The cottage loomed ahead shrouded in darkness. Windows, like black holes, stared down at the footpath.





Bill felt exposed as he moved along the path. With each step closer to the threshold the cottage seemed to grow more hostile. A strong breeze ruffled the trees flanking the path, as clouds drifted lazily in front of the moon, plunging the world in darkness.





He stopped, giving his eyes time to adjust to the lack of moonlight, before continuing his journey guided only by the light of a few, twinkling stars.





Finally arriving on the doorstep, Bill took a deep breath and scouted his surroundings. When he was satisfied with the results of his perusal he closed his eyes and concentrated all his energy on the door in front of him.





He reached deep within himself and unleashed his innate, wild magic. He felt it fill him up and give new life to his body and mind, making him infinitely stronger. He knew how to wield this power, how to tame and how to use it. His years of working as a curse breaker in Egypt had taught him an array of skills most wizards and witches didn’t even dream of and he was eager to use them for the Order.





He could discern surprisingly few magical currents surrounding the cottage’s front door. For a Death Eater hideout they seemed like a disgustingly simple protection. Nevertheless he took his time unravelling them, countering each strand of magic with a blast of his wild magic until, at last, the lock clicked open, the sound being carried away by the night air.





Bill allowed a small smile to grace his scarred features. The first hurdle was taken and he was still undetected.





He adjusted Harry’s Invisibility Cloak over his broad frame and slowly pushed the heavy wooden door open. It creaked unbearably loud in the stillness of the night, making Bill wince.





Silently counting to ten, he finally crossed the threshold when no one came to investigate the noise. He reached out with his wild magic, trying to locate the Death Eater owners of the cottage, but the only presence he could detect was a weak tremor in the basement, where he suspected his quarry to be held captive.





It was almost as if Voldemort had called away all three guards, who, according to the Order’s information, never left the cottage, on this night. Bill didn’t believe in luck. Something was going on here and it didn’t bode well for him.





He crossed the hallway swiftly and came upon the stairs leading to the basement after rounding a bend. No curses guarded them or the hallway in the basement and less than a minute after entering the cottage Bill found himself in front of another locked and cursed door.





Once more he called upon his innate magic and unravelled the individual curses with painstaking slowness.





He didn’t know how much time had passed until he countered the last curse, but he could feel himself weakening. The somewhat tricky work of breaking modern, not ancient, curses, coupled with his fear of being detected and attacked, took more out of him than he had anticipated. Soon, he thought, soon I can rest and replenish my energy. But first he had to finish his mission.





“Mr. Ollivander?” he called softly, “Mr. Ollivander are you in there?”





A faint shuffling could be heard on the other side of the door.





“It’s Bill Weasley, Mr. Ollivander,” he tried again, “ I’ve come to get you out of here. I’ll open the door now.”





When no response reached his ears he drew his wand and swung the door open with a decisive jerk of his hand, dislodging the Invisibility Cloak with the motion.





In front of him, gagged and bound at hands and feet, kneeled a frail, almost shade-like old man. Despite the grime staining his skin and clothes and the years it had been since he last saw him, there was no doubt in Bill’s mind, this was indeed Mr. Ollivander, England’s best wand maker.





Bill quickly removed Mr. Ollivander’s gag and bonds before lifting him to his feet. Mr. Ollivander clung to his arm, swaying dangerously from the unexpected motion. He opened his mouth, but only a dry cackling escaped his lips.





“Don’t try to speak,” Bill advised. “Let’s focus on getting out of here first.”





Time seemed to slow to a crawl on the journey back up the stairs and out the front door. Bill kept one arm around Mr. Ollivander’s waist at all times, carrying most of his weight as the old man seemed hardly able to stand on his own. Bill tried not to think about what the Death Eaters had done to reduce the man with him to this shell of his former self.





Once they reached the small garden separating the cottage from the road Bill breathed a sigh of relief. Not it was just a matter of getting to the corner of the street where Remus, Kingsley and his father were waiting for them.





They had already made it halfway down the street when Bill felt it. A chilling cold seeping through his clothes and into his bones, clutching and ripping at his hair. Next to him Mr. Ollivander was trembling violently.





His earlier relief bled from his veins, leaving him cold and empty. Dread took hold of his heart with an iron grip. He staggered when pictures, memories, started flashing in front of his eyes. A dark corridor. A fight. Fenrir Greyback lunging at him. And then pain, unbearable, mind-numbing pain.





No, Bill thought, don’t give up! You can’t give in now, not when you’re so close.





With a determination he hadn’t known he still possessed, he made himself think happy thoughts. That’s it, think about Fleur! Remember how you got back to your flat in Diagon Alley after your wedding and reception.





**





“Wait,” Bill stopped his beautiful wife before she could enter the flat, “ I have to carry you over the threshold, it’s tradition.”





He winked at her and swept her up in his arms, careful not to bump her head against the doorframe. Fleur’s musical laughter floated around the couple as they entered their home as husband and wife for the first time.





For long minutes after he had set her down Fleur stayed in his arms, basking in the strength of Bill’s embrace.





He nuzzled her hair gently and whispered, “Je t’adore.”





Fleur turned wide, luminous eyes up to her husband, gazing at him almost reverently as she replied, “I love you, too. Plus que n'importe quoi. More than anything.”





Wide smiles spread across both their faces as their lips met in a soft kiss full of love and promises for the future.





**





Concentrating on the memory of his radiant wife, Bill waved his wand and yelled, “Expecto Patronum!”





A beautiful white horse, its mane the colour of Fleur’s hair, burst forth from his wand, stronger than he had ever seen it.





The two dementors that had steadily drawn closer stopped in their tracks, floating some inches above the street.





Bill backed further away, towards the corner of the road, his wand trained steadily on his attackers. He felt more than saw Kingsley and Remus come to his aid on either side of him. The last thing he saw, when his father activated the Portkey and wrapped his arms around both Bill and Mr. Ollivander, was the horse rearing up on its hind legs in front of the dementors and raining its hooves down on them.