ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴꜱ ɢᴏ ʙʀʀʀʀ

{ cisman , he/him , twenty-eight , oliver stark } during the trial of voldemort’s last major conspirators, charlie weasley was spotted. they work as a head of the department of magical creature regulation. rumor has it they are audacious + outgoing, but i’ve heard they're impulsive + dogmatic. during the battle of hogwarts they fought for the order. when i think of them, i’m reminded of a hot summer day, laughing until your sides hurt, books with torn off pages.

“is mum here?” charlie peeked over the corner of the entrance door of the weasley household; seeing only george inside was his cue the terrain was clear. he held a small creature wrapped in a blanket, carefully hidden as he dashed upstairs to his room. if something was about to burn, then let it be his carpet. “george, bring me that steak we’re supposed to have for dinner. quick!”

The thoughts had crossed his head as well, he wanted to believe that George was right, that Fred was alive just not knowing who they were, but what if they’d managed to fool him and Angelina. He placed the mug of tea -topped with a dash of brandy- in front of Charlie, taking a seat in the chair opposite him of his kitchen. it wasn’t rare Charlie came to visit, as the two oldest they regularly met up to talk, especially now both of them resided back in England. He was more pissed both of them had come to the Burrow Christmas day and had sat amongst them all not saying a single thing. On his rational days he would see why they avoided the topic, in a way it was a good thing but also he hated they had kept information from him and the other Weasley’s. Something could’ve been done beforehand. “We have no idea if it is true, there are many ways to change appearance, it could be some sick asshole taking polyjuice or some wacked charm, the idea though that it is him-” if it was, how were they to pretend it wasn’t. “-I know, we saw a body, we held a body, we buried a body and if it isn’t him, who the fuck did we put in his grave?” he added, wondering if some poor soul unaccounted for or some young child who had snuck back to fight was currently lying eight feet under. 

charlie brought the mug to his lips, taking a few sips of the tea, a part of him wishing there was more brandy. though, more alcohol sounded like a bad idea right now - the weasley had barely slept last night, finishing up an old article about dragonology before he spent the rest of the night at the library, looking up appearance altering spells. he didn’t like being stuck in the office all day. it was.. suffocating. he missed his old job, the outdoors; it would help clear his mind too, but leaving england right now was not an option. “i tried to do some researching. there aren’t many options that would last this long, besides polyjuice.. but even then.. there might be some dark magic involved and it’s almost impossible to find out anything about all that. we can’t know what goes through their fucked up minds.” it was hard to find information about the dark arts and charlie was desperate. if one of them was willing to work with him, then.. “you think- you think we buried someone else? fucking hell, i..” the thought was terrifying. “before we allow ourselves to believe that fred is really alive,” even saying the sentence out loud gave him hope. something charlie wanted to avoid. “we have to talk to someone who knows about this sort of magic.” hell, if he had to ask ( or force ) a death eater for help, he would. this was his brother they were talking about. “if fred’s still out there, if they did something like that to him, they would know. someone has to.”

“since when do they allow twelve year olds at the pub?” charlie teased after unexpectedly spotting his sister at the bar, taking the seat next to hers. he raised an arm to get the bartender’s attention. “i’ll have a scotch, no ice. also check her drinks on my bill.” what were brothers for, if not paying for your alcohol. it didn’t take long for his drink to be ready and charlie took a generous gulp, feeling relief at the burning sensation. he’d had a long day. “you waiting for someone, gin?”

hope was a dangerous thing. even the tiniest, little chance that it could be true, that it wasn’t someone being cruel and playing a trick, that fred could really be alive.. he couldn’t allow it. it would break him, all over again, when it turned out not to be real. “oh, bloody hell! you know what, they’re probably fucking laughing at us right now. whoever’s doing this-- gave us hope. it’s some sick fucking joke!” charlie clenched his fist, resisting the urge to hit something. he wanted it to be real. more than anything. he took a few deep breaths, composing himself, his tone softening. “we all saw it, bill. we saw him. fred’s gone.”