Chapter 2

Chapter 2

December 1991

* * *

...This would probably be the best Christmas [Harry'd] ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying [at Hogwarts], too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie. – Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Chapter 12

* * *

When he crested the final ridge, Charlie was ecstatic to see the lights on in the hut, reckoning the odds were now very good to excellent that a fire and food might await him there. His day had begun in the dark before dawn and was just ending now, well after sunset. As cold and tired as he was, he wanted nothing more than to quickly fill his belly, then burrow under a thick, down-filled duvet and let unconsciousness take him.

He blasted away the drift of snow that had blockaded the door, already built up since his hut-mate's recent return, then nearly stumbled inside when a gust of wind caught him at the least opportune moment. He righted himself and moved quickly to shut the door before too much blowing snow followed him inside.

"Look who shows up just when the food's ready," Sasha teased him from his post in the kitchen.

"Cold as yeti bollocks out there," Charlie huffed, stomping his feet as he headed toward the fire, intent on thawing himself out.

Something screeched and flapped, startled by the commotion he was making.

What the bloody...? Charlie wondered, peering up into the rafters directly above. The wings began to settle, and as the thing presented its backside, he thought there was something rather familiar about it. Charlie sprang backward just in time to avoid getting shat upon.

He'd've known that trademark move anywhere. "Errol!?" he cried, Vanishing the mess on the floor.

Upon hearing his name, the owl launched itself toward Charlie's outstretched arm. He wouldn't go so far as to describe the creature's action as flight – more like barely arrested falling.

"Damned bird wouldn't let me take the message for you," Sasha grumbled, delivering two bowls of steaming stew to the table.

Charlie fumbled with the leather thongs, his fingers still stiff from the cold, then unrolled the scrap of parchment. He read the note. Then he stared at the words on the page, praying they didn't really say what he thought they said. "Bloody hell," he groaned. This is just what I don't need.

"Bad news from home?" Sasha's voice was full of concern.

Charlie swallowed, then nodded, wincing. "I'm really sorry, Sash, but... my mum's decided she's coming for Christmas."

~ * ~

January 1992

Charlie Weasley was the definition of stressed out.

Keeper hut number eight – which was tiny to begin with – had now housed five people for the last eight days. The weather was too harsh for his family to spend any significant time outside, even if they'd been the slightest bit interested in a tour of the reservation. His mother had put her foot down the moment he'd offered to show them a dragon's lair – he'd had in mind a nice, safe, Opaleye nicknamed Kitten – insisting one son dangling himself as bait before dragons was quite enough, and she'd rather not offer up for sacrifice any more of her offspring or relations, thank you very much.

Consequently, they were going stir-crazy cooped up indoors, practically tripping over one another with nothing else to do. Charlie couldn't blame Sasha for escaping during long stretches of the day, despite the brutal conditions outside. Which really did say something about the state of things inside, he supposed.

It wasn't that his family was being mean or rude – although his mum and Ginny had been at each other's throats the entire time. According to his father, this sort of behavior was par for the course over the past school term, now that Ginny was the lone Weasley child left at home. Molly constantly sniped at her daughter, haranguing her about every little thing left undone or done wrongly. And Ginny seethed in response, digging in her heels when asked to do anything, then doing it with willful incompetence when she finally acquiesced.

But they were all perfectly friendly and polite to Sasha, just as they would have been to any other stranger, if not to each other. They inquired about his family, his education, peppered him with the usual how-did-you-come-to-be-here sorts of questions. They asked him about his job, dutifully cultivating an interest for his sake. They asked him how Charlie'd been getting along, what Sasha thought of his future prospects as a dragon keeper.

Charlie didn't know why the last part felt so humiliating, but it did. Yes, Sasha was technically his superior – but did his parents have to behave as if he were the only other adult in the building? Yes, Sasha had given him a good report, but did they have to ask him about Charlie while he was in the same room? He was twenty years old (as of nearly three weeks ago), dammit, and not a bloody firstie!

Possibly the worst part of it was that there was nothing specific that was driving him batty, no one incident he could point to that embodied how horrible this experience was. It was all just... too much. All the friendliness and togetherness was utterly stifling. Little quirks and habits that had been previously unnoticeable, lost in the white noise of general chaos that was the Burrow, now ballooned into neon-bright aggravations. His father couldn't read something without talking out loud, apparently, prattling on about whatever he was perusing at the time, be it a newspaper, research journal, or box of biscuits. His mother couldn't sit still, incessantly bustling about the cramped space, rearranging this and tidying up that, laying waste to the system of organization that had been in place in the hut for likely a century or more. But both thought they were being genial and helpful, rather than annoying and irritating, which made berating them an impossibility. And as bratty as her behavior was, Ginny was simply a ten-year-old girl, bored senseless and sick to death of being the sole recipient of her parents' attention.

Charlie could empathize with his little sister to a point. But he desperately missed being alone, craved the liberation of solitude. He missed being able to hear the tiny sounds of the mice in the walls, or the hiss of icy snowflakes hitting the glass windows, or a faint dragon's roar from miles off. He'd never realized before how the members of his family talked so damn much, drowning out every other sound, every little thought.

Most of all, he missed the quiet evenings spent with Sasha. Sitting in the dark with him, listening to the quiet crackles and pops of the fire, just peacefully existing in his presence. Not to mention they hadn't kissed or touched each other for eight days now, and Charlie thought he might go mad with longing. But his hands were tied – he couldn't leave the hut, he couldn't kick his family out, he couldn't bark at them to just shut it already.

So he tried to bury his resentment. Tried to remind himself how much he loved his family, how important they were to him. He tried to hold in his mind all the memories of joyful holidays, the precious times together with his siblings and parents. And he tried very, very hard not to do anything that might ruin it.

But January third could not come fucking fast enough to suit him.

The sun set before five p.m. now – not that the sun was ever seen in the dead of winter due to the constant heavy cloud cover. Sasha had returned to the hut from his keeper duties a few minutes ago and, after a quick hello, went straight to his room, "To do some paperwork."

Charlie ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to drag him back out to the common area and make Sasha keep him company. Better yet, he wanted to hide out from his family in his room with him.

"Merlin's beard! I never knew dragons had hollow bones," his father rambled, looking up from his book and peering over his spectacles. "Did you know that, Charlie?"

"Yeah, Dad. I know," Charlie replied, suppressing the urge to grumble. I've known since I was seven. It's my fucking job to know. They couldn't fly otherwise.

"Of course he knows, Arthur," his mother scolded, echoing his thoughts in her own way. "Now, dear, where do you keep your milk? I thought I'd make a custard tonight."

"Don't have any, Mum," Charlie answered, straining to keep the snappishness from his voice. You've been here over a week and snooped in every nook and cranny already. You would've found it by now. "Sorry."

"None at all?" Molly sighed, clearly disappointed. "Oh, dear. I'd hoped you were hiding it."

"Sorry," he repeated, feeling supremely grumpy. "There isn't a dairy anywhere nearby."

Molly nodded and sighed again. "Your mutton stew's been lovely, dear. It's just that we've had it every night, and..."

"I think I'll have a shower," Charlie announced, abruptly jumping to his feet. He knew better than to give voice to his thoughts – If you don't like it, you can leave! – and chose to redirect his energy into something harmless. He forced himself to ignore the startled looks on his parents' faces as he marched toward the corridor at the rear of the hut.

A thick wall separated the two little dorm rooms and a shared bath from the rest of the hut. Charlie'd always assumed it was because they were a more recent addition, the personal spaces tacked on as an afterthought. The wall offered a bit more privacy, separating the more intimate living quarters from the larger common area. He shooed his little sister out of his room, smothering a flare of resentment that she'd been hiding from their parents just like Sasha, then strode into the bathroom.

He willed the warm water to relax him to no avail. He tried to relieve some of the frustration in a more direct, manual fashion, but it was no use. He simply couldn't wank while he could hear his mother's voice above the noise of the water. Why the bloody hell is she still talking? What in Merlin's name is there left to say?

He took his foul mood out on himself in another way, scrubbing his skin with the sort of vigor he'd prefer to employ while shoving everyone out the door. By the time he shut off the water several long minutes later, his flesh was glowing a bright pink.

Without the noise of the water, the hut was startlingly quiet. He noticed the difference immediately and assumed something was wrong with his hearing. Yet even after shaking his head and clearing his ears with his fingers, for some reason, the hut remained silent. Were they all napping? Had they gone out? Was something more nefarious going on? Wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, he crept toward his room, past Sasha's, intending to dress quickly and investigate.

Sasha looked up in the same instant Charlie looked in the open door of his room. Charlie froze, pinned for a moment by his intense stare. Then he straightened, meeting his gaze with one of his own, feeling his prick stir in response. Here he was, standing almost naked before this man he felt madly attracted to. It was so tempting to throw all caution to the wind! Fuck the patient waiting until they "got to know each other better!" Fuck hiding this from his parents! Fuck me, damn it!

A small, wry smile broke onto Sasha's face as he read Charlie's mind. "Esho net," he whispered in Russian – Not yet – then dropped his eyes back to his observation log.

Charlie couldn't decide whether to cry or punch a hole in the wall. He'd heard that phrase innumerable times over the past few months and was sick to death of it. Snarling like a Horntail inside, he went to his room to pout. He didn't bother turning on the light, preferring to smolder in the darkness, and furiously threw his towel onto the bed. Was he so easily resisted, then? Did he present no temptation at all? Why was Sasha always saying no?

He stood there, naked and fuming, until he shivered. Sighing and resigning himself to being miserable but slightly warmer, he bent down and opened his trunk to fish out some clothes.

"So dark in here..."

With no warning, Charlie was blinded by the brilliance of a light turning on an instant later. He spun around, lunging for his towel, scrambling to wrap it around himself.

"MUM!" he snarled.

Molly smirked, looking him in the eye as she bustled inside. "I only washed that bum for how many years?" she grumbled. "You think I don't remember what it looks like?"

"Don't you knock?" he growled. How many people had to see him naked yet totally disregard the view today?

"What are you doing here in the dark?" she countered almost accusatorially.

Charlie wasn't about to answer that question.

"Here you go, love," she said, sighing expansively and foisting a stack of neatly folded and fresh-smelling clothes at him.

"Thanks," he grumbled. "You didn't have to do this," he added scoldingly. I really wish you hadn't, in fact. I can take care of myself! Stop treating me like a child!

"Put them away where they belong, Charlie," she directed him, giving him the infamous hairy-Molly-eye. "Bad enough you let all your dirty things pile up on the floor like that."

"I will, Mum," he snapped.

Molly fished something out from under her arm. "Oh, and I found these in with your clothes. They must've fallen into the wash by mistake. They're too big to be yours, love, aren't they? I suppose they must be Sasha's."

He recognized them immediately, of course. Charlie thought he might be ill, seeing Sasha's underwear in his mother's hands. "Ah, Mum, you see how we're total slobs around here..." he stammered, praying she'd buy it. Or that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He found the latter option to be preferable, actually.

"That's for certain," she snorted. "No matter, I'm sure he'll appreciate clean pants as much as the next fellow." And then she bustled out. "Sasha, dear, I think I've got something of yours!" she called, toddling down the corridor.

Mortified beyond words, Charlie crashed onto his bed and buried his head under his pillow.

~ * ~

"Ah, Charlie, this is magnificent!" Arthur murmured, gazing up at a crystalline black sky, the stars making sharp points.

It was the rarest of things, actually. The storm that had been fretting and fussing for the past week had blown itself out, and the blizzard conditions had abated for a few precious hours. Charlie and his father had stepped out of the hut for a few moments, braving the sub-arctic temperature to take advantage of the view on this, the last night before the Burrow's denizens would return to where they belonged.

"I see now why you always say it's so beautiful up here in your letters," Arthur continued. "Frankly, I was worried you've been putting on a brave face for us."

"I love it here, Dad," Charlie insisted. The little valley that housed keeper hut number eight – his valley – looked preternaturally beautiful that evening. Starlight and snow-glow shared the same ghostly, indescribable hue, the edges crisp and hard against the soft black velvet of the night as they all twinkled at each other.

"Yes. I can see that now," Arthur said, his voice warm and fatherly.

Charlie watched as a meteor streaked across the sky, enduring its annihilation in blessed silence. What a lucky way to go.

"Now, before I leave, there's the other little matter," Arthur said. "Have you got anything to report, son?"

Charlie marveled at his father's abrupt change of manner, switching from doting parent to covert operator in a flash. It was hard to believe the often bumbling man who couldn't help himself from blathering inanely all week long was one of the most trusted members of an espionage ring. He couldn't decide which it said more about – his father's devious level of cunning or the organization's dubious efficacy.

"Not much, I'm afraid," Charlie replied.

Arthur nodded. "Dumbledore said it might be a long shot," he mused aloud.

Charlie had been over the moon when Dumbledore had offered to write him a glowing recommendation to accompany his application to work at Ridgebit Reservation here in Romania. The old man had smiled and suggested that as his name carried a bit of weight, he'd be pleased to throw it around on Charlie's behalf. Then, when he'd gotten the job, Charlie'd been congratulated with an eye-twinkling pat on the back.

"Now, I wonder if I might ask of you the smallest of favors in return," Dumbledore had murmured smilingly.

And just like that, Charlie had been recruited into Dumbledore's information-gathering network. He hadn't minded, really. He'd been so pleased to have been handed his dream job, thanks to Dumbledore, that he was more than willing to repay him any way he asked. He was also happy to support the effort to fight against whatever Dark powers might still be lurking about. He trusted and respected the old man, just like his father did.

"Nobody's heard a thing about a very large snake,"¹ Charlie continued. Over the past autumn, he'd recruited Sasha to help him interrogate the denizens of a few pubs in some remote Albanian forest villages, since he didn't really know where he was going, nor spoke the language at all. He'd told his friend he was just doing a favor for an old professor who liked collecting folk tales about animals acting strangely, which was mostly true, he reckoned. They'd popped into the villages just for the evening, Apparating back to the hut afterward, having enjoyed a few beers for their trouble.

Charlie's father sniffed. "Not surprised the trail's gone cold by now. If he was ever there to begin with."

"Who's 'he?'" Charlie asked.

Arthur looked at him for a very long moment before answering. "You-Know-Who, Charlie," he said softly, and Charlie felt his gut clench in shocked fear. "Dumbledore's got it in his head that he spent some time in Albania."

"B-before he died?" Charlie stammered, still stunned by his father's revelation. Years of childhood terror, of nightmares long buried over the ensuing decade, rushed to the surface of his consciousness. Must be mistaken. Can't be possible... not now?

Arthur hesitated, then reluctantly shook his head. "Dumbledore doesn't think he's completely dead, son." He turned back to gaze at the stars. "Thinks he might be hiding out somewhere, biding his time. And now that Harry's started Hogwarts..."

Charlie trembled with both cold and fear. "Th-there was an odd story, actually... about a bear. One old sod told me it'd gone on several flock-killing rampages while avoiding capture for a few years. People claimed it could disappear into thin air. Terrorized several Muggle villages in the meantime. But this bear was purportedly cornered and killed by a team of hunters four years ago. Besides that, there was nothing."²

His father considered this for a few moments. "Well, that's something, anyway. Might be significant, might not." He fished around in his pocket and handed Charlie a small crystal vial. "Get the story nice and clear in your head – as many details as you can recall – then put it in here tonight – you know how to do that, don't you?" After Charlie nodded and took the memory collection vial, he continued, "I'll get it to Dumbledore. And then we'll see what he wants us to do next."

Arthur turned to look at the stars once more. "Well, your mum'll have my hide if we freeze to death out here," he said jauntily, back to his other self. "Best to head in before she gets out of sorts, eh, Charlie?"

Charlie nodded. "I'll be in in a minute, Dad."

He watched his father tromp back inside the hut. Then he looked out toward the southwest, toward Albania, far beyond the other side of the craggy peaks in the distance. His turbulent mind was exactly the opposite of the peaceful vista.

You-Know-Who? Here? Now?

1. According to Harry Potter Wiki, it is unknown when Voldemort acquired Nagini as his familiar, but she was with him when he returned to England in 1994 (Goblet of Fire). It is my invention that Dumbledore knows of her existence at this point, as well as Voldemort's rumored Albanian location, and has set Charlie the task of gathering information about the snake.

2. According to Harry Potter Wiki/JKR, what was left of Voldemort after his attempted murder of baby Harry spent his exile from Britain after the First Wizarding War in Albania, taking possession of various snakes. As you can see, I tweaked this idea a bit.