June 2001

Six months later, it was time again for the annual Order picnic at the Weasleys' home. Hermione almost chickened out and sent her regrets. She really didn't want to see Ronald and his new girlfriend – a different girl than the one she'd caught him shagging in what had formerly been their bed this past November - acting all lovey-dovey.

And then there was also the issue of Charlie...

She hadn't seen the object of her increasingly frequent fantasies since the previous Christmas, and she was still unsure how to properly classify these strange, simmering feelings she had growing for him. Was it just loneliness peppered by a healthy dash of lust, or was it something deeper – some connection between them that she was meant to explore? She was still undecided, and that uncertainty played havoc with her emotions.

In the end, she reminded herself that she was Gryffindor, and being bold was what she was supposed to do. Besides, she missed Molly and the others, and she'd deprived herself of their company because of her idiot of an ex for far too long. Oh, yes, she and the Weasley females frequently talked via Fire-call, and they occasionally met up in Diagon Alley for an afternoon of shopping together, or for meals at restaurants, or came over to her flat to watch Muggle telly and engorge on ice cream, but she'd completely avoided going back to The Burrow since the break-up, as that's where Ron returned to freeload after she'd kicked him out of their shared flat. It was time she showed that two-timing fool that he'd thrown away a good thing, and that she wasn't in the least bit fazed by his stupidity.

She sent her acceptance by owl three days before the event and purchased the prettiest summer dress that her budget would allow, deciding that if she was going, she was going in style.

To her surprise, Charlie appeared outside her flat at half-past eleven in the morning the Saturday of the picnic. She was just putting on her earrings when she answered the door to a delightful sight. "Charlie!" she cried out in surprise, blinking. "Wha-what are you doing here?"

"Hey," he greeted her with that cocky, sexy smirk she was finding harder to resist. "You ready to go?"

For a moment, her mind blanked out. Charlie was here, at her flat, in a pair of sexy slacks and a polo-type shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and showed off his pecs - acting and looking like a date. "Did your mum send you?"

The minute the words left her mouth, Hermione wanted to staple her tongue to the roof of her mouth and glue her lips together. What a stupid thing to ask!

"No. I came to get you because I wanted to," he bluntly stated. His eyes roamed up and down her form with interest. "Looking beautiful, as usual, baby."

Her heart rate increased.

Oh, boy. This man's power over her ego – and her libido - was trouble with a capital 'T'.

"T-thank you," she stammered. "Uh, just let me get my things. Come in."

Rushing back into her room, she grabbed her wand and charmed purse off the bed, and found the new sling-backs she'd purchased to go with the aqua-coloured, silk and chiffon dress, slipping them on her feet. With a last look in the mirror, and a quick run-over her hair with her hand, assuring the French twist held, she rejoined her companion. "Ready," she called out, as she entered the living room.

Charlie was standing near the mantle of her hearth and looking at the pictures that lined it. There was one of her with her mum and dad when she newly moved into the flat last summer, one of her and Harry and Ginny, various frames filled with the Weasleys, one of her and Minerva at Hogwarts, another of her with those who had decided to return to school to finish up their N.E.W.T.s, and one of her and Ron. That one was face-down. Of course, Charlie picked it up and was assessing it.

"Do you still love him?"

The question caught her flat-footed and she paused, unsure as to how to answer. There was a part of her that would always love Ron, because he'd been her first in every way that mattered. But, he'd hurt her badly with his philandering, and that wasn't something she was willing to forgive. Once a cheater in bed, always a cheater in the heart, she'd once heard her grandmum state when she'd been thirteen and impressionable, and now she saw the wisdom in that old saying.

Apparently, her deliberative silence was taken as an affirmative response, because he put the picture back where he'd found it, face-up this time, and turned to meet her gaze. "Not my place to ask. Sorry. We should go."

"But-" she tried to clarify her long pause.

Charlie shook his head and cut her off. "You don't have to explain it to me, Hermione. I'm just the stand-in date today."

Her heart unexpectedly plummeted at his statement. Odd, as she hadn't expected that reaction.

Just before he took her Side-Along to his family's home, she looked up at him and told him the truth. "I don't love him anymore. That's over as far as I'm concerned. And I'll never think of you as a stand-in, Charlie. I'll be proud to appear on your arm today."

He didn't reply, but his grip around her waist tightened, pulling her closer. As they Apparated away, their eyes never left the others' face.

They had a wonderful day together, with Charlie the perfect escort. They laughed, danced to the country fiddles together, sat and partook of food and drink, talking to guests. Overall, it was the best date she'd ever been on, even if it hadn't been planned and wasn't really official.

From the scowling look on his face, Ron was positively jealous, too. Hermione felt a bit vindicated at that.

X~~~~~X

October 2001

That October's Samhain ritual party had been interrupted by Fleur going into labour just before the sun set. While Molly and Bill whisked her off to St. Mungo's, Arthur finished the traditional ceremony after dark, and Hermione knew that the special wish on everyone's mind that night wasn't for themselves, but for Fleur and her baby, despite the requirements of the custom.

This time, it was Charlie who popped the corn in the kettles, with Hermione's help, as Arthur left them to join his wife at the hospital. Everyone stayed outside for hours afterwards, lying back on their blankets around the very warm fire, bundled up against the weather, just hanging out. That the rain had held off this week, despite having stormed last week, was a blessing, as the ground wasn't wet and they could sit under the stars to talk and enjoy the moment. Hot cocoa and tea were made available, as were a variety of finger foods prepared in advance, and everyone partook, their spirits high.

Hermione sat on a blanket with Charlie, next to Percy and Audrey, while George and Angelina, Ron and his new girlfriend (three in a year's time!), and Harry and Ginny sat together across the other side of the flames. As they talked, Hermione began to get sleepy. She'd been set on a new project at work, and it was taking everything she had out of her. Now, lulled by the warm fire, she felt her exhaustion creeping in until it nearly overpowered her. Charlie encouraged her to lie back with her head supported by his lap and within seconds, she was claimed by the soothing darkness.

She awoke some hours later to find that she and Charlie were the only two still outside... and they were in each other's arms, a few blankets draped over them to keep them warm. The fire was still going and blazing; someone must have recently re-stoked it.

She felt a brush of softness against her throat and knew that Charlie's fingers were playing with her curls. Glancing up, she noted him watching her.

"You look like an angel when you sleep," he whispered the secret in a tender tone, unconcerned that he'd been caught in such an intimate action. "I've never seen you so peaceful in all the years I've known you, baby. You always carry responsibility with you wherever you go. It makes you tense here," his forefinger brushed over her brow, and then trailed over her temple to the corner of one eye, "and here. And definitely here," he stated, angling with the slightest brush of his skin down her cheek to the edge of her lips.

"I... that's because I'm...uh," she struggled to explain, finding it difficult to form coherent sentences just then, "my mum says I'm a... a serious person."

Charlie nodded. "She'd know you best." He brushed her long hair back from her face again. "I have to agree. You need reasons to smile more."

Her eyes were unconsciously drawn to his lips. They were pink and slightly chapped. She wet her own with her tongue in a quick swipe. Would he kiss her? Did she want him to? It hadn't even been a year since she and Ron had stopped seeing each other – and there was the tackiness factor of going for it with her ex's brother. Would this be too weird?

"What sorts of reasons?" she couldn't help but wonder, knowing she was provoking something here that could turn around and severely bite her later.

Charlie took the bait, leaning in, his mouth angling for hers. "This kind, love."

The moment his lips touched hers, she melted, every bone and muscle and sinew in her body letting go all at once. It felt like she'd been waiting for this moment for a long time and now, it was finally hers, and she could let it happen. The kiss deepened as she simply surrendered to the undeniable attraction that had been building between them for over the past year, all of her previous worries over doing this with him flying right out of her head.

Feeling her submission, Charlie moaned and thrust his tongue against hers, swiping with expert grace, cherishing her mouth in surging, lush tastings that made her head swim and her heart pound. There was nothing she'd ever sampled that tasted as good as this kiss.

His hand cupped her cheek and his thumb ran soft caresses over the underside of her jaw, coaxing her to open wider, to give more. Trembling all over, beginning to feel slightly overheated, Hermione quickly removed her mittens from her hands and tossed them away, uncaring where they went. All she wanted was to know the feel of his hair between her fingers and across her palms. She gave into the temptation, and his answering response was to groan, slide his hand down her body, grip her bum, and pull her hard against him. With a quick roll, he had her on her back, and his erection was pressing into the cradle of her pelvis. He was very aroused.

The taste of him was scandalously intoxicating. Hot, spicy, demanding. His hands were equally as wicked, divesting her of her scarf, even as his lips trailed over the revealed skin. He licked and nibbled down one side of her throat, only to continue around and up the other side. His teeth gently gripped her earlobe, nipped lower and found her pulse. He bit very gently over it and Hermione shivered. He laved the spot with wicked strokes of his tongue, and she moaned, arching into him.

"More," she pleaded in his ear. "Don't stop."

Her words apparently woke him from the sensual trance that had overtaken him for he suddenly stiffened, let out a hissed, unintelligible profanity, and pulled his mouth away, resting on his elbows above her. His forehead pressed down upon hers and his eyes closed. A look of intense concentration passed his features, as if he were seeking personal control.

"Wh-what's wrong?" she whispered, daring to break the silence, her heart pounding in her chest.

Charlie took a deep breath. "We need to stop."

"Why?"

She really was going to get herself in trouble one of these days with her constant questions.

His thick, reddish-black lashes parted and he looked at her with regret. "Because I'm not free to do this."

It took a second longer for the message to connect in her lust-filled brain. "You're seeing someone?"

He let out a deep, frustrated sigh. "Actually, I'm married."

If it were possible to be thrown into the pits of despair twice in one lifetime, Hermione could now say with certainty that she'd not only, repeatedly landed herself in such a locale, but that she was well on her way to becoming a property owner there with a great view.

God, how could she have been so stupid? This was Ron all over again, wasn't it? Only this time, she was the 'other woman'.

Tacky, tacky, tacky!

Fury boiling her veins, she shoved Charlie off of her and rolled to get up. He grabbed her and stopped her from leaving. She fought him, of course, but he was, well, huge with muscles. He easily pinned her on her tummy to the blanket and sat on her hips to keep her in place.

"Just wait and listen. It's not a marriage of love, but convenience," he explained against her ear. "She works at the Reserve with me. She wants to emigrate from the Russian Federation to England, but the Ministry there is different from ours. They don't want to let her go and have made it near impossible for her to get out by rejecting her transfer requests. She's one of their few experts in magical creatures, and is especially valuable to them. Her staying on their roles is a political manoeuvre designed to attract others to immigrate to Russia. She's basically a tool for their government and is very unhappy because of it. But, if she married someone outside the Federation, she could choose to live with her husband, and her people couldn't reject her request to transfer Ministries."

"Let me up this instant, Charlie Weasley," she hissed, "or so help me, I'll invent a hex just for you!"

He chuckled in her ear at the threat, finding it amusing, rather than intimidating. "Just stop and listen, Hermione. You're more rational than this, and I'm sure you'd have done the same in my place – especially for a friend. I was the only unmarried guy at the Reserve, and Darya and I have worked there together for ten years. She asked for my help. We got married two years ago in a Muggle church in a small village near the Reserve and filed the document with the London Ministry. It takes five years total for her citizenship to be transferred, so there's a little less than three years left. After that, we've both agreed to divorce and go our separate ways. There's nothing physical or emotional between us."

Hermione squirmed, her mind turning over his words. She needed some time to process. It was too much to take in, too soon. "You're heavy. Get off of me."

He eased a bit of his weight off her hips, but not enough for her to actually make a break for it. She could still smell his cologne and the musky scent of his skin, and it caused riotous feelings in her chest.

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmured, kissing her temple. "I'm not trying to lead you on. I want you. I really do. I just need you to understand the situation. I'm tied for the next three years, so if you decide you want something with me, you need to know why we can't go public or rush towards a more permanent commitment. If the Ministries on either end found out that my marriage to Dar was a sham, they'd reject her transfer, and I could end up in prison for perpetrating fraud."

She gaped. "You're talking about perpetrating adultery, too, as if it weren't a big deal."

"Darya and I don't love each other," he insisted. "It's just two names on a document."

"A very legal document," she challenged. "And anyway, you've turned the sacred institution of marriage into some sort of political strategy. Whatever happened to 'love, honour, and cherish'?"

"Don't be naive, Hermione. You don't have to be in love with the person you're married to," he countered. "If that were true, people wouldn't marry just to emigrate from country to country, there would be no arranged marriages – which is a legitimate and accepted practice for many cultures in the world - and divorce and annulment would never exist. Darya and I have entered into a business arrangement that doesn't even involve a name change on either of our parts. On paper, it's no different from if we'd decided to partner up in a business together. We're colleagues, just with all the protections afforded by the law for spouses. That's all there is to it. Hell, your employment contract with the Ministry holds more emotional investment than my marriage certificate."

Her head spun at how callously he was treating the whole situation. "Except that I can terminate my employment contract at any time without penalty to either party."

"Not true. The Ministry would suffer your loss of expertise, and you'd suffer the loss of income, so there is harm in that relationship's end. There won't be once Dar and I divorce. In fact, it's a win for both of us, as she'll have gained her freedom, and I'll have gained the satisfaction knowing that I helped a friend out of a very nasty predicament."

Hermione shook her head. "And what if she doesn't want to let you go, Charlie? What will you do then?"

"She wouldn't," he stated very assuredly. "But even if I have to take it to the Minister himself, she and I aren't staying married once her permanent transfer is completed. I'm not in love with her." He nuzzled her hair with his cheek and nose. "I've got a witch I do want right here. I thought I'd made that clear."

To her mortification, hot tears wavered before her eyes. "And I'm just supposed to accept that for the next three years, you're not... 'free'? I'm supposed to either sneak around with you or refrain from dating others and wait for you?"

He sighed. "I know it's selfish to ask, especially after the way Ron mistreated you-"

"You're right. It is selfish to ask, because this time, I'd be complicit in the adultery," she pointed out the obvious difference. "No, I don't think I can do that, Charlie. It would... change me. Now, please, let me up."

He lifted off of her and she sat up, keeping her back to him.

"It's just three years, baby, and then we could have the rest of our lives," he attempted again to convince her of his plan. There was desperation in his voice. "I promise you, Hermione: there's no emotional or physical investment between Dar and me. Neither of us wants the other in that way. Please, baby love, give us a chance."

Facing him took all her courage. "I'm sorry, but I just can't. It doesn't feel right, and I promised myself after Ron never to be any man's second priority. If" – she swallowed past the heart-shaped lump in her throat – "if things change for you, and if I'm available..." She left the offer open.

His blue eyes nearly shattered her resolve as they filled with dejection and a resigned acceptance. "I understand." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I hate it, but I understand."

She made to stand, to gather her things and go, but he caught her in a fierce embrace as she got off her haunches and onto her knees. His mouth lowered to hover over hers. "But in three years, baby, you can expect a knock on your door. As long as you're not married by then, I'll win you back."

The sob she'd been bravely holding back escaped her mouth just as he captured her lips in a soul-searing, passionate lip-lock.

Maybe it was foolish, but she didn't fight him over the rightness or wrongness of this affectionate gesture. Instead, she surrendered to it one more time, wrapping her arms about his neck and giving to him as good as she got. After all, this was most likely their goodbye kiss.

X~~~~~X

November 2001 to May 2002

Hermione received several letters via owl from Charlie over the next seven and a half months. She put them aside at first, not wanting to read them, but unwilling to toss them out for some mad, unfathomable reason.

On Valentine's night, alone with a glass of red wine and the box of chocolates that he'd owl'd to her just that morning, she opened them and did the unconscionable – she fell in love with Charlie Weasley.

29 November - It's the end of November already – almost a month since I last saw you. Do you regret our kiss? I don't. I hope you don't either. I'll admit I've wanted to snog you one good for over the last year. You've been on my mind and in my dreams since the summer picnic when you wore that pretty lavender dress and we collided coming 'round the house. Remember that? Yeah, you were dating Ron then, but I couldn't help thinking about you. Something about you sticks in a man's head and heart, baby. I need you to know that I meant what I said to you on Samhain, Hermione – I really want us to make a go of it. I understand your objections, but I'm not giving up hope.

22 December - This morning, one of the dragons fell ill. He's an older Welsh Green that's been on the Reserve since the nineteenth century. I think this is the end for him, though. He's blind already, and now his breathing has gone shallow. I'm going to stay behind this Christmas to be with him, so he isn't alone at the end. I hope you'll forgive me for not coming to see you. I know you said you couldn't have a relationship with me, but I still wish I could be there with you on Christmas morning.

1 January - Old Mo, the Welsh Green I wrote about in my last letter, died this morning. I was with him, at the end. He let me sit at his side and touch him as he breathed his last. I found out from the records that he was exactly two-hundred years old to the day. Isn't that amazing? Where do you think you and I will be when we've hit that age? I'm hoping we'll be holding hands. Happy New Year's, baby.

28 January - How's the weather in London? The snow blew down hard here last night, and this morning, we had to use muffled blasting charms to get out of the cabins. Tonight, there's not a cloud in the sky. Weird, isn't it? It's so clear that you can see the stars from horizon to horizon. Do me a favour, will you? Look up on the night you get this note, and write me back, telling me what you see.

13 February - Did you know that on February 24th, Romanians celebrate a holiday called 'Dragobete,' which is similar to Valentine's Day? The snowdrop I've included with this note has a stasis charm on it, like the Samhain pumpkin that one time. It's traditional for Romanian boys to give the girls they fancy snowdrops during this holiday. I also included some cordial chocolates that one of the villages nearby hand-makes, because every woman should get chocolates on Valentine's. I hope you like them.

She wrote responses to every letter that night, and mailed them out via owl the next morning when she dropped by the Ministry's new post office service, installed after the war.

They began corresponding on a regular basis after that.

Of course, Hermione should have remembered the old adage that "nothing good ever lasts." She'd just wished her small window of happiness could have carried on a bit longer than it had. But really, there was no ideal time for a heartbreak dropping into your lap...

The trouble began in late April when Arthur and Molly found out through the Ministry grapevine that not only had Charlie filed a marriage certificate with the General Registry Office in November of 1999 and not told them that he was wedded, but apparently, his wife was now pregnant, too. They'd immediately insisted on meeting his witch in June, when he was scheduled to attend the Order's summer picnic.

Hermione learned of this news at the Ministry's annual Beltane Festival, when Ginny grabbed her arm and pulled her away from watching the Maypole dancing to catch her up on the latest family tittle-tattle.

"Can you believe it? Charlie eloped a couple of years ago, and now his witch is up the duff!"

For a moment, Hermione thought she had heard wrong about that last part, or at the least, Ginny was mistaken. "Wh-what?"

Ginny nodded, emphatically confirming her statement. "Mum's mad as a hornet for not being told sooner. She found out by talking to Mathilda Crenshaw – remember her? She's the Minister's secretary and the country gossip. Anyway, mum insisted that Charles show up in June for the Order picnic with his wife so that they could be properly introduced before she becomes a grandmum sometime this winter."

At that point, Hermione's stomach had turned over and fell into her shoes. Numb from the shock of such unexpected news, she tuned out the rest of the story, her mind stuck like an old record on the words "up the duff" and "grandmum."

"'Mione, have you heard a word I've said?" Gin asked, looking at her askance. "It's the gossip of the century and you're daydreaming!"

From that point on, she made a half-hearted attempt to appear interested in the discussion, nodding and smiling in the appropriate places as if she cared a whit about what was being said. All the while, her chest felt as if it had been cracked open, and hollowed out.

When she escaped her best girl friend's momentary attentions and moved off with the excuse of wanting to go catch up with Kingsley, Hermione contemplated Apparating home for a good cry. Instead, she went and had a bit too much May Wine (in her defence, it had strawberries in it – her all-time favourite fruit), and hooked-up with Jeremy Stretton, a former Ravenclaw who was two years her senior. The handsome, dark-haired wizard had been at the festival, and approached her with a glass of lemonade outstretched, and they sat and talked all the rest of that afternoon and evening. Sometime during the ten o'clock hour, they ended up moving away from the bonfire deeper into the woods and shagging against a very rough oak tree in the darkness. It wasn't even good sex as they were both quite tipsy and the kisses were sloppy, but she gave him props for managing to hit her special spot just right, tumbling her over into a nice petite orgasm.

That night, when she arrived home to her flat, she tearfully threw away the dragon pumpkin that Charlie had supposedly carved for her, burned every letter he'd sent her by owl in the intermittent months since their first kiss, dressed in her warmest and most comfortable pyjamas, and fell asleep on her couch in the living room while watching the telly.

When Jeremy continued to call on her for the next several weeks, she didn't reject his advances, and it turned out that they had a fun time in and out of bed together. Sexually, their chemistry was so-so, but he was good-natured and interesting enough. She didn't give it a second thought when she'd invited him as her date to the Order picnic at The Burrow a month and a half later.

TO BE CONTINUED...

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts about these developments.

.

Chapter 3 PREVIEW:

"You've got to see her! Charlie's witch is here with him, and she's gorgeous!"

.

"It's really none of my business, Charlie. You and I weren't even really seeing each other. It was only a few letters. Besides, I'm with Jeremy now."

.

"You see, baby love? We're good together. Really damned good."