Charlie stood in a cloud of stone dust smoothing the inner bowl of his handmade Pensieve for what he hoped would be the final time. During his most recent test of it, he'd seen a slight wobble in the image. No one would notice but him. He wanted it perfect anyway, and he was determined to right it before Hermione got home from work.

He had to accomplish something after sleeping in so uncharacteristically late this morning. Malfoy had kept him out the night before, drinking and playing billiards in some posh club with the gits Ronnie used to scrap with back in school. The one called Goyle seemed particularly keen for an excuse to start brawling even when he was still sober. Well past being scared of anything that didn't breathe fire, Charlie was certain he could have managed him, but Draco called the brute off every time Goyle's blood started to get up.

Whatever their manners were like, the rich lads had good liquor, strong hard expensive stuff, and lots of it. The whole thing felt like a test, a contest where the rest of them were trying to prove to Draco how unworthy Charlie was to be in their company while Draco tried equally hard to prove them wrong. It wasn't just snobbery but jealousy. Charlie, however, had the benefit of having learned to drink in eastern Europe and he was not about to be outdone by lightweight high society boys. In fact, it had been him who'd been clear-headed enough to ferry Draco home at the end of the night.

Draco had been so grateful, lolling against Charlie's shoulder as they came through the manor's Floo.

"Your parents," he'd bawled, "the Weasleys, they're show offs. They helped themselves to five goes at making the perfect ginger male specimen - "

"You mean, six goes," Charlie had smirked.

"NO!" Draco had maintained, much too loudly for the dim, quiet manor library. "I mean five. Those rangy doppelgangers only count as one go."

Charlie hadn't argued, using his strength to heft Draco onto his feet on the rug, wondering when this celebrated old house would step in and take over magically conveying its master up to bed.

"And Potter's flunky," Draco had gone on, his knees getting less loose and fluid, "that youngest brother of yours - well, he's a specimen that hardly bears mentioning."

"Come on then, Malfoy," Charlie had said, dragging him to the door. "I thought we had all agreed to forgive and forget."

"Yes, everything else, but not that," he'd slurred. "I keep remembering that so Granger can forget. That's the deal. For Granger."

"It's Weasley," Charlie had said.

"Of course you are," Draco had said, patting both of Charlie's rosier-than-usual, ever-so-freckled cheeks. "Charles Lucius Weasley."

"No, I reckon Lucius is your middle name," Charlie had protested.

Draco hadn't acknowledged the correction. "Charlie Weasley - his Mum and Dad's best attempt at the perfect ginger male specimen."

Charlie had laughed at this, his voice ringing through the vaulted main hall of the manor, drunk enough not to notice how inappropriately loud it was. "No, that would be big brother Bill."

"Bill," Draco had sneered. "The troublemaker werewolf banker?"

"He's a curse-breaker, not strictly a banker, and not a werewolf - "

"That's not what I heard," Draco had said, scoffing and reaching for the bannister with his free hand, mistakenly believing it was his own power, not Charlie's, that was moving him up the grand staircase. "They say he's got a beard down to his chest every full moon."

Charlie had laughed more softly. "True enough, Malfoy."

"Nah, not him. Bankers were never my type," Draco had said. "That Percy though - the authoritarian prig, Head Boy while we were at school - always rather liked him. What's he like? I mean, really like?"

Charlie had laughed again, darkly this time. "Penitent."

"What? Hesitant?"

"No, penitent," Charlie had said, lugging the both of them into the upper corridor. "You know. Always a bit sorry. Rather like yourself in that regard."

"I am sorry," Draco had agreed. "Penitent. Yes. But you know what, Weasley? I still say it's you, not Percy, who is the perfect ginger male specimen."

Charlie had answered with a snort and a shake of his head. "Rubbish. Now where's your room, Malfoy? I can't let you sleep here or you'll roll down the stairs."

"Perfect," Draco had insisted, his voice ringing through the hall now. "You are the father of Granger's child. Master of dragons and the very naughtiest owls. Builder of Penseives and reader of runes and catcher of snitches. And don't get me started on these arms. At first sight I thought they were too short for anything but - "

"Which way to your room, Malfoy?" Charlie had shouted over him.

"Wait. Let me say this," Draco had insisted. At last, he was standing on his own power, swaying as he held onto each side of Charlie's head, focusing his bleary grey eyes.

Charlie had clamped his hands around each of Draco's wrists. "Stars help me, Malfoy, if you try to snog me - "

"I won't," Draco had shouted over him again. "Maybe a kiss on the cheek, like I did with Granger. That's all you'll get. I'm in love with that snooty Greengrass girl. But I'm glad to know you, Weasley, glad someone like you can exist without me hating you. You took my hand when I offered it. I'm glad you're my friend."

At this, he'd slumped forward again, Charlie scrambling to keep his footing beneath both of them. Draco's head on his shoulder was heavy and breathy, speaking into Charlie's ear. "Say I'm your friend."

Charlie had groaned a laugh in reply.

"Say it back," Draco had drawled. "Come on, Weasley. I'll admit you're worth five Goyles at least - "

"I'm not," Charlie had argued, hoisting Draco higher in his arms. "Everyone's worth the same. But yes, you disgusting sot, I'll say you're my friend."

Draco had snorted a laugh in Charlie's ear, slowly pushing himself upright, turning his face to smack a loud, sloppy kiss on Charlie's cheek. "There you have it," he'd cheered as Charlie yelped and swiped his face dry. "Best kisser at Hogwarts. Ask - ask anyone."

Just then a door creaked open not far from where they stood. Astoria had stepped into the corridor, one hand shielding her eyes from the glare of the lamp lights. "Draco?" she'd called softly.

"Yes," Charlie had said, lurching the pair of them toward her. "He's enjoyed himself at the club rather too much, I'm afraid."

Realizing Charlie was there, Astoria had gasped and summoned her wand. She used it to relieve him of Draco's weight, levitating him off of Charlie's shoulder and drawing him toward herself. "Oh dear," she'd said. "He'll have loved you up good then. He's an extremely friendly drunk. I'm sorry, Charlie. Thank you. I've got him."

"It's alright," Draco had answered for Charlie, his arms falling from around Charlie's shoulders as he drifted away from him. "Weasley doesn't find me heavy."

"Well, that doesn't mean you're not," she'd scolded, stepping out of the doorway as he floated by her, their bed linens turning themselves down to receive him.

He sighed and grunted into his pillows, leaving Charlie and Astoria standing in the corridor alone. She hadn't brought a dressing gown and shivered in the draughty hall, her arms and shoulders bare.

"I'd like a private word, Charlie," she'd said.

He'd cleared his throat. "It's late," he'd said, suddenly conscious of the state of himself, realizing the pungent smell of metabolizing alcohol hadn't all been Malfoy. He ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I'm not at my best. Another time."

"Of course," she'd rushed to agree. "Not now, but tomorrow. I'll come for you tomorrow."

He'd nodded. "Alright. Hermione gets home from work around half six."

"Understood," she'd said as she moved behind the bedroom door to push it closed. "I'll make sure to come before then."

"No, that's not what I - "

But the door had closed before he could correct her.

And now he stood in the back garden, out in the open, staying busy, waiting to meet her. Astoria still hadn't arrived when it started to rain. Charlie was so close to finishing with the Pensieve he let it fall, soaking his hair as he bent over his work.

He'd forgotten how quiet the days could be. There was the sound of stone grinding under his wand and stone file, but no voices in his ears. In Romania there had been the roars of dragons, the males calling like roosters as long as the sun was up. Bogdan had been his constant workmate too, consulting and joking, bearing with Charlie as he practiced his new language. And then Hermione had arrived at the sanctuary, and they'd spent every moment together until they came back to Britain. Since she'd gone back to the office, the voice in his head most often during the day had been Draco Malfoy's.

"Ah, the fabulous house-husbands of Diagon Alley," George had called them when Draco tagged along on an errand from Molly that brought Charlie to the joke shop.

Draco didn't think of himself as a house-husband, of course. In his own mind, he was a gentleman, another generation in a long line of grown, educated men who didn't have to work for a living.

"And you are not a house-husband either," Hermione had sniffed when Charlie told her about it. "You are a world class dragonologist on a well-deserved Sabbatical leave from the sanctuary. And it's not as if you aren't working."

It was true. He was spending much of his time with Draco in the public archives and at the library at the manor, reading nasty old lore on illegal experiments with wizards and Muggles subjected to dangerous dragon-based potions. It was dark work, and it had yet to yield anything that could restore the Grangers' lost memories. Both of these facts made it very disheartening. Draco's part in the project wasn't just supplying Charlie with reference dictionaries and gruesome reading material. He had made himself responsible for lightening the mood when it got too heavy.

"It's a talent developed over a lifetime of experience," Draco had explained. "The gift of stomaching horror with some fun and flare."

Part of their lightness included Charlie introducing Draco to Muggle football on the Grangers' television. What Draco enjoyed most was when the players would make bids for penalty kicks, diving onto the ground and feigning injury. He claimed they were all terrible at it and would fall on the rug in the lounge to demonstrate how it should really be done.

"No need to explain," Hermione had said. "Anyone who went to school with him has seen him do it enough times."

They had also blown off the steam working on the Pensieve. Draco had grown interested and expert enough to sacrifice the smooth, shiny surface of his plain but meticulously manicured fingernails to the grit and scuffs of stonework. Charlie worked his way around to the side Draco had finished. If he didn't know better, he wouldn't be able to tell it apart from the side he'd done himself.

Charlie straightened his back and looked up into the grey sky. He couldn't be. No, he was. He was missing his friend Draco Malfoy while he was away at meetings with that vile bank today. Charlie shuddered and shook his head, rainwater flying from its dark red tips.

Someone cooed in surprise. He turned to find Astoria, wiping the water he'd flicked from her face, stepping carefully across the wet wood of the Grangers' porch as she came toward him under an umbrella.

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't see you there."

"It's alright. Very refreshing," she laughed. "So this is the Pensieve my darling helped with."

"Yeah," Charlie said, stepping aside to let her see it. "Nothing fancy. Basic really. No Etruscan engravings."

"No, but it's got something far more rare to it," she sniffed. "Draco's manual labour."

"Right. Genuine Malfoy elbow grease," Charlie smirked.

"Elbow?"

"Oh, not real grease. It's - it's just a Muggle expression. Hermione uses it when we need to get grass stains off me," Charlie said. "And now my dad is always trying to slip it into polite conversation, so…"

He trailed off, a moment of silence straining between them. Astoria raised her eyebrows. "We'd better get you out of the weather, hadn't we? I could use some tea to get the chill off myself."

Charlie waved at the house. "Of course. Yes. The garden door is open. Let yourself in and I'll cover this up and be right behind you."

They turned away from each other, Charlie draping a tarp over the Pensieve and using his wand to secure and conceal it. It was a shame Astoria hadn't arrived an hour later. In that much time he could have finished it, Hermione would be home, Draco might be through with his meeting -

Charlie whirled around, the sole of his shoe squeaking against the slick surface of the porch, at the sound of Astoria crying out. She had slipped and landed hard on her tailbone on the wet wood. He skidded to a halt next to where she sat rocking with pain and fear in her damp cloak. It hadn't been an elegant fall, but he didn't expect to find her anything but embarrassed by it. What he found instead was Astoria hyper-ventillating, clawing at his arm.

"What is it?" he said, crouching beside her. "Deep breaths, Astoria. You're alright."

"Not me," she managed to say between gasps. "Baby."

"Baby?" Charlie echoed. "You're expecting again?"

She nodded, bowing over her abdomen, still breathless and pale, tears on her face. "Ruined it already," she moaned. "Shouldn't have gone out in the rain. Never got to tell Draco."

"You'll get to tell him," Charlie said. "Where does it hurt? Do you think you're bleeding."

She shook her head. "I'm scared."

And he saw that she was. "Astoria, I don't think you're very hurt. What you are is panicking. But I think you're both alright."

She grimaced at him, disbelieving, struggling for breath.

He held her face. Her skin was smooth and cold as marble, as if she was about to faint, her eyes drifting out of focus. "Listen," he said to her. "Close your mouth. Take a deep breath through your nose and blow it out your mouth."

"I'm losing it - "

"You're not," he said, shushing her, rubbing his palms against her sleeves. "Come on. Breathe with me. If you manage not to pass out, I can show you everything is alright. I promise."

She did as he said, and in a minute her breathing was still loud and shaky, but deep enough to keep her awake, trembling in his arms, slumped against his shoulder.

"Good enough," Charlie said, and he gathered her up and carried her into the house.

Inside, he set her on the sofa, keeping close even as they came apart. She leaned back, into the cushions, her hair caught like a net over her face. Charlie cleared it away. Her skin was still pale but she'd stopped crying.

"There's our girl," he said. "I'll get you that tea."

"Wait," she said, her fingers closing over his hand. "You promised you'd show me our baby was safe. Please, don't leave me until you do."

He sat back, clearing his throat, letting her keep hold of his hand, warmth returning to her fingers. "Right. On the first day we met, after I left the hospital," he began. "I learned a spell. It's a midwife's spell. I've used it with Hermione and with my sister to check in on their babies, make sure they're strong. I'm not sure it will work on a pregnancy as new as yours, and I don't want to throw you into despair if it doesn't. But if you like, we could try it."

Astoria nodded, whispering. "Yes, please."

Charlie took his wand in his hand, drew in a deep breath of his own, and began the complex wandwork of the charm, the incantation soft, almost inaudible as he whispered it over her where she lay beside him. Gradually, the familiar gold light rose over Astoria's abdomen. Her mouth fell open at the sight of it, her eyes wide, still harbouring fear. The light swirled once, growing and then shrinking, quivering, looking for a moment as if it might go out.

"Charlie, please," she said, as if they could make it flare bright again simply by wanting it badly enough.

"Come on," he murmured over it, breathing through the incantation one more time. Instead of dimming completely, the golden light pulsed, one clear throb before shimmering into rhythmic waves, like a pulse almost too quick and tiny to see, like the beating wings of hummingbirds' wings, or a fairy's.

Charlie's forehead smoothed, his breath rushing out of him. "There they are," he said.

"That's them?" Astoria said, still whispering, as if she might scare the flickering light away.

"Yes, that's our sign of baby Malfoy," Charlie confirmed. "It's faint since they're so new, but there they are."

Astoria raised her hand and dipped her fingers into the gold light. Its arc bent and curved around her, as if it was fluid. "It's so warm," she said.

Charlie hummed. "Beautiful." He turned his wand to show her every side of the orb. "There they are, safe and well."

Without a word of warning, Astoria sat up, the baby's golden orb folding back into her abdomen, her arms clasped around Charlie's neck, her face pressed to his throat. "But how long can I keep them safe? How long did the others stay safe before I…?"

She couldn't finish, her delicate shoulders shaking with silent sobs again. Charlie sighed, the pain and fear of that morning in the hospital rushing back into his heart. He closed his arms around her, holding her tight. "I don't know," he said. "But this is why you and Hermione need to work on your relationship. If the pair of you were closer, we could try the Gravida Sympatico spell today. But since you've been avoiding her - "

"Who says I'm avoiding her?" Astoria said, leaning back to look Charlie in the face, her expression was cross, one of her hands falling from around his neck, landing with a thud over his heart.

"No one has to say it," Charlie said. "She's trying to ask you to be one of her midwives - to learn to care for her with spells like the one we just did. She wants to trust you. But every time I bring her along to the manor lately, you're indisposed somehow."

Astoria closed her eyes. "I want to trust her too. But it's so hard, so traumatic being pregnant again after all we've been through. I feel like a bad potion about to explode and blow the cauldron to bits. I can't take on any more emotional work. That's why I came here. To get you to ask Hermione to forget about having me as a midwife. Imagine it from my position. Accepting responsibility for a storied war hero, the secret unrequited love of my husband's school years, the wife of the best person I know - it's extremely daunting."

Charlie was shaking his head. "But it's worth it to make the spell work. You're tired and traumatized but I know you believe that. And you can trust that Draco and I will do anything we can to help."

Astoria's eyes were open now, and above them, one of her eyebrows twitched, bending upward. "Anything? Really?"

There was a dangerous silkiness to her voice. The sound of it slid over Charlie, and beneath her hand, she felt his heartbeat crash, his skin growing suddenly hot through the cool dampness of his shirt. Their eyes were fixed on each other's, their faces close enough that it was difficult for either of them to see anything else. There was a slight flutter in Charlie's pale eyelashes, and he saw her throat move as she swallowed.

He was hardly surprised when she forced out a single word. "Triadum."

The word stunned him all the same, the name of a tier three fertility spell, cast between a biological father and mother, and one other wizard added after conception, the connection always sexual. Charlie blinked, slow and heavy, his cheeks flushing red.

"We could finish a Gravida Triadum spell now. You and me," she said, her tone still silky, low and controlled. "Look at how we've ended up here together, at this moment. Everything's perfect, as if it were meant to be this way. Ever since we met, Charlie, there's been something between us, something fated and rare. More than magical. You know it too."

He was shaking off the shock. Clearing his throat, as if fighting to restart his voice and mind.

On the sofa beside him, Astoria was rising onto her knees, bringing their faces level, their chests pressed together. "It's alright, Charlie. Lie back. I'll do the rest. Leave it all to me. No one has to know. They'll put the baby's survival down to good luck. Whatever they call it, the baby will be safe. No more work or worry."

All of her weight and strength wouldn't have been enough to force Charlie to lie back and let her have what she wanted. She knew it and simply held her pressure against him, her head tipping slowly toward his neck, her lips parted, poised to devour him if he didn't resist.

"No," he said, collecting both her hands, pulling them off his torso and holding them between them. "No, Astoria. No one wants this."

"I do," she said, all silkiness gone from her voice. It was now intense, petulant. "And in an unguarded instant just now, I saw that you wanted it too."

Maybe she was right. But it didn't matter what passing desire might have flashed over him. He didn't decide what he felt, but he did decide what to do about his feelings.

His answer was simple, unequivocal. "I want Hermione more," he said. "Always. I've seen her devastated by a man who let himself be enslaved to his desires, and that is never happening to her again. And that's to say nothing of how miserable I would be if someone ever took her place, even once, even for the best of reasons."

Astoria sat back.

"And then there's Draco," Charlie went on, keeping hold of her hand as she tried to withdraw. "Astoria, you were there in the library with us when Draco told us he didn't want to be part of any more Triadum spells. If anyone knows how difficult they are, it's him. He knows that no matter how it might feel to us in this moment, alone in this house, this isn't the easy way out."

She snatched her hand away, answering through gritted teeth. "Draco would come around to it in time, just like his father did when his mother went without asking into a Gravida Triadum spell with Severus Snape. Draco always comes around to whatever gets him what he wants."

Charlie was on his feet, moving to the window to look out at the rainy street. "We both know Draco is not as much like his father as people assume. Behind his charm and bravado he is terrified of losing the love he's found, love he still hardly believes he deserves. And wanting a family is different for Draco than anything else he's ever wanted before. He'd be heartbroken by this, especially if it came from me. Even if I was still single and Hermione's heart wasn't at risk, I wouldn't do this to Draco. He loves you."

Behind him, Astoria scoffed.

"You know it's true," Charlie insisted. "Remember him trying to stuff me into his dressing gown when I turned up at your house half asleep and half dressed, looking for Hermione? He hated for you to see that much of me, let alone…" Charlie hung his head. "No, you belong together."

Astoria covered her face, finally ashamed of herself. "I adore Draco. I do. I love him so much I want a family with him. I'm trying everything..."

"Then have a family," Charlie said, falling to sit beside her again, taking the hand she was using to hide her face. "Have this one. Believe in the plan the four of us made together. Fix things between yourself and Hermione so we can work the Gravida Sympatico spell and protect this little one. Have a family with all of us in it."

She sniffed against new tears. "You'd take me? Even after what - what I just asked of you?"

The sun was setting, the lounge growing dark. Her eyes were shadowed, difficult to read. Charlie leaned toward her, pressing his forehead to hers.

"I would take you," he promised. "I'm not angry with you but even if I was, for the baby's sake and for Malfoy's and for the sake of all the good that could come into our world from an allegiance of our families, I would still take you, Astoria."

"And Hermione?" she asked, barely loud enough to hear. "You're going to tell her, aren't you?"

"I - I have to," he said. "But don't give up hope. Think of this as your first step in believing in her."

Hermione stepped through the Floo from the Ministry atrium and into her parents' house, blinking in the dark. Where was Charlie? Her eyes were adjusting to the low light, and she noticed a crumpled sheet of an old newspaper glowing with a slow burn over the coffee table, like the little flames she liked to make herself.

"Charlie?"

He sat on the floor, watching the edges of the paper crackle and glow. "Hey, love," he said, not getting up.

She set her bag on the table and sat beside him, letting herself down more slowly than usual, the heaviness in her belly getting harder to manage every day now. Charlie opened his arms and held her close, her face against his chest, his mouth pressed to the crown of her head.

"You didn't have to go out in the rain," he said. "That's good."

"Is it?" she said. "I like a little rain every now and then. Did you finish that last bit of fussing over the Pensieve before it started?"

"No," was all he said, stroking her hair. "Missed you terribly today."

Hermione scoffed. "That's just because Malfoy wasn't here chattering away at you."

Charlie sighed. "Who said there was no Malfoy here?"

It was something of a rhetorical question, but that wasn't why Hermione left it unanswered. She lifted her face from Charlie's chest. "Your smell is different. What is that?" She bent to sniff deeply and deliberately at his shirt. "It's flowery. What have you been into? It's familiar, rather like…"

Charlie unclasped his arms from around her, gripped the hem of his T-shirt and whipped it over his head, throwing it into the shadows across the room.

It seemed like an overreaction, and Hermione sat squinting at him, now half naked in the dim firelight. "Charlie?"

He was pulling her close again, her body still in her cloak next to his bare skin. Her hand rose to his chest, sinking into the light, downy mat of his hair there. He was kissing her, slow but sweetly hot, quickening her pulse, one hand framing the back of her skull, beneath her curls. She was tired but heat was rising in her anyway. She held him tight, falling backward, moving to pull him down on top of her. But his free hand was propped on the rug, holding them up.

He tipped his mouth away from hers. "I love you," he said.

The mood was serious, lush with feeling, some of it pain. She caressed his cheek. "What happened, love?"

He let her gravity lower them to the rug, not lying on top of her but twisting to lie beside her, curving around her, one hand cradling her belly, his chin on her shoulder.

"Nothing happened," he said. "That's what I have to tell you. But the scent on me was Astoria's. She was here."