Bill makes an excuse for staring at Hermione and consequently discovers her necklace.
Bill opened the door, the smell of spices hitting his nose. His mother looked up from a cauldron and smiled.
"Hello, dear," she said, turning her attention back to the boiling liquid. And then she looked back up. "Did I know you were coming, Bill?" she asked, trying to remember if he had owled her to let her know he was visiting; she certainly didn't remember receiving one. Maybe it got lost . . .?
"No, mum. You didn't know."
"Why?" she asked suspiciously. "Are you hurt?" Molly rushed forward, making sure he still had all of his limbs. "Is Fleur hurt? Where if Fleur?"
"She's a . . . Well, she's in France."
"France?" Molly, noticing the pink that crept up on his face, kept her questions to herself and contended herself with returning to her cooking. "Your brother's and sister are outside. Why don't you join them? Dinner will be ready soon."
"Thanks mum," he said, kissing her on her rosy cheek.
The air outside was pleasantly warm. It wasn't the suffocating heat of the desert, but possessed a playful coolness that gave you the impression that it was laughing with you-not at you. He watched his younger brothers, his sister, and Harry (who might as well have been his brother) playing Quidditch with a quaffle that looked mysteriously like a muggle football. Not wanting to interrupt their game (it looked like Ron's team was winning), he walked over to where Hermione sat against the trunk of a tall tree, reading a large book. As he peered over her shoulder, he noticed the word "hieroglyphic" with a few "bilateral," and "trilateral" sprinkled in there, between the large paragraphs of tiny, tiny print.
"You should use the other H," he said, pointing to the piece of parchment she was scribbling on, trying to write her name in hieroglyphics. "That one you should use after a C, like in itch."
"Oh," she said, scratching it out. She looked up. "I didn't know you were going to be here."
"No one did," he said, sitting down next to her.
Hermione looked around. "Where's Fleur?"
He shrugged. "In France, probably."
"France? Oh . . . Sorry. If it's any consolation, she didn't seem like a very nice person anyway."
He laughed, and Hermione noticed that both Ron and Bill had the same smile. She opened her mouth to voice her observation, when she heard Ginny shout. Hermione looked up in time to see her running into Bill's arms.
The rest of the clan came running their way, and Hermione stood up to join them.
It was a while later, as they sat down to dinner, that Bill noticed Hermione was wearing a necklace. He took no notice of it, but instead smiled at her, while chewing on a mouthful of food that he hadn't even bothered to look at. It seemed Hermione had recently changed into a magnet which attracted the precise frequencies of his attention.
He hadn't noticed it while they were outside, but her eyes were brown. Normally, when one thinks of brown, one often recalls the dull and hardly thought of (unless recalled as a result of some mention or connection) dirt that covers most of the unpaved ground on the humble planet of earth. Or perhaps their mind is led to wander to the prickly skin of a tree, often times called the bark.
Hermione's eyes were like nothing of the sort, though. They were like chocolate, and to put it simply, Bill happened to really like chocolate. Chocolate is an aphrodisiac, he though idly, spooning more food upon his plate. So is the color green . . . .
Hermione's shirt was green, a dark forest green . . . . He eyed her shirt, noting the color to be close to that of a lively tree. However, his father's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You know, Bill, you can stop staring at Hermione's chest whenever you want."
Bill looked up, an uncharacteristic blush rising to his cheeks. "I-I wasn't staring," he said. "I was just . . ." He looked back down at Hermione. "I was just looking at her necklace." he hesitantly reached out and picked it up. "You see, it has this . . . this symbol."
He rubbed his thumb across it, as if brushing away a speck of sand, and turned it over and over, as if searching for something.
He stopped and pointed at the carving in the middle. "You see that man, with the head of an Ibis, holding the scribal palette and a reed pen. He has a crescent moon on his forehead, meaning he's Thoth, the god of wisdom. And that writing . . . ." he stopped, mumbling something to himself. "Where'd you get this?"
"A new store in Diagon Alley. They have tons of stuff about Ancient Egypt. That's why I was reading about Hieroglyphics. I wanted to decipher the . . . ." She let her voice wander off as Bill mumbling something else to himself. "Why? Is something wrong?"
"Yeah Bill," said Ron with a laugh. "Is it cursed?"
It was a question asked in jest, but Bill's look was anything but joking. "It may be."
Ron stopped laughing ans swallowed. "I was just kidding . . . ."
"I know, but . . . ." He took another look at the necklace. "I have to go," he said suddenly, standing up. "I'll be back by morning."
Bill grabbed his jacket and disappeared a second later.
He reappeared another second later, in the public wizards library, located in London. The wizards library was a large building, comprised of many little corridors that often times led one astray or simply dead-ended. Many a wizard had been walking down a hallway, only to find that the room they had just walked into was not the room they had meant to walk into. When a wizard (or witch, mind you) was in such a position they would look around, only to discover that the room they had meant to turn into, was really on a different floor altogether, but, upon turning back around to face the room they were accidentally occupying, they generally found the book they were looking for, sitting carelessly on a table. Not all of the corridors were as friendly though. There were many things hidden in the darkness of the lower-chambers of the library, lurking about and waiting for an interesting mind to pounce on. These "hidden tidbits" as they became known as, were not the kind of knowledge that a respectable wizard (or witch) would find himself (or herself) knowing, let alone sitting next to.
Despite the danger involved in exploring the library, it was a cheery place, the candles all lit (seeing as it was nighttime) and a roaring fire in the fireplace. The books were gleaming contentedly on their shelves, and Bill couldn't help but think that if books could make sounds, they would probably be snoring.
He walked straight towards the reference desk, but found it curiously empty.
"Hello?" he called out. There was a tiny bell on the desk, practically hidden in the large stacks of books that graced the top of the desk. Bill rang it, and not a second later he heard a few books tumbling to the ground. He peered over the desk and found the librarian kneeling onto the ground trying to pick up the books she supposedly dropped.
She looked up through her glasses and brushed her messy hair out of her face. "Oh hello, there. Can I help you?"
"Yes, I was wondering if you could help my find a particular book. I can't remember the title or the author for that matter, but if I saw it I would know . . . ."
She stood up, nodding her head. "Yes, yes. It's about Egypt isn't it?"
"How did you . . . ?"
She smiled. "I'm a librarian. I'm supposed to know these things."
Supposed to know these things? he thought suspiciously, as she led him down an unmarked corridor. Bill suddenly felt like he should have waited till morning to come here; the night librarians seemed a little off . . . . They must get bored, he thought. The only patrons they get are paranoid researchers or inventors, and Bill couldn't imagine them having a good effect on a person's psyche.
He gripped his wand in his pocket as the lady led him into a darker passageway. She smiled at him, and he gripped it harder.