"Blah" Talking
'Blah' Thinking
Blah Dreams/Flashbacks/Anything and Everything else
A/N: Please remember to go back and refresh your memory for where we are! Also, THANK YOU SO MUCH for your patience as I take forever and a year to update this fic. We've only got a few more chapters to go!
Draco slips out of the room he and Harry are sharing quietly. The wireless is on in the little kitchenette, droning on about the situation in the United Kingdom. He turns it up just a notch as he gathers some eggs and peppers to scramble up an omelet. One of the first things he did upon coming here was to release the one house elf that served the small cottage – his first act as Head of his Family was realizing that he only had one house elf and one piece of property left, so he figured it was fitting.
It had taken the rest of the world a few devastating weeks to truly understand the severity of the situation they all found themselves in. The entire United Kingdom was pretty much on its way to becoming a wasteland. Whole cities were little more than ghost towns, buildings and homes abandoned and bodies littering the streets. And yet, the situation for the muggles was apparently more dire than it was for the wizards, as a nuclear warhead had gone off when Erus leveled London to the ground. It was only through dumb luck that it didn't trigger any of the others. Draco may have been a pureblood, but even he knew what a nuke was – and even if the radiation didn't affect his kind the way it did the muggles, it still wasn't a good thing to have one just go off willy-nilly like that.
"From what we have been able to see from afar, the only thing left of London is an archway standing tall amongst the ruins. The muggles have declared England as a country to be no more, with Ireland and Scotland reportedly suffering from widespread deaths from the radiation poisoning. The United Nations and the International Confederation of Wizards are currently in meetings for the first time since the formation of the muggles' United Nations. Little is known about what they are discussing or planning. Reports from all around the world have confirmed that previous unheard of numbers of Dark Creatures have been sighted by both magical and muggle communities at large and many of them are migrating towards the U.K. I have been asked to specify that these creatures are all the sort wihtout human blood in them, as there have been reports of lynching of werewolves and an increase in staking of Vampires. I repeat: The Dark Creatures that are flocking towards the UK are not the kind that take the form of humans." The report droned on in the background and Draco flipped the eggs over.
"The birds rip the stomachs of cats open." Harry said from the doorway suddenly, voice distant and flat. Draco turned the fire off before he turned his attention to Harry.
His hair was unbound and tangled, hanging down his back and about his face. His face looked gaunt, eyes sunken in and there were scratch marks around them from when he had previously tried to gauge them out in a fit. Harry had been… unwell, since being brought here after the Battle of Hogwarts, as it was now called. He's hardly the only one though, since the world's Seers had been reported as going slightly sideways ever since Erus awoke. Erus was such an abnormality that seers from every stretch of land were experiencing too much backlash from the worlds – there was too much death for them, too many futures changing all at once, too many voices in their heads all of a sudden. It wasn't particularly comforting to know that Harry wasn't alone in his suffering.
"Why don't you sit down and I'll bring you some food." Draco said gently, steering Harry to the small table with three chairs sitting near some stained French doors with sunlight streaming through them. Harry left himself be prodded along, lips moving wordlessly. It was coming close to a full month since they had fled England and Harry was still drifting like this, not himself. Draco cut the omelet he made into bite sized bits and sat next to Harry to coax him into eating some of it.
Sometimes he ate, other times he took a few bites only to choke as he started to talk and wasn't able to stop. It wasn't always English. Sometimes strings of Gealic and Latin came from him, other times it was Sumarian that Draco had to wrack his brain to understand, and a few times he spoke in a language Draco had no hope of understanding. Once, he spoke in Parseltongue only to switch to German mid-word. No matter what language he used though, the actual content he said didn't make much, if any, sense at all.
He wished his parents were alive and here with him, if only for some support. His mother would know how to make sure Harry got enough food, even if he had a fit or a handful of too many visions all jumbled together. His father would be able to help him with researching ways to get through to Harry, and Severus would be about to be one more set of eyes as he looked over all the information he was getting from various people and groups about the state of things. But they weren't here, they were gone and lost to him. He was still getting used to the idea that his father and Severus weren't just in the other room or in another country, that they were gone and dead and he had to leave their bodies on a battlefield or join them.
"City of crows, city of monsters, always gone." Harry murmured and broke off to mutter in Parseltongue. Draco reached out to pet his hair gently, trying not to despair.
Maybe tomorrow Harry would return to him.
Blaise's father was dying. Eleanor wasn't sure how the hell Blaise was able to hold up so well - better than she would be if her own father was wasting away right in front of her. Then again, maybe she'd manage it better under these circumstances as well – after all, her parents abandoned her. Would she really care all that much if they were dying in front of her? Or would she just be angry?
Either way, Blaise was a great host given the situation they were in. His mother was still alive, but what with tending to her husband, everything else was left to Blaise. It was he who rescued the Moon sisters from the battle, tucking them away in his manor back in England; he who, when after he returned to fight found only defeat staring back at him, directed their move to Spain; he who opened up his home to them, to a group of rebels and runaways.
The older, if magically modified apartments weren't that large: four rooms and a small kitchenette with two bathrooms, but they were enough for them. Valerie and Amy Moon shared a room while Eleanor and Luna shared another; Blaise himself slept in the living room and without complaint or even the suggestion of it having ever bothered him. He separated his time between his parents, the day to day running of the apartments, news and letters to and from various peoples, and making certain Amy still got an education for when Valerie reached a gap in her own knowledge. They worked well together, Blaise and Valerie, and Eleanor looks at them and wonders sometimes.
"Ellie, you hungry?" Luna asked as she came into their shared room, dressed in her school skirt and a blouse that looked like it was shrunk to fit her, most likely from Blaise's mother's closet. Eleanor herself was wearing her school shirt and skirt, both freshly cleaned and pressed. Valerie and Amy could fit into Blaise's old clothes easily with just a few tailoring and color changing charms, but Luna and Eleanor were a little too different to get away with that. Hence, they were content to just wash the clothes they came with and perhaps borrow anything Blaise's mother was able to part with.
"I could eat." Eleanor said in response to Luna's question. She had only the few coins she had in her pockets at the time of the Battle of Hogwarts, not much in simpler terms, but she could afford a few meals out with her friend.
"I found a nice little café nearby, it serves really good stew." Luna said and turned to walk off, leaving Eleanor to scurry after her. Amy and Blaise were in the sitting room, Blaise teaching the younger girl the beginnings of Ancient Runes while Valerie read over an essay. They didn't look up as the two girls leave through the front door.
Spain was lovely and different than England. The area they were in was completely made up of the wizarding community and showed it: the architecture twisting and old, the food plenty and colorful, the languages many, and the people kept to themselves. She wondered what they would be like if the sense of terror and war wasn't just on the outskirts of everyone's mind – if their Ministry wasn't closing their borders and both worlds weren't tensing for the fall back from the desolation of her home.
They came to a tucked away building between two towering buildings that leaned towards each other dangerously. It was packed with people, all wrapped in darker clothes and speaking importantly, and they found a small table by the bar. The menus appeared in front of them, words twisting until they became legible, and Luna tapped a dish with her wand immediately, the menu disappearing with a pop a second later. A glass appeared at Luna's left, liquid inside swirling with color and the top bubbling. Eleanor looked over the menu and chose a sandwich-soup combo that came with butterbeer.
"The reports from the muggles are even more distressing: the Americans have sent their flying eyes over and almost none of them have come back. Just the one that managed to get this image back to them – The Clans have gone to Washington to get the muggles' President read-in on the separation." A man said at a table to their left.
"Dear Merlin, is it really so bad that they're risking exposure to the muggles? The Native Magical Clans hate the United States, don't blame them really what with all the bad history, but can you imagine that shitstorm?" Someone said and Eleanor frowned as she considered that. She didn't know a lot about America, just that the magical community is even more hidden than the one in Britain was. She knew a lot of the Native Peoples were still there, hidden by their magic, but that they still lost a lot of people and culture during the Muggle Expansion. She also knew that anyone that was born with magic tended to have to choose between becoming a Native or a loner, hidden from both communities. She was glad she wasn't born there, it sounded rather complicated.
"We've got the report back from Scotland. It's confirmed – Voldemort is no more, this new Dark Lord has killed him. Gods save us that this thing managed to kill that monster – there's no report of a wand being used and the cursed thing has scales for flesh. It's like a fucking god's tale, not reality." A woman said at a table behind them.
"Where did you take us?" Eleanor hissed at Luna, finally accepting that everyone in this café was a Spanish Ministry Official, rather than just a few of them.
"The Café de la Luz. It's frequented by the Spanish Ministry and Armed Task Force, as you can tell, because it's so close to the main building. It's so delightful that they're so used to everyone in here knowing each other than they just ward the entrances and exits." Luna explained, sipping her drink like nothing was amiss. A plate of food appeared in front of her, smelling decadent and steaming slightly still.
"The Dementors are uncontrollable, sucking the souls out of anyone they can get their hands on; Island Azkaban was struck by lightning for Merlin's sake, and a large part of the prison is just gone." Yet another person said as Eleanor's lunch appeared, the soup creamy and hot. She broke apart the sandwich that came with it – mostly just bread with a few pieces of tomatoes and chicken in it – and settled in to listen as Luna is doing unabashedly. Has been doing – clearly this was how she'd been staying ahead of the politics here.
It wasn't encouraging news. The first week after everyone fled from the Battle of Hogwarts – as it was now called when people whispered of it, as if it was a battle and not a slow massacre that was held back by a few foolishly brave souls, mostly students – people from all over the United Kingdom flooded into other countries across the continent. In the magical world, it was a lot of people pushing into countries using apparition points and international floos, disregarding red tape. The muggle worlds however… apparently, there were a lot more of them left to die. Getting out of the United Kingdom was harder when you couldn't apparate, floo away, or get a portkey made illegally (which was rather simple to do at home if you knew the spell work, had something on hand, and knew where you were going. It was not difficult to make a portkety. The hard part comes when Ministry Officials come to your door, displeased and talking about fines. But, of course, with this side of the world falling into chaos you didn't have to worry so much about that…)
From what information could be gathered, the magical governments had abandoned their muggle counterparts during the first pushes, too busy dealing with their own melees to coordinate properly with the non-magical side. So when things got really bad, the muggles attributed the chaos to riots and terrorist plots, without any insight to what was to come. They were shut off and quickly abandoned, with only the well-connected and politically powerful muggles able to abandon deck.
There were other problems as well, like the knowledge that Voldemort's body – and whatever took control of it – was amassing an army of corpses and Dark Creatures, the kind that Harry had taught them about, the ones that were little more than teeth, magic, and shadows. Eleanor had thought them as scary bedtime tales when she was younger, before the war, before Harry had come into her life.
"They're going to be forced to fight once they realize that thing will come across the channel. I don't think they realize that yet." Luna commented quietly, not whispering but not wanting to be overheard.
"They'll want to try talking at first, that much is obvious." Eleanor responded, that last of her soup going down the same way the rest of it had – automatically and without the enjoyment of being tasted.
"With things the way they are, I'm sure if we just let the Dark Lord have the islands we should be fine. It's a lot of land and he can have it." An older woman said, almost like the universe was seeking to prove her point. Before Eleanor could think too much on it, she turned in her seat to address the woman.
"If you believe that, you are a fool. He won't stay there, not once he sucks the land dry and runs out of people to kill." She said sharply, the memory of teeth crunching into flesh and a spray of blood following clearly in her mind. "He calls the other Dark things to him because they recognize something in him."
The café goes silent in the wake of her words and it was clear that she'd just let everyone know the café wasn't as secure as they had thought. She saw a few people go for their wands and swallowed a frog in her throat, but found herself not being overly frightened. If anything, she thought she could take them.
"A little girl thinks she knows about this from eavesdropping, that's youth for ya." A man said from nearby and laughter went up, the tension in the room lessening. Eleanor seethed, suddenly wishing she could show off a ring that proves she's a Head of a Family and to be respected – she wasn't a little girl, she'd been to war for fuck's sake.
"That little girl is one of only two people in this establishment that saw the one you're calling the new Dark Lord." Luna said coldly.
"Oh?" The woman Eleanor spoke to said, voice incredulous and eyebrow arched. She stood purposefully to hover over them, smiling down at them condescendingly. "And I suppose you are going to claim to be the other? Really, you two should go home, I'm sure your parents are worried about you both."
"My parents are dead." Luna said bluntly. Eleanor turned to her in shock – she thought Luna's father was alive at the very least. "And yes, we are among the few that managed to get away after the Battle of Hogwarts was lost. You really shouldn't be surprised – that battle took place outside a school, how do you think it got that name?
"The Ministry had fallen earlier that day and the building itself had been raised to the ground. We lost Albus Dumbledore that day and countless others and had to flee because the new Dark Lord started to eat the Death Eaters. You weren't there to see him – to see Voldemort fall and something else hollow him out and take over. I left my father at home, thinking he would be safe long enough for me to get word to him, but he wasn't.
"I got a fancy new ring and a very detailed account of how much property I no longer own because all of it is gone. You will have to fight this thing when it comes, because it will come and it won't let you do anything else. You will fight or you will die." Luna said strongly, standing up to better look the older woman in the eye. The woman looks pale and takes a step back as Eleanor stood as well, leaving some money on the table to cover their meal. They left in silence, the café still and quiet behind them.
Ginny stared down at the street below, watching people come and go, a thin plane of glass separating her from them. Her breath frosted the window as she breathed and even here in Egypt – where the current temperature was a few degrees above scorching and the cooling charms had to be renewed every six hours instead of every twelve – she was chilled. Her hair was longer than it had been, thicker, and the roots were like ice against her scalp when the wind blew through it. She stayed indoors mostly, staying out of everyone's way. She figured this was her inheritance coming to her like molasses, what else could it be?
She shrugged a shawl over her shoulders – one of her mother's thick, knitted, bright monstrosities – and crept out of the room she, Hermione, and Fleur's little sister Gabrielle shared. Even at eleven, Gabrielle was such a small thing, trailing after her older sister, and looking at her was jarring. Was Ginny that small when she was her age? That trusting?
Thinking back, she supposes she must have been – a little girl who trusted everyone around her and had no reason to do otherwise, this little thing who didn't think anything was strange about a book that wrote back to her as if it were alive and not just a clever piece of spell work. Gabrielle was this little bundle of energy and questions, forever asking Ginny what she was doing or reading or if she'd play with her. Bill and Fleur trusted her with Gabrielle and it was a different experience to have another girl around, one that was younger than her, that she could baby like her brothers did her. She wonders how strange it must have been for her brothers, for her to come back from her first year so changed and different – no longer as trusting, as curious, as social. She thinks she understands now why they all had coddled her so much all her life, if she was just like Gabrielle once upon a time.
When she headed downstairs, she found Hermione and Ron exactly where she had left them after breakfast - surrounded by piles of books and scrolls. They've been helping Bill with research, who had been conscripted - for lack of better term - into helping the government with various boundary wards that used to be in place when Egypt was still ruled by a Pharaoh. She'd overheard enough to know that Egypt was in a bad place, safety wise - ever since they'd gotten here, people had been vanishing into the Sahara or from their homes in alarmingly high numbers. In response, the governments - what was left of the Muggle one and the Magical one - were working in tandem to try and close the country up using the old wards that once encased the kingdom.
There was no secrecy to be found anywhere anymore - it was very fimly out of the bag. It was hard to stay a secret when magical creatures, beasts, and various other oddities had been coming out of the woodwork to wreak havoc faster than wizards and witches could clean up after them.
Hermione and Ron didn't look up when she passed them to go into the kitchen. She found the twins seated at the table, a dish of leftover Chicken Shwarma between them, fiddling with a few objects scattered around them and muttering, presumably, to each other. She grabbed a plum from a dish of fruit and vegetables on the counter in the kitchen and hovered in the archway separating the two rooms as she watched her brothers and sister work. Hermione and Ron may not have been married and she wouldn't be so bold as to say they might one day be, but that girl was as much a member of this family as anyone else in it. Fleur and Bill were just engaged and yet Ginny thinks of Fluer and Gabrielle as family. She can think the same of Hermione.
Hermione chose that moment to roll her head and stretch her shoulders back, untangling from her place to stand and twist around a few more times before she started to migrate around the haphazardly stacked reading materials around her to head in Ginny's direction. The bottom of her hair has been uniformly cut so it looked less like someone took a dull blade to it and the bottoms curled just under her ears. She didn't have any bangs anymore and it all worked together to make her look older than the newly turned 18 year old she was.
"I'm going to bring lunch up to your mum, want to help?" Hermione asked.
"No, I just wanted something to munch on. Thanks though." Ginny responded quietly. Hermione hummed and grabbed the tray of set aside food to bring upstairs.
Ginny had taken her mother food only once and she couldn't bring herself to do it again. It would be easier if her mother was feeble minded or just bedridden - instead she was a strange mixture of the two. She'd stay in bed for days on end, barely eating, but then she'd get up and cook everyone food and walk around like she was at the Burrow, and Ginny was ten again. Those were the most painful times, for her mother to have retreated so far into her fantasy that she didn't seem to recognize her own children as they were. She called Ron "Percy," thinks Hermione was Penelope, and - most disturbingly – thought that Bill was their father. The first time she called him 'Arthur dear' he fled the room and didn't come out of his and Fleur's room for hours. Ron got a pinched look when she called him Percy and didn't respond to it, while Hermione gently tried correcting her.
The less said about Arthur Weasley the better - Ginny hadn't seen him hardly at all since she got here, just enough to know that he was suffering in his own way, too.
Ginny threw the plum's seed away and headed back upstairs to her room. At the top stair, she felt something warm upon her brow, like a goodnight kiss, and the shawl she was wearing snagged on something, ripping it off her shoulders. She stood frozen on the landing, staring down at the shawl in confusion. The chill in her body eases away into something much more comfortable, keeping her skin cool but no longer cold. Her feet feel normal, the thrum of blood under her soles making her toes curl briefly.
She walked to her mother's open door, moving through it easily, and came to a stop behind Hermione who was seated at her mother's bedside, shaking her shoulders. The tray had clearly been dropped onto the floor, juice and stew broth soaking into the rugs under their feet, and then Hermione made this guttural, half gasping sound.
"Mum?" She whispered, knowing she wasn't going to get an answer. Hermione twisted around, eyes wide, and she jumped to her feet when they landed on the younger girl.
"Ginny, you don't need to see this," Hermione says, sounding frantic, and pushes Ginny back a few spaces by her shoulders. The room felt odd, not crowded enough for three people in it, slightly larger than it should be, and she didn't know what that meant.
"What's got you so worked up, I can feel you from - Bloody Hell." Ron said as he burst into the room and their Mum doesn't scold him for his language.
'Why would she say anything, she's dead you fucking idiot. She's fucking dead.' She mentally screamed at herself, looking back at her mother's body. Her corpse, because that's what it was. She was gone.
"Stay with - do you mind staying here with - with her? I mean Gin, not... fuck. I need to get Fred and George." Ron stumbled over his words and rushed back out while Hermione sat back down heavily on the bed, hunched in on herself and covered her nose with her hand, breathing harshly against the skin and shaking lightly.
'How can she stand to be so close to the corpse?' She wondered and then her brothers came back up the stairs, running, and George gave a cry of dismay. Fred and George rushed to the bed in perfect synch, each of them reaching out to touch her cheek, only to yank their hands away upon touching her. Everyone in the family always joked that they did everything together, always have and always will, but Ginny knows Fred was born first. Their mother used to joke that it felt like they even tried to come into the world together and -
What did any of this matter? Her mother was dead. Dead like Percy, like Seamus and Dean, like Remus and Sirius, like the Headmaster, like so many people she didn't know the names or faces of. She didn't eat dinner with everyone last night and now she'll never have another meal with her mother ever again.
She stumbled out of the room in a haze and remembered that she had left her shawl on the second floor landing and it was probably trampled by her brothers. It's right where it fell and she sits down ungracefully, pulling it into her lap. The tear is jagged and thick, but she thinks it's fixable. Charlie was always ripping his sweaters and scarves when he was growing up and mum was able to fix them in no time, with just some extra yarn and her trusty knitting needles. She thinks she might be able to fix the shawl herself but she never paid all that much attention to her mother when she tried to teach this stuff to Ginny. It always seemed so boring and unnecessary - why would Ginny need to know how to knit of all things when she had her mother and spells to mend tears in clothes?
She should have paid more attention.
"Ginny, what are you doing there?" Fluer asked a few minutes later, coming from the room that housed the fireplace and only apperation point in the house, holding onto Gabrielle's hand.
"Mum." Ginny croaks out, unable to get any other words out, and Fluer's eyes widened. She let go of Gabrielle's hand, saying something in French that sounds terse and like an order, before she leapt up the stairs like a spooked gazelle. Gabrielle walks up the stairs to sit down in front of Ginny, not facing the older girl, and Ginny doesn't know what to say to her. So she stays silent and reaches out to braid the girl's hair, to give her something mindless to do.
Bill was called home eventually, after Gabreille had a few braids in her hair and Fluer had maneuvered everyone downstairs. Bill and Fluer talked in hush voices while Hermione told Gabrielle what was going on, slowly and stopping every now and again as if about to burst into tears. The Egyptian Guard came, talking to Bill and going upstairs briefly before coming back down and saying something to Bill in Arabic that Ginny didn't understand.
Ginny's father wanders down after the Guard leave, crying openly and looking devastated. He collapsed next to Hermione, who gathered him up like a child and let him cry on her shoulder. Ginny thought she should be upset about that, but couldn't bring herself to feel much of anything beyond numb and lukewarm.
Hours passed in silence before Ron stood and got them all something to eat. He reheated the lasagna from a few nights ago and cooked some meatballs to go with it. He waved the table in front of him to put it in front of the couches and chairs they were all collapsed in, the pile of books, scrolls, and tapestries he and Hermione were researching forgotten and pushed to one side of the room.
Ron settled the table down, putting glasses and pitchers of milk and juice down onto the surface along with plates that held still steaming food. He made himself a plate of meatballs and lasagna and poured himself some milk, then sat back and ate in silence. Fluer was the next one to move, reaching out to make plates for Gabrielle, Bill, and herself. Bill took the plate and fork from her in a daze and had to be prodded to eat what was in front of him. The rest followed soon after, going through the motions as if they were underwater, eerily silent as they chewed, swallowed, drank, and didn't taste any of what they devoured.
"We should have a funeral." Bill said after all the food was gone.
"With just us?" Fred and George said together, all joy gone from their voices. They sounded like a single monotone voice, no echoing as they usually had between them.
"She wouldn't want to be buried here." Ron said.
"Well, we don't have much of a choice, do we?" Bill snapped back and Ron didn't retort or flinch, just looked at their eldest brother like he'd never seen him.
Ginny started when Gabrielle leaned against her side. She looked down at the girl, not sure what she wanted - a hug, perhaps? Some comforting words, probably. She had none for her, but she did draw her close and stroke her hair – that was the least she could do.
"Did she want to be buried?" Fluer asked softly.
"I... I don't know." Bill said, hunching over his knees and burying his head in his hands. Fluer stroked his back.
"I don' 'ant to be buried." Gabrielle whispered, so softly that Ginny almost missed it. Her accent when speaking English was a little more pronounced than Fleur's, most likely from lack of practice, but overall she was doing much better than when the Triwizard Tournament was going on.
"Why not?" Ginny asked the girl, equally quiet.
"Make people zad." The little girl responded, sniffling.
"They'd be just as sad if you weren't buried, you know. You'd be gone either way." Ginny said, thinking about Seamus and Dean - she didn't get a chance to see their graves. Doesn't even know where they were buried - didn't even know if both of them were buried, honestly - and it made her feel like a horrible person. What kind of friend didn't know those things?
"Non, gravez make zad. I 'ant to be burned, kept cloze. Less zad." Gabreille replied, voice firm in it's quietness.
"I suppose that's up to you." Ginny said back, not sure if that was a true sentiment but letting the younger girl think that. Who was she to decide for Gabrielle what was to be done with her body when she was no longer in it?
'And isn't the fact that she has an opinion on something like this a depressing sign of our times?' Ginny thought as she patted Gabrielle's head a few times, still not sure if the younger girl was getting what she wanted from her.
She didn't want to burn her mother. She didn't want to watch her flesh go up in flames and her hair turn to ash. Equally, she didn't want her mother to rot in the sands in a country that she wasn't even aware she'd been in most of the time. She wanted her mother alive and in her right mind again, wanted her to be healing from grief and here to tell her how to fix knitted shawls. She wanted her mother to tell her about the uncles she never knew, that died in the First War before she met them; wanted her mother to tease her about Luna and give her talks about intimacy and love that made Ginny blush; wanted her mother to share memories of Percy with her, of Charlie ('Please don't be dead, Charlie, not you too. Please don't be dead, no more.'); she wanted her mother alive.
But she wasn't. And in the end, that's what mattered to Ginny - her mother was gone. What did it matter what they did with her body, her shell that she left behind, hollowed out as it was?
"Ginny, what do you think?" Fluer asked, gently and reaching across Gabrielle to clasp their hands together.
"Whatever you think is best." She said and stood up, pulling Gabrielle to her feet gently. "We'll take the dishes." She continued.
'Charlie, where are you? Why aren't you here? Protect him, please, I can't lose anyone else.'
The sun was setting and Draco reclined in the cushy chair he was sprawled in, watching the sky change colors. Severus used to say the sky was a potion in progress, the sun and moon grand Potions Masters stirring everything together. Most didn't know the man had a poetic bone in his body, but Draco knew he could be kind and loving, when given a chance to. Severus was his second father and it never seemed strange to him that he had two fathers and a mother. The three raised him as best they could, loved him more than there were stars in the sky, and dotted on him. He never really questioned their strange relations, but now that they're all gone he wondered if they were as happy as he thought they were. Did Narcissa love them? Either one of them or both of them? Did Lucius or Severus feel anything for her? Were they friends or just resigned to the fact that Narcissa and Lucius had be married or be disowned? They never seemed unhappy to him, never raised their voices at each other that he knew of, but he had been a child. He hoped they were happy.
"Draco?" Harry's soft voice, rough from babbling and screaming and howling throughout the weeks, came from behind him suddenly. Draco turned quickly, near falling out of the chair, elation and wild hope rising in him. 'By the gods, be real. Give him back to me, please, you've had him long enough, give him back.' He thought with his heart in his throat, stomach fluttering in anticipation.
Harry was standing, hair pulled back into a loose ponytail that was probably just knotted at the base of his skull, eyes boring into his own. They weren't dull or vacant. And he was wearing a robe that barely closed around him, shrugged on hurriedly, and as the seconds passed he took a step forward and breathed out a sob, reaching for Draco.
He rushed forward, gathering Harry to him, and gladly let Harry cling to him, kissing him desperately.
"I couldn't control it." Harry said when they broke apart. Harry's hands were on Draco's face, touching him reverently like he wanted to re-memorize what it looked like from touch alone. Draco didn't begrudge him that though, as he was running his own hands down Harry's back, across his hips, up his arms, just to make sure he was real. Harry had dark circles under his eyes from the irregular sleep cycle and his skin looked sickly, a scattering of acne across the bridge of his nose. The lightning bolt scar that always looked like it was a newly acquired one, just getting ready to scab over, was now a thin white mark, long healed. It actually looked like a wound Harry had gotten as an infant that left barely a mark on him. In stark contrast was the actual scabbed over, jagged cuts that ran from Harry's right temple to just above his jawline. He looked beautiful.
"I thought I was going to die like that." Harry continued, looking close to breaking down in tears.
"I didn't think you'd remember any of it." Draco admitted.
"I don't, at least not what my body was doing, but I knew I wasn't in it, not really. I was trapped and I couldn't find you." Harry said, pressing his face against Draco's neck. Draco held him close, breathing deeply through his nose to try and keep calm. "I'm so tired but I feel like I've been asleep for ages." He continued softly.
"How about a bath then?" Draco suggested. Harry nodded, pulling away from the other boy. Draco took hold of Harry's hand to guide him to the bathroom. There was a sunken bathtub in the center of the room, big enough to fit them both, and around it was various potions and soaps bottled up. The soap his mother used was still sitting there, waiting for Narcissa to come back and use the last few cap-fulls.
Harry took off the robe he was wearing, revealing pale and scar peppered skin. He knelt by the tub, looking over the various bottles, the muscles in his back moving as he reached for a particular one.
"Are you going to join me or just watch? Cause I don't think I'd be able to put on a show tonight." Harry said, smiling at him softly as he slithered into the warm water. Draco snorted and tugged his shirt off, shucking his pants in the next breath. The water was comforting and Harry immediately rested his head against Draco's shoulder once he was settled, his hands settled low on Draco's stomach.
"This cottage belonged to your parents?" Harry asked, pressing a kiss to Draco's neck. Draco wrapped an arm around Harry's back, settling him close. It was still sinking in that Harry was finally all here and present with him.
"Yeah, it was a wedding gift from some distant relations that were absorbed into the Malfoy line when the Head died with no kids or heir." Draco responded.
"I'm sorry. About your father and Severus, I mean. I didn't get a chance to say that before... I'm sorry." Harry said softly.
"Thank you. I'm sorry about Black and Lupin, too." Draco said and kissed the top of Harry's head.
They stayed in the water until they pruned.
"I want them gone." His mother says and Blaise doesn't look up from Draco's letter. It seems Potter is himself at last, and Blaise is happy for it. Maybe he'll have a plan, he always seems to have one. He finishes the letter, sets it aside, and reaches for the documents about a cremation for his father.
"I'm the Head of this family now and I say they stay. Valerie and Amy Moon are lovely girls and orphans. I've always wanted sisters. Once I'm more settled and things aren't as crazy, I'm offering them a place in our family, so you might as well learn to get along with them. Anyway, I'm too young to have kids their age." He said firmly. He didn't want to be having this bloody conversation, not right now.
"I'm your mother, you could at least show me some respect. Those girls are fine - and yes, I'd be happy to call them your sisters if they accept - but the Lovegood and Gunn girls are perfectly able to care for themselves. There's no reason for them to be here taking up our resources." She said, leaning onto the desk he was using to loom over him. He'd usually apologize to her now, say he wasn't meaning to be disrespectful, but he just can't muster that kind of strength right now.
"They're my friends and they hardly need more from us other than a place to sleep. They give me information I can't get from any of our family's contacts, it isn't as though they haven't paid their way. They're staying. I'm up to my ears in paperwork about my duties, so if that's all you needed?" Blaise poised it as a question, letting his mother leave with some dignity. The woman left as silently as she came in, and Blaise went back to his work.
He shouldn't even be the head of the family. It should have gone to his mother, he wasn't ready for these responsibilities yet. He'd thought he'd have a few years to go before he needed to know all the ins and outs of his family and the position that came with it. The fact that he held a Wizagomont seat was meaningless now, since Britain was officially dissolved, both the muggle Britain and the Wizarding British Empire.
He also had all the paperwork for the money they owned - the British branch of Gringotts cleared everything out of the building when the Ministry was decimated and relocated to Erara-Dull, the Goblin Island. Blaise didn't know where said island was actually located, since every Gringotts bank was shut down for four days to turn them all into portkey storefronts, but he suspected it was either in the Pacific Ocean or otherwise located somewhere out of the way. The Zabini fortune was intact and they were still well off, even after losing both the toy maker and Potions shop located in Wales. He paid the families that worked there either retirement or funeral packages and it barely made a dent - and he'd been very generous with what he gave out.
But he didn't understand why it's him doing any of this. His mother was deemed not sufficient enough for this title and he wanted to know why. He just wasn't sure if that was enough of a reason to demand an answer - was he owed an answer for this?
"Blaise, you need to hear the report coming in through the wireless." Eleanor said, leaning against his doorjamb - he didn't hear her come in and he wondered if she'd been there long. He followed her out.
"The French Parliaments of both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds have announced in a joint conference that they are sending a mixed military force to their northern coastal cities and provinces to defend the French border along the English Channel. Some of the cities that will soon play host to an armed force not seen since before the Separation will be: Honfleur, Caen, Rennes, Rouen, and Lille. They report that strange sights have been seen on the English Channel and the muggles have picked up objects with a system they call 'radar'. It appears they have seen the large sea monsters that have been coming into the Channel in numbers that haven't been seen in this area since the Roman Empire was in its Golden Age.
"Reports are still coming in about wild and domestic animals alike acting strangely. The Cortes Generales of the Muggle branch of Spain and the Queen of Magical Spain have both expressed statements saying that they are working towards keeping Spain separated in the traditions of our culture. The Prime Minister of Muggle Spain called for an end to rioting and hysteria that has swept through larger areas, which has led to the deaths of at least 150 children both muggle and magical and thousands injured. The Queen of the Magical Spanish Empire assures her people that she is working closely with law enforcement to keep our children, along with our culture, intact and safe." A reporter said in smooth Spanish. Luna and Eleanor had heavy frowns on their faces while Amy had a look of intense concentration on. Amy's Spanish was decent but she probably had lost a few sentences due to the reporters speed of talking and higher level of vocabulary. She might have to wait for the English report later tonight to really understand everything.
"They left out the Dementors coming across the channel." Luna said grimly. Seeing her so focused and grim was odd, her face didn't seem to fit with a frown. The lines around her eyes weren't even set in yet, the corners of her lips pulled strangely as her mouth turned down.
"If they left them out, then how you do you know about them?" Valerie asked, arching an eyebrow at her. Eleanor returned her expression, equally unamused with her.
"I can keep track of reports too, you know." Luna said in response before standing to leave the room. Eleanor scurried after her, the two girls already speaking to each other quietly. He figured they were going to their café to get more information. Blaise turned back to the wireless as the reporter continued with:
"The Italian Ministry for Magic has announced that they are deporting anyone with a work visa, expired or not, in hopes of closing the country's borders. Greece has also closed both its muggle and wider magical borders, and there are reports coming from Russia stating that the Empire is undergoing civil unrest and the stirrings of another uprising."
Blaise went back to his office; he needed to work on getting them all citizenship in Spain before it was too late.
Neville spooned some stew into a bowl, passed it to the volunteer next to him, and grabbed another bowl. The monotone nature of the work was soothing.
"You've already gotten a bowl today, get out of line!" A woman farther down the line shouted in guttural German. There was some pushing and then a full fight broke out between three women in the line. Neville sighed, putting the bowl down and whipped his wand out. He flung a low grade shield spell to separate the women pushing and shoving at each other; they hit the invisible wall hard enough to send them to the ground.
"Break it up!" Neville shouted at them, his German just simple and clear enough to be understood. "We have plenty!" He continued, holding his wand on them. They glared and muttered at him, shuffling away to the end of the line. He put his wand back in its holster under his sleeve and went back to spooning stew into bowls to give out. The line started to move again and Neville noticed that more people glared at him as they shuffled by – he tried not to let it bother him.
His shift ended a few hours later, a girl a little older than him with green and purple dyed hair coming to switch places with him. The head of this particular food center was a huge woman with a shaved head and meaty arms. She was around eighty years old and didn't take lip from anyone, and being able to speak English, German, and Russian fluently meant it was difficult to say anything about her at all. The fact that she was waiting for him wasn't a good sign.
"The Brit, yeah?" She asked him as he paused in front of her. They were the same height, though she had a slight hunch in her back.
"Yes ma'am." He replied, already knowing where this was going. He'd been asked to leave two other food lines he volunteered at and been fired from the farmers market – muggle Germany wasn't a nice place to be magical it seemed, now that the secret was firmly out globally.
"Rumor is that you're a magic user. We're helping those of us who lost everything to your kind; you make everyone uncomfortable in light of the current situation." She said, arms folded in front of her and feet squared. He stared at her, not sure if she was expecting him to attack her or what. He didn't bother with a response, just apperated away.
He popped back into existence at the hostel he was staying in and unofficially owned. The building was abandoned when he got here, in disrepair and rotting in places, but with a few charms and cleaning it was good enough for him to live in. He cleaned it up, repaired the huge hole in the main wall, added two more windows, and got some locks for a few different doors that worked as front doors for some separate apartments within it.
He had three people who lived under him on the ground floor, and a small family who lived in the two rooms next to Neville. The family next to him had been living on the streets when Neville got into the country, they couldn't get a place to live due to something with their past "Credit," whatever that was. The parents both had jobs that didn't pay that well and three kids – one of which was just a year old – and yet they were overjoyed with their space. He didn't require anything from them, other than a little quiet once the sun went down, and they were truly grateful to be there. Most of his dinner meals came from their leftovers. He didn't require rent from anyone since he didn't own the building legally and he'd put up mild repelling charms so no one would come around to, say, make the people living there with him pay enormous rent prices or kick them out. If he got his hands on some documentation that said he owned the building, it would be even easier to make sure none of the people living here would get kicked out if he wasn't there.
Two hours later, everything he owned was once again in a knapsack and he was ready to leave. The documentation for the building now read that its low income housing, with rent at a sliding scale depending on how much a renter makes a month. He put the parents of the family next to him as the caretakers, so they'd always have a place to stay.
He left the country feeling accomplished and ready for something more. He made for France.
"The seal of Osiris will hold an entity within its confines for – is that three or two? – thousand years, held in between the shores between the confines of life and death." Fred translated slowly with long pauses as he cross checks dictionaries. George helped his brother lay the tapestry out flat to better read it. The edges were fraying and the Arabic embossed onto the front center was probably once white but was now a moldy yellow. George opened his own Arabic to English dictionary to help translate the tapestry's words. It'd been difficult finding dictionaries old enough to use – obviously both Arabic and English have had a certain amount of linguistic changes over the centuries, so it was hard to get an accurate translation.
Bill and a few goblins had been very excited about this tapestry and the twins wanted to know why. They may not have enough of a grasp of the languages involved to actively help in research like Ron and Hermione, but they weren't entirely helpless either.
"Here, listen to this: 'And the evil beings rampage was halted by the power of the people through a heaping of blood.' This must be Ancient Egyptian blood magic." George said.
"I think you're right, cause over here it says: 'The firstborn was taken and judgment rained down upon her. When she rose, it was as the tipper of scales, the Nile-rider, and she went forth to defend the nation.' It must be a protection blood spell – the seal gives power to the one connected to it, creating a feedback loop. The sealed powers feed the signal, which feeds the one tied to it, which causes the sealed to spend more magic trying to break out. Eventually, it must drain whatever is sealed inside it to nothing." Fred said, sounding excited.
"That's why Bill was so excited. If they put this seal around the border wards, they trap a lot of the creatures and monsters out there, link the Armed Forces to the seal, and bam – a powered protecting force for the nation's borders." George said, thumping the table with his fist.
"We could use this for something else." George said slowly, an idea starting to form.
"That we could, brother, that we could. That thing that took old snake face over, we could use this for it – it'll come across the channel, even the French muggles can tell." Fred replied, catching onto his idea perfectly. It would be dangerous. The Egyptian government would never have allowed a national treasure like this to be used for another nation.
"We can't link this to another army." Fred declared. George nodded, knowing that if they did, their remaining family at the very least would be arrested, never mind that they didn't plan on telling any of them what they were going to do.
"Nor can we link this to us." George said, realizing the truth in that as he spoke. He didn't think they'd be able to contain that much power – they'd break apart from the inside.
"That leaves a stranger or Harry." Fred said grimly. George hummed in response.
They'd use Harry, of course. They'd be able to connect something to him, they'd have to find a way, but they'd do it. He would be the perfect champion, no matter how much he wouldn't want to be. He'd be able to channel a foreign entity's magic, he was strong enough, and he wasn't allied with any particular nation anymore, since Britain wasn't a country anymore.
"Guess we're going to France." George said.
"Thank Merlin we managed to figure out how to portkey muggles." Fred agreed. They rolled the tapestry up, putting it in its carrier and smuggled it into the room they shared with Ron.
They'd leave tonight.
The Saint-Catherine's Church was filled with victims of the Dementor's Kiss. Each empty body stared at the ceiling, breathing steadily. The dementors didn't discriminate between humans; they ate whatever was in their path. The muggle doctors were examining the bodies, trying to see if there was anything they could do, but the Healers didn't bother: they knew there was nothing to be done for any of these bodies.
Neville blew into his curled hands, trying to get warmth back into his fingers. It seemed pointless; with the presence of so many Dementors it seemed to be constantly just above freezing wherever he went in Honfleurs.
He arrived in the coastal town earlier that week, just before the Dementors started to appear. The magical army that was here was on rotating shifts to keep them away with Patronus Charms while the muggle half was here primarily for evacuation procedures.
He headed for his post, hunched in on himself as he walked through the streets. He remembered his Gran and Draco's father talking about Honfluers once, over tea and breakfast. From what he heard, it was a beautiful city famous for its water based spells – the inventor of the Mother's Milk Spell was born and educated in this city – and the people were friendly and especially open to tourists. How different the city was now, with its boarded up houses and frightened people. He relieved the French soldier from her post, cracking his neck before he cast the spell, tossing a quick grin at the much older woman when she clapped him on the shoulder.
From the dome of white light atop the church came a tendril of bright blue, not like the sky but more like the blue in the Ravenclaw insignia. It struck quickly, and when it hit the soldier she screamed as it sent her flying, a burst of blood coming from her. A mess of the color shot out of the cage, too fast for Neville to give it a shape and the soldier continued to scream out of his line of sight. A wet crunching was also coming from behind him and the soldier screamed louder, wordless in terror, for a few more seconds before the sound was cut off abruptly. It was over in a matter of seconds.
He turned to face the thing, whatever it was, just in time to feel sharp, wand-thick teeth sink into his shoulder and catch the monster with his chest. His concentration broke on the spell and he went down hard, screaming as it crunched down into flesh and bone alike. It hurt, but he had been placed under Bellatrix Lestrange's Cruciatus Curse and he had pushed through on that occasion; he would push through this one, too. He shoved the creature off him, feeling his flesh tear away, and for a moment he couldn't see through the pain. Nausea rolled around his stomach, crawling up his throat, and he dry heaved a few times trying to dispel the feeling.
The dome of white light cracked without him to support it and as the creature – a huge blue shape that looked like the shadow of a two-headed lizard for a moment before it shifted to a more solid form of a great, six-legged beast with a gaping mouth with rows upon rows of teeth – leapt for him again. He shot a bludgeoning spell, followed by a splintering hex, and gained his feet long enough to try and run for another officer. He was losing blood quickly, great streams running down his arm and making his skin sticky, and as he ran he managed to stick his fingers in the wound to try and stop the stream. It wasn't a pleasant sensation. Something sharp and curved ranked across his back, thin lines of cold as the fabric of his shirt separated.
A soldier turned as Neville got closer to them, her dark hair framing her chin and ears, and her eyes widened in horror at whatever she saw. She turned her wand from the endless stream of Patroni, the white light ending from her wand, and flung a spell over Neville's head. Behind him the creature gave a shrill whine, making all the hair on the back of Neville's neck stand at attention. He stumbled to a stop in front of her, long enough for her to tap her wand over his bleeding shoulder.
It felt like a hand appeared under his own and squeezed until he couldn't feel the throbbing pain in his shoulder. He figured it must be a spell to create a tourniquet out of the air - he'd heard of it, couldn't remember the spell himself, but it was supposed to last around an hour.
A dementor collided with the creature just before it reached them, a sound like fingernails against chalkboard, and they both went down in a mix of black fabric and blue shadows.
"Get up!" The woman said in a heavily accented voice, pulling him up forcibly. His head spun even as she dragged him away in a run, his feet slipping against the cobbles.
He felt dizzy.
She was in her parent's house, the windows open and the television providing a background buzz. Her father was reading in his armchair, a chessboard in mid play before him on the coffee table and the smell of melted fudge and vanilla was in the air.
"Eermy, up!" A little boy's voice demanded of her. When she looked down, a toddler was standing at her knees. He had her bushy eyebrows above her father's light brown eyes and her mother's thin lips which were set in her grandmother's rosy cheeks. No one else had managed to inherit grandma's cheeks in her family, which was a real shame.
She reached down to pick him up, her hands tucking under his arms, and he was lighter than she thought he'd be. He smiled at her widely when she put him on her lap. Almost immediately, he wiggled off to crawl towards a book placed at the other end of the couch with a bright cover.
He sat down with it in his lap, opening it up to look at the pictures. She wondered if she was supposed to read to him, but he seemed fine on his own. His pronunciation of her name reminded her of trying to teach Viktor how to say her own name. The memory caused her heart to ache strangely and when she reached to rub her chest her hand came away wet with her blood.
There was a hole in her chest – her heart was missing. She was dripping blood onto the couch; her shirt was drenched in the hot, sticky mess. She looked back at the little boy who was reading to himself happily, and stood up to get some towels to try to clean up a little bit. She wanted to pick him up and read to him but she couldn't do that while filthy.
Her mother was in the kitchen and she was on fire as she baked. Her skin had melted off her face and her hair was a blaze of orange, blue, and red. Her heels clicked on the title, leaving little marks where the plastic was melting off to harden behind her. Hermione had never seen a body on fire, most of its flesh gone revealing muscles and tendons burning underneath it. She'd seen corpses of course; the newly dead laying on a battlefield, the newly dead in coffins, but this was different. Her mother moved with a manic energy, waving her arms in place and constantly in motion throughout the small space, the little click-clack of her heels following after her like lightening to thunder. Like if she held still her whole body would crumble to ash and dust, burn itself to nothing.
"Oh, are you still here? I thought you'd left already." Her mother said, voice high pitched as if she had inhaled helium. She spoke quickly, almost too fast for Hermione to understand her.
"No, I…Could I borrow some towels, I've made a mess." Hermione said.
Her mother seized her by the face, hands stilling to press scorching hot against her skin. She had no eyes or nose anymore, no flesh to speak of at all, but in her eye sockets were two dark abysses that seared Hermione in place and took her air from her lungs.
"You're always making a mess! If you think I'm letting you touch your brother, you've got another thing coming, young lady – clean up your own messes and don't come begging me for help!" Her mother screamed at her, fire catching from her hands to Hermione's flesh. Her mother's gaping mouth opened and closed around the sentences, fire and ash spewing forth and Hermione couldn't breathe.
Her scalp burned, her lungs ached, and as she cried her tears evaporated before they touched her chin. The fire seared into the gaping hole where her heart should be and she couldn't scream through the pain.
A brother.
Hermione woke with a gasp, tears on her face, and Ron's worried face above hers. She took a few deep breaths, trying to convince herself she wasn't choking on smoke, and slowly sat up in their bed.
They weren't supposed to be sleeping together, she didn't think, but no one said anything about forcing them apart. She suspected that if they were doing more than just sleeping that would be different, but they just needed the closeness of each other during the night.
Ron sat up with her, holding her hands, as she told him about her dream. He didn't interrupt her once, just continued to stroke her hands and listen.
"I know they're dead but I wonder if it was a boy. Maybe it was a girl. Maybe my parents died before the baby was even born." Hermione said.
"Or maybe they're all fine. Maybe after you left, they listened to us when we said things were getting bad and left. They liked Italy, maybe they went there and had the baby. Maybe they're there now, behind the old Byzantine wards, safe and sound. Maybe you have a little brother just like in your dream." Ron said and leaned forward to hug her.
She tucked herself into his arms, hiding her face in his neck and wished they could stay like that forever. She felt safe in his arms.
She kept the feeling of his arms around her and heart beating steadily against her ear with her as she got ready for the day, crawled away from him to get dressed and run a brush through her much shorter hair. It was more manageable now that it just touched the back of her neck at its longest, the natural curls coming to the surface instead of creating a mess of bushy static. She hadn't had short hair since before she started Hogwarts and she didn't like it truth to be told - she looked at her reflection and saw a stranger.
When they went downstairs, Bill was making breakfast and Fluer was sitting at the table with a cup of chocolate milk. Fluer's hair was collected in a loose ponytail and she was wearing one of Bill's long sleeved shirts while Bill himself was only in his sleep pants, his long hair tangled in the back.
"Morning." Bill greeted them easily and Ron responded for them while Hermione found her eyes trailing the tattoo on Bill's back. It takes up his entire back and occasionally the runes move to his arms, but today they're all clustered down his spine, the runes making up Fluer's name circled at the base of his neck while some others - the ones for family, for country, for strength - fall in an almost straight line down the line of his back. They're all a dark blue today.
"Do you want an omelette, Hermione?" Bill asked.
"No, thank you. But could you leave the eggs out for me?" She asked, checking over his back for one last visual check that everything was fine, before going to grab some tomatoes.
Bill finished with his and Fluer's breakfast while Ron whipped up a fruit smoothie for himself and Hermione made her own breakfast. When she was done, the three of them were still eating and talking around the table, trading information heard from various sources as they did in the morning now.
It's not until Ginny comes down with Gabrielle that Hermione starts to wonder why the twins haven't come down yet. They're usually down by now, making toast and pancakes for the later risers.
When Bill finally tells them that they're gone and with his blessing, she can't even bring herself to be shocked.
Of course they left, what did she expect of them? That they'd be content to hide here and let scores of people die? Of course they went to France.
"Have you told your father?" Hermione asked, once Ron and Ginny had left the room in equal states of upset and Fluer had pulled Gabrielle into the living room for her lessons and it was just the two of them.
"Have I told my father that I sent some of his sons off to their deaths because I knew they'd go with or without my blessing and I wanted to make sure they had enough provisions for being on the front lines? No, shockingly, I haven't been able to bring myself to do that to him yet." Bill said into his hands. Hermione reached for him, pulling his hands away from his face to fold them in her own.
"Let me do it. He deserves to know." She said and patted his hand before standing to do just that.
She thought of her parents, telling her to leave her childhood home; she thought of Mrs. Weasley teaching her potions to lessen the pain from her monthly cramps and how to make cookies from scratch; she thought of a little boy laughing in delight as she picked him up.
No, Mr. Weasley didn't need to hear this news from his eldest son; let him hear it from someone he could show his tears to.
He woke up in a tent, missing his right arm from the forearm down. He'd like to think that he didn't notice it at first, but he'd be lying. There are bandages wrapped around his head, his left shoulder, and the stump where the rest of his arm should be. He stares at it, his eyes burning with tears, but he doesn't cry.
"Oh, we missed you waking up. Bummer, I had a great joke about stumps." A familiar voice says in English. It was such an inappropriate thing to say that he couldn't help the laugh that bubbles out of him, thinking of what Dean would say trying to one up whatever joke Fred or George would say about this.
Fred and George Weasley are grinning at him from the foot of the bed he was in like he was back at Hogwarts. They were both wearing matching shirts and dark pants and they'd made sure their hair was styled in the exact same way. He knew that the one with a thin scar under his right eye was Fred while the other was George and he hated that he could tell them apart now because of it.
"What are you two idiots doing here?" Neville said finally and sat up properly to let them sit down.
"Oh, did ya hear that, brother of mine? He called us idiots!" Fred said and George turned to nod at his brother, his hand going over his chest as if hurt.
"I know, no respect for the bravery of the soldiers on the front lines, defending Europe! But, of course, if we are idiots for being here now…."
"...then what does it make him, since he was here before?" Fred finished. Neville laughed.
"It makes me the third musketeer!" He said and they all laughed. He missed Seamus and Dean suddenly with a ferocity that almost stole his breath away, because that used to be their own joke when they'd get into trouble. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the Trio of Trouble, who did important things like deal with killer teachers and war and escaped prisoners but they were the Three Musketeers, getting into trouble for missing classes and making jokes.
He missed them but he was also perversely happy they weren't alive to see the world as it was now. He wondered if that made him a bad person.
"Well, there's a sound I have missed." A soldier said as he came into the tent. He was speaking English, but Neville thought his robes marked him as part of the German Armed Forces if he wasn't mistaken.
"Sir, hello, sir!" The twins said simultaneously, standing to offer a muggle style salute with their hands to their faces. The soldier grinned at them, waving them back down, and pulled up a chair to sit.
"I'm glad you are in a good mood. It's always better to make plans while laughter is nearby." He said.
"Plans, sir?" Neville asked, because he was almost positive he has no idea what this man was talking about.
"Yes, you see I am in charge here. As of, about thirty minutes ago, in fact. I saw you fighting against that creature that came out of the sea and I saw you fight to keep alive and keep as much of your arm as possible. I don't know what that thing was, I suspect it is an old dark creature that hasn't seen the light of day in centuries, but I do know that the other people who got it's teeth into them all died screaming. From the bite to their torso their skin melted away, their bones withered to splinters, and it was a very painful and messy way to die. You did not die and I am glad for it." He said and Neville stared at him in astonishment.
"How many - " was all he got out before the man raised his hand and shook his head. Neville fell silent.
"I will keep that number, for it is mine to bear, not yours. Your two young friends have also presented us with a very interesting weapon." He said and Neville looked to the twins for confirmation.
They both looked serious, which meant whatever it was must not have been as straightforward as a weapon. He could think of a few things they might have been able to find in Egypt that would fall into that category.
"Where do we start?" Neville asked because he didn't know anything about planning for events such as this.
He knew Harry wouldn't have to ask, but he wasn't Harry and so far he'd made that work for him.