Chapter Text
Charlie Weasly couldn’t remember a time he didn't know about soulmates. In the wizarding world, it was a special day when a child got their first soulmark, their first link to their soulmate. Usually the first ones were small scrapes, bruises, scuffed knees. Little injuries a child would get. Sometimes, for particularly accident prone children, it was difficult to distinguish at first whether an injury belonged to them or to their soulmate. Soulmarks didn’t allow you to feel the pain that a real injury would, so it would quickly become apparent whether it was real injury or not. Soulmarks disappeared after about a day, only to be replaced by new ones the next time your soulmate got hurt.
But Charlie still hadn’t received his first one. He knew because each night before he went to sleep he would carefully catalog his scratches and bruises, counting each one from quidditch, denoming the garden, or anything else. He watched as each of his little brothers got their marks, yelling excitedly when a new one appeared and making wild speculations of what could have happened to their soulmate in order for them to appear. By the time he was eight years old all his younger siblings, except Ron who was just a baby, had gotten marks. He was frustrated to say the least.
His parents tried to reassure him that it was fine, that the reason he wasn’t getting any marks was because his soulmate was much younger than him. When Charlie asked what that meant for him, asked them how much longer he would have to wait, they just exchanged glances with each other and pulled him into a hug. His mother wrapped her arms around him and explained softly to him that since it seemed he was so much older than his soulmate, that he would have to wait before they could be together. It would probably be a long time before he even met them. Charlie smiled at them, reassured with the fact that they seemed confident that he even had a soulmate. He would be happy as long as they were out there somewhere. Even if they hadn’t been born yet. Charlie had only told Bill this, but sometimes he would lie awake at night, worrying that for some reason he was destined to be alone. Maybe his soulmate had died before he even got a chance to meet them. Maybe he just didn't have one. What if he found them but they didn’t even want to be near him? What if they hated him? Bill listened to him, never trying to talk him out of his fears or reassure him when both of them knew that it was possible.
Charlie told himself it didn’t matter. Even though it did.
Finally, a few weeks after summer had started, Bill’s last few months before he left home for school, he woke up one morning to find little scratch marks on the palms of his hands. He was sure they hadn’t been there the night before. He sat quietly in his bed for a minute, just staring at his hand. He flexed them a little, trying to see if they would hurt, but felt no pain.
Charlie ran downstairs, a huge grin plastered across his freckled face. He ran up to his mother joyfully, tugging at her skirt as she orchestrated the cooking morning breakfast with a flick of her wand. She was seated on a chair in the middle of the kitchen, with her swollen ankles propped up on a stool in front of her. His father, Arthur Weasly, was busy in the living room talking to someone over the Floo system, probably about the end of the wizarding war and You-Know-Who. That seemed to be all anyone could talk about these days. That and the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. But Charlie didn’t care much about any of that, not today, the day he’d be looking forward to for years.
“Mum! Mum,” He exclaimed happily, “Look! Look, I got my first mark!”
“Would you look at that!” she beamed, “Well I think these look just like the kind of scratches you used to get as a baby when we forgot to trim down your nails.”
She smiled at him and leaned forward to wrap him up in a hug. She laughed into his hair and smoothed her hands down his back. After she released him she took his hands in hers and examined carefully.
She pointed at the little half-moon idents on his palms, and Charlie couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so happy. He was ecstatic to have confirmation of his soulmate being alive.
They both looked up when they heard Arthur come into the kitchen. Molly explained what had happened and Arthur grinned, giving Charlie the same treatment that Molly had moments before. Everyone gathered around the table for breakfast as Arthur finished up the last of the cooking and served up the food onto plates. He set the dishes scrubbing in the sink and then sat down with the rest of his family.
— December, 1984—
For the next four years, Charlie would check everyday for a new mark. Most days there wasn't anything. But if there was anything, usually a small bruise of a scraped knee, he would write to Bill at Hogwarts about it. All that changed though, the Christmas after his first few months at school. They had just gotten home from Hogwarts and were seated around the dinner table, all together for the first time in months. Charlie was glad to see his younger siblings and finally get a chance to celebrate his birthday all together. Molly had made a chocolate cake after they ate. His birthday had been earlier in the month, while he was still at hogwarts. His parents had sent him a few new posters of his favorite quidditch players to put up in his dorm. Bill had gotten him a book about dragons (which he had already read three times before he even came home for Christmas).
Charlie looked around at his family, realizing for the first time how much he had missed them while he was away at Hogwarts. He smiled to himself as he watched all of them enjoying their meal as family. Ginny and Ron sat at one end of the table next to their mum, taking turns trying to rub mashed potatoes in each other’s faces while Molly sighed to herself, trying and failing to hide her pleased smile, happy to see all her children in one place again. Across from Charlie, Fred and George whispered to each other, seeming to be planning some sort of scheme. To his left was Percy, who, as usual, had his nose in a book. Next to Percy was his father, and to Charlie’s right sat Bill. Charlie was about to open his mouth to ask Fred to pass the rolls when he felt the tingling sensation on his skin that signified a new mark coming in. He glanced down as a bright splotch of purple bloomed around his wrist. A few seconds later a new one appeared on his forearm. He could feel the tingling sensation working its way around his ribs, back, and the side of his face. He froze, watching new bruises bloom on his skin.
“Bill!” He choked out, “What’s happening? What’s happening?”
Conversation around the table had stopped as they all turned towards Charlie. Drops of water landed in his lap and he was surprised he could feel hot tears streaming down his face. His mother and father were instantly at his side, reaching towards him. But he flinched away from their touches, curling into himself and pulling his knees up to his chest in his chair. All he could think about was his soulmate, who knows how far away, in danger. And Charlie wasn’t there to protect them. He was dimly aware of Molly ordering all his younger siblings out of the room and then he felt arms wrap around his shaking body. This time he didn’t push them away and instead buried his face into Bill’s shirt, trying to breathe through the tears.
—
He didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knew he was waking up in his own bed. For a moment Charlie let himself hope that the previous night had all been a bad dream but one glance at his purple stained arms killed that hope instantly. Bill was lying next to him, still asleep. Charlie got out of bed carefully and stumbled out the door into the hallway. He went into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, eyes closed tightly. Slowly, he pulled off his shirt and dropped it to the ground before opening his eyes. His own reflection stared back at him.
His eyes were red and puffy from the tears. One eye was completely surrounded by black bruising. His left cheek was stained with an angry red mark shaped like a hand. His ribs were covered in tiny circular bruises that looked like fingerprints. He dragged his hand across them before twisting around so he could see his back, taking in marks that had spread across his right shoulder. He could feel his eyes starting to burn with tears again. He couldn’t imagine what his soulmate was feeling like right now. He hoped that they had someone to take care of them after this, though he got the horrible feeling that whoever had done this was actually supposed to be the caretaker. He felt his mood slip even more when he thought about them all alone, thinking that no one loved them. Charlie’s tears were quickly replaced with anger when he thought about how he was stuck here with no way of finding them, protecting them. He wanted nothing more than to let them know that he cared. But that was impossible.
Or was it? Charlie’s mind raced as hurried back to his room, imminently starting to rummage through his desk drawers. The noise woke up Bill who groaned softly and rolled over, opening his eyes to watch Charlie.
“What're you doing?” asked Bill, voice muffled from the pillow and thick with sleep.
Charlie didn’t answer, instead making a noise of triumph when he found what he was looking for. He took his prize over to his desk chair and sat down, pushing the edge of his shorts up his thigh. He opened his hand and Bill’s eyes widened when he saw that Charlie was holding a Swiss Army pocket knife, the one that his dad had given him for Christmas last year. Charlie flicked the blade open and pressed it to the skin of his leg. Bill sat up quickly.
“Stop, Charlie! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bill panicked.
Charlie just looked up at him, pinning him with a resolute gaze. “Bill,” he said softly, “I don’t think my soulmate has anyone who cares about him. And I can’t, I just can’t, let him go through this by himself, thinking that he is all alone in this world. Because he’s not. He has me and I want him to know it. And I know it’s stupid, but this is the only way I can think of to do it.”
Bill’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Ok,” he said, “Ok just…” he shook his head and looked down. Charlie was satisfied and set to work carefulling tracing the tip of the blade over his skin, carving a shape into it. He gritted his teeth against the pain but continued on, glad that his soulmate wouldn't have to feel it, only see it.
Charlie finished and Bill was there, handing him an old t-shirt to wipe the blood off. It was a heart. The cut was shallow and it wouldn’t scar but it was enough for Charlie’s soulmate to recognize. Bill looked at it, thoughtful.
“A heart?” asked Bill.
Charlie flushed. “Yeah,” he said “I figured even little kids can recognize it. Means love doesn’t it. I want him to know I’m here.”
Bill smiled lopsided at him. “Him, huh? That’s the second time you’ve said that. You seem pretty sure.”
Charlie turned bright red. “Um… yeah,” he muttered awkwardly, “I just don’t really think that my soulmate would be a girl because… well… I don’t think I like girls?”
He looked at Bill helplessly but Bill just laughed and pulled him into another hug, resting his chin on the op of Charlie’s head.
“I am so sorry, Charlie, that you have to go through this,” whispered Bill.
“It’s not me is it?” muttered Charlie, “It’s him. He’s the one being hurt. I’m the one who can't protect him like I should. It’s my fault.”
Bill pulled back quickly and looked Charlie in the eyes.
“No, don’t you ever say that again, you hear me?” Bill said firmly, “It’s not your fault and it never will be. You are not responsible for some asshole’s actions. Only horrible people would ever hit a kid, Charlie. It is not your fault.”
“Ok, Bill,” mumbled Charlie, not really believing him.