Chapter 1 - An Icy Morning

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters belong to JK Rowling. But Trent, the yummy dragon keeper that he is, belongs to me, well no, to Hal.

Chapter 1 – An Icy Morning

Charlie groaned when his alarm clock rang loudly, rudely jerking him from a most pleasant dream about white sandy beaches, blue ocean, and dazzling sunshine...a definite sign that winter had settled in. He wasn't generally a morning person, and mornings during mid-winter mornings in Romania were just sheer torture.

His hand snaked out from under the covers to press the snooze button. He patted the bedside table blindly for a moment, before a sharp stinging sensation tingled up his arm, jolting him to full wakefulness.

"Bloody Fred and George," he mumbled mutinously into his pillow. Their Christmas present was innocuous enough most mornings, but randomly bit or shocked the user just when one had forgotten its last misbehaviour.

He couldn't bring himself not to use their gift; he saw his family...those who remained of his family after the devastating war...seldom enough. Except for his youngest brother. Ron was staying with him...make that sponging off him...and Charlie had almost reached the end of his generally ample supply of patience.

When Ron had pitched up on his doorstep a month ago, he'd been delighted to see him and a little bemused by the fact that Fred and George had fired him and kicked him out. But then, he hadn't lived around Ron for any length of time since he'd left the Burrow after finishing his N.E.W.T.s ten years ago. At that time, Ron had been ten and youthfully bright and cheerful, hardly prone to the fits of temper and sullenness that Charlie was now privy to. Now, he understood exactly why his easygoing brothers had felt the need to turf Ron out on his ear.

It saddened him to see how his youngest brother was now. Yes, Ron must have had a tough time absorbing the after-effects of the war, but they all had, really. They had all lost family members, friends, colleagues and acquaintances. Not for the first time, he wondered if the family shouldn't have insisted that Ron see a Mind Healer after the war. He knew that Ron had seen so much death and hatred that it had to have affected him like it had the rest of them. The difference was that Ron was still vastly different six months down the line, so perhaps it had warped him differently, more permanently.

He turned over onto his back and rubbed his eyes, finally opening them. It was still dark outside; work at the reservation started early with the morning feed of the younglings.

"Lumos," he murmured, stifling a yawn. The lights against the far wall flickered on. He blinked a little at the sudden rush of light and then focussed on the ceiling. Normally, Charlie would lie in bed until the second alarm went off, randomly counting the spots on the ceiling.

However, this morning he was trying to find the right words to let Ron know that he wasn't impressed. That he'd better shape up or ship out, so to say. And I can't just say, hey, Ron, you are a prat and a sponge and I am all dried out. Find a job and get on with life. Can I?

"No, that wouldn't be right at all. He's my younger brother." It wasn't often that Charlie would actively talk to himself out loud, but that was an indication of how stressed he was with the whole Ron situation.

He sighed, his breath expiring in a little cloud in the chilly air. Warming charms seemed to seep into the thick stone walls of his flat, and it was permanently cold here in winter. He rented a flat in the wizarding community located on the outskirts of Bucharest. It served his purposes; a base to sleep at when he wasn't up at the reservation in the mountains. But since Ron had come to stay, he'd slept here every night. At first, he had been glad for the company, but later, he had stayed to keep an eye on his wayward brother.

Shifting slightly in bed, Charlie realized that Ron hadn't come home the previous night at all when he heard the familiar squeak of the front door. Clenching his teeth, Charlie fought the urge to go storming into the living room to give Ron a piece of his mind.

No, you want to be calm when you confront him. It won't do for him to go running home to Mum with tales of evil, angry Charlie who went off on him and then kicked him out into the cold, icy streets of Bucharest. That's just asking for an undeserved Howler.

Charlie sat up in bed, sighing again. He hated confrontation. Thankfully, the order of his birth had allowed him to avoid a lot of that. Bill and Percy had gone on at it on their own, leaving him out of it most of the time. Now, it was his turn to get the wheels moving and give Ron something to think about.

"Get up, Charlie, and go deal with the mess now before it gets really bad." It was a now or never time. Never would be really nice, but he knew that it had to be done. Ron had been drifting aimlessly for long enough now. Charlie had watched him wasting his life away on the sofa for a month, and who knew how he'd been with Fred and George.

Charlie actually wanted to send Ron back to their mother. That is where he should have stayed all along after the war had ended, until he was able to support himself. Instead, he broke Molly's heart by packing up and moving in with Fred and George, citing that his mother was a nagging, interfering old hag. Yes, their mother could be overly concerned sometimes, but Charlie could hardly blame her for nagging this new Ron.

Sighing again, Charlie finally sat up in bed and rolled over so that his feet touched the icy floor. He reached for his wand, which lay next to the humming alarm clock and flicked it deftly as he stood, refreshing the faltering warming charm.

When he stayed here, he passed on a morning shower. The ghoul in the pipes was most active in the morning and you ended up getting frozen or scorched, depending on its mood. He dressed quickly in thick cargo pants, dragon hide boots and a warm Weasley jumper. He glanced at his watch briefly, noting with satisfaction that he had an hour before he had to Apparate to the reservation.

He opened his bedroom door and frowned when he had to shove it open against a pile of dirty clothes that Ron had left on the living room floor. Honestly, he's here all day. You would think he'd at least pick up after himself.

He stepped through into the living room. Ron was lying on the couch on his back, with one arm flung across his face, motionless. He was still fully dressed and hadn't even bothered to pull his shoes off.

Charlie almost tripped over Ron's Firebolt...bequeathed to him in Harry's will...when he made his way over to stand next to the couch. He picked it up and leant it against the wall, running his index finger lightly over the gilt lettering before dropping his hand with a sigh. Harry Potter would be a name of legend in years to come. He was the young wizard who had died to save the wizarding world. But that didn't provide any comfort to those who had loved him.

Charlie suspected that Ron's attitude and depression had a lot to do with feeling guilty that he had survived and that his friend had not. He knew that Ron missed Harry, but he had to realise that he was still alive and that life invariably moved on after losing somebody.

"Ron, I need to talk to you," he said, giving Ron's shoulder a gentle shake.

"Too early," Ron groaned. Charlie felt irritation begin to ripple at the ends of his nerves. The little sod was feigning sleep.

"I heard you come in five minutes ago," he retorted. He sat down in the armchair beside the sofa and conjured two steaming cups of coffee. He tapped the toe of a dragon hide boot against Ron's thigh. "Sit up. I organised coffee," he said brusquely.

He blew over the surface of the coffee and then took a tentative sip, smiling at the initial taste of his favourite beverage. Some said that conjured coffee didn't quite taste the same, but Charlie preferred it to the real stuff. That was probably because he'd spent so much time in the field with only the magically derived version.

He narrowed his eyes slightly as Ron dragged himself up into a sitting position; you'd bloody swear it was the end of the world, the way he was moaning and groaning. Ron picked up his coffee cup, splashing a liberal amount on the wooden coffee table. He ignored it, not bothering to clean up after himself again, and that just added to Charlie's aggravation. It was simple enough to Evanesco a spill, but Ron just didn't seem motivated to lift his wand for anything anymore.

"It wouldn't kill you to clean up after yourself, you know," he said, swishing his wand and muttering the Vanishing Spell. Ron rolled bloodshot eyes at him and slurped his coffee loudly. Charlie was finding it harder and harder to stay calm. He could swear that Ron was being annoying on purpose.

"Where were you last night?" Charlie asked, leaning back and resting one booted ankle on the opposite knee. Ron looked like he'd gone bush diving. And he reeked of Firewhisky and stale cigarette smoke.

"Out." Ron barely glanced up at him, choosing to scratch his neck and yawn open mouthed instead.

Charlie huffed disgustedly, but refrained from launching into the now-familiar lecture about the dangers of Bucharest's nightlife and dodgy nightclubs where vampires waited in the shadows for drunken people to stumble into them. Ron had heard it all before, on previous mornings such as this.

"You didn't pitch at the interview that I organised at the bookshop," he said somewhat neutrally, struggling to keep the accusatory tone from his voice.

"I was busy," Ron answered, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

Charlie stared at him and shook his head with absolute amazement. "Busy doing what, Ron? Eating me out of house and home? You've been busy doing nothing on my sofa for just over a month now." Charlie stared at Ron. Ron stared into the depths of his coffee cup, studiously ignoring his brother.

Charlie sighed. "Seriously, Ron, I think you should go back to England and live with Mum at the Burrow, find a job, finish your N.E.W.T.s, get on with life. Do something constructive for Merlin's sake!"

Ron's ears turned pink, but he continued to ignore Charlie. Charlie rubbed his forehead; he felt an impending headache, induced by stress in all likelihood. His tone softened. "The war has been over for six months now. Life has to go on. Dad and Percy would want that... Harry too."

He gave Ron an imploring look. "And what about your friends that made it through the war: Hermione, Seamus, Neville? Don't shut them out forever." Friendships were special, but if you neglected them for long enough, they would eventually wither and fade to nothing but a casual acquaintance eventually.

"She shut me out," Ron sneered, "long before the war ended. And Neville is as thick as two planks. I'd rather have no friends than those two, thanks." Charlie knew that Hermione had broken off their relationship some time during the war, but he hadn't been aware of how resentful Ron was about it. He'd assumed it had been a mutual decision.

"Well, if it wasn't going to work, then maybe that was a good thing," Charlie said, shrugging. His brother was acting like he was a pre-teen, not an adult twenty year old.

"Says he who hasn't had a girlfriend since Hogwarts," Ron jeered nastily. "You're just uptight because you haven't had a shag in years." Ron crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his chin down defiantly.

Charlie opened his mouth to counter Ron's nasty jibe when the fireplace flared and shimmered green.

"Charlie? Charlie, you there, mate?" The broad Australian twang of his fellow dragon keeper, Trent Fleming, who was stationed temporarily at the reservation, rang through the small living room.

Charlie frowned; he wasn't due at work for another forty minutes. That could only mean that there were problems. Damn, damn, damn. He sighed, gave Ron a 'we're not finished talking' look and stood, crossing to kneel in front of the hearth.

"Morning, Trent," he said, nodding at the blonde head floating in mid-fire. "What's going on?" He liked Trent...he was quiet and serious about his work. He was the same age as Charlie, and sometimes Charlie wished that Ron would emulate his friend's attitude about life and work.

"G'day. Volkov asked me to Floo you, Charlie," he said, looking even more serious than usual. "About five hours ago... somebody killed the southern sentinel." Trent's voice sounded incredulous.

Charlie's jaw dropped and his eyes widened with surprise. The sentinels were the oldest and wisest of the Romanian Longhorns, and the keepers steered clear of them. "Poachers?" he asked, raking a hand through his dark auburn hair.

"Don't think so, mate. You'll see when you get here." Charlie's eyebrows rose a little at that comment, but he left it for the moment. The Floo wasn't always the most secure connection, so he supposed there was something off about the killing. Trent continued to speak hurriedly. "We've got the crime scene cordoned off. Volkov wants you to deal with the Aurors. They're arriving in about fifteen minutes."

"I'll be there now," Charlie confirmed. The Floo connection cut off with a little puff of green smoke. Charlie stood up and grabbed his thick wool-lined coat from the coat rack. "I have to go," he said to Ron, who was lying recumbent again.

"So I heard," came the sarcastic reply.

Charlie took a handful of Floo powder from the pewter pot on the mantle. "We'll finish our talk later," Charlie promised. The dragon reservation had an Apparition shield around it, much like the one at Hogwarts. The Floo Network was the only way in and out.

"Whatever."

Charlie was too rushed to argue with Ron, and tossed the powder into the fire. "Carpaţii Meridionali," he said clearly. He tucked his elbows in at his sides and disappeared from sight...whizzing past countless fires lit against the frosty morning...towards whichever mystery surrounded the sentinel's death.

Thank you to WickedlyWanton for a fabulous beta job.