How High the Moon

.ψ.

Chapter Twenty Four: A Question of Debts

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None of us knows and that makes it a mystery
If life is a comedy, then why all the tragedy
Three-and-a-half pounds of brain try to figure out
What this world is all about
And is there an eternity, is there an eternity?

Lying on pillows we're haunted and half-awake
Does anyone hear us pray, "If I die before I wake"
Then the morning comes and the mirror's the other place
Where we wrestle face to face

With the image of Deity, the image of Deity

God if you're there I wish you'd show me
And God if You care then I need You to know me
I hope You don't mind me asking the questions
But I figure you're big enough
I figure you're big enough

-'Big Enough', Chris Rice

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Fourteen.

Fourteen bodies.

Fourteen graves.

That meant going to fourteen funerals.

The aftermath of Downy Hills took everyone a little differently. Some people cried. Some people tried to pretend they weren't affected. Most just sort of kept to themselves for a while. After all, they couldn't show too much in their public lives. They couldn't let people learn about the fight anymore than they could reveal that they were members of the Order. He'd even heard some pretty fantastic rumors about some members boozing away their nightmares in torrid relationships. That was just gossip of course, but it was still hitting everyone hard.

The funerals forced emotions out into the open. It was the first time since that blood-soaked night that they had all been together again. For Charlie, who had been unconscious in Mungo's until the day before, the services were just a blur of shock, hollowness, and a few clinging attempts at comfort. Only one really shook him at all.

Maybe he remembered it because it was the first service for any of the fallen, or maybe it was because of Stella. Maybe he just remembered that day because the woman in the ground had saved them both.

He tried to tell himself it was just Stella.

When she drifted through the shivering crowd and into his shadow, he'd gotten nervous. She looked like a lost puppy, clammy and underfed. Charlie noticed her eyes darting back and forth like caged rats at every lull in the services. He hadn't really known what to expect after her encounter with the dementor, but he definitely hadn't been expecting that. Fish-face had barely let her out of bed to come, and for once he almost agreed. His girlfriend looked like death warmed over.

It was a somber affair and well below freezing. The only thing to be thankful for was that it had finally stopped snowing. Lack of snow didn't do much about the wind of course, but Charlie hardly felt a thing. It was nothing compared to Wallachia. Seeing everyone bundled up like it was the ice age had been rather amusing. Well, it would have been amusing at any other time.

The funeral itself was a little odd too. There were lots of flowers involved, for one thing. And before they buried the body they displayed it in someone's living room while strangers milled around quietly and ate from cheese and cracker plates. He had no idea why. At the graveyard, a thin young man spoke an unfamiliar rite over the body and kept tugging at his funny white collar. Charlie wondered if the twins had enchanted it to choke him.

It finally began to dawn on him just what he and Stella had gotten into as he gazed at the coffin. Hard as he tried to avoid it, Charlie couldn't block out what had happened in her little lab that night. What he had done.

Yes, he'd fought before. He had probably killed a few people that night at the club. But it had never been as blatantly unavoidable as seeing the dark haired boy fall down and die right there in front of him. Watching in a way that seemed sluggish and disconnected as the lights simply vanished from his brown laughing eyes.

He'd been a kid. Just a kid. Hardly as old as Ronnie. Maybe Ginny's age.

And Charlie had killed him.

What would it feel like if someone killed Ginny like that? Had they already succeeded? He tried not to think about his baby sister lying down there in that scary basement, struggling to keep breathing, but it wasn't easy to think about anything else as he watched them lower the casket into the frozen ground.

Stella drew in a ragged breath when they tossed the first shovel of dirt into the grave, but other than that she hardly seemed alive. Her dark eyes were lost somewhere over the trees, blank and unfocused. Charlie tugged her into his arms and she didn't even say a word. He worried, but didn't take his arms away. She might not care one way or the other, but he couldn't say there wasn't some measure of comfort in keeping her round little body next to him. He needed all the comfort he could get.

The hardest thing of all, worse than memories of Ginny or the brown-eyed boy, worse than the knowledge that he was a murderer, even worse than seeing Stella so far gone … worst of all was Donaghan.

Donaghan had left Charlie's life almost seven years before with every reason in the world to hate him. But he hadn't. Don just wasn't that sort of bloke. He wasn't a man who hated people. He was a man who forgave, even if he couldn't forget. He was a man who was happy as a pig in mud with a joke or a song. He was a man you could be proud to call your mate.

Seven years could change a lot.

Another man stood in his old friend's shoes now, looking naked without his eyeliner or grungy band attire. He was broken and hollow, as if all the music in the world had died along with the woman in the ground. Charlie watched him helplessly through the service, wanting to be there for his old mate but knowing it would never be his place. He was glad to see the other blokes from the band gathered there next to Don. At least the man had someone to lean on, even if it wasn't him. Besides, Charlie had his own mourner to console.

It wasn't until everyone began to leave that Stella finally snapped out of her trance. As soon as she noticed Charlie's arms around her, she pulled back and shrugged.

Oh well. It was worth a shot.

Thankfully, she didn't seem put off by it. It was back to the uncomfortable silence as soon as they left the graveyard. Walking quietly through the fresh snow, Charlie was at a complete loss. He had no experience with this comforting stuff! She'd said once that the witch was just like a sister. He couldn't imagine what to say. What would he want someone to say if Ginny… no, Ginny would be fine.

"Gatito?" She murmured softly.

"Yeah?"

"Would you…" she turned her head away. "…would you stay with me tonight? I don't think I can…"

"Sure."

.ψ.

One night quickly turned into a more permanent affair.

It wasn't that he planned to move in. Honestly! It just seemed so … convenient at the time. One night led to two. Two led to three. Three led to bringing a change of clothes. Four led to a toothbrush and an extra cloak.

Half of Charlie's flat mysteriously found its way into Stella's basement within the week.

At first he was excited. He'd finally gotten out of that cave-like excuse for a flat, and Charlie had to admit that he'd entertained a few thoughts about the, erm … benefits … that might arise from a co-habituating situation. Stella had asked him to hold her while she slept for the first few nights, and … Well you can't blame a bloke for trying, right?

Unfortunately, life never seemed to work out as planned for Charlie G. Weasley.

Things at Stella's flat had changed like a whirlwind after the Massacre of Downy Hills. Walls that had been half-finished for months were suddenly undertaken with gusto. Bare rooms were mysteriously furnished overnight. Boring brown and stifling white paint was quickly covered by a rainbow of burgundies, purples, and greens.

Stella's parents had come to stay.

Charlie wasn't exactly sure how to feel about Stella's newest tenants. Despite the fact that the girl would hardly say boo to him while they were within a hundred meters (much less snog him), he tried to remain neutral. For their part, they seemed content to do the same.

Mr. Tonks kept to Stella's library, and could usually be heard muttering over some moth-eaten parchment or talking to himself about his notes. The only other time he was aware that the man was still alive was when the two of them accidentally discovered their mutual fondness for late night snacks. Charlie had come seconds from hexing Stella's father! To make matters worse, it was soon obvious that they were both after her stash of medical supplies … namely the chocolate.

Charlie soon made a pilgrimage to the post office for mail-order Honeydukes.

Mrs. Tonks was a little harder to avoid. It wasn't as though the woman was intrusive or rude. The opposite, in fact. She seemed to often prefer her own company to anyone else's, listlessly staring into the fire or mechanically dusting the entire building for hours on end. (Charlie wondered if it was a mother thing.) When she wasn't out advising the magical community, her only other object in life seemed to be arguing with Bimby about her rights to the kitchen. The two of them were locked in an epic battle for cooking supremacy.

Personally, Charlie thought the older witch's pies beat out Bimby's pudding, but only by a dragon's whisker. Bimby, on the other hand, never bothered Stella with incessant errands for ingredients. No pie could make up for all of that hassle…

"Would you mind popping out to Diagon Alley for me dear? You seem to be out of valerian roots." Mrs. Tonks had been brewing the draught of dreamless sleep like clockwork lately, and begun to exhaust some of Stella's supplies.

"Sure, it'll be fun!" His girlfriend smiled mellowly, obviously trying to hide the fact that she knew what it was for. She was still an awful liar. "I've got an appointment at Airs & Arias this afternoon anyways. We can go right after I ride out to Catherine's."

Catherine's.

As in St. Catherine's Cemetery.

Of course.

"Stella…" He followed her out into the hall. He would go with as usual, but despite the fact that his father had made fast friends with her motersickle, Charlie maintained his own opinions.

"Oh Charlie," she shook her head with a placating smile, "you aren't going to keep after me about this are you?"

At least she wasn't snappish. After that night in her lab, Charlie had firmly decided that he and his general state of wellbeing were much fonder of the take-life-as-it-comes Stella than her strange and hot tempered side. She was back to her usual self and giving no hints about why she had acted that oddly. He honestly didn't want to know what had happened and hoped that it was just PMS. As long as she ignored it, Charlie was more than happy to do the same.

"It's not that you shouldn't go or anything, just … everyday?"

Stella pursed her lips, determined and businesslike. She wasn't snappish, but she could still be frustratingly grouchy.

"Yes. Everyday. I owe her that much."

"Owe her? Stella…"

"The next time you call me that I swear I will hex you six ways from Sunday!"

"You're missing the point."

"No, I'm not. I see your point."

"Finally!"

"I also see that it is irrelevant." She retrieved her guitar case from the hall cupboard with a level air. "I want to go, therefore I will go. Everyday."

"How long are you going to keep this up? It's not like you've got an appointment for tea or something! She's dead, Stella. Let her go."

"I don't want to 'let her go'." Stella grumbled. "Don't you tell me to let her go, like it is some sort of switch I can flick on and off!"

"Stella…"

"Bugger it all, Charlie Weasley! I told you not to call me that!"

"That's not the …"

"…point." She finished for him, rolling her eyes peevishly. "I don't care what your point is. I'm going to see Bresa today. You may come if you wish; I do not care. But know this: I will continue to go and see her everyday."

"For how long?" He repeated. It came out sounding perilously like a whine.

She got that sad faraway look and simply said "I don't know."

Charlie saw a little tear trickle down her cheek out of nowhere. Stella wasn't a girl prone to long bouts of wailing, so when she did choke up it was a sure sign of trouble. He raced for a way to get his awkward foot out his equally unhelpful mouth.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It is fine." She sniffled, brushing away his attempts to dry her face with a lopsided grimace. "I just … she … she is not here anymore."

He said nothing; just rubbed her back in what he hoped was a soothing fashion.

"I miss her." She trembled a little under his hand, and Charlie could see another tear leaking down the path carved out by the first one.

"I know you do." His heart squeezed up, thinking about Ginny, still pale and unmoving as ever. Fish-face had assured him prissily on numerous occasions that 'she's not going to fucking snuff it on my watch, Weasley', but somehow that hadn't gotten any more comforting as the weeks went on.

And then Stella did something truly unexpected.

She leaned into him.

Stella didn't do things like that. Really didn't like to be touched at all, as a general rule. Oh sure, there were some exceptions. She poked people and jostled people. She could tickle like nobody's business (much to his chagrin). She hugged people, even crotchety old Moody, a feat that kept Charlie in awe of both her bravery and her stupidity simultaneously. One of her best attributes was, in Charlie's frank and caring opinion, her love of snogging. She even let him hold her while she fell asleep when the mood struck her.

But she had never once before just held him.

Not hugging, not grabbing whilst snogging, but just held onto him.

Despite his concern for her fragile female emotions, Charlie was quite enjoying the feeling of two pudgy little arms snaking around him and a soft body curled up in his lap.

They sat there quietly like that, even after the crying stopped. He wanted to ask what had taken her so long to hold him, but was afraid of ruining the moment. He almost bolted when she whispered to him.

"Charlie?" She was shattered from her crying bout, sounding sleepy and sedated.

"Mmm?"

"Do you think there is a heaven?" She asked in a small, timid voice he had never heard before, her forehead wrinkled. Suddenly the bent form wound around him seemed very much like that of an uncertain child.

Charlie buzzed into overdrive, trying to come up with a suitable but honest answer.

"I guess … I don't know." He finally submitted. "I mean, mum is sort of religious, but I never really bought into God and all of that. Doesn't mean it can't be true." He added hastily.

"No. It doesn't." She agreed pensively, curling up closer into his arms. It felt wonderful, even if the conversation was a bit odd. "Bresa believed in heaven."

He looked down at his dark haired witch, curious. "Do you believe in heaven?"

She studied his face like it held the answers she was searching for.

"I don't know." She decided, looking as ashamed as Ronnie when mum caught him sneaking sweeties before dinner. "Does that make me a bad friend?"

"Course not." He smoothed back a wispy strand of her hair, taking every chance he could to touch her like this. Somehow just holding her and touching her hair seemed a thousand times more intimate than their wildest romps on the tartan couch. "It makes you human."

"I wish I knew."

"Well, if there is a heaven, she's there, right?"

"Yeah." Stella's eyes thanked him ever so quietly before she went back to her own thoughts. "'No greater love has a man than to lay down his life for his friends.'"

"Huh?"

"Something I heard Jaci say once."

A very, very silent tear slipped down her cheek.

"It sounds about right." He held her a little closer, trying not to picture the events of that stormy night of fighting. Trying not to picture just how close he had come to losing her.

"That's why I have to go, Charlie. She … I …" Tears were pouring hot and heavy now, but suddenly Stella chortled. "I don't know about you high and mighty Gryffindors, but we snakes believe in paying our debts. Honor among thieves, you know?"

"Oh Stella…"

"Ooo, I warned you about calling me that!"

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Authoress's Notes: I AM STILL ALIVE!!!

Now that we have that out of the way, I must send a huge apology to all my dear readers who have been so wonderfully patient with me!!! I can't believe how long it's taken me to get back to work on this! (Please don't stone me! I'll be good, I swear!) School has been utterly exhausting, but I just can't stay away any longer. My new goal is to have this little beastie finished before book 7 comes out. (Can you believe it?) I can only hope that my absence will not keep my ever loyal reviewers from returning to my review board, because I really need all the encouragement I can get right now. I know that you are dears and will help me in my hour of inspirational need!

Oh, and again I'd like to note –for clarity's sake if nothing else- that any religious views in this chapter, real or implied, do not necessarily reflect my own. Please do not write me and tell me that I'm forcing my views on other people, that the views I've represented are wrong, or that religion has no place in fan fiction. If you insist on doing so, please note that I will be rather put out. However, if you want to inquire politely about my views or discuss differing thoughts in a courteous manner, I would be more than happy to oblige. My faith is a very big part of my life, if not the lives of all of my characters, and I dearly enjoy the occasional rousing round of theological debate. (Yes, I know I'm a nerd … but I'm a loveable nerd!)

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Random- thanks for all your kind reviews Random. They mean so much to me!

Amber- Thank you dearie!

WaterInAPuddle- Water, you are ever the darling! You're long review really helped me get back at this beastie with a will!

No. Never seen Potter Puppet Pals. Never heard of it in fact. What is it? (By the way, you picked up on another clue! The fact that she was carrying a gun is fairly important…)

In my break from this piece, I've actually been working on Moi/a special someone's long anticipated story. I even have a working title!!! I'm tentatively calling it "Just a Piece of Glass". You likey? If people keep showing a strong interest in it, I may even post an occasional snippet of what I've got so far at the end of one of these chapters. In fact since you were so quick on picking up the musical reference for the title of this story, I'll make you a little deal. If you review and can find the musical reference for this new title, I'll give you … oh, say half a chapter of the new book to wet your appetite. Sound like a deal?

HarryPotterMagic- Thanks for all your loyalty and lengthy reviews, dear! I'd give you a great big hug if you'd be so sweet as to grace me with more of your delightful feedback! Yes, Harry has the box. He only had two hours because … oh goodness, I'm actually going to give something away!! … because he'd borrowed Ron's pocket watch from book six, which happens to be a time turner. There won't be much time travel involved in the rest of this book really, but I had to make a little prediction about what I think JKR might intend with that watch in book 7.

Thanks for being so understanding about my 'disclaimer'.

Karniverous- Oh dear. I'm afraid this means I'm to be set upon by a ravening horde of wer-rats, aren't I? Crumbs. I humbly submit myself to your mercy, oh Keeper of the Were-Rats, and beg leave as an artist who needed time to be reinspired. Do forgive and continue to review! Your correspondence was one of the reasons I finally motivated myself to get back at this!