It didn't take very long following Harry's departure for Charlie and me to realize how thoroughly screwed to hell we both were. Our personalities just didn't match up in a compatible way. I was much too bossy, neat and anal, (Which he had no hesitation, at all, in declaring). He, on the other hand, was unorganized, obnoxious, impatient and an overall massive pain in my arse.

Nevertheless, since I was the only one who held any sense of maturity, I kept my objections about him to myself. Every single time that he pointed out one of my many "faults," I bit my tongue and held back the word vomit that I felt rising whenever someone declared something which I didn't necessarily share the same point-of-view with them on. That, I believed, was my only true fault.

My opinion meant everything to me. I had fought dynamically all of my life just to have my opinion heard, just to know that my beliefs would stand for something and matter. Being a Muggleborn was a huge obstacle to overcome throughout my childhood and on. In the eyes of some of the pureblooded, like the Malfoys, I was the lowest form of scum to ever dirty the face of the earth. Certainly not worth so much as a second glance unless it was for the soul purpose of ridding the world of my presence.

It was for these reasons, however, that arguments took on a greater meaning to me. No longer was it a simple exchange over differences in ideas. Now, each argument that I came upon was a significant battle of wits. A chance to prove my intelligence and prove that my voice did matter. It mattered immensely. Therefore, I naturally felt an overwhelming flow of words assembling in my mind and eagerly rushing to spill out of my mouth each time I wished to explain my thoughts or argue a different view to someone. Word vomit. A problem, which Charlie didn't appear to struggle with at all.

Quite contrary to my personality, Charlie became quiet when he was angry or temperamental. It was honestly rather annoying and paradoxical. Whenever one of our rows became too over-the-top, Charlie would slam his mouth shut and get this impatient and positively furious look upon his face. Sometimes, he would growl incoherently. But, never would he say a word until he had simmered down. Though, prior to his simmering it would always be very apparent just by a glance at his face that there was an inner debate raging within his head.

It was absolutely frustrating to me every time he became some sort of introverted mute. One of the reasons for the hatred I held toward that side of Charlie, was that it was always unexpected. We fought enough that I had memorized every aspect of the way he argued, but I still didn't have a firm grip on what, in his mind, took our argument to a higher level. What made him so mad that he had to shut the blazin' hell up and leave the debate as it was? The fact that he didn't shout, rant or rave, louder and louder as the argument was fueled to greater degrees, irked me to no end. I had no idea how to deal with the silence.

Tyler was rapidly becoming irritated by our constant bickering and inability to see eye to eye on any topic, no matter how insignificant. Even if I hadn't been her mother and the one person who knew her most, it wouldn't have taken me longer than two seconds to read the clear expression of annoyance that had surrounded her face for the last two days.

She, thankfully, hadn't awoken in time to hear the rather nasty dispute which Charlie and I had gotten in just minutes after Harry had left. It had only been ignited by a foul comment from the foul man's even fouler mouth after I had been forced into his foul Quidditch jersey.

Perhaps I should have known better before reluctantly agreeing to use the shirt as a pajama top. After all, it was common knowledge that Charlie Weasley was the best Seeker that Hogwarts had seen prior to Harry's entrance into the world of Wizarding sports. It was also common knowledge that the Seeker was usually the quickest and most lean of all players on the entire roster. I don't know how I could have been so stupid as to think that Charlie's muscles had always been so very . . . broad. The jersey strained against my breasts, clearly bringing attention to them despite my desperate attempts to make the fabric un-clingy. One ill-advised comment from Charlie "Smooth" Weasley and I was on my tiptoes, jabbing him in the chest and threatening to hex his bullocks off.

As usual, our argument had led from one thing to another and before I knew it he had demonstrated, for the first time, what happened when he became too mad. The first time I had witnessed his actions I had thought it was adorable, actually. It was only upon waking up the following morning to a new round of nonstop quarrels with him that I realized how much I didn't find it adorable at all. Tyler had awoken to find us arguing about the plans for the day. Charlie had to go to work and had strictly demanded that neither I, nor my daughter, step foot out of the house. Let's just say that the idea didn't bode well with me at all.

That had been two days ago. Two days of imprisonment inside a house that was supposed to be my home away from home for the next few months. Two days with no contact to anyone besides Tyler and Charlie. Two days without a quiet stroll outside just to walk off the stress of a day. I needed those walks. Especially with the stress that came while living under the same roof as the man whom I repeatedly had nightmares where my ex-boyfriend abused me for desiring in a non-platonic way.

The only good news that had come since my arrival, was that Charlie's house had proved to be actually quite suitable. I still hadn't seen the outside of it, though. The inside was comfortable, yet masculine. Sometimes I doubted that Charlie really had been living there for years. Everything from the walls to the furniture seemed to have been carelessly meshed together as one, as if Charlie had simply thrown it all together hastily and at the last minute.

Tyler loved it, despite the nagging she had put up all throughout the first full day of our stay. She had slept right through the first night, awaking around seven. She spent most of the day within the confines of the room that Charlie had so kindly put together for her. She only came out when Charlie returned home from work, having decided to blame me for the move since Harry wasn't around to point the finger at. Even now, two days into her silent treatment, she didn't speak to me unless absolutely necessary. I, however, was very used to such actions and shrugged it off for a good book on the sofa.

The day was bright and the air was cold, that much I knew by a simple glance out of the window to my right. Charlie had asked me to stay away from the windows, but I thought that it was pushing my captivity too far. So, I opened and strayed to the window as often as I pleased. I wasn't going to remain cooped up in the house for another day, that much I assured myself. The moment Charlie came home I was going to force myself out the door.

The book upon my lap was closed and faced down, my attention having wandered roughly twenty minutes prior. My mother had always told me that it was a horrible mistreatment to a beautiful piece of literature to leave a book open, and face down, anywhere. It would injure the spine.

The sun had already reached its climax in the sky a few hours ago. A sky that I itched to be able to watch from out on the top of one of the beautiful mountains which I saw from my bedroom windows every single morning. I felt drawn to nature sometimes. It was the one constant which always seemed dependable. Even my fear of heights had never prevented me from taking hikes to the tallest of peaks as a young girl with my grandfather, before his death.

I heard the sigh release from my mouth, instead of feeling it within my chest. I shook my head slightly, shaking myself out of my daydreaming, and glanced away from the window which had me pining so childishly. The faint sound of the front door opening had me practically leaping to my feet.

"Granger," Charlie said, sparing me a quick glance before moving to head down the hall into his chambers.

Not wanting him to disappear from my sight, I asked, "How was work?"

Charlie stopped walking and turned to me -showing off the numerous burn marks that were spotted across his chest and arms- with a raised eyebrow. "I work with dragons, Granger. It was scorching."

I almost smiled at his sarcastic sense of humor, and probably would have if it hadn't been for the strange sense of worry that rose within my gut at the sight of all of the burns, "Lovely. So it was pleasant?"

"Are you sick?" he asked, looking at me as if I had grown another head. The thanks I get for showing any sign of interest in his life. It was only a small glitch that the interest was completely for show.

Scoffing at his manners, I stubbornly crossed my arms over my chest. I looked away from him for a few calming moments and then finally looked back in order to scan over his injuries. "Do they hurt?" I asked, feeling my stomach knot unexpectedly again.

Charlie seemed taken aback by the concern in my voice. He stared at me with a strange expression in his eyes, before shrugging, "Could have been worse. It happens nearly every day. Kind of got used to it over the years."

I found myself nodding and didn't realize that I was walking toward him until I was less than a foot away from his body, "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" he asked, his breath tickling my forehead.

"Keep doing what your doing. I mean, working with dragons is so dangerous."

That received another indifferent shrug, "Don't know. I guess I've always just gotten a rush from the job, knowing that the dragons are stronger than myself or anybody else who works with them."

Nodding in understanding, I turned away and headed in the direction of the bathroom. When I realized that he wasn't right behind me, I looked back, "Are you coming? I'll clean the sores up for you."

Charlie grumbled something under his breath.

"If you don't want my help, fine," I said, annoyed at his unrelenting stubbornness.

Shuffling from foot to foot, Charlie finally gave in. He followed after me as I walked down the hall and directed him into the bathroom first. It was a tiny room, so I pushed him down onto the toilet's closed lid and he landed with a thump. "Didn't know you liked it rough, Granger," he smirked, eyes lighting up in amusement.

"Do you ever behave?" I asked, trying to keep my own entertainment off of my face.

"'Course not, but you like me anyway," he grinned, watching me as I kneeled on the floor in front of him and pulled my wand out of my back-pocket.

"You're going to have to take your shirt off," I muttered, looking down at the floor so that he couldn't see my face flush in embarrassment. I could almost hear the wide grin spreading across his features.

I heard his movement and the soft flow of the material of his shirt caressing his skin as he slid it over his head. "I knew you were just trying to undress me," he chuckled, causing me to look up again.

I'm astonished that I even managed to withhold a gasp. The man, though annoying, was absolutely gorgeous. His skin was covered with scars, burns and tattoos; yet, it was the most desirable sight I had ever seen. He was just as, if not more, freckled than the other Weasley boys and the urge to trace over every single mark on his chest almost overwhelmed me. Obviously, working with giant lizards did wonders to a man's physique.

"Any day, now, Granger," he murmured, leaning down a bit to catch my eye. "It's not like you've never seen it all before."

Another flush ignited across my cheeks at being caught blatantly ogling, "Oh, right." Trying to get my very non-platonic thoughts out of my head, I brought my wand up to Scourgify all of his new wounds.

"I know I'm not exactly a Medi-witch, but aren't you supposed to actually look at what you're doing?" Charlie asked, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.

Taking a deep breath, I looked up at him, "Sorry."

His gaze was intense when my eyes met his, "No problem."

"Episkey," I whispered, running my wand slowly across the marks as they immediately began to knit themselves closed.

Charlie released a brief hiss of pain, causing me to look up apprehensively. "I'm fine," he immediately responded, managing a small grimace, "Just caught me off guard, is all."

When I was completely done, I hesitantly brought my fingers up toward the inflamed flesh that had just morphed closed, into regular cuts. I placed the tip of my middle finger against the side of one of the marks that was just below a small tattoo of a fireball that looked quite ready to burst from Charlie's skin and ensnare a victim. Unconsciously, my finger moved to play connect-the-dots with a band of freckles that swarmed Charlie's chest.

I didn't realize my error until a calloused hand enclosed around my wrist. "Stop," Charlie whispered, his voice soft as his chest rose and fell as if he were out of breath.

I stammered, completely mortified, "I-I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"Quite the opposite, actually," he replied, the hand that was grasping my wrist beginning to slide up my arm, bringing with it a shiver.

I found myself caught between two emotions. Fright and desire. This was the man who could enfuriate me more than, quite possibly, any person I had ever met in my entire life. This was the man whom my ex-boyfriend repeatedly bashed me about in all of my nightmares. This was the man that caused so many known, and unknown, emotions to drown me over and over ever since Ron's death. How come I felt on fire under his gaze, and in a good way?

His knuckles were suddenly running over my cheek, caressing my skin. "This isn't a good idea," I mumbled, trying to resist the temptation that he was setting before me.

"Don't you ever shut up, Granger? Stop thinking," Charlie commanded, a wolfish smile turning up the corners of his lips. Lips that, a moment later, were on mine in a firm, passionate kiss.

I don't know what happened. Suddenly, his arms were around my body while his hands trailed down my back, lifting me off the floor to straddle his thighs. All thought of resistance was thrown from my mind the moment his tongue slowly traced my lower lip. My head felt dizzy at the power that he had over me. It was like nothing that I had ever experienced before.

My body had a mind of its own, shifting in his arms to press against him in the most delicious way. Charlie groaned, breaking away from my lips to trail hot, openmouthed kisses down the column of my neck. His bare chest was scorching beneath my finger tips as I absently gave in to the deep desire to trace over all his marks. Every scar, tattoo and freckle.

It wasn't until his obvious arousal pressed intimately against my inner thigh, that my brain caught up with my actions. "Oh, God," I moaned, completely thrown off guard by the entire situation. Completely thrown off guard by the guilt that suddenly closed in on me from all sides. What the bloody hell was wrong with me?

Charlie murmured in agreement against my pulse point, obviously thinking my declaration was for an entirely different reason. His tongue flicked against my skin, almost making me delve back into my unconscious state of desire. Almost.

I pushed away from him, untangling myself from his firm embrace and jumping swiftly to my feet. "We've got to stop. This was a mistake."

"A mistake?" Charlie demanded, still sitting down in front of me with a shocked expression on his face.

"Yes, a mistake. You came onto me," I accused, desperately trying to regain some dignity.

"Sorry, Baby, but the last time I checked, what we were just doing was a two-person activity," Charlie said, his eyes narrowing from shock to anger as he rose to his feet.

"Don't call me that," I snapped, picking up his shirt and throwing it at his head, "Get dressed."

Charlie scowled and yanked the shirt on, "You really are a swot, you know that?"

"A swot? What, just because I know the difference between right and wrong?"

"Right and wrong?" Charlie repeated in disbelief, "We were snogging, Granger, not going skinny-dipping with a herd of Death Eaters."

"We're supposed to live peacefully together for the sake of Tyler," I argued with a huff, turning around and storming down the hall toward the kitchen.

Charlie was hot on my heels, "Well, I'm sorry, but I don't think that's a possibility. You're the hardest person in the world to cooperate with peacefully. And damned if I haven't tried."

"You must be joking!" I yelled, turning around with a fierce glare, "The first conversation -if you can even call it that- which we had after my return home, was spent hollering away with you for accusing me of something that I had no control over!"

"You disappeared off the face of the earth for a year! That's not exactly something you didn't have control over!" Charlie bellowed, pointing an accusative finger at me.

"Why do you even care?" I asked, my voice cracking in frustration, "You act as if it's such a big deal. That it's so important for some reason!"

In a blink, Charlie was in front of me, pressing my body backwards until I was cornered against the kitchen counter. His lips were merely an inch away from mine, causing my heartbeat to skyrocket and my brain to turn to mush again, "You up and left without so much as a goodbye."

"I didn't want anyone to try and make me stay."

"Anyone?"

"Mainly a certain someone," I whispered as his sea-green gaze enraptured me once more.

Charlie's breath caressed my skin as he brushed his lips against the corner of my mouth, his nose rubbing against my own, "I could have made you stay."

"You could have," I agreed softly, placing my hands on his chest and gently pushing him far enough away for me to slip through his grasp, "And that's why I left."

"Do you always run from your emotions?" Charlie asked as I moved away in order to go check on Tyler, desperately wanting to end this entire discussion with him. "For someone so courageous, you really know how to repress what you don't want to feel."

"There's nothing to repress," I laughed bitterly, "We barely know each other, Charlie. I feel nothing for you."

Charlie shook his head, "You never were a good liar, Baby. You can't keep pretending that I didn't mean something to you. That I don't still mean something to you. It's the reason for the guilt, isn't it? You hide it all under grief, but I know the truth. I've always known the truth, and that makes you even more scared of just letting go."

Biting my lip, I looked up at him, taking in his hard jaw and blazing eyes, while secretly cherishing the way his old nickname for me flowed from his lips. He was right. No matter how much I pretended, even to myself, that I had no knowledge at all of the man in front of me, it would always be a lie. I would never be able to forget the night before Ron's death. The nights prior to that. The arms I went to for warmth and security. The mistake that I made, over and over, and the way it hadn't felt like a mistake at all.

Even in my mind I had been trying to pretend that the beautifully caring person in front of me, was no one of importance. The other day, at the Burrow, I had actually convinced myself that he wasn't anybody but a brief acquaintance. I was living in a false reality, and I was scared to death of living anywhere else.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Charlie," I whispered, turning away from him and walking down the hall and away from my past grievances.