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1. Friday, 28 April, 2000
„…pie my dear?”.
Molly Weasley’s voice cuts through the bleary haze of her thoughts just when Hum is about to explode the fat fly buzzing about the table – wandlessly, with the sheer force of her irritation. For several minutes its incessant buzzing had her undivided attention, as little as she could spare tonight that is, and it’s difficult to shift her faculties elsewhere now.
The rich scents of lilacs and honeysuckle waft to her, heady and oppressive, with every move around the table; padding her head like eiderdown quilt. The witch has to remind herself that she’s not alone, and should probably start paying attention. And give her answer, preferably now.
Slowly, and with some effort on her side, the voices of others start slicing tentatively through the warm, cocooned silence of the evening, and Hum strives to start noticing other people around her. Luna sits on Ginny’s lap, one reedy arm thrown over the taller redhead’s solid back; they’re discussing the most horrid quidditch accidents of the last season and Hum is half sure most of it Ginny makes up on the spot to entertain her girlfriend. Fleur is discussing advanced ward magic with a seriously looking Hermione, their bonding over curses a true blessing in a previously strained relationship. Bill balances Victoire on his lap, the girl shrieking with delight at Teddy’s rapidly growing mane of hair worthy of Cousin Itt---
„Yes please”, she wants to say but manages merely a distracted nod, a polite half-smile automatic on her face – something heavy sits on her mind and body, and doesn’t want to give off.
The witch simultaneously accepts food that the ever motherly witch heaps on her plate and tries listening to Charlie, who’s been trying to alert her to something --- what is it? It’s difficult to concentrate tonight, sluggish as she feels, with sweat slicking her skin underneath the ivory-coloured sheath she’s wearing. What is it that Charlie tries to get across to her?
The evening is downright sweltering, a kind of heat unusual for late April that perseveres well into this late at night, unflinching - and Hum sighs, heart beating painfully in her chest. Following the Battle, magic has been acting out around them in surprising ways; Devon for example had never seen a spring switching places with full-on summer in this century; and yet here they were, sweating like mice in a Finnish sauna. Her own violet scent (applied scarcely as usual, after all) perfumes the air around as well, assaulting her nose every now and then, the cloying smell perhaps not a good choice in this weather. All in all Hum feels as if she’s suffocating.
What the hell is with the air tonight?
It’s probably the magic - but weather is as safe a topic as any other. The witch watches Charlie’s lips moving as attentively as she can, more reading their movements than hearing anything, and he shakes his head a little, already aware she’s unable to grasp his words just yet – it’s not the first time she’s been this distracted since the war has ended, and bless this man for raising to the occasion with compassion.
He’s pointing her attention to something and the witch gives him a distracted smile in return, sneaking her hand along the thick white tablecloth and under the table to find his own; hoping he’d get the subtle message before she could find her words – I’m deep under, give me time. Their fingers intertwine and the contact grounds her in the now steadily. He sends her an encouraging smile then, repeating everything in her ear again when she finds her voice eventually.
„You’re going to snap the spoon in two, love”, she hears and her eyes follow a discrete motion he makes with his free hand, one long finger pointed onto her dessert spoon. The delicate piece of silverware balances on its pointy end gracefully, its bowl tilted backwards, and Hum chuckles in bewilderment.
„How curious”, Luna lilts from her side, the flat tone of her voice ethereal as usual. „Surely a storm is coming”, she informs the table carelessly then, as Hum quickly tents her palms over the spoon that now begins to slowly spin around its own axis. Hardly anyone bats an eye at the strangeness of this utterance; Luna’s intuition - or whatever connection the young witch has with her surroundings - is trusted implicitly in the family these days.
Hum pays only partial attention to the ensuing discussion on whether to start moving inside already or perhaps wait, her eyes in silent exchange with Charlie’s, and then on the spoon again.
„Hasn’t happened in years”, she mouths more to herself than to him and then chuckles, bewildered a bit. So good to know she still has this surreal streak of wild magic within though; been a long time since she saw her emotions stir a storm anywhere else than in the glass of water or cup of tea – and those tended to break easily. She’s waiting for the rain with childish anticipation, she realizes.
Earlier on, Luna said to be prepared to embrace it again - Hum has been afraid to channel it for a while now, and the older witch wants to laugh at her own reservations now; surely letting the war snuff it out would equal to giving it the power it shouldn’t have had, she realizes that, but only now. If a teen went through all that and cultivated it still...- so could she, even on the cusp of this new and scary type of adulthood, so close to thirty-
Fortunately, not many gathered around the long, long table set in the garden have noticed any epiphanies going on, or indeed anything out of the ordinary at all. Not a difficult thing among so many remarkable people – things rarely felt out of place. Still, with the corner of her eye, and in throes of an epiphany all the same, the witch notices Vickie’s mouth going agape at the spoon dancing under her palms, wide-eyed wonder stretching the little girl’s face hilariously. Charlie chuckles from where he leans towards them, his weight on her arm a welcomed anchor, and the witch can hear the smile in his voice, the encouragement for Victoire to observe the magic freely and without fear...
Children always seemed naturally inclined to notice those kinds of small wonders and Hum makes a show of uncovering just enough so that the youngest Weasley child can follow the slow spinning of the spoon from where the little girl leans forward precariously, belly and elbows on the table already. Bill shoots an interested look at his daughter then and winks at the pair across the table; just few hours before they were discussing Victoire’s penchant for bending silverware emerging at the youngest among all of the Weasleys – Fleur’s influence probably, the youthful, spring-like magic ever present in that one.
Indeed, not long after this Victoire’s own spoon gets bent as if it’s a straw and she smiles triumphantly at Teddy’s squeal of delight, the boy’s hair golden and curling in awe. They show it to anyone who’s nearby and a commotion ensues, child’s magic always a spectacle to behold.
„You’ve been looking a bit out of it, before…?”, Charlie whispers to Hum then and she leans on him in turn. It’s getting better now, and the witch closes her eyes briefly, exhaling.
„Yeah--”, she admits reluctantly, eyes glued to their fingers now secured on her lap. She notices then that his warmth has felt comfortable instead of stifling for a while now – the heat must be lifting finally if her beloved feels hotter than the air around them again.
The storm would come then.
Hum wonders if it would end in another deluge, and remembering the last time, imagines making love lazily to the sound of the rain outside the opened windows. Perhaps some of the heat lingers in her gaze and she watches Charlie swallow visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing over the collar of his shirt-- The serious stuff, yes, she reminds herself then. No seguing into territories unrelated, not before a fuller answer at least.
„It’s my heart”, she explains quietly as she pinpoints what exactly has been wrong about the evening, the last weeks; her fingers splay from beneath his as she speaks. Her delicate touch creeping on his thigh results in the burly man biting his lip sharply, gentle reproach in his eyes all the same. Charlie is wearing loose linen chinos and swats her hand playfully when her touch starts making him visibly hard.
All right, no sensual gestures when talking seriously, noted Hum thinks, more amused than concerned. The disconnect should worry her perhaps, but mending it is something that can’t be forced. For now all she can do is to attend counseling and try to be as open and honest with Charlie as possible. It’s been so worth it to learn to talk again, for this among the other things.
The woman puts her palms together on the table to show him she’s going to behave, and they exchange playful smiles over the gesture. „You were saying...?”, Charlie asks in a breathy tone, downing an entire glass of water in few gulps, his eyes crinkling at her over the rim warmly. It’s easy to breathe and talk, finally.
„My heart, it starts to mend, I think. That’s why all the-- the sluggishness, and my magic acting out-”, she informs him, giddiness mixed with surprise in her voice as they lean in closer to each other.
All that slowness and discomfort, it’s been her heart patching itself whole, the witch muses, face creased in deep thought. The redhead next to her props his cheek against his hand; his elbow rests on the table as his other palm clutches hers - it goes a bit slack now. Charlie’s usually animated face momentarily stills in the golden light of the candles littering the table among the silverware, moths swarming overhead converging around his hair as his head falls a bit down - and he peers at her carefully.
„I think I’m getting better”, Hum reiterates more decisively, more sure now. It feels like pieces and bits of her are laboriously falling into their old places. It’s not unlike mottling – but in reverse. Painful but fundamental.
Charlie’s eyes crinkle at once then and a private, delighted „Oh” escapes his mouth. The issue of the price to be paid hangs between them and Hum shakes her head subtly. It was paid in blood after all, and this is the kind of a hard truth Charlie had become hardened to in the last years eventually, beyond their initial falling off. Still, Hum respects that he chose a more restricted existence just as she forces herself to expand beyond her ken. She’s glad they found some middle ground at last.
If so, it’s well worth it, she reads on Charlie’s face then, his face open and determined - and her heartbeat speeds up when he brushes a stray strand of hair that must’ve escaped from her braid earlier on. At his touch and the proud smile he’s wearing, Hum belatedly feels a distinctly different kind of heat trickling downwards, blood shooting between her thighs. Perhaps not the best time for this, now. Then again, she’s started all this...
Better reign in this thirst, she thinks, holding Charlie’s inquiring stare, his pupils dilating slowly with realization - lest she ducks under the table, on her knees, in her own kind of veneration-
Suddenly the woman feels positively famished. She attacks the chicken pie on her plate with determination and no consideration for her principles, the hunger she’s been feeling over the man to her right shifting onto something more available at the moment – the signature pie Molly always prepares in the summer and Hum samples for the first time. Light and herby, the taste has Hum almost moaning, the woman relishing the feeling of being slowly sucked back into reality with sensuous joy.
The witch smiles widely at Molly when she meets her eyes, feeling a different kind of warmth spreading inside now, and compliments on the older witch’s cooking earnestly. Charlie watches her hum quietly in pleasure and sends her an exultant smile of his own when the witch looks back at him, his hand so big next to hers that it has them comparing sizes eventually. With only her left hand free, Hum takes a swig of wine that Luna and Ginny had brought with them and blinks at the man at her side, slowly like a cat. She knows he loves looking at her enjoying herself, and they feed from each other’s joy in turns in moments like this; tenderness rises in her almost till it aches.
„I’m overjoyed”, he says simply, in a belated response to her words from before. The man holds her gaze, a serious depth to his own that spurs Hum to turn to him fully, put the wine glass down... forget about other pleasures for the time being and notice him fully again. He has a strange, static buzz about his body that’s subtle enough to be detected only from this close, a sort of tautness about his muscles that wasn’t present until she came back to the reality around just moments before. It’s like he’s considering how best to pounce and Hum watches him with growing restlessness – the storm can’t come fast enough.
„It’s coming”, Luna whispers from behind reassuringly, as if she knows, a gentle smile sent their way when she notices how wild, distracted Hum’s eyes are on her - the older witch turns her way with a snap of her spine almost audible. Luna regards her the way she does the feral creatures she’s working with – a quiet scrutiny without any judgment, and Hum grins at her then, breathing deep and winking at the young woman to her left. She’s at ease now again, meeting Charlie’s wild smile resolutely.
„Shall we move inside then?”, Arthur asks on the other end of the table at last, the discussion on what to do apparently having ended. For Hum what must’ve been a short moment, when she and Charlie weren’t listening to all this, had felt decidedly longer. Searching for his wife’s face where the matriarch is laughing with Ron and Hermione, huddled over some secret conversation of theirs, Arthur gives Molly a grin; the last word belongs to her. Hum watches the tender expression on his face and feels her throat constrict – so many meetings since Fred’s death and only now the pain and happiness seem to mix effortlessly, twisting and turning.
„Molly dear, Luna is usually right about those things – perhaps we should move the festivities inside?”, he asks and they seem to share a wordless conversation of their own at that.
„I will never tire of watching them like this”, Charlie quips from where he’s been trying to move Hum’s spoon towards him in charged silence; they are trying to wrestle it from each other wandlessly - no words used for added difficulty - and watch his parents at the same time; never being the one for nonverbals, the redhead snatches the spoon when Hum is distracted, and cackles at her indignation, fingering the delicate thing to try and see if it can be bent back to its shape. From all the things that aunt Muriel had left them in her passing, the magnificent silver set has remained Molly’s favourite and they bicker on how to restore the faulty element to its previous glory. Hum can’t quite catch Molly’s words then, after all.
Just then a cold breeze that’s been circling the clearing for some time segues into a strong, fresh wind and leaves around them start rustling noticeably. It’s quiet for a while and Molly makes a tentative move, as if torn between standing up and remaining in her seat – everyone is so full and languid, who would care about some drizzle--
A blinding light knifes through the suddenly starless night sky and the rumble that follows has Hum’s magic breaking the spoon that’s wedged between her and Charlie’s palms, fingers locked tightly around it in a custody battle of sorts.
„Oh well”, Charlie shrugs carelessly when her mouth falls open in wordless horror at this, „we’ll transfigure it back, don’t worry beloved”.
The very next second a wall of rain hits them all of a sudden, sending all the adults scrambling for something, anything to grab or charm to float, and make a mad go towards the house.
„I’ll fold the table, I don’t mind the rain” Luna says serenely, barely heard over the noise, unruffled even when she looks like a wet poodle; naturally she doesn’t shield herself from the rain as well, too happy to let it all seep into her clothes; Hum adores that quality in her - and offers to stay as well. The four of them stay then - counting Ginny and Charlie who gallantly accompany their ladies, even sopping wet like that. They wave Bill and Fleur off, Vicky and Teddy a priority even when all she wants to do is to skip in some puddles right then.
Soon after, Luna makes the food disappear and reappear in the kitchen, dry. The young witch has an uncanny ability to bend reality to her will with the most delicate wand work. The silver cleans itself under Ginny’s orders then and rests in the large chest that stands on the ground, having blocked the kitchen door from closing. The tablecloth folds itself neatly, dry when it lands in the linen closet on the second floor, where Charlie’s wand movements guide it. Eventually Hum and Charlie shrink the table for lack of other options to do and leave it at the porch, along the smattering of tiny chairs that look like dice scattered on the steps.
The pair stays on the porch even when Luna ducks under the rose arch by the kitchen doors, wishing them both a good night – they’d be apparating home soon, she says when shaking their hands and they bid their goodbyes then. The friendship the three has struck during the rebuilding of Hogwarts is unexpected perhaps, but no less valuable. Hum gives her a small wave and a grin before the blonde witch disappears inside, speaking to her over the threshold for the last moment; plans are made for them to meet up next week in London in haste – the younger witch had offered her moral support during the search for a new owl once before and Hum breathes in deeply when she agrees after all. Hestia seems irreplaceable – Gilbert surely thinks so.
Alone outside eventually, Hum and Charlie stand next to each other in charged silence, only the tips of their fingers touching.They watch as wind ruffles the trees wildly - their surroundings shaking and convulsing around, illuminated by the occasional lighting for the added effect. They shielded themselves from the rain this time - but aren’t in a rush to either go inside or dry themselves just yet. Luna distracted them masterfully - but Charlie’s stare promised wonderful things to come. For now, Hum feels full, sluggish and luxuriously lazy.
„Air’s so fresh around the storm”, she muses with a contented sigh, arm snaking not even halfway around Charlie’s stocky back. „And you’re awfully wet love, perhaps—inside?”. She can’t form a full sentence, a yawn worthy of a feral cat splitting her face behind her palm.
„Definitely inside soon, but only because you’re sleepy like this”, Charlie chuckles but makes no move yet, eyes glinting in the warm light pooling from the window behind them. „I believe we were rather diplomatically separated in most delicious of circumstances...”, he starts huskily then, a subtle lick to his lips that Hum follows hungrily. She shifts so that they face each other, her second arm snaking around and downwards, towards the small of his back, a delicious feeling of warmth pushing through thin layers of their clothing as she presses into him.
“Looking beyond delectable tonight, always liked you in whites”, Charlie murmurs, hands brushing her sides.
He has his fingers on the strap of her dress now, sliding them downwards until the calloused skin makes her nipples pebble under his touch.
„And nothing underneath, how shameless”, he chides, looking down at the material he’s peeling off - but it’s in a wicked purr and so it doesn’t really count then. Hum has allowed herself for this kind of private transgression precisely to rouse a reaction out of him after all.
„So silly of me”, she agrees hoarsely with her mouth turned down. „You’ll have to remind me to be more mindful next time-- ”
„Perhaps a reprimand is in order, to drive the point home”, she hears him whisper slowly, his eyes following the strap of her dress meandering down under his thumb. He stops short of baring the breast that the rest of his palm is cupping in full, and Hum feels her breath hitch; Charlie’s hand feels much like sandpaper against the delicate skin there. He rarely cares for his hands when he’s working - and they haven’t seen each other for a whole month.
The witch realizes that none of the previous hunger had in fact left when his touch moves onto her ribs, her dress baring all now after all. „If you could stand still for a second – I’d like to get reacquainted”, Charlie says only semi-playfully, his voice low and heavy. Swallowing thickly, Hum feels excitation rooting her to the spot as he takes his time massaging her with relish, prodding and playing with her flesh as if she was something to explore thoroughly, a hallowed playground. Where she is pierced, it feels half painful half downright heavenly when Charlie touches her, squeezing and plucking expertly, his hands rough and scratchy.
„Quiet, please” she hears then and the woman realizes she didn’t imagine herself sighing this loudly after all. Charlie’s back is wide but he still makes sure the dress goes back to its place when he’s had his fill – kisses her on the top of her nose chastely then, as if her skin wasn’t flushed where he pinched and plucked it delicately; or not quite. By this time Hum feels ravenous beyond herself, belly aching as if on fire.
He catches her hands the second she makes a sneaky move at the fly of his trousers – the reflexes he has honed on the Reserve never dulling. „Someone should bind those”, he grouses under his breath, eyes narrowing at the defiance on her face. „Any other time, believe me”, he adds in a low, strained, voice and licks his lips, visibly tempted. Hesitation has him fidgeting slightly.
Perhaps he could be reasoned with in this regard then. „I’ll watch your back, see if anyone’s coming”, Hum says simply, innocent facade cracking the second she hears his breath hitch in response. It wouldn’t do if he went back home this hard... By gods Hum feels like some pervert – but then again, he’s so tempted to give in himself. And she wants to get reacquainted just the same. „I’ll know if somebody is onto us-”.
„Hell no, you won’t”, Charlie laughs and kisses her deeply, large hands cradling her face so snugly that she wouldn’t see anything, true – but her hands are left pointedly free--
The redhead gasps into her mouth when, freed, her hands zero in on the front of his trousers, hovering just-so where he’d like them the most, waiting for his consent - and Hum laughs out loud when he puts his cheek on her arm with a quiet, breezy moan, pressing onto her surely. His body weighs her down when Charlie sets it against her, for all appearances merely hugging her, if anyone cared to look out at them. „The cheek of you”, he pants into the crook of her neck when Hum explores the feel of his cock straining against the soft material of his clothes, with just the tips of her fingers at first; she then closes her hand around him with unyielding efficiency that has the huge man almost mewling. Never breaking their eye contact, she squeezes him and lets him go, her hand moving up and down, exploring as curiously as he before; playful beyond routine. Her other hand must look so chaste on his waist, her own cheek pressed to his arm as well--
„Been thinking about you, like this, before”, the woman breathes into Charlie’s hair, sending a languid gaze above his arm, just a cursory check because, truly, she doesn’t give a Merlin’s left saggy tit if anybody-- - but it’s not like anyone can see them here, hidden behind the lilac bushes as they are. The shock of flowers around them quivers under their shielding charms, magically charged where rain can’t move it. The scent is mellow, hypnotizing.
It’s a rather dangerous game they’re playing right now but whatever, Hum is too concentrated on the feel of Charlie’s mouth as it descends on hers, already opened for him, the slick feeling of his tongue against hers making her wish to choke on it with greed. She’s always been a bit naughty like this after all.
„No pants for you I see”, Hum tsks with fake admonishment but then again she shall thank him for this oversight--”You feel so silky...good-lovely man--I’d love to eat you up”, she groans, entranced in equal part by his open, conflicted face – split between giving in to completion and avoiding getting caught – and by the feeling of his body unyielding, charged like live-wire... warm and hard-soft, cock jutting out and heavy--
„Don’t you think about it”, Charlie rasps when she makes a bold go to free him out of his trousers, hungry to see him naked and yet fully clothed - and the redhead cages her in his arms snugly, his breathing heavy and coming out in laboured puffs. „Not coming into my trousers here”, he growls, kissing her muffled protest off. „Gods, there’s no bottom end for you, is there, Koroleva?” he moans before snatching her hands at last. The unhurried thrusts of his tongue are so torturously slow next that Hum tries to protest with a whimper; but Charlie still has her palms in a vice grip at her sides, his ruse of disciplining as always deliberate and slow, weighty - when all she wants is to drown under the torrents, whatever they’d be.
“Charli-e”, she grouses, squirming in his hold, more to feel the delicious kind of discomfort when their chests brush together, really; bites his lip to get an upper hand - but he just bites her back with a muffled chuckle, matching her attitude with cheek.
“How those pierces working for you, hm?”, he asks her with a hard, heated stare then and with a mumbled mm-feel heavenly Hum pushes at his hands until they land on her breasts, pinching and nibbling at leisure once again.
“As good as you’ll feel, if you let me finish”, the witch adds in an undertone, pushing herself into his hands and not giving him much time to think and take them away. “Charlie- let me”, she adds in barely audible whisper and the man groans, all but presses his whole weight against her with a frustrated huff, his thigh between hers - and she grinds herself against his leg, shamelessly.
“You’d rather – go inside, like this?”. The delicate brush of her fingers dancing along the arc of his bobbing erection makes the man seethe. “Just imagine going in there, everyone seeing how wanton, improper you are-Better yet, I should just finish you off, let you go well damned dripping”, she whispers crassly, drinking in Charlie’s growing restlessness. To her provoking he reacts scandalized, his whole body twitching in pleasure.
“Stop tempting me”, he murmurs, hands firm on her forearms, stilling her. “Saucy wench”, he whispers hotly in her ear, holding her deadly still. She can’t really move now and it’s exciting when Charlie plays the harder one. “Dull me or I’ll lose any control I still have--you’d love this, do you?”, he asks her in a lower voice now, a cursory look behind his back if anyone might be listening to them. Laughter and the glimmer of many conversations come from the house - but no one is close enough to hear them. The rain and hail close around the bubble of protective charms in a grey blur and Hum feels drenched – wet but warm this time.
“Yeah, you’d love if anyone could hear you – see you, spread under me, legs around my neck--”, he bites out in a low, barely controlled voice. “That flimsy dress--”, he says warmly, taking a handful and admiring the soft material, bunching it up until he can see the tips of her thighs, the apex of her cunt- “—ripped in two.” He lets it go and smoothes her grimace with a brush of a finger to her lips. “Dull me, love”, he repeats in an amused voice and with a huff, Hum casts a wandless restinguo, defeated. Useful spell, a wasted hard-on.
Her frustration breaks the charm over their heads, showering them both with buckets worth of cold water, extinguishing everything in its wake. „Now a spanking might be in order”, Charlie growls playfully and they both duck inside the house finally, greeted by those family members who stayed for further merriment instead of going to sleep. It’s beyond difficult to slip a proper mask this fast - but they both have been sufficiently chastised with the icy bath before.
Bill and Fleur are done giving Victoire a bath, the family stopping briefly by to say good night – the attic became their room of choice after the Weasley’s family ghoul has passed, and they start climbing the stairs together not long after. The parents would probably join the adults at some point in the night, only Hum and Charlie really willing to sleep. Or not, as it is.
They stay and mingle for carefully measured fifteen minutes, just enough to be polite – and entirely too long before Hum feels like stripping Charlie right onto the dining table, propriety be well fucked. She’s therefore desperate to avoid the stares of varying degree of desperation that he’s sending her from across the room, afraid her fantasies would push her to do something dumb or outright horny. She makes small talk but can’t truly concentrate who is it that she’s talking to. Yes, she quite doesn’t mind this weather, by gods the heat felt quite stifling tonight. No, the pie didn’t need anything else, it was delightful--
She’s a bit put off with her own lack of interest, to be honest. Tomorrow she would catch up with everyone and be polite, funny, engaging-
Tonight she thinks that the slickness between her legs will soon leave her well swamped, scandalous as it feels. This is, perhaps, a final cue to move while she still can.
She accepts a steaming mug of mulled wine from Arthur, an oddity in summer but most welcome given the circumstances, and together with Charlie - who has just, finally, reached her side - they down it in turns, their tongues scalding but the warmth spreading inside so worth it. They don’t linger for long afterwards, fingers twined surely and on their way upwards not long after – with Ginny sleeping at Luna’s tonight, they have the whole floor to themselves.
It’s a tough choice between getting caught shagging against the wall right there and then - or actually maybe showering first. „I’m calling dibs on the bath upstairs”, Hum quips when they are fishing for the towels in the linen closet after all. There is no possibility to fit two people anywhere in the Burrow’s two bathrooms and Charlie goes downstairs with the stoic face of a person who picks his fights carefully.
And good, that, Hum thinks getting inside the tub, legs trembling with exertion – it’s been a long day and she needs some time to catch her breath before they go until the morning probably. Some blood trickles on her inner thigh, she sees now, and she worries her lip a bit. Shouldn’t it be over already? It stopped bleeding yesterday, what if the dress-- Her dress looks pristine where it hangs on the lacquered screen near the tub and Hum lets out a breath she’s been holding. She’s never been the most practical – or indeed most pedantic person ever. But she liked to think she knew how long she’d have to use her tampons for Satan’s balls sake-
No matter, she decides, vanishing the tiny pinkish blotch from her panties with a snap of her finger, the bed sheets would need to turn red, is all. But it makes her think – for all her tumbling with numbers all these years, never a real-life application before. Ridiculous, she chides herself – and resolves to keep a proper calendar from now on. Next month, then.
The steamy water entices her with bubbles she’d charmed, purple and silver orbs swimming past her and landing on the carpet, or the fleshy armchair the Weasleys kept in their upstairs bathroom, to sit while talking with whoever was in the tub. She knew from Bill that their parents enjoyed talking before bed like this, and Hum smiles at the intimacy – she herself held lots of conversations in here over the years, with Charlie mostly but also with Hermione, Ginny or Fleur. It was something that you’d do, with so many people sharing the house.
She enjoys the silence and solitude for now though, listening to the noises downstairs, the clinking of glasses and shimmer of conversation below. She can hear the shower downstairs as well and resolutely strays from any thoughts on the lovely body luxuriating underneath the spray.
For in order to feast, it’s good to abstain for a while, Gilbert’s whispered wisdom creeps into her thoughts, a motto she took to her heart even as a young girl.
She’d gladly abstain for the short while, then.