Bill sat hunched over the radio, his mouth set in a grim line. Voices went in and out through the static, some familiar, some not. Raids, kidnappings, deaths- Bill ran a hand wearily through his long untamable hair.
Earlier that day before his shift at Gringotts, Bill had gotten an owl from his mum. In her shaky handwriting she gave him a weekly report on the family.
Dad was being interrogated at work. Mum feared that he'd have to quit soon to protect the Order. Bill bit his lip. If Dad's income stopped, Bill decided he'd send part of his paycheck to his parents. Whatever little he could, anyway. Even though his dad wouldn't like it, what else could they do?
Charlie was traveling abroad with Jones and Dippot recruiting for the Order. Though Mum didn't write it, Bill could tell from the despair in her words that it wasn't going well.
Percy and Ron were no longer communicating. Bill swallowed dryly, his eyes darkening. The ministry had fallen, but Percy had clung on like a blood sucking tick. He ignored all of their mum's increasingly desperate attempts to communicate with him. Bill's fist clenched as he read this. As kids Percy and him had been inseparable friends, as brothers are wont to do. Never as close as him and Charlie to be sure, and always a bit quieter than his two adventurous older brothers. But Percy had always good companion when it counted.
Bill wondered if he had ever really known Percy at all.
Fred and George kept in touch as much as they could risk. They lived in what had once been Diagon Alley, a gateway into the magical world, home of fantastical and wondrous shops and people.
Most of the shops had simply closed down after the fall of the Ministry. People fled, some more successfully than others. In a matter of days, the labyrinth of winding streets had become a prison. Patrols of Death Eaters scoured the streets by day, and a curfew was forced at night. Shops were raided and mercilessly looted, broken glass littering the streets. The bright colors had faded, signs creaking as they swung forlornly in the wind.
Fred and George had managed to protect their shop, tooth and claw. It stood against the cheerless ghost town with uncanny stubbornness. The bright colors still gleamed. The displays still spinning and smoking and whistling. The twins had drained themselves, desperate to keep their oasis open during these dark times. Even when they worked for the Order and hosted the Potterwatch radio station, the shop was kept opened, ready to welcome anyone who sought refuge.
In his last letter, Fred had told him that they had gathered quite a following hidden inside Weasley Wizard Wheezes. People that had nowhere to go, no one to turn to could find a safe haven amongst the Puking Pastelles and Fizzing Whizzbees. The twins worked to the bone at what they did best- bringing hope. Hope was sorely needed now, and so they stood as identical sentries to the oncoming darkness.
Ron had disappeared after the wedding. Vanished into thin air when the Death Eaters attacked, and hadn't been heard of since. Simply gone, torn away in the gathering stormclouds of the war. Probably with Harry and Hermione, Bill mused. If that was the case, no news was good news. But to think his younger brother was on the run with Harry, Undesirable No. 1...
Bill turned to stare out the window. The water lapped gently against the fine sand, a light sea glass blue in the evening sun. Ron was out there, somewhere. Beyond the horizon, caught fighting in a silent war with an invisible opponent.
They were only children, really.
As for his parents, they were still at the Burrow. Bill didn't know what Mum would do if she was forced to abandon the only home her family had ever known. It gave him a bitter taste in his mouth to even consider it. But after Dumbledore's death- murder, Bill corrected himself angrily, Grimmauld Place was no longer safe. The Order had instead collected at the Burrow, holing themselves in the lopsided haven. Bill prayed with all his might that it would continue to be a haven. His parents were taking a remarkable risk. If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named found out- Bill shook his head jerkily, refusing to dwell upon such dark thoughts. He would do the same - for the Order. They were the single surviving hope that the wizarding world had left, with Dumbledore gone and Harry missing.
It had been weeks since Bill had last been able to see his parents. Traveling to and from the Burrow posed a risk if the Ministry was secretly tracing them. Even the fireplaces were now being watched. As much as Bill longed to hear his mum and talk to his dad, the risk was too great.
It was only him and Fleur now, watching the tides fade in and out, clinging onto whispers from the outside world.
Bill inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. He let the tension in his brow relax, the lines of worry temporarily disappearing.
To anyone else, he would he an odd sight indeed, he mused. A rugged man with flaming uncontrollable hair and a dragon fang earring, face marred by violent scars, relaxing in a delicate room. Next to the radio sat a fluted glass vase filled with baby's breath, and the curtains fluttering at the windows were a subtle violet in the sunlight. Outside the window, sea lavender embraced the gray cliffs. A bed sat in the corner of the room, simplistic with its freshly laundered sheets. If you embrace the silence, you could hear the faint soothing melody of waves lapping the shore. Bill felt too clumsy for this space- too bulky with his dragon hide trenchcoat and worn boots on the hardwood floor. Amulets hung from his neck, enchanted with protection spells. They'd saved his life a few times in Egypt. He was rough, rugged, and ragged around the edges. His presence spoke of danger. To find him in such an atmosphere was outrageous, almost comical.
But he loved it here. Something about this sanctuary brought peace to his soul. Shell Cottage stood alone against cliffs and the sea, innocent to the dark forces shadowing the outside world. It was a place to be protected and cherished. The salt-tinged breeze would fill your lungs and make you feel alive.
With a small smile, Bill realized that Shell Cottage reminded him of Fleur.
Someday the war would end, Bill wished. And when it did, here he would remain with Fleur, unafraid of the future. It filled his heart with hope. One day the world would be kinder. He and Fleur could have a family then, and they would all sit by the sea together and watch the world go by.
It was then Bill heard a scream. It was short, but the fear in it was unmistakable.
Without hesitation Bill ran, running as fear crashed through his veins. His wand was clenched in his hand as he bolted out of the room, darting headlong through the hallway.
"FLEUR!"
And then he was rushing down the stairs, gripping the white-washed railing. He came into the kitchen like a deadly force of nature, savage and frightening. He stood in the doorway, wand held out threateningly.
Fleur stood beside the table, her gray eyes wide. She was staring at a red envelope in her trembling hands.
No one else appeared to be in the room. Yet Bill did not lower his wand.
"Fleur, what's wrong?" He growled urgently.
"It's smoking," Fleur said shakily, looking up at him. Her throat constricted as she swallowed. "From ze Min'stry, Bill."
"What?" Bill crossed to his wife, lowering his wand. The envelope was indeed smoking, burning and curling at the edges. Fleur handed it to him, and Bill flipped it over cautiously.
There, sparkling in the middle, was the golden Ministry of Magic seal. Bill's eyebrows went up in surprise.
"It's a Howler. We've better open it." Bill said grimly. Fleur pressed her lips together worriedly, but didn't argue. With more than a little reserve, Bill cracked open the Ministry seal.
"DEAR MISS DELECOUR," A harsh male voice boomed, filling the tiny kitchen.
"THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC IS UNDERTAKING A SURVEY OF SO-CALLED "HALF-BREEDS" TO BETTER UNDERSTAND HOW THEY CAME TO POSSESS MAGICAL SECRETS. RECENT RESEARCH UNDERTAKEN BY THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES REVEALS THAT MAGIC CAN ONLY BE PASSED FROM PERSON TO PERSON WHEN WIZARDS REPRODUCE. WHERE NO PROVEN WIZARDING ANCESTRY EXISTS, THEREFORE, SO-CALLED HALF-BREEDS ARE LIKELY TO HAVE OBTAINED MAGICAL POWER BY THEFT OR FORCE. THE MINISTRY IS DETERMINED TO ROOT OUT SUCH USURPERS OF MAGICAL POWER, AND TO THIS END HAS ISSUED AN INVITATION TO EVERY SO-CALLED HALF-BREED TO PRESENT THEMSELVES FOR CRITICAL EXAMINATION. THE BLOOD STATUS REGISTRATION COMMISSION WILL BE EXPECTING YOUR PRESENCE ON NOVEMBER 8TH FOR A BACKGROUND EXAMINATION OF YOUR ANCESTRY.
UNDER-SECRETARY OF THE BLOOD STATUS REGISTRATION COMMISSION,
ALDRED YAXLEY"
The envelope violently ripped itself to shreds, the voice still echoing. Fleur's hand was over her mouth, her eyes swimming with tears.
Bill swore, pacing around the kitchen and running his hands through his hair.
"This is all my fault. I must have slipped up at work, they know I'm part of the Order-"
"No, this es not your fault." Fleur said sternly, though she still quivered, rooted in place. "It's because my part veela. The new Ministry- they do not think that I am worthy of magic."
"Don't talk like that!" Bill said, trying to keep the creeping desperation out of his tone. "Oh honey, don't let them-" But Fleur was already crying silently, a tear slipping down her face. Bill sighed sympathetically, his heart aching at the sight. Slowly he approached her, jaw tight with anxiety. When he was close enough he opened his arms for her, and Fleur shuffled into his embrace.
"I was always ze top pupil at Beauxbatons." Fleur muttered against his chest. Bill wrapped his arms around her more tightly, letting his face nestle in her silver hair and closing his eyes. She smelled like the lavender that surrounded their house- their home. "And I fought in ze Tri-Wizard Tournament. Out of all those students, it chose me. And I fought dragons and grindylows and K-Krum..."
"But it's over now," Bill whispered in her ear. "Krum didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know," Fleur breathed against him. "But- I have always used my magic. And now, they say zat I am a half-breed? A... a... a hybrid? I do not deserve magic, that es what zey will say. That is what many have said to me already, but I prove them wrong!"
"Oh honey." Bill swallowed, unsure how to respond. He knew that prejudice had deep roots in their society. She looked up at him, anger and fear reflected in her wet eyes. "You can't listen to them. Never listen to them-"
"I've always tried to prove them wrong." She delicately brushed his bangs out of his face, staring up into his aquamarine eyes. "You 'ave heard ze whispering, no? Zat I am a creature, not a witch-"
"They're wrong." Bill said venomously. "You can't listen to them. Don't waste your time." Fleur nodded halfheartedly before resting against his chest.
"I tried to protect Gabriella from ze hateful words. But you cannot hide them, as 'ard as you try." Fleur said quietly, gripping the back of his shirt. "What- what if zey take away my wand, Bill?"
Bill didn't have an answer for that. So they held onto one another silently, neither willing to let go.
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