I felt strange, being back here. Same plain walls, same dull books stacked upon the same shelves. I sighed and sat up in my old bed.
What I always loved about the Burrow was its strong sense of belonging. No matter how far I travelled, or how long I had been away, I always fit. It was my home no matter how much I grew. I belonged here.
And yet, now there was a different feeling in the air. One I hated. Grief.
I despised it for what it had done to my family, for the way it made tear-tracks a permanent feature on my mother’s face and the way it haunted my father’s eyes; the way it silenced my sister and banished the laughter from Fred and George. I hated it for its permanence. There was no relief from it; it followed you, creeping into your dreams when you pushed it away during the waking hours.
I wanted to shake the awful feeling of restless confinement, and I figured the best way to do so was by leaving the Burrow for a bit and maybe taking a stroll down Diagon Ally.
I grabbed an old robe from where it was draped on a chair and left my room. At the stairs, I hesitated for a moment, then abruptly began climbing the stairs to the floor above.
I hadn’t planned it, really. In fact, I’d been avoiding his room since May, but something made me keep going today. Maybe it was the first the sign I was coping. Maybe I was an idiot.
I stopped at the entrance to his room. The words of the small plaque on his door seemed to blare into my brain. Ronald’s Room. I took a deep breath and pushed it open.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting; maybe the room draped in black by some force, something to mark the owner’s passing. But here it was, utterly unchanged. The bright orange of the bedspread and walls still offended the eye. His comic books were still stacked in the corner. The only difference was that his bed was made. Mum’s doing, I guessed, and suddenly I admired her strength.
I stood there maybe two minutes more, then turned and left unceremoniously. I hurried down the steps, almost taking them two at a time. I needed to get out of this house. I almost ran across the kitchen and burst out the door, then turned on the spot and Apparated.
The dull colours of Diagon Ally were a welcome relief from the bright orange that was still burnt in my brain. I walked down the cobbled street with no clear idea of where I might be heading.
Automatically it seemed, my feet traced the direction to Fred and George’s shop. The bright colours of the walls and signs made the rest of Diagon Alley seem even more drab.
The bell above the door chimed merrily as I stepped through it into the shop. It was nearly empty; with most of their customers off at school, all that remained were a few shop owners and employees browsing the merchandise on their breaks.
“Charlie!” Fred roared from behind the counter. George looked up from the customer he was helping and waved.
“What brings you here?” Fred asked, stepping out from behind the counter and coming towards me.
I shrugged. “Fancied a walk.”
Fred nodded, his face a little more serious, and I cursed him silently for being able to read me so easily.
“Does Mum need anything?” George asked, making his way over from his customer, who was now engrossed in the trick wands.
“No,” I said quickly. “Just thought I’d come by and see if you lot needed a hand.”
“Well, we do have a certain policy about that sort of thing,” Fred said.
“And what’s that?” I asked.
“Never turn down willing work,” George replied. “The Skiving-Snack boxes need restocking, and the Locks of Lusciousness are looking a bit thin.”
I rolled my eyes at the pun. “What’re Locks of Lusciousness?” I asked.
“Latest addition to our Easy Appearance line,” Fred answered. “You simply apply the raspberry-scented gel to your hair and focus on a hairstyle you’d like, and poof, it does the rest. Tonks suggested it, actually. We made the product as sort of a tribute to her.”
I nodded. “Right. I’ll get to work, then.”
“Not so fast,” George said, “You’ll be needing… this!” He waved his wand and a pair of magenta staff robes identical to the ones he and Fred wore flew into his open hand.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, eyeing the robes. I’d never thought much of Fred and George’s taste.
“Nope,” Fred said. “Mandatory staff apparel. Plus, they have an anti-theft jinx in them to ensure you don’t take anything.”
I looked at them in shock. “I’m your brother!”
Fred and George rolled their eyes. “That was Bill’s brilliant comeback as well, but that didn’t keep us from charging him for the Skiving Snackboxes he stuffed in his pockets.”
“Fine. Give them here,” I said, snatching the robes from Fred’s hand and pulling them on.
“Dashing,” George said.
“I agree, really brings out the blue in your eyes,” Fred added.
“Shut up,” I snapped. I turned away and walked toward the back room.
Fred and George’s organization left much to be desired. Products were stacked haphazardly around the store-room in unlabeled boxes and papers and order-forms were scattered on the floor and desks. I rooted around for ten minutes looking for the products that needed restocking. Balancing them carefully in my arms, I made my way back to the main-shop.
“What took so long?” George asked. “We almost went in after you.”
“That pig-sty you call a store-room,” I grumbled. “I nearly lost my way!”
“Mum made a similar comment upon her first viewing of it,” George said.
“I can see the impact it had on you.”
George shrugged. “The Snackboxes go over there,” he said, pointing to shelves on my right, “and the Locks of Lusciousness go near the counter; you’ll see the display box.”
I nodded and walked over to the Snackbox shelves and began stocking them.
“What’re you doing?” Fred asked. I nearly jumped, I hadn’t heard him approach.
“I’m stocking Nosebleed Nougats,” I answered obviously.
“Next to the Fainting Fancies?” Fred asked, sounding scandalized.
“Yes,” I said slowly.
“You realize the Nosebleed Nougats and the Fainting Fancies are our two biggest sellers in this line?”
“I remember some gloating to that effect, yes,” I replied, turning to face him.
“You never stock two hits right next to each other; you spread them out amongst the rest of the line, it draws more attention to the Puking Pastilles and Comatose Candies.”
I had to admire their business sense, even if I’d never admit to it aloud. “Very well,” I said, picking up the Fancies and moving them down a shelf before continuing with the rest of the sweets.
“Need anything else?” I asked after stocking the Locks of Lusciousness.
“The pygmy puffs need feeding,” George said. “You’re good with that sort of thing, aren’t you?”
I stared at him. “I tame dragons,” I said.
“Good,” George replied, handing me a bag of feed. “A few Puffs should be no problem, then.”
The Pygmy Puffs looked up and me with large eyes as I approached with the bag of food and began to purr as I set down the now-full dish. Somewhere above, the bell chimed again. I ignored it and stared down at the Pygmy Puffs critically, unlike Ginny, who had always been rather taken with them, I found their size and fuzz disappointing compared to the creatures I was used to.
“Hello, Hermione.”
I looked up, surprised, at Fred’s voice.
“What brings our earliest critic to our midst?” George asked.
Hermione shrugged. “I had lunch with the Head of the Control of Magical Creatures Department at the Three Broomsticks earlier.”
“Still crusading for house-elf rights, then?” George asked with a grin.
Hermione looked at him appraisingly. “Yes,” she said definitely. “I was talking to Mr. Diggory about improving house-elf living environments. We really need a mandate on the basics needs of elves. Food and water whenever the elf requires it, for one thing; you wouldn’t believe””
“Sounds fascinating.” Fred interrupted.
“Anyway,” Hermione continued coldly. “I figured I’d stop by and say hello, although I’m regretting that decision now.”
“Now, Hermione, you know you’re welcome here whenever you’d like,” George said, putting his arm around her and steering her toward the Easy Appearance line. “Now, right here, we have””
“You’re shameless,” Hermione said, but she was smiling. “Besides, I’m not buying today. Ginny asked me to look at the Pygmy Puffs, she’s thinking of getting a mate for Arnold.” She looked over at the cage where I stood. A look of surprise crossed her face when she saw me. “Oh, hello, Charlie,” she said. “I didn’t see you there.”
“It’s good to see you, Hermione,” I said. It was, actually. She was a nice enough person, and I admired her taking such a stand for elf-rights, even if I didn’t exactly agree with her opinion (I’d refused the S.P.E.W button she’d offered after an Order meeting last year). “How’s the Ministry?”
“It’s getting better,” Hermione answered. “Kingsley’s enforcing a dozen improvements; it’s almost unrecognizable.”
I nodded. “Good.” I felt rather foolish with Hermione smiling at me expectantly. “Er, want to grab a cup of tea?”
I wasn’t exactly sure what possessed me to say it, only this nagging feeling she reminded me of someone. I could feel my ears redden as I waited for a reply.
“Er,” she said, clearly thrown off by the question. “Sure. I’ve got a few minutes before I have to get back to the Ministry. Do you have a place in mind?”
I cast around for a place we’d both like, a task that wasn’t made easier by the fact I knew next to nothing about her. “The Rusty Snitch just opened. Fancy trying someplace new?”
She nodded. “All right. Lead the way.” She gestured ahead of her.
“Right, just ” er ” let me return this,” I said, taking off the robes and walking toward Fred and George.
“You’re leaving?” George asked as I stuffed the robe into his hands.
I nodded. “I’ll try to swing by next week,” I called over my shoulder as I led Hermione toward the door.
We didn’t talk much on our way to the pub. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her against the chill and I wished I’d thought to bring something heavier than Bill’s old robes.
I led the way to a small table by the window and we both took our seats. She looked out the window and I played with a spare thread in my cuff.
“Er, how are you?” I’d always been the type of person to jump into conversation, even one that might be difficult.
She looked back at me from the window abruptly and sighed. “I’m coping,” she said. “And you?”
“The same ” coping.” She’d summed it up so perfectly another choice of words didn’t seem necessary.
She rested her elbows on the table and clasped her fists in front of her mouth. If her eyes had been closed, it might have looked like she was praying. To me, it looked like the first sign of grief. I watched as Hermione’s strong façade faded away; slowly at first, then abruptly she began to cry.
“I’ll get the teas.”
It wasn’t that I was uncomfortable with her crying, just that I sensed she needed to be alone for a moment or two. I walked to the counter where the barkeep stood, cleaning a glass with an old rag.
“Two teas, please,” I said. “One with milk, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure thing,” he said and disappeared behind the counter. I leaned against it and looked in Hermione’s direction. She had her face in her hands. My heart ached for her.
Ron had been her best friend. He’d been there for her all through her time at Hogwarts.
Ron had been my brother. I’d grown up with him, helped him learn Quidditch.
We’d both lost the same thing, just in different dimensions.
“There you go,” the barman said, placing the teas on the counter.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the steaming drinks and returning to our table.
She looked down at the cup I had placed in front of her. “How did you know I take my tea with milk?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Lucky guess,” I said. She reminded me so much of someone. But who?
Her face fell. “Oh.”
“Something wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” she said, stifling a sob. “I just thought maybe ” maybe Ron mentioned it.” She returned her glance to the window.
“He mentioned a lot of things about you,” I said. It was true. He’d talked of her and Harry constantly.
She looked back at me. “Did he?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
I nodded.
“It’s nice to be mentioned,” she said quietly. “To be thought of.” She was talking more to herself than to me now. Suddenly, she glanced down at her watch.
“Oh, damn,” she said. “I was due back at work ten minutes ago.” She reached into her purse to pay for her tea.
“I’ve got it,” I said hastily.
“No, really, it’s fine,” she said, placing a few knuts on the table. She stood up and brushed her robes. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon,” she paused, “and for the conversation. I needed to talk to someone besides Crookshanks.”
I barely managed a smile as she left. I’d just realized who she had reminded me of. The way she had brushed away my offer to pay, the way her voice could go from friendly and warm to quiet and thoughtful in the space in a second; it was as if I’d met Anna Lynch all over again.
She’d been in the same year as me at Hogwarts and the only student beside myself to travel to Romania to study dragons.
I had fallen hard for her. She was pretty, with eyes so blue they rivalled the sky on its best day and a laugh like a tinkering bell. She was also my best friend, and engaged to Reilly Moore. He was training to be a Healer back home.
It killed me when he would visit. I hated to see them together and each time I did, a small part of my heart broke.
I told her how I felt about her on a sunny day in mid-November. No preamble, nothing special, just a simple “I love you.” I’ll never forget the way she looked at me after I’d said it. Shock didn’t near cover it.
She left the next day. I never knew why, but I had a pretty solid theory.
The days passed strangely. Sometimes great dollops of time would slip by, and other times it would drag, and I’d while it away in my bunk, wondering why she never loved me.
I sat at that table a while longer, thinking about Anna Lynch (Anna Moore, by now. The thought still stung).
Weeks passed; things slowly began to shift back to where they had been. Not completely, but it was starting. Mum left her room for the first time since Ron’s funeral and Dad had returned to work. Bill had left the Burrow a few days ago to return to Shell Cottage, and a series of mandates concerning the care of house-elves were passed.
A cup of tea together had become a sort of tradition between us. I wasn’t sure exactly who exactly started it; I’d asked her initially, but only to one cup on one occasion. Somewhere along the line, I suppose, one of us must have politely invited the other to another outing, the other had politely accepted, and now here we were. We laughed and debated the latest goings-on at the Ministry. We remembered fallen friends and the ways they had made us smile. It was nice.
But slowly, I came to realise I was falling into the exact same pattern I’d had with Anna. Our meet-ups became the highlight of my week. I found my mind occupied by the image of her eyes ” the bright animation there, the compassion. It wasn’t something I consciously realised at first, just a nagging sense of déjà vu in the back of mind. But soon, the feelings refused to abate. They plagued me, night and day, just as my old dreams of Anna had done.
It had never been my intention, our relationship budding into more than a close friendship, but, said a voice in my head (one that sounded curiously like my mother’s), these things are never planned.
At first, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe it. I rationalized that my lingering affection for Anna and the two womens’ similarities had somehow transferred my feelings from one to the other. I told myself over and over she was just my dead brother’s friend, and when that didn’t set me at ease, I decided I was merely sharing my grief with someone who had lost the same thing.
But now, there was no escaping it. I had fallen for Hermione Granger.
And was it so surprising really? She was compassionate and strong; the way her eyes would light up when she was discussing something particularly important to her never failed to evoke a fond smile on my part.
We had chosen the Three Broomsticks this week; the November chill had been biting and the pub had always evoked a strong sense of warmth.
I watched her stir the cup of tea in front of her. It was her second. She looked as if she were deep in thought. When she finally did speak, it was to her cup, as though unwilling to see my initial reaction.
“I’m thinking of taking a break from work for awhile.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”
She nodded. She still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “It’s too much right now with everything else.”
“I’m thinking of returning to Romania.” I said suddenly. It hadn’t been exactly forefront in my mind before this conversation, but the timing seemed right somehow. An idea struck me. “Come with me.”
She looked up for the first time in the course of our entire conversation.
“Sorry?”
“Come with me,” I repeated. “You need to start somewhere new, and I need to get back where I belong. It’s perfect.”
She stared at me. “Charlie, I can’t just leave everything.”
“What are you leaving?” I asked. “A career you were too good for and a handful of memories?”
“More than that!” she said. “My parents,” she paused. “And those memories happen to be important to me.” She looked suddenly dangerous.
“Then pack them up along with your things!” I urged.
“No!” She looked almost concerned for me; I knew why. Hermione Granger did not take spur-of-the-moment trips to Romania. Hermione Granger planned things. Hermione made lists and charts. “Harry needs me here,” she added quietly.
“What Harry needs is time! He needs to sort through everything and find himself. That’s not something you can help him with,” I argued. “Hermione, you need this.”
“No, Charlie! I can’t just leave.” There was hurt in her eyes. She didn’t want to disappoint me. “I’m sorry,” she said, and with that, she stood and left.
There wasn’t much left to do after that. I put a few knuts on the table (Hermione had finally relented and allowed to me to pay for our outings) and left as well. I stopped by Fred and George’s on the way home.
“I’m leaving,” I told them. “Going back to Romania.”
They didn’t look incredibly surprised. “When?” Fred asked.
I shrugged. “Tomorrow? The day after?” I replied. “I’m not sure. Soon, though.”
“Tell the dragons hello for us,” George said.
I rolled my eyes. “They’ll be so glad to hear from you.” I paused. “I’ll see you at home, then.”
I Apparated back home and prepared to tell Mum I was leaving. I’d been at the Burrow nearly seven months, but it still seemed too soon to leave. It always felt that way.
“Leaving?” she repeated. “Pack clean socks.”
I stared at her. Pack clean socks? When I’d left for Romania after Bill’s wedding she’d been close to tears. I sighed at her new lack of passion for anything.
“Right,” I said. “I will.”
I didn’t sleep easy that night. I couldn’t help but feel that was I running away from everything; Ron’s death, my family, her. But what could I do? I had to return to work at some point.
I spent most of the next day packing and tracking down possessions I’d scattered around. Mum helped, but we didn’t talk much. Her lips were pursed; she’d never approved of my career choice.
* * *
“All packed?” Mum asked again.
“I think so,” I said, checking through my trunk one last time, then shutting it securely.
“Alright, then,” she said, pulling me into a tight hug. “Write often, you hear?”
I grinned and placed my chin of the top of her head. “I will.”
“And be safe,” she said, pulling away.
“I’ll take precautions,” I assured her. She nodded. “Bye, Mum,” I said, hugging her again.
“Goodbye, Charlie.” Her voice was muffled and I could feel tears leaking onto my chest.
“Bye,” I said one last time before turning on the spot.
I didn’t Apparate straight to Romania, instead I headed to the Ministry. I felt a little foolish dragging my heavy trunk through the atrium of the Ministry, but I pushed the feeling aside and focused on getting to the lifts and finding the right floor.
“Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau,” said the cool voice in the lift. I stepped out of lift and looked around.
I had no idea where I might find her. There was a large sign outside of an office door saying INFORMATION.
“Can you tell me where I might find Hermione Granger?” I asked the woman at the desk.
“Is this business or personal?” she asked, without bothering to look up from her copy of Witch Weekly.
I was tempted to reply with, “None of your business,” but refrained. “Er, personal.”
The witch pulled out a directory and began to leaf through it. “She’s in cubicle twelve, Beast Division.”
“Thanks,” I said hurriedly, and left.
I found her outside her cubicle talking to a co-worker. She looked over by chance and saw me.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” she asked her companion. The woman nodded and Hermione walked toward me.
“Charlie, what are you”?” She never got the entire question out. I kissed her, right there.
She gasped in shock but didn’t pull away, on the contrary, she moved closer. I never knew how long we stood there, but I knew, even then, that I’d remember this for the rest of my life.
“Good bye, Hermione,” I said, then turned on the spot and returned to Romania.
Tamed by whomovedmyquil
Chapter Notes: Maddy was a great help in beta'ing this piece. Her critique made this story much better than it started off.