For Lissy, for GGE (June, 2015), where she requested charliedracoharry and I became intrigued.

Draco never expected his life to be like this. If someone had told him, at age sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, that by twenty-five he would be an established Auror that most people actually trusted, he would have laughed at them.

By age twelve he knew what being Slytherin meant. He knew it meant that no one trusted him except his own, the rest of his house. It meant that everyone else thought he were always up to something — mostly because he was, but that something wasn't always something bad.

This world does not easily put their trust in Slytherins. He had to prove himself over and over again.

Honestly, at seventeen he'd kind of thought he'd be in prison, if he even lived to twenty-five. He saw the way the war was turning.

In the end, though, Harry spoke on his behalf. And Draco never went to prison.

That still feels like some kind of miracle, even seven years later.

But it's not just the respect that surprises him. It's not just that the world knows his name as separate from his family.

It's also the boyfriend. The partner.

Harry.

Draco never expected Harry. He never expected Harry to full-on Gryffindor his way into Draco's life, refusing to take no for an answer. He never expected Harry to care for him.

He never expected Harry to be cleverer than he'd known, slyer than he'd expected, and secretly completely full of neverending sass. Harry is sharp and good at reading people and goddamn terrible at hiding his own emotions. He still mostly flails at a problem until falling into the solution, but somehow that's become sort of endearing rather than irritating.

He certainly never expected to fall in love with Harry.

But he did.

And Harry fell in return.

And they've just reached their two year anniversary and this feels like it's going to last.

Draco's mother approves. His father is in Azkaban, and therefore doesn't get an opinion on Draco's dating life.

Draco sets the table in the small flat that they share. It's a round, wooden table that Harry found, although when he found it, it was shabby and falling apart and Draco had looked at him like he was insane.

"Trust me," Harry had said, and what the hell was Draco supposed to say to that except all right.

Harry had sanded and stained the table, and when he showed it to Draco again, Draco had honestly questioned if it was the same table.

"Where did you learn how to do that?" Draco had asked. Harry had shrugged.

"My aunt really liked home improvement shows."

That had needed a lot of explaining, but in the end Draco had only been more impressed.

Now, the table is one of Draco's favorite things in their flat. They bought chairs that matched the light wood, and a light to go above it, and that was when the flat had started to feel like theirs, together.

He sets the table with the good plates, the white ones with fine black scrolling detail around the edges that they'd gotten from his mother. It's their anniversary, and Draco wants it to feel special.

He lays out the napkins and silverware, and then checks on the spaghetti sauce in the kitchen. He isn't a great cook; he usually lets Harry do the cooking, because Harry is good at it and actually enjoys it, but Harry had to work later today and Draco wanted to surprise him. Spaghetti is about the only thing he can reliably make without burning something and having Harry make jokes about burning down the flat. Because Harry thinks he's funny, the last time Draco had burnt something cooking dinner, Harry had gone out and bought a jar of burn-heal paste, and given it to Draco as a gift.

Draco had rolled his eyes, but in truth he'd found it a little funny himself. It just wouldn't do to let Harry know that — the jokes would never stop. A man can only take so many bad jokes.

He stirs the sauce carefully, checks the time, and then drops the pasta in the pot of boiling water.

Just as he's pulling the garlic bread out of the oven, he hears the sound of Harry's keys in the door.

He sets the pan on the counter and pulls off the oven mitt.

Harry comes into the kitchen and greets him with a brief kiss.

"Smells amazing."

Draco smiles at him. "Thank you. It will be ready in about two minutes."

"Perfect." Harry pulls off his coat and hangs it on the rack by the door. He sticks his keys in the bowl on the console table in the entryway. He hums as he does so, and Draco is reminded all over again how much he loves him. Even the simple, routine noises of Harry coming home satisfy something deep inside of him.

Harry leaves his boots by the door and comes back into the kitchen, giving Draco another kiss, this one longer. "Happy Anniversary, love," he says.

"Happy Anniversary," Draco says in return. A bit of affection bleeds into his voice, as it only does when he's alone with Harry. "Feel free to sit."

Harry seats himself at the table as Draco checks the pasta, determines it done, and strains it. He brings the food to the table, levitating the garlic bread and sauce as he carries the bowl of pasta.

As they eat, Harry talks about his day, sharing, as he does, every little detail. He's engaging when he tells stories, even about things as mundane as running into an old friend at the grocery store, so Draco never minds.

They finish dinner, and Harry washes the dishes as Draco dries them and puts them away. He's told Harry before that Mother would be happy to give them a house-elf, but Harry always laughs and says Hermione would kill them both.

It took Draco a long time to figure out that the truth was that having a house-elf would remind Harry too much of what his own childhood felt like — always doing chores, never really a part of the family.

He stops suggesting it after that.

When the dishes are finished, they sit on the couch in the living room.

Draco summons the small, wrapped box from the bedroom. Harry grins, and pulls an envelope from his pocket. It's vaguely crumpled, as is any sort of paper Harry holds onto for any length of time. Harry looks at it somewhat sheepishly, but shrugs.

"You should open second," he says. His eyes are bright. Draco doesn't much care, so he hands over the small box.

Harry unties the crisp ribbon and tears off the wrapping paper. He pulls open the box.

Inside it is a small silver ring.

"I know you don't care about marriage. And neither do I. But I see the look in your eyes when people assume you're single, and I thought maybe this way… You could show them."

Harry's face doesn't react at first, and Draco is starting to regret everything when Harry beams at him.

"It's perfect." Harry's voice is soft. Draco can tell that Harry knows it for the declaration that it is. The declaration that he's in this, for better or for worse, marriage notwithstanding.

"I figured, if you'd rather I wear one too, you could pick it out."

"Did you want to? Wear one?"

Draco looks at him, face impassive, as he considers it.

"I would," he says eventually, "although probably on a chain. I don't love things on my hands."

Harry beams. "Then I'll get you one."

Draco nods, smiling slightly.

"Thank you, love." Harry throws his arms around Draco's shoulders and hugs him tightly, because Harry is a very physically affectionate person and Draco has gotten used to this, over the years. It isn't how Draco grew up, and it didn't come naturally to him, but over years of first friendship then romance, he came to welcome how easily Harry touches him — a warm hand on his shoulder as Harry passes him by, a light kiss on the neck as Draco is leaning over the table, hard at work, or even just the way Harry sits next to him on the couch without leaving a gap, easily leaning into Draco's side. It was weird, and shocking, and somewhat anxiety-inducing at first, but now Draco thinks he would miss it.

Harry releases him, and then grins as he hands over the envelope.

Draco slides the letter out of the envelope, confused when it is clearly addressed to Harry.

Harry,

We'd love to have Draco stay at the Reserve and learn the ropes! We're always happy to teach anyone truly passionate about dragons, as long as they aren't a total idiot (so he should be fine, right? I joke, I joke). The normal training process is about three months until you can do anything on your own, although I'm not sure if you'd be all right with me co-opting your boyfriend for quite that long. We could do something shorter, it'd just be hard to get him off the tight leash we have to have for visitors. Safety reasons, you know.

Let me know when you know!

Tell the family I say hello, when you see them.

Charlie

Draco looks up at him. "Is this…" He trails off.

"The Dragon Reserve. In Romania. You're welcome there, for as long as you'd like to go. I've talked it over with Head Auror Summers as well, and she's already approved it. Indefinite leave, for the purposes of gaining a unique skill in the department."

Draco feels the slow smile creep across his face. Dragons. He's going to learn about dragons.

"You're amazing," he says softly, mostly to watch the blush grow on Harry's face. He'll never get tired of how easy it is to make him blush. "Thank you."

Harry beams, and Draco kisses him fiercely.

..

Draco wraps up everything he's in the middle of at work, hands off any longer term cases, and packs his bags. It's going to be odd to be away from Harry for three months, but Draco knows an opportunity like this may only come around once, and he's going to get everything he can out of it. He's got a Portkey scheduled, because Apparating that far would take multiple jumps.

Harry puts one hand on his shoulder, the other hand in his hair, and kisses him fiercely.

"Don't forget me," he says when he pulls away.

"As if I could," Draco returns. Harry grins, tapping the silver ring that now hangs from a chain around Draco's neck. Then his face sobers.

"I'm going to miss you."

Draco nods, because he doesn't do emotionally sappy statements like that very well, even now. Harry understands, because he just nods back.

"I love you," Harry says.

Those words, Draco has a hard time saying as well, even if he never has a hard time feeling them. Sometimes they just stick in his throat, and it doesn't matter that he loves Harry more than he ever thought possible — he still can't get them out, even in reply.

Today is not one of those days.

"I love you, as well," he says, his tone low and solemn. Those words will always carry weight, for him.

Harry beams. That is the last image Draco sees as the Portkey triggers and he is whirled out of existence.

When the world coalesces into solid shapes once more, Draco finds himself in the middle of a field, staring at a redhead who, while unknown, still looks very familiar.

Charlie Weasley is far more freckled than his siblings, something Draco attributes to the fact that it's August, summer is just starting to fade, and Romanian summers are much warmer and sunnier than British ones. He's stockier than Ron, more of a height with George. His hair is far longer than any of the Weasley brothers Draco has met. It's pulled back and collected in a band at the back of his neck. His grin looks just like George's. He's wearing a vest, and it gives Draco a great view of his arms, which are thickly muscled and just as freckled as his face, except in the places where they are the faint silvery-white of long-healed burns.

Draco holds out his hand. Charlie's grip is firm enough to crack bones as he shakes.

"Welcome," Charlie says. The word is warm in his mouth. "I've heard so much about you."

Draco's eyes widen. Charlie takes in his face, and then laughs heartily.

"Don't you worry. I know not to listen to everything my brothers say."

Draco isn't sure what his face does at that, but it makes Charlie chuckle.

"Here," Charlie says. "Take my arm and I'll Apparate you to your flat. The buildings are too narrow to get your Portkey close enough."

Draco rests a hand on Charlie's elbow, and they disappear.

When the reappear, Charlie has one hand on the wall of a building and the other hand on his stomach. Draco quickly removes his hand and steps away.

After a moment, Charlie sways upright. He takes one look at Draco, and he's chuckling again. "It's fine," he says. "I promise. I just get wildly Apparition sick. It passes quickly." He strides out of the alley without even bothering to check that Draco is following.

Draco takes a deep breath, and then follows. He can already tell working with Charlie is going to be a whirlwind.

Charlie shows him to a second-floor walk up studio flat, barely bigger than their living room back in England. Charlie points to his left, and says, "Mine's identical, but two houses that way, so if you need anything, just ask."

Draco looks around. There's a twin bed, a curtain that pulls in front of it to section it off, a tiny kitchen, and a couch. The kitchen has a bar at which there are two barstools, which is good, because there is no table.

"Thank you," he says.

Charlie shrugs. "It was no problem to set up. The landlady of this whole block adores me. But yeah, they're all this size. You get used to it."

Draco's not sure he wants to get used to it. He's not sure he wants to get used to being alone again.

He shakes himself, reminds himself that the dragons will be worth it.

"Thank you," he says again, anyway. Charlie may say it's no trouble, but that's never really true.

"I'm sure you want to unpack," Charlie says in return. "I'll come get you in the morning, around 9:30, and show you the way to the Reserve. My shift starts at 10, so that should give you some time to look around before we actually start anything."

…

Charlie picks him up at 9:35, clutching a cup of coffee and looking vaguely like he wants to punch something. It's weirdly endearing, and it reminds him of Harry in the mornings, hair all akimbo, eyes blinking blearily at him. Draco smiles slightly.

"Morning," he says brightly. Charlie glares at him.

"Fuck, you're a morning person, aren't you?" His voice is a low growl.

Draco smirks. "I might be."

Charlie's glare darkens into a glower. "I hate you a little bit."

"That's fine. I'm used to it."

At that, something in Charlie's face twists.

"Nope, don't do that. That was a joke," Draco says.

"A joke based in truth," Charlie says.

Draco rolls his eyes. "All right, yes. But it was still a joke. I know you don't actually hate me."

Charlie takes a deep breath, then seems to decide not to fight it. "People who hate you without knowing you are dicks," he finally mutters, and then he takes Draco's arm and Apparates them both to the main entrance of the Reserve.

Charlie shows him around the main areas — the whole Reserve is massive, and far too large to tour in one morning.

It doesn't matter that he only sees a fraction of it. It's still just as amazing as he'd thought it would be.

When they finish the tour of all the different dragon domains, including the hatchery, Charlie takes him back to the main office for paperwork.

"Basically," Charlie says, "because you're going to be here the full three months, we're going to train you mostly the same way we'd train someone actually planning on working here. You'll learn the diagnostic spells we use, how to visually examine a dragon, fixing crooked scales, polishing, administering potions, how to deal with territory battles, what to do with an abandoned egg… all of it."

Draco looks up from his signature on the page. "Sounds perfect."

"Well then, let's get started!"

..

Louisa, Harry's barn owl, drops off a letter less than a week later. Draco pulls open the scroll.

Draco,

I know it's been less than a week but I miss you. The flat feels too empty without you here.

Then I remind myself that you're having the time of your life, and the walls don't seem so cold. I hope you're happy.

Learn everything you can, have a wonderful time, and then come back to me, okay?

Love you,

Harry

Draco smiles. It's slightly bittersweet. Honestly, the first week has been perfect, and he's learned so much, but in the moments where everything is quiet, he misses Harry too.

If it weren't for Harry, and for his job, he might be tempted to stay.

Charlie makes sure he's included. When he goes out with his friends, he invites Draco along. He speaks Romanian with the natives and English with those of them who are from out of the country, easily code-switching between languages and keeping all of them engaged in the conversation.

When Charlie laughs, he laughs with his whole body, tossing his head back and bringing his arms up and thoroughly expressing his joy. He's beautiful, Draco thinks. He looks away.

...

When Draco shows up at work on Tuesday morning a month into his training, Charlie grins at him. "I have a feeling you're going to like this. We're going to wait for Eion to arrive before I explain though."

"Eion?"

"He's been training mostly with Daniela. She's out sick today, though."

Draco nods. He's met Daniela. Born and bred in Romania, she's tough as nails and takes no nonsense from anyone.

Eion appears moments later, looking harried. "Sorry, sorry."

Charlie laughs. "You're good. Let's get started! Today we have a dragonet who's a bit underweight, and I need to get close enough to run a few diagnostics. Her mum isn't going to like that too much, though, so that's why tending to young dragons is always a job for more than one person. Don't be an idiot and try to do it by yourself." He looks at both of them. "Draco, you have a bit more experience with diagnostics. I'll have you with me to take a look at Yela. Eion, I need you to keep a sharp eye on her mum, Elere. If she starts to move toward us, you let us know, but you do not yell. You'll only make her more likely to attack. Got it?"

Eion pauses for a moment, and then nods.

Charlie grins at him. "Good, good." He claps his hands together. "Right, mount your brooms, and we'll go check on Yela. Eion, I want you hovering high above us, keeping an eye out for smoke or abrupt movements from Elere. Draco, stay with me."

They find Yela and Elere at the base of one of the mountains. Elere is curled up in a circle, but with her head lifted and following Yela as she tramples around, flapping her wings occasionally but still unable to achieve liftoff.

"Right, Eion, stay right here, let us know if anything changes. Draco, you've got your gloves on?" Draco nods, flexing his fingers as he hangs onto the broom with just his legs.

Charlie nods back, and he and Draco slowly but steadily drift closer to Yela, trying to get close enough to cast a diagnostic spell. Draco stays a little further back, trying not to overwhelm Yela. Charlie is in the middle of his first spell when Draco hears a yell.

"She's smoking!"

He doesn't even have time to turn. In the end, that is for the best.

The back of his neck is burning. He bites his lip, hard, trying to keep in the scream that tries to escape. He knows it would only anger Elere more. He's got his eyes squeezed shut. He tastes blood on his lip, from where his tooth has pierced it.

He takes a deep breath, bracing to open his eyes, but before he does, his broom is being tugged up.

When he opens his eyes to look, he sees Charlie, face cast in stone, guiding his broom up.

"I've got it," he says, his voice somehow hoarse from the scream he never uttered.

Charlie doesn't seem to notice, doesn't say a word until they reach where Eion is still floating above them, frozen in fear.

Charlie's voice, when he speaks, is pure fury, flame and hellfire. "You. Follow. Now."

Eion falls into place behind them without hesitation.

Draco is ashamed to admit things go a little hazy on the flight to the Infirmary. He was once no stranger to pain, but it's been seven years since that was a regular part of his life, and burns are always a different sort of pain to anything else.

He's aware of stumbling off his broom, Charlie catching him. Charlie's voice, low, saying, "Stay with me. We'll get you some burn paste and a few numbing spells and you won't even be able to tell."

And then Draco's on a bed and Charlie's hand is on his neck, carefully spreading burn-heal paste as Draco sinks into the cool touch. The mediwitch is behind him, casting numbing spells.

"You're going to be just fine," Charlie's voice is saying as Draco sinks back down, this time into something closer to sleep — his body exhausted from the wound and the forced healing — than just a haze of pain.

He comes awake to the sound of Charlie's voice from another room. His voice lacks any of its usual softness — instead, it's forged with steel and still-burning with the heat of the forge.

"I fucking told you, explicitly, not to yell. And what do you do? You fucking yell. Are you a goddamn idiot, or are you just an asshole who thinks other people's lives don't matter? I know Daniela would have taught you to follow basic instructions. Thanks to your complete, imbecilic ineptitude, you put a man in the infirmary. He could have died. Do you understand that? Dragon fire kills people. This is not some fucking game!"

Draco drifts off to sleep to the sound of Charlie's beautiful, righteous anger.

…

He wakes up to Charlie saying, "Literally thought this day couldn't get any worse, and then it fucking did."

"What now?" the mediwitch asks. Charlie straight up growls. "This asshole got too goddamn close to Yela, and Elere bit him, and now I have to fill out two fucking injury reports in the same day."

Draco peels his eyes open, and sees Charlie, absolutely transcendent with rage, gesturing to a sheepish Eion, who has a scrap of fabric wrapped tightly around his upper arm, soaked through with blood.

"I'm so sorry you have to deal with this fucker," Charlie tells the mediwitch. "Draco's fine to move, right?"

"If he's awake, yes."

And then Charlie is at his bedside, and the rage has morphed into something soft. "You awake?"

Draco nods.

"Right. Let's get you home, and then I'll take another look. You should be good at this point, but I'd like to make sure."

"Thank you," Draco says, his voice thin from sleep.

Charlie shakes his head. "Don't. I should have fucking checked. I figured if Dani was training him, he'd be competent enough to follow basic instructions, but I shouldn't have assumed. You could have died. If she'd have used a full blast of fire, you probably would have died. And that would've been on me."

Draco narrows his eyebrows, and then shoves himself into a sitting position, ignoring the lance of pain that shoots through his shoulder when he puts weight on his left hand.

"Don't you dare," he says.

"What?" Charlie asks.

"Don't. I get enough of that idiotic self-martyring bullshit from the dumbass I live with at home. I don't need it from you."

Charlie's blue eyes are wide and shocked.

Draco shakes his head in exasperation. "Damn Gryffindors are going to drive me insane, I swear. You didn't do anything to cause this. This is on Eion."

"I could've prevented it," Charlie says.

"Yeah, maybe. If you were a Seer. Are you a Seer?"

"Um. No?"

"I'd thought not." Draco shakes his head and gets to his feet. "Look, I know from experience that nothing is going to get through to you right now, so I'm just going to say that it's not your fucking fault and leave it at that. Can I go home now?"

Charlie jumps to help him, at which Draco just rolls his eyes. "It's a neck burn, you overly-concerned nuisance. I can walk just fine."

This doesn't stop Charlie from hovering.

Draco honestly didn't expect it to.

…

It's not even anything special, in the end. It's nearly three months in and Draco is standing in one of the barns, fixing one of Noella's scales all by himself for the first time, and he looks over at Charlie, who is grinning at him, pride written across his face, and Draco is slapped in the face with I have feelings for him.

Followed by, Fuck, I have feelings for him.

...

Two days later, Charlie comes by after work to find Draco's life packed in bags.

"You're leaving? But you've just reached the point where you can do things on your own!"

"It's time for me to go home now," Draco says, keeping his voice flat.

Charlie frowns.

"Well, you'll keep in touch, won't you?"

"I don't think that's a good idea." Easier to separate himself all at once, and let the attraction die.

But as Draco says the words, he watches Charlie's face crumble, and then harden.

"I see," he says. And Draco doesn't think he does. He thinks Charlie's gotten the wrong idea, has decided Draco never really considered them friends.

But maybe it's better if he thinks that, so Draco doesn't correct him.

…

When Harry gets home from work, Draco is sitting at the table. Harry drops his keys. As he strides forward, Draco stands, and Harry throws his arms around Draco, burying his face into Draco's neck. Draco carefully hugs him back.

"I missed you," Harry says into the joint of Draco's neck. Draco tucks Harry's head under his chin and remembers all over again how much he loves this man. And the reminder makes him sigh. Harry pulls back at the sound, eyes scanning his face.

"What? What happened?"

And Draco didn't exactly want to discuss this right away, but Harry is looking at him and Draco can't lie to him. Not about this.

"Maybe we should sit down."

Harry lets him go but holds on to his hand, guiding him over to the brown sofa and sitting down beside him. Harry twists their fingers together. Draco wants to pull his hand away, but he doesn't. He stares at the place where their fingers are intertwined.

Draco hates talking about his feelings. But that's half of why he and Harry had promised each other emotional honesty, when they started this. The other half is Harry's hatred of asking for help.

"First of all," he says to their hands. "You aren't going to like what I have to say, but it doesn't change the way I feel about you."

He knows that Harry is probably looking at him in concern, but he doesn't lift his gaze. He's staring at their hands, his long pale fingers intermixed with Harry's shorter, tanner ones. Harry's nails are bitten to the quick, his skin littered with places he's picked layers off. His own reach the tips of his fingers, and are well trimmed. He rubs his thumb over the base of Harry's thumb, the gesture meant as reassurance and functioning more as a reminder that Harry is still there.

"While in Romania, I developed feelings for Charlie," Draco finally says. "I never acted on them. But I think it's only fair that you know."

The silence following his proclamation seems to echo around the small room. Eventually, Draco looks up, meeting Harry's gaze.

Harry is smiling at him.

"What?" Draco finally asks, when Harry still doesn't say anything.

"Thank you for telling me," Harry says. "I can't say I'm surprised. Charlie has one of the kindest souls I've ever met. It's why I had a massive crush on him when I first met him." Harry shrugs. "Honestly, it never really went away. Doesn't hurt that he's absolutely gorgeous, does it?"

Draco blinks at him in surprise.

"I… what?"

Harry grins at the surprise on Draco's face. "I've never believed that you can only love one person at a time. I've got too much love to give for that." He seems to see something in Draco's face, because he backtracks. "Oh, love. You still matter, trust me, it doesn't mean I love you any less."

Draco shakes his head. "I know. I started this by saying that how I felt didn't change how I feel about you. It doesn't. I just… didn't think you'd understand. Not this well."

"I would've mentioned it, but it hasn't come up since we've been together."

"It hasn't come up that you have background feelings for someone else?"

Harry shrugs. "I mean, to be fair, I haven't actually seen Charlie since then."

And that's… fair enough.

"I guess it doesn't much matter. He lives in a completely different country. It's not like we'll see him that often, anyway."

"Actually, he's coming for Christmas this year." Harry says with a grin. "And you are not avoiding him because you feel awkward."

Draco winces. Harry notices, of course, because Draco desperately doesn't want him to.

"What?" Harry asks.

"Well. I may have left him with the impression that I hate him."

"You did what?"

And yes, that's kind of the reaction Draco expected from Harry.

"Well, I couldn't exactly explain I was half-in love with him, now could I?" he snaps defensively, because if there's anything that can get his temper up, it's Harry.

"Sure you could have!"

"News flash: not everyone is as happy about loving everyone as you are. I have a boyfriend. Who I love. I'm not going to wander around telling other people I have feelings for them!"

"That," Harry says calmly, "Is the angriest way anyone has ever told me they loved me."

Draco pauses. Then his lips twitch. He can't resist chuckling.

"You're such a dumbass, sometimes," Draco says, but it's pure affection and he knows Harry can tell.

…

Draco attempts to write an apology letter.

Charlie,

I fucked up.

He attempts again.

Charlie,

It occurs to me that I may have inadvertently left you lingering under a misapprehension—

For Merlin's sake, could he sound more pretentious.

Harry finds him at their table, head on the wood, quill sitting in the open ink pot.

Absently, Harry runs a hand through his hair. "Going that well, huh love?"

Draco groans. Harry laughs, because Harry is an asshole who laughs at his pain.

Eventually Draco sits up. "Can I just do this in person? At Christmas? You know I'm better at speaking. I'm not like you. I know you do better if you think it through and write it out, but I just overthink it and it winds up a mess."

Harry hums. "I think that's fine, as long as it's a real apology. None of that pureblood 'my apologies' shit where it's not actually a real apology."

Draco grins wryly at him. "Deal."

…

Draco approaches the Burrow with some trepidation, Harry at his side.

"Are you sure we have to do this?" he asks Harry.

"Love. Yes. First of all, this is my family and we are spending Christmas with them because I love them. Second of all, you owe him an apology. You owe him an apology because you hurt him, and you owe it to yourself to apologize because you like Charlie, and you want to spend more time with him, especially now that you know I'm not going to be mad about it."

Draco sighs. "Dammit, I hate when you use logic and reason on me."

Harry grins. They enter the Burrow together.

As usual, it is an immediate wash of warmth and noise. The first time Draco came to the Burrow was two years ago for Christmas, and that was utterly overwhelming. He was used to his own family, three of them, all quiet and reserved. And since the war, it's only been he and his mother.

The Weasleys are not quiet. Or reserved.

Even two full years later, and several birthdays and holidays and even the occasional Sunday dinner just because, Draco still isn't used to the riot of chaos that greets him the moment he steps into the Weasley home.

Molly hugs Harry tightly, and then hugs Draco just as tightly.

"Harry, Draco, darlings. So glad you could make it. The children are out in the yard, playing Quidditch if you'd like to join them. Dinner will be finished in a about half an hour."

"Do you need any help, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asks, as he always does, but as always, he gets shooed out of the kitchen immediately.

"The yard it is."

When they emerge, they find a pick up game where Charlie, George, Fleur and Ginny are facing off against Bill, Angelina, Hermione, and Ron.

"Percy not here yet?" Harry calls up to them with a grin, and George yells back.

"He and Audrey are with the kids! I think he was just too chicken to play with us!"

Charlie grins down at Harry. "You any good as a Chaser, Harry?" Harry laughs.

"Seeker through and through, sorry."

"We'll take Draco!" Angelina calls. "He's a much better Chaser, although to be honest all three of you Seekers are kind of shit Chasers."

George blows her a kiss from his spot at the goal posts. "Just because your favorite position actually exists in pick-up Quidditch, doesn't mean you get to mock the rest of us, darling," he calls. In return, Angelina flips him off. Everyone laughs.

They play for half an hour, and Charlie doesn't look at Draco once. It's actually fairly impressive.

Draco winds up cornering Charlie after dinner, when Charlie goes outside for a break from the chaos. After living with him in Romania, Draco understands why.

Charlie is standing on the front porch, leaning against the peeling white railing. He's staring at the driveway that leads up to the house. His hair is pulled back against the back of his neck, and his elbows are on the railing.

"I'm sorry," he says, because he promised Harry that this would be a real apology. Charlie jerks around in surprise, almost toppling over the front porch railing he was leaning on.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I think I left you with the wrong impression."

Charlie turns back around, facing the drive. "I don't know what you mean," he says, but his voice is cool and Draco knows he isn't wrong.

Draco takes a breath. "I made a mistake. And I can't explain why. But… I left more abruptly than I meant to, and I think I left you with the impression that… I was ungrateful. But I left because of personal issues, and I told you we shouldn't stay in touch because I was… struggling. But that was on me."

Charlie is staring at him now. His blue eyes seem to be piercing through to Draco's soul, but he doesn't speak. He seems to be waiting for Draco to continue.

"I value your friendship," Draco finally says. "I appreciate what you did for me, but more than that I simply enjoy your company."

"You're not going to explain." Charlie says flatly.

"I'm sorry," Draco says again.

Charlie sighs. "You get a pass. This one time. Because I know you're still occasionally emotionally constipated. But if you ever, ever try to pull bullshit like that again, you can just leave."

"That's fair."

Charlie gives him a lopsided grin. "Come here, then," he says, and when Draco steps forward, Charlie slings an arm around his shoulder and turns him so that they're both facing the driveway. Charlie is several inches shorter than him, but Draco just smiles slightly and leans on the railing, making the position less awkward.

"You're an asshole, you know?" Charlie says conversationally.

"I know," Draco replies.

From inside the house, Harry looks at their posture, and he smiles.

…

Hours later, Draco is helping Molly clean the dishes when she shoos him out into the living room and he can't help but smile at the sight that greets him.

Amidst the people lying on floors, couches, and everywhere in between, squashed on the loveseat there are three people. On one edge, young Teddy Lupin sits, leaning off the edge of the couch to talk to Victoire.

In the middle of the couch sits Harry. He is angled so that he's almost completely facing Charlie, who occupies the seat on the other side. Their heads, one covered in a bright shock of red and one black, are bent together as they speak in low tones. They are pressed together from hip to knee. As he watches, Harry gestures with his hands and accidentally smacks Charlie in the face. Charlie tips his head back and laughs, full body. After a moment of shock, Harry is laughing too.

They're beautiful together, and it's at that moment that Draco realizes that he isn't jealous. No, he's not jealous. He wants. He wants this. The both of them, together. Happy together, like they look now.

As though it's not enough to have one boyfriend who he loves and who loves him.

But he's getting way too far ahead of himself. He doesn't want anything Charlie doesn't want, and they don't have a clue whether Charlie wants to date either one of them, let alone both of them.

And when did he start thinking about this as a serious possibility, anyway? When did it go from 'we like him' to 'we could date him'? As though he and Harry don't get enough attention for their relationship already. He can only imagine the field day the press would have if they found out Harry was dating two different men.

But the logic doesn't affect the want.

…

He doesn't intend to say anything about it. He's happy with things the way they are, and Charlie has gone back to Romania, so what is saying anything going to change, anyway?

But then Harry brings it up, just after the new year.

"You and Charlie looked good together," he says, and it's offhanded, as though it's just a toss-away comment, but Draco sees the way his eyes are monitoring Draco's reaction.

"Is that so?" Draco says, carefully. This moment is fragile, he can tell, and if they break it, they may never get it back.

Harry nods with the same amount of care. He has put the Quaffle in Draco's hands. He isn't going to offer anything else until Draco does.

"So did you and Charlie," Draco says.

Harry blinks. This is clearly not the return he was expecting.

After a moment, Harry says, "You reminded me. What I saw in him. What I see."

"I wasn't jealous," Draco offers in return. Because when he and Harry have conversations like this, it winds up being an exchange. A confession for a confession.

"Neither was I," Harry says.

A pause, and then. "You want to try this, don't you? You want to try to romance him, to see if he'll date us."

"I do," Harry says.

"You know why it's a bad idea."

"I do."

"The distance. The press. The complications of adding another person."

"I know."

"And you still want to do this?"

"I want to try. I mean. I only want this if it's equal. If we're all dating each other, not just one of us dating him and us dating."

Draco nods. "I agree." He looks at Harry intently. "Do you have a plan?"

Harry sighs. "How do you feel about moving to Romania to be Aurors there? I have a connection; I could get us transferred. We'd still have jobs. We'd be away from the press. I'm so tired of the press. We'd be near him." He pauses. "Is that crazy? To move across the continent to chase a maybe?"

Draco contemplates that.

"I think as long as you'd be happy in Romania no matter how things turn out with Charlie, then maybe it's not the most insane thing we've ever done."

Harry's grin grows slowly. "So you're with me?"

Draco sighs. "I really hate the press, too. And I would love to be able to visit the Reserve regularly."

"So we're moving to Romania?"

Draco grins at him. "I guess we are."

…****...****...****...

Something is definitely going on. Charlie is sure of it. He just isn't quite sure what.

Flowers keep showing up at his door.

So far, there has been a bouquet every week for the last month.

None of them have been signed.

It started on Valentine's day, which at least… sort of made sense as a day to get anonymous flowers. But it just. Keeps. Happening. Every week, a weird-ass flower bouquet made of two different types of flowers, only they never match, as though someone is just picking two types at random. This week, it was orange tulips and red pansies. Charlie knows the florist certainly didn't put those two together.

The flowers, it turns out, are only the point where Charlie's life begins to get weird. Because in the middle of March, after the flowers have been coming for a month, Harry and Draco move in across the street. What the fuck? Three months ago they had shown no sign of planning to leave England. Then they show up on his doorstep and tell him they're renting the two bedroom across the way and that he's welcome whenever.

Which is weird, but Harry says he's sick of the press and Draco says they can work as Aurors just the same no matter what country they're in, and Draco volunteers at the Reserve when he has free time, so whatever. Fine. They're allowed to move, if they want to.

(Not that it's not immensely frustrating to have the two men he has feelings for move in across the damn street when both of them are untouchable because they're dating each other. It is. Incredibly frustrating. But Charlie is a goddamn adult and he can handle his feelings like one. Draco and Harry are his friends, and he's not going to do anything to mess that up).

And they seem to consider him a friend, too, because they keep inviting him to stuff. Half the time he declines, because he feels like he's totally crashing their dates, but they're weirdly insistent.

So he goes with them to the Muggle movies, where Harry insists on all of them sharing popcorn and they wind up making fun of how terrible the fake magic is. They get shushed more than once, which just makes them laugh louder.

He goes with them to dinner, to a place nice enough that he feels scruffy in jeans. Draco kidnaps the check and refuses to let Charlie see it or pay him back.

Some days, Draco drops by the Reserve just to bring Charlie lunch, which feels… very weird. He asks Draco if he brings Harry lunch, and Draco looks at him like he's stupid. "Harry and I work together," he says. "Why on earth would I bring him lunch?"

And, well, fair enough.

At one point, they literally drag him with them to go paddle-boating across a tiny lake in the middle of nowhere. The only reason he says yes is because they don't tell him where they're going — this feels incredibly like date-crashing. Charlie wonders if they're pitying him because he's alone.

He has friends, he tells them, but both of them look at him like this is incredibly obvious.

"I know," Draco says. "I've met them. How is this relevant to paddle boats?"

Charlie blinks. "I… guess it isn't?"

To be fair, the paddle-boating is quite nice.

One day, they kidnap him and take him to the zoo. This one, Charlie has exactly zero complaints about. It's still weird, because they're being weird, but Charlie could not care less. The reptile house is literally the best thing Muggles have ever invented.

"Oh my god. Look at the TINY MUGGLE DRAGONS." He's staring avidly at something labeled a Komodo Dragon. "This is what Muggles think Dragons look like? It's so cute and small."

Draco is smirking at him. Charlie doesn't care. Harry is beaming. The snakes are gorgeous, and made even better for the fact that Harry can talk to them. He checks that no one is watching before hissing at a large boa constrictor, who promptly lifts her head and hisses back.

"Oh. My. God," Charlie whispers under his breath. Draco is still smirking at him, but there's amused joy underneath it, so Charlie isn't even upset.

"This is the best day ever," Charlie concludes as he stares at the gila monster. Harry and Draco turn to each other, have some sort of silent conversation, and both wind up beaming. Charlie decides he doesn't want to know.

The flowers don't stop coming. It has now been over two months. This week, it's lavender and yellow daisies, which at the very least don't clash.

When Draco drops by, he gets an odd smile when he sees them in the vase on the table.

"Do you know who's been sending them?" Charlie asks him. Draco looks at him in surprise.

"You mean you don't?"

Charlie shakes his head. "It's been driving me insane. They just keep coming, but not a single one of them has a card."

Draco blinks at him. "Card. Right. Yes," he says, incomprehensibly. He disappears without ever mentioning why he stopped over.

Later that week, the three of them wind up going out for dinner again, and this time Harry kidnaps the check, and that's it. Charlie is done.

"Look, guys, I know you're trying to be nice, or whatever, but I'm really not that poor."

Draco frowns at him. "We know that. But we invited you out. So it's only fair."

"It's not fair if you pay every single time."

Harry shrugs. "Maybe you should start inviting us out, then. Stop us from having to do all the work. Planning this shit is hard work, you know."

"You don't have to invite me to everything, you know? I know you guys are dating. You must want some time alone."

"We also want time with you, though," Harry says. "We've been dating. For almost three years now. You, on the other hand, are new."

"New to what?" Charlie asks.

"New to this. Us." Draco says.

Something clicks in Charlie's head. Something that would have clicked sooner, had it not been so utterly absurd.

"Wait a second. Are you two dumbasses trying to date me?"

A moment of silence. "Uh. Is it working?" Harry asks."

Charlie drops his head into his hand.

"Oh my god. Oh my god."

"Er. Did we break him?" he hears Harry ask Draco.

"Give him a second," Draco says. "I think he's catching up."

"Catching up!" Charlie says, bolting upright. "Catching up? You two weirdos decided to date me and then not even tell me about it. Oh my god. And I thought your emotional constipation was improving, Draco!"

"Er," Harry says.

Draco blinks, and says nothing.

"I can't believe I even like you two. You are so… oh my god. Have you never heard of communication? You could have just asked!"

"Is… is that a yes?" Draco asks after a pause.

Charlie drops his head back into his hands. "Are you behind the flowers?" he asks, his voice muffled.

"That would be us," Draco confirms.

Charlie takes a deep breath, and lifts his head. "It's a yes. God help me, but it's a yes."

….

Now that Charlie actually knows they've been going on dates, he decides it's high time he plans one.

So he brings them both to the Reserve and introduces Harry to Zelya, a Welsh Green and one of their calmest dragons. Carefully, while having Harry and Draco stand back a bit, he strokes her neck. She's laying down, blinking at him slowly.

"Hey there, darlin'," he says softly.

She moves her head within a foot of his and blinks a hello back.

"Would you mind taking us on an adventure?" he asks her. She huffs a breath of warm steam in his face, and Charlie chuckles. "That's my girl.

"I'm going to levitate both of you up, just so that we don't have to worry about feet in sensitive places. Seat yourself between the wings, grip with your knees, just like a broom. Don't get too close to the wing joints."

Charlie has absently begun scratching the scales of Zelya's head as he levitates first Draco, then Harry, and she huffs another warm breath at him as he gently deposits them on her back. He gives her another good scratch. "Thanks, love," he tells her, and then moves to her foreleg, pulling himself up by putting his elbows on the joint of her knee and using his upper body.

She hums slightly, and all three of them feel the vibration in their bones. Charlie seats himself behind Draco, who is sitting behind Harry. He pats Zelya's side in signal, and she huffs, and then heaves herself up into a standing position. Her powerful wings begin to beat.

No matter how many times he has done this, Charlie will never not experience this sort of awe, that such a great and powerful creature doesn't mind some company on her flights. Welsh Greens are the most amiable to passengers, though there are several other breeds who, while they won't fly for you, don't really care if you're on their back while they fly.

He can see the awe written in every line of Draco's body, and Charlie knows he's found a kindred spirit.

Harry turns around to grin at both of them, and then says offhandedly, "Riding a dragon is much better when you're not fleeing for your life and having visions from Voldemort."

Draco groans and thunks his head into Harry's shoulder. Charlie grins.

Yeah, they're definitely weirdos. But maybe they can be his weirdos.

(Insane House: Potion: burn-heal paste) (365 - dialogue: "I missed you") (Stickers: Dragon - write about charlie) (showtime 7. "You still matter.") (TV Show: Lestrade: object (ring), word (respect), occupation (Auror)) (buttons: item: scroll, dialogue "This day couldn't get any worse.") (book club: Caine Soren: (character) Draco, (plot point) taking the blame, (word) insane) (liza's loves: title "to _ and back again")

For Assignment Two: Notable Witches: Write about someone leaving the country