Disclaimer: All characters and setting references to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling.

Author's Notes: We've come to the end of this Bill and Hermione story. Thanks for following along for this ride. Please read, enjoy, and review! ~Clover

The Last One There

"Mr. Weasley, I will not have you running to the castle, interrupting my efforts to prepare for the upcoming school year, every time you and Miss Granger have a tiff." The stern look Headmistress McGonagall gave him across the broad wooden desk made him flinch. No longer did Bill feel like a Hogwarts alum, a fellow Order member, or any of the other adult roles he'd taken since graduating. McGonagall's dressing down was reminiscent of something more likely to happen to someone who actually attended the school.

Bill and his Gringott's team had all but evacuated their excavation site in Egypt. While they were able to successfully complete their assignment, it was also true that they had been forced to leave the country as the masses closed in on their work. He'd sent Hermione a hastily scrawled letter warning her not to continue with her plans to visit Karnak, Alexandria, Cairo, or any other part of Egypt.

He sent another letter when he'd returned to England. And another later that night. Yet he hadn't gotten a reply from her. Any response would have helped him at this point. If she were actually in Egypt, then he'd drop everything and go to her. The anti-Gringotts sentiments had starting changing to be focused on any British citizens. Hermione's notoriety would certainly make her a target.

His heart felt a pull to go and rescue her; he kept picturing her wandering unknowingly into one of the hordes of rioters. He didn't consider himself to be heroic, or even overly noble, but he had this overwhelming need to keep her safe.

Oh, but she was strong. He knew she could duel with the meanest Death Eaters, but at least during the war she knew an enemy was lurking around. She would be blind sided if she apparated into Egypt.

Contact with Hermione had been lost in the haste of leaving Egypt. His adrenaline still pumping wildly at his narrow escape, and he knew it was only by a few hundred meters that he'd been separated from the angry wizards who'd finally broken through the abandoned wards, Bill's exhausted and overtaxed mind came up with only one plan. He'd resorted to sending a patronus to get the Headmistress's attention when he hadn't heard from Hermione since he'd returned.

If the situation weren't so serious, he certainly wouldn't have disturbed McGonagall. It was now very early the morning after his return, much earlier than it was proper to call on someone and expect to be received.

Breathing heavily from he run up the stairs to her office, Bill hurridly tried to explain himself, "Professor, you don't understand. We haven't been arguing. Hermione's on her way to collect supplies for the year. In Egypt." He spoke as though she should know of the changing political climate in Egypt.

"And this has you sending me a patronus, which you know should only be used in cases of emergencies?" She had no idea why Bill Weasley was behaving so irrationally. He'd been breathless when he'd opened the door to her office. His clothing was dusty and, quite frankly, smelling as though it hadn't been laundered in a very long time.

"Mr. Weasley, Hermione's plans have changed. As such, she has decided to postpone her trip until the winter holidays."

"Really?! That's . . that's . . well, thank you. I'll, um, not bother you any longer." Relief washed over him; his shoulders relaxed, as had the thin creases across his forehead. He suddenly felt the weight of exhaustion settle over him.

Bill turned to leave the Headmistress's office when she got his attention one final time. "Mr. Weasley, if you'll wait in the Great Hall, I'm sure Miss Granger can see you out herself."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Good day, Mr. Weasley."

Hermione had been called to the entrance of the Great Hall; there, she saw Bill for the first time in months. His hair was longer, his clothes disheveled and stained with the sand and dirt from working. He looked as though he hadn't slept in ages.

"Bill," Hermione barely spoke his name before he engulfed her in a crushing hug.

He held her tightly, lifting her feet off the ground. He wanted to explain why he suddenly turned up at Hogwarts, but instead he kissed her. Neither wanted the kiss to end, but the need for air won.

"Hey," Hermione whispered.

"Hi."

After the early morning when Bill met Hermione in her bathrobe, they hadn't found much time to spend together. The goblins' top priority in the Egyptian treasure reclamation case; the daunting work of cataloguing and dimantling the ancient curses set on the artifacts they'd retrieved forced Bill to spend countless hours in the catacombs beneath the bank.

Hermione busied herself with plans for the annual summer, homecoming festivities to be held at the castle. Coordinating the picnic, quidditch match, and evening ball did little to distract her from missing Bill again.

It wasn't until the night of the homecoming dinner and ball that she found herself in his strong arms once again.

The exuberant crowd that gathered to celebrate the mid-summer homecoming at Hogwarts had all but died down as the musicians played their instruments for the final time this evening. Many left, returning to their respective homes; others were milling around the castle in fond remembrance of their time spent within the castle's walls.

For Bill and Hermione, though, the night was drawing to a close much too quickly. The magic of Hogwarts had served as the backdrop to the culmination of months of growing feelings for one another.

The two could be easily seen as they were among the last to dance, if only anyone were paying attention. Neither seemed to notice, though, as they kept their eyes locked onto the other.

Her full gown skimmed the marble as Bill led them across the floor. The floating candles that created a pavilion above them illuminated the white, iridescent material that swirled around her legs.

To him, she resembled the beautiful fairies adorning the garland strung around the Great Hall. He felt like that plain, somewhat tattered bough that was made immeasurably better by their appearance; his scars were less noticeable when she was in his arms. And, her eyes . . he could get lost in their depths, revel in the warmth they exuded, and hope to one day figure out what she saw in him.

Stepping in time with the music, he guided her closer to his body until the front of her dress brushed against his chest.

"I love you, Hermione."