A/N: I'm having 'one of those days'. Actually just banged my head against my laptop and yelled "I can't do it!"
I know they're short chapters. Forgive me. Does updating regularly make up for it?
It took two more weeks to get Harry to a point where his strength – particularly his upper- body strength was at a point where he could support himself. He was itching to get out of the hospital but being Harry Potter, the Healers were dragging his stay out as long as possible, lest they release him too early and he injure himself further.
Finally, a Portkey was arranged to Charlie's home in Romania.
Hermione had spent a few hours sat cross legged on his bed, quill and parchment balanced on her knee and her daughter on the other as she scrawled out a list of all the things Harry wanted to be packed up from his flat. She had a key to his place, of course. They only lived round the corner from each other.
It had been his and Ron's flat, at first, when they were going through the first few years of their Auror training but Harry had moved out before he turned into the third wheel in the relationship between his two best friends. He insisted that he be the one to move; close enough that he could stop by whenever he wanted, and far enough away to not be a nuisance.
It had turned out to be a good move. Less than six months later, Ron and Hermione were engaged and a year later they were married. Within the following year she was pregnant, too. They stayed in the flat when Hugo was born because it was just convenient. They had all made their lives in London; Hermione didn't want to commute from the suburbs when she worked in the city, she wanted to be close to her children.
The real heartbreak now was that he loved his flat. It wasn't his first home, but it was the one place he was able to call his and no one else's. It was a sanctuary; a little, cream walled, wooden floored, leather sofa heaven. Charlie's place was familiar to him too, of course, but it wasn't the same as his own home. The thought of not going back there again made him feel sick, although feeling sick was so normal these days he wasn't really concerned.
"Are you ready?" Charlie asked.
Harry nodded. "As I'll ever be."
xXx
He'd said goodbye to his friends, and the few colleagues and well wishers who'd heard about his accident long before the Portkey was due to leave. One by one they left, leaving Harry and Charlie alone in the too- warm hospital room. Too mentally tired to talk, he'd done enough talking to make him silent for a week, Harry dropped his head to Charlie's shoulder and waited for the small silver disk from the Portkey office to take them out to Romania.
All his things were shrunken down into a backpack which Charlie had slung over his shoulder, along with another sack full of food from Molly. She hadn't asked how Charlie had learned of the accident so quickly. Or why he'd been given three weeks off work with no questions asked by his employers. Harry was still fearful that she'd put two and two together and come up with the right answer.
When the disk between them glowed Harry's grip tightened and the unpleasant pull from behind is navel told him that they were moving. He kept his eyes closed.
They landed on Charlie's doorstep; Charlie finding his feet quickly and scooping Harry under his shoulders to prevent him from falling.
"Going to carry me across the threshold?" Harry joked, although there was pain behind the words.
Charlie smiled as he unlocked the door and helped Harry into the living room where he collapsed into the worn, familiar sofa.
"Do you want a cup of tea or anything?"
"If you can lace it with something stronger, yeah."
"I can do that," Charlie agreed and disappeared through to the kitchen.
Harry relaxed back into the soft cushions with his eyes closed again, counting his breaths, his heartbeats. He appreciated the still silence of the early evening here, the two hours time difference meaning dusk was already falling. Harry almost yelped as something leapt up into his lap and jumped through the roof as a fluffy someone settled on his jeans.
"You found the cat, then," Charlie said, passing him a mug that smelled of tea and whiskey.
"Yeah. You didn't have him the last time I was here." Harry stroked the purring grey tabby as he took the first, searing hot mouthful of tea.
"No, he's new." Charlie sat down next to Harry and pulled his feet on to his lap; an old gesture that held so much more meaning, now. Gently, carefully, he removed Harry's boots, working laces and clips and letting each one fall to the floor with a heavy thunk.
"What's his name?"
Charlie huffed with laughter. "Puff."
"Like… the magic dragon?" Harry's eyes lit up with laughter that Charlie feared he had lost.
"Yeah. There are a couple of Muggle born people working here, and they sing it to the kids. Damn song got stuck in my head for weeks. Then he turned up on my doorstep and refused to leave."
"Who's been feeding him?"
"Ah, I've had Sally coming in to keep an eye on the place for me."
Harry had met Charlie's assistant a few times and was always left stunned by the veritable whirlwind of a woman; her husband was another one of the dragon keepers and she too lived on the reserve with their three children. The community here knew of their friendship and it wasn't unusual for Harry to head down to one of the common room cabins if he was there for the weekend. It meant they weren't hiding, but it was common knowledge that Charlie's house had only one bedroom.
Very carefully, Charlie removed Harry's socks and started to rub his feet. Although he squirmed and gulped down more of the whiskey laced tea to hide his grimace of pain, Harry didn't pull away.
The Healer had explained that with regular rehabilitation, there was a chance that the strength in Harry's legs could return. He was only twenty eight, after all. Young enough, they hoped, to make a full recovery, although no one would make any guarantees. The opinion around the hospital was that if anyone could do it, Harry Potter could do it. It wasn't an accolade that filled Harry with hope.
"How does it feel?" Charlie asked as he dug his thumbs into the arch of Harry's foot, trying to stimulate the nerve endings there.
"It feels," Harry started, then faltered. "You know when you get handed something heavy, your wrist compensates for the extra weight so you don't drop it. All of the joints in your hand tense up. It feels like… none of my joints below my waist will compensate for the weight of my body. So I can't stand up."
"That sounds just like a Jelly Legs jinx."
"Yeah. Except a Jelly Legs jinx is only supposed to last a few seconds." Charlie started working on Harry's other foot, and the room was silent as the darkness grew around them. "It's so peaceful here," Harry said eventually.
"Mmm," Charlie hummed in agreement. "Are you warm enough?"
Harry nodded and resumed stroking the cat. "It's nice. I was hot in the hospital all the time. When do you have to go back to work?"
"I can stay home as long as you need me to."
"Don't. It makes me feel like an invalid."
"I can do half days, to start with?"
Harry nodded. "Okay." He yawned widely.
"Come on," Charlie said, standing and picking up both Harry and the cat. The latter screeched and jumped down from Harry's lap, streaking through the dark house in a blur of grey.
Charlie's house was a low, one level bungalow with various dips, steps and mezzanine levels that separated the different living areas and a dark, polished wood floor with rugs dotted around in strategic places. There were two fires; one Floo and one regular and a low, beamed ceiling. The back of the house was one solid glass wall that looked out onto an incredible cliff face with the balcony that wrapped around the house serving as a patio deck. The view was vertigo inducing.
Charlie's room was two steps down. That had never mattered before. It made the south- west corner of the house, long windows affording more spectacular views of the mountain in the distance and a dense, rich forest to the south.
"Want a bath? Shower?"
"No… just some sleep."
Charlie set Harry down on 'his' side of the bed and pulled off his jeans as Harry ripped his t- shirt off over his head. Charlie stripped down to his boxers and pulled the heavy duvet back, discarding it in favour of the soft fleece blanket he used when he had company, so they wouldn't get too hot in the night. It pained him to watch, but Charlie let Harry shuffle himself down the bed until his dark hair hit the white pillows.
In an affectionate gesture, Charlie removed Harry's glasses and set them on his bedside table. They laid close enough for Harry to be able to see Charlie's features, the strong line of his nose, dusted with freckles, his soft eyelashes, strong jaw, the little chubby earlobes with the tiny silver stud. Harry reached up and ran his fingers through the thick hair, coarser and darker than his brothers; where Ron, Percy and Bill and the twins were strawberry blond, Charlie and Ginny alone were a rich, fiery red.
After a few moments Charlie opened his arms and with a dry sob, Harry heaved himself into the hot embrace and, for the first time since this entire disaster happened, cried himself into an exhausted sleep.