bl_charlie (bl_charlie) wrote in bloodlines_rp, @ 2009-08-15 23:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | charlie weasley, loc: private residence (london), oct 2002, type: rp |
RP: When You Least Expect It
Date & Time: 15 October 2002 | Evening
Post Type: RP
Status: Closed: Complete
Character(s): Charlie Weasley
Location: Charlie's Flat
Summary: Charlie makes a startling discovery that he never expected.
"You're not staying here."
Charlie was pacing the living room of his flat, clearly agitated.
"Don't look at me like that! Do you have any idea how much trouble I could get in if anyone finds you here?"
He threw up his hands. "I can't talk to you when you're like this! Either you're out or I am. It's just that simple."
It all began two days ago.
Charlie had taken his rubbish down to the alley. He could have vanished it, but he understood that his non-magical neighbours might be suspicious if he never took anything down. It felt like such an unnecessary chore, though, one that he dreaded every week. It had been a long week already, filled with drudgery and mind-numbing reports- and it was only Wednesday evening. It wasn't fair to be so tired after such a short amount of time spent working, but there it was.
He had seen Roy in the hallway before coming down, well, rather, he had just caught a glimpse of Roy stepping into his flat wearing something that looked a bit too much like a lady's dressing robe. Before he had a chance to see far more of his neighbour's arse than he ever, ever, ever wanted, Charlie had said a quick hello and moved on at double speed. Lord, Roy was just a strange duck. All the same, he was glad that they were on speaking terms. The nightly odd noises had diminished a bit, which was an added bonus. He tried not to let his mind drift to exactly why they had lessened, because then he might do something really foolish like ask about it.
He feared that the answer might result in a brain aneurysm, the type of the self-preservation variety.
It was this amused thought that carried him all the way down the stairs and out into the cool, raining evening. He cast an annoyed look to the heavens and was made all the more disgruntled by the fact that he had moved into a Muggle neighbourhood. Most days he didn't mind it so much, but rubbish days and days where the weather was poorly, well, he minded it quite a bit. He walked to the side of the building and went down the alleyway, the Muggle plastic bag hitting him annoyingly on the calf as he moved. Oh, how he longed for the simplicity that having his wand available and easily usable afforded.
He grumbled to himself as he lifted the lid to the rusting metal bin. Charlie paused, however, his hand half-raised to throw the bag in, because he thought he heard something other than the protestations of the rusting bin. Listening hard for whatever it was again proved pointless, however, because only street noises and the patter of rain reached his ears. Shrugging, he lifted the lid a bit higher and began to hurl his rubbish in the bin when he suddenly found himself face to face with something quite unexpected. That strange sound came again, and Charlie's brain helpfully indentified it as a 'meow'.
The kitten looked at him, and Charlie looked back. It was tiny and wet and shivering. He frowned faintly and looked around. It wasn't normally a strange thing to find a cat in a rubbish bin, but a kitten? He reached out to it, wincing a bit internally as it shied away at first, and then coaxed it close enough to lift it out of the bin and into his hand. It was mewing constantly now, a scared sound. Charlie's heart began to break a little.
He rubbed the cat behind the ears, remembering hearing something somewhere about the animals liking that- maybe Hermione with her Crookshanks or something. There was no sign of any other cats in the area, and it was cold and wet and there really was no other recourse: he needed to take the kitten inside.
It was two days later, and this little beast had pretty much taken over his apartment. The trouble was, he found he didn't mind so much. "I hope you realise that I don't even like cats."
The kitten meowed at him from its place on the bed, where it was currently pawing at his bedsheets and rolling around and generally looking maddeningly cute. “Shite,” he muttered. "Bugger it all."
Yes, Charlie Weasley was hopelessly in love.