Shout out to LeviWhoIsCalledBiff-thank you for for volunteering to be a dedicated editor. Appreciate your work.

Thank you, readers, for your incredible patience. I hope you will enjoy the chapter. One of the biggest reasons for the delay in this story was partly due to the decision that needed to be made in this chapter. I debated over and again how to approach this chapter. Hopefully, I did not disappoint.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Decision

Bill Weasley had been sitting in his very comfortable armchair when the Apparition Wards began buzzing and whistling throughout the house. He rushed to Fleur in their bedroom upstairs, summoning the emergency Portkey he had personally prepared – destination: The Burrow. Just as Bill was about to initiate the countdown, he recognized the flaming red hair of his youngest brother through the nearest window.

Bill had not been prepared for what waited for him; the wand-maker everyone believed dead, a Gringotts Goblin he recognized, Lovegood and his daughter, torture, and approaching death.

They were all circled around Harry, who was slouched and on bended knee, supporting a house elf.

That had been more than an hour ago, but it was a moment that was likely to stay etched into his memory as long as he lived. The morning of Harry's vaguely veiled admission at the burrow kept intruding, too. The fact was, Bill Weasley had always been confident in who he was, where he was going, and what he wanted to do. He prided himself on his ability to avoid indecision. It was a skill—or rather, an instinct—that had only grown and matured during his time as a Gringotts Curse Breaker and had served him well; it had led him to Fleur, best of all. Today, however, Bill Weasley was unsure of what to do or what to say next; he only knew that a house elf had done what so many in the Order had failed to do.

() () ()

"I see," said Bill, still watching Harry from the upstairs bedroom. It was raining now. Harry stood still, like a stone statue keeping a silent vigil over the fresh grave. He turned away to look at Ron, who had talked for nearly the past hour, explaining everything that had happened at Malfoy Manor. Fleur and Xeno were taking care of Hermione, Luna, Ollivander, and Griphook. There were just enough rooms in the house to afford Ollivander and Griphook their own rooms, while leaving a room to share between Hermione and Luna.

"So Dumbledore's Deluminator did that, huh?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He kept glancing out the window. Bill knew Ron's decision to abandon his friends was still digging at him. Ron stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked at the floor. "Guess Dumbledore knew me better than I knew myself; knew I'd want to walk away."

"You really are dense, aren't you?"

Ron looked surprised.

"If that's what Dumbledore thought, why would he give that to you in the first place, huh?"

"He's a bit of a nutter?"

"We could do with a nutter, honestly," said Bill with a weak smile. "You wouldn't have known this, seeing as you were never part of the Order, but trust me when I say, Dumbledore's plans weren't simply do X and hope for Y. Dumbledore's plans had plans. He didn't put resources into places where they wouldn't achieve the desired result. You have the Deluminator because it's part of the plan, Ron. Which means you are part of the plan. You get me?"

"I think so."

They listened a while to the pitter-patter of the rain on the windowpane.

"So you and Hermione," asked Bill.

Ron shook his head.

"I think I've mucked that up, honestly."

"Yeah, leaving your girl in the forest wasn't a tactic in Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches, was it?"

Ron looked at Bill questioningly.

"Who do you think gave the book to Fred and George in the first place, huh?"

"Makes more sense than Percy, I guess."

Bill laughed.

"I miss him, you know. Not his ego, just him. Family doesn't seem whole, you know what I mean? No leaky cauldrons to fuss about."

Ron nodded.

Again, silence.

"Bill?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could talk to Harry?"

"About what?"

"I'm not really sure," said Ron. Bill thought Ron looked more distant than ever. Or perhaps, that was Ron thinking deeply for a change. "But something isn't right, Bill. Maybe it's stress, maybe it's my leaving them, maybe it's the war, maybe it's everything; but something isn't right, whatever it is."

Bill nodded.

Bill didn't get the chance to talk with Harry, though. Not long after his conversation with Ron had ended, Harry had come into the house, walked straight into Hermione's room and shut the door.

() () ()

"Are you alright," Harry asked. Hermione was propped up on the bed, her left forearm wrapped in bandages. Harry felt his stomach twist. It could have been her, he thought, and swallowed what felt like a burning coal. What was the matter with him? Dobby was dead, and here he was, grateful it hadn't been Hermione. He wanted to vomit but nothing was left in his stomach to give.

Hermione nodded, her eyes still carrying the terror of Bellatrix's cruelty. Harry also noted they carried concern, pointed at him. He knew what she wanted to say, so he tried to head her off.

"Fleur did a good job with the bandages, looks like."

"Unicorn-fiber, Dittany, and Essence of Murtlap," replied Hermione. She stiffened some, contorted her face and said with noted disgust, "but I'll always have the marks. Bill said the cuts were made with a cursed blade."

"I'll never think anything less of you," said Harry without thinking. He looked away quickly, starting at the wall. He opened and closed his eyes quickly, trying to rid the building water without being obvious.

"It's not your fault, Harry."

"Bloody Merlin if it isn't," Harry shot back, harsh and raw.

"It was my idea to see Lovegood, Harry. My idea."

"You know the truth, Hermione: being with me, associating with me, supporting me, gets people kidnapped, tortured, or killed. Luna would never had been taken if The Quibbler didn't support me, yes? Ollivander wouldn't have been taken if Tom didn't want to know about our wands, right? Dobby wouldn't be dead if I didn't need protecting. And you wouldn't…if I…"

"If you were what, Harry," said Hermione, surprisingly calm. "Stronger? Cleverer? How could you possibly have known what pressure Lovegood was under? How could you possibly have changed the outcome with the limited time we had to respond? What exactly, Harry, would you do differently?"

Harry stood in silence. He wanted to say everything. He would have done everything differently. Taken Dumbledore's offer to hide, flee the country, give himself over. Any number of things, so long as they took her out of harms way.

"Dobby didn't die just for you, Harry." Harry forced himself to look at Hermione. She didn't even try to wipe away the tears. "He saved all of us, Harry. Every one of us. You think Dobby destroyed those wands to save us? None of that was necessary. Dobby was fighting, Harry, he was fighting. He wanted his freedom, Harry. So don't think for a minute that he died just for you, or because of you. He did what we're doing; fighting his oppressors. He just finally got his chance."

Silence fell in the room. Harry didn't argue. He couldn't argue. Truth was, he didn't want to say why he was really angry, even if he had already admitted it. He fumbled with the golden Snitch in his pocket, reminding himself to stay steady.

"I finally figured it out," he said after a while.

"What's that?"

"How to block him. I figured it out."

"You've gotten the hang of Occlumency?"

"No, grief."

Hermione tilted her head questioningly.

"It's just like when Sirius died and he tried to possess me. I thought about the pain of losing Sirius."

"Grief, then?" Hermione had a very strange look, almost smug-like. There was genuine question on her face, but also that characteristic biting of her lip. "I'm guessing you saw something while you…cared for Dobby?"

"Yeah, he found Gregorovitch. He knows who stole the wand."

"The wand?" Hermione was now very curious.

"Yeah. Would you like to guess who stole it?"

Hermione pressed him with a piercing look.

"Grindlewald."

"No."

"Yeah. And you know who Grindlewald lost to."

"Dumbledore."

"Yeah," answered Harry. "But I need to talk to Ollivander first to confirm a suspicion I have. You know, wands choosing wizards and what not."

Hermione nodded.

"I think they are real, Hermione; the Hallows."

Hermione nodded. "At least the wand."

Harry rubbed the Snitch again in his pocket. Not just the wand, he thought.

() () ()

Bill waited patiently in the living room, surprisingly uncomfortable in his usually comfortable armchair. When Harry did finally emerge from Hermione's room, Bill was surprised to see that Hermione had joined him. What happened next happened in quick succession. Harry, with Ron and Hermione in tow, requested (rather ordered) that they speak with Griphook.

"Harry, can't it wait? Griphook just had his dose of Skele-Gro and needs to rest."

"No, Bill, it really can't." Harry rubbed his scar the way one usually massaged their temples during a headache. "And before you ask, no, I can't tell you why. You just have to trust me." The trio then disappeared into Griphook's room.

Bill tried—despite knowing it wouldn't work—to eavesdrop at the door. He even tried a handful of counter spells. He had wanted to warn Harry; deals with Goblins were rarely in favor of the wizard, if ever.

Trust Harry. Those were the last words Lupin and Kingsley told the Order that Dumbledore had said to them. Trust Harry.

Bill exhaled deeply, leaning his back against the wall.

The three of them emerged from the room half an hour later.

"I need to speak to Ollivander," said Harry with the same detached yet straightforward voice as before.

"Harry," said Bill quickly, determined to at least get in his warning before Harry could protest. Whatever deal you've made with Griphook, you need to think it over carefully."

"What's done is done," said Harry simply. "Griphook will get what we agreed to. Can we please see Ollivander?"

Bill wanted to say something else but didn't; not because he could not, but simply, he just didn't know what to say.

Another hour later, the three emerged again, went back to Hermione's room and didn't come out for several more hours. When the door finally opened again, it was Hermione, asking for a few bottles of Polyjuice Potion, to restock their used supply. Bill didn't have any but knew where to get some.

Trust Harry.

() () ()

"Want to explain what you intend to do with these, Bill," asked Mr. Weasley.

"I honestly don't know what they have planned with them," said Bill. He had suspicions, though.

"Them? You mean, did Ron find—"

"Yeah," he said. "Tell you the story later."

"Maybe I should come back with you. They might need help."

"They have help; a goblin, Griphook. That's all I know."

"Merlin's beard!"

"I know—I thought the same thing; hope I'm wrong. Anyway, I'll need you to come by in a couple days; they rescued Xeno's daughter and Ollivander. They've both been through a bit, but they are recovering. I can tell you the rest of the story then. I need to get going."

"Thank Merlin I can give Molly some good news; she hasn't slept in a few days."

"Send mum our hello."

"Send Harry ours."

() () ()

Trust Harry.

Bill kept saying the words over and over to himself, long after they had left, with Griphook, and Hermione disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange.

"I know whatever you're doing…is important, Harry," Bill had said grasping at words. "It's never been done before, you know that, right?"

Harry gave him a slight smile.

"So I've been told," said Harry. "We might just make a habit of it."

Bill sat down at the table, freshly poured Firewhiskey in his glass.

Trust Harry.

Bill drained the glass and was about to pour another when Xeno stumbled into the kitchen.

"Can I help you, Mr. Lovegood?"

"Unlikely," said Xeno sadly. "Although, I might be tempted by what you're having."

Bill nodded, summoned a second glass and poured.

"My dad will be along tomorrow to help you and Luna get settled somewhere long-term," said Bill.

"Oh, yes, er, well, thank you. Luna will be happy." Xeno drained his glass. Bill, unprompted, filled it again. Xeno was not his usual aloof self. Bill expected this to some degree; he had just been reunited with his daughter. Bill was about to drink his second glass when Xeno let out a moan of sadness.

"It's all my fault!"

"Sorry?"

"Desperation makes people to horrid things, you know; I've known this as long as I've been writing. Yet, despite knowing it, I was not immune to it. How will she ever forgive me?"

"I don't know what you mean, Xeno?"

"Betrayal! Cowardice! You understand these things, yes? You know what they are?"

Bill furrowed his brow. He had never seen Xeno Lovegood turn erratic. Excitable, yes, but erratic, no.

"It's all my fault; the elf's death is my fault."

"I'm not sure how you worked that out."

Xeno crumpled to the floor. Tears welled in his eyes.

"He came to me for help. But they had my Luna."

Xeno looked up at Bill, his watery, silvery-blue eyes unusually focused and less cross-eyed than ever, pleading for understanding.

"It's all my fault; how can Luna ever forgive me?"

Xenophilius Lovegood collapsed to the floor in a heap and wept.

Bill could only watch as Luna and Fleur (having heard the commotion from upstairs) helped Xeno to a chair. Bill excused himself and stepped outside. Without thinking, without realizing what he was doing or where he was going, he found himself at the foot of Dobby's grave, the words still fresh on the gravestone: Here lies Dobby, a free elf.

Realization was crashing on Bill. Ron had not mentioned anything of Xeno's betrayal. Ron hadn't been there, obviously, but it also meant that Harry hadn't mentioned it to Ron, either. Luna, likewise, remained unenlightened, as she had been quite proud of her father doing the right thing. How could any person let that go?

Almost immediately, Bill relived the elf's final moments.

"Dobby, why didn't you listen to me," asked Harry. The House Elf's eyes flickered open for a moment. Dobby tilted his head, his long bat-like ears caressing against Harry's forearms.

"What does Harry Potter mean?"

"I told you never try to save my life again, do you remember?"

Harry didn't expect the short, choked laugh.

"Dobby remembers, sir, Dobby remembers."

"Then why did you come?"

"Because Harry Potter was in pain. Dobby knew Harry Potter was needing saving. Dobby knew only he was knowing how, sir."

"But I wasn't even hurt," said Harry defensively.

Dobby, eyes still closed, offered a sad smile.

"Harry Potter was hurt," said Dobby. He lifted a hand, trembling, and pointed a finger at Harry's chest, roughly where his heart was beating. "Harry Potter always hurts." Dobby's whole body shuddered and inhaled deeply as though he might drink up all the sea air.

"But you promised not to," said Harry again.

"No, Harry Potter, Dobby did no such thing." The elf opened both of his eyes this time and made a clearly painful effort to lean into Harry's chest. "Dobby promised not to try, Harry Potter; not to try." Dobby let out a heavy sigh, burrowed into Harry's chest and said just one thing before his last breath left him.

"Love."

Bill turned from the gravestone and looked back at Shell Cottage.

Trust Harry.

What was it that made Dumbledore trust Harry so implicitly?

Bill looked back at the gravestone and it dawned on him then; the elf had done what so many in the Order had failed to do: understand.

Dobby found Harry because he was hurting amid Hermione's torture.

It was so simple. How did they miss it?

Bill remembered the morning at The Burrow: "That prophecy is the reason my parents went into hiding, and ultimately why they died."

His parent's death, his fault.

Cedric's death, his fault.

Sirius' death, his fault.

Dumbledore's death, his fault.

Moody's death, his fault.

Ron's abandonment, his fault.

Luna's torture, his fault.

Hermione's torture, his fault.

Dobby's death, his fault.

Bill understood. I trust you, Harry. We all do.