Fic: Turn Left at Happily Ever After, Charlie/Penelope, Percy/Penelope, NC17
Title: Turn Left at Happily Ever After
Written for luvscharlie at charlieficathon
Pairing(s): Charlie Weasley/Penelope Clearwater, Penelope/Percy, Charlie/OFC
Word Count:8658
Rating:NC17
Summary: How Charlie manages to ruin every Weasley wedding for Penelope, starting with her own.
Warnings: Adultery. Lots and lots of adultery. Also, this is not a particularly happy story. You have been warned.
A/N:(Among other things) luvscharlie wanted tattoos, infidelity, public sex, fics that take place at the Burrow, Charlie as a bit of a tosser, wall!sex, (I hope window!sex qualifies) voyeurism, and (witty) dialogue. Only for you would I write a one of my biggest squicks, my dear. And I had way too much fun doing it, so thanks for that! Thanks so much to queenb23more for making it better than it was
I hadn't planned to marry my first boyfriend. Well, really, what reasonable, sane person would? It wasn't as though I married him straight out of school, though. It was the war, you see. I don't like to think of the horror of those years, of the growing dread and then a hasty flight in the middle of the night, and the year of darkness that followed. No, I wasn't imprisoned for my blood status, but I may as well have been. I spent that last year in a school friend's basement with my parents, wondering when the day would come when Dark Wizards would burst through the door. They never did, but my dad never really recovered from the trauma. They'd seen what the Death Eaters could do first hand in my sixth year, but they never really understood that they were in danger as much as I was. And it was human nature to blame me for their suffering.
When Percy showed up to let us know that we were safe, I'd never felt so relieved, not to mention touched--that he'd thought of me after so many years and had even taken the trouble to seek me out and make certain I'd survived. It wasn't purely gratitude that landed me in bed with him shortly afterward, but that had a lot to do with it. Percy, I suspect, was still searching for redemption, and why not? It was his ambition that had broken us up in the first place, and the fact that he'd reconciled with his family just in time to lose one of them had to be a difficult pill to swallow.
And being the man he was, there was no going about it by halves. He rescued me, he seduced me (or so he thought), and then he wouldn't rest until he married me. Before I knew it, my life had taken a turn I'd never expected. Of course, it was not all that unlike the turn my life had taken when I'd been eleven, and as I had then, I adapted my plans accordingly.
It was at the wedding, however, that my life took its most devastating turn.
Percy had insisted that the wedding be held at his childhood home, though I'd have much preferred a nice hotel or country club. This was all part of his idea to embrace his roots and make up for his earlier rejection of his family's values. Fortunately, my soon-to-be sister-in-law had, by all accounts, managed to pull off a somewhat elegant wedding at the place, and she was more than happy to provide assistance and advice. Lots and lots of advice. Tons of advice. I had advice coming out of my bloody ears.
Though my parents were a little taken aback at their first glimpse of the crooked old house that practically screamed that it was being held up by magic, the back garden did look rather nice all dressed up with fairy lights that only the magical guests realized were actual fairies. And fortunately, my mad Pagan cousin's nuptials made my ceremony look almost normal in comparison to my extended family. There was a rather lovely borrowed tiara that made me feel like a princess, and what with my new family's connections, there were more celebrities (albeit magical ones) in attendance than the BAFTA awards. I mean, really, how often can your average person brag that the magical equivalent of the PM gave the first toast at their wedding?
It all would have been perfectly lovely if not for Charlie.
Here I was, worried that George would disrupt the proceedings with some sort of mad gag, but George was remarkably well-behaved. Well, more than well behaved--he was almost catatonic. Even Ron managed not to say something offensive.
But Charlie was a different matter altogether.
I disliked him on sight. Why, I don't know, but I now have my suspicions. He was so unlike Percy, so rough, and swarthy, and had those ridiculous tattoos that never seemed to stop moving when in magical company. Percy was sophisticated and refined, whereas Charlie was crude and uncomfortably direct. Plus, there was the way he fit into his dress robes. They didn't drape elegantly over his shoulders the way that Percy's did, no matter how many times we had them let out. It was like putting a tuxedo on a gorilla, if you want to know the truth.
Well, perhaps I am being a little judgmental in hindsight--I mean, obviously, someone who does hard physical labor in a dangerous job is not going to look like an accountant. But it wasn't just that. He had a way of looking at you (and not just me, I suspect, but women in general) that made you feel as if you were standing in front of him naked. And it wasn't as though you were ever going to catch him with his eyes on your chest or your bottom or even your left elbow, it was as though he knew, if ever he cared to do something about it, that with a few choice words and a couple of those come-fuck-me grins, he'd have his hands all over said body parts and you'd be thanking him for taking the trouble.
But again, maybe this is me seeing with him with the benefit of hindsight. I really ought to have been able to resist him, the cocky bastard. But I was nervous and distracted, and it never even occurred to me that I might have been making the biggest mistake of my life. Percy represented security, reliability, a safe haven from the chaos of the past few years.
Charlie represented danger, irresponsibility, vulgarity. And therefore, I hated him on sight. I only wish I'd continued to do so. Or maybe I did, I don't know.
He made no effort to disguise his continued irritation with his brother. Oh, he was polite enough, but it was easy to catch him looking at Percy as if he was certain Percy'd been dropped into the family by the little people, or rolling his eyes and walking away whenever Percy began talking politics. And jumping into Fred's vacated position as Beater during the inevitable family Quidditch match (when Percy had obligingly overcome his distaste for playing the sport by volunteering) was sort of a slap in the face. Oh, he had a point--they already had two Seekers in Ginny and Harry, and Percy really didn't have the physical strength to wield a bat properly. Not to mention that I would have been annoyed if my wedding was delayed because my fiancé had a broken nose or a concussion. But how was Percy possibly going to compete with Ron (with his ham hands and absurdly long legs) when he'd never even tried Keeping before? Of course it was a complete rout. I wanted to throttle the berk.
But that wasn't the worst of it, not by a long shot. The best bit was on my actual wedding day, when I walked upstairs to get a moment's peace (and fix my lipstick) only come across my new brother-in-law in a very compromising position with my (apparent) slag of a florist. He had her bent over the footboard, her robes bunched up round her waist, her left tit spilling over her neckline and swaying like a pendulum, her enormous bottom shaking like jelly on either side of his hips as he plowed into her. It was revolting, and yet I couldn't look away. I'd like to blame it on his tattoos--I'd never seen the magical version and they attracted and repelled me at the same time--twining, slithering, blowing flames from their scaly beaks, rather obviously ogling the breasts and backside of the woman he was pounding into with such vigor. I stood in the doorway, my eyes riveted on his clenching and unclenching buttocks, at his face in the mirror, his eyes dark and his mouth twisted in pleasure.
It suddenly occurred to me that if I could see his face in the mirror, it was highly likely that he could see me in the mirror, too. Before I could tear my eyes away, I saw his eyes widen in surprise and then narrow as a grin spread across his face. How I hated that stupid sleazy grin of his; the one that said that being ogled was a regular occurrence to him. He probably got off on it, the arrogant arse, or at least that's what I told myself as I hurried back downstairs, lipstick forgotten, my cheeks burning with shame and humiliation.
And why should I have been embarrassed, I asked myself? He was the one that ought to be embarrassed. Doing that with someone he'd only just met, and at a wedding, no less, the least he could have done was wait until afterward, gotten a room like any normal person, or even closed the bloody door. It was almost as though he'd wanted to be caught, probably did, the bastard, wanted to take my day, his brother's day, and make it all about him. The man was a boor, a prat, completely shameless. I was determined to forget about it, to smile serenely the next time I saw him, to act as though it had never happened. This was my day, and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd ruined it for me.
And yet, that night, as his brother's body moved over mine, as his hands and lips moved over my skin reverently, as he whispered endearments in my ear and cried out my name, I saw Charlie's face, Charlie's rough hands, Charlie's crude grunts and muttered profanities. I hated him.
Though he'd promised himself (and me, for that matter) he wouldn't, Percy had eventually been convinced by our new Minister to take up his old position as Undersecretary. Not that I minded, really. He was working for a good man this time around, one who wanted to change the world, to heal our battered community, and rebuild the British Ministry's shattered reputation. If anyone could do it, it would have been Minister Shacklebolt, and within months, Percy had gone from deep admiration to something akin to hero worship. Of course, it helped that the Minister never treated him like an underling, He more like a partner, or at the very least a valued advisor. And unlike Percy's previous employers, Minister Shacklebolt actually paid him a salary appropriate for someone who worked long hours and indeed often took work home with him. Not only that, the fact that Percy was so often gone and that we had Galleons in the bank allowed me to work toward my goals--taking an internship in the department of International Magical Cooperation along with some Ministry-sponsored courses in International Magical Law.
We didn't see each other as much as we might have liked, and much of the time we did get to spend together ended up being spent sitting in companionable silence next to the fire, me with a book (or three) on my lap and Percy buried under parchment. We were newlyweds, and therefore many of those evenings ended with the two of us naked on a pile of books and parchment, but that was to be expected. The point was, we were happy. Busy, optimistic about the future, our heads filled with big dreams and new ideas, and almost giddy with love for each other. I did love him. I know I did.
So where did I go wrong? Should I have given up on those dreams earlier, tried to make a foundation at that early giddy time, paying him more attention than I did my studies and my work? If I had, I might have spent a long time waiting at home for him. Knowing me, I would have ended up resenting him. And in retrospect, the fact that he had someone to talk to excitedly about his work, someone who had her own work to chatter excitedly about in return--made us sort of a perfect match. So, I'd really like to blame it on Charlie, because he'd been a thorn in our marriage from the beginning, even from half a continent away.
Oh, I know, it wasn't as though he did what he did at my wedding purely to hack me off (though I know for a fact that in his mind, screwing the help during a wedding where anyone could see him would have been the perfect 'fuck you' to a brother he barely tolerated.) The trouble was that he was always there in my head, looking at me through the mirror, taunting me, tainting my memories of my wedding and my wedding night.
So it was with no small amount of dread that I looked forward to George and Angelina's wedding just over a year later. It didn't help that I thought (unlike my husband) that the two of them getting married was pretty much the worst idea on earth. I mean, really! Marrying your dead twin's grieving girlfriend? Who does that? But the family was thrilled, probably because they'd considered Angelina and her sorrow their pet project and would have hated to see her join someone else's family in the end. But George? Ron, or even Charlie perhaps, but George? He could barely take care of himself.
But 'the family' was thrilled, so I bit my tongue, bought a new dress and a set of flatware for a gift, and packed my bag for the wedding. And that was another thing. We had a perfectly comfortable flat of our own. We had Floo Powder. We had Apparition. For heavens sake, I could have borrowed my parent's car and driven to their house in less than an hour. But no, we all had to stay there to be part of the festivities for at least the day before until the day after the wedding. So there I was, back in Percy's old room, just on the other side of Charlie's old room, and every time I walked to the damn bathroom, I had to walk past the open door, unwillingly catching a glimpse of the bed that was waiting for him (and Ron and Harry), at the dresser covered with Quidditch trophies and dragon figurines, and at that damned mirror. By the time he sauntered into the kitchen, (four hours late), I'd worked myself into a dreadful state that I was jumping at shadows. I heard his voice and all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My hands were shaking, my mouth was dry, and dread felt like a lump in my stomach. Panicking, I grabbed the nearest section of the paper (the Quidditch page, as it turns out), meaning to open it up and look like I was terribly terribly busy and hadn't even noticed he came in. Not to hide, definitely not to hide. I peeked out over the top, watching as his mother pulled him down into a smothering hug whilst simultaneously clucking over the length of his hair and his latest tattoo.
Naturally, at that moment, he raised his eyes, catching me mid-stare. The son of a bitch winked at me. God, I hated him. I hated him as his father embraced him with tears in his eyes. I hated him as he pulled George into a bone-crushing hug. I hated him as he kissed Angelina full on the mouth, earning a half-hearted protest from her fiancé. I hated him as he gave Percy a one- armed embrace with an awkward pat on the back, turning immediately to give a much more enthusiastic hug to Bill. I hated him as air-kissed Fleur and picked Ginny up off her feet. I hated him as he clapped his arm over Ron's shoulder and playfully punched him in the gut. I hated him as he enthusiastically shook Hermione's hand and teased her about his baby brother. I hated the way I trembled as he ignored my reluctantly offered hand and leaned over to kiss my cheek. I hated the way my face burned under the warmth of his lips and I hated the way my heart thudded painfully in my chest and how my voice squeaked as I tried to greet him with indifference. More than anything else, I wished I could just leave. The next few days were going to be agony.
Fortunately, there was a lot to be done in preparation for the wedding. I'd been spared all the busy work that my mother-in-law seemed to take pleasure in coming up with the last time because I was the bride. This time, I found myself polishing silver, folding napkins into flowers, touching up the paint on walls, and coaxing fairies into hovering around the table arrangements. I hardly saw the man, but that night, I was painfully aware of the fact that he was sleeping in the very next room. I know he was in there with Harry and Ron, (unless one or both of them decided to buck tradition and sneak down into their respective girlfriend's rooms (or their girlfriends' room, come to think of it) but still, I was picturing him with the stupid florist or some other girl he had managed to sneak in or even one of his brothers' girls--the man clearly had no morals, and was probably not above such behavior.
The wedding was lovely (if ill-advised) and even had a mention of Fred in it that should have been in poor taste but was actually rather sweet. The food was Molly-made rather than catered, as mine was, but she'd done a fairly good job, and Angelina's relatives were an easygoing lot, so there was no need to impress them. It was when the dancing began that I began to feel really uncomfortable. It seemed to be a tradition that the brothers all danced with their brother's girls, or at least that was what I assumed when Bill took a turn with the bride, and George with Fleur, then Charlie with Hermione, then Ron with me. He'd always been a likable enough kid, but I never really knew what to say to him, and trying to talk to him close up put a painful crick in my neck. But when he handed me off to George and took Fleur in my place, I began to fear that the next dance would put me into Charlie's arms, which simply wouldn't do. Complaining of a headache, I made my excuses toward the end of the dance and made my way off the dance floor and into the house. Using the bathroom killed a few minutes, but once done, I still wasn't ready to go back outside. If I was lucky, I could waste time until they were ready to cut the cake.
I didn't know what was wrong with me. I was behaving like a little girl with a crush, only I didn't even like the man. Why should I care that he was a complete slut? He wasn't my problem, and if he took one of the guests up into his room, at least it wasn't my wedding this time around, right? Still, there was something inside me that positively seethed every time I looked at him. I made my way back up to Percy's childhood bedroom, trying to find a quiet place to compose myself. I ran my fingers over his dresser, knowing that inside, his socks and pants were neatly folded, even though we were only staying for a few days. His toothbrush was sitting on the dresser, lined up next to his comb, his toothbrush, a quill. I'd have bet money that there was exactly one inch between each item, and they were arranged longest to shortest. They annoyed me, for some reason, and in a small act of rebellion, I nudged one over just half an inch.
With a sigh, I made my way to the window. I could see some of the dancing couples from there, and I saw my husband blushing furiously under the full force of Fleur's unique magic. George was dancing with Ginny, and Angelina was dancing with her new father-in-law.
I found myself wishing for a stiff drink or a cigarette, (not that I smoked, filthy habit, but still...) I laid my head against the cool glass, fighting the urge to burst into tears. When I heard the creak of a tread on the landing outside my door, I knew with every fiber of my being that it was Charlie and that I was in serious trouble.
"Exhausting, aren't they?" he said. The low, amused tone of his voice made me wince. Why had he followed me? Wasn't it obvious that I couldn't stand him? I wanted to tell him to go away, but it occurred to me that perhaps he was trying to mend fences.
"A bit, yes." I risked a brief backwards glance. Charlie was leaning against the doorway, looking entirely too comfortable for my liking, though he was rummaging in the breast pocket of his formal robes.
"There it is," he said, pulling out what appeared to be a cigarette. It was almost as though he'd read my mind, though I knew that wasn't possible. I turned back to the window. Below me, the tempo of the music had changed, and George and Angelina were dancing with enough exuberance to have made even Fred proud. I heard the unmistakable sound of a wand being lit, and shortly thereafter, the smell of smoke. But not the rich tobacco scent I was used to; sweeter, cloying, actually, and oddly familiar. Curiosity made me turn back to him again. The way he was holding in the smoke for as long as possible confirmed my suspicions.
"Charming," I muttered and rolled my eyes. "Just don't let your mother catch you."
"My mother came of age in the sixties. She'd probably tell me to stop bogarting the damn thing and pass it down," he said, shrugging and taking another drag. "But it wouldn't hurt to open the window." For some strange reason, I found myself obeying his suggestion. Charlie took a few steps over and exhaled slowly in the direction of the open window.
I could see more of him out of the corner of my eye now. I didn't even have to strain to get a good look at his hands, his thick fingers rolling the long, thin joint between them. He gestured in my direction, startling me out of my daze. "Excuse me?" I asked.
Instead of answering, he gestured in my direction again. Realization dawned and I automatically shook my head.
"No, I'm sorry, I don't-" Why the hell are you apologizing for being a responsible, mature adult, Clearwater? I thought, gritting my teeth.
It was Charlie's wry chuckle that was my undoing. And he might not have even been laughing at me--he could have been laughing at himself, or even his brother dancing below us. But I took it as a challenge or an indication that I was a dull, or a prude, or incapable of letting my guard down. Which I was, to some extent. But that was nothing to be ashamed of. I found myself reaching over to take the offensive object from between his fingers, putting it to my lips, and inhaling deeply and defiantly. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he'd expected me to choke, my eyes watering. I'd never been more grateful for my 'free-spirited' cousin who'd visited from Canada (or was it America?) during the summer before my sixth year. I hadn't particularly liked the loss of control back then, and I liked the idea of it even less now, given the circumstances. But for one brief, shining moment, I had managed to shock Charlie Weasley, perhaps even impress him, and the thrill of the victory flowed through my veins like fine wine. I handed it back to him, and the touch of his fingers against mine felt like small electric shocks.
"What's the matter?" I found myself saying. "Couldn't find a waitress to keep you company?"
"I like my present company just fine." he said with a low, rumbling laugh.
He handed me the joint again. I'd meant to partake only once, just to prove that I could, but the idea of escaping all the pressure of the evening (not to mention the thoughts swirling around my head) was too tempting to resist. Back and forth, and with each exchange, he seemed to be closing in on me. Every molecule of my body was aware of his proximity.
I wondered if the music below us had changed its tempo yet again or if it was the effect of the dodgy substances now floating through my bloodstream, but I found myself disconnecting from the cramped room. Not much, because I still felt reality intruding in the idea of my husband's presence downstairs and my dislike of the man beside me, but enough to where none of it really mattered all that much.
Feeling his fingers along my spine ought to have come as a surprise, but in my state of mind, it seemed something of a kindness, meant to relax me. It did relax me, but it also sent fissures of pleasure over my body. With one last drag, he tossed the joint out the window. I watched it float down into the hydrangea bush below us, wondering if the pressure of his fingers on my back was increasing or if it was just my imagination.
"I don't like you," I found myself blurting out.
Charlie chuckled again. "Is that so?"
"Yes." I pulled away from his fingers, crossing my arms over my chest. It occurred to me that I ought to leave, given what I'd just said, but I was almost physically incapable of doing so. "Doesn't that bother you?"
"Should it?"
"Of course it should. Everybody wants to be liked."
"Good to know. I'll try to work on worrying about whether people like me straightaway. At the moment, though, I can't seem to work up the energy to care."
"Pothead," I muttered under my breath, and as he chuckled yet again, I had no doubt in my mind that I was being laughed at. God, I hated him.
"Why don't you like Percy?" I asked.
Any normal person would have tried to deny it, but Charlie just shrugged. "He doesn't like me much, so what does it matter?"
"Because he's your brother."
"Which is a fact that neither of us had much say in. Would I throw myself in front of a curse for him? Yeah, probably. But liking someone or not has more to do with the things they say and do, and-"
"And?"
"Percy and I have never had much to talk about."
I noticed that he hadn't brought up Percy's behaviour during the war and I wasn't sure if that was a point for or against Charlie. "He looks up to you."
"No, he doesn't. He thinks I'm irresponsible at best, a lazy sod at worst. And worse yet, he thinks I got away with abandoning my family during the war while he got vilified for it."
"And is he right?"
"About what?"
"Well, the war, for one."
"I know what I did during the war and I have no regrets. That's all that matters."
I shook my head. I'd heard his name mentioned in all the tributes, and he'd gotten the same awards as the rest of them, but he never bothered going to collect them. His Order of Merlin was still sitting on his mother's mantle. "And the rest?"
"Does it matter? I'm doing what I always dreamed of doing."
He had a point, but I couldn't imagine being satisfied playing with animals and drinking with a bunch of roughnecks every night. Did he still see himself doing that when he was seventy?
"I don't understand you," I said and shivered, rubbing at my arms.
"Is that why you're always watching me?" he said, taking a step closer. He reached up to stroke my cheek, and I shivered again, only this time I knew it had little to do with being cold.
"I'm not a waitress, or a florist, or a..." His thumb had moved over to my mouth, and he was tracing the line of my lower lip.
"No, you're a bureaucrat, same as Percy."
"I'm an activist," I said indignantly. "And your brother's wife, in case you'd forgot. You've got no business touching me."
"So tell me to stop," he said, taking a step closer.
I meant to, I really did, but at that point I was sort of pressed against the partially opened window and the heat of his body was overwhelming. He smelled, too--not of Percy's clean, crisp aftershave, but of virile male--and one who'd been dancing at that. And the pot, that too, which was probably why I had trouble clearing my head enough to find the words.
He had his other hand on my face, but it wasn't as gentle a caress as the first one. His fingers closed against the back of my neck and his thumb held my face steady as his mouth approached mine. I'd nearly closed my eyes in anticipation when I realized he'd stopped just short, apparently waiting for me to close the distance. I could feel his hot breath against my lips, and I was sure he could feel my pulse fluttering under his palm. If I moved my face at all, my mouth would brush his; if I moved my body at all, I'd be pressed up against him, and I'd have bet a thousand Galleons he was hard already.
"I hate you," I whispered against his lips.
"Liar," he replied and reached down with his first hand to cover my thigh, bunching my skirts under his fingers until I could feel them lifting above my knees. Still, he didn't move any closer, and I licked my lips, knowing that if I darted my tongue out just little more, I could taste him. God, I was tempted, even when I heard my husband's laughter in the crowd below.
"Is this some way to get back at Percy?" It was better than asking if it was me he wanted, but not much.
Charlie closed his eyes. "I don't know what this is. It's...complicated." His fingers hadn't stopped bunching up my skirt, and by then, I could feel the night breeze on my thighs. Any moment, I was going to feel his actual fingers on extremely sensitive skin, and I knew that it was the ideal time to tell him to go and fuck off, to leave me alone, that I was a married woman, and to his brother, at that. But I didn't, to my everlasting shame, and when he reached bare skin, I felt his hand trembling and saw his eyes darken as his pupils expanded. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, and the words were on the tip of my tongue as his fingers moved slowly up my thigh to the edge of my knickers.
"Fuck," I whispered, shocking even myself. I know really should have sowed some wild oats before getting married, but how was I to know that I'd be so weak?
"Tell me to stop," he repeated, and I bit my lip as his fingertip moved back and forth over the elastic edge of my knickers. His eyes were so close to mine, cobalt in this light, reflecting the darkening sky outside the window. I heard a broken plate and a shout of laughter below us, just as his fingertip dipped under my knickers. I was embarrassingly wet, and Charlie hissed and closed his eyes again, adding another finger and unerringly finding my most sensitive bits. I closed my eyes then, overwhelmed by sensation, and as my knees weekend, without meaning to, I'd closed the gap between our lips. His lower lip was chapped, and his upper lip was rough with stubble, and as they brushed (or was it bumped?) against my dry lips, it was nearly painful. But I opened my mouth and his tongue darted inside as his longest finger moved inside of me, causing me to gasp and press even closer to him.
"Fuck," he muttered, covering my mouth with his, his thrusting tongue working in tandem with his thrusting finger. He had me backed against the window in earnest now, the window panes digging into my shoulder blades, my backside wedged into the open space. All Percy had to do was look up, and I was done for.
And yet I was incapable of stopping at this point. His fingers were relentless, and I felt pleasure building up inside me until I thought I might die from it. His erection was digging into my hip and thigh, and he rutting up against me, groaning into my mouth. He put a second finger inside me and I completely fell apart, sobbing into his mouth and shuddering against him. Still, he didn't stop, adding a third finger, even, grinding hard against me as my body clenched around him. I finally allowed myself to touch him, then, wrapping my arms around his neck because my legs felt too weak to hold the weight of my body. He pulled his fingers away, and to my utter mortification I found myself whimpering at the loss, especially when he took a step back, but he'd begun fumbling with his robes, with his belt, with his pants, swearing under his breath the entire time.
Once finished, he grabbed me by the arse, picking me up as if I weighed little more than a house-elf, wrapping my legs around him and yanking up my skirt. He let the window I was pushed up against carry my weight for a bit as he pushed aside my knickers and entered me in one practiced movement. I'd never meant to let it get that far, truly I hadn't, but at that point, I was just a quivering mess of need, and nothing in my life had ever felt as necessary as his cock pounding relentlessly into my body. Or maybe it was a bit of a power trip on my end, because there was that face I remembered from the year before, only it was me making him feel that way, not some slag waitress or florist or shopgirl, it was my breast in his hand, my body contracting around him, my neck his face was buried into as he grunted and groaned and finally howled in pleasure.
It wasn't until he pulled out of me that it occurred to me that I was no better than that large-bottomed florist from the wedding--that I was not only no better, but far worse, a 'slag' activist, or bureaucrat, and worse yet, a married one, and I'd become party to whatever sick agenda the man in front of me was pursuing, maybe to hurt his brother, maybe just to see if he could manage to soil what he'd had or even take it away from him, and I had walked into it with my eyes open. I'd liked to have blamed it on the joint, but that didn't explain the way I'd obsessed over him ever since the last wedding, the way I'd let him soil my marriage, even before I fucked him. I hated him.
"Why did you do that?" I asked, tucking my breast back in my bodice, adjusting my knickers, attempting to smooth my skirts.
"You did it, too," he answered, looking back at me, utterly shameless.
"I hate you," I said, and hurried from the room.
^^^^^^^^^^
You don't really want to know about the agony of going back to the wedding, trying to put on a serene face for my husband, explaining my absence with a headache and having the joy of watching my mother-in-law eyeing my stomach speculatively, and realizing in horror that I'd completely forgot the charm. Or of sleeping next to my husband that night in that very room, knowing what I'd done against that very window. Or of being unable to stomach the idea of having him inside me while I was still dripping with his brother's come and being obliged to offer a blow job instead. But what else was I going to do? I had to make up somehow for what I'd done, and for the next few months, the next year, actually, I did everything I could think of to be the ideal wife, even when I was panicking because there was a slight, minuscule chance that the child I was carrying was not my husband's.
Charlie didn't come home for Fleur's baby shower, or the party thrown when Ron and Harry became qualified Aurors, the next few Christmases, nor indeed, for the birth of Molly, who was born ten months after George's wedding and was the spitting image of my grandmother, with Percy's hazel eyes.
He didn't try to contact me, nor did Percy ever give any signs of mistrusting my fidelity. My torture was of my own making, and I threw myself into balancing work and motherhood. I was slightly better at the former than the latter, and in spite of six week's maternity leave (they offered me a year, but I couldn't imagine staying home that long) I was promoted three times in two years.
But when Harry and Ginny announced their engagement, whatever peace I'd allowed myself flew right out the window. There was no way to get out of it, and by the time the wedding approached, even Percy began to notice my anxiety. He attributed it to working too hard, and this was around the time when he began suggesting that perhaps it was time to let him be the sole breadwinner of the family. I tried not to take offense--it wasn't as though I was going to tell him the real reason for my state of mind, but still, it made me wonder if he knew anything at all about me. And besides, it wasn't as though he was doing such a bang-up job of being a father. He worked constantly, involving himself in every Wizengamot issue that came around, considering himself Shacklebolt's eyes and ears to the political climate. Of course, it wasn't hurting his career, but he liked to tell himself that he was being selfless.
We'd gotten into a wicked fight about it the night before the wedding, which might not have happened if Percy had not bucked tradition and told his mother that we were not going to stay at the Burrow as the family was getting too large. It would have made a lot more sense if Harry had had a larger family (his aunt and cousin, miraculously, were attending, but not staying overnight), but still, I was grateful to delay my first post-shag encounter with Charlie (he'd left after George's wedding to 'stay with a mate'). We arrived rather later than we'd planned, thanks to having to run the gauntlet of the press, who were desperate to get a photo of the wedding of the "Chosen One" but were prevented by the wards. Of course, this gave Percy a chance to shoot the breeze with some of them, getting his name in the paper and milking his connection to his soon-to-be-brother-in-law for all that it was worth.
Yes, I was irritated. Still doesn't excuse what happened.
Maybe it was because he had the decency to look sheepish. I'd expected defiance, or worse yet, pleasure at my discomfort or the fact that he'd wanted to pull one over on his least favorite brother. Still, I never should have let myself be in a position to be alone with him, and in retrospect, having decided to use my daughter as a shield between us was a bad plan. Molly was anxious to show off her adorable namesake, and Percy was working the crowd like any good politician and I was alone at the punchbowl, considering the advisability of getting really, really drunk.
"Is she mine?"
"This is hardly the time or place..."
"Just answer the goddamn question."
"No."
"No, she isn't, or no, you won't answer?"
"Fuck you, Charlie."
"Been there, done that."
I went to hit him, and he grabbed my hand before I could make contact. I looked around in horror. Fortunately, no one seemed to be looking at us.
Gritting his teeth and grabbing my wrist almost painfully, he dragged me to the side of the house. "Answer me," he growled. I'd never seen such menace in his eyes. He scared the shit out of me, and not just because I knew he had the ability to ruin my life if he ever cared to, with one word.
"Not yours. No possible way."
"You're not just saying that?"
"Do you want me to talk to you about the fact that she has Percy's eyes, or is already exhibiting signs of obsessive compulsive tendencies, or the fact that she was born in March?"
He bit his lip, though the rest of his body seemed to relax.
"Did you tell him?"
"No," I said quickly.
"Good, he said, and that small sign of relief in his eyes made him seem almost human to me. So he had a conscience, after all.
"Are you all right?" he asked, completely throwing me for a loop.
I could feel tears building up behind my eyes for some reason, and I didn't like it one bit.
"I still hate you," I said.
"Yeah," he said, apparently trying not to laugh. He looked back toward the back garden, shaking his head. He began patting the pockets of his robes, which weren't as formal as the last time (Ginny only wanted two attendants, so that meant that only Ron and Neville Longbottom stood up with Harry) and in an echo of the last time, he pulled out a long, thin white object, and he actually did laugh when I winced and stepped away. But when he lit the end of the thing, there was no doubt it was tobacco, and far stronger than the usual British cigarette.
"You know, those things will kill you," I said.
"So will dragons."
"Right. Well, I should probably-"
Charlie reached for my hand again, startling me.
"Don't," he said and pulled me into a bruising kiss that sent lust straight down my body. I was not, absolutely not, positively not going to do this again. I was better than this, damn it.
So why I found myself not thirty minutes later, lying spread-eagled on top of a haystack, my legs thrown over Charlie's shoulders as he plowed into me, I'll never know. I didn't even like the man.
^^^^^^^^^^^
Ron and Hermione got married three years later. My job was getting really hectic, especially after two months off for the birth of Kingsley, who was the spitting image of his uncle Charlie, in spite of the fact that I hadn't seen him since Ginny's wedding two years before. I considered it fate's way of fucking with me, giving me a constant reminder of my mistakes. I was so busy that I hardly had time to come up with a foolproof way to make sure I didn't fall into bed with him again. Not that we ever used a bed.
^^^^^^^^^^
"I still hate you, Charlie."
Charlie looked up from between my legs, grinning, his face glistening. "I know."
^^^^^^^
At Arthur and Molly's fortieth anniversary party, I found myself sobbing in Charlie's arms. I was so unhappy, but I didn't know how to change things. My career was going nowhere, and Percy's was soaring. I loved my kids, but I never could seem to give them enough time or attention. His solution was simple. Quit. Leave. Sure, it was easy for him, but I had obligations, and at the moment, they were smothering me. And worse yet, I'd given in again. I'd hardly touched my husband in the last six months, and yet here I was, hiding in the attic, still able to taste his brother's come in my mouth. I was a horrible, horrible person.
^^^^^^^^^
The position was a tempting one, and I wanted it for me, even though Percy was going on about how the kids hardly saw me as it was, and this would require regular trips out of town for days, weeks at a time; as a matter of fact, there was going to be a trip to Sofia to finalize the plans for the World Cup within weeks. I'd been trying not to think about that part of it, lest I should be tempted.
But it was everything I'd ever wanted; prestige and responsibility and a chance to make a real difference in the way that the wizarding world perceived the British government. I didn't even have to let Charlie know that I was coming.
^^^^^^^^^
Charlie was above me, in a proper bed this time, and his body was moving over mine, and his hands and lips were moving over my skin reverently, and he was whispering endearments in my ear and crying out my name. "Leave him," he whispered. "Before it's too late."
The previous week had been a dream, really, actually talking to him, sharing meals, waking up together. And seeing him at work had been a revelation. I'd never imagined the skill that was required when dealing with dragon. Charlie was focused, driven, and knowledgeable. At the camp, everyone turned to him for advice, and watching him grieve over one of the lost hatchlings nearly moved me to tears. "I don't know, I just don't know. I don't want to hurt him. He needs me so much. And the kids-"
"Penny, I love you."
He was ruthless, he was, whether he meant it or not. And I knew if I ever let him know how I felt, he'd never let me go. "I just don't know. I don't want to hurt him..."
^^^^^^^^
I thought about it, I really did. And the idea was tempting. I hardly even liked Percy any more, let alone loved him. But he'd really come to need me lately, always discussing his career, his daily grind, his hopes, his dreams, his ambitions with me. Yes, he still would have preferred I devoted my life to seeing to his needs, but I stood firm, determined to hold on to my identity.
Charlie was a physical ache, though, and I couldn't get the look on his face as he told me he loved me out of my mind. I'd even begun to pack a suitcase and was considering the task of dividing up our possessions. Sorting through our books was going to be a real issue, though. The kids would be fine, as long as we behaved like the mature, responsible adults we were. Perhaps Percy's career might take a bit of a hit when his wife left him for his brother, but it wasn't anything he couldn't weather.
It wasn't as though he was running for Minister, right?
Only, right about that time, Shacklebolt had a stroke and announced that he was stepping aside for his health. Percy was the obvious next in line, but Davies had his war record and his shining legal career on his side, and lots of support from the Pureblood contingent, who still associated the name 'Weasley,' with 'blood traitor.' The last thing Percy needed at the moment was a wife who was a liability. So I reluctantly unpacked my suitcase, and some time after, reluctantly resigned my position with the Ministry in order to campaign for my husband full time. Oh, yes, we all said it was only temporary, but if he won, I knew deep down that I was never going to be anything more than 'Mrs. Minister.'
I began to take more interest in my clothes, in my hair, in the appearance of my children. I gave my favorite recipes to Witch Weekly. I wrote a column about my husband's political career and his connections to war heroes in The Prophet. I wrote '15 Random Facts About Percy Weasley' for The Quibbler.
I was the perfect political wife.
I was miserable, but no one could tell. Least of all, my husband.
^^^^^^^^^^^^
Damn, he'd forgot his speech, and after all the work I'd put into it...
I had to drop off our taxes to the accountant, and I needed to find a costume for Molly's ballet recital at Malkins, so I could easily hit the Ministry on the way. Perhaps I could even talk him into lunch. I hadn't really had a chance to sit and talk to Percy for more than ten minutes at a time in weeks. He was so rarely home these days, arriving home long after I went to sleep most nights.
Audrey was not at her desk, so I just decided to make my way into his office. The door was partially open, so I didn't bother knocking.
I sort of wish I had, though.
There was no way he'd have been able to disguise what he'd been doing, but at least I'd have been spared the sight of my husband receiving a blow job from his big-breasted, under-qualified secretary. Isn't it odd that I wasn't the least bit surprised? In fact, the first thing I thought was, 'Percy, you unimaginative bastard, how much more obvious could you possibly be?'
And then I left without saying a word. I doubt he even saw me. .
I didn't know where to go, I didn't know what to do with the fury that flowed through my body. I wanted to go home and throw his beloved books in the fire, I wanted to shred his stupid poncy pinstriped robes into tatters. I wanted to cut his bollocks off and force them down his throat until he choked on them. After everything I'd given up! I had turned into one of those typical political wives, the ones who chose to ignore the signs, the ones who traded fidelity for power and position. Not that I had much reason to talk, but still. And it wasn't just my career I'd given up for him. I'd given up Charlie, and the look on his face the last time I saw him had been haunting me for the better part of a year.
But then again, it wasn't necessarily too late, was it?
^^^^^^^^
"Molly, I was wondering-"
"Oh, Penelope, dear, it's so lovely to see you! And early, too! Did you bring my darling babies?"
"No, they're at school, but I was wondering; I might need to go abroad for a few days-"
"Hmm?" At that moment, the fireplace roared to life in a flash of green, and Ginny's disembodied head appeared in the midst of it. Relief flashed across Molly's distracted face. "Oh, Ginny, dear, there you are! Did you pick up the cake?"
"Not ready yet. They misspelled Katya's name, but I'll swing round again once I've picked up the mead."
"Oh bless you, darling. I'll see you later, then. And don't forget to invite Alicia and Oliver."
"I won't, Mum."
"Be here before seven-thirty."
"I know, Mum."
Ginny disappeared with a 'whoosh,' and I felt bile rising in my stomach for some strange reason as I asked," What's this all about, Molly?"
"Oh, Percy didn't call you? Charlie's coming back tonight, and he's bringing his new wife. I'm still annoyed at him for having the ceremony without us, but at least we can throw them a lovely reception. It's a surprise, though, so you'll have to arrive early."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
I hated him.
I hated both of them.
And I had nobody to blame but myself.
Written for luvscharlie at charlieficathon
Pairing(s): Charlie Weasley/Penelope Clearwater, Penelope/Percy, Charlie/OFC
Word Count:8658
Rating:NC17
Summary: How Charlie manages to ruin every Weasley wedding for Penelope, starting with her own.
Warnings: Adultery. Lots and lots of adultery. Also, this is not a particularly happy story. You have been warned.
A/N:(Among other things) luvscharlie wanted tattoos, infidelity, public sex, fics that take place at the Burrow, Charlie as a bit of a tosser, wall!sex, (I hope window!sex qualifies) voyeurism, and (witty) dialogue. Only for you would I write a one of my biggest squicks, my dear. And I had way too much fun doing it, so thanks for that! Thanks so much to queenb23more for making it better than it was
I hadn't planned to marry my first boyfriend. Well, really, what reasonable, sane person would? It wasn't as though I married him straight out of school, though. It was the war, you see. I don't like to think of the horror of those years, of the growing dread and then a hasty flight in the middle of the night, and the year of darkness that followed. No, I wasn't imprisoned for my blood status, but I may as well have been. I spent that last year in a school friend's basement with my parents, wondering when the day would come when Dark Wizards would burst through the door. They never did, but my dad never really recovered from the trauma. They'd seen what the Death Eaters could do first hand in my sixth year, but they never really understood that they were in danger as much as I was. And it was human nature to blame me for their suffering.
When Percy showed up to let us know that we were safe, I'd never felt so relieved, not to mention touched--that he'd thought of me after so many years and had even taken the trouble to seek me out and make certain I'd survived. It wasn't purely gratitude that landed me in bed with him shortly afterward, but that had a lot to do with it. Percy, I suspect, was still searching for redemption, and why not? It was his ambition that had broken us up in the first place, and the fact that he'd reconciled with his family just in time to lose one of them had to be a difficult pill to swallow.
And being the man he was, there was no going about it by halves. He rescued me, he seduced me (or so he thought), and then he wouldn't rest until he married me. Before I knew it, my life had taken a turn I'd never expected. Of course, it was not all that unlike the turn my life had taken when I'd been eleven, and as I had then, I adapted my plans accordingly.
It was at the wedding, however, that my life took its most devastating turn.
Percy had insisted that the wedding be held at his childhood home, though I'd have much preferred a nice hotel or country club. This was all part of his idea to embrace his roots and make up for his earlier rejection of his family's values. Fortunately, my soon-to-be sister-in-law had, by all accounts, managed to pull off a somewhat elegant wedding at the place, and she was more than happy to provide assistance and advice. Lots and lots of advice. Tons of advice. I had advice coming out of my bloody ears.
Though my parents were a little taken aback at their first glimpse of the crooked old house that practically screamed that it was being held up by magic, the back garden did look rather nice all dressed up with fairy lights that only the magical guests realized were actual fairies. And fortunately, my mad Pagan cousin's nuptials made my ceremony look almost normal in comparison to my extended family. There was a rather lovely borrowed tiara that made me feel like a princess, and what with my new family's connections, there were more celebrities (albeit magical ones) in attendance than the BAFTA awards. I mean, really, how often can your average person brag that the magical equivalent of the PM gave the first toast at their wedding?
It all would have been perfectly lovely if not for Charlie.
Here I was, worried that George would disrupt the proceedings with some sort of mad gag, but George was remarkably well-behaved. Well, more than well behaved--he was almost catatonic. Even Ron managed not to say something offensive.
But Charlie was a different matter altogether.
I disliked him on sight. Why, I don't know, but I now have my suspicions. He was so unlike Percy, so rough, and swarthy, and had those ridiculous tattoos that never seemed to stop moving when in magical company. Percy was sophisticated and refined, whereas Charlie was crude and uncomfortably direct. Plus, there was the way he fit into his dress robes. They didn't drape elegantly over his shoulders the way that Percy's did, no matter how many times we had them let out. It was like putting a tuxedo on a gorilla, if you want to know the truth.
Well, perhaps I am being a little judgmental in hindsight--I mean, obviously, someone who does hard physical labor in a dangerous job is not going to look like an accountant. But it wasn't just that. He had a way of looking at you (and not just me, I suspect, but women in general) that made you feel as if you were standing in front of him naked. And it wasn't as though you were ever going to catch him with his eyes on your chest or your bottom or even your left elbow, it was as though he knew, if ever he cared to do something about it, that with a few choice words and a couple of those come-fuck-me grins, he'd have his hands all over said body parts and you'd be thanking him for taking the trouble.
But again, maybe this is me seeing with him with the benefit of hindsight. I really ought to have been able to resist him, the cocky bastard. But I was nervous and distracted, and it never even occurred to me that I might have been making the biggest mistake of my life. Percy represented security, reliability, a safe haven from the chaos of the past few years.
Charlie represented danger, irresponsibility, vulgarity. And therefore, I hated him on sight. I only wish I'd continued to do so. Or maybe I did, I don't know.
He made no effort to disguise his continued irritation with his brother. Oh, he was polite enough, but it was easy to catch him looking at Percy as if he was certain Percy'd been dropped into the family by the little people, or rolling his eyes and walking away whenever Percy began talking politics. And jumping into Fred's vacated position as Beater during the inevitable family Quidditch match (when Percy had obligingly overcome his distaste for playing the sport by volunteering) was sort of a slap in the face. Oh, he had a point--they already had two Seekers in Ginny and Harry, and Percy really didn't have the physical strength to wield a bat properly. Not to mention that I would have been annoyed if my wedding was delayed because my fiancé had a broken nose or a concussion. But how was Percy possibly going to compete with Ron (with his ham hands and absurdly long legs) when he'd never even tried Keeping before? Of course it was a complete rout. I wanted to throttle the berk.
But that wasn't the worst of it, not by a long shot. The best bit was on my actual wedding day, when I walked upstairs to get a moment's peace (and fix my lipstick) only come across my new brother-in-law in a very compromising position with my (apparent) slag of a florist. He had her bent over the footboard, her robes bunched up round her waist, her left tit spilling over her neckline and swaying like a pendulum, her enormous bottom shaking like jelly on either side of his hips as he plowed into her. It was revolting, and yet I couldn't look away. I'd like to blame it on his tattoos--I'd never seen the magical version and they attracted and repelled me at the same time--twining, slithering, blowing flames from their scaly beaks, rather obviously ogling the breasts and backside of the woman he was pounding into with such vigor. I stood in the doorway, my eyes riveted on his clenching and unclenching buttocks, at his face in the mirror, his eyes dark and his mouth twisted in pleasure.
It suddenly occurred to me that if I could see his face in the mirror, it was highly likely that he could see me in the mirror, too. Before I could tear my eyes away, I saw his eyes widen in surprise and then narrow as a grin spread across his face. How I hated that stupid sleazy grin of his; the one that said that being ogled was a regular occurrence to him. He probably got off on it, the arrogant arse, or at least that's what I told myself as I hurried back downstairs, lipstick forgotten, my cheeks burning with shame and humiliation.
And why should I have been embarrassed, I asked myself? He was the one that ought to be embarrassed. Doing that with someone he'd only just met, and at a wedding, no less, the least he could have done was wait until afterward, gotten a room like any normal person, or even closed the bloody door. It was almost as though he'd wanted to be caught, probably did, the bastard, wanted to take my day, his brother's day, and make it all about him. The man was a boor, a prat, completely shameless. I was determined to forget about it, to smile serenely the next time I saw him, to act as though it had never happened. This was my day, and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd ruined it for me.
And yet, that night, as his brother's body moved over mine, as his hands and lips moved over my skin reverently, as he whispered endearments in my ear and cried out my name, I saw Charlie's face, Charlie's rough hands, Charlie's crude grunts and muttered profanities. I hated him.
Though he'd promised himself (and me, for that matter) he wouldn't, Percy had eventually been convinced by our new Minister to take up his old position as Undersecretary. Not that I minded, really. He was working for a good man this time around, one who wanted to change the world, to heal our battered community, and rebuild the British Ministry's shattered reputation. If anyone could do it, it would have been Minister Shacklebolt, and within months, Percy had gone from deep admiration to something akin to hero worship. Of course, it helped that the Minister never treated him like an underling, He more like a partner, or at the very least a valued advisor. And unlike Percy's previous employers, Minister Shacklebolt actually paid him a salary appropriate for someone who worked long hours and indeed often took work home with him. Not only that, the fact that Percy was so often gone and that we had Galleons in the bank allowed me to work toward my goals--taking an internship in the department of International Magical Cooperation along with some Ministry-sponsored courses in International Magical Law.
We didn't see each other as much as we might have liked, and much of the time we did get to spend together ended up being spent sitting in companionable silence next to the fire, me with a book (or three) on my lap and Percy buried under parchment. We were newlyweds, and therefore many of those evenings ended with the two of us naked on a pile of books and parchment, but that was to be expected. The point was, we were happy. Busy, optimistic about the future, our heads filled with big dreams and new ideas, and almost giddy with love for each other. I did love him. I know I did.
So where did I go wrong? Should I have given up on those dreams earlier, tried to make a foundation at that early giddy time, paying him more attention than I did my studies and my work? If I had, I might have spent a long time waiting at home for him. Knowing me, I would have ended up resenting him. And in retrospect, the fact that he had someone to talk to excitedly about his work, someone who had her own work to chatter excitedly about in return--made us sort of a perfect match. So, I'd really like to blame it on Charlie, because he'd been a thorn in our marriage from the beginning, even from half a continent away.
Oh, I know, it wasn't as though he did what he did at my wedding purely to hack me off (though I know for a fact that in his mind, screwing the help during a wedding where anyone could see him would have been the perfect 'fuck you' to a brother he barely tolerated.) The trouble was that he was always there in my head, looking at me through the mirror, taunting me, tainting my memories of my wedding and my wedding night.
So it was with no small amount of dread that I looked forward to George and Angelina's wedding just over a year later. It didn't help that I thought (unlike my husband) that the two of them getting married was pretty much the worst idea on earth. I mean, really! Marrying your dead twin's grieving girlfriend? Who does that? But the family was thrilled, probably because they'd considered Angelina and her sorrow their pet project and would have hated to see her join someone else's family in the end. But George? Ron, or even Charlie perhaps, but George? He could barely take care of himself.
But 'the family' was thrilled, so I bit my tongue, bought a new dress and a set of flatware for a gift, and packed my bag for the wedding. And that was another thing. We had a perfectly comfortable flat of our own. We had Floo Powder. We had Apparition. For heavens sake, I could have borrowed my parent's car and driven to their house in less than an hour. But no, we all had to stay there to be part of the festivities for at least the day before until the day after the wedding. So there I was, back in Percy's old room, just on the other side of Charlie's old room, and every time I walked to the damn bathroom, I had to walk past the open door, unwillingly catching a glimpse of the bed that was waiting for him (and Ron and Harry), at the dresser covered with Quidditch trophies and dragon figurines, and at that damned mirror. By the time he sauntered into the kitchen, (four hours late), I'd worked myself into a dreadful state that I was jumping at shadows. I heard his voice and all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My hands were shaking, my mouth was dry, and dread felt like a lump in my stomach. Panicking, I grabbed the nearest section of the paper (the Quidditch page, as it turns out), meaning to open it up and look like I was terribly terribly busy and hadn't even noticed he came in. Not to hide, definitely not to hide. I peeked out over the top, watching as his mother pulled him down into a smothering hug whilst simultaneously clucking over the length of his hair and his latest tattoo.
Naturally, at that moment, he raised his eyes, catching me mid-stare. The son of a bitch winked at me. God, I hated him. I hated him as his father embraced him with tears in his eyes. I hated him as he pulled George into a bone-crushing hug. I hated him as he kissed Angelina full on the mouth, earning a half-hearted protest from her fiancé. I hated him as he gave Percy a one- armed embrace with an awkward pat on the back, turning immediately to give a much more enthusiastic hug to Bill. I hated him as air-kissed Fleur and picked Ginny up off her feet. I hated him as he clapped his arm over Ron's shoulder and playfully punched him in the gut. I hated him as he enthusiastically shook Hermione's hand and teased her about his baby brother. I hated the way I trembled as he ignored my reluctantly offered hand and leaned over to kiss my cheek. I hated the way my face burned under the warmth of his lips and I hated the way my heart thudded painfully in my chest and how my voice squeaked as I tried to greet him with indifference. More than anything else, I wished I could just leave. The next few days were going to be agony.
Fortunately, there was a lot to be done in preparation for the wedding. I'd been spared all the busy work that my mother-in-law seemed to take pleasure in coming up with the last time because I was the bride. This time, I found myself polishing silver, folding napkins into flowers, touching up the paint on walls, and coaxing fairies into hovering around the table arrangements. I hardly saw the man, but that night, I was painfully aware of the fact that he was sleeping in the very next room. I know he was in there with Harry and Ron, (unless one or both of them decided to buck tradition and sneak down into their respective girlfriend's rooms (or their girlfriends' room, come to think of it) but still, I was picturing him with the stupid florist or some other girl he had managed to sneak in or even one of his brothers' girls--the man clearly had no morals, and was probably not above such behavior.
The wedding was lovely (if ill-advised) and even had a mention of Fred in it that should have been in poor taste but was actually rather sweet. The food was Molly-made rather than catered, as mine was, but she'd done a fairly good job, and Angelina's relatives were an easygoing lot, so there was no need to impress them. It was when the dancing began that I began to feel really uncomfortable. It seemed to be a tradition that the brothers all danced with their brother's girls, or at least that was what I assumed when Bill took a turn with the bride, and George with Fleur, then Charlie with Hermione, then Ron with me. He'd always been a likable enough kid, but I never really knew what to say to him, and trying to talk to him close up put a painful crick in my neck. But when he handed me off to George and took Fleur in my place, I began to fear that the next dance would put me into Charlie's arms, which simply wouldn't do. Complaining of a headache, I made my excuses toward the end of the dance and made my way off the dance floor and into the house. Using the bathroom killed a few minutes, but once done, I still wasn't ready to go back outside. If I was lucky, I could waste time until they were ready to cut the cake.
I didn't know what was wrong with me. I was behaving like a little girl with a crush, only I didn't even like the man. Why should I care that he was a complete slut? He wasn't my problem, and if he took one of the guests up into his room, at least it wasn't my wedding this time around, right? Still, there was something inside me that positively seethed every time I looked at him. I made my way back up to Percy's childhood bedroom, trying to find a quiet place to compose myself. I ran my fingers over his dresser, knowing that inside, his socks and pants were neatly folded, even though we were only staying for a few days. His toothbrush was sitting on the dresser, lined up next to his comb, his toothbrush, a quill. I'd have bet money that there was exactly one inch between each item, and they were arranged longest to shortest. They annoyed me, for some reason, and in a small act of rebellion, I nudged one over just half an inch.
With a sigh, I made my way to the window. I could see some of the dancing couples from there, and I saw my husband blushing furiously under the full force of Fleur's unique magic. George was dancing with Ginny, and Angelina was dancing with her new father-in-law.
I found myself wishing for a stiff drink or a cigarette, (not that I smoked, filthy habit, but still...) I laid my head against the cool glass, fighting the urge to burst into tears. When I heard the creak of a tread on the landing outside my door, I knew with every fiber of my being that it was Charlie and that I was in serious trouble.
"Exhausting, aren't they?" he said. The low, amused tone of his voice made me wince. Why had he followed me? Wasn't it obvious that I couldn't stand him? I wanted to tell him to go away, but it occurred to me that perhaps he was trying to mend fences.
"A bit, yes." I risked a brief backwards glance. Charlie was leaning against the doorway, looking entirely too comfortable for my liking, though he was rummaging in the breast pocket of his formal robes.
"There it is," he said, pulling out what appeared to be a cigarette. It was almost as though he'd read my mind, though I knew that wasn't possible. I turned back to the window. Below me, the tempo of the music had changed, and George and Angelina were dancing with enough exuberance to have made even Fred proud. I heard the unmistakable sound of a wand being lit, and shortly thereafter, the smell of smoke. But not the rich tobacco scent I was used to; sweeter, cloying, actually, and oddly familiar. Curiosity made me turn back to him again. The way he was holding in the smoke for as long as possible confirmed my suspicions.
"Charming," I muttered and rolled my eyes. "Just don't let your mother catch you."
"My mother came of age in the sixties. She'd probably tell me to stop bogarting the damn thing and pass it down," he said, shrugging and taking another drag. "But it wouldn't hurt to open the window." For some strange reason, I found myself obeying his suggestion. Charlie took a few steps over and exhaled slowly in the direction of the open window.
I could see more of him out of the corner of my eye now. I didn't even have to strain to get a good look at his hands, his thick fingers rolling the long, thin joint between them. He gestured in my direction, startling me out of my daze. "Excuse me?" I asked.
Instead of answering, he gestured in my direction again. Realization dawned and I automatically shook my head.
"No, I'm sorry, I don't-" Why the hell are you apologizing for being a responsible, mature adult, Clearwater? I thought, gritting my teeth.
It was Charlie's wry chuckle that was my undoing. And he might not have even been laughing at me--he could have been laughing at himself, or even his brother dancing below us. But I took it as a challenge or an indication that I was a dull, or a prude, or incapable of letting my guard down. Which I was, to some extent. But that was nothing to be ashamed of. I found myself reaching over to take the offensive object from between his fingers, putting it to my lips, and inhaling deeply and defiantly. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he'd expected me to choke, my eyes watering. I'd never been more grateful for my 'free-spirited' cousin who'd visited from Canada (or was it America?) during the summer before my sixth year. I hadn't particularly liked the loss of control back then, and I liked the idea of it even less now, given the circumstances. But for one brief, shining moment, I had managed to shock Charlie Weasley, perhaps even impress him, and the thrill of the victory flowed through my veins like fine wine. I handed it back to him, and the touch of his fingers against mine felt like small electric shocks.
"What's the matter?" I found myself saying. "Couldn't find a waitress to keep you company?"
"I like my present company just fine." he said with a low, rumbling laugh.
He handed me the joint again. I'd meant to partake only once, just to prove that I could, but the idea of escaping all the pressure of the evening (not to mention the thoughts swirling around my head) was too tempting to resist. Back and forth, and with each exchange, he seemed to be closing in on me. Every molecule of my body was aware of his proximity.
I wondered if the music below us had changed its tempo yet again or if it was the effect of the dodgy substances now floating through my bloodstream, but I found myself disconnecting from the cramped room. Not much, because I still felt reality intruding in the idea of my husband's presence downstairs and my dislike of the man beside me, but enough to where none of it really mattered all that much.
Feeling his fingers along my spine ought to have come as a surprise, but in my state of mind, it seemed something of a kindness, meant to relax me. It did relax me, but it also sent fissures of pleasure over my body. With one last drag, he tossed the joint out the window. I watched it float down into the hydrangea bush below us, wondering if the pressure of his fingers on my back was increasing or if it was just my imagination.
"I don't like you," I found myself blurting out.
Charlie chuckled again. "Is that so?"
"Yes." I pulled away from his fingers, crossing my arms over my chest. It occurred to me that I ought to leave, given what I'd just said, but I was almost physically incapable of doing so. "Doesn't that bother you?"
"Should it?"
"Of course it should. Everybody wants to be liked."
"Good to know. I'll try to work on worrying about whether people like me straightaway. At the moment, though, I can't seem to work up the energy to care."
"Pothead," I muttered under my breath, and as he chuckled yet again, I had no doubt in my mind that I was being laughed at. God, I hated him.
"Why don't you like Percy?" I asked.
Any normal person would have tried to deny it, but Charlie just shrugged. "He doesn't like me much, so what does it matter?"
"Because he's your brother."
"Which is a fact that neither of us had much say in. Would I throw myself in front of a curse for him? Yeah, probably. But liking someone or not has more to do with the things they say and do, and-"
"And?"
"Percy and I have never had much to talk about."
I noticed that he hadn't brought up Percy's behaviour during the war and I wasn't sure if that was a point for or against Charlie. "He looks up to you."
"No, he doesn't. He thinks I'm irresponsible at best, a lazy sod at worst. And worse yet, he thinks I got away with abandoning my family during the war while he got vilified for it."
"And is he right?"
"About what?"
"Well, the war, for one."
"I know what I did during the war and I have no regrets. That's all that matters."
I shook my head. I'd heard his name mentioned in all the tributes, and he'd gotten the same awards as the rest of them, but he never bothered going to collect them. His Order of Merlin was still sitting on his mother's mantle. "And the rest?"
"Does it matter? I'm doing what I always dreamed of doing."
He had a point, but I couldn't imagine being satisfied playing with animals and drinking with a bunch of roughnecks every night. Did he still see himself doing that when he was seventy?
"I don't understand you," I said and shivered, rubbing at my arms.
"Is that why you're always watching me?" he said, taking a step closer. He reached up to stroke my cheek, and I shivered again, only this time I knew it had little to do with being cold.
"I'm not a waitress, or a florist, or a..." His thumb had moved over to my mouth, and he was tracing the line of my lower lip.
"No, you're a bureaucrat, same as Percy."
"I'm an activist," I said indignantly. "And your brother's wife, in case you'd forgot. You've got no business touching me."
"So tell me to stop," he said, taking a step closer.
I meant to, I really did, but at that point I was sort of pressed against the partially opened window and the heat of his body was overwhelming. He smelled, too--not of Percy's clean, crisp aftershave, but of virile male--and one who'd been dancing at that. And the pot, that too, which was probably why I had trouble clearing my head enough to find the words.
He had his other hand on my face, but it wasn't as gentle a caress as the first one. His fingers closed against the back of my neck and his thumb held my face steady as his mouth approached mine. I'd nearly closed my eyes in anticipation when I realized he'd stopped just short, apparently waiting for me to close the distance. I could feel his hot breath against my lips, and I was sure he could feel my pulse fluttering under his palm. If I moved my face at all, my mouth would brush his; if I moved my body at all, I'd be pressed up against him, and I'd have bet a thousand Galleons he was hard already.
"I hate you," I whispered against his lips.
"Liar," he replied and reached down with his first hand to cover my thigh, bunching my skirts under his fingers until I could feel them lifting above my knees. Still, he didn't move any closer, and I licked my lips, knowing that if I darted my tongue out just little more, I could taste him. God, I was tempted, even when I heard my husband's laughter in the crowd below.
"Is this some way to get back at Percy?" It was better than asking if it was me he wanted, but not much.
Charlie closed his eyes. "I don't know what this is. It's...complicated." His fingers hadn't stopped bunching up my skirt, and by then, I could feel the night breeze on my thighs. Any moment, I was going to feel his actual fingers on extremely sensitive skin, and I knew that it was the ideal time to tell him to go and fuck off, to leave me alone, that I was a married woman, and to his brother, at that. But I didn't, to my everlasting shame, and when he reached bare skin, I felt his hand trembling and saw his eyes darken as his pupils expanded. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, and the words were on the tip of my tongue as his fingers moved slowly up my thigh to the edge of my knickers.
"Fuck," I whispered, shocking even myself. I know really should have sowed some wild oats before getting married, but how was I to know that I'd be so weak?
"Tell me to stop," he repeated, and I bit my lip as his fingertip moved back and forth over the elastic edge of my knickers. His eyes were so close to mine, cobalt in this light, reflecting the darkening sky outside the window. I heard a broken plate and a shout of laughter below us, just as his fingertip dipped under my knickers. I was embarrassingly wet, and Charlie hissed and closed his eyes again, adding another finger and unerringly finding my most sensitive bits. I closed my eyes then, overwhelmed by sensation, and as my knees weekend, without meaning to, I'd closed the gap between our lips. His lower lip was chapped, and his upper lip was rough with stubble, and as they brushed (or was it bumped?) against my dry lips, it was nearly painful. But I opened my mouth and his tongue darted inside as his longest finger moved inside of me, causing me to gasp and press even closer to him.
"Fuck," he muttered, covering my mouth with his, his thrusting tongue working in tandem with his thrusting finger. He had me backed against the window in earnest now, the window panes digging into my shoulder blades, my backside wedged into the open space. All Percy had to do was look up, and I was done for.
And yet I was incapable of stopping at this point. His fingers were relentless, and I felt pleasure building up inside me until I thought I might die from it. His erection was digging into my hip and thigh, and he rutting up against me, groaning into my mouth. He put a second finger inside me and I completely fell apart, sobbing into his mouth and shuddering against him. Still, he didn't stop, adding a third finger, even, grinding hard against me as my body clenched around him. I finally allowed myself to touch him, then, wrapping my arms around his neck because my legs felt too weak to hold the weight of my body. He pulled his fingers away, and to my utter mortification I found myself whimpering at the loss, especially when he took a step back, but he'd begun fumbling with his robes, with his belt, with his pants, swearing under his breath the entire time.
Once finished, he grabbed me by the arse, picking me up as if I weighed little more than a house-elf, wrapping my legs around him and yanking up my skirt. He let the window I was pushed up against carry my weight for a bit as he pushed aside my knickers and entered me in one practiced movement. I'd never meant to let it get that far, truly I hadn't, but at that point, I was just a quivering mess of need, and nothing in my life had ever felt as necessary as his cock pounding relentlessly into my body. Or maybe it was a bit of a power trip on my end, because there was that face I remembered from the year before, only it was me making him feel that way, not some slag waitress or florist or shopgirl, it was my breast in his hand, my body contracting around him, my neck his face was buried into as he grunted and groaned and finally howled in pleasure.
It wasn't until he pulled out of me that it occurred to me that I was no better than that large-bottomed florist from the wedding--that I was not only no better, but far worse, a 'slag' activist, or bureaucrat, and worse yet, a married one, and I'd become party to whatever sick agenda the man in front of me was pursuing, maybe to hurt his brother, maybe just to see if he could manage to soil what he'd had or even take it away from him, and I had walked into it with my eyes open. I'd liked to have blamed it on the joint, but that didn't explain the way I'd obsessed over him ever since the last wedding, the way I'd let him soil my marriage, even before I fucked him. I hated him.
"Why did you do that?" I asked, tucking my breast back in my bodice, adjusting my knickers, attempting to smooth my skirts.
"You did it, too," he answered, looking back at me, utterly shameless.
"I hate you," I said, and hurried from the room.
^^^^^^^^^^
You don't really want to know about the agony of going back to the wedding, trying to put on a serene face for my husband, explaining my absence with a headache and having the joy of watching my mother-in-law eyeing my stomach speculatively, and realizing in horror that I'd completely forgot the charm. Or of sleeping next to my husband that night in that very room, knowing what I'd done against that very window. Or of being unable to stomach the idea of having him inside me while I was still dripping with his brother's come and being obliged to offer a blow job instead. But what else was I going to do? I had to make up somehow for what I'd done, and for the next few months, the next year, actually, I did everything I could think of to be the ideal wife, even when I was panicking because there was a slight, minuscule chance that the child I was carrying was not my husband's.
Charlie didn't come home for Fleur's baby shower, or the party thrown when Ron and Harry became qualified Aurors, the next few Christmases, nor indeed, for the birth of Molly, who was born ten months after George's wedding and was the spitting image of my grandmother, with Percy's hazel eyes.
He didn't try to contact me, nor did Percy ever give any signs of mistrusting my fidelity. My torture was of my own making, and I threw myself into balancing work and motherhood. I was slightly better at the former than the latter, and in spite of six week's maternity leave (they offered me a year, but I couldn't imagine staying home that long) I was promoted three times in two years.
But when Harry and Ginny announced their engagement, whatever peace I'd allowed myself flew right out the window. There was no way to get out of it, and by the time the wedding approached, even Percy began to notice my anxiety. He attributed it to working too hard, and this was around the time when he began suggesting that perhaps it was time to let him be the sole breadwinner of the family. I tried not to take offense--it wasn't as though I was going to tell him the real reason for my state of mind, but still, it made me wonder if he knew anything at all about me. And besides, it wasn't as though he was doing such a bang-up job of being a father. He worked constantly, involving himself in every Wizengamot issue that came around, considering himself Shacklebolt's eyes and ears to the political climate. Of course, it wasn't hurting his career, but he liked to tell himself that he was being selfless.
We'd gotten into a wicked fight about it the night before the wedding, which might not have happened if Percy had not bucked tradition and told his mother that we were not going to stay at the Burrow as the family was getting too large. It would have made a lot more sense if Harry had had a larger family (his aunt and cousin, miraculously, were attending, but not staying overnight), but still, I was grateful to delay my first post-shag encounter with Charlie (he'd left after George's wedding to 'stay with a mate'). We arrived rather later than we'd planned, thanks to having to run the gauntlet of the press, who were desperate to get a photo of the wedding of the "Chosen One" but were prevented by the wards. Of course, this gave Percy a chance to shoot the breeze with some of them, getting his name in the paper and milking his connection to his soon-to-be-brother-in-law for all that it was worth.
Yes, I was irritated. Still doesn't excuse what happened.
Maybe it was because he had the decency to look sheepish. I'd expected defiance, or worse yet, pleasure at my discomfort or the fact that he'd wanted to pull one over on his least favorite brother. Still, I never should have let myself be in a position to be alone with him, and in retrospect, having decided to use my daughter as a shield between us was a bad plan. Molly was anxious to show off her adorable namesake, and Percy was working the crowd like any good politician and I was alone at the punchbowl, considering the advisability of getting really, really drunk.
"Is she mine?"
"This is hardly the time or place..."
"Just answer the goddamn question."
"No."
"No, she isn't, or no, you won't answer?"
"Fuck you, Charlie."
"Been there, done that."
I went to hit him, and he grabbed my hand before I could make contact. I looked around in horror. Fortunately, no one seemed to be looking at us.
Gritting his teeth and grabbing my wrist almost painfully, he dragged me to the side of the house. "Answer me," he growled. I'd never seen such menace in his eyes. He scared the shit out of me, and not just because I knew he had the ability to ruin my life if he ever cared to, with one word.
"Not yours. No possible way."
"You're not just saying that?"
"Do you want me to talk to you about the fact that she has Percy's eyes, or is already exhibiting signs of obsessive compulsive tendencies, or the fact that she was born in March?"
He bit his lip, though the rest of his body seemed to relax.
"Did you tell him?"
"No," I said quickly.
"Good, he said, and that small sign of relief in his eyes made him seem almost human to me. So he had a conscience, after all.
"Are you all right?" he asked, completely throwing me for a loop.
I could feel tears building up behind my eyes for some reason, and I didn't like it one bit.
"I still hate you," I said.
"Yeah," he said, apparently trying not to laugh. He looked back toward the back garden, shaking his head. He began patting the pockets of his robes, which weren't as formal as the last time (Ginny only wanted two attendants, so that meant that only Ron and Neville Longbottom stood up with Harry) and in an echo of the last time, he pulled out a long, thin white object, and he actually did laugh when I winced and stepped away. But when he lit the end of the thing, there was no doubt it was tobacco, and far stronger than the usual British cigarette.
"You know, those things will kill you," I said.
"So will dragons."
"Right. Well, I should probably-"
Charlie reached for my hand again, startling me.
"Don't," he said and pulled me into a bruising kiss that sent lust straight down my body. I was not, absolutely not, positively not going to do this again. I was better than this, damn it.
So why I found myself not thirty minutes later, lying spread-eagled on top of a haystack, my legs thrown over Charlie's shoulders as he plowed into me, I'll never know. I didn't even like the man.
^^^^^^^^^^^
Ron and Hermione got married three years later. My job was getting really hectic, especially after two months off for the birth of Kingsley, who was the spitting image of his uncle Charlie, in spite of the fact that I hadn't seen him since Ginny's wedding two years before. I considered it fate's way of fucking with me, giving me a constant reminder of my mistakes. I was so busy that I hardly had time to come up with a foolproof way to make sure I didn't fall into bed with him again. Not that we ever used a bed.
^^^^^^^^^^
"I still hate you, Charlie."
Charlie looked up from between my legs, grinning, his face glistening. "I know."
^^^^^^^
At Arthur and Molly's fortieth anniversary party, I found myself sobbing in Charlie's arms. I was so unhappy, but I didn't know how to change things. My career was going nowhere, and Percy's was soaring. I loved my kids, but I never could seem to give them enough time or attention. His solution was simple. Quit. Leave. Sure, it was easy for him, but I had obligations, and at the moment, they were smothering me. And worse yet, I'd given in again. I'd hardly touched my husband in the last six months, and yet here I was, hiding in the attic, still able to taste his brother's come in my mouth. I was a horrible, horrible person.
^^^^^^^^^
The position was a tempting one, and I wanted it for me, even though Percy was going on about how the kids hardly saw me as it was, and this would require regular trips out of town for days, weeks at a time; as a matter of fact, there was going to be a trip to Sofia to finalize the plans for the World Cup within weeks. I'd been trying not to think about that part of it, lest I should be tempted.
But it was everything I'd ever wanted; prestige and responsibility and a chance to make a real difference in the way that the wizarding world perceived the British government. I didn't even have to let Charlie know that I was coming.
^^^^^^^^^
Charlie was above me, in a proper bed this time, and his body was moving over mine, and his hands and lips were moving over my skin reverently, and he was whispering endearments in my ear and crying out my name. "Leave him," he whispered. "Before it's too late."
The previous week had been a dream, really, actually talking to him, sharing meals, waking up together. And seeing him at work had been a revelation. I'd never imagined the skill that was required when dealing with dragon. Charlie was focused, driven, and knowledgeable. At the camp, everyone turned to him for advice, and watching him grieve over one of the lost hatchlings nearly moved me to tears. "I don't know, I just don't know. I don't want to hurt him. He needs me so much. And the kids-"
"Penny, I love you."
He was ruthless, he was, whether he meant it or not. And I knew if I ever let him know how I felt, he'd never let me go. "I just don't know. I don't want to hurt him..."
^^^^^^^^
I thought about it, I really did. And the idea was tempting. I hardly even liked Percy any more, let alone loved him. But he'd really come to need me lately, always discussing his career, his daily grind, his hopes, his dreams, his ambitions with me. Yes, he still would have preferred I devoted my life to seeing to his needs, but I stood firm, determined to hold on to my identity.
Charlie was a physical ache, though, and I couldn't get the look on his face as he told me he loved me out of my mind. I'd even begun to pack a suitcase and was considering the task of dividing up our possessions. Sorting through our books was going to be a real issue, though. The kids would be fine, as long as we behaved like the mature, responsible adults we were. Perhaps Percy's career might take a bit of a hit when his wife left him for his brother, but it wasn't anything he couldn't weather.
It wasn't as though he was running for Minister, right?
Only, right about that time, Shacklebolt had a stroke and announced that he was stepping aside for his health. Percy was the obvious next in line, but Davies had his war record and his shining legal career on his side, and lots of support from the Pureblood contingent, who still associated the name 'Weasley,' with 'blood traitor.' The last thing Percy needed at the moment was a wife who was a liability. So I reluctantly unpacked my suitcase, and some time after, reluctantly resigned my position with the Ministry in order to campaign for my husband full time. Oh, yes, we all said it was only temporary, but if he won, I knew deep down that I was never going to be anything more than 'Mrs. Minister.'
I began to take more interest in my clothes, in my hair, in the appearance of my children. I gave my favorite recipes to Witch Weekly. I wrote a column about my husband's political career and his connections to war heroes in The Prophet. I wrote '15 Random Facts About Percy Weasley' for The Quibbler.
I was the perfect political wife.
I was miserable, but no one could tell. Least of all, my husband.
^^^^^^^^^^^^
Damn, he'd forgot his speech, and after all the work I'd put into it...
I had to drop off our taxes to the accountant, and I needed to find a costume for Molly's ballet recital at Malkins, so I could easily hit the Ministry on the way. Perhaps I could even talk him into lunch. I hadn't really had a chance to sit and talk to Percy for more than ten minutes at a time in weeks. He was so rarely home these days, arriving home long after I went to sleep most nights.
Audrey was not at her desk, so I just decided to make my way into his office. The door was partially open, so I didn't bother knocking.
I sort of wish I had, though.
There was no way he'd have been able to disguise what he'd been doing, but at least I'd have been spared the sight of my husband receiving a blow job from his big-breasted, under-qualified secretary. Isn't it odd that I wasn't the least bit surprised? In fact, the first thing I thought was, 'Percy, you unimaginative bastard, how much more obvious could you possibly be?'
And then I left without saying a word. I doubt he even saw me. .
I didn't know where to go, I didn't know what to do with the fury that flowed through my body. I wanted to go home and throw his beloved books in the fire, I wanted to shred his stupid poncy pinstriped robes into tatters. I wanted to cut his bollocks off and force them down his throat until he choked on them. After everything I'd given up! I had turned into one of those typical political wives, the ones who chose to ignore the signs, the ones who traded fidelity for power and position. Not that I had much reason to talk, but still. And it wasn't just my career I'd given up for him. I'd given up Charlie, and the look on his face the last time I saw him had been haunting me for the better part of a year.
But then again, it wasn't necessarily too late, was it?
^^^^^^^^
"Molly, I was wondering-"
"Oh, Penelope, dear, it's so lovely to see you! And early, too! Did you bring my darling babies?"
"No, they're at school, but I was wondering; I might need to go abroad for a few days-"
"Hmm?" At that moment, the fireplace roared to life in a flash of green, and Ginny's disembodied head appeared in the midst of it. Relief flashed across Molly's distracted face. "Oh, Ginny, dear, there you are! Did you pick up the cake?"
"Not ready yet. They misspelled Katya's name, but I'll swing round again once I've picked up the mead."
"Oh bless you, darling. I'll see you later, then. And don't forget to invite Alicia and Oliver."
"I won't, Mum."
"Be here before seven-thirty."
"I know, Mum."
Ginny disappeared with a 'whoosh,' and I felt bile rising in my stomach for some strange reason as I asked," What's this all about, Molly?"
"Oh, Percy didn't call you? Charlie's coming back tonight, and he's bringing his new wife. I'm still annoyed at him for having the ceremony without us, but at least we can throw them a lovely reception. It's a surprise, though, so you'll have to arrive early."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
I hated him.
I hated both of them.
And I had nobody to blame but myself.