A/N Hellooo again. Big thanks, as ever, to my reviewers; guest, I'm really happy that you managed to get out of your situation, and congratulations on 15 years of marriage! With regards to other stories, I'm writing an Oliver/Hermione one for bookworm which (due to technical issues) will hopefully be up soon, but after I finish posting Girl No More, I'm probably going to be taking a bit of a break from FF. When I come back, though, who knows? Crossy, I'm glad it clears up a few things, and thank you so much! It's always lovely to hear that my writing's appreciated :) bookworm; sorry it made you sad, but I know that you'll probably enjoy chapter 12 a lot ;)

Read, review, favourite, follow and, as always, enjoy! Ta!

Chapter 10

She awoke with a start as the sun was beginning to set; she had slept nearly the whole day away! Then again, she mused, she hadn't slept at all the previous night, too concerned with the children, and the night before had followed a similar fashion, as she had been nursing her wounds, both mental, physical and emotional. So it was no surprise that she had slept for nearly nine hours straight, and she couldn't deny that, though her muscles were sore from lying on the hard ground for so long, she hadn't felt so refreshed in days, weeks even. Refreshed or not, however, her heart was still heavy, and it seemed to sink even further when she noticed that the sun had now disappeared from the sky, a stark reminder that her meeting with Bill was imminent.

She winced as she rested her weight back on her wrists, glaring at the dark bruises there that stained her pale skin with paints of blue, purple and sickly green. She sighed, twirling her wand through her fingers before pointing it to the offending area and casting a quick soothing charm, followed by a glamour. She gazed at the now once more flawless skin, anger, fury really, filling her up as she thought of her husband, before she gave a defeated sigh and covered up her face with the same spells. She swiftly transfigured the dark blue sweater she had thrown over her grey top that morning, grimacing grimly as the woollen v-neck became black, sprouted a hood and a high neck, until it was finally a familiar garment. She always wore the matte black hooded jacket as her disguise when she wanted to avoid being seen, whether it be simply popping to the local shop (evidently the paparazzi were fascinated by her milk buying habits), visiting a clothes shop to buy some more personal items (clearly the whole wizarding world needed to know the exact size of her breasts), or, it would seem, going for secret liaisons with her brother-in-law/father of her daughter/man who still owned her heart, and her love. Yup, she thought, I've officially gone mad.

Heaving a sigh, and shaking her head as she had the almost unbearable urge to chuckle at the incredulity of the situation, she pulled the zip up to her chin and flipped the hood over her hair, bowing her head so her face was covered and slouching her shoulders, completely hiding the fact that she was the Hermione Granger. Unexpectedly, her mind flickered back to her childhood, before she had known that magic even existed. When she had been growing up, she had suffered from merciless bullying, what with her large teeth, unruly hair and passion for books and learning; she had learned early on that children could be unimaginably cruel. So she had hidden, as she did now, in thick, shapeless and hooded clothing, concealing her face when she went into town or even just on the playground, trying to avoid attracting attention from her classmates. How times had changed; once bullied and now revered, once treated with hatred and disdain and now with adoration and something akin to worship, once hated by those around her but finding solace in the quiet of her books, now loved by almost everyone and finding no peace at all.

Of course, as a child, her parents had given her the stereotypical excuses; 'They're only jealous', 'They don't understand you', and, of course, 'It'll all be worth it in the end, you'll be much happier than they ever will'. She gave an indelicate snort, gazing at the half-moon in the sky miserably and looking for her favourite constellation, the one that she could always see from her window as a child; Orion's Belt. She traced the line of stars with her finger, thinking absently that she would bet all the galleons in her Gringotts vault that the majority of her primary school classmates would be happier than her. For Merlin's sake, she had fought in a war when she was only a teenager, had lost her dearest friends far too early, and was now married to not only the wrong man, but an abusive bastard at that. She scowled, an unusual sense of unjustness overwhelming her and, though she felt selfish for thinking it, she couldn't help but feeling that her life had been so damn unfair! So many people had been lost, the man who supposedly loved her was an alcoholic son-of-a-crup, and her poor children had nothing that she had tried to give them- stability, comfort, a true family. Sure mum, sure dad, I bet they're all really jealous right now.

Shaking her head and telling herself firmly to get a grip, she cast a silent charm and jumped in shock when a golden 19:54 appeared in the air before her; if she didn't get a move on she'd be late to meet Bill. Checking that her collar was up to her neck, and her hood pulled down as far as it could go, she stood and focussed on an alleyway in Muggle London, arriving there with a small pop moments later. It was filthy, strewn with empty beer bottles and crisp packets, and her shoes stamped over weeks-old cigarette stumps as she headed towards the main street, kicking an old take-away box out of her way. She barely noticed, other than wrinkling her nose at the smell of waste, and before she knew it she was on one of the many backstreets of London, and heading towards a small restaurant, an inconspicuous place tucked between a dry-cleaners and a bingo hall, but she knew it served delicious food.

She gave a quick look around, uncertain as always when around crowds, before she spotted Bill. He was leaning against a wall on the opposite street, looking as handsome and tempting as ever; black jeans that hugged tight to the strong thighs she remembered only too well, a grey shirt that showed off the muscles in his chest and arms, tight enough to nearly make her mouth water with desire, and his whole form seemed to be exuding confidence and, for want of a better phrase, sexual appeal. But she knew him. She knew that the fact that he crossed his arms as he did was to hide his clenched fists, knew that he chose to stand across the street because he knew she would be concerned about anyone seeing them together, knew that beneath his boots his toes would be clenched in worry.

And then there was his face. She leant against the opposite wall to him and indulged herself in looking at him for a short while. Scarred, but perfect in her eyes, his face right now seemed to be calm, but she could tell from the slight indent in his cheek that he was gnawing the inside in agitation. Still though... His eyes, those beautiful sapphire eyes, were darting around, looking for her probably. His lips were pinched at the edges and slight creases had formed around his eyes, showing his obvious concern. Even the muscles that were clenching in his neck betrayed his seemingly passive demeanour. Still... He was just so handsome. From his perfectly formed body, to his Grecian-Godlike face, to the intensity of those sapphire eyes. Eyes that now found her, and bore into her like blue embers.

Bill strolled across the road as if there was nothing wrong, and stood before her, trying to catch her gaze, though she determinedly stared at the ground. "Hi." He murmured. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
She gave a half-hearted shrug, burying herself even further into her hoodie. "I promised I would come, so here I am."
She heard him sigh. "Well, shall we go in then, have something to eat?"
Her eyes snapped up to meet his, and she growled, "I didn't come to have dinner with you. I'm not hungry." As if on cue, her stomach remembered that it hadn't been supplied in over a day, and gave a loud grumble.
Bill raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like you are hungry."
She rolled her eyes, but was unable to stop the smile that crept up at the oh-so-familiar expression Bill wore now, and accepted his proffered arm. "Ever the gentleman." She quipped lightly as they walked through the restaurant door.
He smirked at her. "Once upon a time you'd call me cheesy."
She gave a loud laugh. "You are cheesy!" She replied, remembering the constant joke she'd had with Bill regarding the romantic side the incredibly masculine man didn't want anyone to see, least of all his family.

"A table for two, please, and somewhere private, if it's possible?" Bill asked in his most courteous voice, clearly charming the waitress that had greeted them.
Said woman giggled, making Hermione roll her eyes under her hood. "Um," The blonde said while unashamedly looking up Bill. "I suppose I could do something, though our back tables are usually reserved..."
He flashed a grin, saying, "I'd be very grateful for anything you could do."
The waitress smiled widely, and seemed to be swaying her hips more than was necessary as she led them to their table at the back of the restaurant. "Here are your menus." She said, and Hemione didn't miss the piece of paper slipped under Bill's. "Is there anything I can get for you?" Ms Big-Breasted-Blonde asked sweetly, her eyes focussed solely on Bill. "Some drinks, perhaps?"
Bill gave the waitress a smile, before glancing at her, and asking; "A bottle of Merlot?"
She blinked in surprise, before nodding. When it was the two of them alone again, she gave a tentative smile. "You remembered?"
He tilted his head in confusion. "Remembered what?"
She removed her hood, letting her curls fall around her face wildly. "My favourite wine, Merlot."
"Or course I did." He replied lightly, his tender eyes following the bounce of her hair. She gave a small smile and placed her order when the busty waitress returned, thanking Bill as he poured her a glass of the red wine. "What shall we toast to?" He asked casually.
"To Rose." She said softly, and he gave a small, sad nod.
"To Rose."

"Did they- hey, what's this?" Bill interrupted himself, picking up the small scrap of paper their waitress had left.
Smirking slightly, she grinned. "It would seem that Ms Blonde who's serving us is into older men." She teased with a small wink.
He looked bemusedly at the phone number, before frowning. "I'm not old." He replied grumpily, and she laughed as his eyes twinkled with good-natured humour and he casually pushed the paper away. "Anyway, did the kids get back to school okay?"
She nodded. "I took them back to the house early this morning; they were probably back in time for breakfast. I sent Minerva a patronus to check, and they arrived safely, though she said Rose had been a bit distracted recently; I'm meeting her on Saturday to have a chat."
"You sent a patronus?"
"Mmm-hmm. I didn't have Archie with me."
He raised an eyebrow in an achingly familiar expression. "You weren't at work?" His face dropped and his mouth twisted as though he'd tasted something foul when she explained what Ron had done, and he lowly growled, "He has no right. So wait, you spent the day at home with him?"
She snorted. "Of course not, I went to the Forest of Dean."
His eyes flickered down to the ring that hung on the chain around her neck, the ring that he had given her. "Right." He murmured.

The waitress, looking distinctly less cheerful as she noticed her discarded number on the side of the table, brought their food over, pouting when Bill barely glanced at her, his eyes fixed on Hermione. "It's changed, you know." She told him lightly, as they tucked into their meals. He tilted his head in curiosity, and she continued. "My patronus; it's not an otter any more."
"Oh?"
"It's a wolf."
He paused, a forkful of steak halfway to his mouth, which he slowly lowered as she shrugged. "A wolf." He repeated. "That's... Interesting." She nodded and stared as hard as she could into her wine glass. "And, erm, when did it change?"
She shrugged slightly. "Well I haven't had cause to cast the charm since the war, so there's no way of being sure. But I imagine it was... Fourteen, maybe fifteen years ago."
"Ah." His voice was soft and when she glanced at him his sapphire eyes were boring into hers fiercely, like the bluebell flames she was so famous for. Before she knew it, he had grabbed her hand across the table and was stroking the back lightly with the pad of his thumb. No words were needed as they gazed at one another, and for a few moments all was silent.

In synch, they smiled and dropped hands, and Bill raised his glass once more. "To us." He said quietly, and she clinked it with a small nod, before they returned to their meals. "I'm glad you didn't stay at the house last night." He blurted suddenly, and she knew they had come to the crux of why he had wanted to speak with her. "And I'm glad you're not avoiding me any more."
"I- I just..." She stuttered, staring out of the window at the swirling wind and beginnings of a torrential rainstorm. She wanted to tell him that avoiding him had hurt her more than she would ever admit, that all she had wanted to do when Ron had attacked her the other day was floo him and have him hold her in the cottage they had lived in together, that even now she wanted to run away with him, ignore Fluer and Ron and what everybody would say, have the life they wanted. Together. "I just couldn't face you." She murmured eventually, still staring out the window at the now pouring rain.
"What? What do you-"
"After telling you about..." Harry and Ginny "After you found out..." It was my fault. "Now that you know..." I'm guilty.
The unspoken thoughts whipped through her mind violently, but it seemed that they didn't need to be voiced, as Bill gave a slow sigh and a loving look. "Hermione, you have to stop blaming yourself. Gin and Harry was, well, it was tragic. But you aren't to blame, the only idiot to blame is that damned driver. What Ron's been saying simply isn't fair, or true, and even if it was, it doesn't excuse what he's been doing. You can't stay with him 'Mione."
She frowned. "It's not as simply as just leaving him any more." As his head tilted to the side inquisitively, she gave a silent groan and took a large drink of wine. "He's threatened to take the children from me." She told him miserably, and watched as his expression passed from shock, to sadness, to fury, then devastated empathy.
Finally, his jaw set stubbornly, he regarded her sternly. "He wouldn't be able to."
Sighing wretchedly, she nodded as he tilted the wine questioningly towards her glass and murmured a thanks as her glass was re-filled. "He'll tell everyone that Rosie and Hugo aren't his, that I've been cheating on him for years."
"They wouldn't believe him."
She gave a sad smile. "Everyone else would. The kids would be thrown into the public eye, your mother and the rest of your family would probably believe him, and my children would lose half their family, let alone the pain it would cause them to be caught between their mother and father's issues."
He was silent for a while as they finished their meals, before leaning back, eyes shining with unshed tears. "It's Fleur and Victoire all over again."

The waitress came over, removed their plates and asked if they'd like the desert menu, which they both denied, having lost their appetite somewhat with their unsavoury conversation. After a few minutes of silence, perforated only by the occasional laugh from the nearby tables, or the slight clink as one took a sip of wine and caught the glass on something, Bill leant forward on his elbows, resting his chin on the back of his hands. "You're not going to leave him." He stated sadly.
"Not yet. The kids have lost too much already. In a few months though... Well, who knows? I just want to look after the children, first and foremost." She could see the conflict that ran over his face and instinctively moved to cup his cheek in her palm. "I'll look after her." She murmured softly, needing no elaboration as to who the 'her' was.
He placed his hand over hers. "I know you will." The confidence that he showed in her care of their daughter couldn't help but make her smile, though it was swept from her features only moments later. "It's you that I'm worried about."
She shrugged. "I'm not the one that matters right now." He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut across him. "We're parents, and being good parents means putting the needs of the children above our own needs. You know that."
"I do." He nodded. "Though Fleur and Ron seemed to have missed that particular parenting class staple."
She grimaced. "How are things with you and Fleur?"
"Fantastic." He replied sarcastically. "Sometimes I wish I had a place to go to, like you do with your cottage. Staying in the same house as that... Well, with her, drives me mental sometimes."

Both feeling miserable, they finished their wine, paid the bill and left, only to be immediately pelted by the rain and knocked off-balance by the wind as they ran towards a safe apparation point. "I still don't like you being with him." Bill yelled over the storm when they arrived. "Are you going back there tonight?"
She shook her head, feeling her hair frizz through the hood that was now soaked enough to be rendered pointless. "I'll stop by the house to grab some clean clothes, then go back to the cottage. I can't stay in the house again, not yet."
He nodded and gave a relieved look, red hair seeming brown in the torrential rain and eyes squinted in order to see her properly. "I'm glad. Just promise you won't start avoiding me again."
She smiled and, deciding that guilt be damned, replied, "I won't, avoiding you hurts too much." He took her hands as they stood in the nearest alley away from muggle view, where they would undoubtedly part ways and apparate away soon. "Will you go back to Shell Cottage?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "After tonight I'm not sure I can bear to." He said, and even though he had to shout to be heard, she could hear the sweet sadness in the voice, and see the love in his expression. "I might check into a hotel and-"
"You could stay at the cottage with me." She blurted. Whether it was the pain that reverberated between them or the frank honesty they had shared that night, or simply seeing him again, she couldn't tell. But she couldn't regret offering Bill a place to stay that night, even as her conscience screamed warnings at her and her mind scolded her ruthlessly. "What I mean to say," She added cautiously, "is that I expanded a few of the rooms for the children last night, so there's a spare bedroom, if you want it."

As they locked eyes, both were sent back to years ago, when Ron had been drunk and she had been driven to drop Rose and Hugo off at Bill's house, and he had given her the same offer she now gave him. Stay with me. She had declined, and gone home to help her husband, but supposed that now, as she was ignoring the very reasoning that had counselled her against staying at Shell Cottage that night, she was a total hypocrite. But she couldn't bring herself to care, as she simply wanted Bill, her first and only true love, to have one night of peace.

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose or..." He asked cautiously.
Making a mental deal with herself, she smiled. "Of course." There was nothing wrong with Bill staying at her house, just as long as she stuck to her personal agreement and remembered that he was her brother-in-law, and nothing more. Yup, if she did that, there was nothing wrong with it at all, right?
The somewhat shy smile that spread across his features and lit up his eyes made her questionable judgement worth it, in her mind. "I'd love to."
She gave an answering sweet look, before yelling, "Give me about half an hour to get some stuff together and change the wards on the fireplace." She had, she remembered, blocked everyone, excepting herself but including Bill, from flooing to the cottage after Fleur had returned and sent her life into a frenzy, so would have to undo the complex charms she had weaved to allow others entrance. He nodded, and after calling quickly that she would see him soon, they both apparated, she to brave seeing Ron again and he to pick up his own set of spare clothes from Shell Cottage, unknowing and uncaring about whether his wife would be there or with one of her French lovers. No thought of Fleur could wipe the small smile from his features.

Though perhaps, if he had known that sat at a table near where they had eaten, was a woman with an acid green quill grinning maniacally, he might not have been so eager to smile.