Excerpts from the correspondence of Charles Oliver Weasley:
Dear Mum
I'm sorry I talked to Dad that way but I'm serious about going to Romania. Quidditch is just Quidditch. Only a game, Mum. I want to study dragons & it's what I've always been interested in. You'll be talking to me again soon I hope...
Charlie;
Dearie, we only want the best for you, we want you to be happy. It isn't only your fault, Charlie, and we're also sorry for the way we spoke of your ambitions, but really, dear, Romania? ...We'll hardly see you at all. Where will you be studying? Your father gives his best wishes as well... Please come home...
Sorcha!!!
It's a go! I'm back at the Burrow and they've given me some money in the last owl & it looks like they'll be giving their blessings as well. Do you know where Simon is he never gave me his new address... Enclosed is train schedules to Romania & information on getting passports – it's a Muggle thing you know...
Hey Charlie,
Sorcha sent me the information. If you pass the Apparating test next time, we won't even need it. Great job! Good thing your parents gave their permission. I'm not very good at writing letters so I'll keep this short. The Romanian Center for the Study of Dragons (it's not as impressive as it sounds. It's really just a small building and it gets burnt down almost every other year) gave their okay on it too. Some sort of exchange program of scientists that they're doing with the UK. So that's that...
Charlie,
You and Simon seriously need work on your writing skills – perhaps if you'd spent less time with your heads in the clouds, and more time studying, your letters would read as if they were written by eighteen year olds, not first years. But I digress... What's this that I hear about you Apparating on top of some poor old Muggle woman? It's too bad that you can't hear letters, because I'm laughing uncontrollably right now. You do know what to pack, correct? They said nothing that's overly flammable – even the papers have to have some sort of spell on them! ...Well, I was just writing to remind you. In Romania, the attaché for the Study of Magical Beasts is a man named Teodor. I'm under the impression that he has a nasty temper...
Sorcha:
I passed! So we won't have to go to the trouble of taking trains after all. Meet me & Simon in the garden at the Burrow. Sorry. I just had to add.. You're worried that /he/ has a temper? Perhaps you should worry about your own, first. Don't write so much in your reply. Errol can't handle heavy loads. Lots of love. Charlie.
Charlie,
Darling, if you weren't Simon's friend, I do believe that I'd be forced to kill you myself. Try not to aggravate the attaché as horribly as you aggravate me. You like to live dangerously, don't you...
-----
After weeks of careful scheduling, and a week of frantic planning and last minute debacles, it looked as though their enterprise was about to get under way. It was a fairly sunny, incredibly warm day, and the clouds drifted lazily across the sky, floating half-heartedly, as though the heat had leeched them of their will to move. The wind whipped at their hair, though in Arthur's case there was not much to move. Charlie fidgeted outside the door of the Burrow, glancing sideways at Sorcha. "He's going to be late again, isn't he?"
With a deep, heart-felt sigh, the tiny witch shook her head admonishingly. "Now, Charlie, you must be expecting him to do as such – it's in his nature." Crossing her arms over her chest, Sorcha scowled darkly, and added, "Though I wish it wasn't. Perhaps we shall beat it from him?" Despite her diminutive size, Charlie judged her fully capable of dealing out such a thrashing.
"No, Sorcha, for you'd feel terrible if you did."
"I would not, you audacious scapegrace!"
Suddenly, Simon appeared out of thin air next to Mrs. Weasley, and promptly blinked in surprise and fell backward, toppling over the various bits of luggage that he'd been carrying. Charlie's parents hid smiles behind their hands and gravely helped the boy to his feet, though he towered over Molly, and was a half a head taller than Arthur. "Um, sorry I'm late," he said sheepishly, pushing a flop of yellow hair from his eyes.
"You bet you'll be sorry!" Sorcha exclaimed, though she gave Simon as large a hug as anyone.
"Anger is her way of showing affection," Charlie whispered, to his bemused father.
To his surprise, Sorcha merely grinned cheekily in his direction, than adjusted the top of Simon's robes. They had been on at a rather odd angle; he was a person who naturally attracted mess and disorder. She turned a keen eye on the pile of bags and suitcases that had built up. "Mrs. Weasley? Mr. Weasley? If it's all right with you, we would like to be going."
Arthur and Molly glanced at each other, than the plump witch stepped forward and reached up to grip his chin, pulling his head down so that she could kiss Charlie on the cheek. Releasing him, Molly waggled a finger. "Behave yourself! I don't want to hear anything from the Romanian Minister of Magic, that you've—"
"Muuuum.. that's your speech for Fred and George, remember? You're getting us mixed up again."
"You know what I meant, Charlie. We love you."
"Good luck, son," said Arthur Weasley.
The three youths gripped their bags, took deep breaths, and disappeared.
-----
"You are the English wizards?" a heavily accented voice asked them, sounding quite sour about the whole matter.
"I'm Irish," Sorcha said, eyes narrowing.
Charlie poked a warning finger in her back, whispering. "What happened to not aggravating the attaché?"
He was fairly tall, dark headed, dark eyed, and would have been quite pleasant looking, if his face had not had the appearance of having been squished into an expression of extreme disgust and disdain. He was perhaps five years older than they, not at all ancient to be in charge of a research position, even as ill funded a one as this. "I," he said, voice a carefully timbered baritone, "Am Teodor Osadci, and this," a wave of his hand indicated the building behind him, "Is the Romanian Center for the Study of Dragon Research.
"My colleagues, Oana, Nicolae, Sofia, and Aurel." So many things to see! Charlie was horrible with names, so he looked first at the scientist. Oana, a shy looking girl with small glasses perched on the end of a pixie-nose. Nicolae, quiet and incongruously blond in such an area. Sofia, a dark beauty with a smirk on her face, and Aurel, absent-minded and with different colored eyes: one emerald, the other chocolate brown. They chorused their hellos, and in the case of Aurel, a length of questions in rapid Romanian. Where were they from in England, exactly? What was the climate like? Were the dragons of that area as temperamental as those of the Mother Country?
Bemused, Charlie glanced at the other two, who spoke very little Romanian. He did his best to answer in that language. "We.. we have.. little speech," he managed after a moment.
"That should not be much of a problem," Oana spoke up, not in Romanian, but in English. Her voice was soft, and rather whispery, as though she was afraid of being heard. Idly twirling a strand of hair around one finger, she looked up at them through the lenses, and raised one eyebrow. "Teodor speaks some English, and I speak fluently. The others know words, and if you know some in our language, than perhaps we shall be able to cobble together some semblance of understanding." And then, as if embarrassed at delivering such a long speech, she retreated to hide behind Nicolae and Aurel.
After several moments embarrassed silence, the groups of wizards, once separated into two lines, gradually mingled together. Nicolae turned out to be rather bland, a taciturn, sanguine fellow who observed rather than spoke. Aurel, though absent in looks, proved to be anything but: he talked so quickly and so long that Charlie, who had a good ear for languages, was hard put to keep up. Teodor was as he looked, sarcastic and short of temper. Sofia, Charlie thought privately, was quite beautiful, and he thought that perhaps she cast a sly smile in his direction, once or twice.
Tiring of the small talk after several minutes, Charlie detached himself from the group and examined their surroundings. The Center was in a clearing of a forest, a shadowy place populated with pines, the floor a soft and fragrant bed of needles. They were, he could see, at the foot of a mountain range, with the peaks rising majestically in the distance. The mountains themselves were rather rocky, though there were patches of green that he could see.
Closer to them was the Center itself, a building constructed of stone, for quite obvious reasons. Charlie would have bet several galleons that it was spelled with greater protection against flame, though having a research center for dragons in the middle of a pine forest didn't seem like a very bright idea, to him. With a shrug, he went back to examining the edifice. It was two stories tall, though the massive trees on either side dwarfed it. A pleasant enough place, if rather bland.
You'd better get used to it, Charlie. You're here for another seven years.
Dear Mum
I'm sorry I talked to Dad that way but I'm serious about going to Romania. Quidditch is just Quidditch. Only a game, Mum. I want to study dragons & it's what I've always been interested in. You'll be talking to me again soon I hope...
Charlie;
Dearie, we only want the best for you, we want you to be happy. It isn't only your fault, Charlie, and we're also sorry for the way we spoke of your ambitions, but really, dear, Romania? ...We'll hardly see you at all. Where will you be studying? Your father gives his best wishes as well... Please come home...
Sorcha!!!
It's a go! I'm back at the Burrow and they've given me some money in the last owl & it looks like they'll be giving their blessings as well. Do you know where Simon is he never gave me his new address... Enclosed is train schedules to Romania & information on getting passports – it's a Muggle thing you know...
Hey Charlie,
Sorcha sent me the information. If you pass the Apparating test next time, we won't even need it. Great job! Good thing your parents gave their permission. I'm not very good at writing letters so I'll keep this short. The Romanian Center for the Study of Dragons (it's not as impressive as it sounds. It's really just a small building and it gets burnt down almost every other year) gave their okay on it too. Some sort of exchange program of scientists that they're doing with the UK. So that's that...
Charlie,
You and Simon seriously need work on your writing skills – perhaps if you'd spent less time with your heads in the clouds, and more time studying, your letters would read as if they were written by eighteen year olds, not first years. But I digress... What's this that I hear about you Apparating on top of some poor old Muggle woman? It's too bad that you can't hear letters, because I'm laughing uncontrollably right now. You do know what to pack, correct? They said nothing that's overly flammable – even the papers have to have some sort of spell on them! ...Well, I was just writing to remind you. In Romania, the attaché for the Study of Magical Beasts is a man named Teodor. I'm under the impression that he has a nasty temper...
Sorcha:
I passed! So we won't have to go to the trouble of taking trains after all. Meet me & Simon in the garden at the Burrow. Sorry. I just had to add.. You're worried that /he/ has a temper? Perhaps you should worry about your own, first. Don't write so much in your reply. Errol can't handle heavy loads. Lots of love. Charlie.
Charlie,
Darling, if you weren't Simon's friend, I do believe that I'd be forced to kill you myself. Try not to aggravate the attaché as horribly as you aggravate me. You like to live dangerously, don't you...
-----
After weeks of careful scheduling, and a week of frantic planning and last minute debacles, it looked as though their enterprise was about to get under way. It was a fairly sunny, incredibly warm day, and the clouds drifted lazily across the sky, floating half-heartedly, as though the heat had leeched them of their will to move. The wind whipped at their hair, though in Arthur's case there was not much to move. Charlie fidgeted outside the door of the Burrow, glancing sideways at Sorcha. "He's going to be late again, isn't he?"
With a deep, heart-felt sigh, the tiny witch shook her head admonishingly. "Now, Charlie, you must be expecting him to do as such – it's in his nature." Crossing her arms over her chest, Sorcha scowled darkly, and added, "Though I wish it wasn't. Perhaps we shall beat it from him?" Despite her diminutive size, Charlie judged her fully capable of dealing out such a thrashing.
"No, Sorcha, for you'd feel terrible if you did."
"I would not, you audacious scapegrace!"
Suddenly, Simon appeared out of thin air next to Mrs. Weasley, and promptly blinked in surprise and fell backward, toppling over the various bits of luggage that he'd been carrying. Charlie's parents hid smiles behind their hands and gravely helped the boy to his feet, though he towered over Molly, and was a half a head taller than Arthur. "Um, sorry I'm late," he said sheepishly, pushing a flop of yellow hair from his eyes.
"You bet you'll be sorry!" Sorcha exclaimed, though she gave Simon as large a hug as anyone.
"Anger is her way of showing affection," Charlie whispered, to his bemused father.
To his surprise, Sorcha merely grinned cheekily in his direction, than adjusted the top of Simon's robes. They had been on at a rather odd angle; he was a person who naturally attracted mess and disorder. She turned a keen eye on the pile of bags and suitcases that had built up. "Mrs. Weasley? Mr. Weasley? If it's all right with you, we would like to be going."
Arthur and Molly glanced at each other, than the plump witch stepped forward and reached up to grip his chin, pulling his head down so that she could kiss Charlie on the cheek. Releasing him, Molly waggled a finger. "Behave yourself! I don't want to hear anything from the Romanian Minister of Magic, that you've—"
"Muuuum.. that's your speech for Fred and George, remember? You're getting us mixed up again."
"You know what I meant, Charlie. We love you."
"Good luck, son," said Arthur Weasley.
The three youths gripped their bags, took deep breaths, and disappeared.
-----
"You are the English wizards?" a heavily accented voice asked them, sounding quite sour about the whole matter.
"I'm Irish," Sorcha said, eyes narrowing.
Charlie poked a warning finger in her back, whispering. "What happened to not aggravating the attaché?"
He was fairly tall, dark headed, dark eyed, and would have been quite pleasant looking, if his face had not had the appearance of having been squished into an expression of extreme disgust and disdain. He was perhaps five years older than they, not at all ancient to be in charge of a research position, even as ill funded a one as this. "I," he said, voice a carefully timbered baritone, "Am Teodor Osadci, and this," a wave of his hand indicated the building behind him, "Is the Romanian Center for the Study of Dragon Research.
"My colleagues, Oana, Nicolae, Sofia, and Aurel." So many things to see! Charlie was horrible with names, so he looked first at the scientist. Oana, a shy looking girl with small glasses perched on the end of a pixie-nose. Nicolae, quiet and incongruously blond in such an area. Sofia, a dark beauty with a smirk on her face, and Aurel, absent-minded and with different colored eyes: one emerald, the other chocolate brown. They chorused their hellos, and in the case of Aurel, a length of questions in rapid Romanian. Where were they from in England, exactly? What was the climate like? Were the dragons of that area as temperamental as those of the Mother Country?
Bemused, Charlie glanced at the other two, who spoke very little Romanian. He did his best to answer in that language. "We.. we have.. little speech," he managed after a moment.
"That should not be much of a problem," Oana spoke up, not in Romanian, but in English. Her voice was soft, and rather whispery, as though she was afraid of being heard. Idly twirling a strand of hair around one finger, she looked up at them through the lenses, and raised one eyebrow. "Teodor speaks some English, and I speak fluently. The others know words, and if you know some in our language, than perhaps we shall be able to cobble together some semblance of understanding." And then, as if embarrassed at delivering such a long speech, she retreated to hide behind Nicolae and Aurel.
After several moments embarrassed silence, the groups of wizards, once separated into two lines, gradually mingled together. Nicolae turned out to be rather bland, a taciturn, sanguine fellow who observed rather than spoke. Aurel, though absent in looks, proved to be anything but: he talked so quickly and so long that Charlie, who had a good ear for languages, was hard put to keep up. Teodor was as he looked, sarcastic and short of temper. Sofia, Charlie thought privately, was quite beautiful, and he thought that perhaps she cast a sly smile in his direction, once or twice.
Tiring of the small talk after several minutes, Charlie detached himself from the group and examined their surroundings. The Center was in a clearing of a forest, a shadowy place populated with pines, the floor a soft and fragrant bed of needles. They were, he could see, at the foot of a mountain range, with the peaks rising majestically in the distance. The mountains themselves were rather rocky, though there were patches of green that he could see.
Closer to them was the Center itself, a building constructed of stone, for quite obvious reasons. Charlie would have bet several galleons that it was spelled with greater protection against flame, though having a research center for dragons in the middle of a pine forest didn't seem like a very bright idea, to him. With a shrug, he went back to examining the edifice. It was two stories tall, though the massive trees on either side dwarfed it. A pleasant enough place, if rather bland.
You'd better get used to it, Charlie. You're here for another seven years.