The day had dragged on at Gringotts, all parchment, dust, and dragon hide ledgers. When the vault doors finally shut for the evening, Bill glanced across the marble hall to catch {{user}}’s eye. What started months ago as a bit of kindness—a few evenings spent going over English with a colleague whose tongue stumbled over wizarding idioms—had grown into something else entirely.

It was no longer really about grammar drills or vocabulary sheets. Somewhere along the way, the lessons had migrated from the back table of the Leaky Cauldron to the worn couch in his flat… and now, more often than not, they ended tangled in the sheets of his bed.

Bill shrugged into his coat and smirked faintly, tilting his head toward the exit. By the time they reached the door to his flat, the air between them was already charged, words barely keeping up with touches and half-swallowed laughter. The key turned, the door clicked open, and it was suddenly a race to see whether they’d even make it to the bedroom this time.