FIC: Teeth and Scales
Dec. 28th, 2014 02:46 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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hp_goldenageTitle: Teeth and Scales
Characters/Pairings: Charlie Weasley, OMCs
Rating: Any Age
Summary: Uncharted territory: dangerous and beautiful
Word Count: 1661
Author Notes: Unbeta'd. Please let me know if you see errors.
Bathilda Bagshot’s Bingo prompt: Sunburn
“Usually, I'm asked to employ this cream on something a little more serious.” Charlie scooped another glob of Snape's custom burn cream out of the jar. “How the hell did you get a sunburn in the middle of the Romanian winter?”
The new man shrugged, then shuddered when Charlie's hands began rubbing the chilling cream onto his raw, red shoulders. “It's because of the Romanian winter, but not that way. I've been looking for work for months, and when I finally heard the good news from the Dragon Conservancy, I decided to give myself a little treat. I bought a cheap portkey to Buenos Aires.” He winced a little bit and shifted on the chair. “I wanted to soak up some sun before I started this job, but I think I've overdone it.”
“You're overdone, all right.” Charlie stepped back and put the cap on the container of ointment. “That should be gone in a couple of hours. And welcome to Romania.”
The new guy—was it Peter? Perry? Philip? Charlie didn't remember—chuckled. “Yeah, thanks. With luck, you won't need to use that stuff on me again for a while.” He looked around Charlie's sitting room while he put his shirt and jumper back on. “Oh, wow, look at that! Where'd you find it?” He made a beeline for Charlie's record collection.
“Which? The Jezebels? I got that when it first came out. My parents got it for me for my birthday. I must have been, what, sixteen?”
“Classic. Do you have the remake they did after Mina's daughter took the mic?”
Charlie laughed. “I have all of the Jezebels recordings. Some you probably never heard of. Lee Jordan's a friend of my brother's, and he gave me some of their demo stuff.”
“That is amazing. I've been a huge fan for years. What do you think about the new drummer?”
“No time right now.” Charlie cast Tempus; it was after four already. “I have observation duty this evening. Maybe we could get together after work tomorrow. You need someone to show you around, anyway.”
“That'd be great. Here,” Paddy-Pablo-Pierre said, fishing in his trouser pocket. “Here's my Floo direction. Guess I'll see you tomorrow at the lab.”
“All right, see you then.”
Charlie closed the door and slid the bolt home. He headed for the kitchen to pack something to eat for his shift. As he tucked the fellow's card into the cold-cupboard frame, he saw that his name was Pierpont Walsingham Stringfellow. Even by Wizarding standards, that was quite the moniker. He seemed like a nice guy, though. Charlie hoped he'd like the work. It didn't suit everyone.
XOXOX
Pete, as he preferred to be called, took to dragons like a duck to water, or so said Erik Otterstrom. As project supervisor, it was his opinion that counted, but everyone else felt the same way. Pete had a way with the adolescents that was really something to see. He claimed it was all due to growing up as the oldest, and only, boy among four siblings. Nobody cared how he did it: the study data was coming in clean, and the several youngsters amenable to being ridden were becoming positively charming in his capable hands.
Pete and Charlie spent a lot of time together. Their mutual love of the Jezebels gave them plenty to talk about, and their similar family experiences cemented their friendship. On days off, they hiked the hills around Zarnesti, or if the weather was poor, listened to obscure Romanian Wizarding rock 'n' roll. Pete liked to go out for live music more than Charlie did, but Charlie went along anyway sometimes, just to keep him company.
One drenching July evening, they returned to Pete's place early from listening to what had been represented as the best band in the region. Charlie cast a drying charm on their coats and hung them in the hallway while Pete pulled a couple ales from the cabinet.
“Cheers,” he said, and they clinked the bottle necks together.
“No cheering at that place, was there?” Charlie shook his head. “I don't know what gets into people, recommending a band like that. That singer sounded like he'd shut his toe in the door.”
“Maybe it was an off night,” Pete ventured.
“You're an optimist, you are.” With a smile, Charlie took a deep drink from his bottle. “Want to play cards or something?”
Pete was reading something from the post he'd taken from the owl-box. “Sure,” he said, but he didn't look up from the letter in his hand. After a minute, a fond smile crossed his face. “Never thought it would happen,” he said.
“What's going on?” Charlie asked. “Everything all right?”
“Oh.” Pete looked up as though he'd just recalled Charlie was there. “Yeah, everything's actually amazing. My sister Bonnie is finally getting married.”
“What, to that pea farmer?”
Laughing, Pete said, “No, no! She finally admitted that she made a mistake, breaking it off with Davey Wilson. Wedding's next week.”
Charlie gave a low whistle. “Not letting him have the chance at second thoughts, is she?”
“More like him not giving her that chance, really.” Pete leaned back against the kitchen bench. “They want me home for the wedding. Do you think I can get leave?”
With a shrug, Charlie opened the kitchen drawer to find the deck of cards. “You'll have to ask Otterstrom, of course, but usually there's no problem with a family event like this.”
“Such short notice, though, and I've barely been here six months. I need to leave Wednesday, and they want me to stay through the following Wednesday. Dad's birthday, it is.”
He sat down across from Charlie, who shuffled the cards expertly. “You can only ask, right? Now, Wizard's Hat or gnome poker?”
XOXOX
Otterstrom gave no trouble about the leave; he even gave Pete packages of dragon scales and teeth to take back to the London office, which got his Portkey from Romania to England paid for by the Conservancy. Everyone in the Zarnesti office had lists of things they wanted brought from home. Pete joked to Charlie that by the time he packed all his coworkers' stuff he wouldn't be able to bring his own clothing back with him, shrinking spells or no shrinking spells.
Though he laughed along, Charlie was far from comfortable. He'd gotten used to having Pete around. They spent most of their time outside work together, between one thing and another. Something in him rebelled at the thought of empty evenings, but he refused to look too closely at the cause of the trouble. It was foolish of him to feel...slighted, yes, that must be it; he felt slighted by Pete's absence. They were friends, not Siamese twins, quite independent of each other; he had to get over this childish snit.
He traded schedules to get observation duty a couple nights during the week Pete was gone; since he had all that time on his hands he might as well give some of the other handlers a break. His apartment needed a good cleaning, and he wanted to see about having more shelves built for his records. He'd be busy. It would be good to have time to get some things done.
When Pete stopped by on his way to pick up his Portkey, Charlie had regained his usual calm. “Hey, Pete. Got everything?”
Hefting his bag, Pete sighed. “I think it's too heavy. They're going to charge me.”
Charlie took it from him, hiking it up and down to judge the weight before he handed it back. “Nah. It's under the limit, I think. Not by much, though.”
They stood there in Charlie's kitchen, looking at each other. It seemed to Charlie that he'd never really seen Pete before: wavy brown hair with some gray at the sides, brown eyes framed by smile lines, kind of skinny; just an ordinary bloke from the outside. Inside, though, he was much more, and that was what had Charlie tied in knots. Before he even thought about it, he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Pete. There was a thump as the suitcase hit the floor, and Pete's arms came around him in return. Charlie thought his heart might burst, it was hammering so hard, and they stood there like statues entwined for a long minute.
Then Pete turned his head and kissed Charlie on the cheek.
It burned, in a most literal way. Charlie felt like he'd had a hot poker pressed to his face. He jerked back and stared at Pete, then turned away.
“Oh. Charlie, I... Look, I didn't mean anything by it. If you're not--”
“No, no, it's all right, you just startled me, is all.”
“Are you angry? I'm sorry, really.”
“Don't apologize, mate. Nothing to apologize for.” Charlie curled his lips up in what he hoped looked like a smile. “Come on, you're going to be late, and it's a bitch to get a portkey respelled.” He started toward the door, Pete trailing behind him. “You have a good trip, and make sure to give Bonnie my best regards, yeah?”
“Are we all right, then?”
The confusion on Pete's face hurt, but Charlie replied, “Of course we are, you daft git. Now go on. I'll see you on Wednesday next.”
He watched Pete haul his suitcase down the steep stairs to the street. Then he closed the door and shoved the bolt home, and sank down on his couch. There was no getting around how he felt, not now; and if he was someone else, he'd be on cloud nine to know that Pete felt the same way.
But he was not someone else. He was Charlie Weasley, and he couldn't give Pete what he wanted—what he deserved. What was he going to do when his friend came back?
TO BE CONTINUED...
Characters/Pairings: Charlie Weasley, OMCs
Rating: Any Age
Summary: Uncharted territory: dangerous and beautiful
Word Count: 1661
Author Notes: Unbeta'd. Please let me know if you see errors.
Bathilda Bagshot’s Bingo prompt: Sunburn
“Usually, I'm asked to employ this cream on something a little more serious.” Charlie scooped another glob of Snape's custom burn cream out of the jar. “How the hell did you get a sunburn in the middle of the Romanian winter?”
The new man shrugged, then shuddered when Charlie's hands began rubbing the chilling cream onto his raw, red shoulders. “It's because of the Romanian winter, but not that way. I've been looking for work for months, and when I finally heard the good news from the Dragon Conservancy, I decided to give myself a little treat. I bought a cheap portkey to Buenos Aires.” He winced a little bit and shifted on the chair. “I wanted to soak up some sun before I started this job, but I think I've overdone it.”
“You're overdone, all right.” Charlie stepped back and put the cap on the container of ointment. “That should be gone in a couple of hours. And welcome to Romania.”
The new guy—was it Peter? Perry? Philip? Charlie didn't remember—chuckled. “Yeah, thanks. With luck, you won't need to use that stuff on me again for a while.” He looked around Charlie's sitting room while he put his shirt and jumper back on. “Oh, wow, look at that! Where'd you find it?” He made a beeline for Charlie's record collection.
“Which? The Jezebels? I got that when it first came out. My parents got it for me for my birthday. I must have been, what, sixteen?”
“Classic. Do you have the remake they did after Mina's daughter took the mic?”
Charlie laughed. “I have all of the Jezebels recordings. Some you probably never heard of. Lee Jordan's a friend of my brother's, and he gave me some of their demo stuff.”
“That is amazing. I've been a huge fan for years. What do you think about the new drummer?”
“No time right now.” Charlie cast Tempus; it was after four already. “I have observation duty this evening. Maybe we could get together after work tomorrow. You need someone to show you around, anyway.”
“That'd be great. Here,” Paddy-Pablo-Pierre said, fishing in his trouser pocket. “Here's my Floo direction. Guess I'll see you tomorrow at the lab.”
“All right, see you then.”
Charlie closed the door and slid the bolt home. He headed for the kitchen to pack something to eat for his shift. As he tucked the fellow's card into the cold-cupboard frame, he saw that his name was Pierpont Walsingham Stringfellow. Even by Wizarding standards, that was quite the moniker. He seemed like a nice guy, though. Charlie hoped he'd like the work. It didn't suit everyone.
XOXOX
Pete, as he preferred to be called, took to dragons like a duck to water, or so said Erik Otterstrom. As project supervisor, it was his opinion that counted, but everyone else felt the same way. Pete had a way with the adolescents that was really something to see. He claimed it was all due to growing up as the oldest, and only, boy among four siblings. Nobody cared how he did it: the study data was coming in clean, and the several youngsters amenable to being ridden were becoming positively charming in his capable hands.
Pete and Charlie spent a lot of time together. Their mutual love of the Jezebels gave them plenty to talk about, and their similar family experiences cemented their friendship. On days off, they hiked the hills around Zarnesti, or if the weather was poor, listened to obscure Romanian Wizarding rock 'n' roll. Pete liked to go out for live music more than Charlie did, but Charlie went along anyway sometimes, just to keep him company.
One drenching July evening, they returned to Pete's place early from listening to what had been represented as the best band in the region. Charlie cast a drying charm on their coats and hung them in the hallway while Pete pulled a couple ales from the cabinet.
“Cheers,” he said, and they clinked the bottle necks together.
“No cheering at that place, was there?” Charlie shook his head. “I don't know what gets into people, recommending a band like that. That singer sounded like he'd shut his toe in the door.”
“Maybe it was an off night,” Pete ventured.
“You're an optimist, you are.” With a smile, Charlie took a deep drink from his bottle. “Want to play cards or something?”
Pete was reading something from the post he'd taken from the owl-box. “Sure,” he said, but he didn't look up from the letter in his hand. After a minute, a fond smile crossed his face. “Never thought it would happen,” he said.
“What's going on?” Charlie asked. “Everything all right?”
“Oh.” Pete looked up as though he'd just recalled Charlie was there. “Yeah, everything's actually amazing. My sister Bonnie is finally getting married.”
“What, to that pea farmer?”
Laughing, Pete said, “No, no! She finally admitted that she made a mistake, breaking it off with Davey Wilson. Wedding's next week.”
Charlie gave a low whistle. “Not letting him have the chance at second thoughts, is she?”
“More like him not giving her that chance, really.” Pete leaned back against the kitchen bench. “They want me home for the wedding. Do you think I can get leave?”
With a shrug, Charlie opened the kitchen drawer to find the deck of cards. “You'll have to ask Otterstrom, of course, but usually there's no problem with a family event like this.”
“Such short notice, though, and I've barely been here six months. I need to leave Wednesday, and they want me to stay through the following Wednesday. Dad's birthday, it is.”
He sat down across from Charlie, who shuffled the cards expertly. “You can only ask, right? Now, Wizard's Hat or gnome poker?”
XOXOX
Otterstrom gave no trouble about the leave; he even gave Pete packages of dragon scales and teeth to take back to the London office, which got his Portkey from Romania to England paid for by the Conservancy. Everyone in the Zarnesti office had lists of things they wanted brought from home. Pete joked to Charlie that by the time he packed all his coworkers' stuff he wouldn't be able to bring his own clothing back with him, shrinking spells or no shrinking spells.
Though he laughed along, Charlie was far from comfortable. He'd gotten used to having Pete around. They spent most of their time outside work together, between one thing and another. Something in him rebelled at the thought of empty evenings, but he refused to look too closely at the cause of the trouble. It was foolish of him to feel...slighted, yes, that must be it; he felt slighted by Pete's absence. They were friends, not Siamese twins, quite independent of each other; he had to get over this childish snit.
He traded schedules to get observation duty a couple nights during the week Pete was gone; since he had all that time on his hands he might as well give some of the other handlers a break. His apartment needed a good cleaning, and he wanted to see about having more shelves built for his records. He'd be busy. It would be good to have time to get some things done.
When Pete stopped by on his way to pick up his Portkey, Charlie had regained his usual calm. “Hey, Pete. Got everything?”
Hefting his bag, Pete sighed. “I think it's too heavy. They're going to charge me.”
Charlie took it from him, hiking it up and down to judge the weight before he handed it back. “Nah. It's under the limit, I think. Not by much, though.”
They stood there in Charlie's kitchen, looking at each other. It seemed to Charlie that he'd never really seen Pete before: wavy brown hair with some gray at the sides, brown eyes framed by smile lines, kind of skinny; just an ordinary bloke from the outside. Inside, though, he was much more, and that was what had Charlie tied in knots. Before he even thought about it, he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Pete. There was a thump as the suitcase hit the floor, and Pete's arms came around him in return. Charlie thought his heart might burst, it was hammering so hard, and they stood there like statues entwined for a long minute.
Then Pete turned his head and kissed Charlie on the cheek.
It burned, in a most literal way. Charlie felt like he'd had a hot poker pressed to his face. He jerked back and stared at Pete, then turned away.
“Oh. Charlie, I... Look, I didn't mean anything by it. If you're not--”
“No, no, it's all right, you just startled me, is all.”
“Are you angry? I'm sorry, really.”
“Don't apologize, mate. Nothing to apologize for.” Charlie curled his lips up in what he hoped looked like a smile. “Come on, you're going to be late, and it's a bitch to get a portkey respelled.” He started toward the door, Pete trailing behind him. “You have a good trip, and make sure to give Bonnie my best regards, yeah?”
“Are we all right, then?”
The confusion on Pete's face hurt, but Charlie replied, “Of course we are, you daft git. Now go on. I'll see you on Wednesday next.”
He watched Pete haul his suitcase down the steep stairs to the street. Then he closed the door and shoved the bolt home, and sank down on his couch. There was no getting around how he felt, not now; and if he was someone else, he'd be on cloud nine to know that Pete felt the same way.
But he was not someone else. He was Charlie Weasley, and he couldn't give Pete what he wanted—what he deserved. What was he going to do when his friend came back?
TO BE CONTINUED...
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Date: 2015-01-03 01:25 pm (UTC)