CHAPTER 7: IN THE WAKE OF LOSS

Ginny and Ron sprinted ahead as soon as they stepped out of St. Mungo's public fireplaces, their footsteps echoing down the corridor toward the emergency ward. Harry, Hermione, and Professor McGonagall followed closely behind, their hearts heavy with anxiety. As they arrived, they found Minister Shacklebolt, Arthur, Charlie, Percy, and, to Harry's surprise, Augusta Longbottom already waiting.

Ron and Ginny rushed to their father, who embraced them tightly, his face a mask of grief and resolve. Arthur gently guided them into the ward, where they would face the unbearable reality of their loss. Meanwhile, Harry approached Charlie, who stood with a grim expression, his eyes betraying the turmoil within.

"What happened?" Harry asked, his voice low but urgent.

"Gringotts came under attack this morning," Charlie replied, his voice steady but laced with anger. "Do you have any idea who's behind it?"

Charlie shook his head. "Not definitively, but based on what we've heard, it's likely one of Voldemort's splinter groups."

"Voldemort?! Splinter groups?!" Hermione echoed, her face a mix of disbelief and concern.

Charlie nodded, his expression serious. "Yeah, there are several. Not just one."

Hermione frowned, trying to process the information. "I thought once Voldemort was gone, his movement would collapse."

"Not quite," Minister Shacklebolt interjected, having overheard their conversation. He stepped forward, shaking hands with Harry and Hermione. "It's good to see you both again. I trust you're well?"

"We're fine, Minister," Hermione replied, though her voice was tense with curiosity. "But what do you mean by 'not quite'?"

Shacklebolt sighed, his face grave. "The Dark Lord may be dead, Hermione, but many of his followers are still at large. Some went underground, while others are trying to revive his twisted legacy. There are several splinter groups that we're keeping an eye on. One of them, calling themselves the Wand of Death, is suspected of carrying out the attack on Gringotts this morning."

"Wand of Death?" Harry muttered, the name sending a chill down his spine. "Why would they attack Gringotts? Did they steal anything—gold, jewels?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "I don't believe robbery was their motive. No, this was about something else. And as far as we can tell, nothing was taken."

"Gringotts is supposed to be impenetrable," Hermione mused, though her voice faltered as memories of their own break-in resurfaced. "Well, not really… Remember, we did—" She stopped abruptly as Harry elbowed her sharply, shooting her a warning look.

Hermione's cheeks flushed as she realized what she'd almost let slip, but before she could say anything, Shacklebolt chuckled softly. "No need to worry, Hermione," he said, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "I'm well aware of what the three of you accomplished during the war. Word has it that you managed to break into Gringotts and retrieve something rather important."

Harry and Hermione froze, their faces betraying a mix of surprise and caution. The Minister's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the dangerous path they had walked during the war.

Shacklebolt's smile faded as he continued, his tone growing serious once more. "But that's precisely why this attack is so concerning. If a group like the Wand of Death is involved, their goal likely wasn't wealth. They could be after something far more dangerous—something that could reignite the darkness we fought so hard to vanquish."

Harry's mind raced, the pieces of a puzzle he didn't yet understand starting to come together. The attack, Bill's death, the possible involvement of Voldemort's remnants—none of it boded well. "So, what now?" he asked, his voice tinged with determination. "What can we do?"

Shacklebolt looked at him, a mixture of respect and sorrow in his eyes. "For now, Harry, we need to uncover the truth behind this attack. We'll investigate every lead, every possible connection. And as much as it pains me to say it, you should prepare for the possibility that this might not be an isolated incident. The fight might not be over just yet."

Harry nodded, the weight of Shacklebolt's words settling heavily on his shoulders. The sense of foreboding he'd felt earlier returned with full force, as if the shadows of their past battles were creeping back into their lives. As he exchanged a glance with Hermione, he knew they were both thinking the same thing: they couldn't let the darkness rise again. Not after all they had sacrificed.

For now, their priority was the Weasley family. Harry, Hermione, and the others followed Arthur into the ward, where the heartache of their loss awaited them. The sterile, clinical environment of St. Mungo's was a jarring contrast to the deep sorrow that filled the room.

Shacklebolt, who seemed to understand the gravity of the situation and the concerns of those around him, spoke up, his tone reassuring yet firm. "Don't worry. I'm not going to turn you in, though I must emphasize the seriousness of your actions. As you both know, Gringotts takes security matters very seriously. You were fortunate to get out alive. I expect it won't happen again."

"It won't, Kingsley," Harry said, having grown accustomed to addressing Shacklebolt by his first name despite his new role as Minister. "But how did you find out?"

"From the Daily Prophet, of course," Shacklebolt replied. "They made quite a fuss about the break-in. I see that look on your face," he added, noticing Harry's disdain. "I know you have issues with that tabloid, and I don't expect you to change your opinion given everything they did to you. However, during the war, the Prophet proved to be a useful tool. Believe it or not, many of us used it to avoid capture."

"Seriously?" Harry asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

Shacklebolt nodded. "Yes, seriously. The Daily Prophet was so eager to stay in the Ministry's good graces that in their constant praise, they inadvertently printed veiled Ministry plans almost daily. That's how we kept track of Death Eater and Snatcher movements."

"Well, I suppose we owe a bit of thanks to whoever wrote those articles," Harry said, trying to lighten the mood despite the heavy atmosphere. "I was expecting the Gringotts goblins would come after us by now. Why haven't they?"

"What you need to understand is that the goblins have no love for the Death Eaters. They didn't support Voldemort. They were coerced into obedience. True, what you did was a blow to their pride, but in a way, you helped them," Shacklebolt explained.

Harry absorbed this information in silence, grappling with the complexity of the situation. After a few moments, he finally asked, "So how did Bill die?"

Shacklebolt's expression grew somber. He took a deep breath before answering, "We received a distress call from Gringotts early this morning at 6:30 a.m. I gathered a team of Aurors, including Bill and his father, and we headed straight to the bank. By the time we arrived, it was chaos. It wasn't just Gringotts; several parts of Diagon Alley were also hit."

He paused, his eyes clouded with the memory of the brutal confrontation. "We encountered the attackers in the lobby of the bank. It was a fierce battle, Harry. Many goblins were killed, and we lost several of our men in the first few minutes. Bill was trying to save one of his fellow Aurors, Peter Jameson. A member of the Wand of Death gang had a clear shot at Jameson, and Bill pushed him out of the line of fire. Unfortunately, Bill took the full brunt of the Killing Curse instead."

Shacklebolt's voice faltered. "I managed to take down the attacker, but it was too late. Bill had already succumbed to his injuries."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of Bill's death sinking in. The pain on the faces of the Weasley family was palpable, their grief a raw and open wound.

Arthur stood with a stoic expression, trying to be strong for his family, though his eyes betrayed the depth of his sorrow. Ginny and Ron were still holding each other, their tears mingling with the heavy air of loss. Molly, her face streaked with tears, was comforted by her remaining children as best as they could.

Hermione gently squeezed Harry's hand, a silent gesture of solidarity. Harry, though struggling to process the enormity of the situation, understood the need to offer whatever support he could.

As they stood together in the ward, the echoes of Shacklebolt's words reverberated through their minds. The attack on Gringotts was only a part of the larger, ongoing struggle against the remnants of Voldemort's legacy. The fight was far from over, and the shadows of the past continued to cast long, dark shadows over their lives.

But for now, their priority was to be there for the Weasley family, to offer their unwavering support and compassion in the face of unimaginable loss. Whatever battles lay ahead, Harry knew they would face them together—just as they always had.

"So what happened after that?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Shacklebolt sighed. "We managed to push back the attackers. They fled the scene. I've dispatched a team of Aurors to track them down. I assure you, we'll bring them to justice. It won't be long."

"I should have accepted the offer you made me back then, Kingsley," Harry said regretfully. "I should have become an Auror. Maybe then none of this would have happened."

Shacklebolt's face softened into a reassuring smile. "Well, I should probably tell you that I've decided to retract that offer."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "What?! Why?!"

Shacklebolt smiled more warmly. "As Miss Granger wisely pointed out, it's better to do things properly. I knew your parents well, Harry. Neither of them were school dropouts, and I don't expect you to be one either. Finish your studies, and come see me when you've graduated. For now, don't worry. I'll handle things."

Just then, they heard footsteps approaching from the ward, and Molly Weasley appeared, followed closely by Ron and Ginny. Upon seeing Harry, Molly enveloped him in a tight, comforting hug, her grief evident in her embrace.

"How are you, Harry?" Molly asked, her voice choked with emotion.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley. I'm so sorry for what happened," Harry replied, his own voice laden with sympathy.

Molly gently patted Harry's cheek. "It's already happened, Harry. At least he died bravely."

Molly then turned to Hermione and embraced her just as warmly, though words were unnecessary at this moment. Both women clung to each other, tears flowing freely.

Turning to Ron, Harry asked, "Ron?"

"Bill is in there. And George too," Ron said slowly. "He was devastated, Harry. First Fred, and now Bill. I don't know how George is going to recover from this. You saw how much he changed after Fred..."

Harry pulled Ron into a supportive hug, patting his back gently. "We're going to help him, Ron. It's our duty to support him. You're not alone."

Ron nodded, his gratitude evident in his eyes.

At that moment, Harry noticed Monsieur Delacour emerging from the ward. Mr. Delacour went directly to Arthur, and they began a hushed conversation.

"Fleur was here too?" Harry asked Ron, releasing him from the embrace.

"Yeah," Ron confirmed. "She was unconscious. They moved her to a different ward, and her mother is staying with her. I'm not sure if her sister is here, though."

"I see."

"They told me Fleur went hysterical when she heard the news," Ron explained. "She fainted the moment she saw Bill's body."

"The news of such a sudden death is never easy to bear," Harry said softly.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "She really loved Bill."

As the weight of their conversation settled heavily between them, Harry felt a deep resolve solidify within him. Despite the overwhelming devastation, they had to maintain their strength, especially for the Weasley family. The loss was profound, a gaping wound that would take years to heal. Yet, amidst the sorrow, it was the unbreakable bonds of friendship and family that would offer the greatest solace and strength. Together, they would navigate the dark times ahead, finding comfort and resilience in each other's support.

"Yeah, we all saw it," Harry said quietly, his voice tinged with determination. "I need to see him."

Ron nodded solemnly and gestured for Harry to follow him. They made their way through the bustling ward, where healers moved quickly and efficiently, their faces etched with exhaustion and focus. The ward was a whirlwind of activity, and Harry could easily surmise why.

They reached a door on the left that led into a small, dimly lit room. The moment they stepped inside, they were met with a somber sight. A white blanket lay draped over a body on a bed, and George Weasley was seated beside it, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the still form.

"Hey, George," Harry said gently, trying to offer some measure of comfort.

George glanced up briefly but did not respond, his eyes returning to the figure on the bed. The silence was heavy, almost suffocating.

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, their expressions mirroring the gravity of the moment. Harry approached the bed with a mix of sadness and reverence. He slowly lifted the white blanket, revealing Bill's peaceful face. Bill's eyes were closed, and a faint, serene smile graced his lips. It was clear that Bill was at peace, a stark contrast to the turmoil outside.

A wave of sadness swept over Harry. Though he hadn't been as close to Bill as the rest of the Weasley family, he felt a deep sense of gratitude and debt to him. Bill and Fleur had risked their lives to help him during the war, showing courage and selflessness even when it put them in danger. With a heavy heart, Harry gently replaced the blanket over Bill's face, giving Ron a nod to indicate it was time to leave George to his solitude.

They exited the room and began searching for Fleur. They found her in a ward a short distance away, her figure lying motionless on the bed. Her mother, Appoline Delacour, sat beside her, her fingers gently combing through Fleur's silvery hair. Tears streamed down Appoline's face, a mirror of Molly Weasley's grief.

Harry and Ron stood silently, the weight of their shared sorrow pressing down on them. The quiet of the room was punctuated only by Appoline's soft sobs and the occasional murmur of healing spells being cast in the distance.

"You know what, Ron?" Harry said with newfound determination as they walked back toward where they had last seen Shacklebolt. "I'm going to work hard. I'm going to become an Auror, and I'm going to hunt every last one of those bastards down. I'm going to be their living nightmare. I'll be like Mad-Eye Moody, only a hundred times worse."

Ron looked at Harry, his eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and admiration. "You're sure, Harry? It's a tough road."

"I'm sure," Harry replied firmly. "This isn't just about revenge. It's about making sure no one else has to suffer like this. I owe it to Bill, to Fleur, and to everyone who's been affected by this war."

Ron nodded, a grim smile touching his lips. "Alright then. Let's make sure we do it right."

As they continued walking, Harry's sense of purpose solidified. The path ahead was sure to be fraught with difficulties, but he was ready to face them, driven by the memories of those they had lost and the promise to honor their sacrifices.

It was three days after Christmas. Bill had been laid to rest two days prior at St. Ottery Catchpole cemetery. The festive spirit that year was markedly subdued, overshadowed by grief and loss.

Harry had come to a somber realization: perhaps he was cursed to never experience a truly joyful Christmas. Every year seemed marred by tragedy or disappointment. He had hoped for a quiet year of studying, but that had been shattered by the war's aftermath. He had hoped for a meaningful Christmas, but that, too, had slipped through his fingers.

Sitting on Ron's bed, Harry mulled over the events of the past few days. He had expected that with Voldemort's death, the Weasley family would find peace. Fred had been the last victim he had thought would fall. But the cruel twists of fate had proven otherwise.

A heavy sigh escaped Harry's lips as he glanced at the old gold watch Molly had given him for his coming of age. It was already nine in the morning. He dressed quietly, careful not to disturb Ron, who was still deeply asleep. After a moment's hesitation, Harry decided to let Ron catch up on some much-needed rest. He tiptoed out of the room and made his way downstairs.

"Good morning, Harry," Ginny greeted him warmly as he descended the stairs. She leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, managing a small smile. "And you?"

"Had a bit of trouble, but I managed to get some sleep," Ginny said, moving towards the kitchen. "Why don't you sit at the table? I'll fix us some breakfast."

"Thanks, Ginny," Harry said as he made his way to the dining table. "Where are the others?"

"Mom and Dad went to the Ministry this morning," Ginny explained as she began preparing breakfast. "The Delacour family went with them. I think it's something to do with Bill. They should be back before noon."

Harry nodded and continued to the dining table, but he stopped short when he saw that someone was already seated there.

Sitting at the table, staring out of the window with a distant expression, was Percy Weasley. His face was lined with exhaustion and worry, his usual stern demeanor softened by the recent events.

"Morning, Percy," Harry said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible despite the heaviness in his heart.

Percy looked up, his eyes meeting Harry's. "Morning, Harry," he replied with a weary smile. "I didn't expect to see you up so early."

"Couldn't sleep much," Harry admitted, taking a seat opposite Percy. "Just needed to clear my head."

Percy nodded understandingly. "It's been a rough few days for all of us. I've been trying to focus on making sure everything's in order, but it feels like there's always more to do."

Ginny set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Harry and Percy. "I think we all need to take a moment to breathe," she said softly. "It's been a lot to handle."

"Thanks, Ginny," Harry said, gratefully accepting the plate. He took a bite and looked at Percy. "How are you holding up?"

Percy sighed, pushing his food around on his plate. "It's hard, you know? I keep thinking about what more I could have done, what more any of us could have done."

"You did your best, Percy," Harry reassured him. "We all did. None of us could have predicted how things would turn out."

Percy gave a small nod, though his expression remained troubled. "I just hope we can find a way to honor Bill's memory properly. He deserved so much more."

Ginny placed a comforting hand on Percy's shoulder. "We will. We'll make sure his memory lives on, and that the sacrifices made weren't in vain."

As they ate, a quiet camaraderie settled over the room. The warmth of the breakfast and the shared understanding provided a brief respite from the heaviness of their collective grief.

The door creaked open, and Fleur entered, her presence a gentle reminder of the resilience they all needed. "Bonjour, 'Arry," she greeted softly.

"Good morning, Fleur," Harry responded, sliding into the seat in front of her. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Fleur replied, though her voice carried a note of weariness.

"Have you had your breakfast yet?" Harry asked, noticing that Fleur hadn't yet sat down with a plate.

Fleur shook her head. "No, I haven't."

"Well, Ginny's making some," Harry started to say.

Fleur interrupted him gently, "She offered me before, 'Arry. I just don't want any."

Harry nodded in understanding. "Okay. I understand."

"Understand what?" Fleur asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Your situation," Harry explained simply. "I know your mom and dad would probably push you to eat something, so I'm not going to. I understand you might not want that right now."

"So you're a mind reader now?" Fleur asked with a hint of amusement in her tired eyes.

Harry chuckled softly. "No, I'm not. I'm actually quite bad at Occlumency. I just try to understand how people are feeling."

"I see," Fleur said, her expression softening slightly.

"Listen, Fleur," Harry began, his voice earnest, "I've been meaning to talk to you. I'm really sorry for what happened. Bill was a good person, and it's just not fair that someone like him was taken so suddenly. I remember everything you both did for me, Ron, and Hermione during the war. I'll never forget it."

Fleur's gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her robe. "What's done is done, 'Arry. Nothing can change it now."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, his voice heavy with empathy.

"But I am proud of him," Fleur continued, her voice gaining strength. "He died bravely. He's a hero. And that will never change."

"Yes, he was a hero," Harry said, his tone firm. "Just like you."

Fleur looked up, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"What?" Harry asked, a bit taken aback. "No, I don't consider myself a hero, Fleur. I really don't."

"But you faced the most dangerous dark lord of all time," Fleur said, her voice steady, "and you never cared whether you'd live or die. That was the bravest thing I've ever seen. It doesn't get any braver than that."

Harry shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I just did what I had to do, Fleur. There was a lot more planning involved for me. Bill never had that luxury."

Fleur fell silent, her eyes searching Harry's face. "Planning?"

Harry seized the opportunity to clarify. "Fleur, sacrificing yourself for others isn't as easy as it sounds, especially when it's just a friend. Believe it or not, it's incredibly difficult. I heard what happened in Gringotts. When Bill pushed that bloke out of harm's way, he didn't think about his own safety—just that his friend would be safe. That was a split-second decision, an act of pure bravery. Like I said, I had the chance to plan, but Bill didn't. His bravery was pure and immediate."

Fleur's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she took a deep breath. "You're right, 'Arry. It was a pure form of bravery."

They sat in quiet contemplation, the weight of their words lingering in the air. In that moment, the shared understanding and respect for Bill's sacrifice, and for each other's struggles, forged a deeper connection among them. The room, though steeped in sorrow, also harbored a quiet strength that promised to support them through the trials ahead.

Fleur continued to study Harry intently, her brilliant blue eyes locked onto his. She seemed on the verge of speaking when Ginny approached with a large plate of scrambled eggs and toast. She offered some to Fleur, who once again declined.

A few minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined them, settling into their seats in the hushed breakfast setting. Fleur's gaze remained on Harry, observing him as he ate. The silence was eventually broken by Ginny's voice.

"So, Fleur," Ginny began, her tone gentle, "what are your plans after this?"

Fleur took a moment before responding, her voice tinged with sadness. "I'm going back to France."

"You're leaving?" Hermione asked, clearly surprised.

Fleur nodded. "Yes, I'm leaving. There's nothing left for me here. Papa and Maman don't want me to be alone. We'll be heading back to France this afternoon."

"What about Shell Cottage?" Ginny asked. "You're still going to visit it from time to time, aren't you?"

Fleur shook her head. "No, I won't be going back. After talking with Papa and Maman, we've decided to give the cottage to your family, Ginny."

Ginny's eyes widened in shock. "But—but that cottage is yours now. Surely you don't want to just give it away."

Fleur's smile was soft but resolute. "It was Bill's too. I want your family to have something to remember him by, Ginny. It wouldn't be right for me to keep it all for myself."

Harry's gaze widened as he took in Fleur's words. This side of her was something he hadn't seen before. The selflessness she displayed was a far cry from the aloofness he remembered from their earlier encounters. It was clear that Fleur had grown and evolved, revealing a deeper, more compassionate nature.

Their eyes met once more, and Harry offered her a nod of approval. Fleur's gesture was a testament to her character, and it only strengthened the bond they shared. In that moment, Harry felt a renewed sense of hope, recognizing that even amidst loss, there were acts of kindness and selflessness that could make the world a little brighter.

The room fell into a reflective silence once more, filled with unspoken gratitude and a shared understanding of the trials they had endured.

At noon, both the Weasleys and the Delacour matriarch returned, Gabrielle among them. The younger Delacour, now looking like a smaller version of Fleur, gave Harry a quick, heartfelt hug as soon as she saw him.

Lunch was a somber yet comforting affair, with both families sharing a meal and exchanging stories of Bill. Ten minutes before three, the Delacour family began preparing to depart for France via the Floo Network. The farewell was emotional, with Molly and Appoline embracing tearfully. Molly insisted they keep in touch, despite no longer being in-laws. Monsieur Delacour shook Harry's hand repeatedly, expressing his gratitude for Harry's contributions to the wizarding world.

As the time came to say goodbye, Fleur approached Harry. "'Arry," she said softly after finishing her farewells with the other Weasleys and Hermione.

Harry extended his hand. "Well, I guess this is goodbye," he said, his voice tinged with sadness.

Fleur looked at Harry's hand for a moment before gently pushing it away. She then pulled him into a tight embrace. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear.

Harry was momentarily taken aback by the sudden hug. "Anytime, Fleur. Anytime," he managed to reply, his voice choked with emotion.

Fleur released him and looked into his eyes. "Promise me you'll write to me," she said earnestly.

"I promise," Harry replied. "But before you go..." He reached into his pocket and handed her a small present wrapped in silvery paper. "Merry Christmas, Fleur."

Fleur's eyes widened in surprise. "Thank you," she said, taking the gift. "What is it?"

"You'll find out when you open it," Harry said with a small smile.

Fleur smiled back and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. With one last look, she stepped into the roaring green flames of the fireplace. The rest of the Delacour family followed suit, and within moments, they had vanished from view.

Harry stood silently, watching the green flames die down. A deep sense of sadness filled his heart. Another friend had left him, joining Fred, Bill, Colin, and others who were no longer with him. He knew that this would be the last time he saw Fleur.

Little did he realize that fate would bring them together again in four years, under circumstances far different from those they faced now.

The flashback would continue in time, revealing how their paths would cross once more.

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