Chapter 18

Bill stepped through to his office. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and took a deep, tired breath. Despite not having done a single productive thing all day he still felt weary. The muscles on his shoulders were uncomfortably tight and tense. He peeked through the cracked door to see Hermione deeply engrossed in her work. Moving silently, he returned to his desk and began leafing through the neat piles of parchments Hermione left him. He felt physically ill seeing so many of the parchments covered in hers and Grimbles's handwriting. The sinking feeling in escalated to gagging and dry heaving over the trash can. The physical reaction made his nose grow stuffy and eyes watery; he quickly remedied both with a few facial tissues and by taking slow, deep breaths.

Not many people realized how strong of a moral code he had – it may not always follow exactly what the law dictated as right and wrong, but he prided himself in never having purposefully hurt another being, more often than not he was willing to go more than the extra mile to protect even the most seemingly insignificant being. It was such a strong compulsion; he'd often grow physically ill if he didn't do what he felt was right. His government employers on many of his expeditions were often aggrieved by the 'habit', as they called it, when it slowed negotiations because Bill was so careful to honor the rights of other civilizations when approaching for permission to excavate on their land. Never the less, it was part of what earned him such a stellar reputation and helped him get where he was today, something one of his muggleborn bosses openly admitted to him the day he resigned his position. For some reason the man had taken a liking to calling him Horton, stranger still, the man had an unnerving tendency to break out into laughter every time someone questioned "who?" after he used the nickname.

Bill was yanked from him reverie by another gagging fit. This was undoubtedly the worst thing he'd ever done. It didn't matter that it was an accident. What mattered was that he'd let it happen and ultimately took advantage of his friend and colleagues whom were both obviously overqualified for their work and extremely loyal. He had much more trouble controlling this fit as he glanced at the parchments on his desk and realized that the two hadn't just covered for him like any decent employee would have. They'd actually done a day and a half worth of work for him and every bit of it was nearly to the same caliber of work he'd have performed. Hermione'd even left him little notes on strips of parchments, on both hers and Grimbles's work, about her thoughts, concerns or explanations about why they did something the way they did and stuck them to the parchment next to whatever she was referencing in the same manner one would use a post-it note.

He clasped a hand over his mouth and nose and fought of the feelings of anxiety. He took deep, slow breaths, in through nose and out through his mouth, until he regained a bit more control. He rested his elbows on his desk and dropped his head into his hands. He craned his neck slowly, rubbing his head from front to back against his hands, letting his fingers comb through his hair. He repeated the process several times over, scraping his blunt nails over his scalp.

He had to do something to repay them. The hard part was finding a way to do it without raising their suspicions. They were both stubborn people who'd undoubtedly refused anything he could offer if they suspected an ulterior motive. If anything, they were most likely would feel more insulted than anything if that were to happen. No, he'd have to bid his time and subtly stick when the perfect opportunity arose.

Hermione anchored her feet beneath the feet of her chair, locked his hips into place and twisted to the side, using the back of the chair for leverage. Several loud, deep cracks filled the room. She did the same to the other side, producing a few more, softer cracks.

She glanced at her wristwatch and grimaced. It was nearly seven; Lavender and Ron were probably just ordering their dinners right about now. She was sure she'd be helping them move in together bright and early tomorrow. Then she'd set the oblivious Ginger straight on how to wear the pants in the relationship.

She grimaced again, this time in guilt. This was the second night in a row that Molly undoubtedly included something special on the dinner menu just for her, most likely excited to see her eat it while hearing all about work. And she'd let her down both times. At least this time she was sure Harry or Ginny thought to tell the matriarch she'd be working late sometime in the early afternoon so she didn't go through the trouble of making anything special.

Bill watched as Hermione straightened in her seat and suddenly crack her back, making him wince despite having seen her do it so many times already he'd lost count. He'd fully opened the door soon after he arrived and now it was… he glanced at the clock, just after seven, and she'd never noticed.

He'd finished reviewing the day's paperwork a few hours ago and written a lengthy letter to Charlie. The dragon enthusiast would probably think he's gone insane when she sees the twenty page letter outlining every remote aspect of his life since his last one two and a half weeks ago, all written in painstakingly beautiful calligraphy. Now he was working on the beginning stages of a picture of their Great Aunt Girt sitting on a troll with its eyes bugged out. He only had a basic outline done, taking extra care on the shaping of the incredibly large and mean woman.

Hermione has been stopping to stretch more frequently; he imagined it would only be a matter of time before it was time for him to step in.

Bill regarded the finished sketch with a critical eye. Satisfied with the results, he casted a simple charm to animate it. He chuckled lightly at the comedic scene and placed it with the rest of his letter to bring home and mail tomorrow.

"Bloody hell," he stared at the clock in disbelief. He'd been so enthralled in his drawing he hadn't even noticed the hour and a half fly by. He looked over at Hermione to see her sitting, squirming in her seat. He watched silently as she spent less time working and more time twirling a lock of hair that'd escaped from her bun around her finger, her shoulders slumped and mind undoubtedly miles from work.

Time to face the proverbial dragon.

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*see note in chapter 17