Archive of Our Own ^beta

As Hermione crossed the magical wards into Gringotts, she shivered. Making reparations with the goblins for their break-in had been much easier once Minerva agreed to let Hermione take some of Hogwarts’ goblin-made items back to their rightful owners. Professor Flitwick had been delighted to help identify the items that would most please the Goblin King. But still, entering the building was a little worrisome as the guards at the front narrowed their eyes at her and shifted stance.

Just in case, she had both a copy of her written apology and the king’s official acceptance letter in hand. She approached the first available teller and, using the protocol Professor Flitwick had taught her, made eye contact without speaking, not blinking or looking away until the goblin showed all his teeth — a smile, she was told — and nodded.

“Well met, Witch. What do you need?”

“I wish to go to my vault, but my key was lost when Voldemort’s Death Eaters destroyed my childhood home.”

“You should never have let your vault key leave your person,” the goblin chastised with a contemptuous growl.

“No, I shouldn’t have. It was left behind on accident.”

The goblin’s expression didn’t change as he called out, “Barsnag, take this witch to Pallaxe.”

The goblin Barsnag sneered at her, but beckoned to her and set out at a brisk pace. For someone so small, it was remarkable how fast he could move. Hermione rushed to keep up.

When they finally came to the end of several winding corridors, he tapped a complicated pattern on the door and a female voice called out, “Enter.”

“A witch for you, Pallaxe. She lost her key.”

Pallaxe glared at her. “Come in and give me your finger.”

Hermione hesitated for only a moment before following the goblin’s command. She was unsurprised when the goblin pricked her finger with her long, sharp nail, and let three drops of blood fall out onto a parchment.

“We must confirm your identity,” the goblin informed her.

Her name appeared at the bottom of the parchment, then the lines of her family tree began filling in. To her surprise, several branches up on her father’s side, the ink changed from the dull grey of muggles to the wixen black.

Apparently, she was related to Hector Dagworth-Granger after all. And for some reason, her name now changed from black to blue and Dagworth-Granger was her new surname. Hermione frowned at the parchment.

“I’m not a Dagworth-Granger.”

“You’re the only Dagworth-Granger still alive,” Pallaxe said, a sharp grin on her face. “You’ll need an account manager for your vaults, properties, and investments.”

“My… what?” Hermione asked, stunned.

“The Dagworth-Grangers are quite well to do, witch. You would do well to accept the Ladyship and carry on the line,” Pallaxe advised. “I’m happy to offer my services as account manager.”

“I… that would be fine,” Hermione ventured. She felt thoroughly out of her depth all of a sudden. She had never read any books on inheritance laws in the wizarding world. There hadn’t been a need once Harry started doing his own research in eighth year.

Pallaxe grinned. “We’ll need some more blood,” she declared as she opened a drawer of her desk and pulled out a box. When she opened it to show a ring, Hermione wondered how the right box had been there waiting. Magic, she supposed.

“Three drops of blood on the ring to see if it accepts you.”

Hermione did as she was told, bleeding onto the lovely ring that looked like a band of roses with rubies all around. It glowed as her blood touched it and the goblin looked even happier. “Put it on now,” Pallaxe ordered.

As Hermione slipped the ring on her finger, she felt a surge of power in her blood, her magic. She gasped and said, “I’ve never felt anything like this!”

“That would be your family magic joining your own.”

“Do all pureblood and half-blood wizards have this connection? Or is it just because I’m the Lady of the Dagworth-Grangers?” Hermione asked.

The goblin gave her a look that suggested she was daft. “Yes, they all have that connection, though if you want to know more, I recommend you find some wizards’ books on the matter. I’m merely your account manager, not your personal advisor.”

“Of course,” Hermione answered automatically. She didn’t want to take advantage of the goblin.

“Now, let me pull out our records on the Dagworth-Grangers,” the goblin said with a smile, reaching into the same drawer and retrieving an enormous file.

When Hermione left the bank several hours later, her head was spinning with information — vault values, investment numbers, and the knowledge that she owned an old, pureblood manor that Pallaxe recommended she check on as soon as possible.

*********

That proved easier said than done. Hermione was sweating by the time she finally brought the wards down. Pallaxe had made it sound like a little blood on the front gate would allow her entrance easily, but apparently the Dagworth-Grangers were much more paranoid than that. She wasn’t even sure the wards were all dismantled, but she was at least able to enter the property.

The building before her was lovely — it looked like an oversized witch’s cottage one might find in a muggle storybook. It had ivy winding up the sides and an overgrown garden full of beautiful flowers. As she was walking up, Hermione also noted some useful potions plants amongst the decorative landscaping. Much as she enjoyed her flat in muggle London, she could already feel herself falling in love with this place that felt like home.

Tentatively, she reached to open the door, gasping when there was a tiny click and something pricked her finger, allowing a few drops of her blood to spread on the doorknob. “You could have asked first,” she grumbled. Somehow, she was sure the house was feeling smug about it.

Pushing open the door, she gasped at the room she stepped into as it lit up around her. It certainly didn’t look like a witch’s cottage in here. She was in a high-ceilinged foyer. To one side there was an actual mud room, still with wellies lined up in a row. At some point, the Dagworth-Granger family must have had several members. Hermione wondered what had become of them.

On the other side, there was a cloak room, the closet still full of expensive-looking cloaks. It was as though the wizards and witches who had lived here just got up and left one day. That feeling multiplied as Hermione explored. Everywhere, there were signs of life. There was even still food in stasis in the kitchen, ready to be served.

She found that the place had more bedrooms and bathrooms than she could ever imagine needing, a state of the art potions lab, and, her favorite, of course, a huge library. There was only one door that wouldn’t open, no matter what she did to it. Her blood wasn’t helping. Pushing power through her ring didn’t do the trick. Worse, there seemed to be some kind of curse on the door. She felt weak anytime she pushed her magic to work on it.

It had to be the room with the wardstone. Pallaxe had described to her the ritual she would need to do to claim the house and the wards. But it was dependent on touching that stone. She had to get to it or the house was too vulnerable to live in.

Much as she hated to admit it, Hermione was going to need the services of a cursebreaker.

**********

Bill sighed when the bell on his desk went off, telling him there was a cursebreaking emergency for him to handle. Glancing at the header, he groaned. Apparently it was Pallaxe who had a job for him. She was one of the most meddlesome goblins, always encouraging him these days, to stop moping about Fleur and get back in the dating scene.

As if he had any desire to do that after the way Fleur had left him. The divorce was barely finalized, though she had moved back to France nearly a year ago, shortly after the war ended. She had told him that the whole whirlwind romance was just a product of everything feeling so urgent because of the war. She had done her duty helping him and his family protect their homeland, and now she was done.

It had broken him. Bill felt old and used up. He had moved back to the Burrow since the memories at Shell Cottage were too painful, but he had a hard time there as well — surrounded by the family chaos and everyone’s happiness that they had all survived the war.

He was happy about that, too, of course. Merlin, it was a miracle the whole family had made it out practically unharmed. It just seemed like he was out of step with everyone else. Their lives were beginning to take off and his had crumbled to pieces.

Shaking away his pathetic thoughts, Bill stood and headed for Pallaxe’s office, steeling himself for any comments she might make as she assigned him this new task. Maybe she would have mercy on him and leave off.

“Ah, Cursebreaker Weasley,” Pallaxe greeted. “We have a customer who just inherited one of the Olde properties. She is having some trouble getting to the wardstone.”

“Has she tried disassembling the wards?” Bill asked, annoyed already that something so simple had been called an emergency.

“I don’t know, Cursebreaker. That’s not my job,” Pallaxe said pointedly. “I do suspect this property has some rather… interesting wards and magical properties. Hector Dagworth-Granger was a paranoid old bastard, as was his entire family.”

“They needed to be, didn’t they?” Bill noted, “What was left of the family was taken by Death Eaters in the first war, weren’t they?”

Pallaxe nodded grimly.

“I’m surprised an heir has been found.”

“Through a squib line on the Granger side,” Pallaxe said helpfully, her smile just a little sly, he thought.

“Granger?” he repeated, thinking. “As in Hermione Granger?”

Pallaxe confirmed it then said, “She is undoubtedly waiting for our cursebreaker to show up. Do get on with it, Weasley.” Her eyes were glimmering in the way that said she found something amusing, but there was no telling what she found humorous about the situation.

He left after a quick goodbye, his mind spinning. Hermione. She was far too young for him, but Merlin, the girl had grown into a woman in the last year. He wasn’t interested, of course, but he had eyes.

As he thought about it, Bill was surprised that she needed his help. Hermione was brilliant. He had wondered if she might go into cursebreaking. She was certainly curious enough to enjoy the work the way he did. As far as he knew, she hadn’t settled on what she would do quite yet. She had only just graduated her special “eighth year” and had the whole world before her.

Before he could get morose again contemplating his own lack of prospects, Bill grabbed the dragonhide messenger bag he kept his supplies in and apparated to the coordinates Pallaxe had given him. He could see a figure coming through the overgrown garden as he approached the gate.

“Bill!” Hermione cried when she saw him. “I didn’t know you would be the one they sent!” She seemed delighted to see him and it made Bill’s stomach do a swooping flip.

“Now that I’m in England, they often send me out on this kind of call. Though I’m surprised you came across something that stopped you.” In all honesty, it was both a bit worrisome and made him excited for the challenge.

“I managed to get through the wards on the house itself, but there’s one door I can’t open and the wardstone has to be on the other side. I’ve dismantled everything I can, but I think there’s some sort of curse at play. Every time I try to work on it, my magic starts feeling drained,” she explained.

Bill nodded, not willing to comment on what it was until he took a look personally. “Lead the way,” he said instead. He did his best not to look at her arse, at the sway of her hips, as she walked in front of him talking all the way.

“I still can’t believe I have this place. I’m stunned that I had an inheritance all this time and no one ever thought to check. I wonder how many other muggleborns are actually from squib lines. What if we all are?” she mused.

“Do you still count yourself amongst the muggleborns?” he asked.

“I don’t know, honestly,” she paused. “It’s been such a part of my identity for so long now. But I’m also suddenly a Lady with a seat on the Wizengamot. I feel like I’ve become a Disney princess or something.”

“What’s a Disney princess?” Bill asked, confused.

“It’s a muggle thing,” Hermione said with a sigh. Before he could ask more, she gestured to a door off to the side. “That’s the one I can’t get open.”

“Let me just take a look,” he said, his focus purely on the door as he began his scans. Hermione had done an excellent job. Bill noted the residue of some very complex wards that she had made it through already. He was surprised when none of the diagnostics he ran came up with anything. “I can’t find any trace of magic on the door,” he said in exasperation after a few minutes. “Do you mind if I try opening it?”

“Please do,” Hermione invited, “though I’ll be terribly embarrassed if it lets you right in.”

It did not.

As soon as he touched the doorknob, he felt a prick on his finger and a nasty zapping sensation shot through him. He was on the ground before he could consider even turning the knob.

“Bill!” Hermione cried. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry!”

He held back a groan. “I’m fine. The only thing hurt is my pride. I should have asked you if you thought there was a blood ward.”

“I should have remembered to mention it. Practically everything here has had one,” she admitted.

“Can I watch you try to enter?” he asked.

Hermione grimaced, but nodded, touching the knob and wincing as it no doubt pricked her finger. Bill cast quickly so that he could see her magic as she began turning the knob. The moment her hand moved it, the door began sucking at her magic. It felt like she was turning that knob forever, her magic being pulled more and more rapidly away from her.

“Stop,” he called out, and Hermione backed away, stumbling enough that he reached out and caught her before she could hit the ground.

“I don’t think it would stop pulling from you.”

“So it’s definitely cursed?” Hermione asked.

“Definitely cursed,” he agreed. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, though I may need a cuppa before I can try again,” she admitted.

“Sit down and do that. I’m going to run some more scans and perhaps try pushing my own magic into it without touching the knob, see if I can feel the curse,” he told her.

Hermione left him to it.

Nothing he tried showed him any trace of the curse. Bill suspected it must be blood magic, but he needed to feel the way it pulled before he could be sure.

Keeping his hands a few inches from the door, he cast a simple Alohomora and pushed with his magic. He immediately felt the tug and, Merlin, Hermione had undersold it. Bill felt like he was in a fight for his life, the door siphoning his magic out of his core faster than he could replenish it.

His vision was becoming hazy as he heard his name shouted from behind. Bill glanced back at Hermione who was rushing toward him. The moment his attention left the door, it wrenched his magic harder, draining it away as everything went black.

*********

Hermione screamed Bill’s name, and was relieved when he looked at her. Moments later, however, his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed. Hermione dropped the tea tray she had been carrying as she rushed to his side, ignoring the broken tea set.

“Bill, Bill!” When he didn’t wake with her shaking him, she bit her lip. Using magic to wake someone who had been through a strain wasn’t always the best way, but she was worried for him. She ran a hand over his forehead and down his cheek to be sure he wasn’t feverish before she enchanted, “Ennervate.”

The wizard came to immediately. “Hermione?” he asked groggily, seeming confused for a moment about where he was. “Oh. The damn door.”

“Oh indeed. Did you have to keep at it until it sucked you dry? I assume that’s what happened.”

“It’s what happened,” he muttered. He didn’t like admitting the door had gotten the best of him. “I was holding my own until I was distracted.”

“Sorry,” she said, flushing. “You were looking faint already and I thought you were going to fall. Then you did.”

He blushed Weasley red. “Well, there’s definitely a curse on the door, but I can’t get a feel for it, the curse itself, I mean. Let me try again.”

“Okay,” Hermione said warily, “but if you start looking peaky again, I’m pulling you away before we get to the fainting bit.”

Bill grunted what may have been an affirmative in response, his magic already stretched out to the door again. It didn’t take long before he pushed back from it, his feet unsteady. Hermione was off the sofa and halfway to him before he could protest.

“I’m fine. Let me just have some chocolate and then I’ll be right back at it.”

She couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. Why were the Weasley men all so bloody stubborn? “I have plenty of chocolate for you, but what good is it going to do if you just keep sinking your magic in without finding the curse itself.”

He hadn’t said there had been no progress, but Hermione felt like she was good enough at reading him to know he couldn’t have yet. She and Bill were a lot alike — and there was no triumph in his eyes yet, just steady determination.

The look he gave her suggested Bill didn’t really appreciate being read so easily, but that just made her want to roll her eyes again. Instead of answering immediately, he turned to the tea tray and indulged in some of the chocolate Hermione had summoned from the pantry.

After a few moments, the tension in his stance melted and Bill awkwardly rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t mean to snap at you. That took more out of me than I like admitting. I think, if you’re willing, that we may need to work together.”

She leaned toward him eagerly. Cursebreaking was fascinating and the opportunity to learn from one of the best wasn’t something she had anticipated — or anything she was willing to pass up. “I’m willing,” she told him.

For some reason, she noticed his ears turn Weasley red again, but he rushed into his explanation of what they both needed to do. She would be standing with him, linking her magic to his as she pushed into the door with hers and he searched for the edges of the curse with his. If it became too much for her, Bill would help pull her back.

Taking her place right in front of him, her body turned toward him, Hermione couldn’t help how aware she was of Bill’s proximity. She was close enough to smell him and Merlin, he smelled good. The look in his blue eyes when she met them didn’t help any. They were darker than she had ever seen them before.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice low and a little husky if she wasn’t mistaken. Hermione could only nod. “Don’t touch the door, just my hand. Now send your magic into the door. Focus on it opening.”

Hermione did that — or tried to. Bill’s scent was so distracting. And the warmth of his hand where their palms touched, linking their magic physically. She couldn’t very well worry about a door when all she wanted was a snog.

She knew the moment it went wrong, but it was too late to do anything about it. Her magic was being sucked down, down into something ancient and deep. “Don’t let it—” Bill began but his voice was fading as he spoke and suddenly everything went black.

********

Bill had no idea what time it was when he woke. He didn’t even know where he was, only that there was a pleasant weight on his chest and it was dark wherever they were. With a muttered expletive, he felt around until his wand was in hand.

“Lumos,” he cast, then blinked at the sight of Hermione Granger sprawled across him. For a moment he was too shocked to move or say anything, still trying to recall how they had ended up in this position.

Then he looked past her, to the door. It looked innocent enough, but the memory came rushing back of it pulling at his magic, draining Hermione and himself so rapidly they must have both lost consciousness.

Carefully, he tried to shift the witch enough to move out from under her, but Hermione clung to him even without waking. Bill huffed, giving up on an easy extraction. He could deal with a bit of embarrassment.

“Hermione,” he said softly, gently shaking her awake.

“Hmmm…” the girl on his chest mumbled, her eyes blinking awake. Bill could tell the moment she really came around — when her eyes widened and she scrambled up suddenly. He wished fervently that the loss of her body from his own didn’t leave him feeling bereft. “What… How…”

“The door,” he said simply. “It drained us both this time.”

Hermione’s lips pursed in a way that made them look far more kissable than Bill should be thinking about. “But your magic wasn’t even touching it directly,” she observed.

“No, but it apparently didn’t matter,” Bill said with a sigh. “We’ll have to use a different tactic.” He was already running through other methods, but he hadn’t expected that Hermione would have her own suggestion.

“Maybe I need to touch the door,” she said.

“It will just drain you faster,” Bill said regretfully.

Stubborn to a fault, Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not with my blood magic involved.”

Bill sucked in a breath. How could he have forgotten about the blood wards she had said the rest of the house used? “That could possibly be a necessary component,” he agreed as he pulled himself off the floor then turned to offer her a hand up. To his surprise, Hermione was already standing, her eyes boring into the door.

“Let me just…” She reached her hand out and placed it firmly against the door.

“Hermione!” Bill said, scrambling to stand in time to add his magic to hers. As she swayed and fell against his chest, Bill bracketed her body with his arms, one hand managing to catch the doorjamb, but the other falling half on top of hers, his long fingers trailing along the door.

He shivered as some deeper magic shot through him, something Olde, something powerful. Bill wasn’t sure if it was the curse or something different. It didn’t feel like a curse, but it wasn’t exactly benign either. It was wild, but with a hint of longing, of a wish to be tamed.

For one long, intense moment, he thought they might actually manage to control the power that he was certain coursed through both of them. If they were touching the doorknob instead of the door itself, perhaps they could wrench it open. “Hermione,” he breathed, fighting to say more.

Before he could speak further, Bill felt a wave overwhelm him just as Hermione cried out. His knees buckled as they both crashed to the ground.

********

Hermione woke on her side, still feeling dizzy as the memory of that strange magic wrapped around her nearly as securely as Bill’s arms. Blinking her eyes open warily, she found it was still very dark. It was dark enough that she considered just relaxing into those lean, muscular arms and sleeping instead of getting back up to try again.

Merlin knew rest would probably do them both some good, but Hermione wanted this door open. She was not accustomed to being thwarted by magic no matter how ancient it was. Then again, she remembered the feel of it across her skin and through her body — she had undoubtedly never encountered magic like this before.

She didn’t understand what it wanted. It was yearning for something, but she couldn’t imagine what. Her mind drifted as she replayed everything that had happened, trying to gloss over the moment when Bill had put his arms protectively around her, when his larger hand had pressed over hers. She had been doing some yearning of her own then.

Behind her, Bill groaned, his arms squeezing her just a little bit tighter. It made her think about things she really shouldn’t, but Hermione couldn’t quite help it. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Are you?”

“Yes. Tired and sore, but better than before. It’s like it drained my magic again, but in a comforting way this time?”

“It was certainly happy about some aspect of what we did,” Bill agreed. “I understand just what you mean about it being comforting.”

Hermione tried to turn so that she could face him, but it was hard to do with his arms still holding her. Bill didn’t seem to realize he was doing it until she began to move. Even then, he didn’t move his arms from around her, just loosened his hold. She decided to ignore how close they were and just forge ahead. “It shouldn’t make sense.”

“Because magic shouldn’t be comforting in that way?” he asked.

“Yes, that, but also because it just knocked us unconscious again. And I know I don’t have the experience with curses that you do, but that didn’t feel like a curse,” Hermione mused.

“I agree,” Bill said, surprising her. “There’s something strange going on with that door. Something Olde.”

“Well of course it’s old. Everything in this house is old—”

“Not just old as in age,” Bill cut her off gently. “There is today’s magic, and then there is magic of Olde. Most wixen don’t even acknowledge that the Olde still exists, but the goblins and lots of other beings are still well aware of it. In my work, sometimes I come across it.”

“So you know what to do and I was just being an idiot touching the door?” she asked, wondering if he was enjoying holding her as much as she liked being held by him.

“Well, you might be a bit of an idiot for touching the door, but maybe not. Because no, I don’t automatically know what to do. This magic is most likely tied to your family magic, so if it’s telling you to touch the door, that’s probably what the Olde magic wants. Without an older family member to lead us through what the magic expects, your intuition is all we have to go on.”

Hermione grimaced. “My intuition has always been one of my most stunted parts,” she said softly.

“Just because you’re brilliant at everything else doesn’t mean your intuition is stunted. Maybe it’s just been waiting for this moment to further develop itself,” Bill said. His tone sounded amused even as he tried to be reassuring.

“Fine,” Hermione said, jutting her chin out even though he couldn’t see her. “My intuition is telling me I should get back up and try again.”

“Still with your hand on the door itself or might it be better to use the doorknob?” Bill asked.

“The doorknob, I think,” she chose decisively.

“Maybe if you hold on there, with my magic backing you up, it will let you through,” he suggested.

“You need to hold the doorknob with me,” Hermione said. She had no idea how she knew that, but she was absolutely certain it was true.

There was a pause, then Bill said, “I don’t know why that would be true.”

She shrugged in his arms. “I can’t explain it, but that’s definitely what my intuition is saying.”

“Up we get then,” he said. Hermione knew she must be imagining things, but she thought she heard him sigh as he let go of her.

They clambered to their feet then Bill lit his wand, looking at the door once again.

“We don’t need light for this,” Hermione said.

“No, but I like to see what’s happening anyway.”

“I need your hands,” she insisted. He let her maneuver him until he was standing behind her once more. One hand steadied her at the waist, the other was wrapped around her smaller hand, ready to touch the doorknob. It was a very intimate hold and Hermione couldn’t help the thrill that went down her spine every time she thought about who was holding her and how perfect it felt.

She reminded herself that he was only recently divorced, definitely not looking for love yet, and certainly not with someone as young as her. And yet… here he was. His arms around her felt right somehow. The Olde magic buzzed, calling to her.

“Are you ready?” she asked him.

“Of course,” Bill said. She felt his strong body bracing as they each gathered their magic and she moved their hands to the knob.

They gasped together when the doorknob triggered a prick to their fingers, their blood mingling on the knob. For a moment, she felt Bill’s protest, his intention to say his blood shouldn’t be there, but the Olde magic apparently had other ideas.

This time, Hermione didn’t feel overwhelmed. This time, she felt power surge through her, through both of them. Bill gasped behind her and she felt his body nearly plastered to hers, his fingers gripping her waist tightly.

Under their hands, the doorknob suddenly turned and the door swung open, softly glowing. As it did, Hermione yelped, feeling a painful sting on her hand. Bill must have felt it, too, as he grunted in surprise.

She forgot all about that in the next instant, her entire being focused on the intense magic all around her. It was comforting, like a warm hug, like she was somewhere she belonged. Beside her, Bill gave a contented sigh that made Hermione suspect he felt the same way.

It didn’t really make sense. Why was Bill part of all this? But Hermione didn’t have time to question it before she noticed the glowing wardstone in the center of the chamber they had entered.

Without thought, Hermione stepped forward, her fingers linking with Bill’s and pulling him along. As they placed their joined hands on the wardstone, words came to Hermione and she chanted them without even knowing what they meant. It didn’t matter. They were right.

“Sigilla nos simul: ad magium, ad domum, ad lineam.”

They had to be right. Bill’s voice was twining with her own, the words getting louder as they said them together over and over.

The power in the room grew and finally, Hermione felt like her heart might burst with the feeling of contentment within her. Contentment with the house, with the Olde magic, and with the man by her side. As the feeling overwhelmed her — but not to the point of passing out, thankfully — Hermione felt the Olde magic begin to slip away, satisfied by what they had done.

“Merlin, what was that?” Bill muttered. Despite his words, the tone was still barely concealed awe.

“I think that was the house claiming… me.” Hermione wanted to say us. The word felt more natural. But it wasn’t Bill’s home. He was a Weasley through and through.

In the soft glow of the wardstone, Bill shook his head. “You can say ‘us’ Hermione. It claimed both of us. We claimed both of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know what we just chanted? How good is your latin?”

“It was something about magic and home and lines. It all made sense in the moment,” Hermione said.

“Seal us together: to the magic, to the house, to the line,” Bill quoted. “Did you feel something happen to your finger when the door opened?”

“Yes,” Hermione remembered, bringing her hand up to look. Bill did the same, setting his own next to hers. There were matching bands tattooed around their fingers.

“We were just married by the magic of Olde. There is nothing more binding.”

“We what? But…” Hermione had no idea how to process that. Bill was fit, and she had always had a bit of a crush on him, but there was no way he felt the same right now. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

He pulled her close. “Don’t be. It didn’t happen just because I was here. Though I have a bone to pick with a goblin about that. Still, it happened because we are right for each other — and to carry on the Dagworth-Granger line and care for this home. The magic knows. You just have to trust it.”

“A bit late now if I don’t,” she said, trying not to panic.

Bill stared into her eyes and Hermione felt like she might be having an out of body experience. “I trust it. I trust that I’m meant to be with you — that the feelings I’ve been wrestling with since my divorce finalized weren’t just from loneliness. There’s something between us. And now we have time to explore it.”

“You’re not angry?” she asked, surprised.

“How could I be angry when everything feels this perfect?”

“What if that’s just the magic talking?” Hermione worried.

“Then we’ll talk it out between us until we both feel comfortable that it’s more than magic. I’ll wait for you as long as you’d like, love,” Bill said. His voice was gentle, as were his hands on hers. “I didn’t know this was what I wanted, but my heart is full right now, Hermione.”

“So is mine,” she whispered, almost afraid to admit it.

“Then I think you’ve thoroughly claimed your inheritance,” he told her.

When their lips met, it felt like coming home, like the magic was settling inside her. Yes, this was her inheritance and Hermione was looking forward to enjoying it.