Hi! This fic is in progress. I am posting the first chapter now to see if there's a lot of interest in me continuing! I have a little bit more written but I won't have a posting schedule for a while. I write when I can (I have a toddler and a chronic illness) and sometimes don't get to finish what I start, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone, so here we are. Obviously this has an M rating right off the bat, so please keep that in mind. Any feedback you have would be great!
Romanian winters were bloody frigid, he thought bitterly as a cold wind whipped across what was exposed of his face. Charlie pulled on the rope in his hands, his muscles bulging with the effort beneath his coat. Sometimes, even the heat from the dragons wasn't enough to keep the chill at bay.
He was longing for a hot shower, the spray cascading down on him until his blood started pumping and he could feel his toes again. Once he could move his fingers, he'd soap up, trailing his hands over the scars on his chest and through the thick line of red hair on his belly until...
Sod it all, he'd been wanking in the shower so often lately that he couldn't even look forward to the shower itself anymore without anticipating a release. It was bloody frustrating for more reasons than one.
Charlie had never been like this before. He'd always been content with a casual shag now and again, mostly pouring all of himself into his work without even thinking about women. His job took up pretty much all of his time and energy, and he liked it that way. He'd never been so worked up, and particularly not over one woman. It was maddening. Even here, working in the cold, he couldn't stop his mind from conjuring images of her.
The hot spray would continue to beat on his back, loosening his aching muscles as steam billowed around him. Then, somehow impossibly hotter, her mouth would engulf him from where she knelt on the tiles. He'd reach down and grab a fistful of her curls, hair frizzing wildly in the heat of the shower, and she'd moan around his cock. He'd tilt his head back, eyes closed, as she moved faster, sucked harder, making his toes curl as he wound tighter and tighter—
Fuck, if he didn't stop, he was going to come in his pants like a teenager just imagining her.
Setting his jaw and resolving to ignore the aching hardness between his legs, Charlie gripped the rope tighter and pulled with all his strength. Perhaps a cold shower would be in order, instead.
It had started at Christmas. Charlie hadn't been home since the war, despite his mother and sister pleading with him via owl every holiday season. The gaping hole left by Fred's death was too great, and he couldn't fill both of their shoes. Better to have two sons missing than the table feel incomplete even with Charlie there, right? Instead he volunteered to work over the holidays every year, much to the delight of the other dragon handlers on the reserve. He would be one less person drawing straws to see who could go and who had to stay, and he was happy to provide someone else the opportunity.
This year was different. Molly had sent a Howler, for one thing, which had found him in the fields and exploded with rage, his mother's voice echoing loudly enough for the whole damned reserve to hear. Mortified, he buried his crimson face in his hands as his mother shrieked, threatening to spend the holidays on the reserve if he wouldn't come home.
Unfortunately, his bosses were more than accommodating. He'd worked so many years in a row and it was only fair that he take off for one holiday season, they assured him. He'd hoped that maybe they'd come to rely on him so much that they'd simply assumed that he would be working and already given the okay to someone else to have the time off, but no such luck.
A lot had happened since he'd been home last, he knew, because Ginny kept him updated with her weekly letters. Percy had eloped, strangely enough, with some woman that the family hadn't met until afterwards. They came around for Sunday dinner every week, now, which surprised Charlie. Perhaps this girl had had a positive effect on his brother after all.
George had rather hastily married Angelina Johnson after the war. They'd done it so quickly that Ginny hadn't been able to tell Charlie until afterward. It had been a hasty wedding. They'd married in the Burrow's backyard one Sunday after supper, the pair of them clinging to one another like life rafts. The thought of it made Charlie's heart ache. He was glad that he'd missed it, if he was being honest. He imagined that not all of the tears at that wedding had been happy ones.
Ginny, of course, was engaged to none other than Harry Potter. Charlie was over the moon for his baby sister. Admittedly, Ginny was quite his favorite sibling with Bill in a far second place. He was pleased that she was happy, and even more pleased that she was with someone who fit so seamlessly into their family. He wouldn't even have to threaten Harry with the big brother speech, which was almost disappointing. He was truly happy for them, although he was dreading the wedding. Crowds didn't do him especially well, and their wedding was sure to draw a large one.
Bill and Fleur had had a baby already, and as badly as Charlie longed to meet his baby niece, he hadn't yet. Bill and Fleur were the only family he'd actually seen since the war, having gone to Shell Cottage a few times during Fleur's pregnancy. He'd meant to visit after Victoire's birth, but Molly had come to stay for a few weeks to help out and he'd simply never made it back after. The guilt was too heavy, threatening to crush him if he thought about it too long, and after a certain amount of time, going back felt insurmountable. So he hadn't.
Ronald was an entirely different story. He'd rejected the idea of an eighth year at Hogwarts, choosing instead to stick by Harry and begin Auror training. Charlie was massively proud of his little brother, who proved himself at work time and again, he and his best friend fighting for justice as hard as ever. Charlie had always admired them for that, the way they stared down true danger and went after it.
Ron had dated here and there, beginning with Hermione Granger and going through a few other flings after they'd split amicably. Charlie knew that the two of them had spent their childhoods pining after one another, but he knew as well as anyone how much war could change a person. They were all different now, and their pieces didn't quite fit together the way they once had.
Ginny had mentioned in her last letter that Ron would be bringing his new girlfriend to stay for the holidays, much to her own disgust. Her name had been some color... Ruby? Violet? He couldn't remember. She was someone they knew from school, evidently, and Ginny didn't even try to hide her distaste for the girl. Of course, this would be the year that Charlie had to go home. At least there would be plenty to distract from him.
Charlie packed his bags hastily, running just slightly late for the Portkey that would take him... home? Was the Burrow even his home anymore? The reserve was where he lived, where he worked, where he spent almost all of his time. His little cabin was more familiar than any place had ever been. Still, when he thought of the Burrow's warm kitchen and bustling fullness, he felt a familiar tugging at his heart that made him smile wistfully. He shoved one last shirt into his pack and hefted it over his shoulder, making his way out of the cabin and toward the tree line.
By the time he reached the old tin can, it was already beginning to glow bright blue. Charlie leapt, lunging for the can and grabbing it firmly just in time.
As his feet landed on solid ground and the swooping sensation in his belly settled, Charlie realized that his hand was bleeding. Bloody rubbish, he thought, dropping the open can at his feet and examining where the lid had sliced into his palm and fingers. Whose idea had it been to use a tin can as a Portkey? Despite the dangers of his job, Charlie was absolutely terrible at healing spells. They had plenty of healers on the reserve to see to all kinds of injuries from burns to broken bones. He had no need for healing magic, but now... well, he couldn't possibly march into his mother's kitchen after three years of absence and drip blood all over the floor while she patched him up. It was too embarrassing.
He stood in the snow, dumbfounded, his blood splashing bright crimson on crisp white. Charlie sighed deeply, crunching toward the house as he reached behind him and grabbed for one of his shirts out of his pack, winding it tightly around his hand to at least absorb some of the blood.
Dusk was falling and Charlie couldn't help but smile at the warm light that emanated from every window in the tall, crooked house. Despite his insistence to stay away, he truly did love this house. He had so many memories here, most of them good, and he couldn't help the fondness that settled in his chest as he pulled the door open and stepped inside.
He'd expected the kitchen to be bursting with activity at this hour, with Molly stirring pots of food on the stove and Ron obediently setting the table and Ginny and Harry washing the dishes together, splashing each other playfully. Instead, there was only one figure to be seen, sipping from a steaming mug and staring wistfully out the window at the setting sun.
Charlie almost turned on his heel and left when he saw her, but he was rooted to the spot, his eyes trailing up from dainty bare feet, over shapely denim-clad legs, past where her oatmeal colored jumper dipped off her shoulder, beyond small hands that clasped the chipped mug tightly, finally settling on the bun that was attempting to contain her mane of bushy hair. The dying light silhouetted her form beautifully, and his breath caught in his throat. It couldn't be—
"Hermione?" he asked before he could decide if it was wise, his voice breathy with awe. His cheeks pinked below his freckles at the sound, but he didn't have time to dwell because her head snapped around and her honey brown eyes, wide with shock, met his.
"Charlie!" she exclaimed, standing from where she'd been leaning against the counter and nearly spilling her tea from how forcefully she'd set it down. The next thing he knew she'd launched herself at him and his arms were full of her, holding her tight against his chest as she giggled.
He let her go and she grinned up at him. "I didn't know you were coming!" Her eyes sparkled to match the smile on her face, and he couldn't help but return it. "No one mentioned… Ginny and Mum will be so pleased, you know. They've been complaining every Christmas." At his confused face, she flushed and dropped her gaze to her feet. "Your mum, I mean. Molly sort of insisted that I call her… you know, since…"
"Of course," he interrupted. Charlie could never forget about Hermione's parents and the sacrifice she'd made. He recalled Ginny mentioning that Hermione had travelled to Australia after the war, wanting to restore her parents' memories and bring them home, but after seeing them so happy in their new life she couldn't bring herself to do it. She'd simply had her teeth cleaned (a service that dentists performed, apparently) and come home as quickly as she could. Of course Molly Weasley would adopt Hermione, too, just as she had Harry. "That's our mum, eh?" He smiled at her and nudged her elbow, breaking the tension.
As she looked up, Hermione caught sight of his hand. "Oh! You're hurt," she fussed, taking his shirt-wrapped hand in both of her own, clicking her tongue when she saw the blood beginning to soak through. "What happened?"
Charlie waved his intact hand dismissively, clearing his throat. "Oh, nothing, it's only a scratch," he insisted, but Hermione shot him a scathing look and flared her nostrils.
"Charles Weasley, stop lying to me this instant," she demanded. "Now, I've been known to perform a few healing spells from time to time. At least let me help you clean it so it doesn't get infected?"
He could feel his flush deepening. Having his mother fuss all over him would have been one thing, but having Hermione Granger tending to his wounds was somehow even more humiliating. "Erm, it's fine, Hermione. I could always have Mum-"
"Everyone's at the train station," she scowled, wrinkling her nose. "Ron insisted that the whole family be there to greet Lavender so that she'd feel welcome." Lavender. That was her name, of course. "I decided to stay behind."
"Ginny went too?" he asked, part curious and part desperate to have anyone other than Hermione patching him up. Even his sister was preferable, only because it would be less mortifying than having his ickle baby brother's best friend and ex-girlfriend doting on him like a child.
"It's important to Ron, which means that it's important to Harry, which means he was able to convince Ginny after a few hours of whinging," Hermione huffed, chuckling anyway as she tugged Charlie over to the sink and began to gingerly unwrap his hand. "Fortunately for me, he doesn't have quite the same pull as he does over her."
"Fortunately," Charlie grumbled, wincing as the shirt fell away and Hermione was privy to the damage to his hand.
"Don't you have healers on the reserve?" Hermione asked, turning on the tap with her hands-the Muggle way-and sticking his hand under the cool water. "They could have looked at this before you left, couldn't they?"
"It was the bloody portkey," he muttered, watching her gently wash the blood off of his hand and inspect his cuts. "Some bloody idiot decided to make it an open tin can and I was running late so I just grabbed it, and the lid sliced my hand open. I'm going to have to find out whose brilliant idea that was when I get back and throttle them."
Hermione laughed then, a clear sound, and he found himself laughing right along with her. He supposed it was rather ridiculous. Despite his strength, he wasn't much of a fighter, and anyone who knew him knew that. He wasn't much one for dueling, either, not to mention that it was banned on the reserve. He supposed he'd have to settle for a Weasley-style prank. Maybe he'd ask George for some help once everyone got back.
Charlie watched her as she worked, a few of her curls springing free from her bun and falling to frame her face as she bent over his hand, making sure it was clean and dry before pulling her wand somewhere from the depths of her hair. She waved it silently over his hand a few times, tracing the gashes, and his hand glowed golden and his skin tingled as it stitched itself back together. She tucked her wand away again and he pulled his hand back, examining it and finding only hairline slivers of scars to show for the silly accident. "Brilliant," he murmured, looking at Hermione with a flash of his white teeth. She returned his smile and leaned back across the counter, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You're welcome," she said, rolling her eyes slightly, and he laughed.
"Thank you, Hermione," he said sheepishly, embarrassed that he hadn't thanked her before she'd reminded him to. Where were his manners? Charlie had been so fascinated with how quickly and easily she'd healed his wounds that he'd forgotten to thank her. His mother would have had his hide for that one, had she been there.
"You're welcome," Hermione said, softer this time. "You ought to go and get cleaned up. Everyone will probably be back soon, and then we're going to start supper. They'll all be so surprised to see you!"
"Right," he agreed, adjusting his pack on his shoulders and nodding at her. "I'll, er-I'll just be back in a few minutes, then, yeah?"
Hermione nodded, picking up her cooling mug of tea and sipping at it. She smirked behind the mug as he continued through the house, his dragon hide boots clomping noisily up the stairs.
His bedroom was exactly as he'd left it, which made his heart ache in an unfamiliar way. So much had changed since the war-his family, his friends, his country, but somehow not his bedroom. There were still posters stuck to his wall, most of them of dragons that breathed fire in alternating patterns. His bed was still neatly made, although the scent of laundry detergent in the air told him that his Mum was still cleaning his room and washing his sheets with everyone else's. It made him feel equal parts guilty and loved-he didn't want his Mum to feel like she had to hold this space for him, but he was incredibly grateful that she did.
Charlie deposited his backpack on his bed and toed off his boots, setting them at the foot of the bed neatly. He was used to small spaces and keeping his things tidy, now, although he'd been rather messy at home and at Hogwarts. As an adult living in his own space, however, he appreciated everything being in its place. As such, he took his time unpacking his backpack, tucking his clothes into the drawers in the dresser. After he was finished, he shucked off his coat and grabbed some clothes to change into after his shower. He figured he ought to clean himself up before supper.
He took a quick, scalding shower, scrubbing his skin until it felt raw, and then he dressed quickly in a pair of faded jeans and last year's jumper, the chocolate brown one with an oatmeal coloured "C" on the front. Charlie ran his fingers over it, a feeling of home washing over him. Here he was, in the Burrow, wearing one of his Mum's jumpers. He almost felt like he did before the war. Almost.
Just then he heard the front door of the house burst open followed by a cacophony of loud chattering, and he was pulled from his thoughts, a grin on his face. His family was home. He cast a quick drying charm on his long hair, pulling it back and tying it up with a long scrap of leather so that it was out of his face. Maybe his Mum wouldn't notice how long it was if it was tied back, he mused, and he wouldn't have to talk her out of hacking away at it. Charlie was an adult and he quite liked his hair long, thank you.
Charlie deposited his dirty clothes in his bedroom and then padded down the stairs on bare feet, a deafening silence falling over the living room as he descended the last step and stood in front of them.
The last time he'd seen the Weasley family speechless was at Fred's funeral. Everyone had been clad in black, faces downcast, tears falling down their faces as they silently cried. The only one who hadn't been silent was George, who had sobbed heart-wrenchingly as Fred's body had been lowered into the ground. The memory of that sound made Charlie's stomach twist painfully and he pushed the memory down, taking in the faces before him.
No one was sad tonight. In fact, every face staring back at him was one of surprise, shock, and excitement. Ginny, predictably, was the first to break the silence, squealing and throwing herself into his arms. Charlie laughed gleefully, spinning his baby sister around in a tight hug as the chaos erupted around them once again and everyone started talking at once, coming in for hugs and claps on his shoulder and scolding words for his absence.
Charlie found himself wrapped up in his Mum's arms and he sighed, relaxing against her shoulder as she cried into his neck. "You're really here," she marveled, pulling back to look at him and pinch his cheeks a bit. "And you're far too thin, Charlie, don't they feed you at that reserve? I'm going to have to start on supper right away, I'm sure you're starving!"
"Please, allow me to help," Fleur's silky voice floated through the air and Molly smiled fondly. The start of their in-law relationship had been rather strained, and it did Charlie's heart good to see them getting along. He quite liked Fleur, and he caught Bill watching the exchange even more fondly with a blonde-haired child tucked against his shoulder, sleeping soundly.
"Oh, I'll help too!" came a more shrill voice, and the girl who was wrapped around Ron's bicep somehow managed to disentangle herself. Charlie saw Ginny and Hermione both roll their eyes, but they still followed the others into the kitchen. Angelina pressed a swift kiss to George's cheek and followed.
"No Percy?" Charlie found himself asking, and Ron was the first to shake his head.
"Nah, he and Audrey only come for Christmas Day," he shrugged. "I'm surprised they come at all, honestly."
No one objected, but Bill was the next to speak. "I'm going to take Vic up to bed, she's knackered," he said. "I'll be back down in a bit. Good to see you, Charlie. I'm glad you're here."
He clapped his little brother on the shoulder as he passed, ascending the stairs with Charlie's niece in tow. He couldn't wait to properly meet her in the morning, too.
Dinner at the Weasley house was something that Charlie had sorely missed since he'd been away. It was a little bit like meals on the reserve-loud, raucous, slightly messy and often with far too much food for everyone to eat. This was different, though, because he was home and everyone kept looking at him with warm smiles or eyes shining with adoration. Even after they'd all eaten and cleaned up and were lounging about the living room, draped over couches and chairs and spread out on the floor, Charlie couldn't wipe the smile off his face. He was beginning to regret not having come home these past few years.
Each of the couples was snuggled up together. Fleur was holding Bill's hand as she talked with Angelina, who was running her fingers through George's hair comfortingly. Lavender was positively entangled around Ron, who was trying to have a conversation with Harry, Ginny tucked sleepily against his side. Even Molly and Arthur were sitting cozily on a loveseat, sipping tea and murmuring to one another.
Charlie was sprawled out on the floor simply basking in the warmth of the Burrow and his family, his stomach full and his heart content. He glanced around the room, finally meeting the honey brown gaze of one Hermione Granger who seemed to be staring at him. She flushed when their eyes met and he chuckled.
Quickly, she took a gulp of her tea, glaring at him from over the rim of her mug. She sat on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest, the glow of the fireplace illuminating her much like the sunset had when she stood in the kitchen. He found his eyes drawn to her inexplicably, watching her swallow from behind her mug as her eyes sparkled with laughter about something someone had said. He swallowed thickly, too, managing to tear his eyes away as he exaggerated a yawn and a stretch.
"I think I'm going to call it a night," he announced suddenly, leaping to his feet. "Been a long day. I'll see you lot in the morning, yeah?"
His family called various good nights to him and he waved over his shoulder, sneaking one last glance at Hermione Granger as she wished him a good night, too.
As he settled under the quilt on his bed, his heart and stomach both full-to-bursting, Charlie couldn't help but remember the way Hermione's eyes had flashed at him in the firelight. He drifted off to sleep with thoughts of wild, frizzy hair in his head.