𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘆 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 | 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿

Time to Surrender & Gone Forever

The sunset on the horizon peered in from the windows, illuminating the room in its entirety. Charlie wanted to scream out the frustration of his life, floating in a pool of complacency, with no way to solve it because the other people involved would not budge.

He reached for the back of his shirt, drawing it up over his head. Throwing the fabric across the room, he exposed his back and shoulders, and the nasty wound, still red and raw, just above his left wrist, as he slammed his fists down on a nearby desk out of frustration. The Dark Mark engraved in his skin was taunting him, reminding him of all that he had lost, and laughing mercilessly in his head.

Charlie found himself shaking again. Every fibre of his being wanted to throw something, causing mayhem and harm in retaliation. He wanted to punch the nearby wall and relish in a feeling other than betrayal. He wanted to know that he wasn't alone, and that he'd someday stop feeling like he was. But Charlie knew, no matter what he did, it wouldn't take back what had been done. It wouldn't solve his life-changing problem.

And as though the entire world had been conspiring against him, there was a timid knock on the door. Without a response, it opened and Charlie was greeted with a familiar waft of sweet perfume mixed with the remnants of an old leather-bound book; Hermione Granger. He could feel her eyes on him as she entered, burning holes deep into his back, just as a his husky voice sounded from the other side of the room.

"Don't you know it's impolite to enter someone's room without their permission?"

"Don't get me started on impolite, Charlie," scolded Hermione at once, closing the door behind her. "I am not happy with how you're acting all of a sudden."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Sorry."

"You seem to be doing an awful lot of apologizing lately, and yet you haven't offered a single shred of explanation."

Charlie shrugged, impassive, "I don't want to talk about it."

Not taking no for an answer, Hermione moved closer towards him. Charlie had only just registered the proximity of her footsteps when she grabbed at his wrist and turned him around to face her. His dark hair stood at odd angles, even more so than usual, and he looked evidently more distressed than ever before. His eyes were dark and emotionless, giving Hermione the illusion of him just returning from some nasty battle.

Charlie wiggled his hand from her grasp, trying to send an obvious message that he'd rather endure his troubles alone, but she wouldn't budge.

"Let it go, will you?" he snapped, harsher than intended. "I'm fine."

"You're fine, are you?" The witch gave a chastising laugh. "You know I'm not buying that for a second, right?"

It was obvious from the crease between Charlie's brows that her instincts were correct. He'd never been a particularly good liar, especially when it came to lying to her. Hermione probed harder.

"What happened when you went to speak with your grandfather?"

Stubborn as all hell, Charlie said nothing.

The silence between them stretched on for up to a minute, as Charlie replayed her words over and over in his head. There were so many things he wanted to say, but nothing seemed to come out. Hermione waited, watching his face with immense curiosity. He bit his lip and did his utmost not to reply to her insinuation while his eyes shot cold fire.