Back with four chapters! I've been messing around with other projects recently, but stopped to come back to this because we're soooooo close to finishing. I've decided to make this my priority until it's done. And by my count, there are two canon stories to tell after this one (when Harry and the gang turn up at Shell Cottage and, of course, the Battle of Hogwarts). Then I'd do my take on the aftermath. So I'm planning three more updates.
Now, for those who also have read my other next-gen works (which for those who don't know, they focus on Bill and Fleur's three kids), I definitely want to create a part two to this story as a separate posting. I can't claim that it'll be as long (ha, who am I kidding...everything I do is long), but I definitely want to incorporate Bill and Fleur as parents and do some of those stories through their POV. I just need to work out the details. I need to finish other projects...
BUT, let's not get ahead of ourselves and stick to me finishing this up for now. Deal? Deal.
October-December 1997
It wasn't wise to leave the house much these days. No where was safe. Everywhere you went, you were one wrong word, one cross look from being detained and questioned at best; taken away to Azkaban at worst. The stories of people going missing—whether due to nefarious means or because they'd run to avoid capture—were innumerable.
Nearly all of them were Muggleborns.
Arthur brought back reports from the Ministry constantly. Stories of traps that had been set to catch Muggleborns; the inquiries being held by the horrible Muggleborn Registration Committee. There were gangs of people—Snatchers, they were called—who roamed the streets in search of Muggleborns and rebels to capture, kill, or send to "trial."
Though, as Arthur described, there wasn't much of a trail to be had.
"They're all guilty," he told both Fleur and Bill one evening when they'd popped into the Burrow. "Sent away, every last one of them. I haven't heard of a single one to come out the other end. Not one that Umbridge has had mercy on..."
Bill said there wasn't a single Muggleborn left at that bank that he knew. That one day they'd be there and the next day, gone. Even some of the goblins, including some of the most influential ones, had disappeared since—once the Ministry fell—the new regime officially declared goblins to be inferior creatures who were to submit to wizards as their masters. Some goblins did not want to push back and towed the line; others refused to concede. The latter ones seemed to have left without a trace.
"The remaining goblins are just trying to keep the peace," Bill told her, having come home one night very late due to the skeleton crew he was now working with. "But they're annoyed that they have to pick up the slack. They're annoyed that it's always wizards causing these problems."
Fleur had actually been offered her a job back at Gringotts, seeing as they were in desperate need of extra hands to file, clerk, and handle day-to-day business. While the opportunity to do something was enticing, she'd ultimately declined the offer. She wasn't a Muggleborn, but she still wasn't entirely sure where she ranked in this new hierarchy; how one day she may be safe, but the very next, a target. After all, if things were to keep up the way they were going, the Death Eaters would be shortly moving onto the next group on their list. Was she in that group? Was Bill?
Every day she wondered if Bill was next. If he'd go to work one day and not come home.
"I understand your concern, but I can't stop going to work," he had told her. "If I do, they will come looking for you."
"And we can protect the house and keep them from finding you," Fleur countered. "At the bank, we cannot do that. If they march in—"
"If they march into Gringotts, they're not getting anywhere," he interrupted. "I've spent years making sure that can't happen. And that's not even taking into account the parts of the bank that are a literal house of horrors for anyone who tries to force entry. Most would die trying. I could theoretically hide down in the vaults…" He paused to think about that, "well, if I had food, forever."
She stared at him. "Is that your plan if they come? To hide forever?"
"Well, forever seems like a long time, but I could wait them out a couple of days." He smiled at her. "Tell you what, I'll bring some canned goods down there next time I go so it's waiting for me in the event I need to hide."
She rolled her eyes. "I suppose I will wait here on my own, then? Fending off the Death Eaters by myself?"
He smiled. "You have proven to be very good at that."
Jokes. He was making jokes. She knew why—sometimes it seemed like the only way to handle all of this doom and gloom was to laugh at it. But when their moods weren't in sync—when he was joking and she was serious—it was annoying.
"I am sorry I worry about you never coming home."
He sighed, as if realizing his jokes weren't being received well. "I know you do, and I understand that. I do. You have to remember, I've lived through all of this once before, so I understand the anxiety. I spent my entire childhood wondering every day whether my dad was going to come home from work. Whether that was the day someone picked him up and I'd never see him again. It's no way to live."
It wasn't. It absolutely wasn't.
"But it also taught me how to survive," he added. "How keeping up the routine and keeping your head down in public is the best way to keep these pricks off our backs until we figure out the next step."
He reached forward to place both of his hands on her shoulders. "We have a plan."
They did. They had a plan—or they thought they did because, really, when it really came down to it, what did they know? How good were plans when you didn't know what to expect? They ultimately had no idea.
Yes, Bill and the Weasleys had lived through this once, but things were different this time. The Weasleys had been on the periphery of the last war—undesirables, but not blatant targets.
Now they were at the top of any and all watch lists; directly under Harry. And this was something the Death Eaters—or the Ministry, since they were one in the same—frequently liked to remind them.
Bill said he was often tailed by Death Eaters when he was out, which was mostly when he Apparated into Diagon Alley to get to Gringotts. Every day like clockwork, two Death Eaters would be on the steps of the bank, seemingly waiting for him to arrive and depart. It had become so bad that Bill had started precision Apparating onto the nearest possible spot at the entrance of the bank, only to discover the Death Eaters had moved closer too.
The twins' also had a tail. Two men who constantly stood outside of their shop as if waiting for something. Fred and George had taken to waving to them, even asking about whether they wanted to pick up some extra work by sweeping the front if they were going to stand around anyway.
They never reciprocated or even spoke.
"One of them did growl that one time," Fred had told everyone at the Burrow one night. "Remember, George? After I told them I was going to call them Dumble and Dore since they won't properly introduce themselves. They weren't keen on that..."
Other than the obvious tail, it seemed the twins' shop was also a frequent target for trouble, who—try as they might—couldn't seem to vandalize the storefront as much as they'd hoped. Between the twins and Bill, they'd done a great job securing it with charms and protections; they'd even hired security trolls during business hours who seemed to keep any problems in check.
Apparently, outside of some nasty graffiti that the twins would find on the outside walls and windows—most of it in the vein of "Weasleys are Blood Traitors"—the shop remained well intact.
"You know, there are spells we can put into place to stop the graffiti," Bill told them.
"The shop's about to implode under the weight of all the spells it's already under," George had muttered. "Don't think it could take another one."
Bill shook his head. "That's not how that works."
Fred had waved him off. "It's fine. It takes one minute to clean up and, honestly, I've sort of come to enjoy seeing what poorly spelled messages they've cooked up every morning. Yesterday, they spelled 'traitor' with two Ys."
"I offered Dumble and Dore spelling lessons," George said. "I offered them soap and shampoo too, but they're very set in their silent, smelly ways."
As it were, the Death Eater tails didn't stop at just the bank or the twins' shop. Dark cloaked figures could be found at times outside the Burrow, silently watching. Remus claimed they were following him; that they were frequently stationed outside of Grimmauld Place, his place, and Tonks' parents house.
Fleur kept expecting them to turn up outside of Shell Cottage, but they'd yet to do so. Bill suspected it may have been because the cottage could still be under Muriel's name, seeing as the fall of the Ministry happened shortly after they'd been working to switch the deed. Something easily could have been lost in the shuffle or not updated. Shell Cottage may not be tied to a Weasley yet.
"Which, for now," Bill had said, "is a good thing. Because as soon as they figure that out, they'll be here."
Arthur would frequently tell them stories about how he felt eyes on him everywhere he went at the Ministry, the feeling of being followed nearly impossible to shake. Things with Kingsley were apparently no better; Arthur claimed to never see him on his own.
They never had time to talk. There was no privacy. They were always being watched.
The Ministry was very much like a prison now, especially since the last known sighting of Harry had occurred there several weeks prior. He had somehow infiltrated the Ministry in disguise—though for what, no one knew—and it had honestly created more questions than answers.
The Weasleys had sat around for hours attempting to crack what he'd been doing, though all Arthur could pick up through whispers was that Harry had confronted Umbridge during one of the Muggleborn trials. There had been loud words and some spells fired, he'd managed to escape, but not before Yaxley had managed to tag along. What happened after that, no one quite knew—it had been hushed up. Harry was again on the run and no one had heard or seen of him since.
Yaxley had apparently been irrate at having come so close to capturing Harry, only to fail. Life at the Ministry had been bad ever since.
Arthur was frequently accosted at work; now forced into mundane, menial tasks that—if he didn't perform—would result in punishments, threats of termination, or taunts of prison time. He'd started receiving almost daily anonymous letters, claiming, "You're next, Blood Traitor," though they didn't seem to faze him much. As he put it, "It's not as if they haven't made their opinions of me abundantly clear before. Now they're just writing it down."
Bill had started receiving similar letters at the bank a few weeks ago. They were all very much of the "Weasleys are scum traitors," variety like Arthur's were. Bill tried to put up the same brave face his father always did, but Fleur could tell it shook him. It had shaken her too. It was all terribly stressful.
However, it had all been manageable stress until recently. They could handle the letters and the tails, but once news came that the sporadic house calls to the Burrow to check in on "Ron" and his Spattergroit condition suddenly increased, that's when things began to feel almost suffocating.
The visits from the Ministry had gone from once every couple of weeks to every few days—as if they wanted an excuse to constantly infiltrate the Burrow. Molly never knew when they would come, which always happened when Arthur was at work, and was a nervous wreck waiting in anticipation. Fleur had taken to popping over almost daily since she knew it eased Molly's anxiety to have someone else there.
Several times, the visitors barely even checked in on "Ron." They mostly just tore through the house, looking underneath beds and inside wardrobes for…something. They always left without major conflict, but the same question always loomed every time: What about when they didn't?
That was why they had put a plan in place. Fleur, Bill, and all of the Weasleys. Passwords and questions were now mandatory—you did not answer a door for a familiar face without them. Secret code was established for if and when their messages needed to be communicated, yet still remain indecipherable.
"If anyone gets word of trouble or that they're coming," Arthur had told them, "you need to stop what you're doing, alert the others, and leave where you are immediately. Have a go-bag packed and in reach, no questions asked. You leave."
Around the kitchen table, Molly, the twins, Bill and Fleur nodded.
"Obviously a Patronus would be the preferred form of messaging, but in times of high stress, it can be hard for some to conjure one, so…" He sighed. "Fire Calls also work in a pinch. Best to have backup plans. We'll do the best we can."
"Where are we to go?" Fred asked, glancing around the table. "If George and I leave the shop and come here to the Burrow, that seems pointless. They'll likely already be here." He looked over at Bill. "Shell Cottage may buy us a few more minutes, but barely."
Molly cleared her throat. "I've gone ahead and worked out the details of that. Your Auntie Muriel had agreed to host us in the event that we needed to escape. She's got that big house and can fit everyone. I don't believe she'd be high on any watch lists due to her being a pureblood and because of her Parkinson roots." She pulled a slight face. "The Parkinsons have been known You-Know-Who supporters in the past. They may believe she's supporting him."
"Alright, but..." George began to say, "I'm just going to ask the question everyone's thinking. How do we even know Muriel isn't still channeling those Parkinson roots and—"
"George!" snapped his mother. "Don't you even say it! Your auntie does not support You-Know-Who!"
"Has she said that?" Fred asked slowly. "Have you heard those actual words come out of her mouth, or…?
"Fred!"
Arthur held up his hands to calm the room. "You all know Muriel and I haven't ever got on. I would be the first to say something if I suspected she supported You-Know-Who. And don't get me wrong, I can see given some of her comments and actions, how you might question her loyalties..."
Molly gaped, clearly finding that absurd.
"But I can say with certainty, she does not support him," he added. "Remember, she's a very old woman who doesn't like change. And what is happening is nothing if not unwanted change."
Molly pulled a face. "You make it sound as if that's the only reason she doesn't support him! As if she's not vehemently against the dark arts and the eradication of entire groups of people!"
"Of course," Arthur said, clearing his throat. "Whatever her reasons may be—"
"Those are her reasons!"
"She can be trusted," Arthur finished, looking around the room. "So in the event of trouble, you go to Muriel's. Understood?"
They all nodded again, though Fleur felt it important to ask, "What exactly is considered trouble? Other than a repeat of the wedding where we are ambushed. Are there things we should be more concerned for than normal?"
"Good question," Arthur said. "Obvious things—such as getting a warning from any of the Order; any intelligence that places any of us in danger. Or if something happens, such as—" He gestured to Bill. "You get word they came for him at the bank."
Fleur looked over at Bill, who offered her a watery smile and grabbed her hand.
"Or if Molly gets word they got to me at the Ministry. That sort of thing. That would be the sort of trouble you would want to immediately warn everyone else about. Because if they come for one of us, they're coming for the rest of us."
As he spoke, an owl suddenly perched itself outside of a closed window, a letter attached. It began tapping on the glass, and George—who was closest—immediately stood with his wand raised to retrieve it. Bill followed suit with his own wand to immediately check out another window. There was a procedure now for something as routine as answering post.
"Who's it from?" Molly asked once George had managed to retrieve the letter and open it.
"Ginny," he said, giving it a quick scan.
"Wonderful," Arthur muttered, his face stone serious. Molly's face dropped off entirely. She'd let it be known lately that she absolutely dreaded when letters from Ginny now arrived. They were never welcomed these days.
It had nothing to do with Ginny, but rather because the letters were clearly forced written—something the Death Eaters who were running Hogwarts apparently made students do weekly. They were filled with lies about how well things were going; how great Hogwarts was—better than ever before! It was all so fake and disheartening to read.
It was clear as day that all post going into Hogwarts was intercepted and pre-approved before being passed it along to its intended receiver; it was impossible to communicate anything real with Ginny since the Death Eater would never let her see it. Also, if any real information was intercepted, the Death Eaters would obviously come knocking down the Burrow's door to hunt for the people sending it.
While an attempt to control what went in and out of Hogwarts was certainly being made, it ultimately proved to be impossible to catch everything. Ginny had somehow managed to sneak a letter out to let them know that in all of her future letters, the more she embellished something positively, the worse it actually was. All things good were actually terrible. It was the only way they had even a glimpse at what was actually occurring.
"What's it say?" Bill asked.
"I don't think I can bear to hear it," Molly mumbled, the frown lines on her face looking as if they were etching deeper and deeper with each passing day.
George sighed, glancing down at the letter. He began to read:
Dear Mum and Dad,
I hope all is well. School is absolutely amazing so far this term.
"Absolutely amazing…" Fred mumbled. "That's…not good."
"Did you assume it would be?" George asked before returning to the letter.
My classes are going well. I don't like Transfiguration or Charms, but I love, love, love the new Dark Arts class they're instituted to replace Defense Against the Arts. It's really fascinating and the professors are so clever and wise.
"That'll be the Carrow siblings," Arthur said, looking at Fleur. "Death Eaters. Dumb as they come."
He frowned and glanced at his wife. She frowned right back.
"She said she doesn't like Charms and Transfiguration," Bill said. "That means she actually does, right? Likely because she's got Flitwick and McGonagall in there?"
Molly and Arthur nodded, with the former adding, "That's what we've taken it to mean in her other letters. It's to let us know the other professors aren't buying into any of this. That she has some reprieve from the Carrows and the Dark Arts."
They all looked back at George. Arthur prompted, "Anything else?"
He nodded before adding: Don't worry about me, I'm doing really well. I don't speak too many of my old friends—
"No word from Ron, Harry, or Hermione," Fred clarified. "She hasn't heard anything."
But I have made new friends. We've become very close and we're working hard to ensure we get the best marks possible. We study loads and well into the night. It's our top priority to be the best that magical society has to offer.
George looked up. "What do we think that means?"
Everyone looked to be considering that, and it was Bill who said, "Perhaps 'marks' and 'studying' is code for some sort of plan? She's found allies and they're working hard to secretly…fight back?"
Molly let out a rather terrified squeak of a noise. Arthur sighed and said, "That's as good a guess as any.
"Probably D.A. members," Fred said. "There'd be several left and they wouldn't take any of this lying down." He looked at George. "I'm thinking Neville and Seamus."
George nodded. "Yeah. Definitely. They'd have something cooking. Neville's a 'Sacred 28' like we are. And we know You-Know-Who is looking to keep us around as long as possible, so he and Gin would be some of the safer ones there. They might be able to get away with a bit more?"
Bill shot George a look across the table. "Is 'safer' really the word you want to use?"
George shrugged. "I just meant they won't be killed first."
"Just cursed and tortured," Fred said in a faux-chipper tone; one that certainly did not match his words. Molly again let out another squeak.
George tossed the letter onto the table. "The rest is just wishing us all well and counting down the days to Christmas holidays. I'm going to go ahead and assume that last part isn't a coded message."
Molly reached out and scanned the letter for herself. "As much as I hate hearing about how bad things are, at least word from Ginny means she's well enough to write it." She looked up. "This is her handwriting."
"I'm sure there are spells that could duplicate handwriting…" Fred began to say, earning him scathing looks from all around the table.
Arthur suddenly sat up straighter, as if something had just occurred to him. "Fleur, you asked earlier about what sort of news is important enough to communicate immediately, and another example—perhaps the most important one—just came to me."
He looked at each person one by one before continuing. "If any of you hear anything about Ron being spotted with Harry, anything at all, you need to alert everyone immediately. I don't know how they've managed this many weeks undetected, but if Ron gets picked up with Harry—seen with Harry—the Death Eaters will know immediately that this whole Spattergroit story was a lie. They'll have their proof we're helping Harry, and we'll immediately be taken away."
George groaned a little. "Terrific. Because you know the first thing they'll do when they spot Ron and Harry together is make an announcement. They certainly won't pop in straight away and have us carted off."
"Obviously they will," Bill said as he returned to his seat, "but the sheer amount of spell work we've established should manage to slow them down enough to get the jump and escape first."
He suddenly cleared his throat. "Speaking of spells and getting the jump on them, I had a revelation earlier I wanted to share…"
He glanced over at Fleur, who smiled encouragingly at him knowing exactly what he was about to speak to. In his free time, Bill had been studying and theorizing relentlessly about the magical components of the Fidelius Charm and how it could be modified to offer better protection. His reasoning was that it was a rather ancient spell that—while good—could be better. There were ways to expand upon it so as to not put sole trust in one single person to keep the secret. He was hoping to create more of a chain of checks and balances—several Secret Keepers, for instance; something more intricate that could not be simply broken by one set of loose lips. People's lives were at stake, after all.
Every spare moment he had—of which there were many given they weren't going out these days—he was reading a book he'd dug up or sent away for. He'd been corresponding with old colleagues abroad, people who were also well versed with curses and charms, and asking loads of questions. She could not even count how many meals as of late were spent with him bouncing ideas off of her and sharing his theories.
She, of course, would offer suggestions or point out flaws where she could, but some days, Bill was so far down the rabbit hole that she couldn't keep up if she tried. He was obsessed because, as he told her, "Everyone I love lives are at stake. I have to try…"
It was a monumental task—one Fleur wasn't entirely sure Bill would be able to crack—but as he'd proved time and time again, he was nothing if not resilient. If anyone could do it, she had full faith it would be him. Breaking curses and spells was obviously his life's passion. This had just become his biggest task to date.
And just today—as soon as he'd returned from Gringotts—he'd immediately thrown his bag to the floor and exclaimed, "I figured it out! It was right there all along!"
Back at the Burrow, Bill was looking around at his entire family around the kitchen table. He already looked as if he knew he had some convincing to do.
"You all know how I've been trying to work out modifying the Fidelius Charm."
"Oh, your obsessive new hobby?" Fred asked from the seat beside him, looking over at Fleur as if waiting for her to agree. She chose not to react one way or another, despite it being true.
Bill ignored Fred. "It hit me today at the bank after a conversation with one particular goblin—something he was telling me about how terrified wizards have been turning up in droves to put 'useless' things in their vaults. Family heirlooms, photograph albums—'rubbish' as the goblin called it. They're not a sentimental lot, goblins. Outside of actual gold or objects that have monetary value, they don't see the point in protecting things people may personally value. They think it's a waste.
"Anyway, to make a long story short, as he was talking about how the vaults are meant for real valuables—who cares if some Death Eater burns down your house and you lose all your memories? But it occurred to me that Gringotts doesn't offer any specific protection of objects or things. It actually only protects the vaults in which objects are placed."
His entire family stared back at him; clearly no one followed. To be fair, he was taking his time getting to the point.
Bill sighed. "All this time, I've been trying to modify the Fidelius Charm to protect us, when in reality, the answer was in front of us the entire time. It's not about protecting us, it's about protecting our 'vault'. Just as Gringotts does."
"Bill, I'm sure in that big, clever brain of yours, this all makes perfect sense," George muttered, "however, the rest of us…"
"Hold on," Arthur cut in. "Are you trying to imply you can use the Fidelius Charm on something other than people? That you can use it on…"
"...The buildings we seek refuge in," Bill finished, his face brightening since it seemed his father was comprehending. "Yes, we put the charm on the building itself, not the inhabitants."
"But you can't do that," Molly said. "The charm is for people. People in hiding, who—through the magic of the spell—have it imposed on the place they hide away in. It can't just be placed on a building without placing it on people."
"Yes, it can," Bill countered. "And we know this. We've seen it. All along the answer was right in front of my face because Dumbledore figured it out ages ago. He did it with Grimmauld Place."
No one said anything, though a slight moment of clarity did seem to sweep the room then.
Or Fleur thought so until Fred said, "I'm still lost."
"Dumbledore acted as Secret Keeper for Grimmauld Place," Bill continued. "We all know this. But unlike most people who use the Fidelius Charm because they need to go into hiding, he was never the one looking for protection. He was protecting the location only. That's why he could easily come and go from it."
He looked at both of his parents. "That isn't typical, and you know it. As mum just said, the charm is for people, not places. But Dumbledore somehow worked it out not on a person, but for a building."
Arthur hummed a bit, looking as if he'd never considered this before. Molly seemed to be slowly processing this; even the twins' identical expressions were still curious.
"And I didn't give it any thought at the time," Bill added. "Because even if I wanted to, the Fidelius is so layered and complex that even the cleverest wizards fail to really understand it's components—"
"You can say that again," George mumbled.
"I just accepted it for what it was," Bill continued. "Plus, it was Dumbledore. He always made the complex seem easy, and that's exactly what he did. He bent the rules of the charm and made it seem so effortless, no one realized that what he was doing was incredibly difficult. It wasn't until I started studying the charm that it occurred to me."
"It is very advanced magic," Fleur chimed in, expanding on Bill's point. "Dumbledore would be capable, of course, but it is not something even the best wizards would be able to do without real knowledge."
"That's true," Bill agreed. "But if anything, we now know it's possible. Dumbledore showed it can be done."
"Yes, but what Dumbledore could do and what average wizards can do are two very different things," Molly said.
"Ah, but Bill is not average," Fleur said, smiling proudly at him.
He grinned back at her, seemingly happy to have her in his corner. It was a lovely shared moment—that is until Fred kicked back his chair on its back legs and joked, "Fleur, you better keep that sort of bedroom talk behind closed doors and not over tea."
Bill swatted him with a quickness usually reserved for houseflies, causing Fred to bobble backwards a bit in his chair before managing to just save himself from toppling over. He threw Bill a sharp look, and Bill returned it all the same.
"So if I follow this correctly," Arthur said, ignoring the staring contest going on between two of his sons, "Bill, what you're saying is that we—you—can somehow figure out how Dumbledore worked out putting the spell onto a building instead of a person?"
He nodded.
"And if we can do that—"
"If we can do that," Bill repeated, "we would have no need to have the secret concealed in the soul of a separate person who isn't involved. Because none of us would be technically hidden by the secret. Only the building would. And if it's only a building that needs concealment, that means—"
"We could be our own Secret Keepers..." Arthur said, finishing for him.
Bill smiled. "Just like Dumbledore did. Yes. If we can manage that, then we simply don't leave the building. Just like with Grimmauld Place, if they can't find the building, they can't find the people inside of it."
Fleur smiled proudly. She absolute loved when Bill sounded this confident and clever.
"But how can it be that simple?" Molly asked. "How was Dumbledore the first person to realize—?"
"He may not have been," Bill said. "We don't know for sure. The Fidelius Charm is very old and complicated; mastering it at its basic level is incredibly difficult, let alone modifying it. Most people would never try. They wouldn't think outside the box and realize…" He paused and smirked, "well, you can hide the box instead of the contents."
"It would have the same effect…" Arthur muttered in a far away tone, sounding as if he was thinking out loud.
"Exactly," Bill said with a nod of his head.
The room was quiet for a long moment; the silence finally broke by George pointing at Bill and saying, "This sort of thinking is why I never stood a chance at becoming Head Boy."
"Yeah, that's the reason," Fred muttered.
"I never said it was the only reason…"
Everyone did seem rather impressed once all was said and done, especially after Bill told them how he was now redirecting his research into figuring out the specific steps Dumbledore took. Now that he had a goal to focus on instead of a generalized theory, he was convinced things would be easier to work out. He was hoping with some time and work, he'd have it cracked by Christmas. He already had a lead.
"You think you'll be able to achieve some Dumbledore levels of insanely complicated spell work by Christmas?" Fred asked him. "You're brilliant, Bill, but this seems–"
"This is what I do, Freddie," Bill said. "I break and modify charms and curses—specifically ones that are meant to protect and secure things. I'm not starting from scratch here. Believe it or not, I know a thing or two about this kind of thing."
"Dumbledore may have been exceptional with all subjects of magic," Fleur said, reaching over to rub Bill's back, "but Bill is exceptional at this. Everyone at Gringotts always said so." She smiled at him. "I know if anyone can do this, it is him."
Bill reached over and pulled her arm over to kiss her hand. Both Molly and Arthur were smiling at him—and if Fleur had to guess, it was the look of two proud parents who knew that if anyone could figure this out, it was this man they'd raised.
But at the same time, there was also something else in their eyes—worry, anxiety, perhaps even fear. They looked as if they didn't want to get their hopes up; they didn't want to get excited and put that sort of pressure on their son to figure this out in order to keep all of them alive.
But as the days grew shorter and shorter, as more people went missing, as the Weasleys moved ever closer toward being on the top of the hunted list, it was clear that things were starting to look a bit more desperate. Bill figuring this out would change everything.
But…what if he couldn't?