Rose Among the Thorns

Chapter 24

One month later and everything at Charlie and Hermione's cottage, was back to normal, whatever that was. In a moment of madness, Hermione had offered to cook dinner for the entire Weasley clan, including Remus and Teddy Lupin as a celebration of Charlie's recuperation. She had been preparing for the occasion for days, planning and re-planning the menu, scrubbing the house from attic to cellar, reorganizing furniture, and tidying the garden. She was currently scrubbing the chimney, while Charlie had been recruited to weed and plant new flowers in the garden.

On his hands and knees on the damp earth, Charlie wished he hadn't insisted that he was fully healed so soon. After dropping another rosebush into its shallow hole and covering the roots with dirt, he leaned back onto his haunches and stretched his torso from side to side. A sharp twinge made him grimace.

"Bloody shrubbery," he muttered under his breath. He had been working all morning pulling weeds and planting flowers. He thought the garden had looked fine before, and had made the mistake of telling Hermione so. She had, not exactly politely, pointed out all of the overgrowth and bare patches and told him to get his sorry carcass outside and take care of them. That had been four hours ago, and he had not seen his wife since.

Charlie stood and rubbed his soil-covered hands on his jeans. His stomach rumbled emptily, and he scratched the dirt off of the face of his wristwatch to discern the time. One in the afternoon.

"High time for lunch, methinks," he said to himself as he crossed the garden. As the floors had been scrubbed non-magically the day before, Charlie determined that his wife's wrath was not worth losing valuable extremities for, so he carefully toed off his muddy shoes at the door. Padding quietly into the kitchen, he thought he heard voices coming from the fireplace. As he sat down on the raised hearth, the sounds grew louder. Cautiously, he leaned into the fireplace.

"Lumos," he whispered, lighting his wand and raising it into the chimney.

A loud cry, a bang, and a cloud of soot rolled out into the spotless kitchen.

Sputtering and coughing loudly, Charlie stumbled to the window and wrenched it open.

"Evanesco," he gasped, and the soot cloud flew out the window with a loud 'woosh.'

Charlie rubbed a spot on the top of his head, where a small knot was already forming. Looking back at the fireplace, he noticed a small, sooty scrub brush lying innocently on the hearth. Returning to the spot he had vacated only moments before, he leaned toward the fireplace again.

"Hermione?" he called out cautiously. After a few seconds with no reply, he said her name again.

This time, he heard a small cough.

"Yes, Charlie," his wife replied.

"Er, darling, what exactly are you doing up the chimney?" he asked guardedly.

"Pretending to be Saint Nicholas," she replied irritably. "What in Merlin's reeking trousers do you think I'm doing up here? I have to get this cleaned before next weekend when your family comes over."

Charlie carefully considered his response. Where Ron would have blurted "Whatcha doin' that for, Mum's not gonna look up the chimney," Charlie knew a comment like that would not be looked upon lightly by his wife.

"Do you need help?" he asked, backing away from the hearth.

"No thank you, I'm almost done," she replied. Charlie was still uncertain at how she'd taken his response when she continued. "As soon as I get through I'll make us some sandwiches and we can finish the last of the treacle Ginny sent."

Charlie exhaled deeply. Offerings of dessert, he had learned, usually meant that she was in a good mood.

"I'll make the sandwiches for you," Charlie offered as he drew his wand, hoping to further placate his wife.

Fifteen minutes later a small plate of sandwiches lay on the freshly scrubbed wooden table. As Charlie waved his wand to levitate a pair of plates onto the table, he felt a pair of arms encircle his waist from behind.

"Mmm, looks divine," Hermione muttered into his shoulder. "You should have made yourself some though."

Charlie's eyebrows raised in surprise. He had made four sandwiches, intending three for himself.

"Er... you want all of them?" he asked cautiously.

"Why not? It's been hours since breakfast."

"Well, alright," Charlie replied, moving toward the kitchen chair. Hermione, however, had other ideas.

"Merlin you smell good," she breathed, burying her nose in his shirt collar.

Charlie blinked rapidly as his body's entire blood supply rushed south. Wondering what in Aphrodite's see through nightie was going on, he slowly turned to face his wife, only to be kissed so hard he nearly fell back onto the table.

"Hermione...dearest..." he mumbled between kisses, "I thought...you were...hungry."

"Hungry for you," she whispered back.

In any other situation Charlie would have laughed outright at the thought of his Hermione uttering such a woefully cheap line. But at the moment, he could honestly care less.

Picking Hermione up and dropping her onto the table, he began fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. He felt two small hands tangle themselves in his hair, as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Loud retching in the front garden brought them forcefully back to earth. Charlie refastened his pants faster than he had ever done in his life and stumbled through the open door. Lying with their heads in the rosebushes were Fred and George, dry heaving.

"You little shits! What are you two bastards doing here!" he whispered forcefully.

"If we're bastards, you're one too, older brother," Fred muttered.

"My eyes! My eyes!" George cried, alternately clutching at his face and reaching out blindly. "For the love of Merlin, I can't see!"

"Shut it, you," Hermione said irritably as she stood, arms folded, in the doorway.

"At least you made yourself presentable," Fred said, gesturing at her rebuttoned blouse.

"What do you little gits want?" Charlie asked through clenched teeth, cross that his afternoon interlude had been interrupted.

"Well, now that you mentioned it, nothing really," George said casually.

"We'll be off now," Fred said hastily, eyeing the increasingly mutinous looks in his brother and sister-in-law's eyes.

"See you Saturday then," George added, leaning toward Charlie as he whispered, "You'd better watch your bum." He winked garishly before Disapparating.

Hermione huffed loudly and stamped her foot on the floor. As she stormed back into the cottage, Charlie noticed two large, muddy handprints on the back of her trousers.

Twisting to look at his own behind, he found a miniature pair of handprints on his own bottom.

Shaking his head and grinning wryly, he knew that Saturday's party would not pass without a dozen crude comments and gestures, as well as raised eyebrows and knowing glances courtesy of his parents. What could they say? He was a Weasley, after all, and such large broods weren't brought by storks.

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