A/N: Endless thanks to my alpha and beta for this piece (and yes she did both because she is the QWEEEEN!) MHCalamas. My girl just posted Chapter 1 of an amazing short story titled Woven, so close this tab and go read that instead. I assure it is far better. (All remaining errors are completely mine and I shamefully claim them as such.)

Hope you like this little mamma jamma I came up with.

I was given prompts for this by Frecklesandbroomsticks and Mamapotterhead2492. I'll include them at the end of the story to avoid spoilery type things – but thank you for the inspo loves!

Xoxo!

"Stupid, no good, rotten Weasley." With a cough, Hermione clutched at her bruised abdomen, her hands and face were caked with dirt and ash and if she listened hard enough, she thought her breathing might be a bit haggard. "By far my least favorite Weasley," she reasoned with a firm twitch of her neck, wincing at her strained muscles.

The cave she found herself in was monstrous to the point of overwhelming with countless tunnels branching into innumerable possible paths. There was a constant thrumming of water from somewhere in the caverns and the dank, musky smell clung heavy in the air. As she rested her bruised head against the stone wall, her eyes flickered closed and she remembered just how in the world this all started.

Deep within the stony cavern was said to be a long abandoned dragon's treasure; a local myth that had spread its way to British Ministry of Magic. In theory, Hermione had had enough intimate experiences with legends, tales, and dragons to last a lifetime; however, it was here, in the Department of Mysteries, that she heard them. She felt them: the tornado of whispers.

'Rumors', really. Caught up magically much like a taboo, when certain phrases were spoken, those words ended up there, circling in and around each other in an endless loop until someone cataloged and recorded them.

The information was barely used, stored in a room of vaulted ceilings with rows and rows of shelves of glass orbs like the Prophecy Room.

The young Unspeakable with the incredible honor of sifting through the rumors was none other than Hermione Granger. She abhorred the work: tedious and never-ending. Had she not been bound by an extensive magical contract, she imagined she'd had resigned already.

It was any normal day, pulling whispers from the towering funnel when one caught her ear.

"Alright, darling. Sleep now."

"Mummy, tell me the story of the Tesarul! Puhleeease," a small ghosted voice pleaded and she could hear a motherly murmur an agreement with a chuckle.

"Okay, but quickly, quickly. It's far past your bedtime, fluturas."

Hermione gave an exhaustive sigh, resting her cheek in her palm and ready to push the whisper into an orb and off to a shelf on childhood fables when she recognized term 'Tesarul'.

She picked up her wand and scratched the letters into the air and with a lazy translation charm she watched as the letters melted into Romanian: Treasure.

"During the first great war, bad guys were closing in quickly on the borders of Romania our government gathered all of our treasure."

"What kinds of treasure?" the child asked in a rush, words tumbling over each other.

"Gold bars that filled carriages, rubies and emeralds of the Romanian royal family, stacks of gold coins, and tiaras fit for the finest princesses in the world. There were diamonds the size of your fist, chests overflowing with ornate goblets, and priceless paintings.

"But the most important of all – magic."

"Magic?" the child repeated in awe.

A humming laugh, "Yes drogosto mea, this is how we lost our magic. You see, before the Great War, we had wonderful and old magic in our country. It flowed through the souls of our people and we were capable of many wonderful things."

"Did they have wands? Like the fairies in my books?"

"No, no, dearest one; our magic was unlike any other."

"Why did they hide the magic, Mummy?"

"The bad guys were coming and they hated those that were different. Our leaders became so fearful that they would do something to us in an attempt to steal our magic; they sent a stone into each magical village. This stone had the power to absorb our magic, keeping it safe until the threat and the bad guys were gone. We hid these stones with the rest of the treasure, waiting until the time was right to reclaim our magic."

"But, what happened then, Mummy?"

"The treasure was hidden in a cave near Tismana. Unable to move it to our allies, we were forced to guard it closer to home. As the war ended, great men attempted to pull the treasure from the cave, and a giant winged dragon settled upon the cave, claiming the treasure for his own and hoarding it from the men sent to reclaim it."

"Even the magic stones?"

"Especially, the magic stones. Dragons need magic to survive, dear one. And as the years pass, magic is hard to find. The dragon needs those stones to live now."

"Why don't we just go to the cave and fight the dragon?"

"Dragon's imbued with magic can't be seen by those without it. The men who left the cave that day were unable to find it again, leaving with only a few carriages of gold. The rest of the treasure has never been found again and the story remains that the train holding the other half of the treasure went missing. But we know, don't we?" The mother whispered in conspiracy. "We know that you were born with magic in your soul and that someday, someone will find those stones and return it to you."

The story faded, but its message struck something deep within Hermione; a chord that thrummed in her veins. If there was even a chance this legend was true...

With a fierce flick of her wrist, she trapped the whispers in an orb and stomped off to her supervisor.

"I just don't think we can feasibly send out our own forces to try to reclaim hypothetical magical stones guarded by an unlikely dragon based on a child's bedtime story. Sorry, Granger." Senior Unspeakable Baker wasn't exactly a pleasant man, however, he wasn't unpleasant either. He tittered the line of tolerable. His face was round and pink, a full mustache gracing his upper lip while the top of his head was so utterly hairless and obnoxiously shiny that Hermione, on more than one occasion, swore she saw her own reflection.

She slapped her palms on his desk, her hair tumbling about her shoulders in a frenzy. "We have to. What if it's real? There could be hundreds of witches and wizards without their magic. It's their birthright; we can't ignore that!" Couldn't he see they had to at least try? Had he already forgotten that it wasn't so long ago that people had wanted to strip her of her own magic? Something so intrinsically part of her that it would be peeling away layers of her skin and muscle, rendering her a skeletal shell.

"Their government can handle it." Her boss waved her off, swiveling in his chair, and flipping through a file that rested on his bloated belly.

It seemed he had.

But not Hermione. Filled with uncharacteristic defiance, she grabbed the edge of his chair and turned him back around. "They can't, sir. They're absolutely right – Muggles can't see dragons. If they've lost their magic, how are they supposed to find this cave?"

With a bored yawn, he leaned back in his chair. "Who is running their dragon sanctuary."

"We are!" She stamped her foot with a little huff. "Romania was chosen for its countryside, not because of its magical dynasty. The Romanian Ministry is small, almost obsolete, and no muggles would even be able to find their ministry to ask."

There was a long moment of silence, while his lips pursed together unpleasantly and he rested his hand on his rounded torso.

"Fine," he sighed. "I'm not paying you per diem, though. And don't even think about asking for hazard pay." Baker pointed a stubby finger at her face and her eyes went wild in disbelief.

With a near maniacal grin, she turned on her heel and made her way back to her funnel of rumors in the back of the Department of Mysteries. Those rumors would simply not sort themselves.

XXXX

After the war, she prayed for a quiet life, there'd been enough excitement to last her for years to come. One year bled into the next and the endless funnel of rumors kept her mind blank and bored, she had felt that familiar twitch in her belly again.

Arriving in Romania with only a small pack on her back and wanderlust swirling in her soul, she was ready for another adventure. Having spent the last few weeks pouring over Romanian maps and history texts regarding the lost treasure, she eagerly awaited meeting with her guide and beginning the hunt for the Romanian treasure.

Little was recorded regarding its whereabouts. Only one of the trains carrying less than half of the treasure had arrived at the Kremlin in WWII; the rest had mysteriously vanished and the people of Romania seemed quick to forget.

Hermione couldn't stomach the fact that there was an entire generation of young magical children that would never know the awe and wonder she felt when her wand choose her. They'd never feel the familiar jolt when her magic pulsed through her fingertips; the awe when they transfigured something for the first time or lit a room with the power of a lumos.

So, here she was, determined and prepared to return the magic to the people of Romania, even if that meant sneaking past one pesky little dragon.

Her portkey landed her at a small outpost outside of the dragon sanctuary in the hills of Romania. Had a Muggle stumbled across it, they might think it was a campsite, but as she stepped inside the largest and most central tent, the space expanded into a sprawling office. The canvas covered room was littered with messy desks, sans their owners and cork boards pinned with notes, maps and drawings.

"Hermione Granger?" A young pale girl with a thick Irish accent purred, her freckled cheeks pulling up in a smile.

"That's me. I'm here to meet with my guide, I think his name is –"

"Charlie Weasley." His smug voice surprised her and her polite smile faded instantly as a pair of thick arms wrapped around her shoulders. With a squeak from her lips, he lifted her effortlessly, her back to his chest and spun her around once. His laughter filled the tent and when he set her down, the world wobbled for a moment as she tugged her chambray shirt back down with a sneer.

"Oh," she said with a displeased turn of her mouth. "Charlie. It's nice to see you." She was lying through her teeth. "But no, I think his name was Adam?"

"Wrong, Duckie." Charlie beamed at her, running his hands through his wavy red hair when the fringe fell into his eyes.

Hermione fixed him with an annoyed glare, she loathed that nickname. The last few years, on the rare occasion she'd see him he would call variations of duck: duckie; duckling; little duck fuzzy duckling.

The Ugly Duckling: the tale of hideous little bird that finally turned into a beautiful swan.

So whenever Charlie Weasley whispered his term of endearment to her in passing, she had very quite nearly hexed his bollocks off.

"I'm sure his name is Adam," she replied flatly. Her eyes flickered closed in annoyance but she turned back to the young lass and fixed her with a bright, albeit forced, smile.

Charlie stepped next to her, draping his arms over her shoulders and squeezing her until her breath felt tight. "Well, Ronnie would have my head if he knew I'd let you wander off in search of a dragon with Adam Barber," he scoffed. "Bloke's a tool. I'm taking you."

Hermione turned, gaping – a scarlet flush creeping up her slender neck. "This mission is confidenti—"

"Right. Hunting for the lost Romanian treasure. I've been thoroughly vetted and briefed." Charlie tufted with a lazy roll of his eyes, crossing his massive arms over his wide chest.

Hermione let out a low hiss and pressed her palm onto his pectoral muscle, slowly pushing him backward and away from the doey eyed girl at the desk. "This mission is top secret, I'll have you know. It took me a lot of effort to make sure it goes off without a hitch and I won't be having you bollocking it up to make a show for your little girlfriend over there."

"Settle down, duckie. I have the proper clearance, I assure you. And for another thing, the lost Romanian treasure isn't exactly as top secret as you seem to think it is," he laughed.

Hermione took a deep, sobering breath, sucking the air in through her nose and pushing it harshly past her lips. Her fingertips pressed deeply into her temples, fighting off an impending headache. "I suppose there is no chance that Adam Barber is still available?"

"'Fraid not, duckie." His perfect white teeth gleamed at her.

"Have I made it clear how much I hate that nickname?" she asked with a pointed stare.

"You have."

"And yet, you insist on calling it?"

"I do." He grinned. "Duckie." Charlie tagged on the end with a wink. Hermione felt her cheeks flush and her nerves swarmed in her belly for a moment.

"You're insufferable. But, if you're the only guide I have…"

With a smug smile, he held his arms out wide for her and her face crumpled. Before she could consent or move away he wrapped her in another bone-crushing hug, her toes lifting ever so slightly off the floor.

Setting her down roughly, he gave her a playful shove on the shoulder. "This way, love. We've got a long drive."

With a resigned hang of her head, she trudged towards the back of the massive tent, hearing a mumbled, "Lucky bint," as she passed the clearly offended girl.

Hermione's jaw dropped at the ostentatious vehicle they would be driving in. Its tires went up to Hermione's waist and a caging perched overtop, a cheap attempt at protecting them in the event of a turnover.

"I don't think your girlfriend appreciates you being so touchy with me," Hermione chastised, as Charlie relieved her of her pack and tossed it haphazardly into the back.

"Who? Elise?" His brows quirked innocently as he strolled around the far side to where Hermione was attempting to climb up into the cabin. His rough hands gripped her hips and gave her a quick shove, and she fell face first, arse up into her seat with a graceful hrmph.

With a huff and a scowl, she straightened herself in her seat while Charlie climbed gracefully into the driver's seat. "The girl who was staring daggers at me."

"Elise and I are not dating. Not even close."

"She seems a bit possessive."

"Well, I did shag her once." Charlie shrugged, confessing it so offhandedly that Hermione's jaw dropped and a blush stained her cheeks.

"Charlie!" she admonished with the tail of a laugh.

"Alright, enough chatter about my love life. We've got a good five-hour drive." Her companion hollered over the roar of the vehicle coming to life.

"Why aren't we Apparating?"

"Never been there."

"Why not a Portkey?"

"That's not how things work in the Romanian Ministry."

"Why?"

"Bloody fuck, are you going to interrogate me the entire time? I would love to travel magically and not get my arse bruised on these shitty roads, but it's not an option. If it were an option, we'd be there already. So settle your pretty little arse down and go with it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the incorrigible wizard. Charlie Weasley was everything about Gryffindor that she really detested. He was loud and crass, boisterous and smug. Regardless of his less shiny qualities, he was talented and quick, almost instinctual with his movements and would be more than proficient as her guide. Still, it was his inflated confidence and it grated her nerves.

"How's my family doing?" he asked now that the roar of their car had dulled to a soft rumble.

"Everyone's doing good. No complaints. Your mom is excited about Ginny and Harry's wedding this spring, Harry and Ron made Auror – though no one is surprised about that. Bill brings the kids by often, they're getting big."

Hermione swore his knuckles tightened on the steering wheel briefly but didn't mention it. She asked instead: "Are you enjoying your work here?"

"Never a dull moment," he smirked over his arm at her, his eyes trailing over her legs for a moment before returning to the road. Hermione snorted but didn't remark on it further. "Do you want to tell me your exhaustive and probably over thought out plan?"

Her brows knitted together as she pulled a folder from her charmed bag. Over the following hour, she filled any gaps his briefing may have left out, not leaving out a single detail from her meticulous research. Based on what she could tell of the local mountain ranges where the treasure was last said to have been kept, her best guess was the mouth of the cave had to be located along a twelve mile stretch of mountain; all that was needed was to find it.

"What techniques can you tell me about sneaking past the dragon?" Hermione withdrew her a pen and notebook, Muggle luxuries that she allowed herself, readying them to take notes.

"Techniques?" Charlie's face pinched and a little noise escaped him. "Don't die."

"Brilliant. Truly. Did you attend a class where they taught all that invaluable knowledge?"

"Gods, duckie, you're such a swot," he groaned.

"Stop calling me that! It's horribly rude, you know."

"It's a mighty compliment," his eyes raked over her, lingering far too long and she let out an exasperated groan and tugged at the hem of her shorts.

"Just tell me what you plan to do to get past the dragon," she said.

He shrugged and poured a handful of trail mix in his mouth, speaking as he chewed. "We have no idea what kind of dragon it is, so I can't really tell you."

This. This right here is why she couldn't bloody stand Charlie Weasley.

"Would you, please, give me some survival tips if I am caught nose to nose with a Dragon? That was the purpose of securing a guide through your team." The curly headed witch was quickly losing her patience and they were perhaps one hour into a journey that could easily last several days.

Charlie gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Dragons are big."

"Yea, no shit," she scoffed.

"I wasn't done, duckling," he snapped. "Now, Dragons are big, their field of vision is big and lucky for us, it's not that sharp. They don't focus on fine detail and instead take in a large picture. Keep your movements sharp and precise, methodological. Plan your footsteps and execute them perfectly." Hermione winced, precision in the physical arena was not her fortitude. "Dragons are greedy and protective beasts. What they consider theirs, is theirs forever. Oh, and watch out for their bloody tails. People are so afraid of their flames that they rarely pay attention to their backsides. You'd be surprised how little a dragon will use their fire, they are far quicker to end their foes with a snap of their tail."

"Really?" Hermione's entire body had turned to him, her eyes wide as she flicked her gaze from her notepad to Charlie.

"Their slow, that's what we have to our advantage. A dragon in a cave? Even slower. They have limited movement and we don't. But if I tell you to move, move. If I tell you to run, fucking run, duckie. Hesitation could be the very real difference between life and death."

Hermione gulped, the gravity of this assignment she volunteered for sinking in. Her eyes flickered down Charlie's muscular forearms; a long silvery scar stretching from inside his shirt down to his hands. There was also a smattering of matching scars along his neck.

"Ridgeback," he said with a smug chuckle. "She was injured in the wild and it didn't look like she was going to make it. My partner and I were sent out to retrieve her – dragon wasn't quite keen on the idea." His lips pulled up into a charming smile and he ran his free hand through his tousled hair.

"What happened?"

"Emily was knocked out cold – hit by a Ridgebacks tail, like a dumbass. I got to her fast as I could but the Ridgeback was too anxious. She turned her flames on and blasted the pair of us, I got a charm up but not before she charred my back."

"What?" Hermione paled, eyes widening in horror.

"Yep. Happy ending though, Emily made a full recovery and so did the Ridgeback. She was released back into the wild last year and I swear I still see her flying over our camp from time to time. She was a big softie once she had healed up a bit."

The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched up in a surprising smile. There was something almost endearing hearing Charlie talk about his work. Of course, theoretically, she knew he loved his job – how could he not? He chose to leave his family and friends behind in London to chase down Dragons. And, as if for the first time, she caught this air about him, a pride in his work.

The rest of their journey alternated between stretches of silence and arguments about their plan, or lack thereof.

As the late afternoon light softened, they came over one last hill and the vast mountains of the Romanian countryside broke into view. Hermione gasped, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the dash just so she could be inching closer.

They found a place near the foothills and Hermione gripped the bar overhead and pulled herself to standing, stretching the sleep and travel from her limbs. Her eyes drifted down to catch what appeared to be Charlie Weasley admiring the length of her limbs and the inch of exposed tummy and she snapped her arms to her side. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Just… admiring the view, duckie." He smirked and pulled himself up. "Say, if you forgot your tent, mine's not quite big enough for two, but I'd happily make an exception for you. I'm sure we could find something to keep us warm through the night."

With a soft pop Hermione's jaw fell open, her chocolate eyes round as she stared at him

"Are you certifiably insane?" she asked, disbelieving and incredulous.

He answered with a shrug and hopped down, rounding the front of the truck and opening her door. He opened his arms to her, and she scoffed.

"Not likely. Nice try, Charlie," she rolled her eyes and turned to climb down backward.

"Fine. Be my guest." He gestured with a wry chuckle, his eyes twinkling in mischief.

Her boot couldn't quite find the step and it left her bent in half, her hands still clinging to the railing and her arse sticking out. She heard another chuckle from behind her and she straightened slightly, her eyes narrowing at the rugged wizard behind her who was inspecting her body in it's exposed position.

"You are not funny. Turn around," she commanded.

"Stop being so stubborn. I'll help you down, it's not that far anyway."

He reached up to grip her hips again and she yelped, trying to swat him away. Hermione lost her already precarious balance and her wrist gave out. She tumbled backward, while Charlie's arms reached out to catch her. He was unable to bear the sudden weight, and just barely broke her fall as they tumbled in a heap onto the soft dirt.

"Merlin's sack, duckie," Charlie groaned, coming up on his hands to create a cage over her. "Are you satisfied now? Glad you're not a damsel in distress?"

"Oh, shut up," she sneered and shifted slightly, realizing that he was on top of her, his knee delicately between her thighs.

"Well, it'd be a shame to waste a good opportunity, wouldn't it? I mean, I'd almost dare to say this is fate." His playful yet heated gaze roamed over her face, and down the column of her throat.

"You're a rotten flirt, Charlie Weasley." She glared at him and gave him a hard shove so that he rolled onto his back, laughing.

"One of these days, I'm going to find a line that works on you, duckie." He smiled up at her from the dirt, his hands folded on his broad chest.

"Don't hold your breath," she muttered, summoning her pack. "Actually, I take that back. Do. Do hold your breath."

With a bellowing laugh, he rolled up on his haunches and summoned his own pack.

Within an hour their camp was coming along nicely, two small tents on opposite sides of a fire pit and a small stream just a couple of meters away providing fresh water and the stretch of mountain range they were going to be searching spread out for several kilometers on either side.

"So, in the morning," Charlie began, hunched over a map on a transfigured table, "I say we start heading up this way. I think the shape of the range in this direction is really going to make more sense for a dragon to inhabit. It's too shallow here." His finger trailed along the lines of the map and his bicep brushed hers and she tensed at the contact. He must have sensed it because his clear blue eyes flickered up to hers, traveling briefly to stare at her lips. There was the briefest moment of electrified tension and Hermione let her eyes examine his lips as well. They weren't full but they weren't thin, either. They were always pulled into a devilish curve and now was no exception, just as he moved a breath closer, she broke the trance.

"I need to pee!" Heat stained her cheeks in the aftermath of her outburst, while Charlie's crooked smile grew.

"Okay, duckie." He chuckled with a shake of his head, returning to the cluster of maps and notes in front of them.

She turned on her heel, eyes rolling back in her head at her insipid excuse. On the brink of mortification, she marched off into the treeline – she didn't even have to piss, for goodness sake.

Leaning against the first sturdy tree she came along, she attempted in vain to calm her wandering mind. She'd be stupid to try and convince herself that Charlie Weasley wasn't an attractive wizard. There wasn't a witch alive who would look at him and say that he wasn't. He had a square jaw, covered in a rough, scarlet stubble that travelled down to his thick neck. Seriously, who had neck muscle?

It was his eyes, really, crystal blue and fringed with thick lashes, or maybe it was his hair, always perfectly messy and hanging into his eyes.

But all that was negated by his abhorrent and obnoxious behavior. Right?

Plus he was a bit older, maybe too old. While they were both in their twenties, they were on very opposite ends of the spectrum and the notion that he was flirting, with any other intent other than to watch the ugly duckling fidget, was preposterous.

Still, her mind wandered, just because he was far too old to date, didn't mean that… other arrangements were off limits. She was, after all, a woman with physical needs… urges, even. Urges that hadn't been indulged in a very, very long time.

She pressed her thighs together as the thought of letting Charlie sprawl her over their work desk sprang into her vision and she slammed her lids shut, driving her palms into her eye sockets in a cheap attempt to rid herself of the sight.

"You're being completely ridiculous," she chastised herself and returned towards their quiet camp. "And you're not doing anything nefarious with Charlie Weasley."

With a renewed resolution she marched back to the campsite and froze mid-step as her jaw fell open.

Charlie-bloody-Weasley. Shirtless.

His wide shoulders tapered into a thin, chiseled waist. Deep cuts in his hips disappeared into the waistband of his rugged khakis and her mouth shamefully watered.

He was doing it on purpose. She was absolutely positive.

There was something quite striking about the sheer masculinity he exuded painted against the ridges of the Romanian mountainside. "There's my duckling," he purred, noticing her in the clearing and her face flattened in severe annoyance as she resumed her step.

"Don't call me that. Also, put your shirt on, it's unprofessional."

"Ah, rules like that don't exist in this line of work, duckie. Besides, it's bloody hot."

"It's just as hot for me and yet you don't see me—" Hermione ceased speaking as Charlie's eyes flashed with some dirty thought. "Nevermind." Hermione laughed as her red-headed companion trailed after her.

"You know, you're right. Maybe it's not appropriate if I'm the only one topless. Maybe it should be a campwide rule?"

"Let me think about it."

"Really?" His voice rose a few octaves and Hermione rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No. No, not really. Do you think I'm going to work with my shirt off? Did you honestly think that was going to happen?"

Charlie grumbled something unintelligible and when he pressed past her, Hermione noticed for the first time the intricate webbing of scars on his back.

With a startled gasp, her fingers flew to cover her mouth. "Merlin! Your back!"

Charlie had resumed his hunching over their work desk and paused only to peeked back over his shoulder. With an unimpressed pout, he shrugged and returned his eyes to the maps laid out on the table.

"This is from the Ridgeback?" Her voice was breathy, almost hollow. Hermione was a woman possessed as her fingers raised to trace along swirling scar spreading down his back, noticing the gooseflesh that spread across the skin not marred.

The scar was beautiful, almost as if it had been purposefully engraved into his flesh and she watched, entranced, as his shoulders shook. The action reminded her of a dog getting their belly rubbed and she snapped her fingers back as she came to her senses.

"I'm sorry." She blinked. "I don't know what's gotten into me."

He turned slowly, and she swore his eyes were a darker blue then they had been a moment ago, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at her. "You don't have to stop there, duckie."

She should be saying something now. Any minute now. Something sharp and quippy would come to her mind and she'd spew it at him like bitter acid. Until then, she was studiously examining with the soft crimson curls of his chest hair spread over his hard chest and her words were gone.

With a gulp, she attempted to come to her senses. "What were we talking about?" She peeked up at him through her lashes and watched as a satisfied smirk pulled at his lips.

"I think the last thing you'd said was you had to take a piss."

Her eyes narrowed and the moment burst as she stepped back. "Accio shirt." His well worn ivory cotton shirt flew to her palm and she shoved it at his chest, his silken chuckle filling the air of the campsite.

A/N: Would love to know your thoughts! They mean the world to me. MWAH!