Brooke Euphemia Potter, popularly known as 'the girl who fought', happens to stumble across a red-head and instead of experiencing an unusual sensation tingle through her veins, the girl feels an emotion that was probably about to make her life take...
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It had been a week ever since the students had arrived at Hogwarts. Brooke had finally removed the mandrake leaf and had stored it away in a dark corner of some empty classroom in the dungeons. She had locked the Classroom so that no unlocking or even exploding charms could open them.
Besides that, Brooke hadn't responded to any of Charlie's letters and hadn't said a word to Remus yet, as the DADA teacher shared longing glances with her, willing to speak to the blonde.
It wasn't that Brooke didn't wish to talk to him. But it was because Brooke didn't want to reveal her animagus secret to him. Not until she completed the process.
The signing-up procedure for Brooke's classes had begun and the participation was surprisingly well. Vega and Regulus Malfoy were the first to sign up, followed by Cedric, Beatrice, Percy, Fred, and George. And Brooke couldn't have been happier about it.
Regulus Malfoy, named after his uncle, had the complete traits of Regulus Black. But Brooke knew nothing about him, leaving a few things Sirius had told her, and his heroic death.
Brooke spent most of her evenings at the Three Broomsticks, in order to avoid the hustle and bustle of the castle. Not that she found any peace at the cafe either.
Brooke was currently trying to suppress her laughter when she saw a toddler spitting a huge gulp of butterbeer at his parent when she was immediately reminded of the memory when she tried butterbeer for the first time as a five-year-old and spat all of it on Fleamont and Euphemia's face.
"Brooke?" The blonde was snapped out by an all too familiar voice, as she turned to find the owner of the voice standing behind her.
Charlie Weasley looked like a mess. He had huge purple bags under his eyes, his red hair was matted and he looked a bit frail compared to the version of him that Brooke had last seen.
Brooke's condition wasn't any different either. She hadn't been able to get herself a wink of sleep ever since the argument. She was surviving on caffeine and spent all of her free time reading, writing, or learning newer and more complex spells. McGonagall and Remus shared concerned glances with each other as they made a note of the fact that Brooke's plate on the staff table remained untouched throughout the week.
"Hey Charlie," Brooke exclaimed in a deadpanned voice.
Charlie sighed and took a seat in the booth next to her as Brooke looked at her shoes.
"Well, at least I got the opportunity to hear your voice, finally," Charlie muttered under his breath.
"How have you been, Charlie?" Brooke asked, not making eye contact with him.
"Isn't the answer obvious, Bree?" Charlie said in a slightly aggressive tone.
"We've lost the right to talk to each other like that, Charlie," Brooke warned him as Charlie regained his composure.
"Screw all of that, Bree. I just want you back," Charlie exclaimed and quickly took Brooke's hand in his.
Brooke finally looked up at him and stared into his bloodshot and rheumy hazel eyes.
"You're drunk, Charlie," Brooke said, making a note of his appearance.
"Yeah..." Charlie said and pinched the fingers of his left hand together, leaving a small gap. "A little."
"That's not a little, Charlie," Brooke exclaimed as she scooted closer to the redhead and placed her palm against his forehead.
She quickly withdrew her hand with a small squeal as the temperature of his forehead surpassed that of a sack of metallic galleons left outside on a sunny day.
"Godric Charles you're sick!" Brooke stated, her voice laced with panic.
"Yes, I am sick and tired of giving a fuck about everything that is going on," Charlie stated, his voice occasionally trailing off.
"No you wanker! You're actually unwell," Brooke exclaimed. "Merlin's beard, we need to get you home."
"No, we don't!" Charlie said and frantically stood up, the alcohol quickly taking over his nervous system. Brooke almost jumped three feet in the air at his voice.
"My parents don't know that I came back from Romania," Charlie said in a groggy voice.
"Okay, but let's get you out of here. Once you're sober, the first thing we're going to do is get you back to the burrow," Brooke said, remembering the kind of temper Molly had.
Charlie nodded and started stumbling when Brooke rushed to his side and guided his arm around her shoulders.
"I've got you, Charlie," Brooke whispered to him, as they walked out of the pub.
Brooke held Charlie close to him as they apparated.
As soon as they landed on the ground, back at Brooke's newly acquired cottage, Charlie started making retching sounds. And before Brooke could comprehend anything, the redhead was heaving on the ground.
Brooke bent down next to the dragon lover and started rubbing his back, in order to help him clear the contents of his last meal and the firewhiskey out of him.
What have I done to you, Charlie? Brooke thought to herself as the redhead continued heaving.
Once Charlie was done, Brooke lifted her wand and muttered, "aguamenti."
Water droplets were conjured from the tip of her wand and scattered themselves across Charlie's heavily freckled countenance.
Brooke pointed her wand at Charlie's mouth, encouraging him to hydrate himself as Charlie gulped down the water frantically.
"Come on, Charlie. Let's get some rest," Brooke said as she helped him up and into the house.
The new cottage wasn't as big as the one Brooke lived in earlier, but it was sufficient for Brooke and Harry to spend the year in, now that neither of them used the house anymore, anyway.
Charlie held his head, groaning with pain as Brooke ushered him into her bedroom.
"Come on, just a few more steps Charlie," Brooke encouraged him as they walked towards the bed.
Brooke gently laid Charlie on the bed, noting that the dragon tamer had a larger and stronger physique in comparison to the petite blonde.
Or at least that was what it looked like.
Brooke bent down to place his feet on the bed and removed his shoes. The temperature of Charlie's forehead wasn't any better, but at least, his eyes weren't bloodshot anymore.
Charlie gently closed his eyes, wrapping his large hands around her petite ones. Brooke tried to get up to leave, but Charlie's hands never let go, so as to tell her to stay.
Brooke looked at Charlie's heavily freckled countenance that shimmered under the faint light which had pushed their way into the dark room through the carefully drawn blinds.
Brooke sat down beside him, playing with his fingers and staring at him. Let's cross the bridge when we get there, Brooke thought to herself and slipped in next to him.
Tomorrow, they would have their much-awaited talk. Let tonight be tonight.
