Chapter Text
Wrong.
Bill's skin crawled, his lip curling involuntarily. His wolf howled within him. The scent was acrid, choking - completely out of place anywhere, but especially in this big, airy Muggle coffee shop.
Suppressants.
He had learned by now how to compartmentalize, how to dampen his lycanthropic senses when he needed to - at least, enough that people's body odor and heartbeats didn't drive him batty in a full room - but this was overwhelming.
Bill laid down the pen he'd been using to scribble notes for tomorrow’s symposium presentation (‘Arithmancy and Whole Sign Astrology for the Prediction and Tracking of Omega Cycles') and shifted his attention just enough to eavesdrop on the group of students crowding the counter. He caught snippets of their orders, but nothing useful. Nothing that could explain why there was an Omega in the room - one who was completely fucked up on potions.
There wasn't much of a line behind them. Just one woman standing silently, apart from the group - or a girl, maybe, a slip of a thing in a long dress and strappy sandals. She wore a heavier cardigan than the September weather called for, and she'd pulled it tight around herself like armor. One hand tapped impatiently against her thigh.
Closer scrutiny made him aware of the irregular pattern, the tremor in her fingers. It had to be her.
Bill had only smelled suppressants once, when Astoria showed him the supply she kept on hand for Omegas who came to her. The potions were dangerous, so they were only used in extreme circumstances, but sometimes being an Omega in heat could be more dangerous.
There were definite drawbacks to being an Alpha, in Bill's opinion, but they had it easy when you considered that Omegas were still treated like second-class citizens.
Not unlike werewolves.
Some days, Bill wondered if his life's work was a pointless endeavor. He'd left Gringotts when he and Fleur divorced, certain the unhappiness in their relationship was a sign that he had a mate out there somewhere. He was well aware that most of his friends in the close-knit AO community believed he was a fool, considering that Omegas were rare and most Alphas would never have a soulmate. But along the way he'd become something of an expert in soul magic and the workings of magical designations, as much as one could be in such an obscure topic.
At the moment, studying the petite woman's back, he was grateful for that. Even if he couldn't sort out his own situation, he had the knowledge and connections to help someone else. Thank Merlin there were Healers in attendance at the symposium.
She had to be suffering with that much suppressant in her system. Magic swirled around her, weak and chaotic, a current he could sense in the air. He didn't want to think about how long she'd been on the potion. He hoped she at least knew the risks.
Since the legislative changes, the divination of soul bonds was strictly regulated in Britain, to try and prevent Alphas from discovering their mate's identity and forcing vulnerable Omegas into anything. A consortium of Seers contracted with the British Ministry to identify active bonds. America had fewer laws protecting Omegas - one of the reasons he'd argued against holding the symposium here - and most people discovered bonds through private connections. But even if this woman couldn't be with her mate for some reason - if something had happened to them, or she didn't know who they were, or she couldn't trust them - most people would choose mating with a different Alpha over taking suppressants.
"The usual?" the barista drawled when the woman reached the counter.
"Quad today, I'm afraid," the woman answered.
Bill's fingers tightened around the pen he held, nearly snapping it. It couldn't -
“You look like hell, Maya." The expression on the barista's face was more concerned than playful. "Tell that boss of yours to let you go home early."
“Thanks, Meg," the woman replied sardonically. He could hear the eyeroll - Gods knew it had been directed at him enough times. He struggled to take a full breath.
The barista leaned forward to touch the woman's arm. "I mean it, sugar."
The woman shook her head with a laugh. "I'll be fine. You both worry too much."
If her sweet, soft lilt didn’t give her away, the sound of her laughter always would - like music, he’d told her once, and she’d shaken her head good-naturedly and said, "I think you’ve mistaken me for Fleur."
When the woman stepped further down to wait on her coffee, she turned to face the room, leaning her hip against the counter. Her glamor was good, but the little bits of Hermione Jean Granger were there, if you knew what you were looking for: the perpetual tightness around her mouth that had taken up residence during the war, the fine bone structure, the expressive eyes. The hair and eye color might be different, but glamors could only conceal so much. Her dusky complexion was the same - and he'd seen it go ashen like this more than once in the past.
There was still a tremor in her hands, but when she got her coffee, she put a stopper in the lid and gripped the cup firmly. Disbelief kept him rooted to the spot as she pushed her way through the crowd of people who'd just entered. The shop was so busy she didn't take note of him sitting in the corner.
Bill scrubbed a hand down his face.
Four years.
It had been four fucking years since any of them had heard from her. The distance had begun when she left to work at Ilvermorny in 2000, and she cut contact altogether when she resigned in 2002. A month after, the boys had gotten a letter assuring them she was fine and asking them not to look for her.
They hadn’t paid attention to it, of course. Ron and Harry had taken the legal route, reaching out to the American Ministry, and Bill had opted for shadier means - private investigators, illicit location spells. The good spells were nearly impossible to fool, so when nothing turned up, the most obvious conclusion was that something had happened to her. He didn't want to believe it, could never bring himself to tell the boys.
But if she'd been taking the potions long enough to damage her magical core, the spells wouldn't be of any use. He shuddered.
Questions spiraled through his mind so fast he couldn’t sort through them. Was this why she’d gone to Ilvermorny in the first place? Why the boys said she’d acted so strangely before she left?
Why hadn’t she told any of them? For fuck’s sake, he’d never even heard of a Muggleborn presenting as an Omega - surely she could have used some help, someone to talk to. Info was scarce outside of the small research community and the even more insular group of purebloods who had practically turned reverence of soul bonds into a cult. Someone at the Ministry would have visited her to discuss her designation, would have informed her of the identity of her soulmate and went over her options as far as seeking them out or mating with someone else -
Bill clenched his fists, fighting back a wave of fury at Kingsley. Had the Minister kept it from them all? This entire time?
He racked his brain, thinking back to the years after the war, when Hermione had returned to Hogwarts to complete her N.E.W.T.s. She'd gone to work for the research office of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures after. They'd become friends there for a while, through letters and over coffee, bonding over their shared nerdiness, their passion for werewolf rights - his by necessity, because of his own affliction, and hers because, well, that was just who she was. Hermione cared fiercely.
The timelines were off, though. Alphas and Omegas both began to show signs of their designation around age 18 or 19, as they grew into the full strength of their magic. Hermione was older than the boys; she'd have been 21 when she left for Ilvermorny. There was no way she could have been taking suppressants the last time he saw her. Even though he hadn't known as much about Omegas back then, he would have known something was wrong with her scent. Gods.
Fuck it all. He shoved his papers into his messenger bag, pushing back from the table. Driving himself up the wall trying to figure out how they got here didn't change the facts.
Hermione Granger was alive.
She was an Omega.
She was slowly destroying herself.
And Bill would do whatever it took to bring her home.
Someone was following her.
Hermione slid her wand from the glamored holster at her wrist, palming the end of it and keeping the rest tucked up her sleeve. She cursed her rusty reflexes. She'd become complacent since she settled in this small, secluded mountain town. It was as far from the nearest wizarding village as you could get and still be found on a map.
She wasn't naive enough to believe it would last forever, but over a year of peace and she'd almost let herself think she could have a life here.
At least she hadn't unpacked. Her blue patchwork satchel was the latest iteration of the beaded bag she'd carried during the war, and it held all the things she truly needed to take with her. She'd miss the cheap rent and beautiful view of her flat above Sue Grace's garage, though.
Hell, she'd miss Sue Grace. And Jackson, and Harper, and -
She swiped angrily at her cheek with her free hand, swallowing her tears. The potions had worn her down so much she didn't know how well she could fight. If she were lucky, the person following her would be a Muggle. Easy enough to take down with her fists or a simple spell.
She wasn't lucky very often. And there was no reason for a wizard to come here, other than to hunt an Omega.
She would be lying if she didn't admit to herself that it was tempting to give in. Not to hand herself over - dying was infinitely preferable to being taken. Sometimes it just seemed preferable in general, but her survival instincts were stronger than her fear and her pain.
Daylight was on her side, at least; it was only lunchtime. Jackson had walked into the bookstore a half hour after her coffee break, spouting some bullshit about needing to take inventory and how she ought to go home and rest since he could just as easily keep an eye on the register while he did it. Either Meg had texted him, or Hermione was worse than she thought at hiding her issues.
Her heat was approaching too soon, and he'd give her the time off for it - he always did - but he'd also drown her in concern. Just, like, quietly and unobtrusively, because he was a decent guy and he knew better than to ask questions.
Except he wouldn't have the chance to annoy her with his hovering, because she had to leave. For good. For the space of a moment, grief choked her.
She compartmentalized it as best she could, gathering her scattered thoughts and thinking through her options. An enforcer wouldn't be bold enough to attack her in broad daylight in front of a crowd of Muggles. She'd take the busiest path to the edge of town and Apparate from there. She didn't know how long she'd have before they tracked the Apparition, but given the little she did know about how deep the Institute's hooks were in the Ministry, she guessed it would be minutes, not hours. And she didn't have the strength to Apparate far, or to do it more than once.
She just needed to steal a car without running afoul of the Muggles, then she could find a place to hole up. She smiled at a gaggle of the older book club ladies who came into the store every now and then as she gripped her wand tighter, the wood pressing painfully into the heel of her hand.
The walk went quickly, and thankfully she wasn't stopped by anyone she knew. Not that she had let herself make many friends, but plenty of people would recognize her from the store. She made it to the edge of town, to the small stretch of open grassland. This side was nothing but forest. She just had to make it to the trees - and not splinch herself too badly. She walked faster, almost jogging now, dust covering her sandal-clad feet. Twenty meters - ten -
She broke into a sprint as soon as she passed into the trees. It sapped what little strength she had, but got her far enough ahead of her pursuer that she maybe had time to prepare herself for the Apparition. Her pulse roared in her ears, breaths coming in harsh pants as she braced herself against a tall aspen.
"Min!" The yell came from behind her. "Stop! Hermione, Gods - "
She didn't have the time to process the words before a crack sounded. Wind rushed past her, then strong arms came around her from behind.
The old Hermione would have been capable of summoning her wits and her meager skill at physical self-defense. But in the moment she truly could have used it, all her self-possession failed her, leaving nothing but raw terror and instinct. She lashed out blindly, earning herself a few pained grunts before her assailant managed to pin her arms.
"Min, please - Merlin's balls - "
Her kick nailed him, but eventually - inexplicably - the instinct to struggle receded some. She didn't exactly relax, but she calmed enough that she could process the words, could process that she hadn't already been disarmed or bound or drugged.
She smelled coffee. And then cedar, and the ocean, and underneath it all a hint of wolf that made some distant part of her mind wish the full moon was closer just so she could bury her face in fur. She blinked herself more into her skin, shock displacing her fear.
"I - " She stopped struggling, trying to breathe. Trying to think. "Bill?"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to scare you, but I couldn't - " He broke off with a shuddering breath. "I was afraid if you knew I'd found you, you'd run."
So he revealed himself because she was going to run anyhow. At least it wasn't the Institute she had to be concerned about - and with that knowledge came a wave of relief - but she still needed to be concerned. How long had he been watching her, before she caught on?
She wriggled in his arms, trying to get free of his hold, even though every cell in her body screamed at her to stay close.
His breath grazed her ear, making her shiver. "If I let you go, are you going to Apparate?"
She closed her eyes tight. That would be the smart thing to do.
"How did you find me?" she asked instead.
He huffed a laugh, but there was no humor in it. His voice was rough with something she couldn't name. "By accident. Or miracle, maybe. I'm here for work."
She found it hard to believe that Gringotts would have bothered to send a curse breaker to the ass end of nowhere with a wizarding population of one, but Bill had always been a shit liar. And the awe in his voice suggested he did consider this a miracle.
Her heart clenched. She wished she could see it that way, too.
She sagged in his hold, adrenaline beginning to give way to exhaustion. She had plenty of contingency plans - hell, her contingency plans had contingency plans - but none of them factored in the possibility of being found by anyone she knew. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to hear his voice, and she didn't have the strength right now to push him away.
"I know what's going on with you," he said quietly. "If that's what you're afraid of."
Her blood turned to ice in her veins. "Y - you - " He couldn't, Kingsley had sworn to her, she'd read the legislation herself -
"The suppressants are making you sick, Min. How long have you been on them? Fuck." He loosened his hold when her breath came in gasps, still keeping an arm around her but turning her to face him.
That was worse. His face had haunted her for years, more than anyone else's. She could drown in the tide that threatened to pull her into him, or be dashed against the rocks.
"Breathe, okay? You're going to be fine. I have a friend, a Healer - "
"I'm - " Hermione pushed at his chest, summoning what strength she had left to force herself upright. She sucked in a breath, trying to calm herself. "You know I'm an Omega?"
He didn't know the rest. He couldn't know the rest.
Bill searched her face, as she searched his. "I can smell the potion."
Fucking werewolves.
Thank fuck there weren't any packs around here.
He touched her cheek, and she leaned into his palm before she could catch herself. Biting back a whimper, she pushed at him again, stepping further back. Her tolerance for being touched was usually low; what freaked her out more than anything was that she ached for him to do it again.
"Why didn't you tell us?"
She could see it in his eyes now: the hurt, the betrayal. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Then can we talk about the fact that you're killing yourself?" He raked a hand through his fiery hair. It was shorter now than she remembered, the ends barely curling around his collar, and it shone in the midday sunlight that filtered through the trees. "Do you know how dangerous this is? How long have you been on it? Circe, Min."
"I know," she whispered. The Healer who'd provided her first dose had warned her, and the 'researchers' at the Institute had talked about the effects. She couldn't find any literature on the potions, but she had enough experience taking them - and enough knowledge of the toxic ingredients - to hazard a guess at what direction she was heading in.
The alternative was worse.
"I have it under control," she lied.
He gave her a look of utter, exasperated disbelief. "How long?" When she didn't answer, he shook his head. "Fine. How long until your heat?"
"It was supposed to be next week, but...." Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, already dreading it. "Tonight. Or tomorrow."
"Right. I'm taking you to a Healer," he said, reaching for her arm.
She pulled away from him again, gripping her wand tighter. "Who?"
"Astoria Malfoy." Bill's hand flexed at his side, but he didn't reach for her again. "She's not far. I'll side-along you."
Hermione blinked. At least she knew the woman. Vaguely; they'd been at enough social events together, before she had left.
She wanted to fight him on it, but she knew that stubborn look on his face. And maybe there was something Astoria could do to...to make it not hurt so fucking much, at least. Questions raced through her head - if he was here, and Astoria was within easy Apparition distance, then other wizards might be, too. Bill would never knowingly put her in danger, but she was an Omega. Her existence was a danger.
She couldn't ask, though. Because if she demanded answers, so would he.
"Okay," she said finally. "But I'm not leaving with you."
Bill blew out a breath, the look on his face almost making her wish she had the awed, grateful version of him back. But this was better. If he was busy being pissed at her for how she'd handled the train wreck of her life, it would be easier to get rid of him.
"Let's just get somewhere safe, so she can examine you. Then we can talk."