Part 7 - The Biggest Mistake of Charlie Weasley's Life
"I caught her red-handed!!!" Charlie Weasley insists to his furious older brother as they stand face-to-face in the doorway of the fourth year boys dormitory, "She was carrying stolen property!! Don't you get five to ten in Azkaban for shit like that? And I'M supposed to apologize to HER?"
Having to put up an arm to keep Myron from jumping on the brat, Bill growls impatiently at his hot-headed, fifteen-year-old brother. "Yes," He insists grumpily, "I would like for you to apologize, but since that'll never happen, since you're more of a stubborn arse than usual when it comes to Izzy, I'm ordering you to at least leave her alone."
"Ya, you little prick," Myron adds venomously, insanely protective when it comes to the little girl he unofficially adopted as the little sister he never had but always wanted, "Leave Toothpick be. Daisy says she's been having nightmares again, probably from Burton torturing her with that boggart, and the last thing she needs is you picking on her!!"
"BUT SHE-" The frustrated redhead begins, trying to voice his objections only to be cut off once more by his older brother. "Look," Bill grits through clenched teeth, "It's been almost four years since she stole your wand. Don't you think this is getting a little old?"
Fists clenched, Charlie glares, "No! She has everybody fooled, and I can't stand it!! One way or another, I'm gonna find a way to expose all the people she has suckered to who she really is, just an evil, sneaky, conniving little THIEF!!" And with that, he stomps into the safety of his dorm room, slamming the door in Bill's and Myron's faces.
"He's right, you know," Virgil Harper remarks coolly as he lazes on his four-poster, one arm tucked behind his head of tousled dark hair as his sharp hazel eyes skim the pages of a quidditch magazine. After three and a half years of sharing a room with Charlie Weasley, he's not at all phased by the boy's temper, or violent mood swings when it comes to the subject of Izzy Cooper, "She's not bad at all. She's horribly shy, almost unbearably nice, and pretty much the only reason I passed Potions last year. Give her a break."
Not believing what he's hearing, Charlie turns to his other roommate, barely even batting an eye when he finds the dark-skinned boy with a dozen or so quills stuck into his black hair as he shoves Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans up his nose one at a time, "Ahmad, mate, you hear this? Harper's gone soft on the thief!!".
Ahmad Jabir shrugs, wincing as he tries to fit just one more bean up his left nostril. "Ah duddo," The boy answers, his voice low and nasally, "Baybe ee's go' a poin'."
"Huh?" Charlie inquires, unable to decipher the comment despite years of fluency in 'too many beans up my nose to be coherent any longer.' Fortunately, Ahmad sneezes, expelling almost all of the offending candy and making him understandable once again.
With a loud sniff, he explains, "I said, maybe he's got a point. I mean, she does seem real nice. You should hear Marie talk about her..." Upon seeing a dazed, dopey smile cross his friend's features, Charlie rolls his eyes, knowing he's lost the boy to more daydreams of a certain fourth year Gryffindor who happens to be good friends with his archenemy.
"I don't believe this," Charlie grumbles, pacing like a caged animal, "Since when are the both of you on the thief's side? You've never minded screwing around with her before!!"
Virgil shrugs, his attention divided between his very interesting magazine and his very insane friend, "Well, I mind now. It's just starting to seem... mean. She's been nothing but sweet for four years. Doesn't that count for anything? Don't you think it's time to let it go?"
"NO!!" Charlie answers, grinding his teeth as his face turns to a flaming red, "I do not think it's time to let it go!! She's a thief!! She stole my wand, and she stole my book, and I'm gonna find a way to prove to the whole school how awful she is, with or without your help!!"
"Without then," Ahmad chirps, his voice calm and even, which is unlike him, as he almost always has a slight laugh in his tone, "Really, Charlie, you're a bit obsessed. It's kinda getting creepy. Maybe you should have a drink to calm down. I still have that bottle of firewhiskey I knicked from my sister."
Charlie sends a death glare at the other boy before turning and stomping from the room, a plan already beginning to form in his twisted little mind.
xxXxx
"Pretty little Isabel... My pretty little Isabel..." His deep voice croons as hot, sticky peppermint breath stifles her senses. She can't move. She's too terrified to scream. Tears leak from behind her tightly clenched eyes as she tries to pretend it isn't happening, tries to pretend she doesn't feel his rough hands tenderly caressing her small body, not leaving one bit of skin untouched, untainted.
"Open your eyes, my Isabel," He demands short-temperedly, his tone low, dangerous, and punctuated by a vicious squeeze of her slender thigh. She knows that if she doesn't obey he'll only make things worse.
Her wide amber eyes open, but her vision is fuzzy and dark, hampered by tears and lacy curtains blocking the moonlight from her room. Still, she can make out the shape of his massive body looming over hers.
She doesn't need to be able to see clearly to know that he's grinning, perfect white teeth beaming through the dark as his eyes crinkle just so at the corners. Possessing a broad, good-natured face, and almost boyish good looks, he's considered handsome by most people's standards.
But she knows different.
"Very good, my little Isabel," His voice is pleased, pandering, and more sickly sweet than his breath, "Be a good little girl and watch Uncle Richie while we play. It's time for our special game..."
xxXxx
Drenched in a cold sweat and shuddering violently, Izzy starts awake, rescuing herself from her past.
Three weeks it's been like this, avoiding sleep until she's too exhausted to try anymore, then being plagued by the nightmares that make her fear sleep so much. She's worn out, drained and weak both emotionally and physically. It's becoming too much to handle, and she doesn't know what she's going to do if the nightmares don't lessen soon.
Ever since Professor Snape found those memories, she's had nightmares, but not like this. Even those first weeks she had to deal with them weren't like this. It's just too much. The small girl is quickly becoming overwhelmed.
"Iz?" A groggy, sleep-hoarse voice inquires softly, making her jump and nearly fall out of her bed as she turns to find that it's just Daisy Hailen, peering at her through only one forced open eye as she asks, "You alright, hun? You sound like you're freakin' out."
"I-I'm fine," Izzy says, still trying to catch her breath. Daisy opens the other eye, giving the small girl a look that clearly says she doesn't believe that for a second as she asks gently, "Nightmares again?"
Weakly, Izzy manages a nod. She feels horribly guilty that Daisy, the lightest sleeper in the dorm, is always the one who gets woken up by her nightmares, and desperately wishes there was something she could do to stop them.
The half-asleep black girl sighs in frustration. She knows about Izzy's guilt issues, wanting to always please, and never be a bother, but Daisy doesn't care that she gets woken up (well, ok, she does a little). She's just terribly worried for her friend. "Wanna talk about it?" She offers quietly, "Might help."
Still shivering, feeling sick to her stomach and absolutely filthy all over, Izzy shakes her head. "N-No," She answers weakly as she stumbles out of bed, heading for the bathroom to scald away her nightmare in a long hot shower, "I think I'll just get an early start. Maybe work on finishing my Arithmancy project so I don't have to worry about it over break."
"Early start my arse," Daisy grumbles, yawning and closing her eyes as she hears the shower turn on, "Three AM is not an early start. Three AM is a crime against nature."
xxXxx
"Toothpick, you eat that pot roast, or, so help me Merlin, I will stage an intervention!" Myron threatens at dinner that night, smiling and trying to be funny, but still absolutely serious, a hint of his worry showing through the mask.
Izzy sighs, poking half-heartedly at the gravy slathered piece of meat her well-meaning friend slapped on her plate as soon as he coerced her to the table. She managed to avoid breakfast and lunch, the first time she's skipped her meals with Myron in the entire time she's been at Hogwarts, but he finally caught up with her and didn't buy any of her excuses. Of course, she was horribly sad about it, her meals with him always a high point in her days, but she feels queasy, and exhausted, and the last thing she wants to think about is food.
"Sorry, My," She grumbles weakly, letting her fork clatter to the plate as she pushes it away, "I'm just not hungry." Fighting down nausea, she shuts her eyes tightly. The sight and smell of all the food is awful.
Beside her, Myron's heart is breaking. He hates to see Izzy so... wrecked. Since she arrived, he's managed to bring the bright, funny, slightly cheeky little girl out from the wall she built up around herself. He's always prided himself on being able to make her laugh when no one else could, on being the first person to recognize that there was a beautiful personality beneath all her shyness. And now... It's almost as if she's regressing to how she was when he first met her, and he can't stand it.
Barely catching himself in time to stop the arm he desperately wants to put around her from actually touching her body, he lets his limb drop to his side as he whispers lowly, "I'm really worried about you, Toothpick. You've been depressed for weeks. Please, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong... Is it what happened with the boggart?"
The girls' big doe eyes snap open, offset by dark circles beneath them and sparkling with unshed tears that she once again manages to keep at bay. "I-I'm fine, My," She insists flatly, getting to her feet and planning on making a quick run for it, "Really. I've just got an upset stomach, is all. Think I'm gonna go to the library and study. See you back at the tower."
Powerless to stop her, Myron watches as she runs from the Great Hall, her fatigue apparent in the way she struggles beneath her heavy book bag and the weight of all the secrets she just won't share.
xxXxx
Charlie Weasley has had a gigantic grin on his face all day. His plan is genius, simple, yet amazing.
He is going to get little goody-two-shoes Isabel Cooper very drunk. He's going to take lots of pictures to document the occasion, and then he's going to abandon her in Hogsmeade. With any luck (well, no luck involved really since he plans on sending an anonymous owl or two), she'll get caught, and punished. Usually sneaking out of school to get wasted merits at least a week's suspension.
"Let's see her pretend to be sweet and harmless after that," He thinks to himself, smirking maliciously as he discreetly watches her during dinner, waiting for the opportunity to put his plan into action. When she flees from Myron, he sees his chance, and quickly goes after her.
"Cooper! Hey, Cooper!" He calls, sprinting to catch up with the small girl, who doesn't seem at all willing to slow down and talk to him. But, when she nearly trips at the end of the hallway, she has no choice but to stop in order to regain her breath, and that's when he manages to arrive in front of her.
"Cooper," Her eyes go wide when she recognizes the voice through her own pitiful gasps. Slowly, she stands, trying to not show how frightened she is as she comes face-to-face with Charlie Weasley.
But he smiles, awkward, yet endearing and charming, and says, "Hey, Coop."
"Hi," She responds quietly, unnerved by the boy's change of attitude towards her, backing away slightly just to be safe. He takes a step towards her, closing the distance as he puts up his hands, "Look, I just wanna talk."
"I didn't steal that book from you," She insists, her shoulders hunched as she watches him skittishly, just waiting for him to make a move.
Still, the boy who has done nothing but hurl insults her way for three and a half years just continues to smile, "I really don't care anymore. I wanna call a truce, start over with you, alright? Come to Hogsmeade and get a butterbeer with me, and we'll talk about it."
"We're not allowed out," Izzy responds, scandalized by the suggestion that she leave the school, and with Charlie Weasley of all people. "Come on," He goads, grinning broadly, "No one will catch us. It's just a quick butterbeer, and I'll have you back before curfew." Then, pouting and looking hurt, he asks softly, "Don't you wanna be friends with me? I'm sorry I was so horrible to you, and I just wanna make it up."
Izzy is too weak to argue, and already has too much guilt weighing on her conscience to handle being the one that makes his face fall like that. "I do want to be your friend," She answers quietly, "A-And I'll go. Just... I need to put my books in the tower first."
"Excellent," Charlie beams, taking another step forward and gallantly attempting to pick her bag up off her slender shoulder as he says, "Here, let me get that."
"NO!" She shrieks, jumping away from the touch only to find herself with her back against the wall. When she discovers that she's trapped between Charlie and solid stone, she shuts her eyes, trembling and cowering in panic induced fear.
Absolutely confused, and quite annoyed (but trying to hide it), the freckled young boy backs off, allowing Izzy a few moments to get her breathing under control before he says, "Uh... or you could carry your own bag... that's good too."
"Hey! Leave her alone!" A voice suddenly shouts down the hallway. While Izzy is attempting to calm down, Charlie turns, and groans. The last person he needs to be interfering is running towards them. He's seen the way Cale Eyret looks at the girl. "A Slytherin and a thief would be good together," He muses, "They deserve each other, but the bastard's just gonna mess everything up if he butts in now."
"Weasley," Cale hisses, shoving the redhead away from his friend before softening his tone to ask, "Izzy? Are you alright? Is he bothering you?"
"Oh, bugger off, snake," Charlie quips cockily, rolling his eyes, not frightened of the boy for even a second despite the fact that he's almost a foot taller than him, "No one needs you to be playing the hero. We were on our way somewhere."
Cale scowls, "I wasn't talking to you." The Slytherin then turns back to the shaking, amber-haired girl cowering against the wall, reminding himself not to touch her as he presses gently, "Izzy?"
"I-I'm fine," She whispers, clearing her throat and opening her eyes before going on, "Fine, Cale, really. It was... nothing." Even though she concludes her response with a watery smile, her friend is not convinced. Over the past several weeks, he's gotten to know her a lot better, now definitely considering her one of the few friends he has. Despite her reputation for being bashful and fragile, she's actually a very strong person. Amazingly, she's even chewed him out a few times for wanting to give up when she was trying to teach him something. She only shies away like she is at the moment if she's threatened or scared. Either of the two is not acceptable to Cale.
"Is this wanker bugging you?" He asks under his breath, glaring suspiciously at Charlie. But, before he can offer to take care of the spiteful redhead for her, Izzy shakes her head, answering, "No. No, we were just talking. I'm fine, really. And you shouldn't call him that. It's mean."
"Ya," Charlie agrees smugly, conveniently blocking out the part of the conversation where Izzy actually defended him, "And if you don't mind, we're kinda having a private conversation, so shove off."
Izzy scowls disapprovingly, mostly composed now and upset over the way Charlie Weasley is speaking to Cale. Being picked on and tormented she can take, but when it comes to people being mean to her friends... well, that's where she draws the line.
"Don't be obnoxious," She scolds, the force in her voice slightly startling to Charlie, who assumed she was nothing but a timid little shrinking violet, "Cale didn't do anything to you, and you shouldn't treat him like that. Apologize."
Charlie has to do a slight double-take when he realizes that Izzy Cooper just told, no, demanded that he apologize to a Slytherin... a Slytherin who is her friend. Prideful and stubborn, the young redhead would like nothing more than to tell the both of them to go to hell, but he needs her to cooperate if his plan is going to work, so he bites his tongue, and turns to Cale, hissing a curt, "Sorry."
Cale doesn't respond, merely turning back to Izzy and whispering urgently, "You sure you're alright? I can walk you to the tower, if you'd like? Or go find Myron?"
The sweet little girl graces him with a soft smile, touched by how utterly kind he is, "Yes, I'm sure. I'll be fine on my own. Just remember to bring your Transfiguration work to breakfast tomorrow, and I'll check it over. See you then."
With a shy backwards glance over her shoulder and a ghost of a wave, she walks away. Cale watches her go, an inexplicable feeling of foreboding wrenching his insides as Charlie Weasley follows with a wicked grin on his wide, freckled face.
xxXxx
"This is not the Three Broomsticks," Izzy observes, looking warily about the small, smelly pub as Charlie slides into the seat across from her in the cramped corner booth.
Grinning, the boy glances around like he's just noticing as he says, "Huh. It seems so. Don't worry, the Hog's Head is much better. We won't get busted here."
"I guess," She responds, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as he pushes a dingy glass filled to the top with thick, frothy brown liquid across to her, "This is not butterbeer."
"They were out," Charlie responds brightly, gulping his own drink as he says, "Just try it. It's real good. Promise."
After a tentative sniff at the concoction, the girl asks, "Well... what is it? There's no alcohol in it, is there?" The redhead laughs, "So what if there is?" With a frown, Izzy pushes the glass away, "I don't drink."
"Oh, come on," He prods, wiping some froth from his freckled upper lip, "Don't be such a goodie-goodie." Silently, she glares. She's not sure what exactly she was expecting from Charlie's sudden desire to 'call a truce,' and 'start over,' but she'll be damned if she's going to start drinking. She remembers what her brother was like when he drank, plus, with what happened to her parents... it just seems like alcohol has given her family nothing but misery and grief, and she refuses to give it the opportunity to inflict anymore.
Charlie groans, giving her a frustrated roll of his eyes, "Fine. Jeez, I was kidding. There's no alcohol, alright. Last thing I need is to get caught doing something stupid like that. Taste it for yourself." She doesn't seem convinced, but when he hangs his head over his own drink, sighing and mumbling, "Knew this was never gonna work out," she just can't help the twinge of guilt she feels pulling at her heart, and takes a delicate sip from the glass.
Slightly fizzy and syrupy in her mouth, the liquid is warm, with a saccharine, vaguely tangy taste that she can't quite pinpoint but doesn't think is alcohol since it tastes nothing like the way Jordy used to smell when he came home drunk. After the first couple of sips, she smiles across at Charlie, feeling much more at ease with him. It also helps that the bubbles in the drink are helping to settle her stomach. Charlie's just happy that the taste of the high proof alcohol he put in her drink is masked by the sugar.
Then the pair lapse into an uncomfortable silence, neither quite knowing what to say to the other. Charlie didn't really think far enough into his plan to have prepared any topics for conversation, and Izzy just has a hard time talking to people she doesn't know.
"So," Charlie finally states, trailing off as he takes another long pull from his own, actually non-alcoholic drink. Izzy sips, responding in the same tone, "So."
"What did you want to talk about?" She inquires after a few more long minutes spent in silence, gazing awkwardly down into her glass, then drinking a big gulp to try to fight down her nervousness. The light-headedness that's started to take hold of her is barely noticeable alongside it.
"Um..." The boy across from her responds with a shrug, trying to think quick so she doesn't get suspicious of his motives, "I dunno..."
"Do you hate me?" She asks, her glass almost empty now, and her tongue unusually loose. The sight of her big, doe-like eyes, wide and glazed over the top of her drink makes Charlie suck in a sharp breath. He may hate her, but, with those eyes, the wild hair, and full, pouting lips... Merlin, she's beautiful.
And that fact makes his hate double. How dare someone that beautiful be so vile!!
"No," He lies, noticing her sigh with relief as she drains the rest of her drink. Teeth clenched, he watches her slender throat work as she swallows, having to remind himself repeatedly that he has a plan, and that it's Izzy Cooper, for crying out loud!
"Here," He says, jumping to his feet as he snatches the empty glass from her, "Let me get you another."
xxXxx
An hour and five spiked drinks later, Izzy is feeling more than a little bit tipsy. Never having been drunk before, she doesn't recognize the sensation. She thinks she might just be coming down with something.
But every time she says so, suggesting that maybe it's time to be getting back (since coming out with Charlie in the first place has turned out to be such a huge mistake anyways, as he's said little besides 'Let me get you another' all night), the redhead has merely attempted to convince her that drinking more will help her feel better.
With fluid grace that is a stark contrast to Izzy's near inability to stay upright in her seat, Charlie sets yet another glass of warm, frothy liquid in front of her. She groans, hanging her head as she sways, and slurs, "I don' want anymore. Can we please go back?"
Grinning like a Cheshire cat that his plan is working so well, Charlie takes his own seat and responds, "You wanna go back already? But I just thought of something we can talk about!"
"Really?" The girl responds, blinking hard, and rubbing her forehead to try to make the room stop spinning, "Well... M'kay, what is it?"
Trying hard to keep his voice free from the anger boiling inside himself, he asks, "Why did you steal my book?" The reasoning behind her thievery has never really been all that interesting to him, but, after observing an hour of nothing but her being as shy and sweet as everyone says she is, it's begun to nag at him. Seeing as how she's liquored up beyond the ability to lie coherently, he figures that now would be the perfect time to figure it out.
"Told you already," She sighs in frustration, "I didn't steal it from you. 'M not lyin'."
"Ok," He goes on, suddenly not a hundred percent sure that he doesn't believe her, "Fine. Why did you steal my wand then? I know you did that."
"W-What?" She asks, jumping and slopping some of the drink out of her glass. After a slight scowl and a small amount of sick, twisted pleasure that he's managed to rattle her, Charlie reiterates, "Why did you steal my wand? Or, do you not have a reason? Kleptomania, perhaps?"
"I-I... but... you said..." The girl stutters helplessly, too inebriated to hear the warning bells going off in her head, her own voice urgently shouting, "RUN!!"
It's a horrible idea to tell Charlie anything, and she knows that, but she's too exhausted, and too drunk, and too damn tired of keeping it all to herself. Finally, she sighs, her carefully constructed shields nothing but scorched ruins now as she asks in a slurred whisper, "You really wanna know?" The boy leans forward expectantly, nodding as he whispers back, "Ya, I really do."
"I's a long story," Izzy mumbles, letting her gaze drop to her lap. Her amber curls, worn loose today because she just couldn't find the energy to braid them, fall to veil her face, hiding the tears that have begun to well up as she slurs quietly, "When I was two, my momma and daddy were killed in a car crash. Drunk driver."
With his glass halfway to his mouth, Charlie freezes, unable to think anything aside from "Oh shit" as Izzy continues, "I-I... I don't remember them at all."
She can't keep the tears from falling, and she doesn't know why. She doesn't want to tell Charlie, or anyone, these things about herself, but it's like she doesn't have a choice. She can't stop, "Me and my brother, Jordy... we got sent to live with... w-with..."
She sobs, the sound quiet, but gut-wrenching, and Charlie suddenly doesn't like this plan anymore. He never envisioned making her cry, or tricking her into confiding in him, telling him these things that he's almost certain she's never even told her closest friends. It's wrong, and he knows it.
Izzy ignores him, he might as well not be there anymore. The room is spiraling all around her, lights, sounds, colors, smells, all blending into one blurred rush of sensation, making her dizzy and sick to her stomach. She feels like throwing up, like sleeping, like dying, but, instead, she takes another large mouthful of her drink, and forces it down.
A dangerous amount of alcohol coursing through her system, she finds the courage to do something she's never done before, admit out loud the horrible acts committed upon her in her youth, "I was only two, and h-he was really nice at first, always buying me things, and reading me stories. Then it all changed. One night, he came into my room, and he held me down, a-and h-he raped me."
Another large mouthful of the thick, saccharine concoction in front of her, and she sighs, tears pouring down her cheeks, but she's graced with an inexplicable feeling of relief. It feels good to let it out, so she keeps going, "And it never stopped. Never. It was almost every single night, and it went on for... I think it was two years before we left. God, it was such a long time... I never thought about how long it was before... He used to touch me all over... There's nowhere on my body that's mine... It hurt too much, and I was just too little, I guess, because I blocked it all out. It wasn't until later that Snape made me remember... forced me with legilimency because I wouldn't tell them how I'd gotten on the train..."
"J-Jordy," She goes on after taking another huge gulp, grimacing as she forces the sticky liquid down her throat, "He's my big brother, he took us away from my uncle, and then we lived on the streets for a long time. It was just me and Jordy, and everything was ok for a few years. We had to learn to steal, or else we couldn't eat, but we only stole enough so that we could... But then he started with the drugs, and drinking, and he... changed."
After one more drink, the glass is drained, but Izzy can't find the coordination to set it back on the table, letting it drop from her grasp and shatter against the hard surface. The attention of the entire pub falls on the two kids in the back corner, two seconds of complete silence enveloping the room before the grizzled old bartender growls and shouts, "Yer gonna pay fer that!" It's like a cue for the normalcy to return, sweeping through as the buzz of conversation restores itself.
"He hit me," Izzy declares, clear as day, and sounding so depressed and broken that Charlie immediately regrets everything he's ever done to cause her pain. She's obviously had more than her fair share, and never needed anymore from him.
Toying with a jagged razor of broken glass, running her index finger lightly across it, she goes on, "Jordy. He hit me." Seeming to finally remember that Charlie is there, she picks her head up, her eyes wide and spilling over with her hurt, "I know it was Jordan, a-and I know it was just because of the drinking, a-and the drugs, but... how could he hit me?" Her question is directed at the blur of red across from her that she knows even in her fuzzy mind has been listening, "Didn't he love me enough not to hurt me? I love him. Does he hate me? Is it because I'm so stupid, a-and ugly?"
Charlie shakes his head, only vaguely aware that his mouth is hanging open, completely unable to fathom the kind of life this girl's had. She's been abandoned, beaten, and violated past the point that he thinks he would even be able to survive, and yet she's still able to function, to walk around with a smile on her face, to be the top of the class, to deal with fucking arseholes like him...
"You're not," He assures quietly, aware that she's probably too far gone to be listening, despite the fact that she's staring right at him, "I'm so sorry."
Derisively, she snorts, looking back to the piece of glass, "Why you sorry? Not like you did it." For some reason, the snappish response makes him smile. He can see the fight in her now, the inner strength, and he can't help but admire that.
"I haven't answered your question yet, have I?" She muses, pressing the pad of her finger to a sharp point on one particular shard of glass, inexplicably fixated on drawing blood, on causing more pain, "You wanted to know why I stole your wand. Well, I'll tell you. My brother needed money, for more drugs, I suspe... sususpec... I think. He didn't actually tell me so himself. He punched me, and called me fat, then sent me to go get him some. I was a pickpocket, you see, in King's Cross, and that's how I ended up with your wand. I picked your pocket. Then some guys my brother owed money to caught up with me, and they knocked me around for awhile, and I ran. They were chasing me, and I looked over my shoulder, and then went straight into the pillar, and onto 9 and 3/4."
With a nostalgic, bittersweet smile, Izzy concludes, "Tonks collided with me, then pulled me onto the train, and I ended up at Hogwarts. I tried running away once, to find Jordy, but he was gone. Our house was gone, burned down, nothing left at all... I-I don't even know if my brother's still alive..."
She feels a slight prick on her finger, looking down to finally realize that the shard of glass is imbedded deeply into her flesh. "Ow," She states blankly, not bothering to remove the glass, merely watching in fascination as she bleeds onto the table. Red hot liquid pools in her palm, running down her wrist and arm, finally dripping off the tip of her elbow and to the floor.
"FUCK!" Charlie yelps, suddenly noticing that the girl has sliced herself open, "What the hell did you do that for?"
"I-I'm sorry!" She sobs, shrinking back from him, "I'm sorry for stealing your wand! I didn't mean to m-make you hate me! I just didn't want to get hit anymore! I-I'm sorry!"
The redhead freezes. He doesn't think he's ever felt worse in his entire life than at that moment. This has all been a mistake. A huge mistake. "No," He sighs, reaching across to try to grab her hand, to stop the bleeding, "Don't say sorry to me."
"DON'T TOUCH ME!!" She shrieks, once again turning all attention towards them. Several men look ready to get up and intervene upon seeing the girl, bleeding, cowering, and sobbing hysterically, but, since it's the unofficial Hog's Head policy, they all merely go back to their own business. One table of young men, however, does not. With sly grins passed around the group, they form wicked intentions toward the very drunk girl and the stocky redhead who doesn't look big enough to defend her.
"Shhh," Charlie soothes, oblivious to the fact that they're now being watched, "It's alright. I'm sorry, I won't touch you. Look, just stay here. I'll pay, and take you right back, ok?" She doesn't answer, already half-passed out though she can't stop crying. He barely manages to sweep the broken glass out of the way before she lets her head drop to the table, her cheek contacting the surface hard.
Realizing for the first time that they're shaking, Charlie runs both hands through his short red hair. As he sprints toward the bar, he's mentally kicking his own arse for what he did tonight. This was the biggest mistake of his entire life. Little does he know, it's about to get much, much worse...
xxXxx
At the table, Izzy leans farther into the dark corner and vomits on the floor, everything in her stomach leaving in one foul burn. Over the loud conversation that's giving her one hell of a headache, she's not even noticed.
Barely, the girl manages to push herself back up, just in time to feel the padded bench sag on either side of her. "Hello, sweetheart," One smooth, deep, unrecognizable voice drawls. A second voice, one that sounds slightly familiar, adds, "Buy you a drink?"
"No, thank you," Her voice is hoarse from the acid, not willing to be forced above a low whisper as she sways in her seat and blinks at the two blurred faces, "Don' feel good. Gonna go home."
"Oh, so soon?" The familiar voice teases lightly. She can feel him move closer, and tries scoot away, but very soon realizes that she has nowhere to go as the other voice coos from her escape route, "The night is young. Don't you wanna have a little fun? We'll show you a good time for sure."
"I... um... n-no..." She argues, confused, and frustrated, and crying in a weak rasp, "No, no, no! I wanna go home! Where's Charlie?"
She can feel the bench sag a few more times. Though she can't seem to count exactly how many, it was at least five. Five more people. Five more men.
"He's left," The familiar voice reports gravely as the body it belongs to moves closer, making her cower and shake with fear, "Stupid kid obviously doesn't know what to do with a little girl as pretty as you." He pauses, and she can feel his eyes on her, getting the distinct feeling that he's licking his lips, "You need some real men, and, by a lucky coincidence, that's what we happen to be."
And then suddenly she looks up and she can't see the rest of the room anymore. More people have sat down, definitely a lot more than the first five she counted, enough so that she's obscured by the bodies, lost in a dark corner, afraid, alone, and powerless. She realizes that no one is going to help her, not anyone in the bar, and certainly not Charlie.
And then there's a hand on her thigh, broad and oddly smooth, sliding up. Her scorched throat won't cooperate with her desire to scream. Horror-stricken by the rapidly worsening situation, she tries to squirm away, only to experience a few more sets of strong, unrelenting hands close over her shoulders, wrists, hips, and legs, pinning her down.
And all the while, the hand on her thigh slides higher, its mate pulling her shirt free from its neat tuck and sliding under it, fondling her tender, still growing breasts as that familiar voice chuckles hotly in her ear, "Hold still, and I'll show you the only thing mudblood whores like you are good for."
And the hand is there, roughly cupping her between her legs, slender fingers slowly ripping her plain white knickers, the voice taunting cruelly, "And when I'm done, all my friends are gonna show you, too."
xxXxx
At the bar, Charlie Weasley receives his change and a look of contempt from the gray-haired bartender. The boy's stomach is so twisted with guilt and worry that it takes the old man behind the counter three tries to get his attention.
"Lad," The bearded fellow grunts, making Charlie jerk suddenly out of his knotted thoughts. "Huh?" He asks, trying not to look as guilty and ashamed as he feels. The bartender nods gravely towards the back of the room, "Best keep a closer eye on ya girl."
Blue eyes go wide and Charlie whips his head toward the spot where he left Izzy, only to find that he can't see her any longer. A thick crowd of large young men is seated in and around their booth. His heart stops, and he prays that she's not trapped back there.
Then he catches a glimpse of her over the tops of the heads, literally trying to climb up the wall to escape, clawing clumsily at it and streaking the dingy brown surface with blood from her cut finger while the men laugh and grope her small body. Her clothes are all in disarray, her face tear-stained and frightened. She sees him from across the room, and her mouth opens in a silent plea before the men pull her roughly from his sight.
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!!!" Charlie shouts, immediately overwhelmed by rage as he runs to save the girl. He's furious at the men attacking her, but he's more furious at himself for endangering her in the first place, and that's why he doesn't think at all about his own safety when he jumps into the mob and just starts punching.
Despite being small for his age, Charlie Weasley is strong, and more than a little bit crazy, and, as he's heard his mother chime on the occasions he and Bill have seen fit to have a go at each other, crazy against big is quite a match.
The tavern erupts in an all out brawl, and it's basically Charlie versus everybody. As the boy fights his way through, getting punched, and kicked, and elbowed more times than he can keep track of, he can hear Izzy sobbing over the noise, but he can't find her. Panic has a firm, tightening hold on his heart.
A blow to the temple suddenly has the boy seeing stars, wobbly and dazed long enough for one member of the mob to grab his arms and pin them behind his back, while another starts pummeling him hard in the head and stomach. Before long, Charlie's thoroughly battered and bruised, not to mention coughing up blood. Barely able to breathe between each pound of fist, he still fights violently to get free, because he can still hear Izzy screaming...
xxXxx
"STOP!! LET GO!! DON'T TOUCH ME!!" She sobs desperately, unable to think anything else, the world spinning around her as she's dragged away from the fight by that one familiar voice. It's owner has his thick arm tightly around her midsection, and is pressing into her hard enough to squeeze all the air from her body.
Tears blur her spinning vision, and she pleads, weak and pitiful, "P-Please. Stop." She's still clawing, and kicking, and thrashing as best she can in her severely inebriated state, but the world is starting to darken, and she knows it's all over if she lets consciousness slip away. She fights with everything in her to stay awake, to do what little she can to protect herself.
The man is not fazed, merely picking her up off the ground, slapping his other hand over her mouth and making it even harder for her to breathe as he hauls her up a rickety staircase, growling, "Shut your mouth, you little mudblood whore, or I'll shut it for you."
Nestor Aubrey. She suddenly knows who the voice belongs to, and it's Nestor Aubrey, the dark-haired, seventh year Slytherin who vowed he would come after her. Her reckless, wild struggle doubles as he heaves her up the stairs, though she only succeeds in making him angrier. A low hiss right up against her ear sends shivers down her spine, "You and me are gonna have a real good time tonight."
xxXxx
Aside from the kitchen at the Burrow, the Gryffindor common room is Bill Weasley's absolute favorite place in the world. Well, actually, just his favorite place in England, since he hasn't been to the rest of the world... yet.
The tall, lanky boy grins broadly just from thinking of that yet, the travel brochures he secretly hoards spread out before him in silent promise of adventures to come. It's only in the late hours, when all his house mates have gone to bed and the common room is completely deserted, does he indulge in coating entire tables with his vast collection of colorful, exotic images of far away places, and just letting his imagination run wild. With the grades he has, no career is off-limits, and that means no place on Earth is either.
The brilliant, mysterious Temple of the Azure Cloud in Malaysia has always held his interest. He's aware that it's slightly Slytherin of him to be fascinated by a place overrun with deadly pit-vipers, but the rumor that they are the servants of the departed Buddhist priest who founded the temple, a man rumored to have possessed miraculous healing powers, makes the place extremely intriguing. The magical monument of the first known parselmouth and inventor of many of the medicinal potions still used today sounds like an absolutely amazing place to explore.
And then there's the Waitomo glow worm caves in New Zealand. Fondly fingering the worn edges of the spectacular photo on the front of the brochure, he can quote from memory how the location offers black water rafting, riding underground river rapids in pitch darkness, the only light coming from the glowing insects that hang from the ceilings of the caves. Somewhere in that labyrinth is a certain Maori artifact, a carving of a bird that is said to be a direct link to heaven; it is also said to be guarded by thousands of immortal warriors, but that just makes the quest to find it all the sweeter.
Antarctica, too, with those immense, luminous blue glaciers has its draw. The thought of being able to send little Ron and Ginny picture postcards of himself posing with penguins and baby seals brings an affectionate smile to his face, and the idea of conquering an inhospitable climate where many before have perish stokes his Gryffindor courage and the unbridled sense of adventure he doesn't ever think he'll grow out of. A lost wizarding library is supposed to be buried beneath the ice at the South Pole, and he wants nothing more than to find it. Thousands of years of the most complete history of his world is just too tempting to pass up.
And who could forget Egypt? Panorama views of red hot sunsets behind the great pyramids at Giza, ancient golden talismans deep in treacherous, enchanted tombs, and the jammed, chaotic streets of Cairo often make appearances in his daydreams. So much history, and so much life, and so much magic exists in that desert, and he wants to be a part of it; he wants the magic of that beguiling wasteland to burn him up.
The dull sound of voices suddenly snaps Bill out of his fantasizing. In an instant, his vast collection of pictures is swept off the table, and neatly, but hurriedly, arranged back in the plywood crate advertising Florida oranges. "Hmm... Florida... Gators... That could be cool..." He thinks, letting himself drift off one final time before shaking his head, throwing a jumper over his crate, and picking up a book to pretend to be reading when whoever it is that's talking comes into the room.
But, after waiting for almost five minutes, Bill is still alone. Puzzled, he perks up his ears a little more, managing to pinpoint the voices as coming from outside the tower, by the portrait hole if he's not mistaken.
He doesn't think it could be a Gryffindor who's forgotten the password, since the only one to do that anymore is ditzy fourth-year Lark Nolan, and he saw her go to bed hours ago. He figures that it must be someone sneaking around after curfew. If that is the case, it is his responsibility as a prefect to catch and chastise the guilty party. He just hopes it's not Charlie again... Having to discipline his little brother, while kind of funny, is sometimes awkward.
"Look, I'm not trying to break in, or anything," Bill hears a boy, who is definitely (and thankfully) not Charlie, arguing as he presses his ear to the backside of the portrait, "I just want you to tell me whether or not she's in the tower!"
"Absolutely not!" The Fat Lady replies, sounding scandalized, and, as always, quite haughty, "Such information is not at my liberty to divulge. It's a question of security, you see. I can't have you setting fire to the wing just because you hope to catch one particular student unawares."
"What?" The boy shouts, a little too loudly for the time of night, "Fire? Where the hell did you get an idea like that? I'm not trying to set any fire, or catch anybody unawares!! I just want to know if Izzy made it back here ok!!" Having heard quite enough, Bill decides it's time to intervene, and pushes the portrait open.
The blonde boy, the blonde Slytherin, on the other side jumps as the redhead steps out, backing away nervously like he might be planning a run for it. Fortunately, Bill recognizes him, giving the younger student a friendly smile as he says, "I know you. Izzy's friend, right? What's your name again?"
"Um" The boy replies warily, distracted as he leans around Bill to get a peek into the common room, "I'm Cale. Cale Eyret. Sorry to bother you, but is Izzy in the tower?"
Bill frowns, "I haven't seen her. Why do you ask?" The Slytherin abandons his pointless struggle to see for himself is the girl is behind the older boy, finally getting around to actually noticing who he's talking to, assuming from the red hair and freckles that it's a Weasley.
"Just, uh," He starts slowly, uncertain how to word his concerns without offending the Gryffindor, "Charlie was talking to her earlier, and she seemed freaked out, and then they walked off together, and... well, I just got a really bad feeling about it, and I couldn't sleep. I wanted to make sure she was ok."
Arching an eyebrow, Bill drawls dangerously, "Because you think Charlie did something to her?" Cale nods resolutely.
"Look," The redhead fumes, "I know he doesn't get along with Izzy, but he's my brother, and he's not some twisted psychopath!! Merlin, you punch one hole in one wall and it follows you the rest of your whole bloody life!!"
"I know he's your brother," Cale grits hotly back, choosing his response carefully, "And I know you want to believe the best about him, but I know what I saw. My gut is telling me something is wrong. Please, just check that she's ok."
A tense standoff ensues, blue eyes to brown as the boys glare at each other. The only thing that finally breaks them up is the Fat Lady giving an annoyed grumble of, "Oh, for Merlin's sake, she's not in the tower, alright!! She left with Charlie hours ago, and they haven't been back!! Now, would you please leave me to my beauty sleep?"
"What?" Bill snaps, maneuvering the painting so that he's face to face with the woman within it. Cale adds hotly, "Did they say where they were going? What was he doing to her?"
"Arg," She growls in reply, "She didn't look like she was in danger, though Charlie was acting strangely. He said something about taking her for a drink."
"Hogsmeade," Cale announces gravely. Bill, running his fingers through his long hair as he tries to comprehend his little brother's stupidity, hopes what the hot-headed youth has done is nothing more than that. He desperately wants to believe that Charlie would never do anything to purposely hurt Izzy, anyone, really, but he's suddenly not so sure. As he turns, he mutters, "Stay here. I'll get Myron, and we'll go find them."
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Reviews are appreciated :)
