Notes: Charlie Weasley x Hermione Granger. Muggle AU. Street Fighting AU. Smut.

Prompted by and Written for HaveCourageandBeKind. This started as a one-shot, but it quickly got out of hand. This short story is already written, and ready for publishing. It's 14.3k and broken into three parts. The parts probably won't be the same length, since I'm pretty sure part one is the longest. Also, I promise this is the only author's note that is this long.

Thank you to LaBelladoneX for beta reading, Frumpologist for the cover she made, her encouragement, and another thanks to AlexandraO and NuclearNiki for pre-reading and assuring me it was worth posting!

Summary: Charlie has always gotten into fights and Hermione has always patched him up, but...things haven't always been like this. Between a ridiculous rule Ron is trying to implement, and a slew of Weasleys hiding out in her flat, Hermione wonders if they're ever going to figure things out. [MUGGLE AU.] [HEA.] [THREE-SHOT.]

Warnings: Some violence, a lot of smut, and one instance where it's alluded to that Hermione has slept with someone "off-screen". Also, Ron's not that great in this.

There was a banging on her front door. Rolling over amongst the tangled sheets around her, she already knew who it was with one look at her alarm clock. Groaning, Hermione slid out of bed. Eventually her neighbors were going to report her to her landlord for the late night noise. She padded down the corridor and through her living room, flicking the lights on as she went. Hermione peered out the peephole, recognising a familiar head of red hair.

She let the door swing open while rubbing her eyes. "Can't you get injured at a reasonable time? Say like, eight o'clock in the morning?" Hermione asked with a yawn as she stepped out of the way. "That's a nasty bruise forming on your cheek. What did you do, get in a fight with a wall?"

Charlie grinned, the smile reaching his eyes like it never did when he visited the Burrow. "Yeah, you should see the other guy." He took a seat on the sofa, pulling out the first aid kit she kept below it. "As for you other question, no. The night is still young, sweetheart."

Others called her sweetheart, and the endearment made her angry, made her say that she wasn't their sweetheart. With Charlie, it made her stomach twist and flutter at the same time. Hermione sat on the coffee table in front of him, taking the kit from his hands. "Not when I have class in the morning. It's Monday."

"Tuesday now," he corrected cheerfully. "Oh, come on, you don't have a bloke hiding in your room right now?"

She rolled her eyes. "I usually send my one night stands home." Which she did, but there was something about telling Charlie that she had one night stands that seemed different. His eyes flicked to her, and he clenched his jaw. "Does this hurt?" Hermione paused, her fingers dropping away from the bruise.

"No," he rumbled. "You're too gentle to hurt me."

She snorted. "Yeah, okay. Try not to move, would you?" There was a cut below his eyes, a shallow one. She dabbed it with antibiotic cream, smirking when a low hiss escaped him. "What did I just say?"

"Well," he drawled, "if you weren't so far away, I wouldn't have to lean forward. I'm just losing my balance."

"Bullshite." Hermione laughed. "You just like to drag this out."

"Maybe I like your company," he challenged. "Have you ever considered that?" Charlie grabbed her easily in one swift movement, gripping her hips hard and pulled her into his lap.

She squeaked. "What are you doing?" The shorts she slept in could barely be considered shorts, and they were pushed up her thighs as she straddled his waist. The long shirt she wore—not hers, but a man's who she'd met in a pub—was slipping off her right shoulder.

His eyes lingered on her shoulder, and then her legs, but she didn't notice. "Just making this easier, sweetheart. You said I was moving too much, and I told you it was because you were so far away. This'll fix our problem."

No, what it did was create a whole slew of other problems. She swallowed, while tilting his head up. "Jesus Christ, Charlie. What did you get yourself into?" Forgetting about her precarious situation—the one where she wanted to grind down on his lap and see what happened—Hermione's mouth fell open. There was another bruise, this one much older than the one on his cheek, and she could clearly make out the outline of fingers.

She slid closer to him, putting her weight on her knees, to get a better look. He caught her wrist, his fingers closing around it. "Just a drunk fucker at work," Charlie rasped.

Her eyes narrowed. "You expect me to believe that he got that good of a hold on you?" she asked. "I've seen you at work, Charlie, and I've watched you throw guys out that are a lot bigger than you." It was true. She'd been going to the Shrieking Shack for years with friends, and she often saw the patrons Charlie hauled out.

Sure, working as a bouncer might mean he could get punched in the face, but she had a hard time believing one had managed to squeeze his throat so hard it bruised.

"He got the drop on me," Charlie deadpanned before quickly changing the subject. "Spend a lot of time watching me throw people out, Hermione?"

Her throat threatened to close. She spent a lot more time than she'd like to admit, but she certainly didn't feel like admitting that to him. "Hard to miss when you're threatening to bash someone's head into a wall."

"Oh," he smirked. "I don't do that."

"Right, you skip past the threats."

He shook his head. "Come on now. I don't do that either. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've been in a fight at the pub."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. She leaned over to throw the tube of antibiotic cream into the first aid kit. "Sure you can, and I'm going to call Ron for a nightcap." The attempt to drag information out of Charlie didn't go as planned. "Oh, don't look at me that way. You know we're done."

In an odd twist of things, Hermione was closer with her ex-boyfriend's older brother following their breakup.

She watched Charlie's throat as he swallowed. "It wasn't funny. And if you don't quit wiggling—"

Hermione shot off of him. Despite the fact that she'd like to stay in his lap and let it actually lead somewhere, she wasn't interested in embarrassing herself in front of the man. "Um," she murmured, and she grew flustered as he chuckled.

"Thanks for patching me up." Charlie said.

She shrugged. "I didn't do anything but rub cream on your cut and manhandle you."

"I don't mind the second one." He winked.

Her heart shot into her throat, and she couldn't breathe properly. "Are you going to tell me who left those bruises on you? If you don't I'll just have to assume you had rough sex. Either with a woman with huge hands, or a bloke. Which is it?"

Charlie's grin was slow, but his laugh was loud, followed by the sound of her upstairs neighbors banging on the floor. "Not into blokes."

Clearly he wasn't going to give her an answer at all.

Hermione kicked off her shoes, dumped her medical textbooks onto the recliner, and promptly threw herself onto the sofa. Flicking through channels on the telly, she crossed her ankles, and wished she'd taken her bra off before she couldn't be bothered to move.

The door of her flat opened, and she peeked over the top of the sofa to see Harry pocketing his key. "Hey!" He shrugged out of his jacket. "Mind if I hide out here?"

"No, but I'd mind even less if you'd call me before dropping in. You scared the hell out of me." Hermione let her head drop back to the decorative pillow her mother had given her.

Harry moved her books onto the coffee table, making sure he didn't stack them in only one pile that would block her view. "Honestly, I didn't know if you'd even be home yet. I just needed a place to avoid the Burrow, and everyone who lives there. "

She sat up with her back to the armrest, and brought her knees to her chest. "Yeah? What's that about?"

He sat in the recliner her books had recently vacated. "Ginny's pregnant, and it's not mine."

Her eyes widened. The two had been broken up for well over a year, parting ways when it became clear that holding onto their on again, off again relationship was causing more harm than good. Molly had been devastated by the outcome, trying to put the two back together as if they were puzzle pieces to be played with.

She'd treated her and Ron much the same, but they turned out to be so volatile that Hermione didn't attend Sunday dinners for three months. "Did Ginny say who's baby it is?"

Harry looked as if he needed something much stronger than the water he held in his hand. "Yeah, but don't let it slip to Molly. She's had a friends with benefits relationship with her boss for a few months now. Turns out she likes him quite a bit, and now she's up the duff."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Molly is going to have kittens."

"That's putting it mildly. She threw up all over Molly's shoes this morning when she handed her a piece of bacon, and that's when Molly knew. Accused her of being pregnant over breakfast, and it blew up tremendously. Ginny didn't bat an eye when she said she was six weeks."

"So everyone knows then?" Hermione asked. "Were all of the Weasleys there?"

"Besides Bill and Charlie. Oh, and Percy, but you know Molly's already called all of them too," Harry muttered. "Do you have any booze?"

"In the freezer," she answered. There were several loud knocks on her door. "Would you grab that while you're up? Hermione rested her chin on her arm while she watched reality television. "Pour me whatever you're having too!"

The door creaked as it opened. "Hiding here too, Harry?" Her head whipped around to see Charlie kicking the door shut behind him. "You've heard about Ginny?"

She nodded.

"Then you ought to know that Fred and George are on their way over. Your flat is our hideout for the foreseeable future." Charlie slung his leather jacket over the chair in front of the kitchen island. "Mum called me this morning to tell me the happy news, and then thirty minutes ago, she called me to ask when I was giving her grandchildren."

Hermione's laugh was muffled behind her hand. "What did you tell her?"

"Nothing she wanted to hear, that's for sure," Charlie scoffed. There was a series of frantic knocks, and he opened the door without even looking through the peephole. "Fred, George. Harry's pouring shots if you need it."

Hermione stood idly by while testosterone took over her flat. "Don't touch that remote unless you want to lose a hand, Fred."

His hand snapped back as he sat on the couch. "Wrong twin. I'm George."

"Liar, part of your ear is missing." The result of a tragic accident that was a mugging, Hermione didn't like to bring it up, unless reality television was involved. "Drop the remote or I'll drop you out the window."

"Cruel! More violent than Charlie!" Fred mumbled.

Hermione made her way into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. "Want one?"

Harry returned to the living room, greedily tipping one shot glass to his lips while carrying another. "I'll keep the remote from Fred." He nodded to Charlie before leaving the two of them alone.

She handed him the bottle of water even though he hadn't replied. "Do you work tonight?"

He nodded. "I picked up a shift to blow off some steam. The crowds are worse on the weekends." Charlie uncapped the bottle, and took a drink. "Are you going to drink that?" He pointed toward the bottle of whisky.

Hermione's hip brushed the cupboards beneath the island countertop as she leaned against it. "I wasn't planning to. I have an exam in the morning, and I'd like to be clear headed for studying."

His nose crinkled. "You're taking an exam on a Saturday?"

"Seats were full for Monday, and I don't want to wait another week. It's fine." She held the tall bottle out to him by the neck. "If you want."

"Trying to get me drunk, sweetheart?" Charlie took the bottle from her, his fingers lingering over hers for just a second too long. "It's better if I stay clear headed as well." There was a thud as he set it down.

Ron knocked on her door not long after the twins arrived. She didn't mind being in her ex-boyfriend's company. They weren't friends by far, but they weren't quite the enemies they had turned into after their split.

Still, from where Hermione was sandwiched in between the armrest and Charlie, his arm slung around her while he drank a beer, she didn't appreciate the glares she received.

Charlie set his empty bottle on the table. As he relaxed against her, all Hermione could truly focus on was the feel of his hard body pressed to hers. He played with her hair—only Harry could see it as he sat on the other side of Hermione—wrapping a stubborn curl around his finger. He leaned down, lips brushing her ear intimately, and he whispered, "I never realised your hair was soft."

She didn't know what to say, so she only murmured a quiet thank you. "Ron is glaring at us."

"Hmm," Charlie hummed. "Does he look jealous? I sure as fuck hope he does."

Unsure of what that meant, Hermione decided to assume it was because Charlie thought his younger brother was a prick. And he was. He'd cheated on her, and never felt sorry about it for a second. "Yeah, I'd say he looks jealous. I mean, we do look cosy right here," Hermione admitted under her breath.

He said nothing in return.

"Can you hand me that?" Hermione pointed toward the textbook in front of Charlie. He passed it over, and she laid her legs across his lap while she flipped it open. Another hour passed, and Charlie announced that it was time for him to leave. She waved goodbye, sipping her water as he slipped out the door.

But her eyes lingered, and she knew it hadn't gone unnoticed.

Hermione didn't smoke normally. It was a nasty habit, but she found herself lingering on the walkway outside her flat after midnight, fag between her fingers. Ron had joined her, not that she could complain since she'd bummed it off of him. She leaned against the black railing, tapping the cigarette over the edge, ashes falling below.

It was a bit chilly honestly, and Ron had already offered her his jacket, which she'd declined. If she went in to snag hers, he'd question her snub, and she wasn't in the mood for it.

"You know the rule, right?" Ron asked.

Her head snapped up. "What are you on about?" Hermione lifted her hand, taking a long drag. "What rule?"

"The one that makes Charlie off limits, just like if you had a sister I wouldn't be able to date her either."

Hermione snorted as her anger bubbled. "If I had a sister, I would like to think she'd be smart enough not to date you. Considering you're not that great at keeping your prick to yourself."

He didn't bristle like she expected. "Alright, that's a fair point, but you understand what I'm getting at here, right?"

She didn't respond. What a ridiculous fucking conversation. As if her friendship with Charlie was going to lead anywhere. He was seven years older than her, and while he probably didn't think of her as a kid anymore—especially not after he'd deposited her into his lap like some sort of caveman—Hermione very seriously doubted he had any romantic interest in her. "Piss off, Ron. There's nothing between Charlie and me."

"Oh, I'm fucking sure, Hermione. Anytime he's around, you're too busy staring at him to pay attention to anything else."

She shrugged. "It's not my fault you've got a fit older brother, Ron. Regardless, nothing there." Hermione reminded him. "And if there was, it wouldn't be any of your business if I acted on it. I'm an adult, thank you."

His face turned red as she reached the halfway point of her cigarette. "Yeah, I guess you've been gagging for him since you were what, fifteen?"

Hermione wasn't embarrassed about her teenage crush in front of Ron. Maybe if Charlie found out about it, though she suspected he already knew. So, she opted for the wrong move, which was fueling the fire. "Sure, Ron. That's it, except you've gotten one tiny thing wrong," she snarled.

He towered over her, taking a step forward. Not that it worried her. Ron might be one of the biggest pricks she'd ever met, but he wasn't going to be physically violent after she wounded his pride as she was going to. "What?"

"I think I'd rather gag on him."

Ron scowled at her. "You—"

"What's going on here?" Charlie's voice was booming, and Ron sprung away.

She hadn't realised how close the two of them had been standing, and Hermione recognised what Charlie was thinking before he said anything. "Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened to your face?" Hermione took a drag as Charlie neared her. "Mother—" She tilted his head up, and there beneath the lights outside her flat, she saw several cuts across his cheekbone.

"Just a—"

"Wall again?" She bit out scathingly. "Come on, Charlie. Give me a little credit; I'm smarter than that." Four circles were cut into his skin, a nasty wound that needed to be cleaned immediately. "Who did you get into a fight with?"

He waved her off. "Guy at the pub."

Ron, still standing beside her, said slowly, "You were off tonight."

Charlie glared at him over her head.

"Hold this for me, would you?" Hermione tucked her cigarette into Charlie's hand. "This was brass knuckles with some sort of weapon on the end of them. It's in the exact shape of a fist, Charlie."

"I don't want to talk about it." He told her—and her only—while he watched Ron over her shoulder as if he were an animal.

Hermione gritted her teeth, raising her arm and ushering him into her flat. "Right, grab the first aid kit since you know where it's at." Hermione stepped inside as Ron followed them.

Charlie lifted her cigarette to his lips. He knelt down, sliding the first aid kit out. "Should I sit here?"

She shook her head. "Go to the loo. There's better lighting in there." When Ron tried to follow them in his attempt to make the 'rule' clear, Hermione turned on him. "There's not enough room." Then she slammed the door in his face. "Can you sit on the counter? You're too fucking tall."

Grinning, he lifted himself onto the counter, veins sticking out from his arms as he asked, "Aren't tall guys your type?"

She didn't laugh even though his flirtatious behavior always made her laugh. "Tilt your head up."

He complied, staring up at the ceiling as he did so. "What were you and Ron talking about? Looked intense from my perspective."

Hermione began to clean the cuts that adorned his cheek. They were deeper than she expected, and she felt smug as he winced. "Hurt?"

"Don't look so happy about it."

"I'd be happier if you didn't look like you've been part of a bar fight." Hermione replied. "I don't want to talk about it." She answered his first question. "And that's not just because you're a dick who won't tell me what happened. I mean it. It's stupid, and it's nothing."

Charlie nodded. "Alright," he trailed off. "It's just that the two of you were really close. You're not thinking of getting back together, are you? I don't want to tell you what to do, but he's no good for you."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "It's sweet of you to worry about me, but no. We're definitely not getting back together. He's just overly interested in my non-existent dating life."

"Surely it exists."

She shook her head. "Not particularly interested in a relationship with someone who doesn't hold my interest. So far, no luck."

His gaze raked her up and down. "What does it take to hold your interest?"

She uncapped the tube of cream and dabbed it on her finger. "You're right, I do like taller men, but they don't have to be as tall as Ron. Just taller than me. I like someone that takes care of themselves, and has a good sense of humour. I like to laugh. Maybe someone older than me."

"Older?" He echoed in surprise.

She grinned. "You're good to go. Feel free to crash here since the rest of your family already has. The twins are in the spare though. Harry's in the recliner, and honestly, I don't know where Ron is. Hopefully the couch since the only other room is my—"

"You don't think he'd really try to sleep in your bed, do you?"

Hermione packed the first aid kit, flipping it shut. "He's drunk, so I wouldn't be surprised, but I'd just tell him to sleep with the twins or on the couch. Unless you get to the couch first. If that's the case, he'll just have to sleep on the floor." She said it with a lopsided smile even though it was likely that Ron was about to corner her again about her relationship with his older brother. "Put this up, will you? I'm going to go give Fred a bucket. He drank too much."

"He always drinks too much," Charlie sniggered as she opened the door. "Fred wants to challenge everyone to a drinking contest, and I enjoy drinking him under the table."

Snorting, Hermione made her way into the kitchen to retrieve the rubbish bin from under the counter. Ron was leaned against it. "Excuse me, Ron." He stepped to the side. "Whatever you have to say, say it now." She muttered, casting a look over her shoulder.

"Why does he know where the first aid kit is? And why did he come straight here?" Ron asked.

She and Charlie never talked about how the rest of the family didn't know about his frequent visits to her flat. Hermione knew it would lead to questions and accusations, so she'd never broached the topic. After all, she was always alone when he came by.

Tonight was the first night someone had been in her flat when he appeared. It only made things worse that it was Ron who'd witnessed it.

"He knows where the first aid kit is because he tends to get into a lot of fights, and he came here because I've been patching him up for years now."

Ron's nostrils flared. "Are you fucking kidding me? Patching him up, Hermione? You and I both know that sounds like bullshite."

"Well, that's the truth. I didn't mention it since you'd think we were fucking. He comes by when he injures himself, that's it."

"Goddamned idiot," he hissed, his hand gripping the counter. "Do you really think he can't rub a bit of cream on himself, Hermione? He's a grown man."

Hermione turned away from him, clutching the rubbish bin in front of her chest. She didn't care why he chose to come by her flat when she enjoyed his company. "Thanks for your opinion, but I think I'll ignore it." When she exited the kitchen, Charlie was sitting on the couch, arm slung over the back while he gave her a curious look.

Ron slammed past her, his shoulder meeting hers, and she stumbled.

Hermione fell, her bare knees meeting the carpet while the bin rolled across the floor. "Lock the door while you're at it," she called.

He slammed the door, and her upstairs neighbors banged on the ceiling. "Some of us are trying to sleep!"

"Sorry!" She called back.

Charlie stood over her already, holding out his hand to pull her to her feet. "Want to tell me what that was about?"

She gnawed the inside of her cheek. Hermione peeked around Charlie to see if Harry was still asleep, and she wasn't surprised to see him with his mouth hanging wide open while he drooled. "He asked why you came here, and why you knew where the kit was."

"Ah," he nodded. "So you told him the truth?"

"It wouldn't have mattered if I had lied. He already thinks I'm fucking you silly since he says I was making eyes are you earlier."

"Were you?" Charlie asked seriously. All the mirth had vacated his eyes. "Making eyes at me, I mean?"

Her chest deflated as she drummed up a snarky retort. "The only thing I was making eyes at was my textbook."

Had she imagined his shoulders slumping? "Is that really what the two of you were arguing about?"

She made her way past him, working to calm her erratic heartbeat as she let herself into the spare bedroom. Hermione set the bin down by Fred's side, and softly shut the door behind her.

"Yes."

"Smoke?" Charlie asked, pulling a pack from his back pocket. "Oh, you've got that exam this morning, don't you?"

Snatching the pack from his hand, Hermione decided she'd chug coffee in six hours. If it was time spent with Charlie, she found that she couldn't resist. "It's fine. We can sit on the steps." She neglected a second time to grab her jacket. Once seated, she held the cigarette between her lips while he lit it. "He asked me if I knew about the rule."

Charlie snorted as he took a drag, and Hermione burst into a fit of giggles that she tried to muffle in the crook of her arm. Her shoulder bumped his as she shook. "I see. Yeah, he tried to have that talk with me a couple of years ago, and I told him to fuck right off with his posessive bullshite."

Eyes widening, Hermione arched a brow. "You mean he talked to you about me? Why on earth would he do that?"

"You're fit, sweetheart. Ron's not the only one to notice that. It must have been right after the first time you had to fix me up."

Hermione remembered it well. Charlie and Bill had a sparring match in Molly's garden. It was a contest to see who was the real older brother after they'd returned from Bill's stag night. Charlie had a split lip, bloodied nose, and a black eye. Bill had fared much worse, but he'd snuck up to the room that Fleur stayed in to placate himself.

She'd taken care of Charlie, and they had talked in the middle of the garden for most of the night.

But beyond that—a nice memory, sure—he'd called her fit. Hermione knew she was attractive. Her hair could use some work, but she liked it the way it was. Still, hearing it from him was another thing altogether, and she hadn't been prepared to hear it.

Charlie continued without noticing her near premature stroke. "I said that you were bloody smart, and that you weren't even surprised to see me with a bloody face. Pretty sure I said you'd make a good mum whenever you got to that part of your life since you babied me. Ron thought it translated to, 'Man, I really want to fuck your ex-girlfriend until she can't walk'."

She could be cheeky like Charlie, couldn't she? Hermione remained causal, smoking beside him. "Did you mean it like that?"

He didn't answer at first, so she assumed that she'd taken him off guard. Not only that, she'd probably made everything bloody awkward.

"I'm joking, Charlie. You never told me he said that."

"I didn't want you to worry about him acting as if he had a claim on you. Apparently he thinks he still does since he brought it up to you."

She shrugged. "I told him there was nothing between us. Not that he's likely believe it."

I also told him I wanted to gag on your cock, but we'll ignore that.

A week later, Hermione was blissfully drunk in the middle of the Shrieking Shack. It was Charlie's night off, which was a damn shame, but she'd quickly forgotten about that as she swallowed shots like water—while Ginny sipped her actual water—and Luna let blokes do body shots off of her while lying on a table beneath the neon lights.

"I'm going to dance!" Hermione yelled over the music.

Ginny raised her glass of water. "If you say so. You hate dancing."

She did, but she was drunk, and it sounded like a good idea. Hermione found her way onto the dance floor with her abysmal dancing skills, and it wasn't long before someone was pressed against her.

That was how she'd ended up back at her flat with an honest to God stranger. It, tragically, had not been a great shag. The guy — still nameless to her and, hopefully, he stayed that way — had passed out immediately after. Hermione had been left to get herself off, which she had done with a vibrator and dildo behind the locked door of her bathroom. She'd just kick him out in the morning and be done with him.

She was almost asleep when a loud knock caused her to tumble from the bed. Hermione groaned. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She muttered, standing up. She caught sight of herself in the mirror; she was clad in only her knickers and a thin shirt that drew attention, and would draw even more considering she wasn't wearing a bra, and her nipples were hard.

The guy in her bed stirred. "I'll get it. You just wait here. It can't be anything good at this time of night. Maybe round two when I get back?"

She wanted to put her face in her hands since he clearly had no idea how inadequate he was, but she wanted to beat him to the front door even more. Hermione sprinted to the door, peeking out the peephole before cracking it open. "Um, is it—" She was about to ask if it was an emergency when she saw that it definitely was.

Not thinking about what he was about to see, but also not caring, Hermione pushed the door open.

"Jesus Christ, you're fucked up."

She hurried for the sofa, crouching down and grabbing the familiar plastic box. She didn't pay attention to the silence as she stood, but she was met with an awkward staredown as she finally looked up.

Charlie was glaring at the man only wearing boxers in her living room. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"What the fuck are you doing here? Charlie, it's the middle of the night. Doll, if you already had a hookup, you should have told me. Don't fancy getting into a brawl with my friend here."

If it were possible—and she found that it definitely was—all of the colour drained from Hermione's face. "Um, so you two know each other then?" She squeaked. "You're serious?"

"As a heart attack." Bad-at-Sex replied. "Charlie, look—"

Charlie decked him and she shrieked. The box plummeted to the ground, gauze and everything scattering across her floor. "Fuck, Charlie, just—" Hermione was cut off as the other guy swung, and clipped Charlie's jaw.

Hermione elbowed her way in between them, avoiding any punches herself. "You should probably leave," she stated, "but for the record, I'm not sleeping with Charlie. There was no cheating here, and I'm really sorry he hit you."

Charlie's friend wiped his bloody mouth. "Might want to tell him that you're not shagging because I'm pretty sure he hasn't gotten that memo." He disappeared into her room, emerging a few minutes later fully clothed while holding a rag to his mouth. "Probably not going to return this."

Hermione grimaced. "Please don't." She locked the door as it shut behind him. Squaring her shoulders, she turned around. "What the fuck was that about?"

He never glared at her, and yet here they were. "I don't… I don't know," Charlie admitted begrudgingly. "Work is going to be uncomfortable."

She hadn't known that the man worked at the Shrieking Shack, but she hadn't known anything about him at all. "You punched him, Charlie. You need to work out your shite because your temper is out of control. You've gotten into more fights in the last two weeks than you have in the last two months."

His hands curled into fists. "I'll go then."

Hermione stepped in front of him. "I don't want you to go. I just want you to be honest with me, Charlie. I'd like to think we know each other well enough for that."

"Work was just—"

She saw red. Hermione shoved him backward, not feeling one ounce of guilt when he winced at the pressure on his chest. "I was at the Shrieking Shack tonight, Charlie. I asked if you were there, and Pansy told me you weren't. Look, whatever you've gotten yourself into has got to stop. You're going to end up in a hospital." She reached for him, hoping to close the chasm that had suddenly split them.

Charlie smacked her hand away. "I already have one mother. I don't need another."

He left her with that, slamming the door.

She hung her head, eyes filling with unexpected tears.

Hermione wasn't even surprised when her neighbors yelled that they were calling the landlord in the morning if she couldn't keep it the bloody hell down.

I'd love to hear what you think.