He found her two days later. She was cleaning out an old manor house with a troupe of house elves. The lot were chattering in a high pitched musical language. Hermione tossed her head back and laughed. Hopping hippogriffs,?she was lovely. He felt the mating pull, but he wasn't ready to rush in. She slapped her denim encased thigh as she laughed, and one of the elves blushed. He saw one of the others eyeing him. There was no safe retreat.
"Hermione." He coughed. "I'm sorry to barge in."
"No you're not." Hermione shook her head and set the few curls that had escaped her ponytail to bouncing. "You sent an owl with a tracer this morning. I knew you were coming."
He looked down at his scuffed boots. Of course, she'd caught him out. She was focused and so bloody intelligent. A tracing spell wasn't going to fool her.
"I'm not angry." She looked over at the elves and trilled out something beyond his comprehension. "We should have lunch. Let's walk down to the lower terrace."
She stood up and moved toward him with long, easy strides. He felt the instincts rise. The urge to reclaim her wasn't at all human. He fisted his hands next to his legs. Shoving her against a wall wasn't a good idea. He didn't want to hurt her again.
He watched her walk passed him and took a deep breath. Goddess, she smelled good. He shook his head and strode after her. She didn't glance back at him or encourage him. He felt the loss of her good opinion keenly.
They walked through open French doors onto a large terrace. The thing was all rounded edges and seemed to flow down the hill to a larger terrace that was sculpted into the large lawn. He glanced back at the stark straight lines of the house. The place appeared so formal, but this fit somehow.
"What is this place?" He glanced toward Hermione with a raised brow.
"It was my Great-grandfather's home." Hermione smiled. "He was a tad eccentric. He put it in my name before he died. There were all kinds of provisions in his will to keep the place up. I didn't know about it until after the war, and I'm glad. I would have used it, but this way is better. It's untainted."
He nodded and turned out to examine the place. Their were woods at the edge of the property. He'd expected rolling, bucolic hills dotted with sheep.
"It was supposed to be a hunting lodge, but it has ten bedrooms. I have no idea how it came to be in our family. My parents wouldn't even visit." Hermione was looking passed him toward the house. "I'm not sure what to do with all the space, but I doubt I'll ever need to extend it."
"It has a nice energy." Bill looked back towards the forest. "It's comforting."
"Oh, Merlin! They went overboard." Hermione trotted down the smaller rounded terraces to the bottom. He watched her and restrained himself. Chasing after her wouldn't help with his instinctual drives. Tackling her to the ground and ripping her clothes off wasn't a good idea. He took a deep breath and cursed under his breath. Did she have to smell so delicious?
He examined her as he stepped down toward her. He didn't want to compare her to Fleur. It seemed wrong. He'd spent so many years ignoring her, ignoring the call of her, that he had trouble seeing her. He could still see her pressed against the wall, the skirt of her red dress rumpled between their joined bodies, moments before he'd changed both their lives forever. He felt the usual rise of shame. It didn't matter that the act had been consensual. He'd taken everything from her and given her nothing but scars in return. She'd come to him again and tried to offer him hope, but he'd done his best to wreck her efforts. How did a man apologize for the things he'd done? He ran a hand through his hair.
She was settled on a plaid blanket on the bottom terrace with a giant basket beside her. There were plump pillows all around to recline against. Her elves had made to whole thing look romantic.
He watched Hermione fuss with the basket. His mate. He knew he'd hurt her. He'd been wallowing in his despair. Sharing it came easily.
He was man enough to do the right thing. She deserved to be wooed. He wasn't going to let her sacrifice their courtship to his needs. He was wizard more than wolf.
He closed the distance between them and settled near her on the blanket. Her eyes flashed amber briefly. He froze.
"You're a wolf?" He tilted his head and dragged her scent into his body.
"I'm a partial." She blushed. "Since the night we..."
"They told me I couldn't make more." Bill clenched his fists against his thighs.
"Mediwizards and healers don't know much about lycanthropy." She shrugged. "They see it as an incurable disease. Partial lycanthropes are rare, so they know even less."
"You've done research?" Bill glanced at her through his lashes.
"I have. I found a pack in Bulgaria. Half the pack were partials. They viewed me, us, as blessed. We get the strengths without having to go through the rigors of full transformation." Hermione shrugged. "The healers were right in a way. You could only change me. It's an odd bit of preferential magic."
He ate as she went on about her research. He should have paid attention. The things she'd learned were valuable, but he couldn't help wondering why the magic had worked with her. If he had bitten Fleur, could this entire situation been avoided? Would his children still have a mother?
He heard her huff out a breath and forced himself to focus on her.
"I'm used to being ignored. Merlin knows, Ron and Harry made a sport of it." She glanced down at her hands.
He swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. Gods, could he screw this up more?
"I'm sorry. You got me thinking and I chased the thought instead of staying here with you." He shifted against the pillows and met her eyes.
"What were you thinking about?" She tilted her head.
He had to tell her the truth. She'd know if he lied. He took a deep breath.
"I wondered if I had bitten Fleur..." He trailed off when Hermione growled. It was a deep rumbling sound. Some part of him liked it.
"Sorry." She blushed and glanced away. "It wouldn't have made a difference. Your wolf chose me. It's an instinct, the magic."
"An instinct?" He felt his anger starting to rise. "Some bloody instinct did this?"
"A veela isn't compatible with a wolf. In pure forms, a werewolf and a veela have different needs." Hermione grimaced and looked out to the forest. "Veela are solitary. Wolves like a pack. You loved her as a man. She loved you as a woman. I'm sorry that she wasn't strong enough to reject her mate and stay with you."
"Are you?" Bill wanted the question back even as it left his lips. He saw the pain on her face.
"I am. You managed to love her and build a family with her. It's painful watching you struggle in the aftermath." Hermione shrugged. "I'll never take her place. I'll never be the one you chose. I'm a bloody consolation prize."
He had her in his arms before his mind caught up to his actions. Her tears here hot against his throat. He pulled her closer to his chest and rocked her.
"You're not a consolation prize." He rested his head on top of hers. "I'm an imbecile. I've spent so many years forcing myself into a mold and trying to make it work that I've forgotten how to handle life without it."
She shuddered against him, but he knew she was listening.
"I want to get it right this time. I want to know you inside and out. I want you to feel how special you are." He took a deep breath. "I want all of it, but I'm struggling to figure out how to walk again."
"I understand." Her voice sounded watery, and he was glad she couldn't see his grin.
"We are going to take this slow." Bill stroked his hand down her back. "We will have lots of awkward lunches to start. How does that sound?"
Her chuckle made him feel lighter than he had in years. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and stared off toward the forest. This was where he belonged.