five more seconds;

we stopped time;

to chase these truths

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DRAAAAAAAAABBLE!!!!111one!
five more seconds;
offensive
Okay, so I wrote it, its horrible and sucks, A LOT. I feel like Charlie is really OOC, and I'm feeling guilty for it. So yeah. read at your own risk.

Who: Charlie Weasley (...I think)
What: Random First Person piece of shit.
Where: No fucking clue.
Why?: I don't know.
Words: 825
Rating: PG. Maybe.



She had flowers in her hair the first time I saw her. She’d said she’d just come from babysitting her older sister’s daughter, and they’d picked flowers. I don’t know what kind they were, something white. They stood out in her dark hair, like stars caught in a sea of black. She took my breath away every moment I knew her.

Of course… she never knew.

They always said I was like Bill, a ‘lady killer’ or something. Not really. My thing is dragons. The idea that at any given moment they could lash out and burn or cut me, or worse, it always gave me a kick. That could be why I didn’t have any reservation about joining the Order. But, I was never too good with women. I could talk to them, and they were always impressed by scars, but it was never real. They felt nothing, I felt nothing. Until I met her, at least.

I would’ve haunted her footsteps if I could’ve. I would’ve told her that just being in the same room with her made me lose all ability to think straight, to comprehend what was going on around me. The opportunity never came up. And now it never will.

She’s….gone. Forever. I knew her for a total of three months, since I returned to England to help the Order in closer proximity. Three months that were all too short. She was one of those people who instantly befriended people, and would always wear a smile when she was talking to you. She made people feel like they were important. She cared.

I was new at Number 12. Sirius had just left our numbers, and things weren’t looking to great, so I was asked by Dumbledore if a transfer would be possible. I did it, and the first person who met me was Hestia. She tried to make me comfortable in England again, make me feel ‘more at home.’ She’d invite me out with her friends, sit by me during meals and meetings, talk to me when other people were talking among themselves… she was just the kind of person to do that type of stuff. And I fell in love with her for it.

Stupid, I know. And impossible. She was younger and beautiful, and I was scruffy and covered in dragon burns. Not to mention we were in the Order, and death at any given moment was a very likely possibility. She was an Auror to top it off, something about ‘fighting the good fight.’ I never really caught her exact reason for being an Auror. She always said it was unimportant.

I thought we might have a chance. I was planning to get up the courage to ask her on a date, at least, once the war ended. I had it planned out what I’d say, and I’d run it by Bill, just to make sure I didn’t sound like a complete idiot.

Of course, Hestia didn’t last until the end of the war. She’s dead. Why? Because she didn’t wait for backup. There were children inside, being murdered. The Death Eaters were killing innocent orphaned muggle children. Hestia would never stand for that, and when it came to situations like this, she forgot she was supposed to be logical and smart and Ravenclaw, and would charge in. She saved eight kids, at the cost of her own life.

She died there, not from the Avada Kedavra. They didn’t feel humane enough to make it quick and painless. Crucio was what they started her with. Then as if the pain of that wasn’t enough, some had swords training. When we got into the building, she was lying in one of the rooms of the orphanage, more than half dead and bleeding.

It would be irony that allowed me to find her, I’m sure. She died because she’d lost too much blood by the time I’d gotten there. By the time a Medi-witch arrived, I was holding her in my arms, silently cradling her still form. I told them I’d found her dead.

Her funeral was the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. All of the Order turned up, her friends, her family. People had so many things to share about her. Things that sounded similar to my own experiences with her. I said nothing. I was the one who found her, but I said nothing, and I didn’t cry. I don’t cry.

When the service was over, I approached her casket last, after everyone filed away. There were flowers in her hair, and a smile on her lips.

She died smiling. I never told anyone, that she’d been alive when I found her. She’d opened her eyes when I’d lifted her off the ground. She smiled, and said my name. She was in pain, and just the effort obviously made her hurt. But she did it. And then… she died.

I think she may have loved me too.


....No one kill me for that last sentance. Please. I don't want to die for that horrible addend.

..If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go shoot myself for that suck now. @___@

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