CHAPTER THREE:

Third Person Narrative:

Three o'clock the day of the wedding found Charlie, Harry, Ron, Fred, and George standing outside the great white marquee in the orchard, awaiting the arrival of the wedding guests.

Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and was now the double of a red-headed muggle boy from the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole, from whom Fred had stolen hairs using a summoning charm. The plan was to introduce Harry as 'Cousin Barney' and trust to the great number of Weasley relatives to camouflage him.

All five of them were clutching seating plans, so that they could help show people to the right seats. A host of white-robed waiters had arrived an hour earlier, along with a golden-jacketed band, and all of these wizards were currently sitting a short distance away under a tree; Harry could see a blue haze of pipe smoke issuing from the spot.

Behind Charlie, the entrance to the marquee revealed rows and rows of fragile golden chairs set on either side of a long purple carpet. The supporting poles were entwined with white and gold flowers. Fred and George had fastened an enormous bunch of golden balloons over the exact point where Bill and Fleur would shortly become husband and wife.

Outside, butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow. Harry was rather uncomfortable. The muggle boy whose appearance he was affecting was slightly fatter than him, and his dress robes felt hot and tight in the full glare of a summer's day.

"When I get married," said Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, "I won't be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I'll put a full body-bind curse on Mum until it's all over."

"She wasn't too bad this morning, considering," shrugged George, looking over his shoulder. "Cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him? Oh blimey, brace yourselves — here they come, look."

Brightly coloured figures were appearing, one by one, out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee. Exotic flowers and bewitched birds fluttered on the witches' hats, while precious gems glittered from many of the wizards' cravats; a hum of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees as the crowd approached the tent.

"Excellent, I think I see a few veela cousins," grinned George, craning his neck for a better look. "They'll need help understanding our English customs, I'll look after them..."

"Not so fast, Your Holeyness," said Fred, and darting past the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading the procession, he said, "Here — permettez-moi to assister vous," to a pair of pretty French girls, who giggled and allowed him to escort them inside. George was left to deal with the middle-aged witches, Ron took charge of his distant relatives, and Charlie dealt with Mr. Weasley's old Ministry colleagues, while a rather deaf old couple fell to Harry's lot.

"Wotcher," said a familiar voice as he came out of the marquee again and found Tonks and Lupin at the front of the queue. She had turned blonde for the occasion. "Sorry about the other night," she added in a whisper as Charlie led them up the aisle. "The Ministry's being very anti-werewolf at the moment and we thought our presence might not do you any favours."

"It's fine, I understand," said Charlie, speaking more to Lupin than Tonks. Lupin gave him a swift smile, but as they turned away, Charlie saw his face fall again into lines of misery. He did not understand it, but there was no time to dwell on the matter: Hagrid was causing a certain amount of disruption. Having misunderstood Fred's directions he had sat himself, not upon the magically enlarged and reinforced seat set aside for him in the back row, but on five seats that now resembled a large pile of golden matchsticks.

While Mr. Weasley repaired the damage and Hagrid shouted apologies to anybody who would listen, Charlie hurried back to the entrance to find Harry and Ron face-to-face with a most eccentric-looking wizard. Slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length white hair the texture of candy floss, he wore a cap whose tassel dangled in front of his nose and robes of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow. An odd symbol, rather like a triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around his neck.

"Xenophilius Lovegood," he greeted, extending a hand to Charlie, "my daughter and I live just over the hill, so kind of the good Weasleys to invite us. But I think you know my Luna?"

"Yes," said Ron, before adding, in a slightly more higher tone than was normal, "Isn't she with you?"

"She lingered in that charming little garden to say hello to the gnomes, such a glorious infestation! How few wizards realize just how much we can learn from the wise little gnomes — or, to give them their correct name, the Gernumbli gardensi."

"Ours do know a lot of excellent swear words," joked Ron, "but I think Fred and George taught them those."

But Xenophilius wasn't listening. He had suddenly leaned in closer to Charlie, casting cautious looks around before he spoke.

"I trust you know, Mr. Hawthorne," he whispered fiercely, "that we at The Quibbler, unlike those toadies at the Daily Prophet, fully supported your grandfather in his lifetime, and in his death, we support you just as fully."

And before Charlie even had the opportunity to speak, Luna rushed up, just as Ron left and led a party of warlocks into the marquee.

"Hello, Charlie!" she beamed, then chanced a glance at 'Cousin Barney'. "How are you, Harry?"

"Uh," stuttered Harry, flummoxed. "My name's Barney."

Luna's eyes widened, asking brightly, "Oh, have you changed that too?"

"How did you know —"

"Oh, just your expression," she said as if it was obvious. Like her father, Luna was wearing bright yellow robes, which she had accessorised with a large sunflower in her hair. Once you got over the brightness of it all, the general effect was quite pleasant. At least there were no radishes dangling from her ears.

Xenophilius, who was deep in conversation with an acquaintance, had missed the exchange between Luna and Harry. Bidding the wizard farewell, he turned to his daughter, who held up her finger and said, "Daddy, look — one of the gnomes actually bit me!"

"How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial!" awed Mr. Lovegood, seizing Luna's outstretched finger and examining the bleeding puncture marks. "Luna, my darling, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today — perhaps an unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaim in Mermish — do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!"

Ron, passing them in the opposite direction, let out a loud snort.

"Ron can laugh," said Luna serenely as Charlie led her and Xenophilius toward their seats, "but my father has done a lot of research on Gernumbli magic."

"Really?" questioned Charlie, who had long since decided not to challenge Luna or her father's peculiar views. "Are you sure you don't want to put anything on that bite, though?"

"Oh, it's fine," said Luna, sucking her finger in a dreamy fashion and looking Charlie up and down. "You, Harry, and Ron look really handsome. I told Daddy most people would probably wear dress robes, but he believes you ought to wear sun colours to a wedding, for luck, you know. Well, see you later, Charlie."

As she drifted off after her father, Harry and Ron reappeared with an elderly witch clutching their arms. Her beaky nose, red-rimmed eyes, and feathery pink hat gave her the look of a bad-tempered flamingo.

"...and your hair's much too long, Ronald, for a moment I thought you were Ginevra. Barney, that's what you said your name was, right? Good heavens, another Weasley. You breed like gnomes. Merlin's beard, what is Xenophilius Lovegood wearing? He looks like an omelet. And who are you?" she barked at Charlie, catching his eye.

"Oh, Auntie Muriel, this my friend Charlie Hawthorne, perhaps you've heard about him."

"Ex-Minister's son, eh? Not a gormless as you look in press photographs, I must say, although you could do without the ridiculous stubble on your face. I've just been instructing the bride on how best to wear my tiara," she shouted at Charlie. "Goblin-made, you know, and been in my family for centuries. She's a good-looking girl, but still — French. Well, well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I am a hundred and seven and I ought not to be on my feet too long."

Ron gave Charlie and Harry a meaningful look as he passed and did not reappear for some time. When next they met at the entrance, both Charlie and Harry had shown a dozen more people to their places. The marquee was nearly full now, and for the first time there was no queue outside.

"Nightmare, Muriel is," groaned Ron, mopping his forehead on his sleeve. "She used to come for Christmas every year, then, thank God, she took offence because Fred and George set off a Dungbomb under her chair at dinner. Dad always said she'll have written them out of her will — like they care, they're going to end up richer than anyone in the family, rate they're going... wow," he added, blinking rather rapidly as Hermione finally came hurrying toward them. "You look great!"

"Always the tone of surprise," chided Hermione, though she smiled at the three of them. Ron wasn't wrong. She was wearing a floaty red dress which hugged her figure perfectly, with matching high heels; her hair was sleek and shiny. Charlie gulped, as he did whenever he was reminded of just how beautiful Hermione was.

(A/N: shoutout to HedaSbish for this gif <3)

Charlie, absorbing her appearance, quite agreed with Ron and awed, mouth agape, "You do, Hermione."

She blushed, rapidly changing the subject, "Well, Ron's Great-Aunt Muriel doesn't agree, I just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara. She said, 'Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?' and then, 'Bad posture and skinny ankles.'"

Ron shrugged, "Don't take it personally, she's rude to everyone."

"And besides, you look incredible," said Charlie again, grinning, unable to stop himself. "Bad posture and skinny ankles included."

Hermione blushed again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and Charlie was overcome with such an urge to kiss her that he had to grip the support of the marquee to stop from launching himself forward, very much wishing they had somehow made up on his birthday.

"Talking about Muriel?" inquired George, reemerging from the marquee with Fred. "Yeah, she's just told me my ears are lopsided. She's an old bat, I swear. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings."

"Wasn't he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?" asked Hermione, a curious eyebrow raised.

"Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end," conceded George, suppressing the urge to laugh.

"But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party," explained Fred, reminiscing. "He used to down an entire bottle of firewhiskey, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his —"

"Yeah, he sounds like a real charmer," interrupted Hermione, while both Charlie and cousin Barney — Harry in disguise — roared with laughter.

Ron smirked, joking, "Yeah, he never married for some reason."

"Hm," laughed Charlie, loosening his tie slightly, "I wonder why."

They were all laughing so much that none of them noticed the latecomer, a dark-haired young man with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows and a strap of facial hair on his chin, until he held out his invitation to Ron and said, with his eyes on Hermione, "You look vunderful."

"Viktor!" she shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which made a loud thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, flustered, to pick it up, she said, "I didn't know you were coming — goodness — it's lovely to see you. How have you been?"

Ron's ears had turned bright red again. After glancing at Krum's invitation as if he did not believe a word of it, he said, much too loudly, "How come you're here?"

"Fleur invited me," said Krum, eyebrows raised. Charlie, who no longer had any form of grudge against Krum, though was in no mood to see him make Hermione blush, shook hands.

Still, feeling that it would be prudent to remove Krum from Charlie's vicinity, Harry offered to show him to his seat. They entered the now packed marquee. Krum's appearance was causing a stir, particularly amongst the veela cousins. He was, after all, a famous Quidditch player.

Watching them disappear, Charlie burned back around to meet Hermione's gaze, noticing that her eyes were apologetically boring into his. He offered her a small smile, their intense gaze only broke when Fred clapped Charlie on the back.

"Time to go sit down," he told Charlie, beckoning him over to the entrance, "or else we're going to get run over by the bride."

"One lucky bloke, you are, mate," whispered George, casting a discreet look over his shoulder towards Hermione, who was making her way down the aisle alongside Ron.

Charlie couldn't help but smile as he, Ron and Hermione met back up with Harry and took their seats in the second row behind Fred and George; Hermione looked rather pink as Krum — who was sat in a row across from them — flashed her a smile, and without realizing it, Charlie tensed.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned into Hermione, ghosting her ear, and whispered, "Got a thing for famous Quidditch players now, is that it?"

Hermione turned, her eyes narrow.

"Oh, shut up!" she scolded, smacking him on the arm. "Don't be telling me you're jealous —"

"No, I'm not jealous of Krum at all. I mean, why would I be? If anything, it should be the other way around. I've managed to do everything he only dreamed of doing."

Hermione's breath hitched, well aware of the game Charlie was playing. Thinking quickly, a mischievous smirk curled upon her lips, she dangerously placed a hand on his upper thigh, making sure to tease him near his midriff. Unexpectedly, Hermione had taken control of the situation, leaving Charlie to squirm in his seat, writhing beneath her touch.

"Is that right?" she whispered, hopelessly flirting, her hand discreetly inching upwards. "Hm, I might need to test this theory of yours — maybe, if you're lucky, I'll save you a dance."

"I'll hold you to it, then, Granger," breathed Charlie, though it was taking all of his willpower not to kiss her there and then.

After a moment, there was a sense of jittery anticipation that filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand new set of amethyst-coloured robes with a matching hat. A second later, Bill and Jack stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes with large white roses pinned to their coats; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons.

"Wow!" squealed Hermione, swivelling around in her seat to look at the entrance. Selfishly, Charlie frowned as she removed her hand from his lap.

Nevertheless, he looked up. A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle; Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon. Elaina, Ginny and Gabrielle, each wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual, and once Fleur had reached him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrir Greyback.

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced a slightly singsong voice, and with a slight shock, Charlie saw the same small, tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore's funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls..."

"Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely," said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. "But I must say, Ginevra's dress is far too low cut."

"Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle...?"

In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpetlike sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Shamelessly, however, Charlie was no longer staring at the front of the marquee. His eyes were now instinctively locked on Hermione's side profile, watching as tears of joy trickled down her cheeks. In that moment, he couldn't help but hope that, someday, the two of them would be stood together at that altar, exchanging vows of forever. The mere thought of Hermione in white, wearing a dress similar to Fleur's, was enough to make Charlie's heart beat rapidly in his chest.

"...then I declare you bonded for life."

The tufty-haired wizard waved his wand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiralling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst. Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" called the tufty-haired wizard. "If you would please stand up!"

They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The seats on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the centre of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth around it, and the golden-jacketed band trooped toward a podium, ready to preform.

"Smooth," said Ron approvingly, as the waiters popped up on all sides, some bearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, champagne, wine and firewhiskey, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

"We should go and congratulate them!" squealed Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.

"We'll have time later," shrugged Ron, snatching four butterbeers from a passing tray and handing one to Harry and Charlie. "Hermione, cop hold, let's grab a table... no, not there! Merlin, please, nowhere near Auntie Muriel —"

Ron led the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as he went; Charlie felt sure that he was keeping an eye out for Krum. By the time they had reached the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied. The emptiest was the one where Luna sat alone.

"Hi, Luna!" greeted Ron, waving. "I like the dress! Alright if we join you?"

"Oh yes," she said happily. "Daddy's just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present."

Ron snorted, "What is it? A lifetime's supply of Gurdyroots?"

Hermione aimed a kick at him under the table, but caught Charlie instead. Eyes watering in pain, Charlie lost track of the conversation for a few moments. Then, the band had begun to play. Bill and Fleur took to the dance floor first, welcomed by a great applause. After a while, Mr. Weasley led Madame Delacour onto the floor, followed by Mrs. Weasley and Fleur's father.

"I like this song," beamed Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few seconds later she stood up and glided onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms.

"She's something, isn't she?" said Charlie admirably, his gaze resting on Luna. "I must say, I'm going to miss her when we don't go back."

But the smile vanished from his face at once. Viktor Krum had dropped into Luna's vacant seat. Hermione looked pleasurably flustered, but this time Krum had not come to compliment her. With a scowl on his face he said, "Who is that man in the yellow?"

"That's Xenophilius Lovegood, he's the father of a friend of ours," said Ron, shrugging. His pugnacious tone indicated that they were not about to laugh at Xenophilius, despite the clear provocation.

Krum was staring out to the dance floor, glaring at Xenophilius from across the room, muttering through gritted teeth, "You know this man, Lovegood, vell then?"

"No, we only just met him today... why?"

Krum glowered over the top of his drink, watching Xenophilius, who was chatting to several warlocks on the other side of the dance floor.

"Because," grunted Krum, "if he vos not a guest of Fleur's, I vould duel him, here and now, for vearing that filthy sign upon his chest."

"Sign?" questioned Harry, now looking over at Xenophilius too. The strange triangular eye was gleaming on his chest. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Grindelvald... that is Grindelvald's sign."

Charlie whipped his head round, intrigued, "Grindelwald? The Dark wizard my grandfather defeated?"

"Exactly."

Krum's jaw muscles worked as if he were chewing, then he said, "Grindelvald killed many people, my grandfather, for instance. Of course, he vos never poverful in this country, they said he feared Dumbledore — and rightly so, seeing how he vos finished. But this" — he pointed a finger at Xenophilius — "is his symbol, I recognized it at vunce! Grindelvald carved it into a vall at Durmstrang ven he vos a pupil there. Some idiots copied it onto their books and clothes, thinking to shock, make themselves impressive — until those of us who had lost family members to Grindelvald taught them better."

Krum cracked his knuckles menacingly and glowered at Xenophilius. Charlie felt perplexed, sharing suspicious looks with his three friends. It seemed incredibly unlikely that Luna's father was a supporter of the Dark Arts, and nobody else in the tent seemed to have recognized the triangular, runelike shape.

"Are you, uh, quite sure it's Grindelwald's — ?"

"I am not mistaken," said Krum coldly. "I valked past that sign for several years, I know it vell."

"Well, there's a chance," suggested Charlie, casting a glance over his shoulder, "that he doesn't actually know what the symbol means. The Lovegoods are quite... unusual. He could easily have picked it up somewhere and think it's a cross section of the head of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack or something."

"A vot?"

"Well, I don't know what they are, but apparently he and his daughter go on holiday looking for them."

Harry felt that Charlie was doing a bad job of explaining Luna and her father, so he decided to step in to help.

"That's her," he said, pointing at Luna, who was still dancing alone, waving her arms around her head like someone attempting to beat off midges.

"Vy is she doing that?" asked Krum, his face scrunched with curiosity.

"Probably trying to get rid of a Wrackspurt," said Charlie, who recognized the symptoms. Unable to control themselves, Ron and Harry sniggered.

Krum, however, seemed to think that he was being made fun of. But instead of causing a scene and reaching for his wand, as Charlie would've expected him to do, he turned abruptly to Hermione, asking, "Vould you like to dance?"

Hermione looked taken aback, but — after shooting a quick glance at Charlie — got up. They vanished together into the growing throng on the dance floor. Ron grunted at the sight of them, crossing his arms over his chest.

Charlie watched them go with a strange feeling in his stomach. It wasn't that he minded Krum dancing with Hermione at all, and maybe it was beneficial because for whatever reason Ron clearly couldn't hack being around Krum, but he'd wanted to have the first dance with her. Yet, because of the Mark on his arm, because of his insistent need to push the woman he loved away, he hadn't got the chance. He wasn't even able to attend a wedding with his girlfriend on his arm. He took a big gulp of his drink, calming his miserable train of thoughts, before he muttered to Harry, "Why do I feel like this is the bloody Yule Ball all over again?"

"Even so, I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, mate," responded Harry, shrugging, "because we all know how that night ended."

Charlie sighed, blissfully reminiscing, "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

"I'm going to get a drink," growled Ron, and before either Charlie or Harry could acknowledge his departure, he disappeared behind a group of guests who were watching Bill and Fleur dance.

"Wonder what's got his wand in a knot," mused Harry, examining the crowd. "I thought everyone was supposed to be happy at weddings."

"I think that theory only applies to the bride and groom unfortunately," muttered Charlie, his eyes transfixed on the dance floor. He watched as Krum twirled Hermione, and his jaw clenched when she giggled, rubbing up against him. He could've sworn he saw her cast a quick glance in his direction, smirking, as if she had won some sort of game.

"Shame," said Harry, recalling Charlie to his surroundings. When he turned back around, Harry was still staring out to the dance floor, but when Charlie followed his gaze, he was surprised to see it was Elaina Dumont that his best friend was eyeing up.

Near the entrance of the marquee, Elaina was engaging in a blissful conversation with her mother and father, who Charlie recognized immediately from afar: Adeline and Pierre Dumont. Harry had his gaze settled upon his girlfriend, watching her with an uneasy look that creased the features of Cousin Barney's face. He looked pale, nervous, as though he was dreading something.

"What's wrong?" asked Charlie, hitting Harry's knee to gain his attention. "Trouble in paradise? Scared of meeting the in-laws?"

"What? Oh...uh, no, not exactly," stuttered Harry, coming to his senses. He met Charlie's gaze, lowering his voice, "It's just... uh, well, Elaina and I haven't really talked about what's going to happen when we, you know, leave to find the Horocruxes."

"You haven't told her yet?" said Charlie, his eyes widening. "Harry, mate, what the fuck are you waiting for? We're planning on leaving tomorrow!"

"Oi, it's easy for you to say, isn't it?" retaliated Harry, shaking his head. "If you were in my shoes, you'd act the same bloody way! You're just lucky that Hermione's agreed to come with us. But that's not the case with Elaina, you know? There's no guarantee that she'll be safe. She knows something's wrong though, I know she does, she's been trying to get it out of me over the last few days, but I just don't know what to say. I don't want to hurt her, Charlie, because I think... well, I think I might love her."

"So, why don't you tell her that?" asked Charlie, his eyes narrowed with confusion. "I'm sure she'd be bloody thrilled. Hell, I imagine she'd even tell you the same! Forgive me, but I don't see the problem. Just go tell her that you'll be gone for a few weeks and that —"

"But we're leaving, Charlie," said Harry, placing an emphasis on the word, "and you and I both know that there's a chance that we might not make it home —"

"Merlin, Harry, why do you have to say it like that?"

"I'm being realistic," he muttered darkly, turning back in hopes of finding his girlfriend in the crowd. "You think I want to die? You think I want to leave her behind? No, of course not, but I don't exactly have a choice now, do I? I've got to stop him, Charlie... and only one of us gets to survive."

"And it's going to be you," Charlie snapped at once, feeling it'd be best to resort to the method of tough love. "Honestly, Harry, you'd do best to get that through that thick skull of yours. I've already lost more people than I can count, so losing you is not a fucking option, do you understand me? I swear to you, mate, I'm going to make sure you come out of this alive, even if I had to drag you across the finish line myself. Now, quit your moping, go over there," — he demanded, pointing a finger in Elaina's direction — "and tell the love of your life that you're going to make it home to her, because I'm promising you now, I'll make sure you will."

There was a pregnant pause in which Harry thought for a moment, very much wishing they'd thought up a way of 'Cousin Barney' being Elaina's boyfriend. Nevertheless, he gave Charlie a quick nod and clapped on the shoulder with appreciation.

"You know you're right, Charlie, and I can't thank you enough," he said, draining his goblet and getting to his feet again. "But I've got one request," he added, sending a look towards the dance floor, "maybe take your own advice, yeah? Because telling Hermione how you felt seemed to work the last time, if I remember correctly, and I can't stand the sight of you both being miserable."

And with that, Harry strode off, leaving Charlie to his thoughts. After hesitating for a moment, it wasn't long before he took a sandwich from a passing waiter and made his way around the edge of the crowded dance floor. Krum was still dancing with Hermione out in the middle, and they both looked happy; he didn't feel it was his place to interrupt, hauntingly remembering Hermione's cold reaction when he did at the Yule Ball.

Instead, Charlie leaned up against one of the golden pillars and watched Ginny, who was now dancing with Fred and George's friend Lee Jordan, trying not to feel resentful about the fact his own girlfriend was dancing with the Bulgarian Quidditch player and he was forced to stand on the edge of the party alone.

Wandering through the crowd so as to escape a drunken uncle of Ron's, Charlie spotted an old wizard sitting alone at a table. His cloud of white hair made him look rather like an aged dandelion clock and was topped by a moth-eaten fez. He was vaguely familiar. Racking his brains, Charlie suddenly realized that this was Elphias Doge, member of the Order of the Phoenix and the writer of Dumbledore's obituary. Without even realizing what he was doing, Charlie approached him.

"May I sit down?"

"Of course, of course," beckoned Doge; he had a rather high-pitched, wheezy voice.

Charlie took a seat, holding out a hand to meet his acquaintance, "Mr. Doge, it's a pleasure, I'm Charlie Hawthorne."

Doge gasped, shaking Charlie's hand eagerly.

"My dear boy! Good heavens, I thought I recognized you. Arthur told me you were here! I'm so glad, so honoured!" he beamed, and in a flutter of nervousness pleasure Doge poured Charlie a goblet of champagne. Clearing his throat, he added, "I thought of writing to you after Dumbledore... the shock... and for you, I am sure..."

Doge's tiny eyes filled with sudden tears. Charlie politely looked to the floor, unwilling to cry at Bill and Fleur's wedding.

"I saw the obituary you wrote for the Daily Prophet," said Charlie, changing the subject. "It was incredibly moving, mind you, I wasn't aware that you knew my grandfather so well."

"As well as anyone," croaked Doge, dabbing his eyes with a napkin. "Certainly I knew him longest, if you don't count Aberforth — and somehow, people never do seem to count Aberforth."

"Speaking of the Daily Prophet... I don't know whether you saw, Mr. Doge — ?"

"Oh, please call me Elphias, dear boy."

"Elphias, I don't know whether you saw the interview Rita Skeeter gave about Dumbledore?"

Doge's face flooded with angry colour. "Oh yes, Charles, I saw it. That woman, or vulture might be a more accurate term, positively pestered me to talk to her. I am ashamed to say that I became rather rude, called her an interfering trout, which resulted, as you may have seen, in aspersions cast upon my sanity."

"Well, in that interview," Charlie went on, "Rita Skeeter hinted that my grandfather might've been involved in the dark arts when he was young."

"Don't believe a word of it!" said Doge at once, grabbing at Charlie's knee. "Not a word, Charles! Let nothing tarnish your memories of your late grandfather, Albus Dumbledore!"

Charlie looked into Doge's earnest, pained face and felt, not reassured, but frustrated. Did Doge really think it was that easy, that Charlie could simply choose not to believe? Didn't Doge understand Charlie's need to be sure, to know everything?

Perhaps Doge suspected Charlie's feelings, for he looked concerned and hurried on, "Charles, Rita Skeeter is a dreadful —"

But he was interrupted by a shrill cackle.

"Rita Skeeter? Oh, I love her, always read her!" Charlie and Doge looked up to see Auntie Muriel standing there, the plumes dancing on her hat, a goblet of champagne in her hand. "She's written a book about Dumbledore, you know?"

"Hello, Muriel," grunted Doge, although he was smiling in spite of himself. "Yes, we were just discussing —"

"You there! Give me your chair, I'm a hundred and seven!"

Another red-headed Weasley cousin jumped off his seat, looking alarmed, and Auntie Muriel swung it around with surprising strength and plopped herself down upon it between Doge and Charlie.

"Hello again, Harley, or whatever your name is," she said to Charlie. "Now, what were you saying about Rita Skeeter, Elphias? Are you aware she's written a biography on Dumbledore? I can't wait to read it, I must remember to place an order at Flourish and Blotts!"

Doge looked stiff and solemn at this, but Auntie Muriel drained her goblet and clicked her bony fingers at a passing waiter for a replacement. She took another large gulp of champagne, belched, and then said, "There's no need to look like a pair of stuffed frogs! Before he became so respected and respectable and all that tosh, there were some mighty funny rumours about Albus!"

"Ill-informed sniping," corrected Doge, turning radish-coloured again.

"You would say that, Elphias," cackled Auntie Muriel, catching Charlie's complete attention. "I noticed how you skated over the sticky patches in that obituary of yours!"

"I'm sorry you think so," said Doge, more coldly still. "I assure you I was writing from the heart."

"Oh, we all know you worshipped Dumbledore; I daresay you'll still think he was a saint even if it does turn out that he did away with his Squib sister!"

"Muriel!" exclaimed Doge, and a chill that had nothing to do with the iced champagne was stealing through Charlie's chest.

"What do you mean?" he asked Muriel, trying to contain himself. "Who said his sister was a Squib? I thought she was ill?"

"Thought wrong, then, didn't you, Harley!" said Auntie Muriel, looking delighted at the effect she had produced. "Anyway, how could you expect to know anything about it? It all happened years and years before you were even thought of, my dear, and the truth is that those of us who were alive then never knew what really happened. That's why I can't wait to find out what Rita Skeeter's unearthed! Dumbledore kept that sister of his quiet for a long time!"

"Untrue!" wheezed Doge, looking to Charlie for reassurance. "Absolutely untrue!"

"He never told me his sister was a Squib," muttered Charlie, without thinking, still cold inside.

"And why on earth would he tell you?" screeched Muriel, swaying a little in her seat as she attempted to focus upon Charlie. He cleared his throat, his gaze returning to the floor. Muriel hadn't yet put the pieces together regarding Charlie's relationship with Dumbledore, and it might be easier to keep it that way.

"The reason Albus never spoke about Ariana," began Elphias in a voice stiff with emotion, "is, I should have thought, quite clear. He was so devastated by her death —"

"Why did nobody ever see her, Elphias?" squawked Muriel. "Why did half of us never even know she existed until they carried the coffin out of the house and held a funeral for her? Where was saintly Albus while Ariana was locked in the cellar? Off being brilliant at Hogwarts, and never mind what was going on in his own house!"

"What d'you mean, locked in the cellar?" asked Charlie, feeling as though everything he once knew was a lie. "What is this?"

Doge looked wretched, and he buried his face into a spare handkerchief. Auntie Muriel cackled again and answered Charlie.

"Dumbledore's mother was a terrifying woman, simply terrifying —"

"She never pretended anything of the sort! Kendra was a fine woman," whispered Doge miserably, but Auntie Muriel ignored him.

"— proud and very domineering, she was, the sort of witch who would have been mortified to produce a Squib —"

"Ariana was not a Squib!" wheezed Doge, looking more and more devastated.

"So you say, Elphias, but explain, then, why she never attended Hogwarts!" retaliated Auntie Muriel, before she turned back to Charlie. "In our day, Squibs were often hushed up, though to take it to the extreme of actually imprisoning a little girl in the house and pretending she didn't exist —"

"I tell you, that's not what happened!" shrieked Doge, but Auntie Muriel steamrollered on, still addressing Charlie.

"Squibs were usually shipped off to Muggle schools and encouraged to integrate into the Muggle community... much kinder than trying to find them a place in the Wizarding world, where they must always be second class. However, Kendra Dumbledore wouldn't have dreamed of letting her daughter go to a Muggle school —"

"Ariana was delicate!" said Doge desperately. "Her health was always too poor to permit her —"

"— to permit her to leave the house?" cackled Muriel, her eyes narrow. "And yet she was never taken to St. Mungo's and no Healer was ever summoned to see her!"

"Really, Muriel, how you can possibly know —"

"For your information, Elphias, my cousin Lancelot was a Healer at St. Mungo's at the time, and he told my family in strictest confidence that Ariana had never been seen there. All most suspicious, Lancelot thought, and I'm inclined to agree!"

Doge looked to be on the verge of tears. Auntie Muriel, who seemed to be enjoying herself hugely, snapped her fingers for more champagne. Numbly, Charlie thought of how the his father had once shut him up, locked him away, kept him out of sight, all for the crime of disobeying. Had Dumbledore's sister suffered the same fate — imprisoned for her lack of magic? And had Dumbledore truly left her to her fate while he went off to Hogwarts, to prove himself brilliant and talented?

"Now, if Kendra hadn't died first," Muriel resumed, bringing Charlie from his thoughts, "I'd have said that it was she who finished off Ariana —"

"How can you, Muriel?" groaned Doge, flabbergasted. "A mother kill her own daughter? Think what you are saying!"

"If the mother in question was capable of imprisoning her daughter for years on end, why not?" shrugged Auntie Muriel, unbothered. "But as I say, it doesn't fit, because Kendra died before Ariana — of what, nobody ever seemed sure —"

"Oh, no doubt Ariana murdered her," said Doge with a brave attempt at scorn. "Why not?"

"Yes, Ariana might have made a desperate bid for freedom and killed Kendra in the struggle," muttered Auntie Muriel thoughtfully. "Shake your head all you like, Elphias! You were at Ariana's funeral, were you not?"

"Yes I was," nodded Doge, through trembling lips. "And a more desperately sad occasion I cannot remember; Albus was heartbroken —"

"His heart wasn't the only thing. Didn't Aberforth break Albus's nose halfway through the service?"

If Doge had looked horrified before this, it was nothing to how he looked now. Muriel might have stabbed him. She cackled loudly and took another swig of champagne, which dribbled down her chin.

"How do you — ?" croaked Doge.

"My mother was friendly with old Bathilda Bagshot," explained Auntie Muriel happily. "Bathilda described the whole thing to Mother while I was listening at the door. I hear it was a coffin-side brawl! The way Bathilda told it, Aberforth shouted that it was all Albus's fault that Ariana was dead and then punched him in the face. According to Bathilda, Albus did not even defend himself, and that's odd enough in itself, because Albus could have destroyed Aberforth in a duel with both hands tied behind his back."

Muriel swigged yet more champagne. The recitation of these old scandals seemed to elate her as much as they horrified Doge. Charlie did not know what to think, what to believe. He wanted the truth, and yet all Doge did was sit there and bleat feebly that Ariana had been ill. Charlie could hardly believe that his grandfather would not have intervened if such cruelty was happening inside his own house, and yet there was undoubtedly something odd about the story.

"And I'll tell you something else," Muriel added, hiccuping slightly as she lowered her goblet. "I think Bathilda has spilled the beans to Rita Skeeter. All those hints in Skeeter's interview about an important source close to the Dumbledores — goodness knows she was there all through the Ariana business, and it would fit!"

Doge shook his head, whispering, "Bathilda would never talk to Rita Skeeter!"

"Bathilda Bagshot?" clarified Charlie, his eyebrows furrowed. "The author of A History of Magic?"

The name was printed on the front of one of Charlie's textbooks, though admittedly not one of the ones he had read most attentively.

"Yes," assured Doge, clutching at Charlie's question like a drowning man at a life belt. "A most gifted magical historian and an old friend of Albus's."

"Although quite gaga these days, I've heard," said Auntie Muriel cheerfully.

"If that is so, it is even more dishonourable for Skeeter to have taken advantage of her," growled Doge, "and no reliance can be placed on anything Bathilda may have said!"

"Oh, there are ways of bringing back memories, and I'm sure Rita Skeeter knows them all," shrugged Auntie Muriel, looking delighted. "But even if Bathilda's completely cuckoo, I'm sure she'd still have old photographs, maybe even letters. She knew the Dumbledores for years... it's well worth a trip to Godric's Hollow, I'd have thought."

Charlie, who had been taking a sip of butterbeer, choked. Doge banged him on the back as he coughed, looking at Auntie Muriel through streaming eyes. Once he had control of his voice again, he asked, "Bathilda Bagshot lives in Godric's Hollow?"

"Oh yes, she's been there forever! The Dumbledores moved there after Percival was imprisoned, and she was their neighbour."

"The Dumbledores lived in Godric's Hollow?"

"Yes, Harley, that's what I just said," grunted Auntie Muriel testily. Charlie felt drained, empty. Never once, in sixteen years, had Dumbledore told Charlie that he had both lived and lost loved ones in Godric's Hollow. And why it was so important, Charlie could not explain even to himself, yet he felt it had been tantamount to a lie for his grandfather not to tell him the reality of his past.

In attempt to calm himself down, Charlie turned away from the conversation, blinking in the white marquee once again. He had never been to a wedding before, so he could not judge how Wizarding celebrations differed from muggle ones, though he was pretty sure that the latter would not involve a wedding cake topped with two model phoenixes that took flight when the cake was cut, or bottles of champagne that floated unsupported through the crowd.

As the evening drew in, and moths began to swoop under the canopy, now lit with floating golden lanterns, the revelry became more and more uncontained. Fred and George had long since disappeared into the darkness with a pair of Fleur's cousins; Jack, Hagrid, and a squat wizard in a purple porkpie hat were singing 'Odo the Hero' in the far back corner.

Now seemingly satisfied with her work of winding up Doge sufficiently, Muriel had now taken to chastising Ginny for her dress, forcing Charlie's attention just in time to watch her leave. He, still in a slight state of shock, was only pulled out of his moment of silence when he felt Hermione's familiar hand land upon his shoulder.

"Charlie," she cooed, her face flushed pink. She hiccuped slightly before carrying on, and Charlie noticed an empty champagne glass on the table behind her. "How about that dance I promised you?" she asked with a sweet smile.

Fortunately, Elphias Doge seemed far too focused on his own distress to care much of the intrusion. With his mind still whirling with thoughts of Dumbledore and Godric's Hollow, Charlie stood and followed Hermione over to an empty spot on the dance floor. To the left of them, Elaina was dancing with a slightly podgy Weasley relative — evidently Harry in disguise — and both of them were smiling. Hermione rolled her eyes in their direction as she spun back to Charlie, the band now going into a slower-paced song.

"Looks like they're enjoying themselves," she noted, and Charlie could see a smirk curl upon her lips.

Suddenly, any thoughts of Dumbledore and Godric's Hollow had been replaced by thoughts of Hermione. He was enamoured by how good her dress looked, how her hips swayed to the music, her pink cheeks, her perfect smile, her plump lips. Hermione seemed to notice his gaze, for she leaned in closer, brushing up against him in all of the right places. It took Charlie all of his willpower not to let out a moan.

"You know," Hermione started, her warm breath dancing across his parted lips, "I've been shamelessly waiting for you to come and whisk me away from Viktor all night."

"Sorry, I got caught up," Charlie replied, his gaze transfixed upon her lips. He had a lot to tell her, but right now, any cognitive thought had been replaced by desire. "Besides, you and Krum seemed to be having a grand time..." he added teasingly, raising his eyebrows.

"I knew you might've been watching," Hermione laughed, trailing her fingertips along his shoulders, "and I find it incredibly alluring when you're jealous."

With a breathy chuckle, Charlie challenged, "Who said I was jealous?"

"Well, if looks could kill, I imagine Krum would be dead," chided Hermione, now instinctively playing with the hairs on the back of his neck. "But take with that what you will, I suppose."

To this, Charlie didn't have a retort. Their eyes met, and for several slow seconds, the music drained out, everybody else becoming a blur around them. Impulsively, he raised his hands to her back and gave her a tight squeeze, his hands then settling on her waist. Hermione lowered her head and placed it on his chest, bringing them even closer together. Her heart raced as she breathed in his cologne, surprised to hear his heart thumping just as loud as hers was. She wanted to freeze time and never leave, hoping to stay here in Charlie's arms forever.

"Other than that," said Charlie, sparking up conversation, "I take it that you're having a good time?"

Hermione leaned back up, her eyes narrowed in a questioning expression.

"I am," she replied, smiling. "I love weddings."

"Yeah, I imagined so," Charlie grinned, their bodies dangerously close. "I noticed you got a bit teary eyed at the ceremony. Still, your smile never faded from you lips. You seemed so transfixed on Bill and Fleur, their vows of forever, their display of love."

"And by the sound of it, your eyes were transfixed elsewhere," said Hermione, shamelessly elated at the thought of Charlie's eyes on were whenever she wasn't looking.

Charlie blushed slightly, caught, "Well, I —"

"There's no need to explain yourself to me, Charlie," Hermione mused, saving him from embarrassment. "Honestly, it's quite funny that you caught me in such a state. I know that I must've looked a mess. Oh, Merlin, can you imagine how I'll be at my own wedding?"

"With any luck," Charlie began, taking a dangerous leap of faith, "I won't have to do much imagining. If one day you'll have me, I'd like to be the one standing up on that altar with you." There was a pause in which Hermione's mouth fell agape. Trying to make light of the situation, Charlie added, "And if it's any consolation, I'll most likely shed a tear myself, as I know I'll be awestruck by the sight of you walking down the isle in white."

Hermione froze, forced to catch her breath. Charlie's golden brown eyes captivated her, making it impossible to look away. She memorized every part of his face; the pureness of his skin, the curving of his pale lips, and how the golden specks in his eyes seemed to pierce her soul. Hermione had never experienced anything like this in her entire life. Her was mind was lost in thoughts of him. Every single time she thought she knew the extent of love, Charlie managed to correct her. Love seemed limitless with him, helpless even, and she was scared of the way he made her heart pound without even trying.

"Charlie," she managed, slightly speechless, her mind racing, "I don't know what to say —"

"Then don't say anything, just listen," Charlie whispered to her, resting his forehead down upon hers. "I know that I've hurt you, just as I know that us being together has never been easy. But even so, I'm still committed to remind you how much you mean to me. I love you, Hermione, more than words alone can describe. I am completely, utterly, and faithfully yours... I always have been. I know I messed up this summer, but I'm holding myself accountable. Please, tell me what I can do to fix this. Whatever it is, I'll do it, because living life without you by side is simply unimaginable."

Hermione looked down for a moment, unaware of what to say or do. Then, she turned her head to face him, her eyes meeting his, and suddenly she became blissfully transfixed. As Charlie's mind raced of thoughts of her, Hermione was lost in the same feelings. Her eyes had the same longing, the same wanting that his did.

"I love you too, Charlie," she whispered in response, her hand coming up to caress the side of his face. Hermione took a deep breath before continuing, "But you once told me that love wasn't enough. And unfortunately, I can no longer trust that you'll keep your promises. This relationship isn't going to worth if we keep going back and forth like this. I need you to fight for us. I need you to prove to me that you want this. Because as of right now, I feel like I'm doing most of the work."

Charlie swallowed hard, lost in thought. Her words rang in his ears and he was forced to realize how selfish he had been, how stubborn he was, and how upset he had made her. Guilt bubbled in his gut. Panic eroded his mind. His legs buckled slightly, but from exhaustion or nervousness he did not know. To feign confidence, he gave Hermione a twirl, humming in content as he pulled her back to his chest. Processing her words, his mind was made up.

With one hand, Charlie cupped her face, smiling in understanding. Hermione shuddered, longing for his touch, as she covered his hand with hers. She started to tremble when he placed a light kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment. When he pulled back, he admired her, resting his eyes on her lips; they looked as if they had been designed by angels with delicate detail. With these lips she had left him speechless, left him wondering. Charlie reconnected their foreheads, his lips ghosting hers.

"You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now," he breathed, as they still swayed to the music. "But I imagine you're going to make me work for it. Rightly so, mind you, because you're right. I have been acting like an insensitive wart, and no verbal apology is going to suffice. Instead, I'll prove how much I want this, how much I want you. Do you think you could give me one last chance?"

A mischievous smile crept across Hermione's face, as she pretended to ponder for a moment. She couldn't help but notice how adorable, vulnerable, and eager he was being. She struggled with whether she should pull his lips down upon hers, but thought it was best not to. Instead, she leaned up to place delicate, chaste kiss to his cheek.

"Yes, of course, as long as yo—"

Before she could finish, there was a sudden shining bright light that bursted through the side of the marquee.

Charlie and Hermione both turned, breaking apart slightly, as something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus's mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"The Ministry has fallen. The Minister of Magic is dead. They are coming."

————————————————————

(A/N: pause for dramatic effect lmfao)

In the next moment, everything seemed blurry, slow. Charlie and Hermione drew their wands. Many people were only just realizing that something strange had happened; heads were still turning toward the silver cat as it vanished. Silence spread outward in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed.

Then somebody screamed. Charlie and Hermione threw themselves into the panicking crowd. Guests were sprinting in all directions, many of them were disapparating; the protective enchantments around the Burrow had broken.

As they pushed their way across the dance floor, Charlie saw cloaked and masked figures appearing in the crowd; then he saw Lupin and Tonks, their wands raised, and heard both of them shout, "Protego!", a cry that was echoed on all sides.

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione called, half sobbing as she and Charlie were buffered by terrified guests; Charlie seized Hermione's hand to make sure they weren't separated as a streak of light whizzed over their heads, whether a protective charm or something more sinister he did not know.

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione cried again, pushing her way through the crowd. "Where are you?"

A table in front of them was upended, a chair flew across the room, missing them by feet. Charlie pulled Hermione closer into him, and then Harry was there, catching hold of Hermione's free arm.

"ELAINA!" Harry screamed, and Charlie saw the Slytherin girl further in front of them, a hooded figure barring down on her. He tried to push towards her, but Hermione's hand held him back, and he could tell she was also struggling with Harry on her other side.

"GO!" bellowed Lupin's voice. He appeared suddenly to their left, sending a jinx at the Death Eater and buying Elaina enough time to dive out of the marquee. Lupin turned back to the trip, "GO, NOW! HURRY!"

But Charlie shook his head, "Not without —"

Before he could even finish his sentence, Ron appeared. He caught hold of Charlie's free arm, and as soon as the four of them where reunited, Charlie felt Hermione turn on the spot. Every ounce of sound and sight was extinguished as darkness pressed in upon him; all Charlie could feel was Hermione's hand as he was squeezed through space and time, away from the Burrow, away from the descending Death Eaters, away, perhaps, from Voldemort himself...

"Where are we?" came Ron's shaky voice; the four of them were reunited with solid ground.

Charlie opened his eyes. For a moment he thought they had not left the wedding after all. They still seemed to be surrounded by people and bright, blinding lights.

"Tottenham Court Road," panted Hermione, pulling on Charlie's hand. "Come on, just keep walking."

Charlie, Harry, and Ron did as she asked. They half walked, half ran up the street thronged with late-night revellers. A double-decker bus rumbled by and a group of pub-goers ogled them as they passed; Charlie, Harry, and Ron were still wearing dress robes.

"You three need to change," whispered Hermione, as they turned a sharp right, into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway.

"Hermione, we haven't got anything to change into," Ron told her, just as a young woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him.

"Why didn't I make sure I had the invisibility cloak with me?" said Harry, inwardly cursing his own stupidity. "All last year I kept it on me and —"

"It's okay, it's okay, I've got the cloak and I've got clothes for the three of you," reassured Hermione, as they diverted into an alcove.

"When you say you've got the cloak, and clothes..." Charlie started, frowning at Hermione, who was carrying nothing except her small beaded handbag, in which she was now rummaging.

"Yes, they're in here," said Hermione, and to Charlie, Harry, and Ron's utter astonishment, she pulled out two pairs of jeans, a maroon sweatshirt, a grey long-sleeved t-shirt, some white socks, and finally the silvery invisibility cloak.

Ron's mouth fell agape, "How the ruddy hell —"

"Undetectable Extension Charm," said Hermione briskly. "Tricky, but I think I've done okay. You see, I've managed to fit everything we need in here." She gave the fragile-looking bag a little shake and it echoed like a cargo hold as a number of heavy objects rolled around inside it. "Oh, damn, that'll be the books," she groaned, peering into it, "and I had them all stacked by subject... oh well... Harry, you take the invisibility cloak. Charlie, Ron, hurry up and change, will you?"

"When did you do all this?" Charlie asked, casually stripping off his robes. Ron, who acted somewhat sheepishly, took cover behind the shadows of the alleyway to change clothes.

"I told you, I've had the essentials packed for days, you know, in case we needed to make a quick getaway," Hermione told Charlie, stealing a shameless glance at his toned physique. She turned away when he caught her staring, moving on quickly, "Oh, I packed your rucksack this morning, Harry, after you changed, and put it in here... I just had a feeling..."

Charlie had another overwhelming urge to kiss her, but thought better of it. He slipped the grey long-sleeved t-shirt over his bare torso, now fully clothed once again.

"You're amazing, you are," he awed at Hermione, as he and Ron handed back their bundle of dress robes.

"Thank you," Hermione blushed, managing a small smile as she pushed the robes into the bag. "Please, Harry, get that cloak on!"

Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and pulled it up over his head, vanishing from sight. He was only just beginning to appreciate what had happened.

"The others — everyone at the wedding —"

"We can't worry about that now," whispered Hermione, ushering the three boys forward. "It's you they're after, Harry, and we'll just put everyone in even more danger by going back."

"She's right, you know," said Charlie, who seemed to know that Harry was about to argue, even if he could not see his face. "Most of the Order was there, they'll look after everyone."

Harry nodded, then remembered that they could not see him, and said, "Yeah."

"Come on, we've got to keep moving," beckoned Hermione. They moved back up the side street and onto the main road again, where a group of men on the opposite side were singing and weaving across the pavement.

As they walked, Ron asked, "Just as a matter of interest, why Tottenham Court Road?"

"This is where Charlie and I had our first date," Hermione responded, casting a sheepish glance over her shoulder towards her boyfriend. "I dunno why, but that's the first memory that popped into my head. It's probably for the best anyway, I'm sure we're safer out in the Muggle world, it's not where they'll expect us to be."

"Right," grunted Ron, looking a bit put out suddenly, "but don't you feel a bit — exposed?"

"Where else is there?" asked Hermione, cringing as the men on the other side of the road started wolf-whistling at her. "We can hardly book rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, can we? And Grimmauld Place is out if Snape can get in there... I suppose we could try my parents' home, though I think there's a chance they might check there... oh, I wish they'd shut up!"

"All right, darling?" the drunkest of the men on the other pavement was yelling. "Fancy a drink? Ditch pretty boy and come and have a pint!"

Impulsively, Charlie reached for his wand, but Hermione flung her arm out to stop him, knowing that he would've cursed them in her defence. She interlaced their hands and pulled, dragging him along with her.

"Don't, it's okay! Let's just go and sit down somewhere," she whispered, as Charlie opened his mouth to shout back across the road. "The café we went to should be — look! There it is!"

The small and shabby all-night café was just as Charlie remembered it. A light layer of grease lay on all the Formica-topped tables, but it was at least empty. Charlie slipped into the table first and Ron sat next to him opposite Harry and Hermione, who looked even more anxious than she had done on the street. She glanced around so frequently she appeared to have a twitch. Charlie did not like being stationary either; walking had given the illusion that they had a goal.

Across the table, beneath the invisibility cloak, Harry could feel the last vestiges of Polyjuice leaving him, his hands returning to their usual length and shape. He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on again.

After a minute or two, Ron said, "You know, we're not far from the Leaky Cauldron here, it's only in Charing Cross —"

But Hermione interrupted quickly, "Ron, we can't!"

"Not to stay there, but to maybe find out what's going on!"

"We know what's going on! Voldemort's taken over the Ministry, what else do we need to know?"

"Okay, okay, it was just an idea!"

They relapsed into a prickly silence. The gum-chewing waitress shuffled over and Hermione ordered three cappuccinos. As Harry was invisible, it would have looked odd to order him one. Then, a pair of burly workmen entered the café and squeezed into the next booth. Paying them no mind, however, Hermione dropped her voice to a whisper as soon as their coffees had come.

"I say we find a quiet place to Disapparate and head for the countryside. Once we're there, we could send a message to the Order."

Ron kinked a brow, "Can you do that talking Patronus thing, then?"

"I think so," said Hermione, shrugging. "I've been practicing."

"Well, as long as it doesn't get them into trouble, though they might've been arrested already. God, that's revolting," Ron added after one sip of the foamy, greyish coffee. Charlie and Hermione shared a look, silently reminiscing together. Their first date seemed like it happened ages ago, yet the memories replayed fondly in both of their heads.

Nearby, the waitress, who had overheard the end of the conversation, shot Ron a nasty look, as she went to take the new customers' orders. The larger of the two workmen, who was blonde and quite huge, now that Charlie came to look at him, waved her away. She stared, affronted.

"Let's get going, then, I don't want to drink this muck," groaned Ron, pushing his cup away. "Hermione, have you got enough Muggle money to pay for this?"

Hermione nodded, "Yes, I emptied all my savings. I'll bet all the change is at the bott—"

"Get down!" yelled Charlie abruptly, as the two workmen made identical movements, and he mirrored them without conscious thought; all four of them, including Harry under the invisibility cloak, drew their wands. Ron hastily dived to the floor.

Acting quickly, Charlie lunged across the table, pushing Hermione sideways onto her bench. The force of the Death Eaters' spells shattered the tiled wall where Ron's head had just been, as Charlie, raising his wand over the top of the booth, yelled, "Stupefy!"

The great blonde Death Eater was hit in the face by a jet of red light. He slumped sideways, unconscious. His companion, unable to see who had cast the spell, fired another at Ron, who was scrambling for cover. Shining black ropes flew from his wand-tip and bound Ron head to foot — the waitress screamed and ran for the door. Under the invisibility cloak, Harry sent his own Stunning Spell at the Death Eater with the twisted face who had tied up Ron, but the spell missed, rebounded off the window, and hit the waitress, who collapsed in front of the door.

"Expulso!" bellowed the Death Eater, moving behind the counter as he did so. The table behind which Charlie was standing blew up. The force of the explosion slammed Charlie and Harry into the nearby wall, both losing their wands in the process; Harry felt the invisibility cloak slip off his shoulders.

"Petrificus Totalus!" screamed Hermione from out of sight, and the Death Eater fell forward like a statue to land with a crunching thud on the mess of broken china, table, and coffee. Hermione crawled out from underneath the bench, shaking bits of glass ashtray out of her hair and trembling all over.

"D-Diffindo," she stuttered, pointing her wand at Ron, who roared in pain as she slashed open the knee of his jeans, leaving a deep cut. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Ron, my hand's shaking! Diffindo!"

The severed ropes fell away. Ron got to his feet, shaking his arms to regain feeling in them. Charlie picked up his wand and climbed over the debris to Hermione, pulling her into a quick hug. He placed a shameless kiss to her forehead, caressing her arm in hopes of calming her nerves.

He looked down at where the large blond Death Eater was sprawled, muttering, "I'm sorry, I should've recognized him sooner. He was there the night Snape killed my grandfather."

Harry nodded across the room, turning over the darker Death Eater with his foot; the man's eyes moved rapidly between Charlie, Harry, Ron and Hermione. Hermione gasped, and Charlie's free hand immediately found hers. He recognized the Death Eater straight away, now he could see his face properly. It was a face he'd seen in his nightmares many times over the last few years.

"Yeah, that's Dolohov," croaked Charlie, clutching onto to Hermione desperately. "I remember him coming to visit my father a lot last summer. As for the big one, I think his name is Thorfinn Rowle."

"How did they even find us? What are we going to do?" Hermione said, a little hysterically, from his chest. Charlie placed another kiss to her forehead.

Somehow her panic seemed to clear Harry's head.

"Lock the door," he told her, "and Ron, turn out the lights."

Charlie looked down at the paralyzed Dolohov, thinking fast as Ron used the Deluminator to plunge the café into darkness. Hermione went over and locked up, turning the 'OPEN' sign to 'CLOSED', before picking up Harry's invisibility cloak. Charlie could hear the men who had jeered at Hermione earlier, yelling at another girl in the distance.

"So what are we going to do with you, eh?" growled Ron, towering over the paralysed Dolohov. "You'd kill us if it was turned round, wouldn't you?"

"Ron..." Hermione said meekly from beside Charlie, who took a deep breath. He wanted nothing more than to kill Dolohov, but knew they couldn't. Not yet, at least. Still, he couldn't manage any words.

"It's better if we just wipe their memories," suggested Harry, inspired by Hermione's recent mention of the memory charms she'd used on her parents. "It'll throw them off the scent. If we kill them it'd be obvious we were here."

"You're the boss," said Ron, rather darkly. He rolled his eyes, turning away, "Hermione, you're the best at spells."

Hermione tensed, but didn't seem to react. However shaken up he was, Charlie could only imagine the fear she was going through at seeing Dolohov again, even if he was incapacitated. He moved to face her, carefully running a finger across her scratched cheek. Her eyes locked with his for a mere second, but it proved to be enough. She took a deep, calming breath, then pointed her wand at Dolohov's forehead and said, "Obliviate." At once, Dolohov's eyes became unfocused and dreamy.

"Nicely done," said Charlie, smiling softly, as Hermione inched back to him. "Do you think you can take care of the other one and the waitress while Harry, Ron and I clear up?"

Hermione's breath hitched, but she nodded.

"Clear up?" questioned Ron, looking around at the partly destroyed café. "Why?"

"Don't you think they might wonder what's happened if they wake up and find themselves in a place that looks like it's just been bombed?"

"Oh right, yeah..."

Ron struggled for a moment before managing to extract his wand from his pocket.

"It's no wonder I can't get it out, Hermione, you packed my old jeans, they're tight."

"Oh, I'm sorry," hissed Hermione, and as she dragged the waitress out of sight of the windows, Charlie heard her mutter a suggestion as to where Ron could stick his wand instead.

Once the café was restored to its previous condition, they heaved the Death Eaters back at a table and propped them up facing each other. Harry grabbed their wands and snapped them both cleanly in two.

"But how did they find us?" Hermione asked, looking from one inert man to the other. "How did they know where we were?"

She turned to Charlie. "Y-You don't think you and Harry have still got the Trace on you, do you?"

"They can't have," said Ron, shaking his head. "The Trace breaks at seventeen, that's wizarding law, you can't put it on an adult."

"As far as we know, yes," said Hermione, racking her brain. "But what if the Death Eaters have found a way to put it on a seventeen-year-old?"

"But the only Death Eater Harry's been near in the last twenty-four hours is Charlie," muttered Ron, who seemed to have cast a suspicious look at the boy in question. He rounded on him, "Set us up again, have you? Or is this just another mere coincidence?"

"Do you have idea how stupid you sound?" snapped Charlie, stepping up to challenge him. "Believe me, Ron, if I wanted you dead, I sure as hell would've done it by now."

"What other reason is there, then?" asked Ron, his jaw clenched. "It's either you're full of shit, or that bloody mark on your arm lets You-Know-Who know exactly where we are!"

"Ron, stop it!" bellowed Hermione, getting in between them. "Honestly, fighting is not going to get us anywhere! Besides, Charlie's had the mark on his arm for the last year, and nothing like this has happened until today."

Still, Ron scoffed, "Of course you'd defend him —"

"That's enough, Ron," demanded Harry, and with that, the four of them fell into silence, which was only broken by the sounds of the hecklers outside.

Nonetheless, Charlie's head was screaming at him. He felt contaminated suddenly. He ran a hand along his left forearm. Was Ron right about him? Was that really how the Death Eaters had found them?

He cleared his throat, "If I can't use magic without giving away our position, and you can't trust me with the mark on my arm, then maybe —"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," hushed Hermione, slapping a hand over his mouth. "You're not going anywhere, do you understand me? We're not splitting up!"

"Hermione's right, mate, we just need a safe place to hide," muttered Harry, clapping a hand on Charlie's back. "It'll give us some time to think things through."

Charlie sighed, shrugging, "Let's try Grimmauld Place, then."

His three friends gaped at him.

"Don't be silly, Charlie, Snape can get in there!"

"Ron's dad said they've put up jinxes against him — and even if they haven't worked," he pressed on as Hermione began to argue, "so what? I swear, I'd like nothing more than to see Snape again! Hopefully this time, he won't get away and I'll be able to repay him for what he did to my granddad."

"But —"

"Hermione, where else is there? It's the best chance we've got. Snape's only one Death Eater. If Harry and I have still got the Trace, we'll have whole crowds of them on us wherever else we go."

After a while, Hermione relented. She couldn't argue, though she looked as if she would have liked to. While she unlocked the café door, Ron clicked the Deluminator to release the café's light. They stepped out into the night and, within a second, the four of them had turned on the spot and vanished into the compressing darkness once more.

Seconds later, Charlie's lungs expanded gratefully and he opened his eyes. They were now standing in the middle of a familiar small and shabby square. Tall, dilapidated houses looked down on them from every side. Number twelve was visible to them, for they had been told of its existence by Dumbledore, its Secret-Keeper, and they rushed toward it, checking every few yards that they were not being followed or observed. They raced up the stone steps, and Harry tapped the front door once with his wand. They heard a series of metallic clicks and the clatter of a chain, then the door swung open with a creak and they hurried over the threshold.

As Charlie closed the door behind them, the old-fashioned gas lamps sprang into life, casting flickering light along the length of the hallway. Grimmauld Place looked just as Charlie had remembered it; eerie, cobwebbed, the outlines of the house-elf heads on the wall throwing odd shadows up the staircase. Long dark curtains concealed the portrait of Sirius's mother. The only thing that was out of place was the troll's leg umbrella stand, which was lying on its side as if Tonks had just knocked it over again.

Hermione, still gripping Charlie's hand, whispered, "I think somebody's been in here."

"That could've happened as the Order left," Charlie murmured back, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"So where are these jinxes they put up against Snape?" Harry asked, looking around.

"Maybe they're only activated if he shows up?" suggested Ron, shrugging.

Even so, the four of them remained close together on the doormat, backs against the door, scared to move farther into the house.

"Well, we can't stay here forever," said Charlie, releasing Hermione's hand and taking a step forward.

"Severus Snape?" Mad-Eye Moody's voice whispered out of the darkness, making all four of them jump back in fright.

"We're not Snape!" croaked Charlie, before something whooshed over him like cold air and his tongue curled backward on itself, making it impossible to speak. Before he had time to feel inside his mouth, however, his tongue had unraveled again.

The other three seemed to have experienced the same unpleasant sensation. Ron was making retching noises; Harry was coughing; Hermione stammered, "That m-must have b-been the T-Tongue-Tying Curse Mad-Eye set up for Snape!"

Gingerly, Charlie took another step forward. Something shifted in the shadows at the end of the hall, and before any of them could say another word, a figure had risen up out of the carpet, tall, dust-coloured, and terrible. Hermione screamed and so did Mrs. Black, her curtains flying open; the grey figure was gliding toward them, faster and faster, its waist-length hair and beard streaming behind it, its face sunken, fleshless, with empty eye sockets; horribly familiar, dreadfully altered, it raised a wasted arm, pointing at Charlie.

Dumbledore.

Charlie froze at the sight of his grandfather, petrified. Ever so slowly, tears swelled his eyes. Mad-Eye Moody's trapped acted as another reminded as to what he had lost.

"No!" Harry shouted, coming up on Charlie's side, and though he had raised his wand, no spell occurred to him. "No, please! It wasn't us! We didn't kill you —"

On the word kill, the figure exploded in a great cloud of dust. Coughing, his eyes watering, Charlie looked around to see Hermione crouched on the floor by the door with her arms over her head, and Ron, who was shaking from head to foot, patting her clumsily on the back and saying, "It's all r-right... it's g-gone..."

Dust swirled around Charlie and Harry like mist, catching the blue gaslight, as Mrs. Black continued to scream.

"Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonour, taint of shame on the house of my fathers —"

"SHUT UP!" Charlie bellowed, pulling out his wand and directing it at her, and with a bang and a burst of red sparks, the curtains swung shut again, silencing her.

"T-That... was a-awful..." stuttered Hermione as Charlie rushed over to her, helping her to stand.

"Yeah," said Charlie, rubbing her back, "but it wasn't really him, was it? Just something to scare Snape."

Had it worked, Charlie wondered, or had Snape already blasted the horror-figure aside as casually as he had killed the real Dumbledore? Nerves still tingling, he retook Hermione's hand and together, with Harry and Ron a few feet behind, the four of them made their way up the hall, half-expecting some new terror to reveal itself, but nothing moved except for a mouse skittering along the skirting board.

"Before we go any further, I think we'd better check," whispered Hermione, and she raised her wand and said, "Homenum Revelio."

Nothing happened.

"Well, you've just had a big shock," said Ron kindly, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. "What was that supposed to do?"

"It did what I meant it to do!" chided Hermione rather crossly. "That was a spell to reveal human presence, and there's nobody here except us!"

"And old Dusty," joked Ron, glancing at the patch of carpet from which the corpse-figure had risen.

"Let's go up," said Hermione quickly, with a frightened look at the same spot, and then she led the way up the creaking stairs to the drawing room on the first floor.

Hermione waved her wand to ignite the old gas lamps, while Charlie moved to light the fireplace for warmth. At the same time, Ron crossed to the window and moved the heavy velvet curtain aside an inch.

"Can't see anyone out there," he reported. "And you'd think, if Charlie and Harry still had a Trace on them, they'd have followed us here. I know they can't get in the house, but —"

The sound of Harry's sudden cry of pain cut him off abruptly.

"Harry?" said Hermione frantically, rushing over to him. "Harry, what's wrong?"

His scar had burned again as something flashed across his mind like a bright light on water. He saw a large shadow and felt a fury that was not his own pound through his body, violent and brief as an electric shock.

"What did you see?" Charlie asked, advancing on Harry. "Did you see him? Was he at the Burrow?"

"No, I just felt anger — he's really angry —"

"But that could be at the Burrow," bellowed Ron, kicking a nearby chair. "What else? Didn't you see anything? Was he cursing someone?"

"I'm sorry, Ron, I couldn't tell —"

"Your scar, again? But what's going on? I thought that connection had closed!" questioned Hermione in a frightened voice. Charlie and Ron shared a brief look from opposite sides of the room.

"It did, for a while," muttered Harry; his scar was still painful, which made it hard to concentrate. "I — I think it's started opening again whenever he loses control, that's how it used to —"

Hermione shook her head, exclaiming, "Harry, you've got to close your mind! Otherwise, Voldemort can plant false images in your mind, remember —"

"Well — it's not like I'm not trying," he retorted. Harry shrugged her off, standing and looking up at one of the paintings, trying to hide the fact that the pain was still very much there.

Charlie went to speak, but then Hermione shrieked. He looked up, drawing his wand just in time to see a silver Patronus soar through the drawing room window and land upon the floor in front of them, where it solidified into the weasel that spoke with the voice of Ron's father.

"Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched."

The Patronus dissolved into nothingness. Ron let out a noise between a whimper and a groan and dropped onto the other sofa. Hermione moved over to him, gripping his arm.

"It's okay, they're all right, they're all right!" she whispered, and Ron half laughed and hugged her.

Ron glanced up, muttering, "I'm sorry —"

"It's not a problem," said Charlie, still turning away from Ron and Hermione's embrace. "It's your family, of course you were worried. I'd feel the same," — he glanced between Harry and Hermione — "I'm sure we all would."

Charlie looked away again, gritting his teeth. Suddenly, in similar fashion to Harry, the pain in Charlie's Dark Mark was reaching a peak once more, burning as it had done in the garden of the Burrow. Faintly, he heard Hermione say they should sleep in the drawing room, but he could not fight the pain much long enough to mutter a reply. Charlie's vision was fading in and out, his veins pulsating. With not other choice, had to succumb.

"I'll be back," he muttered, and he left the room as fast as he could without running, hearing Hermione's voice as if she were very far away.

He staggered down the hall, lightheaded, before running into the bathroom. Bolting the door closed behind him with trembling hands, he grasped his pulsing forearm and fell to the floor. Then, in an explosion of panic, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his Dark Mark which had now turned a vivid shade of black, surrounded by inflamed, reddened skin.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, tears swelling his eyes. Desperately, Charlie ran his hand over the mark on his arm, hoping that it would somehow transfigured into nothingness, but it was no use.

Charlie seemed to have lost all sense of reality for a moment, beads of sweat trickling down his face. He drew heaving breaths, blinking rapidly. Without realizing it, he had maneuvered himself to lay across the cold marble floor, his nose inches from one of the silver serpent tails that supported the large bathtub. He forced himself to sit up, eyes wide. There was a sickening feeling arising in his stomach and as the seconds ticked by, the Dark Mark's burning grew more unbearably excruciating.

"Charlie?" Hermione was knocking on the door, panic in her voice. "Charlie... I'm coming in."

Charlie hadn't even had time to get up by the time Hermione had unlocked the door and charged in, her face white with fear. She rushed over, kneeling down beside him.

"It's n-nothing," he managed to blurt out, before quickly rising to his feet, stumbling to avoid confrontation.

But Hermione was too quick. She seized his wrist, stopping him from bolting out of the door, away from his problems. Forcefully pushing him back up against the bathtub, Hermione cupped his panicked face in her hands.

"Don't do that," she told him, her tone delicately soft. "You don't have to pretend with me, okay?"

Swallowing hard, Charlie nodded slowly. Beyond the door, he could hear Harry and Ron's frantic footsteps approaching, wondering what happened.

Harry knocked, "Hermione? Is everything —"

"It's alright, Harry," Hermione answered shakily, casting a impulsive look at the door. "C-Could you just fetch my bag, please?"

Charlie heard both Harry and Ron run back off, and Hermione briefly released him. The pain had now finally subsided somewhat, leaving behind the prickling remnants of torment. With a sense of emerging from deep water, he breathed raggedly. The sound of actual running water caught his attention, however, and he felt the room grow increasingly warmer.

"Here," whispered Hermione, pulling him from his thoughts, as she tugged at his shirt, which Charlie had only just realized was sodden with sweat. Without resistance, he allowed her to pull it off over his head. Then, Hermione stood, taking her bag from a hand which must have been Harry's, speaking words Charlie could not make out before she closed the door.

"Let's get you into the bath," said Hermione reassuringly, although Charlie could tell she was trying to keep her voice steady. He looked at her, his vision gradually coming back into focus. Her face was white with fear, but she wore the blazen look which he adored so much.

Hermione helped him to his feet, keeping steady. Once she was sure he could stand on his own, she allowed him to silently pull off the rest of his clothes and lower himself into the bath, which she had charmed full of hot, bubbling water. Hermione rummaged in her bag, pulling out a slightly larger bag of Muggle toiletries.

She cleared her throat a little, "Charlie...?"

"Yeah? I — I'm okay," he said slowly, submerging his head under the water for a moment before coming back up, slicking his now wet hair out of his eyes. "The pain's mostly gone now."

With a breath of relief, Hermione gave him a smile, before taking out a cloth from the toiletry bag, dipping it into the water and proceeding to wipe his face, mindlessly caressing his skin in the process.

"Hermione, thank you," Charlie whispered, looking up at her sincerely, "for being there."

Their eyes met, love embedded in every look they shared. Hermione smiled at him, colour returning to her cheeks. She leaned closer to him, caught his left arm in her spare hand, and placed a soft kiss on his Dark Mark, muttering:

"Always."

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

*DJ Khaled voice* ANOTHA ONE!

hope you enjoyed <3 this chapter had a lot of minuscule Charmione moments, and I love it loll

writing this I've realized how much I actually love the deathly hallows lmfao

anywayssss! until next time!

xo, selena