Hermione startled out of sleep, jarring Charlie awake along with her. It was a Saturday morning and all of their wake-up alarms should have been turned off. But something had rattled through her sleep all the same. Charlie groaned and held her closer as she started to rise, his face in her hair and his low, wordless morning voice rumbling against the back of her head.

She turned toward his voice. This early morning light was her favourite for looking at him. The bright sun on their white sheets made every one of his freckles visible. The light played up the flaming colour of his hair, and the way his face was dusted with whiskers. And if he were to open his eyes - that blue…

Forgetting about investigating what had woken her up, she was intent on seeing his eyes open, and she pressed soft kisses on his bare chest. Charlie's groan was more of a moan now, his leg moving over hers under the sheets, his weight shifting on top of her when the noise sounded again, like a stone tossed hard against the bedroom window pane.

She startled again and Charlie blew out a tired laugh. "Sounds like an owl," he said. "A nasty one. Better see to it before it breaks in."

"I'll go." She sat up, blinking across the room toward the window, the sheet tucked around her like the bodice of a ballgown. "But there's no post on Saturday. It can't be an owl." She said it even as she saw the great heap of feathers twitching impatiently on the window sill outside.

Charlie stretched himself into the pillows at his back. "Must be a special delivery."

Hermione looked back at him as she rose out of the bed. "Don't you move, Charlie Weasley. I want to find you exactly as you are when I get back."

The owl was a massive, majestic creature, more like an eagle than an owl. It seemed positively irate to be kept waiting so long. Hermione didn't have any treats for it, but offering any probably would have offended so fine a beast, so it was just as well. She shut the window and crashed back into bed beside Charlie with a letter inked on thick ivory parchment and marked with a seal in the shape of a grand letter M.

"It's from Malfoy Manor. Finally. I thought they'd never reply." She cleared her throat as she began to read the message aloud. "'Dear Madam Weasley' - oh, fancy. I've never been called that before," she said, smirking at the letter-writer's overblown manners.

"I like it," Charlie said, looping his arms around her waist. "Suits you fine. Better than fine, actually."

"Of course you like it, you incorrigible name fetishist," she said, tousling his hair. "Right, here's the rest. 'Please accept my apologies for the late reply, as I have lately been under the weather. It would give me great pleasure to lend you the volume you have requested from our family library. You may obtain it by meeting me at the annual Hogwarts Alumni Charity Benefit Quidditch Match next weekend. I trust you will be there, as I see your husband is named on the roster as the seeker for the Gryffindor team - "

"What?" Charlie said, sitting bolt upright. "I never agreed to that."

"You didn't even tell me they'd asked," Hermione said.

"Well, they only asked once both Harry and Ginny turned them down so close to the baby's arrival. I was invited as the consolation seeker," he said with a hint of a shudder. "No, thank you. And besides, you don't even like quidditch. It's a waste of both of our time."

Hermione clucked her tongue. "Consolation seeker - rubbish. You know Ginny isn't the only member of your family who could have had a professional career in quidditch. Everyone says so."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Please. You sound like ten-year-old Ronnie."

"And George, and your father, and Oliver Wood, and Madam Hooch, and Minerva McGonagall, and even Rita Skeeter, for stars' sake. She couldn't help but mention your quidditch prowess in our wedding announcement."

"Stop," he said, falling back on the pillows.

Hermione fell on top of him, her face hovering over his as she traced the contours of his chest. "And you should know by now that while I might not like quidditch itself, I am rather notorious for liking quidditch players."

Charlie plunged his fingers into her hair as she nipped at his collar bone. "I'm not actually on that roster. I declined the invitation. Madam Malfoy is mistaken," he said.

Hermione shook her head. "No, she included a copy of the match roster with her message." Upon saying this, she grew serious, frowning. "She sent it as if she knew you might doubt it and thought to send proof." She sat up again, rereading the letter. "As if she accepted the invitation to play on your behalf, somehow." Hermione squinted at the letter's signature line. "Who is this person? Astoria G. Malfoy - or maybe it wasn't her that did it. Maybe it was Draco himself."

Charlie sat up to take her in his arms from behind, tucking his chin into her shoulder. "If Malfoy still upsets you, don't agree to meet them. You don't have to do what they want. I can go to the match on my own and bring the book back without you having to be anywhere near the Malfoys or their weird tricks."

Hermione sighed. "No, I need to do this. Malfoy may be lunatic as ever, and his wife might be just as bad, but there's nothing they can do to hurt me anymore. I'll meet Astoria Malfoy myself. Watching you play seeker for Gryffindor will make it worthwhile. And anyways, I asked for two books and Madam Malfoy's said nothing about giving me the second one. It's an older book, possibly cursed. Not the kind of thing everyone would be comfortable discussing in writing with a stranger. No, I'll go and meet her. I need her to trust me or this project with my parents' memories..."

She couldn't finish, and Charlie nodded silently against her shoulder. "Right. If that's what you want, I'll start practicing my game flying."

Charlie and Hermione had barely stepped onto the Hogwarts school grounds on the afternoon of the Alumni match when Oliver Wood came storming out of the field house, already in his keeper's gear.

"Captain!" he called as he threw himself at Charlie in a hug that would have tackled most anyone else.

Charlie smacked him hard on the back, growling warmly at him to settle down.

"And Hermione Granger too," Wood said as he unhanded Charlie. "The brightest witch of her age married to Hogwarts's best seeker in a generation."

"Enough, Wood," Charlie said. "Compliment Hermione all you want but leave me out of it. Everyone's here to see Harry Potter today. I'll probably be booed when I take the field."

Oliver huffed. "Harry Potter was my own seeker and I won't hear a bad word about him, but his strengths were drama, luck, and spells to keep his specs stuck on. No, if anyone came here today hoping to see some serious, technically brilliant seeking, then they'll be thrilled to see the return of Captain Weasley. You must be dead excited to finally see him in action, eh Hermione?"

"Nah, she's just here for the clingy white trousers." Such a comment was, unsurprisingly, coming from the newly arrived George Weasley.

"You're one to talk," Angelina said, faking punching him in the stomach before passing baby Fred to him. "I'm off to suit up. Ta-ta."

George gave an eager chuckle, swatting at her behind. "Brilliant. Give 'em hell, my darling."

Above them, from the window of the fieldhouse Marcus Flint watched the Gryffindor players milling about on the green. "Bloody Gryffindor. They're not taking this seriously," he said.

"That makes all of us but you, Flint," Draco said, tightening the leather wrist straps of his gloves.

Flint scowled and lunged away from the window. "I thought they'd bring Potter back but they've got a real player as seeker instead. Someone who doesn't need favouritism and flash to win. Have you seen this? That's Charlie Weasley down there."

"He came?" Malfoy shoved past Flint on his way to the window. There indeed was Charlie Weasley, red-haired, of course, well-built but not as tall as the Weasleys Malfoy had played against in school. He looked fit enough, strong and handsome even. But surely this wasn't what Hermione Granger had settled on as a husband when she could have had anyone she wanted. This was the man that had made her pregnant. Those hands, the ones that were about to be snatching after the same snitch as him, were the ones that held Hermione Granger.

From the window, Malfoy scoffed. "Oh, he's no trouble at all. Look at his arm span. He'll never catch anything with arms that short."

Graham Montague crowded into the window beside him. "Doesn't look short-armed to me."

Malfoy laughed. "Not compared to the general population, no. But will he compare to this?" He stretched out his arm to show Montague the length of it. And in that moment, Hermione looked up. She spotted Montague and Malfoy immediately, misreading his posture as an awkward, stiff-armed wave. It was strange, unexpected, and sent her face flushing red. There was nothing to do but try to be unbothered and wave back at them.

As she did, Charlie turned to look up at the fair-haired man hanging out the window in Slytherin quidditch robes. "Is that Dragon Malfoy?" he said aloud, in plain sight of Malfoy who was close enough to read his lips. Malfoy dropped his arm and raised his opposite hand in a kind of salute.

George couldn't help but grimace. "Draco. Yeah, that's himself. Well-spotted."

Wood rolled his eyes. "Malfoy - speaking of seekers who get by on drama."

Looking up from the green, Charlie raised his fingers, saluting back.

The players went one way and George and Hermione made their way to the premium seats set aside for players' spouses. The crowd was large and the mood was good, light, the weather beginning to be cool and crisp. No one asked George why he wasn't playing. It was well-known that he hadn't touched a beater's bat in public since the original Fred died.

They had only just sat down when George was bouncing out of his seat again. "Lee Jordan!" he said. "Yes, they've got Lee Jordan announcing today. Our old business partner, the voice of Hogwarts quidditch himself."

"Oh, go on and say hello before you burst," Hermione said. "Freddie and I will be fine here on our own until you get back."

George snapped away, apparating to the broadcast area and leaving the seats on either side of Hermione and Freddie empty. And that was when Astoria made her move. As Freddie reached for the glowing pink lights Hermione had conjured for him to pull in and out of his mouth, Astoria drifted down into the seat beside them in a jasmine scented cloud.

"Excuse me," she began. "It's Madam Weasley, isn't it?"

There was only one person who would address Hermione that way. "Yes. Madam Malfoy?" she asked in return.

"Yes," the woman beamed. "Astoria, please, now that we've been introduced."

"Hermione," she returned. "And this is my nephew Freddie."

Astoria gasped. "Oh, look at him. He's precious - perfect."

"Isn't he just?" Hermione agreed.

Astoria shook herself, tossing her sleek, dark hair over her shoulders, reaching into the pocket of her robes for a small brown cube. "First things first. Here is the book you asked for, reducioed for ease of transport."

"Oh, thank you," Hermione said, about to restore it to full size with a tap of her wand. "This will be most helpful. But there's another - "

"Please," Astoria interrupted. "Have a look at it somewhere more private. It's not the kind of book one reads full-sized and out in the open. In fact, the second volume you wanted to read can't be removed from the manor without prior approval from the Ministry, so we'll have to host you at ours to read that one."

"Oh dear," Hermione said. "How inconvenient for you."

Astoria waved it away. "No, I'm sure it will be lovely. You and I are friends now, Hermione Weasley. It's only natural for you call on me at home for tea."

Hermione was momentarily speechless, blinking quickly. "That's very kind of you," was all she said.

"Not at all. And now that business is over," Astoria said, holding out her hand, palm up in front of Freddie, grinning as he smacked his open hand against her fingers. "Do you think little Freddie might like to sit with me for a moment."

Freddie was already leaning toward the friendly new person so Hermione let him go the rest of the way. Astoria was so pleased he liked her that she let out a laugh, babbling and cooing at him. "Is this your first big quidditch game, Freddie? I see your mummie is on the roster."

"Yes," Hermione answered for him. "Freddie was just a newborn the last time Auntie Ginny was playing. Big day for him. We'll have to get a family picture of them when Angelina's finished."

Astoria nodded, hoisting Freddie to her shoulder and rocking him though he was showing no signs of being sleepy. Something about the way she handled him made Hermione think of herself casting a spell for the first time after practicing from a book for days - eager, happy, competent, but somehow slightly strained.

She cleared her throat. "I must admit, I haven't heard whether you and Draco have any children."

"No, none," Astoria said. "We've had a few near misses but, tragically, no fully fledged babies yet. We're in high hopes of having some of your own kind of luck very soon." She looked off into the empty pitch, her eyes shining, as if speaking of childbearing brought her near tears. The atmosphere was inappropriately intimate for people who'd just met minutes before, and while Hermione did feel compassion for Draco Malfoy's wife, inappropriate intimacy was something she knew to guard herself against when it came to anything to do with him.

Astoria noticed Hermione shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Seeing it seemed to gratify her, as if she wasn't surprised, as if she intended for the energy between them to feel overly intimate. "I'm sorry to speak so personally," she said, taking Freddie down from her shoulder to bounce him on her knee again. "It's just that I couldn't help but notice when the newspaper reported on your pregnancy earlier this month. Congratulations. It truly is wonderful for you."

Hermione hoped her face didn't look as hot as it felt. "Yes," she said, her hand falling over the slight bump in her abdomen. "It is indeed."

In an instant George had popped back. Freddie saw him and leaned toward him, Astoria reluctantly giving him up as Hermione rushed through their introductions. George beamed, open-mouthed and apparently delighted when he learned who had been holding his baby. "My own munchkin on the knee of Malfoy's missus. Who ever would have thought? What an absolute utopia we live in. Too bad Uncle Fred didn't live to see it."

Just then a horn blew and Lee Jordan's voice filled the pitch, thanking sponsors, recommending the Organization for Squib Integration and Education, the charity of the day. His next bit of business was to introduce the players. Slytherin went first, Lee running through the list mostly of schoolboy thugs who'd matured into beefy husbands and fathers, coaches for their children's teams, players in recreational weekend leagues.

Gregory Goyle, like George, had retired when his beater partner died. The beater positions were filled instead y a pair of sisters slightly older than Charlie. If they had been Muggles, they would have been smashing good at roller derby. Out on the pitch, Malfoy was eye-catching in a completely different way than the rest - tall and thin and pale. The showy bravado of his school days was tempered now, but there was still a tension to him, circling his team on his broom as they waited for the whistle, eying Charlie Weasley.

Oliver Wood was in his glory, pointing out all his teammates with flourish as Lee announced them. Angelina looked terrifyingly radiant, ready to vent some of her pregnancy, new-mother frustration on the unsuspecting Slytherin chasers. The beaters were a pair of men Charlie's age, one of them slightly tipsy. Despite his misgivings, Charlie received a warm applause from the crowd even though he wasn't the nation's chosen one.

Astoria squinted and craned her neck as he was introduced. "That's your husband, is it Hermione? The ginger playing seeker?"

"Yeah, that's Uncle Charlie," George answered before Hermione could.

Astoria leaned out of her seat, bending over the railing, trying to get a better sense of what Charlie looked like. Sight unseen, she assumed he'd be a good specimen, and from what she could see from her seat, he seemed to be. But his face - she couldn't decide on what to do next until she'd got a good look at his face, at his eyes. Nothing in the spell book said she had to, but she felt the need to know his face rising up from her own feelings. She stared at him just long enough for Hermione to be slightly annoyed.

The chests were opened to release the balls and the whistle blew. The aging, out of practice witches and wizards started off too hard, crashing inelegantly into one another as the crowd cheered. Wood was calling for everyone to smarten up and get themselves together when Malfoy came whizzing by Charlie, the tails of his robes flicking at Charlie's face.

Charlie ignored the bait, tipping his broom upward, in the opposite direction, climbing over the pitch to look down at everything from above. Malfoy looped around and began climbing as well. "Ah, so that's your game," Charlie said. Yes, the boy who learned to play by chasing Harry Potter and his extraordinary luck was still the kind of seeker who watched his opponent and attacked when he could tell they'd spotted something.

Charlie smirked."Kid stuff," he said, diving from his high position into a head-on collision course with Malfoy.

Still learning each other's game, Malfoy veered out of the way and watched Charlie blast by before he turned and gave chase. Charlie tested Malfoy's focus, drilling right through the mass of players scuffling over the quaffle, leading Malfoy between his own beaters. The sisters were playing a loud, loose game, hollering at Flint that he'd better lighten up and enjoy himself, or they'd fly off home. By the time they'd found a bludger and whacked it at Charlie, he was gone and the bludger was hurtling toward Malfoy instead. The sisters whooped an apology as they chased it off him.

In all the drama over seekers and bludgers, Angelina had managed to score the first goal. Play had to be paused as she took a victory lap, holding her broom with just her knees, her arms bent to show off her biceps, strong and well cut from carrying Freddie everywhere she went all day long. The Gryffindor side of the grandstand was on its feet belting out a chorus of "Weasley is our queen."

At the foot of the stands George was whooping louder than anyone, baby Freddie on his shoulders. George had to make enough noise for all of them, as Hermione and Astoria sat without breathing watching Charlie leading Malfoy through a gauntlet of flying projectiles and distracted players.

Play resumed, Marcus Flint chasing relentlessly after Angelina as Charlie led Malfoy into the path of the Gryffindor beaters. This time, Malfoy knew where he was, dodging fluidly, but skill is no match for liquor, and the tipsy Gryffindor beater managed to swing his bat wildly enough to send a bludger crashing into the bristle end of Malfoy's broom. A jet of smoke and straw shot out over the pitch. Astoria and Hermione stood up in unison, grasping at each other's hands.

"Malfoy's spinning, fighting for control," Lee Jordan called. "Looks like that posh broom of his has sustained some serious damage but he's holding it, holding it, and he's back in the game. No worries, folks. I'm sure it's insured."

Astoria and Hermione let out a loud sigh, and then a laugh as they untangled their fingers. "Stars, I hate this game," Hermione said, still laughing as she dried her palm on her robes.

Astoria fell back in her seat, finding a compact in her bag and re-powdering her nose. "As do I. Honestly, I don't care which of them finds the blasted snitch. I just want it to be over."

"How can you say that?" George marvelled. He threw his fist in the air. "Go Charlie!"

"Find it!" Hermione called after him.

At the sound of their voices, Charlie veered closer to them than he had all afternoon. The sun was behind him and Astoria raised her hand like a visor to try to see his face, but it was all in shadow. His voice called back to his family from far over the pitch.

"This one's for you, Hermione Granger!"

He shouldn't have announced it. He would have made a cleaner catch if he said nothing and grabbed the snitch out of the air before Malfoy knew anything about it. But once he dedicated the catch he hadn't quite made to Hermione, Malfoy was on him. He dived to where Charlie was closing in, Charlie's arm not yet outstretched as he hugged his broom low, gathering speed. Behind them, Flint scored a goal but the seekers paid it no mind. The crowd was involved now too, rising and chanting. Malfoy gave a single laugh, reaching out with his longer arms as he shot toward Charlie.

But the snitch was faster than he expected, not quite in range. Charlie's calibrations and his discipline were better. He was surging ahead, gaining on the snitch with his low, tight flying form. The snitch was almost level with his forehead, as if he'd been tracking it without looking at it somehow, by the time Charlie raised his eyes, the snitch was already in his hand.

The horns blared, the crowd roared, and Charlie was sitting up, slowing down. Maybe it was his damaged broom, or maybe it was something else that made Malfoy unable to stop in time. He careened into Charlie, his own broom falling away and the pair of them hitting the ground and skidded over the grass. They came to a stop near Lee Jordan's broadcast booth, not far from where their wives were on their feet, apparating out of the stands.

They were a jumble of arms and legs, Malfoy splayed on top of Charlie, panting and groaning in shock and pain. Charlie tensed, signalling he was about to get up. "Oi. You alright?" he asked when Malfoy didn't move.

But then Malfoy's face bobbed in front of his, and the mad creature was grinning. Charlie saw it for himself - the intensity. "Yeah. You?" Malfoy said. "Let's be sure." All at once, Malfoy's hands were on Charlie, feeling along his arms and shoulders, peering into his eyes and up his nose. It was as if Charlie was in the grip of the squid from the lake.

"Get off," Charlie said, no longer waiting politely for Malfoy to right himself. With a swift push he threw Malfoy aside.

Malfoy flew a wand's length through the air before landing with a thud on his back, rolling onto his side, laughing as he rocked to sitting. "Alright indeed."

Astoria and Hermione arrived with the double pop of their apparations. Hermione dropped to her knees at Charlie's side, feeling at his limbs much like Draco had done a moment ago, only with a much more pleasant effect on Charlie.

Astoria was the first to speak. "Draco, are you - "

She didn't finish, her eyes fixed not on her husband, but on Charlie. He was gaping back at her, hopping to his feet. They spoke one word to each other, almost the same word, and at the very same time.

"Chester?"

"Esther?"

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Charlie said. "Are you alright? When the hospital sent me away you were - "

"Yes," she said, and then, "no. We did try to find you. Draco asked everyone he could think of about a red-headed Chester."

Bewildered, Charlie looked at Hermione. "Who is Chester?" he asked.

"You, you're Chester. Aren't you?" Astoria said, her voice high, almost pleading.

Hermione took Charlie's arm. "Are you telling me this is Esther? And she thinks your name is Chester?"

He shrugged, still gaping.

"Charlie, you must have misheard her name," Hermione continued. "This is Astoria Malfoy."

"My wife," Draco finished. "And it appears she's got your name wrong too. Whatever the pair of you call one another, this is another most fortuitous meeting. A gift from the stars, as it were. Don't you agree, Astoria?"

She couldn't do it - couldn't keep matching Draco's slick, opportunistic manners - her manners faltered in the face of her shock at finding Chester, learning he was Charlie Weasley, bringing all back the feelings of their day together in the hospital. She had to force herself to say something, so she spoke the truth. "We're so grateful to you Ches - Charlie. For what you did for us, our family…"

She couldn't say anymore, bowing her head as Hermione closed an arm around her. "We're just happy to see you safe and well," Hermione said. "Charlie wondered about you every day."

Charlie nodded, not sure what else to do. He didn't look at Malfoy, knowing already what he'd see - a hungry intensity when what they needed to do was bring the situation back to a calm equilibrium. Poor Est - Astoria had been through enough without her mad husband winding everyone up.

Hermione sensed it too. She nudged Astoria toward Draco. He took her hand as Hermione released her and went to stand with Charlie. He felt his pulse slowing, calming as her hand settled into his. "Well, I suppose that's it for introductions then," Charlie said. "Malfoy, I believe you already know my wife."

Draco Malfoy nodded, one eyebrow lifted. "That I do."