They couldn't help but notice each other. But would he ever be able to get past the scars that were visible and the ones that were not.
Scars of the Heart
"Hermione, can you help me with the dishes please?"
Hermione looked in the direction of Molly Weasley, "Sure," she replied turning her gaze back to her hand which had moments ago been lingering hesitantly over the bulging stomach of Lavender's.
As Harry passed by her, squeezing her should briefly, she could have sworn she had heard him whisper, "Saved by the bell."
Meeting the narrowed eyes of the expecting mother, Hermione gave her a weak smile before gathering to her feet, removing her wand from her pocket.
As she started for the kitchen, Hermione flicked her wrist causing the numerous plates scattered along the large outdoor table to instantly rise in the air and come together to stack gently on top of each other in a neat pile.
He couldn't help but watch the girl – the woman – as she got to her feet, her blue sun-dress swirling against her knees in the light breeze that played among the grass beneath her bare toes.
The wind blowing his hair across his face, he pushed it aside impatiently, as he tried to drink in her every move. The way she walked, her hips softly rocking backwards and forth, the way she played with her hair, her delicate fingers twisting around a single lock of hair. He absorbed the features of her face, the angels of her cheekbones, no loner childish and round but well-defined and rosy against the porcelain tone of her skin. Her bottom lip hidden, as she bit down causing a dent in round form of her pink smile. He watched as her now smooth hair shown with hints of gold, reflecting from the sun that beat down on her brown eyes. The waves of her hair framing her face as it bounced lightly as her body slumped slightly under the weight of the plates, as she lowered them slowly into her arms.
He couldn't help but notice how she had grown into a woman before his eyes, without him even paying attention to her gradual transition from a bookish girl to a graceful woman. He also couldn't help but notice that he was not the only male whose eyes where upon her as she entered the house towards the kitchen.
Tucking a loose strand of golden red hair behind his ear that had once again escaped its place with the wind growing in strength, he followed her.
Hermione hummed quietly to herself as she placed the plates on the bench. Turning around, she jumped faintly as her body become flush with another.
"Sorry," his rich voice filled her ears, as his one word soaked into her skin making her suppress a small gasp as a tingle ran down her spine.
Stepping back, her eyes travelled up the expanse of his chest, reaching his face of smooth skin that lay hidden beneath a thin layer of whiskers, her eyes followed the rough path of scars that spread across the side of his face until she locked her eyes with his, which held such an intense gaze it made her once more shudder from his presence.
"Hi," she whispered, a small smile urging to play along her lips.
"Hermione –," his voice was filled with no trace of happiness or joy, only sorrow and rejection.
"No, just listen," she interrupted, she was determined to have her say first before he had a chance to persuade her otherwise, "Don't just say no, because I know why you were going to and it is not a good enough reason – for me."
He shifted his weight slightly, unprepared as to where to lead the conversation so that it ended in his favour, so far she had turned everything around to suit her, making it hard for him to continue his thought of reasoning against her argument, "His my brother Hermione, I can't."
"I know but still – I can't okay, it would be wrong of me," his head titled to the side, as he watched her gauge how severe her temper would rise.
"We were only children, we thought it was love but it wasn't."
'Maybe not for you."
He had been strategic with his words, attacking her with her one flaw; guilt. It had been low but it was necessary she didn't understand what she was asking from him.
Her gaze dropped, as she repeated her previous defence of, "His married now."
"Hermione, I didn't mean –"
"No, this is ludicrous," her eyes returning to his, "For gods sake Bill his expecting a child, he has certainly moved on and so it is time I do the same, it is only one date. We can see where it goes after that, please Bill don't make me plead with you."
He hesitated for a moment, thinking over what next to say to make her believe that what he was doing was in her best interests, that it was best for her to stay away from him.
"Hermione, you don't want this,' he said, gesturing towards himself, his own eyes dropping this time from her face.
"I'm a big girl; let me be the judge of what I want and what I don't. I'm not a child anymore," feeling bold she removed the space that she had created between them, as she felt him slowly start to surrender to the idea. Whether it be that he liked her in return or that he knew she would not back down, she did not know nor did she care.
"One date?" he asked, unsure if there was even a possibility of it every being only one date.
Her hand reached up, gently pulling his gaze back to hers, "One date."
He relaxed under her touch, he had not felt such a loving gesture in so long, he relished in the gentle pattern her thumb was brushing along his cheek.
Lost in the elation of being able to touch him, Hermione paid less attention on where her hand was going, losing herself in the peaceful mask that fell upon his face as her fingers laced lazing pattens across his skin itching their way closer and closer to the scars he tried to hide, but never could.
When her fingertip accidentally brushed the side of the rough skin, he sharply withdrew from her reach. Closing his eyes for moment before he turned and left, leaving her alone in the kitchen once again unsure on where they stood in regards to each other.
"Hermione, you should be careful with Bill," Ginny said, flicking through Hermione's closet.
"I know, he has –," she paused, searching for the right word, "– baggage from the war, but don't we all," she continued out from the bathroom.
"Yeah, but him more than most."
"More than you, Harry?" Hermione questioned, coming out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, steam hovering above her bare skin, her hair draped across her should dripping water down her collarbone.
Shifting from his position on her bed, he turned onto his stomach ignoring her question and continuing to read the Quidditch magazine he had brought with him.
"Hermione, what are you going to wear?" Ginny asked, desperately try to avoid the path their current topic of discussion had turned down and the conversion she would was certain she would have to have later with Harry when they had left Hermione's.
Hermione never took her eyes of her best-friend, who did his best to act as though she wasn't there, "I don't know," She sighed, she had given up years ago on getting anything out him, the only person he talked to about the war was Ginny and Hermione had come to accept that, though it hurt her deeply to know that he couldn't share certain things with her.
Rubbing her eyes, Hermione walked to Ginny's side, who wrapped a loose arm around her stomach giving her a tight squeeze, "I want to look nice, but I don't want to be extravagant and scare him off," she said focusing her attention on her closet.
Ginny simply nodded, pulling the Hermione to the chair she had set-up earlier in the middle of her bedroom. As she started to brush Hermione's hair, she continued to talk about the concerns she had about Hermione seeing Bill.
Hermione only half listen to what she was saying, she had been trying for weeks to get Bill to say yes and now he had, she didn't want to think about anything but the fact that he had indeed said yes.
"Does Ron know about this?" Harry suddenly asked, his magazine lying forgot in front of him.
Both women looked up at him, both afraid of what he was trying to get across with the obtuse question.
Before Hermione could answer, she felt the hands between the strands of her hair stiffen and their grip harden, as Ginny glared at her husband.
"What it's an honest question?" Harry said, raising his hands in a defensive gesture, as he slowly slid off the bed and came to stand in front of them.
"It doesn't matter if he knows, he as a family now and he is happy we all know that," Hermione muttered under her breath, tired of this persistent question of Ron and how her happiness concerned him. He didn't ask how she felt when he bent down on one knee and asked Lavender to marry him, nor did he ask how she felt about him having a child with another woman. So she didn't have to ask him to go out for dinner with Bill.
Ginny body relaxed, her hands continuing their gentle massage of Hermione scalp, "We know."
"I mean, it was eight years ago, we were only nineteen, that's just kids."
"Merlin, was it really eight years ago?" Harry pondered, now standing by the window staring out in to the night.
"It sure doesn't seem like that long," Ginny said, watching Harry out of the corner of her eye.
Feeling her gaze on his back, Harry turned around to face them, "Hmm."
Hermione watched as the two shared a look that tore at the edges of her heart, they had something so deep that words were irrelevant; they just knew what the other was thinking, what they other need and they didn't even think they just gave it, whatever it was.
A few moments later, Harry turned back to the window.
Ginny gave Hermione a small smile before she pulled pins out of her pocket and continued to do her hair. The three of them sat in silence until Ginny was finished, it wasn't uncomfortable they all had things to think about and knew the others need time to themselves even though they were together.
Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder, indicating that Ginny had finished with her hair.
"Bill brought it up as well," Hermione stated, as she looked at herself in the mirror she saw Harry turn around once more and lean up against the window sill, hands now in his pockets, "I was only a child, seventeen, when we got together. I'm twenty-five now; I'm allowed to move on now aren't I?"
In the reflection of the mirror, Hermione saw Ginny look back at Harry, who nodded before leaving the room.
"Of course you are, I think what Bill was trying to say by bringing Ron up was that you two have a history and its complicated and messy. But Hermione, he was probably just trying to find a way out of being honest with himself and how he feels." Ginny said softly, rubbing the expanse of bare skin above the towel, on her shoulder.
Hermione turned from the mirror, "what do you mean?"
Ginny looked away, frowning with thought before she continued, "we can all see it."
Squaring her shoulders, so that Ginny's hand fell to her side, she stared at her waiting for her to look her in the eye and continue.
When she did, her face looked defeated and exhilarated all at once, fighting back a smile, "God Hermione, he watches your every movement, whenever you're not looking his eyes are upon you. Mum has been trying for years to get him to do something, but his caged himself up since – well you know, and then you asked him out. Mum was so happy when she heard that, that she broke down; I haven't seen her cry like since Fred's funeral. When the war finished she felt like she had lost two sons instead of one. You are the only hope she had of getting one back, she loves you Hermione like a daughter, your family to us and she believes that Bill loves you but is just too scared to admit it, terrified of losing something yet again."
Hermione stood still, afraid that of what would happen if she moved, before her knees feel from beneath her she quickly grabbed the side of mirror holding onto it for support, "wh – why didn't anyone tell me?"
Ginny sighed, "Bill's broken Hermione; we all thought he needed to fix himself first. A few years ago we would have stopped you from asking to dinner, but now maybe you are just what he needs to become Bill again, because nothing else seems to work, the only emotion we ever see in his eyes these days is when he is looking at you."
"Yeah, so no pressure," Hermione said, giving a weak laugh.
"You are a strong woman and you care about him in way none of us can, if anyone can get through his thick-skull and show him what his missing out on it's you," with the mood lighten slightly Ginny smiled, "now what about that dress?"
He was so nervous and he didn't understand why, it was only dinner.
Pacing back and forth in front of her apartment door, he kept repeating that over in his head, "only dinner."
Frustrated he kicked the opposing wall, with a sigh he bent his head, relaxing as the cool surface of the wall rested against his skin, absorbing the droplets from his skin.
He hadn't heard the door open, but he felt a presence behind him.
"Bill, you okay?"
Gathering himself, he turned around, "I'm fine."
Harry nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "she's nearly ready, you know girls they take forever."
"Ginny's here, great," Bill muttered.
"I'll make sure she stays inside then," Harry said with a smile, heading back inside.
Running a hand through his hair, he continued to wait until the apartment door opened again, this time Hermione walked out. Her waves once more faming her face, though this time the loose curls were pulled over one should, exposing the side of her neck, the skin soft and smooth. She wore a red slim fitting dress that sat above her knees, thick straps hung of her shoulder, curving in a v at her breasts.
"You look – beautiful," he stuttered, "only dinner," he reminded himself.
She smiled lighting her face up in the compliment, this caused his breathing to hitch in his throat.
"Thank you, you look very handsome yourself," she returned.
He stood there unsure of what to do next, flashes of old memories intruding his thoughts, he pinched the bridge of his nose to get rid of them.
"This was not a go –," he started.
"To the restaurant then," Hermione countered, placing her arm through his.
"Yeah, sure." He said, leading her down the hallway.
He had books a reservation at an Italian restaurant, as he had heard that she preferred pasta than anything else, and he thought that if she had to suffer through this night, she might as well have some nice food.
Once they had been seated and both had ordered their meals, Bill was again unsure of what to do. Trying to avoid her gaze, he glanced around the room. He meet the eyes of various other men, who where sneaking quick glances at Hermione.
Before he even looked at her he knew why. She was truly stunning, no longer the bookish child, who had never gained any ones attentions based on looks.
A small sense of pride fell over him, when he thought about how all the surrounded men want her, but she was there with him. But he still didn't understand why, he was disfigured and his once handsome, some had even said beautiful was gone.
When she had stepped out of her apartment, her ribs had compacted on themselves at just seeing him standing there, the anxiety of the evening wearing on his face. She struggled to breathe, to smile and act like he didn't affect her the way she did, if he knew he would surely run.
He had donned black slacks and dress shirt, his hair had been tied back in its usual ponytail, but his trade mark ear ring was no longer there.
Simply standing there before her, he was breath-taking. She couldn't help but notice that he was staring at her; they held the appearance of apprehension but Hermione could see it as though he was doing it on purpose, but it was in the way he didn't hide it that showed Hermione that he had no idea of the sadness the shone within his eyes, how it absorbed all the light and made him look empty, a walking shell.
Once they reached the restaurant, he barely looked at her. Maybe Ginny had been wrong, maybe he only said yes to stop her persistent hassling and maybe he only watched her because he thought she was bizarre, bookish and unusual.
As these thoughts floated through her head, she didn't notice him turn and look her until his intent gaze broke her from her revere.
"So you like Italian?" he asked.
"Yes, I love pasta," she answered.
The intensity in his eyes never faded, as they sat there in silence again.
As the minutes passed, Hermione grew more frustrated, until she couldn't stop herself.
"This is ridiculous, we are grown adults and well, this is path –"
"Why?" he interrupted suddenly.
Startled, Hermione just stared at him.
"Why?" he repeated, this time always a whisper.
"Why this? Why me?" he asked.
Hermione waited to catch his eye, before she answered, "because I like you and I don't know if feel it but I think we have natural connection. Normally – normally it is easy to talk to you and I feel at ease around you."
"Yes, but why?"
"I don't know," Hermione replied, her face soft and thoughtful.
"You just do?" he asked, more to himself than her.
He wanted to believe her, but something inside told him to close up and not let her in.
Leaning forward, Hermione reached across the table and pulled his hand into hers, entwining their fingers together, she watched his eyes stare at their joined hands.
"You have to let someone in Bill, if not me – who?"
"Why do I have to let someone in at all?" He didn't pull away from her hand, but he become stiff underneath her touch.
"Because your slowly dying and I can't stand by and watch you do that to yourself, you need to feel something again, something good."
"You think you know me so well, but you don't," he leaned forward towards her, "– and what make you think you can make me feel?"
The hurt shone in her eyes at his words, but she did not let it fall nor did she pull away, she had got him to talk, "I don't but your family does," she answered.
He hadn't expected that and it made him wonder if what she was saying held some hint of truth. Was he dying? Maybe.
"I want to show you something."
Hermione leaned back, "now."
After they finished their dinner, with minimal conversation, they left the restaurant. Standing out front the night chill soothing their skin, Bill stood silently watching Hermione play with her hair as she waited for him to take her where ever it was he wanted.
Slowly he took the steps that closed the space between so much that their clothes were touching.
Bending his neck; he felt his head spin as her perfume filled his nose, closing his eyes he breathed in her smell.
"Bill?" her voice was hesitant, she didn't want him to step back but she was unsure if he was okay, he had never showed any signs during the entire night that he was the least bit interested in her.
She heard him swallow, before his hands wrapping around her, his fingers spread across her back. Hermione couldn't stop herself, she lean into his body, draping her arms around his neck, she didn't expect anything more to happen, but for her this was enough. Just as she was closing her eyes, she felt a sharp tug on her navel and then ground crashed beneath her feet.
As soon as took on her surrounds, Bill stepped back, once more avoiding her eyes. They were in a small cemetery, Hermione recognised it, though when she had been here the first time it had been during the day, the sun had been high in the sky and in the distance she had heard birds singing, she had wondered then why God was so cruel as to have such a beautiful day, on that day that they had to bury a friend, a daughter, a wife.
Walking through the graveyard, she knew where to go but she let Bill lead the way through the maze of tombstones, it wasn't it wasn't long before they were standing in front of her grave.
"Bill, are you sure –"
"Hermione, you want to fix me, well here is the problem," he said, turning to her.
"I don't want to fix you."
A weak smile spread across his lips, "You've made me realise, I need to be fixed, and you seemed adamant to do it."
Silence stole the conversation, neither anything to evoke it. Hermione stepped closer, entwining their fingers once again, her small hand getting lost in his.
"When she d– died, I thought I had to, I– I lost my heart when I lost her. It was too much to take, so I just shut down," he looked down at Hermione.
"I haven't heard you say her name since that day – Bill have you said it even to yourself."
Hermione nodded, pulling his body so that they were facing each other, "first of all she didn't die, she was murder and you need to accept that. Bill, Fleur was murder and she is gone. I'm sorry but –"
"I know," Bill breathed out a few times, "Fleu – Fleur, my beautiful wife was murdered – she's gone," Tears started to stream down his face, trailing down the rough skin of his scars, as the words passed through his lips.
"It wasn't your fault."
"No, listen to me. It wasn't your fault, it wasn't anyone's fault except the person who murdered her and you killed him. You've had your revenge. Now let it go," Hermione's voice was soft and gentle as she spoke the truth no one had dared tell him, "It wasn't your fault."
"It wasn't my fault," He repeated, falling to his knees, the dirt shifting from his weigh collapsing against the earth, "I'm so sorry baby, but I have to –," the tears continued to fall as he choked on the words, still unable to say what he needed to do, "please forgive me."
Hermione dropped to her knees beside him, their hands still together, when he looked up, he had a look of determination in his eyes that Hermione hadn't since in a long time, "Hermione, I need a change in my life."
She smiled, "I know just the thing."
They had apparated to a department store, where Hermione had left him outside to wait. She came back out a few moments later, a small bag in her hand.
Bill now stood in her lounge room where she had left him, candles blazing around the entire room illuminating the room in a dim glow of honey gold.
Her bedroom door opened and Hermione stepped out, as he was looking at family photos of her and her parents. It wasn't until he saw her in a singlet and short that he realised how hot the night had gotten.
Hermione passed him, as she placed the paper bag on the kitchen table and pulling out a chair.
Reaching up Hermione bundled all her hair into a messy ponytail, before she walked over to Bill, who stood still as she held her hands above his chest, her eyes searching his for permission. With a slight nod from him, she started to undo the buttons on his shirt; he simply stood motionless until she was finished. His shirt gapped open exposing his chest to her eyes.
He watched as she drank him in, her body unconsciously stepping closer.
Her hands lingered above his skin, causing heat to start building between them, until she laid it flat against his stomach and slowly travelling it upward, avoiding his scars.
When her hands reached his shoulders, she pushed them under shirt for the first time, her hand brushing the marred skin hidden beneath. Bill took a step back, away from her touch. He wanted to change, but was till reluctant to take the necessary steps, as he started to button up his shirt again.
Hermione swiftly grabbed his hands stilling them in her own, while she pulled the shirt free again, avoiding all contact with his skin. She locked eyes with him before she pulled the shirt off his shoulder, dropping it on the ground beside them.
"Sit down please," she said, taking a step away from him.
Confused he did as she asked.
Hermione grabbed the bag and stood behind, untying his hair, causing it to fall down his back in waves.
"I always envied your hair," she murmured, running her fingers through the soft strands.
"I should really cut it –"
"No," she said abruptly, "don't, please."
He turned around to look at her, she hadn't expected him to look at her and he caught a glimpse of how much adoration she had for him, before she hid it behind a meek smile, his hair still draped in-between her fingers, "Okay."
Her smile grew slightly and she turned away from his eyes, pulling a small box from the bag, opening it and placing its contents on the table.
Ignoring the pamphlet and plastic gloves that she had removed from the box, she unscrewed the largest bottle and then smallest, empting a clear liquid into the larger bottle, before tightly screwing the lid back on.
"Are you ready?" she asked, walking over a CD player at the other end of the room and turning it on, a soft hum of music filled the apartment.
As Hermione walked back over to him, she shook the bottle furiously up and down.
"I think so," he replied.
She stopped, "Yes or no?"
Bill paused before he answered, "Yes."
She smiled meekly, "okay," she said, snapping the top of the bottle off, revealing a small hole.
Standing behind him again, Hermione pulled his head back against her chest, running her fingers once more through his hair, though this time they felt cold and wet against his scalp and he could smell something faintly metallic in scent, but he couldn't quite put it finger on what it was.
Her fingers roamed throughout his hair, slowly pasting it in the liquid, only stopping to shake more of the bottles contents into the palm of her hand.
Her touch was so gentle, that he could barely feel it. Closing his eyes, he focused all his attention on the slow and even strokes of her fingertips, his heart fluttering every time they brushed the skin on his scalp. Both her hands pulled through the gradually path from his head to their ends. He wondered if she enjoyed this as much as he was relishing it.
Her hands reached forward, and her felt the small mounds of her breast press up against his neck, as she dragged her fingers down through the sea of hair, the pressure deepening as she went.
He could here her quietly signing along to the song in background, he ignored the words being synthesized from the machine and fixed on the melody coming from the girl behind him, her voice raising and falling with the song. They were filled with a pain he didn't know existed within her, he had always thought that she was happy with were her life had lead her, but it wasn't true as he listened. So was broken as well, maybe not as much as him but in way she needed to fix also.
"–I don't wanna be the girl who has to fill the silence,
Cryin' scares me cause it screams the truth,
Please don't tell me that we had that conversation,
I won't remember, save your breath, 'cos what's the use?–"
He let himself be filled with her touch and her voice. Finding himself relax more into her touch. He didn't want it to end; it seemed like a dream, his head was floating, surrounded by words that seemed so familiar.
"–When it's good, then it's good, it's so good till it goes bad,
Till you're trying to find the you that you once had,
I have heard myself cry, never again,
Broken down in agony just tryna' find a fit–"
All too soon her hands were gone and the absence made his heart cry out for him to turn around and grab her, to hold her tight against him and never release her, scared that if he did it would all become too real.
Opening his eyes, the reality of his situation came around him, soaking into every crevasse of his being. He wanted to scream with frustration, things were all too hard. When would it ever become easy? When could he ever just have what he wanted, without worrying that it would be gone in the morning?
As his mind was swarmed with these thoughts, Hermione came into his view, walking over to the kitchen. Turning the sink on she started to wash her hands, the water splashing up her arms and across her chest, but she seemed unaware of it. As she twisted the tap off, he saw her body sigh with the pressure of something he knew nothing of. He quickly looked away, as she turned to look at him.
One day he hoped he would not fell the need to turn away, that one day she would catch him looking at her.
As the water started to fall, she was so emotional drained that she could not raise her hand to stop it, so as the water splashed against her skin it sprayed all over her chest and across the bench.
She had wanted to help him, but along the way she had become so enveloped in her own problems that she had forgotten where she was. As the words had passed her lips, the truth and reality of them had seemed so surreal. She had wondered them and she had lingering thoughts about how she could fix Bill if she couldn't even fix herself after eight years have denial.
She had ruined the one good thing in her life, and now she had to watch the repercussion of her discussion grow more and more heavy on her shoulders with ever passing day. She could not lie to herself she had made a mistake.
As she twisted the tap off, her body compressed with the pressure of her thoughts, just as she was about to break down and let the tears fall releasing all the pent up emotions, she felt a gaze on her back. It was familiar and she knew who it belonged to but for once she could say for sure that it was him without making up and excuse, thinking it was some else. She wondered if she turned around now he would still be looking at her, or if he would be looking of into the distance, at something she couldn't see.
Slowly she faced him, only to find him staring off into the apartment.
One day she hoped he would not fell the need to turn away, that one day she would catch him looking at her, and she could stare back and time would become obsolete and that could just be.
Flicking her wand, he felt a shiver run down his scalp.
"You need to wash it out now," she whisper.
She just nodded, leaning off the sink and heading over to her bedroom door. He followed as she had left the door open.
He found her kneeling by the side of the bath, her hand resting in the small pool of water already collecting in the base.
They remained in silence, as the bath filled quietly, the water trickly the only sound to interrupt their thoughts.
Once it was filled, Hermione stood and made her way over to the door, "Well I'll just le –"
She wasn't sure she had heard the one word she had been praying for, the one word that would signal that he was letting her in; that she was allowed inside his head; inside his heart.
She remained standing with her back to him, until she heard the water raise and spill over the rim. She held her breath for a long moment and closed her eyes as she turned around. Opening them to find him hunched over, his arms wrapped around his knees, he looked so vulnerable which contrasted sharply with his overwhelming presence. He was a strong man, with large rough hands, wide shoulder, and a tall build. Her eyes began to cry at the sight of him visible so hurt, so craving of affection and love.
For the second time that night she fell to her knees beside him, grabbing a cup she started to rinse the dye from his hair, to reveal golden brown waves that fell around his face as the water slivered down the brown strands. Weaving their way down his back, curving around the rough skin that reminded him of events pasted.
Her hand shakingly crossed the space to his skin, where she neither soothed nor comforted, but just felt. Her fingers tracing the scars along his shoulder, she didn't notice him flinch at her touch, she notice him close his eyes and lean into her feel.
Her hand disappeared below the water, where it stayed gently circling the marred skin. On impulse she climbed into the bath, crouching in front of him, both hands on the side of his face. Slowly she raised his face to look at her, one hand lingered in front of his face, when he closed his eyes once again, she placed her fingertips on his fore-ead and gradually drew them down his skin, her thumb swept the scar across his cheek, with that his eyes opened, she looked down briefly before leaning forward and brushed her lips along the path of marred skin, kissing it lightly.
Bill pulled back, catching her eyes, a smile passed along her lips when she saw a glint of peace glean across the surface of his face. There in the quite of her bathroom, they spent a moment just looking at each other, their eyes never straying. Hermione felt exhilarated, he had finally let her in and was open to her in a way she had never felt before. They now, were in a space where words were irrelevant. She didn't know what he was thinking but she didn't care, they didn't need that just yet, they may never need it, but if he did she would be there waiting, as she now knew he would be for her.
They had both been hiding from the world, with scars that were visible and some that were hidden.
Only to seen by the other.