For Camp Potter, fireworks show, week one.

Warnings: WWII!AU. I didn't live during this time period, so things might be wrong. My apologizes.

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Charlie flips right levers as he descends. The wheels of the plane touch the ground gently as he slowly brings the plane to a normal speed. He directs it into his assigned spot and takes off his mask.

Climbing out of the cockpit, Charlie takes a deep breath of the southern England air. The adrenaline is still thumping through his veins as he does. No matter how often he flies, he will never get tired of the feeling.

He shoves his hands into his pilot uniform and whistles as he walks towards the Barracks. He could've gotten a ride back to them from some of his crewmates, but after the long night he's had, he wants to walk off his adrenaline so he has a chance of sleeping that night.

It's been a difficult few weeks. The Luftwaffe have been assaulting their bases in attempts of gaining air superiority. He and his crewmates have been covering the bases in Group Eleven, the ones that are in range of the Luftwaffe's 109s. Charlie is only thankful that there hasn't been any casualties to his Group.

He makes his way through the nearly deserted streets of Bristol. There isn't many people out, like there once would've been. He's just reminded of how war affects everyone, just not the people fighting in it.

There's a scuffle of feet that causes Charlie to tense. He fingers the knife that he keeps in his pocket as precautionary measures. "Who's there?" he asks. After a few moments, he rolls his eyes. "Like someone is really going to answer you," he murmurs to himself.

He pulls the pocket knife out and moves to investigate the noise. Moving as quietly and quickly as possible, he walks through the alleys of Bristol. It takes a while before Charlie finally corners the noise-maker. In front of him stands a man in a tailored suit.

The man does nothing but raise an eyebrow at him. "Are you going to kill me?" he asks, gesturing towards the pocket knife in Charlie's hand.

Charlie shrugs. "Depends," he replies offhandedly, "on who you are."

"You might as well kill me then," he says, a hint of an accent bleeding through his voice. It's almost unnoticeable, but Charlie's been trained to pick up on the slightest difference.

He furrows his eyebrow, trying to place it. When he finally does, he narrows his eyes. "You're German." It's a statement that the man in front of him doesn't deny. "Are you a spy?"

The man laughs bitterly. "No," he answers. "But that means nothing to you. That's what a spy would say."

Charlie can't help but agree. But there's something in the way that the stranger hasn't moved, hasn't attempted to disarm him that causes him to believe he's not. "What are you doing here?"

He doesn't say anything. And somehow, Charlie wasn't expecting him to. He just stares back stonically.

"How about a name?" When he is silent again, Charlie rubs his face in annoyance. He lowers the knife. "Look, I'm not going to murder you. I want an explanation as to why you're here because you're obviously not here to get classified information."

"I," the man starts out. "How do you know that I'm not?"

Charlie laughs. "I don't think we would be having this conversation if you were. So what are you really here for?"

"To get away," he answers. It's a diplomatic one.

Charlie smiles briefly. There's a something obvious that he is hiding and Charlie can't seem to place it. He looks over the man once more, scrutinizing him. This man seems almost familiar with his platinum blond hair and aristocratic features. Time ticks away until it finally clicks.

"You're one of Voldemort's supporters."

He raises an eyebrow at Charlie. He tries to act nonchalant about it, but Charlie can see fear behind his grey eyes. "Are you going to kill me?"

All of his military training is telling him to kill this man. He's the enemy. He's what Charlie is fighting against. But there's another part of him - the softer, gentler side - that is telling him to find out the story first. And it isn't surprising when that latter side wins.

"Depends," Charlie replies.

"On?" he prompts.

"How well you can convince me not to."

He laughs bitterly. "I'm a Malfoy," he informs Charlie. "I don't beg."

Charlie tilts his head. He was right in guessing this man is a supporter of Voldemort, but he hadn't realized how important he was. The Malfoys have made their alliance known to the whole world.

"Even if it meant your life?" he asks, genuinely curious.

Malfoy stands there for a moment before shaking his head. "My life means nothing if I have to beg for it, Weasley."

He's about to ask how the stranger knows his last name, when he realizes that it's on his uniform. "So," he says. He leans against the wall behind him. "Someone as important to Voldemort as you are is here, in England, in plain clothing. Sounds a little odd to me."

"It's none of your business," he snaps. "If you're not going to kill me, I'll take my leave."

Malfoy goes to move past him, but Charlie catches his arm. He pulls the blond back in front of himself. "I may have said I wasn't going to kill you," he whispers. "I never said anything about turning you in. I'm sure that my commanders would love to get their hands on someone like you."

He is silent for a while, and Charlie suspects that's he's weighing his options. "I left," he finally says.

It could mean a lot of things, and he's sure that's why Malfoy used those particular words. But as ambiguous as the answer is, Charlie isn't fooled. "You're a deserter?"

He shrugs. "If that's what you want to call it," he says nonchalantly.

"Why'd you desert? Last time I heard, the Malfoys were the biggest supporters, next to the Blacks." When Malfoy is silent, Charlie presses on. "I'm not letting you leave until I know for certain you're not a threat. It'd be best if you talked."

After a moment, Draco sighs. "I didn't like the commands. That's all."

"Why'd you come here then?" Charlie asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

"You ask a lot of questions, Weasley."

"Charlie," he corrects.

"I think I prefer Weasley," Malfoy responds. "I'm here because this is the last place he will look for me."

Before Charlie can form an answer, a siren sounds through the city. He knows this siren all too well.

"That sounds like your call," Malfoy says.

Charlie looks at him. He can make it back to the airstrip in five minutes if he runs. "Where are you planning to go?"

He shrugs. "I don't know," he admits.

Giving into his gut, Charlie gives him some directions. "Go there. I should be back shortly. If you're not there, I will track you down."

The silent threat doesn't go unnoticed by the blond haired man. When he finally nods, Charlie takes off in the direction he came.

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By the time that Charlie lands a second time, he is exhausted. Even though every part of his brain is screaming at him to accept the proffered ride, he declines it. He needs to make sure that the blond haired deserter didn't leave Bristol.

He makes it to the abandoned building on the outskirts of town in record time. There's no sign of it's usage as Charlie enters it. He walks quietly through the building, up to the offices on the second floor. Only there did he notice anything.

He swings the door open. He is almost surprised that the blond man is there. Malfoy snaps into the sitting position quickly, eyes alert and focused.

"Light sleeper?" Charlie asks.

"I see you were successful in the assistance," Malfoy says.

Charlie shrugs and sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the other man. "It was," he informs him. "If you're going to be here, you're going to need help." His companion goes to interrupt, but Charlie cuts across him. "Yes, I know you're a Malfoy and they don't accept help. But if you're going to survive this war, you're going to need some help."

"Why are you, of all people, willing to help?"

The question doesn't surprise Charlie. He's been expecting it. And if he's being honest, he's not exactly sure why he's helping him. The man in front of him is young, barely of age, and Charlie knows what that can do to a person.

"War is changes people," Charlie whispers. "And it seems to have changed you. But the question is what part of you changed and why."

Silence hangs in the air for a while before Malfoy speaks again. "I wasn't really apart of this until a year ago. My father…" he trails off. "He angered Voldemort; displeased him, if you will. As a result, he required my...skills. I was eager to please, to bring honor to my family."

Charlie is surprised when the story falls out of Malfoy's mouth. He knows the reputation of the Malfoys not to speak of their experiences. But here this man is, confiding this to a complete stranger. He finds it odd.

"What changed?" Charlie asks, tilting his head.

He is quiet for the longest time. "They put me in charge of a Workforce Camp."

Charlie furrows his eyebrows. "And that changed everything?"

The man just nods. Charlie feels that there's more to the story, but he knows that the younger man is not going to explain it.

"Well, this is a safe place. You're more than welcome to stay here. Nobody is going to come looking for you here. I will come check in on you when I have a time," Charlie informs him. "But unfortunately, I have to get back to the Barracks. Otherwise they will come looking for me and will find you."

The man nods. "Thank you, Charlie."

He smiles on his way back to the Barracks.

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The missions start to come in more frequently. He's flying so often that the doesn't have much time to deal with Malfoy. He's far too busy making sure that his missions are successful to have time to think about the blond man.

But sometimes, on the flight home, he does find himself curious as to how he is handling himself. If he's getting enough to eat. If he's still free.

He has to shake himself out of those thoughts before he lands.

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"Mayday, mayday."

Charlie hears the sounds. He hears one of his own going down. He can't focus on that, though. He has a mission to complete. He pushes everything else out of his mind, and directs his plane.

It starts to shake violently. The engines start to cut off. And he sees smoke blinding his vision. He repeats, "Mayday, mayday," and pulls the ejector string. He's thankful that he's still above friendly territory when he has to do this. As his seat forces its way through the air, Charlie feels pain explode in his arm.

Flames engulf his arm, and Charlie isn't quick enough to put them out.

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When Charlie wakes up, he's surrounded by white and the stench of dead flesh. "You're awake," someone says. Her voice is chipper.

Charlie groans as he takes in his surrounding. His left arm is pounding with pain.

"You're going to spend a few days here before you will be allowed to go home," she informs him. She lifts his arm and pulls back the gauze around it. "You will lose most of the nerve-endings, but it isn't as bad as it could've been."

He nearly gags at the smell of his burnt skin. He nods as she re-wraps his wound. "I will still be able to fly, right?"

She finishes wrapping his wound before she speaks again. "Most likely, yes. You're going to need some therapy to help gain movement back in your arm and wrist. But I don't see a reason for them to completely discharge you from duty."

"Then why am I going home?" he questions.

"You're wounded. Fresh pilots are being sent in from Group Twelve within the next day, so we can send our wounded home to heal." She must see the look of horror on his face because she pats his shoulder sympathetically. "There are other battles to be fought, Mr. Weasley."

He sinks back into his bed. He hasn't seen his family in far too long. It will be nice to finally see them.

And then he remembers the blond man that he has been helping. He doesn't know what he's going to do about him while he's gone.

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"You're hurt," Malfoy says as Charlie enters the room. Charlie's left arm is wrapped in gauze and supported by a sling.

Charlie shrugs. "Being a fighter pilot is dangerous. I'm just lucky it was our territory that I went down over." He sits cross-legged next to his companion. "But I am being sent home for a while."

When Malfoy doesn't say anything, Charlie speaks again. "You're not going to be able to stay here while I'm gone. You'd be caught."

Malfoy narrows his eyes. "What are you suggesting?"

"You come home with me," he says easily. "My family's up in Scotland. You'd be safer up there, and you know it."

Malfoy shakes his head.

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Charlie stands in front of his childhood house, his hand raised to knock. He's not sure if he should knock or go straight in. He doesn't have to dwell on it as the door swings open, revealing a plump woman with graying red hair.

"Charlie!" his mother says happily. But that smile slips from her face as she notices his arm. "What -"

"I'm fine, Mum," he cuts across her, assuring her. "I got burned, but I'm okay."

She puts her hands on her hips. "I let you go and you come back hurt!"

Malfoy shuffles uncomfortably behind Charlie causing his mother to direct her attention to him.

"Who is he?" she asks softly.

"A friend that doesn't have anywhere else to go," Charlie informs her. "I figured you and Dad wouldn't mind."

Malfoy steps forward, and extends his hand. "Draco, ma'am," he introduces himself.

His mother throws Charlie an amused looked before wrapping her arms around Draco. "Any friend of Charlie's is always welcomed here," she announces happily. "Come, come, I'll whip up some dinner." She heads back into the house. "Arthur! Ginny! Come quickly."

Arthur, a balding man, appears in the kitchen. "Charlie!" he cries. He wraps his arms around his son.

Charlie smiles as he hugs his father and sister. He looks at his mother when he realizes what is missing. "Where's Ron?" he asks.

His mother looks down at the pot. "He joined the army as soon as he could."

His youngest brother is barely of age. And knowing that he's part of the fight just doesn't sit right with Charlie. But before he doesn't say anything else, knowing that his mother doesn't want to talk about it. He looks back at Malfoy - Draco, he reminds himself - and nods toward the door.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Draco speaks. "This was a mistake. I never should've come."

Charlie furrows his eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"I was the enemy."

"And now, you're not. The mistakes you made before doesn't define you," Charlie argues.

Draco looks away from him. "I've killed people."

It's the first time since the first night that Draco's talked about anything that happened in Germany. And Charlie can't help but think that they are making progress.

"It's a war," he reminds the younger man. "There are always casualties."

But Draco doesn't look convinced.

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They are sitting at the table, enjoying dinner. The news channel is playing through the radio. Charlie perks up at it.

"People in London and the surrounding cities have been advised to seek cover. German planes have been spotted."

He feels his sister's hand on his good arm. "There's nothing you can do, Char," she whispers softly.

"It's just a scare tactic," Draco says. It's the first time that he's spoken beside using his manners the entire time he's been there.

The entire table swings their focus to Draco. Charlie meets Draco's grey eyes. "What do you mean?"

"He can't beat the Royal Air Force in the sky. He's been trying for weeks. If he can't beat you in the sky, he can't force you to negotiate with him. And he wants you to, badly. Instead, he's trying to scare you into negotiation," Draco explains.

"How do you know that?" Arthur demands.

Draco's eyes doesn't waver from Charlie's. "It's what I would do." And he shrugs. "It's not going to work, though. You all won't surrender that easily. You would rather die than surrender."

Everyone is silent for a while. The radio fills the air with the news, as they eat in silence. Draco's words weigh heavily on their minds.

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"Who is he?"

Charlie looks up from his book. His father is standing in front of him, questions written on his face.

"He isn't one of your pilot buddies. So who is he?"

Charlie considers lying to his father, but decides against it. "He's someone I met while I was stationed in Bristol. He needed a friend. Does it have to be more than that?"

Arthur raises his eyebrow. "I need to know. The way he was talking about the attacks on the cities…"

He feels torn. He knows he owes his father answers, but giving them could endanger Draco's life. And somehow, Draco has become really important to him.

"He's a deserter, isn't he?"

Charlie snaps his head. "Why'd you say that?"

Arthur is quiet for a few moments. "I could hear the slightest of accents in his voice when he speaks. And the way you don't want to talk about who he is just proves it." Arthur takes a seat on the footstool in front of Charlie. "What were you thinking, son?"

"That there's a reason he left," Charlie snaps.

"He's an enemy, Charlie."

He shakes his head. "He was," he corrects his father. "He doesn't want a part of Voldemort's campaign anymore."

"You don't know that."

"I do," he replies. "He's not our enemy."

Arthur looks at him sadly. "Maybe you are too close to see what he really is."

Charlie tilts his head and studies his father. "You're wanting to turn him in." When Arthur doesn't dispute the statement, Charlie shakes his head. "He'll be gone before they get here to take him away," he assures him.

"You're aiding and abetting an enemy, son. You must know this."

Charlie stands. "He's the same age as Ron. He's barely an adult that got shoved into this war. What right do we have to judge that when most of the citizens here have been drafted into this war too?"

Arthur is silent for a while. "I really hope you know what you're doing."

"I do."

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"You're not safe here anymore." Charlie shoves a bag into Draco's hands. "There's someone at the dock, waiting for you. Tell them that you're a friend of mine. They'll take you to Ireland."

"Neutral country," Draco remarks. "I was actually trying to make my way there when you came across me."

"You'll have enough to get settled there," Charlie says, nodding towards the bag. "Try Dublin. I hear you can get yourself lost there."

Draco nods, gripping the bag tighter. "Thank you."

Acting on impulse, Charlie moves forward and press his lips against Draco's. He pulls back quickly. "I'm sorry," he whispers horrified. "I shouldn't have done that. I really shouldn't have done that."

Charlie turns around. He's not exactly sure why he did that. He had been thinking about it a lot lately, but Draco had never shown any signs of interest before. But he realizes that he doesn't regret kissing him.

Before Charlie can walk away, Draco wraps his hand around Charlie's wrist. He pulls Charlie back towards him. Charlie feels Draco's lips on his own, and Draco's hands tangle in his hair. It takes a while before they finally part.

"Find me after this ends?"

Charlie grins. "Of course."

A/n – so many thanks to Lizy.