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hp_goldenage2014-12-30 07:03 pm
elmyraemilie.livejournal.com) wrote in hp_goldenage2014-12-30 07:03 pm
FIC: The Risks of Flight
Title: The Risks of Flight
Characters/Pairings: Charlie Weasley/OMC
Rating: Any Age
Summary: First, you fall.
Warning: Animal death
Word Count: 832
Author Notes: Unbeta'd. Please let me know if you see errors.
Bathilda Bagshot’s Bingo prompt: Balcony (I'm declaring that the observation deck is a balcony.)
Late summer brought the first flights of the dragon hatchlings. It was never hard to get people to take observation duty during September; the chance to see one of “their” babies take its first big step was well worth the long evening or early morning. It was terrifying, in all truth: the poor things more fell from the nest than chose to leave it, and tumbled for yards before panic made them spread their wings and flap.
This being his first summer in Zarnesti, Pete was starry-eyed at the idea of seeing new flight. Even when he wasn't scheduled, he was on the observation deck built out from one of the steepest slopes of the Fagaras mountains. It was a broom ride to get up there: far too narrow a platform to Apparate to with any safety. Charlie didn't try to keep up with him. He'd seen his share of new flight, and would see more; Pete deserved to have that moment all to himself.
It was no surprise, then, when about seven o'clock one warm, drowsy evening, there came a knock at Charlie's door. He hurried to answer it, eager to participate vicariously in one of the great moments of a dragon handler's life.
“Did you see one?” He took in the stricken look on Pete's face and frowned. “What's wrong?”
“It died. Damn it all, Charlie, it was the littlest one of Constanza's pair, and I don't think it was ready. It fell off the edge of the nest and it...it struggled as it was falling. One wing came out, but the other didn't, and it tried to flap but the one wing...sent it into the rock face.” His face was crumpled with sorrow. “And it fell, and fell, the whole way down to the scree at the bottom of the slope.” He shook his head; his voice broke. “It was a beautiful little thing, and now it's a heap of bones and hide.”
Heartsick, Charlie looped an arm around Pete's shoulder to guide him to the sofa. “Oh, Merlin. It almost never happens. I'm so sorry you had to see it.”
He started to go toward the kitchen, thinking to make tea, but Pete grabbed his hand and held on until Charlie sat down beside him. “Belinda's team went to pick it up,” he said, his voice flat. “They'll do the necropsy tomorrow.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I just can't get that image out of my mind. It tried, the poor thing, it really did. But...” He covered his face with his hand; his body, resting against Charlie's, shook with the effort of holding in the tears.
With slow care, Charlie wrapped his arm around Pete and pulled him closer to whisper, “Here's a thing you never hear about: how often dragon handlers cry.”
The sunset light in the little sitting room passed through gold to orange and then to purple; still they sat, Pete's head on Charlie's shoulder, together. Pete's breathing regulated, and after a while he stirred and looked up. “Thanks,” he murmured, and reached his free arm around to complete Charlie's hug. “Is this okay?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Charlie replied. He didn't want to speak; he was still sad for Pete, and still shocked at the loss of a nestling, but underneath all that was an unknown kind of calm, a happy peace that he couldn't bear to disturb. He relaxed into their embrace.
“Hey,” Pete whispered. “Don't fall asleep. I've got to go home, you know.”
“Mmm,” said Charlie again, but sat up a bit. “Listen. I've been thinking about what we talked about before.”
“That's good.” Pete waved a lamp to light. “It is good isn't it?” He was squinting in the new brightness, his eyes exploring Charlie's face.
“Yeah. It's good. I want...I want to try being together with you. But you have to be ready for me to be, um, a novice at this relationship stuff. And you have to understand if some things freak me out a little.”
Pete's smile was brighter than the lamplight, and Charlie was certain no one had ever looked at him that way before. “I get that. I do. It's not like I'm going to try to change you. Not at all. Like I said, you're honest and I'm willing. We both have to keep that up, talk to each other.”
“I'm going to be figuring this out as we go along. I've never had a, a friend this way. Like, what we just did? That's plenty for me, and it might always be plenty. If you start to get frustrated with me, say so.” He shook his head. “I mean, no sleeping together, right? And if you want to meet my family, that'd be great, but you have to—”
“Charlie.” Pete extended a hand; Charlie took it in his own. “One thing at a time, mate.”
“One thing at a time,” Charlie repeated, turning their hands back and forth, squeezing and letting go. “Right. I can do that.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Characters/Pairings: Charlie Weasley/OMC
Rating: Any Age
Summary: First, you fall.
Warning: Animal death
Word Count: 832
Author Notes: Unbeta'd. Please let me know if you see errors.
Bathilda Bagshot’s Bingo prompt: Balcony (I'm declaring that the observation deck is a balcony.)
Late summer brought the first flights of the dragon hatchlings. It was never hard to get people to take observation duty during September; the chance to see one of “their” babies take its first big step was well worth the long evening or early morning. It was terrifying, in all truth: the poor things more fell from the nest than chose to leave it, and tumbled for yards before panic made them spread their wings and flap.
This being his first summer in Zarnesti, Pete was starry-eyed at the idea of seeing new flight. Even when he wasn't scheduled, he was on the observation deck built out from one of the steepest slopes of the Fagaras mountains. It was a broom ride to get up there: far too narrow a platform to Apparate to with any safety. Charlie didn't try to keep up with him. He'd seen his share of new flight, and would see more; Pete deserved to have that moment all to himself.
It was no surprise, then, when about seven o'clock one warm, drowsy evening, there came a knock at Charlie's door. He hurried to answer it, eager to participate vicariously in one of the great moments of a dragon handler's life.
“Did you see one?” He took in the stricken look on Pete's face and frowned. “What's wrong?”
“It died. Damn it all, Charlie, it was the littlest one of Constanza's pair, and I don't think it was ready. It fell off the edge of the nest and it...it struggled as it was falling. One wing came out, but the other didn't, and it tried to flap but the one wing...sent it into the rock face.” His face was crumpled with sorrow. “And it fell, and fell, the whole way down to the scree at the bottom of the slope.” He shook his head; his voice broke. “It was a beautiful little thing, and now it's a heap of bones and hide.”
Heartsick, Charlie looped an arm around Pete's shoulder to guide him to the sofa. “Oh, Merlin. It almost never happens. I'm so sorry you had to see it.”
He started to go toward the kitchen, thinking to make tea, but Pete grabbed his hand and held on until Charlie sat down beside him. “Belinda's team went to pick it up,” he said, his voice flat. “They'll do the necropsy tomorrow.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I just can't get that image out of my mind. It tried, the poor thing, it really did. But...” He covered his face with his hand; his body, resting against Charlie's, shook with the effort of holding in the tears.
With slow care, Charlie wrapped his arm around Pete and pulled him closer to whisper, “Here's a thing you never hear about: how often dragon handlers cry.”
The sunset light in the little sitting room passed through gold to orange and then to purple; still they sat, Pete's head on Charlie's shoulder, together. Pete's breathing regulated, and after a while he stirred and looked up. “Thanks,” he murmured, and reached his free arm around to complete Charlie's hug. “Is this okay?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Charlie replied. He didn't want to speak; he was still sad for Pete, and still shocked at the loss of a nestling, but underneath all that was an unknown kind of calm, a happy peace that he couldn't bear to disturb. He relaxed into their embrace.
“Hey,” Pete whispered. “Don't fall asleep. I've got to go home, you know.”
“Mmm,” said Charlie again, but sat up a bit. “Listen. I've been thinking about what we talked about before.”
“That's good.” Pete waved a lamp to light. “It is good isn't it?” He was squinting in the new brightness, his eyes exploring Charlie's face.
“Yeah. It's good. I want...I want to try being together with you. But you have to be ready for me to be, um, a novice at this relationship stuff. And you have to understand if some things freak me out a little.”
Pete's smile was brighter than the lamplight, and Charlie was certain no one had ever looked at him that way before. “I get that. I do. It's not like I'm going to try to change you. Not at all. Like I said, you're honest and I'm willing. We both have to keep that up, talk to each other.”
“I'm going to be figuring this out as we go along. I've never had a, a friend this way. Like, what we just did? That's plenty for me, and it might always be plenty. If you start to get frustrated with me, say so.” He shook his head. “I mean, no sleeping together, right? And if you want to meet my family, that'd be great, but you have to—”
“Charlie.” Pete extended a hand; Charlie took it in his own. “One thing at a time, mate.”
“One thing at a time,” Charlie repeated, turning their hands back and forth, squeezing and letting go. “Right. I can do that.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
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