The early morning skies were grey and swept with heavy, dark clouds. The smell of rain lathered the air from a long night of thunderstorms. Water rushed down the creek, bringing with it a sense of calm. Wet rubble crunched beneath his shoes; he weighed each pebble down into the thick mud as he tread along the narrow drive. Running his fingers through his dark auburn hair, he found it dampened by the morning dew. Tattered, wet leaves led the way toward the Burrow that sat between two large fields of wheat and corn. The pig pen housed two large hogs, which snorted at his sudden appearance. Horses neighed from the barn, and chickens began to cluck. The gnomes scurried away into the gardens that sat against the wooden walls of his family's home. He stopped just before the door and took in a deep breath, closing his eyes to take it all in before the wondrous peace he felt outside that door was obliterated by the sobs of his family members mourning the loss of one of his younger brothers. After a moment's worth of time, he entered. Missing the creak of that first wood panel just inside the doorframe, he pulled his boot back quickly and stepped around it, dropping his bag quietly next to the fireplace. No smell of breakfast lingered, no sound of life present; it was uncanny. He looked to the clock that his mother had magicked into telling where all her loved ones were, his face ticking to the position of home. His breath caught in his throat when his eyes fell upon the smiling face that pointed to: lost. His bottom lip started to quiver and he sniffed, then noticed a pair of familiar faces aside from his family's had been added. Faces he'd seen plastered on every wizarding newspaper. Harry Potter being one and the other—
"Charlie?" a quiet, curious voice said.
Startled at the sudden noise, he turned to see the other new face that appeared on the clock. She was pulling herself up, looking over the backside of the old sofa. The unruliness of her frizzy hair gave her away as, "Hermione?"
She nodded steadily, her eyes wide with surprise at seeing him, as he had been gone ever since the battle. "C-can I get you anything?"
He rolled his shoulders and shook his head. "No," he answered pointedly. He found it a little inane for her to be asking if she could serve him as if he were the houseguest. He knew she had come to the Burrow many times over the years as his sister, Ginny's, and brother, Ron's, friend, making herself at home as a member of the family, which was just fine. However, Charlie felt the responsibility of hosting remained with the actual residents of the home. Seeing the younger woman's face drawn in confusion, he found that he was just thinking of anything to get his mind off of what was really bothering him. And it wasn't her politeness. He rubbed the back of his neck stiffly and asked, "Erm, why are you sleeping on the couch?" He could see the quilt over her bent knees.
She said softly, "I couldn't sleep. I've been down here for a few hours now. Thought the rain would've helped, but the thunder kept rolling and…" she hugged herself. The thunder brought back a harsh recollection of the war she just fought.
He nodded curtly, without giving voice to his understanding. He, too, hadn't been able to sleep some nights. After fighting in the Battle at Hogwarts and seeing so many bodies lifeless and broken, he needed the chance to breathe. He needed to be away from everyone and everything to get his thoughts straight before he came home to a lugubrious family that would barely be able to hold themselves together after the death of his brother, Fred. But since he walked through that front door, his airway felt even more constricted than it had been when he first learnt the news.
Hermione spoke again a little louder, bringing Charlie from his reverie. "I know we're not well acquainted, but if you need…" she paused, seeing the displeasure crossing the man's features, "please don't hesitate to ask. I want to help in any way that I can."
He dipped his chin in acknowledgment and started toward the kitchen. He didn't feel all that interested in talking just now. Instead, he wanted to get busy, to keep his head on straight. He felt her eyes on him and from the stories he'd heard over the years of this girl, she wouldn't be able to sit still and do nothing. Pulling an old woven basket from the top of a shelf, he turned to her begrudgingly, "Want to gather eggs for breakfast?"
She perked up at his request. It had been some days since she actually eaten a full meal and it was the same for all the Weasleys as well… and Harry. Her appetite really hadn't been up to par since that fateful day. It'd been broths or halves of sandwiches throughout the days, but her stomach was beginning to pang with hunger. "Sure, I can do that. Let me dress." She hope she didn't sound too hyped-up over the act.
He didn't say anything, but turned away from her and set the basket onto the counter to cross over to another pantry, retrieving buckets to milk the cows. As he waited for her, he brandished his wand at the sink, bubbles and water filling it to the rim.
Staring out the window, he observed the branches of the tall trees shaking in the wind. The tire swing hanging from one twirled as if a child had just jumped from it. A crackle of thunder alerted him that another storm was moving in. He didn't hear her until she moved alongside of him, taking the basket into her hands. "We should probably get a move on," she said. "It's coming fast."
The two of them walked out into the misty air. The wind continued to blow with a frenzy. The hogs were bustling themselves into the shelter of their own and the horses were no longer neighing. Charlie entered the barn where the two family cows were awaiting their morning release. He settled the buckets beneath the two animals and with a cast of his wand, the utters sputtered with milk. Moving to the entrance of the barn, he stood against the threshold watching as Hermione was talking sweetly to the birds, patting their small heads and retrieving the eggs from beneath them. He scoffed, good-naturedly, to himself.
Fat raindrops fell from the darkened sky, and steadily the wind picked up its pace. Charlie gathered the buckets and yelled across the way to Hermione, "You've enough! Let's go!" Her hair stuck across her face as she jogged over to him, holding the basket close to her bosom.
As they entered through the kitchen door, sticky and wet, they were met with tired faces of Molly and Arthur Weasley. A smile desperately tugged at Molly's lips when she saw her son come inside. He set the pails of milk onto the counter as his mother came up to him slowly, as if she were unsure it was really him.
Hermione stepped aside, carefully, with the eggs and watched the reunion between the parents and their son. Molly gathered Charlie's face within her hands, running her thumbs over his cheeks. "Welcome home, dear," she said, and wrapped him within her arms. He hugged her back so immensely hard, not knowing until then that it was exactly what he'd needed.
"Good to have you home, son," Arthur murmured, patting him on the back.
After a few moments worth of hugs, Arthur and Molly turned to Hermione. "Dear," Molly began, "come here." A sudden bout of nerves hit the young woman. She inwardly shook as she set the eggs to the counter and crossed over to them. Molly pressed her fingers through Hermione's still damp hair and said, "You've been such help these past days. I want you to know how much we appreciate you."
Hermione slightly smiled, feeling as though she hadn't done much— not enough, anyways. "It's nothing, Mrs Weasley. I am happy to be here to help..." she said, looking over the woman's shoulder and then at Charlie, who was staring back at her intently, "all of you." His blue eyes blinked, then looked away from her.
Molly nodded, "I know. Now, how about a spot of breakfast?"
"That sounds amazing!" the voice of Ron suddenly said. His hand was patting his stomach. Each individual turned to see him, Harry, and Ginny standing in the doorway of the kitchen and living room. Molly was really smiling now as each of them came walking in to sit at the long table. Hermione pulled juice from the refrigerator — an item that Mr Weasley had magicked into working after it was given to him as a gift from the misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department a few years ago — and began filling glasses to send around to everyone. Molly cracked the eggs Hermione had gathered into a large glass bowl and whisked them, as she did so, she cast her wand toward the stove and lit it aflame. Charlie watched, hopeful that this show his family was putting on would be lasting and real. The problem still lying before them was… Fred's wake was tomorrow.
Charlie momentarily listened to the conversations between everyone. He could tell they each tried to stay away from the subject of war and death. Taking his time, he walked toward the stairs inside the living room when his older brother walked in. "Char?" Bill brought him into a fierce hug, "Merlin, my brother, I was worried about you. We all were."
Charlie didn't say anything, then saw the blonde woman standing inches behind Bill. "Fleur," he greeted. She grinned just before she walked around her husband and squeezed Charlie's arm. "Eet eez good to zee you." Then she proceeded into the rattling kitchen.
"Wherever you been?" Aggravation laced Bill's tone.
Charlie rubbed his hands down his face, feeling the callouses scraping his nose. "I…" he couldn't answer. He knew that he'd acted out of selfishness and that no one in his family would understand his need for solitude Not in this family anyway. "I needed to get away to deal with things," he said finally.
Bill shook his head, "You couldn't deal with things here? With your family?"
"No," he said with finality, then shrugged past his brother and went up the squeaking stairs, never noticing Hermione watching from the kitchen.
He stopped at the landing of the twin's room. He hadn't seen George that morning — he'd had his time alone, why couldn't his brother? Inhaling deeply, he knocked on the door. "Come in," George's voice answered.
Charlie turned the knob and entered the darkened bedroom. George sat on his own bed, his body outlined by the light from the hall. From what he could see, Fred's bed was messy and undone. Charlie knew there was a candle that set between the two beds on a table. He sent a flame to the wick, giving the room a deep golden glow. Moving over to the bed George was sitting upon, he sat down on the floor before him. George's hair was side swept, his face tired, nose swollen from crying and a dirty smell was resonating from him. "Mate, I would ask how you are, but I can see that you're not okay. Do you want to talk?" Charlie wasn't the older brother everyone went to about their problems, but to have fun with. He was normally optimistic, friendly, and quite sociable. But when angered or hurt, he was known to hide his emotions; he would not stand to be ignored and would fight fire with fire.
George sighed. "I'm better. I'm not great," he said. "I just…" he looked over at Fred's bed, his eyes watery. "I've gone my whole life with a best friend at my side and now I can literally feel that half of me gone. I don't feel whole anymore and that makes me sad."
Charlie felt his emotions bubble up inside of his chest. He sniffed, his lips quivered, yet no tears fell. Instead, their sorrow was echoed in the rain hitting against the blanket-covered window. They sat there and listened to the pitter-patter for a while, until Charlie finally spoke up. "Georgie, I think that maybe you should take a shower, come downstairs, and eat. Do you think you could do that?"
George took in a deep breath, "I suppose I do smell a bit, don't I?" He amused himself and his brother by sniffing at his underarm.
Charlie chuckled softly, "Yeah, a wee bit. Mate, remember, we're human. You'll make it through this. We all will." He conjured a towel and set it beside George.
"Charlie?" the lonesome twin said, before his brother left.
The man stood in the doorway, "What's up, little brother?"
George crossed over to him, enveloping him in a hug, and whispered, "Thank you." He squeezed the older man's shoulder, throwing the towel over his own and walking out of the bedroom for the first time in a while.
Not feeling any better, Charlie continued up the stairwell to his own childhood room, and locking the door behind him, he slid down it, sighed a heavy breath, which was then followed by an unbroken stream of tears.
….
Hermione awoke with a shudder from nightmares and Ginny's whimpering. Thunder rumbled, shaking the whole house. Like all other mornings, she escaped her blankets and quietly left the room. The whole house was quiet, though she knew no one was asleep. No one ever slept lately. Creaking down the steps, she went to the kitchen and boiled some water and made a calming tea.
According to the round clock on the hutch, it was the wee hours of the morning. The sky was dark with clouds, only lighting up with strikes of lightning. The weather was just how she and all others of the household were feeling… stormy, cold… tired. Pulling the barkcloth quilt from the sofa's arm, covering herself, she watched as the stream of rain fell in hopes that her mind would soothe and she could sleep once more. But the thunder rumbled heavily and her thoughts were taken swiftly back to the battle. Her stomach churned and her tea was no longer suitable. She set the mug onto the coffee table before her and cuddled deep into the cushions of the couch, squeezing her eyes shut. "It's just a storm," she whispered like a mantra.
Even though she couldn't sleep, she stayed there and before too long, the storm let up. The sky grew into a lighter grey. Her comfort level on the couch was fine and she didn't want to move. She reckoned no one would be coming down the stairs soon, as none had really shown their faces in the past week. It was too quiet in the Weasley home. It was dreary, there was no other way to put it. As she laid there, she heard the clocks hand start to move, she thought maybe Bill was making his way over — the only other person it might've been was Charlie, but he'd been away to somewhere she and the others weren't sure of. As his face on the clock quite literally stayed upon: away, rather than Romania, for some time.
Hermione knew Bill wouldn't worry over her. He normally came, started the morning chores, breakfast, checked on everyone, then went on his way. She offers to help all mornings, but he turned her down politely, and finished up his work. Knowing this, she still readied herself to ask just as she heard the front door open and the thud of a bag. She sat up slightly to find a taller, curly, auburn-haired man walking towards the family clock. She heard him sniffle after a moment.
"Charlie?" she asked.
His body jumped slightly before his stoney, blue eyes turned to her. He looked a bit confused, then he asked, "Hermione?"
She nodded. He made her feel uneasy with his stance. She hoped it was because of his defensive instincts fomr her surprising him. "C-can I get you anything?"
His face contorted into aggravation as he answered with a blunt, "No." She could tell he didn't want to be in her presence. Unsure for the reasoning, but she imagined it was due to the fact that he didn't want to answer any questions for where he had been and why. He went on asking her reasoning for being on the couch and she told him, then again offered her help. He finally relented, but she could tell he hadn't wanted to, when he asked if she'd like to gather the eggs. It was nice to feel needed, even if it were for something as inane as this. She hurried up the stairs to dress, and was met with Ginny sitting up on her bed. "What're you doing?" she asked Hermione nasally.
Hermione smiles lightly, "Your brother Charlie is back. I'm going to help him gather the eggs."
Ginny perked up at this revelation, her blue eyes brightening. "Is he really? Oh, that's great news. Really great," she nodded, as if affirming it to herself.
"Yes, so maybe we can get everyone downstairs…" Hermione offered.
Ginny was beginning to pull her hair back into a ponytail for the first time, "Yeah. Yes. I'll go let mum and dad know." She sniffled, "I think it'll help them."
Hermione crookedly grinned. It wouldn't only help them, but it'd help her, and the other brothers as well. "Yeah, Gin. I think so, too." She finished pulling on her jeans and went back down the stairs. Bubbles were flitting on the air and Charlie stared out the window at the oncoming storm. "We should probably get a move on. It's coming fast," she said, pulling him from his reverie.
As they were outside, Hermione could feel Charlie's eyes on her. She didn't want to turn to him, to find herself in an awkward situation, but she did wonder why. Through the rain and the whistling wind, she heard him call for her. Holding the basket of eggs close to her, she ran back toward the Burrow with him hot on her heels.
She then was met with faces that hadn't smiled in a while. But they were now. Mr and Mrs Weasley were awaiting their arrival. She watched as they hugged their second eldest son, and was taken aback when they called for her to come forth. After the pleasantries, Hermione found her three best friends standing in the doorway. A breath of fresh air filled her lungs, and though sadness would stay mixed in the rhythm a while longer, she could believe life would be okay. Maybe not now, possibly not soon, but the hope was there. She sat down with her friends, grabbing Ron and Harry's hands, she gave them a quick squeeze, and began talking about anything but the war. She watched though as Charlie left the kitchen, he was stopped by Bill. Fleur made her way over to help Molly with breakfast. Bill's face was furiously red when he came through. Hermione watched after Charlie until he was out of her line of sight.
The chatter between Harry and Ron turned to their offers from the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, about becoming Aurors. Ginny now chatted with Bill about the changes that would be made at Gringotts. Mr and Mrs Weasley sat down and listened to everyone's conversations and Hermione suddenly felt like her heart could burst with emotion. This is what she'd been missing, but found that her stomach plopped with guilt and sadness that the twins weren't sitting across from her, threatening silly antics her way.
Her tears were stopped before they could fall when Percy came inside the kitchen. He'd been staying at the house since that fateful night. She noticed as he sat down, he left those two chairs open just as everyone else had, sitting in their appropriate spots. Her head started to feel dizzy, and her breaths heightened, and her hands were cold with sweat. Her stomach bubbling, she stood abruptly, catching the family's attention.
Mrs Weasley stood with her, "Hermione, dear, what is it?"
Hermione's face was pale and her legs felt jiggly. "I j-just… p-please excuse me." Rounding the table, she started up the stairs just as George was heading down them.
"Mione, you okay?" he asked concerned.
Now her heart was pounding as she saw two faces merge into one. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath — this man needn't worry with her problems. "Yes," she said. "I've just eaten too much." She touched her stomach and gave an odd, dreadful looking face.
He chuckled lightly, unsure if he should believe it, but he nodded, "All right. Feel better." He reached over and patted her back as he walked by her. For a moment she stood frozen in place, then picked up her heavy legs and ran to the bathroom at the top of the stairs, away from being heard by everyone as she retched up all that she had eaten. Everyone but the inhabitant of the neighboring room...Charlie.
….
Heavy footfalls echoed and carried into Charlie's ears. He leaned back against the wooden entrance, turning his head slightly to listen. The sound stopped, then a door slamming sent a quake, vibrating his body slightly. He bent to stand from his position, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. Just as he was pulling his forearm away from his face, he heard the hacking. Turning the knob, he stepped into the dark hallway, touching the door to the bathroom. He rapped with his knuckles, but by doing so, the door opened slightly — inside the washroom, it was still dark, but he heard her speak, "It's not a good time..." Her voice swallowed by the porcelain bowl. She spewed once more, hitting her forehead on the seat. "Ow…"
Charlie opened the door fully, casting a dim light into the bulbs above the sink. Hermione's body was bent over the commode, her cheek resting with her hands holding tightly on the rim. The room was small in comparison to a closet. But he didn't think much of the cramped space and moved in closer, shutting the door behind him.
Before Hermione could even ask what he was doing, he held her hair back as she threw up once more. He rubbed circles on her back, not saying anything. Once she was finished, she leaned against the wall. Charlie stood and grabbed the cup he'd use for washing out his mouth and filled it with water from the faucet, handing it to her. She reached back for it with a whispered, "Thanks."
After a quick scrubbing charm, Charlie closed the toilet lid and sat down on it. "You alright?" he asked.
Hermione finished swallowing her small drink of water and wiped her lips before answering. "I think so."
"Did you eat something wrong?"
Hermione raised her brows high, "Er, no… " she said softly. "No, I am only feeling a bit overwhelmed with everything. I'm okay."
He cocked his head toward his shoulder looking down at her. Another round of questions formed in his mind, yet he kept them closed off and asked instead, "Honest?"
"Honest," she answered sincerely. "I s'pose I wasn't ready for…" she threw a thumb over her shoulder, "all that. I guess I was thinking that time would gradually pull us together." Gathering her knees to her chest, the toes of her shoes barely touching his. "I am glad that George came out of his room, though."
Charlie stared at her, absently rubbing his lips in thought. He hadn't really ever studied Hermione Granger before. Aside from seeing her here and there over the years, he only ever noticed her as Ron's friend: the Muggleborn girl, and heard that she was really academically smart. Seeing her now, in the vulnerable light, he found she was actually very pretty, and human, just like the rest of them. He scolded himself inwardly at the thought, Shouldn't all of his thoughts be on mourning his brother and the people lost in the war? He thought that maybe his own vulnerability was making him feel this way, a distraction to keep his mind off of it all.
Her curly hair fell over her shoulders, a lot less frizzy than it was earlier when they ran inside from the rain. She was skinnier than he remembered — not that there was anything wrong with that, but he imagined it wasn't the thought of body image keeping the weight off.
From what was told about her, she wasn't the type to worry over her looks. But she probably hadn't eaten a good, large meal in a long time. And her eyes — they were a lovely light chocolate brown...
She noticed him staring at her, making her feel slightly self-conscious, "What?"
He sat up a little straighter, "Are you and Ron… you know, together?"
Hermione, taken aback, gasped at his question. "N-no. I mean. We… we are friends and I do love him. But I—I don't feel that way about him."
Something glinted in Charlie's eyes, something Hermione couldn't quite place. She looked down at the hole in the knee of her jeans and began picking at it. "Erm… why do you...," she felt the heat slowly rise up in her cheeks. This was most certainly an unusual conversation to be having with Charlie Weasley. "Why do you ask?"
His pupils dilated slightly as he said huskily, "Just curious."
She nodded, clearing her throat at the awkwardness, she started with, "I'm a bloody mess… sorry that you had to see me like this." She raised her hand, waving at her face.
He scoffed, "Hermione, those fake smiles and overly loud laughter coming down the stairs is just the start of a long time healing. I have to say we all are a big bloody mess… and I don't mind. Woe is life, yeah?"
She shivered, for she knew this. "Yeah," she answered. Weirdly, the two of them were perfectly content in sitting in that small bathroom together, not saying anything, enjoying the peace and quiet. After some minutes, they were interrupted by Molly calling up for them. Charlie stood before Hermione could, but held out his hand to help her to her feet. Bringing her up, their bodies touched against each other. Trying to not linger on any thoughts, Charlie slid away from her and opened the door. "Take a shower, I'll tell her I heard the water running." He found he wanted to protect her from his mother's questions.
Hermione spoke once more, just above a whisper, so softly that the man wasn't sure if heard her correctly, "Hey, Charlie…"
He stopped before closing the door, looking back at her, his brows risen in question.
She nodded her gratitude. He dipped his chin, closing the door. Before he went down those stairs, he remembered his wand left on the sink. Not thinking Hermione would be undressed so soon, he reopened the door to retrieve it, only to be greeted with an — "Oh my god!" Hermione spun around toward the shower topless, hugging herself.
"I am so sorry!" Charlie grabbed his wand and tucked it within his jean pocket.
Oddly finding the humour in the situation, Hermione smiled over her shoulder and for a second Charlie froze as she said, "It's okay. It's not like you did it on purpose."
He let out a breathy sigh, "Right." Slipping into the hall squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing hard. He'd never forget the heart shaped birthmark on the small of her back.
….