Title: Just Like A Woman
Author: emiime
Characters: Charlie/Hermione
Rating: R
Warnings: None.
Themes/kinks chosen: Birth Control
Word Count: 1030
Summary: What Charlie loves about Hermione
Author's notes: Happy Birthday, inell! I hope it’s a lovely one. I am a bit nervous about doing Hermione justice for you, honestly. ♥ The title of this fic is taken from the Bob Dylan song of the same name.

What Charlie loves about Hermione: her hair her knees her frown of concentration

her lips

her hips

and the way she sticks them out when she leans against the counter to flirt with him though she claims it’s not flirting

her solutions to impossible problems

her wit

her tits

Never mind. Everything.

When they make love (and when they fuck, but that’s a different thing altogether) Charlie sometimes can’t breathe when he forces himself fully to take in whose hair it is spread out over the pillow, whose nipples are hard against his chest, whose little fingers roll the silly Muggle condom over his erection. (Of course she insists it be done this way and her on the potion to boot. Charlie doesn’t want kids yet either, but he thinks it’s overkill. But he’d never say that to her.)

He kisses her, then, and she laughs and tries to twist away, to get the stupid rubber on him without catching any ginger hairs in the process, but he doesn’t let her go. Sometimes he’s overwhelmed by her (by everything) and can’t stop himself.

He slides in, careful, and she protests, saying she won’t break, just do it, she wants him, and her voice is half-breath half-whine and god he loves that voice (it’s part of everything).

But he can’t be rough. He’s done rough, in the past, with others, when he’s never cared so much before. He wants to care for her all the time, this woman in his arms, to hold her close as they make love (as they fuck, whichever) and he’s torn when she wants it rough, torn between breaking her and giving her what she wants.

Lust wins out. It always does in the end, and Hermione gets what she wants, and she never breaks. Charlie thrusts into her, bracing himself against the pillow so he can watch her face as she touches herself below him and comes, gasping, her hair tangling like smoke on the pillow, her pink lips parted, gasping, little white teeth like—and oh god there, she’s touching him between his legs and he’s coming, too, into the stupid Muggle thing when he should be coming inside her, filling her with his essence and fuck never mind now it’s too much

and he slips out, rolls off, trying to breathe, and he reaches over and touches her face, takes a fistful of her hair.

She’s his anchor.

The Muggle thing goes into the rubbish bin and Charlie’s up and asking her if he can bring her anything. She stretches like a cat, her breasts heaving with the great breath she takes, and she smiles and asks for a glass of water. He pushes her hair from her face and just holds his hand on her forehead for a moment, marvelling at her, at Hermione, at this woman of his.

He laughs at himself as he goes to fetch the water.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Charlie had his dragons and his solitude, and then she had to come along and ruin it all.

Perfectly.

Charlie never knew shattered dreams could make a man so happy.

He hands her the water—she’s up and has her robe on; has presumably cleaned herself as she likes to do afterward—and he flops onto the bed, still naked, his prick deflated between his thighs. She drinks the water down, watching him the whole time, and smiles down at him and wonders aloud if he could go another round.

Charlie groans and says she’ll be the death of him.

---

It’s a Tuesday when she takes the test, her little hands shaking, and he promises he’ll stay right by the door until she’s finished.

It doesn’t take long and they wait together. The Muggle stick thing and the little flask of (probably far more reliable, Charlie thinks) potion sit side by side on the table. Charlie starts to speak once, and Hermione twice, but mostly they just watch and wait.

I’m sorry, he finally says when the stick goes plus and the potion turns green. I’m sorry. Me and my dad and my brothers. It’s what we do, I guess.

She starts to say something again but her lower lip trembles and she turns away, and Charlie just takes her and pulls her from her chair into his lap and she breaks, then, though he’s been so careful all along, so careful with his girl. Strong woman to everyone else, but Charlie knows. He knows her, has seen her break like this before, rarely, and only ever in private.

When she finishes crying, she raises her pink-rimmed eyes and says they’ll do the logical thing, of course, they’ll get rid of it.

Charlie’s heart sinks and he doesn’t know why. He nods and smoothes her hair back, puts his hand on her forehead.

Yes, he says, we’ll take care of it.

---

In the end, they sit in the waiting room for an hour, and when Hermione’s name is finally called, neither of them can face it, and they return home, silent the whole way. They get into bed together with all of their clothes still on and Charlie frowns and says they’ll have to tell his mum, and they’ll have to get married, probably.

Hermione is having none of it. She’ll get married when she pleases, she says, and not a day before. She puts her hand on her belly and splays out her fingers.

Charlie moves towards her, lifts her blouse, and kisses the still-flat belly he finds there.

---

What Charlie loves about Hermione:

When she breaks down in front of Ron and Harry, her two best mates, she shouts at them and befuddles them with logic.

When she breaks down in front of Charlie because her belly’s getting too big or her feet ache or she’s just overwhelmed with the task of creating life, she lets him take her in his arms and she cries, and she falls asleep in his arms and her breaths shudder, humid against his shoulder, and her hair catches in the corner of her mouth and Charlie’s heart is so full he feels he might break, too.