Kairos: Mageia

The world above her spun in golden lights. It was like a thousand fireflies had come to convalesce above her, dancing and twirling and fuzzing in and out of focus. There was a persistent ringing in her ear, something that would not let up but would waver and fold as she tried to move around. Her lungs were filled with dust; when she inhaled after waking, she felt it deep in her chest and she spat. 

“Oh, here, luv,” Someone said gently, tipping a water bottle to her lips, “Drink up.” 

Hermione blinked twice, her vision collecting slowly, like a treacle dripping through a bottle. She caught only hints at first of the person above her; freckled face, wild red hair in curls, the glimmer of a golden chain tucked beneath a tan shirt. 

It was someone she’d only ever met once in brief passing and seen countless times upon the mantle-piece of the Burrow. She frowned, lips chapped and bleeding, and reached her hand up. He grasped it, as though sensing her rising panic. 

“Char...lie?” She asked, frowning. 

“It’s me,” He said, “Rest easy, Hermione.” 

“The war,” She blubbered, “Harry-Ron...I…” 

“We won,” He whispered, pulling her head into his lap, stroking her hair, “We won. Just relax.” 

Despite every part of her wanting to stay awake, Hermione couldn’t help but obey. She closed her eyes as a black wave washed over her and she limply collapsed into Charlie’s arms. 

XXxxXX

She was told when she came to that she’d taken a nasty blow to the back of her head minutes before Harry defeated Voldemort. Luckily, Charlie had noticed and had dragged her away so that she didn’t sustain further injuries. From all accounts, it seemed he’d saved her life.

She hardly knew him. She had to imagine it was by his good nature, like all Weasleys were, that he was not about to let her merely perish. 

The elusive Weasley brother stayed on for a bit, healing his own injuries but especially because of Fred’s death. He seemed to slip into where Fred wasn’t. Not as though he was trying to take his younger brother’s place, but sometimes it was nice for George to turn and have a brother with a penchant for mischievous ready to test some dastardly concoction, or for Ron to be able to talk to someone, or for Bill to be able to rely upon. It was clear he was not Fred. He still retained his own personality, namely his joy regarding dragons, and found a temporary job as a dragon keeper and rehabilitator for the dragons at Gringotts as the trials went on. 

Hermione found it only right to befriend him. 

He had, after all, saved her life.

XXxx

There were times where Hermione got the strangest of feelings. It was as though she was a person standing in the middle of a moment she did not belong. It was like someone had cut her from one life and placed her in this one, and as much as she wanted to feel like she was meant to be here, something in the back of her mind told her otherwise. 

She told no one about these feelings, besides Charlie. There was something so easy-going about him. He was not uptight like Percy, did not have a wife like Bill, wasn’t mourning like George, wasn’t in her own world of romance like Ginny was with Harry, and wasn’t...Ron. She didn’t realize how this seemed until she was spilling her truths to him one night, outside the burrow with a mug of cocoa and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

“-And perhaps everyone that survived feels this way,” She continued, “Maybe it’s survivor's guilt. I guess I just don’t know.” She sighed. 

“You and Harry and Ron cheated death more than anyone else,” Charlie agreed, raising an eyebrow. He clicked his mug to hers, shoulder to shoulder.

“That’s just the thing. I have. And I never felt like this after any of those times,” She stressed, “So I just...I’m not sure.” 

“Maybe it’s because this is the first time you’ve actually relaxed ever,” He teased, “Though, you and I have very different definitions of ‘relax’.” 

“Planning on taking my NEWTs is incredibly relaxing,” Hermione argued, having gone through this little play-fight with Charlie many times. She sighed, “How’s your arm?” She asked, looking at the gnarled and twisted skin. He’d been hit by what the healers thought was the intersection of two curses during the battle. It was good he’d only lost sense of it and not his entire body. 

“I felt a little twitch a few days ago, but nothing made sense,” He pouted. A dragon tamer with one arm was hardly a good one. 

Hermione reached out for it, unsure what compelled her, but she dragged her fingers over the uneven skin, tracing the twisted and poisoned veins like a map. Charlie’s breath hitched as she did so, his eyes darkening. Hermione glanced up, pushing a stray tendril of hair behind her ears, tilting her head.

“You can feel that?” She asked, continuing her movements, hope blooming in her chest. 

“Oh, Merlin, I wish I could,” He responded. 

“Then why are you..” She trailed off, pausing, studying Charlie. She dropped his hand softly at the same moment he leaned forward, using his good arm to lock his fingers in her hair, kissing her. 

After the initial surprise wore off, Hermione started to lean in, deepening the kiss. As soon as she reciprocated, Charlie broke away, eyes wild and near panicked. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I didn’t...fuck,” He muttered, standing. 

“Charlie, it’s fine,” Hermione’s voice quivered, shocked about how much she wanted him right now, about how she hadn’t realized it until he kissed her but she couldn’t imagine herself with anyone else. 

“It wouldn’t be right.” He said firmly, his voice curt, “We need to accept that.” 

“Right?” Hermione echoed, grabbing his shirt as he tried to go back inside, “If this is about Ron, there’s nothing there.” Yes, her and Ron had kissed at the battle. They’d both admitted, a bit embarrassed, that it had been the stress of the moment. When everything faded, it had been like kissing a brother. 

“No, no,” Charlie said, unable to stop himself as he stepped forward to kiss her forehead, “It’s not that. Just believe me when I tell you it would be a horrible thing for me to do.” 

Hermione didn’t know what to say as he left her standing in front of the Burrow, her chocolate cooling in the mug and her blanket, dotted with little dragons, slipping to the ground. 

XXxx

“What does it mean when a boy kisses you but then follows up by saying ‘it wouldn’t be right’?” Hermione asked in frustration to Ginny over brunch. 

“Hermione! Who have you been snogging?” She asked, leaning forward. Hermione was not about to admit that it was one of her brothers. 

“Err, I’m asking for a friend.” 

“Right,” Ginny drawled sarcastically, “For a friend. Well, you can tell this ‘friend’,” She giggled, as though unable to even keep up the charade for more than a few lines, “That boys are stupid.” 

“Granted, but that doesn’t help m- my friend.” 

“Maybe this guy is just super respectful?” Ginny shrugged, “Do I know him? It’s hard for me to make a judgment unless I know them.” 

“Uhm, a bit,” Hermione replied airily, “But I’m not telling who.” Ginny didn’t seem put out, having already guessed as much, “And well, my friend didn’t think he was like that.” She said. She’d heard the gossip about Charlie. Bill had been the straight-edge respectful brother, whereas Charlie had been the first Weasley wild child. A star Quidditch player, sort of a womanizer, someone who for sure danced to their own beat. It had nearly given his mum a heart attack when he’d announced he was going out to Romania to play with fire for a living. 

“I dunno, as I said, I’d need more info,” Ginny said apologetically, “But well, has your friend made any motions that she likes him back since this event?” 

Hermione frowned. She’d mostly been steering clear of Charlie, unsure how to act around him. 

“Well, in that case, I can’t imagine a man in the world that would be able to deny you if you disrobed in front of them,” She said, a twinkle in her eye.

“Ginny, we’re talking about a friend of mine.” 

“Excuse me, I forgot,” Ginny sniggered, “I mean, tell your friend my advice. It will force a reaction, either way, you know.” 

XXxx

Hermione agonized for days over Ginny’s advice. She wasn’t exactly the sort of girl to do that, but then again, Charlie wasn’t the sort of wizard to deny a witch who wanted him. Perhaps they were both different people than the other expected. 

She couldn’t deny that Ginny was right...it was going to do something. As it was right now, Charlie was being no more than brotherly-friendly to her, and they weren’t talking like Hermione had grown so used to. She found him intelligent and sharp-witted and longed to just go back to how it was before the kiss. She was still having these weird moments or flashes of disassociation and wanted to talk it through with him. What was even stranger was that she was having dreams. They’d begun about three days after the kiss and for the past two weeks had been unrelenting. They were dreams of the war. 

In a sense, she expected this. She doubted there wasn’t anyone who had survived the Battle of Hogwarts that didn’t wake up sometimes screaming and sweaty. If it were just so routine as that, she could manage. What was odd to her was that she was the center of the dreams, but it was reliving moments that hadn’t happened. As much as she wanted to write them off as her mind coping in strange ways, they felt significant. The weight of a memory that Hermione did not own. 

There was a recurring one in which she died. 

This was, of course, deeply concerning. She often woke up with phantom feelings, like that was how it had gone, instead of how it actually had occurred. She would usually be unable to move for a moment, shocked and terrified, and then run her fingers all over her body, convincing herself that no, Hermione Granger was very much alive.

She wished this was the only problem. She wished she were strong enough to write off her crush on Charlie. She wished she could find a reason to. 

The choice to take Ginny’s advice stemmed from a few different outlets, as far as Hermione could theorize. Firstly, these bizarre dreams were taking a toll on her mental and logic processing. Secondly, she was beginning to realize just how badly she had it for Charlie and could not imagine letting it pass, not after so many lost loved ones in the war. Thirdly, Ron announced he was dating Luna, and Harry was dating Ginny and maybe Hermione just felt a bit left behind.

So, she summoned all her gumption, shaved meticulously, and convinced George to unlock Charlie’s room for her. He was the sole Weasley to have noticed something going on between them, and it took little convincing on his part. 

Charlie’s room, having been boarded up while he was gone, looked still very much like the room of a teenage boy. He hadn’t been able to take much to the Romanian camps, so all of his things were left behind. His room was plastered with posters of different dragons that paced and blew fire as Hermione slipped inside. He had a stack of books on the care of magical creatures, some opened to specific sections. In the corner were his Quidditch gear, his old broom, and his dusty Gryffindor jersey. She itched to put it on but reminded herself the goal here was to take off clothes. 

His bedspread was zipping with little snitches. He’d been the last really mint seeker before Harry, she recalled vaguely. She giggled as they darted around her as she sat on the bed, easing herself down with careful thought. His desk was right at the end of the bed, the room cramped but cozy.

She’d been sure she was going to stip starkers, but now sitting here, she was more unsure. Perhaps she should just start with her knickers. As it was, she was still trying to come up with some sexy and clever comment for when he opened the door. 

She folded her robes and set them on the side of the bed, trying to lay demurely across his sheets.

Merlin, she was sure she looked ridiculous. 

He was supposed to be back from his shift at the Ministry in an hour. She’d wanted to come early, so she could talk herself out of this if she wanted. Plenty of time for things in things needed doing, such as if it took more time to get George to open the door, or if it seemed like a bad idea.

It had all gone swimmingly, which left Hermione with this issue; it was a long time to sit in her underwear on Charlie’s bed, waiting for him to come home. She had no idea at the exact time he’d come back, so she didn’t dare put her clothes back on. She was sure she’d talk herself out of it if she did. 

Still, as the minutes dragged on, as comfortable as she was on the duvet, she was still anxious and a little on-edge. 

She kicked her leg out, feeling a cramp, and knocked the pile of books that had previously been on the edge of his desk clattering to the ground. She’d already warded the room to be soundproof, with the hopes this little adventure would go very well, but she still jumped at the sudden clamor. 

She knelt down, setting the books back the best she recalled them. As she did so, she noticed one of his desk drawers slightly open. 

There was a warm golden glow and as Hermione opened it, knowing this was an invasion of privacy, she was filled with a most acutely bizarre, but extremely familiar feeling. 

She had spent her entire third year (and then some, speaking logically) with a time-turner. They were very a precise brand of magic, something unlike other magics she’d come across. Just as certain spells or remnants of magic hummed a particular way, time turners seemed to glow on their own frequency. It was something that Hermione could have recognized in her sleep, and despite finding a heavily warded desk drawer- far more wards than the average drawer, even one holding filthy porn mags- would logically have, Hermione could feel the thumping of the magic calling to her.

There was a time-turner inside this desk. 

She was a smart witch and as intelligent as well-read as Charlie was, wards were sort of her specialty. Yes, it took nearly the entire hour, but it felt like no time at all, Hermione was holding aloft the impossible...a time-turner. 

“Are you...naked?” 

Hermione hadn’t even heard the door open. She stiffened at Charlie’s voice, trying to decide what to do. She was half-tempted to turn around, drop the time-turner, and continue with her plot. But Charlie had a time-turner, something Hermione was sure did not exist anymore, and she was dreadfully curious. 

As she clutched it, a slew of half-memories, more like feelings or knowledge she was gifted, washed over her. Herself, dying, like her dreams. Charlie, older, spinning it back. Despair. Attempts. Fred, alive. Time, and time, and time again. 

“Where did you get this?” Hermione asked, holding it up. As it caught the light, Charlie choked on his breath. 

“How did you-.” He shook his head, “Too damn smart for your own good. Why are you just in your bra and knickers, though?” He asked.

Hermione grasped the duvet and threw it around herself like a toga, drawing back as Charlie reached for the time-turner. 

“To seduce you, since you haven’t so much as glanced at me. But that’s not the most pressing thing right now.” 

“Wait, what were you going to do?” Charlie seemed a beat behind her, still staring at her figure, though obscured by the heaviness of the blanket. 

“Charlie, please...I feel like I’m going crazy.” She whispered faintly, “And I’m drawn to you in a way I can’t begin to describe. It almost feels like magic, but when I search my heart, I know that you’re kind and intelligent and fun to talk to but please,” She begged, “Is there something I should know?” 

Charlie was silent, hands in his pockets, eyes never leaving the time-turner. He seemed an inch away from throwing her out, fingers twitching until he motioned to the bed. 

She curled up at the edge, leaning against the side of the desk, staring Charlie down. She kept the time-turner curled in her fists, unwilling to part with it. Still, Charlie offered no explanation. 

“How many times have you gone back?” She asked, “I assume what the life we’re living now isn’t...you weren’t...I’m unused to not having it be a loop. How did you even get this?” 

“The future of the Wizarding world has many benefits, many smart people,” Charlie said, a sad smile, “So, no. In a sense, this isn’t a time-loop. There are many universes out there. In mine, both you and Fred died. I saw how it just fractured everything. So I paid basically my soul to get this. Not easy to come by,” He confirmed, “And I went back so many times, but I realized I couldn’t save both you and Fred. It was one or the other. So, at first, I just saved Fred. But as the years…” He pressed his lips together, his shoulders shaking, “The family will survive without Fred. There are other universes where I know that certainty. But the world cannot live with Hermione Granger.” 

She recalled that moment, right as she woke, of Charlie pushing the time-turner under his shirt. She realized now what that was. 

“I usually didn’t survive the attack, did I? And you swooped in at exactly the right moment.” She breathed, “But the Charlie of this timeline?” 

Charlie’s grim face told her everything. She inhaled hard, unable to process this at the moment. 

“I never meant to get this close to you,” Charlie admitted, reaching out the space between them, a deep frown on his face, “I chose you over my own brother. And I’d do it again, and again, and again-,” 

“Don’t say that,” Hermione said abruptly. 

“It’s true.” Charlie said simply, his fingers tracing her exposed knee, before falling away, “I meant to slip away from your life. But I had to make sure the family would be okay, that you’d be okay. I was going to destroy it once I was sure. It would be so selfish of me to...feel how I do.” He muttered. 

“Do you think Fred would want you to be unhappy for the rest of your life?” Hermione asked softly, “Or, maybe not that extreme, but not to take good things when they do occur?” She dropped the blanket, little by little, reaching back to set the time-turner firmly on the desk. 

“Don’t…” 

“Charlie, you saved me. And I don’t feel like I want to do this just in gratitude, but I am...thankful,” She kissed the inside of his palm, “But you tied us together, don’t you see? You took that Charlie’s place and carved out mine. Both of us were never meant to be here.” She met his cerulean eyes, “Yet here we are.” 

“I am a man of will and strong heart,” He laughed, “But Merlin, you make me weak. Don’t ask for what you know you cannot have, though.” 

“Why can’t I?” Hermione asked, feeling her stubbornness flare, “Don’t I get to choose who I want to spend my time with, especially in light of this?” She asked firmly, backing Charlie up to the bed frame. 

“Hermione, you…” He let out a quiet laugh, “You’re not going to let this go.” It was not a question, it was a realization. 

“If you can ask me to leave right now, I will,” Hermione said firmly. She watched the way his jaw twitched and his fingers moved, the ache to grasp her waist. She saw how his lips parted and his eyes darkened as he looked her over. For one terrible second, as he opened his mouth, she was sure she had called his bluff wrong. That he’d simply send her away and she’d have to live, somehow, with this knowledge and without him. 

“We will find where we’re meant to be together,” Hermione tried one last time, imploring. 

“Great Gryffindor,” Charlie breathed out, “I suppose this is my punishment. Falling for you.” 

“Or, it is your gift for saving me, if you insist I should exist,” Hermione countered, “Char-,” She never finished her quiet plea, Charlie having reached up to meet her lips as he pulled her onto his lap. The blanket fell away completely, shuffling to the floor, leaving them on just his bedsheets. 

He rolled her over, his strength still present, and Hermione shuddered into his kiss, pulling him against her. 

“Charlie,” Hermione murmured after some time had passed, “I, uh, might have planned this all out, but…” She felt embarrassment creep up her cheeks. 

Charlie understood without saying anything, “We can take as much time as you need. We seem to be full of it, as it were.” He said with a wry grin, “I’ll not rush you.” 

“I just...well, I’ve never much…” She admitted, “Only gone through a few of the motions. Not the entire way.” 

“I look forward to sharing that with you,” Charlie said, biting her neck softly, but enough to make her shiver, “I’m surprised Mum hasn’t sent out a search party for you. It’s been about three hours since you’ve been here.” 

Hermione reached for her robes, “George might be helping with that.” 

Charlie laughed, “George told me when I got home to go to my room straight away. I thought he’d done something terrible to it. I suppose it makes sense now.” He said, “How do you want to go about this?” He asked, motioning to his door. 

“I’m unsure,” Hermione said, “But making out at your mother’s dining room table seems like a bad start.” 

“Or a very good one,” Charlie replied, “But, well, now in terms of this…” He held up the time-turner. Hermione nodded in understanding.

They made sure they looked presentable and exited one by one. When they met back outside, Charlie placed it on the grass. As much as it pained Hermione to destroy something so rare and such a difficult and elusive bit of magic, she knew full well that there were only bad things that came from holding it too long. 

“Well, you know, perhaps if we use some of the charms that I used to destroy Horcruxes, we could destroy this. I’m unsure if we should set fire, but maybe-,” Hermione’s theorizing was cut short by the sound of smashing glass and a very large rock now sitting on top of where the time-turner had once been.

She lifted it, seeing it completely destroyed, “Or that.” 

“Seemed easiest. It’s a fragile thing, luv,” Charlie shrugged. He kicked the rock away and they watched as the golden glowing sand slipped between the blades of glass, washing away by the slight breeze.

As the magic tickled Hermione’s nose and cheeks, she felt like she was meant to be here for the first time since the end of the war. 

Charlie leaned in, twinning his hand in hers. They stayed, just for a moment, watching as the time-turner magic disappeared back into the earth. 

“Wait,” A startled sound came from the porch. Hermione turned to see Ginny staring at them, mouth agape, “It’s Charlie?!”