would have taken the edge off Bill’s nerves, but he couldn’t begrudge Charlie’s honesty. Bill turned, looking between the trees as if he could spot something Charlie had missed. The forest loomed. It grew a hundred times. There were an infinite number of routes they could have taken. Every step could have been a change of direction. Finding the right route would be like finding bowtruckles in a pile of twigs.
Charlie waved his wand with a mutter, and the tracks on the forest floor fluoresced a soft cerulean.
“These lead where we found the others,” Charlie said, pointing along the heavily trodden route of footprints and broken twigs which was glowing most brightly. He swept his arm sideways. “There are some that are smaller groups.” He gestured. “And others smaller still. If we start with one of these smallest ones…” He trailed off and shrugged, glancing at Bill.
Bill scratched the back of his neck. Even from where they were standing, many of the glowing tracks forked as they went further into the woods.
“Seems like the best bet.” The words came out more sigh than speech. Bill pulled at the clasp on the back of his necklace and rolled his shoulders, straightening. “Lead the way then.”
The first route they tried ended up looping back to where they’d found Fred, George, and Ginny. The second led them to a family of four who were exceedingly grateful to learn that the Death Eaters had been dealt with and it was safe to return to the campsite. The third, fourth, and fifth routes were fruitless, leading to uninhabited undergrowth and no sign of the tracks going further.
An hour melted away, the sun blazing a track across the sky and burning back the gloom. Bill was close to the end of his tether. They were traipsing in circles, making no discernible progress.
Bill pretended Charlie’s reassurances — that each track searched brought them closer to the right one — helped, and that he didn’t hear the worry in Charlie’s voice.
He had stopped, yet again, to untangle the chain hanging from his jeans from the bush entangling it when Charlie swore.
“What? What is it?” Bill tugged the chain, twigs snapping, and pushed through to the clearing.
Charlie didn’t answer immediately. Bill bit his tongue to keep from repeating his question as he turned in a circle. Frowning, Charlie inspected the blue glow of tracks, and Bill looked at them too, trying to see what he was seeing.
“There was some kind of… scuffle here,” Charlie said eventually. He gestured with his wand at a swirl of footprints diverging on a particularly large patch of blue that disappeared partway under a bush. Multiple footprints, from what Bill could make out.
“Was it them?” he asked, pulling at his earring.
Charlie tugged Bill’s hand away. “Don’t break it,” he admonished. “I don’t know when I’d find you another.”
Charlie crouched and peered under the bush, the blue glow fading as he dispelled the tracking spell.
“I can’t tell,” he said after a moment, standing back up with a sigh. The undergrowth rustled as Charlie stepped away. “I’d be inclined to say no, but with all the trouble those three get into… Oh!”
Charlie’s eyes widened, staring behind Bill. Drawing his wand, Bill span, moving in front of Charlie, only to freeze as he came face to face with a glowing stag.
“Oh,” he echoed, taking an involuntary step backwards as the Patronus snorted. Charlie’s hand on his back stopped Bill before he could trip over him.
The stag tossed his head, antlers glowing in the dappled sunlight as they swished through the air. The Patronus kept his eyes fixed on him the whole time. Cautiously, Bill reached a hand forward. The stag immediately ducked his head, nuzzling into his hand.
“Harry?”
From the corner of his eye, Bill saw Charlie glance at him, brow furrowing. The stag appeared to take the question as a sign though, stepping away from Bill before turning and trotting across the clearing. Pausing, he looked back at the pair and huffed air through intangible nostrils.
“I guess he wants us to follow.” Bill made to do so, only for Charlie’s hand on his arm to stop him. He turned, a question in his expression.
“How d’you know it’s Harry’s?”
Bill stilled. He and Charlie had both heard Ron talking about Harry’s Patronus in relation to the events of the previous school year, but he’d never actually said what form the Patronus took.
Telling Charlie the Patronus felt like Harry didn’t seem the way to go, but that was the only answer he could give. Bill had learnt to feel magic as a part of his job. Sensing charms and avoiding curses and cursed objects kind of required it. But that didn’t automatically translate to recognising an individual’s magic — especially the magic of an individual he’d only met a couple of days before. And yet, the moment the Patronus nuzzled his hand, he’d sensed, without a doubt, that it was Harry’s.
The creature in question blew impatiently once more.
“The magic,” Bill replied, waving a vague hand and avoiding Charlie’s gaze. He pulled away from the hand on his arm and followed the stag into the undergrowth.
Behind him, Charlie snorted. “Right. That sure answered my question.”
Silence wrapped around them as they followed the stag, weaving between trees and undergrowth. The ethereal creature passed right through them but stopped now and then to let the corporeal wizards catch up.
Charlie reactivated the tracking spell; here and there the blue glow of tracks crossed their path only to disappear again, like threads working lace too big to see. Whoever the tracks belonged to — and at this point, it seemed likely they belonged to the trio they were pursuing — had evidently struggled with a sense of direction.
“If they’d just stayed where they were…” Charlie grumbled from behind him, as another meandering trail of blue appeared and disappeared.
Bill stopped short. Charlie knocked into him, catching his elbow to keep from falling. With his head cocked, Bill listened as the Patronus turned to look at them once again with an impatient shake of his antlers.
There were voices up ahead. Bill couldn’t quite grasp the words, but the cadence certainly seemed like bickering and — yes, that was Ron’s voice. The other was less familiar, but Bill was fairly certain it was Hermione. Only two voices. Relief warred with worry, twisting Bill’s insides as they fought for control. Surely Harry was with them. He had to be with them.
The voices crystallised as they approached, their owners undeniable. Bill bit back a growl as the last bit of forest they had to pass through fought to keep them, trees thickening and brambles pulling at him. It even darkened again, as the light of the Patronus passed ahead, but, finally, Bill emerged into a clearing and caught sight of their quarry.
“Bill! Charlie!” Ron whooped.
If he weren’t so determined to make sure everyone was fine, Bill would’ve stopped and sat for a moment. All the tension left his body at once, and his knees threatened to give out. “Oh, thank Merlin.”
Bill and Charlie crossed the clearing and stopped in front of the trio. His gaze swept across them — all three were there, pale-faced with dark shadows beneath their eyes, and Ron held his hand stiffly, but otherwise they seemed unharmed. Bill pressed a hand to his chest.
“Do you have any idea how worried we were?” The words snapped from his mouth before he could soften them.
Charlie touched his shoulder. “I imagine it wasn’t much fun for them either.”
But Bill hardly heard, because Harry was chewing his lip and then said, “Bill. Shacklebolt…”
The look Bill sent him in response was probably too sharp, but Harry shifted aside, revealing a prone form.
“Shit.” Charlie’s hand left Bill’s shoulder as he drew his wand and looked around the clearing.
“He must be long gone,” Ron said. “Probably ages before we found him, even, and that must have been hours ago.”
“Yeah. I’d be dead if he wasn’t.” Harry’s laugh was as wooden as the trees.
“That’s not funny.” Bill squeezed Harry’s shoulder as he pushed past to kneel beside Shacklebolt. “Have you cast anything on him?”
He half-listened to the response as he assessed the auror. Crouch had been unarmed when arrested. He must have attacked physically, not magically. Especially if he was cuffed. Shacklebolt would almost definitely have put magic suppression cuffs on the prisoner.
Bill palpated the back of Shacklebolt’s head, taking care not to jolt him. He paused as he found a welt. Pulling his hand away, he exhaled slowly. Flakes of dried blood coated his fingers, and he rubbed them together, scattering them.
“Probably concussion; beyond my skills. I could damage his core.”
Brain injuries were not something for amateur healers to mess with. As much as Bill wanted to help, he knew better. Medics and magical theorists alike were unclear on whether the magical core (if it existed, which was another debate altogether) was in the brain or not, but Bill had read of well-meaning healers trying to fix a concussion only to cause irreversible damage to the patient’s ability to access their magic. He was not going to take that risk.
Hermione was ashen-faced. “Did we…?”
Bill shook his head. “Given the circumstances, you were right to try to wake him. Without the warming charm, he may well have contracted hypothermia,” he said, “And the Hover Charm… Well, you were doing what you felt was best.”
“Remind me to talk to you about best practices when lost in the wilderness,” Charlie added. “Wandering off is not generally the recommended approach.”
Whilst the youngsters may have had to rely on a Hover Charm for their attempts at moving Shacklebolt, Bill had a few more spells in his grimoire. Within a few moments, he had spelled a stretcher into existence beside Shacklebolt. Pausing, Bill blinked at it. Why didn’t I just conjure it under him? He rubbed his eyes, mentally shrugging off the thought, and, with Charlie’s help, rolled Shacklebolt onto it.
Bill pushed himself to his feet, brushing leaf litter from his jeans as he did so. A wave of his wand had the stretcher and its passenger floating alongside him. Glancing between the dense trees, he tried to work out which way they’d come from. Was there a quicker — or at least easier — route back to camp? He took a deep breath and grinned wryly at Charlie. “Let’s see if we can remember the way out.”
Charlie slung an arm around Ron’s shoulder, tucking him against his side. Walking alongside them, Hermione held Ron’s uninjured hand. Bill frowned; he hadn’t healed Ron, but the injury was slight enough to wait.
Harry walked beside Bill. Gently nudging him, Bill smiled but didn’t comment. Harry’s returning smile faded almost as soon as it appeared, and his gaze became distant.
Bill swallowed a sigh, twitching his wand to ease the stretcher between two particularly gnarled trees encroaching their path. The sooner they got out of the damn forest and safely home, the better.
With judicious use of the compass-like Point Me spell, Charlie led the way whilst also seeming to prioritise routes that were clear enough for Bill to get the stretcher through easily, which he appreciated.
Within minutes of finally emerging and Dad spotting them, they were surrounded by healers and aurors. Bill slipped away. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were as safe as they could be, which gave him the chance to go back to the tent and update the others.
Percy sat in one of the armchairs, the stiffness of his form relaxing almost imperceptibly as he caught sight of Bill.
“You found them.”
It wasn’t quite a question, but Bill nodded anyway. Percy softened further at the confirmation.
“I suggested they try to sleep,” he reported. “Ginny is, but Fred and George…”
Percy trailed off, and Bill nodded again. He squeezed his shoulder as he passed and ducked through into the boys’ bedroom.
Too often, Fred and George were seen as curse-proof. Gregarious twins, brash and boisterous, unfazed by anything. But they also had moments of worry and doubt. Losing his temper with Fred hadn’t helped. Bill rubbed his chest; the ghost of Fred’s apology lingered there, the twins’ worry that Bill had done nothing but worsen.
On the far side of the room, Fred and George sat together on one bed, heads tilted as they spoke quietly. They looked up as Bill approached. Tiredness tightened Fred’s expression more than George’s, hardening his features.
“You found them?” George asked, echoing Percy’s earlier words.
Bill nodded. That was step one in making it up to them; now for step two. He squeezed onto the end of the bed, nudging Fred as he did. “About earlier —”
Fred scuffed his foot across the canvas floor. “Yeah, I know. We should’ve been more careful.” He sighed. “We — I really am sorry.”
Bill’s heart ached. With a creak of springs, he shifted and wrapped his arm around Fred’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He squeezed gently as Fred turned to him, wide-eyed. “You were in an impossible situation; keeping Ginny safe was the right move. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
On Fred’s other side, George leant closer, pressing Bill’s hand between their shoulders. “At least it was you snapping, not Charlie,” he said lightly. “Fred might not’ve survived the experience.”
Fred snorted, leaning his head against Bill’s shoulder. “I heard he scared a dragon at work, telling it to behave.”
“I heard it wouldn’t even breathe fire any more,” George added, eyes sparkling as Bill looked at him over Fred’s head.
Bill grinned. “Yeah? Well, he told me it decided to leave the reserve and become a puffskein.”
The bed creaked again, joining in with their laughter.
Soon after, comfortable that he had reassured Fred and George, Bill crossed back through the tent once more. Exhaustion pressed on his nerves. It was gone nine o’clock; he’d been awake for over twenty-four hours. Surely they could leave now. Everyone needed to get home to their own beds.
Outside, Dad was still talking intently with his Ministry colleagues. Rather than interrupting, Bill headed to where he’d left Ron, Harry, and Hermione.
“How are you two doing?” he asked as he reached Ron and Hermione, Harry no longer with them. The pair looked as tired as Bill felt.
“Just waiting for the auror to come back,” Hermione explained as Ron yawned widely. “He wanted to talk to Harry first.”
Bill eyed the people milling around, trying to spot Harry and said auror. “Did they go into one of the tents?”
Ron shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t see.”
Frowning, Bill turned and looked again. Odd, the auror not talking to the three together, given they’d all seen the same thing. They weren’t suspects; there was no need for formal questioning.
Hermione stood unsteadily, and Bill caught her arm as she stumbled. She muttered a distracted thanks whilst glancing around.
“Maybe we should try to find them,” she said. “They’ve been gone a while.”
Surveying the people and tents for the third time didn’t miraculously reveal Harry’s whereabouts, and an itch built under Bill’s skin. Hadn’t he and Charlie only just traipsed through the forest to find them? How had Harry disappeared again so soon?
“I’ll ask the aurors.”
He’d barely taken three steps to do exactly that when he froze. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Ron asked, pulling himself to his feet too and standing beside Hermione.
Bill waved a hand, shushing him and tilting his head as he listened. He could have sworn he’d heard — “There!” He turned away from the aurors and Ministry staff, looking between the tents into the distance.
“I still didn’t hear anything,” Ron said.
Nobody noticed. Nobody reacted, but Bill was certain, absolutely certain —
“Help!”
The shout was distant but unmistakable. They’d heard it that time. Ron swore, spinning in the direction Bill had been looking, and all three of them drew their wands.
“Help!”
It was louder that time, and a split second later, flames and smoke billowed into the air in the distance. A tent was on fire.
“Out of the way!”
The aurors snapped into action, pushing past Bill, Ron, and Hermione with their own wands drawn. The three made to follow them, but one of the aurors stopped in front of Bill.
“Let us do our jobs,” she said sternly, tilting her head to look up at him. She gestured to Ron and Hermione. “Take them somewhere safe.”
Bill nodded shortly, despite the lead once again filling his abdomen. Grabbing Ron and Hermione by the shoulders, he steered them towards their tents. Charlie appeared a second later, taking over wrangling Ron and leaving Bill to gently encourage Hermione onwards as she kept turning and darting glances over her shoulder.
The crackle of spellfire behind them didn’t help Bill’s tenseness. He ignored the muffled protest in his wake as he near enough shoved Hermione into the tent, Charlie forcing Ron in a step behind. Percy jumped up from his seat at the sight of them, wide-eyed.
“What happened?”
Bill didn’t answer, steering Hermione to the other armchair and pressing on her shoulder until she sat. “Stay here,” he instructed. “Both of you.”
“I’m not —” Ron began, the words smoking as they seared from his tongue, but Bill glared before glancing at Fred and George, who had appeared in the doorway.
“Sit on him, if you have to,” he told them. “Charlie, Perce, keep them safe, I’ll —”
Charlie pushed Ron towards Fred and George and strode back to Bill. “I’m coming with you.”
“Charlie,” he began, trying to be stern. Being stern with Charlie was hopeless. Bill hadn’t succeeded in forcing Charlie to listen to him since he was six. He couldn’t intimidate him. Though Bill may have been taller, Charlie was bigger, stronger, and faced dragons regularly. It was a lost cause.
“Percy’ll keep them safe, won’t you, Perce?” Charlie said, and they both turned to their next brother, who blinked rapidly.
“I — o-of course.” He glanced warily at Fred and George, who were too busy holding onto an aggravated Ron to notice.
Red-faced, Ron struggled furiously at being restrained. Clear warning signs of an imminent explosion, and normally Bill or Charlie would intervene, but at that moment, it was the perfect distraction. Exchanging a look with Charlie confirmed his agreement, and without another word they ducked out of the tent.
The fight had already ended. Bill’s hands shook; the energy thrumming beneath his skin had nowhere to go. Most of the aurors were standing with wands drawn on the bound and unconscious figure of — Bill paused. It looked like the auror — Savage? — that had talked with Dad after the fight with the Death Eaters. Had that only been a few hours ago?
The auror that had turned Bill back was talking to a healer and waved them over when she spotted them. Charlie made a surprised sound in the back of his throat.
“Tonks,” he greeted. Bill did a double-take, looking again at the auror and trying to reconcile her with the Hufflepuff he vaguely remembered from Charlie’s year.
“Wotcher, Weasley. Weasley,” she said, nodding at them both in turn. “He’s all right, but…” she shrugged, turning to lead them and the healer through the rubble. Bubblegum pink hair flashed briefly crimson as she tripped over a guy line, but then they rounded the tent.
Harry sat slumped against the side of it.
Oblivious to their arrival, despite the jostling, he stared blankly into the distance. Bill’s stomach clenched. He looked so young. Younger than his fourteen years.
The healer strode past, crouching in front of Harry and talking gently as he cast spells. Bill stepped closer, but a violet glance from Tonks had him lingering a step away. Charlie squeezed Bill’s hand.
A gash on Harry’s hand knitted with a wave of the healer’s wand, as did the grazes on his hands and shins. Harry must have crawled through the debris to get all those injuries.
Another auror, this one gripping a camera, knelt beside the healer, and took a picture of the purple-black imprint of a hand pressed indelibly into the skin of Harry’s arm. Heat flashed through Bill. He turned, taking a step towards where Auror Savage had been bound. Heedless of Charlie’s tightening hand. Heedless of Tonks’s quiet admonishment.
“Easy, son.” Dad stood in front of him.
Bill subsided; his body stilled but his blood simmered. If not for Dad blocking his way he would have continued to Savage, grabbed the auror, and —
Of the two of them, it was usually Charlie who was quick to anger. If one of the youngsters got hurt, Charlie chased down the culprit, and Bill soothed the hurt away. But something about the bruise, and Harry’s unseeing gaze —
“Physically he’s fine.” The healer’s voice cut in, and Bill tried to concentrate. “He’s in shock though.”
The healer’s gaze flicked between Dad, Tonks, Bill, and Charlie. Bill stepped forward, and the healer addressed him. He stood, handing him a phial.
“Take him home, give him this, and put him to bed,” the healer instructed. “If he’s not recovered tomorrow, floo a healer.”
Bill nodded, pocketing the potion and fixing his attention on Harry once more. He hadn’t even noticed him, and certainly wasn’t making any effort to move. Channelling Charlie, Bill moved as if approaching an injured animal, and reached towards Harry. As Bill touched him, Harry jerked.
“Shh.”
Harry stilled almost immediately.
“You’re safe,” Bill murmured. “Let’s get you home.”
Harry buried his face in Bill’s chest, as though the world beyond was too much. The urge to hunt down Savage and make him feel the same pain was strong, and Bill had to fight to keep anger from stiffening his frame.
“We’ve created a gap in the anti-disapparition jinxes for you,” one of Tonks’s colleagues said.
Bill nodded. He cradled Harry to his chest, the same way he had with his siblings so many times before when they’d had nightmares. If only this could be chased away as easily as bad dreams. Bill prepared to apparate, then paused.
“Charlie, can you go ahead and warn Mum?” he asked quietly. “She’ll have kittens otherwise.”
Charlie nodded, disappearing with a crack.
Mum was probably already having kittens. Bill could only hope she hadn’t been awake to see the clock whilst everything had been going on.
“We’ll be home soon,” Dad said, eyebrows drawing together as his gaze dropped to Harry. “As soon as we can get a portkey.”
Bill nodded. “Harry.” He leant his head closer, keeping his tone gentle. “I’m going to apparate us now. It might feel a bit strange, but I promise you it’s safe, okay?”
The head pressed into his chest moved in what could loosely be considered a nod. Bill tightened his grip on Harry, let his head fill with home, and turned.
The hands gripping his shirt tightened as they squeezed through time and space.
“All done.”
They were home. Home. The ramshackle building that was so uniquely theirs. Every nook and cranny whispered Weasley. Safety.
The grip on Bill’s shirt hadn’t loosened, and Harry’s heart thudded through his chest. He gritted his teeth. He needed to get Harry inside and give him the potion before he broke down completely.
Before them, the open front door beckoned. Taking care not to jolt Harry, Bill passed through into the kitchen.
“Oh!” Mum pressed a fluttering hand to her chest as she caught sight of them. “The poor dear —”
“Mum.” Charlie wrapped his arms around her.
“I’ll take him to our room,” Bill said. “You don’t mind bunking with Ron, Charlie?”
“Not at all.”
Getting to their room was easier said than done. Bill had never quite appreciated how many stairs there were in the Burrow. At least he didn’t have to get Harry to Ron’s room. When he finally made it to his and Charlie’s room, he lowered Harry onto the bed.
As soon as Harry was out of Bill’s arms, he curled into a ball, pulling his legs tight into his body. Bill knelt beside him.
This wasn’t right. It wasn’t right. If only Bill could fix it. Make it all better. Take Harry’s pain away. With no miraculous solution to be found, he instead reached into his pocket.
“Here.” He pulled the potion out, keeping his emotions tightly wrapped as he gently tugged Harry’s shoulders until he lifted his head enough that Bill could hold the phial to his lips.
Harry drank obediently, gulping the liquid down. His eyelashes fluttered as the potion took effect.
“Sleep,” Bill said needlessly. “I won’t go far.”
Harry didn’t respond, eyes already closed. He softened, melting into the mattress. Harry’s face relaxed, the tenseness easing as sleep claimed him. Convinced he was asleep, Bill stood and pulled his blanket over Harry. A flick of his wand closed the curtains, shutting out the morning sunlight.
Bill backed out of the room quietly, pushing the door closed but for the smallest crack, and returned to the kitchen. Ignoring Charlie and Mum, he crossed to the sink and placed the potion phial within. Despite fully intending to wash it, the anxious, angry energy was once again — still — thrumming beneath his skin. He leant forward, gripping the edge of the sink tightly. Porcelain slid beneath his fingers, cold and unyielding.
“Bill.” Charlie was right behind him. “Let’s take a walk, yeah?”
Bill straightened, gaze flicking to the stairs. He’d promised Harry he wouldn’t go far.
“I’ll keep an eye on him, dear,” Mum said softly, giving him a watery-eyed smile as she nudged him away from the sink. “Go with your brother.”
Mentally twisting the thrumming threads around himself, Bill nodded. He followed Charlie out of the house and walked beside him across the garden.
The morning was contrarily peaceful. Long grass swished beneath their feet as they walked. Chickens murmured as they flapped and foraged in front of the coop. Gnomes rustled the bushes, chattering and giggling lowly. The scent of honeysuckle and an amalgamation of herbs filled the air.
They ducked under the boughs of an apple tree, passing into the orchard. The apples were ripening, not quite ready to pick. Not that under-ripeness had ever kept any of them from pilfering the fruit at the end of a languid summer day of flying, exploring, and — inevitably — bickering.
Pausing, Bill scooped an apple from where it had fallen, nestled in the grass at the base of its tree. It was not ready, too soon to have loosened of its own accord. Something had caused it to drop prematurely, and as he turned the fruit in his hand, it revealed a bruise marring one side. His fingers tightened involuntarily, the thrum under his skin becoming more of a shudder, the threads pulled tautly.
Charlie’s hand closed over his. Bill looked up into the bright blue eyes. There was a question there that Bill wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. Charlie pulled the apple from his grasp, letting it drop onto the cushioning grass before taking a step away and tilting his head.
“Wands or hands?”
That was a question he could answer. And exactly what he needed. An outlet for the energy vibrating through him. Bill flexed his fingers, contemplating, and then reached for the holster on his forearm.