I have a number of fics ongoing and I really don't need this one started. But it was on my mind and I just couldn't stop once I began. For those who read my other crossovers, I won't be updating till I'm done with Uncle From America ^^" (I've neglected that one long enough).

Hope you'll enjoy this!

The Eldest Weasley

Prologue

It was way past midnight when little William Weasley felt something wrong. The usual quietness of the house was perturbed by the sound of footsteps. Heavy, unfamiliar footsteps. He cautiously slipped out of bed, walked to the door and tried to eavesdrop. Perhaps it was his parents coming home, but he was pretty sure they said they wouldn't be home until early morning. And it was nowhere close to morning. The steps were faint and still away, but creeping closer to their room.

He quietly ran back to the large single bed and shook the other sleeping occupant awake.

"Nana," he whispered. "Nana, wake up."

The young redhead girl opened her eyes drowsily.

"Wi-" yarn. "Willy, what's going on?"

"There's someone in the house." He whispered, indicating her to keep her voice low. "It's not Ellen. And it's not mom or dad. What are we going to do?"

The girl seemed all of a sudden more awake. Her short hair fell over her shoulders and blue-green eyes fell on him, although he couldn't see their color in the dark.

"You sure it's a stranger?"

William nodded repetitively. He was scared. Aside from Ellen, their baby-sitter, there was no grownup around. But Nana always knew what to do. And she was always right, even when he thought she was wrong.

"Wait here," she ordered. "Hide under the bed. I'm going to see what's going on."

"But Nana-" he started to protest.

"You're no good at sneaking, Willy." She said with her usual patronizing tone. "And I'm sure it's nothing. If it's a burglar, I'll just scream and they'll go away."

"But-"

She patted his hair like their mom did to calm him. And it usually worked. Nana was twenty minutes older than him, yet she acted and spoke like a grownup all the time, and that reassured him. This time though, he didn't like that weird feeling clenching into his tummy, that something bad was about to happen.

"I'm your big sister. It's my job to protect you." She replied firmly and slid off the bed. She pointed the empty space under the large bed. "Now go. I'll be back right away."

In spite of following his guts and pulling her down with him, William obeyed, sneaked under the bed and waited. And waited. And waited. And when she didn't return and it became clear that something had gone wrong, he cried quietly. But he was too scared to come out and see what exactly had happened. And then it started to smell funny. And it started to feel warm. And then door started to burn a bright red and yellow, and flames appearing on the frame…William whimpered as the air became hotter and crawled further back against the wall. He started having trouble breathing as smoke slowly invaded the room and evaporated towards the ceiling.

Suddenly, a small child's cry echoed from somewhere down the hall. William swallowed heavily; Ellen was in charge of Charlie, but she didn't seem to be there anymore. The cries became louder, now undeniably from fear and maybe hurt. And Nana still wasn't back.

William's whole body trembled. He knew what he should do. He should get out from under the bed. He should go in the corridor and call for help. He should…but he couldn't move.

The unexpected 'crack' and 'bang' helped him along his decision as half of the bed was crushed under some parts of the ceiling. William hurriedly ran into the room and realized the door was now open. Parts of the wall had crumbled, offering an escape large enough for him to go through. The air was still hot and his vision starting to blurry, but he took a deep breath and ran into the corridor.

Everything was on fire. The wooden walls, the staircase, even the ceiling was flaming red. And there was smoke everywhere.

Charlie's screams were becoming weaker by the second. Luckily, an untouched path led him straight to the nursery. He covered his face with his sleeve and hurried to his brother. With some luck, Nana would have reached the nursery before him and…

William shouted in pain as his fingers touched the iron handle, now turning a deep shade of red, but he pushed the door open and entered the room. Oddly, the nursery was more spared than the rest of the house and Charlie was there, crying in his blue pyjama, hugging a purple and green dragon plush tightly. No sign of Ellen. And no sign of…

He turned around, panic spreading in his chest once again, and faced with tears in his eyes the corridor burning in flames.

"Nana!" he screamed. "Hemina!"

But no-one ever called back.

Luton, England.

The building had been burned to ashes, but rebuilt over a decade ago. As he looked at the muggle modern structure, Bill Weasley wondered vaguely if the current owners knew about its sordid past. Probably not; quite a few people would be spooked had they known two people had died in a fire there. Then again, the Ministry had conveniently Obliviated quite a few muggle back in the day. A shiver ran down his spine; sometimes, he wished they'd have done the same with him…

Bill shook that thought away immediately; forgetting that particular part of his childhood would be an insult to her existence. And he had very few memories left of her, as it was already. Time was a tricky thing, in overall.

He abandoned his observing and walked further down the pavement. If he stood too long at the same spot, memories would come and assault him. If he stared too long, someone was bound to stop and wonder about his interest in the residential building. And with his scarred face, people would remember him. He absentmindedly ran a finger over his now healed wound and involuntarily glanced back at the spot where their former house stood. A knot formed in his throat and he swallowed the guilt in the pit of his stomach.

It had been twenty years already.

"Is everything alright lad?"

Bill nearly jumped, startled at the sudden presence of an older man. The stranger stared at him with suspicion. The redhead winced inwardly.

"No, it's fine. I just…I use to live here." He added, nodding towards the building.

The man grunted something and let him be. Bill promptly left, feeling he was attracting more attention that warranted. He probably shouldn't have come by, but the pull, or morbid fascination, had been irresistible. No matter how hard he tried, he had to return and remember. Twenty years left him little of the memory of his sister, but he still felt the pull between them.

At the time he hadn't even realized it had existed. They were so close and inseparable; it had seemed natural for him to know where she stood at all times, to feel her strongest emotions. They were twins after all. But when Fred and Georges were born…they were tight, but it was obvious to Bill that their relation wasn't the same. They didn't have that…link, between them. Then again, Hemina had clearly been the dominant one, as he would always hide in her shadow, while the twins viewed each other on equal footing. And when she'd vanished, it had taken him years from his parents to convince him that she was indeed gone. He wouldn't feel her presence, but fear and pain and so many hurtful things instead –guilt for not following his sister that night, the magical nurse had said; he had screamed back that wherever she was, his Hemina was suffering.

And one day, just before his first year at Hogwarts, the overwhelming wave of emotions had stopped. The feelings were still there, simmering, but barely influencing his own anymore. That's when he had started believing he would never see her again.

Bill swallowed heavily and left the premises. Fleur was waiting for him at home with little Victoire, and he still had a few things to do before-

She was there.

The redhead froze on spot. His breath got caught in his throat and his hands shook slightly. Bill forced himself to calm down and glanced around. No wizard seemed to lurk in the corner. No-one was staring at him in particular. Hemina was dead, there was no way his guts could tell him where she stood. And yet, that odd familiar feeling was working its way through his chest. He briefly closed his eyes and allowed himself a few seconds to analyze it. No pain this time, no unease either. His whole body just yearned and ushered him to move forwards to meet with her. Wherever she was.

Bill inhaled sharply and decided to go with it.

His feet led him to a pub nearby and when he pushed the door open, the pull…faded as fast as it had appeared. The sudden loss nearly made him choke. What was the meaning of this? What had happened? Eyes scanned the crowd of clients, mostly men drinking a beer or other stuff he couldn't identify, a few women, couples, friends…and her.

A woman sat at a table in the far corner, nursing a glass while the man sitting across her talked about something entertaining. Red hair was loose over her shoulders and falling like a pool over red top. She was dressed casually but classy, most likely on a date with the other guy. When the other man paused in his narration, she lowered her glass and opened her mouth to speak in turn…

And suddenly she looked up and stared straight at him. The pull hit him in the guts again, and he barely stopped himself from screaming her name.

As if she had heard his thoughts, the woman narrowed her eyes in suspicion. For a full minute, Bill felt petrified. This couldn't be real. This woman couldn't be her. Hemina was dead, she died in the fire along with their babysitter, she…

The woman's frown deepened at his insistent staring and he realized he had attracted the man's attention as well. A blonde man dressed in a sleeveless shirt, showing off his enormous arms. And he didn't look pleased. Bill swallowed heavily –he might be a wizard, but even he tended not to meddle with muscled muggles -and took another good look at the woman. Although she was a redhead, she didn't have the Weasley's common features. Her jaw was sharper, lips fuller and her eyes…damn those eyes. The eyes were maybe the only exception he could make. But it didn't mean a thing, and he didn't want to raise his hopes. She looked younger than him anyway, maybe twenty-two, while he would be turning thirty in a few months.

This woman couldn't be Hemina, he concluded sadly. Hemina was just a memory, a ghost haunting his mind and from which he couldn't part. His guilt wouldn't allow him to. So he turned around and walked out of the pub, shoulders slump and, for the first time in years, biting back the urge to scream.

TEW

"Does that guy seem familiar to you?"

Clint stopped talking and, with her verbal permission given, glanced openly at the person she had been staring at. She wondered if he saw what she did: a tall redhead man in his late twenties, dressed in an outfit that had seen better days yet nowhere close to deterioration, a nasty scar on his face…looking like he had just seen a ghost.

"Seems like he knows you," Clint replied cautiously. From his light frown, Natasha could tell he was memorizing every inch of the man's face. She returned to observing the guy and took careful notice as his expression shifted from astonishment to suspicion, then disbelief and guilt. After a few minutes of staring contest, the man swallowed heavily, bit his lower lip, and walked out of the bar, shoulders slumped down. Natasha suddenly felt an odd pang in her chest, a sort of longing to reach out for him and comfort him. Not in a romantic sense, but more like…she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The only times she had ever wanted to be of comfort to anyone was the guy sitting across the table.

"Must have realized you weren't who he was looking for. Tasha?" Clint called her and was confused when he realized her eyes hadn't left the exit door.

"I…I think I know him." She said slowly. "I felt something, when he looked at me and it's like…" It was a vague intuition, but her guts had never wronged her before. She could be mistaking of course, but a little voice in the back of her mind encouraged her to pursue her line of thoughts. "I might have met him before."

Clint became a lot more focused. Her friend was gone, and now Hawkeye was back in place, waiting for her assessment.

"Is he trouble?"

Natasha hesitated.

"No, I don't think so." She answered truthfully. "It wasn't a dangerous vibe. More like a…an old acquaintance." She dropped a few bills on the table to cover their drinks and walked towards the door in turn. "Come on."

Clint followed her without questioning her decision, which she was grateful for. Anybody else might have demanded more information, but the archer had long proved he didn't need her to explain her every move. Three years into their partnership and she was still getting used to have somebody to rely on.

The pair exited the bar swiftly and stopped outside. The streets were deserted and neither could spot the man. Next to her, Clint was grimacing. Natasha cursed. If he of all people couldn't see him, then the man was truly out of their reach.

"I took a picture when he was staring at you," Clint said, showing his SHIELD issued phone. The redhead suddenly felt the urge to bang her head against the wall; why hadn't she thought of that? "I'll send it to Maria. She can run a facial recognition."

"Please do." She said gratefully and glanced one last time around, wondering how the man had vanished so quickly. "I want to know who he is."