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Perhaps it was because he had spent nearly his entire twenties based in Romania that he had developed a spade of patience when dealing with his mother.
After all, he had a reputation in the family as being the calm, cool, collected sibling. He could always be relied on to lend a patient ear when inevitably someone needed to vent about Molly bulldozing boundaries.
But the patience he had managed to store up quickly evaporated now that he had officially called the United Kingdom home again.
The opportunity to work at the Welsh Dragon Reservation cropped up, and Charlie decided it was time to be closer to home. A certain former bushy-haired brunette may have been a massive contributing factor. That remained confidential to all except the witch in question, however.
Which was why…
“Mum, not again,” Charlie groaned as he stumbled into his kitchen early on a Wednesday morning, a few months after he had settled into his new home. Molly stood at the stove, humming a tune as she did a fry-up. “You need to stop breaking through my wards.”
“Oh, hush,” Molly said, ignoring the dirty look her second son shot her. “You can’t blame me for being excited to have you so nearby, Charlie.”
“I’ve been home for six months,” Charlie said, crossing his arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. He refused to sit down and let her think she could get away with this. “My house isn’t an extension of the Burrow.”
“You’re my son,” Molly replied, in that infuriating tone that indicated there was little, if any, room for argument. “And it’s not like you have a wife to take care of you.”
He had a girlfriend, who was currently hiding out in his bedroom and praying to any gods that might hear to sway Molly to leave sooner rather than later, but she didn’t know that. For obvious reasons.
Charlie rolled his eyes. “I can take care of myself, Mum. How do you think I survived on my own in Romania?”
Molly muttered a reply under her breath that he couldn’t quite catch and sent a plate loaded with food to the table with a flick of her wrist.
“Mum seriously, please listen,” he said, taking a deep breath. She knew what he was going to say. He had been repeating it like a broken remembrall ball since the first time she broke in through his wards. “If you do this again, I will reinforce my wards to be even stronger, and I really don’t want to have to do that.”
“Do you need any laundry done?” Molly asked, ignoring him. “I have time today to -”
“MUM.” She paused, eyes narrowing before she pouted. “Go. Home. Please, for the love of Merlin.”
“Fine, fine, I can take a hint,” Molly huffed, heading for the back door that led to his garden. The apparition point was beyond the fence. His floo was purposely not connected. “I’m only trying to make up for all the years you weren’t here for me to fuss over properly….”
If guilt tripping was a sport, Molly Weasley would be a gold medalist.
“Bye Mum,” Charlie said, hurrying her along. “I have work. Don’t break in again. I have confidential work around the house.”
Five minutes after the distinct pop announced his mother’s departure, light hesitant footsteps came down the staircase.
“She’s gone,” Charlie said, pouring coffee into the pair of mugs waiting on the counter. Warm arms wrapped around his waist into a hug.
“Thank god,” Hermione whispered. Whenever she dropped that particular muggle expression, it meant she was truly relieved. “One of these days she’s going to arrive and see something she doesn’t like.”
“At this rate, I think it’s guaranteed to happen, love,” Charlie said, placing his hands on top of Hermione’s arms to keep her in place behind him.
“Well, preferably it happens when I’m not naked,” Hermione replied. “I just know she’ll be conjuring up wedding invitations before I get my knickers back on.”
Charlie squeezed her arms. “I’ll speak to Dad again, see if he can get her to ease up on the drop-in visits.”
“I’m tempted to just announce it at the next Sunday lunch that we’re together,” Hermione sighed. Charlie let go of her arms in order to shift in her hold.
He smoothed a stray wave of her hair behind her ear. “We can if you want, Hermione. I just wanted to selfishly enjoy our time together before the Weasley barrage begins.”
“We’d never know peace again,” Hermione acknowledged. Ginny and Harry were actively being asked when they would start their family, the wedding bells distantly echoing ahead of them. Ginny’s engagement ring was still freshly fitted for her finger, and Molly was already daydreaming of black haired, hazel-eyed grandbabies.
Never mind the fact that Ginny was only 20 and intent on playing professional Quidditch for a few more years before even thinking of setting a wedding date, something Hermione knew very well Harry was happy to go along with.
It didn’t help that Fleur and Bill had Victorie, an adorable two-year-old terror that had Charlie and all her uncles wrapped around her chubby little fingers. Molly crooned loudly how adorable her sons each looked with the blonde angelic toddler in their arms.
“Weasleys make natural fathers!”
“I’m happy to keep this between us a little longer,” Charlie said. “And I’m equally happy to shout from the top of a Welsh Greentail that we’re together.”
Hermione laughed and lightly kissed him. “Is it awful I’m tempted for us to keep it quiet and see if your mother accidentally arrives at an awkward time? Maybe it’ll embarrass her enough to stop.”
“I always suspected you might be into voyeurism,” Charlie raised his eyebrows. “You’re always so vocal when we have the windows open. Especially when you’re on top and doing that hip thing I like so much.”
“Charlie!” She swatted his chest, her cheeks stained pink. His eyes danced mischievously before kissing her deeply. “Charlie,” she broke away a moment later.
It never failed to amaze her how much her blood heated when he kissed her. Which he quickly resumed doing a second later, his arms caging her in against the kitchen counter.
“Breakfast in bed?” Charlie pulled away just enough that his lips ghosted hers. His fingertips were warm as they traveled over her thin tank top.
“I’m going to be late for work,” Hermione said, not moving away. They both knew she could be a no-show at her office in the Ministry, and no one would investigate it. Perks of being a war hero.
“That’s not a no,” Charlie kissed her neck, just below her ear. She sighed happily and tightened her hold on him.
“It’s not a no,” she confirmed, the words giving Charlie the permission he was waiting for. He lifted her effortlessly, his broad shoulders a sturdy frame for her to hold on to as he marched them out of the cottage kitchen and down the short hallway to the staircase.
No one questioned it later at work when she arrived an hour late.
+
Three weeks later, Charlie had Hermione pressed up against the wet shower tiles as he supported her weight when the wards went off.
“Bloody hell,” she moaned, for the wrong reason. Charlie refused to stop, too close to the edge. He could feel Hermione tightening around him.
He picked up the pace, muffling further moans by capturing her mouth with his. Their bodies, wet from the stream of water falling from the shower head, moved easily against each other. Charlie paid extra attention to her breasts, licking each droplet of water, his tongue a hot contrast against the cooling water.
They had lost track of time in the shower, the aging boiler system beginning to lose heat the only sign it had been longer than half an hour.
The wards went off again, a bit more obnoxious this time.
There was little hope to pretend whoever this visitor was would think he wasn’t in. The cottage he lived in on the reserve, charming as it was, didn’t have a lot of rooms. There were exactly two bathrooms, and the one with the shower was off the upstairs corridor. It could be heard running from the base of the stairs unless the bathroom was charmed to be silenced.
Considering he lived alone (officially) and Hermione was his only consistent guest, neither thought to cast the spell.
They would now.
“Charlie,” Hermione whimpered, her usual bouncing voice restrained.
“Nearly there,” Charlie whispered, sucking the pulse point on her neck. She whimpered again, tightening harder. “Let go for me, love.”
It took only two more thrusts.
Charlie followed her on the third, just as the wards began to flicker again. Hermione twisted the shower off when he set her down and rinsed one final side. Silently, they both toweled off.
Charlie strode out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, wand tucked behind his ear as he descended the stairs as Hermione darted into the master bedroom.
He already knew who would be in his kitchen.
And sure, enough -
“Mum,” Charlie said, crossing his arms at the doorway. Molly was at the table, enjoying a cup of tea that she had taken the liberty to make.
“Oh, Charlie!” She looked up eagerly before clocking her second eldest in his almost naked glory. She averted her eyes. “Why are you walking around in just a towel!”
He rolled his eyes. “Because it’s my house. Mum, you shouldn’t be here.” He walked further into the kitchen to grab a clean glass from the cabinet. For a moment, only the sound of the tap filled the room’s silence.
“I came to drop off fresh herbs from the garden,” Molly said, waving her wand over the bag that rested on one of the kitchen chairs. Several bundles flew toward the counter, landing in neat stacks.
Charlie took a sip of his water. Patience. He needed patience.
“That’s very kind of you, thanks, Mum. But surely this could have waited until Sunday roast?”
She ignored his question. “I had a lovely afternoon tea at Lucilla Wiltrout’s yesterday,” she said.
Merlin, please no.
“You went to Hogwarts with her daughter, Tarisa? She was in the year below you. Hufflepuff,” she prompted.
He vaguely recalled a wheat-blonde girl, but beyond that no other distinguishing features came to mind with the name other than the fact he was pretty sure she had dated a house mate of his.
“Oh, I’m sure you remember her, she’s quite a beauty! She’s a healer now in Belfast, and Lucilla was telling me how desperate she is to get her only daughter settled! But, Rose Pettifer was there too, and her daughter Daisy is closer in Bristol, which is perfectly convenient, though Lucilla thinks she can convince Tarisa to come back for just a date- ”
“Mum,” Charlie sighed. “Please tell me you’re not auctioning dates off with me to your friends with daughters.”
“I would never!”
He set down the glass, now empty, on the kitchen counter. “It sounds like you are meddling.”
“I only want you to be happy, Charlie! Bill is happy with Fleur and Victorie, George is married, and you know they’ll be announcing another grandchild for your father and I sooner rather than later! Ginny has Harry, Percy is seeing Audrey…”
“Mum, I understand you’re coming from a place of love, but I assure you I don’t need your help in this particular department,” Charlie said, wondering once more if they should just tell her already.
Molly scoffed. “Witches may be keeping your bed warm, Charlie, but a wife will keep your cauldron full and blazing with joy!”
Merlin, that was beyond cringe.
“Mum, for the love of Morgana, please stop parroting antiquated Witch Weekly advice. Besides, it’s none of your business if I have someone I spend the evenings with.” He really did not want to elaborate any further.
“But Charlie, it must be terribly lonely out here on the reserve! Any decent witch would want to have a proper date, not a quick drink down at your local pub with the rest of dragon tamers.”
“The Fire Welder is a fine, historic institute,” Charlie replied. “They serve excellent food.”
“Charlie, any respectable witch worth taking home is highly unlikely to be down at the local! How on earth are you going to find a wife if you don’t get off this reserve more?”
“I get by just fine,” Charlie said, praying that this would be the morning a dragon decided to use his roof as a landing pad.
“Charlie,” Molly sighed, exasperated. “Every wizard needs a good witch by his side!”
He rubbed his face with the palm of his hand. He had a very fine witch indeed. A brilliant witch, in fact! Undoubtedly, said witch was likely eavesdropping on this conversation from her hiding spot upstairs.
“Mum, you really don’t need to worry about that,” he said. “Now, kindly stop trying to set me up with your friends’ daughters. I’m not interested.” He gestured down at his half-naked body, drawing his mother’s attention to the dozen scars snaking across his chest and arms visible between numerous tattoos. Some were dragon themed, like the Hebredian Black on his lower left forearm and the outline of dragon wings on his shoulder blade. He also had a fragment of the Romanian Longhorn’s migration route with a miniature dragon that was charmed to move over it according to the lunar calendar.
But it wasn’t all dragon-themed. Protective runes were on his chest, above his heart. A runic style W was tattooed in red and gold ink, magically charmed to never fade, on his right bicep. He had gotten that one on a night out with Bill shortly before he left for Romania. A cheeky niffler perched on the left ankle. A snitch flew from his left hip up and around his back to his right shoulder.
“Besides, I highly doubt your friends would approve of these,” he said. “I know you don’t.”
Molly sighed. “I’m not so senile and out of touch that I’m not aware their daughters would like them. Now, shall I arrange a date with Tarisa? Or Daisy? Perhaps both so you can decide who you like best? Discreetly, of course.”
“Merlin’s beard, Mum,” Charlie was so done with this conversation. “Neither. Now, I need to get ready for my day out on the reserve. I’m observing the Common Welsh Green nesting area south of here, and it’s an hour by broom to get there.”
“Oh, you’re so bloody stubborn!” Molly stood up, recognizing at last that this was a losing battle today. “Fine, I won’t arrange a date with either girl.” She walked to the kitchen door that led out to the garden. “Can I expect you at Sunday dinner this weekend?”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
His mother smiled. “Wonderful, a full house then. All my children will be home.” She didn’t say it, but Charlie knew she was also including Harry and Hermione there.
“BYE Mum,” he said, watching to make sure she walked all the way down the garden path and crossed over the wards to the apparition point. He stayed planted there until she disappeared with a crack.
Only then did he close the door.
Hermione, dressed for the day in muggle jeans and a pretty blue sweater, stood at the counter, waiting for the stove top kettle to heat up for her morning tea. Her hair was tied back into a braid.
“So, I’m thinking perhaps we need to tell your mum soon about us,” Hermione began, leveling Charlie with a firm look. “Before you get auctioned off at the altar.”
“I’m only going to the altar if you’re the witch meeting me there,” Charlie said; a blush spread across her cheeks in response. “If of course, you want to.”
“Charlie Weasley, is that a proposal?” Hermione asked. They had never discussed marriage, not really. But they had talked about their future. She practically lived with him these days. Her flat in London had less books now than his. Crookshanks preferred Charlie’s cottage to her small one-bedroom; the old cat liked to sit at the windows and catch glimpses of the occasional dragon flying overhead.
It was practically a miracle Molly hadn’t caught sight of Crooks, Hermione had thought more than once. But the grumpy cat had never liked the majority of the Weasleys, perhaps traumatized by its time spent with them during her long absence hunting Horcruxes. The only who he seemed to tolerate was Charlie, and that simply meant he didn’t hiss at him at feeding times.
“I have a plan that is much more romantic than asking half-starkers in the kitchen,” Charlie said with a teasing smile. “But we can also be unofficially, officially, engaged if you want to be.”
Hermione smiled, moving the kettle from the burner as it began to whistle. Once she set it down, she whirled around and practically jumped into his arms. His old Quidditch reflexes were still in working order as he caught her easily.
“I don’t want to know when,” she said, kissing him. “But yes. I would love to be unofficially, officially engaged with you Charlie. Do we want to wait until we’re more on the official side before we tell your family?”
Charlie pressed his forehead against her. “Hmm, up to you love. They’ll want to see a ring.”
“I don’t mind that,” Hermione replied. She could feel his heart beating beneath his chest when she placed her hand gently there, tracing the outline of one of the runes on his chest.
“I’d like you to have a ring,” Charlie admitted, his eyes drifting closed. “Let’s just hold off a little longer if we can, so I can brag to my brothers that I proposed the most romantically out of them all so far.”
Hermione giggled. “The lot of you are so competitive.”
He took her hand, stilling and lifting it to press a chaste kiss to her ring finger. “If you ask me, it’s an easy competition. Especially when you’re the witch I’ll get to call my wife. You do realize my mum will place you on a pedestal for being the witch to tame me?”
“You mean after she gets over the sordid shock of being kept out of this secret,” Hermione said. “I’m well aware. My redemption arc is truly novel. From Harry heartbreaker to Weasley heart tamer.”
Charlie laughed. He remembered vaguely the irate terror his mother had been during the Triwizard Tournament toward Hermione because she swallowed Skeeter’s gossip up.
“You’ll get the biggest Easter egg from now on,” he teased. “Now, speaking of eggs, I really do need to check in on the Common Welsh Green.” He pressed a final kiss to her ring finger before releasing her. “It’s your day off, do you want to come with me?”
“I always want to come with you,” Hermione replied innocently, her warm eyes sparkling mischievously in contrast. “I’ll help you get ready!” She ran out of the kitchen in the direction of the stairs, laughing.
“Oi!”
+
Sunday arrived without further wards being broken by his mother. He woke up with Hermione firmly wedged into his side, her curls wildly tumbling onto his chest from where her head perched. They would be arriving separately to the Burrow, as usual. Their Sunday mornings together were often started early in order to savor their alone time before getting entrenched in the familiar madness of the Burrow.
“Morning,” Charlie murmured as Hermione stirred. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Charlie,” she said, snuggling further into his side. “What time is it?”
“Not time to get up yet,” Charlie yawned, tightening his hold on her. “What time does the bakery open on Sundays?”
“The Witch’s Whisk?” He detected a smile in her voice. She adored that bakery. They did caramel chocolate brownies, with sea salt on top, that were addicting. “They’re open at ten. Why, picking up pumpkin pie for dessert?”
“Mhmm,” he kissed her nose this time. “Maybe the brownies too. I’ll have to get another bakery good especially for Ron and George, greedy nifflers around food that they are.”
She giggled. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Only if you really want to,” he said. “I know that you appreciate some alone time before going to my folks’ place.”
“That’s true,” she acknowledged. She liked a morning of drinking tea and quiet reading before trading it for boisterous cheer at the Burrow. “Plus you can window shop discreetly too.”
He already had her ring, but she didn’t know that yet. He’d ordered it in one of the top jeweler shops on the continent, wary of making a huge purchase in one of the local shops where word could get out that Charlie Weasley was ring shopping.
He felt rather proud of the ring he had custom made; the band was white-gold, delicately thin but charmed to never break. The diamond came from an ethical source, a second hand shop that melted down or took apart jewelry for repurpose. It too had been charmed, to always sparkle. The anti-dull charms were strong on it.
Two emerald stones hugged the center diamond on either side, the green significant for both of them: green for Wales, the place where their relationship bloomed. Green for the dragons that initially reunited them through their respective jobs. Green too because Hermione admitted that despite it being the Slytherin house color, it was in fact her favorite color as a child and had returned to being so post-war.
Yes. The ring was ready. He just had to wait patiently to propose. He had a plan, after all.
Eventually, the pair got up to start their Sunday.
“I’ll see you there, love,” Charlie said after sharing a quiet breakfast. He gave her a simple, sweet kiss at the ward boundary.
“See you soon,” Hermione murmured against his lips.
Charlie apparated to Diagon Alley a moment later, the main high street quite busy despite the cold air and mucky sleet that recently descended upon London.
The Witch’s Whisk had a line out the door, which Charlie joined. He ordered the brownies for Hermione, the pie for the family, and some adorable snowman biscuits that were charmed with edible glitter that he knew Ron and Victorie alike would adore.
Bakery order in hand, he walked to the Leaky Cauldron to take the public floo network to the Burrow. He steadied himself in the Burrow’s fireplace a moment later, blinking away the temporary dizziness and walking out into the living room.
Ron almost dropped his plate of biscuits, the unfortunate member of the family walking by at that moment.
“Bollocks!”
“Charlie, come help me in the shed,” Arthur appeared at his side before he dusted off the floo powder, startling Ron again. The plate of biscuits landed in a crumbling heap on the floor.
“Uh, hi to you too, Dad,” Charlie said, eyes scanning the living room as Ron grumbled.
Bill and Fleur were already there, evident by a squealing Victorie being tossed into the air by George. Angelina watched with amusement, cup of tea in hand. Before he could say hello to any of them, his father was dragging him by the arm in the direction of the front door, notably in the opposite direction of where they could hear the wireless playing Molly’s favorite vintage music.
Charlie knew better than to ask anything until they were securely inside Arthur’s beloved shed, well out of earshot of the house.
“We have special guests today, son,” Arthur said without preamble before Charlie could say a word. He clocked the emphasis. Oh, Merlin’s balls.
“Dad, she hasn’t,” Charlie groaned. “Which one?”
“The Wiltrouts,” Arthur settled on his worn stool so he could tinker with what looked like a muggle drill. “I warned your mother that it would backfire, but you know how she gets. Now I have to pretend to be interested in Wand Safety. Mr Wiltrout is the head auditor of the Wand Safety department. They mostly just track Ollivander’s merchandise and other foreign wands sold on the market.”
“Yes, that sounds terrible for you,” Charlie darkly said. He thought of Hermione, who would be arriving at the Burrow at any moment. He didn’t have time to warn her. Merlin, this was guaranteed to be painfully awkward. “Mum had already crossed the line, Dad, but now she’s Confringo’d it.”
Arthur sighed. “I warned her this would be going too far. I would have told you ahead of time, but I only found out right before you arrived.”
Molly Weasley, bloody sneak.
“Don’t worry, son, just be polite. You’re able to charm dragons. I’m sure a simple nod and smile will do all the work for you.”
“I’m not interested in charming anyone except my dragons,” Charlie said, watching as his father turned on the drill for a brief moment. Charlie occasionally used Muggle tools when out on the reserve, when magic use had to be minimized for dragon reasons. He had never seen a Muggle drill emit green sparks before.
“Just be polite,” Arthur repeated. The wards of the Burrow hummed like a warm hug around them. “Ah, that’ll be one of the other kids. Go, try and relax before your mother’s nonsense descends upon us.”
Easier said, Charlie silently replied. Fuming, he avoided the kitchen, walking back around to the front of the house and into the living room. He took out the pie and levitated it to the dining room table, placing it neatly in the spot reserved for desert. The cookies he placed on the living room table, and the brownies…
Hermione was sitting on his favorite armchair, chatting animatedly with Ginny and Harry. Her eyes caught him, smiling widely as he walked over with the sacred brownies in hand. Perhaps selfishly, one of his favorite things about keeping their relationship secret was the fact they got to play a little game each time they were at the Burrow.
“Charlie!” Hermione greeted, lighting up as he placed the brownies down on the table beside her.
Ginny darted over to hug him after the brownies were secure. Well, secure as they could be next to Hermione, who was already eyeing them eagerly.
“Hey,” he cheerfully replied, giving Ginny a quick spin around in his arms before setting her back down. “I was just chatting to Dad out in his shed. Are you aware, Gin, of Mum’s latest scheme?”
Ginny’s eyes widened. “Scheme? No, what’s she up to now?”
“Apparently, we have special guests coming today,” Charlie said, his gaze on Hermione. “The Wiltrouts.”
Recognition of that particular surname flashed in Hermione’s eyes, but Ginny and Harry looked puzzled. Hermione bit her lip, but otherwise didn’t outwardly react.
“Who are they?” Ginny asked. She curled back into Harry’s side on the sofa.
“Lucilla Wiltrout is one of Mum’s old schoolmates,” Charlie supplied, taking a seat on the armchair’s ottoman. It was as close as he would dare to get to Hermione in front of the family usually. This time, he was ready to smash the boundaries with a bombarda. “Mum’s trying to set me up with the daughter and ignored my firm ‘no’ when she barged in uninvited earlier this week.”
“Classic Mum,” Ginny shook her head, giving her brother a sympathetic look. “Harry has too many wards for security purposes for her to try that, it’s brilliant. Maybe you need auror-level wards too.”
“I had Bill help me set mine up,” Charlie grumbled. “Maybe I need to start placing the traps Gringotts has for the message to get across.”
“Just post one of your scary dragons out front,” Ginny suggested, half serious.
“I doubt he would get clearance for that,” Harry said. “Please don’t do that, I’d have to report it as misuse of magical creatures,” he continued.
“I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” Hermione said with a straight face, startling Harry into laughter.
“I knew I liked you best,” Charlie said, grinning. He flicked the arch of her foot with his fingers, stirring a little surprised squeal from Hermione. Ginny and Harry watched the exchange, eyebrows raised but neither said anything verbally. Their eyes seemed to be having a conversation.
Charlie didn’t have a chance to dwell on it, because just then -
“Charlie!” Molly came striding into the living room from the kitchen, an apron over her dress robes. “What are you wearing?”
He glanced down at his muggle jeans, the nicest pair he owned that didn’t have stains or rips, and an old, favorite sweater in the same hue of green as a Welsh Common Green. The same hue as the emeralds on the ring he had hidden in a secret pocket, that he carried all the time now.
Hermione had told him that she thought he was handsome earlier in the morning.
“Uh, clothes?”
Molly sighed. “Why aren’t you in dress robes?!”
“Pfft, Mum, when has anyone ever worn dress robes for Sunday dinner?” Ginny intervened. She waved her hand at Harry and herself. They were also in jeans; Ginny wore a Holyhead Harpies sweatshirt and Harry was in one of the Christmas sweaters Molly had knitted for him.
Molly huffed. “Perhaps we should take more care of our appearances as a family. You never know who might show up, after all.”
“Like who, the Wiltrouts?” Charlie replied. “Dad spilled the beans, Mum. I told you I wasn’t interested.”
“You might like her!” Molly said, deciding to not bother covering up the reason for their guests with a flimsy excuse.
“I won’t,” Charlie said confidently, his eyes flickering briefly at Hermione. She gave him a reassuring smile.
“You’re so bloody stubborn,” Molly began, but the wards flashing interrupted her. “Oh, they’re here!”
“Mum’s gone too far,” Charlie said as she headed to the front door to greet her oh so special guests.
“Mum’s always been so far over the line,” Ginny replied, taking Harry’s hand to link with her own. She turned her head to glance out the window toward the front path of the Burrow. Three figures were following Molly from the gate.
The Wiltrouts were exactly how Hermione imagined they might be.
Lucilla Wiltrout reminded Hermione of a less sharp Narcissa Malfoy. She stood only a few inches taller than Molly, in an understated burgundy dress robes with an owl brooch pinned to the right. Her hair, a light blonde that had gone mostly white, was twisted elegantly in a bun and held together by a diamond hairclip.
Her husband, introduced as Bertram, blended in a bit better with the Burrows’ surroundings, in his charcoal trousers and gray sweater that covered a burgundy button-down, matching his wife. Bertram’s hair was completely silver, but his eyebrows were a dark brown. Hermione suspected that his wife came from a pureblood background, but he could be either or.
But her biggest curiosity was the young witch who stood behind them with clasped hands in an emerald dress robe.
Who was the witch Molly was trying to set Charlie up with?
Strands the color of wheat were tied neatly back in an elegant half-knot-top, loose hair framing her fair, heart-shaped face. Her green eyes flicked between them all quickly.
“And Charlie, Bill, you remember their daughter Tarisa. She was a year behind you, Charlie, in Hufflepuff, isn’t that right, dear?”
Tarisa smiled sweetly. “Yes, that’s right, Mrs. Weasley. I doubt your sons remember me much. I never could be found anywhere near the Quidditch stands unless dragged there by my friends on game days involving our house, and naturally, we didn’t share any classes, being in different years.”
Charlie was pretty sure she dated one of his dorm mates, but that was the extent of his knowledge of her.
“Didn’t you date my housemate Crispin Halvespeare?” Charlie asked before he could think better of it. Tarisa’s cheeks brightened apple red, casting a wary look at her mother.
Whoops, he had placed her in an awkward position. Ah, well. Now they were even, considering her being there in the first place was very awkward for him and Hermione!
“Yes, I did,” she said a moment later, clearly deciding being honest was better here. “We were together for a little bit. All very casual, of course. A lot of study dates.”
“Oh, I remember having study dates at Hogwarts fondly,” Molly smiled. “Lucilla and I used to haunt the library, didn’t we? We always had a charming wizard or two willing to reach up the bookshelves for us.”
Lucilla faintly laughed. “Oh, yes. You were batty about that boring Ravenclaw prefect, always insisting we sit at the table over from him in hopes he would notice you.”
“Etheldred Flax,” Molly said with a fond giggle. “He never did notice me, but I still think he would have had I been in his year.”
“And maybe a little less prone to detentions. I swear, you got us in trouble on purpose half the time so you could interact with him!”
“Mum, you didn’t!” Ginny cackled from where she was standing. “Merlin, you always droned on about never getting detentions like the twins when I went off to Hogwarts, and you had a track record yourself!”
“Oi, Mum, you warned Ginny about following in me and Freddie’s footsteps?” George asked, mockingly outraged.
“Oh shush, I never targeted my potions professor, or any professor for that matter or used explosives,” Molly said, glaring at him. “Now, Lucilla, come to the kitchen and have a cuppa before dinner. Arthur, give Bertram a tour of the garden and show him the shed.” Oh gods, here it came. She turned to Charlie. “And Charlie dear, bring Tarisa to the living room? Try to shield her from our brand of chaos.”
Hermione caught Charlie’s eye. She wouldn’t be leaving him alone with Tarisa, not for a second. But she needed to do it in a roundabout way that wouldn’t be too obvious.
When everyone scattered around the Burrow, Hermione strategically opted to sit on the sofa directly beside the armchair. She took the seat closest to it. As always, Charlie plonked himself down a second later.
“Come sit here,” Hermione said to Tarisa, the well-worn sofa cushion empty beside her.
Tarisa hesitated, her eyes taking in the room.
George and Angelina were sprawled out on the living room floor, talking to Ginny beside them, as Ron and Harry set up a round of exploding snap. Fleur and Bill were setting up the dining room table for Molly, chatting quietly as Victorie went to the kitchen to be spoiled with pre-dinner cookies.
Carefully, she sat down on the sofa. Well, perhaps perched was the better way to describe it, Hermione thought, observing the other witch. She sat like someone had slammed a broomstick down her backside, preventing her from slouching.
“This is rather cozy,” Tarisa politely said, an awkward pause later. “Mother’s description of your family home failed to capture that.”
Hermione smiled. “The Burrow is perhaps the coziest house in Devon, if not Britain,” she said warmly. “It’s a little snug with the growing numbers these days, but I know I wouldn’t trade my Sunday afternoons for anywhere else. Right, Charlie?”
Charlie looked at his witch, a grin pulling at his lips, thanks to her sincere words. She absolutely meant every word, despite it being only light, polite chatter.
Tarisa placed her hands in her lap, clasping them tightly as she had earlier. She seemed a little taken aback by Hermione’s easy familiarity with the Burrow.
“You sound quite at home here,” Tarisa said. “I don’t believe I caught this earlier, but how exactly do you know the Weasleys?”
“Oh, ‘Mione’s been part of our family for ages,” Ron piped up from his spot on the floor. He already had soot on his face, having lost the first round of exploding snap. “She barged her way into our carriage on the Hogwarts Express our first year, and she’s been bossing us around ever since!”
“By us, he means him and Harry,” Hermione added, rolling her eyes affectionately. “I went to school with them. Though I think it’s safe to say I can include George, Fred, and Ginny, and even Percy, in that.”
“Damn bloody right, witch! You only gave Freddie and me a sodding hard time our last year with our products!” George immediately started up. “I still can’t decide who was more of a nightmare prefect, you or Perce.”
“Cheers, George,” Percy dryly said, appearing from the dining room with his girlfriend, Audrey, behind him. “We both know the answer is Hermione. I at least turned a blind eye to you and Fred’s mischief occasionally.”
George snorted. “More like you were too caught up locking lips with Penelope Clearwater to notice us!”
Percy turned red, casting a look over his shoulder at Audrey. “George!”
Audrey laughed, amused. “Oh, come off it, love, I remember you two were always together, studying. Bloody hell, it was annoying trying to find a book in the restricted section because the chances were high you were already there!”
Percy turned an even deeper red before he realized that a stranger sat among them. Or, actually, it turned out, an acquaintance.
“Merlin, Tarisa Wiltrout! It’s been ages,” Percy said in his Ministry voice.
Hermione tilted her head at that tone. Interesting.
“Hullo, Percy, Audrey, it’s lovely to see you both again,” Tarisa said politely. “Never thought I would see you outside the Churchill’s Coat without the usual crew around you.”
“You know how it is with that lot,” Percy said, a careful smile on his face. “I must admit, I am rather surprised to see you in my family’s living room. I thought you were in Belfast these days, at St Patrick’s Hospital?”
“Yes, well, our mothers are old school friends, and Mother insisted I come from Belfast this weekend,” Tarisa shrugged delicately. “It’s hard to say no to her when she gets an idea in her head.”
“Oh, we understand that,” George said, just as Harry’s round of exploding snap ended with an impressive snap. One of his eyebrows singed. “Charlie is getting the brunt of Mum’s special brand of persuasiveness these days, eh, Charlie boy?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “I’ve had to secure my wards more than once in the past six months. She keeps showing up uninvited.”
George laughed. “Just get caught with a witch, she’ll stop that quick.”
“George!” Angelina smacked him on the arm. “You know that won’t stop her.”
“It did for us,” George said, waggling his eyebrows obnoxiously.
Angelina shook her head. “We both know that isn’t true! She brought us a copy of How to Start Expecting and Other Practical Advice for Magical Family Planning!”
Everyone laughed at George’s reddened face as he choked on a clever comeback.
“That book works!” Bill called from the dining room. “Page 62, specifically - ouch, love!”
Hermione shook her head, failing to suppress a laugh as Angelina and Ginny began discussing the book in question, because of course, Ginny also had a copy gifted to her as soon as Harry proposed.
Based on the blush staining Harry’s face, this was news to him.
This was exactly what she and Charlie feared would happen to them if Molly caught wind of their relationship. That book would end up as an unwanted addition to Hermione’s library.
Tarisa fell silent, unsure it seemed how to participate.
“Hermione, have one of the brownies before my brothers get their grubby hands on them,” Charlie said, handing her the bakery package that has been left untouched on the side table. He watched her happily bite into one.
“Delicious as always,” she said in between bites. “Thanks for getting this for me.”
“Of course,” Charlie replied. He took a small portion of a brownie for himself. The chocolate straddled the line between richness and sweet without being sickly.
“Charlie always stops at my favorite bakery and picks up various pastries and goods for Sunday dinner,” Hermione said to Tarisa, an attempt at chipping away at the awkward tension. “The Witch’s Whisk, have you been?”
“No,” Tarisa said. Her eyes scanned the room, briefly landing on her parents chatting with Arthur in the corner, drinks in hand. “I am often away in Belfast, working. I rarely venture to Diagon Alley these days. Everything you need is in Belfast or Dublin.”
“Dublin is a cracking city,” Ron cheerfully said from where he was sat on the carpet in front of the fireplace. The floo network was officially closed and a roaring orange and gold fire blazed, adding additional warmth to the living room.
“Oi, remember Harry when we were there for that lads night Seamus hosted?”
Harry made a face. “Of course. We drowned in Guinness and got kicked out of that Wizarding pub near Trinity Street. St. Patrick’s Snake I think it was called.”
“I remember that weekend well,” Ginny laughed beside him. “Drunk-flooing the Burrow at half-past three in the bloody morning! Mum was livid. But then she made you her hangover soup.” She rolled her eyes. “Bloody favorites.”
“Dublin is very popular with recent graduates of Hogwarts,” Tarisa said, attempting to be included still. She cast a look at Charlie. “Do you go to Ireland often, Charlie?”
No, he didn’t, Hermione thought. And if he did, it was with her, under the guise of research for work.
“Not often enough,” Charlie politely said. “Only for research connected to dragons.” He met Hermione’s eyes. “I’ve been to Ballycroy to observe the cliffside dragons of the mountains, and Erris Pensuila to watch the dragons during the sea jaunts.”
“Oh, that’s a lovely part of Ireland,” Tarisa replied, her voice lilting slightly.
“Very lovely,” Charlie agreed, his eyes lingering on Hermione a moment more. They had gone together, one of their first trips as a couple.
“Would you be tempted to move to one of the Irish dragon outposts?” Tarisa asked, noticing the way his eyes took their time leaving Hermione.
“No,” Charlie said, his eyes drifting finally to watch the exploding snap game end with a cloud of smoke in Ron’s face. “I was in Romania for a decade, and only got back to the UK six months ago. I’m rather at home in Wales.”
“The dragon reserve in Wales is beautiful,” Hermione added. No one would find it odd her saying that, considering her job sometimes sent her there as part of the Department of Welfare for Magical Creatures. “There’s a dedicated community there who have always lived near the dragons, alongside those like Charlie. It’s an inspiring display of healthy respect for magical creatures.”
“Hermione has spent years trying to get everyone to respect magical creatures,” Ginny affectionately said. “Ever since Hogwarts with SPEW.”
“Could have picked a better acronym for that in hindsight,” Hermione admitted. “But I still stand by the message!”
“I'm sorry, SPEW?” Tarisa asked, her face twisting in confusion.
“Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare,” Hermione explained proudly. “It’s appalling how long house-elves have been mistreated and taken advantage of by Wizarding kind!”
Tarisa blinked. “Oh, my, that sounds…” she paused, searching for words. “Admirable,” she settled on. “Our house-elf, Dorcas, is practically part of the family. Speaking of which, I haven’t seen yours yet, Charlie.”
Charlie blinked. “We don’t have one.”
“No? Not even growing up, to help your mother out?”
“Uh, no, we never had one,” Charlie said.
“A testament to your mother’s commitment to the family then, to have successfully raised you all and run the home without one while your father worked,” Tarisa said, smoothing her perfectly pristine robes down.
“Yeah, well,” Charlie rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “Dad was active in raising us too. All wands at the ready in the Weasley household.”
“Charlie! We’re playing a round of Quidditch! Come play,” George said, standing after another quick round of exploding snap concluded with Ron’s hair smoking. Ginny aimed her wand, water spraying out the end of it to settle the smoke.
“Who’s on my team?” Charlie immediately stood up, eager to get out of the house and away from Tarisa. “I want a rematch against Harry, seeker versus seeker.”
“You’re on mate!” Harry cheerfully replied, flicking droplets of water off his sweater ricocheting from Ron’s head.
“I’ll be on your team, Charlie!” Ginny brightly added, a mischievous smile blooming across her face. “I know all of Harry’s tricks.”
“Not all,” Harry retorted, following her out the door. “I still have a few yet undiscovered!”
“And I’m the professional Quidditch player in this relationship,” Ginny snarked back. Hermione laughed at their antics. “Angelina! Want to join our powerhouse team? Teach our knuckleheads a thing or two?”
“Oh, yes! We’ve got this,” Angelina said, dark eyes glinting.
Hermione got up to follow them out to the backyard. “Coming?” She asked Tarisa, who still sat. “A Weasley game is always fun to watch. Someone always inevitably gets hexed off their broom or jinxed to have their hands glued on.”
Tarisa wrinkled her nose, wary. “It’s rather cold outside. I think I’ll stay inside. Perhaps I’ll come out for the last bit.”
Hermione nodded in understanding, though she did find the excuse flimsy. They were magical folk. There were charms to keep them warm!
She took a worn picnic blanket out of the basket by the door, spreading it out on the frosted grass while the others mounted the old brooms. Once charmed, a lovely heat spread through her as she watched everyone take flight.
The game lasted only thirty minutes, each team scoring early on and reaching a stalemate halfway in.
“Go on, Percy!” Audrey called from her spot beside Hermione. He played a decent enough chaser when the occasion called for it. He was on Harry’s team with George. Bill was keeper for Charlie’s side against Ron, and both did a good job of blocking after the first few scores.
Percy gave a wave before zooming after Ginny.
“So, witch to witch,” Hermione said after watching Charlie’s near miss of the golden snitch. “How do you guys know Tarisa?”
Audrey gave her a knowing look. “Sussing out the competition, Hermione?”
“What! No,” she hotly replied. “Tarisa isn't competition, first of all,” she said. Above them Angelina did a fancy loop on her broom, darting below George in an attempt to fake him out.
“You have to do better than that, love!” George called out, leaning forward on his broom.
Audrey smirked. “You certainly needn’t worry about Charlie’s eyes wandering from you, that’s for sure. Obviously you haven’t told his parents, since the Wiltrouts are here.”
Hermione sighed. Damn Audrey’s razor-sharp, Ravenclaw perception. “Bloody Ravenclaws,” she murmured, much to Audrey’s amusement.
“Don’t worry, Hermione. You do such a terrible job at being subtle that it’s actually hard to decipher whether or not it’s mere flirtation between you two or a genuine connection.”
“How long have you known?” Hermione asked, not bothering to deny it.
Audrey thought it over. “I’ve suspected since Charlie’s first Sunday dinner when he officially moved back from Romania.”
“That early?” Hermione asked, surprised. They had been seeing each other already at that point, true. But they were at the height of secrecy then!
“His eyes adored you,” Audrey said matter-of-factly. “Wherever you were in the Burrow, there he was, watching you. I imagine you give the dragons a run for their galleons when it comes to his attention.”
Hermione felt her cheeks flush. “Does anyone else know? Or suspect?”
Audrey shrugged. “Percy has made a few observations, so I know he suspects his brother’s feelings. I think you’re harder to read. To be honest I think it’s only their mother and Ron who might not realize something between you.”
Shouting from above momentarily distracted them; the snitch appeared again from the orchard, speedily heading for the Burrow’s roof.
“Catch it, Charlie!” Hermione cheered as he flew directly over them. Harry was right behind him, but so was Ginny unfortunately for him. She side checked him in the air, sending him spinning dangerously close to the upper floor windows.
“Hey! Ginny!” Harry shouted, righting himself.
“All's fair in quidditch!” She shouted back, zooming off.
“Now, as for Tarisa,” Audrey drawled a moment later, remembering Hermione’s earlier question. “She used to run in the same circles as our friends. She was two years ahead of us at Hogwarts, and we were all in different houses. But she was Hufflepuff’s prefect, so that’s how Percy knows her in particular. And I trained as a healer initially, as you know. She was a third year trainee when I joined the program.”
“She mentioned the Churchill’s Coat,” Hermione said, recalling the initial pleasantries exchanged between them. “A pub you frequent?”
Audrey nodded. “It’s not too far from the Ministry or St. Mungo’s, so it’s a place our lot like. But I know some people like the Enchanted Elf or Tipsy Thistlewick’s instead.”
“I’ve been to Tipsy’s plenty,” Hermione said.
“Tipsy’s is great for their ale selection,” Audrey smiled as Percy managed to score above them. “Well done, love!”
“Oh, the snitch!” Percy shouted instead of acknowledging Audrey, catching his teammates' attention. Harry flew a lap around the Burrow to try and get to it before Charlie, who was closer.
“That snitch is a bit wonky,” Hermione observed as it darted downward and then to the side in the direction of the barren hedges.
“Charlie could get it,” Audrey said, watching as he inched closer, the wind following him as he flew rustling the hedges. Hermione agreed. It looked like victory was imminent for his team.
His hand stretched out, finger tips grazing it.
And then he gave a surprised yelp, veering off as an ugly garden gnome popped up from under a hidden hole on the side. The gnome jumped at the snitch, catching it in its dirty claw-like hands and gripping it tightly as it rolled in the frosty mud of the garden. Two other gnomes scrambled out from under the hedge, each squeaking excitedly while attempting to grab the snitch, now pathetically twitching in the original gnome’s grasp.
“Oi, you gits!” George hollered, stopping abruptly mid-air. “You can’t just knick the snitch!”
Hermione was under the impression that the gnomes were mocking George, as they each squeaked a bit more and raised their grubby hands in what could be thought of as a rude gesture.
They dodged a jet of blue light from George’s wand a second later. The hedge behind them sizzled.
“Ugh, for Godric’s sake,” Ginny lowered her broom to the ground as the gnomes made off with the snitch, disappearing from view. “I suppose that’s the game. It’s a tie!”
“It’s not a bloody tie if I scored!” Percy joined her on the ground. He scowled.
“No one playing caught the snitch,” Angelina interjected, landing gracefully. “The Official Rulebook clearly states it’s a tie if neither team catches it and the game ends prematurely.”
“What do the stupid gnomes want with the snitch anyways?” Ron grumbled.
“It’s shiny,” Bill replied, waving his wand to neatly stack the broomsticks against the shed in a smooth movement. “All creatures like shiny things, gnomes included.”
“I can give them a shiny black eye,” George darkly said. Angelina patted his arm in consolation.
“Dinner in five!” Arthur's magnified voice filled the backyard, putting an end to anymore potential squabbling over the match’s end.
Chaos erupted, all the players running for the house in order to clean up first.
Hermione could smell the aroma of roasted turkey and gravy while re-entering the Burrow. It had been teasing the occupants for nearly forty minutes.
Ron’s stomach growled loudly in response to his mother’s summoning. “Finally! I’m starving,” he said, the first one to bolt into the dining room.
“You’d think he hadn’t just shoved a whole box of chocolate oranges into his mouth before we started playing,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes at her brother’s dramatic dash.
Harry shook his head affectionately. “Your mum’s roast is powerful like that, Gin.”
The table had been magically extended to accommodate the three additional guests; the usual coziness of the Burrow was cranked up. Very little space was available between each seat.
“Now, Charlie, you sit here,” Molly directed him away from his usual seat beside Hermione. They always sat together at dinner, and no one ever thought anything of it. “Let Lucilla sit beside you, and Tarisa across…”
Hermione ended up across, two down wedged between Ginny and Percy, Harry and Audrey opposite.
The food, as always, exceeded expectations in flavor. For all her faults, Molly Weasley knew how to cook. Whatever she did to the turkey, it never tasted dry. The stuffing filled. The roast potatoes were the perfect amount of roasted. The carrots were glazed with honey and melted in the mouth with each bite effortlessly.
Hermione spent most of the time chatting with her seat mates, but also kept an ear open toward the awkward, stilted conversation happening between Charlie, his mum, Tarisa, and her own mother. He wasn’t making it easy for Molly.
“… your job sounds very dangerous,” Lucilla said as she finished up her plate. “Do many dragon tamers sustain their career while supporting families? I imagine that must be quite difficult.”
“The ones that chose to have families make it work,” Charlie said. He didn’t elaborate.
“I can’t imagine children living on a dragon reserve,” Tarisa said after an awkward
pause. “Surely it’s dangerous?”
“No more dangerous than attending a standard Care of Magical Creatures class,” Charlie replied. Hermione stifled a giggle at how passive aggressive he kept replying. Molly’s smile was frozen in place, her eyes flashing dangerously as she clutched onto her wine glass. But what could she do?
This had been against his will. She knew that. As long as he replied politely, she couldn’t really be angry. Well, at least that’s what a logical and sane person would realize.
Logic didn’t always prevail in the Weasley household.
“So, Charlie,” George started after a couple of glasses of wine and firewhiskey had been consumed and most plates were being scraped for the last little bits. Angelina gave her husband a warning look, which he cheekily ignored. “How’s everything in Wales these days?”
It was an innocent question. One that any caring brother would ask. The Wiltrouts paused their conversation with Percy and Audrey, curious.
Charlie narrowed his eyes for a brief second. Hermione clocked the mischievous glint in George’s eyes. Oh, dear.
“Wales is layered in snow now, but the dragons are keeping us warm when we’re out doing runs,” Charlie said, flashing an easy smile. “The male Welsh Greentails are getting ready for their annual flight to Ireland. They go for several weeks before returning to their own territory.”
It was the most animated he sounded since sitting down for the meal.
“How fascinating,” Hermione said, like she hadn’t been hearing about this for the past month already. “Do they attempt to mate the native Irish Strongbacks?”
She knew the answer. No, they didn’t typically because the Irish Strongback males were more territorial over their females than the Welsh Greentails were of their own. The purpose of the flight to Ireland remained shrouded in mystery. Charlie theorized that it might be dietary, an ancient holdover from when the Irish Sea held an abundance of now extinct creatures.
“No, it’s dietary for the males,” Charlie said, relieved that Hermione was helping him out. “Or at least I suspect so. There’s a legend that emerald Kisapies lived at the coast, and they say their mating calls resemble female dragons.”
“So they’re just horny dragons,” George said, clocking on to Charlie’s attempt to redirect the conversation. He grinned. “I doubt it’s only the dragons keeping you warm in Wales, though.”
Arthur coughed on his pumpkin ale from the other end of the table as Lucilla’s eyes widened, shocked. Her husband looked amused. Tarisa’s green eyes were unreadable as Ron and Bill cackled, and Fleur sighed.
“Now George,” Arthur said a second later, casting an eye at his wife at the other end of the table, who was sitting up a little straighter.
“That’s not polite conversation, George! We have guests!”
George tipped an imaginary hat toward the Wiltrouts. “My biggest pardon, Mr. and Mrs. Wiltrout,” he said in an exaggerated tone. “Please do come by Weasley Wheezes for a discount on any product if your sensibilities are further offended.”
“I do enjoy popping in after work every so often,” Bertram said. “Incredible line of products you have there. The joke wands nearly got me last time I was there.”
“One of the best-sellers indeed,” George said smoothly. “Now, Charlie, I have it on good authority that you often get deliveries from our top-rated Wonder Witch line.”
Hermione stopped a gasp from escaping. She took a sip of her wine, hoping it would cover her worry. Of course, George paid attention to what his family ordered. Why wouldn’t he? When did George ever miss out on a perfect blackmail opportunity?
“So what, I like the way some of those bath bombs smell,” Charlie smoothly said, aware of everyone’s eyes on him. “The Amor-adore scent is bloody brilliant, and I am wizard enough to admit it.”
“That’s because it’s charmed to smell like the one you love,” George said, grinning like he caught the niffler stealing gold. “Or lust. Whichever stage you’re in currently with that special someone.”
“That’s brilliant magic,” Bertram admired out loud. “What if you don’t have a special someone?”
Lucilla gave her husband a withering stare that would make McGonagall proud. He didn’t notice.
“Well now, Mr. Wiltrout, in that case, the spell takes your favorite scents into account, so any witch or wizard can enjoy a relaxing bath!”
“That’s truly marvelous,” Tarisa said, her eyes sparkling with interest. “My friends absolutely adore the Wonder Witch line. I’ve tried the Daydreaming Daze Potion myself, and I had the best daydream. It was so immersive!”
“Thank you,” George said, clear pride in his voice. “You can have another one on the house for that compliment.”
For the first time all evening, Tarisa was expressive. She smiled, her whole face lighting up brighter than the Great Hall of Hogwarts at Christmas. Merlin, she really was a beauty, Hermione realized. No wonder Molly thought a single Charlie might be interested in her.
She aimed that smile at Charlie next, tilting her head in a friendly manner that bordered on flirtatious. “So, given your apparent frequent deliveries, which of your brother’s products is your favorite?”
“I don’t order them,” Charlie said, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them.
“Then someone is on your behalf,” George cheerfully countered. “I’ve the invoices in my ledger to prove it. Or, should I flag it as fraudulent?”
“Maybe you should, George,” Ron said, and Hermione instantly knew he was about to make everything worse. “I mean, the only reason I can think of that a bloke would order any of that sappy, lovey-dovey shit is if they’re seeing a bird, or that bird is ordering it for them.”
“Ron, language!” Molly shrieked. She went ignored.
“Maybe his dragons calm down when they smell the scents? Perhaps Armorentia’s effect on animals is under-researched,” Hermione tried to cut in, her voice calm. Or at least, she hoped it was.
“Now that is a fascinating research topic,” Percy murmured, ignored by everyone except Audrey. She gave him an approving smile.
“Yes, as fascinating as that sounds, Hermione,” George drawled. “It doesn’t explain why Charlie also had our Entwined Elixirs and Cauldron of Cuddles for Couples delivered just last week.”
Hermione didn’t even bother to try to hide her blush behind her wine glass. Merlin, he knew. George knew! Or at least heavily suspected that Charlie was in a relationship. But did he know enough to connect her with him? Audrey had, of course. George was just as sharp, and far more dangerous with knowledge.
“George, did you come armed and ready to ambush your older brother?” Arthur asked, aware of Molly’s eyes widening at the other end of the table. The Wiltrouts looked awkward as the rest of the Weasleys, plus Harry, collectively leaned in.
“Yeah, are you keeping tabs on all of us?” Ginny demanded. She had her wand ready to strike as Harry shifted uncomfortably beside her. “I bloody well hope for Angelina’s sake you aren’t.”
“Ginny, love,” Harry tried and failed to get her to put her wand down. Crackling red sparks emitted from it.
“I keep tabs on everyone’s order, for research purposes,” George replied, unbothered as Ginny whipped a hex at his head. He dodged it; the painting hanging on the wall behind him of the Burrow’s farmers from the 17th century ran for cover out of the field as it narrowly missed the painting itself and hit the frame.
Molly was still processing George’s insider information to take notice of the painting’s farmers as they waved at Ginny with pitchforks.
“Is that why you’re so adamant I don't come by?” Molly asked, eyes narrowing on Charlie, her voice tinged with outrage. “Are you keeping someone hidden?!”
Charlie glared at George, annoyed. His brother seemed hellbent on blowing the lid off the cauldron for some reason.
Molly continued. “Did you have a witch hidden in your bedroom last week? Is that why you didn’t want me to do your laundry?! Afraid I’d see her bra in your hamper?”
“Er, perhaps we should get going,” Lucilla said to her husband, her voice tightly polite. He too leaned forward, clearly enthralled in the Weasley drama unfolding. “Bertram!”
He flinched, startled. “Uh, surely we can wait for dessert, dear?”
“I dunno Dad, I think Mother has the right idea,” Tarisa said, looking like she would rather be anywhere else. Another wizard too good to be true.
Because for Merlin’s sake, of course the fit wizard her mother swore up and down was single, wasn’t!
Tarisa wasn’t a betting witch, but she would place galleons the witch in question was Hermione.
Were the Weasley’s dense? Did not a single member among them realize how their son stared at her when he thought it was too chaotic for anyone to notice?
“Nonsense, this is nothing really,” Ron said, failing at being reassuring. “It’s not a party in the Weasley household until the ghoul starts howling, after all.”
“You were hiding a witch, weren’t you!” Molly continued, ignoring everyone except Charlie. “Did she put you up to placing those awful wards around your house? I had to bribe Bill to break them!”
“Cheers, Mum,” Bill sighed, annoyed at being name-dropped. Fleur gave him a disappointed look as she helped their daughter not smash the potatoes all over her face.
“Good Godric, Mum,” Charlie said, exasperated. “I’m nearly thirty! Whether I’m seeing a witch or not, I don’t think it’s much to ask for privacy at my house. Which, by the way, is in a national park for dragons. One of these days, you’ll arrive to hatchlings in my front yard who are just realizing their hiccups can be turned into fire.”
“Oh, that’s a subtle excuse,” George quipped, grinning.
Hermione considered taking a turn at hexing George beneath the table. Angelina beat her to it.
“Ouch, love! Careful where you aim that thing, delicate packaging is in that area!”
“Seriously, I think we ought to go,” Lucilla tried again to get her husband’s attention.
Molly huffed. “All I want is to help you,” she said, her voice warbling. Arthur poured himself more pumpkin ale.
“Molly dear,” Arthur said, his light eyes noticing the way Charlie looked ready to flee Sunday dinner. His keen eyes also noted that a particular witch at the table also looked ready to flee from the table.
“Who is this secret witch then?” Molly ignored her husband.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Mum, she’s not a secret!” Charlie said, locking eyes with Hermione. She gave the tiniest nod, tapping her ring finger with her other hand’s pointer hand. Might as well tell them everything, she figured.
“If she’s not a secret, why haven’t you brought her to Sunday dinner?” Molly nearly shouted, sparks in her eyes.
“She’s been at every bloody Sunday dinner!” Charlie shot back. “She’s sitting bloody right here! Hermione! Hermione is my witch!”
“OUR Hermione?!” Molly shrieked before whirling on the witch in question. “Hermione! You and Charlie? Oh, how long? How long!”
“Nearly a year now,” Hermione finally confessed.
“A year!” Molly gasped. Charlie wasn’t sure what direction his mother would go with this.
“I bloody knew it!” Ginny shouted, standing up in excitement. “You owe me twenty galleons, pay up Bill! Percy!”
“I told you to bet a year,” Audrey said to Percy, eyes sparkling with amusement as he reluctantly took out the money owed from his inner robes pocket.
“Oi! When did you bet this? Why wasn’t I included?” George pouted. “I could have given you intel!”
“Because you couldn’t be trusted not to tell,” Bill said, also reluctantly handing over his galleons to a grinning Ginny.
“Why was I excluded though?” Ron asked, frowning. “I can be trusted!”
“Yeah, trusted to give it away to Mum under pressure,” Ginny said, eyes blazing. “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for outing me and Harry’s weekend away to her, you prat!”
“That was years ago!” Ron gasped, turning to Harry. “Mate!”
Harry shrugged. “Sorry Ron, but I’m still a little salty about that too.”
“Outrageous,” Ron said, but no one was paying him attention anymore.
“A whole year, my own son kept the fact he’s dating one of the best witches of her age a secret for a whole year!” Molly lamented, wordlessly summoning a bottle of wine from the kitchen directly into her hands.
“Molly, we’re heading out,” Lucilla said, standing up. “Thank you for dinner, I’ll catch up with you soon for tea.” She pulled her husband up by the elbow.
“Oh, Lucilla! How utterly mortifying this is, I’m so sorry!” Molly said, casting an apologetic look at her and Tarisa. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Tarisa!”
Tarisa gave her a polite smile. “It’s quite alright, Mrs. Weasley, I was spending time with my family anyways. Thank you for hosting.”
She didn’t say another word, intent on leaving quickly, her parents right behind her.
“Oh, why couldn’t you have admitted you were seeing Hermione sooner!” Molly said once the Wiltrouts had left. “I never would have invited them otherwise! Hermione, this must have been agony for you, seeing that boring wallflower make eyes at Charlie all night.”
“Mum!” Ginny said, strangled laughter escaping from her mouth. “You’re the one who was trying to set Charlie up with her.”
Molly waved her words away. “I owed Lucilla, she’s been trying for ages to set her daughter up.”
“Uh, it’s been fine, really,” Hermione said. And that was true for the most part. Seeing another witch make eyes at her wizard did make her a bit cross, but Hermione never doubted his love for her.
“Right now that it’s out in the open that we’re together,” Charlie interjected. “Please, Mum, stop coming over unannounced!”
“So you were hiding Hermione in your bedroom?” George laughed. “Oh that must have been priceless! That means you’ve been the one ordering from the Wonder Witch line, eh Hermione?”
Hermione sighed. “Yes, well.” She paused and then narrowed her eyes. “You know George, I’m pretty sure you’ve breached customer confidentiality with that little stunt tonight,” she said. “I happen to be excellent mates with a Wizarding Consumer Protection and Data officer. Yolanda Forrest.”
George narrowed his own eyes in return. “Oi, name your price witch!”
“Free Wonder Witch products until I decide to forget about this little breach in confidentiality,” Hermione said. “Which means free products for life.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Granger,” George said, crossing his arms as he thought it over. “I can work with this demand, though.”
“As deserved!” Ginny exclaimed on her friend’s behalf.
“You two make such a lovely couple,” Molly said from her seat, sniffling. “Oh, what a day!”
Charlie arched his eyebrows at Hermione. She tilted her head in reply, curious.
“That’s not all, Mum,” Charlie said, voice confident as he stood up and walked around the table to Hermione’s side. He took her hand in his. “Hermione’s agreed to marry me. We’re unofficially engaged.”
Molly shrieked again, causing the painting’s farmers to cover their ears.
“Unofficially?” Ron scoffed over his mother’s noise. “How can you be unofficially engaged?”
“Because I hadn’t given her this yet,” Charlie said, carefully taking out a velvet box from his hidden pocket.
Hermione gasped as he opened the lid; there in the plush cushion was a ring straight out of her most romantic dreams. The Burrow’s low lighting made the center diamond sparkle, the emeralds on either side flashing brightly.
“Charlie,” she softly smiled. “It’s stunning.”
“It’s yours, if you’ll accept this proposal instead of the romantic escapade I had originally planned,” Charlie replied.
“I accepted in the kitchen! It doesn’t matter how you propose, Charlie, as long as it’s you I get to see at the end of the aisle,” Hermione said. He slid the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly.
The dining room exploded with noise and faux fireworks emitting from various Weasley wands above their heads. A rainbow of sparkles rained down over the newly engaged couple as George and Bill summoned more wine bottles from the kitchen and opened them.
Everyone’s wine glass refilled, though neither Hermione or Charlie took much notice. They were too busy sharing a kiss.
“A toast!” Arthur said, holding his glass up. “To Charlie, my boy! And Hermione, the brilliant witch who stole his heart from his beloved dragons. Hermione, you've always been part of our family. But I know Molly feels the same as me, that we are thrilled to have you be an official Weasley.”
“To Charlie and Hermione!” Everyone cheered.
“Oh, I’m so excited for your wedding!” Molly sniffled.
Charlie wrapped a solid arm around Hermione, pulling her closer. “We’ve unleashed Mum’s inner dragon,” he whispered in her ear. “You sure you don’t regret blowing the cauldron lid off?”
“Not at all,” she replied, turning to face him. “Besides, at least now your mum won’t try to set you up with another witch.”
Charlie cringed, his tone apologetic. “I’m sorry about that, love.”
Hermione shrugged delicately, twisting her new engagement ring. It caught the dwindling light of the faux fireworks as she did. “Not as terrible as your mom is going to feel once the euphoria of our engagement winds down. We really should reset the wards, to brace for her attempts at apologizing.”
“Maybe after a few home made food deliveries though?” Charlie pondered. “Just until we get a few of her treacle tarts and pies.”
“A small price to pay, I suppose,” she said, “for a lifetime of happiness with you.”
And it was, as more fireworks sparks danced around them and more excited laughter erupted around them, the warm chaos of the Burrow the perfect setting for the start of their next chapter.