Summary: Charlie Weasley is not exactly known for being a people person. That is, until he meets the right person.
Pairing: Charlie/Harry
Rating: M
Warnings: SLASH
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.
A/N: Sometimes, a story just writes itself. This one did exactly that.
Other Reasons
Nobody in their right mind would ever accuse Charlie Weasley of being a poet. In all honesty, most folks wouldn't know exactly what to call him. For starters, they wouldn't say he is any good with words.
Not unreasonably, they would compare him to his siblings.
There is Percy, to begin with. He is… Well, Percy is Percy. And everyone knows what Percy is like.
Then there is Bill. For as long as Charlie has lived he's heard his mother praise Bill and his good looks. Which is fine, for the record. Charlie isn't in it for the looks. In any case, Greyback did quite a number on Bill and evened out the odds a little bit. Not that Bill seems to mind. Apparently, he isn't in it for the looks either.
But Bill is successful. Something of a phenomenon in Charlie's eyes. To be concise: he snagged the Veela, has a mysterious job with the goblins and owns a house. That is something, to be sure.
Then there is George. And Fred.
Charlie pauses for a moment to let it pass. Not that it does. He wonders if grief such as this ever does.
It must be a million times worse for George.
All right. So. The twins. Everyone loves the twins, always have. Now they will love George twice as much. And that is fair.
Then Ron. No one expected him to be a hero. He is… he is Ron for Merlin's sake. It was unexpected, to say the least. But he is made of some strong stuff, it turned out – stronger than any one of them ever imagined.
Lastly, Ginny. Thinking of his sister always makes him smile. She'll face down a tempest if required to.
As for Charlie himself… Well, he's mostly stayed out of the way. Got out, quick as he could when school was over and he was of age and allowed to be a grown-up. He isn't sure he made such a brilliant grown-up during those first years but he got the hang of it after a while.
Glancing back over his shoulder, though, makes him question that, too.
There is a dull pounding behind his eyes. It probably isn't punishment enough…
o.O.o
They'd been somewhat late…ish. Which nobody had noticed because the Ministry Atrium was brimming with people. So absolutely no one had seen them exiting the fireplace as discreetly as the green flames had let them. Charlie'd pointed that out. A few times.
His mother had not been listening. After the worst summer of their lives – a summer that had been completely drenched in pitch-black mourning – the Weasleys had picked themselves up enough to accept the invitation to a Ministry-held formal mingle, in celebration of the appointment of Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister for Magic proper. They had dusted themselves off, dressed up, and been late.
Not that anyone cared, as far as Charlie could tell.
Well, not a few people came up to Ron (really, Ron) to shake his hand or pat him on the back. It took only around forty seconds for his cheeks and ears to acquire an itchy red and Charlie gladly pushed him forwards to pester him further.
To add to his glee, Hermione showed up with her parents a while later and Charlie could enjoy even more of Ron's stammering and stuttering as he was introduced to Mr and Mrs Granger who both, looking suitably overwhelmed by the entire situation, were apparently sure that Ron was somehow to thank for their daughter's survival.
He'd not had the heart to inform them that, most likely, it was the other way around. He did love Ron and… well, judging from the way his younger brother was ogling Hermione, and from the way she beamed at him in return, something was going on between them. And Charlie could be considerate when he wanted to.
He could also drink. They were serving a sparkling wine in elegant flutes so that was what he had to work with. Not his preferred drink, perhaps, but he made do. Then Kingsley made a speech and there was cheering and a couple of toasts (and a few more) and Charlie found no fault with that.
By the time he saw him, Charlie Weasley's head was buzzing pleasantly.
He'd not seen him for a few months. He couldn't say why. Perhaps he'd not been home when he popped in for a visit. Perhaps there was some other reason.
He was standing beside Kingsley – who looked almost regal – looking… tired.
Charlie had squinted. Possibly frowned.
People were all over him: gaping and fawning, forcing words out of him, and endless smiles and nods, and by Merlin's knobbly knees did he look tired.
It was not really a conscious decision.
"Here," he said to Bill, handing him his glass. "Hold this, will you."
"Sure." Bill smirked and downed the remnants of Charlie's wine.
"I don't get what Fleur sees in you," Charlie informed him.
Bill's outrageous smirks – which for some inconceivable reason their mother had always managed to miss – had gained an edge futile to compete with ever since his encounter with Greyback.
Bill shrugged. "Not about to ask."
Charlie pushed through the throng, almost falling over when his foot snagged in the flowing robes of an elegant young witch who – when she turned her scowl to him – did not seem to mind so very much after all. Her blue eyes widened a bit as she smiled prettily.
"You should watch where you're going," she said, her voice completely lacking any hint of accusation.
"Right," said Charlie. "Sorry."
"Oh, I forgive you," she promised him.
When it looked like she was going to continue, he ducked his head and ploughed on. It was just his luck, wasn't it, that an attractive witch should look at him like that? It never was the wizard. Not in England anyway. He'd had better luck abroad, for reasons he had yet to determine.
However, that was not his main focus right now. None too elegantly, he broke out of the crowd and stepped into the small space that separated the Minister from all the gathered guests. Kingsley, that was, and Harry Potter.
Charlie had never known Harry well. Not at all, really. Not like the rest of his family knew him. He supposed he'd not cared much over the years. He was Ron's classmate, several years younger and, well, Ron's classmate. Sure, he was famous but so were loads of people. To be completely honest, Charlie could not say what now forced him to take another step forward and clear his throat.
"Uh, Minister. I'm sorry to disturb you… But would it be possible to borrow Mr Potter for a bit?"
Kingsley's eyes were dark on Charlie and to anyone else he might have looked forbidding, but Charlie had gone to war with this man. He knew what Kingsley was.
"Mr Weasley." He inclined his head. "Of course." His deep voice was not at all unpleasant. In fact, Charlie would not have minded him speaking some more but he was on a mission. For yet another reason that was quite unclear to him in this very moment. "Mr Potter is all yours."
Charlie turned to Harry. "Um… If it's OK with you?"
Harry was looking mildly surprised. "Yeah, sure."
He glanced up at Kingsley who nodded. "Take your time."
And there it was, the reason for why Charlie had never genuinely been attracted to Kingsley: because when he spoke to either of them – Harry, Hermione, all the Weasley children – he adopted just a hint of a fatherly tone. That wouldn't turn Charlie on if he got paid.
"Brilliant," he said. "Come on."
Pressing through the crowd with Harry Potter on his heels turned out to be a challenge. It took them absolutely forever to make their way across the room and into a not-so-brightly-lit corner where some witch had dropped her hat. Charlie skirted it and beckoned Harry to follow him.
They ended up by the wall. Candlelight played unevenly on Harry's face as he turned to look at Charlie.
"What's going on?" he asked, with a frown.
Charlie nodded at the assembled wizards and witches. "That is."
Harry did not appear particularly enlightened by that explanation.
"Listen," said Charlie, quickly. "I'm sorry I dragged you away from… all your admirers. It just looked like you needed a break."
"You…" Harry ran a hand through his hair. It was black as ink and looked soft to the touch. "You thought you'd give me a moment's peace and quiet?" His hand fell back to his side. His hair stood on end now.
"Yeah. I guess." Before he knew what he was doing, he'd reached out and smoothed the tousled locks back down.
Harry's eyes widened. And it was Charlie's turn to feel a sting of heat in his cheeks.
"Sorry," he said.
Harry's lips parted as though he intended to say something but then he closed his mouth again.
"I realise this is weird," said Charlie. "And I realise I don't really know you. You just looked like you needed to be saved." He tried a lopsided smile that felt like a stiff grimace. "Not that I think you can't take care of yourself. I mean, I know you can. Obviously."
Those eyes were very green. Also, his eyelashes were very long and very dark. He was quite pale. It suited him.
"Right," said Harry. Then his shoulders seemed to drop. "Thanks." He turned to survey the crowd. "You were right."
"Yeah?" Charlie found that his breathing was eased with the admission. "Good."
Harry did not look at him when he spoke again. "I know I shouldn't be saying this. I know I should be grateful that I'm alive and I am but… it's becoming a little too much, all these evenings and lunches and… everything."
Charlie nodded. "Of course you are. Grateful, I mean. But I get that."
Harry lifted those gorgeous green eyes to him then. "You're right," he said. "I don't know you very well."
One or two irregular heartbeats passed before Charlie discovered that he still had a tongue and could speak. "Not much to know," he said, evasively. "I'm not sure… who I am, really. I mean, I know that sounds stupid and all but… I guess I never got around to thinking about it."
Those eyes be damned. Harry was looking at him intently, as if he were speaking another language altogether.
"It doesn't sound stupid," said Harry, quietly. "I'm not sure who I am either. Not… without…" He gave a small, humourless, and odd, smile. "Not without Voldemort."
Charlie shivered at the mention of the name even though the Atrium was stuffy.
"I've never been… some normal person," continued Harry. "I've always had… So much to deal with."
He had no idea how to respond to that. Had nothing to offer by way of comparison or healing.
"And I realise I sound like a martyr." This time, Harry's smile was warmer. It hit Charlie right in the gut. "I'm tired, is all."
"I can see why," he finally managed.
"So, thank you. It was nice of you to save me."
"No probs."
He needed another drink. Possibly, he also needed to stay far away from Harry Potter. It was unfortunate that he wasn't smart enough to act on that realisation. The latter one, that was.
"So, do you fancy a drink?" he heard himself ask.
Harry's smile softened and his nod was weary. "I think I need one if I'm going to make it through this night."
Great. They had something in common.
"Hang on. I'll be right back," said Charlie.
During the time it took him to find two glasses of wine and return to Harry, he tried to talk some sense into himself. Nothing good would come of him falling for Harry Potter. Absolutely nothing at all. Harry's was as old – as young – as Ron and Ron was a kid. Sure, he was of age and had fought in a war and had finished off You-Know-Who but he was still a kid.
Wasn't he?
Problem was, that upon his return, he saw that Harry – leaning against the wall – had taken off his glasses and was rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand in a way that was just so damn grown-up that Charlie was left questioning his own reservations. Harry's shoulders were rather broad, too, and his jawline beautifully sharp.
"Here." Charlie held out one flute for him to take. He waited as Harry slipped his glasses back onto his nose and smiled his thanks. That did not help.
They drank in silence, watching the guests and – in Charlie's case – desperately trying to think of something to say.
"They should serve Firewhisky instead," he suggested, finally. At least it was something. "Rather than this." He was almost out of wine.
But Harry shook his head. "Not sure it would help."
"Course it would," Charlie told him. "Give them enough and they'll soon forget about you," he winked.
The smile that curved Harry's lips was entrancing. "I suppose you have a point," he conceded.
He was looking Charlie in the eye as he spoke but suddenly his gaze dropped lower and it was as if Charlie could actually feel it: the way it landed on his lips. It returned almost immediately, though, and they locked eyes once more. As if it had been an accident.
Charlie swallowed.
"So…" he said, mouth quite dry. "Should I let you go?" He was staring. He knew he was staring at Harry and the way the moving candlelight highlighted his cheekbones and the shadows under his eyes.
It took Harry a moment to reply. "I guess…"
"Right."
Harry finished his wine. "Thanks again."
He only nodded in reply.
o.O.o
The light that dances on the other side of the heavy curtains is sharp, he spies as much. Too sharp. Viciously revealing. He's glad only a small portion of it finds its way into the bedroom.
The carpet is old. Thick, still, and stained in places. It is an altogether ugly room.
The bed is old, too. And huge. That's this bedroom's only redeeming quality. That and the heavy curtains which keep the blinding daylight out.
He sits there, on the edge of the bed, with his bare feet sinking into the old carpet. He is naked. Of course. Since you don't shag with your clothes on. Well, not when you're in a proper bed, at least. He sits there, mulling this over, with his sins ceaselessly echoing through his entire body. His inked-in dragon is stretched eerily still over his shoulders and shoulder blades.
He smells of Harry.
o.O.o
The evening wore on. After Harry had disappeared into the greedy crowd, Charlie went in search of Bill and more wine. He found both and actually enjoyed himself for a while, talking with his brother and watching Ron and Hermione dance around each other, trying not to admit to anything.
His mum and dad were a few feet away. While he was gone, his mum had apparently taken Mr and Mrs Granger under her wing and Charlie was relieved to see that she seemed to be getting through this night fairly well. He did not like to think about how close to breaking she had been in the days following Fred's death.
George was a little way away as well, talking to a pretty witch, tall and dark-skinned. He, too, looked as though he were going to get through this night intact.
Well, that was cause enough for celebration so Charlie took another drink and felt the buzz in his blood, which his meeting with Harry had chased away, return.
It was a while later that the crowd parted to his right and he spotted Percy, chin proudly lifted, escorting Harry towards them. Charlie lost track of whatever Bill was saying and had to ask him to repeat himself.
Bill did. Charlie tore his eyes from Harry with some effort. Bill lifted an eyebrow.
"Nothing," he said. "Just… Here comes Percy."
Bill half turned to look. "So he does. And Harry."
"He looks exhausted," said Charlie, before he could stop himself. "D'you reckon the Ministry'll ever let him out of its clutches?"
"They'd better," said Bill, grimly. "Or he'll faint, by the looks of it."
"Bill…" He hesitated. And for quite a while, too. Long enough for his brother to slant a curious glance his way.
Percy was introducing Harry to Hermione's parents. Probably informing them of the absolutely crucial part the Weasleys had played in Harry's life thus far.
"Maybe…" Charlie tried again, but not succeeding this time either.
"Maybe save him?" suggested Bill.
"Yeah."
"I'll distract Perce," he said, but his eyes were searching on Charlie.
Charlie nodded.
o.O.o
Harry sleeps soundlessly, which is a pleasant novelty. After having shared a house with four other males all summer (Bill, as we've been through, has a house of his own), Harry's lack of snoring is something Charlie appreciates. He is stretched out on his belly, head turned to the side and with his hair a perfect mess. The covers have ridden down to his waist and the meagre portion of daylight that slips around the curtains tiptoes over his back.
Charlie watches him sleep. His dark lashes are smudges against the lighter shadows still lingering under his eyes. His lips are parted, but only a little, and one of his hands he's slid under his pillow. Though his upper arms are muscled, overall, he is quite thin.
If Charlie had expected himself to feel any different come morning, he was wrong.
He has moved to sit against the headboard with a pillow behind his back.
He watches Harry sleep.
Feels his heart beat oddly in his chest.
o.O.o
"Thanks again." Harry's smile was bleak.
The din was rising and the warmth from the fires worked its way under Charlie's fancy dress robes. He was used to dragon fire – not this choking indoors situation.
Or maybe what was causing him to sweat was the way that Harry was leaning closer to him, attempting to be heard over the chorus of voices that washed through the Atrium. Maybe it was the way in which Harry's gaze – frequently now - tumbled from Charlie's own eyes to his lips, and sometimes to his chest. Skimmed his shoulders.
Harry'd had a few glasses of wine, too.
"My pleasure," Charlie had heard himself say. He should have regretted it immediately. He did not.
Not when it made something shift like that in Harry's green eyes.
He was slipping, too. He stared at Harry's mouth, was on the verge of assessing the distance between them. Tried to figure out what it would take to close that distance. If Harry would allow it. Where they should be when that happened.
Stuff like that.
Hermione and her parents had stopped by them to wish them good night. She had looked at them curiously, Charlie thought, but she had only hugged Harry and smiled at Charlie.
His own family would be leaving soon, too.
He had no idea how he was going to handle whatever was going on.
It was Bill who came over to inform him of this. "We're off," he said, gaze moving from Charlie to Harry and back again. "If you're ready to leave, that is."
"Sure…" Charlie told his brother. "Just… Um…"
There was a hint of a smirk blossoming on Bill's lips, but he shrugged a shoulder in a show of indifference. "Or you Floo back later. In any case, we're leaving."
"OK," said Charlie, agreeing to nothing.
"Later, I take it." Bill's smirk had deepened. "Good night, Harry. Sleep well." With that, he was gone.
Feeling the floor wobble a bit under his feet, Charlie turned back to Harry whose cheeks were slightly flushed. When he met Charlie's gaze, they darkened further.
He held his breath as he glanced down to see Harry's hand by his side. Slowly, slowly, Charlie brushed his fingers against Harry's, finally lacing them together lightly.
"Am I wrong," he said, quietly, "in presuming that…"
It did not matter that he could not find the right words because in front of him, Harry shook his head. His eyes had widened again. "You're not wrong."
Charlie nodded. "I'd very much like to get out of here." He strengthened his hold somewhat on Harry's hand. "But not to The Burrow."
"I'm staying at Grimmauld Place," said Harry. There was a breathless quality to his voice that caused a shiver to race across Charlie's skin.
"Perfect."
o.O.o
It's not perfect, though. Grimmauld Place is ancient, dark and musty. Harry should find someplace else – a house in which he is not bogged down by heavy memories. But, undeniably, it offers privacy.
Charlie has pulled the covers back up over Harry. He's cleaned them up with a non-intrusive charm that did not make Harry as much as sigh in his sleep. It's still early. He could still go back to sleep himself.
It's just that he is feeling so much.
o.O.o
When the green flames spit them out into the dark sitting-room, the sudden silence that enveloped them felt like being dipped in ice-cold water. Where the Atrium was nigh on melting, Grimmauld Place was full of cold edges.
It did not stop Charlie from gently grasping Harry's shoulders, however, and bringing them face to face. If he was going to see anything, they would need some source of light, but in this moment, Harry's quick breathing was quite enough to encourage him.
"I haven't really…" Harry's voice almost drowned among the shadows, "done this before."
Charlie had nodded. Truth be told, that did not come as a great surprise to him. Still, it made him a shade uneasy.
"We don't have to do anything," he said, even though he wanted to do everything. Being responsible and all.
But Harry had taken a small step closer and now they were only inches apart. "I want to, though."
Charlie had licked his lips. And asked for a bedroom.
Harry, it turned out, had plenty.
They had lit a small fire – because the room was cold and because Charlie wanted to be able to see what he was doing.
They shed their robes. Harry was wearing jeans and a t-shirt underneath. Charlie was wearing a button-down shirt and dress trousers because his mother would have scolded him otherwise. Not that she'd been in the room when he dressed but because those were the kinds of things Molly Weasley just knew.
Harry had stood there, then, while the fire cast odd shadows about the room and had looked as though he did not know his own name.
Charlie came up to him. Gave him another chance to change his mind. Harry shook his head.
So, Charlie had lifted a hand to his hair and buried his fingers in it. Gently, he explored Harry's neck, painting little circles with the pad of his thumb over it, until Harry's shoulders fell and his eyes drifted closed. That was when Charlie finally leaned in and kissed him.
Harry had kissed before, though. He slowly opened up, gradually allowed Charlie to deepen the kiss. By the time his mouth fully opened on Charlie's, the latter was dizzy with sensation. Harry tasted of the wine at first. Then almost of fire. Charlie brought his other hand to his hair and anchored himself in the black mess of locks. When Harry' tongue slid against his, something completely different slid along his spine.
He walked them to the bed. The blue, satin bedspread was pulled back as swiftly as possible so that Charlie once again could take Harry in his arms. He let his hands explore this time. He ran his palms down Harry's back and arms, his blunt fingernails over naked skin where he could reach it, until he felt goose bumps all over it.
Harry's hands landed on his waist. Charlie found one of them and guided it to the top button of his shirt.
"Take it off me," he murmured against Harry's lips.
He did. If slowly.
When the shirt fell to the floor, the dragon across his shoulders stretched, causing something warm to ripple through him.
He guided Harry's hand lower, then, until his fingertips brushed the waistband of his trousers. He'd be naked before Harry, he had decided. It might ease Harry's discomfort if he was feeling any.
This took longer. They were halfway through their next kiss before Harry popped the button and opened the fly. His touch was feather light, not applying any pressure anywhere. When Charlie was finally in only his briefs, he slid his hands under Harry's t-shirt and urged it upwards. They worked it over his head, mindful of his glasses, and it, too, ended up on the floor.
This was where they paused.
In the shifting light it was hard to tell but Charlie decided that Harry's cheeks were flushed and his pupils impossibly wide. His lips glistened and his hair was wild. He was lightly muscled. With those broad shoulders and a narrow waist.
Charlie, for once, felt massive.
Harry's gaze fell downwards. Charlie imagined he could hear him swallow.
"You're…" Harry cautiously lifted a hand to Charlie's right upper arm. His thumb traced his bicep.
Charlie managed to refrain from flexing it.
"No," he smiled instead. "You are."
They made it onto the bed. It took a few more kisses for Harry to find courage enough to shed his jeans and by that time, Charlie was hard as rock. He hovered over Harry who had stretched out under him and brought their groins together. He fed off Harry's surprise and channelled all of his longing into their next kiss.
Harry, it turned out, was hard, too.
Charlie found his throat next, and his neck, and left kisses there until Harry was squirming under him. He put almost all his weight on the younger man but heard no complaints. As a matter of fact, Harry's touches were getting bolder and his palms were moving over Charlie's arse. He arched up, too, when Charlie ground down his hips and made a circling motion.
"On your side," he guided, slipping off Harry and giving him a chance to comply. "And underwear off."
He also found his wand and removed his own briefs. The room, he was sure, was warmer now. The dragon crawled restlessly over his skin.
He could have opened Harry magically. Saved some time and got to the best part immediately. But no. No, he would do this properly. He'd settle for only Conjuring some lube and then give Harry the best first time he could.
Also, it was damn good the non-magical way.
The sound of Harry's breathing filled him. The way he tensed and arched against Charlie. The way he moaned. Charlie slid slick fingers into him as deep as possible, twisted them and scissored until Harry's skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat and Charlie had to bite down on his own tongue to stop from screaming with desire. His cock was weeping at the tip and jerking against the mattress as he teased Harry open with every trick he had ever learnt.
Finally – finally – he felt relaxed enough.
Charlie pushed up against him, found his earlobe with his teeth and lost his own heartbeat.
"Are you ready?" His voice had been reduced to a rasp.
Harry nodded into the pillow. His glasses were discarded.
Charlie cupped his hip bone. "I need you to be sure."
"I am." Harry twisted his head and they met in a disjointed kiss. "Please."
With his head spinning, Charlie took himself in hand. He needed no extra stimulation. Harry's presence alone was enough to make him shudder with desire. He placed the blunt head at Harry's opening and pushed.
It was better than dragon fire and it was tighter than anything.
He sank in deep, once more grasping Harry's hip, but harder this time. The sound Harry made was utterly sinful.
The world, Charlie was quite certain, was exploding.
He set a pace, moving his hips agonisingly slow, but savouring every moment. Harry moved against him, responded with every breath, every moan and whimper. Charlie slid his hand from his hip and found him swollen and aching. He was bigger than Charlie had somehow expected, and something whooshed through his stomach at the discovery. He wrapped his fingers around Harry's prick and fisted him until the blood in his own ears was ringing.
Harry melted into him, his body accepting anything and everything Charlie had to give. He dug his fingers into the mattress or grasped for any part of Charlie he could reach. Harry absorbed him. They found a way to kiss and Charlie saw stars flicker on the edges of his vision.
Then, on a groan that rang through them both, Harry was suddenly coming and Charlie strengthened his hold on him and pushed him through it. His release was hot and sticky on Charlie's hand and he spread it all over Harry's prick until Harry was practically keening. Charlie thrust even deeper, then, into the fiery tightness and closed his eyes and let go.
They lay for long time, revelling in the aftermath, rolling with the waves of little shocks and tremors that raced through them. Charlie traced the humble outlines of Harry's muscles with his fingertips and watched how Harry's dazed smile softened until sleep overcame him and his breathing evened out.
Perhaps Charlie should have said something. He took that thought with him into his dreams.
o.O.o
Harry wakes with a frown. He lifts his head and blinks his eyes open. His lips form words Charlie never gets a chance to hear because it turns out he can't keep his mouth shut when, really, he should.
"Hey," he blurts now. "Um. I'm sorry. Maybe I should have left."
Harry pushes himself onto his elbows. "Where are my glasses?"
"Uh…" Charlie casts around for them. Finds them near the foot of the bed.
Harry puts them on.
He still looks worn out. Charlie supposes that their activities last night did not exactly help with that. He supposes the best thing – the grown-up thing – to do would have been to let Harry have an early night and a decent number of hours' sleep.
With his hair tousled like that, his scar is plainly visible. From out of nowhere, Charlie is struck by an absurd desire to touch it, to stroke it, and wash all the pain it has ever caused Harry away.
"I'll leave," he says, instead.
Harry's eyes fix on him. He looks confused. Then he moves to sit, and self-consciously gathers the covers about his hips.
Charlie wants to tell him he doesn't have to, but the words get stuck in his throat.
"I…" Harry's gaze has fallen to the bed by now. When he looks up again, he has schooled his features into something that might pass for a mask of neutrality. "Of course. You shouldn't stay if you don't want to."
There are certain points you reach during the training of dragons, when, to gain their trust, you need to stand quite firm and exercise your will. Display to them your strength, so to speak. Establish your own personal power. Prove your worth.
This is one of those moments. Except there is no dragon, save for the one that lies curiously still across Charlie's shoulder blades. But that one does not count.
"I'd like to. Stay, I mean."
Harry's eyes burn into him. Charlie shuffles closer, ignoring the way the covers slide off him. He reaches for Harry, weaves his fingers into his hair and brings him in for a kiss. It is tentative and hesitant at first, but soon enough Harry relaxes into it and Charlie opens his mouth on his.
He coaxes Harry back down, until he is on his back with Charlie partially draped over him. Almost like the night before.
In many ways it's even better.
"Are you expected anywhere today?" he asks, when their latest kiss has ended.
The nervous edge that shone in Harry's eyes before is gone, but a line appears between his brows at the question. "I'm supposed to be at St Mungo's at half four."
Charlie nods. "All right. That's a while away yet."
"They only want me for my name," says Harry, with half a sigh. "It's always been like that. I guess I should be used to it by now."
Charlie makes a non-committal sound as he eases himself down beside Harry. He drags the covers over them before he winds an arm around the younger man's waist and presses a kiss to his shoulder.
"Well, for what it's worth, I want you for all the other reasons."
o.O.o
It takes a bit of sorting out. A bit of talking. Which is unfortunate but necessary.
It also takes a bit of courage because while it's easy to be out and proud in another country, officially coming out to your entire family is another thing altogether. As for Harry, he was neither in nor out, so to speak, in the first place so it should be easier for him.
Charlie tells Bill first.
He Flooed in with Harry earlier, for the customary Sunday dinner. Or, rather, he let Harry Floo before him, arriving himself a couple of minutes later. They've employed that trick for several weeks while they in private have tried to figure out what they have going on. This afternoon will be different though. If Charlie can put into words what is thundering through his brain.
When he is finally done, Bill only shakes his head at him. "You're daft, thinking I didn't know," he says, dryly.
They're in their old bedroom, with the door closed.
"Still," he continues, "thanks for telling me." Then he catches Charlie in a hug. And he is smiling, too. "Even better if it keeps you in Britain."
"Yeah..." Charlie rubs a hand over his neck upon his release. "I don't know what to do about work."
Bill leans against the windowsill. Outside, the first signs of autumn are beginning to show in the Weasleys' overgrown garden. Nobody has had any energy to spare it for quite a while.
"You know... You could study. Get a proper degree in dragonology here."
Charlie makes a face. He's managed perfectly fine without a degree this far.
"If you're not planning on whisking Harry away from under the Ministry's nose?"
This makes him grin. "Maybe that's what he needs."
"Probably," Bill admits.
That is when there is a knock at the door. They find Harry on the other side, looking a tad shaken but overall quite happy. Charlie longs to pull him into his arms but settles for a hand on his shoulder. Well, that was the plan, anyway. Soon enough, his hand slides to the back of Harry's neck.
"How'd it go?"
Harry's expressive eyes slide to Bill even as he allows Charlie to guide him into the old bedroom.
Bill smirks. "Oh, I already knew," he drawls, the obnoxious older brother that he is.
"So did Hermione, apparently," says Harry, while a dash of red steals across cheeks. "Ron, however..." He gives a lopsided smile. "Is still processing."
None of them are surprised at that.
"So what about mum and dad and the rest?" asks Bill. "Before or after dinner? I'll tell Fleur if you like."
Charlie cannot help it. Harry's skin is too smooth and he is fed up with the hiding. Even with his brother watching, he urges Harry to turn to him and look him in the eye. He runs his fingers through Harry's hair which is just a soft as he once imagined. The younger man is regarding him as though he is holding all the answers. Which is one hell of a responsibility.
"We'll tell them now," he says.
And they do. Hand in hand.
Nobody faints and nothing explodes. Ginny even squeals. Percy mostly blinks. There is some hugging, mostly on his mum's initiative. Long after it is done, she keeps patting Harry's cheek – until Charlie quite forcefully drags him away from her and settles him with his back against Charlie's own chest. Harry complies, with some tension in his stance at first, but after a few irregular heartbeats he relaxes and melts into Charlie.
It's brilliant.
That's when he notices Ron watching them thoughtfully. After a moment, his younger brother's gaze slips to Hermione who, over by the sink, is helping his mum peel the potatoes by way of flicking her wand carefully above them. When Charlie catches his eye again, he smiles in what he hopes is an encouraging fashion. He can't tell if Ron is embarrassed or emboldened by that but at least he smiles back, if in a confused sort of way.
So it's all right, in the end.
Actually, it gets even better when, after dinner, Harry makes his way into Charlie's arms again and allows himself to be pulled down into the sofa with him. It feels good, having Harry sit against him like that.
"You OK?" he asks, marvelling at how gentle his own voice sounds.
Harry has found his hand and now he laces their fingers together. "Yeah," he says. "I never thought I'd do this."
"What, come out to my family?"
He doesn't ask what he really wants to ask, which is something along the lines of 'coming out to my entire family because you've entered into a relationship with me that you cannot envision ending any time soon?'
Cause that's pretty much his view on matters at present.
But Harry is not stupid. His electric green eyes flash with some humour before he tilts his head a little to the side. "Something like that."
Which is good enough. For now.
There is still the issue of where to live and what to do. The Ministry, Charlie has come to understand, will never stop pestering Harry for as long as he is within reach. So maybe Charlie should whisk him away for a bit, steal him with him to Romania in a not too distant future.
But maybe that's all unimportant in the long run. What matters, Charlie thinks as they dare to share a kiss on the sofa in the sitting-room, is that he has finally discovered some things about himself. That he is looking for something more than just an easy life on a dragon reserve, for example. That exploring deeper connections with certain people is of value to him.
He might still be rubbish at getting the words out but he certainly has them.
As Harry smiles into the soft kiss, Charlie can feel himself dissolve. He's learning to give himself over, and maybe also to listen to his heart.
He might even, in that not too distant future, work up enough courage to tell the famous Harry Potter that he loves him.
For all the other reasons.
End