"Aguamenti!"
With a flick of her wand, Mrs. Weasley cast the Water-Making Charm, rinsing the freshly cut pieces of meat clean of blood.
What's that? You're not supposed to use magic in front of Muggles?
Honestly—look around. Out here in the wild, any girl petite enough to catch a giant lizard with her bare hands was clearly no ordinary person.
Sure enough, as Mrs. Weasley glanced at the girl for her reaction, she noticed not a hint of surprise at the spell.
Pussy was quick on the uptake. She darted off to gather a bundle of slender branches and helped Mrs. Weasley skewer the meat, piece by piece.
The fire was already crackling, and soon the skewers were lined up above the flames. Mrs. Weasley sprinkled them with a few simple seasonings from her bag.
It wasn't long before the aroma of roasting meat filled the air, making Pussy's mouth water uncontrollably.
"Is it ready? Is it ready yet?" the girl asked, her anticipation barely contained.
"Not yet. You have to roast it slowly so it cooks evenly. That's how you get the best flavor," Mrs. Weasley replied, patient as ever.
"Ugh... so much trouble," Pussy grumbled, her pretty brows furrowing.
"It won't be long. Let's chat while we wait—it'll be ready before you know it."
To distract Pussy—and satisfy her own need for conversation—Mrs. Weasley struck up a friendly chat.
She asked where Pussy lived. The girl simply pointed off in a vague direction and said, "Over there."
Mrs. Weasley thought that was close to the dangerous zone, but Pussy shrugged it off. She'd never run into any trouble.
Curious, Mrs. Weasley asked about magical creatures in the mountains. Pussy rattled off names like mountain trolls, occamies, kelpies, and hippogriffs.
"Thank goodness you've never actually met any of them!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed in relief.
"I have," Pussy answered honestly. "But by the time I got there, they were already gone."
"Oh, darling, do be careful. You probably just haven't been spotted yet—if you ever are, you could be in real danger," Mrs. Weasley cautioned.
"It's fine. I'm pretty strong," Pussy replied, utterly serious.
"No matter how strong you are, don't go looking for trouble… Those creatures are vicious, and there's no need to provoke them," Mrs. Weasley insisted, meeting the girl's gaze.
"Mm. I'll try," Pussy said with a nod.
Her tone was a bit perfunctory, but Mrs. Weasley chose to believe she meant it.
"Ha! The meat's ready—come have a taste!"
As they chatted, the skewers finished cooking. Mrs. Weasley scattered a final pinch of seasoning over the sizzling meat, sending the aroma to new heights.
Pussy couldn't wait. She grabbed a skewer, not caring that it was still piping hot, and bit in, hissing and blowing as she chewed.
Watching the girl devour the food with such gusto, Mrs. Weasley felt a deep sense of satisfaction. She couldn't help but think her sons were far too picky—her cooking was clearly wasted on them.
She tried a bite herself and found the flavor rather unique.
"Slow down, there's plenty more…"
But she'd underestimated her guest. For all her petite size, Pussy had a formidable appetite—before long, she'd polished off most of the lizard skewers.
"Goodness, you really were hungry," Mrs. Weasley remarked, pulling out a handkerchief to gently wipe the girl's greasy face.
Pussy didn't flinch or pull away, letting Mrs. Weasley help her, her eyes blinking as if studying the older woman's face—or perhaps lost in thought.
"Oh my, look at the time. I really must be getting back," Mrs. Weasley said as the sun dipped westward.
Before leaving, she glanced at the girl's thin, threadbare clothing and promised to knit her a sweater.
Pussy didn't refuse.
They agreed to meet again at the same place, same time, the following day.
…
"You see, this red sweater is the one I promised to make for Pussy," Mrs. Weasley finished her tale, pointing to the nearly completed garment as she spoke to her husband and son.
The sweater was a bit rushed and not her finest work, but it would certainly be warm.
Throughout her story, Charlie had sat in silence, his eyes distant.
From the moment his mother described the girl smearing mud on a lizard, his heart had felt as sour as one of her pickled cucumbers.
It was obvious—Pussy was imitating the "Beggar's Chicken" he'd once made for her, a dish he'd learned from Qin and shared with her.
He felt a flicker of happiness knowing he'd left a mark on her life—at least she remembered the food and tried to recreate it.
But that happiness tasted bittersweet. He couldn't stop himself from thinking: If only he hadn't messed things up, maybe they could have left even more traces in each other's lives.
It was a beautiful thought. But for him, it was torture.
It was all his fault…
He hung his head, shoulders slumping.
"Charlie? It's your turn," his mother prompted gently.
She didn't push, just waited patiently, his father watching with quiet concern.
Meeting their eyes, Charlie forced a smile, shrugged, and said with a touch of self-mockery, "Honestly, there's not much to tell about me and Pussy."
So he began his simple story.
How he'd first seen that girl pummeling a dragon out in the wild. How he'd dared to bring her home. Their strange but simple days together—he cooked, she ate. And finally, how his own fear had driven her away.
"I was afraid of her, and that's what scared her off…" Charlie finally voiced the conclusion he'd reached after so much soul-searching.
It sounded contradictory, but it was true.
After listening, the Weasley parents exchanged a glance. His mother spoke first:
"Charlie, what do you really think of Pussy? Do you like her?"
"I do," Charlie answered without hesitation.
Maybe he hadn't realized his feelings before, but ever since Pussy left, he knew exactly what he'd lost.
"She's the most special girl I've ever met. There's no one like her in the world…"
He couldn't dress it up in fancy words—he could only speak from the heart.
Smack!
His mother gave his shoulder a firm pat, jolting him out of his tangled thoughts.
"You silly boy, if you like her, then go after her! I like Pussy too—she ate my roast meat so clean, not a scrap left," Mrs. Weasley said, half-exasperated.
"Mum, that's your standard?" Charlie groaned.
"Isn't it good enough?" Mrs. Weasley shot back, glaring.
"Alright, whatever makes you happy," Charlie conceded, not daring to argue.
Mrs. Weasley shook her head, growing serious. "You're really overthinking this, love. Did it ever occur to you that, to Muggles, we wizards are just as dangerous as anyone else?"
At that, Charlie looked up, realization dawning.
If Pussy was a little dangerous, well, so were wizards—weren't they feared by Muggles, too?
So, he and Pussy were the same sort of people. What was he so afraid of?
He glanced at his mother for confirmation, and she nodded firmly.
"The important thing is whether she has a kind heart, not what she can do. You said yourself, Pussy is simple but principled—I felt the same way when I met her."
That was the wisdom of an outsider. Mrs. Weasley understood—when you're tangled up in feelings, it's easy to lose sight of what really matters.
"Mum, can I come with you tomorrow?" Charlie asked.
"Of course! To be honest, I barely remember the way—I need you to guide me," Mrs. Weasley replied, winking at him.
His father offered to come too, but Mrs. Weasley vetoed the idea. Too many people might frighten the poor girl.
…
So, the next afternoon, Charlie—now the official "guide"—led his mother down to the riverside she'd described.
She hadn't exaggerated; it was hard to find.
Even as a dragon reserve worker, Charlie spent quite a while tracking down the right spot.
When they arrived, the girl in red was already waiting.
At first, Charlie felt awkward and self-conscious, but when he saw those calm, clear eyes, he relaxed, smiled, and waved.
"Hi, Pussy. Long time no see."
She nodded in return. "Hi, Charlie. Long time no see."
"I thought I'd never see you again. I looked for you, but I thought you'd already left," Charlie said, deciding honesty was the best policy—after all, that was Pussy's style.
"I know. I hid on purpose," Pussy replied, even more direct than he was.
"Then why didn't you hide this time?" Charlie asked, meeting her gaze.
"I came to get the sweater Molly made for me," Pussy said, glancing at Mrs. Weasley, who was standing to one side with the finished garment.
"Hm? Oh, the sweater! Right, it's done!" Mrs. Weasley bustled over, grinning, and handed the sweater to the girl. "Here, Pussy, try it on—see if it fits!"
Pussy nodded and pulled the sweater on right then and there.
Her hands smoothed over the new wool, and a faint, gentle smile appeared on her face.
"Thank you, Molly!"
"You're welcome, dear. I'm so glad you like it!"
"I really do!"
"Well, you and Charlie have a chat—I'll go see if I can find any lizards or wild chickens nearby."
With that, Mrs. Weasley tactfully made herself scarce, leaving the two alone.
…
"Pussy, I'm not afraid of you," Charlie said, cutting straight to the point.
"You are afraid of me," the girl replied, calm as ever.
"No, I'm not!"
As he spoke, Charlie threw caution to the wind, stepped forward, and wrapped her in a hug.
"I'm not afraid of you. What I'm afraid of is losing you. I'm afraid I'll never see you again… I missed you, Pussy. I missed you so much!"
She let him hold her, not struggling, not speaking.
After a long moment, she finally said, in her usual even tone, "Charlie, how do you make meat taste so good? I tried your method, but mine never comes out right."
"Want to learn?"
"Mm."
"I'll teach you."
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