Here's a new chapter! Please let me know how you like it, and as always, thank you so much for your patience!
He awoke with the sun, equal parts soothed and nervous. It was Christmas morning, and although it had only been twenty four hours since he'd snogged Hermione Granger in the kitchen, it felt like an eternity since he'd seen her. Would she be angry that he'd stayed? Would she act like nothing had happened or would she shout at him in front of his family? He could have been in Romania by now, assuming he wouldn't have splinched himself beyond recognition, comfortable and alone in his own bed and not in a house full of people. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was there, anyway-the house was silent, just like it always was at this time of morning, even on Christmas. They weren't a family of early risers, no matter what the occasion.
Part of him wanted to hide up in his bedroom until the rest of the house was stirring. These early morning hours had been filled with coffee and Hermione, and there was a pit in his stomach at the thought of an empty kitchen-although, to be honest, he was equally afraid that she wouldn't come down to join him. If he were the one to stay back, to keep himself hidden, then maybe he could retain at least a shred of his self respect.
Huffing a sigh past his lips, Charlie swung his legs out of bed and pressed his bare feet to the cold wooden floor. He sat up, running a hand through his hair and quickly tying it back with the scrap of leather that was looped around his wrist. He was still wearing the tee shirt from last night and decided that it was far too cold downstairs to not wear a jumper, even if he was guaranteed to have one under the tree. He dug through his drawers and found one, tugging it over his head.
He braced himself and then slipped out of his bedroom as quietly as he could manage. Dealing with dragons meant that sometimes you needed to be sneaky, and despite his physique, Charlie could be quite light on his feet. That was why, perhaps, his presence had startled a gasp out of her, and in turn startled him so that he jerked his head upward, meeting her warm eyes. For a split second the two of them stood there, frozen, neither of them knowing quite what to do.
Charlie broke the silence first. "Er-" he managed, his eyes sweeping over her form. She was wearing nothing but a Hogwarts Quidditch jersey that was slightly oversized on her so that it fell to her upper thighs, barely covering her. She'd forgone pyjama bottoms, evidently, and Charlie felt his mouth go dry at the sight of her, her curls piled messily on top of her head and her eyes still bleary with sleep.
"Charlie," she breathed suddenly, pressing one of her palms against her heaving chest. "Merlin, you startled me."
"I'm sorry," he responded sheepishly, and he could feel the blush creeping over his face and down his chest. "I didn't think anyone else was up yet." Well, that wasn't entirely true. He knew that Hermione was an early riser, too. He'd just been hoping that she'd choose to stay in bed until everyone else was up, too.
"I was just going to have a shower," she said softly, still standing stock-still in the corridor. It was like each of them was afraid to move. "Before everyone gets up, you know. I didn't want to have to wait in line. Lavender takes ages and there's never any hot water after she's done." A tiny, almost imperceptible smile tugged at Hermione's lips and she raised her head to meet Charlie's eyes, crossing her arms over her abdomen.
Relief crashed over Charlie like a wave, almost knocking him down with the force of it. She at least wasn't cross enough with him to hex him here and now, where there were no actual witnesses. She wasn't screaming at him or slapping him across the face. Maybe they were okay, after all.
He resolved to push his feelings for her down, squashing them until they disappeared on their own. Once he was back in Romania, his senses free of her, he was sure that this little infatuation would fade quickly. Maybe the lack of fresh air and physical exertion were starting to mess with his head.
Charlie returned her smile with a dazzling grin of his own, a huge weight having been lifted off of him just now. Now he could enjoy Christmas with his family. He gestured toward the loo. "Go on, then, before everyone starts waking up," he said. "I'll go start the coffee?"
Hermione's smile widened and her eyes brightened as she nodded her head at him, a few loose curls bouncing free around her face. Merlin, but they looked soft. It took all his self control not to reach out and catch one, rubbing it between his fingers. Hermione turned then, and slipped into the loo, but not before Charlie caught sight of a detail that made him weak at the knees. The back of her borrowed jersey read: C. WEASLEY.
Fuck. She was wearing his Quidditch jersey. He groaned, knowing that he may well never get that image out of his mind.
Charlie took a deep breath, quick and harsh through his nose, and forced himself to march down the stairs and not wait outside the loo to snog Hermione senseless when she emerged.
Fifteen minutes later, Charlie was sat in his usual place at the kitchen table, clutching his steaming mug of coffee. He'd carefully inspected the downstairs for enchanted mistletoe but it seemed that George had learned his lesson, thankfully. Next to him, in Hermione's place, rested her own favorite mug. He'd made her coffee just the way she liked, with two sugars and just the tiniest splash of cream. Charlie had teased her the first time he'd watched her make it, laughing that it wasn't even enough cream to make a difference, but Hermione had only scoffed at him and his bitter black coffee.
He pushed the memory of yesterday morning firmly from his mind. He could handle being alone in the kitchen with her. He would handle it. Charlie sighed-he was stronger than this, and it drove him crazy that this was enough to have him unravelling. He'd just treat Hermione like he treated Ginny, and then he'd feel about Hermione the way he felt about Ginny. It was a solid plan. All he had to do was stick to it.
He was startled from his thoughts by her form descending the stairs. Also anticipating a jumper from Molly, she was clad only in black leggings and a pale pink tank top that just set off the color of her skin. That combined with the dewiness from the shower made her look like she was aglow, the lights from the tree reflecting off the halo of drying and rapidly frizzing curls on her head. He was reminded of how she'd looked that first night, silhouetted against the sunset, and his breath caught in his throat. He'd never thought about Ginny like this. He'd never thought about anyone like this.
Her bare feet padded across the cold hardwood toward the kitchen and she grinned at him as she entered, dropping into the seat beside him and assaulting his senses with her warmth and the sweet scent of her. Charlie brought his mug to his lips roughly, taking a swig of coffee and letting the smell of the beans take over instead.
"Merry Christmas, Charlie," Hermione said softly, raising her mug to him and then taking a small sip. He raised his mug, too, and smiled into it as he took another swig of his own coffee.
"Merry Christmas, Hermione," he rumbled back at her, thankful for this moment between them. The past twenty four hours had been an absolute rollercoaster of emotions but here, in the kitchen with her, everything was peaceful. It was all coffee and companionship and the sight of her curls in his peripheral vision. He could get used to this.
Except that he couldn't get used to this. It wouldn't be long before he was back in Romania and he could shove the thoughts of Hermione Granger out of his head for good. Letting himself fall into this easy routine with her would only make things harder for him when it was over, no matter how much he wanted to.
But then she looked at him through her eyelashes over her mug as she sipped her coffee and his breath caught in his throat again. Fuck the consequences, he thought. He was going to enjoy her company while he had it.
As they finished the last sips of their coffee, the rest of the occupants of the house began stampeding down the steps and suddenly the Burrow was bustling with activity again.
Percy and his wife, Audrey, showed up a few minutes after breakfast had already begun and the rest of them squeezed closer to accommodate two extra people at the table. Hermione was sat next to him this morning and she scooted closer to make room, her elbow brushing his and the outside of her thigh pressing against him. He could feel the warmth of her through their clothing and it was all he could do not to flush and choke on his eggs.
Christmas morning passed much as Charlie remembered from his childhood. It was far too loud in the Burrow and there were piles and piles of discarded wrapping paper everywhere. They were all stuffed into the living room, sitting on every available surface and some of them still on the floor. Victoire was flying around on her toy broomstick, knocking into her aunts' and uncles' knees. Everyone was wearing their hand knitted jumpers and the fire was roaring and gifts were still being opened.
Charlie had even received a few gifts, which was a pleasant surprise. He hadn't even told anyone that he was coming, so he hadn't expected gifts (save for his jumper, of course, as he got one sent to the Reserve every year). Bill and Fleur had gotten him a new pair of leather gloves, which he appreciated because his pair was just about to wear out. There was also a little scribbled drawing from Victoire, which he knew he would be putting up on his refrigerator the moment he was home. From George he'd gotten a couple of different love potions from the store's line ("In case you need a little help," George had explained with a wink when Charlie had looked at him incredulously). He felt his cheekbones burn with embarrassment when he'd opened it, but Hermione had been distracted by a book that Percy had gifted her. Only Ginny had cast a knowing look in his direction.
He was sitting by the fireplace, barefoot and cross-legged on the floor with his back against the wall, sipping languidly out of a glass of Ogden's. It had been his gift from Ron, and a much appreciated one at that. He savored the burn as it slid down his throat and sighed, a small smile tugging at his mouth as he allowed the warmth of his family and his home and the holiday envelop him. Normally, Charlie was happy to be alone, but he'd forgotten how much he loved being around his family, too.
Hermione suddenly appeared beside him, leaning her back against the wall. "Merry Christmas, Charlie," she murmured softly so that no one else could hear her. They shared a smile.
"Merry Christmas, Hermione," Charlie replied, offering her the glass in his hand. She took it and sipped gracefully, shuddering at the sharpness of the liquor on her tongue. Licking her lips and locking her eyes on his, she passed the glass back to him, their fingers brushing. He nearly dropped the glass as his heart stuttered in his chest. She turned behind her and then faced him again, her hands curled around a neatly wrapped package. Charlie grinned and reached for her gift behind him, showing it to her, too. They swapped boxes and began tearing into the paper. He set his glass on the floor beside him.
"Oh!" Hermione gasped, her eyes alight as she tore the paper away to reveal a new coffee mug, one with a dragon emblazoned on the side. It curled and stretched and flew around the mug, blowing smoke from its nostrils and fire from its throat. He'd wanted to get her something that would remind her of him-their mornings sipping coffee together in the chilly kitchen of the Burrow-and it seemed that he'd hit his mark. "I love it. Thank you, Charlie."
He grinned even wider as he pulled the last of the paper away from his gift. "I told you, my gift was your company in Diagon Alley," Charlie insisted, tearing his eyes away from hers to look at what was in his hands. It was made of supple but sturdy leather straps, and he turned it over in his hands. "Er… what is it?" he asked sheepishly, and she chuckled.
"It's a thigh holster for your wand," Hermione explained, taking it from his hands and showing him the loops for around his leg and the pocket for his wand. "You'd mentioned that you keep making holes in your pockets or dropping your wand so I thought this might help. It's charmed so that your wand can't accidentally go off while it's in the holster."
Charlie knew he was gaping at her with a look of adoration on his face. She'd not only remembered such a miniscule detail about his life, she'd gone and solved the problem and gotten him a gift. She was bloody brilliant and he was in awe of her. He knew, then and there, that he was done for.
Hermione was gorgeous, she was intelligent, she was funny and sweet and well-spoken and Charlie knew that he would be lucky to ever get her out of his head after this. He felt his world tilting on its axis as he sat there, his jaw slightly slack, staring into her glimmering eyes. He was sure that he looked like an idiot, just gaping at her like this, but it was like his brain had short-circuited and he couldn't even think properly, much less get his voice and mouth to work.
She flushed beneath his gaze, pink blooming on her cheeks as she averted her eyes. "It's nothing, really," she muttered, smiling a half smile down at her hands.
"It's not nothing," he said before he realized that he could speak again. "It's… it's perfect, Hermione. Thank you. Honestly, I'll use it all the time." She met his eyes again and her face broke into a dazzling grin. Fuck, he wanted to kiss her. He felt himself drawn toward her like a magnet, his eyes flickering from her eyes down to her mouth, panting softly through his nose as time seemed to slow around them. "Thank you," he whispered, and her eyes fell closed, her breath almost on his lips-
"Hermione, love, won't you help me get supper started?" his mother's voice cut through the cacophony both in the house and in his head, and he jumped back like he'd been shocked. Hermione wouldn't look in his eyes as she jumped to her feet and scurried into the kitchen.
Fuck. Fuck. He couldn't believe he'd almost kissed her again. Charlie scrubbed at his face with his rough palm, grabbing his glass and finishing it in one swallow. He needed a shower before dinner. He rose to his feet, keeping his eyes down as he made his way through the living room and up the steps.
Charlie stormed into the bathroom and locked the door, turning the water all the way to hot before tearing at his clothes and jumping under the spray. He allowed the burning water to bite at his skin, steam billowing around him as he gritted his teeth and scrubbed shampoo into his hair. The scent of her immediately surrounded him and he swore-he'd grabbed her shampoo by mistake. The universe was clearly punishing him, and he groaned, leaning his arm on the wall and dropping his forehead onto it. The smell of her shampoo combined with the stinging pain on his skin had his cock springing to life, his brain conjuring images of wild curls and glittering eyes and a brilliant smile. He could almost feel her hands on him, hear her voice sighing in his ear, taste her lips-
"Fucking hell," he swore aloud, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as he wrapped his own hand around his cock, suppressing a groan. He couldn't let anyone hear him and in his haste he'd forgotten to cast a silencing charm. His calloused palm was slick with her shampoo and he pumped his cock furiously, imagining her soft little fingers wrapped around him instead. He imagined burying his face in her neck, tasting her skin, hearing her whimper into his ear. He remembered what her body felt like beneath his hands, pressed up against him, remembered the softness of her lips under his tongue. His breath caught and suddenly he reached his climax, unexpected and faster than normal, and he sunk his teeth into the flesh of his forearm to keep himself from shouting her name.
Charlie released his arm, panting heavily through his mouth and hanging his head. Guilt crashed into him and he clenched his jaw as the evidence of his misdeeds washed down the drain. He was never going to make it to New Year's at this rate.
After his shower, he darted into his bedroom to pull on a clean pair of pyjama pants and then tugged his jumper back on. He steeled himself, glaring at his own reflection in the mirror above the dresser. "Pull yourself together," he growled at himself. Then he took two deep breaths, ran a hand through his damp hair, and made his way back downstairs. He could do this. He would.
Supper was, as always, a raucous affair but somehow, on Christmas, there seemed to be even more food on the table than usual. Everyone talked over each other, dishes were passed back and forth, silverware clinked on mismatched plates, and peals of laughter floated above it all. Hermione was seated down by Ron and Ginny and Charlie could barely see her from his place between Audrey and Bill. Save for the sound of her voice catching his ear now and again, he could almost pretend that she wasn't there. Almost.
George caught Charlie's eyes flicking down to the other end of the table again and raised one eyebrow, questioning. Charlie huffed and flushed and then averted his gaze, shaking his head and then shoving a hand through his hair uncomfortably, just for something to do with his hands. It was then that Molly's voice cut through the noise.
"Charlie Weasley," she scolded, but her voice was warm and loving, not stern. "Doesn't anyone in Romania have a proper haircut?"
Charlie froze. He'd been dreading the moment his mother noticed the length of his hair, and he cursed himself for forgetting to tie it up. He'd been distracted and it had slipped his mind. "Mum," he murmured as Bill nudged his elbow playfully. "I like my hair!"
Molly tutted at him, shaking her head. "No, that won't do at all. I'll have to cut it after breakfast tomorrow." She nodded once, firmly, and then the hum crescendoed to a roar around them, effectively ending their conversation.
Well. At least he had that to look forward to now. Charlie blew a sigh out through his nose and then slipped back into the conversation between Fleur and Audrey, who were both complaining about how their husbands worked too much. "Well, I literally live at work, so," he said, shoving a bite of potato in his mouth and wiggling his eyebrows as the people around him chuckled.
After dinner, as Harry and Ginny began washing dishes and Bill and Fleur took Victoire up to bed and everyone else dispersed between the kitchen and the living room, Charlie took advantage of the moment and slipped outside unnoticed. He walked a bit away from the house, taking deep lungfuls of the fresh, cold air, his breath fogging on the exhale. He remembered doing that as a child, blowing his breath out hard through his nose on cold days, pretending that he was a dragon. He smirked to himself.
Normally, Charlie didn't think on his childhood much. It hurt too much, after the war, to remember how things had been when he was young. Especially when he'd been isolating himself from his family, he'd firmly locked away all of his childhood memories so that he wouldn't dwell.
Now, though, in the soft glow of the Burrow's light at night, he allowed himself to remember why he loved this place so much. He allowed himself to remember how it felt to be here, to be surrounded by people who loved him. Sure, his coworkers liked him well enough and he was close to some of them, but there was something different about the unconditional love of the people you came from. He wasn't used to feeling this much, this deeply, and tears stung at his eyes. He'd been on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster since he'd come home and his nerves felt raw. He was so used to suppressing his emotions, to giving himself limitations and rules, that he was feeling a little overwhelmed.
"Aren't you cold?" a voice called out to him, and Charlie hastily wiped at his eyes before turning his head to see Fleur approaching him, a little smile on her face as she held his coat out to him. He shrugged it on, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"Thanks, Fleur," he said, smiling down at her. "Count on you to pick up Mum's slack, yeah?"
They shared a few moments of comfortable silence. Fleur and Charlie had bonded quickly over their mutual adoration for Bill, and the three of them had been quite tight knit, once, before he stopped coming around. He hadn't quite known how to reach out after a while, although somewhere deep down he knew that Fleur would welcome him back with open arms no matter how long it had been.
She rested her cheek on his shoulder as if she could hear his thoughts. "Victoire has not stopped talking about you," she informed him warmly. "Of course, we have told her all about you since she was born. She has always asked to meet you." She didn't ask why he'd stayed away-it was Fleur. She already knew. She could always read him like a book.
"She's perfect," he responded, his voice quiet. "I'll make up for the lost time."
"She will never remember a time when she did not know you," Fleur assured him, and then she placed her hand on her abdomen. "The baby, too. They will always know you."
It made Charlie feel warm inside. He knew that he had his family, of course, but to know that he had a special, smaller place with Bill and Fleur… it made him feel special in a way that his huge family had never been able to. Within the Burrow he was just one of the Weasleys, one of the middle ones, one of the boys. At Shell Cottage, he was Charlie. It was different, and he hadn't realized until this very moment exactly how much he'd missed that.
He slung an arm around Fleur's shoulder and squeezed her fondly. "Let's get back inside before you freeze to death," he suggested, and she laughed as a shiver ran through her, tucking her arm into the crook of his elbow as he led her back to the house.
Inside the house it was much quieter than when he'd left, a few quiet conversations taking place in the emptier living room. It was getting late and some people had gone off to bed. Percy and Audrey had, evidently, left while Charlie was outside. He felt a small pang of guilt in his chest that he hadn't said goodbye.
Charlie dropped onto the couch, sitting beside Harry. Ron was lounging in the armchair beside them, sipping what had to be his second or third whiskey, and offered the bottle to Charlie. He took it and swigged right from the bottle gratefully, settling back onto the sofa with a comfortable sigh.
"I was just telling Ron all about wedding planning," Harry said, rolling his eyes a bit. "I know she's your sister, mate, but Gin's driving me mad with all of this talk about… I don't know, centerpieces? I keep telling her that she can choose whatever she likes. I couldn't care less as long as she's the one in the white dress, you know?"
Ron rolled his eyes then, much more dramatically, and made a gagging noise. "Oi, mate, put a lid on the sappy stuff," he insisted, and Harry snorted.
"I've been watching Lavender try to suck your face off all holiday, you've no room to talk," he retorted, and all three of them laughed.
"How about you, Charlie?" Harry turned on him, then, green eyes seeming to pierce him from behind his spectacles. "Your mum is worried you'll be a bachelor forever."
Charlie shrugged one shoulder carefully, taking another swig of Ogden's to stall having to answer that question until he could do it without sounding like he was lying. He cleared his throat. "I s'pose there's no real way of knowing," he responded carefully. "I'm just… always so busy with work, yeah? Not much time for dating, and the Reserve has pretty slim pickings, anyway."
"I reckon Lavender could set you up," Ron offered, holding his glass out for Charlie to refill. He obliged and Ron lifted his glass in thanks, ice clinking gently against the side. "She's got loads of friends, she prob'ly knows someone who's looking."
Charlie snorted, then. "Thanks, Ron, but I think I'm okay," he responded, causing his baby brother to shrug a shoulder. "It's not meeting women that's the problem. It's just my lifestyle, that's all. Eventually I'm sure I'll get tired of the Reserve and settle down somewhere with someone… or something."
"Yeah, sure you will, mate," Harry retorted, shaking his head. "You've been mad for dragons since you were born. They're gonna have to drag your corpse off the Reserve before you'll walk off on your own two feet. You haven't got time for a girlfriend."
A girlfriend. In his head he'd fantasized about Hermione coming to stay with him on the Reserve from time to time for a long weekend. He imagined himself spending holidays with her, here at the Burrow with her curled into his side like Ginny always curled into Harry. He'd pictured her setting up a Portkey directly into his bedroom, the pair of them tangled up in each other because they'd missed each other so much. He'd imagined a million ways to make things work because he didn't want to imagine his life without her. He wasn't ready to face that, not while he was still suspended in the warm bubble of Christmas at the Burrow.
But Harry's words had his dreams crashing down around his ears. He felt the color drain out of his face. Harry was right. He didn't have time for a girlfriend, and no woman in her right mind would want to get involved with someone like him. He was known for being so dedicated to his work, so absorbed in life at the Reserve that it wasn't worth it to get close to him. Charlie always put his job above everything. Why would Hermione, or any woman, want someone like him?
Bitterly, he swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and then plunked the half-full bottle down on the coffee table. He bristled and stood, Harry and Ron glancing up at him.
"You all right, mate?" Harry asked, and Charlie gave a curt nod.
"Yeah. Just… long day. I think I'm gonna head up."
Ron and Harry each nodded at him and then resumed their conversation, the words floating around Charlie but not registering as he made his sorry way up the stairs to his bedroom.