[summary] Charlie&Draco [Circus!AU] Charlie dips his hand into his pocket, fingers grasping the few coins held within. He hopes it'll be enough.

A/N — I've been reading The Night Circus, which inspired this (in that I wanted to write about a circus. Haven't finished the book yet, so there's no spoilers :P) I might continue this at a later point, either as fanfiction or original, because I do have some ideas for where it could go next, but I really want to finish the collections and MCs I've already got going first.

The title is from the quote 'The circus leaves a sweet memory' from Fernando Botero.

And thank you, Sam, for beta'ing :D

(written for the Hunger Games competition on HPFC)

[2400]

Charlie dips his hand into his pocket, fingers grasping the few coins held within. He hopes it'll be enough. He doesn't have time to go home and search for more.

Already, a long queue is forming leading towards the ticket booth, moving forwards slowly. The people waiting all chatter excitedly with their friends or families, some talking of mundane things, but most giving wild speculations of what they might find within the tents.

Charlie listens in to a few, hearing of acrobats who can perform feats beyond your imagination, of magicians who can do real magic, of wild beasts captured in exotic lands. Nervous energy courses through his body, a mix of excitement and anticipation that makes him want to run until it's all been released from his veins. But that would cost his place in line.

He settles for shaking his leg nervously, much to the annoyance of those near him, and chewing through the skin of his lip. The queue isn't moving fast enough, but no one else seems to mind. Perhaps it would be better had he brought someone with him, but Charlie isn't sure he has enough to cover his own ticket, much less an additional ticket for one of his younger siblings. And Bill had already started school.

When he reaches the front of the queue, he looks up at the young woman standing behind the counter, and holds out his handful of coins. She stares down at him, eyebrow raised, as he tips them onto the wooden counter in front of her.

"One ticket, please," he says, when she continues to stare at him, and only then does she begin counting.

"Where're your parents?" she asks passively, eyes still on his coins.

"At home."

"Alright," she says, before Charlie can begin to panic, thinking maybe he needed an adult with him. She stops with her finger on the last coin, glancing quickly at the hand painted sign behind her:

£5 ADULTS

£3 CHILDREN

"The price went up last week," she says, and Charlie feels his heart fall to his stomach. "Do you have another fifty pence?"

Charlie's eyes start to sting, and he clenches his jaw to keep tears at bay, shaking his head vigorously.

She purses her lips, staring down at him for a moment, and then sighs. "Just don't tell anyone," she says, leaning over and handing him a single ticket. His grin is so wide it hurts his cheeks, and her face softens as she waves him through the gate of the temporary fence.

And, finally, Charlie is in the circus.

.oOo.

There are so many tents to choose from that Charlie doesn't know where to start. He would love to try some of the food — buttery popcorn, toffee apples bigger than his fist, delicious looking cakes and sweets — but he doesn't think they were included in the price of the ticket, and he has no money left.

His stomach rumbles at all the amazing smells, but he ignores it in favour of the rest of the circus.

Charlie's never been to one before, but even he knows this is different. He's seen the single, sorry looking tents of other circuses that have come into town, and they don't even compare.

The main tent, and where most people are headed, sits right in the centre, with a circle of tents around it, giving the appearance of a clock face. The space between is filled with food carts and wooden podiums with solitary performers, and signs hinting at what's in the tents Charlie can't quite see.

He decides to do a full lap of the circus without entering any of the tents, just to see what they all contain. He knows he can't stay as long as he would like, so he can't see everything. And he definitely can't save the best until last and risk not having the time to see it.

But all of the tents look so interesting that Charlie wishes he could spend the entire day here. But his mum's expecting him back for dinner.

He dismisses the main tent instantly — he would love to see the attraction, but already there are so many people crowded within that Charlie's a little apprehensive to enter.

The third tent, unlike the others, completely lacks a hand painted wooden sign. How could he decide whether or not he wanted to see the attraction if he didn't know what it was? So, Charlie pushes back the heavy canvas of the doorway and peeks inside.

There are no patrons within, and the lighting is so minimal Charlie can barely see anything. Heart fluttering in his chest as he wonders whether he's actually allowed inside, Charlie steps through.

As soon as the curtain falls back into place behind him, the noise of the rest of the circus is gone. Not just drowned out or muffled, but completely absent. It leaves his ears ringing. But in the time it takes him to get used to the lack of noise, Charlie's eyes have begun to adjust.

Turning behind him, he sees the wooden sign propped up against one of the supporting beams of the tent, the white letters giving off a faint light.

DRAGONS

Charlie's eyes widen and his breath catches audibly in his throat. Dragons? Surely not? Even Charlie, at nearly eleven years of age, knows dragons don't exist. But, nevertheless, his interest is piqued.

He turns back to face the interior of the tent. There's a large stage right in the centre, taking up most of the room, though it's completely empty, and two rows of chairs circle it all the way around.

Disappointment wells within him. Maybe the dragons — or whatever they were passing off as dragons, Charlie thinks skeptically — weren't here yet.

But, even so, Charlie doesn't feel alone.

Knowing full well he should at the very least be afraid of getting caught somewhere he shouldn't be, Charlie decides to take a closer look at the stage. Maybe there's something underneath it? But no, the metal supports underneath are all exposed, allowing him to see the rows of chairs on the opposite side of the circle.

A muffled sound behind him causes Charlie to freeze where he is, bent over with his hands pressing into the dirt floor. There's no point hiding, whoever it is will no doubt have already seen him, but maybe …

The noise sounds again, like a whisper of fabric, though softer than the thick canvas of the tent.

He stands slowly and, without turning, wipes his hands on the thighs of his jeans, his sweat making the dirt cling to his skin.

He spins quickly and — nothing.

Taking a step forward, thinking perhaps he'd missed something, Charlie squints at the tent wall.

"You aren't supposed to be in here," a small voice says from behind him, and Charlie lets out an embarrassing squeak as he spins to face whoever it is.

"I'm sorry, I —" Charlie's words get caught somewhere in his throat, and he emits an odd garbled sound. Standing atop the stage, arms folded across his chest, is a young boy, barely older than four. But that's not what's caused him to freeze.

The boy's arms are covered in iridescent silver scales, disappearing under the sleeves of his shirt and reappearing around the collar, stopping around his jawline. There's a few odd patches of scales on his face, too; mostly around his hairline, and his eyes are such a bright silver they almost glow.

"Where are your parents?" Charlie finds himself repeating the words from the girl at the ticket booth. The boy just purses his lips, staring at Charlie through narrowed eyes.

The soft rustling sounds again, something moving behind the boy, and Charlie desperately wants to circle behind him to see what it is, but the child is still staring at him.

"I'm Charlie," he says instead. It's easier to talk to the boy if he ignores the scales and eyes. After all, he's only four years old; practically a baby.

The boy tips his head to the side and takes a small step closer; Charlie has to clench the muscles of his legs to stop himself taking an involuntary step back.

"I — I can go back to the rest of the circus," Charlie stutters. "I won't tell anyone you're here."

"You're not supposed to be here," the boy says. "I'm allowed."

Charlie swallows thickly; this boy's about the same age as his youngest brother, and Ron certainly doesn't have this affect on people. But then, Charlie doesn't think any of his siblings could speak this well at such a young age. And there's the eyes, he thinks. "Alright," Charlie says slowly. "I won't tell anyone I was here."

The boy thinks about that for a moment, and then shakes his head. "I will."

"Please do not do that."

"Mama says no one's to come in here," he says, sounding so reasonable Charlie almost wants to agree that yes, this boy should tell his mother someone was here.

"But that doesn't mean you have to tell her I was here," he says instead.

"But Mama said —"

"Yes, she said no one's supposed to come in here." Charlie clears his throat, thinking quickly. "That — that doesn't mean you have to tell her that someone was, though." The boy tips his head to the side again, confusion pulling his mouth down into a frown. "Your ma — your mum said no one's supposed to be here, but that doesn't mean you have to tell her someone was here," Charlie repeats.

The boy shakes his head. "I won't lie to Mama."

"It's not lying," Charlie tries to reason. "You're just … not telling all the truth."

"That's lying!"

"What — what if we make a trade?" Charlie suggests. "You do this for me, and I do something for you."

"I don't want anything from you," the boy says.

"First of all, that's a little rude." The boy just rolls his eyes, and Charlie can feel his expression twisting into his mother's patented look of disapproval before he can school his features. "And you don't have to ask for something straight away. I'll — I'll just owe you a favour. And you can ask for it whenever you want."

This seems to capture the boys attention, and Charlie is beginning to think he may have made a mistake when he jumps the stage. Before Charlie can rush forward to catch him, silver wings — actual wings — spread out from behind him, catching the air and letting the boy lower himself gently to the ground.

He's absolutely tiny. Definitely smaller than Ron, Charlie realises, as the boy stares up at him with wide eyes. "What kind of favour."

Charlie swallows. "Anything you want."

"Whenever I want it?" Charlie can only nod. The boy grins at that, showing oddly pointed teeth, and Charlie feels dread grow within his stomach.

"I'm Draco," he says, holding out a small hand. Not knowing what else to do, Charlie shakes it.

His skin is too cool to the touch, not warm enough to feel living, and dry even in the areas not covered in scales. It doesn't feel like a person's hand, Charlie gets the distinct feeling this boy is something other — as if the wings hadn't been a dead giveaway, he thinks scornfully.

"It's nice to meet you, Draco," Charlie says eventually. It hasn't exactly been nice, per se, but the boy was certainly interesting. And Charlie thinks it would be a little rude to just outright ask, 'What are you!?', so he mimics the phrase he's heard both his parents use countless times before.

"Of course it is," Draco says haughtily. "I'm giving you a favour."

"And I'm going to do a favour for you in return," Charlie tries to reason.

Draco rolls his eyes again, and says, "Not right now, you aren't." And then he folds his arms across his chest, tipping his head back to glare up at Charlie. From his brother, the expression would look quite comical, but Charlie feels actual fear now. "You should go. Before Mama gets back."

Charlie nods and hurries over to the entrance of the tent; when he turns to look back at the boy, Draco is gone.

Pushing the fabric aside, Charlie is immediately assaulted once again by the noise and smells of the circus. A woman and her two irritable children nearly knock him over, and she scolds him over her shoulder as she disappears into the crowd.

The circus no longer holds the appeal it once had. Or rather, the entirety of the circus no longer holds Charlie's interest. But the one tent behind him, with the plaque missing from its entrance, feels like it's trying to pull him back inside.

He makes his way back to the entrance gate. The sun is already a lot further across the sky, the shadows much longer than they had been when Charlie had first arrived, and the walk home is a long one.

He casts one last look at the boy's tent before he leaves. It doesn't seem to be drawing anyone else's attention; they're all too distracted by the wonders the circus holds to know that the most magical thing is currently hidden away from them.

.oOo.

When his mum asks about the circus, Charlie only gives vague answers. He can see the confusion in her eyes — after all, he'd talked of nothing else since it had first arrived in town last week — but she doesn't push him. Charlie can be very stubborn when he wants to be, and she knows he won't answer.

She offers to take him back on the weekend, with his younger siblings, but Charlie declines. The circus leaves a couple days later anyway, despite all the posters saying it would stay the entire fortnight, so he couldn't have gone back even if he'd wanted to.

He thought he would be disappointed when it left, or even regret at not seeing the circus in its entirety, but that feeling never comes.

His mind keeps drifting back to the boy, though — when he's doing his chores, or playing with his siblings, or trying to sleep. Thoughts of where the boy might be now; of what he might be doing, hidden away from the world.

He still doesn't even know what the boy is.

But somehow, Charlie knows he will see Draco again.