Hey guys!
Thanks for the love on the prologue, now I bring you chapter 1. I really struggled with writing Oliver's accent, so please let me know what you think. Reviews are love!
-T
Chapter 1 – "Slow burn" Atreyu
Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows of the old charms classroom as Hermione finished up the last bit of cleaning. The room was no longer dusty, stale, or dated. Hermione's own personal taste was clear in the artwork and posters lining the room, the clean lemon scent, and candles floating everywhere, giving off soft warm light. It was the perfect space to start the new school year tomorrow.
Her personal quarters up near the Astronomy tower were decorated in much the same. Gone where the Gryffindor colors Ron had favored, replaced by cool blues and greys. They soothed her ragged soul and offered her a peaceful place to lay her head. Hermione had arrived earlier that day, as was required of new professors, to set up her space. She spent the entire day making sure everything was perfect. In less than 24 hours, her student would arrive.
And….. the Brightest Witch of Her Age was nervous. She had zero experience with teaching, but loved being a student. All she could do was to be the Professor she would've loved to have had in her years at Hogwarts. She would have to tone down her expectations, Professor McGonagall had assured her of that. Her former Head of House, had also assured her how much she would love it. There was no experience that could prepare for the joy, pure and true, as you watched your students grow and learn to control the magic stemming from their very souls.
After the chaos of the last 6 months of her life, Hermione had finally found peace. Single life was suiting to her and Crookshanks, her beloved kneazel. She was no longer the shell of the woman she had become under Ron. She was vivacious; unstoppable. She wore clothes more daring than she would ever have been allowed to with her ex-husband, her feminine curves accentuated by clingy tops, slinky dresses, and a fabulous new collection of underwear. Ron, for all his chest beating, was still a pure blooded wizard who had expected her to meet certain expectations. She'd taken to wearing more muggle clothing since leaving her job at the ministry. Hermione Granger was now more comfortable in her own skin than she had ever been in her entire adult life.
Her wool gathering was interrupted by a knock against the door frame. "Got a minute to say hello to an old friend, darling?" A familiar baritone voice called. She spun with a grin to see Charlie Weasley smiling roguishly at her as he leaned against the doorway. It had been at nearly two years since she'd last seen Charlie, and time had certainly been good to her former brother in law.
Standing at close to six and a half feet, he was the tallest of the Weasley sons, but not lanky as you would expect for someone of his height; instead his frame was heavily muscled and as tanned as his pale skin would allow. His Weasley red hair was shoulder length, tied back at the nape of his neck, and his blue eyes danced with mischief. The closely shorn goatee he wore was different, but he wore it well. Hermione spotted a few new magical tattoos and scars adorning his arms, and the same dragon fang earring he and Bill always wore was in his left ear. He wore his jeans and fitted black T-shirt like a second skin. He looked every bit the dangerous Dragon Tamer she knew him to be.
"Of course! Charlie, it's damn good to see you." She jumped off her desk, walking towards him at a brisk pace. He met her halfway and scooped her up in a tight hug. She was keenly aware of how small she was in his arms. Her feet dangled just below his knees. His cheek brushed hers, and she idly wondered what that stubble would feel like on other parts of her skin.
"You too, kitten. What's this cursing I hear? Tut, tut, Professor Granger." He laughed boisterously, sitting her back on her feet. As much as Charlie had hated to hear what had happened between Hermione and his idiot brother, she looked good, happy. There was a spark in her eyes again.
She did her best to look menacing, and quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, Charlie, you're certainly one to talk. I expect you can teach me an entirely new vocabulary of Romanian curses, as well as some more inventive English ones from your time out on the Reserve. Besides, I'm not a Professor until the students arrive tomorrow." She stated, sassily.
His smile was quick and easy, "You're very correct; I can and may teach you a few things. If you're finished here, what do you say to joining me and the rest of the younger crowd for dinner and a pint in Hogsmeade? A little bit of a celebration and catching up, for old time's take." He coaxed needlessly. When was the last time she had gone for a drink with friends? She couldn't remember.
"That sound's lovely. I'm famished. I didn't realize how late it had gotten while I was working. Do I have time to go change?" She gestured helplessly towards her dirty clothes. "I don't exactly look fitting to be seen in public."
"Are you a witch or not, woman? Scougify them, and you'll be good to go. Come on, kitten, they won't wait forever." Charlie harassed, as he was known to do. He had an easy-going air about him, but once he wanted something he was like a bulldog with a bone.
The walk to The Three Broomsticks was quick. Banter flowed easily between Hermione and Charlie as they took the familiar path on the warm summer evening. Although they hadn't known each other well until after the war, Hermione counted Charlie as her second favorite Weasley, after Ginny. He was… magnetic. You couldn't help but like the man. He had been one of the first she'd floo called after finding Lavender and Ron together. He understood anger, having worked with fire-breathing dragons for the past 15 years. His offer to maim Ron to a bloody pulp was an open-ended offer, should she ever decide it was necessary.
Charlie's hand was warm at the small of her back as he guided her into the pub and toward a booth in the far back corner. Familiar faces could be found. Neville, now in his third term as Professor of Herbology, had grown into his skin, looking confident and calm as he offered a smile and a wave. Hannah Abbott, also in her third term as Professor of Muggle Studies, was cozied up to him, and offered Hermione a warm smile. Rounding out their merry group was Oliver Wood, joining herself and Charlie in their first terms. Wood's eyes were vaguely predatory as he surveyed Hermione with interest. Their gazes met and a spark of heat flooded Hermione's system.
Wood had always been an enigma to her in their Hogwarts days. No one besides the Quidditch team had known much about him, and even they were limited by his obsession with the sport. He'd grown into his lanky frame, she realized. Professional quidditch training had left him quite fit. His face no longer held its boyish charm; his closely cropped beard and hair set off his angular cheekbones and jawline. But those warm hazel eyes put her hackles up. This wasn't a man to be trifled with, for her own sanity; every inch of her body felt hyperaware as she slid into the booth next to him. Charlie took the seat next to her, and she felt like she could've choked on their overwhelming presences on either side of her.
"Hello, Hermione. It's good to see ye." Oliver said softly, is brogue brushed against her skin almost as if it were a physical caress.
Shaking off her gut feeling, she gave him a bright smile, and fought the urge to squirm in her seat. "You too, Oliver." Thankfully, Hannah and Neville were wrapped up in canoodling with each other, but Charlie's eyes caught the entire exchange. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Drinks and food were fetched, and Hermione felt much more comfortable with a pint of butterbeer in her hand. She laughed at the tales Neville told of some unfortunate incidents with some of his plants, none however, topping the mandrake incident of their second year. Hannah, quiet as ever, only added to the conversation when spoken too directly. Hermione remembered that crippling shyness well. She was going to make it a point to draw her out this year.
Charlie talked animatedly of his time on the reserve, telling stories she had heard many times before, but never grew old. Charlie was a passionate about rebuilding the dragon population, and had worked tirelessly to help grow the breeding programs; something he and Hermione had worked together on during her time at the ministry.
As Neville and Hannah bid their farewells and headed back towards the castle, conversation drifted to quidditch, the former teammates shocked at her depth of knowledge at the sport. Having never played and being terrified of flying, Hermione had caught on over the years listening to Ginny, Harry and Ron. She was by no means an expert but could hold her own. Hermione liked to be competent in all aspects of her life.
Sipping her butterbeer, she observed the two men from lowered lashes. They were so comfortable around each other. Four years of quidditch, she supposed, could do that, however long ago that may've been. Charlie was animated, hands flying as he spoke; Wood, however, more reserved. His predator's eyes occasionally flickering to Hermione. His gaze left a trail of heat wherever it touched. Her cleavage specifically, felt warm.
"What'd you say, Hermione?" Charlie asked, a bright smile lit up his features. She shook off her daze.
"I'm sorry, care to repeat that?" She shouldn't be this lightheaded after a few beers, no matter how infrequent her alcohol consumption. She should attribute it to the two masculine gazes cutting her way.
"What'd you say to a bonfire with just the three o' us? Tis' a better place to catch up than a pub, ye know? I've got a bottle of firewhiskey I could bring, if ye'd like." Oliver pondered, his soft voice pouring over her. Good knight, that accent... Hermione pressed her legs together unwittingly.
She bit her lip, and watched as both Charlie and Oliver's gaze dropped to the teeth nipping into her full lower lip. Well, okay then. "Whiskey sounds a perfect end to this night. I'm assuming we'll be outside Hagrid's hut? Well, Charlie's hut now?" Hermione asked. "I should really go change into something more comfortable…. And warmer." She gestured to her torn jeans and thin tank top.
"Don't be ridiculous. You can borrow warmer clothes from me. Oliver, lets walk her back to the cabin, and break open that bottle." Charlie was so fucking confident in himself, no matter what the situation. A tipsy Hermione put up no argument as they paid their tab, and carted her off towards Hogwarts.
She was content as both men slung an arm around her waist. She liked the fact that they were not afraid to touch her. Granted, they were both supporting her as she stumbled along, but that was beside the point. Gods, it had been ages since she allowed herself to be free like this. The cool air and brisk walk had gifted her some clarity. Charlie laid her out an old quidditch jersey and a soft pair of sweats to wear before he lit the fire.
Her former surname emblazoned on her back, wearing clothes that smelled like Charlie she rejoined the men around a now blazing fire. She was quite gone as she toasted the two men with a glass of whiskey half as full as their own. "To new beginnings!" she proclaimed, clinking her glass with their own. She downed the drink in a single pull, reveling in the warmth as the liquor hit her system.
"I'll drink to that." Oliver winked at her, downing a good portion of his glass. "Come on luv, have a sit." Charlie looked slightly concerned as he refilled her glass, but said nothing. Hermione was once again positioned loosely between the two men. The firelight cast interesting shadows on their faces, lending to the air of mystery surround them.
"So, this is what it feels like to let loose, hmm?" She pondered, staring into the dancing flames. At 26, Hermione could count of one hand the number of times in her life she had allowed herself more than two drinks. Ron had always gotten far too intoxicated when they went out for her to do anything besides babysit him. She sipped the liquor, and blew steamy air into the cool night air, giggling.
"Now that you're well into your cups, care to tell me the truth about what my fuckhead of a brother did?" Charlie asked. Her languid body immediately went stiff, but then softened.
"I suppose I will. It'll be good for my soul to talk about how damned horrible he was. A cathartic release, more than anything." Her laugh was bitter on her tongue. "I'm going to go ahead and apologize for how much baggage I'm about to unload on you Oliver."
"Nothing to apologize for. I don' reckon any of it was yer doin'. Jus' speak yer peace." He patted her arm, and refilled her glass of liquid courage with a smile.
"You know I caught him in bed with Lavender Brown, Charlie, but Ron had been acting suspicious for weeks. Coming home late, leaving for work early, I could've swore I smelled perfume on him a few times too, but I have no proof. In my soul, I knew, though. Our sex life had been non-existent for months; well, since we found out I couldn't have children. That was so hard to deal with, especially once Ginny got pregnant.
I've spent the past few months grieving not only the loss of my marriage, but the death of the person I was with Ron. I put up with so much shite in the past few years I can't even explain. He was more obvious about his distaste of my work, and everything else I did, telling me I was wasting my time fighting for werewolf rights. He changed. I think he blamed me for not being able to give him children, so he belittled me any way he could. I tried so hard to make it work, but finding him in my bed with a fucking porn slag was my last straw. He made a fool of me. D'you know, she had the nerve to tell me he'd planned to bring her in as a third in our marriage?" She hiccupped as laughed, and downed the last of her whiskey.
Charlie looked dumbfounded, struggling for words. "You… You're serious? Hermione, if I'd have known…"
She cut him off, "But you didn't, Charlie. I've survived so much, this isn't likely to kill me. After some soul searching I've figured out I was married to your brother because it was what was expected after the war. I don't think I ever really loved him; I just deluded myself into thinking I did. It was comfortable. I've made my peace with it, but I'll never settle for comfortable ever again. I took this position to reinvent myself I suppose. I just want to figure out who I am as a woman. I never took time to do that before. I wonder if I am the cold fish your brother accused me of being." Her gaze never left the fire.
"I'd reckon Ron is the fecking fool here, not you, lass. Throwin' a beauty like you away is a crime. I'd not figure ye to be the cold fish type. Ye're too feisty." Oliver smirked at her, refilling her glass. The alcohol had done its job, and she laughed as he'd meant her to.
"Thank you? I think." She drank again.
"He meant it as a compliment, I promise. He's right though. You've got nothing to be sorry for. But I'm going to punch the fool in the mouth the next time I see him. I won't bring it up again, love, I just had to know." Charlie kissed her hand gently, and his warm lips set her overloaded system aflame. She bit her lip. Why was she so attracted to him? He should remind her too much of Ron, but those tattoos and intense eyes did something to her.
"Why'd you leave your dragons, Charlie?" She wondered. He leaned back on the blanket, contemplative. He made Hermione think of a big cat.
"Ma and Dad are getting on in years. I've got a passel of nieces and nephews to spoil. Mostly, I'd spent fifteen years in the company of dragons with all my limbs intact. It was time to leave before my luck ran out. I'll be going back every now and then for a holiday, though. Teaching lets me keep current, but is a little easier on my body." He gestured to the multitude of scars covering his arms.
"Don't you know, witches love the scars? It makes them think you're dangerous." She giggled. Charlie quirked an eyebrow.
"Love, whatcha don't realize is how dangerous Charlie Weasley really is." Oliver threw an arm around her shoulder. Charlie cut him a dark look.
"What about you, Oliver Wood? You're dangerous too. I know that. The papers always talked about the string of women you left in your wake." Gods, was that her voice? So flirty.
He chuckled darkly, "I promise ye, I've never taken a lass to bed that dinae want to go. Broombunnies are only fun for the first year or so though. Then it makes it sweeter to go for the ones who play hard ta get." Hermione was going to have fantasy fuel for a year if this conversation kept going. Was it always this fun to flirt?
"On that note, darling, I'm cutting you off and putting you to bed. You've clearly passed your limits." Charlie stated. He was right. Sober Hermione wouldn't say things like this.
"Are you going to make me walk all that way all alone?" She whined, leaning against Oliver, who tightened his grip on her waist.
"Never, pet. I'll walk ye back. Me quarters are in the castle, too." Oliver offered.
"That, or you could take my bed, love. The choice is yours." Charlie smiled at her, but there was something incomprehensible burning behind his blue eyes. She blinked, trying to gather her wits. The thought of being in Charlie's bed was enough to flush her cheeks and make her squirm slightly.
"I'm not taking your bed when I have a perfectly usable one inside. Oli can walk me back, and make sure I don't pass out elsewhere before I get there." She tried to keep her voice steady, but could help but think she was opting for one beast over another. She leaned over and kissed Charlie's cheek; his stubble rasping under her lips. "Thank you, though."
"Always, Mione." He promised; and she felt the weight of his gaze as Oliver, ever the gentleman, helped her gain her tipsy feet, and caught her when she swayed.
Calling their goodbyes, the pair started the trek to the castle. Hermione may have leaned a little heavier than necessary on Oliver; enjoying the warm hands that caught and guided her missteps. Alcohol made her realize how long it had been since she'd enjoyed a man's touch.
"Careful now." He chuckled as she tripped a stair. They'd climbed innumerous steps and were nearing her quarters now. His arms were tight around her waist as he damn near carried her to the portrait of the Furies who guarded her chambers.
"What if I'm tired of being careful?" She said, feeling reckless. Her pose was deceptively relaxed as she leaned on the wall.
"Then wit' anything but yer safety, Feck it. Wha's it matter if anyone has somethin' to say?" He smirked at her, and brushed a wild curl out of her face. Gathering her nerve, she spoke.
"Oliver, can I ask you a favor?" Her heart was racing. She twined her arms around his neck.
"Anythin', pet." He tipped her chin up.
"Kiss me." She whispered, standing on her tip toes. On a soft growl, Oliver took her mouth. No soft foreplay, just pure hunger. He pinned her against the wall, and lips and tongue clashed. Her hands were in his hair as she poured nearly a year's worth of pent up sexual frustration into their kiss.
He pulled away panting, his whiskey eyes wild with lust, and a noticeable tent in the front of his jeans. "I should go."
"You can come inside, if you'd like. You don't have to go." She tried not to whine. She was wet, achy, and in desperate need of an orgasm.
"When I take ye to bed, pet, I'd like yeh to remember it. G'night, Hermione." He murmered into her ear. Chills went down her spine and hardened her nipples against his chest. Smirking, he stepped back, kissed her cheek, and left her standing against her doorway as he walked away whistling.