This is Charlie Weasley, 29, telling his story for Stirring.



When I was a young boy, I always read this column. Every Sunday afternoon, without missing one for years, I would take the day's edition of the Prophet from the kitchen table, go to my room or to the garden, and read the wonderful or sometimes sad story of someone's life. An odd thing to do, maybe, for a child - but then, there weren't too many things to do on a Sunday. I could read by the time I was five; my mother had taught my older brother how to read and write, and since we were inseparable at the time (meaning I was not to be separated from him - I admired him so much that I followed his every move. Maybe he could have borne to be without me every now and then), I sat at the table too, and you can't watch someone else being taught without learning something yourself. By the time I turned five, I had four brothers. Bill, my older brother, Percy, who was three years younger than me, and the twins, Fred and George, who were only infants at that time. Bill was now often busy watching Percy while Mum took care of the twins (and they did require her full attention most of the time). Dad would have helped, but he was rarely home; the war was growing by the day, though, of course, at the age of five, I hardly realised that.

The Sunday stories were always something for me to look forward to. Of course, often I hardly understood what they were about; I hadn't yet learned the hard reality of loss, nor did I know what it felt like to fall in love. And by the time I was old enough to understand them, I could spend my Sunday afternoons with my first broom rides (always under Bill's careful watch). But now, after several years of a gap, I'm returning to the Stirring column. Twenty years have passed since I followed other peoples' tales, drawn into them as though they were my own. Since that time I have lived - I have fallen in and out of love, I have lost, and I have encountered what will forever be the most important time of my life. And at last I have my own story to tell.

I always had a large and close-knit family, but the war left each of us broken in a way. We lost a brother, Fred, in the Battle of Hogwarts. At first we thought George, his twin, would never heal, but after a while we realised that it was Mum who had the most trouble coping, though she hid it well. It took us months to lift each other's spirits up again, and although some scars never do fade entirely, we found back to some sort of normality. However, as I was about to return to my job in Romania, Mum made one request: she had lost one of her sons, and she didn't want to lose another child. Bill had already switched from his job as a Curse Breaker when he got married, but she didn't want me to work as a Dragon Keeper either; not to mention that she wanted us near her, and Romania wasn't exactly next door. Ron (my youngest brother) planning to be an Auror was bothering her enough already, and I really didn't want to upset her any more at that moment. I never pictured myself in a desk job, but that was exactly what I set out to find; a nice, safe job at the Ministry, and maybe in a couple of years, Mum would have regained her strength and trust in me. It turned out so very, very different though...

I had no trouble finding work in the Department for Magical Creatures (formerly the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures), where my main occupation was cataloguing creatures in different categories, using the updated information researchers owled us. However, my job soon started to frustrate me immensely. After working with live creatures - such fascinating ones like dragons, too - for many years, it was hard to sit behind a desk at the Ministry, and read of the wonderful creatures others had encountered in the wilderness. I knew that I definitely could not leave for an adventurous, unsafe job yet, but reading about creatures I could never see certainly wasn't an option either; I was getting more depressed with every day, dragging myself to work in the morning and home again at night, hardly living anymore.

At school, I had always been a somewhat quiet, almost introverted person. I was Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but I never saw myself as a hero for it. Growing up, I was in a similar position to my brother, Percy, and even the twins - too many siblings to get the attention we would have liked, but not young enough to be adored by the older brothers, either. Percy compensated with his pompousness and great ambition, while the twins had each other, and flourished in mischief. I, on the other hand, read my stories, flew on a broom, and was generally happy in life, even if I was alone a great deal of the time. At Hogwarts, I had friends and people who looked up to me for something that came naturally - Quidditch - but I still was a quiet person, most comfortable when I was in a small group. But then in Romania, I found new friends, I turned into a different person; I laughed, I talked, I was open and I realised that I hadn't been happy before, not truly. Finally, everyone around me understood my fascination with magical creatures, no one was telling me that I was wasting my time -- unlike my friends and teachers at school. And, maybe most importantly of all, I had a clean slate, and amazing people to help me fill it up.

But at the Ministry, I was back to my old self again. Yet, the grown-up version of that younger man, was dark, dull, and depressed. Luckily, I saw that before it was too late to get out of it, and quit my job in the Department for Magical Creatures. The one field that had always interested me as much as creatures was Quidditch. Flying gave me the same almost trance-like feeling as working with a wild animal (though maybe not a grown dragon) did, and the mechanics of Quidditch are almost naturally fascinating to anyone in our world. I was too old by now to consider a career in professional Quidditch, so I turned, again, to the Ministry, hoping to find an occupation in a more practical field. Luckily, there was a job opening that didn't sound too bad; it included assisting in the organisation of international matches, and it seemed to promise a lot of hands-on work, including meeting some of the world's best Quidditch players. I managed to get an appointment for a job interview very quickly, and then suddenly, almost not sure how I got there, I sat outside the office in the new robes Mum had insisted I buy. That was the day I saw Oliver Wood again for the first time in years.

That's not entirely true, of course, as I did see him during the Battle of Hogwarts, but everything was a blur; too much happened that night, and it certainly wasn't the time for polite conversation with old acquaintances. I remembered Oliver well, though, from Hogwarts. We had been on the Quidditch team together - he was a Keeper three years below me - he was an excellent flyer (and still is), and I wasn't surprised to hear that he had started to fly with Puddlemere soon after he left Hogwarts. It was very nice to see a familiar face; unlike in the Department for Magical Creatures, I didn't really know anyone who worked in Games and Sports, and I honestly wasn't sure I even had a chance to get the job.

"Oliver?" I asked, not sure if he had even seen me yet. He was sitting on a chair near mine, his chin resting on his fists and eyes set on the ceiling. It was obvious that he too was nervous about something.

Almost startled, he snapped out of his thoughts, and stared at me for a second before he replied.

"Charlie? Charlie Weasley?" He lowered his hands to his knees, and a grin spread over his face. "What are the odds of running into you here -- I thought you were in Romania or something?"

"Yes, well." I managed a sort of smile. "One thing came to another, and now I'm looking for a job a bit closer to the family, at least for the moment."

"Oh... Oh yes, of course. I'm really, really sorry," he replied quickly, blushing faintly.

"So, what brings you here?" I asked before an uncomfortable silence could develop. "You can't be looking for a desk job?" A strange panic rose in me as I was struck by a sudden thought. "You weren't injured, were you?" Oddly, I was concerned about Oliver quitting his Quidditch career, whereas during my final year at Hogwarts it had always been him who was most frustrated with my decision of not considering to become a professional in the sport.

"No." He suddenly laughed. "On the contrary, to be honest, I'm Puddlemere's new captain." He grinned again as my jaw dropped. "I'm here to sign a contract for the games this season, and then there are some things they want to do - I'm the youngest captain of England's and Ireland's current teams, and the Prophet wants an interview with me and someone from the English Quidditch League... Don't ask, I don't even know what it is about myself."

"As long as it isn't Rita Skeeter - she'll turn you into a troll who's been hit by too many Bludgers, or something like that..."

Oliver winked and said, "Oh, so you think I'm a--," but at that moment, one of the doors in the corridor opened, and the blonde mane of Rita Skeeter poked out. "We're ready for you now, Mr Wood," she said in false dulcet tones. Oliver got up quickly, smiled at me and left, but when he had almost reached the door, he turned around again. "I'm glad we ran into each other. Do you want to grab a pint at the Leaky Cauldron later, to celebrate?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, and, grinning once more, he walked through the door and closed it behind him. "I just hope I have something to celebrate too," I mumbled to myself as I sat on my chair in the now deserted corridor.

I did have something to celebrate when I left the Ministry, and I was planning to pay for the drinks. I was starting my new job the next Monday, and I'm still sure that I owed a great deal to Oliver. I don't really believe in lucky charms, but talking to him had taken all my anxiety before the interview away, and ultimately, I think that is what got me the job. When I arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Oliver was already sitting at a table, waving for me to join him. I couldn't keep the smile off my face as I sat down, and of course he knew what that meant.

"Congrats," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. "I knew you'd get the job. What was it you had applied for, anyway?"

We spent the next few hours talking about my new job, his interview, mouthing off about Rita Skeeter, then Puddlemere and the matches Oliver had played for - time just flew by. We had met at the Ministry in the morning, and when Oliver looked at his watch with a slightly guilty expression, the sky outside the windows was pitch black.

"Ah, I really have to go... We have practice tomorrow, and I don't want to mess it up..." He frowned at his watch, almost as though it was the small device's fault that time had moved so quickly.

"We can meet again next week, if you want. Then I can tell you what work is like, and I really want to hear about your new team." It was a very selfish thing of me to offer, since I felt our conversation must have been more to my delight than his, and I felt slightly guilty too. However, Oliver seemed to like the idea and agreed happily to meet the following Wednesday.

And so each of us Disapparated to our homes, and I didn't even realise at the time that I hadn't spoken this much and this carelessly to anyone in a very, very long time.

***

My new job was fantastic, and my family said that it was great to finally see me smile again. Looking back, I know that it wasn't only work that made me feel at home. I finally had a friend - something I had been missing for such a long time. When Oliver and I met for the second time, he was very enthusiastic about his team and told me about each of their practice sessions, and how effortlessly the Puddlemere players put every one of the moves and tactics he explained to them into action. I, in turn, told him about my new colleagues and my boss, Frank Alderton, and the Roman Ramparts, an Italian Quidditch team Frank and I were going to meet at the end of the week. Again, time was up before we were even close to finishing our talk, and again we agreed to meet another day, this time on a Saturday.

We continued like this for a couple of weeks, and I felt happier than I ever had. I wasn't even consciously aware of it; life in general just felt good. There was a wide range of topics we chatted about. Sometimes we spent hours just talking about our everyday lives or about the changes Kingsley Shacklebolt was bringing to the Ministry; other days we were reminiscing about our school days and the Hogwarts Quidditch teams - what had become of the players, and what each of us did after we left Hogwarts. There was only a short time frame we never talked about, at least, until one Friday night (later than usual, as none of us had to work the following day) when Oliver suddenly brought it up.

"So, how are you coping, Charlie?" I knew at once what he was talking about.

"Well, you know..." I said, hesitantly, aware that Oliver probably didn't know.

"If you don't want to talk about it, I completely understand." The way he was looking me directly in the eye told me that it was truly that - a selfless offer of help.

"No, I do." I meant it; I did want to talk about Fred's death for the first time since it had actually happened. I wanted to talk to Oliver about it. "It's... it's hard, I suppose. Most of the time I try not to think about him, but I've realised at some point that trying not to think about my brother is a lot of work when so many things remind me of him. In a way, I feel like by accepting that I can't ignore what has happened, I've moved on just another step. Oddly, it was George who helped everyone the most in the end. One day. he just came downstairs and told everyone that this wasn't at all in Fred's spirit, and that we had to lighten up. I was skeptic at first too," I added as Oliver raised an eyebrow, "but he really did mean it. And it was a good decision for all of us. Only Mum is still struggling from time to time, but it's probably always hardest for a mother. To think that she raised us all, and watched Fred grow up and then--" I broke off for a few seconds, trying to regain my composure. "I still remember when they played their first prank..."

I kept on talking for a very long time, saying many things that I later felt I had needed to let out. Oliver was a good listener, following my every word even if I felt I was waffling a bit. And then he began to talk too, and we shared memories of Fred and George, what great players they were as Beaters, and what amazing pranks they played even as first years. As we talked, we ordered one drink after the other, and when we left (not because we had finished the conversation, but because the Leaky Cauldron was closing for the night), both of us were more than a little tipsy. Oliver had a flat in London, so he decided - after reassuring me he could still stand straight enough on his legs - to walk home, and I was going to take the Knight Bus. I waved frantically around in the air with my wand, lost balance and toppled over, leaning on Oliver for support.

"You're not walking anywhere tonight, mate," he said and, laughing, he put my arm around his shoulders so that I wouldn't fall over completely. The bus arrived in the street with a crack, and the door swung open, revealing the conductor, who was giving his usual speech. I didn't hear a word of what he was saying though; my heart was racing against my ribs for a reason that had little to do with the alcohol I had consumed that night.

"I'm really glad we ran into each other, Charlie."

Looking back now, I can't remember when exactly I realised I had fallen in love with Oliver. Maybe it was that night, when I was leaning on his shoulders, the smell of his hair faintly reaching my nose. Or maybe it was two weeks later, when he suddenly reached out and took my hand over the table when I told him I had heard Mum crying again the night before. But I definitely did know by the time he kissed me. Or I kissed him; I don't really remember anymore.