Ahem... anyone still here? I am SO sorry that this update has taken so long, but I swear I am going to finish this fic come hell or high water. In this chapter we've caught up to the beginning of the story with Charlie on the reserve after having gone home. I hope you all like this chapter! There will likely only be one more and maybe a small epilogue and I hope to get it finished somewhat quickly. Thank you for sticking with this story as long as you have!
The cold water sprayed on his back, making him hiss. He'd just begun to warm up from spending all day outside in the frigid Romanian winter, and so the cold shower was a shock to his system. Still, with the images he'd conjured up earlier still flashing in his mind and his body's Pavlovian response to being in the shower, his erection remained. Charlie swore and turned the water to blistering hot, letting the sting of it on his skin spur him on as he stroked his cock, remembering how soft her hair was and how sweet she smelled and what her skin tasted like. He shouted her name as he found his release, quickly finishing up his shower after so he could continue his evening routine.
Charlie emerged from the bathroom having dried himself and put on a pair of pyjama pants, slung low on his hips, his muscles flexing as he ruffled his hair to get it to dry faster. It was getting longer again and he couldn't bring himself to even think about a haircut. He made his way to the kitchen, bare feet on cold floor, and put the kettle on the stove. He reached into his cabinet and pulled the chipped mug out, dropping a single chamomile tea bag into it while he waited for the water to boil. In the mornings, he sipped Earl Grey from the same mug. He couldn't drink coffee anymore, it made the space in his chest ache too much.
To say he'd settled back into his old routine wouldn't quite be accurate. Charlie was back to work and had hoped that everything would go back to normal on its own, that the distance from Hermione would quell the feelings that welled up in his chest until he felt like his ribs would crack from the pressure–but no such luck. Everything reminded him of her and it was maddening, distracting, almost dangerous. Charlie worked with dragons, after all, and he couldn't afford distractions. That was how people got hurt.
It had been nearly two months since the last time he'd seen Hermione, and his heart still ached for her just as fiercely as it had on New Year's Day when he'd found out that she left the Burrow without a word to him. Now, Ron's birthday was rapidly approaching, and when Charlie got the letter from Ginny begging him to come, he was more conflicted about going home than he'd ever been. Would Hermione be there? Would Ron still be angry with him? Would his mum send another Howler if he skipped out on the party?
The answer to the last question was yes, at least, he knew that much. And so, against his better judgment, Charlie found himself shoving clothes in his pack and running for another portkey–thankfully not an open tin can this time, but a half-burnt copy of… of course. Hogwarts: A History. The universe, Charlie thought as he landed on the Burrow's front lawn with the book in his hand, had a sick sense of humor. At least he wasn't bleeding.
It was, once again, just before dinner when he arrived. The main difference was the lack of snow (although the temperature was still cold enough). The ache in his chest flared violently as he walked toward the house. Charlie so desperately wanted to open the door to find a kitchen empty of everyone but her, silhouetted against the setting sun. He knew better, but still, he wanted.
Instead he opened the door to a kitchen bustling with Weasleys and partners, and he immediately began to scan the scene. Molly was stirring a few things on the stove while Lavender peered suspiciously into one of the pots. Fleur was holding Victoire, swaying softly with her free hand on her now-visible baby bump. Bill was setting the table while Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Angelina were having a very animated discussion about Quidditch. George was standing by Angelina, but he was making faces over Harry's shoulder at Victoire, making her giggle and screech with joy. Arthur was already sat at the head of the table. Percy and his wife weren't there… and neither was Hermione.
Charlie's heart sank into his stomach and he suddenly wanted to cry, but in that very moment, Ginny saw that he'd arrived. "Charlie!" she shouted happily, drawing the entire room's happy attention toward him–although he noticed an undercurrent of tension. He knew then that he was the reason that Hermione had not come.
There was a pause, a moment of silence that echoed around him and seemed to stretch on for an eternity–but then it shattered into the usual cacophony of a Weasley gathering, and Charlie was being pulled into the arms of one family member after the other. Even Ron clapped him warmly on the shoulder and thanked him for coming.
Dinner was a raucous affair, and for a moment he almost forgot about Hermione being absent. The chattering voices and passing of dishes buzzed in his head until he was just about smiling–but then he'd find himself scanning the table for her and his heart would sink all over again.
After dinner, Charlie stole away to his bedroom to unpack his things for the night. Just as he was pulling the last of his things from his backpack, there was a knock on his door. "Open," he responded curtly as he closed the drawer. When he looked up, the doorway to his bedroom was filled with the lanky frame of his youngest brother.
"Uh," Charlie said, eloquently, before clearing his throat and shifting on his feet. "Happy Birthday again, Ron."
Ronald's mouth tugged into the awkward half-smile that Charlie had come to associate with his baby brother over the years, and it was almost soothing to see. "Hermione heard you were coming and decided that we'd celebrate next week," he said plainly, with a little shrug.
"Fuck. I'm really sorry. Ginny asked me to come and–"
"I wanted you here, too," Ron interrupted. "I always do. You're my brother, Charlie."
Charlie and Ron had never been particularly close. Between the age difference and the fact that Charlie had already had three younger brothers before Ronald came along, they just weren't as close as they each were to some of their other siblings. Still, in that moment, he felt a deeper connection to his baby brother than he ever had before.
"I'm glad I came," Charlie said, softly. "I just… I wish she'd come, too."
Ron nodded, leaning against the door frame. "Yeah, I figured. She hasn't been the same, you know. And she hasn't been home since New Year's. Nobody's talked about it, either. It's been weird."
"It's completely my fault." Charlie clenched his jaw, frustrated with himself.
"I was bloody well raging when you kissed her," Ron continued, as if he hadn't heard Charlie speak. "Harry had to talk me down. Hermione didn't speak to me for two weeks." He stepped into the room and sat on Charlie's bed. "But then I talked to Ginny."
Charlie's breath caught in his throat.
"I don't… I don't care if you date Hermione, Charlie. I know she's my ex and all, but–but that's in the past. I was mad because I was shocked, I guess. I had no idea you two were… well. Whatever you were doing." Ron sighed and flexed his hands uncomfortably against the mattress.
Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but Ron met his eyes and the words died in his throat.
"Anyway. Whatever happened, you're–you're my brother and I want you to be happy. I don't know. I just wanted to tell you that I'm not mad at you or anything." Ron stood and clapped Charlie on the shoulder again, but Charlie pulled him into a hug instead.
"Love you, Ickle Ronnie-kins," he muttered, ruffling his youngest brother's hair as he protested and shoved Charlie away.
"Hermione is one of my best friends, though, so even though you're my brother, if you hurt her again I'm gonna have to have Gin hex you twice." Both of them laughed and then, with a little wave, Ronald ducked back out into the hallway and Charlie closed the door behind him.
He dropped unceremoniously onto his mattress with a heavy sigh, draping his forearm against his forehead dramatically. At least Ronald wasn't upset with him. That was one weight off of his chest, but the absence of Hermione had fostered an ache that wouldn't be healed so easily.
Charlie wasn't sure how long he laid there, sprawled on his mattress and thinking of Hermione, but eventually he drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, he woke early. The crushing realization that he couldn't go down and have coffee with her made the house feel colder and quieter than usual. Charlie groaned and rolled over, considering staying in bed, but he knew that if he didn't have some tea to start off his day he'd lament the loss of his routine. Besides, maybe he felt he deserved a bit of punishment.
And so, he tip-toed down the creaky stairs in bare feet, making his way to the chilly kitchen to pop the kettle on. Coffee in the Burrow's kitchen was an aroma that he found he was sorely missing, but he pushed the thought from his head as he dropped two Earl Grey teabags (from his own stash, of course–he'd tucked them into his pack at the last second before he left) onto the counter.
As the kettle set to boiling, Charlie opened the cabinet to find a mug to use. He hadn't brought her chipped one back–it was sitting beside his kettle at home and he found that having a piece of her there was comforting, in a way.
The light of the kitchen flooded into the cabinet and, on a mug tucked off to the side, a dragon awoke and began to stretch. She'd left her gift from him behind and it made his stomach lurch so violently that he shut the cabinet and turned off the stove. Suddenly he wasn't quite in the mood for tea anymore.
Charlie pushed himself away from the counter and made his way directly out the door, forgoing a jacket or shoes. He walked swiftly away from the house toward the trees, his feet making tracks in the soft, damp earth below them. There was still a briskness in the air, especially this early in the morning, but he braced himself against it. He could hardly feel it, anyway–the raging in his head drowned out all sensation and his chest ached.
He didn't know for how long he wandered the woods, but when he arrived back to the house, breakfast was in full swing. There was no pause in the chaos of the meal for his arrival, but he knew better than to try to sneak all the way through the kitchen and upstairs, so he plunked himself down on an empty chair.
"Pass Charlie the eggs," Molly said to Ginny, gesturing. "He'll be famished, I'm sure."
Charlie shook his head, the strands of hair that had been blown out of his ponytail by the wind hanging around his face. "Not hungry, Mum."
Molly paused for a moment like she was going to say something, but seemed to decide against it. "Well, if you change your mind," she offered, and took the bowl of eggs from her daughter.
Talk then shifted to the wedding plans, as the day was fast approaching and there was evidently still so much to be done. Charlie sat at his seat in silence, letting the cacophony of voices cascade over him. It was only when he heard his own first name that he was snapped out of his trance and the room came back into focus. "Sorry, Mum–what was that?"
Molly sighed. "I said you're going to have to let me cut your hair before the wedding, Charlie."
Charlie swallowed thickly. The last person who had cut his hair was Hermione, and the thought of anyone else doing it made the ache in his chest deepen. "Only Hermione's allowed to cut my hair," he said evenly, shrugging a shoulder. "She did a great job."
No one said anything for a moment, and then they settled back into their conversations–but Ron met Charlie's eyes across the table and gave a tiny nod of understanding.
After breakfast, Charlie began to hear murmurs of a Quidditch game. Fuck, everything reminded him of her, now. Luckily for him, he hadn't planned on staying for the rest of the day, so he said his goodbyes and went for the portkey to take him back to the reservation.
Having survived two family gatherings, Charlie decided that he was long overdue for a visit to Shell Cottage. On his very next weekend off, just as the weather was beginning to break from bitter cold and thaw into the chilly dampness of early spring, a portkey (an old rubber boot, this time) deposited him directly on the misty greyness of the beach.
He tromped up to the door of the little cottage, heavy footsteps leaving bootprints in the sand, and before he could even knock the weathered wooden door flung open to reveal a little towhead with sparkling eyes, her whole tiny body seemingly vibrating in excitement.
"Unca Charlie!" Victoire shrieked, launching herself into his arms, and he laughed earnestly for what felt like the first time since the holidays. His heart surged with emotion as Fleur made her way over to the door, shutting it behind him as he carried his little niece inside the house.
"Charlie," she greeted warmly, her voice like silk. Fleur leaned up to kiss him twice on each cheek, positively glowing. "We have missed you."
"An understatement!" Bill's voice bellowed as he trotted down the stairs, pulling Charlie into a tight hug with Victoire sandwiched between them, squealing in delight. They separated and put her back down on the floor. She immediately trotted over to her mother, placing both hands on Fleur's swollen abdomen.
"Maman says there's a baby in here!" she announced proudly to her uncle, beaming up at him, and Charlie laughed and ruffled her hair.
"That's right, Vic, you're going to be a big sister! I'm sure your mum and dad have told you all about how important a job you'll have." He winked at his brother and sister-in-law who both smiled sheepishly at him.
"Papa says you're staying for the whole entire weekend!" Victoire changed the subject as young children often do, abruptly, as if she'd only just remembered.
Charlie nodded. "That's right, too. I get to stay for two whole nights, do you think that would be okay?"
The little girl squealed again, jumping up and down as though she simply couldn't contain her excitement. "Unca Charlie, you have to play dollies with me!"
"Perhaps we should let your uncle get himself settled first, ma cherie," Fleur interjected, placing her hand fondly atop her daughter's head. "I am quite sure he will be more than happy to play dolls with you sometime this weekend."
Charlie winked at his niece, this time, and adjusted his pack on his shoulder. "Er–I'll go and get settled, then, maybe have a shower?"
Bill nodded, scooping Victoire up into his arms as Fleur made her way toward the kitchen. "I am already working on dinner," she called over her shoulder. "I will send Victoire to fetch you when it is ready."
The hearty, thick stew that Fleur had made for dinner warmed Charlie deep in his bones, chasing out the chill that seemed to surround the cottage. Logs crackled in the fireplace and he was reminded that he'd never felt cozier and safer than he always did here with Bill and Fleur–except maybe in one other scenario, now, but it wasn't the time to be thinking of her. He was here with his family to spend time with them. He could go back to pining for Hermione on Monday when he was back on the reserve.
After dinner, which had been accompanied by comfortable conversation and lots of questions from Victoire about dragons, Fleur whisked her away for a bath and bedtime and Charlie started in on helping Bill with the kitchen. How many times had the two of them stood beside each other at a kitchen sink, moving in perfect rhythm with one another? The one constant in his life had always been Bill, and knowing that nothing he'd done had shaken that foundation was so overwhelmingly comforting that he almost wanted to cry.
He dried the dishes carefully as Bill handed them over, stacking them gently on the counter beside the sink. "Does Fleur dry the dishes when I'm not here?" he found himself asking, and Bill laughed.
"Afraid I've replaced you?" he teased, and Charlie laughed and stuck his tongue out. "We take turns, I guess, and Vic is starting to learn how to dry. Someday she and the new baby will be standing right here, just like this, like you and I used to do at the Burrow."
Images flashed in his mind of he and Hermione in the kitchen of a little house somewhere, laughing and dancing and washing the dishes together. He imagined a pair of children at the sink, one with frizzy curls and one with a red mop of hair, while he and Hermione curled up by a fireplace and watched on fondly. They felt so real, so close he could reach out and touch them, and his heart ached in a way that had become all too familiar.
Bill turned off the tap, drying his hands on a towel and then crossing his arms over his chest. "I honestly thought you'd be over this by now," he said, his tone even and nonjudgmental. "Given your track record, you know? I think the longest I ever heard you talk about one girl was… maybe a week and a half. It's been nearly three months, Charlie, and have you even seen her? Spoken to her?"
"I've wanted to," he mumbled. "I just… I don't know how. She obviously skipped Ron's birthday because she heard that I was going to be there. I'm the one the family is used to being without. I should just go back to staying at the reserve for holidays and let everything go back to normal."
"It wasn't normal, Charlie." He looked up and Bill's eyes were damp. "It felt like a part of us–of me–was missing. Hermione's lovely, and she's part of this family now too, but…"
"What should I do?" Suddenly, Charlie felt like he was five years old again. Here he was, looking up at his big brother, the one person who he could trust and rely on without question. If anyone would know what he was supposed to do, it would be Bill.
"I don't know." The words stung, cold like shards of ice. "I'm not you, and Hermione isn't Fleur, and frankly I don't know enough about what all happened. But I can tell you what I would do."
Charlie didn't speak, so Bill continued. "Anything. I would do anything it took. You've never felt like this before, Charlie, and if you have you never told me. If this was some fling, some weeklong tryst that was all behind you, then I'd say to just forget it and move on. But I think you've tried to move on, and you've figured out that you can't. So don't, you know? Don't move on. Stay the course, have patience, and do everything you can."
He stepped forward, then, and crushed his lanky older brother in his arms. Bill wheezed a laugh and hugged him back. "Thanks, Bill."
"Don't mention it," he replied, disentangling himself. "Besides, she'll have to be at the wedding, yeah? And I think she's planning to come to Vic's birthday. You'll have your chance."
And with that, Bill ruffled his little brother's hair and ascended the stairs to help put Victoire to bed, leaving Charlie alone in an empty kitchen.
In the weeks and months that followed, Charlie found his footing. He learned to balance work and family, spending every other weekend off at Shell Cottage and popping into the Burrow for Sunday Dinner once a month. He poured himself into his work but found time every evening to write an owl to his sister, and occasionally one to a brother or two, too. Even Harry was in receipt of a handful of letters over those weeks. The only one who didn't receive them was Hermione. Charlie ached, and he lamented, and he distracted himself as much as he could.
But he felt her absence like the phantom pain in a limb that's been amputated. Charlie sat on his couch at night, alone, feeling the empty space beside him grow so large it threatened to swallow him whole. He woke in the middle of the night calling her name, reaching for her, only to find cold sheets beneath his fingers. He held on to one teeny, tiny glimmer of hope that he'd walk into the Burrow to find her mane of hair in the kitchen, but it never was.
The only time Charlie dared to speak her name was each time his mother chided him about the length of his hair. She wheedled him seemingly endlessly, working every angle to convince him to have his hair cut before the wedding, but each time she brought it up he smiled sadly and replied, "You know the deal, Mum. Only Hermione."
Only Hermione. That phrase echoed in his head, in his heart, in some deep and immovable part of him. She'd shaken his very foundation, crumbled his walls, and he was certain that he'd never be whole again without her.
He wasn't prepared to see her again. Hermione had been avoiding him like the plague, and he was careful to always let his family know well in advance when he'd be around so that she didn't have to share a space with him. It was the least he could do after the way he treated her, even if he wanted to see her so badly that it sometimes distracted him from his job. Still, she stayed away while he was there, and it was a distance he'd gotten used to.
Charlie showed up to Shell Cottage on the second day of May, a warm and sunny afternoon, to find the party already in full swing. A very pregnant Fleur stood by the house, a table of beautiful food laid out before her, chatting with Molly and Angelina as George chased a gaggle of giggling children around on the beach. Bill was chatting quietly with his father, and the rest of the family was scattered throughout the scene. Victoire bounded up to him, dress rustling all the way, and launched herself into his arms.
"Uncle Charlie!" she squealed, and he laughed fondly.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart," he replied, hugging her tight and spinning her. Charlie put her down and produced a gift from his pocket. "This is for you. Be real careful with it, now, okay?"
Victoire tore at the paper on the little box to find a delicate golden chain with a small, sharp tooth on the end.
"That," Charlie said, "is a dragon's tooth. Some of the baby dragons were losing their teeth a few weeks back, so I grabbed one for you. Isn't it cool?"
She stared with wide eyes and then grinned, nodding her head. "It's SO COOL, UNCLE CHARLIE!" she screamed, and ran off to show her mother.
He laughed fondly, watching her take off, when suddenly he caught sight of Hermione. There she was, hair in perfect ringlets and a seersucker sundress clinging to her under the hot sun, and Charlie stopped breathing. She laughed, then, at something Ginny said, and he was sure that he'd never heard a more beautiful sound in his life.
But he couldn't approach her, and she seemed to be expertly evading him at every turn. There were enough people at the party that she was able to always have a buffer around her, always have three or four people engaged in a conversation, always be positioned far away from him. In his head, Charlie tried to think of ways to approach her–casual things he could say to simply be in her presence, insert himself into a conversation for a fleeting moment… but everything he thought of sounded wrong, or stilted, or awkward.
Hermione left the party early, anyway, and Charlie's heart sank when he looked around to find her gone.
And then, Dominique was born.
Charlie apparated to Shell Cottage the moment the owl had arrived that the baby was coming. Still singed and grass-stained and slightly dirty he burst through the door.
"I've to get Fleur upstairs, the midwife and mum should be here any–" Two loud cracks from outside the open door cut him off, and Molly Weasley practically shoved her son aside on the way in, midwife in tow.
"Hello, Charlie, love," she said without looking at him, and marched straight up to Bill. "And what in Merlin's name is Fleur still doing on her feet? Get her in the bed at once!"
For a moment, the downstairs of the cottage was a flurry of activity, and then everyone but Charlie and Victoire disappeared upstairs. He played with her for hours, hide and seek and piggyback rides, and he even taught her a couple of things about wizard's chess. It almost seemed as if the two of them would have to sleep right here on the sofa in the living room when Bill tromped down the stairs, a bundle of blankets in his arms.
"Vic, Charlie," he said softly, smiling wide. "Meet Dominique."
Charlie scooped Victoire up in his arms and carried her over toward her father so that she could peek at the little pink face amongst the fabric. "She's beautiful, Bill," he said, his voice catching a bit. "Just like her sister."
"Sissy!" Vic exclaimed, and Bill gave her a look.
"She's sleeping, sweetheart, but I know you're excited." He ruffled his older daughter's hair. "Mummy and Dom need to have some rest now, and your grandmother is staying to help them. How would you like to have a little slumber party down here with Daddy and Uncle Charlie? If he'd like to stay, that is."
Victoire looked up at her uncle and in that moment, he couldn't have said no if he'd wanted to. He crouched down to her eye level, grinning from ear to ear. "This is going to be the best slumber party ever."
His weekends at Shell Cottage turned into lots of slumber parties, lots of holding his new baby niece, and lots of Fleur being consulted for last-minute wedding plans. At Sunday Dinners, Dom was passed from aunt to uncle to grandparent nearly ceaselessly, and Charlie found himself hoping that Hermione loved her just as much as everyone else did.
The weather got warmer, and before Charlie knew it, it was his last weekend off before the wedding. He'd planned to go to Shell Cottage, but Fleur had insisted that they'd be seeing him soon and that there was so much to do. Apparently Ginny and the rest of the girls were to be getting ready there, and so the house was full-to-bursting of dresses and jewelry and shoes and whatever else they'd be needing.
So Charlie sat and tried to make the best of the beautiful weather. It felt like it had been ages since he'd had a weekend off that was so balmy, and he spent his Saturday wandering the wilderness outside of the reserve. He roamed barefoot, the feel of his soles in the earth soothing his psyche. He felt recharged, energized, cleansed. But still, he ached.
Just before dusk he arrived back at his cabin and went inside, using his small stove to heat a pot. Charlie began chopping at a few of the meager assortment of vegetables on his counter–a parsnip, a potato, a carrot. He needed to do some shopping. He made a simple stew and ate it quickly, the radio turned on low so that he didn't have to spend too much time with his own thoughts.
After dinner he washed the dishes and put them away, and he curled up on his couch with Hermione's chipped mug, full of steaming Earl Grey. He sipped it slowly, until it was much too cold for his liking, and then he finished it in one swallow and placed the mug in the sink to wash in the morning.
Just as he was considering turning into bed early, there was a swift knock on his front door, so faint that he almost missed it. Charlie furrowed his brow, wondering who it could be. He wasn't expecting any visitors–ever, really–and it was unusual that someone else from the reserve would need something so late. He was so perplexed that he forgot to even check the peephole, simply grabbing the knob and jerking the door open to find one Hermione Granger standing on his doorstep.