I heard from my grandmother's hairdresser's assistant's aunt (that Bill Weasley is awesome.)

How does one describe Bill Weasley?

He's 50 years old with long red hair tied in a pony-tail; he's tall with a fang hanging from his ear; he's scarred permanently because of a half-werewolf attack (but he can't complain really, because oftentimes it's been proven quite useful, like when Vic brought home the first boyfriend he didn't like or when journalists pester Louis about his sexuality); he listens to rock music from the 60s, even though Louis tells him it's so out (he stopped trying to understand his son years ago); he pretends he doesn't like the Lupin boy even though he does and the boy knows it; he's proud of his kids and happily in love, not to mention she's quarter Veela.

Yeah, Bill Weasley is cool.

So, naturally, when he finds out his nephew and sister's eldest was bitten by a werewolf via Harry's almost-midnight owl message, his reaction is cool as well; he gathers his entire family (save Vic, who is currently with the Lupin boy in the Bahamas; Fleur informed her of what happened already, meaning they should be returning in an hour or so) and Apparates over to his sister's house to comfort her.

(Bill worries Vic and Teddy might miss their Portkey, because they're usually otherwise occupied and as Louis once put it: 'Blergh. You guys.')

Ginny, who hadn't attended the Canons match, as she was in Italy interviewing Quidditch's hottest new thing, was at the Potters' mansion, gathering her sons toiletries.

When Bill found her, she was crying into one of James' flannels.

"I-I'm s-such a bad mo-mother, he's n-not been home mo-most of the summer and I just l-let him," she hiccups into his shoulder and Bill smooth's the back of her hair. When Ginny was younger, she came to him crying over how Fred and George never let her fly; when she was older, it was different. She yelled and ranted and raved and proved them wrong but now she was an adult, this was serious and the clock was ticking.

"T-they're saying he m-m-might not sur-survive and I just—" she cries harder and Bill's heart shatters into tiny little pieces. He's fighting back tears himself.

Her son was sentenced to a life of painful transformations and unsteady jobs, prejudice and glares and all he could do was sit there and let her cry, while Fleur and Dom looked through James' things. He felt useless and frustrated and mildly annoyed at her self-pity. "Oh, Bill," she wails and blows her nose into the tissue Louis handed her. "What am I going to do?"

"You're going to Mungos," he says, solid and reassuring as ever. "And you're going to stop crying and parent your child and everything is going to be alright."

He knew he sounded harsh but when Ginny looked at him, eyes filled with unshed tears, gaze hardening, it was clear to him she needed to hear it.

"You're right," she says finally and nods to herself. "You're one hundred percent right. I'm going to go in there and comfort my child and help him get through this, like a good responsible adult should."

"Yes," Bill nods. "You will."

Dom and Fleur come down the stairs, Fleur carrying a bag and Dom wearing one of James' hoodies, the red of it clashing with her strawberry blonde hair. At Ginny's questioning stare, she says: "What? I like boy clothes, they're roomy." and when Fleur looks absolutely appalled, Ginny can't help but chuckle and wipe her eyes. Bill smiles at the three and when they're all gathering up in front of the fireplace, Louis says: "Er, guys? We're not travelling by Floo, right? I cannot get these dirty, they're Armani."

Everyone groans in unison, even Fleur, who seemingly has no trouble with the dust of the Floo Network and Dom even shrieks: "This is so not the time!"

Ginny laughs again and everything is just a tiny little bit better in the world.

When they arrive at Mungos, Ginny is shaking. She's shaking from head to toe and it's in times like this when Bill notices how small his sister really is.

Bill leads Ginny, hood over her head, past the Welcome Witch, hand on the small of her back. Fleur stops and tells the girl: "We're ze Weasley's. More of us will come shortly. It would be kind if you made room for zem."

Lily and Al are in the ground floor, in the reception area. They're sitting on white chairs, next to some wizard, whose hat was tipped down to cover his face while he slept. Lily is white as a ghost and leaning onto Al. They're not crying or shaking, both are just sitting there, looking numb. When Lily sees her mother, she runs to embrace her. They stand there for a while, holding each other, while Ginny trembles feverishly; both are silent.

Dom nudges Bill and tells him that she's getting tea for Ginny; Louis takes one look at Lily and says, "Yeah, me too,"

Bill and Fleur sit down next to the Al.

He's tapping his foot and snapping his head towards the stairs constantly. "Dad is up there with James," he explains, knee jutting. "They're saying . . ."

He trails off and grimaces, like what he was about to say was way too painful. "He's up there and he'll come down these stairs, they said," he swallows and looks away, but Bill knows. Fleur smiles at him sadly and caresses his cheek, nodding encouragingly.

"Freddy had to be calmed down; he's up at third floor. Uncle Ron went to get Aunt 'Mione and Rosie after Apparating me and Lil in. James was carried in through the front door. Dad says there were photographers," Al explains further, leaning into Bill and Fleur, lip quivering. "Hugo is somewhere nearby, I think. He's horrified."

And suddenly, Hugo does show up.

"I think I saw it," he says quietly. "I-I think I saw the thing that attacked James."

"It's okay," Bill says reassuringly and puts a hand on his shoulder. "There was nothing you could've done."

Hugo looks down at his lap and bites his lip and Bill says again, more forcefully: "It's okay. There was nothing you could've done. I promise,"

Hugo looks at his scarred face and seems convinced. Bill smiles at him.

It is 10 minutes later that George's family show, Roxanne screaming, "Where is he? Where are they?!" and the wizard next to them stirs and mumbles something unintelligible.

Angelina is wearing a nightgown and sneakers with a fluffy nightgown draped over her shoulders and George looks like a right vision in his snitch-patterned pajamas and hair matted down on one side. Angelina goes off to find Freddy, with a frumpy yet worried looking Roxanne hot on her heels.

Lily and Ginny have sat down by now, on both sides of Al, and the three hold hands. They look like they could be praying.

(Bill's heart breaks, because not even God himself can help James now.)

Shortly after, Percy and his family Apparate in, followed by Vic and Ted, who look way too flustered and out of breath than Bill would ever like them to be. Percy, too, is wearing pajamas with snitches on them and when he sits down, George snorts and pats him on the back, proclaiming: "Who would've known, eh? Soul sisters."

Percy smiles and Lucy and Molly quietly cry into their sleeves, reminding everyone of how serious this situation really is. Angelina comes back with Roxanne, Freddy leaning onto her, stumbling over his own feet.

"He's still a bit out of it." Roxanne says, trying to free herself from her 6 foot tall brother.

Angelina rolls her eyes when Freddy trips over nothing and collapses into a chair face-forward, mumbling: "M'okay, m'okay, 's all good" then promptly passes out.

Aubrey looks scandalized: "Aren't you going to do anything about this?"

"What, Freddy?" Angelina says and when Aubrey nods, she waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, please – he does this all the time."

A Healer rushes by looking alarmed, and levitates Fred onto a carrier. "He shouldn't be here," she says urgently. "This is dangerous!"

"We want him to be with us. He's fine. Are you telling me how to raise my son?" Angelina gives her a tight smile, eyes narrowed and the Healer huffs loudly, turns on her heels and leaves, mumbling something she probably wouldn't want Angelina to hear.

Moments later, Molly and Arthur burst in, with Hermione, Ron and Rose behind them; Molly makes a B-line straight to Ginny, hugging the life out of her, sobbing into her daughter's hair and Hermione looks at them, keeping a respectful distance, with all the strength she can muster not to start crying herself. She sits down next to Fleur and embraces her, swallowing back tears thickly. They sit in silence.

Rose, nor Ron, is this strong. While quiet, discreet tears run down Ron's cheeks (and Bill understands, he really does; his best friends, his brothers, son could be dying right now), Rose is full on sobbing. She laches herself onto Teddy, who looks scared and tired at the same time, two Weasley women sobbing into his shirt – their eyes meet and an unspoken agreement, an understanding of sort passes between them.

Even Charlie joins them, with his heavy dragon leather boots clunking against the white marble floors as he walks.

Arthur looks his age under this light, Bill notices, and so does Molly. They're both over 70 years old. He wonders what he'll be like at 70 but also if James will even make it that far.

James.

They sit there, the entire extended Weasley family and that one anonymous wizard he's pretty sure everyone's feeling some sort of affection for right now, in the middle of London in plastic chairs at 1am.

Bill notices his children with the Potter's, Louis rubbing circles into Lily's arms and Dom talking to Al. Hermione is dozing off with her head on Fleur's chest, who's looking at their children as well. She reaches over and takes his hand, delicate fingers entwining with his. He notices how they all seem to suddenly appreciate each other more, as if they had been reminded of what life could bring, once more; death. He briefly wondered if they were like this when he got attacked by Greyback and when he meets Fleur's gaze, he knows they were. The thought makes his chest tighten.

Harry comes down that staircase, eyes red and puffy and Bill's pretty sure Ginny's going to faint or strangle someone or throw up, or everything at once. His stomach's in knots and Fleur grips his hand tighter.

The room is eerily silent, air buzzing with tension.

"He-he made it." Harry says, face breaking into a wide smile, making Ginny shriek, leap from her chair and onto him. Everyone in the room seems to exhale with relief and smile. Lily lets out a laugh and hugs Louis, Freddy cheers loudly from his carrier and Nana Weasley murmurs 'Oh thank Merlin, thank Merlin, thank Merlin' into her handkerchief, still wailing.

It's half past 1am in the middle of London and the Weasley's are okay, really, they are (or will be).

The next morning was over in what seemed to be a second.

Percy left with mum and dad at around 4am, Aubrey took the girls home half an hour later, Angelina and George are both still passed out next to a coffee machine on fifth floor while Freddy and Roxanne amuse some of the patients (much to the Healers' annoyment, until they made a six-year-old, who got hit by an ill-performed jinx by his twelve-year-old brother, smile) and Rosie and Hugo are talking to a friend's mum. Paparazzi crowd the main entrance, wanting to get a look at 'young Potter and his family'. Ginny went to Diagon Alley to scream some editor's ear off and the rest of the Potter's are huddled together, debating that Witch Weekly article.

Not just any article, but that article.

Fleur read it to him, while they were picking out gifts for James, which Dom insisted on (no matter how much she tried to deny it, she was her mother's daughter). He smiled at some of her pronunciations and cringed at the meaning behind her words. Rosaline Skeeter was no doubt, absolutely and completely related to Rita Skeeter.

He wonders how she knew that what happened to James, out-loud, and tickles a pygmy puff in a metal cage that reminds him of Ginny's Arnold (Fleur tells him that Hermione -who heard from Roxanne, who heard from Lily, who heard from Al - told her, that Rosaline heard from the Welcome Witch, who heard from a nurse, who heard from a Healer, who overheard some other Healer telling his patient that James Potter was a new werewolf on the First Floor in a private ward but also that the Minister is having an affair with his assistants ex-husband, who is a Finnish merman – or something).

Bill picks out a teddy bear on the next shelf and Fleur squeals, "Eetz so cute, Bill!"

Bill feels bad for James and wonders how many of these teddy bears he'll get.

So he does what he thinks is right; he hands the teddy to Fleur and goes to find a wolf figure.

When James woke up, it was late evening.

Mum and Al were sitting beside his bed for a long time, and they fell into the routine of: "How are you?" and "I'm so glad you didn't die!" and "We were so scared, oh my god." and as Ginny was about to tell him something seemingly important, Caroban announced that, while he was so sorry to intrude on this intimate family moment, it was time for a check-up. James was glad, almost, because even though the thought of Caroban giving him a full physical made his skin crawl, he also couldn't bare his mother crying and Al's look of pity any longer.

James felt bad. He didn't feel physically bad, in a sense that he had a bad knee or a shitty elbow. He felt physically bad in a way that made his stomach twist and turn and chest tighten with guilt when he looked at his mother and her tear stained cheeks and red puffy eyes. He remembered her face at 4am when he came stumbling home from a house party during the Easter holidays, Phee supporting his weight and tucking him in. He remembered his mother's disappointed, guilt-ridden expression that so obviously screamed 'I blame myself' and only now did he realise how he hurt her and everyone around him.

A young pretty girl that looked no older than 18 came in baring the trademark green robes, although hers were slightly darker. There was a tray in her hands.

"I'm a trainee nurse," she tells him, in a hushed voice, like this was intimate, coming way too close for his liking after setting the tray (that had pointy torture devices and weird creams and tubes on it) down on his bedside table. "I just finished Hogwarts."

Maybe she thought this information would make this whole ordeal less wrong, because she looked at him expectantly. James raised his eyebrows and shot her a sly grin, feigning interest, "Is that so? That's nice."

Her hair was dark, pulled back in a bun, cute little green hat resting on the crown of her head. Her lips were full and smiling. She smiled while checked his blood pressure, smiled while taking his temperature, she smiled while changing his bandages (he was amazed by her determination) and she smiled while applying this odd greenish to the wounds, she smiled while she made him drink a horrible potion that tasted like – he has no idea really, but that's probably what human misery tastes like. She even smiled when asking if he needed anything; the only time she didn't smile was when he told her he needed a laptop or phone to call his girlfriend. There was a moment of silence, but she seemed to snap out of it.

"Technology of any sort doesn't work here - I guess she'll have to wait," she shrugs and leans over him to smooth out his duvet. He almost smirks. Almost.

"Oh," he says simply and she looks down at his face, flirty smile in-tact. Her face is close, so close – "I'll write to her then. Just get me some paper and a pen."

She draws back immediately, a bitchy scowl settled onto her face. "I'll have to talk to Healer Caroban."

"Yeah, please do," he nods innocently and she looks at him with distain. She then picks up her things and heads for the door, but turns around for one last snide remark, "Oh, and also; sorry for the article. Must suck."

Before she leaves, James is sure he heard her huff.

What bloody article? Nobody tells me anything around here anymore.

"What was that all about?" a voice James recognizes to be Bill's, chuckles. "Did she – you know what, never mind."

He saunters into the room and sits down on the plush armchair and throws the wolf toy at James, who catches it and hisses at the pain in his shoulder.

"Sorry," Bill winces. "Wasn't supposed to go like that,"

"No, s'okay." James murmurs and looks down at the tiny wolf in his hands. It's soft and black, with a white belly and furry little paws. He wonders what his wolf will look like; he wonders about its size and strength and colour. He wonders if transforming will hurt a lot and he notices how different this wolf was from him. The wolf was an animal; James was a human being with zero blood thirst. The thought is strangely comforting.

"Thank you," he looks up at Bill, who's smiling.

"I just thought you needed something like this," he shrugs. "Just to... dunno, remind you that this is not all you are. You're human for 29 days of the month, James, don't ever forget that."

Something stirs inside of Bill's eyes when they meet and James knows he understands.

"You gave us quite a scare there, mate," Bill says easily, resting his hands on the soft armrest. "Don't do it again, yeah? Or George'll have to invent some sort of self-refilling, scented tissue box, that like never runs out and offers you tissues by itself – wait, that's actually a great idea, why hasn't he done that before? Bloody hell, I could make a fortune!"

James laughs. "But make sure to put my face on it."

"Of course," Bill rolls his eyes. "It wouldn't be a best-seller without your face on it."

"How are you, anyway?" he asks. "Any pain? Lil said your shoulder was ruined. Sorry about the Quidditch,"

James shrugs. "My shoulder hurts, yeah, but it's better now. She put some greenish thing on the wound," he shudders. "It smelled ghastly, but it helps,"

"I'm glad, that's good," Bill smiles.

He had always been one of James' favorite uncles. Something about his laid-back persona just agreed with James; they always had fun together and sometimes when James fell out with his parents, he'd go to Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur's house and sleep in Vic's old bedroom. He'd talk to Aunt Fleur about it and go home in the morning– albeit, resentfully.

"Where's dad?" James asks, for the hell of it.

"He went to take care of some legal stuff," replies Bill. "Something about confidentiality and papers. Hogwarts, too, you know; important stuff. He blames himself," he pipes. "He thinks it's his fault."

James bites his tongue and glowers at his lap. "What for? S'not like he cared where I was before it happened."

Bill scowls at him. "Don't say that, James. You know it's not true."

James mumbles 'Whatever' under his breath and toys with the wolf in his hands.

"James . . ." Bill says then, face serious. "How do you intend on dealing with everything? I mean, you can always talk to us but, y'know. Others could be a potential problem."

James looks up.

"It's just going to be... hard, I guess," he starts, mussing up the back of his hair with his good arm. "Going back to school – if I'll even be allowed to, that is – and keeping it a secret..."

"You don't know yet?"

"Know what?"

Bill coughs uncomfortably. "You might, er, not need to worry about the secret part,"

James's eyes widen and Bill jerks his head a little in confirmation.

"What'd you mean?" James demands roughly. The man hesitates. "Uncle Bill – what'd you mean?"

Bill sighs. "Look, James, I'm sorry. The Welcome Witch told. There were paparazzi. The story is all over the news and Dom said it was on . . . all the blobs, wait no, blogs on WizNet. Nothing is confirmed, though," he adds urgently, "Nothing is confirmed. You'll have to be a bit more careful from now on, I suppose. But James –" he leans forward in his seat and looks him straight in the eyes, "don't let them get to you, yeah? You're worth more than the whole lot of them. I promise."

James can't breathe. They know. Everyone knows. His school mates, Derrick, Cheryl, the team – oh god, Derrick and Cheryl – they all know. He hasn't been a werewolf for two days and it's out already. The entire world knows.

Is it just him or is this room flaming hot? Oh, look, there are dancing little dots on the blinds! The celling is spinning, how funny...

Dear Phee,

I know you said you moved to Russia and you didn't want to string me along, but I'm not completely stupid. There must be something else and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for whatever I did wrong. I know I'm not the easiest person to be with and lately I had a lot of time to think, so bear with me – although, I reckon I should say 'wolf' with me.

...Sorry, that was bad.

If you don't know (and you probably do, since it's all over everywhere because the Welcome Witch in Mungos told Rosaline Skeeter – you know, the one from Witch Weekly that said your hair was pretty. Which it is, by the way, it really is), I'm a werewolf now. You know how I was jealous of Freddy and his moustache? The one you said was whiskers and that I wouldn't want it anyway? Well. I'm going to get a lot furrier than that from now on, trust me. I don't remember anything from that night (when I got bitten, I mean) and I'm actually really glad. My Healer says it's trauma. I don't know.

Nothing is confirmed yet in the media, but I just wanted you to know for sure. I didn't want you to find out over Pez Owlton or something. If my owl gets hijacked and this gets leaked to the media, so be it. It's too late now anyways.

I've been considering a lot of things. I fainted when Uncle Bill told me about the Witch Weekly article and all the footage and such (I know. I'm horrified too but in my defense, I'm heavily medicated!) and my Healer (who's a bit obsessed with my father, but who isn't, right?) said that I couldn't see people for a while after I woke up, because I'm not in the correct mental state or something (they're assigning me yoga classes, Phee. Bloody yoga classes to straighten out my 'aura'). Then I threw a fit over wanting to write to you and Lily threw one as well and dad laid down the law and now here I am, writing like it's the 90s and we're in a horrible romantic comedy starring that bloke you like, even though he's older than my father (I don't know what you see in him, honestly).

(Is it cheesy- that Rosaline saying we were no-more, hurt more than everyone knowing? About my wolfy-ness, that is. I don't want to be no more, Phee, I really don't.)

My shoulder's sort of chewed off. There's a scar and everything, but I'm pretty sure that I could pull off the whole 'ex-military agent injured on the field' thing when I'm 34 (what I'm going to do until then, I've no idea). Do you reckon I'd look good with a 5 o'clock shadow?

I also can't play Quidditch anymore but you know I wasn't too fussed about playing professionally anyway. Mum always wanted me to, but I'm not sure.

Speaking of mum, I feel horrid about how I treated her. I feel horrid about how I treated everyone. You were right. And I'll apologize as soon as I'm deemed mentally stable enough for human contact (dad is still a tosser, though).

The full moon is in a little less than month and I'm nervous. I really am. What if Wolfsbane doesn't work for me? What if I hurt someone? I couldn't live with myself if I did. I don't know if I want to go back to Hogwarts, but I don't want to be home either. I don't think I could tell anyone else these things, Phee and I'm glad I have you (sort of). Where are you when I need a cuddle and someone to call me Jamie?

The last few days were a mess. I'm confused and in pain and I miss you. I just wish I could talk to you in person. Come home. Please.

Love,

James