This Piece Has No Title.
(And amazingly no warnings! Yay!)
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. The fact he married Ginny proves this.
Authors Notes: IMPORTANT: When Bill moves in the dark it had no effect on his body. The dark is just the place Bill is in his mind right now, and his body is catatonic, which basically means it doesn't move or feel, but it's not paralysed because it's all still working and the potential for movement and feeling is still there.
Bill Weasley lay in a pristine private room in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, starring blankly at the ceiling. He'd been like that for almost two weeks. Catatonic shock they called it. Scars mutilated his face, lacing across his bare chest and arms, healed by magic but still contaminated wounds never able to fade. His eyes were open and glassy, staring avidly at the ghosts of cobwebs left unnoticed on the ceiling, emotionless pools of a deep azure sea. Small magical machines buzzed and whirred around him, constantly offering up-to-date information on his condition.
The shock hadn't been instant, after Fenir had done his work Bill was awake for days on end, lucid and angry enough to send all visitors away and hide behind a veil of screens. He sent all his family and friends rudely away, and Fleur screaming, in tears. It wasn't that she didn't want to marry him anymore, she did, perhaps even more so, it was just he couldn't stand to see her perfection. He couldn't stand her pitying looks or the way she couldn't meet his eyes, or the soft gentle touches or even the way she prattled on about her 'big day' and the wedding plans as if nothing had happened. Nobody knew what set of his shock, but one minute he was giving orders that none but his directly mentioned next of kin should be admitted to see him, and the next he was falling back, engulfed in darkness. There was only one person he wanted to see.
Charlie Weasley appeared at the door, knocking awkwardly, before stepping across the threshold. He never liked hospitals, but that wasn't why the redhead was so apprehensive. His brother had always been a role model, a star to him, just the epiphany of cool where ever he went and whatever he did. Then as they grew older and closer they became best friends, separated by a scant year. It was such a shock to see his brother lying in the hospital bed like this, scarred, wan and weak. A few months ago when they saw each other, Bill had be lively and laughing, arguing with their mum about the length of his hair, which was a battle, Charlie noticed with a ghost of a half-smile, that their Mum hadn't won.
"Hey Bill. How you doing?" Charlie asked softly moving to the bed. He tried to make his voice sound light and cheerful but it sounded just the same, grave and quiet. The scars were a shock. That handsome face so cruelly disfigured made his heart pang in a way that wasn't expected. They looked almost deliberate, shaped to create the maximum effect. The younger brother shuddered. He could imagine Greyback taking his time and enjoying creating those marks. The blue eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, and Charlie's softer greener eyes crinkled, suppressing the glimmer of a tear.
Bill felt his brother's presence the moment he stepped into the room. He didn't hear the knock or the footsteps, but that scent was unmistakable. Earthy, but clean and spicy, so comforting and dry. The prone man felt the air adjust as Charlie let out a long sigh, and pressed an awkward kiss to his temple. It was different though, not like Fleur's kisses landed upon lips and vanished, so fast he could barely feel them, or his mother's, so sloppy and wet, doubtlessly accompanied by a bone crushing hug or a flood of tears. Charlie's were different. Soft lips pressed firmly, determined and sure, given gladly from love rather than guilt or grief and left the skin tingling from the touch. A pair of fingers tangled in his hair, not stroking him as if he was a pet but freeing the stands from its ponytail. Through the darkness, Bill thought he saw a flash of red hair on the edge of his vision, and turned toward it. The scent was stronger that way. A hand absent-mindedly fiddled with the long soft hairs coating his arm.
"Where ever you are, Bill, that brain's still ticking. I don't care what the mediwizards say." Charlie murmured, sitting down still holding his brother's hand. "You're in there somewhere, and when you find you way out, I'll be here waiting. Whatever Greyback did, you just need some time to work through it. And when you have, I'll be right here by your side to welcome you out. " The hand left his hair and smoothed it back into place. The fingers were rough and worn - workman's hands - but it was a touch Bill could feel across the darkness, and it was a touch he held on to, groping forward after its warmth. Charlie sighed and pulled a muggle cassette player from his pocket, and placed it on Bill's bed, pressing play. He'd read soewhere that music could help, but he hadn't brought it for that. He'd brought it to cover the hollow spelled silence that he knew Bill hated. His brother was just the same on the inside, just a little lost.
Bill heard the music, juast as he smelt his brother's scent. They were all signposts on the path out. They would get him away from the beast that lurked out there in the darkness. Charlie would be his light.
Charlie sat in the chair, dozing lightly. It was nearing dawn and he was caught in a world of memories, both happy and sad. He remembered this song, he remembered it very well. Bill was playing this song the time when he first got into the Quidditch team as Chaser. He was so proud, he'd be the youngest student on the team for seventeen years to have a letter of acceptance sent to him over the summer. Bill had been so proud and ruffled his hair in that pleased way. It had really been Bill's doing that got him into the team, letting his younger brother go for rides on his broom, the best in the entire family, and sitting behind him on there Dad's when they were very young, teaching him all the tricks and feints he had read about in his Young Wizard's magazine. Charlie smiled at the golden image that formed in his mind. When he burst into there room, Bill had been topless, and singing this song in his light baratonevoice, wiggling his hips in what could have been a dance.Charlie had laughed and told him the news and Bill had poked and tickled him, and then they had gone outside to practice with a ball.He awoke suddenly, alerted by something. He'd slumped forward onto Bill's bed, pillowed by his brother's arm. But that wasn't the best part. The hand in his was gripping back.
charlie sat up, not letting go. The music had stopped.
"Bill?"
A smile curled on the scarred features. "Little bro..." The voice was horse and weak, so disused, but still there. Still tangiable. Charlie stifeled a yawn, standing and leaning over his brother excitedly.
"Are you awake? Am I dreaming?"
Bill tried to chuckle, but there was no sound. "I think so, but if you ae dreaming, for godssake don't stop."Charlie smiled weakly, and there was a moment's silence. Quenstions like how are you all seemed too stupid to fill it.
"You look tired," Bill observed. "Come, sleep here. At least you'll be comfortable." With Charlie's help, his shifted over to one side of the bed, and watched the other man removed his jacket and boots, and slide in next to him.
"You won't go again, will you?" Charlie asked before he could stop himself.
"No, of course not." His brother replied. "Just make sure my heart keeps beating." He joked. Charlie nodded and lowered his head to his brother's bare chest, pulling the blankets up over them both. He felt Bill wrap his arm around him and heard him faintly groan. Slowly, they two siblings eased into the world of dreams, their fingers entwined in Bill's lap.
Mr and Mrs. Weasley had come to visit early that morning, before the secutary got in to stop them. Tall Mr. Weasely walked with his arms around his wife's shaking shoulder's, and together they approached the doorway. Mrs.Weasley smiled faintly and dabbed at her eyes.
"They've always done that. Even when Bill had Dragon-pox." She murmured more to herself than her husband. "When things happen he only ever lets Charlie in," She sighed almost wistfully, and blew her nose. Beside her, her husband nodded, silently squeezing her shoulders and steering her back the way they came.
"At least we know he's safe now." He murmured, his eyes lingering just a fraction of a second too long on the interlocked fingers and Bill's peacefully closed eyes. "He'll be alright."
The door to the private ward slammed shut, but in Bill's room the noise didn't touch them, the two brothers just quietly slept one, deeply entwined in each other's dreams breathing almost in time.