"Mum?"
"Yes, dear?" Molly didn't look up from her packing. It was August 28th, her eldest son would be leaving for Hogwarts in four days, and he wasn't packed at all. And, of course, her husband was absolutely no help. Neither was her son, for that matter.
"Charlie's given Percy one of Dad's plugs."
"WHAT?!" She jumped up and ran into Percy's room. "Charles Henry Weasley, what do you think you're doing?"
He looked up guiltily. "Percy was crying, and you didn't hear him and I gave him the bear, but he didn't stop, so I thought one of Dad's plugs might calm him down…" He quailed under his mother's harsh glare. "Guess not…"
"My poor baby," Molly cooed, picking up her youngest child. "Did you want Mummy? Now give me that nasty plug, and you can have your pretty bear." She pulled the plug from Percy's mouth and slipped it into her pocket, stooping down to get his bear from where it had fallen on the floor. "I bet you're hungry, aren't you? Let's go get you some food."
Charlie slunk out of the room. His mother was ignoring him again. His mother always ignored him. Always. Especially now, when she was so busy packing Bill's trunk for Hogwarts, and Percy was a baby and taking up the rest of her time.
Charlie was used to being the youngest child. And now he wasn't, and hadn't been for almost two years. But it was still hard.
"So, did Mum get mad at you?" Bill asked, leaning against a wall, smirking. Charlie hadn't even seen him there, he'd been so upset.
"You told Mum! You jerk!" Without thinking, Charlie punched his older brother's face. Hard. Very hard. Hard enough to draw blood and possibly even break his nose. And then he ran off, ran outside, and climbed up a tree so that no one would be able to find him. So that he could be alone.
His parents only saw him to punish him. Well, he wasn't going to just sit there and wait for it. They'd have to find him.
He heard yelling coming from inside the house, but he steadfastly ignored it.
Three hours later, Charlie felt the tree shake a bit as the rain started falling. He checked his watch, realized it was broken, then squinted at the sun, which was blocked by rain. He wasn't sure about the time, but his stomach was grumbling, so he figured it must be almost suppertime. Reluctantly, he climbed down and went inside the house, letting the rain soak him.
"Charlie! Why were you outside in this weather?" his mother asked as soon as he entered the kitchen, water falling from his hair, his shoes, his pants, and his arms.
"Wanted to be alone," he muttered as she pushed him to the fire and removed his shoes and jumper.
"Now, stand there until you warm up some more. I can't think why you'd go outside now, you're such a silly child, Bill would never–"
"Bill this, Bill that! It's always Bill!" He turned angrily, cutting her off, ripping his shirt as she tried to take it off.
Molly blinked, astonished. "What, dear?"
"You always compare me to Bill. I'm not as smart as Bill, not as nice as Bill, not as handsome as Bill, not as caring as Bill, not as magical as Bill, not as perfectly conceited as Bill! I'm not Bill! I'm Charlie! And I don't want to be Bill, I don't want to be Head Boy, I want to play Quidditch and care for dragons and be an Auror and I don't want to work for the Ministry like Dad does, and…"
He broke off, turning his face away. He wouldn't cry. He was eight years old, and eight year old boys didn't cry. Shivering, he pulled his pants off, then clutched his arms. It was just to warm up.
Just to warm up, not to stop himself from crying.
They heard the baby crying. Molly put Charlie's clothing down, then left the kitchen. He stayed by the fire, trying to warm up.
"What're you doing in front of the fire, brat?"
His brother.
"Getting warm," he said, shortly.
"Were you outside? What were you doing outside in this weather?" Bill asked, sounding condescending as always.
"Being alone."
"Why would you want to be alone anyway?"
"I don't–"
Molly entered the room then, cutting off Charlie's answer. She put Percy on a chair and handed him a model broomstick. Keeping an eye on her elder two sons, she put some water on to boil, then picked up Charlie's ripped shirt and fixed it with a spell.
Charlie remained at the fireplace. Bill sat down at the table, then grabbed Percy's broomstick, holding it just out of reach.
"Bill, give that back to Percy," Molly said. Bill looked up – she wasn't even looking at him, and yet she still knew that he had taken Percy's toy. He sighed and gave it back to his little brother.
The front door banged, and everyone looked up. Everyone except Percy, that is, who was still amused by his toy broom.
"What a day. Four raids, and that enchanted hairbrush…it's enough to kill anybody..."
"Arthur!" Molly was gone, out of the kitchen in a heartbeat.
"Dad's home," Bill said.
"Yeah," Charlie answered. He picked up his shirt, but realized just how wet it was; he really couldn't wear it. Or his pants. Or his jumper. Or his shoes.
"Here." A jumper was thrust into his hands. It was a dark blue, the color that Molly always used for her eldest son. Charlie's were always dark green.
He glanced up, to see his older brother handing him his jumper. Hesitating, he took it. Then put it on. It hung down to his knees, as Bill was much taller than he was. After all, Bill was almost twelve.
"Thanks," he said, looking away.
"What's the matter, brat?"
"Don't call me brat!" His fists were up before he knew it.
Bill put his hands up. "Sorry, kid."
"I'm sick of you calling me brat! I'm sick of being compared to you, when I'm not like you at all, and Mum always thinking you're perfect! You're not perfect at all, and you always tell on me and call me brat and act mean!" He pushed his brother back with each sentence, glaring up at him.
"Sorry, I didn't know it meant that much to you, and I can't help what Mum does…"
"YES YOU CAN!"
Suddenly, there was a popping noise, and Bill was standing exactly where he had been…but without any clothing on.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
Charlie backed away with a look of shock on his face. Had he done that?
"WHERE IS MY CLOTHING?"
"…I don't know," Charlie said in a very small voice.
"YOU TOOK MY CLOTHING!"
There was a crash, and then both of their parents were in the kitchen, staring at Bill in shock.
"Bill, what happened to your clothing?" Arthur asked calmly.
"HE TOOK IT!"
"Charlie, what did you do to your brother's clothing?"
"I don't know," Charlie answered, staring at his brother in shock. "I was mad, and I was yelling at him, and then suddenly his clothing wasn't there…"
"Charlie, you did magic!" Molly said, beaming at her younger son.
"I did?" he asked incredulously.
"You did, son," Arthur said, nodding at his son. "And we're proud of you. But maybe you should give Bill his clothing back."
"I…don't know where it went…"
"Then we'll get you both some new clothing," Molly answered, bustling about with a smile on her face, obviously pleased with her middle son. She took the day before's laundry down from where it was hanging over the fireplace and found some clothing for each of the boys. They put it on, silently staring at each other as their father picked Percy up from his chair and greeted him.
Molly turned around to see Arthur handing his youngest son a plug. Percy promptly put it in his mouth and chewed on it, while Arthur smiled happily.
"Take that thing out of his mouth, Arthur!" she yelled, brandishing her wand at her husband. "I already had to take one away from him when Charlie gave it to him earlier today, and you're not helping any!"
"Sorry, Molly," he answered, taking the plug away from Percy. Percy promptly began to cry.
"And now you've upset the baby!"
Bill turned to Charlie as their mother yelled at their father. "Sorry about all that – I didn't realize you didn't like being called brat. Also didn't realize how much Mum compares you to me. And good job on the magic."
Charlie blushed. "You think so?"
Bill nodded. "I do. And they won't compare you to me so much when I'm gone. You'll be the oldest. Look after Percy for me, will you?"
Charlie nodded back. "I will. And good job on Hogwarts."
Bill grinned. "I'll see you there in three years, won't I?"
Charlie grinned back. "You will."
oOo
Author's Note: Written in 2004 for Gen Ficathon, not compliant with HBP or DH or any interviews JKR gave about the relevant ages of the Weasley kids after this fic was written.