Pairing: Charlie Weasley / Reader
Warnings: Fluffy (I promise the next part is smutty)
Chapter Summary: Follows on from LEAVING, but not to the point it’s not stand alone. You’re a professor at Hogwarts and dating Charlie Wealsey.
Notes: Charlie attend Hogwarts between 1984-1991. This is set some time after the battle of Hogwarts in 1998.
I keep using Gwilym Pugh as Charlie, if anyone has a suggestion for a stockier beautiful ginger man please let me know.
Asks for requests, feedback is encouraged, if you want tagging let me know.
It had been a full 6 months since you had seen Charlie.
Well 6 months and 2 weeks and 3 days.
He had written to you often, but in a gruff sort of way that spoke of what he had been doing with an added “I miss you.” “I can’t wait to see you.” And you had only responded in kind, scared to unburden the deep longing to see him, touch him, smell him again. Unwilling to tell him how you yearned to kiss his skin and feel his breath against you, or how at night you dreamed of waking up with him again. How each letter was a stab to your heart, making you feel even more alone.
He had written to ask you to spend Christmas with his family, that was the wording he had used. Not particularly with him, but with the Weasleys as a collective.
It was the last day of the term, tomorrow those students leaving Hogwarts for Christmas would travel, and so would you. You had booked a muggle hotel, a mere 20 minute walk from the burrow, allowing you some much needed privacy from the family, to many of whom you were simply Professor Y/L/N; and not Y/N the real person who was sorta kinda dating Uncle Charlie. You had told him of the hotel in your last letter but had yet to receive a reply, he was usually much better at responding. You opened the top draw of your desk and fished out a small photo of the two of you, it showed you stood smiling at Yule ball with your friends, awkward and 17. That’s all you had been then, friends, you smiled remembering that night. You had almost kissed, it was bittersweet and beautiful. You had another photo, one he had sent, at your request, of him in Romanian. His hair was short and beard trimmed neatly, he looks so unlike himself. His likeness kept fidgeting with the hem of his jumper in the photo. He was never one to seem self-conscious and that photo serves only to remind you that his confidence is often a front, you hide it away more often than not.
You put the photos away and flick your wand, tidying up the empty classroom. Finding your mug, yet again ¼ full with cold tea, you wave your wand again, the tea pot and kettle set about making themselves useful and you pour the cold tea down the sink, rinsing the cup through.
You turn, dropping the mug at the shock of seeing his red hair and broad shoulders stood in the doorway of your classroom. It bounces once as if giving you a chance to save it before shattering at your feet. Charlie chuckles low as you stare at him, he casts a spell reforming your teacup and steps forward so it will land neatly in his hand.
“There enough tea for two?” His eyes show concern that you haven’t moved or spoken, but his smile is cocky and lopsided.
You blink at him before throwing your arms around his neck, you take a deep breath of his scent, honeysuckle and freshly moan grass. His arms envelop you, clasping tightly around your waist. “Did ya miss me or sommit?” His voice is gruff and right by your ear as he laughs. You pull back resting your forehead against his. “So much Charlie.”
The kettle whistles loudly announcing that the water has boiled. Remembering where you were, you pull away and straighten yourself out. Your teacher outfit feeling suddenly very overdressed against Charlie’s worn jeans and comfortable knitted jumper.
You repair the mug, it having slipped from Charlie’s hands when you launched yourself at him.
“I guess I know why you didn’t write back.” You pour the boiled water into the teapot and wave the tea tray over, as it sets itself down on your desk you wave an armchair forward so the pair of you can sit there.
Charlie grabs your hands between his own roughly calloused ones, his eyes down and long hair obscuring his beautiful face. “I hope it’s alright that I came here, I was planning on seeing you at the train station tomorrow, and I wrote. But,” he sighed looking up at you, “I couldn’t stand being in the same country and not seeing you the first second I could.” The words seemed to tumble over themselves coming out and a blush rose high on his cheeks at his admission, your own face flushed to match.
“I’m so glad you did.” You lean forward brushing your lips against his, wanting nothing more than to deepen the kiss.
You sat back down, trying to push away thoughts of reacquainting yourself with him properly. You readjusted your outfit again, trying to sort your mind by flattening out your clothes.
Here you were professor Y/L/N and had to behave as such, imagine what the students would think if they could see just how quickly you turned into a school girl with a crush in Charlie’s presence. No matter, a good number of those students were about to spend Christmas with you, there was no coming back from that.
