Before the Vows - Charlie Weasley
word count: 1.5k
i am absolutely SMITTEN OVER THIS OMG thank you for the request!!
If it were up to Charlie Weasley, you’d already be married.
In fact, if it weren’t for Molly Weasley clutching her pearls and swearing she’d disown him if he dared to elope, he’d have married you barefoot in the Romanian mountains with nothing but a dragon and a bottle of firewhisky as witnesses.
But here you were. At the Burrow.
On your wedding day.
“Charlie, no, you can’t go up there—”
“She’s just one floor away—”
“That’s the point!” Ginny hissed, stepping in front of the stairs like a human barricade. “It’s bad luck!”
Charlie raised an eyebrow, the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. “You believe in that sort of thing now?”
“Today I do,” she said, arms crossed. “Because if Mum sees you sneaking into the bride’s room, she’ll combust.”
He snorted. “She combusted when I said we didn’t need monogrammed napkins. What’s one more fireball?”
“Charlie—!”
He leaned down slightly, softening his tone. “I just want to see her. One minute. That’s it.”
Ginny groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You Weasley men and your dramatic romantic streaks…”
But she stepped aside.
“Five minutes,” she said. “And if Mum asks, I’m blaming you entirely.”
Charlie grinned and kissed her cheek. “You’re a saint.”
“I’m an enabler,” she muttered.
Your room smelled like lavender and parchment. A breeze filtered through the cracked window, carrying the scent of wildflowers and Molly’s garden. Somewhere below, someone was setting up chairs and tripping over a gnome, judging by the string of curses that floated up.
You sat by the mirror, hair pinned up, half-dressed in your wedding robes. There was still time before the ceremony. Enough time to pace. To re-check your vows. To worry about whether or not Charlie had put his dragon-hide boots in storage like you’d asked.
You hadn’t expected the soft knock.
And you definitely hadn’t expected him to slip in and shut the door behind him with that familiar, mischievous glint in his eye.
“Charlie!” you gasped, spinning around.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“You’re not supposed to be in here!”
“I know.” He smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But I missed you.”
You crossed your arms. “It’s been seven hours.”
“Too long.”
Your heart melted a little.
“Ginny let you in, didn’t she?”
“Eventually. She threatened to hex me with something pink and glittery, though.”
You turned back to the mirror, trying to ignore how good he looked — his shirt collar slightly askew, his tie half-done, freckles standing out like constellations against his tanned skin.
“You’re ruining the tradition, you know.”
“I know,” he said again, stepping closer. “But you’re ruining me, so I figure we’re even.”
You blinked, thrown off by the softness in his voice.
Charlie was rarely poetic. He was blunt and warm and loyal, but he didn’t speak in flourishes. Which is why, when he said things like that — low, quiet, real — they hit you like a firework to the chest.
You turned to him slowly.
He was staring at you, eyes scanning your face like he was afraid he’d forget it.
“You’re not even in your robes yet,” you said gently.
“I’ll put them on,” he murmured. “But I had to see you first. Before all the noise. Before Mum cries and George says something inappropriate and Percy starts giving out seating instructions like it’s a Ministry meeting.”
You walked to him then, resting your hands on his chest. “Are you nervous?”
“Not about marrying you.” His hands found your waist, rough palms warm even through the thin fabric of your robes. “Just about getting through the ceremony without Mum launching into some story about my nappy years.”
You laughed softly, and he leaned in to press his forehead to yours.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The house creaked softly around you, and somewhere downstairs, Molly shouted something about someone forgetting the ring cushion. The usual Burrow chaos. But up here, it was still. Soft.
“I was going to wait until we were standing in front of everyone,” he said, “but I need to say it now.”
You looked up at him.
“I love you,” he whispered. “More than dragons. More than flying. More than quiet mornings in the mountains. Being with you feels like…” He trailed off, brows drawing together as he searched for the right words. “Like I’m home. And I’ve never really felt that before.”
Your chest tightened. “Charlie—”
“And I know you said you wanted the full thing — the cake and the music and the toast Fred’s probably going to ruin—”
“You said you wanted to elope,” you teased.
“I do want to elope,” he grinned. “But I also want to make you happy. Even if that means wearing stupid shoes and eating salmon rolls and letting Mum pick the table linens.”
You smiled, resting your head against his chest. “You’re making me very happy right now.”
A pause.
“Even though you’re technically breaking the rules?”
“I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Oh?” You raised a brow.
“We are having a honeymoon after this, aren’t we?”
You kissed him, smiling against his mouth. “Deal.”
Another knock jolted you both.
“Charlie, I swear to Merlin if you’re still up there—” Ginny’s voice called through the door.
He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I’m going.”
“One minute!” you called, laughing.
Charlie kissed your cheek, then your forehead, then hovered just an inch from your lips.
“See you at the altar, love.”
You nodded, fingers brushing his.
And then he was gone — slipping out the door with one last look that said everything his words didn’t have time for.
You stood there for a moment after he left, heart racing, face warm, everything suddenly feeling real.
You were marrying Charlie Weasley.
And honestly? You wouldn’t have had it any other way.
