Part Two of the Nameless Slightly Angst Comfort Fic.
Warnings: More mature readers can probably see where the end of this chap is going, so I'm shoving this up to a T. And that will likely rise, although I'll try to keep it down.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did I would allow him to stop pretending to be straight.
Author's notes: I still can't get a title for this. I'm thinking maybe imperfect, or perhaps Unperfect… I'm not sure. Again, A-level workload is eating my time and energy so this might be a bit crap, sorry. Oh, and I'm a total whore for reviewers, so if you have an opinion I'd love to hear it.
When Bill awoke, he felt a calm in a way he never had before. He was warm, the gentle weight of his brother resting across his chest. Bubbles of noise filtered to him from the distance outside, a delicate symphony of birdsong and life kept in beat by the monotonous beat of the clock. He looked down at his brother. The boy, well, man now, Bill supposed, looked so beautiful – unscarred, long eyelashes, and the glint of light that found gold in his hair. He kissed it lightly, inhaling the scent of his shampoo. It was intoxicating, dark and herbal, with the heady, earthy scent of Charlie underneath. It was a heady mix, so real it was almost tangible. He could almost taste it.
His arms unconsciously tightened around the muscular form as a single pair of footsteps approached and then faded away. He felt his brother snuggled closer, attracted to the warmth and emitting a small, sleepy yawn. That caused Bill to smile slightly, the muscles tingling at the now unfamiliar formation interrupted by cruel scars. Those yawns were always the same. The smile curved and suddenly Bill was away, lost in a flood of memories that overcame him.
"Charlie! Charlie! Wake up!" Bill was excitable, a boy of nine, his vibrant red hair just on the verge of too long. Charlie, a year younger was eight, his green eyes clouded and sleepy. They both wore identical pyjamas, and slept in twin beds in the same room. The rest of the Burrow was still in a secretive, hushed silence. The sun was just rising outside, but darkness had yet to unveil the sky.
"It's Christmas, Charlie! Look! Father Christmas has been!" Then there was that adorable yawn as Charlie sat up, a smile overtaking his sleepiness. He nodded and slid out of bed taking his brother's hand. It was a private tradition of the two older brothers to sneak down at the crack of dawn and make there mother breakfast each year. Neither of them knew when exactly it had become a tradition but one year Charlie had had a nightmare, so the two brothers had snuck downstairs to find some milk, and saw there mother waking up while everything was dark to put the Christmas dinner on, so they had made her toast and a large mug of strong tea.
Now, they snuck down the stairs together, both now wrapped in their dressing gowns, they descended the stairs, holding hands. Their bare feet pattered across the flagstones to the cupboard where Charlie found the bread and Bill put on the kettle. Despite being younger, it was always Charlie's job to cut the bread, as every time Bill tried the knife would slip. Soon they heard the familiar sound of their mother's slippers on the stairs, and hastened, spilling the milk.
Molly Weasley appeared tired, but smiling, and the boys carried her breakfast to the table, before climbing up to sit on her knees. Charlie yawned again, and soon enough they were upstairs, tearing into their presents.
It was the morning of Charlie's twelfth birthday, and the two brothers woke up together in Bill's bed. In his second year, Charlie rarely got homesick anymore, but his birthday was a noted exception. They were both awake, the hangings of Bill's bed closed, but neither of them spoke. They just lay together in silence. Bill could see his brother was not just homesick though. The younger boy was worried, nervously biting his lip, and Bill knew why. A few days previously, he'd heard some other boys the second year dormitory talk about Charlie whilst the boy wasn't there, saying how his magic wasn't really that strong. But, the older boy had come up with a solution.
"Hey, Charlie, go get dressed. I have something I was to show you." He murmured quietly, lightly poking his brother. Charlie sat up, yawned that cute little yawn and nodded, stumbling out of the room. It was still very early, so nobody else would be awake. He led his brother through the dark school, wakening the Fat Lady and bumping into and aggravated Nearly-Headless Nick and a delighted Peeves. Their feet crunched across the frost-sharp lawn as they headed towards Hagrid's hut. The knocked, and the half-giant appeared grinning at Bill and offering Charlie a rather burnt attempt at a cake.
Ignoring Charlie's curious questions, Hagrid lead both boys through the forest, loosely holding his crossbow, "just in case". He lead them into the forest diagonally for about half an hour, until they came to a clearing surrounded by large thick bushes. Half hidden in one just of the path was an old school broomstick.
"Now, this ain't very fast like, but if 2nything' 'appens, you need to get out the way a bit sharpish. They ain't dangerous, they jus' frighten easy." Bill nodded and climbed onto the front of the broomstick, feeling Charlie get on behind him, feeling a hidden yawn being pressed into his shoulder.
Bill shuddered at the memory, and found a pair of deep green eyes looking into his. He tried to smile again.
"Morning" His younger brother yawned sleepily, sitting up and stretching. Bill watched the muscles move and flex in fascination. While his job required his to be fit and lean, he'd never bulked up like Charlie. "So, when do they serve the food around here?" He asked innocently, grinning. Bill tried to chuckle, but his throat was dry and painful.
'You wouldn't want it.' Those were the words he tried to say, but his voice wouldn't work. All that sounded was a dry rasp. The soft green eyes grew more serious, and the grin faded from sight. Charlie swung himself out of bed and looked around for a bucket of ice or water. In the long, silent corridor outside, there was a vending machine, and he shoved some spare change through the slot, wincing at the clang of the bottle as it fell.
When he returned to the room, Bill was in an almost identical position, his eyes scared. He tried to talk again.
"Oh gods. You can't move." There was no sound form Bill but Charlie could see the obvious, and blinded by panic ran into the corridor screaming for the nurse. Three medi-wizards came running, one disappearing back and one grabbing Bill's right arm and running sensation tests with his wand. The other one stopped next to Charlie.
"This is perfectly common, Mr Weasley. Now, why don't you come along with me to the relatives lounge and I'll explain while we wait for the next of kin."
"I'm not leaving him." Charlie said flatly, walking to Bill's side. Now that he looked at the dark-haired medic, Charlie realised she was in fact an officious looking witch with blonde hair and an extraordinarily short wand. Her lipstick smile became forced.
"Sir, you have no right to stay here without the express permission of the patient, or his next of kin."
The medi-wizard running his wand over Bill shot the nurse with a look.
"He is and does." He told her distractedly, pushing strands of his dark hair from his face. "Will you please go and fetch my patient some water, and ice chips please. Also, a medium strength lozenge potion would be advisable." After she huffed out of the room, the doctor flicked the door shut and pulled the blanket from Bills legs. Charlie blushed, not realising the paper gown Bill wore had risen so high. A faint blush appeared on the older brother's face too, and Charlie hastened to rectify the situation.
The doctor meticulously checked Bill's legs before covering them back over, and standing back.
"Well, that all looks positive. Simply put, you're just a bit stiff, and it'll take you a while to get used to movement. You only awoke last night, and haven't really moved since, so it's almost like you've just woken from a three-week sleep. It'll be quite common each morning, until you get back to moving properly again."
"How long do you think that'll be?" Charlie asked, as Bill opened his mouth to speak.
The medi-wizard made a non-committal noise at the back of his throat. "I can't tell you for sure. I'll be happy for you to leave when you alright on your feet, and I'm confidant your coma was nothing more than shock. Maybe a week, maybe three, maybe even a month or more. Who with you be staying with?"
"Our parents, I guess-" Charlie began to say but trailed off as Bill scowled and shook his head emphatically, pointing at his brother. "Or me. I don't mind." Charlie shrugged. "It doesn't matter he goes, I'll still go with him." He took his brothers hand and felt a comforting squeeze in response, though Bill still looked at the doctor.
"What will you need me to do, doc?"
"It's senior medi-wizard Murrell, but you can call me Chris." He winked, grinning. "I should probably tell you both, it's common practice for accident victims to be assigned to a course of psycho-therapy, and you'll need to come in for observation over the full moon just so we can check your level of infection. We don't know how many wolfish tendencies you'll have, if any at all, but chances are you'll be infected partially."
"Why the psycho-therapy? My brother's not insane." He didn't notice but his hand tightened around Bill's.
The medi-wizard smiled. "We know that Mr. Weasley, but as I said, it's standard practice. Sometimes patients find it useful to have somebody there helping them get used to things after their accident. Other times it's unnecessary, and the patient just enjoys the time to chat." There was an awkward moment's pause, and a nurse walked in with a bowl of ice chips and several bottles.
"Now, Mr. Weasley, if you could take Bill's right arm, I'll just administer this…" He uncorked a dark green bottle pulled a almost comically large spoon from his pocket, pouring out a dose. Bill drunk it calmly, but made a face as the medic turned away, the fang in his earring jiggling. Charlie repressed a smirk. Bill always made the same face anytime he had to take medicine, even when they'd both been caught by a storm whilst out at Quidditch Practice and Madame Pomfrey had given them spoonfuls of Pepper-Up potion to prevent the flu.
"Now, I want you to start with his hand, working up the arm massaging in minute circles. The hand is very important, so try to patient. I know it's a long job." The doctor stood next to Charlie and watched attentively, making comments and occasionally correcting him. Charlie glanced at Bill, his eyes silently asking permission but Bill was looking determinedly out of the window. Charlie's hands were so soft and gentle, but the skin was so pleasantly rough. The way the friction rubbed against the hairs on his arms… Bill forced himself not to blush.
Now this has developed a plotline, so there will be more! Thank you to all my reviewers but ShadowCat17 especially coz she Pmed my arse back into writing this.