Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Chapter 1: The Warlocks Hairy Heart

"Unaware of his secret, the warlock's family laughed to see him so aloof and cold."

Arthur pulled his wife to him. Molly giggled. They'd had maybe one too many drinks between them and it was affecting their balance. No apparating, that was for certain. Fifteen years they'd been together, Fifteen wonderful years. They'd survived the conception of seven beautiful children and one terrible war. They'd buried loved ones and saw the fall of a dark lord at the hands of a babe.

The anniversary of their marriage.

A celebration of love and endurance.

Arthur giggled manically. This beautiful woman was his forever and always. How did he get so lucky? He bid Tom goodnight, the bar keeper waving while magic floated around them, glasses being scrubbed by towels, bottles pouring wine, counters shining themselves.

"Do you think Bilius got them all asleep?" Molly slurred.

"I'm sure he did just fine."

"The twins are probably still up," Molly sighed. "They have that man curled around their little fingers. I think Bilius still feels guilty about the argument he had with Gideon and Fabien before…" She hiccupped.

"Hush dear, I'm they are all fine," Arthur said, trying to draw her away from such dark thoughts. "They will be asleep. Bilius will have taken the couch. And we can sneak passed all of them and have a little fun."

It worked, she giggled, pulling at his loosened tie to bring him down to her much shorter level. She kissed the side of his mouth. He dragged her closer, deepening the kiss and sighing in contentment. Protection. They needed protection, because as much as he dearly loved and cherished all of his children, making seven into eight was a terrible idea at the moment.

"Floo, then potion, then fun," Arthur muttered as he grabbed a handful of powder.

Molly gripped her own.

They were back at the burrow within seconds, stumbling into the living room, trying to be as quiet as possible, but failing. Their feet stomped and their toes seemed to hit every piece of furniture.

"Bilius," Molly stage whispered. "We've come to rescue you!"

She fell into a fit of giggles. Arthur smiled at her before looking around. His big brother wasn't sleeping on the couch. It was quite late, but the man had always been a night owl, so he wasn't surprised.

"Bilius," Arthur called, walking into the kitchen. It too was empty. He headed towards the stairs and as quietly as a six-foot-tall, highly intoxicated, love drunk self could manage, he checked the rooms one by one. It wasn't until he'd checked Ginny's room near the top that a nauseas feeling began to pull into his stomach.

Ron's room was the only one left.

For as long as Arthur could remember, his brother had been… eccentric. Bilius wore thick gloves all the time and the man always wanted new things. He refused to touch anything from a thrift shop or any of Arthur's muggle devices. Not that Bilius was a prude, he was very casual actually, very careful with his money, but these contradictions only weighed more heavily upon his known status as odd.

His big brother was a wonderful human being. Charming, funny, though some of his jokes could be inappropriate, his pranks more so on occasion. Arthur loved him. There was also an oldness to him. As if he'd seen far more than he'd ever wanted to. As if he'd traveled the world more than once and felt entirely too tired of it all. That hadn't started until his eccentricities did. It was while they'd been at Hogwarts, Arthurs third year and Bilius sixth.

Though Arthur asked many times what changed during that year, Bilius remained tight lipped and cold towards him when the subject came up, and only on this subject, ever. So Arthur eventually dropped it.

Bilius never married. Much to their mother's chagrin. The man never showed any interest in it. When Arthur had hesitantly broached the subject, Bilius replied:

"You're supposed to spend your entire life getting to know the ins and outs of your partner. It's what keeps it interesting. Learning the depths of their courage, the strength of their compassion, the little things that surprise you. I can't be surprised. I can't be intimate with another person. Most of the time, I can't even be myself. How could I ever doom another human being to the hell that would be being with me?"

Arthur didn't understand most of what was said. But he understood the pain and the sadness that laced those words. He knew his brother did not like hugs, but he threw his arms around the man anyways. Squeezing the tense muscles under him briefly before pulling away.

"Don't talk like that," Arthur scolded, searching his brother's eyes. "You're a great person. Don't sell yourself short."

Bilius just gave him a strained smile in reply.

The subject only came up a few more times, mainly in the presence of his mother. Their father passed away a long time ago, the death having taken a toll on all of them, but especially Bilius. They had been much closer than Arthur had been to either of them. Secretive.

With each child that came into this world, Bilius seemed more unhappy. Though he loved the children, he stated that the Weasley line was one he thought should end. Not one to breed all over the place. Why he felt this way, Arthur never managed to get his brother to tell him.

Never the less, Bilius loved his kids, especially Fred and George, but Arthur had a inkling that the twins were a strange mix of Molly's twin older brothers and his own. How it happened, genetically, he will never know, but there it was. The twins really weren't anything like he or Molly, too mischious for their own good and taking far too much delight in the misfortunes of others. Though Arthur would admit taking an unhealthy, long laugh when Lucius Malfoy tripped and fell into the fountain half a year ago during a festival. Chuckle.

That's why what happened was so devastating.

Fabion and Gideon had called first dibs holding Ron after Molly and himself. Bilius had waited patiently for his turn. Just as he always did. He always looked so disapproving when Arthur first announced another child coming, but he always looked wide eyed and awe struck when he got to hold them.

It had been the same with Ron, at first, Bilius held the small redhead to him, bouncing him up and down gently, though that seemed hardly necessary seeing as the moment the babe left Gideon's arms to his brother's, he'd quieted. With the baby still in his arms, he carefully removed his thick gloves and let his fingers be gripped by tiny fingers.

When Ronald's fist encircled Bilius large knuckle though, something changed. His brother looked devastated.

"What's wrong?" Arthur demanded, taking two quick strides over and swooping the baby out of his older brother's arms. He looked down to see big blue eyes looking up at him curiously, a tiny yawn showing no signs of distress or being hurt. Bilius eyes never left Ronald.

"Nothing's wrong Arthur, just thinking about something Dad said once," Bilius murmured. "I've been here too long. I think it's time I head out. Paperwork won't fill itself out."

"Don't be a git," Fabion told Bilius. "The babe's just popped out, sorry Molls, wrong term. Besides, you promised you'd help watch the kids for the next few days."

Bilius shook his head, like the thought burned him.

"Well then, perhaps they should have figured out that five kids is more than plenty to take care of," Bilius muttered.

"What did you say?" Gideon snapped, eyes blazing.

"I think leaving would be a good idea," Arthur cut in, searching his brother's eyes for an explanation. "Come back when you've got your head on straight."

"Haven't had my head on straight since I was sixteen," Bilius said. "But I know what you mean. It's for the best. I'll talk to you later, Arthur."

He apologized later for the incident, but Molly had refused to talk to him for several months longer. His words falling away from her not unlike she'd cast a protego.

Like many things before it; Bilius frail immune system (and his constant sickness), their father's suicide, their mother's depression, Bilius social nature yet refusal to be social- like all of these things- Bilius's tendency to not go near Ron was also swept under the rug.

Ron tended to stay away from Bilius just as much. Oddly enough. The toddler scrunched up his nose whenever his Uncle came around. Bilius never tried to pick him up like the other children and, despite being a child in need of attention, never asked Bilius to pick him up. Arthur didn't know what to make of it.

Shortly after Ron had turned four, they were in the kitchen, Bilius had come over to borrow some of Molly's pans in preparation for their mother's arrival in his home. Bilius owned very little in the way of cooking utensils and went to every expense to hide his lack of domesticity from their mother each time she visited. Arthur couldn't argue, before Molly's cooking, he too preferred take out (still did on occasion).

"I'm sorry, Bilius, it seems I've misplaced the cooking pot," Arthur muttered.

He passed by Ron. His shoulder brushing against Ron's as the little boy tugged and tried to muscle his way through the workings of the puzzle Percy had set up on the table for him. Ron looked up suddenly to stare at his dad.

"Don't you remember?" Ron piped up.

"Well, that's the problem," Arthur chuckled, bemused.

Ron pointed to an upper cabinet on the other side of the kitchen.

"You put it up there because mummy said that 'the blasted thing' kept falling out and hitting her. So you took it and put it where it wasn't so crowded. You said your mummy was stupid for getting it for you in the first place," Ron said solemnly.

Arthur cringed.

"Did I now?" He murmured. He remembered now, though he could have sworn that Ron or any of his children were not in the house that day. They'd been playing hide and seek in the woods. Perhaps Ron had wandered back in without them knowing, seeking to outsmart his fellow siblings.

"Uh-huh," Ron nodded his head, "And you swore. A lot."

Yes, yes he had. For while he was getting the pot down it had fallen on his head. He glanced over at Bilius, wanting to swear his brother to silence on this matter. Molly would certainly not see it as an accident and his big brother was not below tattling to get back into the good graces of the woman around them. But Bilius did not seem to be paying attention. He was ashen faced, eyes blankly staring ahead, though in the general direction of… Ron.

He looked back at Ron, but his boy was fixated on the puzzle as if he'd never been interrupted in the first place. He walked up to Bilius and shook the older man. Bilius pulled away automatically, Arthur tried to brush it off, as he'd done all these years. This time seemed more… severe though.

"This has to stop," Arthur growled.

If Ron ever found out his Uncle had a problem with him then his little boy would be hurt. He wouldn't let Bilius's eccentricities hurt his little boy in any way. The man shook himself like a dog, nodding his head in agreement.

"Listen, little bro, there's something I have to tell you, something me and dad didn't think you would ever have to deal with."

That got Arthur's attention.

"What is it?" Arthur demanded, "Wait! Let me get Ron down, take him to Molly, then we can talk in private."

"Actually, it's fine if he hears," Bilius told him, waving his hand dismissively. "It would probably be best if the whole family heard. But just the two of you first." Arthur scooped Ron into his arms. The puzzle clinked against his neck as Ron automatically put his hands around his father. They went to the kitchen counter where Bilius set a silencing charm up and sealed both the windows and doors.

"What's this about Billy?" Arthur asked, using the nickname from so long ago.

"You know the rumor about the Prewitt's right? About how they might be the descendants of Gryffindor?" Molly and her brother's (let the twins rest in peace, those good men) had always dismissed such claims, but they still hung around the old pureblood family. Arthur nodded.

"The Weasley's are a good family," Bilius continued, pacing back and forth through the kitchen. "But they weren't always that way. They didn't always stand up for the rights of half breeds and muggles. They weren't always labeled as blood traitors."

That was news to him. He brought Ron closer, giving his brother a look.

"Is this really something that should be talked about in front of a four-year-old?" Arthur demanded.

"No," Bilius agreed, "But he needs to hear this. The Weasley's once practiced dark magic."

"Billy!" Arthur snapped, covering Ron's ears. He stood up with his baby boy who frowned up at them.

"Arthur, he needs to hear this!" Bilius followed Arthur, blocking the door. "The Weasley's experimented with dark magic! Bringing up dark memories to the surface of a person, taking the soul from another human being, causing others to feel depressed, like they were never going to be happy again!"

"Four years old!" Arthur pulled out his wand, motioning it threateningly at Bilius. "Four. Years. Old."

"Your child is one of them!"

Dead silence.

"Well," Bilius started, a sheepish expression on his face, "Not exactly practicing dark magic... a creature of dark magic."

"Creature?" A small voice squeaked. Big watery eyes looked up at them, trembling lips overlain by horrified words. He clung to Arthur, staring up at his Uncle with pained eyes. Bilius looked wracked with guilt and pity.

"Get out!"

"Let me explain!"

"Out!"

"You need to know the truth!"

"Get out of my house, Bilius!"

Arthur sent a jinx his brother's way. The man jumped back, but didn't manage to avoid it entirely. His mouth went slack, rendered useless and rubbery for the next few days. Bilius sagged and grabbed his bag, cooking pot forgotten, to the sound of a wailing child.

"Shhhhh, it's okay Ronnie," Arthur murmured. "You're no such thing. You hear me? No such thing."

He hadn't had the heart to tell Molly what his brother had done. Still, he didn't let Bilius come around for a long time. When he'd finally allowed his brother back in, it was only with the vehement promise that he would never tell any of his children things like that again. Bilius had promised. Swore up and down on his grave that he wouldn't dare. His big brother claimed that he'd temporarily lost his common sense. It wouldn't happen again.

And now…

Arthur took the steps two at a time, suddenly feeling, not sober, but more alert. He burst through Ron's door, but there was no one there. Not even Ron. Arthur's heart clenched. Trying to rationalize. Bilius wouldn't hurt Ron. He just needed to find them.

Arthur stormed down the stairs, checking every room, not being careful this time. Waking his children as he hit walls and nearly fell down the slope of stairs. Molly came out of their bedroom, her hair pulled halfway out of its hold.

"What in the world…"

"Bilius isn't here, Ron's gone," Arthur croaked. Molly stumbled back as if he'd physically struck her.

"You don't think something happened, do you? An emergency? Do you think their at St. Mungos?" Molly babbled.

It suddenly occurred to Arthur how terrible a mistake it had been to not tell her about what had caused Bilius estrangement. He'd told her it had been a horrible argument. He hadn't wanted Molly to hate his big brother. He loved Bilius.

He should have…

Arthur raced to the backyard, sending his patronus out to search as he scanned the area. Checked the wards. The floo. There hadn't been floo travel in hours, around the time they'd left. Which meant that they were either nearby or Bilius had apparated them away. Arthur marched back in to see his wife's head in the fireplace. She pulled it out, looking stricken.

"What?! Are they there? Is Ron hurt? Is he alright?" Arthur practically shouted.

"There not there," Molly whispered.

The bottom of his stomach ripped open before stuffing itself into the chambers of his heart, trying to burst it from the inside out.

"What's going on?" Percy grumbled, Arthur looked up, seeing that his children had wandered down. Bill was looking scared, the oldest of his children, he seemed to have the most grasp on what was going on.

""Where did Uncle Bilius take Ronnie?" Bill demanded.

"No fair!" Fred snapped. "Why does Ron get to go with Uncle Bilius? At night!?"

At night.

At. Night.

NIGHT!

Arthur turned, running from the house like a madman, apparating the moment his body passed the wards. He reappeared at his brother's star gazing spot. A stone slab fallen upon felled trees just by the river. A mile away from their childhood home.

Whimpering and crying. Child and man. His son and brother.

Arthur whirled, the sight before him cementing into the soft pink membrane inside his skull. His brother with tears streaming down his face, sniffling, bawling his eyes out. A long knife in his hands, glowing with magic, the sharp edge glittering in the moonlight. Ron, his head tilted back, forcibly, with the knife against his neck. The six-year-old was whimpering, tears quietly slipping from his eyes. The stark smell of urine in the air.

In that moment, he could have snapped his brother's neck with his bare hands.

Arthur struck Bilius down with a vicious slash of his wand. It left him unconscious, but alive. No thought to his brother entered his mind even as the knife clattered to the stone once, twice, darkening to a dull grey. His arms wrapped around his little boy. Ron fell into them, curling up and sobbing loudly, a bundle of snot and tears and piss.

The heaving little chest moved against his own and Arthur realized he was having a panic attack. That he couldn't get his arms to go around Ron tight enough, strong enough, long enough. Arthur rocked back and forth, saying things, he didn't know what things, but just that they were said out loud and that Ron didn't seem to be hearing them at all. He cradled his baby boy's head and kissed his forehead and trembled in sync with his son.

Seconds.

Ron had been seconds away from death.

Eventually ice began to settle on their heads and the shivering developed between them was more than terror and relief, but cold. Arthur moved his stiff legs, glancing at his brother blankly as he tried to figure out what to do next. He was reluctant to let go of his boy, but Bilius needed to be tied up.

Merlin.

He needed to tie up his brother.

Arthur hugged Ron to him. The six-year-old fast asleep, worn out. A thought struck him. Arthur gently turned Ron over, pulling his shirt up, checking for injury. No bruises. No obvious hurt. Bilius hadn't hurt him. Not physically.

When he'd managed to gather his wits to himself, he sent a patronus to the Aurors. They arrived soon after, and an Auror apparated Ron to a healer for treatment. Arthur didn't trust himself, drunk as he still was, to bring his child there.

He was getting ready to side apparate, watching as men gathered up his unconscious brother, when it happened. When it all went to shit.

Bilius had woken.

He suddenly found himself flying through the air and hitting the ground hard. The breath was knocked out of him. Arthur rolled onto his knees to see his brother running, the Healers hot on his trail, with his wand out.

"Don't let Ron near any Death! It will awaken the curse to its full potential! Dementors will worsen it, make him lose control!" Bilius screamed over the sound of jinxes flying about.

"Bilius!" Arthur shouted, though his words died, as one of the Healers got an impediment jinx in. His brother went down hard.

"The Grim is coming for me! Arthur, I love you, tell mum I love her! I won't make it to morning. Tell the family I love them! Tell the twins to keep up the good work! Tell Ron he's not a monster. I didn't mean it that way. Tell him I'm sorry!"

The Healers hauled him to his feet, bringing Bilius towards a portkey. Tears sprang to his eyes. Why did it have to be like this? How had it gotten this bad without Arthur noticing? Without anyone noticing?

"They're going to take care of you."

Now that it was over, now that he was being taken away, the cold fury was being taken with it. Arthur couldn't look at his brother, couldn't watch the man who'd taken care of him after their father's suicide be dragged away to an insane asylum.

Bilius had stopped struggling. Red hair toppling forward to throw his face into what looked like a wild inferno. His eyes had lost all of its light. Dulled beyond recognition. There was no blue left. Just a dark, dark grey.

"I forgive you, Arthur. Know that I don't hold this against you. It's our own fault. Not telling you. Keeping you and mum in the dark. You could have helped me handle it better. But I was so afraid you'd reject me. Think me a monster. It's taken a long time to see myself as something other than some hybrid freak. You've always been so compassionate and accepting, I don't know why I thought you would betray me when you learned of this. This isn't a betrayal. You're just trying to help."

"We need to be going Mr. Weasley. Don't worry. We'll take good care of your brother," one of the two Healers said kindly.

"Thank you, I will be by in a few days, once I've cleared some time from work." To Bilius he said. "We'll fix this. I'll be there soon enough and we'll find a way to help you."

Bilius just smiled weakly as he was ported away.

Arthur never got the chance to 'fix it.' Just as his brother predicted, he did not make it to morning. He sat in shocked silence in the mental portion of St. Mungo's, staring up at the down turned expressions on the Healer's face. The man understood as much as Arthur did. There had been no indication that Bilius was going to die. The man was in perfect health. There was no diagnosis to show that he had been ill. It was as if he simply faded throughout the night into death.

Lost and confused he said nothing through the funeral, simple head his mother as she sobbed while Molly squeezed his hand.

"Don't let Ron near any Death!"

Despite his reigning disbelief that his brother's death had anything to do with the Grim… He did not let Ron go to the funeral. Or any funeral. Or any graveyard. Or anything that had anything to do with Death. Whether his brother was insane or not, he would not chance his little boy on being wrong.

Not when he'd done so to his own brother.

Now though, as he sat staring at his youngest son, cheerfully playing with Ginny, he wished he'd begged his brother to tell him about what exactly the curse was. That last day with his brother, he'd been trying and trying to tell Arthur something, and he'd refused to listen. Perhaps his brother had been crazy, Arthur prayed the man had been, for Ron's sake. If not… then Merlin help his child.

Eddie Thompson had been practicing prepping bodies for death ten years now. His wife was a rather beautiful witch, out of his league might he add, who worked as an Auror when they met. He was a muggle born, brother of a wizard, who got his degree from the University of England. Wizards held no stock in such things, but his wife had pleaded his case, ensuring that they both had jobs in the magical world so he would not have to travel great lengths for work each day.

It was safe to say that he'd seen some… odd things. Wizards tended to not die by normal means. Many of the deaths were unnaturally unpleasant. One witch hit the grave through accidental enlargement of her brain, the matter, squeezing out from her ears and even her mouth. She'd been trying to enlarge her dog so that the kids could ride on him like a pony. Such an awful tragedy.

Then there was the Veela who had been kissed to death. Kissed to death! She'd had so many admirers that she'd inadvertently caused a mob with her beauty. They'd not allowed the poor woman to breathe!

And don't get him started on the war victims! Imploded lungs. Water drownings on land. Victims who looked like they'd been eaten alive by spiders or dogs. Half smashed bodies from giants and troll attacks. What a mess.

Things did not surprise Eddie Thompson anymore. He rolled with the punches and kept on kicking. Still, when Bilius Weasley's body came into his morgue, it was one of the odder ones.

"There's nothing left of his magical core," Roger's told him, standing stiff and uncomfortable at the end of the table. Nothing new there. Eddie quietly snickered. No wife and spent too much of his money on gambling for a whore. The man needed to get laid, like 'five years ago needed to get laid.'

"Come across a dementor then, huh?" Eddie murmured as he flipped through the pages of the man's profile. Odd, the papers listed that the man had blue eyes, but the pair staring up at his ceiling, unblinkingly, were a very dull milky grey. Like he'd been blind for years. Though, according to his papers, the man could see perfectly fine.

"No dementor," Rogers informed him.

Eddie's head snapped up.

"Magical cores don't just disappear," Eddie drawled. Roger did tend to be slower than the average bloke, but this was a bit much. "They're linked to the soul. Only insanely dark magic or a dementor could remove it, even in death."

"No dark magic," Roger's stated slowly, staring Eddie in the eye, "and no dementor."

"Magic has rules, just like everything else in the universe," Eddie snapped. "One or the other conditions has to exist for this to be possible. Either the universe is wrong or you are."

"Well hot damn, I beat the universe."

"You missed something."

"Bloke was in an insane asylum. Magic only used by high clearance individuals. No dementor a hundred miles within reach. Don't want them getting worse, ya know?"

"I suggest sending an investigative team then, because someone is dark and dirty," Eddie growled.

"I investigated."

"I meant professionals."

"And what would a muggle know about magical professionals?"

Silence fell upon them both.

It had been a long while since any of the Aurors or his colleagues dared to talk about what Eddie did and didn't know about the wizarding world. Roger was breathing hard. There was an air of slight regret, but too much anger clouded his eyes for any apology to be said. He took a step back, then another, before turning completely and walking briskly out the door.

Eddie sat down on his small medical chair, the wheels squealing as they slid back along tile. Tonight he would go home and snuggle with his wife and pretend as if he didn't live in a world that did not want him in it.

Right now though, right now he needed to have Mr. Bilius Weasley examined. The poor sod. Eddie stripped the man of clothing, taking note of the ridiculous amount of pockets. There was a cut on the bottom of the man's foot he would examine later. He started from the head, going downwards. Magical readings automatically went over the body without his involvement. They were set up by his boss, to do the few things that Eddie could not. He paid them no mind.

Besides the wrong colored eyes… nothing seemed out of place. The man was emaciated, for reasons he couldn't fathom. He had been deprived of nutrition for a long while, though his stomach seemed inclined to tell of regular means, as it wasn't shrunken or irregular in any way.

The man looked both oddly old and young at the same time. As if he'd been diagnosed of terminal illness as a babe and lived each day waiting to die. A full head of hair, good skin, but eyelids that were unnaturally wrinkled, hands with callouses from work and worry. Nails bit down until the tips of bloodied fingers showed.

"What were you afraid of?" Eddie murmured.

He scanned the profile again, eyes catching on something.

"That doesn't bode well at all."

Eddie closed the profile with a snap. Looking at the man who died in a heavily guarded, highly magically restricted, insane asylum… not even twenty four hours after he'd been admitted through the removal of his magical core.

"You pissed off some mighty bad people, didn't you, Mr. Weasley?"

The man said nothing back. Eddie sighed. It was days like these that he wished he could do something more. Be something more. Weasley. Where had he heard that name before? Pureblood family, probably. His wife was always going on about how the purebloods were the reason the war happened and that if the Ministry had any common sense they would have made an example out of them.

Eddie moved downwards, going over the private area quickly, ten years and one would think it would lessen the awkwardness. But no, the first dick examination was just as disturbing as the thousandth. He wished he was more nonchalant about such matters, like his wife on the field. Passionate in the home, but stoic in the office. He didn't change from location to location. He was always short tempered and overanalyzing and high strung no matter what the circumstances.

Just the feet. Then he could go home. Apologize, Mr. Weasley, but it really has been a rather long day. He squinted at the cut; something was off about it. He readjusted his glasses, taking them off and cleaning them of all the specks and fog the cold room tended to cause. It came into focus.

Eddie gaped.

It was… words. Carved into the skin in deep gashes, letters only barely readable. But they were readable. A chill ran down his spine as he read the warning. Eddie pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, slowly writing out the words until they etched across the paper. But despite moving from skin to parchment, the words still rang ominous.

He moved to put the paper in his pocket, but the message seemed too… vital, to keep on him. He looked around the room, finding his notebook, a gift from his wife with all his observations written there. No one ever touched that book. Not even his beloved.

He slipped the note inside and walked back over to Bilius.

This man was not insane. Eddie felt that sentiment in his bones. Whatever had happened to him, whether it was murder or something else, Bilius had known it was coming. Had tried to warn people. And had been ignored and locked up for it.

The sound of a dog barking echoed through the halls.

Eddie twisted, all color draining from his being. He glanced at Bilius, feeling his insides squirm. He ran to the door, left open by Roger, slamming it shut with too much force. He heart beat fast, then faster, too fast.

His heart skipped a beat.

Two beats.

All beats.

Eddie staggered, hands reaching out to grasp the table. It groaned, but didn't give, instead Eddie did. He hit the ground, eyes staring up at the feet of Bilius Weasley. The lines of words engraved began to fade. The skin rippled before smoothing out. He croaked, his lungs trying to gain breath, even while the blood stopped flowing. The heart's pumps stilled.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his notebook aflame. The parchment turning black before his fading sight. A single, small note slipped onto the ground. The last words he would every write beginning to blacken into nothing.

The last of the letters disappeared alongside Eddie Thompson's life.

The Grim has plans for Ron.

The Grim did, in fact, come in the form of a black dog. Though Ron figured most wouldn't believe it to be a small Jack Russell Terrier. He often saw it watching him from afar, eyes intent and observing.

What most people were unaware of though was that a dog was not its only form. The Grim could sometimes be seen as a frighteningly beautiful woman, a disfigured little boy, or on the rare occasion, a haggard looking crow. Ron knew it could be anything it wanted, but these were the forms it preferred.

Ron only knew what this observing, intent creature was because of Uncle Bilius. On one of the rare occasions he'd babysat Ron and his siblings, his Uncle had caught him staring out the window at it and had almost ripped his arm off to turn him away. Uncle Bilius had warned him to never look and to keep as far away from it as possible. Apparently only a few could see it and if you were unfortunate enough to have the ability then you were also one of the few among the living who the Grim would touch. So Ron only let himself look out of the corner of his eye and the few ties he heard it speak he refused to respond.

His dad had told him that Uncle Bilius had lied. He'd been adamant about how Uncle Bilius had been sick, how nothing that he said could or would come true. Ron knew better though. His dad didn't want Uncle Bilius words to hurt, but the problem was that his Uncle had never lied to Ron. Not about being a monster. Not about the Grim. How could he ignore his words when more and more often the Grim showed up?

Specifically, Ron couldn't ignore the grim when it was following him into the toy shop in Diagone Alley. The Jack Russell, for once, wasn't paying attention to Ron, who was avidly avoiding it in the figuring section. It seemed on the hunt for something. Ron fought not to stare as it stopped in front of Meredith Binns.

The store owner of Fizzle Fits Toy Shop could not see the Grim. Like so many others the aging woman continued on with her routine as if nothing was amiss, fiddling with a blue bird toy, its beak opening to break into song, but one that faded in and out. She poked at it with her wand, muttering under her breath. As Ron watched Grim watching Meredith Binns, it seemed that Death was content to simply wait. It wasn't until the woman stood that the Grim padded over and almost gently pressed its nose to the woman's leg.

Ron gasped.

She… the woman hadn't buckled or even noticed, but she'd turned dark. Panicked, Ron leaped from his spot, stepping toward the Grim.

"What did you do?" Ron demanded, his fear increasing as he noticed dark webs spreading out from her leg. As all other people have when Ron came near, Meredith Binns wilted within Ron's presence, looking surprised at him before glancing down at the toy in her hands.

"Well, I was trying to repair this, but it seems rather hopeless, doesn't it?"

Ron stilled as he realized how ridiculous he must look and how quickly his presence had affected the cheerful looking old woman. Ron glanced around and cringed as he noticed two children who had been wandering around when he walked in sitting on the floor and glaring at the toys they were holding. This was why he avoided people. This was why he didn't want to go when his mum told him to get ready. Everyone else was going though and his mum didn't think he was old enough to stay at home by himself. From its spot a few feet away the Grim grinned savagely, its teeth snapping in excitement.

"Er…" Ron pointed at the blue bird, trying to fix his mistake. "I don't think so. It's lovely really. The way it fades in and out sounds like it's supposed to be that way."

Meredith Binns smiled warmly at him, Ron was taken aback, startled by the action. There was a sag in her shoulders and older and sadder around him, but… she still had the ability to smile? Odd.

"That's very sweet, but I'm afraid I am simply not as good as I used to be when it comes to animating toys. In my youth I could have hummingbirds and ravens flying about this place, singing in harmony and taking turns doing solos." She gestured to the bird. "This one can barely deliver a message across a room.

Ron reached forward and picked up the toy, feeling carved wood beneath his fingers, dark blue swirls etched along the wing and body a slightly lighter shade of blue. On its chest was a chamber, a small silver keyhole to open it. The wooden bird chirped at him, the sound pitching high at the end. Ron smiled. It was as dysfunctional as he was. The wing fluttered in his hands and he wondered if this was what an animal felt like. Hermes and Scabbers always fled from him, like they knew he was a monster.

"Kid," Ron looked up to see Meredith Binns staring at him. "What's your name?"

"Ron."

Ron didn't hold his hand out though, like mum taught him, because only bad things happened when he touched people. He'd rather not have anything happen to the nice lady in front of him.

"Ron, huh? Now why does such a sweet kid look so lonely?"

Ron blushed, feeling his ears turn red, but also awe at the lady in front of him. She seemed oddly resistant to the despair. He glanced around the cheery little toy shop and wondered if this place was the cause of it or if the woman herself caused the cheer.

~~"You should be honest with her."

Ron refused to look up at the voice. The gravelly croak told him that the Grim had morphed into the image of a disfigured child. The crooked jaw and bugged out eyes always unsettling him.

~~"She doesn't have long. There is no danger."

Ron tried very hard not to understand what the creature was saying, but deep in his gut he sort of knew. Ron glanced at the doomed woman, wanting to warn her, but knowing he wouldn't be taken seriously. So instead Ron did something he hadn't before. He listened to the Grim.

"Do you know what a Veela is?" Ron asked. Charlie had talked about them once and he'd been fascinated by the human like creatures so opposite of himself. Meredith Binns eyed him curiously but answered anyways.

"Magical beings capable of charm and seduction. Beautiful, but can also be rather dangerous."

"Charlie said they secrete a magic in the air that causes others to adore them. My magic is like the opposite. It causes people to want to do anything to get away from me. It causes them to be sad and to feel hopeless."

Meredith Binns looked ready to protest when a startled look came about her. She sat back in her chair and her face went blank for a moment before she stared at Ron for a good long minute. Her face filled with pity and emotions Ron wasn't how to label. The emotions were similar to the look his mum got when she thought about her dead brothers though, but not quite the same.

"I'm so sorry you've had to suffer that."

She reached for the bird and gently removed it from Ron's hand. She was going to kick him out. She was too nice to be mean about it, but he'd upset her and now she was going to make him leave. Ron braced for the disappointment, straightening up and biting his lip to try to keep the hurt at bay.

He'd never told anyone about his curse before. He shouldn't have been so stupid. Of course she would want him out. She might even…

"Have you ever seen the charms they put in mirrors? To give feedback?" The ball inside his gut loosened at her calm tone. He shook his head. "They're very complicated. They take several weeks to make and you have to have a personality in mind when your crafting it or else it won't work." She gestured for him to follow her into the back room. Ron did o, despite feeling the crooked approving smile of the Grim as the child dragged itself behind Ron.

When they entered the back room, Meredith Binns walked over to a small drawer and pulled out a set of large marbles, about the size of shooters or fizzles.

"Now these were made by my daughter. It's her specialty, animation and transfiguration charms, usually these are melted into the glass of the mirror, but have a better idea in mind."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, gazing at the shelves and shelves of half made toys in curiosity.

"What house do you want to be in Ron?"

There was no need to say anymore. Every magical child knew what she meant and Ron beamed at being asked.

"Gryffindor," Ron announced with no hesitation. Then more shyly he added. "I'm not sure if I'm brave enough though. A lot of things scare me."

"It's not about if they scare you. It's about how you let being scared affect you."

"What about you?" Ron asked.

"I was a Hufflepuff."

Ron thought hard, but there wasn't a single thing he remembered about the house.

"What do they stand for?"

"Loyalty. Kindness. Hard work. It is a house where you find friends that last a life time. Where you learn to appreciate the minds and souls of human beings and how to help them to the best of your ability."

"Wicked," Ron breathed. He'd give anything to have friends, to not have a monster breathing down his neck, and to be able to talk to people without worrying that he was hurting them by being there. The Hufflepuff house sounded wonderful, though Ron knew that whatever house he was in, it wouldn't change what he was. It wouldn't change the fact that Ron was a walking cloud of despair for people.

Meredith Binns smiled at him and Ron preened under her light. It felt so good, so warm, that he never wanted to leave. It was so… nice, to be near someone who didn't turn nasty and cold when he came close.

"I think I know which one to pick now," the woman muttered. She took a key from one of the drawers and popped open the bird's chest, it chirped indignantly at her. Then she picked up a yellow-pink shooter and slipped it into the chamber before closing it up. And then a funny thing happened; the wooden eyes began to glow a bright yellow, contrasting well against the shadow of blue.

"What did you do?" Ron asked, tracing the chamber. The bird shivered then chirped. It ruffled it's feathers and then the head turned to Ron.

"Helloowww," the bird tried out, before its beak clicked shut and it tried again. "I love your blue scarf. It brings out those big blue eyes of yours."

Ron gapped at the gruff feminine voice before glancing at Meredith Binns who was beaming with pride.

"How did it know…" Ron pulled at the knitted scarf.

"It's a mirror persona, meant to give feedback. It starts out with the basics but grows as it gets to know you."

The bird's head tipped to the side, the motion sticking there, clicking as sit tried to right itself.

"Why do I move?" It asked.

"Because you're not a mirror, dearie, you are a bird."

"Pretty bird?" It asked.

Meredith Binns rolled her eyes. She leaned towards Ron.

"All mirrors are the same; completely obsessed with looks. I had a mirror with a black stain on it once. He insisted I cover it up with a new type of illusion every few weeks."

Ron grinned, reaching out to pet the bird's head.

"Very pretty," Ron assured.

It preened, sticking neck clicking away

"It's animation charm is off," Meredith Binns sighed, "but it's the best I can do now. Can you do me a favor, Ron?"

"What sort of favor?"

Too long with the twins had taught him to never agree without knowing what you were agreeing to.

"Will you name her?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you, she needs a name now that we've given her a personality."

His mind instantly went to the clever witch in Babbitty Rabbitty, but this was a bird and it didn't seem particularly clever. Rowena was a pretty name and the Ravenclaw symbol was of a bird, but this one was more of a magpie than a raven. He thought of Ginny's favorite story; of the three witches and the knight, and knew the perfect name.

"Asha," Ron said confidently, at Meredith's raised eyebrows, Ron blushed and pointed to the ticking head. "Asha was a witch with a malady no Healer could cure."

"Clever. I like it."

"Do I have a malady?" Asha asked, sounding very put upon as the animated bird examined herself. "Oh dear, you can't see it, can you?"

"No, you can't see it at all," Ron lied, face straight.

"Oh, goodness, dearie, don't scare me like that," the bird lamented.

"My daughter really out did herself," Meredith Binns beamed. "Asha is already repeating my preferred word usages."

Ron's face scrunched up at the bird.

"So if I use a word a lot, she'll start repeating it?" Ron asked. That sounded rather dangerous to him.

"Only until her personality sets in."

"You should put her in the front window. That way she can hear all sorts of people talking and get, like, a bunch of personality types. That way she's… diverse," Ron struggled with the last word, trying to figure out if that was the correct way to use it. Percy was always spotting off all sorts of complicated words, but he rarely explained them. "You shouldn't let her talk to Chess sets though," Ron said thoughtfully. "My grandpa's set has been around for a long time and when they argue they don't say the best words they know. That's what mum says anyways."

"Don't worry, I have something a bit better in mind, and I think we should all strike to use our 'best words."

Ron nodded, taking a step back when Meredith Binns kneeled in front of him. The task seemed hard for her, her face contorting in a grimace. He was abruptly reminded of her leg. He glanced around for the Grim, but didn't see the creature, though that never meant it wasn't there.

"Ron, would you do me the favor of taking care of Asha. She's a little older than the other toys here and I've gotten too old to give her the attention she needs. I've grown very fond of her, but I think my daughter might toss her when I'm not looking."

Ron glanced at the bird forlornly, before shaking his head.

"I don't have any money."

"I'm not asking for any. What I want is for you to teach her how to be good and kind. I want you to teach her your best words and your best behaviors."

"But… I don't know how," Ron said in dismay. Didn't she understand what he was? What he did? "I make people sad, not happy, how could I teach her to be good or kind?"

Asha took off of her table, landing awkwardly on his shoulder. Ron stumbled to regain his balance, hands raising automatically to make sure she didn't fall as she adjusted herself.

"I have a feeling you'll do just fine." A chime rang throughout the store, startling them both. "Best to be getting back. Will you watch over her for me, Ron?"

Ron hesitated a second longer, knowing his mum would be upset with him if he said yes, but not really caring when he glanced at the yellow eyes staring back at him. Not a person, but someone to talk to, someone who Ron's ability wouldn't affect.

"Okay."

When they walked back out to the front, it was to a crowded toy shop. A storm having driven them inside. Ron wondered if Charlie, who was supposed to be watching him, had left the outdoor animal display in time or was wandering around somewhere soaked and looking for him.

When he caught sight of the Grim, he suddenly felt as if he'd eaten maggot infested liverworts. The Grim was dragging itself behind a toddler, watching it in fascination, it's not disfigured side twitching in something that might have been fondness or frightening anticipation. The image in front of him reminded him of Meredith Binns. He tugged on her sleeve before she could move behind the register.

"Mam," when he had her full attention, he continued. "I think you should close up and go see a Healer."

Meredith Binns was about to reply when a younger, angrier version of her marched in.

"Mother! Look at this line! You said you could handle it if I went to lunch."

The aging woman sighed, but winked at Ron when he glanced at the younger woman anxiously.

"Run while you can, dear, she's brilliant but she gets all out of sorts over the silliest things. Forgets to live while she still has time."

"You're hilarious," the daughter groused. Her eyes found Asha before turning accusingly eyes on Ron. "Are you giving away product again?"

Ron shrunk away.

"Of course not, dear, the lads already paid."

"Ron!"

Ron turned at his name, spotting Charlie scowling at him. Ron gave a sheepish wave as his brother pushed soaked bangs out of his face.

"What happened?! You were supposed to stay behind me."

"I didn't want to get wet."

Charlie threw his hands up in the air.

"I searched for you for ten minutes out there!"

Thunder cracked above the shop, acting as an exclamation point to Charlie's words.

"So it took you twenty minutes to notice I was gone?"

"You. Out. Now. Don't care. Meeting mom in five."

"Charlie Weasley," Meredith's daughter said dryly. Both brothers turned to see the woman looking at them, unimpressed. Charlie stumbled in his walk over and blushed.

"Hi! I mean, hello, you were in Bill's class, right? Sally. Ravenclaw. Prefect?"

Charlie held out his hand, but the woman didn't take it.

"The name is Sandy and I was Headgirl," she corrected, before turning back to her mother and gesturing at the pair of them. "Weasley? You expect me to believe a Weasley…"

"Hush, child, before you damn yourself of good company."

Ron was surprised by how cold Meredith Binns voice had become. He pulled self-consciously at his too short sleeves and brought his scarf closer.

"Let's go, Ron," Charlie spoke in a clipped voice, face flushed. For a moment Sandy looked regretful, but it was quickly smothered under something Ron didn't recognize. Charlie tugged at his arm, but he pulled away to look Meredith in the eye.

"Please, will you go?"

The old woman's eyes crinkled at the side.

"I will."

"Thank you."

Then they were out the door, Asha on his shoulder, all three soaked through within seconds. Ron didn't care though, his heart felt light, lighter still when the Grim followed, not having touched the baby at all.

The next day Ron stole the Daily Prophet from his mother. He found Percy flipping through a book in his room and begged him to read him one in the back that had a picture of the toy shop on it.

It was everything Ron had feared.

Meredith Binns had died last night. She had fallen down the stairs and broken her leg. Her wand had been found rolled under a nearby table, out of reach. Unable to get help, the old witch passed away, alone and in pain.

Ron had run away, Percy calling after him, to bury himself in his room.

"Tears don't work well with your complexion, dear," Asha chirped. "It makes your freckles stand out in the worst way."

Ron sobbed harder.