7 St. Mungo's Hospital

It was late… early… whatever. Bill had been at St. Mungo's for longer than he thought was necessary, with a bandaged leg that was mostly only bruised from falling on the ground to take cover – not his brightest dueling move. The Healers had done all sorts of tests to confirm his identity as well, and they'd put him in a recovery room that had a large glass window overlooking the Intensive Care hallway, so he figured that his hiding days were over. Two guards flanked his door outside, for protection – whose, he wasn't sure yet.

His Glamour Charms had worn off completely, realigning his nose and fixing whatever other ailment Tonks the Auror-Not-Charms-Expert had inflicted on him. He probably looked terrible, and smelled worse. He was now left with a highly recognizable 'Bill Weasley' face, and wishing that the window from the hallway to his not-so-private room wasn't so large or smudge-free. He was afraid that if he got up to pull the blinds, someone would recognize him and call the authorities.

He hadn't been arrested yet, so either that was a good sign, or Tonks was pulling more strings. Admittedly, she was good at what she did. Whatever her true motives were, (he really couldn't be certain about anything right now) he was glad she wasn't actively working against him.

The door opened and someone slid something across the bed table in his direction. At first, he didn't look up, but when no one moved for at full minute, he finally lifted his head. He was surprised to find a large cardboard coffee cup sitting in front of him, smelling faintly of Wolfsbane.

"You're gonna need it. It's almost six o'clock."

Tonks stood with one hand on her hip. Her meaning didn't escape him. This was his morning coffee appointment time, and no one wanted him to succumb to another transformation if it could be avoided.

"So that's your real face?" she asked. "It's much better than that horrid disguise. You look like a Weasley now."

"You look like you always did," he said. He hadn't recognized her before, but now that he'd spent just about the whole night with her, he'd begun to remember a girl with spiked, colored hair at Hogwarts, a few years under him. He hadn't known much about her then, and he still didn't know much now. She was up a few points on him, having known how to get his special coffee order.

Bill palmed the cup and let the warmth seep into his hands through the cardboard. The feel of the smooth, wax-lined surface was familiar and comforting. He didn't ask her how she knew about the Wolfsbane potion. If she'd found out where he worked, she could find out practically anything.

"I had your order practically memorized, having stood behind you for weeks and hearing you give it to the barista." Tonks told him.

"Why didn't you say anything, if you knew about me?" Bill sipped the coffee. He didn't feel out of control at the moment, and he wanted desperately for it to stay that way.

"I didn't know you had the other mark. I only knew that whoever had it was closeby. I figured that if I kept going there, eventually I'd run into them. And here we are."

"I meant the Wolfsbane. Why didn't you report me?"

"You're not the only one who needs Wolfsbane off the books."

Bill let that information settle over him as he watched Mediwitches and Healers pass each other down the hall. A bloke with crutches stumbled after them, not having mastered his coordination with the walking aide. Then his fears materialized at the end of the hall. A familiar face spotted him immediately.

Hermione Granger nearly dropped a stack of files, bringing her hands up to her face as she spotted him through the glass. She tried to strong arm her way closer, but the guards had caught on and wouldn't let her. She locked eyes with Bill, seeking silent answers.

He hadn't seen anyone he knew in a long time, besides his coworkers, who knew more than anyone, how to keep secrets.

Bill stared down at his coffee. "Please," he said. "Don't let her tell my Mum. I'm not ready for that."

"I'll deal with her," Tonks said, and left the room.

Through the window, he watched the Auror exchange words with the Ministry Official. He winced as the two women argued heatedly. Then Hermione finally punctuated whatever she was saying with a stomp of her foot. The soundproof glass didn't leak any words, but they were clearly mad at each other. Tonks appeared to be yelling, and then suddenly she stuck out her hand.

Hermione paused, and they shook. Then the bouncy-haired brunette gathered up her spilled files and left without another look.

Tonks came back into the room and pulled the shade down over the window. "Word got out about you. She didn't believe it until she saw for herself. They thought you were dead for the better part of a year. I told her that we just found out and you need more time, but they don't understand."

They meant more than just Hermione Granger.

"I did what I had to. I don't have to explain it to anyone."

How could he? He could barely understand it himself. One minute, he was on the doorstep of his house, and the next thing he remembered, he was standing in his living room with hairy palms while staring down at his wife in a pool of her own blood.

"You're right about that," Tonks said. "It's hard to explain to people that the reason you need space is because you can't explain what you're feeling to anyone, not even to yourself. Not until it settles. And sometimes, it never settles."

She really did understand. Sometimes Bill forgot that Tonks had gone through her own pain, similar to his own. Pain was a funny thing. Sometimes when the memories wouldn't leave him alone, all he wanted was for them to go away so he wouldn't have to feel it. But sometimes he wished that the past would consume him, and that all the suffering he went through was never going to be enough.

Bill's gaze fixated on a spot in the distance, beyond the four white walls of the hospital room. He stared into nothing, letting it empty him. It was easier not to think that way.

Something sharp scraped across his arm, and he reflexively jerked away. Tonks was wiping the tip of her wand with medical gauze. She stuffed it, along with some of his blood, into a small glass jar.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"Giving you space," Tonks said. She swished her wand at his arm, and the scratch disappeared.

Bill felt his anger rising. Even though it was going to happen eventually, he had at least wanted a say as to when he was going to have to face the truth. "You had no right to do that. Did Granger put you up to it?" He was almost yelling now, but he didn't care. As much as he owed her for all that she had done for him so far, this was not her business.

"It was my idea. I offered her evidence so she could work your case. All she wants is what's best for you. You're her brother in law, you're family. And even if you weren't, she'd still try to protect you. Look, she promises not to tell anyone that she saw you, not even Ron. For now."

Hermione's husband, Bill's youngest and most stubborn of all his brothers, would be here in a heartbeat, giving Bill an earful, dragging him through all the misery he'd put his parents through since his disappearance. Knowing that Hermione and Ron shared everything, she wouldn't be able to keep quiet for long. And that meant his mother would eventually show up. Bill tried not to think of the hell he'd put his family through by running away.

Tonks was right, though. She'd done her homework, or she wouldn't have been able to send Hermione Granger away with a handful of words.

Then there was the matter of the blood sample. Tonks still held the untested evidence in her hand.

"Even if the test comes back positive, it still might not be your fault. Cases like this go through the Wizengamot all the time. There are protections…"

Bill hated that word. "What if I don't want protection?"

The look she gave him made him realize how stupid and selfish that sounded. The war had just ended. People had died, one of his brothers included, and many others that shouldn't have. It was hard to lose friends and family, doubly so if it was a tragedy like his wife, Fleur.

Someone knocked on the door, making Bill jump out of his chair. Tonks peered around the window shade and let out a breath of relief. She greeted the Auror's aide and took the parchment he handed to her. Bill watched her tear it open, her eyes busily scanning it – then she sat down on the bed, her legs suddenly unable to hold her up.

"What is it?" Bill asked. He had become used to Tonks' no-nonsense demeanor, so seeing this unbalanced side of her had him shaken.

Tonks shuffled the papers around and froze. "The autopsy report came in for Goyle Senior. He was a werewolf."

"How…" Bill was shook.

"The Hunters claimed to have killed him last month. They sent a sample of his left pinky to the Auror's Office in a jar. His body was missing the pinky, but he's only been dead for a few hours. Oh, this is interesting. His Gringotts account is completely drained. Someone cleared it out in one lump sum before his first death. Also, he was only recently turned."

Bill's attention peaked. "How recently?"

"The virus only was in his system for a few weeks, as far as they can tell from the tests. But there was something else. The autopsy also showed that Goyle had signs of shifting into his lycanthropic form just as he died."

"That's not right. The full moon's not for another two weeks."

"You transformed in the middle of the day," Tonks stated. "When I first met you, in the alley."

"Half. I'm only half…"

It had been the man, Fenrir Greyback, not the terrifying, transformed werewolf version of him that had attacked Bill. The initial tests had shown that he carried the virus, but it wasn't active. Until it was, and then his world had fallen apart. Bill didn't know what he was capable of anymore.

Bill thought about what this meant. "Greyback's still in Azkaban, right?"

Tonks nodded. "Where are you going with this?"

"I don't know. Why would they want me dead when they wanted Goyle alive?"

"Maybe they don't want you dead," Tonks said carefully. The phrase 'worse than dead' popped into Bill's head, and it sent shivers down his spine.

She put a hand on his arm from across the table. "Whatever you think you are, you're not a monster. That thing inside of you is a virus… a shadow… a parasite… it's not anything to do with you, who you are, what you stand for."

"How can you be so calm about this?" He wanted to pull away from her touch, but it had been so long since he'd had anyone show any type of kindness towards him that he just let it go.

"Your parents, and some of your brothers were in the Order. But you weren't, were you?"

"No. I'm a Curse-Breaker. We did our own part in the war, but we weren't directly involved like they were."

"Then you didn't know my husband."

"No." Bill had heard his family talk about the Order, but he couldn't recall a 'Tonks' anyone, or a Mr. Tonks.

"Remus was a full werewolf, not the half-thing that you have going on. Three days of the full moon. Total change. Everything."

Bill knew that name. Remus Lupin had visited him in the hospital shortly after Bill's own attack. He'd also heard that Remus had died in the Battle at Hogwarts. So yeah, they'd both lost someone.

"I'm sorry," he said, knowing deep down how trivial those words were, and how much he was going to hate hearing them coming from everyone else.

"You don't have to…" Tonks closed her eyes and breathed in and out, slowly. "It's okay, the thing that you have. It doesn't make you an outcast. It doesn't make you a murderer."

"But what if I am?"

"I don't think you are. Believe me, I've met the type."

She got up from the table, saving him from trying to respond to all of that. The jar was in her hand, and she was going to turn it in. "I'm gonna let you have that space now. I'll be back in an hour."

When Tonks closed the door, Bill crumpled the paper cup into a tight ball and threw it at the window. Then he kicked the end of the bed with his unbandaged foot, which he instantly regretted. He'd always known that someday he'd have to face up to the truth – but he wasn't ready for it to be today.

What if he had killed Fleur? How could he go on living, knowing that he'd killed the one person he'd loved the most?

The nightmare was still fresh in his mind. Skin shredded, blood everywhere –

All he could think about was how dangerous he was to people – how, if he had done something this terrible to Fleur, then he needed to be put away. He'd used the portkey from his Curse-Breaking kit to Apparate straight into the security vault in Gringotts, the safest place he could think of.

Thankfully, the kit also contained emergency rations and water – so Bill stayed huddled in the dark, waiting for his transformation to take him over so he could rip himself apart out of grief. But the transformation never came, and his sleep was riddled with horrific images that woke him in cold sweat and salty tears.

It had taken three days for his team to locate him.

Once they got him fed and watered, fixed up with a new identity, and he was basically on the mend, it didn't matter. His wife was still dead, and he was still a prime suspect.

If they proved his guilt, how could he go on?

Bill sat and stared at the blank spot on the wall, sinking deep within himself, trying to forget everything again. Trying to find the place inside him where there was no more pain.