DISCLAIMER: It all belongs to JK Rowling. Duh.

24th September

Dear Ginny,

Thank you so much for my birthday presents - the chocolate was divine, and the hat is amazing - I can wear it everyday, with all sorts of different outfits. It actually made the two Beauxbatons girls start talking to me. (You remember the two French girls I told you about? Well, they're actually really nice; they're called Isabelle and Coralie, and we got talking about the hat actually - Isabelle commented on how nice it was when I wore it the first time, and asked where I'd got it from, and I explained that it was a present, and that you could change to whatever you wanted, so we had a fun twenty minutes trying on "different" hats.)

Oh - and Ron is actually being lovely at the moment. He didn't say anything at all about going to the restaurant like you suggested, but he turned up on my doorstep at half-past six on my birthday, and told me that we had reservations. I'd had my suspicions (can't think why . . . wasn't anything you said, was it?!) though, so I had an outfit and everything planned, and I was able to do my make-up and hair magically, so that only took about five seconds. Anyway, we had a lovely meal - you're right, it is really nice there - and we came back to my flat afterwards, but Ron couldn't stay as he and Harry had a dawn training exercise the next morning.

I really don't have much time now, as I have a huge essay to write, but I just wanted to say thanks for the present, and that everything is MUCH better now, as I actually have people to talk to at the Ministry, and Ron is being nice and considerate again.

Hope you're well, and the training's going fine

Love,

Hermione

PS: I almost forgot! Ron asked me to the Fresher's Ball (held on 16th October)!! Yay! I was wondering - are you likely to be free or have a weekend off any time before then so we can go dress shopping? I have no sense of style to be honest - and everyone said that my dress at the Yule Ball back in fourth year was really nice, and I haven't forgotten that it was you who picked it out for me. So, could you come and work your magic again? Thanks, H x

Hermione had been having One of Those Days. She had tripped on the way down the stairs in her flat and laddered her tights (not that they couldn't be fixed magically, of course, but it was still embarrassing to fall over at twenty years old). Then she realised that she didn't need to be at the bottom of the stairs at all, as she could floo to the Ministry from the fireplace in her flat. Once she arrived there, she was approached by a high-ranking official from some department or another, and sent off on a long and convoluted errand to take a message to (of all people) Percy Weasley, whom she had walked in on as he was kissing Penelope. There followed a very embarrassed ten minutes, whereby he had stammered and stuttered his way through a completely nonsensical few sentences, finishing by begging her not to tell his mother, before revealing that he had already received her message.

She arrived at the Law Enforcement classrooms nearly half an hour late, and Professor Copweld (it would have to be him - the most evil man in the whole of the Ministry) had not been impressed, and demanded that she stayed behind for half an hour at the end of the day, as if she were a naughty schoolchild.

The morning's work was particularly gruelling, and Copweld kept picking on her to answer questions, probably hoping to catch her out and be able to punish her further. But Hermione, who had once again fallen into the pattern of being the best student in the class, due to reading about twenty books a day on the topics they were covering, was at least able to hold her own here, giving word-perfect answers to all of his questions. Even here, though, he was not happy - he informed her that it would be better if she put her answers into her own words, instead of regurgitating them from the textbook.

Then, at lunchtime, she had hoped to meet Ron and Harry to catch up with them, but by the time she had come down to the canteen, they had already eaten, and had to rush off to a special lecture, from the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shaklebolt, who was going to talk about his days as an Auror. Instead, she sat with Isabelle and Coralie, but spent most of the time helping Coralie to comfort Isabelle, who had received a letter from her boyfriend back in France that morning, stating that he wished to dump her. Poor Isabelle had been distraught, so lunch had hardly been a bundle of laughs.

After lunch, she had had a further two and a half hours with Professor Copweld, but this time he seemed to be picking on everyone - reducing Isabelle to tears again, and terrifying one of the Durmstrang students who fell asleep for a few moments.

At four, when the other students were let out, Hermione had to stay behind for half an hour - although she was able to take the opportunity to begin one of her essays. At nearly quarter to five, Professor Copweld finally dismissed her, with dire warnings about not being late again.

She apparated to just outside her flat, and nearly landed on top of Charlie Weasley. "Steady on," he said, grabbing her around the middle, so that she wouldn't fall over.

"Wha . . . why are you . . . oh, of course! Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting - I completely forgot! Mind you even if I'd remembered, Copweld wouldn't have let me off, he's worse than Snape was," Hermione realised she was babbling. "I'm sorry, I've just had one of those days, you know? I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long?"

"Nah - I've been at Bill and Fleur's since around 11:00 this morning, and I've just popped back every five minutes or so since 4:00," Charlie replied. "I'd better get back and let them know that you're here now, and get my trunk and stuff."

"Oh, OK," said Hermione. "I'll come with you if you want, to help you carry your stuff?"

"No, it's OK, you stay here and I'll get Bill to help me," he said. "See you in a bit."

Hermione opened the door to her flat, and dragged her own bags, full of textbooks (naturally) inside. She magiced them into her bedroom and surveyed the flat. It was, of course, sparklingly clean and very neat and tidy. The only thing out of place was the remains of her breakfast - an empty bowl and a packet of cereal left on the table from that morning, but, with a few quick flicks of her wand, they were cleaned and back where they belonged.

She opened the door to the spare bedroom - now Charlie's room. It was very slightly smaller than hers, but the same in all other respects: it had a bed along the one wall, a small desk in front of the window, and a wardrobe and chest-of-drawers opposite the bed. Hearing two small pops, and a slightly larger thud, she left the room and went to open the front door of her flat.

Charlie stood outside, with his trunk and older brother, Bill. Both were taller than her 5'8'', but Charlie was slightly shorter and stockier than Bill. Bill had a striking resemblance to Percy and Ron in terms of his physique - all three of them were over six foot, and fairly wiry and thin. Charlie, meanwhile, looked to be about 5'11'', with broader shoulders than his brother, and, in that respect he was more like George was, and Fred had been.

Hermione invited both of them in, and, after the usual exchange of pleasantries, showed Charlie his room. "This really is very kind of you, Hermione," he said. "I really appreciate it. But you must let me at least pay you rent - I'd feel really bad if I didn't."

"No, really," insisted Hermione. "There's no need - and I'd be the one feeling bad, as I'm always staying at The Burrow and not paying anything, so it wouldn't be fair or right for me to charge you."

"Yes, but that's different," began Charlie. "I'm not-"

A clock chimed very loudly in the hallway, cutting him off and making both him and Bill jump in shock.

"Five o'clock!" a slightly disembodied female voice shrieked. "Five o'clock and time for dinner! But you have nothing in your cupboards and you can't cook! Five o'clock!"

"What the hell," asked Bill "was that?"

Hermione groaned. "It's a long story. My parents wanted to get me something special for my coming-of-age, but they decided not to get a watch for some reason. They consulted your mother, who suggested they get a magical clock, and took them to Diagon Alley. There they found this . . . monstrosity, which is supposedly able to read the mind of the person standing closest to it when it chimes the hour, and it'll basically regurgitate what's in your mind. Fairly superficial though, can't reveal anything more than a few random thoughts - like the ones about me being unable to cook, and having no food in the house. Wouldn't give away your deepest, darkest secrets, or anything."

"But . . . it's so piercing!" said Charlie. "Can't you silence it? It's not that it's a bad clock," he continued hurriedly, worried that he had offended her. "It's just a bit . . . loud and shrieky."

"No - it is a bad clock: sometimes I wonder if they got it from Knockturn Alley by mistake . . . but there's no way of silencing it. And I don't want to take it down, or curse it into oblivion, though I do feel like it sometimes, because I don't want to mortally offend your mother," Hermione replied.

"But how do you manage to sleep, with that thing yelling at you all night?" Bill asked.

"Silencing charm on the bedroom door," replied Hermione. "You can block it out that way, but you can't silence the actual clock."

"Don't take this the wrong way, or anything," said Charlie. "But the clock said you can't cook. I . . . can't you? Cook, I mean?"

"Nope," replied Hermione. "I can't seem to be able to make anything edible, either magically or using muggle methods."

"Well, I can, and rather well, if I do say so myself," said Charlie. "So, if you're so instant that I can't pay you any rent, at least let me cook meals for you?"

"Well . . . alright then," Hermione said. "If you're sure?"

"Sure I'm sure," said Charlie. "Tell her how good a cook I am, Bill."

"Much as I am loathe to further enhance his ego," said his older brother, "I have to admit that he is right - the only better cook in the family in Mum - only don't tell Fleur I said that!"

The other two laughed. They chatted for a few more minutes, then Bill said that he had better be getting off home, and disappeared, and Hermione gave Charlie a brief tour of her small flat. It consisted of two bedrooms, a miniscule bathroom (which she had worked out a method of enlarging, but this only worked for an hour or so, so baths had to be quick), a main room that was the living room and dining room, and a small kitchenette.

They quickly established that the clock had not been lying when it said that there was nothing in the cupboards - there was a packet of cereal, some milk, one of Molly's chocolate cakes (half eaten) and a few bananas in a fruit bowl on the coffee table in the main room, and to be honest they were somewhat past their prime. Charlie offered to go shopping, just to get the necessities they would need for dinner tonight, and Hermione gratefully agreed, as she had three essays to write, but hoped to have the weekend free.

Charlie had returned when she had finished the first one, and she was busy writing the second whilst he cooked. Inviting smells were wafting from the kitchen, and she was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on her work, as her stomach kept growling in anticipation.

She became aware of a tapping at the window, and saw an owl hovering there, a letter attached to its wing. She opened the window and untied the letter, giving the owl a couple of treats before watching it fly off. She wasn't expecting any letters, and assumed it must be for Charlie, but the name on the envelope was hers, so she opened it. She recognised the writing as Ginny's.

28th September

Dear Hermione,

Hang on a moment - I'm just going to try and charm the quill to write for me: it'll be much quicker. Right. Hang on. Hello? Hello? My name is Ginny Weasley. Oh, yay! It's worked. Anyway.

So, I got in from training at about 3:30 this afternoon, and I was thinking that maybe I'd reply to your letter, and maybe read a book or something, but when I entered the room I saw Harry sitting on my bed.

I was a bit worried at first, because he looked so serious, and I thought that something awful must've happened to you or Mum and Dad or someone, and he'd been sent to fetch me and I'd be spending my weekend at St. Mungo's or something. Anyway, so I said hello, and I was like "What's up?" because he looked so serious. And he just looked at me and said "sit down" which worried me.

So I sat down on the bed, and he stood over me. "Ginny," he began, "I've got something to say to you." My first thought was "Oh, thank Merlin everyone's OK!" because, obviously, that's not the way one would begin if the next sentence was to be "Your brother is dying" or something. But then I thought, "Oh, Lordy - this is the break-up speech!", 'cause that's what blokes say when they want to break-up with you. (When girls say it, it's followed by the words "I'm pregnant" but obviously Harry isn't a girl, so that couldn't happen.

Harry must've seen something in my face, 'cause he said, "Oh don't worry . . . or maybe you should . . . " which was, of course, very reassuring. Anyway, he started looking at a point slightly to the left of my shoulder and said. "This afternoon, all the trainee Aurors were given a lecture by Kingsley - it was about the final battle and stuff . . . things that went on a couple of years ago, you know?" Which was basically Harry-speak for "It was about how much wonderful and heroic me and Hermione and Ron were when we fought Voldemort," but, of course he's far too modest to say that. So I just nodded, so that he'd know I was listening.

"It made me think, because he was going on about how brave all the people who were killed were, and how the way we should honour their memories is by living our lives to the full. And there was a load of other stuff as well, but that was just Auror stuff, so never mind about that. Anyway, I kept thinking about what he said, about how we should live our lives to the full, and I don't think that we are."

Now, you may be forgiven at the moment for thinking that that doesn't make very much sense, because that was exactly what I was thinking at the time. I told him so, and he ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. He's so cute when he does that!

"Yeah, I know," he said. "What I meant was, me and you . . . Merlin, I knew I shouldn't have come out here. I have to be back later anyway. Although, actually I don't because it's Friday night. Anyway. What I'm trying to say is, Ginevra Molly Weasley, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

I didn't actually say anything for about five minutes, because I was too busy kissing him. But, just so you know, when I did, it was something along the lines of "YES!"

Anyway, I just HAD to tell you, because me and Harry are engaged! I'm so happy I can barely speak at the moment! Seriously! Me and Harry! Engaged! Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter are going to be married!

We're in a hotel in Paris at the moment, where we're staying all weekend: wink, wink, nudge, nudge and so on. But I just had to tell someone because I'm so happy I think I'm going to explode or something!

We're coming back for Sunday lunch at The Burrow, obviously, because, as you know, Mum routinely murders anyone who doesn't come to the one on the last Sunday of the month. Except Charlie, because he's always in Romania. But he's staying with you now, so even he won't have an excuse.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't say anything to anyone. It's going to be our surprise at the weekend. And yes, you can see the ring then. It's beautiful: gold, with a red ruby - Gryffindor colours!

I'm so happy!!

See you on Sunday,

The soon-to-be Mrs. Ginny Potter xxx

Hermione finished reading Ginny's letter, smiling hugely. It was about time Harry proposed to her - they were so much in love it was somewhat sickening at times, but she didn't begrudge her friends anything. Both of them had had a hard time in life - Harry especially - and they both deserved their happiness together. Now, the only problem would be keeping this a secret until Sunday . . .

She dashed off a quick letter of congratulation to the pair of them, with a note to Ginny that they'd talk on Sunday, then went to join Charlie in the main room. He had cooked spaghetti bolognaise, a dish that reminded Hermione of her childhood. "My Dad used to love spaghetti - it was his favourite meal," she commented, about halfway through the meal.

"Used to?" asked Charlie.

"Yeah, he died a few months ago," she said, tears forming in her eyes.

"Oh, God!" replied Charlie. "What . . . what happened?"

"He and my Mum were driving home from a holiday. Their car crashed. I was informed by the muggle authorities that it was quick and painless," her voice was almost toneless.

"But not for you?" Charlie asked.

"No, not for me," Hermione sighed heavily. "It just seemed a bit unfair to me - I mean, they survived the war, and everything, and for them to be killed just like that, after coming back from Australia unscathed . . . it just seems a bit spiteful of God, or whoever's out there, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," said Charlie. "I mean, the whole thing with Fred. I didn't get there in time, you know? I'd been in Romania for the past few months. Last time I saw him was at Christmas. The twins - of all people - had been chastising me for making Mum cry because I was going back to Romania, and she was worried of course. We argued about it. I said some stuff . . . horrible stuff. We made up, but I wish . . . I wish things had gone differently, you know?"

"Yeah. I know. Life sucks sometimes," said Hermione.

They sat in silence for the rest of the meal, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, when they had finished eating, Hermione thanked Charlie for cooking a delicious meal, and pointed out that he might like to go to bed now, it being nearly midnight in Romania. As he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, he agreed.

Later, as she was writing her essay, she wondered why she had chosen to tell Charlie about her parents' deaths. It had been nearly a year ago now, but she still didn't like to talk about it. At all. Ever. The Weasleys all knew about what had happened, as she had spent some time living with them after the event, but none, apart from Mrs. Weasley and Ginny (and, once or twice, Ron) had ever brought the subject up, and, as it had happened so soon after Fred's death, she supposed that they, rightly, were too wrapped up in their own grief to notice hers.

But why had she told Charlie? She didn't want his pity, or even sympathy. She never spoke of the accident usually, so why had she told him today? She didn't even know him that well, if at all. Apart from the summer of her fourth year, when she had had a rather embarrassing schoolgirl crush on him, she never really thought about him. It was very odd, she mused, finally giving up on her third essay, and climbing into bed.

Well, thank you VERY much to all the kind souls who reviewed my first chapter - your feedback was very much appreciated and I love each and every one of my reviews - it's very encouraging to an author! I hope you liked this chapter . . . any more reviews are very welcome :D x