A/N: In my little world, Charlie Weasley left England and settled in America as a professional quidditch player for the Flying American Red Dragons. Off season, he works at the only American Dragon Preserve. My Charlie Weasley story ideas come from my story, "The Adventures of the Dragon Keeper."
The stories are based on characters created by J. K. Rowling—God bless her.
The Flying American Red Dragons
Chapter One-Charlie's Dilemma
Charlie Weasley had two problems facing him when he woke up. First, he had no idea where he was and second, he had no idea who the naked woman lying next to him was. He thought the best thing for him to do was get up quietly, get dressed and get the hell out of where ever the hell he was. The woman stirred and rolled over. He looked at her face. No, no clue. She opened her eyes and smiled. He smiled back, kissed her and said, "I have to get going."
She nodded and rolled over again. Well, that was easier than he thought it would be. A non-cuddler.
As he dressed, he tried hard to remember the night before and while he remembered snippets of the unbelievable amount of fire whiskey and mescal he drank with a group of his quidditch team mates after a hard win against the Sweetwater All-Stars. The final score was 180-10. They played for 10 hours in a violent thunderstorm. Joanna Morgan had managed to score three times under incredible conditions before Charlie captured the snitch and ended the game.
He looked outside the curtained window, it was still dark, but the sky was getting lighter. There was a clock on the night stand. It was six o'clock in the morning. The rain had stopped, but the streets were still glistening. He still didn't have a clue where he was. He knew where he wanted to go; the inn where the team spent the night. He closed the outside door quietly, stood on the porch and disapparated.
He apparated inside the room he shared with one of the beaters; an American named Lee West. Lee was in the shower when he arrived. He threw Lee's quidditch robes and broomstick that he had tossed on Charlie's bed on the floor and laid down. He needed about four more hours of sleep and a very large amount of hot coffee.
He was just drifting off to sleep when Lee came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, drying his hair. Lee jumped when he saw Charlie.
"You scared the shit out of me," he said. "Have a good time last night?" Lee grinned.
"I have no idea," he said honestly.
Charlie yawned. "I think I'm getting too old for this," he said.
"We have practice in about half an hour. " Lee said. He tossed his towel on the bed and finished dressing.
Charlie nodded and got up. He was hungry and knew he had to hurry if he was going to get any coffee.
When he finally made it downstairs to the dining room, he met up with his other team mates. They looked about like the way he felt. Must have been a helluva celebration, he thought, grabbing a cup of coffee. He waved cheerily to a very hung over Joanna Morgan, who returned the wave with an extremely rude hand gesture. Charlie laughed and threw her a kiss.
Joanna Morgan was the one who talked Charlie into staying in America and playing quidditch.
She was a chaser on the American team. She knew Charlie from their Hogwarts days, both were in Gryffindor. Charlie was in his seventh year when Joanna started her wizarding education. She, like most of the witches at Hogwarts, was enamored with the handsome quidditch player. Charlie was captain of his house team and one of the best seekers to come out of Hogwarts. Joanna recognized him immediately when he went to speak to her in a Mexican bar. Charlie and two friends had gone to see the American team play Mexico.
The Reds coach was a Bulgarian named Popov. He was a former player for Bulgaria. A stoic humorless man, he was hired to bring traditional quidditch back to America. He was a severe task master whose philosophy was, "Win at all costs." His job was on the line every time the players hit the pitch. Charlie knew that Popov loved the sport as much as he did.
The three chasers on the team were British; Joanna, Iris Mincher, and a Scot named Andrew McClennan. The keeper was French, Claude Dumont. Claude didn't speak English. He kept to himself. He was an excellent keeper, and the rest of the team tried desperately to communicate with him.
The only Americans first string on the team were the beaters; Lee West, a husky wizard from the south and Jason Monroe, an incredibly strong wizard from the east. Both were very young players and somewhat immature.
Charlie had replaced the other American on the team as seeker.
Popov demanded that his players be completed devoted to the sport. Although the team had played the night before and had another match the next day, he had them on the practice field. If anyone complained, they were gone. It was hard for Popov to keep the Americans motivated, but that is why he paired them with the British players.
The players were paid well for their talent. Charlie was surprised at the amount of money he had been offered. After all, he had never played professionally, and the last time he played with a winning team was at Hogwarts. He had organized Sunday afternoon teams in Romania and at the American Preserve. Popov told him he had seen him play when his sanctuary team in Romania played the national Bulgarian team as a fund raiser for the sanctuary. The best seeker on the planet, Vicktor Krum told Charlie that he was impressed with his playing. Of course, the Bulgarian beat the team very badly, but Charlie was humbled that a great player like Krum took the time to talk to him.
Since he signed with the Reds, Charlie's life had changed dramatically. He quickly became one of the most popular players in the league. He was asked to endorse everything from broomsticks to trainers, which he refused to do. He had a fan club and then there were the quidditch groupies, which explained why he was in a strange bed with a total stranger.
As polite and respectful as Charlie was, everyone saw him as a rebel that woman found irresistible. He also found them irresistible as well. He liked to party and he had no intensions of settling down. He partied hard and he worked harder. He thought it was a natural balance. His father worried about his drinking and his mother worried that he would get killed.
He did seem to live a charmed life. He had been attacked by dragons, burned, chewed, and clawed. He received a large cut from a ridgeback's tail that had been sewn together by the muggle he rescued. And he was even shot once in the chest by a high-powered rifle at the American Dragon Preserve. He took chances and refused to play it safe.
Out in the practice field at seven o'clock in the morning after been hung over was a testament to Charlie's dedication to the game of quidditch. He could have practiced all day in every imaginable weather condition. He simply loved the sport. And it showed.
The Reds had been on the practice pitch for two hours. The weather was hot because it was summer in Texas. Charlie was helping the second team against the first string when Popov motioned him to land. He handed his beater's bat to a player and flew down to his coach.
Before he landed, he could see that Popov was not alone; there was woman and a man carrying a camera. Oh, shit, he thought. Reporters. He hated the reporters and their silly articles about him. There was real news out there, such as the increase of dark magic in America, and he didn't like to be singled out from the rest of the team.
As he came closer to the group, the woman raised her head and smiled. It was the woman he had slept with the night before. Fuck, he thought. He smiled at them as he stood next to Popov.
Popov had a sour expression on his face. Any interruption in practice was a waste of time. But he was a slave to the owners, just like Charlie and the rest of the team.
"Charlie," Popov began in his thick Bulgarian accent, "This is Ms Gentry from Daily Wizard. The owners said you should do interview." He said flatly.
"Wizards Today." She corrected.
Popov shrugged. "Whatever."
Charlie looked at his coach and then to the reporter. He stuck out his hand, which she took. "A pleasure, Ms Gentry." He smiled graciously.
"Please, call me Diane," she said, smiling intimately, as if sharing a secret.
The coach wandered off muttering under his breath. Charlie watched him go. He waited attentively for Diane to say something. He wanted to get back into the air and play, but he understood that any positive publicity was good for the team and ultimately the sport. He hoped that the interview would be short and sweet and all about the game.
"So," she looked at him appreciatively. "Charlie Weasley. My readers want to know all your intimate secrets."
"I hope you don't kiss and tell," he said seductively.
Diane actually blushed and stammered, "Ah, well." She cleared her throat. She recovered quickly. "You are the newest quidditch sensation in America, Charlie. Fans are captivated by your magnificent," she paused, "Skill and determination both in the arena and off.
"We, I mean my readers, want to know what makes you tick."
For the next two hours, Charlie tried in vain to talk about the team, but Diane was only interested in him. He did not show his annoyance, but he kept his answers evasive. When she asked about what brought him to America, he talked about the dragon preserve and the excellent work they were doing with preserving the endangered species, mentioning the discovery that the American Red actually did fly when they were juveniles. Actually, Charlie had made that discovery right before he was shot in the chest by a stray hunter's bullet.
All the dragon talk was too boring for Diane. She asked him about his marital status, his favorite color, if he usually slept in the nude; any truth to the rumor that he preferred muggle women to witches. He avoided a direct response from all of her questions, except his favorite color.
"American red, of course," he said.
After another hour of the same interrogation, in which Charlie kept looking at his watch and the sky, hoping to end the torture and get back with his team mates, he said, finally. "Look, I don't want to rude or anything, but do you think your readers really care about what color underwear I wear? I've told you more about me than my mum knows."
"You didn't tell me anything I haven't read a hundred times," she snapped. "And you haven't answered any of my questions."
"Yes, I have," he disagreed. "I know I'm a professional quidditch player, but you have to remember that I am a team member. I don't want to be singled out. If you're interested in knowing me, you've got to be interested in knowing about my team. I'm only the seeker, there are six other players on the team."
"But you're the one who sells the magazines. Nobody gives a shit about the other players. You're the star. It's you my readers want to know about. Charlie I don't write for a sports magazine, I write about celebrities. If I put your face on the cover, it gets sold out."
"I care about them," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to practice. We have a match tomorrow." He started to walk away.
"Charlie, my photographer will be following you around today to get some shots for the article. I'd like to meet with you again tonight. I'll come by your room around ten-ish." She put her notebook away.
He waved to let her know he heard her. He had wasted three hours that could have been spent in the air. He already knew the kind of bullshit she was going to write. Maybe he could make her see things differently that evening. Yeah, and maybe he'd be made Minister of Magic.