DEATHLY HALLOWS: PART ONE

(A/N: another AMAZING graphic by wonhosmila)

CHAPTER ONE:

Third Person Narrative:

Charlie Hawthorne blinked in his surroundings, his eyes stinging with exhaustion; he hadn't slept in weeks. His deceased grandfather's half-moon spectacles were perched upon his nose, his eyes perusing the various newspaper clippings that were scattered on the table in front of him.

It had been nearly a month and a half since the end of term, and Charlie couldn't bring himself to set foot inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The grief was too overwhelming to bare for long, and so, he often found refuge on the rustic, old couch in Hagrid's Hut, sharing the space with the two lazy canines; Ludo and Fang.

Despite Hagrid's persistent efforts, Charlie hadn't reached out to his friends all summer, not even bothering to respond to Hermione's anxious letters regarding his whereabouts. When he said goodbye over a month ago, Charlie hadn't planned to succumb himself to isolation, but couldn't help but feel unwilling to share his burdens with everything going on. His grandfather's death had destroyed him more than he cared to admit, leaving him to fall victim to the depression of grief.

Dumbledore's death had been his fault, at least that's what Charlie had told himself, constantly and without hesitation. Now, he found it almost hypocritical to allow himself the satisfaction of living his life to its fullest potential. He felt unworthy, and his happiness felt unprecedented.

And so, he sat alone in the darkness of Hagrid's living room before dawn, illuminating the table in front him with his wand. Laid cautiously in front of him was the gold locket inside which a note signed R.A.B. had been hidden. It was sprawled upon the fragment of that morning's Daily Prophet, which lay unread, for it stemmed a sudden upsurge of bitter memories, the stabs of regret, and the headache of longing discovery.

The locket was accorded this place of importance not because it was valuable — in all usual senses it was worthless — but because of what it had cost to attain it. Around it, there was a a sizeable stack of newspapers sitting on the table, each with certain lines highlighted or underlined. While sifting through them, looking for a particular issue that he knew had arrived shortly after summer began, Charlie oddly remembered that there had been a small mention on the front about the resignation of Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts.

At last he found it.

Turning to page ten, he sank into the leather sofa and reread the article he had been looking for:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE REMEMBERED
By Elphias Dodge

I met Albus Dumbledore at the age of eleven, on our first day at Hogwarts. Our mutual attraction was undoubtedly due to the fact that we both felt ourselves to be outsiders. I had contracted dragon pox shortly before arriving at school, and while I was no longer contagious, my pock-marked visage and greenish hue did not encourage many to approach me. For his part, Albus had arrived at Hogwarts under the burden of unwanted notoriety. Scarcely a year previously, his father, Percival, had been convicted of a savage and well-publicized attack upon three young Muggles.

Albus never attempted to deny that his father (who was to die in Azkaban) had committed this crime; on the contrary, when I plucked up courage to ask him, he assured me that he knew his father to be guilty. Beyond that, Dumbledore refused to speak of the sad business, though many attempted to make him do so. Some, indeed, were disposed to praise his father's action and assumed that Albus too was a Muggle-Hater. They could not have been more mistaken. As anybody who knew Albus would attest, he never revealed the remotest anti-Muggle tendency. Indeed, his determined support for Muggle rights gained him many enemies in subsequent years.

In a matter of months, however, Albus's own fame had begun to eclipse that of his father. By the end of his first year he would never again be known as the son of a Muggle-Hater, but as nothing more or less than the most brilliant student ever seen at the school. Those of us who were privileged to be his friends benefited from his example, not to mention his help and encouragement, with which he was always generous. He confessed to me later in life that he knew even then that his greatest pleasure lay in teaching.

He not only won every prize of note that the school offered, he was soon in regular correspondence with the most notable magical names of the day, including Nicolas Flamel, the celebrated alchemist; Bathilda Bagshot, the noted historian; and Adalbert Waffling, the magical theoretician. Several of his papers found their way into learned publications such as Transfiguration Today, Challenges in Charming, and The Practical Potioneer. Dumbledore's future career seemed likely to be meteoric, and the only question that remained was when he would become Minister of Magic. Though it was often predicted in later years that he was on the point of taking the job, however, he never had Ministerial ambitions.

Three years after we had started at Hogwarts, Albus's brother, Aberforth, arrived at school. They were not alike: Aberforth was never bookish and, unlike Albus, preferred to settle arguments by dueling rather than through reasoned discussion. However, it is quite wrong to suggest, as some have, that the brothers were not friends. They rubbed along as comfortably as two such different boys could do. In fairness to Aberforth, it must be admitted that living in Albus's shadow cannot have been an altogether comfortable experience. Being continually outshone was an occupational hazard of being his friend and cannot have been any more pleasurable as a brother. When Albus and I left Hogwarts we intended to take the then-traditional tour of the world together, visiting and observing foreign wizards, before pursuing our separate careers. However, tragedy intervened. On the very eve of our trip, Albus's mother, Kendra, died, leaving Albus the head, and sole breadwinner, of the family. I postponed my departure long enough to pay my respects at Kendra's funeral, then left for what was now to be a solitary journey. With a younger brother and sister to care for, and little gold left to them, there could no longer be any question of Albus accompanying me.

That was the period of our lives when we had least contact. I wrote to Albus, describing, perhaps insensitively, the wonders of my journey, from narrow escapes from chimaeras in Greece to the experiments of the Egyptian alchemists. His letters told me little of his day-to-day life, which I guessed to be frustratingly dull for such a brilliant wizard. Immersed in my own experiences, it was with horror that I heard, toward the end of my year's travels, that another tragedy had struck the Dumbledores: the death of his sister, Ariana.

Though Ariana had been in poor health for a long time, the blow, coming so soon after the loss of their mother, had a profound effect on both of her brothers. All those closest to Albus — and I count myself one of that lucky number — agree that Ariana's death, and Albus's feeling of personal responsibility for it (though, of course, he was guiltless), left their mark upon him forevermore.

I returned home to find a young man who had experienced a much older person's suffering. Albus was more reserved than before, and much less light-hearted. To add to his misery, the loss of Ariana had led, not to a renewed closeness between Albus and Aberforth, but to an estrangement. (In time this would lift — in later years they reestablished, if not a close relationship, then certainly a cordial one). However, he rarely spoke of his parents or of Ariana from then on, and his friends learned not to mention them.

Other quills will describe the triumphs of the following years. Dumbledore's innumerable contributions to the store of Wizarding knowledge, including his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, will benefit generations to come, as will the wisdom he displayed in the many judgments while Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. They say, still, that no Wizarding duel ever matched that between Dumbledore and Grindelwald in 1945. Those who witnessed it have written of the terror and the awe they felt as they watched these two extraordinary wizards to battle. Dumbledore's triumph, and its consequences for the Wizarding world, are considered a turning point in magical history to match the introduction of the International Statute of Secrecy or the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Albus Dumbledore was never proud or vain; he could find something to value in anyone, however apparently insignificant or wretched, and I believe that his early losses endowed him with great humanity and sympathy. I shall miss his friendship more than I can say, but my loss is nothing compared to the Wizarding world's, or to his grandson, Charles, for that matter. That Dumbledore was the most inspiring and most loved of all Hogwarts Headmasters cannot be in question. He died as he lived: working always for the greater good and, to his last hour, as willing to stretch out a hand to a small boy with dragon pox as he was on the day I met him.

Charlie finished reading, but continued to gaze at the picture accompanying the obituary. Dumbledore was wearing his familiar, kindly smile, but as he peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles, he gave the impression, even in newsprint, of X-Raying Charlie, whose sadness mingled with a sense of humiliation.

He had thought he knew Dumbledore quite well, but ever since reading this obituary he had been forced to recognize that he had barely known him at all. Never once had he imagined Dumbledore's childhood or youth; it was as though he had sprung into being as Charlie had known him, venerable and silver-haired and old. The idea of a teenage Dumbledore was simply odd, like trying to imagine an illogical Hermione or a friendly Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Charlie had never thought to ask his grandfather about his past. No doubt it would have felt strange, impertinent even, but after all it had been common knowledge that Dumbledore had taken part in that legendary duel with Grindelwald, and Charlie had not thought to ask Dumbledore what that had been like, nor about any of his other famous achievements. No, they had always discussed Charlie, Charlie's feelings, Charlie's future, Charlie's plans... and it seemed to Charlie now, despite the fact that his future was so dangerous and uncertain, that he had missed irreplaceable opportunities when he had failed to ask his grandfather more about himself.

After several minutes lost in thought, Charlie tore the obituary out of the Prophet, folded it carefully, and tucked it inside his jacket pocket. Then he threw the rest of the newspaper onto the rubbish pile and looked up. The sun was beginning to rise, sunlight was seeping in through the windows, and Charlie instinctively extinguished the light of his wand.

Awaiting the early morning rise of Hagrid, Charlie slid the gold locket off Prophet, and unfolded the newspaper. He had quickly perused the headline when he had taken the rolled-up paper from the delivery owl, but threw it aside after noting that it had nothing to do with Voldemort or Harry's inevitable encounter. Charlie was sure that the Ministry was manipulating the Prophet to suppress news about Voldemort. It was only now, therefore, that he saw what he had missed.

Across the bottom half of the front page a smaller headline was set over a picture of Dumbledore striding along, looking harried:

DUMBLEDORE — THE TRUTH AT LAST?

Coming next week, the shocking story of the flawed genius considered by many to be the greatest wizard of his generation. Striping away the popular image of serene, silver-bearded wisdom, Rita Skeeter reveals the disturbed childhood, the lawless youth, the life-long feuds, and the guilty secrets that Dumbledore carried to his grave. WHY was the man tipped to be the Minister of Magic content to remain a mere headmaster? WHAT was the real purpose of the secret organization known as the Order of the Phoenix? HOW did Dumbledore really meet his end?

The answers to these and many more questions are explored in the explosive new biography, 'The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore' by Rita Skeeter, exclusively interviewed by Berry Braithwaite, page 13, inside.

Charlie ripped open the paper and found page thirteen. The article was topped with a picture showing another familiar face: a woman wearing jeweled glasses with elaborately curled blonde hair, her teeth bared in what was clearly supposed to be a winning smile, wiggling her fingers up at him. Doing his best to ignore this nauseating image, Charlie read on quickly, his jaw clenched involuntarily as he skimmed through the evident slander to Dumbledore's character:

...Elphias Doge's accusations of inaccuracy have been echoed in many places...

"Not everyone thought Dumbledore was so wonderful, you know — he stepped on an awful lot of important toes."

"Aberforth is just the tip of the dung heap... it's the mother and the sister that intrigued me, and a little digging uncovered a positive nest of nastiness..."

"I'm glad you mentioned Grindewald... don't be so sure that there really was a spectacular duel of legend..."

There can be no doubt that Skeeter has quilled an instant bestseller. Dumbledore's legion of admirers, meanwhile, may well be trembling at what is soon to emerge about their hero.

Charlie reached the bottom of the article, but continued to stare blankly at the page. Revulsion and fury rose in him uncontrollably; he balled up the newspaper and threw it, with all his force, at the wall, where it joined the rest of the rubbish heaped around his overflowing bin.

He began to stride blindly around the room, opening empty drawers and picking up books only to replace them on the same piles, barely conscious of what he was doing, as random phrases from Rita's article echoed in his head: "An entire chapter committed to Dumbledore's relationship with Charles... It's been called unhealthy, even sinister... Dumbledore dabbled in the Dark Arts himself as a youth... I've acquired every piece of evidence that suggest that he's taught his grandson the same..."

"Fucking liar!" Charlie bellowed, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Ludo, who been feigning sleep on the armrest of the couch, look up nervously.

"Ay, wha's got Ludo in such a frigh'?" came the gruffly voice of Rubeus Hagrid, as he strode into the living room parlour, his eyes scrunched with curiosity. His gaze focused on Charlie, "Yeh get any sleep?"

"What do you think?" mumbled Charlie, harsher than intended, as he sat back down on the couch, cradling his face in his hands.

"Yeh watch tha' tone wit meh, eh?" scolded Hagrid, pointing a giant finger in Charlie's direction. "I'm on'y worried 'bout yeh."

"I know, I know," sighed Charlie, looking up at the half-giant with remorseful eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's alrigh'," nodded Hagrid in understanding, and he crossed the room to put the nearby kettle on the stove. "Yeh wan' a cuppa?"

"Yes, please," said Charlie, caressing Ludo's nose to calm the canine down. After a few moments, Hagrid placed a mug in front of him, brewed coffee steaming inside, "Thanks."

Hagrid nodded in silence, evident distressed etched on his face. He took a seat in the armchair, sitting down across from Charlie, eyeing him ever so cautiously.

"Yeh have bin lookin' more and more like 'im lately, yeh know?" he muttered, taking an anxious sip of his drink. "Especially when yeh wear those ruddy glasses."

Feeling self-cautious all of a sudden, Charlie took his grandfather's glasses off of his face and set them on the table beside the mysterious locket. He gulped, lining the rim of his cup absentmindedly.

"Is that such a bad thing?"

Hagrid shook his large head, "No, I jus..."

The half-giant trailed off, piquing Charlie's interest completely. He raised a brow towards Hagrid, his golden brown eyes boring into the blackened eyes of his caretaker. Suddenly, there were flashes of memories that were rummaging around Hagrid's mind, and Charlie's curiosity sparked his interest.

And in a burst of magic, Charlie had intentionally sent many probes into the half-giant's mind without proper control, prepared to coerce the truth out of him.

"Oi! Enough o' tha'!" said Hagrid suddenly, rising to his feet and severing the link between them; his thoughts evaporated from Charlie's view. "Jus because yeh bin studyin' Legilimency, don't give yeh the righ' ter poke around in me head!"

"Sorry," shrugged Charlie, caught. "I'm just trying to practice... it helps take my mind off things."

And with that, Hagrid's face softened significantly. There was a pregnant pause, and then the half-giant whispered, "I miss 'im too, yeh know? Things ain't bin the same 'round 'ere since..."

Charlie sighed, downing the last of his mug's contents in a single gulp. "I know, Hagrid."

It felt like he was drowning, sinking further and further into the darkness where no one could pull him out of harsh waters despite his wild flailing. Charlie could practically feel his lungs collapsing, feel his ribs crushing from the pressure. Any reminder of Dumbledore's death was like a dagger to his chest, digging deeper and deeper until it would eventually cut through to his beating heart.

The hushed whimpers of Hagrid soothed the chaos embedded in Charlie's head, for he realized that he wasn't alone in his grief. He refused to meet the half-giant's tearful eyes, however, and looked off in the distance to avoid Hagrid's gaze, blinking in the light of the risen sun as his hand clenched around his wand. He could feel the faint hum of magic pulse in his palm as the pebbled wood pressed into his skin. The familiarity brought him little comfort, and Charlie ultimately dropped his wand, flinching as it clattered to the ground.

"Char," Hagrid choked out, but Charlie simply gritted his teeth, his breathing harsh. "I bin thinkin' yeh should —"

"No," interrupted Charlie, carefully getting up from his spot on Hagrid's couch. "I've told you before that I don't want to get them involved."

"They wan' ter help yeh," said Hagrid, trying to appeal to the young boy's better judgement. "Hermione's bin writing ter me abou' yeh... she ain't bin happy tha' yeh bin avoidin' her..."

Charlie went to open his mouth in retaliation, but as if the entire world had been conspiring against him, the pendent that he had dangling around his neck gave off a soft vibration. He gulped and instinctively took it in his hands; it was the enchanted necklace that Hermione had given him two Christmases ago — he hadn't taken it off since. It had been going off every so often over the past two months, and Charlie had the sneaking suspicion that somehow his girlfriend knew of her effect whenever she called out to him.

Closing his eyes, Charlie hesitantly placed the pendent inside his shirt, ignoring Hermione's relentless attempt at reaching him for the hundredth time. Still, even though she would never know, a whirlwind of comfort and love surrounded him whenever the necklace emitted a vibration, signalling to him that he was in her thoughts.

"There's some things I need to figure out on my own, Hagrid," he sighed at last, pushing the sympathetic images of his girlfriend from his mind in response to his guilty conscience. "Hermione will understand... she has to."

"If yeh say so," shrugged Hagrid, unconvinced, as he placed his cuppa on the kitchen counter. He turned back around, nodding to the young man's untidy trunk, muttering, "Well, go an' get dressed, will yeh? We gotta get goin' or else we're gonna be late."

Charlie's face contorted with confusion, "And where exactly are we going?"

"I told yeh the other day, we've got bidness ter take care o' at Gringotts," Hagrid exclaimed, giving Fang a pat on the head as he moved around the room. "Griphook'll be needin' yeh ter sign off on wha' Dumbledore left fer yeh... yer inheritance, yeh know?"

And with that, Charlie looked to the floor, anxiously playing with the rings on his hands. The feeling of suffocation had returned, diminishing any momentary sensation of solace found at the thought of Hermione Granger.

"Right," he managed to get out, his eyes oddly transfixed upon the floorboards.

"An' it'll be nice ter get out of the house fer a bit, don't yeh think?" Hagrid encouraged, trying to lighten the mood. "Bin cooped up in 'ere fer for too long now."

But Charlie didn't say anything, and Hagrid's face fell slightly as the young man walked over to his trunk and began to reluctantly pull out articles of clothing to wear for their excursion.

By and large, this trip to Diagon Alley wasn't something Charlie was looking forward to.

————————————————————

It was a little past seven in the morning when Charlie and Hagrid managed to creep out into the garden. The dawn was chilly despite the pestering sun beaming down upon them. Charlie looked up at the stars still glimmering palely in the dark sky, trying his damnedest to not turn back towards the castle that he once considered his home.

A low grumbling had broken the silence around him. The sound was, of course, emitting from Hagrid's magical motorbike, and it grew steadily louder as Charlie approached and took his seat; the motorbike engine swelled to a roar as they set off into the sky.

It was a long, and silent, ride to the outskirts of Charing Cross Road. For most of the journey, Charlie kept his head in his hands, the distant sunlight was too bright for eyes after being cooped up in Hagrid's Hut for the better half of the summer.

Not long after, Hagrid's motorbike revved to a halt and the two of them descended near the Leaky Cauldron, the inn that was the entrance to Diagon Alley. As Charlie's feet found pavement, he smiled softly to himself, reminiscing on the last time he had been to Diagon Alley to see Fred and George's joke shop. He realized then that he'd give anything to go back in time. Muggles bustled past wearing the depressed expressions of early morning, quite unconscious of the little inn's existence.

The bar of the Leaky Cauldron was nearly deserted. Tom, the stooped and toothless landlord, was polishing glasses behind the bar counter; a couple of warlocks having a muttered conversation in the far corner glanced at Hagrid and Charlie and drew back into the shadows.

"Hagrid," murmured Tom, and as Charlie paused, he inclined his head subserviently.

"Mornin'," waved Hagrid, ignoring the innkeeper's attempted inclination to give condolences. "Jus' passin' through today, Tom, sure yeh understand."

Tom nodded gloomily and returned to wiping glasses; Charlie, after feeling a strange sensation that he was being watched, pulled his hood over his head. He and Hagrid passed out of the inn into the tiny courtyard at the back where the dustbins stood.

Hagrid withdrew his pink umbrella-like wand and rapped a brick in the nondescript wall in front of them. At once the bricks began to whirl and spin; a hole appeared in the middle of them, which grew wider and wider, finally forming an archway onto the narrow cobbled street that was Diagon Alley.

It was quiet, barely time for the shops to open, and there were hardly and shoppers abroad. The crooked, cobbled street was much altered now from the bustling place Charlie had visited before his first term at Hogwarts so many years before. More shops were boarded up, though several new establishments dedicated to the Dark Arts had been created since his last visit.

A number of ragged people sat huddled in doorways. Charlie heard them moaning to the few passersby, pleading for gold, insisting that they were really wizards. One man even had a bloody bandage over his eye.

As they set off along the street, the beggars glimpsed Charlie; they seemed to melt away before him, drawing hoods over their faces and fleeing as fast as they could. Charlie looked after them curiously, until the man with the bloodied bandage came staggering right across his path.

"The Ministry is watching," he bellowed, pointing at Charlie. His voice was cracked, high-pitched, he sounded distraught. "They're coming! Dumbledore couldn't save you! And now no one can save us! You know, you know!"

Charlie blinked, perplexed, "I, uh —"

"Get back yeh filthy scoundrel!" growled Hagrid, ushering Charlie forward. "We don't got any gold ter give yeh! Show some ruddy respec'!"

With a bang and burst of red light, the man was thrown backward onto the ground, unconscious. Hagrid stood there, his umbrella-like wand still outstretched and a look of shock visible behind his beard. Faces appeared at the windows on either side of the street, while a little knot of prosperous-looking passerby gathered their robes about them and broke into gentle trots, keen to vacate the scene.

Safe to say, their entrance into Diagon Alley could hardly have been more conspicuous; for a moment Charlie wondered whether it might not be better to leave now and come back at a later date. Before they could move or consult one another, however, they heard a cry from behind them.

"Why, if isn't Mr. Charles Hawthorne!"

Charlie whirled around, his face scrunching with disgust: a squat woman dressed head to toe in a ridiculous shade of pink, who also oddly resembled a large pale toad, was now striding towards them. It was, of course, Dolores Umbridge, followed by a petite group of Ministry officials, who congregated in a circle around her.

Involuntarily, Charlie had drawn himself up to full height and said with as much contempt as he could muster:

"And what do you want?"

Umbridge stopped in her tracks, clearly affronted.

"I merely sought to greet you," she said coolly, "I must confess, Mr. Hawthorne, I am surprised to see you out and about... and with the oaf, no doubt."

Hagrid let out an exasperated huff, desperately trying to withhold himself from making the scene look worse.

"Well, if it's any consolation," said Charlie, smiling in spite of himself, "I didn't fancy seeing you in Diagon Alley either... or anywhere else for that matter."

"Shame you'll be seeing a lot more of me then, Hawthorne," coughed Umbridge, evidently trying to contain herself. "You see, the Minister, although in no comparable likeness to your father, has allowed me to return to my position of Senior Undersecretary at the Ministry. My first order of business is to oversee the removal of back-alley operations... with my help order shall be restored."

Charlie shook his head, stopping himself from making a scene despite this despicable notion. He looked around, desperately trying to find an excuse to end the conversation. Luckily, there was a short, bandy-legged man with a greasy, bald head across the way, and the young Hawthorne boy smiled in relief as he recognized the street vendor immediately.

"Well, you don't seem to be doing a very good job," he quipped to Umbridge, pointing over his shoulder at the dirty Mundungus Fletcher, who had set up a little stall in front of the old Quidditch shop. "Looks like ol' Dung has been here for days trying to sell his things."

Umbridge huffed in annoyance, motioning for the four Ministry Officials to follow her as she approached the stall in question. Hagrid took her departure as a reason to trudge on, moving up the road towards Gringotts. Charlie, however, hung behind a little, wanting to find out how the evil woman would handle the situation.

"Excuse me, sir," said Umbridge, catching Mundungus's attention. The bald and dirty man glanced up, clumsily knocking over his precious artifacts at the startling sound.

"How can I 'elp you, Madame?" asked Mundungus politely, but Charlie could tell the man was silently cursing in his head.

"Well, as Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, I'm putting a stop to any back-alley dealings, and you and your business so happen to fall into the category," explained Umbridge in fake sweetness. "I'm afraid I'll have to fine you —"

Charlie furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at the way Umbridge cut herself off, trying to look over the Ministry Officials shoulders.

"Say, that locket, does it hold any special connections?" He heard Umbridge ask, and immediately Charlie's heart seemed to do a giant leap. Could this be the real Horocrux that R.A.B took all those years ago? No, no, it can't be — what're the chances of that?

"W-Why yes, Madame," Mundungus said nervously, and Charlie could hear the clatter of the chain as it was unravelled. "It belonged to the Selwyn family, not many of them left now though, I'm afraid."

"I'll tell you what," Umbridge spoke enviously. "You give me that locket, free of charge, and I shall let you run your business peacefully, what do you say?"

Mundungus paused for a moment, and then heaved a heavy sigh, "O-Of course, Madame, take whatever you'd like..."

"Very well," said Umbridge, and Charlie watched her bend down to retrieve the necklace from Mundungus's table full of stolen goods. "Now, carry on about your day, and don't let us catch you out here again, do you understand?"

And without waiting for a response, Umbridge turned on her heels and made her way back in Charlie's direction. His heart dropped in his chest, knowing that that could've been the real Horcrux, and he just stood by as Umbridge put it around her neck. He mentally cursed himself for not taking a better look at the locket before it was too late.

"Good day, Mr. Hawthorne," Umbridge smiled sweetly at him, continuing on her way. The four Ministry officials were right on her heels, following ever so closely as they proceeded down the path; Charlie watched them turn the corner and disappear out of sight.

And with Umbridge gone, Charlie had no choice but to fall into step beside Hagrid and head along the crooked, cobbled street toward the place where the snowy-white Gringotts stood towering over the other little shops.

All too soon they arrived at the foot of the marble steps leading up to the great bronze doors. As expected, there were several liveried goblins flanking the entrance. One of the goblins was a good five feet shorter than Charlie. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Charlie noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside.

Now, they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

"Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob Gringotts," whispered Hagrid, ushering Charlie inside. "'Em goblins are angry lil fellas."

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Charlie made for the counter.

"Mornin'," greeted Hagrid to the free goblin, "We've come ter collect Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's inheritance... I've brough' his grandson, yeh see."

The goblin's narrow eyes focused upon Charlie, nodding, "Very well... do you have his key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," nodded Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Charlie watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order — just give me a moment, sir."

And the goblin disappeared out of a sight for a moment, bending down behind the counter, only to reappear moments later with a long, fantastical scroll that was enchanted with glimmering gold lettering. The goblin placed the scroll on the table and handed Charlie a grey-feathered quill.

"Sign there on the dotted line, m'boy," said the goblin, pointing towards the bottom of the enchanted scroll with his long index finger.

With a heavy sigh, Charlie picked up the quill and quickly wrote his name on the line in pristine cursive writing. The young man looked very green suddenly; he had to lean against the counter to stop his knees from trembling. It felt wrong to acquire all of his grandfather's possessions. It seemed unethical to obtain the mounds of gold coins, the columns of silver, and the heaps of little bronze Knuts after it had seemingly been his fault that Dumbledore died.

Luckily, Charlie didn't have to think much of it, for the second he raised the quill from the page, the goblin quickly snatched the scroll from his grasp and placed a giant, red Gringotts seal on the top of the page.

"Perfectly splendid," muttered the goblin, rolling up the parchment and placing it in an enchanted capsa to keep it contained. "We will see to it that your inheritance is moved into your vault."

And almost as quickly as they entered, Charlie and Hagrid were soon stood blinking in the sunlight outside of Gringotts bank. Charlie took a sharp intake of breath, calming his racing heart. He felt as though he had just stolen from the dead and the very same thought created a sickly feeling in his stomach.

"Tha' went better 'n I 'spected," grumbled Hagrid, nodding back towards the bank. "Listen, Char, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? Tha' ruddy bank brought back sum bad memories. I'll be back before yeh know it." He did look a bit saddened, so Charlie wandered the streets of Diagon Alley alone, feeling nervous.

Memories flooded his mind as he walked along the cobblestone road, recalling the days where he once bought books at Flourish and Blotts or sundaes at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Charlie had a faint smile on his lips as he passed Quality Quidditch Supplies, even though it was all boarded up and closed. Things were so different now, even the essence in the air had grown depressing.

As beggars walked precariously up and down the streets, Charlie pushed his way up toward the north end of Diagon Alley, abruptly stopping outside of Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions as a pair of customers caught his curious gaze. To his utter surprise, through the window of the shop, Charlie could see the pale, pointed face of Draco Malfoy, accompanied by the long-haired silhouette of his father, Lucius, who had recently been exonerated from Azkaban.

The sight of the Malfoy's caught Charlie off guard, for they had been the last people he would've expected to see in Diagon Alley. Still, there they were, purchasing a new set of robes at the counter. As they made their way towards the exit, Charlie looked around quickly and ducked behind the wall of the nearby alleyway, pulling his hood to cover more of his face. The door to Madame Malkin's signalled with a chime, and out stepped Lucius, his billowing cloak flapping in the wind as Draco came up on his heels.

"Father, forgive me, but I still don't understand why new robes were necessary."

Lucius crossed the road, looking disgustedly at the beggars congregating on the street, and leaned on his infamous snake-headed cane for support before turning to his son and saying, "You see, Draco, we are going to be hosting some very important guests at the Manor over the next few days and, expectedly, we must look presentable in the face of greatness."

Malfoy, who visibly tightened his grasp around the shopping bag, looked around anxiously, "He's coming, is he? And to discuss what exactly?"

"To discuss business, of course," muttered Lucius, being mindful of the small groups of people passing them. "There is reason to believe that Potter will be moved to a safe house on the thirtieth of July, and now it appears as though the Dark Lord is convinced this might be our only chance to strike," he added in a low whisper; Charlie had to crane his neck to hear properly.

"Like an ambush?" asked Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Are we sure that's a good idea, father? I mean, won't Potter have the Ministry to protect him?"

Lucius Malfoy's lip curled.

"We need not worry about the Ministry, Draco," he whispered, carefully looking over his shoulder. "The Dark Lord has a plan, and soon everyone will fall susceptible to his power, believe me. Fenwick has already devised a plan to remove Scrimegeour from office. We must act out of sheer perfection, mind you, one failed attempt on the Minister's life will set us back a long way."

Malfoy looked up in terror at his father.

"Do we have to do this, father?" he muttered shakily, his eyes desperately hopeful. "Is all of this really necessary?"

"The Dark Lord will not stop until Potter is dead," said Lucius, more coldly still, albeit his voice was trembling ever so slightly, "and until he succeeds, we work under his orders, is that clear? But if all goes to plan, we need not wait much longer. Have patience, m'boy, and trust that we have chosen the winning side of this battle."

Draco frowned, muttering under his breath, "But I honestly don't think we have..."

And with that, they started to haggle. Charlie watched nervously as Draco drew nearer and nearer to his hiding place, peering through shop windows to see what each had to offer. Holding his breath, Charlie wiped his brow as the Slytherin turned away.

"Come, Draco," beckoned Lucius, his voice tired, "it's time to go."

And with that, the Malfoy's continued up the road, disappearing around the bend. Charlie waited for a moment in case they came back, then, indiscreetly as he could, peered out from the alleyway, slipped out past the congregating beggars, and ran up the road towards the Leaky Cauldron.

His thoughts running wild, Charlie felt jumpy at the newfound information. He tried to compose himself, breathing heavily as he ran. Many spectators stopped to watch him from the shadows, consistently muttering to one another, but Charlie didn't care. As he reached the Leaky Cauldron, he pushed his way inside, and Hagrid, who was sitting at the bar conversing with Tom, looked up in a fright at the sight of him.

"CHAR! Wha' happened to yeh? Are yeh alrigh'?"

Charlie's heart leapt, he couldn't think properly. Hagrid came striding toward him, beetle-black eyes flashing over his great bristling beard.

"Hagrid," Charlie croaked in relief, panting, "I need to talk to the Order! Right now! Please, this is important!"

His eyes widening, Hagrid seized Charlie by the back of his hoodie, bid a quick farewell to the bartender, and led the way back out onto Charing Cross Road; oblivious Muggles bustled past them without a care in the world.

"Wha' yeh need ter talk ter the Order fer?" asked Hagrid gruffly, releasing Charlie so forcefully he nearly knocked him into a herd of hurdling passerby. "Yeh can't be bothering 'em righ' now, Char, they have bin gettin' ready to move 'Arry —"

"That's the thing, Hagrid," interjected Charlie hastily, unable to control himself. "I need to tell them that moving Harry on the thirtieth is a bad idea. Listen..."

Quickly, Charlie recalled the entire conversation he overheard between the Malfoy's, including the part regarding the ambush that the Dark Lord was planning. The young Gryffindor did not stop for Hagrid's gasps of surprise, or his grunts of disapproval. In the end, Hagrid became convinced of the truth, vowing to share Charlie's findings with the Order.

And as a result, the Order of the Phoenix were enticed to change their departure to the twenty-seventh of July, for they had every intention of protecting the Chosen One from his premature downfall.

———————————————————

The day of Harry's departure arrived faster than Charlie would've like it to. With the Order's operation looming, the days in between seemed to disintegrate into anticipation for most. In Charlie's case, however, the anxiousness of seeing his friends again after a long summer away from them was incredibly daunting.

Nonetheless, he began his journey in the sidecar of Hagrid's motorbike, trying not to think about any impending conversations with Hermione that were bound to happen. Charlie knew she'd ultimately be upset at him for isolating himself, but he hoped she'd understand why he did so. With wishful thinking, he set his priority on the task at hand.

The light in the sky was fading quickly, the moon had effortlessly risen and was now casting shadows over half of England. Charlie and Hagrid's journey was silent for the most part, only interrupted by the roaring of the engine. The rest of the Order would soon cross paths with them, and together they'd all arrive at their desired location of number four Privet Drive. Charlie's heart ached ever so slightly, for there was the slightest twinge of suspicion in the pit of his stomach, as though his body was subconsciously telling him something was wrong.

He had little time to process this feeling, however, for Hagrid's magical motorbike let out a deafening roar and skidded to a halt. Charlie straightened up with a jerk and smacked the top of his head on the half-risen window in front of him. Pausing only to employ a few of his choicest swear words, he stumbled as he rose to his feet, clutching his head and looking around the back garden in which they had landed.

The darkness seemed to be rippling, the air itself quivering. Charlie stepped out of the motorbike's sidecar with a sharp intake of breath. Then, one by one, figures began to pop into sight as their Disillusionment Charms lifted. Coming into focus first was Hagrid, wearing a helmet and goggles and sitting astride an enormous motorbike with the black sidecar attached. All around him other people were dismounting from brooms and, in two cases, skeletal, black winged horses.

Gulping back his nervousness, Charlie glanced around at everyone who had congregated around him. There was a general cry of greeting as Elaina Dumont flung her arms around him, Ron clapped him on the back, and Hagrid said, "Ev'ryone alrigh'?"

"Where the hell of you been, you prat?" scolded Elaina, pulling back from her hug with Charlie. "We've all been worried about you!"

Charlie grimaced slightly, "Sorry, I —"

"No time, Hawthorne, keep moving," growled Mad-Eye Moody, who was holding two enormous bulging sacks, and whose magical eye was spinning from the darkening sky to house to garden with dizzying rapidity. "Let's get undercover before we discuss any details."

And with an apparent urgency to see her boyfriend, Elaina swept off after Mad-Eye in pursuit of the front door. The group of Order members slowly dispersed around Charlie: Ron Weasley, long and lanky; Elaina Dumont, her long dark locks blowing in the wind; Fred and George Weasley, grinning identically; Mr. Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Mad-Eye Moody, battle-worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Nymphadora Tonks, whose short hair was her favourite shade of bright pink; Remus Lupin, greyer, more lined; Kingsley Shacklebolt, bald and broad-shouldered; Hagrid, with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head; and Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy beady hound's eyes and greasy bald head.

Charlie's heart seemed to expand and glow at the sight, and he felt instantly better than he had in ages. There was a sudden fondness developed for each of them, even Mundungus, whom he had recently sold out to Umbridge in Diagon Alley. This moment of pinnacle love, however, was short-lived as realization dawned on Charlie quickly. There was one person he had yet to acknowledge, and she seemed to be looming close by, patiently awaiting her turn.

With a deep exhale, Charlie turned around at last and was met with Hermione's immediate honey-brown gaze. She was watching him, observing every intricate detail of his face, from his tired eyes to his stubbled facial hair. All the while, Charlie took her in. Her bushy hair was tied back in a long plait, her lips bright pink and pursed — he thought he might just have fallen in love with her all over again.

"H-Hi," he breathed with a nervous smile before she had narrowed her eyes in his direction, clearly unimpressed by his lack of empathy for how he left things. Still, he added, "How a-are you?"

"How am I?" Hermione repeated with a scoff, crossing her arms over her torso. "You show up here after weeks of silence. You didn't write, didn't call. You disappeared with no explanation. Absolutely nothing — and now, you have the audacity to ask me how I am? Are you serious?"

Charlie tensed, taking a step towards her out of instinct, "Please, Hermione, I —"

But Hermione put a hand up to stop him in his tracks, unwilling to listen, "Save your breath, I don't want to hear any more of your excuses."

"It's not an excuse, baby, I just —"

"Hello, 'Arry!" Hagrid greeted loudly in the distance; Harry had just hurtled himself into the Order's midst. Although elated to hear his best friend's voice, Charlie had yet to turn his attention away from Hermione, his gaze locked upon hers.

"Please," he pleaded with her again, "if you'd just let me explain..."

"There's nothing to explain," Hermione silenced him, her voice cracking ever so carefully. "You left... right after you specifically told me you would never leave me again —"

Charlie shook his head, his heart plunging into the depths of guilt, "I know that I shouldn't've —"

"But you did," whispered Hermione, and she broke their gaze to look over his shoulder towards Harry's childhood home; Charlie was struck dumb for a moment, unaware of what to say in rebuttal. He only came to his senses when Hermione made to move around him, "We can't talk about this now... we're here to help Harry, so let's just leave it at that, alright?"

With an evident frown plastered upon his lips, feeling slightly unnerved at the premature end of their conversation, Charlie still managed to give her a small nod of understanding. He turned on his heels to follow her up the garden pathway, reconvening with the rest of the Order who was still greeting Harry in the doorway.

"Alright, mate?" greeted Ron, pulling Harry into a one-armed hug. Charlie and Hermione arrived just in time to see the mess of ginger and raven coloured hair disperse. Not a second after Ron had got past the doorway, Elaina made her way towards her boyfriend, beaming from one ear to the other.

"Hello," Harry grinned sheepishly, and he barely had time to react before Elaina planted a kiss upon his cheek, only to then tuck her head into his neck. Reciprocating her embrace, he added, "I've missed you too, darling."

"Yeh are lookin' fit!" Hagrid boomed from above them, causing the two lovers to separate, both rocking feverishly flushed cheeks.

"Yeah, he's absolutely gorgeous," growled a rough voice from the doorway, pushing his way through Harry and Elaina. "Now let's get undercover before somebody murders him!" Mad-Eye Moody, carrying the same several large sacks from before, hobbled in urgently.

"Evening," Harry said, laughing ever so slightly.

Hermione was next, and she instantly flung her arms around Harry in greeting, asking, "How have you been?"

"Better now that you lot are here," said Harry, as he beamed around at everyone in the foyer. The two of them separated from their embrace, and Hermione followed Elaina deeper into the house.

Last but not least, Charlie made his presence known in the doorway, and with a look of disbelief, Harry stepped forward, wrapping his arms around his best friend's shoulders and clapping him on the back.

"Nice to know you're alive," laughed Harry, embracing Charlie as though his brother had returned from war. "You had us all going there for a second."

"I figured it'd make for a dramatic entrance," joked Charlie, and it was another moment before the two of them separated. "In all honesty, it's good to see you, mate! How have the Muggles been treating you?"

"Not much has changed really," shrugged Harry, glancing around the house with an odd look of pride. "But they've gone on their way now. They've moved somewhere that'll be safer for them just in case things go haywire."

Charlie laughed for the first time in ages, "You know, I sometimes wish I could do the same."

Harry kinked a serious brow, looking suddenly discouraged, "I mean, I imagine there's still time..."

"But I've already gotten this far, it'd be a shame not to see this thing through until the end," said Charlie, grinning, as he placed a reassuring hand upon Harry's shoulder. "Besides, we're in this together, mate, like always."

"Wouldn't want to have it any other way," Harry nodded in response, and the two of them followed after the rest of the group.

Mad-Eye led the way through the house, charging down the hall — seemingly checking for any unwanted intruders or eavesdroppers — as Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley, Mundungus Fletcher and, finally, Hagrid piled into the house. Within seconds, all of the group had settled into the empty living room.

Harry followed them, but Charlie noticed that Hermione had stopped a few metres down the hall, staring, almost transfixed, at the cupboard under the stairs, the door of which was still evidently ajar. He approached her hesitantly, and Hermione immediately recognized the sound of his footfalls behind her.

"That's where —" she looked up at Charlie, who gave the slightest of nods in attempt to confirm her suspicions.

"Yes, I imagine so," he told her softly, and he watched Hermione scornfully shake her head before she abruptly turned and threw herself around him, whimpering into his shoulder.

Although caught off guard, Charlie returned her embrace with equal measure, burrowing his head into the crook of her neck out of instinct. It had been too long. Far too long. They both had forgotten their differences for a moment, falling victim to the comfort they found with each other.

"Oi, lovebirds!" Fred shouted from the living room.

Blushing, Hermione released her grip and instead caught Charlie's hand in hers, leading the way into the centre of the room. Arthur had set up at one end, looking suspiciously out of the kitchen window into the dark back garden.

"Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Prime Minister?" Harry said, addressing the tall, dark wizard standing broad-shouldered against the far wall.

"He can get along without me for one night," said Kingsley, pointing his finger at Harry. "You are more important."

"Harry, guess what?" announced Tonks, who was leaning up against the back wall, and she wiggled her left hand at him; a ring glistened there.

"You got married?" Harry yelped, looking from her to Lupin.

"I'm sorry you couldn't be there, Harry, it was very quiet."

Harry waved a hand at her, "That's brilliant, congratu—"

"Alright, alright, we'll have time for a cozy catch-up later!" roared Moody over the hubbub as he hobbled into the room, and silence fell. "We've got to get out of here, and soon."

Moody dropped the sacks at his feet and turned to Harry. "Potter, as you've probably been told, we had to abandon Plan A. The Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Pius Thicknesse, has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He's made it an imprisonable offence to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother's charm does that already. What he's really done is to stop you getting out of here safely. Second problem: you're underage, which means you've still got the Trace on you."

Harry's face was riddled with confusion, "What's the Trace?"

"The Trace!" Moody growled, as if it was simple. "How the Ministry tracks underage magic. If you sneeze, the Ministry will know who wipes your nose! The point is, we need to use those modes of transport they can't detect. Brooms, Thestrals and the like. If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters."

Moody's fake eye was rolling around manically in its socket.

"When we leave, there'll be no going back, and the charm will break the moment you get outside its range. We're choosing to break it early, because the alternative is waiting for You-Know-Who to come and seize you the moment you turn seventeen. The one thing we've got on our side is that You-Know-Who doesn't know we're moving you tonight. Thanks to Hawthorne, we're one step ahead of them; they don't think you're leaving until the thirtieth. However, this is You-Know-Who we're dealing with, so we can't just rely on him getting the date wrong; he's bound to have a couple of Death Eaters patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we've given a dozen different houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we're going to hide you, they've all got some connection with the Order: my house, Kingsley's place, Molly's Auntie Muriel's — you get the idea."

"Yeah," said Harry, not entirely truthfully, because he could spot a gaping hole in the plan.

"We'll be heading for the Burrow at once. Once you're within the boundaries of the protective enchantments we've put on the house, you should be safe. So, any questions?"

"Er — yes," gulped Harry. "Maybe they won't know which of the twelve secure houses I'm heading for at first, but won't it be sort of obvious once" — he performed a quick headcount — "fourteen of us fly off towards the Burrow?"

"Well, Potter, that's where the fun begins. You see, there will be seven Harry Potters moving through the skies tonight," corrected Moody, grinning. "Each of them with a companion, each pair taking detours until they reach their location. Believe me, they won't know which Potter is the real one."

Harry faltered, his mouth agape, "The real one?"

From inside his cloak Moody now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud. "I believe you're familiar with this particular brew." He popped off the cork, sending it flying across the room. There was no need for him to say another word; Harry understood the rest of the plan immediately.

"No!" he said loudly, his voice ringing through the kitchen. "No way!"

"Told you he'd take it well," Hermione, who seemed to have inched herself closer to Harry, said sarcastically. Harry turned his head quickly to look at her.

"No, if you think I'm going to let everyone risk their lives for me —"

Ron chuckled, "Haven't done that before, have we?"

"No! No this is different. Becoming me... no!"

"Well, none of us really fancy it, mate," added Charlie, trying to lighten the mood. "Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as a specky, scrawny git forever!"

Harry did not smile. Elaina shook her head, as if offended by Charlie's joke on his behalf.

"You can't do it if I don't cooperate, you need me to give you some hair," said Harry, acting as though he had outsmarted the system.

"Well, that's the plan scuppered," sighed George, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Obviously there's no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate."

"Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who's not allowed to use magic; we've got no chance," added Fred, smirking mischievously.

"Funny," said Harry, "really amusing."

"If it has to come to force, then it will," growled Moody, his magical eye now quivering a little in its socket as he glared at Harry. "Everyone here has made their decision, Potter, and they're all prepared to take the risk."

Mundungus shrugged and grimaced; the magical eye swerved sideways to glance at him out of the side of Moody's head.

"Technically," came Mundungus's gruff, slimy voice; Charlie turned and shot the thief a deadly glare. "I've been coerced —"

"Nip it, Mundungus!" Moody growled, and the bald headed man faded into silence. "Alright Granger, as we discussed."

Harry didn't have time to react before he felt Hermione move behind him, grab at the hair on the back of his head, and rip out a chunk.

"Blimey, Hermione!"

But Hermione didn't respond, she was already dropping Harry's hair into Moody's flask. He gave it a gleeful shake. The moment it made contact with its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright gold.

"Ooh, you look much tastier than Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle, Harry," said Hermione, before catching sight of Charlie's raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, "Oh, you know what I mean — I imagine Zabini's potion tasted like bogies."

"For those of you who haven't taken Polyjuice before," Moody announced. "Fair warning. It tastes like Goblin piss."

Charlie, Ron, Hermione, Elaina, George, and Mundungus lined up in front of Petunia Dursley's rustic, old couch.

"Have lots of experience with that, do you, Mad-Eye?" questioned George as he took the flask; Moody merely glared. "Just trying to diffuse the tension..." he added quickly, before taking a swig.

Almost immediately after passing the flask onto Charlie, George began to shrink, his face contorting. Mundungus was next, followed by Elaina, Ron and, finally, Hermione. They all took a swig, all began to change and distort immediately, all of them gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats. Ron's, Charlie's and George's hair was darkening. Hermione's and Elaina's appeared to shoot backward into their skulls.

Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters gasping and panting in front of him.

Fred turned to look at George, his mouth agape, "Okay, now I'm officially the better looking twin!"

He earned a quick hit on the arm from Elaina, who then shot a quick glance toward the real Harry, laughing, "This must be super awkward for you."

"Those whose clothes are a bit roomy, I've got smaller here," said Moody, indicating the first sack, "and vice versa. Don't forget the glasses, there's six pairs in the side pocket. And when you're dressed, there's luggage in the other sack."

The real Harry thought that this might just be the most bizarre thing he had ever seen, and he had seen some extremely odd things. He watched as his six doppelgangers rummaged in the sacks, pulling out sets of clothes, putting on glasses, stuffing their own things away. He felt like asking them to show a little more respect for privacy as they all began stripping off with impunity, clearly more at ease with displaying his body than they would have been with their own.

"I knew you were lying about that tattoo, Elaina," scoffed Charlie, looking down at his bare chest.

"Harry, your eyesight really is awful," said Hermione, ignoring Charlie's comment completely as she put on a pair of glasses.

Once dressed, the fake Harrys took rucksacks and owl cages, each containing a stuffed snowy owl, from the second sack.

"Good," said Moody, as at last seven dressed, bespectacled, and luggage-laden Harrys faced him. "The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus will be traveling with me, by broom —"

"Why'm I with you?" grunted the Harry nearest the back door.

"Because you're the one that needs watching," growled Moody, and sure enough, his magical eye did not waver from Mundungus as he continued, "Arthur, you'll be with George. Ron, you're with Fred. Miss Dumont —"

"I'll be going with Lupin on one of the Thestrals," nodded Elaina, already aware of how the group was being dispersed. She walked over to stand beside the werewolf, giving him a small, girlish smile that was weird to see plastered on Harry's face.

"Granger, you're with Kingsley, again by Thestral."

Hermione looked reassured as she answered Kingsley's smile; she too lacked confidence on a broomstick, with heights... on a Hippogriff. Charlie remembered how she'd clutched him tightly as they rode Buckbeak, and couldn't help but smile inwardly. Kingsley shot him a quick look. He didn't know how much the Order knew of his and Hermione's relationship, but a curt nod from the Auror gave Charlie confidence, at least, that she was in the best hands possible given the circumstances.

"Which leaves you and me, Char!" beamed Tonks brightly, coming up along side him.

"An' you're with me, Harry. That all righ'?" said Hagrid, looking a little anxious. "We'll be on the bike, brooms an' Thestrals can't take me weight, see. Not a lot o' room on the seat with me on it, though, so you'll be in the sidecar."

"That's great," nodded Harry, not altogether truthfully.

"We think the Death Eaters will expect you to be on a broom," explained Moody, who seemed to guess how Harry was feeling. "Snape's had plenty of time to tell them everything about you, so if we do run into any Death Eaters, we're betting they'll choose one of the Potters who look at home on a broomstick. Alright then," he went on, tying up the sack with the fake Potters' clothes in it and leading the way back to the door, "There's three minutes until we're supposed to leave. No point locking the door, it won't keep the Death Eaters out when they come looking... come on..."

Charlie followed everyone into the hall, carrying his rucksack and his imitation of Hedwig's cage, and then he joined the others out on the dark street. All of the houses around them appeared to be empty, as if the Muggles who had lived there had all decided to coincidentally enjoy an evening out at the same time.

"Potter, let your owl go, send her away," Moody demanded. "She'll know how to find you again."

Harry nodded. He leant down, unlatched Hedwig's cage and took her on his arm. "Go on, girl," he said. "Go to the Burrow in a few days, okay?"

Hedwig hooted softly, appreciating the fact she would get to fly freely once more. He nudged her gently with his finger, and with that, she soared off into the night.

On every side broomsticks were leaping into hands; Hermione had already been helped up onto a great black Thestral by Kingsley, Elaina onto the other with Lupin. Hagrid was standing ready beside the motorbike, goggles on.

On his way over to mount his broom, Charlie stopped by Hermione's Thestral quickly. Looking up at his best mate was bizarre, but by the expression on her — well, Harry's — face, he knew that it was  Hermione staring back at him.

"Be safe," she whispered, still somehow managing to make his heart race.

"You too," Charlie told her. "I'll see you soon."

And with another nod to Kingsley, Charlie made his way over to Tonks, who was already prepping their broom for takeoff.

"Alright," announced Moody. "Everyone ready, please. I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion's lost."

Everybody motioned their heads; Charlie flung his left leg over the broomstick, settling himself behind the pink-haired Metamorphagus. He was extremely uncomfortable; broomsticks are not typically meant to hold more than one person.

"Hold tight now, Char," said Tonks, glancing back over her shoulder; Charlie shot a guilty look towards Lupin before placing his hands on each side of her waist. Beside them, Harry piled into Hagrid's sidecar; it placed him several feet below everybody else and he couldn't help but feel a little humiliated. Charlie smirked at the sight of him sitting there like a child in a bumper car.

"Good luck, everyone," shouted Moody. "See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One... two...THREE!"

There was a great roar from Hagrid's motorbike coming from beside him, and then Charlie felt his feet lift off from the ground. He was rising through the air fast, his eyes watering slightly, hair whipped back off his face. Next to him, Hagrid and Harry were soaring upward too; the long black tail of a Thestral flicked past and everyone else flew closely behind. With one last glimpse at number four Privet Drive, it wasn't long before the houses blurred together down below.

And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, they were surrounded. Charlie's heart fell to the ground far, far below them. At least thirty hooded figures, suspended in midair, formed a vast circle in the middle of which the Order members had risen, completely oblivious. Screams and blazes of green light alarmed on every side; Tonks gave a yell and the broom rolled over. Charlie lost any sense of where they were. Streetlights above him, yells around him; he was clinging to Tonks's waist for dear life.

The broomstick zoomed forward through dark clouds which were illuminated by green, red and blue curses. Charlie glimpsed hooded Death Eaters scattering as Tonks blasted through their circle. His terror for the others was paramount. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a mass of people moving, flares of green light, two pairs of people on brooms soaring off into the distance, but he could not tell who they were —

"Hermione!" Charlie yelled, the mist of panic descending. "Tonks, we've got to go back, we've got to go back! Tonks, TURN AROUND!"

"Can't do that, Char! Mad-Eye's given the orders: we don't stop, no matter what!" Tonks bellowed, and she they accelerated into the night sky.

"Stop — STOP!" Charlie shouted, but as he looked back again two jets of green light flew past his left ear: four Death Eaters had broken away from the circle and were pursuing them, aiming for Tonks's bright pink head. She swerved, but the Death Eaters were keeping up with the broom; more curses shot after them, and Charlie had to duck his head low to avoid them. Wriggling around he cried, "Stupefy!" and a red bolt of light shot from his own wand, cleaving a gap between the four pursuing Death Eaters as they scattered to avoid it.

"Hold on, Char, I've got this!" roared Tonks, and Charlie looked up just in time to see her cast a spell over her back; three of the Death Eaters swerved and avoided it, but the fourth was not so lucky. He vanished from view and then dropped like a boulder from the sky, his broomstick shattered into a million pieces.

One of his fellows slowed up to save him, but they were swallowed by darkness as Tonks leaned low over the head of the broomstick and sped up. More killing curses flew past Charlie's head from the two remaining Death Eaters' wands; they were aiming for Tonks. Charlie responded with more stunning spells; red and green collided in midair in a shower of multicoloured sparks, and Charlie thought wildly of fireworks, and the Muggles below who would have no idea what was happening —

"This'll do it, Char, hold on tight!" yelled Tonks, and Charlie felt the broom swerve madly underneath him. Miraculously, they circled back around the Death Eaters that were behind them and Charlie rose his wand in their direction, white-hot and blue dragon fire shooting from the tip. He saw the Death Eaters swerve out of sight to avoid the deadly trail of flame.

But just as it looked like they had got clear, a blue light flashed and Tonks slumped forward across the handlebars.

"TONKS!" Charlie screamed, panicked.

Acting quickly, he lunged forward, taking control of the broom, barely managing to get enough of a hold to steer, though he had no idea where he was going. He felt a hex whizz past his ear and, as he jerked to avoid it, he nearly let his wand slip from his grasp. Managing to rebalance himself on the back of the broom, Charlie acted in retaliation.

In one fluid motion, he turned around and, fuelled by anger and panic, screamed, "CONFRINGO!"

The blasting curse hit the Death Eater square in the chest, ripping whoever it was to shreds in mid-air.

Charlie looked back once more, there were still two more figures approaching. He fired off a few stunning spells, causing the closest Death Eater to swerve, their hood slipping, and by the red light of his next spell, Charlie saw the strangely blank face of Stanley Shunpike —

"Stupefy!" Charlie yelled, sending another spell over his shoulder; the broom jerked slightly, and he was barely hanging on. In the next moment, however,  both pursuers had shot backwards and disappeared from view. Charlie immediately reclaimed a grasp on the head of the broomstick, not willing to waste any time.

"Char... Char... what's happened?" bellowed Tonks, regaining consciousness and taking control of the broom. "Where've they gone?"

"Doesn't matter," he told her quickly, too panicked to explain. "We need to get out of here!"

"I'm on it!" affirmed Tonks, and they zipped through the sky at a lightening speed. There were distant flashes around them, igniting the darkness in a mix of colour; Charlie immediately began to wonder whether the others had made it out alive. Before the thoughts consumed him, however, he felt the broom drop a little, though the lights down on the ground still seemed remote as stars. Then, the Dark Mark on his arm engulfed in an agonizing pain.

In a panicked response to this, Tonks let out a squeal of fear and steered the broom into a vertical dive. Clinging on for dear life, Charlie sent stunning spells flying at random into the whirling night. He saw a body fly past him and knew he had hit one of the Death Eaters coming up behind them, but then he heard a bang and saw sparks ignite the darkness around him; the broomstick spiralled through the air, completely out of control —

Green jets of light shot past them again. Charlie had no idea which way was up, which was down. His Dark Mark was still burning, the sensation circulating throughout his veins; he expected to die at any second. As the pain forced his eyes shut, his wand acted of its own accord. He felt it drag his hand around like some great magnet, saw a spurt of golden fire through his half-closed eyelids, heard a crack and a scream of fury.

Tonks kept control of the broom, trying her damnedest to avoid any falling debris. The broom sped up, hurtling straight toward the ground. His eyes swelled with tears, Charlie could see nothing but distant lights growing nearer and nearer; it looked as though they were about to crash.

At the last second, however, Tonks pulled upon on the head of the broomstick; Charlie could feel the force pushing up on his feet. Tonks tried to brake, but with an earsplitting, ground-trembling crash, her and Charlie smashed into a muddy pond.

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"Tonks?"

Charlie struggled to raise himself out of the debris of wood and bristle that surrounded him; his hands sank into inches of muddy water as he tried to stand. His wand was floating in the pond like a piece of driftwood, and he quickly scooped it up and tucked it into his pocket. He did not understand what had just happened and expected more Death Eaters to swoop out of the darkness at any moment.

Suppressing the urge to figure out where they'd went wrong, he crawled out of the pond and stumbled toward the pink-headed silhouette on the ground that was Tonks.

"Tonks? Tonks, are you alright?" But the dark mass did not stir.

Slightly lightheaded, Charlie helped Tonks to her feet, throwing himself under her right arm for support. His rucksack lay on the grass a short distance away, wet and muddy. There was a burning sensation spreading throughout his ribs and right arm. Blood was trickling down his face from a gash in his forehead. The Mark engraved in his left forearm was pulsing like an open wound.

Still, he trudged on. Charlie slowly carried Tonks's unconscious body forward, staggering slightly every time his knees buckled under pressure. Having managed to regain some form of balance, he blindly pushed his way through a field of tall grass, having no plan in mind other than bringing Tonks to safety. He was slow on his feet, his face covered in mud and blood, limping a little but miraculously alive.

After what felt like hours of walking, Charlie felt Tonks stir within his arms. She had a small scratch along her left cheekbone, her pink hair was matted, tangled together with a mixture of mud and grass, but still she opened her eyes ever so slightly. Tonks blinked in her surroundings, her face was pale with terror, and Charlie thought she might've been sick.

"Easy, now," he told her, keeping her steady, as she moved in panic. "We're all going to be okay. We got into a nasty crash, but we've got to keep moving."

Nymphadora looked up at the sky above as though she could see through an imaginary barrier.

"Do you think we've made it through one of the Order's protective charms, then?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "Is that why the Death Eaters stopped chasing us?"

Thinking for a moment, Charlie began to understand why everything seemed to stop so quickly; the Death Eaters disappeared at the point when the broom crossed the barrier of the Order's charms. He only hoped they would continue to work. He could imagine his father, a hundred yards above them as they spoke, looking for a way to penetrate what Charlie visualised as a great transparent bubble.

"I suppose so," he nodded at Tonks, and her face seemed to soften. "That's a good thing, then, we must be close to the others."

With a breath of relief, there was a newfound sense of urgency in Charlie's stride. He needed to see everyone with his own eyes before he would believe that they were alive, and being in the safety of the Burrow's enchantments only contributed hope to his aspiration.

Still, a mixture of fear and guilt gripped Charlie at the sight of Tonk's expression; if any of the others had died, it was his fault, all his fault — the realization crashed over him. He felt ashamed of himself as the tears stung his eyes.

Having noticed this, Tonks reached out a hand and patted him painfully on the shoulder, "It's alright, Char, like you said, we're all going to be okay."

Charlie nodded, hobbling forward despite his tumultuous thoughts. They kept on walking, parting the tall grass in search of a guiding light, and as though an invisible hook had dragged them forward, they finally hurtled themselves out into the back garden of the Burrow. Seconds later, Charlie's knees gave out in relief and he slammed onto hard ground, breathing heavily. He heard frantic screams.

"It's them!"

With every ounce of strength he could muster, Charlie stood back up, swaying slightly, and saw Hermione, Harry, Elaina, Kingsley and Lupin running down the steps by the back door as Tonks, who had also collapsed due to exhaustion, clambered laboriously to her feet.

"Remus!" Tonks cried, as she staggered into Lupin's arms. His face was set and white; he seemed unable to speak, Charlie tripped dazedly toward Harry, Elaina, and Hermione.

"You're okay," he breathed out in relief, and with no care for any warning that may have rung in the air, Hermione flung herself into his arms. She pulled back enough to look into his eyes, which were now slowly turning from emerald green back to golden brown, and tears rimmed her eyelids as though she couldn't believe he was alive.

"I'm alright," said Charlie, pulling her closer and burrowing his face into the crook of her neck. "I'm fine," he added, and he felt Harry clap him on the back before settling back beside Elaina.

"Charlie was great," announced Tonks warmly, relinquishing her hold on Lupin. "Wonderful, in fact. Stunned many of the Death Eaters, most of them straight to the head, and when you're aiming at a moving target from a flying broom —"

"I'm glad you're okay," Hermione whispered in his ear, tightening her hold around his neck. "For a second, I thought the worst might've —"

She cut herself off, a muffled whimper falling from her lips. Charlie kissed the top of her head, determined not to let her leave his grasp for the foreseeable future. She leaned up to rest her forehead against his, their lips dangerously close. It occurred to Charlie then how much he wanted to kiss her, to hold her; he did not even care that there were spectators around them, but before he could act on the impulse, he noticed Lupin's intruding eyes upon him, eyeing him curiously.

"We've been walking for ages," Charlie explained, looking over Hermione's shoulder towards Kingsley and Lupin. "Any idea what happened? Are we the last back?"

"No," said Elaina, silently sobbing into her hand, "we're still waiting for Ron, Fred, Mad-Eye and Mundungus. The rest of the Weasleys are all safe inside with Hagrid, mind you, but George was attacked... h-he lost an ear..."

"W-What?" gaped Charlie, unaware if he had heard correctly. "Is he going to be alright?"

"He lost a lot of blood, but Molly's tending to him now," assured Lupin, sounding almost angry. "So, what kept you? What happened?"

"Same thing that happened to the rest of you, I'm sure," said Tonks, addressing the group. "The Death Eaters came after us, we got into a bit of a scuffle, and then we crashed a few hundred metres away. Luckily, we managed to get through the protective enchantments —"

A muscle was jumping in Lupin's jaw. He nodded, but seemed unable to say anything else.

"So what happened to you lot?" Tonks asked, turning to Harry, Hermione, Elaina, and Kingsley.

They recounted the stories of their own journeys, but the entire time the continued absence of Ron, Fred, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus seemed to lie upon them like a frost, its icy bite harder and harder to ignore. Soon after, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came racing down the back steps, Ginny behind them.

"How's George?" asked Charlie immediately, pulling Harry's counterfeit glasses off of his nose. Mrs. Weasley smiled weakly at the boy, relieved to see him but also frantically worried about the state of her son.

"Oh, he's resting, dear —"

But the end of Mrs. Weasley's sentence was drowned in a general outcry; Ron and Fred soared into sight and landed a few feet back from them. They both landed in a long skid that sent earth and pebbles everywhere before they slid off the broom with ease, windswept but unhurt.

"Ron! Fred! Thank God, thank God —" Mrs. Weasley ran forward, but the hug Fred bestowed upon her was perfunctory. Looking directly at his father, he said, "Mad-Eye's dead."

Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Charlie felt as though something inside him was falling, falling through the earth, leaving him forever. Beside him, Hermione sniffed, clinging onto his arm.

"We saw it happen," added Fred, oddly saddened; Ron nodded, unable to speak. "It happened just after we broke out of the circle. Mad-Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading north too. The Death Eaters came straight for us. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him, but he Disapparated. One of the curses hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backward off his broom and — there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail —"

Fred's voice broke.

"There was nothing you could have done, it's okay," assured Mr. Weasley, his eyes glistening with tears. They all stood looking at each other. Charlie could not quite comprehend it. Mad-Eye dead; it could not be... Mad-Eye, so tough, so brave, the consummate survivor...

"Where's George?" asked Fred at once, his tone desperate in search of his brother. "He's made it back, hasn't he?"

Mrs. Weasley, unable to control herself, burst into tears. This was all it took for Fred to know that something was seriously wrong. Both, he and Ron, sprinted towards the Burrow; everyone else staggered in behind them. Charlie unlatched himself from around Hermione's waist, but quickly caught her hand and pulled her along. They headed through the empty kitchen and into the sitting room, where Mrs. Weasley had left her son to rest, and as the lamplight fell across George's head, Charlie's stomach lurched. Indeed, one of George's ears was missing. The side of his head and neck were drenched in wet, shockingly scarlet blood.

Fred dropped to his knees beside his twin brother and Ron. For the first time since Charlie had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped at his twin's wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing. Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and Ron's arrival, George stirred.

"How do you feel, Georgie?" whispered Mrs. Weasley, her motherly instinct making its presence known.

George's fingers groped for the side of his head.

"Saint-like," he murmured, a mischievous smirk plastered across his lips.

"What's wrong with him?" croaked Fred, looking terrified. "Is his mind affected?"

"Saint-like," repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. "You see... I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?"

Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Colour flooded Fred's pale face.

"Pathetic," he told George. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for holey?"

"Ah well," said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. "You'll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum."

The dark-humoured joke made everyone's grins turn to grimaces of shock. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Tonks was crying silently into a handkerchief; she had been close to Mad-Eye, Charlie knew, his favourite and his protégée at the Ministry of Magic.

Hagrid, who had sat down on the floor in the corner where he had most space, was dabbing at his eyes with his tablecloth-sized handkerchief. Mr. Weasley walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of fire whiskey and some glasses.

"Here," he said, and with a wave of his wand he sent twelve full glasses soaring through the room to each of them, holding the thirteenth aloft. "Mad-Eye."

"Mad-Eye," they all said, and drank.

"Mad-Eye," echoed Hagrid, a little late, with a hiccup. The fire whiskey seared Charlie's throat. It seemed to burn feeling back into him, dispelling the numbness and sense of unreality, firing him with something that was like courage.

"And, ter Hedwig, too," Hagrid added, looking sadly towards Harry.

Charlie heard Hermione gasp from beside him. He squeezed her hand tightly, fighting back tears of his own. Death just kept coming, hungry for more. Across the room, Elaina comforted her boyfriend; Harry had begun whimpering into her embrace.

However, almost as quickly as the room fell silent, chaos broke out. All of a sudden, Ron grabbed Charlie by the shirt collar and pinned him back against the wall, pointing his wand directly into Charlie's face. Hermione gasped in shock. Harry rose to his feet abruptly.

"Oi!" said Hagrid indignantly. "Le' go of him!"

But Ron, his breath shaking, ignored him.

"Don't you see what's happened?" he snapped, his wand settled along Charlie's jugular. "He's betrayed us! He's set us up! He's the one who told us to move Harry tonight, and now look what's happened! My brother's missing an ear, Mad-Eye's dead —"

"Are you fucking insane?" yelled Charlie, flabbergasted by the insinuation. "I had no idea that this was going to happen! Someone may have betrayed us, but it sure as hell wasn't me!"

"Like hell, it wasn't," spat Ron, his nostrils flaring. "You're one of them, Charlie! You always have been... and we've been foolish to think otherwise!"

Mrs. Weasley let out a cry of confusion, "Ronald, good heavens, what on earth are you on about?"

"Show them," Ron demanded of Charlie, releasing him at once; Charlie gasped for breath and fell to his knees; Hermione was quick to comfort him on the floor. "SHOW THEM!" he roared again, causing Elaina to whimper in fear across the room. "Show them the reason why we were bloody ambushed!"

Charlie panted, giving up, and he obediently unbuttoned the cufflink of his shirt, allowing himself to roll the sleeve up past his elbow. He brandished his left forearm in front of the group, revealing the inflamed black ink of his Dark Mark, as a rippling murmur of shock began to spread throughout the room full of unknowing Order members. Easily convinced, Lupin raised his wand towards Charlie, ultimately choosing to believe Ron's story.

"Put that away, Remus!" shrieked Tonks, coming to Charlie's defence immediately. "I was with him when the Death Eaters attacked, he can't have betrayed us! He was just as shocked as the rest of us were when they appeared out of nowhere, and in case you've forgotten, this is Dumbledore's grandson we're talking about here! Why would he help the monsters who killed his grandfather?"

The atmosphere changed at once. Everybody looked tense, watching Charlie, wanting him say something in rebuttal, but also slightly afraid of what they might hear.

"We can't trust that... n-not after what's happened," retaliated Ron, his wand hand shaking. "What's to say that Dumbledore's death hasn't set him off, that he hasn't gone utterly mad?"

"We've been over this, Ron," growled Harry, his cheeks stained with tears. "Charlie never willing became a Death Eater... it wasn't his choice!"

"Honestly, Ronald, what nonsense!" cried Mrs. Weasley, one of her hands clutched at her heart; Mr. Weasley moved to comfort his wife. "He's been your best friend since you were eleven! How dare you accuse him of such things!"

"Charlie still seems the same to me," added Fred, sending a reassuring nod towards the boy in question. "He's saved us more times than we can count, how would him betraying us even make sense?"

"He's Dumbledore's grandson, Remus," Kingsley spoke up next, trying to be the voice of reason. "Surely, that should account for something."

"O' course it does, yeh ruddy lunatics," roared Hagrid, stumbling to his feet and blowing his nose into his handkerchief. "Yeh let 'im go this instant, yeh hear? He hasn't bin doin' anything wrong!"

"Charlie would never do something like this to Harry," Elaina contributed, taking a step forward. "It's not in his nature; believe me, he'd rather sacrifice himself in order to save the rest of us."

"Not to mention, his love for Granger is too remarkable to deny," said Kingsley, pointing a finger towards Hermione, who was cradling Charlie's head in her arms, whispering sweet nothings to calm him down. "That fact alone would have him killed for pureblood treason, yet you don't see him shying away from the woman he loves."

"Charlie is quite literally the epitome of everything a Death Eater is not," said Hermione quietly, sending shivers down Charlie's spine. "While I do agree that somebody must've been careless and let the date slip to an outsider, I don't think it'll do us any good if we start turning on each other."

She glared around at them all, tear tracks still etched on her beautiful face, silently daring any of them to contradict her. Nobody did, and eventually Ron and Lupin lowered their wands. The only sound to break the silence was that of Hagrid hiccuping from behind his handkerchief.

"If somebody made a mistake," Harry said aloud, and they all looked at him, surprised; the firewhisky seemed to have amplified his voice, "and let something slip, I know they didn't mean to do it. It's not their fault," he repeated, again a little louder than he would usually have spoken. "We've got to trust each other. I trust all of you, I don't think anyone in this room would ever sell me to Voldemort."

More silence followed Harry's words. The entire group was looking between one another; Charlie scrambled to his feet, Hermione helping him up, and he pulled down his left sleeve to shield his Dark Mark from view. As his movement reclaimed everyone's attention, Charlie felt a little hot again, and drank some more firewhiskey for something to do. As he drank, he thought of Mad-Eye. Mad-Eye had always been scathing about Dumbledore's willingness to trust people.

"Well said, Harry," said Fred unexpectedly.

"Year, 'ear, 'ear," laughed George, with half a glance at Fred, the corner of whose mouth twitched.

Lupin was wearing an odd expression as he looked at Harry. It was close to pitying.

Harry kinked a demanding brow, "You think I'm a fool?"

"No, I think you're like James," sighed Lupin, tucking his wand back into his cloak, "who would have regarded it as the height of dishonor to mistrust his friends."

With a look over his shoulder, Lupin shot a curious look at Charlie, who suddenly felt irrationally angry. He wanted to argue, but Lupin had turned away from him, set down his glass upon a side table, and addressed Kingsley, "There's work to be done."

"Right," nodded Kingsley, looking a bit distressed, "let's get this over with then, yeah?"

"Where are you going?" asked Tonks, rising from her spot on the couch.

"Mad-Eye's body," muttered Lupin, looking anywhere but at his wife. "We need to recover it."

"Can't it — ?" began Mrs. Weasley with an appealing look at Kingsley.

"Wait?" finished Kingsley. "I'm afraid it can't, Molly, not unless you'd rather the Death Eaters took it?"

Nobody dared to speak up at this. Lupin and Kingsley said goodbye and left the Burrow without second thought. The rest of them now dropped into chairs, all except for Harry, who remained standing, with Elaina at his side. The suddenness and completeness of death was looming over them like a unnerving presence.

"I've got to go too," announced Harry, and immediately ten pairs of eyes landed upon him. Elaina tightened her grip around her boyfriend.

"Don't be silly, Harry," dismissed Mrs. Weasley, clearly too exhausted to deal with much more of the evening. "What are you talking about?"

"I can't stay here." Harry rubbed his forehead; it had begun prickling again, it had not hurt like this for more than a year. "You're all in danger while I'm here. I don't want —"

"Don't be stupid," barked Charlie, narrowing his eyes towards his best friend. "The whole point of tonight was to get you here safely, and the plan, although evidently flawed, worked out. So, don't you dare tell me it's all been for nothing."

"Charlie's right, darling," cooed Elaina, brushing the stray strands of hair from Harry's emerald eyes. "Let's just think this through, okay? In a few days, Fleur and Bill will get married, and everything's already been arranged so that we can all stay together and look after you —"

But she didn't understand; her words were making Harry feel worse, not better.

"If Voldemort finds out I'm here —"

"But how would he?" asked Mrs. Weasley, her breath caught.

"There are a dozen places you might be right now, Harry," reassured Mr. Weasley. "He's got no way of knowing which safe house you're in."

"It's not me I'm worried for!" said Harry, tearing his hand from Elaina's grip.

"We know that," muttered Hermione quietly, "but it would make our efforts tonight seem rather pointless if you left."

"Yer not goin' anywhere," growled Hagrid. "Blimey, Harry, after all we wen' through ter get you here?"

"Yeah, what about my bleeding ear?" said George, hoisting himself up on his cushions.

"I know that —"

Ron sighed, "Mad-Eye wouldn't want —"

"I KNOW!" Harry bellowed, and everyone fell silent once again. No one said anything. There was a long and awkward silence in which Charlie's Dark Mark continued to prickle and throb, and which was broken at last by Mrs. Weasley. He drank the last of his firewhiskey.

Muttering about fresh air, Charlie pulled himself free of Hermione, who had taken hold of his arm, set down his glass and left the room. He heard her murmur something to the others, but did not look back. As he crossed the dark yard, the great skeletal Thestral looked up, rustled its enormous bat-like wings, then resumed its grazing. Charlie stopped at the gate into the garden, staring out at its overgrown plants, rubbing his pounding forehead and thinking of Dumbledore.

Dumbledore would have defended him, he knew it. His grandfather would have known how and why they were ambushed, simply because Dumbledore seemed to always know the answers.

But Dumbledore was gone. Like Mad-Eye, like Sirius, like his mother; all had gone to a place where Charlie could never talk to them again. He felt a burning in his throat that had nothing to do with firewhiskey. He stood shaking in the darkness, clutching the gate into the garden, his heart racing. It was several moments before he even realized that Hermione had joined him at his side.

"Charlie, please, come back in the house," she whispered, caressing his arm. "I need you to talk some sense into Harry — oh my, are you alright?" she interrupted herself, for she was now close enough to get a good look at his pale, blood-stained face.

Charlie shakily grabbed onto her for support. She reacted quickly, managing to put her weight under him and lower him onto a nearby bench.

"Charlie...?" she said in a hushed whisper. "What is it? You can tell me... what's going on?"

But with no audible response, Hermione simply put her arms around him again, and this time it was he who buried his head in her shoulder; the tears began to trickle down his face, wetting his cheeks.

For the first time ever, Charlie wasn't sure how much longer he was willing to fight.

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

wanted to get this chapter out before I disappear for a week to study for exams loll

hope you enjoyed <3

[insert begging for votes and comments here]

who do we think betrayed the Order? hmm...

until next time! happy Easter if you celebrate!!

xo, Selena

p.s. if you haven't already, be sure to follow me for update schedules, announcements, and potential story changes!