Chapter Text
"Circe, you're shaking. I can hear your heart pounding. Hermione - "
Fuck. Hermione had forgotten about his heightened senses, a relic of the attack. He could probably smell how wet she was, too.
Her ass was bare beneath his exploring hands, her legs trapped by her trousers where he'd pulled them down to her knees. Her blouse was rucked under her ribs, leaving her stomach to rub against his warm, jean-clad thighs. Feeling his cock wedged against her hipbone made her think of other body parts she'd like it to be pressed against. Or into.
A living fantasy, and he had to go into big brother mode and ruin it.
She swallowed hard. She was shaking, her mouth a desert and her heart doing its best impression of a hummingbird, but when she cut off his well-meant concern, at least her voice was steady. She tossed in a measure of the sass she'd spouted earlier, back when she thought he didn't mean it. When she didn't realize she was about to get herself into the best kind of trouble.
"You'd better finish what you fucking started, Weasley."
Four days earlier...
The second week of curse breaker training was almost as boring as the first. Brian Garrett had 40 years in the business, a grizzled face with the scars to prove it, a hundred fascinating stories, and a voice and teaching presence that could rival Binns.
Hermione tried to channel the thirst for knowledge that kept her awake in History of Magic, she really did. But the distant trickle of water along the subterranean walls of Gringotts' training department distracted her. She took notes automatically - a near-perfect replica of his lecture - and shoved down any misgivings about her life choices.
It'll get more interesting when we get to practicum, surely.
At lunch, she avoided everyone, opting to eat the sandwich she'd packed from home in a barren office down a deserted hallway. The rest of the incoming class was fresh from Hogwarts, their enthusiasm betraying that they were too young to remember what real danger looked like. The glances she got were half curiosity with a touch of awe and half pity and scorn. Weighted more to the latter, really, thanks to that glorified gossip rag called the Prophet, but neither reaction showed much promise in the way of development of workplace friendships.
That was fine. Naglock had guaranteed her an overseas placement once she was through training. No point bothering when she'd be starting over soon enough somewhere else.
Half a cup of cold brew later and she could dig through her notes with a bit more clarity. The first week had been all orientation and safety training, and the second started with a review of the illustrious history of Gringotts curse breakers. It was interesting stuff, when you weren't trying to absorb it through the filter of a quiet monotone.
"'Mione?"
The fuck?
The nickname made her cringe these days - not even Harry used it - but the familiar West Country lilt was deeper and warmer than Ron's, soothing her knee-jerk revulsion.
She lifted her head to see William Weasley blocking the door to her sanctuary, looking like a tall drink of water in jeans, a faded green t-shirt, and dusty boots that matched his weathered brown leather jacket. The deep scars running down the left side of his face had, in her mind, only ever added to his rugged good looks.
She swallowed the last bite of her sandwich nearly whole. "Um. Bill. Hi?"
His easy grin made her breath quicken, proving time hadn't lessened the crush she developed during her recuperation at Shell Cottage. They hadn't been close before that, but they became good friends after - at least until his divorce from Fleur, when he went overseas again.
"You haven't written in nearly two years, poppet. You owe me more than a hi."
She'd gut anyone else for calling her that, but when he said it, it brought back memories of safety, of warmth. She forgot herself, the lost time dissipating for a moment as she let him tug her up and into a crushing hug. It was nice but quick, and when he let her go, he ruffled her hair. God, she'd missed that.
"Fuck are you doing in this place, though?"
She glanced at the desk and back up at him. She'd forgotten how ridiculously tall he was. And built. Hopefully he couldn't make out her blush in the dimly lit room. "Canteen's - um - crowded."
He raised an eyebrow. Everything in Gringotts was cavernous, including the employee lounge.
She turned the question back on him. "Last I heard from Ginny, you were in Tunisia."
"I got called back. And this happens to be my office," he informed her with a wry twist of his lips. "When I'm out of country long enough, someone eventually forgets and moves the placard, but - "
He waved a hand and an entire section of the room materialized, containing a wall-to-wall bookshelf and some neatly-stacked boxes. He was a genius with wards (and most other things), but she was surprised she hadn't even sensed the magic obscuring it.
"Ah." Her fingers itched to run along the spines of his books, but she collected her notes, tucking them into her beaded bag as she plotted her escape. Better not to give herself complications; she had no idea what he'd heard since the breakup. "Sorry for crashing your spot. I'll just - "
"Oh, please. You can crash my office anytime. I'm still curious why, though, I thought you were at the Ministry."
He was being cordial, at least - that was a good sign. Ginny was firmly on Team Hermione, but Ron's mum wouldn't speak to her, and watching George and Charlie try to avoid getting caught in the middle was painful enough that she avoided them most of the time. Harry did a better job of straddling the divide, but he was so wrapped up with work and the baby that they didn't get to catch up often.
"I'm in the new curse-breaking class." Some abominable flicker of hope led her to glance up and add, "Actually, if you're going to be around for a bit, I'd love to chat you up about work and book recs if it's not too much tro - "
"You're what?" His voice deepened, the smile falling. Beneath the incredulity, there was an undercurrent of - anger? - that made her stiffen.
Her stomach sank. Either he'd spoken to Ron or he'd read too much of the Prophet lately. "You heard what I said, Bill."
"Fuck's sake. Why?"
That was the million Galleon question, right? According to Flub, the political opinion columnist, she couldn't hack it at the Ministry - ruffled too many feathers trying to shake things up with attempts at reform. (That wasn't entirely inaccurate, though she and Flub disagreed on how much input a "young, opinionated [read: uppity] Muggleborn" should have in government business.) Mercer, who wrote for the society pages, thought she was throwing herself into workaholism to cope with her singledom, though the reporter had yet to pinpoint the exact cause of Hermione's lonely bitch disease. That didn't keep the woman from speculating on her PTSD, "failed" relationships with Ron and Viktor, distance from family and friends, and virtually every other facet of her life in nauseating detail.
The tone and the look on Bill's face suggested his perspective wasn't any less judgmental. She folded her arms over her chest, her voice clipped. "The pay's good and the work looks to be interesting. And they offered me a generous sign-on bonus."
"It's a dangerous job. You've got no business - "
Is he actually serious right now? "I never took you for a chauvinist, Weasley."
His eyes widened at the icy jab, then narrowed in the kind of determination she'd seen on Ron's face whenever he tried to talk her out of or into something she didn't want to do. "That's not what I meant. 'Mione - "
"Stop fucking calling me that. You don't - " She sucked in a breath, schooling the maelstrom of emotion from her voice as she uncrossed her arms, unballed her fists. Stuffing her things back in her bag, she slung it over her shoulder and shot him a tight smile, speaking in the most even tone she could manage. "It was good to see you again, Bill. I should get to class. Take care."
"Hermione, wait - "
He sounded apologetic as he reached for her, but she pushed past him and fled the room before his hand could close around her arm. She walked quickly through a maze of hallways until she was certain he didn't follow, blinking back hot tears.
She hadn't realized how much she needed to see a friendly face until, like everything else in her life lately, the situation went pear-shaped. She should have known better than to hope by now.
Bollocksed that up, didn't you, asshole?
Bill debated following Hermione, but decided against it; if he'd paused and gotten a handle on himself to begin with, maybe he wouldn't have made such a mess of things. He dropped like a stone into the desk chair she'd vacated, the leather still warm from her body. Beneath the musty, unused-office smell, he could pick up the floral scent of her soap - hibiscus, maybe?
He remembered it from her stay at Shell Cottage, and from their lunches talking spell creation and wards after the war. It lingered on the few letters they'd exchanged when he left. He dreamt of it, sometimes, the months he and Fleur had been separated, and after the divorce. Hermione was always Ron's girl, though, and he'd respected that.
But Ginny said they'd broken up when he went back to Egypt. He'd gotten - what - two letters after? She didn't mention anything about it, and he was so wrapped up in his own shit that he didn't follow up the way he should have.
And now the Fates dropped her in his lap and he went and put his size-twelve boot in his damn mouth. Griphook used to warn him about that. Naglock was a good boss, ran things by the book, but he missed the old bastard.
He raked a hand through his hair, sending a few cleansing charms over the room. He'd have to set things up with the custodial department, since he would be making use of the space for the first time in two years.
No one liked leading training, but it was infinitely preferable to pushing paper or dealing with stuffy estate assignments, so he'd volunteered. He liked the field, but Naglock was of the mind that they all needed to rotate home from time to time. Boss had been reading too many human management books on work-life balance. Goblin culture was peculiar, though, so maybe she just thought he needed to find a new wife.
When he walked into the class, most of the students looked relieved to see Garrett was gone, but Hermione blanched. The sight of her tear-reddened eyes - and the knowledge he'd been the cause - made his stomach knot unpleasantly.
"Name's Bill Weasley. I'll be taking over."
The two younger girls and one of the boys were giving him 'hot for teacher' looks; the rest of the boys commenced awestruck whispering. Bill resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They were technically men and women, of age and having graduated, but the older he got, the harder it was to take 18-year-olds seriously.
"We know who you are. Fucking legend, bruv. I've got your chocolate frog card framed."
"Yeah, yeah." He held up a hand to silence the chatter. "I figured the novelty of having a war hero around would've worn off by now, since the real legend's over there."
Hermione looked like she'd rather crawl under the nearest rock than be acknowledged. A few of the students shrugged, seeming unimpressed.
Well, that might explain why he found her cooped up in his office. He'd been too long out of country, and far too long out of touch with her. She never liked being the center of attention or dealing with new people, but this was more than that. Something's off about her.
He set that puzzle aside for later, but he fully intended to get to the bottom of it.
"You-Know-Who's old news. You ten spent the last week in the company of one of the country's best curse breakers. Tell me something legendary that Garrett's pulled off that's within the scope of what you're here to do."
Zero hands went up. Chuckleheads could probably give him a nauseatingly sanitized blow-by-blow of the shitshow that was the Battle of Hogwarts, but they didn't know the first thing about curse breaking. He'd have scoffed at the evidence that they picked their career path based on the cool factor, but the truth was he had, too - along with 90% of the department. The shine would wear off quick, though; he wondered how long they'd stick around.
"Valley of the Queens, Egypt," Hermione said quietly, her face shuttered. "1973, Garrett ends the curse the workers left behind - most of his job had to be done at their tombs in Deir el Medina, though. Handy bit of ghost magic. Took him a few years because of the size of the place. 2003, you pulled off a similar feat at the Tomb of the Two Brothers in Saqqara in two months, since it was a smaller job."
"That, and I had old Garrett's playbook to go by. I'm glad at least one of you has been listening."
She may not have written, but she'd kept tabs. Her face lightened a touch at the praise, but if she thought the fact that she was an attentive student (and fucking brilliant) would get him to co-sign this bullshit move, she was in for a rude awakening.
"Finally!" Ginny stage-whispered, casting a silencing charm on the living room as she wandered in and poured herself a sizeable glass of wine. "Don't ever have kids, Bill."
"Oh, come on, he's fucking adorable."
"Adorable and a bloody terror," she said with comically wide eyes, downing a third of the glass in one go. Then she narrowed her gaze. "You'd know that if you were ever home."
"I will be for the next nine months, so I can make up all my missed uncle duties." He looked forward to that part - being stationed overseas, however much he preferred the assignments, meant he missed out on big brother duties, too.
"You may come to regret that promise," Harry chimed in with good-natured humor, taking the other armchair that occupied the living room of the modest house he and Ginny shared. "You run into Hermione over there yet? I think she was supposed to start last week. Or was it the week before, Gin? Been too long since we had her over."
"She started last week," Bill supplied, grateful they broached the subject first. "And yeah, ran into her yesterday. What's up with that? I thought things were going well at the Ministry."
"Let's just say the public will for post-war reforms ran dry," Harry said. "Kings has his hands full trying to keep the purebloods on board with the smallest changes. To be honest, though, I'm not sure that's entirely to blame for the jump."
"What do you mean?"
Ginny and Harry exchanged a look before Ginny downed another healthy swallow of wine and said, "Well, our brother was a right bastard - "
"Gin, that's not exactly - "
She glared at Harry until his jaw snapped shut before turning to Bill. "As I was saying," she emphasized, "Ron was a right bastard to her, and I don't think she's really bounced back from it - 'course, doesn't help she lost the whole lot of her friends in one go thanks to him."
"She what?" Bill asked incredulously. "I mean, there's us and Charlie and George, plus the Hogwarts crowd - "
Ginny snorted. "Right. Charlie and George tiptoe around trying to be diplomatic. Harry, too. You've been off on the other side of the world, I'm wrapped up with the baby, mum won't even have her around, for fuck's sake. Neville and Luna and everyone else feel caught in the middle, too, I think - Ron's shacked up with Lavender Brown, and they're all mates with her as well."
"He's engaged to Lavender, Gin," Harry said tightly. "We've got to be nice to her."
"Yeah, got engaged after he slept around on Min for years," Ginny said hotly. "Not to mention what else he - "
"Slow down," Bill said, starting to get whiplash. "Mum won't have her around?"
"Ron was good at making Min look like the problem, and you know how mum is. I love her, but no one can speak ill of her ickle Ronniekins." Ginny rolled her eyes. "Even if he is a two-timing using dumpster fire. Why do you think Min hasn't come 'round at Christmas like she used to?"
"I just figured she was at her parents', I didn't - " Bill scrubbed a hand over his face, kicking himself for not asking. Hermione had been a holiday fixture at the Burrow since the war - at least until the last two years. "Fuck. I didn't realize the breakup was such a mess."
"Yeah, I don't think she's really been speaking to her parents either, but she won't talk about it," Harry said with a sigh. "She's had a rough go the last couple years."
"We could have done more," Ginny reminded him. "I've tried, but girls' night only goes so far. She misses you."
"I'm doing the best I can, aren't I? I can't lose Ron as my mate, either. And he's your brother."
The disgust that curled Ginny's lip told Bill all he needed to know. His little sister was an excellent judge of people - and shit at dissembling. "Just because we share blood doesn't mean I'm going to give him a free pass for being a prat. And he was, you know. I'm amazed she stuck around for four years, don't know how many times I told her to dump him."
That, Bill could understand - the sticking around. He'd realized his mistake in marrying Fleur as soon as the fog of war cleared, but it had taken him another few years to grow a pair and do something about it. The divorce was amicable, though, and she'd been doing well since she moved back to France.
"Anyway, I'm glad you're around, Bill," Harry said, seeming eager to get away from the topic of Ron. "She always liked you, and she could use a friend."
"Yeah, about that - I may have shared my opinion on her career choices a bit too bluntly, she's cross with me."
"What do you mean?"
"It's a dangerous job. And I don't think it's a good fit for her, not field work, anyhow."
Ginny frowned. "She's brilliant and good with a wand. What's the problem? I mean, yeah, she's going to run off abroad the minute they let her, but frankly the woman deserves a break from this place. Even the Prophet's been having a go."
Harry's expression told Bill he shared some of those misgivings, but he wasn't about to risk his wife's wrath. The validation made Bill feel slightly less weird about his overprotective instincts, though. There was something off with her, and it wasn't just that he carried a torch and couldn't bear the thought of her being hurt.
You can't, though, can you?
"It's one thing to take calculated risks, but with all she's gone through, aren't you worried she might be reckless, Gin?"
Ginny's stubborn expression wasn't far off Hermione's. "I think she's old enough to choose for herself."
For someone who didn't want her around, Bill stared a hell of a lot. Hermione kept her eyes on her parchment and her comments to a bare minimum all week in class. He mostly ignored her presence, but she caught him studying her like a puzzle he intended to decipher whenever he thought she wasn't looking.
The most irritating puzzle he'd ever seen.
She found a different office - one she hoped was legitimately abandoned - and waited out her lunches there. Having to be the smartest in the room to prove she belonged somewhere was nothing new. Bill was a much more engaging trainer than Garrett, so staying on top of the class wasn't a problem, though she tried not to press an unfair advantage given her age and experience over the other students.
Staying on top of her frustration and attraction towards him was becoming a very big problem.
At night, she went home to her boring London flat. It was a good thing she could never get up the heart to get another familiar after Crooks died, since the life of a curse breaker probably wouldn't lend itself to having an animal, but bloody hell, it was lonely. She filled the time with cooking elaborate meals, researching spell creation, and brushing up on her healing skills, since they were likely to come in handy on the job.
When she got into bed, she turned off all the lights and slipped her hand into her panties. It took her a full year after Ron to even enjoy this, and to get over her embarrassment about the particular kinds of fantasies she had. But as she closed her eyes and let her mind drift, the usually faceless, attentive lover in her head had come to look and sound a lot like Bill Weasley, and before she knew it, she was crying.
Motherfucker.
She just wanted to have a fucking orgasm without being reminded that she didn't deserve a happy relationship. And her fantasies were the one place she could escape being judged and found wanting. It was useless, though; no matter how much she tried to set her mind elsewhere, she couldn't picture anything but Bill's red hair and freckles and stupidly gorgeous chiseled jaw.
He'd be disgusted by the thoughts she had; BDSM was more widely accepted in the wizarding world, but Hermione had the impression that age play was just as taboo as among Muggles. She'd never been brave enough to tell Ron, especially after he took her broaching the subject of dominance and submission to mean 'up for whatever he felt like, whenever he felt like it, with zero reciprocity and consideration whatsoever.' Not that that had been a huge change from how things were before they discussed kink.
Hermione shoved down her fears and self-criticism, locking them firmly away with her rudimentary skill in Occlumency as she flipped the lamp on and sat up in bed. She summoned a coloring book and her art supplies so she didn't have to go to the other room, tucking the fuzzy throw at the end of the bed around herself. She'd read online about littles in the Muggle world, and though she didn't think she'd go in for all of what she'd seen, coloring made everything better.
It was meditative, like working an Arithmancy equation. And spending time in 'little space' helped her cope with the shitshow known as her life.
She wouldn't think about how much she wished she had a Daddy to hold her on his lap or let her sit at his feet. And no goddamn way would Bill fucking Weasley ruin coloring, too.