"So, Della, have you —"

"Not a word, Ginny."

"Have you at least —"

"Not you, too, Fred."

"But you can't just —"

"Alright, George better be the last of you to speak."

Silence ensues Ginny's bedroom as I conjure two temporary cots on either side of the bed in the middle of the room.

"If I may. . ." Hermione pauses, in case I interrupt her like the prior three. "What happened between you and Charlie?"

"Absolutely nothing." I grunt out, clearly annoyed with the entire situation. "We were friends throughout our years in Hogwarts —"

"Best friends, 'Mione. They've been inseparable since birth."

"Regardless of what we were. . .we'd made a promise to keep in contact. But for whatever reason, Charlie failed to keep his side and never returned a letter."

A forceful jab of the wand, and the bedsheets aggressively suffocate the mattresses while the pillows plummet.

"Three years, and I haven't said a word to him." The words mutter between my lips. "And I practically fall into his arms at the first chance."

"Maybe if you hadn't ran out of the room like a gazelle —"

"Fred, you're not helping!"

One glance through the window, I see Bill and Charlie with their wands out, making two battered old tables fly above the lawn and smash into each other in battle. Bill's table overpowers the other, causing the leg to fall off.

"Will you keep it down?" A startled Percy yells from his bedroom window.

Bill grins up at his younger brother. "Sorry, Perce. How are the cauldron bottoms coming on?"

". . .very badly."

Soon, Molly's calling for us to come down for dinner in the garden. The two tables have been lined with a long tablecloth and benches for seats.

Dish after dish of her cooking decorates the table as the nine Weasleys, Hermione, Harry, and I settle ourselves down to eat.

Conversations break amongst the tables: Percy and Arthur exchanging words about the Ministry's work, Fred and George discussing the upcoming match with Ron and Harry, Hermione advising Ginny about classes, and Molly berating Bill for his slacked appearance.

The only ones not partaking in conversation are me. . .and Charlie.

"Della, why won't you talk to me?"

"I'm shocked you're able to speak English. I thought you would have picked up dragon having spent the last three years with them in Romania."

His hand slips into my own under the table, a silent plea for me to look at him. But in return, I shift away from him.

"Charlie, what do you think: Ireland or Bulgaria?"

"Della, didn't you say you'd taken Divination? What did you think of it?"

Reluctantly, Charlie turns to answer his brother. I break into conversation with the only other girls remotely close to my age.

Arthur soon lights the darkening garden with candles before we delve into the pints of homemade strawberry ice cream.

"Look at the time." Molly stands suddenly after checking her wristwatch. "You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you. You'll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup."

Slowly, the younger ones venture up the staircase to their assigned rooms for the night. Ginny and Hermione fall right asleep, exhausted from the hours of conversation we shared.

I slip out of the bedroom, carefully shutting the door behind me. The steps creak under my feet, but I swiftly make it downstairs without any disturbance.

The broad shoulder of Charlie Weasley peaks over the couch, rising and lowering with every soundless breath he takes. Bill lays flat across the larger piece of furniture, limbs dangling off as loud snores slipping past his mouth.

Heartstrings tug at the sight of him: his massive frame can't be very comfortable on the loveseat sectional. It wouldn't have mattered three years ago, when his shoulders weren't the width of an eagle's wingspan. . .when his biceps didn't bulge like five-pound bowling balls. . .when his waist didn't narrow into the letter V. . .

Tuning out the rest of my thoughts, I strut into the kitchen with the first of the D-lettered jumpers Molly had knitted for me over the years.

"Where has she kept the tea?"

I question myself while scouring the drawers and cupboards, in search of the peppermint tea pockets Molly stores in the kitchen.

"Third cupboard, second shelf."

The sudden appearance of Charlie at the doorway in the middle of the night frightens me like no other creature in the Forbidden Forest.

A hand reaches to the specified location and retrieves a few pockets.

". . .thanks."

"Not a problem, Phina."

A low chuckle emits when I growl at the nickname, but I couldn't be more thankful for the awkward tension gradually dissipating.

"Would you like some as well?"

Every time I'd made tea in the Weasley household, Charlie would always drink half. It had become a sort of tradition for the two of us.

"I'd like that."

The brewing process begins with a wave of the wand. Charlie pulls open two chairs at the kitchen table, and we sit together.

"What happened to us, Della?" He firmly thins his lips. "We were joint at the hip once. . .and strangers the next."

"I wrote to you for months, Charlie. I only gave up when I hadn't received a response for a year straight."

". . .Della, I never received any such letters. If I had, I would've written back instantaneously."

"Charlie, you were never one to lie —"

"I'm not lying. Although we haven't conversed in three years, you know I can't tell a lie."

"Your eyes would give you away every time you told a fib."

And with his gaze interlocking with my own, his voice lowers to an intense whisper:

"I never received any of your letters, Delphina."

". . .I —"

Before I can answer, the tea kettle whistles piercingly. I cast a silencing charm over it and wait a few minutes so as to let it cool.

"You were saying?"

"I. . .don't know what to say."

"Don't you believe me?"

"Well, I don't know. I spent three years thinking of ways I'd upset you in the last summer before you left, ways I may have caused you to hate me."

His fingers brush over my cheeks before resting his palm there. "Nothing you could do would make me hate you in any way."

"Even if I hated dragons?"

"Even if."

I stare into his eyes, humming under my breath at finally bringing closure to the thought that had distracted me for years.

"So, is there a dragon flying around Romania with the name Delphina?"

"Close. She seemed to like the name Phina, so that's what I ended up calling her."

". . .you wouldn't dare."

"She's already a year old, Della. A little late if you ask me."

"And to think I was this close to forgiving you."