The message reaches the Order like a punch to the chest.

Death Eaters.

Inside the school.

You’re already moving before anyone tells you to, pulling on your cloak, heart racing. Bill is beside you when you arrive, wand in hand, jaw set in that way you’ve learned means he’s already planning three steps ahead.

He turns to you sharply.

“No,” he says, before you can even open your mouth.

You bristle. “Bill—”

“I need you safe,” he cuts in, voice low but firm. His hand closes around your wrist, grounding, familiar. “Stay back. Please.”

You shake your head. “I can help.”

He looks at you the way he does when he’s already decided something and hates that you’ll argue. His thumb presses into your palm, grounding, warm. “You can,” he says. “But not like this. Go make sure no students are out. The corridors, the stairwells. If something happens, they’ll need someone calm. Someone smart.”

You know it’s an excuse.

You also know he’s asking you to trust him.

Before you can say anything else, he leans down and presses his forehead to yours. Just for a second. “I’ll find you after,” he promises.

Then he’s gone.

The castle erupts into chaos not long after. Shouting. Crashes. Spells lighting up the stone like sudden lightning. You do what you said you would. You move through corridors, ushering frightened students back to common rooms. You tell yourself you’re helping. You tell yourself Bill is fine.

But the fear doesn’t leave. It sharpens.

Time stretches in strange ways when you’re waiting for something to go wrong. And then you hear it. A voice you recognize instantly.

“Bill—”

Lupìn’s voice.

Sharp. Urgent. Wrong.

Your heart lurches. You don’t think. You run.

You follow the sound down a corridor littered with debris, your shoes slipping slightly on the stone. The smell hits you before the sight. Blood. Metallic and wrong. Your breath stutters as you round the corner.

Bill is on the floor.

For a moment, your mind refuses to make sense of it. He’s so still. Too still. His hair is darkened with blood where it fans against the stone. His face is turned slightly toward you and you see it then. The damage. Deep, torn wounds along his cheek and jaw. Marks that look nothing like a curse.

You drop to your knees beside him.

“Bill,” you whisper, hands hovering because you don’t know where it’s safe to touch. His chest rises, shallow but real. Relief crashes into you so hard it almost hurts.

Lupìn is already there, crouched at Bill’s side, his expression pale and tight in a way you’ve never seen before. He looks up at you and there’s something like guilt in his eyes, something heavy and old.

“It was Greyback,” he says quietly. “He wasn’t transformed. But the damage…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Your gaze goes back to Bill’s face, the damage on his face. You know, with a sick certainty, that they won’t fade. Magic can do many things, but not this.

“He needs the hospital wing,” Lupin says, firm now. Professional. “Immediately.”

You nod, even though your hands are shaking. You press your palm gently over Bill’s heart, grounding yourself the way he always grounds you. He’s warm. He’s alive.

As Lupìn lifts him, you stay close, refusing to let go for even a second. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was meant to come back to you with a grin and a story, not carried and broken and bleeding.

The doors to the hospital wing fly open.

Lupìn lowers Bill onto the bed and Madam Pomfrey is there instantly, wand already moving. Voices blur. Spells hum.