Seven

Homesick.

Because I no longer know where home is.

"Egypt."

She replied without pausing for thought. When given the choice between Egypt and Norway, Egypt won hands down. Yes, Norway probably would be quite an interesting place to visit, but it didn't have the pyramids or the heat. Or Bill Weasley.

Hermione knew some people would think it was daft to choose her place of work for the next three months because of a man she barely knew, but Molly would appreciate it. And it would be nice to see a familiar face occasionally. While she loved the travelling that went with her job at the Ministry, she did feel lonely in the exotic (and not-so-exotic) locations she called home for a few months at a time. When in England, she lived at the Burrow. The room that had once been Percy's was now permanently hers. The place she had called home until she was seventeen no longer existed. Despite Molly's efforts, Hermione felt rootless.

When Hermione got in that night she sat down for dinner as usual, chatting happily with Fred and Ginny, having learnt years ago that the best way to 'help' Molly was to wash up rather than offer assistance with cooking and serving food. It pleased Mrs. Weasley greatly that she had at least one of her offspring round for dinner every night. She knew that not many mothers had that luxury once their children had left home. It saddened her to think that the war might be partially responsible for her good fortune, but she was thankful all the same.

After dinner, Hermione took Molly to one side and told her quietly that she had accepted a post in Egypt for three months and would be leaving in a week. A mixture of sadness and hope passed across the older woman's face as she took in the news.

"Could you give me Bill's address? It'll be nice to have someone I know around to show me the ropes."

"Of course, dear! It's just, well, it might be better if you turn up on his doorstep and surprise him. I don't know what to do with him lately. He hardly writes, and I haven't seen him since Christmas."

Hermione patted Molly on the arm reassuringly, knowing from the way her voice was cracking that she was close to tears.

"I know. I'll write to you every week, maybe more, so you won't have to worry about me. And I'll give you updates on how Bill's doing too. He'll be ok. He just needs time."

~~~~~~~

Hermione stood in the hot, dusty street, clutching a crumpled piece of paper. She re-read it for the fourth time, looked up at the door in front of her and stepped forward with a determined look on her face. She knocked on the door firmly and then stood back. She hoped desperately that he was home. People were starting to give her funny looks. She was fairly sure she was dressed appropriately. Having been told to keep her arms and hair covered as much as possible, she had gone shopping and bought herself several loose, light pairs of trousers and long-sleeved shirts. Today she was wearing brown linen trousers, charmed not to crease, and a white shirt. She had forced her hair into a neat bun which she had wrapped scarf round, partly to keep her hair under control, and partly so she could wear it as a more traditional headscarf when necessary.

"Damn it, Bill. Open the door."

Great, she thought, now I'm talking to myself. She knocked on the door again. It opened to reveal a rather angry man with long red hair ad silver scars crisscrossing his face.

"Hello, Bill. Long time, no see."

A look of surprise flickered across his face, and then his expression softened. He stepped aside to let her in. Hermione walked past him into his living room. Thankfully his flat was a lot nicer on the inside than on the outside. She assumed this was designed to deter burglars, which was preferable to being dragged before the courts to explain why you had jinxed intruders. The flat was spacious, well-lit and neat. And there was nothing to show that Fleur had ever lived there. Hermione decided that Bill must have a drawer full of her stuff in his bedroom.

"Why did you come?" he asked abruptly.

"I'm working here for three months. Your mother gave me your address. I thought it would be nice to have a local show me around."

"I see."

Hermione sighed. Apparently this was not going to be as easy as she'd hoped. Her plan had been to have fun sightseeing with Bill, before ordering him to write to his mother more often. It would seem that fun was out of the question.

"I take it you don't mind being stared at."

"What?"

She looked confused. She had been so sure her outfit was appropriate. She never wore anything that could be considered remotely indecent in England, and she had covered everything except her face and hands. Bill laughed sadly, and indicated his face. As he did so she noticed that he was no longer wearing his wedding ring.

"Oh, Bill."

"I don't need your pity, Hermione. And I certainly don't want it."

She sighed in exasperation.

"That's good, because I'm not offering it. You can cast a glamour over yourself so that the Muggles can't see the scars, or you can just stare right back at anyone daft enough to stare at you."

He looked at her in mild surprise. She suppressed a smile.

"And you can go see your mother more often as well. Or at least write to her. She's worried sick about you."

His shock turned to sadness once again. He looked down at his hands as he spoke, his voice catching in his throat.

"It's hard without her."

"I know," Hermione said softly, "but she wouldn't have wanted this."

Bill looked up at her, confused and curious.

"It's like she was never here. And you're so bitter. And we never see you. It's not good for you Bill. I'm sure you thought it would be easier to get rid of the things that remind you of her, but I bet there was some stuff you couldn't bear to part with stashed in a drawer somewhere. Stop hiding her things. Put a picture of her in here. Come home more. And be proud of your face."

Hermione sat back and waited for the tirade that had to follow her presumptuous outburst. She had meant to wait at least a few days before having this conversation. Maybe until the end of her visit. But somehow it had happened already. When she realised he wasn't going to say anything, she looked over to see Bill sat with his head in his hands.

She walked over and sat on the floor at his feet. She moved his hands and lifted his chin. Hermione slowly traced each of Bill's scars with her fingertips. At first he flinched under her touch. She persisted and he gradually relaxed. No one had touched him since his wife had died. He sighed softly as her small hands travelled the roadmap on his face and he closed his eyes. When he finally opened them, she smiled sadly, stood up and left.