The First Meeting

The house at 12 Grimmauld Place was filled with its usual bustle. Harry, arriving with Moody, Lupin, and the other members of the Order, looked around, once again adjusting to the oppressive atmosphere of the old Black family mansion. Sirius greeted him with genuine relief, but there was still a shadow of concern in his eyes.

In the evening, when everyone gathered for dinner, conversations flowed lively around the table. Sitting next to Ron and Hermione, Harry quickly got drawn into discussions about recent events and news. Ginny, however, noticing Will's absence, got up from the table and stepped into the hallway. She walked to his door and knocked.

— Will? Everyone's at dinner. Are you coming?

There was muffled movement behind the door, followed by a short reply:

— Yes, I'm coming.

When Will entered the dining room, all eyes briefly turned to him. Harry, who hadn't seen him before, looked curiously at the tall teenager with dark hair and a piercing gaze. Sirius, noticing his confusion, stood up.

— Harry, let me introduce you to William Lupin, Remus's nephew. He'll be staying with us for a while.

— Nephew? — Harry repeated, glancing between Will and Remus in surprise. — You have a nephew?

Remus allowed himself a small smile before answering.

— Yes. Although I only learned about it recently.

Harry stood up and offered his hand.

— Nice to meet you, — he said politely.

— Likewise, — Will replied shortly, shaking his hand. His voice was even, but his gaze remained cold and distant.

The exchange was brief but laden with unspoken meaning. Two people whose lives had been scarred by war, loss, and difficult choices were meeting for the first time. While Harry, used to the noise and chaos of his friends, soon returned to the lively conversation, Will remained a silent observer. He barely participated, occasionally glancing at the others around the table. His eyes held something more than just fatigue—an expression of being present in body but absent in spirit.

After a while, Harry found himself looking at Will again. His quiet presence sparked a strange feeling—part curiosity, part caution. Eventually, he couldn't help himself.

— Have you been here long? — he asked quietly, as if not wanting to startle him.

Will lifted his gaze. There was something heavy in his eyes, as if he was weighing whether to answer.

— A few weeks, — he finally replied, returning his attention to his plate.

— Did you live in England before this?

— Yes. In a town called Warescop. But I spent my childhood in Provence, France. — The response was brief, but there was a flicker of tension in Will's voice.

Harry sensed that pushing further would be like knocking on a locked door.

— It must be strange—being here with us? — he noted cautiously.

Will raised an eyebrow slightly, but his face remained unreadable.

— Strange? No. Just… unfamiliar.

Harry nodded, realizing he wouldn't get much more out of him. He turned back to his conversation with Ron and Hermione but found himself glancing at Will again. He continued eating in silence, as if he felt no need to be part of the group.

"A secret locked behind seven seals," Harry thought. For some reason, he had a feeling they would cross paths again.

After finishing his dinner, Will briefly thanked Mrs. Weasley and, without saying goodbye, headed back to his room. As soon as his footsteps faded in the corridor, Harry frowned and turned to Hermione.

— Did you see that too? Will is way too quiet, — he said in a low voice.

— Yes, — Hermione nodded, thoughtfully glancing at the stairs where Will had disappeared. — He seems... distant. Very closed off.

— More like gloomy, — Ron added. — Not surprising, considering everything he's been through.

— He wasn't always like this, — Remus said calmly, placing his fork on his plate. — Will lost his parents and younger sister just a few weeks ago.

Silence fell over the table.

Harry felt a heavy knot tighten in his chest.

— I'm sorry, — he murmured, recalling his own loss. — I didn't know.

— He doesn't like talking about it, — Remus continued. — Give him time. He's... coping as best he can.

Harry nodded, now understanding better why Will was so cold and withdrawn. He knew what it was like to lose loved ones.

The conversation gradually shifted to the Order's current affairs. Of course, nothing too dangerous was revealed, but Harry still heard enough to understand—beyond these walls, the war was far from over.

Near midnight, Harry and Ron returned to their room to get ready for bed. Harry changed into his pajamas, took off his glasses, and lay down. Ron, after feeding Hedwig and Pigwidgeon, got into his own bed.

After about five minutes, Ron broke the silence.

— What do you think?

Harry didn't need to ask what Ron meant.

— I think they didn't say much more than what we could've guessed ourselves, — he replied, reflecting on everything he had overheard. — All we really learned is that the Order is trying to disrupt Voldem—

Ron let out a sharp gasp.

— …ort's plans, — Harry finished firmly. — When are you going to start saying his name? Sirius and Lupin do.

Ron didn't answer.

Trying to change the subject, he asked:

— What do you think about Will? He's kind of... grim.

Understanding Will's grief, Harry replied:

— Considering he lost his entire family in one night, and, from what I gather, right in front of him, it's no surprise he seems grim.

Ron stayed silent, but he agreed. Could he have said a single word if he had witnessed the death of his own... No, he didn't even want to think about that.

The next day, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny gathered in the living room, trying to rid the place of a doxy infestation. They couldn't use magic since underage wizards weren't allowed to cast spells outside of Hogwarts, so they had to manually spray the doxies with doxycide and toss the immobilized creatures into bags.

Seeing their struggle, Will offered to help.

— Need an extra pair of hands? — he asked, stepping closer.

— Oh, absolutely! — Ginny replied cheerfully. — There are way too many of them.

— Just don't let them bite you, — Ron warned, sealing a bag with another batch of doxies. — Their venom is nasty.

— I know, — Will said shortly, grabbing a bottle of doxycide.

— You were homeschooled, right? — Harry asked cautiously while they worked.

— Yeah, — Will replied, shaking a doxy off the curtain. — My parents taught me themselves. My father handled Transfiguration and Defense Magic. And my mother... she taught me Potions and Charms.

— How was it? — Hermione asked with interest. — I always thought homeschooling gave more freedom.

— Sometimes, — Will admitted. — But it also meant more responsibility. No one graded me, so I had to keep practicing a spell until my parents were satisfied with the result. And they were very demanding.

— Are you glad you'll be going to Hogwarts now? — Ron asked.

Will hesitated for a moment.

— I don't know. When I was eleven, I dreamed of going to Hogwarts. But now... I don't really feel anything about it.

— Any idea which house you'll be in? — Ginny asked.

— They say the Hat decides for you, — Will replied evasively. — My mother was in Ravenclaw, and my father was in Gryffindor.

— Gryffindor is a great choice! — Ron said enthusiastically. — If you end up there, we'll study together.

In truth, Will didn't care much which house he'd be sorted into. The only place he absolutely didn't want to end up was Slytherin, with its infamous reputation as a den of dark wizards.

Gradually, they managed to clear the living room of doxies. They even had time to discuss Quidditch. Ron was thrilled to learn that Will was also a fan of the Chudley Cannons. The two of them talked about the team's prospects for the season and agreed that a complete restructuring was necessary for them to have a real shot at winning.

That evening, after dinner, Will sat by his window, thinking.

He realized he actually enjoyed talking to the others at Grimmauld Place, especially Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. These conversations, even if only for a short while, helped him escape the thoughts of those he had lost forever.

He decided he would no longer take his meals in his room. He would come down to the dining room.

Who knew—maybe, through these simple, everyday interactions, his pain would start to fade.