Charlie Weasley (cw_dragonman) wrote in changedrpg, @ 2011-11-11 16:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | !date: 1997 - november, charlie weasley, fleur delacour |
Who: Charlie Weasley and Fleur Delecour
What: Bumping into each other
When: Thursday afternoon (backdated) November 10
Where: Pumpkins R Us, Diagon Alley
Rating: PG-13 only for Charlie's foul mouth
Charlie couldn't make up his mind, and he'd thought that having a purpose, having a direction would make things a bit easier. He wanted something to do, something other than pretending that he was an agreeable compliant sort of Ministry worker. So, he was falling back on a task that was a good distraction: cooking. But he had serious reservations about being able to get Barnaby to eat anything too outrageous, and really, Charlie's heart wasn't in it.
He couldn't get that threatening conversation out of his head, the barely veiled threats that the Ministry worker had started to make and even as he thought it, Charlie had to stop himself in mid thought.
That had been no Ministry worker; it had been a Death Eather, plan and simple.
A Death Eater who had hinted strongly at making threats against his family, his brother Percy, his father, really all of them, if he, Charlie Weasley, didn't decide right then and there what he wanted to do. Charlie had barely had a moment to think and in that moment, it had taken everything not to just hex the person standing in front of him right in the face, or better yet, knock them down flat. But he'd decided that he could do better being inside instead of being out. Thus, after taken a very long pause, Charlie Weasley had eaten humble pie and submitted, and agreed with the Ministry worker to continue in his position as a loyal and reliable employee. He'd only been thankful that the ass had not made him take an Unbreakable Vow; he'd have been completely and utterly screwed if that had been the case. He also had been a bit proud at how convincing he'd been in his lie.
But there was shame in not being defiant; it ate at his gut and made him mood sour, much like he'd been when he'd first injured his leg. And other than a cursory glance at the journals to confirm that the rest of his family was okay, Charlie had been especially hard on himself for not stepping up and out and defying all of it.
So here he was, after almost the end of a week from hell at his job, trying to make up his mind about what the hell to eat at the flat. He was frowning, staring down at flat of potatoes, trying to decide what the hell he was doing.