𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘆 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 | 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿

Lashing Out & Reasonable Doubt

CHAPTER FIVE:

Third Person Narrative:

Charlie opened his eyes and was dazzled by gold and green; he had no idea what had happened, he only knew that he was lying on what seemed to be leaves and twigs. Struggling to draw breath into lungs that felt flattened, he blinked and realized that the gaudy glare was sunlight streaming through a canopy of leaves far above him.

Then, an object twitched close to his face. Charlie pushed himself onto his hands and knees, ready to face some small, fierce creature, but saw that the object was Harry's foot. Looking around, Charlie saw that they were lying on a forest floor, alone.

Charlie's first thought was of the Forbidden Forest, and for a moment, even though he knew how foolish and dangerous it would be for them to appear in the grounds of Hogwarts, his heart leapt at the thought of sneaking through the trees to Hagrid's hut. However, in the few moments it took for Harry to give a low groan and Charlie to start crawling toward him, he realized that this was not the Forbidden Forest. The trees looked younger, they were more widely spaced, the ground clearer.

He looked around frantically, yelling, "Hermione?"

"H-Here," came her shaky reply, but Charlie knew from the inflection of her voice that something was wrong... something was terribly wrong.

He quickly scrambled to his feet, shaking the fallen leaves from his hair. Five yards away, Hermione was bowed over Ron, who had fully transformed back into himself and was whimpering and writhing in pain. After ensuring Hermione was relatively unscathed, Charlie's eyes fell upon Ron, and all other concerns fled his mind, for blood drenched the whole of Ron's left side and his face stood out, grayish-white, against the leaf-strewn earth.

"What's happened to him?"

"S-Splinched," stuttered Hermione, her fingers already busy at Ron's sleeve, where the blood was wettest and darkest.

Charlie watched, horrified, as she tore open Ron's shirt. He had always thought of Splinching as something comical, but this was something far unworthy of a laugh. Charlie's insides crawled unpleasantly as Hermione laid bare Ron's upper arm, where a great chunk of flesh was missing, scooped cleanly away as though by a knife.

"Charlie, quickly, in my bag, there's a small bottle labeled 'Essence of Dittany' —"

Charlie was vaguely aware of how easy it was for he and Hermione to work in sync during situations like these, including the one they had just narrowly escaped. He sped to the place where she had landed, seized the tiny beaded bag, and thrust his hand inside it. At once, object after object began presenting itself to his touch; he felt the leather spines of books, woolly sleeves of jumpers, glass bottles, heels of shoes —

"Quickly!"

"Accio Dittany!"

A small brown bottle zoomed out of the bag; he caught it and hastened back to Hermione and Ron, whose eyes were now half-closed, strips of white eyeball all that were visible between his lids.

"He's fading in and out," breathed Hermione, who was also rather pale; she no longer looked anything like Mafalda Hopkirk, though her hair was still grey in some places. "Unstopper it for me, Charlie, my hands are shaking."

Charlie wrenched the stopper off of the little bottle, and his steady fingers grazed her trembling ones as Hermione took it and poured three drops of the potion onto the bleeding wound. Greenish smoke billowed upward and when it had cleared, Charlie saw that the bleeding had substantially stopped. The wound was now binding; new skin was stretching over what had just been open flesh.

"It's all I feel safe doing," said Hermione shakily, shuddering as Ron writhed in pain. "There are spells that would put him completely right, but I daren't try in case I do them wrong and cause more damage... he's lost so much blood already..."

"W-What's going on?" came the startled voice of Harry, who had just risen to his feet a few paces behind them. He shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to make sense of whatever had just taken place. "How did Ron get hurt? Where are we? I thought we were going back to Grimmauld Place!"

"We were, we were!" Hermione blurted out, hardly holding herself together. She poured more of the dittany onto Ron, whose writhing worsened. "S'alright, Ron, one more, one more."

Harry came bustling over, "Then why —"

"We were there, we were there — but Yaxley had grabbed hold of me, and I knew once he'd seen where we were we couldn't stay, so I brought us here, and then — well, Ron got Splinched!"

As she finished, Hermione dropped the final bit of dittany onto Ron's bleeding wound. Filling the air with a sizzling sound, the would improved significantly, and as his writhing from the pain subsided, Ron passed out, motionless. Harry knelt down beside him, his breath rattling.

Charlie looked up, his hands now stained with Ron's blood, and stared into Hermione's eyes, "But then, where's Yaxley? Hang on... you don't mean he's at Grimmauld Place? He can't get in there?"

Hermione's eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she nodded, "Charlie, I think he can. I-I forced him to let go with a Revulsion Jinx, but I'd already taken him inside the Fidelius Charm's protection. Since Dumbledore died, we're Secret-Keepers, so I've given him the secret, haven't I?"

There was no pretending; Charlie was sure she was right. It was a serious blow. If Yaxley could now get inside the house, there was no way that they could return. Even now, he could be storming in with other Death Eaters. Gloomy and oppressive though the house was, it had been their one safe refuge, and even, now that Kreacher was so much happier and friendlier, a kind of home. With a twinge of regret that had nothing to do with food, Charlie imagined the house-elf busying himself over the steak-and-kidney pie that Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione would never get the chance to eat.

Hermione seemed to sense his feelings, for she pulled him from his thoughts, pleading, "Charlie, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be stupid, it wasn't your fault," he told her immediately, his eyes seeping with honesty. "All you did was save us. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine..."

With a slight sniffle, Charlie stuck his hand in his pocket and drew out Mad-Eye's mechanical eye. Hermione recoiled, looking horrified.

"Umbridge had stuck it to her office door to spy on people. I couldn't leave it there... but that's how they knew there were intruders," he muttered, watching the eyeball whizz around in his palm. "Not to mention, I attacked Umbridge in the middle of the hearing —"

"It's no one's fault," Harry cut him off, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "We're all together, alive or recovering, and that's all that matters... where are we anyway?"

"In the woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup," replied Hermione, looking around. "I wanted somewhere enclosed, undercover, and this was —"

"— the first place you thought of," Charlie finished for her, glancing around at the apparently deserted glade. He could not help remembering what had happened the last time they had Apparated to the first place Hermione had thought of — how Death Eaters had found them within minutes. Had it been Legilimency? Did Voldemort or his henchmen know, even now, where Hermione had taken them?

But his thoughts were broken by Ron stirring beneath them. He groaned and opened his eyes. He was still grey and his face glistened with sweat.

Hermione looked down at him, her eyes wide with panic as she whispered, "How do you feel?"

"Lousy," croaked Ron, wincing as he felt his injured arm.

"Do you reckon we should try and move?" asked Harry, his eyes shamelessly transfixed on Ron's now healed wound.

"I'm not sure," said Charlie uneasily, glancing downwards. Ron still looked pale and clammy. He had made no attempt to sit up and it looked as though he was too weak to do so. The prospect of moving him was daunting. "I think we'd better stay here for now."

Looking relieved, Hermione sprang to her feet.

"Where are you going?" murmured Ron, who appeared to be losing consciousness again.

"If we're staying, we should put some protective enchantments around the place," she replied, and raising her wand, she began to walk in a wide circle around Charlie, Harry and Ron, murmuring incantations as she went. Looking up, Charlie saw little disturbances in the surrounding air. It was as if Hermione had cast a heat haze upon their clearing.

"Salvio Hexia... Protego Totalum... Repello Muggletum... Muffliato... take out the tent, will you, Charlie?"

"Tent?"

"In the bag."

"In the... right, of course," said Charlie, nodding. He did not bother to grope inside it this time, but used another summoning charm. The tent emerged in a lumpy mass of canvas, rope, and poles. Charlie recognized it, partly because of the smell of cats, as the same tent in which they had slept on the night of the Quidditch World Cup.

"I thought this belonged to that bloke Perkins at the Ministry?" he asked, starting to disentangle the tent pegs.

"Apparently he didn't want it back, his lumbago's so bad," said Hermione, now performing complicated figure-of-eight movements with her wand, "so Ron's dad said I could borrow it. Erecto!" she added, pointing her wand at the misshapen canvas, which in one fluid motion rose into the air and settled, fully constructed, onto the ground before Charlie, out of whose startled hands a tent peg soared, to land with a final thud at the end of a guy rope.

"Cave Inimicum," Hermione finished with a skyward flourish. "That's as much as I can do. At the very least, we should know they're coming, but I still can't guarantee it will keep out Vol—"

"Don't say that name!" Ron cut across her, his voice harsh; Charlie, Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. "I'm sorry," he went on, moaning a little as he raised himself to look at them, "but it feels like a jinx or something. Can't we just call him You-Know-Who... please?"

"Dumbledore said fear of a name —" began Harry.

"In case you hadn't noticed, mate, calling You-Know-Who by his name didn't do Dumbledore much good in the end," Ron snapped back, and Charlie suddenly felt the insistent need to punch the ginger in the nose. "Just show You-Know-Who some respect, will you?"

"Respect?" Charlie repeated, outraged, but Hermione shot him a warning look; apparently he was not to argue with Ron while the latter was in such a weakened condition.

Shaking his head distastefully, Charlie helped Harry drag Ron through the entrance of the tent. The interior was exactly as Charlie remembered it; a small flat, complete with bathroom and tiny kitchen. He shoved aside an old armchair and lowered Ron onto the bottom berth of a bunk bed. Even this very short journey had turned Ron whiter still, and once they had settled him on the mattress, he closed his eyes again and did not speak for a while.

"I'll make some tea," said Hermione breathlessly, pulling kettle and mugs from the depths of her bag and heading toward the kitchen. Charlie found the hot drink as welcome as the firewhiskey had been on the night that Mad-Eye had died; it seemed to burn away a little of the fear fluttering in his chest. He gave a smile of thanks in Hermione's direction. After a minute or two, Ron broke the silence.

"What d'you reckon happened to the Cattermoles?"

"With any luck, they'll have gotten away," muttered Hermione, who was now perched on the bed next to Charlie, facing Harry and Ron, clutching her hot mug for comfort. "As long as Mr. Cattermole had his wits about him, they'll be fleeing the country right now with their children, just like you said."

"Blimey, I hope they escaped," said Ron, leaning back on his pillows. The tea seemed to be doing him good; a little of his color had returned. "I didn't get the feeling Reg Cattermole was all that quick-witted, though, the way everyone was talking to me when I was him."

"Let's just hope that they've made it," whispered Charlie, thinking optimistically. "After all the commotion we caused, they had plenty of time to Apparate away to safety... I'll be damned if they end up in Azkaban because of us..."

Charlie turned his head to Hermione and the question he had been about to ask — about whether Mrs. Cattermole's lack of a wand would prevent her Apparating alongside her husband — died in his throat. Hermione was silently watching him fret over the Cattermoles, and there was such a tenderness in her expression that Charlie felt as if her adrenaline had died away, replaced by a sudden desire to kiss him. If it wasn't for the fact that both of them were holding searing hot mugs of tea, he thought she'd have dived at him. She might've done anyway, if Harry and Ron weren't there.

"So, have you got it?" Charlie asked her, partly to remind himself that it wasn't the time nor place to act upon the sexual tension stirring between them.

"S-Sorry? Got what?" Hermione said with a little start, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"What did we just go through all that for? The locket!" exclaimed Harry, rising to his feet in a panic, suddenly nervous. "Where's the locket?"

"You got it?" shouted Ron, raising himself a little higher on his pillows. "No one tells me anything! Blimey, you could have mentioned it!"

"Well, we were running for our lives from the Death Eaters, weren't we?" retorted Hermione, shaking her head. "Here," and she pulled the locket out of her robes and handed it to Ron. It was roughly the size of a chicken's egg. An ornate letter 'S', inlaid with many small green stones, glinted dully in the diffused light shining through the tent's canvas roof.

"There isn't any chance someone's destroyed it since Kreacher had it?" asked Ron hopefully. "I mean, are we sure it's still a Horcrux?"

"I think so," muttered Hermione, taking it back from him and looking at it closely. "There'd be some sign of damage if it had been magically destroyed."

She passed it to Charlie, who turned it over in his fingers. The thing looked perfect, pristine. He remembered the mangled remains of the diary, and how the stone in the Horcrux ring had been cracked open when his grandfather destroyed it.

"I reckon Kreacher's right," said Charlie, shrugging. "We're going to have to work out how to open this thing before we can destroy it."

Sudden awareness of what he was holding, of what lived behind the little golden doors, hit Charlie as he spoke. Even after all their efforts to find it, he felt a violent urge to fling the locket from him. Mastering himself again, he tried to prise the locket apart with his fingers, then attempted the charm Hermione had used to open Regulus's bedroom door. Neither worked. He handed the locket back to Harry, Ron and Hermione, each of whom did their best, but were no more successful at opening it than he had been.

"Can you feel it, though?" Ron asked Harry in a hushed voice, as he held it tight in his clenched fist.

"What d'you mean?"

Ron passed the Horcrux to Harry. After a moment or two, Harry thought he knew what Ron meant. Was it his own blood pulsing through his veins that he could feel, or was it something beating inside the locket, like a tiny metal heart?

When silence overcame them, Hermione was the first to ask, "What are we going to do with it?"

"Keep it safe till we work out how to destroy it," Harry replied, and, little though he wanted to, he hung the chain around his own neck, dropping the locket out of sight beneath his jacket, where it rested against his chest beside the pouch Hagrid had given him.

"I think we should take it in turns to keep watch outside the tent," said Charlie, glancing between Harry and Hermione, as he stood up and stretched. "And we'll need to think about some food as well. No, not you, you'll stay there," he added sharply, as Ron attempted to sit up and turned a nasty shade of green.

With the Sneakoscope Elaina had given Charlie for his birthday set carefully upon the table in the tent, Charlie, Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the day sharing the role of lookout. However, the Sneakoscope remained silent and still upon its point all day, and whether because of the protective enchantments and Muggle-repelling charms Hermione had spread around them, or because people rarely ventured this way, their patch of wood remained deserted, apart from occasional birds and squirrels.

Evening brought no change; Charlie clambered back into the tent as he swapped places with Harry at ten o'clock, taking one last look out upon the deserted scene, noting the bats fluttering high above them across the single patch of starry sky visible from their protected clearing.

Charlie felt hungry now as he made his way back inside, and even a little light-headed. Hermione had not packed any food in her magical bag, as she had assumed that they would be returning to Grimmauld Place, so they had had nothing to eat except some wild mushrooms that Hermione had collected from amongst the nearest trees. After a couple of mouthfuls, Ron had pushed his portion away, looking queasy; Harry and Charlie had forced themselves to persevere, though mainly so as not to hurt Hermione's feelings.

"Are you all right?" Charlie asked Hermione, reuniting with her in the kitchen. His insides, already uncomfortable due to their inadequate helping of rubbery mushrooms, tingled with unease at the saddened expression on her face.

"No," she told him honestly, as she sat down at the table and buried her face into her hands, "because this is just the beginning, isn't it? I mean, everything's been so difficult already, it's terrifying to imagine what might come next."

Sitting down in a chair across from her, Charlie could do nothing but nod in agreement. He had thought that he would feel elated if they managed to steal back the Horcrux, but somehow he did not; all he felt was worry about what would happen to them on the rest of their journey. It was as though they had been hurtling toward this point for weeks, months, maybe even years, but now they had come to an abrupt halt.

There were other Horcruxes out there somewhere, but Charlie did not have the faintest idea where they could be. He did not even know what all of them were. Not to mention, he was at a loss to know how to destroy the only one that they had found, the Horcrux that currently lay against the bare flesh of Harry's chest. There was so much more to know, magic they had never even encountered.

Why hadn't Dumbledore explained more? Had he thought that there would be time; that he would live for years, for centuries perhaps, like his friend Nicolas Flamel? If so, he had been wrong... Snape had seen to that... Snape, the sleeping snake, who had struck at the top of the tower... and Dumbledore had fallen... fallen...

"Charlie?"

He looked up instantly at the sound of Hermione's voice, tearing himself away from any thoughts that were rattling around inside his head. Hermione stared at him, her face white with panic.

"Sorry," he muttered, attempting to meet Hermione's glower with a look of innocence. "You know, maybe it'd be in our best interest to focus on the positives for once. Yes, today's been quite chaotic, but we're alive... surely that means we've done something right in all of this."

"H-How can you say that?" Hermione whispered, doubt sparkling in her eyes, "You don't know anymore than I do what's going to happen — what if... what if I can't save yo—"

She cut herself off, silently whimpering into her sleeve. Charlie was stunned into silence, but found slight relief in the deep-rooted reason as to why Hermione was so upset. As he met her gaze, he wished he could reassure her, tell her nothing bad was going to happen, but he knew it'd be a lie. He couldn't promise her that he wasn't going to die, the same way he couldn't promise her that all of them were going to make it out of this war alive.

And still, with one hand, Charlie managed to reach for the underside of Hermione's chair, dragging her closer to him. Hermione's breath hitched slightly at the their newfound proximity, but she soon melted into his touch once Charlie rested his forehead against hers. Her saddened expression had died away, replaced by a mixture of fear, relief... love.

"You once told me," Charlie began softly, ghosting her lips, "that what consumes your mind, controls your life. It's about time, I think, that you've started listening to your own advice. Or, at the very least, stopped worrying about things you can't control. One way or another, this war is going to end, and while I don't know what's going to come next, I have faith that we'll be the ones left standing."

They remained in silence for several long moments, breathing slowly. Charlie felt like they were one person in times like this, each of them thinking thoughts that didn't have to be spoken. Hermione stared at him for a long moment, her mouth slightly open. Then, to Charlie's surprise, she started to laugh. It wasn't the full, innocent laugh of their departed childhoods, but it was definitely a laugh.

"I reckon the beard has made you wiser, you know," she said jokingly, unable to suppress her grin. "You just know all the answers now, do you?"

"More or less," laughed Charlie, brushing the side of his face self-consciously. "What, do you not like it? I'm channeling my inner Dumbledore, you see, beard and all."

"I think it makes you look incredibly handsome," hummed Hermione contently, and she tilted her head to place a cheeky little kiss on the underside of his jaw. Charlie's eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of her lips against his skin.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he told her in a low, raspy voice; Hermione shuddered. He raised a hand to her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb. There was a insatiable desire — as there always was — to capture her lips, to hold her, and to take her right then in that moment.

And by the look on Hermione's face, the same urge was making the butterflies in her stomach flutter around, enticing her to close the distance between them. She felt capable of anything in that moment so, rejecting any cautious thought, she just followed her heart and the blissful boldness that it carried. Together, with some unspoken agreement, both Charlie and Hermione leaned in, their lips mere centimetres away from making contact —

"After the day I've just had," came Ron's angry voice from the depths of the living area, "the last thing I want to see is you two snogging."

"Well, you're in luck," snapped Charlie, annoyed by the interruption, "because no one's asking you to watch."

He heard Ron mutter incoherent retaliations from his bunk bed, while also angrily punching his pillows back into shape. Inwardly groaning in exasperation, Charlie was left disappointed when Ron's comment had forced Hermione to stand. She pushed herself away from Charlie's embrace, clearing her throat as she did so.

"I-I should probably go check on H-Harry anyways," she stuttered, caught and flustered, her cheeks ablaze with a reddish tint. "We'll talk later, yeah?"

"Right," said Charlie disappointedly, and he watched Hermione as she made for the exit of the tent, disappearing behind the canvas before another word of rebuttal could fill the air.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Charlie got up from his seat in the kitchen and staggered his way over to his bed, before throwing himself down against the firm mattress, his gaze settling on the tent's canvas roof. The surrounding silence was broken by odd rustlings and what sounded like the cracking of twigs outside; Charlie thought that they were caused by animals rather than people, yet he kept his wand held tight at the ready.

"You're a right foul git, you know that?" he said abruptly, directing his frustrations towards Ron, who was feigning sleep a few meters to his left.

"You think so?" came Ron's grumbling voice.

"I know so."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, don't get your wand in knot because you didn't get a bloody —"

"I didn't mean for it to happen!" Harry's loud voice cut across Ron before he could finish, silencing the two inside the tent at once. "It was a dream! Can you control what you dream about, Hermione?"

Charlie listened carefully; Hermione didn't let the comment derail her, "If you just learned to apply Occlumency —"

"He's found Gregorovitch, Hermione, and I think he's killed him, but before he killed him he read Gregorovitch's mind and I saw —"

"I think I'd better take over the watch if you're so tired you're falling sleep," came Hermione's cold voice.

"I can finish the watch!"

"No, you're obviously exhausted, Harry. Go and get some rest."

And within seconds, the entrance of the tent was pushed open, and Harry ducked angrily back inside. Charlie was sitting up, his eyebrows furrowed; Harry climbed into the bunk bed above Ron, laid down, and looked up at the dark canvas ceiling. After several moments, Ron, who had poked his head out from the lower bunk, spoke in a voice so low that it would not carry to Hermione, who was now huddled in the entrance.

"What's You-Know-Who doing?"

Harry screwed up his eyes in the effort to remember every detail, then whispered into the darkness.

"He found Gregorovitch. He had him tied up, he was torturing him."

Charlie pondered for a moment, then said, "How's Gregorovitch supposed to make him a new wand if he's tied up?"

"I dunno... it's weird, isn't it?"

Harry closed his eyes, thinking of all that he had seen and heard. The more he recalled, the less sense it made... Voldemort had said nothing about his wand, nothing about the twin cores, nothing about Gregorovitch making a new and more powerful wand to beat Harry's...

"He wanted something from Gregorovitch," he added at last, eyes still closed tight. "He asked him to hand it over, but Gregorovitch said it had been stolen from him... and then... he read Gregorovitch's mind, and I saw this young bloke perched on a windowsill, and he fired a curse at Gregorovitch and jumped out of sight. He stole it, he stole whatever You-Know-Who's after... and I think I've seen him somewhere."

The noises of the surrounding woods were muffled inside the tent; all Charlie could hear was Harry's heavy breathing, his mind rattling with thoughts.

After a while, Ron whispered, "Couldn't you see what the thief was holding?"

"No... it must've been something small."

"Harry?"

The wooden slats of Ron's bunk creaked as he repositioned himself in bed.

"Harry, you don't reckon You-Know-Who's after something else to turn into a Horcrux?"

"But wouldn't it be dangerous for him to make another one?" questioned Charlie, raking his brain for answers. "Didn't Hermione say he had pushed his soul to the limit already?"

Ron shrugged, his pale face hauntingly visible through the darkness, "Yeah, but maybe he doesn't know that."

"Yeah... maybe," mumbled Harry, and without warning, he turned on his side, evidently worn out from the conversation.

With that, silence overcame them again. Charlie, staring at the canvas ceiling above, went back to thinking about the journey ahead of them.

Would their luck eventually run out?

And it was on this question that Charlie's thoughts dwelled, as Ron's snores began to rumble and as he himself drifted slowly into sleep.

————————————————————

Hermione's face could have been no more than a few inches from Charlie's when he awoke the next morning. So close that, even with slightly blurred vision, he could make out the details he knew so well. She was sleeping, her face slightly screwed up like it would be whenever she was concentrating while awake.

The gleams of morning light cast dancing shadows across the features Charlie loved so much. She must've crept into his bed in the night because he'd definitely fallen asleep alone; it was a tight fit, but she was squeezed up so close to him that it didn't matter. It was hard to know exactly where her body ended and his began, their legs intertwined under the quilt; it wasn't something he minded.

He risked running a finger up her neck, her soft skin luxurious under his touch. He cupped her face, rolling the pad of his thumb gently across her cheek in small circles, and closed the tiny gap between them to feather a kiss on her forehead.

"Mmm..." came her incoherent mumbles as he moved back. Her eyes were still closed, but there was a smile curling on her lips. "Good morning."

"Morning," Charlie whispered back with a grin, trailing his hands along her sides. "Comfortable?" he teased, a mischievous smirk forming on his lips.

"Yes, very much so," Hermione muttered, still with her eyes closed. To Charlie's surprise, she moved an arm around his waist and buried her face into his chest. "And while I know this might confuse things a bit," she added, her chocolate brown eyes open, looking at him hazily, "I just couldn't resist."

"It's alright," mumbled Charlie, stifling a yawn as he pulled her closer, "I'm not complaining."

"I figured you wouldn't," Hermione laughed, then she stretched and flung her legs out of the bed, leaving Charlie immediately feeling rather less cozy than he had done.

And then the reality of their situation came crashing down around him. They were on the run, with a Horcrux, with no idea how to destroy it, and not a clue where to go next. Heaving himself up, he clambered up and moved over to Harry and Ron's bunk bed.

"Oi, wake up," Charlie said, nudging Ron gently on the arm that wasn't injured; Harry simply began to stir at the sound of voices.

"W-Whazzup," said Ron, shooting awake rather violently, before wincing in pain.

"You're going to need new bandages, Ron," said Hermione, striding back over from the kitchen with her beaded bag in hand.

"Is there anything you haven't got in that bag?" Charlie asked in admiration, earning him a smile.

"Apart from food..." said Ron grumpily. Charlie would have told him to knock it off, but his empty stomach roared its approval.

Hermione shot Ron a look, but perched on his bed nonetheless, carefully removing the bandages stained with dried blood and dead skin, before applying a cream which seemed to take the redness down somewhat, and finally wrapping the wound in fresh bandages. She stood back up when she was done, placing her beaded bad back on the table.

"I think Charlie and I should go and look for some food," she suggested, casting a brief look between the three boys. "Harry, would you mind staying here with Ron?"

"Yeah, no problem," mumbled Harry, sitting up and flinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

Ron didn't protest, but mumbled something about the bathroom and, with Harry's help, struggled out of bed and moved across the tent to the annexe which held a cramped shower, toilet and washbasin.

After Charlie and Hermione had freshened up too, the two of them headed out from the tent, venturing into the woods just beyond their protective enchantments. It was only just past nine o'clock on a rather crisp early autumn morning, but the clear skies above suggested it would be a relatively pleasant day.

Soon, they stumbled on a small clearing surrounded by blackberry bushes. After Hermione double-checked that they were safe to eat, she set about collecting as many as possible. It wouldn't appease their hunger much, but would at least give them some much-needed sugar.

On the way back to the tent, Charlie spotted one of the oldest, most gnarled and resilient-looking trees he'd ever seen and, knowing it was something he needed to do, he buried Mad-Eye Moody's eye and marked the spot by gouging a small cross in the bark with his wand. It was not much, but Charlie felt that Mad-Eye would have much preferred this to being stuck on Dolores Umbridge's door.

Hermione came up behind him, taking his hand in hers and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I —" Charlie started, but trailed off when he didn't know what else to say.

Hermione leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

"It's enough, Charlie," she whispered.

He knew she didn't mean it to belittle Mad-Eye in any way, but ultimately it was the truth. The grizzly Auror would probably have scolded him for even considering such a useless, sentimental thing as a proper burial.

Over a meagre breakfast of more rubbery mushrooms with some blackberries for seconds, they discussed their next move. Charlie, Harry and Hermione felt that it was best not to stay anywhere too long, and Ron agreed, with the sole proviso that their next move took them within reach of a bacon sandwich. Hermione therefore removed the enchantments she had placed around the clearing, while Charlie, Harry and Ron obliterated all the marks and impressions on the ground that might show they had camped there. Then they Disapparated to the outskirts of a small market town.

Once they had pitched the tent in the shelter of a small copse of trees and surrounded it with freshly cast defensive enchantments. Charlie ventured out, again under the Invisibility Cloak, to find sustenance. This, however, did not go as planned. He had barely entered the town when an unnatural chill, a descending mist, and a sudden darkening of the skies made him freeze where he stood.

"But you can make a brilliant Patronus!" protested Ron, when Charlie arrived back at the tent empty handed, out of breath, and mouthing the single word, Dementors.

"I couldn't... make one," he panted, clutching the stitch in his side. "Wouldn't... come."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron's expressions of fear and disappointment made Charlie feel ashamed. It had been a nightmarish experience, seeing the Dementors gliding out of the mist in the distance and realizing, as the paralysing cold choked his lungs and a distant screaming filled his ears, that he was not going to be able to protect himself.

It had taken all Charlie's willpower to uproot himself from the spot and run, leaving the eyeless Dementors to glide amongst the Muggles who might not be able to see them, but would assuredly feel the despair they cast wherever they went.

"So," began Ron, groaning in discontent, "we still haven't got any food."

"Shut up, Ron," snapped Harry, smacking him on his injured arm.

Ignoring this, Hermione set her worried gaze upon Charlie, "But what happened? Why do you think you couldn't make your Patronus? You managed perfectly yesterday!"

"I don't know."

He sat low in one of Perkins's old armchairs, feeling more humiliated by the moment. He was afraid that something had gone wrong inside him. Yesterday seemed a long time ago; today he might have been thirteen years old again, fearfully encountering the Dementors on the Hogwarts Express for the first time.

Ron kicked a chair leg. Harry glared at him, although not altogether surprised at his behavior.

"What?" he snarled at Hermione, who'd cast him a look as she went to sit on the arm of Charlie's chair and felt his forehead as if checking for a fever. "I'm starving! All I've had since I bled half to death is a couple of those horrid toadstools and berries!"

"Quit your whining, Weasley," growled Charlie, coming to Hermione's immediate defence; they'd be dead already if not for her quick thinking. "We're doing all that we can."

"Well, you've not exactly —"

"You go and fight your way through a horde of Dementors, then," said Charlie, stung.

"I would, but my arm's in a sling, in case you hadn't noticed!"

"That's convenient."

"And what's that supposed to —"

"Of course!" cried Hermione, clapping a hand to her forehead and startling the other three into silence. "Charlie, give me the locket! Come on," she said impatiently, clicking her fingers at him when he did not react, "the Horcrux, Charlie, you've been wearing it all day!"

Charlie instinctually placed his hand on his chest, settling it directly over the locket. Earlier in the day, he and Harry had indeed switched. When they were setting up their new campsite, Charlie had suggested that he'd be the one to hold onto the locket, removing the added burden that was looming on top of Harry's visions of Voldemort.

Pulling him from his thoughts, Hermione had scooted closer to him and lifted the golden chain right over his head. The moment it parted contact with Charlie's skin, he felt oddly light. He had not even realized that he was clammy or that there was a heavy weight pressing on his stomach until both sensations had been lifted.

"Better?" asked Hermione, impulsively brushing the messy strands of hair from his face.

At this point, the gratitude Charlie felt for Hermione was boundless. He nodded slowly.

"Yeah, loads better."

"Charlie," she said, crouching down in front of him and using the kind of voice he associated with visiting the very sick, "you don't think you've been possessed, do you?"

"What? No!" he said defensively. "I remember everything we've done while I've been wearing it. I wouldn't know what I'd done if I'd been possessed, would I? Ginny told us there were times when she couldn't remember anything."

"Hmm," mumbled Hermione, looking down at the heavy gold locket. "Well, maybe we ought not to wear it. We can just keep it in the tent."

"We're not leaving it lying around," Harry stated firmly, coming up along her side. "If we lose it, if it gets stolen —"

"Oh, all right, all right," huffed Hermione, and she placed it around her own neck and tucked it out of sight down the front of her shirt. "But we'll take turns wearing it, so nobody keeps it on too long."

Somehow, the action, the sharing of a known burden, made Charlie feel as if the four of them were now bonded for life.

"Great," groaned Ron irritably, "and now we've sorted that out, can we please get some food?"

"Fine, but we'll go somewhere else to find it," said Hermione with half a glance at Charlie. "There's no point going where we know Dementors are swooping around."

After accessing a Muggle map that Hermione had stowed away in her beaded bad, they settled down for the night in a far-flung field belonging to a lonely farm, from which they had managed to obtain eggs and bread.

"It's not stealing, is it?" asked Hermione in a troubled voice, as the four of them devoured scrambled eggs on toast. "Not if I left some money under the chicken coop?"

Ron rolled his eyes and said, with his cheeks bulging, "Er-my-nee, 'oo worry 'oo much. 'Elax!"

And, indeed, it was much easier to relax when they were comfortably well fed. The argument about the Dementors was forgotten in laughter that night, and Charlie felt cheerful, even hopeful, as he took the first of the three night watches.

This was their first encounter with the fact that a full stomach meant good spirits; an empty one, bickering and gloom. Harry was least surprised by this, because be had suffered periods of near starvation at the Dursleys. Charlie and Hermione bore up reasonably well on those nights when they managed to scavenge nothing but berries or stale biscuits, their tempers perhaps a little shorter than usual and their silences dour.

Ron, however, had always been used to three delicious meals a day, courtesy of his mother or of the Hogwarts house-elves, and hunger made him both unreasonable and irascible. Whenever lack of food coincided with Ron's turn to wear the Horcrux, he became downright unpleasant. During these times, Charlie wasn't sure who was bothered by Ron's immaturity, his lack of perspective, more — Harry, Hermione or himself.

"So where next?" was Ron's constant refrain. He did not seem to have any ideas himself, but expected Charlie, Harry and Hermione to come up with plans while he sat and brooded over the low food supplies.

Accordingly, Charlie, Harry and Hermione spent fruitless hours trying to decide where they might find the other Horcruxes, and how to destroy the one they already got, their conversations becoming increasingly repetitive as they got no new information.

As Dumbledore had believed Voldemort had hidden the Horcruxes in places important to him, the Gryffindors kept reciting, in a sort of dreary litany, those locations they knew that Voldemort had lived or visited. The orphanage where he had been born and raised; Hogwarts, where he had been educated; Borgin and Burkes, where he had worked after completing school; then Albania, where he had spent his years of exile — these locations formed the basis of their speculations.

Ron rolled his eyes, grumbling sarcastically, "Yeah, let's go to Albania. Shouldn't take more than an afternoon to search an entire country,"

"There can't be anything there. He'd already made five of his Horcruxes before he went into exile, and Dumbledore was certain the snake is the sixth," said Hermione, ridiculing this notion. "We know the snake's not in Albania, it's usually with Vol—"

"Didn't I ask you to stop saying that?" Ron chided, despite his neck being free of the locket's weight.

"Fine! The snake is usually with You-Know-Who — happy?" Hermione seethed, shaking her head.

Ron scoffed, "Not particularly."

"I can't see him hiding anything at Borgin and Burkes," muttered Charlie, who had made this point many times before, but said it again simply to break the nasty silence. "Borgin and Burke were experts at Dark objects, they would've recognized a Horcrux straightaway."

Ron yawned pointedly. Repressing a strong urge to throw something at him, Charlie plowed on, "I still reckon he might have hidden something at Hogwarts."

Hermione sighed, "But surely Dumbledore would have found it, Charlie?"

Charlie repeated the argument he kept bringing out in favour of this theory: "My grandfather never once assumed that he knew all of Hogwarts's secrets. I'm telling you, if there was one place Vol—"

"Oi!"

"YOU-KNOW-WHO, then!" Charlie shouted, goaded past endurance. "If there was one place that was really important to him, it was Hogwarts!"

"Oh, come on," scoffed Ron. "His school?"

"Well, yeah," said Harry, coming to Charlie's defence, "it was his first real home, the place that meant he was special! It undoubtedly meant everything to him, and even after he left —"

"This is You-Know-Who we're talking about, right? Not you?" inquired Ron, narrowing his eyes at Harry; the latter visibly tensed, his cheeks flushed.

Overwhelmed, Hermione tugged at the chain of the Horcrux around her neck. Having seen this, Charlie was visited by a desire to seize it to throttle Ron.

"You told us that You-Know-Who asked Dumbledore to give him a job after he left," said Hermione quickly, trying to ease the growing tension between her friends.

Harry nodded, "That's right."

"And Dumbledore thought he only wanted to come back to try and find something, probably another founder's object, to make into another Horcrux?"

"Yeah."

"But he didn't get the job, did he?" asked Hermione rhetorically, her eyes pleading. "So he never got the chance to find a founder's object there and hide it in the school."

"Okay, then," said Charlie, defeated. "Forget Hogwarts."

Without any other leads, they traveled into London and, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, searched for the orphanage in which Voldemort had been raised. Hermione stole into a library and discovered from their records that the place had been demolished many years before. They visited its site and found a tower block of offices.

"We could try digging into the foundations?" Hermione suggested halfheartedly.

Ron merely scoffed; Charlie was struck with an urge to slap him on the back of the head.

"He wouldn't have hidden a Horcrux here," Harry had said in disagreement, but appreciated her zeal.

Their trip to the city did, at least, afford them the chance to stock up on food and some supplies. Hermione brought along her beaded bag and they took as much as they dared from a supermarket; bandages and painkillers — though Muggle medicine was nothing compared to Wizarding remedies — would always come in handy, and with Hermione's small beaded bag now carrying enough food to see them through the next few weeks, they Disapparated back to their camp.

Even without any new idea, they continued to move through the countryside, pitching the tent in a different place every so often for security. Every morning they made sure that they had removed all clues to their presence, then set off to find another lonely and secluded spot, traveling by Apparition to more woods, to the shadowy crevices of cliffs, to purple moors, gorse-covered mountainsides, and once a sheltered and pebbly cove.

Every twelve hours or so they passed the Horcrux between them as though they were playing some perverse, slow-motion game of pass-the-parcel, where they dreaded the music stopping because the reward was twelve hours of increased fear and anxiety. Harry's scar kept prickling. It happened most often, he noticed, when he was wearing the Horcrux. Sometimes he could not stop himself reacting to the pain.

"What? What did you see?" demanded Ron, whenever he noticed Harry wince.

Charlie and Hermione could only manage to look away, their concern regarding Harry's connection to Voldemort only growing with each passing day.

"A face," muttered Harry, every time. "The same face. The thief who stole from Gregorovitch."

And Ron would frown, making no effort to hide his disappointment. Charlie knew that Ron was hoping to hear news of his family or the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, but after all, Harry was not a television aerial; he could only see what Voldemort was thinking at the time, not tune in to whatever took his fancy.

As the days turned into weeks, helplessness began to set in. Charlie, Harry, and Hermione were restricted to Apparating out under the Invisibility Cloak alone in search for information or even a Horocrux, ensuring someone was back at the tent with Ron, whose favourite pastime was now attempting to tune the radio they'd brought with them from Grimmauld Place.

Indeed, they were still in the same place by the nineteenth of September, the day Hermione turned eighteen. After a skimpy birthday meal consisting of two tins of beans split between the four of them — with most going to Ron — and some potatoes, Hermione had taken the first watch. Harry and Ron had fallen asleep on their own respective beds, the radio tuning in and out. In between the static, Charlie could make out a faint voice, as he sat in the darkness awaiting his turn to be lookout.

"Severus Snape, newly appointed headmaster of Hogwarts —"

The static blared back again. Charlie picked up the radio, attempting to retune it quickly at the mention of the man who killed his grandfather.

"Snape's curriculum is severe —"

The mere thought of Snape revelling in holding total control of the school had left Charlie enraged. His anger towards the slimy git was undeniable, and he glowered towards the shadowy canvas ceiling as if his look of anger would cause Snape to somehow spontaneously combust.

The sudden crack of a twig from outside the tent quickly drew him from his thoughts. Slowly, Charlie got up and edged towards the entrance. Hermione wasn't there; there was just a small fire, the embers of which were dying.

Panicking, Charlie seized his wand and stepped out of the tent, scanning the darkness for Hermione. The noise came again, louder this time, as if a group of people were getting closer. Eventually, and much to his relief, he saw her silhouette in the distance. Silently, he made his way towards her. Hermione was facing away from the tent, but it wasn't until he got close did he realize something was wrong...

She was not alone.

Hermione was standing still, with three cloaked figures making their way past her, merely two feet away. To Charlie's horror, one of them stopped, inches away from her face. He sped up, careful not to disrupt the leaves under his feet too much, his hand gripping his wand tightly.

Surely, they couldn't see her... surely, their defensive enchantments had done enough...

"What's that?" he heard the figure, who had a rasping voice, say. They were now all staring straight at Hermione. "What's that smell?"

Suddenly, the figure turned. One of his fellows had dropped something, and it was only then that Charlie realized the other two had been carrying bodies — dead or alive, he did not know.

"What're you doing?" the figure closest to Hermione hissed to his comrade.

"He's heavy," came a grunted reply.

"Oh, want me to carry him, do you?" snarled the one who was clearly the leader of the three. The mysterious man took one last look at Hermione, before stomping back to the others and disappearing into the darkness of the woods.

"Hermione..." Charlie whispered softly, making his presence known. She jumped at the sound, but he quickly moved his comforting arms around her. "It's all right, I'm here."

"Oh, Ch-Charlie," she sputtered into his chest, terrified and shaking.

Charlie held her steady, murmuring into her hair, "It'll be all right. Now, at least, we know your enchantments work."

"He could smell it..." Hermione whispered, pulling out from his embrace, "...my perfume."

Charlie hugged her tighter, the locket dangling heavy on his chest between them. After a moment, he said, "We can't stay here."

"B-But we've just got settled and — well, Ron —"

"Hermione, we don't have much of a choice, do we?" muttered Charlie, eyeing the distant trees in which the group of strangers had just disappeared behind. "Come on."

Gently, he caught her hand in his, interlaced their fingers, and led the way forward. Together, they walked back towards the tent.

"And listen," he said delicately, "next time, as much as I like your perfume, just don't wear any."

Charlie knew his comment would sting her, but he meant it as a survival tactic; it's not like she needed to impress him. In the distance, they had yet to notice, but had either of them looked up, they would have been met with Ron's glare, as his head had poked out of the tent.

Early the next morning, they packed up the tent and covered their tracks before setting off again. By late afternoon, they had made it to a Muggle caravan park, or at least what was left of one; the caravans had been torched to ashes. Picking up a discarded newspaper, they read of a freak fire that had spread, killing twelve innocent people. There had been no explanation as to the cause, but the core four knew that they couldn't stay long.

Autumn rolled over the countryside as they moved through it. They were now pitching the tent on mulches of fallen leaves. Natural mists joined those cast by the Dementors; wind and rain added to their troubles. The fact that Hermione was getting better at identifying edible fungi could not altogether compensate for their continuing isolation, the lack of other people's company, or their total ignorance of what was going on in the war against Voldemort, apart from the intermittent updates on the radio.

Ron was making no effort to hide his bad mood, and Charlie began to suspect that he and Hermione were starting to question Harry's leadership. Several times they stopped talking abruptly when either he or Harry entered the tent.

Charlie knew that Hermione had always trusted him, always had faith... but those thoughts left his head whenever the locket was around his neck. Shamefully, doubts over her feelings for him kept creeping in and remaining, stoically unshakable, in the back of his mind until his stint with the Horcrux was over; there was some relief every time he parted with the locket, then it would be hours of draining misery all over again.

In desperation, he tried to think of further Horcrux locations, but the only one that continued to occur to him was Hogwarts, and as neither of the others thought this at all likely, he stopped suggesting it.

"My mother," said Ron one night, as they sat in the tent on a riverbank in Wales, "can make good food appear out of thin air."

He prodded moodily at the lumps of charred grey fish on his plate; their food supplies from Charlie, Harry and Hermione's trip to London had dwindled significantly. Charlie glanced automatically at Ron's neck and saw, as he had expected, the golden chain of the Horcrux glinting there. He managed to fight down the impulse to swear at Ron, whose attitude would, he knew, improve slightly when the time came to take off the locket.

"Your mother can't produce food out of thin air," corrected Hermione, moving food around on her plate absentmindedly. "No one can. Food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfigur—"

"Oh, speak English, can't you?" Ron spat, prying a fish bone out from between his teeth.

"It's impossible to make good food out of nothing! You can summon it if you know where it is, you can transform it, you can increase the quantity if you've already got some —"

Ron laughed bitterly, "Well, don't bother increasing this, it's disgusting."

Charlie shook his head at Ron, shooting him a dirty look. As he'd guessed, the guidance of Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches finally seemed to be wearing off.

"Harry caught the fish and I did my best with it! I notice I'm always the one who ends up sorting out the food, because I'm the girl, I suppose!"

"No, it's because you're supposed to be the best at magic!" shot back Ron, his jaw clenched.

Hermione jumped up and bits of roast pike slid off her tin plate onto the floor.

"You can do the cooking tomorrow then, Ron. You can find the ingredients and try and cook them into something worth eating, and I'll sit here and pull faces and moan and you can see how you —"

"Shut up!" said Harry, leaping to his feet and holding up both hands. "Shut up now!"

Hermione looked outraged.

"How can you side with him, he hardly ever does the anythi—"

"Hermione, I can hear someone!"

Charlie froze, listening hard. Then, over the rush and gush of the dark river beside them, he heard voices, loud and clear. He looked around at the Sneakoscope, but it was not moving.

He glanced nervously at Hermione, whispering, "You cast the Muffliato charm over us, right?"

"I did everything," she whispered back, "Muffliato, Muggle-Repelling and Disillusionment Charms, all of it. They shouldn't be able to hear of see us, whoever they are."

Heavy scuffing and scraping noises, plus the sound of dislodged stones and twigs, told them that several people were clambering down the steep, wooded slope that descended to the narrow bank where they had pitched the tent. They drew their wands, waiting. The enchantments they had cast around themselves had been sufficient once before, in the near total darkness, helping to shield them from the notice of Muggles and normal witches and wizards. Although, if these were Death Eaters, then perhaps their defenses were about to be tested by Dark Magic for the second time.

The voices became louder but no more intelligible as the group of men reached the bank. Charlie estimated that their owners were fewer than twenty feet away, but the cascading river made it impossible to tell for sure. Hermione snatched up the beaded bag and started to rummage; after a moment she drew out four Extendable Ears and threw one each to Charlie, Harry and Ron, who hastily inserted the ends of the flesh-coloured strings into their ears and fed the other ends out of the tent entrance.

Within seconds, Charlie heard a weary male voice.

"There ought to be a few salmon in here, or d'you reckon it's too early in the season? Accio Salmon!"

There were several distinct splashes and then the slapping sounds of fish against flesh. Somebody grunted appreciatively; Charlie pressed the Extendable Ear deeper into his own. Over the murmur of the river, he could make out more voices, but they were not speaking English or any human language he had ever heard. It was a rough and unmelodious tongue, a string of rattling, guttural noises, and there seemed to be two speakers, one with a slightly lower, slower voice than the other.

A fire danced into life on the other side of the canvas; large shadows passed between tent and flames. The delicious smell of baking salmon wafted tantalisingly in their direction. Then came the clinking of cutlery on plates, and the first man spoke again.

"Here, Griphook, Gornuk."

'Goblins!' Hermione, who had grabbed hold of Charlie's arm tightly, mouthed at the other three. The boys simply nodded back their response.

"Thank you," said the goblins together in English.

"So, you three have been on the run how long?" asked a new, mellow, and pleasant voice; it was vaguely familiar to Charlie, who pictured a round-bellied, cheerful-faced man.

"Six weeks... seven... I forget," said the tired man, hesitating. "Met up with Griphook in the first couple of days and joined forces with Gornuk not long after. Nice to have a bit of company."

There was a pause, while knives scraped plates and tin mugs were picked up and replaced on the ground.

"What made you leave, Ted?" continued the man.

"Knew they were coming for me," replied mellow-voiced Ted, and Charlie suddenly knew who he was; Tonks's father, whom he had met once before at Grimmauld Place. "Heard Death Eaters were in the area last week and decided I'd better run for it. Refused to register as a Muggle-born on principle, see, so I knew it was a matter of time, knew I'd have to leave in the end. My wife should be okay, she's pureblood. And then I met Dean here, what, a few days ago, son?"

"Yeah," said another voice, and Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at each other, silent but beside themselves with excitement, sure they recognized the voice of Dean Thomas, their fellow Gryffindor.

"Muggle-born, eh?" asked the first man.

"Not sure," said Dean, his voice wavering. "My dad left my mum when I was a kid. I've got no proof he was a wizard, though."

There was silence for a while, except for the sounds of munching, then Ted spoke again.

"I've got to say, Dirk, I'm surprised to run into you. Pleased, but surprised. Word was you'd been caught."

"I was," replied Dirk. "I was halfway to Azkaban when I made a break for it, stunned Dawlish, and nicked his broom. It was easier than you'd think; I don't reckon he's quite right at the moment. Might be confunded. If so, I'd like to shake the hand of the witch or wizard who did it, probably saved my life."

There was another pause in which the fire crackled and the river rushed on. Then, Ted muttered, "And where do you two fit in? I, uh, had the impression the goblins were for You-Know-Who, on the whole."

"You had a false impression," said the higher-voiced of the goblins. "We take no sides. This is a wizards' war."

"How come you're in hiding, then?"

"I deemed it prudent," explained the deeper-voiced goblin. "Having refused what I considered an impertinent request, I could see that my personal safety was in jeopardy."

"What did they ask you to do?" asked Ted.

"Duties ill-befitting the dignity of my race," said the goblin, his voice rougher and less human as he said it. "I am not a house-elf."

"What about you, Griphook?"

"Similar reasons," croaked the higher-voiced goblin. "Gringotts is no longer under the sole control of my race. I recognize no Wizarding master."

He added something under his breath in Gobbledegook; Gornuk laughed.

Having noticed this, Dean asked, "What's the joke?"

"He said," replied Dirk, "that there are things wizards don't recognize, either."

There was a short pause.

"I don't get it," mumbled Dean, evidently confused.

"I had my small revenge before I left," said Griphook in English.

"Good man — goblin, I should say," amended Ted hastily. "Didn't manage to lock a Death Eater up in one of the old high-security vaults, I suppose?"

"If I had, the sword would not have helped him break out," replied Griphook; Gornuk laughed again and even Dirk gave a dry chuckle.

Ted cleared his throat, muttering, "I think Dean and I are still missing something here."

"So is Severus Snape, though he does not know it," said Griphook, and the two goblins roared with malicious laughter. Inside the tent, Charlie's breathing was shallow with excitement; he and Hermione stared at each other, listening as hard as they could.

"Didn't you hear, Ted?" asked Dirk. "About the kids who tried to steal Gryffindor's sword out of Snape's office at Hogwarts?"

An electric current seemed to course through Charlie, jangling his every nerve as he stood rooted to the spot.

"Never heard a word," said Ted, although his voice peaked with intrigue. "Not in the Prophet, was it?"

"Hardly," chortled Dirk. "Griphook here told me, he heard about it from Bill Weasley who works for the bank. One of the kids who tried to take the sword was Bill's younger sister."

Charlie glanced toward Harry, Hermione and Ron, each of whom were clutching the Extendable Ears as tightly as lifelines.

"She and a couple of friends, including the French Minister's daughter, got into Snape's office and smashed open the glass case where he was apparently keeping the sword. Snape caught them though, just as they were trying to smuggle it down the staircase."

"Ah, God bless 'em," said Ted, sounding a bit disturbed. "What did they think, that they'd be able to use the sword on You-Know-Who? Or on Snape himself?"

"Well, whatever they thought they were going to do with it," explained Dirk. "Snape decided the sword wasn't safe where it was."

"Couple of days later, once he'd got the say-so from You-Know-Who, I imagine, he sent it down to London to be kept in Gringotts instead."

The goblins started to laugh again.

Ted sighed, "I'm still not seeing the joke."

"It's a fake," rasped Griphook.

"The Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Oh yes. It is a copy — an excellent copy, it is true — but it was Wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by goblins and had certain properties only goblin-made armour possesses. Wherever the genuine sword of Gryffindor is, it is not in a vault at Gringotts bank."

"I see," muttered Ted. "And I take it you didn't bother telling the Death Eaters this?"

"I saw no reason to trouble them with the information," said Griphook smugly, and now Ted and Dean joined in Gornuk and Dirk's laughter.

Inside the tent, Charlie closed his eyes, willing someone to ask the question he, and he knew Hermione, Harry and especially Ron, needed answered, and after a minute that seemed like ten, Dean obliged.

"What happened to Ginny and the others? The ones who tried to steal it?"

"Oh, they were punished," said Griphook indifferently.

"They're okay, though?" asked Ted quickly. "I mean, the Weasleys don't need any more of their kids injured, do they?"

"They suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware," said Griphook. Dean let out a sigh of relief.

"Lucky for them," said Ted, his tone borderline cryptic. "With Snape's track record I suppose we should just be glad they're still alive."

"You believe that story, then, do you, Ted?" asked Dirk. "You believe Snape killed Dumbledore?"

"Course I do," said Ted. "You're not going to sit there and tell me you think Harry Potter had anything to do with it?"

"Hard to know what to believe these days," Dirk muttered indifferently. "I mean, haven't you heard what they're saying about Fenwick's boy? He's a Death Eater now, I read. They've been saying Dumbledore found out, and that's what got him killed."

"I know Charlie," chided Dean, coming to his friend's defence. "There's no way he'd do something like that, at least not willingly. Trust me, he loved his granddad, never did hear him say anything bad against him. Same goes for Harry. I'm telling you, I reckon they're the real deal."

"Yeah, there's a lot would like to believe he's that, son, me included," grumbled Dirk, "But where are they? Ran for it, by the looks of things. You'd think, if Harry Potter knew anything we didn't, or had anything special going for him, he'd be out there now fighting, rallying resistance, instead of hiding. And you know, the Prophet made a pretty good case against him and his friends —"

"The Prophet?" scoffed Ted. "You deserve to be lied to if you're still reading that muck, Dirk. You want the facts, try the Quibbler."

There was a sudden explosion of choking and retching, plus a good deal of thumping; by the sound of it, Dirk had swallowed a fish bone. At last he spluttered, "The Quibbler? That lunatic rag of Xeno Lovegood's?"

"It's not so lunatic these days," corrected Ted. "You want to give it a look. Xeno is printing all the stuff the Prophet's ignoring, not a single mention of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the last issue. How long they'll let him get away with it, mind, I don't know. But Xeno says, front page of every issue, that any wizard who's against You-Know-Who ought to make helping Harry Potter and his friends their number one priority."

Dirk laughed, "Hard to help a bunch of kids who have vanished off the face of the earth."

"Listen, the fact that they haven't caught them yet is one hell of an achievement," said Ted, giving them the benefit of the doubt. "I mean, we're all trying to hold on to our freedom, aren't we?"

"Yeah, well, you've got a point there," said Dirk heavily. "But, with the whole of the Ministry and all their informers looking for Harry Potter, I'd just have expected him to be caught by now. Mind you, who's to say they haven't already caught and killed him without publicizing it?"

"Ah, don't say that, Dirk," murmured Ted.

There was a long pause filled with more clattering of knives and forks. When they spoke again it was to discuss whether they ought to sleep on the bank or retreat back up the wooded slope. Deciding the trees would give better cover, they extinguished their fire, then clambered back up the incline, their voices fading away.

Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione reeled in the Extendable Ears. Charlie, who had found the need to remain silent increasingly difficult the longer they eavesdropped, now found himself unable to say more than, "The s-sword — Ginny and the others —"

"Elaina..." whispered Harry in disbelief, his eyes fixated upon the floor.

"Oh my God!" Hermione suddenly gasped.

And before any of the others could question her behaviour, she lunged for the tiny beaded bag, this time sinking her arm in it right up to the armpit.

"Here... we... are..." she said between gritted teeth, and she pulled at something that was evidently in the depths of the bag. Slowly, the edge of an ornate picture frame came into sight. Charlie hurried to help her. As they lifted the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus free of Hermione's bag, she kept her wand pointing at it, ready to cast a spell at any moment.

"I completely forgot! If somebody swapped the real sword for the fake while it was in Dumbledore's office," she panted, as they propped the painting against the side of the tent, "Phineas Nigellus would have seen it happen, he hangs right beside the case!"

"You're bloody brilliant, Hermione. Truly," awed Charlie, as the other two came to join them.

"Well, I'm just highly logical, actually —"

"Yeah, that too. Unless he was asleep," said Harry, but he still held his breath as Hermione knelt down in front of the empty canvas, her wand directed at its center, cleared her throat, then said: "Uh, Phineas? Phineas Nigellus?"

Nothing happened.

"Phineas Nigellus?" Hermione called again, her wand aloft. "Professor Black? Please, could we talk to you?"

"'Please' always helps," said a cold, snide voice, and Phineas Nigellus slid into his portrait.

At once, Hermione cried: "Obscura!"

A black blindfold appeared over Phineas Nigellus's clever, dark eyes, causing him to bump into the frame and shriek with pain.

"What — how dare — what are you — ?"

"I've very sorry Professor Black," pleaded Hermione quickly, "but it's a necessary precaution!"

"Remove this foul addition at once! Remove it, I say! You are ruining a great work of art! Where am I? What is going on?"

"Never mind where we are," said Harry, and Phineas Nigellus froze, abandoning his attempts to peel off the painted blindfold.

"Can that possibly be the voice of the elusive Mr. Potter?"

"Maybe," said Harry, knowing that this would keep Phineas Nigellus's interest. "We've got a couple of questions to ask you — about the Sword of Gryffindor."

"Ah, yeah," gasped Phineas Nigellus, now turning his head this way and that in an effort to catch sight of Harry, "That silly girl acted most unwisely there —"

"Shut up about my sister," growled Ron roughly. Phineas Nigellus raised supercilious eyebrows.

"Who else is here?" he asked, turning his head from side to side. "Your tone displeases me! The students were foolhardily in the extreme. Thieving from the Headmaster!"

"They weren't thieving," Charlie laughed bitterly. "That sword doesn't belong to Snape."

"It belongs to Professor Snape's school," corrected Phineas Nigellus, nodding despite the blindfold. "Exactly what claim did the Weasley girl have upon it? She deserved her punishment, as did the French Minister's daughter, that idiot Longbottom and the Lovegood oddity!"

Hermione immediately came to their defence, muttering, "Neville's not an idiot and Luna is not an oddity!"

"Yeah," agreed Harry, his fists clenched impulsively, "and watch how you talk about my girlfriend!"

"Where am I?" repeated Phineas Nigellus, starting to wrestle with the blindfold again. "Where have you brought me? Why have you removed me from the house of my forebears?"

"Never mind that! How did Snape punish Elaina, Ginny, Neville, and Luna?" asked Charlie urgently.

"Professor Snape sent them into the Forbidden Forest, to do some work for the oaf, Hagrid."

"Hagrid's not an oaf!" said Hermione shrilly.

"And Snape might've thought that was a punishment," said Harry, relieved, "but they probably had a good laugh with Hagrid. The Forbidden Forest... they've faced plenty worse than the Forbidden Forest, big deal!"

Charlie took a deep breath, for he too had been relieved; he had been imagining horrors, the Cruciatus Curse at the very least.

"What we really wanted to know, Professor Black, is whether anyone else has, um, taken out the sword at all? Maybe it's been taken away for cleaning — or something?" Hermione said tentatively. Phineas Nigellus paused again in his struggles to free his eyes and sniggered.

"Muggle-borns," he said dismissively. "Goblin-made armor does not require cleaning, simple girl. Goblin's silver repels mundane dirt, imbibing only that which strengthens it."

"Don't call Hermione simple," snarled Charlie, reaching for his wand that was stowed away in his pocket.

"I grow weary of contradiction," said Phineas Nigellus, crossing his arms. "Perhaps it is time for me to return to the headmaster's office?"

Still blindfolded, he began groping the side of his frame, trying to feel his way out of his picture and back into the one at Hogwarts. Harry had a sudden inspiration.

"Dumbledore! Can't you bring us Dumbledore?"

"I beg your pardon?" asked Phineas Nigellus.

"Professor Dumbledore's portrait — couldn't you bring him along, here, into yours?"

Phineas Nigellus turned his face in the direction of Harry's voice.

"Evidently it is not only Muggle-borns who are ignorant, Potter. The portraits of Hogwarts may commune with each other, but they cannot travel outside of the castle except to visit a painting of themselves elsewhere. Dumbledore cannot come here with me, and after the treatment I have received at your hands, I can assure you that I will not be making a return visit!"

Slightly crestfallen, Charlie watched Phineas redouble his attempts to leave his frame.

"Professor Black," said Hermione once more, "couldn't you just tell us, please, when was the last time the sword was taken out of its case? Before Ginny took it out, I mean?"

Phineas snorted impatiently.

"I believe that the last time I saw the sword of Gryffindor leave its case was when Professor Dumbledore used it to break open a ring."

Charlie and Hermione whipped around to look at Harry. Neither of them dared say more in front of Phineas Nigellus, who had at last managed to locate the exit.

"Well, goodnight to you," he said a little waspishly, and he began to move out of sight again. Only the edge of his hat brim remained in view when Charlie gave a sudden shout.

"Wait! Have you told Snape you saw this?"

Phineas Nigellus stuck his blindfolded head back into the picture.

"Professor Snape has more important things on his mind that the many eccentricities of Albus Dumbledore. Goodbye, Potter and his friends!"

And with that, he vanished completely, leaving behind him nothing but his murky backdrop.

"Harry! Charlie!" Hermione cried with joy.

"I know!" Charlie shouted and, unable to contain himself, he cupped her face, "You're incredible!"

Hermione raised a flustered face towards him, meeting his gaze with a loving intent. If Harry hadn't spoken up, Charlie was sure they would have kissed for the first time since his birthday at the Burrow.

"Brilliant!" yelled Harry excitedly, forcing his two friends apart guiltily. Charlie looked up, watching at his best friend punch the air absentmindedly; it was more than any of them had dared to hope for. He strode up and down the tent, feeling that he could have run a mile; he did not even feel hungry anymore. Hermione was squashing Phineas Nigellus's back into the beaded bag; when she had fastened the clasp, she threw the bag aside and turned towards Charlie and Harry gleefully.

"The sword can destroy Horcruxes! Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthens them — Merlin, that sword's impregnated with basilisk venom!"

Charlie nodded, "And my grandfather didn't give it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket —"

Harry looked overjoyed, his glasses fogging up with the extensive heat boiling in his cheeks.

"— and he must have realized they wouldn't let you have it if he put it in his will —"

"— so he made a copy —"

"— and put a fake in the glass case —"

"— and he left the real one — where?"

The three of them gazed at each other, conversing without speaking. Charlie felt that the answer was dangling invisibly in the air above them, tantalisingly close. Why hadn't Dumbledore told him? Or had he, in fact, told Charlie, but Charlie had not realized it at the time?

"Think!" whispered Hermione, reading his mind. "Think! Where would he have left it?"

"Not at Hogwarts," said Harry, resuming his pacing.

"Somewhere in Hogsmeade?" suggested Charlie, raking his brain.

"The Shrieking Shack?" questioned Harry, looking hopeful. "Nobody ever goes in there."

Hermione furrowed her brows, "But Snape knows how to get in, wouldn't that be a bit risky?"

Charlie shrugged, reminding her, "My grandfather trusted Snape."

"Not enough to tell him that he had swapped the swords," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, you're right!" awed Charlie, and he felt even more cheered at the thought that Dumbledore had had some reservations, however faint, about Snape's trustworthiness. "So, would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade —"

Suddenly, the light of the lamp on the ceiling went out with a flicker.

Charlie, Harry and Hermione turned to the centre of the tent where Ron stood, silhouetted against the backdrop of the canvas. Outside, rain began pattering down on the roof.

"Yeah, I'm still here," he said harshly, flicking the light back to the lamp. He looked stony, mean, unlike himself. "But you three carry on, don't let me spoil your fun."

Perplexed, Harry looked to Charlie and Hermione for help, but they both shook their head, apparently as nonplussed as he was.

"What's the problem?" Harry asked, bewildered at the aggressive stance Ron had taken.

"Problem? There's no problem," said Ron, still glaring between the three of them. "Not according to you, anyways."

There were several more plunks on the canvas over their heads; the rain began to pour down upon them.

"Well, if you've got something to say, don't be shy," snarled Charlie, unable to stop himself. "Spit it out."

"All right, I'll spit it out," Ron barked back, evidently annoyed. "Don't expect me to skip up and down the tent because there's some other damn thing we've got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you and Harry don't know."

"We don't know?" echoed Harry, glimpsing at Charlie with furrowed brows. "We don't know?"

Plunk, plunk, plunk.

The rain was falling harder and heavier now; it pattered down into the lake all around them. Dread doused Charlie's jubilation; Ron was saying exactly what he had suspected and feared him to be thinking.

"It's not like I'm having the time of my life here," growled Ron, brandishing his injury, "you know, with my arm mangled and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running round a few weeks, we'd have actually achieved something."

"Ron," Hermione said, but in such a quiet voice that Ron could pretend not to have heard it over the loudness of the rain beating on the tent.

"We thought you knew what you signed up for," retaliated Harry, stepping up to challenge Ron's stance.

"Yeah, I thought I did too."

"So what part of it isn't living up to your expectations?" asked Harry; anger was coming to his defence now. "Did you think we'd be staying in luxury hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you'd be back to your Mummy by Christmas?"

"We thought you two knew what you were doing!" shouted Ron, and his words hit Charlie and Harry like scalding knives. "We thought Dumbledore had told you both what to do, we thought you two had a real plan!"

"Ron! Don't speak for me — that's not true!" yelled Hermione, this time clearly audible over the rain thundering on the tent roof, but again, he ignored her.

"Well, sorry to let you down," said Charlie, his voice quite calm even though he felt hollow, inadequate; Ron's use of the word 'we' had sent a dagger into his heart. "Harry and I have been straight with you from the start, we told you everything Dumbledore told us. And in case you haven't noticed, we've already found one Horcrux —"

"Yeah, and we're about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them. Nowhere bloody near, in other words!"

"Take the locket off, Ron," pleaded Hermione, her voice unusually high. "Please, take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this if you hadn't been wearing it all day!"

"Yeah, he would," sneered Harry, who did not want excuses made for Ron anymore. "D'you think I haven't noticed the two of you whispering behind our backs? D'you think we couldn't have guessed that you were thinking this stuff?"

Charlie looked to the floor, shamelessly agreeing with everything Harry had been saying. Harry had been directing his anger at Hermione now, the person Charlie loved more than anything, but he still couldn't manage a word in her defence.

Hermione whimpered, "Please, we weren't — I wasn't —"

"Don't lie!" Ron hurled at her. "You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you thought they had a bit more to go on than —"

"I didn't say it like that! P-Please, you know I didn't," Hermione cried, her tearful gaze settled upon Charlie, but he forced himself to look away from her, stung by her actions.

The rain was pounding the tent, tears were pouring down Hermione's face, and the excitement of a few minutes before had vanished as if it had never been. Charlie hauntingly imagined a short-lived firework that had flared and died, leaving everything behind dark, wet, and cold. The Sword of Gryffindor was hidden they knew not where, and they were four teenagers in a tent whose only achievement was not, yet, to be dead.

"So why are you still here?" hissed Charlie icily at Ron, his Dark Mark invigorated by the chaos. "Go home, then! Believe me, you'll be doing us a favour. Now, at least, we won't be forced to listen to your insistent complaining —"

"Charlie!"

"Yeah, maybe I will!" shouted Ron, and he took several steps toward Harry, who did not back away. "You heard what he said about my sister, but you don't care, do you? 'It's only the Forbidden Forest.' Harry I've-Faced-Worse Potter doesn't care what happens to her in there — well, I do, all right! There's giant spiders and mental stuff —"

"I was only saying that she was with the others — they were with Hagrid —"

"Yeah, I get it, you don't care! And what about the rest of my family, 'the Weasleys don't need another kid injured,' did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I —"

"Not bothered by what it meant, though?"

"That's enough," groaned Charlie, forcing himself between them. "This is absolutely ridiculous."

"Oh, don't you start, you bloody plonker —"

"Ron!" shrieked Hermione, trying to diffuse the situation. "I don't think it means anything new has happened, anything we don't know about! Think, Ron, Bill's already scarred! People must have seen that George has lost an ear by now, and you're supposed to have spattergroit. I'm sure that's all he meant —"

"Oh, you're sure, are you?" Ron snarled at her, whipping his head around. "Right then, well, I won't bother myself about them. It's all right for you with your parents safely out of the way —"

"What the hell are you even talking about? They don't even know she exists!" said Charlie hotly, furious Ron would callously disregard the sacrifice Hermione had made. Rolling his eyes, Ron turned away.

"You want to know why I try to listen to that radio every night?" he continued, effortlessly ignoring any comments made in rebuttal. "To make sure I don't hear Ginny's name — or Fred — or George — or Mum —"

"What, you think I'm not listening too?" roared Harry, reaching a breaking point. "You think I don't know how this feels?!"

"No, you don't know how it feels!" retaliated Ron, shrugging off Charlie's hold on him aggressively. "How could you? Your parents are dead! You have no family!"

Unable to stop himself, Charlie snapped, coming to the defence of his best friend, before anyone had the chance to react. He lunged at Ron, tackling him to the ground with ease, and swung a fist into his face, landing two clear punches to his left cheekbone and his nose.

"CHARLIE! STOP!"

Together, Harry and Hermione pulled him off as Ron scrambled to his feet on his own, his face twisted and distorted, his pupils dark.

Ron spat blood onto the floor, cracked his jaw back into place, and then said, "Struck a nerve, have I?"

"Screw you!" roared Charlie, his knuckles stinging from where they'd made contact with Ron's face. "Honestly, I'm so sick of your bullshit —"

"That's rich coming from you," snapped Ron, blood  dripping from his left nostril. "Tell me, how many times did we have to hear your bloody Dark Mark sob story again? You're such a hypocrite, Charlie! Forgive me, but I refuse to let my family suffer the same goddamn fate as your fraudulent granddad!"

The room was shell-shocked. With an outcry of disapproval, it now took both Harry and Hermione to restrain Charlie, tightening their hold exponentially, as he thrashed with the most powerful force imaginable.

"Oh, and while I'm at it," Ron said angrily, jabbing a finger in Charlie'a direction, "how about we talk about your deadbeat bastard of a father? You know, I reckon he offed your mum the same way Snape offed Dumbledore that night on the bloody Astronomy Tower —"

"STOP! Ron, please!" cried Hermione, struggling to keep Charlie from escaping. Without thinking, she irrationally stepped forward, trying to grab at the Horocrux dangling around Ron's neck.

"Get off of me!" he spat at her, shoving Hermione with such force that she stumbled backwards onto the scuffle happening between Harry and Charlie.

"Don't you dare touch her," Charlie hissed, breaking free from his restraints at last.

Ron made a sudden movement; Charlie reacted out of anger, but before either wand was clear of its owner's pocket, Hermione had raised her own —

"Protego!" she cried, and an invisible shield expanded between her, Charlie and Harry on the one side and Ron on the other; all of them were forced backward a few steps by the strength of the spell, and Charlie and Ron glared from either side of the transparent barrier as though they were seeing each other clearly for the first time.

Charlie felt a corrosive hatred towards Ron now, more powerful than anything he had ever felt before. The relationship between Charlie, Harry, and Ron had forever changed that night in the tent, and each of them would later fear whether it was something that would forever be broken.

"Just go," Harry told Ron, clearly enraged, but trying desperately to calm himself by taking deep, heavy breaths, "and leave the Horocrux."

Without hesitation, Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. Once he was done, he whipped back around to Hermione, ignoring any opposing looks from either Charlie or Harry.

"And you?"

Hermione said nothing. She just stared, bewildered. Ron took a breath, pleading with his eyes.

"Are you coming, or staying?"

"I..." she looked anguished, but her voice didn't waver as she said, "Yes, of course I'm staying! But Ron, what are you — you can't —"

"Merlin, I should've known better," said Ron disappointedly, casting a hateful glimpse at Charlie. "It's always going to be him, isn't it? No matter how many times he's hurt you... it's always going to be the bloody Death Eater..."

Hermione breathed raggedly, stammering, "Wait, Ron — no — that's not —"

"What? D'you think I don't see what's going on? I saw you two the other night! Snuck off for a shag, didn't you, behind my back?"

"Behind your back?" echoed Charlie icily, unaware whether he'd heard correctly. "Oh, for Merlin's sake! Please tell me you're joking! What, did you seriously think being a twat was somehow going to win her over in the end?"

Ron made another move for his wand, but a flick of Hermione's expanded the shield charm again, knocking him back.

"Suit yourself," he muttered to Hermione, shaking his head. "I get it... you chose him."

"Ron," she whimpered, her cheeks stained with tears. "Don't — Ron, no — please — come back, come back!"

But Hermione was impeded by her own shield charm; by the time she had removed it, Ron had already stormed off into the night. Charlie and Harry stood quite still and silent, listening to Hermione sobbing and calling Ron's name amongst the trees.

After a few minutes, she returned, her sopping hair plastered to her face, her clothes clinging to her slender frame.

"He's g-g-gone! Disapparated!"

The three remaining Gryffindors stared at one another, unmoving, in silence, as if waiting for the others to do something — to say something. The moment passed, then Hermione threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry harder.

Charlie felt dazed, his insides coiling with betrayal and jealousy. He sighed, picked up the Horcrux, and placed it around his own neck. Harry had dragged blankets off Ron's bunk and threw them over Hermione. Then, without saying another word, he climbed into his own bed and buried his face into his pillows.

Knowing there was nothing he could do to help, Charlie collapsed on the floor beside Hermione's chair. There was no comforting, he realized, that would be enough to mend what had just happened. As it was, the only thing he manage to do was clutch at the Horocrux against his chest, and as it ticked beneath his fingertips, everything Ron had said to him played on a haunting loop in his head.

Staring up at the dark canvas roof, Charlie listened carefully to the mixture of the pounding rain and Hermione's whimpers of sadness, hoping that sleep would overcome him and drown out the sound.

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(A/N: new banner by chywrote <3)

Author's Note:
*this chapter was not proof read*

at this point... I don't even know how I'm supposed to redeem Ron lmfao

TO ALL THE RON STANS: I am so sorry... yikes.

I hope you enjoyed anyway <3

Charmione fluff come next chapter!!

[insert begging for comments and votes]

until next time,

xo, selena