Letters

Charlie found the small advert in the back of Dragon Keepers International. The reservation outside Holyhead needed an experienced dragon keeper. Charlie stared at the advert until it blurred in the fading early autumn light. Repairs to the school were going better than expected, and Charlie fairly itched to go back to what he loved best. He was torn, however, between wanting to return to Romania, but unwilling to be so far away from home anymore. Wales was an extremely attractive option.

*****

20 October 1998

Dear Mum,

There's an opening at the Holyhead reservation. I think I'll try for it. I'm going to send off an owl in the morning.

Ginny's doing well as the Captain of the Gryffindor team so far. The first game is coming up soon. I hear that a few professional teams might come out to have a look at her. Wouldn't that be something if our little Gin-Gin played for England someday?

We're working almost non-stop to finish repairs on the school. Hopefully, Hogwarts will be back to normal in another year or so.

I'll try to get away for lunch Sunday, but I can't promise anything.

Say hello to Dad for me.

Love,

Charlie

*****

21 October 1998

Daffyd Rhys

Holyhead Dragon Reserve

Wales

Dear Mr. Rhys,

I am writing to inquire about the dragon keeper position advertised in the October issue of Dragon Keepers International.

I spent six years at the Miercurea Ciuc Reservation in Romania. I have experience with most of the dragon breeds.

You may contact Rubeus Hagrid at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Andreas Georghu at Miercurea Ciuc for references.

Sincerely,

Charlie Weasley

*****

23 October 1998

Dear Mr. Weasley,

I will be in Hogsmeade next week on the thirtieth of October. Meet me at the Three Broomsticks at four in the afternoon, and we'll talk about the opening at Holyhead.

Sincerely,

Daffyd Rhys

*****

Charlie spent three hours talking to Daffyd. He looked familiar, although Charlie couldn't quite place the man. Charlie had to hand it Daffyd - he didn't seemed fussed about Charlie's lack of N.E.W.T.s. He was far more impressed with Charlie's capabilities learned at Miercurea Ciuc and had been most fascinated by Charlie's experience in transporting four fully-grown dragons across international borders for the Triwizard four years ago.

Two days later, Daffyd sent Charlie a letter, formally offering him the position. Charlie immediately wrote back accepting the job.

*****

4 November 1998

Dear Mum,

I got the job in Holyhead. I'll stay in Hogsmeade working on the school repairs until Christmas. I will come for the holiday, then I'm going to move to Holyhead in January.

Tell Ron and Harry they can stay at my flat when they come up for Ginny's game. Remind them to bring sleeping bags.

Love,

Charlie

*****

Charlie dumped his bags in the front room of the small cabin assigned to him. It was like the one he had in Romania - a front room with a kitchen and sitting room, and a bedroom and bathroom in the back. He unpacked his scant belongings. It didn't take long. Charlie didn't have much in the way of clothing, nor possessions. Charlie threw his first-aid kit into a cupboard in the bathroom, and flopped on the bed. The dragons were mostly dormant during the winter months. Tomorrow, he would start a shift in the hatchery. Charlie enjoyed the hatchery, in spite of the dizzying scent of brandy mixed with the almost sickening odor of chicken blood. Charlie was grateful they only had to butcher a chicken or two a week and use a Refilling charm. It was the one part of his job he hated.

Charlie heard some of the other dragon keepers pass by his cabin on their way into Holyhead. He had been invited to go along, but Charlie had begged off, saying he needed to settle in and unpack. It was marginally true, but Charlie craved solitude sometimes, and he wasn't in a mood to sit in a pub when all he wanted to do was read or listen to the wireless.

*****

8 January, 1999

Dear Bill,

The reserve is smaller than Miercurea Ciuc. Mostly just Greens and a few Blacks.

Things are a lot different here. A few of the others who are good at Potions have found a way to make something like formula for babies for the hatchlings. Just add brandy, and no more chicken butchering. I'm eternally grateful for that.

Charlie grimaced and shook his hand a few times. He'd never been much of a letter-writer before the war, usually sending a few lines here and there. Cards at Christmas and birthdays. The last couple of years, it had been dangerous to even try. Not that Charlie minded. It wasn't as if he had anything to say beyond the usual, 'Hello-Mum-things-are-well-love-to-Dad-Charlie' line.

Charlie didn't write to everyone, though. Mostly he wrote to his parents and Bill. He gave the unfinished letter a baleful glance and set it aside. He could finish it later.

*****

The Black in the fireproof bin was teething. It prowled restlessly around, making tiny growling noises. Dragons didn't have much in the way for facial expressions to begin with, but this little one had a decidedly irritable air about him. Charlie reached into the bag he carried and fished out a numbing salve to rub on the hatchings' gums. They were tetchy under the best circumstances and a teething one was risking a fire. Charlie scooped some of the salve onto a finger, and got the dragon to open its jaws. He quickly rubbed it on the gums, but before he could remove his finger, the dragon's mouth closed around it. Charlie let the hatchling gnaw his index finger until the salve kicked in. Drooling slightly, the dragon released Charlie's finger, and settled in the nest and went to sleep.

Charlie looked ruefully at his left index finger. There were dozens of pinprick marks all over it. The Black had a few needle-like teeth just breaking through its gums. He shrugged and pulled a few plasters out of his bag, wrapping them around his finger. He had a salve in his first-aid kit that worked well on the bites like this he'd gotten in Romania. There were only two more hours on his shift. He could take care of it then.

*****

Throbbing pain woke Charlie early in the morning, radiating in waves from his left hand. Charlie groaned and rolled over, reaching for his wand. 'Lumos.' Charlie trained the tip of the wand on his left hand, startled to see the index finger had swollen to three times its normal size. The rest of the hand was puffy, too. Charlie held his wand closer to his hand. -This doesn't look good. Gingerly using his injured hand, Charlie picked up his watch and looked at the time. It was after three in the morning. 'Nox.' Charlie laid the wand back on the night table and lay back down in the pillows, trying to ignore the pain that traveled up his arm with each heartbeat.

After tossing for several minutes, Charlie got out of bed and pulled a pair of sweatpants on over his boxers and a jumper over the t-shirt. Charlie carefully slid his left arm through the sleeve of his coat. There was one thing about this reservation he found agreeable - there was an infirmary on site and he wouldn't have to go into Holyhead or try to get to London. In Romania he would have had to go into Bucharest for something like this.

Charlie trudged through the snow to the stone building that housed the infirmary, cradling his hand to avoid jarring it too much. He opened the door and came face-to-face with a witch who resembled Daffyd, writing in a file at a small table by the dim light of a single lamp. 'Excuse me,' Charlie ventured. 'I don't mean to bother you, but...' He slowly unwrapped the scarf he'd wound around his hand.

The Healer narrowed her eyes at the hand, and waved her wand at the rest of the room, illuminating the room with blazing brightness. 'What did you do?' she asked, gently turning the ominously-tinged hand over.

'Nothing. Put some numbing salve on a Hebridean Black hatchling.'

The Healer glanced up at Charlie. 'Looks like you let it use your hand for a teething ring,' she commented.

'Just a little bit,' Charlie said defensively. 'I have some salve for stuff like this. Used it in Romania all the time,' he added off-handedly.

The witch looked up at Charlie, her head cocked to one side, examining his face. 'You were in Romania?'

'Yeah. For six years.' Charlie felt perplexed. It wasn't exactly a secret he'd been in Romania.

'Charlie Weasley?' she asked incredulously.

'Uh, yeah...' He blinked at her.

She just raised an eyebrow and began to examine Charlie's hand. 'Did you put that salve of yours on it?'

'Yes.'

She reached for a bottle on a shelf behind her. 'What breed did you work with? In Romania?'

'Short-Snouts, Ironbellies, Ridgebacks, Longhorns, Horntails. Mostly Horntails,' he said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. Dragon keepers who worked with Horntails were regarded as one of the elite. Horntails were notoriously difficult.

She snorted, her gaze sweeping Charlie from head-to-toe. 'Compensate much?' she sniffed derisively, holding his hand over a basin, and pouring a potion over it. 'That salve of yours doesn't work for Blacks. Different saliva properties than the other breeds.' She rummaged in a small bin and tossed a small tin to Charlie. 'Try that next time,' she advised. 'You're not the first Hebridean virgin we've had in here.'

Charlie caught it one-handed and tucked it into his coat pocket. The more he heard her speak, the more familiar she sounded. 'Do I know you?' he asked in exasperation.

'You don't remember me, do you?' She wound a bandage around Charlie's hand. 'Figures.'

'Should I?'

The witch snorted. 'Never mind.' She used a Sticking charm to fasten the end of the bandage under Charlie's wrist. 'Don't use the hand for a couple of days, and don't let the hatchlings use you as a chew toy,' she admonished.

Charlie nodded, still confused about the witch.

*****

10 February 1999

Dear Bill,

I'm off-duty for a few days. Blacks may not have the reputation that Horntails do, but they do have rather dodgy spit. Learned something new today.

Ended up going to the infirmary last night. I have to go back later today so they can check out my hand.

Need to ask you something, Bill. Do you know this witch? She seems to know me.

Charlie

Charlie picked up a pencil and began to sketch the woman's face. The high, slanting cheekbones. Eyes tilting up slightly at the corners. Elfin nose. She wasn't what Charlie would call pretty, but he was sure he'd remember her.

He just couldn't for the life of him remember where he'd seen her.

*****

Charlie never thought of himself as something of a loner, but the longer he was in Wales, the more he felt the label fit. In Romania, he could hide his anti-social tendencies behind a language barrier. He would go into Holyhead every so often with the others, but didn't say a great deal. Charlie began to think that was why he worked with dragons. They didn't talk much.

He stood in the snow outside his cabin and began to gather snow into a large, tightly packed ball. When Charlie was satisfied with the mound of snow, he took out his wand and began to sculpt it into a fanciful dragon, combining traits of the Blacks with the Short-Snouts. It was incredibly detailed, down to the scales and the claws digging into the snow underneath. Charlie colored it black on the back, gradually fading to match the clear blue sky overhead. Grinning, Charlie waved his wand, and smoke curled in tendrils from the dragon's snout.

'Nice,' commented a sardonic voice behind him. 'What else can you do?'

Charlie twisted to see the witch from the infirmary behind him. 'Hi,' he mumbled.

'You still don't remember me, do you?'

Charlie slid his wand into a pocket. 'Sort of,' he admitted. 'You look a lot like Daffyd, though.'

'I would hope so. He's my father.'

'Oh.' Charlie frankly studied the woman in front of him. 'It's not just that. It's just I could swear I've seen you before, but I can't place you.' He snorted. 'Don't suppose you've ever been to Romania.'

'No. Grew up here on the reservation. Went to school. Spent three years in London studying to be a Healer, then came back here.'

'Why?' Charlie asked bluntly. 'I mean you could go anywhere.'

The woman gave him a faintly pitying look. 'This is home,' she replied simply.

*****

12 February 1999

Dear Charlie,

I think I remember her. Your year, Ravenclaw. Prefect. Used to take Potions notes in Welsh, just for fun. She was almost legendary for that with the other prefects.

Hope it helps.

Bill

*****

Charlie set Bill's letter down and looked out the window. He sifted through his memory, through the faces of his year at school. A sixth year Charms lesson stood out in particular. He'd been practicing Refilling charms with Tonks and Charlie had been lazily filling and refilling his flask with wine. He'd heard a sniff of disapproval behind him, and turned to cheekily grin at ...

'Bronwyn,' he breathed. He remembered her now. She had caught him sneaking back to Gryffindor tower after he and Tonks had snuck up to the Astronomy Tower. Bronwyn had taken five points from Gryffindor.

Charlie thought of Tonks with a bitter pang. At the time, he'd fancied himself in love with her. Tonks had been his first, and that evening up on the Astronomy Tower had been their one time together.

Seeing her laid out on the floor of the Great Hall last spring next to Remus had been a great shock to Charlie. Even more shocking, almost, than the sight of Fred's body. Charlie had gone to her and Remus' funeral, and sat through the service in stunned silence. Later, he would feel deeply ashamed at the thoughts that flew through his head, because he kept seeing her on the Astronomy Tower, with long, violet hair streaming down her bare back.

Charlie had written a letter to Mrs. Tonks, expressing his condolences. Ironically, it had been easier to write that one, than all the letters home combined.

*****

Charlie walked into the infirmary so the Healers could clear him to return to duty. Bronwyn sat at the table, dabbing something evil-smelling over a small child's dragon pox hives, assuring him, to the child's disappointment, that his greenish hue would fade in a few days. The child skipped out of the infirmary, and Charlie slid onto the now-vacant stool, holding out his hand.

'You're Bronwyn,' he said, without preamble.

'Yes.'

'You sat behind me in Charms, Defense, and Transfiguration in sixth year. Worked across from me in the greenhouse in Herbology.'

'Yes.' Bronwyn turned Charlie's hand over and tapped his palm with her wand. The hand glowed green, and faded. 'You're free to go,' she told him.

*****

5 April 1999

Dear Charlie,

Would you mind if I stayed with you a few days in July? I'm doing a tryout for the Harpies and I thought I might be able to stay with you. Don't worry; you don't need to entertain me.

Ginny

*****

Charlie used the side of his finger to smudge the pencil line and create a shadow that would give Ginny's cheek definition. Every time he saw her, he was amazed at how mature she had become. She was only nine when he left for Romania.

'Girlfriend?' Bronwyn sat next to him in the grass.

'Sister,' Charlie corrected. 'She'll be staying here for a few days next month.'

Bronwyn tilted her head to study the burgeoning drawing. 'She's pretty.'

'Yeah. First Weasley girl in generations.' Charlie drew in Ginny's hair, streaming behind her, as if on a broom.

'You're really good.' Bronwyn didn't bother to hide the surprise.

Charlie shrugged. Drawing had come naturally to him. He had taken a few lessons in Romania from one of the other dragon keepers to pass the time during the winters. It was an activity he could do in solitude. He spent hours outside as a child drawing things. And, it was something the others couldn't do. He handed Bronwyn his sketch book. 'Here,' he grunted.

Bronwyn took the book, and slowly paged through it. It was filled with sketches of Charlie's family, the mountains around Holyhead, and the dragons. 'That's top-notch, that is,' she said, handing the book back to him. Charlie just shrugged. 'You don't talk much, do you?'

'No.'

'You must be the dog's bollocks on dates, then,' she said wryly.

Charlie snorted. 'I haven't been on a date in...' He tried to remember the last date he'd been on, but couldn't. 'It's been a long time.'

'Want to go down to the pub with me? Tomorrow night?'

Charlie glanced at Bronwyn. 'I thought you didn't like me.'

'I don't know you well enough to not like you. But other than this habit of yours of staying by yourself all the time, the others seem to like you.'

'Next time. I'm on duty tomorrow night.'

'You could have just said that,' she huffed, standing up and brushing the grass off the seat of her jeans.

*****

-25 June 1999

Dear Bill,

Bronwyn asked me on a date. What does that mean?

She's been contemptuous of me ever since I couldn't remember who she was. So what gives? It's not like we spent time together at school or anything.

I don't think I'll ever understand women.

Charlie

*****

28 June 1999

Dear Charlie,

Quit being a hermit and go out with her!

Don't ask to understand women. You never will.

Bill

*****

Charlie set the letter down and walked out of his cabin.

He paced in front of the cabin where Bronwyn lived. It was on the other side of the valley from his. 'Hey, Bronwyn... If you're not doing anything next Friday, would you like to go into Holyhead with me?' he muttered, practicing.

'Yes, I would.' Bronwyn spoke from behind Charlie.

Charlie whirled around. 'Stop sneaking up on me like that!'

'Why are you pacing in front of my cabin?'

'Trying to get the nerve up to ask you out,' he growled.

'You want to come inside?' Bronwyn walked up the steps and into her door.

Charlie watched her, and found himself thinking about all the things that could go wrong in following her inside.

Bronwyn stuck her head out of the door. 'Are you coming in, or staying out?'

She's so bloody infuriating, Charlie thought. But he found his feet climbing the steps and taking him through the door.

It was time to start living his life instead of drifting through it.