CHAPTER SIX:

(A/N: uh, hi...)

Third Person P.O.V.:

Katie Bell was removed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the following day, by which time the news that she had been cursed had spread all over the school, though the details were confused. Nobody other than Charlie, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne seemed to know that Katie herself had not been the intended target.

"Oh, and Malfoy knows, of course," Harry reminded his friends, who continued their new policy of feigning deafness whenever Harry mentioned his Malfoy-Is-a-Death-Eater theory.

Charlie had wondered whether Dumbledore would return from wherever he had been in time for his Monday night lesson with Harry, but having had no word to the contrary, he presented himself with his best friend outside Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock, knocked, and was told to enter.

There sat Dumbledore looking unusually tired; his hand was as black and burned as ever, but he smiled when he gestured for Harry and Charlie to sit down, looking slightly relieved that his grandson had come along to see him. The Pensieve was sitting on his desk, casting silvery specks of light over the ceiling.

"Ah, Charles," smiled Dumbledore gratefully. "I didn't know you'd be joining us this evening."

"I hope you don't mind," pleaded Charlie, shamefully avoiding Dumbledore's pestering blue eyes, internally dealing with the aftermath of their fight. "I'm avoiding someone, you see, and I don't have anywhere else to go..."

"Not to worry, m'boy, in fact, I'm glad you're here," beamed Dumbledore, now looking between Harry and Charlie. He lowered his voice in a serious manner, "I see that the two of you have had a busy time while I've been away. Professor McGonagall told me you witnessed Katie's accident."

"Yes, sir," nodded Harry.

"How is she?" Charlie inquired, looking a little distraught.

"Still very unwell, although she was relatively lucky," explained Dumbledore, heaving a great sigh. "She appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest amount of skin possible. Had she put it on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly. Luckily Professor Snape was able to do enough to prevent a rapid spread of the curse —"

"Why him?" asked Harry quickly. "Why not Madame Pomfrey?"

"Impertinent," said a soft voice from one of the portraits on the wall, and Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius's great-great-grandfather, raised his head from his arms where he had appeared to be sleeping. "I would not have permitted a student to question the way Hogwarts operated in my day."

"Yes, thank you, Phineas," dismissed Dumbledore quellingly. "Professor Snape knows much more about the Dark Arts than Madame Pomfrey, Harry. Anyway, the St. Mungo's staff are sending me hourly reports, and I am hopeful that Katie will make a full recovery in time."

Charlie nodded, breathing out in relief.

"Where were you this weekend, grandfather?" he asked, disregarding a strong feeling that he might be pushing his luck, a feeling apparently shared by Phineas Nigellus, who hissed softly.

"I would rather not say now, Charles," said Dumbledore softly, his eyes gleaming. "However, I shall tell you both in due course."

"You will?" repeated Harry, startled.

"Yes, I expect so," continued Dumbledore, withdrawing a fresh bottle of silver memories from inside his robes and uncorking it with a prod of his wand. He looked to Charlie once more, muttering, "You're familiar with the Pensieve?"

Charlie nodded vigorously, recounting the time in his fourth year when he and Harry had seen Barty Crouch Jr. imprisoned for being a Death Eater.

"Good," sighed Dumbledore, his smile covered by his great long beard. "That shall make things much easier, I assure you. Has Harry told you of what we've uncovered so far?"

"About the Dark Lord's family, yes," nodded Charlie, sparing a look in Harry's direction; naturally, Harry divulged all the details of his first meeting with Dumbledore as soon as he returned to the common room many nights ago. "The Ga—"

"Sir," interjected Harry tentatively, his eyes pleading with Dumbledore. "Before we begin, I think you should know... we met Mundungus in Hogsmeade."

"Ah yes, I am already aware that Mundungus has been treating your inheritance with light-fingered contempt," said Dumbledore, frowning a little. "He has gone to ground since you two accosted him outside the Three Broomsticks; I rather think he dreads facing me. However, rest assured that he will not be making away with any more of Sirius's old possessions."

"That mangy old half-blood has been stealing Black heirlooms?" scoffed Phineas Nigellus, incensed; and he stalked out of his frame, undoubtedly to visit his portrait in number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"Professor," Harry pressed on, after a short pause, "did Professor McGonagall tell you what I told her after Katie got hurt? About Draco Malfoy?"

"Harry," groaned Charlie warningly. "We've already been over this..."

"She told me of your suspicions, yes," confirmed Dumbledore, answering Harry's question.

"What do you think — ?"

"I shall take all appropriate measures to investigate anyone who might have had a hand in Katie's accident," assured Dumbledore, dismissing the topic. "But what concerns me now, Harry, is our lesson."

Charlie could tell, by the look on his friend's face, that Harry felt slightly resentful at this. However, he said no more about Draco Malfoy, but watched, with Charlie, as Dumbledore poured the fresh memories into the Pensieve and began swirling the stone basin between his long-fingered hands.

"Harry has told you, I assume, that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle, had abandoned his witch wife, Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort."

Charlie's brows knitted together in confusion, "How do you know she was in London?"

"Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke," explained Dumbledore effortlessly, "who, by an odd coincidence, helped found the very shop whence came the necklace we have just been discussing."

He swilled the contents of the Pensieve, just like a gold prospector sifts for gold. Above, out of the swirling, silvery mass rose a little old man revolving slowly in the Pensieve, silver as a ghost but much more solid, with a thatch of hair that completely covered his eyes.

"Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along... going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favorite teapot,' but when I looked at it, it had his mark alright, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!"

Dumbledore gave the Pensieve an extra-vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.

"He only gave her ten Galleons?" whispered Charlie, wincing at the cruelty.

"Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity," said Dumbledore. "So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo's, her father's, treasured family heirlooms."

"But she could do magic!" mumbled Harry impatiently. "She could have got food and everything for herself by magic, couldn't she?"

"Ah," hummed Dumbledore, peering over his half-moon spectacles, "perhaps she could. But it is my belief that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life."

"She wouldn't even stay alive for her son?" frowned Charlie, talking to himself.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows unexpectedly and Charlie had realized that he had been overheard.

"Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?"

"No," gulped Charlie quickly, "but she had a choice, didn't she? Many others can't say the same —"

"Everyone has a choice, Charles," said Dumbledore gently, and Charlie tensed ever so slightly. "Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly. She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never knew courage. And now, if you both could stand..."

"Where are we going this time?" Harry asked, as Dumbledore joined him and Charlie at the front of the desk.

"This time," said Dumbledore, "we are going to enter my memory. I think you two will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you..."

Exchanging a quick look, Charlie and Harry each bent over the Pensieve; their faces broke the cool surface of the memory and then they were falling through darkness —

[entering the memory]

Seconds later, their feet hit firm ground; Charlie opened his eyes and found that he, Harry, and Dumbledore were standing in a bustling, old-fashioned London street.

The younger version of Albus Dumbledore had long hair and a beard of dark brown, just as Charlie had naturally. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing.

"Nice suit, granddad," smirked Charlie, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled as they followed his younger self for a short distance, finally passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.

"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"

"Oh," said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. "Um... just a moment... MRS. COLE!" she bellowed over her shoulder.

Charlie heard a distant voice shouting something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore.

"Come in, she's on 'er way."

Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Charlie, Harry and the older Dumbledore followed. Before the front door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind, and she was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked toward Dumbledore.

"...and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets — chicken pox on top of everything else," she said to nobody in particular, and then her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just crossed her threshold.

"Good afternoon," greeted Dumbledore, holding out his hand.

Mrs. Cole simply gaped.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."

She blinked, apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, "Oh yes. Well... you'd better come into my room, yes."

She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.

"I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and the arrangements for his future," explained the younger Dumbledore.

"Are you family?" asked Mrs. Cole.

"No, I am a teacher," corrected Dumbledore. "I have come to offer Tom a place at my school."

"What school's this, then?"

"It is called Hogwarts."

"And how come you're interested in Tom?"

"We believe he has qualities we are looking for."

"You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one."

"Well, his name has been down for our school since birth —"

"Who registered him? His parents?"

There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too, for Charlie now saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his velvet suit, and at the same time, picked up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop.

"Here," said Dumbledore politely, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, "I think this will make everything clear."

Mrs. Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank paper for a moment.

"That seems perfectly in order," she muttered placidly, handing it back. Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had certainly not been present a few seconds before.

"Uh, would you like a drink?" she asked in an extra-refined voice.

"That'd be splendid, thank you," nodded Dumbledore, beaming.

It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice when it came to gin drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one gulp. Smacking her lips frankly, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, and he didn't hesitate to press his advantage.

"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?"

"That's right," gulped Mrs. Cole, helping herself to more gin. "I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her in, and she had the baby within the hour... and then, she was dead after another."

Mrs. Cole nodded impressively and took another generous gulp of gin.

"Did she say anything before she died?" inquired Dumbledore. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"

"Now, as it happens, she did," said Mrs. Cole, who seemed to be rather enjoying herself now, with the gin in her hand and an eager audience for her story. "I remember she said to me, 'I hope he looks like his papa,' and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty — and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father, and then, Riddle as the surname — yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since."

Mrs. Cole helped herself, almost absent-mindedly, to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheekbones. Then she said, "He's a funny boy."

"Yes," agreed Dumbledore, oddly smiling to himself. "I thought he might be."

"He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. Then, when he got a little older, he was... odd."

"Odd in what way?" asked Dumbledore gently.

"Well, he —"

But Mrs. Cole pulled up short, and there was nothing blurry or vague about the inquisitorial glance she shot Dumbledore over her gin glass.

"He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?"

"Definitely," said Dumbledore.

"And nothing I say can change that?"

"Nothing."

"You'll be taking him away, regardless?"

"Regardless," repeated Dumbledore gravely.

She squinted at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, "He scares the other children."

"You mean he is a bully?" asked Dumbledore.

"I think he must be," said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, "but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents... nasty things..."

Dumbledore did not press her, though Charlie could tell that he was interested. She took yet another gulp of gin and her rosy cheeks grew rosier still.

"Billy Stubbs's rabbit... well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"

"I shouldn't think so, no," said Dumbledore quietly.

"But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before."Mrs. Cole took another swig of gin, slopping a little over her chin this time, "After the summer outing, well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things..."

(A/N: I nearly forgot how much of a little creep young Tom Riddle was... lol, yikes.)

She looked around at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed, her gaze was steady.

"I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him."

"You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?" added Dumbledore, feeling inclined to. "He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer."

"Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker," sighed Mrs. Cole with a slight hiccup. She got to her feet, and Charlie was impressed to see that she was still quite steady, even though two-thirds of the gin was now gone. "I suppose you'd like to see him?"

"Very much," nodded Dumbledore, rising too.

She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans, Charlie saw, were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door of a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered.

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumbledore. He's come to tell you — well, I'll let him do it."

Charlie, Harry and the two Dumbledores entered the room, and Mrs. Cole closed the door on them. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and an iron bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.

Merope had got her dying wish; he was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance.

There was a moment's silence, and Charlie's eyes focused upon the young version of Tom Riddle. Oddly enough, his Dark Mark burned beneath his robes, clearly invigorated by the proximity to its master, despite the fact that there was no likeness to the boy in the memory and Lord Voldemort — well, at least not at first glance.

"How do you do, Tom?" said young Dumbledore once again, walking forward and holding out his hand.

The boy hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands; Charlie shuddered, the sight provoked such a weird irony within him. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

"'Professor'?" repeated Riddle. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?"

He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.

"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling.

"I don't believe you," growled Riddle. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still.

"Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school — your new school, if you would like to come."

Riddle's reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? Well, I'm not going, you understand me? I hear Mrs. Cole talking, her and the rest of the staff. They want me looked at... they think I'm different."

"Perhaps they're right," Dumbledore smiled softly, trying to ease the boy's aggression.

"I'm not mad!"

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them lying.

"Magic?" he repeated in a whisper.

"That's right," nodded Dumbledore. "You can do things, can't you, Tom? Things the other children can't do."

"Yes, I can do all sorts," breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always... I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. "You are a wizard."

Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured. There was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

"Are you a wizard too?"

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it," said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, "Tell the truth."

Charlie was sure that Dumbledore was going to refuse, that he would tell Riddle there would be plenty of time for practical demonstrations at Hogwarts, that they were currently in a building full of Muggles and must, therefore, be cautious. To his great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick.

The wardrobe burst into flames.

Riddle jumped to his feet; Charlie could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage — all of his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore. Then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of them?"

"All in good time," dismissed Dumbledore, holstering his wand once again. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. For the first time, Riddle looked frightened.

"Open the door, Tom."

Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

"Good, now, take it out."

Riddle took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.

Dumbledore noticed this, eyeing him curiously, "Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?"

Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look.

"Yes, I suppose so," he mumbled finally, in an expressionless voice.

"Open it," said Dumbledore.

Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Charlie, who had expected something much more exciting, saw a mess of small, everyday objects; a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished harmonica among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.

"Why did you take these things, Tom?"

"I like having things that belong to other people," grunted Riddle, clearly annoyed. "It makes me feel... close to them."

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. "I shall know whether it has been done. Be warned, thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore.

At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."

"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "you will not only be taught how to use magic, but also how to control it. You have been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic — yes, there is a Ministry — will punish lawbreakers more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir," said Riddle again.

"All the details of your arrival to Hogwarts are on the second piece of parchment in this envelope," continued Dumbledore, handing Riddle the list containing his essential equipment. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."

Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again.

Taking it, Riddle added, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when the orphanage went on a trip to the countryside — they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

Charlie could tell that young Riddle had withheld mention of this strange power until that moment, determined to impress.

"It is unusual," breathed Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of."

His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle's face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door.

"Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

"I think that will do," whispered the white-haired Dumbledore at Charlie and Harry's side, and seconds later, they were soaring weightlessly through darkness once more, before landing squarely in the present-day office.

[exiting the memory]

(A/N: sorry if that was boring to read, but it's essential to the story...)

"Sit down, both of you," cooed Dumbledore, landing beside the Gryffindor boys before gesturing towards two empty seats.

Charlie and Harry obeyed, their minds evidently still full of what they had just seen.

"He believed it much quicker than I did, don't you remember?" Harry looked to Charlie, reminiscing with a smile. "I mean, when you and Hagrid told me I was a wizard, I didn't believe you at first."

With a large grin curled upon his lips, Charlie nodded, although he was suddenly stricken by how different things had changed since then.

"Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe that he was — to use his word — 'special'," quoted Dumbledore, shaking his head ever so slightly.

"Did you know?" asked Charlie uneasily. "Back then, I mean, did you — ?"

"Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?" finished Dumbledore, and Charlie nodded shamefully, looking onwards. "No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. His powers, as you heard, were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and — most interestingly and ominously of all — he had already discovered that he had some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. The little stories of the strangled rabbit and the young boy and girl he lured into a cave were most suggestive..."

"'I can make them hurt if I want to...'" mimicked Charlie, utterly disgusted.

"And he was a Parselmouth," interjected Harry.

"Yes, indeed; a rare ability, and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although as we know, there are Parselmouths among the good too. In fact, his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination."

"I suppose that's a good point," agreed Charlie, tensing as he realized that, even at a young age, the Dark Lord showed no mercy.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Dumbledore faltered, his expression troubled.

"I have to tell you something," he whispered, and Charlie's head had snapped up from the Pensieve; he had been distracted, watching young Tom Riddle's fragmented face float upon the silvery surface. "Over time, while at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle grew close to one teacher in particular. Can you guess which teacher that might be?"

Charlie and Harry exchanged a look, both of their minds working frantically. After a moment of contemplation, Harry shrugged, seemingly giving up, but in complete contrast, Charlie's eyes became alit with understanding.

"Professor Slughorn," he said in a cautious whisper, just in case he was wrong. "That's why you brought him back to teach Potions!"

"Right you are, Charles," beamed Dumbledore, giving his grandson a nod of approval. "You see, Professor Slughorn possesses something I desire very dearly. After knowing Horace for many years, however, I know he will not part with it easily..."

Dumbledore trailed off, looking towards the two boys in front of him with a peculiar gleam in his eye. Charlie and Harry remained silent, patiently awaiting for the Headmaster to divulge what this desire might be.

But to their utmost disappointment, Dumbledore waved them off.

"Time is making fools of us again," he sighed, indicating the dark sky beyond the windows. "And I'd rather not divulge any more just yet... but I promise that, in time, you'll both know everything. For now, however, it really is time for bed."

Rising to his feet, Harry led Charlie towards the door. As Charlie walked across the room, his eyes fell upon the little table on which Marvolo Gaunt's ring had rested last time he was in his grandfather's office, but the ring was no longer there.

"Yes, Charles?" called Dumbledore, for his grandson had come to a halt.

"The ring's gone," muttered Charlie, looking around. This clearly intrigued Harry as well, for his ears had perked up upon mention.

Dumbledore beamed at them, peering over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"Very astute, Charles, but I don't recall any ring being there in the first place."

Confused, Charlie went to open his mouth, but stopped once he saw the tips of his grandfather's moustache curl upwards; Dumbledore was grinning playfully at him.

"Right," sighed Charlie, dropping the conversation for now.

"One more thing, Professor," announced Harry, who had stopped just as he was about to wretch the door open, his hand on the handle. Dumbledore raised a brow, urging Harry to continue. "You said that Slughorn would try to collect Charlie and I, and let's suppose he's already tried, what do you want us to do about him?"

"Professor Slughorn must be shown utmost hospitality while he is here by favour," nodded Dumbledore. "There's more to his story, believe me, and you'll find out, like many other things, in time. Until then, goodnight."

And on that enigmatic note he waved to Charlie and Harry, who understood themselves to be dismissed.

———————————————————

Katie Bell was still in St. Mungo's Hospital with no prospect of leaving, which meant that the promising Gryffindor team that Charlie and Harry had been training so carefully since September was one Chaser short.

They kept putting off replacing Katie in the hope that she would return, but their opening match against Slytherin was looming, and they finally had to accept that she would not be back in time to play. And, as one could've guessed, Charlie and Harry both agreed that they could not stand another full-House tryout.

"What about Dean?" suggested Harry, whispering to Charlie one afternoon as they sat in Transfiguration. "He's been showing up to practices since the start of term, and he seems like he might be a good fit, what d'you reckon? He was alright at the tryout."

"I'm fairly certain that Dean showing up to practices has more to do with seeing Ginny, than it does his desire to play," muttered Charlie, shrugging ever so slightly. "But, I suppose you're right. He might be our best option."

And so, the two cornered Dean Thomas after Transfiguration that day. Most of the class had already left, although several twittering yellow birds were still zooming around the room, all of Hermione's creation; nobody else, except for Charlie, had succeeded in conjuring so much as a feather from thin air.

"Hey Dean," smiled Charlie, clapping his friend on the back, "do you think you'd be interested in playing Chaser?"

"Wait, really? Yes! Of course, yeah!" beamed Dean excitedly.

"You'd be filling in for Katie," added Harry, affirming what it means to take the position. "At least until she gets out of the hospital."

"Yeah, mate, I'll gladly do it —"

Over Dean's shoulder, Charlie saw Seamus Finnegan slamming his books into his bag, looking sour. Another one of the reasons why Charlie would have preferred not to have asked Dean to play was that he knew Seamus would not like it. On the other hand, him and Harry had to do what was best for the team, and Dean had outflown Seamus at the tryouts.

"Well then, you're in," nodded Harry, ignoring Seamus. "There's a practice tonight, seven o'clock."

Charlie stifled a laugh, "But you probably already knew that."

"Right," sniggered Dean, looking incredibly bashful. "Well, cheers! I can't wait to tell Ginny."

He sprinted out of the room, leaving Charlie, Harry and Seamus alone together, an uncomfortable moment made no easier when a bird dropping landed on Seamus's head as one of Hermione's canaries whizzed over them.

Seamus was not the only person disgruntled by the choice of Katie's substitute. There was much muttering in the common room about the fact that Charlie and Harry had now chosen two of their roommates for the team. As Charlie had endured much worse mutterings than this in his school career, he was not particularly bothered, but all the same, the pressure was increasing to provide a win in the upcoming match against Slytherin.

It appeared, however, that Charlie had no reason to regret their choice once he saw Dean fly that evening; he worked well with him and Ginny. Even the Beaters, Peakes and Coote, were getting better as time progressed. The only problem was Ron.

Charlie had known all along that Ron was an inconsistent player who suffered from nerves and a lack of confidence, and unfortunately, the looming prospect of the opening game of the season seemed to have brought out all his old insecurities. After letting in half a dozen goals, most of them scored by Charlie, his technique became wilder and wilder, until he finally punched an oncoming Dean Thomas in the mouth.

"It was an accident, I'm sorry, Dean, really sorry!" Ron shouted after him as he zigzagged back to the ground, dripping blood everywhere. "I just —"

"Panicked," Ginny said angrily, landing next to Dean and examining his fat lip. "You prat, Ron, look at the state of him!"

"Looks like we might need to recruit Seamus after all," laughed Charlie, who found the whole thing quite ironic. This comment earned him a slap on the back of the head from Harry.

"Let's all just calm down," said Harry, as he and Charlie landed beside the two lovers. "Dean, I can fix that for you." He held his wand out and pointed it at Dean's mouth, saying, "Episkey."

"And Gin," called Charlie, trying to sound stern, "don't call Ron a prat, you're not the Captain of this team —"

"Well, you and Harry seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should —"

Biting down on his tongue, Charlie forced himself not to laugh.

"Okay! Let's go again, everyone in the air..."

Overall it was one of the worst practices they had had all term, though Harry did not feel that honesty was the best policy when they were this close to the match.

"Good work, everyone, I think we'll flatten Slytherin," he said bracingly, and Ginny, Dean and the Beaters left the changing room looking reasonably happy with themselves.

"I played like a sack of dragon dung," muttered Ron in a hollow voice when the door had swung shut behind Ginny.

"No, you didn't," reassured Harry firmly. "You're the best Keeper we have, Ron. Your only problem is nerves."

Ron nodded his head with reluctance, and walked out the door after his sister. Harry, who went to follow, was quickly caught on the arm by Charlie.

"He's the only Keeper we have, you know," he corrected, looking incredibly uneasy.

Harry's eyes narrowed, trying his best to be optimistic, although deep down, he knew Charlie was right.

"Could be worse," shrugged Harry, opening the door at last. "It could've been McLaggen."

"Oh god, don't remind me..."

And the two sniggered as they left the change rooms, catching up quickly to Ron, who was walking sluggishly slow back up to the castle. Harry kept up a relentless flow of encouragement all the way back up the path, and by the time they reached the second floor, Ron was looking marginally more cheerful.

When Charlie pushed open the tapestry to take their usual shortcut up to Gryffindor Tower, however, they found themselves looking at Dean and Ginny, who were locked in a close embrace and kissing fiercely as though glued together.

"Merlin, I'm gonna be sick," grunted Charlie, who felt kind of uncomfortable at the sight, as he had always thought of Ginny as a little sister.

"Oi!" yelled Ron, and Dean and Ginny broke apart. "I don't want to find my own sister snogging people in public!"

Ginny scoffed, "This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!"

Dean was looking remarkably embarrassed. He gave Charlie a shifty grin, clearly uncomfortable.

"Er... c'mon, Gin," whispered Dean, trying to pull his girlfriend away, "let's go back to the common room..."

"You go!" roared Ginny, pushing out of her boyfriend's grasp. "I want a word with my dear brother!"

Dean left, looking as though he was not sorry to depart the scene. Charlie and Harry shared a look, both simultaneously agreeing on the same thing.

"You know what?" said Charlie, ushering Harry forward. "We're gonna go too, but you guys feel free to talk amongst yourselves."

Ron blinked, evidently terrified of being alone with Ginny, "But wait —"

"This seems like a family issue," dismissed Charlie, walking away. "And Lord knows I have enough of my own... so, I'd rather not be involved in yours."

Slightly embarrassed, Harry nodded in agreement, and the two boys ran down the hall, fleeing the scene before Ginny had the chance to round on them as well. They hurried up the stairs and along a seventh-floor corridor.

"Pardon us," said Charlie, as he and Harry brushed past a group of third year girls on their way towards the common room.

"D'you think we did the right thing? Leaving Ron on his own back there?" Harry asked abruptly, as they approached the Fat Lady.

"Siblings fight," shrugged Charlie. "Besides, Ron deserves a good kick in the arse. Who knows? Maybe Ginny might straighten him out. I mean, she always did have a likeness to her mother."

Harry, although feeling incredibly guilty, let out a hearty laugh as the two of them climbed through the portrait hole.

Neither of them mentioned Ron or Ginny again as they settled into their beds that evening, their minds absorbed with other things. Although, they did share a knowing smirk when Ron returned, a short while later, rubbing the back of his head.

"I hate you guys," he grunted, and Charlie and Harry roared with laughter.

"Love you too, you stupid git."

————————————————————

Charlie awoke the next morning slightly dazed and confused by a series of dreams in which Ron had chased him with a Beater's bat, but by midday he would have happily exchanged the dream Ron for the real one, who had been cold-shouldering Ginny and Dean all morning.

What was more, Ron seemed to have become, overnight, as touchy and ready to lash out as the average Blast-Ended Skrewt. To Charlie's dismay, Ron's new aggression did not wear off over the next few days.

Worse still, it coincided with an even deeper dip in his Keeping skills, which made him still more aggressive, so that during the final Quidditch practice before Saturday's match, he failed to save every single goal the Chasers aimed at him, but bellowed at everybody so much that he reduced Jimmy Peakes to tears.

"You shut up and leave him alone!" shouted Ritchie Coote, who was about two-thirds Ron's height, though admittedly carrying a heavy bat.

"ENOUGH!" bellowed Charlie who had seen Ginny glowering in Ron's direction and, remembering her reputation as an accomplished caster of the Bat-Bogey Hex, soared over to intervene before things got out of hand. "Coote, go and pack up the Bludgers. Jimmy, pull yourself together, you played really well today. Ron..." he waited until the rest of the team were out of earshot before saying it, "you're one my best mates, but carry on treating the rest of them like this and I'm going to kick you off the team."

He really thought for a moment that Ron might hit him, but then something much worse happened: Ron seemed to sag on his broom, all the fight went out of him and he said, "I'm pathetic."

"Bloody hell, stop pitying yourself," grunted Charlie fiercely, seizing Ron by the front of his robes. "You can save anything when you're on form, it's a mental problem you've got!"

"You calling me mental?"

"Yeah, maybe I am!"

They glared at each other for a moment, then Ron shook his head wearily.

"I know you and Harry haven't got any time to find another Keeper, so I'll play tomorrow, but if we lose, and I'm sure that we will, I'm taking myself off the team."

Nothing anyone said made a difference. Both Charlie and Harry had tried boosting Ron's confidence all through dinner, but Ron was too busy being grumpy and surly with Hermione to notice.

Harry had even persisted in the common room that evening, but his assertion that the whole team would be devastated if Ron left was somewhat undermined by the fact that the rest of the team was sitting in a huddle in a distant corner, clearly muttering about Ron and casting him nasty looks.

In a desperate attempt, Charlie tried getting angry again in the hope of provoking Ron into a defiant, and hopefully goal-saving, attitude, but this strategy did not appear to work any better than encouragement; Ron went to bed as dejected and hopeless as ever.

Charlie lay awake for a very long time in the darkness. He did not want to lose the upcoming match; not only was it his first as Captain, but he was more determined than ever to beat Slytherin after his argument with Professor Snape. Yet if Ron played as he had done in the last few practices, their chances of winning were very slim...

If only there was something that could happen to make Ron pull himself together... make him play at the top of his form... something that would ensure that Ron had a really good day —

———————————————————

Breakfast was the usual excitable affair next morning; the Slytherins hissed and booed loudly as every member of the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall. Charlie glanced at the ceiling and saw a clear, pale blue sky; a good omen, perhaps.

The Gryffindor table, a solid mass of red and gold, cheered as Charlie, Harry and Ron approached. Charlie and Harry grinned and waved; Ron grimaced weakly and shook his head.

"Tea?" Harry asked him. "Coffee? Pumpkin juice?"

"Anything," said Ron glumly, taking a moody bite of toast.

A few minutes later, Hermione, who had become so tired of Ron's recent unpleasant behavior that she had not come down to breakfast with them, made her way towards her friends.

"How are you three feeling?" she asked tentatively, her eyes on the back of Ron's head.

"Fine," shrugged Charlie, not wanting to draw too much focus on the match in attempts to ease Ron's worries slightly. "How was Slughorn's latest party? I never did get the chance to ask."

"Oh, it was quite fun, really," said Hermione, taking her seat across the table. "Although it was a bit of a bummer going alone," she added dryly, but Charlie saw the ghost of a smirk upon her lips. "I mean, Slughorn drones on about famous exploits a bit, and he absolutely fawns on McLaggen because he's so well connected, but he gave us some really nice food and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones."

"Gwenog Jones?" blinked Ron, who seemed to have come out of his slump for a moment. "The Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?"

"That's right," nodded Hermione, smiling faintly as she opened her copy of the Prophet. "Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself, but —"

"Counting on you, Ron," interjected the voice of Seamus Finnigan, as he appeared behind Ron, shaking the ginger's shoulders in celebration. "I have two Galleons on Gryffindor."

Then, just as quickly as he arrived, Seamus peeled off. The horrible feeling of anxiety swelled up within Ron once again, and Charlie internally groaned as doubt graced his friend's face for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Uh, anyways," continued Hermione, trying to ease the tension once again. "Slughorn's having a Christmas do, you know, and we're meant to bring someone..."

"I expect you'll be bringing McLaggen," sniggered Charlie, who found amusement in getting under his ex-girlfriend's skin. "I bet he'd be dying to go with you."

But to his surprise, Hermione did nothing but gaze hopefully at him, and for some unknown reason, her face had turned a bright, miraculous shade of magenta.

"Actually, I was going to ask —"

Just as Hermione was about to finish her sentence, however, Lavender Brown and Romilda Vane had came to a halt on their way up the table, squealing in whispers to one another. They made their way towards Charlie; he physically recoiled.

"We're excited to see you play today, Charlie," cooed Romilda, batting her eyes at him, despite Hermione's scoff of disapproval in the background.

"We know you'll be brilliant," finished Lavender, running her hand along his arm flirtatiously.

"But, just in case..."

And what had happened next, Charlie would've never expected in a million years.

Taking a stance on either side of him, Romilda and Lavender leaned down, placing simultaneous kisses upon both of his cheeks. They lingered for a moment, and Charlie was unsure whether he was more uncomfortable by the two girls kissing him, or by Hermione sending vicious daggers at him from across the table.

(A/N: again, on both cheeks, at the same time.)

At last, they pulled away, and Charlie breathed out in relief.

"For good luck," purred Romilda, and she sent a dangerous wink in Hermione's direction before her and Lavender swept down the Great Hall, taking their seats for breakfast.

"What was that?" asked Harry, his eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"No idea," said Charlie honestly, wiping the lipstick residue off his cheeks. He turned back around to Hermione, and immediately tensed at the look in her eyes. "Uh, sorry, what were you saying?"

"There's another party for Slughorn's favourites," reminded Ron, with a sneer worthy of Malfoy, before Hermione could open her mouth.

"For the Slug Club, yes," muttered Hermione, tearing her eyes away from Charlie at last, evident disdain in her voice. "I was just saying that we're allowed to bring guests —"

Hermione cleared her throat, and it was painfully obvious that she was forcing a smile. There was a moment of hesitation, her eyes dancing between her three friends as though contemplating what to say next.

"And I was going to ask you," she said, disrupting the silence. "Would you like to go with me?"

"Me?"

"Him?"

Suddenly, it was as though something dangerously violent had erupted into life in the pit of Charlie's stomach, clawing at his insides. Hot blood seemed to flood his brain, so that all thought was extinguished, replaced by a savage urge to rip Ron limb from limb.

Yes, you heard right — Hermione Granger had just asked Ronald Weasley to be her date, and Charlie felt disoriented, dizzy, and helpless all within a single moment. His breathing became ragged, and he could've sworn that there was a tiny shattering sound that alarmed in his chest.

"Yes, him," Hermione snapped at Charlie, her voice breaking ever so slightly. "Is that a problem?"

"N-No, I just thought that —"

"What? You thought I'd ask you?" spat Hermione, rather harshly. "Why on earth would I do that? Maybe I'm mistaken, but aren't you the one who countlessly points out the fact that we are no longer together?"

There was a sharp pain in Charlie's chest, feeling as though he had just been stabbed repeatedly with a knife. The venom in Hermione's voice sent shivers down his spine, but somehow also succeeded in making him exceptionally angry all at the same time.

"My mistake," he growled, hating the sickly feeling that arose in his stomach. "It won't happen again, I assure you."

"I don't really care what you do anymore," Hermione hissed icily. "You're at perfect liberty to take whomever you like to Slughorn's party and, as we've all so horrifically seen, you clearly have a wide variety of suitors to choose from."

"You know what? You're absolutely right," sneered Charlie, but this comment did nothing but infuriate Hermione more. "Maybe I'll ask Romilda. Or Lavender, perhaps. What d'you reckon, Hermione, which one might keep better company?"

Hermione let out a low, vicious chuckle, desperately trying to hide the fact that she was dying on the inside.

"We both know either girl won't have your attention past the first hour," she said, matter-of-factly. "But here's to hoping that you'll keep to yourself and let Ron and I enjoy our night."

"Not to worry, I can think of several ways to entertain myself with my date's company," smirked Charlie spitefully, and Hermione had swallowed hard, evidently hurt by this comment more than any other. "Besides, Ron has yet to say whether or not he actually accepts your invitation."

With Charlie and Hermione's back and forth bickering, Harry and Ron's reactions had gone unnoticed until this point; Harry was so uncomfortable that he looked to the Slytherin table, hoping to find comfort in Elaina Dumont; while Ron had turned a beet red, looking almost identical in colour to the hair atop his head.

Snapping his head in the ginger's direction, Charlie could not be more enraged by silence. It was one thing for Hermione to ask him to Slughorn's party, but it was another for Ron to agree to go. Charlie shuddered, scared of what he'd do if he heard words of agreement leave his best friend's mouth.

All eyes were on Ron at this point, impatiently awaiting his reply, as though the outcome would change the course of their lives.

"Yes," said Ron at last, in a completely different voice than Charlie had ever heard before. "I'd love to go with you."

Taken aback slightly, Hermione released a little nervous breath, stammering, "B-Brilliant."

"Well, there you go," mumbled Charlie, who had never felt more betrayed in his entire life, yet he choked back his desire to slam Ron's head against the table, unwilling to cause a scene. "Good on you, Ron, you finally got what you wanted, didn't you?"

"I suppose," muttered Ron guiltily, avoiding Charlie's accusing gaze at all costs.

Luckily, before Charlie could open his mouth in retaliation against Ron, something had caught his eye as it passed by his peripheral vision.

"Hello, everyone," came the dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood, as she arrived to the table wearing a hat that bore an uncanny resemblance to a lion, which had, naturally, distracted Charlie. "You look dreadful, Ron," she added, resurfacing the nerves regarding the Quidditch match.

Ron nodded grimly in response, looking increasingly sickly all of a sudden.

"I'm resigning," he muttered, gulping nervously. "After today, McLaggen can have my spot."

"Have it your way," sighed Harry, sliding Ron a glass of pumpkin juice. "Drink?"

Ron had just raised the glass to his lips when Luna's voice rang out once more, faint in a giggling whisper.

"What have you put in his cup?" she demanded of Harry. "Is it a tonic?"

Charlie, Hermione, and Ron all shared a confused look, shifting their eyes to focus upon Harry in question. With a cheeky grin, Harry looked to his enclosed right hand and, squinting ever so carefully, one could identify the tiny bottle of Felix Felicis, peering through his fingers with a glimmer.

Hermione gasped, turning back around.

"Don't drink it, Ron!" she scolded.

But Ron had frozen mid-sip, his eyes wide as they stared at the tiny bottle of liquid luck. Before any more protests rang through the air, he gulped down the rest, leaving not but a single drop.

Hermione looked absolutely scandalized. Bending low so that only her friends, mainly Harry, could hear her, she hissed, "You could be expelled for that!"

"Look who's talking," scoffed Charlie, rolling his eyes. "Confunded anyone lately?"

"That was different," Hermione defended, resisting the urge to lash out at her ex once again. Instead, she turned back around to Harry and added, "I'd never have believed it of you!"

"I dunno what you're talking about," grinned Harry, shrugging coyly.

Slamming the cup back down at last, Ron beamed, rising to his feet. He looked between Charlie and Harry and smacked his lips, resembling that of a man on a mission.

"Come on, lads," he cheered. "We've got a game to win!"

——————————————————

The frosty grass crunched underfoot as they strode down to the stadium. Charlie, Harry, and Ron said goodbye to an unpleasant Hermione, who retreated to the stands, stomping her feet as she went. Hermione had never really understood what a serious business Quidditch was.

Ginny and Dean were already wearing their Quidditch robes when Charlie, Harry, and Ron entered the change rooms.

"Conditions look ideal," beamed Ginny, ignoring Ron completely. "And guess what? That Slytherin Chaser Vaisey — he took a Bludger in the head yesterday during their practice, and he's too sore to play! And even better than that — Malfoy's gone off sick too!"

"What?" muttered Charlie, wheeling around to stare at her. "He's ill? What's wrong with him?"

"No idea, but it's great for us," said Ginny brightly. "They're playing Harper instead; he's in my year and he's an idiot."

Charlie smiled back vaguely, but as he pulled on his scarlet robes, his mind was far from Quidditch. Malfoy had once before claimed he could not play due to injury, but on that occasion he had made sure the whole match was rescheduled for a time that suited the Slytherins better.

So, was he really ill, or was he faking?

"Strange, isn't it?" he whispered in an undertone to Ron, trying not to get Harry started on his Malfoy-Is-A-Death-Eater theory. "Malfoy not playing?"

"Lucky, I call it," grinned Ron, looking slightly more animated. "Guess it's just one of those days."

Charlie raised his eyebrows, but said nothing except, "We'll be starting in about five minutes, you'd better get your boots on."

They walked out onto the pitch to tumultuous roars and boos. One end of the stadium was solid red and gold; the other, a sea of green and silver. Many Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had taken sides too; amidst all the yelling and clapping Charlie could distinctly hear the roar of Luna Lovegood's famous lion-topped hat.

Charlie and Harry stepped up to Madame Hooch, the referee, who was standing ready to release the balls from the crate.

"Captains shake hands," she announced, and Charlie  and Harry had their hands crushed by the new Slytherin Captain, Urquhart. "Mount your brooms. On the whistle... three... two... one..."

The whistle sounded, Charlie and the others kicked off hard from the frozen ground, and they were away. Shortly after, a voice that was jarringly different to the usual commentator's started up.

"Well, there they go, and I think we're all surprised to see the team that Hawthorne and Potter have put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley's patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the two Co-Captains might help..."

These words were greeted with jeers and applause from the Slytherin end of the pitch. Charlie craned around on his broom to look toward the commentator's podium. A tall, skinny blond boy with an upturned nose was standing there, talking into the magical megaphone that had once been Lee Jordan's; Charlie recognized him as Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff player whom he heartily disliked, since he had been the cause of the D.A. being discovered by Umbridge.

"Oh, and here comes Slytherin's first attempt on goal, it's Urquhart streaking down the pitch and —"

Charlie's stomach turned over, and tried accelerating down the pitch to stop Urquhart's pursuit, but it was no use. He wouldn't be able to get there in time; Ron was their only hope.

"— Weasley saves it, well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose..."

"You're right, Smith, he is," muttered Charlie, grinning to himself, as he dived amongst Dean and Ginny, getting in position to preform the Parkin's Pincer.

With half an hour of the game gone, Gryffindor were leading sixty points to zero; Ron made some truly spectacular saves, some by the very tips of his gloves, and Charlie had scored four of Gryffindor's six goals. This effectively stopped Zacharias wondering loudly whether Ron was only there because Charlie and Harry liked him, and he started on Peakes and Coote instead.

"Of course, Coote isn't really the usual build for a Beater," said Zacharias loftily, "they've generally got a bit more muscle —"

"Hit a Bludger at him!" Charlie called to Coote as he zoomed past, but Coote, grinning broadly, chose to aim the next Bludger at Urquhart instead, who was just passing Charlie in the opposite direction. Charlie was pleased to hear the dull thunk that meant the Bludger had found its mark.

It seemed as though Gryffindor could do no wrong. Again and again they scored, and again and again, at the other end of the pitch, Ron saved goals with apparent ease. He was actually smiling now, and when the crowd greeted a particularly good save with a rousing chorus of the old favourite, 'Weasley Is Our King', he pretended to conduct them from up high.

Although everything was evidently going well, Charlie couldn't help but wish that Harry would find the Snitch as quickly as possible. He didn't know how much longer he could stand the stupid, cocky grin on Ron's face that was practically visible from across the pitch.

In attempt to see how Harry had been doing, Charlie had wheeled around just in time to see his best friend nearly knocked off his broom, for Harper, the Slytherin Keeper, had collided with him hard and deliberately. Madame Hooch's back was turned, and though Gryffindors in the stands shouted in anger, by the time she looked around, Harper had already sped off.

Outraged, Charlie decided that his involvement was necessary. After telling Peakes to cause a diversion that would advert Madame Hooch's eyes, Charlie had sped after Harper, confronting him in front of the stands.

"Oi, Harper," yelled Charlie, catching the Seeker's attention. "Heads up!"

Kicking his foot out, Charlie caught the tail end of Harper's broom and the Seeker spun out of control, disappearing behind the large scarlet and gold flag that waved in the air. Laughing to himself, Charlie rose a hand in the air, causing the crowd of Gryffindors to roar with cheer below him.

Even with significant distance between them, Charlie still caught sight of Hermione, and although he expected an expression of ridicule to graze her face, Charlie was pleasantly surprised to see her cheering along, waving at him as though there fight had been forgotten. He gave her a cheeky shrug, and Charlie watched as a ghost of a resistant smile grazed her lips.

(A/N: not exactly Quidditch but you get the idea lol)

The wind was whistling loudly in Charlie's ears, drowning out all sound of Smith's commentary, but with Harper out of the way, it wasn't long before Harry came soaring through the sky in hot pursuit of the Golden Snitch that had just whizzed by.

In what felt like slow motion, Charlie watched as his best friend made a great swipe for the tiny, fluttering ball and caught it.

"YES!" Harry yelled; wheeling around, he hurtled back toward the ground, the Snitch held high in his hand.

As the crowd realized what had happened, a great shout went up that almost drowned the sound of the whistle that signaled the end of the game. Charlie was the first to speed over towards Harry, pulling him for the biggest brotherly hug in celebration.

"Ginny, where're you going?" yelled Harry, who had now found himself trapped in the midst of a mass midair hug with the rest of the team, but Ginny sped right on past them until, with an almighty crash, she collided with the commentator's podium.

As the crowd shrieked and laughed, the Gryffindor team landed beside the wreckage of wood under which Zacharias was feebly stirring, Charlie heard Ginny saying blithely to an irate Professor McGonagall, "Forgot to brake, Professor, sorry."

Laughing, Charlie pulled Ginny in for a quick hug, releasing her quickly to join the rest of the team as they left the pitch arm in arm, punching the air and waving to their supporters.

The atmosphere in the changing room was jubilant.

"Party up in the common room, Seamus said!" yelled Dean exuberantly. "C'mon, Ginny! Peakes and Coote, let's get a move on! Charlie, Harry, Ron, we'll meet you up there, yeah?"

With a nod from Charlie, the rest of the team piled out of the change room, leaving the three boys of the core four alone to discuss the match. As one could've expected, Ron wasted no time whatsoever boasting about what an amazing job he did.

"Did you see me save that last one?" he beamed, pathetically relentless with his desire to be applauded. "Urquhart had no chance against me!"

Charlie let out a light, rueful chuckle, clearly annoyed as he took off his scarlet jersey.

"You won't have a lucky potion for the next match," he said realistically, earning a warning look from Harry. Just like that, the tension in the air grew thick.

"Have you ever considered that maybe I could save goals without help?" growled Ron, rounding on Charlie. "Maybe next time I won't need any luck!"

"I'll believe it when I see it," shrugged Charlie, unwilling to start a fight.

"You're always so bloody negative," growled Ron, huffing and puffing from the door. "If you think I'm a bad Keeper, why'd you put me on the team in the first place?"

"I never said you were a bad Keeper," Charlie corrected, sighing exasperatedly. "All I'm saying is that next time it won't be so easy."

"Whatever," grunted Ron, wrenching the door to the change rooms open. "I'm going up to the party, but you feel free to sit here and think about the what if's. Oh, and by the way, in case you've forgotten, I didn't need luck for Hermione to ask me out," he added with a cocky grin, before he swept out of the room, holstering his broomstick over his shoulder.

Charlie had slammed his Quidditch locker closed, shaking with rage.

"I'm going to fucking kill him one of these days," he muttered into the sudden silence. He turned around to Harry, who had been struck dumb with shock, "It was a mistake spiking that prat's drink with the lucky potion. I'm so sick of him and his bloody attitude."

"Er... I didn't put it in," mumbled Harry, and Charlie's eyes went wide. Harry slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket and drew out the tiny bottle that Charlie had seen in his hand that morning. It was full of golden potion and the cork was still tightly sealed with wax. "I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew Luna was looking."

He pocketed the potion again.

"You sneaky bastard," Charlie gasped, astounded. "You mean to tell me that Ron actually saved those goals out there?"

Harry nodded his head guiltily. Charlie gaped at him for a moment, then turned back around, shaking his head.

"I can't fucking believe it," he hissed shrilly. "You do realize that means that his cocky behaviour is justified?"

"Unfortunately, yes," said Harry, putting a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "But don't worry about it, just let Ron have his moment. Rest assured, something will knock some sense into him eventually."

"Yeah," said Charlie, slightly beside himself, "it'll be my fist when it collides with his nose."

Harry laughed lightly, gesturing to the door, "C'mon, mate, we're missing the party."

With a heavy sigh, Charlie followed Harry out of the change rooms, and the two of them walked slowly back up the grounds towards the castle through the crowd, many of whom shouted congratulations at them.

"Hey, Char," called Harry, as the two of them walked up the path; Charlie whipped his head around, raising an eyebrow. "What d'you reckon the chances are that Elaina shows up to the party?"

"Dunno," shrugged Charlie, thinking nothing of it. "She could come if we let her in through the portrait hole, I suppose. Mind you, we did just obliterate her team in Quidditch."

(A/N: I know that members of other houses aren't permitted to go into other common rooms, but for the sake of having Elaina as a more prominent character...)

"Right," frowned Harry, looking a little distraught. "But do you honestly think she's the type to care about that sort of thing?"

"I dunno, Harry," Charlie repeated, resisting the urge to smirk at his best friend, fully aware of his budding crush on the transfer student. "I think you should ask her if you're so curious."

"I did," began Harry, gulping uneasily. "During one of our tutoring sessions, I did."

"And what'd she say?"

"Something about asking Nott about it first," Harry admitted grumpily. "Bit of a prat, he is, you know? He always lingers around, acting like something's going on whenever Elaina and I are alone together."

Charlie grinned, "Well, is there something going on? With you and Elaina, I mean."

"What? No, of course not," said Harry, although he was blushing feverishly all of a sudden. Charlie raised a suggestive brow in his direction, and Harry sighed, caught. "I think she's brilliant... and beautiful, incredibly beautiful. I can't stop thinking about her, Charlie, and it scares the hell out of me. I know she'll never go for me, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to be with her, you know?"

"Trust me, I understand," sighed Charlie, clapping a hand on his friend'a back. "But not to worry, I see the way Elaina looks at you, mate, she'll come around eventually, I promise you."

With a reluctant nod, Harry trudged on. They walked a little further, grazing the steps that led up towards the Entrance Hall door when, suddenly, it flew open automatically. Almost immediately, Harry's eyes lit up at the sight of the light hazel eyes staring back at him; Elaina Dumont had appeared, holding the door open for them with a slight grin.

"Speak of the devil," Charlie muttered to Harry, looking amazed. He turned back around to Elaina, laughing, "What're you doing out here? Shouldn't you be wallowing in defeat with the rest of the Slytherins?"

"Very funny, you prat," Elaina giggled, smacking Charlie on the back of the head. "I actually wanted to congratulate you guys on the game. You played amazing! You especially, Harry."

Harry's cheeks flushed a bright pink.

"Oh, th-thanks," he stuttered, earning a nudge from Charlie, basically telling him to get his shit together.

Charlie smirked slightly, teasing, "The fuck am I? Chopped liver?"

"You're something alright," scoffed Elaina playfully, before her eyes focused upon him delicately. "I meant to see how you were... you know, after everything."

"I'm alright, I guess," shrugged Charlie, unwilling to damper the mood. "I'll be better once I get some Butterbeer in my system... which reminds me, I think Harry had something he wanted to ask you," he added, pushing Harry forward, enticing him to make a move.

"Ah, r-right," gulped Harry, getting lost in Elaina's eyes. "Well, I was wondering if maybe, uh, you'd like to come to the party that we're, er, throwing in the common room...?"

"Oh, Harry, I'd love to, but Theo —"

"What Nott doesn't know won't hurt him," hummed Charlie, chiming in once Harry had seemingly accepted defeat.

"Okay fine," sighed Elaina after a moment of hesitation, her eyes transfixed upon Harry. "But only for a little bit though."

"Good enough for me," said Harry, grinning from ear to ear. "Come on, let's go."

And with that, he led the way towards Gryffindor Tower, looking back every few seconds to make sure Elaina was actually coming along and it wasn't a figment of his imagination. Charlie had smirked to himself, thinking highly of his wing-man skills.

The party was in full swing when they arrived to the common room. Renewed cheers and clapping greeted their appearance, and Charlie, Harry, and Elaina were soon surrounded by a mob of people congratulating the two boys on their win. In the centre of the room was Ron, basking in all the glory as he stood atop a table; detailing every save he had made that afternoon.

Of course, Ron didn't mention anything to do with the Liquid Luck he may or may not have consumed before they took the field; Charlie was certain he never would.

But nonetheless, Charlie's eyes shifted, his heart clenching when he spotted Hermione at Ron's side. Only when Hermione had met his gaze, giving him a little wave, did Charlie allow for the ghost of a smile to grace his lips. The crowd's cheers rang echoed loudly on the room, but Charlie's only focus was Hermione.

Elaina's scoff had pulled him from his thoughts, however, and he turned to see the French girl glaring towards the centre of the common room, her eyes transfixed upon the proximity in which Ron and Hermione were standing together.

"She's got some nerve, doesn't she?"

But her question went unanswered as the cheers around the room began to ricochet off the walls.

"WEASLEY! WEASLEY! WEASLEY! WEASLEY!"

"Looks like Ron's enjoying himself," muttered Harry into Charlie's ear, attempting to hold a conversation over the noise.

"You're properly the worst, you know," replied Charlie, rolling his eyes. "He's never going to stop now. The next few days are going to be unbearable."

This made Harry laugh, "Well, then, this is me apologizing in advance for what we're about to endure."

"No apology in the world would be enough to suffice my future headache," sighed Charlie, before he excused himself to walk through the crowd toward the keg of Butterbeer in the corner. "I'll be back. No funny business while I'm gone," he added, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively in Elaina's direction, who had been distracted by an eager greeting from Neville.

Charlie could see, with a cheeky grin to himself, the faintest smirk upon Harry's lips, before he disappeared into the crowd, trying his damnedest not to shift his gaze over to Ron and Hermione.

After trying to shake off the Creevey brothers, who wanted a blow-by-blow match analysis, and the large group of girls that encircled him, laughing at his least amusing comments and batting their eyelids, it was some time before he could try and force his way across the room.

At last, he extricated himself from Romilda Vane, who was hinting heavily that she would like to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with him. As he was ducking toward the drinks table, he walked straight into Ginny, Arnold the Pygmy Puff riding on her shoulder and Crookshanks mewing hopefully at her heels.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, eyeing Charlie with the utmost curiosity. "You look like something's bothering you."

"I'm fine," he muttered, filling a cup full of Butterbeer, before downing it in a single gulp.

"Right," mused Ginny, shaking her head. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Hermione, would it?"

Charlie blinked, filling his cup once more, "What makes you say that?"

"Because I'm her best friend," replied Ginny matter-of-factly, as though there was no room for rebuttal. "And I saw first-hand how much you two cared for one another. So, chances are, you're feeling exactly the same way she is about the whole breakup thing."

Charlie shook his head, avoid Ginny's eyes.

"It happened awhile ago," he shrugged, trying to seem unbothered. "So, I dunno what you mean."

"Sure you don't," Ginny said, smirking. She made a subtle glance over towards Hermione, and Charlie, like an idiot, fell for her trap, following her gaze. "All I'm saying is, I know you miss her as much as she misses you, and if you don't believe me, fine. But I can't even begin to tell you how many times Hermione's cried herself to sleep, wishing things between you two could've turned out different."

There was a moment of hesitation from Charlie. Deep in his core, a feeling of guilt arose in the pit of his stomach, making him feel gravely ill. Hermione was the last person he ever meant to hurt, and it destroyed him to learn that she had shed multiple hidden tears over his stupid actions.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Ginny sighed exasperatedly, taking a sip from her drink.

"Because I want my best friend to be happy," she said simply, nudging Charlie playfully on the arm, gesturing towards Hermione once more. "And regardless of whatever happened, I've never seen Hermione happier than she was with you."

Charlie furrowed his brows, "Sorry, I dunno what you're implyin—"

"I'm telling you to figure out whatever it is you're going through, and go and get your girl back," demanded Ginny, sounding slightly annoyed with the whole thing. "Honestly, Charlie, you don't understand, do you? Hermione's a wreck! Yes, she may seem like she's got everything together, but that's because she's scared of being vulnerable around you! In reality, and believe me, I know this for a fact, she's miserab—"

Before Ginny could finish, the common room erupted in loud applause and vehement cheering, stealing Charlie's attention away from Ginny. He turned towards the commotion, and instantly could've sworn that someone must've ripped his heart out and stomped on it a million times over.

In the middle of the room, on display for the world to see, was Ron held in a lip-lock with the love of Charlie's life, Hermione Granger.

Charlie felt like he was going to be sick. His stomach was continuing to twist into knots and, for some reason, he kept forgetting to breathe. His normally warm eyes were almost black now, and his pulse began to race out of control. He was boiling with rage, his blood thundering in his ears.

The world seemed to be shrinking.

His vision was diminishing.

Anything in sight was fading from his view.

Like staring down a long tunnel, his eyes focused solely now on Ron and Hermione.

Everything else was blocked out.

"That fucking hypocrite," muttered Ginny, stunned.

"Which one?" replied Charlie nastily. "Ron or Hermione?"

"Oh, Char, I'm sor—"

"You know, you were right, Gin, she looks really torn up about it," he hissed sarcastically at a shocked Ginny, who had now turned around with the most apologetic look imaginable.

Without waiting for a response, Charlie pushed his way back through the crowd, sidestepping Romilda Vane again, and practically sprinting for the portrait hole before he did something he might regret.

He wanted to punch something.

He needed to punch something.

Ron's stupid, freckled face, perhaps?

Shaking his head, Charlie tried to rid it of dangerously violent thoughts.

The crowd seemed to sense that Charlie wasn't in a mood to be bothered. One look at him, and the sea of people seemed to part before him. Some people were whispering, others pointing, but Charlie ignored them all.

"Charlie, please wait!" pleaded the voice that belonged to the only girl seemingly capable of making Charlie's heart race uncontrollably, while breaking it all at the same time.

"Haven't you done enough?" came the voice of another, and Charlie was almost certain that, behind him, there was a sudden stand-off between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin.

But Charlie didn't stop, letting his feet guide him out through the portrait hole without an ounce of regret for refusing to face his problems.

When he stepped into the corridor, Charlie let out a low, shaky breath; every second spent in the common room made him feel as though he was suffocating. His hands were clenched tightly together now, and his nails were digging straight into his palm, as he began to walk mindlessly wherever his legs would carry him.

The skin of Charlie's cheeks, raging red a moment ago, had now turned to a sickly pale white. To some, it might appear as though he'd seen a ghost — which wouldn't've been too far from the truth. In the instant that Ron's lips met Hermione's, it was as if Charlie had died a painful, merciless death, and now he was forced to relive it every time his mind tainted him with the image.

The corridor outside seemed to be deserted, but Charlie wasn't sure whether that was because it actually was or because he couldn't register anything besides rage and betrayal in his head. He stumbled his way into the first unlocked classroom he tried, flipping over chairs and knocking potions off of desks before he could control himself.

The silence and the stillness, broken only by the occasional shatter of glass or heavy breathing, was unbearable to him. There were no words that were enough, and smashing things was no more help; Charlie wanted to run, he wanted to keep running and never look back — he wanted to be somewhere he could not see the love of his life relishing in another's company.

After moments of wallowing in self-pity, Charlie finally calmed himself down, sitting upon the teacher's desk with an exasperated sigh. Occasionally, tears would threaten to fall from his eyes, but his conscience would constantly remind that his own cowardice had did this.

He had pushed Hermione away — straight into the arms of his best friend, no doubt.

This, like many other things, was his fault.

Everything was his fault.

He should've fought harder.

He should've said something before it was too late.

Now, Charlie Hawthorne sat alone, helplessly defeated and painfully heartbroken. To take his mind off things, he took out his wand and gave it a wave, hoping to channel his emotion into something other than a desire to punch Ron until he was black and blue.

The only thing Charlie could think of was the Transfiguration spell that McGonagall had taught them earlier in the week; Avis, a conjuring spell, which summoned a flock of golden yellow canaries to whiz overhead, providing Charlie with a much needed distraction.

Charlie sat alone in the dark, deserted classroom for what felt like hours, wondering where he had been so badly mislead to be stupid enough to let one person have such control over his heart. At last, Charlie heard two sets of footsteps approaching from beyond the door; the sounds of their mutterings were all too familiar to him as they echoed along the dark corridors.

"Charm spell," he broke first, acknowledging the the canaries flying around just above his head, as he could feel his two friends lingering in the doorway. "I'm just tryna get my mind off things."

"Well, they're really good, mate," came Harry's gentle voice, and soon enough, he had joined Charlie and sat upon the desk.

"I'm sorry I left like that," whispered Charlie, finally looking up. "But I wasn't going to stay in there and have everyone look at me like a fucking animal."

"You don't have to apologize," came the soothing voice of Elaina Dumont, peering out from the shadows, as she took a stance in front of Charlie's direct eye-line. "Hell, I was fully expecting you to do worse, if I'm honest. You showed restraint, Char, you should be proud of yourself."

"Wasn't easy, believe me," said Charlie, letting the ghost of a frown graze his lips. "I feel like I could've killed Ron with my bare fucking hands."

"Add it to the list of reasons why Ron needs his arse kicked," joked Harry, trying to lighten the mood. "In all honesty though, mate, I'm sorry you had to see that."

Charlie gulped uneasily, nodding. He paused for a moment, then breathed out ever so slowly, "So, what happened after I left?"

"Granger's persistent, I'll give her that," scoffed Elaina, crossing her arms. "She tried coming after you, but I told her that unless she fancied a bloody nose, she should stay put. I mean, it should've been obvious that she's the last person you'd probably want to see right now."

"Yeah," muttered Charlie sadly, "should've been."

Charlie slid off the desk. The little flock of golden birds continued to twitter in circles around his head so that he looked like a strange, feathery model of the solar system.

"There's something I don't quite understand," announced Harry, his tone carefully timid. He stared at the back of Charlie's head, eyebrow raised, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought you didn't fancy Hermione any more, Charlie. I mean, isn't that why you broke up with her in the first place? That's what I was told, at least."

"For goodness sakes, Harry," groaned Elaina, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Regardless of the fact that Charlie broke up with her, Hermione did just kiss his best friend right in front of him."

"No, Ron kissed her," Harry corrected, and Charlie's ears perked up, intrigued. "Hermione looked a bit taken aback by the whole thing, if I'm honest."

"It doesn't matter who kissed who," dismissed Elaina, shrugging. "Hermione's been flirting with Ron in front of Charlie for weeks! Did you not hear what she said in the Three Broomsticks?"

"I did," defended Harry, sighing exasperatedly. "I just don't understand why Charlie's feelings about her have to be a bloody secret. Everyone knows Hermione would go back to him in a heartbeat, so why doesn't he just go up there and tell her how he feels?"

Drowning out the bickering from behind him, Charlie had made his way over to the nearby window. The moonlight filtering through the curtained glass slowly crept across the dark room, the moon rising and encouraging the sole occupants to greet the curfew dawning upon them.

"It's not that simple, Harry," Charlie heard Elaina say from behind him, and he grasped at his left forearm guiltily.

"What's not simple? They clearly love each other, so this whole back and forth thing is unnecessary," rebutted Harry, and soon enough, Charlie felt a tug on his arm. "Come on, mate, let's go back up to the party and you can tell Hermione how you feel. I'll even fend Ron off for you, what d'you say?"

But Charlie pulled back, shaking his head, "I can't."

"So, that's it, then? You're just gonna sit here and do nothing?" accused Harry, who thought that tough love might've been a more persuadable approach. "How are you meant to prove to Hermione that you want her back, if you're not willing to go and fight for her?"

"You don't understand, Harry," said Charlie simply, turning around to face him at last. "There's a reason I can't be with Hermione anymore."

Charlie and Elaina shared a nervous glance. Even through the shadows, Charlie could see the pleading look etched on her face, her eyes shifting over to Harry, as if to persuade her brown eyed friend to see reason.

But Charlie was too embellished in fear to even consider her suggestion.

"What is it you're not telling me?" asked Harry, finally catching onto Charlie and Elaina's newfound silence. "What's going on?"

"Nothin—"

"Tell him, Charlie," said Elaina abruptly, and Charlie's eyes widened in horror. "He deserves to know."

"Tell me what?" demanded Harry, looking panicked now suddenly. He paled, narrowing his eyes, "Has something happened between you two...?"

"What? No! Are you crazy?" exclaimed Charlie, astonished. "I wouldn't do that to you, mate. Come on, you know me better than that."

Elaina blinked, perplexed, "Wait, you wouldn't do what to Harry?"

"This is nor the time or place," blushed Harry, saving himself from embarrassment. He focused the attention back on Charlie, questioning, "Well? Are you going to tell me or not?"

"You'll hate me if I tell you," muttered Charlie darkly, avoiding Harry's vivid green eyes.

"Maybe he'll understand," Elaina suggested, her tone desperate and laced with persuasion. "He's your best friend, Charlie. We can help him understa—"

"Would you please stop talking about me like I'm not standing right in front of you?" demanded Harry, anger rising in his voice. "Now, for the last time, what the hell are you two talking about?"

Charlie had frozen in place. He was breathless with nervousness, horrified adrenaline was coursing through his veins, scared for what the rest of the night would bring. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, he kept choking back the words, unaware of how to go about explaining his current predicament.

It turns out, however, that nothing Charlie could've said would've been as effective as Elaina's profound bluntness:

"Charlie's a Death Eater."

Her sudden declaration was almost too faint to be heard, but it nevertheless had enough of an impact to bring both Gryffindor boys to an abrupt halt.

"Elaina, what the fu—"

"You're a what?" Harry whispered ever softly, as though he had misheard somehow, his eyes transfixed upon his best friend.

Charlie's body tensed in panic, noting that Harry's voice was more tentative than usual. The brown eyed boy seemed to squirm under his friend's gaze, and Harry had to physically suppress the urge to let his annoyance takeover. His lips were a thin line, his eyes staring accusingly.

With a shaky sigh, Charlie gave in, realizing that he had been backed into a corner with no means of escape. He looked to Elaina scathingly, feeling deceived by her promise to keep his secret; Elaina glanced to the floor, ashamed.

"This isn't how I wanted to tell you, mate," Charlie admitted softly, and he could foresee the look of betrayal forming in Harry's eyes. "I mean, it was always my intention to tell you eventually... I just didn't know how..."

And just like that, Charlie was forced to reveal the truth all over again.

As he rolled up his left sleeve and stared at the Dark Mark imprinted darkly on his forearm, Harry's face grew paler. He watched with frightened eyes as Charlie ran his fingers lightly over the brand. Harry's expression was difficult to read, no sign of evident distress was etched on his face. It was as though he had been cast with a nullifying charm, numbing him to any emotion.

"I-I... t-this can't be... n-no, no..."

Charlie frowned, choking back tears, "I'm sorry."

"No, no, this is ridiculous!" Harry yelled indignantly, practically exploding out of his body suddenly. "You can't be serious, Charlie! Is this some kind of joke? Some kind of cruel trick the two of you are in on?"

He rounded on Elaina, who frightfully shook her head, looking evidently overwhelmed. Harry blinked, and at last, the familiar look of deception had flushed his face, his eyes found themselves fixated on the jet black mark as though he had never seen something more vile.

"I wish it was," Charlie muttered irately, his cheeks mottled crimson. "But, believe me, I didn't ask for this. What else was I supposed to do, Harry? They were going to kill everyone I loved! They threatened me! Please, you have to understand."

"Oh, I understand alright," Harry hissed through his teeth, his voice dangerously low. The furious look behind his gaze was enough to make Charlie visibly shudder. "You've been lying to me for months! You made me seem like an idiot for thinking that Malfoy was a Death Eater, but you've known all along, haven't you?"

"Yes, yes I knew," nodded Charlie guiltily, and he could hear Harry take a sharp intake of breath. "Malfoy was there when I got my mark and, like an idiot, I asked him for help. They tortured me, Harry, until I screamed myself hoarse. I didn't mean for this to happen, but it did. Believe me, if I could go back and change everything, I would. I don't like this anymore than you do, please," he pleaded until his voice was strained, words clogging his throat. "You know me, Harry. You know I wouldn't've done this to you if I had a choice."

Harry was too shocked to say anything. He was too blind-sighted by a whirlwind of emotions to allow for any response to leave his lips. And so, the three of them sat in silence, which was only broken by the humming canaries that were still flying overhead.

"You..." breathed Harry at last, his tone unreadable as his eyes locked with Charlie's once again, "...you... bloody..." Harry seemed unable to come up with the words he was searching for and, out of frustration, he kicked over a nearby chair, shouting, "FUCK!"

Elaina's eyes widened, taken aback by the boy's newfound aggression.

"Harry," she whispered, hoping to calm him with her voice. "It's oka—"

"This is precisely why I didn't want to tell you," said Charlie, pulling his sleeve back down with a shake of the head. "I knew you'd hate me. I just kne—"

"That's the thing, Charlie," Harry interrupted, his eyes lightening a bit, looking as though it hurt to admit the words. "I don't want to hate you. Because if I hate you, then I have nothing left," he paused to breathe, calming himself down. "Voldemort's taken enough from me already... I can't lose you too. You're the only family I've got."

Charlie looked up, astonished. His heart began pounding rapidly in his chest, feeling overwhelmingly optimistic all of a sudden.

"What does that mean — ?"

Harry let out a long, ragged breath, forcing himself to see reason. He unclenched his fists, relaxing as he looked towards the only family he's ever known.

"It means that whatever happened," Harry began, heaving a heavy sigh. He made himself smile softly in attempt to lighten the mood. "Or however that mark got branded on your arm... I believe you."

Charlie blinked, thinking he must not have heard correctly, "Really?"

Instead of answering the question, Harry wheeled around to face his friend and with an intense look, which made Charlie feel as though he was about to be punched, he began walking forward.

Harry stopped just short of Charlie's frame, and the taller boy closed his eyes, prepared for the forceful impact to hit the side of his face. Charlie was surprised, however, when, after a few seconds, all he felt were Harry's arms being thrown around his shoulders, clapping him on the back as he pulled him for a hug.

It took Charlie a moment to get over the initial shock of having Harry forgive him, and a little while longer to process the fact that Harry was actually hugging him. Coming to his senses, however, Charlie realized what was happening and wrapped his arms tightly around Harry in return, reciprocating the brotherly hug with a sigh of relief and incredible ease.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off of Charlie's shoulders. There were not enough words to describe how good it felt to know that they could still act like this around one another, even after the revelation of the horrific truth of Charlie's summer.

They stood there for a minute longer, allowing Harry to fully relax into the hug, letting the tension leave the dark and abandoned classroom; Charlie was painfully aware of the feeling of Harry's heartbeat pounding against his chest.

"I love you, brother," said Harry softly, proving that friendship could overpower any level of hatred. "And regardless of what's happened, we're in this together."

"As always," Charlie finished, grinning thankfully as the two friends pulled away from one another.

"Oh, thank god." Elaina clutched at her chest dramatically. "Fuck, you guys had me going there for a second."

Harry sniffled, laughing lightly to ease the tension, muttering a quick, "Sorry."

"Please don't be mad at me for telling him," Elaina demanded of Charlie, pouting slightly. "Harry, of all people, deserved to know."

"I understand," reassured Charlie, ignoring any resentment he might've had. "I'm just glad we're okay," he added towards Harry, ruffling his hair like an older brother would a younger brother.

"Yeah, we're good," affirmed Harry, and Charlie smiled gratefully. Harry shifted his eyes, however, asking, "Who else knows?"

"Just the two of you," replied Charlie, glancing back and forth between Elaina and Harry. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I don't know how to tell anyone else, especially Hermione. I mean, can you imagine the look on her fac—"

"Yeah, well it's a good thing you don't have to," came a seething voice from the doorway, and Charlie's heart sunk into his stomach.

"Granger," groaned Elaina grumpily, who had been glaring at a livid Hermione stood in the doorway. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"Don't you start with me," snapped Hermione, taking a ferocious step forward. "I'm not in the mood for bitchy banter."

Elaina let out a low, vicious chuckle, "Oh? So, why are you here?"

But Hermione ignored her.

"We need to talk," she rounded on ex-boyfriend, her tone laced with a dangerous venom. Charlie felt his heartbeat quicken as he saw the slightly familiar flash of hate in her eyes.

"How much did you hear?" he gulped uneasily, avoiding Hermione's glaring eyes at all costs.

"Oh, I've heard plenty," hissed Hermione, crossing her arms in fury. She turned back around to Harry and Elaina, practically shaking in rage, "I think you two should leave."

"Is this bitch serious?" Elaina scoffed, challenging Hermione to stare down. "Honey, you have some nerve to walk in here and bark orders after what you did! Go back to the ginger, would you? We don't need your atti—"

"Elaina, please," Charlie pleaded, interrupting before the altercation got out of hand. He gave a quick nod towards his two friends, then gestured to the door, "Give us a second, would you?"

Elaina blinked, perplexed, "You can't be serious!"

"Come on," Harry whispered to Elaina, pulling her towards the door out of respect for Charlie's wishes. "They want to talk."

"Yeah, and that's more than she bloody deserves," growled Elaina, trying to wretch herself free from Harry's grasp. "I'm warning you, Granger," she called out from the doorway, "try anything and I'll fulfill my promise regarding that bloody nose, you hear me?"

And with that, Elaina was yanked from the room by Harry. Her voice, however, carried from the corridor, ricocheting off the walls, until it naturally faded into a whisper before diminishing entirely.

At last, the two ex-lovers were alone and, suddenly, time seemed to slow. It was as if the dark shadowy ambiance that was enclosing around the room became eerily clear, clear enough for Charlie to see Hermione's darkened auburn eyes that bore feverishly into his own.

Charlie drew nearer to the teacher's desk, walking closer to Hermione, and he saw her flinch ever so slightly at his movements. Hermione's head lay at an odd angle, as though she were looking back over her shoulder. Her vacant, brown eyes were barely visible through the fringes brown hair that all but covered her troubled, displeased face.

For the fraction of a moment, Charlie felt overwhelmingly guilty. He was quickly reminded, however, of the events of the night, recalling the reason in which he was forced to come down to this classroom in the first place.

Hermione and Ron had kissed.

That mere memory was enough to refuel the anger bubbling within him. Charlie clenched his fists, so tightly that Hermione could see the whites of his knuckles. The silence was deafening and he searched her face for any hint of aggression. As expected, he found it etched all of her face, but for some selfish reason, Charlie believed himself to be more justified with how he was feeling than she was.

"Can we get this over with?" The words slipped past his tongue before he had time to think about them, but all he felt was a smug satisfaction settling in the pit of his stomach. "I've been having a really bad night."

Charlie glanced sideways at Hermione whose hands had dropped to her side. She opened her mouth to say something in retort but seemed to catch herself. He could tell that she was trying hard to retain her composure.

That didn't seem to last long, however, as Hermione had launched herself forwards, strutting towards Charlie, and channeling every single fleeting emotion into one — rage.

"YOU..."

Hermione had exploded, slamming her clenched fists against Charlie's chest, hitting him repeatedly.

"...STUBBORN..."

Another punch to his chest.

"...IGNORANT..."

And another.

"...LOATHESOME... AUDACIOUS..."

She was hitting him frantically now, but Charlie stood still, absorbing it all, as though he had deserved every second of the stinging sensation that wounded his skin.

"...SECRET-KEEPING... INCONSIDERATE... PRAT!"

The last three words were punctuated with a push to the chest; the last one even sent Charlie stumbling backwards ever so slightly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she cried, panting slightly from exertion. "How could you keep a thing like this from me? After everything we've been through, this... this is how I find out?! How dare you! HOW DARE YOU!"

And she began her feverish attack on Charlie's chest once more, although this time, she seemed to slow down to let sobs of anguish leave her lips.

Choking back remorse, Charlie grabbed ahold of her hands, keeping her still, as he asked, "Are you done?"

"Am I done?" Hermione repeated, narrowing her eyes, disgusted by his lack of empathy. "Have you no idea what you've done? You threw away everything we had because of this! I know you did! This was the reason! I've been driving myself mad for weeks trying to understand why, and now I know! And you know what's worse? YOU WEREN'T EVEN GOING TO TELL ME!"

"I was going to tell you," Charlie defended calmly, "I just didn't know when."

"I SHOULD'VE BEEN THE FIRST PERSON TO KNOW," Hermione roared, wrenching herself free from his hold with a harsh push. "YOU SHOULD'VE TOLD ME! WE COULD'VE FIGURED THIS OUT TOGETHER! YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO PUSH ME AWAY, I COULD'VE —"

"You could've what?" Charlie asked rhetorically, his heart pounding in his chest. "You could've what, Hermione? What could you have done? There is nothing that can stop my father, don't you get that?"

"I would've found a way —"

"No, you wouldn't've," denied Charlie at once. "Nothing you did would've changed anything."

"Then you clearly underestimated my love for you," countered Hermione, with so much ferocity that Charlie gaped at her. "You had no idea of the lengths I would've gone to!"

"Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?" snapped Charlie, unsure of how much more he could take.

"Of course it matters," Hermione scoffed, stricken by how much hope the boy in front of her seemed to have given up. "Had you been honest with me, we wouldn't be where we are right now! I wouldn't've spent countless hours losing sleep over you, worrying about you and your sudden coldness towards the world. I wouldn't've been forced to fake a smile whenever you walked in a room or do anything that made it seem like I wasn't breaking on the inside!"

Charlie couldn't help but give a tiny bark of laughter. "You can't be serious..."

"You arrogant arse," Hermione hissed, resisting the urge to slap him all over again. "I've spent the last several months crying over you!"

"Yeah, so I've heard," shrugged Charlie, too hyper-focused on rage to hear Hermione's heart shattering. "But that didn't stop you from kissing Ron now, did it?"

Hermione faltered, gulping down the words that seemingly got caught in her throat.

"He kissed me," she confirmed in a guilty whisper, "and it meant nothing, believe me. Besides, I'm sure whatever happened with Ron was just the effects of the lucky potion. It was a misunderstan—"

Charlie sighed exasperatedly, running his hands through his hair, "Harry didn't give Ron the Felix Felicis."

"What?" questioned Hermione, her eyebrows knitted in confused. "But Luna saw —"

"Luna saw what Harry wanted her to see," huffed Charlie, as rage was still coursing through his veins. "It was all a ploy, giving Ron the confidence to actually give a half-decent performance in the Quidditch match. Backfired though, I'll tell you, the fucker is so far up his own arse that he can't see the light."

Hermione blinked, perplexed, "So, you're saying —"

"That Ron has feelings for you," admitted Charlie, despite the desire to vomit that arose in his stomach. "Which, in my most honest opinion, should've been obvious. I reckon he thinks that being under the supposed influence of the Liquid Luck has given him reason to pursue his feelings."

"No, there's no way," denied Hermione, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's preposterous. Ron and I are friends, and I have given absolutely no indication towards the contrary —"

"Haven't you?" growled Charlie, his jealousy rising. Hermione balked at him, confusion etched on her face. "Talking about what would happen if Ginny saw the two of you snogging sounds like a pretty fucking clear indication of flirting, if you ask me."

"I was trying to make a point!" defended Hermione, her veins pulsating once again. "Regardless, none of this would be happening if you hadn't broken up with me in the first place!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Charlie blinked repeatedly, flabbergasted. "You snog Ron... and somehow, I'm the one at fault? Wow. Well, isn't that just bloody convenient."

"HE KISSED ME!" Hermione reiterated, growing more and more frustrated. She took a deep breath, adding, "And all I'm saying is that if you would've let me help you, things would've been different. For once in your life, I needed you to need me back, was that too much to ask? I mean, why wouldn't you tell me about your father before it was too late? And why didn't you call for me if you were suffering? And why won't you ever just let me all the way in?" she asked the last question while pounding at his chest again, and her voice broke, pouring out all the emotion she held in her heart.

(A/N: this is for TotalKO123)

There was a guilty sigh that seeped through Charlie's lips. His heart fell through the floor, his eyes searching hers, looking dumbstruck. He said nothing, though she knew that he must be aware of her, especially with the way her heart was beating frantically in her chest.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie began, "I was trying to protect you —"

"As I've told you before, I'm more than capable of protecting myself," rebutted Hermione at once, disregarding Charlie's excuse as a valid one. "And regardless of that mark on your arm, I still would've loved you. Do you understand? Death Eater or not, I still would've loved you! And that should've been enough!"

"But it wasn't," Charlie stated, his voice monotone, devoid of any type of emotion. "I told you it wasn't. Do you not see what's going on? This is so much bigger than both of us! We're in the middle of a war, Hermione, and I'm not going to sit here and apologize to you about what's happened. I made a choice —"

"A CHOICE THAT COULD'VE GOTTEN YOU KILLED!"

"A CHOICE THAT PREVENTED YOU FROM BEING KILLED!" Charlie roared in correction, his shoulders moving up and down due to his exasperated panting.

"I never asked you to —"

"You didn't have to," Charlie admitted, his eyes softening as she gazed up at him.

"So, it just doesn't matter what I think?" Hermione scoffed, tilting her head to the side, conflicted.

"It's a little late for your input," snarled Charlie, pulling up his left sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark imprint once again. "This isn't going anywhere unfortunately."

Hermione's eyes widened, for it had been the first time she seen the Dark Mark up close. She took a step forward, grabbing his hand in both of hers, and his touch scalded her, giving her pins and needles. The contact made her heart race even faster and she wondered, in the back of her mind, if she would have a heart attack before they finished their conversation. Still, her eyes never left his.

Neither of them said a word. Charlie was the first to break eye contact, looking down at their joined hands. A look of confusion passed through his eyes as though he couldn't understand why she would be holding him.

Hermione dipped her head slightly, trying to get his attention. He finally brought his honey brown eyes up to meet hers. She was startled to see a look of wonder in them. Then, with her fingertips, she drew her hand up to caress the festering mark carved into his skin; Charlie winced, but his pain was quickly forgotten at the sight of her auburn eyes staring worriedly back at him.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes."

"And was it worth it?" she asked, her eyes gleaming in hopefulness.

With those words, he shattered. Charlie cringed, his eyes closed, the hand grasping hers tightened. He couldn't look at her and words that he didn't mean to say slipped from his mouth in a painful whisper.

"I like to think so," he admitted.

Hermione stared at him, willing him to open his eyes. She needed Charlie to see her, to see the words that she couldn't bring herself to say out loud. Even though they stood only inches apart, she stepped even closer to him. Their locked hands never parted. Hermione watched as his breath seemed to hitch, and was surprised to see that when he opened his eyes, a tear spilled from each one.

And just like that, Hermione couldn't stop tears from filling her own, her whimpering brought her guard down enough for three little words to fall graciously from her lips:

"I love you."

Charlie looked down on her, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He searched her eyes, wondering if she knew what those three words meant to him now. Hermione's doe eyes stared up at him with so much love shining through that all of their memories came rushing to the surface, taunting him with something he knew he couldn't have.

"Hermione," He kept his voice low, scared that he might lose a never-ending battle with himself. "Please, don't make this harder for me."

Time seemed to stop.

Or at least, that's the way it felt to Hermione. Her mouth dropped open as if to say something, but no words came out. Her mind had gone completely blank and she was almost sure that her heart stopped beating for a moment. After a moment, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

Charlie felt her mood shift immediately and cursed himself. 

Hermione slowly detangled herself from Charlie, and backed away, letting her mind process everything that had just happened. Whenever she thought she had grasped the concept of heartbreak, it kept surprising her, shattering her all over again in a new innovative way.

"I need you to be honest with me," she began in a timid whisper after a moment's hesitation. Charlie's body shuddered, but he nodded nonetheless, urging her to continue. "Do you truly believe this is the end for us?"

Hermione was fighting for him, pulling him closer as he pushed her away, breaking down his every defence with the trust in her eyes and the commitment in her words. Charlie internally scolded himself, perfectly aware that he was putty in her hands.

God, this woman is going to be the death of me.

There was a horrible, swelling, billowing silence between them now, tainted by the singsong chirps of the canaries that continued to fly around unbothered.

"Does it matter what I think?" gulped Charlie, harsher than intended, but his tone proved to be effective; Hermione blinked back tears. "Regardless of the answer, nothing between us is ever going to be the same."

"Maybe not," agreed Hermione, giving him the benefit of the doubt, her tone desperately hopeful. "But would that be such a bad thing?"

It seemed as though this was meant to be left as an open-ended question, as Hermione had walked very slowly and erectly toward the door.

"Maybe you should ask Ron," Charlie muttered under his breath before he could stop himself, unable to keep his mind from resurfacing the tainted image. "I wonder what you'll value more: his opinion or his tongue down your throat."

"Oppugno!" came a vindictive shriek from the doorway. Charlie spun around to see Hermione pointing her wand towards him, her expression wild.

The little flock of birds was speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Charlie, who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach.

"HERMIONE!" he yelled, but with one last look of vengeful fury, Hermione wrenched open the door and disappeared through it.

Charlie thought he heard a sob before it slammed.

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Author's Note:
*this chapter was not proof read*

I'm just gonna go...

*nervous laughter*

xo, Selena

p.s. that conversation isn't over...

see you next chapter 👀