Well, here it is, everyone! The long-awaited final chapter (and epilogue) of this story. I've had so much fun working on this the past few years, and I hope the ending is what you were hoping for! Thank you so so much for sticking with me on this journey!

"Hermione," he managed, even though it felt as though all the air had suddenly vanished from his lungs. He felt almost dizzy as he struggled to process her presence on his doorstep, her old beaded purse hanging from her shoulder, her face trained into a neutral expression. "What…?"

"I wouldn't be here," she assured him, her tone clipped and emotionless, "if Mum hadn't practically begged me to come. The wedding is coming up and she insists that you need a haircut, and from what I hear…" Hermione trailed off, her neutral mask faltering slightly as she averted her eyes. "You won't let anyone cut your hair but me."

Suddenly Charlie remembered having said that during Ron's birthday dinner, and at every family gathering since, and he winced. "Shit, Hermione, I'm so sorry," he said, trying and failing to catch her eye. "I was mostly trying to get Mum off my back about cutting my hair before the wedding. I didn't think she'd ask you, and I really didn't think you'd agree to do it. If I'd known, I'd have–"

"It's fine," she interrupted, suddenly meeting his eyes. There was something brewing in her gaze, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. "Like I said, I'm doing Mum a favor. I'm just here to give your hair a trim and I'll be gone tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Charlie echoed.

"Well, yes. There's already a portkey set up for someone else tomorrow, and there was some kind of issue setting up so many in such a short period of time, so… I have to stay here." Her eyes went wide. "Not here, I mean! I mean–on the reserve, of course, not here–uh, in yours. They've got a cot made up for me in the infirmary."

"No," he said before he could even think about it. "No, you're not sleeping in the bloody infirmary. You can have my bed and I'll crash on my couch tonight."

"I am not putting you out of your bed, Charlie," she replied, exasperated. "Anyway, you can't tell me what to do, and I'd like to be as little bother to you as possible, so if you'll let me get on with trimming your hair, I can get done quickly and then you won't have to see me for the rest of my stay."

A pit formed in Charlie's stomach at her last sentence. He wanted nothing more than to beg her to stay with him, to tell her how sorry he was for everything that had happened, to see her eyes sparkle fondly at him. He'd pictured her here in his little cottage more times than he could count, and now that she was here, all he could think about was living out every fantasy he'd had about it.

But he couldn't. So he simply sighed, resigned, and showed her to his little kitchenette. Charlie moved one of his dining chairs into the kitchen, right by the sink like the last time they'd done this, and Hermione busied herself setting up. "I didn't bring any shampoo, I figured you probably owned some," she said, her tone cool and cordial. "Could you bring it to me?"

Charlie was surprised by the pang of disappointment in his chest. He supposed he'd been hoping that she'd brought her coconut shampoo along. Her scent had dissipated from his clothes weeks ago, now, and his heart ached for it. He'd gone so far as to consider buying a bottle himself, but even he had decided that that was probably bordering on a level of insanity that he wasn't quite ready for. He was just lucky she didn't keep a bottle at the Burrow.

Stifling his disappointment, he went into his small bathroom and grabbed the half-used bottle of his own shampoo and handed it off to Hermione. She adjusted a few things that she'd set on the counter, seemingly trying to avoid his gaze. "You can sit."

Charlie obliged, dropping into the chair. He swallowed hard, averting his eyes. He knew that if he looked at her now she'd be able to see every single emotion that was boiling over inside of him. She had made it fairly clear to him that she was here for one thing and one thing only, and the last thing he wanted to do now was jeopardize this very tentative moment.

Every movement, though it was identical to the last time they'd done this, felt stilted and awkward instead of comfortable. Hermione draped a towel over his shoulders, collecting his hair and pulling it out from underneath. She seemed to almost purposefully avoid any extra contact, touching him only as much as she absolutely had to, and the pit in his stomach sank deeper. This haircut was going to be the death of him.

She ran the tap in silence, checking the water temperature on her wrist until she deemed it acceptable and began to wet his hair. Charlie screwed his eyes shut, head tilted back into the basin of the sink, and tried desperately to steel his mind against her. He tried not to think about her touch, her proximity, the stark and heavy quiet in the air between them.

Hermione washed his hair thoroughly but mechanically, avoiding pulling his hair or massaging his scalp at all, and his chest tightened in a way that made him feel slightly ill. In the kitchen at the Burrow he'd been trying so hard not to let himself give into his feelings, and now he was willing them away for an entirely different reason. As miserable as he'd been then, he was ten times more miserable now.

After what felt like an eternity and a split second all at once, Hermione shut off the tap and squeezed the water from his hair. Charlie sat up and she handed him a towel, pointedly avoiding his gaze. His arms felt heavy as he lifted them to towel his own hair dry. Hermione did not watch him.

When he was finished, he dropped the towel to the floor and picked up the comb that she had set on the counter beside the scissors. Charlie wasn't sure he could bear her handing it to him. Carefully and deliberately, he worked the tangles from his damp hair, hissing in pain once or twice. Once, he thought he heard her make a sound, and his eyes darted over to her. She cleared her throat awkwardly and looked away, but he swore that he could see her flush.

"Here," she said,

Charlie set the comb back on the counter. Wordlessly, she approached, picking up the comb and the scissors. His heart quickened slightly–she had to get close to him now. If ever there was a test of his self control, this was it.

The silence was thick between them, interrupted only by the snip snip snip of the scissors as she trimmed. Charlie kept his eyes closed, focusing on keeping his breathing regulated and imagining that he was literally anywhere else but here.

Hermione leaned in suddenly, holding two locks of hair up to compare them, and for the first time since she'd arrived he was close enough to her to hear her shaky, shallow breaths. His eyes opened on their own and he found himself staring directly into her honey brown gaze, swirling with some unnamable emotion.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something to her, she cleared her throat and backed away. "Erm, sorry about that." Hermione moved on to another section of hair, and Charlie deflated.

She worked quickly and efficiently, locks of ginger hair scattering on the floor around them, and soon enough she was satisfied with her work. "How do you like it?" she asked, very professionally, and Charlie ran his hand through his damp hair. She set to cleaning up the mess while he examined her handiwork.

"It's perfect, Hermione, really," he assured her, and he knew he didn't imagine the way she flushed at his praise. "Listen, it's late, yeah? I don't want you walking all the way to the infirmary by yourself at this time of night. You can stay here, take my bed, and I'll sleep on the couch. Consider it repayment for the haircut."

Hermione looked like she was going to protest for a moment, but she only sighed and picked up her bag. "Thank you, Charlie," she said, and the chill in her voice wounded him. "I suppose I'll go on and get ready for bed, then. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he echoed, watching her walk into his bedroom and close the door behind her.

Hours later, Charlie lay awake in the dark on his couch, staring at the ceiling. How could he possibly sleep knowing that she was here, in his house, in his bed? How long had he been longing to see her again, only to be so far from her when he did? His mind raced and his heart roiled, a combination that was making him feel vaguely seasick. He was going to have to burn his sheets.

Though he'd left the radio on, as he always did, he found himself unable to keep his attention on it. The voices droned in the background, telling some story that he'd likely heard before. For the first time in a long time, Charlie found himself wanting some quiet. He stood near-silently, whipping the blanket off of himself and crossing the room to the little radio. He clicked it off, and the resulting silence was so immediate that his ears rang for just a second.

When they adjusted to the lack of noise, the only sound left in the room his own soft breathing, he heard a sudden gasp coming from behind his closed bedroom door. Hermione.

Charlie took off running, practically bursting through the door to find her tangled in his sheets, brow furrowed, whimpering in her sleep. Her curls were splayed across his pillows, the blankets kicked below her waist. She was wearing his Quidditch jersey. Had he not been so worried for her, his knees would have buckled at the sight.

He dashed to her side, kneeling next to the bed and placing a hand on her cheek. "Hermione," he murmured. "Hermione, wake up, I'm right here. You're having a nightmare, love."

She let out another pained sound, choked in her throat, and he winced. "Hermione, sweetheart," he called louder, shaking her shoulder gently. "Wake up, you're okay. I'm right here."

When her honey brown eyes finally blinked open, unfocused and swimming with confusion, he breathed a soft sigh of relief. Realizing he was there, she turned to look at him. "Charlie?" she whispered, her breathing still labored from her dream.

"Hey," he replied, smiling at her. "You were having a bad dream. Are you okay?"

Hermione blinked at him, sitting up slightly and propping herself up on her elbow. It made him ache to reach out and touch her again, but he resisted the urge. The sight of her in his bed was making him fucking feral, and he needed to control himself.

"I'm okay," she finally replied. "How did you–?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I got up to turn the radio off, and I heard you," he explained. "I swear, I wasn't, like, outside the door listening to you sleep like some kind of weirdo."

Hermione snorted softly at that, and his heart swelled with pride at making her laugh. "Thank you for checking on me," she said, looking down at the blanket and running her fingertips along the seams. "I really am okay."

"Of course," he replied, standing from where he was crouched beside the bed. "I'm glad you're okay. I'll just, uh–let you get back to sleep, then. I'm sure you're tired." And he turned on his heel, walking stiffly toward the bedroom door.

"Wait," her voice came suddenly, and louder than she'd expected it to. "I mean, uh. I am okay, but…"

Charlie stood stock still, his breath caught in his chest.

"...do you think you could stay with me for a while?"

And, like always, there was no way he could say no to her.

Charlie returned to her side, and she patted the mattress. He sat tentatively, and she sat up beside him. "Sorry, I just…" she trailed off, shrugging a shoulder and avoiding his gaze. "It's hard for me to get back to sleep after I've been… um, dreaming."

"Hermione, don't apologize," he said, shaking his head. "I was up anyway, and even if I hadn't been, I want to make sure you're okay." She met his eyes at that, and smiled a little. "Do you want to tell me about the dream?"

She didn't answer, only blanched and then flushed the deepest shade of scarlet he'd ever seen. His chest seized with panic–why had he asked her that? Surely her nightmares were traumatic, painful, and here he was asking her to relive them. Hermione stood, suddenly looking nervous.

"You know, Charlie," she finally spoke, after pacing his bedroom a few times. "I really appreciate you letting me stay here, but maybe I should stay in the infirmary after all–it's really not that much longer, and I'd hate to throw off your morning routine, you know? And I–"

"Hermione." His voice was soft, but firm, and she quieted. Her feet stilled, but he could still hear her shaky breathing. "Hermione, it's the middle of the night. You're not going anywhere. Are you okay? I swear, I don't mind staying out on the couch, you don't have to keep me in here for my sake."

"For your sake?" she asked, turning to face him. "You think I asked you to stay with me for your sake? Charlie, I asked you to stay because being near you is the first time I've been able to breathe all year. I asked you to stay because… because I wasn't, erm, having… a nightmare. Exactly."

Like a dream, she made her way over to him. There was no way this was real. He'd fallen asleep on the couch and this was all a fantasy that he'd wake from, heart aching. She stopped in front of him and he looked up at her, nearly letting out a sob at the depth of emotion he found in her eyes.

Her voice came soft like a melody. "I was dreaming about you."

They both froze, time seeming to slow to a stop around them, and simply held eye contact for a moment. Charlie's heart was pounding in his ears, drowning out all hope of a rational thought, but for a moment it seemed as though he wasn't going to be able to move–like his brain had simply shut itself down.

He felt his palms and then his fingers curl around her waist, and his heart skipped a beat at the feel of her beneath his hands again. Charlie squeezed her slightly, almost like he couldn't believe she was real. His thumbs smoothed over her hips as he reveled in the moment, vaguely aware that he shouldn't be doing this, and then–

Charlie was snapped out of his trance by a soft, needy sound–one that had fallen from Hermione's lips. He looked up to find her eyes wide, staring down at him in disbelief, and something in him that had been wound too tightly since New Year's Eve snapped, opening the floodgates.

"Hermione," he whispered, her name like a prayer on his tongue.

"Charlie–" she choked, her throat tight with emotion, but he didn't give her the chance to continue. With one swift motion he pulled her between his open legs to crush her torso against his chest, pressing his hot mouth against her lips, fireworks erupting behind his eyelids that would have put Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to shame.

Hermione didn't hesitate, her fragile resolve crumbling beneath his touch, and she climbed into his lap and suddenly his senses were full of her again. The feel of her body against his, the taste of her lips–he was overwhelmed and yet still desperate for more. Charlie wanted to drown himself in her, never to come to the surface again.

"I'm sorry," he breathed into her mouth, clutching her tightly, like he was afraid that she'd apparate out of his arms. "I'm so fucking sorry, Hermione, for everything, I–"

"Shhh," she whispered, running her fingers gently through his hair. "It's okay. We can talk about it later. Right now, I just want…"

Charlie flexed his hips beneath her and she gasped.

"Yes," she sighed. "Charlie, please."

Her soft plea and his name in her mouth sent him into a frenzy, his blood searing hot in his veins as he devoured her, clinging to every bit of her he could touch. Every suppressed emotion he'd had since New Year's crashed through him–every ounce of longing and desperation and adoration he'd felt for her concentrated to near-maddening levels.

He grabbed her waist, then, and flipped her down onto the bed. The sight of her in his bed, in his jersey, looking up at him the way she was… she'd never been more beautiful than she was in this moment, and Charlie knew then that he would never, ever recover from Hermione Granger.

Charlie climbed atop her, holding himself up as he leaned down to kiss her again. "I thought I was going to have to burn my sheets," he murmured lowly against her lips. "Merlin, you smell so fucking good."

He ran the tip of his nose up the column of her neck, tucking it behind her ear and breathing in her scent. His erection throbbed against her thigh, and he couldn't help but chase the friction for a moment.

Hermione's arms slid around the back of his neck and she pulled him close, leaning up to kiss him, and he sighed contentedly. Nothing had ever felt more right than this, and he never wanted this moment to end.

Charlie ran his hand up her bare thigh, her skin smooth and warm beneath his palm, and stopped just short of the hem of his jersey. The last thing he wanted to do was move too fast, to take advantage, to get so swept up in how badly he wanted her that he forgot himself.

But when Hermione whined and grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand up and under her clothes, his resolve disappeared. Charlie buried his face against her collarbone as his hand made its way up over the curve of her hip, up her back, and down again. She wasn't wearing anything underneath, and his cock twitched desperately. He needed her.

"Touch me, Charlie," she breathed into his hair, her tone pleading.

"Gods, Hermione," he practically growled, nearly feral with his desire for her. Every pent up emotion between them swelled within him, fueling the heat that seemed to roll off of him in waves. He'd never felt like this before. He looked at her in silent awe for just a moment–just long enough for her to notice him staring and smirk before pressing her sweet lips against his.

And just as he was reveling in her–the feel of her skin beneath his palm, the taste of her tongue in his mouth–he felt her fingers graze the waistband of the boxer shorts he wore, trailing along his belly and hips, asking quiet permission to reciprocate. Charlie flexed his hips into her touch, nodding desperately, not breaking their kiss.

It took some maneuvering, but soon Charlie was kicking his boxers onto the floor beside the bed. Hermione wound her bare legs around his, hitching one knee up over his hip, and he caught her thigh in his hand. He squeezed it, gently at first and then slightly harder, his rough fingertips sinking into her tender flesh and making her shiver.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, so many sweet nothings to whisper into her ear and so many times he'd thought of her while they'd been apart, but his brain felt like it was short-circuiting, or like he was about to wake in the middle of a dream. He couldn't have formed a sentence if he tried. Instead he settled for murmuring vague words against her lips and kissing her so thoroughly that hopefully he could shut off the voices in both of their heads.

Charlie gasped suddenly, feeling her soft palm and delicate fingers wrap around his aching cock. He hissed and swore harshly in Romanian, bucking his hips into her touch. He felt like a teenager again, rutting desperately against her, unsure if he was going to make a mess of himself before they even really got started.

He nipped at her bottom lip and when she gasped, he caught her wrist in his calloused hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each of her knuckles reverently. Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion, and he kissed the space between them. "Not yet, love," he murmured against her forehead, his voice a low hum. "I want to take my time with you."

Charlie couldn't help but smile to himself at the way she shivered.

"On your back," he instructed gently, secretly pleased at the way she obliged almost automatically. "Gods, you're beautiful."

Hermione scrunched her nose in protest, and he chuckled. "It's true. One of these days I'll tell you every beautiful thing about yourself, but tonight…" Charlie crawled over her, sinewy and graceful, and caught her earlobe between his teeth. "Tonight, I don't have the patience for all that."

Her breath caught, then, and he kissed his way down her neck. He admired the way her chest heaved as he made his way across her delicate collarbone, the way he could see her pulse fluttering in her throat. The scent of her was intoxicating, making his head spin, and he latched onto her pulse point with his teeth. Hermione squealed in pleasure, arching against him, and he growled. "You like that?" he found himself asking, slightly surprised at himself, but she only curled her hands around his biceps and nodded.

"Yes," she breathed, "more."

Who was he to deny her?

Charlie peppered little marks along her clavicle, and Hermione propped herself up on one elbow, attempting to shimmy out of her clothing. "No," he protested, stilling her with his hand. "No, uh… keep it on. Please."

At her look of confusion, he sighed and chewed his lip for a moment. "It's… kind of really hot when you wear my clothes," he explained, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. "I want to see you, I do, I just…"

And before he could finish his sentence she'd tugged the jersey up and over her tits, keeping it on but giving him free access to her body. Charlie felt his cock twitch and leak at the sight. He must have been staring because Hermione started to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. "Sorry," he breathed, reverent and awed. "I just can't believe I get to touch you."

Charlie leaned down and kissed her sweetly, slow and languid as he let his hands roam her exposed form. He wanted to memorize every swell and curve and dip of her, the warmth and softness of her skin, the spots where the graze of his fingers made her breath catch in her throat. He explored her for what could have been hours, days, decades–he was on another plane of existence, lost in the beautiful woman below him.

His hand made its way to the swell of her breast, gently palming it and feeling the weight in his hand. Hermione arched her back, pressing against him, and he hardly recognized the whine that escaped his own throat. There were a million things he wanted to say to her, lines of prose flowing through his mind like a mantra, but he couldn't form the words. This was paradise, this was bliss, and Charlie knew that he couldn't live without her.

Hermione's hand wound its way into his hair as he traveled lower, kissing the top of each breast before sucking one of her pert nipples into his hot mouth. She shuddered and gasped, gripping his hair tight and making him groan low against her, her nipple vibrating deliciously between his teeth. "God, Charlie," she choked out, panting softly. "Don't stop, please."

He obliged quite happily, rolling one nipple between his fingers while his tongue lapped at the other, switching back and forth until he could no longer ignore the way her hips pressed up and into him in a silent plea. He could practically feel the heat of her, and he found himself needing to know whether she was truly enjoying herself.

When his thick fingers grazed her lips, parting them slightly to feel how hot and wet and needy she was for him, Hermione buried her face in his neck to muffle her desperate whimpers of pleasure. He explored her slowly, cock aching at the feel of her. "Can I, um," he whispered hoarsely into her hair. "Can I feel you?"

Her frantic nod spurred him on even more and he plunged two fingers into her cunt, nearly cumming all over his bedsheets as she clenched and fluttered around them. His cock throbbed and his balls tightened and he stilled his hand, breathing short, harsh breaths through his nose and trying desperately to think of anything other than how badly he wanted her.

Hermione wiggled her hips, then, and bit her lip as she looked at him, pupils blown wide and eyes half-lidded.

She was going to be the death of him, and she knew it.

Charlie kissed her again as he began to move his fingers, curling them slightly as he thrust them into her over and over, and he reveled in the way she dug her nails into his shoulders and panted through her nose. "That's it," he murmured against her lips, and she gasped. "You feel so fucking good, Hermione."

All he could think about was her pleasure, the way her body wound tighter and tighter, the way her skin flushed and her eyelids fluttered as he touched her. Every sound she made spurred him onward. He was desperate to tip her over the edge.

"Cum for me, Hermione," he growled, moving faster, chasing her pleasure. "Gods, please, cum for me."

And, little obedient witch that she was, Hermione obliged. She clamped down on his fingers, crying his name as her body convulsed, and it was all he could do to stop himself from taking her right then and there. As badly as he wanted to, he wasn't quite finished with her yet.

As she floated back down, Charlie pulled his fingers out of her slowly, immediately sliding the dripping digits into his own mouth. He closed his eyes, moaning at the sweet taste of her, and was only startled out of his blissful trance when Hermione squirmed beneath him. He opened his eyes again to see her blushing bright red and trying to hide her face.

"You taste incredible," he assured her, grinning wryly. "Here, see for yourself."

Hermione moaned softly as he kissed her, plunging his tongue into her mouth. "If it's all the same to you," he breathed, "I'd like to have a proper taste."

If it was possible for her to blush any darker, she did just then. He hesitated for a moment, but Hermione took a deep breath and nodded, looking up at him and biting her lip. "I've never–" she began, but he put a finger to her lips.

"I have," he said. "If you don't like it, I'll stop. I promise."

Her only response was another nod as she nestled herself comfortably into the sheets, parting her thighs for him once again.

Charlie made his lazy, languid way down her body, kissing a trail from her ear to her neck, down her chest and belly. He bit at the soft flesh of her abdomen and she squealed, making him laugh. He pressed his mouth into her inner thigh, close enough that he could smell her, and she tilted her hips just slightly. "Are you ready, love?" he asked.

"Yes," she breathed, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

Like a man starved, he held her thighs apart with his hands and sealed his mouth over her cunt. Hermione gasped, rolling her hips, but he managed to stay attached to her. His strong arms wrapped around her thighs, holding her tight against him, and he felt her heels on his back.

Just then, he sucked her clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue, and she practically screamed from the sensation.

"Your neighbors," Hermione gasped, and Charlie swallowed thickly.

"Silencing spells come standard," he assured her, winking playfully before burying his face between her thighs once again. "Do you want me to stop?"

She shook her head no, frantically, and he chuckled.

If his fingers inside her had been bliss, this was heaven itself. Charlie couldn't get enough of the taste of her, sweet and bitter and delicious, and before long his face was drenched. It didn't bother him–if anything, it made him even more feral for her.

He thumbed her clit as his tongue entered her, slick and hot, and she fell apart for him once again. She was still panting, cunt still twitching, as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and rose to kiss her again. "Are you okay?" he whispered, and she nodded, kissing him back in earnest.

"Please," she murmured hoarsely, reaching down to feel his throbbing cock with her soft fingers. "I need you, Charlie."

He didn't need to be asked twice. He was aching for her, rock hard and leaking precum, and he nudged the tip against her slick folds. They both shivered, and he leaned his forehead against hers.

Hermione looked up at him, then, and he held her gaze as he finally, finally, slid himself inside her.

It felt as if he'd been waiting for years, decades, lifetimes for her. He pushed into her slowly, letting her adjust as he settled balls-deep inside her, and nothing had ever felt more like coming home. He stilled for a moment, kissing her sweetly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. "Don't make me wait," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper, and if there were any thoughts in his head they evaporated.

Charlie began thrusting in and out of her, unable to stop the sounds of pleasure from his own lips. If Hermione noticed, she didn't seem to care–she was lost, head thrown back, whimpering and moaning and running her hands down his arms and up his chest. He dropped his head to rest against her shoulder, trying desperately to prolong this moment, knowing that it was futile. He needed her, and this wasn't going to last long.

Still, he was determined to make her cum for him one last time. Charlie wanted nothing more than to feel her fall apart around his cock, and it wasn't long before he could no longer ignore his desires. He fucked her thoroughly, grinding against her, hips thrusting faster, reaching down to find her clit with his thumb once again.

Hermione clung to him, sweaty and flushed and practically chanting his name. He could feel her approaching her peak, could feel the way her cunt gripped him tighter and tighter, and his head spun.

"Don't hold back," he practically growled into her neck, and she whined, breasts heaving against his chest. "That's it, love, you can do it."

The praise and encouragement seemed to work, rocketing her ever forward toward the inevitable, and Charlie grunted as her moans grew longer and louder. She was close, he could feel it, and he couldn't wait much longer himself. "Cum for me," he demanded, biting down hard on her neck, and she screamed his name. "Now."

And with that, she shook, legs holding him against her. Her back arched and her hands gripped him tightly as everything stilled for just a moment–everything, of course, except the steady bucking of Charlie's hips.

"Fuck, Hermione," he managed through gritted teeth, holding himself back until he felt her clenching deliciously around him. Her orgasm triggered his and he spilled into her, a feeling better than he'd ever imagined. "I love you," he breathed, shockwaves of pleasure still prickling along every nerve ending.

He collapsed next to her, both of them panting, and pulled her tight against him.

" Charlie," she murmured sleepily against his bare chest.

"Yes, love?"

"I love you, too."

Charlie's chest tightened with emotion as her breathing softened, stroking her hair as she fell asleep in his arms. He never wanted this moment to end. He fought sleep for as long as he could, basking in her presence, but eventually he drifted off to sleep, happier than he'd been in a long time.

Charlie woke in the morning as he always did, the sunlight streaming through his window more effective than any alarm. He stretched his stiff muscles and scrubbed at his bleary eyes with the heel of his hand. Instantly, he realized that he was alone. "Fuck," he swore, sitting up and looking around the room. Had it all been a dream? Perhaps he'd finally snapped, lost his mind from longing. Or worse, perhaps… maybe she'd run from him again. His family was going to kill him, and he was prepared to let them.

Steeling himself, he rose from the bed, hissing slightly at the chill of the floor beneath his bare feet. If it had been a dream, it had been a beautiful one, but he had things to do. First things first, he needed a cup of tea.

Charlie opened his bedroom door and stood, shocked, at the sight before him.

Hermione Granger was sitting at his little dining table, clearly immersed in some book. She still wore his jersey, hair piled atop her head as she sipped from a steaming mug. She was every domestic daydream he'd ever had come to life, and the image was so beautiful that he almost wanted to cry. At the empty seat beside her sat her old chipped mug, steaming, two teabags steeping in the hot water.

"Hermione," he whispered, completely in awe of her, and the dazzling smile she gave him in return was all the answer he'd ever needed.

"You're out of coffee," she explained, and Charlie laughed, swept her into his arms, and kissed her.