Work Header

Plan Interrupted

Work Text:

Charlie couldn't stop thinking about it. By Bill's eyes, catching his across the kitchen table, neither could he. They had only been searching for a spare towel, not an obsession. Not this plague upon his mind. Little brother's ex. Ginny's best friend.

Mum's adopted daughter.

Mum's lonely, sexually frustrated adopted daughter.

This was so sick, especially because most of him didn't agree with the morality of the issue. Morality, what morality? it said, and went on imagining her lips sliding over his cock, her cheeks hollowing with every downslide. His pants were tight.

Wrong. Entirely wrong.

"But they have, you know"—he motioned, glancing at the door nervously—"potions for that."

Bill, also keeping one eye on the door, said, "Outdated stuff, potions. It's all about Muggles now. The twins know. You've seen the Black Room."

"Don't even," Charlie said. Not with Mum somewhere in the house. She'd probably storm to Diagon Alley and thump Fred and George if she found out about the Black Room, except without the probably.

They sat in silence, or it sat on them. They had planned on going to the pond, do a few backstrokes, laze about, but this had totally knocked them off their orbit. Well, knocked him off. Bill just looked thoughtful, or as if he was doing homework, thinking hard, intense. Bill was always the slow, thoughtful one, despite the fuss Mum made about the hair and the fang and the new divorce. Charlie was the thoughtless one, running off to Romania before the ink dried on his Hogwarts certificate, barging into Hermione's room this morning, loud in his certainty she would have spare towels.

"Still," Charlie said, "that thing was—"


"You're not thinking... "

Bill sat back, kicking a foot out and banging his shin. "Not thinking anything."

Charlie put a hand over his mouth, rubbed, staring at a knot of wood on the table, the grain worn over the years. He raised his eyes. "You're thinking it, aren't you?"

"Better than the pond, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but remember—"

"Won't happen this time. We'll put a lock on the door, just in case. C'mon, I'm kidding."

He remembered it well. Leticia Adams running out, Charlie left naked in the seventh year dormitory with his equally clothing-less big brother. Yeah, he didn't want to think about that again.

"But this is…"

"We'd treat her right," Bill said. Charlie had to agree. They couldn't not.

"Maybe," he said finally, slowly, trying to figure out the chances of humiliation. High. If she changed her mind, she wouldn't want Mum finding out she had agreed in the first place. A slim hope to hang his comfort level in Britain on. If this didn't work and Mum did find out, the whole country would become very, intensely uncomfortable. He might have to change his name, grow a beard, wear a funny hat.

"It's not a contest this time," Charlie said.

"Because you're afraid I'll win. I understand."

"Why is it a contest already? You always do this."

"Not fighting are you, boys?" Mum asked, flying into the room as she always did, as if someone held a pitchfork behind her. She dropped two blue towels onto the table. "I found those towels you were looking for—that's why we have a linen closet, after all."

"Not fighting," Charlie said. He twisted in his chair, throwing his arm over the back, watching Bill watch him with amused, laughing eyes. Bleeding jerk. No way could Bill beat him.

Bill, eyes carrying even more sick amusement at his glare, didn't take his eyes off Charlie. He asked Mum, "Aren't linen closets for linen?"

Charlie forced calm through his muscles into wary, aggravated humour. It must be some complex, always making a contest out of everything.

Mum didn't turn from the sink, her eyes narrowed as a dozen sponges punished a dirty pot and an army of suds swirled around the flatware. "If someone in this house did something worth celebrating, like getting married"she looked at Charlie—"or moving closer to home"—Bill—"the linen closet would be brimming with linen. As such, your grandmother's poor lace tablecloth is falling apart. It's just not worth spending gold on, now."

"Because parties in the Minister's honour don't count," Charlie muttered to Bill.

"Maybe if you married him." Bill laughed.

"And you, William, talking about marriage—"

Snorting loudly, Bill held up his hands, his chest shaking. "Forget I ever said it, Mum."

Mum's eyes softened, the disapproving lines around her mouth disappearing. Charlie knew what she was thinking. Least he was laughing. Not that he moped—in public, leastwise. But he had been spending every day off here, hardly ever going back to the house on the cliff.

"Oh, fine," she said. "Now get out of my kitchen, the both of you."


They flipped for first try. Charlie used the old two headed Knut he got off a tamer in Switzerland.

Bill always called tails.

"Guess it's me, then," Charlie said, stuffing the coin back in his front pocket. His lips curved up as the fire in the grate whooshed, blazing green, and Hermione spun out.

Her hair smothered in soot, her face wan and tired, she looked like hell. Underneath was a pretty face—quite pretty once you knew her—an eidetic memory, and a control freak sign as large as London.

Charlie grinned at Bill quickly and stood. He walked over to where she stood, dusting the soot off her hair, and gave a hand with the ash clinging to her shoulders. "Here, let me help with that," he told her when she jumped. She immediately stilled, smiling at him over her shoulder.

"Thanks," she said. "It's nice seeing you every day."

"Oh, is it?" His looked behind them to gloat at Bill, but Bill entered his line of sight on the other side, shoulder to shoulder with Charlie and tugging Hermione's cloak off her shoulders. "What's this?" Bill asked, mock shocked. "You're breaking my heart now, Hermione."

I gave you first try, his eyes laughingly said.

"Cheater," Charlie muttered.

"What's that, Charlie?" Bill said, throwing her robes toward the stand, which reached out and caught them. "Giving her to me? Okay."

"Maybe if you lived closer to home, Bill," she said, teasing him with Mum's favourite complaint. She looked between them, turning fully around, her eyes narrowed inquisitively. "What is this? What do you two want?"

Charlie let Bill lead on that one. With all the images running through Charlie's head, she wouldn't want him to be explicit.

"What makes you think we want anything?"

"Please." She started to turn away, toward the kitchen, only pausing to give them a sardonic eyebrow raise. "I was in the same House with the twins. I know Weasley hijinks."

Charlie reached out and rubbed a smear of soot off her cheek. He let his finger linger. Too surprised to say or do anything, she blinked those big brown eyes up at him, confusion and shock swirling there, like she was seeing him for the first time. He dropped his hand, holding her gaze. "No hijinks."

He saw her throat bob and she stepped back, stuttering. Charlie knew mating habits. He could spot the signs of a female dragon choosing her mate from a mile away. Dilated eyes, increased breathing, subtle pheromone increase his human noise couldn't detect.

Bill might as well give up now.

"Hermione? Is that you? Oh, you're early, dear."

"Ahem. Yes." Hermione coughed, shaking her head. She widened her eyes like she had seen a meteor fall out of the sky before she turned and followed Mum into the kitchen. She looked back once, face twisted in confusion, before she shook her head and disappeared through the arch.

Bill snorted.

"Good going."


Bill waited barely an hour before he was after her again. This time right under everyone's noses, the egotistic prat. Charlie hadn't been watching for it, not at all, he just knew his brother and, and you know who cared if he couldn't stop thinking about that purple monstrosity in Hermione's dresser and, you know, was now sensitive to her every movement.

He rethought that last part. Corrected it. He was now fucking magnetized to her presence. So he wasn’t surprised that when she left the sitting room to get a glass of milk before retuning to her book on regulations of Class A Non-Tradable Goods, the hair on Charlie's arms rose up and did a jig. When Bill sidled out after, abandoning the book he had been pretending to read—like Bill could read—all the hair on his body reacted.

Okay, he was a little narked.

Bill had her cornered against the counter. Her face was pale and her eyes blinking a mile a minute. The jug of milk sat forgotten beside them. Bill's fingers were meaty sausages compared to her knut's edge wrist.

Charlie pretended not to see her dilated eyes or hear her quick breaths.


"Miss me?"

"Uhm"—Hermione looked for an escape hatch, but the hallway between their bedrooms was empty and Mum's voice floated in from downstairs, too far away to hear the words—"what are you talking about, Charlie?" She went for innocence instead.

"Uh huh," Charlie said and brushed her hair off her forehead. "Y'know, me and Bill, we've been thinking."

"Th-that's a new one," she said, looking at his hand touching her as if it had just sprouted out of his chest. He withdrew it. She relaxed as if he'd thrown away the dungbomb he had just ignited. "I was just getting my jacket. I'm going to the pond."

"Write some letters, watch the sunset," Charlie summarized. The smile that shone on her face, briefly, made him stifle his own. Her eyes flicked behind him. "You don't want to know what we've been thinking?" He brushed a piece of lint off her shoulder.

She caught his wrist. Her eyes were big, confused moons, shining as if he told her this was one big joke she would fall out of the sky. He saw her throat contract. "What's going on, Charlie?"

"No hijinks," Charlie repeated. Her cheeks began to flush; he could see the pulse in her throat accelerate. "Think it over, would you?"

Charlie didn't wait for her to reply. He loosed his wrist from her grasp, gently, and turned around and walked to his room at the end of the hall. Bill backed away from the door as he opened it, and stepped back as he closed it.

Charlie held his hand out and Bill reached and they wiggled their fingers together.

"Didn't think you had it in you little brother," Bill said, grinning.

"You're not the only Weasley full of mystery."

He snorted and flopped onto his bed across from Charlie's. "Not the only one full of shit either."


Charlie didn't know why he woke up. In fact, usually waking up to something different at camp than he'd fallen asleep to usually meant bad. As in terrorizing villages and dead virgins and slags alike. Being home didn't mean his subconscious stopped cataloging his surroundings while he slept. So he did know what woke him up. He just didn't want to acknowledge it when his dream of a strawberry field and Hermione with the whipped cream had just gotten to the dirty parts.

The lamp was on. Charlie blinked, sitting up on his elbow, cursing the general existence of lamps—and stopped.

Hermione kept twisting her nightgown in her hands. He could see her nipples through the thin fabric, the lines her knickers made through the cotton, the individual tooth marks dug into her bottom lip.

"Oh fuck me," he said.

Beside his bed, Hermione gave him a wary, disbelieving look. Behind her he could see the clump of blankets making up his brother rising with Bill's breathing. Charlie opened his mouth.

Hermione opened hers first.

"I want—" She swallowed, looked down, and kept twisting her nightgown. A few seconds, an hour, Charlie had never been so confused in his life, confused, terrified, brimming with please please please.

Hermione dropped her nightgown. She grabbed the sides and pulled it over her head.

Prayer worked.

The bed squeaked as she put her knee on it. She pushed herself up and over; he groaned when her cotton knickers slid along his pants, teasing his hard and harder cock.

"Shh." She put a finger over his mouth, her eyes like an Ironbelly bent on devouring her puny prey. Her thumb slid along his lips, across his cheeks, through the shadow that was more a bush since he hadn't shaved since morning. He felt the shake in her hand the most.

He grabbed her wrist and brought her palm to his mouth where he kissed it. She blinked; the shine in her eyes washed away. He let go of her hand, his voice rough with sleep, unrecognizable as he said, "C'mere."

She did, and her mouth tasted like old toothpaste and impatience, her back arching under his hands, nipples running across his chest like a mayfly across a pond, her cunt warm as heat off a Ridgeback's underbelly against his cock, through his pants. He found his feet digging into the mattress, pushing off, lifting his hips toward her. Intent on more. Centimeters away and he said please, please into her mouth.

She pulled her head back, puffing tiny breaths against his bottom lip. His hands slipped over her arse, smooth cotton versus smooth skin and he aimed for the smooth skin. He pushed her hips into his. She was petite, he could move her however he wanted, grind her onto his cock, sending her gasping, sending lightning explosions through his veins. Fuck.

Her knickers wouldn't go far enough to the side. He swore, fuck fuck fuck, and her snicker against his neck didn't help.

"Think this is a laughing matter, do you?" he growled, pulling her until he could reach her smiling mouth again. His other hand slid along her side, dropped to the bed, toward the edge where he stuck his wand between the mattress and the wall. He grabbed it by the tip and pulled. His lips keeping hers busy—her teeth leaving impressions in him—he pointed his wand.

But before he could think the spell, she gave a high pitched squeak and jerked upright. That was when he saw her naked quim.

"Mind if I cut in?" Bill asked. Hermione jumped again—really going to have to stop that, considering where she sat—and they looked over to Bill's bed, where he was stretched out on his side, fisting his cock in his huge, freckled hand, his wand next to his pants on the floor.

Charlie looked back up at Hermione. This was it. When she ran screaming out the door and he was banned from all of England. But she stared, and kept staring, her mouth open and her breaths so quiet he wasn't sure if she wasn't holding her breath. He followed her gaze back to Bill and Charlie could feel the heat he emanated across the room. He was sure Hermione felt it, and liked it, and wanted to feel it some more.

Oh, fuck.

"You better fucking get over here then," he said, teeth gritted. His fingers dug into her hips, held her there, held him on the edge but not over, not yet.

Bill got up slow, and walked to the bed even slower, like the time in the night wasn't running away as he fucking strutted across the room.

He got between Charlie's legs and plastered himself to Hermione's back, moving her hair away to whisper things like gorgeous, and smelled you across the room, and we'll make you sore tomorrow against her neck. Her stomach trembled as his hand slid down it, and then Bill smirked at Charlie and Charlie laughed, his head dropping to the pillow. The mattress shifted with movement, as Bill put his hand on Hermione's back and pushed her down on top of him. Her hands landed to either side of his head, her hair falling to either side of his face. Strands tickled his shoulders. Her eyes were closed, her brows furrowed as her breath shivered out of her mouth. Whatever Bill was doing—and he knew, by the slick, wet sounds, her body rocking with the wake—dashed all thoughts out of her head. He imagined Bill's fingers, being Bill's fingers, riding the crest of that sweet quim, the walls of her cunt sucking, pulling him deeper, tightening around him.

He couldn't stand it anymore. Fuck turns. He reached between their bodies, found Bill's fingers and her warm, hot, burning cunt and he could hear Bill's smirk. Hermione dropped lower, mouth by Charlie's ear making tiny gasping sounds that made his hips rock on their own, but damn she was too far away. Charlie's fingers rubbed, Bill's swirled, and Hermione crashed in between them.

Pain seared his shoulder, but he'd had worse than her teeth, that was for sure. He could feel her heart against his, beating like a terrified rabbit about to be thrown to the hatchlings.

"Flip for it, little brother?" he heard Bill say. Hermione clenched around his fingers, exactly as Bill wanted. She pulsed around him and Charlie groaned, hating what he'd say next.


Another unseen smile, a leer mingled in it. Then Hermione straightened up, guided by Bill, and Charlie watched as Bill's hands on her hips dragged her back til the end of the bed. The mattress shifting, Charlie sat up, palming his cock through his pants, wet fingers leaving a damp spot, as he watched Bill arrange her on the mattress, body flat, legs to either side of his, feet on the floor, her allowing it patiently, with only a murmur. The blanket was balled up and thrown to the side. Bill stood behind her on the floor, utterly entranced with her back, tracing her spine. Maybe cataloging the differences, freckled and clear. Hermione turned her head to the side, watching Bill in an old mirror out of Percy's room that Bill had put in the corner when he came back.

"Gotta be quiet, luv," Bill murmured. He gathered her hair in his fist and pulled it to the side, putting his lips in its place by her ear, body bent over her back. He jerked his hand, sending her head flying up, and the lamp was too far away for him to clearly see her eyes as she stared into Bill's face. Dark. Bill flicked her nose affectionately, his manner belied by his next words.

"Don't think Mum'd want to hear you scream my name."

Charlie swallowed, sure Mum had heard that since it was loud and clear over the rushing blood in his veins. He scooted backward, careful not to disturb the mattress or—Bill hunched and shoved, the muscles in his back like rocks, and Hermione opened her mouth soundlessly, pain, shock, and lust painting her face like a sunrise.

Then Bill pulled back, his mouth and teeth dragging over her shoulder, and he pushed—mouth open, panting, his eyes stuck on Hermione with a sticking charm—and skin slapping skin, Bill's furious, low voice, "Wanted this for fucking ever, haven't you? Want her coming in here, see what a dirty fucking whore you are, fucking her sons right across the hall, see you moan for it, fucking dripping for it," and Hermione's moans, hums in the back of her throat, tiny little jerking things because she can't stop watching Bill in the mirror.

Charlie couldn't pull off his pants fast enough.

Bill saw, eyes catching his and then flicking away, and if he hadn't been focused on fucking Hermione, Charlie knew he would've smirked. He grabbed his cock anyway, squeezing—Merlin she sounded wet—trying to force some distance into his acute arousal before he exploded from just fucking watching.

The door wasn't even locked, and Charlie didn't even fucking care. He wanted Hermione, wanted to replace that stupid cock in her dresser drawer with his own, make her forget about toys when he was real and fuck her so hard it wiped that smirk off Bill's face. He wanted to stick his cock in right next to Bill's, see if that got her moaning—he squeezed hard, focus focus focus, straining and trying not to, he couldn't take his eyes off them, fuck fuck fuck.

Colours swirled around his vision, pain radiating from his cock, but not enough to hold him back. His hips arched into the air, and he moaned helplessly.

Bill pulled Hermione's head back again, forcing her face toward Charlie as his hips stilled and the vicious slap of skin stopped. Her eyes caught his and she was fucking half delirious and out of her mind with lust. She could've seen a rhinoceros in front of her and given it the same look. Bill yanked her hair again when she started to droop back to the bed, and Hermione blinked, licking her lips. As she did clarity came back to her face. Only made it worse when her eyes traveled over his body, a caress over his stomach, a moan when his hand started moving, up and down, and her unable to take her eyes off it. At least they were both fucked.

"You see that?" Bill whispered. His tongue dragged across her neck, his eyes on Charlie like too bad you didn't go first, huh? Hermione nodded. His scars were burning red, sharp slashes across his face—no wonder fucking Fleur left, Charlie realized, it wasn't only red meat Bill had a fetish for. The growl in his voice when he next spoke just confirmed it. "For someone who loves the sound of your own voice, you're silent now? Answer me."

"Y-yes," she whispered. Bill's hips pulled back, slow, and came forward just as slow, a reward that made Hermione moan low.

"You want to suck him off, don't you?" Bill whispered, nipping at her neck behind her ear. "You want his come in your mouth and mine inside you. Want to drip in it. Don't you?"

Her cheeks flushed, but she held Charlie's eyes as she nodded. "Yes."

Bill's face relaxed, pleased. "Go."

They both watched her crawl up the bed, with different viewpoints, and each view a good one. Hermione crawled straight into Charlie's lap and he wrapped his arm around her as she kissed him, nice and gentle, that little hum back in her throat. Her cunt rubbed against his cock and he froze, fingers tangled in her hair while his control left for Timbuktu. But she pulled back, and settled in front of him. Her eyes hot, holding his, as she slid her mouth over his cock, just as nice and gentle and, "Oh fucking god."

He dropped his head back, thumping it against the headboard—everyone paused where they were, Bill halfway from locking the door, Hermione's lips teasing the tip of his cock, Charlie staring at the ceiling. But a few seconds silence and Hermione engulfed him again, Bill grinned and resumed walking, and Charlie released a sigh of relief that turned into a groan.

"You be quiet too." Bill crawled up the bed behind Hermione, already entranced with her arse and back again by the time Charlie managed his faculties enough to open his eyes.

It didn't last long. He hadn't thought it would. Hermione's tongue flicked across the head of his cock like a dragon tasting its flames, and that was all he was, just flames and helpless, directionless, spinning blindly in the methane as her hand wrapped hold of him and gave him another what for. Her teeth skimmed his cock going down, and he swore, and then she fucking swallowed and went lower. He released his lip and it burned white hot, blood rushing into it, as he looked down at her—and Bill's hand at the base of her neck, guiding her, up and down, up and down, and Bill's eyes as he rocked into her a starving wolf's.

Hermione did something with her mouth, some kind of suction, sucking thing that made his head spin like someone had just cast a dozen Cheering Charms on him at once, or all the way back to his first hummer, Alicia Gordon and her mouth like a niffler. He arched, cold lockers at his back, back sticking to the headboard, same coloured hair in his lap though, same hair. Fuck. When a woman sends you back in time through a blow job, you knew you were in trouble.

She was all kinds of trouble, and just then she moaned around him, some dirty fucking sound he'd be taking to the bank, and it reverberated up his torso, through his spine, and dribbled out his ears.

She let his cock slip out of her mouth and he groaned. Knew he wouldn't last long.

"Knew you wouldn't last long," Bill gasped.

He didn't open his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Tell me when you can Stun a dragon, fuckwit."

Bill ignored him. Typical. Then again, even high off Hermione's mouth—and Hermione's tongue and Hermione's teeth—if he were Bill he would ignore him too. If her mouth was like that, the fuck her cunt would feel like. He wanted to do it anyway, even though most of him knew that it would be like fucking a knife's edge. He wanted it, always wanted the things Bill had. And Bill just fucked her harder, a sharp, pained grin slashed across his mouth. The only noises were her quick pants, the slick sound of him, over and over, and the rasp of her nails on cotton. Her hair tickled his thighs, and Charlie put his hands around her jaw and forced her head up, to see into her eyes.

Delirious. Fucking beautiful.

He ran his thumb along her jaw. "You like that better than anything, don't you? Better than little Ron and that cold cock hidden in your towels. Wager this is what you'll think about from now on, nothing's ever gonna be good enough now. Next time, we'll invite the twins. Take turns stretching you apart."

She uttered a quick gasp, her tongue laving his thumb. He pulled it from between her lips, wiped it across her cheek, watching the sticky smear form. Next time, he'd fuck her first, fuck her until all she could do was cross her eyes at Bill. He licked his lips.

"Bet you're imagining it now," he murmured, brushing her cheek again and again until all the wetness was gone. He wasn't even listening to the words coming out of his mouth, entranced by the way her focus on him went in and out, matching each time Bill's hips snapped forward. "Bet you're wondering how their cocks would taste. What noises they make when they come."

"Fuck," Bill—gasped, groaned, growled.

Hermione dropped her head, pulling out of Charlie's hand, moaning like something broken and put back together again. She shifted one hand under her and he saw her shoulder rolling with her hips, Bill's nails leaving crescent marks in her hips and his hair dragging across her back as he hunched and swore.

They collapsed, Hermione to the side and Bill following, grunting when the wall scraped his back. The bed was big enough for two people maximum. Charlie grunted and scooted over to let them have more room. He leaned his head against the edge of the headboard, cutting into the back of his skull. The pain kept him in the room, Hermione's tiny fingers curled against his thigh, Bill's foot kicking his idly.

He could feel Hermione's smile against his hip. Charlie wondered how long until she told him she wanted the twins.

His lips curved.

He couldn't wait.