It was a cold Sunday evening in late December. Hermione was in the Burrow's kitchen, sitting at the table with a book in her hand. She glanced up at Charlie, who sat across from her, sipping the hot chocolate Molly had made for them. The sun was slowly setting over the horizon, painting the sky with brilliant shades of reds, oranges, and purples. Soon, it would be time for the Sunday dinner Molly loved hosting every week.
"Want to go out and make snow angels with me?" Charlie asked, nudging Hermione with his foot, startling her from the book she was pretending to read.
Hermione glanced up at him with round eyes. "Snow angels?"
"Yes, snow angels. I figured you'd know all about them considering you're pretty angelic yourself," Charlie teased, winking at her. Hermione's heart almost gave out on her at the small action.
It had been like that ever since Charlie had returned home for Christmas. Since Fred's near-death experience with the falling wall, Charlie had started coming home more often to spend time with his family. Hermione never complained about his frequent trips. It gave her more opportunities to stay close to him and observe—'more like: ogle him,' her mind teasingly pointed out.
She shouldn't look at him like that; she had never looked at him like that before. He was her best friend's older brother.
Every time he spoke to Hermione, she spent the rest of the day wondering if he was purposely flirting with her or was it just in her overactive imagination? Not that she didn't want him to flirt with her—even a fool would be attracted to the wild redhead.
He was the most handsome man Hermione had ever seen. Dragon tattoos roamed over his body on their own accord. His thick-corded biceps looked like they could crush skulls, but his hands were capable of being incredibly gentle; after all, he was trained in handling baby dragons. Auburn-red curls sat atop his head, and his thick beard was the stuff of wet dreams—of Hermione's wet dreams. His toothy smile was devastatingly charming, and when paired with those oh-so-deep amber-brown eyes, Charlie Weasley was a force to be reckoned with.
"Hermione?" Charlie called out, startling her from her daydreams. She blinked, almost forgetting where she was. "Want to make some snow angels with me?"
Hermione bit her lip, mulling over her options. Stay inside and daydream about the gorgeous hunk of man? Or go out and spend more time with him? The answer was pretty obvious.
"Okay, let's go." She stood up and walked over to put on her coat. Charlie happily followed her out, and Hermione had to focus on placing one foot in front of the other. Why was she so unnaturally attracted to the man anyway?
Outside, the ground was covered with a blanket of powder-fresh snow. It shimmered under the light of the setting sun. Hermione shoved her hands in her pockets and stood there, staring at the white carpet and wondering how she was supposed to make snow angels in front of Charlie. It seemed like such a childish act—even though Charlie had been the one to suggest it in the first place.
She received her answer the next second.
Charlie lunged forward, wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and hoisted her up. Hermione squealed, grabbing onto Charlie's forearms. 'Merlin, they're thick.'
"Put me down!" she cried out, but Charlie simply laughed, the sound booming through the snow-covered garden and reverberating through her body.
"No way! I've got you right where I wanted," Charlie said, his tone full of mischief.
'Is he flirting again? What's going on? Is it only in my head? Merlin, help me!' Hermione tried to wriggle around in his grip, but Charlie only tightened his hold on her. He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "Hold on, Sunshine."
Before she could come up with a retort, Charlie had tossed her straight into the pile of snow. A flurry of snow flew up into the air and came crashing down on top of Hermione when she landed on her back. She gasped and flailed her arms, trying to push it off of her.
Charlie's laughter echoed around the garden. Hermione's heart swelled with more affection for the man. On an impulse, Hermione reached out, grabbed Charlie's wrist, and yanked him forward.
Or well, tried to yank him forward.
Charlie didn't even budge. Instead, his laughter increased in volume, and Hermione blushed as she let go of his wrist. 'Of course, I can't pull him down! He's like a mammoth! What were you thinking, Hermione?'
"If you wanted me on top, you could have just said so," Charlie teased as he crawled on top of her. He pushed himself up onto his forearms, his nose almost touching hers. "So, did you?"
"Did I what?" Hermione squeaked out, her face warming at how close he was. Her mouth went dry when his tongue poked out to lick his lower lip and brushed against hers.
"Want me on top?" Charlie whispered, his eyes darkening with each word he uttered.
Hermione's brain malfunctioned.
Charlie's body was pressing down on hers, his thigh was in between her legs, and those amber-brown eyes were gazing into hers as if they were the only two people in the world. And his question! Want me on top? How was she supposed to answer him without sounding like a lascivious woman (not that she wasn't desperate and horny beyond belief)?
She gawked at him, almost to the point that she began drooling. Her heart was pounding so hard she feared it would leap out of her ribcage and present itself to Charlie.
The corner of Charlie's lips turned up in a slow smirk, and someone whimpered. Had she made that sound? It sounded like a dying animal—or an angry Crookshanks.
"I wouldn't mind either way, you know…" Charlie whispered, breathing the words into her mouth. Dizziness washed over her when Charlie murmured, "You can be on top any time you want. I'd love to see you ride me."
Hermione didn't know who finally closed the minuscule distance, but all of a sudden, his lips pressed into hers, holding them hostage for a few moments before he pulled back. A deep-seated warmth blossomed in Hermione's chest when he brushed his fingers over her cheeks and let them linger.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't wait for a taste," Charlie murmured.
Hermione brought her fingers up to graze her freshly kissed lips. His mouth had been soft yet so rough at the same time. How had she not fainted during and after the kiss?
"Wh-what do I taste like?" Hermione managed to ask, sounding breathless to even her own ears.
"Like sunshine and freedom," Charlie replied, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head up. His nose pressed into hers when he whispered, "You taste like home."
Hermione almost fainted. Charlie Weasley was going to be the death of her, and oh, what a way to go that was!
"I'm sorry, but I can't stop myself… I'd like to kiss you again. Would you like that?"
Nodding, she breathed out, "Yes, please."
Charlie's face lit up and he beamed down at her before dipping his head to kiss her. The first light brush of his lips vanquished the butterflies in her stomach and left her anticipating more. One more brush of his lips, like an artist to his canvas, had Hermione's arms sliding around his neck, trying to pull him closer. When their lips met again, she met him halfway, allowing him to kiss her fully.
No man had ever awakened such conflicting feelings in her: tenderness mixed with an overwhelming desire to bring this strong, confident wizard to his knees.
Charlie's tongue swept into her mouth, hot and demanding, tasting of hot chocolate and something that was uniquely Charlie. He angled his head to deepen the kiss, and desire washed over Hermione like a tidal wave.
She moaned into his mouth, a guttural sound that she didn't even recognize as her own, and fisted his curls in her hands, in awe of how soft they were. She shifted her body so she could feel more of him. He was hard, and she was so close to—
"Charlie! Hermione! Where are you? Bill and Fleur are here," Molly's voice rang through the air, immediately dissolving the haze of lust Hermione was floating on.
Dissolving wasn't the right word. Hermione was still ready to hump him like her life depended on it, but she had to stop herself for now.
Hermione's eyes fluttered open when Charlie groaned into her mouth and pulled away, and she gasped at the heated look in his eyes. Charlie muttered, "Mum has terrible timing."
"Maybe it's for the best," Hermione murmured. When Charlie frowned, hurt flashing through his eyes, Hermione's face warmed as she stammered, "I don't think your mum would be happy if she saw us like this out in the open."
Charlie's eyes shone mischievously. "You're right. Maybe we should get a room instead."
Hermione squeaked out, "Maybe we should."
Charlie grinned and rolled off her. Laughter bubbled up and out of Hermione when he almost face-planted into the snow as he tried to get up. He stood up and extended his hand. "Come on, Sunshine. I know just where to take you."
Was this a good idea? No, it was not. Was this what Hermione wanted? Yes, yes, it was. Was Charlie even interested in her for more than a shag? Who knew?
Hermione took his hand and stood up, her chest brushing against his. "Lead the way."