December 12, 2002 Part 2

Author's note: Please mind the chapter warnings. A Dark trial lies ahead for Charlie.

Chapter 24

December 12, 2002

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"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love." – Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter 35

* * *

"Wake up, you miserable cocksucker," a voice growled. The Romanian words were choppy and heavily accented – definitely not that of a native speaker. It was also deeply masculine.

A foreigner, Charlie thought as he slowly came to, every one of his senses timid and shaky. A man.

A swift, hard kick to the ribs punctuated the command, making it all the more difficult to obey. Charlie grunted – the only acknowledgement he would offer to the pain – and slowly gathered his limbs under him to rise after his breath returned. It was at this point he realized the floor beneath him was rough stone.

"Fancy meeting up with you, of all the filthy, cock-sucking dragon-lovers," the man snarled. A foot on the back of his neck shoved Charlie back down. "I said wake up, not get up, you fucking moron."

"Do I know you?" Charlie rasped, rapidly blinking his eyes in an attempt to make the world stop spinning, trying to make out what he could in the dimness surrounding the glare of a glowing wandtip. He thought he registered rough stone walls around them judging by the echoes of sound, but the ceiling was nothing but darkness, too high to see. A cave, perhaps? It didn't feel like the adolescent's lair he'd been ambushed in, but he tried to wordlessly summon his wand anyway. Nothing happened.

"No, I don't imagine you know me," the man hissed malevolently. "But I sure as hell know you." The man increased the pressure on the back of Charlie's neck, throwing his not insignificant weight behind him. "And I know what you did."

What I did? Charlie began connecting the most obvious dots and assumed his attacker must be a poacher. "Thieves like you get exactly what they deserve," he parried. "You should've chosen a more honorable profession."

"You speak to me of honor?" The man snorted haughtily. "From where I stand," and he paused to press his foot against Charlie's neck even harder, threatening to choke him, "you are in no position to pass judgment upon me." The man laughed, and the diabolical sound chilled Charlie to the bone. "But your day of reckoning has arrived, cocksucker."

The pressure on his neck eased, and Charlie filled his lungs. In the next moment, he was hauled up into a seated position on the floor – his attacker was strong, he'd give him that much. The man shoved him against a rock wall, cracking his head, and he saw stars.

"Don't imagine this will be quick or painless," the man sneered, his hand curling around Charlie's throat and his stinking breath making him want to gag. "Mercy isn't really my forte."

Charlie reached up with both hands, throwing all his weight behind the effort and grabbing for the man's arm and chin to force him off. But another shouted spell followed, and Charlie's entire body went rigid with pain.

When the spell was lifted, after what seemed like minutes but in all likelihood was only seconds, Charlie tasted blood and realized he'd bitten his tongue. The nerve-agony had been very similar to the Cruciatus Curse he'd felt at Malfoy's hand years ago at Bill's wedding, and this time, just as he had done then, he'd kept silent. Charlie'd been blessed with not only a high tolerance for pain, but also a dogged determination. He refused to give this lowlife poacher the satisfaction of hearing him cry out under torture.

In his weakened, wandless state, however, Charlie knew better than to think he could physically overpower his adversary – at least, not at the moment. His best hope was to bide his time, conserve his own strength, probe for a weakness, then lure him in close. Surreptitiously, his hand crept toward his waist, praying the knife was still there.

A cold chuckle. "Looking for something?"

Charlie's heart sank to discover the knife was gone from his belt – it really had been a futile hope his attacker had left him armed, he realized – but was careful not to let his disappointment show.

"An awfully pretty thing, this," the man gloated, and a glint of steel pierced the darkness. "Who'd you have to fuck to get it?"

As Charlie's eyes began to adjust to the low light, he managed a better look at the man. He wasn't terribly tall, but bulky, exuding a general aura of unkemptness. He smelled bad; hygiene was clearly not a priority. In other words, a quintessential poacher.

"I'll wager your arse was sore for a while, anyway," he sneered, looming over him.

"Why are you here?" Charlie demanded, ignoring the homophobic slur and stalling for time. It was no great mystery why a poacher was skulking around a dragon reservation, after all. He eased himself back up into a semi-seated position, crooking his neck to look around.

Another chuckle. "Let's just say vengeance wasn't what I was in the market for, but I saw a bargain I simply couldn't pass up."

Something solid – Charlie presumed it was the hilt of his dagger – crashed into his temple, knocking him back to the ground. Blackness telescoped his vision down to a narrow tunnel, and the walls spun around him again. He was yanked by the shoulder and twisted onto his back. The man straddled him then, his entire weight pressing down onto Charlie's diaphragm, making it hard to breathe, and the man's knees pinned his arms, crushing them into the ground.

"Such a pretty, nasty thing," the man oiled, drawing the point of blade from Charlie's cheekbone to chin.

Charlie cursed himself for flinching, and the man laughed gleefully.

"That's more like it, bitch," he said, and Charlie felt the knife tip press into the soft flesh under his jaw. "I'd hate to go to all this trouble for nothing."

More cuts along his jaw and collar followed, none of them terribly deep, but blood dripped down behind his ear and neck, and each slice burned. His arms had grown numb and his breathing a bit labored, but Charlie summoned all his strength, simultaneously kicking out with his legs and heaving his shoulders up in an attempt to throw the man off him.

It worked – partially. Caught off his guard, the man half-fell, half-rolled off of Charlie, and a metallic clang announced the knife had fallen out of his grip. Charlie and the man both lunged toward the sound. Unfortunately, Charlie's reflexes were not quite as sharp as usual, and the man recovered the knife an instant before he could get there. Charlie had only another instant to try to scramble to his feet before another painful curse hit him broadside.

Through the agony, he heard the man shout into his ear, "Come on, you waste of your mother's cunt! Can't you put up more of a fight than this?"

When at last the curse was lifted, Charlie was left panting and bleeding on the floor. His vision wobbly, he forced his mind to cling ferociously to consciousness. Every extremity was on fire, and a welling nausea threatened to unman him.

"Not so tough all alone, are you?" the man growled. "All you dragon-loving pussies are alike, cowering together like so many sheep." He jerked Charlie's still throbbing right arm out away from his side. "How often does your mother weep with shame over her cock-sucking son, eh?" Kneeling, with both knees pressing into either side of the elbow joint, he forced his fingers into Charlie's, spreading them apart. "Give me her address. I'll send her this to remember you by." Then, with no warning, the blade came down, severing the smallest finger just below the second knuckle.

Charlie swallowed a howl of pain, breathing hard through it instead. His body and three remaining limbs strained and fought against the man's weight. The man backhanded Charlie with a fist, heaved himself up to standing, then landed a vicious kick to his gut, knocking the wind out of him.

"You are nothing but a filthy–" kick to the ribs, "–cowardly–" stomp to the thigh, "¬piece of shit!" The declaration was punctuated by a kick to the lower back.

Disarmed, bloody, and beaten nearly senseless, unable to work out any conceivable way to best his attacker alone, Charlie reluctantly decided to try summoning reinforcements. Cradling his mutilated hand, blood dripping from the missing finger, his other fingers felt around for the leather band from which the distress amulet hung. While his attacker paced, ranting about the contemptibility of dragon keepers as a race, Charlie feebly worked the leather thong between his fingers, fishing the amulet up and out of his layers of shirts. When they closed around the little metal tube, an audible sigh of relief heaved out of him, and he hoarsely exhaled the activation spell.

In the same moment, the amulet was ripped out of his hands, and a sharp jerk snapped the leather thong, tearing another wound into the flesh around his neck.

"What's this?" the man growled. "A little love token?" The man looked at it for a moment, then cast it aside. "Reckon I've already got a nice memento of this little visit," he sneered, and the knife glinted again.

Charlie didn't know whether he'd managed to activate the amulet before it had been ripped away. But he didn't have long to worry. Only a moment later, the hilt of the knife crashed down on the base of his skull, and the world went black once more.

Charlie had no idea how much time had passed while he was unconscious – it might have been minutes or hours. He was careful not to move and therefore alert his attacker he'd come to. Instead, he listened carefully for any sounds that might tell him where the man was or what he was doing.

But it was all for naught. "I know you can hear me now, you pussy," the man snarled, his voice frighteningly close to Charlie's ear. "And if you think you're getting off this easy, think again."

Charlie was hauled to his feet, which were immediately bound in the spot by magical means. His wrists, too, were immobilized behind his back. Still woozy, Charlie listed to one side, nearly falling over before the man caught him by the arm and jerked him roughly back upright.

A bolt of green light cut through the cave's darkness, the glare of it nearly blinding him, missing Charlie by centimeters and grazing his captor's ear. The man howled in fright and pain.

"Surrender now and I might let you live!" a voice screamed.

Charlie's head jerked up. Sasha!? Then a wave of magic hit him from behind in the next instant, severing all direct contact with reality. His arms and legs were loosed now; it felt as if he was floating in a pool of blessed numbing bliss, looking at the outside world through a protective bubble, his pain-wracked body finally relaxing into comfort. A beautiful voice in his head ordered him to attack the interloper, promising him permanent deliverance from pain once he did. He looked out through the glass of his anesthetic-aquarium to find his quarry and saw a man who looked naggingly familiar.

Charlie's body took three involuntary, halting steps forward before his soul regained control. It's Sasha! Sasha! Even Imperiused, he could never bring himself to harm the one he loved best in the world. No! Not Sasha! Won't hurt Sasha!

Pain unlike any he'd felt before brought him to his knees, punishment for his disobedience. Shaking with the effort it took not to pitch forward, Charlie fought against the urge to scream. Even so, a soft keening sound escaped his throat.

"CHARLIE!" Sasha bellowed, horrified.

A dark purple light – Greek Fire! Charlie hissed inwardly, recognizing the spell – shot toward Sasha, who dove out of its path. His captor then released him from the Imperius-like curse and immediately yanked Charlie back to his feet, jamming the dagger up against his throat and taking cover behind his human shield.

"Drop your wand or he dies!" the man shouted.

"Let him go or you die!" Sasha screamed back.

Freezing in the winter's cold, his clothing sticky-wet with blood and chilling him, Charlie peered out into the darkness through the eye not yet swollen shut. Sasha stood before him – there was nothing besides himself in the cave behind which to take cover – with wand aimed at the little bit of his captor visible over Charlie's shoulder. Panic and regret filled him to see Sasha so vulnerable, and he cursed himself for activating the amulet.

The standoff lasted several eternal moments. Charlie barely even felt the knife pierce the skin under his jaw – there was so much more pain everywhere else – but Sasha hissed, grimacing.

"Stop!" Sasha cried. "Whatever you want, it's yours. Just don't hurt him anymore!"

The man snorted. "What makes this one so important to you?" he demanded. "He your lover?"

For an instant, Sasha's eyes left the poacher and connected with Charlie's. He saw the fear mingled with fury there, tainted with desperation. No! Charlie tried to shout, fearing Sasha's resolve, knowing what it meant, dreading his intent of self-sacrifice, but his throat only burned with more pain rather than producing sound.

Sasha looked back at the poacher, then nodded once.

No! Tapping a hidden source of strength, Charlie struggled to break free. An elbow connected, his attacker grunted, and the knife sliced deep across his collar. Grabbing a fist full of hair, the man reasserted his grip. Hooking his leg between and around Charlie's, he jammed his thigh up into Charlie's groin. "There's plenty more where that came from, whore," he spat into Charlie's ear.

The attacker directed his next words back at an agonized Sasha. "I knew it!" he yelled. "You're all a bunch of cocksuckers! Drop your wand, faggot, or your bitch is dead!"

Sasha spread his arms open wide. The resigned look in his eyes telegraphed his thoughts. I refuse to deny my love for you with my final breath.

Don't! Charlie silently begged him, shaking his head before his captor yanked his hair tighter, immobilizing it. Don't do this! Save yourself!

Sasha's wand clattered onto the stone floor below. "It's true," he said in a calm, level voice, his gaze locked onto Charlie's rather than their mutual enemy. "I'm a cock-sucking son of a bitch, and I love you, Charlie Weasley."

"You shameless sons of whores," the man snarled. "You disgust me."

"No," Charlie croaked, watching Sasha take two horrible steps closer, his hands empty and arms held high in surrender.

"I love him more than my own life," Sasha declared, his voice strong and crystal clear, taking another step.

"No!" Charlie moaned. In his pain-induced delirium, his vision wobbled, and he imagined he saw movement in the darkness behind Sasha, but he chalked it up to wishful thinking. They were alone and about to die, and Charlie could think of nothing to stop it. This was all his fault.

The man laughed disdainfully. "So very touching. You both make me want to puke."

"I love him," Sasha repeated, inching ever closer.

The man suddenly realized the threat of Sasha's approach. "Not another step," he growled. Charlie felt the knifepoint at his back now, just below the ribs. "Or the bitch gets spitted right before your eyes."

"Let him go and take me instead," Sasha offered.

"I won't let you do this!" Charlie hissed.

"No!" the man barked. "The redhead's the one who killed my brother. For that, he'll pay with his life."

Finally, a clue! Charlie searched through his memory. He'd battled countless poachers over the years, but had only ever killed one: the beast who'd unleashed the Greek Fire curse on Sasha back in 1997.

"You've been misinformed," Sasha said. "Charlie doesn't kill. But I do. Perhaps it was I–"

"You lie," the man snarled. "My men... the ones you sent to prison... they told me what happened. I'll believe them before I believe a lying cocksucker like you."

"I'm telling you they're mistaken. It was a heated battle, curses flying everywhere. Might've even been friendly fire... Maybe they lied to you to save their own hides."

"Shut up!" the man screamed, agitated now. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"One keeper's as good as another," Sasha pressed. "My life settles the debt. Let him go."

"It was me," Charlie's voice grated out, refusing to allow Sasha's offer of trade. "I remember it. I killed your motherfucking piece of shit brother."

His captor snarled, and the point of the knife twisted against his back, tearing through the layers of clothing. But to Charlie, the pain was welcome now. Any sacrifice was worth giving Sasha a few more precious seconds to live, perhaps escape. "How about I make you a deal, cocksucker?" he sneered, addressing Sasha alone. "After I kill him, I'll cut his dick off for you to keep."

"I swear to you and every god in heaven and hell, if you harm another hair on his body, I will rend you into a thousand pieces with my teeth," Sasha growled, his voice low and malevolent. "Now stop hiding behind him and fight me like a real man."

"As you wish," the man replied.

Searing pain ripped through Charlie's body as the knife plunged into the muscle of his lower back, tore through his gut, and the point emerged out his belly. His mouth dropped open in a silent scream, and his eyes rolled skyward.

"Kólash!" the poacher screamed, and the now familiar dark purple light shot from his wand.¹

"Moartea!" half a dozen voices, including Sasha's, shouted into the night, and lurid green flashes filled the cave.²

"I love you," Charlie breathed as he sank to his knees, praying Sasha heard him amidst the chaos that had erupted around him. Then his world went black and silent yet again an instant before he hit the ground.

1. Kólash = "Inferno/hell" in Greek (according to online translation source).

2. Moartea = "Death" in Romanian (according to online translation source).