Charlie was on the verge of panicking. He had a knot in his stomach growing larger every minute he had to wait for Kingsley to get the horses ready for them, and the pressure on his chest was making it hard for him to breathe.
He’d returned from Charleston less than a half hour ago, only to find the library empty and Hermione gone from the house. He couldn’t understand what had got into her. Why would she risk getting on a horse again, so soon after her accident? And if she had felt such a strong urge to get out of the house, why hadn’t she just waited for him to return? He would have gladly taken her in one of the smaller carriages, where there wouldn’t have been any risk of her being hurt again.
Silently swearing to himself, he wished he hadn’t taken so long to finish up in town. He would have been home a lot earlier if he hadn’t stopped to buy the book presently lying thrown on the sofa of the library where he left it when he realised Hermione wasn’t there. If only he’d acted faster. Anything could happen in half an hour and he had wasted valuable time searching for Hermione in her room and others, not asking Hetta where she was until he didn’t know where to look any longer. He hadn’t even begun to actually worry until he’d realised that Hetta didn’t know where Hermione and had thought she was still in the library.
The thought of her getting up and walking on her own hadn’t even struck him until then, and still it had taken him some time to figure out what she was up to and how she had been able to manage it. It had seemed so unlikely that she would have asked for a horse in a first place, and even more unlikely that she would have pressed on after Kingsley had told her no. The boy who’d given her the horse should feel lucky that Kingsley had been the one yelling at him for not checking with him first. Personally, Charlie felt like strangling the young man, or at least beating him to a bloody pulp. He had only ever raised his hand against a slave once, and then only because he had to in order to protect her from Malfoy’s wrath after she spilled scalding hot tea in his lap. Yet if anything happened to Hermione now, he would strongly advise Kingsley to keep the young man responsible for it as far away from him as possible, or he might actually make use of the whip he so often carried with him.
Oh, this was insane! What was taking Kingsley so long? Hermione had already been out for almost two hours, more than enough time for something to happen. What if she’d been thrown off her horse again and was lying hurt somewhere? What if she was lost? She didn’t know her way around the plantation. What in the world was keeping Kingsley? Couldn’t he understand how important this was?
With a shout to Kingsley to get a move on, Charlie dragged his hand through his hair. He couldn’t remember ever being this worried before, not even when he’d seen Hermione fall of her horse. At least then he’d been with her, he’d been able to make sure she was alright and carry her home. Now she could be anywhere, and there was no guarantee that he would find her in time if something had happened. She wasn’t a very good rider after all, and the stallion she was on preferred a fast pace and had a strong will of his own. He could throw her off so easily, and what was to say that they would find her in time if he had?
Cold sweat was beginning to trickle down his neck and the pressure across his chest was turning his breaths into shallow gasps by the time Kingsley finally brought out the horses and a couple of men to accompany them on the search. With large strides, Charlie walked up to the horses lining up and grabbed the reins of one of them.
“We’ll take the path towards the fields first,” he said tersely to the men gathering around him, thinking that the fields must be what Hermione wanted to see and trying to push away the thoughts of what she would find if she really did get there. This was not the time and place to think about those things, and the most important thing now was to find her and make sure she was alright.
“Mr Charlie! Look!”
On hearing Kingsley’s voice call out, Charlie turned around, feeling a wave of relief flow over him as he saw Hermione and the horse approaching. Quickly letting go of his own horse, Charlie ran across the courtyard to meet her, not noticing the tears running down her cheeks until she got close. Confusion and worry battling within him, Charlie stepped up and grabbed the reins of the trotting horse, making it stop before he stepped up to Hermione who was foolishly enough trying to dismount on her own, resulting in nothing but tangled fabric as her skirt got caught in the saddle.
“Here, let me help you. Tell me what’s wrong, are you hurt in any way?” he asked, fighting the urge to yell at her and ask her how she could be foolish enough to go out on her own like this. He was not her husband and as ill-advised as her actions had been he had no right to ask such a question. In all honesty, he doubted she would tolerate such a question even from someone who was her husband, and he was not in any hurry to find out her reaction to yelling at her like a little girl, even if right now that was exactly what he wanted to do.
She froze when he grabbed her waist, stiffening in his arms as he held her and pushing away from him so fast when he set her down that she nearly stumbled and fell when she put weight on her injured foot. Instinctively, Charlie stepped up to grab her and hold her steady, as he had done for almost a week helping her down the stairs to the library.
The slap that hit his cheek was hard and surprising, but not nearly as painful as the look of disgust in her eyes when she looked at him.
“Do not touch me!” she snapped, jerking her arm free even though such a move must hurt in her state. “How dare you ask me if I’m hurt? If I am, it is your doing, Mr Weasley!” she said with anger.
He didn’t need to ask to know what was wrong. There could really only be one reason for her words. There was only one thing she could have seen to make her react so strongly. His insides squirmed with alarm, he only wished he could convince her to listen. He must. There simply was no alternative, he couldn’t let this ruin what he had so long tried to find.
“Please, let me expl“” he tried. Only Hermione was not prepared to listen.
“You are a liar, Mr Weasley! A liar and a slave owner and a despicable man! I cannot believe I actually believed everything you told me!”
“Miss Granger, I meant every word I ever said, you must know that. I“”
“No, I do not know that!” Hermione yelled. “I saw them, Mr Weasley. I saw them with my own two eyes. Will you tell me I’m wrong? That you do not buy people as if they were just another merchandise, only to let them live in sheds and lock them up behind iron gates?” she asked, apparently not caring that everyone in the courtyard could hear her.
“That gate is never locked and those sheds are more than anyone offers around here, and as hard it must be for you to see it now, I have my reasons. If you would just listen to me“” Charlie insisted, starting to feel both annoyed and frustrated at Hermione’s refusal to listen to what he had to say.
“What does it matter that the gate isn’t locked? They’re still slaves, aren’t they? Or will you try to fool me into believing that they’re not?” Hermione asked, her voice high-pitched and her face wet with tears.
“I won’t lie to you, but you have to hear me out“” Charlie said calmly, hoping against hope that she’d see sense.
“I don’t have to do anything, Mr Weasley! What I will do is make my way upstairs to pack my belongings. If you have a shred of decency in you, you’ll arrange for a carriage to be ready to take me to Charleston,” Hermione insisted firmly.
“Please, don’t leave without listening to me,” Charlie pleaded, knowing that if he couldn’t get her attention, all would be lost and he would lose what he had looked for and wanted for longer than even he had known.
“I’ve heard enough, Mr Weasley, and more importantly, I’ve seen enough!” Hermione replied, disgust clear in her voice. “I will return to Boston as fast as possible and if I never see you again it will still be far too soon!” she finished, turning on the spot and starting to walk inside, her limp barely slowing down her pace.
With desperation Charlie watched her head towards the house, her limp telling him how much it must hurt her to walk without support. Her skirt dragged behind her as she did not bother lifting it up and her strains of her hair had broken out of their confinements from the pace of her ride, reminding him of their first meeting, of that first lock of hair that had struggled for freedom. Not until now, did he see that she was wearing the same light blue dress that she had that day. It seemed different, without the normal petticoats underneath, but it was doubtlessly the same one.
Realisation that he would actually lose the chance to make this right if he allowed her to move inside the house made him act. In only a few strides, he had caught up with her, grabbing her arm as he spun her around.
It hadn’t been his intention that she would lose her balance and fall, or that he would reach around her waist to catch her when she did. But whatever his intentions had been, they vanished from his mind when he felt her body pressed against his own and saw her face so close to his. Her eyes were red and her face puffy from her crying, and somehow he was glad to see that she was at least as emotionally distraught by this situation as he would be if he was forced to let her go.
He saw her lips moving even before she spoke, and he didn’t need to listen to know that he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. He needed to make her listen, to pay attention to him, to be quiet; and so he bent down and claimed her mouth with his, quietening her with the pressure of his lips. The kiss was harsh and demanding and nothing like he had imagined their first kiss to be “ but then this was not a situation he had ever believed, or wished, to be in when he first kissed her. Yet in all its imperfection, it was more than he even imagined and his only regret was that he would have to let her go.
When he did, he half, if not fully, expected her to slap him again for taking such liberties. But she didn’t. Nor did she speak. She just stared at him, her lips swollen from the kiss, her breath shallow and fast. Fighting the urge to kiss her again, Charlie decided to make the most of what he was sure was only a temporary silence, and before she had any time to protest against his actions, Charlie bent down and lifted her up in his arms, barely hearing the sniggers and laughs from the men crowding the courtyard.
Hermione yelped in protest to his actions, but this time he was not unprepared, this time he knew what he wanted and was not prepared to let go without a fight. If she wanted to leave, that was her choice, but she would, at least, know what she was really leaving. He would not lose her because she thought he had lied, because she thought he’d deceived her when really he hadn’t. This was too important, she was too important, to be given up quite so easily.