Bucolia Buck (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} bucolia_buck) wrote,@ 2007-06-26 18:21:00 |
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Taking the Lead, Part Two
Hermione leant heavily on her cane, watching as Bill did a preliminary investigation of the painting. He was being infuriatingly secretive about his ideas, a feeling that was only exacerbated by being so close to the painting. The anger rising in her was almost tangible, bitter in her mouth.
“So?” she demanded as Bill stepped back. His gaze remained fixed on the painting, scratching a scar on his jaw.
Bill looked over at her. “So what?”
“So… what do we know? And how are we going to take the curse off?” Hermione sighed. “I thought you wanted to know everything about the painting so you wouldn’t get any surprises. We still don’t know who painted it.”
He shook his head. “Yes, we do.”
“We do?” Hermione moved closer to stand beside Bill, trying to breathe deeply and calm her ire.
“Yes. This,” Bill explained, gesticulating towards the painting, “is a self-portrait.” Hermione turned to look up at him. “And that,” Bill added, “is why it’s cursed.”
Hermione reached out with her free hand, fingers stroking the frame. “She put everything she felt into the painting,” she said slowly.
“A woman scorned, I think,” Bill agreed.
Biting her lip, Hermione wondered just what had pushed this witch into painting a cursed portrait of herself. “It’s a pity she can’t tell us about it,” she said quietly. “If only she’d painted a moving painting.”
Bill squinted at the portrait. “I think she can move. She just doesn’t want to.” He paused. “Are you going to tell us what happened, love?” he asked the painting, trying to coax a response out of it. He hoped he was right about this woman, or he was going to look like a complete prat in front of Hermione. Strangely, how Hermione saw him right now mattered to him a lot more than he’d thought.
There was a moment of silence before the witch in the painting looked away from the window and straight towards them. “It has been a long time since anyone spoke to me directly.”
“What happened?” Hermione asked, feeling bitter that Bill had realised the nature of the painting. She knew that a large part of that was due to the influence of the painting, but there was a professional jealousy there, too.
The painting still looked pensive. “I was in love with a man. A Muggle. My family nearly disowned me because of it. But I knew I was doing the right thing. Then he broke my heart.”
She stood from her gilded chair, robes rustling. “So I painted this portrait to remind myself that I am beautiful and strong and worthy of being loved and that Muggle men are weak and pathetic creatures like my family always told me.”
Hermione could feel her own bitterness increasing; she moved away from the painting to try and clear her head. There was a sense of arrogance with the anger, too and Hermione knew for sure that the woman was a pureblood witch, which explained her family’s reaction.
“You’re hurting people,” Bill told the woman.
She nodded. “I never meant to. I wasn’t supposed to be like this.” The painting pursed her lips, determination spreading across her features. “Can you let me rest now? It’s been a long time. I’m tired of being angry now.”
Bill glanced at Hermione, then looked up at the painted woman. “You’ll just be paint on canvas,” he warned her. “This will all be over.”
“It was over a long time ago, young man,” the painting admonished, taking her seat again, hands smoothing the folds of her robes. “That man is long-since dead and yet I still live on, admired and… and I think that is all I ever wanted. It’s time for me to let go.”
Quiet for a moment, Bill finally nodded. “Okay. And may I just say it’s been a pleasure to speak to you. Whoever that man was, he never deserved a woman as talented as you.”
A small smile curved up the painting’s lips and she nodded silently, turning her gaze towards the window.
As Hermione watched, Bill raised his wand, the canvas rippling as he began to take the magic from the paint, the anger and loathing that this scorned woman had poured into her art.
“Well. That was easy,” Hermione said as Bill finally slipped his wand back into his pocket.
“Sometimes things can be deceptively simple,” Bill agreed quietly with a nod. “I’m not even sure if I would class it as a curse. Now that the painting is no longer animate the effect should be gone. But we’ll keep an eye on the museum for a couple more days and see what happens. Don’t think it’ll give us any more trouble.” He raised his eyebrows as he looked at Hermione. “You look less stressed.”
Hermione glanced down at herself, then shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose I am. Calmer, anyway. The painting was making me all tense.”
“Well, you’ve got the rest of the day to relax.”
“At least until the party tonight,” Hermione corrected.
Bill groaned. “Fuck. I’d nearly forgotten about that.”
Hermione pursed her lips. “Look, we just have to go and shake a few hands and talk about curse breaking a bit.” She offered him a smile. “I know you’re good at talking about your job. No offence to Ron, but I would have been bored stiff at his birthday party if I hadn’t had you to talk to.”
Lips open to say something, Bill found himself at a loss for words. “Oh. Um, thank you, I think.” He paused. “I’m sorry about that kiss.”
“And I’m sorry that you ran off.” Hermione shook her head. “I think I’m going to go for a walk, Bill. I'm still a little tense. I’ll see you back at the hotel later.”
Hermione left the museum before Bill and he didn’t see her until she arrived back at their hotel room an hour or so before they were due to leave for the party. He had just left the shower, a towel slung around his hips and hair hanging wet around his face. “Shower’s free if you want it,” he offered, not sure what else to say. Her comment that morning about him running away at Ron’s party had thrown him. She’d meant something by it, but he didn’t know what; it had been playing on his mind all day.
“Thanks,” she said, dropping her bag on her bed and resting her cane against the wall. “Good day?”
“Not bad.”
“Good.” Hermione went into the bathroom; Bill heard the click of the lock a moment later, then the shower running. Twitching the curtains closed, Bill dressed and took the time to run styling product through his hair before drying it with a charm. He lounged on his bed, reading one of Hermione’s books and disagreeing completely with most of the author’s views, when Hermione reappeared, wearing a dressing gown.
Hermione’s hair was damp and Bill watched surreptitiously as she cast a drying charm on it. The moisture evaporated immediately and, as Hermione began to sort out her dress, Bill realised that she didn’t plan to do anything else with it.
“Are you really going out with your hair like that?”
She turned to look at him, giving Bill a hard look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean it’s… kind of big.”
“It’s the humidity!” she protested. “I can’t help it if it makes my hair even more frizzy.”
“Yes, you can.” Bill stood up, heading to his bag, which lay open on the floor at the foot of his bed. “Sit,” he told her firmly. “I’m going to do your hair.”
“You don’t need to…”
“Sit,” he repeated firmly.
Huffing, Hermione perched herself on the edge of Bill’s bed. He moved to kneel behind her, mattress dipping at their combined weight. Wand out, he proceeded to mist her hair with water, knowing the potions he used worked best on wet hair. Yes, Charlie might call him a vain bastard, but Charlie should really try having a face full of scars: it certainly made Bill think a lot more about his appearance.
He unscrewed a small pot, scooping out some of the mixture. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“Yeah. Didn’t spend the whole day walking, of course. I did some sight-seeing. You know, museums, galleries and all that sort of thing. The local magical culture is fascinating. I think I’m going to have to come back here some time.” Hermione bit her lip as Bill’s warm fingers began to work through her wet hair, massaging her scalp as he worked in the potion.
“You really like it that much?”
“Yes. I think I’ll take a few jobs that I’ve been um-ing and ah-ing over and come over here for a long holiday. Perhaps even travel around a few places.” Bill’s touch was gentle yet insistent, teasing her curls in a way that Hermione never had the time or patience to do herself.
“Wish I had the time to do that.”
She smiled. “I kind of got bitten by the travel bug during the war,” she admitted. “As horrible as it was chasing down the horcruxes, there was something about the travelling, about the constant discovery and learning that I enjoyed. I haven’t really been able to stay in the same place for too long since then.”
I haven’t really been able to stay in the same place for too long. Bill thought then of her comment about him running from Ron’s party. “What did you mean this morning?” he asked, starting to cast a gentle drying charm on her hair. “About being sorry that I ran from the kiss? You ran as well.”
Hermione swallowed. “I ran because I’d been drinking the punch and I was afraid I was going to be sick. I wasn’t by the way. When I’d got back from the bathroom you were gone.”
“You went back?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Because I’d enjoyed talking to you and I’d wanted to kiss you for a very long time.” Bill’s fingers caught suddenly in her hair. “Ow!”
“Sorry,” he apologised quickly. “I just, er… you wanted to kiss me?”
Hermione scooted away from him, turning to look at Bill. “Hmm. Handsome, intelligent, can hold a good conversation, thinks with brain in head rather than one between legs…” Hermione ticked attributes off on her fingers. “I liked you rather a lot.”
“Liked?” Bill asked, picking up on that word and feeling horribly ashamed of his behaviour at Ron’s birthday party; his pride was a matter of importance.
“Well.” Hermione pursed her lips. “You running away gave me a very clear indicator that you weren’t interested.” She sighed, standing up to look at her reflection in the mirror. Bill peered around her, watching as she smiled. Her curls were more defined now, the frizz gone, at least temporarily. “Thanks, Bill,” she said, twisting a lock around her finger. “Sometimes I feel like I need four arms to do my hair,” she said, rolling her eyes as she pulled her dress from the wardrobe.
Bill didn’t get much of a look at the dress before Hermione slipped back into the bathroom to put it on. He groaned softly, flopping back onto the bed. One of them was fucking things up quite spectacularly; perhaps both of them were making a mess of things.
She’d liked him. He’d run away. She’d lost interest. He’d…
He’d not known how to react when they had kissed. They had spent the evening talking, drinking too much of the punch that Harry and Ron had concocted because it was the closest drink to where they were sitting. After a couple of glasses neither felt as though they could walk much farther than the punch bowl.
Assuming that Hermione had run off because she’d been mortified about kissing him, Bill had left the party, wanting to save her the embarrassment of seeing him again and needing desperately to clear his head. Even if Hermione could list good things about him off the top of her head, he still couldn’t see why she would like him, the much older brother of her ex-boyfriend.
No, correct that. She used to like him. And, for some inexplicable reason, that annoyed him.
“Stop brooding,” Hermione warned him two hours later when the owner of the art gallery finally left them to schmooze with someone else. Hermione smirked. “You’re going to get wrinkles,” she teased, reaching up to run her finger over the furrow in his brow.
“I’m not brooding.”
“Then stop thinking so much. Look, you’re doing a great job,” Hermione assured him. “That antiques dealer just now seemed really interested and I think Gringotts could get a lot of work.”
“It’s alright for you,” Bill grumbled, though it wasn’t the work that weighed on his mind. “You just have to stand there and look pretty.”
Hermione’s cheeks tinged pink. “Um, thank you.”
Bill grasped her hand. “We’re going to dance,” he announced, looking out across the gallery. Once, the gallery had been a ballroom and tonight that had been revived, fantastical artwork on the walls and other displays, a local wizarding band playing music over the chattering critics and guests.
As he started to pull at her, Hermione pulled back, shaking her head. “I hate dancing.”
“And I hate parties.” Bill raised his eyebrows. “We all have to do things we don’t want.” Hermione clenched her teeth and finally submitted to the tug of Bill’s arm.
“If you hate parties so much,” Hermione challenged, taking Bill in what he thought was a death-grip of a waltz hold, “why do you want to dance?”
“Because I like dancing.” Bill grinned. “Fleur made me learn. Can actually be quite athletic. Grace and poise and…” He winced as Hermione stood on his foot as she tried to change their direction. “Control.” Bill frowned. “I’m leading,” he told her firmly.
Hermione loosened her grip on him, letting Bill guide her more easily around the ballroom. “There, that’s not so bad,” he chided gently.
“Why are men always trying to give me orders?” she retorted.
“You’d rather be the one in charge?”
“Of course.”
Chuckling, Bill shook his head. “Just let go for a little bit. Let me lead. Sometimes,” he added, ducking his head to whisper in her ear, “it’s good to lose control.”
As Bill guided her around the floor, Hermione remained quiet, eyes narrowed. Bill was somewhat glad for her silence, slipping back into his thoughts as his feet did the work. He still couldn’t decide why he was so annoyed that Hermione no longer thought of him as anything other than a friend or colleague. She infuriated him. She challenged him; once they had spent at least an hour debating the intrinsic importance of the number twelve. She wasn’t what he was looking for in a woman.
In a way, she reminded him a little of Fleur. Fleur as she was before their marriage, that was. He’d fallen for her feisty, defiant attitude, the promise of hidden depths of power beneath her delicate-looking exterior. Then, she’d taken the vow ‘to honour and obey’, which had surprised Bill in the first place. When they’d settled into married life, Fleur had lost that spark, the brightness that had first attracted him to her.
Hermione wasn’t like that and he knew it. Her hidden depths were, well, less hidden. By all accounts, Hermione was as challenging and difficult now as she had been when she was eleven years old. Bill quite liked that idea. Life, he supposed, was never boring when Hermione Granger was around.
That was it, right at that moment. It was as though he gave himself permission to think about Hermione like that and, when he did, she became something far more special than a colleague or a friend. She was still Hermione - infuriating, exasperating and downright challenging, but they were strangely good things.
The music ended and Bill impulsively kissed her cheek; Hermione blushed. “Thank you for the dance.”
“You’re a good dancer,” Hermione told him.
“Thank you.”
Hermione bit her lip, clearly uneasy. “I’m going to go and sit down for a little bit. My knee’s aching and I didn’t bring my cane.”
Bill nodded. “Okay. Can I get you a drink?”
“No, that’s okay. Thanks.”
He grabbed her hand, clearly stunning her. “Can we try again?” he asked.
“Try what?”
“That kiss. I won’t run this time.” Bill couldn’t anticipate her reaction. Something inside him seemed to twist and Bill realised he was nervous, resisting the temptation to cross his arms over his chest. With her wide brown eyes, Hermione seemed as unsure as he was.
She pursed her lips and Bill noticed her hand was clenched in a fist, knuckles turning white. “Don’t play games with me, Bill.”
“’S not a game.” He took a step forward, making Hermione face tip up so that she could look him in the face. “There’s no dodgy punch this time. Could be different.”
“And it could be worse now we’re sober.”
Bill raised his eyebrows. “Are you afraid of one little kiss?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then kiss me.”
A noise of annoyance ripped from Hermione’s throat and she grasped the front of Bill’s shirt, pulling him down for a kiss so hard that Bill thought she might bruise his lips. Never to be outdone, his fingers slipped into her arm, his other arm around her waist as he pulled her closer.
“Is this just a kiss?” Hermione murmured, lips still brushing against his.
Bill exhaled slowly, his thoughts racing to catch up with his body, which seemed to be developing its own ideas. “Don’t think so. If you want it to be more…” The rest of that sentence got lost in another kiss, Hermione’s lips hot against his own, a teasing, curious kiss that had Bill’s hand grasping her arse in an automatic action as her tongue slid along his lower lip.
“We’re going to make a spectacle of ourselves,” Bill warned, breaking the kiss. If her lips carried on feeling so good against his then he felt that he couldn’t be held responsible if other parts of his anatomy started to want to feel her lips on them.
“Hotel?” Hermione suggested, sounding breathless to Bill’s ears.
“Hotel?”
Her lips quirked into a smirk. “Are you afraid?”
“Never,” Bill growled.
Getting back to their hotel was a whirl of Apparation and kisses; Bill’s fingers positively itched to undress the witch pressed so perfectly up against him in the lift, Hermione’s hands just as eager as his own. She pulled out his shirt as Bill fumbled with the key in the door of their room until he had to swat her away to concentrate. But, with the door finally closed firmly behind them, Bill caught Hermione’s lips in another bruising kiss. His hands grasped hers, pushing her against the wall and feeling Hermione’s chest heave against his own.
“This,” Hermione ground out, wrenching her hands from Bill’s grip, “is one place where I don’t give up control.”
Bill chuckled against her throat, pressing a kiss just below her ear. “Excellent.” He nipped at her lower lip. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
At that, Hermione pushed him backwards, no longer pinned to the door. Bill made his way back until his knees hit Hermione’s bed. He sat, pulling Hermione to straddle him, her knee-length dress riding up. “Good,” Hermione murmured as Bill’s hands stroked down her sides to rest on her arse. Her shyness from their first kiss was gone now, Hermione rocking against him; Bill’s erection was a sure sign that he approved.
“This isn’t a competition,” Bill teased, slipping his hands up her back and smoothing the thin straps of her dress from her shoulders. He kissed a path down the smooth skin of her neck, brushing her hair out of the way.
“Isn’t it?” Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows as she unbuttoned his shirt. The cotton parted, Hermione’s fingers trailing over the large diagonal scar that she uncovered.
Bill raised his eyebrows, leaning back to look at her. “If this is a competition, I think I’ll win.”
She smirked. “Oh, I think we’ll both win.”
Grinning, Bill kissed her again, pushing her dress down, her bra uncovered. His tongue seemed to fight with hers as she roughly shoved his shirt off, Bill shrugging his shoulders to help her. His hands roughly closed around Hermione’s breasts; something told him she wasn’t the gentle sort and he was rewarded by a purring noise in the back of her throat. Bill could feel her nipples hardening beneath the black material and Bill was eager to feel more of her skin. Reaching behind her, his fingers nimbly unhooked her bra, an act that he’d mastered at the age of seventeen. He had to hold Hermione’s hands off his body so that he could pull her bra off, flinging it somewhere in the room and not really caring where.
They were both topless now and Bill’s hands covered her breasts again, thumbs flicking over her nipples. Hermione gave a soft moan and Bill took advantage of her momentary lapse of concentration to flip her over so that she was lying on the narrow bed. Bill kissed her, grinding his erection against her thigh for some friction before pulling back to look at her.
Hermione’s cheeks were flushed, eyes bright; Bill smiled softly at the sight. “Beautiful,” he murmured, lowering his head to take her right nipple into his mouth. His teeth raked over the sensitive flesh and Hermione mewled in response as he began to lick and suck at the hardened peak.
Not one to simply lie back, Hermione pushed herself up against him, fingers raking over his back. Reaching between them, Hermione cupped his erection through his trousers, making Bill hiss against her chest. Bill pressed a hot kiss between her breasts, breathing getting heavier as Hermione’s hand slipped inside his trousers and she discovered with a gasp that there was no other barrier between her fingers and Bill’s cock.
Bill growled as her fingers wrapped around him, kissing across her collarbone and neck, hands massaging the soft mounds of her breasts as he shifted back. Bill trailed his fingers down her stomach, tugging on her dress. Hermione’s hand released him as he moved backwards, pulling her dress with him and drawing it down her legs.
“You’re wearing more than me,” Hermione protested, though Bill noted that she made no attempt to cover herself.
Bill smirked and twisted his legs around, pulling off his socks. “There. Now I’m just in my trousers and you’re in your knickers.” Bill leant forward, kissing just below her navel.
“Not what I meant.” Hermione took a swipe at his head, but Bill pulled back.
“Don’t care,” Bill retorted, thumbs hooking under the material of her underwear, tugging her knickers down despite Hermione’s attempt to press her thighs together and stop him. Hermione gasped as Bill ripped the thin material in his attempt to get them off, legs parting just enough in her surprise to give him access. Bill breathed the heady scent of her arousal, his alpha male tendencies delighting in his power.
Grasping her thighs, Bill pushed them apart, Hermione squirming on the bed as his tongue teased and explored her cunt. Her arousal seemed to be growing by the minute and Hermione whimpered as he stroked the flat of his tongue over her clit. “Not fair,” Hermione groaned, head falling back on the pillow.
Bill lifted his head. “Never said I played fair,” he pointed out, slipping a finger inside her and biting his lip at the feel of the hot wetness closed around his finger.
“C’mere,” Hermione told him, breathless and cheeks flushed from what Bill was doing to her. She beckoned to him and Bill grinned, moving back up her body to kiss her, unconsciously removing his fingers as Hermione threaded hers through his hair.
Hermione rolled suddenly against him, trying to turn them over. It worked too well, the two of them toppling off the narrow bed onto the floor, Bill landing with a thud on his back. Hermione swore. “I’m sorry.”
Bill looked up at her, his pride bruised more than anything else. “I’ve had worse.” A slow smiled spread over his features, hands resting on the curves of her hips. “Good view, though.” Rising up, his lips closed around a nipple, sucking and making Hermione gasp. He smiled to himself as she began to rock against him, Bill’s hand snaking between her thighs and two fingers slipping inside her.
Grasping Bill’s shoulders, Hermione pushed him back. Bill was breathless as he looked up at Hermione, both silent save for heavy breathing as they waited to see who would make the next move.
It was Hermione. She shifted back, still straddling Bill and yanking down his trousers. Catching his eye, Hermione looked rather pleased. “Looks like all that masculine bravado definitely wasn’t compensating for anything.” Her fingers skimmed over Bill’s thighs, light touches that made him shiver.
“Were you doubting my masculinity?” Bill asked, raising his eyebrows and trying not to react too much as her fingers curled around his cock.
“Not any more.” Hermione’s fingers stroked over the hard length, teasing him. Bill’s hips thrust gently against her, fingers still moving inside her. His thumb brushed over her clit and Hermione gasped, hand stilling. Bill sat up, kissing her firmly and holding her close to his body, breasts against his chest.
His lips remained pressed to hers as he removed his fingers, hands on her hips and helping lift Hermione up a little. Her eager hand moved between them, guiding him into her. Hermione whimpered against his mouth, pulling away from the kiss and burying her head in the crook of Bill’s neck as he penetrated her. For a moment, Bill was almost afraid that he had made a horrible mistake and that Hermione wasn’t as experienced as he had imagined, but then she gave a low moan, shivering in his arms.
“Beautiful,” Bill murmured, kissing her neck.
“You can’t even see my face.”
“Don’t need to,” he told her with a smirk, nipping at her earlobe. Bill let out a ragged breath. “Gonna have to move,” he told her, “or I’ll be pinning you to the floor if you don’t.”
“Is that a challenge?” Hermione asked, her breathless teasing making Bill grin.
“Something like that.”
Hermione’s thighs tightened for a moment, pressing harder against him, then she began to move, gripping Bill’s arms as she rose up, sinking back down on him over and over, head falling back as Bill kissed her neck, her breathless pants vibrating against his lips.
“Gonna make you come,” Bill murmured. His teeth grazed her neck and he felt Hermione clench around his cock. Rather than saying anything, Hermione whimpered, making Bill smile to himself as he worked his hand between their moving bodies, fingers seeking out her clit. “Have I really found something that makes you speechless?” he asked, intrigued, the idea driving on his lust.
Her nails dug into his shoulders - that was a ‘yes’, albeit an annoyed affirmative.
“Fantastic.” Hermione started to tremble beneath his touch, Bill not relenting in what he was doing for even a second. “Gonna… have to remember that.” Whining, Hermione’s back arched, her head falling back as she came. The sensation around his cock became almost too much for Bill to bear but he held back, waiting.
Feeling that Hermione was now pliable to his touches, Bill rolled them over in the space between their beds, Hermione mumbling incoherently as her back came in contact with the carpet. Bill reached down, hand grasping her thigh and pulling it up until he could hook his arm under Hermione’s knee. He pushed deeper into her, a sharp thrust of his hips that had Hermione writhing deliciously. “Damn.”
Hermione’s nails raked over his back as he finished with a half dozen more thrusts. “So who won?” Hermione teased gently, even as Bill started to come back to reality after his orgasm, letting her leg slip back down to the floor.
“Think it was a tie.”
“I agree.” He felt Hermione tense beneath him, and not in a good way. “What is it?”
Hermione bit her lip. “We’re supposed to be professionals. Working together. I just…”
Bill brushed his lips over hers. “Two more days and you won’t be working for Gringotts anymore.”
“So this isn’t just a one-time thing?” Hermione’s eyes were wide and wary.
“I don’t plan on letting you go just yet.” Bill moved off her, lounging on his bed and pulling Hermione up to join him. “Let’s not think about this too much? Wait until we’re back to our real lives.”
Her brow furrowed as she settled on the narrow bed beside him and Bill pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Is that it?” she asked.
“What d’you mean?”
“No declarations of feelings that you’ve been harbouring? Pent up emotions and/or sexual frustration?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Was that what she wanted? It didn’t seem like it but, then again, Hermione had never been the easiest person to read.
“Merlin, no. Don’t think I could stand it if you suddenly went all soppy on me.” Her lips quirked into a smile, fingers brushing his hair from his face.
Bill chuckled. “No chance of that. I don’t do soppy.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “So those rumours of candlelit bubble baths are completely unfounded?”
Lowering his head, Bill kissed her collarbone, a large hand cupping her breast. Hermione nearly squirmed away from him, remembering how narrow the bed was just in time. “Are you going to answer my question?”
Bill blinked innocently at her. “You asked a question? Sorry. I got distracted by all the nakedness.”
“Distracted?”
“Very.”
Hermione bit her lip. “Perhaps I’ll have to remember that.”
Hermione leant heavily on her cane, watching as Bill did a preliminary investigation of the painting. He was being infuriatingly secretive about his ideas, a feeling that was only exacerbated by being so close to the painting. The anger rising in her was almost tangible, bitter in her mouth.
“So?” she demanded as Bill stepped back. His gaze remained fixed on the painting, scratching a scar on his jaw.
Bill looked over at her. “So what?”
“So… what do we know? And how are we going to take the curse off?” Hermione sighed. “I thought you wanted to know everything about the painting so you wouldn’t get any surprises. We still don’t know who painted it.”
He shook his head. “Yes, we do.”
“We do?” Hermione moved closer to stand beside Bill, trying to breathe deeply and calm her ire.
“Yes. This,” Bill explained, gesticulating towards the painting, “is a self-portrait.” Hermione turned to look up at him. “And that,” Bill added, “is why it’s cursed.”
Hermione reached out with her free hand, fingers stroking the frame. “She put everything she felt into the painting,” she said slowly.
“A woman scorned, I think,” Bill agreed.
Biting her lip, Hermione wondered just what had pushed this witch into painting a cursed portrait of herself. “It’s a pity she can’t tell us about it,” she said quietly. “If only she’d painted a moving painting.”
Bill squinted at the portrait. “I think she can move. She just doesn’t want to.” He paused. “Are you going to tell us what happened, love?” he asked the painting, trying to coax a response out of it. He hoped he was right about this woman, or he was going to look like a complete prat in front of Hermione. Strangely, how Hermione saw him right now mattered to him a lot more than he’d thought.
There was a moment of silence before the witch in the painting looked away from the window and straight towards them. “It has been a long time since anyone spoke to me directly.”
“What happened?” Hermione asked, feeling bitter that Bill had realised the nature of the painting. She knew that a large part of that was due to the influence of the painting, but there was a professional jealousy there, too.
The painting still looked pensive. “I was in love with a man. A Muggle. My family nearly disowned me because of it. But I knew I was doing the right thing. Then he broke my heart.”
She stood from her gilded chair, robes rustling. “So I painted this portrait to remind myself that I am beautiful and strong and worthy of being loved and that Muggle men are weak and pathetic creatures like my family always told me.”
Hermione could feel her own bitterness increasing; she moved away from the painting to try and clear her head. There was a sense of arrogance with the anger, too and Hermione knew for sure that the woman was a pureblood witch, which explained her family’s reaction.
“You’re hurting people,” Bill told the woman.
She nodded. “I never meant to. I wasn’t supposed to be like this.” The painting pursed her lips, determination spreading across her features. “Can you let me rest now? It’s been a long time. I’m tired of being angry now.”
Bill glanced at Hermione, then looked up at the painted woman. “You’ll just be paint on canvas,” he warned her. “This will all be over.”
“It was over a long time ago, young man,” the painting admonished, taking her seat again, hands smoothing the folds of her robes. “That man is long-since dead and yet I still live on, admired and… and I think that is all I ever wanted. It’s time for me to let go.”
Quiet for a moment, Bill finally nodded. “Okay. And may I just say it’s been a pleasure to speak to you. Whoever that man was, he never deserved a woman as talented as you.”
A small smile curved up the painting’s lips and she nodded silently, turning her gaze towards the window.
As Hermione watched, Bill raised his wand, the canvas rippling as he began to take the magic from the paint, the anger and loathing that this scorned woman had poured into her art.
“Well. That was easy,” Hermione said as Bill finally slipped his wand back into his pocket.
“Sometimes things can be deceptively simple,” Bill agreed quietly with a nod. “I’m not even sure if I would class it as a curse. Now that the painting is no longer animate the effect should be gone. But we’ll keep an eye on the museum for a couple more days and see what happens. Don’t think it’ll give us any more trouble.” He raised his eyebrows as he looked at Hermione. “You look less stressed.”
Hermione glanced down at herself, then shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose I am. Calmer, anyway. The painting was making me all tense.”
“Well, you’ve got the rest of the day to relax.”
“At least until the party tonight,” Hermione corrected.
Bill groaned. “Fuck. I’d nearly forgotten about that.”
Hermione pursed her lips. “Look, we just have to go and shake a few hands and talk about curse breaking a bit.” She offered him a smile. “I know you’re good at talking about your job. No offence to Ron, but I would have been bored stiff at his birthday party if I hadn’t had you to talk to.”
Lips open to say something, Bill found himself at a loss for words. “Oh. Um, thank you, I think.” He paused. “I’m sorry about that kiss.”
“And I’m sorry that you ran off.” Hermione shook her head. “I think I’m going to go for a walk, Bill. I'm still a little tense. I’ll see you back at the hotel later.”
Hermione left the museum before Bill and he didn’t see her until she arrived back at their hotel room an hour or so before they were due to leave for the party. He had just left the shower, a towel slung around his hips and hair hanging wet around his face. “Shower’s free if you want it,” he offered, not sure what else to say. Her comment that morning about him running away at Ron’s party had thrown him. She’d meant something by it, but he didn’t know what; it had been playing on his mind all day.
“Thanks,” she said, dropping her bag on her bed and resting her cane against the wall. “Good day?”
“Not bad.”
“Good.” Hermione went into the bathroom; Bill heard the click of the lock a moment later, then the shower running. Twitching the curtains closed, Bill dressed and took the time to run styling product through his hair before drying it with a charm. He lounged on his bed, reading one of Hermione’s books and disagreeing completely with most of the author’s views, when Hermione reappeared, wearing a dressing gown.
Hermione’s hair was damp and Bill watched surreptitiously as she cast a drying charm on it. The moisture evaporated immediately and, as Hermione began to sort out her dress, Bill realised that she didn’t plan to do anything else with it.
“Are you really going out with your hair like that?”
She turned to look at him, giving Bill a hard look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean it’s… kind of big.”
“It’s the humidity!” she protested. “I can’t help it if it makes my hair even more frizzy.”
“Yes, you can.” Bill stood up, heading to his bag, which lay open on the floor at the foot of his bed. “Sit,” he told her firmly. “I’m going to do your hair.”
“You don’t need to…”
“Sit,” he repeated firmly.
Huffing, Hermione perched herself on the edge of Bill’s bed. He moved to kneel behind her, mattress dipping at their combined weight. Wand out, he proceeded to mist her hair with water, knowing the potions he used worked best on wet hair. Yes, Charlie might call him a vain bastard, but Charlie should really try having a face full of scars: it certainly made Bill think a lot more about his appearance.
He unscrewed a small pot, scooping out some of the mixture. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“Yeah. Didn’t spend the whole day walking, of course. I did some sight-seeing. You know, museums, galleries and all that sort of thing. The local magical culture is fascinating. I think I’m going to have to come back here some time.” Hermione bit her lip as Bill’s warm fingers began to work through her wet hair, massaging her scalp as he worked in the potion.
“You really like it that much?”
“Yes. I think I’ll take a few jobs that I’ve been um-ing and ah-ing over and come over here for a long holiday. Perhaps even travel around a few places.” Bill’s touch was gentle yet insistent, teasing her curls in a way that Hermione never had the time or patience to do herself.
“Wish I had the time to do that.”
She smiled. “I kind of got bitten by the travel bug during the war,” she admitted. “As horrible as it was chasing down the horcruxes, there was something about the travelling, about the constant discovery and learning that I enjoyed. I haven’t really been able to stay in the same place for too long since then.”
I haven’t really been able to stay in the same place for too long. Bill thought then of her comment about him running from Ron’s party. “What did you mean this morning?” he asked, starting to cast a gentle drying charm on her hair. “About being sorry that I ran from the kiss? You ran as well.”
Hermione swallowed. “I ran because I’d been drinking the punch and I was afraid I was going to be sick. I wasn’t by the way. When I’d got back from the bathroom you were gone.”
“You went back?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Because I’d enjoyed talking to you and I’d wanted to kiss you for a very long time.” Bill’s fingers caught suddenly in her hair. “Ow!”
“Sorry,” he apologised quickly. “I just, er… you wanted to kiss me?”
Hermione scooted away from him, turning to look at Bill. “Hmm. Handsome, intelligent, can hold a good conversation, thinks with brain in head rather than one between legs…” Hermione ticked attributes off on her fingers. “I liked you rather a lot.”
“Liked?” Bill asked, picking up on that word and feeling horribly ashamed of his behaviour at Ron’s birthday party; his pride was a matter of importance.
“Well.” Hermione pursed her lips. “You running away gave me a very clear indicator that you weren’t interested.” She sighed, standing up to look at her reflection in the mirror. Bill peered around her, watching as she smiled. Her curls were more defined now, the frizz gone, at least temporarily. “Thanks, Bill,” she said, twisting a lock around her finger. “Sometimes I feel like I need four arms to do my hair,” she said, rolling her eyes as she pulled her dress from the wardrobe.
Bill didn’t get much of a look at the dress before Hermione slipped back into the bathroom to put it on. He groaned softly, flopping back onto the bed. One of them was fucking things up quite spectacularly; perhaps both of them were making a mess of things.
She’d liked him. He’d run away. She’d lost interest. He’d…
He’d not known how to react when they had kissed. They had spent the evening talking, drinking too much of the punch that Harry and Ron had concocted because it was the closest drink to where they were sitting. After a couple of glasses neither felt as though they could walk much farther than the punch bowl.
Assuming that Hermione had run off because she’d been mortified about kissing him, Bill had left the party, wanting to save her the embarrassment of seeing him again and needing desperately to clear his head. Even if Hermione could list good things about him off the top of her head, he still couldn’t see why she would like him, the much older brother of her ex-boyfriend.
No, correct that. She used to like him. And, for some inexplicable reason, that annoyed him.
“Stop brooding,” Hermione warned him two hours later when the owner of the art gallery finally left them to schmooze with someone else. Hermione smirked. “You’re going to get wrinkles,” she teased, reaching up to run her finger over the furrow in his brow.
“I’m not brooding.”
“Then stop thinking so much. Look, you’re doing a great job,” Hermione assured him. “That antiques dealer just now seemed really interested and I think Gringotts could get a lot of work.”
“It’s alright for you,” Bill grumbled, though it wasn’t the work that weighed on his mind. “You just have to stand there and look pretty.”
Hermione’s cheeks tinged pink. “Um, thank you.”
Bill grasped her hand. “We’re going to dance,” he announced, looking out across the gallery. Once, the gallery had been a ballroom and tonight that had been revived, fantastical artwork on the walls and other displays, a local wizarding band playing music over the chattering critics and guests.
As he started to pull at her, Hermione pulled back, shaking her head. “I hate dancing.”
“And I hate parties.” Bill raised his eyebrows. “We all have to do things we don’t want.” Hermione clenched her teeth and finally submitted to the tug of Bill’s arm.
“If you hate parties so much,” Hermione challenged, taking Bill in what he thought was a death-grip of a waltz hold, “why do you want to dance?”
“Because I like dancing.” Bill grinned. “Fleur made me learn. Can actually be quite athletic. Grace and poise and…” He winced as Hermione stood on his foot as she tried to change their direction. “Control.” Bill frowned. “I’m leading,” he told her firmly.
Hermione loosened her grip on him, letting Bill guide her more easily around the ballroom. “There, that’s not so bad,” he chided gently.
“Why are men always trying to give me orders?” she retorted.
“You’d rather be the one in charge?”
“Of course.”
Chuckling, Bill shook his head. “Just let go for a little bit. Let me lead. Sometimes,” he added, ducking his head to whisper in her ear, “it’s good to lose control.”
As Bill guided her around the floor, Hermione remained quiet, eyes narrowed. Bill was somewhat glad for her silence, slipping back into his thoughts as his feet did the work. He still couldn’t decide why he was so annoyed that Hermione no longer thought of him as anything other than a friend or colleague. She infuriated him. She challenged him; once they had spent at least an hour debating the intrinsic importance of the number twelve. She wasn’t what he was looking for in a woman.
In a way, she reminded him a little of Fleur. Fleur as she was before their marriage, that was. He’d fallen for her feisty, defiant attitude, the promise of hidden depths of power beneath her delicate-looking exterior. Then, she’d taken the vow ‘to honour and obey’, which had surprised Bill in the first place. When they’d settled into married life, Fleur had lost that spark, the brightness that had first attracted him to her.
Hermione wasn’t like that and he knew it. Her hidden depths were, well, less hidden. By all accounts, Hermione was as challenging and difficult now as she had been when she was eleven years old. Bill quite liked that idea. Life, he supposed, was never boring when Hermione Granger was around.
That was it, right at that moment. It was as though he gave himself permission to think about Hermione like that and, when he did, she became something far more special than a colleague or a friend. She was still Hermione - infuriating, exasperating and downright challenging, but they were strangely good things.
The music ended and Bill impulsively kissed her cheek; Hermione blushed. “Thank you for the dance.”
“You’re a good dancer,” Hermione told him.
“Thank you.”
Hermione bit her lip, clearly uneasy. “I’m going to go and sit down for a little bit. My knee’s aching and I didn’t bring my cane.”
Bill nodded. “Okay. Can I get you a drink?”
“No, that’s okay. Thanks.”
He grabbed her hand, clearly stunning her. “Can we try again?” he asked.
“Try what?”
“That kiss. I won’t run this time.” Bill couldn’t anticipate her reaction. Something inside him seemed to twist and Bill realised he was nervous, resisting the temptation to cross his arms over his chest. With her wide brown eyes, Hermione seemed as unsure as he was.
She pursed her lips and Bill noticed her hand was clenched in a fist, knuckles turning white. “Don’t play games with me, Bill.”
“’S not a game.” He took a step forward, making Hermione face tip up so that she could look him in the face. “There’s no dodgy punch this time. Could be different.”
“And it could be worse now we’re sober.”
Bill raised his eyebrows. “Are you afraid of one little kiss?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then kiss me.”
A noise of annoyance ripped from Hermione’s throat and she grasped the front of Bill’s shirt, pulling him down for a kiss so hard that Bill thought she might bruise his lips. Never to be outdone, his fingers slipped into her arm, his other arm around her waist as he pulled her closer.
“Is this just a kiss?” Hermione murmured, lips still brushing against his.
Bill exhaled slowly, his thoughts racing to catch up with his body, which seemed to be developing its own ideas. “Don’t think so. If you want it to be more…” The rest of that sentence got lost in another kiss, Hermione’s lips hot against his own, a teasing, curious kiss that had Bill’s hand grasping her arse in an automatic action as her tongue slid along his lower lip.
“We’re going to make a spectacle of ourselves,” Bill warned, breaking the kiss. If her lips carried on feeling so good against his then he felt that he couldn’t be held responsible if other parts of his anatomy started to want to feel her lips on them.
“Hotel?” Hermione suggested, sounding breathless to Bill’s ears.
“Hotel?”
Her lips quirked into a smirk. “Are you afraid?”
“Never,” Bill growled.
Getting back to their hotel was a whirl of Apparation and kisses; Bill’s fingers positively itched to undress the witch pressed so perfectly up against him in the lift, Hermione’s hands just as eager as his own. She pulled out his shirt as Bill fumbled with the key in the door of their room until he had to swat her away to concentrate. But, with the door finally closed firmly behind them, Bill caught Hermione’s lips in another bruising kiss. His hands grasped hers, pushing her against the wall and feeling Hermione’s chest heave against his own.
“This,” Hermione ground out, wrenching her hands from Bill’s grip, “is one place where I don’t give up control.”
Bill chuckled against her throat, pressing a kiss just below her ear. “Excellent.” He nipped at her lower lip. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
At that, Hermione pushed him backwards, no longer pinned to the door. Bill made his way back until his knees hit Hermione’s bed. He sat, pulling Hermione to straddle him, her knee-length dress riding up. “Good,” Hermione murmured as Bill’s hands stroked down her sides to rest on her arse. Her shyness from their first kiss was gone now, Hermione rocking against him; Bill’s erection was a sure sign that he approved.
“This isn’t a competition,” Bill teased, slipping his hands up her back and smoothing the thin straps of her dress from her shoulders. He kissed a path down the smooth skin of her neck, brushing her hair out of the way.
“Isn’t it?” Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows as she unbuttoned his shirt. The cotton parted, Hermione’s fingers trailing over the large diagonal scar that she uncovered.
Bill raised his eyebrows, leaning back to look at her. “If this is a competition, I think I’ll win.”
She smirked. “Oh, I think we’ll both win.”
Grinning, Bill kissed her again, pushing her dress down, her bra uncovered. His tongue seemed to fight with hers as she roughly shoved his shirt off, Bill shrugging his shoulders to help her. His hands roughly closed around Hermione’s breasts; something told him she wasn’t the gentle sort and he was rewarded by a purring noise in the back of her throat. Bill could feel her nipples hardening beneath the black material and Bill was eager to feel more of her skin. Reaching behind her, his fingers nimbly unhooked her bra, an act that he’d mastered at the age of seventeen. He had to hold Hermione’s hands off his body so that he could pull her bra off, flinging it somewhere in the room and not really caring where.
They were both topless now and Bill’s hands covered her breasts again, thumbs flicking over her nipples. Hermione gave a soft moan and Bill took advantage of her momentary lapse of concentration to flip her over so that she was lying on the narrow bed. Bill kissed her, grinding his erection against her thigh for some friction before pulling back to look at her.
Hermione’s cheeks were flushed, eyes bright; Bill smiled softly at the sight. “Beautiful,” he murmured, lowering his head to take her right nipple into his mouth. His teeth raked over the sensitive flesh and Hermione mewled in response as he began to lick and suck at the hardened peak.
Not one to simply lie back, Hermione pushed herself up against him, fingers raking over his back. Reaching between them, Hermione cupped his erection through his trousers, making Bill hiss against her chest. Bill pressed a hot kiss between her breasts, breathing getting heavier as Hermione’s hand slipped inside his trousers and she discovered with a gasp that there was no other barrier between her fingers and Bill’s cock.
Bill growled as her fingers wrapped around him, kissing across her collarbone and neck, hands massaging the soft mounds of her breasts as he shifted back. Bill trailed his fingers down her stomach, tugging on her dress. Hermione’s hand released him as he moved backwards, pulling her dress with him and drawing it down her legs.
“You’re wearing more than me,” Hermione protested, though Bill noted that she made no attempt to cover herself.
Bill smirked and twisted his legs around, pulling off his socks. “There. Now I’m just in my trousers and you’re in your knickers.” Bill leant forward, kissing just below her navel.
“Not what I meant.” Hermione took a swipe at his head, but Bill pulled back.
“Don’t care,” Bill retorted, thumbs hooking under the material of her underwear, tugging her knickers down despite Hermione’s attempt to press her thighs together and stop him. Hermione gasped as Bill ripped the thin material in his attempt to get them off, legs parting just enough in her surprise to give him access. Bill breathed the heady scent of her arousal, his alpha male tendencies delighting in his power.
Grasping her thighs, Bill pushed them apart, Hermione squirming on the bed as his tongue teased and explored her cunt. Her arousal seemed to be growing by the minute and Hermione whimpered as he stroked the flat of his tongue over her clit. “Not fair,” Hermione groaned, head falling back on the pillow.
Bill lifted his head. “Never said I played fair,” he pointed out, slipping a finger inside her and biting his lip at the feel of the hot wetness closed around his finger.
“C’mere,” Hermione told him, breathless and cheeks flushed from what Bill was doing to her. She beckoned to him and Bill grinned, moving back up her body to kiss her, unconsciously removing his fingers as Hermione threaded hers through his hair.
Hermione rolled suddenly against him, trying to turn them over. It worked too well, the two of them toppling off the narrow bed onto the floor, Bill landing with a thud on his back. Hermione swore. “I’m sorry.”
Bill looked up at her, his pride bruised more than anything else. “I’ve had worse.” A slow smiled spread over his features, hands resting on the curves of her hips. “Good view, though.” Rising up, his lips closed around a nipple, sucking and making Hermione gasp. He smiled to himself as she began to rock against him, Bill’s hand snaking between her thighs and two fingers slipping inside her.
Grasping Bill’s shoulders, Hermione pushed him back. Bill was breathless as he looked up at Hermione, both silent save for heavy breathing as they waited to see who would make the next move.
It was Hermione. She shifted back, still straddling Bill and yanking down his trousers. Catching his eye, Hermione looked rather pleased. “Looks like all that masculine bravado definitely wasn’t compensating for anything.” Her fingers skimmed over Bill’s thighs, light touches that made him shiver.
“Were you doubting my masculinity?” Bill asked, raising his eyebrows and trying not to react too much as her fingers curled around his cock.
“Not any more.” Hermione’s fingers stroked over the hard length, teasing him. Bill’s hips thrust gently against her, fingers still moving inside her. His thumb brushed over her clit and Hermione gasped, hand stilling. Bill sat up, kissing her firmly and holding her close to his body, breasts against his chest.
His lips remained pressed to hers as he removed his fingers, hands on her hips and helping lift Hermione up a little. Her eager hand moved between them, guiding him into her. Hermione whimpered against his mouth, pulling away from the kiss and burying her head in the crook of Bill’s neck as he penetrated her. For a moment, Bill was almost afraid that he had made a horrible mistake and that Hermione wasn’t as experienced as he had imagined, but then she gave a low moan, shivering in his arms.
“Beautiful,” Bill murmured, kissing her neck.
“You can’t even see my face.”
“Don’t need to,” he told her with a smirk, nipping at her earlobe. Bill let out a ragged breath. “Gonna have to move,” he told her, “or I’ll be pinning you to the floor if you don’t.”
“Is that a challenge?” Hermione asked, her breathless teasing making Bill grin.
“Something like that.”
Hermione’s thighs tightened for a moment, pressing harder against him, then she began to move, gripping Bill’s arms as she rose up, sinking back down on him over and over, head falling back as Bill kissed her neck, her breathless pants vibrating against his lips.
“Gonna make you come,” Bill murmured. His teeth grazed her neck and he felt Hermione clench around his cock. Rather than saying anything, Hermione whimpered, making Bill smile to himself as he worked his hand between their moving bodies, fingers seeking out her clit. “Have I really found something that makes you speechless?” he asked, intrigued, the idea driving on his lust.
Her nails dug into his shoulders - that was a ‘yes’, albeit an annoyed affirmative.
“Fantastic.” Hermione started to tremble beneath his touch, Bill not relenting in what he was doing for even a second. “Gonna… have to remember that.” Whining, Hermione’s back arched, her head falling back as she came. The sensation around his cock became almost too much for Bill to bear but he held back, waiting.
Feeling that Hermione was now pliable to his touches, Bill rolled them over in the space between their beds, Hermione mumbling incoherently as her back came in contact with the carpet. Bill reached down, hand grasping her thigh and pulling it up until he could hook his arm under Hermione’s knee. He pushed deeper into her, a sharp thrust of his hips that had Hermione writhing deliciously. “Damn.”
Hermione’s nails raked over his back as he finished with a half dozen more thrusts. “So who won?” Hermione teased gently, even as Bill started to come back to reality after his orgasm, letting her leg slip back down to the floor.
“Think it was a tie.”
“I agree.” He felt Hermione tense beneath him, and not in a good way. “What is it?”
Hermione bit her lip. “We’re supposed to be professionals. Working together. I just…”
Bill brushed his lips over hers. “Two more days and you won’t be working for Gringotts anymore.”
“So this isn’t just a one-time thing?” Hermione’s eyes were wide and wary.
“I don’t plan on letting you go just yet.” Bill moved off her, lounging on his bed and pulling Hermione up to join him. “Let’s not think about this too much? Wait until we’re back to our real lives.”
Her brow furrowed as she settled on the narrow bed beside him and Bill pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Is that it?” she asked.
“What d’you mean?”
“No declarations of feelings that you’ve been harbouring? Pent up emotions and/or sexual frustration?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Was that what she wanted? It didn’t seem like it but, then again, Hermione had never been the easiest person to read.
“Merlin, no. Don’t think I could stand it if you suddenly went all soppy on me.” Her lips quirked into a smile, fingers brushing his hair from his face.
Bill chuckled. “No chance of that. I don’t do soppy.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “So those rumours of candlelit bubble baths are completely unfounded?”
Lowering his head, Bill kissed her collarbone, a large hand cupping her breast. Hermione nearly squirmed away from him, remembering how narrow the bed was just in time. “Are you going to answer my question?”
Bill blinked innocently at her. “You asked a question? Sorry. I got distracted by all the nakedness.”
“Distracted?”
“Very.”
Hermione bit her lip. “Perhaps I’ll have to remember that.”
