Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Also, I'm sorry for the wait.
Rule number eleven: Always maintain reputations, unless you can afford to lose them.
Draco frowned as the door shut after Bill, completely flummoxed and not enjoying the feeling. The professor had corrected him and praised him, defended him and challenged him, given him detention and a Christmas gift, all in a matter of minutes. And through it all, Bill had been calm. He hadn't been defensive or frustrated or dismissive. He'd been patient. Kind.
Draco looked down at the box in his hands. Bill had gotten him a gift. Bill, the Ancient Runes Professor, a Weasley and an Order spy, a Gryffindor do-gooder, had gotten him a gift.
Gifts were common in Pureblood society. They were used as bribes, or to show favor, or to signal alliances. Gifts were also a devious way to force someone into debt. If a society member received an expensive gift in a public setting, they would be pressured to reciprocate. Even if they couldn't really afford it. Lucius had done that to his political enemies on a few separate occasions. Give a society member an expensive enough gift, and they'd be pressured to reciprocate. But Draco knew, with an assurance he'd rarely felt before, that Bill was not expecting anything back. If Draco didn't get him a gift, Bill would come back to Hogwarts after the holiday and they'd pick up right where they left off, translating the runes. And Bill wouldn't be mad, or disappointed, or insulted. In fact, Draco was pretty sure that Bill wasn't expecting a gift in return.
Draco would still get him one, of course. He had manners. There was etiquette to follow. He'd sneak into Hogsmeade and buy him something – a box of imported chocolates, perhaps. A standard gift to give to a work colleague. That's what Lucius did.
Draco suddenly realized that his face felt hot. Not because he was blushing or angry, but because he'd been smiling, stupidly, for the past several minutes, just staring at the box in his hands. The realization was enough to turn the grin into a scowl. He'd received gifts before. He didn't need to be an idiot about it. He started to put the box into his school bag. It wasn't Christmas yet, and gifts were supposed to be opened at Christmas.
But his hand tightened around the package. Curiosity itched at his fingers. What was it? Bill had seemed pleased to give him the gift, suggesting that he thought it was something he would like. What would Bill consider as a good gift for a Malfoy? He wanted to open it now and find out. He warred with himself for a moment before his brain seized upon an excuse. If he opened it now, he would know what sort of gift to give in return. Chocolate was the stand-by, but if the gift was expensive, he may send along a bottle of wine as well.
The rationalization was acceptable. Draco opened the gift, sliding his finger underneath the tape and pulling it away. The paper ripped in his haste. Underneath it was a plain, flat box. Draco pulled off the top with an emotion that might have reached excitement. Inside was an ivory charm, cut in a rectangular shape, about three inches long and an inch wide. It was engraved with the hammer and shield symbol of the Third Norse Reign, a particularly prosperous time for wizards of the era. Draco picked up the charm, seeing that a small hole had been bored through the top, and the charm hung from a simple leather cord. Draco turned the charm over and saw another engraving, this one an ancient Norse glyph. He recognized it immediately; it was the glyph for 'deceiver'.
Wizarding Norsemen in that day had a great obsession with titles. Not just for nobility, but for all wizards and witches. Talented magic users fought to earn the title of 'the Great' or 'the Wise'. Philanthropists and healers were named 'the Kind' or 'the Gentle'. Beautiful wizards and witches were called 'the Fair' or 'the Blessed'. Those who were unlawful, spiteful, or selfish could earn titles such as 'the Black-Hearted' or 'the Cruel' or, in extreme cases, 'the Demon'.
'Deceiver', in ancient Norse, wasn't necessarily a bad title. Often times, deceivers were thought to be agents of nature or chaos. Their escapades could be daring or comedic, full of mischief and trickery. They might be roguish and self-serving, but they were never cruel. In fact, many of them were thought to be blessed by the Trickster gods and spirits.
Once a wizard or witch earned their title, they would create charms like this and wear them as a mark of pride. Draco could tell that this particular charm was probably worn as an everyday ornament. Ivory like this wasn't rare. Plenty of magical creatures of that era had tusks, meaning it wasn't an expensive or rare piece. Charms worn for special occasions would be made of gold or silver or inlaid with jewels. Many of those charms were passed down the generations. The daily charms, carved from wood or ivory, would have been buried with the person, and recently uncovered in archaeological digs. Such excavations often hired curse-breakers to get past the old wards. As part of the curse-breaking team, Bill would be entitled to an item uncovered in the site. It couldn't be anything of historical import, and usually had to be worth less than ten gold, but curse-breakers were proud of the items they collected. Some spent decades curating their own personal museums. Draco knew this charm had likely come from Bill's own collection.
And, as he ran his finger of the glyph, he remembered their conversation when Bill had called him that, a "true deceiver". This wasn't just a historical gift; it was personal. The last person to give him such a meaningful gift had been Lukas.
Draco sucked in a quick breath at the memory of his brother, bracing for the grief that was sure to follow. He waited a moment. No pain came. Instead, he could see his brother's face, could see his smile, and it made something warm soothe in his chest.
Draco slipped the necklace over his head. The charm came to rest just underneath his shirt collar. His fingers slid over the grooves and he smirked when he realized that the 'deceiver' side was facing out. He left the room, his brain already trying to figure out what to get Bill in return. Chocolates and wine were not going to be enough.
But a rare book, perhaps a first edition, would do nicely.
OoOoO
Saturday morning was busy with the throng of students making their way down to the train to return home for the holiday. Draco slipped out with the exodus, a few camouflaging charms layered over a plain black coat and hat to help him fade into the crowd. Once at the station, he broke away and lost himself in the bustle of Hogsmeade. He wandered the streets for a while, enjoying the anonymity that came with the spells and the general chaos of the holiday season. The stores were decorated with boughs of pine and wreaths of lights. Large holiday trees were dispersed throughout the village, standing in every available corner and square. They were covered in glittering ornaments and dancing lights. Draco enjoyed the spectacle, even though a part of him scoffed at the display.
He paused by a shoe store because a pair of heels in the display window that made him think of Pansy. They were dangerously tall, as black as ink, and a golden snake was twined up the stiletto heel. Draco stopped in and purchased a pair in Pansy's size. He really did owe her for the past few months. He hoped this might reduce his debt.
He stopped at a few other store windows and considered making other purchases, but apart from Bill, he had no other gifts to buy. He had a standing order at Renna's Lotions and Tonics for Narcissa for Christmas. They delivered elegant baskets of skin lotions, bath powders, scrubs, and soaps. Lucius would, as usual, get a tasting set of expensive whiskeys from Esper and Sons. Draco considered buying a few things for himself. There was a quill-and-ink set, done in shades of silver and cobalt, that caught his eyes, and a long wool coat with a dashing set of buttons across the chest. But he'd never been good at buying things for himself. At the beginning of the schoolyear, he had a reason to shop for a new wardrobe and an excuse to buy a nice quill set. It was hard to justify anything outside of that, even though he had the funds for it. There was something about buying his own gifts that seemed to suck the pleasure out of it.
Draco reached up and touched the ivory charm still hanging around his neck. He didn't need to get himself anything this year. He'd already gotten a gift, a real one.
He spotted the bookstore up ahead. It was small shop, nothing quite like the offerings in Diagon Alley, but it would suffice. There was a small holiday display in the window, but it wasn't themed for Christmas. The Yule log, candles, and carefully chosen greenery was reflective of the Solstice. Draco was familiar with those rites, although they'd fallen out of practice in recent generations. Lucius' family had celebrated it, and Draco remembered the traditions: candles left burning through the night to ward away the evil spirits, incense in the brazier to fortify the soul during the long night, and then as the sun rose, the doors and windows were opened, and they would sing Aurora to welcome the dawn.
Draco entered the store, setting off the bell over the door. The shop smelled of dust, old parchment, and rosemary. He glanced through the signage, ignoring the shelves that held more recent titles. There was a corner shelf labeled 'Runic Originals' that caught his eye. A few compendiums seemed promising, and there was one book on Ancient Germanic Poetry that made his lips twitch in amusement. The old Germanic Runes were anything but poetic. He figured Bill would like the joke, but the levity would minimize the gift Bill had given him.
His gaze skipped to a collection of books bound together with a golden rope. There were five books total, and they were old, at least a hundred years, but still in good condition. Their covers were made of polished wood and gold overlay. Draco peeked inside. They were ancient fairytales writing in their native runic language. Draco looked for an author, but there was none. The books had mostly likely been a passion project by an unnamed witch or wizard. The painted pictures that accompanied them were pretty, but the artist appeared to have been an amateur with no formal training.
Draco could read three of the books, recognized the fourth, and had no clue about the fifth. He wondered if it was even translated yet. If it wasn't, he knew Bill would enjoy the challenge. He took the books up to the counter and rang the bell. A woman appeared from the door behind the counter. She was old, that much was evident from her long silver hair and wrinkled tan skin, but she moved with the grace of a woman forty years younger.
"D'ye wish to purchase them, or merely ask what they say?" she asked in a light accent.
"Purchase them," said Draco, "I know what they say."
"D'ye now?" she asked, running an appraising eye over him. "And how's that?"
"I study," Draco said shortly, and set a stack of galleons down on the counter.
"I meant no offense," said the woman, laughing in a musical way. "If they're to be a gift, I can have them delivered to arrive Christmas Day."
Draco nodded and handed the books over.
"Write the name here," said the woman, sliding over a piece of parchment. "And add any message ye'd like to include."
Draco filled out the form and passed it back.
"Thankee," the woman said.
Draco gave her a curt nod before exiting the shop. He stayed out a while longer, treating himself to lunch at the Three Broomsticks before heading back into school by way of the backdoor into the dungeons. He was quite pleased with the purchase, feeling it was a fair return on Bill's gift him.
The pleased feeling lasted well into the next day, only fading when he trudged down to Hagrid's hut for detention. The half-giant was waiting for him at the animal pens, and Draco immediately knew that Bill had said something to him. Hagrid's posture was all wrong. His arms should have been crossed over his chest. His face should have been tight with ill-disguised anger. His words should have been hard and cold. Instead, Hagrid was leaning against the fence, his arms loose at his sides. His expression was calm. His words, when spoke, were gentle, soft, the way he spoke to his animals when they were flustered.
"'Lo, Malfoy. Doin' alright?"
Draco had worked hard to cultivate an antagonistic relationship with the professors at Hogwarts. It was how he maintained his privacy. After the incident with Buckbeak, which wasn't entirely his fault, he'd thought a hostile relationship with Hagrid was set for the rest of his school career. So there was no reason for Hagrid to be so gentle right now. Not unless someone had interfered with his work.
Draco felt a surge of anger. No doubt Bill had meant it kindly, no doubt he was hoping that Draco could make friends with more people in the Order, but he had no right to break Draco's confidence. No right to share tidbits of Draco's life to try to curry favor and pity from people Draco had no interest in befriending. The anger burned up his chest and caught in his throat. He couldn't manage a response to Hagrid. It felt like he was choking.
Hagrid didn't seem to notice. He jerked his thumb behind him. "We'll jus' be cleanin' out the shed today."
Draco knew that the small shack behind Hagrid's hut was a storage space for the tools he needed for animal care and groundskeeping. Draco followed him in and cast a reluctant eye about the place. There appeared to be no organization to it. The tillers and plows for landscaping were intermingled with the ropes and harnesses for the thestrals. Some tools had been hung on hooks on the walls, others were stacked by the door, others were placed haphazardly on the shelves. There was a large, dusty cabinet in the back of the room. Draco opened it to find a collection of potions bottles, liniment tubs, and ointment tubes, along with a few splints, wraps, and other veterinarian supplies. Some of the potions weren't labelled. Others appeared half-congealed. Draco felt his nose wrinkle. He knew where he was starting.
He supposed, as he picked through the medical cabinet, tossing out anything expired or moldy, that it was preferable to trampling through the woods or cleaning out the thestral stables. And he had a feeling that whatever pity Bill had made Hagrid feel towards him was responsible for it. That didn't make his anger fade. If anything, it grew, because Draco didn't need his full attention to toss old potions. He had plenty of time to ruminate over Bill's betrayal.
What had Bill told Hagrid? Had he just asked Hagrid to be nice to him? Draco doubted that would be enough to change Hagrid's behavior. The groundskeeper well and truly hated him. Bill must have shared something else. It was bad enough that Bill knew more about Draco than he should. And bad enough that Pomfrey had learned of Narcissa's potions addiction. Now Hagrid knew something too? Draco felt uncomfortably exposed, and it was the worst possible time for it. The Dark Lord was gaining power. Slytherin house was on verge of revolt. Draco's own loyalties would be tested at the end of the year with his pledge.
Draco restacked the supplies that were still viable, arranging them by use, and vanished the rest. He summoned a quill and parchment and jotted down a list of the potions that would been to be replaced. It was just about time to leave by then so he found Hagrid, mending a length of fence, and handed the list over.
"Yeh did good work t'day," Hagrid said.
Draco felt his jaw clench at the praise. He turned to leave, but whipped back around. He couldn't let this stand. He needed to earn Hagrid's bad opinion back.
Rule number eleven: Always maintain reputations, unless you can afford to lose them.
"What did Bill tell you?" he demanded.
Hagrid's eyes widened, meaning Draco was right. The half-giant shook his head, a denial starting to spill from his lips, but Draco spoke over him.
"I know he told you something. Did he try to make you feel sorry for me?"
"Bill didn't –,"
"Oh, come off it," Draco sneered. "There's no other reason for you to tolerate my presence. So, what lie did he tell you? Did he say something about my parents? Did he make you think I'm not safe at home, or I'm mistreated?" He let out a cold laugh. "You can't tell me you actually fell for it. Then again, if anyone were to fall for such a stupid story, it would be you."
Hagrid's face creased, the calm beginning to slip away.
Draco grinned, sharp and satisfied. "He's a good professor. I won't deny that. He's been tutoring me after class, and I've been sure to be on my best behavior, just to give him a good impression. I admit, it's been funny, to make him think so well of me while his siblings can't stand me. I imagine they're fighting over it now, ruining their holidays."
Hagrid's face creased further. He was getting angry. Draco just needed to push it a little further.
"But you know Bill's failing. He's too nice. Too gullible. He'll believe the best of anyone." Draco laughed again and saw the way Hagrid's large hands curled into fists. "He's a sap, too easily fooled. He didn't even realize I was playing him."
Hagrid blinked. Once, then twice. The anger that had been building dropped away. His shoulders slumped; his hands relaxed. Draco felt a rush of confusion as Hagrid's mouth slid into a small smile.
"Bill's mighty good-hearted," he said slowly, "but 'e's no fool."
Merde. Draco scowled, realizing he'd pushed too far. But there was a way to save it. He just needed to –
Hagrid continued, before he had time to recover. "An' yer a baby occamy."
"What?" Draco all but snarled, feeling his face heat up at what could only be an insult.
Hagrid's smile grew even wider. "Yer all puffed up right now, tryin' t' seem vicious and tryin' t' push people away. Isn' that right?"
The anger froze into fear. Draco swallowed hard. "We're done here."
He said it calmly, coldly, but it was all he could do to keep his voice from shaking. He stalked towards the castle, his body thrumming with panic. How had more damage to his disguise occurred in these past four months than in the past five years?
He took refuge into the Slytherin rooms. He was the only one from his house staying over the break, so there was no need to hide his distress. He dropped onto a window seat and stared out at the Great Lake, trying desperately to pinpoint where this year had gone so wrong.
It went back to Bill, every time. He should have never gotten him a Christmas present.
He dreaded returning to detention the next day. He thought about faking an illness or injury, but Pomfrey was good at spotting those. He thought about deliberately injuring himself, nothing major, just a minor slicing or burning hex, but he didn't want to risk any more attention from her. He thought about forging a letter from his mother, claiming that she had returned home and was desperate to see her son for the holiday. He'd be able to go home and escape detention that way. But his mother actually was at home, and she was throwing one of her parties, and there was no way Draco wanted to experience any of that again. He could always hole up in a fancy hotel for the holiday, but part of him rebelled against the idea. He wasn't going to run away from his problems. He was a Malfoy. He'd face them head on and then find a way to cheat.
He pulled on his winter gear after lunch and marched back down to Hagrid's hut. The groundskeeper was waiting for him at the shack. Draco stopped a few feet away, hands shoved into his coat pockets. He met Hagrid's gaze with a defiant glare.
"Bill jus' said you didn' have anyone t' go home t' fer the holidays," Hagrid said.
Draco stiffened. Hagrid gave a shrug of his large shoulders.
"He said that you and yer mom don' get along. That she wouldn' spend the holidays with you even tho' there's no other family fer you. I s'pose that's somethin' I coulda figured out on me own if I'd jus' thought o' bit harder on it. But I didn't. Not 'til Bill said it like that. So you don' need t' be mad at 'im. He didn' say nuthin' that was private."
Draco looked away, not liking the sympathy in the half-giant's eyes. But he felt something inside of him ease as well. Bill hadn't said anything incriminating. And Hagrid was right. It was a conclusion that any one of the faculty could arrive at, if they only cared to think about him. Which was why his bad reputation was so important.
Hagrid pushed himself off the fence. "Well, we still got work t' do in the shed."
Draco followed him inside and set to work fixing shelves, detangling harnesses, and charming away several nests of spiders that had taken residence in the corners. Hagrid kept him company, spending his time checking over the larger equipment, but he didn't speak. Draco preferred the silence.
OoOoO
The Weasley family was Christmas-ing at Grimmauld Place this year, along with Harry and a few other members of the Order. It was deemed safer that the Burrow, even though Voldemort appeared to be more focused on the continent and less on England at the moment. Bill would have preferred to holiday at home. There was a time when he'd felt too old for it, when he was fresh out of Hogwarts and had just started his career, and he felt too mature, too adult, to sleep in his old room and be coddled by his mother. Now, as he dropped his things off in one of the guest rooms, he longed for home. If he were in the warmth and comfort of the Burrow, he might be able to forget there was a war on. He might be able to relax. He might be able to shake the tingle of anxiety that had followed him ever since he left Hogwarts.
But while Grimmauld Place may not be the Burrow, his mother had tried to make it as cheerful as possible. Christmas wreaths were hung on every door. Boughs of pine were wrapped over the staircase railings and hung in drapes across the walls. Sparkling candles were placed in the windows. Silver bells tinkled over every doorway, accompanied with sprigs of mistletoe. Fred and George had spelled a few to dump snow on anyone who passed underneath, which was how Bill was greeted when he walked into the kitchen. The twins burst into laughter, and Bill did as well, shaking the snow from his hair and out from under his shirt.
"Fred! George! I told you to take those down," Molly scolded, but she was smiling while she did. She stepped away from the stove to greet him with a hug and a kiss and a string of inquiries. "How have you been, dear? I can tell you lost weight. Aren't they feeding you at Hogwarts? Here, have a seat, I'll get you something. How was your trip?"
"Mum," Bill protested, but she gave him a little push, so he sat down at the table. His father was already there, newspaper in hand and a cup of tea in front of him. He greeted Bill with a nod and knowing, patient smile. Bill knew his dad liked having all the kids at home because it gave Molly somewhere else to focus her attention.
It only took his mother a few minutes to whip up two platters of finger sandwiches and a plate of scones, and then she set the kettle on. Ron and Ginny appeared, as if summoned by the food.
Arthur put the paper aside and accepted another cup of tea.
"How's teaching?" he asked Bill.
"It's great," Bill said. "The grading can pile up at times, but overall, I really like it."
"Students aren't driving you insane?" Arthur asked.
Bill shook his head. "No, they're good kids."
"Not all of them, surely."
Ron cut in before Bill could respond. "He's giving extra classes to Draco Malfoy."
He said it like he was accusing Bill of a crime, although in their father's eyes, it might have well been. Arthur immediately scowled.
Bill resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I am tutoring a student who is behind in my class." He set Ron a severe look, wondering if his brother really wanted to push him when he'd just stopped him from brawling in the hall the other day. He could see from Ron's face that he was still sore about it. Ron clearly thought that Bill should have been defending him, not Draco, even when the fight had been two against one.
Ron looked down at his tea, not wanting to risk that particular story making it to Molly's ears. It was the smart choice. Not even their father's hatred of the Malfoys would keep Molly from grounding him for fighting.
The conversation was thankfully steered away from any arguments by the arrival of Charlie, who stepped out of the Floo with an armful of presents and an impressive burn down the side of his face. It sent Molly into near hysterics. The younger kids took the opportunity to steal a few sandwiches and scurry out of the kitchen while Charlie was sat down in a chair and poked and prodded and slathered with various burn ointments.
Charlie bore it all with a cheerful equanimity that Bill envied, but he figured that Charlie handled far more stressful situations at his job than the inquisition their mother thrust upon him. He answered every question patiently.
No, this injury did not mean he needed to leave his job. Yes, it had been tended to. No, it was not anyone else's fault, he had simply pushed a little too far. No, the dragon in question had not been put down, removed, or exiled. Yes, Charlie was in agreement with that decision. No, Molly didn't need to write to anyone. Yes, the safety measures were adequate.
Molly frowned, clearly not satisfied, but she left to pour him a cup of tea.
"Rhiannon's pregnant," Charlie informed Bill and Arthur, the only two left at the table. Bill knew that to be one of the dragons at the sanctuary, but he couldn't remember which one. "She'll be laying her eggs in a month or so. We didn't realize that, because no one's ever seen a pregnant Welsh bronze before. I was doing my usual rounds and didn't realize she was getting territorial until – well…," he gestured to his face. "Honestly, it was a very short burst of flame, just enough to singe and not catch anything on fire, which was quite nice of her. But we've always got on, me and Rhiannon."
"Don't suppose there's a human girl you've been getting on with," Arthur said, raising his eyebrows. "You know Molly wants grandkids someday, and we're not getting any younger."
"Merlin's balls," Charlie swore, in mock exasperation. "You've still got kids in the house. Besides, Bill hasn't even –,"
Bill quickly kicked Charlie under the table and shook his head. Charlie stopped and tipped his head to the side in question.
"Bill hasn't even what?" Arthur asked, frowning between them.
"Well, I just wouldn't want to show him up," Charlie said. "Goodness knows he's the best looking of us, and the smartest, and he still isn't hitched, so clearly there's something defective about him."
Bill laughed. Molly flicked Charlie's undamaged ear as she came back with a cup of tea. "None of that now. It's Christmas."
Charlie finished his tea and then Bill helped him spell his things upstairs to the guest room they'd be sharing. The house had been magically expanded, but more Order members would be stopping over through the holiday break and the guests rooms were in short supply. Charlie dropped his things on his bed and turned to him.
"I thought you were proposing to Fleur."
Bill quickly shut the door. "I am. I just… there's still stuff to be done."
"Like what?"
Bill turned to his suitcase and rummaged around for the catalog he'd been pouring over for the past few weeks whenever he'd had a spare moment.
"Here," he said, showing the rings to Charlie. "I can't decide."
Charlie hummed and glanced through the pictures Bill had marked. He let out a low whistle. "That's a lot of gold to drop on a piece of jewelry."
"I've been saving," Bill admitted. He dropped onto his bed and shrugged. "And, I know it sounds cliché, but she's worth it."
Charlie laughed. "That is a cliché, but I'm happy for you nonetheless. Here, this one."
He pointed to the ring that Bill always returned to, a white gold band set with an oval moonstone that seemed to glow with ethereal light. Tiny diamonds framed the stone. It reminded Bill of Fleur. It captured her style, a seamless balance of vintage and modern, sophistication and beauty.
"It's my favorite too," Bill admitted. "But do you think I'd be letting her down if it weren't a diamond? I mean, it's not traditional by any means."
"Traditions are only good as long as people enjoy them," Charlie said.
Bill frowned. "When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been," Charlie said sagely. "You've only now begun to realize."
Bill threw his pillow at him.
Dinner that night was the chaos that only a Weasley family dinner could reach. Molly couldn't stay in her seat, already baking for Christmas, and was constantly jumping from her chair to check on the pies in the oven. She'd return with yet another dish in hand. She chided anyone she felt wasn't eating enough, and scolded Fred and George for tampering with cutlery. They were experimenting with a vanishing spell, something about a 'disappearing spoon' that could vanish an unappetizing meal off of a plate. But the spell work hadn't been perfected, and so bits of their meal kept appearing about the table, sometimes on someone else's plate or in someone's cup, sometimes dropping into the table itself. Harry, Ron, and Charlie were competing to tell the most epic Quidditch match at Hogwarts, and were getting quite animated. Arthur had co-opted Bill and Ginny into a discussion about magical regulations on Muggle inventions. With all the noise and clamor, Bill didn't realize the family was short one member until the dinner dishes were cleared to make room for the treacle tart Molly brought out. As soon as he realized it, he felt a flush of guilt.
"Where's Percy?" he asked. "I thought we were all supposed to be here?"
Fred and George rolled their eyes. Their reaction wasn't surprising. Bill knew that Percy and the twins had the worst relationship of all the siblings. The twins were mischief incarnate, and Percy was the embodiment of order. Bill remembered breaking up countless fights between the three. Percy was older by two years, and often tried to step in as the authority figure when their parents weren't around. The twins naturally rebelled against any form of control and pranked him relentlessly for overstepping his role.
"Working, poor thing," Molly said. "He's been kept so busy this past year."
"Not that the Ministry's done anything useful," Arthur muttered, refilling his water glass.
There were a few snorts from around the table.
Bill frowned. "I wouldn't think a junior assistant would need to put in holiday hours."
Charlie turned to him, surprise on his face. "Perce isn't a junior assistant anymore."
"What?"
"He Flooed home to tell us." Charlie swiveled his head around to their parents. "When I was visiting last spring. He told us he was getting promoted."
There was a hard note in his voice, not obvious, but Bill had been working as a spy for the past few months. He'd learned to pick up on the subtle changes in inflection, learned to catch the unspoken words that passed through a dark look or a careless shrug. Charlie was upset with their parents and feeling defensive for Percy. That wasn't entirely new. Just as Percy and the twins had the worst relationship, Percy and Charlie had always had some special understanding. Charlie was always Percy's defender, a quintessential big brother in that regard. But what was new was the seriousness in Charlie's eyes, and the set expression on his face. Bill wasn't used to seeing him that serious. Charlie was the peacemaker of the family, but his mediation was usually done gently, with a smile or a joke or a light-hearted distraction. He only got serious when he thought someone had deliberately harmed another family member.
Bill looked over at their parents, sure that Charlie was over-reacting in some way. But Arthur – his face was tight, jaw clenched. And Molly glanced away, a clear signal she felt some guilt.
"Percy said there was a chance he might be promoted," she said delicately.
"He said that the promotion was all but finalized. That there was just a waiting period for the papers to be signed," Charlie countered.
There was a specific way that news traveled in the Weasley family. If something good had happened, the proper channel of communication was to Floo home and tell mum and dad. Mum would then write about it to the rest of the kids. If something bad had happened, it was best to call another sibling to resolve the issue before mum and dad ever heard of it. If Percy had called home to share good news, the rest of the family should have been filled in by now.
"When was this?" Bill asked.
"Last May," Charlie said, a note of reprobation in his voice. "It was announced in the paper."
Bill felt his eyebrows jump in surprise. Anytime a family member made it into the paper, Molly was sure to cut it out, frame it, and hang it up in the den. Bill had two articles on the wall, one was a small article about the Head Boy and Girl of Hogwarts, and the other was about his team breaking the Ramses tomb. Charlie had an article about his group's efforts to preserve land for dragon habitats. Fred and George had a series of articles about their joke shop. If Percy had made the paper, he should have a place on the wall. Bloody hell, Molly should have sent a snipping to the rest of the kids. Bill didn't understand why it hadn't happened this time.
Arthur sniffed. "It doesn't seem right to be celebrating the government at this time, not when they're enabling Death Eaters."
"Percy's hardly enabling Death Eaters," Charlie said. "He's a stickler for law and order, yes, but he also ensures that the rules are fair. Don't you remember how he wrote into the school board when a few kids in his class didn't pass their OWLs because of a few poorly-worded questions? He didn't have to do that. He'd gotten an Outstanding."
Arthur sat back in his chair, clearly unconvinced. Bill felt torn himself. Percy liked following the rules almost as much as he liked enforcing them, and the current Ministry was not playing fair. Just last year, Harry had been brought in front of the Wizengamot just for defending himself against a Dementor. According to Arthur and Molly, Percy had been present and done nothing for Harry's defense. Was that Percy ensuring that the rules were fair? And even if he did attempt to change the system, how much good could he really do? He was just a few years out of Hogwarts.
"What's the promotion?" Bill asked.
"Senior Assistant to the Secretary," Charlie said.
Bill dropped his fork in surprise. "You're joking."
Charlie shook his head. "Nope."
There were two branches of employees in the Minister's office. One branch was of elected officials, like the Minister himself. The second branch, the Assistants, was made up of non-elected employees. While these roles were typically administrative in nature, these wizards and witches would be called upon to step into the role of their elected counterpart should the position suddenly fall empty. The assistants were non-partisan employees that could complete the necessary day-to-day activities of their offices while an election was held. It was vital part of the Ministry, because elections had been known to drag out for weeks, sometimes months. The Minister of Magic had one such Assistant, and underneath that Assistant was the Secretary. And underneath the Secretary, was the Senior Assistant. Percy, their brother, was arguably the fourth most senior position in the Ministry.
"What's this?" Ron asked, poking up from his end of the table.
"Percy's Senior Assistant to the Secretary," Bill said.
It was an impressive title. Bill watched his siblings respond justly, although Fred and George did joke about him being even more insufferable now. But they didn't appear to have the same judgment of their parents.
He turned to Charlie. "I didn't get him anything. Did you?"
"Sent over a bottle of wine. A nice one." Charlie sighed a little. "He thought you all knew."
Bill reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Of course Percy would think that his siblings knew about his promotion and deliberately snubbed him rather than informing them all himself.
But, then again, perhaps it was unfair to blame Percy. He wouldn't have known how the family communication had broken down.
Bill glanced about the table. Now that he was aware of one problem in the family, it was easier to spot the other cracks forming. Ron was closer to Harry than any of his siblings. Fred and George were lost in their own little world together, only stepping outside of themselves to prank their family. Charlie was still looking frosty towards their parents and Arthur was getting a stubborn look on his face that said he wasn't going to apologize. Molly tried to cover it all with excessive mothering.
When had their family gotten so complicated? Was this a normal part of family development, or was it the war, changing them all, making them harder and less patient? Or, part of him wondered, had it always been this way, and he just didn't see it, too caught up in his own life? Hogwarts had always been his escape – a way to shirk the responsibility of playing older brother to six siblings. And not just older brother, but sometimes stand-in parent, or housemaid, or cook. He had begun to resent it in his teenaged years, and when he'd graduated, he'd taken a job that let him keep his distance. But in doing so, had he abandoned his siblings? Had he contributed to this mess by his absence.
The thought horrified him, and he glanced about the table, wondering if anyone else was picking up on the tension he was only just seeing. His eyes landed on Ginny, Ginny who was leaning on the table, no longer talking – just watching and observing. Bill was startled at her lack of concern, until he realized that she would have seen all of this develop. She had a front row seat to the way her siblings were growing up in so many different directions. She was used to the dissent while he was taken aback.
Ginny caught his gaze and seemed to read his distress. She sat up a little straighter and her eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief. I got this, her expression said. She opened her mouth.
"Bill's looking at rings for Fleur," she announced loudly.
Bill's mouth dropped open in shock and betrayal. The entire table rounded on him as Ginny pulled an Extendable Ear out of her pocket and waved it at him tauntingly. And just like that, they were a family again, bombarding with questions. He was proposing? Why hadn't he told anyone? When was he going to pop the question? Didn't he want to use one of the family's rings?
OoOoO
Bill found he couldn't sleep that night – his head was too busy. He thought of Percy and Arthur and the rest of the family. He thought of Fleur and wondered if he might be able to sneak away to spend a few days with her. He thought of the invisible mark on his arm and whether or not he'd be called to a Death Eater meeting over the break. He thought of Snape and Dumbledore. He thought of Draco and wondered if he'd opened the present and if he'd liked it. He wondered how long it would take him to fall asleep and if he could sleep in the next morning to make up for it.
He finally got sick of wondering and headed downstairs, intent on making a cup of chamomile tea, or maybe some warm milk with honey. If that didn't work, he was taking a sleeping draught.
He was surprised to see a light on in the kitchen, and further surprised to see Harry Potter sitting at the table, his own cup of tea in front of him. He was staring at the cup, but his eyes were unfocused. Bill was momentarily diverted from his own anxieties. He slid into a chair across from Harry, taking in the dark circles beneath the teen's eyes and the way his shoulders were hunched.
Bill had gotten to know Harry a little bit more since he'd been at Hogwarts. Not a lot more, because Harry wasn't in his class, but Ron would stop by his office at times and bring Harry with him. Bill wondered why the universe kept putting troubled teenagers in his path. Was it penance for breaking from his own family? Or was it because the universe thought he might be able to help?
He didn't say anything, just kept quiet, and tried not to compare Harry with Draco, although it was hard not to. Draco kept his emotions expertly hidden. Harry's were all too readable. The tension in his shoulders, the slack in his face, the haunted look in his eyes. Bill waited, wondering if Harry even wanted to talk. He wouldn't force it if he'd rather stay quiet. It took a few moments, but then Harry broke the silence.
"It feels wrong without him here."
Bill knew immediately he was referring to Sirius. "Empty," he agreed.
Harry shifted and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's so quiet. And it… it feels like it's laughing at me."
"Why would it be laughing at you?"
Harry paused for another moment. Then he licked his lips. "Because it was my fault. If I hadn't…,"
"Hadn't what?" Bill asked gently.
"If I hadn't run out on Snape, if I had actually learned Occlumency, if I hadn't gone to the Ministry, then Sirius would still be here."
"It's not your fault."
"I could have prevented all of this."
"Harry, you're just a kid," Bill started, but Harry cut him off with a mirthless laugh that was scarily reminiscent of Draco's.
"Just a kid," Harry repeated, bitterness creeping into his voice. "Everyone expects me to be some kind of superhero and destroy Voldemort, but I'm also 'just a kid'."
"We're not expecting you to be perfect," Bill said. "We're not expecting you to fight Voldemort alone. Merlin's beard, we're trying all we can to take him out so you don't have to, because yes, you are a kid. And it's unfair to put these expectations on you."
He watched Harry's shoulders shrug, just a little. He leaned in.
"But I can't help but notice that you're the only one here right now, in the middle of the night, beating yourself up over mistakes that weren't really your own."
Harry's head snapped up, ready to argue, so Bill held out a hand, forestalling him.
"A lot of people were at the Ministry, Harry. A lot of adults were a part of that battle, and they made mistakes too. This is not on you. This is not your fault."
Harry's face started to fall, but he fought his tears, blinking hard and trying to swallow the grief down.
Bill reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Sirius wouldn't blame you."
Harry crumpled, covering his face with his free hand as he cried. He cried silently, the way that someone learns to when their tears are met with punishment or ridicule. Bill stayed with him until his tears ran dry, feeling his own eyes prick in sympathy. Merlin, why did these kids have to see war?
Harry finally wiped at his face and met his gaze with a tremulous smile. Bill had comforted enough of his siblings to know what that look meant. It meant the conversation was done and that was his cue to change the subject. Bill retrieved two bottles of butterbeer from the fridge and slid one across the table to Harry.
"So, Ron's been filling me in on your last year, but I have to ask, all that stuff about the pranks you pulled on Umbridge, is that true?"
He watched Harry's smile turn into something more genuine.
"Well," said Harry, "Umbridge was this horrid, toad-faced woman…,"
OoOoO
Author's note: Pro-tip for y'all. If you think, 'Hell, it's a quarantine out there, and due to my health, I can't do anything outside, I might as well start online grad school – I've done it once, how hard can it really be?' - you really ought to cut down on your work hours. I mean, really cut down on work hours, like, cut them in half. Don't try to work thirty hours a week, and do a full courseload of grad school, and think that you aren't going to be too mentally exhausted to keep writing regularly. I am, thankfully, changing up my work in December, so I'm hoping that by late December I can get back to regular postings again.
Let's talk about the changes. In the first posting, Draco talks about Lukas with Hagrid in this chapter, but in editing it, it felt too rushed to have that conversation. Also, because in the previous changes Bill talks with Hagrid, I realized that Draco would pick up on that. So it offered a nice moment for Draco to be angry with Bill, and it offered a moment to highlight Hagrid's strengths. Hagrid works with animals and knows animal behavior. Now that he knows what to look for, he's going to pick up on Draco's defensiveness, giving him more insight into Draco. This helps to set a foundation between them, so that Draco talking about the biggest secret in his life (Lukas) in the next chapter makes a bit more sense.
With Bill, we got to explore some family dynamics. I think that, as a responsible older brother to so many siblings, Bill had to step in as a pseudo-parent. And while he loved his siblings, part of him didn't want to be a parent and resented the responsibility that was put on him. His way of getting out of that was to take a job that had him travel far away from his family. As a teen and young adult, he wouldn't think anything of his decision to leave. Now that he's in England again, and reforging family relationships, part of him wonders if he abandoned his family. This is a bit of his excessive guilt coming into play, because young adults are meant to think about themselves, but he does regret becoming more distant from his family.
Additionally, I put in some more Ginny here, and a little bit Percy. These characters will become more important later in the series, so I want to add in some glimpses. I've also edited Bill's interaction with Harry. Before, I don't know if there was a specific thing Bill and Harry were talking about, which made the interaction not focused or as compelling. Here, I narrowed it into Harry feeling guilty for Sirius, and Bill helping him address that guilt.
Anyways, let me know what you think about the changes. Because the content of the chapter changed, so did the 'rule', meaning I had to swap them out, but I think it worked.
