Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: And here's chapter 2; I hope you'll enjoy it!
5 June, 1997
The twins' gasps were sharp and terrified as they stumbled over to Bill's bedside. They seemed to be bursting with questions, but Ginny put her finger to her lips and they obediently stayed silent. That tiny scrap of normality seemed beyond odd to Arthur: in light of everything that had happened, how was it that Ginny still had her brothers wrapped around her little finger?
The Dark Mark had been removed from above the Astronomy Tower, and therefore there was absolutely no evidence that anything untoward had happened. Nobody needed to know that Dumbledore was dead, and that Bill… Bill.
Arthur's mind, still numb with terror, began its automatic run-through of the family, checking that he knew everyone was accounted for. Molly was lying, exhausted, in the bed opposite Bill's, tear tracks still glittering on her face. Bill was directly in Arthur's line of sight. Charlie had Flooed earlier to let Arthur know that he would not be able to make it to Dumbledore's funeral.
Percy was safe, at least, and it was possibly the first time that Arthur had been grateful for his son's estrangement. Fred sat with his arm around Ginny's shoulders, listening to her hushed recounting of the evening's events and holding her as if he would never let her go. Beside him, George stared unseeingly at Bill's scarred face with his fists clenched and his eyes huge.
Ron had been given the all-clear by Madam Pomfrey and was probably in Gryffindor Tower with Harry and Hermione; Ginny, however, had refused to leave Bill's side.
It could have been so much worse.
They were all alive, and that was something; but Dumbledore was dead and Arthur knew that they were facing things a hundred times worse that what had already happened. They were all in danger, all seven of his brave, wonderful children: Bill and Charlie in the Order; Percy whom he had no way of protecting; the twins who were just too reckless for their own good (and in the Order as well); Ron, friends with Harry Potter; and tiny little Ginny with her dauntless fighting spirit.
His children had been born in wartime, and Arthur could not have been more thankful that they had not had to grow up in it. But Voldemort had risen again and the Weasleys were Gryffindors, after all. They would fight. Arthur wanted to be proud, but he was just so scared.
Why, why, why was it always his family?
Arthur glanced back to see the twins giving him odd looks; Ginny had fallen asleep between them. He supposed that he had been standing by the window for a long time, trying to gather his thoughts as he stared out at the night sky. He did not feel particularly compelled to move, but then he saw the fear in his sons' eyes and he sighed. It was his duty to reassure them, to brush away their nightmares and offer words of comfort even when there were none.
He could not hide forever. Soon he would have to abandon this window, leave the stars to their affairs and take care of his own. There were things he had to do: help with funeral plans, speak with Remus, comfort Molly. Take care of the children. Just because Bill was hurt, after all, the others didn't stop existing. They were still there and one hundred percent human, and maybe the twins were successful businessmen but right now they were just scared little boys.
He would go to them. Soon.
"I wish," he whispered, his eyes latching onto a particularly bright star, "that we will make it out of the war with nothing worse than this."
A/N: If only, Arthur, if only...
The next wisher will be Peter Pettigrew. Anyway, please leave a review!
~Butterfly