Since he was a little boy, Charles
Weasley saw Voldemort as his personal boggeyman. Even if he’d never
met the man in person, little Charlie was terrified of that person
who’s name shouldn’t be said that made his parents sad and angry. He
would ask every night for his parents to check under his bed if he
wasn’t there. The idea of a mass murderer hiding in his son’s room
always started an ugly laughter in Arthur Weasley’s throat. But every
night, he complied and assured Charlie he was safe and had nothing to
fear. It was a lie of course. They both knew it.
Charlie knew he was right to be scared
when he was eight and he saw his mother cry for the first time. He
entered the kitchen one morning and saw her curled on her chair, a
piece of parchement resting on the table. Charlie sneaked in to try
and read the paper. His first fear was that something happened to one
of his brothers. Because that was what his dad and mum often talked
about when they thought Bill and Charlie were asleep. The words were
small and complicated, but Charlie could decypher two names, Fabian
and Gideon. His parents hated lying to their children, so they told
them that their uncles were fighting You-Know-Who and died. They
didn’t say they were killed, but Charlie kind of understood that. He
wasn’t sure what death really was just yet, but Bill told him it
meant he would never see his uncles again. When he saw the twin
caskets, a couple days later and watched them disappear in the
ground, Charlie cried. He didn’t make a noise, because no one was
talking, and you’re not supposed to be loud if everyone else is
quiet. He simply gripped Bill’s hand and followed him around. For
years, Charlie would dream of twin caskets in which his siblings were
At school, Charlie was gentle and
popular enough that people didn’t make fun of him if he ever got
surprised crying because he was missing his brothers and sister. They
would simply go look for Bill, and later Percy, and either would
comfort him and help him write letters home. Charlie was terribly bad
with words and never knew how to get his thoughts across. In return
for his letters, he would get drawings and pictures. He kept them
preciously in his bedside table.
When he was thirteen, Charlie kissed a
girl. She was pretty and smelled nice but even he didn’t feel much.
There was no butterfly or firework in his belly like he’d been told
he’d feel. At sixteen, Charlie kissed a boy, and though it was nice
enough too, it wasn’t special enough to have him wanting to do it
often. He’d learned about dragons the previous year though, during a
class of Care About Magical Creatures. That lit his eyes up and made
him daydream far more than any kisses could.
Charlie left Hogwarts the summer before
Ron entered it. He left home in August, and headed to Romania to
study dragons. He’d already read every book from the Library and was
ready to meet people who’d understand his passion. Charlie made
friends, and was teased for chosing a hermit life in forests with
giant lizards over becoming a Quidditch star. He didn’t mind, because
at the end of the day, he got to see dragon eggs and share hot cocoa
with his colleagues. The highlight of his year was still when his
parents and sister came to visit. He also managed to get Bill to drop
by. They got drunk and Bill listened to him cry about how much he
missed all of their siblings. Charlie kept the drawings and
photographs in a tiny box in his trunk. When spring came around and
he received Ron’s letter asking him to smuggle a baby dragon, all his
friends exploded in laughter and were ready to go before he even
finished his explanations. They already knew Charlie would do
anything for his siblings.
Charlie wasn’t there when Ron got hurt
saving the world at the end of his first year. He came back for summer and bought Ron as many
candies as he could eat. Sometimes, being a good brother is in discreet celebrations.
Charlie wasn’t there when his baby
sister got possessed and left for dead in a mythical chamber. When summer came and Ginny left school,
paler and more silenced than ever, Charlie kept a vigilant eye on
her. He didn’t go back to Romania for months. And when Arthur won the
Daily Prophet Grand Prise Galleon Draw, Charlie was the one to
suggest they should all go visit Bill. Sometimes, being a good
brother is knowing your presence and a change of scenary are the best
Charlie was there when the Death Eaters
attacked supporters celebrating a victory - or drinking the bitter
taste of loss away. He went to fight alongside the Ministry to
protect his siblings and everyone who needed it. He also stayed the
rest of the summer in the Burrow. Sometimes, being a good brother is
making sure your siblings and their friends have an open ear if they
need to talk their fears away.
Charlie wasn’t there when Harry, his
adopted but estranged sibling, watched Voldemort come back from the
dead. From Charlie’s childhood nightmares. He learned about it in one
of Ginny’s letters and got his worst burns when her words resonnated
in his head as he was tending a dragon. In his head, Ginny had that
same terrified voice as when she was twelve and asking him if Tom
would come back. Charlie felt like he’d been lying to her for years,
telling her she was safe and had nothing to fear. That Tom would never come back. Sometimes, being a
good brother is forgetting how life doesn’t always follow your hopes.
Charlie wasn’t there when his father
got attacked by an evil snake. Charlie wasn’t there when Dumbledore’s tiny army raided the
Ministry. He came back to see the greying hair on his father’s head
and the scars on Ron’s arms. Ron laughed it off. Charlie cried it
out. Sometimes, being a good brother is shading tears other people
Charlie lived in Romania. He loved it,
loved the people, the country, and above all his job. But when
Charlie came back to Bill’s comatose and broken face, he considered
never leaving again. Bill had always been his best friend, his safety in
the chaos that was their family. Charlie hugged Fleur and helped her chose her wedding dress. He
was Bill’s best man and joked, more than once, that Bill was actually
the best man he knew. The three of them got drunk at a pub a few
miles from the Burrow and he recalled every embarassing moment of
Bill’s childhood. Sometimes, being a good brother is making your
sibling blush and hit you in the face as their fiancée is bending in
laughter and coughing beer out of her nose.
Charlie wasn’t there when Fred died.
Charlie was there to see his mother cry
and his brothers collapse.
Charlie was there to see Ginny stand,
tall and proud and clutching Harry’s hand so she wouldn’t get lost.
Sometimes, being a good brother is
knowing that there are days when you can’t be the good brother.
Charlie was there when Victoire was
Charlie was there to see Bill cry and
his siblings scream.
Charlie was there to hold the tiny baby
and let her grip his finger.
Charlie was there when Ginny wrote that
she was pregnant and wanted to see him. Everytime.
Charlie was there when Fred II asked to
learn how to fly and neither George nor Angelina had the heart to
Charlie was there when Lucy got in
another fight with her parents and needed a place to let her anger
out. He was also there to bring her back home and make sure she’d
apologize to Percy.
Charlie was there when Hugo felt
inadequate and lonely in their giant family.
Charlie was there to talk about kissing
boys and girls, about how sometimes people liked it and sometimes
they just didn’t care.
Charlie was there to give pets as
presents, as siblings and in-laws pretended they didn’t know about
Charlie was there every step of the way
in his nieces and nefews’ lifes.
He quickly needed a larger box to
gather all the drawings and pictures he kept receiving. (Hermione
gave him an enchanted one)
Sometimes, being a good brother is
being a good uncle.
They allow each other the space - the freedom - to indulge in each other once a year.
Most days are a carefully choreographed dance between waiting and watching, protecting and guarding, promising and cherishing. Never too far away, but never so close that the line they’ve drawn together in the sand is crossed beyond what they know they can handle.
Just this one simple night when Cassian steps away, as he inevitably does at some point or other during the night. They’ve never asked him if its intentional or not.
Just this one simple night when the music takes over, slows them down, sets their bodies in motion weaving in and out of one another, until the moment is so soft and gentle, there is no going backwards. There is no disconnect. There is only dancing and there is only each other.
Just this one simple night and there is only them.
Silently, they’ve promised this night to one another for centuries.
When Azriel gave himself his first night off and it was Starfall, and Mor was there to drag him to dance. They’d never been so intimate before, so close. Not in this way that was open and devoid of danger or death. No one carried anyone to safety that night as Azriel had when he’d flown Mor from the Autumn Court to bring her home. He didn’t need any other excuse to touch her, hold her, protect her then as she had danced in and out of his arms with such ease, her smile holding the promise of many dances to come over the years.
So long as he would stay.
And stay he did.
When Mor first came back from the Court of Nightmares and had to choose a dress to wear on the court’s most celebrated night to help her pretend there were no demons lingering about her mind, and Az was waiting to help her into the music. When the music had grown less lively and a little more haunting, and Azriel had felt more than seen the first tear fall, he’d tucked her safely between his waiting arms, brought his wings around them, and let their bodies sway slowly in time to the beat. He watched Mor stare at those wings until she was no longer thinking through them to the world outside, but seeing them - seeing him - and knowing he would always be there.
And so would she.
For him, when Starfall comes and Azriel has to leave in the morning because the war is over, but their enemies aren’t. And he’s nervous even though he says nothing. There are more shadows on him than song and dance, but Mor threads careful smiles together. Offers a reassuring pat when Cassian has to step away to chat with someone mingling about in the crowd. Meets his gaze thoughtfully and doesn’t press too hard when Azriel sees Rhys brooding about the same mission and his shadows constrict. Gently, she flits about the perimeter of his world letting him be, letting him breathe. And when he’s ready, she knows he’ll come to her and offer his hand. No words needed. And they’ll dance.
Just one dance.
Over and over again through the centuries.
Sometimes it is sweet.
Sometimes it is mournful.
Sometimes it is the only way they know how to say I love you without actually saying it.
Just his chin resting against her hair. And her thumb stroking the smooth skin at the base of his neck. Or his hand holding her firmly in place on the small of her back. And maybe their free hands entwined together, pressed firmly against his chest.
Maybe he dips her. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe they spin and spin and spin endlessly through the night. Maybe they move in a slow heat.
But always they are close for just that one song. Where the world slips away and it is only them, and the words they cannot say yet feel every second of every day. And the stars reign down to tell them it is okay to live - even if only for tonight. To hold each other close and feel everything they want to feel, to know that it is there.
It is enough to get them through a year’s worth of visits to the Hewn City or missions to far away lands and courts full of secrets. When Mor is fighting back the ghost of a pain driven into her stomach as she paces her chambers deep beneath the mountain, or when Azriel sits atop a lonely mountain cleaning Truth-Teller to forget whose blood has stained it. On the coldest, hardest nights, they will think back to the last time they had their one dance, and feel the pain in their chests ease with the recollection.
It is almost better than the moment Azriel lands on the balcony at the House of Wind and sees Mor waiting for him, just like it is almost better than when Mor feels Azriel pull her against him when her father’s words go too far. Almost. But not quite.
No, nothing ever quite compares to that first moment of return when they carry Starfall in their hearts to bring them hurtling back toward one another and their eyes meet across the room, the city - wherever they may be - the love and relief springing to life inside their hearts with promise. Because even through all the doubts and fears and uncertainties that keep them from daring too much for the remainder of the year, Morrigan and Azriel know one thing with absolute certainty:
I’m pissed that it’s cancelled and if you are
too this is for you. I’ve made a list of my favourite sv fanfiction to
commemorate the end to this beautiful show. find my other pages here and if you know who wrote any of these please
let me know so I can give credit
Are We Dating? (by @mrriggerworld): juphelia - this is the cutest thing, the narration is
really well done, everyone is beautifully in character, it’s all cute and good
and it’s all fanastic, I love this so much
i found it in the wreckage:juphelia - this is short but truly wonderful, ophelia
is beautiful and her emotions are cute and everything is amazing