A/N I don't own anything, the Goddess Rowling does, but you can dream!

Chapter 2

Following her first visit to the Burrow since returning, Hermione quickly fell into the habit that the other Weasleys and partners shared; expect constant unannounced floo visits from Molly bearing food, equally frequent owls demanding to know the state of their health, and Sunday lunches that one had to attend, lest they risk the wrath of the, at times terrifying, matriarch. The majority of the people attending these meals seemed to enjoy them, and though George still became damp-eyed as his late twin scolded his sadness, Hermione was always there to give a shoulder to cry on or a simple hug. Between her and the rest of his family, they usually managed to pull him out of his morose state by the end of the meal, and he seemed to find especially great comfort in having such large groups around him, which Hermione could very well relate to. Mr and Mrs Weasley, Charlie, returned to Britain but still single and burnt (much to the worry of Molly), Percy and his surprisingly laid-back fiancée Audrey, George and the ever-supportive Angelina, Ron, alone, but with his somewhat unnerving disregard for Hermione's personal space, and of course Ginny and Harry, the original Golden Couple, made up the entirety of their usual group. Excepting, of course, the constant dark cloud, almost as upset as George when he saw Fred's picture, who took it's shape in the form of William Weasley.

Still determined to not speak to Phlegm, and living in hope that she may show some of the compassion she had after his attack, his eyes were constantly down-turned, obviously in thought of the girl he considered to be his daughter. Bill rarely added to conversation, speaking only when asked a direct question (though he had gone out of his way to apologise for not enquiring as to her parents' health when she returned), and the family tended to let him wallow in his grief and anger. Even Molly restricted herself to less than ten un-approving looks per meal. But after a few weeks following this theme, Hermione had had enough of seeing Bill's upset expression.

"So, Bill, how was your week?" She asked loudly one Sunday, causing all other speech to halt.
"Fine." He replied sullenly, still bent over his plate, though he did give her a confused look through his eyelashes at the question.
"Anything exciting happen?"
"No."
"Oh come on, you work with goblins, surely something interesting must have happened."
By this point everyone around the extended table was looking at her in confusion and interest, but she had eyes only for the ponytail bearing red-head. He lifted his head and his piercing eyes almost made her lower her own, but she was nothing if not stubborn, and met his gaze fiercely, one eyebrow slowly rising in a silent challenge. A smirk that had not graced his lips for quite some time slowly grew as their eyes remained locked over the table, until a short laugh escaped him, and he regaled them with a story of a young goblin apprentice whose fingers were not long enough to open one of the vaults, but far too proud to ask for assistance (as most goblins are) leaving him swearing for hours at the metal door . As he spoke Hermione discreetly caught Arthur's eye and her grin grew as he gave her an appreciative and respectful nod and wink. Bill fell silent after his amusing tale, and returned to his quiet state, but the mood was considerably lightened, and he even managed a small smile as he listened to George's rare tales of new joke products and pranks.

From that day onwards, whether accidental or, as Hermione suspected, deliberate, she always found herself next to or opposite Bill when they had family meals. Even when Mr Weasley insisted on throwing a return party for her parents (entirely Muggle Britain themed and including haggis, Guinness and bara brith), she found herself wedged between her mother and father, and directly opposite Bill. Her mum and dad seemed to enjoy his tales of adventure into tombs and compared him to Indiana Jones, leading to an entertaining attempt to explain the stories of the explorer. Following this, Arthur enthusiastically told the table about a brilliant film he saw on a Muggle 'telebivison' called 'Star Wars', in which not only did people fly in aeroplanes, but in space ships! Flying through space! The Grangers all laughed at the amazed expression on the wizard's face, but as Hermione drew her eyes from the Weasley at the head of the table to subtly (or so she thought) look at the eldest child, she found his blue eyes twinkling amusingly at her. Feeling the all too frequent blush that seemed to always adorn her face around Bill heat her skin, she swiftly averted his gaze and attempted to explain the logic of the Ewok's rebellion, and that they were not, in fact, magical teddy bears.

"No Mr Weasley," Hermione patiently repeated, "they're not magic; they're just people."
His face brightened. "Oh, so they're transfigured? Or animagi?"
She smiled indulgently whilst her parent's looked befuddled. "No, they're humans inside outfits, Mr Weasley, it's what Muggles do a lot of the time in movies."
Arthur looked lost. "But why don't they use polyjuice potion?"
Hermione had to bite back her laugh, and out of the corner of her eye, saw Bill doing the same. "Well they can't, so they invent their own kind of magic."
He laughed and commented on the ingenuity of Muggles, but Hermione only had eyes for the amused and grinning man opposite her. So caught in the fact that she had, once again, caused Bill mirth, she missed the small, knowing smile her mother graced the pair with, and the disapproving, overly paternal, scowl her father threw across the table.

Hermione was not at all against spending so much time with Bill, though it was in equal amounts enjoyable and uncomfortable. The determination to seem comforting around him, yet only in a friendly, platonic way, seemed non-existent in his presence. In fact, as she watched him casually remove his top during a particularly rigorous Quidditch game with the family, and throw it to the side with his well formed muscles, she felt her mouth become quickly parched, and had to down her lemonade when he came over to her and asked her, with a wink, to look after his shirt. It took Mrs Weasley four times of yelling to the young woman before she snapped out of her trance to mumble "No, thank you," without any idea what she had been asked.
"Are you sure dear?" The older witch asked with a coyly raised eyebrow.
Looking from her amused expression to the pitcher of lemonade Mrs Weasley was bearing, she muttered a quiet thank you as she accepted a refill of her glass. Quickly reburying her nose in the book she was trying to read, she missed the small smile Molly threw her way and Bill's lingering gaze from high above. Her eyes continuously and mutinously raised from the words before her into the sky, to watch the flying forms, or one flying form in particular, though she distinctly remembered telling them to focus on the Ancient Runes Study in her lap. Eventually, she admitted defeat, and laying back in her mini-shorts and vest, she moved from the shade of her tree into the searing heat and, under the pretence of sunbathing, watched the match from behind her sunglasses.

She couldn't help but chuckle as Ron, flying close-by to her, attempted a barrel roll and promptly dropped the Quaffle. But her mirth was soon converted into a shriek as, moments later, obviously embarrassed, he wildly threw the ball, accidentally sending it hurtling through the air towards her. She was so shocked that she had little time to do anything but cover her head wildly with her arms and wait for the inevitable crash, but it never came, and she peered through her fingers to find the very man she had been watching hovering inches away from her. "'Mione," Bill sounded worried, "are you alright?"
Her mouth hung open in a most irritating way as her eyes moved from the toned body a breath away from her face, to the muscled arms, which held the ball securely in one hand, whilst the other stretched out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. Realising that he must have saved her moments before impact, she attempted to close her mouth to thank him, but as her eyes drifted once more to his body, then up to his concerned expression, speech failed her. "I, bleh, um, uh..." She garbled out, causing Bill to jump lightly down from his broom and kneel besides her. The closer contact between his perfect figure, covered in a light sheen of sweat, and his god-like features did nothing to help Hermione's concentration, and she found herself swaying slightly, dizzied by her desire.

"I think she may be in shock, we need to get her inside." She smiled slightly; he was trying to look after her. But as he picked her up in his strong arms and carried her inside, all she could think about was how, if she moved forwards even slightly, she would be able to kiss the slightly stubbly jaw above her. Perhaps, she thought briefly, it was a good thing her head was still spinning too much for her to consider movement. The journey inside lasted far too short a time for Hermione's liking, and before long she was drinking a Calming Draught and idly giggling as Molly yelled at her youngest son. Bill seemed to take her amusement as encouragement and, smiling, stood up from where he had been kneeling on the floor nearby, exciting the room in three long strides. His absence upset her, and she wondered to herself how ridiculous she must have seemed to him, nearly feinting over an accident that he had prevented, then speaking in a bizarre bumbling for a few minutes after. She had never considered herself to be the damsel-in-distress figure, but she had certainly done a damned good impression of it today.

Her gloomy musings were interrupted and she found herself once again blushing and feeling pathetic as Bill re-entered holding two bottles of butterbeer and grinning at her. "Thought this might help." He explained, popping off the caps and handing one to her.
"Thanks." She murmured. "And sorry about before. Oh, and thanks for before too." She replied in quick succession, cursing her scarlet face.
"Don't worry about it 'Mione, I'm just glad you're okay." He gave a small, wicked smile. "We may have forgotten to tell Mum that it was a complete accident; I think she's still yelling at him outside."
"Bill!" She admonished, before bursting out into new peals of laughter, imagining Ron's face as he one again faced his mother's fury.
"Serves him right," Bill continued darkly, his smile immediately dropping, "you could've been seriously hurt."
He seemed irritated again, and she rested a reassuring hand on his arm. "It was only an accident. Besides, I'm fine, thanks to you."
He placed his hand on top of hers, turning their palms slightly until her small, soft hand nestled inside his large, rough one gently, and his voice and gaze were sincere as he quietly replied, "Anytime, Hermione." The coarse, calloused pad of his thumb rubbed lightly over the back of her delicate skin as his eyes continued to bore into hers, intense blue into deep brown. In the quickest of moments, the atmosphere surrounding the two changed, becoming heated and wild, and Hermione was almost certain that he was going to kiss her. In fact, as they leaned slowly together, never breaking their eye-contact, the tips of his finger still brushing on the back of her hand, she felt her lips parting slightly, her breathing hitching, until-

"'Mione! 'Mione are you ok?!" Ron burst violently into the room, so concerned with his friend's health that he failed to notice the pair jumping quickly apart, or the flush quickly spreading to her hairline. "I swear I never meant to hit you, it was a total accident!" He continued, not noticing his eldest brother silently slipping from the room as the rest of the family entered.
"It's fine Ron, no harm done." Hermione smiled, reassuring him as he ran his hands over her head and shoulders, as if through them he could heal her non-existent wounds. Watching Bill's long red hair flick around the corner, she batted his arms away with some irritation, frowning and insisting that she was all right. "Honestly, Ronald," she started, her usual bossy tone returning, "I was just surprised; Bill caught the Quaffle before it could even touch me." She saw his shoulders slump in relief as he stepped away from her, asking where his brother was, so he could thank him. Hermione merely mumbled in reply, and deftly changed the subject to the argument that Charlie and George were having regarding the final score: Charlie claimed that Ron's mistake shouldn't change the score whilst George insisted that such a foul would be worth at least three penalties. Soon Ron, Harry, Ginny, Angelina and Audrey (who was determined to convert Percy to Quidditch, much to his disapproval) were all yelling at one another, and paying the silent, distracted Hermione little mind.

They wheedled away the afternoon in the lounge talking about the match; from the apparently amazing Wronski Feint (she still knew it as a Wonky Faint) Harry had performed, to a surprising performance from George, exuberantly imitating Ron's face as he saw the ball flying towards Hermione. Since Fred's death, it was so rare for him to act in such a carefree manner that it took them all a few moments to overcome the shock, but after a few tense seconds in which George stood, blushing and embarrassed, Fred's portrait broke into raucous laughter. It seemed to release a dam, and before long the whole company were clutching their sides in laughter, even the somewhat pink-eared Ron, who still seemed humiliated by his earlier mistake.

Although she enjoyed the afternoon, the absence of Bill seemed to be a constant weight on her mind, and she had to wonder why he hadn't returned to the group, which swiftly led her to wonder if it was her fault he hadn't. She attempted to discreetly ask Mrs Weasley where he had gone, but she merely brushed off her question and once again asked for assurance that she had forgiven Ron. Hermione was slightly disconcerted with Molly's obsession with trying to push for a relationship between the two; she knew about the kiss during the final battle, but also knew that Hermione had spoken to Ron about how she felt it had been an adrenaline-filled, rushed mistake. They had agreed that friendship was much more suited to them, although Molly didn't seem to agree with this idea and especially since her return from Australia, as often as she found herself sat next to or opposite Bill, she found herself sat very close to Ron. She merely hoped that he, too, understood that it was the right choice for them to remain brother-and-sister-esque, and that he found his perfect woman, married her and had lots of red-headed children, before his mother drove Hermione mad. So after banishing Mrs Weasley's worry that she harboured any ill-feeling towards her youngest, set out to find her eldest alone.

She searched the rebuilt yet still ram-shackled Burrow for him, but returned unsuccessful, and assumed he had returned to his now lonely cottage. So it was with great surprise that he seemed to appear, as if by magic (she laughed inwardly) to join the other Weasleys in bidding her farewell. Night had fallen, earlier than usual due to the sudden arrival of some intimidating looking storm clouds, when Hermione stood in the kitchen, saying her good-byes and repeatedly refusing offers of left-overs from Molly. She accepted the usual kisses on her cheek from Harry, Ginny, Molly and George, the others had left earlier on, and was overwhelmed in an unusually huge hug from Ron, who kissed both her cheeks in, what she assumed to be, yet another sign of his guilt from earlier. But she had no eyes for his out of character display of affection, or Mrs Weasley's barely concealed grin, as Bill walked over to her, a fierce look in his eyes. He's going to kiss me, she thought again, but at the last moment he stopped, and in an unusual display of old-fashioned courtesy, raised her hand gently to his lips, brushing them delicately over the knuckles he had rubbed earlier. His eyes seemed to burn like the blue flames she was so famous for as he stared at her, and she was infinitely grateful for the darkness that hid her crimson flush and heaving chest. Without another word, she stepped back and walked on shaky legs to the apparation point, and not looking behind her, vanished with a pop.