A/N: Chapter Forty!

I could feel both Harry and Ron toss looks at me and then at one another, as I made my way to Charlie from across the pub. It meant nothing. I was going over, as he had motioned, simply to chat and perhaps learn something about him that I didn't hear from a third party. Until then, I hadn't realized that I had never spoken to him one-on-one. There was always someone else there, either Ron or Ginny or Harry.

But this time, there was only me.

"Hello," he smiled, pulling out a stool for me. "How are you?"

I sat beside him, and ordered a glass of wine. "Good, good. It's been ages — hasn't it?"

Charlie nodded, taking a sip from his butterbeer, as my wine arrived. "I don't think I've seen you since…" His voice trailed off, as he remembered what happened at Harry and Ginny's wedding.

I glanced down, laughing. "Right. Not one of my finer moments."

"Minor curveball," he shrugged, laid back as ever, still smiling. "Best to take those in stride."

"I couldn't agree more."

From there, we slipped into discussion about his work with dragons in Romania, as well as my own work at the Auror Office. It was nice having a mature, adult discussion without the added tension of either being in a relationship or trying to get laid. I quite liked Charlie. I liked that he talked to me as though I were a human being and not some caricature of the media. I liked that everything I was telling him, he took in, as we were getting to know one another with clean slates.

More than anything, I liked that he was nice because he simply was, not because he was overcompensating like the others. Merlin knew I had been through enough this past year, and although I appreciated my friends rallying around me and supporting me, I was beginning to suffocate under the weight of their concern.

It still hurt, as much as it hurt the day it happened, if not more. I was nowhere near fine, but I was getting there…slowly. If I could have had one moment, one moment to look back and feel something other than intense, mind numbing pain and shame and worst of all, emptiness, maybe then the wounds would have healed.

I suppose those emotions showed on my face, as the evening progressed, seeing as Charlie eventually voiced the thoughts that I knew had been circulating his mind since our conversation began.

"Whomever he is," the older wizard started. " — he'll come around sooner or later and if he doesn't, forget about him. Simple as that."

"Am I that transparent?" I asked, planting an arch in my brow.

"Nah," he winked. "You're Gryffindor. You wear your heart on your sleeve like the best of us."

I smiled at this, despite the ache in my chest. "Can't argue that."

"Besides," he added. "The way I see it…if my clumsy arse can survive a Hungarian Horntail attack, then anyone, anywhere can make it through a breakup."

"When did that happen?" I asked, caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, clinging to the former half of his statement.

Charlie laughed, too, setting down his butterbeer, having opted out of alcohol for the evening, as he had work early in the morning, and rolled up his sleeves. "Scars to prove it," he said to me, displaying a large, shiny, burn-like scar along his right forearm and then an actual chunk of flesh missing from his left. I should mention that it was a small chunk — but still.

"Merlin!" I blinked, astounded. "How do you go back to work after something like that?"

"Just because something is difficult — and in my case, may lead to scarring and/or serious injury — doesn't mean it's not worth doing," he reasoned. "If I don't look after those dragons, who will?"

His words resonated with me, speaking truths I had hidden away months ago — a year, perhaps. It was difficult to tell, as time went on. Everything sort of blurred into one tangled mess, and the longer I spent trying to sort through those emotions, the worse it felt to know my efforts had been cast aside.

Charlie eyed me then, sensing a change in my demeanour. "You okay?"

"I'm good," were the only words to come from my mouth, as I masked the feelings that had been ricocheting within me for — I can't even remember how long. From there, I sensed a shift in our conversation. I looked at Charlie, his smile, his casual, easy going philosophies, his calm nature. It was comforting, being around someone like that. Part of me had forgotten what it was like, speaking to a normal, charming and uncomplicated person.

I waited for his eyes to fall on me — bright blue, in contrast with his red hair and the freckles that decorated his cheeks and nose, and even his neck, as I had noticed.

There were numerous voices in the back of my mind, voices that tried their best to hold me back and convince me this wasn't the right solution.

But I wasn't looking for a solution.

I was looking for an escape.

For once, the bottom of a wine bottle didn't fit the bill.

I leaned closer to Charlie, aware that our friends were in the same vicinity and that a couple of them had been tossing glances in our direction for most of the evening, but I wouldn't let their judgment stop me.

"Hermione —" he froze, snapping me out of my daze, with alarm in his eyes. I leaned back, startled. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "What was that?"

"I — I —" The words wouldn't come out. I was sat there, still as a statue, forcing my eyes closed as though it would remove me from the moment.

Charlie swallowed hard, worried lines along his forehead. "You're my brother's ex-girlfriend. I wouldn't. I couldn't. I'm sorry if I sent you the wrong signals but —"

" — It's fine," I interjected, visibly embarrassed. "No need to explain." I tossed him a quick smile, before sliding off the stool and making motion to leave, doing my absolute best to ignore the hammering against my ribcage.

"Wait —" he said to me, seconds after I turned.

I paused.

Charlie rose from his stool. "Maybe we should talk about this," he said to me, only then realizing both Ron and Harry were eavesdropping, far enough that they could not hear what we were saying, but close enough to know something was going on. "In private —" he added. "If that's okay with you."

"In private?" I repeated.

He nodded.

Five Minutes Later

I stumbled into the loo with him, tugging at his plaid shirt, as he tugged on the skirt of my dress, lifting me up, onto the ledge of the sink. It wasn't the mature, adult conversation I had imagined, nor did it support the earlier rejection, but I wasn't about to complain. I tilted my head back, blinded by the fire burning within me, the fire that surged through my bloodstream and gave me life.

He kissed me a bit, brushing his hands along my face time after time, but one of those voices, the ones I had described earlier, held me back. I turned my head away from him whenever he tried, wanting nothing but release. I didn't have feelings for him. I didn't love him. I didn't even know him.

There was no need for kissing.

There was no need to pretend we cared for one another, when we clearly did not.

Sensing this, he refocused his kisses to my neck, during which time I undid his belt buckle, ready for him, spreading my legs.

He then reached under the skirts of my dress, curving his hand around my panties and making motion to slide them off — before it hit me.

"Stop —" I said to him, leaning back. "Stop."

Charlie froze, startled, flicking his eyes at me. "What's wrong?"

I covered my face with both hands, uncertain as to where this onslaught of emotion had come from. From there, he helped me from the sink, onto both feet, keeping his distance from me as I tried to regain composure. Around thirty seconds later, I opened my eyes and noticed he'd re-buckled his belt, though his shirt was still unbuttoned all the way down, revealing a network of scars along his muscular torso.

"I — I'm sorry —" I told him. "I can't do this. I — I can't."

"It's okay," he assured me, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, frozen as I recoiled. "I've been sending you mixed signals all night. It's my fault."

I shook my head. "No, it's not you. I just — I can't explain. I have to go."

With that, I left the loo, wiping the smudged lipstick from around my mouth and making minor adjustments to my clothes and hair, before stepping out, where the rest of the party continued. Charlie had enough decency to wait a couple minutes before following me out, during which time I exchanged one look with Ginny, one that directed her towards me.

She kissed Harry on the cheek and handed him their son, before making her way across the pub and following me to a secluded corner.

"Is everything okay?" she asked me, concern in her eyes.

I swallowed. "Everything is fine. I'm just — I forgot I have some paperwork to do. I — I should get going."

Ginny exhaled, pausing a moment before pulling me in for a tight hug, as though she knew, as though, despite our distance this past year, she had always known. "I promise you, you'll be okay. It hurts right now, I know it does, but you'll find a way to make it through this, and I'll be there with you every step of the way," she told me, separating, long enough to wipe the tears from my eyes with James' spit up cloth — using the part without spit up on it. "I'm sorry for what happened, and I know there's nothing I can say to justify what went down in that Hospital Wing, but I want you to know something. He —"

" — Please," I interjected, squeezing my eyes closed, holding back the moisture that threatened to fall. "Don't talk about him. Don't speak his name. Don't mention him at all," I begged, heart pounding against my ribcage like a rabid animal. "Just — Just don't."

She blinked, ignoring the tears that slid down her own face, wiping mine, again. It was difficult, being without her deep, unyielding friendship this past year. "Stay in Godric's Hollow tonight, with me and Harry. Please."

I smiled weakly. "I'd love to…but I can't. I have to get used to this…"

Ginny nodded then, disappointment in her eyes, as well as understanding. "Owl me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will."

Finally, she returned my smile and pulled me in for another hug, one that told me we weren't just friends — we were family.

Two Hours Later

I returned to my flat, grabbing the nearest kitchen utensil — which turned out to be a metal spatula — and used it to eat ice cream straight from the container. Sure, it would have been nice to have casual, no-strings-attached sex and give my body the release it so desperately craved, but I couldn't do that. I couldn't hurt myself like that — not again. I couldn't add to the stress and the ache and the confusing mix of emotions that bombarded me day in and day out.

Instead, I slipped into the shadows of my flat and ate that ice cream, crying a little — a lot, depending on whether you believe me — and listening to strong, powerful feminist anthems that should have lifted my spirits.

But none of those things worked.

There was one thing, one thing I did on nights like this, one thing to release, one thing to help me breathe again, one thing to detangle the emotions that wore down on me day after day, one thing to stop myself from letting go.

I set down the ice cream, now dressed in footed pyjamas, and made my way to the desk situated in the corner of the lounge. It was dim, which prompted me to light the candle I had placed on the smooth, mahogany surface. I did, and watched as the ink and parchment before me were immersed in the orange glow of the candlelight.

From there, I slipped into the chair and dipped my quill into a pot of ink, feeling my hand shake as the tip hovered over the parchment I had laid out, marking it with a drop of black.

No one knew about this.

It was my secret.

It was my escape.

I breathed in, doing the best I could to gather the thoughts and emotions that raced through my mind and my heart, and proceeded to write them down. It was difficult, getting the words right. I tossed several sheets of parchment into the waste bin and scratched out several lines until one line — one measly line — embodied it all.

Fuck you, for being everything and nothing so flawlessly.

A/N: Thoughts?

Cheers

xo.