Chapter One: Memoirs of a Cold War
Simeon was sleeping soundly by the time they reached the main road leading back home. The shrouded darkness of the forest and long shadows of the mountains had been replaced by lit paved highways and the glow of larger cities in the distance. The digital clock on the dashboard showed the message that it would be a while before a warm bed was even a possibility, leaving Charlie with little to do other than glance into the fleeting blurred scenery outside the window, listen to the news of the wizard's network on the car's radio, and be alone with his thoughts.
"Reports from the Ministry indicate that the body discovered beneath the Dark Mark earlier yesterday is that of none other than Igor Karkaroff, former Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute," the slow soothing voice on the radio announced the breaking story of the day. "Karkaroff was a known former follower of He Who Must Not Be Named. He recanted his actions and named several other secret followers in exchange for his release from Azkaban in 1981. He began his redeeming work in educating young minds at the Durmstrang Institute shortly after, and served as Headmaster from 1985 until last year when he disappeared mysteriously abandoning his post. It is unknown if Karkaroff was in service to He Who Must Not Be Named at the time of his death."
Turning his head to the backseat, Charlie looked right at the unconscious Durmstrang alum curled up on a pile of robes. He would have to remember to tell him later about the ultimate fate of his former Headmaster, though he wondered if Simeon would even really care to know such facts. If he recalled correctly, his best friend had a rather cold exchange with the Headmaster at their last meeting nearly two years ago and didn't seem to be excited by the fact his old teacher remembered him.
Another story came on about a Dementor attack on a Muggle in Lincolnshire, adding to the growing number of Muggles attacked and in need of magical treatment at St. Mungo's. The disembodied voice from the wireless was just getting into the specific details of the brazen midday assault when it was silenced by Abby's hand turning the volume to mute.
"You should try and get some rest," she spoke softly, the light tips of her fingers grazing the blade of his shoulder. "It's been a long day."
Charlie reached up and took his beloved's palm in his, feeling the contours and ridges of one of her healing hands. She couldn't look at him with her eyes focused on the task of driving, but the gentle brush of her skin down his arm was all he needed of her comforting presence. With their fingers entwined in a dance with each other, she gave him a light squeeze.
"Just try," her voice coaxed him as mildly as the inviting summer night breeze. "Please."
She freed her hand from the sweet embrace and moved it back to its regular position on the steering wheel. Following the Healer's orders and his own body's deepest desire, Charlie slunk back in his seat and leaned the back of his head against the cold glass of the passenger window. He felt his eyelids exhaustedly fall into place as his body became limp in his seat. Physically his weary tired body was prepared to rejuvenate with well-deserved and much-desired sleep, but once again his churning mind had another plan. With the shutting of his eyes, the brain began its torturous work in reminding Charlie of all that had plagued him since June of 1995.
It had been just over a year since he'd laid eyes on the letter. He hadn't thought much of it when it arrived; Bill wrote regularly so it wasn't out of the ordinary to receive the parchment just as he'd risen from bed. News of the final Triwizard Tournament task was expected, but not in the way Bill had written of them: the darkest wizard of the century returned, the Ministry of Magic refusing to believe the word of the only witness, and the reformation of the vigilante organization that would fight the war against the dark forces. Charlie remembered reading the letter at least a half dozen times to assure it wasn't his half-awake brain misreading something, but there was no doubt involved in his response to Bill. If there was going to be a war against He Who Must Not Be Named, there was only one right mode of action. An hour later, he had pledged on paper to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix and to do what he could so far from the frontline.
Only a couple of days had passed with fidgety anxiety when official instructions for the long distance member of the Order came from Headmaster Albus Dumbledore himself. The letter was brief, but the point was clear: people would have to unite against the threat of Lord Voldemort (Charlie had shuddered even reading the evil name), so it was up to him to recruit for the Order in his foreign land. The reserve was a place of international reputation and those who worked there came from across the planet, Charlie figured Dumbledore must have known that. If there were any place to find supporters, the sanctuary where he lived and worked was likely a good place to begin.
Abby was the first person to ask what was troubling him, and therefore the first to be told of what was happening back home. Twelve years earlier he'd been the one to explain the First War to his new Muggleborn friend; he hadn't ever imagined he'd tell her the Second War was starting just a month into being her boyfriend. He could still picture her green eyes widen and feel her usually gentle grip tighten on his hands as the hard reality of all he was telling her settled into every crevice of her mind.
"People always said he might return." She'd spoken softly, letting go of her hold on him and crossing to the windows of the infirmary as if in a trance. Several moments of silence had passed between them with Charlie at a loss on what he could do to reassure her. He could barely reassure himself on the matter. Finally, she turned back to him and simply stated that Dumbledore could count on her.
"I'm in," had been Simeon's declaration on hearing the news later that day, not even taking a moment to consider his decision following Charlie's long explanation. Seemingly, he didn't have to think about it either. Bella had been the one in doubt, questioning things down to a second by second recap of the daring escape by The Boy Who Lived from a dark wizard assumed to have been dead for nearly fourteen years. Disbelief had clouded the Italian witch's mind at first, but once the shock dissipated her allegiance to the Order was crystal clear.
Word had spread from there onward, travelling from lips to ears all around the sanctuary and stirring awful memories as it went by. Several co-workers from the United Kingdom had lost family members to the rise of He Who Must Not Be Named and those who lived away from the dangers could remember the looming fear in everyone's eyes that the darkness would come to their countries next. Personal stories of the dark mark floating over the homes of beloved grandparents and mysterious disappearances of neighbours became rampant around the workplace. There was not a single witch or wizard that didn't know of the infamous rise and fall of the Dark Lord, but as Charlie learned the hard way it was difficult to prove beyond the words of Harry Potter that You-Know-Who was truly back.
"You can't blame them for their doubt," Simeon had stated one night on the way back to their room after a very silent dinner. "They vill believe vhat they vant to believe. Perhaps later, they vill come to understand."
"What made you believe I was telling the truth?" Charlie had asked, pausing outside of their dormitory building, basking in the colours of sunset. "We've heard every reason to not believe by now: Harry Potter is just an attention-seeking liar, no spell can awaken the dead, the Ministry wouldn't hide something so serious, there's been no news of death or disappearances like before, Dumbledore is getting on in years, was always a bit eccentric anyhow, we're just a rebel group trying to overthrow government. Less than a dozen of us are in the Order and everyone else thinks we're bonkers. What makes people believe, Simeon?"
His dark-haired friend had stopped to face him, his long sweeping bangs hanging in front of his rarely-seen eyes. He'd given a shrug, hands firmly in his pockets as he replied. "Ve all have our reasons."
The short spurts of insomnia had begun that summer. Not only were thoughts of failing recruitment attempts keeping him awake, but the lack of information coming from home was worrisome. The regular correspondence with his family had been in decline and the letters that were sent to him detailed the mundane things: Bill's new desk job at Gringotts that had him relocate from Egypt to England, Percy moving out of the Burrow to be closer to the Ministry's London offices, Ron's appointment as Gryffindor Prefect, and absolutely nothing about the family's work in the Order. Charlie had suspected the news was purposefully ordinary given the broken and reattached seals on envelopes marked with unfamiliar fingerprints, but the questions that arose over what was really happening behind the ink and parchment ate at him through the night.
In the beginning he could function normally, a bit of caffeine enabling him to hide the occasional few restless nights he had from his friends. Focus for the small group had been on what they could do to help recruit for the cause against He Who Must Not Be Named, and Charlie's occasional increased consumption of coffee over the few months had escaped general notice.
Events were stagnant during the autumn months, the dropping temperatures cooling down the once-heated topics. No news regarding He Who Must Not Be Named had graced the front pages or been reported on the wireless, so there was little to do other than work, wait, and in some cases, forget that a war was being secretly planned. The stories that had been viral in the summer had been tucked back into the corners of minds and were replaced by talk of upcoming winter holidays. It seemed irrelevant that recruitment was at a standstill, as there seemed to be nothing to recruit for. Charlie had to admit he was sleeping better knowing little was happening back home, though there was the nagging feelings that it was merely the calm before the storm.
"Don't worry about those things now, Charlie," Bella had scolded and laughed simultaneously as his theory came up over hot chocolate. "You-Know-Who hasn't made a single move yet. No one has died or disappeared mysteriously. Who knows? Maybe the Order is doing better than we can imagine."
"Or ve are being lulled into a false sense of security," Simeon had suggested as he poked at the tiny white marshmallows floating in his frothy drink.
Bella had scoffed at her boyfriend, playfully swiping her hand across his smooth cheek as if she were to slap him. "Always the pessimist, aren't you? You know, I don't know how I put up with you sometimes."
Fits of laughter had consumed the group for the better part of the night as Bella's optimism and hot chocolate spread through their bodies. Charlie remembered it clearly; not for the few days of joy and peace of mind it brought, but for what came afterwards to confirm Simeon and his original belief. Just days before Christmas, his father had been rushed to St. Mungo's Hospital.
The frequent letters from Bill were vague on the specifics, but anything outside whether or not their father was all right mattered little to Charlie. Everything else in the world had faded into the background, time running in blurs of subdued colours and muted noises between updates. All hours of the day throughout duration of Arthur Weasley's stay in hospital he had remained awake, waiting for news that could come at any moment from the family. Insomnia had a tight grip on him until the day his dad was cleared to go home three weeks later, after which Charlie slept for near two days straight.
Barely a few days had passed when the second storm of news arrived. All newspapers around the globe had printed the headlining story of the massive Azkaban breakout and the ten loyal Death Eaters who had escaped. The smirking faces of known murderers, torturers, and spies like Antonin Dolohov and Cassius Mulciber had glared menacingly from their places of honour in the newspapers, sparking talk in the reserve once again of loved ones lost, Charlie's uncles Fabian and Gideon Prewett being among those killed by the recently freed.
The dreadful news had a single silver lining to it. With known Death Eaters running amuck, people were beginning to see the possibility that their leader was indeed rising once again and the Romanian branch of the Order saw an increase of attendees at their brief meetings. It was, however, a tarnished silver lining as there was still little they could do other than be a united front.
"Ve cannot risk taking the Order into the light," Simeon had argued at the suggestion of recruiting among the local Romanian wizard community, his voice commanding the room despite his whispering. "The Dark Lord's ideals have long been more accepted, even encouraged, here behind the Iron Curtain. You-Know-Who did much of his recruiting in the East. And don't forget vich school has former Death Eaters teaching the Dark Arts. It may not be burned into arms here, but it is in their minds. Ve cannot risk it."
Insomnia took full control over the redheaded dragon keeper after that meeting. All through the night, time after time, while Simeon had rested soundly just over his head, Charlie remained wide awake staring off into nothing. There was nothing he could do in Romania while He Who Must Not Be Named plotted a war and Death Eaters ran free in the country where his entire family of known Muggleborn supporters lived. In every blink he could see them: Fred and George valiantly fighting a losing battle against a masked Death Eater, Ginny screaming as she was tortured by shadowy figures, his father's glassy glare as he lay in a growing pool of blood, and there was nothing Charlie could do to stop it from happening except to keep his eyes open and deny that there was trouble in his head at all.
Like before, he could hide his tiredness well enough to escape suspicion. The cups of extra coffee were becoming a new normal for him and the occasional Invigoration Draught was simple enough to conceal from his co-workers. Any question that did arise about his health and wellness was pushed aside with a casual "fine," and was instantly dropped as there were so many other things to occupy his colleagues' thoughts. Despite the absence of rest, he could still work and function as well as anyone else around him and his secret problem flew beneath the radar.
It took a single early morning shift in early March to bring his charade down.
Breakfast and morning coffee hadn't been laid out yet when his workday began, the sun barely peeking out from behind the mountains that housed the dragon's caves. The work wasn't meant to be difficult, a routine inspection to ensure the spells around the enclosure were up to standard following a frigid winter. Without caffeine coursing through him and keeping him alert, Charlie stumbled about in the rocky terrain, needing Simeon to keep him from falling over on several instances. Other times, the redheaded dragon keeper simply fell flat on his face, resulting in gashes across his freckled cheeks and a gushing bloody nose.
But it was when he tripped and landed on an unsuspecting Antipodean Opaleye's pearly snowy white tail that caused a complete ruckus for his co-workers to rescue him from. It was unclear to him what had exactly happened, but according to Simeon he was lucky to have lived with only a broken leg and fractured rib to show for it.
"You haven't been sleeping, have you?" Abby had asked. Her green eyes gently caressed the truth out of her love as her hands worked on mending his physical wounds. He couldn't help but tell her everything, knowing she would listen without condemnation for hiding the lack of sleep that nearly killed him. With every word about his worrisome thoughts the weight in his mind began to lift, though not enough to actually allow him to sleep. By the time he was finished, there was not a freckle on his face untouched by salty tears and his eyes had been dried to the point where he could no longer blink. The only reaction the Healer had was to wipe his cheeks with a clean washcloth, kiss his newly healed forehead and tuck him into the infirmary bed with a dreamless sleeping potion.
"We're going to get you better, Charlie," she had whispered as his eyes began to close and drift into an elusive deep sleep. "You're going to be all right."
Bright yellow light burning through his lids made Charlie open his eyes as the steady motion of the car came to a halt. In the dark moonless night the blazing porch lamp of the Romanian International Dragon Reserve lit up the pure white building like a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean, safely leading the weary to shore. While the high columned powerful facade made the structure look intimidating, those who lived there only knew the place as their home.
"Wake up, Simeon," he heard Abby saying to the sleeping Bulgarian in the back of the car. "We're here."
The dark-haired man stirred softly, lazily turning over in the seat to grab a few more seconds of precious slumber before reluctantly rising from his makeshift bed and gathering the many layers of robes that had been his pillow. With a grunt of thanks that quickly became a yawn, he pulled himself up and out of the car. Against the bright light of the porch, the dark clothed Simeon could easily have been mistaken for shadow as he made his way up the few stairs stretching out stiff limbs along the way; only when he stood directly beneath the light waiting for his friends to catch up with him did he seem human again.
"Did you sleep at all?" Abby queried as she unbuckled herself from her seat, pausing as she awaited a response.
Charlie slowly shook his head as it rested wearily in his right hand. "If I did, I wouldn't know it."
He thought he could hear a soft sigh as the familiar feeling of a comforting hand came to sit upon his shoulder. "What were you thinking about?"
"Everything."
A/N: Currently I'm working on Chapter Ten, but I've always felt comfortable with this chapter so I thought to get it up.
To the guest, I'm actually Canadian so if this sounds American, that may be why. I try to get some Britishisms in, but it is unfortunately not my native dialect of English. I try my best, but if you have language suggestions, I am open to them.
In a nutshell, I never intended to carry the trilogy through the fifth book, essentially because outside of Hogwarts nothing is really happening thus there wouldn't be much to tell for Charlie and his Romanian branch of the Order. By the sixth book, its open war and thus something I could fictionalise. This chapter was to sort of sum up most of the fifth book without having to spend an entire part of the trilogy on it.
So there it is.