Title: Firewhisky
Pairing: Charlie/Hermione
Rating: FRT.
Warnings: Angsty, broken hearted Charlie.
Summary: After the war and after Hermione, Charlie remembers his firewhisky girl.
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of JK Rowling. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.
Author's Notes: I wrote this a rather long time ago. I've revised it, but I still hope it's not complete crap.
Firewhisky
Part of him decides to finally open a bottle of firewhisky he's had in a shoebox since around Christmas. The other part was already too inebriated to say no. He's been writing reams and reams full of bullshit the past few sleepless days and nights. Using words like "regret" and "discontent" or "aesthetic". When his quill runs dry he reaches into a bag full of them and continues without missing a beat.
"It was carelessness like a dropped line in a low budget Muggle sitcom", starts one of the paragraphs. He thinks of that night, in the darkened parking lot. She was laughing at something he said, wearing an article of his clothing. He had turned away, fumbling with his broom. Pretending that her smile didn't cut right through him; leaving him worse off than Atlantian ruins, sunken to the bottom of the Mediterranean.
A few thousand words later, he's finished the bottle of firewhisky. Part of him wishes he could remain as emotionless and stoic as the red-clad figure on the bottle. The other part already is. Not thinking much at this point, he idly writes a two word phrase on a sheet of paper. Letter apostrophe letter space letter letter letter letter letter letter period.
"You know darling, we're only star-crossed lovers, and that's all we'll ever be." He recalls a certain conversation with a girl who now lives with another guy. They're in love, or so she says. They were holding hands in the market picking out wine when he walked in out of the rain on his way from the Burrow, because he had little trust in her. It was understandable though, seeing as how she acted when he was around. Her hand slowly slipped out of his, and his hands found their way into his empty pockets. He walked out and retrieved his broom, pretending that it didn't matter. At that point in time he was still under the impression that she wanted to be with him, although she did not. Or maybe she did, but she was afraid. During those times, everyone was afraid. Of war, of death, of losing people… Ron was a safe choice. He had always been there.
Bubbled foam rushes past his teeth, over his tongue and down his throat. Head swimming, part of him is losing interest in the blue and red lines on this college ruled notebook. The other part isn't listening to his spoken-under-his-breath rhetoric and keeps scribbling.
He thinks back to a time when he stopped her, under a streetlight. She had on a blue coat she borrowed from his sister. It's all in the details. He kisses her, and she leans into him. It was then that he told her that he loved her, for the first time. Then they were perfect.
His blueohsoblue eyes had that determined glint in them, and he leaned his forehead against hers.
"Hermione, I have to tell you something. It might come as a surprise, but I want to to hush and listen, okay?" She nodded.
"Okay, here goes. Right, Charlie, you can do this," he started, not realising he was talking to himself.
"I love you."
Hermione's eyes widened.
"Oh, I fucked it up, haven't I? How about this one. I...you...eh, when we're together, I feel like I'm home at last. And that's weird because I've always been a person who didn't stay home more than a week. But when I'm with you, it's like I never want it to finish, and I've felt this since...since I saw you at an Order meeting, and you were wearing those red pyjamas and looking all rumpled and sexy, and damn, this isn't turning out right either, I'm scaring you off by now! I...okay, well, there you go, Hermione. I love you. For being so smart and so sweet, and I should stop now before I do something rash—"
He's stopped talking, because her lips wouldn't allow him to do more than concentrate on giving a girl her first real kiss. He pulled away and grinned, and she grinned too, then started laughing.
They would have many more occasions like this, under streetlights. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was their subconscious reacting to a certain song. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything. Now, all that's left to prove it all happened is a small red crayon heart with a couple initials drawn on the back of his belt.
Breathing heavily and loudly he picks up the notebook, walks outside and lights it on fire. He watches the pages turn and curl as they are devoured by red flame and black acrid smoke. It's only a testament to everything he wishes he could say, and everything he wishes he had done. Standing and making sure everything is reduced to ash, he lights a cigarette and sighs.
And it's then that Charlie remembers his girl; the seventeen year old muggleborn witch who had been compared to Merlin. She had tasted of firewhisky, with a temper and stamina in bed to match. Hermione. He had never heard a better name. And he had never lost something more precious to him. His one love; his firewhisky girl.
FIN.