(A/N: three updates in one week?!? who am I lmfao)
CHAPTER FOUR:
Third Person Narrative:
Charlie awoke early the next morning, wrapped in a sleeping bag on the drawing room floor. There was a sliver of sky visible between the heavy curtains. It was the cool, clear blue of watered ink, somewhere between night and dawn, and everything was quiet except for Ron's snoring.
Above him, Charlie noticed the shadowy ceiling, the cobwebbed chandelier. He turned his head to the left, smiling softly. In a fit of gallantry, he had insisted that Hermione slept on the cushions from the sofa, so that her silhouette was raised above his. Her arm curved to the floor, her fingers inches from Charlie's. He wondered whether Hermione had unknowingly reached out for him in her sleep. Still, she was resting, her slow, rhythmic breathing reassuring him. Over her sleeping form, Charlie could make out Ron in the dim light, asleep on the sofa across from them.
But, as he quickly came to realize, Harry was gone.
Sitting up in a panic, Charlie silently pulled himself out of his sleeping bag, picked up his wand, and crept out of the room without disturbing the others. On the landing he whispered, "Lumos," and started to climb the stairs by wandlight.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Charlie continued up the stairs until he reached the topmost landing, where there were only two doors. The one facing him bore a nameplate reading 'SIRIUS', and it had been mysteriously left open a crack. It was in that moment that Charlie knew, Harry hadn't of gone far. With a sigh, he pushed open the door, holding his wand high to cast light as widely as possible.
The room was spacious and must once have been handsome. There was a large bed with a carved wooden headboard, a tall window obscured by long velvet curtains, and a chandelier thickly coated in dust with candle stubs still resting in its sockets, solid wax hanging in frost-like drips. A fine film of dust covered the pictures on the walls and the bed's headboard; a spider's web stretched between the chandelier and the top of the large wooden wardrobe, and as Charlie moved deeper into the room, he noticed Harry sat upon the bed.
"Shit, sorry," cursed Harry, finally taking notice of Charlie's presence in the room. "Did I wake you?"
"Didn't wake me, no," said Charlie, clapping Harry on the back, "but you did give me a minor heart-attack. Probably not a good idea to sneak off like that, mate. I mean, just imagine the look on Hermione's face if she woke up before I did."
Harry chuckled, "Right, my apologies."
Charlie, grinning to himself, looked around at the floor. The sky outside was growing brighter; there was a shimmer of light that revealed bits of paper, books, and small objects scattered over the carpet. Evidently Sirius's bedroom had been searched too, although its contents seemed to have been judged mostly, if not entirely, worthless. A few of the books had been shaken roughly enough to part company with their covers, and pages littered the floor.
