In love with a Weasley (Charlie Weasley)

GOF 8

Neither Mr. Weasley nor Percy was at home much over the following week. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up, and returned well after dinner every night.

"It's been an absolute uproar," Percy told us importantly the Sunday evening before they were due to return to Hogwarts. "I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders."

"Why are they all sending Howlers?" Ginny asked, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire.

"Complaining about security at the World Cup," said Percy. "They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite
Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks." Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. I loved her clock. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had nine golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family's names. There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. "Home," "school," and "work" were there, but there was also "traveling," "lost," "hospital," "prison," and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, "mortal peril." Eight of the hands were currently pointing to the "home" position, but Mr. Weasley's, which was the longest, was still pointing to "work." Mrs. Weasley sighed.

"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You- Know-Who," she said. "They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come
home soon."

"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" said Percy. "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first"

"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" said Mrs. Weasley, flaring up at once.

"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented," said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. "Rita Skeeter never
makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts' Charm Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?"

"Well, it is a bit long, dear," said Mrs. Weasley gently. "If you'd just let me -"

"No, Mum."

"Don't worry Bill I think the long hair looks good but no comment on the pillock bit" This causes Bill to throw a pillow at me which I catch sticking my tongue out at him. Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. "Charlie" I start as he glares at me.

"Nova I will throw you in the lake if you say even one mean thing about me"

"You wouldn't dare"

"Wouldn't I why don't you try me" He smirks at me.

"Shut up Charles Weatherby" at this Charlie runs for me as I quickly run behind Bill.

"I would help you but after the pillock comment I think you deserve what you get"

"Bill I'm sorry you're not a pillock now help me please" I say still running away from Charlie.

"Nope"

"I take it back you are a pillock" I shout as I run through the kitchen, Charlie close behind. "Charlie how about we talk about this like mature adults"