From Ashes (3/3)
Username - b00kaddict
Title - From Ashes
Word Count - 16,300 (posted in three parts due to length)
Type - Somewhat angsty fic set on dragon reserve. Warning for character death. Slash.
Rating - PG-ish
Characters/Pairings - past Harry/Charlie, current Charlie/Draco, hints of possible future Harry/Draco
Author’s Note - Thank you for the beta read, phoenixtorte !
Art - Here, by comicsbycate
Part 2
Dinner that night felt wrong.
Draco had gone back to be with Charlie while Harry finished clearing the fire break. When Harry finally dragged himself through the door, sore and tired, dinner was already on the table. Charlie had insisted on breaking out a bottle of wine and toasting Bjartr.
Draco clapped Harry on the back and decreed him the best recruit Charlie had foisted on him yet. Charlie laughed and told stories of Harry’s early days at the Reserve, focusing on the blunders he had made. Everything was friendly and jovial and forced.
A bottle of wine shared between three grown men wasn’t much, but Harry was reeling with exhaustion by the time Draco shoved him out of the kitchen and told him to sit down while he finished cleaning up.
The next thing he knew, Draco was shaking him awake.
Harry tried to sit up, but his body had stiffened up even worse than at lunch. His arms felt like plaster and his legs were locked into place. His neck, bent to the side by his awkward sleeping position, refused to straighten.
“Bad, eh?” Draco asked, reading his expression.
Harry nodded. Even that small motion took effort. He wondered if this was what getting old was like. If so, he wanted no part of it. “Can you help me up?” he pleaded, feeling pathetic.
“Hold on a second,” Draco said. He disappeared, only to return holding a small vial of thick, orange liquid. “Remember I told you I had something that would help?”
Harry eyed it with distaste. “What is it?”
“Muscle relaxant, among other things,” Draco said. “Take it. Trust me. This is the only way you’re going to be functional tomorrow, and I need you functional.”
It didn’t taste too bad-something like overly sweetened pumpkin juice. Within seconds, warmth flowed through Harry’s body. His muscles loosened. “Mmm,” he said. “Tha’s nice.”
“Feel better?” Draco asked.
“Ready f’r work,” Harry assured him. He stood, only to collapse again as his legs refused to stiffen enough to support his weight. This struck him as terribly funny, and he giggled as Draco hauled him to his feet. He hoped it was a manly giggle, but suspected that he sounded like a first-year Hufflepuff girl. That was even funnier, so he laughed some more.
“Bit of a lightweight, aren’t you?” Draco grunted, yanking Harry’s arm over his shoulders and supporting his weight.
“Used t’be lighter,” Harry said. “Got outta shape.” He patted his side.
“Nothing wrong with your shape,” Draco said. He froze, and then continued moving as if nothing had happened. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Harry thought Draco’s shape was quite nice, too, but had the sense not to say it. Who was the lightweight now? He giggled again.
“Honestly, Potter. Get a hold of yourself. You’re an embarrassment.”
Draco half-helped, half-carried Harry into his bedroom. “Y’r nice,” Harry told him as Draco deposited him on the bed. In a moment he was on his back, feeling warm and delightfully relaxed.
“I am not now, and never have been, nice,” Draco said, removing Harry’s shoes. Harry fumbled at his belt with clumsy fingers until Draco removed that, too. He managed to get his own glasses off, but Draco took them from his hand. “You can sleep in your boxers, all right?”
Harry didn’t usually wear even that much, but decided against explaining. He was quite proud of his judgment, given that the last time he had felt this fuzzily drunk had been Ron’s bachelor party.
His jeans and socks were removed. Harry didn’t comment on the propriety of Charlie’s boyfriend undressing him; it wasn’t as if Harry could do it for himself. It also wasn’t as if Charlie had never undressed him. Harry’s brain stalled on that one for a moment, because there was some murky territory there, and by the time it had gotten unstuck, Draco had hauled him up and was removing his sweater and t-shirt.
Harry flopped back onto the pillow. “Thanks, Draco,” he said. “Don’ care wha’ you say. Y’r nice.”
He sensed his mistake before he understood it. He sensed it in the way the room grew quiet and in the way Draco pulled away. “What did you call me?”
“Nice?” Harry tried.
“You said Draco. How long have you known?”
Oops. “Since las’ night. Don’ be mad at Charlie. S’why I’m here,” Harry tried to explain. The room swayed back and forth.
Draco sighed. “You’re off your face, Potter. Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
The last thing he heard was the click of the door.
* * *
All things considered, Harry wasn’t going to be up for another round of the pumpkin-potion anytime soon, but he couldn’t deny that the stuff worked. When he woke up shortly after dawn, he felt great.
Felt great, that is, until he remembered the previous day’s events.
He washed, dressed and brewed coffee without encountering either Charlie or Draco. Charlie’s bedroom door was closed. Draco might be sleeping in, or he might already be out on the Reserve.
Harry wasn’t sure what to do. He could head out and look for another overgrown fire break, maybe, trusting that if Draco had a different job that needed doing, he’d find him and let him know. Or he could look for Aberle and Gill or some of the others and see if they needed help with anything. Or maybe he should wait until Charlie woke up and have a word with him about… well, about Draco, and about his family, and about the fact that he was dying and hadn’t told Harry, and about every other difficult topic that they needed to discuss.
He sipped his coffee. The fire break sounded pretty appealing, compared to The Talk. Or perhaps he could find a Horntail that needed a tonsillectomy.
Hearing muffled coughing from Charlie’s bedroom, he moved to the door. Silence, then more coughing. He was pretty sure he heard Charlie swear, somewhere in there. He knocked softly, then opened the door.
To his relief, Charlie was alone. He was half sitting up in the bed, stifling his coughs with a pillow.
“All right?” Harry asked.
Moving the pillow, Charlie grinned. “Didn’t want to wake you,” he said. “Draco told me you were in rough shape.”
Privately, Harry suspected that a hippogriff could have landed on his bed without waking him last night, but he didn’t elaborate. “Want some water? Or coffee?”
“Coffee!” The gleam in Charlie’s eye told Harry that he probably wasn’t supposed to have it, either in bed or this early in the morning or at all. Harry didn’t care. He brought Charlie a mug of coffee and a glass of water, figuring that way he had the bases covered.
Charlie wore an ancient-looking Weasley jumper and a pair of flannel sleep pants. He also had the covers pulled high. He caught Harry looking. “Can’t seem to get warm these days,” he said.
Harry remembered that sleeping with Charlie had been like sleeping with a furnace. He had sometimes wondered if the man had dragon fire under his skin. The thought of Charlie feeling cold made him sad.
“Where’s Draco?” he asked, after Charlie had fortified himself with a sip of coffee.
“He’s gone down to the main building. They’ve added a bit of a potions lab there, now, in the medical research area, and he’s brewing a potion that I need. He does most of the brewing for the Reserve now,” Charlie said proudly. “He’s very good.”
“I gathered,” Harry said, thinking of the potent orange stuff. “So… you and Draco. How did that happen?”
Charlie glanced at the window. “Slowly. Very slowly. Do you think you could open the curtains? I miss the light.”
Harry did as requested. “How did he end up here in the first place?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Charlie said. “I know some of what he did, those years after the war. Things were… bad. He had money, from his mother’s side, but no access to it in those years. And when he came here, he was disguised. I worked with Marcus for six months before I had any idea who he was. He was on the other side of the Reserve at first, so I didn’t see him that often.”
“How did you find out?”
“He told me.” Charlie coughed again. Wordlessly, Harry took the coffee out of his hand and replaced it with the water. Charlie drank. “Before he moved in. My partner was retiring, and Marcus and I got along, and it seemed to make sense. I liked him, and I was pretty sure he liked me, although it was long time before anything happened.”
“Yeah?” Harry raised an eyebrow. Charlie had many virtues. Patience was not one of them.
Charlie waved a hand suggestively.
Harry laughed.
“You think it’s funny? If anyone had told me I’d go celibate over Draco Malfoy, I’d have said they were barking mad.” He leered at Harry. “Worth the wait, though.”
“Too much information.” It really was. Images that Harry neither wanted nor needed flooded through his brain. Not without effect.
Charlie smirked. Harry knew exactly where he had picked up that expression.
He sat on the end of Charlie’s bed. “What’s going on, Charlie? What am I doing here?”
“You’re helping an old friend,” Charlie said, lying back against the stacked pillows. His freckles stood out in stark contrast to the white of the pillows and the pallour of his skin. “Draco thinks I don’t know what’s going on. I do. That’s why I need you here.” He reached for Harry’s hand.
Harry squeezed Charlie’s hand between his. Charlie’s hands had always been much larger than his; they still were, but some of the strength was gone. “What about your family?”
“You know as well as I do.” Charlie stopped talking for a moment and seemed to catch his breath. Harry wondered if he’d tired him out with the talking. “Mom’d have me in St. Mungo’s before I could blink.” He coughed for a long time. Harry’s eyes watered, watching. “There’s nothing they can do. I want to stay here.”
“They love you,” Harry said. “They have a right to know. I can’t keep this from them.”
“Just a little… longer. Once I know… dragon’ll be all right.” His voice wandered at the end, and his eyes focused somewhere past Harry.
Harry squeezed his hand more tightly, trying to bring him back. “The dragons are fine,” he said. “Are you all right? Do you need your potion?”
Charlie nodded. Harry rushed to the bathroom and rooted through the cupboard until he found the bluish potion that Draco had used the first night. There was very little left.
“Is this the stuff?” he asked.
Charlie nodded again. Harry helped him drain the bottle.
“That’s better,” Charlie said, his colour improving.
“What does it do?”
“Helps me get by with less oxygen, for one,” Charlie said. “Cuts down the coughing. Not sure what else, but it works. Draco… he could be a potions master if he wanted. He’s that good. Except for… well, no one will give him a fair shot, will they?”
Harry didn’t need to be a Ravenclaw to know that there was little chance of a former Death Eater gaining a respected position as a potions master. “You did,” he said.
Charlie met his eyes. “So will you,” he said. “That’s why you’re here.”
“What do you mean?”
“He hasn’t got anyone else, Harry. Just me. And when I’m gone, he’ll have no one.” Charlie looked away. “I don’t want it to be like this. I hate this, I hate that it’s not going to be me… but he’ll need someone.” He coughed again. “I trust you.”
Was Charlie really suggesting that Harry become friends with Draco Malfoy? “He hates me.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Charlie said. “Not anymore.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Harry said. “You can’t make someone responsible for another person.”
Charlie closed his eyes and said nothing.
Harry took a deep breath. He hated to do this to Charlie, but he had no choice. Charlie might want to make this about Draco, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. “One more day,” he said. “You tell them, or I will. You can’t keep this from them, Charlie. It’s not right.”
“I know.”
* * *
There was nothing happening on the Reserve, so far as Harry knew, that was so urgent it couldn’t wait. He flew on his broomstick to the main building.
“Good morning, Beryl,” he said to the administrator who had been there since Harry first arrived, more than ten years ago. Beryl often joked that the keepers kept the dragons in line, but she kept the keepers in line. Nothing happened on the Reserve that she didn’t know about-no relationship, no argument, no discovery. Harry figured that if anyone besides Charlie and Draco knew the details of Charlie’s condition, it would be Beryl.
“Harry! Lovely to see you.” She emerged from behind the desk inch by inch and engulfed him in a hug that was worthy of Molly Weasley. Harry sometimes thought of her as the American version of Molly, only without children of her own. Which might explain why she adopted everyone at the Reserve. “Took you long enough to wander down here.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been busy getting my feet wet.”
“Hmm. Done a bit more than that, if you ask me,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve got our fair-haired boy back, so you obviously figured out who he is,” she said. “But he’s in as foul a temper as I’ve ever seen, so he’s obviously not happy about it.”
“No, I guess he wouldn’t be,” Harry said.
She sniffed. “Serves him right, if you ask me. Stupid plan to begin with. He started off that way here, did you know? Walked around under that glamour, calling himself ‘Marcus’ for six months!”
Knowing Beryl, Harry suspect that she was mostly just irritated that she hadn’t figured out Draco’s secret. “I guess he thought he had reason to hide,” he said.
She eyed him. “No more than you, when you first came.”
But it was different. Harry had been on the winning side of the war. Draco, other than a last-minute change of heart, hadn’t.
“I didn’t come here to talk about Draco,” he said.
“I’m sure you didn’t. But I have a thing or two to tell you about him, so just hold on there a minute.” She leaned against the desk. If Harry knew the signs, she was preparing herself for a full-scale tirade. He braced himself.
“When he first got here, that boy was a mess. Worse than you were. Scared of his own shadow, thin as a stick, and never said a word to anybody. I’d have thought he hadn’t a brain in his head, but Charlie said the boy was a natural with the dragons. It happens like that sometimes. A gift in one thing, to make up for a loss in another, right? But I was wrong. It wasn’t like that at all. That boy’s clever. Clever’n you or I.”
“He’s always been smart,” Harry said.
Beryl punched him on the arm. Hard. “Don’t think I don’t hear it in your voice, that you don’t think much of him. He may not have made the best use of his brains in the past, but that’s the past. He’s worked hard here. His potions have made a big difference. Saves us a lot of money, being able to brew our own, you know.”
Chastened, Harry nodded. He rubbed his arm when he was sure she wasn’t looking.
“Ask anyone on this Reserve, you won’t hear any word but good about that boy. He’s made all the difference in the world to Charlie, you know. Settled him right down, and he needed settling.”
“He hasn’t told his family about Draco. He hasn’t even told them he’s sick,” Harry blurted.
Beryl studied him for a moment. “That’s between him and his family. You and I might not approve of his decision, but it’s his to make.” She took a deep breath. “If he brought Draco home for Christmas dinner, what do you think would happen?”
Harry grimaced, visions of red-headed explosions racing through his brain.
“Exactly.” She softened. “What to do about Charlie, though, that’s another matter. He’s holding on to the life he’s had here, and we’ve let him. By rights, a keeper who can’t work can’t stay at the Reserve, but you know that I’d never kick Charlie Weasley out of his home. I wonder if we’ve done him a disservice, though, letting him keep on pretending like he has.”
“He knows what’s happening,” Harry said.
“Then you have to trust him to do what’s right.” Beryl patted him on the arm where only moments ago, she’d hit him. “He tamed Draco, you know? Tamed him like he would a sickly hatchling needing to be fed. And he feels responsible for him. I think he needs to know that someone’s going to look after Draco when… well, when the ending comes. And like it or not, Harry, I think he’s decided that someone is you.”
It was wrong. It was wrong on every level. Harry and Draco hated each other. And even if childhood grievances were set aside, Charlie couldn’t just… will Draco to Harry, like he was passing along a treasured possession. It didn’t work that way with people.
“This is ridiculous,” Harry said. “It’s a mess.”
Beryl smiled sympathetically. “Life’s messy, dear. I thought you know that by now.” She slid a framed photograph down the counter toward him.
In the picture, Charlie and Draco leaned together against the outside wall of the main building. They were wearing, of all things, Hawiian shirts and floral necklaces. It must have been one of the social events that Beryl insisted on holding every month or two.
Charlie raised his drink to toast whoever was taking the picture, laughing. His other arm rested securely around Draco’s shoulders. Draco’s face, as he looked up at Charlie, took Harry’s breath away. The man in the photograph was gorgeous, and happy, and very much in love. Charlie looked down and caught Draco’s smile, and they kissed.
Harry watched as the photograph replayed its loop. “They were happy together,” he said.
“Still are,” Beryl said. “As much as can be.”
Harry nodded.
* * *
Harry stood outside the potions lab. He and Beryl had talked for a little while after she delivered her opinions on Draco and Charlie. They had talked long enough for her to assure him that Draco and Charlie really had explored all the options. Muggle medicine wouldn’t work on a magical illness, and Draco had sought out experts across the continent.
Harry had his answer. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
He knocked.
A cheerful “fuck off” greeted him from inside.
He pushed open the door. Draco stood at a makeshift potions bench, ladling blue liquid into glass containers. For a moment, Harry thought he was back at Hogwarts. He half expected Snape to stalk across the front of the room.
“How did you know it was me?” he asked.
“No one else would knock.”
Harry took a seat on one of the empty stools by the bench.
“By all means, make yourself at home,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.
Harry took the opportunity to study him. Draco’s hair was longer that it had been, but not long enough for all of it to be pulled back into a ponytail. Chunks of hair hung down at the sides. He had been slight, in his glamour as Marcus-Harry knew it was easier to maintain a glamour that was similar to your own body type-but as Draco, he looked far too thin. Dark circles marked his eyes. The glamour had done as much to disguise his haggard appearance as it had his identity. Draco bore little resemblance to the man in the photograph.
“Is that for Charlie?” Harry asked, nodding at the blue liquid.
“Of course.”
“He took some this morning. It really helped him,” Harry said. “I hear… you’re good at this.”
“Thanks ever so. Your respect for my potions acumen truly means the world,” Draco said. “Especially considering the source. Don’t you need to go blow up some trees or something?”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
Draco shrugged. “It can wait.”
Harry took a deep breath. “He needs to see his family,” he said. “You would, if it were you.”
“My parents are dead.”
“Your parents risked everything to save you.” He saw from Draco’s widened eyes that he had no idea what Harry was talking about. “Your mother lied to Voldemort for me, in the woods, that last day.” There was no need to explain further. Draco would know what he meant. “Do you know why she did that? Because I told her you were alive and inside the castle. She lied to him so she would have the chance to find you.”
Draco tightened the lid on the final container. Harry doubted it would ever come loose again. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “She’s gone.”
“Charlie’s parents aren’t. They mean everything to him, and he to them. I know what your parents did for you, so I know that you come from a family where that means something.” He paused. “The only thing he cares more about than his family is you.”
If Harry hadn’t been watching, he would have missed the tremble in Draco’s hand.
“They’ll take him away,” he said in a small voice. “He doesn’t want to go away.”
“I know,” Harry said. “We won’t let them.”
Draco looked up at the word ‘we’. “Why do you care?”
“I care for Charlie a great deal. I always have. His family is like my family, and when I was here before, we were together. You know that.”
Draco shrugged, looking away. “He always did have terrible taste in men.”
Harry lifted the potion bottle out of Draco’s hand and set it beside the others. “Or maybe he sees things no one else does,” he said. It would be easy to slide his hand over Draco’s. Was that what Charlie wanted from him? Was that what he wanted himself?
No. Not yet. He’d help them both through this, as best he could. That was all.
Draco’s empty hand clenched into a fist on the table. “What are we going to do?” he asked.
“We’re going to talk to Charlie. We’re going to make him tell his family the truth. And we’re going to stand by him,” Harry said. “When the end comes, we’ll make sure he’s with the people who love him.”
* * *
Charles Gideon Weasley, aged 39 years, of the Carpathian Dragon Reserve in Romania, passed away on January 3, 2012 due to complications associated with Dragon Lung.
“Charlie” was born December 12, 1972, in Otter St. Catchpole, Devon, to Arthur and Molly Weasley. Charlie attended the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was sorted into Gryffindor house. Charlie excelled in Care of Magical Creatures and was a Prefect as well as Seeker and Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.
A decorated war hero and member of the Order of the Phoenix during the Second Wizarding War, Charlie fought in the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998.
Charlie will be remembered for his sense of adventure and love of the outdoors. He dedicated his adult life to the study and preservation of dragons in the Carpathian Reserve in Romania. He was always most comfortable in the outdoors.
He will be dearly missed by his partner, Draco Malfoy, his parents, his brothers Bill, Percy, George and Ron, his sister Ginny, his unofficial brother Harry Potter, sisters-in-law Fleur, Audrey, Angelina and Hermione, nephews Louis, Fred and Hugo, and nieces Victoire, Dominique, Rose, Roxanne, Molly and Lucy. He is predeceased by his brother, Fred. A private service will be held by the family. Donations in his memory are being accepted at the Carpathian Dragon Reserve, and can be arranged through Gringotts Bank.
His family takes comfort in knowing that his final years were happy ones.
* * *
Harry probably should not have been as surprised as he was that, once the initial shock was over, the Weasleys adopted Draco as one of their own. After the funeral it was George who waited with Draco, hanging quietly back until he was ready to leave the fresh-dug grave in the Weasley plot.
Harry lingered, too, until Angelina took him by the arm. “Leave them,” she said. “They’ll be all right. George… well, he knows what it’s like, losing your other half.” She fixed him with one of her patented stares, and for a strange, disconnected moment, he expected a tongue-lashing for being slow to catch the Snitch. “He’ll move on, but it’ll take a long time. You have to be prepared to wait a long time.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry said.
She smiled, a private half-smile that unsettled him. “Well, when you figure it out, remember what I said.”
“Er, right,” Harry said. “Thanks.” Then he wandered, unable to linger by the grave with Draco, unwilling to face the crowd at the Burrow.
It was Ron who found him, sitting in the back garden as the sun set. “Rough day,” Ron said.
Harry nodded and accepted the glass of firewhisky that Ron passed him.
“To Charlie,” Ron said.
“To Charlie.” The firewhisky burned going down.
There was silence for a moment. “I suppose Fred’ll watch out for him,” Ron said finally.
George, Harry mentally corrected, before he realized what Ron meant. “They’re probably already planning some kind of mischief,” he said.
“Yeah.” Ron sipped his drink. “Look, about before…”
“Forget it. You and Hermione were right. I was… I’m not sure. The Auror thing, it wasn’t good for me. But I shouldn’t have shut you out.”
Ron studied him. “You found something that is. Good for you, I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
Ron shrugged. “You look like you again, that’s all. Think you’ll stay at the Reserve?”
“I dunno.” Harry swirled the whisky in his glass, watching it cling to the sides. “I guess, until they find someone more permanent. To replace…”
“Yeah.”
A slim, pale figure appeared at the edge of the garden.
“Excuse me,” Harry said. He barely noticed walking past George. “Hey,” he said, when he reached Draco.
Draco nodded, hands in his pockets.
Harry offered his half-finished drink. Draco shook his head. “No. I don’t want-that’s it, isn’t it? It’s over.” He seemed tense, ready to bolt.
“The funeral?”
Draco’s short bark of a laugh shattered the quiet. “That too.” He rubbed the heel of his hand across his forehead. “I want to go home. Can we go home?”
“Everything all right?” Ron asked from across the garden.
“Fine,” Harry said. He put his hands on Draco’s shoulders to calm him. Draco trembled. It was as if Harry held a bird trapped between his hands. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Draco stared at him.
“No, I didn’t mean that. I just meant… tell me what you need.”
“I need to go home.”
“Are you sure?” Harry’s mind raced through the details-the impossibility of getting International Portkeys at this short notice, the strain of Apparating to the Reserve. He wasn’t sure Draco was up to it.
“Please, Harry. I need… please.”
In the end it was George who made the call to the Ministry. Harry suspected that there was some name-dropping involved, but he didn’t question it. Molly, who had wanted all her ducklings under her roof for the night, cried, but agreed to let them go.
By the time they finally arrived at the Reserve, Draco was staggering from exhaustion. Harry Apparated them both to the hut. Charlie’s hut.
“All right?” he asked.
Draco nodded.
Harry opened the door. The hut was the way they had left it, the couch made up as Harry’s bed. Molly and Arthur had shared Harry’s room, during Charlie’s last weeks. The kitchen was spotless, of course, thanks to Molly’s handiwork. Dust hadn’t dared to encroach in the few days they had been gone.
But it felt cold.
“Do you want a fire?” Harry asked.
Draco, drifting through the hut, didn’t seem to notice, so Harry set about lighting the fire for warmth and light and distraction.
Draco lingered outside the bedroom he had shared with Charlie, but didn’t go inside. It unnerved Harry.
“Come sit down,” Harry said finally, clearing a space on the couch.
Draco sat beside him. For long moments he stared at the fire, seemingly mesmerized by the flames. “I thought it would help, coming back here,” he said. “It hasn’t.”
Harry waited.
“I’m tired,” Draco said.
“Sleep, then.”
Draco shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t even go into our room. Our… his bed.”
Harry understood. He wasn’t eager to face Charlie’s room, either, and it wasn’t even remotely the same thing. “You can use my room,” he said. “I’m used to the couch anyhow. And I have some Dreamless Sleep if you need it.” He wasn’t sure about the wisdom of offering the potion, but anything that helped Draco get through this first night had to be all right.
“Still?” A smile briefly haunted Draco’s face. Harry remembered the night Draco had cornered him, as Marcus, and tricked him into revealing more than he had wanted to. That was months ago, now. Truthfully, Harry’s stash shouldn’t have lasted as long as it had. It wouldn’t have, at home. Things were different here. “No, thanks. I don’t think… could we just stay here? With the fire?” Draco asked.
“Of course,” Harry said. He had half expected that. What he hadn’t expected was the sudden, warm weight of Draco against him.
“I’m not pretending,” Draco said. “It doesn’t mean that. I just don’t want to be alone.” He gripped Harry’s jumper.
“All right,” Harry said, stunned. After a moment’s hesitation, he threaded his arm around Draco’s shoulders. The tension was still there, but it eased slightly with each breath.
“You won’t leave, will you?”
“No.”
Harry held Draco as his breathing deepened into sleep and his grip on Harry’s jumper relaxed. The fire warmed them and cast a glow on the room. Harry didn’t move except to shift them both into a more comfortable position.
It was just for one night, he knew. In the morning, they’d make what they could of their lives. They’d move back into their own bedrooms and share meals, share a job, share the memory of Charlie Weasley. And maybe one day, long after that, they might come back to where they were now. Harry suspected that had been Charlie’s plan all along. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, the manipulation, but it was too late to change things. He wasn’t sure he’d want to, even if he could.
Harry watched the fire dwindle to ashes. In the morning, he’d see what arose.
-end-
Title - From Ashes
Word Count - 16,300 (posted in three parts due to length)
Type - Somewhat angsty fic set on dragon reserve. Warning for character death. Slash.
Rating - PG-ish
Characters/Pairings - past Harry/Charlie, current Charlie/Draco, hints of possible future Harry/Draco
Author’s Note - Thank you for the beta read, phoenixtorte !
Art - Here, by comicsbycate
Part 2
Dinner that night felt wrong.
Draco had gone back to be with Charlie while Harry finished clearing the fire break. When Harry finally dragged himself through the door, sore and tired, dinner was already on the table. Charlie had insisted on breaking out a bottle of wine and toasting Bjartr.
Draco clapped Harry on the back and decreed him the best recruit Charlie had foisted on him yet. Charlie laughed and told stories of Harry’s early days at the Reserve, focusing on the blunders he had made. Everything was friendly and jovial and forced.
A bottle of wine shared between three grown men wasn’t much, but Harry was reeling with exhaustion by the time Draco shoved him out of the kitchen and told him to sit down while he finished cleaning up.
The next thing he knew, Draco was shaking him awake.
Harry tried to sit up, but his body had stiffened up even worse than at lunch. His arms felt like plaster and his legs were locked into place. His neck, bent to the side by his awkward sleeping position, refused to straighten.
“Bad, eh?” Draco asked, reading his expression.
Harry nodded. Even that small motion took effort. He wondered if this was what getting old was like. If so, he wanted no part of it. “Can you help me up?” he pleaded, feeling pathetic.
“Hold on a second,” Draco said. He disappeared, only to return holding a small vial of thick, orange liquid. “Remember I told you I had something that would help?”
Harry eyed it with distaste. “What is it?”
“Muscle relaxant, among other things,” Draco said. “Take it. Trust me. This is the only way you’re going to be functional tomorrow, and I need you functional.”
It didn’t taste too bad-something like overly sweetened pumpkin juice. Within seconds, warmth flowed through Harry’s body. His muscles loosened. “Mmm,” he said. “Tha’s nice.”
“Feel better?” Draco asked.
“Ready f’r work,” Harry assured him. He stood, only to collapse again as his legs refused to stiffen enough to support his weight. This struck him as terribly funny, and he giggled as Draco hauled him to his feet. He hoped it was a manly giggle, but suspected that he sounded like a first-year Hufflepuff girl. That was even funnier, so he laughed some more.
“Bit of a lightweight, aren’t you?” Draco grunted, yanking Harry’s arm over his shoulders and supporting his weight.
“Used t’be lighter,” Harry said. “Got outta shape.” He patted his side.
“Nothing wrong with your shape,” Draco said. He froze, and then continued moving as if nothing had happened. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Harry thought Draco’s shape was quite nice, too, but had the sense not to say it. Who was the lightweight now? He giggled again.
“Honestly, Potter. Get a hold of yourself. You’re an embarrassment.”
Draco half-helped, half-carried Harry into his bedroom. “Y’r nice,” Harry told him as Draco deposited him on the bed. In a moment he was on his back, feeling warm and delightfully relaxed.
“I am not now, and never have been, nice,” Draco said, removing Harry’s shoes. Harry fumbled at his belt with clumsy fingers until Draco removed that, too. He managed to get his own glasses off, but Draco took them from his hand. “You can sleep in your boxers, all right?”
Harry didn’t usually wear even that much, but decided against explaining. He was quite proud of his judgment, given that the last time he had felt this fuzzily drunk had been Ron’s bachelor party.
His jeans and socks were removed. Harry didn’t comment on the propriety of Charlie’s boyfriend undressing him; it wasn’t as if Harry could do it for himself. It also wasn’t as if Charlie had never undressed him. Harry’s brain stalled on that one for a moment, because there was some murky territory there, and by the time it had gotten unstuck, Draco had hauled him up and was removing his sweater and t-shirt.
Harry flopped back onto the pillow. “Thanks, Draco,” he said. “Don’ care wha’ you say. Y’r nice.”
He sensed his mistake before he understood it. He sensed it in the way the room grew quiet and in the way Draco pulled away. “What did you call me?”
“Nice?” Harry tried.
“You said Draco. How long have you known?”
Oops. “Since las’ night. Don’ be mad at Charlie. S’why I’m here,” Harry tried to explain. The room swayed back and forth.
Draco sighed. “You’re off your face, Potter. Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
The last thing he heard was the click of the door.
* * *
All things considered, Harry wasn’t going to be up for another round of the pumpkin-potion anytime soon, but he couldn’t deny that the stuff worked. When he woke up shortly after dawn, he felt great.
Felt great, that is, until he remembered the previous day’s events.
He washed, dressed and brewed coffee without encountering either Charlie or Draco. Charlie’s bedroom door was closed. Draco might be sleeping in, or he might already be out on the Reserve.
Harry wasn’t sure what to do. He could head out and look for another overgrown fire break, maybe, trusting that if Draco had a different job that needed doing, he’d find him and let him know. Or he could look for Aberle and Gill or some of the others and see if they needed help with anything. Or maybe he should wait until Charlie woke up and have a word with him about… well, about Draco, and about his family, and about the fact that he was dying and hadn’t told Harry, and about every other difficult topic that they needed to discuss.
He sipped his coffee. The fire break sounded pretty appealing, compared to The Talk. Or perhaps he could find a Horntail that needed a tonsillectomy.
Hearing muffled coughing from Charlie’s bedroom, he moved to the door. Silence, then more coughing. He was pretty sure he heard Charlie swear, somewhere in there. He knocked softly, then opened the door.
To his relief, Charlie was alone. He was half sitting up in the bed, stifling his coughs with a pillow.
“All right?” Harry asked.
Moving the pillow, Charlie grinned. “Didn’t want to wake you,” he said. “Draco told me you were in rough shape.”
Privately, Harry suspected that a hippogriff could have landed on his bed without waking him last night, but he didn’t elaborate. “Want some water? Or coffee?”
“Coffee!” The gleam in Charlie’s eye told Harry that he probably wasn’t supposed to have it, either in bed or this early in the morning or at all. Harry didn’t care. He brought Charlie a mug of coffee and a glass of water, figuring that way he had the bases covered.
Charlie wore an ancient-looking Weasley jumper and a pair of flannel sleep pants. He also had the covers pulled high. He caught Harry looking. “Can’t seem to get warm these days,” he said.
Harry remembered that sleeping with Charlie had been like sleeping with a furnace. He had sometimes wondered if the man had dragon fire under his skin. The thought of Charlie feeling cold made him sad.
“Where’s Draco?” he asked, after Charlie had fortified himself with a sip of coffee.
“He’s gone down to the main building. They’ve added a bit of a potions lab there, now, in the medical research area, and he’s brewing a potion that I need. He does most of the brewing for the Reserve now,” Charlie said proudly. “He’s very good.”
“I gathered,” Harry said, thinking of the potent orange stuff. “So… you and Draco. How did that happen?”
Charlie glanced at the window. “Slowly. Very slowly. Do you think you could open the curtains? I miss the light.”
Harry did as requested. “How did he end up here in the first place?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Charlie said. “I know some of what he did, those years after the war. Things were… bad. He had money, from his mother’s side, but no access to it in those years. And when he came here, he was disguised. I worked with Marcus for six months before I had any idea who he was. He was on the other side of the Reserve at first, so I didn’t see him that often.”
“How did you find out?”
“He told me.” Charlie coughed again. Wordlessly, Harry took the coffee out of his hand and replaced it with the water. Charlie drank. “Before he moved in. My partner was retiring, and Marcus and I got along, and it seemed to make sense. I liked him, and I was pretty sure he liked me, although it was long time before anything happened.”
“Yeah?” Harry raised an eyebrow. Charlie had many virtues. Patience was not one of them.
Charlie waved a hand suggestively.
Harry laughed.
“You think it’s funny? If anyone had told me I’d go celibate over Draco Malfoy, I’d have said they were barking mad.” He leered at Harry. “Worth the wait, though.”
“Too much information.” It really was. Images that Harry neither wanted nor needed flooded through his brain. Not without effect.
Charlie smirked. Harry knew exactly where he had picked up that expression.
He sat on the end of Charlie’s bed. “What’s going on, Charlie? What am I doing here?”
“You’re helping an old friend,” Charlie said, lying back against the stacked pillows. His freckles stood out in stark contrast to the white of the pillows and the pallour of his skin. “Draco thinks I don’t know what’s going on. I do. That’s why I need you here.” He reached for Harry’s hand.
Harry squeezed Charlie’s hand between his. Charlie’s hands had always been much larger than his; they still were, but some of the strength was gone. “What about your family?”
“You know as well as I do.” Charlie stopped talking for a moment and seemed to catch his breath. Harry wondered if he’d tired him out with the talking. “Mom’d have me in St. Mungo’s before I could blink.” He coughed for a long time. Harry’s eyes watered, watching. “There’s nothing they can do. I want to stay here.”
“They love you,” Harry said. “They have a right to know. I can’t keep this from them.”
“Just a little… longer. Once I know… dragon’ll be all right.” His voice wandered at the end, and his eyes focused somewhere past Harry.
Harry squeezed his hand more tightly, trying to bring him back. “The dragons are fine,” he said. “Are you all right? Do you need your potion?”
Charlie nodded. Harry rushed to the bathroom and rooted through the cupboard until he found the bluish potion that Draco had used the first night. There was very little left.
“Is this the stuff?” he asked.
Charlie nodded again. Harry helped him drain the bottle.
“That’s better,” Charlie said, his colour improving.
“What does it do?”
“Helps me get by with less oxygen, for one,” Charlie said. “Cuts down the coughing. Not sure what else, but it works. Draco… he could be a potions master if he wanted. He’s that good. Except for… well, no one will give him a fair shot, will they?”
Harry didn’t need to be a Ravenclaw to know that there was little chance of a former Death Eater gaining a respected position as a potions master. “You did,” he said.
Charlie met his eyes. “So will you,” he said. “That’s why you’re here.”
“What do you mean?”
“He hasn’t got anyone else, Harry. Just me. And when I’m gone, he’ll have no one.” Charlie looked away. “I don’t want it to be like this. I hate this, I hate that it’s not going to be me… but he’ll need someone.” He coughed again. “I trust you.”
Was Charlie really suggesting that Harry become friends with Draco Malfoy? “He hates me.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Charlie said. “Not anymore.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Harry said. “You can’t make someone responsible for another person.”
Charlie closed his eyes and said nothing.
Harry took a deep breath. He hated to do this to Charlie, but he had no choice. Charlie might want to make this about Draco, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. “One more day,” he said. “You tell them, or I will. You can’t keep this from them, Charlie. It’s not right.”
“I know.”
* * *
There was nothing happening on the Reserve, so far as Harry knew, that was so urgent it couldn’t wait. He flew on his broomstick to the main building.
“Good morning, Beryl,” he said to the administrator who had been there since Harry first arrived, more than ten years ago. Beryl often joked that the keepers kept the dragons in line, but she kept the keepers in line. Nothing happened on the Reserve that she didn’t know about-no relationship, no argument, no discovery. Harry figured that if anyone besides Charlie and Draco knew the details of Charlie’s condition, it would be Beryl.
“Harry! Lovely to see you.” She emerged from behind the desk inch by inch and engulfed him in a hug that was worthy of Molly Weasley. Harry sometimes thought of her as the American version of Molly, only without children of her own. Which might explain why she adopted everyone at the Reserve. “Took you long enough to wander down here.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been busy getting my feet wet.”
“Hmm. Done a bit more than that, if you ask me,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve got our fair-haired boy back, so you obviously figured out who he is,” she said. “But he’s in as foul a temper as I’ve ever seen, so he’s obviously not happy about it.”
“No, I guess he wouldn’t be,” Harry said.
She sniffed. “Serves him right, if you ask me. Stupid plan to begin with. He started off that way here, did you know? Walked around under that glamour, calling himself ‘Marcus’ for six months!”
Knowing Beryl, Harry suspect that she was mostly just irritated that she hadn’t figured out Draco’s secret. “I guess he thought he had reason to hide,” he said.
She eyed him. “No more than you, when you first came.”
But it was different. Harry had been on the winning side of the war. Draco, other than a last-minute change of heart, hadn’t.
“I didn’t come here to talk about Draco,” he said.
“I’m sure you didn’t. But I have a thing or two to tell you about him, so just hold on there a minute.” She leaned against the desk. If Harry knew the signs, she was preparing herself for a full-scale tirade. He braced himself.
“When he first got here, that boy was a mess. Worse than you were. Scared of his own shadow, thin as a stick, and never said a word to anybody. I’d have thought he hadn’t a brain in his head, but Charlie said the boy was a natural with the dragons. It happens like that sometimes. A gift in one thing, to make up for a loss in another, right? But I was wrong. It wasn’t like that at all. That boy’s clever. Clever’n you or I.”
“He’s always been smart,” Harry said.
Beryl punched him on the arm. Hard. “Don’t think I don’t hear it in your voice, that you don’t think much of him. He may not have made the best use of his brains in the past, but that’s the past. He’s worked hard here. His potions have made a big difference. Saves us a lot of money, being able to brew our own, you know.”
Chastened, Harry nodded. He rubbed his arm when he was sure she wasn’t looking.
“Ask anyone on this Reserve, you won’t hear any word but good about that boy. He’s made all the difference in the world to Charlie, you know. Settled him right down, and he needed settling.”
“He hasn’t told his family about Draco. He hasn’t even told them he’s sick,” Harry blurted.
Beryl studied him for a moment. “That’s between him and his family. You and I might not approve of his decision, but it’s his to make.” She took a deep breath. “If he brought Draco home for Christmas dinner, what do you think would happen?”
Harry grimaced, visions of red-headed explosions racing through his brain.
“Exactly.” She softened. “What to do about Charlie, though, that’s another matter. He’s holding on to the life he’s had here, and we’ve let him. By rights, a keeper who can’t work can’t stay at the Reserve, but you know that I’d never kick Charlie Weasley out of his home. I wonder if we’ve done him a disservice, though, letting him keep on pretending like he has.”
“He knows what’s happening,” Harry said.
“Then you have to trust him to do what’s right.” Beryl patted him on the arm where only moments ago, she’d hit him. “He tamed Draco, you know? Tamed him like he would a sickly hatchling needing to be fed. And he feels responsible for him. I think he needs to know that someone’s going to look after Draco when… well, when the ending comes. And like it or not, Harry, I think he’s decided that someone is you.”
It was wrong. It was wrong on every level. Harry and Draco hated each other. And even if childhood grievances were set aside, Charlie couldn’t just… will Draco to Harry, like he was passing along a treasured possession. It didn’t work that way with people.
“This is ridiculous,” Harry said. “It’s a mess.”
Beryl smiled sympathetically. “Life’s messy, dear. I thought you know that by now.” She slid a framed photograph down the counter toward him.
In the picture, Charlie and Draco leaned together against the outside wall of the main building. They were wearing, of all things, Hawiian shirts and floral necklaces. It must have been one of the social events that Beryl insisted on holding every month or two.
Charlie raised his drink to toast whoever was taking the picture, laughing. His other arm rested securely around Draco’s shoulders. Draco’s face, as he looked up at Charlie, took Harry’s breath away. The man in the photograph was gorgeous, and happy, and very much in love. Charlie looked down and caught Draco’s smile, and they kissed.
Harry watched as the photograph replayed its loop. “They were happy together,” he said.
“Still are,” Beryl said. “As much as can be.”
Harry nodded.
* * *
Harry stood outside the potions lab. He and Beryl had talked for a little while after she delivered her opinions on Draco and Charlie. They had talked long enough for her to assure him that Draco and Charlie really had explored all the options. Muggle medicine wouldn’t work on a magical illness, and Draco had sought out experts across the continent.
Harry had his answer. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
He knocked.
A cheerful “fuck off” greeted him from inside.
He pushed open the door. Draco stood at a makeshift potions bench, ladling blue liquid into glass containers. For a moment, Harry thought he was back at Hogwarts. He half expected Snape to stalk across the front of the room.
“How did you know it was me?” he asked.
“No one else would knock.”
Harry took a seat on one of the empty stools by the bench.
“By all means, make yourself at home,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.
Harry took the opportunity to study him. Draco’s hair was longer that it had been, but not long enough for all of it to be pulled back into a ponytail. Chunks of hair hung down at the sides. He had been slight, in his glamour as Marcus-Harry knew it was easier to maintain a glamour that was similar to your own body type-but as Draco, he looked far too thin. Dark circles marked his eyes. The glamour had done as much to disguise his haggard appearance as it had his identity. Draco bore little resemblance to the man in the photograph.
“Is that for Charlie?” Harry asked, nodding at the blue liquid.
“Of course.”
“He took some this morning. It really helped him,” Harry said. “I hear… you’re good at this.”
“Thanks ever so. Your respect for my potions acumen truly means the world,” Draco said. “Especially considering the source. Don’t you need to go blow up some trees or something?”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
Draco shrugged. “It can wait.”
Harry took a deep breath. “He needs to see his family,” he said. “You would, if it were you.”
“My parents are dead.”
“Your parents risked everything to save you.” He saw from Draco’s widened eyes that he had no idea what Harry was talking about. “Your mother lied to Voldemort for me, in the woods, that last day.” There was no need to explain further. Draco would know what he meant. “Do you know why she did that? Because I told her you were alive and inside the castle. She lied to him so she would have the chance to find you.”
Draco tightened the lid on the final container. Harry doubted it would ever come loose again. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “She’s gone.”
“Charlie’s parents aren’t. They mean everything to him, and he to them. I know what your parents did for you, so I know that you come from a family where that means something.” He paused. “The only thing he cares more about than his family is you.”
If Harry hadn’t been watching, he would have missed the tremble in Draco’s hand.
“They’ll take him away,” he said in a small voice. “He doesn’t want to go away.”
“I know,” Harry said. “We won’t let them.”
Draco looked up at the word ‘we’. “Why do you care?”
“I care for Charlie a great deal. I always have. His family is like my family, and when I was here before, we were together. You know that.”
Draco shrugged, looking away. “He always did have terrible taste in men.”
Harry lifted the potion bottle out of Draco’s hand and set it beside the others. “Or maybe he sees things no one else does,” he said. It would be easy to slide his hand over Draco’s. Was that what Charlie wanted from him? Was that what he wanted himself?
No. Not yet. He’d help them both through this, as best he could. That was all.
Draco’s empty hand clenched into a fist on the table. “What are we going to do?” he asked.
“We’re going to talk to Charlie. We’re going to make him tell his family the truth. And we’re going to stand by him,” Harry said. “When the end comes, we’ll make sure he’s with the people who love him.”
* * *
Charles Gideon Weasley, aged 39 years, of the Carpathian Dragon Reserve in Romania, passed away on January 3, 2012 due to complications associated with Dragon Lung.
“Charlie” was born December 12, 1972, in Otter St. Catchpole, Devon, to Arthur and Molly Weasley. Charlie attended the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was sorted into Gryffindor house. Charlie excelled in Care of Magical Creatures and was a Prefect as well as Seeker and Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.
A decorated war hero and member of the Order of the Phoenix during the Second Wizarding War, Charlie fought in the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998.
Charlie will be remembered for his sense of adventure and love of the outdoors. He dedicated his adult life to the study and preservation of dragons in the Carpathian Reserve in Romania. He was always most comfortable in the outdoors.
He will be dearly missed by his partner, Draco Malfoy, his parents, his brothers Bill, Percy, George and Ron, his sister Ginny, his unofficial brother Harry Potter, sisters-in-law Fleur, Audrey, Angelina and Hermione, nephews Louis, Fred and Hugo, and nieces Victoire, Dominique, Rose, Roxanne, Molly and Lucy. He is predeceased by his brother, Fred. A private service will be held by the family. Donations in his memory are being accepted at the Carpathian Dragon Reserve, and can be arranged through Gringotts Bank.
His family takes comfort in knowing that his final years were happy ones.
* * *
Harry probably should not have been as surprised as he was that, once the initial shock was over, the Weasleys adopted Draco as one of their own. After the funeral it was George who waited with Draco, hanging quietly back until he was ready to leave the fresh-dug grave in the Weasley plot.
Harry lingered, too, until Angelina took him by the arm. “Leave them,” she said. “They’ll be all right. George… well, he knows what it’s like, losing your other half.” She fixed him with one of her patented stares, and for a strange, disconnected moment, he expected a tongue-lashing for being slow to catch the Snitch. “He’ll move on, but it’ll take a long time. You have to be prepared to wait a long time.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry said.
She smiled, a private half-smile that unsettled him. “Well, when you figure it out, remember what I said.”
“Er, right,” Harry said. “Thanks.” Then he wandered, unable to linger by the grave with Draco, unwilling to face the crowd at the Burrow.
It was Ron who found him, sitting in the back garden as the sun set. “Rough day,” Ron said.
Harry nodded and accepted the glass of firewhisky that Ron passed him.
“To Charlie,” Ron said.
“To Charlie.” The firewhisky burned going down.
There was silence for a moment. “I suppose Fred’ll watch out for him,” Ron said finally.
George, Harry mentally corrected, before he realized what Ron meant. “They’re probably already planning some kind of mischief,” he said.
“Yeah.” Ron sipped his drink. “Look, about before…”
“Forget it. You and Hermione were right. I was… I’m not sure. The Auror thing, it wasn’t good for me. But I shouldn’t have shut you out.”
Ron studied him. “You found something that is. Good for you, I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
Ron shrugged. “You look like you again, that’s all. Think you’ll stay at the Reserve?”
“I dunno.” Harry swirled the whisky in his glass, watching it cling to the sides. “I guess, until they find someone more permanent. To replace…”
“Yeah.”
A slim, pale figure appeared at the edge of the garden.
“Excuse me,” Harry said. He barely noticed walking past George. “Hey,” he said, when he reached Draco.
Draco nodded, hands in his pockets.
Harry offered his half-finished drink. Draco shook his head. “No. I don’t want-that’s it, isn’t it? It’s over.” He seemed tense, ready to bolt.
“The funeral?”
Draco’s short bark of a laugh shattered the quiet. “That too.” He rubbed the heel of his hand across his forehead. “I want to go home. Can we go home?”
“Everything all right?” Ron asked from across the garden.
“Fine,” Harry said. He put his hands on Draco’s shoulders to calm him. Draco trembled. It was as if Harry held a bird trapped between his hands. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Draco stared at him.
“No, I didn’t mean that. I just meant… tell me what you need.”
“I need to go home.”
“Are you sure?” Harry’s mind raced through the details-the impossibility of getting International Portkeys at this short notice, the strain of Apparating to the Reserve. He wasn’t sure Draco was up to it.
“Please, Harry. I need… please.”
In the end it was George who made the call to the Ministry. Harry suspected that there was some name-dropping involved, but he didn’t question it. Molly, who had wanted all her ducklings under her roof for the night, cried, but agreed to let them go.
By the time they finally arrived at the Reserve, Draco was staggering from exhaustion. Harry Apparated them both to the hut. Charlie’s hut.
“All right?” he asked.
Draco nodded.
Harry opened the door. The hut was the way they had left it, the couch made up as Harry’s bed. Molly and Arthur had shared Harry’s room, during Charlie’s last weeks. The kitchen was spotless, of course, thanks to Molly’s handiwork. Dust hadn’t dared to encroach in the few days they had been gone.
But it felt cold.
“Do you want a fire?” Harry asked.
Draco, drifting through the hut, didn’t seem to notice, so Harry set about lighting the fire for warmth and light and distraction.
Draco lingered outside the bedroom he had shared with Charlie, but didn’t go inside. It unnerved Harry.
“Come sit down,” Harry said finally, clearing a space on the couch.
Draco sat beside him. For long moments he stared at the fire, seemingly mesmerized by the flames. “I thought it would help, coming back here,” he said. “It hasn’t.”
Harry waited.
“I’m tired,” Draco said.
“Sleep, then.”
Draco shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t even go into our room. Our… his bed.”
Harry understood. He wasn’t eager to face Charlie’s room, either, and it wasn’t even remotely the same thing. “You can use my room,” he said. “I’m used to the couch anyhow. And I have some Dreamless Sleep if you need it.” He wasn’t sure about the wisdom of offering the potion, but anything that helped Draco get through this first night had to be all right.
“Still?” A smile briefly haunted Draco’s face. Harry remembered the night Draco had cornered him, as Marcus, and tricked him into revealing more than he had wanted to. That was months ago, now. Truthfully, Harry’s stash shouldn’t have lasted as long as it had. It wouldn’t have, at home. Things were different here. “No, thanks. I don’t think… could we just stay here? With the fire?” Draco asked.
“Of course,” Harry said. He had half expected that. What he hadn’t expected was the sudden, warm weight of Draco against him.
“I’m not pretending,” Draco said. “It doesn’t mean that. I just don’t want to be alone.” He gripped Harry’s jumper.
“All right,” Harry said, stunned. After a moment’s hesitation, he threaded his arm around Draco’s shoulders. The tension was still there, but it eased slightly with each breath.
“You won’t leave, will you?”
“No.”
Harry held Draco as his breathing deepened into sleep and his grip on Harry’s jumper relaxed. The fire warmed them and cast a glow on the room. Harry didn’t move except to shift them both into a more comfortable position.
It was just for one night, he knew. In the morning, they’d make what they could of their lives. They’d move back into their own bedrooms and share meals, share a job, share the memory of Charlie Weasley. And maybe one day, long after that, they might come back to where they were now. Harry suspected that had been Charlie’s plan all along. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, the manipulation, but it was too late to change things. He wasn’t sure he’d want to, even if he could.
Harry watched the fire dwindle to ashes. In the morning, he’d see what arose.
-end-