Picture In My Pocket

in which Mrs. Weasley is present.

"Oh, Bill!"

The strangled gasp was enough to snap Bill into consciousness and out of bed. He rolled out from under the sheets, falling with a loud thumponto the hard wooden floor. Bill groaned loudly, grabbing the covers from the bed and wrapping them around his face, praying that they would spring to life and strangle him to end his misery.

"Oh, Bill," his mother gasped again, rushing into the room and nearly causing his head to explode with her damned harpy screeching.

"What?" he growled from his huddled position on the floor.

"Oh, Bill," she said again, trying to pull the comforter off of his head. He snarled again, rolling onto his back and away from her. He stopped rolling when his back hit the wall, and he struggled to a squatting position, clutching the sheets tighter to his face, trying to block out light and sound and smell and life.

He was breathing quickly, almost sounding as if he had asthma. Over the sounds of his own ragged breathing, he could just make out a quiet sniffling.

Oh no.

Bill knew that his brain was going to split open in about four seconds if he didn't find a way to squelch his mother's waterworks. With great effort, he forced himself to throw the bed sheets away and wrap his mother in a tight embrace.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Mrs. Weasley was just in one of those moods.

"OH, BILL!"she wailed, apparently out of joy. The proximity of her yells to his sensitive, hung-over ears was as good as jabbing a fingernail file into each eardrum, but he gritted his teeth and tried his best not to snap at her.

Salvation came in the form of a bushy-haired, smug-looking witch carrying a tray of bacon and toast. Hermione set the tray on the bedside table and gently tugged Mrs. Weasley away from Bill.

"Mrs. Weasley, you should really keep your voice down. I think it hurts his ears," Hermione said matter-of-factly, not quite meeting the more-than-grateful gaze of the tall Weasley man at her side.

"Oh, right, of course," Mrs. Weasley sniffed, beaming at Bill through her tear-stained eyes.

Bill had trouble looking at his mother's loving expression, so instead he stared at a spot slightly above her head and tried to block out how very out of place he felt. Not to mention how very awful.

"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said again, and Bill was startled back to attention, hoping the clever witch was going to work some magic to get rid of his mother. "Why don't you go tell Mr. Weasley that Bill's awake now? I'm sure he'd like to see him."

Bill glared reproachfully at Hermione over his mother's head, but she didn't seem to be paying him a bit of attention. As Mrs. Weasley practically sprinted from the room to collect her husband, Bill growled and turned angrily on his heel, heading for a certain loose floorboard.

"Don't bother," Hermione said quietly from behind him.

He almost broke his neck turning back to glare at her some more. "Why not? You're making me face my damned parents for the first time in a year, and you expect me to do it completely sober?" He snorted, turning back to the floorboard and wrenching the board free.

Bill froze.

"Where. Is. My. Whiskey." he growled through gritted teeth, not daring to look at Hermione lest he lose what was left of his mind and attack her with his bare hands.

"I told you not to bother. I've thrown it out."

Bill squeezed his eyes shut tight. "You've what?"

Hermione was standing a good five feet behind him, and he knew that if he turned quickly enough and launched himself with enough power, he could be tearing out her throat in a matter of seconds. "I've thrown it out. It's no good for you, Bill."

He forced himself to breathe, trying to reason with whatever part of him was enraged enough to kill her. He couldn't tell if it was the wolf or the alcoholic.

"Fine," Bill spat, pressing his balled up fists into his eyes as he attempted to block out light and anger and hatred all at once. "Fine," he repeated, standing suddenly and causing Hermione to take a quick step away from him. He turned quickly on the spot, thinking as hard as he could of his apartment-

But nothing happened.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" he howled, finally turning his full rage on Hermione. She didn't shrink away, but he could smell the terror behind her calm mask. With two steps, he was in her face, his large hands wrapped around her upper arms, digging in painfully.

"LET ME GO! Let me leave! It was a mistake to come back here anyway!"

Hermione closed her eyes, and shook her head slowly. "No, it wasn't a mistake. Bill, calm down."

He felt his whole body shaking with rage as his fingers tightened even further around her arms.

"GOD DAMMIT, GRANGER, LIFT THIS FUCKING ENCHANTMENT AND LET MEGO!"

A miniscule rational section of his brain was begging her to open her eyes, to defend herself, because he knew he couldn't stop. He'd been using the whiskey as a crutch to keep himself in control for so long that he was now entirely unable to handle himself sober.

"Please, calm down," she whispered, her voice shaking a bit with the adrenaline pumping through her system.

With an almost inhuman amount of strength, Bill forced himself to let her arms go, only to grab the next closest thing (the wardrobe beside his bed) and hurl it against the nearest wall. The wood of the wardrobe shattered like glass, sending splinters flying in every direction. Hermione's clothes, which had been hidden in the drawers, littered the floor and her books landed in various stages of disarray amongst the rest of the debris.

Bill's shoulders and chest were heaving from the exertion, but Hermione was still standing there with her eyes closed, arms held limply by her sides.

Right as another wave of fury swept through him, something on the ground near his foot caught Bill's eye. He was distracted enough that the rage ebbed away as he bent down to pick up the tiny wizarding photograph.

A photograph of himself, from all those years ago when his family had visited him in Egypt.

He was familiar with the photo, except he was used to seeing the rest of his family blinking out of the picture as well. Instead, it was only his younger self, grinning up at him with a cheeky gleam in his eye.

Hermione's eyes had slid open, and she was watching Bill carefully as he studied the tiny picture of himself. It was a long while before he trusted himself to speak.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice very unsteady, and deafeningly quiet after his enraged howling from moments before. He held the tiny picture of himself as if it might burst into flames at any second.

"I…I cut it out when I was in my third year," Hermione whispered, heat rising to her face. She struggled to remember that being embarrassed was better than being ripped in half by a mad werewolf hybrid.

Bill was still staring at the photo, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. "Your third year," he echoed, barely more than a breath.