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The baby dragon hiccupped and Draco took a nervous step back. Charlie, not even wearing protective gloves let alone dragon-proof clothing, looked up and laughed. "Come on, he won't bite."
"It's not the biting I'm worried about." Draco shuffled closer, ready to leap away at the slightest hint of a flame.
"Good," Charlie said, urging the creature onto a strange contraption that Draco presumed was some breed of weighing machine.
Draco took another step forward and stretched out a hand. The dragon was, he had to admit, kind of cute; kitten sized and shiny, its scales still soft and unformed. It opened its mouth and made a noise – sort of a grawwwwk – that sounded friendly enough.
Charlie, who wasn't even looking in Draco's direction, grabbed his hand with the speed of a striking snake. "You know I said it didn't bite?" His voice was calm, but he didn't drop Draco's wrist.
Draco nodded. "Yes?"
"I lied. 'Course it can bite. It's its fire ducts that haven't formed properly. Its teeth are sharper than needles."
Draco flinched. "If it's so dangerous—" he started, and then frowned. Charlie faced fully grown monsters on a daily basis. He refused to show fear towards something so… well, sweet. The tiny dragon was clattering around on the plate of the scales, flexing its wings in a series of dancing movements. "It's not going to—?" Draco asked and then froze when the thing took off with a squeak and crash-landed on his shoulder.
Charlie's grip around Draco's wrist tightened. "Stay calm, Draco," he said, his voice low and soothing.
"Stop talking to me as if I'm one of your animals," Draco said through gritted teeth.
Charlie laughed, and looked surprised. "Fair enough. Just stay still. It won't hurt you unless you annoy it." He dropped Draco's wrist.
Draco thought about that for a moment. "Get it off!" he said, panicking. He'd felt safe for some bizarre reason with Charlie's hand around his own, the pressure warm and comforting. He wondered if he sounded as hysterical as he felt. "Get it the fuck off me!"
"Hush," Charlie said. It didn't sound patronising. It sounded… soothing. Charlie reached up to the dragon, which made an odd hissing noise and flapped its wings, sinking its claws into Draco's shoulder.
"Ow, fuck!" Draco said as the claws pierced his skin and he lost it, pushing at the dragon, which made an ear-splitting shriek and lunged at Charlie.
What Draco did next was very irrational. He knew that Charlie could take care of himself. It was ridiculous to think he needed Draco's help. But – in that split second when the dragon morphed in his thoughts from cute to killer – Draco found himself leaping for Charlie, batting his hands at the dragon and yelling.
As plans went, it lacked a certain style. Particularly given that, in his hurry, he slipped and fell, crashing against the floor and passing out.
Draco came to to a disgusting smell. "Ew," he managed.
"Smelling salts," Charlie said, sounding very amused. "We keep 'em on hand in case a lady faints. Muggle remedies can be the best. You okay?"
Draco was about to splutter his disdain for the idea that he had fainted when he remembered what had happened. He opened his eyes quickly and looked Charlie over.
Charlie turned pink – a colour that shouldn't have been attractive, not with that hair - but somehow was all the same. "Yes?"
"What?" Draco replied, feeling a bit bewildered by his own thoughts.
Charlie's lips quirked and he shook his head. "Never mind."
They stared at each other for a few, awkward seconds, before Draco looked away, feeling thoroughly confused.
~~ ~~ ~~
After the Battle of Hogwarts and the following frightful months, Draco's father had decided that a period of absence from the public eye could only do their family name good. So they had decamped to Romania – a place where they had copious property and a few influential contacts – leaving with dignified speed, Draco's father had said, although Draco couldn't see the difference between that and fleeing. Regardless, it was bliss to get away from the media and their recriminations.
It hadn't been a surprise to find a Weasley working in the dragon research centre his father owned – they bred like rabbits, after all – but it had been a shock that this one, Charlie, was not only reasonably polite but also intriguing. He didn't strike Draco as a Gryffindor at all, and that was the highest compliment one could give to a lion, really.
When Charlie had offered to show him the baby dragon – only hatched a few days previously – Draco had readily agreed. It was obvious that a Weasley with brains would respect a Malfoy and desire his company. It was almost an act of charity, really, if he accepted Charlie's invitation, Draco thought with some smugness.
Except… Draco liked Charlie. Even if being around him was bringing all those inconvenient tendencies Draco had hoped he'd conquered right to the surface. One could ignore a lack of attraction to girls in public, in front of one's mother. It was more difficult to pull off in bed, one hand around one's cock, trying desperately to think of anything other than strong, masculine limbs and… appendages. Self-deception was a tricky thing and could only go so far. The past few weeks had been pushing his to absolute breaking point.
And now – heavens – he was thinking about wanking, in front of the man whom only last night had had a starring role in Draco's sweaty fantasies.
Draco cast around in his mind for something, anything, to take away the mental images and selected an emotion: anger, tinged with spite. "You killed it, I hope? It isn't safe to let a vicious thing like that live," he snapped, turning towards Charlie. "I shall tell my father about this."
Charlie eyed him carefully, as if he were a wild animal poised to spring. Draco realised – with a stab of hysteria and almost-pride – that he held Charlie's job in the palm of his clammy hand. It would only take one word from Draco and his father would sack – and ruin – Charlie.
"Can I have a look at your shoulder?" Charlie asked, his voice gentle. The furrow in his forehead deepened.
Draco thought about that. It did hurt, a little. It was the least Charlie could do, to acknowledge the pain that the little monster had inflicted. He nodded. Charlie hadn't even said thank-you to Draco.
Charlie looked at him and didn't move. His mouth worked like he was trying not to laugh. "Are you planning on taking your own robe off, or do I have to undo it for you, your royal highness?"
Draco blinked. How the hell had the simple, obvious fact that he'd have to take his clothes off in front of Charlie escaped him? "My shoulder's fine," he said, attempting to look nonchalant rather than embarrassed.
Charlie grinned and rolled his eyes, moving closer and starting work on the buttons under Draco's chin. "Don't be such a wuss," he said, "I don't bite".
How had he ever thought Charlie un-Gryffindor-like? Draco tried not to shove him off, or succumb to absolute embarrassment. He should have known that Charlie's true red and gold colours would show themselves sooner or later. He'd obviously just been pretending to like Draco so he could inflict humiliation on him when the time was right.
"It thinks I'm its mother," Charlie said, focusing on Draco's buttons.
"What?" Draco said. Charlie was far too close for comfort, and Draco was beginning to find his freckles attractive rather than repellent - which was wrong in at least three distinct ways, possibly illegal and quite definitely immoral. He was screwed.
"The dragon. It thinks I'm its mother. It wasn't attacking me, it was just flying towards me."
"Oh." Draco felt really, really stupid.
"But thank you," Charlie said, pushing the front of Draco's robe open and sliding it off his injured shoulder. "Ah, that's not so bad."
Draco craned his neck, trying not to blush. There were a couple of small, red puncture marks but nothing very impressive. The stupid thing hadn't even broken the skin, as far as he could see.
Charlie ran a thumb over the marks. "Might bruise," he said. His voice was calm but his face was pink again, the freckles standing out even stronger against his faint tan. "I think you'll live."
"No healing spell?" Draco asked. He was trying – and failing, in many important ways – to get a grip on himself. Buttoning up and getting the hell out of there would be the most advisable plan, no doubt. His robes were loose, but they weren't that loose – it would only take one inadvertent movement to pull them tight around him, signalling to Charlie in no uncertain terms how his closeness was affecting Draco. Affecting him in a rather urgent, aching way.
"I could bandage you up if you like," Charlie said, a glint in his eye. "But then your mother might want to have a few words with me. Your father too, I think."
Oh, yes, Draco remembered. He'd made a threat. He wet his lips nervously. "Sorry."
Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
Draco forced himself to nod. "I didn't mean it – what I said before. I won't really tell my father."
Charlie said nothing, but the line of his shoulders changed and his posture relaxed. After a moment he pulled away from Draco. "Button up, Draco, you still haven't said hello properly to Virginia."
"Virginia?" Draco asked, wrinkling his nose. He did up his buttons as quickly as he could, but his fingers felt clumsy and he was almost shaking.
"My dragon," Charlie said.
"I don't want to say hello to her. We didn't get on very well last time, remember?"
"Don't be frightened."
"I'm not frightened," Draco lied and then could have kicked himself. Now he'd have to meet the vile thing again, or Charlie would know that he was scared of a disabled, baby, kitten-sized dragon. Great.
Charlie left the room and soon re-entered, the baby perched on his shoulder. He pushed it gently onto a table and it flapped its wings and looked annoyed. "Come here," Charlie said.
Draco didn't move.
Charlie tucked a hand under Draco's arm and led him towards the dragon. Draco wanted to refuse, but Charlie's bulk was reassuring and, when they reached the table, Charlie squeezed Draco's arm gently and didn't move away.
"If you give her some food, she'll like you," Charlie said, passing over a small lump of bloody meat. "Put it in your open palm and make sure your fingers are tight together. Offer it slowly."
"If it bites my finger off I expect you to give me one of yours," Draco said, eyeing the meat in his hand with distaste. He moved it towards the dragon, which jumped and squeaked, dipping its head towards Draco's hand and snatching the meat, which it gobbled down with impressive speed.
When the dragon moved its head back to Draco's hand he only managed to stay still with a supreme effort of will. To his surprise, the dragon didn't try to eat his hand off. It stuck out a little black tongue and licked at him.
"That tickles!" Draco said, staring down at it. "It's so… soft."
"It's only its claws that are sharp," Charlie said, sounding rather soppy. "It's soft on the inside."
They stood in silence for a moment, until the dragon made a discontented sound and moved away.
"Rather like someone else I know," Charlie said.
The room suddenly felt very hot. Charlie hadn't made any attempt to move away – his arm was still tucked under Draco's own, their sides pressed lightly together. Draco summoned up all his courage and leaned full against him. "What do you mean?"
"Sharp on the outside, soft on the inside."
"What if…" Draco said, staring at the dragon. "What if someone's too sharp, sometimes? What if they can't help it?"
Charlie shifted against him, his arm moving around Draco's waist. "Sounds like they need the help of a dragon tamer, maybe," he said. "You think they'd be interested in that?"
Draco's mouth went dry. "Yes," he managed. "Very much. Very much indeed."