(A/N: we're just gonna pretend that Neville is Charlie... lol)

CHAPTER EIGHT:

Third Person Narrative:

Charlie had not expected Hermione's anger to abate overnight, and was therefore unsurprised that she communicated mainly by dirty looks and pointed silences the next morning. She was mad at each of them; Ron for leaving in the first place, Harry for forgiving Ron with gracious ease, and Charlie for risking his life and leaving her alone in the wilderness.

Ron responded by maintaining an unnaturally somber demeanour in her presence as an outward sign of continuing remorse. During those few moments he spent alone with Charlie and Harry, however — collecting water and searching the undergrowth for mushrooms — Ron became shamelessly cheery.

"Someone helped us," he kept saying. "Someone sent that doe. Someone's on our side. One Horcrux down, can you believe it?"

Bolstered by the destruction of the locket, they set to debating the possible locations of the other Horcruxes, and even though they had discussed the matter so often before, Charlie felt optimistic, certain that more breakthroughs would succeed the first. Hermione's sulkiness could not mar his buoyant spirits. The sudden upswing in their fortunes, the appearance of the mysterious doe, the recovery of Gryffindor's sword, Ron's return, and above all, the assurances he and Hermione had made regarding their feelings for one another, made Charlie so happy that it was quite difficult to maintain a straight face.

Late in the afternoon, the four of them continued their ongoing exchange of news. Charlie, Hermione, and Harry had finally managed to tell Ron the whole story of their various wanderings, right up to the full story of what had happened at Godric's Hollow; Ron was now filling them in on everything he had discovered about the wider Wizarding world during his weeks away.

"...and then there's the Taboo," he said, after explaining the many desperate attempts of Muggle-borns to evade the Ministry.

"The what?" asked Harry curiously, as Charlie and Hermione shared a look of bewilderment.

"You-Know-Who's real name — it's been jinxed."

"But I haven't got a problem calling him Vol—"

"NO!" roared Ron abruptly, and the other three jumped at the sudden disturbance. Hermione, her nose buried in a book, had looked up and sent a scowl in Ron's direction.

"Sorry," he went on, his cheeks guiltily red, "but the name's been jinxed! That's how they track people! Using his name breaks protective enchantments, it causes some kind of magical disturbance — it's how they found us in Tottenham Court Road!"

Charlie kinked a curious brow, "Because we used his name?"

"Exactly! You've got to give them credit, it makes sense. It was only people who were serious about standing up to him, like Dumbledore, who ever dared use it. Now, they've put a Taboo on it, so anyone who says it is trackable — quick-and-easy way to find Order members! They nearly got Kingsley —"

Harry's mouth fell agape, "You're kidding?"

But Ron quickly nodded in confirmation, "Yeah, a bunch of Death Eaters cornered him, Bill said, but he fought his way out. He's on the run now, just like us." Ron scratched his chin thoughtfully with the end of his wand. "You don't reckon Kingsley could have sent that doe?"

Hermione sighed, finally putting her book down, and said, "His Patronus is a lynx, we saw it at the wedding, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Ron looked a little embarrassed, but continued on in a low voice, "Well then... d'you reckon it could've been Dumbledore then?"

"Dumbledore what?"

"Dumbledore... the doe?" suggested Ron gently, watching Charlie out of the corners of his eyes, "he had the real sword last, didn't he?"

As they all fell silent, Charlie did not dare to laugh at Ron, for he understood too well the longing behind the question. The idea that Dumbledore had managed to come back to them, that he was watching over them, would have inexpressibly comforting. At long last, however, he shook his head.

"My grandfather's dead," he mumbled sadly, now anxiously looking down at the grass; Hermione gently interlocked their hands, comforting him with her touch. "I saw it happen, Ron... I saw the body. Believe me, as much as I wish it weren't true, he's definitely gone. Anyway, his Patronus was a phoenix, like mine is now, not a doe."

"Patronuses can change, though, can't they? Yours did," reminded Ron, looking hopeful from a few yards away, "and so did Tonks's, didn't it?"

"Sure they can, but if my grandfather was still alive, why wouldn't he show himself? Why wouldn't he just hand us the sword?"

"I dunno," mumbled Ron, sounding slightly defeated. "Same reason he didn't give it to you while he was alive? Same reason he left Harry an old Snitch and Hermione a book of kids' stories?"

"Which is what?" asked Charlie sharply, turning to look Ron full in the face, desperate for the answer.

"Wish I knew," said Ron, shrugging. "Sometimes I've thought, when I've been a bit hacked off, he was having a laugh or — or he just wanted to make it more difficult. But I don't think so, not anymore. He knew what he was doing when he gave me the Deluminator, didn't he? He — well," Ron's ears turned bright red and he became engrossed in a tuft of grass at his feet, which he prodded with his toe, "he must've known I'd run out on you."

"No," Harry corrected him. "He must've known you'd always want to come back."

Ron looked grateful, but was still standing awkwardly in response. Partly to change the subject, Charlie dared to ask, "Speaking of Dumbledore, have you heard what Skeeter wrote about him?"

"Oh yeah," said Ron at once, "people are talking about it quite a lot. 'Course, if things were different, it'd be huge news, Dumbledore being pals with Grindelwald, but now it's just something to laugh about for people who didn't like Dumbledore, and a bit of a slap in the face for everyone who thought he was such a good bloke. I don't know that it's such a big deal, though. He was really young when they —"

"He was our age," retorted Charlie, just as he had retorted to Hermione only days before, searching her face as he'd done then. Something in their look seemed to decide Ron against pursuing the subject.

Ignoring the sudden change in atmosphere, Harry had spotted a large spider sat in the middle of a frosted web in the brambles. He took aim at it with the wand Ron had given him the previous night, which Hermione had since condescended to examine, and had decided was made of blackthorn.

"Engorgio."

The spider gave a little shiver, bouncing slightly in the web. Harry desperately tried again. This time the spider grew slightly larger.

"Stop that," said Ron sharply, taking several steps back from the tent's entrance.

For a moment, it seemed as though Harry had forgotten Ron's hatred of spiders.

"Sorry — Reducio."

But the spider did not shrink. Slightly disappointed, Harry looked down at the blackthorn wand. Every minor spell he had cast with it so far that day had seemed less powerful than those he had produced with his phoenix wand. The new one felt intrusively unfamiliar, like having somebody else's hand sewn to the end of his arm.

"Don't worry, Harry, practice will help," reassured Hermione, who had watched anxiously as Harry tried to enlarge and reduce the spider. Charlie knew she still felt guilty about breaking Harry's wand, but he also knew she was right, at least in part.

When darkness fell, Charlie took first watch, and the other three returned tent; Hermione reluctantly returned to their shared bunk alone, planting a kiss on his cheek before disappearing behind the canvas.

Sitting in the entrance of the tent, Charlie mindlessly levitated small stones at his feet, suspending them in the air for as long as he could. Not long after, he shifted his gaze, glancing inside the tent.

Hermione was lying on their bed, reading, her hair tied up in a bun; she was running her tongue over her lips in concentration. On the other side of the room, Harry's eyes were fixated on the old golden Snitch again, as though waiting for it to somehow magically combust. Meanwhile, Ron, after many nervous glances at Hermione, had taken a small, wooden wireless out of his rucksack and started to try to tune it.

"There's this one program," he told Charlie in a low voice, now sitting down near the entrance of the tent, "that tells the news like it really is. All the others are on You-Know-Who's side and are following the Ministry line, but this one... you wait till you hear it, it's great. Only they can't do it every night, they have to keep changing locations in case they're raided, and you need a password to tune in... trouble is, I missed the last one..."

He drummed lightly on the top of the radio with his wand, muttering random words under his breath. He threw Hermione many covert glances, plainly fearing an angry outburst, but for all the notice she took of him he might not have been there. For ten minutes or so, Ron tapped and muttered, Hermione turned the pages of her book, Harry continued to ponder the golden Snitch, and Charlie mindlessly waved his wand.

Finally, Hermione climbed off the bunk; Ron ceased his tapping at once.

"If it's annoying you, I'll stop!" he told Hermione nervously. Hermione did not deign to respond, but approached Charlie and motioned for Harry to follow.

"We need to talk," she said, once all four of them huddled around. Despite the assurances they continued to make to one another, Charlie felt his heart clench. He looked at the book still clutched in her hand. It was The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.

"About?" he asked apprehensively. It flew through his mind that there was a chapter on him in there; he was not sure he felt up to hearing Rita's version of his relationship with his grandfather.

Hermione's answer, however, was completely unexpected.

"I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood."

Charlie, Harry, and Ron glanced between one another for a moment, then stared in Hermione's direction.

"Sorry?" said Harry, unsure whether he'd heard correctly.

"Xenophilius Lovegood. Luna's father. I want to go and talk to him."

"Er — why?"

Hermione took a deep breath, as though bracing herself, and said, "It's that mark, the mark in Beedle the Bard. Look at this!"

She thrust The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore under Charlie's unwilling eyes and he, along with Harry and Ron, saw a photograph of the original letter that Dumbledore had written Grindelwald, with Dumbledore's familiar thin, slanting handwriting. Charlie hated seeing absolute proof that his grandfather really had written those words, that they had not been Rita's invention.

"The signature," Hermione pointed out, sitting down next to him. "Look at the signature, my love!"

Almost immediately, Charlie obeyed. For a moment, he had no idea what Hermione was talking about, but, looking more closely with the aid of his lit wand, he saw that his grandfather had replaced the 'A' of Albus with a tiny version of the same triangular mark inscribed upon The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"Uh, what are you — ?" said Ron tentatively, but Hermione quelled him with a look and turned back to Charlie and Harry.

"It keeps popping up, doesn't it?" she asked them. "I know Viktor said it was Grindelwald's mark, but it was definitely on that old grave in Godric's Hollow, and the dates on the headstone were long before Grindelwald came along! And now this! Well, we can't ask Dumbledore or Grindelwald what it means — I don't even know whether Grindelwald's still alive — but we can ask Mr. Lovegood. He was wearing the symbol at Bill and Fleur's wedding. Please, I'm sure this is important!"

Charlie did not answer at first. He looked into Hermione's intense, beautiful, eager face, and then out into the surrounding darkness, thinking hard. After a long pause, he managed weakly, "Babe, we don't need another Godric's Hollow. We talked ourselves into going there, and —"

"But it keeps appearing, Charlie! Your grandfather left me The Tales of Beedle the Bard, how do you know we're not supposed to find out about the sign?"

Coming to Charlie's defence, Harry felt slightly exasperated by the whole thing. He wondered if perhaps their optimism was going too far.

"We keep trying to convince ourselves Dumbledore left us secret signs and clues —"

"The Deluminator turned out to be pretty useful," piped up Ron, before adding: "It won't be like Godric's Hollow. Lovegood's on our side, Harry, The Quibbler's had our backs all along, it keeps telling everyone they've got to help you!"

"I'm sure this is important!" repeated Hermione earnestly, grasping Charlie's hand and adjusting herself so she was looking right at him.

"But don't you think if it was, my grandfather would have told me about it before he died?"

"Maybe... maybe it's something you need to find out for yourself," suggested Hermione, with a faint air of clutching at straws.

"Yeah," said Ron sycophantically, "that makes sense."

"No, it doesn't," snapped Hermione, and if the situation hadn't been so dire, Charlie would have laughed at how easily she'd read Ron's intentions, "but I still think we ought to talk to Mr. Lovegood. A symbol that links Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Godric's Hollow? Charlie, please, I'm sure we ought to know about this!"

"I think we should vote on it," said Ron quickly; Charlie threw him a dark look. "Those in favour of going to see Lovegood —"

His hand flew into the air before Hermione's. Her lips quivered suspiciously as she raised her own. Charlie glanced at his girlfriend once more, taking a deep breath; Hermione had jutted her bottom lip out, pouting teasingly in his direction, assumably aware that he had an inability to deny her. And so, against his will, Charlie slowly raised his hand, sending an apologetic look towards Harry.

"Then, it's settled," beamed Ron, looking pleased with the outcome. "You're outvoted, Harry, sorry."

"Fine," grumbled Harry, half amused, half irritated. "Only, once we've seen Lovegood, let's try and look for some more Horcruxes, shall we? Where do the Lovegoods live, anyway? Do any of you know?"

"Yeah, they're not too far from my place," said Ron, with far too much cheer. "I dunno exactly where, but Mum and Dad always point toward the hills whenever they mention them. It shouldn't be hard to find."

As Harry and Ron went over the plan for their excursion, Charlie found himself in a lustful daze. Her arms now wrapped his neck, Hermione had begun peppering kisses along his sharp jawline. Once she reached his ear, however, she stopped and muttered lowly, "Not as dumb as he looks, folks."

"To be completely transparent," began Charlie, his infamous charming smirk curling onto his lips, "I only agreed because I didn't fancy sleeping on the couch."

"Is that right?" asked Hermione teasingly, finding amusement in watching Charlie's face fall ever so slightly. "Well, then, it's a good thing I still haven't ruled it out. Don't forget, you're still in the doghouse."

But, as Charlie went to open his mouth in immediate retaliation, she silenced him with a quick peck, then giggled breathlessly against his lips as she pulled away.

"I'm only joking," she reassured him, untangling herself from around him as she made to stand. "Come to bed when you're ready, okay? I love you, baby."

"Love you too," Charlie said freely, smiling to himself as he watched her get up and return to bed. After a minute or two, he turned his head towards Harry and Ron, who had seemingly been lost in their own conversation regarding the country hillside in which they'd soon be travelling over.

Having noticed the additional pair of ears attributing  to the conversation, however, Harry grinned and lowered his voice, instantly changing the subject.

"Admit it, you whipped git, you only agreed to try and get back in her good books."

"She's my girlfriend," Charlie shrugged, shamelessly loving the way the word rolled off his tongue, "so I don't quite know what else you were expecting. Besides, Ron did the same bloody thing!"

"How else do you expect us all to be friends again?" defended Ron at once, smiling brightly, "Don't worry, I know it's you and her now and everything — nothing to worry about from me —"

Scowling half-heartedly, Charlie said, "Don't forget it."

"Cheer up, mate," laughed Ron, making light of the situation. "It's the Christmas holidays, at least that means Luna'll be home!"

—————————————————————

They had an excellent view of the village of Ottery St. Catchopole from the breezy hillside to which they Disapparated next morning. From their high vantage point, the village looked like a collection of toy houses in the great slanting shafts of sunlight stretching to earth in the breaks between clouds.

Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood for a minute or two looking toward the Burrow, their hands shadowing their eyes, but all they could make out were the high hedges and trees of the orchard, which afforded the crooked little house protection from Muggle eyes.

Ron sighed, "It's weird, being this near, but not going to visit."

"Well, it's not like you haven't just seen them. You were there for Christmas," said Hermione coldly.

"I wasn't at the Burrow!" denied Ron with an incredulous laugh. "Do you think I was going to go back there and tell them all I'd walked out on you? Yeah, Fred and George would've been great about it. And Ginny, she'd have been really understanding."

"But where have you been, then?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"Bill and Fleur's place. Shell Cottage. Bill wasn't impressed when he heard what I'd done, but he didn't go on about it. He knew I was sorry. None of the rest of the family know I was there. Bill told Mum he and Fleur weren't going home for Christmas because they wanted to spend it alone. You know, first holiday after they were married," — Charlie felt Hermione's gaze flicker to him — "I don't think Fleur minded. You know how much she hates Celestina Warbeck," Ron finished, turning his back on the Burrow.

"Let's try up here," Harry said, leading the way over the top of the hill. They walked for an hour or so; Harry, at Hermione's insistence, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak. The cluster of low hills appeared to be uninhabited apart from one small cottage, which seemed deserted.

"Do you think it's theirs, and they've just gone away for Christmas?" asked Hermione, peering through the window at a neat little kitchen with geraniums on the windowsill.

Ron snorted, shaking his head, "Listen, I've got a feeling you'd be able to tell who lived there if you looked through the Lovegoods' window. Let's try the next lot of hills."

And so, they Disapparated a few miles farther north.

"Aha!" shouted Ron, as the wind whipped their hair and clothes. Ron was pointing upward, toward the top of the hill on which they had appeared, where a most strange-looking house rose vertically against the sky, a great black cylinder with a ghostly moon hanging behind it in the afternoon sky. "That's got to be Luna's house, who else would live in a place like that? It looks like a giant rook!"

"It's nothing like a bird," said Hermione, frowning at the tower.

"He's talking about a chess rook, love," laughed Charlie heartily, "which would look more like a castle to you."

Ron's legs were the longest, so he reached the top of the hill first. When Charlie, Harry, and Hermione caught up with him, panting and clutching stitches in their sides, they found him grinning broadly.

"It's theirs," said Ron triumphantly, though to any observer it would have looked like he was speaking to himself. "Look."

Three hand-painted signs had been tacked to a broken-down gate. The first read:

THE QUIBBLER. EDITOR, X. LOVEGOOD

the second,

PICK YOUR OWN MISTLETOE

the third,

KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS

"Keep off the what?" asked Charlie curiously, a confused look etched on his face, but his friends merely shrugged on response.

The gate creaked as they opened it. The zigzagging path leading to the front door was overgrown with a variety of odd plants, including a bush covered in orange radish-like fruit Luna sometimes wore as earrings. Charlie thought he recognized a Snargaluff and gave the wizened stump a wide berth. Two aged crab apple trees, bent with the wind, stripped of leaves but still heavy with berry-sized red fruits and bushy crowns of white beaded mistletoe, stood sentinel on either side of the front door. Then, a little owl with a slightly flattened hawklike head peered down at them from one of the branches.

"You'd better take off the Cloak, Harry," said Hermione wisely before they got to the door. "It's you Mr. Lovegood want to help, not us."

Harry did as she suggested, handing her the Cloak to stow in the beaded bag. Hermione then rapped three times on the thick black door, which was studded with iron nails and bore a knocker shaped like an eagle.

Barely ten seconds passed, then the door was flung open and there stood Xenophilius Lovegood, barefoot and wearing what appeared to be a stained nightshirt. His long white candyfloss hair was dirty and unkempt. Xenophilius had been positively dapper at Bill and Fleur's wedding by comparison.

"What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?" he cried in a high-pitched, querulous voice, looking first at Ron, then at Hermione — his eyes widening — and finally glanced between Charlie and Harry, upon which his mouth fell open in a perfect, comical 'O'.

"Hello, Mr. Lovegood," greeted Charlie politely, holding out his hand, "I'm not sure if you remember, but we've had the pleasure of meeting once before. I'm Charlie, Charlie Hawthorne, and that there is Harry Potter," he added in hushed whisper, glancing over his shoulder towards Harry.

Xenophilius did not take Charlie's hand, although the eye that was not pointing inward at his nose slid straight to the scar on Harry's forehead.

"And this is Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley," Charlie went on, now sparing a glance in the other direction. "Would you mind if we came in? There's something we'd like to ask you."

"I-I'm not sure that's advisable," stuttered Xenophilius nervously. He then swallowed and cast a quick look around the garden. "Rather a shock... my word... I'm afraid I don't really think I ought to —"

"It won't take long," said Harry eagerly, slightly disappointed by this less-than-warm welcome.

"I — oh, all right then. Come in, quickly. Quickly!"

"I'm not so sure about this anymore," Hermione managed to whisper worriedly in Charlie's ear, but it was too late.

They were barely over the threshold when Xenophilius slammed the door shut behind them. The five of them were now standing in the most peculiar kitchen Charlie had ever seen. The room was perfectly circular, so that he felt like being inside a giant pepper pot. Everything was curved to fit the walls — the stove, the sink, and the cupboards — and all of it had been painted with flowers, insects, and birds in bright primary colors. Charlie thought he might've recognized Luna's styles. The effect in such and enclosed space was slightly overwhelming.

In the middle of the floor, a wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the upper levels. There was a great deal of clattering and banging coming from overhead; Charlie wondered what Luna could be doing.

"You'd better come up," said Xenophilius, still looking extremely uncomfortable, and he led the way.

The room above seemed to be a combination of living room and workplace, and as such, was even more cluttered than the kitchen. Though much smaller and entirely round, the room somewhat resembled the Room of Requirement on the unforgettable occasion that it had transformed itself into a gigantic labyrinth comprised of centuries of hidden objects. There were piles upon piles of books and papers on every surface; delicately made models of creatures Charlie did not recognize, all flapping wings or snapping jaws, hung from the ceiling.

Luna was not there after all; the thing that was making such a racket was a wooden object covered in magically turning cogs and wheels. It looked like the bizarre offspring of a workbench and a set of old shelves, but after a moment, Charlie deduced that it was an old-fashioned printing press, due to the fact that it was churning out Quibblers.

"Excuse me," said Xenophilius, and he strode over to the machine, seized a grubby tablecloth from beneath an immense number of books and papers, which all tumbled onto the floor, and threw it over the press, somewhat muffling the loud bangs and clatters. He then turned, facing the four teenagers once again.

"Why have you come here?"

Before either boy could speak, however, Hermione let out a small cry of shock.

"Mr. Lovegood — what's that?"

She was pointing at an enormous, gray spiral horn, not unlike that of a unicorn, which had been mounted on the wall, protruding several feet into the room.

"It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," said Xenophilius simply.

"No, it isn't!" denied Hermione at once.

"Love," muttered Charlie, reaching for her hand, "now's not the time —"

"But Charlie, it's an Erumpent horn! It's a Class B Tradeable Material and it's an extraordinary dangerous thing to have in a house! Forgive me, but I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"How d'you know it's an Erumpent horn?" asked Ron, edging away from the horn as fast as he could, given the extreme clutter of the room.

"There's a description in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them! Mr. Lovegood, you need to get rid of it straightaway, don't you know it can explode at the slightest touch?"

"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack," said Xenophilius very clearly, a mulish look upon his face, "is a shy and highly magical creature, and its horn —"

"Mr. Lovegood, I recognize the grooved markings around the base, that's an Erumpent horn and it's incredibly dangerous — I don't know where you got it —"

"I bought it," whispered Xenophilius dogmatically, "two weeks ago, from a delightful young wizard who knew of my interest in the exquisite Snorkack. It's meant to be a Christmas surprise for my Luna. Now," he said, turning to Charlie and Harry, "why exactly have you come here, Mr. Potter and Mr. Hawthorne?"

"We need some help," said Harry simply, sobering Hermione to the task at hand.

"Ah," uttered Xenophilius, "help, eh? Hmm."

His good eye moved again to Harry's scar. He seemed simultaneously terrified and mesmerized.

"Yes, well, the thing is... helping the Undesirables... rather dangerous..."

"Aren't you the one who keeps telling everyone it's their first duty to help Harry?" countered Ron, raising a curious brow. "In that magazine of yours?"

Xenophilius glanced behind him at the concealed printing press, still banging and clattering beneath the tablecloth.

"Er — yes, I have expressed that view. However —"

"So, that's for everyone else to do, but not you personally?" accused Ron, rather darkly. Xenophilius did not answer. He kept swallowing, his eyes darting between the three of them. Charlie had the impression that he was undergoing some painful internal struggle.

"Where's Luna?" asked Hermione abruptly, also noticing her absence and becoming increasingly more suspicious of Lovegood's behaviour. "Let's see what she thinks."

Xenophilius gulped. He seemed to be steeling himself. Finally, he said in a shaky voice difficult to hear over the noise of the printing press, "Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She... she will be happy to see you. I'll go and call her and then — yes, very well — I shall try to help you."

With that, he disappeared down the spiral staircase and they heard the front door open and close. Once Mr. Lovegood had left the room, Charlie, Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked at each other.

"Cowardly old wart," grumbled Ron, his face scrunched with evident disappointment. "Luna's got ten times his guts."

Harry shrugged, "He's probably just worried about what'll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out we were here."

"Well, I agree with Ron," said Hermione, clutching Charlie's hand tighter in her own. "Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help us and trying to worm out of it himself. And for heaven's sake keep away from that horn."

Taking a deep breath, Charlie pulled himself from Hermione's embrace and crossed to the window on the far side of the room. He could see a stream, a thin, glittering ribbon lying far below them at the base of the hill. They were very high up; some birds fluttered past the window as he stared in the direction of the Burrow, now invisible beyond another line of hills. He turned away from the window and his gaze fell upon another peculiar object standing upon the cluttered, curved sideboard. There was a stone bust of a beautiful but austere-looking witch, whom was wearing a most bizarre-looking headdress.

"Look at this," said Charlie, drawing everyone's attention.

"Fetching," grinned Ron, turning around. "Surprised he didn't wear that to the wedding."

Suddenly, they heard the front door close down below, and a moment later, Xenophilius had climbed back up the spiral staircase into the room, his thin legs now encased in Wellington boots, bearing a tray of ill-assorted teacups and a steaming teapot.

"Ah, you have spotted my pet invention," he said, shoving the tray into Hermione's arms and joining Charlie at the statue's side. "Modelled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowena Ravenclaw. 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure!'"

He indicated the objects like ear trumpets.

"These are the Wrackpurt siphons — to remove all sources of distraction from the thinker's immediate area. Here," he pointed out the tiny wings, "a billywig propeller, to induce an elevated frame of mind. Finally," he pointed to the orange radish, "the Dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary."

Xenophilius strode back to the tea tray, which Hermione had managed to balance precariously on one of the cluttered side tables.

"May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots?" asked Xenophilius, smiling awkwardly. "We make it ourselves." As he started to pour out their drinks, which was as deeply purple as beetroot juice, he added, "Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here. She ought not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plumpies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar. Now," he removed a tottering pile of papers from an armchair and sat down, his Wellingtoned legs crossed, "how may I help you?"

"Well," began Charlie, glancing at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly, her hand finding his again, "it's about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur's wedding, Mr. Lovegood, we were wondering what it meant."

Xenophilius raised his eyebrows.

"Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?"

Charlie turned to look at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Neither one of them seemed to have understood what Xenophilius had said either.

"The Deathly Hallows?"

"That's right," said Xenophilius, nodding. "You haven't heard of them? I'm not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at your brother's wedding," he nodded at Ron, "who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows — at least, not in that crude sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest."

He stirred several lumps of sugar into his Gurdyroot infusion and drank some.

"I'm sorry," interrupted Harry, clearing his throat. "I still don't really understand."

To be polite, Charlie took a sip from his cup too, and almost gagged; the stuff was quite disgusting, as though someone had liquidized bogey-flavoured Every Flavour Beans.

"Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hallows," said Xenophilius, smacking his lips in apparent appreciation of the Gurdyroot infusion.

Hermione raised a curious brow, "But what are the Deathly Hallows?"

At this, Xenophilius set aside his teacup. "I assume that you are all familiar with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'?"

Harry paused, unsure of what to say. In contrast, however, Charlie, Ron, and Hermione each said, "Yes."

Xenophilius nodded gravely.

"Well, Mr. Potter, the whole thing starts with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'... I've got a copy somewhere..."

He glanced vaguely around the room, at the piles of parchment and books, but Hermione quickly said, "I've got a copy, Mr. Lovegood, I've got it right here."

And sure enough, she pulled out The Tales of Beedle the Bard from the small, beaded bag.

"The original?" inquired Xenophilius sharply, and when she nodded, he said, "Well then, why don't you read it aloud? Much the best way to make sure we all understand."

"Er... all right," said Hermione nervously, glancing at Charlie meaningfully. The last, and only, time she'd read the tales aloud they'd been alone on a tiny, snow-covered island in a Scottish loch, huddled close for warmth. As she opened the book, Charlie recognized that the symbol they were investigating headed the top of the page.

Hermione gave a little cough, and then began to read.

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

(A/N: thought it might add to the effect of the scene if I inserted this clip! also, Emma's narration is one of my favourite parts of DH part one! so enjoy <3)

"'There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight —'"

"Midnight, our mum always told us," interrupted Ron, who had stretched out, arms behind his head, to listen; Hermione shot him an immediate look of annoyance. "Sorry, I just think it's a bit spookier if it's midnight!"

"Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives," muttered Charlie darkly, unable to stop himself. Luckily, Xenophilius did not seem to be paying much attention, for he was too busy staring out of the window at the sky. "Go on, Hermione," he added, giving her leg a squeeze.

"'In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. And then, Death spoke to them —'"

"Sorry," interrupted Harry, slightly alarmed, "but Death spoke to them?"

"It's a fairy tale, Harry," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Right, sorry. Go on."

"'And then, Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.

"'So the eldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.

"'Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.

"'And then, Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.'"

"Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" asked Harry, interrupting the story again.

"Yeah, so he can sneak up on people," explained Charlie quickly, settling his eyes back on his girlfriend.

Ron laughed lightheartedly, "I imagine Death gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking... sorry, Hermione."

"'Then, Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so talking with wonder of the adventure they had had and admiring Death's gifts. In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.

"'The first brother traveled on for a week more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.

"'That very night, another wizard crept upon the eldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the eldest brother's throat.

"'And so, Death took the first brother for his own.

"'Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here, he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.

"'Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as to truly join her.

"'And so Death took the second brother for his own.

"'But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then, he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, as equals, they departed this life.'"

At long last, Hermione closed the book. It was a moment or two before Xenophilius seemed to realize that she had stopped reading, then he withdrew his gaze from the window and said, "Well, there you are."

"Sorry?" said Hermione, sounding confused.

"Those are the Deathly Hallows."

With that, Xenophilius picked up a quill and ink from a packed table at his elbow and pulled a torn piece of parchment from between more books.

"The Elder Wand," he recalled, and drew a straight vertical line upon the parchment. "The Resurrection Stone," he said, and added a circle on top of the line. "The Cloak of Invisibility," he finished, enclosing both line and circle in a triangle, to make the symbols that so intrigued Hermione.

"Together," he announced in the conclusion, "they make up the Deathly Hallows."

Charlie furrowed his brows, "But there's no mention of the words 'Deathly Hallows' in the story."

"Well, of course not, Mr. Hawthorne," said Xenophilius, maddeningly smug. "That is a children's tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death."

There was a short silence in which Xenophilius glanced out of the window; the sun was already low in the sky, setting upon the horizon.

"Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon," he whispered quietly.

Ron cleared his throat, "Mr. Lovegood, when you say 'master of Death' —"

"Master," affirmed Xenophilius, waving an airy hand. "Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer."

"But then... do you mean..." said Hermione slowly, and Charlie could tell that she was trying to keep any trace of skepticism out of her voice, "that you believe these objects — these Hallows — actually exist?"

Xenophilius raised his eyebrows again.

"Well, of course."

"But," Hermione pressed on, and Charlie could hear her restraint starting to crack, "Mr. Lovegood, how can you possibly believe — ?"

"Luna has told me all about you, young lady," muttered Xenophilius, eyeing her curiously. "You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded —"

Charlie narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw involuntarily at this blatant disrespect towards his girlfriend.

"Excuse me —" he began hotly, but Hermione quickly squeezed his hand, silently instructing him to calm down. He huffed in annoyance, unwillingly sinking back into his seat.

"Perhaps you ought to try on the hat, Hermione," said Ron lightheartedly, nodding toward the ludicrous headdress. His voice shook with the strain of not laughing.

"Mr. Lovegood," Hermione began again, ignoring Ron at once. "We all know that there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. Yes, they are rare, but they exist. However —"

"Ah, but the Third Hallow is a true Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Granger! I mean to say, it is not a traveling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, looking more confused than ever. She, Charlie, Harry, and Ron glanced at one another, and Charlie knew that they were all thinking the same thing. It just so happened that a cloak exactly like the one Xenophilius had just described was in the room with them at that very moment.

"Exactly," said Xenophilius, as if he had defeated them all in reasoned argument. "None of you have ever seen such a thing. I mean, the possessor would be immeasurably rich, would they not?"

With that, he glanced out the window again. The sky was now tinged with the faintest trace of pink.

"All right," sighed Hermione, disconcerted. "Say the cloak existed... what about the stone, Mr. Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?"

"What of it?"

"Well, how can that be real?"

Xenophilius shrugged, "Prove that it is not."

Hermione looked outraged.

"But that's — I'm sorry, but that's completely ridiculous! How can I possibly prove it doesn't exist? Do you expect me to get hold of — of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that anything's real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody's proved it doesn't exist!"

"Yes, you could," grinned Xenophilius, again acting as though he was somehow triumphant. "I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a little, Miss Granger."

"So the Elder Wand," said Harry quickly, before Hermione could retort, "you think that exists too?"

"Oh, well, in that case, there is endless evidence," assured Xenophilius, nodding at once. "The Elder Wand is the Hallow that is most easily traced, because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand."

Charlie sat up, intrigued, and asked, "Which is what?"

"Which is that the possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly master of it," explained Xenophilius, shifting his gaze. "Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Baraabas Deverill, whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of Wizarding history."

Charlie glanced to Hermione for confirmation. She was frowning at Xenophilius, but she did not contradict him.

"So where do you think the Elder Wand is now?" asked Ron, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Alas, who knows?" said Xenophilius, as he glanced back out of the window. "Who knows where the Elder Wand lies hidden? The trail goes cold with Arcus and Livius. Who can say which of them really defeated Loxias, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them? History, alas, does not tell us."

There a long pause, which was broken once Hermione finally asked stiffly, "Mr. Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?"

Xenophilius looked taken aback as something shifted in Charlie's memory, but he could not locate it. Peverell... he had heard that name before...

"But you have been misleading me, young woman!" accused Xenophilius, now sitting up much straighter in his chair and goggling at Hermione. "I thought you were new to the Hallows Quest! Many of us Questers believe that the Peverells have everything — everything — to do with the Hallows!"

Ron blinked, "Who are the Peverells?"

"That was the name on the grave with the mark on it, remember, in Godric's Hollow," whispered Hermione, still watching Xenophilius. "Ignotus Peverell."

At once, Charlie remembered the worn stone grave, and the faintest of symbols he and Hermione could not ascertain.

"Exactly!" said Xenophilius, his forefinger raised pedantically. "The sign of the Death Hallows on Ignotus's grave is conclusive proof!"

"Of what?" asked Harry quietly, seeing Charlie and Hermione's eyes meet again in understanding.

"Why, that the three brothers in the story were actually the three Peverell brothers: Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus! That they were the original owners of the Hallows!"

With another glance at the window, Xenophilius quickly got to his feet, picked up the tray, and headed for the spiral staircase.

"You will stay for dinner?" he called, as he vanished downstairs again. "Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimply soup."

"Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St. Mungo's," muttered Ron under his breath.

Charlie waited until they could hear Xenophilius moving about in the kitchen downstairs before speaking.

"What do you think?" he asked Hermione, bringing her trembling hand to his lips.

"Oh, Charlie," she said wearily, "I don't really know. This could just be his weird take on it."

Ron contemplated for a moment, then said, "I s'pose this is the man who brought us Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."

"You don't believe it?" questioned Harry, glancing between his friends.

"Nah, that story's just one of those things you tell kids to teach them lessons, isn't it? 'Don't go looking for trouble, don't go pick fights, don't go messing around with stuff that's best left alone! Just keep your head down, mind your own business, and you'll be okay. Come to think of it," Ron added, "maybe that story's why elder wands are supposed to be unlucky."

"What are you talking about?"

"One of those superstitions, isn't it? 'May-born witches will marry Muggles.' 'Jinx by twilight, undone by midnight.' 'Wand of cider, never prosper.' You must have heard them. My mum's full of them."

"Harry and I were raised by Muggles," Hermione reminded him. "We were taught different superstitions."

She sighed deeply as a rather pungent smell drifted up from the kitchen. The one good thing about her exasperation with Xenophilius was that it seemed to have made her forget that she was annoyed at Ron.

"I think you're right," she told him. "It's just a morality tale, it's obvious which gift is best, which one you'd choose —"

The four of them spoke at the same time; Hermione said, "the cloak," Ron said, "the wand," Harry said, "the stone," and finally, Charlie said, "all three."

They looked at each other, half surprised, half amused.

"You can't choose all three!" Ron ridiculed Charlie, his mouth agape. "C'mon, mate, that's cheating!"

"How do you figure? They'd all be pretty useful," countered Charlie, remaining firm with his answer. "Another Invisibility Cloak would help us a lot, an unbeatable wand would essentially win us the war, and evidently the Resurrection Stone allows us to see our lost loved ones. Who wouldn't want all three if they had the chance?"

"You're supposed to say the Cloak, that part's obvious," said Hermione, raking her brain. "It's the safest option; the third brother didn't die."

"The wand would only attract trouble if you shouted about it," argued Ron, shaking his head. "Only if you were prat enough to go dancing around, waving it over your head, and singing, 'I've got an unbeatable wand, come and have a go if you think you're hard enough.' As long as you kept your trap shut —"

"Yes, but could either of you keep your mouths shut?" said Hermione playfully, looking skeptical. "You know, the only true thing he said to us was that there have been stories about extra-powerful wands for hundreds of years."

"There have?" asked Harry, and Hermione looked immediately exasperated. The expression was so endearingly familiar that Charlie, Harry, and Ron grinned at each other.

"The Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, they crop up under different names through the centuries, usually in the possession of some Dark wizard who's boasting about them. Professor Binns mentioned some of them, but — oh, it's all nonsense. Wands are only as powerful as the wizards who use them. Some wizards just like to boast that theirs are bigger and better than other people's."

"But how do you know," began Charlie, lowering his voice, "that those wands — the Deathstick, and the Wand of Destiny — aren't the same wand, surfacing over the centuries under different names?"

"What, and they're all really the Elder Wand, made by Death?" asked Ron, considering it for a moment. When no one could give a for sure answer, he turned to Harry, asking, "So why would you take the stone?"

Harry cleared his throat.

"Well, if you could bring people back, we could have Sirius... Mad-Eye... Dumbledore... my parents..."

Neither Charlie, Hermione nor Ron smiled.

"But according to Beedle the Bard, they wouldn't want to come back, would they?" Harry went on, thinking about the tale they had just heard. "I don't suppose there have been loads of other stories about a stone that can raise the dead, have there?"

"No," replied Hermione sadly. "I don't think anyone except Mr. Lovegood could kid themselves that's possible. Beedle probably took the idea from the Sorcerer's Stone; you know, instead of a stone to make you immortal, a stone to reverse death."

The smell from the kitchen was getting stronger. It was something like burning underpants. Charlie wondered whether it would be possible to eat enough of whatever Xenophilius was cooking to spare his reoccurring feelings about the Resurrection Stone.

"What about the Cloak, though?" said Ron slowly. "Don't you realize, he's right? I've got so used to Harry's Cloak and how good it is, I never stopped to think. I've never heard of one like Harry's. It's infallible. We've never been spotted under it —"

"Of course not — we're invisible when we're under it, Ronald!"

"But all the stuff he said about other cloaks, and they're not exactly ten a Knut, you know, is true! It's never occurred to me before but I've heard stuff about charms wearing off cloaks when they get old, or them being ripped apart by spells so they've got holes, Harry's was owned by his dad, so it's not exactly new, is it, but it's just... perfect!"

"Yes, all right, but Ron, the stone..."

As they argued in whispers, Charlie released Hermione's hand and moved around the room, only half listening. Reaching the spiral stair, he raised his eyes absently to the next level and was distracted at once. His own face was looking back at him from the ceiling of the room above. After a moment's bewilderment, he realized that it was not a mirror, but a painting. Curious, he began to climb the stairs.

"Mate, what are you doing? I don't think you should look around when he's not here!"

But Charlie had already reached the next level. Luna had decorated her bedroom ceiling with seven beautifully painted faces: Charlie, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Elaina, Ginny, and Neville. They were not moving as the portraits at Hogwarts moved, but there was a certain magic about them all the same; Charlie thought they breathed. What appeared to be fine golden chains wove around the pictures linking them together, but after examining them for a minute or so, Charlie realized that the chains were actually one word, repeated over a thousand times in golden ink: friends... friends... friends...

In that moment, Charlie felt a great rush of affection for Luna, and noticed that the drawing of Neville seemed to have even more finer detail than the others, which were already incredible in their characteristics; Ginny's dark auburn locks, flicks of gold in Hermione's hair, the green of Harry's eyes.

Almost involuntarily, he smiled at the image, then looked around the rest of the room.

There was a large photograph beside the bed, of a young Luna and a woman who looked very much like her. They were hugging. Luna looked rather better-groomed in this picture than Charlie had ever seen her in life. The picture was dusty. For some odd reason, this struck Charlie as slightly odd. And so, he stared around.

Something was wrong.

The pale blue carpet was also thick with dust. There were no clothes in the wardrobe, whose doors stood ajar. The bed had a cold, unfriendly look, as though it had not been slept in for weeks. There was a single cobweb stretched over the nearest window across the blood red sky.

"What's wrong?" asked Hermione worriedly, once Charlie descended the stairs, but before he could respond, Xenophilius reached the top of the stairs from the kitchen, now holding a tray laden with bowls.

"Mr. Lovegood," called Charlie at once, his eyes narrow. "Where's Luna?"

"Excuse me?"

"Where's Luna?"

Xenophilius halted on the top step.

"I-I've already told you. She is down at Bottom Bridge, fishing for Plimpies."

"Then, why have you only laid that tray for five?"

Xenophilius tried to speak, but no sound came out. The only noise was the continued chugging of the printing press, and a slight rattle from the tray as Xenophilius's hands shook.

"I don't think Luna's been here for weeks," said Charlie, now addressing his confused friends. "Her clothes are gone, her bed hasn't been slept in. Where is she, Mr. Lovegood? And why do you keep looking out of the window?"

Xenophilius dropped the tray, and the bowls bounced and smashed. Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione immediately drew their wands; Xenophilius froze, his hand about to enter his pocket. At that moment, the printing press gave a huge bang and numerous Quibblers came streaming across the floor from underneath the tablecloth; the press fell silent at last.

Hermione stooped down and picked up one of the magazines, her wand still pointing at Mr. Lovegood.

"Charlie... look at this," she whispered, her voice shaking.

He strode over to his girlfriend as quickly as he could through all the clutter. The front of The Quibbler carried his own picture, emblazoned with the words 'Undesirable No. 3' and captioned with the reward money. Beneath his feet, Charlie had just realized, were hundreds of similar magazines, each adorned with either his, Harry's, or Hermione's wanted posters.

"The Quibbler's going for a new angle, then?" Charlie asked coldly, his mind working very fast. "Is that what you were doing when you went into the garden, Mr. Lovegood? Sending a message to the Ministry?"

Caught, Xenophilius bit his bottom lip.

"They took my Luna," he whispered, tears swelling in his eyes, "because of what I've been writing. They took my Luna and I-I don't know where she is, or what they've done to her. But they might give her back to me if I — if I —"

"What, hand us over?" Hermione finished for him.

"Yeah, no deal!" snarled Ron, raising his wand higher. "Get out of the way, we're leaving!"

Xenophilius looked ghastly, a century old, his lips drawn back into a dreadful leer.

"They will be here any moment. Please, you must understand, I must save Luna. I cannot lose Luna. You must not leave."

He spread his arms in front of the staircase, and Charlie had a sudden vision of his mother doing the same thing in front of his crib before she died.

"Don't make us hurt you," growled Harry, trying to lead the way towards the exit. "Get out of the way, Mr. Lovegood, or else —"

"Please, y-you can't do this! He — he'll — k-kill her!" cried Xenophilius desperately, still blocking the door. "I can't let you leave, I-I'm sorry! V-VOLDEMORT!"

"NO!"

There was a few seconds in which Charlie realized what had happened, and then Hermione yelled:

"HARRY!"

Charlie turned at once, noticing the dark figures of smoke already zooming around the windows. As the four teenagers looked away from him, Xenophilius drew his wand. Charlie realized their mistake just in time; he launched himself sideways, shoving Hermione out of harm's way as Xenophilius's Stunning Spell soared across the room and hit the Erumpent horn.

There was a colossal explosion. The sound of it seemed to blow the room apart; fragments of wood and paper and rubble flew in all directions, along with an impenetrable cloud of thick white dust. Charlie flew through the air, then crashed to the floor, unable to see as debris rained upon him, his arms over his head. He heard Hermione's shriek, Harry's scream, Ron's yell, and a series of sickening metallic thuds, which told him that Xenophilius had been blasted off his feet and fallen backward down the spiral stairs.

Half buried in rubble, Charlie tried to raise himself off the floor. He could barely breathe or see through the dust. Most of the ceiling had fallen in, and the end of Luna's bed was hanging through the gaping hole. The bust of Rowena Ravenclaw lay beside him with half its face missing, fragments of torn parchment were floating through the air, and most of the printing press lay on its side, blocking the top of the spiral staircase to the kitchen.

Something moved close by, and Hermione, coated in dust like a second statue, pressed her finger to her lips. As she did so, the door downstairs crashed open.

"Didn't I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers?" said a rough voice. "Didn't I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?"

There was a bang, then a scream of pain from Xenophilius Lovegood.

"No... no... upstairs... the Undesirables! I promise you, it's Potter and his friends!"

"I told you last week, Lovegood, we weren't coming back for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before" — another bang, another squeal — "when you thought we'd give her back if you offered us proof there are Crumple" — bang — "Headed" — bang — "Snorkacks?"

"No — no — I beg you!" sobbed Xenophilius, his voice strained. "It really is Potter! Really!"

"And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!" roared the Death Eater, and there was a volley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xenophilius.

"The place looks like it's about to fall in, Selwyn," said a cool second voice, echoing up the mangled staircase. "The stairs are blocked. Maybe we could try clearing it? Might bring the place down."

"You lying piece of filth," shouted the wizard named Selwyn. "You've never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you'd lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you'll get your girl back like this?"

"I swear... I swear... Potter's upstairs!"

"Homenum Revelio," whispered the voice at the foot of the stairs. Charlie heard Hermione gasp as she grabbed his arm, and he had the odd sensation that something was swooping low over him, immersing his body in its shadow.

"There's someone up there all right, Selwyn," said the second man sharply.

"It's Potter, I tell you, it's Potter!" whimpered Xenophilius. "Please... please... give me Luna, just let me have Luna..."

"You can have your little girl, Lovegood," spat Selwyn, "if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it's a trick, if you've got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we'll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury."

To his left, Charlie heard Ron swear under his breath, as Xenophilius gave a wail of fear and despair. There were scurryings and scrapings; Xenophilius was trying to get through the debris on the stairs.

"Come on," Harry whispered, crawling his way through the debris on the floor, "we've got to get out of here."

Charlie started to dig himself out undercover of all the noise Xenophilius was making on the staircase; Ron was buried the deepest across the room. Together, Charlie, Harry, and Hermione climbed, as quietly as they could, over all of the wreckage to where Ron lay, trying to lift a heavy chest of drawers off his legs. While Xenophilius's banging and scraping drew nearer and nearer, Hermione managed to free Ron with the use of a Hover Charm.

"All right," breathed Hermione, still white with dust, as the broken printing press blocking the top of the stairs begin to tremble; Xenophilius was feet away from them. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course we do," nodded Charlie, glancing wearily over his shoulder.

"Okay then," Hermione whispered, taking the Invisibility Cloak out of her bag. "Ron, you're going to put this on."

"Me? But Harry —"

"Please, Ron! Charlie, hold on tight to my hand. Harry, take his other arm, and Ron, wrap your arm around my shoulder."

Charlie immediately held out his left hand and Hermione intertwined their fingers. Harry closed his hand around Charlie's right forearm. Ron vanished beneath the Cloak. The printing press blocking the stairs was vibrating; Xenophilius was trying to shift it using a Hover Charm. Charlie did not know what Hermione was waiting for, but she was gripping his hand tighter than she ever had before.

"Hold tight," she whispered, evident panic infused into her voice. "Trust me... any second..."

Suddenly, Xenophilius's paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.

"Obliviate!" cried Hermione, pointing her wand first into his face, then at the floor right beneath their feet. "Deprimo!"

With that last incantation, she had blasted a hole in the sitting room floor. The four of them fell like boulders, Charlie still holding onto Hermione's hand for dear life; there was a scream from below, and he glimpsed two men trying to get out of the way as vast quantities of rubble and broken furniture rained all around them from the shattered ceiling.

Hermione twisted in midair, and the thundering of the collapsing house rang in Charlie's ears as she dragged him, Harry, and Ron once more into darkness.

————————————————————

Charlie fell, panting, onto grass and scrambled up at once. They seemed to have landed in the corner of a field at dusk; Hermione was already running in a circle around them, waving her wand.

"Protego Totalum... Salvio Hexia..."

"That treacherous little bleeder!" accused Ron hotly, emerging from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and throwing it to Harry. "Hermione, you're a genius, a total genius. I can't believe we got out of that."

"Cave Inimicum... didn't I say it was a Erumpent horn, didn't I tell him?" asked Hermione stubbornly, finishing with a flourish of her wand. "And now his house has been blown apart!"

"Serves him right," grumbled Ron, examining his torn jeans and the cuts to his legs. "What d'you reckon they'll do to him?"

"Oh, I hope they don't kill him!" groaned Hermione, biting her lip anxiously. "That's why I wanted the Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn't been lying!"

Ron raised a brow, asking, "Why hide me, though?"

"You're supposed to be in bed with spattergroit, Ron! They've kidnapped Luna because her father supported Harry! What would happen to your family if they knew you're with him?"

"You're a genius," Ron repeated, looking awed.

"Yeah, you are," agreed Charlie fervently, as Hermione moved back over to them. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

Charlie could no longer resist; Harry and Ron be damned. He pulled Hermione into him and kissed her deeply, without holding back.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispered against her lips, only once they parted. For a moment, Hermione beamed at him, but then became solemn.

"What do you think will happen to Luna?" she asked quietly, searching his eyes for any sort of comfort.

Harry coughed loudly from behind the couple, smirking ever so slightly. Charlie rolled his eyes, pulling back from their embrace, his cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

"Well, if the Death Eaters were telling the truth and she's still alive —" began Ron, choosing to ignore the evident awkward tension.

"Don't say that, don't say it!" chided Hermione, as she buried her head in Charlie's chest. "She must be alive, she must!"

"Then, she'll be Azkaban, I expect," finished Ron, who had turned a ghostly shade of white. "Whether she survives the place, though... loads don't..."

"She will," said Charlie confidently, planting a kiss on the top of Hermione's head. He could not bear to contemplate the alternative. "She's tough, Luna, much tougher than you'd think. She's probably teaching all the inmates about Wrackspurts and Nargles."

His dry attempt at injecting some humour into the situation at least elicited a small laugh from Hermione.

"I hope you're right," she sniffed, cupping his cheek endearingly. "I can't imagine Xenophilius' position — his wife passed away, and Luna, captured —"

"Hermione," said Harry, with an incredulous gasp, "he just tried to sell us to the Death Eaters."

Charlie found it difficult to disagree with either of them; Xenophilius had a choice, to give in, or hold steadfast in the face of evil. However, Charlie also remembered what he'd seen in Voldemort's vision, how his own mother, even in her dying breath, had devoted her last few seconds of life to saving him from the harshness of reality.

Without another word, they put up the tent and retreated inside it, where Ron, for the first time ever, made them tea. After their narrow escape, the chilly, musty old place felt like home: safe, familiar, and friendly.

"Oh, why did we go there?" groaned Hermione, who was sat with Charlie on their bed, after a few minutes of silence. "It was Godric's Hollow all over again, it was a complete waste of time! The Deathly Hallows... such rubbish... although actually," — a sudden thought seemed to have struck her — "he might have made it all up, mightn't he? He probably doesn't believe in the Deathly Hallows at all, he just wanted to keep us talking until the Death Eaters arrived!"

"I don't think so," said Ron, shrugging his shoulders. "It's a damn sight harder making stuff up when you're under stress than you'd think. I found that out when the Snatchers caught me. It was much easier pretending to be Stan, because I knew a bit about him, than inventing a whole new person. Old Lovegood was under loads of pressure, trying to make sure we stayed put. I reckon he told us the truth, or what he thinks is the truth, just to keep us talking."

"Well, I don't suppose it matters," sighed Hermione. "Even if he was being honest, I've never heard that much nonsense in all my life."

"Hang on, though," interrupted Charlie, pondering for a moment. "The Chamber of Secrets was supposed to be a myth, wasn't it?"

"But the Deathly Hallows can't exist, Charlie!"

"You keep saying that, but one of them can," he said gently in response. "Harry's cloak —"

"The Tale of the Three Brothers is a story," countered Hermione firmly. "A story about how humans are frightened of death. If surviving was as simple as hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, we'd have everything we need already!"

"I don't know," sighed Harry, turning the blackthorn wand he so disliked over in his fingers. "I reckon we could do with an unbeatable wand."

"There's probably no such thing, Harry —"

"You said there have been loads of wands — the Deathstick and whatever they were called —"

"All right, even if we say the Elder Wand's real, what about the Resurrection Stone?" Hermione's fingers sketched quotation marks around the name, and her tone dripped sarcasm. "No magic can raise the dead, and that's that!"

"When my wand connected with You-Know-Who's, it made my mum and dad appear..."

"But they weren't really back from the dead, were they, Harry?" said Hermione, in a hushed, timid whisper. "Those kinds of — of pale imitations aren't the same as truly bringing someone back to life."

"But she, the girl in the tale, didn't really come back, did she?" The story says that once people are dead, they belong with the dead. But the second brother still got to see her and talk to her, didn't he? He even lived with her for a while..."

Harry trailed off, seemingly aware of how crazy he had sounded. He saw concern and something less easily definable in Charlie's expression. Then, Harry realised that it was fear; he had scared him with his talk of living with dead people, made Charlie perhaps think of all the people he'd lost along the way, too.

"So that Peverell bloke who's buried in Godric's Hollow," he said hastily to Hermione, trying to sound robustly sane, "you don't know anything about him, then?"

"No," she replied, looking relieved at the change of subject. "I looked him up after I saw the mark on his grave; if he'd been anyone famous or done anything important, I'm sure he'd be in one of our books. The only place I've managed to find the name 'Peverell' is Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. I borrowed it from Kreacher," she explained as Ron raised his eyebrows. "It lists the pureblood families that are now extinct in the male line. Apparently the Peverells were one of the earliest families to vanish."

"Extinct in the male line?" repeated Ron, astonished.

"It means the name's died out," said Hermione, still wavering between her like and dislike from the ginger, "centuries ago, in the case of the Peverells. They could still have descendants, though, they'd just be called something different."

And then, it came to Harry in one shining piece, the memory that had stirred at the sound of the Peverell name; there was filthy, old man brandishing an ugly ring in the face of a Ministry official, and he cried aloud, "Marvolo Gaunt!"

"Sorry?" questioned Charlie at once; Hermione and Ron both jumped slightly, almost spilling what was left in their mugs.

"Marvolo Gaunt! You-Know-Who's grandfather! In the Pensieve! During my first private lesson with Dumbledore! Marvolo Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!"

"Hang on — so the ring, the ring that became the Horocrux," said Charlie slowly, bewildered, "had the Peverell coat of arms on it? Or at least something else that may have identified the link?"

Harry nodded vigorously, "Marvolo Gaunt said it had the Peverell coat of arms on it! I saw him waving it in the bloke from the Ministry's face, he nearly shoved it up his nose!"

"The Peverell coat of arms?" questioned Hermione, grabbing Harry's forearm as if it would spark his memory. "Could you see what it looked like?"

"Not really," muttered Harry disappointedly, trying to remember. "There was nothing fancy on there, as far as I could see; maybe a few scratches. I only ever saw it really close up after it had been cracked open."

Charlie saw Hermione's comprehension in the sudden widening of her eyes. Ron was looking from one to the other, his mouth agape in astonishment.

"Blimey, you reckon it was the sign then? The sign of the Hallows?"

"Why not?" said Harry excitedly. "Marvolo Gaunt was an ignorant old git who lived like a pig, all he cared about was his ancestry. If that ring had been passed down through the centuries, he might not have known what it really was. There were no books in that house, and trust me, he wasn't the type to read fairy tales to his kids. He'd have loved to think the scratches on the stone were a coat of arms, because as far as he was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal."

"Yes... and that's all very interesting," whispered Hermione cautiously, "but Harry, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking —"

"Well, why not? Why not?" argued Harry, abandoning caution and standing up. "It was a stone, wasn't it?" He looked at Charlie for support. "What if it was the Resurrection Stone?"

Charlie gulped involuntarily, his mouth falling open. He kept his gaze toward, unwilling to meet Hermione's glare of disapproval at the newfound topic.

"I don't know, mate," he said at last, shrugging in attempts to stay neutral, "would it even work if my grandfather broke — ?"

"Work? Work? Charlie, it never worked! There's no such a thing as the Resurrection Stone!" Hermione had now leapt to her feet too, looking exasperated. "Harry, you're trying to fit everything into the Hallows story —"

"Fit everything in?" he repeated incredulously, "Hermione, it fits of its own accord! I know the sign of the Deathly Hallows was on that stone! Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!"

"A minute ago you told us you never saw the mark on the stone properly!" she snapped back, her voice echoing around the canvas.

"Where d'you reckon the ring is now?" Ron asked Harry, trying to diffuse the tension. "What did Dumbledore do with it after he broke it open?"

But Charlie's imagination was racing ahead, far ahead of everyone else's — three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death... Master... Conqueror... Vanquisher... The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death...

And he saw Harry, possessor of the Hallows, facing Voldemort, whose Horcruxes were no match — was this the answer? Hallows versus Horcruxes? Was there a way, after all, to ensure that Harry was the one who triumphed? If he were the master of the Deathly Hallows, would they all be safe?

"Charlie?"

He scarcely heard Hermione, or even felt her tentative touch on his shoulder. Leaping to his feet, he had ran over to her beaded bag and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak, running the material through his fingers, the cloth supple as water, light as air. He had never seen anything to equal it in his nearly eighteen years in the Wizarding world. The Cloak was exactly what Xenophilius had described; a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it.

And then, with a gasp from behind him, Harry seemingly caught onto to Charlie's insinuation.

"Dumbledore had my Cloak the night my parents died!"

His voice shook and he could feel the colour in his face, but he did not care.

"My mum told Sirius that Dumbledore borrowed the Cloak! This is why! He wanted to examine it, because he thought it was the third Hallow! Ignotus Peverell is buried in Godric's Hollow..." Harry was now walking blindly around the tent, feeling as though great new vistas of truth were opening all around him. "He's my ancestor! I'm descended from the third brother! It all makes sense!"

Charlie suddenly felt armed in certainty, in his belief in the Hallows, as if the mere idea of possessing them was giving him protection, and he felt joyous as he turned back to the other three.

"Harry," said Hermione softly, but he was busy undoing the pouch around his neck, his fingers shaking hard.

"Read it again," he told her, pushing his mother's letter into her hand. "Read it! Dumbledore had the Cloak, Hermione! Why else would he want it? He didn't need the Cloak, he could perform a Disillusionment Charm so powerful that he made himself completely invisible without one!"

Something fell to the floor and rolled, glittering, under a chair; Harry had dislodged the Snitch when he pulled out the letter. He stooped to pick it up, and then the newly tapped spring of fabulous discoveries threw him another gift, and shock and wonder erupted inside him so that he shouted out.

"ITS IN HERE! Dumbledore left me the ring — it's in the Snitch!"

Charlie's ears perked up with intrigued, and rushed over to inspect the old Snitch closer, muttering, "You — you reckon?"

He was sure that he must've looked taken aback slightly. Still, everything seemed to fit in his mind. Harry's Cloak was the third Hallow, and when he discovered how to open the Snitch, they would have the second, and then all they needed to do was find the first Hallow, the Elder Wand, and then —

"That's what he's after then," said Harry abruptly, and the change in his voice made Charlie, Ron, and Hermione look even more frightened. "You-Know-Who's after the Elder Wand."

Charlie involuntarily looked around the room, noticing Ron and Hermione's strained, incredulous faces. Harry hovered over them, looking triumphant in the way he had figured out Dumbledore's mystery.

As bizarre as it all sounded, everything did seem to fall perfectly into place. Voldemort was not seeking a new wand; he was seeking an old wand, a very old wand indeed. Charlie walked to the entrance of the tent, looking out into the night, thinking to himself.

Voldemort had been raised in a Muggle orphanage. Nobody could have told him The Tales of Beedle the Bard when he was a child, any more than Harry and Hermione had heard them. Hardly any wizards believed in the Deathly Hallows. Was it likely that Voldemort knew about them?

Charlie gazed further into the darkness — if Voldemort had known about the Deathly Hallows, surely he would have sought them, done anything to possess them: three objects that made the possessor master of Death? If he had known about the Deathly Hallows, he might not have needed Horcruxes in the first place.

Which meant that Voldemort sought the Elder Wand without realizing its full power, without understanding that it was one of three, simply because the wand was the Hallow that could not be hidden, whose existence was best known — the bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of Wizarding history.

Charlie watched the cloudy sky, curves of smoke-grey and silver sliding over the face of the white moon. He felt lightheaded with amazement at Harry's discoveries. He turned back into the tent. It was a shock to see Harry, Ron and Hermione standing exactly where he had left them; Hermione still holding Lily's letter, Ron sat on his bunk looking slightly anxious, and Harry standing firm in front of them both.

"This is it," said Harry at last, trying to bring them inside the glow of his own astonished certainty. "This explains everything. The Deathly Hallows are real, and I've got one — maybe two," — he held up the Snitch — "and You-Know-Who's chasing the third, but he just thinks it's a powerful wand —"

"Harry," interrupted Hermione again, moving across to him and handing him back the letter. "I'm sorry, but I think you've got this wrong, all wrong."

"But don't you see? It all fits —"

"No, it doesn't," countered Hermione, her eyes pleading, "It doesn't, Harry, you're just getting carried away. Please," she said as he went to speak, "please just answer this — if the Deathly Hallows really existed, and Dumbledore knew about them, knew that the person who possessed all of them would be master of Death — Harry, why wouldn't he have told you or Charlie? Why?"

Charlie had an answer for this, unintentionally coming to Harry's defence.

"But you said it yourself, Hermione! You've got to find out about them for yourself! It's a Quest!"

"Please, not you, too! Charlie, I only said that to try and persuade you to come to the Lovegoods," cried Hermione in exasperation. "I didn't really believe it!"

For the first time, Charlie took no notice.

"My grandfather usually let me find out stuff for myself. He let me try my strength, take risks. With everything," — he looked pointedly at Hermione, remembering, as if it was a distant dream, one of the many comments said in their lessons last year, and he only now really realized what Dumbledore had meant — "he told me to follow my instincts, even when it came to you. Forgive me, but this feels like the kind of thing he'd do."

"But Charlie, this — your life — isn't meant to a game, or about some crush! Please, this isn't practice! This is the real thing."

"What, so that's all you think you are to me, 'some crush'?" Charlie sniped back, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice.

"Wait, what — no, no, babe, of course not. I'm just saying that Dumbledore left you and Harry very clear instructions. We're supposed to find and destroy the Horcruxes! That symbol doesn't mean anything, forget the Deathly Hallows, we can't afford to get sidetracked —"

But Charlie was barely listening to her. He was watching as Harry turned the Snitch over and over in his hands, half expecting it to break open, to reveal the Resurrection Stone. Hermione would always challenge him, and Charlie adored her for it, but right now it was infuriating him; he knew that the Deathly Hallows were real.

"You don't believe in this, do you?" Hermione appealed to Ron, once both Harry and Charlie had stopped responding.

"I dunno... I mean... bits of it sort of fit together," muttered Ron awkwardly, avoiding direct eye contact. "But when you look at the whole thing..."

He took a deep breath; Charlie looked up suddenly.

"I think we're supposed to get rid of Horcruxes, mate. That's what your granddad told us to do. Maybe... maybe we should forget about this Hallows business."

"Thank you, Ronald," said Hermione gratefully, her eyes still transfixed on her boyfriend's side profile. "Now, I'll take first watch."

And she strode past Charlie and sat down in the tent entrance, bringing the action to a fierce full stop.

Charlie struggled to sleep, similar to how he'd be most nights. Hermione's anguish and the idea of the Deathly Hallows had taken possession of him. He could not rest while agitating thoughts whirled through his mind — the wand, the stone, and the Cloak, if only someone could possess them all.

And then, he remembered Luna, alone in a cell in Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors, and he suddenly felt ashamed of himself. He had forgotten all about her in his and Harry's feverish contemplation of the Hallows. There was hope that they could one day rescue her, but Dementors in those numbers would be virtually unassailable. Charlie turned over, trying not to think about the horrific reality of the situation.

Hermione came in from her watch a few hours later, switching with an exasperated Harry. She hesitated, her breath hitching as Charlie knew it did whenever she was nervous, before she eventually squeezed her way into the bunk with him. She didn't speak at first, and faced away from him as soon as she'd gotten comfortable, though she made sure there was contact between them nevertheless.

"I don't like it when we fight," she whispered softly, pulling Charlie's arms around her waist. "Never have."

"I know," admitted Charlie guiltily, burying his face into the crook of her neck, "and I'm sorry for what's happened, but it's foolish to think that we're always going to agree on everything."

"I suppose you're right," said Hermione in a low, timid voice, and she rolled over to face him finally, cupping his face in her hands. "But let's not allow that to get between us, though, okay? We can disagree, argue, even fight with one another, but at the end of the day, I still want you in this bed next to me, no matter what. Because this," she emphasized, snuggling closer into his embrace, "is all that matters to me."

"I feel the same way, I promise you," Charlie told her honestly, then placed a deep, chaste kiss to her lips. Once they parted, he added, "I love you, Hermione."

"I love you, too," she responded, now running her hands down his bare torso. Charlie smiled, as though he was hearing the words for the first time all over again, and without waiting another second, he leaned in once more, kissing her passionately.

With that, Charlie's desire for the unbeatable Elder Wand evaporated into nothingness, replaced by a shameless, consumable love.

—————————————————————

The four of them packed up the tent the next morning and moved on through a dreary shower of rain. The downpour pursued them to the coast, where they pitched the tent that night, and persisted through the whole week, through sodden landscapes that Charlie found bleak and depressing.

There was a newfound tension within the group. Although Charlie had stop persisting about the Deathly Hallows, they were all Harry seemed to think about. Hermione and Ron's determined indifference was as bad as the relentless rain, opposing Harry's theories, but neither could erode his certainty, which remained absolute. Harry's belief in and longing for the Hallows consumed him so much that he felt quite isolated from the other three and their obsession with the Horcruxes.

"Obsession?" repeated Hermione in a low fierce voice, when Harry was careless enough to use the word one evening, after Hermione had told him off for his lack of interest in locating more Horcuxes. "We're not the ones with an obsession, Harry! We're the ones trying to do what Dumbledore wanted us to do!"

But he was impervious to the veiled criticism. Dumbledore had left the sign of the Hallows for Hermione to decipher, and he had also, Harry remained convinced of it, left the Resurrection Stone hidden in the golden Snitch.

And so, he shrugged, quoting calmly, "'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.'"

"I thought it was You-Know-Who we were supposed to be fighting?" Hermione retorted hotly, and Charlie was forced to step in and diffuse the situation before things escalated further.

As the weeks crept on, Charlie could not help but notice that Ron seemed to be taking charge. Perhaps it was because he was determined to make up for having walked out on them, or perhaps it was because Harry's descent into listlessness galvanized his dormant leadership qualities, but still, Ron was the one now encouraging and exhorting the other three into action.

"Three Horcruxes left," he kept saying. "We need a plan of action, come on! Where haven't we looked? Let's go through it again. The orphanage..."

Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, the Riddle House, Borgin and Burkes, Albania, every place that they knew Tom Riddle had ever lived or worked, visited or murdered; Charlie, Ron, and Hermione raked over them again, Harry joining in only to stop them pestering him. He would have been happy to sit alone in silence, trying to find out more about the Elder Wand, but Ron insisted on journeying to ever more unlikely places simply to keep them moving.

"You never know," was Ron's constant refrain. "Upper Flagley is a Wizarding village, he might've wanted to live there. Let's go and have a poke around!"

These frequent forays into Wizarding territory brought them within occasional sight of snatchers.

"Some of them are supposed to be as bad as Death Eaters," said Ron, looking around at Charlie innocently. "The lot that got me were a bit pathetic, but Bill reckons some of them are really dangerous. They said on Potterwatch —"

Charlie blinked, daring to ask, "On what?"

"Potterwatch, didn't I tell you that's what it was called? The programme I keep trying to get on the radio, the only one that tells the truth about what's going on! Nearly all the programmes are following You-Know-Who's line, all except Potterwatch. I really want you to hear it, but it's tricky tuning in..."

Ron spent evening after evening using his wand to beat out various rhythms on top of the wireless while the dials whirled. Occasionally, they would catch snatches of advice on how to treat dragon pox, and once a few bars of "A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love". While he tapped, Ron continued to try to hit on the correct password, muttering strings of random words under his breath.

"They're normally something to do with the Order," he told them. "Bill had a real knack for guessing them. I'm bound to get one in the end..."

The weeks rolled into months, the last claws of winter slowly releasing their grip on the countryside.

"Happy birthday, Ron!" Hermione said brightly early on the first morning of March, having come back in from her watch.

"Whazz... oh, yeah," Ron grumbled, half-asleep, as he lifted himself up into a sitting position.

Hermione, whose frosty attitude towards Ron had thawed with the snow, smiled and walked into the kitchen.

"What, no gifts?" quipped Ron, feigning a look of hurt and upset.

"Cheeky git," chided Harry jokingly, now sitting up in his bunk. "Happy birthday, mate."

Charlie had awoken due to the celebrations, the noise echoing around the canvas walls. He threw his legs over his bunk, rubbing his eyes, and through a yawn, said, "Yeah, happy birthday."

"Cheers," beamed Ron, grinning from ear to ear, "I couldn't think of anywhere better to spend it."

"Right," said Harry sarcastically, putting his glasses on, "because nothing beats being stranded in the middle of nowhere, especially on your birthday."

Charlie laughed, but his focus quickly shifted away from Harry and Ron. Instead, he involuntarily stood and followed Hermione into the small kitchen area. When he entered the room, she had had her back to him, busily arranging the ingredients they'd managed to buy on a recent trip to a Muggle store, which would at least enable them to have a decent breakfast to celebrate Ron's birthday.

Taking silent strides, Charlie closed the gap between them in two steps and, before Hermione could react, he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her to him gently and placing a soft kiss on her shoulder. Somewhere behind him, he heard Ron make a not-so-subtle move to the bathroom, but Charlie knew it wasn't out of annoyance; Ron was giving them space, similar to how Harry had left the tent to conveniently takeover the abandoned watch.

"You know, one year ago today," Charlie began, whispering lowly in her ear, "I'd told you I loved you during an unconscious, poison-induced sleep. At the time, we didn't realize it, but I reckon that was the day we had officially gotten back together."

Hermione gasped softly, leaning back comfortably into his embrace. There was a newfound smile etched on her face, stretching from ear to ear, as she threw a hand back and pulled him closer by the base of his neck.

"Charlie..."

"Happy anniversary, my love."

"You... you remembered..." Hermione said softly, although it seemed more of a question than a statement.

Charlie tightened his grip around her waist and kissed her shoulder again, muttering against her skin, "Of course, I did. I've been looking forward to it for weeks, if I'm honest."

Hermione turned to him, flashing him a loving smile, as tears formed in her eyes. Charlie raised a hand to her cheek, wiping one of the drops away as it started to make its way down her cheek.

"Sorry we're here," he said regrettably, gesturing around the tent. "Sorry this is it."

"You don't need to be sorry, not about this," Hermione told him, sniffling again, but still smiling.

With that, she leaned up and kissed him. It was the type of kiss that Charlie loved — their sweet, slow ones where the only people in the world that mattered, just for a matter of seconds, were the two of them. It was the type of kiss which seemed to melt away their fears and arguments and starvation.

"I —" Hermione stuttered, disappointedly shaking her head as they pulled away. "I didn't get you anything..."

Charlie laughed, unable to stop himself, before quickly feigning a look of hurt and betrayal.

"Well, that's just not good enough, is it? I was expecting a card and chocolates at least, Granger!"

Hermione smiled and swatted at his chest, then buried her head into the crook of his neck, laying a delicate kiss there as she did so.

Thanks to the lighthearted atmosphere within the tent, the core four didn't argue at all that day. Harry managed to keep his thoughts on the Hallows at bay, and Hermione seemed content to avoid — for one day at least — pouring over plans and potential locations for the remaining Horcruxes.

The four of them celebrated Charlie and Hermione's anniversary and Ron's birthday in the best style they could; Harry and Ron went out under the Invisibility Cloak to grab more food, a birthday cake, and some wine from a Muggle supermarket. They ate and drank in the evening, huddled in the armchairs around Hermione's jar of flames.

It was not until later in the month, however, that Ron finally had luck with the radio. Charlie was sitting in the tent entrance, on guard duty, staring idly at a clump of grape hyacinths that had forced their way through the ground, when Ron shouted excitedly from inside the tent.

"I've got it, I've got it! Password was 'Albus'! Get in here, Charlie!"

Roused for the first time since the first of March, Charlie hurried back inside the tent to find Harry, Ron, and Hermione kneeling on the floor beside the little radio. Hermione, who had been polishing the sword of Gryffindor just for something to do, was sitting open-mouthed, staring at the tiny speaker, from which a most familiar voice was issuing.

"...apologize for our temporary absence from the airwaves, which was due to a number of house calls in our area by those charming Death Eaters."

"That's Lee Jordan!" gasped Hermione, putting the sword down.

"I know!" beamed Ron. "Cool, eh?"

"...now found ourselves another secure location," Lee was saying, "and I'm pleased to tell you that two of our regular contributors have joined me here this evening. Evening, boys!"

"Hi."

"Evening, River."

"'River' — that's Lee," Ron explained. "They've all got code names, but you can usually tell —"

"Shhh!" hushed Harry, trying to listen intently.

"But before we hear from Royal and Romulus," Lee went on, "let's take a moment to report those deaths that the Wizarding Wireless Network News and Daily Prophet don't think are important enough to mention. It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell."

Charlie felt a sick, swooping in his belly. He, Harry,  and Ron gazed at one another in horror. Hermione gasped and grabbed Charlie's arm. He was glad for the contact.

"A goblin by the name of Gornuk was also killed. It is believed that Muggle-born, Dean Thomas, and a second goblin, both believed to have been traveling with Tonks, Cresswell, and Gornuk, may have escaped. If Dean is listening, or if anyone has any knowledge of his whereabouts, his parents and sisters are desperate for any news.

"Meanwhile, in Gaddley, a Muggle family of five has been found dead in their home. Muggle authorities are attributing the deaths to a gas leak, but members of the Order of the Phoenix inform me that it was the Killing Curse — more evidence, as if it were needed, of the fact that Muggle slaughter is becoming little more than a recreational sport under the new regime.

"Finally, we regret to inform our listeners that the remains of Bathilda Bagshot have been discovered in Godric's Hollow. The evidence is that she died several months ago. The Order of the Phoenix informs us that her body showed unmistakable signs of injuries inflicted by Dark Magic.

"Now, Listeners, I'd like to invite you now to join us in a minute's silence in memory of Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell, Bathilda Bagshot, Gornuk, and the unnamed, but no less regretted, Muggles murdered by the Death Eaters."

Silence fell, and Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not speak. Half of Charlie yearned to hear more, half of him was afraid of what might come next. It was the first time he had felt fully connected to the outside world for a long time.

"Thank you," said Lee's voice. "And now we turn to regular contributor Royal, for an update on how the new wizarding order is affecting the Muggle world."

"Thanks, River," said an unmistakable voice, deep, measured, reassuring.

"Kingsley!" burst out Ron.

"We know!" said Hermione, hushing him, but she had now moved her grip from Charlie's arm to his hand, and he could tell she was as excited as he was.

"Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties," explained Kingsley sadly. "However, we continue to hear truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbours, often without the Muggles' knowledge. I'd like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps by casting a protective charm over any Muggle dwellings in your street. Many lives could be saved if such simple measures are taken."

"And what would you say, Royal, to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be 'Wizards first'?" asked Lee.

"I'd say that it's one short step from 'Wizards first' to 'Purebloods first,' and then to 'Death Eaters,'" replied Kingsley. "We're all human, aren't we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving."

"Excellently put, Royal, and you've got my vote for Minister of Magic if we ever get out of this mess," said Lee, evidently beaming. "And now, over to Romulus for our popular feature 'Pals of Potter.'"

"Thanks, River," said another very familiar voice. Ron started to speak, but Hermione forestalled him in a whisper.

"We know it's Lupin!"

"Romulus, do you maintain, as you have every time you've appeared on our program, that Harry Potter is still alive?"

"I do," said Lupin firmly. "There is no doubt at all in my mind that his death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Death Eaters if it had happened, because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. 'The Boy Who Lived' remains a symbol of everything for which we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting."

"And what would you say to Harry if you knew he was listening, Romulus?"

"I'd tell him we're all with him in spirit," said Lupin, then hesitated slightly, "And I'd tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right."

Charlie looked at Hermione, whose eyes were full of tears.

"Nearly always right," she repeated, and the familiar pang of guilt over Sirius's death echoed around the tent's canvas walls. Hermione squeezed Charlie's hand tighter out of instinct.

"...and our usual update on those friends of Harry Potter's who are suffering for their allegiance?" Lee was saying.

"Well, as regular listeners will know, several of the more outspoken supporters of Harry Potter have now been imprisoned, including Xenophilius Lovegood, erstwhile editor of The Quibbler," confirmed Lupin.

"At least he's still alive!" muttered Ron, thinking optimistically.

"We have also heard within the last few hours that Rubeus Hagrid" — all four of them gasped, and so nearly missed the rest of the sentence — "well-known gamekeeper at Hogwarts School, has narrowly escaped arrest within the grounds of Hogwarts, where he is rumored to have hosted a 'Support Harry Potter' party in his house. However, Hagrid was not taken into custody, and is, we believe, on the run."

"I suppose it helps, when escaping from Death Eaters, if you've got a sixteen-foot-high half brother?" asked Lee.

"It would tend to give you an edge," agreed Lupin gravely. "May I just add that while we here at Potterwatch applaud Hagrid's spirit, we would urge even the most devoted of Harry's supporters against following Hagrid's lead. 'Support Harry Potter' parties are unwise in the present climate."

"Indeed they are, Romulus," said Lee, sounding uncharacteristically sad, "so we suggest that you continue to show your devotion to the man with the lightning scar by listening to Potterwatch! And now let's move to news concerning the wizard who is proving just as elusive as Harry Potter. We like to refer to him as the Chief Death Eater, and here to give his views on some of the more insane rumors circulating about him, I'd like to introduce a new correspondent. Rodent?"

"'Rodent'?" said yet another familiar voice, and Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione cried out together:

"Fred!"

"No — is it George?"

"It's Fred, I think," said Ron, leaning in closer, as whichever twin it was said, "I'm not being 'Rodent,' no way, I told you I wanted to be 'Rapier'!"

"Oh, all right then, 'Rapier,' could you please give us your take on the various stories we've been hearing about the Chief Death Eater?"

"Yes, River, I can," said Fred, taking over the mic. "As our listeners will know, unless they've taken refuge at the bottom of a garden pond or somewhere similar, You-Know-Who's strategy of remaining in the shadows is creating a nice little climate of panic. Mind you, if all the alleged sightings of him are genuine, we must have a good nineteen You-Know-Whos running around the place."

"Which suits him, of course," chimed in Kingsley. "The air of mystery is creating more terror than actually showing himself."

"Agreed," said Fred, sounding more mature than Charlie had ever heard him before. "So, people, let's try and calm down a bit. Things are bad enough without inventing stuff as well. For instance, this new idea that You-Know-Who can kill people with a single glance from his eyes. That's a basilisk, listeners. One simple test. Check whether the thing that's glaring at you has got legs. If it has, it's safe to look into its eyes, although if it really is You-Know-Who, that's still likely to be the last thing you ever do."

For the first time in weeks, since his and Hermione's anniversary at least, Charlie was really laughing. He could feel the weight of tension leaving him.

"And the rumors that he keeps being sighted abroad?" asked Lee.

"Well, who wouldn't want a nice little holiday after all the hard work he's been putting in?" asked Fred lightheartedly. "Point is, people, don't get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he's out of the country. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't, but the fact remains he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to, so don't count on him being a long way away if you're planning to take any risks. I never thought I'd hear myself say it, but safety first!"

"Thank you very much for those wise words, Rapier," said Lee, his voice echoing loudly. "Listeners, that brings us to the end of another Potterwatch. We don't know when it will be possible to broadcast again, but you can be sure we shall be back. Keep twiddling those dials! The next password will be 'Mad-Eye.' Keep each other safe! Keep faith! Goodnight."

The radio's dial twirled and the lights behind the tuning panel went out. Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still beaming. Hearing familiar, friendly voices was an extraordinary tonic; Charlie had become so used to their isolation he had nearly forgotten that other people were resisting Voldemort. It was like waking from a long sleep.

"Good, eh?" said Ron happily.

Harry grinned, "It's brilliant!"

"It's so brave of them," sighed Hermione admiringly. "If they were found..."

"Well, they keep on the move, don't they?" said Ron, shrugging. "Like us."

"But did you hear what Fred said?" asked Harry excitedly, his thoughts turned around toward his all-consuming obsession. "He's abroad! He's still looking for the Wand, I knew it!"

"Harry — please —"

"Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol—"

"HARRY, NO!"

"—demort's after the Elder Wand!"

Charlie realized Harry's mistake before Ron had even managed to say "TABOO!"

The Sneakoscope on the table had lit up and begun to spin; they could hear voices coming nearer and nearer, each were rough, excited voices. Ron pulled the Deluminator out of his pocket and clicked it. Their lamps went out and they were plunged into darkness.

"Come out of there with your hands up!" came a rasping voice, which Charlie vaguely recognized, through the darkness. "We know you're in there! You've got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don't care who we curse!"

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

that cliffhanger tho... loll you're not ready for the next chapter 👀

hope you liked the lil Charmione scenes in this chapter! even when everything seems so uncertain, I still want them, and even Harry and Ron, to spend valuable time together, bonding and whatnot.

lmk if you like it!

until next time,

xo, Selena

p.s. we've recently reached over 250k views and I am ABSOLUTELY amazed by each and every one of you!

even though the end of the story is drawing nearer and nearer, I am so excited to write the end of Charlie and Hermione's story for you all! at the same time, I don't want this journey to end :(

I'm SO conflicted lmfao but ANYWAYS!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT!

LOVE YOU GUYS ❤️