Bill opened his eyes to Hermione shaking him. Her face was bleary-eyed and confused.
"Are you ok?" She asked, touching his forehead. It was wet with sweat.
"Yea, I am. Sorry." He said, laying on his back and panting. He was having a dream. One he's had often before, but no one ever woke him from it. Fleur never woke him in confusion. He would wake himself.
He heard the shadows of the sound that echoed in his brain, the sound of falling castle walls and screaming. He had seen Fred's blank face and the rest of his family sobbing over his motionless body while he was pulled away by invisible hands.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione asked, she had sat up now, attentive.
"No." Bill said with barely a glance. He closed his eyes stubbornly until he felt Hermione lay back down beside him. When he felt her roll over, he got out of bed and splashed cold water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror. Fear. And as soon as he noticed it, his insides iced back to nothing and it was gone.
He walked to the kitchen and poked around for some alcohol, finding a meager amount of gin in a cabinet. He poured all of it and stared at the glass in the dark.
Hermione found him on the armchair by the fireplace the next morning, she didn't say anything about last night.
After breakfast, Bill pointed at the empty gin bottle and asked, "Was that all you had?"
"Yes, I am a social drinker." Hermione said, her back turned to him, washing the dishes. "I don't really drink by myself."
"I'll pop into town, get some more then. Replace what I used." and he left with a crack. He returned twenty minutes later with a paper bag that clinked gently when he put it on the table. Hermione had sat in the armchair with a book in her lap waiting for him.
"What do you do on Sundays? Out in the middle of nowhere." he asked as he settled opposite her.
"I make myself some lunch. Or buy some. I read. I walk." Hermione said holding up the book.
"Your life seems so simple." Bill said.
"Not right now, it isn't." she said with a smile.
"You're a social drinker, would you drink with me? Take another walk?" Bill asked. Hermione looked up from the book, the page was unturned. "We only got as far as the pond last time."
"Where do you want to see next?" Hermione asked him, a smile broadening on her face.
"A meadow." Bill said, "Where ever that flowery scent comes from that clings to your hair and skin."
Hermione closed the book with a slap and jumped to her feet.
"Come on then!"
She looped her elbow into his and they walked a flattened path of grass in the sunlight. The breeze offered slight relief from the sun rays that browned their skin after some time.
As they walked past the pond, Bill glanced at Hermione, whose face had gone pink.
"Don't want another swim today?" Bill teased. "Legs too tired for swimming?"
Hermione pushed him sideways and ran giggling. Bill smelled the flowery scent in the air. It grew more intense the further they went and over one last hill, there was a meadow littered with colours of wildflowers in spots like confetti through the tall grass.
Hermione conjured a picnic blanket and two glasses. She poured herself a modest amount of whiskey and watched as Bill filled his glass. Clinking the glasses together, they said "Cheers!" and sipped. Hermione lay down flat on the grass and stared at the blue sky.
When they had finished about half the bottle, they thought it was a good idea to go into town and get some lunch. It was a late lunch. Hermione and Bill tripped over their own feet and laughed like teenagers on a first date. People stared, some smiled knowingly, like they were witnessing two people falling in love for the first time.
When they twisted to apparate, almost falling over in the process to get back to the isolated cottage, the night had fallen and everything was washed in blue light. They started a fire in the fireplace and cuddled, Hermione read the book out loud. Bill's head lolled.
He woke again with Hermione shaking him awake. Her face was warped with concern. His eyes opened and the world was blurry and he felt like he was on water. Right, we were drinking. He thought to himself.
"What happened?" he asked Hermione.
"You were yelling in your sleep, like last night again." she said.
"Fuck, sorry." Bill said, "I don't usually yell in my sleep."
"Well you've been here two nights, and you've yelled out two times." Hermione said. "We should talk about it."
"What about it?" Bill said, he stretched. "I've had the dreams before, it's always the same."
"What do you dream about?" Hermione asked, she snuggled into him.
"The war." Bill said shortly.
"Fred?" Hermione asked. Bill's breathing stilled.
"Yes." he said after a moment.
"You haven't been yelling in your sleep before?" Hermione asked.
"Only here." Bill said.
"Is it because you're with me?" Hermione asked.
"What? Because you make me feel something other than -" Bill paused, "-other than whatever it is otherwise."
"So you're finally processing the war?" Hermione said quietly, it sounded like a statement more than a question.
"I guess. But I don't want to feel anything. I don't want to feel this." Bill said, his hand absentmindedly touched his chest. It had constricted on him when Hermione mentioned Fred.
"You want to fuck me instead, and feel that?" Hermione said bluntly.
"Being with you feels good." Bill said quietly. Then continued in a hurried sharp sentence, "The war doesn't."
"You have to feel what you're feeling to get better." Hermione said, pulling away from him. "You can't just stay like a hot and cold robot forever."
"Why?" Bill asked, his voice a little louder. "Why can't I just have you and move on?"
"Because it isn't moving on, Bill!" Hermione said, her voice was steady.
"So do I leave then?" Bill said angrily, louder still. He had pulled further away from Hermione. Both were on their knees, Bill was glaring at Hermione's calm face. "I just got here, and I have to leave to what? Go find myself? Like you did?"
"I faced my demons, Bill." Hermione said. "I want you to feel better."
"And you feel better then?" He asked her, clenching his jaw. Hermione was getting to her feet now, Bill rose with her.
"Yes! I do!" Hermione said, her voice cracking a little, the calmness she tried to keep faded.
"So why am I here? Why are you still sleeping with me?" Bill asked, his fists balled in anger. Hermione glanced at them and took a step back. Bill noticed and asked, "Are you afraid of me Hermione?"
"No." She said, her hands were balled into fists too.
Bill stomped to the kitchen and opened the other bottle of whiskey.
"Don't-" Hermione started. He glared at her.
Bill threw the glass at the wall, shards littered the floor.
"There!" Bill said, turning on his heel and glaring at her. "Better?"
Hermione's eyes welled with tears, Bill's hardened face softened a little. But he stood still, he did not go to her. Hermione turned to the shattered pieces, hiding her face. She flicked her wand and repaired the glass, hiding to wipe her face.
She returned to sitting on the floor, her back against the armchair's base. She opened the book and didn't look at Bill again.
"Hermione -" Bill said, he took a step toward her. He growled angrily and he punched the wall. Hermione flinched, but she did not turn to him. "It's not just the war. It's whatever this is." He had turned his face to show his scars. She still wasn't looking at him.
"I'm not a werewolf, I'm not wholly human. I don't know if you were right, about the smelling and the hearing." Bill said in a low growl, he took steps toward her, closing the gap. "I can smell the salt from your tears."
He stood in front of her now, the tears were wet spots on the open unread book in Hermione's lap. He put his hand out to her and she took it. He pulled her up into a hug, then pushed her back to the wall, pressing his weight onto her. The wall was warm from the fireplace. Her crying stopped. Bill wiped the wetness off her face.
Hermione saw the blood on his knuckles from where he hit the wall.
"That's how you got knuckle scars?" she asked. "Didn't you heal them after?"
"What's the point?" Bill asked.
And she kissed him. She dug her nails into his back. Bill pressed himself into her stomach and Hermione rotated her hips automatically. Bill pushed one of his legs between hers and raised it to press onto her clit. She moaned into his mouth.
Bill bit at her lips and nipped at her tongue, she tasted of whiskey and tears. She pulled away from him suddenly and pounded her fists into his chest.
"Wait! Fuck you." Hermione said, pushing at his chest. "You can't just be angry like that and get what you want."
"Why not?" Bill said, he looked at her, the moonlight glinting in his eyes. Hermione's eyebrows came together in anger.
"You have to work on yourself. You can't just use me to feel something other than what you need to feel." Hermione said angrily, her fists pushing still against his chest. Bill pushed his leg up against her and she squirmed. "Fucking the feelings away doesn't work."
"I can try." Bill said and he kissed her again. She bit him harshly, drawing blood.
"You need to go back to Fleur." Hermione said. "Figure your shit out."
"I am figuring it out. Let me." Bill said, softly. The trace of the anger in his voice now came in breathy, eager words.
Hermione softened, she realised pushing him away wasn't making him budge. Bill saw her think Just one more time, before she leaned in to kiss him. She widened her knees when they weakened, then wrapped one leg his hips. He pushed her underwear aside and drowned himself in her.