(A/N: last chapter of DH... let's spam the chat ahhh)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

Third Person Narrative:

Charlie remained kneeling at Snape's side, staring down at him, until quite suddenly a high, cold voice spoke so close to them that Charlie jumped to his feet, the flask gripped tightly in his hands, thinking that Voldemort had reentered the room.

Voldemort's voice reverberated from the walls and floor, and Charlie realized that he was talking to Hogwarts and to all the surrounding area, that the residents of Hogsmeade and all those still fighting in the castle would hear him as clearly as if he stood beside them, his breath on the back of their necks.

"You have fought valiantly," said the high, cold voice, "Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery, yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity... treat your injured..."

"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me... one hour."

The voice faded away at last, and the four Gryffindors in the Shrieking Shack shared a glance between them.

"You can't give yourself up to him," Ron broke the silence, looking panicked. "Don't even think about it!"

"Don't listen to him, Harry," said Charlie immediately, and Hermione — her hands covered in Snape's blood — grabbed her boyfriend, shaking her head frantically.

"It'll be all right," she said wildly. "Let's — let's get back to the castle, if he's gone to the forest we'll need to think of a new plan —"

Harry said nothing in response, and only moved to gather the discarded Invisibility Cloak and tuck it back into Hermione's beaded bag. Wiping the blood from his cheek, Charlie spared one last look at Snape's dead body. He did not know what to feel, except shock at the way the ex-Potions Professor had been killed, and the reason for which it had been done...

Then, with a shudder of uneasiness, the four Gryffindors crawled back through the tunnel, none of them talking, and Charlie wondered whether his friends could still hear Voldemort ringing in their heads as he could.

You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself... I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest... one hour...

Small bundles seemed to litter the lawn at the front of the castle. It could only be an hour or so from dawn, yet it was pitch-black. The four of them hurried toward the stone steps; there were two lone dogs, the size of small boats, which lay abandoned in front of them — Ludo and Fang. There was no other sign of Grawp or of his attacker.

The castle was unnaturally silent. There were no flashes of light now, no bangs or screams or shouts. The flagstones of the deserted Entrance Hall were stained with blood. Emeralds were still scattered all over the floor, along with pieces of marble and splintered wood, and part of the banister had been blown away.

"Where is everyone?" whispered Hermione, as Ludo came whimpering along at her side. With nothing but a shrug in response, Ron led the way into the Great Hall, and as their eyes focused in on their new surroundings, Charlie, Harry, and Hermione stopped in the doorway.

The House tables were gone and the room was crowded. The survivors stood in groups, their arms around each other's necks. The injured were being treated upon the raised platform by Madame Pomfrey and a group of helpers. Firenze was amongst the injured; his flank poured blood and he shook where he lay, unable to stand.

The dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall. Charlie could not see Fred's body, for his family had surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Mrs. Weasley was lying across Fred's chest, her body shaking. Mr. Weasley stroking her hair while tears cascaded down his cheeks.

Without a word to Harry, Charlie, or Hermione, Ron walked towards his family. He let out a horrid outpour of grief as he collapsed next to Fred, finally able to let out the emotion he'd been holding in since it had happened. Charlie felt Hermione's hand leave his, saw his girlfriend approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and watched as the two girls hugged each other tightly. Ron joined Bill, Fleur, and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron's shoulders.

Then, as Ginny and Hermione moved closer to the rest of the family, both Charlie and Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred. Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.

The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Charlie reeled backward from the doorway.

"Harry..." he choked, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder, as silent tears left trails through the dust, blood, and dirt covering his cheeks.

Harry could no longer draw a breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died...

Then, without missing a beat, Harry turned and ran up the marble staircase.

"Harry!" called Charlie after him, and he chased after his best friend before anyone else even realized they'd gone. The guilt, he knew, was killing him from the inside.

Fred... Remus... Tonks...

Charlie yearned not to feel. He wished he could rip out his heart, his innards, everything that was screaming inside him. The castle was completely empty; even the ghosts seemed to have joined the mass mourning in the Great Hall.

Still clutching the crystal flask of Snape's last thoughts, Charlie ran after Harry, and he did not slow down until Harry stopped in front of the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office.

"Password?"

Skidding to a halt, Charlie came up alongside Harry in front of the mystical door, silently inquiring about how his friend must be feeling. Then, with a moment's hesitation, he opened his mouth to offer condolences. Before a single word could've slipped past his lips, however, Harry silenced him at once.

"Don't tell me that it's not my fault," he forewarned, unable to make eye-contact. "Just — just please, open the door..."

"But I d-don't — wait — Dumbledore!" shouted Charlie without thinking, because it was his grandfather whom he yearned to see, and to his and Harry's surprise the gargoyle slid aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind.

In utter silence, the two of them climbed the spiral staircase and burst through the door, only to see an immediate change to the circular office. The portraits that hung all around the walls were empty. Not a single Headmaster or Headmistress remained to see them; they, it seemed, had flitted away, charging through the paintings that lined the castle so that they could have a clear view of what was going on.

Charlie glanced hopelessly at Dumbledore's deserted frame, which hung directly behind the Headmaster's chair, then turned his back on it. To his left, the stone Pensieve lay in the cabinet where it had always been. Thinking quickly, Charlie heaved it onto the desk and poured Snape's memories into the wide basin with its runic markings around the edge.

Harry blinked.

"What're you doing?"

"I just — I just think it might be easier to escape into someone else's head for a little while," whispered Charlie. "Nothing that Snape left us could possibly be worse, I reckon, than our own thoughts right now."

"You're right," mumbled Harry, and he stood on the opposite side of the Pensieve, which was reminiscent of the position he'd taken during the lessons they'd once shared with Dumbledore.

The memories swirled, silver white and strange, and without hesitating, with a feeling of reckless abandonment, as though this would assuage his torturing grief, Charlie dived.

[entering the memory]

The Headmaster's office dissolved, and the scene took a little longer to reform: Charlie, with Harry by his side, seemed to fly through shifting shapes and colours until their surroundings solidified again and they stood on a hilltop, forlorn and cold in the darkness, the wind whistling through the branches of a few leafless trees.

Snape was panting, turning on the spot, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, waiting for something or for someone...

His fear infected Charlie too, even though he knew that he could not be harmed, and he looked over his shoulder, wondering what it was that Snape was waiting for. Then, with sudden jolt, there was a blinding, jagged jet of white light that flew through the air. Charlie thought immediately of lightning, but Snape had dropped to his knees and his wand had flown out of his hand.

"Don't kill me!"

"That was not my intention."

Any sound of Albus Dumbledore Apparating had been drowned by the sound of the wind in the branches. He stood before Snape with his robes whipping around him, and his face was illuminated from below in the light cast by his wand.

"Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"

"No — no message — I'm here on my own accord!"

Snape was wringing his hands. He looked a little mad, with his straggling black hair flying around him.

"I-I come with a warning — no, a request, please —"

Dumbledore flicked his wand. Though leaves and branches still flew through the night air around them, silence fell on the spot where he and Snape faced each other.

"What request could a Death Eater make of me?"

"The — the prophecy... the prediction... Trelawney..."

"Ah, yes," sighed Dumbledore. "How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"

"Everything — everything I heard!" said Snape guiltily. "That is why — it is for that reason — he thinks it means Lily Evans!"

"The prophecy did not refer to a woman," Dumbledore blinked. "It spoke of a boy born at the end of July —"

"You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down — kill them all —"

"If she means so much to you," began Dumbledore, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"

"I have — I have asked him —"

"You disgust me," spat Dumbledore, and Charlie had never heard so much contempt in his voice; Snape seemed to shrink a little. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"

Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore.

"Hide them all, then," he croaked. "Keep her — them — safe, please..."

Charlie placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder, noticing the single tear lolling down his friend's cheek.

"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"

"In — in return?" Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Charlie expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, "Anything."

The hilltop, and before Charlie or Harry knew it, Dumbledore's office re-formed around them, and something was making a terrible sound, like a wounded animal. Snape was slumped forward in a chair and Dumbledore was standing over him, looking grim.

After a moment or two, Snape raised his face, and he looked like a man who had lived a hundred years of misery since leaving the wild hilltop.

"I thought... you were going... to keep her... safe..."

"I did what I had to do to protect my family," said Dumbledore softly. "It was either my grandson or the Potter boy, and I'll put the safety of my own above all else. Unfortunately, Lily and James put their faith in the wrong person. Rather like you, Severus. Weren't you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?"

Snape's breathing was shallow.

"Her boy survives," said Dumbledore reassuringly.

With a tiny jerk of the head, Snape seemed to flick off an irksome fly.

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?"

"DON'T!" bellowed Snape. "Gone... dead..."

"Is this remorse, Severus?"

"I wish... I wish I were dead..."

"And what use would that be to anyone?" argued Dumbledore coldly. "If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."

Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore's words appeared to take a long time to reach him.

"What — what do you mean?"

"You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's son."

"He does not need protection... the Dark Lord has gone —"

"The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

There was a long pause, and slowly Snape regained control of himself, mastered his own breathing. At last he said, "Very well. Very well. But never — never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear... especially Potter's son... I want your word!"

"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape's ferocious, anguished face. "If you insist..."

The office dissolved but re-formed instantly. Snape was pacing up and down in front of Dumbledore.

"— mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent —"

"You see what you expect to see, Severus," mumbled Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today. "Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child, and him and Charles seem to be getting along quite nicely."

Dumbledore turned a page, and said, without looking up, "Keep an eye on Quirrell, won't you?"

There was a sudden whirl of color, and now everything darkened, and Snape and Dumbledore stood mere inches apart in the Entrance Hall, while the last stragglers from the Yule Ball passed them on their way to bed.

"Well?" murmured Dumbledore.

"Karkaroff's Mark is becoming darker too. He is panicking, he fears retribution; you know how much help he gave the Ministry after the Dark Lord fell." Snape looked sideways at Dumbledore's crooked-nosed profile. "Karkaroff intends to flee if the Mark burns."

"Does he?" said Dumbledore softly, as Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies came giggling in from the grounds. "And are you tempted to join him?"

"No," said Snape, his black eyes on Fleur's and Roger's retreating figures. "I am not such a coward."

"No," agreed Dumbledore. "You are a braver man by far than Igor Karkaroff. You know, I sometimes think the Sorting Hat acts too quickly..."

He walked away, leaving Snape looking stricken.

And then Charlie and Harry stood in the Headmaster's office yet again. It was nighttime, and Dumbledore sagged sideways in the throne-like chair behind the desk, apparently semiconscious. His right hand dangled over the side, blackened and burned. Snape was muttering incantations, pointing his wand at the wrist of the hand, while with his left hand he tipped a goblet full of thick golden potion down Dumbledore's throat. After a moment or two, Dumbledore's eyelids fluttered and opened.

"Why," said Snape, without preamble, "why did you put on that ring? It carries a curse, surely you realized that. Why even touch it?"

Marvolo Gaunt's ring lay on the desk before Dumbledore. It was cracked; the sword of Gryffindor lay beside it.

Dumbledore grimaced.

"I was a fool... sorely tempted."

"Tempted by what?"

Dumbledore did not answer.

"It is a miracle you managed to return here!" Snape sounded furious. "That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for... I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being —"

Dumbledore raised his blackened, useless hand, and examined it with the expression of one being shown an interesting curio.

"You have done very well, Severus. How long do you think I have?"

Dumbledore's tone was conversational; he might have been asking for a weather forecast. Snape hesitated, and then said, "I cannot tell. Maybe a year. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread eventually, it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time."

The old Headmaster smiled; the news that he had less than a year to live seemed a matter of little or no concern to him.

"I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus."

"If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!" said Snape furiously. He looked down at the broken ring and the sword. "Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?"

"Something like that... I was delirious, no doubt..." whispered Dumbledore. With an effort, he straightened himself in his chair. "Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward."

Snape looked utterly perplexed. Dumbledore smiled.

"I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me."

Snape sat down in the chair Charlie had so often occupied, across the desk from Dumbledore. Charlie could tell that he wanted to say more on the subject of Dumbledore's cursed hand, but the other held it up in polite refusal to discuss the matter further.

Scowling, Snape said, "The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for your grandson's recent lack of cooperation. It's slow torture for Charles... he'll be forced to watch you die and pay the price for his actions."

Unable to help himself, Charlie shuddered as a lone tear rolled down his cheek. Deep down, he knew his grandfather's death had been his fault, but he could've done without the constant reminder...

"In short, both Charles and Draco have had death sentences pronounced upon them as surely as I have," said Dumbledore softly. "Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?"

There was a short pause.

"That, I think, is the Dark Lord's plan."

"Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?"

"He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes."

"And if it does fall into his grasp," began Dumbledore, almost, it seemed, as an aside, "I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students at Hogwarts?"

Snape gave a stiff nod.

"Good," Dumbledore smiled unbelievably. "Now then, your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to, for a frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself. Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you —"

"— much less since his father has lost favor. Draco blames me, he thinks I have usurped Lucius's position."

"All the same, try. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort's wrath."

Snape raised his eyebrows and his tone was sardonic as he asked, "Are you intending to let him kill you?"

"Certainly not... you must kill me."

There was a long silence, broken only by an odd clicking noise. Fawkes the Phoenix was gnawing a bit of cuttlebone.

"Would you like me to do it now?" asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. "Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?"

"Oh, not quite yet," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight," he indicated his withered hand, "we can be sure that it will happen within a year."

"If you don't mind dying," said Snape roughly, "why not forewarn Charles of your inevitable fate?"

"Because my grandson's soul somehow remains intact through all of this," whispered Dumbledore, "and I refuse to have it ripped apart on my account. Charles, as I'm sure I've made clear before, is my number one priority..."

"But what of my soul? What about me?"

"Only you know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation," said Dumbledore quickly. "I ask this one great favor of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year's league. I confess I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, my dear son-in-law has the opportunity to finish me off... or even Bellatrix Lestrange, who likes to play with her food before she eats it."

His tone was light, but his blue eyes pierced Snape as they had frequently pierced Charlie, as though the soul they discussed was visible to him. Then, after a few moments, Snape gave another curt nod.

Dumbledore seemed satisfied.

"Thank you, Severus..."

The scene reformed, and they were back in Dumbledore's office, the windows dark, and Fawkes sat silent as Snape sat quite still, as Dumbledore walked around him, talking.

"Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?"

"But what must he do?"

"That is between Harry and myself. Now, listen closely, Severus. There will come a time — after my death — do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake."

"For Nagini?" Snape looked astonished.

"Precisely," muttered Dumbledore. "If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry."

"Tell him what?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort's soul was blasted apart from the whole, latching itself onto the only living thing left in that collapsed building. Yes, it is true... part of Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Voldemort's mind that he has never understood. Meaning, while that fragment of soul, unbeknownst to Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die."

Charlie seemed to be watching the two men from one end of a long tunnel, they were so far away from him, their voices echoing strangely in his ears. His gaze fell upon the back of Harry's head, his eyes watering as realization dawned upon him, as the truth was forced down his throat.

"So the boy... the boy must die?" asked Snape quite calmly.

"And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential."

Another long silence, then Snape said, "I thought... all those years... that we were protecting him for her... for Lily."

"We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, and to let him try his strength," muttered Dumbledore, his eyes still tight shut. "Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth. Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know Harry, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort."

Dumbledore opened his eyes. Snape looked horrified.

"You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?"

"Don't be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?"

"Lately, only those whom I could not save," said Snape, and he stood up abruptly. "You have used me."

"Meaning?"

"I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep her son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter —"

"This is touching, Severus," whispered Dumbledore seriously. "Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?"

"For him?" shouted Snape. "Expecto Patronum!"

From the tip of his wand burst the infamous silver doe. She landed on the floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded, he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.

"After all this time?"

"Always."

The scene shifted again, and now, Charlie and Harry saw Snape talking to the portrait of Dumbledore behind the Headmaster's desk.

"You will have to give Voldemort the correct date of Harry's departure from his aunt and uncle's," commanded Dumbledore. "Not to do so will raise suspicion, when Voldemort believes you so well informed. However, you must plant the idea of decoys; that, I think, ought to ensure the Order's safety — try Confunding Mundungus Fletcher. Also, Severus, if you are forced to take part in the chase, be sure to act your part convincingly... I am counting upon you to remain in Lord Voldemort's good books as long as possible, or Hogwarts will be left to the mercy of the Carrows..."

Then, with another jolt, Snape was head-to-head with Mundungus in an unfamiliar tavern; Mundungus's face looking curiously blank, Snape frowning in concentration.

"You will suggest to the Order of the Phoenix," Snape murmured, "that they use decoys. Polyjuice Potion. Identical Potters. It's the only thing that might work. You will forget that I have suggested this. You will present it as your own idea... am I understood?"

"Yes, I understand," murmured Mundungus, his eyes unfocused.

Before they had time to process, Charlie and Harry were thrusted back into the Headmaster's study as Phineas Nigellus came hurrying into his portrait.

"Headmaster! They are camping in the Forest of Dean! The Mudblood —"

"Do not use that word!"

"— oh, Hawthorne's sweetheart, then — the Granger girl — mentioned the place as she opened her bag and I heard her!"

"Good, very good!" cried the portrait of Dumbledore behind the Headmaster's chair. "Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget that it must be taken under conditions of need and valour — and he must not know that you gave it away! If Voldemort should read Harry's mind and see you acting for him —"

"I know," said Snape curtly, and he approached the portrait of Dumbledore and pulled at its side. It swung forward, revealing a hidden cavity behind it from which he took the sword of Gryffindor.

"And you still aren't going to tell me why it's so important to give Charles the sword?" questioned Snape as he swung a traveling cloak over his robes.

"No, I don't think so," dismissed Dumbledore's portrait. "He will know what to do with it! Oh, and Severus, be very careful, they may not take kindly to your appearance after George Weasley's mishap —"

Snape turned at the door.

"Don't worry, Dumbledore," he said coolly. "I have a plan..."

Then, as the portrait swung closed behind him, Snape disappeared from sight. Charlie and Harry rose up out of the Pensieve, and moments later, they lay side-by-side on the carpeted floor in exactly the same room; Snape might just have closed the door.

[exiting the memory]

————————————————————

Finally, they'd heard the truth...

Lying with his face pressed into the dusty floor of the office where he had once thought he was learning the secrets of victory, Charlie understood at last that Harry was not supposed to survive. His job was to dispose of Voldemort's remaining links to life, the job that ought to have been done in Godric's Hollow would be finished.

Neither would live, neither could survive.

Charlie felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest as him and Harry sat in silence, unaware of what to say to one another. It was some cruel joke, he thought, to have to gather the courage to say goodbye to one of the few people he'd been so certain would always be by his side. In his mind, Charlie tried to conjure thousands and thousands of ulterior outcomes, but he knew it was over, and all that was left was the one thing he'd dreaded the most: Harry's death.

Slowly, very slowly, Charlie sat up, and as he did so he felt more aware of his own living body than ever before. He felt his fingers trembling slightly and made an effort to control them, although no one could see him; the portraits on the walls were all empty. He turned his head and saw Harry, staring back at him, his green eyes wide but shining somehow, even in the dim glow of the office. In that shared glance, terror washed over them both as they sat together, with the faintest funeral drums pounding within them. It was as though they could hear each other's thoughts, and Charlie clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder as he'd done many times before.

Would this be the last time?

Dumbledore's betrayal was almost nothing. There had always been a bigger plan, of course, but both Charlie and Harry had been too foolish to see it until now. Dumbledore knew, as Voldemort knew, that Harry would not let anyone else die for him now that he had discovered it was in his power to stop it. The images of Fred, Lupin, and Tonks lying dead in the Great Hall forced their way back into Charlie's head, and for a moment, he could hardly breathe.

Death had taken too much...

Like rain on a cold window, these thoughts pattered against the hard surface of the incontrovertible truth, which was that Harry Potter must die.

Your friend must die... your brother must die...

Then, with tears streaming down his cheeks, Harry stood abruptly, and Charlie staggered to his feet alongside him. They glanced at one another, speechless, and both gave curt nods of understanding.

"Thank you," Harry choked, "for everything."

"Harry, I — I'll go with you," whispered Charlie, without thinking, but his friend knew he'd meant it wholeheartedly. "Please, mate, we're meant to be in this together."

"No, I-I need you to k-kill the snake," argued Harry, unable to look Charlie in the eyes without breaking down entirely. "You heard Dumbledore, you're meant to use the sword. Kill the snake, and then it's just him. It'll end with you, mate. You'll be able to defeat him."

Charlie exhaled slowly, his body trembling.

"And what about the others? What am I meant to tell them?"

"T-Tell them how s-sorry I am," pleaded Harry, stuttering. "And t-tell Elaina — please — tell her that I l-love her, okay? I'm doing this to protect her, to protect everyone. No one else is going to die, not for me. It'll all be over soon..."

His breath ragged, Charlie managed a small nod before he'd flung himself around Harry's shoulders. He'd stayed there for a moment, allowing Harry to relax entirely into the brotherly embrace, and while they hugged for what they knew to be the last time, the words that they struggled to put into words were but a subconscious flood of emotion in their heads.

"I love you, little brother," said Charlie finally, as tears stung his eyes.

"I love you, too," replied Harry, with one last smile as they pulled away. "I'll see you again someday."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Then, with one deep breath, Harry did not look back as he walked out of the Headmaster's office; the devastating feeling of leaving Charlie standing there was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

Harry thought, in comparison, maybe the pain of dying wouldn't be so bad...

—————————————————————

(A/N: guys I'm crying... fuckkk)

It was a few moments before Charlie mustered enough strength to leave the Headmaster's office.

Ron and Hermione seemed a long way away, in a far-off country, and Charlie felt as though he had parted from them long ago. His heart was leaping against his ribs like a frantic bird, willing himself to forge on without Harry by his side. There was no explanation, Charlie knew, that would satisfy everyone about Harry's disappearance, and the attempts they would make to question him would waste valuable time.

The castle he'd grown to love was empty. Charlie felt ghostly as he walked the corridors alone, as though he'd been the one to succumb to death. The portrait people were still missing from their frames; the whole place was eerily still, as though all its remaining lifeblood were concentrated in the Great Hall where the dead and the mourners were crammed.

Charlie descended through the floors, at last walking down the marble staircase towards the Entrance Hall. Then, at the bottom of the steps, he'd noticed the distant silhouette of a red-headed young man, whom turned at the sound of Charlie's footfalls behind him.

"Where've you been? Hermione's been asking for you," came Ron's panicked voice, but Charlie couldn't bring himself to answer. "Have you seen Harry? I thought he might've gone to the forest," he rushed on, noticing the tears that lined his friend's eyelids.

"He's on his way there now," said Charlie, his voice hoarse, as though it had been too long since he last used it. He kept his head down and continued down the steps. Behind him, he heard Ron stand abruptly.

"And you let him go?" he cried. "Are you mad? He hasn't got a chance against —"

"What was I supposed to do?" Charlie turned back around, his face covered in grime, although his eyes were stung with tears. "He's the only one who can finish this, don't you understand? The longer we fight, the more casualties! Believe me, I wish things were different, but we're running out of options."

Ron froze, realization dawning on his freckled face, as he processed the words that fell from Charlie's chapped lips. Once he'd gathered himself, steadied his breathing, and matched his friend's tearful gaze, Ron's mind involuntarily went over every outcome Charlie had already desperately considered.

"There's got to be some other way," he said quietly. "We can't let Harry give himself over..."

Ron trailed off as Neville walked past them. He and Oliver Wood were carrying a body in from the grounds, working together as a pair on each end. Charlie glanced down and felt another dull blow to his stomach: Colin Creevey, though underage, must have snuck back just as Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini had done. He was tiny in death, and against his better judgement, Charlie was forced to imagine himself and Ron carrying Harry's limp body in from the battlefield after the war had officially been won.

"You know what? I think I can manage him alone, Neville," said Oliver Wood, and he heaved Colin over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and carried him into the Great Hall.

Unable to help himself, Charlie's gaze followed Wood as he moved, and he peered in through the grand doors. People were moving around, trying to comfort each other, drinking, kneeling beside the dead, but he could not see any of the people he loved; there was no sign of Hermione, Elaina, the Weasleys, or any other members of the Order.

It was better like this, Charlie told himself, for the current plan conjuring in his head was only going to be possible as long as he went undetected...

"What're you lot doing out here?" Neville asked suspiciously as he spotted his friends on the stairs.

"Trying to figure out how to kill a snake," Charlie lied easily, silencing Ron before he even had the chance to open his mouth. "You know Voldemort's snake, Neville? He's got a huge snake... calls it Nagini..."

"I've heard, yeah... what about it?"

"It's got to be killed," Charlie pressed on. "So if you get the chance, keep that in mind, will you?"

"Kill the snake?"

"Kill the snake," Charlie repeated.

"Alright, mate. You're okay though, are you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine... thanks."

With a skeptical look, Neville patted Charlie on the shoulder, released him, and walked away to look for more bodies.

"What was that?" said Ron hotly, once Neville was out of earshot. "Why not tell him about Harry — ?"

"Because there's nothing he can do."

"And what about us?" Ron looked suddenly scared. "There must be something we can do, can't there? We're wasting time doing nothing!"

"Well, there is something," whispered Charlie, his mind made up; the idea had come to him out of nowhere, born out of a desire to make absolutely sure. "I mean, you were right when you said we couldn't let Harry hand himself over —"

"Okay," Ron beamed, "so let's go —"

"You're not going anywhere," Charlie seized Ron's wrist as he made to move. "You're staying here."

"You can't be serious!" argued Ron at once. "There's no way I'm staying here, it'll be better if we go together —"

"And if we both die, then what?" asked Charlie darkly. "Don't you think your family has suffered enough?" He sent a small, subtle nod to the body of Fred, which lay lifeless in the middle aisle of the Great Hall. "Look, mate, I'll go after Harry. Stay here with your family, help Neville and the others, and just look after Hermione for me, will you?"

"You're not going to tell her, are you? Because you know she'd never let you do this."

"I know that she'll be upset, but I don't think —"

The awfulness of that possibility smothered Charlie for a moment, making it impossible to keep talking.

Ron gulped, "But Charlie..."

"I know, I know," Charlie looked at him tearfully. "Just — just please, look after her for — hmpf — !"

Charlie felt the air leave his lungs as Ron pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, sobbing into his shoulder. There was a small, relieved sigh that left his lips as he wrapped his arms around Ron, reciprocating the embrace. Ron's understanding was crucial, for it would reassure Charlie of the safety of the people he'd soon leave behind. No matter how difficult it was, he reminded himself to be like his grandfather, to keep a cool head, and to make sure there were others to carry on what he'd started without him.

The suffocating feeling seemed to extinguish as Ron released him, then whispered, "I'll see you soon, okay? You'll make it back — you and Harry —"

Charlie exhaled shakily.

"Ron..."

"Don't! You'll make it back, I know you will. So you don't have to say anything else, all right?"

(A/N: I believe in #Charon supremacy <3)

With a small nod, Charlie left Ron on the steps on the Entrance Hall, then wandered into the Great Hall to where he knew Hermione had left her beaded bag. His eyes grazing over Fred's motionless body, Charlie was compelled to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak and disappear as quickly as possible. He swung the Cloak over himself and walked on, stepping over bodies of the fallen as he forged onwards.

As Charlie walked into the courtyard, someone else was moving not far away, stooping over another prone figure on the ground. He was feet away from her when he realized it was the woman who occupied his thoughts. Her face covered in grime and her hair frayed, but still irresistible, still beautiful... still his Hermione.

Charlie stopped in front of her, taking one last glance of her lovely features. Hermione was crouching over a younger girl who was whimpering for her mother.

"It's all right," Hermione was saying. "It'll be okay, but we've got to get you inside."

"But I want to go home," cried the young girl. "I don't want to fight anymore!"

"I know," whispered Hermione, and her voice broke ever so slightly. "It's going to be all right."

Ripples of cold undulated over Charlie's skin, and he had a sudden urge to let his girlfriend know that he was under the Invisibility Cloak, that he was going to save Harry from Voldemort. He wanted to be stopped, to be dragged back, to be begged not to go...

Hermione was kneeling beside the injured girl now, holding her hand. Beneath the blood and dirt, Charlie inhaled the faint smell of honeysuckle that he always associated with her as it lingered around him, and his pounded in his chest. His fingertips involuntarily found the necklace that Hermione had given him for Christmas in fifth-year, and he pressed it, trying to say everything he felt with the single vibration that emitted from the bracelet on his girlfriend's wrist.

As Hermione raised her head with caution, Charlie knelt beside her and brushed a single strand of hair from her cheek. Her expression faltered, and Charlie felt the dreadful realization of what he was about to do rush over him all over again, for it was reflected right there, in his girlfriend's beautiful features.

Then, with a huge effort, Charlie forced himself onwards. He thought he saw tears fall from Hermione's eyes, and wondered whether she had sensed him walking away from her, but he did not speak, and he did not look back...

Hagrid's Hut loomed out of the darkness. There were no lights, no sound of Ludo or Fang scrabbling at the door, or their combined barks booming in welcome. Charlie's memories suffocated him, reminding him of all those visits to Hagrid's Hut, and the gleam of the copper kettle on the fire, and rock cakes and giant grubs, and Hagrid's great bearded face, and Harry helping him to save Norbert, and Ron vomiting slugs, and Hermione's remarkable use of the time-turner...

He moved on, and as he reached the edge of the forest, he stopped in his tracks.

There was a swarm of Dementors that were gliding through the trees; Charlie could feel their chill, and he was not sure he would be able to pass safely through it. He had no strength left to conjure a Patronus, and he could no longer control his own trembling. Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious. He thought that he would not be able to go on, but knew that he must.

Raising his wand underneath the Cloak, Charlie closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and heard Hermione's voice as though she were beside him, telling him it was going to be okay.

There was a cool breeze that seemed to emanate from the heart of the forest that somehow enticed Charlie's feet to move. The Dementors' chill did not overcome him; he passed through it, his wand held at his side, and he marched through the old trees that grew closely together, their branches tangled, their roots gnarled and twisted underfoot. Charlie clutched the Cloak tightly around him in the darkness, traveling deeper and deeper into the forest, with no idea where exactly Harry and Voldemort were, but sure that he would find them. Hermione's soothing voice in his ear was his courage, and the reason he was able to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

His body and mind felt oddly disconnected now, his limbs working without conscious instruction, as though he were somehow a passenger in his own body. The forest sounded beneath his feet as he stumbled and slipped toward distant voices, toward Voldemort and the Death Eaters...

Then, with a jolt of panic, there was a thud and a distant whisper; some other living creature had stirred close by. Charlie stopped under the Cloak, peering around, listening. From behind a nearby tree, two figures emerged. Their wands flared, and Charlie saw Yaxley and Dolohov peering into the darkness. They appeared not to have seen anything, unbeknownst to their paranoia, and walked deeper into the forest. Charlie followed them, knowing that they would lead him exactly where he wanted to go.

They had travelled onwards for mere moments until Charlie saw light ahead, and Yaxley and Dolohov stepped out into a clearing that Charlie knew had been the place where the monstrous spider Aragog had once lived. The remnants of his vast web were there still, but the swarms of the descendants he had spawned had been driven out by the Death Eaters to fight for their cause.

A fire burned in the middle of the clearing, and its flickering light fell over a crowd of completely silent, watchful Death Eaters. Some of them were still masked and hooded; others showed their faces. Two giants sat on the outskirts of the group, casting massive shadows over the scene, their faces cruel, rough-hewn like rock. Charlie saw his father, smirking, twirling his wand between his fingertips in a taunting manner; the werewolf Greyback was skulking, chewing his long nails. He saw Lucius Malfoy, who looked defeated and terrified, and Narcissa, whose eyes were sunken and full of apprehension.

Every eye was fixed upon Harry and Voldemort, his white hand clutched tightly over the Elder Wand, as they stood in the centre of the wide circle, staring at one another. They might have been engaging in an unspoken battle, and Charlie, standing still on the edge of the scene, thought absurdly of two children having a staring contest. Behind Voldemort's head, still swirling and coiling, the great snake Nagini floated in her glittering, charmed cage, like a monstrous halo.

The giants were roaring as the Death Eaters jeered from the sidelines, and there were many cries, gasps, even laughter at the sight before them. Voldemort had not moved, but his red eyes found Harry, and he glared as Harry challenged him, with nothing but the crackling fire between them.

"NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT'RE YEH —"

To the left of the scene, Hagrid had been bound and trussed, tied to a tree nearby. His massive body shook the branches overhead as he struggled, desperate.

"QUIET!" shouted Fenwick, and with a flick of his wand, Hagrid was silenced.

Bellatrix Lestrange, who had stood closest to Voldemort, was looking eagerly from her master to Harry, her chest heaving as she watched with anticipation like everyone else. The only things that moved were the flames and the snake, coiling and uncoiling in the glittering cage behind Voldemort's head. Charlie hid behind a nearby tree as his mind rattled with absurd plans of rescue. He knew that whether he went for the well-protected snake, or he managed to somehow point his wand at Voldemort, there would be fifty curses that would hit him first.

In the centre of the circle, Voldemort had raised his wand to Harry's chest, but Harry made no attempt to draw his own. They looked at one another, and Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth.

"Harry Potter," he said softly, and his voice might have been part of the spitting fire. "The Boy Who Lived."

None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting; everyone was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting, and Charlie raked his brain for any worthy plan that might save his best friend. Voldemort's head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Even from a distance, Charlie could see the gleam in his red eyes, and he waited with baited breath — Voldemort raised his wand.

"Avad—"

"WAIT — !" Charlie called out, unveiling himself from under the Invisibility Cloak, as he stepped out from behind an nearby tree, his wand held at his side.

"CHAR! NO! NO, NOT YEH — !"

With another flick of a Death Eater's wand, the half-giant was silenced against his own will once more. At the sound of the intrusion, Voldemort stopped abruptly, his scarlet eyes now fixated upon the young Hawthorne heir in question.

"Ah, Charles," he hissed, his lips curling into a cold, harsh smile. "How good it is to see you."

"I wish I could say the same," spat Charlie harshly, as he looked over Voldemort's shoulder at his father, who stared back at him with a look of shock written all over his face.

"Charlie, what're you — ?" Harry tried to plead with him, but Charlie cut him off quickly.

"I can't let you do this," he mumbled, his voice wavering. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't..."

"How touching," snarled Voldemort, and his Death Eater companions cackled in response. "But you cannot defeat me, Charlie Hawthorne. The end is drawing near, and I'm afraid there is no more delaying of the inevitable."

"If that were true, there'd be no such thing as Horcruxes," quipped Charlie, his eyes shining with determination, as he raised his wand higher. "Because death is inevitable for everyone, isn't it, Tom? It doesn't matter how many bloody times you split your soul, you'll die whether you want to admit it or not."

Her mouth agape, Bellatrix shrieked, "HOW DARE YOU — !"

Then, as the crowd of Death Eaters broke out into murmurs of dislike, Harry pulled Charlie's arm backwards, and whispered, "What in the name of Merlin are you doing?"

(A/N: my final boys <3 wonhosmila)

But Charlie did not answer, his wand still raised, as he met Voldemort's glare and walked forward.

"QUIET!" Voldemort silenced the crowd, his eyes narrowed as Charlie stepped over a fallen tree branch to reach the centre of the circle. "You have some nerve to speak to me in such a way, you silly boy. It's quite surprising, I must say, especially since I once offered you kinship. Now, as it seems, you might as well have spat in my face."

"I must be full of surprises, then," muttered Charlie, his voice free of fear. "So what're you waiting for, Tom? Haven't we delayed the inevitable long enough? I reckon it's about time we've ended this —"

"Shut up! Shut your filthy blood traitor mouth!" shouted Fenwick from a distance, and Charlie's jaw clenched tighter. "Have you not an ounce of respect? No son of mine would ever disrespect —"

"I think it's been made perfectly clear that I'm no longer a son of yours," hissed Charlie, "so you needn't worry anymore about what I'm doing."

Fenwick looked enraged.

"I'll kill — !"

But Voldemort raised his hand in dismissal once more, his voice growing more and more hostile.

"Don't flatter yourself, Fenwick."

"M-My Lord?"

"You've repeatedly failed to do what I've asked of you, Fenwick," said Voldemort harshly. "I believe you've had several opportunities to dispose of your disrespectful heir, and yet he stands before me, breathing and thwarting my plan of victory."

"M-My Lord, if I m-may interject —"

"Time and time again, you've disappointed me," snarled Voldemort, his red eyes glaring, and Fenwick seemed to be temporarily robbed of his breath. "Now, as long as you are incapable, I am forced to finish what you've started."

"Go on, then," taunted Charlie. "I've tempted death more times than you can count, so I think it's about time I've met my maker."

"NO!" yelled Harry, yanking Charlie backward once again. "Are you mental? You shouldn't be here! Please, mate, you've got to —"

"I'm not leaving you here," whispered Charlie, exhaling slowly at his friend's lack of cooperation. "We do this together, or we don't do it at all."

"Shame," sneered Voldemort, raising his own wand at last. "I had such high expectations for you, Charles."

Charlie spat at the Dark Lord's feet.

"Fuck you."

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Then, as the beam of green light flew towards him, Charlie watched as Harry hurled himself forward and prepared himself for the curse that that would soon blast into his chest in an act of admirable bravery.

"NO!"

Everything seemed to have happened in slow motion. The force of the Killing Curse sent Charlie stumbling backwards before he could counter with another spell, and as he caught his balance and looked up, his tearful eyes immediately upon Harry's lifeless body as it crumpled to the floor beside him. Then, as emotion clogged his throat, Charlie fell to his knees and leaned over his best friend, cradling him in his arms as Harry's green eyes glossed over, still and lifeless.

"No, no, no, NO! Harry, wake up! Wake up!"

"Tut, tut," came the sound of Voldemort's victorious voice. "In truth, I did not expect this turn of events, but alas Harry Potter is dead! You see now, don't you, Charles? Haven't I forewarned you that you are not the hero of this war?"

Charlie didn't say anything in response, his vision clouded by the never-ending tears that stung his eyes. Enraged, he clutched his wand tighter, readying himself for revenge, and then flicked his wrist towards the crowd of Death Eaters, whom of which were laughing and taunting him from a distance. From the tip of his wand, multiple Stunning Spells and Unforgivable Curses burst forth against his better judgement.

"STUPEFY! CRUCIO! SECTUMSEMPRA!" he cried, wrapping his unoccupied hand around Harry's limp body. He duelled his father and multiple Death Eaters at once, fighting them off for as long as he could, before thick ropes wrapped themselves around him, causing his arms to bound to his sides, and he crumpled onto the grass next to his best friend, pocketing his wand at the very last second.

"INCARCEROUS!" came the distant incantation, and Charlie tried to free himself from his restraints immediately. His face was already wet with tears, and more continued to flow. He was screaming louder now, his voice high-pitched and desperate.

"What should we do with him now, my Lord?" asked Fenwick, staggering to his feet and dusting himself off at the knees in direct response to his son's attack.

"Oh, please, please," begged Bellatrix, "let me kill him! I'll finish him off! I'll make him regret ever daring to challenge you, my Lord!"

"Shut up, Bella!" snarled Fenwick. "Please, my Lord, give me another chance! I promise I'm capable —"

"SILENCE!" roared Voldemort, waving the Elder Wand again, and with a loud groan, Charlie's restraints tightened. "You shall not touch the young man, do you understand me? The death of Charlie Hawthorne will be by my hands. He'll die when I want him to, and not a second before that. We'll bring him with us, let his little Mudblood girlfriend see him before he dies."

"NO! LET ME — ARGHHHH — !"

With a harsh kick to the abdomen by his father, Charlie was silenced at once. His head slammed back onto the solid ground, and he could faintly smell the scent of the forest around him as it filled his nostrils. He did not stir, but he remained exactly where he had fallen, with his arms bound to his sides and his mouth tightly sealed.

He had expected to hear cheer of triumph and jubilation at his capture, but instead hurried footsteps, whispers, and solicitous murmurs filled the air.

"My Lord... my Lord..."

It was Narcissa Malfoy's voice, and she spoke as though she was trembling. There was a complete silence in the clearing. Charlie could only lay there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and stare at the lifeless body of Harry Potter next to him in disbelief.

"Examine Potter, and tell me whether he is dead," commanded Voldemort, and although he could not see it, Charlie knew Narcissa was taking slow steps towards him and Harry. "Dolohov! Greyback! Take care of the Hawthorne boy, won't you?"

Then, as Charlie awaited his demise, he could've sworn he heard the distant murmurs of Narcissa Malfoy and another unknown voice; the whispers were barely audible, especially since his own heart pounded loudly against his ribs. Charlie didn't have much time to register what was happening before he was hoisted into the air by two Death Eaters; his bloodcurdling screams and protests went unnoticed.

Through his blurred vision, Charlie could briefly acknowledge the clearing in its entirety as the Death Eaters shook the surrounding trees with jeers and shrieks of laughter. There were frequent cheers of victory, and after a few moments, Charlie's eyes flooded with more tears as Narcissa's voice rang out in the near distance.

"Dead!" she called, and there was a fresh outbreak of laughter.

"NO!" Charlie cried involuntarily. "NO! NO — !"

But all Charlie heard was more laughter echo in his ears before there was another sharp blow to the side of his head, and everything went black...

————————————————————

His eyes fluttering open awhile later, Charlie felt his head swing back and forth with every step the Death Eater carrying him took through the forest of overgrown trees. Lifting his head ever so slightly, he could see Hagrid carrying Harry's body behind him, his half-giant body trembling with the force of heaving sobs. Branches caught at Charlie's hair and clothes, but he remained paralyzed, his mouth lolling open, his head spinning, and in the darkness, while the Death Eaters crowed all around them, and while Hagrid sobbed blindly, nobody looked to see whether a pulse beat in the exposed neck of Harry Potter...

The two giants crashed along behind the Death Eaters; Charlie could hear trees creaking and falling as they passed. They made so much din that birds rose shrieking into the sky, and even the jeers of the Death Eaters were drowned. The victorious procession marched on toward the open ground, and after a while Charlie could tell, by the lightening of the darkness through his closed eyelids, that the trees were beginning to thin. Then, judging by a freshening of the air, they had reached the edge of the forest.

"Stop."

Charlie vaguely recognized Voldemort's voice, and the Death Eater carrying him lurched to a halt. Then, with an unsettling chill, someone passed close by Charlie, and he knew that it was the Dark Lord himself because he spoke a moment later, his voice magically magnified so that it swelled through the grounds, crashing upon everyone's eardrums.

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. His most loyal sidekick, Charlie Hawthorne, has also been caught and is being kept under watch. We bring them both to you now as proof that the battle has been won..."

Charlie immediately pictured Hermione, her reaction to his sacrifice. He tried to reassure himself of her understanding, but knew it wouldn't mean much now that Voldemort had signed his death sentence.

"My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist — man, woman or child — will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

There was an eerie silence that elicited from the grounds and from the castle. Voldemort was so close to him now that Charlie didn't dare challenge the look in his crimson eyes.

"Come," beckoned Voldemort, and Charlie was forced to follow. He knew that they were approaching the castle, and he strained his ears to distinguish, above the gleeful voices of the Death Eaters and their tramping footsteps, signs of life from those within. Then, with a shudder of anticipation, he heard the grass turn to concrete, and knew they had entered the courtyard.

"Stop."

The Death Eaters came to a halt; Charlie heard them spreading out in a line facing the open front doors of the school. He could see, with squinted eyes, the reddish glow that meant light streamed upon him from the Entrance Hall. Then, with a shudder of anticipation, he waited. Any moment, the people he had left behind would see him, slumped over Greyback's shoulder, caught and captured.

"NO!"

The scream was one of the most terrible because Charlie had never expected or dreamed that Professor McGonagall could make such a sound. He heard another woman laughing nearby, and knew that Bellatrix gloried in McGonagall's despair. He looked onwards and saw the open doorway filling with people, as the survivors of the battle came out onto the front steps to face their vanquishers and see the truth of Harry's death for themselves. Through Charlie's tearful eyes, he saw Voldemort standing a little in front of him, stroking Nagini's head with a single white finger.

"No!"

"NO!"

"HARRY! NO!"

"Charlie! CHARLIE!"

He heard their voices call out, and even though he'd been expecting it, Hermione's cries had felt like a knife through his chest. Her screams were the most difficult to hear, far worse than Ron's or Elaina's; Charlie wanted nothing more than to call back to her, show her that he was okay, yet he made himself lay silent, hoping somehow she could read his mind. Their combined cries acted like a trigger; the crowd of survivors took up the cause, screaming and yelling abuse at the Death Eathers, until —

"SILENCE!" cried Voldemort, and there was a bang and a flash of bright light, and silence was forced upon them all. "It is over! Put the Hawthorne boy on the ground, Greyback, where he belongs. You too, Hagrid. They both deserved to cower beneath my feet."

Charlie felt himself harshly thrown onto the cobbled stone, and he immediately began writhing beneath his restraints. He tried to desperately reach out in the direction of Harry, whose eyes had since fluttered shut, but his hand was quickly crushed beneath Voldemort's boot. Then, as he screamed out in pain, Charlie saw Hermione impulsively charge towards him before she was yanked back into the crowd of survivors by Ron and the other Weasleys; Elaina had sunk to her knees and began whimpering uncontrollably beside them.

"Charlie! CHARLIE!" cried Hermione, over and over again. "LET HIM GO! PLEASE!"

"Stupid girl!" called Voldemort, and the Death Eaters laughed along with him. "You cannot save him! The war has been won! Harry Potter... is dead. Now, as proof of my unmatched power, your delusional lover meets the same fate. I shall murder him in front of you, in front of all of you..."

"NO! NO, NO, PLEASE! I'LL DO ANYTHING — !"

"There is nothing I want from a Mudblood," hissed Voldemort, and out the corner of his eye, Charlie saw the Dark Lord raise the Elder Wand in his direction.

At long last, Charlie met Voldemort's crimson eyes, and hoped for a quick death. He wanted it to happen now while he could still manage to bite his tongue, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear —

"Goodbye, Charlie Hawthorne."

Before he could look into Hermione's eyes one last time, Charlie saw Voldemort's mouth move and a flash of green light, and then everything was gone...

————————————————————

(A/N: the end... nah I'm jk loll IMAGINE)

Charlie lay face down, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching, nobody else was there.

He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself...

Some time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore, he had a sense of touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too.

Once he made this conclusion, Charlie became conscious that he was dressed head-to-toe in pristine white clothes. Convinced as he was of his total solitude, this did not concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly. He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes.

He lay in a bright mist, and it was reminiscent of the mist he'd experienced when he encountered his mother some time ago. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapour; rather the cloudy vapour had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be. Blinking a few times, he sat up and noticed that his hands were unscathed.

Then, as he stood and looked around, the sound of footsteps reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him; the soft thumping of someone behind him kept him on edge. Charlie had the uncomfortable feeling that he was was being watched, that someone's eyes were burning into the back of his skull. He turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes. The longer he looked around, the more there was to see. He was in a wide-open space, bright and clean, a hall much larger than the Great Hall, with that clear domed glass ceiling.

Everything was familiarly vast and empty, and Charlie was the only person there, except for an elder man walking toward him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue. The closer the man came forward, the quicker Charlie's heart pounded in his chest.

"G-Grandfather...?"

"Charles," whispered Albus Dumbledore in response, and he spread his arms wide and engulfed the his grandson in a hug. "You wonderful boy... you brave, brave man! I have missed you so much..."

"I can't believe..." Charlie was stunned into disbelief as they pulled away, his gaze quickly landing on the familiar icy blue eyes of his grandfather. "Is it — is it really you?"

"Indeed it is, my dear boy," hummed Dumbledore, and Charlie noticed that his hands were both whole and white and undamaged. "Please, let us walk."

His mouth agape, Charlie followed as Dumbledore walked through the vaporized mist, leading him to two seats that Charlie had not previously noticed, set some distance away under that high, sparkling ceiling. Dumbledore sat down in one of them, and Charlie fell into the other, staring at his grandfather's face. Dumbledore's long silver hair and beard, the piercingly blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles, the crooked nose; everything was as he had remembered it.

"B-But you're dead," he stuttered.

"Oh yes," whispered Dumbledore matter-of-factly.

"Then... I'm dead too?"

"Ah," said Dumbledore, smiling still more broadly. "That is the question, isn't it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not."

They looked at each other, the old man still beaming.

"Not?" repeated Charlie.

"Not," said Dumbledore.

"Wait..." Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose, confused. "But I should have died — Voldemort killed me! He used the Elder Wand to cast the Killing Curse!"

"And that," hummed Dumbledore, "will, I think, have made all the difference."

Happiness seemed to radiate from Dumbledore like light, like fire; Charlie had never seen the man so utterly, so palpably content.

"I need you to explain," he demanded.

"But you already know," said Dumbledore, and he twiddled his thumbs together.

"He killed me with your wand."

"He failed to kill you with my wand," Dumbledore corrected his grandson. "I think we can agree that you are not dead — though, of course," he added, as if fearing he had been discourteous, "I do not minimize your sufferings, which I am sure were severe."

"I feel great at the moment, though," muttered Charlie, looking down at his clean, unblemished hands. "Where are we, exactly?"

"Well, I was going to ask you that," said Dumbledore, looking around. "Where would you say that we are?"

Until Dumbledore had asked, Charlie had not known. Now, however, he found that he had an answer ready to give.

"It looks," he said slowly, "like King's Cross station. Except a lot cleaner and empty, and there are no trains as far as I can see."

"King's Cross station!" Dumbledore was chuckling immoderately. "Good gracious, really?"

"Well, where do you think we are?" asked Charlie, a little defensively.

"My dear boy, I have no idea. This is, as they say, your party."

Charlie had no idea what this meant; Dumbledore was being infuriating. He glared at him, then remembered a much more pressing question than that of their current location.

"The Deathly Hallows," he said, and he was glad to see that the words wiped the smile from Dumbledore's face.

"Ah, yes," he murmured, and he even looked a little worried.

"Well?"

For the first time since Charlie had known Dumbledore, he looked less than an old man, much less. He looked fleetingly like a small boy caught in wrongdoing.

"Can you ever forgive me?" he asked softly. "Can you forgive me for not trusting you? For not telling you? Charles, I only feared that your hot head might dominate your good heart. I was scared that, if presented with the truth, you might go to dangerous lengths to save the ones you love. There was so much I wished to tell you, but I refused to burden you with my mistakes. Believe me, you cannot despise me more than I despise myself."

"But I don't despise you," Charlie managed after a few moments. "I could never..."

Dumbledore sniffled.

"You're too good, Charles," he whispered. "I admire that about you, you know... I always have..."

In truth, Charlie couldn't bring himself to hold onto any resentment he may have had for his grandfather. He knew better than to let their final moments end as they had that night on the Astronomy Tower, and he had nothing but appreciation now for the man who'd raised him since he was a boy.

"I need you to explain... more," he pressed on, his gaze wandering."What is this? Why am I here?"

"Because you must understand something," Dumbledore sighed. "Tell me, my dear boy, haven't you ever wondered as to whom the Elder Wand's loyalties lie?"

"It belonged to Snape," answered Charlie, "that's why Voldemort killed him —"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore nodded slowly. "But what if I told you that the Elder Wand never belonged to Severus?"

"Then I'd tell you that an innocent man died for nothing,"  said Charlie quickly, and he was surprised to see his grandfather's face fall ever so slightly. "But if what you're saying is true, then who — ?"

"I think you know," Dumbledore began twiddling his thumbs again. "Think back, my dear boy, and remember what you did the night of my untimely death..."

Charlie thought, and he let his gaze drift over his surroundings; the chairs were set in little rows, and still, he and Dumbledore were the only beings there. Then, without effort, the answer rose to his lips easily.

"I disarmed Draco Malfoy."

"Precisely!" said Dumbledore happily. "You disarmed Mr. Malfoy moments after he'd disarmed me in the Astronomy Tower! The Elder Wand claimed loyalty to you, don't you see? You're the master of the Elder Wand, Charles! It's been yours this entire time!"

"The Elder Wand... belongs to me?"

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Dumbledore. "As long as the wand remained loyal to you, it never would've committed to Lord Voldemort. For him, the Elder Wand had became an obsession, and it drove him mad when it proved to be defective. He truly believed that the Elder Wand would make him invincible... poor Severus..."

"If you planned your death with Snape, you meant for him to end up with the Elder Wand, didn't you?"

"I admit that was my intention," murmured Dumbledore, "but the outcome was far greater than I could've ever imagined. The Elder Wand refused to kill you tonight because of its devoted loyalty to its master... to you..."

"So it's true?" asked Charlie. "All of it? The Hallows? The Peverell brothers —"

"— were the three brothers of the tale," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Oh yes, I think so. Whether they met Death on a lonely road... I think it more likely that the Peverell brothers were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who succeeded in creating those powerful objects. The story of them being Death's own Hallows seems to me the sort of legend that might have sprung up around such creations. The Elder Wand, as you know, has shifted its allegiances over the years, until alas it has found you."

"Me?"

"You."

Dumbledore patted Charlie's hand, and Charlie looked up at the old man and smiled; he could not help himself. How could he remain angry with Dumbledore now? The two of them sat without talking for the longest time yet. The realization of what would happen next settled gradually over Charlie in the long minutes, like softly falling snow.

"I've got to go back, haven't I?"

"That is up to you."

"I've got a choice?"

"Oh yes," Dumbledore smiled at him. "We are in King's Cross, you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to... let's say... board a train..."

"And where would it take me?"

"On," said Dumbledore simply, and there was silence again.

"B-But what about Harry?" Charlie asked, after a few moments. "How am I meant to finish this without him?"

"I think," said Dumbledore happily, "that if you choose to return, there is a chance that all is not as it seems. The end is near, Charles, and there is not much that I can promise. In my heart, however, I know that there are people waiting for you to come home..."

Charlie glanced around again as tears threatened to swell in his eyes, and he choked back the emotion clogging his throat, his hands trembling slightly.

"And you?" he asked softly. "What about you? Because I don't know if I can lose you again."

"And you won't," assured Dumbledore, sniffling. "I will stay with you until the very end... right in here..."

With a kind smile, he reached a hand out and placed it directly over Charlie's heart. He then took a deep breath and looked down at his lap, and soon enough, tears of his own began to flow down the tip of his crooked nose.

"Do not pity the dead, Charles," he whispered at last. "Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. You'll have a chance not only to ensure Miss Granger's continued life, but to give her the future she has hoped for — the future I quite think you have hoped for yourself. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we must say goodbye for the present..."

Charlie wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded. Leaving this place would not be nearly as hard as walking into the forest had been, but it was warm and light and peaceful here, and he knew that he was heading back to pain and the fear of more loss. How could he ever say goodbye to Hermione again? He stood up, and Dumbledore did the same, and they looked for a long moment into each other's faces.

"I'm sorry," said Charlie abruptly, without thinking, "that our last words that night were in anger..."

Dumbledore smiled through his unshed tears.

"They weren't our last, my dear boy."

Charlie took a deep breath.

"Not yet?"

"Not for awhile..."

More silence stretched between them as King's Cross Station danced in and out of focus.

"Tell me one last thing, granddad," whispered Charlie, and he made sure to spare one last glance at Dumbledore's icy blue eyes in remembrance. "Is this all real? Or has this just been happening inside my head?"

Dumbledore beamed at his grandson, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Charlie's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Charles, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?"

—————————————————————

Charlie was lying facedown on the ground again. He could feel the cold hard ground beneath his cheek, and one of the stones beneath his head was cutting into his temple. Every inch of him ached, and the place where the Killing Curse had hit him felt like the bruise of an iron-clad punch. He could feel the wetness of someone's tears dampening his sleeve, and as he opened one of his eyes, he could briefly see Hermione's trembling body kneeling next to him.

"Ch-Charlie, please... no, no, no..."

"You see?" came the chilling hiss of Voldemort's voice, and Charlie felt him striding backward and forth right beside the place where he lay. "Harry Potter is dead! Now Charlie Hawthorne has met the same fate! Do you understand now, deluded ones? They were nothing, ever, but those who relied on others to sacrifice themselves!"

"LIAR!" yelled Ron, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more.

"Did you not hear me?" shouted Voldemort angrily. "While you battled so courageously, until you could no longer will yourself to stand, these two had long since fallen to their knees! While you cursed me, until your voices grew ragged, they begged me for mercy in voices as meek as children! Do not cry for them... they are not worthy of your tears. Harry Potter is dead! Charlie Hawthorne is dead! From this day forward, you put your faith in me or suffer the consequences..."

Then, as Voldemort began to scan the crowd, Charlie willed his fingers to twitch against Hermione's leg, seizing his opportunity. Under her breath, Hermione released a relieved gasp and wiped the tears from her eyes so she could get a closer look.

Her hands trembling in disbelief, Hermione leaned closer to make it seem like she was sobbing into her boyfriend's shoulder, and whispered, "Ch-Charlie...? Oh my — is it — is it really you? H-How did you — how are y-you alive?"

"C-Cut the ropes," he managed, and he felt Hermione kiss his cheek repeatedly in response, her cascaded hair shielding them from the Death Eaters. Then, as more silence fell upon the courtyard, Charlie heard the movement above him as his girlfriend made to retrieve her wand from the rubble surrounding them.

"Now it is time to declare yourselves," hissed Voldemort, unaware of what was happening. "Come forth, pledge your allegiance, and you will be sparred."

"Draco!" Charlie heard Lucius Malfoy snarl. "Draco, come!"

There was a brief pause, then Charlie heard movement once again. He dared to open half an eyelid. The white-blonde head of Draco Malfoy was moving towards Voldemort, who embraced him. Malfoy was shaking with fear, and was staring straight ahead, to where Charlie imagined his parents stood, as Voldemort hissed: "Well done, Draco! Well done."

Behind Malfoy and Voldemort, Charlie saw that McGonagall, Kingsley, and Mr. Weasley were at the front of the crowd, but it was Hermione his squinted gaze fell upon as she began severing the ropes that were bounding his arms to his sides. Her cheeks with stained with tears, though her expression remained as determined as ever with her wand in hand.

"Diffindo," she muttered under her breath, and Charlie felt his limbs adjust to the newfound freedom.

Then, as Charlie made to exhale, he heard another scuffle above him. He shut his eyes, just as there was another bang, a flash of light, and someone who could have been Luna shouted: "Neville!"

There was a grunt of pain; Charlie opened his eyes an infinitesimal amount. Someone had broken free of the crowd and charged at Voldemort, and Charlie saw the figure hit the ground, disarmed, for the Dark Lord had thrown the challenger's wand aside and laughed.

"And who is this?" he said in his soft snake's hiss. "Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"

Bellatrix gave a delighted laugh.

"It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"

"Ah, yes, I remember," snarled Voldemort, looking down at Neville, who was struggling back to his feet next to Hermione, unarmed and unprotected, standing in the no-man's-land between the survivors and the Death Eaters. "But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?" Voldemort asked Neville, who stood facing him, his empty hands curled in fists.

"So what if I am?" said Neville loudly.

"You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

"I'll join you when hell freezes over," spat Neville hotly. "Dumbledore's Army!" he shouted, and there was an answering cheer from the crowd, whom Voldemort's Silencing Charms seemed unable to hold.

"Very well," said Voldemort lowly, and Charlie sensed more danger in the silkiness of his voice than in the most powerful curse. "If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head," he said quietly, "be it."

Still watching through his lashes, Charlie saw Voldemort wave his wand. Seconds later, out of one of the castle's shattered windows, something that looked like a misshapen bird flew through the half light and landed in Voldemort's hand. He shook the mildewed object by its pointed end and it dangled, empty and ragged: the Sorting Hat.

"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School," announced Voldemort. "There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colours of Salazar Slytherin will suffice for everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"

He pointed his wand at Neville, who grew rigid and still, then he forced the hat onto Neville's head, so that it slipped down below his eyes. There were movements from the watching crowd in front of the castle, and as one, the Death Eaters raised their wands, holding the fighters of Hogwarts at bay.

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me," said Voldemort, and with a flick of his wand, he caused the Sorting Hat to burst into flames.

Screams split the dawn, and Neville was aflame, rooted to the spot, unable to move, and Charlie could no longer bear it; he must do something...

Before he could formulate a plan, however, there were many things happening all at once. They heard uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the out-of-sight walls and pelted toward the castle, uttering loud war cries. In the same moment, Grawp came lumbering around the side of the castle and yelled, "HAGGER!" and his cry was answered by roars from Voldemort's giants; they ran at Grawp like bull elephants, making the earth quake.

Then came hooves and the twangs of bows, and arrows were suddenly falling amongst the Death Eaters, who broke ranks, shouting their surprise.

In one swift, fluid motion, Neville broke free of the body-bind curse upon him; the flaming hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle — the slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd or the sounds of the clashing giants or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet, it seemed to draw every eye. With a single stroke, Neville sliced off the great snake's head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, and Voldemort's mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody could hear, and the snake's body thudded to the ground at his feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie watched as Voldemort raised the Elder Wand towards Neville in a fit of rage, and he sensed his chance. Throwing his unbound ropes off of his body, he reached upwards and pulled Neville down to his level just before an unknown curse flew over his head, missing him by mere inches.

"Charlie! Oh my —"

"Not now, Neville!" he yelled, and he instinctively raised his wand in his unoccupied hand. In that same moment, Harry Potter had miraculously leapt from Hagrid's arms and together, he and Charlie shouted, "CONFRINGO!"

His eyes wide in disbelief, his heart thumping rapidly, Charlie staggered to his feet, pulling Neville and Hermione along with him, as cries and cheers of "HARRY! CHARLIE!" and "THEY'RE ALIVE!" went up from the crowd. Voldemort turned, his red eyes flaring, but Charlie was too quick, conjuring a Shield Charm between him and the group of lunging Death Eaters as Harry dived for cover behind a distant pillar.

The charging centaurs were scattering the Death Eaters, everyone was feeling the giants' stamping feet, and nearer and nearer thundered the reinforcements that had come from out of nowhere; Charlie saw great winged creatures soaring the heads of Voldemort's giants, and thestrals and Buckbeak the hippogriff scratched at their eyes while Grawp punched and pummeled them. In the midst of chaos, Charlie began shooting jinxes and curses at any Death Eater he could see with his wand, and their bodies were quickly trampled by the retreating crowd.

"HARRY! LET'S GO!" yelled Charlie, beckoning him over, as defenders of Hogwarts and Death Eaters alike were being forced back into the castle. Charlie cast more Shield Charms as Harry made his way back across the courtyard, and they watched as Hagrid charged out of his chains, sending a group of Death Eaters flying, and joined the battle alongside Grawp.

By the time everyone had piled inside, Charlie's eyes searched for his father and saw him across the room, firing spells from his wand as he backed into the Great Hall, screaming instructions to his fellow Death Eaters as he sent curses flying left and right. Without missing a beat, Harry darted past him into the Great Hall, where he joined the fight already flourishing inside it.

And now there were more, even more people storming up the front steps, and Charlie saw Bill Weasley overtaking Horace Slughorn, who was still wearing his emerald pajamas. They seemed to have returned at the head of what looked like the families and friends of every Hogwarts student who had remained to fight along with the shopkeeps and homeowners of Hogsmeade. The centaurs Bane, Ronan, and Magorian burst into the Hall with a great clatter of hooves, as the door behind Charlie that led to the kitchens was blasted off its hinges.

The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the Entrance Hall, screaming and waving kitchen knives, and at their head, the locket of Regulus Black bouncing on his chest, was Kreacher, his bullfrog's voice audible even above this din: "Fight! Fight! Fight for my Master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!"

They were hacking and stabbing at the ankles and shim of Death Eaters their tiny faces alive with malice, and everywhere Charlie looked Death Eaters were folding under sheer weight of numbers, overcome by spells, dragging arrows from wounds, stabbed in the leg by elves, or else simply attempting to escape, but swallowed by the oncoming horde.

But it was not over yet: Charlie sped between duelers, past struggling prisoners, and into the Great Hall at last.

Fenwick Hawthorne was in the center of the battle, and he was striking and smiting all within reach. Charlie could not get a clear shot, but fought his way nearer, and the Great Hall became more and more crowded as everyone who could walk forced their way inside. Somewhere along the way, Charlie realized that Hermione was no longer by his side, and his eyes frantically searched for her, with no luck.

As he did so, Charlie saw Yaxley slammed to the floor by George and Lee Jordan, saw Dolohov fall with a scream at Flitwick's hands, saw Walden Macnair thrown across the room by Hagrid, hit the stone wall opposite, and slide unconscious to the ground. He saw Ron and Neville bringing down Fenrir Greyback, and Harry charge after Voldemort. In the distance, Aberforth Stunned Rookwood, Arthur and Percy Stupefied Thicknesse, and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were running through the crowd, not even attempting to fight, screaming for their son.

Fenwick was now dueling McGonagall, Slughorn, Kingsley all at once, and there was a cold hatred in his face as they wove and ducked around him, unable to finish him — Bellatrix was still fighting too, fifty yards away from Fenwick, and Charlie felt his hands tremble as he realized her opponent was indeed Hermione Granger. He would not let Hermione be harmed by that vile being again, and so he immediately changed course, running at Bellatrix rather than his father. Pushing his way through the crowd, Charlie grew more and more anxious as Elaina, Luna, and Ginny now joined Hermione's battle against Bellatrix, fighting their hardest, but Bellatrix was equal to them.

Then, as a Killing Curse flew so close to Ginny that she missed death by an inch, Charlie was almost knocked sideways by someone who'd made it to the scene a few seconds before he did.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"

Mrs. Weasley threw off her cloak as she ran, freeing her arms, Bellatrix spun on the spot, roaring with laughter at the sight of the new challenger.

"OUT OF MY WAY!" shouted Mrs. Weasley to the three girls, and with a simple swipe of her wand she began to duel. Charlie watched with terror and elation as Molly Weasley's wand slashed and twisted, and Bellatrix Lestrange's smile faltered and became a snarl. Jets of light flew from both wands, and the floor around the witches' feet became hot and cracked; both woman were fighting to kill.

"No!" Mrs. Weasley cried as a few students ran forward, trying to come to her aid. "Get back! Get back! She is mine!"

Hundreds of people now lined the walls, watching the two fights — Fenwick and his three opponents, and Bellatrix and Molly — and Charlie stood, transfixed, torn between wanting to attack and to protect, unable to be sure that he would not hit the innocent.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" taunted Bellatrix, as mad as her master, capering as Molly's curses danced around her. "When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?"

"You — will — never — touch — our — children — again!" screamed Mrs. Weasley.

Bellatrix laughed the same exhilarated laugh her cousin Sirius had given as he toppled backward through the veil, and suddenly Charlie knew what was going to happen before it did.

Molly's curse soared beneath Bellatrix's constricted arm and hit her squarely in the chest, directly over her heart.

Bellatrix's gloating smile froze, her eyes seemed to bulge. For the tiniest space of time, she knew what had happened, and then she toppled, and the watching crowd roared, and Fenwick screamed in the distance.

Charlie felt as though he'd turned into slow motion; he saw McGonagall, Kingsley and Slughorn blasted backward, flailing and writhing through the air, as Fenwick's fury at the fall of his companion, whom had exploded with the force of a bomb, enticed him to raise his wand and direct it at Molly Weasley.

"Protego!" roared Charlie, and the Shield Charm expanded in the middle of the Hall, and Fenwick's gaze found his son in the crowd, his face white as though he'd seen a ghost.

"Charlie!" cried Hermione's familiar voice, and soon enough, she was by his side, clutching onto his arm as tight as ever. Before they could fully appreciate each other's presence, however, there was an almighty explosion that shredded through the Entrance Hall.

The corpses of the fallen, house-elves, and fighters were strewn amongst the rubble. Though he could hardly see, Charlie searched frantically for Hermione's hand, and found it, warm and alive and returning his pressure. With all the strength he could muster, Charlie staggered back to his feet, pulling his girlfriend along with him.

The crowd was was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Charlie met his father's gaze through the clouds of dust, and they began to challenge one another from a distance.

"My dear boy," called Fenwick, his mouth curling into a smirk. "It's about time we've settled this, wouldn't you say?"

Charlie did not response, but instead raised his wand towards his father, who stood on the raised platform of the Great Hall, surrounded by cobblestone rubble. He felt Hermione shudder against him, though his expression did not falter in the slightest. His eyes were dead set upon his target, and the rage the coursed through his veins was more powerful than anything he had yet experienced in his lifetime.

"My word," laughed Fenwick, "where are your manners, boy? No, no, not here... there's far too many witnesses. Our sins began in secret, and now they too shall end in secret."

And without waiting for a response, Charlie watched as his father clambered through a nearby hole in the wall that conveniently led to the ruins of the Viaduct bridge. Each pair of eyes in the room landed upon Charlie, and as he dared to take a step forward, he felt Hermione's grip on him tighten and drag him backwards. The crowd took this as a go-ahead, and began fighting the Death Eaters left in the Great Hall. The defenders of Hogwarts let out ear-splitting screams as they charged, slashing their wands at any enemy they could find hidden amongst the crowd.

"I have to go!" bellowed Charlie, trying to wiggle himself free from Hermione's grasp, as they were swarmed by the remaining survivors. "I have to —"

"No!" Hermione cried, loud enough for him to hear over the chaos. "Charlie, listen! We have to find Harry! You can't possibly —"

"Hermione," he pleaded, taking her face into his hands once more. "You know I have to go, baby..."

But Hermione shook her head in disapproval, and then flung herself into his arms, resting her head on Charlie's shoulder as she sobbed. He kissed her neck, because it's all he could get to without pulling himself away from her, and he couldn't manage that just yet.

With great difficulty, he raised his eyes towards the spot where his father had just disappeared, placing his chin on Hermione's shoulder, and whispered, "I'll be right back, okay? You've got to trust me."

Hermione pulled out of his embrace slowly, her brown eyes were wide, and Charlie saw his name escape her lips in silence. Seconds later, though, she nodded lightly in understanding.

"Go," she whispered, but then her lips were on his, her hands pulling his head down as she savoured the taste. Then, after a few fleeting moments, Hermione broke away, and she pushed Charlie towards the hole in the wall, adding, "I'll be right behind you."

With one last kiss, Charlie took his chance and dashed through the dust and rubble. He ran through the battlefield of corpses and castle ruins before approaching the Viaduct bridge at last.

Suddenly, all seemed eerily quiet, the sounds of the battle in the Great Hall faded into nothingness as Charlie's eyes searched for any sign of his father in front of him, his feet tiptoeing over scattered debris from the ramparts above.

Then he saw it...

There was a billow of black smoke that soared over the left banister of the bridge, reforming into the tall figure of Fenwick Hawthorne in the flash of an instant. In direct response, Charlie clutched his wand tighter in his hand, his heart thumping at a steady pace. He and Fenwick looked at each other, and began, at the same moment, to circle each other. They were still moving sideways, both of them, in that perfect circle, maintaining the same distance from each other, and for Charlie no thought existed but that of his father.

"Took you long enough," jeered Fenwick, and his whole body was taut and his dark eyes stared. "I was starting to think you weren't going to show, dear boy..."

"It is, as you said, about time we've ended this," said Charlie firmly. "I'm done running from you, Fenwick. So get on with it, won't you? It's just me and you now."

"Stupid boy," laughed Fenwick. "You'll never learn, will you? It's a shame, really — STUPEFY!"

Charlie quickly lunged out of the way of his father's first curse, but was ready for the second, flinging up a Shield Charm in order to protect himself. He span on his axis, rushing through rubble towards Fenwick, and sent a Blasting Curse towards him, with no use though as his opponent simply lunged into smoke once again.

"Coward!" screamed Charlie, and he began retreating back towards the archway in front of the Entrance Hall. No sooner had he overstepped the cobblestone, though, he saw a dark figure zoom to his right.

"ARGHHH!"

Fenwick's incoming blow sent his son flying into the scattered debris, and a kick to the abdomen took the wind out of his lungs. Charlie reacted, flinging out his own leg to make contact with his father's, and bought himself minimal time to try and scramble to his feet.

"STUPEFY!" repeated Fenwick, and Charlie, unable to block his father's quick wand work for a second time, was sent flying across the bridge again, landing on some nearby rubble that was once the body of the stone knights that stood on either side of the archway. The young man groaned in pain, holding his ribs after feeling a few crack on impact.

"Oh, Charles. Charles, Charles, Charles..." Fenwick tutted, twirling his wand as he approached his panting son. "I admire you, my boy, I do! You've got fight, you've got a set of bollocks on you..."

Charlie huffed, gathering the mix of blood and salvia in his mouth before spitting it on his father's shoe as Fenwick stopped in front of him. The ex-Minister chuckled, using the foot his son just spat on to kick Charlie so hard in the jaw that he flew back and knocked his head on the cobblestone behind him.

"Oh, how you remind me of your mother," Fenwick sighed, casting a Levitation Spell in order to sit his son upright. "She had a lot of fight in her too, you know, and there's another thing you share too, my boy," Fenwick grinned, releasing the spell, and Charlie dropped to his knees, panting and groaning in agony as his body ached and bled. "You both never knew when to give up!"

Fenwick then grabbed Charlie harshly by the sides of his face, forcing his son to look him in the eye.

"I'm going to kill you, Charles," he whispered softly, running his wand along a scar under Charlie's eye. "I'm going to kill you... very slowly. Then I'm going to kill your Mudblood girlfriend, and Potter and those idiot Weasleys, and then I'm going to take my place where I belong, as the Dark Lord's most loyal and —"

Fenwick was cut off abruptly by the booming sound of a ferocious screech, and in a flash of crimson, Charlie was pushed to the ground, overhearing the distant cawing of a bird and his father's yells of agony.

Charlie, who managed to muster the strength to lift himself into a sitting position, saw that Fawkes, his grandfather's phoenix, had came to save him once again. The magical bird continued to claw deep into Fenwick's face with his talons, until the man finally managed to swat the bird away, hitting the bird with a Stunning Spell as it fluttered away. Fawkes retreated at once, soaring through the air, before he dived off the edge of the bridge towards the rocks below.

"I've always hated that fucking bird," Fenwick muttered under his breath, panting, as he held a hand to the eye that Fawkes had clawed out, unaware that his son had managed to obtain his discarded wand from the ground.

Without a second thought, Charlie aimed Fenwick's own wand at him, hitting his father with a Stunning Spell as he stood up. Then, as Fenwick was blasted towards the other end of the bridge, Charlie proceeded to snap the wand in half and toss the two pieces of wood over the banister.

"Let's finish this," he panted angrily, approaching his father, whom lay weakly amongst the debris, spluttering and coughing up blood. "I've had enough."

In that moment, Charlie felt nothing but rage course through his veins. Then, as Fenwick made to pull himself up, Charlie was quick to tackle him back to the ground, head-butting him hard in the nose. He then struck his father violently with his fist, hitting him square in the jaw again, and again, and again...

"This is for my mother."

And he punched him again, bruising his knuckles.

"For my grandfather."

And again...

"For Hermione."

Then, with one final punch, Charlie exhaled slowly and stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow, before retrieving his own wand from the ground and aiming it at his father's beaten and bloodied face.

"And this... this is for me."

But as he aligned the tip of his wand between Fenwick's eyes, Charlie felt himself begin to hesitate. The voices in the back of his head had at last returned; his merciful nature was battling against his survival instinct, and both parts of his brain were rendered useless in the dispute for what was right.

"Go on," Fenwick rasped below him, smiling in spite of himself. His dark eyes were intent upon Charlie's, his lips startlingly red with blood, and he panted heavily as he added, "Finish it."

Charlie's hand wavered, his head spinning, as adrenaline coursed nauseously through his body. His eyes had began to water, though due to sadness or anger he did not know. Behind him, he knew, Hermione had finally caught up to him, for he faintly heard her footsteps approaching.

"Charlie..."

"Don't let her stop you," breathed Fenwick, his left eye streaming blood down his face. "Finish it." He reached up and steadied Charlie on his wand. "You'll be the hero, everyone will love you, the world will be yours for the taking. You've come so far and grown so much, you've fought so hard. You can do it, Charles. I know you have it in you, so go on... kill me."

"You w-want to die?"

"Don't ask me that," growled Fenwick. "I'd rather it be by your hand than anyone else's. So do it, Charles. Believe me, we're more alike than you think, you and I..."

Silence stretched between them again, broken only by the distant whimpers of Hermione and the flapping of Fawkes' wings as he circled the bridge. Charlie thought for a moment, his chest rising and falling with every breath, and he could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, feel his aggression building inside the wand in his hands...

But, as a single tear rolled down his cheek, he willed his wand to lower.

"I'm nothing like you," he whispered, dropping to his knees, as he grabbed a fistful of his father's robes. "I'd rather let you suffer in Azkaban than ever give you the satisfaction of death. From this day forward, you're nothing to me, do you understand? It's over..."

Fenwick spluttered.

"W-Wait!" he begged. "P-Please, my d-dear boy — you c-can't — I-I love y-you..."

"You're not capable of love," rasped Charlie, standing up. "And that, my dear father, is the biggest difference between us..."

Then, as he turned his back on the pleading man, the shock of the moment suspended. The fierce new sun rose steadily over Hogwarts in the distance as Hermione met him halfway down the bridge, her arms snaking around his waist as he placed a kiss on her forehead. She admired him as they walked, and her eyes, full of a combination of hope, disbelief, and what Charlie knew to be love, never left the side of his bruised face.

"S-Stop," they heard Fenwick call after them, "come b-back here and finish —"

"Petrificus Totalus," said Hermione quickly, and with a flick of her wand behind Charlie's back, they listened as Fenwick hit the ground with another hard thud.

And in the next moment, everything was alright again. There was no yelling or screaming around Charlie. He couldn't hear the anguished sobs from those who'd lost a loved one like he had, couldn't hear the jubilant cheers amidst the chaos. The battle was won, it was over. He didn't care about the tears that streamed down his eyes when Hermione wrapped her arms around him, didn't talk, just listened to her soft whispers of comfort.

For one blissful moment, Charlie felt relieved, because he had survived with his girlfriend right beside him.

"I love you," he told her as they reached the courtyard, "so much."

"I love you, too," she hummed in response, her eyes watering, as she leaned up and placed another kiss to his lips. "But if you ever leave me again, I swear I'll — hmpf — !"

Charlie cut her off with another passionate kiss, smiling against her lips as the triumphant thrills of the defenders of Hogwarts erupted from inside the Great Hall. He pulled away just as the survivors came pouring into the courtyard, and as he held Hermione close, he spoke into her hair, "I wasn't planning on it."

The courtyard then blazed with life and light, and Charlie gaped in awe as Harry Potter led the charge as an indispensable part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration. The crowd was chanting his name over and over, and somewhere in the distance, Peeves zoomed through the corridors singing a victory song of his own composition:

We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter's the one!

And Voldy's gone moldy, so now let's have fun!

"Charlie! Hermione!" called Harry over the noise, and he flung himself towards his friends, with Ron and Elaina coming up on his rear. "We did it! We did it!"

And as the five of them embraced in a celebratory hug, Charlie felt as though a chapter of his life had ended in the most perfect way imaginable. He knew he must speak to the bereaved, clasp their hands, witness their tears, receive their thanks, hear the news now creeping in from every quarter as the morning drew on; that the Imperiused up and down the country had come back to themselves, that Death Eaters were fleeing or else being captured, that the innocent of Azkaban were being released at that very moment, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named temporary Minister of Magic.

In the midst of jubilation, Charlie found himself stumbling back into the Great Hall alongside his friends. They moved Voldemort's body — his mundane body, feeble and shrunken — and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away from the bodies of Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin Creevey, and the fifty others who had died fighting him. McGonagall had replaced the House tables, but nobody was sitting according to House anymore; everyone was jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents, centaurs and house-elves, and Firenze lay recovering in the corner, and Grawp peered in through a smashed window, and people were throwing food into his laughing mouth.

After a while, exhausted and drained, Charlie found himself, Harry, and Hermione sitting on a bench beside Luna.

"You know, if it were me," Luna whispered to them, "I'd want some peace and quiet."

"We'd love some," replied Charlie, smiling.

"I'll distract them all, then," said Luna happily, looking between her three friends. "I'll even get Neville to help! Though, please do try and hurry, okay?"

And before anyone could respond to her, Luna cried, "Oooh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger!" and pointed out of the window. Everyone who heard looked around, and Charlie slipped a hand into Hermione's before rising to their feet after Harry.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered to Luna quickly, and Charlie pulled her towards the door. Then, as Harry led the way forward, they could move through the Hall without interference.

Charlie spotted Elaina two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother's shoulders, listening as her father spoke in his French tongue. He saw Neville, the sword of Gryffindor in his hands, as he passed the three of them to get to Luna, his knot of fervent admirers following behind him.

Along the aisle between the tables they walked, and Charlie spotted the three Malfoys, huddled together as though unsure whether or not they were supposed to be there, but nobody was paying them any attention. Everywhere he looked, Charlie saw families reunited, and finally, he saw the Weasleys, with Ron sitting close to Lavender Brown on the end of the bench.

"Mate," called Charlie, beckoning him over with a slight nod. "Will you come with us?"

Ron stood up at once, placing a kiss to Lavender's cheek, and together he, Harry, Charlie, and Hermione left the Great Hall. Great chunks were missing from the marble staircase, part of the balustrade gone, and rubble and bloodstains appeared every few steps as they climbed.

As they walked through the corridors, Charlie felt his battered limbs ache with exhaustion, and the pain of losing Fred and Lupin and Tonks pierced him like a physical wound every few steps. Most of all he felt the most stupendous relief, and a longing to sleep with Hermione curled up in his arms. Happiness would come, he knew, although he and Harry both simultaneously agreed that they owed an explanation to Ron and Hermione, who had stuck with them for so long, and who deserved the truth.

With a shudder of dread, they painstakingly recounted what they'd seen in the Pensieve and what had happened in the forest, and Ron and Hermione not even begun to express all their shock and amazement, when at last they arrived at the place to which they had been walking, though none of them had mentioned their destination.

Since he had last seen it, the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office had been knocked aside; it stood lopsided, looking a little punch-drunk, and Charlie wondered whether it would be able to distinguish passwords anymore.

"Can we go up?" he he asked the gargoyle.

"Feel free," groaned the statue.

They clambered over him and onto the spiral stone staircase that moved slowly upward like an escalator. Charlie pushed open the door at the top. He had one, brief glimpse of the stone Pensieve on the desk where he and Harry had left it, and then an earsplitting noise made him cry out, thinking of curses and returning Death Eaters —

But it was merely applause, sounding from the portraits of the headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts that liked the walls; they waved their hats and reached through their frames to grip each other's hands. Dilys Derwent sobbed unashamedly; Dexter Fortescue was waving his ear-trumpet; and Phineas Nigellus called, in his high, reedy voice, "And let it be noted that Slytherin House played its part! Let our contribution not be forgotten!"

Even in the midst of jubilation, Charlie had eyes only for the man who stood in the largest portrait directly behind the Headmaster's chair. Tears were sliding down from behind the half-moon spectacles into his long silver beard, and the pride and the gratitude emanating from Dumbledore filled Charlie with the same balm as phoenix song.

At last, Charlie held up his hands, and the portraits fell respectfully silent, beaming and mopping their eyes and waiting eagerly for either Gryffindor to speak. Harry directed his words at Dumbledore, however, and chose them with enormous care. Exhausted and bleary-eyed though he was, he must make one last effort, seeking one last piece of advice.

"The thing that was hidden in the Snitch," he began, "I dropped it in the forest. I don't know exactly where, but I'm not going to go looking for it again. Do you agree?"

"I do, Harry," said Dumbledore, while his fellow pictures looked confused and curious. "A wise and courageous decision, but no less than I would have expected of you. Does anyone else know where it fell?"

"No one," affirmed Harry, and Dumbledore nodded his satisfaction. "I'm keeping the Cloak, though," he added, with a laugh, and the elder man beamed.

"But of course, Harry, it is yours forever, until you pass it on!"

"And then there's this..."

To everyone's surprise, Harry held up the Elder Wand. Hermione looked at it with fear, and Ron with a reverence that, even in his befuddled and sleep-deprived state, Charlie did not like to see.

"But I believe this belongs to you, mate."

And Harry handed it to Charlie, grinning from one ear to the other. The eldest boy took the wand into his hands, his fingertips grazing the wooden etchings and engravings that covered the handle.

"It's yours," encouraged Harry. "That's why you're thankfully still alive."

Hermione gasped, realizing what this meant.

"I can't believe —"

"I don't want it," whispered Charlie.

"What?" said Ron loudly. "Are you mental?"

"I know it's powerful," said Charlie, with a glance to his grandfather in the portrait. "But I know I'm better off without it..."

And before another word of rang through the air, Charlie stepped towards Harry and took off the moleskin pouch that hung around his friend's neck.

"What're you doing — ?"

But Charlie said nothing as he rummaged in the pouch, and pulled out the two halves of Harry's broken holly wand that was still connected by the finest thread of phoenix feather. Hermione had said that they could not be repaired, that the damage was too severe, though Charlie knew that if this didn't work, nothing would.

He laid the broken wand upon the Headmaster's desk, touched it with the very tip of the Elder Wand, and said, "Reparo."

As his wand resealed, red sparks flew out of its end, and Charlie knew that he had succeeded. His eyes wide, Harry picked up the holly and phoenix wand and felt a sudden warmth in his fingers, as though wand and hand were rejoicing at their reunion.

"Thank you," he muttered, looking to Charlie, who merely nodded in response.

"I'm putting the Elder Wand," he told Dumbledore, who was watching him with enormous affection and admiration, "back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won't it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That'll be the end of it."

Dumbledore nodded, and they smiled at each other.

"Are you sure?" asked Ron quietly. There was the faintest trace of longing in his voice as he looked at the Elder Wand.

There was a moment of biting silence, then Charlie felt Hermione's hand slip back into his.

"Charlie's right," she said quietly.

"That wand's more more trouble than it's worth," muttered Charlie, nodding, his girlfriend's support giving him no doubt over his decision. "And, quite frankly, I've had enough trouble to last a lifetime."

He turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of Hermione's warm embrace and the four-poster bed lying waiting for them in Gryffindor Tower.

"So where to next?" asked Ron, once they'd left the office, as though their next great adventure was just around the corner.

"Well," began Harry, rubbing his faded lightening scar. "I think I'd better go and find my girlfriend."

"You'd better," said Hermione jokingly, and then she turned to Ron with a raised brow. "I imagine Lavender's waiting for you in the Great Hall, too."

Ron's cheeks brightened to an incredible shade of pink.

"H-How did you — ?"

"That cheeky little kiss earlier gave you away," sniggered Charlie, and he and Harry began to ruffle Ron's ginger hair in a teasing manner. "Ickle Ronnie's got himself a girlfriend!"

"Yeah, yeah," Ron waved them off, clearing his throat. He then tried to shift the attention off of himself by glancing between Charlie and Hermione, asking, "And you? What's next for you two?"

"I think we're off to bed," said Charlie absentmindedly, with a glance to Hermione, who instantly met his gaze. "I'm bloody knackered."

"Right," grimaced Ron, his head in the gutter. "Forget I asked, then."

"Ronald!" scolded Hermione, her cheeks growing red. "For heavens sake, it's not like that!"

Ron looked at her, bewildered, but then began to laugh, and so did Hermione, and then Charlie and Harry were laughing too, and without realizing what they were doing, they'd launched themselves at each other, embracing one another in a group hug.

After a few moments of laughing, and some tears, they broke apart.

"Suppose we'll see you later, then," offered Harry, as he and Ron began to make their way towards the Great Hall.

"Of course," said Charlie, smiling.

"Soon," Hermione added, and they went their separate ways at the next intersection of corridors.

To Charlie and Hermione's surprise, the Fat Lady was still in her portrait when they arrived back at Gryffindor Tower. It was almost impossible to comprehend that it had only been ten months since they'd last been there... it felt like years ago.

At first glance, Gryffindor Tower seemed to have luckily avoided a lot of the Death Eaters' damage, though by the faint sound of wind, Charlie had the sneaking suspicion that one of the nearby classrooms no longer had an exterior wall.

"Password?" the Fat Lady asked sternly as they approached; Charlie and Hermione stopped in their tracks, momentarily flummoxed, but then the Fat Lady laughed at her own joke, and swung aside.

The common room was just as Charlie had remembered. It was surprisingly empty, for the school's inhabitants either crowded in the Great Hall or recovered in the hospital wing, and everything inside seemed to have survived the long-drawn-out battle of Hogwarts.

Without a word, Charlie and Hermione crossed the Gryffindor common room and headed for the stairs, walking hand-in-hand.

Without a word, they entered Charlie's old dorm room, silently admiring the fact that the four-poster beds still sat in their places.

And without a word, as there would be time for talking later, they were on his bed, and Charlie was kissing Hermione passionately, and for the first time in what felt like forever, all was well...

DEATHLY HALLOWS: PART TWO

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

AHHHHHHHH! IT'S OFFICIALLY OVER!

I'm crying ahahaha but I honestly can't believe it <3

I sincerely apologize for the delay! this chapter was one I was dreading to release because I didn't want to believe that the main story was over... the amount of times I've rewritten this chapter is INSANE loll but I wanted it to be PERFECT!!!

now, even though there will be 3-5 more epilogue chapters, I'd like to express my utmost gratitude and love to you guys for sticking by me throughout this journey. the story of Charlie Hawthorne was never something I expected to become this massive, but l truly am floored by your continued support throughout BWL and I hope you enjoyed the ending!!

hope you don't mind that I had to omit Voldemort x Harry's fight!! but I had to in order to include more of Charlie's battle, especially the part when Fawkes come and claws out Fenwick's eyes ahahahah

love you sm!! Charlie Hawthorne is forever yours <3

in the comments, please feel free to share with me your thoughts about the ending and hopes for the epilogue!!

see you soon...

xo, selena

p.s. HUGE thanks to TomasGranger003 for his help with the Charlie x Fenwick fight scene <3

p.p.s. the epilogue will mainly be #Charmione fluff... and maybe a few long-awaited lemons ;)

also! wonhosmila ilyyyy

Fendick, I hope you enjoy the Dementor's Kiss <3