Essential Assitance
The Great Hall hummed with nervous energy. Students, teachers, and members of the Order of the Phoenix crowded into the space, their faces tense, eyes darting around in a mixture of fear and anticipation. The tables had been pushed against the walls, leaving the floor open for groups to gather and receive instructions. The enchanted ceiling above reflected the dark, turbulent skies, thick with the promise of an approaching storm.
Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the room, her back straight and her voice sharp, cutting through the quiet murmurs and the occasional clang of armor or the rustle of cloaks. She gave out orders, her tone calm but steely, assigning people to their posts. There was no room for error. Her every word carried the weight of what was coming.
"Mr. Finnegan, you and Miss Brown will be stationed near the courtyard," McGonagall instructed, her eyes scanning the anxious faces before her. "Be ready for the first wave."
Seamus nodded, his face pale but determined. Beside him, Lavender held her wand tightly, knuckles white.
The entire room hung on McGonagall’s words, and time seemed to slow as she continued directing students, professors, and Order members alike. Everything was preparing for the battle that none of them wanted but knew they had no choice but to fight.
Then, without warning, a pop echoed through the hall, followed by several more in quick succession. The room stilled. Heads turned as a group of witches and wizards Apparated into the Great Hall, dressed in battle-ready robes that looked worn from years of use. They moved like a unit, their wands at their sides, faces grim but ready.
At the forefront stood a tall, rugged figure with windswept red hair, his dragonhide boots scuffed from work. His broad shoulders spoke of years spent wrestling dragons into submission, and his sharp eyes took in the crowded hall with a quick, assessing glance.
"Charlie!" The cry broke through the quiet, a voice trembling with relief. Molly Weasley, standing among her children, gasped aloud, her hand flying to her mouth as she recognized her second-eldest son. Her voice carried a mix of disbelief, joy, and maternal concern, drawing the attention of several nearby.
She pushed through the crowd, ignoring the startled looks and whispered murmurs as she elbowed her way toward him. Charlie turned just in time to catch sight of her, a small smile tugging at his lips. Before he could say a word, Molly threw her arms around him, pulling him into a fierce embrace.
“Oh, thank Merlin you’re here!” she sobbed, her voice muffled against his chest as she clung to him. She pulled back, her tear-filled eyes scanning his face, hands cupping his cheeks as though she were reassuring herself that he was really there, alive and whole. “I was so worried, Charlie.”
Charlie chuckled softly, his smile widening as he gently pulled away, but not before squeezing her hands in return. “I’m fine, Mum. We’re ready for this,” he said, his voice steady and calm. He nodded to the group of Romanian witches and wizards behind him. “We all are.”
Molly’s eyes flicked briefly to the unfamiliar faces, but they quickly returned to her son, her brow furrowed with concern that even Charlie’s reassuring words couldn’t dispel.
“Don’t do anything reckless,” she murmured, though it sounded more like a plea. Her hands lingered on his arms for a moment longer before finally releasing him. “Promise me.”
Charlie gave her a warm, comforting smile. “I will. We’ve got this, Mum. You’ll see.”
Before Molly could protest further, Professor McGonagall’s clear voice broke through the reunion. “Weasley.”
Charlie turned, standing a little straighter as McGonagall’s sharp eyes landed on him and his team of reinforcements. There was a brief flicker of approval in her expression, though she didn’t waste time with pleasantries.
“Good timing,” McGonagall said briskly, giving a quick nod to the group from Romania. “We’ll need every capable hand for this. Who have you brought with you?”
Charlie turned slightly, motioning toward his team. “These are some of my colleagues from the Romanian Dragon Reserve,” he explained. “They’ve been fighting dragons for years. Figured they might come in handy for a little skirmish.”
McGonagall’s lips twitched slightly at the understatement.“ Indeed. Introduce them, if you please.”
Charlie nodded, gesturing to each in turn. “This is Ilinca Drăgoi, dragon handler, best wandwork you’ll ever see.” A tall, raven-haired witch gave a sharp nod, her eyes cool and assessing.
“Andrei Dumitrescu,” Charlie continued, nodding toward a broad-shouldered man with sandy blond hair tied back in a rough ponytail. “Specializes in defensive wards and containment spells.” Andrei smiled tightly, his blue eyes flicking around the hall, already assessing potential vulnerabilities.
Charlie then gestured to a short, wiry wizard with bright red hair that rivaled his own. “And this is Nicolae Ionescu. He’s a Stunner expert, especially when it comes to grounding large creatures—or, I suppose in this case, Death Eaters.”
Nicolae grinned, flashing a crooked smile. “I’ve got a knack for knocking things down,” he added with a wink.
Finally, Charlie’s eyes rested on the last member of the group, his heart giving an unexpected thump. “And this is Dragoș Munteanu,” he said, his voice just a little softer. Dragoș stood slightly taller than Charlie, with dark, curly hair that tumbled over his forehead, and deep brown eyes that sparkled with quiet confidence. His calm presence, built over years of working with unpredictable dragons, radiated through the hall. “He’s...well, he’s got a way with creatures. If you need something calmed down or redirected, Dragoș is your man.”
Dragoș nodded politely, his dark brown eyes locking with McGonagall’s briefly before sliding back to Charlie, who felt a sudden warmth in his chest.
McGonagall surveyed the group once more, her stern gaze giving way to approval as she addressed them. “You’ll all be invaluable tonight,” she said briskly. “Miss Drăgoi, Mr. Dumitrescu, and Mr. Ionescu, I’ll be stationing you near the eastern perimeter with Professor Flitwick. You’ll be responsible for reinforcing the wards and holding off any breaches.”
Ilinca, Andrei, and Nicolae nodded in unison, their faces reflecting the gravity of their assignment.
McGonagall then turned to Charlie, her voice softening only slightly. “As for you, Mr. Weasley, you’ll be joining your brothers by the North Tower. They’ve been setting up...distractions,” she said with a hint of exasperation. “They’ll need someone level-headed to keep things under control.”
Charlie snorted lightly, knowing full well the kind of chaos Fred and George were capable of. “I can handle them, Professor,” he assured her, though the corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile.
McGonagall nodded once, the smallest flicker of a smile tugging at her own lips. “Good luck,” she said, her voice low, before moving on to direct others across the hall.
As soon as Professor McGonagall turned and left to coordinate more of the defenses, Charlie spun on his heel, facing his team of dragon handlers. The stern, battle-ready expression he'd worn earlier slipped slightly as concern crept into his eyes. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before addressing his friends.
“All right, listen up,” Charlie began, folding his arms across his chest. His voice was firm, though there was an unmistakable note of worry laced in his words. “I expect to see every single one of you after this fight is over, no exceptions. If I don’t...” He narrowed his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll be very cross, got it?”
Ilinca Drăgoi, the sharp-eyed witch, raised an eyebrow at him before rolling her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, Mum,” she quipped sarcastically, folding her arms in mock surrender.
Charlie shot her a glare, his jaw tightening. “I'm serious,” he grumbled, though the hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No one’s allowed to die on my watch.”
Andrei nodded silently, his face set in a rare look of seriousness. “We’ll be fine,” he muttered, giving Charlie a reassuring clap on the shoulder before turning to join Ilinca and Nicolae as they headed toward the eastern perimeter.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Charlie called after them, his voice rough but filled with affection.
Ilinca turned around, smirking. “So that’s, what, pretty much anything?” she shot back, her sarcasm earning a chuckle from Nicolae as the three of them disappeared into the hall.
Once they were out of sight, Charlie let out a long, slow exhale, the weight of the upcoming battle pressing down on him harder than he wanted to admit. He ran a hand through his hair, steeling himself, when a low voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Nice speech,” came Dragoș’s teasing tone from just behind him.
Charlie turned to find Dragoș still standing there, his arms crossed casually, a knowing smirk on his face. His dark brown eyes glinted with amusement, though there was a layer of warmth beneath the teasing.
Charlie glared at him half-heartedly, feeling his face heat up. “Oh, shove off,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice didn’t quite land.
Dragoș raised an eyebrow, the smirk still playing on his lips as he stepped closer. “I’m serious, though. Don’t be reckless,” he said, his tone softening, though there was an undercurrent of something more serious. “You better survive this.”
Charlie opened his mouth to protest, ready with some quip or dismissive remark, but Dragoș cut him off.
“I mean it, Charlie,” Dragoș continued, his gaze locking firmly with Charlie’s. “You’re always the one throwing yourself into danger, thinking you’ve got to protect everyone else. But this time...you make sure to protect yourself too. Or else.”
The way Dragoș said those last two words—low, firm, and filled with an intensity that made Charlie’s stomach twist—left no room for argument. Charlie swallowed hard, his heart pounding against his chest.
Before Charlie could respond, Dragoș stepped forward, closing the distance between them in one swift movement. He pulled Charlie into a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around him in a way that took Charlie by surprise. The embrace wasn’t hurried or awkward; it was firm, grounding, and full of unspoken concern.
For a moment, Charlie was too stunned to react, but then he slowly relaxed into the hug, feeling the solid warmth of Dragoș’s chest against his own. The sound of the bustling hall around them faded into the background as Charlie let himself hold on just a little longer than he would have expected.
“You too,” Charlie muttered, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than he intended. “Don’t go getting yourself killed.”
Dragoș chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to look Charlie in the eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a small smile, though the seriousness in his gaze never wavered.
They stood there for a second longer, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air between them. Then, with a final pat on Charlie’s back, Dragoș stepped away, giving him a small nod before turning to leave.
Charlie watched him go, his chest feeling uncomfortably tight, though he wasn’t quite sure why. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though—the battle was coming, and there was no room for hesitation.
As he turned to make his way toward the North Tower, two familiar figures sidled up to him, matching mischievous smirks plastered across their faces. Fred and George.
“Well, well, well,” Fred began, a teasing lilt in his voice as he nudged Charlie with his elbow.
“What’s this, then?” George added, raising an eyebrow as he leaned in closer. “Charlie Weasley caught in a moment with a certain dragon handler?”
Charlie blinked, utterly bewildered. “What are you on about?” he asked, frowning in confusion.
Fred mimed an exaggerated embrace, throwing his arms around George dramatically. “Oh, Dragoș! Be safe out there, won’t you?” he swooned, fluttering his lashes in a mock imitation of Charlie.
George chuckled, picking up the act. “Don’t you go getting yourself killed, love!” he added, clutching his chest as if struck by emotion.
It took a moment for the meaning behind their words to hit Charlie, but when it did, his face flushed an unmistakable shade of crimson. “Oh, shut up, you two!” he snapped, but the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed him. “It’s not like that. He’s just—he’s just a good friend!”
Fred and George exchanged a knowing glance, both grinning from ear to ear.
“Right. Just a good friend,” Fred repeated, waggling his eyebrows.
“Not fooling anyone, mate,” George added, giving Charlie a playful nudge. “You were practically glowing back there.”
Charlie huffed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as if that would stop the rising embarrassment. “I wasn’t glowing,” he muttered defensively. “We’re all about to go into battle. People say things, alright? It doesn’t mean anything.”
Fred leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “No shame in it, Charlie. He’s a good-looking bloke. We’d approve.”
Charlie sputtered, his face going from red to a deep scarlet. “You’re both unbelievable,” he grumbled, doing his best to keep his composure as he marched forward, trying to put distance between himself and his insufferable younger brothers.
Before he could get too far, though, Molly Weasley bustled over, her face a mixture of concern and fierce determination.
Fred and George immediately straightened up, exchanging quick glances, though the remnants of their smirks still lingered.
Molly stepped up to Charlie first, her hands moving to smooth out his slightly ruffled collar before brushing an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder. “Charlie, love, I know you’ll be looking out for everyone, but make sure you keep an eye on your brothers. I need to know they’ll be in good hands.”
Charlie nodded, still flustered from Fred and George’s teasing, but he managed a small smile. “Of course, Mum. I’ll make sure they’re alright.”
Molly turned to Fred and George, her hands resting on her hips now, the fierce glint in her eyes softening just a bit. “And you two—don’t go doing anything reckless. I know you’re always up to some mischief, but now’s not the time for pranks. Stay with Charlie, and for Merlin’s sake, be careful.”
Fred and George exchanged sheepish looks, their earlier bravado dimming slightly under their mother’s watchful gaze.
“Yes, Mum,” Fred said, trying to sound serious.
“We’ll be on our best behavior,” George added, though there was still a flicker of his usual mischief in his eyes.
Molly sighed, pulling all three of them into a tight hug, her arms encircling them as if she could protect them from what was to come. “Just come back to me in one piece,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Charlie felt a lump form in his throat, but he quickly swallowed it down, hugging her back. “We will,” he promised quietly, though the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.
After what felt like an eternity, Molly reluctantly let them go, wiping at her eyes before sending them off with a firm nod.
“Right,” Charlie muttered, clearing his throat as he straightened himself up. “North Tower. Let’s go.”
Fred and George followed him, but not without one last parting shot.
“Don’t worry, Mum,” Fred whispered loudly to George, just loud enough for Charlie to hear. “Charlie’s got Dragoș to look after him too.”
George snickered, but before they could say anything else, Charlie shot them a warning glare.
“Keep that up, and I’ll leave you two to fend for yourselves.”
“Love you too, Charlie,” George called, grinning from ear to ear.
Despite himself, Charlie couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Even with their teasing, it was good to have them by his side. As they headed toward the North Tower together, the weight of what was coming pressed down on them all—but at least, for now, they had each other.
_________________________________
The chaos of battle roared on, a cacophony of screams, spells, and explosions that reverberated through the shattered walls of Hogwarts. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning debris and the metallic tang of blood. Charlie Weasley moved through the onslaught like a force of nature, his wand a blur of motion as he hurled curses and hexes with brutal precision. He had lost track of Fred and George somewhere in the madness, their distinctive twin banter swallowed up by the roar of battle. Charlie felt a pang of worry shoot through him, but there was no time to search for them now. He had to keep fighting—he had to survive.
As he moved, Charlie caught a fleeting glimpse of something that made his heart lurch. Through the haze of smoke and curses, Dragoș was fighting nearby, his dark cloak whipping around him as he dueled with a masked Death Eater. The familiar sight of him—fierce and unyielding—made Charlie’s chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain. For a moment, their eyes met across the battlefield, a brief flash of recognition in the chaos. Dragoș gave a small nod, an unspoken promise to survive, before disappearing into the swirling chaos of the fight.
A Death Eater lunged from the shadows, his masked face contorted in fury as he sent a jet of sickly green light hurtling toward Charlie.
"Protego!" Charlie shouted, raising a shimmering shield just in time to deflect the Killing Curse. The deadly green light ricocheted off into the night, exploding a nearby statue into a cloud of dust and rubble.
Without missing a beat, Charlie retaliated with a vicious Stupefy, the stunning spell catching the Death Eater square in the chest and sending him flying backward into the wreckage. Before the man's body had even hit the ground, Charlie was already turning, his eyes scanning the battlefield for his next opponent.
It was relentless. Everywhere he looked, Death Eaters were closing in—black-clad figures darting through the smoke, their wands slashing through the air as they tore through the defenders of Hogwarts. The ground was littered with the fallen—students, teachers, Order members, and Death Eaters alike. Charlie’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but there was no time to rest. No time to think.
A masked woman with a cruel grin spotted him from across the courtyard, her wand already raised. She flicked it with a sharp motion, and a bolt of red light streaked toward Charlie. He barely had time to sidestep, the curse whizzing past his ear and scorching the stone wall behind him.
"Confringo!" Charlie bellowed, his wand flashing as he sent an explosive curse in her direction. The ground erupted beneath her feet, and the woman screamed as she was thrown into the air, her body colliding with the remains of a fallen tower.
But there were more—so many more.
Another Death Eater charged at him, this one wielding not only a wand but a gleaming silver dagger. He slashed wildly, the blade catching the light of distant fire as it cut through the air. Charlie ducked under the swing and thrust his wand forward.
“Expelliarmus!” The Death Eater’s wand flew from his grip, but the man didn’t hesitate. With a snarl, he lunged at Charlie, dagger flashing.
Charlie reacted instinctively, sidestepping the attack and driving his elbow into the man’s face. There was a satisfying crunch as the Death Eater’s nose broke, blood spraying from his mask. But before Charlie could press the advantage, the man slashed at him again, the blade grazing Charlie’s arm and drawing a thin line of blood.
With a growl of frustration, Charlie kicked out, his boot connecting with the Death Eater’s knee. The man screamed in pain as his leg buckled, and Charlie seized the opportunity. He drove his fist into the man’s jaw, the impact sending him sprawling to the ground, unconscious.
Breathing heavily, Charlie wiped the blood from his knuckles. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his muscles coiled and ready for more. The battle was far from over.
Suddenly, from behind, a spell hit Charlie square in the back.
"Crucio!"
Agony like fire shot through his body, searing every nerve, every muscle. Charlie fell to his knees, a scream tearing from his throat as the curse took hold. His vision blurred, and for a moment, all he knew was pain—unrelenting, excruciating pain that threatened to consume him whole. His wand slipped from his grasp, clattering uselessly to the ground.
But Charlie had been through hell before. The years spent working with dragons had hardened him, forged him into something tougher than most. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to fight through the agony, his muscles screaming in protest as he struggled to his feet.
The Death Eater who had cast the Cruciatus Curse advanced on him, laughing cruelly. “Not so tough now, are you, Weasley?”
Charlie didn’t answer. His wand was gone, his body wracked with pain, but he wasn’t done yet. With a roar of pure rage, he launched himself at the Death Eater. His fists became his weapons now, battering the man’s face and body with relentless fury. Each punch landed with the force of a hammer, and the Death Eater’s laughter quickly turned to panicked gasps as he tried to fend off Charlie’s assault.
A fist to the gut sent the man doubling over, and Charlie didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the Death Eater by the collar and slammed him into the nearest wall, the impact sending cracks spidering through the stone. The man slumped, unconscious or worse, and Charlie staggered back, chest heaving, blood dripping from his knuckles.
But there was no respite. Another Death Eater appeared from the smoke, firing off curses with ruthless precision. Charlie dodged one, barely avoiding a blast of purple light that disintegrated the ground where he had stood moments before. He lunged at the new attacker, swinging wildly with his fists, his body moving on pure instinct now.
They grappled in the mud and blood, exchanging brutal blows. The Death Eater managed to catch Charlie across the face with the butt of his wand, sending him reeling. But Charlie wasn’t down for long. He wiped the blood from his lip, eyes blazing with fury, and charged back in, tackling the man to the ground. He pummeled him, one punch after another, until the Death Eater lay still beneath him, broken and bloodied.
Charlie’s vision swam, and his body screamed for rest, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet.
He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he surveyed the battlefield. His head throbbed, and his arms felt like lead. He was surrounded by chaos—blasts of magic, screams of pain, the thunder of collapsing walls—but it was all starting to blur together, distant and far away.
In the distance, more Death Eaters advanced, faceless in their masks but relentless in their pursuit. Spells crackled and burst in the air like fireworks, deadly bolts of light shooting past him as fighters clashed all around. Charlie’s head throbbed painfully, his vision blurring with the weight of exhaustion, but he pressed on, his limbs burning with the effort of each step.
The sound of footsteps behind him sent a shock of awareness through his fogged mind. He whirled around to see another masked figure—wand raised and already firing. He had no time to react.
A spell hit him square in the shoulder, sending him spinning as pain exploded across his body. The world seemed to slow down, his mind barely processing the impact before another spell slammed into his side, knocking him backward.
His legs gave out, and he hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs in a painful whoosh. Charlie gritted his teeth, trying to push himself up, but before he could, another spell—a third, a fourth—struck him. Each impact was like a hammer blow, his muscles spasming as magical energy tore through him, shredding through bone and flesh.
He couldn’t even scream. The pain was too much, too fast, too overwhelming.
His body jerked violently as one last spell hit him in the chest, and suddenly, he was weightless, his limbs no longer under his control. His body collapsed back to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, his back slamming into the cold, hard earth.
For a moment, all he could do was lie there, staring up at the ruined sky, the noise of the battle fading into a dull roar. His breath came in shallow, wheezing gasps, his chest tight as though a vice had clamped down around his ribs. Blood pooled beneath him, warm and sticky, soaking through his clothes.
Then, it hit him.
A searing, white-hot burn radiated out from his chest, where the last spell had struck. The sensation was unlike anything he’d felt before, a deep, agonizing heat that spread like wildfire through his veins. It consumed him, suffocating him in its intensity, as if his very bones were being set alight from the inside.
Charlie tried to lift his hand to his chest, to claw at the source of the pain, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. He was helpless, paralyzed by the agony coursing through him. His heart hammered against his ribcage, the pounding louder than the distant screams and flashes of magic.
The edges of his vision darkened, and the world grew blurry, slipping away from him with each beat of his heart. He tried to breathe, but the burning sensation choked him, squeezing the life out of him with merciless precision.
The last thing Charlie felt before the darkness claimed him was the unbearable heat consuming him, his chest burning as though the fire would never stop.
And then, there was nothing.