Scattered

Bill was the picture of perfect contentment. He was lying out in the hammock, a forgotten book on the ground below. It was early evening and everyone else was inside. The sky was perfectly clear and the stars were coming out. He'd muttered a Finite Incantatem when the others had gone inside and turned on the radio they kept outside on the patio, letting the sound drift out from their yard. They'd agreed to cast the Excludo spell only when necessary, so that there was no chance anyone would think their house was unnaturally quiet. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, enjoying the cooling breeze after another sweltering late summer day.

Though, he admitted to himself, everything was relative. He was as content as anyone could be while living in secrecy amongst Muggles, still in more danger than he really liked to admit, and far away from most -- but luckily, not entirely all -- of the people that he cared about.

He'd never admit this, but from the moment the twins had begun teasing about Ron following Hermione, Bill had tried to ignore a small, deeply hidden part of himself that almost hoped it would turn out the way they'd predicted. Of course, he never, ever would have gone against Dumbledore's instructions willfully. He knew his old Headmaster had excellent reasons for separating them into specific groups. Some of those reasons hadn't been said outright, but Bill had had a bit of time over the past few weeks to think about what Dumbledore had done, and seen another layer to his plan.

Splitting up family members had been a cautious move, one that had paid off, if you could call it that, in the case of the Creevey boys. Splitting up Ron, Harry and Hermione wasn't entirely without some logic, either: they were a target, and they had an unnatural ability for getting in the worst of circumstances. Bill wasn't entirely sure separating them was for the best, though. They were also a powerful team, and he knew something about that, as it happened.

He'd been thinking about things ever since the day of the attack, though, and thought that Dumbledore might have had another reason for the way he'd grouped the students and the protectors. Bill couldn't help notice that there was a certain balance in each unit, a combination of strengths and attributes. Not putting all of the Muggle-borns in one group, for example, had been just plain common sense. Spreading out the more powerful young witches and wizards had been a subtler move. Hermione was a modest person, and always tried to pass off her skill as "book-learning", but she thought faster and better than anyone else he'd ever met -- except Dumbledore himself, of course. Fred had mentioned having Padma in his group, and Bill had gotten a recommendation regarding her charm-building skills from Flitwick the previous term. The old fellow had been impressed at her creativity. Likewise, Luna Lovegood was much better at Defense than most people knew. And as for McGonagall's group, well, she had Ginny under her wing, and Bill knew that was for a reason.

Not that he meant to slight the young men in their midst. In fact, he suspected Ron had been chosen as the "anchor" of Remus' group. Things had worked out differently and Remus and his charges would be fine, no doubt. But Bill had observed, over the years, that his little brother had reserves of strength and will, and simply suffered from a lack of self-esteem, nothing more. He hoped he'd get past it one day, and live up to his potential.

Truth be told, he wasn't the only Weasley who thought having Hermione at Ron's side might go a long way in that direction. Bill had had a long talk with his Mum, a few years back, where she'd expressed worry that Hermione wouldn't return Ron's feelings and fall for Harry instead. While Bill hadn't cared to speculate on his little brother's teenage romances (unlike some, he mused with a fond grin at his mother's habitual machinations where her sons were concerned), he understood what she was getting at now. Ron clearly had a bit of the Sidekick Syndrome, always thinking he wasn't as good as Harry but unable to hold that against his best friend for any length of time. If Harry had ended up getting the girl, Ron would have been silently crushed.

Hermione, it turned out, though, wasn't the kind of girl that anyone "got". She had a mind of her own, that was for sure, and in the past few weeks he'd seen firsthand that she'd made her choice. And it wasn't Harry, or Viktor Krum.

Dumbledore had known his students well, and had tried to make sure they'd each have a fighting chance to survive. The younger students were in the company of those more advanced, for example. And the less skilled, similarly. Though, Bill was finding himself more and more encouraged by Neville, as the weeks went by. He was a timid lad, to be sure, but perhaps growing up as he did -- with his sadly damaged parents haunting his life, and his domineering grandmother watching his every move -- it was no wonder the poor fellow was a bit on the nervous side. He was a good chap nonetheless, though. As Hermione had said once, you couldn't ask for a better friend in a pinch. And he wasn't half-bad, really, at spellcasting, once he got in the swing of things.

Bill had had a lot of time to think these things over. He'd been disappointed when Hermione had explained that Muggles used all kinds of "identification" and "paperwork", "certificates" to prove that you were who you said you were. She'd mentioned "taxes", and that made sense to Bill - he'd heard about such things at Gringotts, the way Muggles paid for all the things they did, the big buildings and all the clerks and the people they needed to make things happen without magic to rely on. It sounded incredibly complex, and Bill had finally conceded that he'd have to find other ways to pass his time.

He wanted to stay busy because he missed his old life. The friends at the bank, the people he met traveling. His family, the witches he dated, the things he did, the people he loved. It was just as hard for Bill to accept that all of that was gone as it was for any of them. But he'd been given a serious responsibility to take care of these three young people, and be their leader, the person they looked to for guidance. He couldn't give in to his fears and concerns. He had to be the one in control so that they could get through this somehow.

So he focused on staying positive. He encouraged Hermione to indulge in shopping sprees, though it was difficult to get the girl to buy anything other than books. Bill knew that money -- Muggle money -- was not a factor and that in that regard, at least, they were free from worry, but he couldn't quite convince Hermione to put it completely out of her mind. He'd been tempted, once or twice, to tell her exactly how this "scattering" had been funded, but that was Order business and it was not his to disclose. He knew she could tell he was holding something back but didn't press, and had begrudgingly agreed to spend money on new clothes and somewhat more readily agreed to spend money at the local bookstore. She seemed to be enjoying her work at the Muggle library as well.

Hermione had grown up as a Muggle and slid easily back into their world. Bill had some experience there as well, but Neville and Ron were complete novices. Bill encouraged them to explore the neighborhood with him, to visit coffeehouses and stores and go to films. Neville had gone along, clearly quite uncomfortable at the start. He'd stood out like a sore thumb, but Bill had kept at it, and now Neville was starting to relax. They'd both developed a taste for "action movies", Muggle stories that featured crimes and fights and chases, loud music and automobiles. Just last week they'd gone to a local pub to hear a Muggle band play; Bill had thoroughly enjoyed himself, and Neville had said, on the way home, that for a moment he'd forgotten he was any different from the other people in the crowd. Neville was coming out of his shell a bit, and doing well.

Ron was another story. Bill glanced up and saw his youngest brother wander out into the yard and waited to see if he'd come over. Ron's expression was surly, however, and he grabbed a patio chair and pulled it around so that he was facing the other part of the yard. Bill sighed and looked away.

They'd dragged Ron to one film, but he'd said he hadn't enjoyed it. He didn't want to accompany any of them on their wanderings, either, not even Hermione. He showed little to no interest in exploring and all he wanted to do was stay home, watch television, sleep, cook and eat, and spend time at the gym. Bill didn't have a problem with any of that, per se, but it was Ron's underlying attitude that had him concerned. He knew Hermione was worried as well, but she seemed to be giving Ron space for now.

Ron just seemed so stubbornly angry at their situation, at Voldemort, at the war, at living in hiding. On one hand, Bill didn't blame him. A lot had happened, and they'd had a big adjustment to make. Being away from family and friends was hard. Losing their home was hard. Feeling powerless was hard, too. But what frustrated the hell out of Bill was that Ron didn't seem to want to acknowledge how much worse things could be. "Thank your lucky stars" was a hard pill to swallow right now, but it was nevertheless true.

Bill decided the time had come to have a few things out with his brother.

He swung down from the hammock and quickly cast the Excludo spell on the yard. Retrieving the book he'd thumbed through earlier, he walked over to the patio. Ron glanced quickly in his direction as he approached and the scowl was still firmly in place on his face.

"What's got you looking so pissy?" Bill asked, settling in the chair across from Ron. "Fight with Hermione?"

Ron shot him an angry look. "No."

"Would I get the same answer if I asked her?" Bill teased.

"She's not here. She and Neville went out for ice cream."

"They did? Hell, why didn't they ask me if I wanted to go?" Bill asked, surprised.

Ron gave him an odd look.

"Not that it matters," Bill added hastily, though now, of course, he found that he desperately wanted ice cream. Inconsiderate kids. Just wait until they wanted him to pick up something from the -- focus, Bill. "Why didn't you go with them?"

Ron shrugged.

Bill sighed. "I don't understand why you're so resistant to going out more," he said. Sitting forward, he continued carefully, "I know none of us inherited Dad's fascination with Muggles but, we're here, after all. It's strange and sometimes puzzling, how they do things, but it beats doing nothing."

Ron shrugged again.

"After awhile this constant circuit you're doing between sleep, the telly, the gym and the kitchen is going to get rather boring, I'd think. You might as well branch out a little. We're going to be here awhile."

"You think I don't know that?" Ron shot back angrily.

Bill paused, considering. "Do you? I've been trying to get through to you for weeks and it just doesn't seem to be sinking in. This is how things are now, Ron. I don't like it, and neither does anyone else, but we don't have any choice."

Ron said nothing.

"I'm not asking you to get all excited about learning how to live amongst Muggles, but that doesn't mean you don't have to do it," Bill said, growing frustrated. "We don't have any choice about that either, but I can't seem to make you take our situation seriously."

There was silence for a moment. Bill looked over at his brother and saw that Ron's face was set in fierce, hard lines, his expression dark. "Ron--"

"I don't take it seriously?" Ron asked finally, incredulously, in a furious tone. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, I'm not," Bill replied slowly. "Whenever I try to get you to understand how important all of this is you just get hacked off."

Ron snorted and shook his head. "Hacked off. Yeah, I get hacked off. I get that way because I can't imagine why the bloody hell you think you need to explain to me how serious this is. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No, but you've been acting like it lately!" Bill shot back, exasperated. He could feel his anger and frustration getting the better of him. "What the hell is wrong with you? You snap at everyone, you're moody, you won't listen, you won't try--"

"Try what?" Ron interrupted, standing. "Try to pretend to be a good little Muggle and spend the rest of my life hoping that the Death Eaters never come to hunt me down? Learn spells to hide who I am, wander around the neighborhood, do nothing for the rest of my life but hide here? Try not to feel useless? Try not to panic every time Hermione walks out that front door alone when there's a part of me that wonders if she'll ever come back? Is that what you want me to try? Because I'm already doing the best I can on that score, Bill. I can't do any better than I already am."

"You have to," Bill said quietly. "For Hermione's sake. For mine, and for your own."

Ron stood, head bowed. In the silence, Bill waited.

"I don't know if I can," Ron said finally, sinking back into his chair. "It's just... too much. Everything's gone."

"The house," Bill said.

Ron nodded. "I know it shouldn't matter to me so much, but it kills me to know it's gone. And... like that. And Hogwarts... and Dumbledore. And Harry."

"Harry's okay. We know that now. Doesn't it help?"

"It should," Ron said. "But now I just feel even guiltier about not being with him. It's not right, after everything. I said I'd help him, that he wouldn't be doing this alone. And instead I'm sitting here on my ass while he's out there in danger."

Bill looked away. "We're all in danger, but now I think that you know that. Better than Hermione and Neville do, even."

Ron nodded.

"We need to step up on doing more spellwork, some training. I think it'll be good for all of us, psychologically, at least. And besides, I think Hermione's starting to get depressed about not having any homework," Bill added with a small smile.

"I keep expecting to find her giving herself assignments," Ron agreed in a dry tone. "For extra credit."

Bill laughed. They sat together in silence for a few moments.

"I've been a jerk," Ron said finally.

"Yeah."

"Gee, thanks."

"Well, you have. I can understand why, now, but why didn't you say something sooner? Have you talked to Hermione about this?" Bill asked.

Ron shook his head firmly. "No. Absolutely not."

Bill let out an exasperated sigh. "Well, that's a whole different conversation we could have. Or not," he added at Ron's expression. "But you should have talked to me."

"I'm too old to go running to my big brother for comfort and a pat on the head," Ron said scornfully.

"Who said anything about comfort? I can't make it all better for you. But did you think you were the only one struggling? The only one feeling desperate at times? The only one thinking they should be doing more to fight back? Maybe I would have liked to have someone to talk to as much as you would have."

Ron glanced over at him, surprised. "You? You're not going to pieces like this. You're handing it."

"I try to. But I wake up in the night and panic sometimes, too. I'm only human. I know what it's like to feel like you've let a friend down." Bill paused, then, not willing to say more about his own feelings of guilt. "Harry isn't alone, Ron," he continued. He's got good people with him. And he knows you're with him every step of the way. You've just got a different path to follow."

"I don't have any path at all. That's the problem. Harry's out there fighting for all of us and I'm not doing -- anything."

Bill thought carefully and knew he couldn't leave Ron feeling he was worthless -- Ron, of all people. "That's not true. It doesn't feel like anything, but what we're all doing right now is important. In the big picture, it's important to Dumbledore's plan."

Ron eyed him suspiciously. "You know more than you've told us," he said.

"Yes."

The two brothers stared at each other, neither willing to back down.

"I can't, and you know it," Bill said finally. "You know it. All I can tell you is... there is a reason, Ron, why we're here, doing what we're doing. It's part of the bigger plan."

Ron gave him a long hard look, as if considering his next move. "I just want to know one thing," he said carefully. "And I want you to answer me. I need to know this."

"I will if I can," Bill said guardedly.

"Are we here forever? Here in this house? Is that the plan?"

Bill knew he shouldn't, technically, answer Ron's question. But he also knew Ron needed to hear this, more than anything else. The safehouse, to him, had become a kind of eternal exile, and he was likely to drive himself deeper and deeper into depression if he thought there was truly a chance they might never leave it. Bill had his orders, and he knew it was his responsibility to carry them out. But just this once, he was going to bend the rules a little.

"No, it's not."

Ron took a huge breath and sank back in his chair. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Bill nodded and stood. "I'm going in to talk to Remus. Don't forget to lift the spell when you come in." He looked back over his shoulder once. Ron looked a little bit better, but Bill knew he had a long way to go yet. "And talk to Hermione," he added, and went into the house.

At the fireplace, he tossed a bit of Floo powder into the grate and stuck his head in the swirling flames and said, his loud voice echoing in his own ears, "Number 15!"

The scene before him slowly devolved into a sitting room much like their own. The other room, however, was brightly lit, and Bill could hear voices -- arguing? -- in the direction of what he knew to be the kitchen. "Remus?" he called, concerned.

To his relief, Lupin appeared around the corner almost immediately. "Bill! I was just going to call you."

"Everything okay over there?" Bill asked.

Remus sighed and sat in a chair close to the fire. "Oh, it's nothing. Well, it's quite a mess, actually, but it's nothing important."

Bill gave the older man a skeptical look. "It doesn't sound like nothing. Should we talk later?"

"Oh, please, no. Don't you dare leave me alone with those two."

"Who? Seamus Finnegan and..."

"Hannah. Hannah Abbott," Remus finished for him. "Those two. I desperately need a break from their incessant arguing."

Bill grinned. "A little lover's quarrel, maybe?"

Remus laughed mirthlessly. "I wish. No, frankly, I've tried everything I can think of, talked to them both privately, but the simple matter is, they just can't stand each other."

"It's actually not hormones, you know, a little teenaged loathing that often turns to lust?"

"I thought it was at first. But believe me, they're like oil and water. I don't think they're capable of saying a civil word to each other anymore, I really don't."

Bill frowned. "What's the problem?"

Remus sighed. "Honestly? He's a smartass and she's a stuck up little prig. I know, I know, it's horrible of me. They're young people in my charge, and don't get me wrong, I'm doing my best by them, despite the obstacles. But Bill, my boy, I'm too tired to be anything but brutally honest right now. There are times I'd like to cast silencing charms on them both, just for a moment's peace."

"I won't tell if you do, I promise," Bill said, laughing in spite of himself. Dumbledore, the brilliant strategist, with his plans and layers of logic, had nevertheless been unable to predict two teenagers hating each other's guts. It was comforting, in a strange way.

The two men chuckled together for a few moments, but Bill noticed the lines of stress and exhaustion around his older friend's eyes.

"It's tomorrow, isn't it?" Bill asked finally.

Remus nodded. "We've been here over three weeks, and I'd gone through the change just before the attacks. Tomorrow."

"What are your plans?"

"Hannah and Seamus are using the Portkey to travel to Tonks' place first thing tomorrow morning. They'll return the next day."

Bill thought carefully. "We're sure the Portkey is safe?"

"It is," Remus reassured him. "Everything was prepared in advance... by Flitwick." He looked sad and thoughtful. "Poor old chap. You know, that night, when Dumbledore first told all of the Order about his plans, I went up to him after I'd read my letter and tried to talk him out of it. Because of the change, I couldn't see how I could take care of three young wizards and witches without endangering them. And Flitwick just beamed and told me how he had everything all taken care of, a special Portkey that would only work for me and my charges so that they could be taken elsewhere once a month. I still thought Dumbledore shouldn't have gone to the trouble, that it would have been easier to have someone else serve, someone without my... handicap. But not only wouldn't Dumbledore hear of it, honestly, I just couldn't bring myself to put the kibosh on that little fellow's excitement."

"Dumbledore knew he needed the best man for the job, that's all," Bill said sincerely.

"That's very kind of you," Remus said. "But I worry all the same."

Bill shook his head. "Don't. You've got enough on your plate. You have a supply of Wolfsbane Potion at hand, right?

"I do, yes. And the room downstairs in the basement is prepared, and I'm confident all will be well."

Bill nodded thoughtfully in agreement. Remus' situation was a future cause for concern, however. Wolfsbane was most effective when brewed fresh, though the bottled supply on hand would work fairly well. It had been obtained, Bill knew, through the already-active black market. And they would need to continue to acquire it that way -- a security breach no one in the Order, especially Lupin, was particularly happy with. Too many Death Eaters knew the Order had a werewolf in their midst, and scrutinizing illicit Wolfsbane purchases could give Voldemort's followers the one break they needed. This was one small thing Dumbledore hadn't planned for, because he'd assumed that Severus Snape would be there to brew the potion for Remus when needed. But where Snape was concerned, Dumbledore had been wrong about many things.

The only real solution was for someone in the Order to learn how to brew the ridiculously difficult Wolfsbane potion. Bill knew it was beyond his skill, but he only hoped someone would find themselves equal to the task, and soon.

"Remus, how is she?"

The older man sighed and looked away. "She's not well. She won't stop blaming herself. I don't know what else to say to get through to her."

Bill wasn't surprised. Some things never change. "I had a feeling she'd be that way."

"I think you should talk to her."

"What? I can't, I mean, we're not supposed to make unnecessary... And, Remus, I'm sure you've said everything possible already--"

"You know her best, Bill."

"No, that's not--"

"It's true," Remus said gently. "I love her, and I thought I wouldn't love anyone again. And, crazy girl, she loves me. But you are her best friend, and she needs to talk to you. Please."

Bill hesitated. "I've wanted to talk to her, but I know we're not supposed to break the chain of communication unnecessarily..."

Remus smiled. "In my admittedly biased opinion, this is necessary. She's having a bad time of it, Bill, and she needs someone to pull her out. And frankly, every once in awhile, rules are just asking to be broken. Or so Sirius always said."

"Seems to be the theme of the day," Bill muttered, thinking of his earlier veiled admission to Ron.

"You'll talk to her?"

"Yes," Bill answered.

They said their goodbyes and Bill stepped back from the fire. He went into the kitchen for a drink, noticing that Ron was still outside but that Hermione and Neville had returned. They were laughing and Ron had a hint of his old grin on his face. Bill hoped Ron could pull through this, and knew that if he did, it would be largely due to the petite brunette currently chasing Neville around the yard with an ice cream cone held carefully aloft.

Returning to the sitting room, he tossed Floo powder in the fireplace once more. "Number 13," he said, and in a few moments the flames swirling around him died down and he could just barely make out a dark room... and a lone figure sitting in a chair, staring out at nothing.

"Dora," he said quietly. She didn't turn her head. "Dora, come on, it's me."

"Don't call me that," she said shortly, still unmoving.

"I'll call you whatever you want. I want you to talk to me."

She shifted slightly but said nothing.

"I'm not going to let you sit there and blame yourself," he said.

"There's no one else to blame!" she said finally.

She turned to face him and he saw that her face was pale and gaunt, her hair a thin mousy brown, her eyes sunken and red-rimmed. She didn't even look like her natural self, which he knew was a button-nosed, perky if somewhat more tame version of what she usually showed to the world. Right now, though, he knew she looked how she felt.

"Yes, there are. Death Eaters, the one who killed him in particular. Voldemort. Anyone who's ever worked by his side. All of those people, if you can call them people. But not you, Dora. You did your best. You were outnumbered, and you could have all died. It could have happened to any of us. I'm sorry it happened to you. But you saved Luna, and Susan. You didn't give up on them then. Don't do it now."

There was a long moment, and finally she left her chair and crouched down in front of the fire, wiping fresh tears away and sniffling slightly. "I can't stop seeing his face," she admitted.

"I know."

They sat together like that for awhile, neither one saying anything, just keeping each other company. After awhile she looked up and there was a hint of something on her face, her skin less waxen and her eyes had just a bit more life in them.

"If you ever call me Dora again, I'll--," she began.

He laughed. 'Be very annoyed, yes. But that's what friends are for, too."