Chapter 21

Hermione had this paradoxical love, hate relationship with physical contact. There were only a few people she was comfortable enough with to allow intimate contact with, and even then it was only under certain circumstances. So being bodily thrown over Bill's shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried off to who knows where was a far from welcome experience. She was positively seething and the fact that she still somehow managed to be impressed with his strength while spending more than just a little too much time observing the fluid movements of his muscular back and bottom only served to further ignite her fury. That agitation only grew when she was forced to endure a trip through the floo network leaving her covered in soot and coughing from the smoke she'd inhaled thanks to the lack of warning. She was still recovering when she was dropped, surprisingly gently, into a chair and released from her binding charms. Eyes locked on her target, she lunged out of her chair, the vulgar curses spewing from her mouth thankfully silent due to the still present silencing charm.

Bill shook his head silently grumbling to himself as his temper slowly cooled. As he cooled off he began to regret having lost his temper in the first place making him even more irritable. He stepped through the green flames, his stride unbroken as he crossed the room and dropped the infuriating witch in the stiffest armchair in the room. He'd only barely released the charms physically binding her when she suddenly lunged at him. A grunt was torn from his chest as she planted her shoulder in his midriff as she barreled forward, leaving him winded and quickly falling back to the floor. Refusing to consider the possibility of facing defeat to such a small, little thing, he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her down with him.

Hermione's initial reaction was to tackle Bill the same way she'd seen players do in American Football games on the television. She hadn't taken into account how much bigger than her those men, and even Bill, were but thankfully caught him far enough off guard to still render her desired result. She let out a silent yell of triumph when he began to topple back; that yell barely had enough time to morph into a startled gasp at the realization that he was taking her down too before they hit the ground, hard.

Reflexively Hermione's hands had grasped Bill's shirt in her balled up fists, her eyes squeezed shut and body tense in anticipation of impact. Instead of the hard hit she expected she was only mildly jolted. Her adrenaline still pumping, she registered the sound of a pained grunt at the moment of impact. Only half a second later she realized that the grunt had come from below her and that her face was buried in Bill's muscular and surprisingly comfortable chest. At the same time she became aware of the rather tantalizing scent coming from said chest and that there was two arms wrapped quite firmly around her lower torso, the corresponding large hands grasped her hips from behind on the opposite side in a strong grip.

His body positively radiated heat and mixed with the impossibly, indescribably amazing feeling of being held flush against him, trapped in his arms made her flush deeply and her entire body grow feverish. Only seconds later she was flat on her back staring up into cold blue eyes framed by a furious expression aimed at her.

Natural instinct made Bill grab Hermione so tightly as the fell and subjected his back to the hard impact so as to protect her from it as well. Unlike Hermione, time didn't move in slow motion for him. He quickly shook off the shock from the fall and rolled over as he did a sort of push-up, effectively leaving him hovering over her. His legs were spread with his knees a few inches from the sides of her legs. His hands were planted firmly several inches from her shoulders. He was breathing heavily with ill-controlled anger, glaring down at her as he watched her recover and stare up at him with a still mildly shocked expression.

"Enough," he snapped, finally breaking his silence, "if you'd stop acting like an insolent child for just…" He was cut off when a knee rammed itself hard into his backend, barely missing his manhood but forceful enough to jolt it uncomfortably. A punch to the face soon followed. It was powerful enough that he was certain to have a nasty bruise later, but the close quarters were thankfully too constricting for any real damage to have been done.

Hermione had been caught off guard with how fast paced everything had occurred and the borderline intimate position she found herself in. But that quickly faded when Bill began to yell and insult her. Her initial anger came flooding back and she threw all of her strength into kneeing, then punching, him in rapid succession. With him now thrown off balance she threw a rapid fire of punches at him. Triumphant satisfaction gleamed in her eyes when Bill was forced to lean back on his knees. The adrenaline rush and her inexperience in fighting left her oblivious to the fact the despite his retreat, not a single one of her punches landed their mark; each was skillfully blocked or deflected all together.

Bill carefully guarded himself against her punches. He could tell she wasn't used to non-magical fights so he simply bedded his time, lulling her into a sense of security while tiring her out. As he predicted, it didn't take long before the hits began to slow and lose power rapidly. By now he was on his knees sitting back on his feet while she was on her knees leaning forward to make up for her short arm span. Still, he waited for the perfect opening.

Moments later that opening appeared when he deflected a punch and she didn't draw her arm back quick enough. Quickly he struck, grabbing the extended fist and tugging it to him, then pushing back while pulling lightly on her shoulder. He averted his eyes from her face, not wanting to see the reflection of pain he was causing, no matter how mild it may be. When she was inches from crashing into him, he twisted their bodies so her left side continued to be pulled toward his right; at the same time he lifted himself onto his left knee. Seconds later their sides collided and he used her momentum to turn her while propelling her over his bent left knee.

He quickly followed her, this time not concerning himself with the impending collision. Still he cringed internally when her head hit the carpeted floor none too gently; knowing better than to let that distract him, he quickly grabbed her hands, intertwined their fingers, and pinned them straight up high above her head. His knees rested spread far to either side of her thighs, slightly higher than parallel to her own knees and his legs were bent so his feet were tucked over and between her legs effectively cutting off her ability to bend or lift them. The strand hold left his chest and face a foot above her own while his hips barely hovered over hers, brushing every time he exhaled.

Hermione felt the first flashes of panic when she realized how completely trapped she was, this time with no prospects for escaping. Suddenly truly frightened she began to struggle against Bill while throwing every wandless, silent charm and curse at him humanly possible. It took several moments for her to realize that not only was he completely unaffected by her efforts, but she was growing exhausted both physically and, strangely, magically. She stilled, and experimentally lashed out physically and with a curse at the same time. Now that she was paying attention she could feel the energy, strength and magic being pulled from her body everywhere it made contact with Bill's. Her eyes widened with renewed fear, knowing he's somehow invented a way to do the impossible and created a spell that could lead to nothing but a never before seen level of magical warfare should he ever develop a large, long-distance form and share it.

His icy eyes were void of emotion as he watched understanding slowly seep into her eyes, dulling the adrenaline induced shine from them until all that was reflected with weary fear. "Finished," he asked almost rhetorically, in no rush to relieve her obvious sense of dread. Her throat rippled, perhaps with a silent whimper, as she slightly, only barely nodded yes.

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