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myownmuggle
Dec. 18th, 2008 02:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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rarepair_shortsAuthor: humbuggirl
Recipient:myownmuggle
Title: The Wedding Guest
Pairing: Charlie/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,612
Summary: Standing in the doorway leading from the hotel dinning room was a vision dressed in some colour that reminded him of autumn at the reserve. Hermione Granger, his salvation.
Author's Notes: I’ll admit that this was my first attempt at writing this pairing even though they’ve always been one that I’ve been enjoyed reading. Thanks to the mods, who were kind enough to beta for me. And thanks to the recipient who listed a lovely selection of pairings to choose from.
I
Charlie grinned broadly as he watched his close friend and former colleague being helped, carefully yet firmly, into the leather-covered chair. Archie was drunk, his cheeks red and his eyes glassy. He still clutched a bottle of the local tipple in one hand. In true stag party tradition, he was currently bare-chested and wearing a shocking pink tutu over a pair of lurid boxer shorts.
“Over my heart,” Archie reminded the man standing over him. The tattooist nodded, prompting the spider inked onto his cheek to twitch and scuttle away.
“Have you decided?” a softly lilting voice inquired.
Charlie redirected his gaze to a small, stud perforated witch who had spoken. She was pretty in a way that would have appealed to him ten years ago, back when one of the qualifying factors to be his girlfriend was whether or not the girl would shock his parents.
“Sure. That one.” He jabbed a finger at the open folder on the table in front of him. The design was delicate – intricate even. Charlie had little fear that she would make a mistake, however. He knew that the witches and wizards who practised the art were almost universally well schooled in the ancient techniques that went hand in hand with their craft.
“Good choice.”
Her smile, he thought, was flirtatious.
The witch let out an appreciative sound as he stripped off his shirt and settled onto the couch at the back of the shop. He was not surprised to feel her fingers hovering over his back a second later. The large dragon tattooed there unfurled its wings languidly before apparently deciding that there was no threat.
“Beautiful work,” she said. “I guess I don’t have to check whether you’re sure you really want to go ahead.”
Charlie laughed. “I’ve been thinking of getting a new one for a while.”
She smiled. “Let’s get started then.”
II
Two days later Charlie was beginning to suspect that getting a new tattoo had not been the brightest idea. In truth, at that moment, it was a toss up as to which was irritating him more – the stiff, entirely too tailored robes that he was being forced to wear to the rehearsal dinner, or the tattoo on his back. Both were beginning to feel rather pointless.
Not for the first time that evening, he twisted his arm behind his back and dug his blunt nails into the offending area. He had tried every balm, unction, and spell that he had been able to think of to sooth the feeling. Considering how often he was required to apply such treatments as part of his work, that was a lot of options he had tried.
Nothing had worked. Nothing had even remotely felt like it would work.
Charlie let out a long sigh as his nails briefly found the mark, garnering an odd look from a member of the posh hotel’s staff who happened to be walking by. He froze, smiling awkwardly at the man while thinking once again that he needed to escape – not just the dinner but the entire building. It was claustrophobic. The venue that Archie and his fiancée had chosen to accommodate their guests prior to the big event was hardly the sort of place he was accustomed to staying in. When the bride-to-be came from one of the wealthiest magical families in Ireland, however, such establishments were apparently unavoidable.
“What on earth is wrong with you?”
Charlie’s eyes flitted in the direction that the voice had come from, and he immediately felt an almost alien mix of embarrassment and relief serge through him. Standing in the doorway of the hotel dinning room was a vision dressed in some colour that reminded him of autumn at the reserve.
Hermione Granger, his salvation.
III
Until Charlie had spotted her slinking into the hotel the morning after the stag party he had not known that Hermione had been invited to the wedding. Indeed, the last he had heard through the rampant grapevine that was carefully cultivated by his mother and sister, she had been honing her diplomatic skills at the British embassy in Cairo. She was, he had been informed, perfectly happy.
The knowledge had left him vaguely jealous, in a disjointed fashion. He had no right to feel that way, of course. Their relationship had consisted of a handful of fleeting moments. Hell, at times he had even wondered whether he had imagined them. The uncertainty bit into him.
Now that he thought about it, Charlie realised that - one way or another - he had been avoiding news of her.
He called out to her before he was entirely sure what he was doing.
Hermione blushed brilliantly as she identified the source of the call. Then a smile bowed her lips. There was a pair of light, feathery angel’s wings springing from between her shoulders; the feel of them brushing against his forearms as they embraced was enough to make him shiver. For a second, he thought he felt a steady ache at the base of his spine dull.
“Ginny mentioned that you were going to be here,” she said brightly, by way of opening. Then her expression softened, even as her eyes inadvertently flitted to his shoulder before whipping back to his face. When she spoke again, her tone was more measured. “How are you?”
Charlie flexed his shoulder, remembering the way the pain from it had left him delirious. The initial bite from the enchanted plant had been poisonous, but it was the infection that had followed which had forced him into a period of convalescence in Bucharest. He had been surprised as anyone to discover that Hermione had visited him in hospital there.
“I was asked to give a course of lectures at the school here,” she told him later. “Molly knew I was in the area and asked me to keep an eye on you.”
He suspected that she had done more than that; lodged firmly in the fore of his mind was the memory of cool fingers skimming over his brow.
IV
“Oh, Charlie…” Hermione’s voice was breathy as her fingers danced lightly over the tender flesh that surrounded his new tattoo. “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing,” he protested, his fingers flexing as he quickly worked to suppress a moan that had been threatening. They had retreated to the privacy of his hotel room – something that Charlie now found himself extremely grateful for. Right at that moment, Hermione’s gentle, probing touch was doing some entirely unexpected things to him.
Well, perhaps maybe not entirely unexpected. He only hoped that she did not happen to glance toward a certain incriminating region of his anatomy.
Hermione gave a small, derisive snort.
“You must have said or done something to her,” she added, still studying the inflamed area.
Charlie frowned as he struggled to remember his visit to the tattoo parlour. The details proved to be rather hazy. That in itself was not very promising.
A memory flared to life, proving not for the first time that he could be a far from gallant drunk. Sooner or later he would remember when it was best to keep his mouth shut.
He released the groan he had been holding in and lifted a calloused hand to rub the back of his neck. “I think I might have put my foot in my mouth,” he confessed.
“Do I want to know how?”
Charlie winced. “No.” He paused and then added, “What did she do to me?”
“I’m not an expert but… well, have you actually looked at it? I suspect that she altered the original design to include runic symbols.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
Hermione straightened up, her fingers leaving his back for the first time in what seemed like an age. Charlie missed them immediately with a longing that was almost physical. He was still flushed from the sensation when she moved to stand in front of him.
“I know most of the truly nasty curses,” she said, causing Charlie to raise his eyebrows. “But I don’t think this is anything like that.” A flicker of amusement entered her eyes before she spoke again. “Charlie, I think she put a love spell on you.”
V
Charlie cursed as he looked through the darkened shop window, earning himself an almost instantaneous admonishment from Hermione. He shot her a sheepish look before returning to peering through the glass. There was no sign of life within.
Beside him, Hermione shivered and retreated further into the coat that she was wearing. The evening sky overhead was obscured by heavy black rain clouds. The narrow, cobble-clad street had already been subjected to one downpour.
“We can’t just stand here until someone shows up,” she said. “They might not even open tonight.”
Charlie hesitated, reluctant to leave. After a brief conversation with Bill via the Floo, he had barely stopped to draw breath before collecting up Hermione and Apparating to the shop. Even now he could hear his brother’s almost maniacal laughter as he interpreted the runes tattooed onto his back. To say that Hermione had been right was something of an understatement. True love was, apparently, his only hope of relief.
“What did you say to her?” Hermione asked again.
Charlie opened his mouth to respond and then froze. The night had slowly been coming back to him, and now existed in stark, vivid colour. He thought about not answering before realising that it was the least he could do after dragging her out on a cold, wet night.
Still, that did not mean that he could not paraphrase.
“I may have said something about there being no such thing as true love, and that people who did believe in it were deluding themselves.”
Heavy silence filled the air between them. “You don’t mean that,” Hermione said, a moment later. The disappointment in her voice made his chest tighten.
Charlie looked towards her but his reply remained unspoken.
VI
The rain began to fall as they climbed the gently sloping street back up to the hotel, filling the air with a fresh smell that seemed at odds with their surroundings. Hermione was shivering, leaving Charlie to wonder why she had insisted that they head back to the hotel on foot rather than Apparating. Knowing his luck of late, he would end up sniffling his way through the wedding ceremony tomorrow.
“I thought you understood.”
Her words were barely more than a whisper, yet they cut through the air with pinpoint precision.
Charlie hesitated a moment before replying.
“I did.”
He found he could not look at her.
VII
Her apartment in Bucharest was small and spartanly furnished, as benefited a temporary residence. The first time that Charlie visited it, he had been surprised to learn that she had been living there over three months.
“There isn’t any point in redecorating,” she told him matter-of-factly as they settled onto the couch. “I could be on the move again in a couple of weeks. The Ministry approached me about an interesting position with them just last week.”
“You’re going to take it?” Charlie asked before he could stop himself.
Hermione looked over at him, her expression uncertain. “Probably,” she said. “It is a good job. I’ve enjoyed teaching but I think I prefer practice to theory.”
Charlie peered at her thoughtfully, easily able to pinpoint the source of the ache in his chest. In the yellow-gold light she looked simultaneously welcoming and untouchable.
Hermione’s gaze flitted anxiously away from his.
VIII
His glass clinked as he set it down on the low coffee table by the window before slumping back against the cushioned chair. Outside, the rain continued unabated. It struck the window unpredictably, carried by the wind. If it had been any other night then he might have used it as an excuse for why he was still up, drinking alone.
As it was, his mind was fixed on other matters, the first among them being the hotel room located two floors above and the occupant within it. By the time that they had made it back from their late night excursion, the bottom of her dress had been soaked where it flared out from under her coat, and her hair had been clinging to her skin. Her cheeks had been rosy beneath it; her eyes had been bright.
The memory was nearly enough to dull the constant reminder of his foolishness.
Nearly - but not quite.
For a second, as they had parted, he had thought that she was going to tell him something. The courage had seemed to leach from her though, leaving him with the unerring feeling that something had changed.
He was dozing in his chair when he heard the tentative knock. At first he wondered whether he had imagined it – whether he had tricked himself into hearing it. Then, a moment later, it was repeated, this time slightly louder.
Hermione was already halfway down the corridor by the time that he had risen to his feet and padded over to open the door. It seemed to take a superhuman effort for her to turn around again. When she did, there was no mistaking the anxious look on her features.
“Come in,” Charlie said quietly, inclining his head towards the door.
“I’m sorry. It’s just I couldn’t sleep and I thought…” she said as stepped past him. “Did I wake you?”
Charlie shook his head, pointing to the seat that he had recently vacated as he did so. Hermione did not take it though. She remained standing in the middle of the room, by the foot of his bed, her stance awkward.
“I was thinking about what we were talking about before,” she said, adding a moment later, “About what happened.”
He took an involuntary step towards her. “Hermione…”
“No, we need to talk about it.”
“Nothing happened.”
“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” her voice was soft, probing. Charlie hesitated before daring to reply. Hermione could be confusing at the best of times; it was part of her charm. Usually it was, anyway.
“Are you saying that something should have?” he asked finally.
Even in the low lightly he could see her cheeks turn dusky. The effect was pleasing. “This – this tension we have – should have faded by now. I thought it would. Aside from the trouble we would have trying to explain to everyone –“
Charlie snorted.
“- we don’t match.” She fell silent, and it was only then that Charlie realised she was trembling.
“Bollocks,” he said.
She laughed – the sound short and musical. It brought a smile to his face, much as it always did. As the sound faded, Hermione tilted her head to one side and said, “I don’t want things to be bad between us, Charlie. What you said earlier about love – I don’t want to be the woman who makes you think like that.”
He stepped closer, taking hold of her arms and drawing her towards him as he did so. The fit of her body against his felt all too natural. “You won’t be,” he told her confidently.
“I never stopped wondering, you know,” Hermione said, her words carefully measured. “After I left Romania I spent a long time suspecting I had made the wrong decision. It wasn’t until I saw you the other morning that I knew I had.”
Charlie gave in to the urge to grin. Leaning down, he pressed his lips tight to Hermione’s.
There was a moment - just the smallest of hesitations – and then she melted against him.
The new tattoo on his back shimmered, glowed briefly, and then vanished.
END
humbuggirlRecipient:
myownmuggleTitle: The Wedding Guest
Pairing: Charlie/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,612
Summary: Standing in the doorway leading from the hotel dinning room was a vision dressed in some colour that reminded him of autumn at the reserve. Hermione Granger, his salvation.
Author's Notes: I’ll admit that this was my first attempt at writing this pairing even though they’ve always been one that I’ve been enjoyed reading. Thanks to the mods, who were kind enough to beta for me. And thanks to the recipient who listed a lovely selection of pairings to choose from.
Charlie grinned broadly as he watched his close friend and former colleague being helped, carefully yet firmly, into the leather-covered chair. Archie was drunk, his cheeks red and his eyes glassy. He still clutched a bottle of the local tipple in one hand. In true stag party tradition, he was currently bare-chested and wearing a shocking pink tutu over a pair of lurid boxer shorts.
“Over my heart,” Archie reminded the man standing over him. The tattooist nodded, prompting the spider inked onto his cheek to twitch and scuttle away.
“Have you decided?” a softly lilting voice inquired.
Charlie redirected his gaze to a small, stud perforated witch who had spoken. She was pretty in a way that would have appealed to him ten years ago, back when one of the qualifying factors to be his girlfriend was whether or not the girl would shock his parents.
“Sure. That one.” He jabbed a finger at the open folder on the table in front of him. The design was delicate – intricate even. Charlie had little fear that she would make a mistake, however. He knew that the witches and wizards who practised the art were almost universally well schooled in the ancient techniques that went hand in hand with their craft.
“Good choice.”
Her smile, he thought, was flirtatious.
The witch let out an appreciative sound as he stripped off his shirt and settled onto the couch at the back of the shop. He was not surprised to feel her fingers hovering over his back a second later. The large dragon tattooed there unfurled its wings languidly before apparently deciding that there was no threat.
“Beautiful work,” she said. “I guess I don’t have to check whether you’re sure you really want to go ahead.”
Charlie laughed. “I’ve been thinking of getting a new one for a while.”
She smiled. “Let’s get started then.”
Two days later Charlie was beginning to suspect that getting a new tattoo had not been the brightest idea. In truth, at that moment, it was a toss up as to which was irritating him more – the stiff, entirely too tailored robes that he was being forced to wear to the rehearsal dinner, or the tattoo on his back. Both were beginning to feel rather pointless.
Not for the first time that evening, he twisted his arm behind his back and dug his blunt nails into the offending area. He had tried every balm, unction, and spell that he had been able to think of to sooth the feeling. Considering how often he was required to apply such treatments as part of his work, that was a lot of options he had tried.
Nothing had worked. Nothing had even remotely felt like it would work.
Charlie let out a long sigh as his nails briefly found the mark, garnering an odd look from a member of the posh hotel’s staff who happened to be walking by. He froze, smiling awkwardly at the man while thinking once again that he needed to escape – not just the dinner but the entire building. It was claustrophobic. The venue that Archie and his fiancée had chosen to accommodate their guests prior to the big event was hardly the sort of place he was accustomed to staying in. When the bride-to-be came from one of the wealthiest magical families in Ireland, however, such establishments were apparently unavoidable.
“What on earth is wrong with you?”
Charlie’s eyes flitted in the direction that the voice had come from, and he immediately felt an almost alien mix of embarrassment and relief serge through him. Standing in the doorway of the hotel dinning room was a vision dressed in some colour that reminded him of autumn at the reserve.
Hermione Granger, his salvation.
Until Charlie had spotted her slinking into the hotel the morning after the stag party he had not known that Hermione had been invited to the wedding. Indeed, the last he had heard through the rampant grapevine that was carefully cultivated by his mother and sister, she had been honing her diplomatic skills at the British embassy in Cairo. She was, he had been informed, perfectly happy.
The knowledge had left him vaguely jealous, in a disjointed fashion. He had no right to feel that way, of course. Their relationship had consisted of a handful of fleeting moments. Hell, at times he had even wondered whether he had imagined them. The uncertainty bit into him.
Now that he thought about it, Charlie realised that - one way or another - he had been avoiding news of her.
He called out to her before he was entirely sure what he was doing.
Hermione blushed brilliantly as she identified the source of the call. Then a smile bowed her lips. There was a pair of light, feathery angel’s wings springing from between her shoulders; the feel of them brushing against his forearms as they embraced was enough to make him shiver. For a second, he thought he felt a steady ache at the base of his spine dull.
“Ginny mentioned that you were going to be here,” she said brightly, by way of opening. Then her expression softened, even as her eyes inadvertently flitted to his shoulder before whipping back to his face. When she spoke again, her tone was more measured. “How are you?”
Charlie flexed his shoulder, remembering the way the pain from it had left him delirious. The initial bite from the enchanted plant had been poisonous, but it was the infection that had followed which had forced him into a period of convalescence in Bucharest. He had been surprised as anyone to discover that Hermione had visited him in hospital there.
“I was asked to give a course of lectures at the school here,” she told him later. “Molly knew I was in the area and asked me to keep an eye on you.”
He suspected that she had done more than that; lodged firmly in the fore of his mind was the memory of cool fingers skimming over his brow.
“Oh, Charlie…” Hermione’s voice was breathy as her fingers danced lightly over the tender flesh that surrounded his new tattoo. “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing,” he protested, his fingers flexing as he quickly worked to suppress a moan that had been threatening. They had retreated to the privacy of his hotel room – something that Charlie now found himself extremely grateful for. Right at that moment, Hermione’s gentle, probing touch was doing some entirely unexpected things to him.
Well, perhaps maybe not entirely unexpected. He only hoped that she did not happen to glance toward a certain incriminating region of his anatomy.
Hermione gave a small, derisive snort.
“You must have said or done something to her,” she added, still studying the inflamed area.
Charlie frowned as he struggled to remember his visit to the tattoo parlour. The details proved to be rather hazy. That in itself was not very promising.
A memory flared to life, proving not for the first time that he could be a far from gallant drunk. Sooner or later he would remember when it was best to keep his mouth shut.
He released the groan he had been holding in and lifted a calloused hand to rub the back of his neck. “I think I might have put my foot in my mouth,” he confessed.
“Do I want to know how?”
Charlie winced. “No.” He paused and then added, “What did she do to me?”
“I’m not an expert but… well, have you actually looked at it? I suspect that she altered the original design to include runic symbols.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
Hermione straightened up, her fingers leaving his back for the first time in what seemed like an age. Charlie missed them immediately with a longing that was almost physical. He was still flushed from the sensation when she moved to stand in front of him.
“I know most of the truly nasty curses,” she said, causing Charlie to raise his eyebrows. “But I don’t think this is anything like that.” A flicker of amusement entered her eyes before she spoke again. “Charlie, I think she put a love spell on you.”
Charlie cursed as he looked through the darkened shop window, earning himself an almost instantaneous admonishment from Hermione. He shot her a sheepish look before returning to peering through the glass. There was no sign of life within.
Beside him, Hermione shivered and retreated further into the coat that she was wearing. The evening sky overhead was obscured by heavy black rain clouds. The narrow, cobble-clad street had already been subjected to one downpour.
“We can’t just stand here until someone shows up,” she said. “They might not even open tonight.”
Charlie hesitated, reluctant to leave. After a brief conversation with Bill via the Floo, he had barely stopped to draw breath before collecting up Hermione and Apparating to the shop. Even now he could hear his brother’s almost maniacal laughter as he interpreted the runes tattooed onto his back. To say that Hermione had been right was something of an understatement. True love was, apparently, his only hope of relief.
“What did you say to her?” Hermione asked again.
Charlie opened his mouth to respond and then froze. The night had slowly been coming back to him, and now existed in stark, vivid colour. He thought about not answering before realising that it was the least he could do after dragging her out on a cold, wet night.
Still, that did not mean that he could not paraphrase.
“I may have said something about there being no such thing as true love, and that people who did believe in it were deluding themselves.”
Heavy silence filled the air between them. “You don’t mean that,” Hermione said, a moment later. The disappointment in her voice made his chest tighten.
Charlie looked towards her but his reply remained unspoken.
The rain began to fall as they climbed the gently sloping street back up to the hotel, filling the air with a fresh smell that seemed at odds with their surroundings. Hermione was shivering, leaving Charlie to wonder why she had insisted that they head back to the hotel on foot rather than Apparating. Knowing his luck of late, he would end up sniffling his way through the wedding ceremony tomorrow.
“I thought you understood.”
Her words were barely more than a whisper, yet they cut through the air with pinpoint precision.
Charlie hesitated a moment before replying.
“I did.”
He found he could not look at her.
Her apartment in Bucharest was small and spartanly furnished, as benefited a temporary residence. The first time that Charlie visited it, he had been surprised to learn that she had been living there over three months.
“There isn’t any point in redecorating,” she told him matter-of-factly as they settled onto the couch. “I could be on the move again in a couple of weeks. The Ministry approached me about an interesting position with them just last week.”
“You’re going to take it?” Charlie asked before he could stop himself.
Hermione looked over at him, her expression uncertain. “Probably,” she said. “It is a good job. I’ve enjoyed teaching but I think I prefer practice to theory.”
Charlie peered at her thoughtfully, easily able to pinpoint the source of the ache in his chest. In the yellow-gold light she looked simultaneously welcoming and untouchable.
Hermione’s gaze flitted anxiously away from his.
His glass clinked as he set it down on the low coffee table by the window before slumping back against the cushioned chair. Outside, the rain continued unabated. It struck the window unpredictably, carried by the wind. If it had been any other night then he might have used it as an excuse for why he was still up, drinking alone.
As it was, his mind was fixed on other matters, the first among them being the hotel room located two floors above and the occupant within it. By the time that they had made it back from their late night excursion, the bottom of her dress had been soaked where it flared out from under her coat, and her hair had been clinging to her skin. Her cheeks had been rosy beneath it; her eyes had been bright.
The memory was nearly enough to dull the constant reminder of his foolishness.
Nearly - but not quite.
For a second, as they had parted, he had thought that she was going to tell him something. The courage had seemed to leach from her though, leaving him with the unerring feeling that something had changed.
He was dozing in his chair when he heard the tentative knock. At first he wondered whether he had imagined it – whether he had tricked himself into hearing it. Then, a moment later, it was repeated, this time slightly louder.
Hermione was already halfway down the corridor by the time that he had risen to his feet and padded over to open the door. It seemed to take a superhuman effort for her to turn around again. When she did, there was no mistaking the anxious look on her features.
“Come in,” Charlie said quietly, inclining his head towards the door.
“I’m sorry. It’s just I couldn’t sleep and I thought…” she said as stepped past him. “Did I wake you?”
Charlie shook his head, pointing to the seat that he had recently vacated as he did so. Hermione did not take it though. She remained standing in the middle of the room, by the foot of his bed, her stance awkward.
“I was thinking about what we were talking about before,” she said, adding a moment later, “About what happened.”
He took an involuntary step towards her. “Hermione…”
“No, we need to talk about it.”
“Nothing happened.”
“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” her voice was soft, probing. Charlie hesitated before daring to reply. Hermione could be confusing at the best of times; it was part of her charm. Usually it was, anyway.
“Are you saying that something should have?” he asked finally.
Even in the low lightly he could see her cheeks turn dusky. The effect was pleasing. “This – this tension we have – should have faded by now. I thought it would. Aside from the trouble we would have trying to explain to everyone –“
Charlie snorted.
“- we don’t match.” She fell silent, and it was only then that Charlie realised she was trembling.
“Bollocks,” he said.
She laughed – the sound short and musical. It brought a smile to his face, much as it always did. As the sound faded, Hermione tilted her head to one side and said, “I don’t want things to be bad between us, Charlie. What you said earlier about love – I don’t want to be the woman who makes you think like that.”
He stepped closer, taking hold of her arms and drawing her towards him as he did so. The fit of her body against his felt all too natural. “You won’t be,” he told her confidently.
“I never stopped wondering, you know,” Hermione said, her words carefully measured. “After I left Romania I spent a long time suspecting I had made the wrong decision. It wasn’t until I saw you the other morning that I knew I had.”
Charlie gave in to the urge to grin. Leaning down, he pressed his lips tight to Hermione’s.
There was a moment - just the smallest of hesitations – and then she melted against him.
The new tattoo on his back shimmered, glowed briefly, and then vanished.
END
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Date: 2008-12-19 01:15 am (UTC)This was a great read, and the ending made me feel all nice and squishy inside.
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Date: 2008-12-19 01:42 am (UTC)It must be my birthday!
Lovely. So lovely. So hot. There is nothing I love more than a Tat!Charlie fic.
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Date: 2008-12-26 01:23 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2008-12-20 02:56 am (UTC)I've just come home from a beast of a work trip to this little gem. Thank you so very very much!
Your Hermione is just brilliant, and Charlie....
*swoons*
THANK YOU!
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Date: 2009-01-10 09:43 pm (UTC)