A/N: A little missing moment from Goblet of Fire, when all the boys are home for the Quidditch World Cup. And a disclaimer: neither the Weasley boys nor anything else you recognize from Harry Potter is mine, instead belonging to J. K. Rowling.

the Burrow

August 1994

Very early morning

Hermione padded barefoot across the moonlit kitchen floor. She had just poured herself a glass of water and was about to take a drink when an emerald-green glow lit the room with a whoosh. She spun around in time to see Ron's oldest brother, Bill, unfolding his tall frame from the fireplace.

Hermione's heart rate kicked up.

"Oh, hello, Hermione."

"Hi," she squeaked, backing into a corner and tugging the hem of her t-shirt down in an effort to cover more of herself. She hadn't bothered with trousers, and of course she wasn't wearing a bra. He couldn't tell she wasn't wearing a bra, could he?

Bill waved his wand and lit the lamp hanging over the kitchen table. "You can use your wand for simple spells. Your Trace won't register in a wizarding house." He smiled kindly at her.

Since this only increased his physical appeal, it also increased Hermione's nerves. "I—I just wanted a glass of water. I didn't think anyone else would be up."

"I met some friends for a drink."

Hermione's eyes slid to the clock on the wall, which read "time for bed."

Bill followed her gaze and raised one eyebrow. "Keeping tabs on me?"

"No! No, I just—I woke up, and I couldn't go back to sleep, and—"

He laughed. "I'm teasing, Hermione."

"Oh. Sorry." She felt her face grow hot and stared at the floor, maintaing the death grip on her t-shirt, wishing she were wearing an honest-to-goodness nightdress instead of a plain tee that barely covered her bum.

Hermione looked up through her lashes. Bill had rested one hip on a corner of the table, and the light gleamed off his fang earring. Dressed in Muggle jeans and a button-down over a snug black t-shirt, with his long hair pulled back in a ponytail, he looked—he looked—hot.

"Can I give you a bit of friendly advice?"

She nodded, focusing on the table leg in front of her.

"You, er, might want to make sure you're dressed whenever you're not in Ginny's room. With seven wizards in this house, odds are pretty good you'll run into one of us. Even at night."

Hermione squirmed and tried to make herself smaller, hunching over and crossing one leg in front of the other so that her feet overlapped. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's just me and my parents at home, and…." She shrugged and one sleeve slipped over her shoulder. Now he would know she wasn't wearing a bra. She freed one hand from the t-shirt's hem to pull the shirt back in place.

"Oh, I'm not complaining," he said.

Hermione heard the smile in his voice and raised her head. He was looking at her bare legs.

"Ron's got good taste." Bill winked, pushed off the table, and left the room.

Wait, what did that mean? What did that mean?