Fic: (Charlie Weasley, PG-13)
Look, Al's birthday present!
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: (I forgot...)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: DH spoilers
Notes: For Al's birthday, the prompt being 'ice.' So, yeah, if you're going to archive it somewhere, ask her permission first, please :)
There’s this place you get to, sometimes, where you just know that you can’t possibly fall any further. This place is called, ‘face down on the ground,’ and Charlie Weasley reached this place at six minutes past nine on a Thursday evening.
At that moment, he wasn’t entirely aware of being in this special place, though he strongly suspected that (at least) one of his brothers had something to do with it, as usual.
“Merlin, Bill,” Charlie swore under his breath, vaguely remembering that it had been Bill’s wedding, and thus, at least partially Bill’s fault, whether he’d been around or not. They’d probably been drinking at the reception, despite the fact that Charlie generally made it a rule to not get completely sloshed at weddings.
This theory made sense, though, when added to his painfully-throbbing head and the feeling that he was going to be rather ill, quite soon. What it did not explain, however, was the acrid smell of smoke and spent magic, mixed with the coppery, overpowering tang of blood on the air, and why was the grass beneath his face so incredibly sticky?
He ignored these things for now, though, and rolled over, groaning when his stiff muscles protested.
After a few moments of staring into the darkening sky (which seemed somehow a little blurred), things started to come back to him, and they just didn’t tally with his current hangover theory-screams, curses, and the crack of multiple Disapparitions did not generally accompany Charlie’s usual drinking habits, after all.
Death Eaters!
Things clicked, and Charlie sprang up, fumbling for his wand.
A moment later, he wished he hadn’t, as his head hurt worse than ever, and he was now, on top of that, feeling rather faint.
He swayed dangerously, but out of nowhere, an arm around his shoulders was steadying him. “C’mon, Chuck,” Bill murmured, clumsily guiding him toward the house. “Let’s get you taken care of…”
“Wha’ happened?” Charlie croaked, leaning on his brother heavily. “The Death Eaters-”
“Got you over the head-most of the guests got away, but we still can’t find Harry, Ron, and Hermione.” Charlie could tell that Bill was trying not to sound worried. “But be quiet, now-we’ll get you some ice, and then we’ll figure things out.”
Charlie nodded mutely.
Despite the fact that he’d been lying face-down on the ground, Charlie was not foolish enough to believe that there was nowhere left to fall.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: (I forgot...)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: DH spoilers
Notes: For Al's birthday, the prompt being 'ice.' So, yeah, if you're going to archive it somewhere, ask her permission first, please :)
There’s this place you get to, sometimes, where you just know that you can’t possibly fall any further. This place is called, ‘face down on the ground,’ and Charlie Weasley reached this place at six minutes past nine on a Thursday evening.
At that moment, he wasn’t entirely aware of being in this special place, though he strongly suspected that (at least) one of his brothers had something to do with it, as usual.
“Merlin, Bill,” Charlie swore under his breath, vaguely remembering that it had been Bill’s wedding, and thus, at least partially Bill’s fault, whether he’d been around or not. They’d probably been drinking at the reception, despite the fact that Charlie generally made it a rule to not get completely sloshed at weddings.
This theory made sense, though, when added to his painfully-throbbing head and the feeling that he was going to be rather ill, quite soon. What it did not explain, however, was the acrid smell of smoke and spent magic, mixed with the coppery, overpowering tang of blood on the air, and why was the grass beneath his face so incredibly sticky?
He ignored these things for now, though, and rolled over, groaning when his stiff muscles protested.
After a few moments of staring into the darkening sky (which seemed somehow a little blurred), things started to come back to him, and they just didn’t tally with his current hangover theory-screams, curses, and the crack of multiple Disapparitions did not generally accompany Charlie’s usual drinking habits, after all.
Death Eaters!
Things clicked, and Charlie sprang up, fumbling for his wand.
A moment later, he wished he hadn’t, as his head hurt worse than ever, and he was now, on top of that, feeling rather faint.
He swayed dangerously, but out of nowhere, an arm around his shoulders was steadying him. “C’mon, Chuck,” Bill murmured, clumsily guiding him toward the house. “Let’s get you taken care of…”
“Wha’ happened?” Charlie croaked, leaning on his brother heavily. “The Death Eaters-”
“Got you over the head-most of the guests got away, but we still can’t find Harry, Ron, and Hermione.” Charlie could tell that Bill was trying not to sound worried. “But be quiet, now-we’ll get you some ice, and then we’ll figure things out.”
Charlie nodded mutely.
Despite the fact that he’d been lying face-down on the ground, Charlie was not foolish enough to believe that there was nowhere left to fall.