Fic: In-Between Places (Hermione/Charlie, pg13)
Title: In-Between Places
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Charlie/Hermione
Summary: Charlie and Hermione are both adrift, but find that maybe they're not alone.
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to JK Rowling.
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 6180ish
Author's Notes: Originally posted at the hp_rarities exchange, written for writersblock76. ♥ Thanks to florahart for the beta.
They'd told him that living on his own out in the middle of nowhere wasn't the best idea, considering. The chances of him making things worse were pretty high, and then there was the whole depression thing. Not that he was depressed. Perspective was a good thing to have at times like this, and Charlie tried his damnedest to hold onto his. But the possibility was there, and they'd said that having someone there would be a good thing.
Still. He didn't need a baby-sitter, and he'd lived alone since bloody Hogwarts. It hadn't made sense for him to start being all co-dependent (or dependent, really, which was worse), all of a sudden, just because things were different. It wasn't a pride thing, as his mum liked to say. It was a lifestyle choice.
This just happened to be one of the rare moments when he wished he'd listened to the healers, and his mother.
Trapped, for all intents and purposes, on the floor of his cozy little sitting room, Charlie reached down, clamping his hands on his thigh as it seized up again, his entire lower half wracked with pain. He gritted his teeth and breathed through the worst of it, hating that he couldn't even stand and help himself. "Shit," he muttered when he'd caught his breath. Over-extending himself was another thing the healers had warned him about; the longer he went without getting off his legs, the more likely he was to get the spasms. And sure, the pain would fade in a few minutes, but he'd still be immobile for as long as an hour without help.
It sucked.
He flattened his hand on the wooden floor, finding purchase and managing to pull his way over to the fireplace. With his legs seized up they were pretty useless, but his arms were stronger than ever. He raised himself high enough to lean on the hearth, and used the leverage to reach up for the pot of floo powder on the mantle; probably it would have been smarter to keep some in a lower spot in case of emergencies when he didn't have his wand on him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. That, he could admit, was a pride thing.
Puffing out a breath, and maybe a muttered curse or two, he fumbled the jar open and tossed a pinch of powder into the fireplace; he felt embarrassment wash hot over him as the pain in his legs began to fade and he called out an address. His father should be home this time of day.
~~
When the train glided to a stop at King's Cross station, Hermione already had her books tucked away and her things gathered. She zipped her jacket and lifted her duffel bag, making her way out of her compartment and onto platform ten. The train had arrived ahead of schedule, which was just as well. No one was coming to meet her, though she couldn't wait to catch up with Ron and Harry later. It had been ages since she'd talked to them. Not being able to see them regularly had been the most difficult thing about being away at university.
Someone called out to her on her way out to the street; she glanced back and raised her hand automatically to wave at the girl and tell her that they'd talk soon even though she didn't know if they actually would. She'd met a lot of people over the last three years, but getting particularly close to any of them had been more difficult than she'd expected, for reasons that were fairly obvious when you thought about it.
It was raining in London, but Hermione didn't bother with her umbrella, choosing something a little more comforting to hold onto with her free hand instead. She slipped her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around her wand as she walked along, dragging her wheeled bag behind her and looking for a secluded spot from which to Apparate. After so many months at a stretch without being able to do it, she wouldn't have dreamt of taking a bus.
~~
"Your mother's worried sick, you know," Arthur flicked his wand toward the lamp in his workshop, filling the room with a warm golden light and sending a few spiders scattering. He pulled a stool out from under the table and slid it along the floor in Charlie's direction.
"Well that's pretty much default for her, isn't it?" Charlie winced immediately; he felt a little bad for saying it, but the all the hovering was starting to grate. "I'm fine. I've told her. I mean, I've been better, but it's not a huge deal." He leant back against the stool, bracing a hand on the back edge of the seat, then hauled himself up. He'd learnt to do it smoothly enough by now that he thought it was likely that someone would have to look extra closely to notice that he wasn't pushing himself into the seat with his leg.
Arthur was quiet for a few moments, rummaging through a drawer. He surfaced with a small clock/radio thing, cased in some kind of fake plasticky wood that was pretty obviously not real, and set it on the work table. "Yes. Well, perhaps it wasn't the best time to tell her that you've been flying again."
"Could've waited for that, maybe," Charlie agreed with a wry smile. He watched his father tinker around a bit more. He hadn't been out in the shop for ages; it was nice, and a bit more peaceful than back up at the house.
"I wonder why they don't use proper wood." Arthur frowned as he ran his hand along the plastic casing on the alarm clock. "Unless the point is for it not to look authentic… but maybe there's some functional use, for the sound -- better cue sticks, or … anyway. I don't suppose you could stop for a while? The flying, I mean. It's only a hobby…"
"It's more than that," Charlie said quietly. "Since I - since the accident I've already had to give up my spot at the dragon reserve until I'm in better shape." He looked away, squirming in his seat. He felt like a kid, or something. "I can't even do my job, Dad. Giving up flying, too - it's not going to happen."
"Just thought I'd mention it," Arthur said, his tone suggesting that Charlie's reply had been no less than he'd expected. "I guess I don't have to ask you to be careful."
"I am," Charlie said. "The healers said I could go for short distances and for the most part I have, but accidents happen either way. It's not a huge deal."
Arthur looked closely at Charlie for a moment, then nodded. "As long as you know we're here," he said simply. "And Molly's going to worry. If she ever stopped, you'd miss it."
"Probably," he laughed. "You know, Mum could've just brought all this up herself, in between cramming more rhubarb crumble onto my plate," Charlie told him, reaching for a block of wood and a chisel. "Didn't have to make you play the bad guy."
Arthur smiled slightly, pushing his glasses up his nose before picking up a slightly rusty screwdriver and applying it to the back of the little machine. "You'd have preferred it that way, would you?"
Charlie ducked his head and whacked at the chisel with a mallet as he considered that a conversation with Mum would probably have segued into a discussion on why he wasn't spending this Friday night with a nice young woman, with like, childbearing hips or something. He gulped. "Good point."
~~
Hermione laughed and took another drink of her tea as Ron told another joke. She was comfy in their booth with Harry at her side and Ron sitting across from them both, a large plate of chicken wings and greasy chips in front of him, and a pint at his elbow. It was warm in the noisy little pub where Seamus worked; she was glad the boys had suggested it. Being away at school meant that Hermione had only been here a few times, but Ron and Harry had spent many a Friday night at the Rusty Scupper after work, and they'd suggested it for her first night back as a good way to see some friends that she'd not talked to in a while.
For her part, though it had been nice when Seamus had dropped by their table to bring her a free drink and flirt with all three of them, she was more than happy just talking to Harry and Ron.
"Ron, let her get a word in," Harry said with a laugh, nicking one of Ron's chicken wings.
"Right, like she's ever had a problem getting a word in," Ron snorted, then looked her furtively as if to make sure she knew he was kidding. She only kicked him lightly under the table. "Ow. 'Sides, she liked that joke."
"Even if I hadn't, I would have humoured you," Hermione said solemnly.
"See?" Satisfied, Ron took a drink of his pint.
"So," Harry swallowed his bite of Ron's chicken. "Where're you going to stay, now you're not living in Cardiff anymore?"
"Yeah; did you pick up a roommate while you were with the Muggles?"
Hermione shook her head and sipped her tea. "No," she said carefully. "I've missed the Wizarding world too much not to live here now. Besides, there wasn't really anyone I… I mean, no. I don't know where I'll live just yet."
"You can stay with us as long as you want, of course," Ron said. Hermione had already left her bags in their two-bedroom flat; she was going to be sleeping there until she'd made other arrangements and found a job. She smiled at them both, grateful.
"Plus, in a few weeks we'll be proper Aurors," Harry put in. "Out of training and all; making more money. Might get a bigger place, or something. Maybe… three bedrooms?"
Hermione was touched that they'd even consider it, and more tempted by the idea than she should be. "We'll see," she said, but knew that she didn't want to cling to them forever. "I'm going to write to the Ministry and inquire about employment on Monday, and then go from there."
"You mean you don't have the next ten years all planned out?" Ron leant over, touching his hand to her forehead. "Sure you're not sick? Sure that's you in there?"
"Oh, funny," Hermione said dryly, ducking away from his hand and rolling her eyes. She shifted in her seat, though, uncertain. "It isn't … I don't -- I do have plans," she said finally. "But going to university delayed things somewhat, and it's made me think of a whole slew of other options. That's all."
"You'll figure it out," Harry said confidently, and she gave him an affectionate nudge.
"Yeah, if you can't figure it out, then we're all pretty much screwed, Ron said. Harry laughed at that, and she smiled at Ron, knowing he meant well. She didn't want to think about how uncertain she felt, so she sat up a bit straighter, determined not to feel that way for the moment.
"I'm just getting started, that's all," she said, nodding. "You two are starting your lives, and I'm pretty much starting from scratch."
She glanced down into her tea, wondering why that didn't make her feel altogether better.
~~
Sitting on the bench in his mud room, Charlie tugged on his dragon-hide boots. He didn't need them to fly, of course, but they were his favorite thing to wear even if he wasn't mucking out the hatchling pens on the reserve. He felt a squeezing feeling in his chest as he considered that it'd been six months since the accident, six months since he'd been able to go to work. He'd already told himself that as soon as it was possible he would go back, but it was pretty much killing him to be on the outside looking in. He'd used to visit a lot more, but now it just bugged him too fucking much to feel so useless. Maybe some people were built for it, but he wasn't.
It also bugged him to sit around feeling sorry for himself, though, so he put thoughts of work behind him. Getting better was the only thing he needed to be focusing on. Charlie got to his feet, favouring his right leg pretty heavily, and grabbed his Nimbus from where it rested against the wall. He stepped outside and immediately felt more at ease, with the light breeze on his face and the sun in his eyes. The sky was clear and perfect for flying. He lifted his bad leg and straddled the broomstick carefully.
Pushing off was always tricky. He had to use his left leg almost exclusively, and that usually got him into the air at an angle that was unnatural for him. Only took a few seconds to right himself with the proper wrist movements, but those few seconds were a little disorienting. Deciding to try it with both legs this time, he kicked off, and while he was level with the ground, there was a sharp pain in his right leg that faded almost as quickly as it had come on. Charlie gritted his teeth against it, but when it faded, he went ahead and increased his altitude until he was above the thatched roof of his house.
It wasn't as bad as it had been the last time he tried it, Charlie didn't think. And if he never pushed his limits, he would never move past them.
When he'd climbed a little higher, Charlie evened out and flew over the trees, letting a grin split his face. Once he was up here, he was good; he was totally in control. After all, the leg movements he had to make in the air were crucial, but they were so small he could barely feel them most of the time. Just a twitch to the left or right, just a slight change in his position on the stick here and there. He never felt more unencumbered than when he was in the air. And while that'd been true even before the accident, Charlie didn't have words for how it felt now.
No; stopping was definitely not an option.
He executed a few weaves through the trees, dipping and swerving. He wasn't enough of a daredevil to attempt a flip at this point -- tucking in his right leg enough for that to work would be a problem -- but he could move almost as fast as he'd used to. He swerved again and went into a short dive, and began to lose track of how long he'd been up here.
When he pulled successfully out of the first dive, he tried another, steeper one, and let out a whoop as the ground hurtled up toward him. He pulled up on his broomstick just in time and tried to gain altitude, but his leg, damn it, chose that moment to seize up and stop cooperating altogether. "Son of a bitch," he ground out, holding the broomstick more tightly as his right leg pretty much became dead weight, making his whole body pitch to one side. He felt his triceps tremble and burn with the effort of keeping himself from barrel-rolling and falling out of the sky, and instead, pushed the tip of his broomstick down.
He landed hard, cursing not so much from the pain as the indignity of it, then reached into his back pocket for his wand.
~~
Hermione cracked open the wax seal on the official Ministry letter and unrolled the parchment, reading the words quickly. Interview next Thursday in the Muggle Liaisons department, she noted, wrinkling her nose. She would have hoped they'd be able to fit her in sooner, but no such luck.
Ron and Harry, Aurors now in every capacity apart from title, had been called in on assignment on what was supposed to have been their day off, and she was in their flat alone, wondering what on earth she was going to do with herself for the next week and a half. After putting away the letter, she glanced through the Ministry brochures she'd picked up on her visit yesterday, curling her feet under her on the sofa as she did so. She'd only been out of university for six days, and was trying not to feel useless. She'd thought about owling someone, anyone, to have lunch or something, but then she considered that she was the only person out of all her friends who was even home at this time of day.
Besides, seeing her old Hogwarts friends was odd, since she'd been back. With Ron and Harry it was like she'd never left, almost, but with everyone else … there was a space between them that all the catch-up sessions in the world weren't likely to fill. There were inside jokes for which she had no context, and major events that she'd missed completely. She had gone to university to broaden her mind and explore all her options, but at the moment it felt as if she'd willingly held herself back, while everyone else had been moving forward.
It wasn't the best feeling in the world.
She was thinking about lunch when the whoosh of the floo distracted her and she looked up from the lists she'd started writing. Neither Harry nor Ron had mentioned expecting anyone, though for all she knew, it could be one of them. Or not. She reached for her wand, just as a freckled head with a strong jaw and short, tousled, sparsely curling hair materialized in the fireplace.
She blinked. "Charlie?"
"Wha… Hermione?" Charlie looked slightly drawn and more than a little uncomfortable as he ducked his head. "Uh, hey. I just -- Ron's not around, is he?"
"He and Harry are both out," she told him, walking over and bending close to the fireplace. She couldn't tell if it was soot or dirt or what smudging his face and dusting his hair, but he looked a little the worse for wear. "Charlie, are you all right?"
"Nah, just got a bit of a problem here at home, but nevermind -- I'm going to floo Perce and see if he's round. It was, erm, good seeing you." He shifted and gave a wince, and tried to back out of the floo, but Hermione remembered that he'd been injured badly some months ago.
"Charlie --" he was gone before she could finish the thought. "Oh, for heaven's sake." She puffed out a breath, reached for some floo powder and tossed it in, following him right through. "Wait."
Her eyes widened as she saw him there on the floor, red-faced, both hands pressing hard against his right hamstring. "What's happened?"
"Hermione-- I'm fine," Charlie ground out, though it was the biggest lie she'd heard all week. She dropped to her knees beside him.
"Yes; I don't know what came over me, you look perfectly fine," she said, batting his hands out of the way as she noticed that his brow was pearled with sweat. "Is this a macho thing? Because you don't look like you have much time for that right now."
"Cut me some slack, will you?" Charlie said, shifting to sit up a little straighter. "Not exactly the position a bloke likes to be caught in by a woman."
"I've seen worse," she said briskly. "Besides, you don't look bad at all; you just look as if you're in a lot of pain."
"Good to know I wear it well," he said with an attempt at a chuckle.
"What can I do?"
"Nothing; I can handle it. The pain's fading already."
"Right," she rolled her eyes. "What did you need Ron for, then?"
Charlie shifted and he avoided her eyes; he looked almost bashful. "It's just … I can't move, when my legs seize up. Rather than kick back here on the floor for a few hours or Apparate up to bed, it helps to have a hand up. Then I can get to my crutches, or at least get up into a chair. It's not a constant thing. Just, occasionally I need a hand."
Hermione softened. "Is that all?" she said quietly. "I can help with that."
He leant back on one arm, eyeing her. "I'm kinda heavy for you, Granger."
"I'm stronger than I look," she said archly.
"Still," his lips curved, "I probably weigh more than those books you're always carrying around."
She squinted and lifted her wand. "I could make you weightless, you know."
"That a threat?"
"You'd probably feel much better floating somewhere up near the ceiling."
"I'll pass," he said, but he eyed her wand hand dubiously and stopped teasing her.
"I was serious, you know; I'm stronger than you apparently think I am." She budged up next to him. "Lean on me; I'll help you up."
She watched his face color again as he shook his head, and while it was actually sort of charming, she could do without the fragile male pride. "I thought Ron was the stubborn one."
"There's too damned many of us not to've wound up with some repeats," Charlie grinned. "But actually, you got some time?"
"A bit, yes," she said cautiously.
"Want to sit with me a while?" He scooted back, rested against the front of the couch and patted the floor next to him.
~~
Hermione, Charlie thought, was fascinating as hell. He glanced at her as she bit into one of the apples she'd fetched from his kitchen. He was eating his with a knife, slicing off chunks and crunching them one by one as they talked. He was pretty sure that he could move his legs now, but didn't feel like letting her know just yet.
She asked him about his injury; she'd been away when he'd got it, and while he didn't like talking about it as a rule, he found he didn't mind so much with her. She'd asked with genuine concern, not pity, mixed with a healthy amount of intellectual curiosity, and he'd found himself spilling. He told her about the attack on the dragon reserve by some lingering supporters of Voldemort; they'd been trying to steal some Horntail eggs with the misguided notion of raising some of the dragons as weapons, and when they'd been discovered, they'd tried to blow the place up before the Aurors could apprehend them. She'd read about that in the Prophet, of course, but she didn't know about how he'd run into the building to try and save one of men and some of the hatchlings, and the damned shed had collapsed around him. His right leg had been damn near crushed under the weight of a support beam.
"Why couldn't they repair your leg completely with magic?" She asked, frowning.
"Eventually, they say it'll heal," he told her. "Uh. Maybe. But the wood they use to build most structures is treated with a potion that's supposed to protect it from the baby dragons' breath. I guess it seeped into my body, made it harder for them to do anything to my leg past a certain point." He wiggled his toes. "I've been in physical therapy. Eventually, the lingering potion'll wear off and when it does, I don't want my muscles to be atrophied."
She nodded, after a moment. "And in the meantime, you might need to accept help from women and people who are generally smaller than you." She glanced sidelong at him.
"Not if I can help it." He raised a brow, but he was pretty much kidding. This, he could freely admit, was also a pride thing. But he didn't like people seeing him like this, unable to do simple shit.
Especially not people he maybe wouldn't mind impressing if he could manage it.
He cleared his throat and looked at her. "So, I've got a confession."
"Hm?"
"My leg's been pretty much movable for a while."
"I thought it might be." Unfazed, Hermione takes a last bite of her apple.
"Based on what?"
"I saw you testing it out on my way back from the kitchen."
"Oh." Charlie cleared his throat. "Right."
"If I minded sitting with you," she continued, "I would have said so."
"Yeah?" he smiled slightly. "I'm sure."
She nodded. "Made an excuse, or something."
"Like, work stuff."
"Or I could've feigned exhaustion."
"Yeah, but then I'd have offered you my couch, or something."
"I wouldn't dream of imposing."
"That's polite of you."
"I was raised well." She ducked her head, but he could see her smiling.
"Good quality to have." He plucked the apple core from her hand and sent them both to the waste bin. "I think this is the longest conversation we've had since I met you."
She looked at him, impishly. "It was nice."
"Anytime you want to do it again…" Charlie grinned. "I could probably do better than the sitting room floor next time. Drop in whenever."
"I'll, um," Hermione blushed, and she cleared her throat. "I'll keep that in mind."
~~
The next time Hermione stepped through Charlie's floo, it was under much better circumstances. At least she hoped so, but presumably she wasn't going to find him on the floor this time. It was just, he'd told her he'd be up for conversation if she wanted to do it again, and it just happened that she did. She had actually found herself wanting to do it quite a few times over the past week, but hadn't been able to think of an excuse.
This time, though, she had scones. And she was nervous about the interview she'd had the previous morning, and she wanted to see how Charlie was doing, and that was probably enough to be going on with in terms of conversation so that it didn't seem like she was just dropping by only to spend time with him again.
Which, she was.
Hermione straightened up in his sitting room, dusting a bit of soot off the bottom of her shirt. Charlie wasn't immediately visible, though his house was pretty big, for just one man. It was a really nice house, now that she had the time to look around without him seeing. Sparsely decorated but neat, with warm colors, natural wood and greys and greens. There were these interesting little knick-knacks on the mantle, somewhat roughly-hewn and made from wood. Letting her bag dangle at her side, she reached out with her free hand to touch one.
"See something you like?"
Hermione jumped and snatched her hand back and spun around, which made her feel ridiculous. Satisfying her curiosity wasn't anything to feel bad about. "Charlie! I, well, hi."
"Hi." Charlie had his hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans, looking amused enough to make her want to smack him. Or smack her hand to her forehead. She did neither.
"I had every intention of calling out," she explained. "I've only been here for a minute or so, really."
"Good to see you," he said simply, and as he walked a little closer, she noted that his hair was wet from a recent shower, and was curling damply around his ears. There was one curl in particular that grazed his earlobe and…
"What?"
"It's good to see you," he said again, a little more hesitant. "You all right?"
"Of course," she said briskly, and smiled. "I brought scones."
"They smell nice. You make them?"
Hermione snorted before she could stop herself. "Me? No," she said. "I don't cook, particularly. I'm competent enough following a recipe, obviously, and I can make simple meals, but it's generally more for food than for fun." She stopped rambling when she considered that he might not have asked to hear all that. "I bought them. In a shop."
"I like to cook," Charlie said easily, walking over, his gait steady if uneven, and taking the bag from her. "I've got a lot of time these days, so."
"Yes, I suppose you do," she said, following him back to the kitchen. "At the moment my days are pretty open, as well. No job." She tried to make the statement sound as casual as he just had, but it didn't really work. Casual was the last thing she felt about the whole thing.
"But that's just temporary, I'm sure." He glanced at her. "That why you dropped by? All your other friends at work, or something?" There was a tone to the question that made her look at him a little more closely. There was something behind his lazy expression. She suspected that the only reason she could identify it as insecurity was that she felt something similar herself.
It was a bit of a strange look on Charlie Weasley, the man her best friend had looked up to his whole life, as if he'd had all the answers. But maybe he wasn't as casual about all this as she'd previously assumed.
"No," she said finally. "I just… I thought you might want breakfast, and some more of that conversation."
Charlie's smile deepened, his dimples winking at her, and she swallowed. "So, ah," he said, taking down two mugs for coffee, "Ron said you were off at school with Muggles."
"At university, yes. For three years." Hermione arranged the scones on a plate, enjoying watching him move around the kitchen, competent and efficient. He favored his right leg heavily, and she caught him making compensatory movements as he bent low and reached high to get the things he needed. She thought about how long it must have taken for him to move so smoothly considering; whether it had been the physical therapy, or sheer will. She suspected it was a bit of both.
Anyway, it did absolutely nothing to detract from the way he looked in his denims and clean white tee shirt, slightly damp about the collar from his skin. She had decided back in the sitting room that she'd have to be blind not to notice, and that there was no logical region not to look.
He turned around and she busied herself with the scones again, sliding a plate toward him. "Thanks," he said, and she smiled back at him. "So, why did you decide to go to university? You don't need that for any job in the Wizarding world."
She moved a shoulder. "I've always thought about it, but not seriously, at first. Then, after Voldemort was dead, I kept thinking about how short life is. I didn't want to let it pass me by; didn't want to wonder what would happen if I didn't try it."
She frowned as Charlie's lips twitched up. "What?"
"Nothing," he said, "it's just, most people, when they want to make the most of their lives, they do crazy shit, like rappelling off the side of a cliff or Wronski-feinting into a crowd of Muggles. You decide to go back to school."
"So?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I happen to think that expressing how lucky we are to be alive by doing things that are as likely as not to get you killed sort of defeats the purpose," she said primly.
"Not saying it's a bad thing," Charlie shrugged, and gave a chuckle as he bit off nearly half his scone. "Sets you apart, that's all. Good place to be, from where I'm sitting."
"Is that why you like living out here all by yourself?" she asked curiously, and wrapped her fingers around her warm coffee mug. "Because you like being set apart?"
"Not exactly. I've lived alone since I left school," he said. "It's not that I'm some recluse, though. I like people, they like me. But when I come home after working hard, I like to have space, and quiet, and room to fly."
Hermione smiled, liking the sound of it.
"That's not why I bought this place, though," he added, getting to his feet and gathering up their plates and mugs. "Come with me."
Curious, she got up and followed him out of the kitchen, through a tiny mud room and out onto a porch made of wood, old and recently painted in dusky blue. Beyond it was acres of land, dappled with trees, and a gorgeous, mostly un-marred view of the horizon. "It's beautiful," she said. "This is all yours?"
"Nah, just the first acre or so," he said, "but I sit out here sometimes and it's easy to pretend like it is." Charlie grinned at her and gestured to the edge of the porch. "Pull up a spot, yeah?"
She dropped to sit, letting her feet rest on one of the three steps below them. Charlie grabbed the support pillar, avoiding her gaze as he lowered to sit as well, putting his right leg out in front of him in what she assumed to be the least painful position. He crouched, holding all his weight on his left leg, but wobbled slightly, enough to pitch to one side. Hermione moved quickly to help him, taking his elbow. He tensed and put out an arm to right himself, and she pulled back her hand.
"I'm fine," he said quietly, tersely, still not looking at her. She watched as a flush crept up his neck.
"I know," she said, lifting her coffee cup and sipping, staring out over the field. She was sort of taken aback by how much she wanted to help him, and how much she wanted him to let her, but she understood about pride. She would hate this every bit as much.
"You being here," Charlie said carefully, "you sitting with me. I'm starting to think that's more help than anything else."
Hermione stilled, at a loss for words, and finally nodded. He was quiet after that, reaching for a block of wood off to his left that was curing with a few others on the porch. He slipped a knife from his back pocket, opened it, and began to whittle the wood, his cup of coffee sitting between his knees.
"Those carvings on your mantle," she remembered. "You made them?"
Charlie nodded. "Just another one of those things, I guess. I work with my hands, always have. Since I can't get back to work yet, I've picked up hobbies that let me keep doing that."
"What are you making now?" Leaning over to see, she thought of the little winged figurines that she'd been looking at earlier and wondered if he were making another dragon.
"Well, if I can finish it," he said with a wry smile, "It'll be a chess set for Ron. This one's going to be a knight. His birthday's not too far off, and I'm pretty good with the charms, so."
Hermione smiled. "You're lovely," she said without thinking, then frowned. "I meant, it's lovely. What you're doing; it's a lovely gift."
Charlie turned and looked at her with a slow, lopsided smile that made her stomach do this odd flipping thing. "Thanks."
With their faces this close, she noticed that curl again, less damp by now but still grazing his earlobe. She didn't know how long she stared at it before she finally lift a hand and brushed it aside, her fingertips flicking his ear lightly, thumb brushing against his jaw. She dropped her hand, flushing.
"Curls if I don't keep it short," Charlie murmured, catching her hand on the way down. His thumb rested against the inside of her wrist, right over her jittering pulse point. "Mum's always at me to cut it."
She only barely heard that, though, as she was too busy leaning up to touch her lips to his tentatively, almost curiously. She'd been wondering all morning how it would feel and suddenly it seemed utterly ridiculous not to take this chance. Charlie went with it -- more than went with it, really; he raised his free hand to her face and coaxed her lips apart with his, brushing them with his tongue and waiting for her quiet sigh, and then their tongues slid together, and her hand moved to his waist, gripping his cotton t-shirt lightly in her fingers. When he pulled back, she gasped softly.
"Nice," he said in a low voice, dropping his hand to her shoulder and then moving it down her arm. Hermione could only nod, wondering briefly at her own forwardness. Eventually, she laughed, and Charlie looked at her curiously.
"What?"
"No, it's just," she shook her head slightly, "something I was thinking earlier."
"Yeah?"
She nodded. "Satisfying my curiosity isn't anything to feel bad about."
"I tend to like the way you think." His slow smile had her belly doing flip-flops again. "Which is a pretty good start."
He took her hand in his, and she found it broad and warm and strong, his grip sure. For the moment, at least, she felt a little less adrift. She was pretty sure they both did.
End
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Charlie/Hermione
Summary: Charlie and Hermione are both adrift, but find that maybe they're not alone.
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to JK Rowling.
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 6180ish
Author's Notes: Originally posted at the hp_rarities exchange, written for writersblock76. ♥ Thanks to florahart for the beta.
They'd told him that living on his own out in the middle of nowhere wasn't the best idea, considering. The chances of him making things worse were pretty high, and then there was the whole depression thing. Not that he was depressed. Perspective was a good thing to have at times like this, and Charlie tried his damnedest to hold onto his. But the possibility was there, and they'd said that having someone there would be a good thing.
Still. He didn't need a baby-sitter, and he'd lived alone since bloody Hogwarts. It hadn't made sense for him to start being all co-dependent (or dependent, really, which was worse), all of a sudden, just because things were different. It wasn't a pride thing, as his mum liked to say. It was a lifestyle choice.
This just happened to be one of the rare moments when he wished he'd listened to the healers, and his mother.
Trapped, for all intents and purposes, on the floor of his cozy little sitting room, Charlie reached down, clamping his hands on his thigh as it seized up again, his entire lower half wracked with pain. He gritted his teeth and breathed through the worst of it, hating that he couldn't even stand and help himself. "Shit," he muttered when he'd caught his breath. Over-extending himself was another thing the healers had warned him about; the longer he went without getting off his legs, the more likely he was to get the spasms. And sure, the pain would fade in a few minutes, but he'd still be immobile for as long as an hour without help.
It sucked.
He flattened his hand on the wooden floor, finding purchase and managing to pull his way over to the fireplace. With his legs seized up they were pretty useless, but his arms were stronger than ever. He raised himself high enough to lean on the hearth, and used the leverage to reach up for the pot of floo powder on the mantle; probably it would have been smarter to keep some in a lower spot in case of emergencies when he didn't have his wand on him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. That, he could admit, was a pride thing.
Puffing out a breath, and maybe a muttered curse or two, he fumbled the jar open and tossed a pinch of powder into the fireplace; he felt embarrassment wash hot over him as the pain in his legs began to fade and he called out an address. His father should be home this time of day.
~~
When the train glided to a stop at King's Cross station, Hermione already had her books tucked away and her things gathered. She zipped her jacket and lifted her duffel bag, making her way out of her compartment and onto platform ten. The train had arrived ahead of schedule, which was just as well. No one was coming to meet her, though she couldn't wait to catch up with Ron and Harry later. It had been ages since she'd talked to them. Not being able to see them regularly had been the most difficult thing about being away at university.
Someone called out to her on her way out to the street; she glanced back and raised her hand automatically to wave at the girl and tell her that they'd talk soon even though she didn't know if they actually would. She'd met a lot of people over the last three years, but getting particularly close to any of them had been more difficult than she'd expected, for reasons that were fairly obvious when you thought about it.
It was raining in London, but Hermione didn't bother with her umbrella, choosing something a little more comforting to hold onto with her free hand instead. She slipped her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around her wand as she walked along, dragging her wheeled bag behind her and looking for a secluded spot from which to Apparate. After so many months at a stretch without being able to do it, she wouldn't have dreamt of taking a bus.
~~
"Your mother's worried sick, you know," Arthur flicked his wand toward the lamp in his workshop, filling the room with a warm golden light and sending a few spiders scattering. He pulled a stool out from under the table and slid it along the floor in Charlie's direction.
"Well that's pretty much default for her, isn't it?" Charlie winced immediately; he felt a little bad for saying it, but the all the hovering was starting to grate. "I'm fine. I've told her. I mean, I've been better, but it's not a huge deal." He leant back against the stool, bracing a hand on the back edge of the seat, then hauled himself up. He'd learnt to do it smoothly enough by now that he thought it was likely that someone would have to look extra closely to notice that he wasn't pushing himself into the seat with his leg.
Arthur was quiet for a few moments, rummaging through a drawer. He surfaced with a small clock/radio thing, cased in some kind of fake plasticky wood that was pretty obviously not real, and set it on the work table. "Yes. Well, perhaps it wasn't the best time to tell her that you've been flying again."
"Could've waited for that, maybe," Charlie agreed with a wry smile. He watched his father tinker around a bit more. He hadn't been out in the shop for ages; it was nice, and a bit more peaceful than back up at the house.
"I wonder why they don't use proper wood." Arthur frowned as he ran his hand along the plastic casing on the alarm clock. "Unless the point is for it not to look authentic… but maybe there's some functional use, for the sound -- better cue sticks, or … anyway. I don't suppose you could stop for a while? The flying, I mean. It's only a hobby…"
"It's more than that," Charlie said quietly. "Since I - since the accident I've already had to give up my spot at the dragon reserve until I'm in better shape." He looked away, squirming in his seat. He felt like a kid, or something. "I can't even do my job, Dad. Giving up flying, too - it's not going to happen."
"Just thought I'd mention it," Arthur said, his tone suggesting that Charlie's reply had been no less than he'd expected. "I guess I don't have to ask you to be careful."
"I am," Charlie said. "The healers said I could go for short distances and for the most part I have, but accidents happen either way. It's not a huge deal."
Arthur looked closely at Charlie for a moment, then nodded. "As long as you know we're here," he said simply. "And Molly's going to worry. If she ever stopped, you'd miss it."
"Probably," he laughed. "You know, Mum could've just brought all this up herself, in between cramming more rhubarb crumble onto my plate," Charlie told him, reaching for a block of wood and a chisel. "Didn't have to make you play the bad guy."
Arthur smiled slightly, pushing his glasses up his nose before picking up a slightly rusty screwdriver and applying it to the back of the little machine. "You'd have preferred it that way, would you?"
Charlie ducked his head and whacked at the chisel with a mallet as he considered that a conversation with Mum would probably have segued into a discussion on why he wasn't spending this Friday night with a nice young woman, with like, childbearing hips or something. He gulped. "Good point."
~~
Hermione laughed and took another drink of her tea as Ron told another joke. She was comfy in their booth with Harry at her side and Ron sitting across from them both, a large plate of chicken wings and greasy chips in front of him, and a pint at his elbow. It was warm in the noisy little pub where Seamus worked; she was glad the boys had suggested it. Being away at school meant that Hermione had only been here a few times, but Ron and Harry had spent many a Friday night at the Rusty Scupper after work, and they'd suggested it for her first night back as a good way to see some friends that she'd not talked to in a while.
For her part, though it had been nice when Seamus had dropped by their table to bring her a free drink and flirt with all three of them, she was more than happy just talking to Harry and Ron.
"Ron, let her get a word in," Harry said with a laugh, nicking one of Ron's chicken wings.
"Right, like she's ever had a problem getting a word in," Ron snorted, then looked her furtively as if to make sure she knew he was kidding. She only kicked him lightly under the table. "Ow. 'Sides, she liked that joke."
"Even if I hadn't, I would have humoured you," Hermione said solemnly.
"See?" Satisfied, Ron took a drink of his pint.
"So," Harry swallowed his bite of Ron's chicken. "Where're you going to stay, now you're not living in Cardiff anymore?"
"Yeah; did you pick up a roommate while you were with the Muggles?"
Hermione shook her head and sipped her tea. "No," she said carefully. "I've missed the Wizarding world too much not to live here now. Besides, there wasn't really anyone I… I mean, no. I don't know where I'll live just yet."
"You can stay with us as long as you want, of course," Ron said. Hermione had already left her bags in their two-bedroom flat; she was going to be sleeping there until she'd made other arrangements and found a job. She smiled at them both, grateful.
"Plus, in a few weeks we'll be proper Aurors," Harry put in. "Out of training and all; making more money. Might get a bigger place, or something. Maybe… three bedrooms?"
Hermione was touched that they'd even consider it, and more tempted by the idea than she should be. "We'll see," she said, but knew that she didn't want to cling to them forever. "I'm going to write to the Ministry and inquire about employment on Monday, and then go from there."
"You mean you don't have the next ten years all planned out?" Ron leant over, touching his hand to her forehead. "Sure you're not sick? Sure that's you in there?"
"Oh, funny," Hermione said dryly, ducking away from his hand and rolling her eyes. She shifted in her seat, though, uncertain. "It isn't … I don't -- I do have plans," she said finally. "But going to university delayed things somewhat, and it's made me think of a whole slew of other options. That's all."
"You'll figure it out," Harry said confidently, and she gave him an affectionate nudge.
"Yeah, if you can't figure it out, then we're all pretty much screwed, Ron said. Harry laughed at that, and she smiled at Ron, knowing he meant well. She didn't want to think about how uncertain she felt, so she sat up a bit straighter, determined not to feel that way for the moment.
"I'm just getting started, that's all," she said, nodding. "You two are starting your lives, and I'm pretty much starting from scratch."
She glanced down into her tea, wondering why that didn't make her feel altogether better.
~~
Sitting on the bench in his mud room, Charlie tugged on his dragon-hide boots. He didn't need them to fly, of course, but they were his favorite thing to wear even if he wasn't mucking out the hatchling pens on the reserve. He felt a squeezing feeling in his chest as he considered that it'd been six months since the accident, six months since he'd been able to go to work. He'd already told himself that as soon as it was possible he would go back, but it was pretty much killing him to be on the outside looking in. He'd used to visit a lot more, but now it just bugged him too fucking much to feel so useless. Maybe some people were built for it, but he wasn't.
It also bugged him to sit around feeling sorry for himself, though, so he put thoughts of work behind him. Getting better was the only thing he needed to be focusing on. Charlie got to his feet, favouring his right leg pretty heavily, and grabbed his Nimbus from where it rested against the wall. He stepped outside and immediately felt more at ease, with the light breeze on his face and the sun in his eyes. The sky was clear and perfect for flying. He lifted his bad leg and straddled the broomstick carefully.
Pushing off was always tricky. He had to use his left leg almost exclusively, and that usually got him into the air at an angle that was unnatural for him. Only took a few seconds to right himself with the proper wrist movements, but those few seconds were a little disorienting. Deciding to try it with both legs this time, he kicked off, and while he was level with the ground, there was a sharp pain in his right leg that faded almost as quickly as it had come on. Charlie gritted his teeth against it, but when it faded, he went ahead and increased his altitude until he was above the thatched roof of his house.
It wasn't as bad as it had been the last time he tried it, Charlie didn't think. And if he never pushed his limits, he would never move past them.
When he'd climbed a little higher, Charlie evened out and flew over the trees, letting a grin split his face. Once he was up here, he was good; he was totally in control. After all, the leg movements he had to make in the air were crucial, but they were so small he could barely feel them most of the time. Just a twitch to the left or right, just a slight change in his position on the stick here and there. He never felt more unencumbered than when he was in the air. And while that'd been true even before the accident, Charlie didn't have words for how it felt now.
No; stopping was definitely not an option.
He executed a few weaves through the trees, dipping and swerving. He wasn't enough of a daredevil to attempt a flip at this point -- tucking in his right leg enough for that to work would be a problem -- but he could move almost as fast as he'd used to. He swerved again and went into a short dive, and began to lose track of how long he'd been up here.
When he pulled successfully out of the first dive, he tried another, steeper one, and let out a whoop as the ground hurtled up toward him. He pulled up on his broomstick just in time and tried to gain altitude, but his leg, damn it, chose that moment to seize up and stop cooperating altogether. "Son of a bitch," he ground out, holding the broomstick more tightly as his right leg pretty much became dead weight, making his whole body pitch to one side. He felt his triceps tremble and burn with the effort of keeping himself from barrel-rolling and falling out of the sky, and instead, pushed the tip of his broomstick down.
He landed hard, cursing not so much from the pain as the indignity of it, then reached into his back pocket for his wand.
~~
Hermione cracked open the wax seal on the official Ministry letter and unrolled the parchment, reading the words quickly. Interview next Thursday in the Muggle Liaisons department, she noted, wrinkling her nose. She would have hoped they'd be able to fit her in sooner, but no such luck.
Ron and Harry, Aurors now in every capacity apart from title, had been called in on assignment on what was supposed to have been their day off, and she was in their flat alone, wondering what on earth she was going to do with herself for the next week and a half. After putting away the letter, she glanced through the Ministry brochures she'd picked up on her visit yesterday, curling her feet under her on the sofa as she did so. She'd only been out of university for six days, and was trying not to feel useless. She'd thought about owling someone, anyone, to have lunch or something, but then she considered that she was the only person out of all her friends who was even home at this time of day.
Besides, seeing her old Hogwarts friends was odd, since she'd been back. With Ron and Harry it was like she'd never left, almost, but with everyone else … there was a space between them that all the catch-up sessions in the world weren't likely to fill. There were inside jokes for which she had no context, and major events that she'd missed completely. She had gone to university to broaden her mind and explore all her options, but at the moment it felt as if she'd willingly held herself back, while everyone else had been moving forward.
It wasn't the best feeling in the world.
She was thinking about lunch when the whoosh of the floo distracted her and she looked up from the lists she'd started writing. Neither Harry nor Ron had mentioned expecting anyone, though for all she knew, it could be one of them. Or not. She reached for her wand, just as a freckled head with a strong jaw and short, tousled, sparsely curling hair materialized in the fireplace.
She blinked. "Charlie?"
"Wha… Hermione?" Charlie looked slightly drawn and more than a little uncomfortable as he ducked his head. "Uh, hey. I just -- Ron's not around, is he?"
"He and Harry are both out," she told him, walking over and bending close to the fireplace. She couldn't tell if it was soot or dirt or what smudging his face and dusting his hair, but he looked a little the worse for wear. "Charlie, are you all right?"
"Nah, just got a bit of a problem here at home, but nevermind -- I'm going to floo Perce and see if he's round. It was, erm, good seeing you." He shifted and gave a wince, and tried to back out of the floo, but Hermione remembered that he'd been injured badly some months ago.
"Charlie --" he was gone before she could finish the thought. "Oh, for heaven's sake." She puffed out a breath, reached for some floo powder and tossed it in, following him right through. "Wait."
Her eyes widened as she saw him there on the floor, red-faced, both hands pressing hard against his right hamstring. "What's happened?"
"Hermione-- I'm fine," Charlie ground out, though it was the biggest lie she'd heard all week. She dropped to her knees beside him.
"Yes; I don't know what came over me, you look perfectly fine," she said, batting his hands out of the way as she noticed that his brow was pearled with sweat. "Is this a macho thing? Because you don't look like you have much time for that right now."
"Cut me some slack, will you?" Charlie said, shifting to sit up a little straighter. "Not exactly the position a bloke likes to be caught in by a woman."
"I've seen worse," she said briskly. "Besides, you don't look bad at all; you just look as if you're in a lot of pain."
"Good to know I wear it well," he said with an attempt at a chuckle.
"What can I do?"
"Nothing; I can handle it. The pain's fading already."
"Right," she rolled her eyes. "What did you need Ron for, then?"
Charlie shifted and he avoided her eyes; he looked almost bashful. "It's just … I can't move, when my legs seize up. Rather than kick back here on the floor for a few hours or Apparate up to bed, it helps to have a hand up. Then I can get to my crutches, or at least get up into a chair. It's not a constant thing. Just, occasionally I need a hand."
Hermione softened. "Is that all?" she said quietly. "I can help with that."
He leant back on one arm, eyeing her. "I'm kinda heavy for you, Granger."
"I'm stronger than I look," she said archly.
"Still," his lips curved, "I probably weigh more than those books you're always carrying around."
She squinted and lifted her wand. "I could make you weightless, you know."
"That a threat?"
"You'd probably feel much better floating somewhere up near the ceiling."
"I'll pass," he said, but he eyed her wand hand dubiously and stopped teasing her.
"I was serious, you know; I'm stronger than you apparently think I am." She budged up next to him. "Lean on me; I'll help you up."
She watched his face color again as he shook his head, and while it was actually sort of charming, she could do without the fragile male pride. "I thought Ron was the stubborn one."
"There's too damned many of us not to've wound up with some repeats," Charlie grinned. "But actually, you got some time?"
"A bit, yes," she said cautiously.
"Want to sit with me a while?" He scooted back, rested against the front of the couch and patted the floor next to him.
~~
Hermione, Charlie thought, was fascinating as hell. He glanced at her as she bit into one of the apples she'd fetched from his kitchen. He was eating his with a knife, slicing off chunks and crunching them one by one as they talked. He was pretty sure that he could move his legs now, but didn't feel like letting her know just yet.
She asked him about his injury; she'd been away when he'd got it, and while he didn't like talking about it as a rule, he found he didn't mind so much with her. She'd asked with genuine concern, not pity, mixed with a healthy amount of intellectual curiosity, and he'd found himself spilling. He told her about the attack on the dragon reserve by some lingering supporters of Voldemort; they'd been trying to steal some Horntail eggs with the misguided notion of raising some of the dragons as weapons, and when they'd been discovered, they'd tried to blow the place up before the Aurors could apprehend them. She'd read about that in the Prophet, of course, but she didn't know about how he'd run into the building to try and save one of men and some of the hatchlings, and the damned shed had collapsed around him. His right leg had been damn near crushed under the weight of a support beam.
"Why couldn't they repair your leg completely with magic?" She asked, frowning.
"Eventually, they say it'll heal," he told her. "Uh. Maybe. But the wood they use to build most structures is treated with a potion that's supposed to protect it from the baby dragons' breath. I guess it seeped into my body, made it harder for them to do anything to my leg past a certain point." He wiggled his toes. "I've been in physical therapy. Eventually, the lingering potion'll wear off and when it does, I don't want my muscles to be atrophied."
She nodded, after a moment. "And in the meantime, you might need to accept help from women and people who are generally smaller than you." She glanced sidelong at him.
"Not if I can help it." He raised a brow, but he was pretty much kidding. This, he could freely admit, was also a pride thing. But he didn't like people seeing him like this, unable to do simple shit.
Especially not people he maybe wouldn't mind impressing if he could manage it.
He cleared his throat and looked at her. "So, I've got a confession."
"Hm?"
"My leg's been pretty much movable for a while."
"I thought it might be." Unfazed, Hermione takes a last bite of her apple.
"Based on what?"
"I saw you testing it out on my way back from the kitchen."
"Oh." Charlie cleared his throat. "Right."
"If I minded sitting with you," she continued, "I would have said so."
"Yeah?" he smiled slightly. "I'm sure."
She nodded. "Made an excuse, or something."
"Like, work stuff."
"Or I could've feigned exhaustion."
"Yeah, but then I'd have offered you my couch, or something."
"I wouldn't dream of imposing."
"That's polite of you."
"I was raised well." She ducked her head, but he could see her smiling.
"Good quality to have." He plucked the apple core from her hand and sent them both to the waste bin. "I think this is the longest conversation we've had since I met you."
She looked at him, impishly. "It was nice."
"Anytime you want to do it again…" Charlie grinned. "I could probably do better than the sitting room floor next time. Drop in whenever."
"I'll, um," Hermione blushed, and she cleared her throat. "I'll keep that in mind."
~~
The next time Hermione stepped through Charlie's floo, it was under much better circumstances. At least she hoped so, but presumably she wasn't going to find him on the floor this time. It was just, he'd told her he'd be up for conversation if she wanted to do it again, and it just happened that she did. She had actually found herself wanting to do it quite a few times over the past week, but hadn't been able to think of an excuse.
This time, though, she had scones. And she was nervous about the interview she'd had the previous morning, and she wanted to see how Charlie was doing, and that was probably enough to be going on with in terms of conversation so that it didn't seem like she was just dropping by only to spend time with him again.
Which, she was.
Hermione straightened up in his sitting room, dusting a bit of soot off the bottom of her shirt. Charlie wasn't immediately visible, though his house was pretty big, for just one man. It was a really nice house, now that she had the time to look around without him seeing. Sparsely decorated but neat, with warm colors, natural wood and greys and greens. There were these interesting little knick-knacks on the mantle, somewhat roughly-hewn and made from wood. Letting her bag dangle at her side, she reached out with her free hand to touch one.
"See something you like?"
Hermione jumped and snatched her hand back and spun around, which made her feel ridiculous. Satisfying her curiosity wasn't anything to feel bad about. "Charlie! I, well, hi."
"Hi." Charlie had his hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans, looking amused enough to make her want to smack him. Or smack her hand to her forehead. She did neither.
"I had every intention of calling out," she explained. "I've only been here for a minute or so, really."
"Good to see you," he said simply, and as he walked a little closer, she noted that his hair was wet from a recent shower, and was curling damply around his ears. There was one curl in particular that grazed his earlobe and…
"What?"
"It's good to see you," he said again, a little more hesitant. "You all right?"
"Of course," she said briskly, and smiled. "I brought scones."
"They smell nice. You make them?"
Hermione snorted before she could stop herself. "Me? No," she said. "I don't cook, particularly. I'm competent enough following a recipe, obviously, and I can make simple meals, but it's generally more for food than for fun." She stopped rambling when she considered that he might not have asked to hear all that. "I bought them. In a shop."
"I like to cook," Charlie said easily, walking over, his gait steady if uneven, and taking the bag from her. "I've got a lot of time these days, so."
"Yes, I suppose you do," she said, following him back to the kitchen. "At the moment my days are pretty open, as well. No job." She tried to make the statement sound as casual as he just had, but it didn't really work. Casual was the last thing she felt about the whole thing.
"But that's just temporary, I'm sure." He glanced at her. "That why you dropped by? All your other friends at work, or something?" There was a tone to the question that made her look at him a little more closely. There was something behind his lazy expression. She suspected that the only reason she could identify it as insecurity was that she felt something similar herself.
It was a bit of a strange look on Charlie Weasley, the man her best friend had looked up to his whole life, as if he'd had all the answers. But maybe he wasn't as casual about all this as she'd previously assumed.
"No," she said finally. "I just… I thought you might want breakfast, and some more of that conversation."
Charlie's smile deepened, his dimples winking at her, and she swallowed. "So, ah," he said, taking down two mugs for coffee, "Ron said you were off at school with Muggles."
"At university, yes. For three years." Hermione arranged the scones on a plate, enjoying watching him move around the kitchen, competent and efficient. He favored his right leg heavily, and she caught him making compensatory movements as he bent low and reached high to get the things he needed. She thought about how long it must have taken for him to move so smoothly considering; whether it had been the physical therapy, or sheer will. She suspected it was a bit of both.
Anyway, it did absolutely nothing to detract from the way he looked in his denims and clean white tee shirt, slightly damp about the collar from his skin. She had decided back in the sitting room that she'd have to be blind not to notice, and that there was no logical region not to look.
He turned around and she busied herself with the scones again, sliding a plate toward him. "Thanks," he said, and she smiled back at him. "So, why did you decide to go to university? You don't need that for any job in the Wizarding world."
She moved a shoulder. "I've always thought about it, but not seriously, at first. Then, after Voldemort was dead, I kept thinking about how short life is. I didn't want to let it pass me by; didn't want to wonder what would happen if I didn't try it."
She frowned as Charlie's lips twitched up. "What?"
"Nothing," he said, "it's just, most people, when they want to make the most of their lives, they do crazy shit, like rappelling off the side of a cliff or Wronski-feinting into a crowd of Muggles. You decide to go back to school."
"So?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I happen to think that expressing how lucky we are to be alive by doing things that are as likely as not to get you killed sort of defeats the purpose," she said primly.
"Not saying it's a bad thing," Charlie shrugged, and gave a chuckle as he bit off nearly half his scone. "Sets you apart, that's all. Good place to be, from where I'm sitting."
"Is that why you like living out here all by yourself?" she asked curiously, and wrapped her fingers around her warm coffee mug. "Because you like being set apart?"
"Not exactly. I've lived alone since I left school," he said. "It's not that I'm some recluse, though. I like people, they like me. But when I come home after working hard, I like to have space, and quiet, and room to fly."
Hermione smiled, liking the sound of it.
"That's not why I bought this place, though," he added, getting to his feet and gathering up their plates and mugs. "Come with me."
Curious, she got up and followed him out of the kitchen, through a tiny mud room and out onto a porch made of wood, old and recently painted in dusky blue. Beyond it was acres of land, dappled with trees, and a gorgeous, mostly un-marred view of the horizon. "It's beautiful," she said. "This is all yours?"
"Nah, just the first acre or so," he said, "but I sit out here sometimes and it's easy to pretend like it is." Charlie grinned at her and gestured to the edge of the porch. "Pull up a spot, yeah?"
She dropped to sit, letting her feet rest on one of the three steps below them. Charlie grabbed the support pillar, avoiding her gaze as he lowered to sit as well, putting his right leg out in front of him in what she assumed to be the least painful position. He crouched, holding all his weight on his left leg, but wobbled slightly, enough to pitch to one side. Hermione moved quickly to help him, taking his elbow. He tensed and put out an arm to right himself, and she pulled back her hand.
"I'm fine," he said quietly, tersely, still not looking at her. She watched as a flush crept up his neck.
"I know," she said, lifting her coffee cup and sipping, staring out over the field. She was sort of taken aback by how much she wanted to help him, and how much she wanted him to let her, but she understood about pride. She would hate this every bit as much.
"You being here," Charlie said carefully, "you sitting with me. I'm starting to think that's more help than anything else."
Hermione stilled, at a loss for words, and finally nodded. He was quiet after that, reaching for a block of wood off to his left that was curing with a few others on the porch. He slipped a knife from his back pocket, opened it, and began to whittle the wood, his cup of coffee sitting between his knees.
"Those carvings on your mantle," she remembered. "You made them?"
Charlie nodded. "Just another one of those things, I guess. I work with my hands, always have. Since I can't get back to work yet, I've picked up hobbies that let me keep doing that."
"What are you making now?" Leaning over to see, she thought of the little winged figurines that she'd been looking at earlier and wondered if he were making another dragon.
"Well, if I can finish it," he said with a wry smile, "It'll be a chess set for Ron. This one's going to be a knight. His birthday's not too far off, and I'm pretty good with the charms, so."
Hermione smiled. "You're lovely," she said without thinking, then frowned. "I meant, it's lovely. What you're doing; it's a lovely gift."
Charlie turned and looked at her with a slow, lopsided smile that made her stomach do this odd flipping thing. "Thanks."
With their faces this close, she noticed that curl again, less damp by now but still grazing his earlobe. She didn't know how long she stared at it before she finally lift a hand and brushed it aside, her fingertips flicking his ear lightly, thumb brushing against his jaw. She dropped her hand, flushing.
"Curls if I don't keep it short," Charlie murmured, catching her hand on the way down. His thumb rested against the inside of her wrist, right over her jittering pulse point. "Mum's always at me to cut it."
She only barely heard that, though, as she was too busy leaning up to touch her lips to his tentatively, almost curiously. She'd been wondering all morning how it would feel and suddenly it seemed utterly ridiculous not to take this chance. Charlie went with it -- more than went with it, really; he raised his free hand to her face and coaxed her lips apart with his, brushing them with his tongue and waiting for her quiet sigh, and then their tongues slid together, and her hand moved to his waist, gripping his cotton t-shirt lightly in her fingers. When he pulled back, she gasped softly.
"Nice," he said in a low voice, dropping his hand to her shoulder and then moving it down her arm. Hermione could only nod, wondering briefly at her own forwardness. Eventually, she laughed, and Charlie looked at her curiously.
"What?"
"No, it's just," she shook her head slightly, "something I was thinking earlier."
"Yeah?"
She nodded. "Satisfying my curiosity isn't anything to feel bad about."
"I tend to like the way you think." His slow smile had her belly doing flip-flops again. "Which is a pretty good start."
He took her hand in his, and she found it broad and warm and strong, his grip sure. For the moment, at least, she felt a little less adrift. She was pretty sure they both did.
End