Run. The Ending
Charlie was standing beside a bollard on the river bank near the newsagent when Seamus saw him, hands behind his back, staring straight into the black water. Something in his expression was vacant, empty like an empty bottle, utterly exhausted.
Seamus knew that look too well. He'd seen it on the faces of friends, now dead, and on the faces of people who would have been friends if Voldemort's lightning bolt hadn't turned the world into a battleground. He'd seen it on the faces of the criminals he chased and the criminals he worked for. It was the look that meant you were still living because you had strength for one more spell, the energy for one last kick, a single reason for hope clutched in your hand. The look said: I can't lie down and die. I will continue to fight until my last strength is used or my last hope is gone, and if you want my life you're going to have to come here and take it.
He had seen it on his own face too.
Maybe that was why he took Charlie home, breaking his own inflexible rule about never bringing anyone to his flat. It wasn't much, just a one bedroom flat in a much less upscale neighbourhood than Fergus', but Seamus had fewer people to impress. Seamus was quiet during the walk, thinking and watching for followers. He walked fast but Charlie kept up without visible effort and kept his mouth closed. He flicked the last of his cigarette into the storm drain and followed Shay into the darkened apartment, closing the door.
Seamus didn't bother with any lights-he could see fine in the streetlights that came in the windows, and he'd wound himself up so tight during their walk that he didn't stop to consider Charlie.
"What are you doing here in Ireland?" Seamus asked. His voice came out tight but confused, bewildered, refusing the demanding tone he'd wanted. He walked around the room, unable to keep still. "There are no treaties between wizarding Britain and Romania that would have made them turn you over, and the dragon council doesn't abide by any rules but their own anyway. They've told Grindlewald, Dumbledore and Voldemort to get stuffed-I bet they told Merlin where to stick it when he asked a favour too. I hear the council likes you-and even if Percy is a stuffed shirt who needs to get laid more than any man in history, he gets his information right before he opens his mouth. He's also the only member of your family that acknowledges that you're still alive-the rest pretend you're dead. And he doesn't talk about you like you're a war criminal. He's seen the real thing, and he knows you're not it. And so do I. So why aren't you safe on a reserve someplace, surrounded by dragons? Fergus will cut your head off the reward when he learns who you are!"
"But you won't?" Charlie asked calmly. He crossed over to the window and opened the sash halfway, sat down against the wall to let the smoke and ash from his cigarette drift out the window.
"And how in hell do you keep breathing if you smoke like that all the damn time? I haven't seen you without a cigarette in your mouth all night!"
"You would have, if you'd ever looked down."
Shay stopped in mid-stomp, mid-tirade and stared at Charlie, startled right out of his tantrum. Then he burst out laughing. "All right, you got me," he said, when he'd recovered enough breath to speak.
"Good. You look so cold and stern when you get all in a lather like that. I like you better when you're laughing. It suits your face, the way your eyes turn up at the corners." Charlie's smile was slower, warmer. "And I only smoke this much when I'm nervous."
"And you're nervous."
"No, I'm not nervous. I'm absolutely bloody terrified. I've just had a lot of practice at hiding it. Are the cigarettes my only tell?"
"Unless being scared makes you horny, yeah."
"You make me horny," Charlie said, tracing the tip of his finger along the arch of Seamus' cheekbone. The half-dark hid his eyes, but Seamus saw him lick his lips again before he curled one corner of his mouth in a lopsided smile. "I was rather hoping we could do something about that."
"You're trying to distract me."
For the first time all evening Charlie sounded irritated when he drew back his hand. "Yes, I am. I'm trying to distract you from bloody, painful, nightmare mess of a story that I don't even want to think about any longer." He leaned his head back and spoke toward the ceiling, voice clipped, annoyed. "I've been running for years, Seamus, and always alone. I've talked more to you tonight than in the last three years put together, and you're the only bloke I've been interested in since...I don't know when. I can't even remember the last time I had sex! Can't you just let me relax for a little while?"
"Does this story have anything to do with the cargo you want me to move?" Charlie didn't answer. "Thought so. You can tell me tonight or you can tell me tomorrow, but you'll tell me or be finding yourself somebody else to handle your shipment."
"You are a stubborn bastard, aren't you?"
Seamus snorted. "Yes, and so are you. Right now I'm the stubborn bastard with better leverage. So talk."
"All right." Charlie scrubbed the heels of his hands across his face. "You win. But only because I need your help, dammit."
"Right," Seamus chuckled. "Right. You're meaner than me. I got it."
"Better fucking remember it, too."
"I'm terrified. Shakin' in me boots."
Charlie glanced around, clearly looking for something to throw at Seamus, since the Irishman had prudently moved out of Charlie's immediate reach. Fortunately there was nothing near at hand. "Have you got anything to drink?"
"I'll get it." Seamus went into the kitchen and got out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He didn't drink much-it was too easy to get attached to, and Seamus knew what became of drunkards-so the bottle was a gift from his sister from last Christmas, but it was good stuff. On his way out he grabbed a saucer to use as an ashtray.
"I haven't worked this into a story-I've never told it to anybody-so if it doesn't make sense you'll have to ask questions." Charlie said as Seamus sat on the floor beside him. Charlie didn't seem to like chairs. "You know about the warrant, right?"
"I saw the warrant but not the evidence. That warrant is bullshit. I don't believe it."
Charlie laughed, a bitter, hollowed-out laugh that was so different from everything Seamus had heard from him before it could have come from a different man. "But you should believe it. It's all true." The hollow laugh scraped out again when Seamus lifted an eyebrow. "The case against me is a bloody brilliant piece of work. It's sharp and deadly as a dragon's claw, made specifically for me. I've seen the charge sheets and evidence-and no, I won't tell you how, but I've seen them-and I'm guilty. I did everything I'm accused of doing. And if they drugged me at trial-I hear they do that to traitors these days-Veritaserum would make me confess. Every word is true."
"But it's a lie, too." Frustration crept into his tone. "It's a lie because it doesn't explain why I did all those things. I did them for good reasons, working against Voldemort's and Grindlewald's supporters in eastern Europe, not for the Dark or for my own gain. But-and this is another perfectly brilliant bit-I was set up. Whoever chose me for this job put me there to be the scapegoat if someone had to be blamed for the way the operations in eastern Europe fell apart. Of course, I didn't know that. I was so fucking stupid."
Charlie breathed deeply for a moment, calming himself, then took a sip of whiskey and lit a cigarette. When he spoke again his voice was calmer. "You're Ron's age, right? Twenty-three? So you would have been about twelve when this started. I was nineteen.
"I was a bloody idiot then." Charlie's voice was reflective, meditative. "I really believed what they'd taught me about the first war. My parents were in the Order of the Phoenix, my mother lost her brothers the cause. I barely remember Gideon and Fabian, but they were my heroes when I was growing up. They died fighting for the Right." The bitter sarcasm in Charlie's voice nearly overwhelmed his last sentence; still, Seamus heard the capital letter. "So when the Order approached me for help, I never thought of saying no."
"Even when I learned that my work would be so secret that only four ranking members of the Order would know about it, I still didn't think of saying no. I was doing the right thing, so of course I didn't think to demand securities, proofs that I was working for them. The foursome didn't tell anyone about me. I was ready to be sacrificed and I didn't even know it." He drank some more whiskey, pulling his fragile composure back together.
"Of course everything in Eastern Europe did fall apart, all the treaties we'd worked for were broken, and nearly every agent the Order had there was killed. That's what made me a war criminal. I'm a traitor. Even if I could somehow get past the bounty on me, and get around the Aurors' shoot-on-sight orders, there's nothing to back me up. The Order members who knew about me are all dead. I have no proof that I was even working for the Order, no chance of talking my out of the noose around my neck because everything in the warrants is true. So even if I could somehow get past the charges, I have nothing to back me up. I'd sound like Lucius Malfoy."
He finally met Seamus' eyes. "I never had a chance," he said tiredly. "They knew more about me than I did. They played me perfectly." He looked down into his glass, as if there would be answers in the liquor.
"So what happened?" Seamus asked softly. "How did you get from there to here, running to Canada with freight to move?"
Charlie weighed the question for a moment, then sighed. "All right. You may as well hear all of it." He slammed down his drink and held his glass out to Seamus for a refill.
"So imagine it's 1992. I'd only been in Romania about eighteen months and was still learning the ropes. The old hands said it was going to be a hard winter. The highest passes were closed in by the end of September. We were moving the dragons to the caves-that's where they like to spend winters-and trying to earth shelter some of our own buildings because we were bloody sick of freezing to death. No magic, of course-magic has a tendency to misfire around dragons, and being exposed to very much magic makes dragons act up cranky. Nobody with half a brain wants to be near a cranky dragon, so we did all the work with our hands.
"When Lupin showed, I was done in from weeks at hard labour and I liked him straight away because Vaclav gave me two days off shift to find out what he wanted and get him the hell out of there. Vaclav didn't like him, didn't trust him, didn't want him around. I didn't know Vaclav well then, or I would have paid more attention to that. If I saw him react that way now...." Charlie gave a one-handed shrug, as if he weighed something in his hand, found it wanting, and tossed it over his shoulder, discarding it.
"Remus-Lupin-had brought some good whiskey with him, so we sat in my cabin and drank. The Order was looking for someone to impersonate a dragon poacher and dealer and I had the perfect background for it. You see, nobody works with dragons for money. We're barely paid-just above subsistence wages-so it's no great surprise that some draconologists are corrupt. I think the Council likes it that way. When you see the money they make from legal dealing...they could make us all rich. But they don't, and so people go bad.
"I didn't want to be a poacher, even a pretend poacher. I hated the whole idea of killing dragons-I'd come all this way to live around them, to see and be with them. I didn't want to kill them. So of course Remus made it very clear I wouldn't have to hunt or kill dragons. He said there was a way for me to find ill dragons, or old ones, or those injured past help and ready to die. I could put them out of their misery myself, or just wait until they died and all I'd have to do would be the harvesting."
"What's that?" Seamus asked quietly. He didn't want to interrupt Charlie now that he'd finally got him to talk, but he had to understand the story as well.
Harvesting? It's chopping up dead dragons for saleable bits. It's kind of grisly, but it's part of the job. Harvesting dragons isn't itself illegal. The law comes into it because dragons are property as well as protected species, so what makes harvesting legal or illegal is the ownership of the dragon and the restrictions on what can be sold to whom. You know all that, right?"
Seamus nodded. He did. Aurors learned the law, and he had arrested smugglers of dragon goods and done some smuggling himself. He nodded and kept his mouth shut.
"I argued with Lupin and he argued back. I made up dozens of reasons but he always had an answer. I thought I'd fuck it up, he said I wouldn't, that there was no one else, that they wouldn't ask if it weren't vital to establish where the items and the money were going-all very typical recruiting pitch stuff, though I didn't know it then. I was so naive, and fool enough to be flattered. And Remus-did you ever meet him?"
"He was my Defence Against the Dark Arts professor second-year. I saw him maybe twice after that."
"Did you ever get to sit down and really talk to him? He didn't look like much at first glance, grey-haired, too skinny and dressed in his ratty old clothes. But if you could get him talking about something he cared about, it started his blood moving, He'd get a little more colour in his face and start talking with his hands, waving his hands around. He had long, slim hands, like an artist, a painter maybe. And he had the most astonishing eyes. They looked a kind of dishwater hazel at first, but once he started talking he would look at you and you'd suddenly see that his eyes were a dark caramel colour. They were bright and quick and filled with so much life that looking into them would give you jolt. It was just...wow." Charlie stared out the window for a while, then looked at Seamus with an intent, nervous expression.
"I fall in love at first sight. I always have. There's no middle ground: it's either everything all at once or it never gets past friends with benefits." He gave the one handed shrug again. "I imagine Remus knew that before he came out there, and since Vaclav only gave him two days on the reserve he must have decided to work fast. I talked to him for about an hour the first time...and after that it couldn't have gone faster if he'd put a potion in the whiskey. Hell, he might have done. It didn't feel quite right, even then. It took about a week for my head to clear enough that I realized what I'd signed on to do. He was gone by then, of course. I told you he played me perfectly."
Seamus stamped on utterly irrational surge of jealousy. "It sounds like he did."
"He kept his promise. He left me a map to a cave just below the snow line and a note telling me my help in finding the dragons I would need was in the cave. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I found. In the cave were a pair of Nightglow dragons. They'd been bred by a crazy old wizard from Prague, another letter said, magically grown from the skin of the last survivor of the species. Lace and Lash, a breedable pair from a species that had been extinct for five hundred years. Somehow they had been brought back from the dead and given to us to watch over. I think even Vaclav hated Remus a little less after he saw them." Charlie smiled a little, half embarrassed and half enchanted, then lowered his eyes as if he thought they were giving too much away. Perhaps they were: Seamus had seldom seen that kind of passion outside the bedroom.
"Nightglows are beautiful, Seamus. I don't have the words to tell you how beautiful. They have iridescent white scales on their backs and heads and limbs-everywhere, really, except on the throat and the chest. The scales there are white but they're translucent, and through them you can see the colours of fire chambers around the heart and lungs and the fire throat beside the trachea. They give off a bright, shifting yellow-orange glow like a hot coal. That's how the species got its name: the dragons literally glow. Each Nightglow has a pattern of black scales that is unique to it-Lash is all bold strokes and sharp tracks like he's been painted with a palette knife. Lace has a more delicate pattern, intricate and twisting, covering most of her body except the underside, even her wings. When her wings are folded they just disappear into the pattern, and then they spread out like a parasol."
"So we brought them back down the mountain-we had a carpet, they had wings. They followed like they knew just what to do-they were captive bred and trained, just as you would expect if they had been magically grown. They were fully grown but they were still small dragons, but they were still dragons, maybe two tonnes each, about 25 metres long, very slender and sleek with enormous wings. They were bred to fly. They can dart through the air like hawks."
Charlie shook off his reverie and finished his whiskey. "You always drink this or did you bring the good stuff for me?" he teased. "No, no don't tell me-I like making up the answer. May I have another?"
"Sure."
The Nightglows were the help Remus had promised. They helped Charlie find and kill old or ill dragons. It took a while for Charlie to learn to trust them, and vice versa, but soon they formed a strong partnership. Charlie did the harvesting, then began to learn his way around the secret world of smugglers, dragon dealers, and dark wizards that thrived in the Carpathian mountains as nowhere else.
The Carpathian range stretches across three or four Muggle countries and is one of those rare places where natural magic flourished in all its glory and grotesquery, where werewolves and vampires, dragons and giants, goblins and ghosties and long-legged beasties were the native and natural rulers of the place, and things went bump in the night with impunity. Humans learned quickly they weren't at the top of the food chain. Charlie, with dragons to watch over him, learned to survive out in this wilderness, where to go and when to go there, meeting the leaders of the werewolf packs and the vampire nests and many members of the wild mix of wizards and muggles who could be found here. He learned to live like a muggle and survive in a muggle city, learned how to drive a car and fire a gun and cook on an electric stove. He learned to be a poacher and smuggler, a dealer in forbidden items and information of all sorts. He learned also how to fight effectively and ruthlessly with fists and knives and guns, because there were times when his magic was no help and he needed a back-up plan.
If Lace and Lash were his guardians, Vaclav was his tutor. The older man was a poorly-trained wizard but a formidable crook. He had been an Auror (to use the term loosely), a criminal, a spy and a member of what he called the "secret police" for several governments in his long life. It took Charlie several years to work out exactly what secret police were, but he learned "double-agent" right about the time he became one...lying to the various Dark groups and individuals who were a loose network through the area, and passing all he learned back to the Order.
"Vaclav taught me a lot," Charlie said told Seamus. "One of the first things was not to ask Vaclav too many questions. He had these strange little sayings for everything-it was enough to drive you mad-but some of them stuck with me. 'True survivors are made of cork. No matter how deep the water is, we float.'"
Things came apart all at once. In the last days of the war a culling began. Criminals and spies, wizard and muggle alike, suddenly began vanishing and later turning up dead, or were simply killed where they were. Leaders of werewolf packs and vampire nests died, destroying the treaties that had been so carefully crafted. Their initial mistrust vindicated, both groups turned their backs on wizard-kind. When the war ended, when Voldemort and Grindlewald were dead and the Order of the Phoenix all but destroyed, the crooks, wizards, spies and native creatures were all lying low and waiting to see what would happen next. The answer was: nothing. It seemed the storm had passed, but left only corpses and hatred behind it.
Charlie came home for Fred's funeral and then for the Christmas immediately after.
"I haven't been back to England since," he said sadly. "The warrant arrived in the spring and I realized just how stupid I'd been all those years ago. He told me several times that only four people in the Order would ever know who I was or what I was doing, since I was operating alone in hostile territory and would be very vulnerable. Two of the four were Lupin and Dumbledore, obviously. I don't know who the other two were, but I've been operating as if they were survivors of the first war, highly placed, and dead. Maybe Snape, maybe Mad-Eye Moody, maybe Lupin even told Tonks. I don't know, and it doesn't matter anyway."
"Why not?"
"Because they've haven't lifted a finger to help." Seamus started to protest, though he wasn't quite sure what he intended to say, and Charlie snapped. "Christ, Seamus, think it through. The remaining two haven't helped because they can't-they're dead or alive but restrained somehow-or because they don't want to help. And if they don't want to help, I certainly don't want to draw their attention. They'll be the people who put out the warrant and the bounty. That's who I'm running from."
Charlie stopped and breathed for a moment, grinding out his cigarette, going through the calming ritual Seamus had come to recognize. Then he drew his knees up and put his head down on them, lacing his fingers across the back of his neck and pressing his thumbs in, kneading the muscle with enough pressure to turn the pads of his thumbs white. He was quiet for a long minute, then asked wearily, "Shay, can I tell you the rest tomorrow, please? I'm through most of it, but I'm just....worn thin. Tired and cranky, I suppose."
Seamus felt sorry for Charlie despite himself. He knew very well what it was to feel completely encircled, when any move you made could get you hurt but staying still would get you killed. He for sure knew what it meant to trust someone or group of someones--the Ministry or the DA or the Order, just for a few examples-and have them turn on you, cast you out, or simply be unable to back you when you needed them. Though he still didn't have the information he needed on the cargo, Charlie's weariness seemed real, and there was no gain in pressuring him and making him angry. So he put a hand on Charlie's shoulder and felt him flinch, the twitch of the taut muscle. He knelt over Charlie, facing him, and ran his hands over Charlie's neck and shoulders, smoothing them.
"Hey, Charlie?" he whispered. "You still like me?"
Charlie looked up and smiled. "Of course. But why did you wear me out with all this talk first? I feel like somebody's been at me with a cane."
"Come lie down in my bed," Seamus said softly. "It's more comfortable than the floor. Maybe it will help you relax."
Charlie followed Seamus into the bedroom, where Seamus flipped on a small beside lamp. There was enough light to see, but not enough to glare. He led Charlie to the bed, then turned him so his back was to the bed and kissed him. Then he said, still whispery: "Lie down. On your back."
Charlie toed off his boots and lay down, letting Seamus arrange him in the centre of the mattress. Seamus quickly stripped off his gloves and boots and settled astride him. "Just lie still and let me look at you, all right? I want to see you." Charlie nodded and closed his eyes. Seamus settled his weight carefully where it would do the most good, then began methodically unbuttoning Charlie's shirt at the bottom hem. Charlie's breathing sped up, but he didn't move to resist or to help. Seamus rocked slowly, undoing the buttons as he did so, and soon he peeled the shirt back to reveal Skink's beautiful tattoos. Shay ran the fingertips of both hands across them, tracing the outlines of the artwork across the magically depilated, perfectly hairless skin, feeling Charlie's shortened breaths and occasional tremors. On his left side, head near his heart, curled a long white dragon with black designs delicately traced on its body. The tats were mesmerizing, colours rippling with Charlie's breathing.
Charlie was so responsive that Seamus had no trouble believing it had been a long time for him. His nipples were already hard, pierced by steel barbells, and when Seamus stroked them Charlie whimpered softly. "I want you," he said. "Please."
"Soon," Seamus whispered. He went back to tracing Charlie's tats and toying with his nipples. When Shay's teeth worried them Charlie cried aloud, a sound like a sob, and arched his back up off the bed. "Good," Seamus soothed, peeling off his own shirt before leaning over Charlie, skin on skin, and nibbled his ear. The depilatory spells had gotten rid of Charlie's beard as well, leaving his cheeks and chin smooth. He wondered just how far those spells went.
He slipped off Charlie and whispered "Trousers off."
"Yours too," Charlie replied. So they stripped fast and Charlie fell back where he had been with only a little push from Seamus. Seamus continued to kiss and lick his way down Charlie's body, stopping long enough to push his knees wide apart. He had no hair between his legs at all, and Seamus had to learn how that felt, if the hairless skin was as soft as it seemed. It was, every bit, and Charlie tasted of salt sweat and smelled like the precome beaded on his cock. He must have trusted Skink a lot, Seamus reflected, because there was a heavily ornamented vine drawn around the base of his prick. Seamus ran his finger around it, listening to Charlie's breathing, then took the damp head of his prick into his mouth and sucked hard. He was rewarded by throaty moan.
Then Charlie wrapped both hands in Seamus' hair and pulled him upward, pulled enough to startle tears from Shay's eyes, dragging him up until their faces were centimetres apart.
Charlie's pupils were blown wide, the colour nearly swallowed by the black. "Fuck me, Seamus," he gasped. "Fuck. Me. Right now."
"You aren't..." Seamus hadn't prepared him at all.
"Do it," Charlie ordered. "Fuck me, Seamus, do it now."
So Seamus conjured lubricant and worked it in with his fingers for as long as Charlie would tolerate-not nearly long enough-and when Seamus tried to enter him gently Charlie grabbed Seamus' hips and pulled him forward, impaling himself in one long thrust. Charlie's head fell back, mouth open in a soundless scream of pain or pleasure or both, and Seamus bit his own lip, sharply enough to taste blood, as he struggled to control himself: Charlie was hot and tight and beautiful and he was begging ...and Seamus simply couldn't take any more.
He thrust hard into Charlie, setting a punishing pace and seeing his own feelings mirrored in the expression of the man beneath him. When he was near orgasm he pulled out and slid his cock next to Charlie's, grabbing them both with his lube covered hands and pulling them off together, maddened with the thought of their combined come decorating Charlie's painted skin. Seamus had no idea who reached his climax first-he heard Charlie say his name while he was drowning in his own rush, carried away as the two of them clung together, waiting for the tremors to subside. In time they slept that way, wrapped around one other. Seamus woke Charlie sometime before sunrise for another round, slower and gentler than the first but no less passionate. Shay couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex this good, if he ever had, and he hoped it was that good for Charlie too. He tried to say something of the sort, but his mind was fuck-stupid and dazed by the odd mix of sleep and afterglow that was nearly incapacitating, and Charlie kissed him and told him to shut up. Seamus fell asleep soon after that.
Charlie actually cooked breakfast in the morning, muggle fashion: it seemed he was accustomed to getting up early. Seamus, who usually went to bed at four, woke up to the smell of coffee and bacon and lay stunned for a moment before getting out bed and pulling on some sweat pants.
Charlie had showered and dressed-must be nice not to have to shave every morning, but it seemed rather feminine to Seamus-and when Seamus staggered into kitchen he just pointed at a pot of coffee on the stove. It was strong and bitter and nearly leapt out of the cup to slap him into wakefulness.
"Tough stuff," he managed at last. His throat felt a little raw from cigarettes and second-hand smoke.
"I used to have to get up at 3:30 to do the dawn feedings in winter. Florena taught me how make"-something in a foreign language. "If it doesn't wake you up it may kill you."
Two cups of that lethal coffee, one enormous fry-up and a shower later, Seamus said, "I need to see what you're shipping, Charlie. I still don't have any idea."
Charlie huffed a laugh. "Really? All right, if you don't mind side-along apparating."
"Fine by me."
They were standing beside an elf-hill, one of the Neolithic tomb mounds that are dotted all over Ireland. It looked the centre of rural nowhere, sheep grazing in a field not too far away, not even a farmhouse in sight.
"Where the hell are we?" Seamus asked.
"County Roscommon, I think," Charlie said. "It's as near to nothing I as could find."
All at once there was a enormous pop of displaced air. Seamus recognized it even as his wand fell into his hand, even as he felt Charlie's shoulders against his back. He was looking at four men and two women, wands pointed at him. "I have six," he said calmly to Charlie.
"Same," Charlie replied. His voice was full of tightly constrained fury.
Fergus spoke from somewhere behind Seamus. "Why don't you both face me and we can talk?"
"What the fuck for?" Charlie demanded angrily. "You've come to collect the bounty, haven't you? Seamus got me here for you, right? So let him out of the circle and you can get on with killing me."
"I have an offer I want to make you first," Fergus said at the same moment Seamus blurted, "I didn't do this, Charlie."
"And for once he's telling the truth," Fergus said. "Besides, I'll never hear the end of it from the family if I kill my cousin. You can't get away with that here, no matter how you do things in England. So drop the wands and turn to face me."
"And we will set our backs to the hill so you don't have us surrounded, thanks very much," Charlie snapped. "If you've come to talk, we can talk, but I want everyone where I can see them."
"If you insist," sighed Fergus. And once he held Seamus' and Charlie's wands, Seamus looked around a circle of familiar faces, people he'd been working with since he'd come back to Ireland. "Len, you two-faced rat fucker, I thought you were better than this."
"It's not personal, Seamus, and you know it."
"Of course it isn't," Fergus said smoothly. "Seamus, it's just business. Work with us and take your cut like always, right?"
"And what are you planning to tell Ma if I tell you to kiss your ass?"
Fergus frowned. "I haven't planned that far in advance, really. I was counting your sense of self-preservation to over-ride your temper."
Seamus actually laughed. "Do you know me? You can't be Fergus. I think you're some polyjuiced troll. What did you give me for my first communion?"
The other man sighed. "Wank mags, of course. It's a tradition."
"Well, you left out the blow job, but I guess you're not a troll." Fergus flushed red as a couple of suppressed snickers were quickly converted into coughs.
Charlie reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette and lit it, without a wand, as always. The giggling stopped at the first crackle of cellophane and every wand spun their way, a few with stunning spells already on their tips.
"Hold!" Len shouted, and the wand tips dipped. Fergus had good people, thanks be to God.
"Mr. Weasley, was that really necessary?" Fergus demanded. Good, thought Seamus. He'd been rattled too: he didn't want his prize damaged. That argued that whatever offer he had was real. "You could have been killed."
"It looks like I still could be," Charlie commented wryly, waving his hand at the surrounding wizards. "Seamus, go stand out there with your cousin. Fergus, make your offer or get on with the killing." When Seamus didn't move, Charlie turned to look at him. His voice was unyielding, but Shay could see fear beside the fury in his eyes. "Move, Shay."
"Well?" Seamus spoke to Fergus. Fergus beckoned and Seamus went to stand beside him, watching Charlie.
"I'd much rather live than die," Charlie commented, sounding more relaxed now. "So if we can do business, I want to do business. I don't want to stand in a sheepfold expecting a curse at any moment. Seamus, you said this wasn't your doing. I'll take your word, and there's no reason for you to stand next to me to soak up a stray curse. You're safer where you are." Seamus nodded, not trusting his voice. "Quaffle's yours, Fergus."
"All right. Your head is worth a lot of money, true enough, and since we both know that the English Ministry wants you dead there's no reason for me to try to take you captive. However, I believe you to be in possession of objects even more valuable than your head. For a time, you travelled with two dragons of an unknown species. These dragons were killed in Switzerland. Correct?"
Charlie paled. He snapped, "If you don't know I'm not going to tell you. When do we get to the offer bit?"
"Right now." Fergus' neck was getting red, which wasn't a good sign. If Charlie wanted him pissed off, he was doing a good job. Seamus was searching for the trick, the rescue, the miracle that would save Charlie's life, but it wasn't coming to him. There was only this negotiation with Fergus, and Charlie's nonchalant fury was making Fergus angry. He didn't know how to deal with someone who was persistently defiant and not afraid of him.
"Your dragons are dead," Fergus said, catching the flicker of pain in Charlie's expression and taking it for confirmation. "But they left behind five eggs. Five dragon eggs, to the right person, are worth a lot more than the bounty on you. Give me the eggs, and leave with your life."
"Who's going to get the eggs?"
"You're in no position to ask questions, Mr. Weasley."
"You watch a lot of really bad telly, Mr. Finnigan." Charlie's smile was almost a sneer. "Just answer the fucking question. There are a few people I don't want to have the eggs. Tell me who's going to get them. Unless they're on the short list, you get the eggs. Otherwise, all you have is one slightly dented criminal who is worth ten thousand galleons, which isn't much divided thirteen ways. The eggs are worth millions."
"We could kill you and find the eggs."
"What's stopping you, then?" Charlie stepped on his cigarette butt.
Fergus huffed in irritation, then looked at his watch, as if he were actually going to be late for an appointment. Fergus didn't make appointments. If people knew where he would be at a certain time, they could plan to arrest-or kill-him. The watch was cheap theatre, and Seamus knew it.
"You may have time to stand out here all day and argue, but I don't. Her name is Anya Vaclanovna Tavel. Good enough?"
Charlie sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "Fucking hell, that old cunt again," he snarled half under his breath. "All right," he said, as he pulled out another cigarette and lit it. "Two eggs now, and the location of the other three when I'm clear in Canada."
"Three and two," Fergus said.
"I only have access to two eggs now, and it will be weeks until I can get to the others. How did you find this woman?"
Seamus noted, in a distracted sort of way, that the clever cousin he'd admired when they were younger had turned into a thug, and not a very good one. Charlie's refusal to be frightened had thrown him off his game. So much so that Charlie was glancing past them-Shay wished he could turn around and see at what-and playing for time, and Fergus hadn't noticed.
Fergus frowned. "Then I suppose two will have to be enough for now," he sighed. "She contacted me and told me you would come here, looking for transport to the Americas. We reached an agreement, contingent on me finding you, of course. And three days later my lucky cousin picked you up in a bar. Now, the eggs."
"In the woods." Charlie nodded to the copse of trees standing a few hundred metres away, behind Fergus' party. "I divided them up, so that if one was found not all of them would be. Two of them are in there."
"You'll walk up front. Len, Rally, you're behind him. Kill him if you have to. Seamus, you're walking beside your boyfriend. Katie and Steve, you've got him."
"Oh, for Christ's sake..." Charlie began, then stopped himself. "All right, let's go. I hope somebody has shovels." He started walking, muttering beneath his breath in what Seamus assumed to be Romanian. As they neared the wood, he half-turned to Seamus. "Seamus, listen..." and then dove sideways, knocking Seamus down with him. Even covered by Charlie's body, the sudden flare of heat was enough to make Seamus feel blistered. Charlie said, "For God's sake, stay down" and rolled off Seamus' body, jumping to his feet and sprinting away. There was an agonized scream from a man, shouting, a woman shrieking, Charlie's voice crying, "No! Stop!"
Then there was a sudden burst of clear white light, so bright it hurt Seamus' eyes even though his arms shielded them, and after that there was silence.
He heard Charlie again, speaking caressingly to someone, his love clear even though his voice shook. "Oh, sweet Circe, thank you, thank you. You are beautiful, brave and clever and you've saved my skin again. Were it not for you I would be dead a dozen times over by now. We have to stop doing this, though. The margins are getting narrower and narrower every time." He heard Charlie take a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "God, I hope Shay's alive." Silence, then, "Yes, you may, but all or nothing, you understand? No being picky and no tooth marks."
Seamus tried to move, to tell Charlie he was alive, but the world went away before he had the chance. When he woke again, it was to Charlie's voice, which no longer trembled. "Seamus my love, wake up. Come on, Shay, tell me what's wrong."
What was wrong was that he had a headache that was making his eyes water, and his whole body felt bruised in sympathy. Details of how he'd gotten here weren't clear yet, and his eyes weren't working, but Seamus awake enough to know was lying on his back, gentle hands moving quickly over him. He recognized his symptoms: he'd been hit in the head. "I wish you would talk, Shay, because you're really beginning to frighten me. I'm afraid you need a hospital, but if I take you in the Aurors will kill us both. So say something, will you? Tell me what's wrong."
"Hit my head." His tongue felt thick.
"At least you're talking now. That's a relief." Charlie sounded relieved. "It might not help you but it's making me feel better. I bet you caught the edge of the stunner when it went wild. Close your eyes and stay still."
"What happened?" he demanded. Talking made his head worse, but he wanted to know.
"I'll tell you as soon as I know, I promise. I want to check over everyone first. Just lie still. I'll be back soon."
Seamus had been stunned entirely too often in his life to go for the "close your eyes, stay still" advice: all that got you was nausea, so then you had the heaves and the headache. After he'd rested a little longer he started to sit up, slowly, keeping his eyes open, blinking to clear his sight. All he could see was brilliant white against the forest greens and browns. He leaned against a convenient tree. Something huge and white was right in front of him. Eventually the picture resolved. It was a dragon. A white dragon. A gigantic white dragon with black markings and big red spots on its snout. It turned its head to look at him and Seamus instinctively froze: this white giant was a predator and he was prey, and they both knew it.
The dragon stretched its long neck toward him, lowering its head to keep its eyes level with Seamus'. It was close enough he could see the yellow aura the flames inside gave it; that aura would probably be very bright in darkness. It studied him with large black eyes, snake-like tongue flicking out to lap the blood off its face.
It moved back a bit and made a chirruping noise-who knew that dragon's chirped? It sounded like a bird-that brought Charlie running. His clothes were smudged with dirt, and he had Seamus' wand in his hand.
He gave Seamus the wand right away, then asked, "Do you want me to get rid of your headache?"
"Is that one of your dragons?"
"Yes. This is Lash." Lash was watching them with interest, clearly feeling he was part of the conversation.
"I thought you said they were small!" Seamus protested, then winced. The blessed familiarity of a healing spell spilled over him, and the headache was gone.
"I said they were small dragons, Shay. This is about as small as dragons get." Charlie put a hand on the dragon's neck behind the great black and white crest and pushed gently. Lash took the hint and returned to what he'd been doing. "Headache gone?"
"Yeah. Catch me up. We walked into the wood, you tackled me...what happened after that?"
Charlie sighed, then sank to the ground in front of Seamus and looked at him as if he were finding the best way to say something terrible. "Fergus was lied to, Shay. I never came here to move dragon eggs. There aren't any eggs. I only have dragons. Someone knew that I had come to Ireland because my last chance at getting the three of us out of Europe was here. There aren't that many wizards who have the setup-or the balls-to transport dragons. I imagine they, whoever they are, thought I'd go to Spain. Ireland is too close to the Ministry, my family. But Percy, the one who has always out of step with the rest of us, and obviously still is. Percy saw to it that I heard about Fergus. He must have kept track of you when you left the Auror Office. Fergus was perfect for my purposes and had a reputation as a honest crook. Obviously, someone told him that fairy tale about the dragon eggs so he would get greedy. Nobody in their right mind will take on a pair of grown dragons, but eggs...eggs fetch high prices and aren't dangerous."
"I thought this trap was meant for me. Fergus was certain to kill me after he had gotten all he could. Now I'm wondering, though. Why follow us here? He could have grabbed me in Dublin and been safe. By coming here he practically guaranteed that I would set Lace and Lash on him. Dragons don't attack unless they mean to kill." Charlie was distracted, wandering, searching the labyrinth of conspiracy he'd been living in for answers. Seamus fixed on a question he could answer.
"Charlie," he said. When Charlie looked at him, he asked, "Charlie, no lies now. Is Fergus dead?"
"No, he's not. But it's just blind luck that he didn't die. Everyone else who came out here with him is gone. Fergus panicked at the first sight of Lace and threw a stunning spell at her. Nightglows are nearly immune to magic, spells cast around them go wild more often than they would around other dragons. He didn't know that. The effect stunned you, knocked him flying. Everyone that came here with him is dead. I'm sorry." He looked down, away from Seamus' eyes. "I'm so sorry."
Seamus studied him in silence. He was truly upset over the outcome, which was more than Seamus could manage. Fergus' people had come here to kill him and Charlie. They had failed, and now they were dead. Seamus felt it was no more than they deserved.
Charlie straightened his back and looked at Seamus, clearly expecting him to be furious. The surprise on his face made Seamus smile. "They earned it," Seamus explain succinctly. "I'm short on sympathy for people who try to kill me. Where's Fergus?"
Charlie stood and helped Seamus to his feet, then unexpectedly pulled him close and held on tightly for a moment. He said something that was smothered in Shay's shirt collar, then stepped back and led Seamus to his cousin.
"Fergus is badly hurt, Shay. I don't know if he'll survive, but unless he gets to a hospital he'll die. I've done what I can for him, but I can't do enough. I'm no healer."
Seamus looked down at Fergus' battered body and sighed. "If he weren't family I'd leave him here. What about the other bodies?"
"They won't be found," Charlie said flatly.
"You're sure."
"I'm sure." Suddenly Seamus recalled the red spots on Lash's snout. No, they wouldn't be found. They were on their way to becoming dragon dung. Uncertain if he was outraged by this or not, Seamus simply pushed the thoughts aside, to be dealt with when he had time. Right now, he had things to do.
"Right, then. Then I'm going back to take Fergus back to Dublin, and then I'm to work out how to get two dragons and a redhead out of the port without causing too much hysteria. You might want to explain shipping containers to your dragons. Nobody's fond of riding in them, but I'll have every Auror in Ireland crawling over me if some muggle sees a great white dragon going up a loading ramp." The dread finally left Charlie's expression, and his eyes said thank you, along with another message Seamus couldn't quite read.
"They ran out on Vaclav, didn't they?" Seamus said. "Those dragons of yours. That's what's kept you moving: Vaclav wants his dragons back."
"Damn," Charlie said. "Sexy and smart. Yes, Vaclav wants them back, but they want to be free, or at least free not to live on the reserves. How wrong is it to want to be allowed to make your own mistakes?"
"Bloody stupid, if you ask me, but not wrong."
Charlie had stabilized Fergus in a magical sleep and a full body bind. "Can you find my apartment again?" Seamus asked. Charlie nodded. "Then come there when you're finished here. I'll meet you when the arrangements are made. All right?"
Charlie caught Seamus' arm and pulled him into an embrace, putting one hand on his cheek and kissing him quickly and gently. He stepped back, still holding Shay's hand, and said, "Don't answer me right now. Think about it and tell me later. I want you to come with me. I told you I fall in love at first sight. I don't want to leave you behind and I can't stay here. If I could I would, but I can't. So please, think about it. Come with me."
Seamus was surprised at the tug he felt, the wish to just say yes, to just run off with Charlie and have a new life without the constant reminders of the war, have a chance to see if he could recover dreams and wishes and aspirations. He would have sworn there was no hope in him anymore, but it appeared that there was. He looked down at Fergus, helpless on the ground, and over at Charlie, waiting. "I'll tell you tonight," he said with a small smile, and vanished.
The End