Author's note: just a one-shot, written as a birthday present to Creative Touch (hopefully she sees it, I'm aware I'm over two months late) it was supposed to be done on time, but then my phone was wiped and all writing was cleared. So, I hope it's the thought that counts. Happy birthday CT!

Ron was getting married.

Which was a good thing. Hermione was happy for him, really. There wasn't a single person who could dislike Susan Bones, Hermione included. She was a lovely, lovely girl, and she and Ron were very much in love. So she was happy for them both.

But that in no way made it any less awkward for her to attend her ex-boyfriend's wedding. Not because she still had feelings for Ron, or because he still had any feelings for her, as the papers liked to believe, but because Ron and Susan had planned a very big wedding, and already she'd had four people come up to her to ask her if she was okay and tell her it was alright, not to worry, she still had plenty of time to find someone for herself. And the ceremony hadn't even started yet.

"You know," a woman was telling her now, "I didn't find my husband—dear Henry, may he rest in peace—until I was twenty-four."

"Really?" Hermione said, feigning interest. "Well, I suppose I have a few more years then, don't I?"

"Exactly!" the woman exclaimed. "That's the spirit!"

"And if I haven't got myself a man by then," Hermione went on, "then I'll just throw in the towel and declare myself a spinster."

Now the woman looked concerned. "Well, dear, you know, that's not quite…"

"Hermione?" Harry swept in at her side. "We need to head up to the altar now," he said. "Excuse us." She took his arm and let him lead her up to the front.

George pressed a flute of champagne into her hand as the guests meandered to their seats and the rest of the groomsmen—Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Fred—got in line behind Harry and Hermione. "Thanks," she said.

Fred gave her half a grin, and both he and George held up their whiskeys, and clinked them lightly to her glass. "Cheers." They went to down the drinks when Hermione caught Fred's glass, as it just touched his lips, and swiftly swapped it with her own.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Miss Granger, we didn't peg you for a whiskey drinker," George commented.

"Oh, I love whiskey," she replied. She swallowed the small amount all in one go and sputtered at the taste. "Starting today," she added with a cough.

They laughed. She swiped for the last bit of George's drink, and he dodged her easily, raising the glass above his head. Charlie nicked it from behind him and finished it himself.

"No more for you, Hermione," Charlie said. "Can't have the best man getting sloshed, now can we?"

"Half the best man," Hermione corrected, nudging Harry, whom she shared the title with. "And I'm pretty sure the rule is that the best man does get sloshed. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"Oh absolutely. Why would I ever want to remember my best friend's wedding?" Harry joked.

"Well, Ron sure as hell can't remember yours," Fred put in.

"Where is Ron?" Harry asked, looking around above the crowd. The guests were seated and watching the altar attentively.

George discreetly hid the empty glasses in the gauzy canopy that was hung around the platform just as Ron came loping down the aisle to take his place.

He looked dashing. His robes were very much like a muggle tuxedo, black, with tails, a bow tie, and white shirt. All his brothers, and Harry, were in much the same thing, minus the tails. Hermione, however, very loosely matched the groomsmen in a black, fitted, knee length dress with a white sash at the waist tied in a large, floppy bow above her arse. She wasn't a huge fan of it, but it wasn't totally unflattering aside from the bow. In fact, it fit her nicely.

And it was certainly better than the bridesmaid dresses. Which were salmon. And which Ginny, with her beautiful ginger hair and freckled fair skin, was being made to wear. Not that any of the girls complained. Susan had wanted a nice pink; salmon was the result of a blundering seamstress's colour-charms.

Ginny told Hermione she was lucky Ron had asked both her and Harry to be the best 'man'. She'd escaped the horrendous salmon after all. But now, as she stood at the front waiting for the band to strike up, she wasn't sure she agreed it was worth it. She could feel the eyes on her, wondering what she was doing up there, if she was meant to stand with the groomsmen, and whether she was really part of the wedding party.

The band began to play a pretty, folksy melody, and the audience looked to the top of the aisle where Ginny and Hannah Abbott were making their graceful approach, followed by Megan Jones, Parvarti Patil, and Lisa Tanner.

Ron tugged his robes straight, pulled his shoulders back, and kept his eyes trained on the top of the aisle. "This is it," he said.

Hermione smiled.

It was a beautiful wedding. Susan was radiant, which sounded like a cliché, and maybe it was, but in an orchard, with the late afternoon sun bouncing off of her deep red hair, and her smile as wide as ever, her eyes shining with happy tears, she was positively glowing.

By the time the sun was setting, they'd said their vows, photos had been taken, and the tents were drawn up for the dinner to follow.

"Hey, Hermione," Parvarti leaned forward to speak down the head table, "you should come speed dating with me."

Hermione returned her fork to her plate.

"Speed dating?" Ginny asked.

"It's a muggle idea," Hannah put in. "There's a new pub in Diagon that holds rounds on Friday nights."

As Parvarti went on to explain the concept, Hermione rolled her eyes and continued eating.

There was a snort from her left, and she turned to catch Charlie's eye. "Sorry." He coughed. "Just sounds like a bloody waste of time to me."

"Glad I'm not the only one," she muttered.

"So how 'bout it, Hermione?" Parvarti asked.

She looked up from her plate. "I don't think so."

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun!" Parvarti coaxed. "I need a new partner in crime. Hannah's practically hitched to Neville, and Luna…well, it's not for her, I suppose."

"Not for me, either," Hermione said.

"Just once," Parvati bargained. "You're the only single friend I've got left."

"Oh! You know who you should meet?" Hannah lit up. "There's this guy I work with, called Conrad, he's always talking about how he'd love to meet you. I could set you two up!"

"You mean the bloke that's obsessed with her?" Megan hissed. "Hannah, he's got a button with her picture on it attached to his bag!"

"He's a really nice guy!" Hannah defended.

Hermione sighed. It was going to be a long night.

"So, to Susan," she raised her glass, "the most lovely person, who has made our friend the happiest he's ever been. And to Ron, the most loyal and best friend either of us could ever have asked for. With everything we've overcome in our pasts, may your journey together be the greatest adventure for either of you yet."

"To Ron and Susan!" the guests echoed. They toasted to Hermione's sentiments, and she let out a long breath as she and Harry returned to their seats.

"That was quite good."

Hermione jumped, turning at the voice near her ear. Charlie. "Oh," she said in surprise. "Thank you."

"Did you mean all that?" He had sidled over a couple of chairs, as the majority of the bridesmaids had gone to help Susan out of her train so she could dance. The band was nearly ready to play, and the dinner plates were being cleared.

"Of course I did!" she exclaimed. She had spent three weeks on that three-minute speech, making sure every word was just what she meant to say.

Charlie held up two calloused hands in defence. "All right, just wondering."

Hermione frowned. "Why?" she asked. "Did I come off as insincere?"

"No." He leaned back in his seat, rumpled his hair a bit. It was shorter now, the ginger locks just curling around his ears after Molly and Fleur had given all of the groomsmen haircuts, whether or not they were willing.

"What?" Hermione pressed, turning in her chair to face him.

"Do you really think of Ron as your brother?" Charlie asked.

"Yes," Hermione replied instantly. "I love both Harry and Ron as family."

"So, you dated your brother then."

"Well...I..." Hermione scowled, tossing one leg over the other.

Charlie snorted. "I see."

She hit his arm. "Shut up. You don't know anything about it. I don't know why everyone is so fixated on this anyway. The relationship only lasted five bloody months. We didn't even have sex for crying out loud."

Charlie's eyebrows rose.

Crap. She clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Not that it's any of your business," she went on quietly, desperately hoping she wasn't as flushed as she felt.

Charlie was suppressing his grin. "None of my business at all," he replied.

Great. She hadn't told anyone but Harry that little tidbit. Hermione sat back in her chair, crossed one leg over the other, and tipped her head back. Too late to take it back now. The sky was darkening, stars slowly beginning to dot the sky. The twinkle lights strung over the dance floor paled in comparison.

The band struck up, and, starting with Susan and the bridesmaids, guests petered onto the dance floor

"I'm going to get a drink," Charlie announced. "Can I get you anything?"

"Whatever you're having would be good," she replied, eyes trained on the brightest star she could find.

Charlie studied her. The smooth slope of her nose, curling lashes, the dips of her collar.

She blinked and turned to meet his gaze. He cleared his throat. "Scotch okay then?"

"Perfect." She'd already had whiskey today, how bad could scotch be? Or were scotch and whiskey the same thing?

"Hermione!" Her head dropped forward to see a woman she didn't recognize standing in front of her, and Charlie was halfway to the bar. If she had to guess, she'd have said it was one of Molly's friends, or possibly an aunt of Ron's. "Dear, come out on the dance floor!" she encouraged. Her lipstick was smudged and faded on her lips, her lavish up-do falling to pieces. "Have a good time!" She leaned down, hands on the table and brandy-warm breath blowing towards the younger girl. "You might even find someone."

"If I'm lucky," Hermione drawled with wry smile.

"You know, it was at my wedding that my best friend, Mary, she met her husband! She was my maid of honour," she laughed, "and at the end of the night, she was in the best man's room! Can you imagine?"

Hermione didn't particularly want to imagine.

"They got married just a year later themselves. And, I remember, she said to me, 'Poppy, it's all because of your wedding you know! It was destiny!' Just think, dear, tonight could be your destiny."

Hermione resisted the urge to rub her temples.

"Go on! Get back out there!" the woman rallied. "Charlie, dear, why don't you dance with Hermione!"

Hermione sat up, surprised to see Charlie back already with two tumblers, looking between her and...Poppy. "Why don't I dance with Hermione?" he asked back, turning to look at her.

"Because Hermione doesn't quite feel like dancing," she whispered back.

"Oh, come on," Charlie gestured at the woman, "my Auntie Poppy here insists."

"I do!" Aunt Poppy nodded emphatically.

"Fine." Hermione smiled tersely, grabbed Charlie's large hand in her own, and dragged him out to dance, their glasses left behind. At least she was free from further conversation with Poppy.

Charlie caught her off guard when he came to a dead stop and pulled her sharply against him. She stumbled in her heels, and he caught her round her waist and held her flush to him.

"Whoa," she said against his neck, getting a whiff of some warm, earthy cologne. He let her go just a bit, placing one hand at the centre of her back, the other clasping her own, and they swayed to the steady beat.

"So, how long are you staying?" Hermione asked, breaking their short silence. "Molly said she was keeping you a while this time."

He laughed. "Mum says that. I haven't got any plans yet. They've given me a three week leave from the reserve, but I might take some time to myself. Travel. Relax. Visit old friends."

"So you won't be staying long?"

"We'll see." His mouth lifted in a half-smile.

"And how is Romania?" she asked. "The dragons still treating you well?"

He released her hand for a moment to pull aside his collar where a freshly-healed pink scar slithered up his neck. "As kindly as ever." He grinned.

Even as he picked her hand back up in his own, she couldn't take her focus from that scar. One of the many she was sure he had, she wondered just how long that line was, where it drew to.

"Hermione?"

"Don't you get lonely in Romania?" she asked

"You offering to come visit me?"

"Well…I didn't…I don't think I could…"

"Why not? I hear you work for the magical creatures department."

"I do," she confirmed.

"Dragons are magical creatures, you know."

"That doesn't make them pertinent. I work for the British ministry. Not Romania." He spun her out and drew her nearer again. She smiled. "And how do you know which department I'm working in anyway?"

"Mum sends me the prophets whenever they involve you, Ron, or Harry," he explained.

"So, I suppose you've been reading the recent headlines?" she guessed.

The way he held back a grin while shaking his head was answer enough.

"Well it isn't true!" she exclaimed. "Merlin's sake, is that why you asked about Ron? Surely you know better than the slew of half-wits that have approaching me all evening."

"My aunt Poppy you mean?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Aunt Poppy, Aunt Muriel, that man in the ghastly blue suit, some woman I've never met," she rattled off. "Not to mention some of the looks Susan's friends have been giving me and the weedy teenaged boy who offered me a shoulder to cry on."

Now he really was laughing. "Didn't realize how large a wedding it is," he said as she shot him a look.

"Shut up. You know I'm not pining after Ron."

"Do I?"

She stamped lightly on his toes.

"So you didn't buy two pints of ice cream to eat your heartbroken sorrows away?" he asked. "Because the photo in the prophet certainly looked like you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I had a craving for ice cream." Honestly, the papers turned everything into a spectacle. She'd been on her period for heaven's sakes! You make one dash to the store in your pyjama pants and suddenly you've officially 'let yourself go'.

"I see. But, I mean, everyone knows that elderberry ice cream is Ron Weasley's favourite," he said, nearly verbatim from the article.

"That's not even true! He likes strawberry," she contradicted.

"Relax, Hermione, I'm only joking."

She sighed. "You don't know how tiring this is," she said.

"I have a pretty good idea."

"Oh really?"

"You think you have it bad?" he asked. "In the past two days, I've had six different relatives try to set me up with eight different girls and two blokes. Now multiply that by eight years."

Hermione's head tilted. "Are you into blokes, Charlie?" she asked.

"No," he said good-naturedly. "Why? Had you someone in mind?"

"No." She blushed. "But I did have a bit of a crush on you way back in fourth year. I'd feel extra silly about it now if...well, if you were on the other team all along."

"You had a crush on me?"

Her face grew hotter. "You were twenty-one and very fit," she defended. "I wasn't even fifteen yet, of course I fancied you a bit."

"Are you saying I'm old and no longer fit?"

She hit his shoulder. "Twenty-seven is nowhere close to old, and we both know that you're in perfect shape Mr. I Chase Dragons For a Living."

He looked down at himself. "I am, aren't I?" he agreed.

"Come on," she said, "enough of this. I want another drink."

"Hermione! Charlie! There you are." Ron and Susan found them at the bar as they were coming round to say goodbye to the guests. They were off to Spain in the morning.

"Have you been enjoying yourselves?" Susan asked. "Did you get cake?"

"Yes!" Hermione nearly fell out of her chair in excitement, Charlie caught her shoulder and swayed her back to upright. "Susan, the cake was beautiful," she gushed. "Merlin, I'm so happy for you. Congratulations—congratulations to you both! You and your beautiful cake...it's all so lovely. And Ron," she lowered her voice to a loud whisper, "have a good time on your honeymoon."

"I will, thanks." Ron turned to Charlie. "Is she alright?"

Susan poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and placed it in front of Hermione.

"Just enjoyed herself a little too much," Charlie explained.

Susan laughed. "Has she ever been this drunk before?"

"Hermione?" Ron said. "I don't think so. Charlie, do you mind keeping on eye on her?"

"What do you think I've been doing?" Charlie replied.

"Oh, I can ask one of the girls to take her home," Susan offered.

"No, I don't mind," Charlie said. "She's staying at the burrow tonight anyway."

"Maybe I could stay in your room," Hermione giggled.

Ron's eyes went wide.

"That'll be a little awkward," Charlie said, "considering Fred and George will be in there as well."

"Damn," Hermione cursed.

Charlie chuckled.

"Are you sure...?" Ron asked.

"It's fine. Don't worry. Go on, you two."

"Bye!" Hermione waved cheerily.

"Drink up," Charlie told her, swapping her wine for the water Susan had poured.

"Wine, please." She held out a hand.

"Water," Charlie said. "Or you're sure to have a right headache in the morning."

She drank the water. "So, tell me, Charlie, why aren't you dating anyone?"

He shrugged. "Haven't really dated anyone since I moved to Romania. Kind of hard while living on the reserve. Dating coworkers is a bad idea, you know?"

She nodded. "So you haven't been with anyone?"

He smirked. "'Been with' or 'dated'?"

She blushed. "Right. Of course." She sipped from her water glass quietly.

"You know what isn't fair?" She went on before he could ask. "You don't date anyone, and you get to be a bachelor and shag all the women you want, and nobody cares. While I date no one, shag no one, and everybody thinks there's something wrong with me."

"Do you want to date someone?"

"Eventually. But I'm not too concerned right now. I'm only twenty," she replied.

"Okay. Do you want to shag someone?"

"Well...I mean..." His eyebrows lifted, waiting for an answer. "I am a woman!" she defended. "I have needs!"

He laughed. "You can say yes, Hermione."

She sat up with resolve. "Yes."

"Okay then. Shag whoever you want." He shrugged simply. "I can't imagine who would turn you down."

She crossed her arms. "But then I'll be a slag."

"See? That's your problem," he told her. "There's nothing wrong with wanting sex. There's nothing wrong with having sex. And you don't have to give a shite about what anyone else says."

She absorbed this, the simplicity with which he responded. "Would you turn me down?"

"Hermione, you're drunk."

"But you just said—"

"I know what I said." Her face burned. "And I meant it," he told her.

"I think I should just be going home now," she said quietly.

"I'll take you back."

"I can manage myself, thanks."

"Hermione."

"Goodnight, Charlie. It's nice to see you again."

Two in the morning was a very lonely hour. Lying in Ginny's old room, alone for the first time as now both Ginny and Ron were married, she lay awake and stared at the ceiling.

She'd felt a little nauseated when first getting into bed, but after drinking half a pitcher of water, she was feeling quite alright now. Embarrassed. And with a strong desire to dig a hole and bury herself. But sober.

Did she really ask Charlie Weasley if she could stay in his room?

Did she really proposition him?

And what details did she share about her sex life (or lack thereof)?

She rolled over and groaned into her pillow. "That's just great. Bet Fred and George will be teasing about that tomorrow. Brilliant."

There was a clang from the kitchen.

She froze a moment, heard another clamour of sorts, along with the first half of a expletive. Tossing back the blanket, she swung her legs round to the side and got out of bed. She crept down the one flight of stairs, wincing as the third step groaned.

She peeked down. Just great. Charlie was at the stove, his bare back, aside from the ink, facing her.

She turned slowly, preparing to go back to bed then, hopefully undetected.

"Did I wake you?"

No such luck.

"No," she whispered back, feet unmoving, "I was already awake."

He leaned back against the counter. "You hungry?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"You sure? I make a mean grilled cheese."

Her feet carried her down the last step and into the kitchen.

"Is that a yes then?"

She smiled. "I'll just keep you company. My stomach isn't asking for anything right now."

He turned his attention back to the pan as she took a seat at the table. "How're you feeling?"

"Better, thanks." Their voices were low. "Embarrassed actually. Charlie, about earlier, I'm very sorry for my...um, forwardness. Sorry you had to babysit me."

"Ah, you're hardly a baby anymore, Granger." He shot her a grin over his shoulder. "I had a good time."

She cleared her throat. "So, what're you doing snacking so late?"

He flipped his sandwich over. "Haven't you ever heard of a midnight snack?"

"It's two in the morning."

"Nuance."

He slid his sandwich out of the pan and onto a plate, then pulled the chair out beside her. He dragged it forward until he was facing her, and his knees brushed hers.

He bent to take a bite, and she caught sight of that same scar from before, a pink trail from his neck to the centre of his chest.

"Margaux."

"What?" He gaze snapped to his.

"The scar. I was playing around with one of the dragons. She's only a tyke yet."

"Oh."

"And what about that one?"

Charlie rubbed his hands together, brushing off crumbs. "I love this game. Which one?"

"Just there." She nodded towards his right side, a shiny raised scar.

"Got caught by a branch climbing a tree."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen."

She nodded, her eyes roaming over a couple of burn scars, a shaving nick under his chin. "Okay. That one."

"A little more specific."

She raised a hand and lightly traced the white line from his temple just through his eyebrow. "This one."

"First day on the reserve. Hit by a chain."

"And the tattoos?" she asked

"Two," he told her. He swung himself round to straddle the back of his chair. She scanned over the freckled expanse of his back. There was one dragon flying straight up, wings spread, from his left side to his shoulder blade. She brushed her fingertips over the smooth, velvet black ink. "Beautiful."

He turned back round, and was suddenly closer than before, his feet on either side of her own. "And this." He extended his arm out, and on the inside of his bicep, in neat Medieval script, it read 'Carpe Noctem'.

She leaned in closer, smiling softly. "Seize the night."

There was a heaviness about them, a weight with the heat in the air. Within a breath, his hand was on her knee, the other on her waist, and his lips on hers.

His lips were soft and warm, but kissed like something she'd never felt before. Questing. Wanting. His hands were rough and calloused, slipping under her shirt, taking hold of her waist. He lifted her like she weighed nothing, sat her on his lap, tangled fingers in her hair.

He pulled away and scanned her face. She was breathless, surprised to find her arms looped around his neck. "Seize the night indeed."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Tell me you want this."

"I want this," she breathed. "Please."

He pushed his plate across the table, and then she was on the table, and he was between her legs and kissing her yet again. His hands slid higher this time.

"Wait. Let's go upstairs."

He shook his head, nose nuzzling her neck.

"Here?" she said incredulously.

"Why not?"

She pushed his shoulder. "We're on the kitchen table! Anyone could come downstairs!" she hissed.

"You gonna tell me that doesn't turn you on?" He raised an eyebrow.

She sucked in a breath, realizing he wasn't wrong. "Not if we get caught," she whispered.

He looked around. Put a finger to his lips teasingly. "Okay. C'mere."

He took her hand, she hopped off the table. He pulled her through to the scullery. She surveyed the area. No door of course, it was more or less a large alcove off of the kitchen. There was a basket of bedding and towels. An empty basin for the washing. And a long wooden table for the ironing and folding. It was relatively hidden from anyone coming down the stairs.

"Better?" He smirked.

She nodded, lifted herself onto the table, and he stepped into the space between her legs, tugging her by her hips until she was flush against him. There was something thrilling in every touch. The way he peeled her shirt over her head and tossed it behind him without care. How he touched her like he knew damn well she wouldn't break, but with an intent that convinced her the only thing he was thinking about was her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist while he went to work on her breasts, his mouth on her sweet skin, his hips rolled against hers.

She pressed her lips together in an effort to hold back a moan. He looked up at her. "Don't get shy on me now, love. I want to hear what I'm doing to you."

He pulled both her shorts and knickers out from under her with one hard tug and slid them down her legs until they hung from an ankle. She kicked them aside.

He reached between them and found her hot and slick. Her hips jerked against his hand.

"Eager," he murmured.

"Shut up and shag me."

Hermione came down to breakfast at ten o'clock to find everyone already seated around the table.

"Morning, Hermione," Fred said.

"Good morning," she returned. She took the empty chair between Charlie and George.

"Sleep well?" Molly asked.

"Yes, thanks." She began serving herself, nearly jumping out of her seat as she felt a hand slide up her thigh.

"Really? Could've sworn you were up in the middle of the night," George said.

Hermione shook her head, gently closing her fingers around Charlie's to stop his movement. "No," she said. "I suppose...I did get up for a glass of water."

"You know, you shouldn't drink water before bed," Percy said. "It disrupts your sleep cycle."

Fred and George both snorted. "That's not the only thing that disrupts sleep," Fred said.

Hermione's breath caught. She stared down at her lap.

"I'm sure Hermione slept fine," Charlie said.

"Yeah, I'm sure she did...after." George gave his older brother a sly look.

"What are you all on about?" Molly asked.

Percy rolled his eyes. "Like anyone ever knows."

"So, Charlie, when are you leaving for Scotland?" Arthur asked.

"Scotland?" Hermione asked.

"Leaving so soon?" Molly frowned. "Charlie, you only just arrived."

"Meeting Oliver on the tour?" Fred asked. "He invited Georgie and I, too."

"I was thinking about it," Charlie said.

"So you are leaving," Molly surmised, becausing everyone knows when Charlie Weasley says 'thinking' what he means is 'planning'.

"When?" Hermione asked without thinking.

He licked his lips. "Don't know if I will anymore. Might stick around for awhile."

"Spendid," Mrs. Weasley said happily. "Hermione, dear, you should stay as well."

A calloused finger was drawing on the bare skin of her thigh. S-A-Y - Y-E-S.

"I'd love to."