1-Aug-97

Chapter 13

August 1, 1997

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...Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with large white roses in their buttonholes... – Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter 8

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Charlie looked at himself in the full length mirror, unable to recognize the man who'd left Romania yesterday. Decked out in hired formal robes, a silly great flower stabbed into his lapel, the majority of his scars were well hidden, at least, but he couldn't move his arms too much for fear the seams would rip. He ran his hand through his now non-existent hair, thanks to his mother's overzealous haircut – his sacrifice made on Bill's thick-maned behalf, the unappreciative bastard.

When he ran his hand over the bristly fuzz that remained for second time within the same minute, it occurred to him the action had become something of a nervous tic. I'll bloody freeze this winter, he thought ruefully, adding a mental note to pick up a few extra stocking caps before returning home.

The thought tripped him up for a moment. It's true, though, innit? Home's Romania now. As much as he loved his family, as many fond memories as the Burrow held for him – it was no longer where he felt he belonged. This Devonshire farmhouse jam-packed with boisterous humanity was a lovely place to be from, and he wouldn't change his personal history for the world, but a comparatively desolate, remote Carpathian mountaintop was most definitely his destiny.

"Aside from the fact your misshapen head is more evident now without your hair to hide beneath, you look surprisingly good," Bill teased him, adjusting his own robes.

Charlie grinned at his brother through the mirror. "You know, when you asked me to be your best man, I assumed my primary duty would be to prevent Fred and George from ruining the ceremony with some idiot prank. Now I see they've already gotten to you." When Bill blanched, Charlie spun around and continued, "Trust me, you'll want to avoid any mirrors with that manky mug – you look worse than a dragon's arse-end."

Bill smirked, realizing he'd fallen for a joke as Charlie spread his arms wide in a mock-effort to prevent him access to the mirror. "No time left to work up a decent glamour, I'm afraid," he added. "Might just as well wear a bag over your head, bro." With that, he summoned a pillowcase and held it out helpfully.

"Boys! Stop your bickering for once!" Molly screeched, a ginger bundle of tears and nerves barreling into the room. "At a moment like this, are insults all you have for each other?" She fussed over Bill's tie and clucked with disapproval when he flipped his long hair back over his shoulder.

"Can you loosen these sleeves any more, Mum?" Charlie begged plaintively, and Bill shot him a look of pure gratitude for redirecting their mother's attention away from him. Charlie then received a mighty swat to the head for his previous barb, for Molly was still extremely sensitive about Bill's facial injuries – far more than Bill was, thank Merlin.

"Oh, boys, don't you look smart!" Arthur gushed, poking his head into the room as Molly dithered over Charlie's robes, agitatedly wiggling her wand about his neck and shoulders. "Come along now, Molly. We've got to get downstairs and join the guests. Leave these boys in peace for a few minutes, will you? They've got last-minute bachelor-y things to discuss, and I'd imagine they'd rather not do it in front of Mummy."

Only after planting several wet kisses on them did she finally accede to Arthur's wishes, leaving Bill to magic away the smudged lipstick off their cheeks (a spell he seemed suspiciously adept at). At least Charlie could roll his shoulders a bit more freely now.

"So, you're getting married, I hear," Charlie chuckled once they were finally alone again.

Bill grinned happily. "Luckiest man on earth and all that."

"And to the Little French Pastry, no less," Charlie needled him, referring to his almost sister-in-law by the misogynistic epithet her future husband had christened her with the day he'd first seen her at the Triwizard Tournament. "I can't bloody believe you managed it, really."

I can't bloody believe you're marrying a girl seven years your junior, barely twenty years old! Charlie managed to hold his grin steady despite his less-than-charitable thoughts.

Bill's gaze drifted off into the distance. "I can't really explain it, Charlie... what she does to me. I only know I can't live without it."

How's this for an explanation: she's part veela, you bloody git! Charlie wasn't sure where this font of inner surliness was stemming from. Surely it wasn't jealousy? The last thing he wanted to saddle himself with was a wife, no matter how pretty or clever. "She's a lovely girl," Charlie agreed, managing to avoid most of the emphasis on the word girl.

His brother picked up on it anyway. "Well, now that I'm all settled, we can start to work on your love life." Bill's grin became a bit less genial, a bit more feral. "The sister's too young, I grant you. But a few of the cousins might do..."

"I'll pass," Charlie cut him off, wearily disappointed that Bill chose to turn down onto that tedious path once again. "I have no desire to learn French. Russian and Romanian are quite enough, thank you very much."

"What, you don't speak dragon?" Bill goaded him. "'Cause your breath sure as hell smells like one."

Charlie feigned a lunge at his older, taller brother, who instantly fell into a defensive crouch, wand in hand. "A little jumpy, are we?" he taunted him for overreacting. "Wedding nerves?"

"Fuck off," Bill growled, straightening up and stuffing his wand back up his sleeve.

Charlie made a sweeping bow as a token of reconciliation, unwilling to truly quarrel with his brother on his wedding day. They were all on edge lately, especially after the fiasco that led to Moody's death a few days ago – and Charlie berated himself once again for not being there to participate in the sortie, despite the fact he'd not been invited or even told about it. If I'd only known, I could've gotten the extra days off! Why didn't they just ask me?

Charlie embraced his brother, slapped him heartily on the back, then led him out of the room with his arm still around his taller shoulders. "Come on, then. Your child bride awaits," he grumbled through a forced smile.

"You think they've all gone barmy, don't you?" Fred said, only slightly the worse for wear after a champagne-soaked afternoon. He plopped himself down in the seat next to where Charlie had been sitting alone, surveying the reception festivities from the head table and growing increasingly sullen. "Well I, for one, couldn't agree with you more."

Charlie looked at his younger brother sideways. "What the hell are you on about?" he muttered, really in no mood for any twins' hijinks.

"They're all looking at life through rose-colored specs, everything distorted by love," Fred groused, emphasizing the silliness of it all by wiggling his fingers and spouting twinkling dust from them.

Charlie snorted in disagreement. Considering all they'd survived the past year, the past month... who could blame anyone from seeking comfort in any corner? He'd give nearly anything to be back on his peaceful Romanian mountaintop with Sasha at the moment, and he'd barely been gone a full twenty-four hours.

But Fred quite possibly misinterpreted his snort. "I grant you Bill might be feelin' his years and all that, breathin' hard on thirty as he is. A fella his age wants a pretty face and warm body to come home to – perfectly understandable," Fred blathered.

Charlie shot him an indignant scowl – Breathing hard on thirty, indeed! We're in our mid-twenties, thank you very much! – which was blithely ignored.

"And when you've got a shot at Fleur flippin' Delacour, well, pfft!" Fred was clearly impressed with his elder brother's savvy choice of wife – which was reasonable, considering they're the same age! Charlie bristled once again.

"But the rest of 'em? Moonin' over this one and that one?" Fred cried, then made a very rude farting noise to express his opinion of the romantic entanglements of his siblings far more eloquently than words could've done.

"The optimism of love is nothing to sneer at," Charlie countered, perhaps a little too defensively.

"It's bollocks, plain and simple," Fred declared, downed a half-full flute, then belched. Waving dismissively toward the dance floor, he muttered, "I suppose the younger ones don't know any better, blind slaves to the surge of adolescent hormones as they are."

Charlie rolled his eyes. If anyone's a slave to his adolescent hormones, it's you, bro, he grumbled silently. No matter from whom the source, every owl his siblings sent recently usually made some reference to Fred's hound dog manner of late. He'd seemed to inherit the mantle of ladies' man from Bill, now that the eldest of them had been safely ensconced with a fiancée.

But Fred ignored him, as usual. "I mean, take Ron and Hermione, for instance."

"Ron and Hermione?" Charlie spluttered a bit. "I thought Hermione fancied Harry."

"You, me, and the rest of the world could be easily forgiven for making that completely logical assumption, mate," Fred chuckled. "But go easy on our ickle Ronnikins. Got a bit of a complex about that, he does."

"Poor Ron," Charlie commiserated, easily imagining how wearing it must be, constantly overshadowed by his very famous (or infamous, depending on who you spoke to) best mate. That could turn into one nasty little love triangle, it could.

"Yeah, well, as clever as she is, there's no accounting for the girl's taste. Best mates with flippin' Harry Potter, no less – and she had Krum on the line there for a bit, if you can believe it. But no, those two pathetic gits have been fawning over each other for years now, even if they didn't quite realize it themselves. And now that Ron finally woke up to it... well, let's just say he's willing to overlook the fact that Harry's head's been turned by our very own baby Ginny, as it takes him neatly out of the running for Hermione."

"Ginny!?" Charlie choked, scanning the dancing crowd until he spotted his sister swaying with a young, tall black boy. Sure, even he knew (absent as he'd been for a significant chunk of her life) she'd been nursing a crush on Harry when she was a little girl, but still? "But I thought... Harry's supposed to look like one of us today?" he hissed under his breath, giving the tall boy the hairy eyeball. Now he felt like a fool for delivering a quick pep talk to the red-headed stranger he'd run into at the loo, assuming it was Harry in disguise.

"Oh, he does, albeit much uglier," Fred sneered with wicked glee. "George and I thought about just using one of my hairs for the potion and telling everyone he's our long lost triplet, but Mum got wind of the plan and, well..." Fred shrugged – no further explanation was necessary. "So I stole the hair meself this morning from a pickle-faced prick in the village." He nodded toward the prick-disguise in question, who proved to be the person Charlie'd accosted in the loo earlier, which was a small relief.

But Ginger Harry was being chatted up in that moment by none other than that Bulgarian Quidditch prick, Victor Krum.

Who the hell invited him? Charlie felt a flash of grudge-filled resentment toward the git responsible for the agony of a clutch-deprived mother. He thought fleetingly about extracting a bit of dragon's revenge for the debacle at the Triwizard Tournament, then just as fleetingly thought better of it. His mother would extract a fierce revenge of her own if he dared to cause a scene at the wedding reception. But then Harry/Cousin Barny looked daggers at the boy dancing with Ginny, and Charlie realized Fred might possibly know what he was talking about vis-à-vis the romantic entanglements of their younger siblings.

"At least Harry had the sense to put the thing on hiatus for a bit," Fred added. "I mean, with the state of things... and the fuckin' target on the bloke's back... it's the proper thing to do, really."

Charlie felt a tug of sympathy for his sister – to have finally won Harry's heart only to lose it again to his sense of duty. "Poor Gin," he muttered.

"And then there's George," Fred growled, scandalized as he jabbed a finger toward the dance floor.

Charlie's eyes followed and found Fred's twin, his bandaged head reminding them all of the state of the world outside the reception tent, waltzing around a diminutive yet voluptuous young woman with short, dark curls and semi-exotic looks. He'd been with her and her alone the entire reception, but Charlie had never seen nor heard tell of the witch before this. Maybe she was younger than he and still at Hogwarts? "What about George?" Charlie sighed, growing tired of the conversation.

"He's gone native, man!" Fred cried, affecting shock. "Don't get me wrong – Annie's very likely the only girl on the planet who could keep up with him, for all she can't do magic. I think the world of her, I really do. But still!"

"Hang on... she's a Muggle?" Charlie choked. "George brought a Muggle here to this?"

"Keep your knickers dry, Charlene," Fred goaded him. "She's known about us for ages; Annie knows how to keep a secret, trust me."

"Might've known the two of you would pull some stupid stunt like this," Charlie muttered dubiously under his breath, unconvinced. "Do Mum and Dad know the truth about her?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "Of course," he grumbled disgustedly. "Though George did need a bit of prodding to come clean, the ruddy coward," he added with a leering grin that nearly made Charlie shiver. "But they're both very predictably over the moon about her. See, Annie's parents scarpered off when she was born, leaving her to be raised by her Gran, so that's Mum taken care of – you know how she loves to fuss over little lost lambs and such. And she's a Muggle, so Dad can't stop asking her about credit cards and batteries and hello-copties."

Charlie chuckled despite himself, easily picturing his father pestering the poor girl about everything to do with Muggles. "You're protesting a bit much. Sounds to me like you're jealous," he needled his little brother.

"Jealous!? Of 'im an' Annie!?" Fred spluttered a little too vehemently. "Now you're talking shit."

Charlie laughed again, delighted to see Fred squirm. "Maybe not of George specifically, although I'm reserving final judgment on that one for the moment. But you can't honestly tell me everyone doesn't crave the kind of security a committed relationship can offer."

"Security? Commitment? You make it sound like a stay in Azkaban, mate," Fred blustered. "I'll pass, thanks."

"What about love? Understanding? Trust?" Charlie pressed. "Just look at George, at Bill. You can't deny they look awfully chuffed."

"Yeah, George has been trying to sell me the same line of rubbish for months now. I suppose you've got some mountaintop bird, then, sucking up all your time, money, and attention like he does?" he said, sounding disappointed.

Charlie pursed his lips, gritting his teeth. Has to be a woman, does it? Would any of his family ever understand? Would they ever accept the truth?

"What's wrong with all of you?" Fred soldiered on. "I say what about variety? Adventure? Seeing what's out there and enjoying all life has to offer? Why the hell would you tie yourself down to one person for the rest of your lives? It doesn't make sense. Goes against biology, even."

"Now you're talking shit," Charlie parried. It's not just about sex! And biology can be a fucking tricky bitch, trust me. "Among many other benefits, being with someone you love eases your stress because you have someone to share your burdens with. Someone who understands you. Someone you can count on to always have your back."

Fred began to laugh. "Which is why Mum and Dad always agree on everything, innit? Sorry, mate, but you lost the argument right there. From where I sit, she's always ridin' his arse about every nitpickin' thing. Talk about stress! Who needs that?"

Charlie chuckled wryly, conceding Fred's point. No one could argue their mother wasn't a nag of epic proportions. Still, for all their father seemed henpecked half to death, no one could deny Arthur and Molly Weasley loved each other beyond measure. And he suspected Fred knew it.

"Wotcher, Charlie!"

Fred and Charlie both smiled a welcome at Nymphadora Tonks – Erm, make that Lupin, he corrected himself – as she slid into the seat to Charlie's right. Her hair fairly glowed, tinted her favorite shade of pink, which actually looked fetching with her nicely tailored, silvery robes. It was always a surprise to Charlie that rough-and-ready tomgirl Tonks could clean up so prettily.

"Never mind me, then," Fred grumbled.

Tonks narrowed her eyes at him. "I try, Coz. I honestly do."

"Speaking of cousins," Fred taunted with a demonic smile as a young Delacour cousin flashed a come-hither look his way. "I believe I've neglected my duties as gracious host long enough, sittin' here with you sorry lot."

Charlie and Tonks groaned in unison. Fred surreptitiously flipped them off as he sauntered toward the girl.

After several uncomfortable moments of quiet, "Listen, Tonks, I... I'm sorry about what happened to Moody," he stammered lamely. He'd known the old Auror had been her mentor of sorts, and they'd been close. Well, as close as a fellow like Moody ever let another person get.

"Thanks, Charlie," Tonks said, blinking her eyes a few times. "But let's not dwell on that bit. Not today, of all days."

Charlie nodded, understanding perfectly. He couldn't blame her for wanting to forget the tragedy for a while. "So, I hear congratulations are in order for you, as well," he offered.

"They are indeed," Tonks replied, beaming. She wiggled the finger bearing her wedding ring to better catch his attention, as if such a thing were necessary.

"Where is your old man, anyway?" Charlie asked as he scanned the crowd for Lupin, a little surprised they weren't together at the moment. Come to mention it, he hadn't seen them joining in the dancing much at all. Were they deliberately trying to lay low?

Tonks bristled. "Charlie..." she said warningly, her eyes flashing.

"I honestly didn't mean it that way," Charlie said truthfully, laughing lightly as he realized his unintentional gaffe. "But, now that you bring it up..."

"Oh, not you, too!" Tonks whined.

"He's thirteen years older than you, mate," Charlie muttered. "That's–"

"My lucky number," Tonks growled. "And not another word on the subject, presuming you like your bits to remain where they are," she added when he opened his mouth. "Merlin knows I've gotten it from every quarter already, including Himself."

Charlie held his tongue, not wanting to provoke his friend. He just couldn't understand it, though: Lupin's and his brother's predilection for significantly younger women. As beautiful as little Gabrielle Delacour was – and she was practically angelic – Charlie'd felt like a fool partnering with her during the traditional dances as best man and maid of honor. She was eleven years old, for Merlin's sake: less than half his age, not to mention half his height! But their age difference was the same as that between Tonks and Lupin.

"Ask me to dance already, you great git," Tonks grumbled as she elbowed him, smiling a little grimly, as if determined to put a brave face on it all.

"Do I have to?" Charlie whined, supremely unwilling to face the awkwardness of the dance floor again.

Tonks helped convince him of the wisdom of her plan with a well-aimed Hot Seat jinx. He led her into the small crowd on the dance floor just as the tempo slowed. She rested her hands lightly on his broad, muscled shoulders; he rested his lightly on her narrow, bony hips.

"You'd be so proud of me, Charlie," Tonks said by way of striking up a conversation. "I've learnt to brew Wolfsbane now, and that's a trick, innit? I've even managed to cook up the latest batch without knocking over my cauldron once."

"That's excellent news, mate," he chuckled. He couldn't help thinking her smile looked more forced than natural, though – not like a typical blissful newlywed, anyway. "How are things really?" he murmured.

Tonks heaved a great sigh and finally let the facial pretense drop. "He's been under such great stress for such a long time," she lamented, a worried frown furrowing her brow. "I wish I could convince him to lean on me more, to let me help him, but he never does. And he especially won't now."

She added the last bit in a mumble, but Charlie'd caught it anyway. "Especially now?" he pressed, his mind leaping ahead. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Tonks flushed, an abashedly pleased yet genuine smile bursting onto her face. "I'm up the pole, Charlie," she whispered in a giggle.

"A baby?" he stammered hoarsely.

"Hush! It's too early to make an announcement," Tonks whispered. "You're the first person besides Mum and Dad I've told."

What can they be thinking? Charlie marveled, more than a little horrified. A baby? Now? And Lupin's a–

Tonks sensed his reaction and accurately deduced the reasoning behind it. She lifted her gaze and, with pleading eyes, scoldingly, leadingly said in an exaggerated voice, "Congratulations, Tonks! I'm so pleased for you both!"

Charlie caught a glimpse of a haggard-looking Lupin, his head bent close to Minerva McGonagall's, who also looked fretful. Charlie knew Lupin to be a decent man, a trustworthy fellow member of the Order, and he'd never begrudge someone finding love, but... a baby? Conceived of a werewolf father? Its parents committed to a secret order sworn to fight evil to the death? In the midst of a war whose outcome was now very much in doubt?

His mind tumbled over the import. It wasn't that he mistrusted Lupin – Remus was a clever and responsible bloke, too. If he reckoned it was safe enough to try for a baby between the two of them... Well, Charlie was certainly in no position to argue. But Merlin's moldy socks, they'd both just participated in the most recent operation to rescue Harry! And she was pregnant? How could Lupin have allowed her to take such a risk? How could she, an expectant mother, so blithely disregard the danger to herself and her unborn child?

Charlie gritted his teeth. "How about good luck?" It was the best he could truthfully offer, considering.

Tonks, her eyes glittering wetly and her smile fading, said softly, "It'll do, I suppose."

She rested her head against his shoulder for the rest of the song, and Charlie held her close, comforting his friend and cousin. Even as a little girl, Tonks had always had a soft spot for a lost cause – hell, she'd been on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team (those loveable-yet-perpetual-losers), hadn't she? – and he supposed her marriage to Lupin was more of the same. He prayed her pity for a friendless werewolf wouldn't wind up leading to dire consequences for them both. For them all.

It was getting increasingly difficult, however, to delude himself about the situation here any longer. Dumbledore's death had thrown them all into a confused, chaotic spiral. Each of the Order's schemes were being anticipated and countered by the enemy, he assumed largely thanks to Snape's betrayal – it was a miracle they hadn't all died in the attempt to rescue Harry.

He and Bill had had a long discussion the night before, once the festivities of Harry's birthday had died down: both concluding an all-out battle was likely inevitable. The Death Eaters would never stop until Harry and the rest of the Order were dead, that much was inarguable. Bill had confided as much as he knew about the state of things for certain as well as quite a bit of conjecture about Ron, Harry, and Hermione's secretive plans. Ultimately, he'd promised Charlie to do everything he could to look after the family, but pushed him in return to go all out finding new supporters for their cause elsewhere.

And now what? he wondered morbidly. How many more missions will be ambushed? How long before the Ministry's fully infiltrated and Dad's caught spying? How long before one of us ends up in a duel against Percy? How long before Lupin's outreach to the werewolves fails utterly and they turn on him? How long can McGonagall hold Hogwarts safe from the Death Eaters' influence?

Please, God, let Harry be worth it! Let him know what to do to finish this!

Back home on his peaceful mountaintop, it was easy to pretend all this wasn't constantly bearing down on them. Busy with the work of the reservation, it was easy to push aside thoughts of fighting against blood prejudice and Muggle persecution. Now that Fedir had been paired up with the new Romanian recruit, Nandru Ungur, and the two of them packed off to live in keeper hut number eleven, Charlie'd found it easy to forget about You-Know-Who and his minions and simply lose himself every evening in quiet communion with Sasha.

Tonks shifted within his embrace, her arm sliding off his shoulder, drawing his thoughts back to the present. Without missing a step of the dance, she took one of his hands from her hips, then threaded her fingers into his. It was at this point he felt a small object press against his palm.

"These are Portkeys, Charlie," she whispered into his ear, her cheek pressed against his. "Nicked 'em from the Transportation Office. They're specially keyed for visiting dignitaries to Hogwarts, left over from the Triwizard Tournament a few years ago: they'll transport any number of people from anywhere in the world right into Hogsmeade, see? About a dozen brass rings, if I remember right, all shrunken into this little mokeskin pouch."

Portkeys? For all the reinforcements I'm supposed to deliver? He didn't feel like confessing he'd had little if any success in recruiting additional sympathizers since the last time they'd spoken about it. Nevertheless, he minutely twisted his wrist, and the little pouch slid down inside his sleeve, unnoticed by anyone else.

"Thanks, Tonks," he murmured, feeling more than a little ashamed and unworthy.

"Don't mention it, mate," she said, patting his other shoulder lightly.

"I'll do my best," he offered, praying he'd prove everyone's trust well placed, resolving to redouble his recruitment efforts back in Romania.

"I know you will," she agreed. "We will, too."

Author's note: George's Muggle girlfriend, Annie, and her attendance at Bill's wedding is in reference to my other story, "George & Annie: An Unofficial Biography," also archived on this site. She is entirely my invention.