July 2, 2003
Two days after the pixie incident, Charlie heard a commotion outside his office. He stepped out and saw Hermione standing at her desk, cheeks fetchingly pink in embarrassment, while half a dozen agents surrounded her, offering their congratulations.
"Hey, Charlie!" one of the agents called to him. "Our Hermione here is engaged!"
"To Ron?" He looked to Hermione for confirmation.
She viewed him with a strange mixture of amusement, confusion, and indignation. "Yes, Charlie, who else would I be engaged to?"
He felt stupid for asking, but he had always imagined they'd break up at some point, not get married. "Sorry. I'm just surprised."
Her eyes narrowed, all traces of amusement gone, only bewilderment and annoyance remaining.
He didn't like her scrutinizing glare. He preferred to be on the receiving end of her brilliant smile, not her current scowl. "Er, congratulations. That's... great news." He forced the latter words out because, honestly, he didn't think it was good news at all; he thought they'd both be miserable. But it wasn't his decision.
Another agent spoke up. "You broke up Weasley's proposal at the Golden Horn Wednesday with your fairy-pixie emergency." Everyone laughed except Charlie and Hermione.
He was aghast. "I'm so sorry, Hermione, I had no idea."
"It's okay, really. Just another way my work gets in the way of things. At least Ron knows what he's getting into." She let out a half-hearted laugh. Clearly uncomfortable with the attention, she took advantage of the pause to discuss the pixies. "Charlie, Kenneth and I just got back from checking to make sure the fairy-pixie treaty is still holding. Can we meet in your office to give you a report for the director?"
While Hermione and Kenneth updated him on their field visit, Charlie found himself irrationally cross with Ron and Hermione over their engagement. His brother was a good man, Charlie could admit that. And Hermione was a great woman—intelligent, intrepid, attractive. But he felt she was settling for comfort and security, and his brother was settling for being second best to her ambition. He feared that, one day, simply settling wouldn't be enough for either of them.
He forced himself to concentrate on the status of the fairy and pixie treaty. It wasn't his place to comment on their engagement. However, he was rather snippy with his colleagues for the rest of the day.
August 6, 2003 — a month later
Hermione was in a bad mood. She had been out in the field for two days now. She, Charlie, and two other agents were staying in a small village in Scotland. Charlie and Hermione were negotiating with a centaur herd, while Hazel and Christopher were working on a habitat improvement project for hippogriffs and thestrals.
As she washed away the day's grime in the tiny hotel shower stall before meeting her colleagues for dinner, she tried to push away her feelings of letting everyone down. Ron had been griping about how she was never home, and their floo conversation twenty minutes ago had left her teary-eyed and angry.
"Hermione, can't another agent cover for you tomorrow so you don't have to stay in Scotland for the third day in a row? I miss you."
It should feel nice to be missed, but not when it was said with the intent to guilt-trip her into coming home. "Ron, I'm sorry," she intoned. "But no, another agent can't cover for me. I was assigned to this project, and I need to see it through. Charlie and I are making good progress with the centaurs, and I can't just bring another agent in to take over my part in the negotiations. Charlie's doing a fantastic job, by the way, he's learned so much about the other species in England, and he's made some great suggestions for improvements to policies about the centaurs."
"You're always on about Charlie," he frowned. "You didn't talk about your last supervisor this much."
"Ron, that's ridiculous. If I talk about Charlie more, it's because he's your brother, and we share a love of protecting magical creatures. I'd think you'd want to know what's going on with him."
"I can ask him myself at our weekly dinners," he grumbled.
It had been this way pretty much since they'd gotten engaged a month ago. He complained about her time away, he complained about her time with Charlie, he complained that she had more work than the other agents (she didn't, but being a field agent was a demanding job with sometimes odd hours and a lot of travel).
Hermione could admit that since Charlie had moved back to England, she'd spent more time talking with him about magical beasts at Molly's Sunday dinners than she had spent with Ron. But, she saw Ron every day, and Charlie shared her passion for working with creatures. Though, she saw Charlie at the office every day, too; maybe she should confine her discussions with him to work hours, and devote more of her attention to Ron while they were at the Burrow. Her insides sank at the thought. Weekly dinners with the Weasleys were much more enjoyable now, with Charlie around; they were something she looked forward to each week, rather than simply endured.
She dried off in the cramped bathroom and dressed in her favorite summer dress, determined not to let Ron get to her. Their team had discovered a lively little pub in the center of the village last night, and they were meeting there again tonight for dinner and drinks.
She greeted Charlie at the entrance, the first of their team to arrive, and they walked in to find a table.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "You look down."
She shook her head. "It's nothing. Ron's just upset that I can't come home sooner. He hates it when I'm out in the field for overnights."
Charlie frowned. "He understands how important the work you're doing is, doesn't he?"
She grimaced, and tears started to pool under her lashes again. If only he did... She swallowed and forced them away, waving him off. "I don't want to talk about it tonight. Let's just enjoy dinner with the team."
Charlie pursed his lips but didn't say anything else. He pulled a barstool out for her and then slid onto one across from her. "You look fetching tonight, by the way," he commented, his eyes boring into hers after what, she hoped, was an involuntary glance down at her chest.
She felt her cheeks flush. "Um, thank you?" Her voice rose at the end. Her gaze roamed his wet hair, his broad neck rising from his shirt collar, and his muscular freckled arms pressing against his white shirt sleeves. "You do, too. Look nice, that is."
Charlie's eyes twinkled. "Thanks," he said simply, eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled at her.
Her insides felt a bit wobbly, and she swallowed, clearing her throat and searching frantically for something, anything to say to break the charged atmosphere. "Have you heard anything from Christopher or Hazel about how their progress went today?" she asked, latching onto the first thing that entered her mind.
He nodded with a grin, dispelling the awkwardness, and they chatted about the hippogriffs and thestrals for a moment, until Christopher joined them. He grazed his hand along Hermione's back as he sidled onto the stool next to her.
His eyes roamed up and down her figure and settled back on her face. "You look beautiful tonight, Hermione."
She winced under his gaze and shifted on her stool to put more space between them. "Thanks."
Christopher reached his fist across the high-top table for a bump with Charlie's. Charlie gave a terse, "Hullo," and pulled his hand back quickly, tension settling around his eyes and jaw. Hermione observed the two men, wondering about the change in Charlie's demeanor. He was one of the friendliest, most easy-going people she knew. He had been a bit snippy for a week or so, though, after the pixie-fairy skirmish. She had chalked it up to him adjusting to the new job.
Hazel sauntered up and took the remaining barstool, and they ordered a round of special Scottish brew. It was a bit like butterbeer, but much stronger, and with steam continually emanating from its foamy surface.
The two teams chatted about their day's progress, and Hermione was delighted to see Charlie's cheerful demeanor return as he talked about the centaurs. She knew he hadn't really wanted to leave the dragon reserve, and that the Ministry job was less exciting to him. But she knew he thought it was worth it to be closer to his family. He also wanted to settle down, according to Ron, and there was little opportunity for him to find a partner in rural Romania. She hoped whomever he found would be as adventurous and compassionate as he was. He deserved a good partner who would treat him like the gem he was.
Their meals came out, along with a second round of the Scottish brew. Partway through their goblets, Hermione started to feel giddy, and by the time they finished their second round, the whole group was laughing over past near-death creature experiences in the field. Hermione felt carefree and content, and she decided Ron could just deal with himself on his own; she was tired of apologizing to him for her work and her choices in life.
Christopher was starting to get a bit too flirty under the drinks' influence, and Hermione decided it was time to go. She threw a galleon and some sickles on the table for her drinks and meal, and hopped off the barstool. "Time for me to go back to the hotel. I'm tuckered out." She told everyone goodbye, and Charlie stood, too.
"I'll walk you home, Hermione. Those brews were strong, and I imagine you're feeling it a bit?"
She shook her head. "No, I'm fine. You stay here, no need to end your night early because of me." She waved at Christopher and Hazel and made her way out the pub's doors. This far north in Scotland, the evening air was nice and cool, even in August. It felt lovely against her flushed skin, and she reveled in the refreshing air under the night sky.
She only got a few steps away from the pub before Charlie appeared at her side. She greeted him in surprise. She'd been looking forward to a silent walk alone back to the hotel. She was an introvert at heart, and, after a long day, she treasured time to herself.
"I told you I was fine, Charlie! You don't need to walk me back," she said.
"It was getting a bit stuffy in there, and I don't need anything else to drink, or it'll be hard to wake up in the morning and be at the top of my game with the centaurs."
She shrugged, and they paced down the lane together, relaxed and mostly silent, enjoying the cool darkness around them. His calm, comfortable presence didn't intrude on her quiet time, and she found herself content with his company.
When the trees opened up, the stars caught her eyes. She stepped into him, pointing at the sky and resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. "Do you see Cygnus and Cepheus up there, to the east of Draco? You can't see any of this from London. This is one of my favorite things about being out in the field—traveling to remote areas where we can see the sky. The stars from whence we came..." she laughed.
But Charlie wasn't looking to the sky. He was looking at Hermione: the joyful glow on her face while she told him the mythology behind the Cepheus constellation. Her graceful neck. The swell of her breasts in the vee of her dress. The feel of her fingertips on his shoulder.
What was he doing? She was his brother's fiancee. But he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her all night, and every time he'd made her laugh or smile, he had felt a little surge of pleasure. He'd seen the dejection in her features when they met at the pub entrance, and finding out Ron had been the cause of it made him want to kick some sense into his brother.
Ron had managed to put a ring on the finger of one of England's most compassionate and beautiful witches, and it seemed like, more often than not, he simply whined that she didn't pay enough attention to him. She deserved someone who built her up, appreciated her interests; someone who would debate and argue with her and make passionate fucking love under the stars and watch the constellations afterward—like an after-sex smoke, but better. Maybe she and Ron did that. He doubted it.
As she rambled on about the star formations, he realized his train of thought wasn't remotely appropriate for a woman who was his future sister-in-law. He meant to put distance between them, but his body wouldn't obey. Her arm pressed gently against his, fingers squeezing his shoulder ever so slightly, the scent of her shampoo... he couldn't pull himself away. When she stopped talking, he was still caught up in his thoughts.
"Well?" she asked.
Oh. Had she asked him a question? "Sorry, I was distracted. What was your question?"
She turned to face him, a tiny frown on her lips, and suddenly he realized her face was only thirty centimeters away. He stared into her eyes, dark and glowing slightly silver in the starlight. And, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her. She tensed for a long moment, and had he been sober, he would have stopped immediately, but the alcohol had dulled his sense of propriety and increased his boldness. He continued pressing his lips to hers, his tongue seeking entry, and suddenly, her body relaxed against him, and she opened her mouth to his.
Fireworks went off somewhere—in the sky, in his body, he wasn't sure, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, attempting to press every inch of her into him at once. He moved his hands to the nape of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair. He had gone hard as soon as she'd opened her mouth to him, and he had enough sense to fight the temptation to grind his erection into her waist.
Merlin, he'd been unable to look away from her at the pub; her radiant features, while they talked about the creatures they were working with, had been mesmerizing. She was passionate about magical beasts, and it was apparent in every word she spoke. And her dress, Godric, that dress had been teasing him all night, hints of round, supple flesh peeking out from the fabric on her chest.
He didn't want to let her go, and, without asking her, which he knew was a terrible idea, he Apparated them back to his hotel room, mid-kiss.
When they landed, she drew back.
As soon as her lips left his, he was mortified. What had he been thinking?! Clearly, he hadn't been thinking; the drinks had gone to his head. He immediately launched into an apology. "Hermione, I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking. That Scottish brew got to me. I should have never done that. I'm so sorry."
He stepped back so she could exit his room. They need never tell anyone about this.
Instead of leaving, she sat on the edge of his bed, crossing her arms around her for protection, though it only emphasized her cleavage. Gods, this woman would be the death of him. He needed to find a witch, get laid, and exorcise his secret obsession with his brother's fiancee. Because that's what he realized it was. How had he been so blind to it for the past month? Well, of course, he'd been blind; falling for his brother's fiancee was pointless and an indecorous lapse of judgment.
Her words drew him from his haze of lust and self-castigation. "Are you sorry, Charlie?"
"What do you mean?"
Her eyes flitted around the room, not actually taking anything in, just moving while she thought. "Are you sorry for kissing me?" she asked.
"Well, of course, I am! You're engaged to my brother!" he responded.
"And if I weren't?"
What was she playing at? If she weren't engaged to his brother, she would be sprawled across his bed and naked underneath him right now. Oh, no. That thought had come out of nowhere. Really, it had. He'd never envisioned himself naked on a bed with Hermione. Ever. What was this Scottish brew doing to him?
"I see," she said.
His brows furrowed. "What?"
"You think Ron and I are a poor match, don't you?"
"What?" He was so confused. How had she drawn the conclusion that his kiss indicated he thought their engagement was a bad idea? Maybe she had been thinking along those lines already.
"You don't think Ron and I are well-suited. I can tell. I thought you were out of sorts last month because of the pixie-fairy visit. But it was because we got engaged, wasn't it?"
"What?" That seemed to be the only word capable of escaping his lips right now. He felt like a monosyllabic fool, but he really had no idea what else to say.
"You were snippy. With everybody. After we got back from the fairy colony. I thought it was because of the field visit and the new job. But it was because of our engagement, wasn't it?"
He didn't fully understand her, but it seemed to make sense in some corner of his brain, and so he nodded.
"Why do you think Ron and I don't work? I've known ever since we got engaged that something wasn't right, but I told myself it was just nerves. Tell me. I need to hear it."
He shook his head and paced the room. This was not the conversation he'd expected to end up in tonight. Ron would kill him if he broke up their engagement. But Hermione deserved to know, didn't she? It was so much easier, as an outside observer, to see what was wrong with them as a couple, wasn't it? He warred with himself over whether to just politely send her out the door with an assurance that he thought they were great together and that he'd just had too much Scottish brew, or to be honest with her.
"Be honest with me Charlie," she ordered gently. Merlin, could she read his mind? "I can tell you have an opinion, and you're trying to figure out whether to answer or tell me to leave." She stared at him with pleading eyes. "Please. I need to hear it."
He sat down on the foot of the bed next to her, turning to face her as she did the same. "Hermione, please don't hate me for what I'm about to say."
She wrung her hands in her lap. "Charlie, I asked for your honest opinion. I won't hate you. I could never hate you," she said softly, lifting her beautiful cinnamon eyes up to his. "Please, tell me what you see."
And so he did. He told her how he thought she was settling for comfort and stability and the "known," and how he thought his brother needed someone less independent, someone who needed him more.
A tear or two slipped down her face while he spoke, and when he was finished, she leaned into him, seeking comfort. He tentatively rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. It felt awkward when what he really wanted to do was continue their stolen minute on the lane. But she was clearly hurting and had only given in to his kiss under the stars in the heat of the moment, at the continued insistence of his mouth against hers.
Eventually, she pulled back and gazed up at him. "Thank you, Charlie. Thank you for being willing to say what I needed to hear."
"You're welcome," he said. "I'm always here for you if you need me." He pulled her into him and kissed the top of her head, then helped her up and out his door to her own room.
When he got in bed to go to sleep, he couldn't forget the feel of her body against his, the energy emanating from her, and his hand crept into his briefs, unable to stop himself from relieving the hard anticipation, and imagining what her moans might sound like if she were in bed with him.