Work Text:
Draco Malfoy has always been fastidious–some people like to refer to him as fussy. He’s intelligent, meticulously organized, extremely precise, and an excellent problem solver. He has a scary eye for detail and is fiercely loyal to those he considers family.
If he’s honest, he has a perfectionist streak as wide as a quidditch pitch and a tendency for being overly critical. It’s all about balance, after all.
When he was younger, those traits–fueled by Lucius Malfoy’s expectations–produced someone who had a vicious tongue and little care for when, where, or on whom he used it. Ten years post-war, he is finally free to be himself.
Sarcasm and biting wit are still his default, but he no longer wields them like weapons. Now Hogwarts’ Potions professor, he is hidden away in the Scottish highlands. He even volunteers to be one of the few staff members who stay over all breaks. Those precious, quiet weeks give him time to decompress from the chaos of living and working in a castle full of children while also letting him organize, sort, and brew to his heart’s content.
His position at Hogwarts allows him to live in the world of his dreams. After all, there’s nothing he loves more than a schedule or a calendar, which are two things no school can function without.
There is only one interruption to his peace–Charlie Weasley, Care of Magical Creatures professor.
As the youngest members of staff, they’re frequently paired together for various duties, and both stay on site year-round. Since the day Charlie arrived three years ago, Draco’s been flustered. Who could blame him?
While Draco is tall and lean, Charlie is broad, heavily muscled, and even taller than Draco. In fact, he dwarfs him in every conceivable way. With his blue eyes, freckles, thick beard and auburn waves tied back in a leather thong, he leaves Draco speechless. His vocabulary seems to narrow to just seven words in Charlie’s presence.
On the morning students leave for Christmas break, Draco dresses quickly. His jumper and crisp button-down are immaculate, his skincare regime has left his face flawless, and his hair is artfully disheveled.
There, perfect.
He makes his way to the Great Hall for breakfast–the last meal before Draco and Charlie will escort the students who are leaving campus to the train station. As soon as Draco steps onto the raised dais where the teacher’s table is located, Charlie’s booming voice reaches his ears.
“Draco!” Charlie exclaims with a smile. “There you are.”
“Hello.”
“I saved you some poached eggs. Want them?” The ginger asks as Draco pours himself a cup of coffee.
“Please.”
“Here you go,” Charlie continues on as he hands over a plate, already full of Draco’s favorites.
“Thank you.”
If Charlie is bothered by Draco’s inability to string together more than two words, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he prattles on about anything and everything–the upcoming holidays, the school’s unicorn and thestral herds, his lesson plans for the second semester. Draco nods along as he makes his way through his plate, one item at a time.
“You know,” Charlie begins as he plucks at the sleeve of Draco’s lavender cashmere jumper. “You should wear this color more often, it really brings out your eyes.”
Draco feels heat rush to his face as a blush spreads across his cheeks and down his neck. “Oh, Lord.”
See what he means by a limited vocabulary around Charlie?
Later that morning, Charlie and Draco walk back into the entrance hall after bundling students onto the Hogwarts Express. They’d had to divide and conquer in order to keep all of them in line during the walk to Hogsmeade. Draco is about to turn toward the dungeons when Charlie stops him with a large hand on his arm.
“Would you want to grab dinner with me in Hogsmeade tonight?”
Oh, Lord, Draco thinks, his mind immediately flying through his usual Friday night to-do list. After a minute, he decides to venture outside of his routine… he even manages to expand his Charlie-related vocabulary. There’s a first time for everything, after all.
“That would be nice.”
Obviously, Charlie only wants to grab dinner as colleagues, but that’s fine too–at least Draco will get to spend more time with him
Later that evening, they arrive at Hogsmeade’s new Italian restaurant. As they follow the host, a large hand lands on the small of Draco’s back and he straightens. When Charlie pulls out his chair, Draco is so surprised that he barely manages a murmured “thank you.”
As they wait for their food, Charlie keeps the conversation moving as Draco nods along. His fingers drum nervously on the tablecloth while he occasionally offers an inspired “mm-hmm.”
Eventually, Charlie reaches out and covers Draco’s hand with his own, stilling it.
“Draco, I have to make sure,” he begins carefully. “You do know this is a date, right?”
Draco’s face burns. “Oh, Lord.”
A warm chuckle rumbles from Charlie’s chest. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. After three years of flirting, I figured I should make things a little more obvious.”
Three years?! Draco exclaims internally. So, that means he likes me too.
“Oh, Lord,” he breathes again, his head cradled in one hand. Three years of being oblivious to Charlie’s overtures.
“Oblivious is one way to put it,” Charlie teases gently. “Obtuse is another.”
Draco groans. “Oh, Lord. Did I say that out loud?”
“You did,” Charlie grins as he squeezes Draco’s hand. “It’s okay, we have all the time in the world.”
Something in his tone has Draco’s shoulders loosening. After that, dinner passes with more of Charlie’s stories. By the time dessert arrives–cheesecake that Charlie insists on sharing–Draco has managed to speak three full sentences.
As they walk back to the castle, thick snowflakes fall around them, bathing everything in white. The air is biting cold but the warmth built at dinner lingers around them, keeping them from shivering. When Charlie’s fingers twine through his, Draco blushes but otherwise keeps his composure. They talk quietly all the way to the entrance to the staff wing.
“Would you like to come in for a nightcap?” Charlie asks, his thumb brushing the back of Draco’s hand. “Wait… you don’t drink.”
No, he doesn’t–the potential loss of control is disconcerting for him.
“I do make a mean cup of tea… or cocoa, if you’d prefer.”
Draco hesitates. His routine has been disturbed enough for one day so the words This was lovely but no, thank you are at the tip of his tongue–ready to provide a predictable way out.
Instead, he finds himself nodding. “Cocoa would be wonderful.”
Charlie smiles as he leads the way into his quarters. Draco marvels at the way their rooms are exact representations of them individually.
Where his is almost sterile in its organization and decor, Charlie’s is warm, bright, and a little bit cluttered. Knit throws cover the bed and dangle from the back of the armchair, a dragon-shaped mug sits on the coffee table, a flannel shirt is thrown carelessly across one arm of the couch, and extra pairs of worn boots rest by the door–all bits that make up the man across from him.
Draco sits primly on the couch as the other man fusses over their drinks. When Charlie hands him his mug, their fingers brush and for once, Draco doesn’t worry over it. Instead, he lets himself relax gradually.
A companionable quiet falls over them for a few minutes but, eventually, Charlie nudges Draco’s knee with his own. “I’m glad you came tonight.”
Draco takes a deep breath and lifts his eyes to meet Charlie’s bright blue ones. “Me too,” he murmurs, a small smile pulling at his lips.
For a long moment, Charlie holds his gaze. The pleasant stillness wraps around them with only the sound of their breathing and the faint crackle of the fireplace disturbing it. Draco sips his cocoa, then sits the mug on the coffee table as he shifts closer to Charlie. Their knees brush but he doesn’t pull away from it.
Eventually, Charlie tilts his head curiously. “Can I kiss you?”
Draco nods before he can change his mind.
The other man shifts closer, one large hand coming up to cup Draco’s jaw. When their lips meet, the kiss is careful and sweet. Charlie’s lips are warm, and softer than he would have expected them to be. When they part, with just a breath between them, Draco can’t help the syrupy grin on his face.
“Oh Lord,” he whispers. He feels, more than sees, the smile on Charlie’s lips.
Feeling more brave than he has probably ever, Draco leans in and captures the ginger’s mouth. Their second kiss deepens quickly. Charlie’s hands slide into soft blonde strands and Draco’s fingers tangle in his shirt, as if he can’t get close enough. His pulse pounds in his ears and he’s nearly breathless from the elation that this is finally happening. Their kiss changes into a proper snog and Charlie shifts his hold on Draco, pulling him into his lap.
That’s the moment where Draco freezes–not out of panic or because he doesn’t trust Charlie but because this is all so new… so unfamiliar. He pulls back slightly and Charlie lets go immediately, his hands falling back to his lap as he waits patiently.
“Sorry,” Draco murmurs. Frankly, he’s not sure what he’s sorry about but it seems like the right thing to say. “I–I just… oh, Lord.”
Grey eyes flick to the ceiling as he tries to summon the words he needs. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to meet Charlie’s gaze.
“I’ve never done this before.”
Charlie blinks as he process Draco’s words. “Kissing?”
“No. I mean, yes. Only a couple of times but never like this.”
Gods, Draco, he thinks. Get it together.
“I guess I should say I’ve never… if this is going where I think–” Draco lets out a frustrated growl. “I’m a virgin.”
“Oh.” Charlie’s eyes widen with surprise but, thankfully, there’s no judgement either. “Okay.”
Draco twists his fingers together nervously. “It’s not that there haven’t been opportunities, there have… but nothing felt right. It’s gone on so long that it’s just become this thing.”
“A thing,” Charlie echoes, a soft smile on his lips.
“A stupid one,” Draco grumbles petulantly.
“It’s not stupid.”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“Okay. And?” Charlie counters with a quiet laugh.
“And poor you, stuck with this revelation on a Friday night,” Draco mumbles, hating how tight his voice sounds.
“First of all,” the ginger says in an authoritative tone as he lifts Draco’s chin with one finger. “I’m not stuck, I’m lucky.”
“Lucky?”
Charlie hums thoughtfully. “Yes, lucky. I’m lucky that eventually, when you’re ready, and if you want me to be, I get to be your first.”
Draco blinks dazedly. This whole night has been surreal and his body feels like it’s floating.
“I do want that,” he assures Charlie. “I know I do. Which is unusual for me, by the way.”
“Yeah, I know,” Charlie winks.
Draco’s soul feels like it’s singing at that. He nods and when Charlie wraps his arms around him and pulls him closer, Draco lets himself melt into the embrace.
They stay like that for a long time, their mugs forgotten and cooling on the table as they talk quietly while the fire burns lower. Draco’s eyes close and he marvels at how comfortable and content he is to be in Charlie’s arms.
For once his mind is quiet, his body is relaxed, and his schedule is out the window. It turns out that there really is a first time for everything.