CHAPTER ELEVEN:

Third Person Narrative:

Exhausted but delighted with his and Harry's night's work, Charlie returned to Gryffindor Tower to find a sleeping Hermione, curled up on her favourite armchair near the fire, waiting for him in the common room. Walking over quietly as not to suddenly disturb her peaceful slumber, he squatted down in front of her.

"Hermione," he whispered, caressing her cheek gently with the knuckle of his index finger. She stirred, but did not wake up. With a light chuckle, Charlie placed a feathery kiss on her lips, which formed into a smile as he pulled back.

"Hey," he said as her eyes fluttered open, awoken at the sensation that danced across her lips.

"Mmm..." she breathed, still half-asleep. "What time is it?"

"A little past midnight, I reckon... what're you doing down here?"

"I wanted to wait up for Harry, but I must've dozed off," she said, now fully coming too. "Has he come back yet? Did the Felix Felicis work?"

"Yes, he got the memory," Charlie answered with a smile. "But I'll tell you tomorrow, yeah? You look shattered."

Hermione pouted, but allowed him to pull her up by the hand. Once they were stood together, she laid her head comfortably on his shoulder, her hands wrapped instinctively around his neck.

She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, asking drowsily, "Can't we just sleep down here tonight?"

Charlie sighed, his breath stirring the untamed baby hairs atop of her head. He desired nothing more than to take Hermione up on her offer, but knew that spending a second night in the common room was bound to cause an upset with McGonagall if they were caught.

Having read his mind effortlessly again, Hermione answered the question for herself, "I know... I know, we can't, but it was worth a shot."

She pulled back, and the look she gave Charlie nearly made his heart melt, the adrenaline of the night paving way for a painful desire to be with her. And so, he kissed her again. Lazily and lovingly, putting as much emotion into it as he could. Hermione, though sleepy, returned it in equal measure; slow and tender.

Eventually, they broke apart, and Hermione took him silently by the hand and walked towards the entrance to the dormitories before letting go with a sleepy smile.

"Goodnight, baby," she muttered, with a final, soft, kiss. Charlie bid a quick farewell in response and watched her ascend the staircase, grinning as she did so.

The following morning came quickly. As Charlie had promised, he and Harry told Hermione — and Ron — everything that had happened during next morning's Charms lesson, having first cast the Muffliato spell upon those nearest them. They were both satisfyingly impressed by the way Harry had wheedled the memory out of Slughorn and Ron was positively in awe when Charlie told them about Voldemort's Horcruxes and Dumbledore's promise to take either Harry or Charlie along, should he find another one.

"Wow," said Ron, when Charlie had finally finished his recall of the previous night; Hermione having turned slightly pink when he mentioned what Dumbledore said about love being the most powerful weapon, albeit her boyfriend knew that her thoughts coincided with his.

Ron was waving his wand very vaguely in the direction of the ceiling without paying the slightest bit of attention to what he was doing. "Wow. One of you is actually going to go with Dumbledore... and try and destroy... wow."

"Stop it, Ron, you're making it snow," said Hermione patiently, grabbing his wrist and redirecting his wand away from the ceiling from which, sure enough, large white flakes had started to fall.

"Oh, yeah," mumbled Ron, looking down at his shoulders in vague surprise. "Sorry... looks like we've all got horrible dandruff now..."

He brushed some of the fake snow off Hermione's shoulder. Charlie sent a glare across the table. Ron returned his scornful look and turned his head, continuing to give the brown eyed boy the cold shoulder. Hermione, who saw this interaction unfold, grabbed at Charlie's hand underneath the table, silently telling him not to make a scene. As always, he sighed and bit his tongue.

"Harry," called Hermione, desperately wanting to change the subject, "I almost forgot to tell you, Elaina and Nott broke up last night."

Harry thought there was a rather knowing look in her eye as she told him that, but she could not possibly know that his insides were suddenly dancing the conga. Keeping his face as immobile and his voice as indifferent as he could, he asked, "How come?"

"Oh, well, they've been quite rocky for ages... she said that Nott's been acting strange since he found out that you were tutoring her in Potions, like there was something else going on... so I imagine their split was for the best."

Charlie cocked his head back towards the Slytherin's stationed behind them, and as expected, Elaina and Theo were sat on opposite sides, not speaking to one another.

"Guess that lucky potion worked in more ways than one, eh?" sniggered Charlie, reaching out to ruffle Harry's hair like an older sibling would.

Harry shrugged him off, whispering a little too loudly, "Oi! Shut it!"

"Flitwick," mumbled Ron in a warning tone. The tiny little Charms master was bobbing his way toward them, and Hermione was the only one who had managed to turn vinegar into wine; her glass flask was full of deep crimson liquid, whereas the contents of Charlie's, Harry's and Ron's were still murky brown.

"Now, now, boys," squeaked Professor Flitwick reproachfully. "A little less talk, a little more action... let me see you try..."

Together they raised their wands, concentrating with all their might, and pointed them at their flasks. Charlie's turned a weak shade of purple; Harry's vinegar turned to ice; Ron's flask exploded.

"Yes... for homework," said Professor Flitwick, reemerging from under the table and pulling shards of glass out of the top of his hat, "more practice."

The core four had one of their rare joint free periods after Charms and walked back to the common room together. With his arm settled around Hermione's waist, Charlie led the way through the portrait hole into the sunny common room, and only vaguely registered the small group of seventh-years clustered together there, until Hermione cried, "Katie! You're back! Are you okay?"

Charlie stared: it was indeed Katie Bell, looking completely healthy and surrounded by her jubilant friends.

"I'm really well!" she beamed happily. "They let me out of St. Mungo's on Monday, I had a couple of days at home with Mum and Dad and then came back here this morning. Leanne was just telling me about McLaggen and the last match, Harry..."

"Yeah," grumbled Harry, still upset with the whole thing, "well, now you're back and Charlie's fit, we'll have a decent chance of thrashing Ravenclaw, which means we could still be in the running for the Cup. Listen, Katie..."

He had to put the question to her at once; his curiosity even drove Elaina temporarily from his brain. He dropped his voice as Katie's friends started gathering up their things; apparently they were late for Transfiguration.

"...that necklace... can you remember who gave it to you now?"

"No," said Katie, shaking her head ruefully. "Everyone's been asking me, but I haven't got a clue. The last thing I remember was walking into the ladies' in the Three Broomsticks."

Hermione listened carefully, "You definitely went into the bathroom, then?"

"Well, I know I pushed open the door," explained Katie, shrugging, "so I suppose whoever Imperiused me was standing just behind it. After that, my memory's a blank until about two weeks ago in St. Mungo's. Listen, I'd better go, I wouldn't put it past McGonagall to give me lines even if it is my first day back..."

She caught up her bag and books and hurried after her friends, leaving Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione to sit down at a window table and ponder what she had told them.

"So it must have been a girl or a woman who gave Katie the necklace," Hermione said to them, "to be in the ladies' bathroom."

"Or someone who looked like a girl or a woman," suggested Charlie, stumped. "Don't forget, there was a cauldron full of Polyjuice Potion at Hogwarts. We know some of it got stolen..."

"Listen, I think I'm going to take another swig of Felix," said Harry, his mind set on a suspect, "and have a go at the Room of Requirement."

"That would be a complete waste of potion," scolded Hermione flatly, putting down the copy of Spellman's Syllabary she had just taken out of her bag. "Luck can only get you so far, Harry. The situation with Slughorn was different; you always had the ability to persuade him, you just needed to tweak the circumstances a bit. Luck isn't enough to get you through a powerful enchantment, though. Don't go wasting the rest of that potion! You'll need all the luck you can get if Dumbledore takes you along with him..." she dropped her voice to a low whisper, glancing around.

"Couldn't we make some more?" Ron asked Harry, ignoring Hermione's refusal. "It'd be great to have a stock of it... have a look in the book... "

Harry pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bap, and looked up Felix Felicis.

"Blimey, it's seriously complicated," he said, running an eye down the list of ingredients. "And it takes six months... you've got to let it stew..."

Ron scoffed, "Typical."

Harry was about to put his book away again when he noticed the corner of a page folded down; turning to it, he saw the Sectumsempra spell, captioned "For Enemies," that he had marked a few weeks previously. He had still not found out what it did, mainly because he did not want to test it around Hermione, but he was considering trying it out on McLaggen next time he came up behind him unawares.

"What is it, Harry? Have you found something?" asked Charlie, who had taken immediate notice to his best friend's furrowed brows as he stared down to the page.

"No," denied Harry, closing the book with a snap, "it's nothing, don't worry."

And with that, the conversation ended just as quickly as it began.

————————————————————

The only person who was not particularly pleased to see Katie Bell back at school was Dean Thomas, because he would no longer be required to fill her place as Chaser. He took the blow stoically enough when Charlie told him, merely grunting and shrugging, but Charlie had the distinct feeling as he walked away that Dean and Seamus were muttering mutinously behind his back.

The following fortnight saw the best Quidditch practices that both Charlie and Harry had known as Captains. Their team was so pleased to be rid of McLaggen, so glad to have Katie back at last, that they were flying extremely well. Ginny was the life and soul of the team, despite the fact that her boyfriend was no longer on the pitch. Her imitations of Ron anxiously bobbing up and down in front of the goal posts as the Quaffle sped toward him, or of Harry bellowing orders at McLaggen before being knocked out cold, kept them all highly amused.

The balmy days slid gently through May, and the final game of Quidditch was looming; Ron wanted to talk tactics with Harry all the time, so the 'Chosen One' had little thought about a potential budding romance with a now single Elaina Dumont.

Ron was not unique in this respect; interest in the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game was running extremely high throughout the school, for the match would decide the Championship, which was still wide open. If Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw by a margin of three hundred points (a tall order, and yet Charlie had never known his team to fly better) then they would win the Championship. If they won by less than three hundred points, they would come second to Ravenclaw; if they lost by a hundred points they would be third behind Hufflepuff and if they lost by more than a hundred, they would be in fourth place and nobody, Charlie thought, would ever, ever let him or Harry forget that it had been them who had captained Gryffindor to their first bottom-of-the-table defeat in two centuries.

The run-up to this crucial match had all the usual features: members of rival Houses attempting to intimidate opposing teams in the corridors; unpleasant chants about individual players being rehearsed loudly as they passed; the team members themselves either swaggering around enjoying all the attention or else dashing into bathrooms between classes to throw up.

In the midst of all their preoccupations, the core four had not forgotten their other ambition: finding out what Malfoy was up to in the Room of Requirement. Harry was still checking the Marauder's Map, and as he was unable to locate Malfoy on it, deduced that Malfoy was still spending plenty of time within the room. Although Charlie was losing hope that they would ever succeed in getting inside the Room of Requirement, he attempted it whenever he was in the vicinity, but no matter how he reworded his request, the wall remained firmly doorless.

A few days before the match against Ravenclaw, Charlie and Harry found themselves walking down to dinner alone from the common room, Ron having rushed off into a nearby bathroom to throw up yet again, and Hermione having dashed off to see Professor Vector about a mistake she thought she might have made in her last Arithmancy essay.

More of a habit than anything, they made their usual detour along the seventh-floor corridor, Harry checking the Marauder's Map as he went. For a moment he could not find Malfoy anywhere and assumed he must indeed be inside the Room of Requirement again, but then he pointed out Malfoy's tiny, labeled dot standing in a boys' bathroom on the floor below, accompanied, not by Crabbe or Goyle, but by Moaning Myrtle.

"That's weird," muttered Charlie, his brows furrowed. "What do you reckon that's about?"

Harry said nothing. He only stopped staring at this unlikely coupling when he walked right into a suit of armor. The loud crash brought him out of his reverie; hurrying from the scene lest Filch turn up, the two young Gryffindors dashed down the marble staircase and along the passageway below. Stopping outside the bathroom, Charlie pressed his ear against the door. He could not hear anything. He very quietly pushed the door open and Harry followed him inside; they hid behind one of the stall walls, glancing cautiously around the corner.

Draco Malfoy was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blond head bowed.

"Don't," crooned Moaning Myrtle's voice from one of the cubicles. "Don't... tell me what's wrong... I can help you..."

"No one can help me," said Malfoy, his whole body was shaking. "I can't do it... I can't... it won't work... and unless I do it soon... he says he'll kill me..."

And Charlie realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Malfoy was crying — actually crying — tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin.

"I knew it... Voldemort's given him a task," spat Harry, in a low mumble that only Charlie could hear. He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out his wand, "C'mon, we've got to do something before —"

"No, wait," scolded Charlie, yanking Harry's hand back down, his wand along with it. "We can't just attack him for no reason. How the bloody hell is that going to solve anything?"

Harry scoffed, "Well, then, what do you suggest we do? We can't just let him get away!"

"He hasn't done anything yet, don't you see? He's scared, Harry, and you're just going to make things worse!" whispered Charlie, his tone firm and indisputable. "Just gimme a second to talk to him."

Harry's eyes went wide, "Have you gone mad? This is Malfoy we're talking about here!"

"Exactly," said Charlie at once, keeping his voice down as to not tip off the upset Slytherin. "And when have you ever seen Malfoy act like this before? You don't understand, Harry, but I do. It can be entirely lonely being a Death Eater, believe me... Malfoy needs our help."

"Fine," muttered Harry, shaking his head, "go ahead and talk to him, but so help me Merlin, if he makes one wrong move —"

"Yeah, yeah, I've got it."

Charlie took a step out from behind the stall wall, getting a better view of the scene. Malfoy was in hysterics. He gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror and saw Charlie staring at him over his shoulder.

Malfoy wheeled around, drawing his wand, shaking on the spot.

"No! No! Stop it!" squealed Moaning Myrtle, her voice echoing loudly around the tiled room. "Stop! STOP!"

"Myrtle, get out of here!"

At this, the ghost's eyes filled with sudden tears.

"Nobody ever has time for ugly, miserable, moping, Moaning Myrtle!" she muttered, groping in her robes for a handkerchief, before she swooped back into her toilet at once, leaving a ringing silence behind her.

With that crisis adverted, Charlie turned back around; Malfoy still had his wand held in the air.

"Relax," Charlie put his hands up in a mock surrender, showing that he had no intention of engaging in a duel. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Malfoy's eyes, once creased with rage, were wide with horror and fear, and Charlie thought he knew why: he was blocking the only exit, the only means of escaping the enclosed space of questioning.

"What's he making you do, Malfoy?" Charlie pressed on, taking a few steps closer. "You can tell me... our differences aside, I can imagine how you're feeling."

"I-I don't want your help!" snapped Malfoy, although he was trembling. "Don't you understand? This is all your fault! I was chosen b-because of you! Because y-you disobeyed him! This is all because of you!"

Charlie took another step, his hands in the air, "What exactly were you 'chosen' for?"

But Malfoy only gaped at him, realizing he had said too much. Charlie heaved a heavy sigh. It seemed that he was going to be the one doing the talking. He decided to try being direct.

"You cursed Katie, didn't you?" he amended, remembering Harry's conversation with McGonagall, "Or did you have someone else do it for you?"

It was a question, but it wasn't said like it was intended to be one. Still, by the way Malfoy's legs gave out and how new tears trickled down his cheeks, Charlie knew he was right to a certain degree.

"Did he... did he ask you to hurt someone?" he pressed on eagerly, trying to make sense of the situation. "If that's the case, then maybe the Order can help —"

Malfoy just laughed sarcastically, like there wasn't anything he believed less than what Charlie was telling him. It was understandable. He raised his wand higher, aligning it with Charlie's nose, as though attempting to make himself look more intimidating.

"For the last time," Malfoy sneered, although there were prevalent tears staining his cheeks, "you can't help me! Nobody can help me..."

"That's not true," Charlie told him, his fingers outstretched, inching to disarm the boy on edge, "If you just tell me —"

"No!" Draco yelled, his eyes panicked. "Just leave! Leave now!"

Charlie shook his head, "I can't do that, not until you tell me what's wrong."

The bathroom fell silent, neither of the boys dared to speak. They just stood there, looking at each other, eyes lit with anger and challenge, chests heaving with the deep breaths they had to take after yelling. Charlie stopped inching forward, but Malfoy didn't make any moves to walk away; he stayed where he was.

Malfoy sighed and, in an act that was completely different from his usual self, he sat on the bathroom floor and cradled his head in his hands, his wand finally falling to the floor. Charlie looked at him, surprised and with a heavy feeling in his heart, almost unable to recognize him.

After years of nonstop bickering, it was as if the mark on each boy's arm provided an inexplicit understanding as to what the other might be feeling. It was weird, Charlie thought, for this broken boy sitting on the bathroom floor didn't seem like the Draco Malfoy he knew. Moreover, there was a deep rooted fear instilled in Malfoy's eyes that Charlie found all too familiar, almost as if they were two sides of the same coin.

Charlie took a deep breath and, after a moment of hesitation, he kneeled down in front of Malfoy and stayed in silence, knowing that the other boy needed some time to talk, that is if he ever decided to do so.

"He's going to k-kill me," sobbed Draco at last, raising his head. "I can't do it... I just can't... I never wanted to h-hurt anybody..."

"And you don't have to," said Charlie, suddenly desperate to get the boy out of that life. "My grandfather can protect you, but you're going to have to tell him what's happened —"

At this, Malfoy's sobs grew louder for some unknown reason, only for him to stop and cringe, clutching desperately at his left forearm.

Charlie tilted his head, asking softly, "You alright?"

He shook his head, tears balancing on the rims of of his eyelids, "I'm sorry, Hawthorne... but I've got to do it..."

"Malfoy, what are yo—"

But Draco simply kept repeating the same thing, over and over, as though confessing a sin, "H-He's going to k-kill me if I don't... I'm sorry... so sorry..."

Before Charlie could say another word, Draco got up from the floor abruptly, eagerly scooping up his wand in a single motion. Charlie had never thought he would ever see Draco Malfoy so sad and vulnerable; the sight, so different from the usual, made Charlie's heart ache and clench in the guiltiest of ways.

Without thinking, Charlie stood tall and followed after the escaping Slytherin. He wrapped a hand around Malfoy's left wrist, careful to avoid the pestering Dark Mark at all costs, and whipped the blonde haired boy around.

"For Merlin's sake, I'm trying to help you!"

With a wince of panic, Malfoy clutched his wand firmly in his other hand and instinctively lodged it under Charlie's chin, taunting him. He didn't say anything for a moment, as he wasn't really sure what to say, and only narrowed his grey eyes and yanked his wrist from Charlie's grasp.

And just like that, there was a sudden shift in Draco Malfoy, something akin to surrender; Charlie witnessed it happen at a lightening speed, but he seemed unable to do anything in response. Malfoy's eyes became darker than ever before, emotionless and detached, as though he had lost his will to fight.

Even his voice deepened, leaving not a single trace of fear behind, masking his internal struggle with a single breath:

"You did this to me, Hawthorne," he hissed, clutching desperately at his wand, his knuckles turning white. "This is what you deserve for defying him... CRUC—"

But he was too slow, and everything else, in comparison, happened ridiculously fast.

There was a loud bang and Harry appeared, waving his wand wildly, bellowing, "SECTUMSEMPRA!"

Charlie watched in slow motion, his eyes wide, as the spell missed him by mere inches. To the right of of him, blood spurted from Malfoy's face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the concrete floor with a great thud, his wand falling from his limp right hand.

"H-Harry," gasped Charlie, and the two boys shared an immediate panicked look, "what did you just do...?"

"I-I don't know... I didn't —"

Staggering, Charlie plunged towards Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest.

Harry hovered nearby, his hands shaking, "No — I didn't —"

Charlie could not process what his best friend was saying, his mind too preoccupied; he fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood.

"Oh, dear god," he muttered, applying pressure to Malfoy's open wounds. "Wake up, wake up!"

Moaning Myrtle, who ascended from the nearest sewer pipe, let out a deafening scream:

"MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"

His hands covered in blood, Charlie faded out as the door banged open behind him; Snape had burst into the room, his face livid. Pushing Harry roughly aside, he knelt over Malfoy, drew his wand, and traced it over the deep wounds Harry's curse had made, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like a song.

"Repeat after me, Hawthorne, quickly!" ordered Snape, and in a daze of shock, Charlie pulled out his wand. Together, they began to knit Malfoy's wounds.

"Vulnera Sanenteur."

The flow of blood seemed to ease; Snape wiped the residue from Malfoy's face and repeated the spell. Now, the wounds seemed to be binding.

Charlie was shaking, horrified by what had happened, barely aware that he too was soaked in blood. Moaning Myrtle was still sobbing and wailing overhead. When Snape had performed his counter-curse for the third time, he and Charlie half-lifted Malfoy into a standing position.

"He needs to go to the hospital wing. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if he takes dittany immediately we might avoid even that... come..."

With a nod, Charlie supported Malfoy across the bathroom. Snape, who followed quickly behind, turned at the door to say in a voice of cold fury, "And you, Potter... you wait here for me."

Shaking ever so slightly, Charlie cast Harry a scared look before he led the way out of the bathroom; Malfoy's limp body was slumped against his frame and Snape followed quickly behind, his footfalls heavy and angry.

Within minutes, the three of them were bursting through the hospital wing doors, alerting the head matron at once.

"Madame Pomfrey!" called Charlie, his voice cracking her so slightly. "Quick! Something's happened!"

The kindly woman came bustling from her office.

"Mr. Hawthorne? What is... oh, good heavens," she gasped, her eyes wide as she took a step backwards and clutched at her chest. "Here, carry him to the empty bed, please..."

She gestured over to a nearby hospital bed that was currently unoccupied. Charlie did as he was told; he laid Malfoy down on his back and took a staggering step away from his body, letting Madame Pomfrey inspect his wounds.

"What happened, Severus?" she queried, noticing the peculiar gashes in the boy's bloodied clothes. "I've never seen something quite like this before..."

"Believe me, I intend to find out," sneered Snape, looking down his hooked nose at Charlie, glaring. "Until then, however, I must request you make Mr. Malfoy's recovery your top priority, Poppy. His well-being is of vital importance to some... people."

Charlie flinched, feeling very sick at the reoccurring images flashing in his head. His hands were stained with Malfoy's dried blood and he shuddered at the severity of the situation. Faint sounds moved closer towards him, and Charlie tensed marginally.

"Take a good look, Hawthorne," Snape rounded on the fragile boy, who couldn't tear his eyes from Malfoy's unconscious body. "Take a good look at what you and Potter have done."

"It was an accident," muttered Charlie, in a rather shaky voice. "We never meant for thi—"

"I do not care to know what your intentions were," snarled Snape, before Charlie could even finish. "The truth remains as it is seen, and denial does not lead to vindication."

Charlie cleared his throat, still refusing to look into Snape's eyes, "I don't know what else to tell you, Professor."

"Typical," said Snape, shaking his head in dissatisfaction. "You never hold yourself accountable, do you?"

Charlie floundered, speechless.

"This wasn't my fau—"

"Save your breath, Hawthorne," growled Snape, silencing the boy at once, his hand held high in the air. "Truth be told, your pitiful apology does not concern me half as much as Potter's use of dark magic — you wouldn't happen to know where he acquired this spell, would you? As Madame Pomfrey has stated, the effects were quite... peculiar."

"Probably from a library book," shrugged Charlie, inventing wildly. "Contrary to your belief, Harry and I don't conspire on every aspect of our lives..."

He cast a quick sideways glance at his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor whose face betrayed no reaction whatsoever.

"I highly doubt that," said Snape, his tone low and suspicious. "But it's no matter... I will find out eventually, you see. Until then, I suggest you make yourself scarce. Even in his state of unconsciousness, I imagine Draco doesn't appreciate your lingering stare."

It didn't not occur to Charlie for a second to disagree. There was no point in arguing. He gave Malfoy's bloodied body one last panicked look, shaking with painful reminder, and then staggered backwards, rushing out of the hospital wing. Once in the corridor, he broke into a run toward Gryffindor Tower. Most people were walking the other way; they gaped at him, drenched in blood, but he answered none of the questions fired at him as he ran past.

He felt stunned; it was as though a beloved pet had turned suddenly savage. What had Harry been thinking to use such a spell from the Prince's book? Snape was sure to reprimand Harry for his use of dark magic, but what was to become of the graffitied Potions textbook? Would it be confiscated or destroyed? More importantly, who was Harry Potter without the guidance of the Half-Blood Prince?

Charlie's mind ran wild with the possibilities, desperately trying to remove the image of Malfoy's bloodied corpse from his memory. He never made it to dinner in the Great Hall; he had no appetite at all. His differences with Draco Malfoy aside, Charlie didn't want to imagine the death of the blonde haired Slytherin, especially if it was partially his fault.

At last, Charlie returned to the common room. He muttered the password quickly and stepped through the portrait hole, before the Fat Lady had the opportunity to bombard him with questions. The news had already travelled ridiculously fast: apparently Moaning Myrtle had taken it upon herself to pop up in every bathroom in the castle to tell the story; Malfoy had already been visited in the hospital wing by Pansy Parkinson, who had lost no time in vilifying Harry far and wide, and Snape had told the staff precisely what had happened.

As expected, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were awaiting their friend's return; they were anxiously conversing around the fire as Charlie entered the room. At the sounds of his footfalls, Hermione's head snapped up, and Charlie was instantly made aware that she was filled in on all of the gruesome details. She stood at once and ran towards her distressed boyfriend without second thought, colliding into his torso with a thud and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"You..." she whimpered into the crook of his neck, barely audible even to Charlie, as she seemed to pay no mind to his bloodied appearance, "I was worried sick... where have you been?"

It took him a moment, but Charlie wrapped his arms around her waist, reciprocating, holding her tightly against his body.

"Sorry," he muttered, slightly absent from his own thoughts, "I wanted to make sure Malfoy was alright."

"And is he?" inquired Harry, nervously, as he got up from his spot on the common room couch. "I truly am sorry, you know? I wouldn't've used a spell like that if I knew, not even on Malfoy —"

"I know," Charlie cut him off, and pulled out of Hermione's embrace. He gave Harry a reassuring nod, "And it's okay, Malfoy will be fine; Madame Pomfrey was cleaning him up when I left."

"Bloody hell," gaped Ron, shaking his head disdainfully, as he sat in front of the fire. "Why do you reckon the Prince would copy down a spell like that in the first place?"

"Dunno," shrugged Harry, pushing his glasses back down the bridge of his nose, "but until I do, I've hidden the book in the Room of Requirement — hopefully by then, Snape will stop breathing down my neck at every goddamn turn. Still, we can't really blame the Prince, can we?"

"Harry," scolded Hermione, turning to face him while still nuzzling into Charlie's side, "I honestly don't know how you can stick up for that book when —"

"Will you stop harping on about the book!" snapped Harry, turning the conversation hostile. "The Prince only copied it out! It's not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!"

Hermione scoffed, "I don't believe this! You're actually defending —"

"I'm not defending what I did!" interjected Harry quickly. "But without the Prince, I never would've won the Felix Felicis, nor would I have known how to save Charlie from the poison —"

"— and you certainly wouldn't have gotten a reputation for Potions brilliance you don't deserve," said Hermione nastily, and Charlie winced at the newfound tension.

"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione!" groaned Ron, and he stood up at last, throwing his hands in the air. "By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse on Charlie! You should be glad Harry did something or else your bloody boyfriend would've been the one in the hospital!"

"Of course I'm glad that Charlie wasn't cursed!" retaliated Hermione, clearly stung. "But you can't tell me that the Sectumsempra spell is any good, Ron, look what's happened! The torture curse is one thing, but this spell of the Prince's left Malfoy bleeding out! And to make matters worse, if Harry missed, even by a few centimetres, he could've hit the wrong person!"

Little though he knew Harry and Ron were in the wrong, Charlie suddenly felt unbelievably conflicted. He knew Hermione was trying to look out for him, for all of them, and these days, she seemed to be the only one who even attempted to stand up to Harry about anything — did that justify her feelings of current contempt?

Ron's seemed to think so, for his face contorted with disbelief, "Why am I not surprised that that's all you care about? For Merlin's sake, Hermione, do you have any idea how crazy you sound?"

"Watch it, Weasley," warned Charlie, but his protests went unnoticed.

"Well, if you'd just listen properly, you'd actually realize that I'm the only one making logical sense," Hermione shot back, the hurt evident on her face. "I've made a very valid point, I'd say."

"Yeah, right," growled Ron, standing up and coming up on Harry's side. "All you ever do lately is worry about your precious Death Eater boyfrie—"

SMACK!

Ron was reeling, and for a moment, he was seeing stars. Hermione had stepped forward and slapped him with such force that his head thrashed to the side. The common room had fallen deathly quiet.

Charlie and Harry stared, mouths agape: Hermione and Ron, who had been getting on well recently, were now in a heated standoff, glaring in opposite directions. Charlie, although he knew he should've stepped in to deescalate the situation, was frozen in place. He couldn't help it. His lips threatened to curl into a prideful smirk; Hermione never failed to amaze him.

"You don't understand, do you?" she asked shakily, her face red with anger and hurt. "Someone could've died! So, stop acting as if I'm blowing this whole thing out of proportion! This has nothing to do with my relationship with Charlie. This is about realizing that our actions have consequences. If Snape hadn't stepped in when he did, what do you think would've happened? Harry could've killed someone, that's what!"

Harry bowed his head, guilty, "Hermio—"

"You know I'm right, and the quicker you realize that, the better," she snapped, silencing any protests, before she turned back around to her boyfriend, "Now, come on, let's go get you cleaned up."

And with that, she grabbed Charlie's hand and dragged him up the twisted staircase that led to the girls dormitories, the door slamming shut behind them.

———————————————————

There were Slytherin taunts to be endured next day, not to mention much anger from fellow Gryffindors, who were most unhappy that their Harry had got himself banned from the final match of the season — Harry had received detention every Saturday for the rest of the term as a punishment. Now, everyone was looking to Charlie to lead the team to victory.

Charlie's misery was compounded by the fact that Hermione was now resolutely ignoring Harry and Ron, with even more success than ever before, leaving Charlie as a middle man in what seemed to be a never-ending dispute. In doing this, he often spent his breakfast and lunch cuddled up in the library, unintentionally distancing himself from his friends to make sure that his girlfriend at least ate something throughout the day.

The rest of the week followed the same pattern. Hermione avoiding Harry and Ron, and Charlie casting awkward looks at the three of them in the middle of their lessons.

On the Friday evening before the match, Charlie and Harry gathered their team for their final practice of the season. They had clearly been affected by losing one of their Captains, and had lost the verve they had been flying with over previous weeks, albeit Ginny was more than able at Seeker.

Charlie attempted to give them one, last morale-boosting speech, but everybody was rather subdued as they made their way back up to the castle. Charlie, Ron, and Harry walked up the path together. Fortunately, neither of them dared to address the obvious tension looming between them.

"Hey, Luna," greeted Charlie, with a breath of relief, as they entered the Entrance Hall.

(A/N: because we need more Luna in our lives)

"Oh, hi, Charlie," replied Luna Lovegood dreamily. "Hello, Harry... Ron," she flashed a smile at both of them.

Harry waved, "Hey, Luna."

"What's that you've got there this time, Luna?" asked Ron. Charlie looked down at Luna's arms. Sure enough, she was carrying some strange-looking glasses which looked like a bigger version of her father's Spectrespecs.

"Oh, these are Enorgoggles," beamed Luna. "For the match tomorrow."

She said the last part as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, despite the fact that Harry, Ron and Charlie all had blank looks on their faces.

"Right," said Ron slowly, eyeing the invention up cautiously. "And what do they do, exactly?"

"They make things look larger than they are," said Luna brightly. "So I can see the game."

"Like binoculars?" asked Harry.

"Well... yes and no. Binoculars can make you blind, you see. The light gets trapped in the glass and has nowhere to go but into your eyes, these" — Luna lifted the colourful, goggle-like glasses up — "don't do that."

"Right," said Ron, doing well to hide his amusement. "Err... guess you'll be supporting Ravenclaw?"

"No, not really. I prefer Gryffindor."

"Oh," Ron said in surprise. "Really? Well, that's err... don't let the others hear you say that," he finished with a laugh.

"Oh don't worry. I think they know already. I was just singing 'Weasley Is Our King' at dinner. They got rather mad..." Luna trailed off, as if her fellow house-mates getting angry over the fact she was openly praising the opposition's goalkeeper was strange behaviour.

"Well..." Ron stammered out. "Err... thanks."

Charlie was smirking, though Harry wasn't sure whether it was at what Luna had said, or the ginger's reaction.

"Well, good luck tomorrow!" said Luna, glancing between the three of them. "I'll be keeping my eyes," — she held up the Enorgoggles again — "on you. Night, boys."

And with a pleasant wave and bright smile, Luna headed off towards the staircase. Harry, Ron and Charlie watched her go.

"Mental," murmured Ron, as they made their way into the Great Hall. Sure enough, the Ravenclaws looked mutinous, and shot Ron even more foul looks than would have been the case anyway. If anything, this seemed to lift Ron's mood even more. He puffed his chest out and plonked himself down across from Charlie, who had already scanned the Hall and seen Hermione wasn't there, with Harry sliding in next to them.

"Got to love Luna," Ron said with a chuckle, as though he was thinking aloud.

"Ooh, so maybe it's not Loony Lovegood after all," muttered Charlie under his breath, letting out a lighthearted chuckle. "How about Lovely Lovegood..."

Ron flushed a dark red, caught, and the topic of Luna was avoided for the rest of dinner.

Afterwards, when they were making their way back to Gryffindor Tower, Charlie's heart leapt as he saw Hermione making her way through the portrait hole, but by the time he'd managed to squeeze through a small crowd and make it into the room, she had already reached the stairs, and didn't even look back as he called her name, assumably not to thrilled about his joint company.

In no mood to stay up any longer, Charlie followed her example.

By the next morning, the mass of students streaming out into the sunshine, all of them wearing rosettes and hats and brandishing banners and scarves, made Charlie feel the familiar flush of nervousness in the pit of his stomach. Nonetheless, he marched down the spiral stone pathway, listening to the distant roars of the crowd grow louder as he approached.

The sky was a gorgeous azure blue dotted with the odd fluffy white cloud. A slight breeze whispered through the air. Harry had already gone down to the Dungeons for his detention with Professor Snape, wishing his friend a 'good luck' before he departed, and although the sentiment was there, Charlie felt no more reassured than he did before.

When he arrived to the pitch, the crowd erupted in applause, but Charlie kept his head down, trying desperately to focus. The rest of the team was already getting ready and warming up; Ron was anxiously pacing around the nearby change room door.

Charlie heaved a heavy sigh, shouldering his broom. He was wearing his Captain's jersey and, although he had yet to feel it himself, there was an air of confidence about him. The bold red and glimmering gold colours really stood out on the fresh fabric. He ran an exasperated hand through his hair, slicking the loose strands back, as he surveyed the stands of blue and red, searching mindlessly for a fit of bushy hair.

And to his greatest delight, a voice rang in the air, "Charlie!" and he whipped around, his nerves immediately subsiding at the sight.

Hermione was walking down the stone path behind him, and her appearance left Charlie speechless. To his surprise, she had been wearing one of his old Quidditch jerseys from the following year; it was draped loosely over her shoulders and the name, 'HAWTHORNE', was splashed boldly across the back in capital letters, framing his jersey number. When she caught him staring, Hermione took a step back with her arms out as if to ask what he thought of it.

"You look —" Charlie found himself at a loss for words trying to finish that sentence, but Hermione looked at him tentatively and raised eyebrows in question.

"Yes?" she asked hopefully.

"Beautiful... as always."

Hermione gave him a blazing look and then jumped into his arms, smiling from one ear to the other. She ran her hands down his body, and Charlie's anxious heartbeat slowed at her touch. Hermione trailed her fingertips from the number three in the centre of his abdomen, to the Gryffindor logo embroiled on his left pectoral, then to the large 'C' for 'Captain' stamped on the right. She had never been a fan of sport, let alone Quidditch, however, there was something alluring about it — perhaps it was the fact that her boyfriend was the Captain...?

"Nervous?" inquired Hermione, taking his face into her hands. "Anything I can do to help?"

Charlie chuckled, "Yeah, I think I have an idea..."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. Hermione looked up at him with intrigue, watching as the anxiousness in his eyes transformed into a sudden boldness. Charlie bent his head and kissed her fiercely. She couldn't help but melt into him, as he used his teeth to nibble on her lower lip and coerce her mouth open. She clung onto his upper arms as he deepened the kiss.

After a while, Charlie pulled back, and Hermione slowly opened her eyes, seeing stars as she did so.

"You have no idea how much I needed that," he murmured in her ear, evidently relaxing into her embrace.

"Yes I do," Hermione corrected, kissing him lightly on the cheek, "and I don't mind."

"Good," Charlie leaned back in, grinning, ghosting her lips. "Because I need one more."

Hermione teasingly shook her head, "The match is about to start."

"Come on, baby, a kiss for good luck?"

"But you're going to be late —"

Charlie silenced her by capturing her lips once more, kissing her passionately on the mouth. Hermione squirmed playfully for a moment, then eventually caved in. He grinned mischievously at her when they parted.

"Okay, just one more, I promise —"

"CHARLIE! WILL YOU QUIT SNOGGING YOUR GIRLFRIEND, AND GET YOUR RED AND GOLD BUTT OVER HERE? THE MATCH IS ABOUT TO START!"

The couple winced at Ginny's voice, and instantly jumped apart. Hermione pretended to dust off and straighten Charlie's Quidditch uniform to hide her flustered state.

"Fucking hell," muttered Charlie, shaking his head at the interruption. He met Hermione's amused gaze, forcing a smile, "I'll see you after, okay?"

But Charlie was caught off guard when, instead of an answer, Hermione seized hold of his robes again and kissed him, fervently and quickly.

"I love you... good luck!" she squeaked, and dashed off to find her seat next to Elaina Dumont in the stands. Dazed, Charlie staggered toward the Gryffindor changing tent where his annoyed, yet grinning, teammates awaited.

"Had your fill, Charlie?" Jimmy Peakes asked, winking.

Ritchie Coote chortled, "Or rather, did Hermione have her fill?"

Peakes and Cootes whooped and fist-punched. Those two were literal reincarnations of their predecessors, bringing much needed comedic relief despite their bleak prospects.

"Enough of that," dismissed Charlie instantly, albeit he was blushing feverishly. "Let's just get out there and win this damn thing, okay?"

"Yes, Captain," the team responded, all of them trying to adopt a serious and confident expression. Together, they walked out onto the pitch, and as Charlie mounted his broom, he was more determined than ever, thanks to Hermione's pre-match comfort.

The cool morning breeze embraced the Gryffindor Quidditch Team as scarlet robes flashed by the stadium in rapid succession. The Gryffindor team flew seamlessly in Hawkshead Attacking Formation as they passed the Quaffle to each other covertly. Ron flew near the end of the goal post in a Double Eight Loop to prepare his defence.

Charlie reverse passed to Dean who swiftly handed the Quaffle to Katie Bell. Katie flew in quickly to the scoring area to attempt a goal. She swerved left before ducking right and aimed at the lowest hoop. As the Quaffle reached the goal, Grant Page, the Ravenclaw Keeper, moved for the Quaffle with his tail end of his broomstick, missing only be a mere centimetres; the Quaffle zoomed through the golden hoop with ease.

"THAT'S ONE FOR GRYFFINDOR! TEN-ZERO!"

And with an outstanding start, the Gryffindor team was one step closer to the Inter-House Quidditch Cup.

————————————————————

Meanwhile, Harry Potter was constantly glancing at the large clock ticking on the wall in Snape's office. It seemed to be moving half as fast as a regular clock; perhaps Snape had bewitched it to go extra slowly? He could not have been here for only half an hour... an hour... an hour and a half...

Harry's stomach started rumbling when the clock showed half past twelve. Snape, who had not spoken at all since setting Harry his task, finally looked up at ten past one.

"I think that will do," he said coldly. "Mark the place you have reached. You will continue at ten o'clock next Saturday."

"Yes, sir."

Harry stuffed a bent card into the box at random and hurried out of the door before Snape could change his mind, racing back up the stone steps, straining his ears to hear a sound from the pitch, but all was quiet... it was over, then...

He hesitated outside the crowded Great Hall, then ran up the marble staircase; whether Gryffindor had won or lost, the team usually celebrated or commiserated in their own common room.

"Quid agis?" he said tentatively to the Fat Lady, wondering what he would find inside.

Her expression was unreadable as she replied, "You'll see."

And she swung forward.

A roar of celebration erupted from the hole behind her. Harry gaped as people began to scream at the sight of him; several hands pulled him into the room.

"We won!" yelled Charlie, bounding into sight and brandishing the silver Cup at Harry. "We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!"

The common room was a sea of red, spotted with some yellow, blue and green; everyone was experiencing a shared moment of utter euphoria, smiles plastered on every visible person's face in sight. Harry was pulled further into the crowd by Charlie, who guided him towards their main group of friends.

Harry looked onwards; Elaina Dumont was engaging delightfully in the celebrations, taking shots of Firewhiskey nearby. When she turned and saw Harry, however, Elaina immediately pushed through the crowd and threw her arms around him, attempting to congratulate him over the noise.

And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.

After several long moments — or it might have been half an hour — or possibly several sunlit days — they broke apart. The room had gone very quiet. Then several people wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of nervous giggling. Harry looked over the top of Elaina's head to see Theodore Nott holding a shattered glass in his hand. Hermione was beaming, Ron was clapping, but Harry's eyes sought Charlie. At last he found him, still clutching the Cup and wearing an expression that was akin to having immense pride for his brother's ability to take a chance.

"Well, it's about fucking time!" he cheered, earning a nudge from Hermione for ruining the moment. "Good on you, Harry!"

The creature in his chest roaring in triumph, Harry grinned down at Elaina and gestured wordlessly out of the portrait hole. A long walk in the grounds seemed indicated, during which — if they had time — they might discuss the match.

———————————————————

The fact that Harry Potter was officially going out with Elaina Dumont seemed to interest a great number of people, most of them girls, yet Harry found himself newly and happily impervious to gossip over the next few weeks. After all, it made a very nice change to be talked about because of something that was making him happier than he could remember being for a very long time, rather than because he had been involved in horrific scenes of dark magic.

"You'd think people had better things to gossip about," said Elaina, as she and the core four sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall; she was leaning against Harry's shoulder and reading the Daily Prophet. "Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all anyone does is ask me if it's true you've got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest."

Charlie, Ron, and Hermione all roared with laughter. Harry ignored them, shaking his head.

"And what have you been saying?"

"I've been telling everyone it's actually a Hungarian Horntail," smirked Elaina, turning a page of the newspaper idly. "Much more macho."

"Thanks," said Harry, grinning. He nodded his head in Charlie and Ron's direction, "And what about those two?"

"Well, Ron's got a Pygmy Puff, but I didn't tell them where it was," said Elaina, winking; Ron scowled across the table. She shifted her gaze, "And Charlie's got a Thestral, you know, because he's so broody and mysterious," she teased in a high pitched tone, which was an oddly accurate impression of Romilda Vane.

"Watch it," grimaced Charlie, looking around wearily as though he was expecting for Romilda to pop out at the sound of her name. "Just because the two of you are together now, doesn't mean we have to be okay with being your latest punchline."

"Aw, but that's no fun," Elaina pouted playfully, nuzzling into Harry's side. "Anyway, don't be such a prat — you said yourself that you'd rather I be with Harry than Theo."

"Well, obviously, because Nott's a right foul git," shrugged Charlie. "And I have no problem, like I said, just as long as you two don't start snogging each other in public —"

"Says you, you filthy hypocrite!" gasped Elaina, rolling up the newspaper and smacking him across the head. "You don't hear me complaining when you and Hermione go at it like a pair of horny rabbits!"

"It's not my fault Hermione can't keep her hands to herself," defended Charlie, sniggering, which earned him a hard elbow to the ribs from his girlfriend.

"Yeah, right... you're all over me!" she scolded, and Charlie, smirking mischievously, leaned in to place a gentle kiss to her cheek; Hermione shook her head, melting into his touch, and began giggling uncontrollably.

Ron groaned and pushed his breakfast plate away from himself, muttering, "And just like that, I've lost my appetite."

But Ron's tolerance was not to be tested much as they moved into June, for the core four's time together was becoming increasingly restricted.

Harry was finding his Saturday detentions with Professor Snape particularly irksome because they cut into the already limited time he could have been spending with Elaina. Moreover, Hermione was insistent on proving that the Half-Blood Prince could've been female, enlisting Charlie's help in the library every day after their lessons. Meanwhile, Ron was seemingly distancing himself, as he realized that he remained the only member of the group that didn't belong to a committed relationship.

"I've been thinking," said Hermione, peering over the book in her hands, as her and Charlie perused the library shelves during their free period one random afternoon. "Maybe we could take a walk tonight."

Charlie raised his eyebrows.

"What about the curfew?"

"Well," Hermione whispered, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. "no one dares question a Prefect..."

"You're becoming a proper rule-breaker, aren't you, Granger?"

"I prefer to say I'm bending them," Hermione replied, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Charlie laughed but, nevertheless, found himself down in the common room some hours later, waiting in the shadows for his girlfriend's arrival. Darkness had fallen and Charlie had made sure to cast the Muffliato spell around the dorm before he had got up, ensuring nobody knew he had left.

"Hey," came a voice from the stairs. Charlie swallowed hard. Hermione stood at the foot of the steps, wearing a silky, silver nightgown draped over her shoulders with a pair of matching slippers; immediately, Charlie felt heat rising everywhere along his body.

"Hey," he meekly managed in response.

Biting her lip and smiling sensually at his reaction, Hermione glided over and took his hand.

"Let's go," she breathed, and he didn't need to be told twice. They passed out through the portrait hall and into the corridor. Wordlessly, she reached up and placed a hand over his eyes, blinding him to his surroundings. His breath hitched, more in an instinctive reaction than anything else.

"Hermione?"

"Just trust me... keep your eyes shut," she said, placing a feathery kiss on his lips, and any resistance or trepidation he had melted away as she took his hand and led him on. He did as he was told, though even if he had opened his eyes, the fact that Hermione had yet to remove her hand would have rendered them all but useless anyway.

Not long after, they came to a stop. Charlie heard the opening of a door, and then the noises of the castle were silenced as the door closed behind them with a soft click of the lock. He felt Hermione move away from him, untangling their interlocked hands and removing her other from his face.

"Stay there," Hermione instructed, and Charlie stood still, eyes closed. Some moments later, the noise of running water came to his attention, but before he had time to react, Hermione's lips were on his again.

"Ready?" she whispered against him; Charlie nodded, feeling goosebumps arise on his skin, and ever so slowly opened his eyes.

They were back in the Prefect's bathroom once again. The huge bath was already nearly full, and steam was billowing out. Hermione stood there, the nightgown still draped over her shoulders, but her expression was one that Charlie was sure he would have imprinted in his mind until the day he died. It was shy, but blazen, and her eyes portrayed such love and desire that he wished he could dive in and relish in her embrace forever.

Slowly, Hermione began to part with her nightgown and, with a mix of sheer delight and stunned awe, Charlie realized she was wearing nothing else underneath. With all his might, he maintained eye contact until — after what felt like an eternity — she finally dropped the gown at her feet.

And then he took her in.

Every inch of her luscious frame. Her hair fell loosely down her shoulders, bordering her beautiful, slender neck, and she was so in proportion and pristine and perfect.

"I —" he started, but she cut him off with another kiss — fiercer this time — and then he was lost in dizzying bliss.

As Charlie's arms went around her bare waist, he smiled into her mouth, "You see? I told you that you couldn't keep your hands to yourself."

Hermione placed a kiss along his jaw, laughing lightly, "You're no better than I am."

"Right, you are," grinned Charlie, and he leaned back down to capture her lips. "We're just as bad as each other... not that I'm complaining."

And all his thoughts vanished from there. Their lips smashed together, love radiating effortlessly in the air. Every nerve fibre in Charlie's body was on end — ignited, like a flame — burning through him as he deepened the kiss. Hermione responded in the most delicious of ways, sealing their romanticized fate for what felt like the hundredth time.

It was safe to say, while time seemed limited and scarce, Charlie and Hermione managed to make the most of any moment they spent together.

————————————————————

One slow evening in June, the Harry, Charlie, Hermione, and Ron were lounging around the common room, working in silence. Charlie was sitting beside a window, trying to finish his Potions essay when he was interrupted by the appearance of Jimmy Peakes at his side, who was holding out a scroll of parchment.

"Thanks Jimmy... hey, it's from my granddad!" announced Charlie excitedly, unrolling the parchment and scanning it. "It says he wants to see me in his office as quickly as possible."

The attention of his other three friends had been caught at once; Harry, Hermione, and Ron stared between Charlie and the piece of paper in his hand.

"Blimey," whispered Ron, eyes wide. "You don't reckon... he hasn't found...?"

"Better go and see, hadn't I?" said Charlie, jumping to his feet. He waved goodbye to Ron and Harry, and gave Hermione a peck on the lips, before he hurried out of the common room.

Charlie ran along the seventh floor as fast as he could, passing nobody but Peeves, who swooped past in the opposite direction, cackling loudly as he dodged Charlie's defensive jinx. Once Peeves had vanished, there was silence in the corridors; with only fifteen minutes left until curfew, most people had already returned to their common rooms.

But suddenly, Charlie heard a scream and a crash. He stopped in his tracks, listening.

"How — dare — you — aaaaargh!"

The noise was coming from a corridor nearby; Charlie sprinted towards it, his wand at the ready, and saw Professor Trelawney sprawled upon the floor, her head covered in one of her many shawls, several sherry bottles lying beside her, one broken.

"Professor —"

Charlie hurried forwards and helped Professor Trelawney to her feet. Some of her glittering beads had become entangled with her glasses. She hiccoughed loudly, patted her hair and pulled herself up on Charlie's helping arm.

"What happened, Professor?"

"You may well ask!" she said shrilly. "I was strolling along, brooding upon certain dark portents I happen to have glimpsed..."

But Charlie was not paying much attention. He had just noticed where they were standing: there, on the right, was the tapestry of dancing trolls and, on the left, that smoothly impenetrable stretch of stone wall that concealed —

"Professor, were you trying to get into the Room of Requirement?"

"...omens I have been vouchsafed — what?" She looked suddenly shifty.

"The Room of Requirement," repeated Charlie, nodding towards the wall. "Were you trying to get in there?"

"I didn't know students knew about —"

"Not all of them do," shrugged Charlie, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "But what happened? You screamed... it sounded as though you were hurt..."

"I — well," said Professor Trelawney, drawing her shawls around her defensively and staring down at him with her vastly magnified eyes. "I wished to, uh, deposit certain — um — personal items in the Room..." then, she muttered something about 'nasty accusations'.

"Right," nodded Charlie, glancing down at the sherry bottles. "But you couldn't get in and hide them?" He found this very odd; the Room had opened for Harry, after all, when he had wanted to hide the Half-Blood Prince's book.

"Oh, I got in all right," said Professor Trelawney, glaring at the wall. "But there was somebody already in there."

"Somebody in — ? Who?" demanded Charlie, his ears perking up with intrigue. "Who was in there?"

"Who? I have no idea," said Professor Trelawney, looking slightly taken aback at the urgency in Charlie's voice. "I walked into the Room and I heard a voice, which has never happened before in all my years of hiding — of using the Room, I mean."

"A voice? Saying what?"

"I don't know that it was saying anything," shrugged Professor Trelawney. "It was... whooping."

"Whooping?"

"Gleefully," she said, nodding.

Charlie stared at her.

"Was it male or female?"

"I would hazard a guess at male," said Professor Trelawney, attempting to gather her sherry bottles. She bent down, scooped them up and dumped them unceremoniously in a large blue and white vase standing in a nearby niche.

"And it sounded happy?"

"Very happy," affirmed Professor Trelawney sniffily.

"As though it was celebrating?"

"Most definitely."

"And then — ?"

"And then I called out, 'Who's there?'"

"You couldn't have found out who it was without asking?" Charlie asked her, slightly frustrated.

"The Inner Eye," said Professor Trelawney with dignity, straightening her shawls and many strands of glittering beads, "was fixed upon matters well outside the mundane realms of whooping voices."

"Right," said Charlie hastily; he had heard about Professor Trelawney's Inner Eye all too often before.

"And did the voice say who was there?"

"No, it did not," she denied. "Everything went pitch black and the next thing I knew, I was being hurled out of the Room!"

"And you didn't see that coming?" said Charlie, unable to help himself.

"No, I did not, as I say, it was pitch bl—"

She stopped and glared at him suspiciously.

"I think you'd better tell Professor Dumbledore," said Charlie, resisting a laugh. "He ought to know Malfoy's celebrating — I mean, that someone threw you out of the Room."

To his surprise, Professor Trelawney drew herself up at this suggestion, looking haughty.

"The Headmaster has intimated that he would prefer fewer visits from me," she said coldly. "I am not one to press my company upon those who do not value it. If Dumbledore chooses to ignore the warnings the cards show —"

Her bony hand closed suddenly around Charlie's wrist.

"Again and again, no matter how I lay them out —"

And she pulled a card dramatically from underneath her shawls.

"— the lightning-struck tower," she whispered, staring deeply into Charlie's eyes. "Calamity. Disaster. Coming nearer all the time..."

"Right," said Charlie again. "Well... I still think you should tell Dumbledore about this voice and everything going dark and being thrown out of the Room..."

"You think so?" Professor Trelawney seemed to consider the matter for a moment, but Charlie could tell that she liked the idea of retelling her little adventure. But, to his surprise, she shook her head, "No, no... I mustn't! I've already warned him... Dumbledore refuses to listen. He seems to find me almost comical. Yes, comical!"

Her voice rose rather hysterically and Charlie caught a powerful whiff of sherry even though the bottles had disposed of.

"It's preposterous!" Trelawney continued, in throaty tones, as she seemed to gather herself together and begin walking down the hall. "He'll see... you'll all see..."

And just like that, she rounded a nearby corner and disappeared. Puzzled by the Divination Professor's ominous exit, Charlie shook his head before continuing on his way. He rounded the corner into Dumbledore's corridor, where the lone gargoyle stood sentry. Charlie shouted the password at the statue and ran up the moving spiral staircase three steps at a time. He did not knock upon Dumbledore's door (his grandfather knew he was coming) and already flung himself into the room.

Fawkes the Phoenix looked round, his bright black eyes gleaming with reflected gold from the sunset beyond the window. Dumbledore was standing at the window looking out at the grounds, a long, black travelling cloak in his arms.

"Well, Charles, I promised that one of you could come with me."

For a moment or two, Charlie did not understand; the conversation with Trelawney had driven everything else out of his head and his brain seemed to be moving very slowly.

"Come... with you... ?"

"Only if you wish it, of course."

"If I..."

And then Charlie remembered why he had been eager to come to Dumbledore's office in the first place.

"You've found one? You've found a Horcrux?"

"I believe so."

Confusion fought shock. For several moments, Charlie could not speak.

"It is natural to be afraid."

"I'm not scared!" denied Charlie at once, and it was perfectly true; fear was one emotion he was not feeling at all. "Which Horcrux is it? Where is it?"

"I am not sure which it is — though I think we can rule out the snake — but I believe it to be hidden in a cave on the coast many miles from here, a cave I have been trying to locate for a very long time: the cave in which Tom Riddle once terrorized two children from his orphanage on their annual trip; you remember?"

"Yes," nodded Charlie, recalling the first ever memory he was shown. "How is it protected?"

"I do not know; I have suspicions that may be entirely wrong." Dumbledore hesitated, then said, "Charles, I promised you that either you or Harry could come with me, and I stand by that promise, but it would be very wrong of me not to warn you that this will be exceedingly dangerous."

"I'll be fine," reassured Charlie, almost before Dumbledore had finished speaking. After everything he had had to endure over the last year, his desire to do something desperate and risky had increased tenfold in the last few minutes. This seemed to show on Charlie's face, for Dumbledore moved away from the window, and looked more closely at his grandson, a slight crease between his silver eyebrows.

"What has happened to you?"

Charlie furrowed his brows, "What do you mean?"

"You look as if something else is plaguing your mind," said Dumbledore, peering over at his grandson over his half-noon spectacles. "Has something upset you?"

"I'm fine," lied Charlie promptly.

"Charles, your skill at Occlumens aside, a grandfather's intuition is never wrong..."

"It's nothing," said Charlie, very quickly, and Fawkes gave a soft squawk behind them. "It can wait until after we've found the Horocrux."

Dumbledore's expression did not change, but Charlie thought his face whitened under the bloody tinge cast by the setting sun peering in from the windows. For a long moment, Dumbledore said nothing.

At last, he sighed, "No, I don't think it can... you see, there's a discussion we've been avoiding since the beginning of the term, m'boy, and I think it'd be best if we cleared the air."

"Honestly, it was nothing," shrugged Charlie, avoiding Dumbledore's pestering gaze. "I was just distracted by something Professor Trelawney said in the corridor —"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, "And what did she say?"

"Just that someone was in the Room of Requirement," explained Charlie, taking a deep breath. Hesitantly, he added, "And I have reason to believe that it's Draco Malfoy."

"Mr. Malfoy was just recently released from the care of Madame Pomfrey, Charles," said Dumbledore, in a tone that sounded as if this one fact was to dismiss the entire conversation.

"Yes, I'm well aware, but that's because Snape was adamant —"

"Professor Snape," corrected Dumbledore, fixing his grandson's innocent mistake once again.

"Right... anyway, Malfoy was released because Professor Snape," began Charlie, emphasizing the word to please his grandfather, "was adamant that his recovery became of utmost importance, and why? Because he needed Malfoy to finish whatever he started in the Room of Requirement, and that's precisely what's happened. Professor Trelawney heard him celebrating —"

"Professor Trelawney hears and sees a lot of things, Charles," said Dumbledore quietly. "And so, whatever you think has happened, you need not worry. I must insist that you —"

Breathing heavily, Charlie turned away from Dumbledore, who still had not moved a muscle, and paced up and down the study, rubbing his knuckles in his hand and exercising every last bit of restraint to prevent himself knocking things over.

"That I what?" he snapped, feeling rather annoyed. "That I should just forget about it because it's 'not of great importance'? Right, that is precisely what you've told me countless times, but I must implore that you see reason! I'm telling you the truth; Professor Snape —"

"Charles," interjected Dumbledore, raising a hand to demand silence. "Please, listen to me carefully."

It was as difficult to stop his relentless pacing as to refrain from shouting. Charlie paused, biting his lip, and looked into Dumbledore's lined face.

"Professor Snape has made countless mistakes, just as many men have done before him —"

"And what? He deserves to be pardoned, does he? Because, if I remember correctly, I don't recall ever hearing so much as an 'I'm sorry' —"

"Please let me finish." Dumbledore waited until Charlie had nodded curtly, then went on. "Now, while Professor Snape has made many mistakes, it was at my own expense that I have given him a second chance." Dumbledore did not speak for a moment; he looked as though he was trying to make up his mind about something. At last he said, "As I've told you before, I trust Severus Snape completely."

Charlie breathed deeply for a few moments in an effort to steady himself. It did not work.

"Well, I don't!" he said, louder than ever before. "He's up to something with Malfoy right now, right under your nose, and you still —"

"We have discussed this, Charles," dismissed Dumbledore, and now he sounded stern again. "I have told you my views."

"You're leaving the school tonight and I'll bet you haven't even considered that Snape and Malfoy might decide to —"

"Enough," demanded Dumbledore, and although he said it quite calmly, Charlie fell silent at once; he knew that he had finally crossed some invisible line. "Do you think that I have once left the school unprotected during my absences this year? I have not. Tonight, when I leave, there will again be additional protection in place. Please do not suggest that I do not take the safety of my students seriously, Charles... you, of all people, should know better."

"I didn't suggest anything," mumbled Charlie, a little abashed, but Dumbledore cut across him.

"I do not wish to discuss this matter any further."

"You never do," growled Charlie, whose voice was now shaking with the effort of keeping it steady. "Snape can do no wrong in your eyes, can he? I've warned you, but you never listen! You said you wanted to discuss what's been bothering me? Well, here it is: Malfoy's managed to mend something in the Room of Requirement, and if you could only pull your head out of your arse for five seconds, you'd realize —"

"Watch your mouth, Charles, I refuse to tolerate such disrespect," ordered Dumbledore, narrowing his eyes in disappointment. "This is not what I wished to discuss with you and, quite frankly, I am appalled by your behaviour. Your dislike towards Professor Snape has reached a new level, and it's time for you to realize that you are deflecting —"

Charlie scoffed, "Deflecting?"

"Yes, deflecting," nodded Dumbledore, his expression calm, almost detached. "Whether you'd like to admit it or not, this newfound rage boiling inside you has nothing to do with Severus Snape. In reality, it stems from something deeper... something more horrific...something you have yet to confide in me about —"

"Oh, I know where this is going," groaned Charlie, shaking with rage. "For the last time, this has nothing to do with what happened over the summer!"

He felt the white-hot anger brew within him, blazing with desired retaliation, filling him with the inclination to hurt Dumbledore for his pestering accusations and reiterated worry.

"But it does... this, your recent behaviour, has everything to do with this past summer in fact," said Dumbledore, folding his hands across his torso. "And I know that this topic has hindered you for many months now, but I am here, standing before you, to let you know that you no longer have to face your demons alone. Let me help you. Confide in me, just as I had been hoping you would all along."

Charlie bit back his retort, scared that he might take things too far, that he might ruin his chance of accompanying Dumbledore on his hunt for the Horocrux.

"There's nothing to say."

"Very well..." sighed Dumbledore, and he turned back to look out of the fiery window; the sun was now a ruby-red glare along the horizon. "Then you leave me no choice other than to force it out of you — please, my dear boy, roll up your left sleeve for me."

Charlie balked, gulping back words, "I beg your pardon?"

"Your left shirt sleeve," reiterated Dumbledore, turning back around with a look of determination, "I would like for you to lift it up passed your elbow."

"And why would I do that exactly?"

"You know why, Charles, so I must insist you drop the charade. Now... the sleeve, if you please..."

"How did you...?"

Charlie hesitated for a moment; his lips tightened and his expression became as cold as ice. Leaning forward to grab the edge of the desk in front of him, he looked down and inhaled deeply, trying to rein in his temper and think. After a few shocked, silent moments, Charlie once again looked at Dumbledore, taking in the awaiting expression on the old wizard's face.

"Y-You knew, after all this t-time, didn't you?" he asked, white-hot anger entering his body as he yanked back the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the jet blank ink burned into his forearm. Dumbledore didn't answer him, opting to stare at the mark a bit longer. The boy's patience wore out. Charlie slammed his hands down on the Headmaster's desk, causing his grandfather to flinch ever so slightly, "ANSWER ME!"

"Yes, yes I did," mumbled Dumbledore, his voice filled with emotion as Charlie chuckled bitterly, turning away from his grandfather's desk.

"So, you mean to tell me that you let me suffer... FOR MONTHS?!" Charlie roared, and he seized the delicate silver instrument from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room; it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, "Really!"

"I DON'T CARE!" Charlie yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE HEARD ENOUGH! YOU STOOD BACK AND LET ME SUFFER!"

"It was never my intention —"

"FUCK YOUR BULLSHIT INTENTIONS!" bellowed Charlie, and he seized the table on which the silver instrument had stood and threw that, too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions as Charlie stood, chest heaving.

He was sure all the portraits around the room were panicking, hanging on to every word that he spat at his grandfather, but Charlie's rage completely took over and everything else didn't seem to matter. It seemed to him that Dumbledore was reminding him of the amount of damage that had been done, and although his grandfather was for once looking at him directly, his expression was kindly rather than accusatory; Charlie still could not bear to meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Charles, I truly am," said Dumbledore at last, desperate to talk through his grandson's newfound disscontempt. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Charlie from demolishing his office. "Yes, I had my suspicions, but I only sought out additional council when I knew that the truth was incapable of falling for your lips. I wanted to help —"

"But you didn't," seethed Charlie, his eyes narrowed pure and utter loathing. "You did fuck all to help me! You could've stopped it! All you had to do was fight to protect me, like you promised me you would, but you didn't... and now I'm stuck with this — FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!" he added, raising his voice as he brandished the Dark Mark around the room once again, earning a whirlwind of gasps and mutters from the portraits.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, struggling with what to say, "I never meant for things to go this far, Charles, please believe me. I believed that you were better off —"

"BETTER OFF?" repeated Charlie, unable to control himself any longer. "LOOK AT ME! YOU THINK I WANTED THIS? ARE YOU BLOODY JOKING? I WOULD'VE RATHER DIED!"

"Don't say that, please," begged Dumbledore, moving around the desk in attempt to comfort his grandson, but Charlie backed away immediately. "I know that I have upset you, and I will forever carry that regret with me for the rest of my life, but Snape ensured me that you would be safe —"

Charlie let out a light, rueful chuckle.

"Of course it was Snape," he muttered under his breath. "It's always fucking Snape... and he didn't have a clue... he didn't know... neither do you!"

"What don't I know?" asked Dumbledore calmly.

It was too much. Charlie turned around, shaking with an abundance of overwhelming emotions.

"How could you do this to me?"

"Charles, I thought I was doing what was best —"

"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!" Charlie roared, pacing the floor. "YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I HAD TO ENDURE! YOU — STANDING THERE — YOU —"

But words were no longer enough, smashing things was no more help; Charlie wanted to run, he wanted to keep running and never look back, he wanted to be somewhere he could not see the clear blue eyes staring at him, nor that hatefully calm old face. He turned on his heel and ran to the door, seized the doorknob and wrenched at it.

But the door would not open.

Charlie turned back to Dumbledore.

"Let me out."

He was shaking from head to foot.

"I can't do that," said Dumbledore simply.

For a few seconds, they stared at each other.

"Let me out," Charlie demanded again.

"No," Dumbledore repeated.

"If you don't — if you keep me in here — if you don't let me —"

"By all means continue destroying my possessions," shrugged Dumbledore, waving a hand as though to tell his grandson to continue. "I daresay I have too many."

He walked around his desk and sat down behind it, watching Charlie ever so closely.

"Let me out," Charlie said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore's.

"Not until I have had my say," said Dumbledore, beckoning the boy over to the unoccupied armchair. "Please, sit."

"Do you — do you think I want to — do you think I give a — I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!" Charlie bellowed, rattling the nearby picture frames with the projection of his voice. "I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!"

"You will," sighed Dumbledore steadily. "Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it."

"What are you talking — ?"

"It is my fault that you are a Death Eater," whispered Dumbledore, shamefully, although clear as day. "Looking back on it now, I should've listened to my gut instinct. I should've forced your father's hand and begged that you stayed in my care over the summer. If I had, maybe you wouldn't have been put in the position to believe that you had no other choice but to accept the Dark Mark. If I had been open with you, Charles, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that your father had always intended that you become one of Voldemort's followers, and together we could've avoided the possibility. I apologize that the outcome is different than either of us, I assume, had hoped. The blame for your predicament lies with me, and with me alone."

Charlie was still standing with his hand on the doorknob but was unaware of it. He was gazing at Dumbledore, hardly breathing, listening yet barely understanding what he was hearing.

"Please sit down," said Dumbledore. It was not an order, it was a request.

Charlie hesitated, then walked slowly across the room now littered with silver cogs and fragments of wood, and took the seat facing Dumbledore's desk.

"For a long time," continued Dumbledore, wasting no time, "I believed that I could prevent the Dark Mark from being bestowed upon you, but I was foolish to think so. You see, that festering mark on your arm was the only way to ensure your safety. Without it, your father would've found another way to control you, something far more sinister, just as he had always intended. At least, as a loyal follower to the Dark Lord, I could entrust Severus to vow to keep you safe from the horrors of your father... which is something I could no longer do by myself, as I've told you once before."

"Nothing would ever be worse than this," snapped Charlie, glancing down at the mark on his arm and gritting his teeth. "You don't understand what you've done, do you? You've ruined me!"

"I acted strictly out of love for as long as I could manage, believe me," pleaded Dumbledore, pushing his spectacles down the bridge of his nose. "But while at war, Charles, we must make sacrifices —"

"This," barked Charlie, shoving his tattooed arm in his grandfather's eye-line and rising to his feet once again, "wasn't my choice! You have no right to make these decisions for me! This is supposed to be my life, yet somehow, this entire time, you've been raising me as a pig for slaughter!"

"That's not true, m'boy, please —"

"No, I've had enough," said Charlie, and he shook his head, his temper frayed. "I can't listen to you speak nonsense any longer. I'm done... I can't even look at you."

Charlie strolled back over to the door, his patience worn thin. Suddenly, he felt something inside him snap and the room started to spin; he clutched at his head. It was all too much. Darkness had settled in but Charlie hadn't noticed. He was too numb.

Numb with torturous pain.

He found his hatred, anger, toward Dumbledore had died away a bit, only to be replaced with an overwhelming sense of betrayal and uncontrollable sadness. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was run, that's all he ever wanted to do. To run, to escape the numbness, to escape everything, he just had to run.

But he remained still, his legs wobbling under his weight. Charlie was pulled down on the sleeve, covering the taunting image, as he neared the very familiar door, placing his hand on the doorknob again.

"Charles, please, don't leave like this —"

And to Dumbledore's great surprise, Charlie cocked his head back, muttering, "Would you like to know what hurts the most about this entire thing?"

Darkened blue eyes met saddened brown, and a wall shattered. Dumbledore could see it all in a single gaze; the pain, the loss, the grief, the loathing, the shame... the exhaustion. They stared at one another for a moment, neither of them daring to say a single word.

Finally, Charlie took a deep breath, unable to contain himself any longer, as tears began to stream down his face. For the first time in six years, he felt as though he was allowed to cry. Charlie was allowed to simply be Charlie, a sixteen year old boy who had seen too much and had not had the opportunity to be shielded from the harsh world. He did not have to be Charlie Hawthorne, suppressed Death Eater with no one to turn to. He didn't have to say he was fine, and pretend everything was ok, for the sake of everyone else.

There was too much, and Charlie did not think he could come back from it. He did not say any of this, though, because he did not need to. Dumbledore knew... he always has. He saw how pain filled every ounce of his grandson's being, and it killed him to know that he had force Charlie to the edge.

Still, he said nothing. He stood there, speechless, as Charlie's cries for help ricocheted off the walls, creating an ever so vivid and haunting sound that neither of them were bound to forget.

"F-For months, I felt like I was on my own," Charlie managed through his sobs, feeling his forearm throb in pain. "I had no idea who I could turn to for help! But... y-you knew this whole time! You knew I was struggling! You knew I was hurting! So, where were you? I needed my grandfather — I NEEDED YOU!"

Charlie fell to his knees, whimpering, and clutching his forearm to his chest. Dumbledore made to move around his desk quickly, acting out of instinct to go and comfort the crying boy on the floor. As soon as he reached Charlie, however, the boy yanked himself out of Dumbledore's reach, panicking at the proximity they now found themselves in.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" he bellowed, swatting Dumbledore's hands away. "Please don't touch me! I-I hate you for t-this... I hate you..."

And with that, Dumbledore's face had fallen significantly, as he watched his grandson rise to his feet, struggling to keep his balance. Charlie's chest heaved, and he cast one last look at his grandfather before he wretched open the door and stormed out of the Headmaster's office.

Albus Dumbledore sighed heavily, feeling very old all of a sudden. The power Charlie had radiated in that brief outburst had been an overwhelming assault on his mental shields and he felt like he had been pummeled from head to toe.

And what was worse?

That may have very well been the last conversation Charlie Hawthorne and Albus Dumbledore will ever have again.

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

...I cried.

next chapter is gonna fuck me up omfg

[insert begging for comments, votes, and shares]

HBP finale is coming up next... and I'm scared.

hope you enjoyed!

xo, Selena

(p.s. shoutout to TomasGranger003  for helping me out with the Charlie and Dumbledore argument)