~ Chapter Fifty-Four ~

"Stupid Gryffindor tendencies…" Harry muttered to himself for roughly the tenth time since leaving Grimmauld Place. It hadn't occurred to him until after Snape had floo'd away that while it was possible to return to Hogwarts without tripping the wards, it was going to be much trickier without his cloak and Firebolt. "Bloody buggering…" He flattened himself once again against Buckbeak's feathery neck, holding on for dear life as the hippogriff plunged into another spiraling dive. He was taking full advantage of Harry's orders to do whatever necessary to stay out of sight on their flight to Hogwarts, and Harry suspected that much of his antics were due to having been cooped up in Grimmauld Place for so long as opposed to any tactical reasoning.

Harry was feeling much more exposed on this trip, with only his long, hooded robes to conceal him. Not to mention the fact that he had taken a hippogriff to the skies of London and struck out over UK. He wondered idly if Snape would be more or less incensed if this turned up in muggle papers than he had been during the flying car incident of Harry's second year…

The journey had been—blessedly—uneventful so far, Buckbeak proving quickly that the ride Harry had enjoyed over Hogwarts grounds his third year had been nothing more than a leisurely drift for the impressive animal, simply raced through the air. With an end destination in mind and orders to fly quickly, Harry almost didn't feel the need to be worried with being spotted: Buckbeak's speed put even his Firebolt to shame, and he shuddered as cold, crisp air, whipped harshly around them.

Still, it had taken them over an hour to reach the tiny village outside the far edge of the forest. As he began his long flight over the trees, he was torn between relief and dread at the dark, cloudy night sky.

On one hand, he was making incredible time on his return to the school, and he couldn't deny sympathizing with Sirius on the man's guilt for keeping Buckbeak confined for so long. He had always been an intelligent creature, but it seemed that the prolonged time spent in a magical dwelling surrounded by powerful witches and wizards had affected him in much the same way as more common magical pets, leaving him with an uncanny ability to understand the instructions given to him. Harry was sure that the hippogriff was intelligent enough to live freely in the forest, shying away from any human attention that could possible lead to his capture.

On the other hand, Harry was now hurtling over the Forbidden Forest, likely quite visible to the many creatures residing in its depths, and nowhere near to anyone who could help him. Added to that, Harry wasn't exactly… absolutely… entirely sure that he could find his way back to the tiny little clearing that was the entrance to Slytherin's tunnel, despite the assurances he had given Sirius.

Severus had said he needed to return to the school, and be seen. Harry realized that the man was giving him an alibi, protecting him from suspicion if and when anyone—dark or light—figured out that he had been involved in warning Charlie of the coming danger. Assuming he even gets a warning in time, Harry thought, his stomach clenching fearfully at thoughts of the alternatives. Almost immediately, Harry thought he saw a flash of color out of the corner of his eye and whipped his head to the side, heart hammering. There was nothing but dark skies and leafy treetops, however, and he forced himself to face forward once again, urging Buckbeak to go just a hair faster with soft whispers of praise and encouragement. If his voice shook ever so slightly, well… it was rather cold, after all, and he could hardly be blamed for a small weather-related tremor.

Sirius hadn't asked Harry what Snape had done to him that night, though Harry knew he had wanted to. It wasn't that Harry didn't trust his father, didn't want to lean on him, but right now Snape was the only one who could help Harry and he wouldn't risk Sirius starting one of his fights with the man. Not now, anyway; he knew, sooner rather than later, he would need to talk about what had happened with the potions master, but was thankful that Sirius had let him off the hook so easily tonight.

Harry knew, logically, that there was nothing he could have done for Charlie by returning to Romania, but that didn't stop the guilt from creeping into his thoughts as he flew back to the safety of Hogwarts. Thinking about that guilt now left his hands trembling where they were wrapped around the hippogriff's feathers. He looked down at his fists and nearly let go in shock.

What the…? Harry blinked hard, and looked at the treetops darting below his tight grip on Buckbeak. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw a little stream and a small building, hovering like a muggle hologram above the trees. If that weren't strange enough, he recognized that building… Petru's home at the dragon reserve in Romania…

Harry shook his head, and shifted his gaze resolutely ahead. He was being ridiculous, allowing his anxiety to overwhelm him. He had to keep it together and play his part well when he returned to the castle. Charlie would be fine, Snape would help him, and neither man would be pleased if Harry gave away his secret of a new route out of Hogwarts in the meantime. Petting Buckbeak with shaking hands, Harry did his best to ignore the translucent scene playing out below him.

He was doing rather well with his denial, too, until a gut-churning jolt of panic shot through him and he knew, instinctively, that the emotion wasn't originating from him. With growing trepidation, Harry looked down below the hippogriff, and immediately jerked back so hard that Buckbeak reared up and traded his forward flight for awkward hovering movements, warbling out in alarm. Harry, though, was no longer aware of his physical surroundings.

Below him, the scene continued to play out as though he were still dodging frantically through the air. He watched in horror as an all-out battle was being fought between Death Eaters and horribly out-numbered Dragon Handlers. He saw two of the masked attackers apparate behind one of the handlers, who was already dueling two others and cradling her non-wand arm against her chest. An arm shot out towards the shimmering image without conscious thought, the young wizard wanting only to helpfightprotect—and in a sort of fascinated horror he watched his angle swerve as though diving towards the attackers just before they were engulfed in flames.

Harry reared back from the scene, the image wavering as his disgust and denial began dissolving the connection. There was a brush of fear and desperation from that foreign source again, as if sending a plea against Harry's retreat, but he was just as numb to it, at that moment, as he was to his own fear and anger. All he seemed capable of processing just then was the agenized screams and grotesque movements of the two flaming bodies before they stopped making sound and movement altogether. It hadn't taken long.

A sharp pain in his hand finally distracted Harry enough to look away from the stomach-churning sight and he looked down almost blankly at the bloody mark that a concerned Buckbeak had just nipped into his hand. Only then did he realize he was just barely managing to breathe through harsh, panicked gasps. Lowering a sweaty forehead to the hippogriff's feathered neck, he squeezed his eyes closed and fought to force his scrambled thoughts into something more calm and organized.

Okay, so I'm somehow seeing the dragon reserve… or I'm so stressed about what could be happening that I am hallucinating the dragon reserve… which might make sense, if magic wasn't a thing, but with me, not only is magic a thing, but all the weirdest rarest magic is a thing… and I don't think I'm twisted enough to imagine that… okay, so dragon reserve, attack by death eaters… terrifying, but fits what I heard… but how can I see any of it? And how did I make that fire? Yeah, I can do that when I work with Moody, but it comes out of my hands, not appears thousands of miles away… and I didn't feel my magic pour out… so if it wasn't me, then who else made the…fire…

Eyes suddenly opening wide, Harry took a deep breath and looked down again, this time focusing on the angle from which he was observing the fight as it slid back into focus, the niggling other emotions solidifying as well.

"Norbert?" Harry breathed in shock, all the pieces falling into place as he finally figured out why those other emotions felt so familiar, albeit stronger and clearer than he had ever felt before. Breathing carefully, Harry urged Buckbeak to hover a little lower, giving him a better view, and then forced himself to relax his own thoughts, immersing himself back into rage and terror the little dragon was projecting.

Almost immediately, Harry's perception of the battle sharpened, and he could make out faces, sounds, smells… The charred and flaming remains of several huts billowed thick black smoke into the air. A sweeping view to the left showed two of the dragon handlers Harry had spent time with that summer slumped on the ground near each other, limbs sprawled unnaturally around them. A lurch to the right passed the fallen body of a Death Eater, and then what was left of yet another handler. Harry was dimly aware that he had just thrown up, but he forced himself to stay focused on the scene, desperate now for any sign of Charlie.

His view steadied somewhat, flying now in a deliberate course, and Harry wondered if his thoughts and desires were being projected back to Norbert the same way he was feeling those of the dragonette.

Find Charlie, find Charlie, have to help Charlie, have to make sure he's okay, Harry thought desperately, searching for the feelings of love and security that his bondmate inspired. He felt an answering yearning, feelings of purpose and determination, and then he (they? Norbert?) was speeding back towards the outskirts of the living area, back towards Petru's hut. He saw three more handlers, standing shoulder to shoulder, dueling furiously with a crowd of black-cloaked opponents. A fourth had already fallen at their feet. Harry held out his hand again, fire shooting down between the groups, buying them a few moments of rest, a chance to catch their breath.

A ripple of awareness suddenly slammed through his body, causing the flames to stutter out; he couldn't say he had felt it, per se, more that he could sense it had happened. And while he would describe the wave of… whatever had happened… as having washed through his body, he also somehow knew that it wasn't the body currently clinging to an agitated hippogriff. And he wasn't the only one to have felt it. He saw a shudder go through the three tamers, saw the moment they the mistake was made, when they all looked away from their opponents and to the skies above them. Almost immediately, the man on the left followed by the woman in the center fell to the barrage of curses hurled unshielded towards them. The third managed to dive out of the way and pull up a shield more from pure luck than anything else, and though her eyes spilled over with tears, they also shone with a fiery determination. Lydia, his numb memories provided; the Norwegian woman who was taking a year off from earning her magical creatures mastery to learn from the dragon handlers in Romania.

Harry stared at the eyes for a moment, held captive by the expression. It was a look he recognized—not from ever having seen it, but from knowing the raw, primal emotion it represented. It was what Harry had felt when he swung a jeweled sword at an angry Basilisk; it was the battle face he had shown when he stepped out from behind a gravestone to face Voldemort; it was the expression of someone who had acknowledged death was upon them, and had chosen to go down fighting.

With sorrowful rage, Harry lifted both hands from Buckbeak's neck and struck them out towards the crowd of Death Eaters, leaving them to scatter and scramble away from thick, angry spouts of fire. Between his vantage point and his ability to predict human escape instincts, he was able to coax Norbert's flames in much more effective directions than the dragon would have made on his own. Harry felt no pride, though, for his contribution. Every few seconds, his eyes would flick back to the lone handler, still fighting with all her might. For all Harry and Norbert's work, there were simply too many Death Eaters, and nothing could stop all the spells from getting through. Harry winced as Lydia fell to one knee, her other leg mangled and soaking his robes in red after a stray curse. Harry had just began to accept the end when the door to the hut swung open and the man who stood in the doorway—sending out spells in a rapid-fire of rage—stopped his heart cold.

Charlie.

This, though, was a Charlie that Harry had never seen before. His long red hair flowed freely around his shoulders; a long, angry gash had torn through his robes over a shoulder and half his chest, the blood shining in the glow of the flames outside the hut; his eyes, usually sparkling with mischief and laughter, were now blazing with a stony, icy sharpness that confessed witness of unmentionable horrors; and his face—tear-stained, bloodied, and bruised—was twisted into a sneer of pure vicious hatred for the masked men he was spitting curse after curse at.

Harry tore his gaze away, heart aching, and directed Norbert back into the fight with renewed ferocity. It's okay, he'll be okay, Snape will get him out of there, it's okay… Harry clung to the words that he repeated frantically in his mind, clung to his last glimmer of hope even as the fear of losing Charlie threatened to overwhelm him.

His perspective on the battle suddenly shifted, focused in on the entrance to Petru's hut, and Harry felt his stomach rebelling a second time. The woman who had been fighting ferociously next to Charlie, blasting off spells with no less efficiency after having been brought to her knees, had been hit by what Harry could only assume was a fairly powerful reducto. Had he not known the witch was there moments before, he may not have understood that what… remained… had ever been a woman at all. And Charlie, covered in splashes of black-red blood (and that is all Harry's horrified mind would allow him to label the slick mess covering his bondmate), had actually dropped his wand to his side, staring frozen at the empty space beside him. In a flash, terror, revulsion, anguish, denial, and finally a blank, glassy haze flittered across his face, and then he simply stood.

Harry screamed. He was hardly aware of it in the moment, wouldn't recall later the words, pleas, and warnings that fell from his lips, couldn't tell if the dragon-like roaring he swore he heard was him, Norbert, or even real at all. But just as a solitary beam of green light shot towards the defenseless wizard, a pale hand snapped a wand out of thin air from Charlie's other side and the curse was diverted by a powerful, flickering shield-spell. Snape, Harry realized, but even before anything remotely resembling relief could take hold, the bombardment of hexes and curses had returned with renewed vigor, and it was clear to Harry that even after Charlie had regained his wand, the two men wouldn't be able to hold out long before they, too, were overwhelmed.

They have to get out of there, Harry thought desperately. Then, with renewed will, he put force and intention behind the thought and repeated it over and over in his head, imagining his desire shooting out from his own mind and careening at the speed of light out to Norbert. They have to get out of there they have to get out of there they HAVE TO GET OF THERE!" He felt the rush of wind under wings, felt the wave of understanding, of love that wasn't his own for the red-haired tamer. He watched them come rapidly closer in his line of sight. And he watched as a pale blue curse whipped out across Charlie's stomach, lurching the red-head's body around unnaturally, just before he crumpled to the ground. A second man appeared right next to him where only a hand had shown before, cloaked in black like the others, but holding out his wand in a rapidly faltering shield around himself and the young tamer even as his free hand fought to slow the seep of blood from the new wounds on the unconscious man (…oh Merlin please let him just be unconscious, I can't even think of the alternative, I won't, I don't believe it…). Then they were out of his line of sight, a shadow of a jarring pain jolting up Harry's limbs at his rough landing, and almost immediately Snape had dragged Charlie's body onto the dragon's back, Norbert taking back to the skies hesitantly, uncertainly, never having attempted flight with this extra weight before.

Thousands of miles away from the battle, Harry Potter was once again gasping for breath, his mind instinctively fighting against the foreign presence causing such distress. Slowly, as Norbert took to the sky and flew with desperation, Harry felt the mental connection dimming and slipping away. His last impression was of the dragon stubbornly ignoring all the spells now being directed at his own wings and body, growing weary from the onslaught of magic his body was fighting off, and then finally, freeingly, breaking away from the Death Eaters' magical range and drifting tiredly into the night sky, away from the smell of death and destruction.

Harry returned fully to the present, head pounding and tears streaming down his face, Buckbeak crooning mournfully at him as the hippogriff eased back into a gentle flight towards Hogwarts.

xXxXxXxXx

A short while earlier…

Just hours after Charlie had fallen into a fitful sleep, the sound of Norbert's panicked roar had him leaping out of bed and dashing outside, not even taking time to put on shoes. His wand had been in his hand even before he'd woken, loosely held beneath his pillow since Voldemort's threat had come days earlier.

As soon as he had flung the door open, he followed the young dragon's angry gaze to where at least two dozen Death Eaters were calmly walking towards the settlement. With a quick glance around, he took in all the others who had been meeting with Petru standing outside their own huts, wide-eyed and pale, and blurted out the only life-line any of them had.

"Get to Petru."

It was like the dam had broken. As one, the tamers left the relative safety of their doorways and ran towards each other, merging into a tight group before all turning and racing off towards their leader's dwelling. Spells began flying at them, nearly too many to block, though thankfully weak from this distance. With a brief glance over his shoulder, though, Charlie realized that if anything, the Death Eaters were shooting only lazily right now. Paling, the red-head urged his friends—his family—to run faster, even as a small, distant part of him realized that none of them stood a chance.

He sensed his colleagues slowing slightly, and looked forward to see Pavel standing in their path. With a growl of rage, Charlie sprinted out in front and right up to the cowering man, hauling him off his feet by the front of his robes.

"You did this!" He hissed, shaking the other man roughly as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

"Char-Charlie, no one has to get hurt, okay? I didn't… I mean, I had no idea at first, when Lucius… but it's okay, just cooperate, they promised me it would be fine, stop running and…" But Charlie could see in his eyes, whether he had believed the promises at one point or not, he knew now as well as Charlie that there would be death on his hands today.

Seeing another group of Death Eaters apparate just behind the others, wands drawn, Charlie reacted on instinct. Without hesitation, he dropped Pavel to his feet and shot an expelliarmus at him strong enough to send him flying backwards—right into the line of fire. The man's eyes had time only to widen in shock as he absorbed any number of spells meant for the other tamers before a killing curse hit his side and brought a swift end to his pain.

Many things about this day would haunt Charlie: Pavel's lifeless body falling to the ground would hardly be worth remembering.

Again, they ran. Charlie vaguely registered two voices shouting for them to keep going, that they'd hold them off as long as they could. He spun around, intent on staying and fighting with them—brothers from Austria who had been the first to teach Charlie to drink—but two sets of hands found his robes and hauled him back around, leaving him no choice but continue in the desperate race towards Petru.

They would have been stopped sooner, he knew, had it not been for Norbert's frantic attempts to help. A part of Charlie wished the young dragon would simply leave, fly deep into the reserve until the wards had dropped and then disappear, somewhere safe. At the soft cries of fear and despair slipping out from those running with him, though—as they panted between hastily cast protegos and increasingly desperate hexes and jinxes—Charlie knew that if any of them had any chance of survival, they needed all the help they could get, even if Norbert's panicked rampaging was doing little more than making the Death Eaters keep their distance until they could fully assess the threat the Norwegian Ridgeback posed.

By some miracle, they made it to Petru's cottage and Charlie wasn't the only one who stopped short at the heavy aura of powerful magic in the air. He glanced around, forcing himself not to count his companions to see if anyone (how many) had fallen.

"Go," Lydia said quietly, the same fierce glare of a warrior on her face as Charlie had seen when she stood in Petru's kitchen days before and showed him her 'offer' from Voldemort. "We'll hold them back. Get inside and help Şef drop the wards." Another quick glance showed the others nodding and tightening their grips on wands. Nodding once in return, hoping that his love and respect for each of them somehow managed to shine through in the once, simple gesture, Charlie slipped inside.

"Şef," Charlie started in immediately, only belatedly taking in the hum of a pending ritual in the air, and the stricken man standing before him, jeweled dagger in his hands. "…Petru, what are you doing? The Death Eaters… you need to drop the wards…" His words trailed away and his eyes darted around, taking in the runes chalked into the wooden floor, the defeated slump to his mentor's shoulders, and immediately stepping back in denial.

"Charlie, it's the only way…"

"No! No, this is a life-blood ritual! This is why you wouldn't drop the wards early, isn't it? This is what you weren't telling me: you need to die for the magic to hold. This is madness! I won't let you!"

"Charlie, if I don't do this we all die anyway—no, do not argue with me! You're hurt and you're scared but you know as well as I that we are hopelessly outnumbered and that none of us—not me, not you, not any other tamer or dragon on this reserve—will escape from this any other way." Petru held out his empty hand to Charlie as he spoke, beckoning the younger wizard closer, and Charlie obeyed as if in a daze, tears streaming openly down his face and falling off the end of his nose and chin.

"Petru, you can't… I can't watch you… I love you, damnit! I can't just…"

"I love you too, Charlie," he agreed gently, smiling in that soft, proud way that only a parent can manage. "I couldn't tell you child, I couldn't bring myself to place that sort of burden on your shoulders. The chief of the reserve is bonded into the wards, and the very first casters, not trusting that the government would hold true to their promises of peace and protection for the dragons, built in this fail-safe. They couldn't make it easy, though; couldn't risk a chief growing greedy or power-hungry enough to drop the wards for selfish reasons and risk the dragons without due cause." He was crying now, too, and Charlie, close enough to take his hand, pressed it against his own tear-stained face and dropped to his knees in despair.

"It's not fair… none of this fucking fair."

"Life rarely is, Charlie. I would have given anything to protect you from this, child; to guard you from the pain and ugliness of life like a father does for his son." Charlie swallowed back a sob, finally hearing confirmation to the love he had held for the older wizard for years now. "I c-can't do that, though, Charlie; and I'm n-not as s-strong as I wish." The red-head finally calmed his crying enough to look up into Petru's face, hearing the other man's voice breaking over his words. The eyes that met his were round with fear, dark with regret, but bright with an intense purpose that reminded Charlie of the ritual he had walked into the middle of. He watched those eyes and was struck frozen with a sudden, piercing certainty of why he was here.

Charlie shook his head in denial, mouth wordlessly forming into pleas not to make him do this, even as he felt the dagger pressed into his hands.

"I'm s-s-so sorry Charlie; Merlin, Gods, and Magicke I w-wish there w-was another w-way. I tried, I tried to do it m-myself but I c-can't bring myself to… I n-need help. I n-need you to help me." Petru was crying outright now, words stilted around his quiet weeping. When he pulled his hand from Charlie's grip and held his wrists out, though, his arms were steady; and his eyes, as they bore into Charlie's once more, nearly glittered with resolve.

Charlie stared at the dagger in his hand, then at the smooth wrists of the man he saw as a second father, and couldn't help but beg.

"Don't ask me to do this, don't make me kill you, don't make me… oh Merlin, don't ask…"

"I need you, fiu," Pavel whispered softly, voice brimming with love as he used the Romanian word for son. "You're not killing me, never killing me; I need you to help me die—I'm begging for this favor. Help me save my family; help me set the dragons free." His voice was steady now, his whole body exuding peace and acceptance as he dropped to his own knees in front of Charlie and leant forward to press a tender kiss to the younger man's forehead. "It is time," he said with finality, and as the magical hum around them rose to an angry buzz, Charlie let out a nearly inhuman wail of fury and grief before sliding the razor-sharp blade of the dagger deeply through the pale wrists before him.

There was moment, a single moment before the blood could well up where the whole world seemed to stand still, and then the magic rushed in around them, draining the blood from the old wizard with unnatural speed. Charlie caught him as Pavel's body swayed forward then slumped into his arms, and above the sounds of his own raw weeping, above the quaking of the reserve and the jolt through his body as the wards collapsed, he heard his mentor's final words.

"Te voi iubi mereu, fiul meu." I will always love you, my son.

His eyes, as Charlie watched the life drain out of them, held no regret or accusation; only peace.

xXxXxXxXx

Charlie wasn't sure how long he sat on the floor of Petru's cottage, cradling the man's still body in his arms. Eventually, though, the smell of smoke and blood—the sounds of battle—drew him from his thoughts. He could actually feel his eyes blaze as he lowered Petru lovingly to the floor, folding the man's arms over his chest and lowering his eyelids. He stared down at the blood covering his hands for a few, guilt-ridden seconds before vanishing it away with a flick of his wand. He picked up the ritual dagger, looking around until he spotted its sheath lying on the kitchen table. With a snap of his wrist, he had summoned it to him. Dagger now tucked safely away into his robes, Charlie strode to the door. Someone needed to pay for the life he had been forced to take in this room.

Revenge, though, is a fickle flame, burning bright and hot before shrinking suddenly away, leaving nothing but hollow space and a pile of ash. And watching Lydia literally burst apart at the seams by his side had swallowed his revenge whole.

There was death all around him, and for a moment, Charlie couldn't remember what was left to fight for.

He let his wand slip away, and he was still—utterly still—staring at the space where Lydia had been moments before. He was still, but he was aware. He saw the killing curse shoot towards him; he simply couldn't bring himself to care. When a shield sprung up in front of at the last moment and the curse spiraled away, he didn't bother to try and figure out where it had come from. When the curses began rapidly flying his way once more, it wasn't the threat of imminent pain and death that finally forced him back into action; it was the sneering threat of a man he couldn't even see hissing in his ear.

"If I risked my life coming to save a man who won't even fight for his own survival, I swear to Merlin I will deliver Potter to the Dark Lord myself for sending me here!"

Potter. Harry. Harry!

Charlie's wand was back in his hand, magic thick in the air as he poured everything he had into the fight. A few times he allowed himself a glance at Norbert, amazed at the actions of the young dragon. Far from the panicked tantrum that had been taking place when Charlie entered the cottage, Norbert was now tracking, blasting, and manipulating the remaining Death Eaters as though following the directions a seasoned war general. In any other situation, Charlie might have smiled at the thought. Now, it just made him wish he weren't quite so alone.

He almost didn't notice when Norbert suddenly flattened his wings to his sides and pelted towards them, but when he did the single moment of distraction was enough: liquid fire tore through his stomach; his vision went black; and then he didn't notice anything at all.

xXxXxXxXx

Severus had given up on his attentive wariness to the dragon sleeping a short distance away some hours ago. He had gone through his emergency stash of potions almost immediately after their unlikely escape on the fire-breathing reptile, and in Charlie's fragile state, it was taking all of the Potion Master's concentration just to keep the younger man alive.

Snape growled down at the red-head, feeling the thready pulse beneath his fingers flutter uncertainly.

"Listen to me, you little Weasel: I did not fly Harry's Merlin-forsaken broomstick under James Potter's infernal cloak on a secret rescue mission to Romania, leap into a losing battle against a horde of Death Eaters like a dunderheaded Gryffindor, drag your bleeding carcass on the back of dragon only to be flown out of a centuries-secured dragon reserve, then force no less than fourteen of my personal specialty potions down your throat only for you to die and leave me to be eaten by your deranged, mothering pet dragon!"

"Norbert's a boy." It was no more than a raspy whisper, but Severus's head snapped up and he couldn't hide the relief in his eyes as they met the cloudy gaze of the dragon tamer. Charlie's shoulder lifted like he wanted to sit up, but he stilled almost immediately, hissing angrily at the pain that shot through his body.

"Moron," Snape admonished, burying his concern behind a patronizing sneer even as he waved his wand over the tentatively closed wound on Charlie's midriff.

"Where?" Charlie asked uncertainly, eyes darting around warily at the dark trees overhead and making his question clear even if he could only manage one word through the pain.

"Romania still, can't be too far out of the reserve's wards, though I don't know anything more specific as of yet." Snape glanced pointedly at his charge when he mentioned leaving the wards. He had been close enough to watch the shudder go through Charlie's last three defenders and had noticed the way they all momentarily looked towards the nearest ward boundaries; he had felt the left-over magic hovering in the air around the cottage, and found the ritual dagger in Charlie's robes when he tore them open to get to his injuries. He may not know what, exactly, had happened, but was sure that Charlie did. He didn't miss the flash of gut-wrenching guilt and pain that had nothing to do with the red-head's battered body, though, and for now, Snape let it drop.

"You need medical attention and a warm, dry place to rest. I am out of potions, and trying to apparate you anywhere right now could be lethal. You have been unconscious for the better part of a day, and by now the Dark Lord is bound to have all public magical transport in the immediate area being watched; he will not have been pleased that Harry Potter's bondmate escaped the massacre." Charlie visibly flinched at the word, but otherwise stayed silent, eyes still closed though his breathing was nowhere near the slow, calm rhythm of sleep. "Is there anywhere close by that I can take you to heal? It will not be an easy journey on you, but I have Harry's broom and cloak. As long as we can keep from any of your wounds reopening, you will most likely survive transport now."

"There are no wizards in the area, or if there are, I never knew of them. The only magical thing within range is a public floo at a local flowershop, but it would seem that that is not an option," Charlie whispered quietly, lacking even the energy to express concern over the hopelessness of their situation. Severus didn't answer, or offer any sort of gentle comfort. He didn't believe in speaking just for the sake of filling a silence, and he had never been one to offer false hope. If they couldn't get Charlie somewhere more stable before nightfall and the impending rainstorm reached them, the red-head was unlikely to live through until morning.

Sensing eyes on him, Snape lifted his head to find Charlie watching him, expression giving nothing away. Severus lifted a single eyebrow in question, and simply waited for the younger wizard to give in to the pressure and speak his mind. It didn't take very long.

"There might be somewhere… someone I know, but… it's a little complicated," He hedged, wishing his injuries would allow him to fidget under the penetrating gaze.

"More complicated than our current predicament?" Snape drawled sarcastically, both eyebrows now raised.

"…You would have to go into a muggle gay bar and break the Statute of Secrecy," Charlie mumbled, eyes darting to the side, unable to meet the piercing eyes any longer. His words were met with a heavy silence. When the older man finally answered, it was the last thing Charlie expected to hear.

"Last night I harassed your bondmate, cornered him into taking veritaserum, then took advantage of his state to ask personal and self-incriminating questions." Snape had spoken in the same crisp, matter-of-fact tones in which he delivered his lectures, and Charlie gaped outright at him.

"You—!" His stunned outrage hadn't made it past the single word, however, before a deathly expression caught his gaze and silenced him.

"I am telling you now because whatever damage I will still have to repair with Harry, this thing that I am going to do is my get-out-of-jail-free card with you. I will now have now risked my life and freedom for you; we're even." Snape said clearly. It was said as neither an offer nor a threat, merely a statement of fact. Charlie stared at the other man, Snape staring back calmly, and then closed his eyes with a sigh as another shudder of pain rippled through his aching abdomen.

"Right. You're going to need to change."


Author's note:

Bloody buggering illnesses. In my defense, I have honestly been very sick for weeks, and really couldn't catch up in my story between falling behind in school, my job, AND my internship. However, this update is embarrassingly late, and for that I apologize.

First of all, a note on the last chapter: I have truly enjoyed reading everyone's reactions to Sirius and Snape's... encounter. It was one of those scenes that I knew was going to happen before I had even written the first chapter of this story, but I wasn't sure how anyone would feel about it. I tried a few times to write a note on it in the last chapter, but in the end just gave up and put it out there to see what happened. I'm glad no one seems TOO furious with me, haha!

As for this chapter, I had hoped to add more before posting, but it was an okay spot to stop early, and I really really wanted to give you all SOMETHING since I've been struggling so much to post.

This was a difficult chapter for me to write. I didn't end up posting TOO much of Charlie's time/work at the reserve, because in the end the story didn't need it. However, I had spent a lot of time playing around with scenes and characters, and in my mind Charlie has very detailed friendships and histories with the many handlers who lost their lives in this chapter. It wasn't easy to hurt Charlie like this, but 1) there is a war, and in any story with a war, there will be death; and 2) It was necessary for Charlie's character development. Harry-for all his love and loyalty-is not bright and shiny inside. He's dark and twisty, and far from done facing terrible, scarring events. As much as Charlie loves him, he wasn't at a point yet to truly understand some of the things Harry has/will go through. That, and I struggled to find the balance between explaining Harry's developing connection with Norbert well enough for all of you lovely people to understand, while still describing it through the eyes of a very confused, very distressed Harry. Hopefully I didn't muck it up too badly.

So. Fingers crossed that I get healthy and can give you more story, hugs to Charlie in his time of need, and as always, I love your feedback. Even if we don't agree, it's good as a writer to consider plot and characters from other angles.

THANK YOU to everyone reading and reviewing, I hope you never doubt how much I appreciate it! And once again, I am sorry for my absence. I will do my best to update more quickly next time.

-Emmette