The Price of Honor
Title: The Price of Honor
Pairing: Charlie/Gabby
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own neither Charlie nor Gabby.
A/N: In response to Literarylemming's challenge. Um... I sorta took this lovely, happy quote and went dark. I started thinking about the effect this could have on Charlie. Sort of an AU to the Pendragon series by Literarylemming and aliaspiral. Sorry if this isn't what you were hoping for, M.
For, I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.
(Richard Lovelace)
Charlie was in a hell that had nothing to do with the fire breathing beasts surrounding him. He’d only returned last week from a summer vacation with his family, correction, his family and its add-ons.
Which meant she was there. Sweet, young Gabrielle. Sunbathing. At fourteen, little Gabby possessed the lithe, tempting body of a quarter-veela. And Charlie was sure he would burn in the special hell for it.
It had been easy ignoring her the past few years when she was just Bill’s wife’s little sister, but now the pretense was over.
Charlie felt sick, disgusted with himself. Twelve days since he’d first seen Gabby in a bathing suit. Twelve nights he’d spent dreaming of her. It had to stop. He certainly couldn’t act on it anytime soon. He was a decade older than her!
What was wrong with him? Only sickos thought about little girls this way. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Charlie didn’t dream about little girls; his subconscious cavorted with only one girl.
Four years, he only had to wait four years. He could do that, right? Age quickly, Gabby.
The stack of letters next to his bed certainly didn’t help matters any. Her scent still clung to several, which Charlie had taken to carrying in his shirt’s inner pocket. After the first night of dreaming, he’d sworn to burn the entire stack. However, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy evidence of their friendship.
Tomorrow, he vowed, I’ll destroy them tomorrow.
The next morning, when Charlie woke up to sticky sheets, he didn’t make it to the bathroom before throwing up.
The letters quickly turned to ash in his fireplace.
All contact with his family, outside friends and underage girls ceased. Charlie refused to allow his sickness to corrupt anybody he cared about. Let them think he was just as bad as Percy, turning his back on them. It was a far better alternative to being labeled a pedophile.
As the dreams grew ever more graphic and X-rated, Charlie searched for spells, charms, therapy, confession, anything to fix himself or at least stop the dreams for one night. Nothing worked.
When the owls carrying desperate, angry, worried, curious and hurt letters started to arrive, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep them away much longer. Worse, Charlie wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand hating himself.
So, fifty-two days after watching Gabby sunbathe and after fifty-two nights filled with dreaming, Charlie Weasley simply disappeared.
Grow up fast, Gabby.
Pairing: Charlie/Gabby
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own neither Charlie nor Gabby.
A/N: In response to Literarylemming's challenge. Um... I sorta took this lovely, happy quote and went dark. I started thinking about the effect this could have on Charlie. Sort of an AU to the Pendragon series by Literarylemming and aliaspiral. Sorry if this isn't what you were hoping for, M.
For, I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.
(Richard Lovelace)
Charlie was in a hell that had nothing to do with the fire breathing beasts surrounding him. He’d only returned last week from a summer vacation with his family, correction, his family and its add-ons.
Which meant she was there. Sweet, young Gabrielle. Sunbathing. At fourteen, little Gabby possessed the lithe, tempting body of a quarter-veela. And Charlie was sure he would burn in the special hell for it.
It had been easy ignoring her the past few years when she was just Bill’s wife’s little sister, but now the pretense was over.
Charlie felt sick, disgusted with himself. Twelve days since he’d first seen Gabby in a bathing suit. Twelve nights he’d spent dreaming of her. It had to stop. He certainly couldn’t act on it anytime soon. He was a decade older than her!
What was wrong with him? Only sickos thought about little girls this way. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Charlie didn’t dream about little girls; his subconscious cavorted with only one girl.
Four years, he only had to wait four years. He could do that, right? Age quickly, Gabby.
The stack of letters next to his bed certainly didn’t help matters any. Her scent still clung to several, which Charlie had taken to carrying in his shirt’s inner pocket. After the first night of dreaming, he’d sworn to burn the entire stack. However, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy evidence of their friendship.
Tomorrow, he vowed, I’ll destroy them tomorrow.
The next morning, when Charlie woke up to sticky sheets, he didn’t make it to the bathroom before throwing up.
The letters quickly turned to ash in his fireplace.
All contact with his family, outside friends and underage girls ceased. Charlie refused to allow his sickness to corrupt anybody he cared about. Let them think he was just as bad as Percy, turning his back on them. It was a far better alternative to being labeled a pedophile.
As the dreams grew ever more graphic and X-rated, Charlie searched for spells, charms, therapy, confession, anything to fix himself or at least stop the dreams for one night. Nothing worked.
When the owls carrying desperate, angry, worried, curious and hurt letters started to arrive, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep them away much longer. Worse, Charlie wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand hating himself.
So, fifty-two days after watching Gabby sunbathe and after fifty-two nights filled with dreaming, Charlie Weasley simply disappeared.
Grow up fast, Gabby.