Bill stared at the letter for the longest time, feeling more numb and cold each time he read it. Over and over the conversations they'd had played in his mind. How he'd made her cry at Hogwarts, how she hadn't confided in him at St Mungo's. He'd tried to reach her, but had he tried hard enough? Would things have gone differently if he'd just asked more questions, found out how desperate she'd felt?
More than ever he wished he had Fleur to talk to, even if she didn't feel the same way about Lily as he did. Or his father, who had been a far better listener than he seemed at first glance.
Picking up a parchment he sat, wondering what to write to make this feel even slightly better, realising that there was nothing. The war was over, it was supposed to be over, they weren't supposed to lose any one else now. And Hope? A child? What could have possessed Lily to kill her own child? That more than anything was something he knew he could never forgive, no matter how insane she had been. Finally he wrote the only thing that he could think of, knowing it would never be enough.
James,
Words can't express how sorry I am. Whatever you need, or your mother or Al needs, I'm there for you. Also if you don't mind, I want to help with the funeral arrangements. We can keep the reception here, where the family has access and the press doesn't. If you have something else in mind, don't hesitate to tell me to bugger off.