A/N – Back again, with another instalment of Draco has a chance encounter with Charlie at a pub. I'm not sure I've written this pairing any other way... It ends a little abruptly. I hit the word limit.


Draco kept his head low as he pushed open the door to the dingy Muggle pub. There were enough people inside that he felt reasonably sure he would be able to melt into the crowd, but not so much as to take up all the tables.

He made his way over to the bar; weaving through his fellow patrons and glaring at anyone who felt the need to pay him any attention. It proved more challenging a destination than he had originally anticipated, but he reached the bar with minimal incident.

He leant forward in an attempt to get the attention of the barman, placing his hand on the sticky wooden surface. He quickly retracted his hand with a grimace, glaring at the counter as though it were at fault.

"What can I get you?" The voice startled him, and he looked up to see the barman – a smirking Muggle with far too many piercings and a very bright shirt – leaning on the other side of the counter.

"A beer," he answered quickly, trying to hide how far out of his depth he was.

"What kind of beer?" The man's tone was incredibly patronising. "And I'm gonna need to see some id."

"What?"

"Is it the beer or id that's holding you up? Doesn't matter; I can't serve you 'til you show me some id." At Draco's blank stare, he continued. "You got a licence? I need to know your age."

"I'm twenty," Draco answered immediately, expression clearly stating how obvious he thought that was.

"Well, I can't just take your word for it."

"Why not?"

"You could be lying." The bartender was showing clear signs of irritation now.

"I'm not."

"Look, I'm not gonna stand here and argue with you all day. No id, no alcohol. I can get you a coke," the man tried to reason.

"No. I want a beer."

"You don't even-"

"Hey, sorry to interrupt-" a voice interjected.

"Oh, please do," the bartender muttered under his breath. Draco still heard, and shot the man his best glare.

"I'll take two more'f these," he said, holding up his near-empty glass.

"You're not buying him a drink."

"No, it's alright. I know him. He's my brother's ma'e. Or, well... they went to school together, at least." Draco leant further over the counter, carefully avoiding any actually contact, to get a closer look at this man who apparently recognised him.

Broad shoulders; short; worn clothes... The hat was really hindering matters.

"Oh, really? Which one?" They were showing an odd level of familiarity; there was no way this man – probably Muggle – could have recognised him.

Freckles covering his arms... Wait-

"Ron."

Shit.

"We were not friends," Draco hissed before he could stop himself. "Your brother is an insufferable twat, who-"

"See? They do know each other." The Weasley gestured over to Draco, all the while grinning at the bartender. "Now serve the man a drink."

"If it turns out he's underage, it's on you." But the bartender was already pouring as he spoke; still eyeing Draco with a small amount of doubt, but clearly having given up arguing.

Draco eyed the dark liquid with no small amount of distrust.

"Hey, I'm Charlie." The Weasley climbed onto the empty stool next to Draco, extending his hand. Draco regarded it with the same apprehension he'd given the counter.

He took a large swallow of his beer so that he didn't have to shake the man's hand.

It's absolutely revolting. With an aftertaste like burnt wood.

"You might wanna drink that slowly," Weasley suggested, still with that friendly smile.

He probably should have listened - and maybe ordering more had also been a mistake – but he wouldn't remember until the next day how Weasley had to carry him home.

And he still returned to the same pub at least once a week.