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Tell me you need me
Hold my hand, everything will be okay
I heard from the heavens that clouds have been grey
Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms
I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long
To tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding
You don't need to show me again
But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you
I won't let go 'til the end
The moon was beginning to creep up over the horizon, and for the first time, Hermione was trepidatious about the night ahead. Bill’s lycanthropy was usually incredibly mild. His only symptom typically was irritation and protective instincts over Victoire, with an increased need for protein the day of the moon. Tonight though, something primal had shaken loose in Bill.
Hermione’s poor husband was pacing the length of their home, tense and miserable. His hands were curled into cruel curves as his nails grew into claws, clearly painful as they tore through his nailbeds. Something about this moon cycle being both a Harvest Moon and a Blue Moon that coincided with the Supermoon had werewolves on edge. Partial lycanthropes were warned tonight would be rough, but they hadn’t known how bad it would get as the moon rose. The only upside to this was Hermione was one of the world's foremost experts on people infected with Lycanthropy who didn’t turn. Something in her knew that if Bill were ever to turn, it would be tonight. Additionally, dealing with Bill’s wolf, affectionately nicknamed Lucas, directly was not her idea of a good time on a full moon night. Bill didn’t want to risk her or Victoire. It put him on edge. The tot had been sent home to her mother tonight, despite moon nights normally being Bill’s. Fleur had been understanding. Despite knowing his daughter was safe, the absence of their daughter made things much worse.
She flipped through her book, “Bill, love, were you working with anything especially dark today that the curse could have fed on?”
Bill snarled, snapping his head in her direction, “I’m a cursebreaker, Hermione!”
His cornflower blue eyes had flashed the golden-amber of the wolf, and his teeth were clearly shifting with the fangs now occupying the place his incisors normally did. Hermione just hummed, flipping through her book further as he paced in front of the couch where she sat.
It continued like this, Bill pacing, occasionally snarling or making a choked-gasp of pain as his nails turned into claws and his ears tried to migrate to the top of his head like a wolf’s. Cooling charms kept him comfortable as the fever took over, but that was all she could do in the moment.
“I know it’s the furthest thing from what you want to do now, but can you try to ask Lucas what he wants?” Hermione finally suggested for lack of a better idea. They were only an hour after moon rise, barely 5 o’clock in the evening with a very long night ahead of them. Hermione had taken off from the ward and the Healer’s knew to be prepared for potential werewolf injuries, self inflicted and otherwise. She would do anything to keep her husband from needing to be sedated in hospital.
The calming draught he’d taken early was ineffective, or worse, if this was it successfully working, Bill was in for much worse when it wore off.
“He’s nonsensical. I can’t talk to a wolf, Mi! The stupid beast is rambling that we aren’t safe, we have to keep you and Victoire safe. This house is one of the most well protected in Britain, only after Shell Cottage. I cast the ward myself! He wants control.” The anger in his voice quickly showed exhaustion.
“Of course he wants control love, it’s the moon. This is the closest he’s ever come to getting it, we’re safe. Just focus on that, deep breaths. If you are worked up, the easier it is for this to overwhelm you,” the Healer tone was easily slipping in. It was easier to distance herself with it while her mind spun out to figure out a way to soothe the wolf’s desire for safety.
In the wild, wolves lived in packs. Complex social dynamics were important, wild wolves were less strict than captive wolves. A common denominator was the protection of mates, pups, and their dens, team hunting and food sharing was important too.
“I’m going to change, then make some dinner,Bill. I want to get some meat in you before Lucas is tempted to take a bite out of Crooksie.” She tried to lighten the mood. If Bill could relax, it would make all of this easier on him. Fighting the small transformations he was experiencing had to be making them hurt even more.
Bill shot a horrified look at the elderly Crookshanks who was curled in his basket in front of the fireplace. The cat stared back challengingly.
“See, I’d hate to see you maimed by my sweet boy. It would be embarrassing. Losing an eye to a cat?”
The cheer carried her out of the lounge and into their bedroom, digging in the closet for her favorite top and pajama bottom duo she wanted to wear. They were warm, even softer from repeated washings. Getting him comfortable would be important and textures were a part of that process.
When she stepped out of the dark walk-in closet, only lit by her wand light, her mind flashed with an idea like a lightbulb in a Muggle cartoon.
Turning back towards their bed, she flicked her wand. The dresser safely floated out of the way and the bed parked itself in the corner against the wall. Only two sides exposed rather than three. Then she flicked her wand again, dusting the drapes then pulling them up in an arch over the mattress, affixed to the ceiling with a temporary sticking charm.
A den.
A clearer space to defend, the comforts of their bed, and if she played her cards right, a full stomach might just be what the healer ordered. Manually, Hermione built up the mattress, looping blankets and a couple pillows around a more open center, giving Bill a small fort to defend. She dimmed the lights, casting a darkening charm over the windows, and a cooling charm on the air, with his fever it would hopefully feel nice against his skin.
Hermione heard a faint shout from the living room, freezing to see if it continued before walking in with a calm she didn’t feel. Startling or making him worry about her wellbeing would not help anything.
“This fucking moon!” Bill barked when she found him crouched against the wall, staring at his ankles as if they were going to combust.
Hermione flicked her want into a diagnostic charm. His feet and ankle joints were trying to shift into a more wolf-like configuration, but it seemed to stop temporarily.
“Not good. Okay, honey, we need to get some protein in you, appease the wolf some. I know you are wired for sound…”
Bill’s raised eyebrow had her rolling an eye, she stuck her tongue out at him, “Yes, yes, muggle phrase. You know what I mean though. You are about to crawl out of your skin. It’s better if you don’t break an ankle trying to wear a hole through the rug pacing on those ankles though.”
Her husband shot her a wolfish grin, “I have another idea of what we could do with that energy.”
Some of the cocky, well-earned self assuredness faded as he reached out with his wolf-warped hand, and froze before pulling it back.
“I’m sure you do,” Hermione snorted, offering him a hand to pull him to his feet. It wasn’t good for Bill to dwell. She didn’t hesitate at his twisted joints or the claws that brushed her wrists. He was hurting and Hermione could help. In this case, that included not shying away from the consequences of his true sacrifice and bravery at Hogwarts that night.
Bill’s gaze softened, the amber flickering in and out of his eyes looked begrudgingly proud and a little besotted. She knew that her husband’s inner wolf liked her, and liked that she wasn’t afraid. This was an excellent chance to prove she understood the instincts there too.
Her husband wasn’t a quiet person by nature, but they both settled in the enjoyment of each other's presence and rarely needed words to communicate these days.
Hermione directed him to a seat at the table, pulling a chair out for him with a twitch of her wand before she twisted her hair into a bun and stabbed the vinewood through it to keep her riotous curls out of the way. Their kitchen was cosy and warm, decor they had chosen when they moved in together interspersed with pictures of their families, the Weasley horde, and Victoire. The entire refrigerator was covered in the little girl’s art from nursery and crafts she did with Molly.
Some of the tension faded a bit and Hermione took the opportunity to put a full plate of steak, mashed potatoes, and a little bit of spinach on the table in front of him. They were still perfectly warm under the stasis charm she threw on the oven when it became apparent sitting down for dinner before moonrise would be problematic. Especially with the nausea he’d experienced earlier on.
Bill struggled for a moment to sort how to pick up his fork and knife around the claws, and Hermione yearned to fix it. She knew better than to try though, Bill was an independent person and was struggling enough without her micromanaging. He did figure it out, looking a little proud, the tips of his canines poking out between his lips as he chewed a massive bite.
Dinner was quiet, the sound of their forks against the plate and occasional pleased rumbles from deep in Bill’s chest. He’d blushed at the first couple, his freckled cheeks going pink, but it was a happy sound. The way his eyes stayed almost entirely blue throughout dinner said enough about the state of his wolf.
When the meal was done, his eyes momentarily flickered shut and his head fell back, exhaustion and tension radiating out of him in equal measure. Hermione rose from her seat and put a hand on his shoulder. He peeked a look at her, leaning into the touch.
“Come with me, let’s get you settled.”
Hand in hand, they walked slowly to the bedroom. The pain was clear in Bill’s gait. She summoned a pain relief potion from the cupboard as they stepped into the dark, cool bedroom.
Bill’s jaw dropped at the rearrangement before his eyes flared gold and stayed that way. He took a deep breath through his nose, scenting the air. He immediately began herding her towards the bed, with soft hands, “You did this? How did you know?”
She could feel the tightness in his shoulders relaxing with each step towards their little mattress fort, “I know you. It was a bit of a guess. Did I do it right?”
“Its- I don’t…”
Hermione waved him forwards, pushing his own well-worn pajama pants into his hands, “It’s for you. Fix it how you want.”
“For us,” Bill asserted before stepping up to the fort. He pulled the blankets up and began moving them, getting into trance-like state as he smelled things and moved them around with no shame. He turned, “Accio!”
Their blanket from the couch flew through the air and was placed with care around the upper edge of the nest of blankets Bill made. Crookshanks in his basket summoned a moment later. That little touch warmed her heart as he parked the cat and his basket on the floor near the end of the bed. While she was cooing over her cat, a few more things floated into the room from other areas of the house. Then Hermione was unceremoniously scooped into his arms as he scampered carefully over the edges of the blankets and deposited her into the small hollow in the center of the bed.
Looking closer, she saw their preferred blankets and pillows were up near the top of the bed with Victoire’s blankie she forgot earlier tucked in between their primary pillows. Other comforters and blankets were wrapped around the bottom of the bed. Bill spread out on the side towards the door which closed with a decided snap. When it closed, her husband went limp against the bed, breathing in deeply.
A little chilly from the cold in the room, Hermione burrowed against his overheated side, wrapping herself in his aching arms. She entwined her fingers with his, as they were slowly returning to normal, aside from the long talons in place of his fingernails.
“Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into her riot of curls. His nose began to run up and down the side of her neck, breathing in their shared scent.
The warmth of their love, the nest, and his raging fever resisted the cooling charms Hermione occasionally recast over the next few hours. Despite the occasional interruptions when Bill's need to patrol the house overcame the calm they'd found, they remained nested in their bed. Eventually cuddling turned to kissing, hot for another reason, which became that playful flirtation, which settled back into cuddles as the exhaustion of the night slammed into Bill.
“I love you,” Bill had muttered sleepily, forehead pressed against hers, “thank you for loving me despite this.. This…”
“I love you too, fangs and all. You’ve seen me much scarier than you ever were.”
He huffed a laugh, rubbing the tip of his nose against her in the sweetest butterfly kiss, “You are a wonder. A wonderful wife, mother, and healer.” A little gold threaded through his eyes, “A perfect mate who built me a den. Only thing that would make it better was if Victoire was here. Next time?”
“Next time. Maybe on the next crazy moon convergence, there'll be another beside her.”
The warm rumble erupted in his chest, one of her favorite of his wolfy sounds because it amused her so much, “I’d like that. You’re already a great mum.” He fell asleep not long after that, close to midnight. He fell asleep on his stomach, draped across Hermione’s lap with Victoire’s blankie held up close to his face and Crookshanks curled up on the small of his back. His other hand was twisted up at a weird angle, still locked with hers. The numbness in her legs was worth it to let him finally rest.