Authors Note:

Things are going to be different in this story, it is indeed billmione, and there will be some Ron bashing. There have been some altered deaths, and some who were originally killed off will be alive and other characters will be dead. Again, this is my story and the way I choose to write. It is m for a reason. In this, Bill will be fully werewolf, however it's going to be different. Not ugly, and not as taxing as it is for Remus. This will be explained later.

JK Rowling owns all characters associated with fanfiction.

I take no claim to any of its characters

or the happenings in the books that are mentioned

However, this is my story, and I do claim some of the scenarios that happen within it

Again, not Rowling, and I don't wish to be.

Even a man who is pure in heart

and says his prayers at night

may become a wolf

when the wolfsbane blooms

and the autumn moon is bright

There was not one thing Hermione didn't know at least a little bit of information about, not one single thing. She prided herself upon her knowledge and the fact she was considered the 'brightest witch of her age', it was a grandiose achievement that not many muggle-borns could say they had. She had survived the war, sustained injuries that didn't fade, had mudblood dug into her skin, and though it had long since faded, dying as the one given it had, she still felt its sting. She still felt it there, just beneath the skin as a constant reminder. Hermione Jean Granger, the brightest witch of her age, was a survivor. A survivor who knew how to survive and avoid death.

However the image she'd been graced with was far from the deathly gruesome vision of war, in fact many found what she was witnessing to be a good source of entertainment, or a source to spice of the marriage. And that would have been so, had the pair tangled in a mess of sheets, her bed sheets, and limbs, not been her fiance and a woman that was not her. No this was no image that brought pleasure, it was one that caused rage, a rage that bubbled beneath her skin and hissed like that of a kettle full of tea. This was the rage caused by betrayal, swift and painful. And the pair hadn't even halted in their love making for an instant to recognize her presence.

"RONALD BILLIUS WEASLEY!" all movement stopped, the huffing moans, the slap of skin, everything halted instantly and a tension you could hear filled the room. There was no movement from her future husband, as if he were reluctant to pull from the woman he had until recently been pounding, and it made Hermione's skin crawl. How dare he? When she had all but been forced to agree to moving their marriage up a month, and now it was only a week away. How dare he do this, to her, his best friend, the woman he'd fought a war with?! The fates must have been playing some sick, demented joke on her. "What. Are. You. DOING?" it was rhetorical of course, she knew about sex, and knew as well the results that came from it if not accurately protected. Reluctantly, and rather stiffly, Ron turned and met the gaze of the rather frazzled Hermione. As if the man failed to grasp the severity of his actions, he offered her his usual, dopey smile. The smile she'd loved, the smile that now burned insult to her skin.

"H-hermione!" an awkward laugh was offered as he glanced between her and the woman beneath him, the woman Hermione instantly recognized as Lavender Brown. Yes, fate was indeed playing a cruel joke on Ms. Granger, for no one should have to bear witness to the sultry look of satisfaction that crossed over the opposing witch's features. This was a victory to her, payback from that time when it had been Hermione's name uttered off the unconscious weasel's lips. Was this karma? Had Hermione done wrong then for being with her friend? Her then best friend? Surely not. It made no sense and she would not dwell on it, that was the past and she was very much in a wicked present. "F-fancy seeing you-uh-here." he was still smiling, even as he clammered up, pillow covering his junk. The tension spiked, and a silence so loud it sounded like static filled the room as Hermione gazed unmoving at the pair. At some point she'd gone for her wand, and Lavender and Ron both mad noises of fear. Her knuckles were white, as was the rest of her. "Hermione-uh-you should probably leave."

"I should leave?" it was a good thing her wand was sturdy, it would have been sad had it would have snapped. Though buying a replacement wasn't to much of an issue, it would have been a ridiculously tedious thing to do, what with her job and all. It was just so absurd that he would have the nerve to tell her she should leave. She had paid for the goddamned flat to begin with. "This is my flat to Ronald Weasley! I paid for it!" she watched her fiance-or well, ex fiance, roll his eyes.

"Why're you always the one to cause a scene, 'Mione?" he commented, gathering up his pants. "You can never just let things go-"

Ronald Weasley did not get to finish his sentence, for before he could utter a word he was choking on a slug.

Humiliation, was a hard pill to swallow. To be booted from her own home, mere weeks from her wedding, finding her husband-to-be cheating, it was a wonder Hermione didn't flee to the muggle world in attempt to get away from the burn of it all. It wouldn't have made anything any better, in fact it would have prolonged it, with the prying memory of family lost. She hadn't left easily, to her credit. She'd hexed both occupants of the bed that was her's until they were both choking on slugs. Though, as she looked back on it, that was a rather childish choice. She should have picked a darker one, even if it would have went against her judgement. After all he was….gishmoogling that strumpet in her bed.

So now she stood, out in the rain, gazing at the Leaky Cauldron as if unsure whether or not to go in. Hermione registered rather dully that their were indeed eyes on her, ones from within the confines of the nearby buildings wondering why she didn't simply enter the Cauldron. If they recognized her, they'd probably wonder why the female of the ever famous 'golden trio' stood outside in the pouring rain staring as if she were lost. Truly, deeply, lost. The truth was, the memories the Cauldron held, though all good, all involved Ron, and Ron was not someone she fancied thinking of at the moment. Not when her heart felt as if it'd been hit with a freezing curse.

It just didn't seem fair, not when he'd been the one pushing, prodding, begging for marriage. He'd been the one who wanted to get married so soon after the war had ended, he'd been the one who wished and begged for her to put aside her studies for marriage and him. Her decision to wait until marriage to give herself to him was not a bad one, as it turned out, for the fact that had she would have it would have it would have been wasted. She did not want her first time to be a waste. Hermione wanted special, romantic, and well, fun. Or as fun as losing your virginity could be, she supposed. She'd heard the tales of horror, read enough muggle fiction about it to know, and her friends had never spared a detail. So maybe it was prudish of her to not want to give herself to just anyone, the man she gave herself to should be special.

She had thought the special one was Ron. Oh how sickeningly wrong he'd proved her. The whole time she'd been balancing her job and wedding planning with Ginny and Molly he'd been sleeping with none other than Lavender Brown, and in their shared flat no less. He could have at least had the decency to keep his relations with her at work, or at her home, or-or nonexistent. The latter would have been greatly preferred because being cheated on 3 weeks from your wedding date really sucked.

"'Mione?" she cringed. It would be her luck for someone who knew her well enough to call her by her private nickname for the boys would discover her standing out in the deluge that was coming down upon her. She was going to have to restrict that name, after all all it did was remind her of that pig she'd been engaged to, and she'd never liked it much to begin with anyway. "Are you- alright?" she chanced a glance, peripheral vision catching a glimpse of red and her heart did a dive. The last thing she had needed was for it to be one of the Weasleys. This was clearly not her day, and if the sneeze she let out was any inclination it was going to turn worse by the minute.

"Hermione." Hermione slowly turned her gaze towards the voice, taking in the appearance of an equally as drenched Bill Weasley. They had never known each other well, and the few conversations they had ever engaged in were more like heated debates about Egypt and other magical things when she was much younger. During the war she'd attended his wedding, and during school, she'd met his bride with a tinge of jealousy with how flawless the Veela seemed. There had never been real time for real conversation with Bill during the war. Whenever Hermione had ever seen him, his bride was practically glued to his side, and Hermione had never wanted to impose on their privacy. It was just her way.

Now, however, Bill was not with Fleur. He was inching closer to her and looking very concerned for who he still knew to be his brother's bride to be. That was going to be another wicked pill to swallow, when she'd have to inform the whole damned Weasley bunch (if they didn't already know) that their wedding was off. Bugger.

"B-bill?" her teeth had picked up chattering at some point, though she wasn't exactly sure when. Now that the thought grazed Hermione's processors, she was really, really cold. Her form wobbled down to her knees, and her hands could barely hold her bag in front of her with all the shivering she was doing. She was most definitely getting sick after this. "What're-what are you d-doing here, shouldn't you be with Fleur?" Hermione wasn't sure, because water continued to find its way into her eyes, but she could have sworn she saw the man before her cringe, face contorting into an expression of utter dismay. It was there only for a moment, and the confused look of worriment took its place again. Odd.

"She and I are…" he trailed off, casting his gaze downward to a particular puddle that reflected his mauled features. His facial expression became pained, and he turned three shades paler than normal. Hermione didn't push. She was not in any particular place to pass judgement, or drill the man with questions concerning his relationship when her's was the way it was. She wouldn't deny being curious though, because by the looks he was casting his own reflection in various puddles things weren't sunny and bright for him either. He was soon looking at her again however, and his expression was back to one of almost brotherly worry.

"Hermione…what are you doing out here, In this storm?" her face fell back into its mask almost instantly, and she felt the tears rising up against her eyes as she blinked rapidly. Hermione directed her gaze back to the front of the Leaky Cauldron, trying not to look directly at the eldest Weasley for fear he might notice. If he did notice, he didn't let on, and instead changed the subject rather quickly. "Nevermind, let's get inside before you freeze to death." she nodded, fumbling along beside him into the Cauldron.

The silence was instant. Hermione had figured it would have been, what with the fact the Weasley to be was not her ex fiance. If Rita Skeeter were anywhere around, she was surely to writing down what she'd witnessed for the daily prophet, which would make her situation that much worse. Hermione's shivering skin began to crawl as she noted the many eyes that peered at her from around the room, all wondering the same thing.

Why was she with Bill Weasley.

She could assure them all it was none of their business, not that anything was happening. They both looked an absolute mess. Hermione had nearly forgotten about bills coat being draped over her shoulders, even as she held it in a white-knuckled grip. That would definitely give everyone something to talk about, the future Mrs. Weasley sneaking around with her fiance's brother. It was bollocks. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.

"Two rooms please." Hermione didn't look up, feeling the gaze of the man Bill had addressed upon her bowed head as she stared at her mud drenched heels. It wasn't as if the male was important, in fact no one in the room was important. They were all about as irrelevant as the puddles gathering on the ground outside.

"Yes, thank you sir." they were moving again, she noticed dully. She was stumbling over her feet up the stairs, nearly falling a couple of times as if she were drunk. It was funny how much finding Ron cheating had affected her, she'd always been so strong. Maybe that was why the seams had seemingly busted, leaving her a mess of a woman who was cold. Not just physically either, it seemed as if her world had been frozen to its core.

There was a click, and Hermione felt herself being all but hoisted into the room she supposed was the one he'd gotten for her. She slipped along behind him in the work heels that had successfully rubbed blisters along her heels and toes, pinching pain shooting to nerve endings as she moved. She wanted to sit down, or more accurately, fall down. Just fall to the floor somewhere and not regain her footing for a while, shut the world out. Bill skillfully maneuvered her towards the bed, and disentangling herself from him, she moved ungracefully towards it without a word. She stopped before it, staring blankly at the bed that probably wasn't as comfortable as the one at her flat, and without another word to the man behind her, she fell upon it with a sob.

Just let me fade away.

AUTHORS END NOTE.

So this is the start, sorry for it being ridiculously long, I got carried away. I make no promise for them all being like this, because after a while I start doubting my writing. I don't have a beta, and I don't really plan on getting one. CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is fine, though I can't promise I'll care to listen as I am purely writing this for fun. There wasn't enough Bill/Hermione and I can't stand Fleur at all, sorry. So here you go, leave a comment and tell me what you think.