Authors Note: Happy Birthday Emily!

Vault 2811

"Vault two thousand eight hundred and eleven," the sharp nasally voice of the goblin driving the tiny cart cut through Bill Weasley's thoughts, prompting him to climb out if his cramped confines and onto the small platform, which sat in front of the vault in question.

He barely had both feet on solid ground before the cantankerous creature set back off into the darkness. Bill scowled, his foul mood getting worse as he thought of the other goblins upstairs that had caused him to be nearly an hour late for this appointment. It was as if they had all known how eager he had been to get underground.

"Bill, is that you?" he heard a voice from inside the open doorway that lead to one of the more cavernous vaults beneath Gringotts Bank. For a brief second, Bill allowed himself to believe that the anxiety in her voice was coupled by an eagerness that he had only previously imagined.

Just the sound of her voice lifted his mood and the frown, that had been causing a rather nasty headache, faded away. She always had this effect on him, as if her presence alone soothed the beast that insisted on ruling his moods.

"Yeah," he replied, adjusting the collar of his jacket and flicking his ponytail down his back. He would never admit out loud to primping, but in truth that was exactly what he was doing. For some inexplicable reason he wanted to look good; wanted her to notice him in a way that had nothing to do with curses, and everything to do with being enchanted.

"You're late, I've been down here for nearly three quarters of an hour," she continued, her voice hitting that note that she only got when she was either frustrated or impatient. He knew the sound because it usually meant she was getting close to solving whatever puzzle had her pretty head churning.

"Sorry, I-" he started to apologize, but stopped when he rounded the corner and found her facing away from him, kneeling on her cloak, her prim skirt riding up the back of her thighs as she leant over something close to the ground.

His excuses fell short as he watched the swell of her arse sway slightly as she repeated whatever it was she was doing, and he had to swallow so hard that it hurt. Every one of his twisted fantasies about his co-worker came to mind and he was forced to shut his eyes and think of flobberworm's before he blurted out something he would definitely regret later.

He wouldn't call Hermione Granger a crush, oh no, she had slowly become an obsession.

He couldn't pass through the day without thinking about just what the saucy Banker was up to. It was in situations like this that he wondered just how his younger brother had given her up all those years ago - yet, knowing her temperament, he knew just who had given up whom in that relationship.

Hermione was everything he had come to appreciate in a woman - beautiful (although she would deny this), fiercely intelligent, proud, heroic and kind in a way he had never known another woman to be.

When he was first assigned to a month of what the curse breakers of Gringotts referred to as 'vault sweeping' - the process of removing any curses and artefacts of deceased wizards - he had been anything but excited. But it was mandatory that everyone took a turn at the mundane jobs. Three months on and he was now more than happy to gallivant into the dark depths of the wizarding bank, as long as the supervising Banker was Hermione.

"... took me ages to gain clearance as well, I don't know what is wrong with them all today," she was saying, and he finally took the final steps into the vault, bringing him closer to her and what appeared to be a stone chest on the floor. The rest of the deep cavernous vault was empty.

"I'm sorry?" he said, flushing when he realized he had just missed her entire diatribe.

"The Goblins, I will never understand them," she complained, her arse doing that gentle sway again, causing him to take a deep breath and willing himself to concentrate.

She looked ever her shoulder at him, smiling in a way that made him wonder how many other men she treated to such a look. It was as if just seeing him had made her whole day.

"I don't think they understand themselves," he mumbled, realizing she must have had issues with them too.

"If they want the vaults done, and they know that we need to be authorized, you would think they would have organized it all before hand, but no," she huffed, the sarcasm making him smile before her words registered.

"Wait, we needed authority to gain clearance of this vault?" he asked, glancing back at the entrance.

As if on queue, the ancient metal door began to swing closed.

Hermione's upper body turned in slow motion, as if her worst nightmare was occurring just behind her. Her eyes widened as she scrambled to her feet and Bill was torn between getting himself out and waiting for her.

The moment of hesitation cost them their freedom as the ominous clicking of multiple locks slid into place and they found themselves trapped.

"Shit," he breathed, staring at the door in disbelief.

He couldn't believe he had been so stupid. In his eagerness to get down to the vault (and Hermione), he had completely ignored the goblins who had been trying to tell him he needed authority. As with many of the older vaults, there were different curses in place that required clearance if anybody but the original owner were to attempt to gain entrance.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Hermione was muttering, running her hands through her hair repeatedly, making the unruly curls stick out in odd directions. She paced in a tight circle before coming to stare at the door once more, not quiet believing they were trapped in.

Bill was silently cursing himself, feeling like a fool.

"I can't believe this," Hermione was saying behind him, her voice high pitched with anxiety.

"It'll be fine, if I can't unlock the door now, someone will be back for us in a few hours," he replied, trying to make his voice calm and soothing. He didn't want to reveal his knowledge of her claustrophobia, but after the month or so working with her the signs were all there. He wondered if it had something to do with her experiences during the war, but had never been rude enough to ask.

"You can't unlock it, not from the inside," she said, coming to stand beside him, light on her heels as her body kicked into high anxiety.

Bill lowered his wand, realizing the same thing. It would be useless to waste energy even attempting to open the door.

"Okay, then we wait," he sighed, looking down at her. The petite witch was still staring at the door, her eyes wide and her brow furrowed. From her close proximity he could see how tight her shoulders were and her breathing had increased so that her whole chest rose and fell with exaggerated movements. Not that he was staring at her chest, or anything.

"We wait," she repeated, visibly forcing herself to calm down, "just a few hours."

"Yes," he replied, keeping his tone even and calm, realizing just how bad her anxiety about confined spaces was. It was amazing she had been able to do her job for so long, but then he supposed the door was always open and she spent most of her days above ground.

She turned shining hazel eyes up at him, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip, "Bill, I don't know if I've ever mentioned this…" she started.

"You're claustrophobic?" he asked, unable to hide the small smile that came from her confession.

She nodded silently, her breath leaving her body shakily.

"It's okay Hermione, I'm here. We'll be out before you know it," he soothed, bringing his hand up to rest on her shoulder, feeling the heat of her skin burn through the palm of his hand.

She let out a small noise and the next thing he knew she had launched herself against his chest, her fingers gripping his jacket with wrinkling force. Bill's arms wrapped around her reflexively and held her close as she shivered violently. He couldn't help feeling a moment of triumph, but from the way her lips curled upwards in a small, secret smile against his neck, he was starting to suspect that she wasn't entirely adverse to their proximity.

His body stirred as the woman of his dreams pressed herself so tight against him, and he had to close his eyes and count backward from one hundred to stop himself from doing all the things his treacherous brain was encouraging him to do.

He made it to the mid sixties when she broke free, shoving her hair back from her face and dabbing at her eyes, her whole face burning red with embarrassment, "Oh gosh, I'm sorry Bill," she said, clearly horrified, "I just don't do well in little spaces," she explained.

Bill had to swallow twice before his words would come out, "No, it's fine, really," he said, fighting the urge to draw her back into his arms, his heart thudding as he took in her slightly dishevelled appearance, his out of control mind automatically wondering just how dishevelled she could get.

She gave a jerky nod, swiped at her eyes again and let out of heaving sigh, "Right, well then. Since we are stuck here, we may as well do our jobs," she said, reverting back to business, a habit he noticed she had when she was stressed out. It was amazing just how many of her unique quirks he had picked up on, as if his brain had been storing them up.

"What do we have?" he asked, ignoring her slight breakdown and following her lead. He prayed they would get to the end of their ordeal without him doing something he would deeply regret later on. Hermione didn't need to know she was trapped in a vault with a pervert who could think of nothing better than shoving her against the nearest wall and making her forget all about their situation.

"Well, I was trying to get that chest unlocked when you arrived. I tried all the basic spells, but it must be something much older," she explained, heading back to the corner where her cloak still lay spread out on the floor.

"How old?" he asked, approaching the chest that seemed to made of the same stone as the walls and floor, a giant ornate lock rested against it's front, as shiny as the day it was built.

Hermione seemed to brighten at the question, her brain recalling the facts and temporarily forgetting about her anxieties, "Mr T.J. Argus, born in thirteen eleven, died in fifteen forty six. We believe most of the artefacts in this vault were past down by family, but in his time he amassed his own small fortune running a wizarding general store," she rattled off.

Bill was always amazed when she got like this. He knew it was her job to understand her clients, but one of the pure joys about working with her was that she understood how important the tiniest fact or figure could be to breaking certain enchantments. Most other employees of the bank would struggle to recall the first name of the vault owner.

"Do we know what's in the chest?" he asked, withdrawing his wand from the inner pocket of his jacket, kneeling on the ground.

Hermione knelt beside him and he had to ignore how her thigh pressed against his, "No, very few items were stated in the original lease documents. It seemed all the records we have of this vault are transaction details. Anything else he kept down here is anyone's guess," she explained.

"Right," Bill said, licking his suddenly dry lips when she scooted even closer to him, her eagerness making her forget about personal boundaries. Not that he was complaining.

"Any ideas?" she asked when he was silent for too long.

"About what?" he asked, his mind having been focussed on her thigh and it's slowly seeping warmth.

She grinned.

"If I didn't know better, Mr. Weasley," she said in a low, husky voice he hadn't heard before, "I would think you're somewhat distracted by something."

Bill felt a thrill run through his body as he realized the sly grin on her face meant that she was teasing him. And from the sparkle in her eye and the way she nipped at her lower lip, he couldn't help but silently thank the goblins for their borderline paranoia in terms of the security of their vaults.

"We should get to unlocking this, don't you think?" Hermione suggested, blinking up at him with deceptively ingenuous eyes. "I have a theory the charm might be something similar to what he would have used in his shop," she said, looking at him expectantly. She was so close he could almost count the freckles that decorate the bridge of her nose.

"Like an anti-theft charm," he mused, his brain slowly and reluctantly returning to the job at hand.

"Exactly!" she beamed.

Bill took a moment to observe her joy before adjusting his grip on his wand and thinking for a moment of a suitable counter curse. When the right words came to him, he tapped the lock three times and murmured the incantation. Something clicked within the lock and the heavy bottom dropped down.

"There," he said proudly, sitting back and watching as she used her wand to remove the lock and open the lid. She leant forward to peer inside, her body kept back in case the chest itself was cursed.

He took the moment of triumph to observe the swell of her arse again, the gentle arch of her back making the curves of her whole body stand out.

"Oh," she sighed, drawing back, disappointment radiating off of her. He drew his eyes back up her body and focussed on her face, which was almost pouting.

Curious, Bill leant forward to look at their discovery. When he saw the dozen bottles of vintage firewhisky he let out a barking laugh.

"I was expecting diamonds, or documents or ... something," she said, heaving another sigh and sitting back on her cloak, her legs tucked to one side as she watched him remove one very dusty bottle.

"One man's trash," Bill quipped, dusting off the label, "Ogden's finest. I don't think I have ever seen an older bottle. They must be worth a fortune now."

"Unfortunately they belong to Gringotts, they are just going to be destroyed," Hermione said, taking another bottle out and reading the label as well.

"Oh, now we can't have that. You said there was no recording of these being here?" he asked, giving her a sly look.

"Bill, no. The goblins will find out, you know they will."

He knew she was right, they would consider it theft and would probably never come back to let them out.

"But I suppose..." she began, gnawing on her bottom lip anxiously.

"You suppose what?" he asked, his gaze stuck on her perfect white teeth pressing into the soft pillow of her lips. The image was somewhat erotic and made his body jolt in awareness of her again.

"Just a sip? It seems such a waste," she said, giving him a tentative smile, holding out her bottle to him while searching for her wand. He watched as she transfigured two loose stones from the wall into goblets.

"You're right," he said, returning her smile when she finished her almost flawless transfiguration, "One taste won't lose us our jobs, and if they find out we will just tell them it was for research purposes."

He uncorked the bottle, the answering pop echoing against the ancient stone walls. She held out both goblets for him to fill, passing him one over when his hands were free. Her fingers brushed against his as she drew back and those perfect white teeth made an appearance again. Her eyes never left his as she saluted him before bringing the glass to her lips.

"To us, I suppose," she said.

"To us," he repeated, watching her take the first sip before following suit.

The amber liquid burnt sharply, but was smoother than any other drink he had ever consumed. The taste was smoky and pronounced, but it seemed the Ogden's original recipe hadn't changed much over time. Even the aftertaste, which normally had a kick, was familiar and almost comforting.

Hermione closed her eyes and licked her lips, capturing the stray drop, "I think I needed that," she said after another moment of silence.

"More?" he asked, desperate to see her lips purse and her throat convulse again. Just watching that creamy length of skin was making him hot under the collar, causing him to adjust his jacket to get comfortable again. She opened her eyes, several shades darker than the liquid that rested between them, her eyes less shiny with panic, a lot softer now.

"Please," she said, holding out her glass as he filled it, her eyes watching his movements, her tongue darting out as if she could already taste the liquid. Bill poured himself another serve and sat back against his chest, one leg stretched out across her cloak, the other bent.

"You know, I think we've only ever drunk together once," he mused, swirling his drink in an attempt to stop staring at her.

"Really?" When?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"Do you remember Harry and Ginny's engagement?" he asked, smiling as he recalled the night. It was the first time he had stopped seeing her as Ron's bossy ex-girlfriend and started seeing her as the beautiful woman she was.

"Er, not clearly no," she admitted, and he slipped a side-long glance at her, catching her pretty blush.

"I didn't think so, you were pretty sloshed. At one stage you stood up on one of the tables and showed the whole crowd you lacy knickers," he grinned, remembering clearly when Charlie had bet the intoxicated witch five galleons that she wouldn't do it. Their only warning that she was serious about the bet was the look of pure wicked joy before she had wobbled up onto his mother's picnic table, yelled something inappropriate about Hippogriffs and Weasley men, and shown the entire party just what was under her little black dress.

"Oh, yes. That," Hermione said, her blush growing a deeper red as she hid beneath her curls, "I'll never forgive Charlie for that."

Bill laughed and took another sip of the vintage whisky, "You probably don't remember, but the bet went two ways. He was going to show everyone his lacy knickers too. Mum just put an end to the party before he got a chance."

Hermione looked up at that and smiled, "There is always Percy's engagement," she joked.

"I look forward to seeing your lacy knickers again," he said, grinning.

"Oh you do, do you?" she teased, a smile flirting across her lips as her voice found that husky tone that shot straight to his groin.

Bill's eyes widened as he realized what he had said, he felt his face begin to heat, "I-I didn't mean…" he stuttered.

Hermione laughed, the sound making his insides jumped, "Of course you meant it, you wouldn't have said it if you didn't."

"Hermione, I…"

"Want to see me in my knickers, I know," she said, smirking as a look of pure shock came over his face.

"I… what… you do?" he finally asked.

"Well, I am neither blind nor stupid. I am also incredibly impatient, and as Harry so often points out, I can lack subtlety when nervous. So blurting out now that I am fully aware of your attraction to me is obviously a combination of being confined to a windowless room and drinking strong liquor on an empty stomach. I am also going to use that as my excuse when I tell you now that the thought of you finding out if I wear lace knickers all the time, or if that is just a special occasion thing, kind of turns me on," she heaved a breath and downed the last of her whisky.

He stared at the tousled woman in front on him, unsure of what to say as a follow up to such a revelation. The fact that the main player in all his current fantasies was telling him that he turned her on was enough to put his brain into meltdown.

"Now, you are either going to tell me that my assessment of your feelings toward me are completely wrong - maybe I've had food on my face or a stain on my shirt; which would explain all the staring - or, you are going to tell me I am right and ask me out to dinner, which would be nice," she said, adjusting her skirt over her knees and avoiding his eyes.

Bill continued to stare at her in disbelief. If he had known that all it took was a couple of glasses of firewhisky to get her to open up and confess every one of her sins, he would have turned up at her house months ago with nothing but a bottle in his hand and a smile on his face.

"Are they just a special occasion thing?" he finally asked, his eyes leaving her face, which had closed down in anticipation of rejection. He followed the movement of her fingers, fidgeting with her hemline.

"Do you really want to know?" she asked, her voice low, all teasing gone now. Hermione fingers stopped moving and his eyes travelled back up to meet hers again.

He looked her straight in the eye and breathed, "More than you would ever know."

He put down his goblet and held out his hand to her. She came to her knees and let him pull her toward him until she knelt cradled between his legs, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders as they maintained eye contact.

"You know, I can't help but wonder if my alarm is going to go off in a few minutes and break this dream," he said, pushing her hair back from her face, feeling the silky texture of her curls beneath his fingertips.

"Does that happen a lot?" she asked, tilting her face into his palm as he cupped her cheek, giving a little sigh. The movement seemed almost kittenish to him, he wondered if she were even aware of it.

"Lately, it seems to be everyday. I can't get you out of my head," he confessed.

"Funny, you seem to be stuck in mine too," she whispered, kissing the palm of his hand, making him shiver a little as tingles were sent up his wrist. On second thoughts, she was probably very aware of what her body did to his.

"Kiss me," he said, making her smile and pull back from his hand.

She ran her hands up his shoulders, her fingers twining through his hair. He met her kiss halfway, starting it with a simple touch – a brush of lips.

Hermione sighed again as he moved his mouth slowly against hers, as if just feeling the softness of her lips was enough contact for him. His hands travelled down until his fingers splayed across her waist, holding her against him, feeling the just how small she was. The simple, almost chaste kiss went on and on until he could feel her heart pounding.

Tightening her grip on his hair, she swiped her tongue across his bottom lip causing him to groan and deepened the contact. She tasted like firewhisky and Hermione, a totally unique combination that made his head spin and when her upper body rub against him like a cat in heat, he knew he was lost.

The kiss grew impossibly deep until they were pressed so tight together it was hard to tell where one started and the other ended, panting against one another as if what they were doing was much more than making out in an ancient magical vault deep in London's underground.

"Hermione," he gasped, pulling away to press hot, open mouthed kisses across her jaw, swiping at the spot just below her ear and making her shiver.

She could only moan in response, her head tilting to the side as he worshiped the column of her neck, surely leaving marks behind, but she seemed beyond caring. Everything suddenly seemed very hot, and the confined space was no longer the most pressing thing on their minds as he nuzzled the edge of her collar to the side, his lips tracing the swell of her breast.

"God, I've wanted you for so long," he moaned, his fingers leaving her waist to travel up her torso, finding the tiny delicate buttons that hid her from his view.

"You have no idea how long," she sighed, her head dropping back further as his fingers brushed against her aching breasts.

"Do you want me now?" he growled, one button slipping from its hole at a time, revealing the creamy expanse of her chest and the lace bra she wore inch by inch. He felt his heart jump at the sight of the decorate fabric.

"Oh yes," she moaned, when he leant forward and swiped one straining pink nipple with his tongue. Her back arched and she cried out. She gripped his shoulders tightly, as if dizzy with arousal. He loved that he could do that to her.

Hermione clung to him as he worshipped her breasts, first through the lace of her underwear, and then when that wasn't enough, he removed the barrier and repeated everything all over again.

"Please Bill," she finally gasped, when it seemed she could take no more. Bill looked up at her from where he had been nuzzling the deep valley between her breasts, and knew exactly what she wanted. The hand that had been lazily flicking at her nipples slowly travelled back down to her waist, and he delighted in the shivers the small touch bought about.

With practiced ease, he found the back zipper of her prim skirt, tugging it down so that the fabric became loose and pooled around the tops of her thighs. He came back up to capture her mouth, kissing her with renewed fervour and lowered her slowly to the ground. His hands at the back of her head kept her to him as they finally lay prone across her cloak, and he drank from her lips, savouring every small sound she made.

When his hands began to travel back down her sides again, his palms hot against her exposed flesh, she took the opportunity to slide his jacket from his shoulders. Her shaky fingers fumbled down the line of buttons on his shirt, a task she seemed to find difficult while distracted, but he made no move to help her, enjoying her casual brushes and frustrated gasps.

She moaned when he dropped his scarred chest down on hers, the feel of him pressed so intimately against her making her writhe, a movement that bought their lower bodies into direct contact. He drew his mouth away from hers to trace the now almost familiar path to her breasts, kneading them and kissing their tips as he slid lower and lower down her body. She lifted her hips when his palms smoothed down her sides and let him remove the skirt, exposing the pair of rather revealing white lace knickers.

Bill pulled back from where his tongue had been circling her belly button, and grinned up at her, "I knew it," he said, his fingers now tracing the elastic edge, making her shiver against him. The sight of her in lace knickers was one of the first fantasies he had ever had about her, and every time he found himself lost in thoughts about just what he sweet body would feel like against his, he always imagined her in them.

It was like a dream come true.

She bit her lip and smiled back, "I'm glad you like them," she replied, her voice hitting that husky edge he was now recognising as arousal.

"Mmm, love them," he groaned, falling back to her stomach, his tongue and teeth laving her until he reached where his fingers sat against her, drawing the edge of the fabric slowly down her hip bones and laying tiny kisses along her sweet flesh. His let his fingers brushed against her intimately and she moaned as if it was almost too much.

Bill had been dreaming about this for so long, that now it was becoming a reality it was hard for his brain to comprehend. He let herself become overwhelmed by the smell and taste and feel of her, so sweet and warm, so demanding and giving at the same time. His hands brushed the scrap of lace away from her body and she was left exposed to him, shivering in quiet anticipation.

"I want to say something romantic, something you will always remember, but right now my brain has gone blank," he whispered, sitting back on his heels to undo the top button of his dark jeans, looking down at her like she was a banquet and he were a starving man.

"I don't think I could ever forget this," she replied breathlessly, watching his long fingers work quickly. He had to stand to shimmy out of the demin confines, but it wasn't long before dropping he dropped back down on top of her.

His naked body stretched out across hers, his elbows supporting his weight, his heavy arousal thick where it lay against her inner thigh. She shifted restlessly against him, as if she was as desperate to feel more of him on her, in her. When she ran one tentative hand down his chest, she traced the scars left behind from the war, her fingers following each crevice, caressing every marred inch of him until she reached his sharp hip bone. He couldn't stop his own shiver of anticipation.

When she paused, he tilted her chin, staring into her eyes before he kissed her once again. With that kiss she seemed to find the confidence to wrap her palm around his length, and he suppressed his cry of triumph; suppressed the urge to thrust into that delicate touch and spill his seed on her.

He dropped his head into the crook of her neck when she began to pump her fist, her movements sure and confident, the sensations nearly overwhelming. He smelt the faint jasmine of her hair, tasted the slight saltiness of her skin and gave into her amazing touch, feeling his stomach bunch all too soon.

He didn't tell her to stop; he merely bought his hand down between them, gripping her wrist until her hand fell away. She was kissing his heaving chest, her thighs shifting restlessly on either side of him. He brushed his fingers against the small thatch of curls between her legs, kissing along her jaw line and delighting when she turned her head to meet his lips.

She cried out against his mouth when his long digits found her wet core, exploring her heat and making her buck against his hand, her tongue thrusting deeply into his mouth when he entered her slowly with his fingers. She was so tight that he almost groaned from that small touch alone, and he knew he couldn't draw it out much longer.

Shifting above her, he positioned himself more fully between her hips, capturing her hands and bringing them above her head, his mouth never leaving hers as they kissed desperately. Her legs wrapped around his waist, which lined him up with her waiting heat.

The initial thrust had her breaking free of the kiss, her voice echoing off the empty cavernous walls. He took a moment to stare down at her flushed cheeks, her dishevelled hair and parted lips. She looked beautiful and he would happily go to his grave having seen her in this state just once. But somehow he knew - as he withdrew slowly from her body - that just once would never be enough. Hell, once a day seemed like it wouldn't be enough.

He plunged back into her willing body, feeling her inner muscles adjust to him, her moans reverberating around them. It was those little noises, the gasps, the groans and the hitches of breath she got when he thrust up hard and fast that had the stirrings of release sweep over him again.

"Oh god, Hermione," he moaned, dropping down against her chest again, his head buried in her curls as his stomach grew tight.

He let go of her hands and her nails make deep angry marks against his shoulders and back, making him tense and groan in pleasure. His own hands went to her hips, tilting her against him, his thumb finding that tiny bud of pleasure at the apex of her thighs. She screamed his name out, her body shaking against him and he felt the fluttering of her inner walls begin.

He wanted her to come with him, needed her to. It was this thought in mind that had him thrusting much faster and deeper than before, her breathing changing, catching in her throat before he felt her squeeze herself around him, the sensations almost overwhelming and painful.

He'd never felt anything so incredible in his life.

She came apart in his arms, triggering his own orgasm. He called her name out, feeling the heat shoot from him in the most gratifying release he had ever experienced. She shuddered beneath him, her breath coming out in sharp gasps, echoing the own pants that seemed to burn his chest.

"Wow," she sighed, slumping back onto the floor, letting his heavy weight collapse and pin her.

All he could manage was a grunt of agreement, feeling his body grow soft within her, but not wanting to leave and end the overwhelming pleasure. He felt her smile against his cheek before she kissed him softly, her hands running up and down his back in a gesture that was both comforting and pleasurable.

He finally found the strength to roll to the side, bringing her with him so he could keep her heat close. He could have stayed like that for the rest of the day, but he knew they would be rescued soon. He decided to savour what little time they had by cuddling her close and memorizing the feel of her body against his.

Hermione seemed to have other ideas however, when she sat up abruptly, letting his arms drop to her waist.

"What?" he groaned, peeking up at her sleepily. But Hermione's attention wasn't focussed on him; she was staring up at the ceiling.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed, her hand slipping into his unconsciously, giving his fingers a squeeze in her excitement.

"Knew what?" he asked before finally tearing his gaze away from their joint hands and staring up.

It took him a moment to comprehend what he was seeing, but when he did her excitement made sense. Above them, levitated for who knew how many years, were trunks and boxes and barrels full of Mr T.J Argus's accumulated wealth. A treasure that now belonged to the Wizarding Bank.

"I knew there was more in this vault than just a couple of bottles of firewhisky," she said, lying back down beside him, her hand still clutching his to her stomach as she stared up at their discovery.

"That's vintage firewhisky," he grumbled, turning on his side to cuddle against her again.

"Yes dear," she placated, and the endearment shot straight to his heart, "the point is, that being trapped down here for a few hours wasn't necessarily a bad thing. We would have never seen all that on a normal sweep."

"I wouldn't call being trapped down here with you a bad thing at all," he said quietly, kissing her shoulder and smiling when she turned her head to look down at him.

"No, not bad at all," she replied, closing the distance to kiss him.

Suffice to say, that that wasn't the last time Bill Weasley forgot to gain the proper clearance for certain vaults.

It certainly wasn't the last time that he and the esteemed banker Hermione Granger were caught in a compromising position.

And it definitely wasn't the last time he made love to her.

Thanks for reading!