rarepairs_mod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rarepairs_mod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rarepair_shorts2019-01-07 02:47 pm
rarepairs_mod) wrote in rarepair_shorts2019-01-07 02:47 pm
Entry tags:
A Gift For articcat621: Challenge Accepted, (Hermione/Charlie)
Author:
Recipient: arcticcat621
Title: Challenge Accepted
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Charlie Weasley
Rating: G
Word Count/Art Medium: 929
Summary: An unexpected letter leads to an even more unexpected evening.
The scroll was heavy, a thick paper that reeked of quality. It was tied with a ribbon the color of burning cinders and sealed with a glossy black wax. The wax had been stamped with an ornate seal that depicted a roaring dragon overlaid with a ‘W’. The script inside was bold and elegant, though clearly written by a masculine hand.
My Dearest Hermione,
I feel as though I enter a most desolate season without the warmth of your smile at my side. The days grow colder. Harsh winds blow down from the north and bring clouds to block out the sun. I find I cannot drag myself from my despair without the sweet sight of the molten chocolate in your eyes…
Rolling her eyes, Hermione Granger skimmed the remainder of the lengthy parchment scroll for pertinent information. When she got to the end she blew a raspberry before tossing the whole thing aside. The barn owl that had come through her kitchen window to drop it off squawked in indignation.
“Yes, yes, you’re very upset,” she soothed, feeding the irritated bird a treat with one hand while she waved her wand with the other. A fresh sheet of parchment, quill, and inkwell zoomed to the table from her writing desk in the other room. She conjured dishes of food and water for the owl, set her wand aside, and picked up the quill. The letter said the bird would wait for a response, so there was no sense wasting time to get one written.
Charlie,
I shall never forgive your brother for telling you about my love of Regency-era romance, you colossal prat. Fred and George may claim that their dedication to a joke is a gift all their own, but I can clearly see it’s an entirely learned behavior. Yes, I’ll be at the Burrow for Christmas. I can’t believe you wrote me twelve inches just to ask that. Did you ever write that much for an assignment back in school?
Hermione
Still huffing in exasperation, she neatly folded her parchment, sealed it with a length of muggle tape, added a strong sticking charm just to be a bit spiteful, and tied it to the leg of the owl just as he was finishing his brief meal. He gave a hoot of gratitude, nuzzled her hand, and took off out the window.
With a sigh, Hermione took up her wand and banished the supplies back to her desk. Of all the Weasleys that could be giving her grief as December dragged on, Charlie was perhaps the least expected after Percy and Bill. Well, and the Weasley matriarch, but Molly was somewhat of a law unto herself. Honestly, that woman could pile on enough guilt to draw blood from a stone. At least she’d never write a faux romantic letter—getting someone’s hopes up for the briefest moment—just to ask a silly question. There was the faintest pang in her chest as she reminded herself that the beautiful words were indeed fake.
She was still musing over Molly’s particularly tenacious attitude and why she was felt so disappointed while making notes from a rather large case file when a response arrived. At the very least, she was shocked that it came within two hours. She’d thought Charlie was still at the sanctuary in Romania, not somewhere close enough to trade missives so quickly. The barn owl favored her with a long-suffering expression as it perched on the back of her favorite armchair, clearly less than amused at flying back and forth so often. This time the parchment was shorter and the text much less flowery.
Hermione,
Wasn’t much for writing in school. Still not now. It’s a testament to how absolutely bored I am. Go do something with me? Please? Mum’s going to drive me barking if I don’t get out of here for a while.
Charlie
Hermione could only imagine what being stuck at the Burrow might feel like when one’s entire life revolved around the constant adventure of working with dragons. To her left was a stack of papers she could be reading. To her right, an even taller stack of books for the research she could be doing. The bookshelves could us a decent dusting, there were things in the refrigerator that absolutely needed to be tossed out, and there was a stack of invitations to events that very night piled on the kitchen table. There were a billion things that could be occupying her time.
But in her mind’s eye she saw Charlie’s brilliant blue eyes, and something in her stomach fluttered.
Dinner at the Leaky, then?
Charlie wrote back even faster this time.
It’s a date. See you at six!
She spotted him the instant she stepped from the Floo into the Leaky Cauldron. He was leaning against a column across from the fireplace, arms crossed over his jumper-clad chest, and an amused smirk on his lips. He was staring straight at her—which, of course, meant that he hadn’t missed the brief stumble when she’d stepped out of the flames. He didn’t move to come to her side, but his smirk grew as he stared. Without lifting his eyes from hers, he raised a hand and pointed one finger upwards. Following the direction, Hermione found herself looking at a little bundle of greenery tied with a red ribbon.
Mistletoe.
When her gaze tracked down to his, Charlie raised one eyebrow as if to ask what she was waiting for.
The brightest witch of her age never was one to back down from a challenge.
Recipient: arcticcat621
Title: Challenge Accepted
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Charlie Weasley
Rating: G
Word Count/Art Medium: 929
Summary: An unexpected letter leads to an even more unexpected evening.
The scroll was heavy, a thick paper that reeked of quality. It was tied with a ribbon the color of burning cinders and sealed with a glossy black wax. The wax had been stamped with an ornate seal that depicted a roaring dragon overlaid with a ‘W’. The script inside was bold and elegant, though clearly written by a masculine hand.
My Dearest Hermione,
I feel as though I enter a most desolate season without the warmth of your smile at my side. The days grow colder. Harsh winds blow down from the north and bring clouds to block out the sun. I find I cannot drag myself from my despair without the sweet sight of the molten chocolate in your eyes…
Rolling her eyes, Hermione Granger skimmed the remainder of the lengthy parchment scroll for pertinent information. When she got to the end she blew a raspberry before tossing the whole thing aside. The barn owl that had come through her kitchen window to drop it off squawked in indignation.
“Yes, yes, you’re very upset,” she soothed, feeding the irritated bird a treat with one hand while she waved her wand with the other. A fresh sheet of parchment, quill, and inkwell zoomed to the table from her writing desk in the other room. She conjured dishes of food and water for the owl, set her wand aside, and picked up the quill. The letter said the bird would wait for a response, so there was no sense wasting time to get one written.
Charlie,
I shall never forgive your brother for telling you about my love of Regency-era romance, you colossal prat. Fred and George may claim that their dedication to a joke is a gift all their own, but I can clearly see it’s an entirely learned behavior. Yes, I’ll be at the Burrow for Christmas. I can’t believe you wrote me twelve inches just to ask that. Did you ever write that much for an assignment back in school?
Hermione
Still huffing in exasperation, she neatly folded her parchment, sealed it with a length of muggle tape, added a strong sticking charm just to be a bit spiteful, and tied it to the leg of the owl just as he was finishing his brief meal. He gave a hoot of gratitude, nuzzled her hand, and took off out the window.
With a sigh, Hermione took up her wand and banished the supplies back to her desk. Of all the Weasleys that could be giving her grief as December dragged on, Charlie was perhaps the least expected after Percy and Bill. Well, and the Weasley matriarch, but Molly was somewhat of a law unto herself. Honestly, that woman could pile on enough guilt to draw blood from a stone. At least she’d never write a faux romantic letter—getting someone’s hopes up for the briefest moment—just to ask a silly question. There was the faintest pang in her chest as she reminded herself that the beautiful words were indeed fake.
She was still musing over Molly’s particularly tenacious attitude and why she was felt so disappointed while making notes from a rather large case file when a response arrived. At the very least, she was shocked that it came within two hours. She’d thought Charlie was still at the sanctuary in Romania, not somewhere close enough to trade missives so quickly. The barn owl favored her with a long-suffering expression as it perched on the back of her favorite armchair, clearly less than amused at flying back and forth so often. This time the parchment was shorter and the text much less flowery.
Hermione,
Wasn’t much for writing in school. Still not now. It’s a testament to how absolutely bored I am. Go do something with me? Please? Mum’s going to drive me barking if I don’t get out of here for a while.
Charlie
Hermione could only imagine what being stuck at the Burrow might feel like when one’s entire life revolved around the constant adventure of working with dragons. To her left was a stack of papers she could be reading. To her right, an even taller stack of books for the research she could be doing. The bookshelves could us a decent dusting, there were things in the refrigerator that absolutely needed to be tossed out, and there was a stack of invitations to events that very night piled on the kitchen table. There were a billion things that could be occupying her time.
But in her mind’s eye she saw Charlie’s brilliant blue eyes, and something in her stomach fluttered.
Dinner at the Leaky, then?
Charlie wrote back even faster this time.
It’s a date. See you at six!
She spotted him the instant she stepped from the Floo into the Leaky Cauldron. He was leaning against a column across from the fireplace, arms crossed over his jumper-clad chest, and an amused smirk on his lips. He was staring straight at her—which, of course, meant that he hadn’t missed the brief stumble when she’d stepped out of the flames. He didn’t move to come to her side, but his smirk grew as he stared. Without lifting his eyes from hers, he raised a hand and pointed one finger upwards. Following the direction, Hermione found herself looking at a little bundle of greenery tied with a red ribbon.
Mistletoe.
When her gaze tracked down to his, Charlie raised one eyebrow as if to ask what she was waiting for.
The brightest witch of her age never was one to back down from a challenge.