{"id":119,"date":"2011-10-04T15:32:15","date_gmt":"2011-10-04T05:32:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.avada-kedavra.net\/hermione\/charlie\/?p=119"},"modified":"2011-10-04T15:32:15","modified_gmt":"2011-10-04T05:32:15","slug":"next-line-by-florahart","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.avada-kedavra.net\/hermione\/charlie\/rec\/119","title":{"rendered":"Next Line by Florahart"},"content":{"rendered":"

Carlina Dowse, age 15,<\/em> said the cover of the tattered book. Hermione wasn’t sure why Charlie had handed it to her, as though it were a gift, and, well. A book was a book was a book, and surely there would be something worth reading in this one, but for now, she had plenty of research already on her plate. She set it in the pile next to her bed, for when she wanted something to read as she went to sleep.<\/p>\n

“Read that book, yet?” Charlie was serving himself four eggs and a great deal of bacon, which was entirely normal, but he seemed rather worked up about something.<\/p>\n

“Hmno,” she answered around a bite of her toast. “It’s in my pile, though.”<\/p>\n

“Let me know when you do.”<\/p>\n

She wasn’t sure why he was so interested to know–he usually didn\u2019t much care about her work, after all. Still, she picked it up that evening and looked again at the cover, then yawned hugely. Whatever Ms. Dowse had had to tell the world at fifteen, tonight wasn’t going to be the night for her to learn it. She snuggled close against Charlie, already asleep, and turned out the light.<\/p>\n

They kept not having the same conversation, over the next couple of weeks. Charlie would look at her expectantly in the morning, and she would shrug and tell him about her plans for the day, and he would look vaguely disappointed, but then figure out whether he could meet her for lunch or whether his own plans interfered. And even though every day she wondered what was wrong, whether it had something to do with the book, she never quite managed to pursue it because by the evening she’d have forgot about it, and he didn’t seem angry or upset.<\/p>\n

Finally, a good three weeks after he’d handed it to her (“Here, I thought you might like to see about this sort of thing,”), she dug down into her ever-growing pile and held it up. “All right, Carlina, let’s see what sort of thing<\/em> you wanted to discuss.” She opened the front flap and gasped.<\/p>\n

It wasn’t a diary. Well. It had started as one, she could see, but then, it had become a tradition<\/em>. She flipped through the pages, found the names of Marian Wallace and Owen Prewitt, and later Molly Prewitt and Arthur Weasley, hand-written then magically bound together on the page. Fleur and Bill were here, and Percy and Penelope, the last two lines so far, then, empty space.<\/p>\n

She turned to shake Charlie awake. “This sort of thing<\/em>? Honestly! Why on earth didn’t you just–”<\/p>\n

He flushed and blinked. “Uh. Didn’t know how to ask. Thought a book would be sure to get your attention. Then I couldn’t quite figure how to make you read it. Do you \u2026.have a comment?”<\/p>\n

“A comment<\/em>? Prat. Of course I’ll marry you. We need a quill.”<\/p>\n

“It’s \u2026binding,” Charlie warned carefully.<\/p>\n

“I know. Give me a quill.”<\/p>\n\n\n

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