How High the Moon

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Chapter Twenty One: A World Gone Mad

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There's something about the sorrow showing on your face
Something so tender and contrite
I know you're tired of being in this place
Your every daydream turns to night
And you've worked and strived and struggled
Until your fingers they've turned blue
From diggin' deep into the heart
Of what you can and cannot do

There's something about the hesitation in your step
Something so beautiful and scared
And something hard about the truth that you accept
And still you find a savior there

Something about the way you cry yourself to sleep
Something so destitute and poor
Sweet is every tear that's runnin' down your cheek
How each one clears the way for more
So if it drives you to the savior
Then don't disconnect the pain
He's got one excuse to hold you and never let you go again

Everybody has tarried in a barren land
Even in a devils den
But if the cross that you carry should slip from your hands
Get on your knees and pick it up,
Pick it up,
Pick it up again

-'It Is Enough', The Waiting

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The doorknob was cool under his sweaty fingers.

Sweaty fingers? He noticed absently as the icy metal began to turn.

Nervous as he was, he still found that kind of funny. He couldn't remember ever having sweaty fingers before Stella came along, not with any girl. Crumbs, not even at his most important Quidditch matches! Charlie Weasley had gone toe to toe with professional players and come out on top, stared down rampaging Iron Bellies and quieted Ridgebacks with just a calm voice and a level head, even fought for his life against wanted dark wizards, but right now none of that seemed half as petrifying as opening a simple wooden door and talking to a witch who barely came up to his shoulders. No one else on earth made him feel this way. She was terrifying and wonderful all at once. Whatever happened tonight, he would always give her that.

The door cracked open, and a gust of bitter air assaulted his eyes. What was Stella doing out there? He whispered a quick "Ventulus." to buffer the wind and peered out onto the porch for any sign of her, standing there for a while with one eye glued to the crack and trying to gather the courage to go out.

He was failing spectacularly.

The sudden sound of the kitchen door swinging open sent Charlie scurrying into the night, freckles burning furiously. He slid the door as close to shut as he could manage without locking himself out and hoped in impossibly ferverent and equal proportions that neither the witch outside nor the chattering girls inside had noticed.

The back porch was draped in freezing shadows, and he had no idea how he was going to explain his appearance to Stella.

But no one was there.

Charlie rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Had he just hallucinated seeing her slip out this way? No, it couldn't be. He hadn't had that much to drink! But he was clearly the only one on this side of the window panes and lacy kitchen curtains, and the only other place for her to have gone was out into the drifting snow. That was highly unlikely. Every nook and cranny in the garden that was even somewhat sheltered from the icy wind would likely be occupied by happy couples like Jaci and Mr. Croaker.

Or worse yet, his parents.

Weddings, for some strange reason, seemed to send out a mass mating signal. It reminded Charlie of the Ridgeback rut when the first female went into heat, giving off pheromones and starting a chain reaction in the rest of the herd. The only difference with weddings was that none of the men in the dark corners of the garden were trying to gore each other to death for the prize of a more sizable harem. (Every year after weeks of sewing up injuries and obliviating droves of muggles, the WMBRF staff would collapse around the mess hall hearth to make predictably wild threats against the existence of every last male Ridgey on the reserve, agreeing that it was a good thing that Ironbellies, Longhorns, and Ukies all mate for life.)

Charlie envied those dragons sometimes. Life was so much simpler for them; just kill, avoid being killed, eat, breed, and fly. Primitive, but beautiful in its own way. Dragons didn't have to worry about annoying things like morality or girlfriends whose parents were the wrong sort of people or being careful with what you said and did. Dragons didn't live in horrible flat-caves and wake up every morning to a job they hated and would probably be stuck with for the next two hundred years. Dragons didn't struggle with loneliness and indecision about the background of their females. They just picked a mate and found a nice dark cave.

Even the mere thought of Stella stung. His eager mind was more than happy to transform a cave into a tartan couch (or better yet, a comfy bed), but Charlie could not appreciate the view. He missed her. He wanted her back in his life, and he was willing to try to gloss over the little matter of her parentage and whatever 'stupid things' she'd done. He was too lonely to care. Charlie would have liked to think that all his intentions were noble and pure, but he had to admit that he was simply acting out of desperation and seclusion.

Suddenly he heard his internal questions out loud when Stella's name was mentioned inside.

"Where's that Estrella girl anyway? I thought I saw her come in here earlier." A nasal girl droned conversationally.

"Who cares? I wouldn't want to spend any time talking with her. I say it's good riddance." Said a second, vaguely familiar voice. He thought he might have known the girl in school: a thin, stork-like brunette who'd taken a place on the Ravenclaw team in his sixth year. Sasha … Sora … something like that. He currently was beginning not to like her very much.

"I know! I can't believe that a nice girl like Tonks would want anything to do with a mad-hatter like her. Really! She's just some charity case leftover from the end of the last war. Why the hell would they want her at their real daughter's wedding?"

"Why would anyone want her anywhere? After all the damage she's done, you'd think she might have the decency to just go crawl under a rock and die. A very distant rock, mind you, far away from respectable civilization." Raucous laughter echoed out into the cold black night.

"Decency? Myra Estrella?" A third girl deadpanned. "That's a joke if I ever heard one, and I've heard a lot."

"You would, with Marcus in your bed." Snorted another. "He must have an excuse for every day of the week!"

"That's so not funny!"

"Then why am I laughing?"

Charlie stopped paying attention to the nattering twits when movement from the corner of the house caught his eye. Though it was hard to make out an exact shape in the swirling snow, the dark brown robes were unmistakably Stella's.

He thought about yelling, but after the way that she had been avoiding him lately he wasn't sure if she wouldn't just run faster. Bracing himself against the cold and wishing he had time to grab his cloak, Charlie hurried after her.

It wasn't long before Stella reached one of the old barns on the estate, lifted a heavy beam from the door, and slithered inside. What in the name of Pickerton's Puffskeins was she doing out here?

Determined to find out, Charlie was only meters from the door before he noticed a pair of shadows wandering along the sheltered side of the barn with a distinct sway in their step. It was all he could do to conceal himself behind some trees and not gape openly at the last two people on earth he could ever imagine in this sort of situation.

"Really Alastor, I must be getting back to the school! I think I've indulged in a wee bit too much of Andromeda's excellent Gillywater." Professor McGonagall giggled tipsily, one arm flung around her shorter companion.

Giggled!

Professor McGonagall!

Were all women mad?

"Much prefer the Harfang's, luv." Mad-Eye grunted gruffly. Charlie knew he was going to come out of this scarred for life. It was Mad-Eye for Circe's sake! And he'd actually used the word luv!

"Vodka? Alastor, put that flask down! You'll be in just as sorry a state as I am, and then we'll both be fit for naught."

"Don't know about that now. You remember the last time you had some of my Harfang's?" The suggestion in the loony man's voice was so blatant that Charlie thought he was going to sick right then and there. The only thing that held him back was the terrifying thought of what Mad-Eye would do to him if he was discovered.

"Alastor! That was nearly fifty years ago, and I was still playing for Montrose." McGonagall blushed. "I'm hardly as flexible as I used to be…"

Charlie averted his eyes and considered performing a through round of scourgify on his brain while he waited for them to leave. It took nearly ten unbearable minutes for Moody to growl some sort of odd suggestion about a galloping pony, signaling departure.

Charlie hoped the pony knew enough to steer well clear of them until they'd sobered up, but mostly he was just intent on Stella.

.ψ.

The inside of the abandoned sheep barn was nothing like Charlie had expected.

It was a small room -no larger than the kitchen at the burrow- and quite warm, smelling of animals and something that made his nose twitch. A cheery fire crackled in the grate, illuminating row upon row of haphazard wire cages. The moment that the door swung shut behind him, a hundred beady little pairs of eyes were intent on Charlie's every move.

Stella was no where to be found here either. It was just his luck. Trying to ignore the creepy feeling of being watched by that many rats, (he had a slight distrust for rats after discovering that he'd spent several summers sleeping in the same house as 'Scabbers') Charlie considered the two doors on the far wall. Should he continue further into this strange place? What was he planning to say to her anyway? Maybe if he just pretended that nothing had been said, they could go back to the way they had been.

Charlie's courage was rapidly scurrying away, and he began to wonder about taking his chances outside. If it weren't for the downright sickening possibility of seeing Mad-Eye and Professor McGonagall again, he probably would have scurried away too.

The choice between fight or flight was taken out of his hands when Stella backed into the room. Arms overflowing with a strange assortment of odds and ends (muggle 'noatbuks' and 'Biros' the chief staple of the mess) she was too busy to notice Charlie. He took full advantage of the moment. Even in an old robe, bulky dragon-hide gloves, and an odd pair of goggles, she still made his heart race like a Granian. He couldn't help but watch her.

Everything in her seemed to bring a smile to his lips. It was the funny way she screwed up her nose while trying not to drop the rusty lunascope she'd balanced badly on the top of the pile. It was the way she carried herself, strong and self assured.

It was there in the steady endurance of her shoulders and the knowledge that she, unlike many women he'd met, was not afraid of a little hard work or of a bloke who played with deadly creatures for a living. It lingered in the no-nonsense wrinkles on her forehead, marks earned under the stiff tutelage of places like Wallachia and others just as remote and wild. It was knowing that she was not the sort of witch who wanted to sit at home and knit for the rest of her life.

It was hidden in the soft curve of her hips. It left its tracks in the angle of her neck.

It was everything and nothing at all.

He couldn't pin down why she moved him exactly, only that she did, and that it was beautiful.

Charlie was so caught up in his thoughts that it took a loud series of bangs and a surprised cry of "Virgen Santa!" for him to realize that Stella had cottoned on to his presence.

"Charlie! What do you think you're doing in here?"

"I … err, well … you see …"

She sighed, quickly returning to her usual matter-of-fact, imperturbable self and picking up heavy burlap feed sack. "Did you follow me?"

"Well, I …"

Her sigh was deeper this time, and she began to ration out grain to the rats. "Forget it, Charlie. I have been avoiding you, so I suppose I cannot blame you for being curious."

He froze, trying desperately to think of anyway around discussing just why they had been doing that avoidance dance. He had been so determined earlier in the night, but now it was the last thing he wanted to talk about. He would rather just smooth things over and pretend it hadn't happened. In his heart, Charlie found that he would rather not know about the mistakes she had made. It would be so much easier that way.

"So … I thought you didn't like animals."

"These aren't exactly pets Charlie, but they are doing us a great service and the least we can do for them is give them a comfortable stay. As for not liking animals, I do keep you around, no?"

"Hey!" At least she seemed to be a good mood. "So, what sort of service are they doing anyway?"

"Test subjects." Stella replied with a round grin, extracting another scoop of grain from the bag and gesturing grandly with it. "Welcome to my private laboratory. Auntie A. was kind enough to let me keep on here even after I moved out, dear that she is, so that I have a place to bring my work home with me while I fix up the tenement house."

Trying to avoid her direct reference to her family, he plucked at one of the tiny tags that fluttered from the cage bars.

Test Subject: Agrippa

Control Group #: 143

Condition: Fair

Notes: Survived second full moon, no other progress observed. Current regimen of batch no. 7649b at newly calculated intervals appears to have no further effect. Must re-examine lunar projections and consult Warlock Samahla with regards to the soil samples. New considerations include nitrate levels and the amount of…

"Agrippa?"

"Something wrong with its name?" She bristled abruptly.

"Just an odd name for a rat, don't you think?"

"I suppose." The poison was gone from her voice, swinging from mood to mood and back again. It was odd for her to be so prickly. He missed the old Stella, the laid back, good-natured girl who took life in stride but didn't let it shake her.

"Any reason?" He tried nervously to keep the conversation going. Rocky as it was, it was a better topic than some others he could think of.

"Si. We chose names for this last batch off of some chocolate frog cards." When he raised an eyebrow, she conceded a small grin and gestured to the other room. "Neville collects them."

"Neville Longbottom?"

He was incredulous and jealous at once. Stella had been going to Neville Longbottom for comfort while she evaded Charlie Weasley? Had he meant so little to her that she would just take up with the next bloke who came along? Not to mention it was disgusting! She had eight years on the little scrap of jailbait! He was Ronnie's age! And she turned to him the instant that Charlie was out of the picture?

Had the whole world just gone mad?

"Yes, Neville Longbottom." She mocked him with another tiny smile. "He's my lab assistant."

"Your lab assistant?"

"Yes, my lab assistant. Is there an echo in here tonight?"

Charlie was still suspicious, and said nothing.

"Honestly gatito, I wonder sometimes if those dragons have not broiled your brains." Her smile grew just a little, and Charlie felt a weight fall off his shoulders. She hadn't been seeing another wizard after all! "I can introduce you to him properly one of these nights if you like."

Charlie grunted. It was all well and good that she wasn't seeing someone else, but making nice with a bloke who occupied just as much of her time as he did still was not high on Charlie's to do list.

"You two would probably get off smashingly, being Gryffindors and all." Stella, oblivious as usual, went on. "He even named one of these poor things Godric. Can you believe that?" She made a face.

Charlie, in turn, made the appropriate disbelieving noises, all the while considering the best way to kill and hide the body of one large, broad-shouldered schoolboy.

"Course, I had to show a bit of house pride myself after that. I'm happy to report that Salazar is still leaps and bounds ahead of any other subject from the chocolate frog cases." Stella preened.

Ignore it Charlie, just ignore it. Pretend that it doesn't matter. She seemed to be trying to do the same, pretending that if they didn't talk about things it would somehow go away.

Charlie hated this, this feeling of uneasiness. He'd never had to be careful around her the same way he did with other people. There had never been this awkwardness between them before. It was just unnatural. It was wrong.

He fingered other fluttering tags, trying to steer the conversation towards some sort of neutral territory in their uncertain ceasefire.

"Herpo, Ethelred, Archibald, Honoria, Cliodne … are these all off of cards?"

"Yes, but I've named them after lots of things in the past: ancient seers, politicians, muggle cartoon characters, even Quidditch players at one point."

"Quidditch players?" Charlie perked up.

Stella only smiled, picking out a pair of particularly bedraggled rodents. "Thought you might like that. There are only two left from that batch though. Meet Gwendolyn and Gwenog."

"You a Harpies' girl?" She'd never shown much interest in The Sport before now. A bright bubble of hope sparkled in Charlie's heart!

"Don't really have a team, but I do root for them when Moi forces me to listen in."

The bubble popped.

"Why not the illustrious Cannons?"

"What, besides the fact that they couldn't win if a plague wiped out the other team?"

"I resent that."

"I'm sure you do." She paused for a moment to think. "I guess I like them cause of Aunt Valmai. She used to give father tickets every now and then."

"Valmai Morgan? You know her?" Valmai Morgan was one of the greatest players to ever set foot on a Quidditch pitch! Athletes like Gwenog Jones had been weaned on stories of her epic seeking maneuvers, yet Stella just shrugged as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Sure. Crazy as a bedbug, but that might just be part of the bloodline." Her grin was returning, but he knew -despite his starry-eyed awe about her Aunt- the instant she'd said the word 'father' that they were going to end up discussing the very thing he wanted most to forget.

Bugger.

Bugger, bugger, bugger!

Why couldn't she just have been born into a nice family with a nice tradition of getting into nice houses and having nice pass times? (Namely the sort that didn't involve illegal magic and murderous dark lords) Would that be so much to ask for?

"Related to your dad?" Charlie nervously tried to avoid the inevitable. "Really? And here I always had him pegged for Tutshill."

She finished with the rats and placed the bag and scoop in a chest, closing the lid with a sharp click. It took her a moment to open her mouth.

"They took me in, Auntie A. and Ted." She spoke cautiously, almost like she was amazed to hear the sentences out loud.

He didn't say anything, just pulling out two dusty crates for them to sit on and thinking to himself quietly. Be careful, Charlie. Of all the times not to foul up, this is one of them.

"My Abuela died when I was nine. I couldn't stay in at the hacienda by myself, so they took me."

He couldn't come up with anything but "I'm sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry for? You didn't kill her, did you?" She brushed off his concern, warm and sad all at once as she began to peel off her dragon hide gloves. "She was as mad as they come, Abuela. Completely off her head, but I still loved her. Nine years old is not the ideal time to loose someone like that."

He was silent, still unsure of the careful thing to do in this situation.

"International Cooperation arrived for me the day after the funeral, and all of our things were packed and flooed to Britain." The tiniest smile hung in her cheeks. "I was so afraid that Quex would get lost and end up in someone else's fireplace that I sat up half the night petting him."

"You shouldn't have worried. Even if he'd gotten lost, no one else would have wanted him."

Her smile broadened tentatively and she gave a trembling chuckle. "What on earth has my poor little Buto ever done to deserve that kind of insult from you, gatito?"

They shared a brief glance of knowing humor and he got a glimpse of the old Stella. Easy-going, practical, tactless Stella. My Stella. She was still there inside the same as always and maybe, just maybe, what he had learned didn't have to change how he felt about her.

But that was a big maybe.

"None of the family really ever warmed up to him either. Of course, it was a mutual dislike." She said fondly, not hearing his thoughts. "I'll never understand why they didn't send the both of us away after the first week."

"Send you away?"

"I was an absolute terror, Charlie. You have no idea." She fingered her gloves, skittishly playing with them in her lap.

"You can't have been that bad." He wanted to believe what he said.

"'Buela raised me with some very … old fashioned ideas. Muggles and blood and … I … I …I didn't feel the same sort of … affection for Ted and Nyms that I do today." She stumbled over the words.

"Because they're not pure blood? Cumon now, I'm sure you're transfiguring trees from tea leaves."

Charlie was no stranger to the unspoken tension of purity. He was lucky, being born a pure-blood, and he knew it. Even if his parents weren't wealthy, even if Mr. Weasley was thought eccentric at best and Mrs. Weasley nothing more than a frumpy housewife who shared her husband's sometimes unpopular beliefs, their family name still commanded a certain (sometimes grudging) degree of respect. He'd grown up thinking it was afforded to every witch and wizard, but with mates at school like Donag and Larry he'd learned better. Charlie cringed at the idea that Stella had ever entertained that kind of prejudice, whether she could have helped it or not.

"Just trust me, I was a terrible kid. You would have hated me if you had met me back then."

Her words were softer as she spoke the last, like she was wondering if he hated her anyway. He wanted to tell her that he didn't, if only for the purely selfish fact that he wanted to end his loneliness and fill his nights with tartan couches again.

He couldn't.

Charlie realized that he had to know, once and for all. What had she done that she was so ashamed of? If he never asked her –and he would never have a chance like this one again, likely- then he would have to go through the rest of his life knowing that he had based their relationship off of secrets and unspoken lies so that he could be self-centered. He had to find out, once and for all, if he measured up to the kind of moral standards he had believed in all his life. Could he accept her as she was, or was he too weak to try?

Uncomfortable silence pervaded the room, broken only by the cracking fire and the occasional snores of an obese rat in the far corner. Once again Charlie's heart was prickled by the terrible fact that he had never felt so uneasy around Stella before. Not once. It was wrong and perverse, like it just went against the design of the universe for the two of them not to be secure together. He couldn't take any more.

Not knowing what else to do, Charlie blurted out the first thing he could think of.

"I don't care about your parents, you know."

It wasn't a lie. He was still appalled by the whole thing, but he didn't really care if she was spawned by goat-sucking stinksaps right now, just as long as he could have her back.

"Oh." She looked startled, like a rabbit surprised by a fox, as she obviously scrambled to think. "Al … alright then."

Great Charlie. Real articulate. What did you think she was going to say to that anyhow?

"I wanted you to know that it doesn't bother me much and, well … you're more important than where you come from." He wanted to convince himself of what he was saying. "It's just that I … Stella, I have to know something." He could feel his ribcage constricting like a body-bind.

She mumbled something under her breath, refusing to look at him.

"What was that?"

"I said 'don't call me that', you ass." She grumbled.

He ignored her, knowing that they were both just trying to delay the inevitable. There was no moving forward unless he said it. There was no going back from this point, since they both silently knew what was coming. And there was certainly no standing still. Charlie was helpless. He had to ask the question he dreaded the most.

"What have you done, Stella? What is it that you never want to talk about?"

There was a deep woosh of air from her direction. She grimaced then, almost a smile, and looked resigned.

"Knew you'd do it eventually."

No need to mention what 'it' was.

"First week." Her eyes were faraway, somewhere just past his right ear as she squinted and searched for the right words. "I met them in my first week at Hogwarts."

"Who?"

"The girls." Came the simple reply. "At first we were just a random hodge-podge of students assigned to a study group, being from different houses and all. No one ever would have dreamed that we would manage not to kill each other by the end of the year." She chuckled. "I think some of the boys in the common room even put bets on who would draw first blood."

Charlie held back a strong urge to point out how Slytherin that was, wanting this over with as soon as possible.

"I don't know how it happened really, but we won out against the odds." She was thoughtful. "It must have been the music. Somebody mentioned music one day in the library over our review of middle-eastern fungi for Professor Sprout, and it was … it was like an explosion. We couldn't get enough of each other after that. Course, Madam Pince couldn't evict us fast enough. Used to say we were the most disgraceful students ever to enter her precious library. Shame, that. She never would let me or Jaci into the really lovely sections, even when we were on our best behavior. I still wish I could have read Cufton's A History of Medieval Sorcery."

If he hadn't known better, Charlie would have thought Stella was pouting. It was impossible, of course. Firstly, Stella didn't pout. Secondly, no one in their right mind would actually find the library 'lovely'.

"The looks on some peoples' faces when we began to associate outside of class were priceless. I guess it really must have been a sight. Just think: a Slytherin, a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw, and a Gryffindor all on speaking terms with each other!" There was something wrong with that statement, but Charlie couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Professor Dumbledore used to smile when he saw us in the halls together, the batty old codger, but I suppose he had a right to find it amusing. Caray! I still find it amusing!"

Charlie did sort of remember rumors like that circulating around his first year, but at the time he hadn't paid any attention to them. He'd been having enough trouble with his classes, lack of friends, and avoiding getting the crap beaten out of him by the Slytherins to care. Not to mention that girls still fit into one of three categories back then: icky, boring, or on the Quidditch team.

"Of course, there was another side to it." She fiddled with the edge of her robe softly, a dusty hem embroidered with little green snakes. "That didn't come till a bit later, but it changed us all."

She floundered to a halt, and it was all he could do not to prod her on. Patient, man. Be careful with her. You can't hatch an egg in a day.

"We … I … oh, there's no nice way to say it gatito." He focused on the unconscious movement of her hands to keep his mind occupied. "We … well, we err … we practiced the dark arts."

He sat dead still, his mind a complete blank.

"We weren't … we didn't follow the d- … you-know-who … Oh, we weren't death eaters, Charlie! Don't look at me like that!"

Somewhere in the far corners of his head, Charlie had kind of expected it. Never wanted to believe that it was possible, of course, but he knew all the same that any number of the witches and wizards he saw year after year at his dad's parties for the Ministry or passing in Diagon Alley could be practicing the wrong side of magic in their basement or broom shed. Sure, it wasn't everyone, but she was right. There were bad people in the world. You didn't have to follow you-know-who to be one of them.

Charlie had shoved the thought as far away as he could until now, not wanting to acknowledge it had ever occurred to him, but once she said the words there was no denying it. All he could do was hang slack-jawed.

"Kinda funny, really, how no one ever suspected it." She rambled nervously. Her hands were so absent-mindedly impatient with her gloves that they looked like two plump, golden-brown little birds fluttering on her robe.

"All of you?" He could picture fish-face as a dark witch, but the others? "Why?"

She nodded, almost like she had heard his thoughts. "Yes, all of us but Nyms, though we never really opened up to her until after school. I suppose it's hard to imagine any of us, no?"

He kept his thoughts about fish-face to himself.

"We all had our reasons though. For Jaci, it was her family. For Stasia … well, Stasia is a very long story. And Moi just wanted to be a better doctor."

None of those explanations made any sense to Charlie, but he kept his mouth shut and waited for hers.

"For me … it just seemed like a natural thing to do at the time. You have to understand Charlie; I was raised to think it was just another area of study, like herbology or charms." Her eyes pleaded with him, but he could hardly look at her. It was a lot to swallow all at once. She plunged ahead, trying to explain. "Buela wanted me to have an education befitting a girl of my social stature of course, so I had a theory tutor for the unspoken arts who came on the same schedule as my etiquette mistress and the warlock who gave my ballroom dancing lessons."

He would have smiled at the picture of Stella attempting dancing lessons if he hadn't been so shell-shocked.

"It was only when I came to stay with Auntie A. and Ted that I realized some people didn't take it as an everyday part of life. Eventually I understood, but … Oh, I was so young back then gatito! It had only been a few years since Buela left me, and I was so confused by this new way of living that I was thrown into. I went off to school not knowing up from down, and avoiding Nyms like the plague."

"She confused me so much. Her and Ted. Ted … well, Ted was always just Ted. He drove me insane, trying to figure out what he was after, being so nice and never bulking when I was an evil little git. At least Nyms was easier to understand. Most of the time she just hated me, and the feeling was pretty mutual. I either spent my time jinxing her or trying to pretend she didn't exist. But then there were days when she would surprise me … little things, like the time she told off this seventh year Gryffindor who was trying to pick a fight with me. Idiot kid." She shook her head and smiled. "That troll had nearly a foot and a half on her, but she didn't waver for a second."

He stared at her hands as she picked at a loose thread.

"It was our second summer when we started the band. We only let Nyms join because we needed a drummer. She was never a part of our group until after graduation, really, and then only by an act of God. That was the day I figured out why she was in Gryffindor."

His interest was peaked. He and Tonks had been becoming good friends while working in the vaults, but she'd never mentioned this.

"Wha'd she…"

"Sorry, gatito." Stella grinned a little. "That's her secret. The point is, it took me years to settle in with my new family, and even longer to live their kind of life. I was nearly twenty one before I stopped.

It was hard, stopping. We were accepted into the secret communities. I felt so right, so welcomed there that even when I slowly began to feel uncomfortable about what I was doing I continued on. Part of me still wanted so badly to honor Buela's dreams for me. Part of me wanted nothing more than to make my mother proud. But part of me was falling in love with Auntie A. and Ted and Nyms.

Half my heart was stuck in both worlds."

The movement of her fingers was slower now, the way they stroked those little embroidered snakes both beautiful and sad at the same time.

"I have never really belonged in any world."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that she belonged in his world. His throat had stopped working properly.

"I suppose you heard those twits in the kitchen tonight." She suddenly changed topics.

He puttered a confused "Yes."

"They were right about some things. We … I … I've done a lot of damage."

Charlie's eyes were firmly attached to her fingers now; watching them was the only thing that kept him from bolting from the room. He couldn't take the tension.

"What?" His voice was hollow.

After a long, disturbing silence, he heard her whisper. "There was a man. We … I … she …"

"Stella." It took all his strength to let go of this chance, but the silent anguish on her face was like a bludger in the gut. "You don't have to."

"No." She shook her head and shook away her stammers, eyes narrow and determined in her dark face.

He felt like the rats were glaring at him for asking this of her.

"But…"

"No." Stella was firm, her chin set and her muscles skating just under the skin of her neck. For a split second he wished he could pull her close to him and never let her go. "Charlie, I have to. I have to tell you before I loose the bottle to do it."

He followed the veins on the back of her hands with his eyes as she fidgeted with her tatty gloves, still uncertain whether or not he could hear what she was going to tell him but needing to know all the same.

"There was a man," she began again, "who hurt one of us. He did some … some terrible … he … we may have practiced the dark arts, Charlie, but no matter how white his magic was, that man had a heart blacker than sin itself."

Something ferocious snarled behind those dark, dark eyes, like a big cat stalking prey at midnight.

"I took the blame, and that is when the rumors started. Some of them are true. Some are not. The others did everything they could to stop me, but in the end it was for the best that I did. I was let off easier than they would have been because my parents' names still commanded a great deal of respect in certain circles." Her fingers were tense, ready to pounce as she snorted. "Well, that and I made a few … bargains. My … talents … in certain arenas were … well known to some. I did some … favors."

Charlie decided that he honestly didn't want to know. Maybe someday -if there ever was a someday- but by Merlin's beard, he couldn't take much more. There was only one other question that still burned in his mind.

"What happened to the man?"

"We … one of us, she … she made him stop." It took a minute for her words to sink in. Charlie stared at her like she was a new species of dragon, one that might decide to kiss him or kill him all on a whim.

Despite the cheery fire, the world was very, very cold.

"The world must be so nice, in Gryffindor black and white." A smile returned, but only on her lips. The eyes were dark and cold. "You might find this hard to believe, but there are times when I wish I could afford to see things like you do: right or wrong, good or bad. So much simpler. So much easier. No need to be cunning or a good bargainer. Just black and white, like two sides of the moon."

There was nothing to say to that. He had no idea what she was talking about.

"There is a reason I do not talk about my past, gatito." She murmured quietly. "I'm not proud of who I used to be. I'm not proud of what I've done. But I did what needed doing, and I would do it again if I had to."

She would what

"I want you to know that there may very well come a day when I have no other option but to use my old knowledge. If I'm after something, I won't leave a stone unturned until I find it, even if that stone isn't something people with good morals would go poking around at. I don't exactly like it; I do accept that it is a part of me."

Stella could have been speaking Mermish for all Charlie knew.

"I know that doesn't make sense for you, but please … if you remember one thing … never believe that I am proud of what happened."

Thought was thick and murky. It was like the time his fourth year when Liam and Alvaro, a couple of Slytherins, had cornered him after transfiguration, hung him upside down in a broom cupboard, and charmed his ears full of Drooble's Best. How was he supposed to feel now that he knew? Was this witch in front of him still Stella or someone else entirely?

The words 'be careful' echoed around and around in his head.

"People do not understand. They start rumors and tell lies and mistrust me because of things I cannot change now and things that I never had any say in. I made some mistakes, Charlie; I will not deny that. But I have changed in many ways too, and no one seems to see or care. No one is willing to admit that it is not all my fault." Her voice was resigned half chuckle, half sigh. "You do not understand either, do you gatito?"

"I…"

Stella's fingers were genuine and gentle when she patted him on the shoulder, her voice a disturbing cocktail of pain and patient acceptance.

"It is alright. I could not ask you to."

She smiled lopsidedly and made to stand up, trying to hide the fact that her heart was probably breaking and doing a dead awful job of it.

"Wait."

He shouldn't have said it.

He shouldn't have even considered discussing this at all. No one knew, and it should have stayed that way. He shouldn't have said it.

But he had.

He didn't know what he felt for her now, but he would be buggered if he didn't get a chance to find out.

"Don't go."

She froze, apparently not expecting him to do anything but sit there and watch her walk out of his life.

Bugger that for a game of soldiers.

"Please, gatito." Her voice quavered ever so softly at the endearment. "Please. Don't make this more difficult." She almost managed to hold a professional manner in her stance, but he knew her better. Mad, really, that of all the witches on earth she was the only one he could ever really say he understood from time to time.

"You're the one who's making things difficult!" A flicker of anger licked his ribcage. She was not going anywhere, not now. Not before he figured out what this meant for them.

Her jaw tightened the way Ginny's did whenever she was determined to get what she was after. Charlie pushed away the sudden images of Ginny when the witch in front of him took another step towards the door.

Charlie wasn't about to take this insanity sitting down, literally or figuratively. He sprang up and blocked her way.

"How am I supposed to understand if you won't give me a chance?" He thundered tightly, trying hard to keep from grabbing her by the shoulders. "How can you just assume that I can't do it? You don't know everything, you know!"

It was the first time he had ever seen calm, steady, take-life-as-it-comes Stella get truly angry.

"Goddamit, Charlie!" She swore just as loudly as he had, rage exploding like one of Fred and George's Whiz-Bangs. "This isn't going to work! It can't! I was a sodding idiot to ever dream it could! I'm a liar, a thief, an extortionist, a murderer, a hitwitch, and a few hundred other things that I can think of off the top of my head. And you! You've probably never even paid a late fee for your broom registration!" She threw her gloves down and stalked towards the other door.

"YOU'RE WRONG!"

Everything that had been boiling up inside came howling out, words tumbling over one another in their desire to break free.

"I'm not bloody perfect, Stella! I'm no angel! I've made mistakes!" He roared. "There's a lot you don't know about me either!"

The instant that the words ceased to flow, regret filled him. He suddenly felt weak and deflated and tired. What was the use of trying?

"I've made mistakes." He whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

He looked up from the floor to see Stella's face dark and calculating, her eyes narrow. Her voice was still full of a poison and sarcasm that sounded so unnatural there. "Mistakes?"

"Yeah."

As he spoke, memories flashed through his head. Memories of his mistakes, of The Mistake. Memories of falling and pain and stupidity.

"Feel like sharing with the rest of the class?" Her pitch went up, and her lips were pinched.

He didn't. Especially if it turned out that he didn't feel the same about her anymore.

"I've screwed up once of twice, alright?" Charlie was defensive.

"I see. It's all give and take then, huh?" Stella began to yell.

"That's not it!"

"Then what is it, Charlie?"

"I can't … I've never …"

She said nothing, her face growing softer.

"I … I …" He could hardly breathe. How could he say it out loud? He had kept this inside for so long that The Mistake was a part of him now. Telling someone what he had done would be no better than ripping out his own heart. He would be like that fat, rubbery man in the morgue, emptied of his most vital pieces and left with a gaping, vulnerable hole.

There was a gentle touch on his cheek, and he looked up to see a pair of earnest coco eyes inches from his own. Tears glimmered down her cheeks like the streams that laced through the Romanian mountains each spring.

She was crying.

She had not cried when she laid out her own story. Not for her grandmother, not for her friends, not for her own shame. She hadn't even shed a tear when she was walking out the door.

But she cried for him.

Charlie's heart constricted.

"I can't." He choked.

It was the careful echo of his own words on her comfortable lips that broke him.

"You don't have to."

He was humiliated, knowing that he didn't have half the strength she'd had. How could he fail so miserably? How was it that he, Charlie Weasley, a brave man, a strong man, a Gryffindor man, could not do what a Slytherin could? The world really must have gone mad while he wasn't looking.

"How? How can you…"

"You waited for my answers, gatito. Longer than I ever hoped you would." She said with a simple smile. "I can wait too."

"Stella…"

"Shh." She laid a finger on his lips. "Let it go. It will be there again some other day."

"But I want to … I just …" Merlin, why couldn't he? She deserved at least this much from him!

"I've told you twice now, you ass, I'm willing to wait on it. Besides, there are better ways I can think of to spend the night."

She couldn't mean what he thought she meant! But there was that familiar little telling grin twitching at the corners of her eyes…

"You mean…"

"Mmmhmm." She stepped closer and he could smell something nice from her shampoo. "It's been a while since you've been at my place, gatito. I've missed you…"

This night was just plain mad! First she admits her darkest secrets, then she let's mine slide, and now she wants to snog! Merlin!

Odd as the timing was, Charlie couldn't help himself.

She looked so good, and it had been such a long time since he'd had her in his arms… Somehow he soon found himself in a jumble on the floor, leaning up against the wall with a lap full of Stella. Small, cold fingers ran through his hair, up and down the back of his neck.

Oh, that felt good.

Her tattered lab robe mysteriously vanished, and his hands began to fumble around under her faded Weird Sisters T-shirt.

Why on earth were bras so hard to get off, anyway?

After several minutes of frustrated concentration –do you have any idea how hard it is to concentrate with a lap full of Stella?- he succeeded in his mission. Stella obviously approved, and began to make those little happy noises in the back of her throat that drove him nuts.

It was so good to have her there again, kissing him like nothing had ever happened. Or maybe more enthusiastically, come to think of it. Of course, Charlie wasn't really able to do much analytical thinking. All he really had the capacity to think about right then and there was how soft she was and the fact that she was trying to get his shirt off.

When they broke their kiss for a second to pull it over his head, Charlie caught a glimpse of the room and suddenly went still.

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Authoress's Notes: Sorry about the long wait, darlings. This chapter has just driven me up the wall! It has to have been one of the most challenging ones to write, what with interspersed humor, Stella's revelations, Charlie's (ever-present) issues, and one of my first real err… snogging … scenes. (I don't usually write those sorts of scenarios, so that was quite difficult to get right, short as it was. Not that there's anything wrong with that particular style; I'm just not very good at it.) There's blood, sweat and tears between the lines of this one, so I can't wait to hear what y'all thought of it!

A Biro is apparently a British-ism for a ball-point pen. If you haven't figured it out by context clues, Abuela is Spanish for Grandmother. 'Buela is what Myra called the grandmother who raised her. "Caray!"- A rough equivalent for this might be along the lines of "Blimey!"

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Possum- Will there now? How can you be so sure?

Random- Thanks for loving the chapter. No promises on Gin, but I'll do my best. I can't help it if inspiration strikes me though!

Karniverous pineapple- Hey, welcome to the reviewing family! Thanks for taking the time to comment. (Hugs you) I thoroughly enjoyed your screen name, by the way. So, that's another nay vote for offing Gin? Like I told Random, I'll do my best … but no promises that ANY character will live to see this thing through! They are fighting a war after all (and here's a little preview for next chapter: Someone's probably gonna kick it. It may or may not be Ginny, but someone is most likely going to die…) Anybody have guesses on who? Yes, Charlie has his issues, but he wouldn't be Charlie if he didn't. Hopefully he'll learn as he goes.

HarryPotterMagic- Yeah, Moi (or Mo, as she would rather have me refer to her) is quite a character. She is definitely fun to write, especially with her cutting, sarcastic sense of humor. Her errm… 'friend' … is probably one of the last people you'd ever expect. Make some guesses, I dare you! Yeah, Krum and Charlie have had a back story for a long time, I just didn't know where to add in a small touch of it until now. Ah, 'The Mistake'! You were the only one to notice, kudos! Yes, it has VERY vaguely been referred to in the past, but in such small detail that I wouldn't expect anyone to have caught it. As you can see from the references to it in this chapter, sometimes tiny hints become much more important later on. Have fun guessing on this one.

I completely understand the whole late night inspiration thing. Most nights I'm up till two because I can't sleep until an idea stops pestering me (that and I'm a second shift worker this summer, haha.) We would all love to be paid, wouldn't we?

Darcy- Charlie has a hard time with Ron hitting him because A) he has never really been hit before (except by some Slytherins, but he doesn't really categorize them with the rest of society, as he is –by nature- the sometimes prejudiced bampot that we all love to be frustrated with) and B) Ron is his little brother. Older siblings (for the most part) tend to think that younger siblings could never one up them (untrue in my case, since my little bro has long since outgrown me. Ah, the good old days when I could still take him down… Now he's a football player with shoulders wider than my hips!) And you did guess correctly, Darcy. There is more to that statement about choosing their own fate than meets the eye.