Comments/Author's Notes: This story was previously posted on Granger Enchanted as part of a writing challenge;

Prompt: He bit her on the cusp of the full moon as his hair grew longer and his canines elongated...she should Avada him into dust but she loved him just as much as he needed her.

Thank you to Shini for the alpha read and brilliant advice, to my beta for loving my Bill and keeping me on track. And thank you to the prompt giver, the lovely Mistress Malfoy… seriously, thank you! I had so much fun writing this one :)

Disclaimer: These wonderful characters and their settings are not mine. They belong to JKR and I thank her for creating them and giving me something to write about. However the fact that they don't belong to me never seems to stop me making them play/live/love/fight with each other!

Warnings: Adultery, Explicit Language, Lemon, Violence, Angst, Romance

IMPORTANT: Last time I posted this fic, even though I had put appropriate warnings, I got a load of reviews from people who were angry that there was Adultery, and that their fave characters behaved in an adulterous manner. So, in order to alleviate that issue, let me state up front, loud and clear:

There is Adultery committed in this story! If this is a "trigger" for you, do yourself a favour and move on!

The sun was bright and warm, a blazing ball of fire in the clear, blue sky. Flags and pennants waved lazily in the breeze, the green of Ireland and the red of Bulgaria. The huge edifice that was the stadium loomed in the middle distance, the place where the Quidditch World Cup would be decided in a little over two hours time.

It was difficult to work out just how hard it would be for the Ministry to conduct a clean up, once the mayhem had died down. So many witches and wizards were crammed into this space and there were hundreds of magic folk periodically renewing and strengthening the various charms that surrounded the area. The after effects of the magic would probably affect the local wildlife for some time to come; they'd avoid the area completely for a while, shunning it instinctively.

Bill Weasley watched the carnage that spilled over from the excited masses as they awaited the signal to enter the arena. He wondered which set of fans would be the most vocal, the more enthusiastic, when the kick off came. Actually, Bill thought to himself, as he watched both sets of fans, he would bet on the Irish any day, especially if alcohol was involved!

He continued to watch the crowd dance and sing in preparation for the match, a drink in one hand, smiling as he heard his father berating his younger brothers – the twins Fred and George – over something. From the corner of his eye, one particular group caught his attention; a small group of four happy teenagers. His eyes were drawn to only one member of the group though, ignoring his youngest brother and the famous Harry Potter. He didn't know the third lad in their midst but he certainly knew the only girl with them.

Her hair was wild and untamed, bushy and free. Her face was lit up in carefree laughter and he knew that she would soon become a beauty, unlike any other he had met in his life.

He sensed two people approach but couldn't tear his eyes away from the girl. As they spoke, standing on either side of him, Bill inwardly sighed, knowing what was to come from these two.

"What are you staring at, young William?" asked one of his younger brothers in a jovial manner. Which one it was he didn't know yet but Bill mentally prepared himself for the onslaught.

"I think it's a fair beauty from the strange look in his eyes, Fred," declared an identical voice from his other side.

"Maybe he's sick, George. Some kind of wide-eyed, drooling fever, perhaps?"

"I think he is sick, Fred. I've just seen who he's looking at!" George pointed towards the group that had captured Bill's attention and the older Weasley rolled his eyes at their mock gasps of horror.

"Oh… oh no, George. You must be wrong. Bill wouldn't…." began Fred.

"Look," snapped Bill, "just shut up, the pair of you!"

"Sweet Merlin, you were, weren't you?" said Fred. "Hermione Granger?! Gross!"

With a sigh the eldest Weasley brother grabbed Fred and George's collars and started to drag them away from the group, before they made a scene and attracted attention. "Look, she's nice, okay. She's cute, smart, funny, bit serious at times but when you talk to her and really engage…"

"Oh Merlin's nut sack, Bill!" said George, exasperated and pulling himself free of his brother's grip. "It doesn't matter if she's a stunning beauty! She's fourteen!"

"Technically she's nearer fifteen," Bill muttered, releasing Fred as well but not stopping. "She's older in terms of maturity, definitely; maybe fifteen and a half, sixteen even?"

"In what world!? She's fourteen now!" yelled Fred, gesturing back towards the happy teenagers.

"Okay, her birthday's in September. So, yeah, nearly fifteen," conceded George and Fred shrugged as the pair kept near Bill's side as he walked.

"Yeah, we'll give you that one, Bill."

"Because we're nice like that."

"But still no-where near sixteen! Where did you get that from?"

"Are you having an early mid-life crisis or something?" asked George, looking concerned.

"Wizards usually wait till they're about fifty, Bill."

"You're twenty five years early! Chasing an inappropriately younger woman…"

"Wearing an earring…"

"Next you'll be buying a motorbike!"

Bill muttered under his breath for a moment before turning to look at his infuriating brothers, who were grinning from ear to ear. "Look, in her third year, she used a time turner. She repeated most of her school year about three times. That's got to be at least another six, seven months of maturity right there!"

"Gross! But he is right, Fred"

"How so, oh so very intelligent looking sibling of mine," said Fred, putting his hand under his chin. Seeing the looks on their faces Bill gazed up at the sky and prayed for strength; they were off again!

"Okay, follow me closely. Thirty eight weeks in the school year, less holidays and such?" said George, waving his fingers.

"Nine and a half months, right there, give or take," agreed Fred, holding up both hands, fingers splayed and waggling one thumb.

"Take off weekends."

"Makes about hundred and ninety days, wouldn't you say?"

"You're the one with the looks!" declared George.

"So that's twenty seven weeks," said Fred.

"Why, that's just over six months," George said, as if it was a huge revelation.

"Merlin's beard, you're right! Repeat that over and over… how many times would you say?"

"Knowing Hermione…"

"Which we do…" they said together, glancing at Bill.

"… at least twice, three times maybe?"

"Oo! She dropped Divination!" said Fred.

George clicked his fingers in agreement. "So that saved her some time."

"Call it two and a half?" asked Fred.

"Good suggestion," said George with a nod.

"Thank you!"

"So that's about sixty seven weeks!" said George, loudly.

"Which is a year and three months!" said Fred, his hands clapping to his cheeks.

"Added to her current age…"

"Makes her just over sixteen!"

"Merlin, we're clever," claimed George, as the twins high fived each other.

"Are you quite finished?" Bill asked, through gritted teeth, his arms folded.

"Won't hold up though, mate," said Fred, ignoring his older brother completely. "Official birthdays are what counts… and she's only had fourteen of them!"

"Besides, think of the span of years remaining between you two," said George, turning to Bill at last.

"More than ten years, I reckon, brother dear," said Fred, concern in his eyes as he looked at Bill.

"Easily."

"Minimum, I'd say!"

"Indubitably!" laughed George.

"You two need to go back and check your math again, lads," said Bill, annoyance in his tone. "I'm twenty three and she's nearly fifteen and technically, by your dodgy math, she's sixteen, in terms of maturity. Nothing like ten years…

"No, Bill," George said, with a grin.

"We're thinking of how long you'll be in Azkaban for trying to dick an underage witch!"

"She's still under seventeen."

"Too young!" Fred said, shaking his head, sadly.

George nodded, sagely. "That way lies heartache, brother."

"Rape accusations."

"Headlines!" With every word the twins came closer to Bill, pushing into his personal space.

"Uncomfortable conversations with Mum!" said Fred, a look of mock horror in his eyes.

"Ooo, yeah!" George cried, gripping Fred's arm, biting his own knuckle and wincing in imagined pain.

"That's got to be worse than the Dementors, I reckon, Bill," stated Fred, patting George on the hand. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Fred? George? Just fuck off, the pair of you," said Bill, placing his hands on their foreheads and pushing them away from his face.

The older man shoved past and stalked off, hearing the twins burst into laughter behind him. It didn't matter what they said; he knew that Hermione Granger was lodged in his heart. She was going to be an incredible beauty and her sharp mind made her even more attractive to him. Even though the twins were right and it was a little inappropriate at the moment, due to her age, he couldn't help his feelings and knew that he wanted her.

He would claim her eventually, he thought to himself.

However the years passed and the chance never came for him to make his move. They had moments where they spoke but more often Hermione was not around when Bill was home or visiting the Burrow. And then there was Fleur Delacour.

The blonde and beautiful, French witch had transferred to England, taking a job at Gringotts, primarily to help her English, but it put the two of them together on a near daily basis. Gradually she worked her way into his heart, smothering his romantic feelings for Hermione with her beauty. The family thought of her as cold but they didn't see the heart of her, didn't understand how wonderful she was. Charlie told him that he was getting taken in by a part Veela and that nothing but trouble would come of it in time.

There were times when his duties for the Order put him in contact with Hermione for brief moments. In those fleeting times he saw a part of his feelings for her trying to resurface, struggling past his affection for Fleur. Things only seemed to get worse after he had his scars, a permanent gift from the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback during the battle that had seen the death of Dumbledore, at Hogwarts. He had barely survived himself but something had pulled him through.

At first he believed that it was the care and attention of the medi-witches at St Mungo's. Soon though he realised that his improvements and moments of greater clarity came in those times that Fleur left him for a while, whether for the night or to take meals. He had discussed it with Charlie, corresponding by owl from his hospital bed. Charlie simply repeated what he had said before: Fleur's part Veela nature was clouding Bill's mind and judgement and to get out now, before he was hurt worse than ever.

He hadn't listened but there was something inside him now, since the attack; something feral and filled with rage. He found himself getting snippy and quick to anger – irritable, especially around the full moon. He spoke with Remus about it on a regular basis but the older man assured him that he was just feeling a little resonance from his attack: a bleed through of Fenrir's anger and bloodlust. It will pass in time, the older man had told the red-head.

It hadn't.

A year later and he stood on the cliff top, outside Shell Cottage – his home with Fleur – and stared at the night sky. The dark and shredded clouds reminded Bill of claws; dirty, ragged fingernails that reached for him in the darkness, ripping through his flesh and shrivelling his soul. The light behind those grasping fingers called to him. It screamed, silently, through his bones, laughing at his protests. Every month he felt it, stronger and stronger each time, and he had no way of fighting it.

No matter what he did he felt it taking over him: a disease that grew and multiplied within him by the second.

He gazed out at the bay, the wind rippling the tall dune grass around him like water. Sand shifted and flowed, like it was transforming, much like he was. The only light in the area was covered by more clouds and the night sky darkened perceptively. Despite the cover Bill could still feel exactly where the moon was in the sky.

It called still louder, mocking him.

"You can feel it, can't you?" said a woman's voice at his shoulder.

He spun, startled and surprised that someone had managed to creep up on him. He had been so distracted by the roaring in his soul that he hadn't heard her, hadn't smelt her perfume, even though the wind brought it straight to his nose.

Now he was aware of her he could see nothing else, his mind was filled with her, her presence smothering the dark power inside him as easily as he would crush a Flobberworm. His sundered soul settled, quiescent once more, as he took a deep, calming breath.

Hermione had taken a step back when he span round, fear evident in her eyes, and Bill felt a surge of sorrow. His appearance was clearly upsetting to her still, especially in this light.

He couldn't see the way his face had twisted with hunger and need at the sound of her voice; the light of desire in his eyes when he saw her, or hear the growl of possessiveness that rumbled in his chest. He would have recognised the reason for her fear if he had seen his face in that moment of surprise.

He turned back to look across the beach, hiding his pain from her, his stomach clenching in knots, unaware of his lapse. His feelings for Hermione surged inside him, helped by the presence of the moon and he found himself remembering the last time he had seen her, his thoughts so clear in her presence. It seemed like years ago now, even though it was only eight months.

He had spoken with her at the wedding; the wedding that hadn't happened. His wedding, it was supposed to have been. Kingsley Shacklebolt's Patronus had interrupted the ceremony before the Binding could be completed and the Death Eaters had arrived soon afterwards.

His conversation with Hermione had been brief but he had felt so conflicted by his feelings for her. It was then that he had known that something inside him wanted her, more than it wanted Fleur. The thing inside him needed Hermione; felt that she was a vital part of his life. He had felt an urge to taste her skin when they had hugged. He had come so close to biting her that day, while her bare shoulder had rested beneath his chin.

"Bill," she said, tentatively when he didn't speak, "can you feel the moon?

Almost against his will, Bill's gaze turned upwards, towards the night time clouds. He took a sharp breath as he felt a pull within his heart. He took a couple of calming breaths before answering. "It's like an eye, always watching me. You know that itch, between your shoulders, when you feel you're being observed by someone unseen: watched when you're vulnerable?" He sensed her step up beside him, her little hand reaching up to touch his shoulder gently, his blood surging in response. "Fleur says that I'm paranoid, that I'm imagining things. She says it's not getting worse but it's just because there have been no other distractions since we moved here. I don't think I am though, Hermione… it calls to me, stronger and stronger each month."

"How can that be?" Hermione asked, breathlessly. "You're not a werewolf, Bill! You were attacked by one but he wasn't in his wolf form, you're not like Professor Lupin…"

"But I am affected by the Wolfsbane. Fleur makes sure I drink a sleeping draught with plenty of it in, around the full moon." Bill looked down at Hermione, feeling her hand grip his arm tighter.

"She… she drugs you!?" Hermione asked, appalled.

Bill laughed, lightly. "It was an idea we came up with together and is only a precaution, she says, just until we can find some way of counter-acting the curse. She doesn't want to marry a werewolf, after all, even though she says she doesn't believe that I will become one."

Hermione hugged herself, clearly uncomfortable with what she was hearing. "So how are you doing with finding a way to counter-act it?"

"Fleur takes regular trips to the local city to talk with the wizards there. So far they've not been able to come up with anything but she is trying her best… I think." Bill shook his head, dismissing the feelings of doubt. She loved him; he knew it every time he was near her. It was only while he was away from her that these doubts crept in, his own paranoia tainting their love.

"But… all that I've read… the lycanthropy curse doesn't work that way, Bill. It's not like a virus, growing stronger over time. You either are or you aren't. You can't get worse and become a werewolf!"

"I used to be a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts, out in Egypt. I think I might know a little bit more about curses, Hermione," he said, with a sad smile.

"But… there's nothing… in any of the books about it! There would have been something if it had happened to someone else! Surely you can't be the first to suffer from this!" Hermione's voice was climbing, plaintive almost.

"Hermione, what happens to most people that get attacked by a werewolf? They either die from their injuries or become werewolves themselves. What if someone survives an attack from a werewolf, like I did, and they begin to turn… gradually seeing that change in themselves? How many would want to keep going? How much better would it be to just end it first, while you had the chance, before it destroyed you?" Bill's voice was cold and he could do nothing to change that. He saw the sorrow in Hermione's gaze and he knew that she could see his pain, knew the very thoughts he had entertained.

"Bill…" she began, holding his arm again, "you mustn't talk like that. I don't like that Fleur drugs you and I don't think that is helping you. There's got to be an alternative, somewhere."

Bill sighed, resting a gentle hand on the smaller witch's shoulder, feeling her warmth through the fabric of her robes. "It's not so bad, Hermione. Fleur's my Alpha female, the only woman who would have me now, looking the way I do."

Hermione looked up at him, a fierce determination in her eyes. "I don't see your scars anymore, Bill. And I certainly wouldn't drug you. If you really wanted it then maybe the wolfsbane, but not to put a part of your soul to sleep!"

Her voice was low and even, repressed anger bubbling beneath the surface and Bill wondered why she was so angry. What Fleur did, she did for both of them, to make sure that they were happy. Why couldn't Hermione understand that?

He heard Fleur, calling for him. It was time for his medicine. It was the first night of the full moon tonight and he needed to feel safe.

"Here we go," he said, with a strained smile, "it's time." He sighed as the beautiful witch looked away from him, tears sparkling in her eyes. He left her on the dunes, shivering despite the warm air.

It was strange, Bill thought as he walked towards the cottage. All that he had said to Hermione had begun to sound false; bad ideas founded upon poor ideals, a feeling of being trapped by his beautiful fiancé. A fiancé he occasionally suspected of having an affair in the city. She went there an awful lot, after all. But, as he joined Fleur at the door and looked into her eyes, those doubts melted away. He knew that she only had his best interests at heart and that she loved him.

Despite her cold greeting and the brusque manner with which she gave him his medicine, Bill knew in his heart that he was loved and she was only concerned for him. He had long ago dismissed Charlie's warnings, about the French beauty's Veela heritage, clouding his judgement.