( until the end of time ), charity, perhaps?

[FABIAN ALEXANDER PREWETT]

i woke up this morning
and heard the tv sayin' something
about disaster in the world and
it made me wonder where i'm going

--------------------------------------------

Fabian hated hospitals.

Everything about them gave him the creeps – from that artificial lemony smell to the robes that the Healers wore. In Hogwarts, he had dreaded visits to the hospital wing. Mind you, back then, his dislike for the hospital wing had stemmed from his own personality. As a kid, he had thought that he was pretty much indestructible, and as a sixteen year old kid, he had seen visits to the infirmary as signs of weakness. Fabian remembered this one time when he had the flu, and constantly he had avoided succumbing to everybody’s insistence that he go to see the nurse. Eventually it actually developed into pneumonia, and yet Gideon had still had to drag his twin brother to the hospital wing. Now that he was an adult, all of those delusions of indestructibility had vanished. He knew very well that at any moment something bad could happen, so he just went day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. His hatred of hospitals was no longer about pride. Over his years working as an Auror, and as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, he had seen too many good men and women taking their last breaths in this place. Hospital, for Fabian, was now associated with the death of people that he loved.

Plus, it was only a broken arm. Fabian knew that if he went to Mungo’s then he would be forced to wait for hours, because a broken arm was low on the priority list of the healers here. He would be forced to sit around with people who had bulging heads or who were infected by odd ailments, and quite frankly, the whole idea of it was unappealing. He would have been perfectly capable of fixing it himself. For God’s sake, Gideon could have fixed it for him, but no – the people in the Order were so damn pedantic about this stuff. Well, it was only one person in the Order really. Charity. After she, Gideon, Fabian and a bunch of other Order members had arrived back the headquarters, she had more or less forced him to come here, and had been impressively stubborn about not letting anybody else touch his arm. If you took away the unnecessary difficulty of the whole business, it was kind of cute. The way that she had been so adamant about it all, well, it brought a smile to his face momentarily. Here he was, sitting in a rather uncomfortable armchair in the artefact damage level (his excuse for breaking a bone was a foolish quidditch accident, not a duel with Death Eaters, for obvious reasons), and for a few moments the inconvenience of being at Mungo’s evaporated. He didn’t allow for the moment to drag on for too long, however. Constant vigilance.

The sun had set long ago, it had to be close to eleven, maybe even eleven thirty, but Fabian was no yet tired. He was anxious to get this over and done with, although considering the fact that there were dozens of people who had come in before him, he doubted that he would get to see a healer anytime soon. His left arm, the one that was broken, sat on his lap, Fabian careful not to move it too much. The last thing that he wanted was to cause any other complications. Assuming everything went well here tonight, he would be back at work bright and early tomorrow. Looking at the clock on the wall, Fabian came to realize that there was no way that he was going to get to the end of the Order meeting this evening. It made him a little frustrated that here he was, sitting in waiting while other people were debriefing about the events of the evening. Gideon would have been here with him, but first of all, he had to go to the meeting, and secondly, apparently he had a bit of a late night rendezvous with some lady friend of his. It was almost funny, how different the two brothers were. Gideon was considered to be the fun one – he was the twin that the ladies swooned over, and he lapped it up, as most guys would. Fabian, on the other hand, was the quiet one. He had never gone too badly with the ladies, at least until they had given up on getting to know him, but it was clear that he wasn’t as widely loved as his brother. It didn’t bother him, though. Not in the slightest.

Drumming his fingers (of his right hand) along his thighs, Fabian came to realize that he was growing increasingly restless. He hated not having something to occupy himself with. He could deal with moments of silence or contemplation if he had something to think about, or something to do, but he could not handle sitting around waiting like this. His eyes scanned the area for a moment – there were a couple of people with minor burns on their bodies, a couple of people who were looking a little bit dazed, and then there were a lot of people that looked just like he did, nursing injured body parts. Nobody had sat in either of the seats next to Fabian, probably because unconsciously he had reverted back to his ‘brooding face’, even if the thoughts that were swirling around in his mind didn’t match the expression. Fabian had a very, very good poker face. He just wasn’t good at external signs of emotion. That wasn’t such a sin, was it? He was bored. Very bored. He could deal with the loneliness, but he was really, really struggling with the boredom.

[CHARITY ALISON BURBAGE]

When Charity was younger, much younger, a lot of her time was spent in St Mungos. For around twenty percent of that time, she was visiting her mother. Clara Burgage was a plant specialist in Mungo's research labs. Herbology jobs were difficult to come across. Besides being a teacher, or perhaps one of those celebrity gardeners like the guy who presented Toots, Shoots & Roots, there was not much of a selection. But the teaching position had already been filled, and Clara wanted to do something a little less glamorous than the latter choice. She wanted something that made a difference. Discovering antidotes to poisons and treating plant-related illnesses fit the bill perfectly. Charity always recalled the occasions on which she visited her mother fondly. Clara would be bent over some exotic plant, surrounded by an array of funny shaped glass containers filled with anonymous liquids, and there were always scary looking flowers that Charity kept well away from. She didn't quite get her mother's obsession with plants. Charity just didn't see the fun in them. And there was always so much waiting involved. Ugh. Anyway, while some of her time was spent with her mother, the majority of her Mungo's visits were as a patient. Cuts and bruises, battlewounds and broken limbs; there was no end to the long list of injuries Charity sustained as a child. Most of them were from playground scuffles, some from her brother's ridiculous dares. For the most part, Charity's mishaps never led to anything serious, but her parents always made her go, even when she protested that she was fit as a fiddle. The healers would give her that knowing look, and they'd humour her mother and father as much as possible, but usually she was sent home with little more than a plaster and a lollipop.

Other than the provision of lollipops, Charity generally hated hospitals. Fine, so they saved lives, but too many people died between hospital walls for her to ignore. Something was just so creepy about being somewhere so tainted by death. How many other Order members had come here just before there untimely passing? Moreover, however, she hated Mungo's in particular. Other hospitals she could usually deal with, if it was required. But here, here was where her mother had died. Too many emotions she had suppressed for years swam to the surface when she stepped inside the hospital. Waves of grief, all coming back as if from fresh wounds. It had been sixteen years, and she had almost gotten past it. There were the odd pangs of loss. Usually, whenever she heard of someone dying her thoughts wandered to the only person she'd ever lost, and that was her mother. No, Charity told herself indignantly, I have to make sure that Fabian's alright. She was at present, lingering outside what seemed to have once been a muggle department store, Purge and Dowse Ltd. She was pretending to look at the archaically dressed dummy that summed up what remained of its window display, while really she was trying to decide whether her cross-London trip had been worth it. She had been the one to suggest that Fabian seek professional, medical help. Something she had learnt from her parents' overreactions. Her behaviour had been a little too enthusiastic, she realised now. But seriously, he was sitting there at Order headquarters, his arm practically hanging off him, and he really expected to just work it off? Charity knew he was proud but that was too much. He must have been there a while, clearly agonised, and by the time she arrived at the building on her lunch hour, she figured an hour at least must've passed since it had happened. So, naturally, she gently advised that he go to the hospital, get himself checked out. Well, 'gently' was a slight understatement. Okay, forcefully. Eventually he had given up and Charity promised she'd meet him there after she finished up.

Work had been busier than usual. The front page of the following day's paper contained a story of not one, but five muggle killings by death eaters. Seemingly random, too. The editors were panicking because they didn't get photos in time, their 'Chocolate Frog Diet' feature hadn't been given in on time, and as usual Charity was the person they took it all out on. "You there! Get an owl to Mr So-and-So right now!", and of course Charity was all sweet and sympathetic and tried to tell herself that they were just really stressed. But in truth, she was getting pretty sick of it, and by the time she had asked a slightly distracted junior editor if she could leave, it was already half ten. She could quite easily have floo'ed it to Mungos, but Charity had spotted a bus leaving Charing Cross as she left the Leaky Cauldron and had hopped on without even thinking of a magical means. She was like that sometimes. She often forgot that she could do things like that. Besides, she liked buses. She was possibly the only person she knew who did. Now, she was looking confused outside the abandoned department store. And after a few moments more thought she made a decision. Her mother's death was sixteen years in the past. Right now, she had a friend and a colleague who needed her. She had persuaded a reluctant Fabian to go to the hospital; she had to at least make an appearance. She leaned in a little closer to the glass. "Here to see Fabian Prewett," she half-whispered, hoping that the old lady who was passing by simply assumed Charity had a screw loose somewhere. The dummy nodded and, with a glance around to check that the coast was clear, the young witch stepped through the window and the display scene faded into one of busy healers striding around purposefully, and all sorts of people with strange ailments looking bored.

Since childhood, she had known the hospital pretty well. When she was nine or so, the staff knew her so well that she'd be greeted like an old friend everytime she had reason to go. Even still, she stepped up to the front desk and smiled pleasantly. "Fabian Prewett?" she asked. The portly witch behind it nodded as if she'd known him forever and pointed down the hall, towards a sign that said 'Artefacts Accidents'. Artefacts? Hadn't it been a death eater that had blown his arm out of place? She laughed silently, wondering what excuse Fabian had concocted. Being as ditzy as she often was, Charity would probably have told the truth, and there'd be a trail of the reporters she had worked with all day crowding around her within seconds. Fabian was a little cleverer. Thank Merlin. As she strolled into the waiting room, blue eyes scanned for a familiar face. Ah, her cheeks flushed with pink at the sight of him. He looked a little frightening-as per usual. She caught his eye and grinned. How could he wait this long? God, Charity could barely wait for ten minutes. She was crap on all-night assignments. She talked incessantly; just to keep herself amused. Weaving through the throes of injured or otherwise ailed patients, she slid casually into the empty seat beside him and cast a sympathetic glance towards his broken arm. It looked sore. "Hey," she sounded far too happy to see him, "I was worried you'd be long gone by now. How're you holding up?"

[FABIAN ALEXANDER PREWETT]

i woke up this morning
and heard the tv sayin' something
about disaster in the world and
it made me wonder where i'm going

--------------------------------------------

This was shaping up to be the second day off that he had taken in just over a week. Jesus Christ! Here he was, an up and coming big shot in the Auror department, one of the best Aurors that they had, and yet it was looking like he would have had two days off for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Well, the first one hadn’t really been his fault. The guys that worked for him had pretty much forced him to get out of the office. The two days prior had been particularly volatile, and, in a nutshell, he hadn’t gotten much sleep. Well, okay, he hadn’t had any sleep for about fifty hours, and at the time, he had looked a little bit like that Mundungus Fletcher chap. In hindsight, Fabian didn’t know why Gideon hadn’t told him to at least wash his hair or something. The git had probably had a laugh about it all. Oh well. In the great scheme of things, hair care was not even close to being one of his top ten priorities. Grooming in general wasn’t something that he particularly cared about. If he walked out of the house looking like a rainbow lorikeet which had horrendous amounts of facial hair, well, so be it. Gideon was good at all of that stuff. Fabian didn’t see the point in keeping his external appearance intact – he shaved when his facial hair started to annoy him, or when it started to become a liability; he cut his hair when his brother forced him to, or when Molly came at him with a pair of scissors; and he couldn’t even remember the last time that he bought new clothes. His mother never ceased to tell him that if he ever wanted to reproduce, or even hook a girl, he had to get rid of the earring, stop tattooing his arms and wash his hair. The response to that was always the same: a roll of the eyes and a change of topic.

When he thought about it, though, Fabian couldn’t help but wonder if there was some merit in what she said to him. I mean, he only had to look at his twin for the evidence. Gideon always looked good, but really, Fabian had never been jealous of that. It wasn’t as if the slightly younger twin was bad looking, he just didn’t put as much effort in. Anyway, Gideon had always been a favourite amongst the ladies. Whether or not that had to do with his looks or not, Fabian didn’t know, but he assumed that it certainly couldn’t hinder his chances. With that in mind, it seemed that Fabian had two factors working against him – he didn’t put too much effort into his appearance, and naturally he didn’t have an outgoing personality. There were some guys who pulled girls on personality alone, and although Fabian could certainly fall into the ‘dark, mysterious and brooding’ classification of men, he wasn’t like all of the rest. Unlike those guys, he didn’t soften up quickly, and most girls were either too impatient or too lazy to put in the hard work to gradually wear down his outer shell. He had all but resigned himself to the fact that he would end up alone. Sure, it wasn’t what he wanted, but it was a reality that he would have to face sooner or later. I mean, he had Molly’s kids that he could spoil, and one day Gideon would have a family, so then he’d have nieces and nephews around him almost all the time. It wouldn’t be so bad. Fabian wasn’t too sure how he’d cope when Gideon got married, because it was unlikely that they would spend as much time together when that happened. He would move out of his flat, get a nice house somewhere, have kids, and soon enough, he would have this whole other life. Fab pushed those thoughts out of his mind quickly. He didn’t want to think about it.

For a few moments, the twenty-seven year old tried not to think about anything. He tried to keep his mind blank. Needless to say it didn’t work. He was getting impatient. Another name was called. What was that, like, a dozen people to go until he’d get to see somebody? Fantastic. As he sat there, one arm swollen, the other tapping the armrest of the chair, he noticed another figure enter the room. His Auror training took control, and immediately he turned his gaze to survey the newcomer. Constant vigilance. It was Moody’s favourite catch phrase, and it really had caught on. One moment of brain lapse and you could be in hundreds of thousands of little pieces, if you know what I mean. However instead of adopting a cautious posture, ready to pull out his wand at any time, one could have sworn that a light smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he saw the woman coming towards him. Seeing as she didn’t have a limp, nor was she swollen anywhere (that he could tell, anyway), and she certainly didn’t have any abnormalities (not that she ever did) so Fabian assumed that Charity had come to visit him. The light grin remained in his features as she sat herself down next to him. “No, In true Mungo’s style, I have to wait for two hours before going into a room for five minutes to charm my arm back together,” he said. Usually, he wouldn’t have talked so candidly to another Order member, usually it was just sort of a mumbled phrase spoken softly, but he trusted Charity. He liked her, too. Well, yeah. He wasn’t a very open guy, so she should count herself lucky. There were a seldom few that breached the walls that Fabian had built up around himself. It was certainly no mean feat – gaining Fab’s trust. “And like I said before,” he continued, “I swear, I’m fine.” When you looked at his arm, pretty much everybody would be able to tell that he was lying. He had been in worse pain, but it hurt, and it was swelling up to an unnatural size at the moment. But Fabian was a proud guy. He was tough, too, which came in handy, considering his line of work.

“I gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting any visitors,” he said, that same smile remaining lightly on his features. He would probably never say it out loud without being prompted, but there was something about this girl that just threw him – in a good way. He didn’t get weak at the knees, nor did he ever really get that butterflies feeling, but it was almost like… well, he didn’t know how to describe what he felt inside. He had never felt like this about somebody, but he was in two minds about anything to happen in the future, assuming that what he was feeling was some kind of romantic thing. On the one hand, he wanted to be more than friends, because quite simply, she was different to all of the girls that had ever taken the time to get to know him. He didn’t see her like he saw Alice, because, well, yeah, it was funny. Anyway, on the other hand, he didn’t want to enter into something unless he was sure about… everything. I mean, dating a guy like him wasn’t necessarily a smart option if you wanted to save your skin. He certainly didn’t want to put Charity in any more danger than she already was. “It’s nice of you to, erm… to come down.” Now that was rare. He didn’t usually say things like that to people. If that wasn’t evidence enough of whatever he was feeling, then Fabian didn’t know what was.

[CHARITY ALISON BURBAGE]

Work had been particularly tiring the past week. The editors she worked for seemed to get more demanding with each day. One of them, on Monday, had actually asked for a sundae from Fortescues. But of course, it was six am, so Charity waited on Fortescue's back doorstep until the man himself arrived and thankfully, he was all too happy to take the money she had taken from her own pocket in exchange for a Colour-Changing Sprinkle Sundae for a man who was clearly undergoing some sort of mid-life crisis. And then there had been Friday. The thought made her head ache. Yes, it had been a stupid thing to do. But her editor was adamant that their lack of articles was Charity's fault-even though her job description was essentially 'getting coffee', oh, and of course, ice-cream. It was either write something, or be fired. And as much as she hated her work, it paid the bills for the flat that she adored despite its terrible state of repair, and she felt like she had a purpose there. Charity needed purpose in her life. She had no ambitions, no direction, and work to her meant stability. So, she whipped up the first thing she could think of; more or less a scathing review of He Who Must Not Be Named's activities thus far. She did her best to ensure that she wasn't compromising Order information, using only things she could find in old articles. Even still, she couldn't shake the feeling she had done something very wrong. But really, who would find out? As far as she knew, neither Fabian nor much of the other members paid any attention to the Prophet. So far, nothing had happened. She was finally beginning to forget it had ever happened.

Prior to stopping off at the hospital, Charity had endured an unusually quiet day at the office. So quiet, in fact, that she had spent the entire morning wondering what the hell was going on. Her lunch meant a quick stop by Order HQ to check up on any developments. And then there had been Fabian, and her calm little day had been thrown into chaos. She worried about him, and Charity didn't worry often. Besides, if anyone could, Fabian Prewett was well able of taking care of himself. And others. He was always scaring the life out of her by poking his wand at the small of her back when her mind was elsewhere. And then when she nearly died of shock he'd yell at her for letting her guard down. Well, that was way back when she was just a newbie. She needed to be scared into sense. Fabian was undoubtedly the best guy for the job. That was the extent of their relationship for a very long time. But now? Now things were different. Now, she cared when he got hurt and her stubbornness concerning his hospital visit was because she didn't want to see him get any worse. Alright, so perhaps she had been a little too forceful, but if she hadn't he'd probably have winded up with something more painful...like two broken arms.

Charity crossed her legs-right over left-and propped her chin up on her hands, surveying the auror beside her carefully. What was it with him that made her so off-balanced? The blondish-brownish hair that could be ridiculously long but still intensely attractive? Or the hazel eyes that seemed to smile at her even when he was in that 'I could so decaptitate you with my bare hands' mood? Or maybe that was it. That thing he did where he puffed out like one of those blowfish thingies-always on guard. What was it that Moody said? Oh, right. Constant vigilance. That was Fabian in a nutshell. He had nice arms, she noted as she looked him up and down, only mildly aware that she could be coming across as a crazy weirdo/stalker/obsessive fangirl by looking at him like that. It was just so hard to pinpoint why she liked him so much. "What sort of hospital would this be if you didn't spend half your life waiting to be seen to?" she smirked. She felt sort of sorry for him. His arm had swollen to at least twice its usual size. But it was sort of endearing that he continued to act like nothing was wrong. "Stop playing the tough guy, Fab," she scolded, reminding herself of some frustrated mother at her wits end. But honestly, if he had done what he had intended to do and 'fix it himself' it could've gotten a lot worse. She was no medical guru but she knew DIY efforts only ended in tears. "If I were you I'd be milking this for all it was worth. What I'd do for a day off..." If only he'd lighten up a little. She always wondered why he had to be so serious all of the time. Was it that 'constant vigilance' crap again? Easy for Moody to say when he had that roving eye of his. He could look at two places at once, if he wanted. Fabian was overworked, underpayed and undervalued-in Charity's opinion, anyway But then again, she was very very biased. She had no idea what went on in that complicated head of his, but it gave her a huge ego boost to know, or at least assume, that she had, somehow, earned the trust he gave away so sparingly.

"Well then, Mr Prewett, you certainly don't know me very well," Seeing that smile on his face made it absurdly hard not to smile herself. Gah. The guy got sort of a bum deal by being Gideon's twin. He was so different, less outgoing, more focused on work and a lot of people thought Gideon was the better looking one. Charity, however, disagreed. Something about whatever Fabian had going on for him just clicked with her. Of course, she liked Gideon too, just not in the same way, or, to be honest, not nearly as much. She had spent a lot more time with Fabian, partly because he was just so damn hard to figure out. And Charity liked challenges. Maybe too much. Her smile broadened and she raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so you do value my company! I was getting worried there..." For some reason Charity always felt the need to test him like that. She had discovered another facet to him that she hadn't yet figured out-whatever was going on between the two of them had given her a whole new aspect of his personality to explore. But her side of things was the hardest part to understand. Anyway, who was she to go around envisaging something happening when she just knew that nothing would. Because Fabian just didn't seem to date. He was too preoccupied with work.

[FABIAN ALEXANDER PREWETT]

i woke up this morning
and heard the tv sayin' something
about disaster in the world and
it made me wonder where i'm going

--------------------------------------------

Even though Fabian would never admit it, not even to himself, at his core, he was exhausted. For seven years he had worked day and night – being an Auror was demanding enough, but being a member of the Order of the Phoenix just about doubled his workload. He could no longer count the number of days when he had gotten no sleep. Hell: Fabian couldn’t even remember the last time that he had slept for more than six hours in a night. Six hours was a luxury, really. He was usually at the office until late, nine o’clock, usually later, unless Gideon had some reason to drag him back home. As soon as he finished work in his office, he usually ended up being summoned to the Order headquarters, where he would stay usually into the early hours of the morning. On the rare occasions that he did get home in reasonably good time, he found that he had immense trouble sleeping as it was. Sleeping, in his opinion, could be a dangerous thing. Fabian knew that there was no possible way that he could go without sleep for his entire life, but he did wish that it wasn’t the case. Ever since he had become an Auror, he just struggled to let himself rest. It was like he felt that he had to fight a war on every front without rest. The world had hardened him. He had left school as a quiet, but fun loving guy, and now, well, he was considerably different. When you think about some of the things that Fabian had seen over his seven year span in the workforce, it was little wonder that he had turned out the way that he had. There were only so many people you could see die before it changed you. Gideon had changed, despite the popular belief to the contrary. He was just better at masking it. The world certainly hadn’t been kind to the brothers, and it did show.

Truth be told, he was looking forward to the end of this war. When it was all over – when Voldemort was vanquished, and when all of his minions were locked away in Azkaban, Fabian was going to take a holiday. A nice, big, long holiday. He and Gideon would go somewhere tropical, perhaps an island somewhere, and just spend their days doing absolutely nothing. When it was over, he would learn how to sleep again. In saying that, when it was all over, Fabian had no idea who he would be. His whole life had revolved around fighting the injustice of the Death Eater’s cause, and he didn’t know how to do much other than that. He didn’t have any real hobbies. As a teenager he had enjoyed playing quidditch, but it wasn’t something that he was looking to take up again. Exercise wasn’t something that he made himself do, he didn’t like cooking (and he was rubbish at it) and so really, when it was over, what would he have? Gideon, of course. Molly and her kids, too. But apart from that, what would he do with himself? In the great scheme of things, he didn’t have too many close friends, Alice, definitely, and Charity, but his love life was non-existent (he blamed it on the nature of his work, when really he knew that it was about him) and it wasn’t like he was getting much older. The thought of the war being over was a double edged blade. While he wanted the end of the war more than anything, once it was over, he had nothing. Fabian knew which of the two took higher priority. It was much more important to preserve the greater good rather than one’s own social standing.

As she sat down beside him, Fabian noticed that for a few moments, Charity just seemed to be giving him the up and down. He didn’t know whether to feel self conscious or gratified. There was no way that she could be checking him out, because he looked like a mess at the moment, what, with his arm about twice it’s usual width and his sleep deprivation riddled in the creases around his brow. She couldn’t be checking him out. Fabian had never been one to pry, but he just assumed that Charity was the type of girl that dated guys like Gideon. Fabian was pretty sure that had his brother not been very good at reading his body language, he might have tried to pick up Charity himself, but Gideon was a smart guy. Most of the time, anyway. Okay, so maybe not exactly like Gideon, but he just guessed that she saw those dashingly handsome gentlemen as potential romantic partners, not scruffy aurors like him. She probably had a whole slew of attractive, charming ex-boyfriends, and Fabian was by no means in their league. He has resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to be a lady killer, not in the literal sense, of course, so he would just have to make do with what he had. “You do realize that Gideon and I know how to fix bones,” he said. Okay, so they knew the theory behind it. His brother had done it once in his life, and as far as Fabian could remember, it had turned out pretty well. It had been one of the things that they had learnt in their training, but nobody exactly wanted to volunteer to break a bone just for the purpose of practicing a spell. It was understandable. “It would have been as simple as a quick incantation and then everybody could have carried on,” he said with a subtly playful shrug. He trusted her enough to be able to interact in a more light-hearted way, though even his light-heartedness was ‘serious’ to most people. It was a battle he could never win. Her next comment reminded Fabian momentarily of his mother. He didn’t reply, he just shrugged it off. It would hurt his pride to admit to that, so he wouldn’t. Plus, it didn’t hurt that much…

“I disagree with that,” Fabian replied in a somewhat quiet, mumbly manner. It was odd, he found it both uncomfortable and refreshing to be playful with somebody. He felt like an athlete who hadn’t trained in years, and then tried to run a marathon or something. “I think I know you pretty well.” Lately he had gotten to know her quite a bit, and even the things that she hadn’t explicitly told him, he was pretty sure that he could guess. Fabian was a very good judge of character – he was rarely wrong about those sorts of things. It was one of the things that he had learnt to do as an Auror. You had to be able to judge a person within a few moments. In the first few moments of their first real conversation, Fabian had come to the realization that there was something immensely different about Charity, something which set her apart from his other friends. Fabian didn’t exactly know how to answer her next statement. “Everybody else in this room has been looking at me like I’m about to steal their purses or something like that.” That was the best he could come up with. “I don’t look… that bad, do I?”This sentence was somewhat more strained, and as soon as he had said it, he regretted it almost immediately. What happened to keeping his guard up all the time? Fabian both hated and loved the fact that she got under his skin. It was pretty damn odd.

[CHARITY ALISON BURBAGE]

Charity's life could be broken down into three parts. Work, the Order and those she loved. More often than not, especially lately-considering she was now living in London and miles away from Ottery St Catchpole, where she had been born and raised-her loved ones were comprised mainly of the Order itself, or, by extension, those on its side, like Amy. But she wasn't that close to much of the organisation, Fabian and his brother being the only exceptions, and even then she wasn't that friendly with Gideon at all. Nonetheless, she'd never really understand that Fabian was the only one of her friends in the Order because Charity was the type to consider everyone she had ever met to be her friend. One man's 'acquaintance' was Charity's best buddy. She could say two words to someone and then the next day she'd be more than happy to tell them her life story. It was the way she worked. But the Order was rigidly organised, and there wasn't often time for chit-chat. If you were talking to someone, you were probably discussing matters relating to the Order's work. Not the weather, or idle small talk. But the one thing that made Fabian so different was that he was all about not talking to anyone. He was completely focused, tunnel vision, and Charity just didn't get it. How could anyone be so detatched? She made it her own personal mission to crack him. And thankfully she did. Now, she had become so used to his company that without his presence she'd be truly lost.

She didn't have any plans for her life. Charity always thought in the here and now. Tomorrow was the future, yesterday was history, and the present, to her, was all that mattered. She had paid for that attitude time and time again, but she was simply a girl who lacked ambition. She had all the drive, but nowhere to go with it. She did have one hope, though, and that was that she'd have settled down before she was thirty. Charity had been single too long to even imagine what it would be like, but she knew she wanted a family. So many of the Order had kids already, yet were younger than her by years. Living alone in her poky flat was her dream when she was a teenager, but without anyone to share it with it meant nothing. And then the Order came along and suddenly she felt needed. At first, nothing was asked of her, but more and more her opinion was sought at meetings, people requested that she do some snooping at work, and it was as if Charity had found the place in the puzzle where she fit snugly. Now that she had done that, she felt she had little to look forward to. Her job was pretty much going nowhere, her house was still deserted apart from her and her owl. Her one big achievement had been the Order, but now she wanted more. After all, the Order was mothered by necessity-by the arrival of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. If-no, when they finished them off, the Order wouldn't be needed. It would most likely disband. Then, she'd have to find something else to achieve.

As Charity looked at Fabian, the thought did strike her that he could, perhaps, fill that void. But the thought was brief. Honestly, who was she kidding? There was just no way a smart, sensible, guarded, and extremely hot guy like him would ever fall for a naive, impatient, cheerful girl like her. She had thought about it far too much than could possibly be considered healthy for a girl her age. It was like a schoolgirl crush. Luckily, she restrained herself from being fluffy and soppy about it. He didn't make fireworks go off in her head. Most of the time he was just there being himself and being her friend; nothing more, nothing less. A ) She had no chance in hell, and B ) Her romantic track record was by no means impressive. She had a string of unsucessful, unexciting relationships with guys that weren't worth their salt at all. She was utterly hopeless with avoiding the ones that would be bad for her. None of them had lasted very long. Almost all of them had ended up with Charity as the injured party, albeit still blaming herself for the break-ups. She made bad decisions. Bad, impulsive decisions, using that same here-and-now approach that got her in trouble more often than she could count. She wasn't about to let a great friendship go down the drain thanks to instincts that always turned out wrong. For once, she was prepared to just let it go. Well, sort of. "Oh, c'mon Fabian, anything could've gone wrong," she said with complete conviction. "Trust me, I know from experience. Leave it to professionals." Oh, she was becoming more and more motherly-sounding with each syllable. She had to stop, or reason A would become even more true.

She barely heard his next statement. I disagree with that... Hmph. She laughed inwardly. Fabian was a mystery wrapped in a riddle surrounded by an illusion. No matter how much she thought she knew him, or believed she had earned his trust, he did something or said something that made her think otherwise. But he thought he knew her? Well, it would be natural to say that Charity was altogether less complicated than him. For a guy he was surprisingly complex. Weren't men supposed to be the easier sex to figure out? One track minds of sex, beer and sports. Simple But she knew that Fabian was different. He was different from the moment she spoke to him. She tilted her head to one side, and a strand of blonde hair fell loose from her untidy ponytail. "Oh really? What makes you think that?" It was no secret that Charity was hardly a closed book. She wasn't quiet either. And she could be a little too indulgent with the personal things she chose to tell certain people. But she didn't think she ever had to be careful with Fabian; because he just didn't seem to take notice of trivial things like that. Then, as he continued to speak, Charity's expression turned from quizzical to completely puzzled. For the short but fun time that she had known Fab, she would never have pegged him as the self-conscious type. Her eyes narrowed, and she had half a mind to say 'Who are you and what have you done with Fabian?' and point her wand at his throat in a truly Prewett fashion. If she had, he probably would've been proud at her. Then there was the other instinct, to say 'Not to me, you don't.', but that would've been far too forward. Instead she narrowed her eyes slightly and said; "Well, you could do with a haircut...and maybe some new robes, and, er, a new facial expression or two..." She was making sure she sounded as lightheartedly as possible. But there was a hint of seriousness to her soft voice. As much as she enjoyed the look that Fabian had seemingly perfected to be the balance between looking clean and looking shabby, he could do with some work. "You need to smile more often. Stop worrying so much. You're always thinking ten steps ahead of yourself. You need to calm down." She had given him the same advice millions of times before, but apparently it just didn't sink in. She put her hand on his shoulder lightly. "I bet your blood pressure is through the roof." she giggled. Oh dear. Giggling. Even for Charity; that was a bad sign.

[FABIAN ALEXANDER PREWETT]

i woke up this morning
and heard the tv sayin' something
about disaster in the world and
it made me wonder where i'm going

--------------------------------------------

It would be a lie to say that Fabian had never thought about what it would be like to have a woman like Charity, or even Charity herself, in his life. All of the assumptions that he had about her love life aside, there was something about her that sparked something deep within him. Fabian wasn’t the type of guy to get disarmed, in both the literal and emotional sense, however he wasn’t completely devoid of all feeling. In fact, quite the opposite. He had a great capacity to feel a great range of things, but he just lacked the skills to express them. There was little doubt in his mind that there were loads of other guys out there who had the exact same problem, but some guys masked it with arrogance, some with intelligence. Neither of those two stereotypes really fit Fabian, so instead, he settled for work. So what if he masked his emotions by burying them in work? A lot of people said that he was completely detached from any kind of emotional reality, and there were definitely those who sniggered behind his back that he had made himself less than human over the years, but Fabian didn’t believe either to be the case. Just because he had trouble expressing emotions, it didn’t mean that he didn’t love his family. He always showed a great deal of affection to his nephews, but of course, his critics didn’t get to see that. They got to see the mighty Fabian Prewett in all his Auror glory. Sure, the private Fabian and the work Fabian seemed to be almost interchangeable, but there were subtle differences between the two. He was more likely to crack a smile around his family than he was around the people at work. In fact, most of the people at work annoyed him. His team consisted of a whole bunch of kids freshly out of training, all of whom had egos the size of Saturn. Mind you, since the Prewett boys had come into their mini leadership position, they had developed a very effective good cop/bad cap routine.

Any guesses as to which role Fabian played?

Now, Fabian had never much been into books, especially not those big, sweeping epic romances that a lot of women seemed to enjoy. He didn’t like reading, so why would he enjoy that? But from his limited knowledge of the genre, Fabian did know that love was described using hyperbolic versions of the truth. It was like fireworks, or something, apparently. Fabian thought it was all a load of crap. I mean, if you’re feeling fireworks in your head or your stomach when you’re around a person that you happen to fancy, wouldn’t that mean that after a little while you’d get a throbbing headache? Fabian never desired fireworks. The thing that he looked for in a relationship was trust, and, if you knew Fabian Prewett, you would know that he gave out his trust like one of Willy Wonka’s golden tickets. There were few people in the world that could say with pride: ‘Fabian Prewett trusts me.’ He wondered for a moment, whether or not Charity knew that she was one of the lucky few. She had to. I mean, she wasn’t an idiot. With a guy like Fabian, it was really hard to miss a shift in attitude. If he ever had a conversation that wasn’t to do with work or the Order, well, then the general reaction from most was to shout it from the rooftops. Okay, perhaps that was a little bit of an exaggeration, but you get what I mean.

He didn’t particularly feel like arguing his point. He had been trained for years to be one of the most effective dark wizard catchers in the country, and yet Charity still thought that he was unable to mend a broken bone. Deep down, he was kind of grateful, in a weird kind of way. Okay, perhaps he wasn’t grateful for making him come and wait in this damn room for so long, but he was glad that she had come. He was glad that they were friends, honestly. "I suppose the next time I want to fly my broomstick into a tree, I’ll have to be more careful,” he said with a light smile, referring to the story that he had formulated at the reception desk in the lobby. See, this proves my point – he wouldn’t have said something like that to your average Joe blow walking down the street! Gideon had been pushing him for a little bit to make a gesture that signalled something. If his twin knew anything, it was that there was no way that he could ever be able to convince Fabian to make a first move on a girl. He had one of those funny complexes in that he never really thought that girls were into him. Usually he only realized the opposite when it was too late. The situation was exactly the same now. He liked her, she probably just liked him as a friend. Sometimes he wished that he could read minds, but then the idea of having that power scared him away from such thoughts. As far as he was concerned, getting into somebody’s head was the utmost violation of the very freedom that he was fighting to protect. It was sick. There should be no way that people get punished, especially by fruitloops like Voldemort, because of unspoken thoughts. It went against every single one of his morals.

The man couldn’t help but notice as a lock of golden hair fell from her ponytails, but soon Fabian reminded himself to snap back together. The thing that puzzled Fabian was the question of how he could possibly be attracted to somebody who had qualities that were the exact opposite of his own. He was primarily internalized, he spoke rarely around people, and he came off as moody and hostile. Charity, on the other hand, was bubbly, full of life and incredibly talkative. One of the few things that they shared was ain interest and a belief in the just of their cause. “I’m a very good judge of character,” he answered, his posture remaining still. That was the one thing about Fabian that tended to annoy everybody, even Gideon at times – his complete lack of expression in his posture and facial features. He didn’t use his hands when he spoke, for the most part, he just sat still. In reply to his own comment, Charity began listing physical imperfections. Fabian didn’t take them to heart, but he took it as a clear, resounding ‘no’ that she wasn’t interested. He tried to forget about it. Fabian was about to say something, when Charity added a couple of words with a giggle. The giggle brought a new smile to the edges of his lips. ‘None of that stuff really matters, though.’ Way to ruin a fun atmosphere, Fabian. Christ!