OK, so someone asked if I could try my hand at Charlie/Hermione, and here's what happened :-)

I want to thank fairylightinthenight, who read and commented on this, which spurred me on and made it better :-)

Hermione pulled George Weasley's old quidditch sweater more firmly around her shoulders. It wasn't that it was particularly cold; it was an August evening, after all. But she had never felt completely warm since the Battle of Hogwarts, just a few months ago, in which she, Harry and their friends had defeated Voldemort. When George had offered her the top which he said had shrunk in the wash, she had accepted it as much as a reminder that she did have a family, and surrogate brothers, as for its warmth. Knowing that he could easily have returned it to the correct size with a flash of his wand but wanted her to have the comfort of the soft, faded, worn fabric, she treasured it even more.

At the time, they had just arrived back at The Burrow after visiting George's twin brother in the hospital. Fred was recovering after a run-in with a wall during the final battle of the war they had fought together, and Hermione had loaded up a tiny muggle music player with songs that she thought he might enjoy. George was almost more touched than Fred himself, and he had resolved then and there to try to do anything he could to help the little witch who had ensured that the injured Fred reached the infirmary in time, casting pain relieving and healing spells as they moved him down the busy corridors. He continually loaded her up with products from their shop that he thought she would appreciate, focusing on items from their magical stationary and toiletries ranges, but before he could offer Hermione her choice of roles at his and Fred's growing 'Wheezes' empire, Hermione had accepted her current position.

It was that position which had brought her to this stone-lined room out of whose window she now stared.

Her very own professor's quarters in Hogwarts castle.

The witch had spent almost seven years of her life here already, although for those she had slept in Gryffindor Tower. Now she was on the ground floor rooms, accompanied by her small family; Crookshanks, the half-kneazle cat who appeared to plan to live forever, and Polix, a young brown owl who had been bought and named for her by Fred and George so that she could keep in touch with her friends when she was at school.

Hermione turned her head, smiling in reminiscence as eyes drifted over the whomping willow and Hagrid's old hut, which she supposed might now be Charlie Weasley's hut, as he had apparently taken Hagrid's old job.

Hermione had fond memories of spending time with Hagrid, along with Harry and Ron. She rather hoped that Charlie would let her visit the hut now and again and drink tea with her by the fire that the old Care of Magical Creatures teacher had always kept alight near his famous pumpkin patch.

Hagrid himself was now on sabbatical in France, kindling a rather different kind of flame, and Hermione smiled to think of how he was getting on with Madame Maxime.

A knock on her door drew her from her thoughts.

"Come in!" she called, wondered who could possibly be visiting her so soon after her own arrival.

It was a small house elf. "Lissy wasn't sure if she could come in, mistress Hermione. Thought she had better knock first and ask."

"Hello Lissy, it's nice to meet you…" Hermione knelt and offered her hand in greeting to the elf, who took it and gave it a shy kiss, along with a deep curtsy. Hermione decided not to comment; she had learned enough in the past year or so to realise that the liberation of the oppressed little creatures wasn't as simple as she had thought when she was younger.

"Missus Headmissus says that dinner will be at five today, due to term starting tomorrow and we is all needing to be ready for the feast."

"Thank you, Lissy." The little elf apparated away before Hermione had even finished speaking.

She looked at her watch. It was four thirty. Just about time to finish unpacking before she walked to the Great Hall then. Lifting her wand, Hermione directed her belongings onto the shelves and into the drawers, with the final flourish being the large patchwork quilt that Molly Weasley had sent with her, so she would feel more at home in her new bed.

But when Hermione stood to walk herself to dinner, a flash of something caught her eye out of the window. Looking more closely, she realised that it was a redheaded someone – almost certainly Charlie – landing on a broom just out of reach of the whomping willow. Realising that he was unlikely to get the message about dinner if she didn't tell him, and knowing how much the Weasley men valued their food, Hermione decided to take the long way around to go and let him know. The walk would do her good, she thought, especially as she had every intention of having treacle tart for pudding.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" Charlie greeted her with the customary Weasley wink as Hermione drew near.

She smiled up at him as he held out his arms to hug her, sneaking them under her outer robes and around her shoulders when she stepped towards him. "My hands are so cold from flying; forgot to cast a warming charm," he said, presumably in way of explanation as to why he was rubbing his hands in circles on her back.

"Well I'm cold all the time, Charlie; I don't know that I'm equipped to be your hot water bottle!"

"Whose is this, then?" Charlie asked, his fingers recognising and tracing the letters on her back.

"George's," she replied with a smile. "He gave it to me when it shrunk."

"Ooooh, Hermione! Is my little brother trying to stamp his name on you?" He raised his eyebrows, flashing his blue eyes at the same time.

Hermione laughed. "I don't think so! The twins and I will always be good friends but there's no romance there."

"Hmmmm, we'll see," Charlie teased. "Mum seems to have designs on you being a Weasley…"

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe…" She wasn't sure what to say to that. Romance wasn't something she had given a lot of thought to of late. Or ever, really.

"Had you and Ron pegged for a couple for a long while."

"So did lots of people," Hermione replied. "Except Fred and George, who are wiser than people give them credit for. But we'd be the worst of lovers even though we're the best of friends. Besides, he's enjoying the fruits of his war efforts in the shape of a different witch every night."

"That doesn't leave many of us to pick from," Charlie moved slightly closer. "Bill's married, Percy's a tosser … and that just leaves me…"

Hermione realised that George's jumper had warmed her up very nicely now, as a flush rose to her cheeks. Or maybe it was the campfire that Charlie had kindled upon his arrival. Yes, that must be it. Because she couldn't possibly be responding to Charlie's relentless flirting.

"You're the eternal bachelor though … or so I've been told."

Charlie laughed. "By the twins?" He leaned in closer. "They just don't want the competition," he winked. Seeing Hermione's blush, he decided a change of topic was in order. "So to what do I owe this pleasure, Ms Granger? Not that it isn't delightful to have you come to warm me up, but have you come to see me or to reacquaint yourself with my new humble abode? I hear from Hagrid that you used to be a regular visitor…"

"Well actually," Hermione smiled, glad to be able to put an end to a flirtation with the older man that she wasn't sure she could cope with, "it's more how I can help you. Dinner is being served early, because term starts tomorrow. I saw you flying in from my room and I didn't want you to miss out. May I escort you?" She offered her arm and Charlie took it.

"Why yes, Ms Granger, you may. Let me just pop this inside." Charlie levitated his broom and belongings inside the hut and closed the door, holstering his wand. "Dunno what's out here yet; better be safe than sorry," he grinned.

Together, they walked across the soft grass to the welcoming lights of the great hall. It was strange, walking towards the teacher's table instead of stopping at the one for Gryffindor students, and even stranger that the four long tables at which the students would normally be sitting were empty.

"The peace won't last long, Ms Granger," Professor McGonagall said, not unkindly. "Now, I thought that you and Professor Weasley might like to sit at this end, and Mr Longbottom can join you when he arrives. As you may know, I've offered him the same kind of arrangement as yourself. Professor Sprout wishes to retire but is happy to stay and tutor him for a year, just as I will with you."

Hermione smiled and thanked her old teacher. She really had fallen on her feet. Not wishing to take a job at the Ministry, she had approached the Headmistress to ask about the options for taking her NEWTS. Minerva McGonagall had been delighted to hand craft Hermione an intern position, in which she would be allowed to design her own study programme, access seventh year classes as she felt it necessary, take each NEWT when she was ready and begin her teacher training by taking the first and second years for transfiguration, under Minerva's tutelage. Wanting to acknowledge and honour Hermione's service and the experience that she had gathered over the past year, Minerva had given her all the privileges of a professor, which included a set of rooms and a place at the professors' dining table, but with the flexibility and freedom to complete her own learning as well. And if it helped the young woman recover from the war, well so much the better as far as Headmistress McGonagall was concerned.

Hermione was looking forward to seeing some old friends as well. Some of the sixth and seventh year students would be returning to live in the castle while completing their studies while others, like Ginny, had opted to take the distance learning option that McGonagall had offered those who had played a part in the war. These older students would complete their final year through a combination of self-study and short intensive periods of classes at the school. And Hermione was delighted that one of her good friends had been offered a similar arrangement to herself in acknowledgement of his own part in the war.

As if on cue, Neville Longbottom strode up the hall with a wide grin on his face. "How's this then, Hermione?" he asked, a million times more confident than the first time Hermione had met him; a shy, chubby boy who was nervously seeking his lost toad on the Hogwarts Express. He waved his arms to indicate the table, which was now groaning under the weight of the food, and Hermione smiled back.

"I think you're sitting here, on my other side," she told him, patting the bench. As Neville neared, he held his arms out, engulfing her in a hug and at the same time offering his hand to shake Charlie's. The two men eyed each other and then smiled broadly as Neville threw his long leg over the bench and sat down.

"It's nice to properly meet you," Neville told Charlie.

"Same here," Charlie replied. "Nice work with the sword."

"Thanks, mate." Neville reached for a roll and the butter. "Couldn't have done it without your reinforcements though."

Hermione smiled to herself at the exchange of testosterone-fuelled admiration between the two wizards. She liked them both very much and, with few other teachers who were anywhere near her age, hoped they would all be friends. She was excited about this new start and couldn't wait to get back into her studies.

Neville gazed around the room, finding it hard to believe his luck. He had landed on his feet and couldn't wait to begin his new role. Tomorrow evening would see the arrival of the students and then term would begin the next day. He was just as excited to dive into a new chapter.

Charlie, however, had mixed feelings. He was just as glad to be here as the others, if not more so. The war had brought a few things home to him, and he had realised that, as much as he had loved his work with dragons, he wanted to be near enough to his family to go home each weekend for Sunday lunch. But the war had also changed him, in a way that no-one had realised, and Charlie still hadn't figured out how to cope. During the day, the bulky, strong wizard was as confident as ever. But when the sun fell, everything changed. The war had affected everyone in different ways, and it had left Charlie Weasley terrified of the dark.