AN: Serious apologies for my several months away from this fic. Here's Chapter 10. Number 11 is under construction and I hope to have it up soon. Demensha.

Chapter 10

A Lead

Sleep permeated Charlie's senses – the pale light seeping through the curtains, the rumpled sheets, and the sound of steady breathing overridden by the scent of morning thickening the air. Stale perfume wrapped loving arms around his neck and drew him further into the dimness and the door closed quietly behind him.

His parents' room was not overly large, little bigger than his own but a double bed had been squashed in, two wardrobes, cupboards, chests of drawers and a much-diminished pyramid of trunks. Looking around, he saw the well-worn comfort his parents had lived with all of their married life. Faded carpet, greyed wallpaper – the little roses dimpling it muted, all the furniture battered and scratched. The nick-knacks though, were all belonging to his mother, the laundry in the open basket, the pink slippers askew beneath the bed. There was little trace of his father left, a few scattered photographs in age-tarnished frames and a tasteless muggle tie, offensively colourful in the husk of happiness.

The silhouette of his mother showed her to be lying on her side and in the shadow he could see she had her back to him. Her breathing was regular but heavy as though in sleep or-

A sniffle permeated the muffled room. Sedately she rolled over to view him and suddenly he didn't care about what she'd say to his tattoo, or how she would chastise him for being in her room, all that mattered was that his mother was soothed. The half-light caught on the crystal of tears she had wept moments before, drying on her weathered cheeks. The smile she gave him was one of false recognition; the eyes saw someone else other than Charlie.

"Gideon…"

"Mum?" Charlie dared to move closer to his mother's side. She had rolled onto her other side now and was reaching a hand to him. Finding his, Molly pulled him closer and he sat obediently on the bed. The smile became smaller.

"You look so like you're uncle, Charlie…" She stroked his hair away from his face with a sad smile. "How I miss him. He would have known what to do…"

"Are you alright mum?" Charlie's voice was quiet, exuding a concern barely masking the semi-frantic emotions a parent in distress evokes in a child. She sighed in manner all mothers must when hiding the crushing feelings they bear.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be fine Charlie. I just…I miss your father, you know," Her work roughened hands rested lightly on his bare forearm, but her eyes told him through her sorrow that she was ashamed of showing this weakness. It was not so much describable, but more…tangible. He could sense it.

"I know…" Charlie trailed off, his voice failing him. He loved his mother dearly, but he didn't know her that well at all. He'd spent the years where a child creates an adult understanding with his parents on the other side of the world, chasing dragons. Before this once-strong woman, he was powerless.

When Molly reached both her hands up to him and drew him down into an embrace, Charlie went willingly. Her plump arms held him about the shoulders, his own arms finding a way about her person, two friends, saving one another from drowning. He felt her give in first and her whole body shook with suppressed weeping, dampening his shoulder as the tears flowed freely. He may not have felt it himself, but in him, she had found the strength she needed, the solidity to bear her soul.

"It's ok mum, everything's going to be just fine, I know it is." Charlie whispered to her. "I'm home now, and you'll have another daughter soon…in Penny I mean…Penny and Percy…don't you worry about a thing…"

-

Exactly what he said, Charlie couldn't remember over an hour later, when he was showered, dressed and traipsing from muggle church to muggle church. All he knew is that a greater responsibility had settled around his shoulders. He needed to find his father, yes, and he needed to bring him home, not for himself or his siblings, but for his mother. He'd made a similar pledge a few days prior, but now he truly meant it and it had only made him more determined.

He was approaching the third in a fairly long list when he noted, oddly, the amount of people milling around. It was strange for a Saturday, that everyone should wish to come here, he thought. He turned onto the path to the main doors when a woman dressed in a rather formal gown caught him.

"You must be Dean! One of Steve's mates?" Charlie, bemused, eased his arm from her gloved hand and shook his head slowly.

"No, I'm Charlie-"

"Oh, that's it, sorry, I'm terrible with names," The woman was certainly friendly with short dark hair, but otherwise she was of little remark, unless her clothing options were to be taken into account. Charlie decided it best to smile and humour this strange person.

"Don't worry about it, get it all the time-"

"First I was I was mixing Pete and Kevin up and then I was calling Annie's new feller Angus," She shook her head, beaming, a flush in her cheeks. "Ah, it's a shame they had to go early – it's the baby, see – well, little one's on its way soon isn't it?"

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, though he didn't have a clue who any of these people were. When the bells began to chime in a deafening peal and all around surged forward, Charlie found himself dragged along with the tide.

"Oh here they come! Hope I get the bouquet!" The crazy-lady grinned at him. "Though I spose you'll be wanting it for Tracey, hey?" Charlie smiled and nodded, uncomfortable. Then a couple emerged, the man in a smart black suit with a top hat and the woman all in white. A flood of embarrassment and stupidity swamped Charlie. Of course it was a wedding, it was a church, for Merlin's sake-

The woman and several others behind crashed into him as they grasped for the tumbling bouquet the bride cast backwards into the air. The dragon tamer only just managed to free himself from the scrum that ensued, edging through the crowd to the wings to wait for the commotion to die down a while.

-

Gradually, when the crowds dispersed in a number of cars, after copious amounts of photographs – three of which he was dragged into despite his protestations, Charlie made his way into the church. The electric lights above did little to dispel the ecclesiastical gloom that seemed to mute everything about. A cleaner in a blue checked pinafore was polishing the pews while a second was plumping the bouquets that lined the aisle.

"Excuse me," Charlie asked the flower-arranger, his voice respectfully hushed. It was curious to think that such a happy rabble had only just left this calming place. "Could you tell me were I might find the priest?" The woman smiled lightly, though deep lines were visible at her eyes.

"She's just making us a cuppa, did you want her?"

"I just wanted to ask her something, so if I can I'd like to talk to her," From his little experiences of priests, he didn't think they'd make drinks for the cleaners. They'd always come across as a bit high and mighty, a class above the rest, so to speak, for all that they were pleasant and approachable.

"I'll just get her for you, love," She dropped a yellow duster onto one of the pews and bustled up the aisle towards a back room. There was a brief exchange and then she returned with a plump woman in tow. The cleaner smiled then returned to her work.

"Reverend Lillian Eason. Would you like to come through?" They shook hands and Charlie smiled politely. Muggles seemed to do this sort of thing a lot, Charlie found, to break the ice. Still, for all of her smiles, he noted her quick appraisal and watched her pass silent judgement upon him. What she thought of him, he was unsure, her face gave nothing away.

He followed her back along the aisle and into the warm and bright kitchen so that they might have some privacy to talk. A white plastic kettle was just reaching boiling point, the steam dampened the egg-shell coloured cupboards above. Two chairs were crammed either side of a steel-legged table.

"What can I help you with, then young man?" She was reaching for a plain yellow mug that hung on a hook beside a few others, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"I'm looking for my father actually. I've been out of the country for a while and I don't have a forwarding address for him. All I know is that he got married in the last three months." Before Lillian could interject, Charlie hurried on. "I know it sounds crazy, but I was wondering if you had performed a wedding ceremony for a man named Arthur Weasley," Charlie licked his lips, gazing imploringly at her, hoping against hope she would say yes.

"Weasley? Weasley…" She rolled the name across her tongue, pondering at the sound and trying to dredge up a memory. "And what did you say your name was?"

"Sorry," He apologised, for that formality had completely escaped him. "I'm Charlie Weasley – Charles if you prefer," His brows had knit together, silently pleading with the reverend.

"Hm, it sounds familiar, but I definitely haven't married a chap named Weasley. You don't know who he married at all do you? It might make things a little easier for you…" Charlie shook his head. He would just have to step up and move on to the next church.

"Well, thanks anyway, reverend-"

"Just wait a minute, let me just ask Constance, she'll know," Lillian left the kitchen and Charlie, rekindling a spark of hope, followed her out. This was turning out to be a little easier than he had anticipated. At least he hoped it was. If Constance knew of his father he could track him down, and- and what? Force him to leave his new wife and come home?

Lillian smiled reassuringly at him and called to the cleaning woman who was busy polishing the woodwork.

"Constance, you don't happen to know a fellow named Arthur Weasley at all do you?" The second cleaner looked to be in her mid-sixties, the sort of pleasant woman who showed pictures of her grandchildren to anyone who took a vague interest. She looked up from her efforts, brushing a neat grey curl out of her face and exhaling.

"I've heard the name," She thought for a moment, her lips twisted as she did so. "Erm…wasn't that woman called Weasley? One who left early – middle of the ceremony?" This question she directed the first cleaner, who had paused to listen.

"That tall chap's missus?"

"Yeah, the one with the red hair –"

"Oh! I know who you mean!" The first cleaner beamed. She rested her hand on her hip getting into the swing of the conversation. "Yeah – though what she's doing with a chap his age I'll never know-"

"Ahem," Lillian cleared her throat to purposefully quiet the derogatory opinion swapping. They looked to her and then beyond her to Charlie who was wide eyed, a smile quivering just out of reach of his lips. "Charlie here is looking for them, you wouldn't know where he could get in touch do you?"

Constance shook her head. "No, only know the name from the rehearsal last week."

"I don't know where they live exactly. I know they live near me – well, I think they do – I saw them in Tesco's the other day." Charlie's full attention was now fixed on May. She was frowning and rubbing her chin with a weathered hand. She, however, suddenly became very interested in why Charlie was searching for him. "Is it important you get hold of them?"

"May, is it? Can I call you May?" Charlie came forward a few paces as May nodded. "Could you tell me roughly whereabouts? It – I, erm – I need to find Mr. Weasley. He's my- he's a relative of mine and I haven't seen him for a while." Although hope and excitement burned through him, Charlie managed to suppress it and refrain from acting like his birthday had come early.

"Brixton way," As soon as it was out of her mouth, Charlie was striding out of the church with a profusion of thanks. He laughed, giddy. He'd done it! He'd found his dad and it had only taken two days! Unable to believe his luck, he staggered down the church path and descended the few steps to the pavement below. Crossing the road after waiting for a car to pass him by, he disappeared into a narrow cutting. Shouldn't be too hard to pinpoint him now, he thought, Brixton Way – easy enough to find the street… and with a crack, he apparated home. It never occurred to him that Brixton would not be a single street.

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