Everything Is Eclipsed by the Shape of Destiny

Livid. Emerson was absolutely livid as she stomped up the narrow path to The Burrow. Her lips were hitched upwards into a menacing snarl as she reminded herself of how cowardly their retreat had been. It wasn’t in her to back down from a fight. She was a hardheaded woman that always wanted to win in a fist fight or duel. That was one of her flaws and it was one that had sent her to the hospital when she was thirteen years old and got into a brawl with some older boys that bullied Everett.

It was then that she realized just how powerful her thirst for victory in battle was and that was one of the reasons why Bill was so hesitant to let her join the Order. He feared that she’d be so determined to win a duel that she’d get herself killed, but apparently her desire to live could overpower her hardheadedness. And as much as Emerson wanted to celebrate the fact that she was alive, she couldn’t focus on that positive.

All she could focus on was the fact that she had abandoned the fight. That she had runaway. She was disgusted with herself especially since when she lost Bill to Fleur, she swore to never again back away. She broke her vow and she wouldn’t forgive herself easily.

No.

This defeat was going to be obsessed over for the following few days, perhaps week.

The Weasley men were in a similar situation.

The Twins were furious that they had been forced to abandon their beloved store, but their rage was surpassed by their devastation. That store was their life. It housed their creative genius and served as their slice of heaven in a war torn world. They were devastated that the Death Eaters had burnt it to the ground, devastated that their products had been ruined, but they would get even.

Oh. They would get even.

Charlie was furious, rightfully so, but his fury didn’t lie in the fact that they had to retreat or that the store had been destroyed. It lay in the fact that his family was now being publically targeted by the Death Eaters, which meant that the hardest times were yet to come. There would be darker days in the near future and he feared for them all.

He knew that it was only a matter of time before The Burrow suffered the same fate as the joke shop. He knew that it would be engulfed by flames. It was only a matter of time and not knowing when that would happen made him uneasy. Any moment could be The Burrows last.

Any moment could be theirs.

Before Charlie opened the door, he turned around to speak to them. “No one tell Mum. I’ll do it.”

“No offense Charlie, but Mum’s not dense enough to see blood on our clothes and not think that something went horribly wrong.” George spoke.

“Now, now George, she might just think we took a second job as butchers.” Fred tried his best to lift his twin’s spirits.

“If we’re ever gonna get the joke shop back we’re gonna have to.” George went along with it. “I think Emery might have to join us as a butcher . . .” he stopped midsentence when he noticed her blood stained shirt. “Why didn’t you say you’re hurt? We’d have gone to St. Mungo’s instead.”

“Merlin’s beard!” exclaimed Fred when he saw her shirt. “How are you still alive?”

Emerson shot them a worried look. “What are you two going on about?”

“You mean you don’t feel it? How don’t you feel . . . oh Merlin, you’ve lost so much blood you can’t feel anything. Oi Fred! One of us is gonna have to carry her. You know how to apparate with someone? I’d do it but last time I tried, I ended up getting Lee splinched.” George explained, smiling nervously as he did so.

“No wonder he didn’t talk to you for a week!” Fred had been curious as to why their best mate had briefly stopped talking to George. “Makes sense now, but I’ve never tried to apparate with anyone. Could give it a go though, no harm in that.”

“Neither of you is going to take me anywhere. I'm fine.” She huffed.

“Fine, really? Then why’s there so much blood on your shirt. I'm pretty sure there’s more blood on it than in you.”

“There’s no blood on my . . .” she grew silent when her eyes landed on the tattered blood stained shirt. “This was one of my favorite shirts and now it’s fucking ruined.”

“Are you mad?” Charlie was the one to speak.

Emerson shook her head. “This is my favorite! Bought it as some thrift store in Paris but now it’s ruined and I’ll never be able to fix it. Fuck. I should’ve worn something else but no, I had to wear this.”

“Let me get this straight.” Charlie paused before adding. “You’re more worried about the shirt than your own well being?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me though. I'm fine.”

“That’s it, Fred, George, go tell mum that I'm taking Emery to St. Mungo’s and won’t be home till later.” Charlie ordered.

“Will do,” they said in unison.

“Just make sure our wife is safe.” Fred reminded.

George continued. “Don’t want to have to hurt you for negligence.”

“Have none of you heard a word I’ve said? I'm fine. Just look.” She pulled off her shirt. Her abdomen was stained with dried blood, but the cuts that were scattered across it looked five days old rather than fifteen minutes.

“But the blood –” Charlie was at a loss for her enhanced recovery.

“It’s my blood,” she reassured. “Don’t know how it got out, but it’s mine.”

George’s face scrunched when he remembered just how Emerson had been injured. “You were trying to protect me.” He told them.

“Huh?” was Emerson’s response.

“The Death Eaters had blown something up and the glass was coming at us and you, well, you jumped in front of me. At least that’s what I remember happening.” George elaborated.

Fred smacked George in the back of his head. “How could you let our wife protect you? You’re supposed to protect her.” Fred turned to Emerson. “See, this is why you should marry me and not George. I’ll keep you safe.” He sent a wink her way.

“Don’t listen to a word this fatheads saying, I'm the best man for ya and I’ll keep you safe.” George beamed at her, wiggling his brows as he did so.

Emerson fought back her laughter. “We nearly died five minutes ago and now you’re fighting over who’s going to marry me. You’re both deranged.”

“But devastatingly handsome, at least I am,” Fred argued.

She shook her head and turned to Charlie. “They’re insane.”

“Not more than you.”

“They’re way crazier than I am.”

Charlie chortled. “They’re fighting over who marries you and you’re brooding over a ruined shirt. Think you’re crazier. In fact, I'm sure of it.”

“This was a good shirt though.” Emerson held it loosely in her right hand. “Don’t find this quality everyday.”

“Bet I’ll find a better one in my closet.” Charlie teased.

“Doubt it,” she pulled on the shirt. “So when are we going in?”

“Was thinking we’d wait another hour or so,” Charlie told her.

“You make me wait two more minutes and I’ll fucking book it out of here so let me in, gotta clean this blood off.”

“Alright, alright,” Charlie opened the door and stepped to the side, leaving the entryway clear. “When I tell our mum what happened I’ll give you a shirt and a towel so you can freshen up.”

“Thanks.”

They walked into a deserted Burrow.

In their heads, they had expected to find Molly in the living room or kitchen, doing some knitting or reading but she was nowhere to be found. That made them uneasy. They wondered if she had been kidnapped or if The Burrow had come under attack and she had found herself forced to flee. Their thoughts were terribly unpleasant. They plagued them for seventeen minutes and then George heard the front door open.

Then he heard his mother’s screams. “Inconsiderate fools!” she cried. “How can I be expected to stay here when no one bloody knows where my children are? Do you all think me a negligent mother that doesn’t give two galleons about her children’s safety?!”

“Mum, you know it’s not like that.” Bill’s voice was then heard.

“Then what’s it like? Because I don’t understand why I'm being FORCED to stay here when everyone else is out looking for MY BOYS! It’s not right!”

Bill wanted to agree with his mother, truly he did, but he had orders that needed fulfilling. “It’s not ideal mum, but you have to be here in case they come home. That way you can owl us.”

George, unable to keep his presence unknown, raced towards his bedroom where he found Charlie and Bill changing their shirts. He informed them of what he had just heard and the three Weasley boys were soon racing down the stairs. Emerson was in the bathroom, cleaning herself up, they thought it best not to disturb her.

“BOYS!” cried Molly when she saw their freckly faces as they walked down the stairs. “Oh, my darling boys!” she ran towards them, eyes flooding with tears. “They’d sent an owl saying that the shop had been destroyed,” her eyes scanned their faces, taking in every inch. “And I . . . I thought that you lot had been hurt, but you weren’t, were you?” she buried her face in Charlie’s chest and stretched her arms out so that she hugged her three boys. “I'm so glad you’re alright, so very glad.”

No one dared disturb their mother’s silence. They simply held her tightly, allowing her to run a hand through their hair and whisper sweet words to them. Bill tried his best to remain quiet, to let his mother relish in her son’s company but he was worried, anxious to know if Emerson was alright.

The fact that she wasn’t in the living room made him think that something awful had happened, but then he reminded himself that if something awful had indeed happened his brother’s would’ve said something. If that was the case, he wanted to know where she was and what she was doing so when Molly pulled away from his brother’s, he spoke.

“Where is she?” he tried his best to keep his voice calm, but there were still hints of desperation.

“Who?” Molly asked, craning her neck to better look at Bill.

“Marie,” he didn’t bother looking at his mother.

“That’s right!” shrieked Molly. “Emerson was there. Merlin’s beard, how could I have forgotten about Emerson? Boys, how is she? Is she at St. Mungo’s? Why would you leave her by herself? I raised you better than that and when I come back I’ll give you a sound –” Molly had gotten ahead of herself, her children had not yet responded but she was already scolding them.

“She’s upstairs!” shouted George, the mere thought of his mother spanking them had caused him to break into a cold sweat.

“And why didn’t she come down?” asked Bill.

“She’s prettying herself up in the bathroom,” explained George.

Bill’s right brow hitched slightly, “Your bathroom?”

To that George nodded.

And that was enough to send Bill running up the stairs to the bathroom the Twins frequented. He took the stairs two at a time, not caring if his speed was careless or if it could result in his tripping. His fiery red hair blew as he ran and when he reached the door, he didn’t bother knocking or announcing his presence.

Bill just threw it open.

His eyes landed on a topless Emerson that was running a small towel under the faucet. His eyes wandered to her abdomen, the abdomen on which he had rested his head on so many times before. And when they saw the dried blood, he felt the air leave his lungs.

“What happened?” his voice came out as nothing more than a squeak.

She shut off the water. “Huh?”

“What happened there?” he stepped closer to her, stretching his arm out to point to the area he was referring to.

“Oh, that. Don’t really know how it happened. George claims that I jumped in front of him when some glass came our way, but I'm not really sure. It cleared up though, look,” she ran the towel across her midsection, successfully wiping it clean. “Like nothing ever happened there.”

His fingers grazed her skin and after a moment, he spoke, “Wicked.”

“Glad you think so.” She slapped away his hand.

“Oi!” he rubbed his right hand with his left. “What was that for?”

Emerson shrugged. “I just needed to get your hand off me and figured that was the quickest way.” She shot him a smug little smile. “Don’t bitch though. Didn’t hit you that hard,” she rinsed the towel. “When’d you get here?”

“A bit ago,” he leant against the counter. “Was dropping off mum so she’d keep guard here in case you lot showed up. Then the twins and Charlie came stumbling down the stairs and we were like oh they’re alright. Then you weren’t there and I was wondering where you were and they said you were up here so I had to see if it was true.”

“And now you know it is.”

“Guess so.”

Bill remained silent, watching as she finished cleaning herself up completely. He stared at her stomach, smiling inwardly as he remembered the night that he had accidentally spilt hot wax on it and had received a swift punch to the eye. The next day he told everyone at work that he’d been in a fight at some dingy little pub. They believed him. Emerson never, ratted, him out about it.

“Remember that time I spilt the wax on you?”

Her lips curled into a small smile. “How could I forget the night I nearly broke your face?”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“Not exaggerating, don’t you remember the healer said it was a miracle your cheek bones hadn’t fractured,” she reminded.

“I don’t recall that happening.”

She turned to him, resting one hand on the counter and the other on her hip. “Well I do. I was after all the one that handled all the paperwork and tended to the injury so the swelling went down and you could work the next day.” Emerson bit her lip, her eyes glowing with amusement. “That was quite the night.”

“Was not,” he countered. “I distinctly remember you turning me down when we got back from the hospital.”

“How the hell was I suppose to fuck you after what I put you through?” she retorted.

“It’s because of everything you put me through that you were supposed to have a go with me. I was all injured and needed that loving.” Bill lowered his face, his fiery red hair falling about it as he smirked at her.

Emerson’s breathing caught in her throat, but she remained visibly calm. “I could’ve died a half hour ago and here you are, acting like a gingery douche. Lovely.”

“Ouch.” He placed his hands above his heart. “That one hurt.”

“You’ll live.” Emerson turned towards the sink and turned on the water so she could wash her face.

Bill stepped behind her, staring firmly into the mirror to meet her gaze. “I know I don’t seem it since I'm joking but I really was worried.”

“I already told you that there’s no point in fussing over me. I'm a shifter.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“It should.” The water was shut off. “I'm not weak Bill. I'm quite strong and even in this state, even as a human, it takes a lot to hurt me,” she slowly moved so that she faced him. “They hit me with the Cruciatus curse. Didn’t really hurt that much. Always expected the pain of it to be worse,” she forced a smile onto her face, not wanting to worry him.

Without realizing what he was doing, Bill placed his hands on the sink behind her. “This isn’t right. You shouldn’t be suffering.”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said?” there was a light hint of humor in her voice. “I'm not suffering. The spells don’t work as well as they should against me.”

“But they still work,” his eyes bored into hers. “And I don’t like not knowing if you’re safe or not. I fucking hate it.”

“Hate it all you want. I'm not leaving England.”

“And why not?” he asked. “Why can’t you go to Mexico and study the ruins like you always said you wanted to? Why can’t you do that? Why can’t you be safe?”

“Because you’re here and best mates got to stand by each other.”

“But if anything ever happened to you because of me, I –” Bill shut his eyes tightly, incapable of imagining what he would do if Emerson were to die in England.

Her hand trembled as it made its way to his cheek. “And if something preventable were to happen to you because I wasn’t there, I wouldn’t forgive myself.” She patted his cheek. “So get used to this cluster fuck of a situation because we’re both going to be severely freaking out during the next . . . well, I'm going to say year. Yeah. We’re both going to be severely freaking out during the next year or so of our lives but when it’s all over, we’ll look back on this and laugh about it. It’ll be something rad we’ll reminisce about over a pint.”

“You say that like you know we’re both gonna make it.”

“We are,” she dropped her hand at her side. “And even if one of us doesn’t, which I doubt, we’ll still live on in the others memories.” She chuckled. “I’ll still be there to annoy you about random shit while you dream.”

“You don’t annoy me.”

“Course I do, that’s why I was never girlfriend material or did you forget our conversation in that bar in Bruges where we toyed with the idea of dating and you said that I was to annoying to be a girlfriend but annoying enough to be a best mate.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I said that you were an annoying best mate and that I couldn’t even imagine how annoying you’d be as a girlfriend.”

“Exactly.”

“But I never said you weren’t girlfriend material.” His eyes locked with hers. “I just said I couldn’t imagine how annoying you’d be. And then we never talked about it again. We silently consented to shagging.” Bill dropped his gaze to the necklace around her neck. “It’s odd to think about what could’ve been if we’d taken that risk.”

“We would’ve grown bored.” Emerson lied.

“I haven’t grown bored of you yet, doubt I ever will.”

“That’s because I'm currently best mate annoying and not girlfriend annoying.”

“Still,” he met her gaze. “I think we could have –”

“Hey Bill!” Charlie’s voice traveled into the bathroom. It was loud enough to be heard, but soft enough to tell him he wasn’t there. “Mum wants to know if Emery’s alright or if she should call a healer.”

Emerson carefully pushed Bill aside and grabbed the clean shirt that Charlie had given her, pulling it on as she walked towards the door.

“I'm fine.” She walked into the hallway, not daring to look back.