Four Weddings and a Dragon - Charlie Weasley

Chapter 23

Hermione woke up slightly stiff and unsure of where she was. The light was strange, and Charlie was snoring, not positioned quite right.

She remembered. They had been celebrating having the house to themselves again after sheltering Draco for the week. It meant they'd worn themselves out and fallen asleep on the sofa in an extremely compromising position, as was their right as hardworking newlyweds about to be slammed by a baby in a few months.

Carefully, she sat up, gently turning Charlie by his shoulders, easing into the space she'd been filling. His noisy breathing stuttered and quieted into soft, deep waves.

His hair had grown long enough since the cut she'd given him right before they left Romania for her to be able to tuck a waving red lock of it behind his ear. At her touch, he sighed in his sleep, as if aware she was nearby, pleased to have her there, but too tired to do much about it.

A coy smile blossomed on her face, determined to get more than this serene reaction out of him. She was bending toward him, her mouth opening to close around his earlobe when something settled in the fireplace, falling into the grate.

Hermione jumped, sitting upright, away from Charlie who slept on. He was undisturbed in spite of her snatching at the afghan they'd slept underneath, frantically covering herself with it in case someone was coming through the Floo.

When it was clear no one was there, she laughed quietly at herself. All that brazen talk last night about the thrill of being caught here -- in the daylight, she no longer meant any of it. The thought of anyone finding them here like this was mortifying, especially if the person who discovered them was Draco.

She unwound the afghan from around Charlie, wrapping all of it around herself, and placed the largest cushion she could reach over the most vulnerable parts of him. He looked like the subject of a raunchy painting, and she giggled to herself as she tiptoed up the stairs to shower and get dressed.

As it turned out, her timing must have been charmed. No sooner had Hermione turned on the water than the Floo in the lounge truly did flare to life. With a flash, Draco Malfoy came through to find himself confronted with sleeping Charlie wearing nothing but a throw pillow.

Draco yelped in surprise. Between his outburst and the heat and clamour of the Floo, Charlie was waking up, rubbing his eyes with one hand and pushing himself to sitting with the other.

"Don't get up!" Draco hollered at him.

Confused, Charlie looked down at himself, swearing softly as he clasped the pillow to himself. "What's she done? Hermione?"

"Honestly, Weasley," Draco said. "I've never met a grown man as carelessly immodest as you. By now, I think I could draw a map of the freckles on your back if I was pressed. I don't know if it comes from the bad habits of living in close quarters with your oversized family or -- "

Still sleepy and confused, Charlie shook his head. "Oversized -- what?"

Draco scoffed as bleary eyed Charlie scanned the room for something more to cover up with.

"Stop showing off and just -- just summon something to wear," Draco said. "Or -- here, take this." He'd taken off his cloak and thrown it over Charlie on the sofa.

Charlie grappled with it as it sailed over him. "Sorry, Malfoy. But it was you who told us not to expect you back this morning."

"Yes, well, that was before. Goyle he's..." Draco had no words, ending his sentence with just a snarl. "And that house of his has me smelling of swamp."

Charlie slumped into the cloak and pulled it closed, sniffing at the sullied fabric. "From the way Hermione tells it, you probably should have known not to expect a comfortable stay at the Goyle's. But what else is it? You're beyond being bothered about a smell."