This was written for Bex! It's one of the longest things I've written since... well... ever. It is the longest one shot I have ever written. Wow.

In any case. I really hope you enjoy it, Bex. Everything else aside, you're kinda awesome, and I kinda love you. Happy Holidays and such!

...

This is a Soulmate (my first try!)/Voldemort Wins!au

Summary: In Voldemort's new world of fear and suppression, only one thing keeps Charlie going: his Mark is still bright. His soulmate is alive, and Charlie is desperate to get the two of them to Egypt. Now, all Charlie has to do is find the person that shares his Mark.

Warnings: Character death and implied violence

Word Count (excluding AN): 5382

Everything We Lose

Charlie bit his lip as he glanced around, his free hand gently stroking down the neck of his dragon, a mixed breed named Misty. He had found her being grossly mistreated in a traveling circus a few years before the world fell. He freed her, and she had been his companion ever since.

He was hiding them a little too close to enemy territory than he'd prefer, but he found that defenses were weakest just outside the wards of all the largest bases. As long as they didn't take a step too close to the manor, they would be safe. Or, as safe as a blood traitor and an illegal dragon could be in this new world.

He had contemplated giving in, like so many others, but his tiny, iridescent tattoo kept him going. It curled around his wrist in the shape of a dragon, sometimes taking flight up his forearm. Many Marks had dulled on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, so many lives given in vain, but his Mark was still bright—still alive.

That meant one of two things: Charlie's soulmate was either constantly in danger or a Death Eater, and he honestly couldn't decide which he wished it were. Both options made him feel sick.

"It's going to be okay, Misty," Charlie whispered softly, leaning close to her warm body. Despite it being so close to summer, the nights were still cold, and having Misty's constant warmth was something of a luxury to him, especially now that magic was tracked—a simple warming charm would have Snatchers on him in seconds.

It had only been two years, but it felt like lifetimes since Voldemort killed Harry on the battlefield. As his body collapsed, so did the wizarding world. It wasn't just Britain that fell. The whole world descended into chaos and only those who swore allegiance to Voldemort were able to live freely. The rest—the muggles, the blood traitors, anyone without a Dark Mark—were collected and enslaved. Very few lived like Charlie, hiding in the shadows.

It was never safe to stay in one spot for very long. The Snatchers were able to trace magic, and the longer someone with magic stayed in one spot, even if they never cast a single spell, the stronger the magical scent is. Hence, Charlie and Misty sneaking past the Malfoy Manor, right on the edge of the wards.

"This is temporary," he murmured, half to himself and half to Misty, his mind and heart racing through his plan once more. "Once we find my soulmate, we'll head down to Egypt… It'll be easier to hide down there. The three of us should be relatively safe."

"How sweet," a cool voice drawled, startling Charlie out of his thoughts. He whipped Misty around to face the speaker, his left hand hovering just above his thigh where his wand was holstered for emergencies. His right hand gripped a knife, perfect for throwing.

Draco Malfoy looked back at him, his expression passive. His hands were in the pocket of his robes; he didn't look threatened. He didn't even appear to be bothered at all.

After a moment of silence, Charlie seeming unwilling to move, Draco raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to attack me with either of those weapons, or are they just empty threats?" he asked. Charlie thought he saw a hint of a smile creeping onto his lips.

"Unlike you Death Eaters, I fight defensively," he said, the grip on his knife tightening. He saw Draco's eyes harden, but couldn't bring himself to care. In reality, it wasn't because of Charlie's fighting style that he didn't land the knife in the center of Draco's chest; it was because he knew Draco had more power here. Until he found out just how much power Draco held, he wouldn't attack. An uninformed decision is always a bad one to make.

Draco slowly raised his hand, his sleeve riding up just enough for Charlie to see a hint of an iridescent mark coiled around his wrist. He didn't hold a wand—just held his empty hand up towards Charlie. "Maybe," he said cooly, no longer seeming quite so disinterested, "if you all had fought more offensively, the world wouldn't have fallen."

Anger built up in Charlie's chest, and he may have let his knife fly if Draco hadn't been so quick to cast a non-verbal, wandless containment spell. Pressure surrounded Charlie, pushing in on both him and Misty, making it impossible to move or breathe.

He didn't recognize the spell. It had to be something dark, something dangerous. With one last desperate look at Misty, who shuddered under the intensity of the spell, Charlie felt his consciousness fade away.

…

It was dark and a little chilly, but Charlie wasn't exactly uncomfortable. He couldn't make out any visual details, but he seemed to be in a stone dungeon. The only thing that confused him was the plushness of the floor—he was lying on a bed. He hadn't expected a Death Eater's dungeon to have beds.

He also hadn't expected his hands to be unbound, but they were.

He had been stripped of his weapons. He could no longer feel the tight strap of his wand's holster, nor the slight weight of any of his knives. He still ran through a check, just in case Draco or one of his servants missed something.

The knife in his boot was obviously gone since his boots had disappeared, leaving him in just his socks. The small knife in his wand holster was gone, once again for obvious reasons. He was still wearing his belt, but just shifting against the against the mattress he could tell that neither of his long blades were attached any more. His jacket was missing completely, which was a shame—he was quite partial to the last present his sister had gifted him. It had been the Christmas before the Battle. Ginny thought the dragonhide jacket would aid in protecting him in the coming months.

She had been right, of course. It didn't make him invincible, but the jacket had seen him through the last two years.

Even his leather strap, which was used to hide his soulmate Mark from prying eyes, had been taken away from him. Even in trousers, a loose tee-shirt, and his socks, he felt completely naked.

Especially since Misty was gone. He hadn't been apart from her for this long in years.

"Oh good, you're awake." Draco's voice sounded from the far side of the room. He almost sounded relieved.

Charlie could barely make out the glint of his hair—it had grown out since the Battle of Hogwarts, and was now long enough to collect in a ponytail at the base of his skull. Charlie couldn't help but think that it made Draco look quite a lot like his father.

Charlie shifted again in his cot, pushing his back up against the cool stone behind him. "If you're looking for information about the rebels, I don't know anything," he said. It was true that he knew the rebels existed, just remnants of the Order of the Phoenix, but he had never joined. "I've been on my own since the new world began."

Draco chuckled softly before whispering, "Lumos."

The light wasn't too bright, and Charlie found that to be too considerate of Draco. It was, however, bright enough to illuminate the room, which wasn't a dungeon, but appeared to be a small bedroom. A desk was pushed against the wall to his left, and over the back of the chair hung his jacket. Charlie eyed it almost hungrily, not bothering to look at Draco or the rest of the room.

"You can put it on if you like," Draco said, his voice suspiciously soft. "I obviously removed the weapons, but the rest of your items are safe and laid out on the desk. Your boots are by the door."

Despite how much Charlie wanted to race to his jacket and put it on, let the comfort of it envelope him, he stayed put and turned his hardening gaze to Draco.

"What do you want with me?" Charlie asked, letting his arms cross over his chest.

Silence filled the room for just a moment before Draco shifted a little awkwardly, standing up from his chair. "I apologize for the chill," he said, not answering Charlie's question. "I don't usually use this wing of the manor, and it will take a little time for it to warm up properly."

Charlie's frown deepened. "What do you want with me?" he repeated, his voice raising in volume. He was quite pleased to see Draco's discomfort grow—the blond was now eyeing the door, looking desperate to escape.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour," Draco said instead of answering.

Charlie, somehow, frowned even deeper, his brown eyes dark. "You take me as your prisoner, and now you want to have dinner with me? Are you insane?"

"Not insane. Bored," Draco replied, his eyes shifting from the door to Charlie. He nodded off to Charlie's right, where another door stood, a door that Charlie hadn't noticed. "Bathroom is through there. Please wash up before dinner. Imogene will show you the way when it's time."

Without saying another word, or waiting for a response from Charlie, Draco swept out of the room, leaving a confused silence in his wake.

…

Charlie had showered, and he would never admit it out loud, but it felt amazing. Incredible. Heavenly, even. He had forgotten what it was like to shower with a stream of warm water and fluffy towels to dry off with. He had known perfunctory washes in freezing rivers, or with small buckets, for far too long.

A fresh pair of clothes had been hung up on the bathroom door, but Charlie ignored it, choosing instead to put his old clothes on. The discomfort of wearing dirty clothes on a clean body was overwhelmed by the familiarity of his own trousers and shirt.

He had just barely donned his boots, jacket, and leather strip when a knock sounded on the door. "Come in," he said, feeling strange inviting someone into his room, his prison, at a Death Eater's house.

The door opened, revealing a woman about twice Charlie's age. She wore a simple, yet nice pair of robes, colored dark purple, and her dirty-blonde hair was pulled up into a rather large bun. Charlie suspected that if it were free, it would tumble down to her lower back. A dulled flower crawled up her neck—evidence of a loved one lost.

"Imogene?" Charlie questioned, guarded, but refusing to be fully hostile. Despite being well dressed, he knew she had to be one of Malfoy's servants.

She gave Charlie a light smile and nodded. "I'm here to take you to dinner at Lord Malfoy's request," she said. Her voice was soft, but her green eyes were bright.

"I don't suppose I can refuse," he asked, eyeing her carefully.

Imogene's eyes dulled just a little bit. "I wish you wouldn't. He's lonely, you see." Charlie frowned at her words, wanting to refute them, but not speaking quick enough. "His hardships might not seem so extreme to you, who have been living on the run, but his world has never been easy."

Charlie scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure the prince has it very hard," he said, rolling his eyes. A pang of guilt shot through his chest when he saw Imogene's eyes droop just a little more. Her shoulders even curved in when she was standing so tall just a moment ago. "But fine. I'll go eat with him."

Imogene's back straightened when Charlie relented, and she gave him a soft smile. "Follow me," she instructed before she began to lead the way. Charlie didn't hesitate. He walked after her, eyeing his surroundings as he went, looking for any feasible way of escape.

Charlie half expected to see Dark artifacts, or torture devices, but what he found was that he was walking through a manor. A well lit, exquisitely furnished manor. It wasn't even decorated in green, but rather a mixture of blues and purples.

The most surprising thing was the vast amount of books visible in every room and every hallway Charlie and Imogene passed. They were everywhere. Sometimes even stacked on the floor. Imogene laughed softly after she noticed Charlie staring.

"Draco always told me that he didn't want a library in his house, but that he wanted to live in his library," Imogene said fondly. Charlie was surprised with her use of Draco instead of Lord Malfoy. Was she not a servant?

He almost questioned Imogene on the topic, but found that they had reached the dining room. To Charlie's surprise, Draco looked relieved and straightened up in his chair, his eyes seeming to brighten.

"Please, have a seat," Draco said, gesturing to the seat across from him. It wasn't a horribly long table, but it was still large enough to hold the entire Weasley family—back when the Weasley family was whole. Without Fred, Ginny, Bill, and his father, they didn't need quite as many seats.

Moving cautiously, Charlie sat at the foot of the table, frowning softly when Imogene sat at Draco's right hand. He had noticed the table was set for three, but he had half expected either Lucius or Narcissa to join them.

"They don't live here." Draco's voice was a mixture of cool and intrigued as he voiced Charlie's thoughts. "It's just me and Imogene."

Charlie didn't answer, just kept his gaze out for anything that may assist in his escape. Nothing stood out to him, but he wasn't exactly rushed. He figured that as long as Draco didn't kill him, he could stay, shower, and eat—at least until he was strong enough to find Misty and his soulmate so they could escape to Egypt.

It was clear that Draco was hoping for some sort of response, and when he didn't get one, he clapped his hands twice, and the table filled with food. House-elf magic.

Just like the shower, Charlie would never admit how excited he was for a proper meal. And when he took his first bite, he melted internally. The meal was simply: ham, potatoes, broccoli, and corn. It was the best thing he had eaten in years, possibly since Bill's wedding.

The silence was heavy, and Charlie quickly realized it was only him and Imogene that were eating. Draco had a plate full of food, but he had only taken a few bites from it. "Your dragon…" Draco started, his eyes boring into Charlie, seeming to force the older man to set his fork down.

"What about her?" Charlie bit back defensively. "You haven't hurt her, have you? I swear to Godric if she has been taken for parts—"

Draco looked horrified as he cut in with, "Merlin no! I was just going to tell you that she's safe… and I was going to ask what her diet is. Wouldn't do to have her starving to death."

Once again, Charlie was stunned to silence. Shouldn't a Death Eater do everything they can to neutralize the enemy?

"I think you misunderstand, Weasley," Draco said, once again seeming to read Charlie's mind—the Weasley was beginning to suspect foul play. It would only make sense that Draco is a legilimens. "Harming you is the last thing I want to do."

Charlie raised an eyebrow, officially pushing his plate of food away. His stomach had shrunk in the last couple of years, so half a plate was more than enough to fill him. "Why?"

Draco had the decency to look uncomfortable, but he still sat up straight. "I believe that is a discussion for another time," he said, his voice falling back into its usual cool. "Imogene?"

Imogene set her fork to the side. "Of course," she said, giving Draco a small smile before turning to Charlie. "If you are finished with your meal, I'll escort you back to your room."

…

This became their routine. Breakfast and lunch were served to Charlie in his room, and Imogene escorted him to dinner. Every night, Charlie would shower, put on his same clothes (by the third night, Draco scoffed and silently casted a cleaning charm on them), then follow the older woman down to where Draco sat. Conversation was idle, rather boring, and nothing seemed to happen.

By the second week, Charlie was more restless than ever. He was eating well, he was clean, he was even exercising in his room out of sheer boredom. It had only been a fortnight, but Charlie was healthier than he had been in years, and it was nerve wracking. He needed out.

Except he didn't want out. He was eating well, he was clean, and he had time to exercise. The only downside was that he still hadn't seen Misty, and his soulmate was still a mystery. Draco had obviously seen his Mark, and if he recognized it, he didn't say anything. Charlie couldn't decide if that was a good or a bad thing.

Draco was an enigma to Charlie—he couldn't figure out his motives or desires in the slightest. He only had one servant, and she acted more like a mother than anything else, and a few house elves, all of which had proper clothing. It was confusing.

He felt like he had to constantly remind himself he was a prisoner in enemy territory.

"He isn't a bad man," Imogene said softly as she walked Charlie to dinner for the sixteenth time. "He was thrown into his life just like so many other children of this war."

Charlie, knowing the way enough to not have to look where he was going, stared at Imogene like she had gone mad. "Forgive me if I'm not so quick to believe you."

Imogene laughed softly, her eyes bright. She seemed so happy, carefree almost. "I'm not asking you to believe me. I'm just saying that maybe you should keep an open mind."

They rounded a corner, five more changes of scenery before they reached the dining room. "How can you laugh so easily when you are under his control?" Charlie suddenly blurted out, the question having been on his mind ever since he had met Imogene.

"I'm here of my own free will," she replied, her smile dropping just slightly. "I've been with him since his birth, and I will never leave him. I'd rather die than be parted."

Charlie frowned, looking to the side. He wasn't expecting that level of commitment from her. "Why?" he asked, desperate to try and understand both Draco and Imogene just a little more.

Sadness clouded over Imogene's eyes, but her lips still held her slight smile. Slowly, her right hand lifted to gently touch her fingertips to her dulled Mark. "His mother and I…" she trailed off, but Charlie caught her meaning. "We could never be, not properly. She and Lucius were forced together, but I was always nearby. When the war picked up again, she made me promise that if anything were to happen to her, I would look after Draco."

Charlie was shocked into silence, his eyes widening. That was the last thing he would have guessed—it also meant that Narcissa had passed, which was another thing he hadn't expected.

"During the Battle," Imogene continued, "Narcissa aided Harry Potter by lying to the Dark Lord in the Forbidden Forest. When the Dark Lord discovered her betrayal, he had her sentenced to death. Lucius moved to the Dark Lord's main headquarters not long after, mostly to save his own skin, and Draco was left here. For the most part, the two of us live in peace, but every once in a while, Draco must go and appear in front of the Dark Lord. Every time he leaves me, I pray he comes back safe and sound."

By the time Imogene finished speaking, the pair had made it to the dining room. When Charlie sat down, and Draco made idle conversation, his confusion hadn't dissipated, but his hostility had.

…

Draco visited Charlie two days later, knocking on his door and waiting politely for Charlie to call out for him to come in.

He was wearing a pair of dark blue robes, his grey eyes and blonde hair stark in contrast to the color. He looked like a proper pureblood, but his features held an uncertainty that, once again, surprised Charlie.

"I'm sure you would like to see Misty," he said after entering the room. Charlie's ears perked at the words, and his eyebrows raised hopefully. Malfoy just nodded, leaving the room as quickly as he had entered it.

He left the door open, so Charlie followed him.

They walked in silence as they made their way outside, Charlie analyzing their route; however, he didn't feel the intense desire to escape quite the same. Sure, he still wanted out, but maybe Draco was safer than he first feared.

"Your dragon," Draco started, fidgeting almost nervously with the sleeves of his robes. Once again, Charlie caught sight of the bright Mark on his wrist, but he couldn't tell what it was. "She's relatively small."

Turning his gaze back to the room they had just entered, Charlie nodded. "She's a mixed breed. Only large enough to comfortably hold two passengers."

They were in what looked to be a mudroom, and Draco grabbed himself a cloak—it was getting colder outside with the changing of the seasons. When Draco offered one to Charlie, insinuating that he might want something heavier than his jacket, Charlie shook his head. He would rather fight a chill than be parted from the last piece of Ginny that he had.

"What happened to her?" Draco asked quietly, returning the offered cloak to it's hook before opening the door and gesturing for Charlie to go outside. The Weasley didn't move, though. He just stared at Draco, emotion welling up in his chest.

He remembered it too vividly, the way she screamed when Harry fell, the snitch on her shoulder fading to black, how he had to hold her thrashing body tight to his own in order to keep her on Misty, how she refused to eat and ended up starving herself to death. She didn't make it through the first winter.

Slowly, after passing Draco and stepping outside, Charlie let out a breath. "She gave up." Charlie said nothing more, and Draco didn't ask—he didn't need to ask.

The two men walked, once again, in silence, and it was only broken when Charlie let out a noise of relief upon seeing Misty. A type of containment ward shimmered in the space around her, but she had enough room to stretch her wings and fly a little.

Charlie, unable to help himself, started running. His excitement was returned. Misty ran all the way to the side of her enclosure, pawing at the ground in front of her as Charlie neared. Without thinking, he passed right through the ward and threw his arms around her neck.

Words weren't said, they didn't need to be, but it was obvious that the pair of them had a strong bond. After a few minutes of holding her tight, the two of them nuzzling their heads into each other's necks, Charlie noticed Draco standing just beyond the ward, a small smile on his lips. When the Malfoy noticed Charlie looking, the smile dropped and was replaced with slightly flushed cheeks.

"You treat her well," Draco commented idly, nodding to Misty.

Charlie felt a part of his defenses crumble, and he gave Draco a proper grin. "You seem to as well. I think she may just be a little chubby."

Draco laughed, another startling thing for Charlie. It wasn't exactly beautiful in the typical sense—it was rough, and oddly breathy, like he wasn't used to laughing—but it still anchored itself into Charlies heart. He almost clutched at his chest to try and keep the feeling it gave him.

"She's good," Draco said, evidence of his laugh still lingering around his eyes.

He was beautiful, Charlie decided, when he smiled, and that may have been the most surprising thing Charlie had encountered yet. With a tiny smile of his own, he reached his hand out to Draco. "Come on. I think she might like you."

There was hesitance in his shoulders, but Draco straightened his spine and took Charlie's hand, stepping through the ward and closer to the dragon and her rider. His hand was cold, in contrast to Charlie's seemingly constant heat, and Charlie wouldn't have minded continuing to hold it in order to warm him up, but Draco slipped away once he was close.

"She likes it if you stroke down the side of her neck," Charlie said after clearing his throat, stepping to the side a little. Draco's hesitance grew, but he still took a step closer and laid a tentative hand on Misty's warm skin.

Slowly, Draco seemed to relax, and so did Misty. "She's beautiful." Draco's voice was barely audible, but Charlie still heard him, and felt a small smile tugging at his lips—his captor definitely was not as awful as he had originally feared.

After a few moments, Draco leaned his head forward and dropped it against Misty's shoulder, his body slumping just slightly. "I've been called," he murmured. Charlie was only left wondering what that meant for a brief moment. "I have to go face Him. He demands this every so often, and I hate it, but if I refuse…" he trailed off with a shudder.

Charlie's smile dropped, but he didn't say anything. He didn't know if there was anything he could say.

"If he finds me to be disloyal, even in the slightest…" Draco trailed away again before looking up at Charlie, his eyes shining silver. "You should be safe with Imogene while I'm away. If anything… if anything happens to me, take her with you? To Egypt?"

Charlie was silent, holding Draco's stare before giving a soft nod. The relief that filtered through Draco's expression was hard to miss.

…

Imogene and Charlie ate dinner alone later that night. Like so much of the time they spent together, it was silent. However, this time the silent was full of nervous energy. At least four times, Charlie raised his head to try and give the woman some comforting words, but each time he dropped his gaze to his plate before he could even open his mouth.

Neither of them ate. Imogene was too worried for the boy she considered a son, and Charlie was just… too worried. In a part of his mind, Draco was still his captor and a Death Eater, but he was also the boy with a beautiful smile and a hard lot in life.

Though something really small inside of Charlie begged him to, he just couldn't wish ill on the Malfoy.

Finally, unable to stand the silence anymore, Charlie raised his head and actually spoke. "Has Draco looked for his soulmate at all?"

The question came as a slight surprise to Charlie, but if Imogene was shocked by it at all, she didn't show it. She just gave Charlie a slightly relieved smile.

"Draco has found his soulmate, but there is something still keeping them apart," she said, her smile gentle, but her eyes rather dull—she was clearly worried, and idle conversation wouldn't quell her nerves. But, when she lifted a bite of her dinner to her lips, Charlie knew that it would help, even if just a little bit.

"Is the situation like yours?" he asked, hoping he wasn't being too insensitive.

The woman shook her head; Charlie was glad when she didn't close herself off. "I guess there are a few… similarities, but no. The only thing truly separating Draco from his soulmate is his own insecurities. If he would just open himself up, I have no doubt that the two of them could find happiness somehow, even in this horror of a world."

Charlie nodded, looking back down at his plate, starting to feel more and more empathy for Draco. It was becoming quite clear to him that Draco was more human than he had ever imagined. Draco was scared, and insecure, and doing what everyone else in this world was attempting: surviving.

Before long, both Charlie and Imogene set their forks down and began their trek back up to Charlie's room. Before saying goodnight, Imogene pulled Charlie into a desperate hug, her fingers gripping his shirt tightly.

Charlie didn't say anything, but he definitely noticed the material on his chest become slightly dampened. When Imogene pulled away, she turned on her heel and left without a word, wiping at her cheeks.

…

It was dark when he heard his name called—he had been in a fitful sleep, and woke almost immediately, his wrist burning and his heart aching.

"Ch-Charlie, we have to go," the voice called again, and Charlie sat up rigid in his bed. Imogene was standing to the side, the soft light from the hallway illuminating her figure in a golden shroud.

Something was wrong. Imogene's shoulders shook, and she was tugging at Charlie's sheets. Within seconds, Charlie was wide awake and standing up. "What is it?" he questioned, sleep making his voice raspier than normal. "Imogene, what happened?"

A choked sob escaped her throat and she gripped Charlie's arm, starting to tug him away. "N-No time. We need t-to take Misty and leave."

Dread filled Charlie's entire body, and he just barely remembered to grab his boots and jacket, leaving his leather strip on the desk. He didn't bother putting anything on, just grabbed them and held them in his free hand, racing after Imogene as she frantically pulled him through the manor.

The only thing on his mind was Draco's laugh from the day before.

They ran out of the manor and neared Misty, the dragon pacing around at the edge of the ward as she seemed to sense Charlie and Imogene's distress. Before reaching her, however, Charlie dug his heels into the ground, his socked feet dampened with the grass's mildew.

"Imogene. I need to know what happened," he said after tugging her to a stop, taking this moment of rest to slip his boots and jacket on. "Please… tell me what is going on."

The woman let out another choked sob, and when she turned to Charlie, he could see the moonlight reflecting off of her tears. "He killed him. He killed m-my Draco," she breathed, her hand tightening around Charlie's arm, nails digging in deep enough to leave marks, or maybe even draw blood. Her other hand was clutching a bag to her chest.

The dread that had filled Charlie's body earlier left, leaving cold terror in its wake. "No…"

Imogene nodded frantically before turning and starting to tug Charlie towards Misty. "We… We had an alarm in place—a prerecorded P-Patronus that would only send if he…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "He told me that if I ever get this message, I need to r-run."

Charlie barely registered what was happening, his body seeming to fight with Imogene as she explained. He only really regained his senses when the woman said that she needed to run. Swallowing down his own emotions, he picked up the pace.

They were both out of breath when they reached Misty, and Imogene let go of Charlie and raised her hand, making the wards fall. Without thinking about it, Charlie picked Imogene up by the waist and hoisted her onto Misty's back before following suit with himself.

Misty barely needed a nudge from Charlie's knee before she took flight, racing them across the early morning sky.

As dawn began to rise, and with Imogene sobbing softly in front of him, Charlie noticed that his wrist was still burning—it didn't hurt quite as bad as it had when he first woke up, but the pain was still present.

It grew, the pain, crawling up his arm and clenching around his chest and lungs, making him feel breathless, weightless, and far too heavy all at once, when he saw why.

His Mark, the ever present, ever moving, ever bright dragon was curled up around his wrist, nothing more than a dull reminder of another life lost.