WHO: Charlie Weasley, Snow White WHEN: When the ghosts first arrived WHERE: The Burrow WHAT: Charlie gets a visitor, Snow thinks he might have disappeared. WARNINGS: Snow's mouth and life pretty much sucks. Child ghost.
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The notion of a telephone was still rather new to Charlie Weasley, even though he'd been exposed to more muggle culture than most Pureblood Wizards he knew. Ted Tonks, the Father of his best friend, had been a muggle born and Charlie's Father had always had a fascination with muggles in general. And Charlie knew enough to know what the purpose of phones were and how to adapt to using 'modern' technology, but that didn't mean that he was particularly comfortable using the device for all of his correspondence. He prefered the network and typing out text messages when he wanted to speak with people because it fell more in line with his usual owl letters back home. A telephone, in theory, was much like using the fireplace just to have a quick chat, but it still felt foreign to him.
Still, he was adaptable, and in the days since Rose's departure, his correspondence with Snow had increased by nearly ten fold. He was in some ways relying upon her for emotional support on the subject, even though he'd snapped at Nymphadora for trying to help in the same way the previous week. The difference was that Snow knew Rose, and Charlie, in a way Nymphadora was unable to. Those three had all been through Mount Weather together. He could just sit in silence with Snow and it was enough. Or they could speak about other things. Nymphadora? Well, her intentions were in the right place, but it wasn't the way he wanted to handle these things. And he liked to think he was helping Snow out as well by just simply being available.
He'd taken to mindless chatter with Snow. He could have pointless conversations that were only being conducted just so they each had someone to talk to. He was doing this now, as he padded around the burrow in his mothball smelling clothes from his final years of school that had been in the attic, and munching on a cucumber as he paced with the phone by his ear.
Snow had been speaking when he glanced out the window. Normally, he saw the strange sight of Texas suburbia, which always disoriented him when he was inside his childhood home. He expected isolation and woodlands. Not children on bicycles and cars running down streets that weren't meant to be right outside the window. But today, while all of that was indeed still there, he caught sight of a figure.
And he froze. Though he'd been silent to this point, he'd been giving mumbles of 'mhms' and 'yeahs' as a response. Now he was quiet and his attention was diverted from the phone. Stepping to the window, he pulled the drapes back, and his eyes fixed upon the image of ghostly figure across the street.
A ghostly figure with fiery red hair and a face that was shared well before the notion of 'face twins' entered Charlie's vocabulary.
Fred.
Snow could see why her sister had been fond of Charlie Weasley. Red hair aside, they were both tender-hearted animal activists who could get a rowdy Pig or a dragon under their control without bringing the stick. That was why Rose and Weyland got along, and Snow always suspected that they'd have formed more of an attachment if he hadn't died in the battle with Geppetto's wooden soldiers. He'd later been revived and among the living in Ambrose's Haven, but Rose had taken up with several others since then. It was hard to fault her; she'd always been the sort to need companionship.
Charlie had the rugged handsomeness of Weyland, but a quiet charm like (Boy) Blue. He was from a mysterious new world like Sinbad, without the massive cultural differences. The only thing he lacked was the terrible manners and asshole tendencies of Jack. Thank god for small mercies.
Over the last few weeks, Snow and Charlie had gained the kind of closeness that could only be granted through mutual grief. The loss of Bigby and her children — both in this world hopping exercise and in their world — made it impossible for her to think or anything else except trying to find a way back to them. She knew it was futile, which made the feeling of helplessness worse (she hated feeling that way) and led to Snow's foul-mouth temper slipping more often.
The others, they handled this shit with a few words of grief and disappearance, and then it seemed as if they moved on. Snow had struggled for centuries with her own grief, and in retrospect, sharing it with Bigby had allowed her to move on. She had no Bigby here. She had no children to focus on.
So her focus was on Charlie and Bobby Singer.
When he stopped speaking, Snow spent the next few moments trying to get his attention. Fearing the worst, she grabbed her keys, intending to head to the Burrow to see if something had happened. "Charlie? Can you speak? Is everything alright?"
All she could think, though, was that he wasn't talking because he'd disappeared.
"What?" He finally said into the receiver, though his attention really wasn't even there now. No. His eyes were fixated on the face he hadn't seen in going on near two years. Longer, really, if he took into account the fact he lived so far from all of his family back home. When was the last time he'd seen Fred? Or spoken to him? He knew deep in his heart that had he experienced grieving for Fred in the natural manner, as it occurred and as he witnessed the events of May 2nd unravel, he'd have been able to answer that question. But having been unaware of his brother's demise for so long into his stay in Mount Weather, and only really finding out months on, he found it difficult to accept as a reality. And everything else that happened in his life since then made it so he'd need to rake his mind for the answer. Surely it wasn't Bill's wedding, was it?
Was that really the last time he'd seen his brother's ever grinning face? Where he'd been quietly bothered by the now obvious way to tell Fred from George? Charlie had always been able to tell the two apart, as he'd had very protective eyes upon all of his siblings as they grew. Fred was the more outgoing of the pair, if you could claim such a title. His grins were always just a touch wider. Fred was the leader and George followed, more quiet in his way, though only just.
Who was going to lead George now?
Fred wasn't moving towards him nor doing much of anything. Hands were in his pockets and he was wearing his clothes from the shop, the outfit he and George had been so incredibly proud of. A lump was already formed in Charlie's throat and when he spoke again, it was evident even to those who barely knew the man that he was bothered by something. "I have to go," he said and didn't wait for an answer. He ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket.
It didn't take long for Charlie to make his way outside and sit slowly down upon the stoop. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat with his gaze fixed upon the apparition. "Come here, Freddie," he whispered, as he used to as a child, when he'd try to usher the twins about into his games in the nearby wood. They had always been eager to join him. "Please, come here," he continued.
And it was there that he remained, though he didn't do much more begging, instead keeping his eyes upon the ghost, trying to figure out for himself whether or not it was truly the spirit of his brother or simply some creature from one of the other worlds trying to cause Charlie more ache by using the face of his yearned for brother.
Well, that was different. Rude even. Snow had half a mind to call back and give him a piece of her mind. Instead, she made the quick decision between the magic carpet and the truck. Carpet would be faster, but the truck would be less conspicuous. It was a toss up that saw Snow jerking through the streets of Tumbleweed recklessly as she headed to the Burrow.
Once outside the house, she slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car without turning it off. She realized she hadn't bothered with a seat belt either. (Oops. Broken Mundy laws.) If a sniper rifle to the head hadn't killed her, a car accident wouldn't either. She broke a heel heading quickly toward the porch where she spotted Charlie Weasley just sitting there, staring at a ghostly image. Judging by how pale he was and enraptured, it must have been someone he knew very well. There was a family resemblance that you'd have to be an idiot not to notice.
Brother, she thought, clippity-clopping up the sidewalk. She hadn't told anyone that she had two apparitions of her own: Bigby and the pack leader of the cubs, Darien. Darien disappeared shortly after Therese, and his ghostly form suggested that he had died not long after that. He was wearing the same clothes she'd last seen him in, and now he was currently sitting in the backseat of the car, playing with his hands and looking bored. He never could sit still for very long. Bigby was back home, fussing with piping he couldn't touch and reminding her of just how alone she was here.
"Charlie." A pause. She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Charlie?"
His gaze snapped from Fred's image across the street to Snow's face. He seemed to blink at her as his brows came together in confusion. Hadn't he just hung up with her? How long had he been focused on the figure across from him.
The figure across from him.
With a swell of almost panic, his gaze leapt away from Snow, as he shifted to look past her to ensure Fred was still there. He was. Sighing with relief, he now looked to Snow with more attention.
"Do you see him?" He asked her, pointing across the street towards Fred's image.
The ghostly figure of a child ran up behind Snow, stomping and pouting as he went. He wasn't exactly interacting with them, so much as reenacting all the times he'd been forced to stand at his mother's side while she dealt with Farm and Fabletown matters. He crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes.
"I see him." Snow folded herself down to Charlie's height. A hand was gently placed on one of his knees. "Your brother? The one who died in the Battle of Hogwarts?"
Charlie's attention shifted to the other ghostly figure that had trailed behind Snow. Though already grim in his expression, his face sank further. He didn't need to ask who the child was. He had memories of Snow's cubs from the Mountain; even if they hadn't yet been the size or age displayed in front of him. He was capable of deducing enough. If not one of Snow's children, he was likely still tied closely to her.
Frowning, he cleared his throat, and nodded his head. He looked at Snow now, though his attention wanted to go back to Fred, whom he felt like he was ignoring just by averting his attention away. "Yeah. Fred."
Snow had enough grief in her life to accept it. She'd been sent away from her sister at a young age, Rose believed her dead. Over time, Snow had forgotten she had a sister, and when her aunt tried to have her killed, she'd found herself in the Pleasure Cabin of seven dwarf problems. Only, dwarves were not the kindly types the mundane world wanted them to be. For years, they used and abused Snow in every way a person could be, and it was only due to her aunt's poisoned apple that she escaped.
Time was relative in that world, and eventually after marrying Charming, she got her revenge on the brothers, but it still left her restless and angry and finding out that the mundane world believed that she'd found refuge with those foul creatures (and the Fables who believed those stories) was sickening.
Still, she'd been hoping to be haunted by them, not her son. Not her Darien. Bigby, yes. Of course, he'd died in front of her. Turned to glass and then shattered by the hilt of Brandon's sword. She understood Charlie's grief and the desire to save this ghostly spectre of his brother. There was nothing to be done though.
"What are we going to do about it?" Because of course they were in this together. Snow wouldn't let her sister's — whatever you wanted to call him — languish on his own.
"Nothing to be done, is there?" He said quietly. He'd not been paying as much attention to the network as he should have but he'd heard someone post about ghosts. Hadn't it been one of the Slayers? The dark haired one? He hadn't thought it relevant to himself until he was walking past the window. Even though he spoke those words, it wasn't how he truly felt.
How he truly felt was that he couldn't leave. He couldn't go away from Fred. Every single Weasley child, even his elder brother, had been Charlie's responsibility. He was the watchful one. The protector. He'd been the babysitter for all of them, sans Bill, as their number grew and he remembered herding Fred and George out into the woods with him to show various purchases he'd made from Zonko's for them once their interests in pranks had blossomed. He remembered beaming with pride when he was able to recruit them onto the Quidditch team, not because they were his brothers, but because they'd been so damn good as a unit.
He remembered buying as much as he could from their shop the first day it was open, and passing items out around the reservation with a wide grin of how his brother's had made it all.
A lump was forming in his throat.
He didn't want to leave Fred all alone.
Snow understood, she really did. She'd been haunted by her past for so long that it was something she often took for granted. Having Bigby there to hold her up when she needed him had made life so much easier. Having children to give her happiness had given her hope for the future. Defeating the Adversary, taking back the Homelands. Everyone and everything you cared for could be taken away.
"We still have shit to do, Charlie. You can't sit here, staring at a ghost your entire life." She reached over and took a hold of his arm. Despite her harsh tone, she was gentle with her touch as she pulled him to his feet. "You can't do anything for him. He's gone, and as fucked up as that is, we have to keep going. Would he want you to sit here, staring at him?"
No, he couldn't remain here his entire life. But couldn't he remain here and grieve properly? He hadn't been able to. He'd been pulled from the Battle, with echos of people telling him it was over, and a belief that his loved ones had made it out okay. He'd held onto that until people from his world came to the Mountain and told him the truth. He'd not been able to see his brother's body or his grieving family members. It felt like nothing but words for so long. And he'd held out the hope that Fred would come to his side in the Mountain or the Island or even here in Tumbleweed just so he could shield him from his fate.
So he could protect him in a way he'd failed to. He'd not reached the battle in time. He'd not been there to protect his family.
He failed to recognize the fact that they'd all been there. Eight other Weasley's, his entire family, had been at that battle and he'd not have been able to be there for all of them had he been there. And hadn't Ginny said Percy was with Fred when he died? Percy hadn't been able to save him either and he'd been right there.
He swallowed and looked at Snow. He was getting very tired of looking so worn down and weak in front of her. He didn't like being open to his closest friends let alone...whatever he and she were to each other.
"No. He wouldn't," Charlie knew this. Charlie also knew that back home, eventually, he would keep going. Even with Tonks and Fred gone. He'd just be a different person. He worried, however, if he could say the same for George. God, did his heart ache for George in that moment. He wanted nothing more than to hold his little brother.
He cleared his throat again and gave Snow his full attention now, not letting himself look off towards Fred. "I'll shut the blinds. He's not come in yet," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm sorry for...you know..." Hanging up on her.
"You've had too much on your plate as of late, Charlie. This can wait until you're ready." Snow's tone was softer than it had been before. She wasn't ready to talk about the elephant in the room — Darien — so she focused on Charlie and what he needed. Of course, she knew that no one could truly be prepared for this, but having just lost Rose, this could wait. He didn't need to be assaulted with it.
She waved her hand in dismissal though. "Don't worry about that. I worried you'd disappeared on me. That's why I rushed over."
His eyes flashed to her, as his mind thought to her own ghosts, but he gave a small nod. He'd deal with his later as he suspect she'd do the same. Clearing his throat, he gave her a small frown.
"I hate that I made you feel like you had to rush to make sure I hadn't disappeared."
"I'm not above using your guilt to get what I want, Charlie." She pointed in the direction of his bedroom. "Get a bag. You're coming to stay with me. Even if Fred follows us there — and I won't lie to you, he probably will — you won't have to do it alone."
Snow made a good deputy mayor because she had clear sight of the bigger pictures, because she had nothing else to fill her time, because she wanted Fabletown to work. She wanted Charlie to leave this giant, empty house. She knew it was hypocritical. Wolf Manor was just as large and just as empty, and maybe that was part of why she wanted him to come stay with her. She didn't want to be alone.
Eyes casting back in the direction of the stair well, he thought for a moment about the demand. He'd been complaining about this house since they'd arrived in Texas. The Burrow was meant for commotion and activity. He'd argued that it was never meant to be his. He was the son least deserving of such a inheritance. But there was no other son, nor daughter, to claim it in his stead so he'd begrudgingly held onto it and was miserable in it's walls. It was too quiet and too familiar and nothing about it felt right.
He wanted to give it to someone but there wasn't anyone to give it to. For now, he had to hold onto it as his own.
But that didn't mean he needed to remain there at all times, did it? Looking back to Snow, he gave a small nod. "Alright," was all he said before he rose and extended a hand in agreement with the weakest of smiles. This arrangement would suit for now.