No matter what changed in Bill's life, he could count on this kitchen to stay the same. His mother chopped peppers and threw them into the pot, every movement sure and economical, and he thought about the countless times he had seen her repeat this same routine. The wireless hummed in the background, and she hummed along with it, a half-smile playing on her lips. Her cooking was a time-honed, well-oiled process, and watching it was almost a meditative experience.
"How's Dad?" he asked.
"You can ask him yourself if you stay long enough for once." Another thing that didn't change was his mother's passive-aggressiveness.
In the sky outside the window, the boys were playing Quidditch. Harry dived and passed the ball to George at the same time, a move that would qualify him for the school team then and there. Bill could hardly believe it was his second time on a broom; he was going to take Hogwarts' Quidditch Cup by storm. George sent the Quaffle into the hoop, and Harry threw his hands into the air in celebration, joyful and carefree.
"That poor boy," Molly said, following his gaze. "Arthur was sent to charm the Muggle newspaper and tele-vision"—her mouth shaped awkwardly around the alien word—"to stop people from recognising Harry's face and name on the poster. Too many Half-Bloods and Muggleborns are still keeping up with the muggle press, you understand. Harry's disappearance is a closely guarded secret, so of course the Ministry is teeming with rumours."
How unsurprising. The Ministry would order something like that. Bill remembered yesterday's programme. "I take it he didn't do it?"
"He didn't. You know the bigwigs in the DMLE are all from old families; they won't know how to check anyway. Silly politicking shouldn't endanger any child, and especially not the Boy Who Lived."
"That's quite a bit more than just 'silly politicking', don't you agree?"
"All's well that ends well," Molly said, unconcerned. "Harry is very lucky to have met you."
Bill swallowed the argument ready to fly from his lips. He couldn't allow himself getting side-tracked. "His aunt is a horrid woman who can't be trusted with a child," he said instead. "She hates magic and blames Harry for her husband's death for no reason other than Harry being a wizard."
"Knowing about magic and not having it can cause bitterness and resentment. You know how Rowan is."
Rowan Prewett was Molly's squib second cousin who worked as an accountant and lived in an ultra-modern, all-white flat in a London high-rise. He had scrubbed all evidence of magic from his life, going as far as to marry a sceptic investigator of the paranormal, who had a painful existential crisis when their daughter levitated her toy for the first time.
"Rowan might have issues, but he doesn't take them out on their kid."
"Raising his girl in that ghastly place surely counts as abuse," Molly harrumphed. "I suggested they move here to Ottery St Catchpole again the other day, but he hung up his felethone at me."
"What I was going to suggest," Bill said, cutting his mother's well-worn Rowan rant short before she had a chance to start it, "is for you and Dad to consider taking Harry in. I know money is short, but I'm getting a proper job, and surely there's a place for one more? He doesn't have any other family, and the Ministry's sharks can't be allowed within two-mile radius of him. What'd you say?" He held his breath, waiting for her to answer. Harry should have a place to belong, and Bill hoped it could be the Burrow.
Molly put her knife away and joined him at the window, watching the boys fly. "I'll have to discuss it with your father, of course. But you're right, my dear, there's always a place for one more."
Bill smiled and placed a kiss on her cheek. Sometimes it was that easy. No matter how much they disagreed on things, his mother had a big heart, and he could always count on it. "Thank you, Mum."
"Now, I do think we should consult the Headmaster about Harry's situation. Arthur had a chat with him at the Ministry yesterday, and Albus was most concerned."
Bill scowled, moving away. Perhaps not so easy, after all. "It's not any of the Headmaster's business."
"Your ongoing bias against him is very tiresome, dear." Molly tutted.
"I just don't see what he has to do with anything. He's the head of a school Harry doesn't attend yet. Not the head of the Ministry's child protection service."
"The Ministry doesn't have a child protection service."
"And maybe that's the problem, don't you think?"
"You're being purposefully obtuse. He is Albus Dumbledore, the only man You-Know-Who ever feared. He knows things we, ordinary people, don't."
"Which is another problem! He's playing into this persona of an all-knowing, all-powerful pillar of society to justify getting his nose into everyone's life and trampling people's boundaries. That man believes he's entitled to know things just by virtue of who he is, but hear me out. He is not, actually! There's absolutely no reason to get him involved," Bill said, heated.
"Now you're parroting Aberforth and Aurelius's words. Those two are simply bitter and resentful."
"I can't believe you!"
"Oh William, still childishly rebelling against authority. It'll pass." With that, Molly turned back to the stove, leaving Bill fuming.
This was the reason why, no matter how much he loved and admired his mother, they couldn't be in one room for an extended period of time: as sure as the barley on their field reached for the summer sun, an argument would start, and she would trivialise his opinions and feelings. Not that he had always dealt with their arguments in the most mature manner. Once, at sixteen, he had jumped ten feet down from a broom he had been sharing with his mother just to get out of whatever argument they had been having at the time. To feel the consequences of his actions, she hadn't let him use Skele-Gro, or any other healing magic. Once the school had started back, he had to explain away the Muggle crutches with a convoluted tale involving vampires and an ancient Indian curse.
But Bill wasn't that stupid kid anymore, and he had his reasons not to trust Albus Dumbledore around Harry any more than he trusted the Ministry. A scrap of a conversation that wasn't meant for his ears rang in his head. ('Forgive? How can I ever forgive Albus when he killed our little sister?') He had seen a portrait of Ariana Dumbledore, forever fifteen. Eavesdroppers rarely got to hear good things, and perhaps the Headmaster had his side to the story that wasn't Bill's business. Still, he heard what he heard, and was not going to let the man close to Harry.
Besides, whatever had happened, it put the Headmaster's sanctimonious treatment of Aurelius in an even worse, and certainly hypocritical light.
"Be a dear and set the table, will you?" Molly said and went out to call the boys.
Bill reached for the familiar tin and slipped a couple of galleons inside. His apprenticeship barely covered rent and food, but he had helped the owner of the inn the team had been staying at in Brazil to exorcise a pesky ghost, and she had insisted on paying him.
Throughout the meal—pea soup and his favourite Cornish pasties—Molly complained about Mooncalves digging burrows throughout the eastern side of the field and trampling all her barley. Bill was always fond of the mischievous critters and used to sneak off with Charlie to feed them on the full moon, the only time they rose to the surface. But they could certainly be destructive, so he promised to check out the wards.
Harry was a little shy and quiet at dinner, but that was to be expected when faced with a family as loud and boisterous as the Weasleys for the first time. Overall, he seemed to fit well with the boys. Bill shuddered, imagining the combined power of Harry's general luck and twins' propensity to mayhem, but smiled into his soup as well. The kids were going to be fine.
After lunch, Bill headed straight into the field, wishing to fix the wards before his father arrived. The traces of the Mooncalves' mating rituals were there, although his mother certainly exaggerated the damage. A few circles in the crops weren't the end of the world, and they added character.
The anti-pest wards were fraying—nothing too serious, just routine magical wear and tear, and the lodestones were perfectly intact. Molly was more than capable of fixing it herself, but he reckoned that with a house full of kids back from Hogwarts, it was even harder than usual to find the time.
He was in the middle of an incantation when he heard the sound of small feet running.
"Harry Potter is a braggart and a liar," Ron said sulkily.
Bill finished layering the spell and turned to his youngest brother. "Why do you think so?"
Harry was a rather self-deprecating child, more than was healthy for a boy his age, and other than lying about his name in the beginning, he wasn't prone to telling tales. Why would he, if the situations he found himself in were wilder than any deception he could come up with.
"He said it was his second time flying and first time playing Quidditch and then did a perfect reverse pass. Even the twins got it right only last year, and only between themselves. He's definitely full of it!"
"Harry's telling the truth. He lived with his Muggle family and only learned about magic a couple of days ago."
"No way! So all Ginny's books are all made up?"
"Don't tell me you believed them."
"Well, not the solving mysteries part, and not that Japan one for sure." Ron flushed, realising he had let slip that he read the books, even though all the boys swore not to. "Just the general details. I wouldn't be surprised if he lived in a manor with a full-sized Quidditch pitch and ate cake for breakfast."
Bill looked at him incredulously. Ron had one hell of an imagination. How many other kids in the Wizarding World thought this too? Harry's future classmates?
"I assure you that he doesn't," he said. "In fact, right now Harry doesn't have a home at all. His uncle just died, and he can't go back to his aunt."
"Oh." Ron looked down.
"He also went through some really scary things over these few days."
"What kind of things?"
"That's for him to tell. And this is not an invitation to pester him, by the way. Just be his friend and treat him with an open mind."
Ron seemed to think about it for a moment. "Fine, I'll give him another chance, but only because you're asking me. Unless he gets all self-important, what with all his private chats with Dumbledore and stuff."
"Private chats with Dumbledore?"
"He's just come to talk with Harry, and Mum sent us to degnome the garden." Ron rolled his eyes. "I thought Fred and George would have kittens when he suddenly flooed in."
"Bug—gs on sticks!" Bill abandoned his work and rushed towards the house. "I can't believe she'd go behind my back like that!"
Ron was calling after him, but Bill ran with a single-minded purpose. He slowed down at the porch and took two deep breaths before going inside. His mother was in the kitchen—just great; she hadn't even had the decency to stay there and support Harry in whatever conversation he was having with the Headmaster, a total stranger to the kid. She caught his eyes, but Bill marched straight to the living room, refusing to get sidetracked to deal with her underhandedness. Inside, the Headmaster was pressuring Harry to go back to his aunt—not exactly the turn Bill would have expected, but perhaps the one that made sense. Keep the valuable asset outside the Wizarding World so that no other influences could sway Harry's future loyalty to him. Had the Headmaster been the one to put baby Harry with the Muggles in the first place? Sure, he didn't have the authority, but when had it ever stopped the man?
How did Harry's well-being fit into that? Only tangentially, Bill supposed. ('Uncle is a remarkable person, a true genius. Don't get me wrong, he can be genuinely sympathetic to your plight. He can like you and respect you, and do it with absolute sincerity; he's never felt the need for pretences. But don't you ever forget that in the end, where it matters, we're all pieces on the chessboard to him.')
Harry looked smaller than ever in Bill's favourite chair, eyes uncharacteristically cast down. Where was the boy who defiantly jumped in front of the Inferius to defend him from Bill? Fury constricted Bill's throat as he and Harry stormed out. Perhaps it was unwise to burn his bridges with the Headmaster, but at the moment, he didn't care.
"Bill? What's going on?" his mother called out to him, but he ignored her, dragging Harry out of the house and to the apparition point, the chickens running spooked out of his way.
Magic spat them roughly at the alleyway next to his house. Similarly to most residents of Floor 13, he usually apparated right into the hallway, but this time he needed some distance to walk and cool off. It was his fifth year all over again, when his mother hadn't told him about his krup's death until after he had returned for the summer holidays. She hadn't been remorseful then and she wouldn't be now. In all likelihood, she wouldn't even understand why he felt so betrayed.
Harry put his hand to his mouth, looking green. Guilt flooded Bill. Here he was, promising to take care of Harry from now on, and already doing a bang-up job.
"Sorry, kiddo. I should have been more gentle."
"I'm fine," Harry said. His green eyes were cautious when he looked up at Bill. "Did you mean what you said?"
"I did," Bill said with more confidence than he felt. "I can't offer cooking half as good, or a Quidditch pitch, but I'll do my best, if you'll have me."
"But what about your job?" Harry asked. "Egypt?"
"I haven't decided whether I want to work in Egypt full-time yet. I've got several other offers, actually, including other positions at Gringotts, and there's always freelancing. But even if I do, there's no reason I can't take you with me. What'd you say, want to see the pyramids?"
Harry smiled. "That'd be cool."
That would be a disaster, actually—while employees were allowed to bring families, and Cairo was a big city with a bustling magical community, his work would involve staying in the middle of the desert for days and weeks on end. Kids needed schooling. Peers to socialise. This particular kid needed a close eye on him to keep him from trouble at all times, and there was a lot of trouble to be found around ancient curses. Who was going to do that, Regulus?
Oh Merlin, Regulus.
The enormity of his decision started to dawn on him, but he firmly pushed the dread away. One problem at a time. He had to reassure Harry, even if he himself felt the opposite of reassured.
"Will your mum hate me now?" Harry asked, bringing Bill back from the verge of panic.
"Of course not," he said quickly. "We don't always see eye to eye, but she would never take it out on you. Mum already loves you, and I'm sure you can expect a Weasley jumper from her on Christmas. She called the Headmaster because she thinks the sun shines—she's got a lot of respect for him and expects him to have your best interests at heart. Which he evidently doesn't."
"He really wanted me to go back to Aunt Petunia."
Bill weighed his words carefully. It wouldn't be good to set Harry against the headmaster of his future school, but he wanted the boy to be cautious. "Headmaster Dumbledore looks at the big picture. You're important to our world, so he doesn't want you with the wrong people. Understandable. But he also wants to be the one to decide the right people, which is much less so."
"He said that my closest magical relative is Lucius Malfoy."
"Malfoy?" Bill repeated, startled. "Cannot be very close, or he'd surely have used it already for his gain. Well, everyone is technically related in Wizarding Britain. For example, I'm a distant cousin to Regulus through my grandmother, and to Malfoy's wife, who is also a Black. One thing is for sure—you don't want to end up with them."
"Because Malfoy worked for Voldemort."
Bill flinched and looked around. If anyone had the right to call You-Know-Who by his name, it was Harry, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that it was unwise. Especially knowing that the man was not quite dead.
"Yes," he said. "But your aunt and the Malfoys aren't your only options, as the Headmaster would want you to believe."
"Aunt Petunia always said she was burdened with me," Harry said, looking down. "I don't want to be a burden to you, too."
"Oh Harry," Bill drew him in a hug. "You're a wonderful little boy. You can never be that."
"I'm not little!" Harry protested, just as Bill expected, and wiggled away. It was good to see some of that spirit returning.
They went into the building and stopped in front of the lift, a brightly lit metal cage that always made Bill feel trapped and uneasy. Logically, he realised that Muggles could bring it forty feet above ground safely without an ounce of magic. In practice, when he didn't directly floo or apparate onto Floor 13, he chose the stairs. That wasn't a good reason to subject Harry to that, so Bill followed an old lady inside as the doors slid open. If she trusted the thing, so could he.
He would have to factor Harry in so many decisions, big and small, from now on.
At home, Regulus was where they had left him—staring unseeingly at the TV where men in fancy clothes were speaking in posh accents. He must have had a lucid period, however, if the slightly crumpled parchments and an overturned ink pot on the coffee table were any indication. Bill looked at the ink staining Regulus's T-shirt in irritation. Waterproof, anti-smudge. He was never getting it out.
The feeling melted away when he looked at the notes. 'Dear Bill, thank you for your hospitality,' read painstaking, childish letters on one of them. 'Harry, I am sorry,' said the other. The last one was just 'Sirius,'
Next to him, Harry bit his lip, a flurry of emotions on his face, and sat next to Regulus. Eyes trained on the TV, he gave his hand a squeeze.
Bill stared at his own letter for a long moment. He was not getting rid of Regulus either, was he? The three of them were in it together. Merlin, he needed a drink.
But he couldn't get it now, could he? The last time he left Harry alone ended disastrously, and while Regulus seemed fully harmless around the kid so far, Bill would rather not take his chances.
His life was changing, in more ways than he dared to think. He'd panic about it tomorrow, but tonight he flopped next to Harry to watch misadventures of a hapless rich man and his competent valet instead.
