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“Mum? I can’t find Snuffles anywhere. Have you seen him?” Rose yelled from the bottom of the stairs, still trying to look for her tabby cat. She’d last seen the little sneak right before Nana Molly left the night before. Rose had spent the entire night trying to convince Nana that she was old enough to take care of herself. And yes, Mum would be back soon, Aunt Ginny had promised so, saying they just needed her Mum to let off some steam since work was causing her some trouble. Again.
Nana had reluctantly left, but only after Rose promised to floo her if she needed anything. And after making sure all the wards were in place.
And now she couldn’t find Snuffles. It had a bad habit of sneaking off to the neighbours. After searching through her entire collection of stuffed animals, where Snuffles also liked to hide, she decided she would have to wake Mum. Aunt Ginny had floo called only minutes earlier, only minutes after Nana floo called to make sure Rose was okay (she was, she just couldn’t find Snuffles, and she missed him), wanting to check in that Mum was okay. Rose had only rolled her eyes.
“Mum just needs to sleep in after your nights out.”
Mum very rarely went out, but the few times she did, Rose looked forward to the few hours she would have by herself at the house. The day before, she had noticed where Mum hid the cookies.
“Yes, well, she had a few more, uh…” Ginny had trailed off. It was evident she was unsure how much to tell her ten-year-old niece. Rose had rolled her eyes a second time.
“I know how Mum gets when she drinks too many Butterbeers,” she groused, ignoring the memory of her seventh birthday. Thankfully, it hadn’t happened more than once or twice since then.
“Right, well, I just wanted to be sure. Say good morning to her from me, will you?”
At the top of the stairs, Rose bypassed the top step, not wanting to trip or wake Mum with the creak. She certainly didn’t want to scare Snuffles if he’d crawled into bed with Mum again. Mum rarely allowed Snuffles to cuddle in bed with her. Maybe if he were cuddling with Mum, Rose could crawl in the bed with them, too.
“Mum?” Rose pushed the door open, blinking to adjust to the minimal lighting. A draft from the open window blew by her, bringing with it the lingering smell of Butterbeers. “Wonderful,” Rose mumbled to herself. Mum wouldn’t want to snuggle that morning; sleep would be her priority if they were to make it to the crafts appointment that afternoon. Rose set off towards the curtains and, without preamble, pulled them back to let in the early sunlight. Something, no, someone hissed from the middle of Mum’s bed. “Aunt Ginny told me to wake you. Have you seen Snuffles?” Rose crossed her arms, mimicking a stance she had perfected after watching Nana do it with all her cousins and uncles throughout the years.
“Rose?” Mum’s muffled voice muttered from somewhere under the pillows and comforters that had wrapped around her in the middle of the night. Her hair appeared first, then a crack of an eye that squinted at Rose in the bright light. She groaned, then waved her hand and made the curtains draw across the window again.
“Er, Mum?”
“Yes, Sugar Snap?”
Rose bit her lip and turned her face to the ceiling when Mum rolled over in her bed, exhaling tiredly.
“You’re not wearing your pyjamas.” Her mother let out an exhausted shriek. “Again.”
“I’m sorry, I- what time is it? Did you say Ginny?” Mum pulled a comforter to cover her chest so as not to offend her modest child as she sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Rose deigned to look at the bed again. When she did, her mouth dropped open again.
“Mum?”
“When did Ginny call? How is she not hungover?” Mum asked. She seemed distracted, running her hands through her hair, eyes squinted together to tiny slits.
“Mum?”
“No, I haven’t seen Snuffles. He’ll probably be over with the Sullivans again. We can get him after breakfast.”
“MUM?”
Mum blinked at the volume. When Rose pointed to the space beside Mum in her bed, she jumped on the spot, which happened to tug on the comforter.
“What-?”
“Why is Uncle Bill in your bed? Naked?” Rose squealed, hurrying to cover her eyes. Unfortunately, she was too slow and caught sight of her uncle’s bare arse as the comforter slid to the floor. Mum made a very strange and high-pitched sound. With her eyes covered, she had no idea of what was going on as her mother fumbled for words. She jostled into Rose when she scrambled from the bed. A distinctive male groan rose from somewhere in the middle of the bed.
“Morning, Rosie.”
Rose waved a hand, not letting the other drop from her eyes, afraid of what she might see if she did. Uncle Bill’s low rumbling chuckle echoed in the room.
“Uncle Bill…. he uh…. helped me get home last night…. and he….” Mum babbled. Rose turned towards her, peeking through two fingers and was glad to see her mother wrapped in her lilac robe, tying it around her waist. Her hair was wilder than ever before, as were her frantic eyes, darting between Rose and her uncle.
“I was too tired to floo home,” Uncle Bill said casually. Without thinking, Rose turned to him, relieved to find that he had pulled a comforter to cover his lower body. Her nose twitched at the sight of the scars across his torso. She never liked to see her family hurt in any way, even if it happened before she was born.
“Oh, that makes sense.” At least, she thought it did. He wouldn’t have any pyjamas to sleep in. But it didn’t explain why Mum hadn’t worn her pyjamas. She had plenty of pyjamas. They had gone shopping for several sets the previous holiday. Rose loved hers with pink marshmallows on it.
“Right. Um, Rose, love, why don’t you Floo to your Aunt Ginny for breakfast while I-“
“Help me find my clothes?” Uncle Bill suggested, to which Rose’s mother turned beet red in the face.
“Something like that,” she said through clenched teeth. Rose didn’t get to argue before Mum bustled the two of them downstairs again to the Floo. She and Aunt Ginny shared a conversation, which Rose understood nothing of. Aunt Ginny pulled her head from the fireplace with a loud cackle that made Rose smile. Before she could ask what it had been about, Mum pulled her in for a tight hug.
“I’ll be over shortly.” She kissed her forehead. “I just need to shower and wrangle this thing,” she said with a tug on her hair. Rose laughed. Her hair might be redder than brown, but it was still unruly on the worst of days, although nothing compared to Mum’s. “I promise I’ll be over in time for our date this afternoon, I just have to…” she trailed off, glancing at the ceiling. She took a steadying breath; one Rose had seen her perfect on very loud afternoons at the Burrow. Her smile was patient and her usual Mum, when she cupped Rose’s shoulders, gesturing to the floo powder. “You can tell Ginny that Bill made sure I got home safe.”
“Okay.”
Hermione stared at the embers for several minutes. Memories of the events from the previous night struggled to be strung together for her to make sense of. Ginny had been persistent about this new pub they had to try. She had claimed that even Harry had recommended it, which was the only thing that persuaded Hermione to deviate from her usual two cocktails at the local café. The longer she rubbed her temples, the more she regretted not sticking to that choice.
She vividly remembered the time when Bill, Percy and Audrey had crashed her and Ginny’s night. Her two usual cocktails had turned into a bit more than that, and at that point, Hermione had already been well on her way to being more than tipsy. Things started to blur after that; only glimpses of things rose to the forefront of her mind. Most of those glimpses flashed the bright red hair she now knew what felt like. After years of wondering how it-
“Oh, sweet Merlin,” she whined when a very clear memory presented itself with Bill’s sharp angles wrapped around her scantily clad body in the middle of the night. Colour rose across her neck to settle in her cheeks as more images decided to creep out from the sloshed corners of her memory. Covering her eyes did nothing when her mind kept playing the same images on a loop. She only felt her cheeks heat even more.
A sound from upstairs pulled her from her memories. After checking one more time that neither Rose nor Ginny would be returning through the floo, she tightened her robe. Her knuckles whitened as she grabbed the banister. She might as well face things head-on to clear the air.
Bill waited for her in her bed when she made it upstairs. The comforter was thrown casually over his lower half, to which Hermione released a soft sigh. He leaned against the headboard, his long hair pulled back into a haphazard bun after she’d dragged her fingers through it last night, tugging on it when-
Pinching her lips so hard it almost hurt, she shoved those memories away.
“I hope I didn’t traumatise poor Rosie for life,” Bill chuckled, hands clasped in his lap as he cocked a cheeky look in her direction. It loosened something in Hermione, who let her shoulders drop the tension. Despite the warmth in Bill’s gaze, she declined his invitation to sit on the bed when he patted his hand on the mattress.
“She’ll survive.”
“Good.”
“Bill, how-“ She released a long, drawn-out breath, running a hand into her hair only for it to get caught in the tangled mess. Bill’s eyes shifted, glinting gold so fast she thought she imagined it, but when the tip of his tongue poked the corner of his mouth, she thought she might faint.
He had always had this effect on her, as much as she forced herself to ignore it. It helped when she was involved with other people. Exclusivity in a relationship prevented her from fantasising about a man she shouldn’t want. When he married Fleur, she was relieved. The feeling had surprised her, and it was partly why she eventually agreed to marry Ron. She needed to move on and forget about those silly fantasies from her youth.
And for many years, things were good between Ron and her.
Until they weren’t that great. Thankfully, Ron recognised the same reasons she did, and things worked out well enough. At least well enough for Rose’s sake.
“Hermione,” Bill said, breaking her from her mental spiralling. His voice rumbled across the meagre distance she tried to maintain, even when she slowly sidled closer to the opposite side of her bed, not trusting herself to be too near him. “You don’t remember everything from last night, do you?”
His sly smile told her almost everything she needed to know, not to mention the soreness in her thighs and core.
“Bill, last night… I’d had a lot to drink, and I- we shouldn’t-“ She stopped, biting her bottom lip as she continued to war with her flashing memories and questioning emotions. Everything was too blurry and too… exposed in more than one way for her to put into words.
She was startled when Bill’s surprisingly tender touch pulled her lip from her teeth.
“You can stop fussing. We didn’t do anything we haven’t wanted to do for a long time.”
Air whooshed from her lungs in her hurry to get on her feet.
“That’s not- I mean, obviously, but you’re-“ Hermione froze mid-sentence when Bill rose onto his knees in the middle of her bed. At the rate her heart fluttered, she was relieved he kept the comforter around his waist.
“I’m what, Hermione?” He cocked his head, a silent challenge. His throat bobbed when his gaze dipped lower, causing Hermione to realise that her robe had flared halfway open to reveal… well… most of her. She flushed even deeper when Bill’s brows lowered, and desire glazed his eyes.
“You’re… you.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that?” Amusement mixed with the heat in his voice. He didn’t take his eyes off her. As if he had all the time in the world, his eyes raked over every inch of her with a determination as if he was mapping all of her.
She let out a frustrated groan. They were going to have this conversation then.
“You’re Ron’s brother. Older brother,” she clarified.
“Does the age bother you?”
“No,” she snapped. Taking a reassuring breath, she explained. “No. No, the age doesn’t bother me. It never has.”
“I know for a fact that Ron isn’t an issue. I remember almost verbatim how he would prefer to see you with either of his brothers than any other prat in the wizarding world.”
“I know, but you- You and Fleur-“
“Divorced two years ago.” He settled on his haunches, arms casually crossed, practically daring her to come up with more reasons he could reject.
Hermione pursed her lips. Staring at his biceps, she was reminded of a heated moment from last night. She rubbed a hand over her lower back, brushing against a bruise that must have appeared during the night. Blinking those memories away, she crossed her arms in copied defiance.
“I have never wanted to be someone for you to… to… dally with to get over Fleur.”
His low chuckle surprised her. Made her a little angry, too, to be frank.
“You’re not.”
Hermione didn’t quite believe him, despite how much his husky voice made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingle. She opened her mouth, an argument ready at the tip of her tongue, when Bill spoke again.
“You’re the reason I divorced Fleur.” He shrugged one shoulder, then amended. “Well, we agreed it would be better to part ways.”
“What- what do you mean?” Hermione clutched at her robe, her fists knocking against her ribs in an attempt to calm herself. It didn’t work.
Taking his time, Bill let his tongue slide over his teeth before he spoke again, his voice low and solemn. It stirred something deep inside her chest, a place she thought she had locked up for good.
“Have you never wondered how you were always dragged into our family?”
She hesitated. Blinked twice, shifted on her feet. The force with which she held her arms tightly crossed over her chest loosened.
“Ron is still one of my best friends.” The words were barely a whisper, as if speaking his name with the wizard she had just-
She stopped herself before she succumbed to those carnal memories again.
It was a relief when Bill nodded.
“Sure. Ron was the reason you initially met all of us.” He moved on her bed, closer to her side. Without realising it, she had stepped closer, too, her knees touching the side of her mattress. “But as you grew up and rowed more than once, you always returned. Did you never wonder why?”
Hermione frowned, immediately recalling various holidays when she and Ron had argued over stupid things, yet she stuck by Ginny’s or Harry’s side to return to the Burrow every time. It was true. Once the Weasleys welcomed her to the family in extension, it was always easy to visit. Even when she and Ron fell out, even after they divorced. Hermione always gravitated to the Weasleys.
To one Weasley in particular, despite her inner turmoil and constant denial.
“I’ll admit, I never gave it much thought. We always got on well enough. Enough for me to think that was just how our friendship worked. Some light flirting to annoy Ron and get him to make his feelings known to you.” Another deep chuckle rolled from his chest and settled into her breastbone. “Fleur and I had a good run, but after I was… attacked,” he admitted, scratching some of his scars. Hermione’s gaze lingered on the long, silvery lines across his shoulder and up the side of his neck. “Things changed. I still loved Fleur, of course, but I changed. At first, we didn’t read much into it. Remus said that since I’ll never fully transform, I wouldn’t have to worry about some of the more traditional wolf traits.”
Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what Bill meant when he talked about traditional wolf traits. Her fingers fluttered across her neck, sensing her fluttering pulse.
“For the most part, I could ignore it.” He paused to release a slow breath that ended in something akin to a growl. “Then you went and had Rose.” He sounded almost aggrieved and pained at the mention of her daughter.
“What does Rose have to d-“
“It’s nothing against Rose. You know I love my niece.”
“Then what-“
“You changed, Hermione.”
“I didn’t-“
“You wouldn’t know. But I knew.” His voice dropped several octaves. Hermione shivered. Leaned closer. “I have no idea why giving birth caused the change, but it did, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I couldn’t ignore you anymore, except that you were still with Ron. So, I buried the pull that kept you in my orbit.” Her breath hitched when he reached for her hips, pulling her closer still. He didn’t let go. “For a while now, I’ve sensed it grow stronger. Last night-“ The heat of his exhale breached her thin robe. “I couldn’t resist it any longer.”
“I still don’t unders-“
“You’re my mate, Hermione.”
That word landed like a thunderbolt in her tiny bedroom; it made her dizzy with the realisation, because the moment he said it, she knew it was true.
She felt foolish for never realising it. The next feeling that shook her core robbed her of something she didn’t even know she could have had.
“But you’re not-“
Bill shook his head, slowly shifting his heated palms over her hips. “No, I’m not, that’s why I never expected to feel the call to a mate. Fleur felt the change, but we were fine as long as that was the only change. Eventually, though, I couldn’t ignore it. I couldn’t ignore you.”
“And you’re sure that-“
“I’m sure, Hermione.” His eyes shifted golden again. There were no questions about it that time. His teeth flashed in a low growl. One finger slipped inside her robe, grazing her skin. It was exhilarating, lighting an ember in her chest. One finger turned into his entire hand, pushing her robe open for him to run his fingers across her hipbone. Goosebumps erupted everywhere he stroked his fingers in an unknown pattern. The chill of her open robe could’ve been the cause of the goosebumps, but she knew it was Bill’s touch. “I felt the bond last night. When I touched you.” He made his point when he stroked his fingers across her hip again. “When I kissed you.” He ducked his head to press a kiss just under her ribcage, sliding his hand up to push her robe further open to expose her breast. “When I tasted you.” Never taking his eyes off her, he rose on his knees and sucked her peaking nipple into his mouth. She gasped at the sensation heightened by the eye contact. Bill sucked harder, almost biting down on her skin, eliciting more gasping breaths from Hermione. He soothed the same spot with a hard stroke of his tongue before lifting his mouth off her. “I restrained myself last night because I wanted you to accept the bond, too. But you have no idea how much it took for me not to mark you.”
“M-mark me?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. His hands drifted over her body. He treated her with reverence, unlike what she remembered from last night, unlike how she wanted to be treated by him, any minute now. “To mark you as mine, stake my claim on my mate.”
Hermione shivered.
“How- how would that work?”
Bill rose to be eye level with her. In doing so, the comforter fell from his hips, revealing every inch of him. Hermione blinked in an attempt to keep her eyes on his face, but when she caught him smirking, she knew he wanted her to look. So, she did. She had always known Bill was fit. After all, she had stolen looks dozens of times throughout the years. Truthfully, when she realised what they had done last night, she regretted not remembering all of it, if only to have memories of a naked Bill in her bed to keep her company on other lonely nights.
As it were…
Bill’s muscled arms were still locked on her waist, holding her in place. Her gaze drifted across the rest of his body. A broad chest with dark red hair that trailed down his abdomen, creating a path to his…
Her lips parted at the sight of…
An unknown sound escaped her. Based on Bill’s reaction, he liked that sound very much.
His grip on her hips strengthened, yanking her into his chest. The heat of him washed over her, mixed with the scratch of his chest hair against her aching breasts. Wordlessly, he pushed the rest of her robe from her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor around her feet. Dragging his palms down her front, he halted with her breasts in the palm of his hands, thumbs brushing over her nipples.
“It would involve plenty more of what we did last night,” he said, grinning. The stretch of his smile made him look even more wolfish than she’d ever considered. Her heart raced faster and faster at the thought. “And when you come on my cock-“
Hermione gasped, not only because of what he said but also because of his hands moving to different parts of her body.
“I’m going to bite you.”
Hermione flushed. She should be terrified of the idea. She should pull away from Bill. It was the reasonable thing to do. Yet, it was a different realisation that coursed through her.
She wanted him to bite her.
That pull centred in her chest that had always been present, dragging her to the Weasleys, flared to life with every word Bill admitted to her. It was a relief to have someone speak about it, the truth of why she had always felt so drawn to Bill, why it had been so easy to fall into bed with him the previous night, even with the alcohol to loosen her control.
Her fingers twitched. Carefully, she found the courage to touch him, too. She dragged the outside of her knuckles across his jaw, eliciting a hissed growl from him. He turned to kiss the inside of her palm, sucking on the skin of her wrist.
“W-where?”
Trailing one hand across her ribs, he landed it on her hipbone, thumb tracing a circle in a spot she knew already had a bruise from last night.
“I would start here.” His fingers pressed lightly on the bruise; she knew instinctively that it was left by him. He slid his palm up to cup her breast, finding another bruise above the swell of it. “Then here.” His hand moved to the top of her shoulder blade, where another bruise waited for his touch. “And here.” Finally, his hand rested on the crook of her neck, the hinge where shoulder met neck. “But most importantly, I would bite you here for the rest of the world to see that you’re mine.” His voice darkened on the last two words. Hermione felt the reaction in her core, knees shaking.
She barely considered it for a second before she responded by clasping her hand over his. She pressed his fingers into her skin, as if that would leave his mark on her. But it wouldn’t be enough, she knew that. She felt it.
She was plastered to his chest, but it still wasn’t enough. That thing inside her screamed for him to be even closer to her. To be inside her.
“Please,” she breathed.