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Charlie’s flat is a travesty.
An utterly ridiculous explosion of colorful toys are strewn about the room. Rainbows are painted in marker on the walls, the curtains, the white end tables. White! Who has white end tables and markers in the same room with a toddler?
Hermione holds back a laugh as Charlie’s pleading blue eyes meet hers.
“It isn’t funny, Hermione,” he practically whines, and she finally loses it in a fit of giggles.
Charlie’s bottom lip pops out, but before he can fully pout, a chubby little hand wraps around it and yanks down. “Daaaaa. Pffffffthhh.”
Howling in pain, Charlie gently removes the hand from his lip, now shiny and swollen, and cuddles the little monster tightly.
Hermione laughs harder, trying to stifle the noise behind her hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re right, it’s—it’s not funny.”
He’s quirking a solitary ginger brow in her direction, just a breath away from saying something snarky. But then the toddler throws his head back and nearly tumbles from his arms, giggling the whole time with a high pitched cackle.
“Gideon, no.” Charlie holds him close. His bare chest heaves and neck flushes, so clearly concerned he’d nearly dropped the boy.
Gideon wails. Loud and piercing.
Hermione’s laughter stops abruptly. She steps closer to Charlie with her hands outstretched. “You need a break,” she whispers as he reluctantly turns the child over to her. “Go take a shower—I’ve got him. Don’t I, Gideon? I’ve got you.”
She shushes him gently and rocks him on the spot as he places his head on her shoulder.
Kissing his son’s head, Charlie smiles at Hermione. “You’re a gem, truly.”
“It’s no trouble. Go before he changes his mind.”
Her reassuring grin chases Charlie out of the small living room and down a short hallway. As soon as he’s out of sight, Hermione takes a deep breath and sits on the edge of the threadbare sofa. It’s not that she isn’t a child person, it’s just—she never really spent a lot of time around them. Truly, she’s never known what to do with them. Baby’s aren’t the most cerebral of creatures; they don’t want to listen to Gamp’s Laws or the twelve uses of dragon’s blood.
She can’t logic her way to a baby’s heart the way she’s done with everyone else in her life.
Still, she has to try. Ever since Gideon’s mother left, Charlie’s been on his own. Sure, Molly had offered her help, and his various siblings had tried to reason with him about refusing their help. But, Charlie’s a proud bloke—he doesn’t want to put anyone out.
Enter Hermione, who pretends she likes dragons more than she does, and that she needs his expertise for a new, fictitious bill she’s working on. While they talk, she tends to him—forcing him to shower, to take a walk, to take a breath. And she… well, at least Gideon doesn’t wail every time she tries to talk to him anymore.
When Charlie’s done showering, he doesn’t waste any time checking on them. He stands at the end of the hallway with sodden hair in spirals of ginger and a loose turquoise towel around his hips. There’s a noticeable change to his demeanor now; he’s far more relaxed as he leans against the wall and watches Hermione playing with his son.
“Thank you,” he says, nodding at the toddler who’s chewing on the corner of a large plastic dragon.
She stands, straightening her jumper. “It’s no problem. It looked like you needed a break.”
Charlie doesn’t respond, but the tick of his jaw says enough.
She ignores the fact that Charlie’s body is on display; the freckles that kiss his shoulders and the hard planes of his chest. She pretends there’s not just a towel protecting his modesty—if he has any to speak of; she’s not convinced he does. Though her throat is dry and her eyes ache from fixing them solely on his, Hermione stands in front of him with her hands on her hips.
“Honestly, Charlie. We all need a break sometime. Harry and Ginny always take Molly up on her offers to mind their children. And Ron and Millicent took a whole week away a few months ago.”
Scoffing, Charlie flicks his long hair out of his face. “It’s fine when they do it. No one thinks it’s because they can’t handle it.”
“No one thinks you can’t handle it,” she says, frowning at the way his eyes harden. “They just want to be here for you. And for Gideon.”
“They don’t need to be.” Charlie shifts his weight from one foot to the other, nearly dropping his hold on the towel in the process.
She swallows and crosses her arms. “No, they don’t, but they want to be.”
As he shakes his head, droplets of water drip down his bare chest. “Right, well, cheers for watching Gideon. I know it’s hard to believe, but I can handle it from here.”
“I know you can,” Hermione says, lifting her chin. “And I certainly don’t want to overstay my welcome, but why don’t I make some tea while you get dressed? Or were you planning on making it Naked Sunday?”
Her cheek earns the briefest flash of a lopsided smile. “Go on then. Tea for two, yeah?”
By the time Hermione has tea served, Charlie—fully clothed in a light jumper and jeans—sits at the small kitchen table and steals sneaky glances at his son who’s fast asleep in the next room. The silence is both welcome and heavy; though Gideon is no longer screeching, she can practically hear Charlie preparing to give her a firm telling off for meddling. He sips his tea, despite that it’s still scolding hot, and flicks his gaze to hers.
When he speaks, the gentleness in his voice surprises her. “I don’t want you to think that I need to be taken care of.” He pauses and rests his elbows on the table. “But despite getting arsey about the help, I liked having you here today. Seeing you with Gideon. He’s really taken a shine to you.”
“Took him long enough,” Hermione says with a light laugh. “Just like his father.”
Charlie grimaces, but his eyes blaze with an earnestness the Weasleys seem to have trademarked. “I’ve always taken a shine to you, Hermione. It’s just never been quite appropriate—you did date my favorite brother for a year.”
Hermione scoffs in mock outrage, placing her hand over her heart as she pulls a shocked face. “Charlie Weasley, you’re not meant to have a favorite brother. What would Percy say?”
He barks a laugh, gravelly and deep. “Something pedantic and trite, no doubt.”
They share an easy smile, and silence settles in once again as they finish up their tea. Something in Charlie’s voice had niggled its way into her thoughts, though. He’s always taken a shine to her—an inappropriate one at that. Hermione isn’t fool enough to pretend she hasn’t always found Charlie attractive. And clever. And hilarious. And charming. She just never thought he’d see her as anything other than Ron’s friend, then girlfriend, then ex.
She rests her chin in her hand and taps a finger against her cheek, choosing her words with extreme care. “Ron and Millicent are the perfect match. He and I—we never really had much in common except for our love of Harry.”
“Mmhmm.”
“What I’m saying is that I don’t believe it to be inappropriate that you’ve… taken a shine.” Hermione refuses to drop his gaze, and bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from over explaining.
Charlie’s eyes burn bright, and his lips lift at the corner. “And if I have, what would that mean for us?”
Us. Giddiness zips along Hermione’s spine, and she’s unable to sit still. She reaches for the tea at the same time Charlie pushes his mug towards her. Their fingers graze and her cheeks heat. When she turns from the table, she closes her eyes to try and gain some semblance of control over her sudden twitchiness.
Hermione sets the mugs in the sink and rests her hands against the edge of the counter. Before she can turn around, she feels Charlie’s body behind her—not touching, but his nearness and the heat he exudes is comforting.
Charlie’s voice is low just above her ear. “Have you taken a shine to me, Hermione?”
She mumbles something at the sink, which swallows the sound.
His hand rests on her hip, gently as though giving her the chance to say no or tell him off. When she doesn’t, he encourages her to spin around so they’re face-to-chest. With a light finger to her chin, Charlie lifts it and catches her eyes, bowing ever so slightly so she doesn’t have to crane her neck.
“Say again?” he asks, lips barely moving over the words.
If she doesn’t say it now, she’ll never say it. Hermione steels her nerves and lifts her chin further. Their lips so close they’re nearly touching.
“Yes,” she breathes more than says. “I’ve taken a shine to you—and your son—Charlie Weasley.”
Charlie closes the scant space between them and wraps his arms around her waist. He growls into the kiss as his lips cover hers. Hermione’s fingers curl into the soft cotton his shirt, and she can feel the hard planes of his chest beneath her fingertips, and moans into the kiss.
A sudden wail forced them apart. Gideon’s awake and screeching. Charlie unwraps himself from her gently, and points a finger at her as he moves away.
“To be continued.”
She watches his broad back as he hurries off towards his son, and falls back against the counter with her hand covering her mouth.
Maybe if she’s lucky, she can convince Charlie that Naked Sunday isn’t such a bad idea after all.