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Studio Ghibli Inspired Flash Fest
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Published:
2025-08-31
Completed:
2025-08-31
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2,016
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3/3
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Vespers

Summary:

Within a small hopeful band of heroes, Bill Weasley is crushed by worry and world. Ignoring the call of his heart, he focuses instead on the present.

But Hermione's smile is distracting and beautiful.

And Bill is only a man.

Notes:

Prompt:

 

"Don't worry, we'll be fine if we're together," from When Marnie Was There

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

It was the crack of dawn when the group huddled around the small kitchen table at Shell Cottage, braving smiles so each other might not falter in faith, but every one of them trembling with fear. 

For the near future didn't seem to beckon them over kindly. 

No. The future was a cold noose wrapping itself on the neck of an unsuspecting soul and none of them knew whose it would be. 

If any of them would return at all.

Bill chewed his lower lip, hovering over the rest and his gaze drifted from one cold face to another. 

Harry, Charlie, Luna, Neville, Ron, Fleur, Hermione and Ginny, standing in a circle around him as he loomed. Nine fearful hearts, trying to be brave. All that remained of what once was. 

He didn't want Ginny there because she was his younger sister, but at twenty-one, Ginny vehemently fought against being left behind. 

Fleur was another he didn't want around. She was his partner at Gringotts, and had grown quite fond of Bill. It was nice, but Bill found him shying away from her advances. He told himself it was because he didn't have the peace of mind to fall in love in a world where the future was murky. 

Fleur was beautiful, sweet and easy to love. When he had a bit of time to think about himself and his heart, he would try. For now, it was unkind to lead her on. 

The letters from home had him worrying enough and when he finally left France at the start of the war, he was weighed down by more trepidation when Fleur followed him. 

He appreciated her, he really did. 

But he already had too many people to worry about.

The war was terrible and everyone wanted to do something about it. Then there was the order of the dragon that formed around Harry Potter, of the younger generation. A New Order that would do what the Order of the Phoenix didn't — or wouldn't — do. 

Five of his seven siblings signed up. Two died immediately. 

And Bill blamed himself. The weight of his family's protection bore down on his mortal spine. 

Heavy, so very heavy. 

And then there was Fleur sneaking into his room at night and telling him that she would help him calm down on her knees with her pretty mouth around his cock. 

It was overwhelming. 

It was suffocating.

Even the pleasure was half alive—a means to get through his emotional pain.

She said she wanted it. 

So he gave in. 

But he couldn't relax, not really. 

Bill felt he was responsible for all of them, every single one. If anyone was to stand in front of the flames of evil, it would be him and him alone as the eldest of them all — at twenty-eight years of age. 

And if he had his way, he would have gone into the darkness alone. 

Hermione refused to hear of it. She had scolded him when he’d brought it up at dinner, glaring up at him with her arms crossed over her chest and her pretty lips pinched together in an attempt at rage. 

Bill had almost smiled. She was a firework when she wanted to be.

“Alright, little lioness,” He teased, his heart warming with a strange sense of pride at her refusal to let him look after her. He felt protective over her, over them all, but with her, it was different. The rest saw him as the authority but she always toed the line where he drew it, challenging every step. 

“Promise me that nothing will happen to you. And I'll stop telling you to stay back.”

A smirk tugged at her perfect, plump lips. “We'll be fine if we're together. And we always have been.”

His chest tightened, but he nodded, trying not to remember how she had been over at the Burrow every holiday since Ron started Hogwarts. She and Harry both. Harry was the quiet sort, curious by nature and easily spooked. 

He didn't jump to argue, but rather soaked in the present he was in. Keeping to himself. Like somehow he knew that his days were numbered. 

But Hermione was different. 

It was Hermione alone who could keep up with his wit. Her brain was a marvellous specimen and Bill was a terrible tease. They had argued a whole lot growing up, but that was then and this was now. 

No more laughter or teasing. Not as lighthearted as before anyway. 

Bill couldn't even remember the last time he slept the night through. 

As for Hermione, she was twenty-five now. 

Every bit the smart little witch she had always been. Maybe not quite so little now. Big beautiful brown eyes and that pretty little mouth. 

Merlin, she was—

Ron pulled her towards him and kissed her lips. 

Because she was Ron’s girlfriend, of course. 

Bill's smile froze and a flicker of something passed across his eyes, but he blinked it away. Hermione giggled when Ron pulled back with a pleasant smirk of his own. 

“For luck.” Ron didn't look away from Hermione. His smile grew brighter as she blushed. 

“We all need luck.” Bill could feel the heat of Fleur’s gaze at the side of his face when she spoke and he ran a hand through his long ginger locks awkwardly, avoiding her eyes. He instead nodded across the table to a solemn Harry as the hairbrush in the centre began to glow. 

The time had come. 

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

The war ended as wars often do. 

In rubble and ruin. 

And Bill sorely regretted that the full weight of the mission laid down heavily on the shoulders of Hermione, Harry and Ron. 

But its objective was complete. 

It ended the war, terrible as the ending was. But a far better one than a country razed to the ground. 

With the end of the war, he slowly found peace, shifting on his lonesome in Shell Cottage, which he'd bought himself years ago. It was a small home, but it was his and there finally was some quiet. 

Sometimes a deathly sort of quiet. 

But the sort that proved there was no cause for alarm. Nothing to be frightened of. No one to worry about, for the greatest danger had passed. He had been so relieved when he gazed up to the ever darkness of the evil night on his wounded knees, watching Ron clear the skies at the end with a pulse of raw magic from Harry's wand. 

The war was over. 

Those chants echoed around him.

Voldemort was dead. 

There was tiredness in every fraction of Bill's wounded soul. He pushed up to his feet, trembling. 

We are free. We are safe. 

Home. Bill wanted to go home. The only place that ever was his. He wanted the peace he was promised. 

Dawn crawled in behind him when he finally staggered inside and he collapsed onto the cold stone floor with a sigh, his eyes falling shut. 

A good while later — it could have been weeks or months, he couldn't tell — Ron and Hermione moved into the Shell Cottage to escape the crowds and questions. The last of the Order of Dragons, seeking sanctuary. And Bill would keep them safe. 

Ron always had a key and never needed to ask, and Bill leaned against the wall, swathed by shadows, watching the two sit beside the fire in silence. 

But there was warmth in the silence of the house, and here they would find peace. Bill was sure of it. Slowly, very slowly, he had begun to feel lighter. 

Free, even. 

The look on the faces of the two who shared his dwellings was heartbreaking. War had torn away their third, Harry, and Ron had finished what his best friend had started. 

Three walked into the final round. 

Only two emerged from the ashes. 

Two shattered by the trauma of war, so broken within that they were now unable to return to the routine of what they once called love. 

There was tension between them so palpable, bonded by trauma and circumstance. A shy smile, a gentle kiss on the temple. 

And yet they parted ways on the way to bed, hearts heavy with grief, for only time could heal the depth of their unseen wounds. 

It was one cold winter night when Ron had gone off to fill the gaping void that now remained at the Burrow that Bill bore witness to how deep Hermione's dependency on Ron was. 

She drank too much, staggered up to her bedroom and Bill hesitated before he followed, that protective nature of him presiding. 

She was a sobbing mess, crying out for peace and he couldn't keep away. Climbing into bed, arms wrapped around her, his chest pressed against her back and his growl, voice rough with disuse, whispered into her ear. 

“Little lioness, breathe. There's nothing to worry about, remember? We'll be fine as long as we're together. And I'm here, Hermione. I'm here with you.”

“Bill?” She uttered a prayer into the ether, a plea. “Bill, I'm so broken.”

His heart shattered. “No, my dear girl. You've always been perfect. Look at me, sweetheart.”

It couldn't have been that easy, but it was. She turned in his embrace and cupped his cheek, soft, warm hand against his cool skin, but she didn't seem to care. 

“Bill.” Her eyes shimmered as she took him in. Gaze too sharp to ever be drunk. “Oh, Bill. Please. I need you.”

Years of pining unravelling beneath his feet, drowning him in heady need. Every dam holding back his desire shattered, and he was a slave at her altar, trembling before his queen. 

“Anything you want.”

Absolution for crumbling was earned with his face buried between her gorgeous thighs. His soul bathed in glorious warmth when she arched up, cunt grinding on his lips as she urged him on in that husky, sweet caramel voice of hers. 

Darkness couldn't touch them for the flames of every candle burned brighter when Hermione called up to heaven, writing his name in glorious sin. 

Dawn came slow and yet too quickly, and Hermione — cheeks rosy and cunt, honey dripping — fell fast asleep in quiet serenity. 

Bill looked down at the perfection she was, braced over her sleeping form with his palms planted on her either side.

And watched.

Being with her was magic. 

For Hermione Granger painted his soul in an iridescence of freedom that he didn't know he needed, and he couldn't help but acknowledge the flood of all that which he had always felt for her.

Light breeze teased her curls and with a gentle touch, he tucked it behind her ear.

The room grew brighter still and Bill chuckled when he closed his eyes, letting the morning light free him completely. 

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Hermione hugged Ron so tight the next day when he returned, he was sure she would break him in two. 

“Easy." He laughed, stroking down her back and eased her away to take a look at her. “Feeling alright?”

Hermione nodded, beaming. “I dreamt about Bill last night. I felt… Safe?”

Ron’s lips pulled back in a melancholy smile, tugging the witch into his side as they made their way into the little sitting room where a photograph of Bill sat on the mantlepiece beside a vase of seven black roses and two of red. 

A younger Bill winked from the picture — wildeyed and free — with a piercing cuffed on his ear and a roguish smile. 

“That was Bill,” Ron said, voice cracking with emotion. “Always looking out for everyone. Keeping us safe.”

Hermione hugged him tight as he let out a shuddering breath and a tear trickled down her face. 

“I'll never forgive myself for it. It should have been me.” 

“I told you. Don't blame yourself, darling. No one blames you.” Ron shook his head and tilted a sad smile down at her, heartbreakingly in love. “He would have rather it had been him in every life. He was a hero, my brother, always looking out for us. And that's how he died.”

Notes:

Thanks to EllieByrrdWrites and So_scarlett_maroon for the beta/cheer 💕 Kudos and Comments are highly appreciated!

Xx,
Taco.

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Love, Taco 💕✌️