#charlie weasley headcanon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherry-pop-elf · 20 days

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hiya, i was wondering if you could make a headcanon sorta thing with the weasleys and them realising they’re in love with reader

Gasp, that sounds so fluffy. I MUST!

Weasley siblings the moment they realize that they are in love

Warnings: Only really for Bill honesty. I have to make it from his werewolf wounds. So medical gore warning. Bullying as well, with some scared Ron. Because it will involve spiders.

William ‘Bill’

The moment his working eye was able to focus, he was able to see you. See you there. You were fast asleep next to him. Curled up in his side, with your arms tucked in on yourself. That way you wouldnt mess with his bandages and wounds. He was in so much pain, and could hardly breath, but you were there. He was able to see your hands were slightly red, seeming to be irritated. Thats when he noticed the bowl of water on his bedside table. Along with a bloody rag. You must have been busy with washing his fresh wounds, while he was knocked out. You were taking care of him, until you needed sleep as well. That warmed him, as he was clearly taken care of. Especially given where he was. The Wolf Ward. A place for people suffering werewolfism are stayed. People tied to beds, chained, hooked to IV's, near death, already dead, so many cases. Yet.....Here you were. You stayed. You stayed, made sure he was taken care of, and made sure he wasnt alone. You loved him. Loved him so much, despite the risks. Even as far as sleeping in the same bed as him. That was when he knew it. Knew he was in love. His breathing was able to move easier, as he wrapped his arm around you. Hurt like hell, but worth it. Worth it, as he was able to see you smile.

Charlie

"What?” He blinked, as he stared out his bedroom window. Looking down to see you there. “You heard me. I’ll cause a distraction. I know you are packed. Go on and go-!” You called, as he was jaw dropped. He had been arguing with his mother for ages about this. Molly didn’t want him to have such a dangerous job. But of course precious golden child Bill got to be a curse breaker. One would argue is even more dangerous. Despite the letters of people wanting him to work in Romania, his mother refused. Over and over again. Seems like someone had other plans. You. You knew this could be the last time you see him, but you just couldn’t let him rot away in England. So, you hatched a plan. You would distract Molly, and give him enough time to sneak into the fireplace and get to Romania. “You are bloody insane….I like that-“ Charlie had to smile, as you would run around to the front of the house. Leaving Charlie to make sure he was properly packed. While he made sure his dragon hide gloves were inside, he could hear you knocking the front door. The familiar creaks of his mother leaving her room, and heading to the front door. He tossed his bag over his shoulder, and hurried down the stairs. “Where is the floo-?” He hissed. Of course she would hide it. Making sure he couldn’t sneak off. Course, you were smart enough to think ahead. “Oh come in. I’ll fix you something. Poor thing out in the late night cold. Come on-“ The moment she stepped to the kitchen, you ran over to him. Handing him your bag of floo. “Go go-“ You whispered, as he stared into your eyes. His heart never felt so full. “Better promise to visit-“ And before you knew it, he was kissing you. Kissing you goodbye. You were dazzed, only to snap back when the flash of green of the fire place echoed. “What was that-?!” Molly called. “NOTHING-!” You squeaked, with your face flushed. Left Charlie in a sappy smile, as his new chapter begun. With you in it.

Percy

“Leave him alone!” Percy heard you shout, as he was currently being dangled from his ankle. For being a prefect, he sure did not get treated as such. Was ambushed by a gaggle of Slytherins, younger then him no less, and now he was up in the air. Unable to grab his wand, as he just did not have the core strength. Another taunt at him. “Oh? What will you do if we don’t?” A bully asked, as you kept your fists tight. Percy didn’t want you to fight for him, but you were willing to even though you knew you would lose. And lose you did. Hard. Least in the chaos, Percy was able to escape. Running off to get a teacher, and catching them red handed. Needless to say, suspension will not be to light. Now, there you two were. Sitting in the medical wing. Both sharing a bed, as you two sat together. “You didn’t have to-“ He muttered, as he fidgeted with his bandages. “Yeah I did. Someone’s gotta. Bill and Charlie were busy.” You tried to play off, before you felt his hand holding yours. “Still. Pretty stupid…” He grumbled, but you returned the hand holding. “Someone’s gotta be stupid, so you don’t have a stick up your butt.” You smiled, as he rested his head on your shoulder. Comforted, and at peace.

Fred

“Wicked-“ Fred whispered, as the two of you were huddled together. Hidden away in a corner of the Three Broom Sticks, as you two were bonding over the map. Able to just people watch so happily. George had been given detention, and Fred was able to have a reassuring comfort in seeing him on the map. Knowing he wasn’t anywhere dangerous, given what happened to Ginny. It also was comforting to be sitting with someone as well. The two of you just snuggled in the tavern, during a winters day. It was soft. Different from the normal madness he’s used to. It’s different, and he liked different. Different also meant a change in habits. Such as feeling you rest your head on his shoulder. Trying to snuggle closer, to get more warmth. He couldn’t help it, as he wrapped his arm around you. Just you cuddling, and oblivious, as you watched the map. So curious by it, as he was more fascinated by you now. Taking advantage of how distracted you were. Maybe quiet moments were nice. Couldn’t help but rest his head against yours, and take in your scent. A quiet moment. A moment to think, and he was thinking hard. Maybe he wanted more quiet moments like this. Couldn’t help his smile, as you pointed at a name on the map. Making up some speculation on why they were there at this time. Had him laugh, and just melt into the moment. Yeah. He wanted more of this.

George

“George George Georgie Georgie Georgie-!” You just wouldn’t stop shouting, as you were soon crashing into him. Right when he left the shop he was in. Having been helping his younger siblings with getting school supplies. “Hey-! Who says I’m George-?!” He joked, as you didn’t let go. “Because you are actually nice-!” You tease, as he was hugging you back. “Also you have a mole on your neck, Fred doesn’t-“ You whispered. That had him blink, as he reached to said neck. “Ha-! Made you look-!” You giggled so deviously, before he pushed you away. He was cackling though. “You got me, I won’t lie-!” He snorted, as you two were just in giggles. It was so nice. He liked to laugh, and sometimes laughter from someone who wasn’t identical to you was nice. You felt as natural to laugh with as Fred. That’s something special. You don’t come across that easy. He knew you were special, and that simple moment was nice. “George-! Help-!” Ginny called, as she struggled with her supplies. “Coming Gin Gin-!” He would hurry over, with you in toe. Instantly helping, all the same. He couldn’t stop his smile, as he watched you help Ginny out. Shit, he was in love. And he knew it.

Ron

“HELP-! PLEASE! SOMEONE-!” Ron was screaming bloody murder, as he was cowering in the corner of the stone corridor of the courtyard. A decently large spider was keeping him trapped on a bench, and trying to hide his body as much as he could in the corner. He was in tears, as he was trying to hide from the spider. Luckily, you could hear him. “IM COMING RON-!” You shouted, as you ran across the stones. Coming into view, and seeing what was distressing him. He was already expecting you to yell at him for being such a baby about it. You didn’t, but instead you focused on getting the spider away. You pulled out your wand, and remembered what Hermione taught you both. “Wingardium Leviosa-“ You called, and lifted the spider into the air. You then made sure to make as much distance from Ron as you could, and let it escape into the wild. Other side of the courtyard, and outside a window. That way it would return to the forest. Once done, you hurried back. Quick to hold Ron. “It’s ok, it was a big spider. Spiders can be pretty dangerous.” You comforted. Not teasing him, or calling him a baby. Not making fun of him, but actually took his fear seriously. The relief was in his tears, as he held you back. Holding you tightly, as you pet his hair. You understood it was a fear, and fears were serious. He was so relieved. You were his hero, and he owed you for it. His guardian Angel. “Thank you-“ He hiccuped, as you kissed his head. “You would have done the same, shush.” You tease, as you didn’t discount that he can be brave. That was the kicker that sparked something inside of him. He was smiling, as you held him. For as long as he needed. You cared about him, and he was sure caring about you.

Ginny

“Do you think I’ll ever become a Quidditch player-?” Ginny asked you, as you two were busy in class. Was History Of Magic, with Professor Binns. Boring as hell, so it wasn’t like you two were paying attention. “Yeah, doubting yourself?” You asked, as she played with her Quill. “Maybe…” She mumbled, before plopping her head on the table. Ever since that incident in the chambers, she got depressed far easier. Bill said that’s often a side effect of being involved with a long term curse, or being exposed to a Horcrux. Curse breaker stuff, so you didn’t really focus on it. Well, until Ginny needed help. She needed a cheerleader, and like hell you wouldn’t grab your Pom Pom’s and cheer. “You’ll be an amazing Qudditch player. I know it. The best even! You’ll make history.” You beam, as she watched you. Unable to really hear you, as she sighed. So, you did what you’ve seen her brothers do. You hugged her, and refused to let go. “Get off me-“ She whined, but you refused. “I shall suffocate you, until you say uncle-“ You warned, before she started to giggle at you. “Seriously, stop-“ She pleaded, but was giggling away. “Not until you say you are the best quidditch player ever. I mean it, I’m stubborn-“ You warned, as she threw her hands up in defeat. “I yield I yield. I shall be better than the likes of Viktor Krum, even-“ She spoke with sarcasm, but it’s a step. “Nope, you gotta mean it.” You refused, as she giggled again. “Eh, you’re comfy.” She retaliated, as you two ended up in a cuddle bundle. She was able to smile, and mean it. Was hard to do, since that incident. She liked it. Liked how you were able to do it so easy for her. Had her heart all a flutter. Guess that’s another thing she will need to ask her older brothers about. What to do when someone gives you butterflies?

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wisteria-blooms · 4 months

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sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (7/??)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST: @badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 @bathwater101 @evilunicorns4minions @noah-uhhh-what @earth-to-lottie @kissingyourgrl @sihtricswife @adalia-jaycee @ (Let me know if I missed you, or if you want to be added!) A/N: Well, this was a gargantuan chapter, such a pain to read over. My apologies for any errors ugh, I'll re-read and fix anything. Happy New Year, my loves!!

CHAPTER 7: Charlie shows you a more serious side of him at the bar. And as your 'relationship' begins to solidify, you gain a confusing wave of support. Namely, from his brother, Bill. (7.5k words)

CHAPTER 7: PARTNERS IN CONTRACT

“You’re late!”

Alicia berated the twins at the door as they waltzed in. Charlie trailed behind the pair, hands in pockets, and you followed behind him. The door swung shut, barricading the crisp autumn air outside. The inside of the bar was almost as dim as the night, with ropes of fairy lights on the wall giving you much needed visibility. Shrubbery shrouded the corners and a blanket of roses were pinned tastefully around the bar. You were certain that Lee hadn’t picked this place.

“Fashionably so,” George corrected with a wave of his finger.

“Our older brother was keeping us from being timely. He enjoys long showers, it seems.” Fred snickered as he eyed Charlie in blame. Charlie just shrugged, letting the accusation slide off. Alicia’s eyes swept from you to Charlie. She opened her mouth to speak, but paused midway and redirected her focus to Charlie.

“You must be—”

“Charlie Weasley.” Charlie inched forward and he extended a hand.

Alicia’s eyes lit up. “I’ve heard so much about you!” she remarked.

“From who?”

“Oliver Wood. And Professor McGonagall.”

Charlie let out a steady laugh. “As expected of my two biggest fans.”

“Well, come on, then,” Alicia said, waving you in. “The party can’t start with you.”

She led you to the back of the bar where a long wooden table was erected. Lee, wearing a paper crown, was flanked by Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell and some other familiar faces. Fred and George immediately began making their rounds, and so did Charlie, introducing himself to everyone. A couple of people lifted themselves off the neighbouring barstools to join in on the formalities.

As you watched Charlie being circled in and meeting your friends from your year, you wondered if it was odd that he was so much older than your group. But it seemed like no one cared, so you resolved not to worry about it either.

You left him to his own devices and went to the bar instead. There was a flock of young women, dressed up in skimpy tops and leather skirts, chatting on the stools beside you.

The bartender, a woman in her forties, approached to serve you. She propped her arm on the counter to propel herself forward. “What are you having tonight, love?”

“A gin and tonic,” you responded.

“Make that two.”

You turned around and nearly smacked your face into Charlie’s broad chest which was outlined by a soft navy sweater. He stood so close behind you that even moving an inch would be perilous; someone here had forgotten the meaning of personal space and it wasn’t you. Charlie had finished greeting everyone and had the same idea as you—to get a drink.

“Meeting people is exhausting,” he commented in a low voice, feigning exhaustion as he stretched his arms behind his head. He peered down at you, sharp blue eyes glowing even in the dark. “I didn’t know people had so many questions about me.”

“You’re one of the mysterious older brothers,” you said as you thanked the bartender for the drink. “So, get used to it.”

“Hm, maybe I will.”

Charlie extended an arm, snaking it around the curve of your body to reach for his drink. He slipped a bill for the bartender and made a note for her to keep the change. Unmoving, he cocked his head towards your ear and said, “But I’d like to ask a question about you for a change.”

“Sure,” was all you managed to squeak out. You were acutely aware of the warmth radiating from his body.

The ice clattered in the glass (like your heart was) as Charlie raised his arm to take a sip of his drink. You caught an elusive glimpse of his lip partially suctioned on the rim of the glass. “What’s this mysterious briefcase you’re toting around? Work? It’s a birthday party, live it up.”

Honesty was the best policy. “It’s just paperwork for the rental unit.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t handed it in yet? You sounded pretty sure about it.”

“I’m going to slip out and hand it off tonight,” you affirmed. “Because I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow morning.”

“Passed out in the flat,” Charlie surmised.

“How would you know?”

“Just based on the rate that you’re consuming your gin and tonic.”

“My next order will be water,” you shot back.

Charlie pulled a barstool from in front of you and motioned to it. “Well, station yourself, then.”

You swiftly sat down. Charlie followed suit a second later by pulling out a barstool for himself. You immediately crumbled into a pile of honesty. “Honestly, I’m not sure if it’s even worth a shot.”

“The apartment?” Why not?” Charlie implored, his playful eyes settling into more serious ones.

“Mr. Circelli, the head of the company, is under the impression my father is footing the bill,” you explained. “But there’s no way he would, not after...” You trailed off, not wanting to bog Charlie down with details of the argument that occurred after he left. Fortunately, he didn’t press you about it.

He drummed his fingers on the dark oak table. “What about your mum?”

“She doesn’t want me to move out,” you said, giving your cold glass a hard squeeze. “She reckons the whole lead-up to it was foolish, so she won’t do it.”

Charlie stopped drumming his fingers. “That sucks.”

You took a long sip and sighed. “Tell me about it. And my reference is from Fred.”

“From Fred?” Charlie repeated, jaw falling slack.

You groaned loudly though the noise was quickly swallowed by Lee hollering in the back.

Charlie chuckled. “Say no more.”

You frowned. “And my paystub is deficient in some ways,” you admitted. “Mr. Circelli is going to have a heart attack when he sees the state of my wages.”

Charlie’s expression shifted to one of inquisitiveness. “Bill can write you a reference,” he said.

“Bill?” you asked, exasperation written all over your face. You really thought of Bill as the epitome of maturity. To falsify a reference would be out of character and there was no way he would participate in chicanery like this. “He doesn’t know me. And this application is due in ten hours.”

“Bill is already on baby-time,” Charlie remarked with a grimace. “Trust me, I know. He’s up at all hours.”

“And you know,” Charlie continued, his tone almost lecturing. “I don’t think the person reviewing your application really cares about the content, however well Fred can write. The name, position, and stamp is more important. ‘Bill Weasley, Curse Breaker, Senior Bank Manager and Head of Global Affairs at Gringotts’ already looks much better than ‘Fred Weasley, Co-Proprietor’. Bill could write two lines and it would be a worthier reference.”

“What if they ask him questions?”

“Then Bill will answer them.”

You pouted. “But he doesn’t know me.”

Charlie sighed. “You’re working on so many hypotheticals.”

Before you could interject, Charlie called the bartender over and asked for a parchment and quill.

You tried to stop Charlie’s hand by placing yours over it. “Really, you don’t have to.”

“Do you want this place?” Charlie asked.

You nodded. “Yes, absolutely.”

“So, let me,” he said. Then, he shot you a look that meant business. “But you are going to be able to pay, right?”

“Of course.”

He chuckled, shook his head, and got down to work.

You studied Charlie’s face as he wrote, his jaw tightening and loosening as he pondered the best way to word his request. For once, he maintained an air of seriousness longer than a minute; there was no flirting or suggestive moves he was pulling from his sleeves. It was night and day from a couple of hours ago, when you were in his bedroom and losing your sanity over his every word and movement. You observed in awe as he sent off his letter in a languid yet fluid manner; obviously sent out many a letter in his lifetime.

Your admiring daze was broken when someone peered over your left shoulder, a ringlet of orange hair grazing your cheek. His brother dangled over Charlie’s right shoulder. The same culprits thrust a shot glass in front your chests.

“First shot of the night!” Fred announced.

“Drink up,” George added, giving you a pat on the shoulder. “You look like you need it, (Y/N).”

As the four of you raised your glasses, the action elicited a wave of cheers. The trio of women beside you stopped their chatter and looked on. You threw back the liquor—tequila—on Fred’s cue and let it wash over you, eyes firmly shut. It scratched and burned your throat as it trickled down, and was all you could feel through the wave of cheers circling you.

“Come on,” George said, lifting you out of your seat with his hands suctioned on your arms. “Let’s go throw some darts, play some pool.”

As the minutes passed by, the effect of the shot began settling in your bloodstream, blurring your dexterity. You missed the dartboard by a mile and nearly struck Lee who complained that he couldn’t be maimed on his birthday. You went back down to the bar after forfeiting the game, much to Lee’s pleasure. You ambled back to the bar and saw that Charlie was still there, laughing at something one of the blonde woman who was sat beside you previously was saying. Your empty chair separated them. When he caught you from the corner of his eye, he swivelled around.

“You’re terrible at darts,” Charlie commented suavely.

You turned around and saw a wall. “You can’t even see from here.”

“I knew it was your turn when I heard Lee’s bloodcurdling screams.”

“That’s not funny.” You slapped him on the shoulder as you reclaimed your spot. For some reason, you didn’t feel too bad about cutting off Charlie’s conversation with the blonde prematurely. You felt smug, even. If it was any solace, you reminded yourself that it was him who redirected his attention to you. “So, has Bill responded yet?” you asked instead.

“Of course he has. He says his reference is on its way. Though we both agreed it was a bit of a sweet predicament to have.” Charlie teased with a small smile.

“I suppose,” you responded, suddenly a bit stricken with guilt that Charlie was helping you land a place while he was shuffling between houses. And the only way you’d gotten here was by using your connections which was a bit counterintuitive because those connections were the exact thing you were trying to disassociate from.

“Swimming in luxury and eating fondue on quartz countertops, indulging in vintage wines while I’m wedged in between my two loudest and most annoying brothers on a bed that can barely support my weight,” Charlie wallowed in self-pity, punctuating his remarks with a long sigh. “The universe really chooses favourites.”

A crescent of sweat grazed your neck, outlining your sweater, at what you were about to say. Feeling your guilt implode, you blurted out: “You can stay over if you need.”

Charlie stopped and eyed you curiously. “Really?”

“Yes?” Your voice was chock full of uncertainty.

“You can’t take that back, you know.” He nudged your hand with his, the back of his index finger gently prying your fingers apart. “Let’s make an unbreakable vow before you do anything else.”

You looked down at where his hand was touching yours. “I know.”

That statement couldn’t have been more contradictory. Clearly, you knew nothing.

Had you forgotten that you were inches from death the first time he cornered you at the bar, trying not to lose it when his firm hand spun magic on your knee? Then you almost lost your mind having him over for dinner, when he took the liberty of kissing you in front of everyone. You were only spared tonight because Fred and George and the rest of your friends were around to tame him. You couldn’t imagine what living in the same closed quarters as Charlie would ensue. Maybe your evenings would be spent being pinned down on the bed, or—

“Where would I even be? In the living room?” Charlie laughed, pulling you out of your tantalizing, domesticated daydream.

You veered on the factual side. “There’s enough space in the office for a bed or futon. And that room is totally separated.”

“You have to get the unit first before dreaming about living with me,” Charlie teased, emphasising the word ‘me’ by pointing at himself, and subsequently, ricocheting your lack of faith against you.

“Because I’m going to get it,” you retorted. “If Bill doesn’t reckon this reference is a practical joke.”

“Hey, we’ve been together long enough to tell when we’re joking or not,” Charlie said, instilling some confidence into you. “The only time he believed me was when I splashed water on his face and said he was late for his potions N.E.W.T in his last year. He woke up in a right state. I almost died that day. To be honest, I felt kind of bad,”—a loud cheer from the bar caught your attention—“And I think Fred just bought a second round for the whole bar. Let’s go.”

The festivities imploded after the second round. You felt lighter, happier, like this night was the best night of your life. One moment, you were talking to Lee, apologising and kneading his face to check for scars. And then you were caught up in the juicy details of a guy that Katie was seeing. Then you were dragged up by Fred to dance to some song that was popular in your sixth year, recreating your performance at the Yule Ball. Then, an owl flew into the window, nearly swiping one of the women at the bar, and you rushed back to Charlie, asking—correction: screaming—if Bill had written back.

“He did!” Charlie affirmed.

You squealed when you saw a piece of rolled parchment with a stamp on it. “Let’s go drop it off now!”

Charlie ushered you back. “Hang on, (Y/N).”

“What is it?”

He pulled your contract out of your briefcase. “If you were serious about letting me stay over, I have to sign the contract as well.”

“Then sign it.”

“Only if you’re certain”—Charlie tapped the quill on your contract— “because it adds me as a second tenant.”

You nodded firmly.

His eyes bore into yours. “You’re not going to change your mind tomorrow morning?”

“Of course not!”

“Alright, then,” he obliged, signing on the adjacent dotted line. “Let’s go.”

And finally, you found yourself wrapped in Charlie’s navy sweater, a shield against the weather. The two of you ran out into the cold night and down the block to smush the envelope into Mr. Circelli’s mailbox slot. You gave Charlie a high-five before running back to the party and dancing and drinking the night away, and the next thing you knew…

Glurgghh.

“W’ssat?” you mumbled weakly. You raised your head to investigate before a migraine, precipitated by a ray of sunlight, pushed you back down. You let out a pained sigh as you dug into the pillow.

“Congratulations, (Y/N), you didn’t end up on the floor this year.”

“Yay!” you said sarcastically, slowly propping yourself up by the elbows to stare at George’s face.

“You did crawl into Charlie’s bed though.”

“I did?” As your sense of place settled, you realised that yes, this was definitely where you were. Your palms pressed flush against checkered blue bedsheets and wrapped in dark blue duvet that wasn’t yours.

“Are you cold?” George asked, inching closer.

“I think I’ll be okay.”

“Drink up,” George suggested as he tilted a vial containing antidote towards you. “You’ll feel better within the half hour.”

You groaned. “I don’t want to drink anything anymore.” You took the vial anyway.

“I know, I know,” George repeated empathetically. “I should’ve stopped you but you were having too much fun. Anyway, I’ll leave you be, but Fred’s already complaining about breakfast. He's in the shower, and I'm next.”

“Alright.”

You tilted the vial to your lips and held it there. George left the room.

“Good morning, (Y/N).” Charlie suddenly peeked his head out from behind the wall. “How are you feeling?”

Suddenly, you were conscious of everything: from your dishevelled hair to your smeared makeup to your hungover state to how weakly you presented under crumpled sheets. It was night and day from Charlie, who seemed as fresh and chipper as ever. Were you at the same party last night?

You hid your face under the blanket. “I’m well.”

‘Well about to retch’ would’ve been the more accurate response.

Your nose nuzzled the bedsheets that smelled faintly of him from his first stay. You wondered what it’d be like to wake up next to him, face snuggled up against his chest, his detergent wafting from his soft white tee and overwhelming your olfactory senses. Or you could wake up to Charlie spooning you, and to his body greeting you good morning…

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Charlie inquired, arms folded, smiling.

“Erm, it seems I stole your bed?”

“You made a dash for it, that’s for sure. Even pushed me out the way.”

“I—”

And then memories of last night flooded through your mind, your migraine fading in the background to make way for it. You remembered everything up until you dropped your application off. After that, you only had a faint recollection of Fred hoisting you up the stairs on his back because ‘heiresses don’t walk’ which prompted an argument between him and George if you were legally an heiress to the estate or not. Whatever the conclusion was, it ended with Fred dumping you by the entrance, and then you dashing into what was your usual bedroom.

“I remember,” you said. “It must’ve been muscle memory. It’s where I usually sleep after we go out.”

“Not a worry,” Charlie assured. “But you were awfully clingy towards Fred. Is that muscle memory, too?”

Before you could respond, Fred whined out from outside the door: “Let’s get breakfast, I’m bloody famished.”

“What do you say?” Charlie asked, extending a hand towards you. “Are you up for it?”

You nodded and grabbed his hand, letting him pull you out of bed.

After a greasy breakfast, you bid your goodbyes and headed home. You slipped upstairs and shoved yourself back into bed. Waves and waves of drowsiness washed over you, lulling you to slumber until the late afternoon.

You spent the next few days at work a shell of yourself: all short-fuse and tangled live-wire, ready to electrocute whoever touched you next. You were beyond nervous, having heard nothing from Mr. Circelli’s office about the rental. Every time you received a memo, you were upset to find it was from Angus, your newly-graduated coworker, about reports actually related to work. On the brightside, having to look at reports with Angus asking you a thousand questions actually took your mind off the rental application. And when your boss, Rhys, asked to stay overtime, you quickly agreed. It meant less of your father boasting about how he was right and more money in your shrivelled bank account.

You penned in a correction on Angus’s draft as the clock struck eight. The Ministry halls were bare, with only a sprinkle of people walking around. It felt lonely. You hadn’t been in touch with Charlie since you went out for Lee’s party, and you missed him in a sense, but there was nothing to talk to him about and you didn’t want to be the first to write.

When Friday afternoon came around, you paced around in the copy room like a mad woman. You’d had three cups of coffee already, and you were going to claw your skin off if you had to wait a second longer. If you were rejected, Mr. Circelli surely would’ve had the decency to let you know, right? Unless your father had some hand in this and was waging psychological warfare on you.

Yes, that was definitely it. They were in cahoots—!

“(Y/N)?” asked Angus nervously through a crack in the door.

“Yes, Angus?”

He peered in. “Are you alright in there?”

“No,” you responded truthfully.

“It seems, uh, like something’s been on your mind this past week,” he said. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

You decided to humour him. “Do you know how long it takes for a rental application to be approved, usually?”

“I’m not sure, (Y/N),” Angus responded earnestly. I still live with my parents.”

“Fair enough,” you sighed.

“Maybe you could inquire with the Housing Department on the fifth floor,” Angus suggested meekly, afraid to question his superior. “But the only reason I came to find you, well, besides to make sure you were okay, seeing that it’d been much later than I expected you to return, was that an owl pecked at me to give this to you.”

He handed you a letter with a familiar stamp on it. Angus jolted like a mouse in a trap at the electric look in your eyes.

No one loved Monday more than you did today. If Monday were a person, you’d plant a big, slobbering kiss on her cheek.

Mr. Circelli’s secretary, Isobel, smiled at you. “As you may have read, your application for 63 Primrose Gardens, Unit 1100, is approved.”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Circelli approved it before he left for his vacation, but we had to finish up some paperwork,” she explained with a beaming, blinding, smile. She swivelled around to open the cabinet and consequently plucked an envelope from it. “If you could sign here, Ms. Malfoy.”

You never signed faster.

“He’s left you the keys. The unit is vacant, so you’re free to move in at your earliest convenience.” She opened the envelope slightly to show you the sets of keys. “One for you, and one for your co-tenant, Mr. Charlie Weasley.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Ms. Malfoy,” Isobel affirmed. “Enjoy your stay at Primrose Gardens.”

When you were down the street from Mr. Circelli’s office and looked in all four directions to ensure that you were alone, you let out a victorious whoop alongside a little gallop. You ran out into the streets feeling like you were given a new lease on life—quite literally.

It was a warm, sunny day with perfectly blue skies. Your temperament must’ve had influence on the weather. You walked past waves of Ministry workers fluxing in and out of restaurants on their lunch break. You flirted with the idea of treating yourself, but the reality of now renting the unit on Primrose Gardens meant that your bank account was now deciding how fine your dining was.

“(Y/N)?”

You turned around, trying to locate who was calling your name. The man’s voice sounded garbled in the sea of people.

Before turning back, you scanned the area once again until you saw a tall man push his way forward. He apologised to an elderly lady for passing her too suddenly before waving at you.

The probability of bumping into Bill Weasley at noon in the core financial district was high. Very high and not at all impossible. Though, the chances of him seeing you in this crowd was low. Bill looked dapper in a suit of all royal blue, his hair slicked back. You surmised that he must’ve been handling affairs in the office today.

“Good afternoon, (Y/N),” Bill greeted. “Fancy bumping into you here. What brings here you on a weekday?”

“I had to finalise some matters at Mr. Circelli’s office,” you responded. “With the application.”

Bill’s eyes lit up. “And?”

You dangled the keys in your hands. “I got it.”

Bill shook his head in contentment. “That’s wonderful news, really.” He shifted his sleeves up to read his watch. “Are you hungry? I’d love to hear about the move over lunch. On me, of course.”

Now that Bill mentioned it, it had been an unreasonable length of time between now and breakfast.

“Yes, I’d love to.”

Bill smiled warmly at you. “I mean, given you’ll become my sister-in-law at some point, might as well get acquainted now.”

You laughed. A fantastic joke by Bill. Who knew he had such a great sense of humour? But when his expression remained unchanged, you halted, body and face frozen. You studied Bill’s expression and it was clear he wasn’t joking; he really thought you were going to be his sister-in-law.

“Yes, of course,” you said instead. Bill nodded and led you away from the puddle of people.

When you settled on a quaint cafe on the east edge of the financial district and had your orders taken, you opted to talk about something else. “It’s always nice to see you, Bill. Your time must be so limited nowadays.”

He made a face, a perfect cross between excited and nervous, and took a sip of water. “It’s about to be swallowed whole. Actually, I was just making arrangements at the bank for my leave as well.”

“You’ll be on leave?”

“Paternity leave,” he confirmed your suspicions. “It’ll only be fair to my poor wife. I don’t want her to take on all the duties of child-rearing.”

You smiled. “That’s wonderful of you. I reckon more fathers should do the same.” You stirred your coffee a little. “How are you feeling with the baby coming so soon?”

“Nervous, honestly,” Bill responded. “I’ve been asking everyone for advice. I’ve read all the books but there’s nothing like first-hand experience. Charlie has started asking me questions about it, too.”

“About the baby?”

“About fatherhood,” Bill clarified. “I think the atmosphere at home was getting to him, making him sentimental.” Bill continued. “Mum reckons I’m setting a good example for him. That my being a father will cause him to think more about becoming a father, too. It’s never seemed to be a point of thought until now.” Bill raised his eyebrows suggestively at you, as if you might help make it a reality.

You were at a loss for words. And a loss for what to do. You couldn’t ask why Bill was making suggestions like your relationship was real, because if this was some elaborate prank, then you didn’t want to be made out to be the fool. But you didn’t want to play along blindly, because, well, that’d net the same result.

But on the surface, things were cementing themselves as more real than you could’ve wanted. You’d met Charlie’s parents and he’d met yours (in an explosively memorable manner). Strip away that layer of polished goodness and this whole rental unit thing was only happening because he’d kissed you in front of your parents, leading to an argument about your independence, and you acting on your words.

In some twisted form of inception, you were what you imagined Bill imagined you were: Charlie’s serious girlfriend. But the question remained unwavering in your mind: why didn’t Charlie just tell Bill this was all a sham? It wasn't like Bill was going to snitch to your parents; Fred and George were far more culpable in ratting you out.

You treaded cautiously instead, remaining as vague as possible. “I’m told you and Charlie tell each other everything.”

Bill chuckled. “That’s a given.” He took a sip of his water. “I had quite the laugh when Charlie sent your letter to me. Flew it across the hall at home, actually.”

“My letter?”

“The one where you asked him what he was wearing.”

You pouted. “I was midway through writing when something exploded in the other room.”

“Uh-huh,” Bill sounded with a nod. “I’m sure that’s what happened.”

“I didn’t even finish that sentence!” you defended yourself a little too loudly. “Have a second look at the letter for me, will you, Bill?”

“Sure, just for you, (Y/N).”

You smiled.

“You have a nice smile, (Y/N),” Bill complimented. “I can see what Charlie sees in you.”

You feigned agreement. You were back to being wary of this conversation.

“That’s kind of you, Bill.” You returned his compliment. “So, when do you reckon you’ll see Charlie next?”

“Probably tonight. He’s coming back to set up some things in the nursery.” Bill finished his coffee. “Has he heard the good new yet?”

“No, I just found out an hour ago.”

Bill pressed a finger to his lips. “Well, I won’t spoil anything.”

“You should.” You placed Charlie’s keys on the table, urging Bill to take them. “I don’t trust Fred or George enough to know they’ll be handed off correctly. Would you give them to him for me?”

Confidence.

That was the manner you strode into the manor with your application, stamped with a big, fat ‘approved’ by Mr. Circelli’s assistant, in hand. The sun was setting, signifying it was time for dinner. As your heels clacked on the marble floor that led to the dining room, a second pair of faint footsteps approached from the opposing end of the hall. And like enemies in some old-school, crackly, black-and white muggle-cowboy film that Fred adored watching at full volume, you stared at Draco who was flush in front of you, ready to draw guns.

“Finally joining us for dinner tonight, are you?” Draco snarled, standing with his hands in this perfectly-pressed pant pockets. “Let me guess, you can’t afford to keep dining out?”

“What are you talking about?” you responded pleasantly. “I’ve been busy preparing for something greater.”

Draco gave you a smug look. “To declare bankruptcy? I thought I heard whispers from the goblins when I was at Gringrotts the other day.”

“Far from it.” You tried to sound sure, but your decision to move out was leaving you in a precarious financial position though you’d never admit it to him. “But you’ll find out at dinner. Patience is a virtue, dear brother.”

With a sprinkle of sibling telepathy, the two of you turned into the hallway at the same time. You strolled inside with your dearest brother, footsteps in tandem. As expected, your parents were already there, waiting for you.

“Lovely of you to join us,” Lucius announced, almost spitting out the last word, hand gripping his chair. “Not faring well out there?”

Beside you, Narcissa clutched your arm, and corrected Lucius’s words. “It’s nice to come home to a freshly-prepared meal, isn’t it?” She directed you to your usual seat. “Have a glass of the red, (Y/N). It’s from one of your father’s colleagues in Spain. It’s delightful.”

You heeded your mother’s calls and sat down to focus on the Spanish red instead. As dinner was served, you waited impatient for a break in the conversation to make your announcement. Your eyes glossed over in boredom as Draco boasted about a promotion he was getting. Less than a month ago, you were sitting in the same seat, strong-armed into entertaining Goyle. That thought still made you want to gag. Two weeks ago, Charlie was here, engaging in banter with your father, kissing you. That was a much happier thought.

But tonight, you were ready to start life on your own terms.

“What are you doing this week, (Y/N)?” Narcissa asked.

“Well,”—you set your fork down—“my movers are stopping on Wednesday.”

“Your movers?” she asked.

“I’ve found a place at Primrose Gardens. I’m moving out as we discussed last week.”

If silence could kill.

Lucius's voice pitched. “Really?”

“It wasn’t as difficult as it was made out to be, the market,” you dug in. “It seems like your gloomy forecast was simply... wrong.”

Just as your father was about to rebut, your mother stopped him by calling for Dobby to take away everyone’s plates.

When the dishes were cleared and the dining room was returned to its untouched state, you rose out of your seat to head to your room. You assumed everyone had already filed out to withdraw for the night, but you were wrong. Your mother was waiting down the hall. Her lips were pressed in a tight line.

“Be straight with me, (Y/N),” Narcissa pleaded. “You don’t have to wear this bravado for your brother and father. Is it true you’re moving away?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re certain you want to?”

“I am.”

You almost flinched when a glint of sadness flashed in her eyes. She was genuine in her plea.

Narcissa began walking down the hall with you before you reached a point of separation: you, upstairs, and her, to the library. She pulled you into a hug. "Whatever happens, remember, there’s always a place at home for you.”

A day before Alicia was to return to America, she offered to help you set up your new place in exchange for a night’s stay before her ship’s departure. You’d invited her to the manor to pack some remaining boxes. And with Fred and George’s help in transporting everything, the move was done quicker than one could say ‘Hollow log, muddy paws, grant me a cauldron full of chocolate frogs.’

“That should be the last of it,” you proclaimed happily, standing at the front door of your new unit. Bright lights washed over the hallway and the faint scent of citrus incense lingered in the air.

You and Alicia walked through the door and down the immediate hallway. The unit was an enclave of natural light, a much-needed escape from the grimness of Malfoy Manor. To your right was a small closet and a guest restroom. The restroom held nothing more than a toilet , a sink, and a mirrow—just enough to freshen up. To your left was a room separated from your room by your connected bathroom. The rest of the hallway tapered off into the airy kitchen and living area. The couch and its complementary coffee table was to the left, and the kitchen on the right. The wall was crafted of glass; it was window that boasted an impressive view of King’s Cross station.

“Oh, these are just lovely,” you remarked, drifiting towards a flower bouquet in a glass vase on the island. You flicked the attached white card over. “Congratulations on the move,” you read. You inched closer to smell the flowers. The strong scent and cut stems indicated they were fresh.

Most of your boxes were stowed in the living room. You patted down the first set of them, a dull thud resulting from it. “Let’s start here.”

Alicia stepped back and arched her head. “Will this be your study?” she asked, pointing to the first room that Mr. Circelli said was often an office.

You flirted with the idea of lying and simply saying yes, it’d be your study, but how would you keep up the façade when you were eventually going to ask her to help move a bed in?

You shook your head. “Not entirely. It’ll function as a guest bedroom.”

She wiggled her eyebrows, and in a light-hearted manner, she asked: “Who do you intend on having over? Besides me, of course.”

You smiled, keeping your answer vague. Surely, your next response would shut the door to any more of Alicia’s prodding. “Whoever needs a space to stay, I reckon.”

Alicia’s lips pulled down in dissatisfaction. “I like details, like names and reasons. The whole manifesto, if you will.”

“Well.” You huffed as you lifted a box and set it on the kitchen table before listing off names in rapid-fire succession. “You, Angelina, Katie, Fred, George, anyoftheirbrothers, Lee, my cousins, Charlotte and Clara, who often spend a week or two in England, some friends from the country club, like Anabelle, Chrystal…”

Alicia leaned in closer and put a hand behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Fred and George’s brother, who? Ron? Percy?”

“No, that’s not who I meant.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Then who?”

“All I’m saying is that my place is open to anyone who needs to stay. To friends, relatives, and relatives of friends.” You turned away to shield the splotch of pink on your cheek. “Anyway, these boxes will not unpack themselves. We should finish up so you can rest properly for your trip tomorrow.”

Alicia had greater plans in mind. She stood motionless in thought for a second, finger on her lip, then wagged the same finger when she came to a conclusion. “You must mean Charlie. I can’t believe I just glossed over him. I mean, you looked pretty chummy during Lee’s party, but I didn’t know you were—”

“No.” You cut her off sternly and breathed in deeply, trying to force your heart back in rhythm. “Apparently, it’s busy at home with the baby coming, you know, Bill and Fleur’s child.” When Alicia gave a nod of understanding, you continued. “And I’ve been around Fred and George to know that their flat won’t be suitable for long-term accommodations. Not for anyone. I felt terrible. So, I offered him a place to stay if he needed to.”

Alicia pouted. “I guess I won’t be coming over.”

“No!” you deflected. “He’s not staying here permanently, obviously.”

“Sure, we’ll see about that.” Alicia rolled her eyes lightly. She began attaching your curtains to the rods. “Speaking of Charlie, I met Nymphadora, or Tonks, when she was on an assignment to America,” she said. “She was Charlie’s year if I’m remembering right. We had lunch one day, and she told me all about her school years. Charlie made many honourable appearances.”

You cut open a box filled with books, eyes on anywhere but Alicia. “How so?” You did your best to sound disinterested, but on the inside, you were dying to know what he was like in school.

“That every girl wanted to be his potions partner, his transfiguration partner, his… partner in general. I mean, I don’t know him, but think about it. He was Head Boy, the star Quidditch player according to Oliver, and pretty fit. Definitely not bad to look at.”

“Yes, obviously,” you agreed reluctantly. Charlie was all of those things. You were none of them. An uncomfortable tingle stirred in your chest at the thought of it.

“And that group of women were definitely ogling him from the bar at Lee’s birthday party,” Alicia recalled passively as she drew the curtains back and forth, testing her handiwork. “I remember how fast they flipped when they saw Charlie give you his sweater and when you ran out to handle your important matters, or whatever you yelled to me.”

You looked up, a faint blush spreading across your cheeks, and a faint tingle of pride sparking in your chest. “Really?”

A sudden whoosh from the fireplace put a halt on your conversation.

“What’s that?” Alicia asked, pulling away from the curtains staring at the flames.

You ran over to the model fireplace, mainly used for communications with no heating function like a regular fireplace would have. “Someone’s ringing me.” You turned to the flames and spoke. “Hello?”

“Hi, (Y/N).”

The man’s voice was muffled by the fire. You inched closer.

“Who’s this?” you asked.

“Bill Weasley.”

“Bill?” you squeaked.

“And me!” another voice—Charlie—chimed in, sounding a bit further away.

Alicia paused. It was aurally evident when her knife stopped carving through the tape.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your hands clenching into a fist, knowing the shitstorm of questions that was about to come from Alicia.

“Let us in and we’ll explain,” Charlie said.

“Okay,” you agreed breathlessly. “Come on in.” At your command, you imagined that the front door had opened and that Charlie and Bill were on their way up.

Alicia threw her box cutter aside. “(Y/N), what is going on?”

You panicked. “I don’t know.” Bill and Charlie could not have chosen a worse time to prove your point.

“Good afternoon!” Bill’s cheery voice was the first to call out a few minutes later. He was dressed in a similar suit as he was the other day, his wavy hair slicked back, and nothing more than a silver necklace looping around his neck. “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”

It wasn’t like you had much of a choice. Who would you be to reject them at the door? Now, two Weasley brothers stood in your new, empty home. Bill stood a touch taller than Charlie who looked like he tried his best this morning to brush back his ginger curls. You’d grown so familiar to seeing Fred and George that it was uncanny for them to be swapped away for their old brothers.

“Bill, this is my friend Alicia,” you introduced. “Alicia, Bill.”

Bill walked over and extended a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Alicia.”

“All the same,” she responded.

“What brings you here?” you asked Bill. “I wish I’d known you were coming. I would’ve gotten something ready.”

Bill chuckled. “I had to see in person what I was writing a referral for.”

“Should I give you a tour?” you offered.

“I’ll let you give Charlie the tour. He’s the one staying here, after all.”

“Of course,” you corrected.

“Of course,” Alicia repeated, her tone forewarning of a barrage of questions.

“Well, I’m not staying over tonight, so don’t worry too much about it, (Y/N),” Charlie hummed. He glanced down at his watch. “I’ve got to get to King’s Cross in about half an hour. Luckily, this place isn’t far.”

“Mind if I peek in here, (Y/N)?” Bill asked, gesturing to the empty office.

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

Charlie followed him in.

“You can tear the wall down temporarily for a door here,” Bill explained to Charlie. “Any building erected after Kingsley’s inauguration into office is pliable for modifications without the risk of structural failure. I’ve checked the code myself. Percy backed me up on it after perusing the law a second time.”

You rushed over in a frenzy. “I’m sorry, what are you tearing down?”

“I’m the co-tenant, so I can do whatever, right, (Y/N)?” Charlie asked sweetly, nearly batting his eyelashes. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

Bill explained instead, “There’s no shower in the powder room. Would you be amenable to creating a door from the room to your washroom?”

You dry heaved, thinking about the repair bill that was already on the way. If these two were anywhere as reckless as Fred and George… “Yes, but could we not destroy this place? I’m liable for any damages.”

Bill was first to speak. “I assure you we won’t destroy it. And Charlie will pay for it if I do.”

You shut your eyes and muffled your ears. Peril was a sure thing. Mr. Circelli’s disappointed face flashed in front of your eyes. Even though Bill wasn’t foolhardy, you were too used to false words of comfort from the younger Weasley brothers to believe that he could cleanly sever your walls.

“Done.”

At Bill’s words, you cautiously cracked an eye open, expecting a shroud of smoke and a pile of rubble. To your relief, there was nothing more than an oak door that connected what was now Charlie’s bedroom to your washroom.

“That’s all we’re doing,” Charlie assured, placing a firm hand on where your waist met your back, the action rocking you closer to him. He gently massaged the tense muscles in the region, and in some near whisper that only you could hear, he added: “You can relax now, (Y/N).”

Charlie sidestepped to group again with Bill. “I was thinking of staying over when I come home Friday night. It’s going to be late and I don’t know what Fred and George will be doing, and I don’t intend to know.”

You were half listening, half yearning for his hand on your waist. “That’s fine.”

“Don’t worry about getting anything ready for me,” Charlie added at the door. “I can sleep on any surface as long as it’s quiet.”

“Bye, (Y/N).” Bill smiled as he began to depart, too. “And Charlie’s not a terrible roommate. Take it from someone with almost 29 years of experience.”

Your scalp singed, a sure sign Alicia was staring daggers into the back of your head. When the calamity settled, you slowly scooted to Charlie’s room.

“I guess this futon will have to be in its bed configuration,” you redirected Alicia to help you pull the inside compartment out.

“You’re certain you’re not dating Charlie?” Alicia asked, gripping the frame, guiding it to turn into a full-sized bed. “Or sleeping with him?”

“I’m certain!”

“You say as you make the bed for him, your co-tenant. You left out that important bit. And I didn’t know you knew Bill.”

“I’ve barely spoken to him before this month.”

“Sure,” Alicia gritted incredulously. “I thought we were friends. And friends don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“We are friends.”

“If it were me, I’d have gone for Bill,” she mused.

“Alicia! He’s married! And I’m telling Fred you said this.”

Alicia snorted, making you smile.

When the whole suite was dressed and furnished to your liking hours later, you and Alicia swapped away the cardboard and box cutters for a cold, fizzy bottle of champagne and two glass flutes. Stripped down to a silky white nightgown and an eye mask, you laid on the couch giggling and talking until you both fell asleep.

>> NEXT CHAPTER

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

#charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley x oc #charlie weasley headcanon

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