Prompt: Hermione/Bill, pining
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
While flowering, ladies, scant love not
Be but this black outcrop of stones
—Sylvia Plath, Two Sisters of Persephone
As someone who prided herself as an intellectual, it was perhaps appropriate that Hermione would be knocked off her lofty perch by a massively inexplicable infatuation.
She had always admired Ron’s tall, broad-shouldered build; he had the type of naturally athletic figure that sent very unintellectual butterflies fluttering in her stomach. He looked like how a man should; strong, tall, with the bluest eyes she had ever seen on a person. It was not—well, unnatural that she should develop a tiny crush on him. They had grown up together, after all, and what girl hadn’t fantasised about marrying her childhood sweetheart?
It was just a pity that they weren’t interested in the same things at all and that most of their conversations were so contentious that she was annoyed for weeks afterwards. Everything she said seemed to set Ron off and vice versa. Sometimes she found him so irritating that she wanted to hex his face off.
Then Hermione met Bill Weasley.
Suddenly she understood her infatuation with Ron was just a small, miniscule shadow of the real thing.
It was terrible to compare brothers. Hermione knew this. Ron was the last of the brothers, and Bill had been the first, the scion, the bright star in the happy horizon of Molly and Arthur’s blissful nuptials. Their upbringing would have been completely different, and yet—
—And yet, Hermione couldn’t help seeing in Bill all the things she had admired in Ron, and more.
Everything about Bill Weasley was just more. He was the best looking of the brothers, with a cleancut, chiseled jawline that Hermione couldn’t help but peer at and admire secretly. Less superficial than his looks, however, was his intelligence, his love of books and knowledge, and his gentlemanly chivalry. Everything about him was just more, more, more, and Hermione couldn’t help but compare every single boy she met after that to him.
It was unfair. She knew this. He was almost a decade older. She knew this too. He was completely out of her league since she was still in school and his little brother’s friend. She knew all of this.
—And yet, it didn’t dim her infatuation. Not one bit.
Every year that Bill remained single was another year in which Hermione hoped and prayed to grow up to be his equal. It was hard not letting her fantasies get out of control when he finally announced his intention of returning to Gringotts in London.
This was a sign—wasn't it?
The logical part of Hermione's brain had gone on permanent vacation, replaced by someone who had perpetual heart eyes whenever she thought of Bill Weasley. It got so bad that her relationship with Ron was more acrimonious than ever. Before, she had swallowed her ire in favour of diplomacy, but now that civility had been exchanged for a coldness that rivaled first year animosity. Harry, bless his heart, submerged in the troubles of the Tournament and on the outs with Ron, didn’t even notice.
She no longer waited for Ron to step up and be a man anymore—no, she had someone else in mind for that. When Viktor Krum asked her to the Yule Ball, it hadn’t been with Viktor in mind that she accepted. In the back of her mind, she had thought, older boys liked her. They found her attractive. Wouldn’t he also?
She was turning ugly and dark on the inside, but the grip of a teenage infatuation was strong, overpowering. She was doodling his name on her notebooks rather than notes from class. Something inside her told her she was being unfair to Ron, that she should do something to heal the rift between him and Harry, but her mind was focused on other things. Other possibilities for the future. A meeting between two minds.
Surely he’d see her. He’d really and truly see her, not as a little girl, but as an equal.
It was a shock when Ginny first mentioned that Bill was dating Fleur Delacour.
He couldn’t. Hermione listened with white-lipped shock.
“Two months now,” Ginny said with a grimace. “Ugh, I can’t stand her.”
Ginny had a fairly good relationship with all her brothers, but with Bill and the age gap between them, there was a special bond. She was filled with acrimony at the interloper Fleur. She was haughty, she was snooty, she thought everything about England was terrible—then why didn’t she simply go away and leave Bill alone?
In her thudding heart, Hermione couldn’t agree more. “Maybe it’s not serious.”
“Merlin, I hope not.” Ginny rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror and added another layer of lip gloss. “I couldn’t stand her during the Tournament, what with Ron following her everywhere, but now this is even worse.”
It was much worse. Hermione remembered Fleur’s unnatural effect on Ron, and her heart sank. What if—what if the Weasleys were more susceptible to Veela than other wizards? Harry hadn’t been as affected, after all, nor some of the other boys in class. Ron—perhaps Ron had been a special case?
Ron wasn’t a special case, and Bill proved it by proposing to Fleur over the disapproval of his mother.
“They were going to live abroad, but then Bill decided to settle down in England.” Despite her gloomy air, Ginny managed to pop an astounding three Cauldron cakes at a time into her mouth. “I hope they’re not going to live at home. I can’t stand to have all of my brothers mooning over her. What makes her so special anyway?”
“She’s not even that pretty. It’s completely the Veela thing, because all the other girls in school thought she was too bony and pointy-looking. Kind of like a bird, if you ask me.”
“It’s not the looks,” Hermione said, remembering what had been in her textbook.
“I know.” Ginny’s subdued response was almost covered up by the rustling she made digging around inside the snack box. “I know. It’s the allure. They could be as ugly as a troll, and nobody would care.”
“Yeah.” Hermione was feeling fairly gloomy herself. If someone like Fleur, who was already thin and elegant and pretty, had on top of that the allure of a Veela, what chance did bookish, frizzy-haired Hermione have? None. Added to it all was her age. She was fifteen. The distance, in mere numbers, meant nothing to her, but in practical terms, Bill could have physically been on the moon itself.
“Let’s hope she latches onto someone else.” Ginny tossed the empty cauldron cake box across the room towards the rubbish bin.
Hermione turned to watch the box spin a little before going in the bin. She turned and smiled at Ginny before shaking her head. “Will she though? I mean, Bill’s pretty—” She caught herself before she spilled out all her feelings towards him. She bit her tongue before continuing. “He’s a really good catch.”
“I know. He’s tall, he’s good-looking, he’s extremely charming. He even makes a lot of money at Gringotts, much more than she does, since she’s just starting out. I just don’t see how she could find someone better, considering that she’s part-Veela, and—” Ginny’s voice dropped to a stage whisper “—not exactly acceptable to a lot of Purebloods.”
Then what chance do I have? Hermione thought mournfully to herself. Aloud, she could only repeat her words again, “Yeah. I know.”
Before the bridal party came down, Hermione bumped into Bill outside near the marquee.
“Beg pardon,” Bill said instinctively, hands clasping Hermione on the upper arms to steady her. He glanced down and smiled, as though only realising it was her. “Oh, Hermione, how are you?”
“Good, good.” Hermione felt and sounded, to her own ears, a little breathless.
“You look lovely in that dress.” Bill was smiling in his usual open, charming way. Hermione thought miserably that any children Bill and Fleur were bound to have would have an unnaturally unfair advantage over the rest of the population.
“Thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes down so that her love for him wouldn’t shine through so obviously. Her fingers twisted at a fold in her skirt.
“I’ve heard from Ron that—well, you’re probably the only reason those two are still alive and kicking, aren’t you?” His voice lowered, as though imparting a joke, and a sliver of awareness crawled up Hermione’s spine.
“Oh, I’m sure that’s vastly overstating my—contributions.” She was floundering for small talk. This was misery, and yet she did not want it to end.
“Anyway, thank you for helping out. This can’t be that much fun for you.”
“It’s—nothing,” she said, her voice trailing off as his attention was called away. Hermione was left staring after his disappearing figure. The pangs she put into her own appearance seemed silly now. Had she truly wanted him to see what he was missing? She felt like an idiot now.
She felt even worse when the ceremony started, and Fleur came through the archway looking like a fairy princess. She glowed so brightly that she might have been an actual celestial star passing through the darkness of their presence. When everyone watched and gasped over Fleur’s appearance, all Hermione’s attention was fastened on Bill’s profile. Her heart twisted inside her chest.
She wished with all her might that he was looking at her in that way.
