Written for the Family Boot Camp Challenge.
Charlie let the wind take him again. It wasn't hard; he just flew, letting the wind push at his back, a guiding hand, an insistent one.
It hadn't been hard to sneak away from the Burrow either. He'd been the only one out in the orchard, the others had chores or homework, or in the case of the youngest, were napping.
His dad had been in the shed, his mum preparing dinner - even though it was just past two in the afternoon.
Charlie had touched down on the orchard floor, and circled around the Burrow, on foot under the cover of the trees. He hadn't gotten on his broom again until he was sure he couldn't be seen by anyone looking out of the house.
Until he saw sure he was past the wards.
Then he was straddling his broom, pushing off the ground, the wind whipping his hair, his clothes. And he let it.
For the first time since he was nine years old, since the day before Bill left for Hogwarts - left him - Charlie didn't fight against the wind. He let it push him further and further away.
He felt giddy. He could see a large hill up ahead. Two people were on it, they were spinning. As he got closer he could see them more clearly. A boy and a girl. The girl's long blonde hair was flying around her as the boy spun her, hands gripping hers. Suddenly the boy let go of her hands. Charlie stifled a cry of shock.
But the girl didn't soar through the air only to land on the ground, hard, some metres away. She stayed airborne, spinning in the air slowly like a spinning top in slow motion.
The boy, who was lean and had brown unkempt hair, doubled up laughing. The girl's laughter joined him as she floated down to the ground.
Charlie's giddiness returned. Their laughter was contagious, and his earlier elation was coming back to him slowly. He was thankful for that, that it didn't come rushing back all at once. It would have overwhelmed him. He imagined he might have fallen off his broom if that had happened.
Soon Charlie felt like he could have burst from his joy. He was free! More so than he'd ever been at Howarts.
Where would he go? he wondered distantly, now flying in circles just above the hill.
Where could he go?
He shook his head - there'd be time for that later. Now, he should just enjoy the freedom. Who knew how long it would last?
A little melancholy started to creep in with that last thought. So he pulled up his broom handle, and started to fly in two tight loops. He flew a little further then did it again.
Soon he was whooping, cheering with joy.
Something caught his eye, made him stop in midair the right way up. The children on the hill... they were looking up at him. They were cheering too.
He could see them even clearer now; the girl was around Ginny's age, perhaps a little older, the boy around... Percy's? He wasn't too sure...
When he had stopped, the girl had started to wave at him with both of her arms, now the boy was too, one arm moving from side to side. Charlie grinned, raised his own arm in a wave.
And then he blinked and they turned into Percy and Ginny. Ginny waving up at him, and though he couldn't hear her, Charlie knew she was giggling, shrieking with joy. Percy who had a book on his knees but was looking up in spite of himself.
Both were looking up. Up at Charlie and his tricks - his loop-the-loops, his Wonksi Feints...
Charlie's breath left his chest in a whoosh. He turned away from the apparitions, from the very real children below him, and he went back. Once again, after flying away on a broom, Charlie was turning back... Was he insane? He didn't allow himself to think any further than that, for he knew if he did his resolve would crumble and he'd let the wind take him.
He'd let the wind take him again and he would not fight against it.
As soon as he touched down in the orchard, he took hold of his broom gingerly, as if afraid of the power it held over him. He locked it in the cupboard, and went into the house. Into the kitchen.
His mum was still there. Still cooking, and soon the table would be groaning under the weight of warm, succulent food. Food for him - him and the others. He felt like his lungs were being gripped tightly, it was getting harder to breathe. His stomach started to twist as he continued to stare at everything, and at nothing, all at once. He stared without seeing. The sudden sensation of his teeth biting into his bottom lip bought him out of his daze slowly.
And just in time, for that was when his mum turned to him in the middle of stirring a large pot on the stove. Knives were chopping up veg on the cutting board; other pots were stirring themselves; and there was something cooking in the oven, Charlie couldn't tell what. The smell had long since mingled with that of the other food cooking. It was a fragrant cloud of scents that had made his mouth water as soon as he'd stepped through the doorway.
"Charlie," his mum said, smiling. "What are you doing in here? Did you want something to eat?" Her voice was gentle; it wrapped around him like a hug. He drew in a shaky breath.
"No," he whispered faintly, then he cleared his throat, looked away, started again. "No, I just... Do you want some help? I-Is there anything..." Anything I can do, he meant to say, but the words wouldn't come out.
His mum blinked, looking faintly surprised. Then she looked pleased. "Yes." She said after a moment of intense scrutiny. "Yes, there is actually."
She gestured to the sink which was still full of dirty dishes. Charlie hadn't noticed that before. A sponge was wiping away at a plate as he turned to look; and soon, he knew, the plate would be rinsed, then put away. All with magic.
He looked at his mum who nodded at the sink. Go on, that gesture said. He walked towards the sink just as his mother aimed her wand at it. Time seemed to speed up. The next thing Charlie knew the sponge had stilled before hovering down to the counter top, and the plate had been rinsed and sent to the mostly empty drying rack.
His mum sighed, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
From her magic.
That was an interesting thought; Charlie wondered if there was any truth to it. There probably was.
He picked up a scrubbing brush and got to work. Rinsing away his guilt, scrubbing at his wanderlust until there wasn't even a speck left. As he let the water run off another plate, a larger one, the surface caught the light. He turned it slightly, watched it gleam. There wasn't even a speck left, he noted with satisfaction.
He smiled as he put the plate on the rack and picked up a dirty fork. His mum was behind him, bustling around the kitchen, checking the cooking.
If he listened hard enough, Charlie could hear rustling noises from the bushes outside, in the garden. Probably gnomes - blasted things - making themselves at home. Charlie even thought he could hear a chicken or two clucking out there. He couldn't be sure. He stopped himself from reaching out further with his hearing. He didn't want to hear the howls of the wind...
As he and his mum worked, the only sounds inside the kitchen were the thunk thunk thunk of the knives on the chopping board; the bubbling pots on the stove; the sound of trickling water from the sink; even a faint hum from the oven.
It was nice. He wished there were more moments like this, more moments to cherish, to hold close. Maybe then he wouldn't feel like he needed to run away to be happy, to be free.
Freedom is happiness a small part of Charlie's mind said. He gnawed on his already raw bottom lip.
As he finished up he felt his mum's eyes on him. He turned and met them, she was smiling at him softly over her shoulder. "Thank you, dear." Her smile grew larger. "You're a good boy, Charlie."
He tried to swallow the lump in his throat - guilt, his traitorous mind whispered - as he smiled back. But no matter how hard he tried to make it real, it still felt more like a grimace than anything.
