Drabble for girlyswot
Not really a proper drabble, as about six times too long. Set in the same universe as From The Ashes, in which Charlie Weasley is running an endangered dragon breeding project on some of the Malfoy Manor land. I hope you've read the series it's sort of a crossover with, but it's got Charlie in, anyway. :)
Charlie Weasley Is Not Impressed
"I'm not angry with any of you," said Charlie Weasley carefully, looking down at two small red heads, three small fair heads, an assortment of scrapes and bruises, one pair of spectacles in grave need of a Reparo spell, and a startling variety of sulphurously eggy stains. "I just want to know what you thought you were doing."
The two small Weasleys and three small Malfoys shuffled themselves about, eventually pushing Tanaquil Malfoy to the front. Charlie had spent much of the war and the years beforehand in Romania, and had had the least to do with Lucius Malfoy of all his brothers and sisters; he still found it disconcerting in the extreme to see that narrow-eyed look, half patrician and half chancer, looking up at him framed between two curly pale pigtails.
"We wanted to see if it was like in the Muggle book," Tanaquil explained sweetly. "It was you who gave us the idea, really, Uncle Charlie."
Charlie resisted the temptation to swear fluently in Romanian. "How could I possibly have - how did I give you the idea, Tanaquil?"
"You said the hybrid eggs would probably mostly come out Common Welsh Green, but some of them might be other colours. Bronze, you said, or maybe even gold."
"That doesn't explain what you children were doing messing about with the eggs, or why you set fire to Furnivall's sandpit!"
Furnivall Malfoy removed his thumb from his mouth. "F'vall," he said indistinctly. Charlie failed to make any sense of this utterance, and decided to ignore it.
"In the book," said Charlotte Weasley with her usual easy self-assurance, "it was the smallest boy who got the dragon."
"Well, generally in real life it's the other way round," said Charlie with monumental restraint.
"That's all right," said Tanaquil kindly. "Scorpius is the heir. Furn's just the spare."
Charlie took a moment to breathe deeply and vow not to get distracted by this very Malfoy reasoning. "Dragons aren't pets. They can and will eat people. You're all very lucky that your grandmother - not your grandmother, your Cousin Molly - " he added to the small Malfoys, "had those extra hands made for her clock, even if it does look like a demented carnation these days. You were all in mortal peril. Now where did you get this Muggle book?"
"From Granddad, of course," said Charlotte, in the just-this-side-of-scornful tone of voice that she generally reserved for her parents and other idiots. "He said he thought it'd be interesting to see what Muggles thought about dragons. It's all full of weird Muggle sciencey stuff. Which reminds me, Dad - I was meaning to ask you - "
It had been three years at least since Charlotte had asked him anything beyond 'What have you done with the newspaper, Dad?' or 'When I go to Hogwarts, I don't have to actually take those jumpers Gran knitted me, do I?' Charlie's strong desire to send her to bed without any supper warred with a vague, glassy, slightly drunken feeling of overwhelming love; they didn't tell you beforehand how it would feel when you saw your children's clock-hands set to mortal peril, let alone how it felt when you realised that they had dragged someone else's children into the peril with them. "What is it?" he said in a slightly softer tone of voice.
"What does it mean, when a blue rider and a green rider love each other very much?"
Charlie Weasley Is Not Impressed
"I'm not angry with any of you," said Charlie Weasley carefully, looking down at two small red heads, three small fair heads, an assortment of scrapes and bruises, one pair of spectacles in grave need of a Reparo spell, and a startling variety of sulphurously eggy stains. "I just want to know what you thought you were doing."
The two small Weasleys and three small Malfoys shuffled themselves about, eventually pushing Tanaquil Malfoy to the front. Charlie had spent much of the war and the years beforehand in Romania, and had had the least to do with Lucius Malfoy of all his brothers and sisters; he still found it disconcerting in the extreme to see that narrow-eyed look, half patrician and half chancer, looking up at him framed between two curly pale pigtails.
"We wanted to see if it was like in the Muggle book," Tanaquil explained sweetly. "It was you who gave us the idea, really, Uncle Charlie."
Charlie resisted the temptation to swear fluently in Romanian. "How could I possibly have - how did I give you the idea, Tanaquil?"
"You said the hybrid eggs would probably mostly come out Common Welsh Green, but some of them might be other colours. Bronze, you said, or maybe even gold."
"That doesn't explain what you children were doing messing about with the eggs, or why you set fire to Furnivall's sandpit!"
Furnivall Malfoy removed his thumb from his mouth. "F'vall," he said indistinctly. Charlie failed to make any sense of this utterance, and decided to ignore it.
"In the book," said Charlotte Weasley with her usual easy self-assurance, "it was the smallest boy who got the dragon."
"Well, generally in real life it's the other way round," said Charlie with monumental restraint.
"That's all right," said Tanaquil kindly. "Scorpius is the heir. Furn's just the spare."
Charlie took a moment to breathe deeply and vow not to get distracted by this very Malfoy reasoning. "Dragons aren't pets. They can and will eat people. You're all very lucky that your grandmother - not your grandmother, your Cousin Molly - " he added to the small Malfoys, "had those extra hands made for her clock, even if it does look like a demented carnation these days. You were all in mortal peril. Now where did you get this Muggle book?"
"From Granddad, of course," said Charlotte, in the just-this-side-of-scornful tone of voice that she generally reserved for her parents and other idiots. "He said he thought it'd be interesting to see what Muggles thought about dragons. It's all full of weird Muggle sciencey stuff. Which reminds me, Dad - I was meaning to ask you - "
It had been three years at least since Charlotte had asked him anything beyond 'What have you done with the newspaper, Dad?' or 'When I go to Hogwarts, I don't have to actually take those jumpers Gran knitted me, do I?' Charlie's strong desire to send her to bed without any supper warred with a vague, glassy, slightly drunken feeling of overwhelming love; they didn't tell you beforehand how it would feel when you saw your children's clock-hands set to mortal peril, let alone how it felt when you realised that they had dragged someone else's children into the peril with them. "What is it?" he said in a slightly softer tone of voice.
"What does it mean, when a blue rider and a green rider love each other very much?"