Charlie Weasley, Paper Husband

Epilogue - 8

It was winter in Perth, Australia, or in other words, a very fine day. The clean, utterly normal office buildings on the edge of the suburbs would soon be closing for the evening. Inside one of these buildings, a block made of glass and pink stucco, Dr. Monika Wilkins, DDS, had one more appointment. It was with a new patient named Carolus Balaur, newly arrived in the country from Romania and in need of a routine checkup.

It was not the kind of appointment that should have changed her life. But Carolus Balaur was not her new patient's real name.

Unseen outside Wilkins Family Dentistry, "Carolus" had just arrived. As he did, in the British countryside the hand of Arthur and Molly Weasley's kitchen clock labeled "Charlie" moved to point to the sector marked "dentist" for the first time.

"Dad better notice," Charlie said as Hermione apparated beside him on the pavement behind the dental office. "Mum only put the 'dentist' bit on the face of it to tease him about his Muggle hobby. But look at me now, actually here. He'll be delighted."

Hermione smoothed his hair, pulling a tiny leaf out of it from when he'd scrambled into a shrub trying to meet a new lizard friend. Yes, Charlie was enjoying his stay in Australia quite a lot.

"Delighted?" she laughed at him. "Honestly, Charlie, I've never seen anyone so excited to be going to the dentist."

He cocked one eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be? You're the one who said I had nothing to worry about here."

"And you don't," she rushed to say. "It's simple healthcare, but still...My parents. My parents who don't remember me. They have – instruments."

"Instruments? Like ukuleles or horns?"

She frowned. "No, more like mirrors, and – and hooks."

Charlie raised both of his eyebrows. "Hooks?"

Hermione boosted herself onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Oh, just tiny ones. And they do their best to be gentle with them. They probably won't try to give you a needle – "

"Probably?"

"I am sorry, Charlie," she said, wrapping both of her arms around one of his. "But there's no other way for us to meet them in private. And I need to be the one doing the talking so I can't have Mum rooting around in my mouth. You have to be the patient, and so they'll let me come back with you, I have to be your interpreter."

Charlie patted her hand. They'd been married slightly over a year. It wasn't a long marriage yet, but it was enough time for him to know that Hermione never went about things the easy way. Today, that meant reconnecting with her long lost, memory spell damaged parents through this needlessly ornate plan to accost them in their dental surgery.

"One last time," he said, going over the plan to calm her nerves. "We've told them my name is Carolus Balaur, from Romania. My English isn't great so you, the lovely Mrs. Balaur, need to come along to interpret for me."

She was nodding rather frantically. "Yes. That's it. So your job is to be your gracious self and to speak only in Romanian. And use no magic. None, Charlie. Do you hear me?"

He gave a sharp nod, answering with a clipped, "Da!"

"Excellent, Carolus. Now let's be on our way. How do I look?" She turned her face up to his, blinking rapidly.

He bowed his head to press his forehead to hers, brushing her nose with his. "Unforgettable," he said, and kissed her gently, for just long enough for her to even out her breath.

When he pulled away, she was almost smiling. "Come on then," she whispered.

She threaded her arm through his and Charlie let his frame droop against hers. "Are you being friendly, or holding me up?" he asked. "Am I meant to look unwell when I'm at the dentist?"