“It’s a boat.”

“No wonder they called you the brightest witch of your age,” Charlie said, biting his lip to keep from grinning when she glared at him.

“Is this boat the surprise you had for me?” she asked primly, knowing all too well what that tone did to him.

He sighed and shook his head. “Look around you, Hermione. This is the time when you’re supposed to go ‘Oh, Charlie, it’s so beautiful’ or something similar.”

“So sorry. No one told me there was a script that I was expected to follow,” she muttered as she looked around. “Oh, Charlie, this is a lovely place.”

“Sincerity wouldn’t kill you, would it?” he asked, running his hand through his short hair as he studied her.

“What do you want from me, Charlie? I’m supposed to be analyzing the birth rate of Chinese Fireballs in the last five years to compare to pre-war birthing rates, and determining what, if any factors, might contribute to the difference. Instead, you’ve kidnapped me and brought me to a very pretty lake with a big boat.”

“You used to not mind being kidnapped.”

“I used to be twenty-three and working as an intern at the company. Now, I run a department that depends on me to have my research done so that we can better care for magical creatures. That was ten years ago, Charlie. We’re not silly children who can take off from the real world at a moment’s whim anymore.”

He felt pressure on his chest as she looked at him, completely serious about being too old to run away for a weekend. He knew he was forty, was fully aware that they’d both gradually become less and less spontaneous over the years, but he hadn’t realized that he might have already lost her to a bunch of dragons and reports. It was probably ironic that it was his own dragons whose company she preferred now.

“Fine. I’ll take you back,” he said more sharply than intended. He walked past her to stand at the edge of the lake, wondering when things had gone wrong. He’d realized last week that it had been far too long since they’d had time for themselves, so he’d had the brilliant idea of getting away for a weekend of shagging, talking, and just being with Hermione without all the other shite getting in the way. He should have known that work would be more important than time with him.

“Charlie, what’s this really about?” she asked hesitantly. Her voice had lost the prim shrillness that indicated she was upset, and now she just sounded worried and confused.

“It’s nothing, Hermione. Just a stupid idea I had. I’ll talk you home and you can work on your reports. But I’ll be here for the weekend. Maybe longer.”

“Longer?” She touched his shoulder, tracing a recent burn that he knew she’d not even noticed. “When did you get this one?”

“Three weeks ago, when Rona got agitated.”

“Three weeks ago? I…I hadn’t seen it.”

“Wasn’t in your files, so why would you?”

She pulled back her hand like he’d stung her, and he had to fight the instinct to tell her it was fine, everything was perfect, and comfort her. He loved her more than anything, knew she loved him or she’d not have chosen to be with him all those years ago when even his own family had tried telling her that they were too different for anything to actually last, but he was just so tired of feeling like they were becoming strangers who shared a home.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” Her voice was soft and hurt, like it was his bloody fault she’d pulled away and thrown herself into work during the last few years.

“Didn’t think I should have to,” he told her honestly, keeping his attention on the lake. The floral scent from the flowers nearby was beginning to affect his allergies, he decided, blinking as his eyes watered.

“I used to know all your burns, all the scars,” she whispered, sounding so lost that he had to look at her. She was biting her lip and staring at the ground, which he knew from experience meant she was trying not to cry. Buggering fuck, he didn’t want to make her cry.

“I used to distract you from your work,” he murmured, remembering those early years when it had basically been them against the world. To this day, he was shocked that she’d fallen for him, the rough, crass, dragon expert that worked with his hands instead of his brain, but she’d never once looked at him as if he was beneath her or undeserving. He crossed the patch of grass between them and gripped her chin. Raising her head, he brushed his thumb over her cheek. “We both buggered things up, I suppose.”

“Is it...is it too late?” she asked earnestly.

“If it was, we’d not be here now talking about it, I expect.”

“My work is important to me, Charlie, but not as much as you. I never realized---I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s no one’s fault, love,” he interrupted. “Things happen. Like you said, we’re not silly kids anymore, though I think I should object to being referred to that way when I was a mature thirty year-old when you bewitched me.”

She smiled, which made his heart beat a little faster, and moved her head so she could kiss his palm. “So, a boat.”

“Yeah. Borrowed it from a bloke I’ve done business with for the reserve,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “Uh, I remembered how you used to like swimming naked. Figured a little privacy and a lot of water...well.”

“Charlie Weasley, are you saying your intent with this romantic setting and kidnapping was simply to get me naked?” she asked, tracing his lips lightly as she looked at him.

“Was one of my intents, at least,” he admitted, leering playfully as he looked her up and down. “Have a whole lot of them.”

“You always have had a creative mind,” she complimented. She became silent for a moment and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head before she spoke again. “The reports can wait. It’s not like the birth rate will change drastically over a weekend.”

“Are you sure?” he asked seriously, not wanting to interfere with her work even if he was scared of losing her and, maybe just slightly, jealous of it.

“I’m sure,” she told him firmly. “Now, why don’t you take me to see this boat while telling me more about these intents of yours?”

He grinned and swung her up into his arms, kissing her soundly before he walked to the boat. It wouldn’t be that easy to fix things, of course, but it was a good first step.

End