Chapter Nine: A Necklace

I don't know why he makes me feel that way. He's just a guy. Another guy. And yes, he's a deliciously dishy redheaded guy –but there's a whole model line of them. And yes, he's unique in his interests and personality –but there are a thousand million other guys who may have similar traits…and yes, he's brilliant and clever and friendly and just so impossibly wonderful…

But he's just a guy.

I must not lose sight of things.

I will not fall in love.

I am Ms. Jamesina Worthing Tickes, clocksmith. I am not the future Mrs. –I am not a future Mrs., let alone…

Oh, lord.

I thought it.

I thought it in my head. Not out loud. And I certainly didn't write it down, not even to see how it would look.

And it was only a first date, I'd be silly to jump to that conclusion…

Good lord. First. As in, initial. Inaugural. First in a series. Flagship date of the Charlie Weasley Date Fleet! A sodding air force of dates! A calendar! A slew! A metric messload!

And mercy upon me, I like the idea!

That, or something like it, was my train of thought for roughly two hours after Charlie fixed up the burn on my hand. It was derailed a few times, such as when Fred noticed I had forgotten to make toast. Charlie showed us all a lovely charm that makes you breathe magical fire, which, being magical, doesn't burn your nosehair out or anything dangerous, just feels warm for a second. He and the magizoologist crowd use it to make dragons go 'whoa, look at that, who shagged a human?' for a second while another magizoologist jabs the dragon in the opposite end with the immunization it needs. It's also a splendid, if vaguely show-offy method of making toast. So the twins made toast for each other, which was fine, but which rapidly turned icky after I absently inquired about what happened to bogies and such when one did the spell. Nice to know a new decongestant charm, I guess. One can never have too many in cold season.

There was also the conversation we had about what the Death Eaters had been playing at by attacking the Knockturn shops. Apparently, the whole thing had been the work of just three wizards.

"Only three?" Fred looked surprised. "Took us almost two dozen Eggs to fix that mess, and it was just the three?"

"Well, just the three were caught, and they seem to have been responsible." Charlie had just stepped into the other room to answer a Floo. "Of course, two of the three were Crabbe and Goyle –senior, not the pair in Hogwarts, and the third was some cousin of either –or perhaps both, they seem an inbred lot, who was in from Ireland."

"Well, I feel personally offended that the Crabbes and Goyles have cousins in Ireland."

"Why, Jessie!" George seemed surprised. I don't normally say things so vehemently. I just think them. "Have you got cousins in Ireland?"

"My mother was Irish."

What? It's true. She was. The prejudice against Irish couldn't run as deep as all that, could it?

"Oh. Well, that explains a bit." Fred said it so smugly, I felt the need to bristle on principle.

"Explains what?"

"Well, your accent, for one. You sound a little bit…well, actually, you sound a bit Scottish as well as the Londoner."

"I grew up here and the house in Hogsmeade. No surprise. What's Irish about me?"

"Well…more about your brother."

Oh. Ian.

"He turned down the Wimbourne Wasps and about six other teams, holding out for Ireland. They never did recruit him, so he took England National." George said it as if it were perfectly obvious instead of perfect gibberish.

"That takes a lot of sand. I mean, sure, Ireland took the Cup last one, but there's loads of other countries who wanted him."

"Really?"

"Jessie, where were you when your brother left school?"

I had to think for a second.

"I think I was reading up to be a first-year. Why?"

The double sigh of Fred an' George resounded yet again. What's with that?

"You had no interest whatsoever in which national team your big brother was to play for?"

"Well, I was maybe eleven years old, guys…" A memory stirred. "No, wait. I did have an interest. I told him not to pick the yellow and black team because I found the jerseys ugly and didn't want to have to wear their colors, even to support him."

They stared.

"Oh, and the fellow who came by the shop with the contract was really a git."

They stared some more. Then Charlie spoke up.

"Was he a bit stupid-looking, starting a gut, and getting thin up top?"

"Yeah. And he tried to bet Uncle Gard that the Tornados would beat the Wasps. Obnoxious lout, only I wasn't old enough to say so."

"Merciful peace, Jess!"

That was an odd one. I though 'merciful peace' was my grandfather's and my personal cuss-phrase. The twins' borrowing it in unison made me smile. Their shock was also amusing.

"That was Ludo Bagman!" I snapped my fingers, remembering.

"That's him! He keeps pawning stuff at Redfern's and trying to gaslight the prices up. Shabby git."

"Shabby git? He was betting against his own team!"

"I bet he threw those matches!"

"Oh. …Sorta explains why Uncle Gard didn't take the bet, then, eh?"

"Jessie, that's criminal!"

"Not that we're surprised, mind you."

"But throwing matches…"

"That's low,"

"Even for him."

"Wait. Throwing matches?" I must have looked pretty stern, because their twin faces lit up like, perhaps, just maybe, some of the Quidditch had soaked into my female brain. "Like, lighted ones? At people?"

Fred smacked himself in the forehead. George let out an almighty groan and beat his heart with a fist.

"Why, Jessie…why?"

"Oh, get on! It was a joke!"

"I need to go and cuddle my Beater bat after that…"

"I need to go tell the portrait of Dai Llewellyn that you're just a girl and don't know any better." Both twins got up. Charlie gave them a look and George smiled. "Relax, that's a joke as well. I'm getting some butterbeer from our shop, and Fred needs the loo."

"Oi! How do you always know that?"

"Right on schedule. Could set one of Jessie's clocks by our bladders, mate." They headed off, having a kind of miniature row about capacity for –well, yuck. They are guys, after all, and sometimes they leave a bit to be desired conversationally. I said as much to Charlie.

"Yeah. Still, it explains a bit why you three hang around so much."

"True. What's really fun, though, is when Fred and I make George feel an idiot about music, or George and I try to get Fred with books. My particular idiocy happens to be sport, but then, you could likely tell…"

"It's sweet. Though you can't be as dim as you pretend, talking Ian Tickes out of the Wimbourne Wasps…that was a stroke of divine luck for England…"

"I still have an odd time with people saying 'Ian Tickes' like they say 'Josef Wronski' or 'Celestina Warbeck' or 'Cornelius Fudge' –well, without the sneering there… to me, he's just my big brother. You all think of him as the Quidditch Gods' gift to Ravenclaw and the savior of England National. I think of him as the tall fellow who taught me to peel oranges and tie my shoes and who leaves his socks about." I shrugged. "Sounds silly, eh?"

"Actually, I can understand perfectly." Charlie picked up the coffee pot and refilled both of our cups. "I can remember coming home for Christmas once a few years ago. Everyone in the world says 'Harry Potter' like they say 'Albus Dumbledore' or 'Gilderoy Lockhart' –well, without the snorting there…and there was a picture of a skinny kid in specs with my littlest brother on the mantelpiece. Just another friend of a sibling, you know? I've known lots of them. And then I met him…he really is on the ordinary side, to look at and talk to. Bit stressed, lately, and very good Seeker, but nothing super-amazing. Nowadays I listen to the wireless, hear the name, and I think 'he wore the shabbiest trainers last I saw him.' It's odd, knowing someone famous. Being related must be even odder, but I understand."

"Know what's really odd?" I wheeled my chair over to the cabinets with a shove. All the 'kitchen' chairs are what most people think of as 'office' chairs, incidentally, with wheels and swivels and tilty backs. "Working on projects for famous people. I've just about done with the watch for 'Cousin Sedrick,' and tonight I start on the watches for your tall uncle with the beard and your grandfather with the half-glasses. But I'm also putting the touches on this one." I took out a silver pocket model with a glittering chain and handed it to Charlie.

"It's the stag watch…what happened –what did you do to it?"

"The works. New plating, new movement, new hands, and I reground the crystal. It's three-fifths or so new."

"It looks it." Charlie opened the case and looked at the engraving within. "Wasn't originally from your shop, right?"

"Right. I owled Grandfather, and he seems to think Mrs. Potter found it at a Muggle shop."

"And liked it because of the stag."

"Very appropriate, according to Hermione. I owled her about it -sworn to secrecy, of course, and her reply had all spots on it like she'd had a bit of a cry…though if my friend was in his place and I heard about same manner of situation, I'd react much the same, I guess." It really wasn't a bad watch, just Muggle to start, and now it was practically as interesting as Dumbledore's fancy one. I glanced at it as I hung it in the cabinet and noticed, oddly enough, the time. "We haven't been to bed all night and it's close on ten."

"No, we haven't. And where does the very exact Miss Tickes suddenly get the phrase 'close on ten'? Why not nine-forty-six and-" Charlie looked at my wrist, "twenty-nine seconds?"

"Because…I'm sleepy and fuzzy-headed?"

"Must be." I felt a warm hand gently touch my own. "You look like you haven't slept in days, not hours."

"Well…wait. It has been days." I looked at the second watch up from my left hand, which has a red mark hand. "I woke up at five day before yesterday, worked through the night, and then I stayed up for the day, went out, and the mess at Knockturn kept me up even longer…I must look a right mess."

"Nope. Bit dark under the eyes, but it's charming."

"I always have a bit dark under the eyes. So does my grandfather."

"Well, do you get enough sleep?"

"Define 'enough.'"

"Eight to nine hours."

"Per week?" I smiled.

"Jessie…you're going to make yourself ill."

"I suppose you got nine hours sleep a night working with the dragons, eh?"

"Actually, it was more like ten. Dragons are very diurnal creatures, well, at least the species we were monitoring. It was lights out for all when the sun went down."

"Well, the shop opens at –merciful peace!"

"Jamesina Worthing Tickes! The world will not pop a mainspring if the shop doesn't open on schedule for one day!" Charlie playfully pulled me back from the direction I had been about to head in, and then slowly closer. Much closer.

And then I found myself quite abruptly and smoothly swept off of my feet. Literally.

"What are you –put me down!"

"I thoroughly intend to." Charlie started walking, quite coolly, toward the stairs. I clasped my arms around his neck –purely out of fear for balance, you understand. "In bed."

"You…" I looked up at him. He looked determined –and darling. What could I say? "You don't have to carry me."

"As if I could command you." He said it softly, and I could feel my cheeks going even redder. "I might have threatened to hide the pliers or something, but you'd have stood up to me. So I took standing out of the equation."

Uncharacteristic boldness seized me as we neared the door of my room.

"I find I am sorely tempted to suggest something improper, Mr. Weasley."

"And I am sorely tempted to wonder what sort of something. You're quite the fascinating creature, you know."

"Well…" I bit my lip nervously. "New as I am to it, it seems to me that I rather like kissing you."

"Funny, I felt the same way about you."

"You do realize this is not how the boys should catch us, though."

"Of course not." Charlie let me down gently to the floor. "Though I would be very fascinated by their reaction to me carrying their adorable false triplet up the stairs to almost certain impropriety."

"I'd likely find their looks of shock hilarious. They throw absolute fits of teenage boy-ism when I so much as accept a date…"

"They see you as an inexperienced teenage girl, the same as they, although I get the strong impression they have more experience, however slight. They think of you the same way they think of Ginny."

"So if they were to catch me…holding your hand…it'd be very weird."

"For them. And if they caught me…standing close to you…they'd think I was some kind of cradle-robbing incestuous pervert or something, at least for a moment." Charlie suddenly crinkled an eyebrow. "I do feel silly to ask, but just how old are you?"

"I'll be twenty in a week or so. The twins' age, more or less." Was that cradle-robbing? Just how old was…

"I'm younger than your brother."

"Then I guess…Gred and Forge are unfounded in their hypothetical accusations of cradle-robbing."

"And close as you are to them…" Charlie brushed a lock of hair out of my face and looked at it, "I don't think there's any chance of the incestuous theory being true."

"So as long as they don't find out…"

"At least until they're ready to take it…"

"Or…until we decide what 'it' is…"

"It…I like you."

"I…like you, too."

"Not to seem childish, but I do mean like like."

"…I do, too."

I think a girl could get used to that delicious shivery-spine feeling.

"So now, Miss Tickes, I think it best that you and I retire to our respective bedchambers, yours within the hall of your ancestors and mine within the attic of my little brothers' shop-"

"Wait. You're living with them?"

"Yes, actually. I was having a hard time working at home, what with Mum's latest redecoration project and all, plus…the whole mess, y'know, and the boys decided I could stay with them if I kept the shop open while they do research an' development stuff. Three can run a place better than two, is the theory…and garrets are traditional places to keep writers, you know."

"Wow." Across the street! A bottle's throw from me… "I think I'd best run by the market this afternoon, then."

"Why?"

"Because I'm cooking for four, not three."

"You don't have to cook for all of us!"

"Charlie, does it never occur to you that I like cooking?" I wasn't raising my voice, but I did have a point to make. "Three can run a place better than two, right? So three can run two places better than me by myself. We don't interfere in each other's shops, the twins and I, but it's dashed lonely not having them around for meals and what social lives we've got."

"Oh, I can see that," the darling dragon-man replied. "I think that's mostly why they stick around, too. Even twins can get lonely for someone besides their own double. I just meant that you don't have to do all the cooking all the time. You must get sick of it now and then."

"Well…who doesn't?"

"I learned how to barbecue not too long ago…"

"Not with the dragons!"

"No, though that's not a bad idea… one of the American wizards had a grill set up for one of the picnics we had to celebrate the new hatching. Involves a lot of brushing sauces on and turning the meats over. I bet we could find a Muggle grill at a charity shop, set it up on the twins' back walk, or yours…"

"That would be great. But I still need to get to the market. We're nearly out of milk and forget eggs…plus there's a special on zucchini."

"Zucchini?"

"Some witch in line at the grocery told me how to fry it. It's delicious. And I was thinking of going into Muggle London again, for cola and crisps."

"Those things are horribly bad for you."

"I know. Aren't they good?"

"Mum never lets us have them. They're great. If it wasn't for Dad, we'd never have gotten anything Muggle but chewable vitamins."

"What are you doing up here?" Fred asked, coming up the stairs. George was behind him.

"Discussing dinner," I explained coolly. "Oh, and I was going to show Charlie the widow's walk, where the railing's gone funny. If I let you two fix it, it'd be electric pink and covered in Umbridge kittens by the time I'd turned twice."

I couldn't believe myself. I never lied that well! Charlie gave me a wonderfully conspiratorial wink and I felt myself grinning.

"You know the Muggles call it a wives' walk?"

"Yes. Actually, that's because of a witch who married a Muggle sea captain. She insisted their house must have one, but she was on the superstitious side –didn't want to so much as say the word 'widow.' He was in the War of 1812, but the superstition worked. She died almost three years before he did, at the age of eighty-four. The house set a fashion for the Victorians and they all assumed that was the proper name for them."

"How do you spit out so much useless trivia and still have room for gears and mainsprings?"

"Grandfather's been 'spitting out' said supposedly useless trivia since he was my age. It's history. You know, that stuff Binns was meant to be teaching us?"

"Well, if Binns told us about prostitutes aiding in the war against Grindelwald, I'd have stayed awake loads more."

"And what is this?" Charlie looked interested. I sighed.

"Why is that always your favorite? Okay, once upon a time, there was a really spectacular businesswoman who owned many of London and Hogsmeade's best-reputed brothels. She was very clever and very mischievous, and she organized the ladies of the evening in her employ into one of the best spy forces in the history of the history. Every time one of old Grindelwald's boys came by for a night of fun, they'd slip him something to loosen his tongue a bit, then report straight to the Light command with the who, what and where of everything the Dark lot planned." I paused, both blushing and enjoying the reaction of my audience. I'd told Fred and George the old thing at least a thousand times, but Charlie'd never heard anything like it, judging by his face. "The Ministry still insists it never happened, but I defy you to find a single Ministry injunction against the madam or her descendants." Fred and George were smirking and Charlie looked a little shocked. "That's how Grandfather always told it, more or less, only he used to name names and describe every –well, he seemed to know the ladies' history pretty well."

"Why don't you, then?" Fred cried.

"Because I don't remember all the details right. It's dashed confusing trying to keep up with Grandfather's 'Interesting History of Diagon Alley.' Even worse'n Binns' boring one."

"There's a book I'd like to read," Charlie observed. He still looked a tad bit gobsmacked that I knew stories like that.

"Me, too. If we could talk him into writing it down…"

"Or telling you. You could write it."

"Right. I can't get it together to tell a single essay without the words 'I digress' every three paragraphs. S'why Per'fessor Snape hated my guts so bad in school."

"I thought he hated everyone's guts," George remarked.

"Or perhaps just the perambulating, homework-bodging containers in which we all kept the guts," I replied.

"Which is to say he hated us," Fred finished. "Sounds right."

"I'm not so sure he hated us, actually." I gave him my best snobby smirk. "Hated you, maybe, but then, you lot were Gryffindors."

"Wonky Ravenclaw girls. Now I know why we never dated any."

"I thought that was because you were too busy 'discussing team strategy' with Angelina and Katie." Yes, I can be a bit bitchy, too, sometimes. Isn't it fun? "All that talk about trying to score with them, that was Quidditch, eh?" They went red. I smirked. I love being a girl and getting away with stuff. Of course, this was almost the first time I'd ever done it, but an hour or two with Ginny can teach you a lot. "So, Charlie, want to check out that railing?"

"Sure." I led him up the stairs and out the window from my attic room. Yeah, out the window. It's not so hard, if you're flexible.

"Sorry to go all she-cat down there…felt like they were going to play the accusing game again."

"It's a poor cat who doesn't use claws when she's cornered." He came close behind me and wrapped his arms across my collarbone. I could feel warm breath on my cheek. "I'm impressed –and not just with the view up here."

I had a sneaking feeling he was not talking about the roofs and chimneys.

"I know I was supposed to go to bed, but I feel so awake now…"

"Is there anything wrong with the railing?"

"I mentioned it twice last week and then fixed it myself in about ten minutes."

"Oh."

"I used a coat hanger. Wrapped it around the break, then Transfigured it to wrought iron, then used a welding charm. It'll be a bit shinier than the rest of it for a while, but it should hold."

"Clever clock woman." Charlie kissed the side of my neck, which touched off a whole line of reactions somewhere between my spine and my ears. I felt my back arch like a stroked cat and suddenly I was incredibly aware of the warmth of his arms. "You smell delicious…like…licorice and mint…"

"Oh, crap…"

"What?"

"It's my necklace…I was…well…you've met your sister, right? –oh, damn…"

"I get the feeling this is one of your better explanations."

"Yes… Well, I was very nervous about going out with a dishy –with a hot –I can't win here! With you! And Ginny and Hermione showed up and helped me get ready with a whole pack of other girls."

"…What's with the female gender and the pack response?"

"Don't ask me!"

"Dragons do that, too, you know. Go on."

"Well, we were killing time, and we had some candy…so we made necklaces and bracelets and…we were playing like stupid nits and I completely forgot I had a bit of confectionery tied around my neck like a five-year-old."

"Ah." Charlie kissed my neck again. "You're blushing all over."

"An unfortunate side effect of being a total absentmind, blushing."

"It's adorable. And you're not an absentmind. You've just got better to think about. And I…" I felt a scandalously naughty tickling and nibbling, "am going to eat this …treat, right …off …your neck."

"This…we shouldn't be…"

"Giving new definition to 'necking'? Why not?"

"I…don't know. But…oh, hell."

I turned around in his arms and kissed him back. He tasted deliciously, naughtily of licorice with a sweet, cold minty aftertaste. It was minutes, or perhaps eons, I forget, before I realized we were devouring each other like dessert. There was something wrong in all of it, but there was also something right.

And it was nine that night before I got to bed.