Author's Notes:

1) Thank you to Murrilicious1316. She posted in DEE asking for de!Weasley stories the other week, and that sparked an idea for Charlie to go to the Darkside. At the time, I wasn't free to announce this as an Upcoming Fic, as I'd promised that I would not make any more such posts until I had at least one of my WIPs finished. I vented about not being able to say anything in my writers' group, where Gajevyaddict saw my post and caught a de!Weasley plunnie, herself. She hadn't known that my Weasley of choice was Charlie, so when I told her, she messaged me and we discussed our plots, assuring one another that the stories are dissimilar enough that we will not step on each other's toes. Her de!Charmione fic has since been published under the title When Good Goes Bad for those who'd like to check it out. Author vexmybones on A03 may soon be writing a de!Charlie fic, as well, so keep your eyes peeled, people (but, like, not literally, please gods, don't peel your eyeballs!)!

2) Story is canon-divergent AU starting from Bill & Fleur's wedding (possibly with some background info/events deviating from canon, as well, we shall see together 😉). Hermione's outfit in this story's opening is taken from chapter 8 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (appropriately titled The Wedding) rather than the film.

Fancasts [in no particular order, and no guarantee they will appear]:

Ben Dahlhaus (with red hair) as Charlie Weasley; Tom Hiddleston as Remus Lupin; Alexander Skarsgard as Lucius Malfoy; Charlize Theron as Narcissa Malfoy; Jason Momoa as Fenrir Greyback; Michiel Huisman as Antonin Dolohov; Chris Hemsworth as Thorfinn Rowle. *Any roles not listed are portrayed by their film actors.

DISCLAIMER:

I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from the production of this work.

Chapter One

"Charlie!"

He wanted to kick himself when he felt his expression brighten at the mere sound of her voice. Even more so at the little thrill that coursed through him as he turned to see her running up to him. The floaty lilac dress and matched high heels she wore for the occasion suited her too well, making her appear angelic while also drawing the eye to those curves that alerted anyone who was paying attention to the fact that Hermione Granger was far from a child, anymore.

Before he could react, the witch had thrown herself on him in a tight hug, forcing a breathed Oof out of him.

Chuckling, he closed his arms around her, returning the embrace. He doubted her feet were even touching the floor, though the mental image of the toes of her shoes dangling as she hung off him like some sort of ornament was adorably amusing.

"Someone's happy to see me," he said, smirking. He pulled back his arms to slide his hands over her hips and set her on her feet.

She beamed at him. "Of course I am. With, well, with everything happening, no one was quite sure you'd be here." She was positive the memories he had of her—being that nosy fifteen year old who kept sneaking out to the dragon enclosure to pepper him with questions about the magnificent creatures whenever he had a free moment to spare for her—weren't nearly as impactful as the recollections she had of him.

There were occasions among those secret, stolen moments during her fourth year that she wondered if she might not be developing a crush on him. But then her heart had been troubled enough that year with Viktor's attentions and Ron's tantrums that she had really believed it best to ignore any such inklings about the wizard who was certainly too old for her at the time. Now, as she stood before him, mere weeks until her 18th birthday, the six and a half years that separated them didn't seem nearly as wide a gap as they had back then.

He arched a brow at her moment of quiet contemplation. Any longer of her staring up at him in silence like this might cause him to give something away in his own expression. "Are you all right, Hermione? Your cheeks look a bit flushed."

Backpedaling a step, she touched her hands to her face. Oh, dear, her skin did feel a bit warm. No, no, she couldn't possibly be blushing . . . and it couldn't possibly be because in her reminiscing she'd be unable to avoid glimpsing that time he'd had to take off his robes due to one of his charges upending their water trough on him. She'd just been slipping into the enclosure when he was stripped down to his smallclothes, toweling off and laughing. When he noticed her, she was frozen in place staring at him, and he seemed entirely oblivious to the affect his appearance in that moment would have on a teenage girl.

"Oh, I'm fine," she said with a dismissive wave. "Just . . . so much going on today, I'm running about like mad woman."

"Well, don't get yourself too worn out." He winked at her. "I expect you to save me a dance at the reception."

"Of—of course I will!" Swallowing hard, she nodded, perfectly aware she was smiling up at him like an idiot.

For a moment as he stared down at her, Charlie found himself at a complete loss for what to say next. As he finally opened his mouth to tell her something more—he did want to mention how lovely she looked—he cut himself off with a hissing breath. Before he was aware he'd moved, he clamped his right hand over his left forearm.

He still wasn't quite used to the unpleasant sensation prickling his skin beneath the leather bracer.

Hermione was all too familiar with this sort of response, and knew well that poor Charlie had received a rather nasty burn on that arm sometime ago. "Are you all right? Is it your scar?"

The unexpected burst of pain had caused him to momentarily forget his surroundings. "What?" he asked in a confused whisper.

With a sympathetic frown, she tipped her head to one side. "Your burn scar? Harry reacts the same way when his hurts. I understand it's not quite the same thing, but I know severe burns can still smart for years after they've healed."

Trying to be helpful, she reached for his wrist. The way he wrenched his arm away from her fingers caused her to jump.

"Sorry," he said, feeling a bit guilty for startling her, and guiltier, still, for the look of hurt that flickered across her face. "It's just . . . sensitive. I've got some salve for the pain, I'll just go deal with this."

"Okay." She nodded, forcing a smile. "Well, go on then. But hurry up. Wedding's going to start soon. People will notice if the best man is late."

Snickering, he returned her nod, thoughtlessly lifting his hand to brush her cheek. "Promise I'll be right back."

As he turned and walked away, he missed that she once again looked startled. Missed how she darted her gaze about as she lifted her own hand, her fingertips tracing over the spot he'd just touched.

All the way, until he'd managed to duck out of sight, he grumbled under his breath about the Dark Lord's awful timing. Glancing around to be certain no one would see him, he Apparrated, following the pull of the hidden Mark on his arm.

Appearing at the gates of Malfoy Manor, Charlie chewed at the inside of his lip to hold in any sounds of aggravation. He ignored the presence of, well, pretty much any of the darkly-cloaked figures around him as he made his way up long walk to the imposing edifice's double doors. Though, it did make him wonder . . . had Voldemort chosen this place because it was adequately sized to act as a base of operations? Because it was simply part of showing off the hold he had on a powerful family like the Malfoys?

Or was it simply because the place was creepy as shit? The snake-like wizard did seem a fan of creepy aesthetics, after all.

As he'd hoped, his mental rambling saw him to approaching the manor, climbing the steps, and entering the foyer without giving himself time to wonder on worse, larger things. He refrained from rolling his eyes at the sad show his so-called fellows made. Charlie had to assume a false-front when he was here, groveling the way they did, but he felt no true fealty to the Dark Lord as they did.

He had only come here in recent weeks to pledge himself in service. Had only offered to return the Weasley name to the sort of 'glory' Voldemort and his ilk imagined for all the Sacred Twenty-Eight families because it suited his own purpose.

As he wound through the enormous house, he slammed his defenses into place. The Dark Lord was terrifyingly skilled at Legilimency, the last thing he needed was for the horrible creature to glean that he was less-than-loyal. He was only here so that someone might be in a position to protect his loved ones if Harry failed.

His entire family seemed so sure the boy would succeed in ending Voldemort that none of them had planned for the less-savory alternative, despite how very possible it was. Charlie wanted to have faith in Harry, too, but it wasn't so simple. He knew they wouldn't thank him for this if Voldemort won the War—betraying them to save them and all that—but he couldn't leave it to chance, either.

And, if Voldemort did lose, then they never need know about how deeply he'd involved himself with the enemy.

As he reached the floor before the Dark Lord's seat, he stopped himself just short of worrying what would become of her in a world were Voldemort made the rules.

If anyone could protect themselves it was Hermione Granger. That aside, she was practically Ron's girlfriend. He should leave her safety to his brother to worry about, shouldn't he?

Lowering himself to one knee, he waited for his master to speak.

"Tell me, has there been any sign of him, yet?"

"No, My Lord. Most of the Order is present, but I've yet to see Harry Potter there." Well, it wasn't actually a lie. He knew Harry was there, polyjuiced into some fictional Weasley cousin, but the boy had taken the potion before Charlie had seen him, so technically . . . ? "Word has it he's already gone into hiding."

A familiar voice scoffed from somewhere else in the room.

Charlie turned his head to glare at Severus Snape over his shoulder.

Smirking, Voldemort waved a hand in the direction of Hogwarts' new headmaster. "Severus? You have something to add?"

"Not to add, My Lord, but a question for Weasley."

"Ask what you will," the Dark Lord said with another sweep of his bony fingers through the air.

"Did you see your youngest brother and Miss Granger there?"

Just barely keeping himself from forcing a gulp down his throat at the mention—he prayed he was not about to be tasked with bringing them here as bait for Harry—Charlie nodded. "Yes."

"Then Potter is there, somewhere." Severus looked nearly like a Malfoy for a moment in the way he sneered as he spoke. "Your brother follows him around like some sort of love-starved pet, and neither of them could find their arse with both hands unless Miss Granger drew them a map!"

There was a snickering from around the room—with the exception of the aforementioned Malfoys, who sat off by themselves, looking about as though they wanted to be anywhere else but inside their own home, just now. Charlie had to brace himself against the bristling he felt at hearing his little brother's friendship with Harry, and his intellect, mocked that way.

Instead, he forced out a perfectly calm answer. "Be that as it may, Snape, I have yet to see him there. If he is present, he's hiding."

Leaning forward in his seat, Voldemort caught Charlie's jaw in his cold, unforgiving fingers and forced the younger wizard's head around to look up at him.

"You will keep a steady eye out for any trace of Harry Potter," the Dark Lord said in a lethal whisper. "The second he shows himself, you know what to do."

Charlie nodded, aware there were plans in play at the Ministry, already. He was not privy to what those plans were, specifically, nor did he dare ask.

"You are dismissed."

Nodding once more, Charlie stood, offering a sweeping bow before turning on his heel. As he made his way back through the manor's first floor, he became aware of footfalls—rather determined ones, at that—trailing him.

Plastering a look of weary disinterest on his face, he whirled to meet his pursuer. His shoulders slumped, unimpressed to find the miserable scowl of Severus Snape staring back at him.

"Just so you know, Weasley," the dark-haired wizard said in a low, hissing murmur, "I do not trust you."

His eyebrows shooting upward, Charlie barked out a surprised laugh. "Nor I you, Severus."

The severity of his expression lessening, Snape gave him a quick once over. Dropping his voice lower, still, he said, "Good. Keep it that way. You'll live longer."

Blue eyes narrowing, Charlie watched his former professor turn and stalk away. Was it . . . was it possible Snape knew his pledge of servitude was insincere? He supposed it didn't matter, since Snape had no proof, nor did it sound as though he was about to go running to the Dark Lord with his suspicions, whatever those might be.

Cognizant, suddenly, of just how long he'd been here, Charlie rushed the rest of the way to the edge of the grounds. He Apparated, managing to get back to the Burrow just in time to claim his place beside Bill as Fleur made her entrance.

His gaze found Hermione's among the pews—though he could swear he hadn't actually been looking for her—and she made a show of tapping an imaginary watch on her wrist. She seemed, however, unable to help the smirk curving her lips as she gestured.

Smiling as he rolled his eyes at her, he shrugged. When she bit her lip to hold back a laugh at his flippant demeanor over his almost-tardiness, Charlie was quite sure he felt a resounding thump in the center of his chest.

And the sensation was definitely in response to the smiling face of the witch who currently held his attention.

The witch who was practically Ron's girlfriend.

Shit.