A/N: *Mwahahaha!*

*Clears throat when she spots you*

*Offers the chapter, grinning mischievously*

xx-Kitten.

Home for the Holidays

By Kittenshift17

Chapter Four

Her kissed her hard, his hands sliding into her hair and his body pressing flush against hers. Hermione thought she might explode with pure happiness. Kissing him back hungrily, she reached for him, curling her arms around his neck and pulling herself as close as she could given that they were both still clad in their heavy winter attire despite not having travelled outdoors. Charlie's tongue swept against the seam of her lips and she parted them for him greedily, only too eager to draw him closer still.

He tasted of the cocktails they both been drinking before leaving the Burrow and his body was so warm; so firm and so strong and so utterly male that Hermione feared she might actually swoon. He walked her backward across her flat until her back hit the benchtop in her dingy kitchen before he lifted her until she sat upon it, all without breaking their fervent snog. Merlin, it felt like she'd waited a lifetime for that kiss and Hermione pulled him closer, curling her legs around him and clutching him desperately.

They were both breathing hard when they broke the kiss and Hermione was thinking that it looked like Christmas was going to be extra good to her this year. Gods, it'd been too long since she'd shared her body with a man as she whiled away months and years pining for Charlie, and now here he was, hungrily devouring her lips. His tongue traced against her own expertly, making her dizzy and making her want to find out just how talented that muscle might be when engaged with other parts of her anatomy.

"Gods, Charlie," Hermione gasped when they broke their fervent snog and he kissed the length of her jaw and down her neck, his hands deserting her hair to begin wrestling with the scarf wrapped around her throat, apparently desperate to get at her skin.

Charlie didn't say anything as he managed to unwind the scarf, and his fingers made short work of the bright silver toggles on her cloak, pushing that from her shoulders too. He kissed her neck and Hermione tipped her head, her heart racing inside her chest and her breath coming in sharp gasps. She would've been embarrassed at the low groan of pleasured delight that tore from her lips when he hit upon that sweet spot just below her ear, driving her crazy, but she was too delirious with happiness and desire to care.

How many nights had she daydreamed of finding herself in his arms this way? How many wicked fantasies had she indulged, thinking of him and bringing herself pleasure? Gods, how often had she wondered what his lips might taste like and what his rough hands would feel like cupping her breasts? She sincerely hoped all those fantasies were about to become a glorious reality.

"Gods, you taste even better than I dreamed," Charlie groaned, his lips by her ear as her fingers plucked at the toggles of his cloak, ridding him of it as she shoved it from his powerful shoulders, rather enjoying the way it slipped the length of his body to puddle messily about his feet.

"Don't stop," Hermione begged softly, pulling him down for another dizzying kiss when he pulled back a little bit.

He growled against her lips as he kissed her back, clutching her against himself, his hips bucking just a little against the junction of her thighs where she'd wrapped them around him. Hermione feared she was going to ruin her knickers, she wanted him so badly. The heat pouring off him and the desire raging through her would surely send them up in flames. He kissed her until Hermione couldn't think straight; couldn't see straight; couldn't breathe.

"Fuck," Charlie groaned when he pulled back, breathing hard and laying his forehead against her. "You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you right here on this bloody bench, koroleva."

"So, do it," Hermione encouraged, rolling her hips a little and carding her fingers through his thick red hair.

"Mmm," Charlie groaned. "Shit, I need to Floo call Newt about those dragons, or I'm going to forget."

"You could call him after," Hermione bargained.

Charlie's laugh was low and wicked.

"You imagine either of us will be able to walk, after?" Charlie asked, his voice husky and his eyes glittering with heat that made Hermione quiver with anticipation.

"But you said you have to call him from the Floo at the Burrow," she said. "Which means we'd be in your mother's house. Where two adorable children are liable to be up at the crack of dawn, potentially bursting into their favourite uncle's bedroom."

"We can get dressed again after," Charlie rolled his eyes.

Hermione laughed.

"We could… though I expect that your mother might have kittens if she finds me in your bed."

"When the woman's been nagging me about finding myself a witch for years? Not bloody likely," Charlie laughed.

He leaned in and kissed her again before Hermione could clarify if this was his way of asking her to be his witch, and she was sure she melted into a big, quivering pile of delight right there in his arms.

"Bloody hell," he said when they broke apart after several minutes of gloriousness. "Come on. The sooner I make my call, the sooner I can have you."

He scooped his arms around her tightly and Hermione squeaked in surprise when he curled his hands under her bum, holding her in place against him with her legs still wrapped around him even as he strode across the room to the Floo. He kissed her again on the way, breaking openly to grab a look at the jar of Floo Powder mounted in a repurposed flower-pot against the brickwork. He didn't put her down even when he stepped into the flames, calling out for the Burrow before snogging her again as they began to spin.

Her protests about unsafe travel practices were swallowed and promptly forgotten when the spinning and dizzying effect of Floo travel coupled with the rioting butterflies in her stomach thanks to the taste of his lips and the feels of him against her. It didn't even occur to her that they'd forgotten to grab any of her overnight supplies before leaving until the fireplace spat them out on the floor of the living room, the wild ride having partially dislodged her from around Charlie, her legs unfurling. It was just as well they did, because the effect of the two of them travelling together in such a way made exiting the fireplace an ordeal and a half, Charlie skidding across the floor on his back with Hermione still clutched in his arms.

He laughed when they skidded all the way across the floor and collided with the Christmas tree, almost toppling it over.

"Bloody hell, that was fun," he grinned into her face.

Hermione wasn't so sure she agreed with him, her stomach roiling violently.

"For you, maybe," she muttered. "I think I might be sick."

Charlie winced.

"It was a bit wild," he allowed, releasing her when she rolled off of him quickly and sat up, trying to take deep, even breaths to calm her stomach.

"I think I need a glass of water," she confessed.

Charlie nodded.

"No worries, koroleva, I need to call Newt, anyway," he said.

"Do want anything?" she asked, rising to her feet.

"Mmm," Charlie grinned, peering up at her as she tried to right her clothing and dust off the soot from their travels. "You. Naked. In my bed in about fifteen minutes."

Hermione blushed.

"I'll make you a cup of tea," she told him before hurrying out of the room, not about to ruin her first intimate moment with the man by confessing that such a wildly spinning Floo-trip combined with the effects of the Bloody Firestorm cocktail he'd given her were actually making her fear she might vomit.

Charlie laughed at her response before dusting himself off and sitting up, crawling over to the fireplace and reaching for the Floo Powder to make his call.

"Newt?" he called out loudly, kneeling with his head in the fireplace.

The kitchen of Mr and Mrs Scamander was illuminated only by the glow of an enormous Christmas tree in the far corner and the fireplace itself.

"NEWT? You there?"

Charlie peered around, hoping for a response. He spied the family owl perched on a specially carved piece of wood by the window.

"Archibald, is Newt home?" Charlie asked of the owl.

Archibald blinked owlishly at him before hooting loudly.

"Bloody hell," Charlie grumbled. "I don't want to come through and drag you out of bed, old man."

Before he could do as he'd just suggested, Tina Scamander hurried into the kitchen tying the sash on her nightgown and blinking sleepily.

"Hello?" she called, frowning and looking about the kitchen.

"Over here, Mrs Scamander," Charlie said, grinning. "In the fireplace. It's Charlie Weasley."

Tina turned in a circle before spotting him.

"Oh, Charlie, is everything alright?" she asked.

She made no mention of the late hour, or the fact that he'd clearly pulled her out of bed.

"Is Newt around?" Charlie asked. "I'm sorry it's so late, but I've got some vital information for him."

"He's trying to calm the Frostfangs," Tina sighed. "This blizzard, as you might've realized, is hardly natural."

"No, I know. That's why I'm calling. He's missing about a dozen Frostfang eggs, I'd reckon?" Charlie said.

"How do you know?" Tina asked, frowning at him.

"Because they turned up in London. A shady chap ambushed a friend of mine, Hermione Granger, at her clinic for magical creatures late last night and dumped a crate of twelve Frostfangs eggs into her care. She mistook them for Shortsnout eggs, because of the colouring… but she got them into a DEI to incubate before bringing them to my attention when I came home tonight."

"Oh, goodness," Tin said, clutching her chest. "They're not cooked, are they? We'll never stop the blizzard if they are."

"Not yet," Charlie said. "I got to them today, and got the temperature down below freezing as soon as I saw them. They're still there, but they should be ready for transport by morning."

"Tina, what is it, darling?" Newt came bustling into the room at that moment, the door blasting open into the kitchen and almost disconnecting Charlie's Floo call when the blast of cold air almost put the fire out.

"Charlie Weasley found your missing eggs," Tina told her husband without preamble.

"Charlie?" Newt asked, spinning to peer at him in the fireplace, still spry for a man who'd celebrated his one-hundred-and-ninth birthday that year. "That you?"

"Howdy, Newt," Charlie said, grinning at his mentor and the man who'd made his career possible. "I've got your missing eggs."

"How?" Newt asked, shaking his head.

"You heard of Hermione Granger?" Charlie asked him.

Newt's eyes lit up.

"That lovely young lass who opened a Foundation to help magical creatures in London?" Newt asked, and Charlie wasn't surprised to know he'd heard of Hermione.

"That's the one. Someone showed up at the door to her clinic late last night with a crate full of twelve Frostfang eggs."

"What on earth for?" Newt frowned.

"I reckon it was someone trying to get her closed down if the Ministry had busted her with them. She's got a breeder's permit and a DEI in the clinic, special delivery courtesy of the Minister being a personal friend," Charlie said.

"But not the qualifications or permits for Frostfang eggs. And someone is trying to close her doors by having her caught with them because those bastards in London can't stand having vampires and werewolves and goblins frequenting her foundation for all those lovely things she provides," Newt finished for him.

Charlie nodded.

"That's right. She mentioned to me tonight when I came home from the Romanian reserve that she'd been given them. She mistook them for Shortsnout eggs," Charlie said, and he watched Newt close his eyes for a long moment in apparent horror as though bracing himself to be told the eggs had been cooked.

"They're fine, dear," Tina told him, putting a hand on his arm.

"It's true," Charlie said. "She'd set the DEI to the average temperature that would've worked on a Shortsnout egg, but not quite high enough to cook them. They've been exposed for roughly twenty-four hours, but as soon as I recognized them, I lowered it to sub-zero temperatures. They're still there now, but they'll need the rest of the night to chill before we can safely transport them to you."

"Thank Merlin," Newt said, lowering his gaze to the floor for a moment.

"I know tomorrow's Christmas and all," Charlie went on, "But if you don't mind, we'll bring them by around mid-morning? Get them back in their nest before their parents send us spiraling into the next Ice Age."

Newt nodded.

"You know you're always welcome here," he said to Charlie. "And it'll be good practice for you to meet the colony again. You'll win a few points with the Fangs by bringing those eggs home, too."

Charlie grinned.

"Bring this Hermione, won't you, Charlie?" Tina asked, smiling a little from behind Newt.

"Oh, please do," Newt nodded. "I'd very much like to meet her. If she's free, that is."

"I'll bring her along," Charlie smiled widely.

Newt eyed him for a long moment, and Charlie wondered if the old man could see right through him to the heart of the matter with Hermione.

"Perhaps it will be good to introduce Miss Granger to the Frostfangs, too," he mused, grinning a little. "And we'd better just see about getting her polished up on her dragonology so she doesn't accidentally cook any of those eggs again."

"Yes, sir," Charlie said, unable to hide his amused and pleased grin.

"Good," Newt said. "See you tomorrow then, son."

Charlie nodded.

'See you then," he said. "And I'm sorry for waking you, Mrs Scamander."

Tina waved off his apology with a laugh, used to being woken in the middle of the night for creature related instances after decades of marriage to a man who'd done so much to improve the way the wizarding world viewed its fantastic beasts.

Pulling his head out of the fireplace, Charlie coughed the soot from his throat before getting to his feet. He peered around the living room, looking for Hermione and his eyebrows rose when instead, he spotted his Dad standing with his shoulder propped against the doorway leading to the stairs.

"Did I wake you, Dad?" Charlie asked, frowning apologetically, supposing that the roar of the Floo as they'd left and returned had awoken Arthur Weasley.

"I wasn't asleep yet before you left," Arthur confessed quietly. "Everything alright, Charlie? I thought the roar was just Hermione heading home for the night, but the second one made me worry."

"Everything's fine, Dad," Charlie reassured him. "Just a bit of a situation at Hermione's clinic. Dragons…"

"So I heard," Arthur nodded. "You'll be stepping out briefly before lunch tomorrow, then?"

Charlie nodded.

"Yeah, sorry about that, Dad. I know Mum's wanting to make a real day of it, but we've got to get the Frostfang eggs back to their nest before anything too drastic happens," he explained, worried his Dad might be upset with him.

Arthur waved away the apology.

"Better we miss you for an hour than be plunged into an Ice Age, I know," Arthur chuckled, pushing away from the door and strolling further into the room.

Charlie watched the way he went over to the couch where he and Hermione had left her book and their matching pyjamas. Arthur raised his eyebrows at Charlie in question and Charlie shrugged.

"Icelandic Christmas tradition I thought she'd like," Charlie offered quietly, his eyes growing warm as he tried to avoid the look on his father's face.

"A nice one, I take it. The matching outfits are just the ticket," Arthur chuckled, teasing him good naturedly.

"Yeah, well, that wasn't on purpose," Charlie admitted. "When I was getting her a pair, I noticed I also needed some and these were the only type they had. I might've… accidentally caught the fire in the last pair Mum gave me last Christmas."

Arthur frowned at him.

"Don't tell you mother that," Arthur said, shaking his head. "She worries for you terribly when you're away."

Charlie sighed, nodding and peering over his shoulder toward the kitchen, wondering where Hermione had gotten to.

"How've you been anyway, Dad?" Charlie asked, seeing no sign of the witch he'd intended to ravish following his Floo-Call.

"Fine," Arthur nodded. "Fine. Busy at work. Head of the Department now, you know? And it's got its own challenges. Far fewer chances to pilfer muggle artefacts and smuggle them into my shed where your mother won't see them."

Charlie grinned.

"They're not working you too hard, I hope?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm alright," Arthur assured him. "And you, son? How're things in Romania?"

"Busy," Charlie admitted, crossing to drop into one of the armchairs by the fire. "Always bloody busy, Dad. Too many dragons and not enough Tamers to keep them from getting into mischief, you know?"

Arthur nodded, and Charlie could tell from the way his father was looking at him that he wanted to say more – wanted to ask about his plans for the future and how he proposed to ever walk away from a job that was already short-staffed.

"We've missed you, son," Arthur said quietly, and Charlie nodded, gritting his teeth against any emotion.

"Missed you too, Dad," he said gruffly.

He knew that his Dad wouldn't say any more on the subject, no matter that he likely wanted Charlie home and settled with a good witch just as badly as Molly did.

"Did Hermione come back with you?" Arthur asked, tipping his head in the direction of the kitchen when the brief, shrill shout of the kettle boiling sounded.

"Yeah," Charlie nodded, his ears turning red again. "Easier than her heading home and having to come back in the morning, eh?"

Arthur nodded.

"I've been meaning to get around to installing a few more rooms into this old house," he said fondly, looking around. "Going to need the space, soon. Bill's got another little one on the way. And it'll be a matter of time before Ginny and Harry are married and start thinking of children. Harry already wants them, from what I can see of how he is with Teddy. The twins, too… they're leaning toward children in a few years, now that the franchise is stable and they're both settling into their marriages. Soon we'll need all the rooms we can get to house the many grandchildren I hope will be popping out of this house at the seams."

Charlie nodded, closing his eyes briefly at the ache in his chest to bring his Dad the grandchildren that Charlie knew Arthur desperately wanted.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Percy and Oliver start looking into adoption, myself," Hermione mused, strolling into the room levitating three cups of tea. "Soon you'll have a house full of children and you won't know what to do with yourself, Mr Weasley. You'll have to escape to your shed more and more often just to get a moment's peace, if Molly has her way."

Arthur laughed quietly.

"Peace is overrated," he informed the two of them as Hermione handed him his tea before crossing the room to give Charlie's his. "I raised seven boisterous children, you know? This old house is so… empty… without all of you home, anymore."

Hermione's heart constricted inside her chest and she squeezed Charlie's shoulder when she caught his agonized expression to see his Dad looking so forlorn.

"They never tell you that part," Arthur went on quietly. "They all warn that too-soon, they'll be grown, and to enjoy the little moments while they're young, and all of that. But no one tells you about the silence when the brood has flown the coop and their rooms are all left empty. Retire, they say. Enjoy the freedom those little blighters robbed you of for so many years when you put their happiness before your own. But they never mention that there is no freedom in loneliness. When you dedicate your life to raising brilliant children that go on to have outstanding careers, flinging them across the globe, they never mention that when they're gone, you're left with holes they used to occupy and nothing to fill them up with."

Charlie darted a look at Hermione when he heard her sniffle as she perched on the arm of his chair, sipping her tea. Her eyes were suspiciously wet as she watched Arthur speak, and Charlie supposed that, having wiped her parents' memories as she had, she felt even guiltier listening to such a speech.

"Won't be long, Dad," Charlie said quietly, though he didn't specify whether he spoke of the grandchildren he already had on the way, or of himself and his contribution to the growing brood of kids that would soon fill this house, once more.

Arthur nodded, smiling stiffly when he realized he'd lapsed into melancholy.

"Well, better get back to bed, eh?" he said, taking a few large gulps of his tea before rising to his feet. "Before your Mum comes looking for me and can start pestering you again."

Charlie nodded.

"Night, Dad," he said, frowning after the man as he headed for the stairs once more.

"Goodnight," he bid them, smiling at the two of them where they perched on the same armchair.

Hermione smiled, waving him off, and she and Charlie sat in silence, listening to the sounds of Arthur climbing the stairs until the bedroom door creaked closed.

"Well…" Charlie said after a long pause, tipping his head to look at Hermione seriously. "That got heavy."

Hermione laughed a little, nodding her head and wiping her eyes.

"Come on, koroleva," Charlie said, smiling at her a little. "Let's get to bed. It'll be an early start with Teddy and Victoire in the house."

Hermione nodded, sighing as she got to her feet.

"Better take these, love," Charlie said, picking up her pyjamas and book from the couch. "Now that the old man has effectively killed the mood with his somber bollocks, you'll probably need them to keep warm. Where did you disappear to, anyway?"

Hermione's heart sank a little.

"The bathroom," she confessed. "Your Bloody Firestorm got the best of me after that wild spinning. Fortunately, I keep a spare toothbrush here."

Charlie chuckled as he collected his trunk and began flicking his wand to douse the remaining lights in the kitchen and the living room, leaving only the glow of the fire and the twinkling Christmas light on the tree to light the way.

"Yeah, that drink will wreck most people," he nodded. "Took me a while to get used to it, but they're bloody good."

Hermione laughed, following him when he began the long climb up to his bedroom - which was actually the repurposed attic thanks to Ron taking over Charlie's room when he'd moved out. She shivered the higher they climbed, the heat of the fireplace far below doing little to warm the draughty attic.

"I hope you don't mind cuddling," she said quietly when they reached his room and she'd closed the door behind them.

"Bit cold, eh?" Charlie grinned, dumping his trunk at the end of the bed and beginning to peel off layers of clothing, intent on getting into his pyjamas.

"Just a little," Hermione confessed, shivering a bit herself and hesitating, wondering if she ought to ask him to turn his back so she could change.

It was one thing to let him see her naked should they shag, but another thing entirely to strip just for the sake of changing clothes.

"You alright?" he asked when she eventually decided to hell with her modesty and began wriggling out of her jeans.

Hermione looked over and gasped when she spotted the fact that Charlie had stripped down to just his jeans.

"Gods, Charlie, you're covered in bandages!" Hermione said, her eyes wide as she stared at him, noting the thick wrapping of bandages around his right ankle and his entire torso. "Merlin, did I hurt you when I had my legs around you? What've you done?"

Charlie glanced down at himself, seeming almost surprised by the sight of the bandaging.

"Ah, I'm fine," he waved his hand dismissively. "Told you earlier that old Krampus tried to take a few bites out of me."

"You were bitten?" Hermione gasped. "Charlie, those fangs could've gone right through you!"

He grinned at her.

"I'm alright, Hermione," he promised. "I've had worse, I can assure you."

"That doesn't make me feel better," Hermione said, planting her hands on her hips and stomping her foot.

She scowled at him, oblivious to having changed into her flannel pants but only gotten halfway through changing her top.

"You're sweet to worry about me, koroleva," Charlie said, though his eyes were tracing over her bare upper half.

Hermione gasped, realizing she'd taken her bra off and not put her shirt back on. Clapping her hands over her breasts, she scowled at him all the more.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked seriously.

"Nah," he said. "I'm fine. Probably don't even need the bandages anymore."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"What?" he said. "You want me to prove it? I'll strip it all off if you will, love."

He shot her a look so hot she almost swooned, but Hermione wasn't fooled. Stomping closer and deciding that she really wouldn't mind if it was Charlie's hands on her breasts rather than her own, she invaded his personal space until she could reach his bandages. Carefully, she began to unwind them from around him, untying the knot at his collarbone and unravelling him quickly.

He had a collection of puncture wounds over his abs and his right shoulder, Hermione noted, frowning, though they were pink with freshly healed scars, rather than still bloody.

"Might have to leave the one on my leg for a bit longer," he confessed when Hermione traced her fingers over the wounds with an expert's eye.

"You're sure I didn't hurt you when you were carrying me around?" she asked worriedly.

"I was somewhat distracted at the time," Charlie grinned down at her.

She held perfectly still when he reached with both hands to cup her cheeks, peering his desire at her resolutely.

"I'm fine," he said. "I promise. Are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Hermione asked.

"The drink made you sick," he reminded her.

"It did, but it's kind of a mood killer to keep bringing it up," she pointed out.

Charlie laughed, lowering his face slowly toward hers.

"You brushed your teeth, yeah?" he teased, and Hermione smacked her palm against his bare chest, connecting with one of his many dragon tattoos.

"Yes," she rolled her eyes. "And flossed. And rinsed with mouthwash."

"Clean-freak," Charlie accused, rolling his eyes before he closed the distance between their lips, stealing another hot kiss from her.

Hermione suspected that she was in well over her head to know that even knowing she'd been unwell, he wanted to kiss her. Even knowing he'd been hurt, he wanted to kiss her. And based on the lead pipe prodding her insistently from the confines of his jeans, Charlie Weasley wanted to do a whole lot more than kiss her.