Charlie Weasley sat in The Three Broomsticks, a glass of firewhiskey on the rocks in his hand. The last week had been one of the hardest in his life. The wizarding world was finally rid of Voldemort and while that was the best possible outcome, it had taken an incredible amount of death and destruction to get there.

After the war, Charlie had agreed to stay for a time and help with the reconstruction of Hogwarts. He thought that having something to do would make him feel useful and help take his mind off of his losses, but death haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see his brother Fred lying dead on the floor of the Great Hall. He could see Remus and Tonks too. It was awful.

When he was sleeping, he would have nightmares about the battle. He would dream of people falling dead around him, especially one person in particular. There had been a boy who must've snuck back into the school to fight because he was far too young to have been allowed to stay. Charlie had seen him running through the corridors and was just about to tell him to leave when a Death Eater hit the boy with a flash of green. He had watched in horror as the child had fallen dead a few feet from where he stood. Try as he might, Charlie just couldn't get the image to leave him.

The Three Broomsticks had become his refuge. Every night, once the day's work had been done, Charlie made the lonely walk through a still deserted Hogsmeade to find a seat at the bar. He found comfort in the fact that Rosmerta was always there with a glass of firewhiskey waiting for him. She didn't ask questions nor did she try to rationalize his feelings away. She just brought him his drink and then left him to his thoughts.

On the night in question, Charlie was feeling particularly down. He had spent most of his morning helping to construct a memorial plaza for the people who died in the Wizarding Wars. The inspiration for it came from Professor McGonagall, who had once visited the Vietnam War Memorial in the United States. She suggested that they build a large marble wall and carve the name of each victim into it. Everyone agree that it seemed to be an appropriate monument to those who had fallen in the war and so construction began.

Building the wall was easy enough, but etching the names into stone was what caused Charlie trouble. Most of them had elicited little response, but when he reached Tonks and Remus his calm façade started to crumble. By the time he reached Fred's name, he was practically in tears. Nothing could explain the sheer horror of war, not even this beautiful stone monument.

When the work was done, Charlie wanted nothing more than a cold drink. And not just one, but many. He wanted to drink enough to forget the horrors that were shackled to him. He wanted to black out and at least for one night's sleep without being disturbed by death.

As Charlie sat at the bar, taking sips of the harsh liquid, he barely noticed Poppy Pomfrey take the seat next to him. In fact, when he finally realized she was sitting there, he jumped in his seat.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you, my dear," she said apologetically.

"It's alright. I think we all startle easy these days."

A sad smile crossed Poppy's face. "I suppose that's true."

The pair fell into silence, unsure of what to say to each other. Charlie swished his drink in his hand, watching the condensation drip down the sides of his glass.

A second later Rosmerta approached. "Poppy, what are you drinking tonight?"

"The usual."

"You need a refill, Weasley?" Rosmerta asked.

"Please. Keep them coming."

With a wave of her wand, Rosmerta sent a glass flying to Poppy and a refill to Charlie.

Poppy took a deep drink of her firewhiskey, inhaling a bit of air through her front teeth as the liquid burned down her throat. "That's better," she said as she turned to face Charlie, "Now I know you're a Weasley, but which one are you? There's been so bloody many of you to come through the school that I lose track of who's who."

Charlie snorted. "I'm Charlie. I'm the second oldest."

"Ahhh yes. Charlie. I remember you. Used to be in the hospital wing all the time with one Quidditch injury or another. Quite the flier if I recall correctly."

The corners of Charlie's lips twitched ever so slightly, indicating his desire to smile. "I suppose you could say that."

"What is it that you do now?"

Charlie looked back down at his drink, avoiding eye contact. "I work at a dragon sanctuary in Romania."

Poppy's eyes grew wide as saucers. "Dragons, huh? Aren't you a bit young to work with such dangerous creatures? I mean it can't have been more than a year or two since you've graduated."

A chuckle escaped Charlie's throat. He had been told many times that he looked young for his age, but this was a bit much. "Actually, I've been out of school for about seven years now."

"Seven years? Has it really been that long? Where does the time go?" she muttered to herself, more for her own benefit than Charlie's.

As Charlie drank more and more, long hidden emotions started to bubble up under his collected exterior. Small little fissures started to appear in his demeanor.

"So what's bothering you enough to need to drink this much?" Poppy asked, genuine concern in her voice.

Charlie stared a few feet ahead, his eyes focusing on the corner of one of the countertops inside the bar. There was nothing there that was particularly fascinating, but he couldn't look away. "Too many things to count."

"I suppose a lot of people are feeling that way right now. You lost your brother in the battle, didn't you?"

A knife like pain stabbed up under Charlie's ribcage and tears threatened to drip from his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he answered, "Yeah. My brother Fred."

"I'm sorry, Charlie," Madame Pomfrey whispered. She reached out and laid her hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze of support.

Holding back the tears any longer was out of the question. Charlie leaned forward, placed his forehead onto his arms, and sobbed for the first time since he had been a very young child. At first, he fought to regain his composure, but as the tears fell, the floodgates opened and nothing could stop him from letting it all pour out.

Through the entirety of his breakdown, Poppy sat next to him, an arm slung across his broad shoulders, and rubbed his back softly. She didn't talk nor try to tell him to calm down. She knew from her own experiences that it was best to just let the person release everything they'd been keeping locked inside.

When the tears finally stopped, Charlie sat back in his seat. His hair was disheveled and his cheeks were red from being so firmly planted to his arms. The occasional hiccough caused him to shudder and the alcohol boiling in his empty stomach threatened to come spilling back up at any moment. He felt a complete mess and too make it worse, here he was sobbing like a child in front of someone who was practically a stranger.

That thought was too much for him to bear and Charlie went shooting out of his seat, apologizing profusely. "I'm sorry for all of this Poppy, but thank you for trying to comfort me. I really should be going. I…uhhh….I…erm….I have something that I need to tend to."

"Oh no you don't," answered Poppy, "You've had much too much to drink for me to allow you to run off like this. Why don't you come back to the school with me and I'll get you a hangover potion for the morning."

Charlie started to tell Poppy that he was fine, but ended up staggering into a row of chairs, knocking over several glasses as he tried to regain his balance.

"See. You can barely walk straight. Now give me your arm. You can lean on me for balance," she demanded.

The pair set off through the streets of Hogsmeade and up the dirt road that lead to the castle. Occasionally, Charlie would stumble over a loose cobblestone or start to walk in zigzags, but Poppy managed to keep him upright.

After hiking quite a few flights of stairs, the pair finally made it to the hospital wing.

"Here we are, Charlie. Now why don't you have a lie down on one of the beds over there. I'm going to get you some water and aspirin. Then I'll get that hangover potion brewing so it'll be ready in the morning."

"Aspiiirrriiinuuhh. What's that?" slurred Charlie.

"Oh, it's a Muggle medicine. It works wonders on the affects of a long night of drinking, so I keep a small supply handy."

A few minutes later, Poppy placed a large bottle of water and two white pills into Charlie's hands. "Now swallow those pills and make sure to drink this entire bottle of water. Alcohol can cause dehydration, so the water will help prevent that from happening."

Poppy stood up to leave and added, "You better get some rest, Charlie. You're certainly not going to feel very well tomorrow if you don't."

"Thank you."

Poppy was just starting to walk away when Charlie grabbed her wrist. "Please, stay," he whispered.

"What?"

Charlie propped himself up against the pillows. "Please, stay here with me. I don't know if I can bear to be alone tonight."

The unusual request threw Poppy; she was unsure of exactly how to respond. "I can sit here for awhile if you like, but I will have to leave eventually. I'm certain to have another busy day tomorrow and I must get at least a small amount of rest before then."

Smiling slightly, Charlie nodded his head. Lying back against the pillows, he tried to let sleep wash over him, but the moment he closed his eyes he could see the boy falling over dead. He let out a cry and started to thrash, his movements becoming wilder by the minute.

Noticing the terror in his screams, Poppy reached out and grabbed Charlie's hand. "Its okay, Charlie. You're alright. I'm here."

Charlie awoke with a start, hyperventilating from the bad memories. "It was the boy. I couldn't save him," he gulped between breaths.

"What boy?" Poppy asked cautiously. She was worried that Charlie might be on the verge of a panic attack. Scooting herself onto the edge of the bed, she reached forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tight against her chest.

They sat like that for a long while until Charlie began to calm down.

"This is so embarrassing. First, I'm crying. Then, I'm having nightmares. Now, I'm panicking. You must think me a weak person."

Poppy gave Charlie an appraising look. "I don't think you're weak at all. In fact, I think you've been trying to stay strong through all of this and have forgotten to grieve properly. It's okay to let it out, you know. I'm here if you want to tell me what's bothering you. I've been told that I'm a very good listener."

"Thank you," he said, finding himself only a short space away from Poppy's face. Perhaps it was the kindness in her eyes or how he felt when she held him, but soon Charlie found himself leaning forward reaching a hand out towards Poppy's face.

When his finger tips met her cheek, Charlie felt Poppy tense up slightly. He paused looking at her for confirmation. Slowly, she nodded her headed just ever so slightly, and Charlie took it to mean that he had permission to continue.

Charlie met Poppy's lips with his very gently. He closed his eyes and moved his mouth against hers tentatively at first, but with a bit more speed as she deepened the kiss.

Pulling away, Poppy felt a blush cover her cheeks. "This isn't very appropriate, Mr. Weasley. I'm almost old enough to be your mother."

Ignoring her comments, Charlie kissed her once more and then let himself fall against the bed, gently pulling Poppy down with him. He wrapped his muscular arms around her and held her close. "I don't care. Right now, you seem to be the only person who understands me. Please, stay with me."

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Poppy nestled herself into the crook of Charlie's arm. "Alright. I'll stay, but just for tonight."

Hi there!

This story was originally posted on HPFF under the penname TreacleTart for the Ship It! Challenge. The characters I was assigned were Madame Pomfrey and Charlie Weasley. I admit that at first I was thrown through a loop trying to figure out how to pair them, but eventually I came up with this.

I'd love to hear your feedback on this, so feel free to leave a comment!

Thank you for reading!

~Kaitlin/TreacleTart