Hey! Thanks again Tabari Avaren, and Cecelle. As this very perceptive reviewer pointed out, Mr Smith is a strange name for the Romanian Ambassador. There is a reason, however, for this anomaly- I made a mistake! I was using Smith as a placeholder until I found a Romanian name, but then I forgot and posted the chapter. For anyone who's interested, the Ambassador's real name is Mr Reprezentant. Anyway, enjoy this chapter; I really enjoyed writing it, but can't tell objectively whether it's the best or the worst so far. I need your reviews! Lots of love, d7th

It was evening on the fourth day of Hermione's stay at The Burrow. She was sitting alone at the Weasleys' kitchen table in the dim light of the magical candles, and she was trying to understand a particularly obscure aspect of Ancient Greek Arithmancy which seemed to bypass the normal realms of logic. In the next room, behind Extendable Ear-proof doors, an Order meeting was underway and had been for several hours. Hermione was trying to concentrate on the complicated number tables in front of her, but her thoughts kept straying to what was happening there, which was surely far more important. For the last twenty minutes she had been making up her mind to just give up and go to bed, but she knew she wouldn't sleep and was in fact happier where she was. Harry, Ron and Ginny were upstairs talking quidditch, and whilst the rest of the clan were safely ensconced in the living room Hermione intended to enjoy some much needed solitude, silence and space – commodities rare in the Weasley household. Although she loved The Burrow's friendly bustle, the unexpected peace was wonderful and she luxuriated in it.

Or she did, until Bill arrived.

The oldest of the Weasley siblings looked tired and on edge. Judging by his start of surprise at seeing her, Bill had obviously expected to find the kitchen empty, but he quickly recovered and addressed her with his usual careless charm.

"Hermione. You'd better not let Mum catch you still up, it's…" He checked his watch, "nearly one in the morning. What are you up to? Not studying, surely?"

"Not exactly. Is the meeting finished?"

"A while ago, but it looks like they'll be making a night of it. These meetings always end with everyone who's got nothing urgent to do sitting round talking and getting depressed. I came in here to escape." He flashed her his easy attractive smile as he reached up to open a cupboard, then stood frowning abstractedly at its contents. "Do you want a drink?"

"No, thank you. Bill?"

"Mmmh?" Now he was pouring what looked like Firewhisky into a heavy glass.

"Do you want some space? Because I was going to go to bed soon, anyway. If you wanted to be on your own, I mean…" Hermione trailed off awkwardly. She didn't know Bill very well, and was always slightly nervous speaking to him. He was so assured and confident, his brothers and sisters deferred to him in everything and she knew he also had the respect and trust of Order members much older and more experienced than himself. Just now, though, he had looked very young and completely drained. Hermione guessed that he had come out of the meeting wanting to slump down in exhaustion only to find a guest requiring his courtesy. Guilt that her presence was denying him respite had prompted her offer to leave.

He turned round and smiled at her again. "It's fine. I just had to get away from Order stuff."

Hermione knew that he was not telling the whole truth, but knew also that it was as much of the truth as she was going to get. Whatever the problem, Bill was hardly going to confide in her.

Apparently considering the subject closed, he had arrived noiselessly behind her and was looking over her head at the Arithmancy, wincing as he recognised the diagrams.

"'Not exactly' studying, I see what you mean. That's way past NEWT level. What's the book?"

"Arithmancy of the Ancients."

"I know it. Used in training for Gringotts. A lot of the security curses there are based on Arithmantical theory, though not all of them, of course. The really important stuff uses mathematics. Muggle mathematics, you know, that inferior alternative to magic."

For a moment Hermione wondered why the words sounded familiar, then a jolt of sudden enlightenment hit her and she turned round to confront him. Or tried to. She had to twist 180° and crane her neck to see him, and she felt slightly ridiculous.

"Sorry. Hang on." He pulled out the chair beside her and sat, trying unsuccessfully to conceal a smile, which Hermione reluctantly returned.

"Did Ron say..."

"Not in so many words, but whenever he starts talking earnestly about wizarding issues it's a fair bet that you've been making him think again."

"I…oh. I didn't realise he was taking it seriously."

Bill raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes. Wizarding-Muggle relations were the hot topic of debate just before you arrived. And the Death Eaters' underlying motives. Was that you as well?"

Hermione nodded dumbly. To her surprise, a warm feeling of happiness was spreading through her and she wanted to hug someone. She had often felt, when explaining her ideas to Ron and Harry, that she was talking into a vacuum, that they were merely humouring her. Finding out otherwise was…well, it was nice. Looking up, she noticed that Bill was watching her intently. Immediately, she was embarrassed.

"Sorry. That just surprised me."

"Obviously. I think you're right, by the way, about muggle knowledge. Vastly superior to ours in most ways. And a lot of the technology is useful even for people who can use magic. Like mobile phones. Fantastic."

Hermione couldn't help but stare at him in surprise, as he downed the Firewhisky and looked calmly back at her. She had never before met a pureblood wizard who knew anything about muggles. There was Mr Weasley, of course, but he was fond of muggles in the way one might be fond of a favourite pet. Of course he hated cruelty to the poor creatures, and thought one should be kind to them, but he would never consider them equals. This patronising attitude of "Bless the poor things" had always grated on Hermione. Bill's feelings were obviously different. He seemed, astonishingly enough, to be familiar with the real Muggle world.

As Hermione was busy processing this, Bill had started to glance through her book, frowning very slightly as he turned the leaves with one elegant hand. He looked up and, noticing her attention now focused on him, slid it back across to her apologetically. "It's difficult stuff. Do you follow all of it?"

"I didn't immediately, but I've been working pretty hard all summer trying to understand. I bought the book a while ago, but what with the exams and everything else I just haven't had the time to go into it properly until now. I've hit a bit of a brick wall here, though – I just can't follow what's going on."

Bill took the book again and found the page she had been looking at. "Here?"

"That's right."

"I'm not surprised you don't understand that. You won't have the maths." He smiled up at her. "Muggle maths again. You need it for advanced Arithmancy – only very advanced Arithmancy, mind - but it isn't taught at wizarding schools. Fair enough, I suppose; most wizards never need it. In fact, I shouldn't think most wizards know it exists."

"But you…"

"Well, I work for a bank. Gringotts make sure all their recruits are fairly numerate. The goblins are still pretty sceptical about wizards doing sums, though – a supervisor double-checked all my work for a year after I qualified." He gave a rueful grin. "It was pretty humiliating, this little creature tutting at my arithmetic."

Hermione smiled back at him. "But you understand this?"

"Oh yes. I am quite the mathematician now." Bill looked at her appraisingly. "How tired are you?"

"Not at all."

"Do you fancy a calculus lesson?"

One hour later, Order members were still gathered in the living-room, everyone upstairs was long asleep, and Hermione and Bill had reached third differentials. They were so absorbed that a glow of green flame went unnoticed. The figure appearing out of the fireplace, however, was impossible to miss.

"Am I interrupting?" The silky tones of Professor Snape were unmistakable, as was the severe, black-garbed figure who flicked ash from his robes then stood looking at them interrogatively, with his lip curling in innuendo and one sardonic eyebrow raised.

Hermione was suddenly aware of how close she and Bill had drawn together; how animatedly they had been talking; how this must look, the two of them alone at this time of night when she should be in bed, and he should be next door with the others. She felt herself blush scarlet as Snape's gaze took in Bill's hand, resting lightly on her forearm from the eager emphasis of some point, and the bottle of Firewhisky left forgotten on the counter. She felt Bill tense, then he pressed her arm gently, before slowly withdrawing his hand to lean back casually with arms folded, his eyes fixed unwavering on Snape. Self-assured, handsome and slightly contemptuous, for a moment he was Sirius, and the likeness obviously struck Snape as forcibly as it did Hermione, for he paled visibly. Before he could start forward in anger, however, Bill spoke and the spell was broken. The disdain that had so uncharacteristically flickered across his face was gone; now he was measured, polite and respectful.

"Can I help, Professor?"

"Lupin and Fletcher. I have prepared potions for both of them."

"Of course. Remus is next door, I'll show you through." Bill stood up and gestured for Snape to follow him. "If you can see a bundle of green curled up anywhere it's probably Mundungus," he added dryly, then winked at Hermione as he led the other man away.

Within ten minutes he was back. "Where were we up to?"

"Coffee break," said Hermione firmly, tapping the kettle with her wand.

"I'll do it."

"No, I will. You sit down." Bill obeyed without further remonstrance, and Hermione carried over two steaming drinks.

"Thanks. I was in desperate need of that." He stretched out his limbs and yawned, before reaching for the mug.

"You look like you're in desperate need of sleep."

"Terminal insomniac."

"Seriously? Do you usually spend your nights with definite integrals?"

"No, I usually spend my nights tossing and turning in bed, or talking Voldemort with Dad or Perce. Calculus is a vast improvement."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, stopped, tried once more and again pulled up short. Aware of Bill watching, amused yet bemused, she cursed her idiocy and took a deep breath before finally asking the question that had been bothering her all night.

"Why were you so desperate to get out of that meeting?"

For a moment Bill was completely still, and she realised for the first time how completely controlled was his every movement that seemed so artlessly graceful. He appeared to be considering how best to answer, or indeed whether he should. Seeming to reach a decision, he turned to face her and began to explain, at first grasping uncertainly for words, then growing in confidence to become ever more fluent and forceful.

"The Order are a pretty mixed group," he began. "People joined for all sorts of reasons. Well…no, they all joined because they wanted to fight against Voldemort, but…well, what they think about the war is different. Generally they fall between two extremes. There are the kids, like Percy and Tonks, who just haven't taken in the reality of what we're facing; they assume we simply must win eventually. I mean, they semm to agree about how great is the danger that we're facing, but they haven't the imagination to really understand it. They're going to be disillusioned very quickly, and I…well, I feel too much of a coward to watch that." He stared moodily down at his hands before continuing.

"Then there are survivors from the first war: McGonagall, Hagrid, Lupin – Lupin especially. Have you seen him?"

She shook her head.

"God, Hermione, he's just so…so…It isn't like he's angry, or miserable, or wretched, though of course he is. He's lost so many people, and now he doesn't seem to care about anything except that Voldemort is defeated. No, that's not quite true; he cares about Harry, and people in the Order. He doesn't care what happens to him, though, and he won't look after himself. He's tired and he's ill, but he won't stop, won't take it easy. And all this, all this despair and pain, it's there, but he hardly shows it. He's almost like he was; he's kind, and polite, and capable and brave. He's existing. But there's something gone - it's like he's got nothing left to live for, and it's just shattering to see."

Hermione could only sit in silence. What words could make this any better? Besides, Bill seemed almost to have forgotten her, trapped in his own thoughts. It was a while before he spoke again, but when he did he had shaken off his melancholy and even managed a small smile.

"Of course there's also Snape, who I just can't figure out. The work he's doing for the Order is amazing; you can't help but respect him for it – at least when he's not actually here. I mean, it's easy to forget just how unpleasant that man really is." He shook his head incredulously. "Like before, when he arrived – that was just nasty!"

Hermione laughingly agreed, then stopped still at the sound of footsteps just outside the room. Bill obviously heard them too, for he swiftly gathered up her books, glanced quickly around the room for any other traces of her presence, then gently steered her towards the other door.

"That'll be Mum showing Snape out. I'd rather not explain to her what you're still doing here and I'm sure you feel the same, so…"

Hermione didn't need telling twice. She slipped quietly out of the room and upstairs, smiling at the muffled sound of Bill's voice, which seemed to be keeping up a constant flow of farewells that prevented Snape from getting in a word edgeways. With some luck, Mrs Weasley need never know about her eldest son's collusion in Hermione's very late night, and that was just as well for both of them. The Weasley siblings were all daring, audacious and brave – except when it came to argument with their mother.