Chapter Text
Prologue: Charlie’s Mission
Charlie stretched out on his tattered sofa, caring only about the comfort of his tired limbs. It had been a long week. He groaned, straightening, though his long legs dangled over the end, and he heard a number of loud cracks. This week his dragons had been demanding, to say the least, he’d started the week with one of the Norwegian Ridgeback’s having a temper tantrum and things had rapidly gone downhill from there. He really needed this break.
A knock on the door suggested he wasn’t going to get it.
“Who is it?” called Charlie, hoping it was a friend who he could just tell to go away.
“Kingsley Shacklebolt,” came back a smooth, friendly voice.
Kingsley? Here? “Come in,” conceded Charlie. “Door’s open.” With another groan he raised himself to a sitting position, watching as the Auror – soon to be Minister for Magic judging by the rumours – entered. “What’s wrong?”
Thankfully, Kingsley’s broad face split into a grin. “Nothing, I have a belated bequest for you.”
“Bequest?” Charlie was no wiser. The only death close to him was his brother Fred, who was hardly going to be giving him bequests. He still missed his lively little brother terribly, his heart sinking as even the notion of a bequest brought Fred back into his thoughts, but it wasn’t the time to indulge. Scolding himself inwardly for his distraction, however brief, and shaking the melancholy away, he turned his attention back to Kingsley quickly, burying all thoughts of Fred – and inevitably George – for later.
“Yes,” smiled Kingsley. “From Dumbledore.”
Dumbledore? Curious. “That is belated,” commented Charlie calmly, raising a ginger eyebrow – it had been a year! He gestured for Kingsley to take a seat and explain nonetheless.
Kingsley sank his large frame into the only other chair in the room, shifting a package from under his arm to hold it in front of his knees. “I have a letter, the contents of which are sworn to secrecy between the two of us, even from your family.”
“It’s nothing to do with the Order then?” asked Charlie.
“I’ve seen the letter,” admitted Kingsley. “In a manner of speaking it is – you have a unique position. I think Dumbledore himself explains it best – shall I?”
“By all means,” agreed Charlie, shifting once more on the sofa to lean forwards on his knees, forcing himself to concentrate. Anything from Dumbledore was bound to be full of tricky thinking.
“My Dearest Charlie,” began Kingsley, unrolling the parchment. “I write to you with a final request, a mission of sorts if you like. I find as I put together the pieces of our ongoing confrontation with Voldemort, that this particular request is something I think you specifically will be suited to. Ah – I can see you thinking it must involve your treasured dragons, or at least some other sort of exotic animal, in this case I am afraid not, at least not in anything but the loosest sense. My request concerns Harry Potter.” Kingsley paused, looking up at Charlie, his face questioning.
“I know Harry,” admitted Charlie, “but not well. I’ve been based here since he started at Hogwarts with Ron.”
Kingsley smiled as he read the next line. “You question yourself because you’re less familiar with the boy than the rest of your family, or in fact most of the Order,” continued the letter. “but it is for precisely that reason I ask this of you. You are an adamant supporter of Harry’s, a personal supporter of his rather than a distant fan, yet you barely know one another. The anonymity is important for now.”
“He wants me to be a personal-impersonal friend?” asked Charlie, puzzled.
Kingsley nodded, again turning back to the letter, where Dumbledore appeared to have predicted the entire conversation. Though to Charlie, the idea that he was so predictable rankled a bit. Still, anyone would have those questions in the circumstances, right? Then Kingsley’s gentle voice interrupted his internal monologue, reminding him to listen. “You see, I’m meddling with time travel here, and as every wizard knows, time travel is not to be played with lightly. Most importantly, you mustn’t be seen. It is easy not to be seen, if you are relatively unknown,” observed Dumbledore astutely.
“He needs me to time travel?”
Kingsley smiled at him again. “He’s carrying on explaining, Charlie,” he chuckled.
“Of course,” nodded Charlie. “Carry on.”
“I provide you with a mirror of my own making that I like to call The Mirror of Ju Nana. It is enchanted to look back into the past precisely 17 years, always in the same location…”
Charlie looked up at Kingsley.
“Number 4, Privet Drive. The muggle house that Harry Potter grew up in.”
“Ron’s 18 now,” Charlie did some rapid calculations, “presumably Harry is too. So this mirror looks into the past when he was 1 year old.”
“Yes,” nodded Kingsley, finally breaking with Dumbledore’s script. “At the moment, 17 years ago, Harry is still with his parents, but in October that will change.”
“We can’t prevent that?” asked Charlie.
“Sadly, we mustn’t,” said Kingsley, in no uncertain terms. “As Miss Granger is fond of saying, ‘Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time.’”
“So why do this, what is he asking me to do?” persisted Charlie.
The Auror turned back to the script. “You must understand me, Charlie, I placed Harry in that house knowing that his Mother’s blood would protect him from Voldemort, yet I am aware that it cannot protect him from the muggles within the house. These muggles do not treat him well. Physically, I believe that they will not cause him irrevocable harm, but every child needs some mental support and it is that I ask of you. Can you be there for Harry as he grows up in a house that doesn’t want him? Can you make sure that he understands – not about magic or his fame, that should rightfully come later – but about love? How families should be? I know you can teach him this. Bring him to us whole, Charlie. Don’t let those muggles break him.”
Charlie swallowed. “It was that bad?” he whispered, his voice catching.
“I don’t know much,” admitted Kingsley. “But yes, I think so. It was that bad.”
“It’s a lot,” said Charlie, quietly.
“It is,” agreed Kingsley. “And you can’t tell anyone. But Charlie,” he paused. “Will you do it?”
Charlie knew what he was going to say, before he even thought about it. He knew enough about Harry to care how his life turned out, how could he possibly refuse? “I’ll do it,” he confirmed.
“Good man,” smiled Kingsley, handing him the letter and the mirror and disappearing as abruptly as he’d appeared.
It was a while before Charlie stretched out on the sofa again. Instead, ignoring his fatigue, he slowly reached to unwrap the mirror, reading through the scattered instructions on use and rough notes on proper incantations as he finally revealed the polished surface. He suspected Dumbledore hadn’t finished getting this working that long before he’d died.
The mirror wasn’t large, for a mirror, small enough – obviously – for Kingsley to have carried it over from wherever it’d been stored, but also big enough for a child to crawl through, if needed. It was rectangular and simple looking. The frame wasn’t metal or shiny but seemed to be made of a dark wood, similar to that used in wands, and even on this first inspection, Charlie spotted several runes marked along its borders in Dumbledore’s slightly flowery script. Moving on to more practical matters, Charlie rose from his sofa to carefully lock the front door. He then carefully set the mirror up on the floor in his bedroom, murmuring the incantation and watching as the reflection in the mirror became the inside of a muggle house.
The house looked fussy, prim and proper and rather floral in a way that his own childhood home had never been, though given Dumbledore’s misgivings that was hardly a big surprise. Charlie peered out further, concentrating as he tried to control the mirror’s view, persuading it to navigate around the house. He saw Petunia, doting on her small, round, angry one year old, attempting to persuade him to walk across the room despite his clear preference for sitting still and allowing her to provide for his every whim instead. He saw the photos of the baby throughout the house. The enormous stack of toys, despite the child’s tender age. And Vernon, he saw Harry’s large uncle, reading his newspaper and commenting on the articles within, complaining about all the weirdos in the world.
He hung round, waiting to see how the scene unfolded, trying to build up a better feel for the family, never speaking the incantation that would allow them to see or hear him. Allowing their – rather irritating – voices to wash over him in the end as he laid back in bed. He was just beginning to doze off, when he heard Petunia’s voice screech out.
“Don’t mention her name! I no longer have a sister!”
“I’m sorry my dear,” calmed Vernon, looking slightly embarrassed. “She’s written you a letter.”
“I will not read it,” spat Petunia. “She could infect Duddikins!”
“Of course,” nodded Vernon, moving to the fireplace and tossing the letter casually into the fireplace then turning back to his wife for her approval.
The bony woman gave a curt nod then returned to her pudgy baby. “Come on Duddikins, why don’t you walk to Daddy?” she simpered.
Rolling his eyes, Charlie waved his hand and finally the Dursleys and their house were gone and the mirror simply reflected his room again. He slid off the bed, checking the size of the mirror against his own frame.
“Well, Harry,” he said to himself. “I think you might fit through there, but I’m pretty sure I won’t.”
The Boy Who Lived
Charlie knew, of course, roughly when Harry’s parents were killed and he became “The Boy Who Lived.” The defeat of Voldemort had been huge, and whilst Charlie’d only been 9 or so at the time and not a big reader of The Daily Prophet, he could remember the celebrations. He could also remember the relief on his parents’ faces as they held their youngest – baby Ginny.
From Ginny’s 17th birthday onwards, Charlie spent his time listening to the mirror, until finally he was greeted by a fourth voice.
It didn’t say much. Not only because he was still only 1 year old, but also because the family immediately discouraged it. They would really have preferred to pretend he wasn’t there at all, and later he discovered that they frequently did. They probably would have preferred to treat him as they’d treated the letter from Lily a few months before and thrown him in the fireplace. But thankfully that was a step even the horrendous Dursleys wouldn’t take.
That first night, Harry was thrown into the cupboard under the stairs to sleep. Lying there on his own in the dark, his whole life as he knew it gone, whilst the two doting parents upstairs coddled their ridiculous son over the disruption to his life.
Charlie had to go out for a walk to calm himself down before he went to see Harry.
But he was careful, he didn’t take long.
“Harry?” he whispered, waking the mirror and pointing it at the toddler, making sure that he’d finally uttered the incantation to allow the boy to see and hear him. “Harry?”
There was no doubt that the baby saw him. Immediately Charlie spoke, the boy’s eyes turned to him, and as he spoke for the second time he clapped, gurgling at Charlie enthusiastically.
Without hesitation, Charlie reached through the mirror and picked Harry up, bringing him to his own house before he disturbed the Dursleys.
“Hey, Harry, how are you doing?” grinned Charlie, holding the boy on one arm and taking him on a tour. “Don’t worry about those silly Dursleys, you’ll be shot of them in the end.”
Harry clapped again, giggling this time, and Charlie’s heart was lost.
…
In those early weeks, Charlie spent pretty much all of his free time with Harry, even as the baby seemed to spend all his time in that cupboard. Thinking back to Dumbledore’s words, Charlie was afraid to imagine the state Harry would have been in if he’d actually spent all that time locked in a cupboard alone. Would he have cried more and got more attention without Charlie? The young man doubted it. More likely he would simply have learned the pointlessness of crying.
Nonetheless, with exposure to Harry, slowly Charlie began to recognise his own incompetence. Certainly, his intentions were good, he was sure he wasn’t causing harm, but he had no experience with young children, not like this. He was nine when Ginny was born, it was hardly the same. Thinking that Bill and Fleur were likely to be the first in his family to make him an uncle, Charlie started chatting to Bill about it by owl, initially broaching the subject cautiously then, as Bill seemed relieved by Charlie’s support – and interest – more openly.
By Christmas, when he finally visited The Burrow, Charlie was certain that Bill would be well on the way to having his first child and – as thorough as he usually was – he’d have all the relevant information at his fingertips. He arrived home almost put out that his parents and his other siblings wanted to speak to him, imagining that Bill would be able to instantly make him a great parent. Instead, Bill didn’t turn up until several days after Christmas, having spent Christmas day with Fleur and the following days with Fleur’s family.
And Charlie met Harry Potter.
It wasn’t the first time he’d met current Harry at all. He’d met him briefly in 1994, but then he’d been busy and surrounded by siblings seeking attention, Harry – total stranger that he was – hadn’t really been that important, despite what Bill had said. He’d met him at The Battle of Hogwarts earlier that year too, but again Harry hadn’t really featured in Charlie’s attention, then there had been the loss of Fred, taking care of his Mum and George, not to mention the battle itself.
There had been other things on his mind.
So, really, this was the first time he’d met Harry Potter and actually taken any notice.
Somehow, he wasn’t what Charlie had expected. The newspaper articles and the larger than life deeds he’d carried out, not to mention Ron and Ginny’s narration of the boy’s life, hadn’t really prepared Charlie for the teenager who was only small and unobtrusive, still not really sure of his welcome despite everyone’s enthusiasm, and sort of lost.
“Hello, Harry,” Charlie greeted the boy, his first words not so far from the ones he’d spoken to the baby version no more than two months before.
“Charlie,” nodded Harry, his hands firmly in his pockets – though in Charlie’s experience it was entirely possible they were holding those trousers up, a small smile gracing his lips.
“How are you doing? I heard you actually died in the battle last summer?” Charlie winced as the words left his mouth – really? Could he make himself look more like a stranger? But then he was a stranger, shouldn’t he be trying to be a stranger to start with?
“Yeah,” nodded Harry. “I’m better now though.”
Charlie chuckled, despite himself, partly at the unexpected cheekiness of this more grown up Harry. A couple of years away from the Dursleys was making all the difference, even if Charlie couldn’t be there for him so much. “Sorry, crap question.”
Finally, Harry looked up, looked at Charlie properly, staring with those eyes as though he could see right through him. “Charlie,” he said, “I know we’ve met in passing a couple of times before, but I feel like I know you for real. I can’t explain it, I wondered if you could?”
Slowly, a huge grin spread across Charlie’s face, even though he was pretty sure he shouldn’t explain to Harry at all, but he was just so pleased at the idea that they weren’t strangers. He knew they should be, but he really didn’t want to spend any time being a stranger to Harry, not after everything they’d been through together. “Yeah, we have,” laughed Charlie. “I can’t explain it though, you’re going to have to take my word for it.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Charlie was ready to spill the beans, afraid his silence would be a deal breaker. Then the teenager smirked at him. “You sound like Dumbledore,” he said. “I miss him.”
“Yeah,” nodded Charlie, though in reality, the note with the mirror had probably been the most personal communication he’d ever received from the man. He did miss the idea of him standing in front of the school making announcements. Professor McGonagall was great, but he didn’t think she’d bring quite the same playful eccentricity as Dumbledore.
“Do you know anything about kids?” asked Harry, changing the subject and taking Charlie by surprise again, had Harry worked out what was going on immediately? Should he have simply told him up front? Charlie found himself questioning his decision again until Harry explained. “I’m supposed to be Godfather to Teddy Lupin, but I don’t really know what I’m getting into at Christmas.”
“I don’t even know anything about girlfriends,” laughed Charlie, though inwardly still slightly concerned. This should be – as far as Harry was concerned – the first time they’d met, who asks a total stranger, who they know to be unmarried, about kids? Even if he didn’t want to be a stranger. He shook himself, releasing the paranoia. He was seeing things that weren’t there, worrying about getting caught. Maybe Harry had heard him pestering Bill? “Though you’re in luck, I’ve been trying to quiz Bill about that stuff, but he’s not quite there yet,” Charlie admitted.
Harry looked at him quizzically for a moment, then clearly decided not to ask. “Fancy a trip into muggle London, visit a toy shop?”
“Two days before Christmas?” asked Charlie. He wasn’t entirely joking, muggle London was insane at the best of times and he was confident right before Christmas wasn’t the best of times. They were probably going to get crushed or something. He glanced at Harry’s skinny frame in concern, trying not to dwell on the reason for that. He was hardly built for shoving aggressive shoppers aside.
“Yeah,” laughed Harry. “I thought you were a Gryffindor!”
Charlie laughed again, preposterous! But brilliant, that tiny, timid little Harry could grow up – somewhat – to have so much fight in him. No way he could back out now. “You will not question my bravery, you’re on.”
“For that matter, are there wizard toy shops?” asked Harry, his fighting talk apparently receding back into his insecurities. He had so little backup in the wizarding world – at least, before. These days he had all the Weasleys, of course. Hopefully it was helping.
“We can cover both,” chuckled Charlie, hiding the wave of sadness as thoughts of where many of Harry’s insecurities came from washed over him. “I’ll just let my Mum know we’re popping out.”