How High the Moon
.ψ.
Chapter Nine: Bangers, Bones, and Bond
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A sickening crunch rang out in the otherwise peaceful evening, followed by a volley of loud explicatives.
"Ahh!"
"Shit!"
"What the Hell?"
"Who's there?"
"Oh, my arm…" Tonks groaned thickly.
Charlie could not breathe. His chest had just been crushed like a soda can under a sledge hammer. Who would have guessed that little stick figure Tonks would weigh so much?
He was vaguely aware of the girl being rolled off his back as he struggled for air, and then someone turned him face up on the rough wood porch.
"What the Hell?" Stella repeated herself, though in a more disgruntled fashion than the first exclamation. "Charlie?"
"The one and only." He managed to cough out, rolling away from her touch. He did not want her near him, especially right now.
"What do you think you were doing out here eavesdropping, you git?" Stella looked ready to thrash him.
If it hadn't hurt so much to breath, Charlie would have laughed his ass off at the irony of the situation.
"Miss Estrella, leave the boy alone. I think there are more pressing matters for your attention at the moment." Said a very grave Lupin who was crouched over his fiancé.
"Don't bother with it sis." Tonks was a bit pale and was cradling her left arm, but showed no other ill effects from falling two stories. "You should probably stop trying to kill him and give him a look over though."
Stella ignored her sister and shooed Lupin away. Her whole demeanor changed when she produced her wand from somewhere in her robes and preformed a number of diagnostic spells on the blue-haired Auror. There was a crisp, no nonsense air that hung around her, but she seemed oddly tender at the same time. Charlie recognized it from his many trips to the medical tent back at Wallachia.
After a few seconds, she pursed her lips and gave Tonks a hard stare.
"Don't bother with it? Move your fingers if you are doing so well then Nyms."
Tonks wiggled the fingers of her right hand vigorously. Stella glared.
"Other hand."
"Oh, bugger." She grumbled and the hand remained stationary.
"I thought so. Ferula." She tapped the arm in question, binding it magically with a splint and bandages out of thin air. "Revelous Morsus."
A glowing green image of the injured girls' arm appeared in front of Stella's face. She stared at it intensely for a moment and it seemed to shed layers of skin and muscle until only the bones were visible.
Even with his limited knowledge of medicine, Charlie knew that those big jagged cracks were probably not supposed to be there.
"Seven fractures. Seven!" She growled. "And there you sit telling me that you are fine! You'll be the death of me one of these days Nyms."
"My calling in life, sis."
"I'm sure. Mr. Lupin, would you please take her inside and ask Auntie A. for some pain potion? Make sure she drinks two spoonfuls and not a drop less. I'm not going to tolerate any of your Gryffindor bullheadedness tonight, Nyms."
"Oh bugger this, Ace. You know I hate your stupid potions!"
"I think you should listen to her, Nympha. Seven fractures is nothing to sneeze at." Lupin looked rather alarmed. Charlie didn't blame the chap.
Seven fractures? He found a whole new appreciation for Tonks's bravery. He had known that she had the courage to face hardened criminals and dark wizards, but she hadn't even shed a single tear! If he was honest, he knew that he would be crying like a baby by now. Nymphadora Tonks was everything a Gryffindor ought to be, unlike some people he knew.
"Thank you Mr. Lu …err… Remus. I appreciate the support." The two girls shared a meaningful look. "I'd let you off the hook about the potion Nyms, but we'll both need a bit to eat before I can heal it properly."
"Yes mother."
"Brat." Stella smiled.
"Moron." Tonks grinned back at her while Lupin steered her inside.
Charlie was paying so much attention to the two of them leaving that he was a bit startled when Stella rounded on him.
"I'm not going to ask what you were doing out here Charlie, because I honestly don't want to know." She said squarely after a moment of glaring at him.
Breathing was still a bit painful, but he did his best to sit up and face her. He didn't want her anywhere near him. Not now, not ever. "I'm sure you've done worse."
She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at him blankly. After a second she knelt down next to him and pulled out her wand again.
"Don't come near me with that, Slytherin."
She closed her eyes and bent her head away from him, pausing again for a moment before continuing to assess his condition.
If he hadn't known any better, he would have said that she was hurt.
"I'm not going to stab you, you ass."
"Right. You probably are just waiting for a chance to kill me off before I can tell anyone your secret."
"And you said I have a morbid sense of humor!" She giggled –giggled!- but it was a forced, unnatural sound. Stella was not well suited to giggling. "Oh … God, Charlie, you weren't joking?"
"Of course not." He huffed and felt uneasy. "I know you want me out of the way so that you can carry out your dark plans."
"My … dark plans? My secret? Lord Charlie, it's not like they don't know what house I was in. Did you really think that everyone didn't know? I don't keep it a secret!"
"Ha! Then why didn't I ever know?"
"Well I may not hide it, but I don't advertise it to the world either. I mean, I don't know here, but it might have a little something to do with the way you're reacting right now, don't you think? Sothotumn." She added absently and a gentle tingling ran through Charlie's abdomen. He soon found it much easier to breathe.
"I told you not to come near me with that!"
"You had a bruised rib. I was only trying to help you! Don't you trust me at all?"
"No."
"I thought we were friends, Charlie." She was really angry now. "All the fun we had back at the reserve, all the stuff we pulled, doesn't it count for anything?"
"Not with a slimy, lying Slytherin who-"
He was cut off by the arrival of Mrs. Tonks out on the porch. He liked Mrs. Tonks a lot. She was a gifted seer and a very respected witch both in the Order of the Phoenix and in the wizarding world at large. There was an aura of otherworldly tranquility that radiated wherever she went. Peace and calm trailed behind her like her long, silver hair and she was sought out by many for her gentle spirit and sage advice. She was the opposite of his own mother in many ways, but when she was around Tonks and Stella somehow the two women seemed very much the same. And it didn't hurt matters that she was an excellent baker. His mouth watered just thinking about her homemade strawberry-rhubarb pies.
But now the quiet, stately witch just looked at him, then at Stella, then at him again with an expression of confusion and worry before speaking quietly.
"Dinner is ready. I came to warn you two before there was nothing left. I hope everything is alright?"
"Fine Auntie A. Just bloody wonderful." Stella got up in a huff and rushed inside.
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Dinner was an angry blur.
He spent the entire time watching her out of the corner of his eye as talked and laughed loudly with some of the other girls from the order. He couldn't believe that she'd healed him out of the goodness of her heart. She must want something from him. That had to be it.
"Charlie, that banger is not going to fight back. Stop playing with your food and eat it." His mother reprimanded him towards the end of the meal.
He looked down at his plate to see sausage bits the size of fairy eggs and faint knife scratches on the china.
Had he done that?
He flicked his wand under the table and grunted a quiet spell to restore the plate. He had never been powerful enough to master nonverbal incantations. It had often frustrated him back in his Hogwarts days, especially in transfiguration class. It still did. Sometimes being a pure blood wasn't good for much of anything.
He wasn't one of those idiots who flaunted their heritage and looked down on anyone who was lacking, but there was a tiny part of him that was proud to know that so many people had gone before him with magic in their veins. It was moments like these that he wondered if his ancestors would have been disappointed had they lived to see him.
He didn't have time to consider the answer to the question. The table was being cleared and several people were transfiguring the room to suit the needs of another official meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Dinning chairs became hard-backed lecture seats and the long table itself was soon a podium. Once all of the members settled down and the underagers were kicked out, (with a few loud protests; he couldn't blame the kids.) the meeting began.
The room was secured first thing. A couple older members cast dozens of secrecy and concealment charms on the room and the other members. It was none other than Mrs. Molly Weasley herself who put the final Imperturbable Charm on the doors and windows.
Only a select and trusted few were allowed the position of a 'ward-watcher', and Charlie had been surprised and dead chuffed when he came to his first meeting to find out that Mrs. Weasley herself was head of this elite group. As Keeper of the Wards, she was one of the ten governing heads of the Order. It made sense when he thought about it. Despite being a housewife (something some of the women looked down on her for) his mum was a fairly powerful witch and was very, very good at using magical boundaries and barriers.
His parents had number of private jokes about that, some of which Charlie wished he had never learned.
Then came the annoying process of making sure that all of the members were, indeed, members of the order. Unsurprisingly, a large number of the members were of Aurors and Unspeakables from the ministry, and they considered this their right at the start of every bloody meeting. It took nearly a half hour for them to check and recheck everyone for signs of Polyjuice, morphing charms, invisibility measures and Imperius Curses. (From what he gathered, those were the hardest to spot.)
If it weren't for Mad-Eye Moody taking charge of the row he was sitting in, Charlie might have found some of the other member's predicaments rather funny. Kingsley Shacklebolt was running his wand up and down Dedalus Diggle's arm, producing a flurry of giggles from the ticklish little man. Conway Croaker and Jaclyn Jetter were both red in the face when the older man went through the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt and found a vial of Madame Pointer's Prophylactic Potion. Even though it was a Class M-4 Non-Tradable substance and both parties worked for the Ministry, Charlie saw him slip it back into her hands without another word and continue down the row.
Once the room was sealed and all of the members were sworn in, the meeting began. Remus Lupin cleared his throat and got up on the podium. As usual, Charlie found it odd to see the graying, tired man in the place that he used to imagine vibrant, twinkle-eyed Professor Dumbledore standing. But despite his 'unfortunate condition', as Mrs. Weasley liked to call it, and the fact that he looked closer to sixty than his real age of thirty seven, Lupin had been named co-head of the order along with Mad-Eye and Professor … err… Headmistress McGonagall.
It had to say something about Professor Dumbledore that he needed three people to fill his shoes, but there had been no other way. Out of the most important order members McGonagall was too busy with matters at Hogwarts, Lupin would constantly out of the picture for a few days a month, and Mad-Eye was well, mad. Still, they made a decent team with Lupin doing most of the work and the other two lending their prestige and experience to the role. People had come to trust them almost as much as they had the last leader.
Lupin shuffled his notes, then welcomed everyone warmly and made an offhand joke about being searched in a strong, toothy voice that was permanently at odds with his sickly features. Then he went right to business mode and started rattling off the current objectives of the order and what was happening to carry them out.
By the time he started addressing current missions and the latest results (or lack thereof) of Operation Seeker, Charlie's brain had switched to automatic-broom mode. When he had signed up as a member order two years ago, Charlie had imagined that he would be part of an exciting whirlwind of spying and dueling and intrigue, like the muggle spy James Bond.
Donaghan Tremlett and a couple of his other muggleborn mates had tried to explain 'citkoms' and 'moovys' to them for ages back at Hogwarts before finally succeeding. They gave all hope on the verbal education of their pureblood peers in their third year and snuck an old 'telly' into the forbidden forest after Christmas break.
The strange little box was very confusing and alien, and there were a lot of bizarre episodes or a 'moovy' that lasted for hours. 'Moovys' were easier to understand … sort of … but the only ones Charlie'd enjoyed were about an English spy named James Bond. The plots didn't always make sense and none of the pureblood chaps ever did manage to figure out just who exactly Bond was fighting, but at least there were some brilliant explosions and girls with very nice looking breasts. Besides, the Bond bloke had sounded a lot like his dad's stories about the first Order of the Phoenix.
Charlie had been hooked. From then on, he always requested Bond 'moovys' every Thursday when the gang slipped out to the glen by the lake, fantasizing about his dad's old stories about the first incarnation of the Order.
Reality, however, was nothing like Mr. Weasley's stories.
Charlie's first earth-shattering orders had been to stay at the reserve and 'improve international relations', whatever that was supposed to mean. It hadn't been quite as exciting as the boat chase in 'From Russia with Love' (one of Charlie's all time favorite scenes) but it hadn't been the easiest 'mission' either. Being quieter than most people, it usually took him longer to make friends, but he had eventually done it and enjoyed every minute of it.
Then not more than a few months ago, he'd received a request from McGonagall to return to England. She had wanted someone to supplement his brother Bill as an insider at Gringots, working as a dragon feeder. He'd accepted without thinking and stupidly raced home. But there had been no James Bond action, no dueling, no intrigue. Now he was broke, his brother was in a hospital bed, and he hadn't gotten even the most useless of missions in nearly two weeks.
He longed to see the weather-beaten gates of Wallachia Mountains, to feel the clean, biting Carpathian wind at his back as he flew over the magnificent mountains at dawn. He missed Grigori, Fyedka, Stanislav, and the rest of his mates. Hell, he even missed Hedeon, the fat, greasy camp cook whose food was as unpredictable as his temper.
Most of all, he missed the dragons, but he couldn't bring himself to think about them. If he did that, he might actually start to cry.
No, much better to try to focus on the bloody boring meeting. He had been a fool to come back here, just to be shunted off onto useless missions because he wasn't as powerful as the Aurors. All his James Bond spying delusions had been ruthlessly crushed. There was no dueling here, no action, and all of the pretty witches were either already attached or fancied someone who's name was not Charlie Weasley.
Except for Stella, that was … but thoughts of her were about as welcome as thoughts of Wallachia.
Unfortunately, Charlie's brain rarely listened to directions. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, three rows up, as Lupin droned on about upcoming assignments. He counted the number of knots in the little hairnet she wore at the base of her neck and silently hated her all the while. She'd tricked him! She'd used him! He wasn't sure how exactly, but he knew she had.
His piercing scowl of doom was broken when Mad-Eye Moody jabbed him in the ribs.
"Assignments, Chuck." He growled in what Charlie thought might be an amused tone and thrust a sealed envelope into Charlie's hands.
"Stop mooning at the skirts and get to yer business."
Mooning at her? He wished he could hex her!
"Oh, I expect Potter'll be wanting to see you. Boy's been campaigning like mad for people to play after dinner. Even rounded me up for a night." Mad-Eye muttered darkly before ambling off after another poor unsuspecting sod.
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Barely five minutes after the meeting let out, Harry accosted him in the front hall. He looked as happy as a niffler in a gold mine when Charlie agreed to play keeper. The thin bloke was normally a quiet guy, though a lot more serious and thoughtful than Charlie himself, but when it came to Quidditch it was like someone had lit a fire under his cauldron.
Charlie liked Harry a lot, and it had nothing to do with the people who went around calling him 'The Chosen One'. (One more proof that Stella was a terrible person.) To begin with, he was Ron's best friend. Ronnie could be a bit of an idiot sometimes and a pain in the arse of a little brother, but he was a brilliant judge of character – not to mention a letter writer of epic proportions. While Charlie had been in Romania, his letters from school were something he'd looked forward to every week. They were always brimming with moans about homework and girls, but occasionally detailed the adventures that he, Harry, and Ronnie's long time secret crush Hermione Granger had together.
Then this summer, Charlie and Harry had spent several otherwise boring days at the burrow discussing the war and women and life in general. Harry did have of a bit of a foul mouth and a massive amount of irreverence for the Order, but Charlie could sympathize once Harry confided in him about Dumbledore's death and the way that the Order was keeping him from searching for the horcruxes. (Those things gave him the willies) Not even Ron had shared those secrets with him, and Charlie had found a whole new level of respect for Harry Potter, deciding he was a very decent chap and telling him that he'd always be on hand if the kid needed some help.
So Charlie was more than happy to oblige Harry when he asked, both as his best friend's older brother and as a friend himself. It would be good to get his mind off of other things anyway.
Soon enough, all fifteen of them had geared up in a hodgepodge of old school uniforms and second hand pads and shouldered their brooms for the trek to the field. The Tonks's had a gorgeous Quidditch pitch about a kilometer from the house. On the walk out there, Harry gave him a briefing on both the teams.
"Ron's got a well-set up team, all things considered, but we got pretty fucked for players. Want a rundown of the opposition?"
Charlie nodded.
"Right then. Alvaro is passable for a seeker, but you'll be up against a damn good set of chasers." Harry's mouth no longer fazed Charlie. He couldn't blame the kid for being a bit foul after all the hell life seemed determined to put him through.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Tonks, Mackay, and Gin. They're thick as thieves, those three. Its like they can read each other's bloody minds and Gin's flying is almost as good as her … uh, cooking." He corrected lamely. The kid still turned red when he mentioned Ginny around her brothers, most likely for reasons Charlie didn't want to think about. It had taken him a while to come to terms with his baby sister dating, but he liked Harry well enough that it didn't bother him as much anymore.
"Eh … what was I talking about? Oh, right, other team." Harry said a little too brightly.
"You'll have to watch out for their beaters too. Ron's got Kingsley and one of Tonks's friends, that Herman girl. Fuck, I can't remember her bloody name, but man, can she swing a bat. She's another one to keep tabs on." Charlie remembered the girl Harry was talking about. Her name was Moira and Bill had actually dated her for a year or two back at Hogwarts, though Charlie never knew what his brother saw in her. She was cold and arrogant and reminded him strongly of a dead fish with her large, unblinking eyes and dirty blond hair.
"Sounds like Ronnie's got himself a decent team. What about us?"
"Less than brilliant." Harry said sourly. "Vern, Dung, and a girl we know from school, Luna. Fred and George are damn good beaters, but my chasers could make fucking Merlin cry some days."
Charlie knew Harry was probably being a bit overdramatic, but let it go. "You've got Mundungus on your team?"
"Yeah, the only ones me and Ron can ever get to play are some people from school or just graduated and a couple of the old geezers. Eventually I found enough fit players to budge out most of the old folks, but I've had to hang on to Dung and Mr. Diggle for my team cause I've run out of options. You'll be replacing Mr. Diggle Charlie, thank God." Harry looked upwards in a gesture of relief.
Charlie stifled a laugh. Imagining Dedalus Diggle on a broomstick was hilarious, but Harry seemed a bit touchy about 'his team'.
"Yeah, Mad-Eye mentioned something about playing once."
Harry looked at him dryly, silently telling him that this was a bad topic. "Once is the key word there, Charlie. I've he ever comes near this pitch again, the entire team will transfigure themselves into squirrels and chase him off."
"Squirrels? Are you mad? You'd all be dead in heartbeats!"
"He'd have a heart attack first." Harry looked a bit guilty for a second. "I over heard him muttering in his sleep once when me and Ron and him had to … never mind. That's not important."
"Alright, I guess. But squirrels, Harry? Seriously?"
"Let's just say that Professor Moody … isn't fond of them."
Harry had an evil gleam in his eye and wore one of those devil-may-care smiles that Charlie was used to seeing on Stella.
"On second thought, I don't want to know."
"Nah, you probably don't Charlie."
The pitch was a thing of beauty. Sharp, sterile light flooded the slightly soggy hedges that marked out the increments and the six metal hoops gleamed invitingly under the stars. He hadn't played in nearly six years, not since school. It seemed like ages really.
Late in his seventh year he'd had a terrible accident and permanently damaged his right hand, right along with his dreams of playing professionally. He had had offers on the table from three different teams at the time, but all of them had been retracted when they found out. After a few months at St. Mungo's, Charlie had regained almost complete use of the injured limb and learned to do everything else with his left hand, but he had avoided Quidditch for years. It was only about a year ago that he had started playing again. Now every time that he picked up his broom it reminded him that life was full of second chances.
Damn, he was getting sentimental. He hated that.
Right now all he really wanted the chance to do was to can Ron's team. And can them they did. Harry managed to catch the snitch about twenty minutes in, and while their chasers hadn't scored a single point, Charlie had blocked most of the other team's goals as well.
Everyone was a bit sweaty and tired as they headed back to the house and all thoughts were fixed on Mrs. Tonks's pies and something to drink. No one expected to see Jaclyn Jetter run out of the house with a big black bird on her heels. After a second, the Herman girl recognized her pet Augurey and trundled over to take a bit of parchment from his talons.
Charlie didn't pay much attention except to absently note that it was odd for an Augurey to consent to being someone's pet. Normally they were very proud, elusive birds but this vulture-like creature looked a bit … well, dopey for lack of a better word. It cocked it's head at odd angles as though it couldn't see properly. He was lost in thought examining the creature when fish-eyed Moira approached him and handed him the parchment.
"It's from St. Mungo's, Mr. Weasley." She said in a light, melodic voice that didn't fit her face. He knew she was an important healer there, but what did it have to do with …
"Your brother, he is…"
"Oh shit! Bill!"
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Authoress's Notes: A banger is British slang for a particularly delicious (in my opinion) type of sausage. They are often served with mashed potatoes and the dish is referred to as 'bangers and mashed'. Very, very good. I recommend it to anyone. Skirts is Moody's old fashioned and slightly less than reverent term for girls.
I realize that this chapter was not as action packed as some others, but no worries. Next chapter will make up for all of that tenfold, I promise.
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Possum (11)- Yes, inner turmoil does wonders for bringing out character. The third basement? I spose it would be cruel not to tell you, but maybe I'm a cruel person… you never know
HarryPotterMagic (11)- No, despite all of Chuck's pigheadedness, Stella is not evil. He just needs to figure that out. YOU SANG IN A JAZZ CHOIR? Point for you! (Hugs you excitedly, depleting your oxygen supply) I was a member of our high school's ladies' jazz choir from its maiden year on. I adored it and fell in love with jazz shortly there after. My little bro was a sweetie and got me a copy of Ella Fitzgerald's greatest hits this year for Christmas.
Something is up with Stella, but obviously I can't tell you if you have guessed right or not just yet… where would the fun be in that? Same goes for the mystery of Stella's parentage. Thanks, I was a bit afraid to expand on one of my favorite characters, but I thought that it was silly to have everybody writing Charlie as some sort of a saint. I mean, he's sexy and wonderful and generally a great guy, but everybody has their faults, right?
Fenix (10)- Point for providing me inspiration on the squirrels and Chuck. You are such a useful person! (That sounds odd, I guess, but coming from me it's a compliment.) Your predictions about Stella should be answered in a few chapters, and I hope you like what I did with the squirrels!
Rosie(2)- New reviewer! Yay! I find your own work to be a joy to read, so the sentiment is doubly appreciated. Welcome to the party, dear. Thanks for thinking that they are in character. I hope that opinion continues as I continue to take liberties with Charlie's personality. Please do keep up reviewing, I love to get feedback. Glad to hear that you enjoy my sense of humor, odd and morbid though it sometimes is, and I will definitely give some thought to your comment on mum vrs. Mrs. W.