Chapter Text
William Weasley had not expected to come back to Britain anytime soon.
Yet after a particular disastrous job in an ancient grave, which included him accidentally destroying a highly valuable historical object, he had been returned to Gringotts Bank with a sternly worded letter to his employers. He had been hastily placed on duty out of sight, without anyone even bothering to tell him how disappointed they were with him. Somehow, that had hurt more than if he had been yelled at.
Bill had been back for about two months, and had found out the hard way that he was no longer used to the British weather, when he had encountered the new bank receptionist. The receptionist was a blonde, pale person from France, who most people referred to as the Beauxbatons champion, but Bill had missed why that was, as he didn’t usually read the newspapers.
He was just working up his courage to try and talk to them when he was called to his family home, and informed of the fact that the Dark Lord had returned from the dead. Everyone in his family had been there, excluding Percy, who appeared to be actively avoiding the rest of his family with the excuse that his job was very demanding. Bill liked Percy well enough, but he really didn’t know him. He only really knew his brother Charlie, and the two of them had slowly become less and less close as time passed, and were now almost strangers. Friendly strangers but strangers nonetheless.
Bill and Charlie had both fled their family home at rather young ages, leaving Percy and all their other siblings behind to pursue a happiness far away from the Burrow. Bill had always felt guilty for running away, even if he was the only one who considered his escape from his overbearing mother and father without ambition an escape in the first place. Most hadn’t even noticed that it was, which worked out rather well for Bill.
Something that he hadn’t quite expected was how much he hadn’t liked being back in his family home, surrounded by people who all very much resembled one another. Bill was reminded of the terror he had once felt in losing his own individuality amongst a sea of the beings which were ‘Weasley,’ and he recalled why he had fled to Egypt to be allowed some manner of self. He could only imagine how much worse his younger brothers must feel in regards to that. At least Bill had been the first. They would always be ‘the younger Weasley.’
Charlie had managed to distinguish himself from the Weasley mould by means of self expression, but mostly through decorating himself with tattoos and by growing a beard. Bill had found that his beard was a different color than his hair, and had decided against committing to one. He also hadn’t quite grown his hair out as long as Charlie, but after some years working in environments which didn’t always have the most sanitary conditions, he had found that hair which could be put up was ideal. After discovering the comfort of a ponytail, Bill wasn’t planning on returning to short hair, despite his mother’s fussing.
Charlie had brought Bill an earring made out of a Wyvern’s tooth, which had prompted Bill to exchange his cheap ankh earring which he had gotten at a market in Egypt, for the gift. Once again to his mother’s displeasure. She also fussed about his tattoo, and any explanation about how useful the clock tattoo was in always showing him the time when he was working underground was overruled by the fact that it was a tattoo nonetheless. Bill grew so tired of arguing with his mother about his appearance that he ended up refusing to speak after a while. He was a little too old to be fussed about like he was a child still, and very much expected his mother to have a few complexes in regard to her children growing up.
During the family meeting, they had discussed many things, and a great number of more things had been revealed to him. Among those was that Headmaster Dumbledore was re-establishing the Order of the Phoenix to fight back against the newly resurrected Dark Lord, and that his parents were once more joining it. He learned that his little brother Ron was best friends with Harry Potter, who was actually named Harry Lupin, and Draco Malfoy, who was the actual heir of the Malfoy family. He also learned that Remus Lupin, Harry Potter’s adoptive dad, was a werewolf, and was dating Severus Snape, or as Charlie had called him ‘Stick-in-the-mud.’ Added to this was that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer, was not only innocent, but also a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Also, he was an animagus, and had served Hogwarts as a therapy dog for at least a while.
All of this was quite overwhelming, but after some consideration, Bill had decided to join the Order. It was the right thing to do, and it was clearly what was expected of him. Bill didn’t explicitly want to become a freedom fighter, or anything like that, but simply joining the Order of the Phoenix didn’t mean that he would have to fight. Heck, Bill wasn’t even convinced that they had an enemy, despite what his parents were convinced of.
Thus, life had returned to normal for Bill Weasley. He finally dared to ask the handsome receptionist out on a date, even if he thought he would faint all the way through the process of asking. To his great happiness, they had said yes.
Just like that, he had a date scheduled for the weekend with Fleur Delacour, or as they were known around the bank: the champion.
When he had returned home to the little Muggle apartment which he had bought for cheap money, he was surprised to get a phone call. Bill didn’t use the phone which had been included in the apartment since the previous resident’s departure. Unfortunately, there was only one person who knew this number. Bill picked up with a heavy heart.
“Bill speaking.”
“William, dear, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I just got off the phone with Remus. These Muggle inventions sure are so very handy, are they not?”
“Yes mum.” Bill rolled his eyes as he listened to his mother babble in his ear. He considered, not for the first time, to destroy the phone.
He truly did love his mother, but they had little in common and the conversations with her usually ended in her fussing about or complaining in regards to things which were none of her concern. Thus, with the years, Bill's mind had learnt to expect that a conversation with his mother was something to steady himself for, because it would in some ways become unpleasant.
“I hate to ask this of you, but Remus mentioned that they are having trouble with a cursed portrait over at their new home. They can’t take it down, and they cannot destroy it. It’s been keeping them up at night and is yelling some very unpleasant things.”
“That’s terrible, mum.” Bill absently moved over to the fridge, where he circled Saturday with a red pen and wrote ‘Date w. Champ at 14’ as Molly continued on.
“And I was wondering if you might have the chance to head over there and help them? Sirius, as you know, he prefers Potter, so you have to be respectful and call him Potter. Well, he said he will pay you plenty for your efforts. His exact words were ‘take my damned mum away and I will give you my bloody fortune.’”
Bill related rather much to that last part. He knew what it was like to want to have a break from one’s mother. “Sure, I’ll go save him. What is the address?”
She gave him the address, but told him that he couldn’t write it down. Then, she took the time to lecture Bill about how he would not actually be paid a fortune. Bill held back from telling her that he already knew this, and then hung up the phone.
He had gotten off work early, it was not even four yet, and he had some errands to run. He would drop by the Black estate later that day, but first he needed to buy groceries and take the trash out. It was starting to smell.
Bill arrived at the Black estate a little past half past four. He stopped in front of the door and pulled up his left sleeve to look at his tattoo clock. The tattoo consisted of two faces of a clock, placed next to one another down his arm. One which listed all twelve hours, and one which listed the numbers 0, 15, 30, and 45. When he charged the clock with his internal magic, the numbers lit up to show the approximate time. A real clock was too advanced to be replicated upon an arm, but this type of tattoo allowed Bill to always keep a clock with him. Further, it was rebellious enough to make him feel satisfied whenever he looked at the practical tattoo.
He pulled his sleeve down and walked up to the door. The house itself wasn’t too special, it was an old townhouse. The bricks were old and what color had once been upon the house had long since faded. Bill could count at least three floors, and a ground floor. It probably had a basement too. A short set of stairs lead up to the door, which had been painted red long ago. All in all, it felt very hard to imagine that this house was the Black estate, belonging to the Black family. He was sure it wasn’t a cheap house, but the Malfoys had a giant manor, and the Lestrange mansion, wherever it was in the wilderness of Scotland, could at least somewhat rival it. A three store building in the middle of London wasn’t all that impressive.
Bill ascended the stairs and pulled on the string which he assumed was the doorbell. He didn’t hear anything from inside the house, and had to resist the urge to pull the string once more.
The door suddenly swung open, prompting a hasty retreat from Bill, which almost sent him tumbling down the stairs. He straightened up and noticed that the doorway was completely empty. He was staring inside an abandoned building, with broken furniture, destroyed stairs and ripped up wallpaper. Here and there, he could see droppings from animals, and the smell was bad enough to chase most people away. Yet there was nobody there who had opened the door.
Then, from the empty space came a voice, “Oh… You’re not Snape.”
Bill forced a smile upon his lips. “No, I’m Bill, the Curse Breaker, from Gringotts, I was told by my mum that you needed help removing a painting?”
“Oh thank… someone, come in.” The voice sounded relieved.
Bill hesitated for a second too long as he considered whether to cover his nose, but then stepped inside the house. He felt as if he had passed through a thin layer of water, but without becoming wet. The choking unpleasant scent disappeared immediately once he had entered. When he looked around on the other side of the door, everything had changed. Instead of finding himself in an old, broken house, he found that he was standing in a lavishly furnished home, with expensive curtains, paintings, carpets and decorated edges on everything solid. Immediately in front of him was a beautiful staircase leading upwards, and to the left and right was a corridor each. The wallpaper and the decorations were all rather dark, and he found that there was a giant stuffed bear by the end of the corridor to his right. In front of him, but next to the stairs was an opening which led further into the house.
However, all of these things came second notice to Bill, as he found himself all the more distracted by the person who had appeared to him once he had stepped through the doors.
In front of him stood notorious mass murderer Sirius Black, only he looked nothing like Bill remembered from the pictures in the newspaper after his arrest more than ten years ago. Black, or Potter, as he wanted to be called, was dressed in a rainbow colored knitted sweater which had no doubt been made by Bill’s mother. It was large enough to fall down his hips like a dress, which was probably why the man had chosen to not wear trousers. His hairy legs were completely bare, leaving it up to Bill’s imagination if he was wearing underwear or not.
Bill’s imagination immediately went to some rather interesting places with that power, and he felt himself turn red. Even if Potter was nothing like the person Bill had a date with that weekend, he was well within Bill’s spectrum of attraction.
“I thought you were my friend’s boyfriend!” Sirius Potter chuckled as he rested his weight on one leg, placing his hands on his hips. He seemed highly amused by the fact that Bill was becoming flustered by his naked appearance. “You’re a Weasley then?”
Bill, who was not too fond of ‘being a Weasley’, nodded. “I guess I am. Call me Bill, though.”
The other man nodded, acknowledging that he would use Bill’s name instead of his surname. “And you’ve come to save us from the terror that is mother’s portrait?”
When Potter moved, his shirt was wandering up and down in a rather dangerous manner, forcing Bill to focus on his face with all his might so as to not look for evidence of what was under the rainbow shirt.
“Aye.” Bill nodded, swallowing back an indecent thought which had nothing to do with his work.
“She’s up here, come along.” Potter began ascending the stairs, leading Bill with him to the first landing.
On the way there, Bill noticed two things: the name Potter was branded over the back of the rainbow sweater, the letters spelled out unevenly, and that the other was in fact wearing underwear. That realisation didn’t do much for Bill, as the angle which he had ended up in came with the added realisation that he appreciated the butt inside those underwear.
Upon the landing, Potter turned towards a black curtain, which had no doubt been hung up to hide the portrait behind it. Bill could hear a woman’s voice mutter behind it, detailing some very specific complaints about certain groups of people.
“So what is the problem?” Bill placed his toolbox down and began to pull his sleeves up.
“First of all, she won’t come off the wall. She screams and curses and insults everything she sees. Not even spells of silence or the like work, so we can only keep her in the dark to confuse her enough to shut her face.” Potter began listing their problems.
“Useless, horrible son… Ungrateful monstrous child…” A weak, whiny and altogether unpleasant voice came from the other side of the curtains.
Potter ignored it. “I even tried setting it on fire, but that failed as well.” He chuckled, resting his weight on one leg again.
However, Bill didn’t have the chance to reply, as someone called from a floor above. “Sirius, was that Severus?” The voice sounded hopeful and like it belonged to an adult.
“No, it’s just the Curse Breaker.” Potter leaned over to yell over the railing and upwards.
“Oh, William Weasley?” The other voice responded. “Molly said that she would ask him to come over.”
Potter glanced at Bill, who couldn’t help but make a displeased expression over being called William, rather than just Bill. Thus, Potter leaned over the railing again. “He says that his name is Bill!” He yelled.
“Oh?” The voice sounded a little embarrassed. “I apologise. Thank you for coming, Bill.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Lupin.” Bill called back.
“He says that you are welcome!”
“I can hear him, Sirius.”
“Oops.” Potter chuckled and turned back to the Curse Breaker.
“Does the rainbow pattern mean anything?” Bill hurried to say something as he knelt down next to his toolbox to look through for something suitable. He might have to console the manual on this one.
“It means that I like men in Muggle culture. Or if I had been wearing it as a woman, it means I like women.” Potter explained as he rested against the railing. He appeared to be thinking something indecent, judging by his slightly mocking but nonetheless inviting grin. “Your mum made it for me, it’s wicked cozy.”
Bill chuckled to himself, focusing on separating two tools from one another. “She loves to knit after all. I’m sure she had fun making it.” Nothing could stop Molly Weasley from her passion, not even Bill repeatedly telling her that Egypt was too warm to allow him to wear sweaters. In actuality, he could wear them during the cold nights, but he didn’t want her to know that, as knitted sweaters weren’t ideal in a country full of sand.
“Sure,” Potter responded. Bill felt his eyes upon him as he continued to place his tools out over the landing, simply picking anything which came to mind as useful in this rather bizarre curse situation.
“Say, are you currently in a committed or closed relationship?” Potter added, smiling that mischievous grin of his at Bill, the expression so very full of intentions and meanings with the question. “I’m trying to get over my crippling fear of redheads.”
Bill choked on nothing as the man who was definitely attractive to him asked something so direct without even giving Bill a chance to prepare for it. He looked up at the handsome man, feeling how he was becoming the definition of red in that everything from his scalp to his face and neck might be red at this point.
“I… I appreciate the offer-” Bill began, but before he could continue explaining that he was about to go on a date with someone and didn’t want that person to be pushed aside just because he found someone whose legs were really nice, another voice interrupted him.
“Dad, may I have an ice cream?” This time, the call came from downstairs.
Bill glanced behind himself to see a young teenager looking up at him from the bottom of the stairs. The teenager had rather long, slightly curled, or messy, hair, which had been gathered back in half a ponytail to keep it away from his face. The pulled back hair revealed a lightning scar upon his forehead, which was contrasted by his darker skin.
Bill had once believed that he himself could get sunburnt, but he quickly learned that he was the type of person who only turned red. This kid with his round glasses and dark features appeared fully capable of tanning to colors which Bill could only dream about. That was to say, if it was even a tan in the first place, the kid didn't seem the type to spend too many hours out in the sun.
Harry Potter, or as Bill knew him now, Harry Lupin, was dressed in a skirt and a short sleeved, white dress shirt with the collar slightly opened. The house itself may be cooler than the outside, but it was nonetheless in the middle of summer, and it was hot outside. Bill noted to himself that wearing a skirt was a perfectly suitable option for his date with the champion.
Next to Harry Lupin stood a crooked House Elf who might be the least appealing House Elf which Bill had ever seen. It looked like an evil and bitter old man, with a crooked nose and hanging ears, and an unpleasant frown which Bill was willing to bet was permanent. It was dressed in some manner of clothing, which made it even more unappealing as a House Elf, and made it resemble a little man more.
“Hi there, I’m Bill.” Bill introduced himself to Harry Lupin and the creature next to him, both of which regarded him with a carefulness that reminded Bill of two puppies. Whereas one puppy was cute and normal and the other was a mutated mistake. Bill just knew that Charlie would have found the House Elf adorable.
“He’s here to save us from the old bag.” Potter laughed and pointed towards the portrait with his naked foot.
“Oh, that’s great.” Harry Lupin smiled and fidgeted. Bill got the impression that he wanted to hide his scar but couldn’t quite get the hair to be released from the ponytail in an inconspicuous enough manner.
“Did someone call for me?” Remus Lupin’s voice came from upstairs as he called down to them.
“Ha-, Lupin asked if he can have an ice cream.” Potter yelled upwards.
“Sure, but just one. I will make dinner in an hour.”
“You can have one.” Potter turned towards the kid, whose name he apparently didn’t have permission to use.
“Thanks!” Harry Lupin grinned at the two men on the landing. “Can Kreacher have one too?”
Potter frowned. “Why would you want to-”
“Of course he can have one!” Remus Lupin’s voice overpowered the objections from the great legs which were attached to the handsome man.
“Thanks, dad!” With those words, and a swish of his skirt, the boy and the creature were gone.
“Ah, yes… where was I…?” Bill mumbled under his breath as he looked his tools over.
“Politely rejecting me?” Potter laughed. He didn’t appear the least bothered by the fact that he was being rejected, and he seemingly had no intentions of trying to push Bill into taking the rejection back.
Bill gave him an excusing smile. “Yeah, that too. I’m actually going on a date with someone this weekend, and I don’t want to engage in anything else before I know where I am with them. I’m not going to claim that the offer isn’t flattering, or tempting, but I’ll have to decline for now.”
Potter gently poked him with his toe, chuckling to himself. “Just a ‘no’ would have been enough, Bill. I would have respected your choice without the explanation.” He clicked his tongue. “What kind of person would I be if I couldn’t take a no? Sheesh!” He began laughing once more. “Say, when you are finished with that, would you wanna stay for dinner? Just as a friend. We don’t have a lot of people visiting us, and, well, you know why we can’t exactly go out. It would be nice with someone new to hang out with for a bit.” Potter looked hopeful.
Bill smiled at the older man. The notorious mass murdered Sirius Black appeared to actually be a rather nice guy, all things considered. “Sure, I would like that. Will you put on some trousers?” He added, making sure to let the other know that he was not bothered, but would like the other to maybe cover up a little bit so as to not be distracting.
Potter made a face. “You drive a hard bargain. Alright.”
“Is there ice cream for dessert?” Bill stood up, tools in hand as he prepared for the fight which he would likely have with the cursed portrait. It wasn't a fight as much as being able to deflect and deactivate effects of various curses which may or may not fly at him.
“If you save us, you can have all the darned ice you want.”
Potter covered his ears and fled up the stairs as Bill reached towards the curtain to begin his work.
“I’ll hold you to it.” He chuckled and then unveiled the portrait.
She was indeed a horrible screamer, and a very loud one. This curse would be very personally satisfying to break, if only for the knowledge that Bill had bested someone as unpleasant as the woman upon the portrait.
Bill spared no mercy, she had to go and go she would.
There was ice cream on the line, after all.