Archive of Our Own

Christmas used to be one of Hermione's favourite holidays. Sparkling snow, sleigh bells ringing, fragrant evergreens, homemade eggnog and cider, and, of course, cosy jumpers to go around for everyone. Growing up, she'd looked forward to the changes in the weather—when the leaves turned golden, like her preferred runny egg yolks, then a lovely sunset orange, and, eventually, vibrant cardinal red. Not even the interlude of rain that accompanied nature's shifting wardrobe was enough to deter her enthusiasm.

Now, however?

If she saw one more cursed sprig of mistletoe, she was going to burn the entire museum down. It didn't matter that there were countless measures in place to prevent just such a disaster from taking place; she'd been the one to enact many of them, and she could damn well cancel them out.

Whatever excitement had compelled her to take up the task of cataloguing Yule artefacts on behalf of London's Museum of Magical History had long since faded. Five years, five years, she'd spent gathering every imaginable candlestick, cauldron, altar cloth, and athame. The closer to present time, the more modern the objects. As of late, the museum's acquisitions looked more like a haul from a local Christmas market than symbols of Yule traditions.

"You're kidding me." Hermione raised a brow, both arms crossed over her chest, as she looked down at the spread of individually-warded artefacts. Across from her, on the other side of the table, stood her co-worker, Charlie. He, too, wore a similar expression of scepticism as he peered down at the unlikely objects.

"I'm afraid not."

"I'd question the validity of these artefacts if it was anyone but Bill who'd brought them."

Charlie made a noise of agreement, hands spread to the corners of the table as he leaned over the tabletop to look closer at what would likely take up the rest of their day. As he did so, the muscles along his exposed arms rippled—apparently, all of his years working with dragons in Romania had desensitised him to the cold, and he now favoured vests all times of the year.

Hermione didn't mind the view.

Still, she made a point to clear her throat and look away from the tattoo sleeves decorating those brawny arms of his. For all of Charlie's attractive attributes, physical and intangible, they were both co-workers and friends. The last thing she wanted to do was muck up either relationship.

"Where should we start?" he asked.

She considered the options. Typically, Hermione preferred to tackle what she expected to be the most time-consuming objects first. It wasn't always obvious which ones those would be, but she had developed a bit of intuition where eyes and knowledge left her otherwise uncertain.

A crystal dinner set, complete with platter, bowl, and a dozen goblets; what appeared to be hand-painted nesting dolls featuring renown witches and wizards; and a preserved pomander were quickly dismissed. So, too, were a basket filled with buzzing pine cones and a snow globe of a wintry forest that, upon closer inspection, included a tiny figurine of a couple.

One of the more intriguing objects was a threadbare velvet sack with a fur-lined opening. It wasn't large, but Bill's carefully-written note listed an undetectable Extension Charm as well as traces of Time Magic. Could this be the origin of Father Christmas' legendary sack of presents? The eccentric wizard's flair for the dramatic was well-catalogued across cultures both magical and Muggle, and the museum already had within its possession his wizarding hat and cloak, the styling of which matched the sack before her.

Another item of interest was a pristine set of ornaments supposedly made from Thestral bones in the shape of more pine cones, citrus slices, sticks of cinnamon, and intricate snowflakes. Similar to the creature, the bones were only visible to those who had seen death, which unfortunately included both Hermione and Charlie. For what reason and purpose had the magical creature been chosen?

"Did you know there's a theory that Santa's reindeer are based on Thestrals?"

She looked up to find that Charlie had shifted closer to her, and he wore a thoughtful expression as he, too, studied the ornaments.

"I did not. Thank you, Charlie. Thestrals would certainly make flying in a sleigh more plausible and explain why some hear hooves on their rooftops but hardly ever see them."

He nodded along, though made no attempts at persuading her towards one artefact or another.

"Let's start with the ornaments and see how long that takes us," she decided.

In the end, the ornaments were far more straightforward than expected. It only took them half the day to work their way through the entire set. Their invisibility was the only notable feature about them, aside from the breathtaking detail with which they'd been carved, and Charlie had very little to do to assist her other than transport the box into which she'd placed them to temporary storage.

"Is it very terrible that I hoped they were cursed?" he asked upon returning.

Hermione snorted. "Bill would never forgive himself for missing it."

"It's happened before."

"Yes, and I remember the last incident well enough to not wish for a repeat." Raising her brows at Charlie resulted in him shooting her one of his heart-stopping grins, the sort that turned the rugged man to boyish mischief.

He might have put dragon keeping behind him, but the thrill for danger would always remain. It was what made him the perfect man for the job at the museum and why he was so often scheduled with Hermione, who handled the more unknown and possibly volatile acquisitions.

"You mean the horn that turned out to be a genuine article from the Wild Hunt that Goldstein couldn't help blowing into and nearly opening a rift into the Veil?" He broke into loud guffaws at her horrified shudder at the reminder.

"Let's just say that Anthony will not be handling unknown artefacts again for a very, very long time."

"Or, what about those toy elves that turned out to not be toys at all, but actual elves with a fetish for witch feet—"

"Charlie!" She stomped one such foot, imagining she was squashing one of those perverted elves beneath the heel. It had been downright mortifying the way Charlie had found her running around the room barefoot and screeching at the top of her lungs after the bearded fiends had vanished her shoes and attempted to…she shuddered. If Charlie hadn't shown up when he had, she didn't even want to imagine the horrors she might have endured.

Speaking of the wizard, he was bent over nearly double, laughing so hard that he could barely stand.

"Just you wait"—she sniffed—"one of these days those muscles of yours won't be enough to protect you, and it will be me saving you."

"Oh, I don't doubt that for a second," he said, upright once more and grinning at her as if that was exactly what he wanted for a holiday present.

Hermione had a very different idea for the sort of gift she'd like this year, but she'd strangle herself before ever letting him know of it.

Because, the truth she'd carried for years now was that Charles Garreth Weasley held her heart in the palms of his large, callused hands. There wasn't a single soul she'd rather spend her time with than him, and, whenever another guard was scheduled in his place, she spent the rest of the day in a foul mood.

It had started as a childish crush, long before they'd become coworkers, back when she was still a student and he, her best-friend's dashing older brother. What was more exciting than a dragon keeper? Not only that, but a dragonologist, proving him to be both daring and intelligent. Still, her feelings hadn't developed into anything more substantial until much later, years after she and Ron acknowledged they were better off as friends. With every shared holiday at the Burrow and every exchanged letter, the further she fell, until Charlie stood before her wearing that same crooked smile as the museum's latest hire. He was meant to protect the museum's staff and visitors, but it felt more like he was there to protect her with the amount of time they spent together.

She held little hope in the possibility of them—for as long as she'd known him, she hadn't once seen him with anyone, witch or wizard, in a romantic capacity. Dragons were his first love, adventure a close second. Still…Hermione could dream.

Clearing her throat, she contemplated her next task. The satchel was the next obvious choice, but she kept turning towards the snow globe on the far end of the table.

At a glance, it wasn't anything special. Just a scene depicting a trio of evergreens on a white hill. She'd handled countless snow globes. There was something undeniably satisfying about shaking them and sending flurries of snowflakes swirling around whatever scene was displayed, from cottage to Christmas tree.

She sauntered closer and plucked up the attached note card. What made this one special?

"Something catch your eye?" Charlie came closer to peer over her shoulder, bringing with him a refreshing scent of pine, as if he'd walked straight out of the globe before them.

"Just wondering…ah. This, along with most of the other artefacts, was found within the sack. It was likely intended as a gift. Bill notes trace amounts of magic, but the nature of it is unclear other than not setting off any Dark Magic sensors."

Placing the card back down, she crouched to bring herself to eye-level with the globe. Unlike the cheap plastic toys she'd grown up with, this one was clearly made of far more expensive materials. The base appeared carved from wood and inlaid with bands of what she suspected were gold and silver. Red and green gemstones—rubies and emeralds, perhaps—swept across, giving her the distinct impression of the Aurora Borealis in the night sky.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Charlie's voice sounded far closer than expected, and she startled upon finding him crouched down next to her.

She might have fallen if not for the quick reflexes that shot his arms around to steady and draw them both back up to their feet.

"Whoa, there. Are you alright?" he asked, peering down at her with a concerned pinch between his brows. He hadn't let go of her, yet, both hands still at her elbows.

"Y-yes. I, um"—she stuttered, distracted by the grounding warmth of his touch through the sleeves of her blouse—"you surprised me, is all. Sorry about that."

"I should be the one saying 'sorry'," he said, eyes crinkling with his smile. "Wouldn't be the first time curiosity has gotten the best of me."

"Now that I can relate with," Hermione admitted.

To her dismay, his hands dropped away, though not before snagging one of her curls and smoothing it over her ear.

Was he trying to kill her? It felt like her heart was about to beat right out of her chest, and she wouldn't be surprised if her face was brighter than the gemstones of the snow globe. Charlie, on the other hand, appeared completely at ease, both of his hands now shoved into his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.

Spinning away from him before she could make an even bigger fool of herself, she returned her attention to the artefact before her. The surface of the glass appeared pristine and as if it had been freshly polished. Likely a combination of Unbreakable and Preservation Charms. Still, it was best to be careful.

Foregoing gloves in favour of a better grip, she cast a series of protective spells on her person. Despite Bill's note, there was no telling the sort of magic she might encounter. Then, she reached out, picked up the snow globe, and paused.

Heavy, as expected. The wood was cooler to the touch than she would have assumed…almost unnaturally so.

"Charlie, can you check the note on the bag, again? I want to know where it was found."

As he moved away to do as asked, she carefully raised the base to look beneath in search of a maker's mark or any other identifier to inform her of the object's origins. Snow globes were a modern invention, no earlier than the 1800s.

"Locked in a chest in the Rowle family vault at Gringotts."

"As in Thorfinn Rowle?" She rotated the base slowly to get a better look at the etched symbol. As she did so, a few of the flakes inside floated upward.

"The one and the same. We studied at Hogwarts at the same time, but in different houses. Bloody good Quidditch player and always joking about something or other."

"Slytherin?" she asked offhandedly. The mark was worn, though she could make out what she thought might be Raidho and Gebo runes, with a deep scratch straight down the middle between them.

"That's right. I think…"

The strange way Charlie had trailed off caught her full attention, and she looked up to find him wearing a regretful sort of smile. "You think what?"

"Oh." He cleared his throat and shook off the melancholy. "I think we could have been friends in a better world, is all. You know?"

She sent him a sad smile of her own. "I do."

"Anyways, the past is the past, and the Rowle family ended with Thorfinn," he explained, "which is how their estate and coffers ended up in Ministry hands."

Hermione placed the snow globe back onto the work table and jotted some additional notes of her own, including the possible runes and their meanings. Combined with the knowledge she now had about the former owners, she suspected it might be more than a gift. Setting the quill down, she intended to inspect the interior scene more closely, only to find that even more snow flakes had floated up to obscure her view. Frowning, she tried to turn the artefact as gently as possible.

"What's wrong?" Charlie materialised at her side.

"I'm not sure. I barely touched it, and it's acting as if I shook it."

"Here, let me look—"

"Wait a second—"

But, he was already reaching out, fingers brushing against the base alongside her own. The second he did so, a chill ran up her arm with enough of a bite that Hermione yelped as she yanked her hand away. Her reaction was mirrored by Charlie, his own shout of surprise joining hers. He promptly shoved the hand he'd used to touch the artefact into his armpit.

They turned and stared at one another.

Hermione's fingertips still tingled painfully, almost like she'd burnt them, and she sucked them into her mouth to try and soothe the ache. Charlie's eyes dropped to her mouth. She froze, once again, for an entirely different reason.

"I'm guessing we were both zapped?" Despite the intense way he looked down at her, his voice was calm. She fastened onto the steadiness of it as her fingers warmed back to their usual temperature, before letting her hand drop and answering.

"Yes. Do you notice any other side-effects?"

"Not that I can tell, but…" He finally broke eye contact to glance downward, and she followed his line of sight. "…I'm guessing that's not a good sign."

It was immediately apparent to what it was that he was referring. The snowflakes within the globe had transitioned from floating to outright swirling. Only the very tops of the trees could be seen within the glass, the rest obscured by the white out.

"No, no, no, no!" Her flustered feelings towards Charlie shoved aside, Hermione dropped back down to eye the snow globe. "We barely touched it! Why is it acting like we shook it?"

"You found these runes on it?" Charlie asked. She looked over, distracted, to find him bending over her recent notes.

"Etched into the base, yes, but I'm not completely sure if those are even accurate. They were extremely worn." Hermione stood and waved her hand dismissively, but Charlie's contemplative hum forced her to reconsider his question. "I was looking for a maker's mark. While the runes certainly aren't that, they could mean a number of things: something as simple as a name, possibly a description, or maybe even a riddle."

"Huh. Well, if it's a riddle, it's a good thing you just so happen to be the cleverest witch to solve it," he teased.

Rolling her eyes seemed the best way to cover up how pleased she was by the compliment. "Yes, well, we aren't even sure anything has changed, aside from how touching it shocked both of us and seemed to have set off the interior scene."

Silence returned as they surveyed the room. Nothing appeared to be different, aside from the globe itself. The harsh lighting remained just as unforgiving as always. All of the other artefacts lay still in their individually-warded containers. The pain in her finger lingered more in memory than as a sensation.

Hermione shivered. The Artefact Room maintained a cool and dry climate that was at odds with her preferences, not that she would argue for otherwise and risk endangering the integrity of the museum's collection. This was precisely why she always wore long sleeves and kept extra layers nearby.

As she turned to fetch her shawl, she caught Charlie rubbing at his bare arms. That was odd. Very odd.

"Are you…cold?"

"Hm? Oh…" He blinked at the way she'd stilled and followed suit, broad hands pausing their motions. "I guess I am."

"But, you're never cold."

Charlie shrugged, then pulled out his wand. "Not usually, no, but I'm still human." Pointing first at her, he cast a Warming Charm.

She waited for the tell tale tingle of warmth, one that never came.

Frowning, he tried again.

Before he could say anything about the absolutely lack of anything resembling magic, Hermione whipped out her own wand and repeated the spell, only to reach the same result.

Nothing. Zip. Zilch.

Dread settled low and heavy in her stomach.

"Lumos!" Charlie cried. To her relief, the tip of his wand lit up, bathing them in its reassuring glow. "Thank Godric. At least that works. What about you?"

"Accio, shawl." The swath of fabric flew straight into her outstretched hand, and she quickly wrapped it around herself.

"Let me try one more time," Charlie said.

The Warming Charm failed, yet again.

They went through another series of spells, testing what did and didn't work, and an alarming reality began to emerge.

Glaring at the snow globe, Hermione voiced what they'd both come to discover. "We can't cast anything that negates the cold. Not Warming Charms, nor fire."

"We can't leave, either." Charlie said, grim, from where he stood next to the only door to the room.

"It's locked?"

"Worse."

She watched, equal parts fascinated and horrified, as he demonstrated. Charlie reached towards the handle, then seemed to hit an invisible barrier that prevented him from grabbing hold.

Hermione rushed to his side to try for herself. Just as it seemed like her fingers would make contact, she instead felt like she'd touched frozen ice. Punching and scratching at the air did nothing but provide her a modicum of warmth from her exertions at odds with the numbness in her extremities.

"Here, hold onto me. I'll try to Apparate us out," Charlie murmured, using the same gentle tone of authority she'd heard him make before to skittish creatures that sometimes wandered onto the Burrow's property. The hands she'd stared at countless times in the past tugged her into him, so that they were almost hugging. She clung to the front of his vest and waited for the familiar twist of Apparition.

The rise and fall of his chest seemed more ragged than his otherwise controlled demeanour would suggest. She breathed in deeply, willing her racing heart to slow. It took a number of long breaths, each one headier than the last with the scent of woods and musk, for her to realise they hadn't gone anywhere.

Her head jerked up, eyes meeting his—the same brilliant blue as the rest of his family but still, somehow, uniquely his own. She could never mistake him for anyone else.

"I failed, but you go ahead and try, love," he said huskily. "I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to Apparition."

"A-alright."

She squeezed her eyes shut to try and concentrate. The last thing she wanted to do was splinch them because of her stupidly horny imaginings. Focusing on her, him, and the outer corridor, she flicked her wand.

Shite.

Panic bubbled up inside of her, threatening to choke her and burning her eyes.

"Hey, shhhh, it's okay. I'm here. I've got you."

They were trapped here, and, given the hour, it was highly likely they were the only two museum employees remaining, aside from the regular security guards. They wouldn't be any help, not with the reputation Hermione had built up, frequently working late into the night. Whenever they'd tried checking in on her in the past, she'd nearly bitten their heads off for the interruption.

"Hermione, look at me."

She had to have missed something. They'd obviously set off some sort of spell, but how and for what purpose? What could it possibly want from them?

"Hermione." The sharp command did what Charlie's earlier entreaties had not, snapping her out of her downward spiral and bringing her focus back to him.

He smiled, the hands that had been rubbing circles into her back now cradling her face, thumbs charting paths across her cheeks. Whatever cold she'd felt before faded to the bloom of heat that was his skin against hers.

"That's my girl." His eyes crinkled as his smile deepened. "We'll figure this out. We always do."

She sighed, melting into his embrace. He was right. They'd been in predicaments before; it was something of an occupational hazard when working with unknown artefacts.

"You're right."

"Someone alert the Aurors. Hermione Granger said I, of all wizards, am right." The grin he wore further soothed her frayed nerves, and she found herself grinning back at him.

"Saying it like that makes me sound horribly conceited."

"Not at all. I happen to trust you more than anyone, even Bill."

She gasped in mock disbelief, causing him to shake beneath her with laughter.

"You won't tell him, will you?"

"It'll be our little secret," she vowed, widening her eyes for extra effect.

He sobered, still holding eye contact. The palms cradling her face slid down to her shoulders, gently squeezing.

"I mean it, Hermione. I trust you. With my life and…well…" He cleared his throat, then let go of her to step back, taking his warmth with him. "You can trust me, too. I won't let anything happen to you."

Swallowing felt difficult, but not nearly as difficult as turning away from him to stride back across the room towards the work table.

The snow storm continued, uninterrupted, beneath the surface. Touching the glass confirmed what she suspected: it was ice cold, like the invisible walls around them. A prison for two.

There'd been figurines in the winter scene. Two humans, side by side.

This time, she slid on her gloves, so that she could hold onto the artefact without freezing herself as she turned the snow globe onto its side and let it come to rest against a micro-fibre cloth. The marks she'd seen were as she had notated. Not quite trusting the magic, even if it had nothing to do with heat, Hermione chose to take a rubbing by hand, using a charcoal pencil over thin parchment. Then, she returned the globe to its upright position and repeated the process along the sides of the base.

Luckily, she kept duplicate copies of her reference books in the room, and she plucked what she needed off of the shelf along the wall.

"How can I help?" Charlie asked.

She tried not to notice the space between them.

Handing him one of the books, she waved towards the charcoal rubbings. "See what you make of that while I look into the original runes that I'd written down."

Hermione moved to an empty table, ready to dive into the familiarity of research.

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlie's tattooed arm appeared, pulling out the stool next to hers.

"Mind if we share?"

Confused, she looked between him and the books on the table.

He lightly tugged at her shawl, clarifying, "It will be warmer if we stay close."

"Oh! I can just duplicate it—"

"No," he cut in. "Sorry, I mean, it'll be more practical and efficient for us to share rather than using our own and staying apart. Survival 101."

Who was she to argue? Hermione had done the very same all those years back when she'd shared a tent with Harry and Ron, the three of them huddling underneath the same blanket at night to sleep. Like then, this was about survival.

That was all.

"Bring your stool closer."

Once he did, she threw the end of the shawl over his much broader shoulders. It might not have covered them both, but then he scooted even closer, his elbow curling through hers and thigh pressing against her own.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

"Y-yes." Hermione inwardly screamed at their proximity. Once again, his warmth seeped into her, momentarily distracting her from the task at hand.

Unlike her, Charlie seemed wholly unaffected by their closeness, propping his chin on his hand as he flipped through the pages of his reference book. Giving herself a mental shake, Hermione endeavoured to do the same. Their lives depended on figuring out this puzzle, no matter how pleasant she thought the pressure of his body against hers.

Raidho was a rune commonly associated with travel, which seemed incongruous with their current prison…unless she was thinking about their situation too literally. Maybe this was a different sort of journey that she and Charlie were on, but to where?

The other rune, Gebo, meaning "gift," posed a similar challenge. She couldn't see how the cold could be considered a desirable outcome by any means—it was too generous. Unbalanced. Might this, too, represent something other than the obvious? What could they gift in return that would be of equal value?

"You might want to consider adding Isa to your list," Charlie said thoughtfully. He shifted his tome over, pointing to the entry. "You didn't include this rune, but what we both thought was a scratch might not be."

Dumbfounded, she read the associated meanings, then read them again more slowly. How could she have overlooked something so obvious? The ice-like barrier, the present challenge…whatever force was at play was waiting for them to make their first move, and she'd gone on and discredited the vertical slash at the centre of the other runes.

Snatching up the rubbing she'd taken of the runes, she shifted the meanings around like jigsaw pieces. Raidho, Gebo, Isa, Charlie, her…what if…

"I can tell from the look on your face that you have an idea."

Hermione chewed on her lip as she flicked her eyes in his direction. "It could mean nothing."

"Or, it could mean everything," he countered.

She kept her eyes trained on the parchment, rotating around on her stool to face the snow globe in the centre of the room while still clinging onto the blanket. Looking at him while she explained her theory was more than she could handle at the moment.

"The artefact's magic didn't fully activate until we touched it at the same time, which makes me suspect that whatever needs to happen for the enchantment to break involves both of us. Something we need to do or say that will satisfy the parameters."

"Like love's first kiss?"

It took her a beat for his question to sink in, and, when it did, she jerked around to find Charlie wearing an innocent expression on his face.

"What did you say?" She had to have misheard him.

"Love's first kiss. Isn't that the classic price a couple caught in a trap has to pay to escape?" His smile was lopsided, as if he hadn't just spun her around and knocked her sideways with his little suggestion.

"Are you—are you saying that you think we should kiss?" she asked, incredulous.

His smile faded, making her want to kick herself.

Why did she have to ask him in a tone that almost sounded like she'd rather not? Pretending she wasn't attracted to him had apparently become so ingrained in her that even the slightest hint at reciprocation, forced by circumstance as it was, robbed her of her manners.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to react like I—like—" Hermione grimaced. Why was this so difficult? Why did she have to be so bloody awkward?

"It's alright. That's on me. It was completely inappropriate of me to joke about it the way that I did."

And, now he was apologising, even though she'd been the offensive one.

Brilliant work, Hermione. Bloody brilliant.

"Please don't apologise." She turned to face him fully. "Your idea isn't actually a bad one."

"No, I should apologise, because…" Charlie took a deep breath, then let it out, his shoulders relaxing.

Whatever he'd been about to say was forgotten at the sight of the visible cloud that was his exhale. It dissipated, but they continued to stare, wide-eyed, at where it had appeared. Their eyes lifted to one another, then, as if of one mind, they both inhaled and breathed out with force.

A larger cloud formed, then disappeared.

It was getting colder.

"Not to rush you, but I think now is a good time to share any ideas you might have." Whatever tension Charlie had relieved earlier was now doubled in his bunched shoulders.

"I want to try touching the snow globe again. Both of us, at the same time."

He looked warily around her towards the table of artefacts.

"And, if possible, hold onto it to see if any other clues appear."

"I'm going to be honest." His eyes returned to hers, jaw briefly clenching before he continued. "I don't exactly look forward to getting zapped again. Holding onto it could hit us with a flurry of attacks, or worse."

That was her worry, too.

"But, if you think it's worth a try, then I say we do it." He added a sharp nod to the last few words, then stood. To Hermione's dismay, he slid out from underneath the shawl.

"Charlie! You need it more than me—"

"I'll be fine." Which was a lie. She could see tiny hairs standing on his arms and the rush of goosepimples adding texture to his tattoos as he draped the shawl around her.

"But—" Her breath caught as his fingers slid along the sensitive skin of her collarbone.

"There we are. Need to trap that warmth in."

He'd gone and tucked the ends into one another, taking better care of Hermione than she ever did herself, usually content to just toss one side over her shoulder only for it to inevitably slide off later.

A lump rose in her throat.

He was always thinking of others. Always looking out for her. The perfect man for the job, because, she reminded herself, this was a job. Not some romance where conflict resulted in love confessions and happy endings aside from breaking this enchantment with their lives intact.

Without another word, Hermione strode back towards the snow globe.

To do her job.

Even bundled in another layer as she was, cold seeped beneath to make her shiver. Every breath came out a wisp, now, and things were only going to get more dire. She reached out her hand, letting it hover in the air. Charlie did the same.

"Ready?" she asked.

"On 'go'?"

"And until I say stop."

"I'm ready."

"3, 2, 1, go."

Their hands dropped on either side of the wooden base.

The effect was immediate. Not a physical jolt, like before, but an opening in the enclosed blizzard that allowed them to see, for as long as they continued to hold on, the scene. Only, it wasn't the scene she remembered. Instead of a couple taking a stroll through the trees, the two figures stood separated. Turned away from one another, as if lost.

"Weren't they together earlier?" Charlie asked, brow furrowed as he, too, peered into the glass.

"I believe so, yes. For the snow to pause and these figures to stand apart now confirms that all of this has something to do with…" She licked her lips.

"With us," he answered for her.

"With something we did," Hermione corrected.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" To her surprise, Charlie beamed at her, as if they'd solved the problem already. "That means we can do something to fix it."

A snort escaped her before she could stop it, the sound of which seemed to make him grin even wider.

"You are stunningly optimistic in the face of impending doom," she said dryly.

There had to be another clue. Something they missed that would more explicitly give away what it was, exactly, that they were meant to do. Leaning closer to see if she could make out any other details, the shawl around her shoulders caught on the edge of the table and slipped to the floor.

Almost immediately, Charlie dropped to retrieve it, letting go of the artefact in the process. The blizzard returned in full force, blocking her view.

"Dammit."

"Here you go."

They spoke at the same time, Hermione's curse covered by the gentle warmth of Charlie's voice and hands as he attempted to wrap the flannel back around her.

She needed him to grab back onto the globe so she could see, not bundle her up like a child!

"The shawl can wait for now. I need you to keep hold of the—"

"Uh-uh, love, you need to stay warm so that beautiful mind of yours can stay focused—"

"Charlie, I insist! Please." She grappled for his hand, one that he tugged away with an infuriating chuckle.

They fumbled for another minute, or two, until, with a startling growl, Charlie seized hold of her shoulders and spun her around. Before she could muster another word, the flannel was back in place and tied up in a knot.

"Fine, thank you, now can we return to—" But her voice left her, replaced instead by a squeak when, in the very next moment, she found herself caged in by Charlie's arms on either side of hers, his hands flat on the table. Her heart thundered in her ears. There wasn't a sliver of space between them, the entirety of her back warmed by his front. A gentle pressure on top of her head informed her that he was very likely resting his chin on it.

She'd never felt smaller. The cold? A memory. It took all of her supposedly ample courage to ask, "What are you doing?"

"Multi-tasking."

"H-how—what—"

"This way, I can keep you wrapped up and help you with the artefact. You really only have yourself to blame, you know." A lilt slipped in, turning his tone into a teasing one. "Always forgetting yourself in your work. Forgetting to eat, drink water, check the time—"

"I do not!" she argued, twisting around to glare at him.

He met her spark with an infuriating smirk that she wanted to snog right off of his face. To her increased annoyance, he tutted and admonished her, as if she was the one distracting them from the emergency at hand. "You wanted me to hold the globe, so go on then."

"Fine," she snapped. His smile only deepened. Turning back to the table, she took a deep breath and reached out. One of his hands moved to mirror hers, the other curling around her waist in a loose hug.

She was probably going to die of a heart attack, rather than from pneumonia. Cause: Charlie Weasley.

"And, now."

Their hands touched down, and the swirling clouds parted once more. She blinked, convinced, at first, that she was just seeing things.

"Would you look at that? They're closer now," Charlie exclaimed.

He was right. The couple also no longer looked away from one another. The only thing that had changed since the previous time was…

"Kiss me," she blurted out.

Charlie might have been joking earlier, but he was right. It was their combined touch that had set off the enchantment and their continued intimacy that moved the figurines. For some unknown reason, the magic had chosen Charlie and herself as actors in its little scene, and they needed to play their parts for the curtains to close and bring the spell to an end.

However, instead of responding as expected, Charlie's arms fell away before he took a large step back—his expression shuttered, arms crossed over his chest.

"Charlie?"

"I know what I said before, but you can't just ask me like that, Hermione," he said quietly.

Her heart raced for a different reason now. She'd fucked up, somehow. "Like…what?"

Lips twisting, he stared at her silently, just long enough for her to feel the cold more keenly than before. She missed Charlie's heat. The warmth of him curled over and around her.

"Like me kissing you is a means to an end. As if kissing you isn't exactly what I've wanted to do for longer than I can remember."

She had to be dreaming. There was no way that this was real.

"If I kiss you, it will be for keeps, not because of some cursed artefact." He closed the gap between them—not yet touching her, but close enough that her shivers intensified at the promised return. "If I kiss you, it will be with the understanding that you're my girl and that I'm your guy."

"Oh, Charlie…"

Another step brought him directly into her space, even if he refrained from holding her the way that she longed for him to. Her neck ached as she bent back to keep eye contact, and, when her shaking hands flattened against his chest, she shared his sharp inhale.

"So, what will it be?" He was leaning down, the backs of his fingers brushing across her cheek.

"I-I want that."

"Yeah?"

She nodded vigorously. "And not just because I'm freezing and terrified of dying." Her fingers curled into his vest, tugging and begging.

"Well, I am terrified of dying—" he began.

"You are?" Since when was Charlie scared of anything?

"—I am. Do you want to know why?" Each word caressed her lips, their faces so close now that she could almost taste him.

"Tell me."

"I am terrified to die without you ever knowing the truth and depth of my feelings. I'm in love with you, Hermione, have been in love with you—"

She'd been the one to demand a kiss. Listening to Charlie spill all of the truths she'd been too frightened to reveal gave her the boost of courage she needed to do what needed to be done—like he said, not because of the enchantment or because she was swept up in the moment, but because nothing else felt so right.

She kissed him.

Cutting off his confession with her own that was both a declaration of love and an apology for her thoughtless demand. She was startled, at first, by the unexpected softness of his lips against hers. They weren't chilled, as expected, but melted any reservations she might have held on to about ruining their friendship. Clinging on to him, Hermione gave everything she had, everything she was, into her kiss.

Would it be enough?

Broad hands cupped her face, curled into the roots of her hair, pulled her closer so he could deepen the connection, the slide of his tongue startling and wonderful. Charlie tasted of home: cosy mornings tucked beneath the blankets, laughter over a home-cooked meal, and hugs, so many hugs, the type of hug that covered her from head to toe in Charlie. There was nowhere else she would rather be. Nobody else she could imagine belonging to or claiming as her own.

A soft ringing of bells pulled them up from their reverie, and they looked over, dream-like, towards the snow globe. The blizzard had calmed, and the trees were visible once more.

The couple no longer wandered, lost and alone. Their figures stood together amidst the trees. As Hermione and Charlie continued to watch, a glow steadily built between the couple, until it seemed to burst, spreading beyond the confines of the thick glass to every corner of the Artefact Room, before fading to nothing. The snow globe looked as it did at the start.

Slowly, they looked at one another. They could no longer see their breath, and she now felt almost too warm wrapped in her shawl as she was.

"Should we…"

"Let's try."

She thought he would attempt to cast another Warming Charm, or maybe command the door to open. Instead, he hugged her tightly, one hand moving to cradle the back of her head.

Was he going to—

They twisted in place, but Charlie's hold kept her safe. When they finally came to a stop, he didn't let go immediately.

"Is it strange that I almost wished that hadn't worked?" he murmured. His hand slid down to rub large circles across her back.

She shook her head, face still pressed into the firm muscles of his chest and breathing in deeply. "No. Part of me thinks this is still all a dream. That I'll wake up in bed all alone like always."

"It's not a dream, love. Look around you."

A slow inhale, then, she did as he bid, looking one way, then another. Not the museum hallway, like she had originally thought when she'd realised what was happening. Not the Burrow, either. They were in what appeared to be a cabin. Clean and tidy, with homey touches she slowly began to recognise. A Molly-Weasley-knitted throw on the squishy sofa, more of her handiwork in the centre of the small dining table with only a single place setting. Paintings on the walls of various dragon species and their habitats.

She faced Charlie, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth just hard enough to hurt, additional proof that she still wasn't dreaming. "…are we?"

"My cabin, yeah." And, even though he wasn't prone to it, or maybe he was and she could only see properly past all the freckles because of their proximity, he blushed. "It was the first place I thought to take you, which seems awfully forward of me now, doesn't it? We still need to return and tidy up—"

"Tomorrow," she interrupted, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was well past midnight. "Well, later today."

"But, what about—"

She shut him up with another kiss, this one lingering. When Hermione pulled away, she did so wearing a wide grin that matched his own. "It can wait. I, however, will not."

"In that case…"

They twisted, again, and landed someplace soft and warm, their conversation turned to laughter and happy little sighs, enough to last them through the winter and every one after that.

Back at the museum, the snow globe sat dormant, the parameters of its enchantment fully satisfied…until the next time love needed a nip to the nose.