DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em, just like writing about 'em :P

"Ginevra Molly Weasley! Are you pregnant?" Molly Weasley's voice thundered down the table.

"Of course not, Mum! Why would you say that?" Ginny asked, angrily.

"Because you're both far too young to be getting married for any other reason other than covering up a pregnancy! You had better not be, because if you're trying to pass this baby off as a honeymoon baby, born a little early, it won't work, you know!" her mother retaliated. "No one ever believes those stories, anyway."

"Mum, we're getting married because we love each other!" Ginny cried. "Not to cover up for a baby – do you think I'd want to get pregnant now, when I've only just signed a contract with the Harpies? How could you think such a thing?"

Molly sniffed, and everyone else stared embarrassedly at their empty plates. Hermione suspected that thinking about their younger sister's womb was rather too much for the six Weasley brothers, and very possibly Arthur Weasley too – especially on a full stomach – as they all looked as though they wished they were somewhere – anywhere – else.

"Mrs Weasley, I can assure you Ginny is not pregnant," Harry said, in what was meant to be a soothing tone, but didn't quite work, due to the fact that his voice rose several octaves at the end of his sentence, when all the Weasley boys and Arthur looked somewhat menacingly at him. He had not expected this reaction at all – Ginny had assured him that Molly had been looking forward to welcoming him officially into the family for years, and would probably want him to change his name, instead of Ginny, and become Harry Weasley (rather than she end up Ginny Potter).

"Well, there's one simple way to find out if she is, or not," Molly said, in a tight voice, standing up. "And I warn you know – if you've lied about this to me . . ." She let her threat hang in the air, waved her wand and muttered something. A jet of blue light shot out of the end of her wand and rose up into the air above the table. Everyone watched it in silence. It hovered above them for a minute or two, before shooting downwards rapidly in a streak of light. It shot through Penelope, who gave a small gasp, Hermione, who did the same, and Ginny, who glared angrily at her mother, before finally coming to rest as a kind of aura around Fleur. The other Weasleys, Penelope and Hermione all found very interesting places quite close to them (the ceiling, a dinner fork, the bowl containing a couple of potatoes that no one seemed to want, for instance) that they had not appeared to notice before, and studied them intently, whilst Ginny, Harry, Bill and Fleur looked at Molly.

"I told you so," said Ginny, smugly, as Molly sat down rather heavily in a chair.

"But . . . but this means that I'm . . . I'm going to be a grandmother!" she said, sounding shocked.

"Indeed," said Bill. "We only found out a couple of days ago – Fleur's only three weeks pregnant . . . we were going to try and tell you in a slightly better way than this though," he grimaced and waved his hand at the blue mist surrounding Fleur.

Molly flicked her wand, and it disappeared. No one said anything for a moment, then George cried, "Well, I think this calls for a double celebration! Congratulations, Harry and Ginny – and congratulations Bill and Fleur!" After that, the silence was broken, and for a few minutes the dining room was awash with people congratulating each other, kissing Ginny and Fleur on the cheek, and slapping Harry and Bill on the back. Arthur dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, and summoned a bottle of champagne from somewhere ("Although, Fleur dear, you'll have to make do with extra pumpkin juice, I'm afraid – and I must tell you, I simply can't wait to become a granddad!"). The general racket died down, and everyone was left staring at Molly. She was still looking glazed.

"Bill . . . Fleur . . ." she said, looking vaguely in their direction. "Congratulations . . . I'm sorry it had to be announced this way." She looked over at Harry and Ginny, who had their arms around each other's waists. "You two," she continued. "I'm sorry for messing things up . . . I just thought . . . and I should've trusted you, it just . . . oh, congratulations anyway!" She burst into tears, though they were of joy, and Ginny was by her side instantly, hugging her mother, and crying also.

Arthur was still dabbing at his eyes, and George awkwardly patted his father on the back, his eyes shining suspiciously as he did so. Percy and Penelope were smiling benevolently at each other, Penelope murmuring something in her boyfriend's ear, as he absent-mindedly tucked a stray curl behind her ear. A few tears were making their way down Fleur's face, though she was smiling at the same time, and Bill lovingly kissed them away.

Hermione felt her own eyes welling up, and sniffed a few times, only to find Charlie standing next to her. "Don't start, Granger," he warned her. "Else I'll end up in floods!" Hermione laughed, causing a couple of tears to fall from her eyes. Charlie squeezed her shoulder, and noticed Ron glaring at him. He dropped his hand quickly and walked away, to talk to Bill.

A smell of burning wafted into the room. "My crumble!" cried Molly, and rushed off, wiping her tears from her cheeks.

"My God," said Hermione, back in Ginny's old room, after they had all finished eating. "I thought she was never going to come round!"

"Me either," said Ginny, sifting through her wardrobe and pulling out the odd top of pair of jeans. "She seemed more against our engagement than she was against Bill and Fleur's – and that's saying something!"

"I know," agreed Hermione. "I think she was ready to castrate Harry!"

"And that would be a pity," said Ginny, and the pair of them giggled. "Nah – she came round to it once she established that I wasn't pregnant, and that we weren't planning on having the wedding until the spring time, so there's no point in us claiming a honeymoon baby. And I think that was rich of her – Bill was supposedly born at eight and a half moths after her wedding, he was premature," she said, making finger quotes around the word premature. "Now, if that's not pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what is!" But there was no malice in her voice, just a teasing lilt, as she held up various tops, and discarded some, tossing them on the bed. "Honestly, listen to her," Ginny rolled her eyes.

From downstairs, they could hear the sound of Molly gabbling instructions to Fleur, who was getting ready to leave with Bill. "Now remember, apparating whilst pregnant – especially in the second and third trimesters – is very dangerous; there's a very strong risk of splinching the baby, so you must always use the floo network dear. And keep a good supply of ginger biscuits in the house at all times – ginger is very good at curing morning sickness. Oh, and you mustn't forget to -"

"She's just happy to be a grandma," said Hermione. "And she's also really relieved that Harry is finally joining your family . . . no matter what she said earlier."

"You think?" Ginny asked.

"I know," Hermione said firmly. They chatted for a little while longer, then Hermione said that she had to be going, said her goodbyes to her friend and promised to write soon. She went downstairs and said goodbye to Mr and Mrs Weasley, and apparated back to her own flat. Charlie was already there, sitting on the sofa and reading the Sunday Prophet. He looked up when she came in. "Interesting lunch, huh?" he said, smiling up at her.

"Just a bit," Hermione said, returning his smile. "Did you know about Bill and Fleur?"

"Nah – but it's not a shock is it? They've been married for over a year, and I knew they wanted kids, just not during the war, 'cause of the dangers and all," Charlie replied. "What about you? Did you know about Harry and Ginny?"

Hermione grinned, somewhat sheepishly. "Yeah – Ginny was really excited and happy about it, so she wrote and told me on Friday, just after he proposed to her. But she made me swear not to tell anyone, so I didn't," she said.

Charlie opened his mouth to reply, but there was a loud crack outside the door, followed by a knock. "Hermione? It's me, Ron," a voice called. "Can I come in?"

"Um . . . just a minute!" she called back, gesturing to Charlie to go into his room. Waving her wand, she flicked the radio on ("Welcome to the Sunday afternoon chill out, with me, your host Lee Jordan!") to drown out the sound of their voices. "I can't be bothered to explain this whole situation to Ron now, and if you want to keep your Mum from knowing, you'd be best off keeping Ron from knowing. Just get into your bedroom, and don't make too much of a noise," she hissed at Charlie, waiting until he'd closed his door before opening the front door.

Ron came in, and sat down on the sofa, just where Charlie had been sitting moments before. Hermione sat on a chair opposite him, and registered his slight disappointment that she didn't come to sit next to him. "I . . . er . . . wanted to apologise for earlier," he began. "For spilling pumpkin juice all over you, I mean," he added.

"Ron," Hermione sighed. "I'm not mad at you for that. It was my fault – I wasn't looking where I was going, I wasn't concentrating, and that's got nothing to do with you."

"It hasn't?" Ron asked. "Then why did you yell at me and curse me like you did?"

"Oh, Ron," she sighed again. "You just don't get it, do you? I'm not mad at you for that – even if I had been looking where I was going, and you'd still bumped into me, it would've been an accident, I know that. You didn't deliberately set out to smash that jug against my head. It's not that. It's the fact that you laughed at me. Your first reaction wasn't to ask if I was OK, or even to clean the stuff off me – it was to laugh. You don't care about me."

"I do," he protested weakly, but Hermione wasn't finished yet.

"You don't care about me, Ron. If you did, you'd have asked me if I was alright when you dropped that on my head; you wouldn't have asked me over to write your essay for you and still expect me to drop everything when you wanted to go out; you'd remember which foods I can't eat because I don't like them, or I'm allergic, or whatever; you'd take me out just because, instead of needing a reason like a birthday or something . . . don't you see, Ron? You say you care . . . but it doesn't feel like it to me," she said.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I do care about you. I'm not-"

"Please just go, Ron. I have a splitting headache and I want to lie down," she said, standing up. He stood up, too.

"I really am sorry, Hermione. Truly. Are . . . are we OK?" he asked. Were they OK? Hermione didn't know. She assumed so. Sometimes, going out with Ron felt like an obligation. A favour for someone . . . something she was doing because it was expected of her. She loved him . . . didn't she? Had she even loved him in the first place? She had . . . hadn't she? She didn't know what to say to him. She didn't want to break-up – it would be too much hassle, and full of yet more heartbreak. And yet, sometimes she felt as if her heart would break in a different way, if she stayed with him – it would come under more and more and more pressure, until one day it just gave up and exploded everywhere.

But she couldn't tell him that. At least, not now. So she just gave a smile – a very weak one, but still genuine – and said that she wasn't going to break-up with him, if that's what he was worried about. He looked relieved, and walked out of the door to apparate back to his flat. Hermione sat back down with a groan, resting her head in her hands.

"Well, that went well," a dry voice said, from behind her. She turned, and saw Charlie standing there. "If you don't want to be with him, you've got to tell him that, instead of just resigning yourself to going out with him again."

"Who says I don't want to go out with him?" Hermione snapped. She knew Charlie was right, but she disliked being told what to do in her personal life.

"No one says that you don't want to be with him, Hermione, but, no offence, it's written all over your face at times like this, and last night. You don't have to be a Seer to know that," he replied, gently.

Hermione opened her mouth to snap another reply, but took a deep breath, and reminded herself that she wasn't mad at Charlie, and it would be wrong to take her anger out on him. "Please, just leave it alone, Charlie. I've got a splitting headache, and I want to go to have a lie down," she said, instead, walking past him into her own room, and kicking off her shoes. She pushed the door too, and fell down onto her bed with a sigh of relief.

Men. Who could live with them? But then, who could live without them, either? She winced. Her head hurt too much to be pondering questions like that at the moment. She closed her eyes, and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

At half past eight that night, Charlie knocked on the door of Hermione's room, carrying a glass of water and a couple of pieces of toast. There was no response, so he looked round the door and saw that she was asleep. He would have left, but he noticed that her window was wide open, blowing cold air onto her face, so he crept across the room to close it for her, placing the plate of toast and glass of water on her beside table.

"Charlie?" she croaked, opening her eyes.

"Hey, Hermione," he said. "I was just going to close your window for you." She groaned. "You OK?" he asked.

"My head hurts," she said slowly, sitting up, and gasping slightly. "And is it normal for the room to be spinning?"

"That'll pass in a moment," he said, confidently, trying to sound as though he knew what was the matter with her, figuring that that would be more comforting than, "No, it's probably not normal". "Just stay still," he added.

"'K," she mumbled. He came and stood in front of her, lighting the lamp as he did so.

"I'm just going to have a look at your head," he said, very gently lifting her hair away from her forehead. He winced when he saw the gigantic lump on it, brushing his fingers gently across it, and feeling her flinch, even though he had touched it very lightly. "Hmm . . ." he said, drawing back. "I think you might have a slight concussion, from where that jug hit you today. It was a pretty big jug."

"Yeah," she said, and mumbled something incoherent.

"I think we need to get this sorted out," he said, thinking quickly. He didn't want to risk trying to heal her himself – from working with dragons, he had become very good at healing burns, and was fairly competent at minor cuts, too, but they had trained Healers who worked on anything else, and he'd never tried healing a concussion before. He didn't want to practise on Hermione. He didn't much fancy taking her to St. Mungo's – she was obviously in a lot of pain, probably more than she was willing to let on, and there would be a long wait and a lot of paperwork there. His mother's was another option, but it would be awkward to explain why he was there . . . Suddenly, he had an idea.

"Come on, Hermione," he said, as she had fallen into a half-sleep – either due to her tiredness or because of the bump on her head he was not sure. "We're going to go to Bill and Fleur's. She's good at fixing stuff like that – and if she can't, then I guess we'll have to go to St. Mungo's, OK?"

She didn't respond, worrying Charlie further. Quickly, he summoned his thickest jacket (and tried to pretend to himself that he had only noticed the flimsiness of Ginny's blouse because he was worried about her being cold) and wrapped it around her, and picked her up, ever so gently. He turned on the spot, but nothing happened. "Anti-apparition wards," she muttered to him. "Go outside the flat." He carried her out of the flat like she said; alohamora'd the door and turned on the spot.

He landed just outside Bill and Fleur's garden. It was raining, and Hermione shivered, still not fully aware of what was going on. He hugged her tighter to his body and carried her over the lawn. It was dusky – not dark yet, but close and the lights were on in Shell Cottage, casting a warm orangey glow over the garden. The house looked warm and inviting and homely, and for a moment he was jealous of his brother for having that, when he, Charlie, had the flat of his little brother's girlfriend because she was nice and thoughtful like that, and a cramped apartment in Romania that he shared with three other Dragon Tamers. Neither of those places felt like he truly belonged there.

He trudged along the path, and knocked on the door. "Who's there?" asked Bill's voice.

"It's me, Charlie," he replied. "I've brought Hermione round; I think she has a concussion from when Ron whacked her with that jug earlier, and I was wondering if Fleur could take a look at her?" The door opened when he was half-way through the last sentence, and Bill stood there, looking concerned.

"Come on in – Fleur's in the living room," he said, and Charlie carried Hermione inside.

"I was wondering if you could take a look at her - it's only a concussion, but I've never had to heal one before, and I know you did a lot of stuff like that during the war . . . do you think I should take her to St. Mungo's?" Charlie addressed Fleur.

"Let me take a look at 'er," Fleur said, indicating that he should place Hermione down on the settee. "'Allo, 'ermione," she said. "Eet ees Fleur 'ere. I'd just like to 'ave a leetle look at your forehead." She knelt down to look, peeling Hermione's rain-soaked hair away from her head. "Hmm," she said.

"What is it?" Charlie asked. "She will be OK, won't she? Should I take her to St. Mungo's?"

"Eet ees just a concussion. Eet ees a bad one, but I can deal wiz it. I will just need to make up a quick potion in ze kitchen, and administer eet to 'er, and she should be OK," Fleur replied, leaving for the kitchen.

Hermione, semi-conscious, murmured something. "Charlie, come upstairs with me a minute," said Bill. "I have a couple of shirts of yours, and now's a good a time as any to return them." Charlie didn't remember lending Bill any shirts, but followed him upstairs into the main bedroom anyway. Bill closed the door.

"Charlie," he said, looking serious. "Don't even think about it."

His brother was confused. "Think about what?" he asked. Now he was sure that Bill hadn't any clothes to return to him, that he just wanted to get him on his own for some reason.

"Her. Hermione. She's not available. She has a boyfriend. Her boyfriend is your brother. You can't have her," Bill replied.

"I don't . . . want her," Charlie said, cursing his brother for being able to read him like a book.

"You do, Charlie," Bill said. "It's written all over you. The looks you were giving her downstairs . . . I appreciate that you're concerned about her concussion - so am I, she's like another sister to me - but you've got to remember you can't love her in that way. Think of her as another sister."

"Shut up, Bill. You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Charlie snapped angrily at his brother. His plan had not worked - as well as being attracted to her, he now loved her more because he was worried about her. Did Bill think he was stupid? He knew he couldn't have her. He could think of a hundred reasons why it was not a good idea for them to get together. (He could think of two hundred reasons why they should, though.) He had been through this many times throughout the day, today, and he did not appreciate Bill trying to lecture him - especially not with his own "think of her as a sister" argument (somewhere in the logical part of his brain, he knew that Bill couldn't know that he'd already told himself that a hundred times already, but he chose to ignore that part of his mind).

"She's nearly seven years younger than you, Char," Bill said, gently.

"I know that," he replied. "And I'm not interested in her." Bill merely raised his eyebrows. "I don't love her. It's just . . . just an infatuation. Probably just physical. I'll get over it in a week or so." He felt disgusted with himself for lying, and also like he was betraying her somehow, although he wasn't quite sure why. Bill looked like he didn't believe a word of what Charlie was saying, and Charlie didn't blame him. The argument could have gone on for longer, but they were interrupted by Fleur calling them back downstairs.

"I 'ave given 'er ze potion to fix 'er concussion, and 'elp 'er to sleep much better. 'Owever, ze potion does 'ave ze side-effect of making 'er sleep for a very long time - she won't wake up until about midday tomorrow, so she won't be able to go into work tomorrow. But, once she wakes up, she will be fine," she said. Charlie was relieved.

"Thanks, Fleur," he said.

"Eet was nothing," she replied, and yawned hugely. "I am sorry – I am going to go to bed – I am so exhausted!"

"It'll be because you're pregnant," said Bill. "You go on up – I'll shut up down here, and see Charlie out and everything." Fleur looked as though she might argue, but yawned again, and Bill pointed at the stairs and said "Go!" She went, reminding Charlie as she went up the stairs that Hermione would be in a deep sleep for quite a while, and asking him to send her a note when Hermione woke up, to let her know that she was OK.

Charlie picked Hermione up gently, wrapping his jacket around her again. "Remember what I said, Charlie," his brother said, seriously. "You can't have her."

Charlie looked him in the eye and replied, "I will." It wasn't the remembering that he would have trouble with. It was putting into practise forgetting about her that would be the issue . . . He sighed. "Thank Fleur for me – and Hermione – when she's . . . you know . . . a bit more with it."

"I will," said Bill, walking him to the door. "See ya."

"Bye," replied Charlie, walking as quickly as he could across the lawn, to the edge of the magical protection that surrounded Shell Cottage. From there he was able to apparate back to the outside of Hermione's flat – and not a moment too soon: the rain was coming down thick and fast. He unlocked the door, and gently laid Hermione down on the sofa.

She didn't stir. He summoned a towel from the bathroom, and wiped the wetness off her head. Realising that he could dry her – and himself – much more quickly and efficiently using magic, he did so, waving his wand over both of them. He made up a hot water bottle, and placed it in her bed.

Then, taking great care not to look (at least too much) at her, he removed all of her clothes except her bra and underpants by magic, and quickly replaced them with a pair of pyjama bottoms he could see lying around in her room, and an old, thick Quidditch top of his (on her, it was rather big, but he figured it would keep her warm) that had "C. Weasley" and a Gryffindor lion on the back.

He stripped back the covers of her bed, and, very carefully, carried her into her room, placing her gently on the bed, and tucking her in.

Then, tenderly and lightly, he kissed her on the forehead, telling himself that it was what he would do to Ginny, if she was in the same position. Later, he didn't doubt this – he would have kissed his sister goodnight; indeed, he had done, many times, over the years. But he knew that he wouldn't feel the same way inside, when he did it, due to the fact that he wasn't harbouring any incestuous feelings towards his sister. He loved her, certainly, but for the feeling of Ginny's cheek against his as he drew away to elicit the same feelings he had experienced when the same thing happened with Hermione . . . well, that would just be plain wrong.

Hermione woke up slowly, feeling relaxed and also like she had been asleep for a very long time – weeks, at least, and very possibly months. After ten minutes or so, she opened her eyes, and looked at her beside clock, which informed her it was 12:37. "In the daytime or at night?" she wondered aloud, and got out of bed to open her curtains. It was not sunny outside – the sky was full of thick, grey clouds, and it was raining – but it was definitely daytime.

"Wonder what day it is?" she said to herself.

"Monday, dear," her mirror replied, and she jumped, startled. Even though she had lived in the magical world for nearly half her life now, she still had not become used to random, supposedly inanimate objects talking back to her.

"Er . . . thanks," she muttered in reply. So, she hadn't slept for that long: it was only Monday still. So why wasn't she in work? The thought shot across her mind in a flash of panic, and she half-ran into the kitchen. She was incredibly thirsty, so she figured she'd just have time to grab a glass or two of water, change into her clothes magically, and be there in time for the afternoon session. Her stomach growled, but she'd just have to wait until 4:00pm before she could eat - it served her right for oversleeping that much! Why, oh why hadn't Charlie woken her?

In the kitchen, her attention was drawn to a piece of paper, stuck to the kitchen cupboard with spellotape. It kept flashing different colours, and the words "Hermione! Read this!" were written in big, bold letters across it. When she peeled it off the cupboard door, it stopped flashing and the letters shrunk themselves and multiplied rapidly, until she was left with a short letter, in Charlie's handwriting.

Dear Hermione,

I don't know how much you remember of yesterday, but it turns out that when Ron walloped you one with that jug, you got a pretty big concussion. You were kind of semi-conscious at half-eight ish last night, so I took you over to Bill and Fleur's. I've never had to heal a concussion, and I kind of figured that you wouldn't want me practising on you, but I knew Fleur had, during the war and all, so I took you there first (and she was able to heal you without having to go to St. Mungo's).

She gave you a potion to fix up your concussion, but it also made you sleep for quite a while (she said you'd probably wake up at about midday). ON NO ACCOUNT ARE YOU TO LEAVE FOR WORK!! You need to stay at home and relax. I have written to the Ministry and said that you wouldn't be in today, so there's no need to worry. But don't even think about going in, OK? If you need some persuading on this matter, take a look at the bruise on your forehead.

I should be back around 5:00pm to cook you a lovely dinner. See you then.

Charlie

PS Fleur asked me to ask you to write her a note when you wake up, just to let her know you're OK.

Dear Fleur,

Thanks for helping me out last night – I don't really remember much, but Charlie tells me that you sorted me out when I had a concussion, so thanks for that. I've just woken up, and I feel fine (at least until I saw the big bruise on my forehead . . . but a bit of potion will soon sort that out)! Charlie asked me to let you know that I'm OK, and yes, I am fine. Hope you and Bill are well (and Gabrielle too, if she's there – Charlie told me she was coming sometime this week?). Congratulations again on the baby – though you've probably heard it a million times before, by now! Thanks again for helping me,

Hermione

Monday, 1st October

Dear Ginny,

Here is another reason why Harry is a better boyfriend than Ron: Harry has never cracked you over the head with a jug and given you a concussion. I had a bit of a headache yesterday throughout lunch, and it got worse when I came home, but I thought that I just had a migraine or a tension headache or whatever (I get that from time to time, usually for no apparent reason) and went to have a lie down. Next thing I'm consciously aware of, it's half twelve (in the morning . . . well, afternoon I suppose, but in the daytime is what I'm trying to say) and I've just woken up.

So, I walk into the kitchen, and there's a note for me from Charlie, telling me that I had a bad concussion, that he took me to Shell Cottage, that Fleur gave me a potion to relieve my concussion, but that the potion made me sleep in. According to the note, I'm not allowed to go into work today, but it's OK because Charlie has already called in to say I'm sick.

Then, bits of the evening start coming back to me. I vaguely remember Charlie looking concerned and telling me I need to go to Bill and Fleur's. I recall the feeling of him picking me up, and trying to apparate out of the flat, me telling him that there were anti-apparition wards up, and that he needed to go outside, and then us standing (well, him standing, me still in his arms) in the cold of the garden of Shell Cottage. I remember Fleur talking to me – my headache was so bad that her words became unintelligible, but it sounded soothing – and then a pretty foul tasting potion, then nothing until I woke up, an hour or so ago. How horrendously embarrassing.

I tell you something though – a concussion doesn't half leave you feeling hungry (although that could be more to do with the fact that I hadn't had anything to eat for the past twenty four hours). I've literally just eaten/am eating whilst I write this: two big sandwiches, a packet of crisps, an apple and an orange, a big yoghurt (vanilla and honey flavour) and a piece of chocolate cake. I'm such a pig! And I've drunk so much too – in the space of . . . it's 1:42pm now, so basically about 1 hour and 5 minutes, I've drunk 3 glasses of water, a glass of orange juice, and I've just made a cup of tea. Just don't ever get a concussion, OK? You feel shockingly bad during it, you have to take a FOUL potion, and you feel like a greedy pig for eating so much afterwards. Not fun.

Why did this have to happen to me? It's so embarrassing – I survived trekking all over sodding Britain with Harry when we went Horcrux hunting, without a single (major – I will admit to the odd cut from a bramble, or something) injury. Apart from that one time at Malfoy Manor, but still. The whole thing makes me feel like I'm an immature child again – Merlin only knows what Charlie must think of me . . .

Well, I must be going. I've got a couple of letters to mail, and then I think I'll have a nice bath and curl up with a good book, and enjoy my day off. We have got to meet up (properly) for a chat sometime – and I don't just mean at your house at lunchtime once a month – I mean properly, just us two and a few mugs of hot chocolate, and you can tell me all about Harry proposing and your wedding and whatnot, OK? Talk to you soon,

Lots of love,

Hermione xxx

Coming out of her flat, on the ground floor, Hermione was surprised, but not shocked, to bump into Dean Thomas. The block of flats was owned by a muggle landlord, but it was very popular with magical students and apprentices, because of it's close proximity to London, and, therefore the Ministry, Gringotts and Diagon Alley, and also because of the cheap rates. Hermione had met the Patil twins, Ernie MacMillan and Marietta Edgecomb (the latter was a very strained and awkward meeting in the foyer one morning), and she had seen a few other ex-Hogwarts students around the building, some she knew by name, others by sight only, and she had only been there for just over a month.

She greeted him and found out that he was renting a room on the fifth floor. They exchanged pleasantries – she discovered that he was working in the Muggle Relations department at the Minsitry, and was on the evening shift tonight, so he was leaving soon – but he excused himself, and said he had to be getting off to work. Hermione apparated away too, to the post office on Diagon Alley, and sent off her letters, before returning to her flat and having a long, relaxing bath.

She towelled herself dry, pulled on some underwear and a pair of jeans, hesitated slightly, and put Charlie's old Quidditch top on again, telling herself it was because the smell of whatever washing powder Mrs. Weasley (or Charlie) used was comforting and relaxing. Then, she curled up in an armchair with one of Molly's rather mindless, but, nonetheless, still completely riveting, romance novels. She lit the fire and summoned a mug of hot chocolate when she got cold, and was just contemplating getting up to make a start on dinner (although this would probably just entail getting a few plates and saucepans out of the cupboard, as she wasn't sure what Charlie was planning on cooking, and, anyway, even if she did know, she couldn't cook, so there would be no point), when the front door clicked.

She looked up, and saw Charlie himself entering the living room. "Charlie!" she cried. He looked up and smiled.

"Hey, Hermione! Feeling better?" he asked.

"Much!" said Hermione, and, sized with a sudden impulse, she jumped up and threw her arms around him. "Thank you so much for looking after me!" she added, as he stood there, frozen to the spot.

Once again, thank you very, very much to all my kind reviewers of last chapter – your thoughtfulness was much appreciated :) Any more questions/comments/criticism can be directed to the management, via the purple button, located to your down (and left a bit) :D Thanks, and I'll try to update soon x