#charlie weasley/OC

[blueironywrites]

Title: Raindrops (M)

Summary: Charlie says goodbye.

Fandom: Harry Potter

Word count: c.11,800

Lost love, rainy beaches, tear jerker

+ + +

As I got thinking about why Charlie never ended up with anyone, I got thinking: what if he did find his one great love but he lost it?

This story explores that.

[wisteria-blooms]

sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (10/??)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST AT THE BOTTOM! (Let me know if you'd like to be added or if I've missed you!) A/N: I might have a cold coming on, ugh. Thought I'd get this out if I'm afflicted by illness AGAIN. And apologies in advance if there are mistakes I missed while reading it over! Feel free to let me know about them + what you think about the story!

CHAPTER 10 : What goes up must come down. Your relationship with Charlie is no exception. (5.6k words)

CHAPTER 10: YOU DON'T OWN ME

“What happened?”

Your voice was pitchy and stricken with worry. Your eyes urgently implored Charlie to provide a reason for his concern as if it was more important for you to hear than it was to him. You’d never seen Charlie in this state, though you supposed you’d barely been around for two months of his life, and no important moments at that.

Charlie read: “Fleur’s in labour. Come when you can. Love, mum.”

“You got it, Charlie.” Stan obeyed by performing the sharpest u-turn known to mankind, on the narrowest road known to mankind. The force flung your body towards the windows this time but Charlie effortlessly caught you by the wrist. When you recovered from another near-death incident with the metal insides of Knight Bus, Charlie’s words sunk in. 

“Charlie!” you exclaimed.

“(Y/N)!” he returned with equal excitement, blue eyes widening. 

You got back on your knees, bone meeting the plush covers of the bed, found a stable moment in Stan’s driving, and clapped your hands together giddily. “You’re going to be an uncle!” 

The moment—half past midnight—you entered the obstetrics wing of St. Mungos was precisely the moment you asked yourself: why were you here? Why had you followed Charlie here? It felt natural to drunkly stumble out of Stan’s bus with Charlie to help him find his way to the right wing, but when Bill (who was standing by a water fountain) came into view, you felt like you had intruded on a personal moment. 

”Shit, Bill, I’m sorry,” Charlie apologized as he strode into the waiting area. Your nervous gait reflected in the windows, the colours of your long skirt spilling on the black skies outside, brightened only with a speckling of stars. You left a considerable amount of space between Charlie and yourself, not wanting Bill to perceive your being here as impolite. You hoped the green chairs would provide enough coverage if you stood behind them.

“This was precisely the reason I told you I couldn’t make the concert,” Bill explained, pulling Charlie into a hug. The hug was long. Bill made eye contact with you as he released Charlie. 

“How was the concert?” Bill asked, looking at you. 

“It was excellent,” you said. “We got—Charlie got Molly’s letter at the end of it.” You hoped this would absolve you of your uninvited presence. 

”Well, thank you for taking my place,” Bill said with a smile. “Charlie was never going to let me live it down.”

”(Y/N) was better company, anyway,” Charlie scoffed. “And easier on the eyes.”

“Of course she is,” Bill agreed, nudging Charlie with his elbow.

“You wound me, Bill,” Charlie protested, holding his side.

Bill smirked. “You know what wounds me? The fact you missed the birth of your niece and almost made me miss it, too.”

“What are you boys bickering about now?” Molly chided, stepping out of the room. Her hair was frazzled, the bulk of it pulled back into a bun. She appeared more stressed than the nurses walking out the room before her. Her expression softened immediately at the sight of her second eldest son. “Charlie! You’re here.”

“Of course, mum.” Charlie walked over to give his mother a hug, his body towering over hers.

“Come meet Victoire. The others will come tomorrow to give Fleur some breathing room.” Then, Molly noticed you. Your grasp on the green leather chair tightened and your chest strained anxiously at the same. “(Y/N),” she called out sweetly. “Would you like to come, too?”

“Oh, no, I can wait here,” you said, sliding over to sit on a chair. “Please, take as long as you need.”

“Alright, then,” Molly said. She placed a hand on both Charlie and Bill’s backs and guided them back into the delivery room. 

You exhaled heavily when they left. A pounding tension still lingered in your jaw; you were so embarrassed. You should’ve waited downstairs in the lobby instead of following Charlie upstairs. You were certain that as nice as Molly was, she was going to talk about your gaffe with her neighbours over tea: her perfect son’s only-remarkable-because-of-what-her-last-name-affords-her girlfriend invited herself to meet her first grandchild. And can you believe she might’ve been drinking prior to it? Ruined the occasion. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. Next time, you’d think things through. 

“Don’t drop her!” a shrill voice, muted by the door, rang out. 

You looked up. 

“I promise I won’t, mum! Now, calm down. Not even Fleur is worried,” came the response. Definitely Charlie. 

“He did a decent job holding onto the snitch back in school.” That was Bill.

Then, a delicate little laugh complemented by Bill’s deeper one.

“See, mum, nothing to fret over. She’s perfectly happy in her uncle’s arms.”

Your mind crafted an image of Charlie holding the newborn in his arms. There was a tender look in his blue eyes as he cradled something so delicate and precious. You felt the look of love through your vision and for a moment, the weight on your chest lifted. 

Every single detail of the night of the concert lingered in your mind for the next couple of days. You replayed each segment in your mind. Charlie taking you to pub and meeting Don. Charlie’s show of some emotion—jealousy?—and the touch of his hand on your hip in front of Alex. The moment in Stan’s bus, and had it not been for that owl, something might’ve happened. A confession, a kiss… you would’ve been pleased with either outcome. But you sung high praises for that aforementioned owl; it led to you being able to witness him being there for his niece’s first moments. You reckoned you handled it perfectly well, passing yourself off as a supportive partner rather than a nosy one.

Feelings of infatuation overwhelmed you as you tried to scrub them away at the dirt-speckled skin of a potato. It was Monday evening and you were running high on the fumes of adrenaline. You’d decided to expel that energy by trying your hand in the kitchen. A recipe for leek and potato soup caught your eye and it seemed easy enough. You figured Charlie might appreciate it too, given how he’d made fun of there not being a meal ready for him previously. He said he’d be back this evening, and you were going to be ready for it this time.  You even pulled down two wine glasses in anticipation.

You nearly nicked your finger with the peeler when you heard keys in the front door. You drew in a deep breath and extended your hands over the top of your head to smooth out any flyaways. But really, did the rugged, sun-kissed, outdoor-prone Charlie Weasley care about how your hair looked? Before you could answer, Charlie walked in with a small duffel bag slung over his shoulders. His hair was dishevelled, his cheeks rosy, and a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin.

Your heart nearly gave out at the sight. Heavens, he looked even more handsome like this. 

“Letter for you, (Y/N),” was Charlie’s greeting.

”Thank you,” you said. “Just set it down on the table there, if you don’t mind.” “Where’ve you been?” you asked, trying to keep your eagerness to a minimum. 

Charlie closed the door behind him. “I took up Mallory’s offer of Quidditch.”

Oh.

Your smile dropped but you prayed that Charlie didn’t see it.

Something more bitter and darker washed out the sweet taste in your mouth. “How was it?”

”Great!” Charlie replied cheerily. “Reminded me of old times.”

You didn’t dare ask what those old times consisted of. Treacherous images of post-celebratory locker room make-outs and late-night “practice” sessions came to mind. 

“I got around to chatting with her brother, Marcus,” Charlie added. “ When I wasn’t being tackled down to the ground or gasping for breath, at least. I forgot how well-connected he was to all the Ministry departments.”

More treacherous images flooded your mind. Charlie. Entangled with Mallory. On the field. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, stellar guy. I reckon I should keep in touch with him.” Charlie shedded his bag and his jacket. ”What are you making? It smells good.”

You beamed at his question. “I figured I’d take one out of Millicent’s book, seeing both you and I are such fans now.”

Charlie sucked some air through his teeth. “Bad night for me to grab dinner with old classmates, huh?”

“Oh, not at all,” you waved Charlie’s sentence off with a shake of your head. You shuffled slightly over to your left to conceal the second wine glass you’d pulled out. “There will be quite a bit left over, if you want it.”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” Charlie said. “I’m going to shower before I head out. Want to join?”

”No, I have dinner—” you stopped yourself, your peeler wedged in the crevice of a potato and refusing to budge. You swallowed a lump in your throat. Your chest felt strange, a strong ache casting shadows on where there was just so much joy. “I’ll see you afterwards.”

Charlie responded with a crooked smile and clamped his lips together like he was concealing a retort. You imagined it would’ve gone something like, ‘Ah, so you were thinking about joining me in the shower. How naughty of you, (Y/N).’

Well, no kidding. What sane person would refuse an elusive chance to see Charlie shirtless? The longer you thought about it, the more you could taste the hot beads of water coating his hair, running down the nape of his neck, down his chest and into the ridges of his abs. 

Your steam-ridden daydream was shot by you remembering of why he was in such desperate need of a shower. 

His mention of Mallory and his dinner plans made you want to dump the contents of the soup—that you’d made a second time over because you’d burned the first batch—into the sink. You feared how much more Mallory could get under his skin when you weren’t around him. Trying to quell your building insecurities, you had to rationalize it and break it down for your own sanity. ‘Friends’ was a plural word; Charlie and Mallory weren’t going to be alone at dinner. Charlie loved Quidditch. Mallory loved Quidditch. You didn’t love Quidditch. It was easy for the thought of inviting you to slip his mind. Charlie clearly talked to Mallory’s brother, Marcus as well. And most importantly, Charlie wasn’t your boyfriend or some committed lover or a lover of any sort. That prohibited you from asking anything of him.

Besides, he was going to come home after…right? 

You brushed off these thoughts as fanatical insinuations. Maybe you were going a little stir-crazy from Charlie’s flirting. When you heard the shower start, you slipped the extra wine glass back in its place and topped your own glass off. You needed it, because what else did Malfoys do when faced with trivial matters besides drinking them away? The dose was derived from observing your father: two glasses for a mild inconvenience, four for a moderate one, and the whole bottle for a considerable issue.

The situation at hand was pretty moderate, so four glasses it was.

In the reflection of the window, you saw your father’s eyes staring back at you. They held the same look of perturbance and wondering of why you should have to deal with any misfortune. You really were his daughter. 

The effect of the alcohol cushioned the pain of Charlie leaving through the door. He looked well-combed and delectable and ready to slip right into Mallory’s arms. Or into her mouth. No, you scolded yourself, none of that nonsense. After a lonesome dinner, your fork scraping your teeth in contemplation more than scraping the bowl, you sorted the leftovers into containers. You had your bath and went straight to bed.

Sleep that night was not only futile, it was wishful thinking. You tossed and turned. When you turned the light on again, both the hour and minute hand on your clock inched perilously close to two, meaning it was that late and Charlie still wasn’t back. He’d been gone for almost six hours.

You should’ve been asleep right now. You should’ve been fine right now. You shouldn’t be fretting over Charlie right now. So, why were you staring at the ceiling, a bruising feeling consuming your bones?

Before Charlie came into your life, you were trying to prove a point to your parents: you didn’t need a partner. And you’d always sworn you wouldn’t let the affections of a man change you; you preferred to operate independently.  Now, you were absolutely sick over Charlie. Sometime in the past couple weeks, you’d gone from not really caring where he was to your mood beating to the sound of his drums. Merlin, you were a raging hypocrite. 

The memories you had thought beautiful seemed so ugly now. His act of blowing off dinner in favour of hanging out with Mallory and her friends cheapened everything that happened over the weekend. And how was it fair that Charlie was free to spend his nights as he pleased, while the moment you engaged with Alex, he led you away? Wouldn’t it be preposterous if you showed up to the bar he was at right now and made a show by snatching him back in front of Mallory? If you did it, you’d look crazy. But when Charlie did it, it was chivalrous. 

As you fluffed your pillow just to lay down again, you thought about your friend, Alicia Spinnet. She used to complain about the men she dated and the ways they cycled hot and cold. They were indecipherable, affectionate one day and gone the next. In the end, they wanted nothing more than a fling which led to numerous late-night conversations with her asking you where she’d gone wrong or if those men were really interested in the first place. The pain she felt was only punctuated when she saw them out with a real partner months later. 

While you empathized with her by providing long hugs, ice-cream, and promises of getting petty revenge, you didn’t think yourself as so naive to find yourself in such a situation. You’d look for the signs, you’d know when to leave. But now, you felt so, so stupid. 

Charlie Weasley was not different; he was exactly the type of men Alicia complained about. At this point, you weren’t even sad. You were angry and you didn’t know who to be angry with.

“You look like shit.”

You eked out a smile. “Thank you, Fred.”

You stopped by Cauco and Weasley Wizard Wheezes the next morning just before work. Neither place brought you much peace after what had happened with Charlie there, but Fred and George were the cure-all to any sort of pain. And the last time you trekked from Cauco to the shop, you hadn’t met Charlie yet, so maybe this would serve as some sort of spiritual reset. 

You almost choked on your coffee order. You’d asked for the strongest drink as a feeble attempt to get through the day and you were served accurately. You peeled off the sleeve trying to ascertain how many shots of espresso were exactly in this concoction. Oh—was that a 3 or 8?

The delivery man finished stacking a boatload of parcels near the front and readied a slip in front of you. You counted the boxes and signed off on it for Fred and George who were busying themselves with opening duties. You thanked the worker as he left.

From there, you walked around the shop and gently rearranged some crooked products as a means to distract yourself. Charlie did get back last night, interrupting your very light sleep. You heard him brushing his teeth around 3 a.m. It was early enough to signify he didn’t spend the entire night in Mallory’s bed but late enough for the opportunity of an emotional and physical rekindling to occur. You slipped past him this morning as he slept in. You had no desire to ask him how last night went as your first conversation of the day.

You were confused. The burning desire to be by Charlie’s side flamed out so quickly after he’d mentioned Mallory. Was what you thought you felt even real, then?

“Want to do something this weekend?” you asked quickly.

“I always want to do something,” Fred was the first to respond. “But I figured your days were better spent on maintaining appearances with Charlie.”

“No,” you corrected quickly. “I think we’ve done well enough not to require anymore… appearances together.”

“It’s settled then,” Fred proclaimed. “Let’s hop a couple of bars and see where we end up.”

“(Y/N) will be on the floor,” George sang. “Just like before.”

You giggled at George’s lyricism as you propped up a Skiving Snackbox. “I will not!” 

Talking and making plans with Fred and George always took a weight off your shoulders. You went home that night feeling ready for whatever punches and hooks life was going to throw at you. You, however, stalled when you arrived back to an empty apartment again. You walked down the hallway and into the kitchen where you stopped in front of the fridge. Curiously, you peeked in to find your leftovers untouched, and you felt your resolve falter for a moment. Did it taste bad? Or did Charlie have no need for it because he was sustained by something else?

You took a deep breath to ground yourself. You had to stop thinking about this for your own sanity. Charlie and Mallory could move out to the countryside and have their perfect, beautiful academically-gifted, athletic, curly-haired, bright-eyed babies. You swore you’d wish him well when that day came. Maybe you’d even send him a gift basket. 

You were going to be fine.

You didn’t see Charlie until Friday evening after he’d arrived home from the train station. He intercepted you at the door just as you were about to leave for your night out. 

“Hold up, (Y/N). What are you doing next week?” Charlie asked, leaning against the doorframe. 

You felt as if you’d been punched in the gut. He looked so good. 

Composing yourself, you said: “You’re going to have to be more precise.”

“End of the workweek?” Charlie tried again. 

“I’ll be working.”

“Can’t take the time off?”

“I can’t afford to anymore.”

Charlie frowned. “That’s unfortunate.”

You put on a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I don’t have years worth of vacation banked up like you.”

“What about the weekend?”

“I’ll have plans.”

“They’re more important than me?”

“Maybe.”

“I like this new side of you, (Y/N),” Charlie remarked with a smirk. The same smirk that would’ve sent a heart-stopping shockwave through your body last week and left you dreaming the whole night. “I didn’t know you could tease like that.”

You now felt nothing but annoyance. Charlie obviously didn’t care enough to ask who your friends were or why you were blowing him off like this. 

“Thank you, Charlie,” you said amicably. “I’ll see you soon.” 

With that, you slipped out from the gap underneath his arm and hurried to the lift.  

Fred and George were more than ready to go when you joined them on the main floor of their shop. It was pitch-black outside and the shop was long closed, but they’d left a side door open for you. George already had a potent shot prepared for you which you happily accepted. 

“To another one of (Y/N)’s successful schemes!” proclaimed George as he clinked glasses with you and Fred. You threw back the shot with the boys. 

“What was the scheme again?” Fred set his glass down and exhaled in pleasure. “That’s some good stuff.”

”I think it was to throw her bloodhound parents off her scent,” George said. “By using Charlie.”

“Or to seduce our brother.”

George nodded. “We may never know (Y/N)’s true intentions.”

“Hey!” you protested. “That was not the reason.”

“I don’t know,” George tutted. “You seem to rather fancy living with him.”

“He’s not a terrible roommate. I like that he doesn’t talk incessantly like some people. You know, by trying to fill in any quiet gap.”

It was Fred’s turn to protest. “Hey!” 

“It’s true, though!” you laughed. “Charlie said you told him about our adventures in Care of Magical Creatures. Is that any detail you couldn’t have spared?”

“Oh, of course,” Fred stated. “There isn’t a soul in the world who doesn’t know about your failed adventures.”

You went quiet. The rush of bantering with Fred and George was washing out into a muted anger. So, Fred did tell Charlie you’d failed. Your voice was low when you asked: “Is that how you described it? My failed adventures?”

Fred stroked his chin. “Something like that. Maybe not those exact words. I said it was interesting he’d spend so much time around someone the complete opposite of him.”

“No, I reckon those were the exact words you used,” George said with a laugh. Neither men had picked up on the way your jaw tensed. “Don’t sugarcoat it.”

“How do you do reckon we’re the opposite?” you asked. You had to know.

Fred, still oblivious to the fact you were getting upset, answered honestly. “He’s a natural with beasts and creatures. You’ve no instinct for them—”

“And Quidditch, and the opposite sex,” George added. “Amongst other things.”

If this conversation had occurred on any other day, you would’ve belly-laughed yourself into the ground; you knew your faults. But today wasn’t any other day. You still had unresolved pain to contend with. Your mind instantly jumped back to Charlie and Mallory. Mallory was probably great at handling creatures and Quidditch, and if she had Charlie in the bag, then she was great with the opposite sex. 

“Is there anything you can’t keep to yourself?” you snapped. Fred finally picked up on your cues, your question slapping the grin off of his face. “Why do you have to hold the fact I failed that stupid elective over my head?”

“Whoa—what’s this about? You haven’t cared about this in 10 years.” Fred said in defence. 

“What makes you think I don’t care? I don’t go around telling people what you’ve failed!” 

“It’s just Charlie, (Y/N),” Fred rationalized. “He won’t hold it over your head.”

“I’m sorry, you mean the Charlie whom I’ve barely met until this September?” You inched closer to Fred. You wanted to hammer the point home, make him feel sorry for the first time in his life. “How about you give someone a chance to meet me before you give them an opinion of me?”

“Hey, I didn’t mean—”

“(Y/N), really,” George stepped in against your wishes, “He’s our brother, we know him. He really doesn’t care.” 

You wanted to scream. “Why do you think it’s just about Charlie?” But it was, it really was. “It’s about how you treat me in front of other people. Do you find it so humorous to take jabs at me?”

“Of course not!” Fred responded hastily, genuine worry in his eyes. “(Y/N), let me—”

You pounded the table with your palm. “Just forget it!” 

The shot glasses rattled. Fred took a step back.

George’s eyebrows furrowed. “(Y/N), let Fred—”

You threw your arms up in the air, exasperated. “Why don’t you talk to me when you’re ready to apologize?” 

You grabbed your coat and stomped out of the shop and out onto the cold, cobbled street. The door swung shut behind you and blocked out any last apologies if any were to be had. You waited for a couple seconds. Fred didn’t bother to follow you out. Of course he wouldn’t. And you weren’t going to look back to confirm it. 

Diagon Alley was afflicted with wintry darkness and a nippy front. It only got worse as you walked on, your face battered by headwinds. The cold winds stung your cheeks and froze the tears that had begun forming in your eyes. Not only was your friendship with Charlie deteriorating right in front of you, but you were letting how you felt about him dictate your feelings towards other people: Fred who unwaveringly had your back, and George who was just trying to help. You lost both of them in the span of one night and it was all your fault. 

As much as you tried to shake off your last name, you were a Malfoy through and through. Pleasant when people served your purpose, cold when you got what you wanted. You deserved to be standing here, shivering as you walked down the street with no one rushing up to put an arm or coat around you. 

Now where were you going to go? You couldn’t find refuge within your family. Hadn’t you worn down your relationship with them because of Charlie, too? You couldn’t go back to the shop with Fred and George—you were sure they resented you. You couldn’t go back to your apartment. But why even consider that? Charlie was probably taking advantage of your outing to escape under the covers with Mallory. 

And Charlie, oh, Charlie. If he wasn’t going to like you because of your poor handling of magical creatures, then he certainly wasn’t going to like you after the way you treated his brothers—his family. You kicked up a patch of dirt in anger and let the loose soil splay over your stockings. 

The thought of being alone and the pain shooting up your toe released the tears you’d been holding back. Once you started, you couldn’t stop. The salty stream trickled down your skin until they caught on the corners of your lips. You pulled your scarf upwards to mute the sob working its way up to your throat. And much like your tears, once the cries started, you couldn’t stop. 

You woke the next morning with a strong ache in your back and a pounding headache. Your lips were chapped, glued in certain spots from the lack of water. You pushed yourself off the scratchy pillowcase, your movement stirring a creak in the bed. The cloth that wrapped around the lamp beside you was mottled, and the gold paint scratched away to reveal the harsh grey base layer. 

Your sense of hearing came back when the pounding of your head retreated, but it was only to make way for the thudding of bodies and moans spilling out on the other side of the thin wall.  Your sense of smell came alive next, picking up on the smell of bacon grease wafting upwards through the floorboards. As if you couldn’t feel sicker.

How the mighty (Y/N) Malfoy had fallen, you thought as you scrunched up the starchy bedsheets. From her canopy bed in her mansion to a paper-thin mattress in a sketchy motel she checked herself into because she had nowhere else to go.

In the washroom, you did your best to comb out your hair with your fingers and wipe off the smudged makeup from under your eyes. You’d figure out the wrinkled clothing later on. At the very least, your topcoat would conceal the fact you slept in last night’s clothes. When you deemed yourself presentable, you walked onto the street and turned towards a different coffee shop.

A rush of blonde hair suddenly obfuscated your peripheral vision. You stumbled from the impact of two girls grazing your sides. You looked up in confusion at what had just happened.

“Girls, come back here,” a stern voice called out. 

The two girls turned back but caught your eyes first.

“(Y/N)?” the taller one called out.

Okay, now you were even more confused. “Clara?”

“That’s me!” she said. Clara ran over and threw herself in your arms. Still in a state of shock, you returned the hug. 

If this was Clara, then there was only one possibility as to who the other girl was. “Hello, Charlotte,” you greeted. Charlotte came sprinting over in a frenzy and enveloped you from the side. 

You never understood how Clara and Charlotte weren’t twins. They had a whole two years of genetic possibilities separating them, but they still maintained so much likeliness. It was as if Aunt Rosamund and your Uncle Leon copied and imprinted preset genes into their offspring. They both had Aunt Rosamund’s platinum blonde hair though wispier and wavier. They were both small and nimble, fairy-like in their stature. It was impossible to detach either girl from their love of reading fantasy and romance novels. You supposed childish wonder helped preserve their everlasting youth. 

Given that Clara and Charlotte were here, it could only mean one thing. The woman who’d called for them was none other than—

You turned around. “Hello, Aunt Rosamund.”

Aunt Rosamund quirked a pointed eyebrow at you, her inquisitive green eyes sweeping you up and down. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Her silver hoop earrings perfectly complemented her white suit and cloak. She twisted her mouth which pulled her cheekbones—looking so much like her older brother, Lucius, in the process—meaning she was ready to pass judgement. You braced yourself. 

”Goodness, you look terrible, (Y/N). Did you sleep on the streets yesterday?”

Ouch. Well, at least it wasn’t your Uncle Theo. Things could be worse. 

“I had a long night. It’s been busy at work,” you responded. 

“You may benefit from a de-puffing potion,” Aunt Rosamund continued, now staring into your eyes. “I have a contact in Luxembourg who is the Chief of Operations at a cosmetic company that carries simply the best line of anti-aging products. I’ll set an appointment up for you.”

You touched your face, fingers grazing swells of your eyelids from all the crying you did last night. “Oh, this is temporary. It’ll fade.”

“Hm,” Aunt Rosamund said, half-believing you as she pressed her red lips together. 

“She doesn’t look like a vagabond, mother. I like it. It’s rather bohemian,” Charlotte commented sweetly as she smoothed out your topcoat for you. “And (Y/N) looks even more youthful with her puffy eyes.” Alright, bohemian and youthful—you’d take it. 

“So, what are you girls doing here?” you asked, trying to move the limelight away from your appearance. 

“We wanted to see Christmas in London!” Charlotte piped up.

Clara sighed wistfully. “There’s a certain sense of romance that lingers in the air here that you can’t find anywhere else.”

You were gobsmacked. These girls had the entirety of Europe in their little hands and they wanted to see Christmas here? “Really?“

“You should know, (Y/N)! You live here,” Charlotte harped. 

Even more puzzled, you stated: “It’s only November.”

Charlotte took your hand. “Sure, but we have to be back in Switzerland in December. And I can’t wait for you to visit us then.”

You squeezed her palm affectionately. “Me neither.”

”Come on, girls,” Aunt Rosamund called. “We have to be on our way to brunch. You can discuss your plans with (Y/N) when we arrive at your uncle Lucius’s at noon.”

“See you later, (Y/N)!” Charlotte said, giving you one last hug, before running off to her mother.

“Bye, (Y/N)!” Clara repeated. 

As the three ladies ambled on, you stood there motionless, wondering what the hell you had missed.

Charlie was on the couch when you ran into your apartment. You huffed as you shut the door, having sprinted here to make the best of the hour you were given before you had to be back at the Manor.

“Hey,” was the first thing out of Charlie’s mouth when he saw you. Were your eyes betraying you, or did he genuinely look concerned? “Where were you last night?”

“Uhm,” you stammered, his question really wedging you in between a rock and a hard place. Should you lie or lie? You didn’t feel like divulging about the night you spent crying in a dirt-cheap inn. “With Fred and George.”

Charlie’s shoulders released in relief. “That’s good. I was a little concerned when you didn’t come home.”

Well, didn’t that make two of you?

“I’m going to freshen up. I have family visiting today.”

Charlie perked up. Begrudgingly, you attempted to read him. Was he excited that you were going to be gone? Your absence would surely afford him more opportunities with Mallory. 

“Which side?” he asked. “Mum, dad?”

“My father’s.”

“Is it your Uncle Theo or Aunt Rosamund?”

You raised your eyebrows. “You remember?”

“I couldn’t forget your fantastic descriptions. So, who is it?”

“My Aunt Rosamund.”

“Do you need me to accompany you?”

Sharply, you said: “No.”

“Alright then,” Charlie said, falling back on the couch. “Don’t forget about me.”

“I’ll try my best, Charlie, no promises.”

You opened the door to your room and rummaged through the closet for an outfit that wouldn’t suffer the scrutiny of Aunt Rosamund. You heard the thud of footsteps drawing closer and stopped. 

“Before you go, (Y/N), can you think over one thing for me?” Charlie asked.

You almost laughed when you spun around. Charlie’s head looked like it was decapitated and hanging from the way he positioned himself at the door. “Depends on what it is.”

“Is there any Thursday and Friday you could take off?”

You frowned. 

Like how Alicia’s stories usually went, this was the part where the guy (Charlie) would try to win your affections back after realising you’d turned cold. Shower you with praise and compliments and his undivided attention. Charlie was about to feed and rescue you from the famine he started. And when you thought you were safe in his arms, he was sure to starve you for good. 

You weren’t going to let that happen. You weren’t going to be a crumpled mess on the floor again. 

“Sure,” you said coolly. “I’ll think about it.”

However deflated you sounded, it didn’t impact Charlie in the slightest. He looked as gleeful as the day he’d gotten his Hogwarts acceptance letter. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”

You placed a hand on your hip, willing to humour him one last time. “Alright, why, Charlie?”

When the response spilled from Charlie’s lips, you realised you had no playbook to navigate the question he’d just posed.  

>> NEXT CHAPTER

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

@badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 @bathwater101 @evilunicorns4minions @noah-uhhh-what @earth-to-lottie @kissingyourgrl @sihtricswife @adalia-jaycee @anuttellaa @weasley-clan @morks-watermelon @nobodysbabydoll @annoyingbean630 @bathwater101 @ladylizzieofdarbyshire

[fiona-lawton]

Aaaaand more art I did for Hogwarts Mystery back in 2018!

[rae-pottah]

omgomgomg ok we all know that fred teases and stuff all the time and it’s in every fic ever and a lot of the time he’s like mean (or.. in some cases.. well you know) but i’ve literally never seen him like that.. anyway all that to say can you please do a fic (no smut) where he’s just an absolute sweetie and absolutely so whipped for reader (but like not in a cringe way LMAO)

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Warnings: She/her pronouns, fluff, golden retriever!fred, established relationship

Summary: You have Fred trained well

----------------------------------------------

*Y/n's POV*

Soon it will be Christmas, and I will be going home with my boyfriend to meet his family for the first time. It's exciting and scary at the same time, but for now, we live like normal. I had just gotten to breakfast when I realized I was missing my potions text book, we had potions first. I let out a frustrated groan.

"What's wrong m'dear?" Fred asked worriedly

"Nothing, just left my text book in the common room, I'll have to eat quickly then go grab it" I breath out

"Ah, no love, I'll go get it! You eat, I've been down here for a while"

"Oh will you Fred?! Thank you m'love!" I kiss him on his cheek before sitting down tiredly. If I had turned around I would have seen his blush and the way he touched his cheek with a soft smile before he went to go get the book

"Whipped" I hear Ginny say under her breath, I look toward the girl with a smile

--meeting the family--

I had been anxious to meet his family, I don't know what they're like. That's why I brought a deck of muggle cards to maybe teach Mr. Weasley a couple games.

I obviously had already met, Percy, George, Ron and Ginny. But the others I had never met. The door gets thrown open

"OH! HOW WONDERFUL! Y/n, we've heard so much about you!" I get pulled into a hug from Mrs. Weasley.

"And I, you! It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Weasley" I suddenly felt calm in her embrace

"Oh please, please darling call me Molly" she starts "We've already started dinner, I hope you don't mind"

"Of course not! please lead the way" I follow her right in through the living room to the kitchen and table area "lovely home you have" I say as I looked around with wide eyes, adoring the wood, adoring the homeliness

"Oh thank you dear, such a sweetheart" she mumbles the last part, hand on her heart

"Oh! Dar-mling! Hw ar ya-" Fred says, while chewing his food, I simply tap my finger to my lips and he lets out a sound of recognition, he chews his food quickly (with his mouth shut), swallows and stands up

"Sorry about that love, How are you?" he asked kindly

"I'm great, darling" I look over to his family who, other than Percy, George, Ron and Ginny, looked shocked

"Bloody hell, that's a brilliant witch!" a tall, muscled, red head, with scars all over any area showing, approached me "I'm Charlie, Charlie Weasley, whatever you're doing, keep doing it."

"Haha, He's trained well" Molly approached with a huge hug

"You are my new daughter in-law, I will accept no one else"

"Oh-Pfft" I let out a giggle as I turn back to Fred, he looks toward the floor with a shy smile and light blush, I grab his hand and sit at the table with my new in-laws

As the night continued I had played 4 or 5 hands of poker with Mr. Weasley and Fred, who was sulking because we were going to play without him

--The common room--

"Darling, hand me that" I pointed at the book to the left of the chair I was on, that was on a stand nearly connected to the couch

"of course Love" he said quickly while playing with a fire cracker he found in one of their old trunks

"Thank you love"

Ginny looks at Ron who looks at George, they all then break into laughter

---------------------------

That's all I got folks

[hphm-jeniferltheman]

That random choice in Gryffindor Celebration TLSQ

I Find the third choice of the game so random... but definitely jeni as a romantic would say at that situation 🤣. As always, Ben unconsciously brushes off jeni's feelings... again. The two gryffindor girls at the back was from charms class that the mc help, they were kind and sweet girls to mc that its hard for me to forget so i gotta include them here at least. Also there was a ben and ismelda moment in this tlsq, and here I am thinking there would be a sweet moment of the two. But it ended up ben blackmailing ismelda for being stubborn but the mc stopped ben. Like wth was that, i thought they would enhance the two's relationship that they randomly started but they didn't??? Im disappointed again.

aight, thats all the thought i got from this tlsq, sayonara~🫶

[three--eyed--cat]

!! charlie weasley moodboard !!

CHARLES SEPTIMUS WEASLEY

Charlie was a loner, often finding company in his dragons rather tan actual people. He could spend hours studying the little things they do, sometimes he would play quidditch with them, or he would try. He'd be seen chasing around a golden snitch, a flock of scaled creatures on his tail, their fire-y breath threatening to burn his broom. After work, he'd sit in front of the fire, opening mail while cuddled up under a patch-work blanket that his mother, molly, made him.

[selfish-thunder]

I’ve got another idea.

Okay, so I love those fics that have Harry trying to use his Parselmouth on either (or both) the basilisk and the dragon in the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, with varying degrees of success. And a lot of the time, talking to the dragon kinda works, right? Like, it’s not direct communication, more like two people who are just above beginner’s level in learning the other’s language, and both languages are derivative of another one, so even if they don’t fully understand they can kinda piece together what the other is saying?

So, let’s say it’s like that. And of course, dragons aren’t born like squishy humans who take forever to learn to even roll over; they immediately start walking, flapping their wings, and hiccupping sparks, right?

AU

FIRST YEAR Harry, of course, doesn’t realize yet that he’s a Parselmouth–he doesn’t even know what Parseltongue is and just assumed being able to talk to that snake in the zoo was just a wizard thing.

So, they’re in Hagrid’s hut, Norbert(a) is born, and Harry hears something that sounds an awful lot like, “Food? Hungry? Momma?” or whatever a newborn dragon would try to communicate.

Harry tries to tell Hagrid he thinks the dragon is hungry, he might want to feed it, but the others are confused because it sounds to them like Harry is hiss-cooing or something to the dragon. (Hagrid thinks it’s adorable.) But anyway, however it comes about, it becomes obvious in the time between the dragon being born and Charlie’s friends coming to get them, that Harry can, in fact, understand the dragon and speak to it.

It’s not perfect, but he’s able to communicate to the dragon not to set something on fire or that they need to try to eat the rats as they’re being weaned off the whiskey/blood mix thing. No one thinks it’s a perk of Parseltongue because hello, he’s talking to a dragon, and isn’t this incredible? It must be some kind of ancient inheritance thing.

So, when they write to Charlie, they naturally have to ask him if he’s ever heard anything like that, so instead of just coming to collect the dragon, Charlie comes, too, and they witness this incredible thing. (So does Draco, in the shadows, of course.)

Charlie is super excited and reaches out to every expert he can, and he convinces McG to let him bring Harry out to a dragon range to be evaluated, and they try to keep this new, rare ability under wraps, but some of the assessors blab, and Draco wrote to complain to his father who goes on his own investigation, etc. At any rate, it becomes A Thing.

While Dumbledore steps in to ensure Harry goes back to the Dursleys, the obsessed dragon crowd refuse to be refused outright and secures Harry a camp-like thing at a dragon resort (because they think it’s clearly Harry’s destiny to become, like, the Ultimate Dragon Trainer, and Harry thinks dragons are cool and likes the sound of getting away from the Dursleys for a few weeks).

Their letters don’t get through that summer, though, and Charlie hears from his brothers that they haven’t heard from Harry either, so it’s Charlie who goes to check on him and finds him locked up with bars on his windows. Unlike Ron, Fred, and Geroge, Charlie is a grown-ass adult with his own connections now, which go beyond Dumbledore’ reach because the wealthy dragon resort that’s so interested in Harry is in a goddamn different country with a whole different magical government, and also, ain’t nobody wants to get on the bad side of a self-sufficient DRAGON RESORT that has a ton of dragons that aren’t just roaming their countryside thanks to them.

So, a new arrangement is made. Harry will return to the Dursleys, under strict Romania supervision (I imagine it's some seasoned, scary-looking dragon tamer who demands to stay in the house with them, taking over the guest room, like… ahhhh chef’s kiss) just long enough to satisfy the protection spell, but for the rest of the summer, Harry stays at the resort. Charlie becomes his unofficial guardian, kinda, and: enter, a bunch of OC dragon tamers who are awesome and very protective of their little dragon-speaker.

Second year goes a little differently. First there’s Draco, who hates Harry more than ever over this, but while he knows he’ll never get a dragon-in with the Weasleys, there’s still a slight chance with Harry (and goddamnit, dragons are his NAME’S SAKE, if anyone deserves free access to any dragon they want, it’s HIM), so he tries to become less of a bother. Harry’s still outed talking a different language during duel club, and some people are still suspicious, but most people know about his dragon-ability and wrongly assume the opposite of what it actually is (ie, he can kinda talk to snakes because he can talk to dragons), and Harry only tells Ron and Hermione that the snake was actually a lot easier to understand.

Go to next summer, when his new dragon-tamer-family learn about the events of second year, they firstly, throw a fit because they should have been informed their charge was in danger, and secondly, go and collect the basilisk because like hell are they going to let something like that just rot somewhere. So, figuring out how to destroy Horcruxes later becomes, like, SUPER easy and accessible.

Charlie’s the one who tells Harry about Sirius Black when he escapes, and he straight up tells Harry everything, about Black being his godfather and betraying his parents, all of it, so Harry goes into third year fully informed. He, of course, does not see the grim that summer. But he doesn't spent the year an emotional wreck, just getting a little bit of the info at a time, do with that as you will.

Harry arrives to school with a signed permission slip for Hogsmeade, and even though McGonagall still wants to refuse him because of Black, members of his dragon-tamer family just happen to be in the area for that year for ‘business’ or whatever (aka, protect Harry because ain't nobody said shit to them last year) and escort him to Hogsmeade anyway.

(“With all due respect, Professor, I once had a Peruvian Vipertooth grab my leg and toss me over a hill, and I still got back up and got the collar on her. You think Black scares me?”)

Most of their patronuses are dragons, except for one tamer whose patronus is a chipmunk, and funnily enough, it’s the most powerful patronus of all of them.

Draco doesn’t insult Buckbeak because he wants to prove to the tamers and probably Potter that he can, in fact, handle himself with larger magical creatures. He becomes Hagrid's best, most dedicated student.

I mean, COME ON,  imagine how the whole series can go differently.

Maybe the tamers get hilariously invested in the Scabbers/Crookshanks feud. It's the tamers, maybe, that figure out Scabbers fucking Pettigrew.

Different dragons have to be imported for the first task because Romania would be too biased - or they change the first task altogether because Harry's a known dragon-speaker.

They would DESTROY Umbridge.

Death Eaters vs Dragon Tamers. Dragon Tamers in the Order. Sirius lives because a Tamer was there in the Department of Mysteries to save him. Sirius not going out of his mind being stuck at Grimmauld because he can go to the resort where no one outside the Order recognizes him/cares.

Draco not becoming a Death Eater because he wants to become a Dragon Tamer.

DRAGONS AT THE BATTLE OF HOGWARTS. USING THE GRINGOTTS DRAGON INSTEAD OF GRIPHOOK TO BREAK INTO (AND OUT OF) GRINGOTTS.

THE POSSIBILITIES

[the-al-chemist]

Human Errors

I’m publishing this story as part of @hphm-ship-week, for the prompt “Second Wizarding War”. I actually wrote the first draft of this about three years ago. It came to me after reading an online discourse about how people should know better as they get older than to make mistakes. Perhaps this is true, but it isn’t the case. To err is human. We never stop making mistakes. We are all mainly making it all up as we go along.

With that in mind, this story is for anyone who has ever made the realisation that they’ve gotten to the point where they thought they’d know it all, but still feel like they don’t know anything. Welcome to the club.

Warnings: mentions of death, war, grief, trauma and PTSD.

Dragon wasn’t usually allowed on the bed. He had his own basket in the kitchen, where the stone floor was cool in the summer, and the oven warm in the winter. His master did let him into the bedroom occasionally, but even then he was expected to lie on the rug. It was a special occasion when he was permitted to go “up”.

In the last few days, though, there had been a lot of special occasions. One each night, and every morning. Either that, or this newcomer was just a bit more lenient than his master was. He didn’t really care what the reason was, however. He was just happy to make the most of it.

A creak on the bottom step this morning made Dragon roll off his back and onto his belly, which his honorary packmate had been scratching for him a few seconds earlier. He let out a low growl.

“It’s just me, Dragon.” As his master’s voice called up the stairs, Dragon stopped growling, and wagged his two tails. “Am I alright to come up?”

The female human moved beside Dragon so that she was more upright. “Yeah.”

Dragon’s master smiled as he reached the top of the staircase, carrying what looked like two narrow, tall water bowls.

“You’re taking liberties again,” Charlie muttered as he sat on the end of the bed. He passed Artemis one of the mugs of tea and added for her benefit, “Him, not you.”

“I guessed as much,” replied Artemis, taking the mug from him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I thought that if I was going to wake you up, I should at least bring you tea.”

“I was already awake.”

“Right.” Charlie inclined his head and took a sip from his tea, regarding Artemis over the top of the mug. She had yet to drink, and was instead staring at the wall opposite the bed, chewing the inside of her gum and tapping one finger against her own mug. “You know, you don’t have to wait for it to cool down. It’s not actually that hot.”

Artemis said nothing. Charlie tried not to sigh as she continued to ignore the drink in her hands. She had been in this state for four days now, ever since he had awoken to the sound of banging at his front door and opened it to find her on his doorstep unannounced, broomstick in hand and completely bedraggled.

He had known immediately that something was very, very wrong. She had clearly flown to the reserve overnight — and that wasn’t exactly a short journey to make — and from the grimly panicked expression on her face, she’d done so out of shock and desperation. If that wasn’t enough, the fact that she couldn’t even find the words to tell him what the matter was when he asked her paid testament to how shaken she was.

It took a lot to shake Artemis Hexley.

It wasn’t until after he’d arrived late for his shift and been remonstrated for it by his boss Magda that he found out what the reason was behind Artemis’ unexpected arrival. It was all anyone was talking about: the death of one of the competitors during the final challenge of the Triwizard Tournament. His heart sank further when he learned the name of the victim.

Diggory. Cedric Diggory. No wonder Artemis was in such a state.

He had decided to act as if he hadn’t heard about Cedric’s death. Knowing Artemis — which he did, very well — there wasn’t much point in forcing her to talk about it. She’d speak when she was ready. In the meantime, he’d just have to wait, and hope that he’d not have to wait too long.

That morning, though, he had received a letter from his family in England that had made him rethink this strategy. The news they’d sent was… strange. Strange, terrifying, and overwhelming.

There was a growing pit of uneasiness in his core as he considered his next move. Somehow, though, he managed to force a smile and a tone of voice that could almost pass for cheerful.

“I was just thinking,” he said, scratching Dragon the Crup behind his light brown ears, “that maybe this morning you’d like to come for a walk with me and Dragon, before it gets too hot.”

Artemis’ answer was simple: “No, thank you.”

“Or we could go for a fly after breakfast?” Charlie persisted, smiling in spite of Artemis’ blank stare and his own feelings of dread and fear. “I just think it might be good for you to do something other than sit in my bed all day, that’s all.”

Artemis’ eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips as she slowly turned her head towards him.

“Is that your way of saying you want your bed back?”

“No. Not at all, I just thought you could do with getting some fresh air and a change of scenery. Maybe even eat a vegetable, and have a shower.”

Artemis frowned, and sniffed herself in a way that was almost subtle — subtle for her, at least. Charlie’s smile became entirely genuine for a few moments, before it faded. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this. He didn’t want to, but he was going to have to push the subject.

“I got a letter from Dad this morning,” he said, not sure even as he spoke how this conversation was going to go. Judging from the way Artemis had already stiffened, it was unlikely to go well. “He was talking about some stuff that happened after the last challenge, and it was a bit confusing. From what he said, it sounded like you might know what he was going on about, so I figured that I should probably just ask you about it.”

A tense silence hung in the room. Artemis shook her head.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, eventually, her voice quiet and hoarse.

“Yeah, I know, but I just want to understand what… it doesn’t make any sense, what Dad’s written. His letter says that You-Know-Who… that he’s back,” Charlie frowned, and Artemis shuddered. “Is it true?”

Artemis merely nodded in response. Charlie swallowed, hard.

“And Cedric?”

“He’s gone,” Artemis closed her eyes. “He was killed.”

“In the challenge?”

“By… him.”

Charlie swore under his breath, and ran a hand through his hair.

“How? Why?” he asked, his voice catching with both one-word questions. “What happened?”

“The Cup. It was turned into a Portkey, transported Cedric out of the maze. Your brother’s friend, too,” Artemis still hadn’t opened her eyes. “Apparently there was a duel and some Death Eaters, and You-Know-Who. Alive. They came back and Cedric was… Everyone was screaming, and crying, and then there was all this chaos, and there was a Death Eater spy at Hogwarts. I saw Dumbledore afterwards and he told me all of it. I didn’t know what to do, so I came here.”

Charlie had to force himself not to put his arms around her. His chest tight from the gravity of the news and aching for his friend’s sake, he drew a shallow, almost painful breath before speaking again.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t know how.”

That was fair enough, he supposed. The whole situation was so bizarre and terrible that it was hard to know what to think, let alone how to talk about it. Still, he wished she had told him. This was important, after all.

“That’s alright,” he said, with a shrug. Artemis shook her head.

“No, it’s not. I should have told you.”

“You didn’t know how. I wouldn’t have known how to say it either, it’s so—”

“That’s not…” Artemis drew a shaky breath and pulled her knees into her chest. “I just didn’t want you to hate me.”

“I could never.”

“Not even if it was all my fault?”

Charlie frowned, and Artemis lifted her hazel eyes to meet his. They had a sincere expression and were almost tear-filled. Though Charlie doubted that Artemis could have actually caused this horrific turn of events, it was obvious that she thought she had.

“Try me,” he said, with a sad smile. Artemis sighed.

“I… it was really busy that morning, getting things ready and everything. Bagman was being useless as always, so I was running around like mad, and I was already not quite… Well, I had a stressful evening the night before. It’s not important, not anymore.”

Charlie’s eyes drifted to her knees, where her hands were resting, the tips of her bare fingers digging into her legs. Artemis, either by instinct, having caught Charlie looking, or sensing that he was looking, shifted the position of her hands, so that the right covered the left. Both were bare. Charlie felt his heart skip a beat.

“Anyway,” Artemis continued, “I got there and I offered to help Badeea by taking the Cup into the maze. But then, I ran into Moody and he took one look at me and said I could do with a break, and he was happy to take the Cup into the maze for me so I had one less thing to do, and I… I gave him the Cup.”

“You’ve lost me, sorry,” Charlie said, placing his not quite empty mug onto the floor by the bed. “How does that make any of this your fault?”

“Don’t you see? Moody was the Death Eater spy.”

“What? But he’s an Auror!”

“No, it wasn’t actually Moody. It was the spy using a Polyjuice potion,” Artemis explained. “But that was his plan. Get the Cup, turn it into the Portkey. And I just… handed it to him. Just like that.”

Her eyes lifted to the ceiling and she blinked, hard. A single tear rolled down her right cheek, its course altered slightly as it deflected at the level of the small scar under her cheekbone. Charlie’s fingers itched to wipe it away for her, but he didn’t. There were certain lines he didn’t want to cross, and touching Artemis’ face would definitely definitely overstepping some kind of boundary.

Artemis rubbed the right side of her face forcefully with the heel of her hand and inside of her wrist. She blinked again, and took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for judgement. But judgement never came. Not from Charlie.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty for that,” he told her. She stared back at him, clearly disbelieving. “Artemis, you weren’t to know. You can’t beat yourself up like this over something that you didn’t know about.”

“No, but I should have known—”

“How? How would you have possibly known that? I mean, the whole thing is unbelievable. You’d have to be mad for the idea to even cross your mind that someone might… that any of that might be true.”

“I guess,” said Artemis, unfolding herself slightly to stroke Dragon, who was nudging her arm. “But I should have known something was wrong.”

Charlie shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. You were stressed out, and someone you thought you offered to help you. There’s nothing suspicious about that. Besides, we have all trusted the wrong people before.”

“That was different.”

“How come?”

“We were children, then. You’re meant to trust your teachers when you’re at school,” Artemis reasoned, her eyes still firmly on Dragon. “We were told Rakepick had our best interests at heart, so we believed it. We weren’t to know better, not when we were only teenagers.”

“I suppose not,” said Charlie, frowning, “but at what point would you say that you should know better?”

“I dunno.” Artemis’ nose wrinkled. “It’s just that when you’re growing up, you just assume that adults know what they’re doing and have all the answers to everything, and if they do things that are wrong, it’s because they are all wrong. But now, we are the grown ups, and I don’t know about you, but I still feel like I’m just making things up as I go along.”

So, it wasn’t just Charlie that felt that way. “Yeah, me too.”

“Shouldn’t we know by now? What we’re doing, and what is right, and what is wrong?”

“I… I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like you turn seventeen and the trace disappears and gets replaced with some kind of fountain of wisdom, is it?”

“No, but it would be good if it did,” Artemis said, with the shadow of a smile.

“Oh, yeah. Instead we just carry on not knowing things, with the addition of feeling bad for not knowing them. It’s pretty crap, if you think about it.”

“When do you think it will happen? That we will figure it all out and stop having to muddle through our lives?”

“You’re asking the wrong person. I’m as clueless as you are.” Charlie half-laughed. “Maybe when… Maybe never. Maybe no one actually knows what they’re doing.”

“So what, everyone in the world is just stumbling around blindly trying to find their way, every single day, until they die?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Even McGonagall?”

That was a good question. Charlie considered it for a moment. “I think she might be an exception.”

Artemis grinned, smiling properly for the first time since she’d arrived.

“Probably. I can’t believe that she doesn’t know what she’s doing. What about Dumbledore?”

“He definitely thinks he knows what he’s doing,” Charlie replied. “But I reckon he doesn’t. He hired Rakepick, didn’t he? And this person who wasn’t actually Moody, he obviously didn’t know about that either.”

“No, that’s true,” Artemis bit her bottom lip. “Do you think he feels guilty, too?”

“I bet he does.”

Both of them were quiet for a while, Artemis watching Dragon, and Charlie watching her.

“It must be easier if you’re a Crup,” Artemis said eventually. “Life, I mean.” Charlie nodded, and she raised her eyes to meet his, before telling him, “I would like a hug now.”

“I think I can manage that.”

Charlie wrapped his arms around Artemis’ shoulders and pulled her against his chest, while Dragon jealously nudged his way between them. Artemis mumbled something, and Charlie made a questioning noise.

“I said” — Artemis lifted her head from his sternum to talk to him — “what happens now? Now that…”

“Now that he’s back? I don’t know. But I don’t think life’s going to get easier any time soon.”

“What should we do?”

“I’d start by having a shower.” Charlie kept his face straight as Artemis scowled. “In the nicest way possible, you don’t smell good.”

Dragon wriggled out from the middle of the hug as his new packmate batted his master with a forepaw. She stood up and padded away from them, and he turned to look at his master with pleading eyes and two sheepishly wagging tails. He knew he was about to be scolded for being on the bed.

But, to his surprise, his master merely patted him on the head.

“Good job, Dragon. Well done, boy,” he said, before he also walked out of the room.

Dragon watched his master leave without even telling him to get down. He tilted his head to one side and whined to himself softly.

Humans were such strange and confusing creatures.

[slygirl666]

august (Charlie Weasley)

Charlie x reader

notes: based on the Taylor Swift song, but I couldn't not end hopeful. Slytherin reader but the is only one reference to it not explicit but refers to sex

I have more Taylor swift Harry Potter fictions in my stuff if y'all want more

word count: 1,217

You brushed by Charlie Weasley entering potions, you looked down to control the heat that rose to your cheeks. Looking up you caught his eyes lingering.

You flushed remembering this last summer before your seventh year. 

You were out at a small beachtown with your parents, they were there less often than one would think for a family vacation so you spent much time walking around the town.

You had walked down to a more private area taking off your shoes laughing to find your toes in the sand. 

But when you got to your spot you found someone sitting there.a familiar mop of red curls, the gryffindor quidditch captain.

He turned to meet your eye. He looked over your curiosity written all over his face. When he moved you noticed a sketch book in his lap.

“Sorry I didn't think someone would be here,” you began to turn around.

“No, it's fine,” he smiled at you. “You go to Hogwarts don't you? I think we had charms together.”

You nodded at him smiling. You gave him your name.

“Its nice to properly meet you.”

You were soon meeting him in this spot every day. Talking, subtly getting closer, memorizing the way his hair curled around his face and how it carelessly fell back when he ran his finger through it.

It turned into an everyday thing to meet him out by that small hidden place. You were reading, he was drawing something facing you and you caught his eye more than once.

“What are you drawing this time?” you smiled at him placing down your book.

“You,” he shrugged like the simple word didn't just take your breath away.

“I thought you only drew dragons,” you tried to recover quickly. 

“I draw what i'd like to,” he looked up at you shyly placing the sketch book on your lap.

You inhaled sharply as you saw the way he drew the curve of your nose and the silly face you make when you concentrate too hard. 

“You made me beautiful,” you gave him a soft smile somewhere in you being lost in the drawing he moved right next to you.

“I drew you as you are,” his voice was almost a whisper and a rather large hand round a lock of your hair. 

You turned to face him, finding an intensity in his eyes you've never seen up close. Your eyes went to his lips that were twisted into a slight smirk. 

He was getting closer giving you time to pull away, but you met him there. You met slightly chapped lips and a hand found its way to your chin. 

You wanted to wrap yourself in him, he was warm and inviting. 

“Charlie,” you beathed when he pulled back his forehead against yours. “Do you want to come to my cabin?”

It was forward,stupid and might scare him off. But you wanted to take the chance what if it was only today, but also what if this could mean forever. 

He smiled, bringing his lips to yours again before getting up to go. He grabbed your hand so you could pull him with you.

Once you got to the cabin he seemed less dazed. “Your parents?”

“Out of town for the weekend.”

He pulled you to him, his arms circling your waist, a soft kiss on the front porch. “Are you sure?”

It was a good question, they could turn back now but nothing in you wanted to. 

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his lips pulling him in by his tee shirt.

Innocent kisses easily turned to gentle touches, clothes were shed frantically, it was a hunger you had never known before.

“Charlie,” you breathed as he went for your waist band. “I haven't ever done this before.”

He nodded, “we can stop.” 

“No.”

***

You pulled away from his eyes as you joined the other slytherin students on their side of the class. You took notes as diligently as you could wondering why he hasn’t talked to you. 

You needed to know what only two months ago put so much distance between the two of you. You thought he wanted you too.

Thinking back to how your parents never being present meant you and Charlie got the cabin to yourselves. 

You remembered his golden skin that stood out on your green sheets. He was laying on his stomach looking at you as you mindlessly traced his back. It took everything in you to not trace your own name on the muscle you were feeling.

“Charlie?”

“Yes love?” The nickname made your heart flutter.

“This won't be it for us, will it?”  you whispered. The doom of seventh year only weeks away.

“If you don't want it to be it won’t,” he twisted to face up,his fingers laced with yours bringing them to his mouth for a kiss.  

But it had been a lie, you walked onto the train and saw him with his friends, his arm slung around a pretty blond hufflepuff.

You walked to where you knew your friends were fighting back tears that you never allowed to slip.

You breathed you thought a week without hearing from him was reasonable but now you saw he may have had another reason.

You were young sure but everything in you knew you wanted Charlie Weasley in your life, you wanted his hands around your waist, his whispers at night.

He was everything you never knew you needed.

You hoped maybe he’ll reach out after maybe you miss understood, it was known Charlie Weasley was not intrested girls or anyone really. 

He never did.

So here you were in the October chill reading the same book you read on that beach for what had to be the tenth time since that day.

You heard a soft ‘oh’ as someone intruded on your quiet spot. 

It was Charlie.

“I'll go,” you said at the same time. You stood up almost falling from how fast you got up. You turned to walk away but a familiar hand grabbed your wrist. 

“Love?” he breathed as your face twisted into one of hurt you could fee the tears pricking your eyes. 

“What do you want Weasley” you tried to pull but his grip was firm.

“I want to know what happened to us,” you turned to meet his eyes to find hurt in them. “I thought you wanted us, I did, well I do.”

“I waited to hear from you Charlie, I understood the week before school, I did.” tears slipped, “but then I walked onto the train to find a pretty hufflepuff around you and i thought maybe you made a mistake.”

“Love, no, I meant what I said only if you wanted it.” he breathed, softly pulling you closer you followed his movement. “Penny is genuinely a friend. When you didn't reach out i thought you didn't want us.”

“Somehow, after everything all I want is us.” you managed a smile. You put your free hand into his red curls as he intertwined your fingers on the hand he used to pull you in. You laughed, pulling his face down to meet yours. 

There would be much to talk about , but right now you are grateful that Charlie wasn't a lost memory to linger on.

[yoselin-uyu]

That's how you keep him quiet.

Good job Aderyn, now im next ⭐

[wisteria-blooms]

sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (8/??)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST AT THE BOTTOM! (Let me know if you'd like to be added or if I've missed you!) A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out! I've been experimenting using my iPad + keyboard to edit which messed up my coordination on my laptop, if that's any excuse. It's just been hard to edit in this little rut where I can't bear to read what I write, but stick around, things are going to get exciting after this...

(GIF credits to @alicent-targaryen; I have so much trouble properly crediting when the GIF isn't the first in the set, ahh).

CHAPTER 8: Foolishly thinking things would slow down after Charlie moved in with you, you find that you're dead wrong. In fact, he finds a new way to integrate into your life: by attending the highly-anticipated book club meeting your mother had invited you to. But as you watch women flock to him like bees to honey, you find another problem to deal with, one that involves your heart. (6.6k words)

CHAPTER 8: TEA TIME (YOU'RE SO VAIN)

And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner, they'd be your partner...

“(Y/N)! Congratulations on the new place—”

“It’s every bit as beautiful as Bill described to us—”

“Perfect for a new couple, truly—”

Fred and George strode through the ajar door while talking amongst themselves as if they were walking into their own place. They displayed absolutely no respect for your sacred space. However, you felt no need to stop them from where you were in the kitchen—you were expecting them on this lovely Friday afternoon. After all, you’d invited them.

George cradled a large, wrapped box. He was strong but you could tell it was heavy by the slight strain in his arms. Fred, conversely, easily held a bottle of wine adorned with a ribbon on the neck.

“Thought we’d bring some housewarming gifts,” George said, setting his present on the counter.

“Had to guess most of it, as you and Charlie didn’t have a registry of any sorts,” Fred quipped, a smug look on his face, proud of his insinuation of you being married.

“Very funny.” You rolled your eyes. “When are you going to give that up? You seem to be the only ones who know the truth, but refuse to acknowledge it.”

You should’ve expected their answer that was given in unison: “Never.” 

“I do appreciate the gifts,” you said earnestly. Underneath their teasing tones, Fred and George were still your greatest friends, and you were appreciative of their generosity.

You laid two palms on the box George had set on your kitchen island. “What’s this?” 

“Open it up and see,” offered George. 

Delicately, you began to unwrap the gift, plucking the tape off and careful not to rip the paper. 

“Save us the anticipation and just rip it open, will you?” Fred suggested, finishing off his remark with an animalistic shake of his head, like he was a lion tearing his prey’s flesh. The prey being your present.

“I’ve been conditioned not to do that,” you explained with a gentle sigh, recalling all your mother’s scoldings when you used to tear into presents as a child. When you set the edges of the wrapping paper down, you beamed at what was in the box. “An espresso machine! Really, Georgie?”

George nodded proudly. “Figured you’d need your coffee first thing in the morning.”

You enveloped him in a warm hug. “Oh, you know me so well.”

George rolled up his sleeves. “I‘ll get it set up,” he offered.

“And I’ve procured some wine for when you need a sleeping aid,” Fred added.

“Thank you,” you responded. “ Now I’ll have my morning and nights covered.”

Fred placed a hand on your shoulder and gently guided you away. “Let’s see Charlie’s room.”

You stiffened. How many times and to how many people were you going to have to explain this one? “It’s not his room.”

“Then what is it?” Fred queried innocently.

“It’s a guest bedroom.”

“We can debate the semantics of the love lair”—Fred had to suppress a laugh when your face contorted menacingly, and even George tried to stifle his laugh—“ but for now, give me and Georgie a tour of the this lovely place, will you?”

When the two jests had finally left after dinner, you closed the door and leaned against it. Fred and George’s footsteps faded with each passing second. You drew a deep breath. After the initial onslaught of visitors, being alone felt splendid. 

You lit a candle and began drawing a bath when you returned to the bathroom. Stripped away were the comforts of Dobby’s aid and you were left alone to your devices. You were off to a good start and you were going to prove you could manage just fine. You submerged yourself in the hot water to wash the grime and the weight of workweek away. 

When you were clean and dry, you slipped into a silk nightgown, the one with thin straps that hung over your shoulders and whose hem just covered your thighs. It was by far the comfiest because of how little material there was. You walked into the kitchen to fetch yourself a glass of water but not without admiring your space shrouded in moonlight first. The only thing keeping you from touching a blanket of stars were your windows. The flowers you’d received from the move-in were still in full bloom, the steel from George’s espresso machine gleamed, and your couch was plush and cozy. 

It was lovely and inviting. You didn’t regret moving out at all, no matter how difficult the circumstances were initially.

“So this is what freedom feels like,” you hummed. You loved the feeling of wearing and doing anything you wanted—you were the master of the house. 

You then ambled back to your bedroom. You set the glass down and walked over to the window to appreciate another view of the city—something you didn’t get back at home. Your eyes found the dome structure of King’s Cross station immediately. Hues of yellow and magenta surrounded the space to guide passengers and it stuck out like a sore thumb in the silence of the night.

You shut your curtains and crawled into bed.  You wondered how Charlie was doing, if his train was timely and if the ride was comfortable. As you fell asleep, you hoped the answer was ‘yes, it was.’

You didn’t know what time it was when a light roused you. Your mind was still clouded with sleep and you had just the slightest bit of consciousness. A weak beam of light seeped out from below the bathroom door. You heard the running of the tap and the bristling of a toothbrush on teeth. 

When the bathroom light flickered off, a new one flickered on. This one was more faint, further from you. 

“Wow.” 

That was all you heard before the second light shut off. You were far too deep in sleep to inquire about what you were seeing or hearing. Probably ghosts of Charlie floating about, taunting you and luring you into wicked, unthinkable dreams. 

When you fully roused in the morning, you rubbed your eyes. The feeling of complete rest tingled pleasantly in your body. You walked over to the window where blackout curtains shielded you from the sunlight. You swung them open and let the light filter in, illuminating every crevice of your new bedroom. You walked into your washroom to brush your teeth, wash your face, and to tame your hair. 

Remembering that George had generously gifted you an espresso machine, you hurried out of your room to get a sip of that sweet substance. 

The first thing you saw when you exited your bedroom was a black topcoat hanging from the rack. Below it, mounted by the wall, was a pair of slightly scuffed leather boots. Fred and George left with all their belongings, so the coat and shoes couldn’t have been theirs. Your heart skipped a beat and fear consumed your body: there was an intruder in the house. 

The most rational thing to do would be to bolt out the front door and to call security for help and enlist someone more qualified to dispose of the intruder. But pride got the best of you, and you decided you weren’t a damsel in distress who needed saving anymore. It could’ve been Fred or George coming back to play an elaborate prank on you. And when you fell for it, they’d never let you live it down. And the concierge would never let in an unauthorized visitor, so yes, obviously, there was nothing to worry about. 

The only issue was that your wand was in the living room, shredding any chance of self -defence. Instead, you grabbed a metal shoe horn and tiptoed quietly down the hall to the kitchen where you could hear sounds of someone being there: a barstool squeaking, the kettle steaming, and some humming. The bass notes of a man’s voice wasn’t clicking in your memory. Now, you were starting to doubt it was Fred or George.

It was too late to retreat. “Get back!” you yelled with ferocity. You hated to admit, but you’d squeezed your eyes shut so you were waving a shoe horn aimlessly. How you passed Defence Against the Dark Arts was a mystery indeed.

When you heard nothing, and felt no signs of you being murdered, you opened your eyes.

This was no thief or intruder.

It was Charlie.

He playfully threw up both his arms in surrender, teabag in one hand, and pretended to fall backwards, tailbone digging into the kitchen counter. 

You set down your weapon. “What are you doing here?”

He flicked the tag off his tea bag with his thumb, then let out a low whistle. “I think the question you mean to ask is, what are you wearing?”

Charlie’s question echoed in your head as embarrassment stirred up inside you. What were you wearing, exactly?

You looked down for the answer: a thin-strapped silk dress that barely covered your shoulders and thighs. Well, all that while brandishing your favourite accessory: the shoe horn.

“Is that how you win your duels? By distracting your opponent?” he asked. 

You were so infatuated and caught up with the idea of independence that you had forgotten that Charlie had a key and that he was staying over. Combined with the adrenaline of thinking that there was someone in the house, you might as well have had amnesia. His presence did corroborate with the lights and voices you heard last night. Oh shit, come to think of it, he did warn you he was coming over before he departed on Wednesday, but in the mess of things like his and Bill’s untimely appearance and Alicia’s fervent teasing, you’d forgotten.

“This is just what I sleep in!” You were in a right state. Panicked, you tried to make fun of him. Maybe he would lose some of that unbreakable composure. “Don’t you sleep in the same thing? If the rumours are true, that is.”

Charlie chuckled lowly, his laughter rising in volume. “Are you seriously asking me what I sleep in?” he responded. “(Y/N), your mind is a literal cesspool.”

You didn’t want to give off the impression of being embarrassed, so you walked on into the kitchen like nothing happened. “I think I know the answer, based on your deflection,” you mumbled as you settled in the spot beside him. “You can sleep in whatever you like, Charlie, I won’t judge you.”

“I was going to say I often wear much less,” he added in a husky half-whisper by your earlobe.

Oh.

You hand squeezed the metal handle of the espresso portafilter. The coffee wasn’t going to be the only thing steaming in here. You didn’t dare turn your head. You could imagine the handsome smirk at the things he was making you think: Charlie and his naked torso covered in a sheen of sweat, languidly moving under the covers, each hard ridge of muscle skimming the sheets… “Well, that’s just dandy for you, isn’t it?”

“Do I detect a trace of sarcasm?” Charlie pouted, looking down at you. He gave you a nudge. “Need I remind you that you asked me first?”

You kept your mouth shut and fiddled with the top of the espresso grinder instead. It didn’t come off easily, so you tried to pry it off with your nail. When it felt like the grinder was going to take off your nail instead, you gave up.

“Have you made coffee before?” Charlie questioned. His larger hand enveloped the top and twisted it off with ease. 

You seethed silently. 

Charlie continued, unbothered by your lack of response: “I was thinking we could grab breakfast first and discuss how to use the espresso machine after.”

Charlie’s offer was sounding pretty scrumptious. You needed a jolt of caffeine stat if you were going to make it through the rest of the day. 

“Fine,” you conceded quickly, shutting the machine off. “Lead the way.”

“Are you going to get changed first?” Charlie snickered. “It’s a bit nippy for that little number, isn’t it?”

You grabbed the shoehorn from the island. “If you aren’t careful, this shoehorn will meet your head.”

His mouth twisted in a way that made your heart flutter. “Whoa, you’re pretty intimidating for someone so small.”

Beautiful, crooked words.

“I’m really not just saying it for show,” you warned. 

Charlie stepped back, face full of feigned fear. “I’ll believe it.”

You huffed and turned around.

“When I see it,” he added quickly.

You nearly stomped back to your room to change.

“So, if I am staying over Friday night, I’d like to keep some eggs in the fridge and bread in the pantry, at the very least. I get pretty peckish right after I wake up.”

Charlie was explaining his terms and conditions to you on the way back from the cafe where you enjoyed a breakfast sandwich and a coffee. You were grateful you kept your attire simple—a white shirt over some flowy culottes and a trench coat—because you would’ve felt ridiculous setting foot into a homey family establishment dressed otherwise. Charlie even had a long chat with the owners, a married couple in their late sixties who’d insisted on your meal being on the house. 

After breakfast, you’d forgiven him for his teasing and stopped by the grocers to pick up some pantry staples. Charlie cradled a paper bag in one arm and looped a bag of tangerines around the other. Despite all this grocery juggling, he held the door for you as you made your way to the lift and continued to talk about his favourite topic: breakfast.

“Of course you can,” you replied.

“I appreciate you being alright with it. After all, there’s a decent amount of space in your fridge. Do you even cook?”

You reddened. “I only moved in two days ago. I haven’t had the time to—”

“Hm.” He cocked his head as the lift ascended. “Not much of an excuse given the rest of the space looks so furnished.”

“Fred and George came over for dinner last night with takeaway,” you retorted.

Charlie made a strangled noise. “I wasn’t invited?”

“You were at Hogwarts,” you reminded him.

He laughed. “It’s the thought that counts. The notion of me being invited. I thought you Malfoys were all about keeping up appearances.”

“You seem to know very little, Charlie,” you said as you opened the door, “about Malfoys.”

“You’re killing me today, (Y/N),” he said. He set his paper bag down and began organising his purchases on the island. “I didn’t take you to be so mean.”

You froze midway through taking off your trench coat. “I am not mean.”

He placed a carton of eggs in the icebox. “So, so, mean.”

You opened your mouth to say something but your words caught in your throat. You decided not to entangle yourself in the web that was Charlie’s teasing though it felt nice that he was so concentrated on you, and that he kept the conversation going. You sauntered over to the bookshelf instead and plucked out one of Madame Millicent’s books. You turned to the page you’d bookmarked, knee-deep in learning how to knead the most buttery and flaky pie crust. It would’ve been a really mundane topic, but this Millicent woman used such vivid descriptors that you could practically taste the decadence in your mouth. 

“What’s this?” Charlie asked, walking towards the sectional.

“Something I’m reading for a book club.” Oh, shit. You really had to get going on those Madame Millicent books. The date for the afternoon tea was fast approaching and each second brought you closer to a due date of less than a week. 

“Hm.” Charlie plucked a book out from beside the empty space, flipped to a random page, and began reading aloud. “Create a vacuum around his appendage. Use your tongue to stroke the tip of him. This is his most sensitive region. Make sure to gently lap any juices. Remember to engage in eye contact with him. Your eyes will be his undoing.” Charlie looked up. “Did you know that, (Y/N)? You may be on your knees or writhing under him, but you are the temptress with control, he is your subordinate.

You blanked out and blinked at Charlie. “What?”

“Is this what you’re discussing at your book club?” Charlie asked, handing you the book. His fingers touched the header. “Oral sex in flowery prose?”

You frowned. “You made that up.”

“I didn’t, but I’m flattered you think I write so well.”

You grabbed the book from him and looked to where he had been narrating from. To your horror, these were the exact words he’d read, except the addition of your name when he tried to get your attention. “I didn’t know it was about… this. It was supposed to be about female empowerment.” You looked at the book you were initially reading, confusion splayed all over your face. “Or at least her first title was?”

You skimmed your fingers over the textured spine where ‘Madame Millicent: Pleasing the Patriarchy’ was deeply embroidered. Well, this radiated a completely different persona than ‘Madame Millicent: Maître de la Maison.”

“Of course you didn’t, Miss Malfoy,” Charlie said with a snicker. “Wait until your father hears about what you’re reading now that you live all alone.”

You scoffed. “Actually, my mother was the one who recommended it.”

Charlie cleared his throat very audibly. “I’m sorry, what?”

You nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact with him.

Charlie shook his head. “Not the fair maiden, Narcissa Malfoy. She would never muddle her name with such sacrilegious affairs.” He stopped when a new train of thought struck him. “But that’d give our mothers a mutual topic to talk about, if they ever met.”

You eyed him curiously. Was he implying the saintly Molly Weasley indulged in erotica? Feeling awkward, you continued to talk about the book club.

“Well, Charlie,” you started, about to shatter his misconceptions about your mother.  “My mother is part of the book club that Madame Millicent is speaking at next week. She’s invited me as well, hence why I’m reading her titles. And you’ll find that lonely housewives adore books like these.”

“Seriously?” Charlie’s eyes lit up delightfully. “You get to meet the temptress in person?” he asked excitedly. “Can I come, too?”

“Why would you want to do that?” You snapped your book shut. “There won’t be a single man there.”

“Why, (Y/N), because I’m extremely well-read. And I care deeply for female empowerment, especially in the brazen manner Madame Millicent portrays it.”

You cocked your head and narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. “Really?” You shook the book he was holding. “Or just this title in particular?”

He eyed you curiously, a smirk spreading across his face. “I’ll have all these titles finished by next week.”

“You shouldn’t overestimate your ability to read through all this, it’s quite a bit.”

“Oh, I know my limits,” Charlie affirmed. “I’ll see you at this afternoon tea.”

“You really read through it all?” you asked Charlie, voice thick with doubt, as you walked on the cobblestone entrance. 

Tea was to be hosted this afternoon at a venue your mother had written to you about. It was such a lovely place, green and whimsical, and its dreamy appearance befit its claim as a popular wedding destination. Evergreen shrubs, touched with the slightest amount of morning dew and rain, lined the path you and Charlie were taking. It had rained earlier this morning when the both of you were getting dressed in your apartment. 

“(Y/N),” Charlie started. “We read all day yesterday. All day. You didn’t even let me take a washroom break.”

That was true. He’d gotten back from Hogwarts late Friday evening, slipped into his room, and woke up before you to work the espresso machine for the two of you. Then, you got right to it. You had both claimed the opposite ends of the sectional and read through the rest of the titles in preparation for today. Charlie seemed content to spend his Saturday with you, and you were elated when he nestled into the couch and made no plans to leave. He did head back late Saturday evening to the Burrow, but came back this morning to dress for the event. 

You had Charlie for a full weekend, and you couldn’t suppress a smile at the thought of it.

“I had to oversee you reading the other two titles,” you teased. “Seeing you were so affixed on Pleasing on Patriarch.”

”It’s what I know best. I’m sure Millicent and I will have colourful discussions on it.”

You were received by a dapper little house elf in a bowtie at the front door who guided you through the hallway inside the mansion, then helped you down the back down some stone steps, before leading you into the gardens. It didn’t seem sensible or at all seasonable for afternoon tea to be hosted outside this time of year, but a warming spell that arced across the pavilion kept the women at the round table warm. The trees were blazing with hues of red and orange, nearly ready to shrivel and die as soon as the temperature dipped any further. At least they provided some colour in contrast to the dull, grey skies. 

“How are you feeling? Cold?” Charlie asked. He fiddled with the collar of your tweed cardigan that you’d layered over a long dress.

You perked quickly at his concern for you and the brush of his finger near your neck. His touch was the only thing that was shiver-inducing. “I feel fine. What about you?”

”I’m at the perfect temperature,” he said as he adjusted his suit. He was wearing an outfit a touch toned down from when you had dinner with your parents. While you liked his bedhead and the mess of curls that he usually sported, you had to admit that he was unusually beautiful when he tamed his hair. It drew attention to the sharp juts of his jaw and cheekbones that were usually hidden.

The two of you continued down the steps and the further you got, the more the stunning set up came into view. A round table was constructed in the centre of the gardens. A tablecloth decorated in rich autumn hues—deep red and gold—draped over it. The centrepiece which consisted of candles, pumpkins, and a leafy wreath snaked around the middle.

“Charlie!”

You both looked up.

This voice did not belong to your mother. It didn’t belong to anyone you were particularly familiar with.

But when a grey-haired woman stood up, you could pinpoint exactly who’d called.

“Mrs. Cromwell!” Charlie responded first.

“Cecile!” she yelled in cheery correction, still a ways away from the base of the steps. She lifted herself from the chair, gloved hands by her side to help with her balance, and ambled as quickly as her old age would take her to where you and Charlie were standing. Charlie, not wanting an elderly lady to walk unsteadily to him, ran over and you followed. Cecile gracefully extended her arm as if pulling him over. Time had softened her bones and compressed some cartilage, and she seemed very, very small next to Charlie. “Remember me?”

“How could I forget?” Charlie chuckled, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. Cecile giggled at his show of chivalry. 

As the twosome continued their conversation, you caught your mother beckoning you over with a glance. You left Charlie and Cecile and shuffled over.

“Why did you bring him?” Narcissa whispered, pulling you in by the arm. “I thought I made the invitation exclusive to you.”

“I informed you in a letter, mother,” you rebutted. 

“And I responded saying there were no extra seats at this function. It is extremely exclusive, (Y/N).” Narcissa’s tone was sharp and stern. “Charlie absolutely cannot be accommodated.”

“Okay,” you said. “Then I’ll leave.”

”You are not leaving,” Narcissa insisted in a harsh whisper. “Madame Millicent is expecting you.”

You looked back up to where Mrs. Cromwell was leading Charlie back to the round table, a funny sight indeed seeing that Charlie had no issues ambulating, but Mrs. Cromwell was roleplaying a nurse supporting an elderly patient at St Mungos.

“Mrs. Cromwell certainly seems to want him here,” you muttered through your teeth. “She’d happily let him take her place.”

Narcissa let out a long, hopeless sigh, and her hands lifted to rub at her temples. “I kindly ask you to ask him to leave.”

”But—”

“Good afternoon, ladies,” a voice called out from the back of the house. Twelve heads spun around to the lady standing at the top of the steps. She was short, slightly stocky in nature, and cloaked in beautiful deep purple robes. Her greying hair was pulled back into a bun on the top of her head. Her features were foxy and homely, and if you didn’t have the context that you did as to who she was, you’d never have guessed she was Madame Millicent. 

Her house elf scrambled in front of her. “Ladies,”—he glanced at Charlie—“and gentleman, may I present to you, Madame Millicent?”

Everyone at the table stood up as Millicent proceeded down the same steps you and Charlie had just taken.  

“Who do we have here?” Millicent called out, fixated on Charlie whose arm now permanently belonged to Mrs. Cromwell.

”Charlie Weasley, madame.”

”Weasley?” she questioned with a quirk of a well-groomed eyebrow. “Now, where have I heard that before?”

Your breath caught.

Narcissa gave you a pointed look and shook her head slowly. If Madame Millicent hated the Weasleys a fraction of the amount your parents did, you’d truly come to regret inviting Charlie.

”Now I know why that sounds so familiar!” Millicent exclaimed suddenly, clapping her hands together with glee. “Molly Weasley. Is that your mother?”

Charlie nodded. “Yes.”

”Such a small world we live in, don’t we?” Millicent continued. “She came to my last book signing and we had a chat about my recipes that lasted over an hour. Such a lovely woman, so lovely. I reckon I’ll be looking to her for advice on homemaking for my next book. A powerful woman, too, raised seven kids, if I remember correctly, and put them all through school.” She looked up Charlie up and down. “She forgot to mention how handsome her son was.” 

“Handsome? Wait until you see my older brother,” Charlie said, brushing off a compliment for the first time you’d witnessed.

Charlie’s comment certainly piqued Mrs. Cromwell’s interest. She looked up at him with an inquisitive look while Millicent did a quick assessment of the available seats and frowned.

“Well, that just won’t do,” Millicent tutted. “Gibbly, fetch me another seat for Mr. Weasley. He can be seated right next by me.”

Gibbly, Millicent’s house elf, dashed back inside the house to retrieve a chair. You and Narcissa just looked on with astounded expressions (like mother, like daughter). Neither of you expected Millicent would be so taken by Charlie. 

“You could’ve given me that honour, Millie,” Mrs. Cromwell huffed with a displeased expression. “I wouldn’t mind sitting next to him.” When Millicent just smiled, you relaxed. It must’ve been an old joke between friends, you reckoned. 

After Charlie was seated, tea had made its rounds. You stirred your earl grey with trepidation, knowing your mother was looking on, ensuring you were following good tea etiquette. You’d stirred for close to two minutes, preoccupied with trying to catch a glimpse of Charlie. You were seated left of Narcissa, so six seats from Charlie which was six seats too far and at a very odd angle. 

“I want to get to know the unfamiliar faces in this room. Would you mind introducing yourself, love?” Millicent was staring at you.

You set your spoon down. “I’m (Y/N) Malfoy,” you said. “I’m Narcissa’s daughter. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

“Of course, I should’ve known,” Millicent said with a smile. “I can see your mother in you, but you take after your father so well.” 

You almost retched. 

Then, she turned to Charlie. “And what brings you here today, Charlie? I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list.”

“Actually, (Y/N) was the reason I came today.”

Millicent leaned in. “Really?”

“Her interest in your writing rubbed off on me,” Charlie explained. “I was thrilled to have the opportunity to meet you in person. Take it as you will, but I was quite literally on my knees to be here today.”

You squinted. Was that… a patch of red spreading on Millicent’s cheeks?

“Well,” Millicent chirped happily. “Let’s start our discussions then.”

The first part of the discussion focussed on her first two titles, Maître de La Maison and Tips for the Domesticated Witch. Women around the table praised her recipes and how the results were always a hit with all their guests at functions they hosted. You nibbled quietly at a cucumber sandwich as the conversation droned on, having nothing of substance to offer. Charlie, on the other hand, seemed very interested, and even asked questions: “Millicent, precisely, how important is the bain-marie method for a perfect cheesecake?”

“Now,” Millicent said suddenly with a clap. “Let’s move on to what I know you ladies are really here for.”

A wave of giggles chorused through the pavilion. You looked to your mother for solidarity, but she remained tight-lipped and looked displeased. Well, there was only one last book left to discuss…

“I wish I could’ve attended an earlier session, but I was touring Northern Europe for the release of Pleasing the Patriarchy all summer. I’m delighted to be back in England to discuss my latest bestseller with you.”

“And I wish Chuck was still here to witness all my learnings through that book,” Mrs. Cromwell added in a serious tone. “You couldn’t have finished that book any earlier, Millie?” Her quip earned a round of subdued laughs. 

“Well, as I say to every woman, it’s never too late,” Millicent assured. “I reckon a steady dose of intercourse will keep all of us healthy and young on all accounts.”

”Trust me, I know,” Mrs. Cromwell said. “But I find men my age are so selfish and well-worn in their ways. I’m from a cursed generation where a woman’s pleasure was always secondary to her husband’s.”

“And it’s so awful,” Millicent agreed. “But you’re a crafty woman, Cecile. You must know a way around such a dated practice.”

Mrs. Cromwell made a face like the answer was obvious. “Of course, I only entertain the younger men now.”

An unabashed chorus of laughter erupted from the table this time. Mrs. Cromwell sent a wrinkled wink at Charlie, who smiled back. 

“Speaking of younger men,” Madame Millicent changed the topic and looked to Charlie, “It’s fate that we have one of those here today. What do you think of the advice laid out in my latest release?”

“You’re still talking about Pleasing the Patriarchy, correct?” Charlie repeated.

“Yes.” Millicent nodded. “I’ve consulted a fair share of men as preliminary research, but I’m curious as to what you think of it, the feasibility and authenticity of the tips, that is, if you could comment on both.”

“Well,” Charlie started, leaning back in his seat, “I reckon your advice is fabulous, very feasible. You’ve really captured the steps precisely. Put it in better words than I ever could.”

“Hm.” Millicent seemed mighty proud of herself. “And have you been able to integrate these tips in the bedroom?”

“Ah,” Charlie stalled, his breath catching in his throat in another historical first. What happened to the ever-so-confident Charlie Weasley you’ve come to know? He cast you a quick glance. You imagined his hesitation was due to the fact that your mother was right beside you, and he was being lightly coerced to talk about his sex life despite keeping things as vague as possible until this point. The only people in the room who knew about you and Charlie were your mother and Mrs. Cromwell; you weren’t certain Millicent or the twelve others had connected the dots.  

If Narcissa weren’t here, he might’ve been more adventurous in his answer. He shifted his attention back to Millicent in a flash; the untrained eye wouldn’t have sensed any hesitation. “Of course. I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity for self-improvement.”

“How considerate of you,” Mrs. Cromwell added with a dreamy, longing sigh. 

“Very much so,” solidified Millicent.

“Millicent, what do we do if our husbands are so consumed in their work at the Ministry that they won’t even pay us the time of day when they get home?” a younger woman in her thirties, draped in a dark teal shawl, piped up. Her seat-mate nodded in agreement. “I don’t even have the opportunity to practise anything I read. I’m so terribly frustrated, Millicent.”

“Sadly, that’s not out of the ordinary,” Millicent consoled, sympathy written on her face. “Has he always been so detached, Anna?”

“Ever since we’ve started living together, it’s as if the passion has faded.”

Millicent nodded. “Through my research, there are a number of things that decimate passion in the bedroom: children, work, and moving in together. When you move in together, you sacrifice the feelings of excitement and mystery that fuelled the passion and intimacy at the beginning of your relationship. We tend to absorb our roles as homemaker or a mother and less of a sexual partner.”

Anna sighed.

“Charlie, do you live alone?” Millicent queried. 

“I live with (Y/N),” Charlie answered without missing a beat. “Most days, anyways.”

Millicent’s mouth rounded. Mrs. Cromwell leaned in suspiciously at this revelation. Likely, her head was whirring around the fact that you spent time with Charlie in the bedroom. 

“And if you’re comfortable sharing,” Millicent asked in such a delicate but firm manner that you know she’d definitely prodded like this before, “what fluctuations in your physical relationship have you experienced since moving in?”

“I reckon everything’s stayed the same,” Charlie mused, his eyes brooding in deep thought, “or honestly, at an increased frequency.”

Both you and your mother immediately turned as red as the sugar-glazed strawberries on the tart on the serving tray. Your mother coughed, the insinuation that Charlie had punched into the conversation—that you and him had sex—interfering with her ability to masticate. You buried your head down to evade curious glances and looked down at the table cloth. Wow, has crocheting always yielded such beautiful results?

Millicent leaned her face into the palms of her hand. “Why do you think that is?”

“Well, as you said, we shouldn’t forget our roles as partners. And with a partner so beautiful, it’s not hard.”

You were mortified. You thought about asking Gibbly to help you dig a hole into the ground so you could block out all the chatter about your fictitious sex life.

“Well, my love,” Millicent redirected her attention to Anna, “here’s what I think you can do to bring back the spark in the bedroom….”

An hour later, afternoon tea was nearing an end. Gibbly cleared out the trays and teacups as you followed the other woman on the trail back into the manor. Charlie stood back with Mrs. Cromwell by a gate. This old woman and her spindly claws just weren’t going to let go of him! Your eyes followed his body as he leaned down, almost on his knees to listen to what she was whispering to his ear, a corner of his mouth pulled up in handsome amusement. 

‘She’s probably inviting him to her bed!’ you thought. 

“(Y/N),” Narcissa called, gently pulling at your arm. “Let’s go somewhere private to have a chat.”

“Sure,” you responded, walking with your mother northward but eyes still on Charlie southward. 

As you walked, you felt a sharp tug on your heart when Anna skipped over, teal dress grazing the grass, to join in on Charlie and Mrs. Cromwell’s conversation. Charlie’s smile was as friendly as ever as he chatted with a married woman who’d loudly and publicly announced she was lonely—practically a mating call if you’d ever heard one. He couldn’t be so deaf or stupid to ignore that, could he? 

You felt forgotten even though Charlie made such a grand display of you being his partner.

You almost tripped over a divot in the ground, but you couldn’t stop staring at what was unfolding behind you. It reminded you of his chummy conversation with Mallory at the bar, him never brushing off Mrs. Cromwell’s forward advances, Millicent praising his looks and asking him invasive questions, and now Anna giggling at him. If he could be so forthcoming with all these random women in front of you, how many of them was he charming behind your back? All while crawling his way to sharing the same apartment as you?

But it didn’t matter, did it? Your chest felt heavy at the realization that he wasn’t doing anything immoral or wrong. If you were together, you’d be well within your rights to be suspicious. Factually, you were the one who tangled him in this ruse, and the only credit you could give yourself was that it got a little more complicated and spindly than you could handle. So, you forced yourself to swallow the apprehension about the women in Charlie’s life the best you could. 

Narcissa led you over to a more secluded part of the garden where only the trees could hear your conversation. And you were going to be glad for it. 

“Is it true?” Narcissa prodded.

“What’s true?”

“What Charlie said?”

“He said a lot of things,” you reminded her. “But yes, mother, the bain-marie method will yield a better-tasting cheesecake.” 

“No,”—Narcissa shook her head—“about your sexual activity.”

“Mother!” you exclaimed in a whisper. You leaned out to make sure Charlie hadn’t come any closer. “I’d prefer if we discussed it later, or never at all, especially as it was already dissected in front of everyone.”

“I understand,” she said. “It’s a difficult topic, but I regret not sitting you down when you were younger, I truly do, (Y/N). It was a failure on my part. I had your father talk to Draco about these matters, but I need to make sure you’re taking care of your reproductive health before something unwanted happens.

“Of course I am!” you promised. “You needn’t worry about it.” Because we aren’t in a relationship. We aren’t having sex.

You wanted out of here. This conversation and the charades that followed didn’t feel exciting anymore. It now felt empty and wrong. It was a chore, trying to keep in line with what Charlie had announced, and you were certain he didn’t put a single care behind his words to you. 

“Well, it would give me peace of mind if you made an appointment with our Healer. There are many options for contraception nowadays, much more than when I was a young witch.”

“Contra—”

“It doesn’t have to be at the first appointment, but Healer Tousignant will go over your options and you should take some time to decide what works best for you. I promise, she is excellent at what she does. And I won’t ask anything of it afterwards.”

You skimmed through all the options in your head. If you refused Narcissa’s offer, you’d be subject to more questions about your sexual health, and who knows what inopportune place she’d choose to talk about it next? In front of your cousins during Christmas in Switzerland? In the middle of Diagon Alley? At dinner where Draco and your father would be present?

If you just accepted the appointment, you could conceal the fact you weren’t in Charlie’s bed (despite a naughty crevice of your brain that controlled your dreams hoping you were). 

A dull pain interlaced with the beat of your heart at the possibility of that person not being you. Reality told you it wasn’t going to be. It could be Mallory, Mrs. Cromwell, Millicent, Anna— 

“Fine,” you agreed with a forced smile. “Tell me when, and I’ll be there.”

>> NEXT CHAPTER

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST: @badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 @bathwater101 @evilunicorns4minions @noah-uhhh-what @earth-to-lottie @kissingyourgrl @sihtricswife @adalia-jaycee @anuttellaa @weasley-clan (Let me know if I missed you, or if you want to be added!)

[fiona-lawton]

Commissions for Hogwarts Mystery I did back in 2018! (1/2)

[thathuffgurlsart]

Fred, my OC, and George

I’m on a Weasley twins high, and I love Fred x readers or OCs; and so here’s my Fred and original character. And of course I had to include Georgie. In a bit of a different style. Been experimenting with styles.

Sorry I’ve been gone for so long without posting anything. I’ll try and post more.

[thedragonweasley]

Also, can we take a second to appreciate the images I have painstakingly worked on in ArtBreeder. Thank you, AI for assisting my brain in creating these characters. We have some work to do, but we are getting there.

[p0isonyouth]

Calling Harry Potter Fans!

If you have a wattpad account, stroll along to my account for a charlie weasley fanfic! This will be the first installation in my golden trio series, Wicked Chaos, and the (technically) first published book in my overall series, Poisoned Youth, so be sure to check it out!!!!

[thegreatwicked]

Ok, so I have an idea... Yes, it's another WIP but hear me out!

I think Charlie Weasely is probably... how do you say? Smoking hot. And I'm pretty sure he rocks a man bun, so I was recently challenged to write a love interest for him so I made a character but being as I am SWAMPED with stories, I just need to know if anyone would be interested in this story aside from moi. So here's a little something I made up... I might write it anyway though. Lord, I have NEVER delved into the HP fandom before...

In the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, Charlie Weasley, the recluse of the Weasley family, delves into dragon rehabilitation in Romania. Renowned for his inclination toward dragons rather than people, he temporarily sets aside his parents' hopes of him settling down, seeking solace amidst his scaly companions.

Despite his intimate connection with the creatures, Charlie and his colleagues encounter an unprecedented challenge – dragons so deeply scarred by the war that the prospect of healing appears bleak. Relief comes from overseas in the form of Oc��ane Laveau, an American witch possessing a natural talent for soothing magical creatures, aligning seamlessly with Charlie's own abilities. The dynamics of his secluded world undergo a transformation as Océane arrives, bringing her distinctive New Orleans drawl and voodoo-rich roots, injecting a new essence into the Romanian landscape.

As they collaborate to mend the wounds of the traumatized dragons, a profound connection blossoms. The dragons, renowned for their lifelong bonds, reflect the growing ties between the two humans committed to comprehending and mending them.

Amid the fiery journey of dragon rehabilitation, will Charlie and Océane recognize that their own sparks might be as undeniable as those illuminating the majestic creatures under their care?