Also known as the chapter where shit goes downn.
FEELINGS! PINING! ANGST! TIME SKIPS!
Charlie sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wincing as it pulled at the still healing burn on his back. It wouldn't take more than a day to heal and would barely leave a scar, but it was still annoying and prevented him from working with the dragons until it healed.
"Charlie!" The obnoxiously grinning face of Kata Vagnosk appeared at the open window of his cabin, "Just the man I needed!"
"Hello Kata, what can I do for you?" Charlie liked Kata, she was good at her job and always up for a drink. He didn't have to worry about getting involved with her, he'd offered once, and she'd kindly (but firmly) refused. She was a good friend, although prone to nursing dirty fantasies about the sanctuary's resident cook, Kurt. The man was magic in the kitchen, and his baking surpassed Molly Weasley's for sheer orgasmic taste, but he was woefully oblivious to anything out of his line of work. Charlie was uncertain about how many people fell for his soft brown eyes and gentle smile, as well as the slightly dreamy air that he carried when he wasn't cooking. The man was so innocent it was adorable. As such, he was out of bounds to anyone who didn't have 'real' feelings for him. It was a pity, but Charlie was a staunch upholder of this rule and it was why he never got drunk when Kurt was around. There really was only so far that Charlie's resolved could be tested before it broke.
Kata leaned her elbows on the sill, her blond hair bound tightly behind a bandanna – loose hair tended to be a liability around dragons. "I need you to help me with some of the Ridgeback eggs; they've hardened and needed to be moved to the hatchery. Everyone is busy or on off-time."
"Burned back, remember. I can't work with the dragons, healer's orders."
Kata scowled. "Don't pull that crap with me, Charlie. You can help me push the cart or open doors at the very least. You can moon over those love-letters of yours later."
"They're not love-letters!" Charlie protested as he slid on a loose shirt, burn stinging.
"Yeah right!" Kata snorted, "You grin like a loon whenever you get them, and walk about smiling about nothing for the next few days. Besides, I saw that ridiculously expensive wand holster that you brought for them, Chinese Fireball leather?" She said accusingly, "The really supple stuff that's even-more expensive to get 'cuse it's specially treated. Not love-letters my arse. Come on, these eggs won't wait, your lover can." Kata turned and strode away from the window leaving Charlie hurrying to catch up, her words lingering in his head.
Lover? Nah, she was just being ridiculous. Harry was- just a friend. Who he'd slept with. Just a friend, not a lover. Charlie put the thought out of his mind, but it still lingered somewhere in his unconscious. That word would keep him awake at night, leaving him staring up at the stars and reaching for the bottle.
And somehow, in between dragons and school-work, they kept writing to each other.
Charlie wrote about the dragons he cared for, escapades from his school-days, the places he'd travelled and the thing's he'd seen. He wrote about how his favourite season was autumn and that he had a secret fondness for muggle music, how he preferred jazz to classical and listened to Glen Miller when he really couldn't sleep. He didn't ask Harry stupid questions about his scar, or Voldemort, or the nightmares, he didn't ask about Sirius, he didn't push and Harry liked that. He found that Charlie's compassion and gentle understanding helped. If Harry mentioned the bad dreams, Charlie wouldn't tell him to go to Dumbledore or say that it might be important. Instead, he sent things that helped; stories of his own-nightmares, his own fears, he sent a stone that cast off a warm gold glow when held and told Harry that he'd hung a dream-catcher over his bed until he was nineteen when the twins had accidentally destroyed it. ("I thought about getting another but never did").
Charlie didn't tell him that when he couldn't sleep, when the jazz was playing and there was a bottle of alcohol half drunk, he would think of Harry and wank , aching for Harry's presence and missing him in a way Charlie didn't fully understand. He didn't tell Harry that when he had particularly shit days, he'd reach for the letters that he'd been sent and read them over and over again.
In return, Harry wrote about quidditch, about his lessons both in class and from Dumbledore, he asked for advice and received it, told Charlie about how he'd first discovered he was a wizard and how he'd fallen in love with that literally magical new world. He wrote that his favourite season was spring and he disliked muggle rap but listened to old rock classics when he could. He told Charlie that he hated his fame, that he despised his aunt ("You would too, if you knew her"), that after Cedric's death the smell of cinnamon had made him cry and now it made him smile in fond remembrance. He wrote about how he had been so desperate to live with Sirius that he'd managed to produce his first corporal patronus against a multitude of dementors. He wrote that he'd never been over-seas, but always wanted to; that he loved hearing the tales that Charlie told him.
He didn't write that he couldn't sleep without his wand holster; he didn't write that when he didn't wake gasping in cold sweat from a nightmare, he would wake with a rock-hard cock from dreams of scar and tattoo covered skin on his own and a searing heat and Charlie. He didn't write about how he missed Charlie in a way that made him angry, because it seemed that there was nothing – not even a simple one night fuck- that he couldn't screw up. He didn't tell Charlie that he might just be falling in love with him, because that would be stupid and definitely a bad idea. More so, it would mean that Charlie would stop writing to him, and that was the one thing he did not want, above all others.
To everyone else, they were simply acquaintances. To each other, they were confidantes and pen-pals and good mates. On their own, they were feeling the effects of a one sided something that they could not fully admit to.
No one noticed that Harry was receiving letters from Hedwig with irregular frequency or that it was odd that he was writing to 'a friend' when basically everyone he knew lived in Hogwarts.
Charlie's reserve friends teased him about his 'letter lover', not for an instant believing that they might be close to the truth about his feelings for his correspondent.
When Dumbledore died, Charlie was the one to seek him out, and it was Charlie who Harry talked to, telling him what happened. How it happened.
Harry pressed his face into Charlie's chest, feeling warm arms embrace him; Charlie's head dropped down onto his own as Charlie crooned into messy black hair. Charlie listened as Harry told him the whole story. He could feel the slow burn of anger and sorrow as he heard how Dumbledore had taken Harry to the cave with the glowing boat and the lake of inferi and drunk the potion, screaming and broken, how Madame Rosmerta had given them broomsticks then turned around and betrayed them due to an imperius curse. He heard Draco Malfoy had broken down, dropped his wand and sobbed because he absolutely could not kill the headmaster, and Voldemort would now kill his father, and his mother. His hands tightened on Harry's back as Harry choked out how Snape had done the deed and in the end, it had all been for nothing. The Horcrux was false.
Charlie crooned louder, held Harry closer, and did not let go.
"I have to go back to the Dursley's," Harry said after reign of long silence, looking up at Charlie as they overlooked the lake and the white tomb that sat there. "Dumbledore wanted me to."
"To recharge the protections, yeah," said Charlie, who continued, "I'm staying with the rest of my family until the wedding, and then perhaps a little bit after."
There was a small space of silence before Harry said, "I'm not going back to Hogwarts next year."
Charlie nodded. "I thought you mightn't have."
"Dumbledore gave me a special mission; I'm not going to be able to go if I have to complete it and I must. I wouldn't either, not with Dumbledore gone."
"I know."
Harry glanced up at him, not looking at him directly, "I may have to drop off the map. I mean, I may not be able to contact you, it might not be safe.'
Charlie nodded again and said softly, "I know, Harry. You don't have to explain it to me. "
A pair of Thestrals hovered on the rising currents of warm morning air and Harry watched them for a moment as they flew, brushing bat-like wing tips together, their leathery black wings scooping the air.
"I'll see you when I leave the Dursleys to stay at the Burrow for the wedding. No one else knows what I'm planning to do. I don't know if Ron and Hermione want to go, I can't do that to them. Dumbledore gave me the mission; I don't want anyone sacrificing their selves for me. I can't - don't -won't – have that. Not after Sirius. Not after Cedric." Harry bit his lip and looked away from Charlie, right hand automatically coming to hold onto the wand holster and left to curl over the badger tattoo on his chest that only he and Charlie knew about.
Charlie hesitated; Harry looked so very fragile in that moment.
"Hey," he said softly, stepping forward, "I know Harry, You don't have to try and justify yourself. I understand. It's fine." He curved a warm hand around the back of Harry's neck, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. He hesitated for an infinitesimal second, wondering when he'd turned into such a self-hurting masochist, before he leaned down and captured Harry's mouth with his own in a soft kiss, dropping his other hand to rest on Harry's hip. Harry's two hands dropped from their positions and clasped Charlie closer, willing to take whatever comfort he could.
"It's okay Harry, I understand. I know." Charlie repeated once they'd drawn back. Harry dropped his head onto Charlie's collarbone and sighed and Charlie let his own head nuzzle into Harry's messy black hair. They stayed in that embrace for quite some time.
When Harry left the Dursley's, it was Charlie who first noticed the lack of Hedwig, and Charlie who offered to let Harry bunk with him in his room to 'save space', that Fred and George could bunk with Ron, to allow for some spare guest rooms.
Harry accepted and Hermione and the rest of the Weasley's did not seem to think anything askance.
It was Charlie who held him, and didn't ask for anything, didn't want anything from Harry except to be able to hold him and be the listening ear, to be the rock that Harry couldn't be. It was Charlie who had slipped into Harry in a movement as easy as breathing, and in a mutual tango of rocking hips and desperate gasps and near silent pants, took him to a bliss that Harry hadn't felt in such a long time. Charlie took it upon himself to give Harry absolution and acceptance in the midnight language of soft touches, gentle embraces, and kisses that were almost prayers. Charlie let Harry feel safe enough to sleep, as if he alone could chase the dreams away.
It was Harry who Charlie talked to: about the casualties and how shit scared he was for his family, for the people he loved. He shared his thoughts with Harry because he wanted the teen to feel as if his trust was valued and returned. Charlie talked about how he just wanted the war to be over, that while he might be a pure-blood, he was a blood-traitor and if Voldemort won, once the muggle-borns had been killed and the muggles subjugated, it would be the blood traitors who were next. He talked about how he was sick of being scared, or worrying all the time, of having to think constantly of casualties and allies when all he wanted was a place with dragons, because in Charlie's mind, dragons equated safety somehow. It was when Charlie talked like that, voice strung and tight with tears he couldn't shed because it meant that he's not strong enough to hold Harry up, that Harry reversed their positions and he's the one doing the caring. Carefully and clumsily at first, but after some experience, confident and adept: able to let Charlie receive rather than just give. Charlie's always been a flexible lover, a generous lover, but it's always nice not to have to take the reins in bed.
When they're just as broken as each other - Charlie letting his strong facade fall and Harry showing just how shattered he truly is - they are like felled ash trees; kept up only because their branches are tangled and they can support each other.
In those few weeks between the wedding and the death of Dumbledore, after Harry had returned from the Dursley's and his disastrous attempt to avoid Voldemort, they danced a fine line that was being more than friends but less than lovers. They couldn't call each other their own, could not voice the claim that they so desperately wanted to stake. Instead it was seen in the possessive way that Charlie looked at Harry; in the way their hands would linger on inadvertent touches, the way they were always aware of each other, the way Harry would watch Charlie when no one was watching and the way Charlie would watch Harry in return.
Then the wedding happened.
The day started out well, enjoyable. The sun was warm and butterflies and bees thrummed over hedges in lazy circles. Charlie was helping to greet the guests and Harry could just see him out of the corner of his eye. Charlie looked good, very good; the white shirt with the tight light grey silk waistcoat showed off his body nicely, charcoal-grey silk tie the same colour as his robe, loose about his neck. His robe with the thick bands of soft light grey-blue silk curled into a flame pattern on the robe's cuffs, hung loosely off him, tighter in just the right places, and made the ensemble much more formal than it otherwise would have been. Harry tugged enviously at the collar of his own dress robes, Charlie look comfortable if not cool in his robes, Harry just felt hot.
"Hey, Barney," Ron called and Harry jerked his head up at the name of his polyjuiced alias, "can you come here, I need your help with this."
Harry nodded, and dragged his eyes away from Charlie who was now grinning widely and embracing an older witch, her two young kids and husband with a cry of "Aunt Ethel, Uncle Bert! Good to see you!"
Then Harry was spun away into the moment and the wedding.
The night was warm; fairies flitted under the golden marquee canopy, just out of reach. Harry was slightly buzzed from the alcohol he'd drunk and he couldn't help staring at Charlie, as he'd been doing all day. Charlie was spinning a younger cousin around on the floor, the ten year old girl was giggling madly and Charlie had a broad grin on his face. As Charlie straightened out into a spin, he caught Harry's eyes and smiled a little ruefully as Harry grinned back at him, before Charlie turned his attention back to his giggling cousin. It was at that point that Hermione came up to him panting a little. "I simply can't dance anymore. Ron's gone looking for some more butterbeers. It's a bit odd, I've just seen Viktor storming away from Luna's father, it looked like they'd been arguing." She paused and frowned at him "Who are you staring at, is it Ginny?"
Harry dragged his eyes away from Charlie and frowned, "What? No. I'm not-"
It was at that point that the silver lynx patronus soared into being, landing gently in the middle of the dance floor. The people around it froze mid dance, looking a little absurd, and heads turned as the lynx opened its mouth and spoke in the deep tones of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeor is dead. They are coming."
The patronus rippled slightly, then winked out of existence, the silence that followed was electric with shock.
Charlie looked up from where he was on the dance floor, and he locked eyes with Harry. There was a beat of shocked silence and somebody screamed. Then everything went to hell.
People burst into action, Tonks and Remus spinning in place as cries of 'Protago' issued from all sides of the tent.
Charlie whirled, lifting his suddenly terrified cousin in his arms, wand in his hand as he ran towards the aunt and uncle he'd been greeting earlier. "Aunt Ethel! Uncle Bert!" Harry's eyes clung to Charlies figure, dragging at his form glad in the flapping robes and then Hermione was tugging at his arm, half-sobbing with desperation.
"Harry! Come on!"
Everywhere was chaos, Harry fought against the tide of terrified guests, the pops and cracks of disapparition thick around him and spells flew back and forth. He redoubled his grip on Hermione's wrist and they fought to find Ron. "Ron!"
Then, suddenly, he was beside them, catching hold of Hermione's free arm. There was the sickening tug on his navel, then they disapparated, and were gone.
Charlie pressed his screaming cousin into the arms of her father and mother, who were holding tightly onto their son. There was a crack and they dissaperated with a word of frantic thanks. Then Charlie was spinning around, wand whirling, as he flung himself into the fray. He hoped that Harry would be safe. Jarring his shoulder slightly, he ducked and rolled under a green beam of light, and shot an entrails-expelling curse back at the cloaked and masked figure of a death eater who fell with a cry. Grabbing hold of Ginny who was, bravely or stupidly, still fighting, he apparated them both to Shell Cottage which was the family's prearranged safe house.
He hoped with every fibre that all his family were safe.
They were. Bill and Fleur was already there, Fred and George arrived a few seconds after that, closely followed by his parents. His mum drew them all in to a trembling hug.
"Where's Ron?" he asked, looking at his mother and father, worry engraving itself on his face.
"He's with Harry and Hermione." His father said. "I saw them dissapparate. They should be okay."
Charlie nodded and sagged with relief. Ron was okay, Harry was okay. He'd gotten out. He was fine.
He looked over at his family; his mum tense and worried, father grave and serious, Bill and Fleur were gripping onto each other, his sister was still trembling slightly as the twins comforted her and knew that the year, and all years after that until the war ended, was going to be hell.
There was a crack and Hermione, Harry and Ron in tow, apperated away from the party. Hermione was almost sobbing, and Ron was tense, freckles standing stark against the white of his skin.
"Come on Harry, Ron. We need to change out of our formal clothes. We need to blend in."
Harry nodded in agreement, despite the fact that the worry about Charlie's safety, about all of the Weasleys safety, trembled through him like the plucked string on a violin. He knew that he could not worry about them now, that would have to come later when he, Ron and Hermione were safe. For now, he had prioritise himself and his friends.
Arthur Weasley's patronus, when it came, was a relief so bone achingly sweet and pure, Harry almost sobbed. He did not though; he let his shoulders slump with relief, a grateful sigh pushing itself out of his lungs with force. He wanted so desperately to send a message to Mr Weasley, to Charlie. But he could not. Not only did he not know the spell to make his patronus talk, he'd never wanted to learn after Cedric had died, he knew that it wasn't safe. And he knew that Charlie would know it as well. Harry firmed his shoulders and his resolve.
He had a job to do. He had to find Voldemort's horcruxes, destroy them and finish this. He had to win this war.
It was harsh, it was cold, and he missed Charlie. The first Horcrux, Slytherin's locket, frayed at all of them, wearing at them, grinding them thin.
When Ron yelled at him that, no, Harry doesn't understand because his parents are dead, it took all of Harry to stop from yelling back, "and I love your brother, I love your family like they're my own, do you think I don't understand!"
Instead he bit back those words, and spat out some others, Ced a frantically moving scorch mark across his chest. Harry regretted doing it later, whispered a sorry to the tattoo on his chest that has become so much more than just a reminder of the boy he'd loved.
Ron still left, Harry swore bitterly at him and missed Charlie something fierce.
He slept with one hand curled to his tattoo, the other curled near the handle of his wand in the holster that he now wore at all times. He couldn't rest easy without it. He needed it, not just for protection, but also for comfort.
He and Hermione were sitting in the tent, a bluebell flame playing in the jar. Both were so bone-weary but unable to sleep, when Hermione said, "Harry" and stopped, unsure of how to continue, how to phrase the question she wanted to ask.
"Yeah?" he replied and didn't turn his head to look at her, focusing his eyes on the flickering bluebell flame.
"How long have you have you been in love?"
The question startled him, and chocked, "What?" he spluttered, trying to recover "What?"
"I just wanted to know how long it's been."
"I don't know what you're taking about." He says, but the bright red staining his face gave him away and Hermione shot him a look.
"You have a badger tattoo over your heart, Harry. I saw it when we fetched you from the Dursleys. Sure, we changed into your clothes before we took the Polyjuice. But I had to go to the bathroom and I could feel something moving on my chest. So l looked. How long, Harry?"
"I don't know." Harry twitched a shoulder and looked away.
"It's one of the Weasley boys, isn't it?" Said Hermione softly.
Harry nodded.
"Is it Charlie?" she asked.
His jaw clenched slightly, heartache as familiar as worry flared in him.
"We're-" He broke off, paused, then tried again; "we're just friends." As Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him Harry added quietly, "He took me to get Ced, my tattoo, and got me my wand holster for my birthday. I – we, we wrote to each other. I talked to him and he talked to me. I never meant to get so involved. It was just supposed to be – helping each other out."
His friend's brown eyes were soft as she observed him, sympathetic as he thumped a fist on his thigh, the meaty smack of flesh loud in the otherwise quiet tent.
"But I fucked up." Harry said bitterly, "Not that I'll let him know. I'm not that stupid. He understood and he helped me. He didn't want anything from me, less than I wanted from him. He didn't have an ulterior motive for the things he did. Aside from guilt, I suppose."
"Guilt?" Hermione asked quickly.
"Yeah. I, we, got drunk one night in Sirius's house. And one thing led to another, and well, you can guess." He shrugged, and then said hastily, "It was mutual. It's fine. Don't worry. Just don't… tell anyone, alright?"
Hermione took a breath and held it for second, pausing before she exhaled quietly and nodded. Then she reached over and hugged him, hard, her fingers gripping on his shoulder blades tightly.
"It's okay Hermione. It's okay." Harry said, pulling her closer and hugging her back tightly. Perhaps she wasn't Charlie, she didn't have red hair, tattoos and a crooked grin, but she was his friend, and that was enough.
Charlie had to go back to Romania, to gather allies and stay safe. It was nearly unbearable and he hadn't wanted to. He'd wanted to stay in Britain where he could help. He'd had an argument with his dad and the rest of the Order about it. Eventually Kingsley Shacklebolt had stepped in and told him that gathering allies was a vital task and they still needed him. Charlie had swallowed hard and nodded.
He'd gone back to the dragon sanctuary.
It was grim there, the situation in the British Wizarding world was unescapable, and everyone knew it. Kata frowned at Charlie on his first day back, shoved a drink in his hand and asked what happened. The change in Charlie was obvious to anyone, even to those who didn't know him well; before he'd been free with laughs, jokes, smiles, always willing to play wizarding pool and kick back in his spare time. Now he was grim, moved with a beat-down worry and gravity that was inescapable. On his down time he searched for allies with fresh determination and desperation.
The non-contact with Harry nearly killed Charlie – Hedwig had died and through Charlie knew it was not exactly safe to write to or contact Britain's Undesirable No. 1, it was unbearable. He woke up and every moment, when he was not doing things for the Order or doing things with the dragons, he was glued to the radio, listening to Fred, George, or Remus. Every time they called out someone he knew, his heart would jump, stutter, stop and he drank. Even when they didn't call out someone he knew, he drank anyway because people were dead nonetheless.
Kata often found him sitting on his cabin's porch and sat down with him, face drawn and grim, as Charlie listened to the messages that they gave, the ugly role call they read out.
Halfway through the year Kata came to him and frowned at him in the dusk. Her loose fireproof robes shifted slightly in the chilly breeze as she folded her arms and lent on the railing of the porch as Charlie tipped the last dregs of the bottle down his throat.
"Charlie." She said finally, waiting until Charlie looks up at her in acknowledgement. "This isn't healthy. A group of us are going to town; I want you to come with us. Get away from all of... this" She waved a hand in the air, indicating the radio, indicating Charlie, indicating everything.
"Leave off Kata. I told you, I don't want to." He snapped, irritated.
There is a distant roar of a dragon, and a burst of flame flickers in the far distance.
"Charlie," Kata said, a little softer, "We're all worried, but we're safe here in Romania, safer still in the sanctuary. I know you have family in Britain, but this won't help them, won't help you."
Charlie shot Kata a glare and pried the top off another bottle. "Piss off Kata."
"I'm just trying to help. I have friends and family in Britain too, but do you see me acting like this? Fucks sake, you don't have to be such a dick." She scowled at him, and turned on her heel, blond ponytail swinging violently behind her. She left him with a parting shot, "By the way, you've got the night shift, so don't you dare fucking think about getting drunk. I'm not giving you a sobering potion."
Charlie glared at her retreating back and didn't yell back, much as he'd like to, that she didn't have a not-lover who is Britain's most wanted and is on the run with his youngest brother, or a sister who's suffering god-knows-what at Hogwarts, or a family that's top of the Blood-Traitor list. He didn't say any of that, only clenched his fists and huddled closer to the radio, listening for any word of his friends and family.
His drinking got to the point where Kata began to remove all alcohol from him, and he tried to drown himself in work instead.
He manages to buy an owl from the local post office, ratty feathered through it is, and gets a letter through to Evan and Etienne. He's pretty sure the owl is either the craziest or bravest beast he's ever met, because it sails through a storm and doesn't blink an eye at flying into the dragon sanctuary. Ett's and Evan's letter is met with relief as Charlie is told that through they were getting no business, the sentient magic of Spindle-Shaft was keeping them all safe.
'People just seem to turn up,' Evan wrote, 'inadvertently seeking a safe haven and they're so, so, relived when they find that they're welcome. It appears that those under the pay of Voldemort or on his side get lost in the lanes. Can't even find us. We're fine, don't worry.'
Etienne added that "We've three people staying with us; a two muggle-borns, and a half blood wanted for connections with the Order. Don't worry too much about us Charlie, the lane is keeping us protected, but if that fails, we have contingency plans just in case. I won't write them here, just in case the letter gets intercepted. Stay safe. '
Even so, Charlie still kept a watchful ear for their names on the radio.
Charlie didn't listen to jazz anymore and didn't touch the bottles of Liquid Season he had hidden in his cupboard. He fretted about Harry, kept his ears strained for any word, any whisper, about what's happened to the friend that is almost a lover, the person who is the closest thing Charlie's ever had to a relationship. He fucked, dumped, cut and run from everyone he'd ever been involved with, even if it was only for a night, until Harry.
When Charlie heard that Harry had busted out from Gringotts with his brother and Hermione on the back of a dragon of all things, he nearly had a heart attack from worry but he's also so damn relived that Harry isn't dead.
Thank god. Thank God.
Then he can only laugh at the sheer audacity of the act, because only Harry, only Harry, would dream of breaking into Gringotts then busting out again on the back of a dragon. But other than that, his year is worry and fear, punctuated by more worry.
It is, in fact, almost a relief when the call comes through. The order needs him in Hogwarts. Voldemort is attacking.
And Charlie's first thought is Harry.
He's fumbling for his wand, grappling for his dragon leathers (Extra level of protection from spells and hexes. Also good for Dragon fire.) The nearest point where he can use his emergency order port key is ten miles away, where the wards end. His hands are shaking slightly as he reaches for his broomstick only to remember that he lent it to Kata.
He does not waste his breath on swear words, as he's already bursting out of his cabin, robe's flapping behind him as he races to Kata's Cabin. She's just walking out when he runs up to her.
"Charlie!" She said, "What's wrong?"
"I need my broom." He said, eyes flashing with urgency and he shifts anxiously in his place.
"What's happening? I don't hear the dragon klaxon, what's going on?" She demanded, looking up at him with worried blue eyes.
"It's Hogwarts. It's under attack- there's a battle. I need to go fight. They're dying over there and this might be the be all and end all of the British Wizarding War. I can't let You-Know-Who win without trying to stop him. Harry's there. I need to help him. I need my broom now!"
Kata stared up at him for a second, and then she said. "I'm coming with you. We'll double up on the broom." She turned and sped into the house, quickly reappearing with the broom,
"Come on, let's go." Charlie said, shifting impatiently on the ball of his feet, as Kata pulled on her dragon leather jacket, fingers fumbling as she buttoned the jacket up.
"I'll fly, you ride behind me." He said as he steadied the broom beneath him.
Kata nodded in agreement, and her arms were tight around his waist as he kicked off from the ground, the broom beneath him trembling as it was pushed to the limits of its not inconsiderable speed.
Let me know if there was something you particularly enjoyed. Reviews really do make my day, I never get tired of them.
Hopefully I'll have the time to put the next chapter up before next Friday.
