Where You Stand (Part 3 and 4) Neville/Charlie
Written for 7spells
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Title: Where You Stand
Characters: Neville/Charlie
Part 3 and 4 Prompts: “red” & “the chimera obscurant”
Rating: R just because it’s slash, but I don’t plan on anything too explicit.
Word Count: 5,000
Summary: Neville discovers that Charlie’s lost his confidence with dragons.
A/N: This will be all one story in chronological order. Dream sequences are in bold instead of italics just because I find it a little easier to read than a big block of italics.
Prompt table lives here: Prompt Table
Warnings: slash, brief mention of remembering Augusta’s death
~(~ 3 RED ********************************************************
Neville sipped cautiously at the rim of his paper cup. The coffee was really too hot to drink, but he was enjoying the steam curling up off the black liquid.
“Mr. Longbottom, I presume?” asked a cheerful voice, and for a moment Neville thought it was Ron who had spoken. It was a red-haired Weasley approaching his table, but it was not Ron.
“Charlie! Good Morning.”
“Hiya, Neville, how’ve you been?”
Neville wanted to stand up, realized what a production it was going to be with the tangle of chairs and decided to stay where he was, hoping Charlie wouldn’t mind the breach of manners. They clasped hands, Neville remembered just in time not to jostle Charlie’s right arm. “Please, sit down,” Neville offered.
“Can we move inside, or….”
Neville glanced through the window of Fortescue’s, which was crowded with patrons. He thought of limping in there next to Charlie Dragonkeeper Weasley, navigating the slick tile floors with his cane while everybody stared, and probably falling on his arse.
“You go on,” he said to Charlie. “We can walk over to the Leaky when you’re done.”
“No, no. Let me just order, I’ll be back.”
Charlie returned with a cup that was also steaming, the scent of red berry tea swirling out from his vicinity as he sat down across from Neville.
Neville braced himself for the inevitable questions. The Weasleys were an inquisitive bunch, talkative and open, one could even say prone to gossip.
And the truth was, Neville didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to discuss injuries or politics or dragons or hear about which Weasely had been doing what or living where or marrying whom. He didn’t want to discuss the leg that was supposed to be healed by now but wasn’t. He didn’t want the topic of him being the last person in his branch of the family left alive to come up, he didn’t want to have to explain how his mother died of pneumonia, or how his father died in his sleep a month later, or how his Grandmother had had a heart attack when she heard the news.
Neville had only survived this long by not talking about it. Not thinking about it.
To his vast surprise, and infinite gratitude, Charlie said nothing. They drank their beverages and watched shoppers bustle up and down the Alley for a good half an hour, until finally Neville reached the bottom of his cup and set it down.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting to see the house,” he said.
~(~
Charlie stepped out of the Floo a few moments after his new landlord, into a room crowded with furniture. He experienced a moment of confusion, it seemed to be the main front room, but there was a bed in the middle of it. It was pushed in between a sofa and a chair, leaving a walkway through to the adjoining room. There were piles of folded clothes on the sofa, books and parchment scattered around, shoes, and a set of robes hanging off the back of a door.
"Well,” Neville said, waving his wand at all the soot that had followed them out. “This is the living room, which, as you can see, I'm living in. Dining room’s through there and the kitchen is beyond that. As for the rest of the house… well, I haven't been upstairs in ages,” he picked his cane up a bit in explanation. “Maybe you can just show yourself around up there. There's a guest room, it’s the one with yellow wallpaper and a white quilt, you can take that. I'd offer you another room for a study or something, but there's stuff in them, and I'd have to pack it up first.”
"One room is fine,” Charlie said quickly. “Thanks."
Charlie moved up the stairs, leaving Neville below. He walked along the upper floor hallway, looking in each room as he went. They all appeared dusty and long unused. He came across what was obviously Neville's childhood bedroom ~ blue walls and low bookshelves, a globe, a model of an antique Muggle sailing ship. The one across the hall obviously was…used to be… the grandmother's room ~ lilac colored walls, lace curtains, neat as a shrine, perfume bottles still lined up on the vanity. There were two more rooms that were apparently used only for storage, full of old furniture, boxes, racks of outdated clothes. He found the bathroom, made a note to ask for some soap and towels. The last room at the end of the hall was the guest room - his room now - a little musty, but serviceable, with a bed, wardrobe, and writing desk. Charlie opened the window to air the place out, then laid down on top of the bed to acclimate to his new surroundings for a minute.
Merlin, it’s quiet out here, was the last thought he had before dropping into an unplanned nap.
The first dream is unsettling, some crazy old man is dangling a little boy out the window and some woman is screaming bloody-murder outside.
The scene fades. Charlie's walking through the eastern pasture. The smell of sheep hangs heavy in the air. There's blood on the sand.
The dragon is one of the newly discovered reds. They move faster than the bigger breeds, they are more birdlike, and somehow strike Charlie as more cunning. Niorimi tips her head and stares at him, looking like some strange cross between a snake and an ostrich, with tiny front feet that look like they could hold a teacup and not spill a drop. She makes a chattering noise in her throat. He’s oddly flattered, it’s almost as if she’s trying to communicate with him. Maybe that's why it happened, his arrogance in assuming she was interested in him as anything other than prey. Or maybe he was just mesmerized like some small, trapped animal by the bobbing head and the beady eyes and the rattling noise of her quills. He forgets about her mate.
Charlie doesn't see it coming. Teeth close over his right shoulder like a grasping hand, points driving in from front and back like fingernails filed to razor points. It’s quick and it’s violent and then it’s over.
There's more blood on the sand, it takes Charlie a minute to realize it is his.
The fact that he’s still alive at all tells Charlie the dragon had only been delivering a warning nip. But Elkor doesn’t understand Charlie has no scales, that the “warning” could have killed him.
The sense of betrayal hurts worse than the injury… at least until his co-workers pin him to the infirmary floor and uncork a bottle of smoking scarlet potion.
~(~
The gathering at Grimmauld Place was supposed to be an Order meeting, but it felt more like a Weasley family reunion to Neville. Harry, Hermione, and Ron made lunch despite Mrs. Weasley's protests, leaving the woman free to fuss over her second son.
Neville kept out of the way, making himself useful by organizing a pile of notes from the previous week, until a flurry of greetings and laughter signaled the arrival of the twins.
George dropped a package onto the table in front of him as he passed by on his way to his own chair.
“What’s this for?”
“Nothing, we were just in a shop and thought of you.”
“Figured we’d get on the good side of our brother’s landlord, in case we want to throw a party or anything.”
“No parties, it’s in the lease.”
The response to this statement was confused silence from the entire room.
“He’s kidding,” Charlie explained, grinning at him from across the table. “There’s no lease.”
There was a brief chorus of ‘ohs’ and a bit of laughter and everyone relaxed.
Neville opened the box at the table warily, figuring if it was rigged to do anything alarming he wanted witnesses and possibly assistants. He was surprised to discover it was a small box of chocolates, and quite a nice brand of them, at that.
Everybody laughed and warned him not to eat any, but Neville thought that this time perhaps the joke was on them, because there was a canary feather Spellotaped to the top of the lid.
Neville recognized an apology when he saw one. It was seven years in coming, but better late than never. He put the box in his coat pocket, gave Fred and George a slight nod across the table. Fred smiled at him and George gave him one of the patented Weasley winks.
Neville wondered for the millionth time what it must be like to be so outgoing.
~(~
It seemed strange to have someone at the table for dinner. Neville had decided it was an occasion for being hospitable, even if he didn't exactly want Charlie here, there was no reason to let Charlie know that. He’d even uncorked a dusty bottle of red wine. The main course was just spaghetti, but it was the first time he’d bothered to prepare anything more elaborate than pot noodles or scrambled eggs in months. He’d also toasted up some bread brushed with butter and fresh basil from the kitchen garden by the back door. Part of him was rather pleased with the meal and the company, another part of him wanted to smack Fred and George for what had probably been nothing more than an elaborate set-up by Molly to see that he was eating proper meals.
At least Charlie was proving to be less loquacious than most of his family. Except for compliments on the food, which Neville accepted, and an offer to do dishes afterward, which Neville refused, they didn’t talk much.
"Well, I guess I'll go on upstairs and read," Charlie said awkwardly, after the meal had ended and no further suggestions were forthcoming. Neville nodded, glad to hear it, he usually went to bed by nine himself, and was in no mood to stay up late entertaining anybody. He thought briefly about offering a game of cards, but he’d been on his feet a long time cooking dinner and just wanted to lie down. He'd like for his … guest? tenant? roommate? to feel at home, honestly, but he knew it was just going to take some time, no matter what he did or didn’t do.
Besides, Neville strongly suspected that Charlie would probably end up moving to Hogsmeade soon after school started, someplace where there was more to do and more interesting people to socialize with. He could see no point in drastically adjusting his schedules or routines.
After Charlie left, Neville remembered about the chocolates. He retrieved the box, unstuck the feather and affixed it to the wall, then sat back down at the table and took off the lid. The candies inside looked harmless enough. Not that that really meant anything, but he hesitated only a moment before biting into one. The only surprise was that the center was filled with a red cherry candied in brandy. Neville closed his eyes. Some little part of him was waiting for the charm to kick in, the spell to start, but there was nothing but the familiar comfort of chocolate melting on his tongue, the dusky flavor of liquor, the sweet brightness of the cherry like a sudden kiss. He hadn’t had chocolate in …more than a year, probably. Not since before….
He opened his eyes to find Charlie standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a glass of water in his hand. Neville hadn't heard him come down the stairs.
"Sorry… I was…. water."
Neville was the first to regain his composure.
"Want a chocolate?"
"Isn’t that the box Fred and George gave you? Are we going to spend the evening barking when we try to talk or something?"
Neville briefly considered replying to that with a 'woof', just as a practical joke, but then came to his senses, and simply smiled and shook his head. He wondered where such a crazy impulse had come from. Next thing he knew he'd be setting off firecrackers on the holidays like some street urchin.
Charlie picked up one of the candies and ate it in one bite, then washed it down with a gulp of water. “Not bad,” he pronounced. “Well, good-night, Neville."
Neville watched him bound up the stairs, light-footed, without giving the ability to do so a single thought. Neville admired Charlie’s strength and exuberance, but he was also honestly jealous. Neville was younger than Charlie, but he felt about seventy-five on a good day.
He took another candy out of the box, bit into the sweet, red center. Not bad, he recalled Charlie’s cavalier assessment. Neville’s opinion of the confection was closer to absolutely divine. He guessed that how much you valued a pleasure depended on how long you’d gone without it.
~(~ 4 The chimera obscurant ****************************************
He’s walking through the woods. Things keep dropping down out of the trees ~ leaves, snakes, birds, fruit ~ while other things dart in and out of the shadows. Just beyond the range of his peripheral vision, things in his world that he’d trusted to stay stationary move, like rocks and tree stumps.
He used to be able to trust everything and everyone around him. Now everything is unpredictable, and anyone could do anything at any time, out of the blue and with no warning.
Eyes like stones, and the rattle of a snake’s tail….
A hand grabs him by the shoulder, but the nails that dig into his flesh are sharp as nails.
Charlie woke up in a sweat, his shoulder itching under the wet gauze. Apparently the bizarre nightmares he’d been having had followed him from the preserve. How could I have read her so wrong? he wondered for the millionth time. What did I do that was so wrong?
Charlie eventually dragged himself downstairs to the kitchen, and was surprised to find Neville making breakfast.
“Did you sleep well?” Neville asked politely, before glancing up and taking him in. “Or at all?” he added.
“Bit of a rough night,” Charlie admitted, accepting a mug of tea. “I thought you’d be at work.”
“Sunday, remember? Come on, grab some toast and I’ll show you around.” Neville headed out the back door.
Neville’s enthusiasm for the grounds was far greater than what he’d displayed for the interior of the house yesterday. Charlie suffered through a detailed description of the plant life with good grace, just pleased to see a spark of interest on the young man’s face.
The stone walkway they were following ended at a building made of framework and glass.
“This is the greenhouse, obviously. It’s not very glamorous, I’m afraid, I mostly use it for vegetables.” Neville opened the door for him and followed him in.
Charlie thought it looked like a very pleasant place, although he sensed this was probably a personal sanctuary of sorts and not anywhere he should be intruding often. But he also noticed some cracks in the glass overhead, and more than a few areas that looked very dense with growth, as if they were going out of control like a jungle, and even a few weeds.
“I could give you a hand in here if you like,” he offered.
Neville shook his head. “You should rest while you can, before you start at Hogwarts.”
Mention of the school made Charlie feel slightly nauseous. It wasn’t that he was worried about the public speaking or dealing with strangers or the job itself - he had gotten a NEWT in Care of Magical Creatures, after all - it was just not the sort of work he’d ever planned for himself. Unicorns and hippogriffs and other animals were all very interesting… but they weren’t…well…
They weren’t dragons.
“I hear water,” he observed.
Neville invited him to go track it down with a slight gesture toward the gravel path that ran down the right side of the building.
Charlie discovered that the back corner of the greenhouse had been devoted to a large group of terrariums and aquariums, and a shallow pool in a grassy area, where a low water spout came bubbling out of the stones at one end. He spotted toads, salamanders, and lizards of several species, and one free roaming tortoise. There was the faint shimmer of wards and green-magic, Charlie guessed that there were quite a few spells in place to provide for their highly specialized requirements, and to give them some freedom from their enclosures while still containing them in a safe area. There were similar spells at work in the preserve, only on a much grander scale.
Maybe the climatological spells were off … maybe the rainforest replication hadn’t been providing enough humidity for the reds and it made them aggressive…
Charlie was pulled back to the present when he saw Neville reaching into one of the terrariums. There was a toothy-looking turquoise lizard inside, and Charlie felt himself tensing up, watching the animal suspiciously. But the lizard climbed onto Neville’s hand peaceably, only digging in slightly with its claws as it was lifted slowly out of its environment.
Neville sat down in the grass, and Charlie joined him, leaning forward to admire the creature. Its hide was constructed of tiny round scales that gave it the appearance of having been beaded with glass in exquisite detail.
"Now this is the smallest dragon I've seen in a while," he chuckled. "He's not going to bite me, is he?" Charlie laughed, but Neville gave him a measuring look, and Charlie wondered if he’d picked up on some basic loss of confidence in his voice.
“She’s not aggressive, I've handled her a lot. Here." Neville put his hand alongside Charlie's and let the lizard step from one to the other.
"Did you get flamed?" Neville asked.
Charlie shook his head. "Bitten," he admitted. "It happened so fast, I still jump every time something moves out of the corner of my eye." Charlie rubbed the lizard's head gently, it stopped walking and closed its eyes halfway. "She's really beautiful, Neville. They all are. I can see you take a lot of time with them."
"Where'd you get bit?"
Charlie recognized he was being steered back on topic, but figured there was no harm being honest. “My shoulder. Front and back. It was my fault, I was careless. I was thinking about…”
Amissia … Janna…Erikk….Lanne….
“…other things. I don’t blame the dragon. I always preferred dragons to people, you know, at least with dragons you always know where you stand."
Neville smiled a little. “Plants, too.”
“Or at least I used to know,” Charlie added quietly. “I guess it was foolish of me to think I had some kind of magic touch.” The lizard began to walk, Charlie let her trundle from one hand to the other as if on a treadmill.
“You seem to be doing all right with Gemma,” Neville pointed out.
“Yeah, and if they were all this size I’d have it made.”
“You know, just because you had one bad experience doesn’t mean they’re all going to hurt you.”
“I know that,” Charlie snapped. “I’m not a coward.”
"N-no, of course you’re not,” Neville’s gaze slid away from his. “I wasn’t implying…”
Oh, real nice going, Charlie….
“I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m supposed to be the bloody expert and I don’t know why it happened.”
Charlie laid his hand on the ground and let the lizard wander off into the foliage. “Instead I get myself punctured like a cheap bicycle tire. I could probably give Bill a run for his money in the scar department now.” He shrugged his left shoulder with resignation. “Well, plenty of people walking around these days with scars, I suppose, some you can see, some you can't. I guess none of us are untouched."
Charlie shook his head. “Well, enough about me. How’d an Herbologist end up with all these animals?”
“One at a time. Toads tend to outlive their owners, the lady at the pet shop started sending me owls when one needed a home, because she knew I owned Trevor. And when the Aurors raid a dark Potions shop they usually come up with a reptile or two, Tonks started bringing them here. That’s how I got Gemma.”
“Ah. Fred told me you had a kind heart.” Charlie couldn’t help smiling when this made Neville blush. “It must be a lot of work for you, though,” he went on, before he could cause any further embarrassment.
“Grueling,” Neville admitted.
“Well, maybe I could help you out with some of their upkeep. If you trust me with them, of course.”
Neville gave him a charming lopsided grin. “Yeah, I think you’re pretty qualified for the job.”
~(~
Neville stumbled out of the Floo into his darkened living room, beyond exhausted. A glance at his grandmother’s mantel clock confirmed it was after ten. He'd ended up having a drink with old Tom the barkeep, it had been a slow Thursday night at the Leaky and the elderly man had been feeling nostalgic. Much as Neville loathed firewhiskey, and although he’d had a very long day, he’d been too polite to leave until Tom had finished recounting his favorite war story, while refilling their drinks continually. There had been only so many opportunities for Neville to empty his glass into the poor fern at the end of the bar.
He was just grateful to be home. He hoped Charlie had been able to scrounge something out of the pantry for dinner, since Neville had missed it by hours.
He eased off his shoes and headed for the kitchen. He was just thinking how he still had laundry to do or he was going to be wearing dirty robes to work tomorrow when he heard a yell from upstairs and a muffled thud.
Neville hurried as best he could to the foot of the stairs, the curve of the cane tight in his hand. “Charlie?” he called up. “Are you all right?”
Instead of an answer, there was a crash of broken glass.
Neville’s body chilled as if he’d been dropped into ice water. Do not, he told himself sternly, jump to any panicky conclusions. Charlie was fit and young, and the war was over. There was absolutely no reason to assume that Death Eaters had invaded the upper floor of his home, or that Charlie was….
He had a sudden, violent stab of memory, of finding Gran on the floor in the kitchen. Unconscious, he had thought in horror, before discovering, gradually, that she was not unconscious, she was cold.
Neville started up the stairs. It was only one flight, but it stretched up in front of him as if every crazy staircase in Gryffindor tower had been laid end to end.
…one step at a time… don’t rush or you’ll fall…everything’s all right… he’s all right….
Cane in one hand, banister rail in the other, wand in his teeth, just in case it was Death Eaters….Neville made laborious but steady progress to the top of the flight.
The second floor looked familiar and foreign to him all at the same time. He was out of breath from the exertion, sweat trickling at the back of his neck, and his leg was swearing it would have vengeance against him tomorrow for this effort.
"Lumos!" He lit the globes along the wall, then made his way to the end of the corridor and pushed open the door to the guest room.
“Lumos!”
Charlie was illuminated in the glow pouring from his wand. He was sitting inelegantly on the floor at the base of the wardrobe, looking dazed and frantic, and breathing as hard as Neville was. One of the pictures on the wall was tilted at a crazy angle, Neville noticed, and the lamp was on the floor in pieces.
“What happened?” Neville demanded. It took him a moment to realize that Charlie was only wearing pajama bottoms. The scraps of white around his shoulder and chest were all bandages.
“I … I had a nightmare,” Charlie explained, “And when I woke up I couldn’t remember where I was. I thought I was back home, but I couldn't find my wand, I couldn't find the light, I couldn't find the door!”
Neville sagged down onto the edge of the bed, about to collapse. “You’re all right,” he said heavily. “You’re just in an unfamiliar house.” He aimed his wand at the lamp shards on the floor. “Reparo,” he said. The shards slid together but refused to assemble into anything lamp-shaped. Instead they formed what looked like a spikey ball of clay. “Rep…Rep,” Neville gave up. At least neither of them would step on any stray pieces in their bare feet.
Charlie muttered an alarmed profanity, struggling up off the floor using only one arm. “Your leg… the stairs. I’m so sorry!”
Neville flinched from Charlie as the other man laid a hand on his shoulder. Charlie was still trembling from whatever night terror had had him so disoriented.
“I’m all right,” Neville said irritably. It wasn’t too much of a lie, but he knew he couldn’t take those stairs again for a while. “I’ll just sleep up here tonight in my old room.”
'No, no, you stay right there, I'll take your old room. We’ll figure out how to get you down in the morning. I’m so sorry about this.”
Charlie set the prickly lamp on the dresser. “Looks like Muggle modern art,” he tried to laugh a little. Neville was too wiped out to even smile.
Neville pushed the twisted quilt aside and fell back into the pillow. If he thought he’d been exhausted when he got home, he was exploring new horizons of it now. Before he could pull the quilt over himself, however, he realized Charlie was looking at him strangely.
“What?”
"Aren't you going to get undressed?" Charlie asked.
Neville hesitated. "I wasn't planning on it.”
"Well you can't get a decent night's rest in your clothes. Let me lend you a pair of pajamas." Charlie rummaged in a drawer, came back with a neatly folded stack of faded blue nightwear ~ well-worn and soft like everything the Weasley family wore.
Neville reluctantly went through the steps necessary to get out of bed again, body screaming protests at the change in arrangements. He stood with his back to Charlie and tried to take off his shirt.
Between fatigue, pain, nervousness, the aftershock of adrenalin, near inebriation, and low lighting it proved harder than expected. Unfastening eight tiny buttons seemed beyond his current manual abilities. Slowly, Charlie stepped up close and reached around him from behind to do the task for him. Neville felt he was coming undone along with his shirt. It was all he could do to resist the strange urge he was having to lean back into the other man’s body, to let his head fall back onto someone’s shoulder and just drop into oblivion. By the third button, the heels of Charlie's hands were moving down Neville's sides and Neville felt the moment when Charlie began to grow concerned.
Neville knew he had lost a lot of weight. During the war he’d been too stressed or too busy to eat properly, and after the war, the injuries had made it difficult to get to the market often, or to stand and cook. He wore robes at work and when his friends visited, so no one had really noticed.
Until now.
Charlie undid the last button, and his hands reached into the now opened shirt, and slid lightly down Neville's ribs, not in a caressing manner, but the way someone might assess an undernourished horse. Neville put up with this because he figured it was meant well and any dragonkeeper would probably notice physical details like that, but he was not at all comfortable with so much touching and he couldn't help tensing up and squinting one eye shut a bit in a wince.
Charlie laughed a little in his ear. "Relax, Neville, I'm not putting the moves on you."
"Of course not," Neville said, so dryly that the sentence almost snapped in half as soon as it was spoken.
Charlie's hands paused on his body, and it seemed like Neville had managed to do the impossible and rattle one of the five Weasleys considered unflappable. He didn't take any pride in it, in fact, he was sorry he couldn't yank the statement back, it sounded bitter and pathetic, and Charlie was probably wondering what kind of lunatic he had moved in with.
Charlie finished the task he’d started, sliding Neville's shirt off his shoulders and handing him the pajama top. While Neville was putting that on, Charlie unfastened his trousers and worked them down to the floor, kneeling, easing them over the brace bandage and past the scars that ran from knee to ankle. Neville stepped out of the trousers now pooled on the floor, careful not to lose his balance so he wouldn’t have to lay his hand on Charlie’s bandaged shoulder. He couldn't deal with trying to get into the pajama bottoms, and simply climbed back into bed in just the boxers and the top half of the pajamas. He was simultaneously more and less comfortable now that he was in fewer and more informal clothes. He watched Charlie carefully hang up his shirt and trousers, and wondered how in the world he'd suddenly acquired a valet. It was the last thing he had time to wonder about before passing out.
Continue...
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Title: Where You Stand
Characters: Neville/Charlie
Part 3 and 4 Prompts: “red” & “the chimera obscurant”
Rating: R just because it’s slash, but I don’t plan on anything too explicit.
Word Count: 5,000
Summary: Neville discovers that Charlie’s lost his confidence with dragons.
A/N: This will be all one story in chronological order. Dream sequences are in bold instead of italics just because I find it a little easier to read than a big block of italics.
Prompt table lives here: Prompt Table
Warnings: slash, brief mention of remembering Augusta’s death
~(~ 3 RED ********************************************************
Neville sipped cautiously at the rim of his paper cup. The coffee was really too hot to drink, but he was enjoying the steam curling up off the black liquid.
“Mr. Longbottom, I presume?” asked a cheerful voice, and for a moment Neville thought it was Ron who had spoken. It was a red-haired Weasley approaching his table, but it was not Ron.
“Charlie! Good Morning.”
“Hiya, Neville, how’ve you been?”
Neville wanted to stand up, realized what a production it was going to be with the tangle of chairs and decided to stay where he was, hoping Charlie wouldn’t mind the breach of manners. They clasped hands, Neville remembered just in time not to jostle Charlie’s right arm. “Please, sit down,” Neville offered.
“Can we move inside, or….”
Neville glanced through the window of Fortescue’s, which was crowded with patrons. He thought of limping in there next to Charlie Dragonkeeper Weasley, navigating the slick tile floors with his cane while everybody stared, and probably falling on his arse.
“You go on,” he said to Charlie. “We can walk over to the Leaky when you’re done.”
“No, no. Let me just order, I’ll be back.”
Charlie returned with a cup that was also steaming, the scent of red berry tea swirling out from his vicinity as he sat down across from Neville.
Neville braced himself for the inevitable questions. The Weasleys were an inquisitive bunch, talkative and open, one could even say prone to gossip.
And the truth was, Neville didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to discuss injuries or politics or dragons or hear about which Weasely had been doing what or living where or marrying whom. He didn’t want to discuss the leg that was supposed to be healed by now but wasn’t. He didn’t want the topic of him being the last person in his branch of the family left alive to come up, he didn’t want to have to explain how his mother died of pneumonia, or how his father died in his sleep a month later, or how his Grandmother had had a heart attack when she heard the news.
Neville had only survived this long by not talking about it. Not thinking about it.
To his vast surprise, and infinite gratitude, Charlie said nothing. They drank their beverages and watched shoppers bustle up and down the Alley for a good half an hour, until finally Neville reached the bottom of his cup and set it down.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting to see the house,” he said.
~(~
Charlie stepped out of the Floo a few moments after his new landlord, into a room crowded with furniture. He experienced a moment of confusion, it seemed to be the main front room, but there was a bed in the middle of it. It was pushed in between a sofa and a chair, leaving a walkway through to the adjoining room. There were piles of folded clothes on the sofa, books and parchment scattered around, shoes, and a set of robes hanging off the back of a door.
"Well,” Neville said, waving his wand at all the soot that had followed them out. “This is the living room, which, as you can see, I'm living in. Dining room’s through there and the kitchen is beyond that. As for the rest of the house… well, I haven't been upstairs in ages,” he picked his cane up a bit in explanation. “Maybe you can just show yourself around up there. There's a guest room, it’s the one with yellow wallpaper and a white quilt, you can take that. I'd offer you another room for a study or something, but there's stuff in them, and I'd have to pack it up first.”
"One room is fine,” Charlie said quickly. “Thanks."
Charlie moved up the stairs, leaving Neville below. He walked along the upper floor hallway, looking in each room as he went. They all appeared dusty and long unused. He came across what was obviously Neville's childhood bedroom ~ blue walls and low bookshelves, a globe, a model of an antique Muggle sailing ship. The one across the hall obviously was…used to be… the grandmother's room ~ lilac colored walls, lace curtains, neat as a shrine, perfume bottles still lined up on the vanity. There were two more rooms that were apparently used only for storage, full of old furniture, boxes, racks of outdated clothes. He found the bathroom, made a note to ask for some soap and towels. The last room at the end of the hall was the guest room - his room now - a little musty, but serviceable, with a bed, wardrobe, and writing desk. Charlie opened the window to air the place out, then laid down on top of the bed to acclimate to his new surroundings for a minute.
Merlin, it’s quiet out here, was the last thought he had before dropping into an unplanned nap.
The first dream is unsettling, some crazy old man is dangling a little boy out the window and some woman is screaming bloody-murder outside.
The scene fades. Charlie's walking through the eastern pasture. The smell of sheep hangs heavy in the air. There's blood on the sand.
The dragon is one of the newly discovered reds. They move faster than the bigger breeds, they are more birdlike, and somehow strike Charlie as more cunning. Niorimi tips her head and stares at him, looking like some strange cross between a snake and an ostrich, with tiny front feet that look like they could hold a teacup and not spill a drop. She makes a chattering noise in her throat. He’s oddly flattered, it’s almost as if she’s trying to communicate with him. Maybe that's why it happened, his arrogance in assuming she was interested in him as anything other than prey. Or maybe he was just mesmerized like some small, trapped animal by the bobbing head and the beady eyes and the rattling noise of her quills. He forgets about her mate.
Charlie doesn't see it coming. Teeth close over his right shoulder like a grasping hand, points driving in from front and back like fingernails filed to razor points. It’s quick and it’s violent and then it’s over.
There's more blood on the sand, it takes Charlie a minute to realize it is his.
The fact that he’s still alive at all tells Charlie the dragon had only been delivering a warning nip. But Elkor doesn’t understand Charlie has no scales, that the “warning” could have killed him.
The sense of betrayal hurts worse than the injury… at least until his co-workers pin him to the infirmary floor and uncork a bottle of smoking scarlet potion.
~(~
The gathering at Grimmauld Place was supposed to be an Order meeting, but it felt more like a Weasley family reunion to Neville. Harry, Hermione, and Ron made lunch despite Mrs. Weasley's protests, leaving the woman free to fuss over her second son.
Neville kept out of the way, making himself useful by organizing a pile of notes from the previous week, until a flurry of greetings and laughter signaled the arrival of the twins.
George dropped a package onto the table in front of him as he passed by on his way to his own chair.
“What’s this for?”
“Nothing, we were just in a shop and thought of you.”
“Figured we’d get on the good side of our brother’s landlord, in case we want to throw a party or anything.”
“No parties, it’s in the lease.”
The response to this statement was confused silence from the entire room.
“He’s kidding,” Charlie explained, grinning at him from across the table. “There’s no lease.”
There was a brief chorus of ‘ohs’ and a bit of laughter and everyone relaxed.
Neville opened the box at the table warily, figuring if it was rigged to do anything alarming he wanted witnesses and possibly assistants. He was surprised to discover it was a small box of chocolates, and quite a nice brand of them, at that.
Everybody laughed and warned him not to eat any, but Neville thought that this time perhaps the joke was on them, because there was a canary feather Spellotaped to the top of the lid.
Neville recognized an apology when he saw one. It was seven years in coming, but better late than never. He put the box in his coat pocket, gave Fred and George a slight nod across the table. Fred smiled at him and George gave him one of the patented Weasley winks.
Neville wondered for the millionth time what it must be like to be so outgoing.
~(~
It seemed strange to have someone at the table for dinner. Neville had decided it was an occasion for being hospitable, even if he didn't exactly want Charlie here, there was no reason to let Charlie know that. He’d even uncorked a dusty bottle of red wine. The main course was just spaghetti, but it was the first time he’d bothered to prepare anything more elaborate than pot noodles or scrambled eggs in months. He’d also toasted up some bread brushed with butter and fresh basil from the kitchen garden by the back door. Part of him was rather pleased with the meal and the company, another part of him wanted to smack Fred and George for what had probably been nothing more than an elaborate set-up by Molly to see that he was eating proper meals.
At least Charlie was proving to be less loquacious than most of his family. Except for compliments on the food, which Neville accepted, and an offer to do dishes afterward, which Neville refused, they didn’t talk much.
"Well, I guess I'll go on upstairs and read," Charlie said awkwardly, after the meal had ended and no further suggestions were forthcoming. Neville nodded, glad to hear it, he usually went to bed by nine himself, and was in no mood to stay up late entertaining anybody. He thought briefly about offering a game of cards, but he’d been on his feet a long time cooking dinner and just wanted to lie down. He'd like for his … guest? tenant? roommate? to feel at home, honestly, but he knew it was just going to take some time, no matter what he did or didn’t do.
Besides, Neville strongly suspected that Charlie would probably end up moving to Hogsmeade soon after school started, someplace where there was more to do and more interesting people to socialize with. He could see no point in drastically adjusting his schedules or routines.
After Charlie left, Neville remembered about the chocolates. He retrieved the box, unstuck the feather and affixed it to the wall, then sat back down at the table and took off the lid. The candies inside looked harmless enough. Not that that really meant anything, but he hesitated only a moment before biting into one. The only surprise was that the center was filled with a red cherry candied in brandy. Neville closed his eyes. Some little part of him was waiting for the charm to kick in, the spell to start, but there was nothing but the familiar comfort of chocolate melting on his tongue, the dusky flavor of liquor, the sweet brightness of the cherry like a sudden kiss. He hadn’t had chocolate in …more than a year, probably. Not since before….
He opened his eyes to find Charlie standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a glass of water in his hand. Neville hadn't heard him come down the stairs.
"Sorry… I was…. water."
Neville was the first to regain his composure.
"Want a chocolate?"
"Isn’t that the box Fred and George gave you? Are we going to spend the evening barking when we try to talk or something?"
Neville briefly considered replying to that with a 'woof', just as a practical joke, but then came to his senses, and simply smiled and shook his head. He wondered where such a crazy impulse had come from. Next thing he knew he'd be setting off firecrackers on the holidays like some street urchin.
Charlie picked up one of the candies and ate it in one bite, then washed it down with a gulp of water. “Not bad,” he pronounced. “Well, good-night, Neville."
Neville watched him bound up the stairs, light-footed, without giving the ability to do so a single thought. Neville admired Charlie’s strength and exuberance, but he was also honestly jealous. Neville was younger than Charlie, but he felt about seventy-five on a good day.
He took another candy out of the box, bit into the sweet, red center. Not bad, he recalled Charlie’s cavalier assessment. Neville’s opinion of the confection was closer to absolutely divine. He guessed that how much you valued a pleasure depended on how long you’d gone without it.
~(~ 4 The chimera obscurant ****************************************
He’s walking through the woods. Things keep dropping down out of the trees ~ leaves, snakes, birds, fruit ~ while other things dart in and out of the shadows. Just beyond the range of his peripheral vision, things in his world that he’d trusted to stay stationary move, like rocks and tree stumps.
He used to be able to trust everything and everyone around him. Now everything is unpredictable, and anyone could do anything at any time, out of the blue and with no warning.
Eyes like stones, and the rattle of a snake’s tail….
A hand grabs him by the shoulder, but the nails that dig into his flesh are sharp as nails.
Charlie woke up in a sweat, his shoulder itching under the wet gauze. Apparently the bizarre nightmares he’d been having had followed him from the preserve. How could I have read her so wrong? he wondered for the millionth time. What did I do that was so wrong?
Charlie eventually dragged himself downstairs to the kitchen, and was surprised to find Neville making breakfast.
“Did you sleep well?” Neville asked politely, before glancing up and taking him in. “Or at all?” he added.
“Bit of a rough night,” Charlie admitted, accepting a mug of tea. “I thought you’d be at work.”
“Sunday, remember? Come on, grab some toast and I’ll show you around.” Neville headed out the back door.
Neville’s enthusiasm for the grounds was far greater than what he’d displayed for the interior of the house yesterday. Charlie suffered through a detailed description of the plant life with good grace, just pleased to see a spark of interest on the young man’s face.
The stone walkway they were following ended at a building made of framework and glass.
“This is the greenhouse, obviously. It’s not very glamorous, I’m afraid, I mostly use it for vegetables.” Neville opened the door for him and followed him in.
Charlie thought it looked like a very pleasant place, although he sensed this was probably a personal sanctuary of sorts and not anywhere he should be intruding often. But he also noticed some cracks in the glass overhead, and more than a few areas that looked very dense with growth, as if they were going out of control like a jungle, and even a few weeds.
“I could give you a hand in here if you like,” he offered.
Neville shook his head. “You should rest while you can, before you start at Hogwarts.”
Mention of the school made Charlie feel slightly nauseous. It wasn’t that he was worried about the public speaking or dealing with strangers or the job itself - he had gotten a NEWT in Care of Magical Creatures, after all - it was just not the sort of work he’d ever planned for himself. Unicorns and hippogriffs and other animals were all very interesting… but they weren’t…well…
They weren’t dragons.
“I hear water,” he observed.
Neville invited him to go track it down with a slight gesture toward the gravel path that ran down the right side of the building.
Charlie discovered that the back corner of the greenhouse had been devoted to a large group of terrariums and aquariums, and a shallow pool in a grassy area, where a low water spout came bubbling out of the stones at one end. He spotted toads, salamanders, and lizards of several species, and one free roaming tortoise. There was the faint shimmer of wards and green-magic, Charlie guessed that there were quite a few spells in place to provide for their highly specialized requirements, and to give them some freedom from their enclosures while still containing them in a safe area. There were similar spells at work in the preserve, only on a much grander scale.
Maybe the climatological spells were off … maybe the rainforest replication hadn’t been providing enough humidity for the reds and it made them aggressive…
Charlie was pulled back to the present when he saw Neville reaching into one of the terrariums. There was a toothy-looking turquoise lizard inside, and Charlie felt himself tensing up, watching the animal suspiciously. But the lizard climbed onto Neville’s hand peaceably, only digging in slightly with its claws as it was lifted slowly out of its environment.
Neville sat down in the grass, and Charlie joined him, leaning forward to admire the creature. Its hide was constructed of tiny round scales that gave it the appearance of having been beaded with glass in exquisite detail.
"Now this is the smallest dragon I've seen in a while," he chuckled. "He's not going to bite me, is he?" Charlie laughed, but Neville gave him a measuring look, and Charlie wondered if he’d picked up on some basic loss of confidence in his voice.
“She’s not aggressive, I've handled her a lot. Here." Neville put his hand alongside Charlie's and let the lizard step from one to the other.
"Did you get flamed?" Neville asked.
Charlie shook his head. "Bitten," he admitted. "It happened so fast, I still jump every time something moves out of the corner of my eye." Charlie rubbed the lizard's head gently, it stopped walking and closed its eyes halfway. "She's really beautiful, Neville. They all are. I can see you take a lot of time with them."
"Where'd you get bit?"
Charlie recognized he was being steered back on topic, but figured there was no harm being honest. “My shoulder. Front and back. It was my fault, I was careless. I was thinking about…”
Amissia … Janna…Erikk….Lanne….
“…other things. I don’t blame the dragon. I always preferred dragons to people, you know, at least with dragons you always know where you stand."
Neville smiled a little. “Plants, too.”
“Or at least I used to know,” Charlie added quietly. “I guess it was foolish of me to think I had some kind of magic touch.” The lizard began to walk, Charlie let her trundle from one hand to the other as if on a treadmill.
“You seem to be doing all right with Gemma,” Neville pointed out.
“Yeah, and if they were all this size I’d have it made.”
“You know, just because you had one bad experience doesn’t mean they’re all going to hurt you.”
“I know that,” Charlie snapped. “I’m not a coward.”
"N-no, of course you’re not,” Neville’s gaze slid away from his. “I wasn’t implying…”
Oh, real nice going, Charlie….
“I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m supposed to be the bloody expert and I don’t know why it happened.”
Charlie laid his hand on the ground and let the lizard wander off into the foliage. “Instead I get myself punctured like a cheap bicycle tire. I could probably give Bill a run for his money in the scar department now.” He shrugged his left shoulder with resignation. “Well, plenty of people walking around these days with scars, I suppose, some you can see, some you can't. I guess none of us are untouched."
Charlie shook his head. “Well, enough about me. How’d an Herbologist end up with all these animals?”
“One at a time. Toads tend to outlive their owners, the lady at the pet shop started sending me owls when one needed a home, because she knew I owned Trevor. And when the Aurors raid a dark Potions shop they usually come up with a reptile or two, Tonks started bringing them here. That’s how I got Gemma.”
“Ah. Fred told me you had a kind heart.” Charlie couldn’t help smiling when this made Neville blush. “It must be a lot of work for you, though,” he went on, before he could cause any further embarrassment.
“Grueling,” Neville admitted.
“Well, maybe I could help you out with some of their upkeep. If you trust me with them, of course.”
Neville gave him a charming lopsided grin. “Yeah, I think you’re pretty qualified for the job.”
~(~
Neville stumbled out of the Floo into his darkened living room, beyond exhausted. A glance at his grandmother’s mantel clock confirmed it was after ten. He'd ended up having a drink with old Tom the barkeep, it had been a slow Thursday night at the Leaky and the elderly man had been feeling nostalgic. Much as Neville loathed firewhiskey, and although he’d had a very long day, he’d been too polite to leave until Tom had finished recounting his favorite war story, while refilling their drinks continually. There had been only so many opportunities for Neville to empty his glass into the poor fern at the end of the bar.
He was just grateful to be home. He hoped Charlie had been able to scrounge something out of the pantry for dinner, since Neville had missed it by hours.
He eased off his shoes and headed for the kitchen. He was just thinking how he still had laundry to do or he was going to be wearing dirty robes to work tomorrow when he heard a yell from upstairs and a muffled thud.
Neville hurried as best he could to the foot of the stairs, the curve of the cane tight in his hand. “Charlie?” he called up. “Are you all right?”
Instead of an answer, there was a crash of broken glass.
Neville’s body chilled as if he’d been dropped into ice water. Do not, he told himself sternly, jump to any panicky conclusions. Charlie was fit and young, and the war was over. There was absolutely no reason to assume that Death Eaters had invaded the upper floor of his home, or that Charlie was….
He had a sudden, violent stab of memory, of finding Gran on the floor in the kitchen. Unconscious, he had thought in horror, before discovering, gradually, that she was not unconscious, she was cold.
Neville started up the stairs. It was only one flight, but it stretched up in front of him as if every crazy staircase in Gryffindor tower had been laid end to end.
…one step at a time… don’t rush or you’ll fall…everything’s all right… he’s all right….
Cane in one hand, banister rail in the other, wand in his teeth, just in case it was Death Eaters….Neville made laborious but steady progress to the top of the flight.
The second floor looked familiar and foreign to him all at the same time. He was out of breath from the exertion, sweat trickling at the back of his neck, and his leg was swearing it would have vengeance against him tomorrow for this effort.
"Lumos!" He lit the globes along the wall, then made his way to the end of the corridor and pushed open the door to the guest room.
“Lumos!”
Charlie was illuminated in the glow pouring from his wand. He was sitting inelegantly on the floor at the base of the wardrobe, looking dazed and frantic, and breathing as hard as Neville was. One of the pictures on the wall was tilted at a crazy angle, Neville noticed, and the lamp was on the floor in pieces.
“What happened?” Neville demanded. It took him a moment to realize that Charlie was only wearing pajama bottoms. The scraps of white around his shoulder and chest were all bandages.
“I … I had a nightmare,” Charlie explained, “And when I woke up I couldn’t remember where I was. I thought I was back home, but I couldn't find my wand, I couldn't find the light, I couldn't find the door!”
Neville sagged down onto the edge of the bed, about to collapse. “You’re all right,” he said heavily. “You’re just in an unfamiliar house.” He aimed his wand at the lamp shards on the floor. “Reparo,” he said. The shards slid together but refused to assemble into anything lamp-shaped. Instead they formed what looked like a spikey ball of clay. “Rep…Rep,” Neville gave up. At least neither of them would step on any stray pieces in their bare feet.
Charlie muttered an alarmed profanity, struggling up off the floor using only one arm. “Your leg… the stairs. I’m so sorry!”
Neville flinched from Charlie as the other man laid a hand on his shoulder. Charlie was still trembling from whatever night terror had had him so disoriented.
“I’m all right,” Neville said irritably. It wasn’t too much of a lie, but he knew he couldn’t take those stairs again for a while. “I’ll just sleep up here tonight in my old room.”
'No, no, you stay right there, I'll take your old room. We’ll figure out how to get you down in the morning. I’m so sorry about this.”
Charlie set the prickly lamp on the dresser. “Looks like Muggle modern art,” he tried to laugh a little. Neville was too wiped out to even smile.
Neville pushed the twisted quilt aside and fell back into the pillow. If he thought he’d been exhausted when he got home, he was exploring new horizons of it now. Before he could pull the quilt over himself, however, he realized Charlie was looking at him strangely.
“What?”
"Aren't you going to get undressed?" Charlie asked.
Neville hesitated. "I wasn't planning on it.”
"Well you can't get a decent night's rest in your clothes. Let me lend you a pair of pajamas." Charlie rummaged in a drawer, came back with a neatly folded stack of faded blue nightwear ~ well-worn and soft like everything the Weasley family wore.
Neville reluctantly went through the steps necessary to get out of bed again, body screaming protests at the change in arrangements. He stood with his back to Charlie and tried to take off his shirt.
Between fatigue, pain, nervousness, the aftershock of adrenalin, near inebriation, and low lighting it proved harder than expected. Unfastening eight tiny buttons seemed beyond his current manual abilities. Slowly, Charlie stepped up close and reached around him from behind to do the task for him. Neville felt he was coming undone along with his shirt. It was all he could do to resist the strange urge he was having to lean back into the other man’s body, to let his head fall back onto someone’s shoulder and just drop into oblivion. By the third button, the heels of Charlie's hands were moving down Neville's sides and Neville felt the moment when Charlie began to grow concerned.
Neville knew he had lost a lot of weight. During the war he’d been too stressed or too busy to eat properly, and after the war, the injuries had made it difficult to get to the market often, or to stand and cook. He wore robes at work and when his friends visited, so no one had really noticed.
Until now.
Charlie undid the last button, and his hands reached into the now opened shirt, and slid lightly down Neville's ribs, not in a caressing manner, but the way someone might assess an undernourished horse. Neville put up with this because he figured it was meant well and any dragonkeeper would probably notice physical details like that, but he was not at all comfortable with so much touching and he couldn't help tensing up and squinting one eye shut a bit in a wince.
Charlie laughed a little in his ear. "Relax, Neville, I'm not putting the moves on you."
"Of course not," Neville said, so dryly that the sentence almost snapped in half as soon as it was spoken.
Charlie's hands paused on his body, and it seemed like Neville had managed to do the impossible and rattle one of the five Weasleys considered unflappable. He didn't take any pride in it, in fact, he was sorry he couldn't yank the statement back, it sounded bitter and pathetic, and Charlie was probably wondering what kind of lunatic he had moved in with.
Charlie finished the task he’d started, sliding Neville's shirt off his shoulders and handing him the pajama top. While Neville was putting that on, Charlie unfastened his trousers and worked them down to the floor, kneeling, easing them over the brace bandage and past the scars that ran from knee to ankle. Neville stepped out of the trousers now pooled on the floor, careful not to lose his balance so he wouldn’t have to lay his hand on Charlie’s bandaged shoulder. He couldn't deal with trying to get into the pajama bottoms, and simply climbed back into bed in just the boxers and the top half of the pajamas. He was simultaneously more and less comfortable now that he was in fewer and more informal clothes. He watched Charlie carefully hang up his shirt and trousers, and wondered how in the world he'd suddenly acquired a valet. It was the last thing he had time to wonder about before passing out.
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