Charlie Weasley Smokes Four Cigarettes and Crushes One (R) for grayglube
Title: Charlie Weasley Smokes Four Cigarettes and Crushes One
Author: potterhead37 (pinch-hitter)
Recipient: grayglube
Rating: R
Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Nymphadora Tonks
Summary: Charlie develops a nasty habit.
Disclaimer: There is no profit from this work; JKR owns everything Potter-related.
Author Notes: This was a new thing for me, and I have to say I liked doing it!
Charlie Weasley Smokes Four Cigarettes and Crushes One
1)
He isn’t sure exactly why he wants to try it so badly, but he does. Earlier, he bought a pack in Hogsmeade, and he is now hidden in a nook of the castle walls with a slim cigarette cradled in his fingers.
He inhales and chokes immediately.
Undeterred, he takes a smaller second pull. His mum would kill him if she knew, but when does that ever stop a determined 15-year-old? He makes it through several small puffs, and waits a bit to let his raw throat heal before inhaling again. He’s mildly disappointed with the experience, as he has wanted to feel fire coursing throughout his veins and to command the smoke he exhales.
“That’s a nasty habit.”
He looks over quickly to where the voice is coming from, scared he’s been caught by a professor (which would be nearly as bad as his mum!), and sees that Hufflepuff girl who is always changing her hair. Turks? Torks?
“Mind your own bleeding business.” He defiantly takes a deep pull off the butt, wills his lungs not to cough it out, and blows it in a steady stream into her face before walking away.
2)
“You’re pretty when I’m drunk.” He isn’t sure why he’s flirting with Tonks (they’re just barely friends) but it feels all right-good even.
She giggles, tipping over towards the ground, her blue hair falling into his mouth as he catches her.
“You’re pretty all the time Charlie.” She looks up at him, violet eyes wide and bloodshot. A little nervous now that she’s flirting back, he sets her on her feet and backs up, pulling a pack out of his pocket and quickly lighting a cigarette with the tip of his wand. She wrinkles her nose. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“You’re one to talk. You shouldn’t drink late at night in back of the Quidditch pitch.”
“You’re drinking too,” she snorts, and then stares at him. “You flew well today.” He stares back and takes another drag. “You looked more like some large flying animal than a bloke on a broom.”
“Like a dragon?”
“I suppose.”
“Wicked.”
“You like dragons?”
“Who doesn’t?” He blows a few smoke rings as he stares at her. “You should make your hair green.” She immediately scrunches up her face and her hair changes to match the grass they’re standing on. “Not that color green-green like a Welsh Green.”
“You want me to look like a dragon?”
He smiles mischievously. “I really like dragons.”
She scrunches up her face again, and in seconds her hair is the deep green of dragon hide. He throws his cigarette butt into the grass and snogs her.
3)
“Why don’t you ever ask me to Hogsmeade?”
“What?”
“You’ve never asked me to Hogsmeade. Why not?”
He slides his hand over her naked belly. “What does it matter?”
She leans up on one arm. “What does it matter? We’ve been shagging for nearly a year now. It would be nice to have a proper date.”
“We don’t need a proper date. We have everything we need right here.”
“Oh right, transfiguring desks into a bed in an empty classroom is really romantic.”
He does not like where this conversation is heading. Reaching down into the pocket of his discarded robes, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it.
She waves a hand in front of her face. “Do you have to do that in a closed room? It smells.” He shrugs and takes another drag, exhaling in a long, thin stream. “And what if you get caught?”
“If I get caught, I’m already in trouble for us being here naked, remember?”
“As if I could forget. And you’re avoiding my question. Why don’t you ever take me anywhere?”
“I dunno Tonks. Just drop it.” She huffs, sits up, and begins putting on her robes. He keeps smoking.
“I bet if I were a Chinese Fireball you’d take me anywhere I want to go,” she mutters.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I didn’t say a thing.”
4)
“Romania?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t want to look at her, but can’t stop himself. Her shoulders droop as she starts to bite her nails. Her eyes, brown, are wide and sad, and as much as he hates when she’s sad or sulky, it somehow feels good to see it. He reaches out and runs his fingers through her hair, then pulls her to him.
They stand, embracing, in silence, for some time. She backs away and turns to look out the tower window over the pitch. “What about Quidditch?” Her voice is small. “Everyone says you could play pro.”
He leans against the wall on the other side of the room and lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply. “I know.”
“And then you wouldn’t be so far away.”
He takes another slow drag, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah.”
She stares out the window while he finishes his cigarette, and he contemplates lighting another.
“But you couldn’t be happy here, could you?”
“Nymph…”
“It’s okay. I know you Charlie.” She turns to face him. “When?”
“Two days after we get home.”
“That’s less than a week from now.”
“I know.”
“I won’t see you again, will I?”
“I’ll be back to visit sometimes, I’m sure, on holidays and such.”
She shakes her head as tears begin to fall.
“But not to see me.”
“Yes, I’ll see you. We’ll keep in touch.”
She shakes her head violently. “No, you won’t. Don’t lie to me Charlie-you’re a crap liar.”
“I’m not lying. I…”
“Don’t. I can’t believe it’s actually been dragons all along.”
“Nymph, please, don’t be like this. That’s not how it is. You know how I…”
“Charlie, just stop.” She walks back over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into his chest. “Do we at least have tonight?”
“Of course. And we’ll have…”
“Don’t. Let’s just not talk anymore.”
5)
This is all wrong. Charlie leans against the side of his childhood home, staring at the pack of cigarettes he bought that morning.
He has not smoked in years. Without planning it or even trying, he quit the day he landed in Romania. Throwing himself completely into magical smoke and fire, he has not felt the urge to light one since he left the UK. But he knows he needs one to get through today.
It isn’t supposed to be like this. She’s supposed to be happy. She’s supposed to scrunch up her face to change her hair, and trip on her own robes, and laugh too loud. She’s supposed to yell at him for not keeping in touch. She found someone to love her properly, and she’s supposed to live a long, happy life.
Members of the Order are milling about, his mother insisting on having a funeral dinner at the Burrow despite their own heavy loss. He fishes a cigarette out of the pack and stares at it; he doesn’t care if he’s caught.
He can’t shake the picture in his mind’s eye of the casket; he can’t shake his anger at her stillness, her lifelessness. How dare she leave him like this?
He’s staring so intently at the unlit cigarette he doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps. “Charlie?”
He looks up quickly. “Mrs. Tonks? Is everything all right? Do you need anything?”
She shakes her head sadly, and he tries not to think (and fails) of her daughter doing the same years ago. “I know you and Dora were close at Hogwarts, so I thought you might like to meet her son.”
He’s been so caught up in his own head he has not noticed the tiny bundle in her arms. “Are you sure?”
She nods. “I’m sure. I heard her telling him one night last week about her school friend who would teach him everything there is to know about dragons, but only if he promised not to run away to care for them.” He can barely breathe. She moves closer and holds the baby out towards him.
He drops the unlit cigarette on the ground, not noticing that he steps on it as he reaches out and carefully cradles the baby boy against his chest. His hair is purple. “Dragons are,” he says, swallowing heavily, “the best thing in the world, except for the love of a beautiful woman.”
~
This is the mod account for this community, not the author's account. Please let it be noted that I do not take credit for
this person's work. A big thanks to the person that wrote this fic as they did it in place of an author that dropped out.
Author: potterhead37 (pinch-hitter)
Recipient: grayglube
Rating: R
Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Nymphadora Tonks
Summary: Charlie develops a nasty habit.
Disclaimer: There is no profit from this work; JKR owns everything Potter-related.
Author Notes: This was a new thing for me, and I have to say I liked doing it!
Charlie Weasley Smokes Four Cigarettes and Crushes One
1)
He isn’t sure exactly why he wants to try it so badly, but he does. Earlier, he bought a pack in Hogsmeade, and he is now hidden in a nook of the castle walls with a slim cigarette cradled in his fingers.
He inhales and chokes immediately.
Undeterred, he takes a smaller second pull. His mum would kill him if she knew, but when does that ever stop a determined 15-year-old? He makes it through several small puffs, and waits a bit to let his raw throat heal before inhaling again. He’s mildly disappointed with the experience, as he has wanted to feel fire coursing throughout his veins and to command the smoke he exhales.
“That’s a nasty habit.”
He looks over quickly to where the voice is coming from, scared he’s been caught by a professor (which would be nearly as bad as his mum!), and sees that Hufflepuff girl who is always changing her hair. Turks? Torks?
“Mind your own bleeding business.” He defiantly takes a deep pull off the butt, wills his lungs not to cough it out, and blows it in a steady stream into her face before walking away.
2)
“You’re pretty when I’m drunk.” He isn’t sure why he’s flirting with Tonks (they’re just barely friends) but it feels all right-good even.
She giggles, tipping over towards the ground, her blue hair falling into his mouth as he catches her.
“You’re pretty all the time Charlie.” She looks up at him, violet eyes wide and bloodshot. A little nervous now that she’s flirting back, he sets her on her feet and backs up, pulling a pack out of his pocket and quickly lighting a cigarette with the tip of his wand. She wrinkles her nose. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“You’re one to talk. You shouldn’t drink late at night in back of the Quidditch pitch.”
“You’re drinking too,” she snorts, and then stares at him. “You flew well today.” He stares back and takes another drag. “You looked more like some large flying animal than a bloke on a broom.”
“Like a dragon?”
“I suppose.”
“Wicked.”
“You like dragons?”
“Who doesn’t?” He blows a few smoke rings as he stares at her. “You should make your hair green.” She immediately scrunches up her face and her hair changes to match the grass they’re standing on. “Not that color green-green like a Welsh Green.”
“You want me to look like a dragon?”
He smiles mischievously. “I really like dragons.”
She scrunches up her face again, and in seconds her hair is the deep green of dragon hide. He throws his cigarette butt into the grass and snogs her.
3)
“Why don’t you ever ask me to Hogsmeade?”
“What?”
“You’ve never asked me to Hogsmeade. Why not?”
He slides his hand over her naked belly. “What does it matter?”
She leans up on one arm. “What does it matter? We’ve been shagging for nearly a year now. It would be nice to have a proper date.”
“We don’t need a proper date. We have everything we need right here.”
“Oh right, transfiguring desks into a bed in an empty classroom is really romantic.”
He does not like where this conversation is heading. Reaching down into the pocket of his discarded robes, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it.
She waves a hand in front of her face. “Do you have to do that in a closed room? It smells.” He shrugs and takes another drag, exhaling in a long, thin stream. “And what if you get caught?”
“If I get caught, I’m already in trouble for us being here naked, remember?”
“As if I could forget. And you’re avoiding my question. Why don’t you ever take me anywhere?”
“I dunno Tonks. Just drop it.” She huffs, sits up, and begins putting on her robes. He keeps smoking.
“I bet if I were a Chinese Fireball you’d take me anywhere I want to go,” she mutters.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I didn’t say a thing.”
4)
“Romania?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t want to look at her, but can’t stop himself. Her shoulders droop as she starts to bite her nails. Her eyes, brown, are wide and sad, and as much as he hates when she’s sad or sulky, it somehow feels good to see it. He reaches out and runs his fingers through her hair, then pulls her to him.
They stand, embracing, in silence, for some time. She backs away and turns to look out the tower window over the pitch. “What about Quidditch?” Her voice is small. “Everyone says you could play pro.”
He leans against the wall on the other side of the room and lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply. “I know.”
“And then you wouldn’t be so far away.”
He takes another slow drag, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah.”
She stares out the window while he finishes his cigarette, and he contemplates lighting another.
“But you couldn’t be happy here, could you?”
“Nymph…”
“It’s okay. I know you Charlie.” She turns to face him. “When?”
“Two days after we get home.”
“That’s less than a week from now.”
“I know.”
“I won’t see you again, will I?”
“I’ll be back to visit sometimes, I’m sure, on holidays and such.”
She shakes her head as tears begin to fall.
“But not to see me.”
“Yes, I’ll see you. We’ll keep in touch.”
She shakes her head violently. “No, you won’t. Don’t lie to me Charlie-you’re a crap liar.”
“I’m not lying. I…”
“Don’t. I can’t believe it’s actually been dragons all along.”
“Nymph, please, don’t be like this. That’s not how it is. You know how I…”
“Charlie, just stop.” She walks back over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into his chest. “Do we at least have tonight?”
“Of course. And we’ll have…”
“Don’t. Let’s just not talk anymore.”
5)
This is all wrong. Charlie leans against the side of his childhood home, staring at the pack of cigarettes he bought that morning.
He has not smoked in years. Without planning it or even trying, he quit the day he landed in Romania. Throwing himself completely into magical smoke and fire, he has not felt the urge to light one since he left the UK. But he knows he needs one to get through today.
It isn’t supposed to be like this. She’s supposed to be happy. She’s supposed to scrunch up her face to change her hair, and trip on her own robes, and laugh too loud. She’s supposed to yell at him for not keeping in touch. She found someone to love her properly, and she’s supposed to live a long, happy life.
Members of the Order are milling about, his mother insisting on having a funeral dinner at the Burrow despite their own heavy loss. He fishes a cigarette out of the pack and stares at it; he doesn’t care if he’s caught.
He can’t shake the picture in his mind’s eye of the casket; he can’t shake his anger at her stillness, her lifelessness. How dare she leave him like this?
He’s staring so intently at the unlit cigarette he doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps. “Charlie?”
He looks up quickly. “Mrs. Tonks? Is everything all right? Do you need anything?”
She shakes her head sadly, and he tries not to think (and fails) of her daughter doing the same years ago. “I know you and Dora were close at Hogwarts, so I thought you might like to meet her son.”
He’s been so caught up in his own head he has not noticed the tiny bundle in her arms. “Are you sure?”
She nods. “I’m sure. I heard her telling him one night last week about her school friend who would teach him everything there is to know about dragons, but only if he promised not to run away to care for them.” He can barely breathe. She moves closer and holds the baby out towards him.
He drops the unlit cigarette on the ground, not noticing that he steps on it as he reaches out and carefully cradles the baby boy against his chest. His hair is purple. “Dragons are,” he says, swallowing heavily, “the best thing in the world, except for the love of a beautiful woman.”
~
This is the mod account for this community, not the author's account. Please let it be noted that I do not take credit for
this person's work. A big thanks to the person that wrote this fic as they did it in place of an author that dropped out.