Written For: The Hunger Games: Fanfic Style III - Round 1
Prompts Used: Word - Unexpected ; Dialogue - "I'm not so sure about this." / "Just trust me." ; Pairing - Draco/Charlie ; Genre - Hurt/comfort ; Emotion - Jealousy
Warnings: Swearing... Emotional Trauma
Word Count: 3,656
The Line Between Wounded Beasts and Broken Humans
"He's really not a bad kid," Kingsley Shacklebolt murmured as he let his forehead rest against the cool wood of the small café table. His entire body seemed to be crying out for a break; his shoulders were slumped in exhaustion, and he was holding his mug of coffee in front of him in a very loose grip. "Just traumatized and hurting."
Charlie Weasley, sitting across from the exhausted man, was looking at his scone intently. He bit back the urge to tell Kingsley that everyone was traumatized and hurting. No one can go through a war without becoming damaged in some way; no one can escape the battlefield without damage. But, he held his tongue, keeping the silence, not wanting to break the peace he had found with this man by words that weren't thought out.
Charley and Kingsley had been coming to this little café, in muggle London, together ever since the war ended. It had started out when the two of them ran into each other on the muggle streets, both wanting some reprieve from the insanity of the wizarding world, and had continued every Tuesday afternoon since. Sometimes, they would talk about their current struggles, with Kingsley trying to regain order in the Ministry and Charlie trying to repair relationships between multiple different species that had fought against each other during the war as well as constantly Flooing back to Romania to maintain his work at the Dragon Sanctuary. Sometimes, they talked about their personal lives—those conversations rarely lasted very long as neither of them did much outside of work. Sometimes, they simply sat in silence, just trying to recover from the weeks' worth of craziness that they had just endured.
However, no matter what they talked about, they always tried to help wherever they could, trying to keep each other decently sane. Their efforts kept the unexpected and unconventional friendship alive.
"He's really not a bad kid," Kingsley Shacklebolt murmured as he let his forehead rest against the cool wood of the small café table. His entire body seemed to be crying out for a break; his shoulders were slumped in exhaustion, and he was holding his mug of coffee in front of him in a very loose grip. "Just traumatized and hurting.", his calculative eyes watching as Kingsley lifted his head, a mix of emotions displayed on his face—relief, reluctance, worry, exhaustion—and he stared at Charlie for a moment, both of them silent again.
"He's not…" Kingsley started, pausing awkwardly with a grimace. "He's not easy. Lashes out, mostly verbally, but sometimes physically as well, and will go into unresponsive states." Kingsley let out a deep sigh. "I don't know if you could handle him on top of everything else you are doing."
Charlie didn't break the eye contact. "Kingsley. He sounds like a wounded beast, just caged and scared. I can help him." His words were strong; it was clear that Charlie was sure about what he was saying.
"I'm not so sure about this," Kingsley said, a look of discomfort flickering in his eyes. When it seemed like he was going to say something more, Charlie cut in quickly.
"Just trust me," he said, the tone of his voice raising a notch. "This is what I know how to do."
Still apprehensive, Kingsley sighed and took a gulp of his slightly cold coffee, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand before turning all of his attention back to Charlie again. "I'll take you to meet him tomorrow," he said, his shoulders still slumped, but there was an air about him that seemed lighter, more relieved and relaxed. "Unless you start having second thoughts, I'll see you at the Home at noon."
-\-
After the war, there was a lot of confusion and controversy on what to do with the Death Eaters and their families. A lot of people wanted the whole lot to be sent to Azkaban, left to live out the rest of their miserable lives in the cold. A small amount of people wanted all of them killed, but that idea was quickly shut down by Kingsley. The group that won, however, was the group that wanted to give everyone a chance.
Kingsley took the idea of reformation and ran with it, setting everything up as best he could. The Death Eaters that were willing would be sent to homes and workplaces where they would be closely supervised by an Auror and their host. Magic would be somewhat restricted with unbreakable anklets, preventing the wearer from doing magic—excluding the simple, household and basic charms as well as basic defense spells—without the permission of their host or Auror guard.
Some people, like Narcissa Malfoy, who was working at St Mungo's, had lesser amounts of supervision, based on their crimes and actions during the war, while others, like Lucius Malfoy, who was working for Ollivander, had much stricter regulations against them.
The Death Eaters that wanted nothing to do with the reformation act were sent to Azkaban. The Carrows chose to go to the prison, making it very clear that they would never work for a society that allowed mudblood scum to live.
The children, however, were a lot harder to place. As most of them couldn't go with their parents, they ended up in wizarding homes. Andromeda and Ted Tonks took on the Greengrass sisters, Professor McGonagall opened her home up to Theodore Nott, and many other homes were opened up to multiple other kids and young adults.
The ones who were left over were sent to the Home. It was run by Aurors, mostly, so it wasn't the coziest of places, but it wasn't awful either. Set in a remodeled Number 12 Grimmauld Place, it was run a bit like an in-between home. Each child had the ability to volunteer or work at a number of secure places, but the set-up wasn't ideal—it was cramped, and each kid or young adult needed a stronger, healthier relationship to cope with what had happened. The Home just wasn't enough.
Kingsley was doing everything he could to get these kids into families, but there were only so many places for them to go, especially since not everyone believed they deserved a chance.
Charlie stuck his hands in his pockets after knocking on the front door of the Home, a little anxious to meet the wounded animal he had promised to look after. The door opened, and Kingsley welcomed him into the home.
It was a little strange for Charlie to see the man outside their small café meetings, but he still greeted him warmly. Almost immediately, Kingsley escorted him up to the topmost floor of the house, leading him to the nearest door.
Without saying anything in preparation to Charlie, Kingsley lightly rapped his knuckles against the wood, sighing when he heard no response. "He's almost always like this," he murmured before opening the door.
The room inside seemed to all be variations of the color grey, except the green blanket that laid over the bed. It was simple. It had a bed, a bedside, a desk with a chair, a wardrobe, and a bookshelf. The bookshelf was mostly full, but all of the books were covered in a light layer of dust, and the wardrobe doors were ajar, letting Charlie see that almost nothing hung inside. In the corner, hidden behind the bed, was Draco Malfoy.
He was curled up, with his knees to his chest and arms covering his head, wearing simple, grey sweatpants and an oversized tee-shirt. Charlie suspected that the shirt should have fit him, but he was so bone thin that it looked like he was drowning in the material.
"Mr. Malfoy," Kingsley said cautiously, easing himself onto the unmade bed. "I've got Charlie Weasley with me. You might have heard about him. He is usually in Romania, working at a sanctuary for dragons, but he's been spending time here to help with species relations. He was thinking that maybe it would be a good idea for you to go spend some time with him, maybe learn a few things."
Kingsley was kind in his explanations, but it was no surprise to Charlie that Draco remained unresponsive.
With an intent gaze, Charlie went slowly forward until he was only about a meter away. He then knelt down, keeping each movement as gently and careful as possible, which wasn't hard for him as he had spent many hours around skittish dragons that required the same treatment.
"Hello Draco," Charlie said, his voice soft and soothing, sounding different than any other interactions he held with humans.
Draco's head snapped up at his name, his grey eyes dull and rimmed red as they met Charlie's. But, they were wide with something, too. If Charlie had to guess, it would be either fear, or surprise by being addressed as Draco.
"May I call you Draco?"
The younger wizard's face melted into something akin to relief before hardening, eyes remaining ever dull, into a sneer. "Fuck off," he snarled. Charlie watched as each thin remnant of muscle on Draco's body simultaneously tightened, but he held his ground. Like most wild animals, Draco expected Charlie to back off, to instinctively flee like the majority of people would, but Charlie knew better than to do so in this situation.
Instead, Charlie let his features relax into a soft smile, and he shifted into a more comfortable position on the floor. "Mr. Malfoy seems too formal for me, I'm not really a formal guy, but you seem pretty adamant that I don't call you Draco, so I guess Mr. Malfoy it'll be," he said kindly as Kingsley stood up to leave. It was clear that Charlie had enough control to handle Draco. "I really don't mind what you call me. Charlie works quite well."
Draco was a little shocked, to say the least. It was visible in the way his sneer slowly slipped from his lips and how his shoulders relaxed, only slightly, to rest against the wall. "I'll stick with Weasley, thanks," he snapped, but there was less bite to his words this time around. Charlie couldn't help but smile.
-\-
Charlie's work with Draco was slow. Everyday, for about three weeks, he would go to the Home and sit with Draco in the corner of his room, talking softly and about nothing too harsh. Draco rarely said anything, especially for the first week, unless it was to tell Charlie to "go fuck himself," or something along those lines. Charlie didn't mind. He could feel how broken Draco was, and, while he knew that the other twenty or so kids in the Home were similarly broken, he actually felt like he could help.
So, he saw him everyday, watching as everyday Draco slowly relaxed from a tightly curled up ball into an almost listless slump against the wall.
Charlie visited for at least an hour, though sometimes stayed as long as four, depending on how everything else in his life was going. His friends in Romania had told him that he could take some time off, and he had done so much diplomatic work between species that most of those problems had calmed down, so it was easy for him to justify spending more time with Draco.
The first time Draco physically attacked him was at the end of week one. Charlie, who had been talking about using gifts from dragons as potion ingredients, had carelessly placed his hand on Draco's arm. Before he really had time to react, Draco was on top of him, pinning him to the floor, his forearm pushing into Charlie's throat. He had growled, "Don't touch me," but quickly scampered back into his ball against the wall, his muscles tight and his breathing hard.
The next time Charlie touched him was at the end of week two. Almost the exact same thing had happened, except this time Draco's eyes were filled with fear rather than anger. The younger wizard used the same words, "Don't touch me," afterwards, but the words came out stilted and uncomfortable.
Now, at the end of week three, Charlie walked into the Home, surprised to see Draco sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea set gingerly between his hands. It was the first time Charlie had seen him out of the room, which was a nice sight.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy," Charlie said with a kind smile, sitting down in the seat beside the younger wizard, his movements still slow and deliberate.
Draco murmured something incoherent, dipping his head down to taste his tea, grimacing at how hot it was.
"You'll need to repeat that. I'm afraid I didn't catch what you said," Charlie said softly, leaning his forearms on the table and looking at Draco intently.
"Just call me Draco," he murmured, only slightly louder, bringing his eyes to meet Charlie's. For the first time in the last three weeks, they weren't dull. They were still rimmed in red, but they also had an energy to them that Charlie had never seen, not even when Draco was angry. The Weasley couldn't help but grin.
"Alright then, Draco. Is your tea good?" he asked, and right when Draco was about to respond, a new voice cut into the conversation.
"It better be fucking delicious," a shrill voice cut in, sending Draco back into a tightened state, his eyes down on his tea. "I made it. Would you like some?"
Charlie glanced up, laying his eyes on a girl that held her shoulders strong and her chin, to her slightly squished face, high. "If it wouldn't be too much of a bother," he replied, keeping his tone cautious. She wasn't a wounded animal like Draco, Charlie could just tell by the way she stood and spoke, so he was less sure of how to act.
The girl rolled her eyes. "It's tea, not trouble," she said loudly before busying herself with making him a cup of tea. Before long, she had plopped herself down beside Charlie, putting the steaming mug in front of him. Charlie could feel Draco wince, and he assumed that he must not like the girl very much.
"Pansy Parkinson," the girl, Pansy, stated, holding her hand to Charlie with her knuckles facing up. A little unsure of himself, he took her hand and put a quick and awkward kiss to it, before turning to his tea and taking a quick sip, not caring that it burnt his tongue.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Parkinson," he said, glancing at the girl carefully. "Thank you for the tea."
Pansy rolled her eyes again. "It's Pansy," she corrected haughtily. "And, you're welcome."
Charlie was taken aback by her forwardness, despite how, just three weeks earlier, he had been just as forward with Draco. That was different, though, at least in his mind; Draco was like a scared, captive baby dragon. Dragons had to be handled quite differently than humans.
"Alright then…" he said slowly. "Thank you, Pansy."
Without warning, Draco stood up, slamming his hands on the table, knocking over his cup of tea in the process. "Fuck you, Parkinson," he growled, shifting to glare at her for a split second, his eyes actually alight in his anger, before turning to stalk out of the room. Charlie could hear his footsteps all the way up the stairs. Then his door slammed.
Charlie, eyes widened a little, turned to look at Pansy, who had a smirk dancing across her lips. "What was that all about?" he found himself asking, even though he already had a guess or two.
"Looks like my little Drakey is jealous of me," she said in a singsong voice.
"Jealous?" Charlie questioned, though the words confirmed his suspicions. Dragons tend to get jealous for two reasons. One was if another dragon of the same breed was better than them in almost any aspect—had a longer wingspan, had hotter flames, had tougher scales, and the list goes on. The other reason is if their trainer gets too close, physically or emotionally, to another dragon of the same breed.
Pansy, another Death Eater's child stuck in the Home, was able to tell Charlie to call her by her first name within minutes of knowing him, while it had taken Draco three weeks. The worst part, the part that set Draco's jealousy over the edge, was that Charlie obliged.
Standing up, Charlie bid his farewell to Pansy before making his way up the stairs. As he always did, he knocked on the door. Even though he didn't hear Draco respond, he walked in, not exactly surprised to see Draco curled back into a ball in the corner again.
Wordlessly, Charlie walked forward and sat down in his usual spot, roughly a meter from Draco, who didn't look up.
"It's okay to feel things, you know," Charlie said softly, letting his chin rest on his hands as he watched the wizard, who tightened his body. "It's all a part of healing. Hell, it's just a part of being human."
"Go," Draco murmured, head still tucked under his arms.
"Draco. Just talk to me, please?" Charlie asked. "I've been coming here for three weeks now, and you keep yourself hidden. I think you would feel better if you just opened up."
At Charlie's words, Draco's head snapped up, his eyes still filled with the angry fire. "You THINK it would make me feel better?" he snarled, standing up and looking down on Charlie with something that was almost like hate. "You don't fucking know anything, so please, just get the fuck out of here."
Charlie quickly stood up, his hands raised with his palms facing out. "Draco," he started cautiously,only to have the aforementioned wizard take a step closer and shove him, hard, his frail arms packing quite a punch.
"Just shut the fuck up and leave!" he shouted, pushing Charlie back again. Charlie stumbled, used to pushing a dragon back to show that he deserves respect, but when he caught sight of a tear sliding onto Draco's pale complexion, he was shocked with the sudden realization that Draco wasn't a wounded beast; he was just a broken human. Although the lines between the two were very blurred, there was definitely a difference.
Draco pushed him backwards again, the anger bringing a redness to his face. "You don't fucking know what it's like here, or in the past. You'll have no idea how fucking terrifying it is to have You Know Who sitting in your living room every day, or how bad it hurts when he brands you into his army. You won't know what it's like to be forced to kill because, if you don't, your parents are on the chopping block next," he yelled, his voice straining from the anger and the recent lack of use.
With each thing he ranted, he pushed Charlie back farther and farther, until the older wizard's back hit the wall. "You'll never understand what it feels like to have everybody hate you for doing things you were forced to do," Draco said, his voice cracking and sounding more like a whimper than anything else as he halfheartedly hit Charlie's chest, his eyes swollen with unshed tears.
"I don't hate you," Charlie said quietly, feeling much younger than his years. Emotions had never been his strong suit.
The tears pushing behind Draco's eyes finally spilled over and he let his head drop to Charlie's chest, letting everything out that he had been holding back.
Charlie carefully wrapped his arms around Draco's shoulders, holding him gently. This was definitely not what one should do with a dragon, but Charlie couldn't find himself caring. He just wanted to make Draco feel better, if even just a little bit.
-\-
"This will be good for you," Charlie said as he grabbed Draco's hand and started pulling him away from Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the House, the building he hadn't left since the week after the Battle of Hogwarts. It had been roughly a year since the war ended, and about six or seven months since Charlie started visiting.
"But I'll be around people," Draco whined in a murmur, his body only tightening slightly when Charlie touched him. He had progressed quite a bit but still wasn't fully healed mentally. Physically, however, he was practically considered healthy. He filled out all of his clothing now, and his eyes were always bright and alert.
"Ah. But think of it this way. After today, the only people you will have to be around are awkward people like me!" Charlie said excitedly. He no longer needed to be quite so soft around Draco; everything was much more comfortable.
Draco only shrugged, but when Charlie looked back at him, he could see the excitement, relief, and hope in the younger wizard's eyes and body language.
Roughly two weeks prior, Charlie had received a message from his crew in Romania, begging him to come back. They still had things under control, but it was so much harder without their most skilled tamer. Draco, naturally, had gone into a slightly comatose state when Charlie told him about it but had opened up, even brighter than before, when Charlie asked if he wanted to go to Romania with him.
Draco said yes.
So, together, they were headed off to Diagon Alley in order to get Draco some supplies and a better wardrobe.
Draco might not have been fully healed, and Charlie might have felt a little in over his head at times, but both of them knew that memories from the war would be outshone by memories of each other and the new life they were building together.