Trying to manage these bloody stairs with a bag that kept trying to get itself tangled up in his legs was an absolute nightmare. Charlie tried to reach into his pocket to make sure he had the right number and managed to trip over his bag and fell against the door. Before he could catch himself, he let out a string of swear words that was not usually heard in polite society and curtains in windows along the corridor started to twitch. He got up grumpily and knocked on the door.


Hermione was fluffing the pillows on the sofa intended for Charlie's stay, fussing over which way the tassels fell, and whether they were plump enough, when she heard a loud thump on her door, and then a sudden outburst in the corridor. She grinned a little to herself and had reached the door by the time Charlie knocked, opening it immediately, to his surprise.

"Hello there," she said shyly. Charlie smiled at her and leant forward to kiss her cheek. "Hey, petal."

Hermione made a face at the pet name, but brushed it aside as she stepped forward to grab one of his bags and drag it inside.

Charlie looked a little sheepishly up and down the corridor and said, "I think I have just ruined your reputation around here. Is that all right?"

"More than all right. They're mostly all Muggles, anyway, so news of my vulgar visitors won't hit the tabloids, with any luck." She said it matter-of-factly, resigned to the fact that for some reason the wizarding world had developed a deep and abiding interest in her personal life--as though it were anything interesting!

He kicked his second bag and stepped inside the door, looking round with interest. "This is pretty. Very you."

"Thank you," she said, and she smiled. "It's not very big, though. You'll be sleeping over there--" she pointed at the sofa at the far end of the sitting room "--and the kitchen is just adjacent, and the bathroom is right here, and my bedroom is next door." Her bedroom door was shut; Hermione had tidied everything, but it somehow still felt strange to let visitors of any kind see her personal space. Even Ron and Harry didn't usually go in there; back at Hogwarts, they'd never visited her dormitory, and had always hung out in the common room with her, and that hadn't changed when Hermione had acquired her own flat.

"Anyway, you must be starved from your trip. I can make most of the basics--anything you're interested in?"

Charlie nodded his thanks to her and went to place his bag next to the sofa to avoid tripping over it again. "A cup of tea will be grand. Don't feel like you have to put yourself out. I can look after myself and I'm quite happy to cook for you when I'm around. Make myself useful and all that."

"I may have to take you up on that," Hermione laughed, as she headed for the kitchen and took out the tea kettle. "In any case, please, take off your coat and settle in."

There was another slightly awkward silence and they both floundered a little for something to say. Hermione realized that while she was always comfortable in Charlie's presence, she never had much to say. She was acutely aware of how much cooler he was, how social and funny he could be, how he made her laugh and always had the right thing to say. Charlie never felt awkward in social situations. He could brush away any faux-pas in a few seconds. Hermione, on the other hand, had been awkward since day one, and she knew it, particularly when Charlie was around. She always felt this pressure to perform--to be funnier than she really was, to act far cooler than she actually was--and she usually failed spectacularly, which only heightened her anxiety around him, and others like him. She and Charlie had only communicated via the occasional Christmas and birthday card since they'd last met, which meant she hadn't given this issue much thought, but seeing him in her sitting room brought it all crashing back down rather suddenly. She realized with a start that she'd only met Charlie Weasley in person two times--the Quidditch World Cup, and George's funeral. And now here he was, grinning at her from her sofa.

She felt a strange dizziness, and proceeded to magically make some tea.

Charlie rummaged through his bag and pulled out some biscuits and chocolates. He followed Hermione into the kitchen and asked "Where should I put these?" He looked apologetic as she jumped, nearly spilling the tea.

"Sorry. I wasn't exactly quiet." Charlie smiled as he proffered the packet of biscuits and box of chocolates. "House warming present. I thought about flowers but I probably would have beheaded them on the way in."

"Oh, you didn't have to," said Hermione automatically, though she took the biscuits and chocolates from him and placed them neatly in the cabinet designated for snacks--all of them the boring, healthy sort that the daughter of dentists felt obligated to buy. She noticed with a smile that the writing on the box was in Romanian. How nice for Charlie, living in another country. Hermione had been to France once, and very briefly. Otherwise, England, and Scotland, were all she knew.

Charlie leant on the side of the counter as Hermione took the box and packet from him and he watched her move around the kitchen. "Have you had time to relax then? Or have you still been running around making everyone else feel tired?"

"Oh, I've been relaxing a bit," said Hermione vaguely. "I've had dinner with both Harry and Ron this week, although otherwise I've had work most days." She blushed at the mention of Ron's name, remembering their disastrous encounter at his flat. Thank goodness that hadn't happened on her sofa; she wasn't sure she could have let Charlie sleep on it, knowing that she'd been partially undressed and squirming in his younger brother's arms in that very spot. Thankfully, however, her flat remained untainted. She blushed again at the use of that word--untainted. Was that what she considered it? Was she that much of a prude?

“Well, that’s clearly the life style of someone who knows how to have a good time. I hope they took you someplace nice.”

Charlie spoke and it shook Hermione out of her thoughts. She realized the tea kettle was whistling, and turned even redder as she reached for two cups and gingerly poured the warm liquid into them, before handing the pretty blue one to Charlie, and keeping the cracked yellow one for herself. She took a seat at the kitchen table, but jumped up quickly to fetch the biscuits she'd just put away, taking one out to nibble nervously as she stared at Charlie across the table.

Charlie grinned as Hermione stared at him. He gave her a questioning look, "Do I have something on my face? I promise I washed before I came."

She shook her head and stared down at her tea. He had a habit of noticing every time she drifted into thought and ended up just staring, which was something she did fairly often.

He sipped his tea and then crossed his heart. "I promise that I'm more or less house trained. And if I'm not to scratch, you can tell me to sling my hook."

"Oh, Charlie," Hermione groaned. "You don't need to say things like that. I'm not in the least bit put out by your being here. You're welcome whenever, wherever you want."

When she realized the implications of what she'd said, Hermione blushed for perhaps the fifth time in a row, and took a large gulp of tea to distract herself.

He winked at her and said, "I had forgotten how pretty you were when you blushed."

"I haven't forgotten how terrible a flirt you are," Hermione said, a bit too sharply. She chewed on her lip, swallowing the last of her tea in a rush, and then rising to put the cup in the sink. "Tell me--are the girls still throwing themselves at you back in Romania?"

Charlie snorted with laughter. “Only the dragon handler groupies and if they’ve tripped over. I don’t think that counts as throwing themselves at me. It’s only because I work at the reserve.”

"Well, everyone knows dragonkeepers are dead sexy," said Hermione in a mocking tone of voice, washing out her cup and then placing it on the drying rack. "Particularly the redhead from England, with his cute accent." She peered over her shoulder to stick her tongue out at him.

He reached for a biscuit and took a bite. “Anyway. I have noticed you trying to change the subject. What’s wrong with giving you a compliment?”

Hermione shrugged. "I don't like flattery," she said, very simply. "I've learned that people only give compliments when they're looking for something. You know: 'Hermione, I really like your top...will you help me with my Potions essay?' Or men at bars, asking me my name and telling me I have a great laugh, or something equally random and insipid, and then asking me to introduce them to Ginny."

She eyed him, raising an eyebrow. "So tell me, are you looking for something, Charlie?"

He shrugged, deciding not to push it. He didn’t want to wind her up too much. He usually found that a little flirting made things go a bit easier but most people had fewer walls than Hermione.

“What are your plans for this week? World domination? Takeover of the Ministry?” he asked, changing the subject.

"Actually, we're staging a coup this Friday," said Hermione sweetly, grateful that he'd stopped trying to flatter her into whatever it was he was after. She leaned back against the kitchen counter, and folded her arms thoughtfully. "We've done polls in the Prophet and found we have about a sixty-two percent approval rating at the Ministry alone. So hopefully the other thirty-eight will be out sick that day."

Charlie laughed. "There, I knew there was a secret megalomaniac inside you just waiting for the opportunity to get out." He stood up and bowed to Hermione. "And what will be your first orders, oh great one? The shut down of the Prophet? Letting the Quibbler be the main source of news? Having the Minister arrive on a dragon?"

He tried to look serious but wasn't sure how well he was managing.

Hermione, on the other hand, burst out laughing.

"I have to say, we didn't think of that last one, but now that you mention it, sounds like a grand idea!" she giggled. "Would you consider lending us one of yours?"

Charlie's eyes twinkled, and for a moment Hermione thought he might actually have been considering it. Shaking her head--he really was just a big kid--she noticed he had finished his tea, and gathered up and washed his cup as well. Then she headed into the sitting room. Her old Hogwarts trunk was being used as a coffee table; she took the books and newspapers off, and opened it up to reveal a stack of warm blankets. These she placed on the sofa, and after she'd closed the lid of the trunk and replaced everything that had been sitting there, she used the blankets and the pillows she'd been fluffing earlier to make up a cozy bed on the couch. Eyeing Charlie careful, she waved her wand at the couch and elongated it slightly, so that Charlie would fit comfortably lying sideways.

"There," she said. "How's that?"

Charlie beamed at her and looked at the couch. "That looks fantastic. Definitely a lot more comfortable than someone's floor or my old bed." He sat down at the edge of the sofa and bounced a little. He looked up at Hermione. "Thanks, petal. You really are doing me a favour." To that, she shrugged. It wasn't a favor she minded.

Charlie stood up and kissed her cheek; Hermione ducked her head and he wound up with a mouthful of hair. He jammed his hands in his pockets in slight embarrassment and then said, "Well I'm off to find you some flowers. And you're not allowed to say no." With that he strolled out of the front door and wandered down the corridor. Hermione followed him to the landing of the stairs, and watched him go down the steps; she leaned over the banister, and followed with her eyes his red hair as he traveled towards the ground floor and out the main entrance, whistling all the way. With a sigh, she meandered back into the flat, where she watched, out the window, his progress along the street, wearing what could only be described as a wistful smile.

Then she straightened up, and went to finish the dishes.

She knew better, this time.