FicWad

Part 13 – A Visit Home, part 2.

The Burrow, Tuesday, December 10th

A patchy fog greets the intrepid group of tree hunters the next morning, as they set out from the Burrow on foot. Heading up the gently sloping hill across the yard from the kitchen door, Charlie, Fleur, and Molly tread slowly over the misty landscape of crunchy, ice encrusted snow. Charlie is glad that he had left a pair of heavy boots behind in well preserved condition. Finding himself getting ahead of the other two, he pulls up, patiently waiting for them to catch up.


“Your mother just doesn't have the legs she once had, Charlie,” says Molly, as she struggles to catch her breath in the cold air. Fleur walks next to Molly, ready to steady her future Mother-in-law, should she need it.


“Here, Mum, take my arm,” he says, holding out his arm. As Molly takes it, Charlie turns to Fleur, smiles, and extends his other arm to her.


“Merci, Charlie!” Fleur smiles, placing her hand on his forearm.
Slowly they finish the climb to the crest of the hill. Pausing for a moment, their breath sending bursts of steam into the air, the trio looks towards the large patch of woods in front of them. Amidst the stands of barren Oak and Ash, Linden and Maple, a large copse of some thirty Pine trees, all of various heights, stand silently in the morning fog and snow. Taking the extra moment to let all of the memories of past Christmases wash over him, Charlie watches the squirrels and birds as they frolic and fly through the branches and boughs.


“See a tree you like, dear?” asks Molly, her breathing now much less strained.


“Not yet. Let's get closer, Mum.”


The trio walks forward into the woods. They break up and begin to wander amongst the trees. After several minutes of scouting the various pines, Fleur calls out to Charlie and Molly.


Standing in front of a very nice specimen, Fleur asks, with a flourish, “Well, what do you 'zhink?”


The tree, a well shaped Scots Pine, stands many feet taller than there is room for at the Burrow.


“That's far too tall for the front door and the living room,” says Molly.


“It is too tall, Mum, but if we cut it off right... here...” Charlie moves into the reach of the pine needles and cones. “If we cut it here, it would be perfect!” Charlie points his wand to a certain spot on the trunk.


Molly begins to circle, winding her way between the tree and two others, brushing past a few of the lower hanging pine boughs, giving herself a good look.


“It's your decision, Mum...”


“Well, it does look nice and straight. Can you see any bird nests, Charlie?”


Charlie looks again, looking for the tell tale shadows of a nest, or the white droppings of former residents.


“Looks good to me. What about you, May?” he asks, absentmindedly, still looking into the upper branches.


Fleur smiles and clears her throat.


“Oh... blimey, I'm sorry, Fleur!” he says, with an embarrassed smile upon his face.


“It eez alright, Charlie.” Then, stepping back several yards, she continues aloud, “No, I see no nests, ei'zher, Molly.”


All three of them regroup in front of the Scots Pine. With one last look, Molly turns to Fleur, reaches out and places her hand on Fleur's arm, and declares, “The Weasley family Christmas tree, it is, dear!”


Charlie smiles, and says, “Step back, ladies! Fleur, when I cut the trunk, can you 'catch' the top part?”


“Oui.”


“Alright, on the count of... Mum, you'd better step back... on the count of three. Ready? One, two,...”


...SNAP...


All three of them freeze, as the loud sound of a twig breaking nearby surprises them. Charlie motions to them to squat down. Another loud snap occurs. Charlie turns and motions for silence, then gets down on his belly and begins to crawl forward, his wand between his teeth. As he reaches the other side of the copse of Scots Pines, he halts and listens. Another noise, this time a heavy, slow, footstep, dragging across the side of some rock, guides Charlie's attention.


Some thirty feet away, an old Muggle walks, wearing heavy outdoor gear, heavy boots, and a scarf. He has a bolt action, scoped, hunting rifle in his bare hands. Charlie watches as the old Muggle slowly tromps his way past, brushing almost aimlessly against the trunk of a tall Linden tree. A Linden tree that had previously been charmed with Anti-Muggle spells.


Taking his wand in hand, Charlie casts, “Repello Muggletum” at the tree, reinforcing the earlier charm.
The Muggle stops in his tracks, then, with a shudder of his body, continues his slow, trundling gate forwards, moving ever closer to the crest of the hill.


“Bloody Hell!” Charlie whispers beneath his breath. Tucking his wand back between his teeth, he backs himself out from beneath the trees.


“Charlie, what is it?” asks Molly, nervously.


Charlie turns to a sitting position on the ground, letting his wand drop into an open hand. “It's the old Muggle from the other side of the far hill, Mum.”


“You mean, old 'Peter Thicke'?”


“Yeah, that's 'im. Peter Thicke.”


“Why is he on our hill? I mean, how did he get past the charms?”


Charlie shrugs, saying, “Dunno, Mum. But I do know one thing, he's got a Muggle rifle, and he looks like he may know how to use it.” He reaches his hands upwards to the two ladies who are now both standing. They both take hold of a hand, as Charlie gets his feet beneath him and stands up.


As Molly quietly restates her previous question about why old man Thicke would be on their hill, Charlie says aloud, “I think he's been Imperiused, Mum. He's got that blank stare, and almost mindless walk, that people get when they are being mind controlled.”


With a look of genuine concern, and a tinge of fright on her face, Molly asks, “Imperiused? Charlie, are we...”


Charlie steps forward to grasp his mother's hands. “I think you should get to the Ministry as fast as you can, Mum. Bring the Aurors! Bring Dad!”


Molly, now with a purpose, shakes off her fear. She extracts her wand from her pocket, steps back and spins, Disapparating from the hilltop.


Turning to Fleur, Charlie asks, “Are you okay, Fleur?”


“But of course I am, Charlie! I am not afraid of some Muggle wi'zh a gun.”


Softly, Charlie replies, “I am...” Then, he asks, “Have you done much dueling?”


“At Beauxbatons, we duel all 'zhe time, in class.”


“Good.”


“Charlie? Get me closer to 'zhe Muggle. I'll tell you if 'e'z 'Eemperiused'.”


Charlie stares at her for a moment, then signals for her to follow. Together, they quietly make their way to where they can both hear the sound of heavy, slow steps across the foggy ground. Then they both stop, as he comes into their sight.


With wand in hand, Fleur silently casts in French, “Legilimens”. Within Fleur's mind, a tenuous luminescent green tendril reaches out towards the Muggle, whose mind she can 'see'. As the tendril makes the lightest of contact, Fleur tries to insinuate it into his mind. Abruptly, a sickly looking, purplish tendril reaches forward from that mind, and tries to attack her mind probe. Quickly, Fleur snatches her own tendril back to herself, breaking the spell.


“Zut!” she says in frustration.


“No luck?”


“'E'z being mind controlled by a Dark Wizard. 'Zhey know someone tried to probe 'eem.”


“Damn. Let's hope the bloody Aurors show up soon, then.”


As if on cue, the misty fog to their left breaks suddenly, as a large, silvery Patronus Lynx charges forth. Stopping, it looks about, then, seeing the Muggle in front of it, leaps high, charging head first towards the charmed man.


The Muggle tries to bring his weapon to bear, but is unable to do so, as the Patronus runs head first into his chest, then out the other side, breaking the mind lock of the Imperius Curse.


As if struck by a wave of water, Peter Thicke slowly falls onto his back, his hands and arms high up in the air, trying to fend off the magical Lynx.


Charlie and Fleur immediately jump up and out from where they had been observing the old man. Both silently cast “Expelliarmus”, sending the gun crashing against a tree, where the wooden stock fractures and breaks apart, scattering bits of wood all over, along with several heavier metal pieces, including the now wrecked gun barrel.


Behind them, three loud 'pops' occur, as more Aurors arrive.




An hour later, back at the Burrow, with the fresh cut tree in a stand out in the front yard, Molly serves a round of hot buttered rum and mulled wine to her family and guests.

At one end of the family dinner table, Arthur sits, listening to the information that Kingsley Shacklebolt is reporting. Around the table, Charlie, Fleur, Fred, and a disheveled looking Nymphadora Tonks, sit, raptly listening to the report. To the side, Mad Eye stands, leaning back against the railing for the stairway, easing the pressure on his prosthetic leg.

“There is every indication that Peter Thicke was, indeed, Imperiused. When we arrived at his house, we found his wife bound in the basement, dead from the Killing Curse.”

“It looks like she was alive when they Imperiused the Muggle,” adds Mad Eye.

Kingsley speaks up once more, saying, “There is evidence that Thicke's daughter had been on hand, too. She was not found, but Tonks said that...”

“When we arrived, we immediately placed Anti-apparition spells about to prevent escape of anyone trying to flee the scene. As we did, a Caterwauling charm let loose.” Tonks' voice is rough and gravelly as she speaks.

Molly, concerned, brings her a cup of hot buttered rum to help soothe her throat.

Moody takes up the narrative, saying, “There were two of them. Both masked. Both got away.” As he says this last sentence, he looks sternly at Nymphadora.

Loudly, and with shame, Tonks pushes back from the table and stands up, saying, “I know, Alastor, I know!” Forcefully, she leaves the table, and tries to find a quiet spot in the living room. Concerned, Molly picks up her mug and follows, setting herself down next to the upset Auror. All eyes follow as the two leave the kitchen.

Charlie asks, sotto voce, “What's wrong with Tonks?”

Arthur answers, “Unrequited love, Charlie.”

“Oh? Who's the bloke?”

“Remus,” adds Alastor, as he takes the vacated seat.

“Anyways, the two Death Eaters got away with the girl, after getting past all of us.” Kingsley was not happy at all to report this, as he was wringing his hands atop the table.

“Any idea of who they were, Kingsley?” asks Arthur.

“None, Arthur.”

“Kingsley, I didn't know that a Patronus could be used to break an Imperius Curse,” says Charlie.

Sitting up in his chair, his hands no longer fidgety, Kingsley replies, “What exactly do you mean, Charlie?”

“When your Lynx leapt through Thicke's chest...”

“Eet seemed to break 'zhe curse,” says Fleur, finishing the sentence for Charlie.

Kingsley turns in his chair to look at Alastor. “Have you ever heard of such a thing happening before, Alastor?”

Moody thinks back, as his memory of departmental case history files is quite extensive.

“There are two possible references from more than ten years ago.” He scratches, suddenly, at the top of his prostheses. “One of them involved Lupin. The other... a report was filed by Alice Longbottom.”

“We'll have to talk with Remus when he returns.” Kingsley turns back to the others at the table, focusing on both Charlie and Fleur. “Please, I'll need the two of you to make a personal, and separate, written report this afternoon.” He then turns his gaze to Arthur. “Arthur, if you could ensure those reports make it to my desk this afternoon?”
Arthur nods and gestures his eager acceptance of the responsibility. Charlie and Fleur both acknowledge their responsibilities.

“Miss DelaCour, if you would, also include a write-up of your experiences with your attempt of Legilimency.”

“Certainement, Kingsley!”


A couple of hours later, Charlie is sitting at a writing table in the bedroom he is using for the duration of his visit. Behind him, there are two knocks at the closed door.
Charlie puts down his quill and stands, moving towards the door.

“Charlie?”

Reaching the door, he opens it, saying, “C'mon in, Dad.”

Arthur steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “How's the report coming?”

“I'm almost finished with the final copy.”

“You always were conscientious about your writing, even in school at Hogwarts.” Slipping his reading glasses on, Arthur looks down at the half-finished roll of parchment. Next to it, several less presentable sheets sit, full of scribbled notes, with several doodles of the word “May” written around the margins.

“Mind if I sit down, Charlie?”

“Of course not, Dad.”

Charlie takes his seat, as Arthur grabs the back of a second chair, and moves it over next to Charlie's.

“Is there something wrong, Dad?”
Charlie asks, seeing a serious look on Arthur s face.

“No, nothing is wrong. I just wanted to have a talk with you, is all. We haven't had a face to face talk in quite awhile, just the two of us.”

“Yeah, it has been awhile.”

“I mainly wanted to tell you of how very proud I am, of what you've done with your job in Romania, son.”

“Thanks, Dad. To tell the truth, I don't think of it as a job anymore.”

“That's good, that's good!” Arthur replies, enthusiastically. Then, changing the subject, he continues.

“I didn't get a chance to ask you much about your girlfriend, yesterday. I get the feeling you are quite serious about her? I mean, that mark on your neck where everyone can see, and that ring upon your finger. All of these little doodles on the paper. May must be a special girl!”

Turning a bit pink, Charlie drops his gaze to the notes, having forgotten the scribbles and doodles were there.

“Yes, she is a special girl, Dad.” He raises his eyes to his father's, meeting his gaze.

“Your mother is dying down there for more information about her,” Arthur pauses, then continues, “but I guess you know that already.”

“Yeah, Mum's in a right state about it, but with Bill and Fleur and everything else, I don't feel right about taking the spotlight right now.”

“She told me to ask you if May had gone to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons.”

“Please don't... I'd rather not reveal anything else for now, Dad. Let Mum have something to stew over for awhile. Maybe she'll go easier on Fleur that way.”

“Well, as if that is going to happen anytime soon.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Your Mother just found out a few minutes ago that Fleur is a Legilimens. Now she's convinced herself that Fleur is mind controlling Bill into marriage.”

Charlie stares open mouthed at his Father, in a complete state of disbelief. “Oh, bollocks!”

“My sentiment exactly!”

“Does Fleur know about Mum feeling this way?”

“I hope not, though once Bill gets home, there's bound to be some sort of fallout.”

“Maybe you should Owl Bill.”

“He's not back yet from Spain, or wherever he was earlier; otherwise he'd be here by now. I Owled him earlier when your Mother came to us at the Ministry.”

After a minute long pause, Charlie says, “Well, give me a few more minutes, and I'll have this report done.”

“Wait, son. There's something more I wanted to talk to you about.”

Turning back again, Charlie waits, fearing what else might be so important as to delay the report for the Ministry.

“Charlie, did you ever regret going off to Romania so soon after school?”

“Regret? No, not at all, Dad. I mean, if you recall, things around here were kind of crowded, if you know what I mean.”

Arthur scratches the back of his head for a moment, saying, “Yeah, I'd almost forgotten that. We even considered adding another room, or another floor, to the house.”

“Dad, why are you asking this all of a sudden?”

“Well, it's just that, we kind of pushed you along when the word came that you had your interview, and that your application and passport had been approved.” Arthur stops, fidgets with his hands a bit, then gets up and begins to pace back and forth in the small bedroom. He stops, looks at his son, and says, “Of course, we were both thrilled that you had been accepted so readily. You made us both very proud that day, Charlie! You really did!”

“Then why are you acting so... guilty, Dad?”

“Because...” Arthur retakes his seat, squaring it to Charlie's. “A week or so, right after you were born, and you and your Mum were back home from St. Mungo's, we decided that, once you were old enough, we would try to 'relocate' you to some place where it was safe, where there would be little chance that 'He-who-must-not-be-named' would find you.”

“Why would 'He' want to find me?”

“Oh, it's not you specifically, Charlie. It's just that, a lot of Wizarding families at that time were worried about being attacked in the middle of the night by Death Eaters. Whole families were being killed off back in those days. And so, many families, like ours, saw the wisdom in spreading their progeny out and away from the rather insular little communities that we had been living in. Before the War, several family bloodlines were getting a little too...”

“Inbred?” Charlie asks.

“Your assessment is close enough to the mark.”

“And so, you had me sent away from England to breed with someone in Romania?” Charlie's voice rises in consternation.

“No, no, no! That's not the reason. The idea was to- the idea was, that, if you were away from the rest of the family, you could be protected, in case, let's say, something, or someone – like 'you-know-who', ever tried to start another little war again.

“But, I don't understand – what if I wasn't suitable for a job at the Dragon Preserve?”

“Oh, well, Dumbledore would have placed you wherever you were suited for.”

“You mean, Professor Dumbledore is in on this too?”

“Well, think about it, Charlie. Who else better than Dumbledore to know where to place students according to their abilities?”

“Bloody hell, Dad. I don't know if I should be angry, or thankful!” Charlie gets up and begins to pace. After several minutes, he stops and says, “This was all Dumbledore's idea, wasn't it? I mean, the whole idea of spreading 'the seeds' of the Pureblood families outwards, away from England?”

“Well, let's see, you and your Mother had been back from the St. Mungo's for about a week, when Dumbledore came for a visit. Aunt Muriel had been staying with us at the time, helping Molly with little Bill, and the Burrow, during the last month of the pregnancy, and the month after. I remember we were all sitting around during a quiet moment, talking about the future. Seems like the idea came from that discussion. Truth is, Charlie, I don't know who brought it up. It may have been Dumbledore, or it may have been Muriel.”

“I'm not sure what to think of all this, Dad.”

“I am sorry this has been so upsetting to you, Charlie.”

Charlie paces back and forth silently for a few minutes, before turning to his father again.
“Mind if I have some time alone for a bit?”

“No, not at all. Listen, son, if you don't feel like finishing that report, I'll tell Kingsley he'll have to wait for it until morning.” Arthur stands up and walks over to the door, turning the knob.

“Wait, that won't be necessary. I'll have it done for you in about fifteen minutes. Can you wait that long?”

“Sure, Charlie.”

“Dad, before you go, tell me, why did you pick this moment to tell me all of this?”

“We've been wanting to tell you for quite some time now, but have never seemed to find the right moment to do so.”


Following a less than festive dinner, that had a nearly silent Bill sitting next to Fleur on one side of the table, his hand always near hers; with Arthur at the head, shooting significant little glances at his wife, who sat at the other end, strangely mute, after the verbal dressing down her oldest son had given her earlier; and Charlie, who had still been going over the information that Arthur had delivered to him earlier; Bill, Fleur, and Charlie walk down the lane from the Burrow, outside in the snowy silence. Up above, the thinnest sliver of a waning moon in a clear, blue-black sky, gives scant illumination to the landscape around them.

From his back pocket, Bill produces a metal flask. He stops, uncorks the neck, and takes a pull from the container. He pauses as the fire whiskey goes down, warming his body, and his spirits. He passes the flask to Fleur, who, apprehensively, takes only the smallest of sips. As the potent liquor hits the back of her throat, she coughs, sending a small amount up into her sinus cavity. She stomps about, her hand waving in front of her face, with her eyes tearing ferociously, trying to put out the fire in her nose. Charlie cannot help but laugh at her predicament, as she dances about, the yarn tassel atop her knit cap bouncing all around. Bill, trying his very best not to laugh, catches the flask before she can drop it. Handing it to Charlie, he tries hard to be helpful, though he knows the temporary effects just have to run their course.

A few minutes go by, as Fleur gathers her wits. Surprisingly to the two brothers, she retaliates by asking for another sip. As Charlie is handed back the flask, he clears his throat, and offers a toast.

“To my brother and best friend, and to the woman who will be his wife, and my new sister, I say, 'Cheers!'” With that, Charlie takes his own deep pull at the fire whiskey. His own eyes water a bit as the whiskey goes down. He quickly passes the flask back to Bill, who takes another pull in acknowledgment of the toast.

Fleur leans over and gives Charlie a kiss on the cheek, causing Charlie to blush. She whispers in his ear, “Tomorrow night, it will be your lover who kisses you, Charlie!” He blushes even more.

Bill looks on in amusement, having had his fiancée whisper in his ear plenty of times before.

Further on down the lane, Bill says, “Don't forget we have the meeting in the morning with Dumbledore at the Hog's Head.”

“How can I forget?” Charlie answers, with some trepidation.

“You'll also be able to finally see what Fred and George found for you.”

Charlie stops in his tracks. With all of the hustle and bustle of the past two days, he'd forgotten about his request. He turns to Bill, asking, “Have you seen it yet?”

“Yes, and I must say you should be very happy! Dumbledore should be pleased, also.”

“What do you mean, 'Dumbledore should be pleased'?”

“He's got something special lined up for you. I probably shouldn't be saying anything, and you can't let on I've told you anything. But whatever it is, I think it comes from his Vault at Gringotts!”

Now Charlie is thoroughly flustered about Dumbledore. A frown crosses his face, as he slows his pace, then stops.

“Charlie? What 'ez 'zhe matter?” Fleur asks, slowing down, and putting her hand on his shoulder.

“What's wrong, Bro?” Bill asks with concern.

“Oh, it's just that,” he pauses, looking up into each of their faces in turn. “Today, Dad tells me that right after I was born, he, Mum, Dumbledore, and Great Aunt Muriel, all got together and decided my future for me, it seems. They planned on sending me away from the very beginning!” He finishes with some steam in his attitude.

“Oh, that... I was wondering if they would ever tell you.”

Now almost angry, Charlie says, “You mean, you knew?”

“Charlie, they've done that with you, and everyone since you.” Bill says, matter-of-factly.

Looking like a fish out of water, Charlie can only stare back open mouthed.

“At first, for you, Dad and Mum decided that some family planning might be wise. They asked Muriel and Dumbledore for their input. With Percy, and everyone since, the planning session turned into a gathering of the Matriarchs of the Prewett family. Muriel, Mum, Augusta Longbottom, and few others, usually attended. Dad sort of gave up trying to influence any of the meetings, though he would have his word with Mum, later.”

“How'd you find out?”

“Dad told me one day. He caught me spying on the 'meeting'. Feeling left out, I think, he sat down with me and we both 'spied' on their conversations.”

“Well, what about you? Did they...”

“Oh, they tried,” he says with a laugh, “but I'm the 'rogue' of the Weasley boys. Every time I caught on that someone was pulling a string, I'd do the opposite. I even confronted Dumbledore in my fifth year, when he and Professor McGonagall sat down with me for my 'career' speech.”

“So, Dumbledore...”

“He was involved, certainly, but he wasn't necessarily pulling all of the strings, and he certainly wasn't the 'ringleader', this time.”

“Mon dieu, and I 'zhought my family was sneaky”

Charlie begins to walk again, but facing back towards the Burrow.
“Anything left in that flask?” he asks Bill.

Bill hands it over. Charlie uncorks it and takes a long sip through the narrow neck of the bottle. He turns and hands it to Fleur, with a grin on his face. She takes it and takes a long pull herself, downing it much more easily. She passes it on to Bill, who empties that last small bit of the hot, deep reddish-brown, liquor down his throat.

With a carefree laugh, all three link arms and return to the festively lit Burrow.


Later, in the early hours of an inky black pre-dawn morning, with stars twinkling outside, and a few planets glowing brightly, in the cloudless sky, Charlie dreams of a pair of breathtakingly beautiful, gray, female eyes, framed top and bottom by white on white, Dragon hide leather. The seemingly perfect skin of the eyelids and bridge of the nose, in contrast with the rough side of the leather hide, is startling. A few flakes of wind driven snow catch on her feathery eyelids, and amongst the wispy strands of her blue-black hair, as it blows briskly across her wrapped face, from beneath the hood that is keeping her warm. A small freckle or sun spot dots the left side of the bridge of her nose, near the tear duct.

In his head, he hears Mayumi calling out to him, saying, “Come home, Charlie, come home!”

Dreamily, he answers, “I am coming, my love! I am coming!”


Silently walking the halls of the house, in her well worn slippers and long housecoat, Molly, unable to sleep properly, wanders slowly from bedroom to bedroom, deep in thought, looking in upon either the emptiness of the room, or of Charlie, as he dreams, or even upon Bill and Fleur, as they sleep, entwined around each other, as sleeping lovers are inclined to do. A small smile battles with a slight expression of denial, as her emotions wage war against each other still.

Closing the bedroom door, she makes her way carefully down the stairs, her wand illuminating the way. With a flick, the fire roars up in the hearth. Another flick, swings the tea kettle over the flames to begin warming it.

Changing her focus, she lifts the old afghan from the back of the sofa, catches it, and wraps it around her shoulders and back. Moving over to the old credenza, she removes her well worn, leather bound, journal, from it's secret niche. Gathering a quill and inkpot, she moves the writing supplies to the table in the kitchen. Before setting down to write, she gathers a mug, and the ingredients for a hot cup of Darjeeling White.

After lighting the two candles she keeps on the table for this purpose, and with the mug of hot tea in her hand, she sits down to write in her private journal, a ritual she has secretly done for more than two decades, on those few nights, when her troubled mind refuses to let her rest.

She opens to the next blank page, and begins with the heading, “What is wrong with my son, or is it just me?”


The Burrow, Wednesday, December 11th


Molly bustles about the kitchen, putting the final touches on another one of her famous breakfast feasts.
In the living room, Charlie finishes putting out the bundles of presents that he has brought with him from Romania. Another stack, shorter in height, represents the presents he is taking back with him in his duffel bag.

He finishes re-securing his duffel, just as a harried looking Bill, and an immaculate looking Fleur, come down the stairs together. The clock gongs the half hour after seven.
As the three younger ones gather around the table, Molly strides over to the stairwell, and looks upwards, shouting, “Arthur! Your sons are leaving soon! Breakfast is on the table!”

A distant shout of acknowledgment is his reply.

Molly returns to the kitchen, and begins to shuffle hot, steaming dishes of scrambled egg, bacon, hot grilled potatoes spiced with colorful bits of diced peppers and onions, fried tomatoes, Black Pudding and White, and slices of toasted grain bread. Going against household tradition, a large pitcher of orange juice presides in the center of the table, along with a pot of coffee, and a pot of black tea.

Cheerfully, as Arthur now decides to grace them with his presence, Molly says, “No mushrooms, I'm afraid. All out at the market.”

“Mum, this is a feast for a king! We'll never finish this all alone.”
With a duo of sharp 'pops', both Fred and George Apparate into the house.

“See, I told ya', Fred, she'd put on a full fry up with Charlie leaving today!” George says with glee.

Fred, his eyes wide with anticipation, asks, “Mind if we join you, Mum?”

“I expected you two, so come on and sit.” Molly quickly sets two additional places on either side of Charlie, as he sits alone on one side of the table.

All seven of them tuck in, serving spoons and dishes floating about, dancing in and around glasses and cups, as liquids are constantly consumed and replenished. Yet not a single drop spills, nor a crumb of bread, or piece of egg, makes its way to the table surface. Only Fleur eats with restraint, as everyone else fills at least two plates throughout the meal.

Just as the first belch is uttered, Charlie looks to the clock, startled to see that it is seven minutes before 8 a.m. Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he pushes back from the table, announcing he has to go, as his appointment is for 8 o'clock.

Quickly, Molly, Arthur, Bill,and Charlie, all get up, preparing for the inevitable tearful goodbye. As Charlie and Bill don their cold weather gear, Arthur stands off to the side, never knowing what he should be doing in these situations, but knowing he needs to be looking like he knows, what he should be doing.

Molly gathers two hot pots of food together. Bringing them over to the counter near the doorway. She waits, fidgeting, as Bill and Charlie finalize their preparations. Fleur, Fred, and George, the latter two still with food on their plates, stand.

Fleur moves over to Charlie first, placing her cheek against his, quietly expressing her appreciation for his warm acceptance of her. She smiles widely, as she steps back into Bill's arms, giving him a warm goodbye hug, knowing he will be going to work after the early morning meeting.

Fred and George are next to express themselves to Charlie, each giving him a significant wink, as they wish him a speedy and safe return to Romania.

Molly, impatient, steps forward to hug her second child warmly, tears in her eyes. Trying to keep a stiff upper lip for decorum, but failing miserably, she implores him to write as much as he can, and to come back home as soon as he can.

As she steps back, letting Arthur shake his son's hand, Molly remembers the two hot pots.

“Here, this one (a brown clay pot with a large glazed letter 'W' on the side) is for Albus. Take this other one back to your girlfriend. Oh, and remember, Charlie, it is two hours later in Romania.”

“Thanks Mum, for everything!”

“You'd better go now, before I lose it again!”

“One moment...” Charlie stops and turns to Arthur, then to his brothers, and says, “I expect you to notify me immediately of any more problems with Death Eaters, understand?”

All four nod in agreement.

“Ready, Bill?”

Bill nods affirmatively.

“Goodbye, everyone!”

He and Bill each step-spin, and Disapparate.

Hogsmeade


With two soft, muted, 'pops', Bill and Charlie appear in the field behind the Hog's Head, in knee-deep snow. There are several other marks where people have come and gone over the past few days. They gather themselves and trundle forwards to the inn.

Stepping up to the front door, they can see a fresh pair of tracks going into the Inn. They stomp their feet free of snow, and step inside.

In the gloom of the main room, two old men sit together quietly conversing, both of them warming their feet in front of the large fire. At the foot of the Innkeeper, a small goat lies, his legs folded up beneath him for warmth. Behind Albus, Fawkes the Phoenix perches on the back of one of the chairs. All four look over to the door as the two Weasleys enter.

Aberforth gets up and disappears behind the bar; his goat following closely behind.

“Good morning to you both!”

“Good morning, Professor!” replies Bill and Charlie, together. Before crossing the room, each casts Scourgify on their pants legs and shoes, to remove any extra snow or dirt.

“Please, come in! Get warm by the fire.”

As Charlie moves up to the table, he deposits one of the two pots onto the tabletop in front of Dumbledore. “From my Mother!”

“Ah, bless Molly!” He unseals the lid with a tap of his wand, and lifts the lid. Steam ushers forth, releasing the wonderful smells and memories of the breakfast they had just left. “She even included a fork!” Dumbledore smiles, as he reseals the pot.

Bill then hands over an antique box, made of some exotic, foreign wood. “And here is the item you requested, Professor.” Bill winks at Charlie, a wide smile upon his face.

“Indeed!” He accepts the box, and places it down on the table. Reaching inside his heavy cloak, he withdraws one of the parcels he had withdrawn from his vault, placing it upon the table next to the other. Strangely, the two boxes were very similar.

“Your brothers have surprised me, William! Never did I expect to see this particular box!” With wand in hand, Dumbledore checks for any hidden surprises on the box that Bill has brought. The box itself does not react, though something inside does.

“Fred and George opened the box, but did not touch what was in there,” adds Bill, himself fascinated with what was going on.

“I'm very glad to hear that, though nothing malign would have befallen them. Still, minimal contact with strange items is always recommended.”

Sitting down, Albus says, “Please, take your coats off and sit. I think you'll find this very interesting, William. Charlie, you should pay attention, too.”

“What are they, Professor? I mean, what's inside them?” asks Charlie, as he removes his heavy coat and sits. Bill follows suit, sitting on the other side of the table.

Albus sets aside the box procured by the twins, in favor of the box he has brought. Slowly, he opens the lid, and turns the box to face Charlie.

Inside, made from highly polished and crafted Lapis Lazuli, inlaid with gold filigree, is a Scarab pendant, approximately three inches tall, by two inches wide.

Charlie whistles in appreciation of the piece of fine jewelry. “That's beautiful!”

Albus picks it up and hands it to Charlie. “Go ahead, hold it, Charlie.”

Charlie does so, feeling the heft of the pendant. It feels cool to his touch and very smooth. Up close, he discerns tiny lines etched into the rock, delineating various representational features of the Scarab.

“How old is this, Professor?”

“Ancient Egypt, I should think.” Albus reaches for, and reclaims the pendant. Placing it back in it's box, he turns his attention back to the first box.

“If I am right, these two pieces were actually made for each other, and have been separated for a very long time.”

Carefully he opens the first box.
The first thing Charlie sees is a coiled mass of a jewelry rope chain. Looking just as old, and as finely crafted, as the pendant, the rope chain appears to be made from Gold. There are a lot of tiny symbols inscribed into the segmented metal. Small beads of black Onyx appear along the length. Then, as the three of them watch closely, the two ends of the chain, each tipped in a minute metal snake's head, rise up from the coiled mass. As if they were actual snakes, they sinuously twist and turn, their tiny little forked tongues slipping out to sense the surroundings. Then, 'tasting' the scent of the pendant in the air, they both lower themselves to the surface of the tabletop, and begin to slither over to the Scarab.

“Professor...” Charlie begins, “is this Dark Magic?”

“No, not at all. This is an Ancient Egyptian magic, Charlie. These two pieces were originally a set, thousands of years ago. The Scarab is a symbol of protection, and of renewal. The pendant is a protective one,” answers Albus.

“Sir, where did you come across it?” Bill asks. Then, “That is, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Let's just say I was visiting a friend, and I had a chance to peruse his 'collection'. When I expressed an interest in it, he graciously gifted it to me.”

On the tabletop, the two snake headed ends of the rope chain finally come into contact with the Scarab. The heads disappear under the pendant, becoming inanimate. Albus reaches in and removes the pendant from the box. Turning it over, all three can now see that the chain itself appears to be a permanent part of the pendant. There is no seam or weld where the two merge. The chain is now a large loop.

“That's extraordinary,” says Bill, in admiration.

Albus places the pendant and chain back into one of the boxes, then, handing the box to Charlie, says, “Now, I am gifting it you, for your lady friend!”

Charlie is completely flabbergasted. Albus has to resort to inserting the box into his hand, then closing the hand around it.

“Your brothers bought the chain for you as a gift, Charlie. The fates saw fit for these two pieces to be reunited at this time. Who am I to question the fates?”

“But Professor, this is... this must be... priceless!?”

“What is priceless, Charlie, is the life of the ones we love. Surely you'll agree with me on this point?”

“Why, yes, of course I will, err, I mean, I do.”

“Well, then, this is but a mere trinket, compared to the value of your lady. After all, there are not many Dragonriders left in the world.”

Bill, caught off guard, perks up and says, “Who's a Dragonrider?”

Charlie begins to mumble an excuse, then stops, as Dumbledore covers for his faux pas. “Ah, I see that I have let slip something I ought not have. William, whatever the reason Charlie has for not revealing certain details about his girl friend, I'm certain you can be trusted to not reveal them to others, especially, if I am guessing right, your mother?”

Bill watches as Charlie nods. He puts his arm on his brother's shoulders, and says, “He knows I will keep his secret, Professor. I do know how he feels.”

“Yes, I am certain that you do!”

“Charlie, if you have any questions about that pendant, ask Lord Aramys. He has extensive knowledge of it.”

“Understood, sir.”

“By the way, Fawkes will be returning with you. He has a special parcel for Lord Aramys, who will then send a return parcel back.”

All three of them look at Fawkes. The two Weasleys now notice a small parcel attached to its leg. Also, in its beak is a large piece of old rawhide.

“Is that the Portkey in his mouth, sir?”

“Yes it is.” He stops and looks over at the item, which appears to have been some dog's chew toy, previously.

Looking over to the mantle clock, he says, “Now, I see that we have ten minutes until the Portkey will activate. Why don't you tell me all about that little event you had yesterday?”


Romania, The Dragon Preserve, Wednesday afternoon, December 11th. Outside of the Warden Headquarters.


As the Portation Vortex dissipates, Fawkes gently lowers Charlie to the ground, releasing him at the very last minute. Making a slow circle around Charlie to get a feel for his surroundings, Fawkes then lands once more upon Charlie's shoulder.

Charlie walks over to the heavy front door, giving it a good yank. He steps up and into the outer coat room. Setting his Duffel down in the corner, along with the final hot pot from this morning's breakfast, a gift for May from his Mother, Charlie opens the door into the main office.

“Well, look who the cat dr-agg-ed in....?” Marie's quip is cut off by the sight of Fawkes in his full glory, wings spread wide, neck and head extended.

Charlie laughs, as it is a rare occasion when Marie is put into her place.

“Hi Marie! Is Lord Aramys in?”

“Y-yes he is, Charlie, he's been expecting you... I think?” she answers, still overcome with awe in the presence of a genuine mythical creature. “Is that a Phoenix, Charlie?”

“He most certainly is, Marie. This is Fawkes.”

Fawkes settles his plumage once again, and emits a soft warble.

Charlie walks over to the door leading to the small office, and knocks sharply. He hears the command to enter, and turns the knob, opening the door.

As he enters, a shriek of happiness is heard, as he is almost bowled over by a very happy Mayumi, who has been waiting patiently for his arrival, by spending more time with Lord Aramys. Her beaming smile and the glorious look in her eyes warms Charlie to his very core.

Fawkes quickly gets out of the way, and flies over to land on Lord Aramys' desk.

Charlie wraps his arms around May, lifting her off of her feet. Then setting her back down, he pulls her close and kisses her hard.

From across the room, the deep voice of Lord Aramys says, “Welcome back, Squire Weasley!”

From over May's shoulder, Charlie replies with a warm smile, “It's good to be back, M'Lord.”