Aug-99

Chapter 20

August 1999

* * *

"What about you, Charlie? Ever going to spend as much time with a woman as you do a dragon?"

Charlie shook his head with a smile. "Not likely," he laughed. "Dragons have better dispositions, I find." This response elicited more guffaws and a few murmured agreements. – George & Annie: An Unofficial Biography, Chapter 46

* * *

With an aggravated flick of his wrist, Charlie gathered up his clothes that had lain scattered on the floor. They folded themselves in midair, queued up, then arranged themselves in his satchel. He could keep things tidy when he was of a mind to – not for nothing he was Molly Prewett Weasley's son – but was a pure slob at heart. He wondered if this aspect of his nature signified anything more than petty, adolescent rebellion against her on his part.

Displeased to have brought his mother to mind once more, he redoubled his packing efforts. Toiletries were the next victims of his pique. One at a time, he caught them as they zoomed toward him from the bathroom. When his razor nicked his finger, he grouchily swore to grow a beard in retaliation.

"Going somewhere?"

Sucking on his cut finger, he glanced sideways to see Percy saunter into the room they'd shared for the holiday. An offshore breeze billowed the canvas sides of the magical tent as his brother sat on his cot.

"That'll cost you a shiny Galleon or three," Percy mused aloud when he didn't reply, leaning back and looking more smug than concerned. His knitted hands cradled the back of his head.

A small price well worth the cost to escape this nightmare, Charlie grumbled to himself. Percy was right: he'd have to pay a rescheduling fee to get his Portkey switched to an earlier departure, but he really couldn't be held responsible for his actions if he had to endure another round of his mother's matrimonial scolding or another conversation centered around currently the most amazing things on Earth: babies. Drooling, squalling, leaking, shitting infants had completely taken over the minds of at least half the adults present on this godforsaken campout on the Devonshire seaside.

"Don't care," he muttered.

Percy checked his watch. "At least wait until tomorrow morning. It'll seem less petulant on your part."

Charlie whirled around on him. "I'm being petulant, am I?"

An amused smile quirked Percy's mug. "Rather."

Charlie shoved his satchel out of the way and flopped onto the bed. Running his hands through his hair in frustration, the recollection of his mother's voice rattled through his head once more: "Isn't it about time you transferred back to Ddraig Cymry?" she'd asked in her typical commanding way. "Now that all this war effort nonsense is over, there's no more reason for you to stay so far away any longer."

"No, Mum," he'd sighed for the hundredth time. For some reason, she refused to understand that while Dumbledore may have gotten him the position for ulterior reasons, Charlie'd accepted it with the intent of making it a permanent career. Romania had never been a temporary move in his mind. He wished she could take some pride in the fact her son worked at the largest, most prestigious dragon reservation in the world instead of constantly nagging him to return to a backwater in Britain.

"My life is at Ridgebit," he'd said firmly. "Ddraig Cymry is great, but it would be a professional step backward."

"However will you meet a nice girl to settle down with there?" she'd whinged.

"Romania has witches too, Mum."

That was the one that had cut the deepest, he reckoned. He'd bit his tongue rather than tell her the truth: I'm not interested in women, see. For ages now, he'd rationalized that she'd had enough stress, enough grief in her life without him adding to it. And now that Bill and George had started their families, now that Ron's and Ginny's weddings were foregone conclusions, she'd made it clear how very disappointed she was in his failure to accomplish either goal. More than ever before, he was convinced at this point that the truth would completely wreck her.

"Did you hear the news about Morna Everwort and Simon Hexall getting married? Wasn't she in your year at school?" his mother had pressed just moments ago, her aim transparent.

"A year behind, I think," he'd answered through gritted teeth.

"Well, there you have it, don't you?" Molly had huffed. "You're not getting any younger. All the good ones are going to be taken soon."

"I'll try to remember it's a race, Mum," he'd sassed on his way out of the room. He granted his exit had been childish, but when a grown man's mother insists on treating him like a disobedient child for not saddling himself with a wife and family, she ought to expect precisely that sort of reaction.

"She's pulling out all the stops this go," Charlie grumbled to his brother. "Why can't she just leave it be?"

"Because she cares too much," Percy countered. "She's our mum. She only wants to see us all settled and well cared for. You've no good reason to get so wound up about it."

"I can take care of myself," Charlie insisted, feeling like a pure toad for behaving so peevishly. After all, his mother's love was as unquestionable as her maternal badgering was predictable, and he strongly suspected most of his indignation better ought to be directed at himself rather than her. He simply had to tell them all about Sasha at some point, didn't he?

Percy sighed with what sounded like both sympathy and exasperation. "Look, if you want her off your back, try telling her a bit of what she wants to hear."

Charlie's defensive hackles rose. Just what was Percy driving at? "Which is?" he growled.

"Just tell her that you're putting yourself out there. That you're dating but simply haven't found the right girl yet."

"Is that the line you've been feeding her, then?" Charlie snapped, half angry at Percy's intrusiveness, half fearful he'd somehow guessed his secret before he'd gathered the courage to come out. "Or doesn't she bother haranguing you to get married already?"

"For Merlin's sake, man, why do you think I brought Bridget along with me to this?" Percy confessed under his breath.

Charlie's eyebrows shot upward in surprise. "I assumed you were... erm... well, why did you, then?"

The sly smile on Percy's face was something new to Charlie's experience entirely. "Don't get me wrong – Bridget's a lovely girl, and I thoroughly enjoy her company."

The smug, leering expression made it clear precisely what aspect of her company Percy was referring to, and Charlie felt a little queasy at the thought. Perfect Prefect Percy? Playing the field? He wondered for a moment if he'd somehow fallen into a bizarre alternative reality that made every logical thing no longer make sense.

"Who's to say something might or might not happen between us at some point in the future?" Percy continued with a nonchalant shrug. "But for now... we have an understanding."

Charlie was really confused now. An understanding? What's that supposed to mean? Back in his day, it meant going steady, at the very least.

But Percy rolled his eyes either at his elder brother's stupidity or anachronistic expectations. "It's strictly casual. All the girls I date... as well as most of the blokes I know... we all treat it the same way. There's no cause to live like celibates, by any means, but what's the rush to settle down?"

Certainly some part of Percy's argument made sense – not that they could ever employ it with their mother: there was no arbitrary urgency to marry and start a family, and this was especially true in Charlie's case. The part about casual sex in the meantime was worrisome, though. Charlie granted he harbored somewhat old-fashioned ideas when it came to commitment and sex – certainly compared to the free-wheeling, love-'em-and-leave-'em notoriety of dragon keepers – but he hoped Percy was taking precautions to prevent any harm coming to himself or his partners.

Percy lay back on the bed once more, looking perfectly content, staring at the canvas ceiling. "Bridget's done an excellent job this weekend keeping Mum off my back, don't you think? I owe her something nice for this. Maybe a nice bouquet of blue roses... or dinner at The Runcible Spoon, perhaps..."¹

"But you want to, eventually? Settle down? If not with this girl, then with some other?" Charlie asked hesitantly.

Percy shrugged. "Sure. Eventually."

"But I don't!" Charlie whispered conspiratorially, wondering just how far he'd let this confession go. "Not ever!"

Percy shot him a look, completely taken aback.

Okay, perhaps not the full confession, then. "I'm really pleased for the rest of them, honestly. George and Bill especially seem very happy. But Merlin's knobby kneecaps, all they talk about is babies and mortgages and such! If I hear one more story about how many nappies they go through in a day, or a week, or a month, I'll bloody scream." His infant niece and twin nephews were admittedly entertaining in small doses, and he was glad for his brothers' domestic bliss after so much tumult during the war, but seeing their lives focused exclusively on those tiny tyrants, everything else turned upside down, only reinforced his own staunch commitment to eschew procreation.

"Can't argue with you there," Percy conceded. "They do drone on about all that rot, don't they?"

"Ron and Ginny are hardly better," Charlie whinged. "As if the two of them spending every moment literally wrapped around their current romances isn't bad enough, Mum coos and coddles them so. She's so bloody eager to induct Hermione and Harry into the family right and proper."

Only twice did he manage a semi-interesting conversation with any of them about Auror training or Quidditch, subjects he found far more engaging than actual engagements proved to be. Percy and his girl had nattered on about assorted Ministry arcana, which he wouldn't know anything about even if he cared.

"Forgive me for interrupting what I'm sure is a truly stupendous rant you're about to launch into, but you sound a tad jealous," Percy needled him.

"That must be it," Charlie snorted. He shoved his satchel to the floor for no purpose other than to punctuate his little snit. "You've got me bang to rights there, Perce."

Percy laughed. He rose from his bed, then, to Charlie's surprise, sat down next to him and laid a brotherly hand on his shoulder. "It'll happen for you one day, Charlie," Percy counseled him. "When you're ready."

He looked down at the slender, soft hand on his shoulder, looked at his slim, pale brother who'd never done a day of physical toil in his life. Never had Charlie felt so out of place, so misunderstood, so uncomfortable in what should have been a familiar and welcoming setting: surrounded by his family. He knew in his heart that they loved him – or, at least they loved the person he used to be, the person they thought he still was, even if they didn't know the man he'd become. He knew they only wanted his happiness, even though they couldn't recognize (or wouldn't believe) he already had it.

What the hell am I doing here?

"Thanks, Perce," he sighed, unwilling to argue the point. What was the use? They couldn't comprehend his desire for a life of adventure and risk working with dragons, couldn't appreciate his love of quiet and need to be left alone – what on earth could ever convince him they'd understand his love for Sasha?

No, his mind was set. He couldn't keep taking all this time off from work. Ghenadie hadn't complained about it yet, but that mattered little. Spending the week at the Burrow after the war was unavoidable, the subsequent long-weekend trips back for his mother's birthday and Christmas were in some ways expected and excusable, the three days in Britain in observation of the battle's first memorial appropriate. But that should have been enough: as far as he could see, everyone was now moving on after Fred's death. There was no more call for him to be here so much.

That's it then. No more trips back here. He'd only come for this family seaside reunion because George had practically twisted his arm about it – if it had been anyone else doing the asking, he'd have refused. Resolved now that his future absences would be the best for all concerned, he decided to heed Percy's suggestion and wait until morning to leave. I'll tell them something about being called back, then make my excuses at Christmas. And hopefully, that'll be the end of it.

1. Totally stole this name from a restaurant I loved in college. Click here to visit their website. Also, naturally blue roses are a sort of Holy Grail for Muggle rose breeders – roses lack a blue pigment gene.