CHAPTER FOUR:

Third Person P.O.V.:

"It might have been a girl," Hermione suggested, as the core four sat around the common room, wondering about the true identify of the Half-Blood Prince. "I think the handwriting looks more like a girl's than a boy's."

Over the past week of Potions lessons, Harry continued to follow the Half-Blood Prince's instructions wherever they deviated from Libatius Borage's, with the result that by their fourth lesson Slughorn was raving about Harry's abilities, saying that he had rarely taught anyone so talented. Neither Charlie, Ron nor Hermione was delighted by this.

Although Harry had offered to share his book with each of them, Ron had more difficulty deciphering the handwriting than Harry did, and couldn't risk the suspicion of reading aloud. On the other hand, Charlie willing opted out of perfecting Potions, as he was far too stubborn to give Slughorn the opportunity to use it as something to boast about. Hermione, meanwhile, was resolutely plowing on with what she called the "official" instructions, but became increasingly bad-tempered as she yielded poorer results than the Prince's.

"The Half Blood Prince, he was called," Harry pointed out, stifling a chuckle as he brandished the textbook around. "How many girls have been princes?"

Hermione seemed to have no answer to this. She merely scowled and twitched her essay on The Principles of Rematerialization away from Ron, who was trying to read it upside down.

Charlie stretched out on the common room couch, perusing the sight around him as his friends continued to bicker.

He caught sight of Lavender Brown on the other side of the room, staring hopefully back at him, her eyes alit with a flicker of ultimate desire. He gulped uneasily, quickly adverting his eyes towards the watch on his hand. Acting quickly, he stood up and gathered his things.

"Wait, where are you going?" questioned Hermione, looking up at once with a slight frown.

"It's five to nine," Charlie shrugged, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. "I was thinking I'd go see my grandfather before curfew."

"Tell him we said hi," waved Harry, and him, Ron, and Hermione watched Charlie leave through the portrait hole.

Charlie proceeded through deserted corridors, though he had to step hastily behind a statue when Professor Trelawney appeared around a corner, muttering to herself as she shuffled a pack of dirty-looking playing cards, reading them as she walked.

"Two of spades: conflict," she murmured, as she passed the place where Charlie had crouched, hidden. "Seven of spades: an ill omen. Ten of spades: violence. Knave of spades: a dark young man, possibly troubled, one who dislikes the questioner -"

She stopped dead, right on the other side of Charlie's statue.

"Well, that can't be right," she said, annoyed, and Charlie heard her reshuffling vigorously as she set off again, leaving nothing but a whiff of cooking sherry behind her. Charlie waited until he was quite sure she had gone, then hurried off again until he reached the spot in the seventh-floor corridor where a single gargoyle stood against the wall.

"Acid Pops," he announced, and the gargoyle leapt aside; the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral stone staircase was revealed, onto which Charlie stepped, so that he was carried in smooth circles up to the door with the brass knocker that led to Dumbledore's Office.

The boy raised his left hand, knocking gently.

"Come in," came Dumbledore's soothing voice from beyond the door.

"Good evening, grandfather," said Charlie, walking into the Headmaster's office with the slightest smile.

"Ah, good evening, Charles! Come in my boy, come in!" smiled Dumbledore, evidently beaming as he beckoned Charlie over to his desk. "Enjoying your classes?"

"I suppose," shrugged Charlie, waving towards Fawkes before settling down in one of Dumbledore's armchairs.

"You must've been busy," added Dumbledore, fixing his spectacles on the tip of his nose. "I hear you've got a detention under your belt already."

"Yeah," began Charlie awkwardly, but Dumbledore did not look too stern.

"I've arranged with Professor Snape that you will serve your detention next Saturday instead," he nodded, flipping through pages of parchment on his desk. "I told him I'd appreciate the opportunity to understand the reason for your outlandish outburst before he is to reprimand you for it."

"Right," said Charlie, who had more pressing matters on his mind than Snape's detention, and now looked around surreptitiously to avoid his grandfather's pestering eyes. "I'm sure Snape was bloody thrilled about that."

The circular office looked just as it always did; the delicate silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, puffing smoke and whirring; portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames, and Dumbledore's magnificent phoenix, Fawkes, stood on his perch behind the door, watching Charlie with bright interest.

"Now, Charles," began Dumbledore, sighing exasperatedly, "let us not forget that you brought this upon yourself. Severus was simply doing his job, and I must insist that you respect that."

"Respect is earned," muttered Charlie darkly, shaking his head at once. "And truth be told, Professor Snape doesn't deserve my respect... not after everything's he's done."

"Well, I'm sorry that you feel that way," said Dumbledore, leaning back into his armchair seemingly defeated. "In my opinion, however, Severus, although evidently flawed, has proven to be an asset whenever the Order has needed him. I think that mayb-"

"I think that maybe you overestimate his abilities," growled Charlie, harsher than intended. "Careful, grandfather, trust can become very expensive, especially if it's invested in the wrong person."

There was a moment of silence in which Dumbledore fixated his deep blue eyes downwards, unwilling to let his grandson know of his evident distress. The sky outside was inky black and the lamps in Dumbledore's office seemed to glow more brightly than before.

"Even after all these years, I still can never figure out what's going on inside your head," whispered Dumbledore carefully. "I guess I have no one but myself to blame for that... getting you to practice Occlumency at such a young age has surely proven to have made your mind impenetrable. Perhaps if you could provide me with insight as to why yo-"

"Why don't you ask your good friend, Professor Snape, about what's happened? I'm curious as to what he'll tell you," suggested Charlie sarcastically, letting the words fall effortlessly from his mouth. "Besides, I'm sure you'll trust whatever he tells you far more than you'll ever care to believe me."

"I sincerely hope you don't believe that," Dumbledore said in disbelief, his blue eyes wide as his head snapped towards his grandson. He gulped uneasily, "Shall we move on, then? I don't wish to upset you any further."

Charlie sighed, nodding reluctantly, "Please."

The boy turned away again, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Sitting on one of the little spindle-legged tables that supported so many frail-looking silver instruments, was an ugly gold ring set with a large, cracked, black stone. Dumbledore followed Charlie's eyes, immediately sitting up straighter in his chair.

"So, tell me then, Charles," Dumbledore pressed on, desperately wanting to ignore the ring, "what of your activities outside of the classroom? Do they bring you satisfaction?"

Charlie hesitated, confused, "Sorry?"

"I've noticed you spend a great deal of your time with Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, raising a suggestive eyebrow. "One can't help but wonder-"

"We're friends," Charlie interrupted, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. "She's brilliant, mind you, and incredibly beautiful... but no... just friends."

"Strange," muttered Dumbledore, taken aback slightly. "I could've sworn that Professor McGonagall had mentioned something to me last term about a late night Astronomy Tower escapade..."

A cheeky little grin curled upon Charlie's lips almost instantly, as memories of his one year anniversary with Hermione flooded his head, replaying on a constant loop.

"That's what I thought," laughed Dumbledore, his eyes gleaming with hopefulness. "So, I was wondering if we can't set up a dinner... I'd like to know more about the girl that's got my grandson so smitten."

In an instant, the faint blush faded from Charlie's cheeks. Realization had dawned on the boy, weighing him down like a ton of bricks. It amazed him, to say the least, how the most unintentionally hopeful comment could make his heart shatter into tiny pieces all over again.

"That won't be necessary," he muttered at last, emotion clogging his throat.

"Oh, don't want her to meet me, is that it?" Dumbledore smiled cheekily, unaware of the sudden change in atmosphere. "Afraid I'll embarrass you?"

"That's not it," Charlie dismissed, his eyes awkwardly fixated upon the cufflink on his left wrist. "Hermione and I... well, we're not together anymore."

Dumbledore balked, eyeing the young boy over the rims of his glasses. Charlie watched as a wave of confusion alit in his grandfather's deep blue eyes, but gulped uneasily when the look in Dumbledore's eyes was immediately replaced with one of understanding, as though every little thing had suddenly made perfect sense.

"Ah, I see," sighed Dumbledore, linking his hands together. "That explains it, then."

"Explains what?"

"Well, your recent behaviour, of course," said Dumbledore, matter-of-factly. "The sudden outbursts of aggression, fighting on school grounds, talking back to teachers... you're acting out because you're heartbroken."

Charlie let out a light, bitter chuckle, "You're kidding, right?"

"You're hurt, Charles, and you're lashing out," countered Dumbledore, speaking in a tone that was incredibly philosophical. "It's been a while since I was your age, mind you, but I imagine love's keen sting still hurts all the same."

"Forgive me," said Charlie, utterly flabbergasted at how little his grandfather seemed to understand, "but you could not be any more wrong. You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Is that right?" inquired Dumbledore, and Charlie instantly realized that he had set himself up for impending questions. "Then, perhaps you could explain to me what exactly has been playing on your mind over the past several weeks."

Charlie had paused to fully understand the gravity of the situation. He had opened his mouth in rebuttal, astonished, but Dumbledore simply raised a hand in dismissal. Chest heaving, Charlie stared into Dumbledore's blue eyes, and marveled at how guiltless they looked. It amazed him how the mere sight of his grandfather had now instilled such a feeling of betrayal in the pit of his stomach.

"You know," Charlie spat through gritted teeth, his eyes narrow, "for someone who didn't wish to upset me further, you seem to be going out of your way to nitpick at things that have nothing to do with you."

"Can you blame me?" Dumbledore asked rhetorically, his face burdened with worry. "You look as though you haven't slept in weeks... you're as pale as someone who hasn't yet experienced the warmth of the sun... and as thin as a stick on the Whomping Willow. You look gravely ill, my dear boy, and you fail to help me understand why. Strange, I might add, because you've never kept things from me before. To my recollection, in fact, we've always been in this together."

"You wouldn't understand," said Charlie shortly, his eyes blackened from the pain concealed deep within him.

"Bold assumptions often lead to ignorance," rebutted Dumbledore, rambling on in a authentic attempt at reconciliation. "Now, I'm well aware of my mistakes when it comes to you. Your relationship with your father has always been tainted, and it was my wrongdoing that put you in the position you were in over the summer. For that, I am sorry. In hindsight, I should've fought harder to protect you... I know I failed you once, but I am here to help you now. Please, let me help you. Believe me, if I could go back and change the way things happened, I would. If only I would've been there -"

Not being able to take it anymore, Charlie stood abruptly, slamming his hands down upon the desk in a fit of rage. Dumbledore froze, eyeing his grandson as though he was looking at a stranger in passing on the side of the road. Charlie shuddered, resisting the urge to wince as the festering design beneath his robes boiled the blood within his veins.

"Yeah, but you weren't there, were you?" he snapped, feeling unfamiliar rage rush through his body at the sight of his grandfather. "So, as far as I'm concerned, you no longer have the right to pretend like we're in this together."

Overcome with emotion, Charlie spun around, pulling his backpack along angrily, and lunged for the office door, fumbling with the handle. He found it eventually, and wrenched the door open so wide that it slammed into the wall.

"Charles," Dumbledore called out once more from behind his desk, and Charlie stopped, but didn't turn around to face him. "I understand your frustration, believe me, I do... but, regardless, I'm here whenever you wish to talk."

There was a pause in which Charlie's grip around the door handle tightened, his knuckles turning white.

"Until then, however," Dumbledore pressed on, although there was evident disdain in his voice, "please tell Mr. Potter that, starting this coming weekend, I'd like to begin his private lessons."

Charlie cocked his head back slightly, intrigued, "Private lessons?"

"In which we will uncover the depths hidden in Voldemort's past," explained Dumbledore, after considering for a moment. "From this point forth, Mr. Potter and I shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. By doing so, we shall hope to uncover the undeniable truth of the prophecy you acquired last term at the Department of Mysteries."

There was a brief moment in which Charlie thought of speaking in retaliation, but bit his tongue, for he realized he had let his rage get the best of him far too often in this situation. Instead, he nodded slowly and turned back towards the door.

"I'm sure Mr. Potter will be well inclined to divulge whatever we discover to you and your friends," said Dumbledore, bowing his head slightly. "For now, however, I bid you a good night."

Charlie said nothing, and let his feet drag him pridefully out of the room. Before he had stepped over the threshold, however, a soft hiss escaped his lips, for there was a sudden stinging sensation embedded in the veins that ran along his left forearm.

Watching his grandson leave in a frantic panic, Dumbledore's suspicions seemed to rise.

------------------

Sprinting down the stairs, Charlie clutched anxiously at his left forearm, shuddering as the fabric of his robes brushed over the festering deign carved deeply into his skin. He leapt out into the corridor, swearing under his breath as the stone gargoyle jumped back into place.

Pain was coursing throughout Charlie's whole body and he couldn't focus on anything else. He barely registered anything when he collapsed onto the ground withering in pain, catching himself in front of a smoothly carved door with silver ruins. So suddenly, it felt like his forearm was being burned from the inside out.

Charlie had begun to hope that he would escape the Dark Lord's request unscathed, but now, as he whimpered silently to himself in an abandoned corridor, he realized that he was a fool to think that Voldemort was capable of mercy.

He looked around, checking if anyone was nearby, before he rolled his sleeve up, revealing the jet black mark underneath. It was like a blemish, marring his pale skin. Charlie traced the tongue of the snake with his finger, and he couldn't help the low groan of pain that left his mouth. The Dark Mark was now burning with a blood-red crimson.

The agony Charlie felt was nearly unbearable, and a few tears leaked out of his eyes when he squeezed them shut. He knew what this meant, of course, the Dark Lord was calling for him, awaiting for his arrival at his side. The pain was simply too much, and Charlie began to feel dizzy on the floor. He gasped and groaned loudly, flinging himself against the stone wall as hard as possible and cradling his arm against him.

"Make it stop," he muttered to himself, tears trailing down his cheeks. "Please, make it stop."

As if on cue, Fenwick's voice suddenly began to speak on a haunting loop in Charlie's head, taunting him with the same venom in his father's voice that gave the boy nightmares whenever he slept.

Answer when called upon... answer when called upon... your task is simple... answer when called upon... fail to do so, and there will be consequences...

"No," Charlie growled, banging his head against the wall. "I can't... I won't."

He shook his head furiously, trying to clear it of the panicked, paranoid voices that were assaulting him. Charlie's heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest.

Huddled into the corner, Charlie waited for the pain to subside, constantly reminding himself not to surrender to Voldemort's wishes. Eventually, after what felt like hours, the burning sensation reached its conclusion, and the pain stopped as abruptly as it began.

Trying to retain what was left of dignity, Charlie got up from the floor and wiped the tears that stained his cheeks. Nerves swelled inside of him as he stared down upon the Dark Mark, which was now fading to its normal jet black colour.

Charlie was in a daze at this point, beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. He stumbled out of the little alcove he found himself in, using the castle's walls as support until he finally gathered enough strength to stand on his own.

The corridors were scarily vacant, and Charlie hastily moved in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, keeping his breathing as quiet as possible while his heartbeat became quite fast in strange exhilaration. He was desperate in his attempt to make it to his dorm room, hoping to force himself to sleep to forget all about what had just happened.

Then, very suddenly, as soon as he stepped around the corner, with his left arm clutched firmly to his chest, Charlie collided rather harshly with someone he had yet to see.

"Well, hello there, handsome," whispered a low, husky voice that immediately caught Charlie's entire attention.

Eyes wide and thinking quickly on his feet, Charlie stepped back in a panic, pulling his robe sleeve down, before looking back up just in time to see Romilda Vane's flustered face staring back at him.

"Romilda," breathed Charlie uneasily, fighting back a heavy gulp. "Sorry, I didn't see yo-"

"That's alright, sweetness," Romilda squealed, grabbing for Charlie's hands and holding them in hers endearingly. "I was looking for you actually."

Romilda stepped even closer, so that their faces were only inches apart. Her dark eyes looked up at him with an expression that made Charlie's heart race with fear. He could feel her breath on his face, and his stomach clenched with anxiety.

"Yeah?" Charlie choked out, his mind now far from the Dark Mark as Romilda stared into his eyes with scary intent. "What for?"

"Well, we never did get to finish our conversation on the train the other day," Romilda purred, drawing circles on the back of Charlie's hands. "I thought perhaps we could talk, you know, without Granger ruining the moment."

Charlie hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching for an escape. He was internally screaming at himself, pleading desperately, as his eyes looked around for any way out of his current predicament.

"Romilda," he said warningly, as he could practically hear Hermione's future protests in the back of his mind for even entertaining such an idea.

"Nothing's stopping us now," Romilda whispered, evidently ignoring Charlie's tone of objection. "We can finally go on that date we talked abou-"

"You talked about," Charlie corrected, rolling his eyes slightly.

"Right," shrugged Romilda, grinning contently to herself despite Charlie's lack of interest. "Regardless, I've been looking forward to the possibility of grabbing a Butterbeer with you for months... so, what d'you say?"

"Romilda," Charlie sighed out, finally pulling his hands free from her grasp. "You and me... it's never going to happen, okay? Please understand that."

"Why not? Come on... please?" Romilda pouted, trailing a finger slowly down the front of his robes, while her doe eyes looked up at him coyly through the fringes of her hair. Charlie shook his head, and she huffed in annoyance, "Is this about Granger? Because if it is, I'm sure if you gave me the chance, I could make you forget all about her."

"That's not possible," Charlie frowned, shaking his head exasperatedly. "Believe me, I've tried."

"Well, let me try," Romilda winked, and Charlie marvelled at her persistence.

He groaned out raggedly, running his hands through his hair. His mind stumbled, unsure where exactly to begin its grand rebuttal.

"Listen," Charlie said gently, trying to spare the girl's feelings for what felt like the hundredth time. "I'm flattered by your advances, honestly, but I'd much prefer if we were to just remain friends."

Romilda remained still, blinking for a few moments with her mouth agape, until finally she said, "Charlie, why won't you just give me a chance?"

"Well, because I -"

The inevitable headache of torturous conversation was ultimately put on hold when a thump to his shoulder sent Charlie forward slightly, forcing him to regain his balance to avoid colliding into Romilda all over again. Seconds later, his perpetrator was revealed, and Charlie gave her a tentative smile.

"Well, what do we have here?" called Elaina Dumont in a sing-song. She eyed the two Gryffindors with a mischievous grin, "Hey Char... and oh, Romilda! Of course, now everything makes perfect sense. You see, I was wondering as to why the corridor suddenly smelled of undeniable desperation... but I seem to have found my answer."

Charlie bit down on his tongue, stifling the laugh that was threatening to fall from his lips. Romilda, who didn't find this comment nearly as funny as Charlie did, crossed her arms in a stance of courage.

"What the bloody hell do you want?" she demanded of Elaina, her lips pursed. "Am I bothering you?"

"Me, and several others, I'm sure," giggled Elaina, sending a cheeky wink in Charlie's direction. "But that's far from the point. You see, I was simply wondering as to why you might be loitering in the halls after curfew... no need for the hostility, babes."

"And what's it to you?" snapped Romilda, clearly disregarding Elaina's final comment. "Charlie and I were clearly in the middle of something!"

"I don't care much for your tone," said Elaina, forcing a polite smile.

"Yeah? Well, I don't care much for your opinion."

"Careful," Elaina interjected with a warning, and Charlie raised a curious brow. "I think you'll find that it's in your best interest to think before you speak another word. That is, of course, unless you're deliberately asking for a detention."

Romilda shook her head, laughing lightly, "What? Is that supposed to scare me? You and I both know I'll be long gone before you can call a teacher down here to reprimand me."

"Who said anything about calling a teacher?" countered Elaina, smirking as she pointed to a shiny green badge pinned to her robes.

Romilda's eyes widened in fear, "How did you...? Wait, you can't do th-"

"I can do whatever I like," growled Elaina, and Charlie marvelled at the authority in her voice. "I'm the Prefect in charge of this corridor. Meaning, my patience for your behaviour is wearing extremely thin. So, why don't you do us all a favour, and walk away?"

The two girls stared at one another, their eyes burning with loathing. At last, Romilda shook her head, and turned to Charlie abruptly, waving him goodbye. With one last glare at Elaina, she walked down the corridor, allowing Charlie to breathe out a sigh of relief at her exit.

"Thank you for that," he said to Elaina, once Romilda had disappeared out of earshot.

"Don't mention it," shrugged Elaina, replacing her unamused expression with one of happiness in an instant. She eyed Charlie curiously, "So, are you going to tell me why you're out in the corridors this late? Fancied a late night stroll, did you?"

Charlie smiled softly, shaking his head, "I went to see my grandfather, and then Romilda cornered me before I could make it back to the common room."

"As she tends to do," giggled Elaina, and the two of them set off in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. "That poor girl is incredibly persistent when it comes to you."

"Oh, I'm well aware," sighed Charlie, running his hands through his hair. "I dunno how many times I'm supposed to tell her that I'm not interested."

"Maybe you should tell her that you still have feelings for Granger," suggested Elaina hopefully, and Charlie's face fell slightly. "Then again, that never did seem to stop her before..."

"Right," breathed Charlie, his mouth twitching.

"Sorry," Elaina said abruptly, her voice suddenly timid. "I didn't mean to, you know, upset you by mentioning Hermione... Merlin, I'm incredibly tactless."

"Don't worry about it, honestly," Charlie sniggered lightly, finding humour in the situation. "It's not like I can avoid her forever."

Elaina eyed him skeptically, unconvinced, "You know, it's pretty admirable to pretend like this whole breakup thing isn't bothering you. You don't have to lie to me though... I know how much you cared about her."

Charlie resisted the urge to gulp, muttering, "I'm the one who broke up with her."

"Right, you see, that's the part I never did quite understand," nodded Elaina, raking her brain as they continued to walk. "It's strange, isn't it? The Charlie from two years ago was a sad, helpless idiot when he thought he lost Hermione to that Bulgarian bastard... now, you expect me to believe that you willingly let her go? You must be incredibly daft if you think I'd ever believe that."

Charlie balked, scared that even the slightest movement might reveal his deepest, darkest secret somehow. Elaina had caught him off guard with her reality check, leaving him scared at the potential outcome of the conversation.

"I'm not the same person I was two years ago," he whispered darkly.

Elaina slowed down a little and glanced at him, noticing his defensive manner, "And why is that?"

Charlie shrugged, as the two of them made their way up the moving staircases. His eyes widened in disbelief, however, when another slap collided with his arm. Almost instantly, he looked up with furrowed brows.

"Oi! What was that for?"

"Because you're a lying twat," Elaina rebutted, with such certainty that even Charlie believed he deserved to be hit for a mere moment. "So, are you going to tell me what's going on with you? Or do I have to slap some sense into you?"

"That's not very Prefect-like," countered Charlie, desperately trying to deflect.

"Well, that's good then, because I'm not actually a Prefect," smirked Elaina, and Charlie raised a curious brow in her direction. "I only agreed to help Parkinson out with her Prefect rounds because she was desperate in her pursuit of Malfoy, who, I might add, hasn't given anyone the time of day since the start of term."

Charlie's ears perked up, intrigued, "Why do you say that?"

"No one really sees him anymore," Elaina explained, despite her slight confusion as to why Charlie was interested. "He's never in the common room, and he rarely shows up to the Great Hall. I mean, even Crabbe and Goyle seem a little lost without him."

"Any idea what he's up to?" Charlie inquired, sounding oddly like Harry. "Where does he go?"

"Dunno, and honestly? I don't care," yawned Elaina, clearly unbothered. "What's with your sudden interest anyway? Does Malfoy have something to do with the reason you're acting weird?"

Charlie shook his head, walking faster towards Gryffindor Tower, "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Not a chance," laughed Elaina, ruffling Charlie's hair slightly. "But it appears your stubbornness is going to be more of a problem than I originally thought. Rest assured, however, this just means I'll have to seek additional aid."

"Go right ahead," Charlie challenged, as the two of them walked through a shortcut that led them to the Fat Lady portrait. "Although, I feel inclined to tell you that it won't do you any good. Despite your concern, I'm perfectly fine."

"The second you believe that, I will," said Elaina, her lips pursed with satisfaction. "I'll ask Harry about it, I have to talk to him about tutoring anyways."

Charlie chuckled, "Harry? As your tutor?"

"Yes, is that a problem?" defended Elaina, her tone different than anything Charlie had ever heard before. "I mean, he is the best in our Potions class, and I'm falling behind. Not to mention, he was a great teacher when we were in the D.A.!"

"I'm not saying he wasn't," Charlie said suggestively, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. "It's just... well, uh, don't you have a boyfriend?"

"I can't have a tutor because I have a boyfriend?" repeated Elaina, extremely confused. "Interesting logic there, Char."

"Stupidness," affirmed Charlie, putting his hands up in surrender. "It's part of my charm..."

He trailed off, as his attention had been caught by the glimpse he had foreseen briefly above Elaina's shoulder. In the near distance, Hermione and Ron were walking towards them, presumably coming back from their Prefect rounds, but Charlie gulped uneasily nonetheless.

Charlie's jaw clenched as Hermione appeared to be laughing mindlessly at something Ron had said. There was an undeniable jealousy that pulsed through his veins at the sound of Hermione's distant giggle, and he suddenly had the desire to punch Ron in the nose.

Rest assured, however, Charlie's jealousy was not one-sided -

As soon as Hermione had caught sight of her ex-boyfriend standing with Elaina, her face had fallen significantly, while Ron looked utterly crestfallen at her sudden lack of interest. He seemed to understand, however, when the two of them joined Elaina and Charlie at the Fat Lady portrait.

"Hermione, hi! Ron, how are you?" Elaina beamed, trying to make light of an evidently tense situation.

"Fine," grunted Ron, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Hermione's eyes danced between Charlie and Elaina, evidently trying to decipher a possible reason for the two to be alone after curfew.

"What're you two doing out here?" she inquired, trying her damnedest to sound unbothered. "Has something happened?"

"No, everything's fine," Elaina reassured instantly, but all Charlie did was shift awkwardly on his feet. "I was just making sure Charlie got back to his common room... I found him wandering the halls," she added, smiling at Charlie to subconsciously tell him, 'you're welcome for not mentioning Romilda'.

"He couldn't have walked back by himself?" asked Hermione, a little more forcefully than intended.

"Oh, well, yes, I suppose he could ha-"

"How were your Prefect rounds?" interjected Charlie, his eyes suddenly narrowing upon Ron, who hid behind his locks of red hair. "Did you have a good time?"

"I might ask you the same question," rebutted Hermione, raising a suggestive brow between the other two people in question.

"What exactly are you trying to imply?"

"I don't know, Charlie, what do you think?"

"How many times must I tell yo-"

"Right," called Elaina, clapping her hands together in dismissal. "So, I'm gonna go, but you three feel free to talk amongst yourselves."

And just as quickly as Elaina Dumont had come to Charlie's aid, she now fed him to the lions, leaving him to his confrontation with Ron and Hermione without a second thought.

There was a moment of silence as Charlie surveyed Hermione scrutinizingly. Yet, despite their displeased looks, both of them couldn't deny the way their stomachs did somersaults whenever they gazed at one another.

Not being able to bare it much longer, Charlie broke the tension as he turned towards the Fat Lady portrait, calling out, "Quid Agis."

"Yes, dear, go on in," the woman in the painting replied, swinging forward.

Charlie practically leapt through the portrait hole, and fell victim to the silence of Gryffindor Tower. He stood there for a few moments, his breathing heavy as Hermione and Ron walked in after him; the portrait hole closing up directly after.

Almost immediately, Charlie could feel Hermione's penetrating gaze on the side of his face, silently demanding answers that he was too stubborn to give. Selfishly, he shook his head as he walked with feverish intent up the stairs to his dormitory, shutting the door behind him before either Ron or Hermione had the chance to protest.

Charlie pulled the curtains of his four-poster bed back, and collapsed on his bed, overwhelmed with the events of the evening. He heard the door reopen seconds later, followed by the creaking of Ron's bed as the ginger crawled under the covers.

A heavy sigh escaped Charlie's lips as he stared into the dark abyss of the room. With so many things playing on his mind, it was hours before he finally succumbed to the silence, gracefully being offered the rest he deserved.

------------------

As Hermione had predicted, the sixth-years' free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron had anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were they studying as though they had exams every day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding than ever before.

Charlie barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these days; even Hermione had to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice. Non-verbal spells were now expected, not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too, and almost everybody was really struggling to make spells work without saying incantations aloud.

One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing non-verbal spells was that Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had so far been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid to explain as to why neither of them continued with Care of Magical Creatures. The half-giant had stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions when they had passed him in the corridors or out in the grounds, he had mysteriously failed to notice them or hear their greetings.

"We've got to go and explain," said Hermione, looking up at Hagrid's huge empty chair at the staff table the following Saturday at breakfast.

"We've got Quidditch tryouts this morning!" groaned Ron, chewing on a piece of bacon. "Besides, what do we have to explain? How are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?"

"Oi, watch your tone, you slick git," growled Charlie, smacking Ron on the back of the head. "We didn't hate his subject."

"Speak for yourself, I haven't forgotten about the Skrewts," muttered Ron, rubbing the back of his head. "And I'm telling you now, we've had a narrow escape. I wasn't even there when Hagrid rambled on about his gormless brother, but from what Harry told me, it was pitiful. I'm telling you, we'd have been teaching Grawp how to tie his shoelaces if we'd stayed."

"I hate not talking to Hagrid," muttered Hermione, sounding upset.

"We'll go down after Quidditch," Charlie assured her at once, and Hermione's eyes gleamed at him lovingly for the first time since their argument.

"But trials might take all morning, there's a rather large number of people who have applied," added Harry, feeling slightly nervous about the tryouts. "I dunno why the team's this popular all of a sudden."

"Oh, come on, Harry," groaned Hermione, suddenly impatient. "It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and quite frankly, you've never been more fanciable."

Charlie gagged on his piece of toast, his eyes widening in disbelief. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before a mischievous smirk curled upon her lips.

"Something wrong, Charlie?" she asked, looking coyly at him through the fringes of her hair. "Was it something I said?"

Shaking his head, Charlie poked angrily at his eggs with his fork, not daring to look up into Hermione's eyes. Beside him, Ron's breathing began to become ragged and heavy.

"That's what I thought," Hermione hummed, turning back to Harry, "As I was saying, everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years. They're also calling you 'the Chosen One' - well, come on, can't you see why people are fascinated by you?"

Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, his cheeks flushing as he sent a quick glance over to the Slytherin table in search of Elaina Dumont.

Still, Hermione continued on, "And you've been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar..."

"Remember when those brains got hold of me in the Ministry?" interrupted Ron, shaking back his sleeves. "You can still see the scars, look!"

"Your point?" hissed Charlie, uncharacteristically annoyed at Ron's inferiority. "You don't see me brandishing the marks on the back of my hand where that disgusting, toad-like woman attacked me, do you?"

"And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer either," Hermione finished, ignoring Ron and Charlie's bickering.

"I'm tall," said Ron, as though he was struck dumb, and Charlie's grip tightened around his fork inconsequentially.

The post owls arrived, swooping down through rain-flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people were receiving more post than usual; anxious parents were keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home. Much to Charlie's dismay, he had received no mail since the start of term. His father's silence made him incredibly anxious, especially after he had fought the Dark Mark's calling.

Charlie was pulled from his thoughts, however, when he saw the snowy white Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She landed in front of Harry carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical package landed in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.

"Ha!" said Harry, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.

"Oh, good," breathed Hermione, delighted. "Now you can give that graffitied copy back."

"Are you mad?" gaped Harry, his eyes wide. "I'm keeping it! Look, I've thought it out -"

He pulled the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and tapped the cover with his wand, muttering, "Diffindo!"

The cover fell off.

He did the same thing with the brand-new book (Hermione looked scandalized). He then swapped the covers, tapped each, and said, "Reparo!"

There sat the Prince's copy, disguised as a new book, and there sat the fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts, looking thoroughly second-hand.

"I'll give Slughorn back the new one, he can't complain, it cost nine Galleons."

Hermione pressed her lips together, looking angry and disapproving, but was distracted by a third owl landing in front of her carrying that day's copy of the Daily Prophet. She unfolded it hastily and scanned the front page.

"Anyone we know dead?" asked Ron in a determinedly casual voice; he posed the same question every time Hermione opened her paper.

"No, but there have been more dementor attacks," muttered Hermione, reading rapidly. "And an arrest."

"Excellent, who?" said Harry, thinking of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Stan Shunpike," announced Hermione, pointing to his moving Azkaban mugshot.

"What?" whispered Harry, startled.

"'Stanley Shunpike, conductor on the popular Wizarding conveyance the Knight Bus, has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr. Shunpike, 21, was taken into custody late last night after a raid on his Clapham home...'"

"Stan Shunpike, a Death Eater?" repeated Charlie in astonishment, remembering the spotty youth he had first met three years before. "There's no way."

"He might have been put under the Imperius Curse," suggested Ron reasonably. "You never can tell."

"It doesn't look like it," dismissed Hermione, who was still reading. "It says here he was arrested after he was overheard talking about the Death Eaters' secret plans in a pub." She looked up with a troubled expression on her face. "If he was under the Imperius Curse, he'd hardly stand around gossiping about their plans, would he?"

"It sounds like he was trying to make it seem like he knew more than he did," said Ron, shaking his head. "Isn't he the one who claimed he was going to become Minister of Magic when he was trying to chat up those Veela?"

"Yeah, that's him," affirmed Harry. "I dunno what they're playing at, taking Stan seriously."

"They probably want to look as though they're doing something," shrugged Hermione, frowning. "People are terrified - you know the Patil twins' parents want them to go home? And Eloise Midgen has already been withdrawn. Her father picked her up last night."

"Wait, what?" asked Charlie, goggling at Hermione in disbelief. "You can't be serious! This is Hogwarts we're talking about. What could possibly be safer? We've got Aurors, and all those extra protective spells, and we've got Dumbledore!"

"I don't think we've got him all the time," whispered Hermione very carefully, glancing toward the staff table over the top of the Prophet. "Haven't you noticed? His seat's been empty as often as Hagrid's this past week."

Charlie looked up to the staff table, and his heart sunk at the sight. The Headmaster's chair was indeed empty. In fact, now that Hermione had mentioned it, Charlie had not seen his grandfather since their heated argument over a week ago. Suddenly, there was a pit of immediate guilt forming in his stomach, threatening to ruin him from the inside out.

"Maybe he's left the school to do something with the Order," suggested Harry in a low voice. "I mean... it's all looking serious, isn't it?"

Hermione, Charlie, and Ron did not answer this question, but Charlie was aware they were all thinking the same thing. There had been a horrible incident the day before, you see, when Hannah Abbott had been taken out of Herbology to be told that her mother had been found dead. They had not seen Hannah since.

When they left the Gryffindor table five minutes later to head down to the Quidditch pitch, they passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Remembering what Hermione had said about the Patil twins' parents wanting them to leave Hogwarts, Charlie was unsurprised to see that the two best friends were whispering together, looking distressed.

What did surprise him, however, was that when he drew level with them, Parvati suddenly nudged Lavender, who looked around and gave the brown eyed boy a wide smile. Charlie blinked at her, then returned the smile, before continuing on his way.

Harry and Ron resisted the temptation to laugh, noticing that their friend couldn't be bothered to give Lavender the time of day. Hermione, however, looked cold and distant all the way down to the stadium through the cool, misty drizzle, and departed to find a place in the stands without saying goodbye to Charlie.

As Harry had expected, the trials took most of the morning. Half of Gryffindor House seemed to have turned up, from first years who were nervously clutching a selection of the dreadful old school brooms, to seventh years who towered over the rest, looking coolly intimidating. The latter included a large, wiry-haired boy that Charlie recognized immediately from the Hogwarts Express.

"We met on the train, in old Sluggy's compartment," he said confidently, stepping out of the crowd to shake Charlie's hand, but the younger boy didn't move. "Cormac McLaggen, I'll be going out for Keeper."

"You didn't try out last year, did you?" asked Harry when Charlie didn't speak, taking note of the size of McLaggen and thinking that he would probably block all three goal hoops without even moving.

"I was in the hospital wing when they held the trials," explained McLaggen, with something of a swagger. "Ate a pound of Doxy eggs for a bet."

"Right," muttered Charlie through gritted teeth, wondering how stupid one must be to willingly eat a pound of Doxy eggs. "Well... if you could wait over there."

Charlie pointed over to the edge of the pitch, close to where Hermione was sitting. He thought he saw a flicker of annoyance pass over McLaggen's face, but was ultimately surprised when McLaggen's expression had changed immediately upon seeing Hermione in the stands. The look on his face now was of nothing but pure desire, and Charlie's fists clenched at the sight.

"Oi, Hawthorne, that's your friend Granger, isn't it?" McLaggen called out cockily, yet his eyes never tore from Hermione's direction. "You think you could introduce me sometime? I wouldn't mind getting on a first name basis, if you know what I mean."

Charlie lunged forward, fully prepared to bash Cormac's head in, but stopped once Harry had stepped in between them.

"Don't," Harry warned, pushing back on Charlie's torso. "Not here, not now. Come on, mate, let's just get started."

With a reluctant nod, Charlie helped Harry with setting a basic task, asking all applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch.

This seemed to have been the right decision. The first ten was made up of first years, and it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to remain airborne for more than a few seconds, and he was so surprised he promptly crashed into one of the goal posts.

The second group was comprised of ten of the silliest girls Charlie had ever encountered, who, when he blew his whistle, merely fell about giggling and clutching one another. Romilda Vane was amongst them, and she watched Charlie with hungry eyes, thinking he looked the utmost desirable in his Quidditch uniform. At last, Harry told them to leave the pitch, they did so quite cheerfully and went to sit in the stands to heckle everyone else.

The third group had a pile-up halfway around the pitch. Most of the fourth group had come without broomsticks. The fifth group were Ravenclaws.

"If there's anyone else here who's not from Gryffindor," roared Charlie, who was starting to get seriously annoyed, "leave now, please!"

There was a pause, then those few little Ravenclaws went sprinting off the pitch, snorting with laughter.

After two hours, many complaints, and several tantrums, one involving a crashed Comet Two Sixty and several broken teeth, Harry and Charlie had found themselves three Chasers; Ginny Weasley, who was particularly good at dodging Bludgers; Katie Bell, who returned to the team after an excellent trial; and Charlie, of course, who had outflown all the competition and scored seventeen goals to boot.

Although pleased with his choices, Charlie had also shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers and was now enduring a similar battle with the rejected Beaters.

"That's my final decision, and if you don't get out of the way of the Keepers, I'll hex you," he bellowed.

Neither of his chosen Beaters had the old brilliance of Fred and George, but Harry and Charlie was still reasonably pleased with them. Jimmy Peakes, a broad-chested third-year boy, who had managed to raise a goose egg on the back of Harry's head with a ferociously hit Bludger; and Ritchie Coote, who looked weedy but aimed well. They now joined Katie and Ginny in the stands to watch the selection of their last team member.

Much to Charlie's dismay, Harry had deliberately convinced him to leave the trial of the Keepers until last, ultimately hoping for an emptier stadium and less pressure on Ron. Unfortunately, however, all the rejected players and a number of people, who had come down to watch after a lengthy breakfast, had joined the crowd by now, so that it was larger than ever.

As each Keeper flew up to the goal hoops, the crowd roared and jeered in equal measure. Charlie glanced over at Ron, who had always had a problem with nerves; one might've hoped that winning their final match last term might have cured it, but apparently not... Ron was a delicate shade of green.

None of the first five applicants saved more than two goals apiece. To Charlie's great disappointment, Cormac McLaggen saved four penalties out of five. On the last one, however, he shot off in the complete wrong direction as though he was magically persuaded...

Nonetheless, the crowd laughed and booed, forcing McLaggen to return to the ground grinding his teeth. Shortly after, Ron looked ready to pass out as he mounted his Cleansweep Eleven.

"Good luck!" called a voice from the stands, and Charlie was gutted to see Hermione as the source of cheer. He would have quite liked to have hidden his face in his hands, as she did a moment later, but thought that as the Captain he ought to show slightly more grit, and so turned to watch Ron do his trial with a small frown.

To everyone's surprise, Ron saved one, two, three, four, five penalties in a row. Delighted, and resisting joining in the cheers of the crowd with difficulty, Harry turned to McLaggen to tell him that, most unfortunately, Ron had beaten him, only to find McLaggen's red face inches from his own. He stepped back hastily.

"His sister didn't really try," accused McLaggen menacingly, a vein pulsing in his temple. "She gave him an easy save."

"Rubbish," said Harry coldly. "That was the one he nearly missed."

McLaggen took a step closer to Harry, who stood his ground this time, and Charlie immediately became on high alert as he approached them to control the situation.

"Give me another go."

"No," growled Charlie, coming to Harry's immediate defence. "You've had your go. You saved four. Ron saved five. Ron's Keeper, he won it fair and square. Now, get out of the way."

Charlie thought for a moment that McLaggen might punch him, but, surprisingly, the seventh-year boy contented himself with an ugly grimace and stormed away, growling what sounded like threats to thin air. Harry clapped Charlie on the back as a thank you, and the two of them turned around to find their new team beaming at them.

"Well done," Harry croaked, kinda relieved that trials were finally over. "You flew really well -"

"You did brilliantly, Ron!"

Again, Charlie was forced to calm his disdainful breath as Hermione came running down from the stands. It didn't help, mind you, when Ron looked extremely pleased with himself, standing even taller than usual, as he grinned at the team and at Hermione.

Forcing himself to calm down enough to fix the time of their first full practice for the following Thursday, Charlie bade a quick goodbye to the rest of the team before following Harry, Ron, and Hermione down to Hagrid's Hut. A watery sun was now trying to break through the cloud, for it had stopped drizzling at last.

"I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty," Ron was saying happily. "Tricky shot from Katie, did you see, had a bit of spin on it -"

"Yes, yes, we all saw," nodded Hermione, looking amused as she entertained Ron's boasting.

"I was better than McLaggen anyway," said Ron, his nose in the air. "Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he'd been Confunded..."

To Charlie's surprise, Hermione turned a very deep shade of pink at these words. Ron noticed nothing; he was too busy describing each of his other penalties in loving detail. Harry, however, had raised a curious brow in Charlie's direction, affirming his friend's belief in their likeness of thought.

There wasn't enough time to press on the matter, for the great grey hippogriff, Buckbeak, came into view, tethered in front of Hagrid's cabin. He clicked his razor-sharp beak at their approach and turned his huge head toward them.

"Oh dear," whispered Hermione nervously. "He's still a bit scary, isn't he?"

"Come off it, you've ridden him, haven't you?" groaned Ron, and Harry nodded, reminiscing fondly.

Charlie stepped forward and bowed low to the hippogriff without breaking eye contact or blinking. After a few seconds, Buckbeak sank into a bow too.

"How are you?" Charlie asked him in a low voice, moving forward to stroke his feathery head. "You doing okay down here with Hagrid?"

"Oi!" roared a gruffly voice.

Hagrid had come striding around the corner of his cabin wearing a large flowery apron and carrying a sack of potatoes. His enormous boarhound, Fang, was at his heels; Fang gave a booming bark and bounded forward.

"Git away from him! He'll have yer fingers - oh. It's yeh lot."

Fang was jumping up at Harry and Ron, attempting to lick their ears. Hagrid stood and looked at them all for a split second, then turned and strode into his cabin, slamming the door behind him.

"That's not good," gaped Hermione, looking stricken.

"Don't worry about it," muttered Charlie grimly, as he walked over to the door, banging loudly. "Hagrid! Open up, we just want to talk!"

There was no sound from within.

"Fine then," huffed Charlie, pulling out his wand. "If you don't open this door, I'll just go ahead and blast it open."

"Charlie!" squealed Hermione, sounding shocked. "You can't possibly -"

"Says who?" shrugged Charlie, his voice as firm as ever. "You think we walked all the way down here just to get the door slammed in our faces? You got another thing coming if yo-"

But before he could say anything else, the door flew open again as Charlie had known it would, and there stood Hagrid, glowering down at him and looking, despite the flowery apron, positively alarming.

"I'm a teacher!" he roared at Charlie, and the young boy winced ever so slightly. "A teacher, Hawthorne! How dare yeh threaten ter break down my door!"

"I'm sorry, sir," muttered Charlie, emphasizing the last word as he stowed his wand inside his pocket.

Hagrid looked stunned, "Since when have yeh called me 'sir'?"

"Since when have you called me 'Hawthorne'?"

"Oh, very clever," growled Hagrid, his face falling slightly. "Very amusin'. That's me outsmarted, innit? All righ', come in then, yeh ungrateful little..."

Mumbling darkly, he stood back to let them pass. Harry, Hermione, and Ron scurried in after Charlie. Hermione was looking rather frightened, but breathed with ease once her ex-boyfriend gave her a brief reassuring nod.

"Well?" said Hagrid grumpily, as the four Gryffindor's sat down around his enormous wooden table, Fang laying his head immediately upon Charlie's knee and drooling all over his uniform. "What's this? Feelin' sorry for me? Reckon I'm lonely or summat?"

"No," dismissed Harry at once. "We wanted to see you."

"We've missed you!" added Hermione tremulously.

"Missed me, have yeh?" snorted Hagrid, shaking his head. "Yeah. Righ'."

He stomped around, brewing up tea in his enormous copper kettle, muttering all the while. Finally he slammed down four bucket-sized mugs of mahogany-brown tea in front of them and a plate of his rock cakes. Harry was hungry enough even for Hagrid's cooking, and took one at once.

"Hagrid," whispered Hermione timidly, when he joined them at the table and started peeling his potatoes with a brutality that suggested that each tuber had done him a great personal wrong, "we really wanted to carry on with Care of Magical Creatures, you know." Hagrid gave another great snort. Charlie rather thought some bogeys landed on the potatoes, and was inwardly thankful that they were not staying for dinner.

"We did!" exclaimed Hermione, sounding convincing. "But none of us could fit it into our schedules!"

"Yeah. Righ'," repeated Hagrid, looking displeased.

There was a funny squelching sound and they all looked around; Hermione let out a tiny shriek, while Ron leapt out of his seat and hurried around the table away from the large barrel standing in the corner that they had only just noticed. It was full of what looked like foot-long maggots, slimy, white, and writhing.

"What are they, Hagrid?" asked Harry, trying to sound interested rather than revolted, but putting down his rock cake all the same.

"Jus' giant grubs," shrugged Hagrid, continuing to peel his potatoes.

"And they grow into...?" said Ron, looking apprehensive.

"They won' grow inter nuthin'," muttered Hagrid sadly. "I got 'em ter feed ter Aragog."

And without warning, he burst into tears.

"Hagrid!" cried Hermione, leaping up, hurrying around the table the long way to avoid the barrel of maggots, and putting an arm around his shaking shoulders. "What is it?"

"It's... him..." gulped Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes streaming as he mopped his face with his apron. "It's... Aragog... I think he's dyin'... He got ill over the summer an' he's not gettin' better... I don' know what I'll do if he... if he... We've bin tergether so long..."

Hermione patted Hagrid's shoulder, looking at a complete loss for anything to say. Charlie knew immediately how she felt. He had known Hagrid to present a vicious baby dragon with a teddy bear, seen him croon over giant scorpions with suckers and stingers, attempt to reason with his brutal giant of a half-brother, but this was perhaps the most incomprehensible of all his monster fancies... the gigantic talking spider, Aragog, who dwelled deep in the Forbidden Forest and which he, Harry and Ron had only narrowly escaped four years previously.

"Is there... is there anything we can do?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron's frantic grimaces and head-shakings.

"I don' think there is, Hermione," choked Hagrid, attempting to stop the flood of his tears. "See, the rest o' the tribe... Aragog's family... they're gettin' a bit funny now he's ill... bit restive..."

"Yeah, I think we saw a bit of that side of them," said Ron in an undertone, shuddering as the memories plagued his head.

"...I don' reckon it'd be safe fer anyone but me ter go near the colony at the mo'," Hagrid finished, blowing his nose hard on his apron and looking up. "But thanks fer offerin', Hermione... It means a lot."

After that, the atmosphere lightened considerably, for although neither of the boys had shown any inclination to go and feed giant grubs to a murderous, gargantuan spider, Hagrid seemed to take it for granted that they would have liked to have done and became his usual self once more.

"Ar, I always knew yeh'd find it hard ter squeeze me inter yer timetables," he said gruffly, pouring them more tea. "Even if yeh applied fer Time-Turners -"

"We couldn't have done," rebutted Hermione. "We smashed the entire stock of Ministry Time-Turners when we were there last summer. It was in the Daily Prophet."

"Ar, well then," said Hagrid, shrugging. "There's no way yeh could've done it... I'm sorry I've bin, yeh know, I've jus' bin worried about Aragog... an I did wonder whether, if Professor Grubbly-Plank had bin teachin' yeh -"

Without hesitation, all four of them stated categorically and untruthfully that Professor Grubbly-Plank, who had substituted for Hagrid a few times, was a dreadful teacher, with the result that by the time Hagrid waved them off the premises at dusk, he looked quite cheerful.

"I'm starving," groaned Harry, once the door had closed behind them and they were hurrying through the dark and deserted grounds.

"Yeah, me too," mumbled Charlie, his stomach growling. "You're lucky though, mate, I've got that detention with Snape tonight. I don't think I'll have much time for dinner."

As they came into the castle they spotted Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It took him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricocheted off the frame on the first attempt. Ron merely guffawed gloatingly and strode off into the Hall after him; Harry following quickly at his heels. Charlie, however, caught Hermione's arm and held her back.

"What?" whispered Hermione defensively, her body tensing at his touch.

"If you ask me," whispered Charlie, leaning in slightly. "McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning. Strange, isn't it, since he was standing right in front of where you were sitting."

Hermione blushed, but whether it was because of the fact that she was caught red-handed, or because of their close proximity, Charlie couldn't tell.

"Oh, alright then, I did it," she whispered, her eyes stubbornly avoiding Charlie's. "But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he's got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn't get in - you wouldn't have wanted someone like that on the team."

"I suppose," shrugged Charlie, giving her the benefit of the doubt. "Yes, I suppose that's true. But wasn't that a bit dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you're a Prefect, aren't you?"

"Oh, shut up," Hermione snapped, and Charlie smirked victoriously. "And don't act so surprised. It's not the first time I've broken a school rule... you should know that better than anyone."

"I should?" questioned Charlie teasingly, moving backward until her back hit the stone wall of the corridor behind them.

"Mhm," Hermione hummed, leaning in so that her breath tickled Charlie's suddenly extra sensitive skin. "Or have you forgotten that boys and girls aren't permitted to share a bed? We seemed to have broken that rule on multiple occasions... perhaps you remember."

Charlie breathed in quickly, subconsciously licking his own lips that he found to be dry, "Of course, how could I forget?"

Suddenly, silence fell upon then, entrapping them in a world of their own. Their eyes were locked in an incredibly intense gaze. Charlie placed a hand beside Hermione's head, looming over her while the other kept her own hands safely clasped in his.

"Why do we keep doing this?" Hermione asked at last, horrified at how weak and breathy her voice sounded. "You tease me like this, and then tomorrow, you'll pretend as if this never happened... please, just tell me why you are so determined to push me away... I'm begging you, Charlie."

"Because," Charlie whispered, unaware of the words that were going to tumble out of his mouth. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat, as Charlie didn't seem able to keep his eyes from her lips. "If I don't, you woul-"

"What are you two doing out here?" demanded Ron, reappearing in the doorway to the Great Hall and looking suspicious.

Hermione felt as though a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her as Charlie quickly wheeled around, his hair hiding the look of disdain on his face, and released Hermione's hands so that she felt incredibly vulnerable all of a sudden.

"Nothing," Charlie hissed furiously; for some reason, he seemed even more disgruntled with the ginger's appearance than on a normal day.

"Sorry," grumbled Ron, looking hopeless between his two friends. "Was I interrupting something?"

"No, not at all... everything's fine, Ron," Hermione said calmly, interjecting before Charlie had the chance to snap. She brushed past the ginger haired boy, leading the way back into the Great Hall, "Well, come on, then... Harry's probably wondering where we've gone."

With the utmost reluctance, Charlie let his feet carry him forward. The smell of roast beef made his stomach ache with hunger, but they had barely taken their seats at the Gryffindor table, joining Harry at last, when Professor Slughorn appeared, hovering over them with a smile.

"Charlie! Harry! Just the two I was hoping to see!" he boomed genially, twiddling the ends of his walrus mustache and puffing out his enormous belly, "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars, I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin - I don't know whether either of you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries - and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger will favor me by coming too."

Slughorn gave Hermione a little bow as he finished speaking. It was as though Ron was not present; Slughorn did not so much as look at him.

"I can't come, Professor," said Charlie at once. "I've got a detention with Professor Snape."

"Oh dear," muttered Slughorn, his face falling comically. "Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Charles! Well, now, I'll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I'm sure I'll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I'll see you both later!"

He bustled away out of the Hall without allowing a chance for any rebuttal, and Charlie sank into his seat, seemingly defeated.

"He's got no chance of persuading Snape," he shrugged, the moment Slughorn was out of earshot. "This detention's already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won't do it for anyone else."

"I wish you were coming," whispered Hermione anxiously, clearly louder than intended as her cheeks flushed pink. "Well, uh, I just m-mean that it'd be nice if we could all g-go."

"Not all of us," snapped Ron, who did not seem to have taken kindly to being ignored by Slughorn. "In case you forgot, I wasn't invited."

------------------

The common room was very crowded when they returned after dinner, as most people had finished dinner by now, but the core four still managed to find a free table and sat down.

Ron, who had been in a bad mood ever since the encounter with Slughorn, folded his arms and frowned at the ceiling. Hermione reached out for a copy of the Evening Prophet, which somebody had left abandoned on a chair.

"Anything new?" inquired Harry, trying to make conversation.

"Not really..." Hermione had opened the newspaper and was scanning the inside pages. "Oh, look, your dad's in here, Ron - he's alright!" she added quickly, for Ron had looked around in alarm. "It just says he's been to visit the Malfoys' house. Listen, '...this second search of the Death Eaters residence does not seem to have yielded any results. Arthur Weasley of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects said that his team had been acting upon a confidential tip.'"

"Yeah, mine!" exclaimed Harry, looking throughly pleased. "I told him at Kings Cross about Malfoy and that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix! Well, if it's not at their house, he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts with him -"

"But how can he have done, Harry?" asked Hermione rhetorically, putting down the newspaper with a surprised look. "We were all searched when we arrived, weren't we?"

"Were you?" said Harry, taken aback. "I wasn't!"

"Oh no, of course you weren't, I forgot you were late," frowned Hermione, upset at herself. "Well, Filch ran over all of us with Secrecy Sensors when we arrived at the gates. Any Dark object would have been found, I know for a fact Crabbe had a shrunken head confiscated. So, you see, Malfoy can't have brought in anything dangerous!"

Momentarily stymied, Harry watched Ginny play with Arnold the Pygmy Puff, her newfound pet, for a while before seeing a way around this objection.

"Someone's sent it to him by owl, then," he suggested stubbornly. "His mother or someone."

"All the owls are being checked too," countered Hermione, shaking her head. "Filch told us so when he was jabbing those Secrecy Sensors everywhere he could reach."

Really stumped this time, Harry found nothing else to say. There did not seem to be any way Malfoy could have brought a dangerous or Dark object into the school. He looked hopefully at Charlie, who was sitting with his arms folded, staring out at the dark night sky through the nearby window.

"Can you think of any way Malfoy - ?"

"Drop it, Harry," barked Charlie at once, the Dark Mark tingling his skin.

"Yeah," added Ron, sounding incredibly bitter. "Give this damn Malfoy thing a rest."

"Listen, it's not my fault Slughorn invited Charlie, Hermione and me to his stupid party! So, watch your bloody tone, would you?" growled Harry, firing up.

"Well, as I'm not invited to any parties," scoffed Ron, getting to his feet again, "I think I'll go to bed."

He stomped off toward the door to the boys' dormitories, leaving Charlie, Harry and Hermione staring after him.

"Charlie?" came the voice of Neville Longbottom, who had broken the newfound silence when he appeared suddenly at Charlie's shoulder. "I've got a message for you."

"From Professor Slughorn?" asked Charlie, sitting up, hopefulness alit in his eyes.

"No... from Professor Snape," frowned Neville, and Charlie's heart sank. "He says you're to come to his office at half past eight tonight to do your detention, uh, no matter how many party invitations you've received. Also, he wanted you to know you'll be sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones, to use in Potions, and, well, he says there's no need to bring protective gloves."

"Right," muttered Charlie, slouching back in his chair. "Thanks a lot, Nev."

Charlie's mind raced with thoughts as he stared back out the window. He marvelled at the newfound aggression that was instilled deep within him, unmatched to whatever he had felt with Ron, McLaggen, or even Dumbledore.

'Professor Snape... I'm going to make your life a living hell,' Charlie thought bitterly. 'Maybe then we might understand one another.'

-----------------

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

Happy New Year!!! My new years resolution is to write more frequently lol

Hope you enjoyed! If you did, feel free to like, comment, and share! It's greatly appreciated ❤️

Much love to you all! All the best for 2021!

xo, Selena