![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The abrupt silence from the kitchen first catches Charlie's attention when he walks into the Bower. The lack of clashing pots and pans, the absence of a warm voice fluttering about like a hurried bird, muttering over missing ingredients, and the missing smoke accompanying it make him pause. His gut tightens the way it usually does when Chris runs towards him with news of a an escaped dragon; without thinking, he takes his wand out and hurries down the hallway, glancing left and right to try and pinpoint what it is about the Bower that leaves him so uneasy. He has a nasty suspicion, but he tries to bury it beneath other possibilities, though none of them can be considered pleasant.
"Mum?" He calls out, reaching the kitchen and finding it as empty as he feared. There is no trace of Molly Weasley here, but even more significant, he cannot find her robes or wand anywhere, laying about as she sometimes left them in the middle of the table.
"Mum?" He repeats again, the knot in his stomach growing tighter the longer the silence stretches out in the kitchen.
He runs throughout the rest of the house; he casts various charms and spells, each utterance more desperate than the last. He considers that perhaps his mother simply decided to spend the day in Darrow itself. But no, his mother was never fond of city life and always tended to avoid it when she could.
When, at last, he finds himself drained of energy and on the verge of tears, he forces himself to write a message to his brother and sister-in-law. He keeps it brief, asking them to come to the Bower at once, as he ignores the way the house feels more like a skeleton than a home.
"Mum?" He calls out, reaching the kitchen and finding it as empty as he feared. There is no trace of Molly Weasley here, but even more significant, he cannot find her robes or wand anywhere, laying about as she sometimes left them in the middle of the table.
"Mum?" He repeats again, the knot in his stomach growing tighter the longer the silence stretches out in the kitchen.
He runs throughout the rest of the house; he casts various charms and spells, each utterance more desperate than the last. He considers that perhaps his mother simply decided to spend the day in Darrow itself. But no, his mother was never fond of city life and always tended to avoid it when she could.
When, at last, he finds himself drained of energy and on the verge of tears, he forces himself to write a message to his brother and sister-in-law. He keeps it brief, asking them to come to the Bower at once, as he ignores the way the house feels more like a skeleton than a home.
Charlie still has his own troubles with technology; for as fast and convenient as it proves to be, tasks such as using his cellphone or checking his electronic mail (how mad his father would go over such a concept!) lacks the comfort and familiarity of communication through owl. Still, Charlie has yet to find an owl for himself, so he resigns to picking up his phone and calling his mother to see if she might want to venture to the countryside with him.
He dresses himself simply for the occasion, in a loose, tan shirt and those marvelous trousers known as jeans that rest comfortably on his hips. He makes sure to wear the comfortable boots he'd found at one of the boutiques in town, the black ones made out of leather that prove rather formidable in all sorts of weather. And, of course, he has his wand.
He packs lightly, figuring he'll treat his mother to one of the country diners he's found while on previous excursions. He smiles to himself as he raises his wand, though apprehension lingers throughout him, considering the previous time he'd Apparated in Darrow. Still, it's easier than hailing a cab or walking; he wants to save his energy for examining potential houses. He hasn't told his mother that scoping out future homes is his goal for the day, but he hasn't made a secret for his disdain of city life, either.
With another breath, he finally murmurs the spell, closing his eyes and concentrating. He feels the familiar tug as it pulls him forward, beginning to relax a little.
Then he lands flat on his ass, with his shirt tangled in the branches of a nearby tree.
"Bloody hell!" He exclaims to the empty field in which he's landed, half-naked, this time. He only hopes his mother doesn't find him like this.
He dresses himself simply for the occasion, in a loose, tan shirt and those marvelous trousers known as jeans that rest comfortably on his hips. He makes sure to wear the comfortable boots he'd found at one of the boutiques in town, the black ones made out of leather that prove rather formidable in all sorts of weather. And, of course, he has his wand.
He packs lightly, figuring he'll treat his mother to one of the country diners he's found while on previous excursions. He smiles to himself as he raises his wand, though apprehension lingers throughout him, considering the previous time he'd Apparated in Darrow. Still, it's easier than hailing a cab or walking; he wants to save his energy for examining potential houses. He hasn't told his mother that scoping out future homes is his goal for the day, but he hasn't made a secret for his disdain of city life, either.
With another breath, he finally murmurs the spell, closing his eyes and concentrating. He feels the familiar tug as it pulls him forward, beginning to relax a little.
Then he lands flat on his ass, with his shirt tangled in the branches of a nearby tree.
"Bloody hell!" He exclaims to the empty field in which he's landed, half-naked, this time. He only hopes his mother doesn't find him like this.
Charlie has been contemplating a tattoo before even the fight against Voldemort resumed in the open; hell, he's been thinking of it since he graduated from Hogwarts. He's always like them, tattoos. Pieces of art one embeds into one's skin to commemorate a significant part of their life through words and colors. Naturally, Charlie's wanted one of a dragon; he even has a particular one in mind.
In the left pocket of his newly purchased jeans, trousers that are surprisingly comfortable despite their apparent tightness, rests a piece of parchment with a sketch of Norbert (or, more accurately, Norberta) on it. He realizes the artist he'll talk to here will, no doubt, be a Muggle; he's fine with that, as he can easily explain the choice of a dragon as more of a metaphor than anything else.
Next to this parchment, another rests, one with a less intricate design; to most people, at first glance, it appears only to be a simple map, but if one reads the details more closely, and if one happens to be a magical being from his own world, they'll see the map for what it truly is: the Marauders Map. For his fallen brother.
He pauses outside of a place called Stick 'em Ink, glancing at the art hanging in the windows. Intrigued, he steps inside, glancing around and taking in the atmosphere. Instantly, he makes his way over to more of the art hanging around the store, perusing what looks to be a sheet entirely made of dragons.
He's so enthralled in his own world, contemplating future tattoos, that he doesn't hear the bell on the door or the footsteps that follow it.
In the left pocket of his newly purchased jeans, trousers that are surprisingly comfortable despite their apparent tightness, rests a piece of parchment with a sketch of Norbert (or, more accurately, Norberta) on it. He realizes the artist he'll talk to here will, no doubt, be a Muggle; he's fine with that, as he can easily explain the choice of a dragon as more of a metaphor than anything else.
Next to this parchment, another rests, one with a less intricate design; to most people, at first glance, it appears only to be a simple map, but if one reads the details more closely, and if one happens to be a magical being from his own world, they'll see the map for what it truly is: the Marauders Map. For his fallen brother.
He pauses outside of a place called Stick 'em Ink, glancing at the art hanging in the windows. Intrigued, he steps inside, glancing around and taking in the atmosphere. Instantly, he makes his way over to more of the art hanging around the store, perusing what looks to be a sheet entirely made of dragons.
He's so enthralled in his own world, contemplating future tattoos, that he doesn't hear the bell on the door or the footsteps that follow it.
Double double toil and trouble.
Aug. 21st, 2014 08:25 amCharlie's skill with making potions are generally decent. In spite of Professor Snape's inherent disdain for his family, he managed to do well enough in his classes; he certainly is not an alchemist, by any means. But he can put together any number of potions relating to burns and other dragon related injuries with relative ease. Usually.
Today, that is certainly not the case once he finishes drinking what he thought to be a basic burn healing potion, for one of his burns from the Horntail that has yet to entirely vanish. As soon as he swallows the last drop from his satchel, he knows he screwed up somewhere along the way.
"Bloody hell," he groans as the world spins around him. He's sitting on a bench in the park, thinking he might look for work after finishing his potion. Now, even sitting down is sending Charlie for a loop; he tries to stand up, but only succeeds in further dizzying himself. Damn, but he just made one hell of a Dizziness Draught, he thinks before he swoons, falling to his knees in public like a drunkard. At least he's managed to dress himself like a Muggle, to prevent from further embarrassment.
He tries to get his bearings straight, to pick himself back up, but all Charlie can think is how much of a right idiot he looks.
Today, that is certainly not the case once he finishes drinking what he thought to be a basic burn healing potion, for one of his burns from the Horntail that has yet to entirely vanish. As soon as he swallows the last drop from his satchel, he knows he screwed up somewhere along the way.
"Bloody hell," he groans as the world spins around him. He's sitting on a bench in the park, thinking he might look for work after finishing his potion. Now, even sitting down is sending Charlie for a loop; he tries to stand up, but only succeeds in further dizzying himself. Damn, but he just made one hell of a Dizziness Draught, he thinks before he swoons, falling to his knees in public like a drunkard. At least he's managed to dress himself like a Muggle, to prevent from further embarrassment.
He tries to get his bearings straight, to pick himself back up, but all Charlie can think is how much of a right idiot he looks.
