Dragontamer
Charlie made for the door quickly as soon as the man stopped talking. He glimpsed Fred and George standing over the food and dodged the gaze of another one of his father’s colleagues. The air was stifling and he felt as if he was slowly being suffocated as he reached for the door handle. Bill, who was lounging lazily by the door talking to a young witch, gave him a nod and grabbed Percy’s elbow before he had time to lecture Charlie about leaving his own party.
Charlie stopped just outside the door for a few seconds and let himself enjoy the fresh air. But he needed to get as far away from Percy and the others as possible. So he walked over to the shed purposefully, the broomstick almost beckoning to him from it's spot under the window.
It wasn’t there. He was sure he had placed it right under the huge spider’s web in the corner, which meant Ron wasn’t the one using it. He tried to imagine where his little ‘thief’ might have put it, but a sudden thought struck him.
Could you actually ride Dragons? he thought.
Charlie took the rather battered leaflet out of his pocket. He realized, with a sense of urgency, that it was now or never. He had to finally choose something. So he tried to picture himself, for the rest of his life, in each of the many jobs described on the leaflet. He had already delayed this enough by taking extra Owls and Newts at Hogwarts.
There were advantages to being stupid, he thought, because at least then you didn’t have to bother with making that fateful decision.
Suddenly, he realized that it was hopeless to even try and conjure images of anything indoors on such a day so he closed his eyes slightly and Apparated with a pop.
It was a short walk to Hagrid’s hut and he felt his mind slowly relax as he left behind all worries about failure and regret. Hagrid was in the pumpkin patch, his clothes completely dirty and his hands literally muddy. Charlie couldn’t help grinning as he approached and saw the gigantic man’s smiling face.
“Charlie,” the Gamekeeper roared, “I was just wondering if ye’d forgotten me.”
“Don’t be silly, Hagrid,” he replied pulling up his sleeves and kneeling in the pumpkin patch.
It was half an hour before they finished and headed inside. Hagrid made tea and Charlie conjured a plate of cookies before the giant had time to go looking for some of his rock cakes. Hagrid talked quite a bit about his latest encounter with the Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest and then paused suddenly and asked Charlie how he was doing.
There was a long silence, because you didn’t just tell Hagrid ‘fine’. Charlie looked around the hut and then turned back to the gamekeeper.
“Hagrid,” he asked, “can you actually ride Dragons?”
“Me, nah,” Hagrid grinned, “Don’t reckon I’m young or nimble enough to try something like that anymore, but then has it been done before - now that’s the question.”
The one thing Charlie loved most about the Gamekeeper was that he always took things like this quite seriously. “I’ve never heard of something like that except in stories,” Hagrid continued, “But then ye’ve got to wonder where the stories came from in the first place, don’ ye?”
“Yeah,” Charlie said wistfully, “You do, don’t you?”
“Or,” Hagrid said, “You could try it.”
Charlie wondered, as he walked back out of the castle a few minutes later, why everyone was under the assumption that Hagrid was stupid. Because he wasn’t. His visit to the gamekeeper’s had forced Charlie to admit to himself that it wasn’t a question of choosing between six jobs on a ministry leaflet, it was a choice between a ‘sane’ job and a dream.
“Wouldn’t even think about it if I was alone,” he said thinking aloud. And even though he despised himself for the thought moments later he knew it was mostly true. If he chased after his Dragons there would be no spacious kitchen and new car and new broom for whoever it was that liked stealing Charlie’s good one. He told himself that it really wasn’t his responsibility, he wasn’t even their oldest, but that thought just made it worse.
He had missed being the oldest, just like he had missed being the ‘cool’ brother they looked up to, just like he had missed the Slug Club and… But he didn’t really want any of those things, Charlie was mostly happy with the way he was, he only wished he’d had a chance to be more. But he had also missed the war.
A warm feeling suddenly overcame him as he recalled those nights in the war when his father would stay up almost all night keeping watch and they would try to stay up with him listening to Molly’s stories. She would tell them about the old Wizarding wars and how Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald, she would tell them stories about strong Aurors to make them feel safe, but most of all, Charlie remembered his mother’s stories about Dragons.
He thought that if he closed his eyes now he would be able to see the mountains and caves and the Dragon fires. Looking around him Charlie realized he was behind the Burrow and his feet were taking him automatically to their little Quidditch Pitch. No one was around so he closed his eyes and let that soft, sweet voice at the back of his memory take hold of his mind and –
“Bloody Hell!” he exclaimed as he was thrown to the ground. Something very large (and quite red) had collided suddenly with his chest. He rubbed his hand over what he was sure was a broken rib and allowed his gaze to settle on the small fiery creature holding his broom.
“So I’ve finally found you, you little thief,” he said taking her in his arms and checking her for bruises, “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’m telling mum you left the party!” Ginny declared, “And I’ll put some of Fred and George’s pink hair potion on you when you’re asleep too if you tell anyone.”
Charlie smiled at his sister and took out his wand. Her fearful expression soon turned into a triumphant one when she realized he was only healing her bruises. The guests had begun to file out by the time he was finished healing her and reassuring her that he would never tell a soul.
They walked over to the doorway and stood by Bill who was already shaking everyone’s hands and thanking them for coming with one of his charming smiles. Charlie just managed a blank expression as he tried to suppress the uneasiness that was creeping into his stomach.
The house was empty(of guests that is) at last and Charlie hadn’t lost his mind. He walked in to face the imminent ‘talk’ with his mother and found that his father was busy taking apart a Muggle radio. Arthur had made it a point to express his curiosity on the subject as soon as he heard, at breakfast, that his wife wanted to talk to Charlie about his career.
“Percy’s a git, mum, don’t listen to him, I saw Charlie-”
“Don’t lie to me, Ronald Bilius-”
“I’m here mum,” Charlie said stepping into the kitchen, “Didn’t think I’d made a run for it, did you?”
“You did,” she said firmly.
“Ron!” Bill called from the doorway giving the youngest Weasley boy a slight glare. Ron gave his oldest brother a look, but left the kitchen anyway and closed the door behind him. A muffled “Chaaaaarge!” could be heard through the door followed by loud giggling and screaming.
Molly was apparently not planning to be the first to speak, so Charlie cleared his throat and said the first thing that came to his mind: “Mum,” his voice was slightly shaky, he noticed, “Can you actually ride Dragons?” He realized, as soon as he said it that this would be the shortest conversation in the history of mankind. It was quite clear what he had chosen.
They sat there in silence for a few minutes before his mother spoke. “It’s cold in Romania isn’t it?”
“I don’t have to go,” Charlie’s tongue suddenly loosened at the sight of her watery eyes, “I mean it’s not like I can’t work with animals here. And that job with the ministry doesn’t look too bad, not as bad as I made it out when I was talking the other night. And I can always visit Hagrid and the Forbidden Forest this way, he told me toda-”
“So you were gone today then?” he should have known she wouldn’t rest before getting him to admit the truth.
“Of course I’m going to be taking Muggle Studies, father,” Percy suddenly walked into the kitchen nonchalantly and headed for the fridge. They both followed him around the kitchen as he made himself a quick sandwich (giving his hand an extra twirl as he waved his wand) and then heading back out, “It would be good for my-”
“Pri-” Charlie began before seeing his mother’s fixed gaze, “Perhaps I did mother, but the point is that I’ve decided not to-”
“Your father could have had a much higher job at the ministry if he’d wanted to, Charlie,” his mother said – saving him before he declared his newfound ‘decision’ not to go to Romania, “We could have had money and nicer cooking pots and new clothes all the time.”
“I know, and-”
“And you’re going to need this in the mountains, son,” her tone was final as she took out a pair of knitted mittens. Charlie closed his eyes as his mother engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug, the image of two green wool dragons imprinted into the insides of his eyelids.
