Charmed

Chapter 1: Crashing Down

Grimmauld Place, 3:45 a.m.

"Not yet," Charlie whispers, so quietly I can barely make out the words. His hands are sweaty, and I can feel his breath on my neck. Under any other circumstances I'd be thrilled to be confined to the pantry with him.

Not tonight. Now I'd rather be anywhere else. I'm sure he feels the same way.

He has one arm twisted around my waist, tightening his grip at the slightest sound, just like last night. Last night was wonderful.

***

We started out in his room, reading Ron's old comic books. Wands lit under the blanket and a mug of hot chocolate between us to ward off the thunderstorm outside. For the first time since leaving St. Mungo's I felt safe, despite the blinding flashes of light and rolls of thunder that shook the foundation of the Black mansion to its core. Any closer and Charlie would have been on top of me, but his weight at my side was comforting. We poured over the dog-eared volumes for what felt like hours, sniggering in much the same fashion as we did in our Hogwarts days.

Charlie's bed was much more comfortable than the Astronomy Tower.

I must have fallen asleep, because I remember waking up when he leaned over the edge to set the mug on the floor. Then there were footsteps out on the landing and he had one arm protectively around my waist.

"Going to curse me?"

Just Bill, probably come to remind Charlie about the early mission he was supposed to have this morning. He never really got to the point.

"No," Charlie had replied, somewhat sheepishly. I cracked one eye open and caught him sliding his wand into the back pocket of his trousers.

"It's supposed to be the safest house in London, according to Dumbledore."

Even with my eyes closed I could see Bill smirking.

"Dora doesn't like it," Charlie said at last, as if my opinion settled the matter.

"Nobody likes it, 'cept maybe Kreacher. It's Headquarters, that's all."

Charlie sighed.

"She's scared, Bill, and I don't know how to fix it."

He sounded slightly desperate now. His fingers traced along my hip.

We'd had the longest discussion about Sirius and the Order before we started reading. He claimed something was bothering me, and asked for the details. I told him everything I'd been too ashamed to admit to everyone else.

"Stay. Give her something to trust. Be here if things don't work out at the Ministry."

"Fudge can't really fire her for being in the Department of Mysteries that night," Charlie scoffed, but I caught the uncertainty in his tone.

"She's kept her mouth shut about Dumbledore and the Order, but Fudge knows she's involved. If he can't lord over Dumbledore he'll take it down to Tonks and Kingsley. They've both been called in for inquiries."

"Mmm," Charlie grunted, a noncommittal noise to show he'd heard already.

***

Now I can hear them firing spells and Charlie pushes us both against the wall. My hands are trembling in spite of my effort to steady the wand I'm aiming at the door.

"Easy, Nymph. Let them come to us."

His voice is soothing and calm, and something tells me he's prepared for the last stand. He knows we won't make it.

I watch the light flicker under the door as the Death Eaters tramp through the kitchen. No doubt looking for some kind of papers or documents to show what we're up to.

"Nothing!" she screeches, and I hear the large cabinet crash to the floor.

"It's Aunt Bella," I tell Charlie. A little flicker of anger licks at my heart, but it's immediately doused by fear as she calls to the others. He presses his lips to my forehead.

"The house is clear, Lestrange." I recognize Dolohov's growl. "Nothing whatever to be had here. You say it was the house-elf who gave you the tip?"

"Kreacher," Bellatrix snarls with disgust, and I know he'll be punished. Charlie's grip is painfully tight.

Then, so quickly and suddenly that I can hardly believe it, Bellatrix screams again. This time not out of rage, but almost fear. A loud, howling screech meets our ears followed by a string of swearing. Several things happen at once; Bellatrix casts the Killing Curse, a sickening crunch echoes through the kitchen, something heavy scratches against the door. Buckbeak cries again, then hurried footsteps up the stairs. More shouting, a door slams. Silence.

Charlie's staring curiously at the door, and I know he's hardly daring to believe there might be a chance.

"Wait here," he orders, jabbing his wand in my direction for emphasis. I follow him anyway, holding tight to his wrist. He eases the door open.

Buckbeak is still rearing and tossing his head, occasionally snapping his beak. His feathers are smeared with blood, and most noticeably are his talons. There, not three feet from the pantry, lies Dolohov. Slashed almost to bits.

I feel suddenly sick, and my legs begin to tremble violently. Charlie half carries me across the room, still managing to keep his wand held aloft and steady.

"Buckbeak, come!" he commands, and because he has a way with animals the hippogriff obeys and trails behind us.

The front hall is wrecked and Mrs. Black's portrait has been cut. A soft summer breeze blows in from the splintered door; all that remains is a long, charred strip of wood hanging from one of the hinges. Charlie ushers Buckbeak outside with no regard for the Statute of Secrecy. He strokes the soft feathers and whispers quietly to calm the beast before lifting me up just behind the wing joint. Buckbeak prances and tosses his head impatiently as Charlie climbs up behind me, lacing his fingers with mine, and drives his heels against Buckbeak. The hippogriff shoots up to the stars with another earsplitting screech. I look down as we circle Grimmauld Place. Thick black smoke pours from the upper floors through broken windows. I begin to wonder where we're going. Hogwarts? The Ministry?

"What now?" Charlie asks.