(A/N: edit by the AMAZINGLY talented wonhosmila)

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

Third Person Narrative:

Charlie Hawthorne was a shell of his former self.

Clutching at his wild brown hair, he gazed unseeing into the darkness. Every atom of his body shook with a horrendous amount of pain. As days turned into weeks, the happiest of his memories were laced with a bitterness that he couldn't fully understand. It was as though someone had poured a combustive liquid into his brain and set it on fire; everything he recalled burned against his eyes, spreading to his chest.

Was he dying?

Part of him hoped he was.

Try as he may to fight it, his thoughts circled the bottomless pit of his darkest memories, spiralling down into the unknown. He was constantly reminded of the horror, of the cold, isolated vault, and of the never-ending pain aching in every part of his body. How could he stop himself from thinking about all that he once knew? Life as he'd previously known it was forgotten — lost — in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. For several weeks, he dangled from his shackles, teetering on the edge of insanity, as he screamed desperately for help to no avail.

With every wound inflicted by the Death Eaters, he struggled to maintain balance, to hope for salvation. His once youthful face had been replaced by one of sallowness, sickness, and pain. Large gashes were evident on every inch of his skin. Fading purple bruises lingered on his torso, indicating the areas of abuse. The most distinct change, however, were the dark, deadened brown eyes that seemed to stretch into an eternity of unfathomable excruciation.

Echoes of a sinister memories flashed in his mind, suffocating him. There were pairs of vicious eyes, an amused collection of wicked cackles, various wounds inflicted by the sharp blade of the dagger, and multiple blood-curdling screams — his own screams...

Charlie's fingernails often dug into his palms, drawing blood from the amount of pressure. The hard protein bit into his skin and left painful marks in their wake, but he did not seem to care. In his opinion, physical pain was tolerable; emotional pain was not.

The Death Eaters toyed with him, each taking turns with the dagger. With harsh words, they taunted him, and Charlie's head constantly urged to advert their eyes; but he forced it straight, unwilling to succumb to the humourless and bitter sounds of their voices.

"Quite the Mudblood thing you've got, eh? It'd be such a dreadful shame if something happened to that pretty little face of hers, wouldn't it?"

"Charles, Charles, Charles! You really are like Julianne, y'know? She, too, was a filthy, worthless blood-traitor!"

"Betrayed your father, betrayed the Dark Lord — now you'll suffer the consequences! No one's coming for you..."

"Ooh, quite the fighter, aren't you? No matter... I'll enjoy breaking you into pieces. Luckily for me, I've got all the time in the world. Hang him upside down, over there."

"After I've finished bleeding you out slowly, I'll be sure to find your little Mudblood and keep her company..."

Day after day, he'd listen to them, more because there was nothing else to hear but the boisterous growls of the dragon beyond the vault door. Once the sun set outside, the Death Eater would abandon their stations, and once he was sure no dangerous blades would tear him apart, Charlie often allowed his mind a small amount of freedom to wander.

His most reoccurring thoughts were of Hermione Granger. Ever so often, he wondered where she was and if she was okay. The last time he saw her was... there was a flash of wild, brown hair and the bloody interior of Malfoy Manor. Cringing away, he remembered the simpler, happier times with her instead, ones where he could speak and smile freely.

Charlie spent his nights in isolation, dangling from his tightly drawn shackles as his sternum burned with yearning. He would've given anything to be able to find himself again, the blissfully in love and happier version of himself. As he stared down at the scars covering seemingly every inch of his body, however, he knew without a doubt that that Charlie was dead and had died many moons ago.

As the weeks dragged along, his own bitterness won, and Charlie was forced to realize the cruel, hard truth of his own reality: he was completely alone. No one was coming to help him; no one knew he was here.

At the end of every day, he was left bleeding out on the cold cobblestone floor. The thick, scarlet liquid filling his mouth clogged his respiratory tract and drowned his consciousness slowly. The last thing Charlie was aware of was that the prospect of death kept approaching; it was bartering him, and for the first time, he was sure he would never escape it...

—————————————————————

Charlie's screams echoed in the blackness around him as he fell into a seemingly never-ending pit. By his lonesome, he fell, stiff as a board, gaining speed as he plummeted downward.

As a chilling cold came over him, Charlie felt his body relax and flop lifelessly as he continued his journey downward, soon being joined by others — men, women and children alike — as they all fell for what seemed like an eternity.

THUD!

He moaned as he felt his body hit the ground, hard. Opening his eyes, Charlie winced as a bright light filled them; it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. He blinked and lifted his head off the ground ever so slightly, taking his time so he could see just what was going on around him.

The setting that came into view was not anything he had expected, however, as the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts settled into focus. It was designed in a such a way that Charlie recognized it immediately, despite his surroundings being covered in a misty white vapour. It was the large and beautiful circular room he'd remembered from his childhood, still full of funny little noises. There were a number of curious silver instruments that littered the spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The portraits of the past Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses covered the walls, each uncharacteristically vacant of their snoozing inhibitors.

It was a scene from, what Charlie knew, an illusive memory. There was no doubt in his mind that the new Headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus Snape, would've ridded the office of its eccentric charm, and yet it appeared unchanged in this current interpretation. In the corner of the room, there were mountains of Dumbledore's incredible collection of books, stacked and stored high on shelves. The glimmering of the Pensieve even seemed to come to the forefront from behind its cabinet drawers, illuminating the empty cage of Fawkes the phoenix.

The more he took in the sight, the more Charlie did not understand. As he scrambled to his feet for a closer look, he took immediate notice to his unscathed appearance. His arms were no longer graffitied with cuts, bruises, and an unwarranted disfigurement of his Dark Mark. Raising his hands to his face, he was amazed to feel no puffiness under his eyes nor any deep gashes on his cheekbones.

"What the..." he muttered to himself, slowly sitting up.

The floor on which he crashed down upon was covered in a misty white vapour, existing for the sole illusion of obscurity. Everything around him, everything that made up the beautiful design of Dumbledore's office, looked as though it was made of some sort of ghostly essence, coming together to form what he'd once known as a child.

There was an odd, serene feeling stirring within Charlie. For the first time in weeks, he'd felt perfectly at peace; unharmed and painless. It took him a few moments, in which he admired Dumbledore's office, to realize where he must've ended up. He didn't not know how long he stood still, shaking as emotion swelled in his golden brown eyes, desperately wishing to be spilled.

"Am I...?" he thought aloud at last. "No, no, I can't —"

Panicked, he paced around the vaporized room, searching the seemingly endless expanse of silver trinkets and battered old books in search of any indication of the truth. In utter desperation, he wretched open the cabinet that stored the Pensieve and pulled it out, hoping for he did not know what — nothing happened. He gave the magical instrument a shake, but it was utterly lifeless in his hands.

But, as the silvery substance moved with force, there was a particular reflective gleam that displayed Charlie's face at the bottom of stone basin. In the background of the reflection, moreover, he spotted a glint of the brightest, most familiar, shade of blue...

"Grandad!" he gasped. "Is that — ?"

As he quickly spun around, Charlie was disappointedly met with nothing but the misty white vapour that danced aimlessly around him. He let out a long, sorrowful sigh. Charlie didn't speak, but a small bit of dewy perspiration was collecting above his brow, and a spike in his pulse had his breath speeding up.

Unable to help himself, he collapsed back to the floor and curled himself into a ball, shaking himself back and forth with wide, gawking eyes that were lost in the bleakness of his mind; it was a place he was so often a captive of.

Fighting to stay in the present, he dug his bitten fingernails into the flesh of his palms once again. There was a foul feeling churning in his stomach, regardless of the fact that this experience was quite tame in comparison to many of the others he had lingering inside his brain. He clawed at the edges of his mind, but there was nothing to keep the festering realization at bay; it was swallowing him whole like a creature of the deep.

"D-Dead," he whispered to himself. "You're dead."

There was a cold trickle that slid down his spine at the mention of the word. The curiosity as to how his death must've occurred scorched his throat, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Instead, he grasped at his hair and inhaled a shaky breath. Then, after awhile, he turned his watering eyes upon the vast, misty ceiling and sobbed, thinking of his friends, his family, his lost love, and all of the others he hadn't been able to say goodbye to...

"H-Hermione, I'm s-sorry," he managed weakly, closing his eyes as a few tears threatened to trickle down his cheeks.

"You're not dead," came the whisper of a distant voice.

Startled, Charlie instantly looked up, scanning the misty, open space with his eyes. Once they settled upon the door, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the woman in front of him. Her beauty stood out against the pale white of the room around her, bringing her dark brown hair — which fell to her shoulders — to the forefront of his vision, along with her almond-shaped, golden brown eyes which rivalled the allure of Charlie's own.

"M-Mum?" he called hoarsely.

Indeed, there stood his mother. Somehow, in spite of Charlie's utter confusion, Julianne Dumbledore faced him, looking as though she'd just stepped out of a distant memory, her lips curled into the brightest of smiles.

"My baby boy," she said happily, as tears of joy filled her eyes, "you're nowhere near being dead..."

"I... I don't understand," responded Charlie, rising to his feet. "H-How're you here? What's going on?"

"It's a long story, sweetheart," said Julianne with a small sigh, "and I'm afraid we don't have much time."

"But I don't — what is — I can't believe —"

Overwhelmed with emotion, however, Charlie quickly cut himself off and approached his mother, throwing his arms around her as though to prove her authenticity. As he stood now, engulfed by Julianne's embrace, Charlie failed to acknowledge the roars of internal self-pity and the tainted memories echoing around in his head. For the first time, he felt untouchable in the arms of the woman who conceived him; he felt like he'd finally made his way home.

Her throat clogged with outstanding emotion, Julianne sobbed contently into her son's shoulder, relishing in the feeling of being reunited after such a long time apart.

"I've missed you so much," she whispered softly.

"I've missed you, too," said Charlie, his heart pounding in his chest. "It's been so difficult without you... so difficult..."

"I know, I know," muttered Julia regretfully. "But your grandfather and I have always been with you, guiding you along the right path... we're so incredibly proud of the man you've chosen to become."

There was the slightest flicker of relief that arose in Charlie's chest at the sentiment. Despite his once troubled, insufferable headspace, he realized something... he wasn't alone after all...

"Grandad," he echoed, pulling back to meet Julia's tearful gaze at last. "How's he doing? Where has he gone?"

"I'm afraid only one of us could come to see you, sweetheart," Julianne cupped her son's cheeks with her hands, admiring him up close. "And your grandfather insisted I came to you first, to talk for the first time in seventeen years... to apologize," she added with a solemn look to the misty, vaporized floor.

With a raised brow, Charlie asked, "To apologize for what?"

"For not leaving your father when I had the chance," his mother explained, shaking her head in disapproval of her past actions. "Had I known what horror Fenwick was truly capable of, I would've fought harder to protect you, to comfort you, and to be the mother you deserved..."

Charlie shook his head.

"It's not your fault."

"But it is," said Julianne, nodding in spite of herself. "You see, I quickly learned of your father's sadistic past, but I still stayed with him out of foolishness. Blinded by love, I always thought that he could change for me... for the life we were building together. Evidently, it proved that I was weak and naive, for your father completely betrayed my trust, used our love against me, and abandoned our family without a second thought."

"It's still not your fault, Mum," muttered Charlie assuringly. "He's fooled everyone, not just you. Please, all you're guilty of is loving the wrong person, and it's not necessarily a bad thing to want to believe the best in people."

Julianne smiled softly, looking around at the mystical interpretation of her father's office. She had been sure that the afterlife would be cold and dark to her, a reflection of the life she'd left her child to endure. In truth, it was warm and inviting, while also allowing her to guide her son on his journey from the confinement of heaven.

And even now, she was able to talk to her son, to hold him in her arms. It was an encounter that brought a smile to her lips every time she merely thought of experiencing it.

"Oh, my baby boy," she awed, and Charlie immediately smiled in response, "you're just like me in that regard..."

"And I'm proud to be," he said confidently, "but I still don't understand why you felt the need to explain yourself."

"Because, even though I couldn't protect you when I was alive, I'm doing so now in the afterlife," whispered Julianne sadly. "Sweetheart, you've been forced to endure the most horrendous of acts at the hand of your father, but you've remained strong throughout it all... this is no different," she added in a whisper, and Charlie could've sworn he felt the slightest stinging sensation elicit from his wrists.

At the severity of this comment, Charlie's face had fallen significantly. For one blissful moment, he'd forgotten the harsh reality of his situation. He knew now, however, that he was still indeed shackled to the wall of Bellatrix's vault, mercilessly tortured and barely holding on to what was left of his sanity...

"Mum, I can't —"

"But you can, my sweet boy," said Julianne encouragingly, and Charlie felt the warmth of her hand press against his cheek. "You have to live. There are so many people waiting for you to come home... Harry, Ron, the rest of the Weasleys, Elaina, Hagrid, and —"

"Hermione," finished Charlie, his eyes watering slightly. He took a deep breath, placing his hand over his mother's, and said, "Hermione's waiting for me, and I'd promised her I wasn't going to let her go again..."

With a small nod, Julianne flashed a toothless grin. Still though, as Charlie looked at her, he could not help but notice the slightest bit of apprehension in her eyes. There had been a moment of hesitation in which Charlie could tell that his mother was pursuing something on her mind.

"I would've loved to have met her... to have thanked her in person," she said finally, almost apologetically, "because she has shown my son an unconditional love, and for that I'm eternally grateful. Hermione's an intelligent young woman, kind and beautiful too — she is the epitome of everything I'd ever hoped you'd find."

"She's the love of my life," admitted Charlie effortlessly.

Julianne let out a breathless laugh at her son's proclamation, and said, "I know she is, sweetheart, just as I know that she's waiting for you now. So please, don't give up on your dreams, or the life that you could have. You're strong enough to fight this, to withstand this torture, and to make it home to Hermione. Please, my sweet boy, you have to live," she repeated, squeezing his cheek.

Charlie swallowed, trying to keep his emotions under control. There was a minuscule moment of self-doubt that eroded at his mind, reappearing for the umpteenth time, and he struggled desperately to suppress it.

"B-But I don't know how to do this without you," he croaked shakily. "Not anymore... not without y-you..."

His mother's hands trembled against his skin, and Charlie felt her move forward to place a soft, delicate kiss to his forehead. Pulling back, Julianne flashed a watery smile.

"Well, I've learned a secret... there is no without," she whispered through tearful eyes. "You see, I am not gone. I'm scattered into so many pieces, sprinkled on your life like... new snow."

(A/N: if you know where this is from, I love you <3)

"But what if I want to stay?" asked Charlie, with a slight shameful bow of his head. "What if I wanted to stay here... with you and grandad? What if I don't want to fight anymore?"

"Then it'd be your choice," said Julianne softly, pulling her son's gaze once again, "b-but... we both know it'd be the wrong one."

Charlie closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. Deep down, he knew his heart longed to be reunited with Hermione, and that it'd be an injustice to give up without bidding her a proper farewell after everything they'd been through; it was the same truth for Harry, Elaina, even Ron as well...

And so, the selfish truth danced across his tongue:

"I w-want to live."

"Then there's one last thing I need you to know," Julianne held her son's gaze, willing him to open his eyes once again. "You, my sweet boy, were the best part of my life, no matter how short it may have been. I've never been prouder of anything... anything, ever. If nothing else, please remember that I was lucky to be your mother."

"M-Mum, please, I'm s-sorry about —" Charlie began, but Julianne pressed on.

"Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay," she whispered gently, "I loved you completely, and you loved me the same... that's all that matters."

"Will I ever see you again?" Charlie asked his mother frantically, for he suddenly felt the floor shake beneath him. "There's still so much I want to tell you —"

"And we'll have time one day," assured Julianne, letting him slip from her fingers, "but today is not that day."

Charlie blinked back his own tears, "Not yet?"

"Not yet..."

"But wait —"

He cut himself off as another, familiar voice ricocheted around the deteriorating room, ringing as loudly distant as his once lonely echo in the Headmaster's office:

"Charlie! Charlie! CHARLIE!"

As the voice grew louder, Julianne smiled and took a step back, as though to admire her son's appearance for one last time, before she said, "It's time to go, sweetheart."

Charlie whirled around, confused, "What's happening —"

"I love you, Charlie," whispered Julianne lovingly, blowing a kiss. "Until we meet again...goodbye for now."

"No, no, wait —"

"CHARLIE!"

—————————————————————

"CHARLIE!"

"Please, wake up! Wake up, baby, please! CHARLIE!"

"Come on, mate! You're not dead, you're not dead!"

"Ch-Charlie... Charlie, please! CHARLIE!"

With a sharp intake of breath, his eyes snapped open and he blinked in his surroundings. Charlie could briefly make out the blurred silhouettes of three figures in the darkness, but winced nonetheless at the clattering of his metal shackles, as though he — much like the dragon outside — had been taught to cower at approaching sounds. It had been a whirlwind sensation, like that of a portkey, which ripped him from his mother's embrace and placed him right back into his never-ending nightmare.

"Oh my god... Charlie!"

In his delirious mind, he couldn't fully comprehend what was happening. His fingers scraped over the rusty, metal shackles. Naturally, the bloodied cuts and dark purple bruises return against his withered skin, but the hurt as he tried to crawl backwards is nothing compared to the terror swimming in his dizzy vision. He distances himself from the others — pitifully terrified — and jarred bruises from his collapse to the floor earlier echoes as he stretches and drags.

"P-Please... please," he begged, and he shielded his face as the figures took a step towards him.

The only physical pain that can compete with the memories threatening to crush him is the agonizing dryness of his throat. His thirst claws at him, catches every regret as he tries to swallow them, and then chokes him. Dangerously, Charlie's lungs threaten to burst as his mind toys with the concept of salvation.

To his dismay, he recalls... he remembers... he relives every ounce of pain that he hadn't truly wanted to endure, but had been mercilessly forced into. In his head, overflowing, is every horror replaying on a constant loop. In his throat, suffocating, is every cry for help that left his lips too early, too late, or not at all, for he was too afraid... too lost... too uncertain.

"It's me, it's me," came the distant voice of one of the figures, and Charlie was pulled forcefully from his pitiful reverie. "Please, my love, don't be afraid. It's me... it's Hermione."

Charlie's world seemed to whirring wildly, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of her name.

No, no it couldn't be —

"H-Hermione?"

"Yes, yes, it's me," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm here, Charlie... I'm here. You're safe now, you'll be okay — it'll all be okay, I promise. Please, let us help you, all right? Don't be afraid..."

At the sound of her voice, Charlie jerked into the present, focusing his gaze at last. He clung to the wall as he squinted through the darkness, both to support his aching limbs and to keep his distance from the hurried people in front of him. It took several moments, but he soon found the much-needed comfort in the honey-brown eyes staring back at him, his breath hitching in utmost disbelief.

(A/N: this gif fits so well tf...)

Hermione Granger had gathered around him, trying to sooth his flailing, writhing body. It took several moments before Charlie realized that he was no longer in the presence of the wretched Death Eaters, for his mind deluded itself into believing his freedom was some cruel joke. Once he realized he was wrong, however, he seized his movements, breathing in and out slowly. There was a slight, lopsided grin — which didn't stretch farther than his cheekbones — that settled into Charlie's gaunt face in reply to the emaciated girl with a long mane of curly, chestnut hair.

"H-Hermione," he croaked out once more, but this time it was more of a statement.

"You're alive... you're alive," Hermione cried aloud, reaching out to cradle Charlie's distressed face in her hands. "You s-scared the hell out of me — I can't believe it — m-my god, Ch-Charlie..."

And as she trailed off, awed silenced stretched between them while they gazed into each other's faces, observing any changes they may have missed in the weeks that they were apart.

"I l-love you," she blurted out. "I love you so much."

Charlie closed his eyes, nuzzling into her comforting embrace. For a moment, her voice sounded as he'd imagined it in his dreams, but he felt elated to know that she was real; this was the real Hermione... she had come to save him, to rescue him. Unable to form the reciprocated words, he kissed the inside of her palms in a desperate attempt to stay present with her.

"I've missed you terribly, my love," Hermione told him, her head now resting against his. "There was a part of me that knew you weren't dead, but I still feared the worst —"

Behind them, there was a sudden scoff of disapproval, which enticed Hermione to whirl around at once, her face scrunched in annoyance at the intrusion.

"Is there a problem, Griphook?"

"Sorry," said the goblin, who stepped out of the shadows, interrupting the young couple, "but if you haven't noticed, we seem to have more stressing matters to attend to than your little reunion."

"R-Right..." Hermione blushed, taking a step backward, before she cocked her head over her shoulder. "Ron, come and help me, will you?"

His throat dry as ever, Charlie managed, "W-What's going on?"

Out of the corner of his eye, the tall figure of Ron Weasley swam into his line of view, looking older due to the evident exhaustion etched on his face. His mop of ginger hair covered the pale blue of his eyes, but he flashed Charlie a smile nonetheless. Then, he walked forward and wrapped an arm around the shackled boy's waist as though to brace for impact.

"We're getting you out of here, mate," said Ron reassuringly, "but we need to hurry — Harry, keep looking for the Horcrux!" he added, and his loud voice echoed around the vault.

Almost instantly, Charlie heard Harry yell back in response, "Okay, okay! But we've got to move!"

His vision fading in and out, Charlie's eyes flickered forward once more, focusing back on Hermione. He longed for more of her touch, anxiety clawing up his windpipe. His mouth opened, jaw tight, before it was snapping shut again without a word. Everything around him was illuminated by Hermione's wand in her hand — a long, pale, and elegant thing that looks vaguely familiar somehow — and he was finally able-minded enough to study the other distant figures.

Before Charlie had the chance to fully process, however, Hermione had raised her wand towards his shackles and yelled, "Alohomora!"

Without hesitation, the rusty metal released Charlie's raw wrists from their confines, sending him crashing down into Ron's arms once his feet hit the floor. He winced at the sensation of freedom, for it had been such a foreign concept to him until now. With his knees buckling under his weight, it was difficult for Charlie to stand, so Ron kept his body flush against his for support.

"Easy there, mate," he whispered, holding him steady.

Charlie's thoughts still churned, disordered, but he could rise above them now. He staggered slightly, then said, "I-I don't feel so good..."

"Because you've lost too much blood," said Hermione worriedly, raising the back of her head to his forehead. Despite his icy blue skin, his temperature had spiked to the most dangerous levels of heat.

"Yeah, that's quite obvious," groaned Ron, rolling his eyes. "But you're a witch, aren't you? Do something, Hermione! For Merlin's sake, use a spell on him!"

"Ron, shut up!" chided Hermione, but nonetheless she pulled out her wand once again, trailed it down Charlie's torso, muttered something, and bound his open wounds in several stitches. In a matter of seconds, her boyfriend felt his body lighten with a newfound strength, healing itself in the process. Once Hermione was finished, his pain subsided, and Charlie was able to stand sluggishly on his own.

"Thank y-you," he croaked, his voice weak and tired.

"You can thank us later," said Ron quickly. "We've got to go — Harry, have you found the damn thing yet?" he shouted, disappearing behind the mountains of galleons in search of his friend.

"Let's get out of here," said Hermione, and she took Charlie's hand in hers and led him over to the others.

The travelling wandlights attracted them to one another, and Charlie quickly glimpsed Harry in the near distance, surveying the glittering stacks of gold in search of the Horcrux. The youngest Potter had became much softer in the face, though his glasses were cracked and did him no favours. As expected, Harry's inky black hair remained wildly uncooperative, hiding his vivid green eyes underneath his fringe.

"H-Harry?"

Despite the severity of the situation, Harry Potter looked up at once, smiling from one ear to the other at the sight of Charlie. Then, he snorted and rocked off his heels, crouching down to further his examination of the gold.

"What gave it away?" he asks jokingly, carelessly waving a hand over his lightening bolt scar. "Was it something specific or just the general everything?"

Charlie's lips twitch upwards before he could help it, amused by his best friend's humour even in the most stressful of situations. Realizing this, he froze, his forcibly learned habits taking over to keep his face as blank as he can manage — he's not sure he succeeds.

"Don't stop looking, Potter!" growled Griphook, who came around the corner of one of the mountains of golf once again, accompanied by another, compliant-looking goblin. "They're coming, they're coming! Move, quickly!"

"Any hints as to where it is, Harry? Can't you feel anything?" asked Ron, his hand dangling nearly a quarter inch from the lip of a silver bowl perched on the edge of the table beside him.

"N-No, I'm not sure," said Harry, although there was a gentle hum in his ears which continuously grew louder as he went further into the vault.

"Harry, could this be — ? Aargh!"

Hermione screamed in pain, and Charlie bolted around, just in time to see a jewelled goblet tumbling from her grip. But as it fell, it split, became a shower of goblets, so that a second later, with a great clatter, the floor was covered in identical cups rolling in every direction, the original impossible to discern amongst them.

"It burned me!" moaned Hermione, sucking her blistered fingers.

"They must've added Gemino and Flagrante Curses!" snarled Griphook, displeased. "Everything you touch will burn and multiply, but the copies are worthless — and if you continue to handle the treasure, you will eventually be crushed to death by the weight of expanding gold!"

"That's c-comforting," mumbled Charlie sarcastically.

"Okay, don't touch anything!" said Harry desperately, but even as he said it, Ron accidentally nudged one of the fallen goblets with his foot, and twenty more exploded into being while Ron hopped on the spot, part of his shoe even burned away by contact with the hot metal.

"Stand still, don't move!" shouted Hermione, clutching at Charlie for dear life.

"Keep looking!" commanded Harry. "Remember, the cup's small and gold, it's got a badger engraved on it, two handles — or see if you can spot Ravenclaw's symbol anywhere, the eagle —"

They directed their wands into every nook and crevice, turning cautiously on the spot. It was impossible not to brush up against anything; Charlie sent a great cascade of fake Galleons onto the ground where they joined the goblets, and now there was scarcely room to place their feet, and the glowing gold blazed with heat, so that the vault felt like a furnace.

Without a wand of his own, Charlie stayed at Hermione's side, searching alongside her. Her wandlight passed over shields and goblin-made helmets set on shelves rising to the ceiling; higher and higher she raised the beam, until suddenly it found an object that made Charlie's heart skip a beat.

"It's th-there, it's up there!"

Harry and Ron pointed their wands at it too, so that the little golden cup sparkled in a three-way spotlight: the cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, which had passed into the possession of Hepzibah Smith, from whom it had been stolen by Tom Riddle.

Ron blinked, confused, "And how the hell are we going to get up there without touching anything?"

"Accio Cup!" cried Hermione, who had evidently forgotten in her desperation what Griphook had told them during their planning sessions.

"No use, stupid girl, no use!" snarled the goblin.

"Then what do we do?" asked Harry, glaring at the goblin. "If you want the sword, Griphook, then you'll have to help us more than — wait! Can I touch stuff with the sword? Hermione, give it here!"

With her unoccupied hand, Hermione fumbled inside her robes, drew out the beaded bag, rummaged for a few seconds, then removed the shining sword. Harry seized it by its rubied hilt and touched the tip of the blade to a silver flagon nearby, which did not multiply.

"If I can just poke the sword through a handle... but how am I going to get up there?"

The shelf on which the cup reposed was out of reach for any of them, even Charlie, who was tallest. With the heat from the enchanted treasure rose in waves, sweat ran down Charlie's face as he and the others struggled to think of a way up to the cup.

And then, Charlie heard the dragon roar on the other side of the vault door, and the sound of metal clanking grew louder and louder. They were truly trapped now: there was no way out except through the door, and a horde of goblins seemed to be approaching on the other side. As a result, terror was etching its way on everyone's faces, which was an emotion Charlie was all too familiar with in the depths of Bellatrix's vault.

"Hermione," said Harry quickly, as the clanking grew louder, "I've got to get up there, we've got to get rid of it —"

Thinking quickly, Hermione raised her wand, pointed it at Harry, and whispered, "Levicorpus."

Hoisted into the air by his ankle, Harry hit a suit of armour and replicas burst out of it like white-hot bodies, filling the cramped space.

With screams of pain, Charlie, Hermione, Ron, and the two goblins were knocked aside into other objects, which also began to replicate. Half buried in a rising tide of red-hot treasure, they struggled and yelled as Harry thrusted the sword through the handle of Hufflepuff's cup, hooking it onto the blade.

"Impervius!" screeched Hermione in an attempt to protect herself, Charlie, Ron, and the goblins from the burning metal.

By the time Harry looked down again, his three friends were waist-deep in treasure, struggling to keep Bogrod from slipping beneath the rising tide, but Griphook had sunk out of sight and nothing but the tips of a few long fingers were left in view. Harry seized Griphook's fingers and pulled. The blistered goblin emerged by degrees, howling.

"Liberacorpus!" yelled Harry, and with a crash, he and Griphook landed on the surface of the swelling treasure; the sword flew out of Harry's hand.

"Get it!" Harry shouted, fighting the pain of the hot metal on his skin, as Griphook clambered onto his shoulders again, determined to avoid the swelling mass of red-hot objects. "Where's the sword? It had the cup on it!"

The clanking on the other side of the door was becoming deafening — it was too late...

"There!"

It was Griphook who had seen it, and he quickly lunged. With one hand holding tightly to a fistful of Harry's hair, to make sure he did not fall into the heaving sea of burning gold, Griphook seized the hilt of the sword and swung it high out of Harry's reach. The tiny golden cup, skewered by the handle on the sword's blade, was flung into the air.

His eyes fixated upon the Horcrux, Charlie dived and caught it, and although he could feel it scalding his flesh he did not relinquish it, even while countless Hufflepuff cups burst from his fist, raining down upon him. Before he'd realized it, the entrance of the vault opened up again and he found himself sliding uncontrollably on an expanding avalanche of fiery gold and silver that bore him, Harry, Ron, and Hermione into the outer chamber.

Hardly aware of the pain from the burns covering his body, and still borne along on the swell of replicating treasure, Charlie shoved the cup into his pocket as Harry reached up to retrieve the sword... but Griphook had vanished.

Sliding from Harry's shoulders the moment he could, he had sprinted for cover amongst the surrounding goblins, brandishing the sword and crying, "Thieves! Thieves! Help! Thieves!" He vanished into the midst of the advancing crowd, all of whom were holding daggers and who accepted him without question.

Slipping on the hot metal, Charlie struggled to his feet and limped his way behind Harry, who knew that the only way out was through.

"Stupefy!" he bellowed, and Ron and Hermione joined in. Jets of red light flew into the crowd of goblins, and some toppled over, but others advanced, and Charlie saw several wizard guards running around the corner.

The tethered dragon let out a roar, and a gush of flame flew over the goblins. The wizards fled, doubled-up, back the way they had come.

"What do we do!?" bellowed Ron, as he and Harry ducked for cover behind one column, Hermione and Charlie across from them. "Hermione, think!"

"What, why me — ?"

"You're the clever one!"

Then, a moment of inspiration, or madness, came to Harry. Pointing his wand at the thick cuffs chaining the beast to the floor, he yelled, "Relashio!"

The cuffs broke open with loud bangs.

"This way!" Harry yelled, and still shooting stunning spells at the advancing goblins, he sprinted toward the blind dragon.

"Are you fucking serious?" hollered Charlie, but Hermione grabbed hold of his bloodied shirt and pushed him in front her.

"Get up, climb up, come on —"

The dragon had not yet realize it was free: Charlie's foot found the crook of its hind leg and Harry helped pull his weakened best friend onto the beast's back. The scales were hard as steel; it did not even seem to feel Charlie. He stretched out a rawboned arm and Hermione quickly hoisted herself upwards, using her boyfriend as leverage; Ron climbed on behind them, and a second later the dragon became aware that it was untethered.

With a loud roar, it reared: Charlie dug in his knees, clutching as tightly as he could to the jagged scales as the wings opened, knocking the shrieking goblins aside like skittles, and it soared into the air. Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, flat on its back, scraped against the ceiling as it dived toward the passage opening, while the pursuing goblins hurled daggers that glanced off its flanks.

"We'll never get out, it's too big!" Hermione screamed, but the dragon opened its mouth and belched flame again, blasting the tunnel, whose floors and ceiling cracked and crumbled. By sheer force, the dragon clawed and fought its way through. Charlie's eyes were shut tight against the heat and dust. Deafened by the crashing of rock and the dragon's roars, he could only cling to its back, expecting to be shaken off at any moment; then he heard Hermione yelling, "Defodio!"

Hermione was setting the dragon, and them, free.

She was helping the dragon enlarge the passageway, carving out the ceiling as it struggled upward toward the fresher air, away from the shrieking and clanking goblins: Harry and Ron copied her, blasting the ceiling apart with more gouging spells.

They passed the underground lake, and the great crawling, snarling beast seemed to sense freedom and space ahead of it, and behind them the passage was full of the dragon's thrashing, spiked tail, of great lumps of rock, gigantic fractured stalactites, and the clanking of the goblins seemed to be growing more muffled, while ahead, the dragon's fire kept their progress clear —

And then at last, by the combined force of their spells and the dragon's brute strength, they had blasted their way out of the passage into the marble hallway. Goblins and wizards shrieked and ran for cover, and finally the dragon had room to stretch its wings.

Turning its horned head toward the cool outside air, the dragon could smell beyond the entrance, so it took off, and with Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione still clinging to its back, it forced its way through the metal doors, leaving them buckled and hanging from their hinges, as it staggered into Diagon Alley and launched itself into the sky.

There was no means of steering; the dragon could not see where it was going, and Charlie knew that if it turned sharply or rolled in midair they would find it impossible to cling onto its broad back.

Nevertheless, as they climbed higher and higher, London unfurling below them like a grey-and-green map, Charlie's overwhelming feeling was of gratitude for an escape that had seemed impossible. Crouching low over the beast's neck, he clung tight to the metallic scales, and the cool breeze was soothing on his burned, bruised and blistered skin, the dragon's wings beating the air like the sails of a windmill. Behind him, whether from delight or fear he could not tell, Harry and Ron kept swearing at the top of their voices, and Hermione seemed to be sobbing. He recalled her fear of heights quite well, and couldn't help but wonder with a dark sense of humor, perhaps because of the adrenaline still pounding in his ears, if maybe this would put an end to that.

After five minutes or so, Charlie lost some of his immediate dread that the dragon was going to throw them off, for it seemed intent on nothing but getting as far away from its underground prison as possible; but the question of how and when they were to dismount remained rather frightening. He had no idea how long dragons could fly without landing, nor how this particular dragon, which could barely see, would locate a good place to put down. He glanced around constantly, imagining that he could feel his seat prickling.

How long would it be before Voldemort knew that they had broken into the Lestranges' vault? How soon would the goblins of Gringotts notify his father and Bellatrix? How quickly would they realize what had been taken? And then, when they discovered that the golden cup and Charlie, their prisoner, were missing? Voldemort would know, at last, that they were hunting Horcruxes, and Fenwick would be on the hunt for his son once again.

The dragon seemed to crave cooler and fresher air. It climbed steadily until they were flying through wisps of chilly cloud, and Charlie could no longer make out the little coloured dots which were cars pouring in and out of the capital. On and on they flew, over countryside parcelled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscape like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.

"What do you reckon it's looking for?" Ron yelled as they flew further and further north.

"No idea," Harry bellowed back.

Charlie's hands were numb with cold, but he did not dare attempt to shift his grip. He had been wondering for some time what they would do if they saw the coast sail beneath them, if the dragon headed for open sea; he was cold and numb, not to mention desperately hungry and thirsty. When, he wondered, had the beast itself last eaten? Surely it would need sustenance before long? And what if, at that point, it realized it had four edible humans sitting on its back?

The sun slipped lower in the sky, which was turning indigo; and still the dragon flew, cities and towns gliding out of sight beneath them, its enormous shadow sliding over the earth like a giant dark cloud. Every part of Charlie ached with the effort of holding on to the dragon's back.

"Is it my imagination," shouted Ron, after a considerable stretch of silence, "or are we losing height?"

Charlie looked down and saw deep green mountains and lakes, coppery in the sunset. The landscape seemed to grow larger and more detailed as he squinted over the side of the dragon, and he wondered whether it had divined the presence of fresh water by the flashes of reflected sunlight.

Lower and lower the dragon flew, in great spiraling circles, honing in, it seemed, upon one of the smaller lakes.

"I say we jump when it gets low enough!" Harry called back to the others. "Straight into the water before it realizes we're here!"

They agreed, Hermione a little faintly, and now Charlie could see the dragon's wide yellow underbelly rippling in the surface of the water.

"NOW!"

At Harry's command, Charlie slithered over the side of the dragon and plummeted feet first toward the surface of the lake; the drop was greater than he had estimated and he hit the water hard, plunging like a stone into a freezing, green, reed-filled world. He kicked toward the surface and emerged, panting, to see enormous ripples emanating in circles from the places where Harry, Ron and Hermione had fallen. The dragon did not seem to have noticed anything; it was already fifty feet away, swooping low over the lake to scoop up water in its scarred snout. As Harry, Ron and Hermione, gasping and spluttering, emerged from the depths of the lake, the dragon flew on, its wings beating hard, and landed on a distant bank.

Charlie swam towards Hermione's bobbing head, grabbing her robes to help her keep afloat. Together, with Harry and Ron just ahead of them, they struck out for the opposite shore. The lake did not seem to be deep; soon it was more a question of fighting their way through reeds and mud rather than swimming, and at last they flopped, sodden, panting, and exhausted, onto slippery grass. Charlie held Hermione tight, kissing her wet head, and then staggered to his feet, watching as Harry set out to cast the usual protective spells around them.

Hermione sat up alongside him, coughing and shuddering. Though she could have happily lain down and slept, she pulled herself upwards and flung herself at Charlie, now able to reunite with and embrace him in the way she intended. With her arms locked tightly around his neck, Hermione had just the briefest moment to note the surprised look in Charlie's eyes before she was smashing their mouths together.

The displeased groan that elicited from Ron's lips at the sight was almost loud enough to drown out any of Hermione's soft whimpers. Charlie had heard them, however, and the sounds she was making spurred him on until he was dipping her back, supported by a firm arm wrapped around her waist. He lifted his other hand to cradle the back of her head, holding her close while he maneuvered his way passed her trembling lips and into the wonderful warmth of her mouth.

It was a foreign sensation to him now — like that of freedom — and Charlie found himself desperate for more. Despite his lack of strength, nothing would discourage him from seeking out his blissful reunion with his girlfriend, with the one person who's memory had kept him sane in the last few weeks. Even after weeks apart, their lips danced together as though never meant to be parted again, and Charlie and Hermione slipped right back into the depths of the insatiable feeling with no complaint.

As the lack of oxygen in their lungs proved to be a problem, Charlie had but a moment to savour the taste of her before they were naturally forced apart. Once their lips parted, Hermione rested her forehead against his, breathing heavily. She took notice of every intricate detail on his face — from the purple shadows under his eyes to his busted lower lip — and peppered soft kisses on every imperfection of his withered skin.

Unable to help herself, Hermione flashed him a watery smile, forcing a whimper past her lips:

"Ch-Charlie...?"

"I-I'm here... you s-saved me," he responded in a whisper, and he tightened his hold on her waist to prove his words. Then, just loud enough for her to hear, he added, "And I l-love you, Hermione... always."

With a muffled, joyful sob of relief, Hermione reached up on her tip toes to press her soft mouth against his, just once more, before dropping down again.

And it was nothing like those other kisses.

Without the painful recollections and terror erupting in his chest, Charlie was left with was an untouchable longing, which remarkably felt like the tightness of steel bands wrapping tight around his ribs. It hurt to breathe, and it hurt to look at her, with her soft brown eyes and those lovely, sweet lips. Despite that, however, all Charlie wanted — needed — was more.

And so, he leaned in further, kissing her slow and gentle, while the world went dark around them...

"Oi! That's enough," Ron shouted, disturbed, after several uncomfortable minutes of watching his two friends snog. With a mangled laugh seeping through his lips, Charlie broke the kiss and raised a brow towards the ginger, who jokingly said, "Thank Merlin! Keep the snogging to a minimum, would you? Nobody wants to see that!"

"We haven't seen each other in over a month," said Charlie justifiably, gaining the strength in his voice, as he brushed a brief kiss against Hermione's cheek. "So our snogging has been long overdue, I'd say."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it... 'lovey-dovey reunion' and whatnot," laughed Ron, waving a hand in dismal.

Dazed, and seemingly unaware of the interruption, Hermione's eyes remained locked on Charlie's side-profile as though she was scared to ever look away again out of fear of losing him. With her thumb, she caressed the side of his face, pulling his attention back to her, and whispered, "I love you... forever."

Charlie leaned back down, losing himself in her eyes, and placed a chaste kiss to Hermione's forehead.

"I know, baby," he breathed, and he felt at home when she nuzzled deeper into his embrace. His eyes were lined with unshed tears, a gentle smile gracing his elegant features; Hermione had almost forgotten just how good a smile looked on him.

Together, Charlie and Hermione stood in their embrace until Harry was finished with the protective enchantments. Moments later, the 'Boy Who Lived' had finally joined the others.

It was the first time that the four teenagers had seen each other properly since escaping from the vault. They each had vicious red burns all over their faces and arms, and their clothing was singed away in places; Charlie as they dabbed essence of dittany onto their many injuries. He handed Harry the bottle, then Hermione pulled out four bottles of pumpkin juice she had brought from Shell Cottage and clean, dry clothes for all of them.

They gulped down the juice, and then stripped off and changed — Ron heading behind a nearby rock for some privacy.

"Well, on the upside," sighed Ron, who was now watching the skin on his hands regrow, "we've saved Charlie and we've got the Horcrux. But, on the downside —"

"— no sword," said Harry through gritted teeth, as he dripped dittany onto an angry burn on his forearm.

"No sword," repeated Ron. "That double-crossing little scab..."

Charlie pulled the Horcrux from the pocket of the wet jacket he had just taken off and set it down on the grass in front of them. Glinting in the sun, it drew their eyes as they swigged their bottles of juice.

"At least we can't wear it this time, that'd look a bit weird hanging around our necks," said Ron, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Hermione looked across the lake to the opposite bank, where the dragon was still drinking.

"What'll happen to it, do you think?" she asked. "Will it be all right?"

"You sound like Hagrid," groaned Ron. "It's a dragon, Hermione, it can look after itself. It's us we need to worry about."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know how to break this to you," said Ron sarcastically, "but I think they might have noticed we broke into Gringotts."

All four of them started to laugh, and once started, it was difficult to stop. Charlie's ribs ached, he felt lightheaded with hunger, but he laid back on the grass beneath the reddening sky and laughed until his throat was raw.

"What are we going to do, though?" whispered Hermione finally, hiccuping herself back to seriousness. "He'll know, won't he? You-Know-Who will know we know about his Horcruxes!"

"Maybe they'll be too scared to tell him!" said Ron hopefully, "Maybe they'll cover up —"

The sky, the smell of lake water, the sound of Ron's voice were extinguished; pain cleaved Charlie's head like a sword stroke. He was still struggling to recover from his horrific experience at the hands of the Death Eaters, clutching at the grass beneath him until his knuckles turned white. With his eyes closed, his nightmares threatened to consume his thoughts.

Next to him, Harry's eyes had rolled back into his head, his mind transporting him elsewhere. There was silence that stretched amongst the group now, rendering each of them motionless. Several moments passed, then Harry coughed and spluttered once more, coming to his senses at last.

Charlie's eyes flew open as he wretched himself back to the present, startled by the sound. He was still lying on the bank of the lake in the setting sun, his head in Hermione's lap, her startled face framed by the darkening sky. Now standing, Ron looked on with equal worry, his eyes shifting between his friends.

As Hermione soothingly caressed his face, Charlie realized he was trembling, vaguely surprised that he'd lost control for a mere moment. In front of him, Hufflepuff's cup was lying innocently in the grass, and the lake, deep blue shot with gold in the falling sun.

"He knows," gasped Harry, his voice oddly hoarse. "He knows, and he's going to check where the others are, and the last one," he was already on his feet, "is at Hogwarts. I knew it. I knew it."

"What?" said Charlie, and although reluctant to leave his current position, he sat up to meet Harry's gaze; Ron was also gaping at him, while Hermione looked a bit worried.

"But what did you see? How do you know?"

"I saw him find out about the cup, I-I was in his head, he's" — Harry remembered the vision — "he's angry, and scared too —"

"Maybe he's dying?" suggested Ron.

Harry shook his head, muttering, "No, no — it's like he's wounded... but somehow he feels more dangerous than ever. He can't understand how we knew, and now he's going to check the others are safe, the ring first. He thinks the Hogwarts one is safest, because Snape's there, because it'll be so hard not to be seen getting in, I think he'll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours —"

"Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?" asked Charlie, now scrambling to his feet too.

"No, he was concentrating on warning Snape, he didn't think about exactly where it is —"

"Wait, wait!" cried Hermione, as Ron caught up to the Horcrux and Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak again. "We can't just go, we haven't got a plan, we need to —"

"We need to get going," said Harry firmly, despite his own exhaustion. "Anyway, since when have any of our plans worked? We plan, we get there, and then all hell breaks loose! Can you imagine what he's going to do once he realises the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn't safe enough?"

"You're right," nodded Charlie, "but how are we going to get in?"

"We'll go to Hogsmeade," said Harry, his plan forming in his head, "and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school's like. Here, take your wand back, Charlie, I'll use Malfoy's for the time being. Come on, Hermione, get under the Cloak! We should all stick together this time —"

"Please, this is nonsense," said Hermione stubbornly, her arms crossing over her chest as she stood up from the ground. "We've just barely escaped Gringotts, Harry! You can't expect us to barge into Hogwarts without some sort of plan! Besides, after everything that we've just seen, it's clear that Charlie's in desperate need of rest — we all are —"

"Don't worry about me," said Charlie quickly, waving off the attention to his health. "Believe me, I'll manage just fine... I've done it before —"

"But this is different!" cried Hermione, shaking her head. "Please, Charlie, you're barely capable of standing on your own! Heaven forbid something happens, and —"

"You worry too much, my love," he told her, his weakened voice not doing him any favours. "Nothing's going to happen, I promise. Please, we've got to go..."

Clapping his friend on the back, Harry grinned victoriously, then said, "You heard him —"

"You are unbelievable —"

Unable to help himself, Charlie moved to silence her at once. Taking a step forward, he reached out to cup her cheeks as he kissed her, and then he repeated what she'd said to him back at the Lovegoods' house, months previous: "Do you trust me?"

Her cold exterior dissolving, Hermione took a deep, shaky breath, but then replied, "Always."

"Then you have nothing to worry about," Charlie confessed, pecking her lips once more, before he grinned cheekily at the effect he had on her.

The flapping of enormous wings echoing across the black water broke them apart. The dragon had drunk its fill and risen into the air. They paused in their preparations to watch it climb higher and higher, now black against the rapidly darkening sky, until it vanished over a nearby hillside.

Then, with their hands interlaced, Charlie guided Hermione forward, taking their places next to their two friends. Harry pulled the Cloak down as far as it would go over the four of them, and together they turned on the spot into the crushing darkness.

—————————————————————

Charlie's feet touched the road. He saw the achingly familiar Hogsmeade High Street; dark shop fronts, and the outline of black mountains beyond the village, and the curve in the road ahead that led off toward Hogwarts, and light spilling from the windows of the Three Broomsticks.

With a lurch of his heart, Charlie remembered, with piercing accuracy, how many times he'd walked these streets as a child alongside his late grandfather, Albus Dumbledore. The memories all flashed in a second, upon landing — and then, even as he relaxed his grip upon Hermione's hand, it happened.

The air was suddenly rented by a piercing scream that sounded like Voldemort's when he had realized the cup had been stolen. It tore at every nerve in Charlie's body, and he knew immediately that their appearance had caused it. Even as he looked at the other three beneath the Cloak, the door of the Three Broomsticks burst open and a dozen cloaked and hooded Death Eaters dashed into the street, their wands aloft.

Instinctively pulling Hermione even closer to him under the cloak, Charlie seized Ron's wrist as he raised his wand; there were too many of them to stun, even attempting it would give away their position. One of the Death Eaters waved his wand and the scream stopped, still echoing around the distant mountains.

"Accio Cloak!" roared one of the Death Eaters. Harry seized its folds, but it made no attempt to escape; the Summoning Charm had not worked on it.

"Not under your wrapper, then, Potter?" yelled the Death Eater, who had tried the charm, and then to his fellows, "Spread out now. He's here."

With that, six of the Death Eaters ran toward them. Charlie, Harry, Hermione, and Ron backed as quickly as possible down the nearest side street, and the Death Eaters missed them by inches. They waited in the darkness, listening to the footsteps running up and down, beams of light flying along the street from the Death Eaters' searching wands.

"Let's just leave!" whispered Hermione, her clammy hand in Charlie's. "Disapparate right now!"

"Great idea," said Ron, but before either Charlie or Harry could reply, another Death Eater shouted.

"We know you're here, Potter, and there's no getting away! We'll find you!"

"They were ready for us," muttered Charlie. "They set up that spell to tell them we'd come. I reckon they've done something to keep us here, trap us —"

"What about the Dementors?" called another Death Eater. "Let 'em have free rein, they'd find him quick enough!"

"The Dark Lord wants Potter dead by no hand but his —"

"— an' Dementors won't kill him! The Dark Lord wants Potter's life, not his soul. He'll be easier to kill if he's been Kissed first!"

There were noises of agreement. Dread filled Charlie; to repel Dementors they would have to produce Patronuses which would give them away immediately.

"We're going to have to try to Disapparate!" said Hermione in a hushed tone, her voice desperate.

Even as she said it, Charlie felt the unnatural cold begin to steal over the street. Light was sucked from the environment right up to stars, which immediately vanished. In the pitch-blackness, the four Gryffindors turned on the spot.

The air through which they needed to move through seemed to have become solid. They could not Disapparate; the Death Eaters had cast their charms well. The cold was biting deeper and deeper into Charlie's flesh. He, Harry, Ron, and Hermione retreated down the side street, groping their way along the wall, trying not to make a sound.

Then, around the corner, gliding noiselessly, came Dementors, ten or more of them, visible because they were of a denser darkness than their surroundings, with their black cloaks and their scabbed and rotting hands. Could they sense fear in the vicinity? Charlie was sure of it; they seemed to be coming more quickly now, taking those dragging, rattling breaths he detested, tasting despair on the air, closing in —

Thinking quickly, Charlie raised his wand. He could not, would not, let any of them suffer the Dementor's Kiss, no matter the consequences. And so, it was of Hermione that he thought as he whispered, "Expecto Patronum!"

The silver phoenix burst from his wand, soaring in the air, and Charlie relished in the feeling of using his magic after such a long withdrawal from it. The Dementors scattered and there was a triumphant yell from somewhere out of sight.

"Someone's here — down there, down there! I saw their Patronus, it was a phoenix!"

The Dementors had retreated and the footsteps of the Death Eaters were becoming louder. Before anyone could could decide what to do, however, there was a grinding of bolts nearby, which opened a door on the left-hand side of the narrow street, then a rough voice said, "Potter, in here, quick!"

Harry obeyed without hesitation; the four Gryffindors hurdled through the open doorway.

"Upstairs, keep the Cloak on, keep quiet!" muttered a tall figure, passing them on his way into the street and slamming the door behind him.

Charlie had had no idea where they were, but now he saw, by the stuttering light of a single candle, the grubby, sawdust-strewn bar of the Hog's Head Inn. They ran behind the counter and through a second doorway, which led to a rickety wooden staircase that they climbed as fast as they could. The stairs opened onto a sitting room with a threadbare carpet and a small fireplace, above which hung a single large oil painting of a blonde girl who gazed out at the room with a kind of vacant sweetness.

Shouts reached them from the street below. Still wearing the Invisibility Cloak, they crept toward the grimy window and looked down. Their saviour, whom Charlie now recognized as the Hog's Head's barman, was the only person not wearing a hood.

"So what?" he was bellowing into one of the hooded faces. "So what? You send Dementors down my street, I'll send a Patronus back at 'em! I'm not having 'em near me, I've told you that, I'm not having it!"

"That wasn't your Patronus!" roared one of the Death Eaters. "That was a phoenix, there's no way —"

"Phoenix?" shouted the barman, and he pulled out a wand. "Phoenix? You idiot — Expecto Patronum!"

At once, something huge and long-legged erupted from the wand. Head down, it soared toward the High Street and out of sight.

"That's not what I saw —" said the Death Eater, though with less certainty.

"Curfew's been broken, you heard the noise," one of his companions told the barman. "Someone was out in the street against regulations —"

"If I want to put my cat out, I will, and be damned to your curfew!"

"You set off the Caterwauling Charm?"

"What if I did? Going to cart me off to Azkaban? Kill me for sticking my nose out my own front door? Do it, then, if you want to! But I hope for your sakes you haven't pressed your little Dark Marks and summoned him. He's not going to like being called here for me and my old cat, is he, now?"

"Don't you worry about us," said one of the Death Eaters, "worry about yourself, breaking curfew!"

"And where will you lot traffic potions and poisons when my pub's closed down? What'll happen to your little sidelines then?"

"Are you threatening — ?"

"I keep my mouth shut, it's why you come here, isn't it?"

"I still say I saw a phoenix Patronus!" shouted the first Death Eater.

"Phoenix?" roared the barman. "It's a heron, idiot!"

(A/N: he gives me heron vibes, so I'm changing it loll)

"All right, we made a mistake," said the second Death Eater. "Break curfew again and we won't be so lenient!"

The Death Eaters strode back towards the High Street. Hermione moaned with relief, wove out from under the Cloak, and sat down on a wobble-legged chair. Charlie drew the curtains tight shut, then pulled the Cloak off himself, Harry, and Ron. They could hear the barman down below, re-bolting the door of the bar, then climbing the stairs.

Charlie's attention was caught by the small, rectangular portrait of the familiar-looking girl. He studied her for a moment, trying to work out where he'd seen her before, but then the barman entered the room and his gaze shifted.

"You bloody fools," he said gruffly, looking from one to the other of them. "What were you thinking, coming here?"

"Thank you," said Charlie, with a breath of relief. "We can't thank you enough... you saved our lives."

The barman merely grunted in response, but Charlie's blood ran cold at the sight of him. He approached the barman, looking up into the face, trying to see past the long, stringy, wire-grey hair and beard. He wore small, round spectacles that were perched on the tip of his noses. Behind the dirty lenses, the eyes were a piercing, brilliant blue —

"It's your eye I've been seeing in the mirror," whispered Harry abruptly, and silence filled the room. "You sent Dobby after us in Malfoy Manor."

Harry and the barman looked at each other for a moment, then the latter nodded and looked around for the elf.

"Thought he'd be with you. Where've you left him?"

"He's dead," answered Harry. "Bellatrix Lestrange killed him."

"W-Wait, what?" stuttered Charlie, his eyelids lining with unshed tears. "How come I'm just finding out about this now?"

Harry cleared his throat, shrugging, "It never came up until now... I'm sorry, mate."

Unable to help himself, Charlie collapsed into a chair next to Hermione, taking a moment to process. In complete contrast, the barman looked impassive. After a few moments, he said, "I'm sorry to hear it, honestly... I liked that elf."

He turned away, lighting lamps with prods of his wand, not looking at any of them. Charlie watched him, noticing the hauntingly similar characteristics he shared with Dumbledore, and then the reason as to why came to him: "You're Aberforth, aren't you? My grandad was your brother."

The barman neither confirmed or denied it, but bent to light the fire.

"How did you get this?" Harry asked, walking across to Sirius's mirror, the twin of the one he had broken nearly two years before.

"Bought it from Dung 'bout a year ago," explained Aberforth. "Albus told me what it was. Been trying to keep an eye out for you."

Ron gasped.

"The silver doe!" he said excitedly. "Was that you too?"

Aberforth narrowed his eyes, muttering, "What are you talking about?"

"Someone sent a doe Patronus to us!"

"Brains like that, you could be a Death Eater, son. Haven't I just proved my Patronus is a heron?"

"Oh," said Ron, and Charlie winced at the Death Eater comment nonetheless. "Yeah... well, I'm hungry!" he added defensively as his stomach gave an enormous rumble.

"I've got food," said Aberforth, and he sloped out of the room, reappearing moments later with a large loaf of bread, some cheese, and a pewter jug of mead, which he set upon a small table in front of the fire. Ravenous, they ate and drank, and for a while there was silence but for the crackle of the fire, the clink of goblets, and the sound of chewing.

"Right then," mumbled Aberforth when they had eaten, and Ron sat slumped dozily in his chair. "We need to think of the best way to get you out of here. Can't be done by night, you heard what happens if anyone moves outdoors during darkness: Caterwauling Charm's set off, they'll be onto you like bowtruckles on doxy eggs. It'd probably be best to wait for daybreak when curfew lifts, then you can put your Cloak back on and set out on foot. Get right out of Hogsmeade, up into the mountains, and you'll be able to Disapparate there. You might even see Hagrid. He's been hiding in a cave up there with Grawp ever since they tried to arrest him."

"We're not leaving," said Harry firmly. "We need to get into Hogwarts."

Aberforth shook his head, then whispered, "Don't be stupid, boy."

Harry shrugged, defending himself, "We've got to."

"What you've got to do," said Aberforth, leaning forward, "is to get as far from here as you can."

"You don't understand," Charlie piped up. "There isn't much time. We've got to get into the castle. My grandfather — your brother — wanted us —"

The firelight made the grimy lenses of Aberforth's glasses momentarily opaque, a bright flat white, and Charlie oddly remembered the blind eyes of the giant spider, Aragog.

"My brother wanted a lot of things," scoffed Aberforth, "and people had a habit of getting hurt while he was carrying out his grand plans. You get away from this school, Charles, and out of the country if you can. Forget my brother and his clever schemes. He's gone where none of this can hurt him, and you don't owe him anything."

But Charlie tried again, "You don't understand."

"Oh, don't I?" growled Aberforth. "You don't think I understood my own brother? Think you knew Albus better than I did?"

"I didn't mean that," said Charlie, whose brain felt sluggish with exhaustion and from the surfeit of food and wine. "It's just... he's left us a task."

"Did he now?" questioned Aberforth. "Nice task, I hope? Pleasant? Easy? Sort of thing you'd expect a group of unqualified wizard kids to be able to do without over-stretching themselves?"

Uncomfortable, Harry cleared his throat, but Ron gave a rather grim laugh. Hermione, who was still grasping Charlie's hand, was looking strained.

"I-It's not easy, no," muttered Charlie, caught. "But we've got to —"

"'Got to'? Why 'got to'? He's dead, isn't he?" said Aberforth roughly. "Let it go, boy, before you follow him and your mother! Save yourself!"

"We can't do that."

"Why not?"

"We —" Charlie felt overwhelmed; he could not explain, so he took the offensive instead. "But you're fighting too, you're in the Order —"

"I was," corrected Aberforth. "But the Order of the Phoenix is finished. You-Know-Who's won, it's over, and anyone who's pretending different's kidding themselves. It'll never be safe for you here. So go abroad, go into hiding, save yourself. Take these three with you." He jerked a thumb at Harry, Ron and Hermione. "Especially the girl — Muggle-born, right?"

"But we can't just leave," argued Harry. "We've still got the task —"

"Give it to someone else!"

"We can't," said Charlie, his jaw clenched. "It's got to be Harry in the end, your brother explained it all —"

"Oh, did he now? And did he tell you everything, was he honest with you?"

Charlie wanted with all his heart to say "Yes," but somehow the simple word would not rise to his lips. Aberforth seemed to know what he was thinking.

"I knew my brother, Charles. He learned secrecy at our mother's knee. Secrets and lies, that's how we grew up, and Albus... he was a natural."

The old man's eyes traveled to the painting of the girl over the mantelpiece. It was, now that Charlie looked around properly, the only picture in the room. There was no photograph of Albus Dumbledore, nor of anyone else.

"Mr. Dumbledore?" whispered Hermione timidly, and Charlie was glad for the change of focus. "Is that your sister? Ariana?"

"Yes," said Aberforth tersely. "Been reading Rita Skeeter, have you, missy?"

Even by the rosy light of the fire it was clear that Hermione had turned red.

"Elphias Doge mentioned her to us," Charlie interjected, trying to spare Hermione.

"That old berk," muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. "Thought the sun shone out of my brother's every orifice, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you four included, by the looks of it."

Charlie kept quiet. He did not want to express the doubts and uncertainties about Dumbledore that had riddled him for months now. There was no desire to doubt again, however, for it was his choice to continue along the winding, dangerous path indicated for him by his grandfather, to accept that he had not been told everything that he wanted to know. He met Aberforth's gaze, which was so strikingly like his brother's; the bright blue eyes gave the same impression that they were X-raying the object of their scrutiny, and Charlie thought that Aberforth knew what he was thinking and despised him for it.

"Professor Dumbledore cared about Charlie and Harry, very much," said Hermione in a low voice, squeezing her boyfriend's hand.

"Did he now?" questioned Aberforth. "Funny thing, how many of the people my brother cared about very much ended up in a worse state than if he'd left 'em well alone."

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione breathlessly.

"Never you mind," dismissed Aberforth.

"But that's a really serious thing to say," said Hermione nervously. "Are you — are you talking about your sister?"

Aberforth glared at her, but — to Charlie's immense pride — Hermione stood firm, returning his stare. His lips moved as if he were chewing the words he was holding back. Then, after a while, he burst into speech.

"When my sister was six years old, she was attacked, set upon, by three muggle boys. They'd seen her doing magic, spying through the back garden hedge. She was a kid, she couldn't control it, no witch or wizard can at that age. What they saw scared them, I expect. They forced their way through the hedge, and when she couldn't show them the trick, they got a bit carried away trying to stop the little freak doing it."

Hermione's eyes were huge in the firelight; Ron looked slightly sick. Aberforth stood up, as tall as Albus, and suddenly terrible in his anger and the intensity of his pain.

"It destroyed her, what those bastards did. She was never right again. She wouldn't use magic, but she couldn't get rid of it; it turned inward and drove her mad, it exploded out of her when she couldn't control it, and at times she was strange and dangerous. But mostly she was sweet and scared and harmless."

"My father went after the bastards that did it," continued Aberforth, "and attacked them. They locked him up in Azkaban for it. He never said why he'd done it, because if the Ministry had known what Ariana had become, she'd have been locked up in St. Mungo's for good. They'd have seen her as a serious threat to the International Statute of Secrecy, unbalanced like she was, with magic exploding out of her at moments when she couldn't keep it in any longer."

"We had to keep her safe and quiet. We moved house, put it about that she was ill, and my mother looked after her, and tried to keep her calm and happy."

"I was her favourite," he said, and as he said it, a grubby schoolboy seemed to look out through Aberforth's wrinkles and tangled beard. "Not Albus, he was always up in his bedroom when he was home, reading his books and counting his prizes, keeping up with his correspondence with 'the most notable magical names of the day."

Aberforth succoured, "He didn't want to be bothered with her. She liked me best. I could get her to eat when she wouldn't do it for my mother, I could calm her down, when she was in one of her rages, and when she was quiet, she used to help me feed the goats."

"Then, when she was fourteen... see, I wasn't there," said Aberforth slowly. "If I'd been there, I could have calmed her down. She had one of her rages, and my mother wasn't as young as she was, and... it was an accident. Ariana couldn't control it. But my mother was killed."

Charlie felt a horrible mixture of pity and repulsion; he did not want to hear any more, but Aberforth kept talking, and Charlie wondered how long it had been since he had spoken about this... whether, in fact, he had ever spoken about it.

"So that put paid to Albus's trip round the world with little Doge. The pair of 'em came home for my mother's funeral and then Doge went off on his own, and Albus settled down as head of the family. Ha!"

Aberforth spat into the fire.

"I'd have looked after her, I told him so, I didn't care about school, I'd have stayed home and done it. He told me I had to finish my education and he'd take over from my mother. Bit of a comedown for Mr. Brilliant, there's no prizes for looking after your half-mad sister, stopping her blowing up the house every other day. But he did all right for a few weeks... till he came."

And now a positively dangerous look crept over Aberforth's face.

"Grindelwald. And at last, my brother had an equal, someone just as bright and talented he was. And looking after Ariana took a backseat then, while they were hatching all their plans for a new Wizarding order and looking for Hallows, and whatever else it was they were so interested in. Grand plans for the benefit of all Wizard-kind, and if one young girl neglected, what did that matter, when Albus was working for the greater good?"

"But after a few weeks of it, I'd had enough. It was nearly time for me to go back to Hogwarts, so I told 'em, both of 'em, face-to-face, like I am to you, now," and Aberforth looked down at Charlie, and it took little imagination to see him as a teenager, wiry and angry, confronting his elder brother; Hermione's grip on his hand tightened once more instinctively.

"I told him, you'd better give it up now. You can't move her, she's in no fit state, you can't take her with you, wherever it is you're planning to go, trying to whip yourselves up a following. He didn't like that," said Aberforth, and his eyes were briefly occluded by the firelight on the lenses of his glasses; they shone white and blind again. "Grindelwald didn't like that at all. He got angry. He told me what a stupid little boy I was, trying to stand in the way of him and my brilliant brother... Didn't I understand, my poor sister wouldn't have to be hidden once they'd changed the world, and led the wizards out of hiding, and taught the Muggles their place?

"And there was an argument... and I pulled my wand, and he pulled out his, and I had the Cruciatus Curse used on me by my brother's best friend — and Albus was trying to stop him, and then all three of us were dueling, and the flashing lights and the bangs set her off, she couldn't stand it —"

The colour was draining from Aberforth's face as though he had suffered a mortal wound.

"— and I think she wanted to help, but she didn't really know what she was doing, and I don't know which of us did it, it could have been any of us — and she was dead."

His voice broke on the last word and he dropped down into the nearest chair. Hermione's face was wet with tears, and Ron and Harry were almost as pale as Aberforth. Charlie felt nothing but revulsion; he wished he had not heard it, wished he could wash his mind clean of it.

"I'm so... I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered.

"Gone," croaked Aberforth. "Gone forever."

He wiped his nose on his cuff and cleared his throat.

"'Course, Grindelwald scarpered. He had a bit of a track record already, back in his own country, and he didn't want Ariana set to his account too. And Albus was free, wasn't he? Free of the burden of his sister, free to become the greatest wizard of the —"

But Harry interjected, "He was never free."

"I beg your pardon?" said Aberforth, his eyes narrow.

"Never," repeated Harry. "The night that your brother died, he drank a potion that drove him out of his mind. He started screaming, pleading with someone who wasn't there. 'Don't hurt them, please... hurt me instead.'"

Charlie, Ron, and Hermione, who was applying so much pressure to her boyfriend's hand that it was starting to hurt, were staring at Harry. He had never gone into details about what had happened on the island on the lake; the events that had taken place after he and Dumbledore had returned to Hogwarts had eclipsed it so thoroughly.

"He thought he was back there with you and Grindelwald, I know he did," said Harry, remembering Dumbledore whimpering, pleading. "He thought he was watching Grindelwald hurting you and Ariana... It was torture to him, if you'd seen him then, you wouldn't say he was free."

Aberforth seemed lost in contemplation of his own knotted and veined hands. After a long pause he said, "How can you be sure, Potter, that my brother wasn't more interested in the greater good than in you or his own grandson for that matter? How can you be sure that you two aren't dispensable, just like my little sister?"

A shard of ice seemed to pierce Charlie's heart.

"I don't believe that," Hermione began, shaking her head. "Dumbledore loved Charlie and Harry."

"Why didn't he tell them to hide, then?" shot back Aberforth. "Why didn't he say to them, 'Take care of yourselves, here's how to survive'? Why didn't he tell Charles to go and live a long life with you, missy?"

"Because," said Charlie quickly, before either Harry or Hermione had the chance to speak, "sometimes you've got to think about more than your own safety! Sometimes you've got to think about the greater good! This is war!"

"You're seventeen, boy!" roared Aberforth, rising to his feet. "And you've been following the word of a man who hasn't even told you where to start! You're lying if you think Albus was the hero of this story. Not just to me, which doesn't matter, but to yourself as well... that's what a fool does."

Charlie rose to his feet, untangling himself from Hermione's embrace, despite her relentless attempts to calm him down. Him and Aberforth glared at one another, face-to-face, and Charlie felt unwarranted rage pulse though his veins.

"You're drunk," he stated, matter-of-factly. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"You don't strike me as a fool, nephew," continued Aberforth, taking a step closer. "So I'll ask you again. There must be a reason you're still here, still fighting. But why? Why bother with a war that has already been lost? The four of you are too young to die —"

"We're all of age, and we're going to keep fighting even if you've given up!" roared Charlie, his ribs aching with exertion. "We've lost too many people to lie down now! So I'm not interested in what happened between you and your brother. Because I trusted the man I knew, the man who raised me. With or without you, we're seeing this through."

Aberforth scoffed, "Who says I've given up?"

"'The Order is finished,'" Charlie repeated. "'You-Know-Who's won, it's over, and anyone who's pretending different's kidding themselves.'"

"I didn't say I liked it, but it's the truth!"

"No, it isn't," said Charlie stubbornly. "Your brother knew how to finish You-Know-Who and he passed the knowledge on to us. We're going to keep going until we succeed — or we die. Don't think we don't know how this might end. Believe me, we've all known it for years."

Hermione shuddered beside Charlie involuntarily. With a saddened smile, her boyfriend returned her embrace, waiting for Aberforth to jeer or to argue, but he did not. The barman merely scowled.

"You need to help us get into Hogwarts," Harry requested after a few moments of silence. "If you can't help us, we'll wait till daybreak, leave you in peace, and try to find a way in ourselves. If you can help us — well, now would be a great time to mention it."

Aberforth remained fixed in his chair, gazing at Charlie with the eyes that were so extraordinarily like his brother's. At last, he cleared his throat, got to his feet, walked around the little table, and approached the portrait of Ariana.

"You know what to do," he said quietly.

The young girl smiled, turned, and walked away, not as people in portraits usually did, out of the sides of their frames, but along what seemed to be a long tunnel painted behind her. They watched her slight figure retreating until finally she was swallowed by the darkness.

"Er — what — ?" began Ron.

"There's only one way in now," explained Aberforth. "You must know they've got all the old secret passageways covered at both ends, Dementors all around the walls, regular patrols inside the school from what my sources tell me. The place has never been so heavily guarded. How you expect to do anything once you get inside it, with Snape in charge and the Carrows as his deputies... well, that's your choice, isn't it? You say you're prepared to die."

"But what...?" said Hermione, frowning at Ariana's picture.

There was a tiny white dot that had reappeared at the end of the painted tunnel, and now Ariana was walking back toward them, growing bigger and bigger as she came. But there was somebody else with her now, someone taller than she was, who was limping along — much like Charlie had been — and looking excited. His hair was longer than Charlie had ever seen it; he appeared to have suffered several gashes to his face and his clothes were ripped and torn.

Larger and larger the two figures grew, until only their heads and shoulders filled the portrait. Then the whole thing swung forward on the wall like a little door, and the entrance to a real tunnel was revealed...

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

...we're nearing the end 💔

but Charlie's back <3 so I hope you enjoyed!

sorry for the lack of updates, I've been busy with the end of the school year! But, as I've now graduated, you can expect more frequent updates coming soon!!

much love, thanks for your continued support!! ilyyyy

xo, Selena