Hogwarts Oneshots

Bill X OC part 2

What I hadn't truly factored in to the second serious 'Escape William Weasley' plan I'd made in my life was Neville and Ron's tight friendship. While I knew Neville knew the minute details of my trip, I hadn't anticipated that he would tell Ron even the basics. Furthermore, after I ran from Bill, I hadn't anticipated that Ron's minor knowledge would grow at an exponential rate to the extent at which he could probably pinpoint the exact route of my plane. While the previous information may not seem drastically crucial to some of my readers, others will see how it may have impacted the following turn of events.

As I stood in Diagon Alley, holding my bag in one hand, and a coffee in the other, I could see Neville attempting to order a bagel. Somewhere between his awkwardness and the massive crush he held for the Slytherin beside him at the counter, Neville had seemingly forgotten how to get a single sentence from his brain to the exterior of his head. Consequently, Blaise Zambini was watching Neville with what could be described as a predatory gaze of intent - or a knowing look with hidden affections. Ron was stood next to me, not so subtly watching Draco who was awaiting the arrival of the aforementioned Slytherin boy. I had correctly assumed that the subject of Draco and Blaise's conversations were much the same as the conversations I had become a part of with Ron and Neville. The revelations from those conversations are ones I hope will be revealed to you in all good time.

It wasn't long before the three of us were back to our walk through the street and into muggle London as the two boys chattered and I watched them, softly smiling. It was when their attention turned from the two Slytherins in their affections that I truly started to listen.

"When's she going to New York?" Ron had asked through the largest bite of bagel possible as the pair looked to me.

"Tomorrow evening, Neville's coming for a few days. Why Ron, would you like to come?" I hastened to add, "We are going by plane." At the mention of planes and a complete lack of port keys, Ron seemed to become disinterested and shook his head.

"Just curious, Bill was asking." I raised an eyebrow at that in an attempt to get him to elaborate, but he just smiled at Neville and added, "I need to go home or else Mum'll have my head. See you, Nev."

Ron's parting words caused my gaze to become fixed on Neville as I lifted a questioning eyebrow, to which I received very little response other than, "How is Bill?"

"I don't know, Neville," I paused and winked at him in an attempt to change the subject, "How's Blaise? Or did you not notice the look he was giving you?"

That set off Neville into a stuttering and blushing state of being and left me to debate what business Bill had knowing about my travel arrangements. Not that I wouldn't willing tell him the entirety of my plans if he asked, or even if he didn't and the silence was becoming long and uncomfortable which it probably would now I'd accidentally confessed my love.

It wasn't until the following evening that I fully realised Neville and Ron's plan surrounding my departure. When I was leaving for the airport Neville announced he was going to stay at home and spend time with his grandmother who had only just returned from Croatia. If I'd really stopped to mull this over, the suspicions may have begun then; but I didn't pause for thought and simply continued out of the door.

Secondly, my journey through the airport was incredibly smooth, that in itself should have been a red flag - such smoothness rarely makes an appearance in my life. Although, I can fully appreciate that the unexpected lack of inconveniences had nothing to do with the third and final issue I ran into that truly made their plan a suggested idea within my mind.

As I stood in line, waiting to hand over my passport and boarding pass to the flight attendants stood behind the desks, I noticed a mop of ginger hair. The owner of the long and messy hair was looking around the airport in slight bewilderment, as if he'd never been in a muggle airport before. In hindsight, having been brought up in a pureblood family, I imagine he never had been until that evening. Even though I knew who it was, I didn't feel I could jump to conclusions that it definitely was until he turned around. And, while it would have been a logical assumption that he had come to see me, even the Slytherin in me didn't want to be presumptive.

I didn't want him to notice me, I wanted to walk onto that plane with no new memories of him. I didn't want the irritation I imagined I'd see or the pain I imagined I'd feel. I knew what I was walking away from, who I was walking away from. While the ache in my heart was growing with every step I took I didn't want to look back. It wasn't the saying 'I love you' that I regretted, it was the taking so long, until it was clearly too late. What Bill deserved wasn't me, I'd accepted that and that was my new reality.

My new reality was about to be a reality without him. The thought of a world without him made me feel sick, as if every time I'd cried over him was coming back to me in this single moment. This decision made me feel ill, as if even my physical being knew it was wrong and I couldn't stop myself from turning back to look at him one last time.

But the look of recognition that appeared on Bill Weasley's face as I walked through the gates and towards the plane made my heart flutter. I hadn't expected him to turn around and, imagining that this was our silent farewell, I blew the flustered redhead a kiss, then I turned around and walked away.

If this was one of those angst ridden, upsetting, cry into your cup of coffee but ultimately happy sorts of stories, I imagine this is where I'd have to end it. I'd tell you how, eventually, I was happy in New York, I moved on, married someone who could make my heart flutter the way Bill could. I'd tell you we'd had two children, a boy and a girl, we lived in a cute little townhouse and holidayed on the West coast whenever we could. I'd tell you how my spouse's nine to five would drive me wild and how my children drove me insane. Maybe we'd have had a dog, or a cat - something mundane, muggle and safe. Finally, I'd tell you that that life had, as a whole, been a good existence and I'd had love and happiness and I'd felt fulfilled.

I can't tell you any of that. That story wasn't what awaited me on the other side of that gate in Heathrow, and it wasn't the story I began when I stepped onto that plane.