DISCLAIMER: Hey, guess what, in case any of you just awoke from a coma, or crawled out from underneath a rock, or underwent surgery to correct your severe retardation: 'Twas not me who done thought up Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, or Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, or Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, or Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, or Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix! It all belongs to JK Rowlings, every last golden wonderful fabulous bit of it!!!

CHAPTER FOUR

RESTLESSNESS

"I don't like it," said Mr. Weasley, grimly sipping his tea, "I don't like it at all."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head slowly, her knitting trembling in her hands. "You can't, Bill. You aren't."

"I have to."

The knitting flew across the room, "I will not lose another son!"

"Madness, William," said his father calmly, "You haven't picked up your wand for months. I know we're all going a little nutters, stuck in this tiny living space, but think about-"

"-you're ill!"

"I'm fine."

"You're not!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked, "Look at yourself. You could do with gaining double your body weight!"

Bill chuckled. "I always could, mum. I weigh the same as I always did."

"Don't you laugh!" Mrs. Weasley roared, standing and pointing a finger, "Don't you laugh about going off to die!"

Mr. Weasley took his wife by the shoulders and sat her back down. "Son, our family has our share out there fighting. Stay in here. Be safe."

"Our share?" said Bill, "Fighting? You mean Percy, sitting in his office? Or do you mean Charlie, getting piss drunk every night at the colony, perhaps remembering to throw food at the dragons once in awhile? Or are you talking about nutty little Fred-" the pained expressions on his parent's faces caused him to abandoned his thought.

"It can't be this way, mum, dad," he continued after a moment, "Everyone's too afraid to fight. They've got hundreds and thousands of Muggle soldiers marching into his headquarters, every day! They don't understand why their bombs won't go through his barriers, and soon they'll try to use their nuclear weapons, and that will kill us all!"

"One ill, out-of-practice wizard won't make any difference," said Mr. Weasley.

"I am not ill," said Bill indignantly.

"You could barely get out of bed just yesterday!" Mrs. Weasley wailed.

"Well I got out of bed today. And I'm going to get out of bed tomorrow, and go to Romania, and Charlie and I are going to fight Voldemort."

Mr. Weasley shook his head in despair. "You've grown too old for fool ideas like this, son. Far too old. We'll not let you go."

"We will not let you go," Mrs. Weasley repeated shrilly.

"You can't stop me. I'm a grown man."

"We can," said Mr. Weasley very gently, taking another sip of his tea, "You're very weak, son. It's time you realize that."

"They were only children!" Bill cried, "How could it last forever, when it was unintentional? When it was only an experiment? When I was consenting? When one of them is dead! Damn it, father, magic doesn't work like that. Surely it will wear off!"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gazed at their son, subdued and weary. Tears reddened the edge's of his mother eyes, and his father was looking very old.

"It's a pity the twins had to learn the hard way that some potions just don't mix-"

"No." Bill said, the muscles very tight in his face, "It's something else. It has to be! It was only supposed to make me float, for Merlin's sake!"

"None of that matters now!" shrieked his mother, "What matters is that we've got sons out there already, two in very dangerous positions, and one a poor lost soul-"

Mrs. Weasley burst into tears as his father tried his best not to. They held each other very close.

"You aren't going, son."

Bill got up and left the room.

As if to prove him a fool, before he reached his little cave of a room in the basement, his feet began to feel very heavy.

"Oh no..." he moaned.

The heaviness traveled slowly up his legs and to his waist. He grabbed the railing, breathing hard now. He would make it down the stairs. He would not fall. He would not fall and have his mother come running in, crying I Told You So, as she helped him to bed. He was determined to make it himself.

As his legs became useless with the heaviness, his fell on his backside and twisted around, dragging himself on his belly, until he reached the floor. He could feel the weight traveling up his chest now so that he could barely breathe, but he drug himself toward his bed- he was almost there- just a few feet-

Useless. It felt like something was pulling him down from underneath, but not just that, like someone was inside his body and pulling his innards toward Hell, from his stomach to his brain. So heavy, like someone had glued him to the floor and placed a great weight on top, to be sure that he would stick forever.

Nothing to do but brood now. After seven years he'd learned just how to breath so he did not suffocate, but he would have preferred to collapse on his back. At least that way the dust bunnies wouldn't crawl up his nose, and he'd be able to call out if he needed anything.

He managed to use his fingers to reach up and pull his blanket off the bed, and as he was trying to lift his head, it suddenly felt like he was flying, soaring toward the ceiling.

But he wasn't. He was just back to normal. Bill got up off the floor and threw himself on the bed. He hated that. It was a relief that he wasn't to be weighted (or ill, as everyone else called it) for hours to the floor, but damn it, how he wished he'd never agreed to be a Guinea pig for the twins.

It had seemed like a great idea; they'd offered him a cut of the profits. Weasley Wizard's Super Hovering Bubble Gum- Super Strength, Super Bubbles- Fly Without A Broom!

Or just the opposite. Instead of the expected and rather attractive side effects, he was left with the permanent condition he'd just experienced. It came on at any given moment. And each time, just as he was now, he hoped and prayed that it would never happen again. Someday, surely, it would just stop.

Whatever happened, he was done being a slave to it. He certainly wasn't getting any younger, and had yet to do anything with his life but make Head Boy, work at a bank, and hide.

Voldemort had his own territory now. Everyday he killed more and more half-bloods, more and more wizards on his hit list, more and more Muggles, and from reading the Daily Prophet (which, ironically, came out only twice a month now), it seemed to Bill that little was being done to prevent it. They were hiding, everywhere. Even Secret Keeper's Secret Keepers were searching for their own Secret Keepers, which was useless, because everyone was too afraid to Keep anyone's Secret anymore.

But his brother Percy, whom Bill still hoped would prove to be a good leader, was struggling to pull together scant armies, and training them to be Aurors (from books, as most of the Auror's were dead or in hiding). There was a call for adult wizards of any age to help with the crusade against Voldemort.

Dumbledore, growing older by the day, had finally given in and was offering Auror classes, which included learning the Unforgivable Curses, at Hogwarts. He and a team of wizards were kept busy making the whole school disappear and reappear in different locations at regular intervals, so that Voldemort could not find it, and so perhaps young wizards would be allowed back to school. A great deal of them were being home schooled now. Some families, in desperation, were even posing as Muggles. Unless one enlisted in a Muggle army, chances of survival were greater that way.

The Hogwarts students couldn't even play Quidditch as of late- moving an enormous castle was absurdly difficult enough- moving the grounds along with it was impossible.

Bill didn't care if he came face to face with Voldemort, only to fall over and be killed, as long as he tried to do something. He couldn't sit and wait for this pathetic curse of the gum to kill him. He had to go. He didn't feel bad leaving his parents, after all, they still had Ron, his wife, and Ginny, and soon they would have grandchildren. Ron seemed to be happy all cooped up, starting a family, and writing letters to wherever Harry and Hermione were hiding.

But not Bill. He was leaving. He had a plan in his head. He would pretend to be "ill," in the parlor, and when his parents were asleep, he would simply walk out the door and Apparate (if he could still remember how) to Charlie's.

As soon as the time was right.