Author's Note: I'm back! I've been so tired lately from school that I haven't even had the interest to write. So, I found this on my saved computer that I wrote over the summer. It's not my favorite favorite pairing, but it's cute and I sometimes it works. Read, enjoy, and review. :)

Wishful Thinking

Charlie Weasley padded silently across his bedroom floor and sat on the edge of his bed. Silently, deliberately, he removed each shoe, kicking them under the bed before easing himself under the covers to lie next to his very pregnant wife. He sighed, laying his head on the pillow and running a hand through his choppy red hair. It had been such a trying week, and he was glad to finally be at home with Hermione.

The past month traveling back and forth to Romania had been a nightmare. Not only had he missed his family terribly, but there also had been several dragon-related incidents, including the accidental toasting of Charlie's second-in-command supervisor at the beginning of this week.

"Poor Maurice," he thought, "May he rest in peace."

Charlie sighed once more and slipped his hand under the covers, groping in the tangles of sheets and blankets, looking for Hermione's hand. He often found comfort and reassurance in this gesture, loving the way her small hand fit just perfectly into his large, calloused one. He was once more reminded of his belief that they had simply been made for each other.

When Charlie finally found her hand, he gently interlaced his fingers with hers; she sighed, contentedly, still sleeping as if she sensed his presence in the room. Within a moment, though, her eyes fluttered open and she smiled gently when she saw Charlie reclining on his side of the bed.

"Hey handsome," she said, her voice still gravelly with sleep, "When did you get home?"

"Not five minutes ago. I popped by Mum's just to say that I was still alive, and then it was straight here. You're the first person that I wanted to see."

Still holding her hand, he reached over gently and placed a kiss on her forehead as she tried to sit up in a more comfortable position.

"What time is it?" she asked, finally sliding up enough to rest her back on the headboard.

"Twelve forty-five… I'm sorry I woke you."

"No, it's okay. I want to se you. We've missed you so much."

"How's Margaret?"

"She missed her daddy very much."

A pained look crossed Charlie's face. "I can't believe I missed her birthday." A pause. "Was she upset?"

"I don't think so. She understands… as much as a four-year-old can. She could never be upset with you though, she's such a daddy's girl."

He frowned a bit, as if he was thinking of something that he could not quite comprehend.

"Don't… Charlie, it's not your fault. We understand – all of us. Your boss got burned to a crisp. It's not as if you willfully chose not to be there."

She sent a reassuring smile in his direction. He tensed, but grinned back; the sight of her smile never failed to melt away any doubts that he had. A silence then engulfed the room as the two Weasley's sat, simply enjoying each other's company. After checking to make sure that Hermione had not fallen asleep again, he spoke.

"How's the baby?"

She smiled.

"Kicking. Both literally and figuratively."

"Have you come up with anymore names?"

"Sophia. I think that one is it. I'm really hoping for a girl."

"I know. Me too."

"Charlie Weasley, you want a son and you know it."

He paused.

"Yes."

"Well," said Hermione, turning towards him as best as she could, "perhaps after we've had our girl and things have settled down a bit, we can try for another… and maybe then you'll finally get your son."

He groaned inwardly at the smirk on his wife's face, nearly forgetting how incredibly sexy she could be when she wanted to, unruly bed-head and all. Grinning, he turned to face her and kissed her firmly on the lips, gently rubbing her pregnant stomach in the process.

"So when is Charlie Junior due?"

She smirked again.

"In your dreams, Weasley."

Sophia Molly Weasley was born two days later.