Lyra || Charlie Weasley ||

You sure you don't wanna come to Hogwarts with us? (Charlie's POV)

It's amazing to be back at the Burrow to see my family again, especially since we're all here to attend the Quidditch World Cup Finals together. Ron, however, has been incessantly chirping in my ear about Lyra ever since I arrived — going on and on about her long dark hair, bright blue eyes, and radiant smile. Though his enthusiastic praises left me skeptical, nothing could have prepared me for when she actually walked through the door into our tent.

As she entered, she seemed to command the very air, stealing my breath along with it. She wore flowing blue robes that matched her irises and complemented her porcelain skin. I swear she's an angel if there ever was. I instinctively turned away, attempting to engage Dad in conversation and ignore the whole thing as if a momentary lapse of insanity.

But Ron seems to have other plans, "Oi, Charlie!" Ron called out, beckoning me over. Reluctantly tearing my eyes away, I turned around to look at them. And when our eyes met, I felt a jolt to my core; I had to grab the nearest chair to steady myself, lest my knees give out completely.

"Charlie, this is Lyra," Ron says bringing me out of whatever bout of insanity I am going through. I take a deep breath to collect myself before heading over with what I hope looks like a casual smile. 

"Nice to meet you Lyra," I managed to get out as I stuck out my slightly shaking hand. Her small hand grasps, delicate one nearly vanishing inside my calloused palm, gently yet firmly she shook it.

"Hi Charlie," she says softly, her voice like wind chimes. "You're the one Ron sent Norbert the dragon to."

I let out a nervous laugh. Of course, that's how she knows me— the guy who helped smuggle the illegal Norbert the dragon for Ron. 

"That's right, the little Norwegian Ridgeback," I reply, trying not to get lost in her sparkling eyes. "It's been a few years,"  Before I can say anything else, Ron starts pulling Lyra away. "C'mon, you have to meet Bill too!" he says. I sigh, annoyed at his interruption yet unable to tear my eyes away as she glides across the room.

Fred and Mr. Black, who had now sidled up beside me to engage in conversation, though my pounding heartbeat made concentration difficult. While I maintained polite discussion, my thoughts kept straying back to Lyra, a small part of me longed to be conversing with Lyra instead. 

"Stupid idiot," I scolded myself internally. She's just my little brother's friend, not some fairyland siren. You're not into girls, remember? You're all about dragons. This is just Ron filling your head with ideas by going on and on about her.

☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Lyra's presence drew me in like a moth to her flame. Her eyes shimmered like sapphires when chatting Quidditch with my brothers. Her melodic laugh filled the air while teasing Hermione and Ginny. Those adorable crinkles framed her eyes before pranking Ron or Harry. Each aspect of her personality became a thread, weaving a tapestry of fascination that enveloped me entirely.

Lyra was spring's first bloom - vibrant, lovely, fleeting. Even now, as we hiked up the stadium stairs, her steps bounced lively as she argued players' strengths with Ron. How carelessly animated in both spirit and step! An involuntary smile pulled at my lips, my feet trailing her small frame as if by magnetic draw.

At the top, she rushed to the railing, braid swinging like a pendulum.  "Draco can shove the minister's box up his ass, I love these seats," she declared passionately. The autumn breeze carried her lilac perfume. I drifted to her side helplessly, as if pulled by a string.

Ron chuckled, "Aren't your parents sitting there too, though?"

"Who cares?" She flung her arms wide, face upturned. The sharp autumn wind whipped a few dark strands across her flushed cheeks. "It's like we're floating among the stars up here!" Trust her to be so dramatically poetic at a Quidditch match.