This One's For You

Chapter One: Bill's Room

Harry stopped outside the door marked 'William's Room'. He rapped his knuckles loudly against the grubby wood, and heard a muffled "What?"

"Er, Bill? It's Harry. I was, er, wondering if I could talk to you?"

Scuffling noises sounded from within, then a thump. Suddenly, the door opened a crack, and Harry jumped. A bleary grey eye peeked out. The door swung fully open.

"H-hi, Harry. Erm, come on in." Bill's voice was breathy, as if he had just run a marathon. Harry really didn't want to know what he had inadvertently walked in on.

As Bill closed the door behind him, Harry glanced around the room. The bed in the corner was unmade, the forest green sheets rumpled. Newspapers were strewn across the floor, most with drips of paint on them. There were drawings pinned to the wall, but when Bill saw him look at them, he scurried over and pulled them down, stuffing them into a closet in the opposite corner from the bed.

Bill waved at a chair near the end of the bed, and Harry sat. Bill perched himself on the edge of the bed, facing Harry, and Harry got a good look at him. Bill didn't appear well. He eyes were red, and there were deep shadows underneath them. His hair was mussed, and his clothes were dishevelled. When Bill noticed Harry's intent gaze, he blushed scarlet.

"So, Harry, what did you, erm, want to talk to me about?" His voice was high and strained, and there was an odd look in his eyes. A look that vaguely resembled hope.

"I really like this guy, see, and well, Hermione and Ron think I'm too obsessed with him. But I really, really like this guy, and I dunno what to do about it."

"Have you tried telling him?" There was that strange high voice, and the weird hopeful look.

"I'm not sure how."

"Just say it. Face to face is usually better, but anyway you do it..." Bill leaned in closer to Harry. "All you have to do is say it," he breathed.

"Bill!" Mrs. Weasley's muffled shout brought Bill to his feet.

"I'll, erm, I'll be right back, Harry." He rushed out the door.

Harry sat there, wondering why Bill was so weird lately, and heard a creak. The closet door creaked again, and then crashed open. Harry jumped and turned, and found himself face to face with, well, himself. Lots and lots of Harry drawings, Harry paintings, Harry collages, hell, Harry dolls. There was even a notebook with the words, 'Harry Sightings' inscribed upon its cover.

Harry stared, mouth agape, thinking that maybe Bill wasn't the best person for him to talk to about infatuation.

A stair, three floors below, groaned and Harry snapped out of his stupefaction. He scurried to the closet and forced all of the Harry-memorabilia haphazardly back into the closet. He leaned into the door, and shut it as quietly, yet forcibly, as possible. He scrambled back into his chair, just as the door opened and Bill slid inside.

"So, Harry, where were we?"

"Erm..." Harry's voice sounded like a chicken being strangled, so he cleared his throat, and began again. "I was just, er, leaving, Bill. Thanks for your adora-. Er... Your advice." He stood and moved cautiously towards the door.

"No problem, Harry. Remember to tell that guy how you feel. And come back soon."

"Sure, will do." Harry threw open the door and took off down the stairs, and out of the Burrow.