Where You Stand (Part 1 and 2) Neville/Charlie
Written for 7spells
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Title: Where You Stand
Characters: Neville/Charlie
Part 1 and 2 Prompts: “cold hands, cold feet” & “the puppet master”
Rating: R just because it’s slash, but I don’t plan on anything too explicit.
Word Count: 3,600
Summary: Neville discovers that Charlie’s lost his confidence with dragons.
A/N: This will be all one story in chronological order. (also, the first part features George, not Charlie, but it is Neville/Charlie. Trust me. :) Prompt table lives here: Prompt Table
Warnings: slash
~(~ 1 Cold Hands, Cold Feet **********************************************
Neville cast an anxious glance at the slash of sky visible over Diagon Alley. It was grey and heavy and the air was cool with unshed rain. Most of the stores were locking up for the evening, and the streets were rapidly clearing of customers. Neville resisted the urge to try to pick up his pace before the skies opened, he didn't want to risk stumbling. Aside from the fact his leg was already hurting after a long day of work, he was also carrying a box marked 'fragile'. It contained two dozen vials of peppermint oil he wasn't keen on dropping in the street.
The windows of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes were still aglow, casting a warm light over the cobblestones in front of the shop. They were open an extra half hour on Wednesdays, so the bright patch stood out like a beacon on the street. It would’ve been almost inviting, except that Neville had a dark secret.
He hated the Weasleys. Well, not hated exactly, it was more of a smoldering resentment. Ron had taken all of Harry's time and all of Hermione's affection, Ginny hadn't loved him, the twins had teased and tricked him when they’d noticed him at all, Percy had been a royal prat as a prefect. He didn't know Bill or Charlie well, but he knew of them - enough to know Bill had a beautiful French wife, and Charlie had a glamorous career. He couldn’t help being envious of the outgoing personalities and native confidence all the Weasleys seemed to share. Most of all, though, he was jealous of their big, close-knit family. Neville was the last surviving member of his, a fact he tried to keep pushed to the furthest corners of his mind at all times.
When Neville reached the shop front, it took him a moment to juggle the door handle, his cane, and the package.
The inane cackle of a mechanical cuckoo announced his presence when he finally got inside. Neville suppressed a flash of annoyance. Of course they couldn't have a string of bells like everybody else… The bird bobbled overhead as if laughing at him.
"Oi, Neville! Glad to see you, mate!" George swept down on him and relieved him of the box. "And glad to see these little beauties, as well, I have great plans for each and every one of them. Let me get old man Krabbetree his money." George headed for the register. "Thanks for bringing it over last minute and after hours. I hated to ask for special favors, but I’ve got an order due out tomorrow."
"No problem," he said, though in fact his hands and feet were freezing and would shortly be wet as well. But whatever Fred and George wanted, Fred and George got, he thought sourly.
There was another wild cackle from the mechanical bird, and Neville jumped. How did they listen to that all day without going mad? He shuffled aside as a girl came rushing in with box full of paper bags. Neville could smell a wonderful fragrance emanating from the bags as she passed by him on her way to the counter.
"Your usual Wednesday night special, Mr. Weasley!"
"Ah, beautiful, thank you very much," George said warmly, reaching into a pocket for the coins to pay her. “Here you are, Annalee, keep the change.” He also grabbed a foil wrapped candy from a dishful on the counter and tossed it to her. "Have a toffee, too."
"What's this one do, Mr. Weasley?" she asked eagerly.
"Well, you'll just have to try it and find out," George said mysteriously. This was the point where Neville would have tossed it straight into the nearest bin, but the girl grinned and tucked the candy in the pocket of her robes. Gullible, he thought, wondering for the millionth time what people saw in these silly gizmos.
"Thanks, Mr. Weasley. See you next week!" When the girl dashed out of the shop, Neville could hear that the rain had started, and felt the temperature dropping before the door fell shut behind her.
"Fred's on a business trip, I forgot to halve the order this week. You'll come upstairs and help me polish this off, won't you?" George offered.
"Oh, no thank you, I really need to get home before this storm hits…”
“It already has. You’ll be drenched before you get to the Leaky. Come and have dinner with me, the rain’ll be over by the time we’re done.”
"Look, just send Krabbetree an owl with the money tomorrow, all right?" Neville reached for the door handle, his free hand gripping his cane.
"Neville." Something in the firm voice stopped him cold. Something that made him wait, just a moment, to see what George Weasley was going to say.
"We have a lift to the second floor,” George went on gently. "I'd appreciate the company."
Neville stood there staring through the glass door at the street beyond. It was rapidly darkening as rain dotted the dry stones. He couldn't Apparate anymore, as George well knew, and it was not going to be a short or easy walk back to the Leaky's Floo. Adding to the temptation was the smell of exotic eastern food filling the whole shop; he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Warm and dry and light inside, cold and wet and dark outside. The only complicating factor in an otherwise easy decision was one highly unpredictable proprietor. Pride and practicality waged a quiet battle in his heart, will and want pulling two ways.
Then George was stepping up and locking the door and turning the sign around in the window so that Neville was now staring at the letters OPEN.
"Come on," George said, inclining his head towards the back of the store.
Which was how Neville found himself in a wrought iron elevator with one of the Weasley brothers, ascending towards some unknown flat, the sound of the rain on the roof getting louder and louder.
~(~ 2 The Puppet Master ****************************************
So this was the inner lair, Neville thought nervously as he entered the second floor flat. It seemed like a strangely mundane abode, but he couldn’t help looking around warily for anything that might spring out at him.
Neville wanted very much to tell George outright that he didn't trust him any farther than he could throw him. That he wasn't going to eat anything that didn't come straight out of the restaurant cartons, and that if George tried to play one practical joke on him of any kind he was going for his wand.
Of course this wasn’t the sort of statement a person could make out loud to one’s host, but Neville was keeping it firmly in mind.
He gave a start when he felt hands on him; realized George was taking his coat off since he was just standing there like a lost tourist.
"Have a seat there, Neville, I'll get us some silverware. Unless you'd prefer the chopsticks?"
The only thing Neville used wooden sticks for was plant stakes, and he said as much, winning a slight huff of amusement from George as he began gathering plates and utensils from around the kitchen.
Neville eased into the nearest chair, propping his cane on the wall. He watched in bemusement as George first poured him a small cup of something unfamiliar but unmistakably alcoholic, and then began heaping strange-looking food out of the cartons onto the plate in front of him.
Neville did not usually drink. He did not eat things that he could neither identify nor pronounce. He did not have dinner with Weasley twins, either singularly or in pairs. And yet here he was, inexplicably engaging in all three activities as if there was nothing bizarre about it at all.
“So how are you getting on these days, Neville? We’re all starting to think you’re avoiding us.”
“No, of course not,” he prevaricated politely. He was avoiding everybody, but everybody didn’t have to know that. “I’ve just been… busy. The greenhouse is busy, you know, because…. people need plants,” he finished lamely. He immediately berated himself for uttering possibly the stupidest comment in the history of dinnertime conversation … people need plants, indeed….brilliant. He waited for the mocking eyeroll or the heavy sigh, but none of those reactions were forthcoming.
“That they do,” George replied calmly, without any apparent sarcasm.
Neville went back to his food. He didn't know what the dishes were, or the strange wine, but he ate and drank whatever George put in front of him. The meal was warm and spicy
and maybe it was the beverage getting to him, but the orange of George's hair and freckles seemed pleasantly warm and spicy, too.
It was odd, having dinner with just one Weasley twin. It was a little less scary, though. Not a whole lot less, because George was still a force to be reckoned with in his own right. Neville had always refused to put himself down by thinking Fred and George were smarter than he was, but they were undeniably quicker of wit when it came to dealing with people and social situations. That talent alone had always made him nervous.
They ate in silence until the edge of hunger had been taken off, and then took another stab at conversation over a second course. They talked about George’s plans for the peppermint and Krabbetree’s Herbal and Arboreal Emporium, and Neville even managed to ask after the family, although he was hoping a simple ‘fine’ would wrap that topic up quickly.
“Well, now that you bring it up….” George began, causing Neville to take another swig from his cup immediately. “There is something of a situation at the moment. See, Fred's not actually on a business trip. He’s gone to get Charlie, help him get packed up and moved back here."
"Oh?" Neville asked, feigning interest. He didn’t really care what adventures the extended family was getting up to or who was visiting whom, let alone the vaunted dragonkeeper.
"Yeah. He got fired."
It took a moment for this statement to catch up with Neville. For a moment, his tired mind put 'fire' together with 'dragon' and he felt a surge of concern, and then he realized George meant….
"Sacked? How come? I thought Charlie was…."
Legendary. One of the golden favorites. Or rather, one of the red-headed Kings.
"Well, Charlie's had sort of a tough year personally," George explained. "And you really can't be distracted or off your game in that line of work, not when you’re dealing with dragons. There was… an incident. Charlie got hurt, and his employers told him to take some time off and get his head together. So…" George leaned forward. "He's going to be teaching Care of Magical Creatures this fall at Hogwarts."
“Oh,” Neville said. “I’m sorry.” He realized immediately how that sounded, and hurried to clarify. “N-not about Hogwarts, of course, that’s great, but I mean… was he injured very badly?”
“Well, nothing inflicted by a dragon is minor, but he’s going to be fine in a few weeks. Actually, Neville…” For the first time since the meal had begun George’s gaze settled directly, unnervingly, on his. “We were rather wondering if you could help us out.”
No, Neville wanted to say emphatically, angrily, at the same moment all his instincts and upbringing wanted to respond with Yes, of course.
Merlin, he was barely keeping his own life together at the moment, how could they be asking him for favors?
“Me?” Neville prompted, wary and non-committal. “What… what could I do?”
“You've got that great big house and a Floo that's still connected. How would you feel about renting Charlie one of the rooms?"
Neville felt dread, actually, at the mere idea of anyone invading the personal sanctuary of his home. And it wouldn’t just be Charlie….the whole clan would be dropping in left and right, Molly at the head of the brigade.
Just tell him no, he told himself. A firm, clear, non-negotiable NO.
“I… don’t think that would be a very good idea,” he heard himself stuttering evasively instead. “I really… sort of like my peace and quiet.”
“Maybe you’ll think it over a bit, eh?” George asked, obviously deciding to back off for the time being. He stood up and began clearing off the table. “I’ll get us dessert, there’s some of Mum’s leftover cake in the icebox,”
“No, thank you,” Neville said at once, remembering his earlier vow.
George paused. “Why not?”
"Because I’m tired and in no mood for jokes and it will probably turn me into a canary!” Neville blurted out before he even realized what he was saying.
George arched one amazed eyebrow. “Are you still bent out of shape about that? That was seven years ago!”
“It wasn’t just that! You were always pulling some maneuver or other to try to make me look stupid.”
“We weren't using you for sport, Neville, we just wanted to try to get you to lighten up a little, not take everything so seriously.”
“Well, maybe some of us had more to take seriously than you did!” he found himself almost shouting.
To his amazement, George sat down in the chair next to him and looked him in the eyes again.
“You’re right. I'm sorry if we upset you back then, but we were young and we didn’t know what you were dealing with at home, all right? But Charlie never did anything to upset you, so please don’t take your dislike of us out on him.”
“I don’t… I don’t dislike you, I just…” he broke off. He couldn’t very well finish that with ‘I don’t trust you’.
“I just don’t need a boarder,” he tried to explain. “One of the grim benefits of being the last in my family is that I don't need any extra income."
As soon as the words were out, Neville felt terrible that he'd just thrown his superior financial position in George Weasley’s face. It seemed like all kinds of bitter things came out of his mouth these days if he wasn't careful, which was why he usually went straight home these days.
"Well, you must need something,” George replied calmly. “Help with the garden. Repair work on the house. Just somebody to share a meal with once in a while? Come on, Neville. He's quiet, you'll hardly know he's there. Trust me."
"Yeah, I guess," he began reluctantly. "Look, I…I'm sorry," he tried to form an apology without bringing up why, feeling the burn of a blush over his face. "What I just said about…. Merlin, I don't know why I even came up here tonight…”
George smiled at him with a flash of the old familiar charm, but tempered now with a flicker of compassion. “Simple enough, that. You were hungry.” He stood up again. “Let’s get to that cake, shall we?”
By the time they’d finished dessert Neville was completely exhausted. It was raining harder than ever, and showing no signs of slowing down any time soon. His leg hurt so much he didn’t think he’d be able to walk to the Leaky anyway, even if it wasn’t pouring. Neville yawned so hard he felt tears in the corners of his eyes.
"Why don’t you take Fred’s room for the night,” George offered.
Neville couldn’t find the energy or the excuse to refuse. He followed George into a room dominated by a huge semi-circular window that was currently black with nightfall and lit intermittently with lightning, revealing water sluicing against the glass. The head of the bed was pushed up against this alarming view.
"How can he sleep in front of a big window like that?"
"You lived in a tower for seven years and you're afraid of heights?"
"No, I am not afraid of heights," Neville snapped, “but that doesn't mean I want to sleep in an aerie."
George aimed his wand at the curtains, closing them with a jingle of metal rings, then at the bed, sliding it across the room to a solid wall.
“Better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
"Good-night then, Neville. Let me know if you need anything else," George said.
"I will," he said automatically, though he didn’t really mean it. It was just one of those things people said, he had no intention of bothering his host further. George gave him an almost stern look.
"What?" Neville ventured.
"You wouldn't ask for a glass of water if your broom was on fire," George said quietly. Before Neville could reply, George spoke again. "Really, Neville. Call me if you need anything."
Neville nodded, and he must've looked more sincere this time, because George seemed satisfied. He didn't close the door when he left.
Neville remained awake a long time, thinking of the pain potions and sleeping draughts he could have been taking if he'd had the sense to go home instead of playing delivery boy on George Weasley’s beck and call, but sleep came in its own time, and of its own accord, eventually.
~(~
Charlie stretched Spellotape across the top of the box holding his books, watching with part amusement and part guilt as Fred struggled to get a suitcase closed by sitting on it. Fred had coped well enough with the ban on magic-use in the preserve housing, once Charlie had explained that it tended to rile up the reptilian denizens. It had made packing to leave a lot more laborious than packing to arrive had been, however. He remembered his first day here with a stab of nostalgia, it had been so very long ago that it seemed like another lifetime.
Charlie still couldn’t believe he was really leaving. It all seemed very surreal to him, like he might wake up any moment and find himself still whole and unblemished and employed at the only job he’d ever wanted. He could hear a low, rumbling noise outside, like thunder, but it was no storm approaching. It was a dragon. He could tell exactly which one, and that she was waiting for dinner, and the fact that it was not Charlie’s job any more to see that she got it was about more than he could stand, and he felt his eyes burning with… oh, he told himself, say it’s resentment or regret or sorrow or smoke, don’t say it’s tears… not now.
He’d just started to pick up the box when Fred rushed over and took it from him.
“Oi, let me get the heavy stuff, will you?” Fred demanded, frustration clear in his voice. It was not their first skirmish of the evening on this topic, and probably wouldn’t be the last. Charlie bristled.
“I am perfectly capable of lifting a box with a couple of books in it.”
“Oh, well, let me just get this then and you can go pick up the corner of the house and give it a good shake,” Fred said sarcastically. “I’m sure a man with twelve puncture wounds in his shoulder should be able to manage that handily.”
“You’ve done everything so far by yourself, Fred, at least let me pretend to be useful.”
“Useful, eh?” Fred’s eyes were suddenly calculating. “Well, brother, I guess this is as good a time as any to bring this up….”
Charlie raised a curious eyebrow.
“We were wondering if you'd do us all a favor. You remember Neville Longbottom?"
Charlie thought of the tall, quiet, dark-haired young man who'd been at the periphery of the occasional event over the years, usually near Ginny or Harry. What Charlie remembered most about Neville were the eyes, which were sad but intense, and the voice, which was soft and often nearly inaudible.
He also recognized the last name well enough, it had been in the newspapers often enough.
"Yeah. Ron and Harry’s old dorm mate. He lost some of his family during the war, didn't he?"
"Not some. All. " Fred said quietly. “And he was pretty badly injured himself. All in all, it’s been a very difficult year for him, and we’re pretty worried. He's become very withdrawn, not like the person we used to know at all. Well, I take that back, he was always a little withdrawn, but never unfriendly or reclusive. We used to have to work pretty hard back in school to get him to laugh ever, but we pulled it off a time or two in our day. Of course, we're professionals, don't try that at home."
Charlie rolled his eyes. "Where do I come in?"
“Well, we’ve come up with a plan. See, George is going to talk to him about how you need a place to stay, which you do, and once you move in you can find out for us how he's really getting on, you know?"
Charlie smiled. "This sounds like some Order mission to get inside information."
"Whatever works. Mum will probably want to use you to get some home cooking smuggled over there, too, if you choose to accept the assignment. Will you do it?"
"And if he doesn't want a virtual stranger moving into his house?"
"Let George worry about that. Neville's still Neville at heart. A few chords on the violin strings and George will have you keys to the front door in no time flat.”
"I don't know, Fred, I was just going to take a quiet little room in Hogsmeade," Charlie said reluctantly.
"Neville's quiet. You'll hardly know he's there. Trust me.” Fred gave him a dazzling smile.
Continue...
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Title: Where You Stand
Characters: Neville/Charlie
Part 1 and 2 Prompts: “cold hands, cold feet” & “the puppet master”
Rating: R just because it’s slash, but I don’t plan on anything too explicit.
Word Count: 3,600
Summary: Neville discovers that Charlie’s lost his confidence with dragons.
A/N: This will be all one story in chronological order. (also, the first part features George, not Charlie, but it is Neville/Charlie. Trust me. :) Prompt table lives here: Prompt Table
Warnings: slash
~(~ 1 Cold Hands, Cold Feet **********************************************
Neville cast an anxious glance at the slash of sky visible over Diagon Alley. It was grey and heavy and the air was cool with unshed rain. Most of the stores were locking up for the evening, and the streets were rapidly clearing of customers. Neville resisted the urge to try to pick up his pace before the skies opened, he didn't want to risk stumbling. Aside from the fact his leg was already hurting after a long day of work, he was also carrying a box marked 'fragile'. It contained two dozen vials of peppermint oil he wasn't keen on dropping in the street.
The windows of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes were still aglow, casting a warm light over the cobblestones in front of the shop. They were open an extra half hour on Wednesdays, so the bright patch stood out like a beacon on the street. It would’ve been almost inviting, except that Neville had a dark secret.
He hated the Weasleys. Well, not hated exactly, it was more of a smoldering resentment. Ron had taken all of Harry's time and all of Hermione's affection, Ginny hadn't loved him, the twins had teased and tricked him when they’d noticed him at all, Percy had been a royal prat as a prefect. He didn't know Bill or Charlie well, but he knew of them - enough to know Bill had a beautiful French wife, and Charlie had a glamorous career. He couldn’t help being envious of the outgoing personalities and native confidence all the Weasleys seemed to share. Most of all, though, he was jealous of their big, close-knit family. Neville was the last surviving member of his, a fact he tried to keep pushed to the furthest corners of his mind at all times.
When Neville reached the shop front, it took him a moment to juggle the door handle, his cane, and the package.
The inane cackle of a mechanical cuckoo announced his presence when he finally got inside. Neville suppressed a flash of annoyance. Of course they couldn't have a string of bells like everybody else… The bird bobbled overhead as if laughing at him.
"Oi, Neville! Glad to see you, mate!" George swept down on him and relieved him of the box. "And glad to see these little beauties, as well, I have great plans for each and every one of them. Let me get old man Krabbetree his money." George headed for the register. "Thanks for bringing it over last minute and after hours. I hated to ask for special favors, but I’ve got an order due out tomorrow."
"No problem," he said, though in fact his hands and feet were freezing and would shortly be wet as well. But whatever Fred and George wanted, Fred and George got, he thought sourly.
There was another wild cackle from the mechanical bird, and Neville jumped. How did they listen to that all day without going mad? He shuffled aside as a girl came rushing in with box full of paper bags. Neville could smell a wonderful fragrance emanating from the bags as she passed by him on her way to the counter.
"Your usual Wednesday night special, Mr. Weasley!"
"Ah, beautiful, thank you very much," George said warmly, reaching into a pocket for the coins to pay her. “Here you are, Annalee, keep the change.” He also grabbed a foil wrapped candy from a dishful on the counter and tossed it to her. "Have a toffee, too."
"What's this one do, Mr. Weasley?" she asked eagerly.
"Well, you'll just have to try it and find out," George said mysteriously. This was the point where Neville would have tossed it straight into the nearest bin, but the girl grinned and tucked the candy in the pocket of her robes. Gullible, he thought, wondering for the millionth time what people saw in these silly gizmos.
"Thanks, Mr. Weasley. See you next week!" When the girl dashed out of the shop, Neville could hear that the rain had started, and felt the temperature dropping before the door fell shut behind her.
"Fred's on a business trip, I forgot to halve the order this week. You'll come upstairs and help me polish this off, won't you?" George offered.
"Oh, no thank you, I really need to get home before this storm hits…”
“It already has. You’ll be drenched before you get to the Leaky. Come and have dinner with me, the rain’ll be over by the time we’re done.”
"Look, just send Krabbetree an owl with the money tomorrow, all right?" Neville reached for the door handle, his free hand gripping his cane.
"Neville." Something in the firm voice stopped him cold. Something that made him wait, just a moment, to see what George Weasley was going to say.
"We have a lift to the second floor,” George went on gently. "I'd appreciate the company."
Neville stood there staring through the glass door at the street beyond. It was rapidly darkening as rain dotted the dry stones. He couldn't Apparate anymore, as George well knew, and it was not going to be a short or easy walk back to the Leaky's Floo. Adding to the temptation was the smell of exotic eastern food filling the whole shop; he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Warm and dry and light inside, cold and wet and dark outside. The only complicating factor in an otherwise easy decision was one highly unpredictable proprietor. Pride and practicality waged a quiet battle in his heart, will and want pulling two ways.
Then George was stepping up and locking the door and turning the sign around in the window so that Neville was now staring at the letters OPEN.
"Come on," George said, inclining his head towards the back of the store.
Which was how Neville found himself in a wrought iron elevator with one of the Weasley brothers, ascending towards some unknown flat, the sound of the rain on the roof getting louder and louder.
~(~ 2 The Puppet Master ****************************************
So this was the inner lair, Neville thought nervously as he entered the second floor flat. It seemed like a strangely mundane abode, but he couldn’t help looking around warily for anything that might spring out at him.
Neville wanted very much to tell George outright that he didn't trust him any farther than he could throw him. That he wasn't going to eat anything that didn't come straight out of the restaurant cartons, and that if George tried to play one practical joke on him of any kind he was going for his wand.
Of course this wasn’t the sort of statement a person could make out loud to one’s host, but Neville was keeping it firmly in mind.
He gave a start when he felt hands on him; realized George was taking his coat off since he was just standing there like a lost tourist.
"Have a seat there, Neville, I'll get us some silverware. Unless you'd prefer the chopsticks?"
The only thing Neville used wooden sticks for was plant stakes, and he said as much, winning a slight huff of amusement from George as he began gathering plates and utensils from around the kitchen.
Neville eased into the nearest chair, propping his cane on the wall. He watched in bemusement as George first poured him a small cup of something unfamiliar but unmistakably alcoholic, and then began heaping strange-looking food out of the cartons onto the plate in front of him.
Neville did not usually drink. He did not eat things that he could neither identify nor pronounce. He did not have dinner with Weasley twins, either singularly or in pairs. And yet here he was, inexplicably engaging in all three activities as if there was nothing bizarre about it at all.
“So how are you getting on these days, Neville? We’re all starting to think you’re avoiding us.”
“No, of course not,” he prevaricated politely. He was avoiding everybody, but everybody didn’t have to know that. “I’ve just been… busy. The greenhouse is busy, you know, because…. people need plants,” he finished lamely. He immediately berated himself for uttering possibly the stupidest comment in the history of dinnertime conversation … people need plants, indeed….brilliant. He waited for the mocking eyeroll or the heavy sigh, but none of those reactions were forthcoming.
“That they do,” George replied calmly, without any apparent sarcasm.
Neville went back to his food. He didn't know what the dishes were, or the strange wine, but he ate and drank whatever George put in front of him. The meal was warm and spicy
and maybe it was the beverage getting to him, but the orange of George's hair and freckles seemed pleasantly warm and spicy, too.
It was odd, having dinner with just one Weasley twin. It was a little less scary, though. Not a whole lot less, because George was still a force to be reckoned with in his own right. Neville had always refused to put himself down by thinking Fred and George were smarter than he was, but they were undeniably quicker of wit when it came to dealing with people and social situations. That talent alone had always made him nervous.
They ate in silence until the edge of hunger had been taken off, and then took another stab at conversation over a second course. They talked about George’s plans for the peppermint and Krabbetree’s Herbal and Arboreal Emporium, and Neville even managed to ask after the family, although he was hoping a simple ‘fine’ would wrap that topic up quickly.
“Well, now that you bring it up….” George began, causing Neville to take another swig from his cup immediately. “There is something of a situation at the moment. See, Fred's not actually on a business trip. He’s gone to get Charlie, help him get packed up and moved back here."
"Oh?" Neville asked, feigning interest. He didn’t really care what adventures the extended family was getting up to or who was visiting whom, let alone the vaunted dragonkeeper.
"Yeah. He got fired."
It took a moment for this statement to catch up with Neville. For a moment, his tired mind put 'fire' together with 'dragon' and he felt a surge of concern, and then he realized George meant….
"Sacked? How come? I thought Charlie was…."
Legendary. One of the golden favorites. Or rather, one of the red-headed Kings.
"Well, Charlie's had sort of a tough year personally," George explained. "And you really can't be distracted or off your game in that line of work, not when you’re dealing with dragons. There was… an incident. Charlie got hurt, and his employers told him to take some time off and get his head together. So…" George leaned forward. "He's going to be teaching Care of Magical Creatures this fall at Hogwarts."
“Oh,” Neville said. “I’m sorry.” He realized immediately how that sounded, and hurried to clarify. “N-not about Hogwarts, of course, that’s great, but I mean… was he injured very badly?”
“Well, nothing inflicted by a dragon is minor, but he’s going to be fine in a few weeks. Actually, Neville…” For the first time since the meal had begun George’s gaze settled directly, unnervingly, on his. “We were rather wondering if you could help us out.”
No, Neville wanted to say emphatically, angrily, at the same moment all his instincts and upbringing wanted to respond with Yes, of course.
Merlin, he was barely keeping his own life together at the moment, how could they be asking him for favors?
“Me?” Neville prompted, wary and non-committal. “What… what could I do?”
“You've got that great big house and a Floo that's still connected. How would you feel about renting Charlie one of the rooms?"
Neville felt dread, actually, at the mere idea of anyone invading the personal sanctuary of his home. And it wouldn’t just be Charlie….the whole clan would be dropping in left and right, Molly at the head of the brigade.
Just tell him no, he told himself. A firm, clear, non-negotiable NO.
“I… don’t think that would be a very good idea,” he heard himself stuttering evasively instead. “I really… sort of like my peace and quiet.”
“Maybe you’ll think it over a bit, eh?” George asked, obviously deciding to back off for the time being. He stood up and began clearing off the table. “I’ll get us dessert, there’s some of Mum’s leftover cake in the icebox,”
“No, thank you,” Neville said at once, remembering his earlier vow.
George paused. “Why not?”
"Because I’m tired and in no mood for jokes and it will probably turn me into a canary!” Neville blurted out before he even realized what he was saying.
George arched one amazed eyebrow. “Are you still bent out of shape about that? That was seven years ago!”
“It wasn’t just that! You were always pulling some maneuver or other to try to make me look stupid.”
“We weren't using you for sport, Neville, we just wanted to try to get you to lighten up a little, not take everything so seriously.”
“Well, maybe some of us had more to take seriously than you did!” he found himself almost shouting.
To his amazement, George sat down in the chair next to him and looked him in the eyes again.
“You’re right. I'm sorry if we upset you back then, but we were young and we didn’t know what you were dealing with at home, all right? But Charlie never did anything to upset you, so please don’t take your dislike of us out on him.”
“I don’t… I don’t dislike you, I just…” he broke off. He couldn’t very well finish that with ‘I don’t trust you’.
“I just don’t need a boarder,” he tried to explain. “One of the grim benefits of being the last in my family is that I don't need any extra income."
As soon as the words were out, Neville felt terrible that he'd just thrown his superior financial position in George Weasley’s face. It seemed like all kinds of bitter things came out of his mouth these days if he wasn't careful, which was why he usually went straight home these days.
"Well, you must need something,” George replied calmly. “Help with the garden. Repair work on the house. Just somebody to share a meal with once in a while? Come on, Neville. He's quiet, you'll hardly know he's there. Trust me."
"Yeah, I guess," he began reluctantly. "Look, I…I'm sorry," he tried to form an apology without bringing up why, feeling the burn of a blush over his face. "What I just said about…. Merlin, I don't know why I even came up here tonight…”
George smiled at him with a flash of the old familiar charm, but tempered now with a flicker of compassion. “Simple enough, that. You were hungry.” He stood up again. “Let’s get to that cake, shall we?”
By the time they’d finished dessert Neville was completely exhausted. It was raining harder than ever, and showing no signs of slowing down any time soon. His leg hurt so much he didn’t think he’d be able to walk to the Leaky anyway, even if it wasn’t pouring. Neville yawned so hard he felt tears in the corners of his eyes.
"Why don’t you take Fred’s room for the night,” George offered.
Neville couldn’t find the energy or the excuse to refuse. He followed George into a room dominated by a huge semi-circular window that was currently black with nightfall and lit intermittently with lightning, revealing water sluicing against the glass. The head of the bed was pushed up against this alarming view.
"How can he sleep in front of a big window like that?"
"You lived in a tower for seven years and you're afraid of heights?"
"No, I am not afraid of heights," Neville snapped, “but that doesn't mean I want to sleep in an aerie."
George aimed his wand at the curtains, closing them with a jingle of metal rings, then at the bed, sliding it across the room to a solid wall.
“Better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
"Good-night then, Neville. Let me know if you need anything else," George said.
"I will," he said automatically, though he didn’t really mean it. It was just one of those things people said, he had no intention of bothering his host further. George gave him an almost stern look.
"What?" Neville ventured.
"You wouldn't ask for a glass of water if your broom was on fire," George said quietly. Before Neville could reply, George spoke again. "Really, Neville. Call me if you need anything."
Neville nodded, and he must've looked more sincere this time, because George seemed satisfied. He didn't close the door when he left.
Neville remained awake a long time, thinking of the pain potions and sleeping draughts he could have been taking if he'd had the sense to go home instead of playing delivery boy on George Weasley’s beck and call, but sleep came in its own time, and of its own accord, eventually.
~(~
Charlie stretched Spellotape across the top of the box holding his books, watching with part amusement and part guilt as Fred struggled to get a suitcase closed by sitting on it. Fred had coped well enough with the ban on magic-use in the preserve housing, once Charlie had explained that it tended to rile up the reptilian denizens. It had made packing to leave a lot more laborious than packing to arrive had been, however. He remembered his first day here with a stab of nostalgia, it had been so very long ago that it seemed like another lifetime.
Charlie still couldn’t believe he was really leaving. It all seemed very surreal to him, like he might wake up any moment and find himself still whole and unblemished and employed at the only job he’d ever wanted. He could hear a low, rumbling noise outside, like thunder, but it was no storm approaching. It was a dragon. He could tell exactly which one, and that she was waiting for dinner, and the fact that it was not Charlie’s job any more to see that she got it was about more than he could stand, and he felt his eyes burning with… oh, he told himself, say it’s resentment or regret or sorrow or smoke, don’t say it’s tears… not now.
He’d just started to pick up the box when Fred rushed over and took it from him.
“Oi, let me get the heavy stuff, will you?” Fred demanded, frustration clear in his voice. It was not their first skirmish of the evening on this topic, and probably wouldn’t be the last. Charlie bristled.
“I am perfectly capable of lifting a box with a couple of books in it.”
“Oh, well, let me just get this then and you can go pick up the corner of the house and give it a good shake,” Fred said sarcastically. “I’m sure a man with twelve puncture wounds in his shoulder should be able to manage that handily.”
“You’ve done everything so far by yourself, Fred, at least let me pretend to be useful.”
“Useful, eh?” Fred’s eyes were suddenly calculating. “Well, brother, I guess this is as good a time as any to bring this up….”
Charlie raised a curious eyebrow.
“We were wondering if you'd do us all a favor. You remember Neville Longbottom?"
Charlie thought of the tall, quiet, dark-haired young man who'd been at the periphery of the occasional event over the years, usually near Ginny or Harry. What Charlie remembered most about Neville were the eyes, which were sad but intense, and the voice, which was soft and often nearly inaudible.
He also recognized the last name well enough, it had been in the newspapers often enough.
"Yeah. Ron and Harry’s old dorm mate. He lost some of his family during the war, didn't he?"
"Not some. All. " Fred said quietly. “And he was pretty badly injured himself. All in all, it’s been a very difficult year for him, and we’re pretty worried. He's become very withdrawn, not like the person we used to know at all. Well, I take that back, he was always a little withdrawn, but never unfriendly or reclusive. We used to have to work pretty hard back in school to get him to laugh ever, but we pulled it off a time or two in our day. Of course, we're professionals, don't try that at home."
Charlie rolled his eyes. "Where do I come in?"
“Well, we’ve come up with a plan. See, George is going to talk to him about how you need a place to stay, which you do, and once you move in you can find out for us how he's really getting on, you know?"
Charlie smiled. "This sounds like some Order mission to get inside information."
"Whatever works. Mum will probably want to use you to get some home cooking smuggled over there, too, if you choose to accept the assignment. Will you do it?"
"And if he doesn't want a virtual stranger moving into his house?"
"Let George worry about that. Neville's still Neville at heart. A few chords on the violin strings and George will have you keys to the front door in no time flat.”
"I don't know, Fred, I was just going to take a quiet little room in Hogsmeade," Charlie said reluctantly.
"Neville's quiet. You'll hardly know he's there. Trust me.” Fred gave him a dazzling smile.
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