1987, Hogwarts and The Burrow


Bill carefully folded the letter and pushed it back inside the envelope. For a while, he remained on the chair, pondering the best way to open the topic to his parents. It would be nice to stay at his friend’s house and explore a whole new world, but a trip to Brazil was no joke. He supposed he could at least ask, just give it a shot, yet he was careful not to get his hopes up.

“Bill?” called Charlie from the door. “It’s time to leave.”

Bill nodded at his brother. “Coming,” he said, getting up and putting the envelope inside his bag.

Charlie entered the dormitory. “You might want to tie your mane, brother,” he said, smirking. “Mum’s not going to be too happy about it.”

“That, I’ll do,” replied Bill. He swung his bag onto his shoulders. “If I may say so, ickle Charlie, your hair’s looking grand,” he said with a snort.

“Ah…” sighed Charlie, whose unruly red hair looked as though they had recently been hacked off by an axe. “What was the point? She’d have cut it anyway. Better get it done myself.”

Bill reached out and ruffled up Charlie’s hair, making it messier than before.

“Hey!” protested Charlie. He tried to do the same to his brother, but Bill had already pointed his wand at his own head. A band of hair rose from below his left ear and wound round the remaining locks, tying them up into a long, vivid, red ponytail.

“Cool,” said Charlie, trying to flatten his hair as they went down the stairs.

“Thanks, little brother.”

“Did Beatriz teach you that?” asked Charlie, sniggering. “Some new Brazilian way of doing up your hair?”

“No,” replied Bill shortly as he climbed out of the portrait hole.

Charlie seemed to have registered the tone. “Something wrong, Bill?”

Bill forced a smile and shook his head.

“Well, I said ‘Beatriz', and the look on your face changed.”

Bill considered his answer. “Um-” he began, but then he paused.

“You can tell me if she’s broken up with you,” said Charlie with a brave attempt at a straight face.

“Shut up,” replied Bill. “It isn’t that.”

“That picture of hers was fairly nice,” continued Charlie. “And she liked yours too, remember?”

Bill shrugged.

Charlie got hold of his brother’s arm and stopped him. “What’s wrong?”

“She wants us to go on an exchange trip,” answered Bill finally, “come this summer .”

“Oh,” said Charlie.

“Yeah.” Neither brother spoke for a few minutes after that.

“You should ask Dad,” said Charlie. “I mean, he and Mum know how important this is to you. And they did say they’d get you something for becoming a Prefect. You never asked for anything, Bill. This could be it.”

Bill didn’t reply. On the inside, though, he was a little thrilled by Charlie’s words. He felt encouraged, certain that it was fair to want at least that much from his parents.


***


“�”And if I catch you doing that one more time, Fred Weasley, I’ll never rest until I find some way to turn you into a Squib,” shouted Mrs. Weasley, shaking her fist at her nine-year-old son.

Fred looked appalled at the very words; he immediately dropped his mother’s wand and ran out of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley sighed and picked up her wand, stowing it in the pocket of her flowery apron.

“When does Dad come home tonight, Mum?” asked Bill, who was clipping the tail-twigs of an old broomstick.

“He’ll be here early, dear,” replied Mrs. Weasley, her voice becoming warm all of a sudden. “Why?”

“Nothing important,” said Bill casually. “He’s been working too much lately.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Weasley, “your dad’s job is the most hectic there is. Charming Muggle things and making them dangerous for their owners have always been a favourite sport for wizards with idle hands, and Britain seems to have more than her share of such good-for-nothing folks.”

“So why aren’t they paying him overtime?” asked Bill irritably.

“Because they�”“ began Mrs. Weasley, but she immediately stopped speaking, as though she wasn’t sure how to answer him.

Bill realized his mistake. “It’s okay, Mum,” he said with a quick grin, putting down the clippers. “I understand why.” His mother smiled at him and went back to supervising the cleaning of the kitchen sink. He gathered the clipped ends and dumped them in the dustbin. “Charlie!” he shouted. “Your broom’s ready.”

It isn’t fair, thought Bill as he went out into the garden with Charlie and the twins, Fred and George, to play Quidditch. His father worked hard, yet he was never appreciated for his dedication.

And it isn’t fair, he thought again as he managed to whack Charlie’s Quaffle off course, that when I’m about to ask my parents to get me something for the first time in my life, my stomach keeps squirming as though warning me of imminent disappointment.


***


Bill tiptoed down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. He could hear his father talking to his mother inside, telling her about how an old Muggle couple had spent the previous week shut up in their bedroom because the portraits in their hallway had started singing. He sent a brief prayer to Merlin and entered the kitchen. “Hello, Dad!”

“Evening, son,” said Mr. Weasley cheerily.

“What’s keeping you up, dear?” asked Mrs. Weasley.

“I was thirsty,” replied Bill as he took a glass from the rack and filling it up with water. He joined his parents on the table. “So, Dad, how did you find out about the Muggles?”

“Their neighbours,” said Mr. Weasley, munching on a piece of chicken. “The Cunninghams live next to them. They reported that neither Mr. Bolton nor his wife had come of out their house for quite a few days, and a ‘please-man’ had come to see them. The ‘please-man’ left, muttering about senility and singing portraits.”

Mrs. Weasley huffed. “Those Muggles! They’ll never see or believe magic even if it’s dancing right in front of their eyes.”

“That’s the whole point, Mum,” said Bill, rolling his eyes. “They shouldn’t have to believe magic exists, unless some witch or wizard gets born into the family.”

Mr. Weasley nodded. “So, I never asked you before,” he said with a smile, “how’s life as a Prefect?”

Bill felt a familiar squirm in his stomach. However, before he could reply, his mother spoke up, beaming at him. “Oh! Professor McGonagall said she was very impressed.”

“How do you know?” asked Bill suspiciously.

“I wrote to her quite a few times this year.”

“What!” spluttered Bill. “You�”you wrote to McGonagall and asked her?”

“Of course, I did,” said Mrs. Weasley matter-of-factly; it was as though she was trying to fend off the accusations, which were sure to arrive any moment. “You’re my eldest son, Bill, and the first Prefect in the family. I just wanted to make sure you were performing well.”

Bill’s ears had turned red with embarrassment. “I hope you didn’t bring up my hair�”“

Mr. Weasley coughed.

“YOU DID?” shouted Bill at his mother.

“Lower your tone, young man,” said Mrs. Weasley sternly. “Yes, I did. So what? You’re a Prefect; you’re supposed to be setting examples, and that long mane just won’t do�”“

“What did McGonagall say?” cut in Bill.

“Professor McGonagall,” corrected Mrs. Weasley. “She�”well, she didn’t seem to have any problem with it.”

“Ha!” cried Bill triumphantly. “She can’t say anything. She tried to make me cut it, but Dumbledore wouldn’t allow her to. He said he chose me because of my hair.”

Mr. Weasley laughed while his wife scowled. “Dumbledore is one funny man,” he said with fondness. “In any case, Bill, your mother and I were thinking. We did promise you we’d get you something for becoming a Prefect, and it’s been a year already.”

Bill felt his heart quickening. He was so relieved that he didn’t have to be the one to initiate this conversation. “Yeah?”

“So, tell us what you want,” said Mrs. Weasley, the smile returning to her face.

Bill gulped. He didn’t know how best to ask it, but he was nagged by the fact that a better chance might never come. “I…I got a letter from Beatriz,” he began clumsily.

A shadow passed over Mrs. Weasley’s face. “You are still writing to each other?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point,” said Bill, overriding his mother. “She wanted us to go on an exchange trip. She’s already asked her parents.” He said it so fast he wondered if his parents heard him correctly. When he looked at them, he understood they had. His father had taken off his glasses and was now wiping them with his sleeve, while the expression of disapproval on his mother’s face had been replaced by one of nervousness.

“Bill,” said his father after a long, uncomfortable pause. “That would be…we wouldn’t be able to afford that, son.”

“It’s all right, Dad,” replied Bill quickly. “I understand.”

“Anything else you like, Bill,” asked Mrs. Weasley in a pleading voice. “Anything�”a broom, or a new set of dress robes…”

Bill tried to smile but his face seemed to have frozen. Worse still, he found he couldn’t look at his parents. “It’s all right, Mum,” he said, getting up. “It’s never been like you had to get me something, but… Well, good night, Mum. Good night, Dad.”

He walked out of the kitchen without waiting for a reply, but he didn’t miss the sniff that had issued from his mother.




1990, Cairo



“Weasley, William,” called a goblin.

Bill stood up from his chair and walked over to the goblin.

“Identification?” asked the goblin.

Bill glanced at the wooden nameplate on the goblin’s desk; ‘Morlag’ was inscribed on it in gold.

“Here, Morlag,” said Bill cheerily as he placed his wand on the desk.

Morlag eyed him with crafty eyes, no doubt suspicious of Bill’s friendliness; however, the goblin didn’t comment on it. He examined the wand and nodded. “Sign here, please,” he said, taking out a role of green parchment and pointing at the bottom. Bill obliged.

“Here,” said Morlag. He handed Bill an empty pouch.

Bill was baffled at first. But when he lifted the pouch, he realized it was actually heavy.

“We aren’t allowed to know how many Galleons are in there,” explained Morlag.

“Oh,” said Bill. “Thanks, Morlag.”

The goblin grunted in reply.

When Bill Apparated to his room, he first placed the pouch of Galleons on his desk, and then took off his shirt and filled the tub the bathroom. He came out and cast a Spinning Charm on the ceiling fan above him; it sprang to life, producing a groaning sound which always reminded him of the ghoul in The Burrow’s attic. The last girl who had slept over had complained a lot about the noise, but Bill had refused to use a Silencing Charm on it, preferring to keep things the way they were. He suspected that it was the reason why she was ignoring him at the moment.

He opened the cupboard and Summoned a set of clean clothing and sent them to the bathroom. All the while, his mind was on the Galleons resting on the desk. He avoided looking at it, busying himself with replacing his remaining clothes with a towel and cleaning his messy room with his wand. Just as he was about to close the bathroom door, a thought struck him: was it safe to leave all that gold unattended? True, his room was locked and he himself had planted several Security Charms and spells around it, but he wasn’t really familiar with Cairo’s magic or her people, so he put the pouch inside the cupboard and Disillusioned it before closing the doors.

A half-hour later, Bill had finished his bath. The doorbell rang as he was drying his hair, and he opened the doors to find a boy with a trolley full of lunchboxes.

“Asalam Alaykum, Mister Bill,” said the boy.

“Alaykum as- Salaam, Amir,” said Bill jovially. “What’s for dinner?”

“Kushari, kebab, Shawarma, and Om Ali for dessert,” fired off Amir as he handed Bill a huge lunchbox. “And one bottle of wine,” added the boy with a toothy grin, taking out a small bottle of red wine.

“Where did you get that from?” asked Bill in wonderment. Alcohol was banned in the apartment block where he lived.

“Amir has contact,” replied the boy. “All foreign people in this hotel like their drinks. So, Amir gets for them.”

“But�”“ said Bill, “�”I never asked you to get one for me.”

Amir grinned even wider. “Today, Mister Bill gets his first salary?” he asked.

“Well, yeah,” said Bill. “How do you know?”

“Very simple, Mister Bill,” said Amir. “You live here for three months, yes? Gringotts’ training is for two months only. And today is first day of August.”

“Oh, right,” said Bill with a sheepish smile. “You know a lot about Gringotts, don’t you?”

“Abouya worked there,” said Amir casually, taking Bill’s right hand and putting the bottle into it. “Old curse killed him, see?”

“I am sorry,” said Bill sincerely.

“No problem, Mister Bill,” answered Amir. “You just take care of yourself.”

“I will,” said Bill. “Wait, let me pay you something extra for the wine.”

“Of course,” replied Amir, grinning.

Bill spread a mat on the floor, opened the lunchbox, and uncorked the wine bottle, and pouring some into a plastic tumbler. “To my first salary,” he murmured, breaking into a chuckle. He sipped it; it was surprisingly good. However, instead of proceeding with his dinner, he got up, opened his cupboard, and felt for the pouch of Galleons. It was where he had left it.

He picked it up and closed the cupboard. The Disillusionment Charm was lifted and the contents of the pouch soon clattered onto his study table. He sat down on the chair and contemplated the Galleons as though they were a particularly intriguing runic inscription. Without planning to, he started to count them even though he knew how much the sum was�”one-hundred fifty Galleons in total. He returned the coins to the pouch and sat down on the mat to have his dinner.

It was while he was making his bed that the memory returned to him�”the memory of the night when his parents had told him that he couldn’t go to Brazil. As soon as he’d gotten to his room, he’d turned on the light and written a letter to Beatriz, telling her that he wouldn’t be able to come. A week later, Beatriz’s reply had arrived, complete with a curse that had made his ears shrink. Bill had been embarrassed inwardly, but he’d somehow managed to laugh it off in front of his family. His mother hadn’t been amused, though, and to that day, she was suspicious of foreign girls.

He felt strange thinking about that incident. Back then, he’d turned it into a joke so that his father’s feelings weren’t hurt; he’d done it with such conviction that it became an irrelevant joke to him, too. And yet, tonight, it was as though some unknown, dormant wound had opened up. What had caused the wound? If only he could have decided what the answer was, he’d have been sleeping an hour later, instead of tossing in frustration.

Had he been ashamed of the fact that his parents couldn’t afford an exchange trip? Or had he been angry that he had been denied the only thing he’d ever asked for? Both sounded shallow and selfish, and that was what Bill couldn’t take, for he was neither shallow nor selfish. No one who knew him would ever have defined him as either, and none would call him delusional for thinking so.

And yet, the possibility of being both had appeared now. It was a scary thought, and it disturbed him to the point that he began to think of it as a tangible entity. He had written that letter to Beatriz in the worst of spirits; the letter itself had been terse, harsh, and bitter. No wonder she’d sent him a curse.

What choice did his parents have? If they couldn’t afford it, they couldn’t. If they could have, they’d never have refused him.

They were hard to embrace, these newly disinterred aspects of himself�”that he had been shallow and selfish. Yet it was there. He didn’t know how to best deal with it. He didn’t know how to make it up to his mother for that dry sob he’d heard, the helplessness his father must have felt, or the hurt he’d caused Beatriz. He knew he couldn’t be so demanding or unfair to himself to take the entirety of the blame, and he also knew he couldn’t place any of what remained on the three of them. Maybe he was making more out of what had happened than was really there, but he couldn’t live with it. He couldn’t live with the knowledge that he had slipped up and done nothing to make it right.

The next day, he applied for a week’s leave and Apparated home. The least he could do was share his first salary with his family. Besides, he had a plan which he knew would work.



1991, Brasilia



Bill walked up to the small cottage. He was surprised that it wasn’t protected with any Anti-Trespassing Charm; then again, the place where Beatriz Abreu Melo lived was an all-magical town, and a fairly peaceful one at that. He knocked on the door, which was opened by a stout woman with raven black hair.

“Sim?” she asked.

Bill gulped. He prayed to Merlin that the standard (and limited) Portuguese he’d learnt in the past week wouldn’t fail him. “É esta a casa de Beatriz?” he asked.

The woman looked at him curiously. “Quem é você?” she demanded.

“Bill Weasley,” answered Bill. “Nós costumávamos ser amigos de caneta.”

The woman’s eye widened. “Oh, I know you, senhor! England?”

“Yes,” replied Bill. He was utterly relieved that he wouldn’t have to continue speaking in Portuguese.

“I am Beatriz’s mother, Maria,” she said, smiling warmly. “Come in, come in.”

At least the mother doesn’t look like she’s going to make my ears shrivel up, thought Bill. “Obrigado,” he said. *

The interior of the house was a warm cream colour, the walls filled with pictures of Beatriz and a younger boy, whom Bill decided was her brother, José. Maria took him inside an open, spacious drawing room. She gestured him to sit down.

“I tell Beatriz not to curse you,” began Maria genially, “but she no listen to me.”

“Oh,” said Bill. He could feel his ears turning red. “Is she home?”

“Sim,” said Maria. “She come back from university an hour ago. But, why you come now?”

“Er�”“ said Bill. “I…felt bad about the last time.”

Maria smiled. “No worry, Bill. Beatriz will be happy to see you.”

“I hope so,” said Bill, though he thought that he should keep his wand ready�”just in case.

“Wait here,” said Maria, “I call her.”

Bill sat, nervously fingering his wand. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to duel with the first love of his life, although she had last left him with the impression that she’d be more than willing to do so.

Too soon, he heard footsteps approaching the room. Before he could move, he was hit with a Full Body-Bind.

“Bill Weasley,” said the girl.

Even in his cursed state, Bill couldn’t help but think how beautiful she was. Her hair had grown to her waist, and she was wearing a short, red cotton dress, and her dimples were currently etched into her cheeks�”she was smiling.

“Beatriz,” shouted her mother from somewhere. “O que você está fazendo?”

“Sejamos, Mama,” ordered Beatriz. “Bill and I have a score to settle.” Maria continued shouting, but Beatriz rolled her eyes and cried, “Colloportus.” **

Bill heard the door shut.

“Well, well, well,” said Beatriz, sitting down on the sofa opposite Bill. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for the exchange trip?”

Bill had a lot to say to that, but he obviously couldn’t.

Beatriz sighed. “I’m sorry, Bill,” she said unexpectedly, and she released him from the curse.

“What for?” asked Bill. “It was my fault.”

Beatriz got up from the sofa, walked over to Bill and hugged him.

“How have you been?” she asked.

“Mmm,“ said Bill, a bit dazed by the sudden embrace. “Good. I am working.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? In England?”

“No,” he said as they sat down side by side. He was unnerved by how smoothly things were going, but he decided not to comment on it. “I’m working in Cairo, as a Curse Breaker.”

Beatriz laughed.

“What?” asked Bill. “You’re the first person not to be impressed by that announcement.”

“Curse Breaker?” she asked. “So, did your ears shrink or not?”

Bill flushed. “Well, yes, they did,” he replied.

“I suppose you didn’t include that in your résumé.”

“Are you mad?” cried Bill in mock-anger. “I’d never have gotten the job.”

“I was…very angry when I sent that letter,” she said softly. “Later, I regretted it. I thought if you wrote back, I’d apologize. But you never did.”

“It was my fault, Beatriz,” said Bill. “I wasn’t myself, either, when I wrote my letter. I was rude and�”I suppose I could have told you the real reason why I couldn’t come, but I was ashamed of it. Instead, I�”I called you ‘thoughtless’ and ‘bothersome,’ and told you never to write again.”

“That hurt,” said Beatriz.

“No, it wasn’t fair of me,” said Bill earnestly. “But it was my way of breaking it off with you because I could never…that was the only way.”

“Stupid,” muttered Beatriz. “You were stupid.”

“I know,” agreed Bill. “I didn’t have the courage to tell you my parents couldn’t afford it, and I was so disappointed that I didn’t want to continue being friends.”

She didn’t reply, and they were both silent for a long time.

“But…what made you want to see me after four years?” she asked, looking puzzled.

Bill thought for some time before replying. “It was when I got my first salary,” he began. “Something happened to me the night I got it. I felt…I felt as though some huge responsibility had been given to me. It’s a strange feeling, earning money.”

Beatriz was silent. She was waiting for him to elaborate.

“I felt gratified and scared and relieved and happy,” continued Bill. “I felt as though a lot of things could be possible. But then, I also felt that as though I could buy and do whatever I wanted. That was horrible.”

“Why?” asked Beatriz in surprise. “There’s nothing unusual about that.”

“No, Beatriz,” replied Bill, shaking his head. “It is bad. My parents have given us so much. They’ve sacrificed so much for us. Did you know my Mum would rather spend whatever extra there is on giving us a feast, rather than buy some extra clothes for herself? And my Dad�”it isn’t like his salary is that small, but there are so many of us that we get by, and just get by, you know. Plus, he loves his job, even though they don’t pay him overtime. He’s as passionate about it as I am about mine. Is that so bad?”

“No,” said Beatriz.

“I made him regret it, Beatriz,” said Bill heavily. “I know I did. I was so damned annoyed when I had to say no to you. I hid my grudges from my parents, but…he and Mum wanted to get me something for becoming a Prefect, and I never asked for anything else. I should have just said something�”anything. It would’ve made them happy. But I didn’t, because deep down, I wanted them to feel guilty.”

“So, didn’t you do anything about it?”

“I went home the next day,” said Bill, smiling now. “I took a week’s leave�”I had to lie to the folks at Gringotts, saying that my Aunt Muriel was down with dragon pox, and since I’d been working even on holidays, they let me go. So, I went home, and I told them it was high time they got me something, as I’d finally settled down with a proper job.”

Beatriz was smiling too. “What did they get you?”

“An owl,” said Bill. “I named it Beatrice.”

Beatriz laughed. “Thank you, Bill,” she said. “I’m flattered.”

“No problem,” said Bill, laughing along with her.

“When was this?”

“Er�”a year ago,” replied Bill sheepishly.

She stopped laughing. “So,” she asked with narrowed eyes, “it took you an entire year to realize that you’d hurt me too?”

Bill immediately snatched her wand from her hand.

“Hey!” she shouted as she tried to retrieve the wand.

“I was afraid of your reaction,” he said, keeping the wand out of her reach. “Plus, it’s been a long time, and I wondered if you’d moved on.”

“And if I have?” she asked. She stopped reaching for her wand.

“If you have,” answered Bill, “I don’t want to know.”

Beatriz bit her lips.

“You have,” said Bill. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” she said, trying to smile. “I met a boy called Alberto a few months ago at university.”

Bill sighed. “If I’d come last year,” he asked, “we could have…”

“I loved you,” she said, “so, yes.”

“It’s my loss,” said Bill.

“There’ll be someone better,” said Beatriz with conviction. “You are very good-looking.”

Bill grinned and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Thanks,” he said.

“I can’t believe we made up so easily,” said Beatriz. “In my mind, I always imagined myself hexing you beyond recognition.”

“Good to know we still think alike,” said Bill, chuckling.

Bill stayed at Beatriz’s for the night. The next day, he returned to Cairo and his job. He returned, with a somewhat broken heart, but a lighter conscience too. The biggest regret of his life had been resolved, and he could now look back at that one week of his life when he had to live with shriveled ears and laugh �“ really laugh, without resentment or compunction.