The Mark

Chapter Three

Charlie Weasley was fighting a force of Death Eaters in Romania when news of Voldemort's demise crashed over the battlefield like waves of icy water, halting the war instantly. A cheer erupted from the side of light while those who followed the fallen tyrant split or surrendered. Charlie smiled, but a sinking feeling in his heart told him something happened back home. He prayed it wasn't his family. Something told him it was, though, and that thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. That taste only grew stronger when an owl swooped down to land on his table a few hours later.

Charlie,

I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you this, but your parents and siblings are too distraught to write. During the final battle here, there was an accident. A wall collapsed. Charlie, I'm so, so sorry to tell you this, but one of your siblings was caught under the rubble. We lost them. If you can, please come home, George needs you. Ginny can't stop crying. Percy won't talk. Bill has been staring at the same spot on the wall for hours. Ron is quiet and just lies in bed. Molly won't leave her room and Arthur just sits beside him. I'm sure you've figured out who it is. Forgive me, but I can't bring myself to say it, much less write it. We need you here. Harry keeps blaming himself for not finishing the war faster. There's so much pain and so many people blaming themselves for something none of us could stop. Please come home.

Sorrowfully,

Hermione Granger

P.S. I am so very sorry, Charlie. I really am.

Charlie sat in shock for a moment or two, letting the news fully sink in. A pain filled roar left his body only minutes later. Fred, his baby brother, the laughter of his family, the other half to George, was gone. His fist connected with his wall as tears began to fall. Whimpering, Charlie gripped his wand tightly and waved it through the air, filling his bags and locking up all of his left behind belongings. He flung the bags over his shoulder and stormed from his house, slamming the door violently. A voice caused him momentary pause as he raged forward.

Grant Michaelson walked towards the emotional man slowly. The tanned, blonde haired man from Canada was a good two heads shorter than Charlie and about half the width. Short tempered, but incredibly friendly, the man was missing a tooth right up front and had clearly broken his nose a few times. Scars littered his flesh much like the rest of the crew, but Grant had one scar that seemed more interesting than the others. On the side of his neck was the perfect impression of a human's dental structure. Rumor had it, he had a wife back in Canada who lost her cool one day and attempted to bite a chunk out of his neck during a fight. No one knows if it's true, but they know now that there is not a Mrs. Michaelson anymore. The smaller man knew well not to get in the Weasley's way, but also knew when was a good time to step in and help. He was Charlie's best friend on the reserve, he knew the man almost as well as he knew the dragons. In Grant's ocean blue eyes, Charlie Weasley was a human dragon and was to be approached like such. "Charlie, why so upset? The war is won."

"Grant, I'm going back to England. The war took something from my family that can't be replaced. I'm needed at the Burrow." Charlie growled as more tears fell. His mind plagued him with memories of his lost brother. The day Molly and Arthur brought the twins home, Bill holding George while he held little Freddie. When they were two and lit the carpet on fire playing with the fireplace. Seven year old Freddie sneaking brownies to George when he was grounded, the twins getting their letters, the twins' first day at Hogwarts, their sorting, the boys joining the quidditch team. The pranks they masterminded, them leaving school for good, the joke shop. Christmases, birthdays, summers. Charlie was hit with everything; his breathing grew hard and unsteady. Darkness edged his vision as he let out a sob and hit the ground. His fist pounded into the dirt as he howled in sorrow. Grant's arms helping him to his feet, patting his back, guiding him to the boss's office for a port-key all went unnoticed by the grieving Weasley.