Work Text:
Charlie surveyed the crowded pub, leaning against the bar while he waited for his drink. He’d only come at his mate’s request—one of the junior dragonologists, a ferrety little shit that thought his career made his name look cute. Draco was sprawled across a chair looking to all the world like he owned the place, but for all Charlie knew, he did.
He rolled his eyes at the group that had gathered around Draco, one witch sitting on his lap like he was Father Christmas. Based on the deep V of her top, Charlie would bet that she’d be included on the naughty list, perhaps for the first time in her life. Hermione was more straight laced than Percy, yet she was giggling madly at something Draco had said, and his hand was creeping up the hem of her skirt.
“Five galleons says they don’t make it half an hour before they’re heading out for a shag.” Charlie looked around to find the woman that had offered the bet perched on a stool at his elbow. He was certain she hadn’t been there when he approached the bar. There was no way he’d missed her. Any words he’d had fled his mind, leaving him dumbstruck. The girl—no, the woman— was gorgeous.
Stirring her pink cocktail with lazy strokes, she sat with her legs crossed, a festive green dress hugged her voluptuous curves and complimented her golden skin beautifully. Black curls tumbled over one shoulder, and her dark eyes peered at him through lush eyelashes.
“I— You—What?” Charlie’s brain was completely blank, but somewhere he was sure she’d asked him a question. She cocked her head and arched an eyebrow, an action that only made Charlie’s mouth grow even drier.
Before his brain reconnected with his mouth, a thickly built man with particularly hairy arms leaned on the counter beside her.
“Millie, baby! Fancy seeing you here.” The newcomer leaned even closer, his eyes trained on her ample cleavage showcased by the green velvet. The woman shifted her gaze, a faint sneer turning her lips down. “Can I get you a drink, sexy?” The man was positively leering now, and Charlie narrowed his eyes at him. He looked vaguely familiar, but he wasn’t too concerned until the other man got presumptive, sliding his hand up her leg.
She caught his hand in what looked to be an iron grip, based on the way he cringed. She stared him down dispassionately, and Charlie found his voice again. “I think she’s set.”
“And I don’t think she needs you to speak for her.” The other man finally tore his eyes from her chest to glower at Charlie.
“You’re right, Graham.” She smiled sweetly, her full lips turning into the prettiest smile Charlie had ever seen, but his heart sunk. “But only because he’s probably too polite to tell you to fuck. Off.” She twisted his wrist sharply, and Graham pitched forward, crying out in pain. She released his wrist and shoved him aside, sending him sprawling across the pub floor.
“Oh, Graham, darling?” Her sugar sweet smile was lost when he looked up at her. Her eyes were sharper than daggers, and Charlie swore the air grew colder. “Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me.”
She turned back to Charlie, ignoring Graham as he scrambled to his feet, muttering darkly to himself. “Mister Montague never learned to keep his hands to himself. Where were we?” Charlie snapped his mouth shut, and her eyes sparkled in amusement. Her mischievous smirk reappeared, and Charlie gave her a roguish grin, intrigued and enthralled by the enigmatic woman. “I’m Millie.”
“Charlie. Weas—“
“Weasley, yes. The dragon tamer.” She raised her glass, and Charlie could see the tip of her tongue peak out to swipe the pink concoction from her lips.
“Dragonologist. We don’t tame them.” Charlie reached for his own drink that the bartender had deposited at his elbow at some point. “Our girls aren’t meant to be tamed.” He tilted his head toward her, and her smile widened into the pretty, genuine smile he’d only glimpsed earlier, a dimple appearing on her right cheek.
“Maybe you just need to know how to get on their good side.” She leaned forward slightly, and Charlie wondered just what it would take to get on her good side.
Two hours, five galleons, and several drinks later, Charlie was grinning like an idiot as Mille laughed at a story he told her about a Brazilian Bellsnout, a sunburnt vampire, and a bottle of Dom Perinogn. The party was winding down, and as Draco had bailed an hour and forty five minutes before, leading a giggling Hermione out the door. Harry and Ron had followed not long after, their wandering hands making it clear what they had in mind. The only remaining familiar face in the place was Neville Longbottom, but his face was currently occupied with the cherry-red lips of a witch that looked as if she could lead him around on a leash if she so chose.
“I told Pansy I’d keep her from doing anything stupid tonight, but I feel like Longbottom might be the best choice she could make. He’s safe.” Millie nodded at the couple.
“Safe?” Charlie studied her face, and saw a flicker of something.
“Self preservation is an art, but sometimes we all need some help.”
“Is safe what you want?” Charlie watched her eyes settle on the large Christmas tree across the way.
“Isn’t it what everyone wants?” Her eyes met his, and he felt as if he was falling into an abyss; deep and endless. In that moment it felt as if he’d known her forever, and through the alcohol-induced haze, he came to the crushing realization of what she was saying.
“I’m not safe.”
“No, you’re not.” A touch of melancholy colored her words and softened her smile. “I should go. It’s getting late, and I’m leaving for Berlin tomorrow. Thank you for a lovely evening. I usually can’t stand Draco’s parties.” She slid from the stool and smoothed her hands over her dress before taking her handbag and turning towards the door.
“Millie, wait!” Charlie couldn’t let her get away, not like this. He threw several coins on the counter, following her out into the cold evening.
She paused under the yellow light of a street lamp, falling snow settling in her dark hair like stars. Charlie was left speechless, and he stepped closer, the puff of her breath in the frigid air dancing across his face. Before he could second guess himself and despite her warning to Montague earlier, he slipped one hand around her waist and buried the other in her hair.
“Tell me you don’t want this.” Her eyes glittered in the dark, but she didn’t dispute his words. “Tell me you don’t feel it too.”
He searched her face, but couldn’t read the expression she wore until she leaned in, closing the distance until their lips met. He could taste the pomegranate and vodka on her lips as he captured her soft bottom lip between both of his own. Her hands settled on his chest and Charlie was sure she could feel his heart thundering in his chest.
The kiss was the sweetest thing he’d ever experienced, and all too soon it was over, and she was retreating.
“Don’t go to Berlin,” he whispered. “Stay with me.”
She laughed softly. “No.”
Charlie’s stomach twisted. The past two hours had been the best of his life, and he couldn’t watch her walk away and leave it unexplored.
“I’m going for work. I’ll be back the day before Christmas. If I still think that safe is overrated in a week... I’ll be here.” Millie closed the space between them again, this time brushing a kiss to his cheek. “Goodbye, Charlie.”
Charlie watched her disappear in a swirl of snow, and hope flickered in his chest; hope that he was about to have the best damn Christmas of his life.