He used to be the handsome Weasley. Birds and blokes liked him on sight, and no one had been surprised that he’d been the one to nab the half-Veela. But Stan looks at Bill. And that’s better than the best sex Bill has ever had.
He knows why he does it.
What he doesn’t know is how it will end.
He thinks about it as he’s lying in bed after Stan’s gone. He often does his best thinking after sex. He made the mistake of telling Charlie about it, and now his brother takes the piss whenever Bill’s name appears in the Prophet for breaking a particularly nasty curse: “Got a leg over last night, eh, Billy boy?”
He lies there, not bothering to Scourgify the dank sheets, and works out that there are only two possible endings: One, that this will stop quietly and cleanly when Fleur’s mother either recovers or dies and Fleur comes home, or two, they will keep on, finding other ways to meet, and Fleur will inevitably find out. Then it will get very messy, Bill thinks.
It’s a little like breaking a curse, thrilling and terrifying at the same time. Two options—take one, you go on eating your kippers and putting on your trousers in the morning; take the other, and your life implodes. And Bill’s damned if he knows which way it’s going to go.
But he does know why, although it’s no comfort.
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