Rose Among the Thorns

Chapter 20

Of House Hunting

Two months later found Hermione house hunting in Somerset in the drizzling rain, with Lavender tagging along for support. Fleur's parents had invited she and Bill to spend the weekend with them in Nice, and Charlie had made the mistake of being the only Weasley free to take care of the rambunctious Victoire, Seraphin, and Louis. Hermione had quickly reminded him that she had already arranged with the realtor to view several houses and it would be impossible for her to cancel at such a late notice.

After being unable to find a home through magical realty services, Hermione had turned to a muggle company. She and Lavender had been shown three houses already that morning, the first too small, the second too run down, and neighbours of the third strongly reminded Hermione of Harry's aunt and uncle.

Hermione climbed back behind the wheel of the black Mini her father had purchased for her after she graduated from Hogwarts and sighed. She and Charlie had spent the past month and a half searching for a suitable home with no success. Hermione's flat was much too cramped with only two people, and as the brilliant politicians at the Ministry had demanded that they begin procreating in less than four months, finding a house was imperative. She followed the realtor back onto the main road and off to the fourth house.

"Honestly, you'd think that I'd have grown out of this by now," Hermione said with an exasperated sigh as she looked in the mirror at her hair, which was growing wilder at an alarming rate.

Lavender laughed. "I think you're stuck with it for life, dear. Look on the bright side, you'll never moan about having flat hair."

"Is that the only advantage to having hair that looks like it was attacked by a band of rabid porcupines?" Hermione replied as she rolled her eyes and tried to flatten her bushy curls.

***

Forty-five minutes later the two young women were on their way back to London. The fourth house hadn't been lived in for five years and smelt of mold, deceased rodents and, strangely, overcooked cabbage.

"I think that stench will stay in these clothes forever," Lavender gagged as she rolled down the window and leaned her head out. "I just bought this top too," she moaned.

Hermione too had been nearly overcome by the smell and was taking deep breaths from the strong, damp breeze blowing through the car, her massive hair forgotten.

"Susan should know a good smell removing charm," she said between gasps of air.

They drove for several miles before the overpowering cabbage smell was gone. Hermione was slightly disappointed. She had been searching for a house for two months, looking at dozens of houses and not one had looked even remotely appealing.

"OVER THERE!" Lavender bellowed.

Hermione pushed the brakes to the floor, bracing for the impact of another car on hers.

"What!? Where!?" she shouted.

"Back the road a bit, A 'For Sale' sign."

"I thought you were talking about another car you idiot!" Hermione shouted again.

Lavender rolled her eyes. "If I had seen a car about to hit us I would have said 'Watch out!' or 'There's a car!' or 'I'm never trusting you with my life again!"

Hermione heaved a very frustrated sigh and turned the car around. "Next time you do that I'm throwing you out of the car," she muttered under her breath.

"Save that until after you've seen the house," Lavender retorted.

Sure enough, a 'House For Sale' sign pointed down a narrow country lane. They followed it, and after a few minutes passed through a small village. Ten minutes after driving through the village and no other signs pointing to the house in question, Hermione began to think that they were on a bit of a wild goose chase.

"Give it five more minutes," Lavender encouraged.

"Three more," Hermione countered. "I'm getting low on petrol and I don't want to have to leave my car out in the middle of nowhere while I find some."

One and a half minutes later on a bend in the lane a "For Sale" sign was posted at the end of a tree covered drive.

"Ha," Lavender exclaimed victoriously.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she turned down the gravel drive. The trees gave way to a neatly trimmed lawn. At the end of the drive, Hermione stopped the car and got out, forcing her hair into an elastic band.

The house in question was red brick with two levels and shaped like an 'L.' A small herb garden grew in the middle of the 'L' and several white climbing roses surrounded the green shuttered windows.

Hermione stared at the little house for several moments.

Lavender nudged her, and motioned toward the house. "Want to go in?"

Hermione nodded, and they walked down the stone path to the door. Hermione knocked three times, and stood back, suddenly nervous.

After a few moments an elderly, angelic looking woman opened the door.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a high, quavering voice.

"We're here about the house," Hermione explained. "We saw the sign on the road, and I wanted to know if it is still for sale."

"Oh yes it is, dearie," the woman answered. "I'm Amelia Prichard, by the way."

"Hermione Granger-Weasley," she replied. "And this is my friend Lavender Finch-Fletchley."

"Come in and have some tea and we'll talk about the house," Mrs. Prichard said, opening the door wider and motioning them to come in.

*****

Three hours later Hermione had decided to take the house, providing Charlie also agreed. She and Lavender bubbled with enthusiasm the entire drive home, planning where to hang pictures, what colours to paint the walls, and what furniture would look best where.

Fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had taken pity on Charlie and offered to take Bill and Fleur's children to the cinema, one of their grandfather's latest fascinations. Charlie had just settled down in the armchair to enjoy a glass of wine and listen to the Tornados vs. the Cannons on the wireless when Hermione burst through the door, causing her husband to leap out of the chair in surprise, drenching his trousers with wine.

"It's perfect, Charlie, it's just perfect!" she exclaimed, dropping her handbag on the table beside the door.

"It has four bedrooms and two bathrooms and fruit trees and a lovely garden with a little pond just like the Burrow," she continued as she went into the kitchen.

"Sounds lovely," Charlie mumbled, looking at his wine drenched trousers. He waddled into the kitchen after his wife.

"Mrs. Prichard, the owner, is the sweetest old lady. Her husband passed away a few years ago and she's decided to move closer to her daughter in Liverpool. She even invited Lavender and I in for tea and showed us her roses in the back garden," Hermione rambled on as she waved her wand around the kitchen, cleaning up dishes and warming up a plate of leftover lasagna.

"Have you made an offer yet?" Charlie asked as he wiped a towel across his trousers.

"Yes I did," Hermione replied. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. I'm just happy that you found a house you like."

Hermione finally noticed her husband's predicament. "Oh, Charlie, dear, why don't you use your wand." She waved hers and the stain was gone.

"Thanks," he replied. He filled himself and Hermione a glass of wine and together they returned to the sitting room where Hermione ate her dinner and Charlie listened to her rhapsodies of the beautiful little house.

One bottle of wine later he smiled as he listened to her describe the sitting room's fireplace, which was 'perfect for the Flooing.'

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she continued.

"Like what?"

"You were smiling."

"I was smiling?"

"You were smiling."

Charlie couldn't help but smile broader. "I've never seen you get so excited about anything before," he replied.

"Oh," Hermione said, blushing a faint pink.

He looked her straight in her eyes, his smile gone. "I like it."

"Oh." Hermione's cheeks turned crimson.

It might have been the wine that made Charlie slide down the sofa to sit next to Hermione. Or it might have been the fact that they'd been married for two months, slept in the same bed, and never shared more than a quick peck on the cheek. Either way, Charlie took the wine glass from Hermione's trembling hand and carefully sat it down on the table. His rough, calloused hand cupped her cheek, and she closed her eyes and leaned into it. His free hand slowly caressed her hair, and he gently touched his lips to hers. Hermione sighed softly and ran her hand down his shoulder.

"Charlie," she whispered quietly.

He pulled away and looked into her grave brown eyes. Assured of her approval, he wrapped his arms under her knees and behind her shoulders and slowly lifted her from the sofa.

Hermione trailed kisses down his neck as he carried her down the hall into the bedroom. Their bedroom.

*****

I knew I was going to eventually write this last scene, but I wasn't exactly expecting it to be in this chapter. Oh, well. I suppose that's how the creative process goes. I'm not good at writing anything terribly graphic, so I decided to quit while I'm ahead on that count.