Chapter 7
August 2003
Bill allowed Hermione to lead the march out of the tunnel and absolutely did not watch the swaying of her hips or her arse as he walked behind her. Of course he didn't. He was one hundred percent focused on ideas about how to deal with the cavern that had just left, and was not thinking about what it would be like to smooth his hands over her tempting curves, run his fingers through her wild curls, possibly wrapping that bouncing ponytail around his hand and-
He was pulled from his thoughts when he walked straight into Hermione, nearly knocking her over. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed that they had reached the mouth of the original cave, and she shot him an irritated look as she raised her wand in his direction. For one terrifying half-second, Bill thought he was about to be cursed for his clumsiness, but then she simply murmured a quiet "move, please" and he realized she was refreshing the wards on the entrance. Chagrined, he stepped aside, chastising himself internally for being so caught up in his fantasies that he had interrupted her spell-work. That was dangerous business, stepping in the way of wards being cast; he shuddered as he remembered a partner on a job in Canada who had accidentally stepped into wards being cast by another coworker. The other man had been instantly struck by the obliviation ward that was meant to wipe any memories of the cursed house from whoever tried to enter it without the proper authorization. He had been in St. Mungo's for six months and had never been allowed back out into the field, as he frequently forgot where he was or what he was doing. Bill thanked his lucky stars that Hermione had the presence of mind to instantly cease her work before he too lost his mind. Finally, she finished and turned towards him, and he saw her hesitate for a moment before she spoke.
"So... good night then, I suppose?" Hermione said, shifting her weight awkwardly back and forth.
"Um, right. Good night," he said, equally as awkward. Bill cursed himself inwardly. Where was his Gryffindor courage? Seeing her raise her wand and prepare to apparate, he didn't give himself a moment to think before he suddenly sprung forward, catching her arm and stopping her mid-step.
"Wait! You said earlier we need to do some research on that cavern before we go back down tomorrow. Why don't you come back to my place and we can do it together?" he asked, proud of how smoothly the invitation had rolled off his tongue. He had been with plenty of women since his divorce, but none of them had managed to stir up that feeling Bill remembered from when he and Fleur had first started seeing each other, until now. Hermione made his heart beat a little faster, his thoughts feel a little slower, and it reminded him of being a trembling fifteen-year-old boy, asking Meredith Bonne out on a Hogsmeade weekend for the very first time. Not that he enjoyed the idea of returning to that stage of life, he thought with a grimace. But he hadn't been this excited by a witch in a long, long time, and he wanted to bask in the thrill of the beginning stages of a romance, all of which started with a simple invitation like this one.
"I-" Hermione hesitated, looking anywhere but at him, and Bill's confidence grew when he saw that he had made her blush with his unintended double entendre.
"Come on, Hermione. It'll be faster if we d- research it together," he pleaded teasingly, purposefully stumbling over his words and tossing in a wolfish grin at the end. The color in her cheeks heightened at his (this time very purposeful) insinuation. Still not meeting his eyes, she finally offered a slow nod of acquiescence, and his grin bloomed into a full-blown smirk. Offering her his arm, Bill watched as she slowly tucked her wand into the side of her tall leather boot before reaching out and grasping the proffered limb. Not wanting to give her a chance to think again, he instantly turned on the spot and apparated them away.
When they popped back into existence in his tent, Bill noticed that Hermione was rather winded. Knowing side-along apparition wasn't exactly a pleasant experience no matter how practiced the apparator is, he quickly guided her into one of the chairs by his little fireplace, letting her catch her breath and take a look around. It also gave him the perfect opportunity to step into the little kitchenette and put on the kettle.
"Tea?" he called over his shoulder.
"Yes, please." Hermione answered, and when he glanced back he saw that she had relaxed into the cozy armchair- Fleur's chair, he thought for a moment, but as the kettle began to whistle and he pulled down two mugs, Bill decided that the worn brown leather suited Hermione much better than it had ever suited his ex-wife. Fleur had always looked rather irritated when they were sent into the field and she had to sit in that chair, frustrated by the fact that it was not new or expensive. She would sit stiffly and primly, refusing to find comfort in it. As he pulled down tea bags, confirming first with Hermione that earl grey was acceptable, he was suddenly overrun with memories of the last time Fleur had sat- or rather refused to sit- in that chair.
It had been one of their worst fights. The goblins allowed them to share a campsite after they were married, but they were never allowed to actually work together in the field. They would both come home from their days battered and bruised, too exhausted to do much more than make dinner together, clean up, and then drop into bed. On the rare days their time off overlapped, they would sit in the chairs by the fire and talk. But on that particular morning, Bill had woken up and come out to the living room to find Fleur trying to transfigure the old chair into something newer, more fancy. She had complained about it before, of course, but he had always brushed it off. They weren't poor by any means, but Bill had promised Fleur whatever funds she wanted to decorate Shell Cottage when they were married, and Fleur had held him to that. There simply wasn't money then to replace the beat-up but perfectly serviceable furniture they only used a few days a month.
But his refusal to even discuss the chair had set her off that morning. Four years later and knowing now that she had been with another man who bought her whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it, he could look back and see the that it was just one of many cracks forming in their marriage. But in the moment he had had none of the wisdom of hindsight, and so he had taken the bait. That had ultimately led to the decision that it was time for them to go back to England permanently, and Bill realized she must have been picking fights all that time to get him to initiate the move, so she could be closer to the other man. To this day he still didn't know why she had confessed when she did, but it didn't matter now. As he turned to Hermione, who had curled up in the chair and looked utterly at home, he felt his heart leap in his chest at the sight of her, completely at ease in his home.
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Hermione watched Bill as he bustled about his kitchenette making tea for them. He had put the kettle on and then paused to remove his brown leather jacket, and now as he reached up to the cabinet to pull down tea bags she could see the musculature of his back and forearms quite clearly under his plain black tee. As soon as she realized the track that particular train of thought was on (her eyes had been wandering lower and lower and she was almost thinking about how nice his arse looked in his muggle jeans) she blushed and looked away, trying to distract herself by looking around the tent.
It was much nicer than the one she had shared with the boys during their year on the run. The structure actually had proper doors separating the rooms; privacy was something she had desperately longed for when they were on the run. Although she had never minded sharing space with Harry and Ron, any time she wanted to change or needed privacy she would either have to boot them out, try and hang up a sheet somehow, or leave the tent herself. But the thing she had longed for the most was a proper bathroom, and she could see through one of the three doorways that Bill's tent was fully equipped with a shower, toilet, and sink. She also noted that he had a full bathtub, and Hermione had to fight the urge to ask if she could use it sometime. She had vowed when the Horcrux hunt was over she would never again sleep in her bed whilst covered in a layer of grime and dirt, but with so much of her work focused in Egypt she found herself more often than not simply rinsing off quickly in a cold shower so that she could collapse and recuperate from her day. The desert sand seemed omnipresent unless she had the time, energy, and a large reserve of hot water saved up to scrub it all away.
Everything else was fairly similar to her own campsite: plain wooden cabinets, a small stove, and a few feet of counter space made up the kitchen on one side, and a tiny living room that fit only two chairs and a fireplace was on the other. The only real difference was that it was all slightly larger, and there was two of everything. Hermione felt slightly chagrined at the realization that her tent was more like a bachelor pad than his. She kept only one chair, one mug, basically one of everything since there were never guests to invite over. If she wanted to spend time with her coworkers, they went out to whatever was in the area since most curse breakers lived the same as she did. She had also never bothered to activate the enchantments woven into the goblin-provided tent that caused the doors to appear; she simply kept her bed and dresser in the back corner of the already small space, not feeling the need for anything truly homey when every job was so temporary. She felt a sudden stab of jealousy as she finally put her finger on what really made his campsite different from hers: this had clearly once been a shared space, a space that had been made into an actual home for Bill and Fleur.
Finding that she once again needed to distract herself from her thoughts, she tried to shove the jealousy down and continue her survey of the room. A worn, faded Persian rug covered the floor between the chairs, lending the room a cozy feeling. A small, dark-colored coffee table stood just a few inches from her, and she had to hold back a laugh as she noticed dusty bootprints on it. Clearly with nobody about to tell him not to, Bill had been using the table as a footrest.
But what caught her eye and truly managed to pull her thoughts completely from both the man in front of her and his ex-wife was the sight through the second doorway: a library. Not the meager single shelf she had, which had been magically expanded so many times that it was now basically held together only by a few haphazard repair spells. It was a proper, multi-shelf space with neat rows of leather-bound books and even a small table clearly meant for studying at. If it weren't for the exhaustion of the day, Hermione would have been out of her seat in an instant. As it was, it took Bill three tries to get her attention, and when she finally snapped out of her fascinated staring enough to accept the warm mug he handed her she hurried to apologize, embarrassed.
"Sorry, I was just..." she trailed off, blushing and gesturing to the library. Bill just laughed.
"Don't worry about it," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "When I came home for your wedding, I heard Ron complaining to Harry more than once that he thought if you ever found a library good enough, you'd leave him for it," he chuckled slightly, then added with a sideways look at her and a cheeky grin: "I suppose it was true."
Hermione gasped in mock affront, and unlike the night before at the bar she didn't miss this time when she swatted his arm.
"William Weasley! I would never leave a man for-" she broke off for a moment, realizing that, at least when it came to the youngest Weasley brother, Ron may have been right about one thing.
"Alright, so I would leave Ron for a library, but I'd never leave someone like you!" Hermione exclaimed. Then she gasped as she realized what she had just said, clapping a hand over her mouth and, if the temperature of her face was anything to go by, turning approximately as red as a tomato.
But instead of the instant rejection she feared, Bill did perhaps the only thing that could have been worse. He laughed, that devastating smile covering his face, and Hermione felt her heart leap at the sight even as it sunk through her chest and onto the floor, ready to break. But then his voice dropped when he spoke, into that tone from the night before, the one that had caused her thighs to clench with need. The one that had followed her into her dreams and caused her to wake up with her fingers in her panties and his name on her lips the next morning.
"I'm honored to be worth more than a library to the Hermione Granger," he smirked and murmured flirtatiously, not even hiding the way his eyes raked over her body. A hunger so intense flashed in them that Hermione thought for a moment she would be consumed by just his piercing gaze. She swallowed hard, setting her forgotten cup of tea on the coffee table, trying to decide if maybe one night would be worth it after all. He would ruin sex for her, she was sure of it, but it would almost certainly be worth it. And one night didn't have to be anything more. The goblins would never know about a stolen night in a tent, so long as they kept up appearances afterwards.
Get your head out of your ass, Granger! She heard that little voice in her head snapping at her, and as much as she longed to ignore it and lose herself in Bill Weasley's stunning blue eyes, she couldn't. Hermione needed any information she could get from the Alexandrian Library if she ever wanted to bring her parents home. Her memory charm and the resulting move to Australia had been completely successful in hiding her parents from the Death Eaters, but she had also made a fatal mistake in her casting.
She had studied memory charms for a few months when the idea to send them away first occurred to her, and there had been a few variations of the obliviation curse that could be performed with a trigger spell woven into the magic, designed to release the suppressed memories once it was used. But she had gotten too emotional while she was casting, too overcome to properly focus. She had forgotten to integrate the trigger spell. She, Hermione Jean Granger, the Brightest Witch of Her Age, had forgotten the key element of her plan. And now, despite dozens of attempts both with and without the assistance of mind-healers, she had been unable to recover the lost memories. The Library was rumored to contain some of the most powerful magic in the world. If there was anything powerful enough to break through the charm, it lay within the forgotten tomes. The Library was her last hope.
So when she saw Bill's eyes flick to her now-clamped thighs and noticed his nose twitching slightly, instead of leaning in to this moment between them, Hermione abruptly stood up, tearing her gaze away. Instantly she groaned and nearly dropped back into the chair, overcome with the aching of her sore muscles and the drained feeling lingering in her magical core. The eldest Weasley was beside her in a heartbeat, his arm wrapping around her waist to keep her from dropping and and his fingers drawing distracting circles on the skin that had been bared near her midriff at her sudden burst of motion. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she gently pulled away and turned to look at the man beside her.
"Thank you," she said, her voice much too loud in the quiet tent. But it seemed to have the intended effect, shattering the sexual tension that lingered in the air between them.
"Anytime." Bill smiled tightly. She nearly swore aloud; now the room was simply filled with discomfort, both of them avoiding each other's eyes and fidgeting, Hermione with her hair and Bill with his wand. Desperate to break the silence, she decided to turn to the one thing that never failed her, no matter the situation.
"So," Hermione spoke, trying to sound confident. "Why don't you show me this library of yours? We have a lot of work to do."