A/N: I think this is my new favorite ship . . .
Happy Early Christmas!
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and no copyrightinfringment is intended.
"Last Minute"
Christmas provides much joy and torment. Joy because one can visit with one's relatives and eat one's mother's homemade pie. Torment because Christmas means presents, and presents mean shopping.
Bill Weasley was never one to enjoy shopping. Crowds of pushy people talking loudly over the people who were already talking loudly, headaches, waiting in lines to buy someone something that you weren't even sure they would like, but you had to buy it because you couldn't think of anything else to buy them.
He sighed and looked down at his list. He had crossed off Ginny, Fred, George, Percy, Mum and Dad. All he had left was Charlie, Ron, Harry and . . .Hermione.
Bill looked up as a blur of brown curls flew past him and he heard his brother's voice say, "You don't need another book Hermione!"
Ron stopped, seeing Bill standing in front of him. "Bill! What're you doing here? I thought you weren't supposed to get in for a few more hours."
Bill smiled and held up his shopping bags. "Just some last minute shopping. Don't tell mum. How about you? How'd you three escape the house so close to dinner time?"
Ron shrugged, a look of true bewilderment concerning their fortune on his face. Harry opened his mouth to explain, but Hermione cut him off.
"She sent us out to get some last minute items," she said, motioning to the bag in Harry's hand. "She didn't find out that Charlie was bringing his new girlfriend with him until this morning and she was afraid she wouldn't have enough pudding for her. Plus, she was hoping you'd bring someone with you, as well." She added the last part quickly, as she was running out of breath.
Bill laughed good heartedly, although he was slightly resentful about his mother's wish. It's not that he didn't want to have someone to bring home on the holidays; he just wished his mother would quit expecting it. "You bring home one girlfriend, and she starts planning the wedding. No way am I going to make that mistake again."
Hermione smiled. "We'll just let you get back to your shopping," she said, not wanting to bother him any longer than she had to.
"Speak for yourself," said Ron. "You just want to go to Flourish and Blotts."
"And what's wrong with Flourish and Blotts?" she asked, her hands on her hips.
"Nothing. If you're boring." He turned to Bill. "I don't suppose you plan on heading over to Quality Quidditch Supplies, uh?"
"Actually, both of those are on my list. But since Flourish and Blotts is right here, why don't we stop there first?"
Nodding in agreementto Bill's plan, they entered the busy store, and immediately they were separated. Harry and Ron went off (probably to the sports section) while Hermione shot off in some obscure direction towards the back. Bill followed her, wanting to see what type of books she was aiming for, so that he would have a better idea of what to get her. They had known each other for a few years, and yet he hardly knew the girl at all. They always bought presents for each other, but more out of courtesy, than out of kindness.
Not that Bill wasn't a kind person. He was a very kind person, indeed, and very giving. He just wasn't very comfortable with Hermione; he hardly ever got a chance to actually talk to her. It seemed she was always flanked by Harry or Ron (unless Harry or Ron was out playing Quidditch, but under those circumstance, it could most likely be guessed that Bill was also out playing Quidditch).
She was heading straight towards magical theory, and her hair bounced against her back as she skipped excitedly towards the aisle. Bill could see that her cheeks were rosy with excitement..
Presently she reached out to grab a book and leafed through the brown pages. Bill watched her as she sighed and replaced the book back on its shelf. She picked up another one, and Bill stepped forward.
"Anything interesting?" he asked, peering over her shoulder.
She smiled like a schoolgirl who had been asked if she had a good time at a school dance. "Very! This book is all about the magical theory, and why magic works for Wizard-folk, as opposed to muggles. For instance༠"
"Hermione! Stop boring him!" said Ron, coming up behind her.
Hermione frowned and placed the book back on the shelf.
"She wasn't boring me Ron," said Bill, following them as they walked down the aisle. He grabbed the book Hermione had been reading just a few seconds ago (when she wasn't looking, naturally). He let them walk out of the store while he quickly paid for the book and joined them minutes later. They hadn't noticed his few seconds of absent, and, if they had, they didn't mention it.
"Quidditch?" he asked and they wordlessly followed.
Once inside the store, Bill headed over to the servicing kits, thinking that Ron could always use another one (he had heard that Ron might possibly be getting a broom-shaped package on Christmas morning). He grabbed two, deciding that Charlie could always use one as well. Oh hell, he thought, better make it three. He still hadn't bought something for Harry, anyway.
Ron looked like he wanted to ask whom they were for. Instead, he said, discreetly, "You know, that one looks a lot nicer. It's got better polish."
Bill exchanged his armful of kits for an armful of the nicer ones and paid for them. Ron and Harry were still ogling the new broom display, leaving Hermione standing in a corner patiently. Bill stood next to her and tried to make polite conversation.
Tried, however, is the operative word, for he found that no polite conversation came to mind. Thrice he opened his mouth to comment on the particularly large quantity of snow this year, and thrice he closed it again, feeling that she wasn't the type who found the weather to be interesting.
"Bill," she said finally, turning to him. "If you want to say something, just say it."
He blushed uncharacteristically (he may have fair skin, but he rarely blushed in front of a girl anymore). "I was just going to say that we've had a lot of snow this year."
She nodded. "We have, haven't we?"
Silence ensued, and Bill shoved his hands in his pockets. He pulled them out when he realized that the bags he was holding made the position uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet a bit, and smiled at her. She smiled back.
Bill noticed that her smile was infinitely mature, and it unnerved him to see such a smile coupled with such innocent eyes. The eyes, however, were far from innocent, but one could hardly guess that from just one glance. In fact, from a second glance, Bill felt that they were inviting and curiously teasing–the eyes of a woman. He instinctively stepped closer to her and reached his hand out to touch her or something, when Ron and Harry came up to them, saying that they were ready to go now. Harry, noticing Bill's hand in midair, gave him a questioning look, but said nothing.
Later that evening, dinner is served with love and care, and the family settled down at the table. It was intended to be a picturesque occurrence. However, in the Weasley family, these picturesque occurrences never seem to last too long.
"Fred! George!" cried their mother. "Stop fighting over the cranberry sauce! There's plenty for everyone. And Charlie stop staring at her, you're practically drooling. Ron! Don't stuff your mouth that full. Why heavens, you'll choke yourself to death! Ginny--"
Mrs. Weasley had been about to comment on Ginny's lack of appetite, when the cranberry sauce Fred and George had been fighting over decided it would have been much happier on Hermione's head.
The table quieted, and Mrs. Weasley berated Fred and George for making a mess. She looked to Bill, who was seated next to the cranberry-sauce-covered-Hermione. "Bill, be a dear and help Hermione clean up will you?" she said, and then, turning to the twins, "I told you two to--"
Mrs. Weasley's voice trailed off as Bill helped Hermione to the bathroom. A quick cleaning spell got rid of the most of the sauce. However, it didn't get the bits and pieces stuck in her curls, nor did it erase the stain on her shirt. Bill sifted through her thick hair, intent on helping her and thus not noticing the blush on her cheeks.
"You don't have to help," she said. "I'm sure with a few well-aimed spells I can get most of it out."
"With all of this hair?" he asked. "You'd never get the stickiness out. Best to just get it out now."
Hermione felt slightly embarrassed that she had such bushy hair, but Bill didn't seem disgusted. Actually, it seemed as if he quite liked running his fingers through it. His fingers brushed the back of her neck and she nearly jumped from a little shiver that went through her body.
"You alright?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yeah, I think I'm going to go change my shirt. Thanks."
"No problem. See you back downstairs."
"Sure."
Hermione quickly changed her shirt, telling herself that she was just choosing the one with the lowest neckline because it was on top of the carefully folded stack of clothes, and not because she was hoping Bill would notice her.
Because she didn't want Bill to notice her. Not at all. Bill was just Bill; not the type of guy to notice a type of girl like her. That chill that went through her body when he touched her was just because his hands were cold. Not because of his overwhelming animal magnetism or anything.
Dinner endured a while longer after she reappeared downstairs, and soon they were sitting in living room, in front of a warming fire. Charlie and his girlfriend had gone up to bed, while Percy had retired to his small house in London. Ron and Harry were playing chess, while Ginny was watching the captivating game (although, for some reason her eyes kept wandering over to Harry, and couldn't seem to focus on the board). Fred and George were off somewhere, doing something. Hermione was sitting on the couch, reading her book, trying desperately to ignore Bill's eyes on her. Although, she thought, maybe he's not looking at me. She had the vague distinction that his gaze was merely a figment of her hormones, and not something rational, such as a fact.
It was ten minutes later when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley decided to retire for the night. Mrs. Weasley kissed all of the remaining children on top of their heads and she shuffled off to the bedroom happily, Mr. Weasley's arm around her waist.
"I'm going to bed," said Harry a few seconds later, getting up.
Ron stood up as well, his mouth open wide in a most atrocious yawn. "G'night 'Mione, Bill, Ginny . . . ."
Ginny sighed after Ron and Harry had left. Not having anyone (i.e. Harry) to stare at anymore she bounced up the stairs saying goodnight over her shoulder.
Bill nodded in her direction, a smile on his face, and said "'Night.
Hermione had sunk down into the decisive words of her book and she didn't notice the goodbyes; nor did she notice that Bill had sat down beside her until he spoke.
"You're going to go blind if you keep reading in the dark," he said in that brotherly tone that was both teasing and commanding.
She jumped, closing the book with a snap "Oh! Bill. You scared me."
"It wasn't intentional, I assure you."
She smiled and opened her book again. She began to read again, her eyes catching at the last words she had read, but she soon looked up, as if his presence was annoying.
Not that it was annoying. His presence only made her feel exceptionally warm, as if the fire was blazing instead of simmering down. And that wasn't annoying at all. His hair hung loosely about his shoulders, and she was struck with the sudden realization that he looked much like a lion.
"Bill? Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"It's about Arithmancy. I don't understand this passage." She pointed to a paragraph on the page of the open book.
Before she had a chance to hand him the large tome, Bill leaned over her shoulder. His lips moved softly, reading the passage, and his cheek was dangerously close to hers. Her shoulder was pressed into his chest, and she felt like she was pinned: a lion's prey caught against a large boulder.
Bill explained it to her with a didactic tone in his voice; yet, he wasn't pompous, like Percy would have been if she had asked him instead. He was . . . Hermione couldn't quite place what he was. It seemed the only word to describe him would be cool. Hermione was never one to use such slang, but her dignified vocabulary failed her at the moment. And its failure had nothing to do with the fact that she could feel his hair brush her neck.
"Does that make more sense?" he asked, his eyes looking at her curiously, as if guessing that she hadn't been listening to him at all.
"Yes, thank you." Her cheeks turned red, and she once again had that feeling of being a lion's prey. She licked her lips and returned to her book, unsure if she should continue with a conversation or simply retire to bed.
Bill let her read for a while, as he watched a shadow flit across the room, following it from the ceiling to the wall, to Hermione's head. And then it was off again, floating somewhere about the house. Bill's eyes had stopped when he got back to Hermione. It felt like she had suddenly become a large magnet that attracted his gaze. There was something pleasing in her figure, light and lithe; yet it was weighed down with maturity. She was a paradox: young and old, playful and serious. The silence began to buzz and he felt confused. How could someone so young, so platonic, make him feel like a hormonal sixteen-year old? She was a long, complicated mathematical equation that needed to be solved. He sighed, causing her to look up.
Resting her eyes from the strain of reading made her realize just how tired she felt. She yawned most un-Hermione like, and rested her head on the couch behind her, not, of course, realizing that the soft cushion behind her head was, in fact, Bill's arm. He thought about saying something, but her hair really was soft.
Just a few seconds, he thought sleepily, and then he'd wake her up, for surely she had fallen asleep. Her breathing was even and deep and her lips were parted slightly. Fire, he thought, his own eyes closing. She looked like there was a fire blazing underneath her skin; it really did look that passionately flushed. Gold, he thought . . . her hair was really golden brown and not muddy brown . . . .
They had been sleeping for a few hours when Hermione shifted closer to Bill, and the book on her lap fell to the floor with a thud, startling Bill awake. He blinked and looked down at Hermione.
Her head was resting on his shoulder, her hand resting lightly on his chest, and her legs pulled up underneath her. He sighed, thinking that her neck would hurt when she awoke in the morning. Picking her up gently, he carried her up the stairs, down the hall, and into Ginny's bedroom. Quietly (because he did not want to wake up Ginny and have to answer awkward questions that would arrive from such a situation) he placed her in the spare bed. He pulled the blankets around her and snugly tucked her in. Without too much thought (lest he should lose his courage), he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
Closing the door, he knew that he would probably never solve the equation of her; yet, he had the impression that he would have plenty of time to figure her out, sometime in the future . . . .
As soon as the door had closed, Hermione woke up with a start, her forehead stinging with the remembrance of someone's lips. She sighed and drifted back off to sleep, thinking that it had only been a dream.
fin.