Title: Smoke and Flames
Pairing: Charlie/Draco
Rating: M, for language and sexual situations.
Summary: In the beginning, there was everything. Dragons and mud. Fire, smoke and flames.
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by J.K. Rowling. I just play for fun.
AN: This was written a long time ago for the Interhouse-Fest on LJ. I finally got around to posting it here. A big thank you to Slytherin_Head for the wonderful beta work.
Day 178
Charlie counts the days. He never loses track. He would wake in the morning and he knew. Some days, if he were lucky, he'd have to check. He'd always checks. He had to know.
The magically enforced wires of the Ridgeback pen rise over the morning fog barely visible through the trees which had begun encroaching on the reserve since its original clearing. The metal mesh is stretched taught over the strong metal support beams had been scorched to a shade of coal black broken in shade by areas that had more recently been replaced. Charlie notes a particularly weak looking section whose blackened color resembles the darkest hour of night in the reserve when not even the stars shine down to give light.
Charlie rounds on the Ridgeback pen huffing as he speeds into the line of trees beyond the furthest pen. A glimmer of blonde hair catches his attention and he stops short of the forest.
He never thought he'd see him on the reserve. Draco Malfoy, who had joined the ranks of dragon trainers twelve days ago, was sitting perched on the fence of the Ridgeback pen pulling on a pair of leather boots. A pair of trainers had been tied to the fence next to him. If one of the dragons aimed for the gate then the shoes would turn into ash, but Charlie doesn't comment. Instead, he watches from the trees as Draco enters the pen, a large rack of ribs slung over his shoulder. The blonde throws it to the ground in the center of the pen before quickly retreating to the fence.
Four, brown scaly beasts slowly emerge from their corners of the pen. Flapping their wings, they wearily creep forward. Draco opens the gate before lifting another rack of ribs from the ground. He throws the meat into the center of the pen. The dragons inch forward sniffing, their warm breathe causing plumes of smoke to rise from their nostrils. Draco repeats the process three more times, lugging the meat into the pen before throwing it on the growing stack. The dragons proceed to rip the flesh apart, fighting one another for the meat and grinding the bones and meat between their sharp teeth before swallowing.
None of the beasts notices when one of their comrades falls to the ground. Or when the next one falls with a huff. Until finally all four rest peacefully in a circle around a cluster of bloody grass.
Charlie knows the procedure well. Drug the dragons, check their claws, scales and vitals and be sure to get through the gate in thirty minutes so as to not be burned by a cranky dragon. He hasn't done it since he'd been promoted to management six months ago, but he knows it all by heart.
Charlie doesn't wait around to watch the other man perform the wellness check on the dragons. Suddenly, the pain is so profound it overwhelms him. The loss tears through him with such vengeance that he turns away from the dragons, even the most human of them to stare into the dark depths of the forest. The trees offer no redemption, just cold wet air and mud. He runs into the forest leaving the memories behind, wiping away his thoughts with every step and every burning breath.
Day 146
When night falls Charlie lays in bed staring at the ceiling of his cabin. During the day he jokes that his job in administration puts him to sleep. It didn't. Late at night when the noise of the crickets deafens him he feels as though he's going mad. He's been feeling it for seven days since he's returned to the reserve. The restlessness, the pain, it tortures him until he could no longer cope.
The healers told him to run. His job wasn't as physically demanding as working with dragons. He ran in the mornings. When he can't sleep he runs at night.
In the dark he runs past the pens that he used to walk in and into the forests that surround the sanctuary. In the dark he runs as far as he can before getting lost in the sound of the crickets and the faint smell of smoke that lingers in the air. When he finishes running and he puts his head on the pillow he can't sleep.
Day 166
The rumors run around the reserve like dragon fire. Born of the breathe, they refuse to be extinguished as they leap from one person to the next.
Malfoy fucked his boss. He slept his way into the Department of Magical Creature Research. The queer never did find a thirteenth use for dragon blood. Perhaps the thirteenth use was lube.
The rumors are accompanied by deep mocking laughter, cynicism and judgment. Malfoy didn't belong and Charlie knew it.
Charlie doesn't try to stop the rumors. He let them spread and fester until they took on a life of their own, consuming the entire camp until the hatred was so tangible it burned. Then, he had no choice but to let it burn itself out lest he get burnt by the fire.
Day 7
The healers look at him with pity in their eyes. It isn't their fault and Charlie doesn't want their pity, but there is nothing he can do about it so he turns his eyes away and lets them look. They spout of their words of encouragement, tempting him to act as though he were normal. Even when he cannot do the buttons of his shirt without a wand, they smile and beg him to continue trying.
Charlie cannot look at it. It feels foreign and it burns. He knows mentally that it's his, but in his heart and even in a small part of his mind, he has doubts. He voices his doubts clearly and fiercely to the healers. Even as his mother cries and his father looks disappointed, he fights because it's all he knows how to do. He's learned from the dragons.
Those nights when he looks up at the ceiling of the hospital he counts himself lucky that it was his left arm and not his right. He can eat, use his wand and take care of himself. On the good nights he imagines that he'll be able to go back to work as good as new as soon it's done healing. He has his doubts, but he fights them, beating them into the back of his mind where he can ignore them.
"I want to be discharged," Charlie tells the healer the next morning when he comes in to do rounds.
"You have a lot of rehabilitation potential, there are-."
Charlie wants to shout that it's useless. The arm is useless and not worth his time. He wants to go home and that doesn't mean the Burrow. He aches for the clean air and the smell of smoke. He wants to look out and see the pens rising above the trees and the dragons that cling to the fences that make up the ceiling. He wants to see them looking up at the clear blue sky and he imagines them flying away from their enclosures.
"I want to be discharged," he repeats, his voice cold.
The healer nods and doesn't argue.
There is a time when they tried to convince him that with work he would be good enough that he could go back to work. They're wrong. He knows it and as he walks out of the hospital he accepts it just a little bit more. All he wants is to see the dragons and to look up at the sky imagining that he was free of this burden.
Day 183
"It's fucking fantastic if you like dragon dung and fucking gits."
"Draco, watch your language."
There's a mumbled apology that Charlie doesn't quite catch, but the male voice is so familiar that had he not heard the name he'd know who it was. He looks around the corner to the only fireplace hooked up to The Floo Network and sees Malfoy kneeling on the rug.
"It's like banging my head against a wall. I can't fucking stand it."
His mother's face peers out at him, a worried expression on her face. She gives him words of encouragement but he brushes them off with callous remarks and degrading quips about his coworkers.
"Weasley can't fucking get his head out of his arse and Rink should probably stick his head up there before he spouts off more blithering shit."
He continues on for ten more minutes and even from his desk, Charlie can hear him as he spews venom. Charlie's blood boils, a visceral ache begins growing inside of him.
When Malfoy's done he walks past Charlie's desk and out of the administration building. He says not a word and Charlie almost lets him leave. The mere sight of him though tears through Charlie's sanity leaving a small hole large enough for the anger and hurt to spew out infecting him with a hatred that runs into his very soul.
"If you're so fucking miserable go home," Charlie whispers in quiet voice that cuts through the tension and grabs Draco.
"You don't know anything," Draco mumbled through clenched teeth as he reaches for the door handle.
Charlie stands and in two steps he's in front of Draco, grabbing a fistful of robes in his right hand.
"Just go home, Malfoy. I'm sure we can manage without your expertise."
"Fuck you, Weasley."
Draco tried to pull himself free, but Charlie tightens his grip. The only coherent thought that runs through Weasley's head is that if he had another useable hand it would be around Malfoy's neck choking the son of a bitch until he turned red and then purple. The anger burns every part of his body making him feel alive like it used to feel when the dragons breathed fire down his neck. He sees the fire burning in Malfoy's eyes and it fuels his rage.
"I can't go home. Is that what you want to hear? Everyone whispers. Everyone wants to fucking know. There's the answer Weasley! I can't fucking go home."
Draco grabs Charlie's one hand in both of his and pries the fingers off of his robes. He stalks out of the building leaving Charlie rooted to the spot, burning.
That night Charlie runs until his lungs burn, his feet are on fire and the blood is pumping so quickly through his heart that he can hear it in his ears. It doesn't compare to the feeling of pinning Malfoy. His skin isn't burning. He's not consumed with anything but the need for oxygen in his lungs.
Day 205
The chaos is deafening. The screams and the roars make it hard for others to think, but Charlie thrives on the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins and the confusion clears his head.
The Fireball is perched on the top of the cage. Its mouth is open and any minute, Charlie knows a ball of fire will erupt from within the scarlet beast charring the forest, pushing the line of trees back into submission. Every few months a dragon overcomes its confines, somehow. It beats the forest and the trainers back into line, putting the fear of fire and claws back into their souls where it belongs. No one can tame these creatures, no matter how hard any of them tries.
The fire erupts from within, setting the trees and the gray twilight sky on fire. Charlie rushes forward, his wand in hand, careful to avoid calling attention to himself as he skirts around the pen.
The trainers are all calling out to one another, a few in anguish, others with purpose and Charlie is forced to join in the screaming. He assesses the situation quickly looking out for the fallen and those in danger. Pointing his wand at the monster he starts firing hexes and curses. Some hit their mark others go wide hitting trees causing branches to break off and fall to the ground. More hexes are being fired and Charlie looks over to the other side of the pen where Malfoy stands focusing on the menace in their midst. The Fireball releases another breathe of fire. The heat washes over Charlie.
By the time that they bring the dragon down, Charlie is panting and wired. The dragon lies upon the ground its large red belly rises and falls with each breathe of smoky air that's blown from its nostrils.
Charlie leans over the beast and his eyes lock on Malfoy who has approached the animal cautiously. With a raise of a blonde eyebrow and a nod from Charlie the two levitate the animal through the gate and back into its pen. Malfoy locks the gate with a flick of his wand.
"You should go get that checked out," Charlie whispers pointing at Draco's arm where his robes are burnt and tinted red with blood.
The blonde looks over at his arm, shock on his face. He flexes his fingers getting used to pain as he makes it hurt. Charlie knows the feeling. When you're on fire, burning with excitement and fear it's hard to tell what's actually burning.
Day 17
The owl arrives in the morning but Charlie doesn't read the letter until it's dark outside. He stares at it and waits while the dread grows in his gut. He knows what it says. It hurts worse than his still healing left side.
Mr. Charlie Weasley,
We, at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, are deeply saddened by the news of your grievous injury. The RD Sanctuary would like to extend our deepest regrets and sympathies that a tragedy of this nature has occurred on our property and to one of our most renowned workers.
As per your contract, signed on September15th 1991, your injury benefits are as follows:
12 weeks paid leave time
4,900 Galleons 4 Knuts and 4 Sickles
(Your Gringotts account has been credited)
In addition, the RD Sanctuary will cover all medical expenses occurred through seeking trained medical assistance from a healer and any potions or other treatments as ordered by a trained healer or mediwizard. Please owl all receipts to us for reimbursement.
We at the RD Sanctuary wish you the best of luck in your healing and your future endeavors. Please owl us if you have any questions.
The Management of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary
Charlie balls up the letter before throwing it in the fireplace.
Day 213
Charlie runs past the Fireballs, toward the Horntails. He takes in the gray sky. The chance of rain grows exponentially with each passing moment. The wind is picking up and it looks like it's going to be a big storm.
He runs past the Ridgebacks. All that stands in front of him is the forest. The first twenty or so feet are burnt. The wood is dark and the smell of fire is so thick that it coats the back of Charlie's throat. He sucks the smoky air into his lungs as the first few drops of rain begin to fall.
The drops are fat and cold. They soak into his worn Puddlemere United tee shirt. In a few moments the shirt is stuck to his skin but he doesn't care. He turns and begins running alongside the Ridgeback pen.
Watching from the porch of his cabin, Draco can only smell mud and dragon dung. He watches Charlie as the red head tramples through the mud trying to wear himself out. When it rains, no one wants to work. The dragons were fed in the morning and everything else can be put off until the skies clear.
Draco shucks off his robe leaving him in his boots, a worn out shirt and an old pair of trousers. He steps off the porch and begins running through the rain and the mud until he reaches the edge of the forest where it smells like smoke. There's a bandage on arm that keeps the burn paste from being covered in mud.
Charlie watches Draco run, and Draco watches Charlie. Neither speaks as they absorb the rain and the smell of smoke while splashing through the mud.
Day 94
Charlie sits in the Burrow garden ignoring the sound of family in the background and the green grass that stretches out before him. His mother had told him that the World would go. If he liked it or not, the World was going on and if he were going to let it pass him by then it was his own (damn) fault.
It wasn't his fault. He hadn't asked for this. He caught sight of Fleur, heavy with child and glowing with happiness. He never asked for that either.
His life had been dedicated to something that didn't fit here. He had no starry eyed lover or bright eyed child. There weren't any dragons in the Burrow.
Fire and smoke. Burning hatred and searing pain. He had scales, smoke and flames.
There had been no room for lovers and babies. No time for courtship or child rearing.
All he has is time. Time and pain. Flames and smoke and scales.
Day 220
Under cloudy skies, Charlie ran in a light drizzle of rain. Most of the trainers had taken shelter in their cabins in anticipation of the last day of the rain storm. Running alongside the Horntail pen, Charlie spots Draco crouched over a black shiny dragon.
"She's been down all day," Draco murmurs looking up at Charlie as the older man comes to a stop.
Draco waves his wand over the beast, his brow furrows in concentration. He puts a hand on the beast to steady himself while Charlie watches.
"Nothing from the diagnostic spells," Draco sighs.
"You've got the containment spells up right?" Charlie asks while a large Horntail emerges from the trees inside the pen looking at the resting dragon and Malfoy.
Malfoy nods his concentration unbroken.
"She's got a bit of a fever, but other than that she seems-," Draco tells Charlie leaving off with a deep groan.
"What?"
"There's a big patch of missing scales here. Nearly a dozen or so and she looks bruised."
Draco brushes his fingers over the bare patch that Charlie can't see from his position. The beast lets out a low whine of pain and Draco recoils.
"Looks like she got in a fight," Draco tells Charlie pulling away further from the Horntail, "None of the others show any injuries. Come in here and look at this, Weasley."
Charlie reaches for the gate and then stops. His fingers reach out to touch the cold metal that's wet from the rain. Draco's too busy to notice Charlie's hesitation, but as his heart thuds and his fingers begin to go numb Charlie finally finds the courage to unlock and push open the gate.
He stomps over the mud and leaves to reach Draco. Kneeling in the mud he looks over Draco's shoulder to assess the dragon's neck. Aware of his steamy breath and the closeness to the other man, Charlie's alive with adrenaline as he puts his tan large hand on the black scales.
"What do you think?" Draco asks leaning back a little putting his body closer to Charlie.
Suddenly, Charlie's throat is dry.
"I don't know but we should take a blood sample."
Draco rifles in his robes until his hand finds a vial. He presses it into Charlie's hand. Charlie pauses, hesitating on reaching out to touch the dragon again. Finally and very slowly he puts the vial up to dragon's neck. Draco mumbles the spell and together they watch as the thick green blood fills the vial and the rain picks up soaking their clothes and their hair.
Day 218
Draco launches himself at the angry brunette trainer. It's a sudden fury of fists and kicks, all wands forgotten as they fight for dominance.
"Get him, Oliver!"
"Oi! Look at Malfoy and Ol going at it."
Charlie only hears the rumors as the door to the administration cabin open and shut to let in a dirty trainer. When he hears Malfoy's name he stands up quickly and rushes out the door.
The sight that greets him is of two of his trainers trying to pummel the other into the ground. Luckily, or unluckily, Malfoy's on top of Oliver slamming his fists in quick succession into the other man's chest and face. Charlie puts one hand on the back of Draco's robes before shouting,
"Let him up, Malfoy."
It doesn't take two shouts to get him to stop. After a few seconds, and a few last punches, Malfoy rises up leaving Oliver on the ground.
"Get your hands off of me," Draco snaps trying to shake Charlie off of him.
"Inside, now!" Charlie screams.
Draco marches with Charlie's hand still burning on the back of his neck. When they arrive in the Administration building it's empty except for them. Charlie says nothing he just looks at Draco.
Then he pulls his wand, and feels a little pleased when Draco doesn't flinch as Charlie presses his wand to Draco's forehead and cheek where the bruises are blooming.
"Oliver tried to pass of Rex's sedative on Margot the Ridgeback," Draco murmurs as Charlie runs his fingers over a quickly healing cut on Draco's lip.
"And?"
"I tried to stop him."
"And?"
Charlie puts his wand to a small cut in Draco's eyebrow.
"What else do you want me to say?" Draco asks infuriated.
"What else happened?"
"He called me a 'fucking queer'."
Charlie brushes Draco's hair out of his eyes. A shiver runs up Draco's spine and he's just barely able to suppress it as Charlie heals the last of his cuts and gets the dirt out of his hair.
Day 222
There's a slip of parchment on Charlie's desk when he arrives in the morning. It arrived by owl probably the night before after having been mailed from the labs in Britain at closing. He reads it and suddenly he feels sick.
Levels of sedative higher than ministry approved
Traces of impurities, non-poisonous
His Ridgeback was drugged, and with bootleg sedatives.
He calls Malfoy into his office and slips him the parchment. Malfoy's eyes are harsh.
"This is between us," Charlie murmurs and Draco nods.
Day 224
In the darkness, Charlie hears rustling. At first it's as though the dragons are moving about instead of sleeping. It's so quiet though, light feet moving softly through the thick layer of dried leaves that coats all the grounds, no matter the time of year. Charlie squints through the black until he makes out a figure of a man standing in the cage, leaning over the large black lump that could only be a dragon.
Charlie pulls his wand takes aim and shouts,
"Stupefy."
Day 227
Charlie and Draco are kneeling over the Horntail, poking at the small new shiny scales that are beginning to emerge to cover the bald spot, when Charlie asks, "Why did you come out here?"
It bursts from his lips in the middle of a conversation about the work Draco had done back in the laboratories in Britain and Romania.
"When I broke off my engagement my father threatened to kill me if I ever showed my face again."
It makes no sense to Charlie, but he doesn't push it. Instead, the two fall into silence until they slowly begin walking to the gate after drawing another blood sample from the Horntail.
"He never wanted a gay son."
Day 229
It's Oliver. The thought still shocks Charlie, because he thought it had only been a misunderstanding before between Oliver and Draco. The type of stupidity that comes from too much testosterone being locked up in a tight space for too long.
There was no mistaking the brunette trainer, when he'd been slumped over with a needle in his hand. Charlie had been tempted to stab the man with his own concoction of drugs, but he didn't.
Now, though Charlie's forced to sort through stacks of paperwork to find the next trainer to fill in the vacant spot. He has no motivation to do so, because in between the lines of the perfect resumes he sees poachers waiting for an opportunity to strike in the night when they're vulnerable.
Draco shoves open the door to the Administration building, his boots muddy and his hair dripping with sweat.
"It'd really be nice not to have pick up an extra pen every day," the blonde groans dropping into a chair by the door.
"You're getting mud and dung everywhere," Charlie comments off hand.
"We all can't be as clean as you," Draco mutters after casting a clean spell on his robes and boots.
"Would you like to look through these files?"
"Why don't you just come back to work?"
"It's not that simple."
"I don't see why not."
"What the hell do you know?"
"I know that you'd rather sulk than try to get back to work," Draco snaps standing up.
"Fuck you Malfoy," Charlie shouts at Draco's back as the blonde walks away.
Day 240
Draco hasn't seen Charlie for a week. Not that he wants to apologize, or even talk to the obstinate, pig headed and idiotic red head. He's just-
Worried isn't the word, but if there a word that didn't sound so weak and caring, but meant the same thing that'd be the one to the use.
Day 232
Through the clouds Charlie can see patches of stars and half the moon. He smells smoke, mud and Firewhiskey. The combination is so familiar that for once in two hundred and thirty two days he feels at home. He nurses the bottle of whiskey and the feeling of wet dirt soaking his trousers.
The footsteps are easy to ignore at first, but as they get closer the long shadow of Draco's body blocks out the moonlight and it's harder to ignore the man when he's standing in front of Charlie.
"You think you have all the answers. Your dad hates you go to Romania. Charlie's only got one arm, get him a prosthetic."
So instead of ignoring him, Charlie lashes out with all the bottled up hatred that has burned his throat and his soul in the form of self-loathing and Firewhiskey.
"I don't claim to have all the answers. You think this is what I wanted? You think I want to try and do research in the spare time I have after shoveling dragon dung? I had a plan, Weasley and being gay shot it all to hell. You had an accident, are you going to let it ruin the rest of your life?"
"I lost an arm! It's not that I got burned or my parents hated me when I came out. I lost an entire arm!"
He wrenches up the sleeve of his shirt so Draco can see the angry red crisscrossing of scarring and the void where nothing remains beside his shoulder. The blonde plops down on the ground and grabs the bottle of Firewhiskey.
"We've all got our problems now don't we?"
The "fuck you" died on Charlie's lips when Draco presses his lips to Charlie's.
Day 231
The note on Charlie's bed is folded over twice. It turns out to be a newspaper article, written in French. Two translation charms later and he can make out half of what it's saying. The handwritten note on the back had been written in English.
'They're doing great work with magical prosthetics.'
Charlie balls up the article before throwing it into the growing fire he'd build in the fireplace. He watches it burn before laying down in bed ignoring the plans he's made with Draco to go running. He ignores the banging on his door two hours later.
Day 1
In the beginning, there was everything. Dragons and mud. Fire, smoke and flames.
Charlie opens the gate of the Ridgeback pen holding a rack of ribs on his shoulder. She's just rousing from a slumber she'd never intended to take. The fog that covers her mind is laced with confusion and hate.
She lashes out at the first thing she comes to contact with, because she knows that at one point, in the beginning, they'd had trust. If only a small amount between them, and now it feels as though he needs to be taught a lesson. Her claws, sharp and fierce connect with his body, before the large Ridgeback falls off balance crashing to the ground, a wing pinned beneath her own weight. She struggles, letting out a breath of anguished fire as Charlie screams in pain.
Her mind isn't clear; she doesn't understand why the world is spinning, where the noise is coming from.
For a moment, Charlie's world is clear. He looks into the big green eyes of the fallen dragon and sees the confusion and the mistrust. Or perhaps, it's a mirror of his own eyes and his own confusion being shown to him. Hadn't they, in the beginning, had a strange truce between the dragons and himself?
Day 245
The healers wanted to keep him another week, but he couldn't stand being locked up. The arm, the new silvery left arm, felt as though it weren't apart of him, yet. Every day he wakes up and rubs the new hand over his face and feels the rough stubble on his chin. Every detail magnified by the magic that runs through the new arm.
He can only imagine running his hand, both hands over one thing and while he's in France that thing is so far away that it literally hurts.
He Floos back the reserve and he doesn't stop searching until he finds Draco who's just outside the Ridgeback pen. Charlie's hand, the new silver one, runs up Draco's arm feeling every detail of the burn scar he'd received barely a month ago. His other hand rests on Draco's hip as he pushes him against the gate of the pen pressing his hungry lips against the blonde's.
That night Charlie feels the one thing that has occupied his mind for weeks. As the silver hand strokes Draco's prick the feeling registers in Charlie's mind. The smooth skin, the warmth of the young man's body and the coarse hair overwhelm the new arm and the nerves that are out of practice.
Charlie brings his right hand up and strokes a finger over Draco's balls just to be sure what he is feeling is real.