A/N: Val's POV

For our first date (it felt fabulous to call it that), Charlie insisted that we have dinner at his place rather than go out to the same tavern we were always at. I didn't know what to expect, what his first dates were usually like, and since I'd not had a great variety of marvelous first dates I wouldn't have known much what to expect anyway. I sort of felt as though I was walking through a dream, pulling on the semi-casual black dress Tonks had sent me for Christmas when I told her of the date with Charlie. It wasn't my Christmas present, she assured me (that had been a new set of inks and a new pair of boots), but instead called it my 'get laid' gift.

She thought she was so funny.

I dabbed on a bit of makeup, decided against lipstick, which had a way of ruining dates in my experience, and quickly flipped my hair into shape, wishing there was something I could do to make myself look more interesting.

But Charlie liked me, I reminded myself, smiling in the mirror. I didn't have to be something I wasn't to impress him, because he already wanted to be with me. The boy must be crazy.

But I didn't want to worry about it, because I was about to go on my first date with the guy I'd been absolutely obsessed with since before I could even remember.

A knock on the door to my flat and my breath caught. He was right on time. I had a sneaking suspicion that he'd been standing out there, waiting for his watch to hit the exact time we'd agreed upon before knocking. I would have done the same thing...

I couldn't even wipe the grin off my face as I opened the door to find him grinning on the other side. His grin was a bit more temporary, though, as his jaw dropped and he said, "Wow."

I took it as a good sign.

When he held my hand and led me eagerly off toward his own flat, which wasn't too far away on foot, I felt like I was still walking through a dream, his hand in mine, walking side by side to our first date. I wondered if this was the first dates of all happily married couples felt. I certainly hoped so.

But then I felt stupid, thinking about marriage when we really hadn't even started the date yet, so I tried to focus on the present, which only brought to my attention the way he continued to hold my hand as he unlocked his flat and led me in, the way he blushed as he apologized for the non-existent mess that I supposed he'd spent most of the day cleaning up, and the way he watched me take in the flat.

"It's perfect," I said, honestly.

It was a bachelor pad, that was certain, and yet it wasn't completely uninhabitable for women. In fact, it was rather cozy, or at least had the capability to be so, with the proper cleaning.

"I guess it's all right," Charlie said modestly. "C'mon, I've set out dinner."

Surprisingly, Charlie Weasley was capable of cooking. It wasn't anything special, but it was better than the almost-food the tavern served, and certainly far better than what I expected from a man who had the type of mother that certainly cooked for him every day of his life and would have been insulted had he tried to make his food himself. I sort of wished I'd had that type of mother, but my own cooking would have been disastrous had that been the case, so perhaps my own mother was a blessing in disguise. Sort of.

"This is really great, Charlie," I said, not really knowing what else to say, anyway. We'd already talked about school, work, politics, the Triwizard Tournament, family (he thought I was making my mother up at first, which was so cute of him, thinking I had to have been raised by someone normal), goals.

"Thanks," he said, grinning again, and turning very, very pink. "I, uh, I've been practicing."

"Living on your own?" I said, nodding.

"Ah, actually, knowing I had this date," he said shakily.

I didn't even know what to say to the knowledge that he'd learned how to cook for me. We'd made an agreement not to exchange Christmas presents, since we had the date just after Christmas, so we talked briefly about our uneventful Christmases. Finally Charlie sighed and said, "So, Valley, what brought you to Eastern Europe?"

I could feel my hands shaking in my lap and my mouth went dry. Why did he have to ask that? The date was going so well! What was I going to say? Could I lie to him? Was that even remotely okay when things had been going so well?

"Well, I write for the Daily Prophet as their Eastern European correspondent," I reminded him, telling half the truth. "Take a guess."

He laughed.

"I guess what I mean is, how did you get into that? I mean, did you have an interest in the area, or did they need someone and you wanted the job, or did you sort of get stuck with it because you were young and you're itching to get out of here and on to bigger and better things?"

And the question of whether or not to lie to him came back to the forefront of my mind.

But I just couldn't do it.

"I have to be perfectly honest with you," I sighed. "I got the job after I was already in Romania." He raised his eyebrows questioningly, but didn't interrupt. "I, um, I knew you'd gotten the job at the colony so Joss literally helped me pack my bags the day I got home after graduation and I just sort of took off, came here, got a job after. Emma helped me get on my feet monetarily and I paid her back when I had the money."

He blinked.

"So you followed me to Romania?" he clarified.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"You just picked up everything and followed me across the continent?"

"Yup, that's really what it boils down to."

"Why?"

"Because I... Well, because frankly I was sort of... Because you were the only thing in my life that wasn't because of somebody else."

He blinked. Now I'd really gone and confused him.

"I'm not quite sure I understand," he said, but the positive sign was that he wasn't freaking out and kicking me out of his flat. I clung to that as I tried to explain. "See, I've spent most of my life doing things because of my mother, or because of my father's memory, or because of Emma, or because of Tonks, or because Joss or Jo or both needed something. There was very little I did for myself. But my crush on you, that was mine. I became Quidditch commentator because I liked you. I did Care of Magical Creatures because I liked you. I moved to Romania because I liked you. It didn't have anything to do with anyone else, and it felt good."

"So when you seemed to not really remember me in the tavern...?"

"I was trying not to be creepy."

"Right," he said, his grin surprisingly returning. "I just can't believe how much time I wasted."

"What do you mean?" I gaped, wondering what on earth he could be talking about and why on earth he wasn't completely horrified that I'd pretty much been stalking him.

"I mean," he sighed, "that if I had ever gotten up the nerve to talk to you in school instead of just wondering about you and listen to your voice all the time, we probably would have had our first date years ago, on a Hogsmeade trip, like it should have been, and we would probably be sitting in a house somewhere, having a date night while our kids pretend to be asleep in a room down the hall."

I just blinked at him for a moment. Everything he'd just said sounded like something from one of my dreams, but there was absolutely no way I'd actually heard him say any of it. It was too... too... perfect.

"I think," he sighed, still smiling, "that we should still take things slow, though. I mean, I don't really want to, but I know it's what we should do, so I'm going to be the biggest person I can right now and say we should."

"I'm not sure I follow," I said dryly.

"Valley," Charlie sighed, "I'm crazy about you. I've been crazy about you for a long time. The fact that you're crazy about me just makes me twice as sure that there's something real here. If I were being perfectly honest with myself, I want to drag you off to my bed and prove to you just how crazy you drive me, but I think that for the sake of something long-term, like you said in England, we ought to take things slow, painful as that is proving already to be for me."

I shuddered slightly at the thought of him proving how he felt, and he noticed, flushing a bit at my reaction. I started to feel the heat creeping into my own cheeks and I said, "What does slow mean to you?"

"Good question," he said with a smile. "How about I get some ice cream out of the freezer and we can discuss the definition on the couch?"

I nodded, moving out to the couch, sitting and waiting for him, biting my lip and wringing my hands. What if 'slow' was some kind of code for 'you're making me uncomfortable but I don't want to tell you so, so I'm going to say I'll write and then never will'? What if...? What if...?

I was running out of 'what if's', but that was fine because Charlie had returned with two bowls full of vanilla ice cream.

"So," he sighed, handing me a bowl and sitting down beside me, rather closer to me than I'd expected, "'slow'. It's a good word, but you're right, rather vague. I want to take you out again, somewhere out of here, some actual date. Then if things keep on as they are, I want you to be my girl. After that, things can go at the pace they will, but I want you to be in charge of pace, Valley."

"Why me?" I breathed, eating ice cream to keep myself from dwelling on how close his body was to mine. Surely it was a bad idea to put me in charge of pace. All I wanted to do was jump him there and then.

"Because," he said softly, running his fingers through a strand of hair near my face, "I'm less confident in my ability to read your readiness than I am in your ability to tell me no. Since you've already slowed me down, I think the pace ought to be in your hands."

He leaned closer, putting the empty ice cream bowls on the floor and burying his face in my hair, breathing in and out.

"Vanilla," he sighed. "You smell like vanilla. It's delicious."

"It's my conditioner," I managed to say in a soft, shaky voice.

"It's delicious," he repeated, pressing his lips to my jaw.

"Charlie," I moaned, allowing his lips to graze against my skin. Allowing... As though I could have had the strength to stop him if I'd wanted to. As if I'd wanted to! There was nothing more enticing than the feel of his lips on my skin. I barely noticed my fingers grasping at his red hair, barely noticed the sighs coming from my own lips as he slowly back me up, gently pressing me downward, and letting gravity help him lie me back onto the couch, week as a kitten and at his mercy.

What a beautiful place to be.

"So beautiful," Charlie sighed, kissing down my neck to my collarbone. I shivered.

How could he possibly think that? How could he possibly find me beautiful? I could almost understand his liking my voice, even the fact that he liked the way my hair smelled, but the only person who'd ever called me beautiful was my father, and that had been many, many years prior.

I hadn't realized I was crying until Charlie began gently wiping the tears off my cheeks with his rough thumbs.

"Valley, what's wrong? Shh, it's all right. Tell me what's wrong."

I shook my head, trying to stop my tears. I felt stupid, felt foolish.

"It's nothing," I admitted, not meeting Charlie's eyes. "I just... I just missed my dad."

"What?" Charlie said softly, frowning. "What brought that up?"

"Um, well," I muttered, wiping a few new tears away and turning my whole face away from him. "It's nothing really, just something stupid."

"No, Valley, I want to know."

I sighed. He did seem sincere and I was probably worrying him over nothing. I whispered, "He was the last person to say that to me."

"Say what?"

"That I'm... that I was... beautiful," I breathed, barely making a sound.

"What?" Charlie gasped, sitting up, frowning deeply at me. "Valley, what do you mean nobody's said you're beautiful since your dad died? That's been... That's been over ten years!"

"Well, my mum said things like it, when she was drunk," I muttered, sitting up and looking down at my own knees. "I never really figured that counted. Sure, people would say things when I got dressed up or something, especially Tonks, but never quite those words. I'm the plain one, Charlie. Emma, Joss, Jo, they're all beautiful. I'm just... I'm just Valerie. Just Valerie."

"You're not just Valerie," Charlie said firmly, wrapping his arms around me. "I don't know where you get the idea that you're plain, but I think you're absolutely gorgeous. Trust me, I've seen your sisters. I'd take you any day."

"Well, I would hope so," I snorted. "I mean, Jo and Joss are a bit young for you."

"True," he laughed. "But I wouldn't want Jo anyway. I like darker hair better. And I think Joss is a little pale for my tastes. She couldn't wear black as well as you. And I've met Emma, she's always so tired. I wouldn't even look at any of them. I want you. Trust me, Valley, you're absolutely beautiful."

It was weird, having it wash over me, to think about the fact that he thought I was prettier than my sisters. Suddenly all of the time I'd spent feeling insignificant, feeling lesser, felt like wasted time. I just hadn't been looking at it in the right way.

"Now," Charlie whispered, smiling at me, "since we've clarified that detail, where were we?"

I just blinked, watching as his lips came toward mine. I kissed him back eagerly, passionately, so excited that it seemed as though all my dreams were finally coming true. Charlie moaned into my mouth, running one hand through my hair and pulling me closer to him with the other. The vibration of his moan drove me crazy and I began grasping his hair again, pulling his face as close to mine as possible. I sighed into his mouth. It wasn't long before Charlie had me lying on the couch again, his body hovering over me.

Charlie's hands began caressing me through the fabric of the dress, even with the barrier causing me to shiver and ache for more.

But even with my mind fogging fast with desire, I was fairly certain that what we were doing wasn't at all even our own definition of 'slow'. For a while I let him continue his mind-blowing assault of my mouth, let his hands work their way up my legs, gently caressing my thighs, rolling up the hem of my dress to have access to more of my skin.

"Charlie," I sighed, pulling my lips off from his. He seemed to take that as encouragement, and his hands moved higher as his lips worked downward. "Charlie, this isn't moving slow."

He whimpered, obviously frustrated. But after a moment of what I figured was probably working up his resolve, Charlie sat himself upright again, pulling me up with him.

"Sorry," he sighed. "Like I said, I trust you more than me. I... Mmm... Sorry, um, do you want me to walk you back now?"

"I think that's not such a bad idea," I said breathlessly, straightening out my hair and smiling at him. Charlie tossed the bowls in the sink, rushed back out to the front door, and took my hand in his.

"All right, love," he sighed. "Let's go."

He walked me back to my flat, all the while holding tightly onto my hand, making me feel like I was floating on clouds instead of walking down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere in Romania.

When we reached my flat I let him in briefly to say good night. But I didn't want to say good night. I wanted to pull him by the collar of his jacket all the way to my bed and have my way with him.

"I guess this is good night," I said softly, smiling up at him.

"Yeah," Charlie muttered. "I guess it is. We need to do this again."

"We need to do this a lot," I teased, putting my hand gently on his chest. I was happy when he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me in for a kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he sighed and said, "Well, sounds good. Um, I'm going to go, but I want to take you out somewhere. How about, until we get into the swing of things, I take you out every week."

"I'd like that," I managed to whisper before pressing my lips to his again.

"Okay," he sighed five minutes later. "Now I've really got to go before I take this whole 'slow' thing and throw it out the window. I'll write you, beautiful."

I blushed, letting him kiss me gently on the cheek and walk right out the door.

Slow was not my favorite word.