Bill Weasley X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Before I Knew You

Bill Weasley x Reader

Summary: You’ve spent years training under Madam Pomfrey in the hopes that you would join the Healers at St. Mungo’s at graduation. But in the aftermath of the death of Albus Dumbledore, you chose to join the Order instead. When you’re forced into hiding, you find yourself alone with Bill Weasley and his new wolfish tendencies.

Word Count (So Far): 24,862

Warnings: 18+, Eventual Smut, Dark Themes, Torture, Werewolf Side Effects, Blood, Age Difference. Minors DNI.

"I thought that only happened around the full moon.”

He chuckled, a strained smile on his face. “So did I. But I can still smell him on you, lingering under the vanilla soap. I can still see how close he was too, his hand on your shoulder and it’s driving me insane.”

Links in BLUE are bonus content based on the parts they’re next to.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four Him, Not It

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

long hair & tattoos (bill weasley & reader) (15/15) *complete*

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

CHAPTER 15: The day before Bill is set to depart for Egypt, you are torn between two thoughts: to convince him to stay or to let him go. Luckily, help and love come from the unlikeliest of places. (8.5k words) TAG LIST MOVED TO THE BOTTOM!

A/N: Thank you guys for following along on this ride! It's certainly been a fun one. I'm grateful for all your comments and feedback; it really inspires me to write more. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the ending! Of course, feel free to leave any thoughts. (:

CHAPTER 15: THAT'S ALRIGHT WITH ME

Being back at Malfoy Manor wasn’t favourable either. You’d have rather hopped on a train somewhere and disappeared into the forest to be left alone with your thoughts. However, this was better than being confined with Fred and George and being teased relentlessly about Bill. Every question they had pushed you to the precipice of admitting the truth and you didn’t want them to hear it. If anything, you wanted Bill to hear first.

“(Y/N)!” Narcissa exclaimed when you walked in the doors just before lunch. She was dressed like she was going out to town later this afternoon. “What are you doing here?”

“I can tell you’re absolutely delighted by my presence.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I am,” Narcissa corrected, her left hand gliding on the stair railing as she descended the steps. “I just wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“I’d like to spend a night or two here before,” you stammered, “the big move.”

“Well, it is your home.” Narcissa pursed her lips. “And speaking of the move, your father wants to see if you need an extension on that lease on the penthouse. We can’t imagine Shell Cottage is very comfortable in the winter.”

“Yeah,” you responded non-committedly. 

“Are you joining us for lunch?” she inquired on the last step down.

“I already ate,” you lied. That was enough to satisfy your mother’s question.

“Then we’ll see you at dinner,” she said, passing you and turning the corner. “I’ll have Dobby prepare another seat.”

You nodded. “Sure.”

When your mother was out of sight, you ran up the stairs and turned the corner to your room. You flung the door open to your room and the weight of the past week hit you like an avalanche. You scrunched your face, trying to alleviate the tingle in your nose that you knew all too well—there were tears behind your eyes.

Your mind reeled back to the pleasant memories you shared with Bill, trying to look for little hints and clues. There had to be a flicker of love in those eyes, even if they were just for a split second. Maybe you were a fool for convincing yourself of it because it was clear that Bill didn’t care; he was moving back to Egypt and didn’t consult you or offer the courtesy of letting you know. You. Didn’t. Matter. The weight of that thought was cruel and punishing on your heart.

What was holding him back? Why shouldn’t he fall in love with you?

Then you realized.

Most people started off a new relationship revealing just bits of themselves—little fragments—and kept their skeletons tucked in the closet. You, however, sped full force ahead, running all the lights because the thought of falling in love with Bill never crossed your mind. You dove headfirst and put the bad and ugly on full display like it was a theatre show. You picked apart your family at every given chance, only to realize too late, when you’d irreversibly fallen for him, that he was searching for someone kind and familial. While he was cherishing time with his siblings, you were picking fights with Draco and your cousins. You felt sick.

Bill was probably ready to settle down, probably ready to have children of his own. You were still a child, directionless and going about your days with no goal in end. How could he like someone who bar-hopped with his younger brothers every summer? You were also barely four years in the working world, Bill was teetering on thirteen. Age, especially the gap between you and Bill, was never an issue for you and you’d never even thought about it. Now combing through all the reasons Bill wouldn’t like you back, it was blaring red.

You laughed blithely. It was your fault. You had fucked it up. You felt the first tears pooling in your eyes. Just a little, you promised. Then you’d stop crying.

You scooted over to look for the tissues in the drawer, but instead, your fingers found Bill’s letter he’d sent the morning after the first dinner. That fated dinner felt like yesterday and ages ago all at once. You were never going to get that back, the first meeting, the comfortable friendship you’d built with Bill. If he mentioned he was trotting off to Egypt back then, you wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. Now, things were complicated beyond repair.

Against better judgement, you began to read.

‘My love….’

Instantaneously, you came to a devastating realization that you’d never hear those words out of his mouth. And the thought of that burst the damn. There were hot tears running down your face now. You tried to keep quiet, but your heart amplified what you felt: sheer pain.

The one thing abating the pain was you letting yourself go and dissolving into a cathartic mess. Bill Weasley had reduced you to a lovesick fool and you’d sworn you’d let no man do it.

Feeling uncomfortable after sitting on the ground for so long, you moved up from the carpeted floor to the bed. You reached from the tissues on the nightstand and just laid there, twitching as sporadic sobs racked your body. You remained immobile otherwise, the net result of two opposing forces acting on you: one, telling you to go to Bill, and the other advising you to let it go.

Let him go.

It was probably hours that you’d cycled through napping and crying. You fancied daydreams where you pretended your bed was the same bed you slept in Nice, and that you’d never left the comfort of being by Bill’s side, of being close to him and the water. When you woke up to a different room than you envisioned, you grimaced and cried. In between, you had dreams of someone calling your name repeatedly.

The sun was low when you’d woken up for the umpteenth time. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you knew they were probably red and swollen. You still heard calls for your name, and you quickly realized you weren’t dreaming.

“What are you doing in there?” a sharp voice called from outside the door. “Didn’t you hear the call for dinner?”

You sat paralyzed. It was Draco.

“I’ll come later!” you yelled. The last person you wanted to reveal your weakened state to was your menace of a brother.

“We’ve been calling you for the last half hour!” he stated impatiently. “What’s wrong with you? Come down for supper.”

You panicked. You really didn’t want to be questioned or seen by anyone right now. “I’m fine! Go on, eat without me!”

Draco knocked again. “I don’t believe you one bit. Let me in!”

“I’m fine!” you repeated. “Mind your own business!”

“I gave you a fair enough warning. I’m opening the door.”

“I swear I will kill you if you do,” you threatened.

He jangled the doorknob with more force. “Then open it yourself! You’re acting like a petulant child, (Y/N)!”

The will to fight with him was leaving your body. You were tired, beaten down, and parched for water and even someone to confide in. You didn’t imagine it’d be Draco, but at some point, you needed to let someone in and offer you guidance. You pushed yourself off the bed, your head feeling heavier than the rest of your body. You trundled the steps to the door and opened it slowly.

As if it were a joke, you looked at Draco with your tear-stained face, bloodshot eyes, mussed hair, and forced a wide smile. “Happy?” You knew he’d mock you endlessly, and this front was the best way to shield yourself against it.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but you didn’t expect Draco to take a step back. The snarl on his face quickly dissolved into a soft expression of surprise.

He had swallowed whatever he had wanted to say and instead asked, “What’s wrong?”

Your tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, obviously.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I haven’t seen you cry for ages. Not since you broke your leg at Hogwarts after that stunt you tried pulling with your friends.”

“I was fine,” you murmured. “Same difference.”

He asked, without missing a beat, “Does it have to do with Weasley?”

You feebly shook your head.

Draco peered at you in disbelief.

A sob in your throat threatened to rise and manifest into a cry. You urged Draco into the room. “Shut the door,” you demanded.

Draco closed the door behind him and walked in. “You’re lying. I always know when you’re lying,” he immediately fired. “Much like I always know when you’re upset about something, or who it’s about—”

He stopped when your nose scrunched up again. Flustered, and probably not used to dealing with a crying sister or crying women in general, he grabbed a tissue from your nightstand and handed it over to you.

“So, it is Weasley,” he concluded.

You said nothing. You found it hard to honest with him; there was little trust with how often you went behind each other’s backs. But at some point, both of you needed to let your walls down and get to root of it all—you were siblings, after all.

“I take that as a yes,” he finished for you. “What happened? Has he not been treating you well?”

“No,” you blew into the tissue, “he’s moving.”

“Where? The cottage?”

“Egypt.”

“Egypt?” Draco repeated incredulously, then whispered under his breath, “What the fuck?” He looked back at you. “Is this a joke? I’m trying to be serious here with you, (Y/N). So, quit joking around.”

You looked at him with bleary eyes and shook your head. “I’m serious. I wish I wasn’t.”

“Have you discussed this together?” Draco continued. “That’s a rather large decision to make without your input.”

“He doesn’t need my input,” you said as you squeezed your eyes shut, wringing out more tears. “I officially do not matter to him.”

Draco looked at you, puzzled. “What do you mean? Have you broken up?”

You shook your head and paused for a while. You were fighting with yourself to tell Draco the truth, but there was still a chance that he’d be a righteous ass about it. Your resolve to rekindle your relationship could easily backfire on you. But the genuine look on his face swayed your decision.

“It means you were right. It was all a farce because I didn’t want to date Crabbe and I wanted to get mother and father off my back at the same,” you admitted with a grimace, cracking one eye open to gauge his expression. When he remained quiet, you continued.

 “So, yeah,” you finished with a hiccup. “We’re not actually together.”

“What?”

You rolled your eyes and pushed his arm. “Don’t tell them please,” you pleaded weakly. “Mother and father.”

Draco shook his head and stared at you. “I can’t believe it.”

“I know.” You fell back on the bed. “I think we did too good of a job, didn’t we? I’ve even persuaded myself to be in love with him.”

“No,” Draco corrected. “Truthfully, I thought I was mistaken near the end, in France. The beginning was a different story. I saw you kicking him under the table and his arm fly up.” He smiled when he saw you laugh through your clogged nose—at least his commentary was taking your mind off things. “You’re also an awful liar.”

“That’s because we’re family,” you explained. You motioned from your eyes to his with two fingers. “I’ve been your sister forever. I also know when you lie. I’ve been observing you for twenty-one years. I know you wet your bed when you were six, when we shared a bed in Switzerland, so don’t try blaming it on me again.”

A rare smile snaked its way on his face, then fell again. “I,” he looked away, embarrassed. “I know we haven’t had the best relationship the past couple of years.”

“And whose fault was that?”

Draco paused, not used to taking the blame for anything. So, you took the chance to speak to him, sibling to sibling. “I’ve never stopped caring for you, you know. You’re my little brother.” Your voice caught. “I could never imagine being cruel to you, but at times, it was the only way to talk to you.”

“I… somewhere along the lines, I was….” He paused, a glitch in this new sentimental and human Draco. “Too uptight and thought you were smearing the family name with who you associated with.” He shuffled a little. “But you’re my sister, you’ve always been there for me, whether it was sticking up for me in front of our parents or getting Pansy off my back. So, I’m….”

“You’re?” you egged, the corner of your lips lifting.

“I’m sorry.”

He obviously wasn’t used to these foreign words rolling off his tongue, but you accepted his apology regardless. You knew he meant it.

You peered up at him. “Truce?”

He nodded. “Truce.”

Then he added, “And I wasn’t serious about Crabbe. Even I find him revolting. Truthfully, I haven’t talked to him in years. I was mortified to have that goof as a friend.”

“You don’t want Crabbe as your brother-in-law?” you pressed.

Draco made a face. “I would actually hope you’d get disowned if that ever happened. You’re miles above him in any sort of league.”

“I don’t know,” you said, fiddling with your hair. “Father seems to approve of him.”

Draco’s face contorted in disgust at the thought of Crabbe as family. “Whatever happens with Weasley, just know you’re too good for him, too. If he fucks up, then it’s his loss.”

“You’re serious?”

“Have I ever said anything so nice to you?”

“Never!”

You propelled yourself off the bed. “Can I have a—?” you asked, reaching your arms out.

Before you could finish, Draco rolled his eyes and pulled you into a hug. He was a little stiff and robotic, but it felt just like the old days.

“Don’t expect this all the time,” he scoffed, one of his hands giving you a pat on the back of your head. He looked up at the ceiling in embarrassment. “It’s only because you’re upset.”

“I will expect one every day from now on,” you mumbled, heart bursting with love for your baby brother. It felt good to have him back just like things were. “Three every day if Bill moves to Egypt.”

“He’s not moving,” Draco reiterated, his voice holding firm. “Not if you have anything to do with it.”

You reached up to ruffle his perfect blonde hair. You were so glad you’d come home first. At home, you’d realized, there was always someone’s arms to cry into. Most of the times, it was your mother’s, but you welcomed change.

You sprinted in record time to the penthouse entrance after arriving at the gardens outside of it. Draco’s words renewed your confidence and pointed you in the right direction. There was no way you’d let Bill leave without him knowing how you felt. And Draco had affirmed that it was his loss if you he let you go. Bill’s loss. He was losing you, not vice versa.

You were hoping to catch Bill at home before he departed to the Burrow. You might’ve still gone there, but to have to confess your feelings to him within earshot of his family would be something you’d never live down.

You rushed past the concierge in hot pursuit for the speaker. You pressed one palm flush against the cool metal, the other finger shaking as you hammered down the numbers to connect to his suite. A voice responded after you hit the call button: “Hello?”

“Hello, Bill?” you called out frantically.

“(Y/N)?” he responded, voice fuzzy through the speaker. “What are you doing here?”

“I think,” you lied through deep pants, “I might’ve left something in your suitcase.”

“Okay,” he responded without question. “Come on up.”

Your heart was beating a thousand miles a minute on the lift. You did a final one-over of your appearance and it looked like the enchantment did a swell job at fixing your puffy and red eyes. You repeated everything you were going to say in your mind, a jumble of words sewn together into a somewhat coherent speech on your way here.

You mulled over the conversation like it was a looping film reel in your head, black-and-white and chock full of static. You were going to sit on the couch with Bill, your tone calm like you were an actual adult. If he craved maturity, then that’s what you were going to give him. You were going to listen to him. You were going to be rational. You were going to say, “Bill, I have to admit, I’m disappointed that you hadn’t talked to me about moving to Egypt first. Because, over the months, I’ve developed feelings for you,” and let the conversation carry on.

When the lift doors opened, a bubble of anxiety swelled in your chest. The penthouse was almost bare. Was it like this the first time you arrived? No, there was a French press on the counter and pans and tasteful Percy-picked paintings adorning the walls. There definitely weren’t full cardboard boxes tucked to the side.

“Hey.” Bill ran down the steps with a roll of tape in one hand and a flat box in the other. “What can I help you look for?”

Bill’s weight—rhythmic thuds—on the stairs reassured you he was real, still here beside you and not three thousand miles away. This time tomorrow though, he might not be. The thought triggered a stinging behind your eyes. The sorrow quickly turned into frustration as you realized in the past week, he hadn’t even bother to initiate conversation. He was acting like France was nothing more than a dream, that he didn’t spend most of his time beside you, sharing tender laughs and honest conversations. Why was it you who had to do all the legwork?

‘Compose yourself, (Y/N),’ you scolded. ‘Be mature, be rational.’ You were going— no, there was no chance of that as soon as the thought of Bill never being by your side again infiltrated your head again. Despite thinking you were wrung dry from the morning, you felt tears streaming down your cheeks.

It was Bill’s turn to panic. “Hey,” he said, setting up the folded-up cardboard box against the wall and running over, “what’s wrong?”

“Why?” was all you could choke out. The rest of your rehearsed speech washed out of your mind immediately when you saw his face.

“Why what?” Bill repeated.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?!” you exclaimed, voice pitching up as more tears leaked out of your eyes. There was a patch of hoarseness quilted in your voice but you continued, strained, “Why would you move and not tell me?”

“What?” Bill said. His face contorted in confusion. “I thought you knew, (Y/N).”

“The thing is, I didn’t know!” You gasped for breath. “You don’t need my permission to do anything, but you could’ve at least told me!”

“I think,” Bill’s hands cupped your cheeks, his thumb stroking a tear away, “we need to sit down and talk because I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

You just nodded, Bill’s calm tone abating your anger and your desire to ask whose fault it was that you weren’t eye-to-eye. You sat down on the couch facing the window on his left. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, its red hues seeping into the room, and you knew dinner at the Burrow was about to start soon.

“Firstly,” Bill said, reaching for a box of tissues on the coffee table and offering you to draw one. You reached for one but kept your face turned the other way towards the kitchen, unwilling to let Bill see you like this. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You bit your lip, mind flittering between whether or not to tell him the truth.

Eventually, after a few seconds of silence, you relented. “If I tell you, will you promise not to say anything until I’m finished?”

From the corner of your eye, Bill nodded.

“Okay.”

“You,” you mumbled quietly at first. You had decided: fuck it. If Bill was moving to Egypt, then you should just say everything that was on your mind. It wouldn’t matter if he rejected you since he was going to be miles away.

His face was pensive, eyebrows knitting and eyes squinted, like he was combing over everything that’s ever left his mouth. He laid his right arm motionless on the armrest.

“Was it… something I—?” He quickly stopped himself when you gave him an irksome glance, and he realized he’d broken your first rule of the conversation: don’t speak.

Your voice gained traction and you took advantage of the momentum to admit, “It wasn’t what you said, it was everything you didn’t say.”

“Bill,” you continued, turning your head to look at him. Everything you wanted to say, every feeling and secret you kept locked up in gold chains for the past few weeks, snapped and was spilling out like a torrent. “I know I can’t change the year I was born. And trust me, I’ve been in a right state because I can’t be older or more mature like you. I can’t change who my parents are or who I am or how we get along. I can’t be what you want. And I’ve never even considered any of this to be important or ever thought about it, but in the past week, it’s all I ever thought about, and—”

You squeezed your eyes shut and blotted your tears onto the tissue in your hand.

“When I think about why, it always loops back around to you. Because you’re all I can think about now. It pains me to be something you don’t want, like I’m a puzzle piece that doesn’t belong. And it pains me that I matter so little to you that you can’t even share what goes on in your life with me. And it’s alright if you don’t feel the same way, but it’s taken such a toll on me, knowing you don’t care about me the way I care about you.”

Bill remained silent, his lips pressed tightly together. His hands were unmoving.

“Okay, I’m done,” you added quietly after taking a deep breath. You still couldn’t muster the courage to face him.

At the same time, Bill exhaled. “I don’t know what to respond to first,” he admitted. “But let’s go one by one, okay?”

Your body tensed. You liked talking a mile a minute, hoping that Bill would forget the barrage of words you hurled at him; Bill wanted to break everything down gently. Now, everything was in his hands and he could steer the conversation either way. You were dying for some semblance of your feelings being returned, but you were mainly preparing to be let down. At best, you would get closure before he left.

You sniffed, lips curving downwards, and nodded. 

“Firstly, there’s no need to change yourself,” Bill reminded. “You are lovely the way you are.”

“That’s not true,” you said with a shake of your head. “I’ve only shown you the worst parts of me, well, the real parts which are also the worst parts. For example, you’ve always talked so lovingly about your family. I’ve only talked mine down.”

“On the contrary,” Bill stated. “I think you have an excellent relationship with your family.” Bill shuffled slightly closer to you, trying to get you to look at him. “But tell me, (Y/N), what is this sudden fixation on our families?”

“I—you,” you stuttered, both at Bill’s inching closer towards you and the unabashed words that you were going to say, “you think it’s important, so it’s important to me.”

Bill chuckled. “People can be close to their family in different ways.”

“Can they?”

He nodded. “Have Fred and George told you? Mum was more upset than I’d ever seen her when they dropped out of school just months shy of finishing. She scolded them that entire week, then turned around to tell the neighbours how brilliant her boys were, the unconventional route they took and their success and all.”

He added, “She tells me women are turned off by my hair and earrings, then the same afternoon, tells her friends at her sewing club that I’m England’s most eligible bachelor. Doesn’t make any sense, really.”

You let out a nasally laugh that was more akin to a snort. “Really?”

“Really!” Bill affirmed with a smile. “You never know what your parents are saying behind your back.” He tilted his head, trying to see more of your face. “In France, your dad wouldn’t stop talking about you during the golf course. I thought he was boasting to your uncle Theodore as a game strategy, but he’d say the same to me in between holes.”

Bill continued on. “Draco told me you always stood up for him in front of your parents, and to his estranged lover.”

“Estranged—?”

“Pansy, I think her name was?” Bill filled in. “He was really mumbling the words out. Reckon he didn’t want to admit it.”

“Oh, right,” you said with a laugh. “She was a lot. Still a lot. Still in love with him.”

“You’ve had it harder than me, but that doesn’t mean you don’t love your family,” Bill stated. Then his tone bordered on teasing. “And (Y/N), there are other qualities I like in a woman, not just their relationship with family. I hope I’m not that one-dimensional.”

“I can imagine!” you sputtered, spinning around. “It was the only thing you told me and the only thing I had to go off of. I tried extrapolating the rest, but…”

You stopped talking when you realized Bill had your gaze in a headlock. That look in his eyes had you weak, some form of genuine curiosity and tenderness sparking in them. It was dangerous. It beckoned you to answer any question he asked.

“And what did you come up with?” he asked.

You grinded your teeth behind your sealed mouth. It was best to just say it, having already gone far past the point of no return. Still, you couldn’t help but feel mortified.

“I’d imagined you with a more mature woman. Someone who holds their liquor and doesn’t need assistance down the steps after a wedding. I’m the same age as Fred and George. They’re your younger brothers. Surely, you think of me the same.”

“I mean, yes, you are the same age, but I don’t think of you as a younger sister,” Bill explained. He scoffed before saying, “I mean, that would be unsettling if I did because—”

“Because?”

Bill’s lips suddenly quirked up into a sheepish grin. It was now his turn to be reluctant and quiet. His blue eyes shifted to a random corner of the room.

“Because what?” you fished, your palm flat on the couch in anticipation. Inside, your heart was erratic, pounding against your chest. You just needed to hear the right words to push you over the edge.

“I do fancy you.”

You jaw lowered slightly. Did you hear that right? He did fancy you. Suddenly, you were floating. Your ears were ringing, blood was rushing through your brain, euphoria cycling through your veins, and you felt almost delightfully faint. He didn’t just say that, did he? You were definitely imagining it. But you couldn’t have been, given how Bill’s face, and the flush of red by his ears, slowly dappling his cheeks over his freckles, was so clear.

“Can you say that again?”

Bill burst into laughter at your reaction. “It was hard enough the first time.” He remarked the pleading expression on your face before obliging. “(Y/N), I do fancy you quite a bit. I hope it was more obvious than not.”

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up,” you whispered. “Because it would kill me if you didn’t feel the same.”

“Do you remember what we said when we were at the shop, planning out,” he used air quotes, “our future?”

“What part of it?”

“When I said familiarity was uneasy.”

“Yes.” You could recall that perfectly. It was when he asked you why you didn’t choose his brothers to play out your schemes with.

“I’m glad we met under the pretenses we did,” Bill recalled. “We were able to show each other everything, no secrets or lies. And like I thought, there was nothing bad about you to uncover anyway.”

“I’m glad,” you sighed, feeling the last bit of stress dissipating from your body. “Because I thought I’d lost you for the same reason.”

Bill cleared his throat. “So, your age matters little to me. What matters to me is that you are intelligent, kind, and delightfully mischievous with your schemes,” the corner of his lip crooked up into a smile, “not to mention, you are really quite beautiful.”

Your eyes softened and your heart was beating erratically against your chest; you were just elated that Bill loved parts of you that you didn’t think he did.

Well, that was before he added, “And how could I forget? I do love your tendency to enjoy debauchery in the form of books.”

“Will you,” you grabbed a pillow beside you, “stop bringing,” and chucked it at Bill, “that up?!”

“There’s nothing wrong with that! It just means you are well-read,” Bill reasoned, evading the cushion flung his way. “If anything, learning to iron robes and how to best polish oxfords can be very useful.”

You gave him a pointed look.

“Not that I expect you to know,” he clarified quickly, horrified at how you could’ve interpreted it. He pointed to his chest. “I was keeping it in mind for myself.”

“You better not!” you chided, though a wide grin was breaking out across your face. You didn’t look intimidating in the slightest.

With Bill’s joke dispelling the tension, the air cleared enough to ask him another question, another itch only his words could scratch. “If it wasn’t my age, or my family, or even me, then what was, or is, stopping you from...?”

“I…” Bill trailed off. “You know, it’s never a good idea to get into one relationship too quickly after another. You could be using someone to satisfy a void.”

“Right,” you agreed without thinking. But what did you know? Bill had been previously committed, and you’d never been attached to anyone past three dates.

“I’m human, I’ve made mistakes, I try to learn from them.” His fingers ghosted over your temple before brushing a renegade hair from your face. “It would be unfair to drag you into something because I was selfish and unsure.”

“But it’s been almost a year now, surely?” you said. “I thought most people did this rebounding thing right after. I’m not saying it means you should be ready, I’ve just heard—”

“I know, I know,” he agreed. “But you’re just,” he stopped, looking down at you with a gentle and lopsided smile that made your legs wobbly, “something I wanted to take my time with. I don't know if I could live with myself if I hurt you in the slightest.”

You pressed, “Has your opinion changed at all? Since then?”

Bill grinned. “Of course it has.”

You felt more at ease now. “What’s changed it?”

“I missed you in the days we were apart. I really did, (Y/N).” His face showed calm but there was something frantic in his pulse, his words, his entire being. “All summer, Gringrotts wrote to me and wanted me to stay in Egypt as I was doing a fairly good job over there. The European branches sent Fleur to convince me to move to Belgium instead. But when I came home, I realized I missed being with my family.”

You listened wordlessly, wonderstruck at the fact that someone like Bill Weasley existed.

“With mum and dad getting older, I knew I needed to stay home and take care of them if anything happened. They’ve already lost Charlie to Romania and Percy to the Ministry.” He ended the statement with a chuckle.

“Bill, that is so very considerate of you,” you spoke through shallow breaths, “but after all this, you’re still moving?”

“Yes, but it’s not very far away.”

You raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Egypt is over three-thousand miles from here.”

“Egypt?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Where did you hear I was moving to Egypt?”

“From George, I—”

“I mean, I was considering it, but I’ve ultimately decided to stay here.” He pointed down with his index finger. “Shell Cottage is a very easy floo away from home.” Then, with an impish smile, he added, “But you know, my family wasn’t the only thing anchoring me.”

“It wasn't?”

A serious expression eclipsed Bill’s face. “I thought of you.”

He thought of you.

“You seem to have an influence over my decisions.” Bill leaned over and in a near whisper, continued. “I thought that if there was any chance that if we,” he looked right at you, “worked out in any sense, me being in Egypt would not make anything easier.”

“Why would we not work out?” you said, apprehension creeping in your voice. If Bill expressed any doubt this far in the conversation, you weren’t sure how you’d take it. He couldn’t take back a confession, he just couldn’t.

“(Y/N), you have to admit,” Bill began, catching your gaze again. You felt your heart stutter at his intense look and those mesmerizing baby blues. “It’s been confusing for me, too. You chose me as your fake lover based on things you were opposed to: my hair, tattoos, my age. Especially my age, I’ve heard. How was I supposed to ask you about it?”

“What?” you blurted out. “Bill, I adore the first two things and I’ve stopped thinking about how old you were. It never even crosses my mind anymore unless someone is bringing it up.”

You took one of his larger hands, heart swelling at how natural it felt, and urged him to look at you. You were trying to convey your thoughts earnestly through touch, like your hands were intertwined with his heart.

“The goal was to make my parents upset, and I thought it worked but it turns out they really like you, especially the golf abilities you’ve kept hidden for thirty years,” you admitted. You reached out to gingerly stroke Bill’s hair, the short locks softly sliding past your fingers. “I truthfully adore all these things: your long hair, tattoos, piercings. And if it were up to me, you’d never cut your hair again.”

“Shame,” he said. “I was starting to like the length. It’s rather airy in the summer.”

“Just the summer, then. I’m willing to negotiate.” You pointed to the fang earring. “But this,” you gently touched it with your free hand, “is non-negotiable. In fact, you could use another piercing or two.”

“Noted,” Bill responded.

“And please, keep these rings,” you mumbled, your fingers falling to admire the bands of silver taut on his fingers. Your voice was now barely audible as you whispered to yourself, “This is quite literally the most attractive thing I’ve seen on a man.”

“What was that?” Bill asked, leaning in unbearably close now. You felt a spark on your lips where was looking.

“Nothing, I, er,” you fumbled, trying to redirect his attention. When you looked up, you saw it: the last object of your adoration. It was his eyes – those blue lifelines to his heart. You leaned in, just inches away from him and the closest you’d ever been, and placed a hand softly on his face, unknowingly flittering over a scar. “Your eyes are beautiful, I… there are no words to describe them.”

He brushed a loose strand of your back and tucked it behind your ear. “Then don’t.”

That was all he said before he closed the short distance between you. Your heart soared when you felt the rougher texture of his lips on your soft ones. You knew at the very least, you had to close your eyes like he had, but you wanted to see him for just another second. You wanted to soak in Bill like he was the sea, let him wash over every sense—sight, touch, taste—you had.

Bill was gentle, gradually easing you into the kiss, giving you air when he felt you needed it. The thing was that you didn’t need air, you just needed more of him. He chuckled when he felt you nudging him closer.

Half of you knew he was physically here, while the half was wondering if you were in some daydream. So, you treaded along precariously, trying not to disturb this lucid dream you found yourself in. Merlin knew how much you would’ve given to kiss Bill Weasley just a month ago.

You drifted from the kiss slowly to confirm something. “So, does this mean…?”

“I’d like to have you as my girlfriend, if you’d have it.” He stated it like there was any chance of hesitation on your end, which there wasn’t.

“Bill,” you exhaled with elation, letting out a relieved breath. “That’s not even a question.”

He moved both his hands to caress the back of your head, fingers tangling with your soft locks. His grip was firmer when he pulled you back towards him.  Your lips met again, but this time, he deepened the kiss, was a touch more dominant than he was just seconds ago. You obliged immediately, waltzing with him in the intimate dance. Surely, you weren’t as experienced as Bill was, but he guided you perfectly, urging you to part your lips with a gentle prod of his tongue. He tilted his head to gain better access just as his hands slithered down your body. He gripped your waist firmly, and then did something that sent a shiver down your spine.

He let out a low, guttural groan.

“You are worth the wait,” he breathed huskily. “You’ve been driving me insane for months, (Y/N).”

Before you could flush even deeper at his words, he quickly pulled you over his lap so your legs were splayed out on each side of him. Your pulse grew frantic as both you and Bill shed any sense of slow and steady and replaced it with fast and vigorous. If you weren’t already overheated, you sure were now, feeling the harder parts of him against parts of you that were aching, hearing his desire for you aloud. You unknowingly grinded into him, trying to dissipate the want building. You were a mess of heat and occasionally, the clashing of teeth, which even if imperfect, spoke to the feverish pitch things were reaching.

His hands travelled past the hem of your skirt, doting the back of your thighs until they were positioned on your rear. He kneaded the soft skin and it was your turn to groan.  

Bill’s eyes darkened slightly as you straddled his lap. His fingers tightened on your skin until you were sure they’d leave red marks. “I’m a man, (Y/N). I have my own urges to act upon, but.”

“But?” you asked, feeling whiplashed at Bill’s sudden stop.

“But, I do think I should take you somewhere nice first.” He slicked his hair back and tilted his head up to look at you. “That’s only proper, isn’t it?”

“I suppose?” you responded with an inflection, your heart fluttering in hummingbird beats, much too fast to speak coherently. You still felt like you’d ascended to the heavens, your mind in a state so blissful and delirious that you were half-responding to Bill. “I don’t mind either way, really, I…”

“Alright,” Bill agreed. “Then we’ll sort out how you’d like to proceed after the dinner I promised mum to go to.”

“The dinner,” you repeated. You’d forgotten all about it in the heat of things. You were just overjoyed it wasn’t a farewell dinner for Bill. “I can wait until you’re back.”

“What are you talking about?” he questioned with a laugh. He pushed himself off the couch with you in tow and your legs wrapped around his waist. “We’re going to the dinner.” Then he leaned in again, his breath fanning your face. “Together.”

“Are you sure?” you asked shyly, nervous at the prospect of facing the entire Weasley family and more. “I mean, a family dinner. It seems like a big thing, doesn’t it?”

With Bill hoisting you up, you were finally taller than him. You were privy to things you didn’t normally get to see, like how his long lashes framed his eyes, how sturdy the bridge of his nose was, and how tempting his lips looked pulled into a smirk. If you had a say, you’d forego the dinner and kiss him all night instead.

 “You took me to one,” he countered.

“Under false pretenses,” you said, scrunching your face up.

“Okay, consider this a family dinner that is actually entirely truthful. This is a second chance to do things right and not lie about anything.”

“Who said I was lying about anything?” you snickered. “Maybe I do want seven children and to never retire and to fly around in the Ford Anglia everywhere.”

Bill shook his head. “I don’t think anyone would be happy with oil leaking from the sky. Kingsley would tax you for environmental damages under the new green law.” He tossed a wink your way, knowing exactly how to counteract your sarcasm, and said, “But I would be happy to oblige your other requests.”

“No!” you yelped, clasping your hands over your mouth. The thought of the rest of your life inundated by seven kids and little Freds and Georges clinging to your sides was a nightmare. How did Molly do it? Bill was forcing himself not to laugh. You knew he was only joking, but you couldn’t help but give him a little slap on the arm.

You looked directly at him. “In all seriousness, should we tell them one-by-one?” you asked.

“What about?”

“About us,” you responded. “We shouldn’t give your mother a heart attack.”

“(Y/N),” Bill assured with a breath-taking smile, spinning you around in his arms. The look on his face was luminous. He really was the sun that broke the storm. “We’re going to tell the whole world tonight.”

Epilogue

Standing on the hilly and grassy entrance of the Burrow, Bill was appraising you with concern. He could sense the rigidity in your body as he held your hand.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“Relieved and nervous,” you explained. “Relieved because this isn’t your farewell party. Nervous because it’s your family.”

“You know my family,” Bill reminded. “There is nothing to worry about.”

“Are you completely certain this is a good idea?” you asked. “I don’t want to overwhelm them.”

“I’ve never had a bad idea,” he boasted with a toothy smile.

Bill pushed the creaky wooden door open for you, his hand still clasped on yours, unwilling to let go of your fingers in case you wanted to escape. He ducked under the doorframe as he entered. You followed him into the Burrow—Bill’s childhood home. You’ve been here before but this just felt different, like you were now a part of the family and not just an extension of it. You shied away, thinking Molly would be right there. She wasn’t. You saw Percy in the living room, turned away and nose in a book. Charlie, who you were surprised to see had returned from Romania, was pouring himself beer from the pitcher. Molly was snipping herbs from her potted plant by the windowsill, oblivious to your arrival.  

Charlie was the first to look up, being the closest to you, at you and your hands intertwined. A slow, devious, and somewhat knowing smile creeped up on his face. Bill shushed him and Charlie covered his mouth with his free hand. Of course, Charlie remained silent, tempted to see how his mother would react.

“Hi, mum,” Bill called from across the room.

“Bill, darling,” she responded offhandedly, preoccupied by the finishing touches she was putting on her vegetable roast. She was slow to turn around, more focused on carrying a heavy dish with her oven mitts. And when she did, her eyes landed on your faces first.

“(Y/N)!” she called. “How nice of you to bring her, Bill.”

Her eyes were still locked on your face and hadn’t made the connection. Your breath caught when Molly’s eyes began trailing downwards in what felt like an eternity.

You didn’t know what to expect, but you didn’t expect to cause such a scene. Molly literally dropped her dish on the floor at the sight of your hand in Bill’s. The ceramic dish shattered and the vegetable roast flew in all directions. Percy jolted from his position on the couch, his cry overshadowed by the stew boiling over and the kettle wailing beside it.

“I knew it!” she exclaimed. She seemed so flustered she didn’t know which way to go—to embrace you or to clean up the mess on the floor or to turn off the stove with the overflowing stew. “I had my suspicions, oh, I—”

In desperation, she called out for her husband to help with one of those tasks. “Arthur!”

He quickly ran in, cheeks rosy, and out of breath.

“What’s the danger?” he panted, looking left and right.

“Oh, Arthur!” Molly exclaimed with a roll of her eyes, her hand on her hip. “There’s no danger.” She pointed to where you stood. Arthur, still unaware, looked over. Bill raised your hand and gave it a little shake. Molly couldn’t control her excitement, so she ran over. You imagined she was tumbling towards Bill, but she chose you instead. You let go of Bill’s hands to hug her.

“My future daughter-in-law!” she exclaimed, patting your cheeks. “Oh, I knew it! I just knew it. You are just so perfect for my Bill.”

“I think that’s an approval from mum,” Bill said to Charlie who was standing offside.

“She’s already making Christmas sweaters for your children,” Charlie teased with a snicker.

“Bill! Come and help me with the vegetables,” Molly commanded, sending over an apron from the closet that was likely too small for him.

Bill looked at the flimsy piece of fabric in his hands. He only had a couple inches of string to work with. “Mum, I think this is Ginny’s—”

Then, Molly pointed to her spilt dish. “Arthur, sweetie, clean this up. And (Y/N),” she guided you by the shoulders and towards the couch where Percy was, “you just sit here and Percy will bring you a beverage.”

“I told you, mum’s a modern feminist,” Bill said to you with a wink. He managed to get a tiny knot from the apron. “How do I look?”

“You look fit,” you complimented. The tiny apron was accentuating all the right muscles. “And in regards to your mother, rightfully so. Millicent be damned.”

“I’m not opposed to her tips in the later chapters,” Bill added with a smirk, causing your face to flush.

“I’ve read it so many times, I have it memorized,” you assured. “You’ll have to find out later.” Bill’s mouth rounded in surprise first, not used to this side of you, before morphing into a more smouldering expression.

“Hey!” Charlie interjected from across the room. “Just because you’re together doesn't mean we all have to be subject to this.”

“You’ve read this book, Charlie?” Bill asked, steering his brother away. “Let me tell you all about (Y/N)’s favourite author…”

“Watch it,” you whispered in the most intimidating tone you could muster.

Bill quickly spring into action with his mother who was appraising his domestic skills. You admired his tall figure, his fingers lithely paring a potato with a peeler.

Bill’s tall figure was quickly replaced by Percy, who looked abashed as he brought a beer over to you.

“I….”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. “I know. I’m a selfish person, I’m working on it.”

“You’re not selfish. I shouldn’t have jumped to assumptions,” he conceded. “It’s a bad habit of mine.”

“It’s not,” you reassured.

Percy nodded and let a moment of silence linger over you before asking, “Say, how did you arrange that meeting with Rookwood?”

“Would you like to know?” you said with a smile. “I can set you up.”

At dinner, Bill sat beside you. You didn’t need much integrating or any introductions; you’d been here already and there was already a seat for you. Occasionally and to your pleasure, he’d take your hand under the dinner table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“So,” Molly started as she sat down. She looked directly at you two. “I’d like to know this happened.”

Neither you or Bill could contain your laughter, given the wild story you were about to tell. You were the first to recover, and slowly, you began, “It started, around a table just like this…”

After dinner and dessert was had, you and Bill departed for the backyard. You were swinging with him on a hammock, away from the commotion inside, and watching the stars. They were exceptionally clear tonight, or maybe it was that being with Bill made the world slightly brighter.

“Bill?” you asked, snuggling in closer to him to shield yourself from the cold.

He turned to you. “Hm?”

“You’re coming to Nice next year, too?”

“Of course,” he responded, like there wasn’t even a flicker of doubt.

“And the next?”

“And the next,” he affirmed. “I wouldn’t even question it.”

“Good,” you said with a blissful sigh.

Under the starry night, you counted your blessings and thanked the heavens as you soaked Bill in. After days and weeks of fluxing emotions, he’d made it clear tonight: he was yours, yours for the rest of your life if you made sure of it.

Unbeknownst to you, the twins sat on the couch inside murmuring amongst themselves.

“You cheated,” Fred accused. “He wasn’t going to Egypt anyway.”

“That wasn’t one of the rules, Freddie. It’s not like I made them kiss or anything,” George said with a shrug. “I only accelerated what was going to eventually happen.”

Fred cursed under his breath as he gave George galleons he lost. That was a good whole month of pay, all gone! 

“I thought she’d be a little more resilient than that.”

“Hm, shows you don’t know her that well,” George said with a smirk, depositing the money in his pockets.

“I hate to say that it was well-played, but poor (Y/N). You did a number to her heart there.” Fred said with a pout. “I think she really thought he was moving to Egypt.”

“Now our poor sweet (Y/N), stolen by the treacherous grasp of our eldest brother,” George lamented.

“Not like she would’ve chosen you anyway.”

Fred placed his hand over his heart, offended. “Nor would she you.” Then he leaned back on the couch, watching you from outside the window, swaying on the hammock with Bill. You’d been out there for almost an hour.

George spun the gleaming gallon on the table.  

“Now, next on the list of affairs to bet on: when’s the wedding?”

<<CHAPTER DIRECTORY (READ IT AGAIN!)

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the way that bill weasley IS SO FINE!! THE MAN IS LITERALLY THE DEFINITION OF PERFECT AND BEAUTIFUL AJDNDNCJFNFN

LOOK AT HIM I CANT -

Oh how I've missed these two!! I didn't even realize this was out until like 15 minutes ago. So happy I decided to check tumblr!

Before I Knew You - Part Twelve

Bill Weasley x Reader

Masterlist, Part One

Summary: You’ve spent years training under Madam Pomfrey in the hopes that you would join the Healers at St. Mungo’s at graduation. But in the aftermath of the death of Albus Dumbledore, you chose to join the Order instead. When you’re forced into hiding, you find yourself alone with Bill Weasley and his new wolfish tendencies.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: 18+, typical canon warnings, age gap, oral sex (male recieving), angst, allusions to knotting, secrets. Minors DNI.

A/N: Thank you Anon for the inspiration 💕

It was warm, sweat dampening your skin. Something heavy on your chest. Wind on your ear. Your eyes opened with effort. 

Bill remained sleeping peacefully. An ache in your pelvis bloomed as you squirmed out from under him. With effort you stood. The amount of spend that rushed down your thighs was staggering. Despite the soreness there didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong. You ran a diagnostic to be sure. Everything was as it should be. Better for Bill.

Still, your trip to the bathroom was an extended one. You had to sit under the stream of water instead of standing in the shower. When you wobbled back to the room, you were careful to avoid the puddle you’d left on the floor. It was still early. Or late? The sun wasn’t up.

“Bill?”

He groaned as you shook his shoulder. Mumbled something you didn’t understand. It took several more shakes for him to open his eyes. More words you didn’t understand. They didn’t even sound like English. You gave up, laid a kiss on his forehead, and covered him in a new blanket. As you dressed, you saw the evidence of his affections. Bruises on your hips. Hickies and bite marks along your neck and chest. You’d have to sacrifice a bit of Dittany to heal them. 

With Bill deep in sleep, you didn’t feel the need to be quiet. You set the kettle on the stove and opened your notebook to a fresh page.

—

Your third cup had grown cold as you went over the notes again and again. There was too much missing. Too little information about werewolves and nothing about whatever in between Bill was. The little you’d documented was nowhere near enough to understand what had happened. You needed more. 

—

The sun rose higher over the hill, lighting the homes dotting the countryside. Dew wet the hem of your pants as you strided across the lawn. It was early, only a few minutes after sunrise, but you knew they’d be awake. Your knock was too loud for the quiet morning.

Tonks opened the door confused. “Is Bill okay?”

“As fine as he can be with everyone keeping secrets.”

Her face pinched. She checked over your shoulder before moving aside and ushering you in. “Tea or firewhiskey?”

With a grimace as you sat at her small, round table, you answered, “Firewhiskey.” It’s like deja vu as she filled a glass with too much alcohol and set it in front of you. The burn it left was equally as familiar.

She sat across from you, nails clanking against her own glass. “I told Remus it was a bad idea to not tell you everything.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t understand what it’s like to be on this side of things, seeing someone you love go through that sort of thing it’s damn near debilitating, ain’t it?” She downed the glass. “He forgets the bond works both ways.”

“Bond?”

She poured more Firewhiskey into both glasses. “The mating bond.”

—

Bill was still asleep when you returned. You cleaned the remnants of the night before, put a pot of stew to simmer on the stove, returned to the bed, and stared at him. Sweat drenched hair clung to his forehead. Mouth parted with the tiniest trail of drool. An occasional snore that blew across your face. The raised edges of scarred skin contrasted by the smooth expanse between them. He was ethereal. Branded by some demonic force, but still divine. 

And yours. And you his. 

Mated. Bonded. Irrevocably intertwined. Tonks’ revelation left you somewhere between relief and despair. There was no choice in this, not for either of you. Magic had decided and weaved a connection so thoroughly through your beings that there was no hope of any sense of peace or happiness without the other. 

“It doesn’t make it any less real,” Tonks had said quietly in the doorway before you left. Remus had gotten in a few minutes before, somehow convinced you’d only come by to give him a bottle of Murtlap Essence. As angry as you were with him, you couldn’t add that burden when he could barely stand. “What we feel for them, it’s not any less real.”

Your fingers brushed across his forehead, pushing back the hair. All the feelings and desires you had for him, the ones you’d felt so much guilt for, he had them too. You’d known that before. Even if you’d tried to explain it away, deep down you’d known. Maybe you’d been trying to protect yourself. Maybe you’d been trying to protect him. It didn’t matter. All that repression and denial had been pointless. Had hurt more than helped him. 

That’s why last night happened. She’d called it a knot. Her information was limited, only her own experience and what little Remus had been able to learn from his time amongst different communities. And even that was dubious as the reasoning varied amongst groups. Some thought it was for mating, to try to increase the extremely low birth rate, while others thought it was meant to strengthen the bond between mates, and still others thought it was meant to be some form of rejeunitve ritual to contrast the extreme tolls of the transformation. Tonks' best guess was that it was somewhere in between all three. 

They tended to deal with it in the days before and after the full moon. “It’s usually quite pleasant,” she’d said. “We just lay together for a few minutes until the swelling goes down. That first full moon though,” her whole body shivered, “it was like it’d built up when we were dancing around the bush. I was sore for a good two weeks. But Remus looked better than he had in months.”

You could have helped him sooner. Forgone all the angst and pain. If only you’d known before it had gotten complicated. 

“Does anyone else know about the mate stuff?”

Sadness had etched into her brow. “Not anyone still alive.”

It’s when the sun is at its highest in the sky that he finally wakes. You were in the garden when he joined you, fresh from the shower, clad on in boxers, and holding a bowl of stew. “I’d say morning,” you teased, “but that was a couple hours ago.”

He gave a dopey, lopsided grin. Beautiful. He was so beautiful.

You stood, dusting off the dirt, and went to his side. The heat from his body seeped through the fabric of your shirt. With a tilt of your head, you pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

He sniffed. "Tonks came by?"

"No, I, uh, went to see her," you said, heading inside.

"Alone?" His hand grabbed yours, and he spun you toward him.

"In hindsight, stupid, I know, but," you shrugged, "I was worried about you. About what had happened last night."

"You should've woken me."

"I tried." You laid your free hand on his chest. "I won't do it again."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, love." He pulled you against him, his arms tight around you. His cheek rested against the top of your head. His breath blew over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “What’d she say?”

You shrugged again. “It was just some leftover physiological stuff from wolves. Might happen again tonight and will every full moon, but it’ll be less intense. Nothing to worry about.”

—

Two full moons passed. The cottage had become more active. Order members were frequent visitors now. Between physicals, injuries, and the brief run of a rather vicious flu, you were kept fairly busy as a Healer. And when you weren’t, the various members had worked with you on improving your defensive spells. You weren’t great, but you had gotten better. To the point you no longer stayed at the cottage at all times. You were at Order meetings now and had been waiting at their rendezvous point during their important missions. 

One of those missions had been raiding an apothecary hidden amongst the hills beyond a muggle village. Stealing wasn’t something the Order typically approved of, but as the owner had taken out several ads in the Daily Prophet boasting they were working on a potion that would detect Muggleborns, an exception had been made. Its success left you with a diverse collection of ingredients and mediocrely brewed potions. Including an extensive stash of Occamy eggs.

Your first attempt at the Wolfsbane Potion hadn’t been successful, but you had high hopes for the second.

“…four, five, six,” George counted his stirs and stepped aside for you to wave your wand over the cauldron again. You waited. His nails tapped against the counter. Nothing. You covered his hand to stop them. Your shoulders slumped. Another failure. You turned away from the offending cauldron and began to clean up the prep. “It’s a difficult potion,” George said, grabbing the chopping boards and utensils to walk over to the sink. “We’ll get it next time.”

“Yeah,” you agreed halfheartedly over the sound of the running water, “next time.”

George was one of your more constant companions. Fred had been too, early on. He hadn’t been by in over a month. “Tomorrow?”

The cabinet shut with a loud slam that made you cringe. “Can’t.” Without a word, he handed you a clean, damp rag before returning to scrubbing a knife. “Remus wants everyone to start carrying some chocolate at all times, but we don’t really trust the wizard stuff anymore. He dropped off a satchel of some muggle ones I’ve got to melt down and add some Anti-Melting Potion to. Think I might try infusing some with dittany, see how it works out.”

“Think we could try some with Wit-Sharpening Potion? Those things always made me feel foggy.”

Your hand stopped mid swipe. “That’s bloody brilliant, George.”

He laughed. “No need to sound so surprised. Got a whole line of potion infused sweets, you know?”

“Oh I remember,” you said, a smile crawling up your cheeks. “Bane of my existence during exam week.”

George was great at distractions. He kept the conversation going, talking about the different techniques they had started making their own. He talked and talked without mentioning the still full cauldron as he helped prepare dinner. He had you laughing at some story of the time they’d slipped a Fire-Breath Butterscotch into their mum’s candy bowl and Arthur nearly burnt down the Burrow. “Hell of a Howler Mum sent. Would’ve made a great ad if we could’ve saved it.” We. Always we. Never him and—

“How is Fred?” you asked, pushing onion around the pan.

“Better. Not coming around to it yet, but,” he shrugged, “not as angry.”

The oil sizzles and bubbles as the chicken hits it, bouncing up to try to burn you for the disruption. “He doesn’t have any right to be angry. It's not like we knew.”

“Maybe not, but he still is. Keeps saying Bill planned this all out to get you to himself. And yes it’s ridiculous,” he said before you could, “and I’m sure he knows it’s ridiculous, but he’s hurt. Wants to believe if things had worked out differently, if he’d been here more or if you’d been with us instead, it’d be him.”

“It doesn’t matter how differently things could have gone, it’d still be Bill.”

“Maybe. It’s the what ifs that make it hard for him.”

There were no what ifs. It was always, would always, be Bill. But you couldn’t tell him that. “I just wish he’d be happy for his brother. After he’s gone through, he deserves some happiness.”

George’s hand rested on your shoulder and pressed an affectionate kiss to your hair. “And so do you. Don’t let Fred’s jealousy ruin it. He’ll come around eventually. Might take a close call or two, but eventually.”

—

Bill sniffed your hair and made a face. “George is lucky he’s my second favorite brother.”

“Mine too.”

“As long as I’m first.”

“First? Why on earth would you be first? No, no, it’s Charlie, obviously, then George, then Percy when he gets his head out of his ass, then Ron, that ghoul pretending to be Ron right now, and lastly Fred if he ever gets his head out of his ass.”

“I don’t even make the list?”

You grinned up at him. “Of my favorite brother-in-laws? What, you think me and Ginny are a better fit?”

He growled, though it was more a laugh. “You love riling me up, don’t you?”

“I would never do such a thing.” 

—

“Higher,” Remus said, nudging your arm. “Keep your feet firm. It’s got a kick.” That you didn’t need to be told. You’d already been knocked on your ass twice. “When you’re ready.” One breath. Two. The spell shot out, turquoise light hitting the dummy square in the chest. It flew back, arms flailing, and crashed against the cliff face a hundred yards away. The impact made it shatter. “That was fantastic!” 

You didn’t share his smile. It was only meant to knock them back and incapacitate a target. Not decimate it. “That would’ve killed a person.”

“Yes,” he agreed, more solemn. “A person who would have no qualms over killing you. Or anyone else. Sometimes we’ll have to make difficult decisions to protect the people we love.”

The wand in your hand seemed heavy. Magic had the ability to do so much good. And the ability to do so much evil. “I think that’s enough for today.” He let you retreat into the cottage without a fight. Where George would have spoken, Remus was silent. He let you wade in your own thoughts undisturbed.

—

24 December 1989

“I don’t understand,” your mother said, staring at the wall of potions. “Can they cure colds or heal wounds or regrow bones?”

You nodded eagerly, gripping her hand. You knew she’d be impressed. “All of the above! And more! I can even learn to make them! There’s also healing spells I’ll get to do when I’m older. Incredible, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Incredible.”

You sat on the stairs, head against the wall listening to them talk. Mum had been sad after you’d gotten back. You knew it because she’d gotten out her crossstitch she hadn’t touched in a year. You’d thought it was because Dad had been working and couldn’t see. But when you told her you could bring dad another day she’d said no. They’d sent you off to bed early too, claiming an early day.

“...all these medicines and treatments when just a couple drops of these potions could cure it all. They can regrow bones, Alan. And that’s just the beginning of it. And they keep it to themselves. These potions could be saving countless lives and they’re keeping it to themselves.”

3 March 1990

“The separation of our worlds keeps more Muggles safe. While we might be able to save some, if they were to be more exposed to the things of our world—like Dragon Pox or misfired spells—far more would die. Their bodies aren’t built for magical intervention. We save more by staying away.”

1 July 1990

Your parents smiled warmly, waving their arms from their spot outside one of the gift shops. You pulled your trunk along and tried to match their smiles. So much had changed since Christmas. They’d never step on Platform 9 ¾ again. It was for the best, Dumbledore had assured. It was better for them to forget about magic and the medical miracles it could perform. They’d be safer and happier that way.

Your parents wrapped you in a tight hug. “Your marks were fantastic,” your father said. “We’re so proud of you, Bug.”

— 

“They don’t remember that you’re a witch?”

Bill had found you on the floor of the room you shared, the photos Corbin had taken of your parents spread across it. You didn’t have any other photos of them. “Mum had a kid die on her after a bad car accident. She knew magic would’ve saved him. So she started reaching out to Dumbledore, refusing to believe there was no good reason to keep magic out of Muggle medicine. Not if it could save people.” Her head was thrown back in a laugh at something your father said in one of the photos. “She became a risk to the Statue of Secrecy. Dumbldore acted before the Ministry could find out. And my dad couldn’t know if mum didn’t. Too risky.”

“Where did they think you were every year?”

“Some prestigious school over in Finland. They think I’m over there now, working on a degree.”

“But they got you the farm.”

“Thought it was better than dumping money into an account in my name. An abandoned farm didn’t need upkeep.” Your fingers brushed over one of the photos of them having dinner at a restaurant they loved. When you were younger, before McGonnagal had come along, you’d go as a family every Thursday. “Sometimes I think Dumbledore’s charm worked too well. Like they forget I exist when I’m not around. I’m not sure they’ll notice if I never see them again.”

“Of course they’d notice.”

You didn’t argue. They were happier living in ignorant bliss. Just like he was. “You’re right,” you said, wiping your eyes and gathering the photos. His hands joined yours in collecting them. You smiled along as he said how much you looked like your father.

—

Blue smoke billowed out the cauldron. You blinked. Blue smoke. Blue smoke. Blue smoke!

George’s excited yelps sounded far away, even as he picked you up and spun you around. “We did it! We fucking did it!” 

—

Bill’s focus on the paper strayed as you sank to your knees in front of the couch. “What are you doing, love?”

Your fingers teased up the side of his legs. "Nothing." Your eyes locked onto his and you smiled innocently. You held them until they fluttered shut as one of your hands grazed his clothed cock that twitched from the attention. He was already hard. Fingers trailed light paths up and down his cock, his hips jerking upwards, but he didn’t say a word. The paper crumpled slightly, his knuckles going white.

"Something wrong, Bill?"

His head dropped back and the paper fell forgotten to the floor. "You're a brat, you know that?"

"Oh?" Your hand cupped his cock, rubbing the palm against it. He let out a groan.

"You want me to fuck you, is that it?"

"No," you said, "not yet." With practiced ease, your fingers undid his pants. His hips lifted so you could pull them and his boxers down to his knees. You licked your lips at the sight. "Right now I want to hear what pretty noises you can make for me." Before he could reply, your mouth wrapped around his cock. Bill cried out, hips jerking. You relaxed your jaw and added your hand to his base to help with the size.

"Fuck," he breathed, "fuck, fuck."

You sucked and bobbed. Your free hand slid along his thighs, dipping to brush against his sack every so often. He moaned and groaned. His hands clutched to the couch so tightly you were surprised it didn't rip.

"Love, I'm close," he gasped, his hips lifting. You maintained the rhythm you’d built, only deviating by using your hand to cup his balls. His cock twitched in your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat. His back arched as he spilled. You swallowed all of him, the salty taste familiar. You let him slip out after one last swipe of your tongue made him shiver and rested your head against his thigh, listening to him catch his breath.

"I don't know if I should be offended," you mused. "I don't think fucking me has ever made you cum that fast."

He let out a breathy laugh. "Only cause I have amazing restraint, love." His hand lifted your chin and he leaned forward. "Your mouth is wonderful," he said between slow kisses, "but your cunt is damn near enchanted." His wandering hands made his intentions clear. 

But the tell-tell pop of Apparition had him groaning, already working on tucking himself away. Considering the amount of time you’d almost been walked in on, this wasn’t nearly as bad. At least he got to finish.  Lee's voice traveled through the cracked window, "Do you need a minute to make yourselves presentable?"

"Oh they better not." George's disgusted voice rose to add, "You knew we were coming over!"

Bill's eyebrow rose and you grinned back innocently. “It’s a good thing you were quick.” A quick peck against his incoherently mumbling lips and then you stood, heading towards the bathroom. "It's safe!"

—

Bill was out of bed before you even sat up, wand in hand. “Stay here,” he whispered as an unfamiliar voice called out his name over the knocking. You followed. The sun hadn’t risen yet and that cottage was still dark. You stayed behind the couch as he approached the door. Wand pointed, he opened it.

Ron stood there. He looked thinner than the last time you’d seen him. His hair longer, a patchy beard on his face. Leaves and twigs clung to his clothes, there were scratches across his face, and mud caked on his shoes and the hem of his pants. 

Bill hadn’t lowered his wand. “What did Percy find in his stocking Christmas of ‘89?”

“Gnome dung,” he said, voice hoarse. “But Pettigrew would know that too. You should ask something more recent.”

Bill ignored the suggestion. He pitched forward to embrace his youngest brother, nearly sending the two of them tumbling in the sand. “And Harry? Hermione?”

“Alive, but,” his voice cracked and he clung to his brother, “I left ‘em. I left and I can’t go back.”

Before I Knew You Tag List: @believinghurts @frozenwisteria @maralisa124 @kyla-hale-blog @voiddylanobrosey @pearlsofme @minstens @sofriane @sheeple @hotleaf-juice @elnmop @sweetphantomofyournoodler @remuslupinscumslutt @thesecretwriter @cali-girl-in-heart @thxtmarvelchick @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @bitch-biblioklept @unstableyetloveable @psamathegoesrawr @camelliaflow3r @undeniablyyou @luciferismybabe @luvrsbian @pink-hufflepuff @queen-of-elves @bountydroid @solkee @m-rae23 @queenofbeingdepressed @smolmexicangirl @mae-foster @seb-buckybarnes @idga-fudgeicle @jessyballet

HP Tag List: @bamboozledflamplant @squishytomatoes @benonlinear @byelannie @pancakefancake

OMG😭🫶🏼

Willow

Pairing: Bill Weasley x Fem! Reader

Summary: The story of how you and Bill got together.

Word count: 3.0k

Warning/s: age gap! (reader is 20, Bill’s around 25-26) , mentions of scars

Note: had been listening to T. Swift’s willow for the longest time and thought about ‘hey this kinda has some ‘falling in love with bill weasley’ vibes to it’ thus this being born! and this is my first songfic on here as well i’m quite proud tbh. please like and reblog if you enjoyed, feedbacks are much welcome <3

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night

Rough on the surface, but you cut through like a knife

You were currently in the Burrow along with Harry and Hermione. Deciding to spend the summer with the Weasley’s as Ron suggested.

“Hey give it back (Y/N)!” Hermione shouts playfully, you are holding her diary in your hands as the night progressed. You were all in the living room, it was too early (it was also kind of late) to go to bed anyways.

“Ooh what’s this? Ron look it’s for you.” You teasingly said as you saw your friend’s name scribbled in her handwriting. Ron piped his head up at the mention of his name, Harry looking back and forth at the scene before him while Hermione stared at you with wide eyes “Don’t you dare! Accio!” Hermione says, pulling out her wand. You felt the pull of the book eager to get out of your grasp and you let it, snapping back to Hermione’s hand.

“What’s it about?” Ron asks, looking at Hermione “At least tell me you’ve been writing good things on there.” Which earned him a smack on the head with the said diary, him letting out an ‘ow’ as both you and Harry laughed. “Oh believe me, expect the worse, Ronald.” Hermione retorts with a now growing smile on her face.

You were about to speak when the door opened suddenly, knocking you on the ground face first with a rather harsh thud. It didn’t occur to you that you were standing in front of the Burrow’s front door now you suffered the consequences. But wait, who was there? Who the hell opens doors at midnight? You propped yourself up, rubbing your arm, a throbbing pain was felt. You were about to face the intruder when they were already the first one to grab ahold of you, taking your shoulder and facing you towards them.

And if it was an open-shut case

I never would’ve known from that look on your face

Lost in your current like a priceless wine

“Dear Merlin, my apologies.” You then registered it was a man. Your eyes squinted, taking in the features of the person in front of you.

Red hair like the rest of the Weasley’s yet his hair brushed at his shoulders, striking blue eyes, and a rather noticeable scratch-like scar on the left side of his face. It was another one of the Weasley’s? Were you dreaming?

He seemed to be talking but your thoughts zeroed on him, dumbfounded.

“Bill!” Then you heard Ron’s voice.

Bill Weasley. You’ve sworn you have seen him in the past or so here in the Burrow, yet this was the only time you had clearly seen him in person.

“(Y/N) get up.” Hermione whispers, taking your arm and pulling you up.

“Apologies again, I hope you’re alright?” Bill’s voice spoke.

Hermione sent an inconspicuous pinch on your arm, making you shake your head and nod. “I’m fine, please don’t worry, I should be the one apologizing since I was blocking the door.” You laugh shyly.

He smiled as well, and you cursed the light tingle you felt in your stomach.

Keep reading

strict parents with bill weasley

u n e x p r e s s e d

fandom- Harry Potter

pairing(s)- billy weasley

a/n: I've never done him before, so im happy that i'm expanding the characters i write for, hope you're happy with how this turned out :)

requested- yes

warnings- none i hope

Billy Weasley was the original, the one with all the cards up his sleeve and plenty of quick retorts and answers. He'd manage to climb your window and perch himself upon its sill, his favourite spot to make a quick escape from your parents.

what you wouldn't give to see Molly have a look at her son now, her sweet, obidient and charming son sneaking around and climbing fences to spends a few minutes to see a girl he's in love with.

it was past twelve, and your parents had found themselves in some meeting, a perfect oppertunity for a certain red head to keep you company.

Just the sight of you would have been enough, even just letters, but billy has always been marked as an overachiever. So why would he not take a few risks to see a sight as pretty as you? I mean he'd just do about anything to make that eye contact that would stop his heart just to get beating again when she turns around blushing.

that's all the Weasley needed, that and maybe a kiss to keep him warm on the way back?

It was'nt a secret that you adored the boy and appreciated the ends he would go for you but his presence in your bedroom was very much a secret.

it was annoying really, he could only stay for maybe a few minutes at most and has to rush before your parents take a whiff of any funny buisness, but i supposed you could say it worked.

he passed you a box of candies he's got from god know's where and leans in and goes for a peck, then quickly jumps off and leaves.

your knees buckled.

holy god he just kissed you

for the first time-

weasley just stole your kiss

and brought chocolates

oh my fuckin god