Merciless Flirt

It had been four days since Charlie Weasley had last visited the burrow. And three different times that night she’d been so close to him, so close to a kiss— but it was always something. First it had been Ginny in the backyard, and then Percy screaming as he ran out the backdoor, and then Thomas in the kitchen that night. She sighed and flopped down on the sofa in the den.

“Hermione!” Molly called from the foyer.

“Coming, mum!” Hermione called back. She pulled herself back up and wandered into the foyer. “Is it noon already?”

Molly Weasley stood next to the front door checking her reflection in the mirror. Arthur stood at the foot of the front staircase weighed down by several pieces of luggage. On his head he donned a festive looking sombrero. He wore a pair of long blue shorts dotted with white hibiscus flowers and a bright orange top covered in blue and green parrots.

“Are you sure this is how muggles look when they go on vacation?” Molly asked, casting an unsure glance at Arthur. She wore a short red sundress that was printed with orange and pink flowers and birds. Her sunglasses were twice the size of her face and she too donned a festive sombrero type hat.

“Yes, dear.” He said. “Just ask Hermione.”

Hermione did her best not to laugh. “Yes,” she nodded her head. It was sort of what an older couple who had never been on a tropical getaway might wear, so she supposed it wasn’t all that strange. “Do you have everything?”

“Plane tickets, hotel reservation, muggle money, sunscreen,” Arthur began to list things off.

“That little green bikini?” she asked.

Molly’s face went red. “Erm, yes.” She nodded.

“Right, then I think you ready.” Hermione beamed.

It was rare that Arthur was able to get time off from work, especially after becoming minister. And to get an entire week off was like seeing a flock of unicorns traipsing up Diagon Ally at noon on a Saturday. He’d set up a very romantic tropic getaway for he and Molly, something they’d been meaning to do for years but had just never had the chance to do.

“And you’re sure you’ll be alright here by yourself?” Molly asked.

“Yes! It’s only for a week, I’ll be fine!” Hermione laughed.

“Come along, Molly, we’re going to be late for the aeroplane.” He said.

“Yes, yes, well, alright then. Goodbye, Hermione, dear.” She fussed and wrapped her arms around Hermione.

“Bye, mum,” she said returning the hug. As Molly released her embrace on her, Hermione moved over and pecked Arthur on the cheek. “Bye, pop.”

“Goodbye, love. I’d hug you but—”

“It’s alright, go. I don’t want you to miss your plane.”

Molly and Arthur stepped outside of the burrow. With all of their luggage and hats in a poof, they were gone. Hermione sighed. It was going to be a very long, boring week.

After several hours of sitting inside the house deciding that books were too dusty, it was too hot to bake anything and writing was getting her nowhere, she had stripped every bed in the house of all their linens and was standing the back yard with a basket full of freshly washed sheets. The summer breeze blew warm across her skin. She was donned in a light cotton skirt, a soft green colour, and a pale loose fitting top.

Arthur, being a fan of all things muggle, had spared no detail when he’d redecorated the backyard. Aside from the swimming pool, on the opposite side of the garden he’d strung up a large muggle clothesline. Two large metal poles on opposite ends had four ropes strung between them, making for four lines of space where wet laundry could be hung.

Hermione settled herself into the task she was so accustomed to so long ago. When she was a little girl she could remember standing in their much smaller backyard helping her mother with the washing. She would stand on a little footstool and help her mother peg the linens to the line. The little plastic clothes pegs had often pinched her fingers, though she could remember— from when she was no more than three years old— being at her grandmother’s farm in the country side and using the large wooden pegs to hold the washing to the line.

With a murmured spell, Hermione conjured up a satchel full of the older wooden clothes pegs and charmed them to hover beside her while she pinned up the sheets. In just under an hour she’d strung up half the sheets and created a colourful tent of linens across the laundry line. As she gazed down at her basket still half-full with sheets she thought she saw a shadow streak across one of the lavender sheets that had come from her bed.

She glanced again and saw nothing. Odd, she thought. In her hands she held the bright orange Chudley Cannons sheet that had remained on Ron’s old bed even after he’d moved out. Hermione threw it over the line and pulled it down until it almost touched the ground before she pinned it place with three of the old wooden pegs; one at each tip and one in the middle. There was a rustle of sheets behind her that sounded a bit louder than just the wind.

Whirling around she saw nothing but the sheets dancing gently in the summer breeze. The day was quite warm and perhaps the heat was getting to her, causing her mind to play tricks. She hadn’t bothered with breakfast and was so caught up in the laundry drying that she’d skipped lunch. Perhaps it was her stomach playing tricks on her, reminding her that she was hungry.

Thinking nothing further of it, Hermione leaned over the basket once more and withdrew a long cotton sheet the colour of olives in the summer and draped it over one of the lines. This particular sheet was the top sheet that Percy preferred in the summer. He said it was the most breathable thing he’d ever slept under, aside from Thomas. The thought made her giggle slightly as she ran her hands over the soft linen, feeling slightly dirty.

Again she heard the rustling of something moving in the sheets, and again she whirled around only to see nothing. “Hello?” she called, feeling rather foolish when the sheets remained silent. It was her mind. She wasn’t used to being in the Burrow alone; it was usually teaming with activity and people. Even on a day when it was just she and Molly who were home there was always something going on; someone to talk to.

A long shadow crept along the bright blue sheets that were the current bed dressings in the master bedroom. Hermione was paying no attention as she shook out two of her own lavender pillow cases and pinned them to the line.

“Ah!” she cried as a pink fitted sheet swallowed her. The linen, alternating turns on her bed with the lavender set, had come to life. It had grown arms and was enfolding her into its cotton body. “Help!” she shrieked, though she was certain there wasn’t another person for miles.

Hermione struggled against the sheet as it wrapped itself further around. She flailed her arms about, trying to free herself. She managed to untangle her left leg and kick it hard against what felt like a shin.

“Oof!” the sheet cried and was striped from the clothesline.

As it settled on the ground it took the shape of a person and Hermione jumped back from it. She reached for her wand and cursed under her breath when she realized it wasn’t there. She’d left her wand on the counter in the laundry room where the muggle washing machine was kept, although Molly mostly did the washing with magic.

“Show yourself!” she shouted, “I have my wand pointed at your head.” She wasn’t sure what she was going to do when whoever it was below the sheets revealed themselves and saw that she did not have a wand pointed at their head or anywhere else for that matter.

The pink sheet shifted slightly, and from underneath it poked the head of Charlie Weasley, a guilty smile on his face.

“Charlie!” Hermione cried. Her cry was filled half with relief and half with utter fury. Though she was grateful he had not been some intruder she was ready to hex his head off for giving her such a fright. “You scared the daylights out of me!” she shouted.

“You talk to the sheets,” he smirked and sat up.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Her arm shot forward, grabbing the pink sheet, and she yanked it off his figure. “Now I’m going to have to re-wash that one.”

“Nonsense,” he said and hopped to his feet with great ease. “Scourgify,” he said, showing his prowess in wandless magic. The sheet seemed to shimmer as if it hadn’t fallen to the ground entangled around Charlie Weasley’s body. “See, no harm no foul.”

“Says you,” she muttered and threw the sheet back over the clothes line. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d pop by and say hullo,” he said.

“Oh.” She said. With her back to him, Hermione picked another sheet out of the basket. This one was a thick black duvet and she wasn’t exactly sure where in the house it had come from. As she clipped one edge of the sheet on the line, Charlie’s face appeared hovering just over the other side of it. “Can I help you?”

“Nope.” He smiled, that goofy Weasley smile, which usually meant he was up to no good.

“Right then,” she said.

But before she could get the rest of the sheet pinned to the line Charlie had wrapped her in it and begun to tickle her. “Charlie!” she squealed, trying her best to fight him through the duvet, failing miserably. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. “Charlie! Cut it out!”

He pushed her back through the dark blue sheets that came from his parents bed, only to have her fall forward against him, using all her strength to counter balance his attempts. Charlie lost his footing and stumbled back into one of Percy’s bed sheets that she’d hung and it popped from the line. But he was back on his feet, and not a moment too soon as Hermione charged at him against, still tangled in part of the black duvet.

They struggled against one another, Charlie trying to tickle her, Hermione trying to push him off. She tried reaching his ribs to tickle him but it seemed to have little effect, though he was laughing regardless. Sheets sprung from the line under their weight, the clothes pegs flying in every direction. Her fingers grabbed one of the dangling lines and used it for leverage as she tried to kick off his chest and propel herself away from him.

There was a sudden splintering sound and the line in her hand went slack. Charlie dove toward her, grabbing her around the middle, and tackled her to the ground as the whole clothesline, sheets and all— the ones that hadn’t already fallen to the ground— came tumbling down atop them.

She was still laughing, his hands still tickling her, and somehow he’d managed to straddle her. “Charlie!” she panted between gasps for air and her giggles. “Charlie!”

The sheets obscured his view. There were linens on top him, linens beneath him and linens between them. He was nearly out of breath just from tickling her so hard.

“Charlie!” she shouted a third time.

“What?” he teased, but slowly brought his fingers away from her sides.

“Look what you’ve gone and bloody done!” she cried, trying to twist her way out from underneath of him.

He sighed and rested his head against her shoulder for just a moment before he rolled off her. Her breath hitched in her throat. He’d laid his cheek very near her breast and for that moment she had thought her heart had stopped completely; she’d died and gone to heaven. But the moment had ended almost as quickly as it had begun and she forced herself to sit up amidst the tangle of sheets and clothesline.

“It’s not a terribly big deal, Hermione.”

“You’ve destroyed your father’s clothesline.”

“He’s got spare ropes in the attic— you should see him and mum out here when they—”

“Charlie, wherever that sentence was going, I’ll be grateful if it goes there without me.” She said. The last thing she wanted to envision while she was tangled in the sheets with Charlie was how Molly and Arthur found themselves in similar, though probably more erotic, entanglements.

“Right.” He added. The thought turned his stomach just slightly and he shook his head to clear his mind. “Come on up to the attic, I’ll show you, and we can get these sheets restrung.”

She nodded and allowed him to help her to her feet. Hermione didn’t tell him that she’d only been stringing the sheets on the line to pass the time. It’s not like any of them had actually been dirty or in need of laundering, except for maybe Percy’s sheets. Thomas had been there every night since he’d proposed, though thankfully at the moment they were both at work.

It didn’t take them long to climb upstairs into the hot, dusty attic. Hermione gazed around at the clutter. “It’s a wonder you know where anything is up here…” she said. Although mostly everything in the Burrow seemed to be in various stages of clutter, they were all carefully organized stages of clutter. Everything had a place and an order. But the attic looked like a genuine attic that no one had touched in years. Boxes and cabinets were everywhere.

In one corner there was an old muggle dressmaker’s dummy, wearing a silly purple hat and glassy pearls. There was a large chalkboard and several piles of what appeared to be extension cords. The room had everything you could imagine, except for the one thing she was expecting to be there; the family ghoul. There had been no mention of his banishment and she hadn’t heard him causing a stir as of late. She wondered for a moment if ghouls could die, or if perhaps the ghoul had gotten bored, as there were no longer any little children to frighten, and left.

“How can you find anything up here?” she asked.

Charlie was wading his way through towers of boxes stacked as high at the ceiling. Two of them toppled over and clattered against the floor, busting open as they did. Scarves and gloves spilled out of one, while stockings and feather boas slipped out of the other. “Mum’s old theatrical nonsense, no doubt.” He said.

Hermione knelt on the old hardwood floorboards and picked up a string of beads that was tangled up in one of the feather boas. They were shiny, turquoise, and as large as hailstones. She smiled and held them up to her neck, imagining for a moment that she were a muggle movie star in Hollywood in the early 1920’s. The thought made her giddy. She put the pearls back in the pile of spilled dress-up items and picked up a deep purple feather boa. It appeared to be the exact shade of the silly feathery hat that was resting atop the head of the dressmaker dummy.

Standing and walking over to the east corner, Hermione wrapped the boa around the dummy. “You look fabulous,” she whispered and smiled.

Charlie was lost somewhere between a stack of old copies of The Daily Prophet and a box filled with muggle Christmas lights. The attic seemed huge with everything in it. “Dad’s muggle storage room, as it were.” He called to Hermione, who was still fussing with the dummy.

She tilted the hat just a little to the left and smiled. A finger tapped on her shoulder. Rolling her eyes and steeling her ribs, she turned around a screamed.

The Weasley family Ghoul had appeared right before her, wearing the turquoise beads around its neck, and was making a most gruesome face. He’d startled her so much that she rushed forward, right through him sending a most unpleasant shiver through her body. As she fled, Hermione knocked over several boxes and screamed again when she bumped into Charlie’s chest.

“It’s alright!” he shouted, and waved his wand at the ghoul, who went flying across the attic and straight through a wall. His arms wrapped tightly around her as she threw her head against his chest, as if trying to bury her face in his t-shirt. “It’s alright, Hermione, I’m here.” He said.

Again her heart was racing, only this time it had initiated with the ghoul’s surprise. She closed her eyes. For a moment she allowed herself to breath in his heady scent. Charlie smelled like a man, strong and protective. Her body was shaking. But with a deep breath she calmed herself, only to have her heart start racing again, this time for a different reason.

Charlie looked down and grasped her chin, ever so gently tilting her head up so that he could gaze into her eyes. She flushed. “Sorry, he gave me a dreadful fright.”

“It’s alright, bloody bugger does it to everyone he can.” He muttered.

He had not loosened his grip around her, though she did not complain. It felt exquisite to be wrapped safe in his arms. The attic, unfortunately, was dreadfully warm and this did very little to slow her racing heart.

Their eyes were locked, gazing into one another’s eyes. He lowered his head ever so slowly, and her palms fell flat against his chest. She blinked, rapidly, and then closed her eyes, tilting her chin up just the tiniest bit. Charlie leaned forward.

“Hermione,” he whispered.

“Yes, Charlie?” she said. Her voice trembled like a leaf in the autumn breeze.

He tilted his head to the side ever so slightly. Hermione tilted her head as she felt his nose brush hers. His breath was warm on her face and she tried hard not to shudder. A half centimeter separated his lips from hers. Heart racing, lungs constricting, head dizzying, everything happening at once, overwhelming her.

“Oi! Hermione!” a voice thundered through the house.

She pulled back, turned her head down and to the side and gasped an awkward breath. Hermione hadn’t realized that she’d been holding her breath in, waiting, anxious nerves tensing as she thought that she was finally going to be kissed Charlie Weasley. She opened her eyes, allowing them to flicker over Charlie for just a moment. He stood there, awestruck.

He had no idea what had just happened. One moment he was about to kiss her and the next she was gone. Someone had interrupted them. He hoped.

“Hermione!” the voice shouted again. It was coming from somewhere downstairs.

She sighed. “Yes, Fred! I’m upstairs! Be right down!” she hollered and quickly climbed down out of the attic.

“Oi, a sight for sore eyes,” Fred smiled.

“Aunt ‘Mione!” Lucy and Alice said in unison.

“Hello, girls, Fred.” She smiled and bent to hug her five year old nieces together.

“Hermione, I need a favour.” He said.

“Sure thing, what’s up?” she said. She tried to act calm, as if she hadn’t just been in the attic almost having a snog with Charlie.

“If mum were here I’d ask her, I hate to bother you, and Jordie got sick, but I just can’t find a sitter on such short notice and if I don’t get there George is going to murder me— this could easily be the biggest deal of our careers.”

“You need me to watch the girls for a bit?”

“Yes!” he cried. “There’s a meeting I have to be at in a few minutes. George and I have potentially just bought ourselves a fortune in a basket with this new product.” He beamed. “And Angelina was supposed to have the girls, but there was an emergency practice session, she got called off this morning. And Joride, our regular, called me and said she has Redbloom Fever. And with mum away on holiday…”

“It’s no trouble at all, Fred, I understand.”

He threw his arms around Hermione and smiled. “You’re the best! Now, girls, be good while I’m gone.” He kissed Lucy and Alice on the forehead.

“The meeting should be done no later than six or so, and I should be here just after that, but if Angelina gets finished with practice first, I’ve owled her and told her to grab the girls so you don’t get stuck with them any longer than you have to.”

Hermione shook her head. “There’s no rush, what on earth better could I have to do?”

“You’re a life saver, Hermione.” Fred smiled, hugged her once more, ran out the front door and apparated with a loud pop.

“Well, go on upstairs and get into your swimming costumes, we’re not going to sit around in this heat, are we?”

The girls giggled with glee and thundered up the stairs. “Hello, Uncle Charlie!” they cried as they scurried between his legs and disappeared up the landing.

“Found the extra rope for the lines,” he said, holding a bundle of rope in his hand. “I think I’ll just go out and restring it.”

Hermione was going to protest, to say something, but no words that seemed right came to mind.

“Aunt ‘Mione!” cried Lucy from upstairs. “Alice is wearing my costume!”

Hermione hung her head and sighed.

“Best get to them, then.” Said Charlie. He passed her and headed out back to fix the clothesline.

A/N: Please leave a review, let me know what you think. ^_^