A/N: Hello dear all! We hope you enjoy the interlude;

Interlude warnings for; explicit language, implied/referenced violence.

Thanks to our lovely beta and you guys! Happy reading~

Next update on 2nd July, Friday

Interlude V

...

Charlie hates loud noises.

Especially coming from a human source. It's always been this way, since his school boy days, he has found how deeply he abhors it. It made living with Fred and George a living nightmare before he moved out. His aversion to quarrels is what made Quidditch games highly unpleasant, and flying classes impossible to handle.

It's why he lives with the Dragons. With minimal shrill screaming and curses flying about. Dragons, once treated with delicacy, and once cared for properly, are gentle creatures. Minimal sound, minimal fuss.

Though, there is fire and roaring from time to time.

He slowly, meticulously, exhales the smoke, his fingers fiddling with the cigarette in the dark room. He can hear shouting, in the distance, his younger brother's most prominent amongst the rest.

They've been screaming for hours, and Charlie's heart has been beating erratically for a bit more. Precisely since he saw Snape barging into the place, pale and frightened. Truly frightened.

Charlie only stayed long enough to hear Harry was gone. Not dead, at least, not yet. Just gone.

Harry, whose face Charlie can't quite recall for the life of him; he's only seen the boy a handful of times. Shy, quiet, almost always trailing Ron or Hermione, conversing in low voices.

He tries to imagine Harry screaming, cursing, or facing Death Eaters on his own, but can't.

He has faced Death Eaters on his own and more. Way more, if what Charlie reads in his letters from home are anything to go by.

But picturing it is just impossible.

The voices intensify in tenor.

"SIRIUS!" Charlie hears Remus cry, and then there's more crashing, glasses breaking, maybe even plates that his mother brought from the burrow.

They'll be fixed with magic. The only thing that can't be fixed is the chaos.

He's no stranger to human chaos. He's been raised with six other children, but this… helplessness, acrimonious and bitter, reminds him of days he'd rather not remember.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, fully aware that if mom catches him smelling of smoke, he's done for.

There's a creaking to his right, but Charlie doesn't move, or look over.

"Mom will wash your mouth down with soap," Bill says, passively as he sinks down next to him on the dirty rug. No one has bothered cleaning up this place yet.

Buckbeak used to stay here before Sirius freed him a few months back.

Bill's pale hand reaches in the dark, hovers in air in front of Charlie as the crashing downstairs goes on.

"Bum one?" He asks, and Charlie mutely hands him the packet.

"Is he dead?" Charlie asks.

Bill doesn't answer, instead, he reaches over his brother for the lighter draped on his lap. He clicks it open and Charlie relishes the sound rising above the quarrel downstairs.

"They're saying the wards are fine," Bill says after a drag. Charlie knows that the wards are fine, his brother was the one designing and setting those wards, and Bill wasn't recruited by Gringotts for nothing.

"They think he walked out," his brother continues and Charlie tips his head against the wall behind him.

"Why on Earth would he do that?"

Bill shrugs, "I don't know. Malfoy is also gone. According to Snape, Malfoy had no ill intentions, or motives to drive Harry out."

Charlie can't stop the snort bubbling up his chest, "Motive? That little shit wouldn't need motive; his father is...was, one of his most loyal-"

"I know."

Their words fade back into a stilled silence, both peaked and tuned to the chaos in the kitchen. By the looks of it, Ron is cursing the daylight out of someone.

"God," Bill lets out a hollow laugh, "where did he learn all those cuss words? I haven't heard of half."

"I've heard Hermione muttering a few under her breath here and there. She's more feisty than you think."

Bill snuffs out his smoke against the rug with a low sizzle and turns to stare at Charlie.

"I'll tell them there was an emergency, in Romania," his voice is so low and helpless against the crashes and curses and screams, "They're too busy to notice right now. You can go, Charlie."

Charlie turns his own head to face his brother, "I'm not leaving my family."

"This war isn't for you, Charlie. I know it, so does mom. So does anyone who bothers looking at you. No one will judge…"

"Yes they will," Charlie interrupts with conviction. He knows that they will. Visions of Romania, breezy, blue and fresh is like a second thought in his every waking moment.

Thoughts of peace.

Charlie misses peace like a limb; the lack of dead bodies, no gore, no blood. No torture. Just peace.

Charlie misses Romania. Because Romania without him was not Romania, and Charlie without Romania was not ideal. Not in this war.

Bill's eyebrow quirks, "I know you haven't told Mom and Dad yet."

Of course he hasn't. Telling Bill was an accident in itself. How does one even tell their family that they never intended to come back in the first place?

"There's nothing to say. I'm here now. The way it should be. I can't go back, Bill. Not now that everything's gone to shit."

Charlie has decided. Long ago.

They had more important things to do at the moment. Finding Harry was their first and foremost priority, because no matter how hard it was to imagine him as a warrior to Charlie, Harry was the only hope they had.

"You know I love you, baby brother, right?"

Charlie rolls his eyes and moves to stand, "You're like two years older. Don't get all paternal on me."

He extends a hand for Bill and drags him up. His brother grins.

"Let's go stop Ron before he grounds himself for eternity."