Author's Note: Written for Round 6 of the QLFC 6 — Borrowed Inspiration

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: Chaser 2 Title Inspiration: Wishful Thinking

Prompts Used:

8 (idiom) every cloud has a silver lining

10 (emotion) apathetic

13 (food) fish and chips

Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 2075

A/N: This is AU in that I will be speculating on what life might have been like for Charlie Weasley upon arriving at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary; I have not deviated from canon — however, I cannot cite cannon directly for this scenario.

When I read the title 'Wishful Thinking', it immediately brought to mind how people (very much like myself), have whole visions of how things are going to be (like vacations or moving to a new city); only to have those dreams butt directly up against the messy reality of life. In the end, we create something new and beautiful, but we must be willing to give up the dream in order to make the real life work. I am hoping that Charlie does the same.

Just for reference, kvass is a mild, less alcoholic beer/ lager-type drink that is somewhat unique to Eastern Europe, born out of stale brown bread, giving it it's distinctive dark colour. They serve it to children; it is considered healthy because it is fermented. While it does provide a little bit of a buzz, it would take quite a bit more of it to do so than a regular pint of your favorite tap.

This will not incorporate any elements of characterization attributed to Charlie Weasley from Hogwarts Mystery.

Finally, my title is a tribute to my own experiences with expectations and disappointment; a phrase that has become a sort of family motto: No plan survives first contact. And it never does. Obviously, I am also happy that it ended up with a little double entendre.

Beta Love: Many thanks to Claude Amelia Song, crochetaway and Story, Please for their beta assistance this round. I am always grateful for your input!

First Contact

Charlie picked and poked at his plate of Șnițel. He was feeling more than a bit apathetic about it.

"You not like?" Ioana asked in her broken English. Instead of a House Elf, the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary had something more akin to 'house mums' — a woman who took care of the small housing unit that Charlie lived in. She prepared meals, kept the common areas clean and organized and took care of laundry. This would be a more taxing job had the three other bedrooms been occupied, but at the moment, only Charlie was in residence at Bicaz. This gave Ioana plenty of time to fuss after him. She had worked for a week on trying to make his favorite meal — fish and chips — only to come up with something very much like the German schnitzel dish she usually made except with fish instead of veal.

"Yes. Yes, it is very good," he replied, pushing a forkful into his mouth. His cheeks puffed out with semi-chewed potatoes as he attempted to reassure her with another smile. "Fery goot."

She toddled off, satisfied, and left Charlie to his melancholy thoughts. He choked down his food, washing it back with a healthy swallow of kvass. He pulled the glass back from his lips and admired the dark-coloured beverage. Every sip of the tart, fermented drink was a bit of a surprise to him; like much of Romania. A little sour — a little sweet, and with just enough kick to make your knees wobble if you weren't careful.

Every cloud has a silver lining, he thought as he downed the last of it. At the moment, kvass was his; he just hadn't decided if it was the cloud or the lining.

He gave his fried fish and mushy potatoes one last prod before he pushed back from the table. Try as he might, he missed good English beer, fish and chips wrapped in a newspaper, a healthy splash of malted vinegar to top it off and a bit of Major Grey's on the side. He missed popping into new shops along Diagon Alley and hopping on the Muggle train just to converse with strangers. He longed for a steaming cup of Earl Grey and a misty English morning looking out over the moor behind his home.

He hadn't expected to be homesick; he hadn't expected that he'd have doubts.

Charlie gave the remnants of his plate to the shaggy mutt that shared Bicaz House, and shuffled over to the old style ice box for another glass of kvass. He had to eat something, but the fermented drink was considered half a meal in itself so Charlie thought maybe twoglasses would make up the difference.

At least it will help dull what I'm feeling.

Dull was becoming the problem for Charlie Weasley, though. For as much enthusiasm as he had in his zeal to work with dragons, he was losing his edge. His work wasn't sloppy, per se — never that! — rather, he was generally apathetic towards the amount of paperwork that was involved. It was a dull stream of mornings with Professor Rotaru, followed by writing and reading under his mentor's supervision in the afternoon, with a healthy dose of 'practical work' scattered throughout. And what Andrei Rotaru referred to as practical was a heck of a lot of inventorying. Food and fodder, trail maintenance, shelter and observatory repairs; it was far from glamorous. Charlie was yet to see a dragon, much less work with one!

And that's the problem, isn't it? Nothing is what I thought it would be.

Charlie caught himself still sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the window. The glass in front of him was empty; so was the jug from the fridge that sat next to it.

I'd better replace it, he thought as he got up. He stumbled and had to reach out quickly to brace himself against the wall. Oi, mate — You've outdone yourself. Time to get some air.

Charlie Weasley lurched out into the fading heat of a summer day that was turning into a warm, sticky summer night. The crickets sang him a chorus of hums, counterbalancing the nearby frogs in the pond as he weaved his way along the gravel drive and towards the general store near Stănile Skete. He knew the steep climb would clear his head and he'd feel a bit better about himself if he didn't leave more work for Ioana; at least for a little bit.

At the store, the transaction was harder than it needed to be. Charlie's Romanian was halting, at best; but the store keeper knew him well enough that they made do between Charlie's undeclined nouns and a bit of pointing. It was just one more thing that ate away at him — he felt like he was failing at everything; even the simple act of purchasing groceries. He started to wonder if he should just head back to England as he stood outside the store holding his brown paper bag and looking up at a stretch of the stone mountains that gave Ceahlău National Park its name; and the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary its home. With all his uncertainties dogging him, he turned towards the steep incline at Poiana Stănile and headed up the ridge.

If this is it, I should at least look out on Lacul Izvorul Muntelui one last time. Charlie found himself hoping the trek would also stop the throbbing in his head.

He reached the plateau just in time for sunset; hot pink, and fiery orange in stark contrast to the steel gray of the mountains, and the dark green of the evergreen forest. And in the haze, the hint of blue of Lacul Izvorul Muntelui. No matter how poorly he felt, Charlie could count on being awed by the beauty that surrounded him here when he took a moment to let it all in. He sat himself on a rock, and for the first time in days, Charlie felt the tension in his shoulders release. He let all the worries go — all his wishful thinking and crushed expectations vapourised in the resulting calm. There was a magic all its own in this place.

He was still daydreaming as the sky turned purple, deepening into a cool, misty dusk. Charlie slowly emerged from his own thoughts and turned his mind to making his way back home when he caught a flash of light out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head around, looking for the storm, but not a cloud was in the sky.

Odd. I was sure I saw lightning.

It flashed again, just over the lake. Charlie stopped and leaned forward, peering out into the growing darkness, searching. It almost seemed as if a cloud was sitting over the body of water. One, small, dark cloud — that was moving at alarming speed. And it was headed straight for him.

Charlie dove for the ground, his bottle of kvass rolling away and down the trail to break somewhere not far off. He felt the strength of the wind blow his hair into his eyes and pull at the loose edge of his t-shirt. He raised his head to look — his heart in his throat. Now? After all these months? Could it be?

Dragon! Charlie was sure he would have shouted out loud had be not been stunned silent with awe for the beast that had just flown overhead. A smile broke out across his face; his first genuine smile in months. His body was covered in gooseprickles. She was fully unfurled in flight, swooping out over the mountains before she circled back towards the ridge where Charlie was. He never even had time to be afraid.

Upon reflection, Charlie would later come to realize that Sheila was small for a dragon, as most Hebridean Blacks were. In the moment, though, as she touched down within a few feet of where he lay, she was the biggest beast he'd ever seen; and the most beautiful. He sat upright, staring at her in wonderment; her glossy black scales that caught the last of the light, the long arch of her neck as she maneuvered her head to get a better look at him. And those eyes! He felt as if he could look into those eyes for days and not see a tenth of their depth.

And they might be the very last thing you see unless you get your head into the game, mate! But Charlie never moved; his instinct took over. Beyond his books and his lessons, he let his gut be his guide; and so they sat, side-by-side, looking out over the lake until Charlie lost his battle to sleep, and drifted off.

When he turned back up to the sanctuary campus the next morning, Andrei Rotaru was waiting for him along with a very concerned Ioana. "It has been a long night," he huffed, his disapproval evident just by his tone of voice.

"My apologies, sir, but truly, I have a go—"

"Stop with your blathering, Mr. Weasley," Rotaru interrupted. "I know why. She is here! Waiting on you."

"Wha—what?" Charlie stammered

"It would seem I am going to have to accelerate your course of study. We should probably start with Imprinting," Rotaru replied without a hint of sarcasm. He walked out of the back of Bicaz House, Charlie in tow, and raised a hand out toward the yard.

"You, my boy, have a dragon."

And so, he did.

-XXX-

Charlie's arms were full with stacked newspaper as he moved towards the outskirts of the campus. A sudden wind blew the leading edge of the topmost paper into his face, obstructing his view and causing him to pause his progress. As he reorganized himself, he caught some writing in the margin; his own.

"Get your act together," it read in one space. And "Isn't this what you've always wanted?" scrawled perpendicular to the page's articles along a trailing edge. Charlie flipped the paper around and noted the date. He smiled.

Almost a year to the day. How lost I was...how far away from the happiness I have now. When he remembered back, it was hard to find the despair he had felt — or why it had been so all consuming.

He sat down on a little hillock with his burden. He could see down a gentle slope of grass that led into the thick, dark forest that pressed all around the edges of the sanctuary. He breathed deep, taking a moment to appreciate the last of a summer that was quickly waning. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would end up this way. Charlie tilted his face up towards the sun, closing his eyes ever so briefly.

He wasn't sure if he fell asleep, only that he was now being nudged, insistently, by a warm, rough snout.

"Hey there, Sheila," he smiled, his eyes still closed. He reached a hand up to stroke the dragon's muzzle and got a push in return that rolled him half way over onto his side.

"Okay, okay — I'm up." Charlie gathered up his stack of papers and raised it up for inspection. "As promised, my princess. Fresh nesting material." Sheila stuck her black nose in amongst the paper and snorted her approval. Her dark purple eyes locked on him and she huffed again. Nest-building was a time consuming task and Sheila was in a rush to get back.

"Yes, dear," Charlie laughed, falling in beside the retreating Hebridean Black as they made their way down the hill with their riches. No nest would be more comfortable, Charlie had seen to that. So had Ioana, with her bags of unused quilting remnants and yarn ends. And Andrei Rotaru — much to his own surprise — who assisted in scouting a site that would get plenty of sun for warmth over the impending winter months. Sheila had changed them all, and for the better.

And all I had to do was just get out of my own way. Sheila snorted in reply to Charlie's thought; it was a special part of their bond. "Yes, I had to get out of your way, too." She nodded, satisfied with her own joke, and loped ahead, her scales glistening, her tail wagging, her belly heavy. Charlie could only shake his head and smile; he was completely routed.

And he didn't wish it any other way.