“Charlie Weasley, don’t you ever stay gone so long!� Mrs. Weasley screeched at her son in mock anger as he entered the Burrow, the swish of the wind sounding at his back. “With this horrendous blizzard…� she chattered on while taking his coat and other outerwear.

The place had changed over the years. During the war, it had been ravaged by a band of Death Eaters who were sure it was the meeting place of the Order of the Phoenix. They were wrong, of course, but ruined many items that were passed through the Weasley generations in their maniacal ignorance. He’d seen the scorch marks on the walls, the blasted bits of glass, and the pages of ancient books strewn about the floor. Now, however, there only lingered a distinct smell that managed to creep its way even through the delicious scent of his mother’s roast. It was an intoxicating, insidious scent. It was the smell of remaining torment. The stain of malicious intent.

Perhaps it was all in his head, though. The place seemed to be cheerful enough for its occupants. There were twinkling lights everywhere – the product of participatory fairies, he supposed. Gifts wrapped in heavy, red, glittering paper could be seen lurking just under the stairs. They would be for him. The wood all around had a warm hue, as if tiny, unburning fires resided in the very grain. He unthinkingly kicked some of the slush he’d brought on his clothing out the door, and managed to close up the threshold just before his mother smothered him in an overly excited embrace. He returned it eagerly.

There was not much affection to be had in Romania, among the treacherous dragons. They worked from dawn until the bright disc in the sky decided to hang low for the night. They took few breaks, as the dragons did not rest nearly as much as was portrayed in literature. Silly Muggles. They certainly did not know much about dragons. The glorified lizards were rough, unforgiving creatures. Wizards like Charlie trained them for games, and served as, essentially, babysitters for the giant reptiles. Otherwise, they would have been running about the world unfettered, virtually indestructible. One had to know the right touch . . . their weak spots.

“I don’t exactly plan on staying away for so long, Mum. I’ve got a job to do . . .�

“I know, darling, I know,� she said with a moist shine in her eye. “You’ve got adult responsibilities now – “

“ – And have for many years, Mum.� Charlie rolled his eyes. Every time he returned to his childhood home, his mother behaved as if he’d just run in from playing in the mud. He supposed he always knew this about Molly Weasley, and he hated it as equally as he craved it.

Just then, young Hermione padded softly into the sitting room. Her eyes caught his and she gave him a weak smile. “Hello, Charlie.�

“Oh, Hermione, dear. Would you please get Charlie some hot tea? It’s so dreadfully chilly out there –“

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley,� she said and returned to the kitchen.

“Mum, I can get my own tea,� he protested quietly. With a sigh, he continued, “You’ve had a busy day. Why don’t you go on to bed?�

“Yes, that does sound wonderful. I’ve spent so much time wrapping gifts and –“

“I know, Mum.� Charlie gave her a warm kiss on the cheek.

“You’ll get me if you –“

“No, I won’t. But if you go to bed, I’ll say yes.�

She chuckled lightly and kissed his cheek. “You’re too tanned, you know,� she said before walking to the lowest stair.

He shook his head. “It’s not a tan, Mum, it’s the Weasley freckles.�

She only grinned back at him before taking each step more warily than the next. It was all show, of course. His mother used quite a bit of magic, and while it could be mentally draining, the simple tasks she normally performed weren’t physically draining. She liked to pretend and play the part of the old grandmother, tired from life and needing much help. Not that she hadn’t had a rough several years, what with Harry . . .

He exhaled loudly and flopped down on the couch as Hermione reentered the room with two mugs of tea, the steam curling in front of her face and evaporating into her hair. “A bit rough-looking, Hermione. Are you all right?�

Charlie was one always given to stating the obvious, for better or worse. She frowned as she handed him his drink, but didn’t complain otherwise. She pulled the long, unkempt hair back from her face and embraced her mug with both hands, seemingly drinking in the scent with her eyes closed. She would have looked rather sweet and natural there, if there weren’t large black circles plastered just under her eyes. “Life’s been better,� she murmured.

“What’s been keeping you up at night?� His freckled arm rested lengthwise along the back of the sofa and he faced her in effort to get her to open up. He remembered the many nights when he would lie awake and wonder what he could have done to change things . . . things that had hurt him . . . ways he’d hurt others. The Burrow itself brought up many wonderful memories, yes. However, there were more poignant ones lurking in the shadows of his mind. He’d never been the Weasley Golden Boy like Bill…

“That’s a very frank question, don’t you think?� she countered.

“Yes, it is. But I’ve just come off a long journey from a place where the magical folk prefer to emit gasses and drink Firewiskey than talk to someone who obviously needs to talk.�

“I wouldn’t say I need to.�

“How about I talk first, and then you talk. Magically binding contract?� She grinned wryly at him and reluctantly shook his hand. “Now, where to begin?�

“Why have you taken so long in coming to visit your family?�

“During the war, You-Know-Who was attempting to use dragons for his cause. He’d concussed many of them . . . others,� he shook his head sadly, “he managed to train. Those were the ones that burned homes in York and Liverpool. They were used to target Muggle populations.�

“How terrible! I thought they’d set fire themselves, not used defenseless creatures to do their dirty work!�

“Well, they’re not defenseless,� he chuckled. “If you ever have to treat the fungus that grows under the scales of ill dragons, you’d never think twice that they weren’t as dangerous on their deathbeds as they are while they’re healthy. Still, when You-Know-Who wants something, he’ll stop at nothing to get it. His idiot Death Eaters didn’t even know how to handle them properly. Many dragons are mentally addled. Others were slain; we had to collect what we could from those because many parts of a dragon can be used for dark magic. Others – and this has been taking up most of our time – had to be retrained to be around humans. Mind, they always blow fire and gnash a bit, but really, they’re good creatures. They just have very strong instincts.�

Charlie always purposely spoke with a jolly tone, especially when talking about something that disturbed him. The dragons were, in fact, abused greatly. He’d dedicated his life to helping these creatures and training them, and the Death Eaters came around only to unravel all his hard work. Most had great, bloody gashes across their flanks and necks. All of the female dragons’ eggs had been smashed before their eyes in order to crush their spirits. Some eyes had yellowed. Some dragons’ fire-breath had been dwindled to hot ash.

One, Newbriar - a Chinese Fireball that had come to him as a tiny, angry, baby dragon – hadn’t been able to walk when they rescued him from a Death Eater compound. It had torn him up. Charlie hadn’t had a family since leaving The Burrow so many years ago, and so, he’d adopted Newbriar as a sort of child. He’d spent many nights sitting up, watching the Chinese Fireball with an eagle-eye just to make sure he didn’t pass away in the shadows of the night.

Hermione seemed to sense his underlying tension and responded kindly, “I’m sorry for your dragons.� She took a sip of her tea and looked him in the eye over the top of the rim.

“It’s all right,� he said, inspecting the fabric of the sofa and picking at the frays. “Your turn.�

“I’ve been having nightmares.�

Charlie laughed aloud at that. “Surely you didn’t think you could get away with just that?�

She grimaced and took a long dreg before continuing. “Well … everyone knows why I’m here. Mrs. Weasley used to pity me quite a bit, and that bothered me, but now she’s behaving as if I’m her maid –“

“Why are you staying here? You’ve gone off and done some jobs for Gringotts. The commissions can’t be that bad.�

“I can’t be alone.� She daren’t lift her eyes and see that inevitable tweak in his face. “I was with Ron. We’d been together for some time. But somewhere along the line, we grew apart. He just realized it before me. Now… I feel trapped, because this is the only family I have left, but I want to leave. I don’t belong here.�

“No one belongs anywhere. It’s like it’s a part of being alive. You live, knowing full well you’ll never fully be a part of anything around you.�

“It’s not fair,� her toes wiggled in the cold air and Charlie levitated a log into the fire that was crackling intermittently. “I feel like I’ve been chasing something … special, something different all my life. I never felt like I was really friends with Harry and Ron. We were always fighting at different times. It only really seemed peaceful when we were…fighting a common enemy, I suppose. That ended last year when Harry defeated Voldemort. Then, it was like my life fell apart. A part of me wishes Voldemort would have won, so we could keep fighting. But then … Oh, I don’t know.�

“If You-Know-Who had won, I think your parents would have had an even more difficult time accepting you than they did already.�

He could tell this hit her hard. Hermione had had a rough time immediately after the final battle. She’d finally balled up enough courage to tell her parents the intimate details of her years at Hogwarts, and they heard far more than they were ready for. They’d bellowed at her about rule-breaking, and willingly putting her neck on the line for wizards who could hold their own with their magic’. What horrified them more than anything, was that their daughter could and did perform a killing curse. They saw her as a killer, and cut her out of their lives. She was a frantic, sobbing mess when the Weasleys found her on their doorstep.

“They thought magic was so wonderful in the beginning…� she thought aloud. Hermione rested her cheek against the back of the sofa. “I had to do it,� she said as a tear rolled down her face, and Charlie knew without asking to what she was referring.

Charlie moved closer to her and allowed her to adjust herself so she could rest on his shoulder, never looking at him. A little tension left her shoulders with the simple offer of human contact…human embrace. How long had it been since Ron took care of her?

“I didn’t know how I would manage – the battling - at first. It was suddenly upon me, and I knew it was the only way. They fear death, after all . . . it made so much sense. And now . . . now I’m a criminal among my own family.�

“You’re not a criminal. You were fighting for your life as much as anyone else’s. Your parents didn’t understand the depth of the war. They didn’t see the danger there. They never felt it.� His shirt was now wet; he could feel her tears through the cloth. He rested his chin on her head, red freckles transposed against her brown, messy hair. “And as for Ron, you two just weren’t meant to be. You’ll find someone new.�

“I know. But it seems so far away. Everything is so far away.�

“Not me. I’m right here,� he half-joked.

She sniffed before attempting her own jest. “Are you going to take me away to your land of dragons then?� she asked sarcastically.

“I could …� When she curiously looked up, he grinned at her.

“You’re serious?�

“If I can help, why shouldn’t I?�

She was silent for a moment, snuggling closely to Charlie. He thought about whether he’d managed to wash his jumper before putting it on that morning. He wondered if a bit of dragon dung scent had clung to his hair. He worried about quite a bit while she mulled over his offer, handed to her on an off beat.

“What about my parents?�

“When you have no family, you make one.�

“With you?� she replied quickly.

“With me? I dunno . . .� He’d panicked at her serious tone. Underneath it all, he just realized he’d all but proposed to her, and she was seriously considering it. Considering him. All of a sudden, coming home for Christmas seemed a bad idea. He was taking advantage of her. True, she and Ron had broken up well over six months ago. And she didn’t entirely seem bothered at her available status so much as her loneliness.

The image of the shacks built specifically for married Dragon Handlers floated into his mind. Somewhere inside, he imagined Hermione sipping her tea by the window and grinning as he stepped over the threshold looking like hell. He imagined them coming back to The Burrow together next Christmas and confronting beaming smiles and congratulations…

“Eh, you know … I was just joking with you.�

“No you weren’t.�

“Well, not that I wouldn’t let you come if you need some time away –“

“Yes, Charlie.�

She smiled then, and it made his lungs burn … or his heart beat fast; he couldn’t tell which at this moment. “Yes?� His eyes lit up and he felt completely stupid, but didn’t care. They were looking at each other, and suddenly he felt a sense of obligation toward Hermione. She looked terrible right now. Her hair was bushing up at odd places, her eyes were dark, and she was clothed in some Muggle outfit that did nothing for her figure. He didn’t care that she didn’t look her best. All he cared about was turning her into the woman she was before.

He would always make her smile like that.

“When are we going?� He felt a small thrill at the word ‘we’.

“Well, Mum will be horrible if we leave tomorrow. So we’ll leave the day after. Sound good?�

“It all sounds perfect,� she blinked sleepily at him. In a smooth movement, she lifted and kissed him lightly on the underside of his jaw. “What will you tell them?�

“That you’ll explain everything in a letter,� he smirked, shirking any responsibility in the escape of Hermione Granger.

She made some movement with her eyes that he couldn’t quite see, and settled more comfortably into the soft nook his torso and arm provided. Soon, she was breathing in slow, steady breaths. Her cheeks were slightly flushed. He didn’t want to wipe at the sparkling tear streaks that remained on her skin for fear of disturbing this pocket of peace that he stumbled into.

I will love you some day, Hermione.