"NO!" Hermione screamed, whipping up, scrambling for the fading figure who was stabbing Ron over and over and over on the cobbled lane…

"Hermione! It's alright, you're safe!"

"No, get him, kill him, he killed Ron!" she screamed frantically, the world a hazy spiral of shapes and pain. Her wand, she needed her wand…

"What? Hermione, you're confused, you've lost a lot of blood –"

"Don't let him get away!" she cried, the image fading as Charlie filled her vision. She reached down to where her wand holster should be but found nothing but a hospital gown and bandages.

"Wha- where's my wand?" she asked, the world slowly coming into focus as pain speared through her with each movement.

"It's here on the table, I grabbed it –"

"We have to get him, before he disappears –"

"Before who disappears?" Charlie asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. Hermione looked around. The man was gone and she realized she must have been dreaming. Disoriented, she took in the sparse hospital tent, Madam Pomfrey bending over someone in a cot across from her. Charlie sat by her hip, his hand on her shoulder to prevent her from rising.

"Hermione, there's no one here, you're safe," he said soothingly, the pressure on her shoulder increasing as he made to press her back into bed. "It was just a dream."

"No, no, he was there," she whispered, images from the night flashing before her. "He was there and I let him get away."

"Who was, Hermione?" Charlie asked softly, as if afraid she'd gone mad. "The man you tried to perform an Unspeakable on?"

"Yes," she said weakly, her eyes closing against the shame as she laid back, tears welling at the memory. "And I let him get away."

"He didn't, Hermione," Charlie replied, his voice suddenly hard, dark. Hermione opened her eyes to see that his face had hardened into stone. "He didn't get away. I promise you, that bastard paid."

"What?"

"He nearly killed you, Hermione," he snarled, his face suddenly terrifying. "If I'd had the time I would have torn him limb from limb."

"He's dead?" she croaked, reaching for Charlie's hand in disbelief.

"Yeah. He's dead."

The tears that had gathered fell down her cheeks in torrents, relief and admiration welling within her. Charlie had killed him. For her.

"Who was he, Hermione?"

"Antoni Arullius. The man Ron was supposed to tail the night he disappeared."

Charlie swore harshly, his hand squeezing hers.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. If I'd known –"

"It's done. He's gone.

"And I'd kill him a thousand times over if I could."

Hermione lifted her hand to his cheek though pain seared through her at the movement. "You saved me."

"Let's not make it a habit. I've never been so scared in my entire life. I've never seen a spell do something like that…"

"An invention of Snape's. Malfoy must have passed it on. Harry used it on him in the sixth year before he knew what it would do."

"Merlin, he did that to a student? How didn't he get expelled?"

"Because he's Harry Potter," she replied, a sad smile crooking at the corner of her mouth. "Or was."

Charlie's grip tightened on her hand. "I thought you were going to join him."

Hermione looked at him questioningly, a dark expression having stolen over his face once more.

"I thought you would give up. To be with them. There was so much blood and you were so pale. I didn't know if…"

"I'm afraid you'll have to put up with my bad cooking for a little while longer," she smiled weakly, not wanting to think about what she might have chosen if given the option.

Charlie raised her hand to his lips with a soft chuckle. "I swear I'll never complain about another meal so long as you stay with me."

"I'll believe that when pigs fly," she replied, reminding him of her last cooking lesson. Charlie grinned.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

Hermione laughed, instantly gasping in pain and gripping her side.

"Shit, I'm sorry, you should be resting-"

"Yes, she should," Madam Pomfrey snapped. The elderly woman glared at him. "I believe I told you to go home, Mr. Weasley."

"Since when have I ever taken your advice?" he responded cheekily, winking at her. Madam Pomfrey snorted.

"You're the reason my hair turned grey, Charlie Weasley," she tutted, sorting through the variety of potions sitting on the small table next to Hermione's cot. "Couldn't get rid of you fast enough."

"Oh, come now! You know you missed me! What about our chess matches?"

"Yes, well, there will be none of that tonight, Miss Granger needs her rest. Say goodnight; you can come and collect her in the morning," the matron ordered, though a small smile threatened.

Charlie turned to Hermione. "I do believe I've received the boot. I'll be here first thing."

"Thank you," she replied, gripping his hand tightly. "For everything."

Placing one last kiss on her knuckles, he touched her cheek lightly before taking his leave. The Healer next to her sighed, watching him go.

"That is one damn fine figure of a man, if you ask me."

"Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione gasped, taken aback.

"What? I'm old, not blind. And believe you-me, if I were forty years younger, I'd be giving you a run for your money."

"That's not, we're not, we're just –"

"Oh, quit your blathering, you never could lie to save your life. It's high time you moved on and you could do a right-sight worse than Charlie Weasley."

Hermione's jaw snapped shut at the older woman's comment. If she thought Charlie was good for her would the others…?

"Now drink up, you've got a lot of blood to replace if you're going to have the energy to keep up with that one."

…

Hermione groaned as she swung her legs out of bed. It had been three days since she'd been cursed and it still ached like the dickens. She no longer felt like passing out when she stood, however, and counted herself as lucky.

When the bandages had been changed before she was allowed to go home Hermione had gasped, Charlie going still. By all accounts, she should have been dead. The damage had been extensive. Three large gashes, one from her left shoulder, across her sternum and down to her ribs, the second splitting her abdomen to her hip, the third severing her femoral across her thigh. It looked as though a dragon had attempted to cut her in quarters with its claws.

Hermione had glanced up at Charlie where he stood next to her, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to finish so he could take her home. His red hair was pulled in a half-tail, stubble coating his chin, dark purple circles beneath his eyes. She agreed with the Healer's sentiments of the night before: he was beautiful, even with his face twisted in agony at the sight of her garish wounds. Even though her breasts and privates were covered with nothing more than thin bandaging, his eyes never moved from the ugly red scars.

"– lucky Mr. Weasley was there, otherwise we may not be having this discussion," Madam Pomfrey was saying and Charlie went grey.

"Very lucky," Hermione replied, reaching out for his hand. He took it and held it tightly while the older woman explained to Hermione how to care for her wounds and which potion to drink when, wrapping bandages back around the ointment-covered lacerations.

"I'm afraid you'll have to write all that down, I'm still feeling rather fuzzy at the moment," Hermione said, rubbing her aching head.

"I've got it," Charlie snapped, taking the bag of potions from Madam Pomfrey before dropping Hermione's hand and pulling the old woman into his arms.

"Thank you for saving her," he muttered. Hermione watched bemusedly, her heart swelling as the nurse pat his shoulder gently in return.

"You did most of the work, Mr. Wealsey. I would have made a fine Healer out of you, I always said."

"Next life, I promise," he grinned, pulling away and touching her cheek gently before approaching Hermione, Madam Pomfrey's brows raised behind him. She shook her head at them as Hermione smiled, turning to Charlie and allowing him to help her into the cloak he'd brought before carefully lifting her into his arms.

"Charlie, I can stand –"

"Not a chance," he grunted, looking down at her. "Are you ready? This may hurt…"

"Go on, this cot is killing my back, I just want to be in my own bed."

He turned on the spot and she gasped, crying out in pain as they landed, muffling her agony with his shoulder so as not to call attention to them on the stoop of Grimmauld Place.

"I'm sorry, love, I'm sorry," he murmured, hurrying up the steps and carrying her up to her room as gently as possible. There he'd doused her with a heavy Pain Potion and stayed by her side until she slept.

He'd barely left since, only retreating to tend to his mother and make them food. Mrs. Weasley had been told that she was visiting Bill and Fleur for a few days at her request, not wanting to worry the woman while she healed.

But now Hermione was sick of her bed and longed to stretch her legs. While it was endearing having Charlie tend to her so lovingly, she was looking forward to getting back to work and putting some distance between them. It was agonizing having him so close that she could smell him, counting his freckles as he read her a book or watching him sleep as he dozed on the chair next to her. She frequently caught him staring, his gaze filled with longing until he noticed her looking. Then he would put on an air of humor, the shield he'd built just for her back in place. Confusion warred within her as her cravings for him only strengthened by the day, wracking her guilty conscience. She found herself questioning what would be so wrong for her to be with someone until his smile mimicked that of her lost fiancé's.

He's not just someone, he's Ron's brother, she would remind herself and chastise her feelings until they were tampered back where they belonged.

Hermione was grateful the kitchen was empty at this odd hour, Charlie having taken an unnecessary trip to the makeshift hospital for more balm, the remainder of which she'd hidden under her mattress as an excuse to get some alone time.

Her muscles ached and her scars pulled as she bustled about making tea, but she was able to handle the pain and was more than rewarded when the first sip met her lips. The soothing chamomile calmed her overwrought nerves, bringing her a moment of peace.

Until Charlie stepped out of the fireplace and saw her.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he thundered, tossing the rucksack of supplies on the table and rounding on her.

"Charlie, I feel perfectly fine."

"Perfectly fine? You nearly died three days ago!"

"Yes, but I didn't, and you were up the third day after your Splinching!" Hermione countered. His mouth opened and then closed quickly.

"It's not the same."

"Yes, it is, and I'll tell you what you told me: I'll never recover if you continue to hover over me. I'm taking it easy, but I need to get back to work."

Charlie appeared to be gnashing his molars at her rationality.

"You should take some time off, a week or two –"

"Charlie, we don't have a week or two. Death Eaters are tearing across the continent and our relations with the Muggles have not improved. They need me back out there."

He looked as if he wanted to argue but conceded with a soft swear, heading towards the kitchen where he returned with a bottle of Ogden's and a snifter. He then sat across from her, watching her intently.

"What are you doing?" she questioned at his odd behavior.

"Making sure you're taking it easy."

Hermione lifted a brow at him. "You're hovering."

"Damn right, I am. And I'm a fair flyer, so you better get used to it."

Hermione shook her head in defeat, sipping her tea in silence while he continued to watch her, emptying his own drink. As soon as her tea was finished, she rose to take her mug to the sink, Charlie following her as if afraid she'd fall. When she turned away from her scrubbing, Charlie was so close he was nearly standing on her.

"Charlie!" she gasped, his immediate proximity making her jump. "I'm fine!"

"I'll decide that," he growled. He took another step forward, his hands coming around her to grip the counter, caging her in. His breath was short and hard, his eyes dark, his jaw clenching as if he were fighting himself. His gaze dropped to her lips which parted unconsciously, and he made a soft sound of pain.

"Charlie…" she breathed, her body suddenly thrumming with need at his obvious display. She swallowed, clamoring for stability.

This is wrong, you can't have him, he's Ron's brother…

"I'll keep my promise, Hermione," he grated out, his abundant muscles bunching under his words. "But we both know you don't want me to."

With that, he stood aside to let her pass, following her upstairs with the rucksack. He helped her back into bed as bending was still breathtakingly painful and she took the potions he pressed upon her.

He took his seat next to her back up, his arms crossed, his eyes never leaving her.

"Charlie, you should go get some sleep, I'll be alright for the night."

"Maybe you will," he murmured, distress creasing his features, aging him. Hermione sat up, fighting back a wince.

"Charlie, I'm not going anywhere. You saved me; the danger has passed."

She reached for him, touched that he cared this deeply for her. He took her hand lightly, pressing his lips to her fingers before urging her to lay back.

"Sleep," he bade. "I'll be right here."

The potions made easy work of his offer, her mind still whirling with uncertainty.

…

Rain spattered against the windows as Hermione tiredly shoved her finished scroll across the table. Another missive to the Prime Minister begging him to see sense and raise arms against the Death Eaters. He was being painfully obtuse about the situation and his people were suffering because of his inaction.

Hands came to her shoulders and though she knew better than to give in, she let herself be weak for one moment as Charlie eased the strain.

"Enough for tonight," he murmured, his voice so achingly erotic. "You've had a long day."

It was true. Between the fight with the Muggle Prime Minister and the confrontation with Mrs. Weasley, Hermione was exhausted. She'd spent most of the afternoon Levitating items back to safety as the erratic woman chucked them at her head, blaming her for Ron's disappearance, screaming at her for not doing enough to find him.

Charlie had returned in the early evening to Hermione's rescue, finally subduing his mother long enough to get her to drink some laced tea and leaving her to snooze off her tirade in front of the fireplace in her room. Exhausted and sweating from her prolonged warfare, Hermione had wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for twelve straight hours, but instead, she dragged herself into the shower and down to the kitchen to finish the letter she'd been working on before the older woman had interrupted her.

Her arms ached from her defense, and Charlie's hands felt magical as they kneaded away the tension and knots that had formed from years of stress. Hermione's eyes closed on a sigh of contentment as he seemed to know exactly where to soothe. The pressure felt so good she would have paid Charlie every last Knut in Gringotts to never stop.

She felt more relaxed than she had since their midnight picnic. It had been two weeks since she'd finally convinced Charlie to sleep in his own bed instead of the chair beside her, though she ached to have him in hers. Charlie had been every bit the chivalrous Gryffindor and had kept his distance, but it was having the opposite effect. Instead of alleviating the tension between them, it only made her long for his presence even more. She missed him when he was gone, missed their teasing interactions, their sly flirtations, the way he could make her forget about everything except him. He was driving her mad. Every glance had her aching. The nights were restless and the days endless. She'd told herself every single reason why it was wrong for her to feel this way, but nothing worked. Hermione wanted him in every way. He made her feel complete again; he filled the void that Harry and Ron had left in their wake. He challenged her in a way they never could and made her crazy with a desire she'd never felt before. Just the thought of those hands traveling lower…

"Hermione, if you keep making that sound, I'm not going to be able to restrain myself," Charlie croaked and Hermione realized she'd moaned aloud at her lecherous thoughts. Blushing, she leaned forward to separate his hands from her shoulders, but he only trailed them down her arms, blazing a path of fire that drove straight to her core.

She sighed, his fingertips drawing across her skin, back up to the column of her throat, making her shudder. His fingers traced her cheek, her ear, back down her neck to rest against her racing pulse.

"I know I promised to stay away, but I can't fight this much longer," he whispered, the longing in his voice so intense she wanted to reach out to him, to show him he wasn't alone in his yearning. Every fiber of her being pulled her to him and it was agony to remain seated, her fingers clenching the sides of the chair as if to keep her in place. "I know it's the same for you. I see it in your eyes even though you try to hide it. It's one of the many things I love about you, Hermione. Your strength, your loyalty. I know what this is doing to you, but I can't stop. I hate knowing that this causes you pain because I only want to bring you pleasure."

Hermione bit back another moan at the thought of it. She was sure he could do exactly that all too easily.

"We can't…" she rasped, her voice fighting against the words she knew she must speak.

"I know."

"It's wrong."

"I know. It still doesn't change anything. You've completely enraptured me, Hermione. No matter how much I try to fight it, I can't. I've fallen for you, and I won't ever be able to stand again until you're mine."

His words brought the most radiant sense of joy Hermione had ever felt, but that feeling was immediately followed by all-encompassing remorse as she remembered Ron's passionate declarations of love. No matter how they felt, Ron was her fiancé, he was Charlie's younger brother, and it would kill him if he knew how she felt. What would he do if he walked into the room right this moment and saw them together?

As if he could read her thoughts, Charlie turned her head to look at him.

"I loved him, too. But he's not coming back. Ever. We have to let him go and stop torturing ourselves eventually. We're still living, and we can't keep feeling guilty for it."

With one last anguished look, Charlie swept from the room, leaving Hermione drowning in indecision.

…

XOXO

RynStar15