Whom the Gods Would Destroy...

Title: Whom the Gods Would Destroy…
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Angst, Horror, Mystery
Warnings: Character Death, Graphic Violence, Adult Situations, Dark!fic
Summary: DH-EWE: The end of the world has come. Millions dead, magic waning, Hermione Granger and Charlie Weasley are the last people left in Britain—left to pick up the pieces of their once great civilization. Why were they spared? Who is responsible for the death of a nation? These are the mysteries left as a legacy for two lost and lonely people.
Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at a Charlie/Hermione pairing, so please be gentle. This fic is very much inspired by my morbid obsession with ‘end of the world’ scenarios. There are few OCs in this fic, and I have tried to keep much in ‘canon’ as possible. WGWD is unbeta’d, so pardon the mistakes, please?




Whom the Gods Would Destroy…

Part 14




‘quem deus vult perdere, dementat prius.’ –A Roman proverb






Katie took Theo on her broom with Marcus flying against her to steady the unconscious and injured man. The flight back to Hogwarts was slower than Charlie would have liked, but it would have to be so if they wanted Theo to remain in stable condition.

When Justin had use of his wand again, he healed what he could of Theo’s lesser injures, swearing under breath that Pomfrey had better have Blood Replenishing Draughts left in the Hospital Wing stores.

Hermione thought Justin did a bang-up job considering he had failed out of medical school after his first rotation of residency. Cho whispered to Hermione that Justin had been an alcoholic and was pitched out of uni because of his addiction and short temper. Hermione could see how that could have been with Justin. Justin had been a Hufflepuff by Sorting only—he was more a cross between the snobby Ravenclaw and underhanded Slytherin in Hermione’s opinion. All the same, Justin was not a bad fellow.

Hogwarts came into sight by late afternoon, as did the legions of motionless Inferi, seemingly useless in the bright sunlight. Landing just before the Entrance Hall, Marcus and Katie Levitated Theo immediately to the Hospital Wing while the rest of the group stretched and gathered. Dennis, much recovered from his shock, was the one to take the brooms. Charlie had instructed Dennis to hide them in case someone should decide to use them to leave the protection of the grounds. Dennis was quickly gone by the time Cho and Oliver produced the bottomless bags, giving the two with medicine to Justin to take to Pomfrey, and the food to Hermione.

Hermione knew that both Cho and Oliver were anxious to see to their families, and soon, they too, had departed. Only Seamus lingered, whispering quickly to Charlie, and then winking to Hermione to run into the castle, disappearing among the milling crowd refugees.

“I should take these to the kitchen,” Hermione murmured to Charlie whose green eyes peered into the Entrance Hall.

Charlie turned to Hermione and smiled faintly. “Quickly, luv. I think I see Bones come, and by the look on her face, she is not happy…”

Hermione smirked, glancing into the hall, and as Charlie said, Susan was descending the stairs from the portrait hall, a sour expression on her face.

“See you later?”

“Yeah…” Charlie trailed quickly pressing a kiss into Hermione’s sweaty brow before bounding into the Entrance Hall to intercept Susan.

Hermione shifted the two bottomless bags in her hands and set her face. With a deep breath, she set off toward the Entrance Hall, slipping through the people talking and loitering about. Down the stairs on the right of the main staircase, Hermione was struck with memories of schooldays, sneaking into the kitchens with Harry or Ron, advocating for Elfish Rights and other such silly adolescent nonsense. Surely, the elves would forgive her after so long?

Getting into the kitchens by tickling the pear was just the same as it had ever been, and when Hermione descended into the huge room, it was to the gasp of over a hundred elves, all sitting idly, talking amongst themselves. Hermione looked about the kitchen, knowing that many of the elves were not only Hogwarts elves, but family elves.

“Miss, is you lost?” a tiny yellow skinned elf asked, tugging on the hem of her filthy cloak.

“Tamsin, step away, I will deal with this,” a squeaky, familiar voice sounded and Hermione looked up to find Winky staring up at her, the large brown eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Hermione nodded to Winky, and Winky nodded back as the other elves began talking amongst themselves again, trying their best not to seem to be watching or listening.

“You is Hermione Granger?”

“Yes, Winky. It’s been a while….”

The large eyes narrowed further as the elf interrupted. “If you is here to free us, we is prepared to fight.”

Hermione let a laugh pass from between her lips, and the elves turned to look upon her. Suddenly, Hermione was giggling and Winky’s brown eyes widened.

“No! No, of course not, Winky… I’ve brought food.”

At the word ‘food’ it seemed as if a wave of elves came at Hermione, causing her to step back.

“You has food? Where did you get it?” one elf squeaked excitedly.

“Is them bottomless bags? Give them here!” exclaimed another.

“Enough! All of you!” Winky bellowed, but it sounded more like a high-pitched scream to Hermione. “We has almost no food, we will do this orderly like!”

The elves seemed to either fear or respect Winky, and Hermione was curious to know how Winky had come to the top of the hierarchy in the castle in Dobby’s absence.

“Kreacher!” Winky called, and slowly, out of the group, an ancient, familiar, and a grizzled elf stepped forward. Kreacher had little changed from what Hermione remembered, he looked as surly and disgusting as ever. “You is to help me,” Winky proclaimed.

Hermione expected Kreacher to say something foul about her birth, but was surprised when Kreacher moved closer, his old, knobby hands reaching out for one of the bags. Hermione passed it gently to the elf and watched him shuffle away, several elves following.

“It is Muggle tins, mostly,” Hermione began explaining to Winky, moving to kneel on the kitchen floor, passing the elf the other bag. “There are also sacks of dry goods. Nothing fresh, I’m afraid.”

Winky’s disposition seemed to turn, and her brown eyes sparkled. “No worry, Miss. We’s been growing vegetables in the greenhouses. None above know except Headmistress McGonagall. Even the ‘Three’ don’t know. Now, you know, you keep secret and quiet?”

Hermione nodded. “I hope this will go a long way before we have to forage again.”

Winky nodded, hugging Astoria Malfoy’s beaded bag against her body. “We cannot leave, Miss. If we could help more, we would.”

Hermione nodded again and rose. Winky promptly trotted off into the kitchen where the elves were in a sudden frenzy, organizing food, opening some tins to prepare for an evening meal.

“Kreacher would speak to the Mudblood,” the cracked and crude elfish voice sounded just as Hermione began to ascend. She turned slowly to find Kreacher at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his hands in his filthy rag he wore.

Hermione took a step down as Kreacher moved, sitting on the bottom step, her face level with the elf’s.

“Kreacher would ask about his Master.”

Hermione blinked. “I haven’t seen him yet,” she said slowly.

Kreacher seemed to wheeze, and Hermione was not sure if the elf were about speak, cough, or make a sound of derision.

“Kreacher is the property of Harry Potter, and as such, Kreacher must speak to you about his Master’s welfare now that the Master is indisposed.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, suspicious.

Kreacher fidgeted, or so it seemed, and then glanced back into the now busy kitchen.

“Kreacher fears that Master’s recovering is being hindered by one who does not wish Master to ever wake.”

Her brow knit. “Who…and why?”

Kreacher, again, seemed to fidget, and Hermione realized that the elf was hesitant to speak, but he did, leaning toward her though it seemed to make the elf uncomfortable.

“Who, Kreacher does not know for certain, but why should be clear to the Mudblood.”

“This Mudblood…” Hermione growled. “has had little time to ponder such a thing.”

Kreacher growled, his jowls quivering angrily. “’Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, thrice is the Devil’s hand,’ Mudblood. Kreacher will say no more.”

Hermione was left gaping after the elf as he turned and disappeared into the crowd of others of his kind. Kreacher’s words were those of warning framed in an obscure quote. However, as Hermione began walking again, up from the kitchens, she pondered the words. Harry… It had to do with Harry and Voldemort, surely. The first time, happenstance saved Harry from being killed. The second time, it was a strange coincidence that the master of the Elder Wand was the one who took it from Albus Dumbledore—Malfoy… The Elder Wand rebounded, and Voldemort died a second time.

Hermione had stepped into the Entry Hall, chewing on her thumbnail. A thought began to come together in her head, a terrible possibility…

“Hermione!”

All thoughts were dashed as Ron Weasley’s voice rang out angrily in the hall, causing everyone to turn and stare. Hermione sighed as she heard heavy footfalls come down the main staircase. She turned slowly to see Ron’s scarred face, flushed a terrible shade of red. His colour and expression, despite the disfigurement, reminded Hermione of many ‘bad’ memories she had of her once best friend and ex-boyfriend.





The ‘Three’ were holding ‘court’ again in Severus Snape’s old quarters, posed much like they had been the last time Hermione had been in the Victorian parlour. However, Hermione would not sit next to Lucius Malfoy and stood by the casement windows. The enchanted windows were accurate when it came to time, the sun beginning to set to the west, casting warm red light over the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione kept her face passive as Ron seemed to lecture endlessly about how foolish she and Charlie had been about taking a group of witches and wizards out to forage before ‘they’ could decide on the matter. Hermione wanted to yawn, as Lucius Malfoy had been doing to annoy Ron.

Susan seemed annoyed at Hermione, but said nothing.

Then the words ‘mutiny’ and ‘disobedience’ slipped past Ron’s lips. It was then Hermione finally acted.

“You speak as if you three are the rulers of what is left of our civilization, Ronald,” Hermione growled. “And if that were so, I will respectfully have to rebel.”

Ron’s face reddened. “You would,” he muttered, turning to the fire.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort.

“Now, now, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger… Let us be clear,” Lucius Malfoy drawled from the fainting couch. “It was perhaps unwise to act on your own, Miss Granger. Theo Nott has been grievously injured, and I would say that he was lucky that he or all of you were not killed. As unfortunate was Mr. Nott’s injuries are, we are in your debt.”

Ron made a snorting noise and Lucius rolled his eyes, but continued.

“If it were not for you and Mr. Weasley’s concerted efforts with eight of our number, we would be moving closer to starvation and death with each second.

We have spoken to Charlie Weasley and he tells me that there are places outside of Hogwarts that are safe to use as temporary havens. This is encouraging news. If we work together, I am sure that we can collect more supplies in the future with the proper planning.

However, what concerns us is the fact that you acted without consensus. As weak, as it might seem, Miss Granger, we have established a system of government here. Since you have only recently come to Hogwarts, the mechanics of this system may not be clear to you…”

“Enough with this, Lucius… Enough sugar-coated words!” Ron hissed.

“Ron,” Susan groaned, speaking for the first time since Ron had brought Hermione into the room.

“The point is, we were chosen by lottery to act on the behalf of the people here. We do our best to accommodate the needs of all, Miss Granger. Having ten witches and wizards going off on their own does not inspire confidence in those that were chosen to lead. We cannot afford to have dissention now, do you understand?” Lucius finished.

Hermione pursed her lips as three sets of eyes fell heavy upon her. “I understand, and I’ll save my ‘howevers,’ for now.”

Lucius grinned. “Fine. Now, I think that is enough for rebuke and castigation for one day…”

Susan, without prompting moved to the door and was quickly gone. Even Ron rose, albeit angrily and stomped to the door. Suddenly, Hermione was alone, again, with Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione ‘tsked’ and began moving to the door, suddenly hungry, and feeling very grubby. However, as it had happened before, Lucius’ voice sounded, and Hermione was obligated to stop before even touching the doorknob.

“Personally, I think you did the right thing, my dear. Why wait for the ‘Three’ to make up their minds while the threat of starvation loomed? Very noble indeed.”

Hermione slowly turned her eyes to Lucius, who had shifted on the couch, dressed in something more familiar than Muggle clothes, but still casual, even for a Malfoy. His canes rested on the end of the couch, forgotten, as he stood. Hermione smirked.

“There was nothing noble about any of it,” she grumbled. “Theo still was injured and the rest of the group are shell shocked more than ever before by what they’ve seen out there.”

Lucius moved to the fire, leaning his right forearm into the mantle to grasp the end of the metal poker, stabbing at a log before replacing the poker again, turning to Hermione.

“And during the time while you were out, trying to keep everyone from succumbing to the horror of the truth, did you have time to think of my offer at all?” he asked in a smooth purr.

Hermione studied Lucius, the way his waist length silvery blond hair gleamed in the firelight, the way his pale eye bore into her own. It made her nervous. Lucius Malfoy was a predator in the guise of a man. His gaze was almost obscene.

“Not at all,” Hermione said, lifting her chin. Her hand grasped the doorknob and began to turn the latch. As the door began to open, Hermione gasped as a pale hand moved past her face to slam against the dark oak door, shutting it with a snap.

Stepping back from the door, Hermione twisted, her back against the wall as Lucius leaned his arm into the door, smirking.

“I would advise you think about it, my dear. I am quite serious…”

Licking her lips, Hermione raised her chin again, peering down her nose at Lucius. “As am I, Lucius. I am not sure what it is you really want from me, but if you think you are going to get it, you are sadly mistaken. Pardon me,” she ground out between her teeth.

There must have been something in her expression, she knew, that made Lucius’ grin melt away and his eyes harden. As she stepped forward, he stepped back. Whatever strength he had had to glide from the fireplace to the door without a sound had vanished, and his steps were almost stumbles.

Hermione huffed in disgust and threw open the door and began stalking down the dark dungeon passage toward the steps leading up to the Entry Hall.

However, at the bottom of the stair, Hermione collided with a large, warm body. She had not been paying attention to where she was going; it had not mattered, as long as it was away from Lucius Malfoy.

“Hermione?”

She cringed. Ron…

Hermione drew her wand quickly and lit it, blinking at the sudden light and the close proximity of Ron’s body to her own. Hermione tried taking a step back, to see Ron’s face properly, but his hand whipped out in the dark to grasp the elbow of her wand hand.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, and for a moment, Hermione could see the boy she knew once.

Hermione said nothing and tried to tug her arm away. “It’s nothing, Ronald…please let me go…”

The disfigured side of Ron’s face wrinkled while his undamaged eye widened.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you…outside of my duties…”

She could not help herself, Hermione scoffed. “About?” she asked tersely, Ron’s hand far too strong about her elbow.

Ron licked his lips and pressed in closer so that Hermione could feel his breath hot on her brow. “Us… What I meant by giving you that room. I didn’t mean for it to be awkward. I just thought…”

Hermione finally extracted her elbow and stumbled a step back. “Ron—“

“I never wanted to muck things up between us… I mean, that was years ago,” Ron began and then sighed, his voice softening to an urgent whisper in the near darkness. “I know I didn’t reply to your letters at first, and when you didn’t reply to mine, I just thought maybe you were getting back at me. I wanted to see you so badly, but you were always off to America or Australia, or Tibet, of all places…places I could not go after you.”

She let him talk, only to tell him, again, that it was over.

“You didn’t even look at me at the ceremony…you didn’t stand up to take your commendation… I got angry. I said the wrong things. I didn’t mean it, ‘mione.”

Enough, she thought, and eyed the bottom of the stairs just around Ron’s thick shoulder.

“Mr. Weasley?” a voice sounded in the dark, and Hermione felt her breath catch. “Is there a reason why you have Miss Granger pinned to the wall?”

Hermione blinked. Ron had somehow manoeuvred her only a finger’s breadth against the damp dungeon wall.

Ron whirled, lighting his own wand to reveal Horace Slughorn in his teaching robes, hands behind his back, taking on a very professional air.

“Professor…” Ron began.

Hermione took the opportunity to step around Ron to smile wanly at Slughorn, raising an eyebrow outside of Ron’s notice.

“Ah, Miss Granger, it is fortunate that I should find you so easily!” Slughorn said with a wonderful sense of bravado, the right corner of his mustache rising in acknowledgement. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Weasley, I simply must borrow Miss Granger for a while!”

Characteristic to what Hermione remembered of Ron in the early days of their acquaintance, Ron spluttered even as Horace Slughorn tucked Hermione’s free hand in his arm, drawing her toward the Potions laboratory and to his offices.

Horace was approximately the same height as Hermione, looking much as he had the night he dueled Voldemort in silk, emerald green pyjamas. There was an ageless quality about the rotund, balding wizard that Hermione almost found endearing.

Hermione’s wand lit the way deeper into the dungeons and when Ron was far behind them, Slughorn chuckled.

“Oh what a travesty this is!” he laughed. Hermione was not exactly sure what Horace meant, but allowed him to pat the back of her hand. “I have a bottle of elf-made wine, would you like a glass, Miss Granger?”

Hermione opened to mouth to answer when the door to Horace’s office opened, nearly blinding Hermione with the light inside. She was led inside with a gently tug on her arm, and Hermione promptly cancelled the lighting spell and slipped her wand into the holster on her belt under her filth cloak. Horace finally released her hand to close the door behind them, ushering Hermione toward the fireplace where she was motioned to sit in a large armchair while Horace perched upon the ottoman.

“Now, I know that you must be tired, Miss Granger. We have heard about your travels…”

“’We?’”

Horace grinned, drawing his wand from the pocket of his robes and Summoning a tray with two wine flutes and an opened bottle of wine. He did not answer immediately, but poured half a glass of blood red elf-made wine for Hermione, pressing the stem into her hand, and then pouring half a glass for himself. The tray floated down to a spindly table next to Hermione with a soft clank of glass against metal.

“Minerva, Pomona, Irma, well, all of the staff who is still with us… I hear that you were with Aurora when this all started?”

Hermione nodded slowly, suddenly wondering if she should have run up to the Entrance Hall when she had the chance. Horace’s behaviour was a bit off-putting, and odd.

“We heard that the Abbey fell after the first assault on the castle. What a loss…all those books!”

Hermione had not really thought about it before, the instinct to survive had given her little time to realize the loss of one thing she cherished in the entire world—books. A pain struck her inside, but Hermione knew that it was not as poignant as it would have been perhaps months before.

Horace took a drink of the wine and then urged Hermione to drink as well, as she did, Horace’s attempt at conversation shifted.

“When I was leaving the office, I was actually looking for a student. Lucky that I found you instead… I do hope that Mr. Weasley has not been harassing you.”

Hermione swallowed the sweet wine and immediately felt a rush in her blood stream.

“No, not Ron. Lucius, maybe…but we do have a history.”

Horace chuckled, “Yes, I know. You may not know how infamous you are amongst certain circles, Miss Granger…writing manifestos in the guise of children’s books! I find it so refreshing!”

Hermione smirked, but then cocked her head. “You mentioned a student?”

“Ah, yes, young Mr. Lupin. You know him, I assume?”

“Not recently. I probably would not know him if I saw him now…”

Horace smiled. “When he’s not shifting his face about, he looks very much like Remus Lupin, but he has his mother’s abilities. Although, I think the combination of mother and father has given young Teddy a great capacity for mischief. You know he was Sorted last autumn into my House?”

Hermione did not. Remus had been a Gryffindor, Tonks a Hufflepuff; perhaps Teddy was more like the Blacks, a Slytherin. Hermione lamented the fact that she knew next to nothing about Teddy. Her last memory of the boy was seeing him at the ceremony bestowing posthumous Order of Merlin, First Class to his parents. He was about three years old, sitting on Andromeda Tonks’ lap.

“Of course, Houses mean nothing now. Most of the younger students have passed on; others have decided to drop out of the curriculum because their families want them close. The ones that are left are orphans for the most part. But poor Teddy, he’s had misfortune after misfortune in the past year, it is no wonder he has acted out…”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked after taking another drink of wine, knowing she would regret acquiescing to Horace’s sense of ‘socializing.’

Horace blinked. “You haven’t heard then?”

Hermione shook her head, clueless.

“Andromeda Tonks died suddenly at New Years, and Teddy ran away for several weeks after that. The Ministry finally found Teddy when he used magic in front of Muggles in Lambeth. There was an inquest, of course…why he had run away, where he had been. Minerva and I had to go to London just before all of this started to bring him back to Hogwarts. Of course, Andromeda’s death was due to a bad heart. After her husband and daughter were killed, well, you can imagine…

Poor little Teddy, though it was not his fault, somehow, and became afraid. He ran away, there were advertisements in the Daily Prophet—‘have you seen this boy?’ Then again, with you being with the Sisterhood in the Abbey, I’m not surprised you did not know…”

Hermione set her glass aside and leaned toward Horace, disturbed. “Is there no one close to Teddy? I know he has no blood relatives left now that Draco is gone…but…”

Horace shook his head sadly. “Just myself and Minerva. The Ministry awarded me partial custody, it was the best I could do. Teddy Lupin was, until a few months ago, legally a ward of the Ministry…”

A clock on Horace’s desk across the room chimed eight and Hermione was on her feet.

“I’m sorry, sir, I really need to go…”

Horace rose slowly, “Yes, yes, you must be exhausted, hungry… I do hope that the ‘Three’ will not be a problem for you, Miss Granger. Remember, the staff are here for you, my dear girl… Minerva, in particular, would like to speak with you at some point.

Oh, and I would like to speak to Charlie Weasley as well. I haven’t really met the young man, but from what I’ve been hearing, he is gifted with handling dragons. It would be interesting to talk to him some evening…”

Hermione smiled.

“And about the wine, we’ll keep that between us, yes, Miss Granger?” Horace chuckled even as a devious, Slytherin-esque grin formed on his lips under his silvery moustache.

“Of course, sir. Thank you for…just thank you,” Hermione murmured, moving to the door.

“It is always a delight to help beautiful young women,” Horace chortled, twirling his wand between his thick fingers. Hermione snorted and finally slipped away.





Charlie was spitting curses into the mirror when he heard Hermione come into the back portion of the office. His cheek was bleeding where the razor nicked an old scar over a difficult patch of face.

“There are Shaving Charms, Charlie,” he heard Hermione say from the door of the lavatory, a tired smile on her grimy face.

“I was terrible with them…prefer a razor,” he murmured reaching for a piece of tissue he had placed on the ledge under the mirror for just the occasion of nicking himself. “You look about how I feel, luv,” he said to Hermione’s reflected face.

“A long, hot bath is in order,” she sighed.

Charlie nodded as she began to move to disrobe while he began shaving under his chin. In the mirror, she could see how dirty her skin was. Scented water quickly filled the bathtub and in no time, he could see Hermione sinking into the steamy freesia scented water.

“Have you seen to Theo?” she asked, her voice echoing off the lavatory walls.

“In the morning,” he muttered pinching and lifting his nose to shave his upper lip. “The ‘Three’ harass you as much as they did me?” he said swishing the straight razor in the bowl of the full sink.

Hermione made a noise, but did not answer. In the mirror, Charlie could see that she was washing her face with a flannel, her eyes heavy. He watched her then start washing her hair, slowly, wearily. With a sigh, he finished shaving, rinsing off the razor and sitting it on the edge of the sink while he bent down to rinse his cheeks of the remaining shaving cream.

“Lucius Malfoy…” he heard her say after surfacing in the tub to rinse out her long, thick hair. “The man is determined to replace his son as the bane of my existence. He has it in his head that I should bear him a new heir…”

Charlie straightened, his face hardening. In the mirror, he could see her wringing out her hair and letting it fall over one bare shoulder. Bubbles obscured the rest of her in the narrow tub, and as she lay back against the angled side, she closed her eyes, placing the flannel over her face. He turned, leaning back into the sink, feeling oddly angry.

“Has he done anything to you?”

It was a vague question, but Charlie knew very well how forceful Lucius Malfoy could be. There had been a long running feud between Lucius and Arthur Weasley, and on one that more occasion, blows traded ending in a draw. The memory of his father made Charlie wince. Arthur Weasley, by all accounts, was a kind, laid back man, but when it came to defending the family honour, Arthur Weasley was not to be underestimated when it came to bare-knuckled fighting. Charlie took much after his father, in attitude and strength.

“Hermione?”

She moved slowly, pulling the flannel from her eyes. “Nothing I cannot handle, Charlie,” she murmured. “It is Ron…” she trailed her eyes moving to the dissipating bubbles on the surface of the bath water.

Charlie pushed off the sink and moved to the side of the tub, crouching down, staring at Hermione’s face. “Ron, what?”

His voice was gruff, deep, and serious. Charlie rarely got angry, but when it did, it was the type of quiet, dangerous anger.

Hermione slipped out of the water, standing over him, water running down her thin body. Charlie blinked; as the dark damp curls between her thighs were almost level with his face. For a moment, the anger drained away. He stayed still as Hermione reached for a large bath towel and wrapped herself inside.

He sighed, letting his forehead drop to the edge of the tub. Hermione was capable of taking care of herself. Charlie knew this very well. Whatever possessed him to become angry was a manifestation of a jealousy Charlie knew he could not afford to have.

The fact of the matter was this: Hermione and Charlie were not a couple. They were survivors that had come together to up the odds of their survivor. They were suffering from prolonged shock. They had had sex, found each other attractive, found comfort in each other’s company. They moved and lived together because they had been lucky to find themselves complimentary to each other.

The truth, to Charlie, was that they had no arrangement, no agreement. There were no words or forces that bound them into an exclusive relationship. Love, was a non-issue, it had not been brought up by either party. Thus, jealousy would mean nothing.

But, he did love her.

Charlie rose from his crouch by the tub, moving into the outer room to find Hermione dressing in a long, soft nightgown, one that he had found for her in Leeds, one that she had not worn before. He was ready for bed, in his pyjama bottoms, showered, shaven, and sore. Hermione Charmed her hair dry, making it frizzy and unmanageable. She did not seem to care as she slipped into bed, eyes closed, on her right side.

Exhaustion fell heavy upon his bones and Charlie ‘Noxed’ the candles, slipping under the blankets next to Hermione. He lay on his back, staring up at the canopy for sometime, listening to Hermione breathe softly. So many things flitted through his brain as it began to shut down, Hermione and their relationship being the main thought. He thought about Theo Nott, and the others. He thought about all the things he and Hermione had seen and felt. He thought about Ron’s words the night they arrived at the castle. Safety. Was there a danger at Hogwarts that no one realized? Marcus and Katie believed that perhaps the reason their world had ended was sitting with the refugees in the castle. How could that be?

Charlie grunted as he turned toward Hermione, his arm naturally wrapping about her waist. Pressing his face into her wild, freesia scented hair, he closed his eyes.

They were as safe as they could be; there was always safety in numbers.


TBC...