Bill Weasley (billofnight) wrote in ageofdarkness, @ 2010-09-16 08:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | arthur weasley, bill weasley, charlie weasley |
Who: Bill, Charlie, Arthur
Where: Charlie's House
What: Reunion dramatique?
Why: Bill hasn't seen his dad in 13 years... and he wants him to know he's not dead
Bill ran a hand over his freshly-shaved chin. He'd managed without cutting himself this morning. Charlie had got him a razor, since he didn't have a wand, or the ability to do it with magic. It was strange to shave instead of just trimming his rough red hairs with scissors, but then, a lot of things were strange about being free. His body seemed to ache from the stress of not doing anything physically tiring. His stomach seemed to be having second thoughts about the advantages of having good food to eat in quantity.
Or that might have just been nerves. Charlie had invited their father, all unknowing, to the house. Bill wished he'd waited to tell him until this morning, since he hadn't slept the previous night for thinking about it. In a way it was better than not sleeping for thinking of Fleur and the baby, alone and in pain in a hospital somewhere, without him, but not much.
He checked his appearance in the reflection of the kettle for the fourth time, as he picked at his breakfast unenthusiastically. Would his father even recognise him? Would he be pleased to see him, or angry at him for making the family mourn his death? What would they even talk about?
They had used to talk all the time, back when they had first been on the run. He had felt very grown up then, at the age of ten or so, being the oldest and the one who had to help Dad with security at the end of each night. He remembered being proud of those grown up conversations, even the scary ones, when Arthur would tell him that if anything should happen to him, Bill, as the oldest, would be in charge of the other boys. He remembered memorising routines and plans for escape if they were discovered, phone numbers, places to go, people to find, places to hide.
Not that any of it had done any good of course. None of their carefully laid plans had worked the day of his sixteenth birthday.
He pushed his plate aside and sighed, looking over at Charlie, who was eating with more enthusiasm. Charlie. Bill had never loved his brother more. Even if the git had taken his journal, so that he couldn't read any news of the people he'd be tempted to contact. It made sense, Bill knew. But he ached to know what was happening to Fleur, to Ginny and Ron, to see if they were okay.
Even as he was pondering this, the doorbell rang, and his heart leapt. "I think I'm going to throw up," he said hoarsely, staring white-faced at his brother.