A/N: So, I consider this "the" chapter. Likely the one most people invested in Bill/Fleur have been waiting for since, in the world of Bill/Fleur, it's Fleur's time to shine. If you've read this far, you'll notice I don't like to do a lot of chapters straight from the books. If I've got Harry and Bill/Fleur in a scene, it's usually something new I've worked out that would have happened off page in the books, or Harry's not present for long. I do my best to try and get away from JKR's original dialogue as much as possible (because we've all read it already).
There are a few exceptions of course, this being one of them, and that's because they've got to be here since they're story defining. Can't do Bill/Fleur without this scene. Here's hoping I did it justice. :)
The frantic steps on the stairs overhead should have been Fleur's first clue that something was wrong.
In her and Bill's room, she looked up from the wedding's seating plan that she'd been working on all evening and stared at the ceiling. Only she, Arthur, and Molly were home that evening, so the noise couldn't be blamed on one of the other, younger Weasleys being out of bed and mucking about. She had assumed she was the only one awake—she had a hard time sleeping when Bill was on watch—but that didn't seem to be the case.
She set her quill to the side and stood from the bed, grabbing her wand from the nightstand as she did. She'd been about to go and investigate the commotion and make sure everything was alright when a sudden pounding on her door startled her.
"Fleur," came Arthur's voice. "Fleur, you need to wake up."
She reached the door and pulled it open to find Arthur standing there, dressed in regular clothes and not his usual nightwear. She'd seen him earlier in the evening before he'd gone to bed in his dressing gown and slippers. Now he was in robes.
"I am awake."
"Get dressed," he said, and it was not a suggestion. His tone was urgent; his expression grave. Something was wrong.
Behind him, Molly suddenly came barrelling down the stairs, also dressed. She looked white as a sheet and hadn't even bothered to stop; she'd simply continued down the stairs toward the ground floor, mumbling something quietly to herself.
"What is happening?" Fleur asked.
"Something's happened to Bill. We've just received word from Professor McGonagall. We need to go to Hogwarts."
She stared at Arthur, almost as if she hadn't understood what any of those words meant. Because after the phrase, "Something's happened to Bill…" it almost felt as though her ability to translate English had suddenly failed her. All of the other words he'd spoken sounded the same.
"What do you mean…?"
He swallowed hard. "Hogwarts was ambushed tonight by Death Eaters. Bill was attacked. He was apparently mauled badly. He's alive, but that's all I know."
She continued to stare at him, though she didn't blink. Mauled…what did that mean? Why was her brain failing to translate what that meant? For the life of her she didn't understand what any of this meant. What had happened to Bill?
"We're leaving now," Arthur reiterated. "As soon as you're dressed. I'll be downstairs."
Fleur didn't react. She felt completely petrified to the spot, lost and very confused. Arthur had turned to leave her standing there, but then he hesitated and turned back to her. "He's alive. They said he's alive."
Alive was the only word her mind could wrap itself around at the moment; otherwise she felt as if everything had gone blank. She somehow managed to nod, half listening as Arthur once again urged her to change so they could leave as soon as possible. This time she acknowledged the request, turning back into her bedroom and rushing to find something—anything—to throw on. Her breathing had grown short now; she was desperately trying to remain calm—all while attempting to process what the word 'mauled' meant.
As soon as she was dressed, she couldn't help but glance around the room at Bill's things. His clothes hanging in the wardrobe; his pillow on the bed…He'd just been here a few hours ago. Everything was exactly as he left it.
When she appeared in the kitchen, she found Arthur and Molly waiting, the latter of which not looking much better than Fleur felt. The moment their eyes met, there was a fleeting moment of shared understanding; one where they were equally terrified that something had happened to this man that they both cared for so deeply.
Nothing was said though. Not until Arthur moved toward the door and said, "Let's go."
The moment they stepped into the night in order to Apparate, Fleur started to feel as if she was experiencing one of her famous nightmares. The terror and uncertainty felt the same, though the plot of this one was unlike anything she'd ever dreamed before. Usually she felt trapped in a claustrophobic space; something menacing was coming for her. There was always screaming in her nightmares—flashes of grindylows or maze vines; Cedric's dead body.
But Bill was never the subject of her nightmares. He was usually the one pulling her out of them.
It was for that reason alone she knew she wasn't sleeping; she hadn't drifted off during her seat planning. This was real.
Arthur had grabbed her hand before she knew what was happening, and the next moment they were on the edge of Hogsmeade, the same place she'd found herself many times before on nightly watches. The entire village seemed to be still and…dead. There was a chill in the air that was unfamiliar for this time of the summer.
Molly still hadn't said a word, but was already marching up the path toward Hogwarts. Arthur was right behind her, and Fleur willed her legs to follow them as the knot in her stomach tightened more and more. Everything felt ominous; even the way the trees swayed in the breeze was unsettling. She couldn't help but feel as if they were walking into something terrible.
And that was only confirmed seconds later when Molly let out a horrible gasp and grabbed for Arthur's arm to support herself. "Arthur, look!"
She was pointing ahead into the sky, where just visible above the tree line of the forest that stood between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts—just where Hogwarts would have been if the trees were not in the way—the Dark Mark hovered menacingly in the sky.
Someone had died tonight.
"Bill's alive," Arthur said, almost as if feeling the need to remind everyone—and perhaps even himself. "Minerva said he was alive and she sent the letter after the Death Eaters had escaped, so it's not him."
"But who is it?" Molly asked, her pace quickening.
"I hate to even speculate…"
Fleur felt her head spinning as she followed behind. Someone had died tonight; someone in the Order? Or perhaps another student like Cedric? Someone had died and Bill had been mauled, which apparently meant he was alive, but she still didn't know at what cost…
She suddenly spoke for the first time since Arthur had told her the news. Her voice was far quieter than she expected when she asked, "You said Bill was mauled. What does it mean?"
Molly and Arthur both slowed down their pace to look back at her. They exchanged a quick, nervous look before Molly quietly said, "It means he's been attacked. Slashed and bitten and…" The rest of that sentence seemed to catch in her throat.
"Like something an animal would do when attacking," Arthur finished for her.
Fleur let that sink in, staring absently at the ground as they carried up along the path. "He was attacked by an animal?"
She could hear Arthur take a deep breath. "The letter claimed he was attacked by a…" He hesitated. "Not an animal, but not exactly a person either. A werewolf called Fenrir Greyback."
At that Fleur stopped walking, a wave of icy, bone chilling cold sweeping over her. Both Molly and Arthur took notice and stopped as well.
"And he was bitten?"
"I don't…" Arthur said, looking as confused as she felt. "The thing you need to understand is that Greyback may be a werewolf, but he wasn't properly transformed tonight." He pointed to the dark sky. "It's not a full moon."
She stared at him as if that did absolutely nothing to calm her down or answer her hundreds of new questions.
"Greyback is a maniac. He's notorious for living and acting as a werewolf at all times," Arthur continued, "even when he's not actually transformed. So him attacking as a werewolf isn't surprising. Though what that means for Bill…" He frowned. "I don't know."
"We can ask Remus or Dumbledore all of these questions later!" Molly said impatiently, already on the move once more. "I would like to see my son now!"
Fleur threw her look. They all wanted to see him; she would argue she did most of all. But she also wanted to know what she was about to walk into. She needed to understand to the best of her ability because when she was stressed, it was harder to think and translate the hundreds of words being thrown around so casually.
Werewolf. Mauled. How badly had Bill been attacked? What if he was now a werewolf? What did that mean? Remus clearly had issues, but he got by. He could function fairly normally outside of the full moon. Life would change, but it wouldn't have to be a complete shake up.
Would it?
They reached the gates to Hogwarts, the Dark Mark now clearer and looming in a foreboding manner above the tallest tower of the castle. Its presence made everything seem more terrible. What else happened here tonight? Who was dead?
"The gates are open," Arthur said, watching as Molly stepped straight through the two iron gates that were usually locked and sealed shut with spellwork. Now they were askew with one swung partially open. "That's not normal."
"Nothing is normal about this night, Arthur," Molly said, trudging ahead across the ground toward the front of the castle.
Fleur had returned to Hogwarts countless times in the last few months for perimeter watches, but never once had she passed through those gates onto the grounds. She hadn't stepped foot onto the property since the Tournament, which for some reason was now more apparent than ever. One look to her left was the great Black Lake; to the right the Quidditch arena in the distance. Both the settings of so many of her nightmares. It was as if this night was trying to force her to address all of her worst moments.
About halfway across the ground, Molly suddenly said, "Look ahead. It's Hagrid. He looks as if he's carrying something."
"Carrying someone…" Arthur said quietly.
Sure enough, in the distance, the large form of Hagrid did in fact look as if he was carrying a—now that Arthur said it—body. Whomever they were, they were lanky and likely taller. Fleur could make out long hair fluttering as it caught the wind. Was that the reason for the Dark Mark? Was that a dead body? Just someone who'd been hurt? What happened here tonight?
There was little time to dwell on that though, seeing as they'd reached the front of the castle moments later. The doors were open and the scene that met their eyes looked like chaos. Wreckage was everywhere—misfired spell remnants, cracked walls, broken statues, destroyed suits of armor. Waves of students had poured out from their common rooms to inspect the damage, some picking up objects and passing them around; others just staring anxiously and looking confused.
"Everyone back to their common rooms!" a squat witch was calling out from across the Entrance Hall, her voice amplified as she tried to usher the confused and shocked looking students to move along. "Your Head of House will be in contact soon! Everyone back to your common rooms!"
Kids were slowly moving; some not at all. One called out, "I heard our Head of House left," though it was met with no real response other than some shushed laughter courtesy of a small group of students.
Somewhere else, someone called out, "Is it true Professor Dumbledore's dead?"
That gave Fleur a jolt. Had they just said…?
"That's someone talking shit," mumbled a girl that Fleur happened to be passing at that very moment as she walked with her friends.
"I don't know," said another female voice, the group walking toward a set of stairs leading down to one of the lower common rooms. "I've heard the same thing from loads of people. Russ said he saw the body."
"No he didn't!"
"That's what he said!"
Fleur looked ahead and saw the Weasleys exchanged anxious looks as they led the way through the mess of people. She could hear Molly say, "Did you hear what they said?"
"They're kids, Molly. You know how silly rumors can spread like wildfire around here. I'm sure it's not…"
But he never finished that sentence. He instead quickened his pace toward the stairs and began taking them as quickly as he could. Fleur had no idea where she was going, so she had no choice but to blindly follow them up flight after flight until Molly suddenly veered right and began walking down a wide corridor. It was then that Fleur vaguely recognized where they were—the Hospital Wing. She'd had to come here a handful of times during the year she'd been here.
Arthur reached the door first, pushing it open with a fervor. What met their eyes were many people that she recognized, but she was having a hard time focusing on any of them at the moment. She didn't even know where to look, though she suspected the bed that many of them were currently standing around likely held Bill.
She suddenly found herself terrified of what she was going to find.
People were speaking, though all she could hear was a ringing in her ears as she braced herself. McGonagall has separated herself from the group and rushed over to Molly and Arthur, her face painfully sympathetic. Behind her, everyone was standing there and watching.
Ginny's flaming red hair was the first thing Fleur noticed, though she didn't look at her face. Harry was standing near her; Ron was there too. Some others. Tonks and Remus had just moved away from the bed as if to make room for them to approach. She felt all their eyes in this direction. Everything was in slow motion.
Molly had dashed forward to the bed, her voice full of pain as she bent over what was obviously Bill.
…though it wasn't 'obviously Bill' at all. Nothing was obvious about the person lying there. Fleur actually would have never known it was him had everyone not been standing there.
He was unconscious, whether due to the attack or due to some sedative the matron had given him, she couldn't tell. It could easily have been either given the state of him was not something anyone could possibly handle while awake. The pain alone must be…
She took a deep breath as she studied his…face. His face. His face. His face. His face. So many gaping sores; open slashes that went from his forehead to his chin. The matron was currently applying some foul smelling ointment to the wounds, but nothing looked to be healing. He looked as if his face had caught the razor sharp end of a blade, and he'd clearly lost a tremendous amount of blood because it had dried into a brownish color on his hairline, plastering much of it back. Everything was so red, and bloody, and swollen…
He was unrecognizable.
It felt like time had stopped. Despite there being ten other people present, she couldn't hear any other sounds. There were no other sights. There was barely any air in the room.
Eventually, from what sounded like miles away, Arthur was asking about the attack; how if the werewolf wasn't transformed and what that meant for Bill.
Fleur could make out Remus using phrases like "possible contamination" and how it was an "odd case." No one could say what his behavior might look like when he awakens.
She couldn't even cry if she wanted to. Shock and numbness had overwhelmed her senses. The love of her life was lying there, slashed and broken, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. There was nothing she could do about the pain he was likely in; there was nothing she could do about the cursed wounds he'd likely never see fully heal.
His beautiful face would never look the same. He would never again look like the man she first spotted across that room and fell for at first sight. And while that was heartbreaking—while she would grieve that part of her life and the normalcy she'd simply taken for granted until this point—she was less upset about him being disfigured, and more upset about how this would affect him. Between the fallout of both the attack and his injury, this was going to change his life. And if his wounds were contaminated—as Remus said—that could mean everything she knew was about to change. What did that mean for them?
Fleur watched as Molly made a big stink and got the ointment from the matron and was now applying it to Bill's face.
The entire gesture caused a new and raw emotion to bubble up in her that she was almost thankful for. It suddenly told her she was less numb than she thought.
Because why was his mother doing that? If anyone should be doing that, it should be her.
She then gave the room a slow look-around. People were talking, but not one of them to her. Everyone in this room was so focused on Molly and Arthur's feelings that no one—not one of them—had asked her how she was feeling or if she was OK. No one had owled her about Bill; no one here at Hogwarts had rushed to tell her what happened. Yes, they were his parents, but she was his fiancée. Wasn't she owed some information? Some fucking sympathy? Just one word?
She heaved a heavy breath. If anything, this here—this right here—cemented to her just how little she was thought of as a part of this group. Even after two years with Bill—even after a year of engagement and living at the Burrow—to these people she was nothing more than that girl Bill kept around. The one that didn't fit in; the one that didn't assimilate; the one that didn't kowtow to every Weasley habit. And while she could handle that most days when it was just her opinion being dismissed or her habits being looked down upon, this was too much.
She was not just some girl he kept around. She was the woman he was going to marry. They needed to accept that.
Molly was crying now; Arthur had a comforting hand on her shoulder. Fleur knew more than ever that she'd have to hold it together because it wasn't as if anyone would care if she did get upset, not when Molly was. They never cared. Bill was the only one who ever cared. He was the only reason she put up with any of this.
She looked back at him, her eyes feeling the sting of tears. He was the only reason.
"Of course it doesn't matter how he looks," Molly stammered through her tears. "It's not r-really important. But he was always a very handsome little b-boy. Always very handsome." She sniffled. "And he was going to be married!"
Fleur's eyes went straight to her. 'Was going to be?' Was going to be? Did Molly think this was changing anything? Did she think this injury was going to change Bill so much that he no longer wanted to proceed with their wedding? That he would wake up a different person, fall out of love with her, and want to be rid of her so that the entire lot of them could finally be rid of her? Or was that just what she hoped?
Because if that's what she thought, she could fuck right off. Just when she thought she couldn't find herself more upset, leave it to Molly to naturally push her further.
"And what do you mean by that?" Fleur asked, her irritation officially bubbling over and causing her voice to rise in a way she didn't know she was capable of at the moment. "What do you mean 'he was going to be married?"
Molly looked up at her, seemingly startled that she had spoken at all. That she wasn't being the wallpaper that she always wanted her to be.
"Well—only that—"
"You think that Bill will not wish to marry me anymore?" Fleur asked, daring Molly to finally just admit out loud all of the thoughts and wishes she'd been carrying around for the last two years. How she didn't like her and Bill together; how she wished he'd found someone more "worthy" of her "perfect" son.
Fleur could feel every other eye on her now, though Molly didn't seem to know what to say, especially once Fleur asked her if she really thought these bites would change Bill's feelings for her. That he wouldn't love her anymore.
"No," Molly stammered. "That's not what I—"
"Because he will," Fleur said, standing up straighter despite the fact that her body had started to shake a bit from either anger or stress—-maybe both. "It would take more than a werewolf to stop Bill from loving me."
No one else in the room said a word, though Molly's red, teary face was starting to look confused by Fleur's suggestion. "Well, yes, I'm sure. But I thought perhaps—given how…" She subtly gestured to his face. "How he—"
She didn't have to finish that comment. It hit Fleur then like a brick to the head then that Molly wasn't insinuating that this injury would change Bill and make him some monster who would dump her.
Rather, she assumed it was Fleur who would no longer be interested in him because his face had been disfigured.
She almost wanted to laugh. Molly thought so little of their relationship that apparently a few bites to the face were enough to break it. She thought their relationship had made it this far based solely on looks alone. Which…did Molly really think anyone would have put up with her shit for THIS long just because Bill was handsome? Because NO amount of handsome alone was enough for that.
"You thought I would not wish to marry him?" Fleur said, nodding rather sarcastically now that she'd put all the pieces together. "Or perhaps you hoped…"
Molly stared at her, looking as if she was now the one having a hard time processing what was going on. For once, she had no retort; no comment. That was exactly what Fleur had been hoping for because it was about time she finally got to speak her piece.
"What do I care how he looks?" she said, gesturing to Bill in his bed. "I am good-looking enough for the both of us, I think. All these scars show is that my husband is brave!"
She took a beat pause, having tripped herself up a bit at using the word 'husband' for the first time because she'd been wanting to make a point to Molly—to all of them listening if any of them also felt this relationship wasn't real. Bill would be her husband, and that felt amazing to say. Perhaps it wouldn't happen on the timeline they'd planned now, but it was happening. It was happening as soon as they could make it so.
Molly looked gobsmacked, but said nothing. Fleur took the opportunity to reach out and take the ointment from her hands, telling her she would do that now. Because as far as she was concerned, Molly needed to take a step back from her son—both literally and figuratively. She was his mother, she always would be, but she needed to be reminded that someone else cared about him just as much now.
Molly stepped back from the bed without question or comment. The entire room was silent, which considering how many people were currently standing here, was saying something. Fleur was sure they were all sharing disparaging looks at her expense—they always did—but she didn't care. She rarely ever had. Instead she focused on Bill's face, noticing that there were still parts of it that she could make out as the same as they'd always been. It made her start to tear up.
She heard someone clear their throat very quietly, as if preparing to speak.
"Our Great-Auntie Muriel has a very beautiful tiara—goblin made—which I am sure I could persuade her to lend you for the wedding," Molly said. "She is fond of Bill, you know, and it would look lovely with your hair."
Fleur never took her eyes off of Bill's face. She managed to force out, "Thank you. I'm sure that will be lovely," before she felt her eyes start to sting something fierce.
Perhaps it was just because she was seeing his injuries up close now; perhaps it was because she could actually feel the warmth of his body and his chest moving up and down with each breath, which comforted her more than anything she'd ever felt before. Perhaps it was because Molly had—for once—not fought her on this; not claimed she knew better because she was his mother and asserted herself over her as she always tended to do. She'd just…let Fleur be his partner. She'd finally let her be the person Bill needed first…
Whatever it was, it made Fleur give in to the wave of emotion that had been trying to take her since she'd first heard the news. The tears began to flow quickly; she set her hand down on Bill's chest and let herself start to cry.
It was all so overwhelming.
She didn't even know what was happening next, but Molly was crying again, and she'd reached out and tugged Fleur toward her, embracing her and wrapping her arms around her in a way she'd never done before. Fleur didn't fight it, she didn't have the strength to. They were clearly experiencing so much of the same emotions right now; they both loved Bill so much.
By the time both she and Molly calmed down and broke apart, much of the rest of the room had moved on to either new conversations or left entirely. McGonagall was gone now, as was Harry. Arthur, who Fleur had caught with a lazy sort of smile on his face once she and Molly had separated, along with Remus and Tonks were now reiterating what had happened and what had been discussed.
Dumbledore was dead; Snape had killed him and then fled the school with the other Death Eaters. He'd been a traitor all along, just as Bill and some of the others had suspected.
Fleur honestly didn't have it in her to process that at the moment. That seemed like an entirely new nightmare she was afraid to confront since it truly meant everything was now going to change once more. There had already been so much change and fear, but they'd at least had Dumbledore to guide them through it. Now…what did they have? Who was going to be in charge now?
But at the moment she only wanted to focus all of her energy on Bill; to let the others deal with the rest. She reached out and grabbed his hand between ointment applications, squeezing it frequently and hoping he sensed her presence. Every so often, she spoke to him—in French, since she wanted her words to remain private, even if he didn't understand them. He'd know it was her.
She refused to leave his side, even once everyone other than Molly and Arthur left. The matron—who was called Pomfrey—had explained that she had administered to him a very strong sedative, as well as a pain potion to keep him as calm as possible. She feared that if he was awake at the moment, it could be bad for him.
"So he's capable of waking up on his own?" Molly had asked.
Pomfrey nodded. "If I stopped giving him the potion, I believe so. But it's not wise to allow him to do that yet. There is much trauma and I feel he should see a magical wound specialist and let them decide what to do. There's only so much I can do here with cursed wounds, so we should get him moved to St. Mungo's as soon as possible. I've messaged them and they should be sending along proper arrangements any time now."
Molly and Arthur nodded as if that sounded good to them. Molly even looked at Fleur to see how she felt about it, to which she also nodded. Here's hoping a specialist would have better news for them.
She glanced back at Bill. All she knew was that wherever he went tonight, she would be there. She wasn't going anywhere.
Everything fucking hurt.
That was the first thought Bill had when he slowly opened his eyes and he found himself staring up at an unfamiliar white ceiling. Well, 'staring' may have been the wrong word since he could only see with one eye—the other was obscured by something and blocking his vision. He wasn't sure what was happening but his entire body ached like nothing he'd ever felt before. When he attempted to grimace, he couldn't. He couldn't move his face.
He reached his hand up and felt that it was covered in bandages—the 'it' being his entire face. Every part of it was wrapped except for one single eye.
He lowered his hand down to his nose, then his mouth. He could make out small slits in the bandage to apparently allow him to breath. Not that it was helping right now because the more confused he felt, the more his breathing started to labor. These slits were not meant to sustain his now deep and panicked breaths.
He wasn't sure where he was or why everything hurt so badly—why he felt so dazed and confused, almost hungover—but those thoughts were quickly pushed away the more he touched around his face. Why was it so bandaged? Why did it feel numb to the touch? What was happening?
"You're awake," came a voice he immediately recognized, though he was startled to hear. The same voice suddenly shouted out, "He's awake!"
"Charlie?" Bill croaked, his own voice awful sounding and not at all what he was expecting to have come out of him. His throat felt like sandpaper rubbing against each other. It was so dry.
"Hey, Billy," Charlie said gently once he moved into his line of sight and was now standing directly beside his bed. He looked…well, he looked frightened, which wasn't a sight Bill was used to. Charlie rarely got rattled unless something was really bad. This was a man who'd been playing with fire—and inevitably, fire-breathing creatures—for as long as Bill could remember. He didn't get scared often.
But he looked scared right now. And that alone made Bill feel uneasy.
"How are you feeling?" asked Charlie. Even his voice sounded different than usual. It was without its usual playfulness.
"Like shit," Bill said, hearing a gasp from somewhere nearby. He wanted to turn to look at the source, but it hurt too much to turn his neck. his head felt like it weighed far more than usual.
"Oh, thank goodness," came his mother's voice as she appeared at Charlie's side, gazing down at Bill. "The Healers said it could take hours for you to wake up after they stopped the sedative, but that was very quick."
Charlie was nodding. "Yeah, we expected it to take more time. Fleur's going to be pissed she wasn't here. She's been at your bedside almost non-stop for two days. She just left for the first time in days to shower."
"Oh, but she'll be back soon enough," his mother reassured him, laying her hand on his arm and smiling down at him.
Her eyes were filled with tears for some reason. He still had no idea what the fuck was happening, though he gathered he was in the hospital. Something bad must have happened to him if he'd been out for two days.
Something bad must have happened if Charlie made the trip home to see him…
He tried to focus his thoughts. The last thing he could remember was that he'd been at Hogwarts. The Death Eaters had infiltrated the castle and he, Tonks, and Remus had gone to fight them. Ron and Ginny and their friends had been fighting too; he'd been knocked down…
But that was the last thing he remembered.
"Why am I here?" Bill croaked out, looking at Charlie. "Why are you here? What happened to me?"
Charlie and his mother exchanged a nervous sort of look. A tear or two plopped down onto his mother's cheek and Charlie swallowed hard before he spoke. "You were attacked, Billy. By Greyback. He…" Charlie pointed to his own face. "He did some damage."
Bill attempted to furrow his face up into confusion, but he couldn't feel it move. It felt impossible to make the simplest reaction. "What kind of damage?"
"Your face was bitten," Charlie said, before tentatively adding, "Repeatedly."
Bill took a heavy breath; several questions were now fighting for placement in the forefront of his mind. His face had been damaged, but how badly? Beyond repair? Also, if these were werewolf bites, then…
"What does that mean?"
"It means your reflection may look different…" Charlie said, frowning. His mother gently shoved him out of the way.
"We're not entirely sure, dear," she said, dabbing her eye with a handkerchief. "The Healers say this is a unique situation since it wasn't a full moon and Greyback wasn't transformed."
"It's definitely unique," Charlie said, explaining that he'd never heard anything like this before. "Then again, Greyback himself is an anomaly."
For several minutes then, Bill lay silently and listened as his mother and Charlie took turns attempting to explain everything to him about what they'd been about that night. How the Malfoy kid had been the one to work out getting the Death Eaters into the castle; how Snape had betrayed them all and murdered Dumbledore after he'd returned, fleeing the scene in the aftermath with all the Death Eaters.
That part had almost been as hard to digest as the news of his own attack was. Not the Snape being a traitor part—he's suspected something like that for ages—but for him to have murdered Dumbledore…That Dumbledore was dead…He'd never even considered that could happen. Dumbledore had always seemed untouchable—immortal, even. What were they all to do now?
Their story eventually led back to him having been attacked by Greyback; that his face was apparently now slashed to bits, which…they kept saying things like that—slashed, disfigured, damaged—but what the fuck did that mean?
It sure hurt like it had been slashed to bits, which at least explained the sharp pains he'd sometimes experience when he moved a facial muscle. As Charlie explained. the Healers here at St. Mungo's had been using all sorts of experimental magic and potion treatments on him—they'd even had a breakthrough where they felt they could salvage and heal more of his face than they'd originally assumed—-but apparently, because his wounds were from a werewolf, transformed or not, they simply couldn't be entirely healed. They would eventually scar over, but never fade. His face was going to be permanently altered.
"Good news is," Charlie said almost sheepishly, as if he was trying his hardest to present something good in all of this, "you're not a werewolf."
His mother was nodding. "They ran so many tests, Bill. Every test they could to be sure. None of them came back positive for the werewolf mutation. And the Healers said it most definitely would have shown up straight away. It works that quickly."
"It's nearly instantaneous," Charlie said, looking at his mother before glancing back at Bill. "The bites contained trace amounts of werewolf lycanthropy, but you need to think of it more like being touched with a contaminated substance as opposed to that substance going straight into your blood. One changes your gene pattern, the other…"
He grew quiet and observed Bill's bandaged face. "Well, it leaves a permanent mark. Or two…"
Bill stared back at his brother. Charlie had always been very involved in magical creature studies. Back at school, Professor Kettleburn had always claimed Charlie was one of the brightest pupils he'd ever had. He may have focused all of his energy on dragons, but he knew his shit about so many different kinds of creatures. If Charlie spoke with this sort of certainty, it meant he'd already had time to sort through all of this and work out this outcome. Bill had no reason to doubt him.
"How bad is it?" Bill asked, reaching up to touch his face again. "I can't feel anything."
Charlie looked over at his mother for an answer, mumbling, "I actually haven't seen you without the bandages, so I don't…"
His mother's face was not reassuring. She looked as if she was holding back some terrible news and was doing a poor job or pretending otherwise. When she finally did speak, her voice was quiet. "I saw it right after it happened, so of course it was worse. Some of the swelling has likely gone down, and the Healers have said they managed to do some things that helped."
Bill stared at her, knowing she was trying to palliate this, but he didn't want some sugar coated half truth. He just wanted an answer.
"How bad is it?" he repeated.
She sniffled a little and looked away. He could tell she was upset and didn't want to say anything more. He caught Charlie's eye, silently asking him to please give him a straight answer. If anyone would do that, it was him.
Charlie cleared his throat and looked at the floor. He almost begrudgingly said, "I've heard it was…bad. Dad said he barely recognized you the first time he saw you. One Healer told me that when you came in, they were surprised to find you still had a nose."
"It was not that bad, Charlie!" his mother snapped before rounding back on Bill. "Take it from someone who actually saw you, and before the Healers had a chance to attend to you. I swear to you, they've repeatedly said they managed to save so much. Your attending Healer said they were pleasantly surprised by how well things turned out. You'll have a few scars, but they'll heal."
Bill closed both of his eyes. Leave it to Charlie to always bring the ugly details while his mother always insisted on looking at the positives. He didn't even know how to digest any of this information or what it meant. He was now either a disfigured mess who looked nothing like his former self, or he was a disfigured mess who still sort of looked like his former self. Either way, he no longer looked like his former self and was definitely not coming out of this unscathed. That seemed to be the only thing people agreed on.
"The Healers can explain it better when you're ready to hear it, dear," his mother said.
And they would. Minutes later, one turned up and he got to listen to one of them basically explain the same things to him again, only with more medical terms attached to his explanation.
Bill actually recognized the Healer—Healer Pye—he'd been the same one who'd tended to his father after his snake attack over a year ago. Apparently he was the one who dealt with all the more bizarre and strange creature attacks around here—a specialist of some kind who repeatedly told Bill how unique his situation was; how lucky he was to have escaped a darker fate.
But he sure as hell didn't feel particularly lucky as he lay there staring up at the ceiling, the Healer still talking about Greyback being a real thorn in his side given how many attacks they got in there directly because of him.
He was barely listening now. He'd been attacked and disfigured. He was having a hard time considering any of that 'lucky' or 'unique.'
Because that was the word they all kept using—unique. He already so was fucking tired of hearing about how unique he was to have been bitten by a werewolf but not become one. Maybe becoming one while still salvaging his face would have been the better alternative? Had anyone stopped to consider that? Remus did alright. At least he had a face…
"You're on a potion for the pain, Mr. Weasley," Pye continued. "You'll likely need to keep that up for a couple of weeks. You'll have several ointments you'll need to apply daily—some hourly—if you're hoping to minimize the scarring as much as possible. My team has done their best to repair your face as much as we can, but with werewolf injuries…" He shrugged. "We're always quite limited with what we can do."
"Can I see my face?" Bill asked.
Pye's face dropped off a bit. "Oh, well, I'm not sure that's…" He didn't look enthusiastic about that request.
"Bill," his mother said. "The wounds are still so fresh. Perhaps let the potions work a bit, let the swelling go down more—"
Bill made a face—or he tried to. "Fine. Noted. I still want to see my face."
"Mr. Weasley," Pye said, "It's important that you rest right now. Given how well you've woken up and how receptive you seem, we'd like to release you as soon as tomorrow. But in the meantime, I need you to rest—"
"Fine, I'll rest," Bill said, starting to feel impatient. "I'm not trying not to rest. I don't want to go for a jog, I just want to see my face."
"The issue is," Pye said slowly. "That if you see your face, that may cause a reaction in you that…well, it may have adverse effects. For example, if you were to cry or get upset, if your facial muscles were forced to work too hard at the moment, that would create a problem for some of the ointments—"
"Fine ," Bill said, fully impatient now. "I won't do any of that. I want to see my bloody face."
Pye sighed. "Well, a bloody face is exactly what you're likely to find…"
"Just show him his face," Charlie said from a spot by the wall that he'd taken to leaning on. "You're getting him more worked up by not showing him. He has a right to see himself." Under his breath he added. "If you don't do it, I will."
"Charles Septimus Weasley," his mother snapped in a harsh whisper, staring at him as if she couldn't believe he'd just said that to a Healer.
Pye didn't seem much fazed by Charlie's comment specifically, but after some humming and hawing, he did eventually decide to relent on his decision as he summoned a nurse in to assist him with the bandage removal.
With Pye's wand pointed at Bill's face, the bandages slowly began to unravel themselves; he could feel the pressure of his dressings getting lighter with each piece that was removed. The closer they got to his bare skin, the colder the air now felt on his open wounds. His face suddenly began to feel very cool.
He had both of his eyes back now, though his right one—the one that had been obstructed—was badly swollen and he could only barely see out of it. He could still make out his mother at the foot of his bed, taking quick, sharp breaths as more and more bandages came off. Beside her, Charlie had stepped forward to watch as well, and while Bill knew Charlie was trying his hardest not to react—to show absolutely no emotion to what he was now witnessing—his eyes couldn't hide his surprise. There was pity in his gaze as well.
When the last bandage came off, his mother stepped away from the bed and he heard her sniffle yet again. Charlie exhaled deeply and turned his head toward the nearby window. He was bouncing a little with anxious energy. When he turned back to him, Bill swore he saw that his eyes were glassy.
"Mirror, please," came Pye's voice as the nurse suddenly summoned a mirror about the size of a large book into the room. She handed it to Pye, who in turn handed it to Bill. No one said anything.
With a slow breath and a shaky hand, Bill held the mirror up to his face to finally get a look at this damage. What he found was a complete stranger staring back at him—raw and red faced, with deep gashes that practically went to the bone in certain spots. He could see where the ointments had been applied heavily; where spellwork had reconnected parts of his skin back together.
How the fuck did he still have a nose?
That couldn't possibly be him. He was…horrifying. He was hideous.
He was…now realizing he'd been full of shit when he'd told Pye he wouldn't get upset.