Waving a letter that had chicken scratched lines that resembled Ron's handwriting, Charlie walked towards them, coming to a stop directly in front of their path.
"Piggy is resting in my tent," He said, "I was just reading Ron's reply letter when you pop up here with the guy who has been tricking newbies into taking his night shift." He glowered at Reginald.
Reginald didn't even bother to act like he was regretful.
"It's a rite of passage," he stated plainly, "that I get you into a regrettable situation during your first week. You told us not to treat...him...any differently. Certainly not my fault that the guy is so green that you could mistake him for grass."
Charlie huffed and his glare grew harsher.
"He is not green, just...trusting. Far too trusting of someone like you. And because of your insistence on your ridiculous acts with no motivation, we have one of our best workers severely injured, but can't get him help because of some faulty charm he cast that causes people not to be able to be within five feet of him."
Spreading his arms, palm out, Reginald shrugged.
"This the kid who scurries away from you in fear when you say B-A-T-H. It's not like anyone was begging to be near him." He chortled.
For a second, Charlie's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and his hands that lay at his sides made fists. Slowly, with obvious effort, his features relaxed and unclenched until he turned to Harry with a toothless smile.
"Harry," he greeted tightly, "how about I get you to my tent and we can settle down there, hm?"
Clasping his shoulder, he led him deeper into the camp. Reginald waved back, smiling lopsidedly to him when Harry looked behind. Afterwards, Charlie set an even brisker pace, shouldering roughly past crowds that got denser with each step. Everyone gathered around an obvious circumference that had a lone, curled up figure laying prostrate. It was a young man, not much older than himself, and Harry bristled at the thought of Reginald mocking him.
Though, as they got closer, it seemed like it had some truth lying in it. An acrid smell hit his nostrils with a vengeance, making him jerk his head back. It didn't smell like anything he could name, but he knew it was horrible, and it could quite possibly be frying his nose hairs with a sizzle. Charlie noted his reaction.
"We found him," he said, as he shoved away another spectator, "while we were looking for a dragon that had run off. He was lying underneath its wings, and the dragon nearly slashed off someone's face when we tried to get him away from her. Sort of adopted him, really. No one knows where he came from, but he's got a knack for taking care of the dragons. So he stays, helps, and we give him food, shelter, and pay just like we would anyone else."
Charlie's boots slipped across the ground, losing traction as he pushed in vain against an invisible wall. His hands flailed as they lost their grip on the barrier over and over. Hearing the scuffling, the young man looked up at them with wide eyes and started to scoot closer. Before even moving a foot, the wall lurched and Charlie got pushed backwards. Collapsing down again, the young man's stare seemed to see past Charlie and his agonized attempts, past the entire crowd.
"It...hurts." He barely croaked out, gesturing at his leg with a bloody, scraped up arm.
The leg was twisted at a unnatural angle, seeming to be bending in more places than his knee. Taking all of the young man in, he saw jagged lines dripping with crimson blood curling around his torso. Bruises littered his thin arms and copper hair hung in sooty curlicues down his neck. His uniform was the same as everyone around him, a loose, long-sleeved shirt tucked into a pair of practical brown pants, but both were stained red and torn in multiple places.
Harry turned to Charlie, who was desperately pushing and cursing at barrier. "What happened to him?"
His voice quavered in an unintentional horrified whisper. Charlie scowled darkly in the general direction of where they had left Reginald.
"It isn't just the reserve that gives this forest the reputation it has. Reginald strengthens the charms in the part of the reserve where it is most common for attacks by the other...inhabitants to happen. He's been here longer than most of us, and he still gets injured at times." His voice cracked and his expression turned pained as it was drawn towards the hurt figure. "He's done some pretty horrible things to the newbies, to everyone, but no one's ever gotten hurt like Wilson is right now."
At the sound of his name, Wilson looked up. His pale blue, nearly white irises were unfocused on the things around him.
"Where...healer...hurts..." Came his raspy whisper, before his head fell back limply, hopefully from just fainting from the pain.
Quietly tortured cries barely made it past Charlie's mouth, quickly shut down, making Harry wonder who Wilson was to Charlie. A short man with a cap of gray hair brushed his way through the crowd, drawing worried murmurs from the bystanders.
"We called for you nearly half an hour ago, Gronsky!" One of them complained. "What would have happened if it was his cold cadaver that you came to?"
The man whirled around instantly. "How about you try and help a dragon through childbirth, Ferton?" He retorted with unexpected authority. "Honestly, you all think an egg is hard! Try your hand with the only dragon type to give live birth! I'm lucky I got here as fast as I did. And what did you all do," he clucked his tongue, "couldn't even undo the charm before I got here."
He began to mutter a long, complicated counter curse under his breath, waving his arms around wildly. It went on for a few minutes, until Harry was already doubting its authenticity, when it worked. Having been leaning on it and watching the man, Charlie fell over himself once the barrier was removed, and instantly began propping Wilson up on his shoulders. On instinct, Harry walked over to help him, and the both of them carried Wilson behind the vertically challenged man, who led them to a medical tent. Guilt creeped up on him as he found himself holding his breath near him, and forced himself to breathe. Maybe it was his conviction to be respectful, or it really had disappeared, but he couldn't smell anything now that he was near Wilson. They entered the medical tent and lay him down gently on the bed, Charlie gently pushing a pillow under his head. Feeling as if he should do something, he left his box of french fries by Wilson's bed for him to eat.
Harry had to be the one to lead Charlie out of the medical tent once they were told to leave and "leave a good man to his work without two worried mother hens breathing down his neck".
"Who was that?" Harry asked, trying to get him out of his shocked stupor.
It worked. Shaking himself, Charlie started to lead them instead of the other way around. Which was a good thing, because Harry had no doubt they would have gotten lost quickly with him leading.
"That was Michael Gronsky," he explained, "our Healer, or Dragon Healer as his official job title goes. Old, but not senile yet."
Their walk led them to a small tent, whose flap Charlie opened up to reveal a much larger space. It was similar to a small apartment, leading right into the dining room and kitchen, with a hallway splitting off from there. They took a seat at the table. Charlie lounged in his chair, smiling apologetically.
"You must think we're horrible now." When he received a blank look in response, he explained. "To see someone hurt like that and to see the person who did it not bother to act remorseful." His face changed as fast as lightning, spitting out the last two words like they were dirt in his mouth.
Harry leaned forward, arching his shoulders towards him.
"It's not like Reginald did it himself. What is with the two of you, anyway?" He finally asked. Sure, he could get not liking him because he messed with the new workers, but it seemed like some bad blood was spilled between the two that permanently stained their outlook on the other. Charlie's outlook, at least. Charlie's eyes flicked away from his, and he cleared his throat.
"Nothing," he muttered, "nothing really. It's just...I worry about Wilson. I was on the team that found him, maybe it's just that built in big brother instinct I have, but I honestly get pissed off when the other guys mess with him."
Harry echoed. "Mess with him?"
For some reason, he imagined Draco being Wilson. The furious protective anger that ripped through him at the thought startled him. A mental wound filled with longing that emerged when Draco apparated away felt fresh and raw again. Charlie picked at his cuticles with one hand, crossing his arms.
"Yeah," he murmured, suddenly closed off, "it's because he's the youngest one here. Well, youngest hired worker anyway, since you are a few years younger than him."
Harry pressed on. "Age? Really? There has to be more."
Charlie seemed hesitant to dump everything on to him. After several long moments of silence he spoke.
"He's good," he finally confided, "It's more than a knack, it is just this pure knowing of what to do without learning it. It hasn't exactly gotten him into anyone's good graces. Especially Reginald's, since he used to be the best one around before Wilson."
His chair squeaked across the floor as Charlie stood up and went into the kitchen. When he cane back, he had two peanut butter and banana waffle sandwiches on a plate.
"Here," he said as he set them down, "I heard your stomach growl a couple times. I can run and grab your trunk from outside, but feel free just to crash on the sofa if you'd like."
His trunk had been left forgotten when he had helped bring Wilson to the medical tent. Guilt creeped up on him, embarrassed that he's making Charlie do so much for him when his day obviously hasn't been that great. But since he was already walking out, Harry decided to heed his advice and crash on the sofa.
Gently setting his shoes down by the tent flap, he climbed onto the worn out sofa. It was still surprisingly springy, and he only had to curl his legs up slightly to fit himself on it. Pulling up a quilted blanket to his chin, he faced the back of the olive sofa.
"Sleep well, Harry," He heard Charlie say as he dragged his trunk in next to him.
He might have grunted back, or he might have continued to fall asleep. Just before hitting dreamless sleep, it seemed as if familiar light pink lips curled up in a grin in front of him, and mercury eyes flashed in delight. All he knew for sure was that a small smile escaped him before he drifted off to sleep.
<^>_<^>_<^>_<^>_<^>
"Is toast okay, or are Eggs Benedict better?" Draco called from the kitchen. Shaflork was in the corner looking at him with disapproval.
"Master Draco," he repeated, "Shaflork has already explained that Madame Black has Shaflork and Winnie cook breakfast, which today was omelet, not Master Draco. Master Draco was to wait in dining room for Madame Black."
Shrugging, he shifted pots and pans around in a cabinet in the kitchen. The renovation had made the layout brighter, yet still have a sophisticated modern flavor.
"Well, I wanted to cook. Is that too much to ask?" Draco replied.
Footsteps from the staircase. His mother appeared at the doorway.
"The last time you wanted to cook breakfast, it was because you smashed the antique vase in the living room while you had been flying on your broom."
He snorted as he directed Shaflork.
"My apologies had always liked to be expressed using food. But that was a long time ago, can't a guy cook without it being an indirect bribe?"
Laughing, Mother sent away Winnie and Shaflork. She grabbed everything they would need to cook and began to work next to him.
"So different," she commented, "before you insisted such menial work was below you if it served no purpose to you."
He immersed himself in lethargically banging together pots and spoons in an attempt to look busy. Fair blonde hair fell over his eyes as he avoided eye contact.
"Yeah."
Luckily, she did not pry any further into the subject. She did, however, find an equally dangerous one to fill the silence with.
"When do you plan to leave?"
Laughing nervously, he set down his spatula. Surprise tinged his expression.
"First you complain of me not having enough contact with you, now you ask when I'm to leave?" Draco asked incredulously. "I've only been here a week, did I do something?"
She set down her spatula and bowl, with which she had actually been accomplishing something that could be eaten for breakfast.
"Of course not. Just wanted to make sure we have enough food for your stay."
The pantry had been stocked to the brim when he has peeked inside. If it came to the point that they needed to, Shaflork and Winnie could harvest berries and nuts from the nearby forest. It wasn't as if he had brought a an army with him to eat, though his appetite might be accounted for as a platoon at times. He had the distinct feeling that something was being hidden from him.
"You must think I eat much more than I do." He remarked in attempt to remain blasé, but gave in to his curiosities quickly. "Is there a specific reason?"
She started to clean up their mess, not answering. It had accomplished nothing, and Mother told Winnie that toast and jam should do for breakfast. Once that was taken care of, they walked into the dining room and sat down.
"Well?" He said, causing her to sigh.
"Dragon," she started, "I don't want you to think you can hide out here forever."
Draco's eyebrows shot up. His easy going smile turned into a startled scowl. "What wo-would I hide from? I am no-not hiding!" He sputtered.
"Not literally," She responded, "you could be hiding yourself from going anywhere, doing anything." Taking his hands in hers, she looked him in the eyes. "You could be doing so much more than this, and I mean that in the nicest way."
He wrenched away from her, feeling cold. Oblivious, she continued.
"I have some contacts. They would be more than willing to overlook your...our, family history. It would not be easy to get the high paying jobs they offer on your own, with the same degree of influence." She muttered to herself afterwards. "Earn some credibility for us."
Disgusted, he pursed his lips. Had this been the plan all along? Lull him into a false sense of security, then press onto him various jobs in an attempt to keep their family...
Not even his entire family anymore, just her. The plan was to keep her in good light, maybe some thinking on her part about what he might want as an afterthought. Money and power. Not too long ago he would have jumped at the chance to secure them. Now he found himself wrestling against them.
He didn't want them, not as his first priorities. The thought of what to prioritize had Harry strolling into the front of his mind. His passionate eyes, warm embrace, and his recently favorite daydream, waking up to him in his bed, sun rising behind him outside his window. His mind always supplied different endings. Him staying and cuddling, them simply talking, curling up and tangling their legs together in a tight embrace, burying his face into Harry's bare shoulder, tangling his fingers in thick ebony hair...
At one point during his stay, he realized what was happening, or what had been happening. What his sudden-or not sudden-thoughts could mean had jolted him with a sudden insight. Finally placed in words, not allowing himself to deny it after ignoring it stoically for so long.
If they were just friends, he wouldn't be day dreaming of him. He wouldn't be feeling that pleasantly uncomfortable clenching and unclenching of his stomach and hear his heart racing in his ears at the thought of him. He most definitely would not be waking up in his childhood bed in the middle of the night, again and again, panting and red-faced, his eyes blown wide. The last remnants of the quickly fading dreams had consistently been Harry's face, and if he strained his ears, the sound of his own name emergingt from his chapped lips.
So perhaps he was mistaken about how platonic his and Harry's relationship really was.
Of course, he always had suspicions about his own feelings, but before he could easily brush them off. He thought about Harry frequently because they were always together, many of their classes had been the same after all. He liked being hugged by him because doesn't everyone love hugs...
Then he ran out of excuses.
Brooding over his romantic epiphanies would do little to help him right now, in fact, ever since it clicked for him, he had tried to restrict his thoughts from sailing through those uncharted waters. As a result, he had yet to fully lay out all of the possible implications.
"I'm sure you do," Draco replied stiffly after a moment, "but I am already aware of what career path I wish to pursue."
Her surprise was evident. "Really?" She said in an impressed tone, as if proud he had turned down her offer. "Could you tell me?"
Suddenly feeling childish, the first time he barely whispered his answer. When prompted to repeat himself, he responded loudly.
"Dragon Healer, on a reserve. I'd like to be a Dragon Healer."
Her expression was unreadable. "Really?" She asked, the How? left unsaid.
"There was a survey," Draco hurriedly explained, "that they made us take. It showed you what jobs you might be interested in and it just caught my eye. There's offices in Diagon Alley, and I could go to a reserve where they weren't even affected by the war, start over. I think I did well on N.E.W.T's and..."
He was interrupted. "Away, you say?" Mother asked, and if not for the seriousness of the situation, he might have laughed quietly about the rhyme. She walked purposely into the living room, with him following close behind. Quickly finding what she was looking for, she flipped through a thick book. It was filled with faces and names, addresses and occupations, and she flipped through them with such speed they all blurred together. Draco stared at her fingers flying, the occasional complaint from a picture as they were exposed to the world and quickly shut from it.
"If you don't mind me asking," he said, "what, or who, are you looking for?"
Placing a manicured finger on the page she was on and shutting the book, she gave him her full attention momentarily, saying nothing. As she sat down on a nearby chair afterwards, it creaked, and she threw it a dirty look.
"At one point," she answered as she continued to page much slower through the book, "I knew someone. A Ravenclaw a year or two behind me, who surprisingly seemed like the type to grow up, settle down, work 12 hours a day, and live an unfulfilled, domestic life." Her laugh tinkled gently. "Oh, and they did for a while, then they didn't."
"Didn't?"
"Yes," she replied, "they did for a bit, but then they didn't. Woke up one day, looked at themselves in the mirror, and found out they did not like what the person looking back at them was doing with their life."
Intrigued, he sat down on the sofa across from her. "Then what did she do?"
"He," she gently corrected, "he went off to some far flung place to study dragons on a whim. I chatted him up the last time we met,I knew his his older sister somewhat since she was in my year. I believe he has a daughter a little younger than you, her name slips my mind..." She continued to flip through the pages, until she pointed at a picture.
It was the face of a man who looked too young to have a daughter Draco's age. Stick straight brown hair was cropped short above a tan forehead, deep brown eyes winking back at them in the picture. Mother peered at the name, written in curly letters below the man.
"Knew it was more on the unique side of things," she murmured to herself, then turned to Draco and said, "His name is Reginald, and he might be able to help you."
********
Yes! We did it! Finally updated in the same month!
On the other hand, there is more good news! Draco has accepted Drarry is going to happen. Exciting, isn't it?
Keep on the edge of your seat waiting for the next update!