A/N:

Well, it seems like this story wants to be FOUR parts, in the end. It's Draco's fault, really. He's not very passive about his situation and he'd really like to talk about it. :D

So, here's a "Charlie" chapter and the next part will be Draco again.

Part II - Charlie

Charlie began to wake with a tongue-lashing already half-formed, ready to unleash on the person who'd dared to disturb him. But had he just heard a squawking noise? Or a yelp of some kind?

He opened his eyes with a death glare just waiting to be trained on someone. He regarded Harry Potter standing in the doorway, looking slightly sick. Charlie frowned, tried to stretch his limbs, and immediately discovered the source of Harry's problem. He'd fallen back asleep while comforting the crying wreck that was his supposed saviour. Said wreck of a saviour had fallen asleep in Charlie's arms. He supposed that he could forgive Harry for yelping when he'd unsuspectingly walked in to see Charlie and Draco curled up together on a bed with no trousers on.

Every inch of his skin was still horribly sensitive, and the feeling of Draco's skin and the shirt of Bill's they'd put on him was nearly unbearable. Funny that it hadn't seemed quite as important when Draco had been sobbing in fear. Charlie had hoped giving him a moment of support would make the tears stop, but when they hadn't, he'd tried to suck it up instead of running for his life. He hadn't actually meant to fall asleep this way. But after that long under Bellatrix Lestrange's Cruciatus Curse, he could hardly help how weary he felt.

At least Harry hadn't walked in on their "kiss," he thought with humour as he carefully rolled Draco off him and onto the bed. Unfortunately, that made his eyes linger on Draco's lips, which were surprisingly full and pouty for a skinny little wretch like him. He definitely hadn't meant the kiss like that, but he couldn't deny that if the kid gained about fifteen pounds, he'd be really attractive.

Okay, stop thinking like that. Harry was standing right there. And probably wanted something, come to think of it.

"Stop looking so revolted," he said. "He was crying, okay?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, can you blame him? He's scared out of his mind, what with— oh, right, I should tell you. I figured out what he lost when he Apparated us through the wards."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, looking unimpressed.

"His voice."

"His what?"

"He can't speak."

Harry looked entirely too happy about that. "Small favours," he muttered.

Charlie just quirked an eyebrow at him. "Says the boy who carried him upstairs."

Harry's cheeks suffused with colour. "I— well— I wasn't going to make your mum do it!" he said at last.

Charlie had managed to hang onto consciousness last night long enough to see Harry, Ron, and Ginny standing over Draco with matching looks of disgust and watch Ginny stop Ron from trying to kick him. His brother and sister had left Draco lying there and had come over to help him, and Charlie had been surprised. He'd known they weren't exactly friends, but he hadn't guessed at the amount of hatred they had for Draco. Was it obvious to no one but Charlie that the kid had no choice about what side he was on and how badly he didn't want to be part of it? Well, he'd rescued Charlie, so hopefully it was becoming obvious to the rest of them.

Harry, at least, had seemed to figure it out. He'd bent down and gotten an arm under his unconscious enemy and asked Dad to help him. Charlie had passed out somewhere between the front door and actually arriving in Fred and George's old room. He could only assume Mum had taken the task of putting them both in nightclothes, he'd hate to think Harry had been forced to lend a hand with that.

"So what's up?" Charlie asked him.

"Oh, right. Your mum just wanted me to see if you were awake yet. She's finished dinner and she said to ask you if you were hungry."

Not at all. In fact, the idea of food turned his stomach. But this was Mum.

"Just between you and me, I'm not. But tell Mum something light, okay? She'll have kittens if I don't eat something. Soup or bread if there is some. I don't think I could keep it down if she tries to send up a roast and mushy peas or something."

Harry cracked a smile at last. "I'll do my best," he said. He frowned down at the other figure on the bed. "Should I, er . . ."

Charlie looked down and saw that Draco's eyes were open. Draco didn't move, but he frowned a little.

"No, I don't think he'll wake up," Charlie answered easily.

Harry seemed relieved, and retreated quickly.

"Not hungry?" Charlie asked Draco, who continued to lie still and frown. "You probably ought to try to eat something, you know."

Draco's eyes flashed in a way Charlie was already beginning to recognize. That meant something had annoyed him and he wanted to say something about it. He'd done that a million times already. He must be a pretty impatient person, honestly. Or maybe it was just his inability to communicate that had him so upset. Charlie would be in a right state, himself, if it were him.

Nobody else really liked this young man, for reasons not well-known to Charlie. So maybe it was up to him to make an effort to communicate with the now-voiceless stranger.

"You don't like being baby-sat, eh?" Charlie said with good humour. People tended to get annoyed with his laid-back attitude toward everything, but he wasn't about to change now. Especially not for a Malfoy who inevitably had a stick up his arse. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do or anything, you know. Just pointing out that it looks like you haven't seen a decent meal in about the last decade."

Those eyes flashed again, and now Draco sat up. Charlie remained in his reclined position. His muscles were incredibly sore, probably from all the tension they'd carried, and he was not inclined to move them. He watched in fascination as Draco's throat undulated, then his eyes dulled, then he turned his face away. Charlie could guess at all the things he was feeling. Despair, disgust, fear, annoyance . . . but mostly fear. He'd just cut ties with his family and lost his ability not only to communicate but to do magic, for the time being.

No, Charlie didn't blame him for crying.

He'd saved Charlie's life, maybe even the rest of the family, and he was punished instead of rewarded. Charlie could guess his real problem: he had nowhere to go. Well, that just meant he'd stay here for the time being. From what Charlie had managed to hear before passing out, Mum was feeling reasonable about the whole thing since it meant Charlie wasn't murdered and sent home in a matchbox. He doubted that anyone else in the Weasley clan was feeling quite as ambivalent about the Malfoy in their home, but they'd come around.

"You know, the first thing we've got to do is to get you a quill and some paper, so you can let somebody know if you need anything. Wonder if there's a type of Quick Quotes Quill that would work for this . . . ? Well, anyway, that's the first step."

Draco's eyes were wide with surprise.

"Next thing to do is to work on some simple non-verbal spells so you can do a few things for yourself. I know you won't feel right until you can do magic again. I'm not too shabby with non-verbals, I can give you a few pointers." Charlie grinned at his stunned companion. "Actually, that ought to be the third step, eh? First step would be to get you some clothes."

Draco's face flushed red with embarrassment as he remembered what he was wearing. It was unbelievably cute. That was the most inappropriate thing he could possibly be thinking, so of course his brain jumped straight there. Charlie chased the thought away before it could get any farther. They were working on Draco's ability to communicate and do magic, not his sex life. Oh, Merlin, he was not thinking about sex. Draco is still in school, he's just a kid, don't even go there.

"And in the meantime," Charlie said, loudly and clearing his throat, "we'll start looking for a way to get your voice back. Curses were made to be broken, weren't they?"

Rules, Draco mouthed quite clearly.

"Those, too," Charlie grinned. Rule-breaking was sort of his thing, while curse-breaking belonged to his older brother. "Anyway, I'll get Bill to start looking into it."

Draco looked rather surprised and overwhelmed.

"Well, what were you planning to do?" Charlie cajoled him. "Just sit here moping all day for the rest of your life?"

Draco began to frown. Mighty Merlin, the boy hadn't really been planning to sit around doing nothing, had he?

"Sounds boring as hell," Charlie said. "You'd better take charge of the situation you're in here, because no one else is going to do it for you."

Draco's lips had thinned out, but he looked pensive rather than angry. He did have some fairly luscious-looking lips. Oh, for Merlin's sake, what was wrong with him? Just because they'd slept half-dressed in the same bed . . .

"But I will help as much as I can," Charlie added.

Draco acted so quickly that all Charlie could do was sit there when the teenager leaned in and kissed him. It was nothing more than a quick peck, a way of saying thank you no doubt, but red blotches bloomed on Draco's pale cheeks.

Unbelievably. Cute.

Okay, time to get out of this bed. There were two beds in here for a reason. But when Charlie stood up, Draco's face fell. He looked like he was trying to speak for a moment, then he buried his face in his arms and turned away. Whoops.

Charlie sighed, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. "Sorry," he said awkwardly. This was why he liked one-night-stands and fuck-buddy arrangements. You enjoyed your time together and then you left each other the hell alone so you didn't have to have these awkward moments. He was not good with this kind of thing. At all.

"I . . . it's not that I'm not attracted to you. I am. But you're . . . well, you're, what, sixteen? And the situation we're in . . . It's a little odd, you have to admit. It would feel like I was, y'know, taking advantage of you. So I don't want to—"

Draco saved him from any further fumbling for words by stretching out his hand to cover Charlie's mouth. He had a wry look on his face. He nodded once, hopefully to mean that he understood. But then he just buried his face in his arms again, so Charlie had to wonder if he really did.

Not that Charlie himself had any idea what was going on, anymore.

Harry seemed relieved that Draco was not asleep and cuddled up in Charlie's arms anymore when he came back with a tray of food. He was incredibly wary about the fact that Draco was awake, though, telling Charlie he'd brought him some soup and crackers all while glancing at the room's other occupant out of the corner of his eye.

"Er . . ." Finally Harry took a deep breath and turned to face Draco fully. "Are you hungry, Malfoy?"

Up to this point, Charlie had only seen Draco looking hesitant, fearful, with those flashes of impatience. But when he looked up at Harry, his eyes were steely with anger. If he could have spoken, he would have said something hateful. As it was, his throat worked for a moment, then his face twisted and he ducked down to hide it again.

There was definite pity in Harry's expression. He looked at Charlie helplessly, but Charlie just shook his head. Even if Draco was hungry, he had this feeling that the kid would fling any food Harry brought back in his face. Harry left as quickly as he could, mumbling something about coming back for the dishes. Charlie started in on the soup, waiting for Draco to look up. He didn't.

"Er, Draco," Charlie began. "Are you sure you don't want to eat something? I probably won't even finish this, so if you want it . . ." It was true, his stomach felt queasy and it was somehow physically exhausting to contemplate digestion.

Draco looked up with bitter tears on his cheeks. Then he cautiously unfolded his slender limbs and crossed the room, sitting down beside Charlie and eating a few mouthfuls of soup before turning away listlessly. Between the two of them, they didn't even finish the bowl.

"I'm still completely exhausted," Charlie mumbled, setting the remains of the meal on top of a dusty box. "I'm going back to sleep."

In response, Draco yawned. His eyes were looking slightly less haunted and terrified now, but there were still huge circles under them. Charlie didn't think he'd been getting much sleep lately, on top of getting tortured by that psychotic woman. They both had some healing to do, it seemed.

Charlie didn't really care to think about what he did. He just did it.

He wrapped an arm around Draco as he laid down, pulling the younger man down with him. His nerves were still screaming and his muscles trembling, and it just felt nice to have something warm to cuddle up to. Even if said warmth was wriggling around in surprise and making soft grunting noises that were probably an attempt to communicate.

"Mmph," Charlie muttered, already fading. "Just sleep. Shhh."

Draco went still.

"Th's better . . ."

It took much cajoling and teasing to even get Draco on his feet the next morning, and Charlie felt accomplished when Malfoy put on his trousers and prepared to leave the room. Unfortunately, he froze up in the doorway.

"My family's not going to kill you," Charlie said with assurance. My siblings might maim you, but they're not murderers, he thought more ruefully. "Come on. Just come downstairs. You have to start somewhere."

Draco's eyes were so sharp and cutting. Charlie was beginning to understand why his family might not enjoy having such a gaze trained on them. Charlie himself found it rather enticing. Intelligence and sharp edges were so—no, he was still not thinking about that.

"Will you come downstairs if I kiss you?" he asked lightly. It could easily be a joke, if Draco responded poorly.

But Draco's sharp eyes blinked in surprise, then nodded. They were almost of a height, even if Charlie did outstrip him by a good two stone, so all Charlie had to do was lean forward a bit to deliver the kiss. It was supposed to be light, a bit humorous—but Draco's lips caught his desperately. Charlie had to remind himself that Draco was frightened. This wasn't an adventure, it was the end of his life as he knew it.

He wasn't supposed to be taking advantage of him. But when Draco was looking at him like that, how was Charlie supposed to resist the urge to cradle him in his arms and shelter him from all the things he feared? It might not be smart, but he was finding it hard to care. Underlying Draco's incredible vulnerability at the moment were all these flashes of fierceness and passion: a lethal combination that was playing havoc with Charlie's common sense.

Charlie's hand was brushing over Draco's shoulder, a silent reassurance and an invitation. His work-roughened palm was snagging in the fine fabric of Draco's shirt, and Draco was moving in closer to him, lips locked over his with this incredible desperation—like Charlie was the answer to all his questions, like he couldn't get close enough— Charlie knew that he was nothing but a screw-up, a school dropout who shirked responsibility, a calloused lech; Draco's need for him was staggering and complicated. But his hand clutching in Charlie's shirt and his clumsy kisses—dear Merlin, was Charlie his first kiss?—were so endearing in their innocence that it didn't frighten Charlie like it should.

Finally, the knowledge that they were expected at breakfast, that he should not encourage a helpless teenager's advances, caught up to him and he pulled away. Draco looked . . . Wow. His cheeks were flushed and his lips parted for breath, and his eyes were glazed over with pleasure, though as awareness set in it was rapidly turning to disappointment and the flush was deepening with embarrassment. Charlie didn't think a kiss from him had ever made anyone look like that before. He felt a heady rush at being the cause of it. And Draco, poor silent boy, was just gazing at him with something resembling worship.

Downstairs. They needed to go downstairs. Still drunk on the kiss, Charlie scooped Draco up and carried him down. Draco made a squeaking noise and flailed his arms, but Charlie just laughed and held onto him. He nearly dropped him because he still felt weak and awful, but he managed. And at the foot of the stairs, he dropped another kiss onto him before he set him on his feet.

"Urk," someone said.

Charlie looked round and found Fred gaping at him.

"Close your mouth before the flies get in," he said jovially. Inside, he was cringing. He hadn't thought anyone would see that. He did not want to have to explain himself to his little brother. How was he supposed to explain why he was kissing a boy who was younger than Fred? In his parents house. Oh Merlin. The glow of that kiss was wearing off, and reality was setting in. He had no idea what he was doing.

"Close yours before Malfoy gets in," Fred retorted with wide eyes.

"Didn't know you were home, Fred."

"A younger brother of mine may have called and said to remove the supplies still in our room, on account of some unexpected company."

"He neglected to mention the identity of the company," George added, gliding into the hallway with a similar wide-eyed look.

"Thinking what I'm thinking, Georgie?"

"Likely so, Fred."

"Revenge will be sweet. Ickle Ronniekins will pay for this."

"So what are you doing here, Charlie? Please don't tell me you're bringing Malfoy home to meet Mum and Dad."

As it happened, "Malfoy" was bristling with indignation, and Charlie wasn't keen on starting a fight or having to do his softly-reassuring act in front of an audience.

"It's a long story. Come on, everyone else is waiting to hear it, too. I'm sure Mum's been waiting breakfast."

Draco was trying to walk beside him with some sense of dignity, but Charlie could see how stiff he was, walking like a marionette on strings.

"Relax," he whispered, laying a hand on his arm. Draco's hand slipped over his, clutching tightly. And thus they walked into the kitchen, assuring that every eye in the room was drawn directly to their joined hands atop Draco's forearm. Draco immediately jerked away from him. It left Charlie feeling slightly bereft, though he'd never admit it. He'd sort of been thinking they'd face the family together.

"Oi, don't get sick on the toast, Ron," Fred said.

"Besides, you should have seen what they were doing—"

Charlie didn't even take his wand out of his pocket, just twitched it a bit to send a Tongue-Tying Curse in George's direction.

Fred took it off for his twin almost immediately, but George still sent a deadly glare in Charlie's direction.

"Ooo, how's it feel, George?" Charlie asked, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Imagine if you couldn't take it off, ever, and then imagine how scared to death you might be—"

Draco punched his shoulder, scowling. Damn, Charlie thought, rubbing it with a wince, he had a surprisingly good arm for a half-starved brat. Draco kept scowling at him, like he was trying to say something. Charlie searched him and saw it burning in his eyes: you don't speak for me.

Charlie was glad. Draco wasn't ready to give up his voice completely. There was some fight in him after all.

"Why don't we all sit down?" Arthur suggested, sounding pleasant. That was Dad's way, though. He always sounded pleasant, even when the world was crashing down around his ears. All the way up to the moment you pushed him too far, and then his anger was cold and deadly. "Charlie, son, we've all been fretting the past two days, so why don't you tell us what happened?"

Mum looked like she'd spent most of the past two days crying. In between naps, Charlie seemed to remember her being in the room checking on him quite a lot. He didn't really relish telling her all this, but everyone from Ginny to Bill, even Harry, was looking at him expectantly. Even Ron's girlfriend, whose name he could never remember—actually, he could never remember if she was Ron's girlfriend, either. Wasn't there some kind of newspaper article about her being Harry's girlfriend a while ago?

He sighed.

"Not much to tell," he said, sinking into a chair and irritably gesturing to Draco to sit beside him. "I was working when they snatched me . . ."

Mum was still leaking around the edges a bit when Charlie stopped talking and dug into his food, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin while Dad squeezed her shoulder.

Harry was looking angry and sad in the way only a hormonal teenager could, but Charlie still felt bad when he heard Harry whisper, "I'm sorry."

It wasn't Harry's fault, and Charlie didn't blame him at all. But since he'd apparently lost his godfather at the beginning of the summer, he probably wouldn't accept that. He was hell-bent on blaming himself for everything bad that happened, seemed like. Charlie's association with Harry, however distant, had technically been the cause of his torture and therefore Harry would beat himself up like any fifteen-year-old would. Charlie figured the only thing he could do about it was act normally around the kid until he realized Charlie didn't hate him.

Ron was staring at Draco like the blond had grown a second head.

"I can't believe it," he pronounced. "Why'd you do it, Malfoy?"

Draco responded with a rude hand gesture. Even though he did it under the table where only Ron, Harry, and Charlie could see, it still set off Mum's detection ability.

"None of that unpleasantness at my table," she declared.

"Mum, you know what he—"

"Ronald Weasley," she said firmly. Ooo, Ronald. That shut him up.

Good. Charlie was hardly ready to go leaping to Draco's defense in front of the whole family. They weren't together, for Merlin's sake. But he'd have to, if it came to it, because Draco couldn't defend himself right now.

"And that goes for you, too, Mr. Malfoy," she said sharply, wiping the smug look off his face and replacing it with something comically surprised.

Charlie nudged him. "Just eat," he said with a smile. "We'll get you some quill and parchment after breakfast."

Chastened by the reminder that hand gestures comprised all of Draco's ability to communicate at the moment, Ron shoved the basket of toast their way, his eyes lowered and his face blazing red. The girl who was apparently not his girlfriend but was named Hermione was smiling at him quite fondly when he did that, Charlie noticed. That whole not-girlfriend thing wasn't going to last for long.

Draco almost refused the basket, but Mum's eyes were still on him, so he took it with bad grace and passed it on to Charlie. Mum sat back in her seat and resumed twisting her napkin in her hands.

"That settles it, Charlie," she said firmly. "I've been saying all along that you shouldn't live so far away—"

Charlie couldn't help the disgusted noise that came out of his mouth.

"And it's too dangerous now," she continued, ignoring him. "They'll be after you. You'll have to stay here with us."

"Over my dead body I'll be staying here," Charlie said. He hated it when his voice got dark and ugly like that. It didn't sound like him. That's why he couldn't stay here, or he would just sound that way all the time. Again.

"Your mum's right," Dad spoke up, looking regretful. "You try to go back to your house, and it might very well be over your dead body. You escaped from them, and they won't forgive you for that, son."

Charlie gaped at them both with disbelief. "No," he said strongly. "Like hell I'm moving back home. Why d'you think I left?"

This was family stuff, he thought dimly, and there were three people in this room who weren't family, but Charlie was seeing red and didn't have the control to politely ask them to leave before he went off on his parents.

As it turned out, he didn't have to.

"If you want him to come back home," Ginny said, standing up, "you'll have to do a damn sight better by him this time." Her voice trembled with a righteous anger. Charlie felt bad. She'd been such a little girl when things had been bad between him and Mum and Dad, and he'd sometimes wondered if she truly knew why they fought.

All of his siblings looked grave, now. They had all let it slip from their minds, buried under several years of peace. But none of them had actually forgotten Mum crying and Dad slamming doors and Charlie punching holes in the wall. Seems like it had affected Ginny more than he'd realized.

Harry looked stunned. Charlie hated to burst his bubble, but the Weasley family wasn't perfect. They might love each other, but that wasn't exactly a guarantee of seeing eye-to-eye. After all, Percy wasn't here, either, was he? Percy, the son after Charlie. Percy, who'd tried so hard to be perfect that he'd forgotten how to be human. Percy, who was so terrified of disappointing their parents that he'd ended up making them cry for a different reason entirely. Charlie hadn't let it all twist him up in knots the way Percy had. He was gay, and they didn't like it, and that was just the way life was. Just because he didn't feel good about living at home didn't mean he had to become bitter and ugly like his younger brother. Percy had hated the way they treated his older brother until he just hated everything about them.

"Ginny, sit down and finish your breakfast," Mum said in a voice that was iron-hard. She didn't want to do this in front of company, either.

"No," Ginny said in an ugly voice.

Harry was the one who was looking alarmed and trying to get her to sit back down. None of her brothers was lifting a finger.

"Ginny, do as your mother says," Dad said, sounding nervous.

"Only after you promise to leave him alone," she said. Was her voice shaking? His little sister had always seemed so fearless . . .

"We will discuss this later," Mum said through clenched teeth.

"No, I'm with Ginny, let's discuss it now," Fred spoke up.

Charlie glared at him. "Who was freaking out that I kissed him a few minutes ago?"

"You what?" Ron choked.

"That's because he's Malfoy, not because he's a guy," Fred protested. "I mean, look at him."

Charlie, despite himself, did. Draco was so stiff with anger that he looked like he was vibrating. His hand was clenched on his fork in a grip like he meant to stab somebody with it.

"Sorry, Fred's just an idiot, don't listen to him," Charlie muttered, trying to pry the fork out of his hand. Draco was shaking his head and stabbing a finger at Charlie's chest. But why would he be angry about Charlie fighting with his parents? "We just used to get in a lot of fights about me being gay, so I moved out, it's not— Ah, who am I kidding? It was miserable. Why are you so upset?"

"Quill," he mouthed at Charlie. "Now."

"Anybody have a quill?" Charlie asked helplessly.

Harry stood up, looking completely dumbfounded, and rummaged in his pocket. "I've got a biro, I think . . ." The Weasley family was familiar with Muggle pens, courtesy of their father. Draco, when Harry attempted to hand it to him, just stared at him.

"It's a self-inking pen," Charlie muttered. Draco snatched it from Harry without even attempting a gesture of gratitude and waited imperiously for someone to give him parchment. George had a folded-up bit in his pocket, and he handed it over. George simply looked curious, which was a nice change of pace from all the anger and disgust in the room.

I saved you for her, Draco scrawled in a messy, rushed hand. My mother wanted— he scratched that out— I was thinking about your mother. I didn't want to see anybody's mum crying because of what I did— he scratched that out as well— I saved you so she'd still have a son, but she doesn't even want you! I can't believe I gave up all of that, I gave up my voice and she doesn't love you

"Hey," Charlie said sharply, cutting Draco off mid-scrawl. "My mum does love me."

Interest piqued by that comment, the twins snatched the parchment away and read it. Draco leapt to his feet in an effort to get it back, his face twisted into a silent snarl, but Charlie held onto him. He could feel Draco's heart pounding in his thin chest, beneath skin flushed with the heat of anger. The parchment went around the table and ended up with Mum. The room was silent but for the noise of Draco's heavy breathing.

Mum read it, and laid it down next to her plate. She met Draco's eyes, and her own were filling with tears.

"Is your mother in danger, then?"

Draco opened his mouth, shook his head violently, then wrenched himself out of Charlie's grip and ran from the room. Before anyone could react, they heard the front door slam shut.

"Dammit," Charlie muttered, feeling weak and quivery from the effort he'd already expended this morning. "I'm going after him." He started to limp toward the door, but Ron and Harry pushed past him.

"We'll get him," Harry said.

"Right," Charlie said dully, watching them go, much quicker than he was capable of at the moment. "Just don't do anything stupid."

He stayed in the doorway, trying to get his emotions under control. He was upset, because they were right about the danger. At least for a while, he would probably have to stay here. And he could feel the seething tension in the house at his back, and the idea that he would be living in the midst of that made him feel sick to his stomach, like he hadn't felt since he was sixteen. He'd dropped out of school and moved to Romania for a reason, dammit, and he didn't want to do this again. Just because a bloke got older it didn't mean that it suddenly stopped hurting when his parents treated him like a mistake. He'd almost rather get kidnapped and tortured by the hellbitch again.

But there was Draco to think about, too. If Charlie went back to Romania right now, he'd be leaving Draco alone with only the Weasley family to care about his well-being, and it was rather obvious that several members of the family did not, in fact, care about his well-being. The romantic feelings didn't even need to figure in—he was attractive and interesting, but he was also way too young, likely terribly spoiled, likely had a huge stick up his butt, and likely was a ridiculous blood purist. Charlie might enjoy kissing him, but he wasn't thinking about staying here to protect him because he was interested in dating him. It had nothing to do with that. It was just that after giving up his family and his voice to save Charlie's life, Draco was owed something better than being abandoned in a semi-hostile environment. Even if Charlie didn't have any concern for his own safety, he ought to stay until Draco had a plan.

His eyes were caught by movement outside, and he had to turn his head to muffle laughter. Draco had been caught by the boys and was being marched back toward the house; all three faces were as grim as if he was being escorted to the firing squad.

". . . you know, he's my brother, and I don't even care about that, but for Merlin's sake not with you, you bastard, so just, you know…" Ron appeared to be struggling for words.

"Stay away from him?" Harry suggested, his hand tight on Draco's arm.

Draco's mouth was open and his chest was heaving. He was clearly trying to say something, and Charlie immediately wanted to leap to his defense. How could they be cruel enough to bully a guy who couldn't even defend himself? But he really had to get a handle on that impulse. Draco had to figure something out for himself.

And then there was that niggling feeling that they had a reason to hate him. It was obvious that there was a long history between them. Charlie might not know what had happened, but he should at least consider the possibility that Draco deserved the way they treated him. It wasn't like the Malfoy family was known for its compassion and moral standards.

But . . . He'd left them, hadn't he? Maybe he hadn't been thinking through the ramifications of it, but he'd chosen to leave and he'd accepted the loss of something important by doing so. Didn't that mean anything to these two?

"I'm a big boy," Charlie drawled from the doorway, causing them all to start in guilty-looking surprise. "I can handle myself."

Harry and Draco both flushed silently, but Ron's big mouth never quit.

"Well, yeah, but Charlie, he's a total git. You don't know him—"

"Don't be an idiot, Ron," Charlie said mildly. "Or rather, I guess you can't help that, but you can shut it and make sure nobody knows. You obviously don't know him, either. Now, d'you think everybody could just go back inside and eat breakfast in peace? Great. In you go."

"Charlie—"

"What did I just say about keeping your gob shut, Ron? Thank you."

Ron and Harry both brushed past him brusquely, the very picture of wounded dignity. But then Draco hung back, standing on the front stoop with his arms crossed over his chest and one pale eyebrow raised. "Wounded dignity" was likely not his middle name, but only because the Malfoys had some family name they needed to give him.

Charlie was not going to stay in this house indefinitely when it was filled up with prickly, angsting teenagers. Well, he didn't really have a choice about it, but he was not about to take it gracefully.

"I'm not stupid, you know" he snapped irritably. "You might be gorgeous, but if they all think you're a git, then you're probably a git. Your shit smells just as bad as anybody else's, and you'd better remember that if you want to survive the situation you're in. So why don't you wipe that look off your face and go inside?"

Priceless. The dumbfounded, slack-jawed look on his face was completely priceless. Charlie snickered on his way back into the kitchen. But something inside him was cringing. He felt like he'd never done anything so intimate as sleep—in pain, restlessly but innocently sleeping—beside Draco. It seemed like the moment they'd left the bedroom, it had broken some kind of spell. In there, he could pretend this was something that might actually work. Out here, it was completely ludicrous.

"Should've just kept him locked in there with me," Charlie mumbled as he sat back down. Draco rejoined the table as well. It was eerie, he thought as he munched on his toast. He'd never known the Weasley family to stop talking. Not even in their sleep. But suddenly—they were silent. Just eating with their eyes on their plates.

He stood up so abruptly that Draco jumped, and the noisy crash of his plate into the sink made Mum close her eyes and shudder.

But then her eyes opened, her shoulders straightened, and something came over her. Charlie didn't know what it was, or what to call it, but he'd seen it before, when he'd been little. He and Bill had been jumping off the roof with their brooms and trying to catch themselves midair, and Bill hadn't. He'd hit the ground. And Dad had started shouting that his back was broken, and Charlie had started screaming and Percy had been sobbing. And Mum . . . Mum had squared her shoulders, taken a deep breath, and drawn her wand. Five minutes later, he and Bill had been catching garden gnomes.

"Everyone has chores to do this morning," Mum said. "Ginny, you and Hermione are getting the laundry done and you boys are working in the garden. Bill's going to work, so that leaves . . . Mr. Malfoy, I'll want your help with the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen."

Wide gray eyes looked up at her in blank shock.

"Come on," she said briskly, gesturing at him with both hands. "Everyone helps out around here. You ate on those dishes, you can help wash them."

Draco tried to speak, but Mum just kept gesturing at him, so he got to his feet and walked to the sink as if he was under Imperius. Ron started laughing into his glass of pumpkin juice, but Mum's glare could have cut through diamond.

"I won't have it, Ronald Bilius Weasley," she said, very quietly.

Ron went pale and hurried to bring his dishes to the sink.

"Charlie, dear, if you're feeling up to—"

"I'm going for a walk," Charlie said, trying not to snarl, and stalked out of the house as fast as his legs would take him. He couldn't stay here. He was going to go starkers.