Fic: Coping (Charlie Weasley)
Title: Coping
Characters/Pairings: Charlie Weasley
Rating: Any Age
Summary: Everyone grieves in their own way
Word Count: 840
Beta: None so please excuse an errors.
florahart’s prompt: Gold and wind
The rising sun is turning the sky orange and gold. Marta still hasn’t given birth yet, but it’s close. She’s healthy and the birth should go well, but they’re keeping an eye on her because of her age. Romanian Longhorns don’t usually have a lot of good breeding years, so Marta’s one of their exceptions. She’s also one of Charlie’s favorites, which means he’s paying extra attention to her. That’s why he’s been camped out in the field with her since she started showing signs of labor. The night passed quietly, but she’s starting to get more agitated as dawn approaches.
There are other reasons he’s camping out with Marta, but they’re selfish. The numerous owls from his mum are stacked neatly on the desk in his quarters back at the preserve. She’d been nagging him to come home, talking about how it’s been too long, not understanding that he doesn’t need family togetherness to heal the way others might. He needs solitude and peace. To be alone. This is where he can grieve. Not back at the Burrow where he’ll feel compelled to take care of everyone else and ignore his own feelings.
“Is it too cold for you, girl?” Charlie looks over at Marta, carefully noting any change in behavior or attitude. The cool wind ruffles his hair, but it’s a pleasant breeze. It’ll soon start getting warmer as spring fades away and summer arrives. He knows he’ll have to go home for the holidays, but he’s still got six more months before he has to worry about that. He’s already made arrangements to be sent to on an assignment to Costa Rica next month so he can use work as an excuse to avoid the celebrations and memorials that are going to be happening in Britain for the first anniversary of Harry’s triumphant success at the Battle of Hogwarts.
Charlie grimaces as he looks back at the golden sky and leans his head against the tree behind him. When he went back home over Christmas, he didn’t see much of anything triumphant or successful about Harry. It’s hard for all of them, too much loss and destruction everywhere. People still missing nearly a year later. Trials going on for those who got caught on the losing side. It’s all a bunch of shite. He reads the Prophet, and it’s become a circus with trials and statements. He thinks it’d do a lot of good if they just snapped the wands of anyone guilty of aiding and abetting You Know Who by their own free will and send ‘em off to some Muggle town in America. That’d be a triple punishment: no magic, living as a Muggle, and dealing with a bunch of loud Yanks.
They never could figure out which one was responsible for Fred. It’s probably lucky since he’s pretty sure that he and Bill would be sharing a cell at Azkaban if they’d known without a doubt who did it. “Today’s my brothers’ birthday, Marta. I reckon George ain’t celebrating, though. The bloody war took away my other brother. No more birthdays for him.” He takes a swig from the bottle of Firewhiskey that he’d opened at midnight to say a toast to the twins. “I sent him a new pair of boots. George, that is. Can’t send anything to Fred. Not where he is now. Somewhere up there if those Muggle stories are to be believed, looking down at us and probably pranking Remus with Tonks. I know she’ll look after him, at least, till I make it up there.”
He rubs the heel of his hand over his eyes before looking at Marta. She’s staring at him, and he smiles wryly. “Consider yourself lucky that you live a simple life, old girl. No pesky human emotions to fuck with your head. I know you can feel loss, but it’s not the same, is it? Doesn’t still hurt months, years, later? Lost my best friend and my brother that day. And Mum doesn’t understand why I don’t wanna rush off and mourn with a crowd.”
When Marta whines, he huffs out a breath and gets to his feet. “Is it time?” He walks over to her, careful not to startle her, and he checks. She’s nearly ready. “It’s alright, love. This is going to hurt, but you’ll soon have a baby to love.” He rubs her snout before getting the supplies ready.
It takes a couple of hours for the labor and delivery to finish. He’s covered in blood and muck when it’s done, but the baby is okay. It’s a boy, small for a Longhorn but that’s nothing too unusual. Marta takes to him right off, and Charlie walks back over to the tree, picking up the bottle and sitting back down. No need to rush back to his quarters yet. He takes another swig before he grins at Marta. “Seeing as how it’s April 1 and you just had a boy, this is a no brainer. We’re going to name him Fred.”
End
Characters/Pairings: Charlie Weasley
Rating: Any Age
Summary: Everyone grieves in their own way
Word Count: 840
Beta: None so please excuse an errors.
florahart’s prompt: Gold and wind
The rising sun is turning the sky orange and gold. Marta still hasn’t given birth yet, but it’s close. She’s healthy and the birth should go well, but they’re keeping an eye on her because of her age. Romanian Longhorns don’t usually have a lot of good breeding years, so Marta’s one of their exceptions. She’s also one of Charlie’s favorites, which means he’s paying extra attention to her. That’s why he’s been camped out in the field with her since she started showing signs of labor. The night passed quietly, but she’s starting to get more agitated as dawn approaches.
There are other reasons he’s camping out with Marta, but they’re selfish. The numerous owls from his mum are stacked neatly on the desk in his quarters back at the preserve. She’d been nagging him to come home, talking about how it’s been too long, not understanding that he doesn’t need family togetherness to heal the way others might. He needs solitude and peace. To be alone. This is where he can grieve. Not back at the Burrow where he’ll feel compelled to take care of everyone else and ignore his own feelings.
“Is it too cold for you, girl?” Charlie looks over at Marta, carefully noting any change in behavior or attitude. The cool wind ruffles his hair, but it’s a pleasant breeze. It’ll soon start getting warmer as spring fades away and summer arrives. He knows he’ll have to go home for the holidays, but he’s still got six more months before he has to worry about that. He’s already made arrangements to be sent to on an assignment to Costa Rica next month so he can use work as an excuse to avoid the celebrations and memorials that are going to be happening in Britain for the first anniversary of Harry’s triumphant success at the Battle of Hogwarts.
Charlie grimaces as he looks back at the golden sky and leans his head against the tree behind him. When he went back home over Christmas, he didn’t see much of anything triumphant or successful about Harry. It’s hard for all of them, too much loss and destruction everywhere. People still missing nearly a year later. Trials going on for those who got caught on the losing side. It’s all a bunch of shite. He reads the Prophet, and it’s become a circus with trials and statements. He thinks it’d do a lot of good if they just snapped the wands of anyone guilty of aiding and abetting You Know Who by their own free will and send ‘em off to some Muggle town in America. That’d be a triple punishment: no magic, living as a Muggle, and dealing with a bunch of loud Yanks.
They never could figure out which one was responsible for Fred. It’s probably lucky since he’s pretty sure that he and Bill would be sharing a cell at Azkaban if they’d known without a doubt who did it. “Today’s my brothers’ birthday, Marta. I reckon George ain’t celebrating, though. The bloody war took away my other brother. No more birthdays for him.” He takes a swig from the bottle of Firewhiskey that he’d opened at midnight to say a toast to the twins. “I sent him a new pair of boots. George, that is. Can’t send anything to Fred. Not where he is now. Somewhere up there if those Muggle stories are to be believed, looking down at us and probably pranking Remus with Tonks. I know she’ll look after him, at least, till I make it up there.”
He rubs the heel of his hand over his eyes before looking at Marta. She’s staring at him, and he smiles wryly. “Consider yourself lucky that you live a simple life, old girl. No pesky human emotions to fuck with your head. I know you can feel loss, but it’s not the same, is it? Doesn’t still hurt months, years, later? Lost my best friend and my brother that day. And Mum doesn’t understand why I don’t wanna rush off and mourn with a crowd.”
When Marta whines, he huffs out a breath and gets to his feet. “Is it time?” He walks over to her, careful not to startle her, and he checks. She’s nearly ready. “It’s alright, love. This is going to hurt, but you’ll soon have a baby to love.” He rubs her snout before getting the supplies ready.
It takes a couple of hours for the labor and delivery to finish. He’s covered in blood and muck when it’s done, but the baby is okay. It’s a boy, small for a Longhorn but that’s nothing too unusual. Marta takes to him right off, and Charlie walks back over to the tree, picking up the bottle and sitting back down. No need to rush back to his quarters yet. He takes another swig before he grins at Marta. “Seeing as how it’s April 1 and you just had a boy, this is a no brainer. We’re going to name him Fred.”
End