𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘆 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 | 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿

Sleepless Nights & Venomous Snakebites

CHAPTER SIX:

(A/N: here's another AMAZING graphic by wonhosmila)

Third Person Narrative:

When Charlie awoke the following day it was several seconds before he remembered what had happened. Then he hoped, childishly, that it had been a dream, that Ron was still there and had never left.

Then, by turning his head to look across the tent, he could see Ron's deserted bunk. It was like a dead body in the way it seemed to draw his eyes. Hermione, who was already busy in the kitchen, did not wish Charlie good morning, but turned her face away quickly as he went by.

He's gone, Charlie thought to himself.

He's gone.

He had to keep thinking it as he dressed as though repetition would dull the shock of it.

He's gone and he's not coming back.

And that was the simple truth of it, Charlie knew, because their protective enchantments meant that it would be impossible, once they vacated this spot, for Ron to find them again. Charlie and Hermione ate breakfast with Harry in silence. Trying to ease her saddened state, Charlie reached under the table and put his hand on hers. Thankfully, he thought, she did not pull away, but she did not reciprocate either.

Hermione's eyes were puffy and red; she looked as if she had not slept. They packed up their things, Hermione dawdling. Charlie knew why she wanted to spend their time on the riverbank; several times he saw her look up eagerly, and he was sure she had deluded herself into thinking that she heard footsteps through the heavy rain, but no red-haired figure appeared between the trees.

Every time Charlie imitated her, looked around (for he could not help hoping a little) and saw nothing but rain-swept woods, another little parcel of fury exploded inside him.

He could hear Ron's voice lingering in his head, repeating the same things over and over:

"We thought you knew what you were doing!"

"It's always going to be the fucking Death Eater..."

"You chose him."

Charlie could still envision the looks of disgust Ron had directed his way, which is why he resumed packing with a hard knot in the pit of his stomach.

The muddy river beside them was rising rapidly and would soon spill over onto their bank. They had lingered a good hour after they would usually have departed their campsite. Finally, after having repacked the beaded bag three times, Hermione seemed unable to find any more reasons to delay. Soundlessly, she, Charlie and Harry grasped hands and Disapparated, reappearing on a windswept heather-covered hillside. In truth, a small part of Charlie was glad to leave that rainy riverbank behind.

When they arrived, Hermione did not drop Charlie's hand; Harry had forged on already, keen to not linger much longer. His two friends, however, stood rooted to the spot. Tears glistened in Hermione's eyes, but did not fall. Except for her touch, everything felt cold and bitter. All over again, Charlie saw the contemptuous expression on Ron's face, the aggression and hatred.

"I understand why he left and why he said those things to me... but I don't think I'll ever forgive how he's treated you or Harry," Charlie's voice was still hoarse from the night before, his eyes tiredly rested upon their interlocked hands.

Hermione said nothing, nor did she spare Charlie a second glance. She dropped his hand at this statement, and walked away, finally sitting down on a large rock, her face on her knees, shaking with what he knew were sobs. Charlie watched her, wondering whether he should go and comfort her, but something always kept him frozen to the spot.