AN: You know they're not my characters, I just play with them. Prompt 3 on the breathtakes list - the look in your eyes.
I'd finally managed to get the lounge to myself. Mum and Dad had gone to bed, Ginny had gone out for the evening, and the rest of my brothers all moved out long ago. I'd just settled down on the sofa with a mug of coffee (admittedly with a more than generous splash of Ogden's Old Firewhisky in it), when the fire glowed bright green. Having no idea who could be using the Floo at such an hour, I fumbled around for my wand, but by the time I'd found it, something had already flown past my head, a string of highly inventive curses that I'd have been tremendously proud of filled the air, and there was a somewhat familiar-looking woman standing on the rug in front of the fireplace. Having established that my life wasn't in imminent danger, I turned to check the damage caused by the flying object. It took a little while (I will blame large volumes of, yet again, Ogden's Old Firewhisky for the slow reaction) to identify the object as a small, beaded handbag, which had knocked Ron's wedding photo off the table, smashing the glass and breaking the hideous frame that I believe was a present from Great-aunt Myrtle.
The woman was, at this point, still cursing impressively, and I don't think had repeated the same word twice. However, the volume was increasing to worrying levels.
"Keep it down, you'll wake Mum."
Startled that someone else was in the room, she stopped mid-flow. "Sorry, Charlie, I didn't realise you were here. Your parents won't have heard anything anyway, took care of that years ago."
"What in the name of Merlin's balls do you mean?"
"There's a silencing charm around their room, been there since the summer before sixth year. They can't hear a thing."
"That's impressive."
"I do have my uses, even if the bunch of self-absorbed, pig-headed bastards at that bloody dinner can't see it..."
She was about to start again, and much as I wanted to see how long she could keep going, I also wanted to know who the hell she was, what she was doing in my living room, and what had caused this fury. So, I waved the bottle of firewhisky in her direction, and she nodded, sitting down next to me and kicking off her heels. High heels. Those shoes and the elegant dress were kind of at odds with the way she curled up at the end of the sofa, legs tucked underneath her, looking almost feline. Strands of brown hair were escaping from the complicated hairdo, which was soon pulled loose into a cascade of curls falling half way down her back. Hair loose, she looked more familiar, and I finally managed to place her. Hermione Granger, my youngest brother's one-time girlfriend. Mum still had hopes of them getting back together until about five minutes before Ron and Lavender's wedding.
Anyway, I poured her a drink, which she knocked back swiftly, and then started telling me what had happened earlier in the evening. It had been a dinner at the Ministry, apparently, something to do with whatever she works on (she's a potions researcher, has come up with some of the most innovative creations the Wizarding world has seen in years). Anyway, it's a really prestigious event, and she's highly regarded in her field, but somebody had asked why she'd gone alone when the invitation clearly said "plus one".
She's not had much luck with relationships, has our Hermione Granger. She tried to laugh it off, but they were insistent. Finally, she'd lost her temper and left the building, ending up Flooing to the Burrow from the Leaky Cauldron.
"What went wrong with Ron and all the others, then?"
She poured another drink, and shook her head. "You're only asking to be polite, don't worry about it."
"No, I'm curious." I am, actually. I'd always thought of her as another kid sister, but she really isn't. She's highly intelligent, passionate about everything she does, and I have to admit I think she's beautiful.
"I'm Hermione Granger, the bookworm. The bossy one of the 'Golden Trio', and as your brother so elegantly put it when we broke up, I'm just not enough of a girl for men to be interested in me."
"Ron said that?" He's even more of an idiot than I thought. In a way, he's right, she's not a girl. Not any more. It's been a few years since I last saw her, but she's definitely all grown up, and that dress she's wearing now just proves it. "Bookworm, yes, but that's nothing to be ashamed of. It's certainly helped you in your work, hasn't it?" She nods, slowly. "The bossy one, no. I wouldn't call it that. You don't put up with idiots, and you tell it like you see it. Blunt, possibly, but I wouldn't call it bossy. As for that last one, you're all woman and you know it."
"Don't talk bullshit." I can see I've found the sore spot just from the words she's used. I know all about the incident back at Hogwarts, where my idiot of a brother, Ron, came out with the immortal line "you're a girl!" She might be dressed up tonight, but she's not comfortable or confident in the way she looks. That, I can do something about. If she'll let me, that is.
Gently, Charlie removed the now-empty glass from her hand, setting it down on the floor, out of the way. Brushing back some of the wild curls framing her face, he tilted her head up so he could see her eyes. She's scared of physical contact, scared of letting go of her control, and that's part of the problem.
"You can't see it, can you? You're gorgeous, Hermione."
Blushing, she looked away from him, unable to comprehend the look in his eyes. It's a look that says "I want you", and she's never seen it before, not directed at her. She wants him too, she realises when she thinks about it, but how long will he actually be interested in her? His lips brush softly against hers, so light it can barely be called a kiss, and she finds that she wants something more.
AN: There may be more to this, if you're interested.