Disclaimer: Characters, settings, and themes from the Harry Potter universe are property of J.K Rowling. I neither own, nor am making profit from the writing or sharing of this story.
There is much to be said about healing. For many, to feel the pain and let it go is enough. For others, the pain must be felt anew—acknowledged at the start of each day in order to feel whole. That kind of pain, that depth of grief and loss is so great that is becomes a part of you. I think it was the pain that drove him away. He couldn't handle the loss of Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus, Fred… Merlin, even his bloody owl! It was too much. So he left.
Hermione was the only one who'd heard from him in months. She got an owl once a moon just to let her know that he was still alive. I can laugh at that now, knowing the shitholes he was living in, having met some of the people he worked with. He wasn't safe. He wasn't careful. If anything, he threw himself into his project with reckless abandon. Hermione, though, felt that he just needed time. What a crock that was. He didn't plan on coming home. He never had. When he found me, none of them would have recognized him. The man was changed. He had killed a dark lord, but it wasn't that which touched his soul. It was the unending rain of death around it that broke him. I could very easily have added to that tally. I'm just thankful dad chose to ignore me and sent that owl.
It took three days for him to get to me. I didn't know he was coming, but when he arrived, I was in a bad way to say the least. I'd gotten into a bit of a spat with a local down the pub. Turns out he'd acquired a dagger of the sort no one wants to dance with, if ya know what I mean. He had a wand, but he didn't use it. That struck me as odd afterward. I had a fever burning through me and scorch marks from my shoulder down my spine, radiating outward toward my sides. The longer I sat there, the hotter they blazed. They felt like dragon's breath, sinking deeper into my skin.
I flooed mum and dad on the second day, but there was nothing they could do. I'd waited too long. Stubborn Weasleys, the lot of us. I just wanted to let them know I was in trouble and that I might not make it. Say my goodbyes, ya know? Dad went quiet and left the room. I think that's when he wrote him. Like I said, though, it took three days. The longest three days of my life. Every time I took a slash, it was pure blood. Downing water felt like drinking rocks. It was a damn good curse, it was. I toast the man clever enough to get me with it. My wand was just a bit too slow that night and worthless after that. The curse left my magic inert.
When he showed up, I was weak as a kneazle kitten. I'd stripped down to my pants as I felt like my skin would burn everything it touched. Nothing sated my thirst and I could barely lift my limbs even to see him enter the room. All I remember is hearing his voice whisper my name.
"Charlie."
That soft, lingering sound, as if he were my own, personal savior. Too funny, that. He didn't even take a minute to set his bags in the other room or ask what happened. His hands were all over my body, searching, seeking. When he found it, I moaned, though inside I was roaring, shrieking, trying desperately to claw at anything that could ease the pain. Then I felt it. There was this overwhelming sense about him. It was stifling; I could hardly breathe before, but when his hands began kneading the skin around that cursed mark, I could feel his magic. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat until I could feel the burning start to ease. His fingers dug sharply into my back and then it was as if Salazar himself anointed me with the fire of the desperate and pure.
Then it was gone and I was left wanting. It was all gone and I felt him trail calloused fingertips up and down my back before placing a gentle kiss to my shoulder. In my effort to turn and thank him, I placed a hand on the side of his thigh, our faces coming much closer than I'd anticipated. I didn't realize that he'd crawled onto my bed in nothing but his trousers. He was barefoot, topless, and sweating. Just as I reached out a shaking hand, his eyes closed, hissing between clenched teeth. My hand went to his shoulder to steady him and that hiss turned into a strained cry. By then, I'd regained some of my senses and I crawled around him to look at his shoulder. There, just beginning to unfurl from a swirl of red chaos, was a red dragon. Its wings were fluttering madly and the moment I placed a hand on his back, the dragon stilled. Harry slumped, his stuttering breath eased.
You see, for every cursed, dark, bloody horrific mark he takes off a person, he gets one in return. Sodding hero, that one is. The key to his marks, though, is that they resemble the person he took it from, not the original mark. Can't have him walking around with ugly scars and death eater skulls on him, now can we? When I took a look at him—really looked at him, he'd already taken four or five by that point, not counting my own. That was considering I couldn't see his legs. He was only twenty, for Merlin's sake, but the man in front of me had already taken on so much of the world's pain.
I remember his laugh when I questioned why he did it. You know what he said?
"It's all I can do now." He held out his hands, palms up, as if showing me an empty bowl with nothing to give. "I've got to do something. There's nothing else left for me."
That was when I asked him to stay. Take a breather. Relax. At first, the answer was no. Told me he had research to complete back in Germany. There were a couple of ritualistic tribes there who were known for using ink to communicate to the soul. They say a soul can't be stolen, but you wouldn't catch me walking into either of those worlds. It took a few tries, but he changed his mind, perhaps realizing that an international portkey was a bit more tiring than he wanted, on top of having just done some pretty powerful magic.
It was my turn to take care of him, so I showed him to the spare room and watched as he levitated his only bag behind him. He must have been totally knackered not to carry it, as muggle as this one's always been. When I saw that he was pretty much settled, he turned to say some sort of farewell, but it got muffled as the two of us were too close. He slumped against me and I braced him. One look at those tired, lost eyes and I couldn't help myself. I leaned forward and kissed him, whispering, "Thank you" against his lips. Damn if his lips weren't dry and cracked from being outside and dehydrated, but he more than made up for it in the eager tilt of his head and the sigh as I pulled away. I managed a quick, "Goodnight," and went back to my own bed for an I'm-still-alive wank, feeling only a little guilty with him in the next room.
One night turned into a few days and before I knew it, he'd been there for a week. He was a right great kisser, he was, and we stole every chance we got. He'd be coming out of the shower, towel wrapped round his waist and that shaggy mop of hair looking like a dead rat on his head, but when he cornered me, we had the best bloody snogs. I remember all too well the time I took him out ranging with me and we stopped in to check on a horntail, only to find her out hunting. Damn. I can still remember crouching down to use my teeth on his trousers, the laces too fucking long. I had my own dragon-hide bottoms popped open, slowly fisting myself as I gave him a blowjob right there in that dragon's den. She could have come back at any minute. It wasn't until we felt the flap of her wings that he told me he'd never done that before. I was blown away, but man if that wasn't a shock to the system. I mean, come on. Twenty years old and never had a blowjob? What kind of cave had he been living in? Heh.
It didn't take long for him to start getting restless. I heard him cast silencing charms at night. I watched as he picked up scattered things in the morning. One night, I snuck in. He didn't lock the door, but there was enough clutter around the room to hold anyone out for a little bit. All of the blankets and sheets were everywhere. He was thrashing and screaming, but I couldn't hear him. His face was streaked with sweat and his body was so tense I thought he might explode from the pressure. At first, I didn't want to jump in. I could feel his magic pulsing in the room, but at the tortured look on his sleeping face, I couldn't stay out.
I shook him, but that didn't do anything. I tried to crush his arms to his sides, holding him to me. He struggled relentlessly against my hold until he broke free again, still with the silent screaming. Finally, I slapped him. He snapped awake, but the panic on his face was something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. He didn't even ask why I'd barged into his room in the middle of the night when he'd obviously cast the silencing charm on the room and himself. Instead, he launched at me. I don't know if I can describe what happened next. Fuck, just thinking about it… You know what? I have a pensieve around here somewhere. Hold on a minute.
Okay here we go. Let me show you.
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There was a split second before Harry dove forward, capturing Charlie's lips with his own. He pushed the older man down onto his bed, not caring that his nearly naked body slid roughly against the one beneath him. Not caring that he heard Charlie's moan, but his was silently captured in the cavern of Charlie's waiting mouth. Between them, fingers and hands grabbed, slid, and found every delicious piece of exposed skin.
When Charlie's chest rolled upward, throwing Harry backward and grinding their pulsing cocks tighter between them, Harry couldn't take it any longer. He reached down and savagely tore at Charlie's pants, tugging with nails and teeth and leaving red trails of anticipation down his thighs. Charlie's exposed cock bobbed in Harry's face. The brunette licked his lips. He reached forward tentatively, gripping the base and twisting harshly upward. A few more panting pulls and he leaned forward into Charlie's ear, having wandlessly canceled the silencing spell, and grunted, "I want you to fuck me."
Charlie's eyes lit up as he grabbed Harry's hips, rolling the smaller man beneath him. He ground his exposed flesh into Harry's stomach before biting his chin, holding for a few seconds, then letting go with a sloppy kiss. Mercilessly, he worked his way down the chest before him. Biting, lapping, dragging his nails up Harry's side only to pinch a nipple hard enough to cause a gasp then flick its pebbled tip. When he reached his hip, Charlie pulled down the pants enough to place a rough bite, leaving a mark that purpled. He hooked his thumbs beneath the fabric then yanked, not caring that it caught on his skin or that Harry had to wriggle out of them awkwardly in order to avoid getting tangled.
Exposed, wanting, Harry lay there breathing harshly into the bed beneath the weighty gaze of the dragon tamer. His muscled forearms bore his weight as he leaned over and grabbed a jar from the bedside table. There was no flourish here, no soft pampering. Charlie coated his fingers and thrust two of them deep inside of Harry, scissoring and stretching. The man on the bed grunted, fisting the sheets to deal with the burning. His eyes were wild and his hair shook as his head tossed from side to side. A third finger was added in rapid succession. Harry's erection flagged a little, so Charlie hooked his fingers just enough to catch the edge of his prostate. Harry nearly bolted, the sensation was so intense.
Wicked grin and savage fingers alike, Charlie backed away. He lathered his cock up and positioned himself at Harry's entrance. Harry's eyes were glazed, not quite focused on Charlie. He reached out, grabbed the younger man's chin, and thrust in. There was no easing in, no getting used to the feeling; only the cool burn of being completely filled by the man who had given him what he asked for.
"Is this what you wanted?" He began thrusting, shallow at first, dragging over Harry's prostate. When he could see the brunette struggling for words, he began moving his hips in earnest. All either of them could hear were the frenzied grunts between and the slap of skin on sweat-soaked skin. Charlie's hair was damp now, clinging to his face as he tried to hold himself back. The angry man beneath him clawed repeatedly at his chest and back, and every time he felt those nails dig into his flesh, his pace became more erratic. The slow build in his belly was coming too quickly now. He reached between them and slapped Harry's cock. He watched as it bounced off of his taut stomach, dripping precome and sliding back and forth in it. When he gripped it, holding the base firmly for a moment, he could see the slight neck arch, hear the gasp of breath. It was more impressive when his fist pumped to his own rhythm, pulling the orgasm from Harry in just a few rough strokes. Feeling Harry clench around him, that tight heat stole his own release. He spilled in the man beneath him and braced himself for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Harry looked up and kissed him, then bit his chin hard enough to leave a light red mark. Charlie could feel himself slipping out a bit, but already a twinge of interest was bringing him round again.
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Would you believe that was his first time? We didn't talk about it much, but I'll be damned if he didn't want to feel pain. I think I woke him up from that nightmare and he was angry with me, so he took it any way he could. I wondered for a bit if he was using me. If he was punishing himself by using me. How awful, yeah?
Some things have been made public, but some of the things that he's gone through, no one knows. He keeps those hidden until he sleeps. Those are the demons that chase him in the shadows of sleep. The next night, he didn't put the silencing charm up. I heard him start to scream—awful things, terrible things. When I heard a thump, I ran over, only to find him naked and shivering on the floor with the blanket wrapped around his ankles. He'd gone and flailed so hard he fell off the bed. Knocked his head pretty hard, but that didn't seem to stop him. Crazy sod saw me and all I heard was a growled version of my name before I had claw marks on my face. He tried to drive himself down on me completely after he bowled me to the floor.
Most nights were like that. He stopped going to his own bed. After a month or so, he started sleeping more. The haunted look started to fade from beneath his eyes. With time, his gaunt body filled out and he looked more human, more real. We started talking in between the stillness of our sated bodies and when his anger would rise anew. It was in that time that I learned what he was working on. I saw all of his battle scars. I traced all of his marks. He seemed to preen particularly at the dragon, more so when it fluttered beneath my touch.
Time passed slowly for Harry and I. When he first asked the question, I was absorbed in a report on the migration of the local wild dragons. Bare feet padded softly against the stone of the room, echoing and doing nothing to conceal the sheepish grin on his face. A grin. That was something I hadn't seen damn near enough of since he'd been with me. I miss that grin. I can clearly remember the words he used, "Charlie, I want you to come with me. I'm better with you." He'd looked down at his feet as if they held all the answers. I denied him that time and every time after that.
Merlin, but some days I wish I would have just apparated away with him. I could hear those bare feet padding through the house, walking from room to room. When the strides got short and the steps too heavy, I could tell he was building up to something. That was when the sex was violent. Sometimes we bruised each other, left bite marks a little too deep, didn't ask for the things we wanted, just took. We often came away from those nights needing a bit more than a good soak. He only needed a healing potion the once. Yeah, I can read the judgment all over your face, but you weren't there. You didn't feel his need.
The afternoon he dreamed of Sirius was the worst. I should probably just show you that one, too.
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He'd tried to help Harry forget, but instead he'd just had waking dreams. They'd spent the evening at the pub consuming as much alcohol as they could, leaving only when the barmaid cut them both off. It was probably a good thing too, as neither one of them could walk very well, let alone apparate without splinching. Harry and Charlie crashed through the bedroom door, heavy and awkward with a full evening's drink. They kissed lazily, not caring that more often than not one of them stumbled or the other's tongue plunged a little too deeply. Together, they groped and wriggled until they were out of their robes, revealing the shirt and trousers beneath. Neither cared much as Harry recaptured Charlie's mouth again. It was a few minutes before Harry spun Charlie toward the door, ripping open his button-down and laughing as he licked a swath up the ginger-haired chest. When he met Charlie's eyes again, he stopped, mouth hanging open.
"Come with me, Charlie." The burly redhead groaned in response, leaning his head back against the door.
"I can't, Harry." He looked his lover straight in the eye now, catching those emeralds as they glinted in the candlelight. "You know my research is here, my home is with the dragons." Leaning forward to place a kiss on Harry's cheek, he was rather shocked when Harry's fist was there instead.
Charlie was absolutely stunned for a minute. Lifting a hand to rub at his jaw, he gaped at the panting brunette before lurching forward and throwing his own punch. Harry caught him and they were entangled, tussling, tugging, pulling, punching, until Charlie somehow managed to get Harry pinned beneath him. He continued to savage Harry's body until he brutally bit into the flesh around his right nipple, eliciting a ragged moan that was part pain and part—something else. That set them off again and their lips found each other, bruised as they were. Open-mouthed kisses turned into tangling tongues and there was more passion in that than the languid grinding happening between their legs. As the desire pooled between them, so did the flare of anger that fueled the earlier argument and they began tearing at each other's clothes until they were naked.
Harry ended up with a bruised lip as they fought for dominance, but he cast an incarcerous spell on Charlie, pinning him to the floor. Charlie's thick arms were stretched out almost painfully, held snug to the nearest leg of the bed. His young lover had learned a thing or two since they'd been together and grabbed his wand from his discarded trousers. Softly, he cast a stretching spell. Charlie grunted, as the spell is uncomfortable at best, then looked up just as Harry plunged deep into his body. It took a moment to realize that he'd held his breath since the spell was cast, but he let it out when he felt the solid weight of Harry's thighs against his own. Charlie's body tried to lurch upward but was held fast by the spell. Instead, he gripped his restraints and murmured Harry's name endlessly under his breath.
With a soft growl, Harry reached down to lift Charlie's thighs, angling him upward to drive deeper, right at his prostate. The man's cock bobbed in time with each thrust, an angry purple shaft that drizzled precome across his abdomen. Harry growled again as Charlie tilted his head back, looked away, and slapped Charlie to bring the focus back on him. Timed with a series of particularly deep, percussive thrusts, he snarled, "You are mine. I need you," and spilled inside him. Charlie gasped in the midst of it all and came between them, sticky as Harry collapsed on his chest.
His bonds released and he reached down to caress the man still inside him, felt him wince as he brushed across a bruise.
"Ah, but you were never mine. We were not meant to tame the wild ones." He felt sobs against his chest as Harry drifted into oblivion. "I love you, Harry." Charlie stroked his back as they lay there in the aftermath of their emotions.
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That was the last time he asked me to go with him. Damn it all if I don't regret my answer most of the time, but I think we both made the right choice. He wasn't done healing by half and he had more of the pain inside him yet. More of the anger to let out, and one man can only do so much. Every time he got to rambling about that bloody project of his, I saw the light in his eyes, and the passion there was absolutely unbelievable. He'd absently rub one of his marks when he talked about it. I don't think he realized, but every one of the silly things became a sort of talisman to him, calling him on to something greater.
How could I go with him, hold him back for even a second when I saw the potential of who he could be? I could never live with myself if I did that. I see the look on your face. You saw it in the memory, I'm not daft. I cut it off there for a reason. I loved the bloody git. I always will, ya know. There's not much else to be said, I don't think. I promised to tell you everything and I believe I've gone and told you all of the important bits.
What you don't know, see, is that I made another promise, an earlier one. I promised him that everything between us would stay there. I keep my promises, most particularly to him. I'm real sorry about this, but I'm glad that someone else knew about it all, even if it was just for a little while. Don't be looking for your wand now. I've already pulled it off you when you were in the pensieve. There's a good lad.
Obliviate!
As I was saying, I'm sorry, Draco. You're going to have to speak with Harry about his time in Romania. I'm afraid there just isn't much to tell.