Charlie Weasley did not remember meeting Hermione Granger. If he did, he would have recalled the reason why Ginny had slept in a separate tent from himself and the rest of the boys at the Quidditch World Cup. She was hosting a guest: a bushy-haired girl tagging along with Harry Potter.

No, Charlie remembered none of that.

By the time, years later, when they'd all gathered at the Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding, under the shadow of a looming war, Charlie knew to expect to see Hermione there. She had become a family habit somehow. Charlie wasn't sure how it had happened, but he did know why. Ronnie was in love with her. Everyone knew it but her.

Still, when Hermione came into the kitchen while Molly was cutting Charlie's hair, crashing around in a flustered rush, looking for Ron's missing something-or-other, Charlie jumped in his chair at the sight of her. She was a full-grown witch, now of age. Somehow, he hadn't expected it to happen.

His jump had caused Molly to hack off a much larger chunk of his hair than they'd agreed to when he first sat down to the trim.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Charlie! I didn't mean to startle you and - oh, look what I've done?" Hermione said, scooping the fallen ginger lock from the floor and reaching for her wand. "Mrs. Weasley, if you'll let me -"

"No, no. no," Molly said. "You've done him nothing but a great favour, Hermione dear. No, we've no choice but to cut the rest to match this nice short bit." And with that, she took full advantage of the situation, tipping Charlie's head forward and carving deeply into his shaggy mass of red hair.

With his chin against his chest, Charlie looked sideways at Hermione as she stood beside them, helpless, still holding his severed hair. Charlie's expression was one part exasperation, one part amusement. When he caught Hermoine's eye, he rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"For star's sake, boy, hold still," Molly scolded.

They broke their eye contact, Hermione looking down to the hair in her hand. Some of the ends seemed like they were melted together.

Charlie was best man at the wedding. During the ceremony, Hermione didn't dare look at Bill. Everyone outside his family had a crush on Bill on some level, and everyone would have to give it up now that he was a married man. Bridal Fleur was too showy to look at for long, and her maid of honor, her sister Gabrielle who Ron had helped to rescue from the Black Lake - something about her made Hermione vaguely angry. That left Charlie Weasley as the only safe place to look.

It was too bad about his haircut. He looked like he was on leave from the Muggle military. Ah well. There was no such thing as a Weasley aesthetic Hermione couldn't appreciate. Charlie was shorter than the rest - except, perhaps, for Percy, who wasn't here. It meant he was less gangly, more classically proportioned. His arms weren't just shorter but thicker, like he used them to work, not just for gripping a broom over a Quidditch pitch. Though he had been known to do that too, if Hermione remembered correctly. Chaser - he had been a chaser, Ron had told her. She'd wondered what that would be like. Maybe she could goad the brothers into an arm wrestling competition later, odds stacked in Charlie's favour.

She shivered, but not unpleasantly. Time to look at something else…

Ron was taking forever to ask her to dance at the wedding reception. Maybe he had no plans to ask her at all. Maybe he was winding himself up to ask Gabrielle. She might have felt sad about it if Viktor Krum hadn't swept in, here as a guest of Fleur's, of course.

Did she still waltz as well as she did at the Yule Ball? Oh, Viktor.

She didn't see Ron reprising his role from the Yule Ball right along with them, glowering heartbroken from the other side of the tent as she turned across the floor with Viktor.

But Charlie saw it. He could see something rising with the splotchy red colour in Ron's cheeks. If Hermione Granger was left to keep dancing with Krum, Ronnie was going to do something stupid.

Charlie cut in.

"Excuse me," he said. "My mother thinks best man duty includes kitchen duty, so I've only got a few minutes left for dancing and I promised one to Hermione. Would you mind, Mr. Krum?"

Viktor let go of Hermione's waist, but kissed her hand as he backed away, vowing to finish their dance later.

Charlie pivoted in front of her. Chaser indeed…

"Sorry," he said as he took her hand. "Ronnie was about to go spare."

She huffed, tossing her head and reaching up toward his shoulder. Charlie noticed her blush all the same. "I can't imagine why," she said.

Charlie chuckled as his hand found the bend of her waist. "Because he fancies you rotten, of course. How could he fail to, after all the amazing things he's seen you do? I had to intervene with Krum before Ron did something he'd regret and turned this lovely event into a brawl. That's the real best man duty I'm about right now."

Hermione's face was still flushed. "No worries about Ronald laying hands on anyone over me," she said miserably. "Maybe if I was taken up by a giant or something but - what I'm saying is, when men pay attention to me, Ronald lashes out at me, not at them."

Charlie winced. "No. Really?"

She nodded. "Have you ever heard the name 'Lavender Brown'?"

He frowned. "That's a name? It sounds like a paint colour."

And Hermione was laughing, leaning to bounce her forehead off Charlie's shoulder.

"I apologize for my ridiculous baby brother," Charlie said as she raised her face again. "Boys mature slower - isn't that the excuse we've given ourselves?" He extended his arm and spun her underneath it. "Not that I'm an expert. The only 'girls' I hang around are 300 stone, scaly, and would just as soon roast me to a crisp."

"Ooo, dragons," Hermione cooed. "They don't mistreat them in Romania, do they?"

He shook his head. "At our sanctuary? No. That's why I chose it. Are you interested in the care of magical creatures? Ron's never mentioned it."

"Not the practical aspects of it," she admitted. "But I believe there are serious deficits in British statutes about the humane treatment of magical creatures. House elves, for instance…" And their dance ended with Charlie requesting she owl him half a dozen S.P.E.W. badges, if she ever got the chance.

She never did dance with Ron at the wedding. As soon as the music changed and Charlie let her go, Hermione fled the dancefloor. It felt more like a minefield.

But late in the night, after the wedding had been raided, and they'd fled to London, and fought their way to Grimmauld Place, she lay holding Ron's hand on the drawing room floor. It was smoother than Charlie's, smaller but with longer fingers.

How much older than them was Charlie? Seven years? By the time she was twenty-three and he was thirty, they'd feel like peers to each other. Maybe she could travel to central Europe and he could host her on a tour of his humane dragon sanctuary, and she could work to have its policies made into enforceable laws all over Europe.

She turned Ron's boyish hand over in her own, watching his chest rising and falling as he slept beside her in the silver moonlight coming through the drawing room window. He looked so young in his sleep, angelic. He and Harry were all she had, now that her parents were gone. Ron had assured her she was doing the right thing in sending them away. He hadn't tried to talk her out of it, but cheered her on. He had been standing outlined in the yellow light of the Burrow's kitchen door, his arms outstretched to hold her, his face against her hair when she'd arrived sobbing after leaving home for the last time.

She had loved his family for years - Arthur and Molly, the twins, Ginny. She'd been lightly infatuated with Bill, estranged from Percy along with the rest of them, and now there was Charlie. Yes, she could love kind, strong Charlie too. He was older, like Bill, but comfortable and wise, almost like -

Oh hang it, Hermione, she scolded herself. Don't go and give yourself daddy issues, starring Charlie Weasley as the replacement father, with his broad shoulders and rough hands and the nerve and grace to do something besides glare like a sulky prat when she danced with Viktor Krum.

No, she would stay in love with Ronald. She would. And she mashed a fierce kiss against the back of his sleeping hand to seal it.

"We meet for weddings and funerals, eh Hermione?" Charlie said as he approached her in the yard of Burrow just as the sun had set. He had found her standing in the tall grass that had grown up where Bill and Fleur's wedding tent had been almost a year before, when Fred was alive, and Percy wasn't speaking to them, and Ron wasn't a war hero.

"I suppose. Weddings and funerals, and at the beginning and the end of the war," she said.

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Beginning?"

She gave a weak smile. "You don't remember. I was at the Quidditch World Cup with all of you, the night the Dark Mark was cast for the first time in this war."

Charlie nodded. "Ah." He glanced around the empty field. "Where's Ronnie? I thought the pair of you were joined at the palm of the hand now."

She raised her hand and looked at her empty palm. Her smile was weaker than ever. "I'm trying, Charlie. There's a lot of strain in a relationship, when you feel like you're someone's prize for their heroism. Like a stupid cup that doesn't change anything once you've actually got hold of it. Can't fix or heal much of anything. Just a cup."

Charlie snagged her empty hand, holding it roughly in his own, swinging it between them. "It'll take time," he said. "Be patient with him. You're not doing anything wrong. This is just awful. That's what it is. And it's not like you aren't grieving losses of your own."

Her shoulders slumped and she swayed on her feet. Charlie stepped into her, catching her when it looked like she might fall. "Oh, Charlie," she said, near tears. "I can't begin to tell you."

He pushed her hair out of her face so he could see her when he said, "Hey, can I show you something? Something I saved for you?"

She blinked, not a clue of what it could be. "Of course."

He was turning on the spot, and with a dizzying snap they were gone from the Burrow, standing in Hogwarts' forbidden forest instead, the ruin of the castle hidden from view by tall trees. She gasped when she realized where they were all the same.

"It's alright," Charlie said, still holding her. "Come this way, and keep quiet. Not even Hagrid knows this is here."

She followed him through dense brush, creeping as soundlessly as they could, her hand pressed to his broad back so she didn't lose him.

"Right, now wait here until I get some light."

She gasped again as Charlie left her for a moment. She stood alone in the forest, conscious of every creak in the trees, and scuttle through the leaf litter. The air of the place was thick with so many memories, frights from her childhood and beyond. Her breath was coming faster. Was she panicking? Was she panicking about the possibility that she might panic?

She couldn't stand it anymore, she called in a whisper, "Charlie!"

From one hundred metres away, a soft white light began to glow. It moved and grew, illuminating the trees until it shone on one enormous clawed foot. Charlie Weasley had brought her to see a dragon. It was bowing its head, curving over its foot, bringing one great, milky eye into the light. That was when she heard Charlie laugh and say, "There's my girl. Hello. Hope I didn't wake you."

Hermione let out a little cry of relief. This was her dragon, the one that had set them free from Gringnott's Bank. She had ridden on its back, fixed herself to its spines and soared high over London and away from harm - at least for a little while. But then she had watched it fly away, ratty and half-starved.

"She's alright?" Hermione said, coming to stand by Charlie. "Ron said she would be. By the stars, Charlie, look at her. She's magnificent. And so - so content."

"Ron said she was alright when she left you? He had no idea what he's talking about then," Charlie answered, not rising to defend his youngest brother for the first time in Hermione's memory. "She was collapsed on a moor when we found her, too weak to hunt, disoriented. We brought her here to get her well enough to travel somewhere safe. If no one had called her in though - I hate to think what would have happened, after everything she's been through, locked up underground, fed on whatever rotting carrion they threw down to her, conditioned with pain. Bill always said there were rumors of dragons being kept to guard the most elite vaults in that pit of a bank, but he dismissed it as a bluff. As unimaginable, which it ought to have been."

Hermione shook her head. "No, she was down there, suffering for stars only know how long. I saw it."

"And you ended it," Charlie finished for her. "It's really a shame you can't see her in the daylight again. She's improved so much, so quickly you might not recognize her. We've kept her fed, and salved her wounds, conditioned her scales - "

"Her eyes," Hermione interrupted. "Why couldn't you do anything for them?"

Charlie frowned. "Why would we bother with her eyes? They're perfect."

"But the cataracts - "

"Cataracts?" Charlie snickered. "She's an opal-eye. Did she seem blind to you when she was flying you all over the country?"

"No, but they said she was a Ukrainian Iron-belly - "

"Well, they were wrong," he said. "Whoever they are. This is definitely an opal-eye, native to New Zealand. I have no idea how she would have come to be here. That's quite the black market those banker goblins have got. But none of that matters now. As soon as we've got the tranquilizing potions in order, she's going to a proper, ethical sanctuary to finish her rehabilitation, and then back to her native environment in the southern hemisphere."

At that, Hermione broke down and cried, loud enough that the dragon began to rumble and shift on its feet.

Charlie bundled Hermione in his arms again, hushing her and leading her away. They sat under a tree, Hermione perched on Charlie's knees like a child. "Hey, what's the matter?" he asked, low and gentle. "I thought you'd be happy to see her. I heard you were concerned."

"I am. I was," Hermione sobbed. "It's just - just that New Zealand is so close to - to Australia." At this, her sobs renewed themselves.

Charlie pulled her face into his chest, partly to comfort her, partly to quiet her so the dragon wouldn't make her anxiety its own. "I still don't understand. Australia? Please, Hermione…"

She told him. She told him about sending her parents away without any memory of her. She told him she didn't get advice from anyone but Ron before she did it. And she told him what Ron had given as the reason why he hadn't done the same to protect all of the Weasleys.

"We couldn't leave our jobs?" Charlie repeated. "He thought we could defend ourselves which, as Fred proved, was not the case. And then he argued that we couldn't leave our jobs? What kind of idiotic, short-sighted, capitalist - "

Hermione had never seen Charlie mad at Ron, and she couldn't bear it. "What? Do you mean you wish Ronald had sent the lot of you off to Australia under a memory charm?"

"No, of course not," Charlie answered. "But I wish he'd offered your parents some kind of help. Something you couldn't provide, but others could have. I mean, Mum and Dad were already targets for being close to Harry. Your parents may have well holed up in the Burrow under their protection. It makes no sense. I know Ron was only seventeen with a lot left to learn, but how could he - "

"Please, Charlie," she wept. "Please, it's done."

He clamped his arms around her, holding her for real this time, not to support or contain her but out of real affection and sorrow. "You don't have to be alone," he said. "You are a brilliant, beautiful woman. You will be loved by whoever you choose. Whether it's Ron, or someone else in your life, or someone you don't even know right now."

Her arms had closed around him in return, and she wept against his beating heart.

"You're not trapped with us," Charlie whispered against her hair. "The entire world is still yours, if you want it."

Under the tree, she sat in Charlie's lap and clung to him as the last of her sobs subsided. He felt her relax and left off stroking her back. His touch had been firm and slow. When she was upset and almost feral, like this, Hermione was not so very much unlike a dragon - a marvelous, warm, and fragile dragon that needed his touch.

When she sat back and looked up at his face, Hermione's human composure had almost completely returned. "How smart is a dragon like this?" she asked. "She seemed to recognize you."

He shook his head. "They're smart, but not like a centaur or an elf or what have you. More like a very clever raven. She recognizes people, will pay tribute to people who feed and care for her, but she's very much a wild animal. She has a kind of intelligence, but it's wild. There is no such thing as a dragon tamer. That's a slur. There are animal behavior specialists, like my colleagues and I, but we're researchers and scholars. No, every dragon is always crafty and wild."

Hermione hummed. "I don't know whether to be disappointed or relieved to hear that." She cocked her head, almost bird-like. "Do you want to know the truth about me, Charlie?"

"There's more?"

"Yes. And the truth is, I'm not as smart as everyone thinks. Not really."

Charlie had never been at school with Hermione, and had no reason not to believe her. But he did ask, "What do you mean by not so smart?"

"I'm crafty, but I'm not wild. I don't follow my heart as much as a truly smart person, someone who was both would. I always waited for Ron or Harry to do the heart-work. My heart is under-developed," she said.

Charlie scoffed. "Look at the way you were fretting over the well-being of this dragon - this beast most people, even magical people, would reject as a monster. No, there is nothing wrong with your heart."

She withdrew one of her arms from around Charlie and placed her hand over her heart. "Well, I felt for the dragon, but I didn't act on those feelings. I sat still and let Ronald dissuade me. That's what's under-developed. My power to act on my heart."

Charlie smirked. "Alright then. If you were acting on your heart right now, tonight, what would you do?"

She was quiet, her hand still feeling her own heartbeat in the dark.

When she didn't answer, Charlie began to quiz her. "Would you cuddle that dragon? Find the latest book on memory spells and a port key to Australia? Go home and make your Ronald breakfast before the sun comes up? Maybe even - "

Without a word, she followed her heart. She straightened her posture, tipped her head, and kissed Charlie Weasley on the mouth. He answered first with a grunt of surprise. Afraid he was pulling away, she leaned into him. The back of his head met the bark of the tree behind them and stopped. But the kiss didn't.

Hermione Granger's mouth was small, sweet, and nimble. Her hand was no longer pressed to her heart but to his. Her other hand was cupped around his neck, her fingertips in the hair that had grown long again at the nape of his neck. It wasn't soft and wispy, like Ron's, but dense and coarse, like a pelt. Thank the stars it wasn't like Ron's…

Charlie moved his mouth against hers, slowly and gently, opening to her pressure, letting her find what she needed. For the first moments, he kept still, alert and responsive but subtle, unthreatening, like he was meeting a new, possibly dangerous creature for the first time.

He couldn't sustain it for long. His eyes closed and his arms crushed her closer, his breath sighing out of him, released.

Stars, how long had it been since he'd kissed someone like this? He didn't fancy men and that was all they had working in the sanctuary right now. Not that an abundance of women would have made much of a difference. At age twenty-five, Charlie could still count the number of women he'd kissed on one hand. And it usually happened like this. Some powerful witch, like Nymphadora Tonks in that stairwell in sixth year, would get fed up with his nice as you please Charlie-ways and just come at him.

None of that meant he didn't like it. But there was more to being with a woman like this than what he liked. He had to think - think about this entire woman and not just her hands on his neck and chest, and her mouth on his, and her weight bearing down on his lap. Remember, Charlie, remember who she is and how she's connected not just to you but to everyone you love. And the mind the way her desire is not waning, not venting. Its pitch is rising, roaring…

"Ronnie," he said, breaking away. "I'm sorry, Hermione. This can't be me with you like this. I'm like Ron, but I'm not him. And I can't do this to him, or to you."

She whimpered as she twisted sideways, coming out of his lap, eliciting another grunt from him as she dragged herself across him. She sat on the ground. "Now you'll think I'm a slag."

He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I think you're distraught. Traumatized. Rightly angry with the boy you love. And very young."

She leaned into his fingers. "I'm sorry, Charlie."

He stroked her jaw with his thumb and dropped his hand. "If he kisses better than me, you must never, ever tell anyone."

She grinned. "You want to know about Ron's kissing?"

"No, that's what I just - "

"Go stick your head in that dragon's mouth. That's about it."

Charlie's hands were clamped over his ears. "No! I said not to - "

"Not to let you know if he was better than you. And that is certainly not what I am telling you. Oh, give over, Charlie," she said, swatting his hands away from his ears. "So Ron's still a bit mouthy. So what? He's young, as you've said. In his puppy years. So we're working on it. I blame his stunted growth entirely on his last girlfriend."

"Lilac Bronze?"

"Lavender Brown!" she was laughing.

In the darkness beyond them, the dragon's sulphurous lungs rumbled like a combustion engine about to turn over. Charlie stood up. "Come on, Granger. Let's let our darling get some undisturbed sleep."

She took his hand and stood beside him. "Right. Let's go home."