Dead Man Walking - For florahart

Title: Dead Man Walking
Author: leogryffin
Recipient: florahart
Pairing: Harry/Charlie
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5600 words
Disclaimer: Only the plot is mine. Making no money.
Author’s Note: Harry/Charlie? Check. Hurt/comfort? Check. Dubious consent? Check. I really hope you like this, Flora, it was a pleasure to write for you. Thanks to those who read this over for me when I was wibbling about it – you know who you are.


"It won't be long now, just a few more steps. Here, let me..."

Harry waves his hand at Charlie, who is trying to assist him over the uneven terrain. "I don't need help." He doesn't realize he sounds like a petulant three-year-old, but Charlie lets it pass.

"Fine. Well. There she is, Harry. Lovely girl, aren't you? My beautiful girl." Harry turns to look first at the dragon, and then at Charlie's face, which changes completely as he looks at her. Harry thinks he looks like Ron, the time Ron had fancied himself in love with some blonde Muggle bird the past summer.

"Thought Hagrid said Norbert was a boy..."

"She is a girl, and Hagrid isn't a dragon expert, is he? If he had been, he'd have known better than to take a strange egg off someone in the bloody pub without calling the authorities, now wouldn't he?" Charlie's grimace at the thought of Hagrid with a baby dragon turns swiftly back into rapt adoration as he watches the creature unfold her wings in greeting. "Isn't she a lovely girl, yes, such a pretty girl. Hello, Nora, love!" Charlie scrambles over the low wall separating them from the dragon's holding area.

Harry groans. "I've spent too much time with dragons in my life already, thanks, Charlie, really. Once was enough." He doesn't see the beauty in the dragon at all.

"Come feed her, Harry, if you're going to stay here then you'll need to earn your keep." Charlie seems firm on this last point. Nora puts an exclamation point on the matter by snorting a bit of smoke as her attention turns to the newcomer.

Harry reluctantly crawls over the wall. "This wasn't my idea."

"Right. But I wanted you to do some thinking before you hauled off and did what you were going to do when I caught you. So you're going to stay here and think about it until I tell you otherwise."

"You realize this is none of your bloody business. What gives you the right to kidnap me and bring me to Romania and make me..."

"Shhhhh, you'll upset Nora. And I'll kick your arse if you make my girl angry, won't I, Nora?"

Harry rolls his eyes. The rumours about Charlie fancying dragons obviously are more accurate than anyone could have guessed. "What...what am I supposed to do?"

"She can smell your fear, Harry, and you are afraid. First intelligent spark I've seen out of you. I'll feed her today, you watch. But I want you to come back with a better attitude tomorrow. This is going to be your job for a while."

"Fat chance," Harry mutters under his breath, keeping a wary eye on Nora.

__

"So," Charlie says in his maddeningly quiet way over a simple dinner of rice and beans, "what made you decide to do it? Take your own life, I mean."

"I don't see where that's any of your fucking business. When can I go?"

"When you learn some manners and stop acting less civilized than the dragons."

"It's very difficult to have much respect for someone who kidnaps you."

"Well, we're even then. I'm glad I'm the only person who knows what you almost did, you ungrateful little shit."

"How dare you..."

"Oh, you need someone to stop blowing smoke off your arse. Saviour of the Wizarding World! The great Harry Potter! We expect you to save our arses because you're the only one who can do it! Bollucks. No one who has so little respect for everyone around him could possibly kill a powerful wizard like Voldemort. Frankly, I can't imagine why everyone makes such a bloody fuss over you. You're just an ignorant little wanker who doesn't give a fuck about anyone but himself." Charlie is still speaking in the mildest of tones, as if he's imparting a lecture about the mating habits of fruit flies instead of talking about Harry's life.

Harry is livid as he bursts out with, "You have no idea what my world is like! I've lost my parents and my godfather and everyone I've ever given a damn about! You're up here with a cushy little job, well away from the hell of being in England right now, you have your parents, your family, everything I don't! You bastard. Go fuck yourself!" Harry storms away, determined to walk back to civilization and get a Floo back as soon as possible. Of course, he has no idea in which direction to head, or how long it will take, but right now it doesn't matter. He doesn't want to spend one more minute with Charlie Weasley.

___

Halfway through the next morning, after hours of stumbling through a dark forest, Harry collapses on the ground. Without a wand, food, or sufficient clothing to block out the effects of the cold weather, he knows he is likely to die alone out here in the woods.

How could that fucking Charlie Weasley do this to him? It's all his bloody fault! The dragon fucker! He can burn in hell, as he surely will when Harry's body is discovered. Who the fuck else would have dragged him to Romania? "Oh, Charlie, how could you?" he can hear Molly saying. "You're disowned!"

"Serves the bastard right," Harry whispers. "Fucking dragons."

He crawls a few more yards to a tree, leans up against it, and closes his eyes. He welcomes death. Finally. He'll join everyone that matters. 

Finally.

___

To his great surprise, he awakens in a warm bed. A fire burns in the low fireplace, and he recognizes Charlie's bedroom. Sitting up, he swears out several choice phrases that he wouldn't have said in front of Molly. Charlie is perched next to him, but Harry hardly notices.

Charlie has a bemused look on his face throughout Harry's diatribe. When he finishes, Charlie quietly says, "Nine of us living under one roof. You think any of us got to be navel-gazing little shits like you? Fuck you, Harry."

"You'd like that." Harry is defiant in the face of Charlie's presumption.

Charlie turns away so that Harry can only see him in profile. "I wouldn't fuck anyone so selfish as to try and take his own life. Little bastard. Twice. You are a self-centered piece of shite, but you won't break my mother's heart on my watch. You're a teenager, so it's almost forgivable once, but not twice."

Harry falls stone silent. Finally, he turns away from Charlie, hugging the pillow. He hates the look Charlie has, because he knows that Charlie is right. "Fuck," he whimpers into the pillow.

Charlie stands; Harry cannot see the look of triumph on his face. "If you're good, maybe someday." He walks out before Harry can even contemplate what that means.

__

Several days go by. Harry finds every way he can think of to attempt to annoy Charlie, because it irks him that Charlie remains unrattled. Finally, he resorts to complete silence, never leaving his meager little room. To his utter chagrin, he finds himself thinking about Charlie as he lies alone in his bed. How can he take the piss out of Charlie, how can he make Charlie smile, what could he do to get the point across that he hates this utter emotionlessness?  It would have been better if Charlie had yelled at him. The calm way he'd delivered the lecture about hurting Molly was worse than anything the Dursleys had ever doled out.

Harry's silent treatment doesn't work. Charlie pretends nothing is different, and gives Harry chores to do. Harry doesn't do them, but sulks, and watches Charlie do his work. He listens to Charlie floo-call a number of people, talking about the dragons that are currently being secreted away in England for the upcoming battle. Charlie has stayed behind with Nora. He will bring her once the fighting has commenced; they can't chance her being discovered yet, as she is the most powerful dragon they have.

Eight days into his enforced confinement in Romania, Harry happens upon Charlie in the yard. The cold has abated somewhat, so Charlie is working shirtless, doing the tasks he attempted to assign to Harry. Harry's will finally breaks when he sees Charlie working so hard. He's forced to admit deep down what he's known all along, that Charlie is right.

Admitting nothing out loud, but knowing he's cried uncle, Harry picks up a shovel and begins digging a shallow pit that Charlie had assigned to him a week before. The silence overwhelms Harry as the two work together. Harry refuses to take his own shirt off, even though he becomes very sweaty, but he secretly enjoys watching Charlie work. He looks nothing like Ron, really, other than hair colour. He is stocky and freckled, muscled and...

Beautiful.

Harry is uncomfortable again with the realization that he is beginning to fancy his captor. Or his saviour, depending on how one looked at it, but Harry wanted to see it the other way. After all, he had decided that he had nothing left to live for.

Right?

He wasn't so sure, anymore.

Harry digs, and Charlie cleans Nora's yard. Charlie begins bringing dragon dung to place in the pit Harry has made, and breaks the silence. "It's valuable, you know. The dung. We'll keep it buried and it will turn to liquid after a fortnight, and then it can be used for potions."

Harry can only nod, because he's afraid of breaking his silence.

Once the chores are done, Charlie disappears into the shower, and Harry thinks about Charlie in the shower, touching his body everywhere, and Harry knows he's gone 'round the bend. He has to get out of this place before he does something stupid and makes himself want to live again.

Except it's too late.

After both men are cleaned up and Charlie has put dinner on the table, Harry finally speaks. "It's worked, you know," he whispers.

"What?" Charlie asks, but Harry knows that he knows.

"Won't try and kill myself again. It was stupid. I just thought that if I died, that I could be with...you know, I'd just stopped...feeling. Does that make any sense? Maybe I was too overwhelmed to feel. I don't know."

Charlie nods, and Harry fancies a look of defeat in his eyes, though he knows it's much more likely to be triumph. "So, those among the living mean less to you?"

"No! Of course not."

"Then start living, Harry."

Harry looks at him, goggling a bit. "I am living."

"I mean, live, Harry. Do the things you need to do, what you want to do, don't just do what everyone expects of you. Start to feel again."

"Don't know any other way to be," Harry says without thinking, "haven't ever really felt like my life is my own, you know? Don't know how to feel the right way, I guess."

"I don't know that much about you other than the part everyone knows. But you have to learn from your past and move on, rather than wallow in it, Harry, and you're wallowing. Do what you must. Make sure that your obligations are met. Then, do what you want, what you need." Charlie eats another bite, but then pushes his plate away and goes into his room, closing the door. It's the first time since Harry's been there that the door is closed. Harry burns with curiosity about what Charlie really means. Ron has always said that Charlie is pretty straightforward, but Harry is more confused than ever.

_______


The next day, Charlie appears for breakfast (which Harry prepares) as if nothing unusual has been said. "We've got some work to do up with Nora; it's time for me to check her teeth, hearing, and eyes. Maintenance things. I'll need you to distract her. I'm going to give you a broom."

Harry understands that this is Charlie's way of saying that he trusts him not to fly off. A few days before, Harry would have taken the opportunity, but he's realized he doesn't really want to leave just yet. He isn't quite sure if this is because of Charlie, or the peace of being away from his problems, but he suspects it's more the former.

Harry makes himself a target for Nora's attention, flying all over the place while Charlie perches on her neck and performs his examination. After Nora settles back in for her afternoon nap, Harry shucks his singed clothing. Charlie performs a few healing charms and grins at Harry. "Ron said you were a good Seeker, you know. I took a chance; none but a great Seeker could have stayed out of Nora's way. Well-done. Saved me from having to put her to sleep. Hate putting the girl out of commission; never know when we might need her, you know."

An owl arrives for Charlie. He reads it and goes pale. "You'll have to manage Nora for a while," he says, "can you handle her?"

"How long is a while?" Harry says, "I don't even have a wand..."

Charlie shakes his head. "Couple of hours, at most. Wand's in the top drawer in the kitchen, left of the sink. You shouldn't even have to feed her...I just need to see about one of the other dragons over in England, there's been a call..."

Harry burns with curiosity, but just nods and tells Charlie to go on. He looks out the window at Nora and smiles, and for a moment, thinks about never going back to England.

Charlie said that he had to do what he must. Charlie knows the score. He is just giving Harry something to look forward to, for a change - the rest of his life, to find out what he wants. Or, as he thinks of Charlie and the dragons, what he needs.

Harry dozes off before the call comes. He looks into the fire, and sees Dumbledore, who is not surprised to see Harry. "Bring the dragon," he says, "quickly. It's begun." His head disappears from the flames, but Harry is already on his feet, running for the pen. "Nora," Harry says, "Time to go see Charlie." Her eyes flash with understanding, and she allows Harry to mount her. He clings to her neck as she takes off, hoping somehow she knows in which direction she needs to fly.

He feels the burn in his scar as they grow closer to England. Once they cross the Channel, the pain is nearly blinding, but Harry manages to hold on to his Occlumency training enough to keep calm and keep his location a secret from Voldemort. Charlie has kept him ignorant of goings-on the last week, which Harry has been grateful for, but Voldemort is casting about for him now.

He won't find him until it is too late.

His thoughts turn to what might be happening, and he wishes he could urge Nora to fly faster. What if Hermione or Ron...or Neville, or...

Charlie.

"Nora," he yells into the wind, "we have to get to Charlie now, love."

She kicks her wings into high gear at his words, nearly unseating him. He is unnerved at her raw power and speed. It is only a minute later that he sees the burning castle with dragons hovering above. Hogwarts is in flames.

Nora seems to understand that stealth is of utmost importance. She veers around in a circle, coming at the castle from the side that is clouded in billowing curtains of smoke from the fire. The end of ancient Hogwarts Castle will provide cover for their attack. Harry assesses the situation as best he can, and is immediately able to pick out the Dark Lord off to the side. Arrogant bastard, well away from the real fighting.

"Now," he says, and she picks up speed. Voldemort doesn't even have time to register their presence before he is scorched by deadly flames. Harry doesn't have to do a thing to destroy Voldemort. He feels the pain in his head recede, and then falter altogether, and knows that Tom Riddle is finally gone. He leans close to Nora, holding her neck, stroking her. "That's my girl," he says, and he has never been prouder or more relieved in his life.

Suddenly, they are enveloped in a green flash. Harry realizes that someone has cast the Killing Curse at them; he feels Nora shudder, and wonders if Avada Kedavra affects dragons, and if he's going to die, and if Charlie and Ron and Hermione and Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley and Neville and...

And then the world goes black.
_____

Harry wakes up in a bed at St. Mungos. He didn't expect to be alive, but now that he is awake, he remembers that boy that tried to kill himself before he realized there were things that were worth living for. That boy bears no resemblance to the man lying in the bed.

Ron is sitting at his bedside, and leaps up when he realizes Harry is awake. "I have to tell Mum," he says, "welcome back, Harry."

"Wait," Harry says, putting a hand on Ron's arm. "I have to know. Who...did we lose..." Not Charlie. Not Charlie. Not Charlie.

Ron looks down. "Too many," he says, "my brother, my sister...Dumbledore..."

"Brother?" Harry croaks. "Ginny? And..."

Hermione swoops in then, and breaks up the conversation, but Harry's hand is still on Ron's arm. "Brother?"

Hermione looks down at her toes. "George," she says. "Died with... Charlie was..."

"Is Charlie..." Harry's heart is in his throat.

Hermione looks at Ron, and Ron looks at the ceiling. "He's back in Romania. He's been injured pretty badly, but he didn't want to stay in England."

"I've got to get out of here," Harry declares, trying to sit up, but Hermione pushes him back down.

"You were hit with a Killing Curse. Twice in one lifetime is enough. I think you should rest," she says, putting her hands on her hips.

"Nora..."

Hermione and Ron look at one another and shrug. "Nora. The dragon I was riding. The big girl that killed Voldemort..."

Hermione's eyes close. "She took the full brunt of the curse, Harry. She died. That's why Charlie left, I'm pretty sure. He was..." She opens her eyes to look helplessly at Ron, who shakes his head, because no one knows what to say to Charlie.

Harry is out of bed, getting his wand out of the drawer by the bed, transfiguring his hospital gown and walking away before Ron and Hermione can react. "Harry?" Hermione calls. Harry turns, and looks at Ron. “How do I get to Charlie?”

Ron is confused, but Harry Accios a piece of paper and a quill. “A map. Now.”

Ron complies, and Harry storms out, determined.

He manages to get to Diagon, and get money, and buy a broom. He can't Apparate yet, and he has no interest in Flooing when he can ride. He is glad that the evening is cloudy; he can leave that much earlier. When he gets to the dragon compound in Romania in the dead of night, he sees the single candle burning in Charlie's house. The other dragons are back. Everything is very quiet.

He finds Charlie's house unlocked. He walks in and sees Charlie sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the candle, in profile.

"Why aren't you in bed?" Harry says, and Charlie doesn't even flinch, as if he's been expecting company at three in the morning.

"I could ask you the same thing. You almost got your deathwish."

"Charlie," Harry says softly, "look at me."

Charlie doesn't move, so Harry walks around and sits on the other side of the table.  He has the grace not to gasp when he sees Charlie's mangled left side, but his eyes widen, and Charlie notices.

"I'm sorry about Nora," Harry says softly, and closes his hand over Charlie's.

Charlie nods and doesn't pull his hand away. "She died the hero, though. Better than Harry Potter dying the hero. I was close to Voldemort when she hit him with those flames. I got burned. George...was closer, and he was killed. You don't have to pretend it isn't revolting, Harry, it is. I can't use my left arm or leg, and won't ever be able to use the arm. They say I'll be able to walk with a cane. I can't work anymore. There's nothing they can do for my face."

It is the same expressionless voice he's always used, but Harry can feel the despair even if Charlie won't admit to it. "Why did you come here?" Charlie finally asks.

"Did what I had to do," Harry says. "Now I'm doing what I need to do."

Charlie snorts and closes his eyes, pulling his hand away. "Don't throw my Zen bullshit back in my face. You should go. Still enough night to provide cover for you to get back."

"Not leaving," Harry says, folding his arms.

"You're not welcome," Charlie counters, his eyes darkening. Harry notices that the sparkle is gone, which hurts him in ways he hasn't ever imagined. "I don't want you here."

Harry's not sure what to say to that, so he gets up and leans close to Charlie. "Does it hurt? Your face?"

"Don't do this, Harry," Charlie warns, but it's too late. Harry kisses the mended flesh, Charlie's mouth, his eyes. Charlie pushes him away. "Get out."

Harry is stung; he is used to Charlie being the strong one, and he sees the vulnerability beneath Charlie's words, and he's unsure enough about the entire mess that he does what Charlie says and gathers his broom and flies into the wan moonlight.

He returns to England, refuses to think about Charlie, and joins the effort to rebuild the school. He spends weeks going through the motions, doing what is expected, and ignores the ache in his heart. He tries not to ask Ron about Charlie, though Ron is intelligent enough to tell Hermione that Charlie has been given a job teaching Care of Magical Creatures at the new school they are creating, and that Molly forced him to take it because she's worried that he is so alone and she wants her baby home. Hermione tells Lavender this in front of Harry, just to make sure he knows. He's not sure how they know of his feelings for Charlie. He doesn't want to know, because he wants them to go away. He ignores the flutter in his belly the day that Ron confirms that Charlie is due to arrive for the next school term the next week. He pushes up his sleeves and makes Charlie's rooms ready, and pretends he's creating a home for just anyone at all that might be a visiting scholar. Anyone at all.

Harry knows when Charlie has arrived. He feels it in his soul, in a way he never expected to feel, and clings to that feeling even though he is not supposed to care.

They've converted the Shrieking Shack into a temporary dormitory, and built shotgun buildings nearby to serve as classrooms. The faculty have rooms in the Shack's basement, including the one Harry has spent hours making into a place of simple warmth, much like Charlie's house in Romania. Harry's heart skips a beat when he sees a cloaked Charlie, slowly making his way up the path, leaning heavily on a cane.

"Harry," Charlie says as he approaches. He's given no evidence that he's actually seen Harry, and Harry fleetingly wonders if Charlie can feel him the way Harry can feel Charlie.

Harry nearly touches him, but doesn't, because he has no idea if it will be welcome. "It's good to see you." 

Charlie doesn't look at him; Harry can't see his face in the traveling cloak's hood. "You the welcoming committee?" Charlie asks.

"I guess. Let me show you your room. Not much, but we haven't had time for much." Harry takes the satchel Charlie carries on his good shoulder, and walks towards the stairs.

Charlie follows him, making his way down stiffly. "We could arrange for rooms on the ground floor..."

"This is fine," Charlie says, but Harry can tell it's not. He won't say anything else about it, though, because he's learned how stubborn Charlie can be when he has his mind set on something. Harry pushes the door open and puts Charlie's satchel on the bed.

"Thanks," Charlie says, turning half-away from Harry to face the closet. He slowly takes his cloak off; Harry catches himself before he gasps at the sight of Charlie transformed.

Charlie's head is shaved, save a small queue of bright auburn hair at the nape of his neck that is neatly braided. Half his head had been burned during the final battle. Harry would presume that the skin would be shiny and scarred even with good magical treatment, and perhaps it is, but Charlie has had his entire head turned into an exquisitely delicate, undoubtedly painful work of art. He has had a likeness of Nora tattooed across his forehead, around his eye and onto his cheek, wrapping around the back of his head. The neat braid serves as Nora's tail. She is worked in blues and greens and firey reds, a far more glamourous colour than she really was, but her image is unmistakable. Harry takes a deep breath. Charlie doesn't smile as he faces Harry squarely and says, "She created me, I created her. How do you like it?"

Harry isn't sure what to say, and in that beat between not knowing and waiting too long, Charlie's eyes slide away from Harry's.

"Don't answer that," he says. "Good day."

Harry closes his eyes. "Can I get you..."

"Good day means 'get out', Harry."

Once again, Harry is caught off guard and flees rather than staying and fighting for what he should say and do. Once he's in his own room, he flounces on the bed and fights tears for what he needs to tell Charlie and can't, what he wants from Charlie and can't have. He's finally seen the beauty in the dragon that he had missed those months ago, and he wishes he could explain it to Charlie now, but the walls are high and Harry isn't ready to climb.

The school year starts. The students in Harry's year have moved on to other jobs and lives, save Hermione who is teaching Charms, and Harry, who can't seem to leave. He does odd jobs and teaches first-years to fly and advises the Quidditch teams. Charlie avoids him, and he avoids Charlie, until one day in early October. Harry is nailing up a portrait of Puddlemere United in the Quidditch meeting room, and they are laughing at him and swooping in and out of the portrait, and he is cursing at them to hold still because they keep making the balance of the portrait off so that it will hang crookedly. They seem to think this is riotously funny. Harry doesn't. He's threatening to drive a nail through the canvas when he hears Charlie clear his throat. "Talking to pictures?"

Harry says nothing, and internally swears at the butterflies in his stomach.

"Wanted to ask you about something," Charlie says. It's the first time they've spoken since Charlie moved in. Harry cannot keep a blush off his face as he turns.

"You said you could move me to the ground floor," Charlie says. "They're having to take my leg below the knee now, so it might be a good idea."

Harry has had no idea that Charlie is still dealing with injuries. How would he know, he asks himself, when Charlie won't... he bites that thought off, and forces a smile onto his face. "Yes, I can, there's a room available."

"How soon? I need to let the Healer know."

"Immediately, if you need to." Harry leaves out that the rooms are his, and he would need to swap with Charlie, and it might be a few days' work. It's not as if they haven't shared close quarters before.

"Fine," Charlie says.

"Are you sure they can't..." Harry indicates the leg, feeling helpless and guilty that he hasn't pushed harder.

"Harry," Charlie snaps, startling them both. It's the first time Harry's ever heard Charlie show emotion of any kind. "Goddamn it, don't you think..." Charlie catches himself and hobbles back towards the door of the Quidditch room, and Harry follows, slamming the door hard so Charlie can't escape.

"I do think all the bloody time. I think, and think, and wish, and dream, and fat lot of good it does. I want, and need, and you shut yourself off. So don't lecture me on anything, you bloody selfish wanker. Don't you ever try to make yourself into a bloody monster and expect me to buy it. I know you. I need you."

Harry is adamant, hungry, and not completely in control now that he's admitted his feelings. Charlie's mouth hangs open and Harry claims it with a hard kiss, unyielding, taking from Charlie exactly what he needs. He knows Charlie isn't kissing back, but he doesn't care, because he needs to make it clear to Charlie that he isn't going away, that Charlie is wanted, that he will give everything to have Charlie understand this. He kisses his mouth, then moves to his face and the largest part of Nora's likeness, then his eyes, his neck. His tongue comes out to taste the bottom part of the tattoo before he moves lower, unbuttoning Charlie's shirt and pushing it off to see his scarred body. Harry's fingers run lightly along Charlie's collarbone, causing Charlie to step back against the wall in unsteady protest. He hasn't made any move to stop Harry, so Harry takes the liberty of running his hands down to Charlie's navel and along the unscarred part of his torso before taking Charlie's hands and kissing each knuckle. He looks up to see that Charlie's eyes are on the far wall. He is trying not to show any emotion at all. It only fuels Harry's desire.

Harry unbuttons Charlie's pants, one button after another, waiting for Charlie to stop him, daring him with his eyes and hands and mouth. He realizes that he now has Charlie off balance, pushed back against the wall, and that Harry’s own hands have moved over the scars on Charlie's upper thigh, and that Charlie's eyes are now closed tightly.

Charlie's cock is hard and leaking as Harry uncovers it. Harry takes that as a sign, and touches his prick gently, tracing a line up and down the length. He watches Charlie to see what his reaction is. Charlie's eyes remain closed, his mouth set in a hard line, unyielding and yet not moving away, but Harry refuses to let this confuse the issue. Harry reverently moves his tongue along Charlie's length, marveling at the lack of hair; Nora's fire came close to his genitals, but not all the way to them, so Charlie is obviously removing the hair himself. His legs and chest and head and groin are hairless. Harry finds Charlie's smooth skin and his scars, every part of his body, unbearably arousing. But worse still, Harry is aroused by the fact that Charlie is so hard, that Charlie cannot help but thrust into his mouth, that when Harry sucks him deeper into his mouth, a tiny moan escapes Charlie's lips even as he tries to bite it back. He looks up at Charlie's face and sees him bite his lip, struggling to maintain, but he is failing, and Harry feels a thrill that he could make Charlie lose control. He licks, and sucks, and his hands roam, and Charlie moans again through clenched teeth, and Harry thinks that maybe what he's doing is wrong, but he can't stop.

Harry doesn't stop, even though he's never done this and his jaw hurts, but he doesn't stop, doesn't stop until Charlie's good hand fists in his hair and Charlie thrusts uncontrollably, his head thrown back, and comes and comes and comes. Harry wipes his mouth, enjoying the surprisingly bitter taste. He realizes that he should be upset at himself for allowing himself this, when he has no idea if Charlie wanted it. He thinks Charlie might have. He was hard, he didn't say no, he didn't leave, but Harry is confused now in the awkward post-orgasmic silence surrounding them. He is troubled at what he has done - did he take, or did he give? The lines are not clear.

He stands and hands Charlie his cane, but doesn't apologize. Charlie is still, with his eyes closed, for a long moment. Harry watches, and waits, and desires, and hopes.

"Why?" Charlie finally breaks the silence.

"You know the answer. Charlie, you know it, and you know it in every part of you, don't you?" Harry knows, too, but he remains troubled and needs to hear that he hasn't just hurt Charlie.

"You made me feel again," Charlie whispers. "You bastard. You made me feel again." Charlie takes his cane and lays it down, and puts his hands out to Harry to hold and steady him. Harry steps close for an embrace that surprises him in its strength. He feels Charlie's tears on his collar.

Harry's hand comes up to caress Charlie's inked, war-torn, perfect face. Charlie relaxes into Harry's touch. "I'll move your things to the first floor. And Charlie? You were right."

"I haven't been right about anything."

"Dragons are beautiful."