He wasn't spying. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

Bill grimaced when he heard Hermione's shrieks from high above his location underneath one of the Quidditch grandstands. He honestly couldn't tell if they were cries of excitement or of genuine fear and so, every time he heard one, he had to quell the urge to rush headlong out into the open, hoping to catch her in time.

"Charlie, no!"

Bile rose in Bill's throat at the horrific images that flew through his mind—specifically the ones conjuring Hermione's mangled body upon the ground. He had one foot on the path that led to the pitch when her nervous laughter followed her screams. It was torture just listening to them; he wasn't actually brave enough to open his eyes and watch the spectacle. He was about to retreat into the shadows once more, when his sensitive ears pricked up at Hermione's tone.

"Stop, Charlie! No!"

Pure instinct propelled Bill from his hiding spot, only to see an erratic flying duo on an out-of-date broom, weaving in and out of the Quidditch hoops. Charlie was laughing his head off, and even from his position, Bill could see Hermione was clutching the broom handle in front of her in a white-knuckled grip. As Charlie flipped them upside down to make the same route, she tried to kick him, but her aim was wildly off and threatened to unseat her. There was nothing remotely enjoyable for her about this experience, at least from Bill's observations.

He considered his options, then reconsidered them. There was nothing for it, he reasoned. Lifting his wand, he cast Everte Statum on Charlie's broom, quickly followed by an Aresto Momentum focused on Hermione. The ensuing scene was quite comical.

Just as Charlie was about to enter the largest of the hoops, his broom came to an abrupt halt, though Charlie did not. Instead, he went sailing through the goal, sounding the gong of a point scored and landed outside the arena on the grassy hillside, screaming and cursing his bloody head off. Poor Hermione was left hanging at the edge of the hoop, desperately trying to keep herself descent by shoving down her long skirt to cover her now-bared thighs and calves. Bill noticed she had extremely shapely legs, muscular—not thin—and, dear Merlin, why was he thinking of her legs when she was hanging upside down from his spell? After mentally slapping himself, he rushed to the base of the hoop and gently lowered her until she found her feet.

She took deep, gulping breaths, her hands shaking as they reached out to hold onto the post. "Th-thank you," she managed. "If you hadn't stopped that bloody imbecile, I would've seriously questioned your judgment."

"I don't know what—"

She waved off his attempts at obfuscation. "I've been trying to get him to bring me back to earth the moment he took me up," she bit out. "The only way he would've stopped would be if someone did it for him. You conveniently appeared shortly after the, ah, mishap, hence I concluded you saved my arse from becoming a horrid footnote in the Quidditch section of Hogwarts: A History."

"That would've been quite tragic indeed, since the latest volume already has more pages dedicated to you than to Ron, which he used to unceasingly complain about." Bill cringed as the words left his mouth, and Hermione tensed briefly.

"How are Ron and Lavender these days?" she asked. She leaned against the goal post, toed off one of her shoes and dumped the sand out of it before replacing it on her foot. "They're on their second child now?"

Bill rubbed the back of his neck, uneasy. "Third." Damn his bloody mouth to Hades and back. Ron and Hermione's break-up had been messy; shouting from both sides—accusations as well. Bill thought some relationships just weren't meant to go beyond friendship; if they were forced into an unfamiliar intimacy, something fragile within broke. Much like his relationship with Fleur, for all the good it had done him.

The smile she gave him was pained. "Ah, well. He always was a bit hands on." She crossed her arms, the gooseflesh rising on her skin. She looked a bit nervous, as if she were weighing her options. "Did you want to come up to the castle for a—"

A streak of light flew across the sky, ending the spell on the broom hovering above them. It was followed by a bellow that sounded like a dragon's territorial roar, originating from the gulley below the pitch. "I know you did that, you wanker!"

Bill pulled Hermione to the side, bent low and nuzzled her neck. "Leave before he sees you."

Was it his fevered imagination that she leaned into the caress? "Why?" she whispered.

"Charlie in a foul mood is not for the faint of heart."

She tensed and pulled away. "Are you saying I can't handle him?"

He frowned. "I'm saying no one wants to handle him. Any time he got stroppy, mum and dad would send me to deal with him. I don't want to see you get hurt. If you can't handle being around him when he's obviously in a good mood, then how will you…"

Her eyes narrowed. Oh, no. No, no no… what had gone wrong? What did he say? She had that pinched look on her face like Fleur used to have before she had slapped him.

"You think because I was holding on for dear life during the broom ride that I couldn't deal with his outrageous behaviour? That I didn't have my wand on me so that I could hex his arse back to Romania if he let me fall?" She snorted and crossed her arms, irritation radiating off of her. "You think as much as Ron did of my magical abilities, it seems." Her hands dropped to clench into fists. "Maybe you should re-read the section on Hermione Granger in Hogwarts: A History, for you clearly didn't see the information where I conveniently kept Ron and Harry alive long enough to fulfil that bloody prophecy. If I can fend off Death Eaters, I'm certain I can handle your brother!"

"Wait!" he shouted to her retreating form. She didn't stop, so he sprinted after her, pulling her to a halt by grabbing her elbow. Ire glinted in her eyes, and bloody hell if he wasn't aroused by it. "If you could've stopped him at any point, then why did you wait until I…" Oh, Circe's toenails, he was a colossal idiot. "You wanted me to rescue you. In front of Charlie, no less," he surmised with a groan.

He didn't have time to confirm his suspicion because he was violently pushed to the side. He landed on his arse in the middle of the pitch, and a shadow moved above him.

Charlie's furious countenance came into view. His face sported several cuts and a large, purple bruise was forming around his right eye. His body was covered in scratches and splotches of mud. Dark red curls were full of twigs and leaves. There was even a chipmunk sitting on his crown, chattering incessantly. Charlie deftly plucked the small animal from his head and gently placed it on the ground, watching it scamper off back to the forest.

"Charlie, are you okay?" Hermione touched his cheek where a particularly deep scratch spread across his left jaw.

He leaned into her touch. "Nothing a few charms won't fix," he muttered.

Never had Bill wanted as a child, a young man, or an adult wizard. Never. He had always been given every opportunity to prove himself—a product, he suspected, of being the first-born child in a family of many, luck of the draw. But now, staring at the blatant affection between his brother and his potential love interest, he wanted. Oh, how he wanted. Wanted that soft touch she bestowed upon his brother; wanted the focus of that care and concern that shone in her eyes; wanted her brilliant and devious mind that complemented his own. Purely wanted her.

It stood to reason, however, that the moment he wanted something in his life, the exact time he needed someone—needed her—that life would simply deny him out of spite or principle. Fate was fucked up like that, he mused.

He felt nauseated looking at the two of them. He was confused; both in the signals he was receiving from Hermione and Charlie's true agenda. Their scents kept changing—Charlie oozing pheromones that were clearly sexual, Hermione subconsciously responding, but then backing off, then appearing interested again. She would do the same with Bill. But, if his instincts were correct, she had known he was there before he revealed himself and she had waited for him, counted on him to rescue her. What the hell was going on?

Before he could voice his concerns, Charlie stood over him again. "Get up," he snapped.

That tone of voice raised Bill's hackles like nothing ever would. He bared his teeth. "I think you need to back off, brother," he snarled.

"And you need to stop acting like a fucking wolf in the blaze of mating season!"

There was no pause between the end of Charlie's words and Bill launching himself at the other wizard. They both collapsed on the ground, a huff of breath forced out of Charlie's chest from the weight of the impact. Hermione shouted for them to stop, or she was going to hex someone, but Bill didn't care. He only cared about ending the threat.

Pent-up aggression and emotions poured out of Bill as they tussled in the grass and mud. "Why did you have to come back now, you bastard?" An awkward shift and Bill threw Charlie several yards, only to follow and pounce on him again. "Couldn't have stayed in Romania, could you? You always expect us to pick back up where you left off, but you never think about how anyone else feels!" Bill straddled Charlie's body and wrapped his hands around his brother's throat. Charlie tried to buck him off with his hips, but Bill was stronger, taller, and he used that to his advantage. He leaned over and touched his nose to Charlie's, fairly certain that the irises of his eyes were yellow, if the look of Charlie's sudden and real fear were any indication. "She's mine!" he growled low. "Stay. Away."

The spell caught him unawares, and the painful sting in his right side was the least of his worries as he went sailing across the field, landing in a heap nearly at the other end of the pitch. Bill rolled onto his back, panting until he let out a ferocious, guttural shout to the sky. Chest heaving, he turned his head to see Hermione help Charlie sit up, casting nasty looks in Bill's direction. How could he ever have thought she couldn't handle herself with Charlie? She'd certainly just handled him, hadn't she? At Hermione's last scathing glare, Bill turned away with a sniff, heedless of the tear that slid down and into his hair.

He lay there on the ground, staring into the overcast sky for so long that he barely registered the silence. A quick glance showed the field to be empty. Hermione must have taken Charlie to the infirmary or, more likely, healed him herself. The evidence of their scuffle could be seen in the clumps of sod uprooted all over the place. It reminded Bill of the state of the orchard used to be in after he and Charlie had a row in their youth, except now they had Hermione yelling at them instead of their mum. That sent another unwanted tear from his eyes to streak down his dirty face. He would be the first one to tell anybody that Charlie was a bloody force of nature—you either embraced him and his roughshod behaviour, or you got out of the fucking way. It took a special person to withstand Hurricane Charles, but gods, he loved his younger brother to the very marrow, and it damn near killed him to squared-off with Charlie like this.

So why were they practically brutalising each other over Hermione? Bill was sure it was merely a whim on Charlie's part, but there were instances that made him think that there was possibly more to it than his brother let on. It felt as if he were being forced to choose between his own happiness and Charlie's. If Charlie truly wanted Hermione, could Bill graciously bow out? The thought made him wince, as did the pain that lanced across his ribs when he tried to roll over. No, best to lay there a bit more.

He snorted and returned his attention to the clouds that were turning a darker grey. Rain, soon. His eyes closed the moment the first drop hit his forehead. Rain made everything better; it refreshed and brought new life; it cleansed—a chance to start over. Maybe it would be best if he just gave Charlie his fang earring and called off the bet. Neither of them were exactly on their best behaviour around Hermione, and he was surprised that she hadn't rid herself of their company altogether. He tried to contemplate the thought of seeing Hermione with Charlie in the coming years, such as family gatherings, but once again, it made his stomach roil. No, if he were to give up his pursuit, he would leave England again and go back to Egypt. At least there he wouldn't have to see their happy faces, their overt, public displays of affection, the smouldering looks sent across a room or dinner table. He shuddered at that last thought.

When the light sprinkle of rain starting turning into heavier droplets, Bill inhaled deeply, braced himself for the pain and rolled over to finally stand on unsteady legs. Once upright, he retrieved his wand and healed what he could, allowing himself to at least breathe easier. The rain was now steadily falling, drenching his long, dark red hair that was almost the same shade as Charlie's. He slicked it out of his face and began walking towards the main gate, sparing a glance at Hogwarts. She had been so close, yet was now so far away. The throb of anticipation that had drifted between him and Hermione had dwindled to nothing more than a hollow feeling, fraught with tension—and he only had himself to blame.

Though he could breathe easier the more he walked, it did not stop the ache in his heart.

If anyone noticed Bill's odd behaviour the next few days, no one mentioned it. Mostly because he was a snarling, aggressive, chaotic mess of emotions—not that anyone would have dared tell him that. Everyone in his family knew to give him his space when it was clear that he needed it, especially after Greyback's attack. Charlie had been the only one to ever test that boundary, succeeding where most failed. Bill wisely avoided the Burrow for this very reason, remaining solely at Shell Cottage instead. He puttered, paced and occasionally went running amongst the sand dunes at night, bare-arsed naked, in an effort to soothe his agitation.

Since that disastrous day at Hogwarts, Bill had buried himself in the work Gringotts had delegated to him in hopes of preventing his thoughts from dwelling on Hermione. It didn't necessarily work. He dreamed of her, when he was actually able to sleep. He paced the length of the small cottage many times over, thinking of ways to appeal to her sense of logic as to who would be the better choice. His lupine traits virtually overwhelmed him on Wednesday evening of that week, nearly sending him rampaging to the gates of Hogwarts and claiming what he felt was his already. When he had tamped down the compulsion, he realised the moon was waxing gibbous and would be full in two days' time. The urge would be worse then, and he resolved to be 'elsewhere', so that her presence wouldn't be a temptation. That plan of action crumpled in on itself the next moment, when he noticed the date of the full moon—Friday, the day he had planned to take Hermione to the Egyptian exhibit in London.

A china bowl full of sugar exploded against the hearth in the cramped kitchen, showering the brick with bits of porcelain and stickiness. Bill sighed in frustration, threaded his hands through his long hair, gripped the ends and tugged, relishing the low-level pain that distracted him for a moment. Merlin, he was such an idiot! Why would he knowingly plan an outing with her on a full moon? He would just have to cancel, that was all there was for it. There was no reason to expose her to his heightened aggression and, to be truthful, his near-uncontrollable jealousy when it could endanger her. But then he remembered how her eyes had seemed to glow with excitement as he'd told her of some items in the exhibit; how she had jumped into his arms; the warmth of her body pressed to his. He groaned and palmed the bulge in his trousers, though that didn't help. In fact, it was making him barmy, and not in a good way.

Maybe she'd reconsidered the trip after their disagreement. He snorted to himself. Possible, but unlikely. If he knew Hermione, she would still want to go, even if the company wasn't pleasurable. He thumped his head against the wall in defeat. He'd promised to take her to the British Museum on Friday, and take her he would.

Bill entered Hogwarts on Friday morning, his skin vibrating with restrained anticipation. He didn't know where Hermione's chambers were located, so he slipped into the Great Hall as some of the students were finishing breakfast. There were a few stragglers at each house table, but he assumed the majority of them had headed out to classes. Only three professors—Flitwick, McGonagall and Trelawney—were still seated at the Head Table, but they looked to be ready to leave as well. Bill scanned the crowd. No Hermione. He was about to search for her, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Looking for someone, Mr. Weasley?"

Bill turned slowly and gave Severus Snape a respectful nod. "Professor."

Snape arched a brow. "Well?"

Dour git didn't mince words, did he? "I was looking for Professor Granger, actually."

Oh, that devious smirk did not bode well. "I'm afraid you just missed her. You see, she scheduled the day off to traipse about London and view the mummified remains of Muggles." Snape crossed his arms and gave him a patronising look. "With you, if I recall correctly."

"You do, which leaves me puzzled. Where is she?" The anticipation he'd felt earlier bloomed into an uneasy feeling. "I thought—"

"I overheard a conversation between her and your brother Charles, indicating that you two had come to a disagreement, and that your visit would be postponed. Charles offered to take her instead." Snape's smirk curled into something quite wicked when Bill felt the heat of pulse-pounding anger skitter across his skin. "Ah, sibling rivalry. How quaint."

"I'd tell you to piss off if I didn't have so much respect for you," Bill snapped. "But I think you get the idea, just the same." He turned to make his way out of the castle, when Snape's words made him pause.

"He's not for her, Mr. Weasley."

Bill frowned.

"Use your instincts instead of fighting them. They will serve you well." With that bit of cryptic advice, Snape turned and disappeared down the corridor in a flourish of robes.

Having cloaked himself with a Disillusionment Charm, Bill crept through the British Museum until he reached the Raymond and Beverly Sackler Gallery in Room 64. Once there, he made his way to a men's loo, removed the charm and returned to the gallery. He was dressed as a Muggle, in jeans and a blue shirt underneath a darker blue jumper, so he mostly went unnoticed as he moved among the exhibits. The area was open, spacious, and full of artefacts from early Egypt that were contained in air-tight glass cases.

He'd barely had time to ponder Snape's odd statements on the journey to London, but now that he was here, he contemplated them at length while he searched for Charlie and Hermione.

He's not for her, Mr. Weasley.

It appeared that Bill wasn't the only one who thought Charlie an odd suitor for Hermione. That Snape had observed this as well made Bill realise just how incongruent the two of them were. Why was Charlie being so obstinate about pursuing Hermione, then? On some level, his brother had to have known that his circuitous, emotional way of thinking would not mesh well with her linear, logical path. In some ways, yes, they could balance each other, but they were both too ingrained in their chosen behaviour patterns to change drastically at this stage in the game of life. Bill could only foresee heartache if they continued in this vein.

Use your instincts instead of fighting them. They will serve you well.

Did he resist when his instincts told him to go left instead of right? Did he choose another direction, just to be contrary and say that he wasn't ruled by some animalistic response? Bill came to a halt next to the case housing the limestone stelae of Nefer as an unwelcome realisation made itself known in his mind.

All the time.

When given the choice between logic and instinct, he almost invariably chose logical reasoning. He resisted the pull of the moon, the lure of delectable scents, the looming danger. That was why he'd questioned his skill—not the dissolution of his marriage to Fleur, but because she had made him doubt himself as a wizard, as part of a wolf. He might not transform during the full moon, but his senses were just as keen and sharp as any full werewolf. He'd tried to bury that fact to spare Fleur, which had led to the shambles his life had become.

A shudder ran through his body, and it was if he were shaking off the husk of his old life and letting the new one settle into place. His eyes closed, he lifted his head and inhaled deeply, honing in on the scent that stood out amongst all the others. He rolled his shoulders and set forth on the path towards his future with determination.

Bill found them looking at the artefact from Tarkhan: a wooden coffin containing the remains of a skeleton. Charlie had a grim look about him, while Hermione practically had her nose pressed up against the glass trying to get a better look. Bill snorted and shook his head, knowing his brother hated 'dead' things. He reasoned that was why Charlie was always rushing to and fro in life; to avoid that end to which all humans must come. He had to truly be uncomfortable in this environment. In fact, Bill could see the slight sheen of sweat gathering on Charlie's forehead. Oh, the delicious irony of it… one that presented an opportunity Bill couldn't pass up.

They hadn't noticed his arrival, so he slipped past a small crowd of Muggles on a tour and stealthily made his way to the main attraction in the gallery: the mummy of Hatshepsut, on loan for a brief time from Cairo. He wove several intricate spells, added his own flourish to one in particular, hid behind the granite obelisk associated with Hatshepsut and waited for the excitement to begin.

He didn't have to wait long. The glass enclosure surrounding the sarcophagus literally melted away. At this point, no one had noticed any changes, but when the lid to the casket opened with a creak and subsequent thump, a few Muggles shouted which created a cascade effect of inducing panic. A dusty, linen-covered hand slowly gripped the side of the coffin and hoisted the rest of the body to a sitting position. Shrieks of terror began in full force now, and Bill had to stifle his laughter, lest he reveal his hiding spot. When the poor mummy hauled itself from its confines, Hermione and Charlie had finally arrived to see the spectacle.

"Oh, sweet mother of Merlin," Charlie whispered hoarsely. He paled several shades, his freckles becoming more pronounced.

Hermione's eyes widened, her jaw slack as she watched the stumbling mummy head towards them. "It's not real," she said, clearly trying to reassure her companion, though her words didn't seem to be reaching his ears.

Bill watched Charlie swallow several times, backing away the closer Hatshepsut came. "Looks bloody fucking real to me!"

What Bill found wildly amusing was the fact that Charlie was apparently frightened out of his mind, while Hermione seemed to be amused, perplexed and fascinated all in one. "She's been dead thousands of years, Charlie. Even Nicolas Flamel didn't live that long with the aid of the Philosopher's Stone," she explained with a roll of her eyes. She didn't look as if she was too worried about the situation, but when Charlie drew his wand and pointed it at the wrapped figure, Hermione grabbed his wrist. "No! You can't! It's priceless!"

"I don't care! It's dead, it's advancing towards me and it smells—three very good reasons to make it go away!"

"Don't be such a child!" she gritted out, trying to wrestle the wand away from him. "Use your brain. Yes, it's a real mummy, but it's been animated by a spell of some sort."

He pulled and tugged at his hand, his panic becoming uncontrollable. "Yes, that's so comforting, Hermione—it's a real mummy. Who the fuck is controlling it?"

"I have an idea," she muttered.

She didn't get the chance to voice her suspicions, however, because the mummy had finally reached them and placed a fragile hand on Charlie's shoulder, freezing both of them on the spot. Charlie's grip on Hermione's Muggle coat tightened, his body shaking. A slit in the facial wrappings spread far enough that it revealed a gapping maw with a lone, black tooth.

"Oh, God," Charlie nearly sobbed.

A puff of stale, dust-laden air exhaled from the mummy's mouth, straight into Charlie's face. His eyes promptly rolled in the back of his head and he collapsed to the floor, practically dragging Hermione with him.

Bill cancelled the spells creating the havoc, but left the mummy in place so that it wouldn't disintegrate. He quickly caught Hermione around the waist before she landed on Charlie's prone figure.

She stiffened briefly before relaxing into his embrace. "Thank you," she murmured.

He leaned his forehead against her hair, sighing in contentment for the first time since their fight, the scent of her so close. "You're welcome," he said softly. He nosed her locks aside and pressed a kiss to her nape.

A small whimper escaped her lips. "I hope you don't think that little peck is remotely adequate to fulfilling your promise."

"Not even close." His breath stirred the fine tendrils curling around her ears. "I have a lot to make up for."

"Mmm. The lengths you'll go to impress a girl are… unique." She turned slightly in his arms, looking at him over her shoulder. "Should I expect Scarab beetles to suddenly make an appearance at some point?"

He gave her a wolfish grin. "If they do, you should count yourself lucky; they're known as the protector of the heart. Family members of the deceased used to place them in the mummy's heart cavity."

"Charming," she drawled. She extricated herself from Bill's arms with some difficulty. "We need to clean this up and get Charlie home."

"Would serve the git right if we placed him in the sarcophagus with Hatshepsut."

"Bill!"

"What?"

She was trying to quell her laughter, but failed miserably. "Don't you think he's scarred enough already?"

Bill snorted and shook his head. "Waking up with a desiccated mummy would be one of the least interesting things that has happened to Charlie in his crazy life."

"Really?" Her eyes shone inquisitively. "What else has he done that's scandalous?"

Pulling her along, Bill smirked. "Let me tell you why the Giant Squid likes him so much…"

Watching from the shadows of a corridor that led to the dungeons, Charlie observed Bill and Hermione practically snog the hell out of each other before her Tuesday classes begun. It had been a familiar scene in the past four weeks, ever since that disastrous trip to the museum. There had barely been a moment when they weren't touching in some fashion. Discretion was not a part of their vocabulary, either. Charlie was witness to their amorous displays at the Burrow, Shell Cottage, Hogwarts and the Black Lake—to name a few. He'd even heard them giggling like teenagers in the Slytherin Common Room. Considering Bill's curse-breaking abilities were a sought-after commodity once more, Charlie imagined a few of Gringotts' vaults had been utilised at some point as well.

When the pair retreated to catch their breaths, Bill retrieved something from his inside his cloak and pointed to Hermione's hair. She immediately lifted it and Bill placed something on her neck, his fingers dancing to her nape. As he pulled away, Charlie spied a shiny, green amulet gracing her throat: a Scarab.

"So, the wolf has decided to make a proper mate of her, has he?"

Charlie glanced over his shoulder with a lop-sided grin. "Unlike you."

Snape arched a brow. "I did not think you wanted such a thing."

"Neither did I," Charlie muttered, returning to see Bill steal another kiss from Hermione. "I must admit though, for a pair of daft humans, they make a lovely couple."

"I'm surprised at the brevity of their courting."

Charlie let the sly smile curl on his mouth. "I'm not; I had help from Hermione. I always hedge my bets, if possible."

A hand was placed on Charlie's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Spoken like a true Slytherin."

"Ha! You wish."

Charlie noticed Snape's gaze drift to the pair enthusiastically engaged with each other once more. "You're right; I'm glad you're a sickeningly noble Gryffindor. If you were Slytherin, she would have been yours."

The bet between him and Bill had been half-hearted, at best. Charlie would never tell his brother of Hermione's involvement—if she wished Bill to know, it would be up to her to tell him. Likewise, neither would ever mention the sham wager for her affections—both liked their manly bits a little too much to risk a hexing.

Charlie sobered. "Not really. She's a lovely witch and all, but not really my cuppa. I'm more interested in the dark and dangerous."

"Are you? I heard you fainted at the sight of a reanimated corpse."

"Oi! They told you that? Bloody gossips!"

"Shall we test the 'dark and dangerous' theory?" Snape teased.

"I'll think about it," Charlie said with feigned disinterest.

A squeal shifted their attention to Bill, who lifted Hermione in his arms and twirled her once before setting her back down. Charlie smiled to himself. Bill deserved Hermione, if for no other reason than he was a good wizard and brother.

Charlie turned and followed the man in the black cape, determined to be very, very bad.