Into the Fire

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Summary: With the rest of his family in mortal peril in England, Charlie Weasley is alone in Romania. Devoid of his mother's coddling and his brothers' teasing, he's learned to be his own man. But with the War looming, where does he draw the line of doing what he's told and doing what's right? (One-shot)

Charlie Weasley sighed as he woke to the sound of the fire logs splitting in his fireplace. He burrowed deeply back under the blankets, refusing to get up to reignite the flames. It was too cold in his stone cottage to put even his woolen-socked feet onto the floor. Though it was well into the spring in the rest of the world, high in the mountains in Romania, winter reigned year-round.

He blinked his eyes a few times before focusing on the small clock resting on the table next to his bed. It was five in the morning, and he would have to get up in a half hour.

Growling and turning over on his other side, he hissed as his hand came in contact with a cold part of the bed. He snatched it back, shoving it under his pillow, where it was warm. He tried in vain to go back to sleep, but after a mere five minutes, he gave up and threw back the covers in frustration. The cold air shocked his body, but he hadn't been unprepared. He'd slept in thick flannel pajamas, buttoned all the way up, so that his entire freckled chest was covered.

Of course, the plaid pants and shirt were now fraying at the ends, but Charlie didn't care. They'd been a gift from his mother for Christmas last year, and they were warm. His mum always knew just what to get for him. For a twenty-seven year old man, he missed his mum a lot. He also missed the rest of his family, especially his fifteen year old sister, Ginny. But more than anyone, he missed his mum.

He wondered if other men found that odd, that he missed the women in his family more than the men, but he gave it little thought. It often bothered him that he hadn't yet settled down or even retained a girlfriend for longer than a handful of months. He wasn't career-driven like Percy or a philanderer like Bill had been before Fleur; Charlie was a traditionalist and yearned for the stability a wife and family could bring.

His breakup with Katya had been tough on him, and he hadn't told anyone in his family about it, except for Bill. He hadn't quite understood, as Bill had never had his heart broken. His brother had been as comforting as he could, but Charlie could tell that Bill was just going through the motions and saying what he hoped were the right words for his younger brother.

He'd met Katya the summer before, in the village of Suceava, while he'd been elected by the dragon reserve to pick up fresh supplies. She was petite and pretty. She had long dark hair that matched long dark eyelashes that framed big, blue eyes. She caught his eye and smiled shyly, and Charlie was instantly smitten.

He boldly approached her in the market, speaking in the garbled Romanian he'd learned. She laughed at his attempt and admitted she spoke English. Relieved, they'd chatted for two hours over coffee about books and travels. Katya was a student at the local university, studying literature. She was also a Muggle, much to Charlie's dismay. He told her he worked at one of the ranches in the mountains, which was the customary for the wizards to do when approached by a local.

They dated rather steadily for four months before Charlie was ready to show her the truth of his world. He brought her one weekend to the reserve, intent on telling her everything and proposing on the spot. But the minute Katya saw a dragon, she became hysterical, accusing Charlie of brainwashing, hypnotizing and anything else she could think of. She refused to listen to him and charged him with planning a big, elaborate joke, rather than end their relationship in a "dignified" manner.

She ran from him, but Charlie followed. Their world had been breached, and it was his fault. It pained him, but as soon as they made it back to the village, he pulled her roughly into an alley where, with tears in his eyes, he performed an Obliviate charm on her.

He'd seen her in town since then once or twice, and each time, she'd tried to catch his eye with a smile. He just looked away quickly, knowing that any further attempt to be with her would hurt them both more.

He shivered, pushing thoughts of Katya from his head. Charlie pulled on his heavy dressing gown and padded into his cramped kitchen. From the looks of his place, it was obvious that Charlie Weasley wasn't in his career for the money. No, he was here for the glory. He loved the adventurous nature of his work. The constant risk of life and limb gave him a rush he had yet to find anywhere else in the world. He didn't make much money, and that was fine with him. He hadn't grown up with much anyway, so it made little difference.

He put his tea on to steep and set his breakfast cooking. Charlie had inherited his mother's ability to cook with magic. The best part was that his food was almost as good as Molly's. This morning, along with his hot tea, he was frying eggs and bacon to go with his toast. He always ate heavy at breakfast since lunch was often up in the air, considering the trainers were often at the mercy of the dragons' moods.

Just as he was sitting down at his wobbly table, a large, snowy owl tapped his window, begging entrance. Charlie vaguely recognized the owl as Harry's, though for the life of him he couldn't imagine why Harry would be sending him a letter. He opened the window just wide enough for Hedwig to swoop in, shaking snow off her wings as she landed next to him on the table. He untied the letter from her foot and offered her a slice of bacon, which she gratefully accepted.

He took a long sip from his tea and opened the letter. Glancing at the penmanship, he could see that obviously it was not from Harry Potter, but rather Charlie's younger sister. He smiled wistfully as he read through her loopy, girlish scrawl. Everyone was fine; she and Harry were finally together, much to Charlie's pleasure. He'd been rooting for them silently since Ginny confided in him that she had never gotten over him. Ron was complaining of all his coursework, as usual. The rest of her missive was frivolous and trite, not that Charlie didn't appreciate the letter.

He sighed and set the letter carefully on the table, making a mental note to reply to her later. He let Hedwig back out into the chilly air and watched her fly off into the darkness. Charlie ate the rest of his breakfast feeling slightly sad. Ginny's letter, while meant to cheer him, only made him miss his family more. He sometimes thought of quitting the reserve and returning to England to be closer to them, but when Voldemort had returned, his parents encouraged him to remain in Romania.

Charlie dressed quickly and warmly in heavy corduroy trousers and one of his mum's jumpers, layered over a long-sleeved flannel shirt. He tucked his feet into thick boots and was just about to put on his coat, scarf and gloves when he heard someone calling him from the fireplace. He turned to see his brother's head floating in the green flames.

"Bill!" he exclaimed.

"Hey, Charlie!" Bill called. "How are you?"

Charlie forced a smile and answered, "Things are just great, you know, really busy. How're things in England?"

"The same," Bill replied, his voice losing some of its mirth. "We're all staying on our toes, y'know?"

Charlie could tell he was trying to be evasive, so he didn't ask any questions. He knew that the Order had rightly surmised that the War would escalate now that Voldemort was out in the open.

He chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, catching Bill's attention.

"Chaz, what is it? Are you alright?" Bill asked.

Charlie sighed and thought quickly. He knew he could trust Bill. After all, Bill had been the one to look out for him when he was little; Bill had told him about the birds and the bees; and Bill had been there to take him out and get him drunk the first time he'd had a serious break-up. He could trust his older brother.

"Well, "he began slowly, "I've been thinking about moving back home again. You know, so I can be closer to everything… er… everyone."

"Charlie, you know that isn't possible," Bill countered. "We need you to stay where you are." He paused and added, "It's Katya, isn't it? You're still not over her. Look, little brother, you've just got to focus on work, along with everything else, and it will all work out. I promise."

"That isn't it!" Charlie yelled angrily, kicking over a rubbish bin. "It isn't Katya, I swear. I just miss Mum, Ginny, all of you. I'm ready to come home. I feel like I could be more useful there."

Bill sighed, seeing that his brother's quick temper had, once again, gotten the better of him. "Charlie, you know I can't really put into words what I want to say, but you know that your place is in Romania right now," he said quietly. "I promise, as soon as we need you here, we'll call you, but right now, you've got to do what's best for everyone and stay put. You must understand this."

Charlie ran his hand over his hair, gripping the curls tightly at the back of his head. "Yeah, alright, Bill," he grumbled. "I hear you. Listen, I've got to get to work. I'll owl you tomorrow."

"Okay, Charlie," Bill said. "Are we good?"

"Yeah, fine," his brother said in submission.

Bill gave him a disbelieving look, but Charlie released the Floo before he could respond.

The rest of Charlie's day was routine and boring. A female dragon was hatching eggs, but the babies were a few days from being born. Most of Charlie's time was spent watching and waiting.

When he returned home later that night, all he wanted to do was crash in his bed. But the sight of Ginny's letter reminded him to write her.

He sat down in his well-worn easy chair with quill and parchment in hand. He crossed his legs under him and propped the parchment on an old photo album to write.

Ginny,

Glad to hear about you and Harry. Didn't I tell you patience would pay off? Just make sure he treats you well or he'll have all us Weasley men to deal with. But I'm sure Ron's already told him. Speaking of Ron, tell him to hang in there, it only gets worse!

Wish I could say more, but it wouldn't be the right time. I'll say this. Keep your eyes and ears open and stay close to Ron. Owl me if you need me, and I'll be there.

I miss you, Ginny.

Love,

Charlie

He set the quill down and folded the parchment, sealing it with the Norwegian Ridgeback crest the twins had sent him for Christmas. He got up to Floo a request for an owl into the reserve when green flames sprang forth in the fireplace. He stared, alarmed for a moment, before a tall, black man stepped out, not pausing to brush the ash and soot from his robes.

"Kingsley!" Charlie cried. "What're you doing here? You look awful."

"Sit down, Weasley," the Auror said with a catch in his throat. "There's been a battle."

The muscles in Charlie's legs at once seemed to stop working, and he stumbled back into his chair as Kingsley Shacklebolt all but fell into the one opposite him.

"What is it?" Charlie asked, worriedly. "Is it Ginny? Harry?"

Kingsley shook his head and wiped his head. "They're fine for the most part," he replied. "But Dumbledore…"

"He got injured?" Charlie pressed. His heart raced in his chest as he waited on his friend to answer. But Kingsley didn't affirm his hopes. He merely shook his head.

"He's dead," he whispered, and Charlie gasped. "Murdered right in front of Harry."

"He Who Must Not Be Named killed Dumbledore but not Harry?" he inquired.

Kingsley shook his head again and sighed loudly. "That's not the worst part."

"What could be worse than that?" Charlie asked rhetorically.

For the first time since he'd arrived, Kingsley looked Charlie directly in the eye. "Snape killed him," he said angrily. "Then he ran off with the Malfoy boy and the rest of the Death Eaters."

"But I don't understand," said Charlie.

Kingsley stood suddenly and walked to the fireplace, leaning onto the mantle. "It appears he's been playing against us," he explained to the younger wizard. "It seems he was never been loyal to Dumbledore or the Order."

Charlie leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees. He tugged at his curly hair and sighed shakily.

"The kids, they always suspected it," he said more to himself than the Auror. "Hell, we all were never entirely sure. But Dumbledore insisted, he insisted we could trust him."

"There's more, Weasley," Kingsley said, standing. "Bill was attacked." Charlie's head snapped up and his eyes went wide.

"Is he alright?" Charlie asked, the panic returning to his voice. "Is my brother alive?"

Kingsley nodded and assured him, "Yes, he's alive. But he was attacked by Fenrir Greyback, a werewolf."

Charlie instantly looked out the window at the moon. "But it wasn't a full moon," he said with relief. "So he won't be a… be like Lupin?"

The black Auror shook his head. "No, he won't be a werewolf, but his face is terribly scarred and distorted. Your mother's with him, as well as the French girl. He's at Hogwarts."

After a few seconds of brief silence, Charlie leapt from his chair and sprinted to his bedroom. Kingsley, exhausted from the events of the night, merely sat back down. Charlie returned to the room moments later, pack in hand.

"What's that for?" Kingsley asked.

"I'm coming back with you," the red-haired wizard said simply.

"Don't be rash, Weasley," Kingsley replied. "You've got to stay put. Dumbledore insisted."

"Yeah, well, Dumbledore's dead now, isn't he?" Charlie retorted. "I'm going to be with my family. They need me!"

"The Order needs you here," explained the calm voice of the Auror. "We all have our duties and what's expected of us."

Charlie threw his pack down in frustration. "The hell with what's expected of me!" he yelled. "I want to be with my family!"

"That's not possible," his friend replied. "And deep down you know that."

Charlie sat back down, defeated. "How much longer?"

"I don't know," he replied. "It won't be long. You remember the signal?"

Charlie nodded mutely, and his guest stood to leave.

"Keep safe, Weasley," Kingsley said. "I'm sure you'll hear from your family soon."

Charlie nodded again as Kingsley stepped into the fire to return to wherever it was he'd come.

After he'd gone, Charlie sat in the silence of his home and cried. One of his mentors was dead. His brother had been terribly hurt. His family was in mortal peril, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. That was the thing about living and working so far away; he felt incredibly helpless. And helplessness was something Charlie Weasley wasn't good at.