Springfic: "The Return Journey" for fannyt
Title: The Return Journey
Author: Chimbomba
Recipient: fannyt
Character(s): Charlie Weasley, Madam Rosmerta, Bill Weasley
Rating: PG
Word-Count: 2,598 words
Warnings (highlight to view): None
Summary: Charlie, please come home. Love, mum.
Author's Notes: Takes place during Deathly Hallows. I hope you enjoy this, fannyt! :)
Betas: Thanks to T for the beta! ♥
The Return Journey
As the afternoon turned into evening, Charlie wiped his brow and locked the gate to the dragon preserve. He had sustained quite a blow to his shoulder, but otherwise the day had been quiet and easy - the dragons had been no more unruly than usual. Before he made for his cabin on the hill, he looked up to make sure both the iron fence and the magical barrier keeping the dragons from flying out were intact. Norberta once again was trying to eat her way out, but of course was electrically jolted every time.
Charlie and a few of his friends trudged up the hill to their cabins, ready for a hearty meal and some ice water to soothe their bodies before calling it a night. The others disliked sleeping so close to the preserve as the air always got unbearably hot in the mornings, but Charlie thought the view incredible. About seven years ago he had moved to Romania, and the country seemed as beautiful as ever; he had never lost the awe and fascination that only came with novelty.
He breathed in the scent of pine as he walked in, noticing a letter and a very weary Errol on his kitchen table - an odd sight, as he rarely got letters anymore. His mum had been the kind to send a letter every week for the first year or so - poor Errol nearly died several times from the rigorous trips - but after so long from not seeing Charlie's face, she quickly began to run out of things to say to him. The last few letters had merely been a transcribed version of The Lecture she had been giving him for the last eight years: why don't you give up the dragons and find yourself a nice girl, in a few years you'll be horribly scarred like Bill (if you aren't already) and you may not be so lucky to find a Fleur who won't mind. Charlie wondered what 'new' advice Molly had to offer this time, and almost curious, he opened the envelope.
Charlie,
Please come home.
Love, Mum
Puzzled, he looked to see if he had missed something in the envelope. There was nothing else. That worried Charlie. Brevity was not Molly's strength - she would always be reminded of some anecdote and be compelled to share it even if it had absolutely no relevance. While she always closed her letters by saying 'I wish you'd come home' and he had always ignored it, he was not sure if this was one he could ignore. He considered it, thinking it could be a trap; perhaps nothing was wrong at all and Molly was trying to fool him just so he could finally leave Romania - or maybe someone else had written it, pretending to be Molly, luring Charlie into a dangerous situation instead of the safety home was supposed to promise.
Charlie was not one to act on impulse - he always thought it wiser to consider things thoroughly and carefully - and so he let the note sit on the table. He took Errol into his hands and stroked him gently while feeding him some owl treats, and vaguely wondered about his plans for the next day.
-o0o0o0o-
The sun hung high and bright as Charlie gazed out the window, an empty shot glass in his hand. Usually he did not drink so early in the day, but it was Saturday, his day off, and his roommate was out in the preserve. Sometimes loneliness would haunt Charlie, and on those occasions he would make Firewhisky his company.
It was past one o'clock, and still the Polish wizard he had been expecting had not arrived. Every Saturday he met with foreign wizards and witches to convince them to join the Order; sometimes they came to him, other times he left his place on the hill to seek them out. He had heard of the Polish wizard through the Romanian Prime Minister, who often helped Charlie in his mission to find sympathetic foreigners.
Suddenly an owl flew through the window and dropped a small envelope on the table, and immediately swooped back out. Charlie tore the envelope open and discovered a note from his absent acquaintance.
Mr. Weasley,
I am sorry, but I have received an urgent call and I will not be coming today. I hope you will forgive me.
Sincerely,
Jas Krasicki
He sighed. He was not surprised. Foreign witches and wizards always happened to be too extraordinarily busy to see him - he was used to getting doors slammed in his face, to never receiving responses to his letters. Few would see him, and those he did often did not understand the purpose of joining the Order. This is not our war, they said. Voldemort's reach has not past England.
"But it has!" Charlie shouted angrily to the room. "Those bridges mysteriously collapsing in Bucharest, those 'shootings' at the universities, those neighborhood fires in Craiova, how do you think they happened? It's him. Despite what you might think, this is a world war. And if he wins, there will be no world left! Think of that!"
After a minute he realized he had been talking to himself and violently jabbing the air with his index finger. His outburst reverberated against the walls - and it surprised him. Usually he was not so loud. Slowly, he sunk back into his chair and sighed once more.
This business was getting tiring.
He rubbed his temples in anguish. What was he doing in Romania, sitting alone in his cabin and having conversations with himself? His family and friends were feeling the brunt of Voldemort's wrath, and here he was taking care of dragons and recruiting foreign members for the Order who did not want to be recruited. He did nothing useful all day, all week.
And would he stay in Romania, out of the way, cut off from his family? Would he be a git like Percy and never go home, and claim no role in the Effort?
He repeated Molly's words under his breath. Please come home. It was not a trap, he decided.
"I'm coming, mum."
-o0o0o0o-
Being back in The Burrow was an incredibly bizarre feeling. Of course, Charlie had visited every now and then, but always with the idea of returning to Romania. Now he had no such thoughts - or if he did, they sat at the back of his mind.
Everyone hugged him warmly and chatted excitedly to him about the things he had missed while he was gone, which made him feel slightly dazed. It was as if all his family were in one glass room and he was in another, trying to speak to each other through the glass walls; he could only make out muffled voices, try as he might to understand them. He had essentially been gone for seven years, so perhaps it was normal to feel not quite at home. Nonetheless, the effect was unsettling.
As he hugged each of his parents and siblings, he noticed with a horrible jolt that George appeared to be missing an ear. "George," he said softly, in quiet shock, and at once Molly began to tear. Bill explained that they had been escorting Harry from the Dursleys' house, and that they'd been ambushed. Moody had died during the mission. George had his ear cursed off.
And while all this had happened, Charlie had been with his dragons. He could not understand why he had not returned sooner, why he had been foolish enough to leave his family behind.
At the time, the idea to leave England for a humble life in a cabin seemed like a simple but pleasant plan - Charlie did not have dreams of grandeur in the least. But what had he done there? That life had been easy, too easy. No sacrifices, no demands. He looked at the spot where George's ear ought to have been, and thought that perhaps he should never have run away - if not to fight alongside his loved ones, then at least to have a sense of purpose. Whatever he had convinced himself he was looking for, he had not found in Romania. He had not found anything but a quiet life, and now that seemed selfish, and a waste.
But that chapter had ended, and now he was really home, even if it was not altogether comfortable quite yet.
-o0o0o0o-
Bill and Fleur's wedding brought Charlie back as a true member of the Weasley clan. Standing in his black dress robes next to Bill, he smiled at the white roses in his buttonholes - he would not trade this suit for a day back in Romania with his beloved dragons.
He had spent several days thinking about his time in Romania and he realized how much he actually loved it there, despite the loneliness he sometimes felt. Perhaps it had not been a waste of his life; perhaps the adventure would reveal its true purpose at a later date. But The Burrow was much better, he had to admit.
The wedding reception came to an abrupt halt when Kingsley's Patronus appeared amidst the dancers and opened its mouth to speak.
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
Silent shock crept its way throughout the marquee, until finally everyone understood all at once what was happening. They ran, screaming, drawing their wands, Disapparating. A high-pitched cry broke out. Tables were overturned. Everything was falling, crashing, as bursts of red light shot through the air. Charlie had lost sight of Bill, of his parents - he could hardly make out the faces of those crowded next to him, they all seemed so blurry. He heard a swoosh next to him and ducked, glancing back to see a Death Eater rapidly approaching.
If he could only find one of his siblings… he ducked again as a streak of sparks narrowly missed his head. No, it would not do to wait any longer. Hoping with every fiber of his being that they had already escaped safely, he turned on the spot and Disapparated.
The street he found himself on seemed to be abandoned, making it mostly unfamiliar. He kept walking until he could think of a better idea.
Charlie was not entirely sure what had made him think of Hogsmeade so instinctively. It was not quite one of his haunts, and it was possible that the town had been overrun as well - he did not know how safe he would be walking down the road, or for how long. Wizarding tourist towns were usually the first to be burned down in a war.
The fact of his separation from the others began to disturb him. Odd how he had become so accustomed to a solitary life and how after a week back home he could hardly stand being alone. He quickened his pace, from a distance spotting The Three Broomsticks, looking rather dilapidated.
When he pulled open the door an empty, dusty pub faced him. Chairs were missing legs, cobwebs adorned several tables, and the peeling walls were just about ready to give way. There was not a trace of its former liveliness, except perhaps for Madam Rosmerta, who stood in the back needlessly wiping down mugs. If he had not known any better, Charlie might have mistaken the place for the Hog's Head.
Rosmerta looked up at the ring of the tinny bell and rushed forward to greet him.
"Charlie Weasley!" she exclaimed. She was about to bear-hug him but she changed her mind half-way through, apparently embarrassed to act so familiarly, and so instead gave him an awkward pat on both his shoulders. "Bill told me you might be coming back soon. I almost didn't believe him - how you talked of your dragons, I thought you'd forget all about England and settle in Romania for good."
"Well, it wouldn't exactly bode well if I stayed away while everyone else fought the war," he said with a small smile.
"No, I suppose not. So what brings you to the Three Broomsticks at this time of day? I imagine it can't possibly be for a drink."
"Er… can't it?
Rosmerta stared at him. "Are you daft? Look at the state of this place! You're the first to walk in here in three weeks!"
Charlie said nothing and watched as she conceded and poured him a glass of Firewhisky, as well as one for herself.
"Drink," she commanded, and he did. "Now tell me why you're here."
"'The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead'," he said soberly, echoing Kingsley's words. "The Death Eaters attacked us in the middle of Bill and Fleur's wedding. I don't know anything more than that - it all happened in one terribly long second. I got separated from my family and I only just managed to escape."
A look of utmost horror formed on her face. "You mean… oh my goodness! I - I didn't think… Charlie, we can't stay here!"
She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him from his barstool, and they disappeared from the pub. Charlie was hit in the face by a sharp, cold, salty breeze, and almost vomited from the combination of the wind and the side effects of Side-Along Apparition.
"Where are we?" he asked breathily, his hands on his knees. Side-Along Apparition was most unsuitable for two adults who knew perfectly well how to Apparate on their own.
"Shell Cottage," Rosmerta replied, pulling out a golden package from her pocket. "Here, have some chocolate."
"Who lives in Shell Cottage?"
"Bill does. At one point he thought you'd miss the wedding - can't remember why he'd think that, but anyway, he came to me one day and told me, 'If he ever changes his mind… he'll come see you first, so you give him my address.'"
Charlie inwardly cringed at those words, recalling the argument he had with Bill a few years ago about Charlie's priorities. He focused on eating the chocolate so as to put the incident out of his mind.
They arrived at the doorstep and knocked softly. Fleur happily welcomed them in.
"Oh, Charlie, you found us! Eet eez good you saw Rosmerta, or 'ow else would we know eef you 'ad escaped safely?"
Charlie merely nodded, and turned to scan the room for Bill, who he found lurking in the kitchen. The chocolate was not easing his worry at all.
"I'm terribly sorry," Charlie said, but Bill waved his hand.
"Everyone's okay. That's all that matters."
"I mean about before, when you asked me whether Romania even meant anything to me."
"Oh… but that was ages ago, mate, don't even - "
"And I said it was the only thing that did."
Bill looked away. It hurt to be reminded, even when he had long since forgiven his brother.
"I want you to know," Charlie pressed on, his voice barely above a whisper, "I never would have given up the chance to be your best man. I lied to you to convince myself leaving was the right thing to do. I'm sorry."
"Was it the right thing to do?" Bill asked, a little tense.
This was the question that Charlie had been struggling to answer since he received his mother's final plea - he had paced back and forth, tousling his hair, going back and forth between ideas, and could not come to any adequate conclusion. But when Bill posed it, there was no wringing of hands, no gnashing of teeth. The answer Charlie gave was an impulse - the natural, untailored truth.
"Just as right as it is to be back here now. Yes."
Author: Chimbomba
Recipient: fannyt
Character(s): Charlie Weasley, Madam Rosmerta, Bill Weasley
Rating: PG
Word-Count: 2,598 words
Warnings (highlight to view): None
Summary: Charlie, please come home. Love, mum.
Author's Notes: Takes place during Deathly Hallows. I hope you enjoy this, fannyt! :)
Betas: Thanks to T for the beta! ♥
The Return Journey
As the afternoon turned into evening, Charlie wiped his brow and locked the gate to the dragon preserve. He had sustained quite a blow to his shoulder, but otherwise the day had been quiet and easy - the dragons had been no more unruly than usual. Before he made for his cabin on the hill, he looked up to make sure both the iron fence and the magical barrier keeping the dragons from flying out were intact. Norberta once again was trying to eat her way out, but of course was electrically jolted every time.
Charlie and a few of his friends trudged up the hill to their cabins, ready for a hearty meal and some ice water to soothe their bodies before calling it a night. The others disliked sleeping so close to the preserve as the air always got unbearably hot in the mornings, but Charlie thought the view incredible. About seven years ago he had moved to Romania, and the country seemed as beautiful as ever; he had never lost the awe and fascination that only came with novelty.
He breathed in the scent of pine as he walked in, noticing a letter and a very weary Errol on his kitchen table - an odd sight, as he rarely got letters anymore. His mum had been the kind to send a letter every week for the first year or so - poor Errol nearly died several times from the rigorous trips - but after so long from not seeing Charlie's face, she quickly began to run out of things to say to him. The last few letters had merely been a transcribed version of The Lecture she had been giving him for the last eight years: why don't you give up the dragons and find yourself a nice girl, in a few years you'll be horribly scarred like Bill (if you aren't already) and you may not be so lucky to find a Fleur who won't mind. Charlie wondered what 'new' advice Molly had to offer this time, and almost curious, he opened the envelope.
Charlie,
Please come home.
Love, Mum
Puzzled, he looked to see if he had missed something in the envelope. There was nothing else. That worried Charlie. Brevity was not Molly's strength - she would always be reminded of some anecdote and be compelled to share it even if it had absolutely no relevance. While she always closed her letters by saying 'I wish you'd come home' and he had always ignored it, he was not sure if this was one he could ignore. He considered it, thinking it could be a trap; perhaps nothing was wrong at all and Molly was trying to fool him just so he could finally leave Romania - or maybe someone else had written it, pretending to be Molly, luring Charlie into a dangerous situation instead of the safety home was supposed to promise.
Charlie was not one to act on impulse - he always thought it wiser to consider things thoroughly and carefully - and so he let the note sit on the table. He took Errol into his hands and stroked him gently while feeding him some owl treats, and vaguely wondered about his plans for the next day.
-o0o0o0o-
The sun hung high and bright as Charlie gazed out the window, an empty shot glass in his hand. Usually he did not drink so early in the day, but it was Saturday, his day off, and his roommate was out in the preserve. Sometimes loneliness would haunt Charlie, and on those occasions he would make Firewhisky his company.
It was past one o'clock, and still the Polish wizard he had been expecting had not arrived. Every Saturday he met with foreign wizards and witches to convince them to join the Order; sometimes they came to him, other times he left his place on the hill to seek them out. He had heard of the Polish wizard through the Romanian Prime Minister, who often helped Charlie in his mission to find sympathetic foreigners.
Suddenly an owl flew through the window and dropped a small envelope on the table, and immediately swooped back out. Charlie tore the envelope open and discovered a note from his absent acquaintance.
Mr. Weasley,
I am sorry, but I have received an urgent call and I will not be coming today. I hope you will forgive me.
Sincerely,
Jas Krasicki
He sighed. He was not surprised. Foreign witches and wizards always happened to be too extraordinarily busy to see him - he was used to getting doors slammed in his face, to never receiving responses to his letters. Few would see him, and those he did often did not understand the purpose of joining the Order. This is not our war, they said. Voldemort's reach has not past England.
"But it has!" Charlie shouted angrily to the room. "Those bridges mysteriously collapsing in Bucharest, those 'shootings' at the universities, those neighborhood fires in Craiova, how do you think they happened? It's him. Despite what you might think, this is a world war. And if he wins, there will be no world left! Think of that!"
After a minute he realized he had been talking to himself and violently jabbing the air with his index finger. His outburst reverberated against the walls - and it surprised him. Usually he was not so loud. Slowly, he sunk back into his chair and sighed once more.
This business was getting tiring.
He rubbed his temples in anguish. What was he doing in Romania, sitting alone in his cabin and having conversations with himself? His family and friends were feeling the brunt of Voldemort's wrath, and here he was taking care of dragons and recruiting foreign members for the Order who did not want to be recruited. He did nothing useful all day, all week.
And would he stay in Romania, out of the way, cut off from his family? Would he be a git like Percy and never go home, and claim no role in the Effort?
He repeated Molly's words under his breath. Please come home. It was not a trap, he decided.
"I'm coming, mum."
-o0o0o0o-
Being back in The Burrow was an incredibly bizarre feeling. Of course, Charlie had visited every now and then, but always with the idea of returning to Romania. Now he had no such thoughts - or if he did, they sat at the back of his mind.
Everyone hugged him warmly and chatted excitedly to him about the things he had missed while he was gone, which made him feel slightly dazed. It was as if all his family were in one glass room and he was in another, trying to speak to each other through the glass walls; he could only make out muffled voices, try as he might to understand them. He had essentially been gone for seven years, so perhaps it was normal to feel not quite at home. Nonetheless, the effect was unsettling.
As he hugged each of his parents and siblings, he noticed with a horrible jolt that George appeared to be missing an ear. "George," he said softly, in quiet shock, and at once Molly began to tear. Bill explained that they had been escorting Harry from the Dursleys' house, and that they'd been ambushed. Moody had died during the mission. George had his ear cursed off.
And while all this had happened, Charlie had been with his dragons. He could not understand why he had not returned sooner, why he had been foolish enough to leave his family behind.
At the time, the idea to leave England for a humble life in a cabin seemed like a simple but pleasant plan - Charlie did not have dreams of grandeur in the least. But what had he done there? That life had been easy, too easy. No sacrifices, no demands. He looked at the spot where George's ear ought to have been, and thought that perhaps he should never have run away - if not to fight alongside his loved ones, then at least to have a sense of purpose. Whatever he had convinced himself he was looking for, he had not found in Romania. He had not found anything but a quiet life, and now that seemed selfish, and a waste.
But that chapter had ended, and now he was really home, even if it was not altogether comfortable quite yet.
-o0o0o0o-
Bill and Fleur's wedding brought Charlie back as a true member of the Weasley clan. Standing in his black dress robes next to Bill, he smiled at the white roses in his buttonholes - he would not trade this suit for a day back in Romania with his beloved dragons.
He had spent several days thinking about his time in Romania and he realized how much he actually loved it there, despite the loneliness he sometimes felt. Perhaps it had not been a waste of his life; perhaps the adventure would reveal its true purpose at a later date. But The Burrow was much better, he had to admit.
The wedding reception came to an abrupt halt when Kingsley's Patronus appeared amidst the dancers and opened its mouth to speak.
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
Silent shock crept its way throughout the marquee, until finally everyone understood all at once what was happening. They ran, screaming, drawing their wands, Disapparating. A high-pitched cry broke out. Tables were overturned. Everything was falling, crashing, as bursts of red light shot through the air. Charlie had lost sight of Bill, of his parents - he could hardly make out the faces of those crowded next to him, they all seemed so blurry. He heard a swoosh next to him and ducked, glancing back to see a Death Eater rapidly approaching.
If he could only find one of his siblings… he ducked again as a streak of sparks narrowly missed his head. No, it would not do to wait any longer. Hoping with every fiber of his being that they had already escaped safely, he turned on the spot and Disapparated.
The street he found himself on seemed to be abandoned, making it mostly unfamiliar. He kept walking until he could think of a better idea.
Charlie was not entirely sure what had made him think of Hogsmeade so instinctively. It was not quite one of his haunts, and it was possible that the town had been overrun as well - he did not know how safe he would be walking down the road, or for how long. Wizarding tourist towns were usually the first to be burned down in a war.
The fact of his separation from the others began to disturb him. Odd how he had become so accustomed to a solitary life and how after a week back home he could hardly stand being alone. He quickened his pace, from a distance spotting The Three Broomsticks, looking rather dilapidated.
When he pulled open the door an empty, dusty pub faced him. Chairs were missing legs, cobwebs adorned several tables, and the peeling walls were just about ready to give way. There was not a trace of its former liveliness, except perhaps for Madam Rosmerta, who stood in the back needlessly wiping down mugs. If he had not known any better, Charlie might have mistaken the place for the Hog's Head.
Rosmerta looked up at the ring of the tinny bell and rushed forward to greet him.
"Charlie Weasley!" she exclaimed. She was about to bear-hug him but she changed her mind half-way through, apparently embarrassed to act so familiarly, and so instead gave him an awkward pat on both his shoulders. "Bill told me you might be coming back soon. I almost didn't believe him - how you talked of your dragons, I thought you'd forget all about England and settle in Romania for good."
"Well, it wouldn't exactly bode well if I stayed away while everyone else fought the war," he said with a small smile.
"No, I suppose not. So what brings you to the Three Broomsticks at this time of day? I imagine it can't possibly be for a drink."
"Er… can't it?
Rosmerta stared at him. "Are you daft? Look at the state of this place! You're the first to walk in here in three weeks!"
Charlie said nothing and watched as she conceded and poured him a glass of Firewhisky, as well as one for herself.
"Drink," she commanded, and he did. "Now tell me why you're here."
"'The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead'," he said soberly, echoing Kingsley's words. "The Death Eaters attacked us in the middle of Bill and Fleur's wedding. I don't know anything more than that - it all happened in one terribly long second. I got separated from my family and I only just managed to escape."
A look of utmost horror formed on her face. "You mean… oh my goodness! I - I didn't think… Charlie, we can't stay here!"
She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him from his barstool, and they disappeared from the pub. Charlie was hit in the face by a sharp, cold, salty breeze, and almost vomited from the combination of the wind and the side effects of Side-Along Apparition.
"Where are we?" he asked breathily, his hands on his knees. Side-Along Apparition was most unsuitable for two adults who knew perfectly well how to Apparate on their own.
"Shell Cottage," Rosmerta replied, pulling out a golden package from her pocket. "Here, have some chocolate."
"Who lives in Shell Cottage?"
"Bill does. At one point he thought you'd miss the wedding - can't remember why he'd think that, but anyway, he came to me one day and told me, 'If he ever changes his mind… he'll come see you first, so you give him my address.'"
Charlie inwardly cringed at those words, recalling the argument he had with Bill a few years ago about Charlie's priorities. He focused on eating the chocolate so as to put the incident out of his mind.
They arrived at the doorstep and knocked softly. Fleur happily welcomed them in.
"Oh, Charlie, you found us! Eet eez good you saw Rosmerta, or 'ow else would we know eef you 'ad escaped safely?"
Charlie merely nodded, and turned to scan the room for Bill, who he found lurking in the kitchen. The chocolate was not easing his worry at all.
"I'm terribly sorry," Charlie said, but Bill waved his hand.
"Everyone's okay. That's all that matters."
"I mean about before, when you asked me whether Romania even meant anything to me."
"Oh… but that was ages ago, mate, don't even - "
"And I said it was the only thing that did."
Bill looked away. It hurt to be reminded, even when he had long since forgiven his brother.
"I want you to know," Charlie pressed on, his voice barely above a whisper, "I never would have given up the chance to be your best man. I lied to you to convince myself leaving was the right thing to do. I'm sorry."
"Was it the right thing to do?" Bill asked, a little tense.
This was the question that Charlie had been struggling to answer since he received his mother's final plea - he had paced back and forth, tousling his hair, going back and forth between ideas, and could not come to any adequate conclusion. But when Bill posed it, there was no wringing of hands, no gnashing of teeth. The answer Charlie gave was an impulse - the natural, untailored truth.
"Just as right as it is to be back here now. Yes."