A/N: This is my second attempt at writing a fanfiction, but still, I'm quite new at this. If you read my other fanfiction, you'd realize that my style of writing differs quite considerably.

Please, if you have not read my other one, do not read it, because I have abandoned the other, though I assure you I will try my hardest not to do so for this. Anyway, for this

fanfic, I wanted to do a Charlie/OC one, because no one really knows much about Charlie and that's a pretty good advantage because I can make up whatever I want and still get

away with it. The characters in this story are modeled after some of my acquaintances in real life, but they will not be mentioned by name. The protagonists (yes, with an's' and no

other implications or connotations) basically have a lot of differences, and it's difficult to merge them, but hey, opposites attract! Now, on with the story!

Chapter one: Dedicated to Us. (A more interesting way to say introduction.)

Laurelle Kaye: A rodeo for me.

And here we go again. Start from scratch and hope for the best. That's always the case isn't it? This probably is my tenth or twelfth job (I've lost count) and frankly, I'm getting

sick of this uprooting-yourself-and-get-to-another-country phase. It is rather annoying and tiring. I want to stay put now, maybe settle down in the countryside and all that

codswaddle. Pretty difficult at the moment, seeing that I up-and-go twice every year. Believe me, it may seem fun at first, but migrating across the oceans twice every year is twice

as exhausting as doing it once. Duh, everyone knows how to do math.

Anyway, that's not the point, since I'm talking in a roundabout manner ant that's probably a circle or an oval or-I'm a rather mixed-up girl aren't I? Okay, it's time to introduce

myself (in proper English if you may.) Seriously though, don't you think these break-the-ice games are a tad bit tedious? I mean, I don't actually need to know you like eating mint

ice-cream (I do), or you like pink underwear (I don't, believe me). Right, before the author whacks me on the head ("Ouch!")(They hurt, those hits, they really do), I better tell you

about me.

Since I can't have you hear it, I'm just going to tell you what sound to 'hear' and leave it up to your imagination to decide. This is the part where I heave a great big sigh, and start

to speak slowly and clearly (like everybody's oral teachers tell them to, "and with great expression, mind you!"). My name is Laurelle Kaye but DON'T, don't call me Laurelle or

Rellie or some warped nickname derived from Laurelle, like Lee-lee or something. Someone in France called me that once, believe it or not. Call me those names, and some terribly

fwightening insects (or Doxys if I'm lucky and you're not) will find its way into your head, or any other part of your body. I'm not particular, really. My REAL name, and the one I

adhere to, is Laurie. Just, plain Laurie. Not Lauro, or Laura or any other ridiculous names. I am going to be nineteen in about a month and ten or eleven days. You can't really be

certain, since there are so many different time zones in the world now. To make things simpler, I think I want to round it up. Yes, so that becomes…eleven days. A month and

eleven days. What else do you want to know? I come from the good ol' US of A, otherwise known as the country of liberty. But to me, liberty in the United States is saying things

other people don't want to hear, and not get legally punished for it. Of course, there will be people who don't like what you say, and will beat you up for it. Isn't it all the same

then, don't you get punished anyway? I don't understand the Ministry of Magic there, and I hear the Muggle system is that way too. Anyway, technically, I'm not from America. I

mean, I went to Romania from Greece, flippin' cold, that journey was. I was born in America.

If you're interested to know what countries I've been to, here they are, quite fascinating, they are: England (dreadfully glum weather), America (of course…), France (Eiffel Tower

was bleeding tall!), Spain (Land of the dances), China (That place needs a good clean-up), Canada (I love the maple leaves, I used to magic one into my hair every morning),

Russia ( fun, just pure fun) and now, Romania.

I hear that this time, I'll be catching dragons and taming the. Whoopee. That's fantastic, having fire roasting and singing my skin to a crisp and simmering my blood. Now you may

ask, why do I travel so much, if I don't like it? To everybody else I'd say that it's because of the experience, but I'm talking to myself now, and maybe to a dozen other people out

there, who don't know me, so this is why: I need the dosh. The green. The cash, you know… I didn't exactly grow up in a fairytale castle, and have a princess lifestyle. Quite the

pauper actually. But no matter, I just try to get what I can. I already graduated from an Auror's Academy already, but when my dad saw the starting payment (horribly meager), he

refused to allow me to continue. So now, I'm in Romania and I had to practically beg my father to let me come here. The pay is alright, I hope, but the risk is dreadful! (According

to good old dad.)

Well, I don't think this place might be too bad, but I heard this Mouldy-mort guy is giving a lot of trouble. He'd better not mess with me. I'm a qualified Auror and I know kick-

boxing.

Right, I think this is all for me, you'll find out more later. Right? Right.

Charlie Weasley: Sonatina le Charlie

I've been here for a long time already, but I think I still love this place, can never grow sick of what you find irresistible can you? No you can't. Well, I heard we're getting a new

import today. That's what we call new helpers, believe it or not, imports. It kind of makes sense though. I hope mum owled some chocolate chip cookies over, I love those devilled

things. I've been asked (if that's what you call demanding) to sum up my life for readers. What readers? I don't even know who I'm writing for. Anyway, I better do it, or little Miss

Prissy will definitely intercept Mum's owl, and sayonara chocolate chips. That thought, is too horrible to even contemplate.

Right now, I feel that I'm fifteen, but I know that I'm twenty-one, shame that is. But what did they say…oh yes, Old in flesh, young at heart.

I think I'm supposed to tell you my...what's that? Pet peeves and delights. Okay, if you want to play that way, I like to… eat, eat, and eat. Oh, and play Quidditch of course. I

happened to be one of the best seekers in my alma mater, Hogwarts, you know. I can still be brilliant though, of course, the old guy's still got it. Well, twenty-one's not old, but it

feels like it. Anyway, that's about all I like. Yeah, the author is giving me a right good scolding about how the import took ages to do it right, and how I'm not putting enough effort

in. Yes, yes, whatever. I hate writing in any case. I don't care about you, import, so there! Forget it, I can be really mature at times, I'm just snappy because Mum's cookies aren't

here yet. Wait a moment, Miss Prissy is whispering something in my ear…hold on…Oh. Merlin. She has my cookies!!! This, people, is not good. Cooooooookie… ( A/N: Think

the squirrel-thing in Over the Hedge.)

Goodbye, I want my cookie, and good riddance to writing, we must save the earth anyw-

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