Chapter 4 - August 1993

Chapter 4

August 1993

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"We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank." – Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Chapter 1

* * *

Night had fallen, but the sun's setting had done nothing to abate the sweltering heat. The air was heavy and rank with the stagnation of eons, the streets encrusted with the filth of ages. Charlie's lightweight cotton tunic – generously proportioned so as to facilitate capturing apparently nonexistent breezes – clung to his sweaty skin. He followed Bill through narrow streets that were little more than footpaths – there wasn't even room for the two young men to walk abreast – and felt the day's scorching heat radiating from the walls, baking him as effectively as any oven.

Old Rhakotis – not the misnamed Muggle tourist facsimile that was several hundred years younger – was a profoundly ancient section of Alexandria reserved for wizardkind.¹ When Alexander the Great had decided to build his shining city atop a dilapidated little magical fishing village – already centuries old by the time vain Alex had trotted in – the salty denizens charmed themselves into a secluded quarter rather than dissolving into the sea or pulling up stakes and moving on. For centuries now, magical folk had perversely clung to this sun-baked, storm-ravaged slip of Mediterranean shoreline.

Why the misguided fools had done so was beyond Charlie. Sultry, stifling Rhakotis was a far cry from his cool, clear Romanian mountaintop, that was for certain. When he'd gotten the owl from his mother informing him of the family's Daily Prophet sweepstakes win and requesting his participation in the family holiday – in flippin' Egypt in bloody August, for Merlin's sake – his first instinct was to come up with a plausible excuse not to go. But picturing his mother's crestfallen face when she read the rejection had brought him to his senses and, ashamed, he'd written right off with his acceptance.

He'd begged off just eight days from work, however – instead of the month the rest of the Weasleys had planned on – and in a decidedly cunning move for a Gryffindor (but par for the course for a Weasley brother), had informed his mother he'd only gotten six. These two days alone with Bill before the rest of the family arrived were his own special treat – a reward of sorts for putting up with the mob for another week. The two brothers hadn't spent any significant time alone together since Bill had finished school four years ago. But before that, they'd been very close, and the chance to rekindle a bit of that connection was what had ultimately motivated Charlie to come to Egypt.

They were forced to duck into a decrepit doorway in order to let a rather morose-looking donkey laden with yet another of his miserable life's innumerable burdens pass by on the street. An old witch – or quite possibly a hag, Charlie allowed – mumbled to herself as she dragged the poor beast along behind her. But instead of leaving as soon as the way was clear, Bill had grabbed his arm and pulled him further inside.

"The samak makly here's nearly as good as fish and chips back home," Bill assured him. "C'mon," he laughed when Charlie looked dubious, hooking his slender arm around Charlie's broad shoulders and leading him to an empty table.

"I assume you've received your monthly missive from Percy?" Bill asked teasingly after he'd ordered beer and food for them both.

Charlie rolled his eyes. Ever since they'd left school, Percy had taken up the duty of sending off pompous reports about the goings on at Hogwarts to his elder brothers. They came like clockwork on the first of the month. Perce must be gearing up for a career in the Ministry already. "I never thought I'd meet someone who bragged about Perce more than Mum does, but he's proven me wrong," he groaned.

"So the little berk's gone and made Head Boy," Bill mused.

"Like some other prat who shall remain nameless," Charlie needled him.

"That leaves you standing out like a sore thumb, innit?" Bill countered.

"I see a pattern developing, true," Charlie agreed. "First, swotty old you makes Head; next, I fail miserably to shake the aura of coolness about me and manage to avoid the disgrace; then Perce somehow convinces the faculty of Hogwarts that his arse-kissing acumen could possibly reach new heights. No way in hell George or Fred will manage to make prefect, much less Head, presuming they don't get expelled or accidentally kill themselves in the meantime – I think we can agree on that bit. So I suppose that leaves it up to Ron and Ginny to test my theory of git-ness afflicting alternating siblings of our generation."

Bill merely chuckled. Their beers arrived and, still recovering from the hellish walk there, Charlie gratefully gulped it down.

"Mum must be over the moon about it, though," Charlie added, licking the foam from his upper lip.

Bill chuckled knowingly. "I remember when Perce used to be fun."

"And then he turned two," Charlie quipped.

The two brothers laughed, then a genial quiet fell between them.

"Heard any more about how Ginny's faring?" Bill asked softly after a few moments passed.²

Charlie shook his head. "Dad simply says she's feeling a bit under the weather, and I've only got the one letter from George right after the end of term, which frankly left me with more questions than answers." George had been the only one of the family who'd told him anything close to the whole truth about the nasty mess Ginny had gotten herself embroiled in last year at school. Charlie was operating under the assumption that the basilisk bit was nothing but exaggerated rumor, but the rest of it was blood-chilling enough.

Bill nodded thoughtfully as the waiter delivered their food. "I suppose we'll find out for ourselves soon enough," he sighed.

Charlie sampled a bite, deciding the fish was very tasty. Then again, the fact he was eating something other than mutton stew might've simply put his palate on overload. "I was a bit shocked they were bringing her along, actually," he said, "considering it's so soon after all that awful business."

Bill swallowed his bite, chasing it down with a swig of beer. "She's the whole reason they're coming, berk," he said. When Charlie only lifted his eyebrows in curiosity, he explained, "There's a bloke here... a Healer of the mind, supposedly... who claims to be able to treat victims of possession. Sounds like a load of bollocks to me, but Dumbledore says he's on the up and up. He rigged the Prophet's galleon draw this year for Dad to win, and Hogwarts is ponying up the cash for the rest of the expense of treating her."

"I'll be jinxed," Charlie muttered, shaking his head in mild disbelief. "Do the others know? About any of it?"

Bill shrugged. "Hard to say. If Mum and Dad haven't told them, I reckon most of 'em are clever enough to suss out some form of the truth. I'm to take the lot of you around to see all the sights while Ginny sees this Mr. Mentu-Hotep fellow."

Charlie chewed another bite as he pondered this news. "George said the diary was some sort of memory storage device. But I don't understand how a memory of a person – even one of You-Know-Who – could be so powerful. I always thought of them as fragile little things. I mean, you have to take such care of them once they're collected."

Bill shrugged again. "Probably wasn't just a memory. Considering who likely created it, the diary-thing was bound to be rotten with Dark magic. Our poor little Ginny was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and got caught up in it, I suppose."

"Got in Mr. Malfoy's way, you mean," Charlie grumbled. The Weasley family, if not the wizarding world at large, knew precisely how the cursed diary had come into Ginny's possession. George's livid resentment about that part of the tale had come through loud and clear in his letter, even though the swear words he'd written had been blotchy with ink and nearly illegible.

Bill snorted in disgust. Their father had never discussed the matter with his children, but every one of them knew of the enmity between Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy. Neither Bill nor Charlie had any interest in rehashing the details of such an old feud, however. "Heard anything more about bizarre animals in the forests of Albania?" he asked, only slightly teasing.

Charlie arched his eyebrows again. "How d'you know about that?" Has Dad been blabbing it about? It's supposed to be a secret mission, for Merlin's sake!

Bill smirked. "You're not the only one who owes his dream job to Dumbledore," he muttered.³

Blimey! The old codger's got us all in his pocket! Charlie harrumphed. And seeing as it was Bill who was asking, he replied, "Actually, there was another string of bear attacks this spring. Only this time, the beast seemed to be deliberately going after humans rather than livestock. Damndest thing, really." He paused, thinking. "You don't imagine they could be connected, do you? The diary getting activated by Ginny and another bloodthirsty bear coincidentally rampaging where Dumbledore thinks You-Know-Who might've spent some time hiding out?"

Bill gave a minute shrug and tiny shake of his head, lost in thought.

Charlie wondered if Bill was thinking back, like he was, to those dark, fearful days when they were little, when You-Know-Who had risen to power. How their mother had taught them to play Hide and Seek, insisting that there was only ever one hiding place: behind the false wall of the back of the hearth. The way to win the game, she'd explained, was to wait as quietly as possible until she came fetch them, no matter how long it took or what noises they heard beyond.

The older they'd gotten, the more often Mum had insisted on playing the game. The last time had been in the early autumn right after Ginny was born. Charlie could still feel the claustrophobic press of all seven of them stuffed into the cramped space. Bill had held the baby, and Charlie's job had been to soothe the usually tearful Ron, who was barely out of babyhood himself, holding his hand and whispering reminders of the treats that would await them afterward if they were patient and quiet. Time spent in the hiding place was the only time Fred, George, and Percy ever set aside their otherwise constant bickering.

None of them ever spoke of those times – Charlie reckoned it was likely the others were too young to remember it very clearly. Yet, judging from their meek cooperation at the time, they'd all sensed there was something more to the game than Mum was letting on. He wondered if he and Bill alone had ever pieced together the real purpose of the game – or whom it was that had truly been seeking them.

Could it really be him again? Charlie wondered. Even as an eight-year-old kid, it had seemed preposterous that the evil wizard every adult feared to so much as name aloud could be destroyed by some odd ricochet of spell, leaving his toddler victim with nothing but a scar. No body was ever found. No reliable witnesses' reports existed. But so pervasive was the terror of You-Know-Who, he supposed, that people were willing to believe anything, so long as it meant they were finally free.

And if it is him, why is he hiding in backwoods Albania, bewitching animals to terrorize Muggles? he further wondered. Is he doing all this because he has to, or because he wants to? Either way, why?

"So, you enjoying life in Romania as much as I'm enjoying Egypt?" Bill chuckled, seemingly eager to change the subject again.

"Oh, yeah," Charlie agreed equally eagerly. "All six Fireball eggs hatched this spring... six! That's a reservation record, mind you. And Norbert – that's the Ridgie of Hagrid's, you remember – you wouldn't believe how big he's gotten. And he's only half-grown! But he's bigger than any other Ridgie any of us have ever seen. Ghenadie – that's my boss – he wonders if Norbert's actually a hybrid of some sort. Maybe got some Ironbelly in 'im..."

"Merlin, don't you ever give it a rest?" Bill laughed. "You're nearly as bad as Percy!" When Charlie smirked, he continued, "I was talking about bachelorhood. Not your damn job."

Charlie rolled his eyes and gave his nosy brother a half-smile. "It's nice to finally be out from under all the watchful eyes, sure," he said carefully.

Bill chuckled wickedly. "Go on, then. You're about to tell me all about the especial charms of Romanian witches..."

"Sod off," Charlie grumbled, offering his older brother a light kick on the shin. The room suddenly felt very hot, despite the refreshing beer and light breezes from the ceiling fans. "I'm not tellin' you a bloody thing."

The wicked chuckle returned. "Such a gentleman, are you?" Bill paid for their meal with a few exotic-looking coins, waving Charlie off when he attempted to contribute his share. As they rose from their table, Bill wound his arm around Charlie's shoulders again and murmured, "I've got something in mind for us tonight that ought to loosen that tongue."

Bill dragged Charlie through the doorway, and the brothers braved the blast furnace that was Rhakotis in August once more.

"Bloody hell, Bill! How do you stand this heat?" Charlie whinged as they wound their way through ancient, night-black pathways that more closely resembled warrens than public thoroughfares. He could barely breathe for it. He pictured himself instead plunging face first into a snowdrift to try to psych himself out of the current kiln-like misery.

Another wicked chuckle. "One attempts to spend the majority of one's free time unclothed, little bro. I highly recommend working up a nice sweat doing something pleasant, then just lying back and letting a breeze cool you."

His brother's laughing leer was beginning to make Charlie a bit nervous. Just what is it he's driving at tonight? he wondered. He hadn't remembered Bill particularly favoring bawdy humor before this.

"How is it you manage not to freeze your bollocks up there on your mountaintop, eh, Charlie?" Bill needled him further. "Snuggle up under a pile of blankets and curl yourself around a nice, warm bum, holdin' on to a pair of soft..."

"Enough fishing, Bill," Charlie warned him only to hear the grating laugh again.

"Come on, Charlie! It's me!" Bill laughed, punching him in the shoulder. Then he halted before a very dark, thoroughly intimidating edifice. "We're young, unattached, unsupervised Weasley men... and the night awaits!" he cried, spreading his arms wide as if to indicate the slummy ruin before them offered temptation of some sort.

Charlie examined the windowless place. Built of mud bricks blackened either by fire or simply the grime of centuries, a single torch flickered weakly beside a massive door. The door was painted with a rather eerie Eye of Horus, and Charlie found it difficult not to think the building was looking right through him. Tearing his gaze away from the unnerving glare, he read the large sign above the door. Of the half dozen languages painted on it, including French, Arabic, and hieroglyphics, "Den of Iniquity" was spelled out in gothic English script.

Bill marched confidently up and rapped on the door, which opened a moment later. Smoke and music poured out into the street from within. Charlie shot a questioning look at his brother, who laughed and dragged him inside.

A short, fat man in a gold-trimmed, white gellabiyah greeted Bill by name, seemingly pleased to see him. They were then escorted to a pair of curved, ornate divans, the cushions of which were so soft they created a sort of suction, holding a body in place. Bill ordered more beer and a shisha, both of which arrived promptly, delivered by two sashaying, scantily clad women.

"Relax, will you?" Bill admonished him, taking a hit from the shisha then passing the hose to Charlie.

"I am relaxed," Charlie protested, though confessed to himself it wasn't exactly true. The way the half-dressed women weaving through the room smiled and batted their eyes at everyone, including him, set him on edge. And Bill's unprecedented nosiness was somewhat alarming, as well. But by the third toke, Charlie noted his color perception had altered, and things began looking rather more rainbow-y than usual. He sank back onto the silk cushions, losing his train of thought for a bit, and enjoyed the floating sensation.

"What is this stuff?" he asked, mildly worried his hair might look the same cacophonous shade of orange as Bill's did at the moment. He consoled himself with the thought that at least there was far less of it on his head than on his brother's; Bill was sporting a ponytail lately. Charlie grinned at the thought of what their mother would say when she saw it.

"It's called Eye of Iris," Bill replied, his voice sounding dozy and on the verge of a giggle. "Are you flying yet?"

Charlie nodded. "Yes, I think I might be."

"Tether yourself here for a bit, then," Bill said, leaping to his feet. "I'll be right back."

Charlie watched his brother lose himself in the crowd. His eyes scanned the room, unsure of whether he was looking through refraction grating or a kaleidoscope. The curtains that seemed to hang from every nook and cranny looked like soft, inviting waves, beckoning him to dive in and get lost inside them. How could he have thought they'd looked tatty and dingy earlier? He took a drink of beer and couldn't believe how amazing it tasted, guzzling it like a parched man.

Right. That's enough of this stuff for me, he thought, resolving to stay away from the shisha for the rest of the trip. Erm, make that visit, he giggled, hopefully to himself. By the time he saw his brother approach, hustling a pair of gorgeous women with him, Charlie reckoned most of the psychedelic effects had worn off, leaving behind a general feeling of contentment and relaxation.

"Charlie, these are my friends, Lilith and Jasmine," Bill introduced them. "They're professional belly dancers," he boasted.

Charlie wrestled his way off the divan cushions and politely stood to welcome the newcomers, wondering if they indeed were "friends" of Bill's and if there was a remote chance those were their real names. One of them smiled prettily at him – Jasmine, if he'd sorted the monikers correctly – and moved to perch on the divan he'd been sitting on. Lilith and Bill sat on the other divan and instantly commenced canoodling. Not knowing what else to do, Charlie sat beside the other girl.

"How are you finding Rhakotis?" she asked politely, smiling.

"I haven't seen much of it... I've only just arrived today. It's a bit hot, though," he said.

The woman laughed lightly. "This climate must be difficult for your kind. You and your brother are so fair."

"Bill told you we were brothers?" Charlie asked, silently offering her a glass of beer from the pitcher on their low table.

She nodded and, as he poured, said, "He didn't have to, though. The two of you look very alike."

He handed her the glass, and after a quick "Cheers!" they drank. He gave Jasmine a friendly smile, wondering if to someone like her, all ginger Europeans like him and Bill looked alike: so different from the people she saw daily, they attracted attention like gleaming beacons.

Jasmine, on the other hand, stood out not because of her strangeness but for her beauty. Her onyx eyes sparkled as much as her beaded and sequined dancing costume, which was skimpy enough to reveal quite a bit of her rich topaz skin. Her curvaceous figure drew many admiring stares throughout the room. And while Charlie could appreciate her loveliness, it was in a manner similar to the appreciation he'd have for a nice painting or a glorious sunset or a well-made specimen of dragon. He recognized the inherent beauty of her feminine form, found it pleasing to the eye. He felt uplifted by the sort of perfection she evoked, proud on her behalf, as well as flattered to be in her company.

But he felt no desire for her, and he reckoned this set him apart from every other man in the room. While he had no instinct to recoil from her, neither did he have any wish to possess her. He alone seemed immune to her magnetism – no distracting flashes of fantasy, no visions of things to do to her or have done to him by her, muddled his head.

Jasmine lightly rested her hand on his. "What are you thinking about?"

Charlie hoped his smile didn't look as awkward as it felt. "If you don't mind me asking, is Jasmine really your name?"

She smiled a little bashfully and looked away. "No, it's really Amunet, but foreign businessmen don't find that as attractive."

"Well, I'm no businessman, but I think it's a fine name," he assured her. "May I call you Amunet?"

She nodded, and instantly, her smile became softer, a little more genuine. "So, Charlie who's not a businessman, what do you do for a living?"

"Dragon keeper," he replied without hesitation, warming to this new subject. His comfort level rose with the prospect of discussing a subject near and dear to his heart.

But Amunet giggled skeptically. "You might be surprised how often I hear that exact answer from businessmen."

Charlie laughed. "If they knew how much unglamorous grunt work the job entails, they might come up with a better alias."

"What other career could be more dashing and adventurous?" she asked, smiling coyly.

"Considering how much time I spend barreling dung and collecting gorge pellets, I reckon just about anything," he quipped.

Amunet shifted closer, her thigh brushing against his. "If it's all muck and drudgery, then why do you do it?" she asked, beginning to sound like she believed him.

"They're such amazing creatures," Charlie gushed, unable to help himself. "So wild and elemental, you know? I can't remember a time when I wasn't fascinated by them. I've always known I wanted to work with dragons."

Amunet ran her hand up and down his arm, her dark eyes gleaming with reflected torchlight. "You must have some interesting stories to tell."

Charlie shrugged uncomfortably – her caresses tickled in an irritating way. He hazarded a moment's glance toward Bill, noting things had gotten cozy indeed on the next divan. Lilith was now straddling Bill's lap; only his legs beneath her and his hands groping her arse were visible. "I suppose," he mumbled.

Amunet's gaze had followed his. She pulled her eyes away from the scene, then looked intently at Charlie. Lacing her arm through his, her breasts grazing against him, she murmured directly in his ear, "Perhaps you'd like to take me back to your room and tell me some? I'd love to hear all about the dragons."

Charlie affected a casual reach for the beer pitcher. To his relief, it was empty. "I'll just go get another, shall I?" he announced, gently disengaging himself from Amunet's clutches and heading to the bar.

He'd been there long enough to get the barman's attention when Bill joined him. "There a problem, bro?"

"Not at all," Charlie insisted.

"It's all right if you haven't done it before. She'll understand," Bill assured him under his breath in a voice that was suspiciously confident, his expression dripping with concerned understanding.

Charlie began to wonder if their companions were whores as well as dancers. Had Bill made some sort of arrangement with them? To get him laid!? Charlie chafed at his brother's nerve. "That's not it, and you're making assumptions you oughtn't," he growled.

Bill smiled cockily and his eyebrows shot up with revolting surprise. "Oh, ho, ho! My apologies, little brother!" he cried with a congratulatory clap on Charlie's back that he found supremely irritating, and he roughly shrugged it off.

"Some little Romanian minx caught your eye?" Bill needled him. "Or is it your heart she's got hold of?"

"Merlin's twitchy tits, Bill, will you leave off already?" Charlie huffed.

The bloody infuriating chuckle returned. "No matter, I won't force you to compromise your romantic ethics, if that's the case," Bill oiled with a wink, his fang earring jangling as he ran his fingers through his thick, shoulder-length hair, then tucked it behind his ears once more. Charlie deduced Lilith must've undone the ponytail. "But I'm not under any such enchantment."

"Is everything all right?" Lilith asked in a quiet, sultry voice.

At the same time, Charlie felt Amunet sidle up next to him. The grating music and the stuffy, smoky air in the room combined with the close press of bodies to make him feel trapped and suffocating. Sensing imminent disaster, he felt a strong urge to remove himself from the situation entirely.

As if noticing his discomfort yet completely misinterpreting his motivation, Amunet suggested, "Let's get out of here, Charlie."

Her slender arms lacing about his neck made him think of nothing but Devil's Snare. Charlie swallowed hard. "Actually, I'm afraid I'll have to beg off the rest of the night. I think I got hold of some hummus at dinner that was gone off." He grimaced and rubbed his stomach for effect, hoping to sell it.

Bill smirked at him skeptically. "Well, girls, looks like it's just me, then."

Somewhat surprised to see real disappointment on Amunet's face, Charlie gave her a brief hug and a peck on the cheek. "Maybe we can have our chat about dragons some other time, yeah?" he said with a friendly smile.

Amunet was unmollified by his gesture. Miffed, she stuck her hands on her hips and gave Bill an aggravated look. "Which one of us will it be, then, Bill?"

Lilith's eyes flashed. "He's already made his choice," she hissed, wrapping herself around Bill in a decidedly possessive manner.

Charlie felt his gorge rise to hear his suspicion so blatantly confirmed: they were whores, and Bill had engaged them for the purpose of relieving Charlie of his presumed virginal burden. He glared at his brother, but it was a useless gesture – Bill's attention had fully shifted to the women.

Bill held Lilith close but reached out to Amunet at the same time, smiling smugly. He kissed Lilith's cheek, then brought Amunet's hand to his lips to bestow another. "Don't be so cruel, ladies!" he cried theatrically. "How can you make me choose between heaven and paradise? Have mercy on a poor boy."

Charlie nearly laughed out loud at the most ridiculous line he'd ever heard, expecting Bill to get his face slapped for his trouble, if not jinxed outright. But to his surprise, the women merely exchanged a brief, questioning glance. Lilith shrugged, then Amunet nodded slightly. She took up a position flanking Bill, and both women beamed pleased smiles up at him.

Becoming increasingly disgusted by the entire situation, Charlie dumped a handful of coins on the bar. "Pleasure to meet you, ladies," he said sharply, then added, "See you later," with an angry nod to his brother. Then he spun on his heels and marched out of the building without a backward glance.

Charlie wandered through the streets for at least an hour, fuming, barely noting the heat anymore. He wasn't entirely clear why he felt so angry. It had something to do with Bill's behavior, that was for certain. His own reaction to the women was disturbing, as well. He headed in the direction he thought the sea lay, recognizing it might be unwise to return to Bill's flat in case the jolly threesome would end up there, and pondered his plight.

Charlie soon came to the conclusion that Bill's presumption, while extremely offensive, still boiled down to an attempt, however misguided, to do something nice for him. And while he wouldn't be thanking his brother for the favor any time soon, it was probably an overreaction to have a real row with him about it. Nor was Charlie the sort of person to nurse a grudge. Things would be back to normal between them soon – most likely by morning. Once they were alone again, anyway.

The thought of Amunet's fickle behavior tonight made his stomach turn in distaste. He reminded himself he had no right to judge her, though. He didn't know her, had no concept of what her life was like. The Romanian pubs he frequented were all populated with whores – he was not so innocent as to misunderstand their existence. Many of life's choices were difficult to make, often hairline distinctions between two suboptimal options. Who was he to blame Amunet for capitalizing on her beauty however she chose?

He'd reached the shore by then, and while the sand was still hot, the nearly constant offshore breeze helped ameliorate the heat. He sat down and stared out at the water, watching the lights of the Muggle boats pass by.

Why didn't I feel attracted to her at all? he asked himself. That Amunet was beautiful was unquestionable. That she'd been willing was also not up for debate. And yet here he sat, alone.

Is it because she's a complete stranger? he wondered. While Charlie was as easy-going and friendly a fellow as anyone could hope to meet, he found it difficult to connect with most people on any deeper level. When it came to sharing his inner thoughts or feelings, he was rather reserved – a trait people often mistook for shyness. And when it came to matters concerning sex – a subject he considered intensely private and personal – casual connections were abhorrent to him, cheapening something he'd come to feel was a precious, profound exchange. He realized it made him come off as a prude sometimes, but felt too strongly about the matter to alter his behavior.

He analyzed this idea, thought about the effort it would take to get to know Amunet. Beneath the beautiful exterior, hiding behind a lamentable vocation, might there not be a scintillating intellect? A kind and sweet heart? A fascinating personality? He realized with a small amount of regret that he would never know. After all, really knowing a person was certainly not the sort of thing that could happen over the course of an evening, or even a weeklong holiday – Sasha had taught him that. Even supposing he felt something drawing him to share anything personal with the woman, what would be the point? He would be long gone soon, and they would likely never cross paths again.

It was more than that, though. He strongly suspected that even if given a month, a year, a lifetime, he wouldn't choose Amunet to pursue. But why don't I feel like even trying? She was pretty, clever, friendly. Why hadn't he felt any kind of spark of interest in her? Or any other woman for that matter? Or any other person at all?

Why had he felt it with his friend, Sasha, and no one else?

He'd had these sorts of conversations with himself before. Was he attracted to Sasha simply because circumstances threw them together so often and in such intense situations? Was it down to a lack of experience or opportunity with women? Was this simply an experimental phase he'd grow out of eventually?

Last summer they'd shared a torrid affair, unable to quench a desire that had built between them throughout that first winter and spring they'd spent together. A madness had overtaken Charlie then, and Sasha had patiently tolerated his obsession, his single-mindedness, teaching him everything he now knew about sex in the process. The fire had mellowed somewhat over the following winter, settling into a comfortable, reliable companionship, if not routine. The passion was still there, just no longer celebrated every possible moment they had alone. Charlie had learned to let go a little, giving them both some breathing room.

And with that bit of distance came some mental clarity – which, as usual, led to introspection and analysis. Just what did Charlie imagine was going on between them? Mostly, Charlie'd responded with a shrug, uncomfortable with the possible answers, and told himself he didn't care one way or the other, and why not just enjoy what they had while they had it?

But now he was beginning to feel so much more confident in the conclusion he'd always felt at least faintly. There'd always been plenty of pretty women in the villages they'd visited on nights off – young or mature, sweet, saucy, or funny: there was something for every taste. And while most of the other keepers had one or more women waiting for them whenever they visited town, he'd never felt a single inkling of attraction to any of them. The excuse of "waiting for the right girl" was becoming flimsier by the moment.

So this is really it for me, then? he marveled internally, recognizing the significance of this revelation. If not a woman like Amunet, then who?

Maybe there is no right girl. Maybe the right person for me isn't a girl at all.

Charlie stared up at the sky, the stars washed out by the Muggle city lights. The always awe-inspiring Milky Way was invisible here. No cooling, comforting mountain air. No safe, companionable silence. No familiar, soothing voice. No gentle, reassuring touch.

No Sasha.

The earth shifted a little bit.

I'm gay.

The realization came not as a commanding, godlike pronouncement. Not a torturous evil curse. Not a sobbing, shameful whimper begging for forgiveness. It was a quiet voice. His own voice – steady and honest.

And I think... I think I might love him.

1- I prefer to spell Rhakotis with a K, but it can also be spelt with a C. And yes, it really exists, but I fudged its age and magicality.

2- What follows is my own conjecture as to how an eleven-year-old girl, who spent most of a school year possessed by something as evil as a Voldemort Horcrux and nearly died in the Chamber of Secrets, managed to be right as rain in time for the following start of term. Mr. Mentu-Hotep is my invention, as is Dumbledore's rigging of the Prophet lottery that resulted in the trip.

3- Bill's declaration (as well as Charlie's in Chapter 2) of owing his job to Dumbledore is another pet theory of mine that will be developed a little further in this story.