A/N: This update is definitely for Alyssa. Let me know if you have any ideas!

Shamelessly

Chapter 3,What are you Wearing?

Hermione sat in the living room. She felt ridiculous in her getup, but she knew that Ginny Weasley had a keen eye and good taste. Still, her exposed breasts and legs were feeling the effects of the well-placed cooling charms. Below her outfit was an absolutely sinful set of lingerie, one she would never have bought on her own, and, despite everything, she felt sexy in it. She knew Charlie would come.

And he did. It was late, but with her book spread out on her lap the time went quickly. She was the only one awake in the house.

He wasn't wearing a shirt when he walked in. He had grown into the habit of never wearing them, something she cursed him for, but secretly loved. The contours of his body against the light of her candles were stimulating, erotic, scintillating.

He was muttering to himself and in frenzy, as though he had been looking for something for a long while. Hermione giggle.

"Have you seen a book anywhere," he asked, not realizing who it was. "Oh hey 'Mione," he paused, his throat catching whatever words he was going to say next.

"Why are you wearing your school girl uniform?" He asked, after a moment. "You graduated, you know?" All the images of a panting, begging, school skirt clad Hermione Granger bent over his desk came rushing into Charlie's mind, and the blood came rushing out.

"It helps me focus," she said nonchalantly. "What are you looking for?" He tried to avoid the looking for her breasts, but it didn't work very well.

"Er, my book. It's about the history of the horntail. Have you seen it anywhere?" Hermione smiled.

"I think I did, one sec." She stood up, placing the book on the ground and bending over for a moment. Charlie gulped. This was bad. Really bad. There was no way that the girls of Hogwarts had gone about wearing that outfit in his day.

They hadn't, actually. Hermione and Ginny had modified her school uniform a bit, shortened the skirt, tightened the blouse; let the tie hang loose over her neck. It was something out of a muggle porn movie. As for Charlie's book, well, they're hidden it on the top of the mantle, in expectance that he would come looking for it.

Hermione stood up, then pulled the step stool from behind the chair with her sock clad foot, hopping on it. As she climbed up the ladder Charlie knew he needed to look away as soon as he could. But the candle lit view of her legs that led up that skirt and holy shit. She was wearing practically nothing up there. The angled view he had of his woman hood proved that very little was covering what he was most coveting.

"Is this it, Charlie?" Hermione asked most innocently. She handed him the book and hopped off the stool.

"You're welcome to keep me company, if you want." She added. He swallowed. He was a man. He could do this.

Charlie sat on the couch, his legs stretched out before him. He was comfortably seated when Hermione shifted positions, accidentally giving him an impossible view down her tightly tucked button down shirt. The creamy color of her collarbone was begging to be bitten, he thought.

"I'm off to bed, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said, after a comfortable time of reading. The tension in the room was getting to be palpable, but that's exactly what she had been aiming for.

She stood, seamlessly twirling a moment and bending to pick her books off the ground. Charlie blanched, she giggled inwardly. The whole point was that he didn't know she was doing this one purpose.

"Sweet dreams," she tossed over her shoulder.

Sweet dreams, indeed. Charlie thought to himself. It was time to fight fire with fire.

Hermione's mouth was dry, dry as bone; dry as paper, dry as a desert summer. Logically she was wondering how he could be wearing those pants in this kind of stifling heat, but the other part of her brain, the more pronounced part of her brain, was merely focusing on just how well those damn leather trousers fit Charlie Weasely's very, very, nice arse. Did she mention very?

"Look at those pants," Hermione hissed to Ginny from the picture window of the Burrow Kitchen. Ginny rolled her eyes, "he's definitely my brother, 'Mione," she replied. "Now Harry on the other hand…" Hermione knew she had lost her focus. Normally she would have been outraged that Mrs. Weasley was putting the boys to do all the work while the girls lazed around inside, but as she considered the oppressive heat, and the view, don't forget to mention the view, she was finding herself quite okay with the situation.

Charlie had taken to simply never wearing a shirt. Around the house, in the garden, only at the dinner table did he don the proper attire, and that was the sage advise of Mrs. Weasley, with whom, despite his status as an adult, he still groveled for. But these pants were a new addition. And Hermione, for the life of her, could not keep her eyes off the amazing derriere that presented itself.

"He won't take them off," Bill said laughing, as he walked in, carrying muffins for breakfast. "He says they keep him cool, though I can't for the life of me imagine how he isn't sweating his balls off." Hermione missed the look Ginny had shot her oldest brother. She was too absorbed with the thought of Charlie's.. er.. genital region, dripping. Fuck. She thought to herself. Just fuck.

"Hey, Gin, wanna hand me a glass of lemonade?" Charlie asked, walking through the door with a smile on his face smug as the cat that ate the canary. "It's hot as the blazes of hell out there." His sister smiled and handed him a glass. Hermione just ogled.

His body was covered in sheen of sweat, from working in the garden. His hair, tousled and messy, had a glint of sun that seemed to mirror his torso. She forgot how to breathe. And when he raised the glass to his lips and the condensation drops of water followed his jaw line down to his collarbone and dripped onto his damn trousers she knew she had gotten in way over her head.

And it only got worse. "I need a basket," Bill told his brother, as he dropped the muffins on the counter and gave his sister and Hermione a hug, (how was it that she didn't feel anything when the eldest Weasely brother hugged her, but the very thought of Charlie sent her mind reeling?

"Do you know where one is?" He had been sent on a mission, by the matriarch, of collecting the apples from their tree in the yard. Charlie, apparently, did know where the basket was.

He bent down in front of her, searching through the low cabinets. When that didn't prove successful he jumped right up on the counter and searched on top of the cuboard, he beautiful waggling arse right in her line of vision. And when he turned around she saw that she had picked the right candidate for the get-Hermione-laid position. Because if he had any idea how to work that bulge in the front of his leather trousers… that very prominent bulge.

"I…" she stammered and the three Weaselys looked at her. "I'm gonna go… wan- shower… I'm going to go shower," she finished, then darted up the stairs.

Yes, Hermione realized. She had absolutely no idea what she had gotten herself into.