His hands are groping for Harry's collar. Charlie has every intention of dragging him up to slam him down again. Or pull Harry to where he can land a headbutt, to hell with his own ruined face. He gets so far as hoisting Harry a few inches out of the dirt and grass when the crack of the gun makes him flinch, head jerking away from the sound and his grip loosening on Harry's lapels.

It's the sudden awareness of pain more than it is the threat of the gun or the look on Chloe's face (which he can barely see, vision swimming and eyes watering), but he does pause: rocking back up onto his knees and spitting blood, breathing rattling through his mouth and blood soaking into front of his dress shirt.