July at Shell Cottage

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Chapter 5

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Hermione scrambled to pull her skirt down and arrange it properly over her hips and thighs.

"Anyone in here?" a youthful male voice called out.

"Yeah. Hey, Em." Charlie stepped out of around a corner and greeted the man in a completely effortless and nonchalant way.

"Oh, hello Charlie."

"Em, this is Hermione," Charlie said as he yanked her into view by the wrist.

Hermione hadn't finished inspecting herself to make sure she looked decent, and so a telltale blush colored her cheeks.

Em was a tall, thin, clean-shaven man in his mid-twenties. Hermione was expecting a woman, somebody middle-aged named Emily, but Em was actually quite attractive.

"Hello, Hermione. Charlie, it's been months!" he exclaimed as he shook Charlie's, then Hermione's hand. "Did you find anything you wanted?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, almost cutting him off.

Em raised his eyebrows at her quick response.

"Yes, actually," Charlie said cheerfully. "Erm, let's see, where did we leave it?" he murmured to himself as he browsed through the shelves.

"Charlie, we really, really don't need it," Hermione said, slightly panicked.

"Here it is!" Charlie extended the book to the shopkeeper, whose smirk was almost identical to Charlie's when he saw the literature.

"It's two galleons."

Charlie dropped the coins into his hand. "Well, we must be going." He took Hermione's hand in his gently, like a boyfriend would, and tugged her toward the door.

"You two enjoy that," Em called after them, his tone making it clear exactly what he meant.

The town swirled by in a blur as they made their way back toward Main Street, which swiveled back to Shell Cottage. All Hermione could think about was the warmth of Charlie's hand covering hers. She could feel the rough quality to his skin and the calluses on his palm. It was clear that he was her exact opposite; a man who worked with his hands, who belonged in some way to the earth.

Despite the rationality she prided herself on, Hermione's imagination went wild constructing romantic scenarios. She thought of the wedding again, of a picnic by the sea. Hermione had never been in love, but surely this fidgety, buttery happiness was it. The feeling was like warm silk running over her skin, over every part of her. Charlie. How had she never seen how attractive he was before? How had it taken so long for these emotions to emerge?

"Did you want to pick anything else up?" Charlie asked. His voice almost startled her, the real Charlie intruding on the imaginary Charlie in her nebulous fantasies.

"Um … no." Back down on the earth, it felt surreal to whisk by all the girls with jealous expressions on their faces.

"You hungry? There's a little restaurant nearby if you want to go…"

Hermione considered this. The first word that came into her mind was date, but she pushed it away. She told herself to be realistic, that he never gave her an indication that he wanted to be in a serious relationship. Regardless, she was hungry.

"Sure."

The restaurant had six tables and one waiter. It was refreshingly cold and empty inside, with only one other couple sitting at one of the corner tables. As they sat down, Hermione was overcome by a feeling of self-consciousness, as though her skin remolded itself to her mind and her fantasies, trapping her in the constraints of reality. She wondered if the heat had made her hair frizzy or if her clothing looked right. She wondered why it hadn't occurred to her to put on some makeup that morning.

Charlie managed to calm her down, though, just by shooting the breeze. He was funny, though he didn't try too hard. The waitress who seated them was another tall, attractive woman with long blonde hair, freckles, and dimples. She, too, knew Charlie immediately, but unlike Em she hugged him closely and intimately. She flirted with him shamelessly right in front of Hermione, and Hermione was glad when she disappeared into the kitchen.

"So, just out of curiosity, do you know everybody in this town?" Hermione asked. She sipped her water and tried to focus on Charlie's eyes, but there was something terrifyingly shocking and deep in them and she couldn't stare into them for too long.

Charlie smirked. "Almost. The only people I'm missing are the old men who play dominos on Sunday afternoons," he joked.

"But surely you know all their daughters, though." Hermione hoped that her voice didn't sound bitter.

"Their daughters," – Charlie lowered his voice, probably to avoid offending the waitress – "are psychopaths." He said this with such ease, such detachment, as though it were clear as day.

Hermione felt personally vindicated by this and she couldn't help smiling. "Why?"

Charlie licked his lips. "In a town this small, the pickings are slim, and they all want to get married." He spoke as though telling a joke, though Hermione knew he was serious.

Hermione wondered whether the men in the town were as captivating as the women, but she decided it wouldn't be right to ask Charlie.

"The prospect of marriage doesn't quite appeal to you?" she asked instead.

Charlie frowned. "Marriage is for people like Bill, who want to 'settle down.' I want to just … I don't know; I don't think I'm missing anything from my life at all."

Hermione felt a small pull away from Charlie at the moment. She felt a bit offended, as though Charlie were trying to tell her something: he needs space in the long run.

"By the time I'm sixty, though, I'll probably be one of those perverts groping the female nurses at St. Mungo's."

Hermione laughed.

"And you'll be the most attractive nurse there."

She blushed. "So I suppose that all that training and hard work as a Ministry official won't do me any good?"

Charlie laughed. "Hermione, hard work and training as a Ministry official don't do anybody any good."

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Charlie didn't hold her hand again when they left the restaurant, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was a strategic maneuver on his part, a distancing tactic. Still, paranoia wasn't at the forefront of her mind. What she felt toward Charlie may not have been as deep as love, but it had the desperate, glittering quality of adoration. She felt as though he had come down for a universe of goddess-like women to spend the day with her, and she felt as though she owed him.

The good mood between them didn't fade as they walked back to Shell Cottage together. They were joking around and laughing, and when they got back Hermione decided to teach Gabrielle some Potions. For a while, Hermione wondered whether Gabrielle would seduce her again, if it could be called seduction, but while they were reviewing basic ingredients, Hermione was too full of joy from the day to even think about something like that.

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He was sitting on the porch, alone. It was dark out already, and Hermione could only see him by the light coming out through the windows. He was smoking something that definitely wasn't a cigarette. Hermione took a deep breath. He looked so sexy just sitting on the porch's railing, reclining against the wall. He stared off into the night and Hermione gazed at the muscles that showed through in his arms.

"Thanks," she said. Her voice was hoarse from not having spoken in a while, and she spoke so softly she barely heard herself.

Charlie glanced over and smiled. "For what?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged as she stepped out onto the porch on her bare feet. The shift into outside air was cold and stimulating. Her heart pounded. "Nothing. Just, for going out with me. Not, like a date or anything, but just for…" Even in the semi-darkness it was obvious she was blushing. "Nothing. Never mind." She turned to go back inside. She was planning on doing this smoothly and seductively, and it was almost surprising to find herself the same bumbling mess she always was.

"Wait, no, com'ere." Charlie reached and arm out to her and she came closer. His arm felt warm and heavy around her shoulders, his fingers rough as he rubbed her forearm. "That's sweet. You want a hit?" He extended the small, white thing he was smoking to her, and Hermione shook her head no.

"I wanted to…" Hermione felt like her tongue was made of lead. How was a woman supposed to say that she wanted to perform fellatio? But then, suddenly, she felt something shift in the air, and she knew that Charlie had understood what she wanted.

"Yeah?"

"Return the favor," she squeaked.

"Okay…" Charlie looked around and peered through the window to make sure nobody was around. He swung both legs over to one side, and it was clear he was waiting for her to do something.

Shock unfurled in Hermione's stomach. She had expected to go to his room; what he was asking for was dirty and weird and … public. Just like he had done to her. She stammered something in gibberish. She didn't know what to say, now that the moment for her to do something was there, and she was waiting stupidly. Her hands and feet felt numb and her heart was a dull, rapid thudding in her ears. She reminded herself to breathe.

Charlie looked at her anxiously, as though she might faint. "You know you don't have to, right?"

Hermione gulped and nodded her head. It wasn't that she didn't want to; she was just terrified, as though she were going on a huge roller-coaster. The air felt cool around her and crickets chirped in the distance. From the house, there was only silence and warm light.

Charlie smirked. "Here," he said gently. He put one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder, pushing down very lightly. Hermione got on her knees. She ran her fingers gently over his thighs, and then undid the button on his denims. She eased the fly down slowly, too embarrassed to look up at him.

Charlie hopped down from the railing to slide his denims down to his ankles, and then he sat back down. He was hard.

Her hand was trembling as she wrapped it around the base. She leaned in closer, and she could imagine her breath feeling warm against the head. It was surreal, being so close to Charlie. She remembered watching Gabrielle do the same thing, and how it looked so erotic and alien, like a scene from a foreign film. The way Gabrielle's wet mouth dipped smoothly over the length of his cock had seemed so easy and sexy. Hermione wasn't aware that it took skill to do something like that.

Hermione tried to remember what Gabrielle did and mimic it. She tried teasing the head with the tip of her tongue. The skin felt soft and the taste was unusual—like ordinary skin but more sensual, almost like sweat. She tried licking at the tip and the little slit at the very top, and Charlie's hips bucked. She put her lips around the head and sucked in gently. Charlie grunted.

For the first time, Hermione glanced up timidly. Charlie was looking up at the sky, head angled back. He licked his lips.

Hermione tried bobbing her head gently, until the point where she felt the head of Charlie's cock touch the soft spot on the roof of her mouth, near the back of her tongue. After a while, her lips got tired from he sucking motion and she relaxed her mouth, using only her tongue while stroking up and down the shaft with her hands. She alternated the movements until she found a rhythm amount of pressure that made him groan.

"Wait. Hermione—"

Hermione realized what would happen a split second before it did. Instinctively, she moved her mouth away from his cock, just as he came.

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