Charlie Weasley, Paper Husband

Chapter 2

Hermione told herself that the worst part of breaking up with Ronald Weasley was losing a big, family Christmas. But she had gained a different Christmas, one of her own, with her own timetable and whatever traditions she liked. It was inexpensive, mess-free, and she could do whatever she wanted, such as going to a Muggle green grocer for a real Christmas tree early in December.

When she was little, her parents had a plastic tree they stored in pieces in the garden shed and assembled inside every year. The Weasley tree had become a lush, twinkling illusion ever since the grandbabies arrived with their grabbing hands, threatening to pull a real, tangible Christmas tree down on their heads. No, Hermione hadn't had a home that smelled of fresh cut fir since -- she couldn't remember how long. It might have been since she was at school.

Charlie made no complaints about the early appearance of a Christmas tree in the tiny flat. He stepped through the Floo, breathing deeply and grinning broadly. "Nice. It smells like Christmas in here," he said.

"Yes, I think I've just about got it charmed to stand upright," she said, tentatively lowering her wand. "How does that look?"

Charlie closed one eye and sighted down his raised thumb. "Straight as an arrow."

"Good, But I'm afraid all my fussing with the tree means I haven't got tea on yet," she said. "It's not very wifely of me, but can you run out for some take away?"

"Sounds plenty wifely to me," Charlie said. "And anyways, all this cooking for me every night -- it's unholy, like you're waiting on me."

"Because I am," she said. "I'm being deliberately overly traditional, matching this filthy backward De-bliviator. I think I can stomach it long enough to get the thing to work. Especially in light of the sacrifices you're making for this project."

Charlie scoffed but one hand came up to rub his shoulder. "None of that. No, I am delighted to treat you to a meal for a change."

Now Hermione was scoffing. "A change? Hardly. You've brought lunch to the Ministry for me every day this week and sat and flirted with me while I ate it. In fact, you might have great-aunt kissed me goodbye in front of half my department staff yesterday if I hadn't managed to stuff a biscuit in your mouth."

"Yeah, the tender goodbyes -- they're becoming something of a habit," he said, not apologizing.

She tossed her head. "Yes, well you might not have convinced the De-bliviator we're an item, but I think some of my colleagues are on the verge of jumping to a conclusion or two about us."

Charlie's grin was slightly sheepish. But he said, "All for a noble cause."

She dropped a hand on his forearm -- something that was becoming a habit of hers, difficult to resist as Charlie's lovely arms were. "I suppose as long as they're not professional paparazzi or your overly involved siblings, I shouldn't fuss about who sees us eating sandwiches at my desk together."

"That's the spirit," he said, giving her hand a squeeze before re-buttoning his coat and pivoting back toward the door.

When he was gone, Hermione turned back to the tree. She restored a reducio-ed box of ornaments to its usual size and set about unpacking it. The ornaments had been collecting in the box for years, but by now, she hardly remembered what was inside it. Opening it was rather like Christmas itself.

There were sets of shiny red and gold balls and spindles, crystal snowflakes, and silver stars. But it was the special, one-of-a-kind ornaments that were most interesting. Bittersweetness was what she felt when she found the little brass plaque her parents had engraved with "Hermione Jean's First Christmas, 1979."