Disclaimer: Tragically no.
A/N- Little tid-bit in some kind of weird AU where Charlie Weasley is a garbage man in San Francisco. I got told the other day it doesn't snow in San Francisco…in that case it's an AU San Francisco too:-P
After a strenuous morning collecting the ever abundant garbage of downtown San Francisco, Charlie sat in one of the well-lit corners of his brother's comfortable, family-run café holding a large strong espresso and trying to relax. Charlie had always liked it there, sitting in one of the café's oddball sofas, an eclectic mixture of new and old, different styles and colours that overwhelmed the senses and seeped into the mind. Charlie's couch was soft and enveloping, the kind of sofa that you sunk into, making you think you were sitting on the floor, being embraced by a giant marshmallow.
Looking around, other customers were sprawled out on leather settees or squashed onto ancient wooden church pews that had been covered in his aunts hand-made cushions, there was even a Japanese style futon laid out on the floor in on corner. In keeping with the floors eccentricity it looked like the walls had tried to do the samee; each was a different colour and the large windows were varied styles, one nearest Charlie being the widest. He loved the way the sun-light spilled and shattered around him by the reflection of the intricate mirror above, bathing him in shards of delicate light. Charlie enjoyed spending his time there, staring at the peeling paint or antique, collectable machinery above the counter; their usage long since forgotten. But mostly he liked it because they gave him free coffee.
Charlie (though his current occupation as a garbage-man betrayed him) considered himself a photographer, a tragically undiscovered one, but a photographer none the less. Sitting alone in a dark room summed up, not only what he spent much of his time doing, but also his outlook on life in general.
Slumped on his regular armchair in the café, he gazed out of the naturally frosted window at the snow covered square beyond. The grey sky looked down at the white expanse below it, frowning at the muddy slushes on street corners, the gaudy coloured cars and darkly dressed people as a mother might look at her child's splatters of food on a newly-cleaned white tablecloth. The shops haemorrhaged swarming crowds of customers, laden down with masses of purchases. He glimpsed a mountain of a man jogged past the window, listening to the radio on his walkman, muscles jostling for dominance, like snakes writing in a pit, before he was swallowed up by the sea of humanity around him.
A bell's ring tinkled through the coffee house and a corpulent tourist with a baseball cap and matching "I love San Francisco" t-shirt, who was struggling with his troupe of demanding children, squeezed himself past, all 37 stone of him and waddled off. 'Probably in search of the doughnuts at the counter' Charlie thought sulkily, feeling irritated that this whale of a man had interrupted his perfect dreamlike view of the snow covered world around him.
Closing his eyes he could still hear the man's children shrieking for food and cringed, dreading the day he might walk into a coffee shop in New York looking like this man with three brats tugging every available piece of clothing. Daring a peak from under his dark lashes he saw his uncle trying to find a seat for a smart, business-like women, whose hair was pulled back on her head so tight it looked like her face might come with it at any moment. His brother Fred pointed out a spare seat next to the squabbling family from New York to which the women turned up her nose, as if the idea of her even looking at them was unsightly. Meanwhile, outside a gaggle of girl scouts had braved the cold armed with collecting tins and were singing carols into the freezing air. Their leader was trying to bully people into donating to a good cause, picking on one particular man with diamond cufflinks who looked as if he just wanted to get out of there and eventually, it seemed he agreed with much coercion, when he dropped a few dollars into a tin and stalked off.
Charlie sipped his espresso thoughtfully; his fingers twitching form the constant overdoses of caffeine, his intense blue eyes darting across the wooden floor. Suddenly a pair of sparkling orange ballet pumps, which were tied to pale, skinny ankles by mauve ribbon, stepped into his jittery line of vision, accompanied by a breathe of cold wind and a few flakes of powdery snow. Looking up he took in the girl's highlighted hair, which seemed to whisper of zebra stripes, and pink wifebeater, which was embroidered with an arbitrary selection of woven badges from all over the world, blaring out the chosen slogan or featured mascot. A lilac pleated skirt and leopard print leggings completed the striking and, Charlie thought, frankly embarrassing outfit.
Charlie bent his head to light another cigarette, took a long drag, and beckoned the girl to join him. Sitting down in a whirlwind of energy, she pulled the reluctant Marlboro Extra from his lips and into hers. Most other people would have made an effort to retrieve it but Charlie just sat there as if nothing had happened. God was he a good brother or what? His parents were currently blissfully unaware of their daughter's growing addiction. Not that they would have noticed if Ginny walked straight up to them dancing the can-can naked; they were too busy thinking of her as their baby girl.
"Hey!" Ginny said breathlessly, her nose red from the cold outside. "Guess what I got." She looked excited as she waved an envelope at him.
Charlie already knew exactly what it was, the stamp on the front confirmed it; in big red letters at the top right corner of the brown envelope was written.
Alonzo King's Ballet and Dance Academy
It was Ginny's application reply for her dream dance school; the one she had been obsessed with since she was like, three and had bought her first ballet shoes and that rubbish. Still, it meant a great deal to Gin and Charlie took a nervous gulp of his coffee, burning the roof of his mouth and back of his throat in the process. They sat in silence for a few moments.
"You gonna open that?" he prompted when she made no move to look inside the letter.
"Nah, I'll do it tonight at the party."
"What?! With all those
people watching? Are you mad, what if you don't get in?"
Ginny
looked at him in trepidation, obviously she hadn't anticipated that
scenario, and she took another long drag of her stolen
cigarette.
"Alright, we'll do it now." She decided,
carefully peeling the fold of the envelope back so as not to tear the
paper. Charlie rolled his eyes, how was it that someone as shambolic
as Ginny could be so neat and cautious about opening one damn
envelope.
She pulled the typed paper from its cover and looked at
it. Her eyes widened in shock and her mouth formed a perfect O shape
and despite himself all Charlie wanted to do was to have bought his
digital camera to capture the perfectly symmetrical expression on his
sister's face, even though he knew he should be comforting her. So
instead he was silent, watching her turn horrified eyes at the
letter, then back at him. Suddenly the terror faded and annoyance
replaced it.
"Come on Charlie aren't you going to comfort me?" she demanded sounding more that a little hurt.
"God Gin," Charlie started out of his comma-like state, "I… I mean I was joking about the party. I… I always thought you'd get in!"
She grinned at him, "Good because I did. Still,"
she laughed, pushing his arm
playfully, "at least I know never
to come for you for comfort again."
Charlie continued to stare at her open-mouthed and tried to take another swill of coffee before realising his mug was empty.