Chapter Text
When Hermione was a little girl, she delighted in playing the water glasses. She'd line them up in a row, each filled with differing amounts of water, wet her finger tips, and gently run them along the rims to create watersongs of her own making.
She did the same now to her teacup, but no music emerged.
"So?"
Hermione looked up at Liz's prompting. "So, what?"
"So, have you thought about what you're going to do after training?"
"Oh. That."
The Keeper snorted indelicately behind her own teacup. "Yes. That."
The tiny table they sat at was crammed into the corner off Liz's kitchen, almost like an afterthought. The utilitarian space reflected the witch's matter-of-fact approach in both work and home. Hermione could appreciate the directness of it all, how everything was exactly where expected, their uses both intuitive and unquestionable. She just wished there was a bit more … colour. Liz favoured black, metallic grey, and a green so dark it might as well have been black. The overall effect was less cosy, more dark academia, and a stark contrast to Charlie's cherry red cabinets, which were her exact sort of whimsy.
Hermione continued running her finger across the ceramic. It was still a tad too warm for her liking, but charming the liquid to a drinkable temperature had never appealed to her. She didn't mind the wait.
"I'm still thinking about it."
Liz's brow arched. "It's only a couple of weeks away."
"Trust me. I know."
"Well, what are the choices?"
She chewed at her lip as she thought about how to answer. As much as she liked Liz, who she had almost started to think of as an older sister, Hermione still had the mental wherewithal to protect her true thoughts on the matter until the time to decide was truly upon her.
"There are a few Creature programs I've been in talks with for additional training: Wampus cats, Zouwu, Thunderbirds."
Liz whistled. "That's quite the variety of Creatures and places."
"Then there's the Hebredian Sanctuary, who are recruiting researchers for a new study on their sea serpents. It would be my first time working closely with an underwater species."
Her friend's eyes took on a faraway look. "I can see why you're having a hard time deciding."
"Or …" She paused, sighing.
Liz's gaze sharpened on her once more. "Or?"
"Or, I accept none of them. Stay and study each of the dragon species on the reserve in turn." Hermione bit back her laugh at the excited squeal that erupted from the other witch.
"Girl," Liz said, seizing Hermione's hands and squeezing, "you know which one has my vote. We can always use more help, and you know you'll always have a place here."
Smiling gratefully, Hermione squeezed back. "That means more to me than you can ever know."
"And, well, there's someone else who will miss you terribly if you go," Liz added, her tone turning sly.
Hermione laughed nervously. "I'm certain I don't know who you mean."
"Mhmmm. I'll let you off the hook this time, but know this: we've all noticed the effect you've had on Charlie over the past couple of months. He's almost like himself again, which I guarantee you would have never happened if you hadn't come along."
The feedback from someone who had known Charlie for as long as Liz had further warmed Hermione's heart. It was almost enough to have her blurt out her hope for the future right then and there, but she stopped herself. It was still too soon, and there was someone else who she wanted to be the first to know.
Judging her tea to be the perfect temperature, she inhaled the soothing aroma before taking a generous sip. "Delicious."
"Thank you, though I know what you're doing."
"What's that?"
Liz hummed knowingly. "Changing the topic, like you do every time Charlie comes up."
"Do I?"
They stared at one another, as if daring the other to break first, before they both burst into laughter.
"Like I said, I'll let you off the hook. This time."
Summer was in full swing, the air heavy with heated earth and the honey-like heather that now covered the foothills. They were fortunate that no major wildfires had broken out yet this year. According to Charlie, the smoke could turn the sky orange and every inhale into a struggle to breathe. As she took her leave of Liz's cabin, Hermione soaked in the warmth that was so rarely afforded her back home in England.
The past several weeks had passed far more quickly than expected. At the start of her training, each day had felt like a new beginning. She met new people, learned and experienced more about dragons than she ever would have outside of the sanctuary, and navigated around Charlie's mercurial moods. Speaking of which …
Chop! Chop!
Hermione followed the long-familiar sound of wood being chopped, rubbing the head of the dragon post as she passed by, up the path and around the corner of the cabin. The closer she drew, the more clearly she heard the swish of the axe before each cut. She braced herself, knowing that no amount of self-preparation would be enough for what lay in store for her.
Charlie was shirtless, and the sight of a shirtless Charlie Weasley stole her breath and thought. Every. Single. Time.
Charlie swung with a full range of motion, only his fiery curls pulled into their usual bun showing any sign of restraint. Sun-kissed shoulders flexing, his entire upper body glistened from his efforts.
She swallowed. Merciful Morgana. What she would give for a full glass of pumpkin juice right that instant. How was it possible for a wizard to be so—so—appealing to the eye? One perfectly-placed trickle of sweat ran down his abs, parallel to the ginger trail that led straight to …
"You're back."
Her eyes jerked up to find him watching her. Brow cocked and a slight uptick in one cheek paired with the almost careless way in which he leaned on the handle of the axe, it almost looked like he was taunting her. Like he was … smirking.
She bristled. "Is that a problem?"
He threw a hand up. "Not at all. I just lost track of time out here. Nothing new. How was tea with Liz?"
Hermione raised a challenging brow. "Didn't your mum and sister teach you better than to ask? What's shared at tea stays at tea."
"That's not what I've learned."
"Oh?"
"Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'spill the tea,' before?"
"Sounds messy."
Said on its own, the observation was innocent enough. Said in combination with a sweaty, bare-chested Charlie, though?
Hermione licked her lips, which didn't help her thirst at all.
"I'm going to head in for a drink. Want anything?" she asked.
"I'll just come with you. I want to show you something, anyways."
She averted her eyes as he turned to grab his shirt. She did not need to see his back muscles. Or the way that the dragonhide hugged his lower half like a blasted glove. Or give away her dismay when he covered up all of that gloriously tanned skin.
She did not.
Opening the door, she stopped short at the scent that assaulted her nostrils. Charlie really had been busy while she'd been out. She followed the scents of lemon and sugar into the kitchen to find scones cooling on the counter. If Charlie wasn't right behind her, she would have snatched up an entire row so that he'd be none the wiser.
"For Olga?" she asked nonchalantly, heading towards the icebox before pouring them both a glass of pumpkin juice.
"Uh, no. Well, some of them." Charlie leaned, somewhat awkwardly, next to the scones. He placed a hand on the counter, only to quickly remove it and hook a thumb into a pocket, his other hand at his hip.
"Saving some for yourself this time?" She drained her juice in record time and poured herself another glass.
"I actually, uh, made them for us."
Mid-drink, she choked.
"Shit—here's a flannel. Let me take that …"
The glass was plucked from her hand and replaced with a cloth towel. Hermione quickly covered her face with it, skin hot with embarrassment. The fabric did little to help, but at least it hid her expression.
"Breathe. Gently, now." Charlie followed the instruction with a broad hand on her back, rubbing circles that were probably meant to soothe her but which had the opposite effect.
She was struck with a bout of coughing.
"Must've gone down the wrong pipe," he mused.
The discomfort was subsiding, but Charlie continued to rub her back. Hermione couldn't bring herself to tell him to stop. Her nerves at the contact had settled. Her breathing slowed and, with it, the torrent of thoughts that so rarely found rest.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much."
She looked up to smile reassuringly at him, but he turned out to be far closer than expected. Charlie's eyes widened briefly before he stepped back, hand dropping to his side.
"Good." His voice had turned gruff, and he turned his face away as he scratched at his neck. "You don't have to force yourself to eat them, if you don't want."
It took a second for Hermione to remember what it was he was referring to. Her eyes dropped back down to the counter. The scones.
"Can I have one right now?"
Charlie cleared his throat, still looking away from her when he replied, "Go on."
They were still warm to the touch and far lighter than she would have thought. The first bite gave easily, pillow-soft, and brought with it a burst of the expected lemon and, to her surprise, a hint of—
"Lavender?" she asked.
"It can be hit or miss with some, so if you don't like it—"
"I love it."
At that, his eyes flicked her way. When he saw that she was still watching, he promptly put his back to her. "That's … good."
"Good," Hermione repeated agreeably. She fought the urge to laugh at the obvious pleasure he took in her assessment. His ears and neck had turned a shade of red that she recalled seeing countless times from his siblings. "Thank you for sharing them with me."
His head bobbed. Hermione assumed that was that and turned her attention back to the rack of scones. One more wouldn't hurt, would it? They were so light, anyways.
She was just about to reach for a second one, when Charlie's voice stopped her. "That isn't actually what I wanted to show you."
"It's not?"
Charlie was already out of view, his steps leading to the back of the cabin. Hermione snatched up another scone before following him, gobbling it up quickly.
The hallway through which she walked was no longer bare of photographs. Hermione admired the selection that Charlie had chosen to hang, each of the frames carved by hand. Familiar and foreign faces smiled and waved at her: members of the Weasley family, classmates from his Hogwarts days, Keepers and other sanctuary staff, and even one of her that she hadn't noticed being taken while she practised her broom flying. He hadn't told her who took it or why he'd picked that picture of her to hang—a mystery she would likely never solve.
What could he possibly want to show her now that warranted this additional mystery? He approached issues head-on. Frowned at platitudes. Avoided small talk whenever possible.
When he stopped in front of the door to his workshop, a space she had learned early on to not enter, Hermione still had no clue.
"Accio Hermione's boots," Charlie commanded. She blinked at the unexpected charm, only to then watch as her work boots came hurtling from the front of the house and straight into Charlie's arms. He handed them to her, explaining, "There's a fair bit of sawdust. It's also best to wear foot protection with all the tools lying around."
Hermione glanced down at her outfit. Since it was her day off and she'd just been to visit Liz, she still wore a casual floral frock and loose-knit cardigan. "Should I go change?"
Charlie's eyes flit down her figure before jerking back up to her face. "No. You're not—I mean, I'm not—" He paused as he took a deep breath. "You're fine."
Her curiosity couldn't possibly be any greater than it was now at the way he was acting. What could possibly warrant his seeming nervousness?
The door opened, and she followed Charlie's lead.
At first glance, the space was exactly as she'd imagined: a wood workshop, complete with several tables and walls and walls of meticulously organised shelves and open racks. What did surprise her were all the Muggle hand and power tools. Hand saws, chisels, planes, a table saw, a lathe, and several others that were somewhat familiar but the names of which she didn't know.
Charlie walked right past it all. Hermione wanted to stop at the staggering amount of raw wood he had stockpiled for future projects—huge planks she could imagine as centre tables, gnarly tree stumps and burls, and even driftwood. He had an entire treasure trove of varieties and grains.
Her jaw dropped once they reached the back of the shop where he stored finished products.
"Shut. Up!"
Charlie turned quickly, his face a mix of confusion and offence. "I didn't say anything."
She shook her head. "Not you." Waving a hand at their surroundings, she elaborated. "This!"
He followed the arc of her arm, brow still furrowed. "I don't follow."
"Charlie, this is incredible. I knew you built furniture and carved things like the post and your door, but I had no idea you had all of this back here." This referred to a dining set big enough to seat at least a dozen people, several rocking chairs of varying sizes and styles, and a matching set of side tables with a dragon scale motif. "You're an artist!"
"I wouldn't say that," he tried to protest, but Hermione wasn't having it.
"You are. You shouldn't downplay the skill and heart you put into your work." She walked towards the dining table and ran her hand over the smooth chair backs, feeling the almost imperceptible thrum of magic. "Is this a resizing charm?"
"An experiment," Charlie explained. "Not many people have the need for a table this large, but I remember Mum always having to enlarge the table whenever we had friends over as kids and how wonky it could be. This way, she'd just need to know the incantation; the charm will do the rest."
Hermione grinned. "So that's how a fork ended up inside the part of the table where I once sat."
He snorted. "That's how."
"This is for Molly, then?" she asked.
"For Barnaby, actually. He and the missus are expecting another"—Hermione nearly choked on the news, recalling that Barnaby already had five kids, all under the age of ten—"and they love to host, so the table will be my gift to the family. Mum already has a table that I made her a couple of years ago."
Had it really been over two years, already, since Hermione had last visited the Burrow? She was certain that she would have noticed a new table otherwise.
"But, this isn't what I wanted to show you, either." Jerking his head, he headed towards a table in the corner.
She hurried over, eager to see more of Charlie's handiwork.
"They're still a work in progress, and I've never tried anything this delicate before, so if you hate them, tell me and …" Charlie's voice faded into the background the moment Hermione saw what he had laid out before them.
She thought they were wooden ornaments, at first. Or perhaps charms to adorn a bag. Only, these charms came in pairs and were attached to the daintiest silver hooks. Most of the designs featured dragon heads or wings, though there were also some that had been carved with floral patterns that she now recognised from her time at the sanctuary. Chicory, edelweiss, peonies, and, her favourite, pasque flowers.
"You made earrings?"
A glance over her shoulder showed Charlie almost grimacing at what Hermione now realised might have been a rude question.
"Charlie … they're brilliant."
The tension he carried visibly faded as he took in her words and heard the truth in them. "You think so?"
"I know so." Hermione carefully lifted up one set of dragon earrings. The wood had been cut into a teardrop shape so thin that she was afraid she might snap the piece in two. "Pairing different woods and preserving most of their natural colour to make these kinds of designs? Anyone would be lucky to wear these."
"Give that one a try then," he said gruffly.
She looked between him and the earring she still held. "Me?"
His cheeks flushed. "It's yours … if you want it."
Oh.
For a second, Hermione had the impossible thought that he'd made them with her in mind, which was ridiculous, really. While they'd made a lot of progress with their relationship as mentor and student, it wasn't as if the feelings she'd been trying to smother were reciprocated. He probably intended to gift these to him mum or Ginny, Bill, or maybe someone else on the reserve who wore earrings. It was a coincidence that earrings were the one piece of jewellery that Hermione collected and frequently changed with her mood on any given day.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the one she already held up for closer inspection. Remarkably thin, which she'd noticed earlier, the vivid red backing reminiscent of the cabinets in Charlie's kitchen. A dragon head carved from a different type of wood had been laid on top—an Opaleye, another of her favourites, going by the almond-shaped eyes and dainty facial structure. A coincidence, surely.
Once she'd put on both earrings, she looked over at Charlie for his reaction and was taken aback at the focused expression on his face.
"Does it look … okay?" Her lips pinched together after asking. What was she, an uncertain school girl, again?
His jaw clenched. "Do you like them?" he asked, ignoring her own question.
"I love them, but if you'd rather I pick something else—"
"No," he interrupted. "They're yours. Here." He grabbed a nearby marking knife and concentrated as he waved his wand, transforming the knife into a hand mirror that he then handed to her. "See for yourself." Their fingers brushed as she accepted the mirror.
Hermione peered at her reflection and liked what she saw.
The witch who looked back at her, dragon earrings dangling from each lobe, looked confident. Determined. She looked like the sort of witch who belonged, here, at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary.
"We don't want you to forget what you've learned during your time here," Charlie went on to say, snagging her attention with the implication of his words. "There likely isn't a reason for you to visit again once your training is finished and you've moved on, but I—we—hope that you'll remember … us … afterwards. We know you never meant to stay—not with the sorts of goals you have for the future—and we don't want you to think that we don't support you."
We. Us. We. Charlie kept speaking in the plural, as if he didn't, or couldn't, admit to a personal connection to her despite their time together and the steps they'd taken as a team. Hermione understood what he was saying, she even understood why he was saying it, but that didn't mean she agreed with him.
"I won't forget," she said, holding out the mirror. But, when he reached out to accept, she held on, not letting go.
He met her stare, a frown forming at the look she levelled at him.
"Because I mean to stay."
His hand dropped, first to his side and then to grip the back of his neck. "Stay? But, why?"
Her heart sank at what sounded like dismay. Did he want her to leave the sanctuary? She understood Charlie wanting to get his home and privacy back, but she would have thought he'd be at least a little bit excited at Hermione continuing her work with dragons. Didn't they at least share that?
She tried to speak calmly, without giving away her disappointment at his reaction. "I realised that three months was never going to be enough time to truly understand all the species of dragons on the reserve. I know I'm not a Dragonologist, nor do I mean to discontinue my studies of other magical creatures, but I'd like to further my research here and see where it takes me."
"What about friends and family back home?"
"What about them?"
"Won't they miss you? Three months of training is completely different from choosing to build a life out here. Emergencies happen, and you won't always be able to leave when you want or need to."
"I'm sure they will miss me, and I'll miss them. But, if we're so afraid of what the future may or may not hold to the point of never leaving and never starting lives of our own somewhere new, then what are any of us doing out here?"
Charlie's mouth opened, as if to say something, then closed. She nearly had him; he just needed another push. For some reason that she didn't want to inspect too closely just yet, his approval was important to her. Not just important. Integral to her decision.
"Do you wish you had stayed closer to home?" she asked.
He exhaled slowly before answering. "No. This is my home now."
"Then, I'm sure you can understand why I'd like to have the same freedom to choose where I'd like to be for the foreseeable future."
His throat bobbed. Then, to her relief, he nodded with a jerk of his head. "I can understand that."
She sighed. Finally. Hermione had been dreading this discussion since the idea came to her—to stay, when she'd been working towards leaving from the moment she'd walked out the Ministry doors. Back then, she had thought that staying equated to stagnation. Staying meant complacency. Staying put her behind bars of her own making.
Her time here in Romania had proved otherwise.
Staying could mean growth, too. Her intentions mattered; if she intended to learn and experience all that she could in her present surroundings, then complacency wouldn't take root and spread the way that she feared. The bars she envisioned were simply that: imaginary. The sky spread wide and open before her. She simply had to find her wings and take flight.
"In that case," Charlie said, "you'll be wanting a place of your own. Have you looked at what's available?"
It took a second for his words to sink in. When they did, she grinned. He was definitely coming around to the idea of her continuing on at the reserve. Truthfully, she had already peeked at the open cabins and had an idea of the one that would suit her best. But after the heart attack his disappointment had nearly given her, Hermione wanted to pay him back in kind.
"I was actually hoping to talk about that with you, as well."
His head cocked to the side. "You were?"
"What if I stayed here with you?" Hermione suggested, holding an innocent smile that she hoped gave away none of her humour at his reaction.
"With … me?" Charlie looked completely taken aback.
"I could chip in for groceries and split chores more evenly with you, like Stefan and Dimitri. They trained together and stayed on as roommates, didn't they?"
"Aye," he conceded, "though their situation is … different … from ours."
"Because they're both blokes?"
He sucked in a sharp breath. "I meant their equal footing, but there's that, too."
"Equal footing as opposed to, what, a power imbalance?" she checked, making sure she understood him correctly, which he confirmed with what he said next.
"I would still be your superior even with you having completed training. There might be times where you'll feel pressured to act or say things for my approval or—"
Hermione's scoff stopped him short. "Unlikely."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Have you met me?" She challenged him with a smirk.
Charlie muttered under his breath, and Hermione caught just enough to bristle.
"Ex-cuse me?"
Cheeks now undeniably flushed, he met her with a bullheaded glare of his own. "Seems to me like you enjoy the challenge of getting my approval."
She gasped. "Charlie Weasley!"
"You thrive on praise," he went on, every bit as stubborn as the dragons he loved so much, "so yes you could end up doing things you wouldn't normally if you lived on your own or with someone … else."
As much as Hermione wanted to keep on teasing him with her mock outrage, she didn't actually want to sabotage this truce of theirs. These past weeks had seen vast improvements, Charlie relaxing more and more with each day.
"Well, then you'll be happy to hear that I already have another cabin in mind. One of the smaller ones, since I'm not interested in another roommate."
Charlie arms crossed over his chest. "Oh?"
Was it her imagination, or did he sound disappointed? That didn't make any sense after he'd dug his heels in on the idea of her staying with him.
"Which one?" he asked.
"The one-bedroom with the blue metal roof."
She'd been instantly charmed by the sweet peas a past resident had planted all up and down the pathway leading to the cabin. While the building itself didn't have the personal touches she loved so much about Charlie's, Hermione figured it would take time to turn the space into one she loved and considered home.
"Not the one next to Stefan's?"
Why did that matter? Sure, Hermione didn't love the way Stefan always seemed to watch her, but it wasn't like he lived alone. Frowning, she replied, "Well, yes, with Dimitri. Liz's cabin is also right there—"
"No." His tone brooked no argument, and the disappointment she'd suspected was now blatantly displayed in the harsh lines of his face.
"What do you mean 'no'—"
"Pick another one," he said, cutting her off again.
"But, I like that one! None of the others jumped out to me—"
"You want to stay here, don't you? So stay if that's the only other option."
Baffled, she stared at him, not caring that her mouth hung slightly open. Was he joshing her? She'd been joking, and his initial reaction hadn't been exactly welcoming.
"Charlie, I was mostly kidding earlier. You made it clear that you aren't interested in living with me."
Clearing his throat, he looked away when he spoke. "I didn't say I wasn't interested."
"What? But—but, you—you said—" she sputtered. She had the distinct feeling that the rug had been pulled out from under her feet. How had Charlie spun the joke around without her even noticing?
Still keeping his eyes firmly turned away, he explained. "I said there might be issues … a new employee living with a senior Dragonologist …"
It was a good thing he wasn't watching her, because Hermione's eyes rolled hard.
"… and boundaries could blur …"
Well, that was definitely a possibility. But, was it really her fault? Charlie was the one who walked around—shirtless, she might add—chopping wood, diving across the sky on his broomstick, and looking adorably focused whenever he prepared tea for the two of them as was now routine. How could a witch not find that attractive? It wasn't as if he reciprocated her interest.
"… a pretty witch like you living alone isn't safe—"
Putting aside the fact that he'd called her pretty, Hermione leaped on his reasoning. "Charlie Weasley! That is completely sexist, and you know it. Liz lives alone, as does your own sister!"
"Yes, but—"
"And, I don't hear you ragging on them about their choices or neighbours or saying much of anything about how you feel, even though one look at your home is enough for anyone to know that you definitely do feel things. Deeply."
"That's because they aren't you!" he burst out, arms finally uncrossing as he took a step towards her.
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, exasperated. "I'm not some … some … dainty flower or maiden in distress! Did I, or did I not, fly your gigantic arse across half the sanctuary?" Not to mention her impersonating Bellatrix Lestrange, flying a dragon out of Gringotts, and going wand-to-wand with multiple Death Eaters three times her age.
"You did," Charlie said begrudgingly, still advancing forward until he had her trapped against the work table. He stopped a step away, and she was forced to look up to maintain eye contact.
Other than the day in question, this was the closest she could remember ever being to Charlie Weasley. He smelled far too good for someone who had been sweating under the sun less than an hour ago—like sunshine, or was that just the remnants of the lemon scone she'd eaten? Against her better judgement, she breathed in deep.
Sunshine. Sweat. Blurred boundaries.
Maybe he was right.
"So, trust me," he went on, oblivious to her inner ramblings, "I know exactly how capable you are of taking care of yourself. That doesn't change the fact that I don't like you living alone when there's plenty of room for you here."
Her breath stopped, for the briefest moment, before resuming. Hermione considered her words carefully before speaking. "Let me get this straight: are you asking or telling me to stay?"
He didn't blink. Didn't look away. He stared down at her as he answered, "Both."
Hermione searched his eyes for any hint of doubt and found none. Silence reigned in the wood shop, the only sound that of their synced breathing and her own deafening heartbeat. She exhaled.
"Okay."
She'd spoken softly, so when he didn't react immediately, Hermione wondered if she'd said anything aloud at all. Maybe she'd only thought the word, which wasn't wholly unlike her.
Then, a smile spread across Charlie's face.
She watched in disbelief as the smile kept on spreading, until it stretched from ear to ear and transformed grumpy Charlie into an older version of the one she remembered who couldn't stop blathering about dragons and Quidditch and more dragons, and, oh, had she ever been to Romania or heard of the Hebridian Black with its amethyst-coloured eyes?
"Really? You'll stay?" His eyes were bluer and clearer than the summer sky he loved so much. They threatened to pull her into his excitement. Hermione wasn't against that in the slightest.
"Yes, Charlie," she answered, meeting his grin with her own. "I'll be your roommate."
Letting out a startling whoop, Charlie swept her up and into his arms for a hug. The joy was infectious, and she laughed as she hugged him right back.
Hermione had hugged countless people before that moment, including Ron and Harry and every one of the Weasley brothers—even Percy, who had patted her gingerly on the back as if she was some strange creature he had no idea how to handle—but this hug … this hug stood out from the rest.
All of her worries and insecurities faded to the background, eclipsed by the solidness of the man who held her aloft like she weighed nothing. Hermione felt the safest she'd ever felt since childhood, when her father would lift her up and over his shoulders to lumber around the garden, rulers of their own kingdom. Only, this wasn't her father, and she was no longer a child. She was a grown witch who knew what and, most pressing in this moment, who she wanted.
She gave in to the urge to look up, bringing their faces within inches of each other.
Charlie's eyes locked with hers. The air around them shifted. He was so close.
Hermione wanted to get closer.
Charlie's exhales fluttered across her lips. A taunt or an invitation? He wasn't pulling away. If anything, he seemed to be drawing closer, his lids growing heavy and the arms wrapped around her tightening their hold. His head tilted, and Hermione did the same. The gap between them narrowed until—
—there was the lemon, tart and sweet and so obviously home, the rightness of it spreading to every part of her body until Hermione knew, without a doubt, that they were always meant to be here, like this, and that none of the other options had been options at all.
When they parted, Charlie's head dropped to hers, their breaths mingling together in the lingering warmth of their kiss. His expression of wonderment and discovery mirrored her own.
"Roommates, then," he confirmed, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"For now," she said coyly.
The smirk they shared turned to more laughter, the brightness of it echoing throughout the wood shop and into what was now not just his cabin, but theirs.