coyotegoth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
coyotegoth) wrote2009-05-04 09:49 pm
coyotegoth) wrote2009-05-04 09:49 pm
Interlude- Charlie (Like Mist Upon the Water)
TITLE: Like Mist Upon the Water (Part 1- Charlie)
CHARACTERS: Charlie Weasley, Eric Jenkins [OC], Percy Weasley, Madame Rosmerta
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: first date jitters, discussion of war wounds
FEEDBACK: please
ARCHIVING: please ask
This is an interlude chapter of my HP story, in which Charlie Weasley starts to explore a new aspect of his life; as always, Half-Blood Prince spoilers. (Please note that this series is not Deathly Hallows compliant in the slightest.)
Like Mist Upon the Water
Charlie paused outside the Three Broomsticks, and took a quick glance up and down the street, for security's sake. Nothing to be seen; he nervously combed his fingers through his hair, and pushed open the door. Madame Rosmerta came up to him as he walked in, although he tried to sidestep her: I just missed Hagrid? Oh, too bad. No, no word about Bill. Please, don’t feel bad- you were under a curse... Finally, he saw him; the other man was sitting by a side window, watching Charlie with something of a smirk on his face. Politely excusing himself to Rosmerta, Charlie walked over to the table.
“Are you sure you still want to do this?” the other man asked, lightly mocking. “Most men would be delighted to have Rosmerta all over them like that.”
Charlie blushed. “I wasn’t trying to...”
“Let’s start again. Hello.”
“Hi,” Charlie said, sitting down. He took a moment to look at the other man, who was dressed in expensive civilian robes, not Ministry worker attire; Charlie was painfully conscious of his own T-shirt and faded jeans.
“The hair looks fine, by the way,” said the other man. “Eric.”
“Right, I remember. Right. Charlie.” They paused, as Rosmerta came over, and took their drink orders. Then, Charlie said, “Umm... thanks for the note.”
Eric nodded. “Thanks for coming. I would’ve suggested the Leaky Cauldron, but I wanted to get away from the Ministry; there's some big to-do happening tomorrow- wizards from all over- and Scrimgeour has been running us ragged. I’m sure you can understand.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said; he cast about for something to say. “I’m a bit surprised; I thought you might have picked Madame Puddifoot’s, or something...”
A cocked eyebrow. “Your sort of place?”
“Umm, no. I just... I haven’t done this a lot.” Seeing Eric’s look, he clarified, “An actual, err, date. With a bloke, I mean.”
“I gathered as much.” Eric paused for a second, and looked at him, as Rosmerta brought their drinks. His eyes met Charlie’s, and held his gaze. “You actually have gorgeous eyes, you know,” Eric said. “You don’t usually see brown eyes on a redhead.”
“Thanks, umm... you too,” Charlie paused, and took a swallow of his drink. “Wow- this is strong. What is it?”
“A Dragon's Claw- it’s meant to be strong.”
“Oh. Yeah... they’re hazel, actually. Most of my family’s are green.”
“Ahh, yes- just like your friend Har...”
“Can we not talk about him, please?” Charlie interjected. “I’m sorry- it’s just, between having to give interviews to the Prophet every time I go to the Ministry, and Aurors at the house, in case Death Eaters come to blast us, and people grabbing me on the street to ask me to give a message to ‘The Chosen One’... well, it gets a bit much.”
“I’d imagine so.” Eric took a sip of his own drink. “All right; we’ll talk about you for a moment.” He brushed his fingertips against Charlie’s upper arm. “Where in Merlin’s name did you get muscles like that? Is that from Quidditch?”
Charlie blushed, and ducked his head for a moment. “Hardly- all Quidditch is, is zooming around on a broom; not much exercise there. No, it’s from- well, when you work with dragons, you’re leading them around on chains, and carrying harnesses, and such. They don’t like for you to use magic near the dragons, so you get a workout.”
“Romania, yes?”
“Yes, I- how did you know?”
“I read your Ministry file, of course- one of the perks of working in Scrimgeour’s office. Can’t be too careful.” He looked at Charlie for a moment. “So, any tales of hot-blooded Romanian men to share...?”
“Not really, I...” He blushed again. “You’re teasing.”
Eric’s lips quirked. “You’re fun to play with, I’ll say that much.” He leaned forward. “Show me something.”
“Like...?”
“I don’t know- some muscular Muggle sort of bar wager you used to impress those hot-blooded Romanian men.”
“Well, I- here; watch this.” Charlie fished out a sack from the back pocket of his jeans.
Eric quirked an eyebrow. “Your mummy makes you a lunch?”
Charlie froze for a second. “No. Umm... my sister, actually. Here.” He pulled a walnut out of the sack. “See this?”
Eric frowned. “Are you going to throw it at me...?”
“No- watch.” Charlie gripped it tightly in his good hand, then began to squeeze. His face went red from the effort; Eric was about to say something, when there was a sharp crack. Charlie opened his hand, revealing the broken shell; Eric gaped at him for a moment.
“I refuse to be impressed by that,” Eric finally said. Charlie grinned, and flexed his hand.
“I used to win us drinks all the time, doing that,” Charlie said. “Most wizards aren’t much for exercise, I guess.”
“I suppose not,” Eric said, brushing his fingertips against the skin of Charlie’s arm again. “Mmm- gooseflesh.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, smiling and shivering. “You, umm- you do that to me.”
“Hmm, now; I wonder what else...” Eric stopped, and looked out the window.
“What?” Charlie asked.
“Nothing- it’s just McGonagall, of all people; she’s arguing with...”
“Oh, Merlin- it’s Percy.” Charlie stood abruptly, and headed for the door, before turning back to Eric. “I just- I’ll be right back, okay? I just need to...”
Eric nodded; Charlie rushed out the door. McGonagall had vanished; Percy was scribbling something on a parchment that he then tucked into his robes. At the sound of Charlie’s running footsteps, Percy quickly turned, one hand already reaching for his wand.
“Oh,” Percy said, seeing that it was Charlie. There was an awkward pause; Percy lowered his wand.
“Perce,” Charlie said awkwardly; Percy’s lips pressed together. “Sorry- Percy.”
“I always hated that nickname,” Percy said, then, he straightened. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to chat- Minister Scrimgeour needs to be apprised of...”
“It’s mum- I’ve been trying to reach you about it,” Charlie said quickly; he glanced at the window of the Three Broomsticks, before continuing, “Look, I won’t keep you- I need to get back myself- but... you’ve heard, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” Percy said quietly. “I am sorry for it, but I’m afraid that I can’t...”
“It’s bad,” Charlie said. “She’s been in bed for weeks; she’s only now starting to...”
Percy shook his head; he looked awkward and uncomfortable. “There... there really isn’t much I can do,” he said. “There’s isn’t a healer free within the whole United Kingdom; besides, you know they’re not good with mental...”
“She needs to see you, Perce. Percy. She needs to see her son.”
“I... I have wanted to visit- but Headmistress McGonagall is proving most uncooperative with regards to Ministry policy... and things with Father...”
“He said I should ask you,” Charlie said quietly. “I'm sorry; I don't mean to keep interrupting. I don’t have time to discuss it, but... it would help her, I think. You owe her that.” There was an awkward pause. “Well,” Charlie said finally, “I’m with someone, so...”
“Jenkins,” Percy said. “You could do worse.”
Charlie nodded, hesitated, and then lifted a hand in farewell. “Well...”
“I remember,” Percy said quietly, “I remember those cookies she used to make, whenever we hurt ourselves. The ones with cinnamon and raisins.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said with a slight chuckle, “and Fred, pretending he’d been bitten by a dragon...”
“Yes,” Percy said, glancing at Charlie’s bandaged wrist. “I... take care of yourself.”
“You too,” Charlie replied after a moment. Percy looked as though he were going to say something else; instead he turned, and Disapparated.
“Everything all right with the family?” Eric asked, as Charlie sat back down. “Speaking of- is he...?”
Charlie shook his head. “Don’t know. He had a girlfriend at school, but- hard to imagine him shagging anyone, really. Err- he saw that I’m with you; is that going to be a problem?”
Eric shook his head. “He’ll report it to Scrimgeour, of course, but Scrimgeour won’t do anything with it unless he figures he can use it as leverage somehow. Otherwise, I could be having it off with two lethifolds and a snotgurgle, as long as I don't share Ministry secrets.”
“Err, all right,” Charlie said finally. There was a pause, as they finished their drinks, and Rosmerta brought fresh ones. “By the way,” Charlie said, “how much are these?”
“Relax,” Eric said. “Consider it my part of the war effort. Listen,” he continued, leaning closer. “Do you know why I left you that note?”
“I, err, figured you wanted to...”
“Let’s try again: you don’t remember me, do you?”
“Oh, Merlin- did we...”
A soft chuckle; a sip of his drink. “I should let you worry. No; I was a year behind you at Hogwarts, and while I did try to get you alone once or twice, you were always off at Quidditch practice, or helping Kettleburn take care of some new horror.”
“You were?” Charlie frowned. “I don’t... were you Ravenclaw?”
“I’m afraid not.” Eric held up his right hand, showing a silver ring in the shape of a serpent, with eyes made from emeralds. “In fact, you’re consorting with the enemy.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. “Slytherin...?”
“Very good, Griffy. Now, are you going to storm out in a huff, or simply subdue me, and call for an Auror?”
“No, I don’t...” Charlie paused, and indicated the ring. “You see a lot of those these days. At work, I mean.”
Eric nodded. “Some wear them simply to copy Scrimgeour; others just like to say, “Yes, I’m Slytherin- what of it?”
Charlie nodded in turn. “Why do you wear it...?” he finally asked.
“So that I can get helpless Gryffindors off balance, of course, and have them at my mercy.” Charlie shivered for a moment, as Eric signaled for another round. Eric took a drink, then suddenly chuckled, and shook his head. “Madame Puddifoot’s- I should hex you for that. No; I used to like the Hog’s Head, back in my disreputable youth, but I’m far too respectable now.”
“I see that,” said Charlie; his gaze returned to the ring.
“It’s useful for signaling the Dark Lord, in case the Mark doesn't work,” Eric said, as Charlie hastily looked away.
"You shouldn't joke," Charlie said. "Did you hear what happened to Stan Shunpike?"
"Yes- I processed his release," Eric replied. "Believe me, Scrimgeour knows all my dirty little secrets. Look, you can signal for an Auror, if you like- one just walked in.”
“That bloke in the back? He’s not wearing...”
Eric shook his head, and assumed a lecturing tone. “Learn to pay attention, Griffy. You can always tell the real Aurors from the trainees, if you look. Trainees sit in a group, when they can; they get a table by the door so that they can bolt out at a moment’s notice, they conscientiously stick to butterbeer- no more than two- and have their Auror’s robes on, all nice and freshly laundered.”
He paused, then continued in a more serious tone. “The real ones- the ones who’ve actually seen action- wear anything but Auror’s robes, when they come here. They sit alone in the back, where they can watch the room, when they don’t simply drink at home. They throw back firewhiskey by the bottleful, and never stop tracking the room with their eyes. You can see it in their eyes- they’ve seen things.” He assumed a lighter tone. “Now, we Death Eaters prefer carousing at Malfoy Manor, when we’re not busy poisoning the cherubs at Mada...”
“All right,” Charlie muttered. “Why are we talking about this...?”
“I’m waiting for you to get drunk enough that you stop looking as though you’re swotting your OWLs,” Eric replied. “Actually, I’m surprised you didn’t go the Auror route yourself- big, muscular brute of a Gryffindor like you.”
Charlie shook his head. “I’m pants at Defense- barely scraped an Acceptable. It’s too dangerous out there.”
“I see that,” Eric murmured, glancing at the bandaged stump of Charlie’s missing hand. “Don’t,” he added quickly, as Charlie started to pull it away.
“Don’t...?”
“It’s... well... it’s a war wound,” Eric said quietly. There was an awkward pause.
“Not really,” Charlie finally muttered. “I mean, yeah, there was the giant attack, but we’re not combat...”
Eric lightly laid a finger upon his lips. “Shh- it’s a war wound. This is a war, and it’s a wound you got fighting the agents of Voldemort, and... Merlin, would you stop being so damn Gryffindor for a second?”
Charlie stared at him in surprise; heads that had turned at Eric’s outburst returned to their own conversations. “Everything all right?” Rosmerta asked.
“We’re fine,” Eric said dismissively. She continued to stand there for a moment; Eric forced a smile and a more charming manner. “We’re fine- really. My friend is just being a bit too honest for his own good.”
“He does that,” Rosmerta said with a smile, as she walked away. Once she was gone, Eric turned back to Charlie. “See that poor bastard over there?” he said.
Charlie hesitated, then looked at the reflection in the mirror over the bar. “Clever,” Eric murmured approvingly. “I can't stand people who stare, as though it were a sideshow... see him?”
“The one with... oh.”
Eric nodded. “He’s been missing that leg for a month now. You never used to see anyone with scars- except Mad-Eye, of course- but now, with St. Mungo’s the way it is... You see a lot more of that now." He paused, and looked down at Charlie’s bandaged wrist. “Tell me about it,” he said quietly.
“About...?”
“About all of it. About what happened to your hand, and what you did before that, and wrestling dragons... all of it.”
Charlie snorted. “Well, first, we don’t call it ‘wrestling’- we’re called ‘wranglers.’ Dragon wranglers.”
Eric smirked. “Sounds American.”
“It may be; anyway, it’s something I got into my fifth year at Hogwarts. A dragon had been routed to Hogwarts, as part of some sort of ceremonial function; Hagrid was assigned to take care of it, as Kettleburn was at St. Mungo’s again. I’d been working with Hagrid for a while; he always cared for the really scary, nasty creatures. The ones everyone was afraid of. The ones that... that needed him the most, I guess. He didn’t want me coming with him to the dragon pen, but I talked him into it.
“I still remember the moment when the pen opened, and they led it out- thirty feet of muscle and flame, and coiled grace. Norwegian Ridgeback, just like... Well; these weren’t wild, like the ones for the Triwizard Tournament- did you see that?”
“Some of it- cost me twenty Galleons.”
“Anyway, this one wasn’t like that; it had been raised from a hatchling, and the wranglers were able to work with it, and lead it around, and get it to blow flame...” A look of nostalgia came over Charlie’s face. “I wish I could tell you what that was like,” he said quietly. “Show you- Pensieve it, or something. It was... I’d seen all sorts of magical creatures before- everyone has- hinkypunks and grindylows and all that; they’re fine, and I was good with them. Only Outstanding on my OWLs- Care of Magical... the point is, this was...” He shook his head. “Since I was small, my older brother had been reading to me, from Muggle fairy tales. I don’t know why the Muggles have such good fairy tales, not even having any magic- maybe they just need better imaginations. Anyway, these were brilliant.
"He'd pretend he didn't want to, but every now and then, I'd get him to take the book out, and we'd read one- he taught me to read that way..." Charlies laughed softly. "He was brilliant- he'd start reading, and then say, 'Oh, I think dad is calling...' and leave, and then I'd have to work out what happened next... Anyway, we had to hide them from mum; she said they gave us nightmares, and they did, but I loved them. All sorts of things about giants, and wishes, and knights fighting dragons, and the like. I always wanted to see one; I can remember the way he used to describe them to me...
“Now, suddenly... here it was, my imagination, come to life.” Charlie mimed reaching up to touch something with his good hand. “Hagrid actually got them to let me touch it- it was hot, like a furnace, and it made this low, rumbly sound, and it spread its wings, so that they seemed to blot out the sun... I remember looking into its eye, all gold and slitted, like a cat’s, and it was looking at me, and at that moment, I knew there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep living this dream, forever. That was it for Quidditch, although I kept playing at school; the moment I graduated, I had Dad bring in my application to the Ministry. Minister Bagnold had already promised him a spot in the DRCMC for me, before she left; Fudge brought the signed application back to Dad’s desk himself. Dad still talks about it.”
Eric nodded. “Why the Ministry, though? Couldn’t you have... well, couldn’t you have made more gold working privately?”
Charlie sighed, and looked sad. “Yeah; I definitely thought about it, too. All the paperwork you have with the Ministry; all the... well, the thing is? Honestly?” he paused. “It was... it was Bill. My brother. You know who he was- is?”
“At this point, I doubt there’s a wizard in the UK who doesn’t,” Eric said quietly. “Not with Scrimgeour having the Prophet put those pictures on the front page every day- ‘Hero of the Battle of Hogwarts maimed by...’” He broke off. “No; I always knew who your brother was. Always. I honestly thought he’d wind up Minister one day.”
Charlie nodded. “That’s what Dad used to say- said Bill could have had anything he wanted from the Ministry. In the end, though, Bill wanted to have a family, and to have them... not be poor, I guess. I guess Gringotts paid better. I remember him visiting me at Hogwarts, and sitting up talking about it one night: how he thought the Ministry was too stifling, and he wanted a better life...” He caught himself hastily. “Well- a different life- for his children. I don’t think he ever really liked the Ministry, or trusted it- he used to say how it was just there to hide us from Muggles, and let us pretend we had our own government, even though we kept running back to the Muggle prime minister with any new development, and how anytime anything really useful got discovered, it promptly got hidden away in some dusty old...” He broke off, and shook his head. “I can remember him saying he'd rather bin the whole thing, and start over fresh. I guess that’s why I went Ministry- because of Bill, and Dad. Percy too, I think. It hurt Dad when Bill went for Gringotts- he never said so to us, but I could see it. I didn’t want to hurt him- to disappoint him.”
Eric nodded. “How would your father feel about this?” he asked. “Us?”
Charlie frowned, then sighed. “Honestly? I don’t know. It’s odd, actually: I’ve been- well, I’ve been doing things with blokes for a long time now, you know? But I always... in my head, it was always just something I was doing now and again. And then I’d... I always saw myself getting married, and settling down. Having children. Like Bill, I suppose.”
“And you can’t now, is what you’re saying...?”
“I can’t... I don’t... I don't know; it’s just, everything is changing.” Charlie put his hand upon his heart. “Here. Me. I’m changing, whether it’s because of the war, or what happened to Bill, or...” He shook his head. “This used to be just something I did every once in a while- just a moment or two in the dark, you know? And now, it’s... I don't know just when it happened, but I don’t think I can go back to being that old me. The one I used to imagine myself becoming. I don’t think I can be him anymore.”
“You never really were, to start with,” Eric said quietly; there was a pause. “What are you thinking?”
Charlie hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “With so much else going on, it’s like- there are days I never even think about it, and other days when it’s all I think about, as though I’m... lying to them by not telling them, or something. Which I’m not- it just hasn’t come up, what with everything else going on... Merlin- listen to me talk.”
“I know- you should stick to dragon wrestling.”
“Wrangling.”
“Whatever.”
As soon as Eric had settled accounts with Rosmerta, the two of them stumbled out into the Hogsmeade main street; Eric turned away for a moment, as Charlie leaned against the wall of the Three Broomsticks. Eric turned back, and smirked. “Come away from there, Griffy. The wall won’t fall down. Over. Whatever.”
Charlie laughed, and walked over to him. “What now?”
“Now we go back to my place, of course, and discuss your future. I’ve seen your Apparition record,” he added, taking Charlie by the shoulder. “I’ll handle this.”
(A/N: Part two, which features Eric, is in the works.)
CHARACTERS: Charlie Weasley, Eric Jenkins [OC], Percy Weasley, Madame Rosmerta
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: first date jitters, discussion of war wounds
FEEDBACK: please
ARCHIVING: please ask
This is an interlude chapter of my HP story, in which Charlie Weasley starts to explore a new aspect of his life; as always, Half-Blood Prince spoilers. (Please note that this series is not Deathly Hallows compliant in the slightest.)
Like Mist Upon the Water
Charlie paused outside the Three Broomsticks, and took a quick glance up and down the street, for security's sake. Nothing to be seen; he nervously combed his fingers through his hair, and pushed open the door. Madame Rosmerta came up to him as he walked in, although he tried to sidestep her: I just missed Hagrid? Oh, too bad. No, no word about Bill. Please, don’t feel bad- you were under a curse... Finally, he saw him; the other man was sitting by a side window, watching Charlie with something of a smirk on his face. Politely excusing himself to Rosmerta, Charlie walked over to the table.
“Are you sure you still want to do this?” the other man asked, lightly mocking. “Most men would be delighted to have Rosmerta all over them like that.”
Charlie blushed. “I wasn’t trying to...”
“Let’s start again. Hello.”
“Hi,” Charlie said, sitting down. He took a moment to look at the other man, who was dressed in expensive civilian robes, not Ministry worker attire; Charlie was painfully conscious of his own T-shirt and faded jeans.
“The hair looks fine, by the way,” said the other man. “Eric.”
“Right, I remember. Right. Charlie.” They paused, as Rosmerta came over, and took their drink orders. Then, Charlie said, “Umm... thanks for the note.”
Eric nodded. “Thanks for coming. I would’ve suggested the Leaky Cauldron, but I wanted to get away from the Ministry; there's some big to-do happening tomorrow- wizards from all over- and Scrimgeour has been running us ragged. I’m sure you can understand.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said; he cast about for something to say. “I’m a bit surprised; I thought you might have picked Madame Puddifoot’s, or something...”
A cocked eyebrow. “Your sort of place?”
“Umm, no. I just... I haven’t done this a lot.” Seeing Eric’s look, he clarified, “An actual, err, date. With a bloke, I mean.”
“I gathered as much.” Eric paused for a second, and looked at him, as Rosmerta brought their drinks. His eyes met Charlie’s, and held his gaze. “You actually have gorgeous eyes, you know,” Eric said. “You don’t usually see brown eyes on a redhead.”
“Thanks, umm... you too,” Charlie paused, and took a swallow of his drink. “Wow- this is strong. What is it?”
“A Dragon's Claw- it’s meant to be strong.”
“Oh. Yeah... they’re hazel, actually. Most of my family’s are green.”
“Ahh, yes- just like your friend Har...”
“Can we not talk about him, please?” Charlie interjected. “I’m sorry- it’s just, between having to give interviews to the Prophet every time I go to the Ministry, and Aurors at the house, in case Death Eaters come to blast us, and people grabbing me on the street to ask me to give a message to ‘The Chosen One’... well, it gets a bit much.”
“I’d imagine so.” Eric took a sip of his own drink. “All right; we’ll talk about you for a moment.” He brushed his fingertips against Charlie’s upper arm. “Where in Merlin’s name did you get muscles like that? Is that from Quidditch?”
Charlie blushed, and ducked his head for a moment. “Hardly- all Quidditch is, is zooming around on a broom; not much exercise there. No, it’s from- well, when you work with dragons, you’re leading them around on chains, and carrying harnesses, and such. They don’t like for you to use magic near the dragons, so you get a workout.”
“Romania, yes?”
“Yes, I- how did you know?”
“I read your Ministry file, of course- one of the perks of working in Scrimgeour’s office. Can’t be too careful.” He looked at Charlie for a moment. “So, any tales of hot-blooded Romanian men to share...?”
“Not really, I...” He blushed again. “You’re teasing.”
Eric’s lips quirked. “You’re fun to play with, I’ll say that much.” He leaned forward. “Show me something.”
“Like...?”
“I don’t know- some muscular Muggle sort of bar wager you used to impress those hot-blooded Romanian men.”
“Well, I- here; watch this.” Charlie fished out a sack from the back pocket of his jeans.
Eric quirked an eyebrow. “Your mummy makes you a lunch?”
Charlie froze for a second. “No. Umm... my sister, actually. Here.” He pulled a walnut out of the sack. “See this?”
Eric frowned. “Are you going to throw it at me...?”
“No- watch.” Charlie gripped it tightly in his good hand, then began to squeeze. His face went red from the effort; Eric was about to say something, when there was a sharp crack. Charlie opened his hand, revealing the broken shell; Eric gaped at him for a moment.
“I refuse to be impressed by that,” Eric finally said. Charlie grinned, and flexed his hand.
“I used to win us drinks all the time, doing that,” Charlie said. “Most wizards aren’t much for exercise, I guess.”
“I suppose not,” Eric said, brushing his fingertips against the skin of Charlie’s arm again. “Mmm- gooseflesh.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, smiling and shivering. “You, umm- you do that to me.”
“Hmm, now; I wonder what else...” Eric stopped, and looked out the window.
“What?” Charlie asked.
“Nothing- it’s just McGonagall, of all people; she’s arguing with...”
“Oh, Merlin- it’s Percy.” Charlie stood abruptly, and headed for the door, before turning back to Eric. “I just- I’ll be right back, okay? I just need to...”
Eric nodded; Charlie rushed out the door. McGonagall had vanished; Percy was scribbling something on a parchment that he then tucked into his robes. At the sound of Charlie’s running footsteps, Percy quickly turned, one hand already reaching for his wand.
“Oh,” Percy said, seeing that it was Charlie. There was an awkward pause; Percy lowered his wand.
“Perce,” Charlie said awkwardly; Percy’s lips pressed together. “Sorry- Percy.”
“I always hated that nickname,” Percy said, then, he straightened. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to chat- Minister Scrimgeour needs to be apprised of...”
“It’s mum- I’ve been trying to reach you about it,” Charlie said quickly; he glanced at the window of the Three Broomsticks, before continuing, “Look, I won’t keep you- I need to get back myself- but... you’ve heard, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” Percy said quietly. “I am sorry for it, but I’m afraid that I can’t...”
“It’s bad,” Charlie said. “She’s been in bed for weeks; she’s only now starting to...”
Percy shook his head; he looked awkward and uncomfortable. “There... there really isn’t much I can do,” he said. “There’s isn’t a healer free within the whole United Kingdom; besides, you know they’re not good with mental...”
“She needs to see you, Perce. Percy. She needs to see her son.”
“I... I have wanted to visit- but Headmistress McGonagall is proving most uncooperative with regards to Ministry policy... and things with Father...”
“He said I should ask you,” Charlie said quietly. “I'm sorry; I don't mean to keep interrupting. I don’t have time to discuss it, but... it would help her, I think. You owe her that.” There was an awkward pause. “Well,” Charlie said finally, “I’m with someone, so...”
“Jenkins,” Percy said. “You could do worse.”
Charlie nodded, hesitated, and then lifted a hand in farewell. “Well...”
“I remember,” Percy said quietly, “I remember those cookies she used to make, whenever we hurt ourselves. The ones with cinnamon and raisins.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said with a slight chuckle, “and Fred, pretending he’d been bitten by a dragon...”
“Yes,” Percy said, glancing at Charlie’s bandaged wrist. “I... take care of yourself.”
“You too,” Charlie replied after a moment. Percy looked as though he were going to say something else; instead he turned, and Disapparated.
“Everything all right with the family?” Eric asked, as Charlie sat back down. “Speaking of- is he...?”
Charlie shook his head. “Don’t know. He had a girlfriend at school, but- hard to imagine him shagging anyone, really. Err- he saw that I’m with you; is that going to be a problem?”
Eric shook his head. “He’ll report it to Scrimgeour, of course, but Scrimgeour won’t do anything with it unless he figures he can use it as leverage somehow. Otherwise, I could be having it off with two lethifolds and a snotgurgle, as long as I don't share Ministry secrets.”
“Err, all right,” Charlie said finally. There was a pause, as they finished their drinks, and Rosmerta brought fresh ones. “By the way,” Charlie said, “how much are these?”
“Relax,” Eric said. “Consider it my part of the war effort. Listen,” he continued, leaning closer. “Do you know why I left you that note?”
“I, err, figured you wanted to...”
“Let’s try again: you don’t remember me, do you?”
“Oh, Merlin- did we...”
A soft chuckle; a sip of his drink. “I should let you worry. No; I was a year behind you at Hogwarts, and while I did try to get you alone once or twice, you were always off at Quidditch practice, or helping Kettleburn take care of some new horror.”
“You were?” Charlie frowned. “I don’t... were you Ravenclaw?”
“I’m afraid not.” Eric held up his right hand, showing a silver ring in the shape of a serpent, with eyes made from emeralds. “In fact, you’re consorting with the enemy.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. “Slytherin...?”
“Very good, Griffy. Now, are you going to storm out in a huff, or simply subdue me, and call for an Auror?”
“No, I don’t...” Charlie paused, and indicated the ring. “You see a lot of those these days. At work, I mean.”
Eric nodded. “Some wear them simply to copy Scrimgeour; others just like to say, “Yes, I’m Slytherin- what of it?”
Charlie nodded in turn. “Why do you wear it...?” he finally asked.
“So that I can get helpless Gryffindors off balance, of course, and have them at my mercy.” Charlie shivered for a moment, as Eric signaled for another round. Eric took a drink, then suddenly chuckled, and shook his head. “Madame Puddifoot’s- I should hex you for that. No; I used to like the Hog’s Head, back in my disreputable youth, but I’m far too respectable now.”
“I see that,” said Charlie; his gaze returned to the ring.
“It’s useful for signaling the Dark Lord, in case the Mark doesn't work,” Eric said, as Charlie hastily looked away.
"You shouldn't joke," Charlie said. "Did you hear what happened to Stan Shunpike?"
"Yes- I processed his release," Eric replied. "Believe me, Scrimgeour knows all my dirty little secrets. Look, you can signal for an Auror, if you like- one just walked in.”
“That bloke in the back? He’s not wearing...”
Eric shook his head, and assumed a lecturing tone. “Learn to pay attention, Griffy. You can always tell the real Aurors from the trainees, if you look. Trainees sit in a group, when they can; they get a table by the door so that they can bolt out at a moment’s notice, they conscientiously stick to butterbeer- no more than two- and have their Auror’s robes on, all nice and freshly laundered.”
He paused, then continued in a more serious tone. “The real ones- the ones who’ve actually seen action- wear anything but Auror’s robes, when they come here. They sit alone in the back, where they can watch the room, when they don’t simply drink at home. They throw back firewhiskey by the bottleful, and never stop tracking the room with their eyes. You can see it in their eyes- they’ve seen things.” He assumed a lighter tone. “Now, we Death Eaters prefer carousing at Malfoy Manor, when we’re not busy poisoning the cherubs at Mada...”
“All right,” Charlie muttered. “Why are we talking about this...?”
“I’m waiting for you to get drunk enough that you stop looking as though you’re swotting your OWLs,” Eric replied. “Actually, I’m surprised you didn’t go the Auror route yourself- big, muscular brute of a Gryffindor like you.”
Charlie shook his head. “I’m pants at Defense- barely scraped an Acceptable. It’s too dangerous out there.”
“I see that,” Eric murmured, glancing at the bandaged stump of Charlie’s missing hand. “Don’t,” he added quickly, as Charlie started to pull it away.
“Don’t...?”
“It’s... well... it’s a war wound,” Eric said quietly. There was an awkward pause.
“Not really,” Charlie finally muttered. “I mean, yeah, there was the giant attack, but we’re not combat...”
Eric lightly laid a finger upon his lips. “Shh- it’s a war wound. This is a war, and it’s a wound you got fighting the agents of Voldemort, and... Merlin, would you stop being so damn Gryffindor for a second?”
Charlie stared at him in surprise; heads that had turned at Eric’s outburst returned to their own conversations. “Everything all right?” Rosmerta asked.
“We’re fine,” Eric said dismissively. She continued to stand there for a moment; Eric forced a smile and a more charming manner. “We’re fine- really. My friend is just being a bit too honest for his own good.”
“He does that,” Rosmerta said with a smile, as she walked away. Once she was gone, Eric turned back to Charlie. “See that poor bastard over there?” he said.
Charlie hesitated, then looked at the reflection in the mirror over the bar. “Clever,” Eric murmured approvingly. “I can't stand people who stare, as though it were a sideshow... see him?”
“The one with... oh.”
Eric nodded. “He’s been missing that leg for a month now. You never used to see anyone with scars- except Mad-Eye, of course- but now, with St. Mungo’s the way it is... You see a lot more of that now." He paused, and looked down at Charlie’s bandaged wrist. “Tell me about it,” he said quietly.
“About...?”
“About all of it. About what happened to your hand, and what you did before that, and wrestling dragons... all of it.”
Charlie snorted. “Well, first, we don’t call it ‘wrestling’- we’re called ‘wranglers.’ Dragon wranglers.”
Eric smirked. “Sounds American.”
“It may be; anyway, it’s something I got into my fifth year at Hogwarts. A dragon had been routed to Hogwarts, as part of some sort of ceremonial function; Hagrid was assigned to take care of it, as Kettleburn was at St. Mungo’s again. I’d been working with Hagrid for a while; he always cared for the really scary, nasty creatures. The ones everyone was afraid of. The ones that... that needed him the most, I guess. He didn’t want me coming with him to the dragon pen, but I talked him into it.
“I still remember the moment when the pen opened, and they led it out- thirty feet of muscle and flame, and coiled grace. Norwegian Ridgeback, just like... Well; these weren’t wild, like the ones for the Triwizard Tournament- did you see that?”
“Some of it- cost me twenty Galleons.”
“Anyway, this one wasn’t like that; it had been raised from a hatchling, and the wranglers were able to work with it, and lead it around, and get it to blow flame...” A look of nostalgia came over Charlie’s face. “I wish I could tell you what that was like,” he said quietly. “Show you- Pensieve it, or something. It was... I’d seen all sorts of magical creatures before- everyone has- hinkypunks and grindylows and all that; they’re fine, and I was good with them. Only Outstanding on my OWLs- Care of Magical... the point is, this was...” He shook his head. “Since I was small, my older brother had been reading to me, from Muggle fairy tales. I don’t know why the Muggles have such good fairy tales, not even having any magic- maybe they just need better imaginations. Anyway, these were brilliant.
"He'd pretend he didn't want to, but every now and then, I'd get him to take the book out, and we'd read one- he taught me to read that way..." Charlies laughed softly. "He was brilliant- he'd start reading, and then say, 'Oh, I think dad is calling...' and leave, and then I'd have to work out what happened next... Anyway, we had to hide them from mum; she said they gave us nightmares, and they did, but I loved them. All sorts of things about giants, and wishes, and knights fighting dragons, and the like. I always wanted to see one; I can remember the way he used to describe them to me...
“Now, suddenly... here it was, my imagination, come to life.” Charlie mimed reaching up to touch something with his good hand. “Hagrid actually got them to let me touch it- it was hot, like a furnace, and it made this low, rumbly sound, and it spread its wings, so that they seemed to blot out the sun... I remember looking into its eye, all gold and slitted, like a cat’s, and it was looking at me, and at that moment, I knew there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep living this dream, forever. That was it for Quidditch, although I kept playing at school; the moment I graduated, I had Dad bring in my application to the Ministry. Minister Bagnold had already promised him a spot in the DRCMC for me, before she left; Fudge brought the signed application back to Dad’s desk himself. Dad still talks about it.”
Eric nodded. “Why the Ministry, though? Couldn’t you have... well, couldn’t you have made more gold working privately?”
Charlie sighed, and looked sad. “Yeah; I definitely thought about it, too. All the paperwork you have with the Ministry; all the... well, the thing is? Honestly?” he paused. “It was... it was Bill. My brother. You know who he was- is?”
“At this point, I doubt there’s a wizard in the UK who doesn’t,” Eric said quietly. “Not with Scrimgeour having the Prophet put those pictures on the front page every day- ‘Hero of the Battle of Hogwarts maimed by...’” He broke off. “No; I always knew who your brother was. Always. I honestly thought he’d wind up Minister one day.”
Charlie nodded. “That’s what Dad used to say- said Bill could have had anything he wanted from the Ministry. In the end, though, Bill wanted to have a family, and to have them... not be poor, I guess. I guess Gringotts paid better. I remember him visiting me at Hogwarts, and sitting up talking about it one night: how he thought the Ministry was too stifling, and he wanted a better life...” He caught himself hastily. “Well- a different life- for his children. I don’t think he ever really liked the Ministry, or trusted it- he used to say how it was just there to hide us from Muggles, and let us pretend we had our own government, even though we kept running back to the Muggle prime minister with any new development, and how anytime anything really useful got discovered, it promptly got hidden away in some dusty old...” He broke off, and shook his head. “I can remember him saying he'd rather bin the whole thing, and start over fresh. I guess that’s why I went Ministry- because of Bill, and Dad. Percy too, I think. It hurt Dad when Bill went for Gringotts- he never said so to us, but I could see it. I didn’t want to hurt him- to disappoint him.”
Eric nodded. “How would your father feel about this?” he asked. “Us?”
Charlie frowned, then sighed. “Honestly? I don’t know. It’s odd, actually: I’ve been- well, I’ve been doing things with blokes for a long time now, you know? But I always... in my head, it was always just something I was doing now and again. And then I’d... I always saw myself getting married, and settling down. Having children. Like Bill, I suppose.”
“And you can’t now, is what you’re saying...?”
“I can’t... I don’t... I don't know; it’s just, everything is changing.” Charlie put his hand upon his heart. “Here. Me. I’m changing, whether it’s because of the war, or what happened to Bill, or...” He shook his head. “This used to be just something I did every once in a while- just a moment or two in the dark, you know? And now, it’s... I don't know just when it happened, but I don’t think I can go back to being that old me. The one I used to imagine myself becoming. I don’t think I can be him anymore.”
“You never really were, to start with,” Eric said quietly; there was a pause. “What are you thinking?”
Charlie hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “With so much else going on, it’s like- there are days I never even think about it, and other days when it’s all I think about, as though I’m... lying to them by not telling them, or something. Which I’m not- it just hasn’t come up, what with everything else going on... Merlin- listen to me talk.”
“I know- you should stick to dragon wrestling.”
“Wrangling.”
“Whatever.”
As soon as Eric had settled accounts with Rosmerta, the two of them stumbled out into the Hogsmeade main street; Eric turned away for a moment, as Charlie leaned against the wall of the Three Broomsticks. Eric turned back, and smirked. “Come away from there, Griffy. The wall won’t fall down. Over. Whatever.”
Charlie laughed, and walked over to him. “What now?”
“Now we go back to my place, of course, and discuss your future. I’ve seen your Apparition record,” he added, taking Charlie by the shoulder. “I’ll handle this.”
(A/N: Part two, which features Eric, is in the works.)