Word Count: 668
Easter Egg: Abstract Egg, Day: 30. Charlie Weasley
The Pressure Of Reality
Harry wandered out to the Quidditch Pitch. It was almost three in the morning, and he'd slept through the day, so now he was wide awake, even if he was still physically exhausted.
It was still sinking in that the war was finished.
Oh, there was still work to be done; the castle needed rebuilding, the escaped Death Eaters would need to be tracked down, the Ministry was in utter shambles, but Voldemort was gone.
Harry's job was finished.
He still couldn't believe that he'd actually survived to see it. He'd never really expected to; and in a way, he'd been right. He had died, if not properly. He'd taken a second Avada Kedavra with the intent to die and rest, to maybe see his mum and dad, and Sirius and Remus, and everyone else who'd been taken far too young.
Instead, here he was, still breathing, still living, still walking. And for the first time ever, his life was his own to do what he wanted.
"I thought you'd still be sleeping."
Harry's wand was in his hand before he'd even consciously thought about it, and the figure—who now that he'd looked, Harry recognised immediately—held his hands up in the universal sign for peace.
"Sorry," Harry muttered, sliding his wand back into his sleeve. "Guess I'm still…" he trailed off and shook his head. "Sorry."
Charlie offered him a half smile. "I'd have been surprised if you hadn't reacted that way. I should have made sure you knew I was here before I spoke."
Harry wrinkled his nose, and then sat down on the first row of the stands, where Charlie had been, half hidden in the shadows.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked, leaning back in the seat.
Charlie shrugged. "I spent some of my best days in school here, I guess. It seemed the obvious place to come. It was getting a bit… much, inside."
Harry nodded. He knew what Charlie was talking about. The loss of Fred had hit the whole Weasley family hard; understandably so, of course. Harry hadn't been able to bring himself to sit with them. He knew he should; offer his support to his friends, the people he'd claimed as his own family practically, but he just couldn't.
Despite Harry forgiving him, Ron's words still rang in Harry's ears. "You have no family!"
"Are you sticking around for a while?" Harry asked quietly.
"For the funeral," Charlie confirmed. He reached into his pocket and slid out a packet. From the packet, he pulled a Muggle cigarette and a lighter. "Then I'll head back to Romania. This… England isn't my home anymore, and I… I'm not used to being around so many people anymore. It's hard."
Harry wished he had that kind of escape.
"I think I'll travel," he said, realising that that was what he wanted, just as he said it. "I'd like to see the world, and just… not be here for a while."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It's… I don't want to be here. Not right now."
Charlie nodded, and then blew smoke into the air. "Come see me if you ever make it to Romania. I'll introduce you to Henrietta."
At Harry's blank look, he added, "The Horntail you had to get the egg off."
"You don't think she'll remember me, do you?" Harry asked, shivering. "She was hella mad at me."
Charlie grinned. "I'll protect you."
Laughing, Harry nodded. "Deal."
They sat in comfortable silence while Charlie smoked his cigarette for a few minutes, and then reality pressed back in on their shoulders once more.
"I should go in," Charlie said. "They'll be wondering where I am. Coming?"
Harry sighed, and then nodded his head. "I. Yeah. I should be there for Ron."
Charlie patted his shoulder. "Just a couple of weeks, Harry and you can go out and get a taste of real freedom."
Feeling a little better than he had since he woke up, Harry nodded. Just a few weeks.
He could do that.