Shell Cottage

A Few Days Later

Sorry for the shorter chapter; ik this is not really fair after such a long wait

It was the evening of the second day that their little cottage by the sea had become rather fuller than usual, and Bill was mildly ashamed to admit, he was stressed out. He was not accustomed to quite this much activity, though it admittedly could have been going a whole lot worse. At the very least, everyone had been healing nicely. Griphook had been given Skelegrow, which had finally completed its work that morning. Fleur had been working diligently at healing Ollivander, but there was still a ways to go. Harry Potter and Co. were, while evasive and worn ragged, thoroughly recovered from the events at Malfoy Manor. He had reluctantly agreed to support them in their desire to take the goblin and return to their quest for Dumbledore early the next morning. It seemed that after the years, they had become rather skilled at compartmentalizing; there were no signs from them of grief or bubbling emotions. Bill imagined that there would be a release of some sort once all of this business had ended, but for now their blissful numbness was keeping them motivated. For that he was glad.

Dean on the other hand was not so lucky. He had definitely gained some steel since Bill had last seen him; not that he had known him well to begin with. Even peaceful and serene Luna had a noticeable hardness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. However, it seemed that no one in the world but his baby sister would ever be able to read the girl through the thick fog of madness and tranquility that engulfed the true nature of her personality. Bill was unable to worry for her because of how well she hid her pain. Or perhaps she simply did not view tragedy the same way as the rest of them. Whatever the reasoning, he was grateful, for Dean was different matter altogether. He had clearly learned extreme vigilance and unwanted bravery during his time on the run. There was a nature about him that was almost frightening, like a soldier returned from battle. Bill supposed, in a way, he was a soldier. They were in a war after all, and Dean had just returned from behind enemy lines. Who knew what had happened to his body from the probable large amounts of torture, not to mention his spirit? He did not, after all, possess Luna's eternal optimism. With his experience as a curse-breaker, Bill could feel the multitude of both silencing and protective charms over his door as he walked past. At least he was sleeping now. He had sat on the couch all the previous night, explaining that deeply ingrained habits would not allow him to sleep until he could ward his own door. Thankfully, Ollivander had been looking to occupy his time and had gifted Dean, along with Luna, the first wands he had crafted. Bill wanted to help him, but the simple fact was that he just didn't know the boy that well. He had to be content to just let Dean sit on his own outside all day until he build a rapport with him. There just wasn't anything he could do that would offer much. Regardless, Bill resolved to try to speak with the boy come morning time. The house would be quieter with four less people (or people-adjacent) living there. Surely that would be a nice, peaceful moment to introduce the prospect of a new relationship.

***

Bill, ever affected by the lunar cycles, was up with the sun as usual. It was like a rush of light and heat leaving way for the cold, admittedly less terrifying, nature of humanness. Certainly nothing he could fall back asleep after, at any rate. Grabbing his wand, he tergeoed the inside of his mouth, summoned his robe and slippers, and made his way down the stairs for a morning cup of tea.