Author's Note: I am actually pretty pleased with this chapter, I hope no one is disappointed.
Chapter 4: Not What I Need
If asked, Charlie Weasley would say that there were very few things that would ever surprise him; he worked with dragons for Merlin's sake. But sure, there were things left in the realm of possibility that if they were to occur, he would legitimately be surprised. His father could become bored with Muggle devices, Albus Dumbledore might swear off lemon drops, or perhaps Professor Snape would wash his hair. Anything was technically possible. Hell, a fifteen month old baby survived the killing curse. Surprising, yes, but time had allowed that fact to slowly become a part of his accepted reality.
However, seeing a not quite 16 year old version, 'How the fuck did he get in here?', of said Boy-Who-Lived dancing provocatively in a Muggle club was well outside the realm of possibility. So, before attempting to work this fact into his reality, Charlie decided a closer visual confirmation was required.
As Charlie weaved his way through the dance floor with more grace than one would expect from his muscular frame, he reassured himself that Headmaster Dumbledore would of course be keeping a close eye on Harry Potter. He would never allow Harry to leave the safety of his warded home and wander the club scene in Muggle London. As a matter of fact, in all likelihood, the Headmaster would be making some personal visits to Harry Potter, being that he must be suffering from the loss of his Godfather. The Headmaster would never allow him to wallow in his grief alone. From what he knew about the Muggles that Harry lived with, they were not likely to be very supportive, so someone would have to be checking in with Harry.
When he was about 10 feet from the dark-haired teenager that could not possibly be Harry Potter, Charlie slowed his approach almost to a halt and fell into a lazy rhythm with the music. He blended in well with the rest of the dancers and surreptitiously glanced at the boy who yes indeed was wearing glasses that looked disturbingly similar to Harry Potter's in both their color and non-flattering round shape. The teenager's sweaty hair was falling in his face and his eyes were closed, so the last two discerning features were still hidden. 'I swear I saw green eyes when I first noticed him, though.' A few beats later, the mystery dancer opened his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. Brilliant green eyes were instantly visible and in the moment before the teen smoothed some hair down over his forehead, in what appeared to be a habitual motion, a familiar lightning bolt scar could be seen over the dancer's right brow.
'Oh Harry, what is going on?' was the next thought to run through Charlie's mind. Charlie could not claim to know Harry well. They had spent very little time in each other's company and Ron was not exactly known for his detailed correspondence, even when it concerned descriptions of his friends. However, the Harry that Charlie was familiar with was, while fiery and temperamental at times, almost sweet in his naiveté. Charlie's constructed version of Harry Potter would no doubt run head on into trouble; but he would have no clue how to get into a club while underage and would certainly not be dancing in a way that was practically offering himself up to a man twice his age.
Charlie found himself uncharacteristically rambling mentally, 'Does Dumbledore know what he is up to; hell, does my mother, or even Ron for that matter, know? It can't possibly be safe for him to be wandering this far away from the wards at his Muggle relatives' home. Voldemort is active and obviously not being secretive about his movements anymore, if his actions at the Ministry are anything to go by.'
Having what could prove to be a very personal conversation in the middle of a club would not be the best course of action, so Charlie decided to bide his time, keep an eye on Harry, then intercept him when he left the club.
Working with dragons had made Charlie exceptionally adept at situational awareness, so he did not have any problem remaining unnoticed and keeping a reasonable distance from Harry while still being mindful of his wherabouts.
Another fifteen minutes or so had passed when he saw Harry being led off of the dance floor. With a sense of foreboding, Charlie followed the pair to the back half of the club.
Harry, as had become the pattern, found himself being led to the quieter, slightly more private part of the club. As usual, that small flicker of self-loathing flashed through Harry's mind, but he didn't dare voice his opinion for fear of Michael becoming bored with him. He desperately needed the comfort that something as simple as proximity to another person - that acknowledged his existence - could provide. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to keep someone close to him. 'Everyone always leaves me at some point whether because they are afraid of me, they get bored because I am not all that they hoped for, or they die. Even Sirius would have left if he hadn't died. As soon as he realized I was not James and never could be, he would have been done with me'.
Once they reached what had seemed to become 'their' nook, Harry was thrown a bit unbalanced by the turn of events. Instead of whispering, kissing, and groping him, Michael turned him to face the wall and began kissing the back of his next. When a hand reached around and unsnapped Harry's trousers, he tensed up. When a hand then made the attempt to push his trousers and boxers down, the apathetic fog that Harry always seemed to lose himself in fell away as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on his head. Harry spun around and gasped, "What are you doing?"
In an attempt to be placating, Michael smiled and tipped his head to the side, ran his hands down Harry's arms in a mockery of comfort, and replied, "Harry, don't you want to be closer? Just relax.."
"I'm not that stupid, thanks though" Harry croaked out. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry when he brought his hands up and swung his arms out to shake himself out of Michael's grasp. "I, I have to go."
Not giving Michael a chance to respond, Harry stepped out of the alcove, refastened his trousers, and walked hastily out of the club.
Once outside, he lit a cigarette and made it about ten feet from the club. As he exhaled, he felt a hand close on his bicep. Harry spun around, preparing to tell Michael to 'fuck off!', abut instead of Michael's thin body and dark features, he was met with a broad chest and a heavily freckled face topped with a shock of red hair.
Harry stopped short, took another drag from his cigarette, and as he exhaled groaned out, "This is not what I fucking need right now."
Charlie merely raised his eyebrows and prepared for a long night.