Author: kaly
Rating: G
Category: short story, angst
Spoilers: none
Series: Brothers' Bond
Timeframe: Ron's 27. Charlie's 37.
Summary: A happy occasion brings memories of tragedy.
Thank you: To geminigrl11 for the beta. :)
Notes: Eighth in a series (of ten), Brothers' Bond, focused around Ron and Charlie. In it, Charlie is ten years older than Ron. Becomes AU after GoF canon.
Previous stories in the series:
#1 - The Path of Thorns
#2 - The Lesson of Loss
#3 - Watching Over You
#4 - It's Never Easy
#5 - Holiday Cheer
#6 - Solace
#7 - Stormy Weather
Disclaimer: JKR. Scholastic. WB. Their toys, I'm just borrowing the guys, I promise! Besides, I'd use Charlie more if they were mine. ;)
A Reason for Hope
Ron was exhausted by the time he reached the flat he shared with Harry. He hadn't been home in three days and longed to collapse onto his bed and sleep for at least two more. There was one more thing to do first, however, and he didn't want to put it off any longer than it needed to be.
Dropping his bag onto the floor near the door, he made a mental note to unpack it later. Ron pulled his sweater off over his head as he walked, letting it fall not far from the bag. He knew Harry hated the mess, but would look at it and sigh - not going so far as to comment on Ron's tendency to leave things where they fell. He had to admit, some days he did it just to drive Harry crazy.
At the moment, however, Ron was too tired to care. He dropped onto the couch, slouching bonelessly, letting his head loll back he stared at the ceiling for a bit before a smile spread across his face. Rubbing his hands over his eyes, he sat up and began digging through one of the drawers of the end table.
It took several minutes before he finally found a decent sized piece of parchment, not to mention a quill without the tip broken. He grimaced. It was always painfully obvious when Harry had been away too long on business.
Sliding forward, he dropped from the couch to the floor. There was a half-full bottle of ink in the drawer also and he dipped the quill into it, pausing a moment to consider what he wanted to say.
"Dear Charlie," he began, before scribbling it out and replacing it with simply, "Charlie."
Chewing on the top of the quill absently, he ignored the bite marks that he'd long before worn into it. It never failed - he couldn't seem to write any letter whatsoever without worrying the quills so. It was just one more thing that drove Harry absolutely nutters.
"I know Mum has already written to you," Ron scrawled. "But I wanted to write to you myself, anyway. Not every day you become an uncle, is it? And you should have seen Mum. She was beside herself, her youngest one being first and all."
Ron chuckled, remembering their mum fluttering this way and that. She'd been ordering them all around the Burrow as though they were still in school. It had been nice - it was the most it had felt like home in a long time. And if things had been strange, with Bill and Percy not there, no one had been brave enough to say. At least not in front of their parents.
"Ginny did great," he continued. "Mum's still a bit in shock it was her baby having a baby. I think she's given up on you, though." He grinned, knowing he would get under his brother's skin with that remark. "Anyway. You know all the specifics already I'm sure. Baby girl. Ginny and Sam named her Grace. You'll have to visit soon, if you can. They'd love to see you."
Ron didn't mention the fact he wanted to see Charlie, too. After all, it wasn't like he couldn't go visit Romania at some point. The sky ran both ways and he felt a bit guilty for not visiting. But since the end of the war, Ron had stuck close to home. It was as though a 'what if' of worry was never far away.
"You should have seen it, Charlie. I was convinced I would drop the poor thing. I think Ginny was a bit scared to even let me hold her, but Mum made her. Harry says hello. Well, he would if he were here. He's away again, Dumbledore asked him to go overseas for a bit and of course he couldn't refuse him. After all that's happened..."
Ron stopped writing and stared at the paper. He realized belatedly that the quill was still pressed to the surface and a large ink stain was spreading out like spider's legs. Ron shivered. He always hated that description.
Dropping the quill to the side, he stared across the room. Dim sunlight was streaking in around the curtains. The sun had almost set and it was quickly growing dark in the flat. Fishing his wand from a pocket, Ron waved it in the direction of several candles. A soft glow filled the room at his whispered command.
He looked around the empty flat and suddenly the quiet he'd craved didn't seem so inviting. His mum had asked him to remain at the Burrow for a while longer, but he had wanted to be off home. Ron hadn't been able to explain it at the time and sitting on the floor, absorbing the utter quiet - the polar opposite of the Burrow - he still wasn't certain why he craved the solitude. Harry had believed him to be staying at home for a bit longer or no doubt he would have rushed home, too.
Distraction passed, Ron again faced the unfinished letter. He shook himself forcefully, wishing to avoid the shadows inside that couldn't be banished so easily. The reason that Harry would have hated the thought of him being alone...
"It's been three years now." Ron stopped once more, debating what he was about to write, if he should write it. The last thing he wanted to do was reopen a barely closed wound. But it was unavoidable. "Odd isn't it?" he asked instead. "That Grace would be born yesterday, of all days."
Perhaps it wasn't so odd, Ron thought. Perhaps it was meant to be. Could she be a way of easing the grief that had returned every year for the previous three? The guilt burned at him, as it always did, but he tried to ignore it. Tried to think of happier things. Tried to write of happier things.
The guilt and pain would be there when he lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, and Ron would deal with it then. Just not yet. Unfortunately, he had no doubt Charlie would be doing the same. He set about finishing the letter, hoping to send it along as soon as he could. If he couldn't actually be with his brother, maybe there was a smaller way that he could bridge the distance.
Charlie had just finished tending to a newly hatched dragon, left motherless after a horrendous lightning storm, when he saw an owl rapidly approaching. Pulling the thick gloves from his hands, he shoved them into a pocket.
He smiled as he recognized the owl. "Pig, old boy," he said in greeting. As if offended at being called old, the owl - which was indeed remarkably old for an owl - gave a small protest. "Now, now," Charlie said with a laugh, pulling a rolled parchment from Pigwidgeon's leg. The owl turned his beak up, flying away from Charlie toward the small owlery nearby. Perturbed or not, Charlie knew he would wait for a reply if Ron had requested it.
Charlie unrolled the letter as he walked toward his small apartment. Always grateful for word from home, Charlie couldn't help laughing aloud at Ron's worries about hurting their niece. He knew Ron wasn't capable of anything of the sort. If nothing else, they were all fiercely protective of the younger ones in the family. No doubt there was little Ron wouldn't do for that little girl, given time.
He wasn't halfway through the letter when it almost fell from nerveless fingers. His knees felt weak and he had to force himself to cross the remaining distance to his apartment.
Once inside, he pushed the door closed and leaned heavily against it. He rubbed his eyes roughly before again looking at the letter from Ron. It had started innocently enough. Ron had been right; an owl had arrived from their parents the day before with word of his niece's birth.
What he hadn't thought about, had kept himself too busy to think about, was the date. No doubt his parents had neglected to mention it on purpose. It would be like them to do so. Charlie sighed, his legs folding beneath him so that he slid slowly down the door, coming to rest on the floor. Elbows propped on his knees, he looked at the letter from Ron.
"November 14th."
There were many days that would forever be burned into Charlie's mind. Many of them were happy, joyous even. November fourteenth... Fresh guilt poured over Charlie at the mere thought, his shoulders shaking as he took a deep breath.
He had been scheduled to relieve Bill at the Ministry in early November. However, the bad weather and a poorly timed illness had kept him at the Burrow longer than planned. Bill had understood, choosing to remain where he was until Charlie was well. Bill always was a bit overprotective, Charlie thought.
It was then, while Charlie was convalescing at home, that the last offensive of the war took place. He was removed, safe. Bill, who should have been... wasn't.
Charlie let his head fall forward onto his folded arms. He didn't feel anything, their dad tried to assure him, even while fighting his own tears. Their Mum had become something he'd never seen before: distant, quiet.
Ron had returned home a man Charlie almost didn't recognize. It was a small consolation that he hadn't been there when Bill had fallen. Charlie remembered all too well the grief Percy's death had caused his little brother and was grateful for that small favor.
So while the entire wizarding world was celebrating their victory, a shadow had fallen over the Burrow. And it penetrated all the way inside Charlie's guilty heart.
It wasn't long before he had returned to Romania. He had fled the pain of his parents, his siblings. He ran before his own guilt could tear him apart in front of their eyes. Bill should never have been there on November fourteenth - but Charlie should have been.
Hours later found Charlie still sitting on the floor, hunched over and back aching. The sun had set long before and the room was dark. He had eventually managed to finish Ron's letter. He could still see the words in his mind, even if his eyes could not.
"I wish I was there, Charlie. I wish you were here," it had concluded. "Perhaps... Maybe this littlest of creatures can help mend the biggest of hurts. Take care until I see you again.
"Ron."
Charlie had fallen into a light doze when a knock on the door woke him. Standing, uncertain when it was he had found his way to bed, he tried to shake himself awake. It had been a long night following Ron's letter.
Worried that something had happened with the hatching, he pulled the door open quickly. The questions died on his tongue when he saw who was standing there.
"Hello, Charlie," Harry said.
There was a broom in his hand and Charlie could see a satchel hidden beneath his cloak. It looked as if he had been flying all night. Charlie blinked, uncertain if his eyes had begun to play tricks on him. When Harry was still there a moment later, he nodded and moved to the side.
"Harry," he greeted, gesturing the other man into the room.
Harry smiled faintly before giving Charlie a measuring look. Only years of working with dragons kept him from squirming under the intense gaze. Once he was inside, Harry turned in a slow circle before looking again at Charlie.
"How are you doing?" he asked with no preamble.
The question sounded innocent enough but he heard the layers within. It occurred to him that he should be taken aback, but knowing Harry as he had come to, he wasn't. Resigning himself to the conversation he knew was to come, Charlie shrugged. "Been better. You?"
Harry's eyes seemed to darken at that and he glanced away quickly. "About the same."
Charlie stepped forward and took Harry's broom from his hand, placing it near the door beside his own. He held out a hand and Harry reluctantly parted with his satchel as well.
"A bit late for a call, isn't it?" Charlie asked after dropping the bag onto a table.
"Sorry about that." Harry pulled his robe off, revealing the dusty traveling clothes beneath. "It took this long just to get here. I was in the States until this morning."
Dropping onto the couch, Charlie gestured for Harry to do the same. "Ron mentioned you were helping Dumbledore."
Something flashed in Harry's eyes at that, but it was gone before Charlie could decipher it. The other man shook his head, staring at his hands before looking up once more. "He wrote?" Charlie nodded and Harry asked, "Ginny?"
Confused, Charlie replied, "A girl. Grace. Perfectly healthy, from what I hear. How did you not..."
"I've been rather out of touch the past few days. My journey overseas was less out of happenstance than planning." Charlie couldn't help but think Harry looked worn, old.
"Harry?"
"I know I've not seen you, since..." Harry was silent for a moment and Charlie felt his stomach grow queasy. He could barely breathe, couldn't reply. Harry saved him the trouble when he continued. "I was there, you know. I saw what happened." Harry risked looking at Charlie then, out of the corner of his eyes. "It wasn't your fault," he whispered just barely loud enough for Charlie to hear.
"Harry..." Charlie said, forcing the word out as he shook his head.
"Ron worries about you," Harry said as though he hadn't heard Charlie speak. "But he feels guilty, too. I think that's why he's not been to see you since. We've had a couple of rows about it, believe me." Harry did look at Charlie then and the older man was surprised at the bitter humor he could see on his face. "Stubborn lot, you Weasleys."
"Is he okay?" Charlie asked, long moments later.
"Most of the time."
Realization dawned. "But not now." Suddenly angry, Charlie grabbed Harry's arm. "Why leave him now, then?"
Harry shrugged, pulling his arm free and staring at a darkened window. "I knew he would be at the Burrow with your family. Taken care of. This week, I just wanted - needed - to be alone."
"We're your family, too."
With a faint smile, Harry whispered, "I know." He looked lost in thought for a while before he broke the fragile silence. "I forget, sometimes, that this week was something good after we lost so many. It just... gets lost."
Charlie felt like Harry had punched him in the stomach. It didn't seem right that anything good have come from the time Bill had died. But it had. The war had ended, Voldemort was finally defeated - forever.
"And Grace," Charlie said. He was surprised when the words weren't followed by an immediate rush of guilt. For so long the long, cold nights in November had brought little but the bitterness and guilt of survival. Now there was yet another good thing to even out the old hurts.
"Won't you come home? Visit?" Harry asked, casting a timid glance Charlie's way. Seeing the hope there, Charlie sucked in a quick breath. If he were honest, returning home scared him even three years later. He hadn't yet managed a reply when Harry added, "For both of you? You and Ron."
"What about you?"
Harry smiled then. "The only family I count, outside Sirius and Remus, I mean, is waiting for me there. All except for you. You should visit Ginny and your niece." He paused and Charlie knew what was coming. It was little short of emotional blackmail but he couldn't fault Harry for it when it came. "Visit Ron."
Leaning back against the couch, Charlie let out a long breath. "Okay," he whispered, not quite believing it himself. Neither did Harry, judging by the surprised look on his face. "I'll go."
"You're sure?" Harry asked, suddenly sounding anything but. "I don't want for you to..."
Charlie shook his head, silencing Harry with an outstretched hand. "Thank you."
"What?"
"For helping me to remember what I shouldn't have forgotten." Charlie stood, gesturing for Harry to do the same. Tossing extra cushions to each side he said, "You can sleep here and we'll leave tomorrow." Suddenly unsure, an uncommon feeling for him, Charlie looked at Harry. "Will that work for you?"
"That's fine." He paused, grabbing one of the cushions for a pillow. Smiling he added, "I'm looking forward to seeing Ron again."
Charlie smiled, the strange feeling of contentment settling in his chest. "Me, too. You have no idea how much."
End