Time flew by for Hermione. Initially, Charlie's dark blue eyes and strong, hard body broke into her thoughts often, and she allowed herself to revel in the memory of his parting words to her. His murmured 'Maybe I'll see more of you next time' echoed around her head, sending her into unexpected daydreams. But as the days turned to weeks, she had to put him out of her mind as her flourishing business took hold of her life.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes signed on to big contracts with her business. George wasn't kidding when he said he was interested in what she could offer. The more she knew about the project she was working on, the more accurate she could be. Which led to a lot of time over at the shop, curled up in a conjured beanbag, taking copious notes as George explained what he wanted his newest prank idea to do.

The intricacy of the projects meant more money for her, as the more variables she had to work with, the more convoluted her calculations became. Each component he wanted her to check the status of needed its own branch of the equation, and his inventions had a lot of components. When she explained this to George, he waved her away, stating he knew she was worth the money and that it saved him a lot of time, ingredients, and more money than he was paying her. She also knew that his shop was thriving and that money wasn't a problem for him.

Time not at the shop was mostly spent in the study of her small flat, furiously scrawling away on the whiteboards that lined the room and flicking through advanced arithmancy reference books charmed to float beside her as she wrote. The hours of the day fell away while she worked, as they always had when she was concentrating hard on something, and it would take old Crookshanks sauntering imperiously from his bed to weave between her legs to remind her that he needed feeding to get her to stop. She would give him a grateful pat for pulling her out of her deep analysis, and endeavour to feed herself too before work could drag her back in again.

Despite the feeling of endless days writing and her poor hands feeling as if they would cramp from it all, she found her work fascinating. Her clients continued to be impressed with her work and thankful for the results; which made her grateful she'd had the idea for the business. It suited her, and she was good at it.

Her projects for WWW were much more drawn out, but she gave George weekly updates about where they were up to, and she enjoyed working through the probability outcomes of such fun products.

--

In early December, she was in the backroom of the shop after closing time, talking through their latest potion project with George. Both reclining on large squashy beanbags, he with a butterbeer in hand, and Hermione poised, as usual, with a notebook and a ballpoint pen at the ready (quills and ink just weren't practical for the work she did).

"So, most of the ingredients you wanted me to try in the Tempting Tempest treats have been failures." She explained with a cringe, tapping her pen against the page of notes. "Not all of them exploded, but I tweaked the equations a little by using a standard deviatio-"

"Don't need specifics," George intoned in a sing-song voice. This was something he often needed to remind her of when she got too excited sharing her work. She gave him a playful kick to his foot and continued.

"Yes, well, I changed some things and found that despite the integration of ingredients being a success, the overall outcome of the potion would be a failure in the long run. Too acidic with the mandrake root addition, even with trace amounts. Too volatile with the hemlock. Non-reactive with the eagle talon. I'm afraid unless you have any other ideas, we're at a dead-end."

"Shit." George huffed out a breath and flopped his head back onto his beanbag. He looked back up at her with a tired smile. "Thanks, 'Mi. That would've taken me ages to work all of that out. Could you keep the equations filed in case I come up with something?"

"Of course," She agreed easily as she shut her notebook and prepared to stand.

"You'd be pleased you missed last Sunday's lunch. Charlie floo-called to say he was coming home for Christmas while we were all there. Mum was unbearable." Hermione's heart clenched in her chest at the sound of Charlie's name and she tried to maintain her composure. She gave a strangled laugh as she gracelessly struggled out of her beanbag.

"That'll be so lovely for her to have him home at Christmas, she doesn't often get to see him this time of year, does she?" She hoped her face looked normal, as her head was screaming, 'Charlie will be home for Christmas!' over and over.

"Nah, it's usually breeding time for the Opaleyes, and he doesn't get to come home. This'll be his first Christmas home in ages." George was trying to sound nonchalant, but Hermione could see the animation in him. The Weasleys loved Christmas.

"Don't pretend you're not excited too," she said with a grin as she gave him a small prod to the nose. George flailed his arms and fell backward onto the beanbag as if she'd pushed him there.

Rolling her eyes, she headed for the floo. "Thanks for having me, George. Same time next week? I should be about done with the Barking BonBons by then." At his acknowledgment, she flooed home to her flat to overthink what she would wear to Christmas.

--

The rest of December flew by in a flurry of work, last-minute shopping, and weather so cold it should have been snowing, but to everyone's disappointment, all they got was cold wind and occasional sleet.

On Christmas evening, Hermione applied her red lipstick in the mirror, gently tapped her wand to her lips and eyes to stop any smudging and declared herself ready. The eyes that looked back at her in the mirror looked bigger, behind long mascaraed lashes and under slightly shadowed eyelids. Her long hair was drawn back in a sleek chignon, but a few strands were left out to frame her face.

One of her first private projects using her arithmancy skills had been to design her own daily shampoo that could tame her wayward hair. The combination of muggle anti-frizz shampoo, argan oil and a few drops of Sleekeazy's, meant she had had no issues styling her hair every day for years. It had boosted her confidence tenfold and made the prep time for occasions like this much quicker.

She checked her reflection in the mirror one more time as the clock chimed 6pm. Her christmas dress was muggle - a soft, cable-knit sweater dress that fell to just above her knees and hugged her curves. It matched her bright red lipstick perfectly, her long silver cloak matching her relatively high (and copiously comfort-charmed) high heels. Lavender Brown would've been proud. She was dressed to impress, and this time, she wanted Charlie's breath to catch at the sight of her.

It was dark as she apparated to just outside the Burrow, and as her vision cleared, she saw two shadowy figures spring apart from beside the shed. Rolling her eyes, she smirked at the messy hair of her best friend and Ginny's unabashed grin.

"Sorry, 'Mione," said a guilty-looking Harry, as he smoothed his shirt down. "It's pretty full inside, and I haven't seen Gin properly since the Harpies got back from their trip yesterday." Hermone snorted at the way he looked lovingly at his fiancée.

"Understandable. Carry on." She winked at them as she turned away. Those two were insatiable, even after so long together. The prolonged times apart while Ginny was on tour with the Holyhead Harpies or when Harry was on an extended job with the aurors made being around the two of them slightly nauseating for others. Especially unattached singletons like herself. "Merry Christmas!" She called over her shoulder as she heard them travel to a more secluded area of the garden, giggling.

She puffed out a deep breath, and watched as the mist swirled up into the frigid air. Straightening her shoulders against a rush of nerves, she headed towards the house. Opening the kitchen door quietly, she could hear the party was in full swing in the living room already. Loud music blared from the wireless as poor singing voices attempted to keep up.

George was the only one in the kitchen, and appeared to be setting up another round of drinks to levitate through. He looked up at her entrance and gave a big grin.

"'Mi! Merry Christmas! You look great!" He ran over and wrapped her in a warm hug. "Well done for remembering the cloak, it'll be even colder later."

"Merry Christmas, George! You're looking very sharp. How is everyone?"

"Mum made me dress up," He grumbled as he picked at his dress shirt and fancy dark blue robes. "They're all sloshed already, as you can hear. I may or may not have added a few drops of our new Sing-along Slurps to some of the drinks, but you didn't hear that from me." He waggled his eyebrows at her while brandishing the small bottle of one of their latest projects, before sliding it back into an inside pocket of his robes. His grin widened at her scandalised gasp and he dodged round behind her with a playful bow. "Let me take your beautiful cloak, m'lady."

"George, where are those drinks?" Charlie's broad-shouldered form made its way into the room, looking divine in a sharp white shirt and black fitted trousers, his socks embroidered with fire-breathing dragons. The top button of his shirt was undone, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off a pair of strong forearms. Hermione's mouth watered; the relaxed formal look suited him.

He stopped just inside the doorway and gaped as George took off her cloak with a flourish and turned to hang it in the cupboard. This was better than she had hoped. She had a front-row seat to Charlie's reaction to the outfit she had picked out while thinking of him, and her grin turned victorious as she was not disappointed.

His mouth parted slightly, and his eyes widened as he took in her tight-fitting dress and heels. His eyes seemed to drag slowly over her body, down to her shapely calves, drinking in every curve as they made their way incrementally back up to her face.

There was a low whistle from behind her. "Merlin, Granger, you sure know how to clean up for a party! Look at what this dress has done to my poor brother!" George gestured to the still-staring Charlie, who seemed to be only now collecting himself and pasting a smile onto his face. "Better get these drinks into the masses." With a mischievious grin to both of them, George waved his wand, nudged Charlie futher into the room towards her and disappeared with the drinks following obediently behind him.

Charlie kicked the door shut softly. "Hermione, I'd say it was good to see you, but that would be an understatement. You look..." He trailed off as his eyes skimmed her dress again. When he looked back up, his eyes were heavy with desire. "Breath-taking."

He took slow purposeful steps towards her, and watched as if gauging her reaction. Checking whether she was receptive, and smirking when her own breath caught and she stilled like a cornered rabbit.

He was so close now. If she leaned forward their chests would be touching. Boldly, she sent him a message he couldn't misconstrue, and ran a hand down one of his forearms. "You don't look too bad yourself," she felt a rush of victory as his arm tensed beneath her touch and his blue eyes dilated as she watched him.

Throwing caution to the wind, she reached up to pull him in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Charlie," she whisered, close to his ear. He took a deep inhale and his hands flexed around her waist as he hugged her back. He didn't let go of her as he backed them up a couple of steps so her back was flush against the wall. Hermione let out a soft moan as his body pressed against hers, he smelt good, of something musky, manly and wild.

"Fuck, Hermione," His deep groan sent shivers down her spine and hearing her name on his lips made her insides clench deliciously. He looked down at her so the end of his nose grazed hers.

"Did you wear this for me?" A flush hurried to her cheeks and all she could do was nod. "You wanted to drive me crazy?" Another nod at his husky whisper. Where had her courage gone? She clenched her thighs together and grazed her chest against his.

He smiled then, a predatory grin, as he looked down at her. He was holding her waist so securely now, it felt like she couldn't get away even if she had wanted to. She pressed more firmly against him and raised her lips to just a breath from his.

A loud round of laughter from the other room punctured their oasis of desire, and Charlie took a deep breath and put his forehead against hers. "I want so much to kiss you, baby." Hermione's mind raced at the unexpected term of endearment. "But if I do, I'll take you in this fucking kitchen and Mum would never forgive me." His words shot straight to her groin and she ground herself against him with a whimper. In that moment, she didn't care if any of the Weasleys walked in on them, she wanted him so much.

"This isn't over," he said gruffly, and placed a rough kiss at her neck that made her lean into him and moan weakly. He then took another fortifying breath, and took a step back that looked like it pained him. He looked at his straining trousers and back up at her, smirking.

"You see what you do to me? If they ask, tell them I went for a walk because I miss the stars. They won't question it." The smirk turned into an innocent grin, and he made towards the back door to shuffle into some shoes.

"I'll find you later, baby." His eyes were a dark promise as he whirled out of the kitchen and into the darkness.