Part 3: A Complicated Walk
Normally, Charlie would be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Bill. He would nudge him hard, using his bodyweight to knock Bill into the slush-filled grass that grew in pathetic clumps along the road. Although they only had a good ten minutes to walk clear across Ottery St. Catchpole, they would waste five of those minutes tussling: Bill would grab of handful of slush and mud and stuff it down the back of Charlie's coat. Charlie would put Bill in a headlock, and they would eventually end up with their backs on the gravel, breathing hard.
The walk to the Lovegoods' house should have been fun.
Instead, the two walked far enough apart that Percy, the twins, Ron, and even little Ginny could fit between them if they all stood sideways. Charlie risked a quick glance at Bill. He stood out tremendously against the faded winter background. Mostly, due to his hair.
All the Weasleys had red hair, but Bill's was something different; there was something vitally Bill about it. It curled around the collar of his coat, flopped over his windburned ears, and brushed against his eyelashes. Charlie remembered what it felt like to have that distinct Bill hair tickling his face and tangled in his fingers; it was slightly coarse and smelled of fresh parchment and mint. Until last night, Charlie didn't realize how much hair had to do with kissing.
Charlie felt himself blush for what seemed like the thousandth time that morning; the hot feeling in his cheeks was beginning to make him feel quite put out. It really wasn't fair. Bill was the one who kissed him; therefore, Bill should be the one to be feeling all muddled, not him.
"What are you sulking about?" Bill might have asked had it been any other morning. Then maybe Charlie could tell him, or show him, or do anything besides turn red. Instead, he gave Charlie and odd look, as if it were Charlie who was doing something dodgy.
Charlie glowered at the ground, which was entirely unsympathetic. Spotting a galleon-sized rock that lay so offensively on the ground before him, Charlie kicked it hard. His shoe must have gotten under it, because the rock went up straight up into the air. Charlie's eyes followed the rock as it arched overhead.
It landed right on Bill's head.
"Ow!" Bill yelped, clutching the top of his head.
Charlie winced in sympathy and embarrassment. "Er, sorry about that," he said, feeling immensely foolish. If only that rock hadn't lain there so temptingly, then he wouldn't have felt compelled to kick it. If only Bill hadn't frustrated him in the first place. Stupid rock. Stupid Bill. Charlie was no longer feeling very sympathetic.
"You should watch where you're going," he said rudely.
Bill paused incredulously, his hand falling away from the bump that was forming. "Watch where I'm going?" he repeated, outraged. "So that what—I won't walk underneath a bloody rock?"
Chin lifted, Charlie replied obstinately, "Well if you had been watching you could have moved,"
He felt deliciously satisfied to see Bill's face burn red with anger. "What—I—that makes no sense!" Bill spluttered.
"At least I can form full sentences," Charlie said, feeling the urge to stick out his tongue. Before he could stop himself, he his tongue darted out. Bill's eye widened, mouth falling open so that Charlie could see Bill's own pink tongue. Suddenly, Charlie felt quite uncomfortable again, when he remembered exactly what else a tongue could be used for. Who would have thought that the lazy swipe of a tongue on his bottom lip could feel so good? Charlie licked his bottom lip. It somehow wasn't the same.
With a shake of his head and a faint growl of frustration, Bill stomped ahead, leaving Charlie standing alone on the road.
Why did kissing have to be so complicated?
Compared to the Burrow, the Lovegood house was quite small. There was a garden in the front of the house, with silver forks sticking up from the dirt as if planted there, but no visible garden gnomes. Charlie observed this all with a perfunctory glance; he was much more interested in the lean figure walking in front of him.
Charlie followed Bill up the walkway, and up the three small steps that led to the porch. Before Bill could reach up and knock, Charlie bit his lip in a moment of indecision. With a determined set in his jaw, he captured Bill's slim wrist, seeker-quick. Somehow, with his fingers encircled around that wrist, no snitch in the world could be more important.
Bill stilled. Slowly, he turned to face Charlie, looking at the hand attached to his wrist with a strange expression.
Blowing upward so that his fringe moved restlessly, Charlie muttered, "Sorry about before."
Bill, from his two-inch vantage, looked down at Charlie. He smiled wryly. "What's the use of a hard head if I'm not going to use it, right?" he joked, knocking lightly on his head to demonstrate. He winced as he accidentally tapped the bump.
Immediately, Charlie stepped closer to examine the wound. One hand continued to hold the wrist, the other deftly probed through the thick hair. He stood on his toes as Bill tilted his head down; the smell of parchment of mint was making him lightheaded. Shaking his head to clear it, Charlie suddenly remembered an old trick of their mum's. Gently, he blew on the swollen area, lips puckered. He had the oddest impulse to brush those lips against the sensitive area. When he heard Bill soft intake of breath, he stepped away awkwardly. The wrist slipped out of his fingers.
"Er, right. Mrs. Lovegood should be waiting," he said, jerking his hand toward the door.
Bill nodded. "We should probably knock," he agreed. With a confident set of his shoulders, he made his way to the door.
Author's Notes: This is a short chapter, but I hope you liked it. Thanks so much to dancing in daydreams and luca for reviewing! I'm not really sure how old they're supposed to be in this story. In my mind, Bill is about fourteen and Charlie is maybe thirteen. Even though I'm pretty sure that makes no sense according to the HP Lexicon. :) Again, I really appreciate reviews, so don't be shy with them.