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 17




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






The excitement of the day, the boy, Harry’s waking, Lucius’ words, and Kreacher’s revelation had exhausted Hermione. She had to force her mind to stop moving, but it was almost impossible for her as she lay next to Charlie. He slept soundly, breathing deeply. He had his arm under her neck, having rolled onto his back, sprawled across the bed. Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled as she used his right forearm as a partial pillow.

For the first time, in a long time, Hermione felt safe next to Charlie. Then, Hermione had a sudden fear. Would he always be by her side, would he survive the world, for that matter, would she?

Hermione had come to rely on Charlie much as she had Harry and Ron years before, but it was different somehow. As much as she had loved Harry and Ron, Charlie was different. He was independent, pensive, mature…

Charlie sighed in his sleep, moving to roll toward her, his left arm curling about her hip so he hugged her close. Hermione blinked slowly, taking in Charlie’s clean soapy scent from his bath. His body was warm, his bare chest pressing into her shoulder.

The fear and worry drained away slowly. There were some things she would have to accept and appropriate to a time that she could do something about it all.

Charlie kissed her temple, his fingers gathering her nightgown at her hip. His touch sent shivers through her body and she moved, turning to face him.

Kissing his sleeping face, Hermione felt him sigh again. She could feel his arousal against her hip under flannel pyjama bottoms. Hermione’s hands traced along the line of hair on his chest to his belly where the muscles twitched, his cock jerking in the tented flannel.

Hermione smirked, sex and madness, she thought, it seemed to go well together.

Charlie rolled onto his back again, but kept a strong hold on her, bringing her body along so that she lay half over him. He was slightly aware, she knew, but unguarded, having a waking dream of sorts.

When she pushed his pyjama pants down to let the cool air hit his straining cock, she saw his eyes flicker in the dim darkness of the room. When her mouth enclosed over the head of his cock, he grunted.

Sex had been something that gave clarity at times, releasing her physical stress to allow her mind to move properly and unhindered. Of course, sex was more than that to her, it was a sacred rite of sorts, and with Charlie Weasley, it was something wrought of newfound love in a loveless world.

Taking his length into her throat, she sucked gently, tongue wrapping about the underside. Charlie mumbled something indistinct, his head rolling on the pillow. Hermione smirked around his cock and grasped the base firmly. Oral sex was one thing that she felt she was good at—Ron, many years before, had been a strict teacher on how to please him. In a way, Hermione resented Ron’s commandeering attitude when it came to pleasing him. Charlie was not Ron, and Hermione knew she had to stop thinking of Ron all together…

In defiance of that memory, she struggled with her free hand to lift the hem of her nightgown to reach the waistband of her knickers. Her fingers found her clit, the curls surrounding it already sticky with arousal. The slide of the pad of her finger over the nubbin made her mouth suck harder, her head move faster over him.

Charlie whimpered, and then opened his eyes, staring down at Hermione in the near darkness. He mumbled something that sounded like a curse, and his hand moved to cup her cheek.

“Wicked witch,” he whispered, loud enough for her to hear. “I thought…”

He did not finish, his mouth opening to let out a groan, his head falling back into the pillows. Hermione hummed around his cock, pausing to suck on the head, tasting bitter pre-come.

Charlie surged upward, grasping her under the arms and pulling her body up along his own. He pulled her nightgown away, throwing it somewhere to the floor, his hands moving to her knickers. Hermione sighed as he simply pushed the fabric aside, his finger rubbing against the sticky curls.

She straddled him, the underside of his cock against her skin, as his fingers roughly tugged the crotch her knickers further aside.

“Lovely, lovely…” he whispered, grasping her hips to lift her slightly, letting the natural stiffness of his cock spring up from his belly. “…wanted to fuck you…”

His voice was almost a whisper, but gruff, and dark. It exhilarated her, and her hand moved to position him at her entrance. His hands found her breasts, cupping, squeezing, until he sat up to taste, all the while Hermione sank down. A long, low cry came from her lips as her body adjusted to his girth.

Charlie growled into her breast, his arms wrapped about her, his mouth latching on to her left nipple. Hermione’s head fell back as she began to move, her hips lifting and falling. It was not fast enough, it was not deep enough, but the sensation of being connected and full was enough to drive logical thought away for a while. Her hands found his shaggy dark red hair and pulled his face from her breast to nip at his lips.

Hermione kissed him with force, pushing him back on the bed as her back arched and spine slithered. Her hips slammed down on his cock, getting the depth she wanted. Ripping her lips away, she groaned, his hands on her hips to meet her thrusts.

“Gods,” she whispered, her head rolling on her shoulders to gaze into Charlie’s face, his jade green eyes catching the little light in the room and flashing.

It is not enough, she decided. Charlie was of the same mind and in a complicated twist of bodies and limbs, her knickers torn away, leaving burn marks on her hips and his pyjama pants are thrown in the same direction as her nightgown. Hermione was grasping a foot post, on her knees; her hair tangled in Charlie’s fingers as he bit the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“…wanted you like this,” he mutters as the head of his cock pushed inside. “…fuck you like this…”

Hermione groaned, Charlie’s voice deep and predatory, filthy, obscene.

The thrust in made her cry out, grasping the foot post so her body did not fly off the end of the bed. Charlie’s fingers bruised her hips, holding her close as the brutal rhythm started. She could not breathe, could not think, and for once, she found a peace she had missed since the world had gone topsy-turvy. The bestiality of sex made Hermione feel alive and human again.

Charlie leaned over her back, pressing open-mouthed kisses into her shoulders, her back, along her spine. Hermione could not keep track of where and how he touched her, the slick slide of his cock in and out of her body distracting her. She could feel his thighs slap against her bottom, his sac brush against her clit with every movement.

“Please…”

She was begging for something, but was not sure what to call it. It would not be climax exactly, but something more exquisite, more profound. Hermione could feel him deep inside her, all around her, and all she could do was hang to the bedpost to anchor herself to the moment.

When his hands found her swaying breasts, Hermione hiccupped a breath as his fingers pinched her nipples cruelly causing her to release her anchor and jerk upwards into his chest.

“So…good…” he gasped, changing the angle, a hand slipping to her breast and around her hip to pinch at her nubbin.

Hermione’s throat burned from a scream as she came, juices dripping from her body to coat their thighs and the bed below. She felt as if the primal scream emanating from some depth of her soul lasted forever, but the scream had ended and been replaced with another wailing noise.

Charlie stilled suddenly, his arms moving to her waist to pull her close. His chin was pressed into her shoulder, his body rigid.

The wailing sound echoed all around them, a terrible screech, and a shrill whistle. Hermione bucked her hips, but Charlie’s arms tightened.

“What…?” she asked, her voice rough, her body aching.

Charlie held her fast, listening. Distantly there was movement, and the window outside the room brightened. Hermione could not understand for a moment, but when understanding came, she felt her body clench down on Charlie’s cock, causing him to grunt.

“A klaxon…the castle is under attack,” he whispered angrily, quickly.

Hermione still could not manage to take a proper breath and as Charlie pulled away, slipping out of her body, his erection flagging, she groaned. Charlie was on his feet, grabbing his wand from the bedside table, Charming the candles to light, Charming clothing from the little cupboard near the lavatory. Hermione blinked rapidly, her pussy still contracting.

“Wand, clothes!” Charlie snarled over the klaxon.

Hermione blinked, and moved.

Frustration turned to fear, a new rush of adrenaline coursing through her. She clasped her hand about her wand, and as quickly as Charlie, Charmed her clothing onto her body, feet slipping into her boots, hand snatching the strap of her sniper rifle.

Suddenly, they were running, along with hundreds of others, to battle. Hermione could still feel Charlie inside her, even as the sky lit up with fire and Inferi began to trickle onto the grounds.






Charlie had to push through people running every which way in the Entrance Hall. There was order to the chaos, children going to the dungeons, adults to the Great Hall, and able bodied witches and wizards rushing out the front door to the grounds. Charlie followed the rush out onto the grounds, Hermione by his side, her Muggle gun strapped over her right shoulder, her wand in her left.

Spotting Oliver Wood, Charlie headed toward him and Wood’s wife Joanna whose snarling face was pointed at the sky.

“What’s…?” was all Charlie could manage before Oliver noticed him and began yelling over the wail of the klaxon that seemed to emanate from the castle at their backs.

“They’ve somehow weakened the wards at the gate, McGonagall and the others are taking care of that, but…”

Charlie did not hear the rest of Oliver’s words, as the sky seemed to light up with silver and violet Whiz-bangs. Charlie watched as the balls of fire arced up from somewhere in Hogsmeade, falling toward the grounds. They were not Whiz-bangs, Charlie decided, as the balls of fire seemed to scatter on the invisible bubble of warding over the grounds.

“Fiendfyre!” someone shouted further down the gentle slope toward the gates.

Spotlights, magical, from the castle, moved over the grounds towards Hogsmeade, to the gates, and to the skies.

Some people were running toward the gates, others back to the castle.

“I’m heading for the gates!” Joanna yelled over the klaxon and crackling of fire. Charlie watched as Oliver nodded.

The fire lit the sky, the grounds, and the castle in a beautifully lethal light and suddenly, more balls of fire came more quickly, slamming against the wards.

Charlie could only watch in horror as the first ball of fire managed to burst through the ward, slamming like a meteor to the grounds near the gate. Fire streaked across the grave strewn ground, setting everything in a twenty-foot radius aflame. He could hear the screams over the klaxon and clutched his wand tighter.

Hermione was shuddering, but as Millicent Bulstrode brushed past, muttering to Hermione, Charlie moved to follow the larger witch.

“Get skyward!” a voice called to Hermione, distracting Charlie for a moment, causing him to turn to see Harry Potter still in his Hospital Wing pyjamas, a Firebolt broom in his hand.

Charlie opened his mouth to shout at Hermione, but Millicent Bulstrode had turned and grabbed his arm, pulling him away.

“Help, Weasley, if you can!” Bulstrode growled, her dark blue eyes flashing the light of the Fiendfyre smashing into the ground fifty feet away.

Charlie caught Hermione’s eye even as Harry tossed her the broom. Hermione nodded to him, and suddenly was airborne.

“Move, Weasley!”

Charlie had no time to search the skies and began running next to Bulstrode to the gate where McGonagall, the Flints, the Woods and several other were staving off the flood of Inferi somehow slipping through the gates.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, keeping one eye on the gates, and another on the projectile fire beginning to come at a higher frequency, and falling through the weakened wards. At one point, Charlie grabbed Busltrode and tackled her to the ground as silver fire exploded the ground near them.

“Ta, Weasley,” Bulstrode said gruffly, helping him to his feet to pull him toward the gates.

Charlie knew next to nothing about the woman, but she was as sturdy and as strong as man. By the time they reached the gates, the pile of Inferi bodies seemed to block the others from coming through. McGonagall was still except for her wand movement, gliding through the dark air like a conductor’s wand. Charlie figured she was some how weaving a spell to strengthen the wards.

“Weasley! Over here, you too Bulstrode!” Katie Flint bellowed where she was kneeling on the ground next to a bloodied older wizard and Cho Chang. “Get them back!”

Bulstrode did not hesitate, casting several Explosive Hexes at the heads of some still moving Inferi that had crawled from the pile blocking the gates. Charlie hesitated, glancing to McGonagall, dressed in a tartan dressing gown, her silvery hair in a long braid over one shoulder. Standing around her, in a defensive posture were Marcus Flint, Oliver Wood, and his sister-in-law Audrey.

Charlie moved, lifting the elderly wizard in his arms, knowing that the man had been severely mauled by Inferi, and began to run back to the castle. Balls of Fiendfyre fell all around and twice Charlie had to run around charred corpses, and burning graves. However, by the time someone pulled the wizard from his arms Bulstrode passing off an unconscious Cho Chang, the screams from the grounds assaulted his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Diggle push Mr. Lovegood out of the way of a projectile only to go up in screaming flames while Joanna Wood tried to put out the fire in the back of Mr. Lovegood’s night robes.

Charlie began running again to the two people only to be pushed out of the way himself by Bulstrode as fire exploded all around him. Charlie rolled over fire, but was not burned, while Bulstode’s body lit up like a Roman candle. He could only watch, Bulstrode not screaming as her hair and skin fell away from sinew, her large body crumpling to the ground.

“Shit… Shit!” came from his mouth as he climbed to his feet.

Overhead, there was a flash, but not from Fiendfyre. Charlie began coughing at the smell of burning flesh and soil, but he saw Hermione glide around the projectile fire, rising up to the half collapsed Astronomy Tower, her rifle poised against her shoulder.

She was looking, he realized, trying to pinpoint the source of the Fiendfyre.

Joanna Wood’s screams distracted him as Dennis Creevey carried her in his arms to the castle, her hands blackened, fingers burnt away. Another wizard was Levitating Xenophilius Lovegood, his back burnt horribly, the older man moaning in pain.

Charlie swallowed down vomit, his eyes turning to the gates again. In the distance, McGonagall finished weaving the ward shut and was being helped to run by Marcus toward the castle.

“Where’s Katie?” Charlie shouted, running toward Marcus.

At Charlie’s question, Marcus whirled, dark eyes wide.

“Kate? Katie!” Marcus began shouting as the klaxon’s wail lessened by the sizzle of fire still raging around them.

“I’m here!” a voice called, and through thick black smoke, Katie Flint emerged, limping next to none other than his baby brother, his face streaked with soot and blood.

Marcus took Katie from Ron, and nodded to the younger Weasley.

Ron looked exhausted, but fit enough to fight and before Charlie could question his brother, Ron began.

“McGonagall has fortified the breach, but she has to get into the castle to fix the other wards… Where’s Hermione?” Ron asked gruffly, sounding as if he had inhaled too much smoke.

Charlie opened his mouth, but Ron grabbed him and pulled as another ball of fire began closing on their position on the ground. The ground shook as the fire hit and Ron was cursing under his breath as they ran back toward the castle. Charlie did not have time to speak, his eyes moving to the sky.

He spotted Hermione manoeuvring closer to the ward, her wand drawn.

“What is she doing?” Ron hissed, having followed Charlie’s gaze.

Charlie could not answer, as suddenly, light streaked from her wand like a bolt of lightning toward Hogsmeade, piercing the ward. His heart quickened as he watched the silver bolt of spell disappeared into the darkness of Hogsmeade.

Then, as if his world had sped up to three times its normal speed, there was a reverse flash of light, the Firebolt under Hermione exploded into wooden shards, and Hermione was hurtling to the ground.

“No!”

The word had not come from Charlie’s mouth though every fibre of his being was screaming it. Instead, it had come from behind him, and as he turned to look, the flash of spell fire blinded him.






“Find the source!” Harry had said, tossing her the Firebolt.

There was no time to question how Harry knew to come to the front doors or why he would entrust her with his Firebolt, one he had recovered years before, so she nodded and mounted the broom.

Death was all around, Hermione could see as she pushed off the ground, rising fast into the air above the castle. In the distance, she could see McGonagall and the others trying to mend the ward as well as stop the Inferi from overwhelming the grounds. She could see Charlie and Millicent Bulstrode running to the gate even as balls of Fiendfyre arced across the night sky.

She ignored the agonized screams and the scent of magical fire, and lifted her rifle to press it into her shoulder. Curling her thumb about her wand, she tried to keep her balance on the broom. Adrenaline coursed through her as she activated the ‘night vision’ spell on the scope and pointed it toward Hogsmeade.

The swell of Inferi in the vale between the castle and the village was horrifying, but she ignored it as she moved the scope to the village proper and the source of the projectile Fiendfyre spells. Moving her fingers to adjust a dial on the scope, she found the source.

The flash of fire overhead forced her to drop the rifle, the strap cutting into her shoulder as she grasped the broom to dodge. The wards overhead were weakened, and below, the ground exploded with fire. The screams grew worse, drifting up to her ears so that she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

The source was near the ruins of the Hog’s Head, and Hermione knew she would be able to find it again once she found a safer vantage point. Gliding through the smoky air, she hovered over the Astronomy Tower for a moment, wondering if there was some way to divert the fire balls from hitting anywhere near the people on the ground.

There was no time.

If she could take out the one casting, she could stop the deadly fire.

Ignoring the screams of Joanna Wood, then Charlie’s near miss, resulting in the noble sacrifice of Millicent Bulstrode, Hermione flew closer to the wards, higher than before. If she flew beyond the ward, the scattering of fire that did not penetrate would burn her, but she also had to be careful of those projectiles from hitting her inside the ward.

Lifting the rifle again, she could see him.

Regulus Black.

The rifle’s range was long, but not so long as to be able to shoot him. Besides, she thought, she had not killed him before… Only a spell could close the space between them, only one.

Hermione let the rifle drop heavily on her shoulder, nearly toppling her off the broom. With quick hands, placing her wand between her lips, she clutched the broomstick firmly. Then, pulling her wand from between her teeth, using the shadow of the ruins of the Hog’s Head as a visual marker, she took a deep breath.

Terminatio.

It was a Magical equivalent to a sniper’s bullet, a Magical means of assassination. It was not banned and not classified as ‘Unforgivable,’ but it was a spell that was rarely used. Hermione had learned about it in the States where it had been used during the last Wizarding Civil War during the 1920s and 1930s.

She silently moved her lips, and exhaled.

Her wand trembled as a lightning like magic streaked from her wand into the darkness of Hogsmeade. The vibration moved through her, jarring every bone and making every nerve ache. The spell would indicate whether the target was terminated or not, this was done by a soothing sensation that would cease the vibration and cool the firing nerves. When Hermione knew she had eliminated the target, she inhaled again.

It was too late, however.

Either the caster of the Fiendfyre knew her position, or there was someone else in the dark mass of Inferi casting, but Hermione’s eyes widened as spell fire streaked toward her.

Pain made her bite her tongue as she was suddenly falling, splinters of wood around her falling body. There was no time to move, the pain that wracked her body numbing her mind. Her rifle slipped from her shoulder, but she held tight to her wand. Hermione was hundreds of feet from the ground, and when her eyes caught sight of the floodlights and the people below her, she closed her eyes.

The Fiendfyre had stopped, and there was a calm, finally. No more klaxons, no more roar of fire, and Hermione reveled, for the first time, in the quiet.

“No!”

Hermione did not open her eyes as a voice roared up at her from the ground. She expected an impact that never came.






Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway next to Harry Potter, his face twisted bestially as magic shot from the end of his wand toward Hermione. Charlie began to move, to tackle Malfoy to the ground, but instead, watched as Hermione’s hurtling body slowed to settle gently on the ground.

Malfoy collapsed, but Charlie did not care.

“She’s done it,” he heard Harry say. “The attack is over.”

Charlie ran, breathless to slide over burnt grass to fall to Hermione’s side. Her rifle was in pieces on the ground, broom splinters all around her. In the floodlights, Charlie examined her body, bloody fingers feeling her face and neck. She was alive, her heart beating. The hand about her wand was in tact, but the other was in tatters of blood, bone, and flesh. What was more, her right shoulder was dislocated, bleeding black to stain her Muggle military issue clothes.

“Hermione, is she…?” he heard Ron ask.

“Alive, but hurt…” Charlie muttered quickly, remembering his wand, and beginning to scan her body to see if anything was broken. Satisfied, he gathered her up in his arms and rose.

Ron’s dirty and disfigured face was drawn tight with concern and anger. Charlie said nothing, moving carefully back to the castle as the rest of the survivors made their way inside. In the doorway, however, Charlie paused to take in the sight of Harry Potter cradling Lucius Malfoy’s head on his lap.

“Granger… Safe?” Malfoy rasped.

In the light streaming out of the Entrance Hall, Lucius Malfoy seemed almost translucent under his black robes. There was no colour to the man at all, except the silver in his heavy eyes.

“For now,” was all Charlie said before taking off for the Hospital Wing.

Lucius Malfoy had had magical ability, and it had been enough to save Hermione. However, as Charlie pushed through the doors of the Hospital Wing, he was inundated with screams and the stench of burnt human flesh. People were rushing about with clean linens, basins of bloody water, plastic bags of Muggle medicine with tubes. Charlie caught sight of his mother trying her best to magically heal a burn on Katie Flint’s leg. He even saw Ginny trying to move non-critical patients to another area of the ward to make room for those who had been injured fighting.

“Get the sterile padding, Patil!”

Justin Finch-Fletchley stepped from behind a screened off area, a white rubber apron smeared with blood. Charlie walked past the screaming behind the screen toward the small niche where he found George, whispering to a semi-conscious Jaime. At the sight of Hermione, George stood quickly.

“She…?”

Charlie laid Hermione on Harry’s empty cot. “She’ll be fine. I don’t think Padma or Justin can help…”

George leaned over Hermione his hand moving to feel her pulse, and then drawing his wand, motioned for Charlie to step back. Charlie frowned at his brother.

“I can heal her,” he whispered, his pale face pinching slightly at the sight of Hermione’s injured hands.

“Uncle Charlie?” a small voice asked from behind him.

Charlie whirled to find Jaime’s blue green eyes blinking sleepily. Moving to little Jaime, Charlie’s frown deepened.

“Hey, Jaime…” he said, sitting on the bed to cup the boy’s small face between his hands, pulling away slowly, realizing that there was dried blood on his fingers. “How do you feel?”

As far as Charlie knew, Jaime was near comatose, weak, but as he looked at the boy, it seemed he was only sleepy. There was colour in his pudgy cheeks and in his eyes.

“Hungry… Who’s that?” the boy asked, pointing to Hermione whose body seemed to glow from George’s healing spells.

Charlie smiled tremulously. “You don’t know her?”

Jaime’s head shook, rolling on his pillow.

“I’m sure you do…that’s Hermione Granger.”

Jaime’s eyes widened, “The one papa talks about?”

Charlie nodded.

A scream drifted into the niche, and Charlie watched as Jaime physically jumped at the sound. With a growl, Charlie drew his wand and cast Silencing Charms about the niche, blocking out the pained screams from the little boy’s ears.

“Is she hurt too?” Jaime asked, rolling onto his side to look past Charlie’s knees to Hermione’s pale face and wild hair.

“A little bit, but Uncle George will fix her right up.”

Jaime’s eyes moved to Charlie again, his small face growing serious. “Uncle Charlie?”

Charlie took a tremulous breath. To hear Jaime say his name made him feel strange. The adrenaline that had been coursing through him was beginning to wane, and Charlie felt as if he could weep after what he had seen in a matter of minutes.

“Yeah?”

The little boy grasped his bloody fingers tightly.

“Papa said that bad things have been happening, does that mean war?”

Charlie blinked, glancing to George who was working to relocate Hermione’s shoulder without causing her pain. She was still unconscious, but as George moved, he could see that her hands had been healed.

“No, Jaime, it does not mean war, not this time…”

The sound of Hermione taking in a deep breath, arching off the bed startled both Jaime and Charlie.

“Sorry, Chuck, I had to wake her…” George muttered apologetically.

Hermione began coughing, her wand clattering to the floor and rolling to Charlie’s toe. He bent down and picked it up, gently extracting his finger from Jaime’s tiny clutching hand.

“Luv, you feeling alright?” George asked, leaning over her to push her back down to the bed.

Hermione grunted, her hand moving to her left cheek. Charlie moved from Jaime’s bed stretching out his hand to pass Hermione her wand, which she took after a blinking moment.

“I got him… The Inferi?”

George looked to Charlie who shook his head slowly. “It stopped the Fiendfyre, but…”

Hermione cursed and George glanced nervously over to Jaime who only smiled sleepily.

“Who do I keep killing over and over?” she muttered, rubbing her cheek and then letting her fingers, now healed moved to her hair.

As she pulled her hand away, Charlie could see that she had a burn on her cheek, pinker than the rest of her skin and traced along her cheekbone.

“I fell…”

“Malfoy caught you,” a new voice said in the niche, and Harry Potter entered the bubble of silence.

Hermione sat up slowly and Charlie watched her eyes move from her old friend to the little boy smiling at his father in the next bed.

“What?”

Harry moved to his son, taking the small boy up in his arms. Charlie was not sure if Hermione was asking about Malfoy or Jaime. Harry kissed the boy’s forehead as he looked to Hermione.

“He used whatever magic he had left to save you…”

Charlie inhaled sharply, chin rising. Hermione, however, was already getting out of bed, standing on wobbly feet.

Hermione began to move to the screens, but Charlie caught her arm, pulling her back.

“Now is not the time…”

She snarled, snatching her arm away. “For what?”

Charlie said nothing. He was not sure what he had meant by the words, and he could not read into her intention.

“If I can help heal…” she began, her face twisted angrily, and suddenly her face smoothed. Charlie blinked.

Golden eyes rolled back, and Charlie caught Hermione in his arms before she fell to the floor.

“Merlin, woman…” he muttered, laying her back down on the bed, pulling her wand from her hand and setting it on the table next to the lamp.

“She’s going to need rest, plenty of it,” George whispered to Charlie. “And you, big brother, need a wash…”

Charlie wanted to snap at George, whom did not seem to be on the grounds during the attack, and ignorant of what had happened. He did not say a word, however, and bit his ragged lower lip, realizing he had been gnawing on it for some time.

With a sigh, he unlaced her Muggle combat boots and pulled them from her delicate feet. He could feel Harry watching him, but moved with sureness, pulling a blanket over Hermione’s body. George was milling about near the screen, trying not to watch as Charlie smoothed Hermione’s hair from her face and burnt cheek.

“You love her.”

Charlie did not turn at the sound of Harry’s voice, and did not nod. Instead, he glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Jaime’s sleepy eyes watching Hermione’s unconscious face, weary, but fascinated.

“Of all of us, you two are the strongest,” Harry whispered, moving to lay Jaime down on the bed. “You’ll need to decide what to do next, Charlie.”

There was a grave foreboding tone in Harry’s voice, and Charlie turned his eyes away to Hermione again.