School: Beauxbatons

Theme: Blocking

Year: 4

Main Prompt: [Character] Charlie Weasley

Additional Prompts: [Action] Flying, [Action] Falling (literally or figuratively)

Word Count: 3717

Thanks to my Betas: Paceso, Liz Jean Tonks and xoxoVanillaOrchidxoxo!

Broomsticks and Dragons

There was no feeling in the world quite like flying. It made a person feel weightless and carefree, as though, somehow, the minute they got on a broom and lifted off, they left all of their worries on the ground. Charlie couldn't understand why some people didn't like it. They may as well admit that they didn't like cake or joy while they were at it.

It had been his mother who'd taught him to fly. She'd been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team during her time at Hogwarts, a Seeker like he was. According to the plaques in the school's Trophy Room, she'd done her House proud. Molly Weasley had taught her two eldest sons how to ride a broom before they could even walk. She'd tried to teach Percy too, but he'd never shown any interest in it. Then the twins had come along, and with five kids to look after, she'd had to give up a few things, including flying.

Charlie still missed those afternoons when it had been just them and Bill, soaring only a few feet from the ground and tossing a ball back and forth as Mum taught them every trick she knew. He remembered every word of those lessons, and he recalled them most clearly whenever he got on a broom, which was fairly often.

He swerved to avoid a player wearing canary yellow, and then another who was decked out in the same scarlet red as he was. The Hufflepuff Quidditch team had really upped its game this season, and Gryffindor was falling way behind. Charlie sped up his search for the Golden Snitch, knowing that without it, Gryffindor would lose the match and fall behind in the league table. As team captain, he couldn't let that happen.

He scanned the pitch for the telltale flash of gold, but he couldn't see it yet. He'd caught sight of it a few times already, but one of the Hufflepuff Beaters kept tailing him, and always managed to hit a Bludger at him before he could get close enough to grab it. It was a good tactic given that Hufflepuff's Seeker was less than impressive this year and needed all the help he could get. Charlie might have felt bad for not thinking up that tactic first, but he knew that he was skilled enough to get by without it.

This was Gryffindor's second game of the season. They'd already thrashed Slytherin a few weeks ago, but Charlie didn't want to take that as an excuse to put his feet up now. This was his first year as team captain, and he wanted to make Professor McGonagall proud for bestowing that honour on him; that meant winning the House Cup.

He was flying high above his teammates, keeping his eyes peeled for his quarry and trying to lose the clingy Hufflepuff Beater.

Charlie didn't have the sleek, aerodynamic physique that was most common for Seekers; his sturdy, broad-shouldered build was better suited for a Keeper. However, his hand-eye coordination wasn't up for the challenges of that position, and regardless of his stocky build, he was a fast flyer – not to mention his excellent eyesight, which was perfectly suited to the job of finding the Golden Snitch. He was the best Seeker that the Gryffindor team had seen in years, and he knew it. It was that knowledge that gave him the confidence he needed to try out a new move he'd recently discussed with his mother when he finally spotted the elusive Snitch fluttering down by the stands.

No one else had seen the tiny golden ball yet, not the Hufflepuff Seeker nor anyone in the crowd, but that could change at any moment; Charlie had to act fast.

He tightened his grip, took a deep breath, and urged his broom into a dive. His sudden change in direction caught the Hufflepuff Beater off guard, and it was her shout that alerted everyone to the fact that the game was at risk of coming to an end.

He was gaining speed and losing altitude so fast that it made him feel lightheaded. His eyes began to water, and he had to close them almost all the way to protect them from the wind. It didn't matter; all he needed to see was right in front of him. He was so intent on what lay before him, the Snitch and the coming victory, that he forgot to stay aware of his surroundings – his mother's first rule when flying.

The Bludger hit him in the shoulder with enough force to send him careening off course. For a moment, all he could register was the pain, searing hot and excruciating. He lost all feeling in his left arm as it went slack, and he fought for consciousness as the pain tried to drag him under. He must have lost that fight for a second because the next thing he knew, he was falling.

It was nothing like flying. He'd thought that it might be; he'd imagined what that moment between being unseated from a broom and landing on the ground might feel like. He'd had so many near misses, during practices and matches, when his grip would falter and his heart would miss a beat, and for a moment he would see himself falling. In his mind, it had always felt like flying, only better because there would be no broom – nothing to hold him up but himself; no limits, no restrictions, only freedom. He'd been wrong. Falling wasn't like that at all.

His heart hadn't skipped just one beat, it felt like it wasn't beating at all. It was constricting his chest, tighter and tighter, as the wind stole the air from his lungs and the ground raced up to meet him. He felt heavier than he had ever felt before, as though he were made of stone and lead, and gravity was making quick work of dragging him down into its deadly embrace. There was nothing freeing about this; there was no room to feel weightless and carefree when all he could experience was fear and pain. He did not want those to be the last things he ever felt; he wanted to fight, to resist the pull of the Earth, but he knew that it was impossible.

As the wind whipped past him, slapping every inch of bare skin and leaving it reddened and raw, he knew that this was it for him. He'd flown too high and was falling too fast, and his landing would not be a pleasant one. He could only hope that he passed out before then.

He'd resigned himself to his fate when he felt the change. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed it at first, but he was slowing down. Or rather, his fall was. To say that he was slowing down implied that he'd had something to do with it, but his sudden fall had made him realise that he was not an active participant. All of this was happening to him.

The Impediment Jinx took hold of his body, and the hard ground was no longer rushing toward him at breakneck speed. Only then did he stop fighting to remain conscious. He gave in to the pain, and he let it carry him away.

The human mind is a cruel thing. It revels in trauma, ceaselessly flashing back to, reliving it, sometimes even altering it to make it appear worse than it actually was. This is never truer than during the hours of sleep when it is free to create nightmares without the interference of rationality.

Charlie didn't dream often, but when he did, he dreamed of flying without the aid of a broom, floating through the clouds where only the birds and other winged beasts dwelled. He always enjoyed those dreams and even looked forward to them while he was awake. Unfortunately, the power of flight would not entertain his unconscious mind for months after his accident. Or rather, it would for the first couple of minutes before the nightmare took hold.

He would be flying, without wings nor broom, weightless and free, but all too soon something would go wrong, and he would start falling all over again, reliving that terrible fear, over and over.

That was what woke him after his accident. He bolted upright in a cold sweat, drawing in desperate breaths, his eyes wide with panic, trying to figure out where he was.

Movement to his left drew his attention to the chair beside his bed where his mother was hastily stuffing her knitting needles back into her oversized purse. "Charlie, thank Merlin, you're awake."

She wrapped him in a hug before he could get his bearings, but he was too relieved to care. Mum always made everything better.

"Do you remember what happened?" she asked as she finally released him from her death grip.

Of course, he did. He would remember for the rest of his life that gut-wrenching feeling of free-falling through the air with nothing to hold him up and far too much pulling him down. He couldn't put all of that into words though, not without worrying her. "I fell."

"Professor Dumbledore managed to slow you down just in time," she said, and tears welled in her eyes, and she bit back a choked sob. "We were all so worried."

She held him tight as she cried into his shoulder, and he shed a few tears too out of relief and fright and worry. He was alright now; he was safe on solid ground. The words kept repeating in his mind over and over, desperately trying to alleviate the anxiety settling in the pit of his stomach.

Charlie had only been to the hospital wing a handful of times, usually visiting friends and a couple of times because of migraines or a bad cold. He'd never had to be kept overnight, let alone for an entire week, but both Madam Pomfrey and his mother had insisted on it. His mum and dad took turns visiting him while he was there, and his friends popped in between classes and after dinner. Still, he'd never been so bored in his entire life. The most amusement he got was when that Hufflepuff Beater joined him in the infirmary, walking and clucking like a chicken because of the payback jinx that Fred and George had cast on her for putting him in the hospital.

It was a relief when Madam Pomfrey finally let him leave, although he had a feeling it had less to do with his good health and more to do with his constant pestering and nagging to be let out. His arm felt fine, though; the school nurse had healed the break as though it were nothing and had only kept him so long to make sure that the bump on his head that he'd gotten from his rather rough landing wasn't going to cause any problems.

So long as he overlooked the nightmares, he felt fine.

It wasn't until a few weeks later that he realised what a bald-faced lie that was.

It happened during the first practice session after his accident. He'd put it off for as long as he could, but they had a game coming up in a couple of months, and they needed the training. His teammates were already worried about him, frequently asking if he was alright and looking at him as though he might suddenly break down. It was bad for morale, and he owed them more than this. So, he decided to soldier through it and put on his big boy pants.

He hadn't been back on a broom since the fall, despite his mother's letters telling him that it was just like falling off a horse: he had to get straight back on, the sooner, the better. However, having fallen off a pony when he was eight, he could say with absolute certainty that it was a terrible analogy. He'd had no trouble at all getting back on little Poncho, but the thought of being near a broom had him shaking uncontrollably.

He tried. He really did. But he couldn't do it. He sat in the changing rooms, shaking and shivering as his teammates waited for him outside. No matter how hard he battled with himself, he couldn't make himself take another step toward the pitch. Fred and George eventually came to find him and took him back to the castle where Madam Pomfrey gave him a Sleeping Draught, and he got his first proper night's sleep in weeks, without nightmares or anxiety, and when he woke up, he knew what he had to do.

Giving up his captain's badge and resigning from the team was harder than he'd anticipated, but it was for the best, he knew it, and so did Professor McGonagall. He couldn't very well lead the team to victory if he couldn't bring himself to get on a broom. This was the responsible thing to do, and although it stung, the pressure that lifted off of his shoulders was a relief.

But despite how good he felt about his decision, it was met with some controversy, mainly from his mother. In fact, she felt so strongly about the matter that it was the first thing she said to him when he got home for the Christmas holidays.

"What were you thinking?" she asked none too gently. "Giving up your position on the Quidditch team? There might not be a place open for you next year, and then how will the scouts notice you?"

His brothers and little Ginny quietly filtered out of the kitchen to give them privacy and to avoid their mother's anger; even Dad silently sneaked out through the back door.

"You had a plan," Mum said sternly, waving her wand around frantically as she made dinner. "Ever since you were little, you've always known what you wanted to do, and you knew exactly how to achieve it. I don't understand what possessed you to risk it all now."

Ever since he'd given in his badge, he'd known that this conversation was coming. He'd been dreading it, but he owed her an explanation, so he made his confession.

"I don't want to play Quidditch anymore, Mum."

Of all the reactions he'd imagined her having upon hearing this news, a dismissive wave of the hand wasn't one of them.

"Nonsense," she said. "You love Quidditch. You've dreamed of playing professionally ever since you first learned to fly."

"I know, but I don't want that anymore. The big Quidditch career… it isn't for me."

She finally ceased casting spells and turned to face him with her fists firmly set on her hips. "Is this because of your fall?"

"A little," he admitted.

Her posture relaxed, and she ambled over to pet his cheek, smiling comfortingly up at him. "I know it must have been frightening, sweetheart, but you can't let the fear control your actions. You've got to push through it."

"That's only part of it," he said with a slight shake of his head which dislodged her hand. "Yes, I'm still afraid, but that isn't what changed my mind. I haven't played Quidditch in over a month, and I don't miss it. A few years ago, I couldn't go more than a few days without getting on a broom, but I don't feel that urge anymore. I don't love the game as much as I used to."

Her smile faltered, and when she found it again, it was tinged with uncertainty. "You don't mean that. You're just tired from your journey, you'll think more clearly in the morning."

"Mum -"

"We'll discuss it tomorrow," she said, cutting him off with a tone that left no room for argument.

He knew that she was upset, and he'd have given anything to remedy that, but he couldn't fix this without condemning himself. So he left it at that, going up to his room and closing the door quietly behind him.

His mum had once told him that she'd had this dream of becoming a professional Quidditch player when she was younger. It was a dream she'd kept with her through the early years of her marriage, but one she'd had to give up when she'd realised how much time and effort it took to raise a family. She was the reason he'd taken such a keen interest in Quidditch, because it had made her so happy to see her kids play the sport that she loved, and when he'd told her that he was thinking of pursuing the career that she'd once dreamed of, she'd been over the moon. It had only been a passing thought on his part at the time, but her enthusiasm had been contagious, and he hadn't wanted to let her down.

Except now he had to.

It was amazing how much clarity could come with a near-death experience. How falling from so high could put his life in perspective. How it could make him realise that he hadn't been living his life because he'd been so busy living the dream version of his mother's. It was fine when they'd shared the same dream, but he no longer did. He hadn't for years, and as much as it hurt him to disappoint her, he couldn't keep living the life she wanted just to make her happy.

As good as this realisation had felt when it had finally hit him, it didn't solve the problem of how he would convince his mother that this was what was best for him. He supposed that that might have been asking too much.

He thumped down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, hoping to find some inspiration there, but to no avail.

Molly Weasley wasn't a selfish woman, far from it; she was the most generous person that Charlie knew. She didn't want him to pursue Quidditch purely so that she could live vicariously through his achievements. What she wanted for him was a solid future with a good career that paid good money. It was what she wished for, for all of her children, what any parent hoped for their kids: stability and safety.

Bill had already gotten himself an internship at Gringotts; Percy was dead set on working at the Ministry someday, and Charlie had Quidditch. The others were still too young to know what they wanted to do with their lives, but Mum would no doubt demand that they each come to well thought out decision by the time they reached O.W.L.s. It was bossy and overbearing of her, but she did it with their best interests at heart, just as she did everything else.

She couldn't accept him giving up on Quidditch because he had no backup plan, no safety net to fall back on. If he wanted to get her on board, he would have to come up with one to prove to her that he wasn't throwing his life away and his happiness along with it.

Next problem: how was he supposed to come up with a solid plan for his future before tomorrow?

He racked his brain for a possible career that he might be interested in, but came up blank. It was common knowledge that the wizarding world was low on options in that department. There were the big three: Aurors, Healers, and Professors, but none of those interested him at all. Then there were the scholars and the shopkeepers, the Ministry officials and the caretakers, the wandmakers and the inventors… the list wasn't much longer than that, and Charlie couldn't muster any enthusiasm for any of them.

He couldn't believe how difficult this was. His entire future hung on this one impossible choice, yet he was incapable of making a decision. He groaned, flinging his arms out in frustration and, in doing so, knocking a book from his nightstand.

He'd never been a great believer in fate, but as he reached down to pick up the hardcover, he considered updating his beliefs.

Dragons of the World was not on the Hogwarts' reading list. The lack of discussion on dragons had hugely disappointed Charlie throughout his years at school, but he'd kept up a steady study of them in his spare time. He recalled falling in love with the beasts when he was five years old when he'd first seen a picture of one, and it had filled him with such awe that he'd stared at it for hours. He'd never seen anything so beautiful before, nor so powerful, and he'd spent the following months dreaming of becoming a dragon when he grew up. He knew now that that was impossible, but perhaps he could still achieve the next best thing.

There was nowhere to study dragons in the U.K., but he knew that there was a research facility in Romania. He couldn't imagine living so far away from home, but now that the thought had crossed his mind, he couldn't picture himself doing anything else with his life. Dragons were his passion, they always had been, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life studying what he was most passionate about.

His mother might not fully approve, after all, it was dangerous work, and there was little money to be made in that field, but he had a plan. He would try to convince her that this would be good for him, but, ultimately, the decision was his own. This was his life, and no matter what, his failures and his achievements would be his own.

He wouldn't make the same mistake again. He wouldn't let someone else's happiness dictate his actions because now he knew that sometimes the people who could most easily undermine his success and happiness were the people he loved and who loved him in return. He knew that not everyone who got in the way of his dreams had malicious intent. Sometimes, they just wanted what was best for him, and they acted under the assumption that they knew what that was better than he ever could. Perhaps they were right, perhaps they did know best, but he would never know until he did things his own way first.