Charlie (publicenemyno1) wrote in whatprice, @ 2009-08-23 17:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | charlie weasley |
Unhappy anniversary.
Who: Charlie Weasley.
What: Anniversary.
When: Early morning, before dawn, 23 August.
Where: Northwest London.
Warnings: None.
Status: Closed narrative.
It took about twenty minutes to get there from Kings Cross Station on foot. He'd forgotten that, but coming this way after his shift watching at St Pancras had reminded him. The house itself was probably still invisible to most Muggles--convenient for MI7, Charlie thought--but he could see it. He'd known the secret before, during the last war.
Times changed in strange ways.
A year ago he'd spent the night dealing with Neville and Hermione and Ginny, and then George and Bill, and thinking of how to write his mother the letter that no mother should ever have to read. Later today, he'd be showing his mother to a safehouse because her home and the homes of her children were unsafe. Now Neville was missing, presumably still with Harry if he wasn't dead, and Hermione had been forced to go abroad for her own safety, and Ginny was, well, Ginny. And Harry wasn't dead after all, and he'd been there when Ron died. And his mother was coming home later today.
Charlie wondered whether Harry was in Grimmauld now. There was a part of him that wanted to do the reckless Gryffindor thing and go in there and find Harry. What he'd find, he reckoned, was a Muggle trap, and so he wasn't going. But that didn't mean the temptation wasn't there.
He should have let someone come with him. Ollie, or George maybe. The problem was, the people he wanted with him now were most likely to encourage his worst impulses: Ollie to kill Harry and George to rescue Harry even if he shouldn't be rescued. Ginny he'd never consider subjecting to this. He wasn't sure quite why he was subjecting himself to it.
It took him a few minutes to scramble down from the roof of the building he was watching Twelve Grimmauld Place from and make his way around to the street. Let them see him. He didn't care. He was wearing a cap pulled down to hide his hair, and he'd have to shave off the beard later today anyhow. He opened his jacket, pulling out the lily he'd sheltered inside in the pocket that was bigger than it seemed and setting it down on the stoop.
It took him a couple of blocks to get far enough away that his teeth didn't itch, and then he ducked into an alley and, with a crack of Disapparation, was gone.