Hi everyone! I want to sincerely apologize to all the readers of this story for being away for so long. It's been a rough couple of months for me health-wise but I'm finally starting to feel a little bit better and I have been able to start writing a little bit again! Here's chapter six, and I'm hoping to get at least some of chapter seven done while I'm feeling up to it. Thank you all so, so much for your kind words and reviews of my story! Please let me know what you think of this latest chapter!
Charlie was scowling into his coffee when Hermione came downstairs the next morning, still rubbing sleep out of her eyes. She dropped into the chair beside him silently, immediately taking a long sip from her new mug, sighing softly in appreciation, a sound that snapped him out of his trance. Her eyes darted sideways to meet him and she smiled around the rim of the mug, and they both laughed.
"Rough night?" Charlie asked, still chuckling.
"Couldn't sleep," she responded, stifling a yawn against the back of her wrist. "The temptation of my new books proved too strong, I was up half the night reading."
He smiled fondly at her. "That's why I didn't get you a book," he teased. If she was going to be up all night because of him, he'd rather it be for other reasons. "I care too much about your sleep."
Hermione's eyes sparkled at him. "How considerate of you, Charlie," she quipped, sipping from her mug again as the dragon flew in circles around the side of it. "Fortunately, not all of your family members are quite so courteous, so I've got a stack on my night table that I'm eager to dive into. Too eager, apparently."
"Well, I slept like a baby," he responded, smirking. "Although I don't know how. I'm positive I can hear Ron snoring all the way down in my bedroom."
She laughed, then, clear and sharp, and set her mug on the table. "You can!" she cried. "Ronald is so loud. I don't know how Harry can share a room with him. I suppose he's just used to it after all of these years."
Charlie was laughing right along with her. "I suppose I'm spoiled, too. It's so quiet at night on the Reserve. Sometimes I have to leave the radio on all night because it's too quiet."
"I leave the telly on in my flat," Hermione agreed, nodding. "Otherwise…" her face dropped a bit and she glanced down into her coffee, her voice a whisper, "the nightmares come back."
He knew all too well what she meant. Charlie hadn't seen a fraction of the horrors that Hermione had during the war. He'd been relatively safe and sound in Romania while his family and friends were in the throes of danger and it had killed him not to be there. Dumbledore had recruited him to help where he was, of course, so it wasn't as though he was simply twiddling his thumbs, but still. Even the small amounts he'd seen still haunted him at night, Fred's face and red jets of light and crumbling walls flashing behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes. He still woke in a cold sweat at least once a week, panting, his throat raw from screaming. He couldn't imagine the horrible things that Hermione's dreams entailed.
He scooted his chair a little closer and nudged her elbow with his, causing her to snap her head up and look in his eyes. Charlie could see the fear swirling in them now, see the way she was haunted. It made him want to protect her, made him want to draw her into his arms and keep her safe from anything else that might ever harm her. Instead he drank from his mug, breaking their eye contact and then running his fingers through his hair like he did when he was uncomfortable.
"Mum's going to cut your hair this morning," Hermione mused softly, allowing herself to smile a bit as she changed their subject to something lighter. "I suppose since Bill's married, Fleur is in charge of his hair?"
Charlie groaned and nodded. "Ugh, don't remind me. Mum's always been on my case about my hair. I like it long, though, yeah? She swears it's the reason why I haven't got a girlfriend."
"If you'd like, I could cut it instead," she offered, finishing the coffee in her mug with a few quick swallows. "I've watched her cut Ron's hair before. She always cuts it too short and she isn't exactly gentle, is she?"
"Gentle?" he barked a laugh. "Mum cares a lot about us, but gentleness isn't exactly her strong suit."
"Let me cut it for you, then," insisted Hermione. "Honestly, I don't mind. Besides, I rather like it a bit long, too. I won't cut it as short as she will. I used to cut Ron and Harry's hair all the time."
When they were on the run, Charlie finished the thought in his head. He had heard from Harry and Ron how instrumental Hermione had been to their search for the Horcruxes. And now, here she sat, asking to take care of him, too. It was almost too much for his heart to bear and he tried, really tried, to say no to her.
"Thanks, Hermione," he murmured into his now-empty mug. Charlie steeled himself and met her eyes. "I'd like that."
That was how he'd ended up sat in a kitchen chair that she'd dragged up to the sink. Hermione was humming softly behind him, having dashed up to the bathroom and grabbed her shampoo and a couple of towels. She was running the tap, adjusting the temperature of the water and testing it, before finally draping a towel over his shoulders. He was practically hyperventilating-she was so close to him and was brushing light touches against him as she worked and he almost jumped out of his skin when she eased his head backward into the sink.
Charlie closed his eyes, knowing that he couldn't watch her. It was too overwhelming. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down to keep himself from making a sound as she poured warm water over his hair and then began to work her coconut shampoo against his scalp with her fingernails. Her touch felt incredible and the scent of her shampoo filled his senses and he could feel himself hardening in his trousers. This was not the time for him to get an erection, and he cursed himself silently for having so little self control.
Hermione tugged her fingers through his hair and scratched her blunt nails against his scalp and this time, caught off guard, he made a small strangled sound in the back of his throat. Either the sound of the tap had drowned him out or Hermione was so focused that she hadn't heard him, as she kept working the suds through his hair.
Once she rinsed the shampoo out, Hermione squeezed the water out of Charlie's hair and into the sink, grabbing another towel. "You can sit up," she murmured and he obliged, his head spinning for more than one reason as she began to rub the rough towel against his hair, drying it to damp so that she could trim it properly.
She dropped the towel into the sink and then grabbed a comb, gently pulling the tangles out of Charlie's hair as it hung limp about his face. Each tug prickled at his scalp, quickening his heart rate and he breathed in harshly through his nose. "Sorry," she said softly, "I'm trying to be gentle."
He didn't want her to be gentle. He wanted her to tug on his hair, to scratch his scalp, to straddle him in this chair so that he could crush her body against his and bite at her soft lips. But he only swallowed thickly and choked, "It's okay."
Once she was done combing his hair, Hermione took to the scissors and began to trim. Charlie closed his eyes at first, but he couldn't help himself. He had to peek out at her, watching her look at him from various angles and compare strands of hair between her nimble fingers. She nibbled softly at her bottom lip as she worked and he was suddenly breathless. Perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea, after all.
After what seemed like both an eternity and a single moment, she stood grinning triumphantly before him. "Finished," she said. "Short enough to keep your mum off your case, but only just. I hope you like it."
Charlie reached up a hand and ran it through his hair, a few inches missing off the ends, but nothing he'd miss too terribly. He ruffled his hair, still damp, hoping to dry it a bit quicker. "Thanks, Hermione," he breathed, clearing his throat. She was further away than she'd been when she was cutting his hair, and he found that he lamented the extra space.
Hermione hovered, an awkward pause passing between them. Charlie overcame it first, pushing himself up out of the chair and wrapping his arms around her in a perfectly friendly hug. Just like he'd hug Ginny or a friend on the Reserve. He didn't hold her too tightly, didn't bury his face in her curls, didn't sigh and press against her the way he wanted to. He simply put his arms around her for a moment, allowing himself that indulgence, and then let her go. "You may just have a regular haircut customer," he teased, and she laughed.
"I do charge travel time if you're having me come all the way to Romania to cut your hair," she replied, and he reckoned he'd never heard a better idea in his life than Hermione coming to the Reserve to cut his hair for him. It was too tempting an offer to not at least consider.
"I'll have to save my Sickles, then," he suggested, grabbing both of their mugs from the table and running the tap to wash them. Hermione cleaned up the discarded ginger hair on the floor with a wave of her wand and Charlie washed the mugs by hand, drying them and setting them back in the cabinet where they belonged. It was domestic, this moment between them, and he allowed himself to appreciate it. Would this be what it felt like to live with Hermione all the time? Would they share quiet moments like this in their own kitchen before curling up in front of the telly at night? Would they move around each other with comfort and ease this way, in tune with each other in a way that Charlie wasn't used to? His head spun with possibilities that he knew could never be.
Just as they finished cleaning up the kitchen, the Burrow burst to life for another day.
Early afternoon found the Burrow's energy in a lull, Weasleys and guests draped about the furniture lazily with murmured conversations drifting between them. It was one of those frigid mid-holiday afternoons. The novelty of everyone's gifts had finally worn off, Victoire was napping, and everyone was digesting their lunch. It was… boring, frankly.
"Anyone fancy some Quidditch?" he finally asked, breaking a particularly long stretch of silence. He was met with a few groans. "Come on, it'll be fun." Charlie stood, stretching his arms over his head. "Well, I'm going, anyway."
He headed for the door, slipping on his shoes and his coat before he heard footsteps coming behind him.
Harry, Ginny, Ron, George, Angelina, and Charlie all decided to play in the end, which made for easily splitting into teams with two chasers and a keeper each. They set up some makeshift goals and wrestled over the least old brooms in the shed. Charlie had Ginny and George on his team and Harry had Ron and Angelina.
Apart from the occasional pickup game on the Reserve, Charlie hadn't played Quidditch since he'd left Hogwarts. He and his siblings had played quite a bit when they were young, spending summer days flying their brooms around the Burrow. All of the Weasley children loved to fly.
"You don't want to play?" Charlie asked Hermione as he watched her clear a spot on the ground to lay out a blanket. She shot him a look and then shook her head.
"I don't fly," she informed him, spreading the blanket out and charming it to stay dry before taking a seat on it. Lavender sat, too, and Charlie watched Hermione all but bite her tongue to keep herself from saying anything about it.
"Pity," he responded. "I bet you'd be wicked on a broom."
Hermione flushed. "I assure you, flying is not my strong suit. I do like to watch, though."
Charlie swallowed thickly and forced a grin. "Well, then, let's hope you're cheering for me." And with that he turned, mounting his broom and kicking off.
He'd almost forgotten how ruthless his siblings could be during family games. He'd almost forgotten how quick Angelina was, too. Charlie had expected to sweep the floor with his siblings, but the other team was presenting more of a challenge than he'd expected and he found himself having to pay more attention to the game than he'd planned on.
Any time he managed a glance at Hermione, she was looking away from him, and he cursed himself for how that made him feel. It wasn't like him to want someone's attention the way he wanted hers, but he couldn't deny the disappointment that settled in his belly every time he failed to catch her eye. He wanted her to watch him, to cheer for him. He wanted to win for her, to impress her with this skill that she'd been clear about disliking. Charlie reckoned he'd love to get her up on a broom with him and show her how fun flying could be.
Distracted, he missed a pass from George and Angelina snatched the Quaffle.
"Oi!" Ginny's voice rang out over the makeshift pitch. "Get your head out your arse, Charlie, we're bloody losing!"
Charlie knew he must have turned scarlet as Hermione finally caught his eye, laughing gleefully at him. Of course, now she was paying attention to him.
He turned on his broom and got back into the game, resolving to pretend that Hermione wasn't there at all.
By the time the game ended, all of the players had stripped down to jeans and t-shirts, their winter gear forgotten on the ground. Hermione had summoned each piece of clothing, piling them up individually and nodding in the right places as Lavender told some inane story. Despite his renewed desire to win, Charlie missed a few more passes and the other team ended up with more points. Lavender was jumping up and down and squealing in delight as Ron swaggered toward her, kissing her sloppily as soon as he was close enough. Charlie and Hermione (and everyone else, probably) pulled a face at the same time.
"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione hissed, taking a few steps away from the pair of them and heading right for Charlie. His heart leapt-she'd sought him out. "Impressive game," she said. "Sorry you lost."
Charlie shrugged a shoulder. "I'm out of practice," he admitted sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. "We play on the Reserve, sometimes, but not often. I guess I'll have to squeeze in some time for drills."
"You bloody ought to," Ginny grumbled as she stomped past him, Harry close on her heels. He knew his baby sister could be quite the sore loser and he felt a little guilty that he'd been the primary cause.
"She'll be fine," Hermione assured him, gathering the pile of his clothes up off of her blanket and handing them to him. "Although I probably should avoid our room until after supper. I imagine that Harry will be spending some time in there since Ron and Lavender will likely have the attic." She wrinkled her nose. "Looks like I'll be camping out in the living room for the rest of the day. I, er-I think I'll go and get changed."
He didn't even have time to comment before she spun on her heel and retreated into the house, leaving him standing alone in the yard.
Charlie knew he should stay away. There was no reason for him to go downstairs. Most of the house was quiet, everyone tucked away in respective corners, and he could so easily just stay in his bedroom until supper. He could read, or reorganize his clothes, or take a nap. He told himself these things even as he dressed after his shower, as he pocketed his wand, as he closed his bedroom door behind him and went down the stairs. There was no reason for him not to go, either, was there?
He regretted his decision a bit when he got to the bottom of the stairs and saw her, barefoot and curled up on the loveseat. The fire beside her was roaring and she was wearing that damned oatmeal sweater again, the one that dipped off her shoulder. Her hair was up again, loose curls falling around her face and neck as she turned the pages of her book delicately. Her chipped mug sat on the coffee table, steam curling out of it. Next to it sat his mug, also steaming.
Hermione didn't look up at him and he thanked his lucky stars because he was sure that he was gaping at her. Not only was she sitting here looking like a dream, she'd planned for him. She'd made him tea. She'd sat on the loveseat and made a place for him beside her. He felt like he couldn't breathe.
Charlie steeled himself and sank into the sofa beside her, pulling the mug up to his lips. She'd put an extra teabag in his mug.
"You always complain that it takes too long to steep," Hermione said, not looking up from her book. "So I put an extra one in there."
She must have sensed Charlie's panic because she quickly continued. "They're from my own stash," she assured him, placing her hand over her open book to keep her place and meeting his eyes. "I always bring my own from home. I've never told anyone that, but I just… I have plenty of tea at home that I'd be drinking if I was there anyway, there's no need to use up all the tea here."
He swallowed against a lump in his throat. Growing up at the Burrow, money had been incredibly tight. Charlie had been lucky to be the second oldest because most of his things were new or lightly used. Ron, on the other hand, got all the scraps. He'd gotten Charlie's old wand, his hand-me-down robes were practically threadbare. Taking two teabags for himself was something that Charlie would never dream of doing, not when waste was something they all tried so desperately to avoid.
To know that Hermione always brought her own to ease that burden just a little warmed his heart. To know that she'd dipped into that stash just for him set it fluttering in his chest.
Then he remembered the conversation he'd had with Ron and Harry in this very spot the night before, and realization hit him like a bucket of cold water. Here she was, surprising him for what felt like the millionth time since he'd arrived at the Burrow, and what did he have to offer her? A busy and unpredictable schedule, a cabin on the Reserve that he didn't own, and… that was pretty much it. He didn't normally have self esteem issues like this, but the women he'd been with before weren't women that he cared about impressing in the long term. It was easy to flash a grin and flex his muscles and brag about dragons to find a woman to see once or maybe twice, but that wasn't what he wanted from Hermione.
No, he wanted that quiet domestic moment that they'd had in the kitchen earlier. He wanted nights like this by the fire, sipping tea together. He wanted lazy mornings in bed and cooking breakfast in their pyjamas and…
Charlie wrenched the thought out of his head. He couldn't think like that, couldn't let himself picture a future that wasn't his to picture. Hermione would have those things, he was sure, but not with him. He was too dedicated to his work, too engrossed in life on the Reserve. Harry had made him realize how much his work had truly taken over his entire life. It hadn't mattered, really, until now. Now there was something else he wanted, but it was too late for that. He'd already made his bed and now he had to lie in it. Alone.
"I can hear you thinking, Charlie," her soft voice teased over the crackling of the fire. How in the hell had he allowed this to happen? Charlie wasn't the type to be vulnerable, to let someone get so close to him so quickly. Normally he kept people at an arm's length. It was just easier. Somehow, though, Hermione had blown past all of his safeguards and walls and had curled herself around his heart before he'd even realized what was happening. He'd never felt anything like this before, the way his chest constricted and his breath caught and his vision seemed to narrow until her silhouette against the firelight was the only thing he could see. "Are you all right? Do you need a glass of water?" Now she sounded concerned. He swallowed hard and forced a smile.
"Sorry," he said, breathing a little deeper as he willed himself to relax. The last thing Charlie wanted was for her to worry about him. "I'm all right. Just… er, thinking about that Quidditch loss today. Reckon Gin's still cross with me?"
Hermione visibly relaxed, dog-earing the corner of her page in the book and closing the cover softly. "Oh, she absolutely is," she responded, chuckling. "I overheard her telling Harry that she's going to have George do something to your bed tonight."
Charlie shuddered. "I'll have to give it a check before I get in," he said, and she nodded in agreement. "Hopefully it's something relatively harmless."
"Seeing as they're both cross with you, I wouldn't be so sure," Hermione said, smirking and shrugging one shoulder. "Besides, after I made him take down the mistletoe, I'm sure he's dying to set up another prank."
"Oh, yeah, Ginny said you tore him a new one," laughed Charlie. "Maybe he'll think twice next time he decides to enchant any mistletoe, yeah?"
She nodded, grabbing her mug and taking a small sip. Her eyes dropped and she stared down into the tea. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "I just didn't think it was fair that you got stuck," she murmured. "He should have put it up after everyone was up. It was like he set you up or something because you get up early."
"I'm used to George and his antics," he dismissed, waving his hand. "I felt bad that you were forced to rescue me. I should have torn him a new one, myself."
"I didn't have to kiss you." Hermione met his eyes again then, her brows furrowed slightly. "Charlie, you don't think I was forced, do you? I couldn't very well leave you there like that, but it wasn't as if you made me do it! I helped you because I wanted to help you, not because I felt like I had to."
His pulse quickened and he swallowed thickly, letting her words echo in his mind. "I also felt bad," Charlie began, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I felt bad because of what happened after. When I kissed you again."
A flush rose to her cheeks and she averted her eyes again. "Oh," she breathed. "I just… assumed you were caught up in the moment."
"You weren't upset with me?" he asked, surprised. Hermione shook her head, the curls that had fallen around her face bouncing wildly. Charlie couldn't resist the urge and caught one, tugging her soft hair between his fingers and then tucking the strand behind her ear. He placed his mug on the table and hers followed. "I thought you ran because you were angry with me."
"I was mortified," she admitted. "I'd just snogged my best friend's older brother in the kitchen. You needed help and I… I took advantage."
"You took advantage?!" Charlie exclaimed, laughing. "Here I was worried that I'd taken advantage. I've been dying to kiss you for days, Hermione, I-"
He was swiftly cut off by her mouth pressing insistently against his. Hermione's fingers curled into the hair at the back of his head, her neck craning up toward his face. Charlie felt like he was flying. Suddenly his hands were at her waist, pulling her closer to him as he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips.
She felt better than he remembered despite their awkward angle. Charlie shifted, dipping his tongue into her mouth. Hermione whimpered against him and he growled into her mouth, digging his fingertips into her flesh.
Suddenly she was on top of him, straddling his lap and curling her fingers into the fabric of his tee shirt. Charlie ran his hands up her sides reverently, feeling the curves of her body underneath the loose sweater she wore. He reached up with one hand, hooking his finger into the elastic that held her hair and tugging it loose with one firm pull. Her curls tumbled free, falling around her shoulders, and he buried his hand in them. Hermione gasped as he gripped her hair, angling her head so that he could leave a trail of hot kisses down the column of her neck. His teeth grazed against her pulse point and she shivered, pressing closer to him.
Nothing had ever felt like this. Not flying on a broom, not Quidditch, not dragons-no other person, either. He'd kissed his share of women and while it had always felt good, this was entirely different. It felt like his blood was singing in his veins, like his heart would burst from his chest. Her skin tasted like the sun on his back on a summer afternoon, warm and inviting and he couldn't help but bask in her presence. How he'd ever gotten lucky enough to get to do this he'd never understand.
Charlie sat up and claimed Hermione's lips again, running his hands slowly down her back as she shivered. "Charlie," she sighed against his mouth, snaking her fingers into his hair and gripping the strands tightly between them. He snarled and bit at her bottom lip, causing her to gasp and tug on his hair at the same time, and Charlie was seeing stars. Sure, it had been a while since he'd done this, but Hermione was winding him up faster than any other woman had ever been able to before. His head spun as he gripped her by the hips, letting her arch against him.
Suddenly, the door to the loo closed with a slam above them and startled them apart. They both giggled and Hermione leaned down to rest her forehead against his.
"Brilliant," Charlie panted, breaking into a grin. He dipped his head and mouthed at her collarbone as she scraped her fingernails against his scalp.
"Agreed," she responded, humming softly as she smoothed back his hair.
The door to the loo slammed again, and suddenly footsteps were heading toward the stairs instead of away from them. Hermione startled and jumped off of Charlie's lap, smoothing her hair hurriedly and reaching for her discarded hair elastic. She fanned herself and picked up her book, making sure that it didn't look like they'd been snogging.
"It's fine, Hermione, it won't be the first time someone's been caught snogging in this house," he teased, chuckling, but she frowned.
"It's not that," she said softly, picking at the hem of her sweater. "I just… we haven't even talked about this yet. I don't think we should tell anyone until we have a better idea of what it is. Besides, if everyone knows they'll only tease us for the rest of the holiday."
Charlie frowned, then. The footsteps were getting closer to the stairs. "All right," he agreed, nodding once. "We can talk about it later, yeah?" He managed a smile and squeezed her knee in a way that he hoped was comforting before retreating to his end of the sofa, sipping at his tea.
He snuck her a few glances across the supper table as the conversation roared around them, but after the third or fourth time she shot him a pointed look and he busied himself with his potatoes.
Charlie would just have to find a way to get her alone again. He may not have been as clever as George, but he was still a Weasley and that meant that he'd come up with something, even if he had to wait until the next morning to talk to her over coffee. The thought of not talking to her about things before bed made him scowl a bit-he was sure he'd be up all night now, his mind racing a mile a minute.
Somehow, tonight held even more anticipation than Christmas Eve.