AN I don't own HP or any of the characters! Implied established Harry/Charlie, D/s dynamic.
"Malfoy? Can I talk to you?" Draco's eyes snapped up from his book, instantly suspicious, but he slowly let go of his wand when Harry didn't seem to be threatening him. They were almost alone in the common room, he realized. Hermione was absorbed in a book over by the window with another eighth year girl, but the only other people in the room were a pair of Hufflepuffs and Harry.
"What do you want?" Draco set down his book, content to be drawn into the conversation at least a little bit, but kept his wand close. He wasn't stupid enough to trust Harry—wasn't stupid enough to trust any of them. It was no secret that he was hated. The other eighth years seemed to have a glimmer of pity for him, especially whenever they saw him with Harry, but everyone else treated him like shit. Not that he didn't deserve it, of course.
"I was hoping we could talk somewhere more… private." At that, Draco really did grab his wand. Last time he'd been coaxed out of the public eye, he'd been in the hospital wing for weeks, and he wasn't eager for a repeat. Harry just frowned, though, at how on-edge he was. In quite possibly the most extreme act of trust Draco had ever witnessed, Harry drew out his own wand and turned it, offering the handle to the former deatheater. He refused to take it, but he got the message that it was important and followed Harry to his room.
"Nice that we get our own rooms at least, right?" Draco stayed silent, but nodded. Honestly, he was just shocked that Harry had offered him his wand. True, they'd been acting more civil since the war and Draco's wand still had tiny traces of Harry's magic in it that made it feel like he was tied to the Gryffindor, but that didn't make them friends. That certainly didn't warrant something as profound as surrendering his wand.
"Hey, do you mind if I cast a silencing charm?" It was strange, Draco thought, that Harry was asking for permission to cast a charm in his own damn room but he wasn't going to push the issue. He shook his head that he didn't mind, and watched as Harry did it wordlessly—effortlessly. The golden boy seemed to hesitate, then, as if he hadn't thought this all the way through, and Draco let the silence simmer between them.
"Do you want to sit?" Draco shook his head again, watching for any kind of reaction on Harry's face. He half expected the Gryffindor to burst into a fit of rage and slap him for daring to refuse—after all, no one would hear or come to stop him. Harry didn't, though. Instead, he merely sat on the edge of his own bed and faced Draco, wringing his hands anxiously.
"How are you holding up?" Draco raised an eyebrow because, after all, they were hardly friends, but Harry shook his head and continued. "I mean, since everything… You've been through a lot, and I know losing your parents had to be hard. I was just wondering how you were doing." Again, Draco lifted his eyebrow but it was less skeptical now and more confused. Since when did Harry check in on him? Even Pansy had given up trying to counsel him after he'd shrugged her off enough times, but he and Harry weren't even friends.
"You want to have a heart to heart now?" To his relief, Harry laughed. Draco couldn't explain why he was so on edge or why he always felt like people were going to lash out at him, but he did. It didn't change his sass or his attitude much, but he was still relieved when it didn't happen. Harry just shook his head, smiling now.
"No, you're right. That isn't our style and it hasn't ever been so I might as well just get to the point. I, uh… I wasn't doing so well after the war and everything. I was struggling. Everyone tried to help me, of course, and I can only imagine what it's been like for you to come back but nothing helped. It was like I was suffocating, you know? But no one else could see it, they just walked right past me as if everything was fine. Even if they noticed, there was nothing they could do." Harry hesitated, then, and looked back down to his hands as if he was second guessing himself now.
"Get to the point, Potter." Again, Draco braced for a hex or a jinx but it didn't come. Thankfully, Harry just smiled a bit and nodded.
"You're right, sorry. The point is that I got bad—really bad. But, thankfully, I found something that helped me and I could breathe again and start healing and I just… I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong, I probably am, but when I look at you it feels like you're suffocating. And, if you are, I wanted to tell you that I see it, even if you think no one else does, and I found something that helped me. So maybe it could help you too?"
The Gryffindor finished with a shrug, and another nervous wringing of his hands, but Draco merely watched. He'd never, in all his years of knowing Harry, seen him so unconfident. Harry Potter was the kind of person who looked a challenge or a threat straight in the eyes and acted, always managing to figure out the reasoning or the logic behind it afterwards. He had a foolish, reckless kind of confidence to everything he did. Not this, though, apparently.
"What is it?" Immediately, those emerald eyes brightened and Harry straightened a bit on the bed.
"You're interested, then? You think it might help you too?" Draco shrugged. He was not about to commit to something or even admit that he was struggling, but he would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't intrigued. Something, clearly, had changed since the war and it was true that Harry looked the least decimated out of all of those who had returned. Most people assumed it was because he no longer had part of Voldemort's soul inside him. Maybe it was because of this thing though?
"I'm listening, at least." Harry looked positively ecstatic, and he beamed at Draco as if he'd just agreed to something amazing, but Draco had more than a few reservations. He would listen, because he was curious, but he was not agreeing to anything. Not yet, not when he was still so distrustful and on edge.
"I'm so glad! Come on, it's better if he explains it than me but we can go right now—if that's okay, of course…" Harry paused, as if waiting for Draco to run screaming from the room, but he didn't. It shocked him too, honestly. But he nodded his consent and let Harry take his arm, only flinching a bit more than normal at the contact as they apparated.
"Thought you couldn't apparate on Hogwarts grounds?" He coughed as he steadied himself again, but Harry was smiling and giddier than Draco had ever seen him so he just laughed.
"You can't, but I can." A head of red hair appeared from one of the doorways and Draco swore mentally. So help him if the Weasel was here… It wasn't Ron, though the hair was unmistakable, and Draco took the time to study the man as he approached Harry. He was tall—taller than Draco would have ever expected one of Ron's siblings to be—with something oddly grounded about him. His face was average, if not unusually earnest-looking, and his hair was short-ish. Apart from a few scars that were barely visible, and a defined scorch mark on the back of his left hand, the man looked perfectly ordinary. He could have been one of the twins, if Draco hadn't been paying attention. And yet, Draco found himself drawing closer to the man rather than farther away which was strange for him, especially now.
"Harry! So glad you could make it!" Draco watched in fascination as the man combed one hand through Harry's messy hair. Normally, the gesture would have been almost brotherly but Draco caught the way that he scraped his nails against the back of Harry's neck and the shudder that he earned for it. Just for a moment, Harry's eyes fluttered closed and his face went lax.
"Malfoy, this is Charlie." The man laughed, nudging Harry, but didn't hold out his hand.
"Hello Draco," He emphasized the first name, elbowing Harry lightly where they stood. "It's nice to finally meet you. My name is Charlie." Strangely, Draco found it rather nice that Charlie didn't immediately push him for contact—even something as simple as a handshake. Under any other circumstances, he would have been offended. Charlie had a very vague, very strong sense of safety and comfort around him, though, that made Draco instinctively trust that he meant no harm. That was ridiculous, of course, but the instinct lingered.
"You're a Weasley." Again Charlie laughed, not at all fazed by Draco's rudeness apparently. Strange.
"Yes," he chuckled. "I'm the second, but you know Ron and Ginny, right?" Draco nodded, even if that was only half true. He'd barely ever spoken to either redhead without a fight breaking out and he immediately feared what they had told this man about him, but Charlie seemed unaffected. Everything about Charlie was strange, Draco decided, and he wasn't sure if he liked it.
"Nice to meet you, Charlie." Another smile, but this time Draco caught it when Charlie ran his hand down Harry's spine and made the Gryffindor shiver. Honestly, what the hell was going on?
"Would you like some tea, Draco?" He nodded and followed, but more out of social convention than actual desire. Returning to Hogwarts had taught him many things, one of which had been to never accept food or drink from anyone that he hadn't made himself. Honestly, he couldn't believe he'd ever been that stupid. Still, someone had managed to slip exploding znots or itching powder into his food a few times but it was considerably less often.
"So, Draco," He jolted, having not even realized that they'd sat at a small table and there was now tea in front of him. "Harry tells me you've been struggling in the aftermath of the war." A quick glance at the Gryffindor revealed that Charlie was neither lying nor exaggerating, but Draco could have already guessed that. The man bled honesty. It was refreshing, but also kind of nerve-wracking.
"I suppose." Charlie nodded, not at all deterred by his vague answer or his defensiveness. Before he even realized what he was doing, Draco found himself sipping the tea that had been given to him. It was sweet, with hints of mint and raspberry. Somehow, that seemed to fit Charlie's personality rather well and Draco caught himself savoring the flavor a bit before he quickly swallowed it down.
"I understand. Everyone deals with something like that in their own way. My mum lost almost thirty pounds when Fred died, you know, and then she spent almost two whole weeks cooking cheesy potato soup because it was his favorite. We ate that soup for a month, but it was her way of coping so we all went along with it." Draco felt like he'd just been slapped in the face. He'd known, of course, that one of the Weasley twins had died and he reasoned that the family had been devastated but for Charlie to just openly share something so personal… it took his breath away.
"I'm sorry." The Slytherin didn't know what he was apologizing for, really, but he couldn't help himself. Something about the way Charlie's face crinkled at the edges when he said Fred's name and the way his hands curled around his cup when he talked about his mother… Draco couldn't place it but he felt bad because of it. Charlie merely gave him a small smile.
"Thank you, but you don't need to be. We all cope in our own ways—the important part is that we are coping, not how we do it. Ginny had to go around and take down all the mirrors after Fred died because none of us could walk around without seeing his face staring back at us. George had to dye his hair because he kept seeing him in the mirror. We all are dealing with it, though, and progress is progress as long as we're coping. Tell me, Draco, how do you cope?"
"He doesn't." Immediately, all attention was on Harry but Charlie merely covered his hand on the table and squeezed it.
"I believe I was asking Draco." Harry dropped his eyes to the table and fell silent, but Draco noted that neither of them pulled their hands away. It wasn't like Harry not to argue, either, especially with a quip like that. Strange indeed… Charlie turned back to him, though, and Draco wasn't given time to ponder the issue because suddenly he had to answer. How did he cope?
"I'm not sure." Charlie just nodded, though, as if that wasn't a wrong answer at all. Draco marveled at the way he could calm the buzz of anxiety under the blond's skin with just a simple gesture. Usually, people made the anxiety even worse, not better.
"That's fine. It's entirely possible that you're not coping, from what Harry tells me, but again that's something only you would know. Did Harry happen to tell you how he deals with things?" Draco shook his head. Harry suddenly seemed overcome with nerves, but Charlie merely gripped his hand a little tighter on the table and he relaxed. If Draco looked for too long, it seemed almost submissive.
"There's a lot of pressure on the savior, as I'm sure you know. Harry copes by giving up control—to me, as fate might have it—but that's just one of many ways. I'm not sure if that would help you. I don't know you nearly well enough to make that kind of assumption, but Harry thinks that it might help you the way it helps him. Have you ever given up control, Draco?" He shook his head again, feeling anxiety and fear beginning to blossom in his chest again, but Charlie quickly calmed it with a single look. The redhead reached out and poured them all another cup of tea. It was strangely relaxing to breath in the minty steam, Draco decided, but that didn't mean he was any less freaked out by those three words: giving up control.
"I suspected as much. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but it can cause quite a strain on a person if they aren't careful. Please understand, though, that this is just a conversation. I'm not asking you to do anything, let alone give me control, and no one expects anything from you. If you wish to leave at any time, you can simply say so or use the portkey over there. Now that that's settled, is it alright with you if we keep talking?" Draco was sure that he'd heard wrong. There was no way that Charlie was sitting here, asking for his permission to continue a conversation. And yet, apparently he was.
Draco nodded.
Thus began the very long, very in-depth conversation that eventually led to the three of them standing in Charlie's living room. He understood, at least mostly, what was happening and why. It still baffled him that Harry would willing give up control—that anyone would, really—but Charlie had offered a demonstration and Draco had agreed. There was no harm in just seeing it, was there?
"Kneel, love." Immediately, Harry fell to his knees. Draco didn't hear a thud, though, and the dark-haired man didn't cry out in pain. Charlie had cast a cushioning charm, he realized, just as Harry had dropped to the floor and Draco marveled at the fact that Harry had clearly trusted Charlie to do it. Blind faith, Draco couldn't help thinking.
"Good, love. I want you to keep your eyes open." Harry did, but Draco was more focused on the petname and the praise. Love… And who gave praise for something as simple as dropping to your knees? Draco was definitely not jealous, of course. And yet, a part of him wished that that praise was for him.
He watched intently as Charlie walked in slow, measured circles around Harry and carded his hand through that mess of black hair. It was gradual, but there was a distinct glaze overtaking those emerald rings. Charlie didn't even look at him—focused completely on Harry, as if he was monitoring his every breath and every heartbeat—but Draco didn't really mind. He was focused on Harry too, in all honesty.
Draco hadn't been convinced by the way Charlie had spoken, or reassured him, or poured them tea. Draco hadn't been convinced by the way Charlie held Harry's hand, or quietly dominated the conversation, or even addressed Draco by his first name. Draco hadn't even been convinced by the glassy haze of trust and bliss that had overtaken Harry's expression. No, to his great surprise, it was Charlie who convinced him. Not any of his words or explanations, and not any of his actions really. It was the way he was with Harry—attentive, focused, and completely calm, as if his very being depended on Harry's happiness—that made Draco want to trust him. He hated it.
"Love, tell Draco what you feel." Harry's mouth opened, but it was slow and delayed as if he had to really think about how to form the words before he spoke. Charlie merely waited, patiently stroking the back of Harry's neck with his thumb.
"Good," Harry finally managed. "Peaceful." The redhead smiled easily, running his fingers through that mess of dark hair again as a reward. Draco watched the way Harry keened into the touch.
"Good, love." He watched as Charlie slowly talked Harry back to the present, always keeping some form of contact as if he knew that Harry would spiral out of control without it. Harry stood, his legs steady, and blinked away the haze. Honestly, the transformation was incredible and, already, Harry looked more relaxed and more content than he had only ten minutes ago.
"Draco, would you hand me that water bottle?" His body obeyed without even comprehending the words. It hadn't been a command, really, or even an order and yet Draco had jolted to attention as if Charlie had barked it at him. As he handed it over, he caught brown eyes studying him.
"Good, thank you Draco." Merlin that felt like praise and it went straight to Draco's head. He wavered but, before he knew it, there was a steady hand on his arm—over the cloth of his jacket, he noticed—that offered him a bit of support. Harry jolted them both out of the trance by crunching the water bottle with a satisfied ahhh.
"You two should be getting back, now. Come here." Instantly, Harry moved into Charlie's waiting hand and let his eyes close as that palm held his cheek, but Draco was speechless. He'd felt his own body lurch, as if being pulled by invisible strings. He wanted to obey, he realized, and that terrified him but somehow Charlie made it less earth-shatteringly horrible. The redhead kissed Harry gently on the forehead before releasing him. For a split second, Draco thought he was going to motion to him and he wasn't totally sure that he would have minded but then Charlie was smiling.
"It was very nice to meet you, Draco. Do consider what we talked about, and know that my door is always open for any reason. I hope to see you again." With that, Harry took his arm and they apparated back into the Gryffindor's bedroom but Draco was still reeling, and not from the apparition. Even now, Harry looked positively giddy.
"So, what'd you think of Charlie?" Draco struggled to find words, at first, and then struggled to find the right ones to describe the man he'd just met.
"He's… calming." He hadn't meant to say that—the word on his lips had been pleasant, maybe, or even charming—but Harry's face broke into a grin and Draco couldn't take it back.
"Yeah, he is. It's really nice, honestly, and I know it sounds terrifying at first but it's worth it. Believe me, if I hadn't been at my breaking point when Charlie found me, I would have run at the first mention of giving up control. I'm so glad I didn't, though." Harry paused, as if trying to word his next sentence, but took the opening to sit back on his bed. This time, Draco joined him.
"Charlie saved my life," Harry whispered, finally. "I know you didn't see me before the start of term but I was bad, Malfoy. Really bad. The first time I submitted to him was the first time I slept through the night since our third year, and it's because of Charlie that I'm not fucking insane. You have no idea how good it feels to just give in. After years of fighting, years of vigilance, it's intoxicating to put yourself in someone else's hands and let them take care of you." Draco had a lot of questions, of course, and he didn't plan on actually voicing any of them but he couldn't help himself when he heard that sentence.
"Take care of you?" He was sure he'd heard wrong, but then he pictured the redhead and he suddenly wasn't so certain.
"Yeah, take care. That was all we did, at first. Obviously our relationship is a bit more, now, but that's how it started. Little commands, telling me to shower or to eat my soup, and then conversations once I could handle them. We talked a lot—still do. I get it if it's not your thing and I know firsthand how terrifying it sounds but I thought I'd show you, just in case." Draco was reeling, though, and there was something he just couldn't quite seem to grasp.
"That was so… personal." It wasn't a bad thing, and Harry just nodded in agreement, but Draco felt like he'd just been given the world's hardest exam question. Harry had willing showed him something that personal on the off chance that it could help him? He didn't understand. Clearly, Harry's relationship and control thing with Charlie was very important to him and very secret, given that no one else seemed to know, but Harry had just… showed it to him? Without any expectations or demands for something in return?
"Would you ever want to try, Malfoy?" Draco couldn't say it, but he was so unbelievably grateful that Harry had asked that question. Something about the idea of forming the sentence was too much. It was too real, too concrete. He did want to try, he wanted to trust Charlie and he wanted to have that same look of peace on his face that Harry had had, but he couldn't voice that. But, Harry had asked, so Draco merely nodded.
"Yeah, I think so."
Thanks so much for reading! Please review and let me know if I should continue? I've never really written anything like this but I plan for eventual Drarry