A/N: Happy New Year! Thanks for your response, keep it up, stay tuned for the last chapter!
Brynn
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Book Four: False Dilemma (Perfect Solution)
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Chapter Two: Confrontation
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"You did good, Weasley," Flannery said and patted Bill's shoulder.
Bill looked heavenwards and waited until the Doctor was gone so that he could get off of the stool and leave.
They had had a fatal injury on site today, for the first time in three years, and most of the witnesses were in shock. Policy dictated that everyone present had to have a medical examination, and Cyril Flannery – the replacement for Blatt, who'd 'suffered a heart-attack and died' – liked to offer moral support.
The fatality had been Mortimer Mazar: a bit of a legend among the curse-breakers, who had come to visit and, perhaps, offer a lecture on some of the rarer types of traps. Unfortunately, the old man overestimated himself after he had accepted the invitation to join the first-foray team today, and lost his head a tad too literally. Bill could see the silhouette of the decapitated corpse behind the hangings around the hospital bed, and it made him reconsider what he was having for dinner.
Otherwise he wasn't unduly troubled.
"Good night, Weasley," Carter said as Bill passed his office. It was the first time since the argument about Harry that Carter had addressed him, and Bill was, understandably, less than thrilled.
He nodded in response and walked into the night. There was a smell of roasted meat in the air, carried on a cool, north wind. Past the edge of the community stars lit the valley, and Bill took a moment to just be and recall the atmosphere, before he went to Britain tomorrow and, perhaps, had to join a battle.
As time progressed and Bill had not been asked to join any of the Order's efforts, he became more and more certain that some Legilimens had screened him and reported that he had not been genuine at all in his desire to join. He was only ever invited to the most general meetings, where little of importance was discussed. He had seen Harry once; the boy had pretended not to notice him and left while Bill had been distracted by Fleur.
Fleur was another matter entirely. What Bill had first thought would be an understanding had progressed until, five months later, he realised that they were pretty much exclusive. He left for the Merlin-forsaken island bi-weekly, stayed the weekend, and returned spent enough for the next fortnight. He should have paid more attention when Fleur had warned him about her Veela ancestry, but at that time she might have talked about being a harpy or a troll and he wouldn't have minded.
It helped that she was the best lay he had ever had.
Bill smirked into the night. He was going tomorrow: first to the meeting, and afterwards to a private one with an alluring young woman who seemed quite impressed with him. Life wasn't nearly as bad as he was afraid it would be… Yes, that was a good thought to fall asleep to.
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Bill entered Number Twelve Grimmauld Place to find not the usual chaos, but a pandemonium.
Sirius Black was sitting in an armchair, the legs of which were standing on the rim of the hangings covering his mother's portrait. He rested his feet on the troll-foot umbrella stand and cradled a glass of wine in one hand (in a typical pureblood fashion), but the look in his eyes was nothing short of desperate. He ignored the chattering wizards and witches around him, just like he ignored Bill.
"What's going on?" Bill asked, entering the living room.
His family noticed him and he was immediately pounced on.
"The poor boy!" his mother lamented. "The poor, poor boy!"
That didn't explain anything. Harry was alright, surely. What had happened then?
"Dumbledore's dead, Bill," Charlie said.
Together, the group that congregated around him (as the new-comer who had not had a chance to read the Daily Prophet) managed to explain the circumstances. Finally, they drifted off topic and began to guess what consequences Dumbledore's absence would have, as Bill seized the chance to come to his own conclusion about what had happened to the headmaster.
The opinions varied. Most thought Draco Malfoy to be the guilty one. Several were convinced Snape had done it, but so far no one had voiced that loudly enough for Snape to need to defend himself. Various Death Eater names were thrown into the debate for good measure, but Bill had a different idea, one that no one shared with him and everyone would have found ludicrous.
There was simply something eerily familiar about finding a man's dead body in the morning, whether it was on the stairs of a temple or at the foot of a tower. No one had ever pointed fingers in Haidar's case, either.
It meant that Harry had access to Hogwarts, at the very least, but most likely that Harry was actually training there. Bill for a few fanciful minutes played with the notion of applying for the post of the DADA teacher next year, before he dismissed it. His wish to see Harry was nowhere near strong enough for him to subject himself to a year of torture.
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"You stopped coming to ze Order meetings," Fleur said, buttoning up her blouse.
Bill's eyes followed the curve of her hip and chest up, until he reached her face. She was pale – she was always pale – but he thought he could detect a faint flush he had brought on.
"Since Dumbledore died, nothing of any value has been accomplished," Bill said, meaning that since the old man had bit it, his underlings had been running around like headless chickens.
"Per'aps," Fleur generously allowed. "Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are becoming impossible to stand. All zey say is 'arry zis and 'arry zat…"
"They talk a lot about Harry?" Bill asked, rolling over to his side. Perhaps he should consider coming to one of the meetings and interrogating the two men.
"Very much," Fleur replied, closing her robe. "But zey say nossing of importance. The boy 'as gone away; zey know not where 'e is and zey know not what 'e is doing."
"Is he alone, then?" Bill did his best to sound nonchalant, but from the look Fleur gave him he knew he had failed. Still, she didn't appear worried just because he was asking about the welfare of his former charge.
"Non. 'e 'as zat awful Snape man wiz 'im."
Bill gritted his teeth, accepted his kiss goodbye and lay back. He did not feel like portkeying back tonight; he would wait for tomorrow morning.
Harry was alone with Snape, doing Merlin-knew-what Merlin-knew-where, most likely encountering mortal danger on daily basis. Well, that wasn't his business anymore. As long as Potter managed to kill the Dark Lord… and even if he didn't, Bill would simply stay in Egypt permanently. There was nothing tying him to this backwards country.
For some reason, Bill had trouble falling asleep, despite the very enjoyable sex he had had beforehand.
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In October, Fleur moved back to France. It took Bill a while to obtain a new reusable portkey, and he paid a visit to the tavern in the meantime. The clientele had changed since he had last come, and he had always had a knack for spotting the right prospects.
"Never had a curse-breaker before," the woman was nattering. "Never had an Englishman, 's a matter of fact-"
Bill noted that she had dyed her hair.
"Two beds!" she exclaimed as they entered his apartment. "Roommate's got a late night?" She nearly fell over in a fit of giggles.
"I live alone," Bill replied shortly. She didn't listen. She was too drunk to notice when he started taking off her clothes.
As a means to an end she had sufficed, but Bill resolved to pick someone with personality next time. Fleur had spoilt him for this kind of women.
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Bill gave up trying to anticipate why Carter had called him to the office, and relaxed back in the armchair, waiting to hear whatever the man though he would need to hear.
"In August, it will have been ten years on the job for you, Weasley," Carter said, maintaining a civil tone with visible effort.
Bill wondered if the man had tried to send more letters to Harry, and if so then why? Utterly disinterested in Carter's speech, he thought instead of the missive he had received early that morning.
"… naturally, a raise, but a number of positions are opening for you…"
The Order of the Phoenix was asking him to come. There was nothing at all hidden in the letter. They were calling in anyone and everyone they had ties with, for the decisive battle.
"… Devant asked, but it depends on your response, since you have seniority over him…"
Bill had already decided he was going. Fleur would probably be there: she liked to think of herself as cold, but she had a heroic need to 'stand against the evil', as she had once put it; his family would be there (as the impulsive righteous Gryffindors they were)… Harry would be there.
He was being sentimental, and he might die due to it, but he wasn't certain what defined the 'better' course of action in this instance. He 'felt like going'.
"… until the end of June," Carter finished, and looked at Bill questioningly.
Bill rose to his feet and collected the pile of parchment Carter had readied for him. "I'll have to think about it," he said and went his way.
He might be dead by tomorrow evening, so what was the point of deciding now? He would rather go pick a girl and enjoy himself.
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The only person left in Grimmauld Place was Black who, naturally, couldn't show his face in public. He had drunk himself into stupor, but managed to direct Bill to Hogwarts.
The Apparition wards were wide open, and Bill strolled straight to the Great Hall. The children were sitting around one of the tables… They must have been the elder years, permitted to join the battle if they volunteered. Ronald was there among them and so was Ginevra. A young woman with a truly memorable hair was sitting between them, worrying a quill beneath rodent-like teeth.
Bill went straight to the Head table, where Moody was giving out instructions. He was noticed quickly, given hateful glares (there were some difficulties with the more vigilant vigilantes never forgiving him for abandoning the war effort), and sent through straight to Mad-Eye himself.
"You will do what you do best, Weasley – monitor and maintain the wards!" the old Auror ordered, and put Bill out of his mind.
"I'll show you the way," a familiar voice sounded behind Bill's back.
Bill turned around and saw… Percival… except this young man looked little like Bill's whiny brother. He had lines of permanent scowl on his face and his eyes were cold.
"Follow me," the new Percival commanded, and didn't wait for a response before setting out.
Bill walked by his younger brother's side, out of the Hall, out of the castle, to the front lawn.
Percival counted his steps under his breath, and finally stopped and pointed at a patch of heather in an otherwise entirely uninteresting spot. "That there is the node. The wards flow from there. Your task is to protect that."
Without another word, he left.
It occurred to Bill that he had not had an opportunity to speak with his family in more than half a year. It seemed that at least some of them thought him a traitor.
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Bill had a couple of disillusionment and invisibility spells on him in addition to the uncountable wards he had cast before the Hell began – effectively, he was encased in an impenetrable dome of magic, together with the node – but even so he shivered, lying on the ground, and feared that he was going to die.
Again and again he called himself an idiot for coming, but it was too late to change his mind now and-
A Death Eater fell, cut in two by a vicious Dark curse, and behind him, half-covered in blood, appeared a young man in duelling robes. Bill watched, stunned, as milky second lids slid over green eyes, and the man lifted his wand to shield against a bolt of fire, unaware of a giant snake behind him-
The snake reared to strike.
"Potter!" a man's voice yelled at the same time a woman shouted: "Look out!"
Like a whirlpool of shadows, out of nowhere, sprang Snape. He spun back to back with Harry, taut, wand at the ready and spitting out ugly twisting pinkish light. It was in the nick of time too, because where the serpent had aimed for Harry's unprotected nape, it sunk its teeth into Snape's neck.
Bill let out a sigh of relief and dispassionately watched Snape fall to his knees, grip the snake's twisting body and rip it away from himself. Blood fountained from him and Harry cast, Bill was sure, the Killing Curse, because there was a flash of green and the madman he had been up against fell lifeless to the ground.
The Death Eaters began to retreat then, but Harry had eyes only for the dying man at his feet; he crouched and listened as Snape mouthed something to him. Strands of silvery light enveloped them, and Bill could tell the exact moment when Snape died, because Harry let go of him and began scooping the glowing matter into a vial. Like a machine, the boy rose and walked back to the gates of the castle. He passed by people, ignoring their pleading and congratulations. At one point he stepped over the body of a student, lying in the middle of the path, uniform ripped and strewn all around.
He paused at the gates and signaled McGonagall and Shacklebolt, who had stepped in for Moody. Bill couldn't read the signs, and he couldn't abandon his post to go ask.
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McGonagall was tired; she looked like Bill imagined the man from Marathon did just before delivering his message. He was half-worried that the old witch would die the moment the battle ended, no matter which way it went, because the relief would stop her heart.
She came by, inquired about the state of the wards and her only response to Bill's assessment ("They're going to hell soon, first Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey, then Intruder and the blocks on Dark Arts right afterwards") was a tight-lipped nod. She paused in her cruise when she reached the front steps, where Shacklebolt was surveying the map Lupin had left for them.
"Who- Harry?" someone exclaimed.
As though it was a magic word, Bill found himself facing that direction. There was a red-faced young woman – Tonks, Bill amended when her hair changed to match her flush – cringing behind Shacklebolt, who was looking into empty air behind him.
McGonagall shook her head, but seemed to be staring at the same invisible thing.
"Goddamn you, Harry," Bill whispered. His eyes in vain tried to penetrate the invisibility enchantment.
"I have to let him kill me," a soft but unmistakably Harry's voice said. "That's the only way."
McGonagall went pale and clutched at her heart, like it was going to give out already then and there. "But… Ha- Mr Potter, surely there is-"
"Dumbledore knew this, Ma'am," Harry replied, ignoring the two stupefied Aurors. There was inexplicable amusement in his tone when he added: "Someone should thank William Weasley. Had it not been for him, I might have had a reason to not want to die."
Bill's wand creaked – he had gripped it so hard. He wanted to go there, grab a fistful of Harry's hair and drag him away from this carnage. He didn't know why he didn't. Perhaps he wasn't quite as selfish as to doom all these people by taking away their only hope of salvation… Who was he kidding? He didn't give a broken knut about these people. Were Harry not here, he wouldn't have been either.
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The battle had picked up again, and this time everyone knew that it was going to last until the victory. No more bathroom breaks – this was for real. The Dark Lord himself was standing over on the top of the hill and every once in a while zapped someone with an Unforgivable.
The lawn was covered with bodies and rubble: one of the walls of the Entrance Hall had crumbled and crushed several fighters beneath. Bill had experienced the most terrifying instance of his life when an Acromantula had climbed right over him, mistaking him for a boulder.
He saw a Death Eater flaying a child to death just before, somehow, the fighting came to a halt. Dark and Light wizards alike paused with their wands in the air, and Voldemort trained Dumbledore's wand on Harry and said, loud and clear: "Avada Kedavra."
Harry didn't even attempt to dodge. The green glow enveloped him for a second, and Bill turned his head to face the soil so that he didn't have to see… didn't have to know.
He knew he was being an idiot: a freak accident like surviving the Killing Curse might happen once, but it sure as Hell wasn't going to repeat. Still, he waited, magic coiled around him and expecting his commands.
A blonde woman crouched next to the boy, then straightened and looked at the monster. "He is dead, my Lord," she said with far less triumph than she should have felt.
Bill let the wards unravel and activated his portkey. Harry was dead and the Dark Lord had won. There was nothing to remain for, and he had no intention of dying in vain.