The Paths We Tread

Chapter 4:

Out of the Night

Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

July 31st, 1996

It was just after midnight, and Petunia should have been asleep.

Pursing her lips in annoyance, she flung the covers away, wrinkling her nose as Vernon turned in his sleep and nuzzled into the warm spot she vacated. She loved her husband – it was only proper, after all – but she hated having her space infringed upon. Shaking her head at the man hugging her pillow, she padded quietly from the bedroom.

Opening the bathroom door carefully, she closed the door behind herself before turning on the light, then sat on the edge of the tub, dropping her head down into her hands.

She couldn't get those piercing green eyes out of her mind.

Shaking her head roughly, she scowled once more. She'd been dreaming of Lily's eyes for years, always the same, just looking at her with such disappointment. One would think she would be used to it by now.

Why should the disapproval of a dead woman matter to me, anyhow, she thought spitefully.

She shook her head again, as though one more time would clear it, and stood to face the mirror.

Eyeing herself critically, her long neck, her sharp nose, her stringy light brown hair, she sighed. It was no wonder Vernon was cheating on her. She didn't keep up her looks, she allowed that freak to contaminate their family, and the house –

Well, the house, at least, is perfect, she thought to herself with no small amount of pride.

But her face was red, her eyes bleary, so she splashed cold water on her face, and left the bathroom with a sigh. Finally flicking on the hall light, she turned and stared at their attic door. She hadn't been up there in years, she mused, not since she had stuck all of her parents' things up there, all those years ago.

She took a step forward, her hand out – then backed away. Shaking her head, she spun on her heel and headed back to her bedroom.

Standing in the window, she looked down the darkened street. All the lights had gone out again, she reflected – surely with the neighborhood fees they paid, they should have working streetlights? A shadow moved on the street corner, illuminated by the moonlight, and she scoffed again.

Hooligans, she thought, and climbed back in bed.

Petunia Dursley fell into a fitful sleep, and never felt the flames.

The Banks of the River Thames

London, England

"Charlie? Charlie!"

Charlie groaned, barely stirring, and struggled to take a breath. Strange, he hadn't thought he'd been hit so hard in the enclosure the night before. He strained, trying to roll onto his side, but a white-hot pain flared up in his torso, and he froze.

Clearly, he'd had far too much to drink if he didn't even remember what he'd done the night before. And since when was Calliope so frantic? He'd told her already he wasn't in the mood. Never mind that that was almost never true. A man was entitled to a break.

"Charlie!" The witch shouted urgently, and Charlie flinched as she shook his shoulders roughly. Funny, that sounded a lot like –

Tonks.

"Is he breathing?" another voice asked nearby. Lupin, Charlie's mind supplied, and he groaned again.

London. He was in London.

Images flashed through his mind in stark relief – Harry. Bill. His father. Germany. Snape and some warning. Standing on the bridge with Kingsley. Seeing people drop things, hearing a countdown –

Kingsley standing right next to one of the things, staring at a car full of kids. Charlie running towards him, the burly Auror grabbing Charlie's arm and flinging him off the bridge just as the world exploded –

"Yeah," Moody's voice growled, and he heard Lupin and Tonks let out a sigh of relief before Tonks started shaking him again.

And a flash of blond hair, and an aristocratic, sneering face.

Malfoy. Charlie sat up sharply, groaning, and Tonks let out a horrified moan as she grabbed his right arm to hold him up. His face was numb, the whole left side, and he couldn't see.

"Dear lord," Remus whispered, "his skin is falling off."

"Charlie," Tonks said urgently. "Charlie, don't move. We're going to get you help."

Charlie let out a strangled sound, struggling to speak, and he felt Tonks and the others move closer.

"What is it?" Lupin asked in a low tone, and Charlie whimpered as he tried to make his mouth open – but he couldn't.

Malfoy. What had Malfoy – he couldn't remember –

More images were flashing through his mind, and he let out a ragged sound as he struggled to stay awake.

Moody was turning towards him, saying in a quiet rumble, "You have a strong mind, kid, you sure you want to play with dragons?"

Shack was muttering to himself, "Something doesn't feel right here."

Harry was sitting on his brother's couch, eyes shadowed and face drawn –

Ginny's pale face as she cried in his arms, a tiny little pipsqueak of an eleven year old –

Tonks was straining against his grip, struggling to get by him so she could burst out the door, angry tears streaming down her face as she slapped at his arms –

Hermione's dull expression as Snape dispassionately explained that her parents no longer remembered her, Tonks squeezing her shoulder and Shack holding her hand as Bill and Charlie sat there, helpless –

Their faces all appeared in a circle in his mind's eye then started to spin, and Charlie struggled not to heave as his whole world spun with them.

" – are the mediwitches?"

"I don't think they have that long – "

The spinning stopped, and the faces disappeared, and Charlie was standing in the orchard by the Burrow. The sun was setting behind the trees, and a thick fog was rolling in, coming closer and closer – Charlie felt a terrible dread building –

"Never trust anything," a voice whispered, and he turned to see his father standing by the tallest tree. Kind-faced Arthur Weasley, the man who had taught him to fly a broomstick, to ride a bike, to fish and skip rocks. His father's face was blank, his eyes lifeless, and there was nothing of the genial, patient man he knew.

Charlie stared.

"The sun is setting, Charlie," his father's voice, cold and empty, echoed across the orchard. "Never trust anything that – "

The sound of crunching leaves sounded, and Charlie turned to see Lucius Malfoy coming through the clearing. The man's face was twisted in a hateful sneer, and Charlie shouted as he raised his wand and pointed it at Arthur. Malfoy's mouth was opening, he was shouting a spell, but Charlie couldn't hear it –

"Wake up, Charlie!" His father shouted, the warmth returning to his voice, and the orchard flickered around him – a graveyard, then a desert, then a temple, then the orchard again – "You have to wake up!" A jet of light raced towards Arthur Weasley from Malfoy's wand, and the scene vanished.

Charlie gasped, jerking upright again, and finally managed to force open one eye. Beside him, Tonks' face was pale and drawn, and she was still shaking his shoulders, still shouting, "Wake up!"

Charlie raised his arm with Herculean effort, wrapping his hand around Tonks' bicep, and he pulled. The metamorphmagus jumped, her eyes darting immediately to Charlie's one open eye, and he planted heavily, gasping again.

"Don't," he managed, wheezing, "don't bring me – don't remember – "

He saw Moody go still, and then everything went black again.

Wake up, Charlie, his father's voice echoed in his mind.

The Banks of the River Thames

London, England

Tonks stared as her best friend collapsed under the weight of Moody's stunner. She spun around, glaring at her mentor, and the grizzled old man met her gaze steadily.

"Better off this way," he grunted, and he stepped back as Pomfrey appeared, her hair in a tangle and one slipper missing. The mediwitch took one look at the mangled pair on the banks and cursed wildly, dropping to her knees gracelessly between them.

"Lupin," the matron barked, "take Shacklebolt." The graying man stepped forward immediately, raising his wand and levitating Shacklebolt a few inches off the ground, and Pomfrey tossed a small statue to him. He caught the statue in one hand and the pair vanished, Pomfrey right behind him with Charlie.

Tonks shot to her feet, about to apparate after them, but Moody grabbed her arm. "You can't help them, girl," he said in his low growl. "Look up!" Jerking his head to their right, he gestured with his other hand at the mangled sections of bridge, the bodies floating or scrambling in the water, and Tonks swallowed back bile. Letting out a shaky breath, she nodded resolutely and took a step forward –

– Vance's swan Patronus slammed into her.

Privet Drive, the woman's cool tones echoed, with a frantic edge that Tonks had never heard from her. Fiendfyre. Bring everyone.

Moody snarled, and Tonks felt her blood run cold. Her mentor met her eyes, and they turned and vanished in unison.

The Burrow

Ottery St Catchpole

Devon, England

"We're rallying at number 4 and spreading out to battle the flames," Arthur said quickly, kneeling before the fireplace. "It's all hands on deck, Bill, we're even bringing Ginny and Ron to help."

"Not Harry," Bill said immediately. "I don't want him anywhere near there – he's too valuable a target."

"Agreed," his father replied, "but we can't spare you."

"Hermione," Bill said, "I'll get her and she can stay with Harry here. She shouldn't be there either, considering – " Bill stopped speaking, his eyes narrowing. "You're bringing Ginny?" he said sharply.

Arthur nodded curtly. "She'll stay with me the whole time. Ron will be with Moody."

A flicker of distaste shot through Bill's eyes, and Arthur bit back a sad sigh. He and his eldest, it seemed, still had a problem.

Bill vanished from the fire without another word, and Arthur stood up quickly, spinning on his heel to see Ron standing behind him, dressed in thick leather boots, heavy duty jeans and a long-sleeved close fitting shirt. His youngest son had a solemn, set look on his face, and Arthur nodded approvingly. Lupin and George walked through the door, Neville and Luna in tow, and Arthur looked around with a frown.

"Where is your sister?"

Ginny Weasley was a very angry young woman.

None of her friends or classmates saw it, really – except Luna, but Luna was…. Well, Luna. If anyone asked, she would be described as vivacious, fun, and bright, but none would have ever described her as she was.

Dark. Vengeful. Angry. Tainted.

But then, Ginny was pretty sure no one could ever be possessed by Voldemort and come out on the other side pristine. A gifted actor, certainly. But not innocent. Not ever again.

She scowled as the target she was blasting stayed upright, forcing a bit more power through her wand and smiling in satisfaction as shards of wood flew across the orchard. The spell wasn't one Hermione would approve of, she was certain. And most definitely not her mother.

But as far as Ginny was concerned, needs must.

Tom's voice echoed in her mind, and she closed her eyes. If you want to destroy something, you need to understand it, the dark lord whispered, and she shook her head to clear him away.

It had been four years, and the memories hadn't faded a bit.

She really, really wanted to hit something.

Letting out a shaky breath, Ginny opened her eyes and raised her wand again. Michael's face flashed before her eyes as she took aim. She scowled, fighting back the tears prickling at her eyes –

Suddenly, her communication charm seared at her neck, and Ginny reached down and wrapped a hand around the pendant.

Get back to the house, Ron's voice sounded. Situation. We're heading out.

Ginny turned on her heel and made her way swiftly out of the clearing, not bothering to respond. She tucked the pendant back under her shirt as she went, smiling grimly as she thought of all the work and frustration that had gone into creating the things with Hermione. It had taken ages to create something separate from the D.A. coins, but it had paid off.

She strode into the house, taking in the presence of Lupin, George, Neville and Luna without question. "What and where?" she asked simply, turning to Ron, and her brother scowled.

"Fiendfyre. Privet Drive," her father responded instead, and Ginny felt a surge of rage again, spinning on her heel to face her father. "You stay with me at all times, Ginny, do you hear me?"

Defiance was in her nature, especially these days, but Ginny swallowed back an angry retort. "Yes," she said simply.

Not two minutes later, she was landing in hell.

She stood in the center of a suburban street, not unlike Hermione's neighborhood. The air was sweltering, and she felt her skin begin to burn and gasped for air and –

A bubble suddenly appeared over her head, and she shot her father a grateful look as she gulped in clean oxygen. Eyes narrowed, she gazed around the street.

Or it was a street at one point, she thought. Charred remains of house littered the sides of the road, yards scorched and dragons and serpents made of flame still soaring through the sky. As she watched, the tail of one serpent hit a tree that had been untouched – the flames raced through the branches and down to the ground, off to the next target and just kept….

Ginny swallowed. This was a nightmare.

"Come on," her father said tersely as Ron shot off to join Moody down the street.

She swallowed again, her rage shaken out of her as she stepped over – she looked down and bit back a sob as she saw the struggling dog. "Stupefy," she whispered, pointing her wand down at the whining creature, and the poor little terrier stopped crying and stilled. Forcing back tears, she steeled herself and set off after her father.

House after house was burning, the skeletal frameworks still ablaze long after the flames should have died down. Ginny and her father shot revealing spells at every house they passed, looking for survivors. Ahead of them, she could see Bill standing with Dumbledore and some man she didn't recognize, hands raised and drawing runes in the air as they chanted urgently. They passed five houses with no one left alive, then her father shook his head roughly, putting on a burst of speed. Ginny ran to catch up –

But her father suddenly caught her around the waist, and she gasped as they vanished, landing roughly a few streets over. The Fiendfyre was raging there as well, the flames licking at houses and creeping further and further down the street.

"No one survived," her father said tersely, and Ginny swallowed down bile again. "Might as well try to stop the spread before it takes the whole county."

Ginny nodded. She stepped forward, keeping her breathing even, and gathered her magic as she stared down the towering flames. Behind her, she heard McGonagall cursing in a thick, angry brogue, and felt Neville, Luna, Lupin and Tonks appear. They battled on, and at some point, Bill, Dumbledore, and some others arrived around her, but Ginny couldn't look away, couldn't spare a bit of concentration as she struggled to stamp the flames out.

Her hands were shaking and her lungs were on fire when Ginny finally lowered her wand. Her father stood right at her shoulder, watching her carefully, and everyone around them looked exhausted, even Dumbledore. Down the street a ways, closer to the park, she could hear Aurors shouting as they tried to rein in the last part of the inferno. To her left, she finally noticed, was Viktor Krum, and the Bulgarian had a hand wrapped around her left arm, halfway holding her up. She glanced at his hand, then gave him a tight-lipped smile and carefully pulled free.

The older boy just looked at her, eyes shadowed, then nodded curtly and stepped back.

"Ginny, Ron, Luna, Neville," Dumbledore said in a steady voice, "head back to headquarters, we shall – "

A green flaming skull erupted suddenly from the burned house before them, and everyone jumped as the skull shot towards them.

Ginny just stared at it, eyes narrowed and face set, as she balled her shaking hands into fists in her robes. The skull opened its mouth.

"You are still mine, little one," Tom Riddle's voice hissed at her, and her father grabbed her shoulders as both of her brothers growled slightly under their breath. Ginny looked steadily at the skull, refusing to blink, refusing to cry – "You will always be mine."

A roar sounded on the street, and the house crumbled as the skull raced towards her…. And everything went black.

Ron hadn't stopped swearing since his father had taken his unconscious sister to Hogwarts.

He stalked down the street just behind Tonks with Viktor Krum at his side, Neville and Lupin a few steps behind with Moody bringing up the rear. The others had all gone to help with cleanup and the Obliviator Squad at the London Bridge, or in Kent at the beach, so their small crew was what remained to fix up Little Whinging and Magnolia Crescent.

Ron wasn't really sure what there really was to fix anymore.

They had swept every street, checked every house on their way back to the starting point of Number 4, Privet Drive. In only one house had there been a survivor, a withered old woman who was charred from head to toe, and her breath had stilled before Tonks even had a chance to so much as kneel beside her.

Ron dreamed horrors every night, and he'd never seen anything like this.

It was a terrible but small mercy that in some of the houses, the fire had burned so long before they had been able to stop it, that the bodies were obliterated. He could almost convince himself that the forms in stark relief on the walls and floors were make-believe when there wasn't a body.

Krum was muttering something under his breath beside him, and Ron shot the other wizard a questioning look. Krum subsided, his mouth twisting in a grimace, but he didn't explain.

It was after the twenty-seventh destroyed house that Ron had felt himself go numb, and he welcomed the sensation. Which was probably why, when they stopped in front of Number 4, when they stood looking at the inexplicably untouched front garden, he didn't say a word.

Instead, he stepped forward, his eyes narrowed as Lupin and Tonks swore roughly, and stared at the letters blazing in the grass.

Happy Birthday, Harry

"Vere is no hell vile enough for vese creatures," Krum spat, and Ron raised his wand and blasted a small crater into the yard.

He turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring the yells of the others behind him, and as Neville hastened after him, the pair grabbed their emergency Portkeys and disappeared.

Sleeping in the empty school felt strange. But after Ron had looked in on Ginny, who was fast asleep in the hospital wing with Luna tucked in beside her, and hovered at Charlie's bedside, he slipped off to Gryffindor tower and threw himself into his favorite chair by the fire, his eyes blank and sightless.

It was just gone 4 am. He was exhausted beyond measure, but he didn't want to sleep. With a muttered swear, he rubbed his hands roughly across his eyes and leaned over, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, as his mind raced.

Bill had left an hour before and gone back to the cottage, refusing to bring Harry and Hermione to the castle. His eldest brother was terrified, Ron knew, of what kind of impact it would have on Harry to see the injured, to hear the full accounts – what had been done by a twisted creature in the name of wishing him a happy birthday. Instead, Bill had admitted to Ron quietly, he planned to tell Harry the shorter version in the morning. He knew he couldn't keep the truth from the teen, nor did he want to – not that he would be able to, Ron scoffed. Bill was figuring Harry out pretty quickly, but he didn't yet understand how determined Ron's best friend could be.

Besides, Ron thought soberly, if Voldemort had been happy enough, if Harry's Occlumency had slipped – maybe he saw the whole thing.

Ron's head started to pound and he sighed raggedly, pressing his fingers into his temples. He'd had his last Occlumency session with Snape just yesterday – the day before, rather, now – and usually he was in a better state a day or two after. But now?

His mind felt like a raw wound that was being coated in coarse salt.

Maybe he had better try to get some sleep after all. Maybe –

He stumbled off to the dorms, his head pounding and his vision going gray.

Yeah, he thought sardonically, three days is apparently the limit.

"Scream all you want," he said with a twisted grin, blood dripping from the split in his lip. The blonde-haired woman stared at him with wide eyes, chest heaving as she struggled for breath. "You have a beautiful voice," he continued conversationally, "I could listen to it all night."

With a steady hand, he reached out and traced his wand across her stomach, shallow cuts appearing under his wand's tip, and the woman cried out in pain.

"Ah, Dori," he breathed, leaning towards the woman –

Ron's head slammed off the edge of his nightstand as he started awake, and he cursed under his breath as stars formed in front of his eyes. With a low growl, he forced himself up off the floor and sat on the edge of his bed, feeling gingerly at the back of his head.

No blood, nothing damaged, but he was going to have one heck of a lump later on, he thought distractedly.

A woman's face flashed before his eyes, tears streaming down her face, and he flinched. He fumbled for his wand on the nightstand, letting out a sad sigh as he saw the time.

6:17, he thought. So much for that.

Ron quickly pulled on a pair of worn jeans and a simple long-sleeved shirt, then made his way for the stairs. Still muttering darkly, he crossed the common room to collapse on the large, squashy armchair that had become "his" partway through third year – as in literally, no one else sat there anymore – and pulled a huge abandoned book toward himself. As much as he had always hated studying, truth was, he had realized finally, after what happened before the summer, that they would have to start taking things more seriously.

After all, how long could they keep surviving on luck? He shook his head and began to read, still muttering darkly now and then.

"Ron?" a soft voice said questioningly, and the youngest Weasley son shot to his feet, wand pointed at the –

– puzzled face of Luna Lovegood, he realized. He shoved his hand into his hair and lowered his wand with another tired sigh, practically throwing himself back into his chair. "Sorry," he mumbled, the tips of his ears reddening as he turned back to his book.

Luna hesitated at the foot of the stairs, watching him for a few moments before crossing the room to perch on the chair to his right. He ignored her a moment of two, hoping she'd just go away and leave him in peace, but finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he raised his eyes to hers and simply looked at her. The younger girl bit her lip and met his gaze.

Still she hesitated, her hands twisting together in her lap, before she seemed to come to a decision. The usually airy girl seemed almost unnaturally focused as she studied his face. Shifting forward slightly in the chair, she bit her lip before asking, "Ron, are – are you alright?"

The redheaded wizard watched her silently for a time, considering. He didn't really want to answer her – but at the same time, in that moment, she reminded him of someone. He wasn't sure who –

She bit her lip again, and it came to him in a flash.

Big brown eyes welling with tears, mouth bloodied from shoving her own teeth through her lip to keep from screaming, hands chained to the bedposts as he grinned down at her.

Ron jerked back in horror as Marlene McKinnon's screams sounded in his mind, and he shot to his feet.

"I – I have to go," he choked out, and he turned on his heel, running for the portrait. He heard Luna calling after him, heard the Fat Lady's surprised exclamation, and still he ran, not stopping until he hit the lake's edge.

Ron collapsed beside the choppy waters, his breath coming out in sharp, painful gasps as his eyes prickled. He huddled there, arms wrapped around his waist, and leaned all the way over until his forehead rested against the sand. Shivering in the chill morning air, he wept bitterly as nightmare after nightmare flashed through his mind.

After a time, his tears slowed to a halt, and he finally moved, his legs stiff and his back sore from being hunched over. He crab-walked to the huge tree by the shore, leaning his back against the trunk.

Eyes shadowed, he stared off into the distance.

Herne Bay

Kent, England

Bill was fairly confident this had been one of the most horrific days of his entire life.

And if one truly understood his day job, that was saying something.

He stood silently on the shore between McGonagall and Brand, his face expressionless as he stared ahead at the carnage of what was once a bustling seaside community. By the looks of it, this town fared the same as Little Whinging – none had been spared.

Except at least in Little Whinging, awful though it was, the people mostly died quickly. The little girl five feet ahead had not.

Muggle Emergency Response were rushing around them, gathering up bodies and marking off houses, looking for clues to explain the tragedy. As Bill watched, one paramedic knelt to the ground, retching, as he came across another child, this one with its intestines torn out. A few feet away, a clearly dead merman floated in the water. A small group of policemen were gathered around the creature, gawking.

The Obliviator Squad hadn't made it out there yet, and from the state of London, he wasn't sure they ever would. Not only was this town destroyed, but the statute was irreparably damaged.

He exchanged a quick look with McGonagall, and the Transfiguration Master nodded. They would take care of all they could when they came back. But they had a mission to attend to first.

To his right, Brand stood with a scowl, studying the rune-etched stones. Bill had already glanced over and catalogued each one in his mind – he had a fantastic memory, and though he didn't know their meanings off-hand, he would recognize them when he saw them. But the other man was muttering something under his breath, and he looked rather shaken. Bill watched him distrustfully.

He didn't want the man there, but his father had insisted to Dumbledore that he could help. How he'd gotten Brand himself to cooperate was anybody's guess. The spellcrafter certainly wasn't a team-player.

But, Bill supposed, by nature, he wasn't either.

The spellcrafter knelt in the sand, brushing a hand over one of the runes, and Bill moved forward quickly. The man stood before Bill reached him, and he eased back, watching.

"These are old," he said quietly, his voice missing the usual sarcasm. "I haven't even seen them even mentioned in a book newer than fifty years back."

"Grindelwald era?" McGonagall asked sharply, and Brand shot her a derisive look.

"Older," he said simply. "You're looking at something hundreds of years old, there's no way he should have had access to this information."

"So how did he get it?" Bill asked, "and more importantly, how did you?"

Brand snorted. "I helped translate it after some of your ilk found it," he replied with a smirk. "In case you've forgotten, boy, I'm something of a big deal."

McGonagall stared at him blankly, her trademark expression causing even Brand to look away and settle down.

"Right," the eccentric man sad, clearing his throat, and inwardly, Bill cheered for his old Head of House. "So we need to get back, so I can find out who talked to him."

Something was prickling at the edge of Bill's subconscious, and he stood stock-still as McGonagall looked around. "I suppose we've gotten what we came here for," the Scotswoman sighed. "Bill, I'm going to head back and coordinate with Dumbledore for the Obliviators. Will you be all right here?" she asked him worriedly, peering at her ex-student over her glasses.

Bill smiled at her reassuringly. "We can finish up," he replied. "I just want to check out a couple more things."

Brand was straightening up behind him – he'd been kneeling over one of the stones again, and out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw the man slip something red and glowing into his pocket. McGonagall eyed Bill a moment then nodded, Disapparating silently, and Bill turned to Brand.

"I want to see if we can uncover the warding he used," the cursebreaker said calmly. "It may give me a clue as to what to combat next time. Are you up for it?"

Brand hesitated then nodded slowly, his dark features shadowed. The German shoved his wand absently in his pocket as he turned to study the runes once more, and Bill raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Brand chuckled. "All the latent magic is long gone, no matter what you think we're going to find. We're surrounded by Muggles here, who's going to curse me?"

Brand turned to face him, his face grim. "Besides, nobody can best me anyway."

Shell Cottage

Tinworth, Cornwall

Harry felt rather numb.

Bill had returned about an hour before, Brand gone but Tonks in tow. Harry hadn't been awake when Bill had stopped by to check on him early that morning – he suspected the man had potioned him to sleep – so this was the first he was hearing about all of the horrific events that had happened since midnight.

It was just gone eleven a.m., and it was already the worst day Harry could remember.

Tonks had left to give them some privacy, leaving Hermione with Harry at her request, and so Bill had told them alone. The eldest Weasley son sat across from them in an armchair, elbows on his knees, and leaned forward, speaking with them quietly. Telling them about London Bridge. And Herne Bay.

And Little Whinging.

Hermione had gone pale, but she had managed to stay steady through the whole story, her eyes glued to her best friend for his reaction. Harry was silent, motionless, but inside…

Hundreds. Thousands. Dead. Because of him.

He kept that thought to himself, knowing how the others would react if he voiced it, but he knew. Deep down, he knew.

Bill didn't mention any message, but he was sure there was one. A "this is for you, Potter," somewhere, somehow.

Thousands had died, for no reason other than that, sixteen years ago, he was born.

Harry swallowed, dropping his head into his hands, and Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head against the back of his neck and letting out a shaky breath. The two sat there silently for a long stretch as they tried to regain their composure, as Bill waited patiently.

"There's something else," Bill said lowly. Harry raised his head and looked at his de facto guardian, his eyes shuttered, and he felt Hermione tense beside him. Without looking away from Bill, Harry reached out and squeezed Hermione's hand.

"Charlie is going to be recover," Bill said softly. "It's going to take time, but physically, he'll be fine. But he lost some time. He doesn't remember anything after we got back from Germany."

The cursebreaker stopped talking, swallowing and closing his eyes, before he opened them and continued talking.

"Kingsley," he said haltingly. "It's bad. Pomfrey and Pye aren't sure – "

At that, Hermione let out a strangled sound and jumped up, running for the fireplace. Without another word, as Harry and Bill stared at her in surprise, she threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire and yelled "Hogwarts!"

She vanished before they could speak.

Harry stared after her. He had already had a feeling that Hermione was far closer to the Auror than she let on. Apparently, he'd been right.

Bill cleared his throat nervously, and Harry turned back to look at him.

"Did anybody make it?" he asked brokenly, and Bill shook his head.

"We managed to stop the Fiendfyre before it got out of Magnolia Crescent," the older man said quietly. "But Herne Bay was an outright massacre, and as far as we can tell, Charlie and Shack were the only survivors from the bridge."

"I – " Harry began, his voice breaking as he swallowed convulsively. "I have to – bloody hell," he gasped, and the teen turned and ran out of the room.

Bill rocked back in the chair and sighed. "I'm not even twenty-six," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes. "How am I supposed to know how to do this?"

Then he opened his eyes, pushed up out of the chair, and followed Harry.

He found the teen thirty minutes later, sitting on an outcropping of rock down the shore at the very edge of the wards. Harry didn't look around when Bill joined him, so the eldest Weasley son took that as an invitation. He sat down beside the teen silently, looking out over the crashing waves.

The silence stretched on nearly ten minutes, then Harry finally spoke.

"Where will I go?"

Inwardly, Bill smiled sadly. "Here," he replied calmly.

"No, I mean…" Harry's voice trailed off, and the teen sniffled. "I'm an orphan again. I – "

"They weren't your family," Bill replied gently. "You don't have to mourn them, Harry. You don't owe them anything."

Harry scoffed quietly, then shook his head. "God, how horrible am I, that that was my first thought?"

"But it wasn't," Bill said simply, and Harry flinched.

"No," the teen agreed. "It wasn't."

"I know you think you have to save everyone, Harry, and I know why," Bill said urgently, and the teenager stiffened as he looked even more determinedly towards the sea. "But nobody can save the entire world. And it isn't all on just you." Harry's wiry frame shook, and finally, Harry let himself break down and cry.

The cursebreaker sat on the rock silently, watching the shore and listening as Harry struggled, and after a stretch, the boy's gasps slowed. He seemed to relax, and Bill let out a small sigh of relief – silently waiting, it seemed, had been the right thing.

"I was serious, though," he said after a moment, and Harry finally turned to look at him, red-rimmed eyes confused.

"You can stay here," he explained. "You'll go back to school when it's time, and come here for Christmas break. We'll hide out at the beach and go to Mum's on Christmas Eve, where she'll stuff you with extra pudding and claim I don't feed you enough. Then we'll come back here and hide at the beach some more. Then you'll go back to school – "

Harry interrupted him, his eyes flashing. "The Ministry isn't going to let me just stay here," he said angrily, and Bill shrugged.

"They will once Dumbledore's done with them, and I become your legal guardian."

Harry stared.

"If you want, I mean," the cursebreaker said calmly, reaching up to fiddle with his dragontooth earring as Harry continued to stare. "Obviously, if you'd prefer to live with someone else, I won't stand in your way, but I think you'd be best served here."

"You mean that?" the black-haired wizard asked, his eyes suspiciously bright, and Bill shrugged.

"I think we understand each other," he replied, pretending to misunderstand, "but yeah, if you wanted to go somewhere else – "

"No, I – I mean, yes, I mean – " Harry stuttered, and Bill waited patiently. As he watched the waves, Harry drew a deep breath, then finally offered, "I like living by the sea."

Bill smiled. They sat there in silence a while longer, listening to the crashing of the surf, before Harry spoke again. "Bill?" the teen asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

Harry paused, then slowly, he asked, "Erm… does Dumbledore know that he's going to make the Ministry make you my legal guardian?"

Bill laughed, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "No," he replied, still chuckling, "no, he does not, but he will soon enough."

Harry shook his head, a wry grin on his face, and hugged his knees to his chest, staring back out at the waves.

Great Hall

Hogwarts

Hermione practically flew out of the fireplace in the Great Hall, bolting for the Grand Staircase and taking the steps two at a time. Her heart was racing and her lungs burned as she pushed herself as fast as she could move, but she couldn't –

She stepped off at the first landing and collided with someone, squeaking as she stumbled backwards and almost fell. Long fingers gripped her arms and jerked her upright, and Hermione was pulled off balance and stumbled again, practically falling onto her rescuer.

She looked up to see Snape glaring down at her, his customary scowl a little less harsh than normal. "Miss Granger," he sneered.

Hermione swallowed, suddenly nervous, though she had no idea why. Really, she had been dealing with the dour man on a regular basis for some time, recently, and he didn't intimidate her at all anymore. So why…? "Professor Snape," she said evenly, her tone hiding her confusion. "Sorry, sir, and thank you for catching me." She shifted uncomfortably, trying to ease back, and the man seemed to realize he was still practically holding her against him. He abruptly released her arms, and Hermione stumbled back a bit again, her equilibrium thrown.

This time, he let her right herself, watching with a scowl as Hermione leaned on the railing a second.

"What are you doing here, and why are you running like the hounds of hell are on your trail?" the Potions Master snapped, and Hermione shook her head, still trying to catch her breath.

"Visiting," she said shakily, "I was coming to see Kingsley."

Snape's eyes darkened. "And just why–"

"Hermione!" a friendly voice called, and Hermione looked up to see Tonks peering down worriedly from up the stairs. Snape seemed to stiffen, and Hermione glanced curiously at the professor before turning to face Tonks. "Are you all right?"

"She's fine," Snape snarled, and Hermione shot him a glare. Tonks ignored them both, vaulting over the staircase and landing in a crouch right between them, her back to Hermione.

The normally clumsy Auror didn't stumble one bit, rising to her feet gracefully and meeting Snape's bemused gaze.

"Did you want to see Shack, Hermione?" Tonks asked calmly, still looking at Snape.

Hermione looked back and forth between the pair, her brow furrowed. "Yes," she said finally, when neither of them spoke.

Snape stared at her steadily for a moment, then turned back to Tonks. "I'd be careful if I were you, Nymphadora," the Potions Master sneered. "Shacklebolt's affection for the girl seems… improper."

Hermione stared at him, eyes wide, and Tonks' back stiffened in front of her. As she stood there, trying to figure out what on Earth was going on, Tonks stepped back to stand right beside her.

"I tell you what, Sevvy," Tonks responded, and Hermione choked, "why don't you let me worry about my new little sister, and you worry about inventing yourself a shampoo that actually works. Mkay, punkin?"

And with that, Tonks wrapped her arm around Hermione's shoulders and steered the girl up the stairs.

The Burrow

Ottery St Catchpole

Devon, England

August 1st, 1996

Arthur Weasley sat quietly in the darkness of the orchard, his back leaned against his favorite tree. He reached behind himself and pressed his hand to the knot in the bark, letting out a relieved sigh as he felt the spell react.

Still untouched.

He opened his eyes and looked around, taking in the slight scuff marks, the stray scorched sections in the trees and grass. This was where Ginny was holding her clandestine spell sessions, he knew, and where she and Ron sneaked off to plan and to practice, with the others from their little group in tow as much as they could manage.

It was only fitting, he reflected with a rueful smile. The little orchard had seen many secrets of the Weasley family over the years. It was where Bill and Charlie had secretly learned to fly, then Ginny; where Fred and George had first started their experiments… and it was where Arthur had performed his exercises and training for several decades now. In the same spot where his brothers once did. Even Percy had snuck off to the orchard as a small child, although his middle son had been more apt to be sneaking books far beyond his age level.

It was only fitting that all of his children hid their secrets here. They were so much like their father, after all.

And yet… so much not.

He had hidden so much from them over the years, so much held back out of necessity. It pained him, because some of his deception was the reason Percy scorned their family so – although, really, what did that say about his middle child? He shook his head to clear it, to banish the thought of Percy, and closed his eyes again.

He had hidden so much from them, but somehow, he felt like Bill had always known there was something beneath the surface, had always watched too closely, noticed too much, asked too many questions.

Bill simply knew him, no matter what he had tried to do to prevent him from seeing.

Which was why Arthur was not at all surprised when he felt Bill's magical signature, and opened his eyes to see his eldest son standing in the entrance to the orchard.

Too observant by half, his eldest was. And so Arthur pushed to his feet and faced him, faced the coming confrontation.

Bill's face was blank, a calm, steady mask, and for a fleeting, hysterical second, Arthur wondered if Brand was right, if Bill was angry enough to kill him. He shook his head immediately – his son was far better a man than that. But still… nothing about this is going to be fun, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

So Arthur did what he always did when faced with an impossible situation – he made the first move.

"You waited longer than I thought you would," he said quietly.

Bill didn't blink. "It was Harry's birthday," he replied. "Awful though the start of it was, I wanted him to have at least a little fun. I had to be there for that."

Arthur was silent.

"But now," Bill continued, "it's August. We survived July, and Harry is asleep, and Tonks is there. So here I am. And we need to talk."

"I'm not sure now is the time," Arthur said softly, and his eldest son's eyes nearly sparked.

"Oh, now is the perfect time," Bill practically spat, and Arthur drew back in spite of himself. "As a matter of fact, I don't think there could ever be a better time."

But suddenly, Arthur couldn't do it. The coldness, the distance from his eldest son, he could handle. But the idea of losing his respect…

"I am not having this conversation right now, Bill," he said sternly, his voice raising slightly. "It's been an awful day, an awful week, an awful month, and we're both tired. Go home."

"No," Bill said calmly, and Arthur stared at his son. "We need to do this now. I have to know."

Arthur sighed. Leaning back against the tree again, he tilted his head and looked up at the sky. "You've only had Harry in your care for a few weeks, I know," he murmured. "But already, I think, you understand. What wouldn't you do, to protect your child?"

But Bill was staring at him. An odd look crossed his son's face, then Bill scoffed and almost smirked, shaking his head. "You don't get it," he said quietly, almost to himself. "You really don't get it."

And Arthur was starting to think that Bill was right.

"Leaving aside the fact that I don't believe you can protect anyone from the truth," his eldest continued, "you misunderstand. I get operational security, Dad. I can't tell all the details of my own job, after all. I don't like that you lied to us, rather, I hate it, but I still understand."

Arthur's confusion was building alongside his alarm. If Bill wasn't angry at him over that, then why – ?

"I will say, now that we are fighting the same war, in the same group, on the same side, and I know there's a secret, I would appreciate you sharing," Bill added, "but if you can't, you can't. No. That is not the issue here."

Arthur didn't say a word, and an angry gleam sparked in Bill's eyes. "Care to take a guess?" his eldest asked almost spitefully, and Bill scoffed at him. "You said eight words, not too long ago, that shattered my opinion of you."

Arthur was finding it hard to breathe. The orchard seemed to get even darker, the stars muted, and the air around him chilled. He could feel a strange heaviness, a static in the atmosphere, the likes he hadn't felt since his last job. "Bill," he said haltingly, "What – ?"

Bill just looked him in the eye. "Surely. You. Realize. I. Would. Never. Hurt. Harry."

Arthur's blood ran cold.

"But you did," Bill snarled, and Arthur's patience finally snapped.

"I have never hurt a child!" he practically roared, his face flushing red and his heart pounding. Bill didn't even flinch, didn't back down, just stared his father down.

"No, you just left him there," his eldest replied calmly. "You stood back and let it happen."

Arthur fell silent again, breathing hard as he stared at his son.

"Did you know?" Bill asked, and Arthur flinched. "Did you know they were hurting him? Because I've got to say, Dad, now that I think about it, when we found Dursley covered in Harry's blood, you didn't seem too surprised."

The clearing was deathly silent as Arthur stood there, stunned.

Bill continued, his tone alarmingly nonchalant. "I wondered why Harry's friends, why my brother and sister never told me something was wrong at his home. At first I thought it was because I didn't live anywhere near here anyway, so what good could I have done him? Then I thought it was Harry who didn't want to tell, and they were just respecting his privacy. But I had to ask, and then Fred and George told me that they pulled him out of a room where he was locked in, bars on the windows and a tin can on the floor for food."

Bill stepped forward as his father remained silent. "And they told me that they told you, and they told Mum."

Arthur didn't move.

"So of course, having already realized that their own parents didn't seem to think there was any need to do something, they thought there was nothing they could do."

"What would you have me say?" Arthur asked hollowly, and his eldest son met his eyes.

"Did you know they hurt him?"

"No," Arthur replied hoarsely, his head still pounding as he struggled to look his son in the eye without blinking.

"But you knew they were neglectful, at the very least," Bill said calmly.

This time, Arthur managed not to flinch. "Yes."

The stoic look on his son's face nearly shattered him, and Arthur steeled himself. "Why," Bill asked flatly, and Arthur shook his head.

He leaned more heavily against the tree trunk, rubbing his hand over his eyes tiredly. Now that Bill so masterfully held the upper hand, he saw no point in trying to hold the mask of calm. "I knew Lily Evans – Lily Potter," he said quietly. "You are a talented wardcrafter, son, but she – she was incredible." Arthur smiled slightly as memories rose up in his mind. "Maybe it was her Muggle background, maybe it was just how her mind worked, but she was so creative – she could solve problems no one even realized they had."

Arthur cleared his throat and turned his head to look at his eldest son. "So when Dumbledore insisted that Harry had to stay there, that the blood wards would protect him, I went to see for myself. And I found the finest wards that Lily ever crafted."

Bill just waited, and so Arthur shook his head again and kept talking. "Knowing what I know now, I'm sure that Lily set those for her sister out of a sense of obligation, and that she would never have wanted that horrendous woman to care for her son. But at the time, it seemed the safest place for him. Not even Voldemort could touch him there."

"The Dursleys' could," Bill said quietly. "Did you know that once, when he was eight, Petunia Dursley swung at his head with a cast iron skillet?"

Arthur closed his eyes as the image of a tiny, black-haired spectacled boy dodging a blow to the head sprang to life in his mind. When he opened his eyes again, Bill nodded.

"I'm sure there's more," his son continued, "as I haven't gotten him to open up much, yet. He's only been with me a few weeks, you understand."

Arthur waited for the knife. His son was like Molly in that – he knew just where to aim for maximum impact.

"Matter of fact," Bill added, "I'm pretty sure over the course of several summers, he was in your care longer."

"I tried!" Arthur burst out finally. "I went to Dumbledore, I told him we would take him; even though we couldn't afford another child, even though it would have been dangerous, your mother and I, we tried." He drew in a sharp breath, "But Dumbledore told me about the wards, and I knew – "

"You gave up," Bill said calmly, and Arthur felt a spark of indignation.

"I'd like to see you out-maneuver Albus Dumbledore when he's sure he's right," Arthur muttered, and Bill grinned wolfishly.

"You will. Tomorrow, most likely," his son replied, "as that's exactly what I expect to have to do. But the difference is," Bill added, looking his father dead in the eye, "that I will do it."

Arthur met his son's bland expression and felt another piece of himself break. "If you think it doesn't haunt me, you're very wrong," he said quietly, and Bill just shook his head.

"I think that really doesn't matter," his son replied, the harsh words completely matter-of-fact. "Don't misunderstand me, you're not the only axe I have to grind." Bill let out a shaky breath then, his first sign of any uncertainty, and Arthur watched him warily. "You're just the only one I never thought could do this."

Turning on his heel, Bill moved to the edge of the orchard. With a glance back over his shoulder, he said quietly, "You're not the man I thought you were."

And he was gone.

Arthur sagged back against the tree, his vision swimming with tears as he finally let go. He slid down the trunk and collapsed on the orchard floor, his breath coming in heaving gasps. A pair of arms banded around his shoulders, and hands wrapped around the back of his head, and he let himself be pressed into a warm, soft shoulder.

"He didn't mean it," Molly whispered in his ear, tears choking her voice. "He didn't mean it."

But as Arthur wept there on the ground, his wife rocking him in her arms like a child, he was fairly certain that Bill had meant every word.

Shell Cottage

Tinworth, Cornwall

Bill walked shakily up his porch steps, his legs leaden and his lungs burning. Cool and collected though he might have seemed – and he had, his father's confusion had been obvious – his mind and his heart were racing.

Arthur Weasley was his hero, his idol, always had been. The man who had been such a calm and quiet rock through their entire lives was the exact person Bill had aspired to be. To learn that the same man had turned his back on a child in need –

It had rocked Bill to his very foundation, had destroyed his image and opinion of the man, had shattered everything he thought he knew.

The screen door shut softly behind him, and Bill sagged against the wall.

Oh, it didn't surprise him about his mother. Loving and matronly though she was, Molly Weasley was very capable of an us-against-them mentality, and if she felt her children were in danger, she could do just about anything.

But Arthur Weasley had been his compass, his moral guide.

When Charlie was released from the ward, when they talked about this, he would say that Bill was being too harsh – ever the devil's advocate, his brother was. He'd say that Dad was trying to protect them all, that Dad did what he could, that Dad trusted Dumbledore, and of course he did… and why wasn't Bill more angry at Dumbledore?

A vicious smile curled Bill's lips at the thought of the overworked, overtired, and over- involved leader of the Order of the Phoenix. He had been at odds with the man before, and he would be again. But Bill didn't feel personally let down by Dumbledore.

Anger and regret surged up in him again as he pictured his father's stricken face, but the image of Harry, sitting alone on his porch steps in the rain, soon replaced it. Bill closed his eyes, rubbed a hand over his face, and sighed.

He likely was being too hard on his father. His mind flashed back to what he had told Harry, sitting on the beach the afternoon before…

No one could save everyone.

And yet.

This was personal.

He leaned forward, peering around the corner, and smiled at the sight of his crowded living room.

Harry's friends had come over for dinner in celebration of his birthday, not that any of them had been in the mood to celebrate. After the awful night and day they'd all had, they just needed to be together.

Hermione had been the first to arrive, in a fit of hysterics no less. The girl had thrown herself at Harry, weeping and babbling apologies for leaving so suddenly earlier, and Harry had wrapped his arms around the girl and looked at Bill with "save me" in his eyes.

Bill had just chuckled and left the room, disappearing to the kitchen to gather together the supplies for a cake.

Taking a moment to breathe, they had spent two hours over the meal, then another hour over the cake. Then finally, finally, the six teens disappeared onto the beach speaking in hushed tones as the sun went down.

Then Harry's friends had refused to leave his side. Which meant Bill ended up with a house full of fifteen and sixteen year olds, his youngest brother and sister included. And Hermione, bless her practical soul, had proceeded to turn his living room into a pillow fort paradise that would have done any six year old witch proud.

Bill leaned on the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest, watching them all silently. The teens were scattered across the room in piles, Hermione sandwiched in between Harry and Neville with her hand tucked under her cheek, Ginny curled into a ball up past their heads. A few feet from her, Luna was sprawled out next to Ron, her leg thrown across one of Ginny's, but her head pillowed on Ron's shoulder. Bill bit back a laugh and shook his head, smiling.

It wasn't often that this group acted like kids. And even Ron and Harry were fast asleep.

His smile faded and he straightened up, unfolding his arms and turning to walk back out of the house. He stopped on the porch and tapped his wand against the front door, setting the silent alarm that would alert him if the door were opened. Then, with a quick glance around himself, he strode over to his workshop, pressing his palm flat against the rune etched into the door.

A sharp prick of his palm and he whispered the ward key as his blood soaked into the rune. The rune glowed a soft blue, and Bill stepped back, straightening his robes and tying his hair into a ponytail. Then he arranged his face into a blank mask, strode into his workshop and slammed the door behind himself.

Tonks looked up as he walked in, jumping down from where she had been sitting on a table. The metamorphmagus grinned at him as she popped her bubblegum loudly.

"Spoilsport," she muttered playfully. "You weren't gone long enough for me to have any real fun with the braggart."

Bill ignored her, turning his attention to the man gagged and bound to the chair. Klaus Brand glared at him heatedly as Bill sat down in front of him, casually stretching before leaning forward and loosening the gag. With careful, slow movements, Bill pulled a glowing red jewel out of his pocket and set the item down on the table. Brand stiffened, his eyes riveted to the jewel, then looked slowly up at Bill.

The cursebreaker smiled. "You," he said quietly, "are going to tell me everything I need to know."

~*~ALIBI