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Charlie had successfully avoided returning to the Burrow for three years. He had avoided seeing her. He didn't know what was worse, Hermione being his brother's wife or his brother's widow. The funeral was the last time he had set foot in England.
Ron had been killed in the line of duty in a routine raid that turned out to be an ambush by Grindlewald cultists. Several other aurors had also died in the bloodbath. Harry Potter had been so grievously injured he had not yet returned to duty as far as he knew.
Two brothers dead now. Charlie remembered thinking that there were too many of them when he was young and how passed over he felt. Sandwiched between Bill, the prodigal son, Percy the savant, then the surprise of the twins, he was often overlooked. Not maliciously, mind you, but it still stung. What he wouldn't give to bring Fred and Ron back now.
Bill had sent an owl begging him to return for his parents' 50th wedding anniversary. Charlie was resigned to do his duty and join his siblings and their partners, along with a plethora of his nieces and nephews, to attend the golden celebration. Missing such a huge milestone was not something he could easily excuse as he had with other gatherings. Hermione would be there, of course—the reason he was staying away to begin with.
She had charmed him from the beginning, even as a girl. Clever beyond her years, she would seek him out in the din of the gatherings in his quiet corner. They would talk books, philosophy, creatures, and magic. He enjoyed making her laugh. One day he realized she was fully grown. A pretty young woman whose mind suited him, and he developed a bit of a crush on her. He couldn’t remember when it turned to love, but she was already Ron's when he knew. By then it was too late.
The kids, Rose and Hugo, were still young enough to be a handful when Ron died. Hermione, catatonic with shock, moved into the Burrow with his folks to have help caring for them. There was not a space issue, as everyone else had moved out.
Charlie shelved his dread, to be sucked over to the Ministry via portkey at the appointed time. With a lurch and the usual vertigo, he was not expecting to be greeted. Instead, he arrived to an entire cheering section. His parents, his siblings, their spouses, all the children, and her. The Golden Girl, his sun. They held signs or waved flags with his face on them. He had to blink back tears. The solitude he had crafted for himself only sought to preserve his heart, maybe his sanity, not avoid his family.
He would be in the same house with her for less than three days. He begged off longer, saying it was inadvisable. While circumstantially true, his staff was more than capable of carrying on without him for more than seventy-two hours. It usually took a week or so before the dragon started to become unruly in his absence.
His mother rushed him with open arms, tears streaming. "Charlie!" she wailed, wrapping him up. He bent down, embracing her with a squeeze. "Hi, Mum."
"So handsome, Charles. I forget how handsome you are. You stay gone so long. And your hair is positively shaggy. And you need a shave, stubbly!" she chirped, grabbing his chin.
"My hair is still shorter than Bill’s," he defended as the rest of his family closed in on him. He hugged his father, then Bill, and on down the line. The kids were already clamoring for dragon stories around his legs. Hermione approached him last, her soft brown eyes welcoming.
"Hey, Charlie," she murmured, slipping arms around his torso, leaning in. Her hair went up his nose as she squeezed him hard. He didn't mind, inhaling her familiar sandalwood and vanilla.
"Mione," he replied as neutrally as possible. Her cheek lay on his chest as he returned a brief, hover-handed hug. "You okay?"
"A little better every day." She pulled back, her grief still apparent. His heart tremored, wanting to snatch her up, kiss her, and tell her it would be alright.
"Let's get you home, son," his dad declared, clapping Charlie on the shoulder, digging his fingers in as if making sure Charlie wasn't an apparition. Arthur led the parade of Weasleys out of international arrivals and on to the fireplaces in the lobby. Charlie threw the green powder, calling out the name of a place foreign to his tongue now.
"The Burrow!"
***
Home was chaos, making Charlie nostalgic. Detoured before he could even put his things in his room, the children waylaid him to talk about the sanctuary. He produced pictures of the dragons, telling several hair-raising stories.
"Remember Norbert? Any of you?" Two of the older kids raised their hands as the rest looked at each other, wide-eyed and shrugging.
"I remember that little demon," Hermione laughed, across from Charlie on the other couch, legs crossed.
"Same!" Harry called from the game table where several of the group were playing Snap. "He set Hagrid's beard on fire."
"She. She set Hagrid's beard on fire," Charlie corrected. "Norberta, Bertie, turned out to be a girl."
The kids burst into wild laughter. "A giiiirl!" they chorused, dissolving into giggles again, some rolling on the floor.
"Dragons can be girls?" James Potter asked, looking very serious for his 8 years.
“Yes, of course, James, just like any animal.” Charlie answered.
“Are they nicer?"
“No, they are actually meaner than the males, as a rule."
Ron would have made a stupid joke about Hermione. Charlie felt his brother’s absence keenly in that moment. He hazarded a look to find Hermione staring at him like he had spoken his thoughts aloud. He gave her a sheepish smile.
“Uncle Charlie! What about Norberta?” Rose cried.
Hermione gave him that bug-eyed smirk that meant 'please continue.’
“Well, I have trained Bertie to carry passengers. I can ride a dragon."
“Big deal, Mummy has ridden a dragon,” Rose sassed. “With Dad and Uncle Harry.” She was just like her mother, right down to the cocked hip, know-it-all stance.
“Yeah,” James added for good measure, challenging him with green eyes, a mini Potter.
“Ah, but the difference is I can control the dragon. Like a horse,” Charlie explained. “Bertie has a saddle and neck reins. If your parents bring you to Romania, I might take you for a ride. If you are good."
The children erupted into mass hysteria. Charlie immediately knew he had fucked up.
"Charlie," Hermione half reproached, half smiled.
Rosie crawled in his lap, screaming, "Really, Uncle Charlie?! Really?" He locked eyes with his sister-in-law, taking his opening before he could rethink it.
"I might be good for you to get away. A little vacation. We have a lodge for tourist interaction," he offered.
"Maybe," she demurred. "We shouldn't get their hopes up, though."
Charlie tipped his head in apology as half the kids ran to their parents, jumping up and down, begging. Both Harry and Bill skewered him with 'thanks a lot' looks as their children tugged at them.
By dinner things had blown over somewhat. The kids were sequestered at their own table on the lawn of the Burrow, ricocheting off each other. Molly had made Charlie's favorite meal, lamb stew, which he savored as his family carried on around him. He was never much of a talker. It wasn't easy to get a word in between Bill's domineering personality and the frenetic energy of George. He noticed the only other silence emanated from Hermione, though he was forced to speak when the conversation turned back to the reserve, led by his mother. But mostly, he drank his beer and listened as twilight began to creep blue ombre into the cloudless orange of the sky.
Once they had cleaned up, he had a few drinks with his brothers, mostly discussing the World Cup. Charlie excused himself early, claiming fatigue from his journey, to retire upstairs. Opening the door to his room, he walked in on Hermione dropping a nightgown over her head. He smacked a hand over his eyes, spinning on his heel to exit the room.
"Godric, Mione, sorry!" he cried. The damage was done, though. He had glimpsed her shapely brown legs, her knicker-clad bum, and her bare breasts while her arms were in the air, her nightgown sleeved around them. He leaned his back against the door, face aflame with embarrassment.
"Char—" The door swung open, and Charlie almost fell on his arse into his old room. His boots scuffing on the worn floor, he staggered backwards. Athletic enough to recover, he righted himself.
"Oh, shit, Charlie. I am sorry." Hermione swooped to help him.
"I'm good, I'm good, Mione. Don't fuss," he assured, waving her off, standing to his full height. "I'm the one that's sorry. I just assumed this was still my room. Mum didn't mention anything.”
"The kids have their own rooms now. I have yours. You are in Ron's old room, I think. I heard Molly talking about putting your trunk in there."
Charlie grunted, unable to look her in the eye. He started for the door again when she caught his arm. "Please don't beat yourself up. It was an accident."
He gave a sheepish nod and exited, climbing the winding staircase two steps at a time to escape his mortification. He reached Ron's tiny attic bedroom, his trunk waiting to greet him.
"Fuck." He slumped with a sigh.
He didn't bother to unpack. Stripping off his clothes to his pants, and did a hundred push-ups to stem his agitation. He fell asleep talking himself out of jerking off to Hermione's lovely tits.
***
The Burrow was a whirlwind of activity the next day, preparing for the anniversary fete that afternoon. Charlie helped with setting up the tables and chairs, as well as the trellis his parents would renew their vows under. It wasn't hard work with magic, but it kept him from awkward run-ins with Hermione.
Once the grounds were set, he showered and dressed in the one decent outfit he had. A passable pair of chinos and wine-color henley would have to do. He put his hair in a partial ponytail, with the top pulled back and the rest down to his shoulders. His mother would grumble about his earrings, but he at least shaved because she preferred it. Good thing his tattoos were in places that weren't visible when clothed. Giving himself the once-over in the mirror, he noted his shirt was a little tight but still nice. He had bulked up in the past few years.
Charlie recognized he was fairly handsome. He had high cheekbones and a cleft chin on a wide jaw. He didn't care for his freckles or his brown eyes. He wished for blue like Ron and Bill's. He was wider than his male siblings, broad-shouldered with thick wrists and fingers, taking after the Prewetts.
He had a couple of girlfriends at Hogwarts, but once he began to notice Hermione after the war, he abstained from dating. Not that he didn't have a fling here and there, but nothing serious. Bill called him Friar Charles and threatened to buy him burlap robes. His poor father haltingly tried to ask him if he was gay one year around yule. Charlie cut to the chase to tell him he just wasn't interested either way and let Arthur assume he was asexual.
He often wondered if his fixation came from the fact that he couldn't have Hermione. The path of his life was strewn with coveting things others had, trying to measure up. Bill's charisma and blue eyes, Percy's intellect, the twins' humor and fearlessness, Ron's strategic mind, and, of course, his woman. He had achieved plenty, but it never seemed enough.
Shrugging these thoughts off as far too labor-intensive, Charlie clattered downstairs to help welcome guests. The Minister of Magic was coming to officiate, a big deal in and of itself, but half the wizarding community of England was invited as well. There were few lives that Arthur and Molly Weasley hadn't touched.
He took his place in the receiving line, noticing Hermione was absent. He searched the yard, his eyes snagging on her in the play area, tending to the younger kids. She was in a vibrant yellow gingham sundress, bows on her shoulders. With her hair braided into a crown laced with small daisies, she was lovely.
Lights strung the lawn that was full of umbrellaed round tables and long picnic benches centered with flowers and votives. The buffet burst with sandwiches, fruit, sides, and sweets. A full bar was already doing brisk business on the far side of their crooked house.
After an acceptable cocktail hour, guests were herded to the trellis in front of rows upon rows of wooden folding chairs. He sat with his siblings while his parents retook their wedding vows for what Charlie estimated was the 4th time that he could remember. Molly and Arthur looked at each other adoringly while his mother wept a little, which he knew was for Ron and Fred. He thought it beautiful, fighting pangs of sadness from the reality of never having this for himself. He hit the bar the minute it was over.
"How's Romania?" the minister inquired, towering over him at the reception. Kingsley was the biggest man at the party, save Hagrid.
"Busy. Dragons are time-intensive." Charley slugged his drink with a wince.
“My offer stands to come back to England and run the dragon division of Magical Creatures. Big bump in pay, in responsibility."
"I could never leave the reserve. I just got the directorship there last year. I need the outdoors, the hands-on of it," Charlie replied.
"Hands on what?" Hermione's voice floated past as she approached. He almost swallowed his tongue. Her face was rosy from champagne. Charlie realized she must be using the same approach as he: coping via alcohol.
"I was attempting to talk Charlie back to the Ministry at Creatures, but no luck." Kingley groused with a twinkle in his eye.
"Charles will never leave his dragons," Hermione exclaimed, nose in the air. "He loves them far more than any woman or work could ever induce from him. Shame, really."
"Untrue!" Charlie parried. "Dragons are my work. And I love Bertie. She's a girl."
Kingsley gave a booming laugh. Charlie didn't think it nearly that funny.
"Hermione, when are you coming back? You are sorely missed," the Minister prodded.
"Maybe when the kids are in school. Possibly. I haven't really given it much thought." She displayed the mannerisms of a cornered animal. "Charlie, let's dance. Excuse us, Minister."
"Uh, okay," Charlie got out before she grabbed his wrist with a yank, towing him to the makeshift dance floor, his whiskey sloshing from his cup in the process.
“Sorry!" She blinked at him, vining her arms around his neck. Thank Godric it was a slow song. He could not dance for shit. "I hate being pinned down about that."
“Well, tell him that." Charlie carefully put his hands on her waist, keeping his contact light.
Her nostrils flared, wrinkling her nose in the that adorable way when she was frustrated.
"I have! He won't take no for an answer."
"What'd you come over for then, smarty?" He raised an eyebrow at her.
"I—I wanted to talk to y-you," she stuttered.
"Why do you always seek me out at these things?"
"I miss our talks. We appreciate the same things. You are funny." She lifted a shoulder, tilting her head to it. “Plus, you aren't drunk, and you don't give me 'the look'."
Pity. He had seen it thrown at her several times already. He got it as well, for his brothers, and being single and childless, he suspected. "I get that."
"See? You are a superior wizard with emotional intelligence, which is why I enjoy your company."
His heart swelled a little. "Listen, Hermione, I—"
"Don't say it. It happened. It was an accident. It's done."
"—'m sorry about—"
"Charlie, stop. It's fine."
"Okay."
The silence pooled between them for a moment as they swayed.
"You have a good room. It doesn’t have that weird baked-in boy smell like the others."
"Thank you, I think?" Charlie squinted at her.
Hermione answered with a smile as the song petered out, replaced by a driving beat that had Charlie shaking his head immediately.
“Cheers to the dance, Mione." He released her, retreating to search for where he set his drink.
He spent the rest of the evening in conversation with Hagrid about dragons (especially Bertie) and such. His neck paid the price for looking up at the half-giant for an extended period of time. As drunkenness began to set in, Charlie begged off to go to bed.
"Good night, son. We'll see you in the morning. Thank you for coming home. It means the world to us." Molly embraced him.
He disappeared around the side of the house, using the back door to retire to his room. As the festivities grew louder, he popped a sound shield so he could read in peace. After an hour or so he extinguished the lanterns to sleep. He drifted off to the sway of their dancing and the act of untying yellow ribbons on freckled shoulders.
***
Light knifed through his room from his door cracking open. Disoriented, he bolted up, wand in hand, before he remembered where he was.
"Charlie?" a meek voice came. Her voice.
She poked her curly head around the door, hair bound in a messy bun. Backlight blasted around her silhouette, her face obscured. He scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to banish sleep from his mind.
"Mione?" he croaked. "Something wrong?"
"No," she said, padding across the floor, clad in the same long nightgown. "I wanted to talk to you."
Bare-chested, he was self-conscious. She eyed his dragon tattoos roping up his arms and shoulders with a flash of surprise. Sidling to the far edge of his bed, he gave her room to sit. She settled at the farthest corner.
"What do you need?"
She was looking at him with a peculiar expression. She opened her mouth a few times, squeaks of false starts coming out. He drew his knees up, setting his forearms on them, his hands dangling in front of him, waiting.
With a huff, she seemed to make her mind up about something. "Charlie. I have missed you," she rushed out, staring at the floor. "Why have you stayed away?"
Taken aback, he spit out his stock answer. "My work, Hermione. Dragon husbandry is very intense."
"You used to come home more than this. You left after Ron's funeral and never came back. Until now," her reply edged with anger. "I wondered if it was me.”
He recoiled from her skirmish with the truth. "What do you mean?"
"I loved our talks, our jokes. I married Ron, and that all stopped. Then he died and you completely disappeared. I thought we were friends."
"We were. We are," he clarified. "I didn't want to impose on your bliss… or your grief."
"I was distraught, in pain."
"You had so many people, Mione. You didn't need me. The rest of my family, Harry, your friends." He gestured around the room, like they were all there.
"Harry was injured. My best friends were in no shape to comfort me. They lost their husbands too. And your family had their own grief. I know you must have too, but I thought we sort of had our own language, connection, that I mattered to you."
He had been selfish, as usual. He was so preoccupied with his own heart, he neglected hers. It never occurred to him that he was special to her. "Mi, I apologize. I didn't know. You do matter to me but you are so strong. I know you don't like fussing. And you had so many people…for you, close by," he repeated, stammering.
“But I wanted you, Charlie. I still want you," her eyes pierced him.
He froze, working hard not to misunderstand. Trying not to hope. "I am here now," he managed.
Swinging her legs onto the bed, she mirrored Charlie's pose, wrapping her arms around her legs. Facing him, she dropped her chin to her knees. "I hoped you'd come home more, maybe to comfort your mum. You lit out after the funeral like you'd rather be anywhere else. I thought maybe you were just being nice to me for Ron's sake all that time."
He dropped his head. "Mione—"
"It's okay, Charlie. I don't want to make you feel bad. I had a little crush on you, you know. When I was a girl. You were too old for me then, but I was always so glad to see you."
He groaned before he could stop himself, closing his eyes. "I would have come if you had asked."
"What did I do wro—“
"We can't go down this road. I can't—"
She scooted closer to him, placing a hand on his covered foot. Her warmth seeped through the linen into his skin.
"I'm lonely. I think you are too. Haven't you missed me, Charlie?"
He didn’t speak for a minute, his jaw flexing. "Yes. For years," he admitted. "But you are are my brother's wife, I dare—"
"Ron is dead. I loved him, but he is dead. I am tired of being sad." She unfolded, crawling to him. "I am sick of having nothing but my grief. I want to feel something wonderful. I want to feel it with you."
Every barrier, every wall, spell, and guard Charles Weasley had mentally constructed fell to dust in a matter of seconds. He reached, taking her face in his calloused hands, kissing her. He poured all of his longing and frustration into her. She met his desperation with her own, scrambling to straddle him, clawing fingers through his red hair.
Wrapping her body in his arms, having her tongue twining with his, was surreal. She felt different than he imagined, better. She had a woman's body now, from age and childbearing, with flared hips and heavy breasts. He reached to pull free her curls, letting them cascade down. Their furious kissing continued as she explored the muscles of his back and shoulders with her nails.
He pulled away, searching her face. "You're sure about this?"
She smirked at him, attaching her teeth to his neck. He took that as a yes, sliding his hands to her thighs. Her nightgown had already worked its way up.
"This granny thing has to go," he growled into her hair.
Pushing it up further, she obliged him by lifting her bum so he could pull it up her torso, over her raised arms.
"You liked it well enough last night, pervy."
"Before it was on you, like a nun's habit." Charlie ran a flat hand down her chest between her breasts. She let her arms fall loosely to her side. He cupped her breasts in his palms, unable to stop a guttural sound from escaping. Bringing his lips to enclose a dusky nipple, he suckled gently, teasing her with the tip of his tongue.
"You're so fucking beautiful, Mione," he whispered between licks of her perfect, peaked breasts. "You have no idea."
Hermione gripped Charlie's jaw, bringing his mouth to hers again. "I've wanted you so much. I ache, I need —"
"You have me. I am here," he murmured, cradling the back of her neck, his other hand on the small of her back, and flipping them over. "What do you need from me, darling?" He settled between her legs.
"I need you to feel this with me. I want everything from you," she hummed.
Charlie crawled up her body, dragging a trail of nips and open-mouth kisses with him. "I will give you all I have. Every drop." Devouring her mouth, he clawed at her knickers. Reaching to help, she didn't break contact with his lips.
"Hmmmmm, here, just..." she finally huffed, pushing him away. "Physics, Charles." Rocking her hips back, she pulled her undies off, tossing them away, then glowered at his pants that were still intact. She vanished them with a sweep of her hand.
"Oh my," she grinned, eyes flicking from his erect penis to his face.
"What can I say? I put the long in longing." He dived at her with a snarl.
She scoffed, squealing with delight. Charlie realized the door was still open, going for his wand, but she shut it with a wave, uttering a silencing spell.
"Brilliant.” Trailing his mouth over her breasts, down her stomach, to her center, he shouldered between her legs. "Wider for me, love," he requested, inhaling her familiar sandalwood scent, mixed with the sweat of the day. He licked in, delicately separating her with his fingers, exposing her rosy clit. Becoming more insistent, consuming more of her with each stroke of his tongue, he feasted with relish. She ground into his face, fisting his hair with feral moans. Tasting her, gripping the soft flesh of her thighs, was more than he could have imagined. He fancied he might still be asleep, dreaming.
"Charl, Char, ohhhhh—" she lost her breath as she came on his tongue, twisting mightily. "Oh, fuck." He rode her out, extracting her pleasure like the sweetest venom. He felt drunk on her. She was heaving, flapping her arms about. She got purchase on a hank of his hair, dragging him up. "I need you now, inside me."
Her curls were a bramble, eyes glazed, half-lidded with desire, and her face flushed with perspiration. She had never been more beautiful to him. He thought about telling her, giving her the three words he held close for so long, but he knew it was too much.
Fisting his swollen cock, he aligned himself. When she smiled, invoking a contraception spell, he began to sink in. Shivers lanced up his spine as she enveloped him, sweet and tight. A long mewl escaped her at the same time that he moaned, making Hermione giggle. He gently withdrew, then pushed in again, hissing through his teeth with pleasure.
“Fucking exquisite, Mione.” Bracketing his arms around her head, he put his forehead to hers. “You okay? I’m not hurting you?"
“No, just go slowly for a bit.” She brushed her lips to his, lacing her fingers in his hair. “You feel so damn good."
Flexing slowly until he was buried, he lost himself in the sensation of her. Her hips rose to meet him, urging him to increase his pace.
“Can I see?” She stared between their bodies. “I want to watch you fuck me."
He growled, jolted with desire by her words. Pushing up on his palms to improve her view, he thrust in and out of her, his cock wet with her arousal. She moaned her approval. Going to an elbow on one side, he reached between them to circle her clit. She was slick and warm as his fingers slid on her most sensitive area. She bucked, writhing under him.
“Harder, Char—Charlie please, please,” she begged.
Snapping furiously, he felt her let go, clamping down on him as she keened with an arch. He dropped down, draping over her body, pistoning into her, as he chased after his climax. Another aftershock racked her, squeezing around his shaft. He burst into her with a tearing groan, clamping his eyes shut as static filled his brain.
“Fuck, Mione, fuck!"
He arrhythmically pumped through his orgasm, gradually stilling. He rolled off onto his back, his chest heaving. She turned on her side to face him, stroking his face, still struggling with her own breathing.
“Wonderful, Charlie.” Her eyes shone, heavy with bliss.
He pulled her to him, gathering her in his arms. “Bloody hell, baby," he muttered, kissing her again, his eyes fluttering shut.
They slept.
***
As dawn filtered into the room, they made love again, more deliberately this time. He coaxed her apart several times, languishing in her sweetness, giving her all he had as she requested. She was just as generous with him. If he had any doubts of whether loving her before was real, they had been banished by the rising sun and the wonder of her intimacy.
She pulled her stiff nightgown on to creep back to her room before the kids awoke. She left him with a lingering kiss and a “See you later, lover.”
He lay back, his hands behind his head. He still longed for her endlessly, from the minute she left the room. He would be going back to the reserve, to an empty home with an empty bed. He should be sated, but, as usual, it wasn’t enough.
The day passed too quickly. Soon enough he found himself back at the Ministry with most of his family to see him off. The hugs went around again with few tears shed.
“Don’t stay away so long this time,” his mother pled. “The children love you. We love you."
“I won’t, Mum. I will be back more often, promise.”
Hermione stepped in when Molly released him. “I’ll take you up on the offer to bring the kids to the dragon reserve, if that’s okay. You were right about a vacation.” Hugo let out a great howl while Rose danced with joy. The rest of the kids moaned at their parents.
“Anytime, just owl me and we will get it set up.” He gave her a genuine, if not hopeful smile.
“Thank you, Charlie, for everything.” She embraced him. Hugging her back, he held her close to him. As he moved for his vibrating portkey, she blew him a kiss. He caught it on his cheek and winked at her before swirling out of existence.