FIC: "Big Girls Don't Cry" for odogoddess

[bethbethbeth]

Recipient: psyfic
Author: ragdoll
Title: Big Girls Don't Cry
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Charlie Weasley/Millicent Bulstrode, Charlie/OFC, mention of past Millicent/Theodore Nott
Word Count: ~11,000
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *forced bondage, hurt/comfort, verbal humiliation by OCs, frottage, hand-jobs*.
Summary:When Millicent Bulstrode was found guilty of colluding with known Death Eaters, she was forced to endure two years of indentured servitude at the Romanian Dragon Reserve waiting hand and foot on Charlie Weasley. It doesn't get more draconian than that.
Author's Notes: psyfic, I was elated when I got your assignment and tried to give you as many things that you loved as I could. This was not even close to what I had originally planned on writing for you (or who!) but these two shouted the loudest and made their demands known. I certainly had fun giving in to them. I hope you enjoy it and will forgive me for the lack of Snapeness.

Thanks to R. for all of her support and nurturing, as well as K and S for betaing and cheerleading, and of course bethbethbeth for being so patient and understanding.

---

Courtroom Ten was stifling. Claustrophobic. Dark. The only light in the dim room coming from the array of torches bracketed in the dark stone walls.

Millicent felt her wrists burning where the too-tight iron manacles cut into her skin. Her heart thudded in her chest as she waited for the verdict to come in.

The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot raised his head from the piles of parchment in front of him, looking at her over the cold metal frames of his spectacles, his lips pursed tightly in consideration.

"We find you, Millicent Amanita Bulstrode, guilty as charged of collusion with known Death Eaters and contributing to acts of violence and abuse against Muggle and Wizard-kind alike—"

The courtroom erupted into a cacophony of cheers, shouts and applause, the Chief Warlock's words drowned out by the wave of noise. The sound washed over Millicent as she withdrew into herself, barely registering what was happening.

"We hereby sentence you to two years of indentured servitude, the sentence to commence immediately..."

Millicent awoke with a start, shaking and gasping for breath. She was covered in sweat, her nightgown sticking to her skin. Hands trembling, heart pounding, she grabbed a glass of water off the bedside table and gulped it down until the glass was drained and the nightmare began to recede.

Six months later and she was still reliving the events of that day, unable to forget the ordeal and the humiliation. Six months as an Indentured witch in Romania, far from her parents. Six months without magic or a wand. Six months forced to serve a Weasley.

As much as she hated her circumstances, Millicent knew it could have been far worse. She was grateful she'd avoided a stint in Azkaban, her crimes deemed small enough to keep her from prison. In the wake of the war the oh-so-progressive new Ministry of Magic had found itself overwhelmed with trials of countless scores of suspected Death Eaters and collaborators, and not enough room in Azkaban to house them all.

In order to expedite the backlog of cases and keep the actual prison cells for the true criminals, anyone not bearing the Dark Mark, but convicted of being an accomplice, was sentenced to forced bondage as a form of work-release to help the Wizarding population rebuild and recover.

Millicent couldn't argue with the logic behind the idea and would have thought it was a clever way of punishing those who had fought on Voldemort's side if she hadn't been the one subjected to the sentence. Particularly when she knew she was innocent. Anything she had done had been out of self-preservation rather than any true allegiance to the Dark Lord, especially when her family had no real connections and no money. It had been safer and surer to keep her head down and align herself with the people who had offered her some modicum of protection rather than face things alone.

Unfortunately, there had been no one who cared to listen.

She filled her glass again, drinking down rapidly, her heart and breathing finally beginning to slow. It was starting to get light out, and it would soon be time for her to get up. Charlie — he insisted she call him by his first name rather than "Master" or "Sir" — would want his breakfast as he got back from his morning run, and he always got up at the crack of dawn, before his long days of dragon tending began.

Hauling herself out of her narrow bed, Millicent shrugged off her nightgown and reached for her clothes, pulling them on quickly. Her robes were drab, grey and nondescript, all the better not to be noticed as befit her lack of status. Once dressed, she headed for the bathroom, took care of her morning ablutions, then went to the kitchen to start breakfast.

Charlie was a man with a healthy appetite: fried eggs, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, bacon, toast and a pot of strong coffee. Millicent's Muggle-born mother had taught her to cook the Muggle way, something to pass the time during the long summers away from Hogwarts when she couldn't use magic, skills that had landed Millicent here rather than somewhere far less pleasant.

Her cookery was something he seemed to appreciate, as much as he ever articulated any feelings about her at all. Charlie Weasley was a man of few words, at least when it came to Millicent. He was certainly chatty with his friends and co-workers, but Millicent could tell he resented her presence in his house and the bond that had been foisted upon him by the Ministry.

The Reserve had taken on a number of Indentured prisoners — it was hard to find witches and wizards to work this far away from civilisation, particularly people willing to do such menial work as shovelling dragon shit or feeding so many hungry and dangerous beasts. Once they'd arrived, they'd been assigned to the regular staff. Not surprisingly, Millicent had been one of the last to be chosen — the slimmer, prettier inmates all grabbed up first. Charlie had reluctantly taken her home amidst cat calls and rude comments from his friends, his annoyance etched onto his freckled face as deeply as his myriad tattoos were on his skin.

In stony silence, he'd shown her to her room, then ignored her for the rest of the day, leaving her alone to get settled. She'd spent that first night curled up in her bed, hugging her pillow, lost and afraid. Knowing she'd avoided going to prison had given her little solace, especially when faced with such an uncertain future.

At least her lot in life had improved somewhat, Millicent thought as she set the table. Charlie Weasley might be indifferent to her, but at least he treated her far better than some of her fellow prisoners were treated by their Masters and Mistresses. Despite an array of protective spells designed to keep the Indentured from being physically or sexually abused, Millicent had heard plenty of stories. Indebted to their employers for everything — food, shelter, clothing — there were a variety of ways that the Indentured were made to pay, few of them pleasant or consensual.

Some of the others she'd come to Romania with had been more than willing to ingratiate themselves to their employers with the only commodities they had — their looks and their bodies. While Millicent was grateful that Charlie had made no such demands on her, she sometimes envied those who at least got human contact, even if there was no affection in it. That option, she knew, was closed to her, whether she had wanted it or not.

"Morning." Charlie strode through the kitchen door into the small stone cottage, sweaty and breathing heavily from his morning run. He stripped off his sweat shirt, unconcerned by the fact that he was now half-naked in front of her, the band of his track bottoms hanging precariously around his hips, threatening to slide downward.

Millicent found herself looking away from the sight of his lean, well-muscled torso, his skin glistening with a slight sheen of sweat, covered in freckles, burns and exotic tattoos. When she'd first arrived here, she'd thought him as ugly as the rest of his annoying siblings she'd had to contend with at Hogwarts, but continued exposure to him had changed her mind. Charlie was a good looking man, not to mention a fit one, and he clearly knew it. Not that he often showed signs of having a big head — other than parading around his home in various states of undress that was.

"Good morning," she said, taking the pan of grilled vegetables off the burner and transferring the contents onto a plate.

Charlie inhaled deeply, his mouth curving up into a grin as he took in the scent. "Something smells good," he said. "I'm just going to pop into the shower and then I'll be ready to eat."

Responding with a quick nod, she only glanced up after he'd turned to go, watching his retreating back with interest. Millicent might not like Charlie Weasley, but it was impossible not to appreciate his physique. Of course, she knew she was being foolish for doing even that — men like Charlie didn't notice women like her, even if they weren't Indentured servants.

She knew what he saw when he looked at her: a tall, big-boned woman with thick, black, stick-straight hair, a strong jaw and considerable curves. She would never be a willowy sylph like Pansy Parkinson, and she'd seen the sort of women he fancied — he brought them home with him often enough for her to know. They were all thin, lithe, blonde, and beautiful. Nothing like Millicent at all.

She thought of the jeers she heard often enough from his friends:

"Blimey, she's uglier than a Horntail, mate. I'd hate to see that face first thing in the morning."

"You'll regret taking her in — she'll eat you out of house and home. You'd be better off chucking her into the Ironbelly pen..."

"Oi, Charlie, did you know bedding ugly girls is much better than bedding pretty girls because the ugly ones aren't into themselves and will do anything to please you?"

"Try to get with that one, Charlie, and she'd break you in two first time out!"

Charlie had always told them to piss off before he Stunned them, and told her not to mind a thing they said, but it hurt. She couldn't imagine he didn't think along the same lines. Just too polite to say it.

The kitchen suddenly felt considerably warmer. Cheeks flushing, Millicent pushed all thoughts of Charlie Weasley out of her mind, and went back to getting breakfast sorted.

***

Millicent waited until Charlie had left for work before beginning to tidy up. Everything in the cottage had to be cleaned by hand: dishes and pans to wash, rooms to dust, floors to sweep, and beds to strip. The laundry, at least, was nothing she had to handle herself. There was a Reserve-wide laundry so all she had to do was send out the dirty clothes and they would be returned cleaned and pressed by magic.

Some of the other Indentured on site often complained bitterly about what slobs their Masters and Mistresses were and shared tales of cleaning horror with their peers. Thankfully, Charlie was relatively self-sufficient and tended to tidy up after himself, so the work wasn't that strenuous for Millicent. She'd discovered she didn't mind doing most of it — she found cleaning things the Muggle way strangely satisfying, a way to channel her frustration and anger into productive physical labour.

It didn't take that long. The cottage wasn't very large and Millicent had fallen into a routine which maintained things in good order, and as long as she kept up with it on a daily basis — which she did — there wasn't that much to do. Charlie never asked her what she did with her time while he was away and she never gave him reason to ask.

There wasn't much in the way of entertainment at the Reserve (even if she had been allowed to attend anything), so one of the kindest things Charlie had done was given her leave to go through his books if she desired. Millicent loved to read, so this was an unexpected boon. She had assumed that the majority of his relatively large cache of books would be dry tomes about Quidditch. She hadn't expected to find a nearly complete collection of Fifi LaFolle romances, a number of Muggle vampire novels (nearly all set in the nearby Carpathian Mountains) or such a wide variety of books about dragons.

It was to the latter that Millicent gravitated. Since she was on a dragon reserve, it seemed that immersing herself in information about them was the clever thing to do. Plus Millicent was just interested in the subject. She had never shared the information with anyone, but Care of Magical Creatures had been her favourite class at school, or would have been if it hadn't been taught by that oaf, Hagrid.

She had briefly entertained thoughts of becoming a draconian healer, at least before the War had begun, but all of that had gone by the wayside in their fifth year. Instead, she'd found herself being convinced by Dolores Umbridge that her true vocation lay in Magical Law Enforcement (with emphasis on the enforcement), and that Umbridge, with all her Ministry connections, could easily pave the way. Joining the Inquisitorial Squad had been the first step. Not that Millicent had minded putting popular, pretty swots like Granger and Ginny Weasley in their places, but it had also been to save her own neck. Challenging Umbridge, let alone classmates like Malfoy and Parkinson, would have been an exercise in futility.

The Bulstrodes, once as high in Pureblood circles as the Blacks, the Malfoys and other wealthy families, had fallen on hard times. Her father worked in the Wizarding Post Office in Tinworth, her mother was a Muggle-born witch from the Netherlands. Millicent was no craven, but trying to stand up to her entire House and throwing away the only opportunity she'd ever had for advancement would have been both foolish and suicidal.

Right now she was ploughing through a treatise on dragon breeding habits by Harvey Ridgebit. The book was old and worn, a number of chapters bookmarked with torn bits of parchment that Millicent could only assume were put there by Charlie himself. Ridgebit seemed to be a hero of Charlie's given the number of Ridgebit's books on Charlie's bookshelves. She knew Ridgebit had been the original founder of the Romanian Dragon Reserve and one of the foremost Dragonologists in Wizarding history, but she hadn't expected him to be such an interesting and engaging author.

She was so engrossed in the many variations of the mating dances of the Peruvian Vipertooth that Ridgebit had observed in the wild that she didn't notice the sound of Charlie's boots as he stomped into the cottage.

"What are you reading?"

The question made her jump, and Millicent suddenly felt incredibly guilty. She dropped the book on the sofa as if the pages had burned her. "What's it to you?" she snapped, her cheeks heating up as she realised just how insolent she sounded.

Charlie stared at her for a moment before giving her a diffident shrug. "Blimey, woman, there's no need to bite my head off. I just asked what you were reading. Last time I checked it was my cottage, my books."

Millicent gingerly picked up the book and held it up for his perusal. "This."

"Wow, Ridgebit? That's a bit of a surprise."

"I'm not planning to breed an army of dragons to protect me as I plot my escape, if that's what you're thinking. I was just interested in the subject matter."

"I'd be bloody well impressed if you could manage that," Charlie snorted. "No need to be so damned defensive. I said you could read anything you'd like. I'm just—"

"What?"

"Shocked to see you reading any of Ridgebit, is all. He's a bit advanced and not something I'd normally expect a—"

Millicent's lip curled up into a sneer. "A stupid Slytherin serving girl to be interested in?"

"Oi!" Charlie scowled at her. "A person who's not on this reserve by choice to care about. Usually I bring up Ridgebit and people's eyes glaze over. And you're reading him voluntarily! Quite a feat in my eyes."

"Oh." She took in a deep breath, fighting to control her temper before she got herself into any more trouble. "I like it so far. I've done all my work here for today," she added quickly, "I'm not skiving off or anything."

"I believe you. Although," his mouth quirked up in to a cheeky grin, "clearly I'll have to find you more to do to keep you from plotting a dragon revolution."

'I wasn't—!"

"Millicent," he shook his head, "I'm just taking the mickey. I'd rather see you reading something interesting than just doing mindless drudgery around here day and night. You're not a fucking House-Elf and I'm not going to treat you like one, no matter what some wanker at the Ministry thinks."

"Should have thought of that before you took me on," Millicent retorted. "It's how they want you to treat us."

"I don't give a toss what they want. I took you on because I was coerced into it. The Reserve is always short staffed and needed extra hands, and the Ministry...well, they offered an incentive to us if we took some of the Indentured Witches and Wizards who needed placing. The more we accepted, the more funding we got as a bonus. Win-win situation for us." He didn't look too pleased. "Contrary to what you might think, I'm not that keen on playing Lord of the Manor. I can fend for myself bloody well, thank you very much. But I wasn't about to be the bloke to let this place go to ruin because we didn't get the extra Galleons that came with another Indentured, was I?"

"Nice to know I'm just an end to a means."

He sighed in resignation. "That's not what I meant, Millicent. You've been great here. It's been dead nice to come home to a clean house and a hot meal and all — but I was strong armed into taking someone, anyone. And treating people like chattel, even Dark Wizards, isn't something I'm thrilled about."

"I'm not a Dark Wizard," she hissed, jaw clenched stubbornly. "I didn't do anything wrong. I even came back in the end that day at Hogwarts — as did others — but no one was bloody willing to give us credit for that. They reckon we just did it cos we saw the tide was turning and wanted to be on the winning side."

"Well, did you?"

"No. It's a load of rubbish. But no one's willing to listen. They only believe what they want to."

Charlie just nodded, his face impassive, although Millicent suspected he didn't believe her any more than the members of the Wizengamot had during her trial.

"It's dead easy for you lot to sit in judgement, but for your edification, I didn't collaborate with the Enemy. There are things I did that I'm not proud of, but you try being the only one in your entire House who isn't a bloody Death Eater or at least a sympathizer some time and see how far you get. Being brave," Millicent spat out the word, "is not a problem when you're surrounded by like-minded people. It's insanity when you're not."

"No, I suppose it's not," Charlie finally replied, his voice tinged with scepticism. Millicent doubted her words had had any effect on him whatsoever, but at least he wasn't arguing with her the way some had.

"If you don't need anything, I'll be in my room until supper." She rose to her feet, once again noting how he was barely an inch taller than she was, perhaps even less if he took off his boots.

"Have it your way," he replied. "But don't forget your Ridgebit."

"I won't." She snatched up the book and stormed into her room, doing her best not to slam the door behind her. Settling back on the bed, Millicent tried to return to her reading, turning her focus back onto the section about Peruvian Vipertooths (or was that Viperteeth?, she wondered), but her attempts were short-lived. A loud crash followed by a string of curses broke her concentration.

Putting down the book, she continued to listen — there were a few more muffled thumps and more shouting. Finally, when she'd had enough, she strode into Charlie's room without so much as knocking. "Whatever is going on here?"

A sheepish Charlie sat on his bed, surrounded by his wand, a few rolls of gauze bandages, a large earthenware pot of what looked like salve, and a pair of shears. Several additional rolls of gauze, all tangled and unravelled, were strewn about the floor. Charlie's dragon hide jacket had been thrown haphazardly onto one of the bed posts. Its owner was half-dressed, his bloody, singed shirt mostly off, but still hanging from one arm and part of one shoulder, and revealed burnt and blistered flesh which ran all the way up to his neck.

Millicent gasped at the sight. "How did that happen?"

"One of the juvenile Fireballs decided that a bit of roast might be nice for lunch. Unfortunately, she set her sights on me." He flashed Millicent a rueful smile. "Reckon I looked rather tasty to her. I seem to have that effect on a lot of women."

Millicent rolled her eyes. "Why didn't you go to the Infirmary and get that seen to?"

"Ah, I'm stubborn as the day is long. They had worse cases to deal with and the last thing I wanted to do was wait around all bloody afternoon."

"Stubborn's an understatement. I can't believe you've managed to sit there and witter away at me without passing out from the pain."

"I'm stubborn and tough," Charlie insisted. "I reckon I can manage it myself. I'll take a pain potion afterwards."

Millicent gazed around the bedroom sceptically. "Looks like you've been doing a brilliant job on your own."

Bristling, Charlie grumbled, "If I needed your help, I'd have asked."

"I thought that's what all that noise was all about."

"What noise? I was quiet as—"

"As an angry erumpent," Millicent snorted. "Don't be daft, Charlie. This has to be taken care of, and you're in no condition to do it." Grabbing up the shears from the bed, she surveyed his wounds with a critical eye. A wave of nausea hit her, and she felt bile rising up into her throat. She swallowed hard, determined not to let him see how rattled she was. "I'm going to have to cut off your shirt. I think bits of it are stuck in the wound."

"All right." He didn't sound very happy at the prospect, but held still long enough to let her clip the scorched material away from his arm. The tattered shirt pulled off easily enough after that.

"I need to clean it up first, but I can't use magic."

"Take my wand and Scourgify it." Charlie pointed his chin towards his wand, laying a few inches away on the bed. "It's at the wrong angle for me to reach."

"Are you certain you want me to do that? I might murder you right here and now—"

"And then fly off triumphantly on the backs of your dragon army?" He let out a pained laugh. "I'm willing to take the chance."

Millicent's hands were shaking, palms sweating as she reached for the wand. It had been months since she'd held one — the Ministry had taken hers when she'd been arrested, denying her the use of it even before her trial. Her fingers tightened around the hilt and she drew in a quick breath at the sensation of the hard wood against her skin. It was as if a piece of herself had been missing, and now she was finally, utterly whole. Well, nearly — after all, it was not her wand, but Charlie's in her hand, but it was the best she had felt in ages. "Scourgify."

Charlie hissed and winced in pain as the Scouring Charm bubbled against his raw skin. Millicent waited until the pink lather dissipated before dropping the wand by Charlie's side with great reluctance. She forced herself to return her attention to his wounded arm and shoulder, grabbing up the jar of salve and scooping out a generous handful. The strong, acrid scent caused her to wrinkle her nose as she began to smooth the salve over his burns, first tentatively, then more confidently as she saw it beginning to heal him, his flesh turning pink and whole once more.

Charlie's skin was fever hot beneath her fingertips as she worked up his bicep to his shoulder, then down to the edges of the damage along his shoulder blade, making sure every inch was covered. There was something oddly sensual about touching him in this way; if she hadn't held a wand in over six months, it had been far longer since she'd touched a man like this. An unexpected rush of desire flared between her legs. The sensation of the dull throbbing caused Millicent to blush immediately. Luckily, Charlie couldn't see her face at that moment.

Withdrawing her hand, she snatched up the nearest roll of gauze bandages and began to wrap it loosely about his arm and shoulder until the entire area had been covered. Charlie handed her some metal clips to secure the bandages. It took her several tries to get it right. Finally, she stepped away, giving him a sharp nod of her head.

"Thank you," Charlie said softly, sounding a little detached. No wonder given how large an area she'd had to heal.

"I think it'll do for now. If it continues to hurt, promise me you won't be a stubborn prat and will see a proper Healer?"

That elicited a faint smile from him. "Yes, Mum. Anything you say, Mum." He shifted on the bed, settling back against the headboard, once again wincing as he moved. "Millicent, there's a bottle of pain potion in the bathroom cupboard. Think you could fetch it for me?"

"Of course."

"And thanks for doing this. You were brilliant. Have you had any Healer's training?"

"No, not really. Just have a knack for it, I suppose." Millicent picked up the salve and as many bandages as she could manage. "I'll get that potion for you now."

"You know..." Charlie was looking at her with great interest. "If you'd like, I could put a word in the shell-like of Healer Ionesco, see if they could use an extra pair of hands in the Infirmary from time to time. It might not be much — probably menial things like cutting herbs or preparing potion ingredients, but I've got some pull with him, so it might be a bit more. Maybe you could get some training out of it."

His words startled her so much that she nearly dropped the things she was holding. "But what about my work here?" She was dreading to hear the answer, half-afraid that he might be looking for a way to make her leave. As much as she hated being there, the prospect of being fobbed off on some other stranger was even more distressing.

"Oh, you'll still have that. Ministry's made certain that I'm stuck with you till the end of your tenure." Charlie pulled a face. "But seeing how you've got so much free time on your hands, I thought you might want to do something else to keep yourself occupied."

She stared at him, unsure of what to say, her words stuck in her throat.

A look of disappointment crossed his face. "Forget it, it was a stupid idea. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"No, not at all!" she forced out. "I would love to. If Healer Ionesco's got room for me, that is."

"I'll make sure he does." Mollified, Charlie smiled. "As long as you get me that pain potion, woman. Without it, I won't be going anywhere for quite some time."

***

Charlie was as good as his word. It took a little over a week before Millicent was given a position with Healer Ionesco, but Charlie persisted, not resting until it was sorted. Millicent was nervous on her first day, unsure of what to expect or how the Healer would treat her. However, her worries were unfounded. The Healer, an older Romanian with iron grey hair and a spade-shaped beard, was kind and fair. He didn't seem to care about her past mistakes or judge her, putting her to work in his lab right away. It was, as Charlie predicted, menial work for the most part, two to three afternoons a week. Millicent didn't mind in the least. She enjoyed doing something other than cooking and cleaning for Charlie. Being in the Healer's lab reminded her of her days in Professor Snape's Potions classes, a place where she had flourished.

The other Infirmary workers were a different story. No one was cruel or rude, but they were distant and hardly friendly to an Indentured witch. They kept to their own little cliques, joking and chatting amongst themselves, growing quiet and wary if she tried to join in. Some of them were paired off, obviously couples, happy and in love. Something she would never be, least of all here.

Millicent tried not to mind, going about her work and keeping to herself, taking comfort in being able to expand her horizons. She listened to Healer Ionesco as he spoke to his apprentices, taking mental notes on preparations and cures and asking questions of him when her time allowed. He seemed pleased. Emboldened by his encouragement, she asked to borrow books on Advanced Herbology and Dragon Healing, and to her surprise — and elation — the Healer was more than happy to lend them out.

She wanted to thank Charlie for doing this. She appreciated that he had gone out of his way to make things better for her when he could have been utterly indifferent to her plight, leaving her to her domestic duties and nothing more. But as an Indentured, she had no money or even anything of worth to barter for a gift. Without magic, she had very little at her disposal other than her skills. Luckily, she knew Charlie enjoyed eating — it seemed to be his third favourite past time after dragons and Quidditch — and, of course, she could cook. He frequently moaned about the dearth of proper English cooking on the reserve, so she decided to make him a special meal — all of his favourite foods from home: roast lamb with red currant jelly, mashed potatoes, carrots and peas with a Banoffee pie for afters.

It took a little doing to obtain all the necessary ingredients, but after some adept negotiation with the Reserve's quartermaster, Millicent was able to get exactly what she needed.

The day in question started off well enough. Charlie was up and out early, a new shipment of rescued Swedish Short-Snouts requiring his attention. This left Millicent home alone with plenty of time to prepare dinner without interruption.

At six o'clock everything was prepared. The table was set, candles were lit and the food ready to serve. Charlie had said he might be home a little later than usual since it might take a while to get the new dragons acclimated to their homes, so Millicent initially took his lateness in stride. Charlie could always use magic to reheat anything that had gone cold, even if she couldn't.

By half-seven, she began to worry. At nine o'clock, frustration took over, and by ten, she was fighting off a combination of full-blown panic and fury. She supposed if something had happened to him, she'd have heard by now. Surely someone would have come to fetch her or at least tell her if he'd been injured by one of the Short-Snouts? There was generally a commotion in the camp when someone got wounded or other trouble occurred, and it had been relatively quiet all day long. So where the hell was he?

It was just eleven when she got her answer.

The front door opened with a loud bang as Charlie came stumbling in. His nose was red, his cheeks flushed and his blue eyes slightly glazed over. He broke into a large grin as he caught sight of her. "Ah, the fair Millicent! You're still awake!"

"Charlie Weasley, where the hell have you been?" Millicent exclaimed, arms crossed over her chest.

Charlie blinked in surprise, raking his hands through his already mussed hair before replying. "Been out wi' m'mates. Got the Short-Snouts sorted an' we went down the pub to celebrate."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Yer not m'mum. I don't have to check in with you, y'know," he snorted.

Before Millicent could respond, another voice broke into the conversation. "Charlie, who is this?" Millicent glanced over Charlie's shoulder to see a small, auburn-haired woman standing behind him, one arm around Charlie's waist. She wore clingy low-cut robes and spoke in heavily accented English. "You did not tell me you had a wife."

"Wife? No, Sorina! That's just, erm, Millicent. She's my..." He screwed up his face in thought for a moment. "Housekeeper. Yeah, I guess that's what you'd call 'er."

"Housekeeper," the other woman repeated. "Ah."

"Housekeeper?" Millicent growled.

"Housekeeper." There was a note of finality in Charlie's slightly-slurred voice that indicated he'd brook no argument over her title. "Don't pay her any mind, mea dragă." Tilting his head back, he kissed his companion soundly on the mouth.

Millicent's temper began to rise. "Oi, do you mind?"

Charlie broke off the kiss, Sorina continuing to giggle. "Blimey, woman, since when do you—" His words trailed off as his eyes lit on the dining table. "What is all that?"

"It was your dinner," Millicent snapped. "Which I wouldn't have bothered making if I'd known you weren't coming home."

"Bit of a waste, innit?" Charlie muttered with a shake of his head. "Might as well put it away now. Don't want it to spoil."

"Do you have any idea—?" Millicent started, but she was interrupted by Sorina once again.

"Go put it away," the other woman said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You shouldn't eat that much, you know, or you'll be as big as one of his dragons..."

"Why, you little..." Millicent found herself rolling up her sleeves, intent on breaking the tiny woman in half.

Seemingly oblivious to Millicent's reaction, Charlie gave his companion a quick swat on the bottom, making her squeal. "C'mon then, mea dragă. I did promise to show you my dragon etchings..." With that, he dragged the giggling Sorina in the direction of his bedroom, pulling her through the doorway and locking the door behind them.

Shuddering with rage, Millicent clenched her fists, then counted to twenty before allowing herself to attempt to move. She looked at the table again, a tight knot forming in the pit of her stomach. If Charlie — and his little bint — wanted the food put away, they could bloody well do it themselves. She was not about to take any orders from Sorina, and as far as she was concerned, Charlie could do whatever he wanted with the food — including shoving it up his arse if he so chose. She hadn't paid for the food — it had all come out of Charlie's budget anyway.

Humiliated and still seething, Millicent strode out of the cottage, hoping that a short walk in the cold night air might help her recover from the entire disastrous day.

***

"Millicent! Millicent, where are you?"

The sound of Charlie's bellowing wrenched Millicent from her already fitful and broken sleep. She rolled over and buried her head under her pillow, ignoring his shouts. It had been a terrible night and she was in less of a mood to deal with him now than she had been before. The walk had been beneficial, at least until she realised she had nowhere to go. She had already been breaking curfew by being out of doors at that hour, and protection spells or not, it wasn't safe for an Indentured witch without any magic at her disposal to be out on her own after dark.

She'd finally come back, only to be confronted with the unmistakable sounds of loud, uninhibited sex coming from Charlie's room. Sleep had been impossible given the amount of noise Charlie and Sorina were making — headboards banging, bedsprings squeaking, ear-splitting screams of passion. It had gone on for most of the night. Thankfully, the pair had finally dropped off somewhere around first light. Even then sleep had been elusive.

This was hardly the first time Charlie had brought another woman home, but it was the first time Millicent had met one face-to-face and certainly the first time Charlie had treated her so dismissively in front of anyone. It hurt more than she'd ever had imagined. Why did she care so much about his opinion of her? Why did it matter what he thought?

And that woman! How could he have been with someone so horrid, how could he have let her speak to Millicent like that and say nothing?

"Millicent!" Her door went flying open, an angry, dishevelled Charlie standing behind it.

Startled, she pulled her duvet up to her chin. "Do you mind?" For some reason, she was keenly aware that all she was wearing was a thin nightdress and he was barely dressed in a pair of low-slung sweat bottoms. At least, she noted, his arm had healed up well.

"Do I mind?" Charlie scowled. "What's all that on the table, then?"

"I told you last night," she said, her tone sharp, "It was your bloody dinner. A dinner which, I might add, I spent an awful lot of time preparing for you. Apparently for naught."

He looked perplexed, clearly not recalling most of the previous night's events. "Well, please tidy it up before we get mice."

"Is that an order, Master?"

"What? I told you not to call me—"

"Well, I'm just a bloody housekeeper." Millicent spat out the word. "I want you to know I am aware of my place here, don't I? Wouldn't want to overstep any boundaries or be too familiar. Master."

"What are you on about, Millicent? When did I ever—?"

"You mean you don't remember humiliating me in front of your date? I'm sure if you ask her, she'll be able to fill you in on all the details."

She saw his ears turn pink, his face closer to a shade of fuchsia. "Her? She wasn't a date. We just — at any rate, she's gone. I sent her home hours ago."

Despite her anger, Millicent felt a rush of relief.

"Look, I'm sorry if I insulted you in any way, I truly am. But I didn't mean—"

"Of course you did. You wanted to impress that—that bint. Well, I hope it was worth it. Must've been with the way the pair of you carried on all bloody night." Angrily, Millicent threw back the covers and rose, momentarily forgetting about her state of dress. The wooden floor was cold beneath her bare feet as she stomped over to him. "You know, I almost believed you were different from the other bastards who took on Indentured witches. That you didn't think of me as some sort of slave, someone to be not seen or heard, to bow and scrape, and kiss your arse. As a nothing. Reckon I was dead wrong."

Charlie didn't say a word. Instead he stared at her, his eyes fixed directly at her chest. She glanced down, blushing again as she realised just how thin her nightdress was and how much it revealed, clinging to her body and accentuating curves that were normally hidden by her shapeless grey robes.

"You—," Charlie started, but Millicent never gave him a chance to continue.

"Get out of here!" she shouted, giving him a rough shove. "Just get out!"

To her shock, instead of fighting back, Charlie immediately turned on his heel and fled from the room.

*

It was some time before Millicent was calm enough to leave her room and face her employer. Fully dressed and tidied up, she crept out into the main room, unsure of what to expect from him, especially after she'd thrown him out.

Charlie was nowhere to be seen. Neither was last night's dinner. All evidence of it had vanished completely from the table: food, dishes, cutlery and all. She could only assume Charlie had dealt with it himself. What that boded, she had no idea.

Her mind began to race, running over a variety of scenarios, none of them ending well. Could he throw her out or break the contract with the Ministry? If he did, would that mean her work-release was null and void? Would she be handed over to work for someone else, get sent back to England or worse be transferred directly to Azkaban? She couldn't imagine anyone at the Ministry being sympathetic to her plight or understanding what had transpired here. No doubt they'd think she had used her cunning Slytherin charms to manipulate Charlie into doing her bidding, and he'd finally gotten wise.

Perhaps if she had been someone like Pansy, she might have managed it quite well. No doubt her old school friend could have seduced Charlie in a heartbeat and kept him wrapped around her finger, ensuring herself a comfortable existence until the end of her sentence. But Millicent wasn't Pansy. Or Sorina. Or any other beautiful woman for that matter. She was just herself, and she couldn't imagine Charlie Weasley having gone mad enough that he'd suddenly desired her.

She fretted for most of the day, into the early evening, trying to keep herself calm by reading through more texts on Healing and dragons. It wasn't easy, and Millicent found herself jumping every time she heard the slightest noise.

Somewhere around dusk Charlie finally appeared, letting himself in through the front door. He looked as out of sorts as she felt, breathing heavily as if winded from a long run, his filthy trainers tracking mud on the floor.

Millicent rose slowly, keeping herself rooted to the spot rather than tearing out of the room in terror.

Charlie glanced in her direction, his fists jammed in his pockets as he shuffled in place. "You all right?" he finally asked, sounding for all the world like an errant schoolboy.

Millicent raised an eyebrow, responding with a long, cool stare. "Does it matter?"

Letting out a sigh, Charlie took a tentative step towards her. "Of course it does. I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"Well, the answer is no, not really. Satisfied now?"

"Hardly." He shook his head and edged closer. "Look, I'm really sorry about last night. I had no bloody clue that you'd gone to all that trouble. How could I have when you didn't tell me?"

"What about the word 'surprise' do you not understand?" Millicent said with a scowl. "I'd wanted to do something nice for you because you've been so good to me. Well, had been. I suppose last night proved otherwise."

"Don't be daft. I didn't know, I never thought— it was a long day and I went out with some mates for a few rounds. If I'd had any idea you were planning anything, let alone a meal like that, of course I'd have come home right away. On my own. I was really touched when I saw what you'd done.."

"Well, if it hasn't spoilt, you can share it with Sorina. I'm sure she'll enjoy it," she sniffed, although the thought of another woman eating the food she'd cooked for Charlie made her feel a bit sick.

Charlie pulled a face at the mention of Sorina's name. "I don't care what she'd enjoy. She didn't mean anything — she was just a bit of fun is all."

"You don't have to explain it to me, Charlie. I'm just a bloody servant."

"Will you please stop saying that, Millicent? I know that's how the Ministry wants me to treat you, but that's not even remotely true."

"Isn't it?"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't know why you keep bringing her up anyway. If I didn't know any better, I'd reckon you were dead jealous."

"I am not! I can't believe you would even—"

To Millicent's annoyance, Charlie looked amused by her response. "Then why do you keep acting like it?"

"I'm not. Not even the slightest bit." Despite her protests, his words rankled. "Only a big-headed full-of-himself tosser would come to that conclusion."

"Hmm. Pity that. Because I was thinking about it today, and," Charlie suddenly averted his gaze away from her, staring down at his muddy shoes, "I realised I wouldn't mind if you were..."

"Why? So you could have a laugh about it with your mates?"

"No, so I could be certain that the feeling was mutual."

Millicent felt herself starting to shake. "That is not funny. Not in the least."

"Not trying to be. You," he was now close enough to stand next to her. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, the faint scent of musky sweat coming off his skin. "You are an amazing woman. Clever, hard-working, kind..." He put his hand on her shoulder, and once again, Millicent felt a flare of want at his touch. "Lovely."

That word made her flinch. She wanted to believe he was sincere, but it simply wasn't possible. The mere thought terrified her. "Sweet talking me isn't going to get you back into my good graces, Charlie Weasley. Perhaps it's best if you sent me away now, before the situation gets any harder to deal with."

"Why would I want to send you away? I like having you here — I couldn't imagine you not living under my roof now. If you're truly unhappy, I'll see what I can do but—"

"If I'm unhappy?" Millicent was aware that her voice was growing shrill. "What does it matter what I want? The Ministry don't care about how happy I am."

"Well, I do. And I feel like crap for having added to your unhappiness. I was a total thoughtless berk, and you have every right to be angry with me. But one thing I'm not is a liar, and I wouldn't mess you about, Millicent. I like you." His fingers brushed the curve of her neck, making her shiver. No one had ever touched her like that before, not even Theo Nott, the one boy she'd done anything with while at school. "Now, tell me that I'm not just imagining that you feel the same."

"I—" Millicent swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. She drew in a deep breath, and murmured. "You're not imagining it."

Charlie leaned over and kissed her gently, his lips soft and warm against her own.

Millicent wanted to wind her arms around his neck and kiss him back, but she couldn't. Instead, she drew away, her heart thudding in her chest as panic threatened to take over. "What is it you want from me, Charlie? Sex? I know those protection spells can be got round as long as there's some sort of consent."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Is that what you think this is all about?"

"I- I don't know."

"Well, it's not," he replied sombrely. "You mean a lot more to me than just that."

"Prove it, then," Millicent blurted, knowing she was in no real position to make demands on him, but determined to try. If Charlie truly wanted her, it would have to be on her terms, not his. "Prove to me there's more than just snogging and groping on your mind."

That elicited a look of disappointment and confusion from him.

"I'm still an Indentured witch," she explained, "And I still have to live here for the next eighteen months, no matter what. People talk, and I won't have anyone thinking there's anything inappropriate going on between us or questioning my motives. Or yours for that matter. I don't want to be sent to Azkaban simply because there might be something between us and someone here or at the Ministry disapproves."

Charlie took her hand in his, giving it a quick squeeze. "That's the last thing I want, Millicent. I promise. I'll do whatever it takes to show you I'm not taking the piss, only..."

"Only what?"

"Well," he cupped her chin with his palm, gliding the pad of his thumb softly along her cheek, "I'm all for taking things slowly, but I might need an occasional snog to reassure me about your feelings too."

Millicent couldn't help but smirk. "Let's just see how things go, yeah?"

***

The next few weeks went by quickly. Millicent spent more of her days working with Healer Ionesco and most of her evenings with Charlie, who much to her delight, kept to his promises. There were few nights when he went out with his friends, and when he did, he returned home alone and generally sober. The nights he stayed in, they spent much of the time discussing dragons and Quidditch and comparing war stories. Charlie listened when Millicent shared her experiences at Hogwarts, not questioning or deriding her for her choices. He sympathized when she went into great detail about life under the Carrows her seventh year, and everything she had gone through since then.

Not all of their time was spent talking — there was plenty of time to sit by the fire, Charlie's arms firmly around her, his fingers in her hair, just being held and comforted. Millicent hadn't realised how desperately she'd craved that kind of physical contact until she truly experienced it. Charlie behaved like a perfect gentleman; other than stolen kisses — although those were growing increasingly heated — he made no further demands, not asking for or attempting anything more. It had to be a quite a sacrifice for him. She knew he could have any woman he wanted, and yet, he remained loyal to her. Millicent was grateful that he was such an honourable man, although some nights, as she closed her bedroom door after saying good night, she regretted her decision to take things slowly. Still, she knew she could not take Charlie Weasley into her bed until she was a free woman, until she could do it on her own terms.

Along with his increased attention to her, Charlie also bought her newer, nicer clothes at his own expense. When she went out of the cottage, she was still forced to wear the hideous grey Ministry-provided robes as a mark of her servitude and indentured status, but now, when she went home, there were brighter, better-fitting and more stylish things waiting for her. It made her feel human again. Charlie went out of his way to treat her like a person, not a possession, underneath his roof, and she began to thrive.

"Charlie?" Millicent called as she arrived back home after a long day at the Healer's lab. The scent of roasted chicken, garlic and fresh baked bread hit her as she came in through the door.

"In the kitchen!" he shouted back.

Millicent found him there, deftly whipping a bowl of mashed potatoes with his wand. "What are you doing?"

"Finishing dinner, love." Charlie beamed at her, acting as if his cooking for her was the most natural thing in the whole wide world.

"You can cook?" Until that moment, Millicent had been under the impression that sandwiches were the extent of Charlie's cookery talents.

"Of course I can. How do you think I managed for all those years before you arrived here?"

"But—"

"Your Ministry contract stipulated you had to work for me. I couldn't renege on that, and when you first arrived, I had no clue as to who or what you were. So," he shrugged nonchalantly, "I let you work for me. I don't recall you ever asking me if I could cook or if ever I wanted to."

"So, you let me slave over a hot stove by hand for months and never let on...?"

His grin grew wider. "Well, yeah."

"Bastard!"

"Oi, for all I knew, you were a nefarious criminal or hell-bent on overthrowing the entire Ministry with a cadre of my dragons. I needed to be sure. No use in putting myself out only to wake up one morning with my throat cut."

Millicent rolled her eyes. "Charlie, if your throat was cut, you could hardly wake up, could you?"

"Fair cop."

"So, what's happened to change your mind then?" She set down her bag, then came to his side, kissing him on the cheek.

"Good news. Well, I hope it's good news." Charlie sent the mashed potatoes zooming into the dining room and onto the table. "Go sit down and we'll talk about it, yeah?"

"Let me go wash up first," Millicent insisted. "I've been pureeing frog livers and messing with bubotubers all bloody afternoon and I'm a right mess."

Charlie pulled a face, then planted a swift kiss on her mouth. "I s'pose it can wait a few minutes longer. Just hurry back."

Millicent complied, rushing to her room to change out of her soiled, worn work robes. She pulled one of her new robes out of her cupboard before heading toward the bathroom to tidy up. The deep crimson robes, a flattering shade for her colouring, were form fitting and cut low enough to reveal her ample cleavage. Wearing them made Millicent feel attractive, and though she barely dared to believe it – sexy.

Charlie seemed to think so too, his eyes widening as she returned to the dining room, a low wolf whistle escaping from his lips. "Madam." He indicated she should sit in the chair he'd already pulled out for her and gallantly pushed it closer to the table once she'd settled.

"So what is all this about, Charlie?" she asked, unwilling to wait any longer to hear what had him acting so strangely.

"Patience, patience," he replied with a grin, finally taking a seat himself.

"Charlie—"

"All right, love." He was most definitely enjoying her torment. "Well, I happened to run into Ionesco today. 'Run into' might not be the right word seeing how he was actively looking for me, but I certainly wasn't expecting to see him."

"And?"

"He wanted to know what my plans for you were. In the future, I mean."

"You?" she scoffed, "Why didn't he speak to me about—?"

"Because as your employer, I'm the one who's responsible for your general welfare and all that, so of course he'd defer to me. Anyway, I told him straight out that Ministry or not, you were the one to decide what you wanted to do with your life, not me. Which, I might add, seemed to please him greatly."

"Because?" Millicent squirmed anxiously in her seat.

"Because, my darling Millicent, he would like to take you on as an apprentice dragon healer as soon as he possibly can."

She gasped at the news. "Apprentice?"

"Yes, apprentice. He was positively raving about you, telling me that he's rarely seen anyone with that kind of interest or dedication to dragon healing, that most of the kids who come here straight out of school are absolute pants, and that you're streets ahead of them even without magic. Although, obviously, being able to do spells would be rather beneficial."

Barely able to breathe, Millicent tried to take in everything he was saying. It didn't seem real; she half expected to wake up and find this whole evening was a dream.

"He also offered to come to your one year parole hearing with me and testify on your behalf. He's willing to wait another fifteen months if he's got to in order to get you training, but of course, it would be easier if it's sooner. It's also quite possible that if we sing your praises enough, the Ministry might relent and commute your sentence or at least allow you some magical privileges before the two years are up."

"Wh-what did you tell him?"

Charlie raised his eyebrows, flashing her a smirk. "Obviously I told him you were far too important to lose as cook, maid and laundress, and he couldn't possibly have you as I need you all to m'self..."

"Charlie!" Millicent wailed, "If you did, I swear I'll—"

"I value m'life far too much," he laughed. "Of course I agreed with him and said I reckoned you'd be over the moon to hear the news. But I was not going to make any promises until I spoke to you since for all I know, you'll be wanting to go back to England once your sentence is over." His expression grew serious as he locked his eyes on hers. "Do you want to go back home?"

"Charlie, this is my home now," she replied softly. "I don't want to be anywhere else at all."

"You mean that, sweetheart?" He reached over and threaded his fingers through hers.

Millicent nodded, giving his hand a squeeze. "If you'll have me, that is."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know — your friends. Your family. What will they say?"

"My friends," Charlie pulled a face, "can piss off if they can't accept the woman I care about. You're serving your time, it's all that matters. As for my family, well, if you tell my dad your mum was Muggle-born, he'll love you forever. My mum? Well, yeah, she might be a bit of a problem at first, but honestly, love, if I wanted that woman's approval and to let her run my life, I would've stayed in Ottery St Catchpole rather than being here in Romania for the past nine years." He tightened his hand on hers in reassurance. "As for the rest of them? Well, they'll have to learn to deal with it as it's my bloody life. If my big brother, Bill, can marry a Veela, then I can be in love with a Slytherin. Anyone who doesn't like it can piss off as well."

"You—you're in love with me?"

The corner of Charlie's mouth curled up into a smirk. "Just said so, didn't I?"

Elated by his words, Millicent vaulted out of her chair and launched herself at Charlie so quickly that she nearly knocked him to the floor in her enthusiasm. His arms snaked around her waist as she kissed him, long and hard, moulding herself against him. She could feel his body beginning to react beneath hers, his erection pressing against her thigh. They continued to exchange kisses, growing in intensity, while Charlie's hands began to roam, caressing down the length of her spine, then along the generous curves of her arse. She moaned and rubbed against him.

With a groan, Charlie pulled away, panting hard. "Millicent," he rasped, "we—we really ought to eat."

"But—" she started to protest.

"You wanted to go slow," he reminded her. "And there's only so much torture a bloke can take before he starts to go spare." He loosened his grip, pushing her gently back onto her feet. "And I have to admit I'm teetering on the brink."

"I don't mean to torture you," she said, blushing.

"I know, love." Charlie sighed in frustration. "You know I want you, but I'll be damned if I do anything to jeopardize your parole." He swallowed hard. "Even if it kills me."

"Charlie, that's the last thing I want." Millicent leaned over again, wrapping her arms around his neck, and rested her head against his shoulder. She pressed her lips on the crook of his neck, making him squirm. "Surely there must be other things we can do besides that?"

She liked the noises he made as she flicked her tongue against his skin. "Th-there are," he managed. "Plenty. You certain you want—?"

"More than certain."

"Not here then." Once again, Charlie found the strength to push her away. He rose to his feet, and took her by the hand, all but dragging her out of the dining room.

"Not a bedroom either," Millicent insisted. There would be too much temptation if there was a bed at their disposal. Not that she was naive enough to think that shagging couldn't be accomplished in places other than bedrooms, but perhaps a different setting would prove to be some sort of deterrent. She could only hope.

"Sofa." He had barely gotten her on the sofa before he had fused his mouth on hers, pulling her as close to him as he could.

Millicent found herself on top of him, straddling Charlie's thigh, the skirts of her robe bunched up around her knees. Grabbing one of his hands, she placed it on her breast. She heard him moan against her lips as his fingers closed around it, squeezing gently.

As she fumbled with the buckle of his belt, Charlie was busy ranging his kisses along the line of her jaw, then trailing down her neck until he reached her throat. Moving southward, he buried his face in her décolletage, his tongue, rough and wet, swirling against her skin. He tugged at the laces of her bodice, pulling them free to reveal more skin while Millicent worked on unfastening his jeans.

She plunged her hand inside his jeans, then pants, doing her best to get a grip on his cock. It was rock hard, and thick, filling her hand quite well.

"Nnngh. Yeah, that's it, that's it," he growled.

Millicent blushed, not quite sure of what she was doing, although she was not about to admit that to him now. It was even harder to concentrate on the task at hand when Charlie was nipping at the exposed parts of her breasts, his sharp teeth leaving small red Os against her pale flesh.

His hips arched up as she tightened her fist around his shaft, his foreskin slipping down, then up as she began to stroke. Charlie shoved aside her bodice and bra, pulling her breast out entirely, and clamped his mouth on her nipple. That elicited a loud moan from Millicent. She ground down, rocking against his muscular thigh while he continued to suck and knead her breasts, first one side, then the other.

One of Charlie's hands slid under the hem of her robe and trailed smoothly up the back of her leg. He gripped her arse hard, the blunt tips of his nails digging into her skin through her knickers. Millicent undulated in his grasp, still stroking as she continue to ride his thigh. She felt Charlie begin to tremble, his thrusts into her hand growing harder and more frantic, his breathing coming out in ragged, harsh gasps.

"Millicent—" he groaned before latching onto her nipple again, his cries muffled by her skin. He thrashed wildly, then tensed beneath her. A hot rush of spunk flooded through Millicent's fingers, splattering the bunched hem of her robes and her thighs. She stared down at the mess, his now flaccid cock still in her hand, not quite believing what had just happened. Had she really just got Charlie off?

Charlie, on the other hand, seemed to be well aware of what had occurred. He pulled her head down to his, catching her up in a searing kiss. Relaxing his hold on her arse, he ran his hand over her hips followed by the swell of her belly, finally working his fingers down between her damp thighs. Millicent let out a whimper as he pressed a knuckle into the sodden crotch of her knickers, moving it in slow circles. The silky fabric was rough as it rubbed her clit, the pressure from Charlie's touch sending Millicent's senses reeling.

Gasping and moaning, she bucked furiously against his hand, feeling herself starting to shake.

"Come for me, sweetheart," Charlie urged in her ear, his fingers moving at a frenzied pace. "Come for me. You're almost there—"

And then she was coming, the orgasm exploding through her, rocking her to the very core. She clutched at him, her whole body wracked with violent shudders which slowly subsided as Charlie kissed her and soothed her into stillness. She collapsed against his chest, allowing him to hold her close, his fingers in her hair, his lips brushing her brow.

"I love you," she whispered. "I really do."

"Nice of you to finally admit it," he teased, then kissed her lightly. "Blimey, you're magnificent."

Millicent shifted slightly to nestle against him. Craning her neck, she nipped at his earlobe, making him squirm. "So are you."

"Guess the Ministry's protection spells don't cover everything," he said with a chuckle, one hand straying to caress her bottom. "Can't wait to see what else we can get away with in future. Hopefully without clothes on."

Once, the thought of him seeing her naked would have terrified her, but not anymore. "Hmm. Neither can I."

Charlie kissed her again. "We'll still take care not to do anything which might ruin your chances of parole. However—"

She raised her head up slightly, peering at him with half-lidded eyes."Yes?"

"On the day the Ministry breaks the bond of servitude and frees you, anything goes. I cannot guarantee that I won't take you home immediately and shag you rotten." He rocked his hips up against hers in indication.

"Ha," Millicent snorted. "Well, I can't guarantee I won't take you to the nearest deserted alley and shag you first."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Oh? Is that a fact?"

"Indeed." She covered his mouth with hers, infusing her kisses with all the intensity she could muster. As she and Charlie got swept away into another round of passion, the thought crossed her mind that the interminable wait to be a freed Witch had suddenly grown a lot shorter and a lot more enjoyable.

---

(Click here on IJ or here on LJ to return to the main entry and leave feedback for the author!)