FIC: Calling Me Out to the Cliffs [Charlie/Draco - R]
Title: Calling Me Out to the Cliffs
Author: calrissian18
Pairing(s): Charlie/Draco
Prompt: # 7 from the 2012 list - Christmas in Romania.
Word Count: ~8,000
Rating: R
Contains (Highlight to view): *Angst, Sizable age difference (though no one’s underage!), Use of clichéd drunkenness - apologies, Language, Intercrural sex and Blow Js - Hooray!!!*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I loved this prompt! There was so much room to roam. *stretches out greedily* And I got to write something with a very cold feel almost all the way through again - my favorite (and seasonally appropriate)! I cannot thank you enough for the opportunity to do just what I wanted, deirdre_aithne! Also, I have taken dragon lore from all over the freakin’ place so… inconsistencies abound! The title was inspired by the song ”Penzance” by Patrick Wolf. Thank you so much to my army of Laura-betas! You have both made this so much more perfect! *loves you to death* And I have no idea if there are moors in Romania - in fact, I’m almost certain there aren’t - so if your brain is exploding from the clash of geographical information then let me say, canonically, there are moors in Romania but they’re Disillusioned from Muggles to be used as dragon reserves. XD
Summary: The war ends but Fenrir Greyback has evaded capture and he’s made no effort to hide his fascination with one Draco Malfoy. For his own protection, the Order decides to shack him up with Charlie Weasley in Middle-of-Nowhere, Romania. Which is just what Charlie wants this Christmas: to spend the hols with his ex.
"Salt wishes it tasted as potent as these kippers."
Charlie rolls his eyes. "I've had to start a new scroll, but your displeasure's been noted."
Draco stretches, kicking his feet out so his long legs are sprawled underneath the table. He slinks down in his chair and rubs a wayward hand over his flat stomach. Charlie raises an unimpressed brow even as his mouth goes dry. He's forgotten how tall Draco is, and how graceful he can be with all those inches. He doesn't have the lankiness that Ron has, who walks like a doll with ball joints, swinging his arms and legs out as far as they'll go with each step. Merlin, and those legs - Draco's current position perfectly highlights how they go on for days.
Charlie kicks the sole of Draco's loafer with his boot. Draco shoots him a dark look but sits up straight. It's the last time he looks at Charlie. He spends the rest of breakfast staring out the window over the sink from his seat. The sky is still some mix of orange and coral, and the side of his pale skin is painted in glowing color.
Charlie tells himself he isn't staring even as he thinks that this kind of beauty is why men carve statues.
When Charlie shovels in the last bite of toast, soaking with egg yolk and about to drip, Draco snatches up his plate like a parent yanking a toy away from a misbehaving child and stomps over to the sink. He places his own and Charlie's in its basin and blinks out at the moor. It's early enough that the fog is still billowing in from the north in roaring waves, making it look like the few sparse trees are floating above nothing at all.
The wind is howling through their branches, making them twist and bend with groaning limbs, but it’s a silent dance from behind their four walls. The snow weaves through the air, victim to the violent whim of the cold breeze, but the flakes are small and mostly melted by the time they reach the swampy moor.
Draco's shoulders slump and Charlie can remember coming up behind him once upon a time, the fire in Grimmauld Place crackling and warming Charlie's hands as they slid around Draco's waist to cross in the front. He hadn't known what to say to make him feel better, to stop the war from raging all around them, so he'd pressed his nose behind Draco’s ear and stood with him like that for what felt like a lifetime, cold everywhere but for the places where they overlapped.
Now he clears his throat uncomfortably. "Just leave 'em. I'll get to them later."
Draco snaps out of whatever melancholy he's lost himself in and shrugs. "As you like," he mutters. They act like strangers with one another now: too careful, too cautious. An outsider would never know that Charlie had once been comfortable enough with Draco to let those cold hands rub salve into his burns.
Draco crosses behind him and scoops up his jumper from the back of Charlie's drooping sofa.
"Going out?" Charlie tries to ask the question in his cheeriest tone, eager for Draco to know he is not trying to pick a fight.
Draco snorts without looking at him, shrugging into a warm jacket. "Nothing gets past you, Weasley."
He's already got the door open when Charlie clears his throat and growls after him, "Stay within the protective boundaries, Malfoy." It should be more of an effort to keep up with the 'Malfoy' lark since he only thinks of him as 'Draco.’ Luckily the animosity is never too far from mind.
Draco sneers and, Merlin, does Charlie hate that look. He finds it almost cruel to make something so beautiful look so ugly. "You could test out some new material while I'm out," Draco snipes in a whingy sort of voice.
It grates on Charlie's nerves, his shoulders hunching inward, and he snaps back, "I'm considering 'I hope you get yourself gutted, Malfoy.'"
Draco laughs softly and there is something dark and hurt there, like he’s poked a tender wound. "It'd be a lovely change." The door slams behind him before Charlie can backtrack and shove the words back in his mouth. He'll tell Draco he didn't mean it when he comes back from his morning constitutional. Though, with his luck, Draco will wander out too far, Greyback will find him and the last thing Charlie will have ever said to him is, 'I hope you get gutted.'
♕
He meanders over to the couch with a heavy sigh and slumps back into the cushions, letting them wrap him up from behind. He's half-asleep, his mother yelling at him that he can't house his toads in the pots on the counter because they're Charmed to boil when he realizes the screech of, "Charlie!" isn't only happening inside his head.
He pops to, overly awake, stumbles off the couch and directly into the coffee table. He's a jumble of uncoordinated limbs and little balance, like a newborn wyrmling. He blinks his weary eyes, rubbing at them with his fingers - too hard - when they won’t go past half-mast and he catches sight of his mum's head on fire.
He grapples with the magazines on the edge of the table and flops down on the hearth. "Mum." He sounds as if he's been running back and forth on the moor all morning and he rubs the back of his neck as it heats up with embarrassment.
"You are quite the show, dear," his mum puts in fondly.
Charlie offers her a sarcastic grin and blinks sleepily. The thought hits him between the shoulder blades and he cranes his neck all around to see if Draco's come back yet. He might just die of mortification if he'd seen all that. Draco is the absolute last person Charlie wants to make a fool out of himself in front of, especially as just looking at him is more than enough to remind Charlie of all his imperfections.
"How are things then?" his mum asks, pulling his attention back around. She's frowning in a sympathetic fashion as though she expects Draco’s spouting something nasty to him at that very moment. Charlie quickly puts that thought to bed.
He rubs a hand over his forehead like he means to sand it down. "How much longer do I have to keep him out here, Mum?” he whinges. There’s nothing like talking to his mother to make him sound more childish. “He makes no effort to hide how much he hates it."
Charlie can tell she’s searching for the right thing to say, the perfect motherly advice to offer, though he doubts she’ll figure out what that is. Of course, if he’d had his way then she wouldn’t know anything about he and Draco at all. Unfortunately she’d walked in on him fucking Draco into his mattress whilst dropping off his laundry. It had been scarring for all involved.
"It's not too... uncomfortable, is it?” she tries. “I was under the impression your... previous dalliance wasn't serious."
That is what Charlie had billed it as - ‘nothing too serious’ - and he’d felt something a lot like guilt fester in his gut ever since. "How could it be?” Charlie tosses out defensively. “He's Ron's age."
She rolls her eyes. "Just because he's your brother's age does not mean he's at your brother's maturation level, bless him," she adds with a certain warmth.
"Maybe not,” Charlie admits, “but that doesn't mean it's right. I should be dating someone my own age," he says gruffly.
His mum does not look impressed. "These are your own biases, Charlie. Remember that."
"Like no one would talk,” Charlie rebuts. “You know how Aunt Miriam is."
"Aunt Miriam is an insufferable old gossip," his mother states hotly.
"Mum!" Charlie exclaims, taken over by a surprised guffaw, one that only occurs when you hear your mother badmouth someone.
"It's true,” she says, thrusting out her chin. “Even your grandmother agrees and you know how she dotes on that girl."
There’s a flicker on his mother’s side of the connection and then it’s Narcissa Malfoy who is looking out of the flames at him with a cooling stare. "Is my son there?" she asks in a clipped yet somehow melodic voice that reminds him of Draco’s.
"Not at the moment, ma'am," Charlie answers politely.
Narcissa gives him a sharp look. "He's not being too pig-headed about this?"
Charlie smiles briefly. "Not too pig-headed, no."
She shakes her head a bit and it’s not an action that fits her in the least. It’s doesn’t look like his mother’s does, like she’s being held together by peeling Spellotape, but rather like an aristocrat trying on a bum’s blanket. "It's a fine line Draco walks,” she says with the same motherly fondness his mum’s just used. “Do let him know I asked after him.” It’s not a request, though Charlie thinks that might have been what she was going for. Either way, he treats it as one.
"Yes, ma'am," Charlie agrees without hesitation. His mum’s face reappears on the other side of the Floo and Charlie says, "I’d best jump off then, before our little ray of sunshine bursts in."
She nods. "I'll keep you up to date with any news on Greyback."
"Thanks, Mum," Charlie says with a smile.
"Charlie.” She catches him before he douses the flames. “It really isn't too bad, is it?"
Charlie purses his lips and says, "No. No, it really isn't."
♕
Draco doesn’t return for hours, as is his custom, and when he does, his hair and collar are flecked with snow. The dragons won’t be pleased, Charlie thinks idly, as he stares into his drink. Draco’s nose is red and Charlie uses a hand to push the other warm mug of hot cocoa across the table, aiming it towards the seat by the fire Draco favors.
Draco kicks off his shoes by the door and unwraps the scarf from around his ears. There are odd spots of snow on the thighs of his trousers and the chest of his jacket. Charlie looks away when he realizes where exactly those spots have led him to stare. He hopes human hands aren’t what put them there. "Have a nice roam?" he asks, curbing the growl in his throat.
Draco slips into the seat across from him and instantly curves his cold hands around the cup of cocoa. He brings the whole of it up to his face and takes a deep inhale, his nose already starting to look less chapped. It’s a few more moments before he takes a sip and says on his exhale, "I did."
"I didn't mean it," Charlie tells him, unable to contain it any longer.
Draco doesn’t even pause, his movements as smooth as ever. "I know," he says calmly as he leans back into his seat, resting his cup on his sternum. Charlie’s just beginning to relax when Draco undercuts him with a snide, "Most of what you say seems fairly meaningless."
It’s a sting and Charlie feels it get him right under his topmost rib.
♕
Things are still tense between them as they roll into mid-December and Charlie’s glad to have an excuse to holler at him: "Oi, Malfoy!"
It’s a minute or two before Draco shuffles out of his bedroom, one arm of his silver, square-rim glasses dug into his temple and the indent of a crease in his cheek. His hair is mussed and he’s wearing the fluffiest slippers Charlie has ever seen. He tugs at his charcoal-colored turtleneck and tightens up his grip on the book hanging limply in his hand, his finger still marking his page. "You bellowed?" he says archly, his voice still scratchy from sleep.
Charlie blinks himself out of his stuttered thought process - achieved only by looking away from Draco - and says, whilst beaming, "Acantha's hatching."
Draco’s eyes pop and it’s all Charlie needs to say before he’s turning on his heel and racing back into his room to snatch up his boots and coat.
When Draco had first come to stay with him, Charlie had taken him all around the reserve and Draco had quickly chosen his favorite - a Vipertooth named Aella who was already well into her pregnancy. She had taken to Draco as well, nudging him with her head when she was feeling friendly enough. Draco quickly decided it should fall to him to name her future wyrmling. He’d chosen ‘Acantha’, which meant ‘thorn.’
“Will we get there in time?” Draco barks out as he rushes past, still pulling on his coat. Charlie grins and races out after him, slamming the door on his way out. Draco is certainly in for a rude awakening.
♕
Sixteen and a half hours later, through much whinging and grumbling and swearing - “thorn in my bloody side indeed,” Acantha finally breaks through the hard shell of her egg and is born. There are whoops of joy from the other handlers and even a celebratory fireball from Aella but Draco hardly seems to notice, as he’s busy complaining about how badly his feet hurt. He quiets when Acantha starts sniffing at the dirt, inhales and sneezes.
It is painfully adorable.
He and Draco continue to watch her in absolute silence as she explores her little patch of dirt, lit only by torchlight, wobbling around on her teeny legs and snuffing out smoke when she shakes her head. Charlie’s bent over and leaning his forearms on the wooden fence, watching Draco more often than Acantha, while Draco stares at her almost unblinkingly, a small smile gracing his face while he stands up ramrod straight - his aching feet forgot. They’re still there when Acantha curls up next to Aella’s underbelly and puts her head down for the night.
Draco has taken to Charlie’s position by now and is bent over and leaning on the gate too. Charlie straightens up and nudges Draco with his shoulder. "I think we'll have to celebrate," he says with a tired smile.
Draco presses his chin to his shoulder and looks up through his lashes at Charlie. "You going to break the rules and take me out to a pub?" he says coyly.
The picture Draco makes, his eyes half-mast and his softened voice really saying, ‘take me home’ is making Charlie’s trousers feel rather tight. He clears his throat and refrains from adjusting himself, though it’s hell not to. "I think I can hunt up a bottle of Ogden's and two glasses back," at home, "at the house."
They walk in silence across the moor, the snow fluffy at their feet and kicking up with every step they take. The sky is unclouded and the stars hole-punch every inch of it. He catches Draco staring at them rather than watching his step more than a few times, and Charlie takes it upon himself to catch his elbow and guide him out of harm’s way. He Charms a ball of light into existence with his wand and lets that lead them since it’s too dark to see his own hand in front of his face.
There’s nothing but the ambient sounds of twigs snapping and the clomp of their boots as they make their way through the underbrush. The hinges of the door whine like a siren in the stillness. Draco plops himself down in front of the fire and bites off his gloves, muttering a quick, “Incendio” at the lifeless grate. Flames leap into being and Draco sits down more heavily on his crossed legs while Charlie rummages in his kitchen cabinets for the bottle of Ogden’s.
The last he saw of it, he’d been moving it to hide it from Fred and George that summer they’d visited. The pang of sadness at that thought nearly levels him. He shakes it off and drags out the bottle from behind the crock-pot. It’s been too long since he’s seen George.
Next to the bottle are two heavy glasses. He fills them both, the foam nearly bubbling over, and drops one off in Draco’s waiting hand. He clinks his glass to Draco’s. "To new beginnings," he tries hopefully.
Draco raises his lip in distaste and Charlie watches him bite back the comment on his tongue. It seems like he’s, thankfully, still riding the high of Acantha’s hatching. As the fire crackles and the wood burns away, Charlie fails to realize that he’s only topped up Draco once while he’s had to refill his glass a good three times. At least until he’s blinking his eyes separately while staring at Draco, leaning alternately in and back too far as he tries to get him into focus.
Draco grabs onto his wrist to keep him from toppling over backwards and says gruffly, "Pace yourself there, Weasley."
Charlie rubs at his nose and they sit in silence for a long time, the grate snapping and popping at them, as angry as the tension between them. Charlie wishes it wasn’t there, wishes they could still lie in bed together and Charlie could watch Draco stretch out in the Sunday morning sun with feline elegance.
He opens his mouth and says, "You know something, Draco?” Draco obliges him by turning his way, resting his cheek on his raised knee. He already looks amused at what will no doubt be Charlie’s drunken wisdom. Charlie’s own legs are folded and out at his sides in a sort of butterfly position. It’s not a position he would ever sit in were he not well past intoxicated. Charlie catches up to what he means to say and wraps his tongue around it. “I miss you.” The half-smile on Draco’s face slips away and falls into a scowl. Charlie is undeterred. “I mean, I really miss you. You were there, you know - a blink of an eye and you'd miss it - but then you were gone and it was like you'd always been there."
Draco snatches up Charlie’s glass and moves to stand, spitting out through grinding teeth, "I think you've had enough."
Charlie grabs his arm to stop him standing and shakes his head. Draco eases back into his seat, looking wary and tense, ready to pop up at any moment. Charlie lets him go and Draco’s breathing starts to normalize. Charlie gives him a moment of false security in which he traces the curve of Draco’s throat with his eyes while the firelight flickers over the pale column of skin.
"You're the only one." Charlie watches Draco swallow and close his eyes as though he’s in pain and he knows he shouldn't be saying this. He's held on to it so long. He knows he's odd when it comes to these things and that's the last thing he wants Draco to think about him. "I was never interested, in school, you know?" He picks at the label on the Ogden's bottle, the letters 'G' and 'D' smearing into the image of the fiery dragon below. "I could recognize a pretty girl, sure, but that wasn't like looking at a unicorn or a tadfoal - it wasn’t that kind of magic. No one and nothing could get me as excited as seeing those."
"Charlie-" Draco starts and his voice is high and strident and full of warning and Charlie knows he wants him to stop here. Most of Charlie wants him to stop here too but his mouth is running away with him.
"I swear when I walked into Grimmauld and saw you standing there, it was like... that was magic." He could remember his sense of awe so clearly, that something so beautiful, so unarguably perfect, was so close, within reach even. Draco's eyes are closed now and he seems to be steeling himself. Charlie clears his throat and bounces his knees a bit, unable to sit still after something so heavy has fallen out of his mouth. He taps on Draco’s glass and shoots Draco a sideways look. "Do you miss me?"
Draco’s quiet for a long moment before he bites out tightly, "The sober version of yourself?" He perks a brow. "Yes."
Charlie bites the inside of his cheek. "No, Draco." A soft shake of his head. "You know what I mean."
Draco’s hand clenches on his knee and fury comes into his gaze before he looks away into the flames. Slowly they empty of such raw emotion and a heavy disappointment settles there. "You left me, Weasley,” Draco says monotonously. “You made it very clear exactly how much my opinion on things mattered to you.” He sighs. “Let's not pretend otherwise now."
Charlie scrubs at his hair. "You're so much younger than me."
Draco rolls his eyes. "So I've heard."
"People would talk," Charlie feels compelled to point out.
"Good,” Draco growls. He rolls his forearm over and pushes up his sleeve. The Dark Mark stares back into Charlie’s bright eyes. Charlie blinks at it rather stupidly. “It would give them something else to focus on."
Charlie rubs his palm along his thigh, looking every inch the chastised child. "It doesn't feel right."
"I'm not going to talk about this anymore,” Draco snaps. “It's come up so many times I could argue it in my sleep."
"I'm sorry," Charlie can’t help but put in quietly, and he is, too.
"Leave it," Draco says harshly.
Charlie shakes his head. "No, I am."
"Charlie," Draco bites out dangerously.
"All right," Charlie relents, holding up his hands. The sound of the crackling grate comes rushing back in to fill the strained silence. Charlie racks his brain for something neutral. "Oh. Your mum says hullo. I talked to her on the Floo earlier."
Draco’s shoulders tense and then slowly ease back. "Any update on Greyback?"
"None yet." Charlie digs his fingernail into the carpet and frowns. "Do you want to leave so badly?" He looks in Draco’s direction but stares at some spot over his head.
Draco snorts. "No, it's perfect fun to watch you walk about with no shirt or only a bloody towel and know I can't do anything but remember."
Charlie’s mouth falls open. "You want me?” Charlie has always thought he looked like a mutt compared to Draco’s purebred looks and he has never been able to understand what had made Draco deign, for even a second, to touch him. He has no illusions about how far out of his league Draco Malfoy is. To be wanted by someone like him… it’s intoxicating. Words fight their way out of his mouth without consulting his brain: “You can have me."
Draco laughs, utterly unimpressed. “I think you’ve made it very clear what I can and cannot have when it comes to you.”
Charlie doesn’t even hear him. He scrambles out of his odd butterfly position and crawls over to Draco. He pushes Draco’s legs flat and straddles his lap. He takes Draco’s limp hand and places it on the flat plane of his stomach, under his shirt. "No, really,” he breathes out. “You can have me."
Draco finally drags up his dropped jaw and pushes away with the hand that’s on Charlie’s abdomen, choking out an admonishing, "Weasley-"
Charlie presses his lips to the side of Draco’s mouth. "I want you so much." He worms his way past Draco’s sealed lips, feeding him his tongue and finally Draco relents with a groan that knows better, his hand traveling up and around to Charlie’s back. Charlie pushes him flat against the chair behind him and ruts in his lap. It’s an odd position but he’s determined to make it work. Draco’s doing his bit and thrusting back up against him.
He wants to be in his bed so badly, to not rush through some quickie with Draco now that he’s finally decided to let himself have this. Drunk and desirous, his magic takes over and he’s being squeezed through the head of a needle as he Apparates them into his bedroom. Draco’s head hits the nightstand and Charlie manages to coo over it stupidly for a moment.
Draco pushes his clumsy hands away from his head and surges back up to catch Charlie’s mouth, using the momentum to roll them. He strips off his own top like he’s furious with it and then he’s pulling at Charlie’s too. Charlie helps him as much as he’s able while Draco nips down his neck. He takes to Charlie’s body as though he’s missed it more than a man dying of thirst misses water.
Charlie thrusts up against his face with a whine when Draco reaches his fabric-covered crotch. "I can't - but I want - I want-" Charlie babbles out, his face twisted up, unsure if he wants to cry or scream.
Draco smirks. "You've had too much to drink,” he says softly, pressing his mouth to the head of Charlie’s cock through his trousers and breathing out warm air. “Don't force it." He licks the fabric and Charlie twists his hands into the sheets in an effort not to punch him.
Slowly, Draco pulls open the teeth of Charlie’s zip and yanks down his pants. He presses light but loving kisses to the soft skin of his cock and bathes it with his tongue but nothing he does will undo what Charlie’s done tonight. Charlie whines and now tears are streaming down the sides of his face. "I need this,” he grits out, angry with himself and Draco and the world at large. “I need you. Draco.” He flexes his jaw. “I need you."
Draco stops what he’s doing and catches his gaze. There’s a deeper understanding there that Charlie is terribly grateful for. He pushes at Charlie’s shoulder and eases him over, yanking his jeans all the way off. Charlie struggles up onto his knees and then Draco’s tongue is there, playing at his sac, touching the tip to his finest hair. Charlie bucks at the first feel of it. Draco sucks one ball into his mouth, then the other. He stretches out the skin between them with a not-quite pinch and Charlie shudders.
Draco licks up the strip of skin behind his sac and then his tongue swipes up the crack of Charlie’s arse. Charlie whimpers, pleasure radiating through him outward from his cock, but Draco isn’t finished. He pulls back and, without hesitation, plunges as far inside as he can with his tongue. Charlie’s cock is half hard and a sense of relief he has never known floods through him. Draco works deeper and deeper inside him while Charlie’s toes curl in and away from the mattress.
It was when Draco was rimming him for the first time at Grimmauld Place that Charlie had chanted, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’ to every thrust of his tongue. He hadn’t truly loved him then, of course. He’d just been entirely inexperienced and wholly in love with the sensations Draco was wringing from him.
Nothing has changed now. He’s overtaken with the urge to spout those same confessions all over again. Though he isn’t sure they’d still hold as little weight as they did then.
Draco is pressing wet, smacking kisses to Charlie’s quivering hole when Charlie finally cries enough. He’ll come if Draco keeps on and it’s far too soon for that, not when he’s finally getting what he’s refused himself for eleven long and lonely months.
Draco kisses the small of his back and slithers up so he blankets Charlie’s entire torso. He’s warm and familiar and Charlie hopes, somehow, that he’ll never have to move again. At least until Draco snatches Charlie’s earlobe between his teeth and asks in a husky voice, “Do you want to take me?” Charlie shudders and Draco blows into his ear with deliberate slowness. “Do you want to throw me down on the mattress, slide inside me and fuck me like you were made to do nothing else? Do you want to make me yours?”
Something inside of Charlie snaps and he grabs Draco’s shoulder in an ever-tightening grip and yanks him around. All those patches of hand-sized snow that Draco rolls through the door with, the mud on all his jumpers and the reeds in his hair - all those things that point to Draco getting down and dirty with someone else flash through his mind and he bears down on his weight. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’s dislocated Draco’s shoulder from the combination of his awkward angle and how hard he’s set down on him. “You are mine,” he growls into Draco’s face but Draco only looks up at him smugly, grabs hold of Charlie’s cock before he’s realized it and gives him a rough stroke.
Charlie groans and lets his head fall forward onto Draco’s collarbone. Draco’s hand sneaks down further to rub his palm up against his sac and then he’s inching back even farther. Charlie catches his wrist and shakes his head, nostrils flaring and eyes blazing. “I’m fucking you.”
Draco grins and his eyes flash steel. Charlie blinks because it’s just so bloody striking, so bloody animal. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he teases. He takes Charlie’s moment of distraction as an opportunity to pull him in by the small of his back and then his cock is sliding up against Draco’s. They both groan as they fall into a sporadic rhythm of rutting against one another. Draco slides his sweat-slick thigh up the back of Charlie’s legs and locks him there. Charlie is mostly too far gone to care and when he slips off of Draco’s cock and Draco catches him between his thighs and squeezes, it’s all the better.
The heat there is unbelievable and Charlie roars as he comes between Draco’s legs. It’s not what he wanted but neither can he bring himself to be disappointed. He catches his breath, limp on top of Draco’s welcome heat, before he slides down the lean body beneath him and takes the hard and waiting cock into his mouth. Draco arches into him with a gasp and he’s warm and soft and tastes just like Charlie remembers. He closes his eyes and moans and the vibration makes Draco’s whole body quake. Cool fingers reach down to curl into Charlie’s shaggy hair and Charlie moans louder.
This is what he’s wanted. This is what he thinks of when he shoves his hand down his pants in his bed alone at night. He imagines feeling Draco come apart under his skillful tongue - knowing, for at least those few brief moments - that he does own the man in his bed. The muscles in Draco’s thighs are clenching and unclenching, his chest is rising and falling, his back is arching and his toes are curling. He’s doused in sweat and he’s the most magnificent thing Charlie’s ever seen.
He gives a weak yank on Charlie’s hair, a warning of sorts, and groans out his release into Charlie’s mouth. Charlie swallows it all down, greedy for all he’ll give. He sucks him until he’s gone completely soft and then he lays his hot cheek on Draco’s sweat-cool stomach. A hand swifts back and forth through his hair lovingly and something in him tells him he should feel vaguely embarrassed about this considering how wet it is but he can’t seem to dredge up the emotion.
All he can feel in that moment is completely and utterly sated
♕
Morning is unforgiving and Charlie’s head pounds with every pulse of his throat. He vaguely wonders if death wouldn’t be more humane somehow. His cheek is plastered to something smooth and hot and his mouth tastes like a rodent crept in and died there during the night. He peels his skin off what turns out to be someone else’s. Charlie blinks and easily recognizes Draco’s taut stomach. Shit.
Two emotions are warring for prominence: overwhelming joy and the deepest despair. Despair wins. He rolls to the edge of the bed and holds his head in his hands, groaning at the light that’s pouring in through the window. He shuffles into the bathroom, trying to jostle his head as little as possible and only move what’s strictly necessary.
He clicks open the cabinet as quietly and smoothly as he can and downs the first Hangover potion he sees. It takes two minutes before his head is back in working order and his thoughts are his own. The first one that comes to him is: At least they didn’t fuck. Though it’s a nonsensical sentiment and he quickly throws it out. The only reason to be pleased about that is because it would mean that the intimacy of fucking wasn’t present, and Charlie knows - even if his memories of last night are mostly in tatters - that that isn’t the case. That wouldn’t have been the case the moment Charlie kissed him.
They’d always had that even if the rest was complicated beyond measure.
Charlie stumbles back into the room after brushing his teeth to find Draco sitting up and rubbing his forehead. All it takes for Draco is one look at him, at Charlie’s apologetic but cruel face that is trying for unaffected, and he gets the message. Charlie’s concerns over their age difference haven’t evaporated, their obvious passion hasn’t brought him around, and last night was fueled by drink and missing something he was never meant to have.
Nothing has changed.
Charlie feels like he watches as the words sink into Draco, become a part of him, eat away at his goodwill and warp him. He can see them bash at his heart like a wrecking ball, leaving permanent damage for all those who come after. Draco’s revealing eyes shutter themselves and nothing is left but pure, undiluted rage.
His fury sets the bedside lamp on fire and Charlie flinches. Draco doesn’t bother with it, his eyes still blazing with the flames he’s just let loose. He snatches up his pants and trousers from the end of the bed and storms past Charlie who is still standing immobile in the doorway. There is a pit in Charlie’s stomach as Draco passes and some knowing voice inside him says that this is the last time Draco will ever look at him.
It’s only a few minutes before Charlie hears the front door slam. It takes another one for Charlie to get out his wand and douse the flames. The lamp is charred beyond recognition, burnt and coiled and ugly. He drops onto the bed and lets his head fall forward into his hands. He presses his palms as hard as he can into the backs of his eyelids as tears prickle beneath them.
He’s still sitting like that when he hears a female voice from very far away, squawking, “Charlie?” over and over.
He clenches his jaw, digs his fingers into the edge of the mattress and squeezes his eyes shut. He sniffs, bounces his legs and then pushes himself up off the bed. Not a bit of evidence is left as to his current state of mind. He tugs on his trousers and pats into the next room in his bare feet. He plops down on the ottoman and says grimly, “What?”
He knows from the mirror on the bathroom cabinet that he looks like hell. There are bags under his eyes and his face is… craggy, there’s simply no better word for it.
His mum’s chipper, as always. "Is Draco about?"
Charlie’s shoulders jump up involuntarily and his face darkens. He bites out much more harshly than he means to, "Not at the moment. What is it then?"
The face in the fire rears back. "Well. Aren't you in a charming mood this morning?"
"Mum!" Charlie’s head is starting to hurt again and all he wants is to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over his head and never come out.
"All right,” she snaps, half defensive and half concerned, “don't get yourself in a state. Greyback's been captured, so your enforced captivity with Draco is done." Charlie’s head rises out of his hand. It was just what he wanted. Was? Was. He wants Draco gone, but not forever. And he knows, with the stunt he just pulled, if Draco left now he would never speak to Charlie again so long as he lived. His mum bites her lip. "That is what you wanted, isn't it?"
Charlie says, “Yes,” even as he shakes his head. His mum looks as confused as he feels.
♕
Draco stays out later than he’s ever dared before and Charlie’s wrapping himself up in his own winter coat - as the snow has been at it nonstop for the last two days - to go out and search for him when he blows in through the front door. He freezes when he sees Charlie. "News?" is all he barks out.
Charlie takes in a deep breath. "None." Decision made then.
Draco lets out a disgusted sound, his lip raised in complete revulsion. "I can't believe I'm to spend the hols with you," he says that last as though he’s talking about a louse. He throws his gloves down on the stand by the door and stomps off into his room, leaving puddles of melting snow in his wake.
"I'm as pleased about it as you are," Charlie snarls after him, flinging himself down on the couch. Truthfully, though, he’s forgot all about the hols. He counts down the days and realizes it’s Christmas Eve already. What a lovely way to kick that off, he thinks to himself bitterly.
♕
Draco’s already awake when he gets out of bed the next morning, Christmas morning. He’s standing by the door as though he’s only been waiting for Charlie before he breezes through it. "I'm not staying here," he says bitingly.
Charlie may have just come into consciousness but it doesn’t mean he isn’t raring for the fight. "You're not leaving." And it’s not said as if he’s contradicting Draco’s statement; it’s said like an order.
Draco marches forward, his chin thrust out menacingly and his eyes burning hot. "I refuse to walk around on my tip-toes, pretending you're not the world's worst hypocrite hiding behind the righteous facade of 'what's right.'"
"I'm nearly a decade older than you!" Charlie bellows back. Why Draco can’t bloody understand their huge fucking age gap is completely beyond him. It’s not an excuse or a shield - it’s what it bloody well is.
Draco’s head looks ready to explode and his fists clench at his sides. It’s an argument they’ve had far too many times before and they’re both still just as convinced they’re the one in the right. "That doesn't change the fact that I am nineteen and more than capable of making my own adult decisions, ask bloody anyone.” Draco narrows his eyes and spits out, “You're simply a coward with a convenient excuse."
A coward, is he? A bloody coward? "You want me now,” he explodes, “and what about when you realize you're nineteen and you're not anywhere near ready to settle down whereas I am. I'm twenty-seven and I want you.” The words erupt from his mouth before he can catch them and he so hasn’t meant to say them. He never wanted to give Draco that much power over him. He’d never meant Draco to know that - for Charlie - he was it. He’d been ready to be done. More than that, he’d been eager to stop looking because he’d found so precisely what he was after. Charlie swallows and feels so, so vulnerable, which is not something he does. It’s why he spends his time around dragons. One minute of vulnerability there and you’re dead. His next words are striving for confident but they only manage to come out sad and defeated. “So when you up and leave what will I get? A 'thanks for playing' card and a whole lot of nothing."
Draco’s mouth gapes. He blinks and blinks and Charlie almost thinks he’s forgotten how to speak entirely. Finally, after so much time has passed that it doesn’t feel like morning anymore, Draco says - very softly, "You think I want to experiment?” Charlie says nothing, but his fist and jaw clench in unison. He doesn’t point out the possible evidence of Draco’s other suitor. “You think I want anything beyond security? Beyond a familiar place to lay my head at night?" Charlie still can’t answer and Draco shakes himself as though he’s shaking off everything Charlie’s just said. "Don't pretend like you think I'm going to run off on you. You don't want to want me. You don't want all of me. You never could. You're a Gryffindor, a bloody Order of the Phoenix member, a Weasley. I always knew my place with you." He’s huffing by the end of it, his hand absentmindedly clenched over his left forearm. And Charlie doesn’t know what to say to him. He’d had no idea they were both so broken, so insecure, so sure they were the weak link. Draco’s nostrils flare one last time and he hisses, "I'm going out."
That gets Charlie moving. Draco’s hand closes around the knob and he’s off like a flash. Charlie shouts after him, "Malfoy, we are not bloody finished. Malfoy-" But he’s long gone now. Charlie races back into his room, shoves his feet into his boots violently and haphazardly pulls on jumpers and coats, all the while grumbling, "Bloody idiot."
How could that fool think he was the one that wasn’t wanted? Charlie tears out of the flat and races through the snow, hopping like a hunting dog in the drifts in order to move faster. It is still early enough that the mist is hanging low over the marshy wetlands. Which means there is a very good chance that Charlie will trip and break his neck trying to find Draco.
He is running at breakneck speed, hurdling over fallen trees and sliding down the side of snow banks, hoping like hell he is going the right way but knowing that he is at least going the fastest way. He slides on an icy pond and nearly loses his balance before he rights himself. He’s still gaining back his equilibrium when he stumbles through a curtain of low hanging brambles and a hand reaches out, grabbing his arm and stopping him cold.
“Close one, Weasley,” a familiar voice says dryly.
Charlie takes the opportunity to blink about at his surroundings and he realizes exactly what the voice means. He looks down at Draco’s feet and only a yard or two away from the arch of his boot is the steepest drop Charlie could have possibly imagined. He can see maybe twenty feet down before the fog overtakes it and then who knew how long it went on after that. “How deep is it?” he hears himself ask, all the while inching further back from the edge of the bloody cliff they’re standing next to.
Draco shrugs. “Deep enough.”
Charlie fights off a shiver and tries to nonchalantly brush the leaves off his coat. "This is where you go?" he asks unassumingly.
"It's quiet," Draco says softly.
Charlie shoots him a gauging glance. "Dangerous," he feels compelled to point out.
Draco snorts. "Thanks, Dad."
Charlie’s face twists up. "Let's not confuse this any further, shall we?" Draco actually laughs and Charlie smiles at him and, Merlin, it feels like ages since he’s done that. It’s a good start. He needs to find some way to leave things on a note between them that won’t have Draco walking out of his life forever. He’s still searching for the right foot to start things off on when he sees white, white teeth and dark red fur burst out of the fog behind Draco. "Draco!" is all he has time to scream before the man is knocked flat.
Charlie whips out his wand, telling himself - chanting it like a mantra - that Draco can’t have got mauled already, that there’s still time. He’s a bloody dangerous creature expert, for Godric’s sake. He’ll never forgive himself if Draco isn’t perfectly all right after this. Then he hears Draco give off something that sounds distinctly like a chuckle, though maybe it’s gurgling blood and Charlie’s hopeful mind has turned it into something pleasant. He cringes at the thought and Draco scrapes out, "Hello, Rufus."
Charlie blinks and looks down. Draco is scrubbing at the muzzle of a wild dog while said dog lends his best effort to licking Draco’s skin off. Draco gives off an ‘oof’ when the dog sets his large paw in the middle of his chest. "Missed me, did you?"
Charlie blinks again. "That's a bloody wild dog," he says, still trying to wrap his brain around it.
Draco nods under the dog’s weight. "Rufus for short."
Draco struggles to his feet while Rufus grins and playfully nips at his coat. There’s mud on his trousers and reeds in his hair and a big white patch of snow left behind where Rufus’ paw was. Charlie’s grin could light up the whole damn moor. Draco looks at him askance, patting away the snow on his jumper, and the longer the idea sits with Charlie, the funnier it is and soon is letting out great guffaws. He’s been jealous of a bloody dog for months. He’s had violent fantasies and almost disturbing nightmares of destroying the man that’s left those marks on his Draco and it’s all been over a bloody dog. Charlie swipes at his streaming eyes and gets out, "So you've had company then?"
Draco doesn’t seem to know how to take Charlie’s reaction and his smile in return is tight. But still there. "I had a strip of bacon with me from breakfast when we first met. It was love at first sight."
Charlie stares at Draco, whose hand is down at his side and petting this wild animal without hesitation while it makes a mess of him, and looking genuinely pleased to do so too. Rufus starts running like mad around them until he plops himself down at Draco’s side and leans into him. Charlie blinks and realizes there’s no better time to say it. He shoves his hands into his pockets and, even feeling so wrong-footed, says, "I know a little about what that's like." He stares down at his shoes as he says it, the tips of his ears glowing red.
From his periphery, he can see Draco watching him like a hawk. "You really thought I'd leave?" he asks, a certain sharpness to his tone.
"You really thought I'd care about some ugly tattoo you got when you were too young and stupid to know any better?" Charlie counters. He waits for it to sink in for Draco the way it had to with him. They stand on the edge of the precipice, he and Draco and Rufus, all staring into its foggy bottom. His hand has started to sweat, though he doesn’t think it’s from the heat of his pocket as only his left one is warm. He pulls it out of his jacket and shakes it at his side nervously.
He slips his hand carefully into the limp one next to it. Fingers immediately curl around his. "Merry Christmas, Draco."
Draco’s hand squeezes his tightly. "Merry Christmas, Weasley."
Rufus barks happily, his whole side plastered to Draco’s calf as he stares up at them, his tongue hanging out of his mouth in an unmistakable smile. Charlie grins back at him and, despite the snow, he feels warm all over. "This could work, couldn't it?" he says as he looks up at Draco and he hates to admit that he almost sounds giddy.
Draco looks at him askance and says as though it’s horribly obvious, "It already does."
.happy hols, e’erybody.
Author: calrissian18
Pairing(s): Charlie/Draco
Prompt: # 7 from the 2012 list - Christmas in Romania.
Word Count: ~8,000
Rating: R
Contains (Highlight to view): *Angst, Sizable age difference (though no one’s underage!), Use of clichéd drunkenness - apologies, Language, Intercrural sex and Blow Js - Hooray!!!*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I loved this prompt! There was so much room to roam. *stretches out greedily* And I got to write something with a very cold feel almost all the way through again - my favorite (and seasonally appropriate)! I cannot thank you enough for the opportunity to do just what I wanted, deirdre_aithne! Also, I have taken dragon lore from all over the freakin’ place so… inconsistencies abound! The title was inspired by the song ”Penzance” by Patrick Wolf. Thank you so much to my army of Laura-betas! You have both made this so much more perfect! *loves you to death* And I have no idea if there are moors in Romania - in fact, I’m almost certain there aren’t - so if your brain is exploding from the clash of geographical information then let me say, canonically, there are moors in Romania but they’re Disillusioned from Muggles to be used as dragon reserves. XD
Summary: The war ends but Fenrir Greyback has evaded capture and he’s made no effort to hide his fascination with one Draco Malfoy. For his own protection, the Order decides to shack him up with Charlie Weasley in Middle-of-Nowhere, Romania. Which is just what Charlie wants this Christmas: to spend the hols with his ex.
"Salt wishes it tasted as potent as these kippers."
Charlie rolls his eyes. "I've had to start a new scroll, but your displeasure's been noted."
Draco stretches, kicking his feet out so his long legs are sprawled underneath the table. He slinks down in his chair and rubs a wayward hand over his flat stomach. Charlie raises an unimpressed brow even as his mouth goes dry. He's forgotten how tall Draco is, and how graceful he can be with all those inches. He doesn't have the lankiness that Ron has, who walks like a doll with ball joints, swinging his arms and legs out as far as they'll go with each step. Merlin, and those legs - Draco's current position perfectly highlights how they go on for days.
Charlie kicks the sole of Draco's loafer with his boot. Draco shoots him a dark look but sits up straight. It's the last time he looks at Charlie. He spends the rest of breakfast staring out the window over the sink from his seat. The sky is still some mix of orange and coral, and the side of his pale skin is painted in glowing color.
Charlie tells himself he isn't staring even as he thinks that this kind of beauty is why men carve statues.
When Charlie shovels in the last bite of toast, soaking with egg yolk and about to drip, Draco snatches up his plate like a parent yanking a toy away from a misbehaving child and stomps over to the sink. He places his own and Charlie's in its basin and blinks out at the moor. It's early enough that the fog is still billowing in from the north in roaring waves, making it look like the few sparse trees are floating above nothing at all.
The wind is howling through their branches, making them twist and bend with groaning limbs, but it’s a silent dance from behind their four walls. The snow weaves through the air, victim to the violent whim of the cold breeze, but the flakes are small and mostly melted by the time they reach the swampy moor.
Draco's shoulders slump and Charlie can remember coming up behind him once upon a time, the fire in Grimmauld Place crackling and warming Charlie's hands as they slid around Draco's waist to cross in the front. He hadn't known what to say to make him feel better, to stop the war from raging all around them, so he'd pressed his nose behind Draco’s ear and stood with him like that for what felt like a lifetime, cold everywhere but for the places where they overlapped.
Now he clears his throat uncomfortably. "Just leave 'em. I'll get to them later."
Draco snaps out of whatever melancholy he's lost himself in and shrugs. "As you like," he mutters. They act like strangers with one another now: too careful, too cautious. An outsider would never know that Charlie had once been comfortable enough with Draco to let those cold hands rub salve into his burns.
Draco crosses behind him and scoops up his jumper from the back of Charlie's drooping sofa.
"Going out?" Charlie tries to ask the question in his cheeriest tone, eager for Draco to know he is not trying to pick a fight.
Draco snorts without looking at him, shrugging into a warm jacket. "Nothing gets past you, Weasley."
He's already got the door open when Charlie clears his throat and growls after him, "Stay within the protective boundaries, Malfoy." It should be more of an effort to keep up with the 'Malfoy' lark since he only thinks of him as 'Draco.’ Luckily the animosity is never too far from mind.
Draco sneers and, Merlin, does Charlie hate that look. He finds it almost cruel to make something so beautiful look so ugly. "You could test out some new material while I'm out," Draco snipes in a whingy sort of voice.
It grates on Charlie's nerves, his shoulders hunching inward, and he snaps back, "I'm considering 'I hope you get yourself gutted, Malfoy.'"
Draco laughs softly and there is something dark and hurt there, like he’s poked a tender wound. "It'd be a lovely change." The door slams behind him before Charlie can backtrack and shove the words back in his mouth. He'll tell Draco he didn't mean it when he comes back from his morning constitutional. Though, with his luck, Draco will wander out too far, Greyback will find him and the last thing Charlie will have ever said to him is, 'I hope you get gutted.'
♕
He meanders over to the couch with a heavy sigh and slumps back into the cushions, letting them wrap him up from behind. He's half-asleep, his mother yelling at him that he can't house his toads in the pots on the counter because they're Charmed to boil when he realizes the screech of, "Charlie!" isn't only happening inside his head.
He pops to, overly awake, stumbles off the couch and directly into the coffee table. He's a jumble of uncoordinated limbs and little balance, like a newborn wyrmling. He blinks his weary eyes, rubbing at them with his fingers - too hard - when they won’t go past half-mast and he catches sight of his mum's head on fire.
He grapples with the magazines on the edge of the table and flops down on the hearth. "Mum." He sounds as if he's been running back and forth on the moor all morning and he rubs the back of his neck as it heats up with embarrassment.
"You are quite the show, dear," his mum puts in fondly.
Charlie offers her a sarcastic grin and blinks sleepily. The thought hits him between the shoulder blades and he cranes his neck all around to see if Draco's come back yet. He might just die of mortification if he'd seen all that. Draco is the absolute last person Charlie wants to make a fool out of himself in front of, especially as just looking at him is more than enough to remind Charlie of all his imperfections.
"How are things then?" his mum asks, pulling his attention back around. She's frowning in a sympathetic fashion as though she expects Draco’s spouting something nasty to him at that very moment. Charlie quickly puts that thought to bed.
He rubs a hand over his forehead like he means to sand it down. "How much longer do I have to keep him out here, Mum?” he whinges. There’s nothing like talking to his mother to make him sound more childish. “He makes no effort to hide how much he hates it."
Charlie can tell she’s searching for the right thing to say, the perfect motherly advice to offer, though he doubts she’ll figure out what that is. Of course, if he’d had his way then she wouldn’t know anything about he and Draco at all. Unfortunately she’d walked in on him fucking Draco into his mattress whilst dropping off his laundry. It had been scarring for all involved.
"It's not too... uncomfortable, is it?” she tries. “I was under the impression your... previous dalliance wasn't serious."
That is what Charlie had billed it as - ‘nothing too serious’ - and he’d felt something a lot like guilt fester in his gut ever since. "How could it be?” Charlie tosses out defensively. “He's Ron's age."
She rolls her eyes. "Just because he's your brother's age does not mean he's at your brother's maturation level, bless him," she adds with a certain warmth.
"Maybe not,” Charlie admits, “but that doesn't mean it's right. I should be dating someone my own age," he says gruffly.
His mum does not look impressed. "These are your own biases, Charlie. Remember that."
"Like no one would talk,” Charlie rebuts. “You know how Aunt Miriam is."
"Aunt Miriam is an insufferable old gossip," his mother states hotly.
"Mum!" Charlie exclaims, taken over by a surprised guffaw, one that only occurs when you hear your mother badmouth someone.
"It's true,” she says, thrusting out her chin. “Even your grandmother agrees and you know how she dotes on that girl."
There’s a flicker on his mother’s side of the connection and then it’s Narcissa Malfoy who is looking out of the flames at him with a cooling stare. "Is my son there?" she asks in a clipped yet somehow melodic voice that reminds him of Draco’s.
"Not at the moment, ma'am," Charlie answers politely.
Narcissa gives him a sharp look. "He's not being too pig-headed about this?"
Charlie smiles briefly. "Not too pig-headed, no."
She shakes her head a bit and it’s not an action that fits her in the least. It’s doesn’t look like his mother’s does, like she’s being held together by peeling Spellotape, but rather like an aristocrat trying on a bum’s blanket. "It's a fine line Draco walks,” she says with the same motherly fondness his mum’s just used. “Do let him know I asked after him.” It’s not a request, though Charlie thinks that might have been what she was going for. Either way, he treats it as one.
"Yes, ma'am," Charlie agrees without hesitation. His mum’s face reappears on the other side of the Floo and Charlie says, "I’d best jump off then, before our little ray of sunshine bursts in."
She nods. "I'll keep you up to date with any news on Greyback."
"Thanks, Mum," Charlie says with a smile.
"Charlie.” She catches him before he douses the flames. “It really isn't too bad, is it?"
Charlie purses his lips and says, "No. No, it really isn't."
♕
Draco doesn’t return for hours, as is his custom, and when he does, his hair and collar are flecked with snow. The dragons won’t be pleased, Charlie thinks idly, as he stares into his drink. Draco’s nose is red and Charlie uses a hand to push the other warm mug of hot cocoa across the table, aiming it towards the seat by the fire Draco favors.
Draco kicks off his shoes by the door and unwraps the scarf from around his ears. There are odd spots of snow on the thighs of his trousers and the chest of his jacket. Charlie looks away when he realizes where exactly those spots have led him to stare. He hopes human hands aren’t what put them there. "Have a nice roam?" he asks, curbing the growl in his throat.
Draco slips into the seat across from him and instantly curves his cold hands around the cup of cocoa. He brings the whole of it up to his face and takes a deep inhale, his nose already starting to look less chapped. It’s a few more moments before he takes a sip and says on his exhale, "I did."
"I didn't mean it," Charlie tells him, unable to contain it any longer.
Draco doesn’t even pause, his movements as smooth as ever. "I know," he says calmly as he leans back into his seat, resting his cup on his sternum. Charlie’s just beginning to relax when Draco undercuts him with a snide, "Most of what you say seems fairly meaningless."
It’s a sting and Charlie feels it get him right under his topmost rib.
♕
Things are still tense between them as they roll into mid-December and Charlie’s glad to have an excuse to holler at him: "Oi, Malfoy!"
It’s a minute or two before Draco shuffles out of his bedroom, one arm of his silver, square-rim glasses dug into his temple and the indent of a crease in his cheek. His hair is mussed and he’s wearing the fluffiest slippers Charlie has ever seen. He tugs at his charcoal-colored turtleneck and tightens up his grip on the book hanging limply in his hand, his finger still marking his page. "You bellowed?" he says archly, his voice still scratchy from sleep.
Charlie blinks himself out of his stuttered thought process - achieved only by looking away from Draco - and says, whilst beaming, "Acantha's hatching."
Draco’s eyes pop and it’s all Charlie needs to say before he’s turning on his heel and racing back into his room to snatch up his boots and coat.
When Draco had first come to stay with him, Charlie had taken him all around the reserve and Draco had quickly chosen his favorite - a Vipertooth named Aella who was already well into her pregnancy. She had taken to Draco as well, nudging him with her head when she was feeling friendly enough. Draco quickly decided it should fall to him to name her future wyrmling. He’d chosen ‘Acantha’, which meant ‘thorn.’
“Will we get there in time?” Draco barks out as he rushes past, still pulling on his coat. Charlie grins and races out after him, slamming the door on his way out. Draco is certainly in for a rude awakening.
♕
Sixteen and a half hours later, through much whinging and grumbling and swearing - “thorn in my bloody side indeed,” Acantha finally breaks through the hard shell of her egg and is born. There are whoops of joy from the other handlers and even a celebratory fireball from Aella but Draco hardly seems to notice, as he’s busy complaining about how badly his feet hurt. He quiets when Acantha starts sniffing at the dirt, inhales and sneezes.
It is painfully adorable.
He and Draco continue to watch her in absolute silence as she explores her little patch of dirt, lit only by torchlight, wobbling around on her teeny legs and snuffing out smoke when she shakes her head. Charlie’s bent over and leaning his forearms on the wooden fence, watching Draco more often than Acantha, while Draco stares at her almost unblinkingly, a small smile gracing his face while he stands up ramrod straight - his aching feet forgot. They’re still there when Acantha curls up next to Aella’s underbelly and puts her head down for the night.
Draco has taken to Charlie’s position by now and is bent over and leaning on the gate too. Charlie straightens up and nudges Draco with his shoulder. "I think we'll have to celebrate," he says with a tired smile.
Draco presses his chin to his shoulder and looks up through his lashes at Charlie. "You going to break the rules and take me out to a pub?" he says coyly.
The picture Draco makes, his eyes half-mast and his softened voice really saying, ‘take me home’ is making Charlie’s trousers feel rather tight. He clears his throat and refrains from adjusting himself, though it’s hell not to. "I think I can hunt up a bottle of Ogden's and two glasses back," at home, "at the house."
They walk in silence across the moor, the snow fluffy at their feet and kicking up with every step they take. The sky is unclouded and the stars hole-punch every inch of it. He catches Draco staring at them rather than watching his step more than a few times, and Charlie takes it upon himself to catch his elbow and guide him out of harm’s way. He Charms a ball of light into existence with his wand and lets that lead them since it’s too dark to see his own hand in front of his face.
There’s nothing but the ambient sounds of twigs snapping and the clomp of their boots as they make their way through the underbrush. The hinges of the door whine like a siren in the stillness. Draco plops himself down in front of the fire and bites off his gloves, muttering a quick, “Incendio” at the lifeless grate. Flames leap into being and Draco sits down more heavily on his crossed legs while Charlie rummages in his kitchen cabinets for the bottle of Ogden’s.
The last he saw of it, he’d been moving it to hide it from Fred and George that summer they’d visited. The pang of sadness at that thought nearly levels him. He shakes it off and drags out the bottle from behind the crock-pot. It’s been too long since he’s seen George.
Next to the bottle are two heavy glasses. He fills them both, the foam nearly bubbling over, and drops one off in Draco’s waiting hand. He clinks his glass to Draco’s. "To new beginnings," he tries hopefully.
Draco raises his lip in distaste and Charlie watches him bite back the comment on his tongue. It seems like he’s, thankfully, still riding the high of Acantha’s hatching. As the fire crackles and the wood burns away, Charlie fails to realize that he’s only topped up Draco once while he’s had to refill his glass a good three times. At least until he’s blinking his eyes separately while staring at Draco, leaning alternately in and back too far as he tries to get him into focus.
Draco grabs onto his wrist to keep him from toppling over backwards and says gruffly, "Pace yourself there, Weasley."
Charlie rubs at his nose and they sit in silence for a long time, the grate snapping and popping at them, as angry as the tension between them. Charlie wishes it wasn’t there, wishes they could still lie in bed together and Charlie could watch Draco stretch out in the Sunday morning sun with feline elegance.
He opens his mouth and says, "You know something, Draco?” Draco obliges him by turning his way, resting his cheek on his raised knee. He already looks amused at what will no doubt be Charlie’s drunken wisdom. Charlie’s own legs are folded and out at his sides in a sort of butterfly position. It’s not a position he would ever sit in were he not well past intoxicated. Charlie catches up to what he means to say and wraps his tongue around it. “I miss you.” The half-smile on Draco’s face slips away and falls into a scowl. Charlie is undeterred. “I mean, I really miss you. You were there, you know - a blink of an eye and you'd miss it - but then you were gone and it was like you'd always been there."
Draco snatches up Charlie’s glass and moves to stand, spitting out through grinding teeth, "I think you've had enough."
Charlie grabs his arm to stop him standing and shakes his head. Draco eases back into his seat, looking wary and tense, ready to pop up at any moment. Charlie lets him go and Draco’s breathing starts to normalize. Charlie gives him a moment of false security in which he traces the curve of Draco’s throat with his eyes while the firelight flickers over the pale column of skin.
"You're the only one." Charlie watches Draco swallow and close his eyes as though he’s in pain and he knows he shouldn't be saying this. He's held on to it so long. He knows he's odd when it comes to these things and that's the last thing he wants Draco to think about him. "I was never interested, in school, you know?" He picks at the label on the Ogden's bottle, the letters 'G' and 'D' smearing into the image of the fiery dragon below. "I could recognize a pretty girl, sure, but that wasn't like looking at a unicorn or a tadfoal - it wasn’t that kind of magic. No one and nothing could get me as excited as seeing those."
"Charlie-" Draco starts and his voice is high and strident and full of warning and Charlie knows he wants him to stop here. Most of Charlie wants him to stop here too but his mouth is running away with him.
"I swear when I walked into Grimmauld and saw you standing there, it was like... that was magic." He could remember his sense of awe so clearly, that something so beautiful, so unarguably perfect, was so close, within reach even. Draco's eyes are closed now and he seems to be steeling himself. Charlie clears his throat and bounces his knees a bit, unable to sit still after something so heavy has fallen out of his mouth. He taps on Draco’s glass and shoots Draco a sideways look. "Do you miss me?"
Draco’s quiet for a long moment before he bites out tightly, "The sober version of yourself?" He perks a brow. "Yes."
Charlie bites the inside of his cheek. "No, Draco." A soft shake of his head. "You know what I mean."
Draco’s hand clenches on his knee and fury comes into his gaze before he looks away into the flames. Slowly they empty of such raw emotion and a heavy disappointment settles there. "You left me, Weasley,” Draco says monotonously. “You made it very clear exactly how much my opinion on things mattered to you.” He sighs. “Let's not pretend otherwise now."
Charlie scrubs at his hair. "You're so much younger than me."
Draco rolls his eyes. "So I've heard."
"People would talk," Charlie feels compelled to point out.
"Good,” Draco growls. He rolls his forearm over and pushes up his sleeve. The Dark Mark stares back into Charlie’s bright eyes. Charlie blinks at it rather stupidly. “It would give them something else to focus on."
Charlie rubs his palm along his thigh, looking every inch the chastised child. "It doesn't feel right."
"I'm not going to talk about this anymore,” Draco snaps. “It's come up so many times I could argue it in my sleep."
"I'm sorry," Charlie can’t help but put in quietly, and he is, too.
"Leave it," Draco says harshly.
Charlie shakes his head. "No, I am."
"Charlie," Draco bites out dangerously.
"All right," Charlie relents, holding up his hands. The sound of the crackling grate comes rushing back in to fill the strained silence. Charlie racks his brain for something neutral. "Oh. Your mum says hullo. I talked to her on the Floo earlier."
Draco’s shoulders tense and then slowly ease back. "Any update on Greyback?"
"None yet." Charlie digs his fingernail into the carpet and frowns. "Do you want to leave so badly?" He looks in Draco’s direction but stares at some spot over his head.
Draco snorts. "No, it's perfect fun to watch you walk about with no shirt or only a bloody towel and know I can't do anything but remember."
Charlie’s mouth falls open. "You want me?” Charlie has always thought he looked like a mutt compared to Draco’s purebred looks and he has never been able to understand what had made Draco deign, for even a second, to touch him. He has no illusions about how far out of his league Draco Malfoy is. To be wanted by someone like him… it’s intoxicating. Words fight their way out of his mouth without consulting his brain: “You can have me."
Draco laughs, utterly unimpressed. “I think you’ve made it very clear what I can and cannot have when it comes to you.”
Charlie doesn’t even hear him. He scrambles out of his odd butterfly position and crawls over to Draco. He pushes Draco’s legs flat and straddles his lap. He takes Draco’s limp hand and places it on the flat plane of his stomach, under his shirt. "No, really,” he breathes out. “You can have me."
Draco finally drags up his dropped jaw and pushes away with the hand that’s on Charlie’s abdomen, choking out an admonishing, "Weasley-"
Charlie presses his lips to the side of Draco’s mouth. "I want you so much." He worms his way past Draco’s sealed lips, feeding him his tongue and finally Draco relents with a groan that knows better, his hand traveling up and around to Charlie’s back. Charlie pushes him flat against the chair behind him and ruts in his lap. It’s an odd position but he’s determined to make it work. Draco’s doing his bit and thrusting back up against him.
He wants to be in his bed so badly, to not rush through some quickie with Draco now that he’s finally decided to let himself have this. Drunk and desirous, his magic takes over and he’s being squeezed through the head of a needle as he Apparates them into his bedroom. Draco’s head hits the nightstand and Charlie manages to coo over it stupidly for a moment.
Draco pushes his clumsy hands away from his head and surges back up to catch Charlie’s mouth, using the momentum to roll them. He strips off his own top like he’s furious with it and then he’s pulling at Charlie’s too. Charlie helps him as much as he’s able while Draco nips down his neck. He takes to Charlie’s body as though he’s missed it more than a man dying of thirst misses water.
Charlie thrusts up against his face with a whine when Draco reaches his fabric-covered crotch. "I can't - but I want - I want-" Charlie babbles out, his face twisted up, unsure if he wants to cry or scream.
Draco smirks. "You've had too much to drink,” he says softly, pressing his mouth to the head of Charlie’s cock through his trousers and breathing out warm air. “Don't force it." He licks the fabric and Charlie twists his hands into the sheets in an effort not to punch him.
Slowly, Draco pulls open the teeth of Charlie’s zip and yanks down his pants. He presses light but loving kisses to the soft skin of his cock and bathes it with his tongue but nothing he does will undo what Charlie’s done tonight. Charlie whines and now tears are streaming down the sides of his face. "I need this,” he grits out, angry with himself and Draco and the world at large. “I need you. Draco.” He flexes his jaw. “I need you."
Draco stops what he’s doing and catches his gaze. There’s a deeper understanding there that Charlie is terribly grateful for. He pushes at Charlie’s shoulder and eases him over, yanking his jeans all the way off. Charlie struggles up onto his knees and then Draco’s tongue is there, playing at his sac, touching the tip to his finest hair. Charlie bucks at the first feel of it. Draco sucks one ball into his mouth, then the other. He stretches out the skin between them with a not-quite pinch and Charlie shudders.
Draco licks up the strip of skin behind his sac and then his tongue swipes up the crack of Charlie’s arse. Charlie whimpers, pleasure radiating through him outward from his cock, but Draco isn’t finished. He pulls back and, without hesitation, plunges as far inside as he can with his tongue. Charlie’s cock is half hard and a sense of relief he has never known floods through him. Draco works deeper and deeper inside him while Charlie’s toes curl in and away from the mattress.
It was when Draco was rimming him for the first time at Grimmauld Place that Charlie had chanted, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’ to every thrust of his tongue. He hadn’t truly loved him then, of course. He’d just been entirely inexperienced and wholly in love with the sensations Draco was wringing from him.
Nothing has changed now. He’s overtaken with the urge to spout those same confessions all over again. Though he isn’t sure they’d still hold as little weight as they did then.
Draco is pressing wet, smacking kisses to Charlie’s quivering hole when Charlie finally cries enough. He’ll come if Draco keeps on and it’s far too soon for that, not when he’s finally getting what he’s refused himself for eleven long and lonely months.
Draco kisses the small of his back and slithers up so he blankets Charlie’s entire torso. He’s warm and familiar and Charlie hopes, somehow, that he’ll never have to move again. At least until Draco snatches Charlie’s earlobe between his teeth and asks in a husky voice, “Do you want to take me?” Charlie shudders and Draco blows into his ear with deliberate slowness. “Do you want to throw me down on the mattress, slide inside me and fuck me like you were made to do nothing else? Do you want to make me yours?”
Something inside of Charlie snaps and he grabs Draco’s shoulder in an ever-tightening grip and yanks him around. All those patches of hand-sized snow that Draco rolls through the door with, the mud on all his jumpers and the reeds in his hair - all those things that point to Draco getting down and dirty with someone else flash through his mind and he bears down on his weight. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’s dislocated Draco’s shoulder from the combination of his awkward angle and how hard he’s set down on him. “You are mine,” he growls into Draco’s face but Draco only looks up at him smugly, grabs hold of Charlie’s cock before he’s realized it and gives him a rough stroke.
Charlie groans and lets his head fall forward onto Draco’s collarbone. Draco’s hand sneaks down further to rub his palm up against his sac and then he’s inching back even farther. Charlie catches his wrist and shakes his head, nostrils flaring and eyes blazing. “I’m fucking you.”
Draco grins and his eyes flash steel. Charlie blinks because it’s just so bloody striking, so bloody animal. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he teases. He takes Charlie’s moment of distraction as an opportunity to pull him in by the small of his back and then his cock is sliding up against Draco’s. They both groan as they fall into a sporadic rhythm of rutting against one another. Draco slides his sweat-slick thigh up the back of Charlie’s legs and locks him there. Charlie is mostly too far gone to care and when he slips off of Draco’s cock and Draco catches him between his thighs and squeezes, it’s all the better.
The heat there is unbelievable and Charlie roars as he comes between Draco’s legs. It’s not what he wanted but neither can he bring himself to be disappointed. He catches his breath, limp on top of Draco’s welcome heat, before he slides down the lean body beneath him and takes the hard and waiting cock into his mouth. Draco arches into him with a gasp and he’s warm and soft and tastes just like Charlie remembers. He closes his eyes and moans and the vibration makes Draco’s whole body quake. Cool fingers reach down to curl into Charlie’s shaggy hair and Charlie moans louder.
This is what he’s wanted. This is what he thinks of when he shoves his hand down his pants in his bed alone at night. He imagines feeling Draco come apart under his skillful tongue - knowing, for at least those few brief moments - that he does own the man in his bed. The muscles in Draco’s thighs are clenching and unclenching, his chest is rising and falling, his back is arching and his toes are curling. He’s doused in sweat and he’s the most magnificent thing Charlie’s ever seen.
He gives a weak yank on Charlie’s hair, a warning of sorts, and groans out his release into Charlie’s mouth. Charlie swallows it all down, greedy for all he’ll give. He sucks him until he’s gone completely soft and then he lays his hot cheek on Draco’s sweat-cool stomach. A hand swifts back and forth through his hair lovingly and something in him tells him he should feel vaguely embarrassed about this considering how wet it is but he can’t seem to dredge up the emotion.
All he can feel in that moment is completely and utterly sated
♕
Morning is unforgiving and Charlie’s head pounds with every pulse of his throat. He vaguely wonders if death wouldn’t be more humane somehow. His cheek is plastered to something smooth and hot and his mouth tastes like a rodent crept in and died there during the night. He peels his skin off what turns out to be someone else’s. Charlie blinks and easily recognizes Draco’s taut stomach. Shit.
Two emotions are warring for prominence: overwhelming joy and the deepest despair. Despair wins. He rolls to the edge of the bed and holds his head in his hands, groaning at the light that’s pouring in through the window. He shuffles into the bathroom, trying to jostle his head as little as possible and only move what’s strictly necessary.
He clicks open the cabinet as quietly and smoothly as he can and downs the first Hangover potion he sees. It takes two minutes before his head is back in working order and his thoughts are his own. The first one that comes to him is: At least they didn’t fuck. Though it’s a nonsensical sentiment and he quickly throws it out. The only reason to be pleased about that is because it would mean that the intimacy of fucking wasn’t present, and Charlie knows - even if his memories of last night are mostly in tatters - that that isn’t the case. That wouldn’t have been the case the moment Charlie kissed him.
They’d always had that even if the rest was complicated beyond measure.
Charlie stumbles back into the room after brushing his teeth to find Draco sitting up and rubbing his forehead. All it takes for Draco is one look at him, at Charlie’s apologetic but cruel face that is trying for unaffected, and he gets the message. Charlie’s concerns over their age difference haven’t evaporated, their obvious passion hasn’t brought him around, and last night was fueled by drink and missing something he was never meant to have.
Nothing has changed.
Charlie feels like he watches as the words sink into Draco, become a part of him, eat away at his goodwill and warp him. He can see them bash at his heart like a wrecking ball, leaving permanent damage for all those who come after. Draco’s revealing eyes shutter themselves and nothing is left but pure, undiluted rage.
His fury sets the bedside lamp on fire and Charlie flinches. Draco doesn’t bother with it, his eyes still blazing with the flames he’s just let loose. He snatches up his pants and trousers from the end of the bed and storms past Charlie who is still standing immobile in the doorway. There is a pit in Charlie’s stomach as Draco passes and some knowing voice inside him says that this is the last time Draco will ever look at him.
It’s only a few minutes before Charlie hears the front door slam. It takes another one for Charlie to get out his wand and douse the flames. The lamp is charred beyond recognition, burnt and coiled and ugly. He drops onto the bed and lets his head fall forward into his hands. He presses his palms as hard as he can into the backs of his eyelids as tears prickle beneath them.
He’s still sitting like that when he hears a female voice from very far away, squawking, “Charlie?” over and over.
He clenches his jaw, digs his fingers into the edge of the mattress and squeezes his eyes shut. He sniffs, bounces his legs and then pushes himself up off the bed. Not a bit of evidence is left as to his current state of mind. He tugs on his trousers and pats into the next room in his bare feet. He plops down on the ottoman and says grimly, “What?”
He knows from the mirror on the bathroom cabinet that he looks like hell. There are bags under his eyes and his face is… craggy, there’s simply no better word for it.
His mum’s chipper, as always. "Is Draco about?"
Charlie’s shoulders jump up involuntarily and his face darkens. He bites out much more harshly than he means to, "Not at the moment. What is it then?"
The face in the fire rears back. "Well. Aren't you in a charming mood this morning?"
"Mum!" Charlie’s head is starting to hurt again and all he wants is to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over his head and never come out.
"All right,” she snaps, half defensive and half concerned, “don't get yourself in a state. Greyback's been captured, so your enforced captivity with Draco is done." Charlie’s head rises out of his hand. It was just what he wanted. Was? Was. He wants Draco gone, but not forever. And he knows, with the stunt he just pulled, if Draco left now he would never speak to Charlie again so long as he lived. His mum bites her lip. "That is what you wanted, isn't it?"
Charlie says, “Yes,” even as he shakes his head. His mum looks as confused as he feels.
♕
Draco stays out later than he’s ever dared before and Charlie’s wrapping himself up in his own winter coat - as the snow has been at it nonstop for the last two days - to go out and search for him when he blows in through the front door. He freezes when he sees Charlie. "News?" is all he barks out.
Charlie takes in a deep breath. "None." Decision made then.
Draco lets out a disgusted sound, his lip raised in complete revulsion. "I can't believe I'm to spend the hols with you," he says that last as though he’s talking about a louse. He throws his gloves down on the stand by the door and stomps off into his room, leaving puddles of melting snow in his wake.
"I'm as pleased about it as you are," Charlie snarls after him, flinging himself down on the couch. Truthfully, though, he’s forgot all about the hols. He counts down the days and realizes it’s Christmas Eve already. What a lovely way to kick that off, he thinks to himself bitterly.
♕
Draco’s already awake when he gets out of bed the next morning, Christmas morning. He’s standing by the door as though he’s only been waiting for Charlie before he breezes through it. "I'm not staying here," he says bitingly.
Charlie may have just come into consciousness but it doesn’t mean he isn’t raring for the fight. "You're not leaving." And it’s not said as if he’s contradicting Draco’s statement; it’s said like an order.
Draco marches forward, his chin thrust out menacingly and his eyes burning hot. "I refuse to walk around on my tip-toes, pretending you're not the world's worst hypocrite hiding behind the righteous facade of 'what's right.'"
"I'm nearly a decade older than you!" Charlie bellows back. Why Draco can’t bloody understand their huge fucking age gap is completely beyond him. It’s not an excuse or a shield - it’s what it bloody well is.
Draco’s head looks ready to explode and his fists clench at his sides. It’s an argument they’ve had far too many times before and they’re both still just as convinced they’re the one in the right. "That doesn't change the fact that I am nineteen and more than capable of making my own adult decisions, ask bloody anyone.” Draco narrows his eyes and spits out, “You're simply a coward with a convenient excuse."
A coward, is he? A bloody coward? "You want me now,” he explodes, “and what about when you realize you're nineteen and you're not anywhere near ready to settle down whereas I am. I'm twenty-seven and I want you.” The words erupt from his mouth before he can catch them and he so hasn’t meant to say them. He never wanted to give Draco that much power over him. He’d never meant Draco to know that - for Charlie - he was it. He’d been ready to be done. More than that, he’d been eager to stop looking because he’d found so precisely what he was after. Charlie swallows and feels so, so vulnerable, which is not something he does. It’s why he spends his time around dragons. One minute of vulnerability there and you’re dead. His next words are striving for confident but they only manage to come out sad and defeated. “So when you up and leave what will I get? A 'thanks for playing' card and a whole lot of nothing."
Draco’s mouth gapes. He blinks and blinks and Charlie almost thinks he’s forgotten how to speak entirely. Finally, after so much time has passed that it doesn’t feel like morning anymore, Draco says - very softly, "You think I want to experiment?” Charlie says nothing, but his fist and jaw clench in unison. He doesn’t point out the possible evidence of Draco’s other suitor. “You think I want anything beyond security? Beyond a familiar place to lay my head at night?" Charlie still can’t answer and Draco shakes himself as though he’s shaking off everything Charlie’s just said. "Don't pretend like you think I'm going to run off on you. You don't want to want me. You don't want all of me. You never could. You're a Gryffindor, a bloody Order of the Phoenix member, a Weasley. I always knew my place with you." He’s huffing by the end of it, his hand absentmindedly clenched over his left forearm. And Charlie doesn’t know what to say to him. He’d had no idea they were both so broken, so insecure, so sure they were the weak link. Draco’s nostrils flare one last time and he hisses, "I'm going out."
That gets Charlie moving. Draco’s hand closes around the knob and he’s off like a flash. Charlie shouts after him, "Malfoy, we are not bloody finished. Malfoy-" But he’s long gone now. Charlie races back into his room, shoves his feet into his boots violently and haphazardly pulls on jumpers and coats, all the while grumbling, "Bloody idiot."
How could that fool think he was the one that wasn’t wanted? Charlie tears out of the flat and races through the snow, hopping like a hunting dog in the drifts in order to move faster. It is still early enough that the mist is hanging low over the marshy wetlands. Which means there is a very good chance that Charlie will trip and break his neck trying to find Draco.
He is running at breakneck speed, hurdling over fallen trees and sliding down the side of snow banks, hoping like hell he is going the right way but knowing that he is at least going the fastest way. He slides on an icy pond and nearly loses his balance before he rights himself. He’s still gaining back his equilibrium when he stumbles through a curtain of low hanging brambles and a hand reaches out, grabbing his arm and stopping him cold.
“Close one, Weasley,” a familiar voice says dryly.
Charlie takes the opportunity to blink about at his surroundings and he realizes exactly what the voice means. He looks down at Draco’s feet and only a yard or two away from the arch of his boot is the steepest drop Charlie could have possibly imagined. He can see maybe twenty feet down before the fog overtakes it and then who knew how long it went on after that. “How deep is it?” he hears himself ask, all the while inching further back from the edge of the bloody cliff they’re standing next to.
Draco shrugs. “Deep enough.”
Charlie fights off a shiver and tries to nonchalantly brush the leaves off his coat. "This is where you go?" he asks unassumingly.
"It's quiet," Draco says softly.
Charlie shoots him a gauging glance. "Dangerous," he feels compelled to point out.
Draco snorts. "Thanks, Dad."
Charlie’s face twists up. "Let's not confuse this any further, shall we?" Draco actually laughs and Charlie smiles at him and, Merlin, it feels like ages since he’s done that. It’s a good start. He needs to find some way to leave things on a note between them that won’t have Draco walking out of his life forever. He’s still searching for the right foot to start things off on when he sees white, white teeth and dark red fur burst out of the fog behind Draco. "Draco!" is all he has time to scream before the man is knocked flat.
Charlie whips out his wand, telling himself - chanting it like a mantra - that Draco can’t have got mauled already, that there’s still time. He’s a bloody dangerous creature expert, for Godric’s sake. He’ll never forgive himself if Draco isn’t perfectly all right after this. Then he hears Draco give off something that sounds distinctly like a chuckle, though maybe it’s gurgling blood and Charlie’s hopeful mind has turned it into something pleasant. He cringes at the thought and Draco scrapes out, "Hello, Rufus."
Charlie blinks and looks down. Draco is scrubbing at the muzzle of a wild dog while said dog lends his best effort to licking Draco’s skin off. Draco gives off an ‘oof’ when the dog sets his large paw in the middle of his chest. "Missed me, did you?"
Charlie blinks again. "That's a bloody wild dog," he says, still trying to wrap his brain around it.
Draco nods under the dog’s weight. "Rufus for short."
Draco struggles to his feet while Rufus grins and playfully nips at his coat. There’s mud on his trousers and reeds in his hair and a big white patch of snow left behind where Rufus’ paw was. Charlie’s grin could light up the whole damn moor. Draco looks at him askance, patting away the snow on his jumper, and the longer the idea sits with Charlie, the funnier it is and soon is letting out great guffaws. He’s been jealous of a bloody dog for months. He’s had violent fantasies and almost disturbing nightmares of destroying the man that’s left those marks on his Draco and it’s all been over a bloody dog. Charlie swipes at his streaming eyes and gets out, "So you've had company then?"
Draco doesn’t seem to know how to take Charlie’s reaction and his smile in return is tight. But still there. "I had a strip of bacon with me from breakfast when we first met. It was love at first sight."
Charlie stares at Draco, whose hand is down at his side and petting this wild animal without hesitation while it makes a mess of him, and looking genuinely pleased to do so too. Rufus starts running like mad around them until he plops himself down at Draco’s side and leans into him. Charlie blinks and realizes there’s no better time to say it. He shoves his hands into his pockets and, even feeling so wrong-footed, says, "I know a little about what that's like." He stares down at his shoes as he says it, the tips of his ears glowing red.
From his periphery, he can see Draco watching him like a hawk. "You really thought I'd leave?" he asks, a certain sharpness to his tone.
"You really thought I'd care about some ugly tattoo you got when you were too young and stupid to know any better?" Charlie counters. He waits for it to sink in for Draco the way it had to with him. They stand on the edge of the precipice, he and Draco and Rufus, all staring into its foggy bottom. His hand has started to sweat, though he doesn’t think it’s from the heat of his pocket as only his left one is warm. He pulls it out of his jacket and shakes it at his side nervously.
He slips his hand carefully into the limp one next to it. Fingers immediately curl around his. "Merry Christmas, Draco."
Draco’s hand squeezes his tightly. "Merry Christmas, Weasley."
Rufus barks happily, his whole side plastered to Draco’s calf as he stares up at them, his tongue hanging out of his mouth in an unmistakable smile. Charlie grins back at him and, despite the snow, he feels warm all over. "This could work, couldn't it?" he says as he looks up at Draco and he hates to admit that he almost sounds giddy.
Draco looks at him askance and says as though it’s horribly obvious, "It already does."
.happy hols, e’erybody.