Chapter Eighteen

"The first thing she's going to do when she wakes up is ask for him." It was Katie. She was one of the only people left standing in the front hall of their new headquarters. The group hadn't moved in quite some time, out of shock mainly. And fear.

This was never supposed to happen.

Bill Weasley should not be dead.

But they'd all seen it with their own eyes. Ron could barely contain himself when he arrived at the house, clutching at his oldest brother's limp body as if he could somehow transfer part of his life to him. Dean and Seamus looked utterly spent, and nobody
said anything for a good minute as the truth of what they were witnessing sank in.

Bill Weasley was dead. Unliving.

Ginny collapsed, and Neville just managed to break her fall. That movement sparked a chorus of tortured wails and silent tears, but only Harry didn't react. He didn't know why he didn't, but he just couldn't. If he did, he was sure he would never
return from wherever his mind would take him. Behind her tears, Hermione had watched him, waiting, seeing.

George blanched and immediately reached out for Angelina, who wrapped her arms tightly around him, determined to keep him from falling apart. He kept asking what had happened, but Ron was in no condition to explain.

"Maybe we should keep her sedated," Hannah suggested, her voice barely audible at this point.

"She'll hate us all."

"What do you think, Hermione?"

The witch in question wasn't paying attention to the conversation playing out in front of her. She was too preoccupied with what could have happened. Only she and Harry knew one way the evening could have gone, and it frightened her to silence.

What was worse, really, was that she'd seen that same flash of fear in Harry's eyes before he'd disappeared back up the stairs, probably heading up to sit with the sleeping mother and baby. Luna had been quick to lead Ron away somewhere, and Angelina
had done the same with a sputtering George. Dean and Seamus had disappeared at some point, seeking solace after what proved to be an emotionally charged day. Neville had to carry Ginny away and, soon, all that was left, were a group of witches all
looking to Hermione for answers.

She had nothing.

She was still crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks. Her vision was blurry, but it was still enough for her to know that the long blob on the table in the dining room just across from her was, indeed, the dead body of one William Weasley.

What a waste.

"Hermione?" It was Katie again. "What do we do when Fleur wakes up?"

Hermione took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes. "We have to tell her," she declared, her voice breaking. "She has to know."

"Shouldn't we wait?" Cho asked.

"The longer we wait, the worse it'll be," Hermione said sadly. It was the truth.

"Who is going to tell her?" Katie asked.

Hermione was too tired to be making all these decisions now. And why was she the one to be making the decisions at all? "I think we're all still in shock," Hermione said softly. "We can talk about it some more later." At that, she moved passed
them and into the dining room where Bill was lying, looking strangely peaceful.

If anything, he looked to be asleep.

"Oh Bill," she whispered, moving towards him. It had been her idea to levitate him onto the table when Ron had dropped to his own knees.

Oh Ron.

Hermione's heart seemed to break even more. Fleur. Victoire.

Hermione wondered if Molly knew. What would she say then? Which side would she choose?

Ever the practical one, Hermione conjured a white sheet and placed it over his unmoving body, before she cast a powerful Cooling Charm. They would have to do something soon, but now wasn't the time.

Nobody was ready for it.

Hermione shut the doors to the dining room before she made her way upstairs. She didn't even know what time it was, but it suddenly felt as if she'd been awake for years. The corridors were eerily quiet as she made her way to Fleur's room.

Thankfully, the newest mother was sound asleep. Harry was sitting in a rocking chair that hadn't been there before, with Victoire cradled in his arms. He didn't notice Hermione's arrival immediately, and she was able to witness him marvel at the little
bundle.

Harry looked up when he heard her footsteps as she walked towards him. Hermione immediately noticed the water tracks on his cheeks. "'Mione," he whispered, fresh tears springing to his eyes.

For someone rather injured, Harry was up and out of seat quicker than Hermione could have thought. Before he moved towards her, he set Victoire down in her conjured wooden crib. Harry didn't stop until he had his tired arms wrapped around Hermione, holding
her tightly, despite the growing pain in his left side.

"I know, Harry," Hermione mumbled against him. "I know."

She did. Hermione knew that, if she had indeed been the one to perform the Obliviation Spell on Reinhardt, as Harry had suggested; then Hermione would be the one lying dead on that dining table.

Hermione knew. And so did Harry. Which was why he didn't let go.

Eventually, Hermione led him back to the rocking chair. She magically made it larger so they could both fit, though they were pretty snug. Neither of them wanted to be anywhere else anyway.

"What kind of magic does that?" Harry asked softly, his eyes focused on Hermione's face. "What kind of magic rebounds in such a deadly way?"

"The Darkest kind, Harry," Hermione said sadly. "Whatever spell they put on Reinhardt, whoever performed magic on the man, would suffer a painful death."

Harry shuddered. "Painful?"

Hermione nodded numbly. She did not want to think about Bill's pain.

Harry swallowed as he twisted his fingers in his lap. "I'll tell her," he eventually said, both of them knowing that he was referring to Fleur.

Hermione shook her head. "We both know that you can't, Harry. Whoever tells her is forever going to remain the person who told her that her husband is dead. We can't have your face being a daily reminder."

"Then who, Hermione?"

For a moment, Hermione considered getting a hold of the Patil sisters, just for this very reason. Before they had taken their leave, they'd explicitly told their mini-Order that they would rush back if they were needed.

Was this enough to call them back?

Bill was dead.

Yes, yes it was.

"She's already going to hate me for using Bill against her," Harry said, reminding Hermione of his antics when trying to convince Fleur to push. "I may as well carry the brunt of it all."

Hermione smartly read his facial expression. "How could you possibly think that this is your fault?" she asked, somewhat incredulously, her voice rising ever so slightly.

Harry gave her a pointed look before he cast a look around the room, insuring that both sleeping occupants were, indeed, still asleep.

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled. "But you can't actually be serious, Harry Potter? How is what happened tonight your fault?"

"I had a bad feeling," he admitted. He absently touched his scar with his right hand, feeling it tingle. It was as if it knew that something Dark had happened tonight. "I should have known."

"And then what would you have done?"

Harry just stared at her, looking somewhat broken. "Hermione?" he cried.

"Harry."

"It could have been you," he said, voicing what they were both thinking. "If you'd gone; if you'd been the one to perform the Obliviation... Hermione..."

There wasn't much that Hermione could say to comfort him.

Harry dropped his head. "The Order must have known we would try to find Reinhardt. They must have known; the same way that they must have known that you are our best Obliviator."

The Ministry's Obliviators were still trying to recruit her.

"They were okay with killing one of us," Harry continued. "They were okay with killing someone that wasn't me, Hermione. They were okay with killing you. It changes everything. There's no going back now. We can't have peaceful talks or
come to some agreement. They fired at us, however inadvertently, but they took life. Bill Weasley has now become the first casualty of the Third Wizarding War."

"It's declared."

"Yes. It is, Hermione. We are going to war."


Ron was still hysterical when Luna got him to their claimed bedroom. He was saying words but they weren't making any sense. She removed his robes, ridding him of the offending garments even as he grabbed at them.

"He's dead, Luna," he mumbled through his tears. "He's dead. Bills' gone. He's dead."

"I know," Luna said softly, guiding him towards the bed.

Ron shrugged her hands off of him and started to pace. "It could have been me," he said, shaking his head. "It could have... It should have been me."

"Ron?"

"We flipped a coin!" he practically yelled, stopping and staring at her. "He even made a joke about it. He was smirking that stupid Bill smirk of his. Then he cast the spell. It was so bloody easy. One two three. And then he was screaming, Luna. He was
howling, wailing. He was begging for it to end. He," his voice caught. "He's dead."

Luna didn't know what to say to him. He looked broken, as if the end of the world was around the corner. Maybe it was.

Ron started to pace again. "It's War, Luna! They've started a bloody War, because they knew! They damn well knew we would go to him. We were going to find him eventually, and they knew one of us would end up performing magic on him."

"You don't know that."

"I do! They knew! They used us to get rid of Reinhardt. They wanted him eliminated, and they used us to do it. Bill is dead. It could have been me. It should have been me."

"Ron, don't say that."

"He's got a wife, Luna, and a kid on the way. He should be here, instead of me."

"Stop that!" Luna hissed. "You and I both know that Bill wouldn't want you to say things like this."

"It's not fair," he huffed. "How did we even get here? Did my mother know? Did she know this would happen? My father? Percy? Did they know that they could have killed one of us?"

Luna didn't know what to say.

"Everyone knows that our best Obliviator is Hermione," he said sadly. "They wanted to ruin Harry. He'd never be able to get his magic back without her. We all know that. All of us."

"You think they were targeting her?"

"I think that they're doing things, so that whatever happens to us is our fault. We're the ones killing ourselves, not them. They're absolved of guilt in their eyes. Now it's like we've started the war, not them."

"Because the Third Wizarding War has been declared."

Ron nodded somberly. "It has."

"I'm sorry, Ronald," she said, moving towards him and wrapping her arms around him. "I'm so sorry."

Ron just let her hold him, console him. He cried for his brother; he cried for his family and his friends. He cried for his future, and his past and his present. His eyes seemed to dry up and his sobs turned quiet.

That was the moment Luna decided to speak.

"Ron, there's something you should know," Luna said softly.

"What?"

She took a deep breath. "Fleur gave birth earlier tonight. You're an uncle."

Ron started to cry almost immediately once again, his body finding fresh reserves. He said nothing as the tears just continued to fall. Luna wasn't sure how long he sat there crying before he finally looked up at her. "Boy or girl?"

Luna managed a smile. "Girl."

"Can I see her?"

"Of course."

Ron followed her in silence, his eyes cast down at the marble floors. He'd never felt this way before. Not even after Fred's death. He'd never felt like his entire world was falling apart before. The walls were coming down around him and the earth was
literally shaking beneath him. There was barely anything he could hold onto to stop from falling through the cracks.

Luna eventually stopped in front of a room and turned to look at him. "I'm sorry about your brother," she said softly.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it tight. He needn't say any words.

Luna gave him one last look before she opened the door to the bedroom that had seen a little too much in this one night.

They were surprised to find Harry and Hermione on what looked to be a transfigured couch. Hermione was sitting upright with the baby held in the crook of one of her arms, and Harry was lying on his side, his head in Hermione's lap. He was asleep, the
feel of Hermione's fingers in his hair almost lulling him to unconsciousness.

Hermione looked at Ron and Luna as they approached her. "Hey," she said softly.

Ron didn't say anything until he dropped to his knees in front of her.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "We both are."

Ron could barely look at her. He couldn't stop thinking that, if this night had gone a different way, he might not have been able to lay witness to the very alive face before him. He didn't have to say anything, because he knew that she knew what he was
thinking about.

"Do you want to hold her?" Hermione asked, forcing herself to remove the fingers of her free hand from Harry's hair.

Ron's eyes widened. "Isn't that, umm, maybe, I don't know."

"It's okay," she said. "Come on. Take her."

Ron rose high on his knees and, somehow, Hermione managed to transfer the sleeping bundle to her beaming uncle. "She's so tiny," he said softly, staring at her little pink face. He couldn't take his eyes off of her as he settled back down, turning slightly
to lean against the transfigured couch.

Luna sat down on the floor opposite him, closer to Harry and, for an indeterminable amount of time, the four of them sat in complete silence. Complete stillness.

Hermione couldn't stop herself from thinking that they were sitting a vigil around Fleur. The devastation that she was surely to see on the blonde witch's face was frightening to Hermione. She strongly didn't want morning light to come.

Ron broke their silence. "What is her name?" he asked, somewhat surprised that he hadn't asked the question earlier.

Luna replied. "Victoire Hermione Weasley."

Ron just about managed a smile when he looked at Hermione. "Always secretly knew you wanted to be a Weasley."

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. "It was always going to happen some way or the other."

Ron's gaze drifted to Harry. "How is he?"

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. "Feeling guilty."

Ron frowned. "Why?"

"There were a few complications getting little Victoire here into our world," she explained.

Luna continued for her, and Ron listened in silence. These were not things that survivors of the Second Wizarding War were supposed to be discussing. They deserved peace.

"So he reckons Fleur is going to hate him?" Ron asked, needing clarification.

Both witches nodded.

"Well, he's always been a bloody idiot," he huffed.

"I heard that."

Hermione looked down at her lap to find one of Harry's eyes open, trained on his red-headed best friend.

Ron kept his own eyes on Harry. "If anyone should feel guilty, it's me. I was there." He went silent for a moment. "Which is why I should tell her. I should be the one. She'll have questions that only I can answer."

Nobody asked him if he was sure.

"What happens now?" Luna asked nobody in particular.

Harry, gingerly, sat up. Hermione found herself missing his warmth but she said nothing. She didn't need to, when he ended up leaning against her. He cleared his throat. "We face tomorrow as it comes," he said, speaking surprisingly clearly for someone
who had just woken up.

Harry looked at each of their faces, his eyes lingering on Hermione's for longer. He wanted to tell her so many things. He needed her to know... but now wasn't the time.

"I think that Fleur should go to France," Hermione said carefully. "She won't like the idea but it is definitely the safest option. For her, and for Victoire."

Ron nodded his agreement. "I'll talk to her about it."

Nobody was looking forward to that conversation. Ron definitely wasn't envied in this moment.

"Hermione and I will continue to work on getting my magic back," Harry said firmly. "We're almost there, right?" He looked at Hermione.

She nodded once. Their 'almost there' would consist of one of the biggest rituals known in the magical world. It worked on the painful principle that, for something to be given, something had to be taken.

Could she, Hermione, in good conscience, use Bill's death like that? Could she, knowingly, seek profit from the death ofa dear friend?

Wasn't she then just turning into Aberforth? To use death like that... She didn't like it.

Harry noticed. He reached for one of her hands and held it strongly in one of his own.

Ron stared at their linked hands before he looked at Hermione's face. She was positively blushing and deliberately avoiding his gaze. He just smiled internally and patted her knee knowingly, even encouragingly.

"Then we train," Harry continued, oblivious to Hermione and Ron's lack of moment. "We plan, and we get ready. They've started a War that never should have been, and I intend to end it."

The chill that fell over the room almost felt like it was his magic speaking. If this was how he was without a full magical core; they could only shudder to think of how it would be when he was once again the most powerful wizard alive.

Harry squeezed Hermione's hand once more, almost seeking strength from the contact. "And then we fight a War," he said, his eyes turning to steel right before them. "And we win."