With Madam Gabrielle Delacour Weasley sleeping in Ron's room at the Burrow for the holidays, Hermione could not possibly accept Arthur and Molly's polite invitation for Christmas. Last year, her first Christmas alone in her flat, she had resolved to ignore the holiday completely, no tree, no music, no special meal. But it had been bleak - pathetic and teary. This year, she was determined to keep herself too occupied with celebrating on her own to be sad.
As a plan, it hadn't been half bad before the risk of spending the day pining for dear, doting Charlie became a distinct possibility. But no, she was an independent person in control of her emotions and her time, and she would force herself out of possible-love with Charlie, at least for one more day. She had everything she needed: strong will, a lovely Christmas tree, and a rock solid itinerary.
"You see, there's no need to fuss about it. I've made a schedule," she said, letting Charlie pull the parchment across the breakfast table to inspect the holiday plans she'd be keeping while he was at home with the family.
He hummed, a sound she'd come to recognize during their months together as a sound of disapproval. "It's no good. At least come to the Burrow for dinner on Christmas Day," he said. "The house will be so crowded my Veela sister-in-law won't even notice we're there. In fact, no one needs to know you're there but me. We can cast a Disillusionment spell over you, if you like."
"Or just stash me in the attic with the house ghoul." Hermione huffed. She took the parchment back, rolling it up and tucking it away. "No, absolutely not. I'm staying here. It's the height of cozy season, remember? I've gone to all the trouble to get this flat is festively decorated, and one night of us not sleeping under the same roof won't set the De-bliviator back too far."
"You don't know that," Charlie argued. "Don't risk it, my dear. And anyway, not everything that goes on between us is always about the De-bliviator."
She blinked hard. Wasn't it?
"Just come with me," he finished. "The dragon detecting dusting powder is ready for a test anyway. That's the reason we can give anyone crass enough to ask what you're doing there with me."
"Which would be everyone but Harry."
"Well, maybe. Yes. But still, we could run the test and - "
She interrupted with a mighty sigh. She certainly didn't want them to part for Christmas. But if they were going to be together, it would have to happen by Charlie offering to stay. And – well, doting as he was when he was inside the flat, he clearly didn't care for her enough to stay there with her on Christmas.
"I'm not going, Charlie," she said, her tone low and serious. "Even if I wasn't protecting what's left of my pride from Gabrielle, the rest of your family is already suspicious of where exactly in London you're staying and why you won't let anyone visit. If I appear as your guest all of a sudden, someone is bound to figure it out, even with an excuse about dragon dusting powder. And where would I sleep there, anyway? Back to Ginny's room, only with Harry and the baby crammed in there with us? Or would you take full responsibility and give me your bed?"
Charlie scoffed a laugh. "Maybe that's just what the De-bliviator has been waiting for all this time, you and me sharing a bed."
"Brilliant," she said, crossing her arms over her middle, answering his sarcasm with her own. "And weren't you just telling me Ginny was teasing you about having a secret mistress in town?"
He threw up his hands. "That's just Ginny taking the mick as usual. She wasn't serious."
"No, but she could get serious," Hermione said, tossing her head. "And we agreed no one but your parents needs to know about our arrangement. They'll get carried away."
"Understandably," Charlie murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Please, Charlie," she said, her voice tender again as she stacked his hands between hers. "I can't have Christmas at the Burrow. Don't ask me again."
Their hands still stacked, he hooked his thumb over hers and blew out a sigh.
She kept talking. "Really. I'll warm up that little crock of mulled wine the Ministry handed out to everyone, and I'll get some Chinese take away like my parents used to every Christmas Eve, and then I'll go see A Christmas Carol again. There's a screening of it at that Muggle theatre I like, with the nice café that sells mocha mint lattes with candy cane stir sticks. That's all I need to have a happy Christmas this year."
Charlie still didn't seem convinced even as he stood at the Floo in his coat and boots, a bundle of presents under one arm. She presented her cheek for a great-aunt kiss goodbye, standing on tiptoe in her sock feet, her profile turned to face him, her eyes closed. The closed eyes were new, and maybe that's what made him hesitate.
"I can owl them I'm sick," he said.
She sank to her heels, shaking her head. "That's lovely of you, Charlie. Really. But you know it won't work. They'll just demand to know where they can send you some soup and everyone's favourite wellness potions."
"Then I'll tell them I'm already well-stocked with George's Fever Fudge reversal morsels and not to worry. Mum already knows I'm here anyway. And it's not – "
She had risen to her toes again, slowly as if in pain. He had said what she wanted, offered to stay, but somehow it only made her sadder. She was kissing his cheek, tenderly, telling him goodnight, and sending him off.
He turned his head to watch her as she drew away, his face open and maybe confused. "You're sure?"
She nodded, standing back to let him step through the Floo.
In the end, she didn't bother to order in, eating a day-old scone with jam over the sink for her tea instead. While she waited for the late screening of A Christmas Carol to start, she couldn't concentrate on any reading and found her mother's album of black and white pictures from the days before she was Dr. Granger, or the mother of a girl she didn't remember.
When she'd finished her cup of bad mulled wine and had cried herself out over the album, it was time to walk down to the theatre. Hermione got dressed in a thick new jumper she'd given herself as a Christmas present. It was comfortable and fit well, real cashmere blended into the wool, mass produced in a factory for a Muggle chain store.
As she was coming out of her room, she paused at the door of her broom cupboard and eased it open. With all of Charlie's things in it, it was more cramped than ever. The clothes and bed linens held his scent and she breathed it in, feeling comfort and exquisitely loneliness. Tonight, she was missing everything, but it was crowned by an awful sense of missing Charlie.
The entire flat felt bereft without him. It was almost like missing a real partner - only it wasn't real. It was nice but just an arrangement for him. Charlie was off to enjoy what he'd earned: the first Christmas of his adult life where his mother wouldn't be hounding him about marrying anyone.
Standing in the cupboard doorway, she thought about forgetting her schedule, throwing herself into Charlie's empty bed, and spending the rest of the night there, her face buried in his pillow. Or at least she could find that Canons shirt that fit him so nicely and wear it underneath her jumper for the rest of the night as she went about what was left of her plans.
But with her luck, she'd take one step inside his room and instantly set off enough dragon detecting powder to be glowing green for days. No, it was best to just close the door to Bluebeard's chamber and leave it.
She walked by the coffee table where the Christmas gift she got him was still untouched. As Charlie was leaving that afternoon, she'd lost her nerve and hadn't sent his gift along with him. There it was, wrapped and pretty as you please. He could find it for himself when he came back on Boxing Day, no awkward ceremony, no weighty Christmas spirit.
She stepped onto the pavement outside her building, into the wet snow to see a film she could already recite by heart. Her Christmas itinerary was all a mistake. Everything about it was breaking her heart, but she committed to this final piece of it, and didn't leave the theatre until the music came up at the end of the film. By then it was early, early on Christmas morning, and the night sky was glowing with street light reflected off clouds still full of unfallen snow.
And there he was, hugging himself in his dark, heavy coat as he stood on the pavement in front of the closed café that still smelled of mocha and mint.
"Charlie?"
At the sound of her voice, he jumped, bounding toward her to take her hands. His were chilly, as if he'd been outside too long.
"There you are," he said. "I was afraid I'd missed you. Let's go home."
"But how did you find me?" she said. "And why?"
"I couldn't sleep," he said. "I tried but it was no good. And I remembered the name of this theatre from your schedule and - I don't know, it just seemed urgent that I find you. So I got up, got dressed, and here I am…"
He fell silent as she cupped her much smaller hands around his as best she could and bowed her head to warm them with her breath.
For an instant, he was speechless. But he cleared his throat, pushing onward. "I was lying in bed and I couldn't stop seeing you in my mind, out here this late by yourself, with tiny snowflakes frozen in your hair, just like this. And I needed to see you home safely. I wanted to."
She spoke with her face still low over their hands. "I'm a witch, Charlie. I can protect myself from Muggle street hooligans perfectly well."
Charlie bent to press his forehead to her crown. "Yes, you're astoundingly powerful. But you're not - not happy enough for my liking. Maybe that's what I couldn't ignore. Because, even when you only want to be my paper wife, your peace and happiness are still the same as mine."
Hermione slumped forward, weary enough to be overcome at his sweetness, trembling as she began to cry. Charlie let go of her hands to hold her up in his arms, inflating his chest, his heart swelling toward her. "Aw, my dearest."
He waited as she cried against him in the dark, empty street. One of his hands traced a firm line against her spine, soothing and sorry. He looked up to the sky, searching the stars to divine what to do next. The stars were lost behind the heavy snow clouds, leaving him nothing to follow but his heart, which he was desperate to stop from pounding. She always had a keen sense of his heart rate. Could she feel it on her face through his coat? He looked down at her, his closed mouth against her hair.
And what was he feeling? It was painful, but there was a strange sweetness to it, both feelings centred outside himself, pulling him toward something else. It was as if he wanted something he didn't quite have, wanted it so bad he could feel the absence of it aching in his throat and chest. Hermione was shuddering through the last of her tears and as she did, the longing inside him leapt toward her. Yes, it was her. Even as he held Hermione, she was farther away than he wanted her. In spite of her nearness, he was lonely for her. And she had told him once that if he ever felt lonely for someone like that, it might mean...
He lifted his head, his mouth falling open, as if he wanted to say something. He held it in. The Muggle theatre crowd had cleared, and without a word, he turned on the spot to take them home.
In the flat, he flicked his wand to light the candles on the coffee table. Hermione sensed the familiar glow and the warmth of the room and straightened her posture, blinking up at him.
"Thank you, Charlie." She wiped at the teary smudge on the front of his coat. "I'm sorry to be such a bother. Happy Christmas. I'm alright and I'm off to bed. You'd better go back to the Burrow now."
"Nonsense," he said, his hands shaking slightly as he unwound her scarf from around her neck. "I'll sleep here, where I belong. At this hour, no one will miss me at my parents'. You and I can have a cozy Christmas morning together, and I'll still make it back in time to help Mum get dinner on. Until then, we can - talk. In fact, I think we'd better."
"Yes, talk," she said, accepting it with a nod and a deep breath, her own shaking hands clenched in fists at her sides, her colour rising. Be brave, she told herself. Ask him.
With a cough, she forced out the last of the cold air in her chest, speaking quickly, monotone and determined. "I truly am sorry you found me all messy and emotional tonight. Days like this, I'm so lonely for my family, I can hardly stand it. And so what I need, once and for all, is to get that blasted De-bliviator working. I need to fix my parents and go back to having my needs met by them, not relying on someone else's family."
Charlie folded her scarf and draped it neatly over the back of her armchair, his head bowed, marshalling his breath. "Hermione, listen. It isn't like - "
"I'm sorry to make a new demand of you tonight," she interrupted as if racing through a speech, "especially when you've already been so kind and considerate of me. I'll try not to embarrass us, but there's no other way to say this."
Charlie was tipping his chin to look at her, taut as he waited through her pause. She lifted her face, her eyes closed. Was she waiting to be kissed again? Charlie was taking a quick step toward her, his hand outstretched to catch her wrist, when she opened her eyes, ready to ask her question, her face as flushed as his.
"I know you weren't serious the first time you said it, but you were right," she said, quiet and slow. "So I'm saying it seriously now. If we're going to pass as married and get the magic to work, you have got to stop sleeping in the cupboard. No more Bluebeard's chamber. You need to move into my room."
Charlie was nodding, raising his hand from her wrist to her shoulder "Listen, before we change anything, you should know that I - "
"I know. It won't be a proper marriage bed, of course," she said, backing away, his hand left to fall into the empty space between them. "Under our current arrangement, it would be vile of me to ask for that. I won't touch you in bed. Not even with our usual great-aunt kiss goodnight. I'll get my own blanket and put a pillow between us. I'll keep the De-bliviator on my nightstand so I'll know the instant it starts to work. And we can hope this will be enough. Charlie, please. Help me do this."
Charlie's expression was one she hadn't seen on his face in years. It was beyond serious, or concerned, or even troubled. For an instant, she thought it might have been sad.
"Right," he sighed. "I'll get ready for bed."
It was barely dawn but Hermione was already awake, lying on her side in bed, watching as Charlie's face became more and more visible as the light grew.
He had taken so long to come into the bedroom the night before she had turned out her light, leaving him to creep in as if she was already asleep. He had tiptoed through the dark and laid next to her, stealthy as if he was sneaking into a dragon's den. She might not have heard or felt him if all her senses hadn't been straining toward him, attuned to every adjustment of his body against her mattress, every rise and fall of his breath.
In the darkness, his clean, lush smell reached her, the scent she had stood in his doorway drinking in when she was lonely . It was a little different than usual, shot through with Christmas-y spices from his family's holiday fare - a little cinnamon, nutmeg, citrus.
Now that she could sense him there with her, but on the other side of the thick, blue barrier pillow she'd promised to keep between them, she was lonelier than ever. And it wasn't her parents or her cat she was longing for. It was him - Charlie's voice, his laugh, his touch, his ridiculous flirting. He wasn't just a placeholder, someone to be her person because no one else cared to show up. Ever since he'd moved into her flat, he'd been her happiness. Even here beside her, Charlie wasn't close enough. That's not how it is between friends. That's how it is to be in love.
There, she'd stopped trying to deny it to herself. She was in love with Charlie, her ex-fiancé's unattainable big brother, her friend, her paper husband. But admitting it to herself did no good. She clench her eyes shut, but she did lie awake long enough to hear him let out a final, uneasy sigh. The mattress lurched as he flipped onto his stomach, his arms folded beneath his head.
Now he slept facing her, but with the barrier pillow clutched to his front. How could he sleep with his muscles so tense? It had the effect of showcasing his arms - strong and sun-kissed even in the winter, marked with freckles and scrapes and burns long healed. His arms were bare all the way over the curve of the mass of his shoulder. How had he wound up with his shirt off during the night?
Charlie Weasley was her lawful but unreachable husband, half-naked in her bed on a Christmas morning, and she had fallen for him, utterly. Stars help her.
She let out a sigh. She had hoped to wake up in the barrier pillow's position. Some kind of romance novel bed sharing accident could have ended with her body carelessly, unconsciously held in Charlie's arms, his face nuzzled into the nape of her neck, the heat of him all the way down her back and legs. Only when it failed to happen did she realize how badly she'd wanted it. She turned her face toward her own pillow, closing her eyes.
When she opened them again, Charlie was looking at her over the top of the barrier pillow with eyes that had no business being so clear and brilliant this early in the morning.
"Happy Christmas, my dear," he said in a tone that was almost sarcastic. "Did you sleep well?"
She shrugged, answering with her own not-quite sarcasm. "I could get used to it." This was too honest. She was dangerously dazzled, staring too long into his blue eyes across the no man's land in the middle of her bed.
Hermione rolled away to find her wand and the De-bliviator.
"Anything?" Charlie asked.
She shook her head. "Not even a flicker."
Charlie sat up, the pillow still in his lap, covering most of his bare torso as he reached to the foot of the bed for the T-shirt he'd been wearing when he fell asleep. He glanced sideways at her, watching her watching him smooth the rumpled fabric over his ribs and stomach.
She sniffed, one eyebrow arched. "Don't look at me, Weasley. It wasn't me that peeled your top off you in my sleep."
He huffed. "No, of course you didn't. Nothing would be farther from your mind."
She was on her knees on the mattress. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Just that sleeping without a shirt is an old habit of mine. Sorry to bother you with it. It's more unconscious than I thought." Fully dressed but with his T-shirt inside out, he was rising to his knees to tower over her on the mattress.
She turned her face up to his. Do it, Charlie, her heart raged silently at him. Take me and kiss me, fully and properly, here on the bed where I hardly slept all night.
Her eyes narrowed as he bent closer to her, one of his hands planted on the mattress, the other reaching toward her. She held her ground, letting him approach, her breaths quick.
And then he reached around and past her, lifting her wand and the De-bliviator from her night stand and sitting back to examine them himself. "Right. I did some careful thinking, and there's something else we can try this morning. But we'd better not try it in here."
She pivoted to sit next to him. "What is it? More of the talking you said we'd better do last night?"
"Something like that," he muttered, standing up. "We can give it a go after breakfast. If you like. Come on. I'll cook some eggs while you put the kettle on."
They had finished eating and were in the lounge with their coffees. In the daylight, the gift Hermione had left wrapped and waiting on the coffee table couldn't be ignored.
"Take it, my dear. It's for you, from me," Hermione confessed. "Something small. You needn't fuss over it. But do open it before you're off to the Burrow for the day."
Charlie tore into the package. Inside was a case for his eyeglasses. It had been plain, cheap hard plastic when she bought it, but Hermione had covered it in purple satin and beaded it to look like the skin of a Hungarian Horntail.
"You're always carelessly stuffing your specs into your pocket," she explained as he grinned over it. "The lenses are going to get scratched that way. So I made you this."
Charlie broke into an even bigger smile. "You made this? When did you have the time? How did I not notice? I've been following you around like a puppy for weeks."
She was about to argue, but then realized it was true. "At night," she said. "After you'd retire to your chamber, I'd sit up in bed and work on your present. It was like a meditation, comforting me and bringing me peace so I could sleep."
Charlie sat quietly, his smile tempered, his eyes lost in thought as he clicked the glasses case open and closed. "Thank you, my dear. It's perfect."
"Naturally," she said, smirking over the rim of her coffee mug. "And it's alright if you've got nothing for me. We never talked about exchanging so - "
"Of course I have something for you," Charlie said. He slipped a hand into his pocket, retrieved a small pouch of gold satin, and held his breath as he handed it to her.
Beside him on the sofa, Hermione fumbled slightly, her fingers unsteady as she untied the strings. Inside was a pendant even more golden than the satin. It was shiny but not glassy, smooth but not cold, suspended from a silver chain.
She gasped, raising the pendant into the morning sunlight. "Amber," she said. "Charlie, it's beautiful."
He fell back against the sofa cushions, relieved. "Yes, amber. It's a gem of choice in eastern Europe, more of a Slavic treasure than a Romanian one, but still - "
"I love it," she said, her voice low and breathy as she turned it in the light. "Thank you. Help me put it on."
She turned her back to him and lifted all of her hair, baring her neck. Behind her, Charlie cleared his throat as he clasped the necklace. When he settled the chain against her skin it was with gentle, careful fingers, like a caress.
She let her hair fall back and turned around to show him, the V between her thumb and fingers framing the amber against the differently golden skin of her sternum.
Charlie stared at it, silent, one finger touching the amber, feeling the warmth of her already coursing through it. "It's not a stone. It's - "
"Petrified tree sap," she finished. "The life force of an ancient tree, preserved and made precious for us."
She saw his head bob with a swallow as he dropped his fingers from the gem. "Hermione, our great-aunt kisses on the cheeks and foreheads clearly aren't working to fix the De-bliviator. We're no closer to your parents than we were over a month ago. Yes, sharing a bed was on the right track but...There are other ways for us to upgrade my status again."
She nodded as she swallowed. "From paper husband, to metal, to - to a gem husband?"
He was too nervous to flirt or even to smile properly, his lip twitching at one corner. "If you like," he said. "This gift was a start for today, but there's still room for us to - escalate."
"Escalate," she echoed, otherwise speechless as Charlie's hand cupped one side of her throat, his thumb on her pulse, the heel of his hand resting light but hot on her collarbone.
"If I've ever seen a prettier neck than yours, I've never noticed," he said, his free hand finding her waist.
Her eyes were wide, and without a thought, she was leaning into his touch. "Are you - are you asking to go from kissing my cheek to my - neck?" she asked in a whisper.
The twitching side of his mouth quirked toward a smile. "Not yet."
He was maddeningly close, his head tilted as he drew nearer, the pressure of his palm on her waist bringing her to him. It felt vaguely like when he'd pull her into dance holds at Weasley parties. The spark she had always ignored as Ron's girlfriend was flaring into life with nothing to dim it anymore. She let it catch fire, her eyes fluttering shut.
There, at last, was Charlie's mouth, a soft upper lip brushing against hers, the perfect contrast to the sharpness of his whiskers. She had no more patience for holding herself separate from him. With a tiny cry in her throat, she surged forward, opening to take that lip between her own. A breath of warm, wet suction and it was hers.
Charlie jolted at the force of her, sighing, his fingers gliding up her neck into her hair, tugging her deeper into his kiss. He crushed her against his chest, forgetting to be gentle as his lips moved, returning her energy, taking hers. He was tense and ravenous but careful, letting her know there was more even while holding himself back.
"This alright?" he murmured, feeling her shiver beneath his hands as they held her.
"Yeah," she said, barely audible, their lips still touching, one of her hands pinned between them, her palm on his chest, over his drumming heart. Her other hand was knuckles deep in his hair, threaded through the dense waves, urging him to meet her as she leaned in again.
The part of her mind less addled by desire was relieved beyond expression that Charlie didn't feel like Ron, not the pliant, delicate mouth she knew best. Charlie was tender enough to be sweet but firmer, matched to her higher drive, rising with her.
He should never have mentioned her neck. She needed his kiss on it now, and she tipped her head back, risking breaking the connection between their mouths but trusting Charlie would understand her and give her what she wanted. He did, sighing ecstatically as he dragged his mouth in a slow, tingling trail down her chin, along her throat, to where her new silver chain bent over her collar bone.
As she tilted her head, she let herself fall backward, moving to lie on the sofa. On Charlie's massive shoulders, her hands were tiny. But she pulled him along after her anyway. "So very alright…" she whispered.
He groaned against her throat and let her begin to take him down. All she wanted was a massive snog, like when she was a teenager new to intimacy, and kissing was everything, something that went on for hours and ended with everyone's clothes still on. Charlie could give her that and still annul this arrangement if he wanted to. Couldn't he? Yes, she would lie here and kiss him for as long as he would bear it. Because he was kind and brilliant and beautiful, with a devastating kiss that was worth the frustration. And he was her person, at least for now.
But above her, Charlie wasn't sure what she wanted. He was off balance, righting himself, his hand braced on the sofa behind her, holding them up, his strength maintaining their half-reclining position. He had torn himself away from her neck to look into her eyes, breathing hard, questioning.
"Hermione, is this - "
She didn't want to talk, silencing his mouth with hers. And though he paused to kiss her greedily and thoroughly in return, he persisted in talking, every thought disjointed as she shook his questions to pieces with slow, deep kisses.
"I'm too - this can't be just for - "
And then the Floo flared to life. They sprung apart on the sofa just as Ginny and Harry and baby James appeared on the hearth.