"But you are not alone in this.
And you are not alone in this."

- Mumford & Sons, 'Timshel'

July 2002

They sat on opposite ends of Harry's squishy, soft sofa, neither looking at the other, both gripping mugs of hot tea. Tea cured all. Supposedly.

"How have you been?"

Charlie nodded. "Not bad. Busy."

"And Patrick?"

"He's fine."

The storm that had been building in London all day had broke just before Charlie had arrived. The rain was now hammering down against the windows and the sky had faded to black, causing the illusion that it was December rather than July.

"Does he live with you now?"

"No. Look, Harry-" Charlie said, quickly glossing over his answer, "are you sure talking about Patrick will help?"

Harry shrugged. "Things that I thought would help didn't. I didn't really know that I wanted help at all until a few days ago. You know that they're pretty much keeping me prisoner in here?"

"I'm sure that's not true."

"I don't know if I even want to leave any more. Does he live with you?"

"No, Harry," Charlie said, more gentle this time.

"What does he do?"

The ceramic was hot against his hands, so Charlie rolled the mug between his palms. Kept it clear from burning his fingertips that way.

"He's a journalist. He's from Romania but he's been working in America for the past few years."

"Muggle?"

"No. Muggle born, though."

Harry nodded. "Okay."

Silence. Not the good kind. The kind that stretched between them, making a few feet seem as impenetrable as several miles.

"I've never felt this hopeless before."

It was the sort of declaration Charlie had never heard from Harry before. This was a young man who had faced certain failure, even death, with inner strength and courage that had barely been seen before or since.

"Why hopeless?"

"Because... because..."

He sighed and placed his mug on the floor, dropping his head to his hands. Elbows on knees. Despair.

"Can I tell you what I think?"

"Go on then," Harry mumbled. "Everyone else seems to want to give me their bloody opinion. You might as well join them."

Charlie moved to sit on the floor with his legs crossed. From this position, even with his head in his hands, Harry could see him.

"I think we made some mistakes," Charlie started, quietly but firmly. "We also made some right decisions. I could never, ever have kept you tied to me, Harry. It wouldn't have been right. It would be like... like keeping a dragon in a cage. They're not supposed to be in a cage, they're supposed to spread their wings, to explore the world for themselves."

Like a child, Harry moved his hand so it was cupping his chin. The other hand reached down and pinched a lock of fiery red hair and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. It wasn't his hair to stroke any more. He didn't care.

"Everything you are, Harry, is something that you made for yourself. We learn lessons from the people around us and take them in and let them shape who we are. But all the lessons in the world can't tell you how to be a man. You needed to learn that one for yourself."

"You left me," Harry said. "Just like my parents, and Sirius and Remus and Dumbledore. I lo-" he swallowed the word 'loved' and replaced it with another. "I thought you'd be different. But you left me too."

"Oh, god, Harry."

Charlie turned his face against Harry's palm. Hid his face in it. When he turned back his face was set.

"I never left you. I will never leave you. Don't ever think that. Don't you ever think that I stopped caring."

"Didn't you?"

"No. I just... I don't know if I can justify Patrick to you. He's a good man. I can't leave him just because you're here..."

"You can't leave him for me."

"No," Charlie said softly. "I can't. It's not fair."

"Do you love him?"

"I... I don't know."

"Do you love me?"

Silently, Charlie nodded.

"But you won't leave him?"

"You're not even twenty two yet, Harry. This isn't what you're supposed to be doing with your life. Don't put yourself in a cage. Don't let me put you in a cage and call it love, because that's not what loving someone means. Go out and do whatever it is that you need to do. Go and find out what the world has in store for you."

"And what then?"

Charlie raised up onto his knees and cupped Harry's face in his hands, kissing him softly, then firmly, then desperately.

"Then..." he said as their mouths broke apart but foreheads remained pressed together, eyes screwed tightly closed. "We'll see where the world leads us."

"Promise me..."

"I promise."

"You don't know what I was going to say."

"Harry... I don't need to."

A/N: To GEG, and anyone else who thinks that this story is winding down, I hate to disappoint you, but no. There is a stupid amount left in my head. I'll keep writing until past catches up with present. But there's a lot more story left to tell. Thanks for sticking with me.