The inside of Grimmuld place was even danker and darker when Charlie and Harry returned. "God I hate this place." Charlie said in a low voice as he walked down the entrance hall. "Sorry Harry, I know it is, used to be, your Godfather's house. "
"Sirius hated the place too; he would never have stayed here if Dumbledore hadn't made him. I think he'd have burnt the house place down, if he could've."
Charlie wrinkled his nose at the musty smell that, despite Mrs Weasley's many airings and spells, couldn't be removed. "Yeah, "He said softly, "There's something unhealthy about this house that goes right down to its bones, something that can't really be removed by anything short of burning the place down or total renovation." Charlie frowned as they approached the kitchen and muttered, "Brace yourself Harry; worse comes to worst, shove your new glasses at them and run. And whatever you do, don't mention Spindle Shaft Lane. Half of them will yelling at me for taking you out of Diagon Alley and the other half asking what and where the lane is, and what we did there. It's also likely that my mother will yell at me. I don't want that."
Harry smiled, a mischievous half grin, "Yeah. I like her screaming as much as you do. "
"Thanks you. Now I look far too happy to have taken you into the dangerous outside world while exercising 'constant vigilance' the whole time." Charlie snorted with laughter as he mock frowned.
The pair were grinning as they entered the cheerily – or as cheerily as number twelve could get- lit kitchen. Mrs Weasley was humming over a pot of soup bubbling on the stove, while Hermione read a book in front of the fire. Ron and Ginny were playing Wizard's Chess with bored expressions on their faces. They all looked up when Harry and Charlie entered the room.
"Charlie!" Molly cried when she saw them, abandoning the soup to embrace her second oldest son. "Oh it's lovely to see you again, but you look a bit tired. Are you sleeping all right? Getting enough rest on your days off?"
"Yes mum." Said Charlie patiently, hugging her back. "It's good to see you too."
"Goodness me you took a long time, why were you gone for so long?"
"There was a four hour wait for Harry's new glasses."
"We had some, erm, coffee where we met with some of Charlie's old school friends." Harry interjected helpfully, "Charlie thought that better than leaving and coming back."
Charlie nodded in agreement, giving Harry the slightest appreciative wink where only Harry could see.
The unease was obvious on Mrs Weasley's face as she hesitatingly said, "Oh, well, that's alright then."
"New glasses Harry?" Ginny said, abandoning her game to Ron's annoyance, "Can we see them?"
Harry nodded, grateful for the diversion, "Here." He pulled out the black chrome square-rimmed rectangular glasses from their case and gave them to Ginny.
"Ooo, very nice," said Ginny appreciatively, turning the glasses over in her hands.
Ron got up from the table and leaned over his sister's shoulder, "What was wrong with your old ones?" he asked peering at the round glasses Harry was currently wearing.
"Wong prescription, apparently have been for years. Plus the healer said that these ones would suit me more. "
"Well, put them on." Said Hermione, as she, Ron, Ginny, Charlie and Mrs Weasley looked on eagerly.
"Oh yes, very smart." Mrs Weasley said, as Charlie gave an appreciative whistle to which Ginny glared at him for. Charlie only shrugged unapologetically.
"Those look nice Harry." Hermione said, taking a step back and scrutinising him. "The healer was right."
Ron chipped in with an eloquent grunt of, "Yeah mate. Real cool."
Mrs Weasley nodded in a businesslike manner, before bustling back to her merrily bubbling soup and inspecting it with a practised eye. "Right then, soups ready. Ron, can you pack that chess set away. Hermione, Ginny, can you please set the table for lunch?"
"Thanks for that quick save there." Charlie muttered to Harry as they served out the food. "I'm absolutely useless when lying to my mother; she would've seen right through me."
"No problem. " Harry muttered back. "Glad to save our skins."
Charlie shot Harry a grin, before busying himself with his soup.
Although the room was cooler than it had been the night before, and Ron's snoring had abated to a tolerable level, Harry lay unsleeping. His eyes gazed at the ceiling impassively, grey in the dark room, and his hand rested over where the badger patronus tattoo lay under his pyjama shirt, feeling the slight warmth that was still a little alien to him. There wasn't any sensible reason as to why he couldn't sleep, he just couldn't. He rolled over in his bed; a vague emptiness was filling him, a lonely, hollow feeling. He had the urge to wake Ron up just so that he wouldn't feel so alone, but no, Ron would only grunt and fall back asleep, leaving Harry awake in the grey room they shared.
It wasn't right. Not when he'd felt almost happy, almost at peace during the day. Harry missed something, was missing something. He wished that Hedwig was back from her hunting already, so he'd have some company in the gloom.
He sighed, and rolled over onto his back, almost missing the soft knock at the door and the whispered, "Harry, you awake?"
The door creaked open slightly and Charlie slipped into the room as Harry reached for his new glasses and put them on.
"Charlie. Hey." Harry said, sitting up in his bed, "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to talk to you." Charlie said, sitting down on Harry's bed with the audible creaking of springs. The expression on Charlie's face could barely be made out in the dim room, but there was enough to see by. Charlie looked up at the ceiling then at Harry directly. "You know I'm going back to Romania tomorrow, early?"
Harry nodded; it was a movement of shadow in shadow. "Yeah, I did."
There was a heavy breath of air as Charlie sighed, and a weighty pause where there was a space of quiet breathing and Ron's noisy snores. There was a clean, freshly washed smell in the air, and a scent that was entirely Charlie.
To fill the silence, Harry asked, "You a fan of midnight showers?"
A soft laugh issued from Charlie, "I couldn't sleep, so I decided to take a bath, but I couldn't find one, so I took a shower instead. I was hoping that it would send me to sleep, but no such luck."
"You decided to take a bath because you couldn't sleep? Do you do that in Romania as well?"
"Yes. Insomnia's a bit of a problem with me sometimes; at the dragon sanctuary we've naturally heated pools we use as baths. When I can't sleep, I go there, after about an hour or so in them, I find it easier to sleep. I was hoping for the same effect with a shower, but it's just wakened me more."
Harry looked at Charlie, seeing where the small amount of light shining in from the crack in the door highlighted the curving muscles between his neck and his shoulders. Harry had the bizarre urge to trace that line down Charlie' neck, over his shoulders, swerving to touch the tree of life and feel it's movements, then to run down his arms, feeling the muscles beneath the scars on his skin. Instead, he offered, "I can't sleep either. "
The curve of Charlie's smile just showed in the shadow before it faded, a slight pause before Charlie said, "How's the badger? May I see him?"
Harry nodded, "Sure."
Blankets whispered softly as Charlie shifted closer to Harry, his hands moving Harrys' aside to undo the shirt buttons for him. Harry could feel Charlie is every movement; Charlies' breath was cool and smelled like spearmint toothpaste, but his hands were warm as they slipped his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, pulling them down to bare Harry's arms free. Slow fingers traced the gently moving shape of the badger patronus, warmth on warmth.
This was intimacy that Harry hadn't felt in such a long time, this was something that he'd... but all thoughts about what this was to Harry were quickly lost as Charlie moved closer, so close that Harry could hear Charlie swallow heavily.
The movement, when it came, was slow and tentative, as if Charlie was uncertain about what he was doing. But when Harry made no move to stop him, Charlie hands were surer, through just as slow.
The warm hands moved, sliding up his skin, thumb briefly tracing the curve of Harry's lips before coming around to cradle the back of his head softly. There was the most intense quiet of shallow breathing as Charlie paused in the night.
Their lips touched once, hesitantly, before Charlie deepened the kiss. Charlie's hands were warm and Harry wrapped his arm around Charlie's neck, each tethered and holding the other. Once again, it was like chocolate and mangos in the middle of the night, fragile and sweet.
When they broke apart, it was lingering and unwilling, hands drew away slowly and each was reluctant to distance themselves. In the end it was Charlie who moved away, His voice was unsteady and breathing uneven.
"I couldn't... I didn't want go without saying goodbye. It won't go any further."
Even through Harry was still stuck in that moment's intensity, and still tasting chocolate and mango, he managed to croak, "If that was your idea of a goodbye, I could stand for you leaving several more times."
A breath of quiet, but still rough, laughter came from Charlie as he stood up to leave, "Night Harry."
Charlie had just opened the door when Harry asked, impulsively, "Will you write to me, at Hogwarts?" Instantly he flushed, something that Charlie could not see, "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want.
Charlie thought about his answer for only a moment before he said with a fondness he couldn't quite conceal in his voice, "I'd like that, Take care Harry."
"You too." Harry said, before Charlie slipped out of the room.
Harry sighed heavily, suddenly tired, he had enough strength to take his glasses off, and to button his pyjama shirt, before he slipped down the pillow and fell into a deep, sweet, sleep.
The next few weeks passed in a reasonably happy way for Harry, Mrs Weasley decided to move them all back to The Burrow. They'd only been staying at Number Twelve because of the Order meetings. Mrs Weasley had decided that they'd all be more comfortable back at the Burrow where, despite it being more cramped was far more cheerful and homely than the Order's headquarters. Ron was pleased about that because it enabled him to play two aside Quidditch with Harry, Ginny and Hermione.
In that time, Harry received one or two letters from Charlie, mostly detailing things that had happened, incidents about the Dragons and things like that. Harry enjoyed the letters and replied eagerly, although his news was much less interesting and far more mundane. None of the others had really twigged onto this correspondence between the two. When Ginny had asked who he was writing too, Harry had only shrugged and tucked the letter away, asking Hedwig to bring him Charlie's letters only when no one else was around.
His sixteenth birthday had passed easily with Mrs Weasley making him a truly magnificent cake, and presents from Hermione, Ron, the Twins, Hagrid and Ginny.
Harry had been in the kitchen late at night, polishing his Firebolt when Hedwig (who had disappeared a day or two before) flew through the open window bearing a long package the length of his forearm. Inside was something made from supple leather in the most intense red colour that glimmered with a gold sheen when he moved it. Harry frowned, picking up the note that had been in the box.
Harry,
Happy birthday. I don't know if you've got one or not, but in case you didn't know, this is a wand holster made from Chinese Fireball leather. I thought that you'd appreciate the Gryffindor colours. I've got one of these too, but its black/grey leather. These are really good for duelling and for when you need to draw your wand in a hurry – apparently all of the Auror corps uses them. Also, because Dragon leather has shit loads of spell repelling properties – you'd know about them-, your wand can't be taken from you by use of a summoning charm, or stolen from your back pocket – and there won't be any accidental blasting of buttocks or anything. The holster is comfortable enough to sleep with it on, or at least, that's what Mad Eye Moody does. (Tonks and I are long-time friends. I've heard lots of stories about Moody.) Anyway, it goes on your left arm, under your sleeve. I guessed the length so I hope it fits. I'm sorry that I can't be there for your birthday, but I hope that it's been a good day.
Charlie.
Harry smiled and slipped the holster on his arm, it fitted perfectly. Flexing his arm to test his rage of movement, he pulled his wand out from the waistband of his pants and slid it into the holster smoothly. It looked completely at home there, as if it had always meant to be there. The holster was as comfortable as a well-worn jumper and he ran his fingers over the leather delightedly, loving the feel of it.
It was, by far, his favourite present that he'd received for his birthday that year.
Back at Hogwarts, the day to day trials of school work kept Harry busy; Professor Dumbledore had begun to take Harry through confusing memories pertaining to Voldemort. With the permission of Dumbledore, he shared the information given to him with Ron, Hermione and, to Dumbledore's well-masked surprise and interest, Charlie. Snape was as vile teaching defence as he had been teaching potions, his class were hard and still Slytherin biased. Harry's load was further burdened by his Quidditch captaincy and the weight of homework his teachers began assigning left and right. But it was okay, mostly, the letters that Charlie sent him helped him get through his days. Charlie had a sense of humour that Harry appreciated, the dragon tamer was also overflowing with tales and stories that helped Harry keep his mind off the weight of all of his duties and schoolwork.
Harry sighed and leaned back, observing his finished transfiguration homework, flexing the cramped fingers of his writing hand. He let his mind wander slightly; his hands unwittingly moving in to the pose he took up while he thought.
Harry found that he had gotten into the habit of tracing over his tattoo when he was thinking; his right hand would be clasped around the holster that Charlie had given him, fingers stroking the leather and arm across his body, while his left hand's fingers would trace and smooth over the area where the tattoo, that he had taken to calling Ced, lay. He wore the wand holster everywhere, even while he slept, and he only took it off to shower or bathe, he was never truly comfortable without it on.
Ron looked up from his homework as Harry bent back over his transfiguration homework, and frowned. He might not be the sharpest quill in the box when it came to people, but there was something different about Harry. He seemed to be mellowing slightly; he was less angry, less touchy. Draco Malfoy had blatantly insulted him the other day, and Harry- well, he'd... smiled slightly. And that wasn't normal for Harry, not at all. Perhaps there was something wrong with him, although he had to admit that a less touchy Harry wasn't all that of a bad thing, but still...
Ron gnawed on the end of his quill for a second, trying to remember the wand movement to the colour changing charm and trying to work out whether it would be worth the potential Harry temper explosion to ask him if something was wrong.
Deciding that it was worth the risk, he stopped chewing his slightly soggy quill and asked, "Are you alright Harry?"
"Yeah, I'm cool." Harry had replied, not looking up from his work. "Why'd you ask?"
Ron had shrugged, "I dunno, you just seem a little... different. "
Harry resisted the guilty urge to clasp his hand over his wand holster and trace his fingers over his tattoo. "Why'd you think that?" He replied.
Ron frowned, caught between being a good friend and being truthful.
"I dunno, it's just, you're not as irritable- Malfoy insulted you the other day and you just smirked, and you're just not as angry or, or, you're just a bit different... is that Charms homework? Can I copy?"
Harry nodded and pulled his completed charms homework out from a pile of parchment, "Go for it."
"Cheers Harry, Hermione won't let me copy off her. " Ron happily helped himself to the homework Harry offered him and for Ron the conversation was quickly forgotten, but it remained in Harry's mind for a lot longer.
Harry sighed, and stared out of the window in his dorm room, looking up at the clear night sky and the silver pin pricks of light that were the stars. The sounds of sleeping teenaged boy's; heavy snores, light breaths and the deep animalistic moans from Seamus, who's silencing charm always wore off three hours after he'd gone to sleep, filled the dorm. It only took a flick of his wand to silence Seamus, envying the teen as he did so. It would be nice to sleep and not think, to surrender to dreams of pleasure and love.
The glass was cool and chill on his cheek as Harry rested his face on the window. Ced's small warmth moved over his heart, and Harry placed his hand over him, The badger stilled as if the physical contact soothed him. Unsettling thoughts niggled at him, what Ron had said to him tugged at him, not allowing him to sleep. And he so badly needed to sleep. Harry ran his hands through his hair desperately, he had a quidditch match tomorrow against Ravenclaw that they needed to win, he was suffering – as he'd been for days now- vague sensations of emptiness that could not be quelled or cured, and he was now worried that Ced was altering his personality. The only response to this fear was a resounding affirmation of Ron's mumbled comment.
Of course there had been signs, incidents. But he'd brushed them off – the time that he'd not wanted to follow a obviously suspicious looking Draco Malfoy in Diagon Alley. Hermoine and Ron had said it was weird, and Harry thought it was too. He'd been on the point of following Malfoy - he'd wanted to follow him - but something had told him that it was a bad idea; it hadn't been a voice, just a feeling. A feeling of 'Don't do this. Please.'
He'd shrugged Malfoy's behaviour off, and allowed an explosive display of Fred and George's indoor fireworks to distract them all. They hadn't followed him down the Alley.
Harry passed a hand over his tattoo tiredly. Perhaps yes, he was just being paranoid, and that it really was just him, maturing and getting older. But he didn't think so, not really. Before he would have dived straight into such situations but now…
He grimaced, gazing out of the window at the sky, staring at its unclouded beauty.
Lonely and silver in the night, mirroring his current feelings of emptiness, were the stars. Harry felt as if someone had pulled a glass sheet over him to isolate him from the world. A vague sensation of something missing was swelling in his chest again. On impulse, He raised his arm to his nose and sniffed at the dragon leather, the rich warm smell, and his throat swelled miserably. Limply falling to his side, chilling his hand against the cold stone floor, he let his am drop. Harry's mind was called to remember his first potions lesson of the year and the bubbling cauldrons of Veritasyrum, Draught of Living Death, the tiny gold cauldron of the dancing and splashing Felix Felicis and Amoretentia, the most powerful love potion in the world. The potion that had smelt like Broomstick polish, treacle tart, and cinnamon and… Harry faltered, his right hand curling over to grasp at the wand holster that Charlie had given him.
Charlie.
The Amoretentia had smelt so achingly familiar, and it wasn't just because of the cinnamon that Cedric had always smelt of. It was something he'd only smelt once or twice; once before a kitchen fire, skin gold and glittery, and second in the darkness of the night, lips fitted to his and kisses as easy and natural as breathing. Dragon leather and something that was entirely Charlie.
He growled, thinking malevolently to himself, angry about how utterly pathetic he was being and angry at the way everything he did never seemed to turn out how he wanted.
Why does he always screw everything up, why does everything he touch go wrong? Cedric died because of him, he wasn't fast enough. His misguided attempt to help the order, to rescue Sirius turned out to be a trap and Sirius was killed anyway. His attempt to live for one night, to let himself give into his desires, ended up with him falling in love with a man notorious for his one night stands. Despite him knowing just what he was getting into, and knowing that all that it had been was just a bit of drunken revelry, he'd still fallen in love. To carry onto that, his beautiful tattoo, a tattoo he got to remember Cedric by, was now beginning to change his personality.
Damn it all to hell.
Could he do anything right?
He couldn't even try to get to sleep without fucking up!
Harry slammed a fist down angrily on the cold stone floor, his temper flaring abruptly before it, just as suddenly, left him. A vague sense of – was that worry?- shifted inside him and Harry knew that it was Ced. The badger tattoo was worried for him, as if it'd acquired a rudimentary intelligence like the paintings. And Harry had been told that they wouldn't be like the portraits. He'd have to write to Evan, but he'd do it tomorrow.
Another feeling shifted inside him again, this time it was a distinct urging for a bath. He toyed with the idea of ignoring it, to continue sitting on the stone floor, stiff and cold, until morning came or sleep finally caught up with him. A feeling of insistence - Ced again – pushed gently at him, and Harry discarded the notion of ignoring the tattoo. He sighed heavily, it wasn't as if he was he was going to get any sleep at the moment. Besides, Charlie had said that baths helped him get to sleep; perhaps it would do the same thing for Harry.
Mind made up, Harry crept over to his trunk and retrieved his cloak and the marauders map. The small warmth from Ced melted over his chest, in a approval perhaps, as Harry rubbed the silky fabric between his fingers. He slid out of the dorm, closing the door as quietly as he could, before swinging his clock over him. Despite his mood, he still felt a little bubble of satisfaction as he pulled the hood over his head. Harry had always loved wearing the cloak, and the feel of the invisibility it brought. Wearing it brought him closer to his father, much in the same way as his patronus. A "Solemnly Swear", and then he slipped down the corridors, one eye on the marauders map at all times.
As he walked down the corridor to the prefect's bathroom, Harry slowed, coming to a standstill before the entrance. As Quidditch Captain, he knew the password, so there shouldn't be any reason as to why he was standing outside in the chilly corridor, bare feet getting more frozen by the minute. It had probably been a bad idea to leave the dorm without some type of footwear on, but what was done was done and still he waited, frozen feet and all. It was stupid, and he opened his mouth to say the password, 'Squeaky Clean', when he realised that he didn't actually want to go in there. What he wanted was to be able to bath in a place where he wasn't constantly remembering the times that he and Cedric had spent in there. Perhaps there would eventually be a time for that, but this wasn't it.
Instead, Harry moved towards the seventh corridor. If the room of requirement could really provide to the askers needs, then it could provide a bathing place for Harry. After a quick duck down a secret passage to avoid Filch who never seemed to sleep – honestly, who actually patrolled at this time of night?- and he was standing opposite the tapestry of the dancing trolls. He didn't ask the room to provide, so much as trust the room to figure out what he needed, confident that the room's magic would do its job.
There was the sound of scraping stone as a small wooden door appeared from the stone. With a small smile, it looked like Umbridge's battering had done nothing to prevent its magic, he entered the room, door closing behind him again and sealing its way into the wall again. He sighed and swung his cloak off, tapping his wand to the map and giving it a 'mischief managed'. It took a little while for his eyes to fully adjust to the lower levels of light, but what he saw was exactly what he'd been searching for.
The place reminded Harry of an exotic bath that Harry had only glimpsed a bit of on a documentary before Aunt Petunia has sniffed loudly, said, 'foreigners' and changed the channel. But there were a few key differences that marked the room decidedly different, and just that bit magical. The light was low, the room was lit by candles closely grouped, both in the corners of the room, but also floating in the air. The entire room was covered with midnight blue tiles, tiny ones the size of his thumbnail that covered the concave walls and ceiling, spreading under his feet like the fabric of the sky. The tiles were closely spaced, but Harry could see that the clay – grout- that secured the tiles was silver. It gave the impression of stars in the night sky, if the light caught it a certain way. Harry stretched and went on his tip toes; he could just brush the slightly concave roof with his fingertips. The tiles were slightly warm to the touch, both to his fingers and his bare feet.
The place felt a little like a cave, there were no harsh corners or geometrically straight angles. It was definitely not the type of place that the Dursley's would set foot in, but Harry quite liked it. It was like nothing he'd used before, and this definitely did not hold memories of Cedric. Harry sighed with soft relief and slipped his clothes off, piling them the bench that bowed out from the round curved wall. With tender care, he placed the marauders maps down, and then folded his father's cloak over it, to protect the aged parchment from any steam. Harry pulled his clothes off and walked over to the bath.
The water ran out from a waterfall like cascade on the wall that very quickly filled the waist deep bath that was only the size of Harry's four-poster bed. There were no taps to experiment with, the water started magically when he stepped foot in the bath. It didn't matter through; it was perfectly hot, ran out smelling faintly of lavender and geranium oil and had a curiously buoyant property. With his eyes slit, he could fool himself that the glow of the candles was the reflected shimmer of Liquid Season. He sighed, a single heavy breath that was loud in a quiet of softly splashing water. The only thing above the water was his face, and Harry let himself drift, carried away to sleep. Dreams would not bother him; the warmth of the water enfolded him as securely as Charlie's embrace. He was safe.
In the morning, he would not remember to write to Evan.
Perhaps I should drag out the uploading of new chapters rather than putting a new one up every couple of days, thoughts?
Let me know what worked/what you liked.
