Chapter 10
December 31st, 2003
Hermione tugged her coat tighter around her and surveyed the empty street of Diagon Alley. She had been waiting outside Fortescue's for nearly twenty minutes, and she was getting nervous. The lights inside the shop were off, and the heavy snowfall meant that anyone still out and about at this hour was inside one of the few pubs or stores that were open despite the holiday. She was alone, in the dark, and freezing her arse off. The fear that Bill would stand her up had been creeping in slowly over the last five minutes, but she was truly on the verge of panicking and apparating away to her flat when she was suddenly knocked flat on her back.
"Hermione! Oh shit, I'm so sorry, are you alright?" And there he was, in all his sexy, curse breaker glory, kneeling beside her. The shock of his appearance was fading rapidly, and the concern in his eyes, the way he was running his hands over her nearly had her melting right there. Her fall had thankfully been broken by a large pile of snow that had been moved from the main walkway so she was in very little pain. However, he had been very, very late, and had no idea that she was completely fine, so she decided to milk her situation a bit. Just a little payback, she thought smugly.
"Bill? Is that you?" She let her eyelashes flutter as if she were coming out of a daze, mimicking the way Harry and Ron had looked after Quidditch matches that had ended with one or both of them knocked off their brooms.
"Hermione? I'm here, love." Hermione nearly gave it up at that moment, the concern in his voice was so achingly tender and all she wanted was to kiss him. But she had already settled on her plan, and she was sure that when she one day recounted this story for the Weasleys, Fred and George would be so disappointed that she hadn't gone through with the prank. So she stuck to her guns, motioning Bill closer, laying both hands on his chest as he leaned down. Just before his lips reached hers, she surged upwards, pushing him as she went so that he was beside her, lying in the freezing, wet snow.
Bill's eyes went wide with shock and he spluttered from the cold. Hermione couldn't help herself, the laughter pouring from her uncontrollably. But losing control was her undoing; too caught up in her success, she didn't notice the mischievous glint appear in Bill's eyes as he subtly gathered up a handful of snow. When she at long last regained her composure and turned to greet him properly, it was to find a snowball exploding into soft powder across her face. Gasping in mock affront, Hermione quickly gathered her own pile of snow, and before long they were having a full-fledged snowball fight, right there in the middle of Diagon Alley. They were laughing so loudly that they pulled several patrons to the pub windows and doorways to watch, and, distracted as she was by her would-be assailant, she didn't notice the dim flashbulb going off repeatedly, lighting up the night.
When they finally ran out of both snow and steam, Bill stepped towards her and took her face in his large, warm hands. Hermione marveled for a moment at the heat, realizing his lycanthropy must protect him from the worst of the cold, but then all at once she was just marveling in the feel of his lips on hers and thinking of absolutely nothing else. It was exactly as she remembered, somehow both tender and dominant, full of a passion and fire that made her forget all about the freezing cold they were still standing in. It was only when a few of the people who had paused to watch their snowball fight began to wolf-whistle and clap that he finally released her, though he didn't move away. If anything, he simply pulled her in closer.
"Hello sweetheart." He grinned smugly down at her, clearly enjoying the sight of her blushing and panting, trying to regain both her breath and her equilibrium after that kiss. "I'm terribly sorry about that short note. Can you ever forgive me?" And suddenly Hermione remembered why they had had a snowball fight in the first place, and she was smacking his arm, though it lacked any malice.
"Of course I can, but William Weasley, where were you?" Hermione demanded. "I was waiting here for twenty minutes freezing my arse off!" Bill had the decency to look chagrined.
"I know, love, I'm so sorry. I had to stop by Gringotts to grab- or, that is, to settle a few final things with the project, and the goblins were interrogating me about every little detail, you know how they are." Hermione did, in fact, know how they were. She herself had been caught up explaining minute issues (which were always explained clearly and concisely in the reports they also demanded be given on paper), and had been late for coffee or lunch or any number of appointments during her time working for the bank. So she chose to ignore the slight stumble in his words, blaming it on the nerves that had settled on both of them now that they were just standing here, facing each other.
"Yes, I do," she sighed, refusing to allow any awkward silences between them. "After I got back from the Library project, I spent an hour explaining to Fleenon which spells we used on that cavern to get across it. I swear they don't even read the reports!" Bill laughed at her indignant tone.
"They don't, actually." He said knowingly.
"What?" Hermione gasped. All that time, they had never once bothered to read the reports that they ordered?
"Yes, apparently most of them actually can't read English. They keep the reports on file for wizarding records only, not for themselves." Bill explained. Hermione glanced around and suddenly realized that at some point in their conversation, Bill had taken her hand, interlaced their fingers, and steered her towards Fortescue's, which had apparently been covered behind a notice-me-not charm to prevent other patrons from coming in. When Hermione stepped inside the familiar place, however, she let out a small gasp.
The little ice cream parlor had always had pale blue walls, a black-and-white checkerboard floor, and pendants of all different shapes and sizes hanging from the ceiling, creating an ever-shifting array of colored light depending on where one sat. Against the back wall was normally the counter behind which Fortescue ran his business, and a collection of tables and chairs had always been scattered around the room, topped with simple white tablecloths and vases of various types of flowers, depending on the time of year.
Tonight, however, it had been transformed. Now the walls were a deep navy, the somewhat garish mixture of lamps replaced by one large crystalline fixture, casting a soft glow over the room. The back counter was gone, and only one table remained standing on neat mahogany floors, still covered in the iconic white tablecloth, but instead of a vase, there was a small bouquet lying there. As they approached, Hermione realized it was made up of pale pink and white roses.
"They symbolize love, respect, admiration, and new beginnings." Bill murmured in her ear, guiding her towards the table with a possessive hand at the small of her back. He tugged her chair out for her, then pushed it back in once she was sitting. When he took his seat across from her, Hermione could immediately tell by the look in his eyes that she was blushing again.
"How did you know that?" She asked, trying to keep the moment from feeling too serious in the intimate atmosphere. Not because she didn't want the intimacy, but because she was suddenly feeling beyond nervous. Her hands were shaking, she realized, and she quickly slipped them beneath the table so Bill wouldn't notice. Of course, he noticed anyways, but he was a gentleman and made no mention of it, choosing instead to answer her question.
"Don't be too impressed," he said with a wry smile. "I visited Neville Longbottom's place a few shops down, and when I told him what I was hoping to tell you with them, he gave me some much-needed pointers." Hermione's face was never going to return to a normal shade, she was certain. Ron had only ever bought her flowers once, and had simply gone with the cliche red roses on their first Valentine's Day together. Although she had never really had a favorite flower, and certainly had never held anything against red roses, the lack of thought in the gesture had hurt. Her eyes began to fill with tears at how much thought had gone into this night.
"How- how did you do all this?" Hermione asked, laughing and smiling and crying all at once. Seeming to sense that giving her an answer would help her to compose herself more than him trying to parse everything out himself, Bill launched into a brief but impressive explanation.
"Well, Fortescue's son and I went to Hogwarts together, and I got to be pretty good friends with his father too in the last couple years. The Fortescue family has a load of ancient artifacts, and most of them are cursed in some way or another." Hermione nodded along, taking in his words and wiping her tears, finally managing to settle herself while he continued to talk.
"They can't afford the regular rate for a curse breaker at Gringotts, so I've been helping them out when I can pro bono. It's mostly just fun for me, honestly, but they both were more than happy to return the favor with all of this," Bill waved his hand casually around the room, as if "all of this" referred to a little change in the tablecloths and not redesigning the whole parlor. Hermione's mouth was open in shock.
"Bill, I can't believe you did all this, I mean-" Hermione took a deep breath before she could start crying again. "I'm sorry for getting emotional, I've just never had anyone do anything like this for me before. Thank you." She said softly, looking him in the eye and hoping to convey with her smile and her tears all that words could not.
Bill reached across the table and gently wiped away Hermione's tears. It made him beyond happy to see her so overjoyed by his little plan, and simultaneously reawakened the ever-strengthening urge to find his youngest brother and punch his lights out. How Ronald could have had such an amazing woman, and not only let her go but practically pushed her out the door, he would never understand. He couldn't imagine ever wanting to do anything to hurt her.
Suddenly, the door to the back room opened, and out came Florian Fortescue himself, carrying a tray with a variety of small treats and two strawberry daiquiris. He set the tray down between them, turned to Bill with a quiet reminder to reinstate the night wards once they were gone, nodded once politely to Hermione, and then turned around and left. Hermione returned the nod with a smile that lit up her whole face, and Bill felt some relief sweep through him. He had been afraid this would all be a little too much, but his witch appeared to be thoroughly enjoying it all, happily selecting a few things from the plate of desserts and sipping on her daiquiri.
As if the appearance of the familiar pink drinks was a trigger, they quickly began to slip into their usual routine of conversation. Bill spent thirty minutes straight arguing with her that the best way to deal with a cursed, venomous snake was FaeFyre, the Lighter but still dangerous companion of FiendFyre. It was destructive enough to get rid of the thing, he insisted, without doing damage to anything or anyone nearby. Hermione appeared determined to make him see that any sort of Fyre spell should be avoided at all costs, and ultimately the debate ended in a ceasefire, neither side giving an inch. As the time drifted away swiftly towards midnight, during a brief lull in the conversation, Bill thought idly that this was one of the best nights he had had in a long time.
"This has been one of the best nights of my life," Hermione murmured softly, as if reading his mind.
"I feel the same." Bill affirmed, reaching out across the table and grasping her hand in his. "It's almost midnight, by the way, and I have one more surprise for you." He said, shooting her a cheeky wink when she looked at him suspiciously.
"No snowballs or people dropping onto you out of thin air, I promise." He reassured her with a laugh. Reaching for his wand, Bill began to set the place to rights while Hermione shrugged her coat back on, tugged on the adorable muggle beanie she had been wearing earlier, and then slipped on her gloves. When Fortescue's looked once more like an ice cream parlor and Bill had re-warded the premises, he slipped on his own winter gear and guided Hermione outside in the direction of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
"You promised no more antics!" Hermione poked him in the side, clearly having seen where they were going.
"This isn't an antic! Wizard's honor." Bill promised earnestly. Hermione just rolled her eyes but had obviously decided to trust him, since she allowed him to reclaim her hand and tug her onward. When they were finally just outside the joke shop, the clock tower of Gringotts began to sound, and Bill once more took her face in his hands and kissed her, long and slow. Hermione jumped when, as the final toll rang out, a loud boom! interrupted their kiss.
"Look up," Bill whispered.
High in the sky above them, dragons began to dance through the night sky. A Phoenix soared, weaving in and out of clouds in a burst of red and gold light. A unicorn came next, dashing across the darkness in a shimmering mist of silver and gold. And on, and on, and on it went, until finally, their private fireworks show ended, and Bill looked down at Hermione with a love unlike anything he had ever felt.
"Happy New Year, darling." He murmured to her.
"Happy New Year." Hermione returned with a wide smile. "Now, your place? I do believe we have a thorough search to conduct, the one we discussed in November?" She arched a brow, her face the picture of innocence, and Bill suddenly whirled her up into his arms with a wicked laugh.
"Yes, yes we do." And they apparated away into the night.
January 1st, 2004
The Daily Prophet
A New Weasley Lover for our Golden Girl?
By Rita Skeeter
Last night, sources spotted Hermione Jean Granger, the Brightest Witch of her Age, out on the arm of one William Weasley, a part-lycanthrope and the older brother of her ex-husband! Not only is there nearly a ten-year age gap between these two, there is also reportedly bad blood lingering between Miss Granger and the Weasley Matriarch, Molly. In an interview she gave after the divorce between war-hero Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger, Lavender Brown, Ronald Weasley's new wife, cited Miss Granger's unending ambition as the cause for their split. "I mean, even at Hogwarts," The new Mrs. Weasley reports, "she was never satisfied with just Ron. She was always chasing after something bigger!" [See my article 'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache', for more on Miss Granger's past with famous men.] It is a well known fact that William Weasley is a highly respected curse breaker, who has become something of a celebrity himself due to his near-100% success rate in the field. The New Mrs. Weasley asserts that Miss Granger abandoned her marriage due to Auror Weasley's brief struggle with alcoholism, which this reporter is sad to say greatly affected his reputation for several months. It seems clear that Miss Granger is still seeking a man to help her climb the ladder, and who better than a handsome and well-respected professional in her field? But can their relationship survive the fury of Molly Weasley? Article continues on pg. 16.
January 1st, 2004
Bill was confused. He had had no alcohol the night before, so why was his head pounding like a drum? A loud, persistent thumping, and was that some sort of shrieking? That sounded like-
"BILL, OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR BEFORE I BREAK IT DOWN!" There was no mistaking Ron's voice. Bill shot straight up, waking Hermione, who had been nestled into his side.
"What? What is it?" she asked blearily, still too much in the fog of sleep to recognize what was happening.
"Nothing love, it's alright, just go back to bed," Bill soothed. Hermione nodded groggily, falling back asleep almost immediately, and Bill was beyond thankful that she really did sleep like the dead, as she had claimed in one of her letters. He paused a moment, drinking in the sight of her perfect, naked body splayed out next to him, desperately wishing to ignore his little brother and wake her up with something far more pleasant. But then the pounding, which had paused for a brief moment, began again, somehow more insistent than before, and he sighed in resignation.
Slipping out of bed, Bill cast around for a moment, still unfamiliar with the temporary flat Gringotts had provided for him, until his eyes landed on the dresser. Tugging on pants, trousers, and a t-shirt, he stopped only to snag his wand from the bedside table before leaving the bedroom. He cast a quick silencing charm behind him, hoping to let Hermione sleep a little longer while he dealt with whatever it was that had his brother riled up at- he glanced at his watch and groaned- 5:30 in the morning. Bill scrubbed a hand down his face, took a deep breath, and slowly opened the front door. Instantly he was accosted by a newspaper, shoved into his face, the ink so fresh that Bill could feel it smear slightly on his nose.
"What the fuck?" he snarled. He really wasn't a morning person.
"I'm the one who should be saying what the fuck!" Ron shouted in his face. "You're sleeping with my fucking ex-wife!" Bill nearly stumbled backwards at the force of that statement. He hadn't told anyone about Hermione, there wasn't even anything to say yet. He had wanted to discuss what exactly they were, and wanted to be to one another, last night, but he and Hermione had been apart for so long. He had decided to just enjoy their conversation and see where the night led. Had Hermione told someone? And then Bill realized what exactly was being shoved in his face.
He snatched the midnight edition of the Daily Prophet out of his little brother's hands, not even needing to turn a page since the very front cover was a photograph of him and Hermione in Diagon Alley last night, engaged in what was very obviously a passionate kiss. As he skimmed the article, rage started to well up inside him. At Skeeter's claims that Hermione was sleeping her way to the top. At the insinuation that it was Hermione's fault that Ron had very nearly drunken himself into an early grave. He could feel the wolf inside him pacing in his mind, trying to figure out what steps they would need to take next. In the end, it was his werewolf reflexes that spared him from having to make a decision about what to do in that moment, without Hermione next to him, because Bill had never responded to Ron's statement. His brother had clearly taken the silence as an admission of guilt, (which, he supposed, he was guilty, though he felt no remorse for it) and Ron's fist was less than an inch from his face when Bill caught it. Immediately he flung Ron back across the threshold, but as his little brother stumbled against the opposite wall, Bill really took him in for the first time.
Ron's face was red, his eyes bloodshot. He reeked of alcohol, sweat, and what Bill really hoped wasn't urine, though he was almost certain it was. His hair was all over the place, as though he had been running his hands through it repeatedly for hours. The clothes he wore were ripped, stained, and dirty, and Bill realized he also smelled blood, though it wasn't a familiar scent. Ron must have gotten into a fight with somebody else.
"You're drunk," Bill stated the obvious, feeling stupid but also like it needed to be said.
"Wouldn't you be?" Ron spat with a venom in his voice Bill had never heard before. "My older brother, the perfect older brother that could have any girl he wanted, is sleeping with the girl I've been in love with since I was thirteen!" His voice rose steadily, becoming louder and louder in the near-silent hall, and Bill prayed that his neighbors were the forgiving sort.
"Go home, Ronald. Sober up, sleep it off, and then we can discuss this later." Bill said lowly. But Ron was clearly beyond caring.
"No! No, I am not going to go home! I want to see her, now. She's got to be here, since you're fucking her." Again the words were spoken with a poison so intense, that Bill suspected that he would be dead if they could enter his bloodstream. Thankfully, there was no poison, and he was able to easily fend off his little brother as he tried to push his way into the flat. After a few more minutes of pushing and shoving, Bill finally heaved a great sigh, pretending to let the door fall open as if he was about to let Ron in. When his little brother stepped forward, however, Bill simply grabbed hold of his arm and apparated.
They landed in the kitchen of the Burrow with a thud. Bill watched his mother and a woman who must be Lavender, Ron's new wife, jump to their feet in shock as he deposited the other man onto the ground none too gently. Immediately, Ron began to throw up, likely feeling the horrible mixture of side-along apparition and alcohol, but Bill ignored the retching and simply reached down into his brother's back pocket. Fishing out his wand, he held it up in front of his mother and the other woman, then shoved it into his own pocket.
"Floo call or owl me when he's ready to be an adult and talk. Until then, I'm keeping his wand. He shouldn't be apparating anywhere in his state." Bill said coldly. Not waiting for a response, he gripped his own wand once more, turned on the spot, and prayed that Hermione had truly slept through the whole ordeal.