Warnings: It's AU after HBP. Those who died in DH are alive, I think, except Voldemort, who's dead. It contains SLASH, or rather, it will. In chapter…two? I think? This one's merely got mentions of homosexuality. Anyway, there's a bit of language, and some sexual insinuations.

I'm terribly bad at this.

Let me know if I should add something to the warning, 'kay? Also, I'm really glad people liked my last CharlieHarry fic.

Quidditch and Changes.

It had always been there, that unhealthy attraction to danger; as a child who goaded his relatives; as a youth who gallivanted and lived out adventures at Hogwarts; as an adolescent who was pushed into a war and, subsequently, forced to kill Voldemort. Voldemort who had, after all, been responsible for most of Harry's near death experiences.

Quidditch had been of his own volition. Professional Quidditch was nothing like the safe, secure sport performed on Hogwarts. Especially not in the backwaters of south-eastern Europe in a country so close to Bulgaria and Viktor Krum that an up-and-coming Seeker would have a chance to be somewhat anonymous and adapt. Because in that part of Europe Krum was the best. Potter was just a bratty wannabe from England who pretended to know the sport. Down there, everyone knew that Englishmen were pansies and that the 'sport' they called 'Quidditch' really was just a tea party with your old neighbours.

His team members were nice, of course, and they only threatened him enough for Harry to know that losing was not preferable if he wanted to remain in full control of all his faculties. His opponents made his games against Slytherin seem like leisure walks in a park in the sun.

It was thrilling, demanding and Harry loved it. Seven matches out of ten, Harry had caught the Snitch. And Harry felt very proud of himself for accomplishing even that much. He knew that with his only previous experience on the Gryffindor team – the gap between that and professional Quidditch was huge – even catching it once would have been a miracle. He had been seriously disadvantaged in the beginning. His team taken a perverse amount of pleasure in reminding Harry of this. So while they certainly didn't win their league, they did secure a neat third place on the ranking list.

"Good game, Potter!" their gruff coach called in broken English, his thick German accent coming through more than usual. Harry smiled and at once the man barked, "And stop that pansy acting!" Harry wiped the smile from his face and nodded.

Right.

Pansy Potter.

How could he have forgotten?

Harry snorted and shook his head. What, exactly, was it Seekers benefited from again? Being small, lithe and quick, right? Being somewhat athletic didn't hurt but it wasn't required, just like the wiry, strong build of the Chasers were preferred, but not required as long as they had strength, muscles and speed. Harry had to be agile and he had to be able to manoeuvre, quickly and easily, and he had to make sure to stay on his broom and not fall off like a goddamn weakling.

"You do good, Potter," Ivanov, the Russian Keeper, grinned and clapped Harry on the shoulder. Harry bit back a groan; damn that man was strong.

"Thanks. You, too."

Ivanov's grin widened and he winked. "I know. Oh." He stopped, hand on the door and about to push it open. "You have visitor."

Visitor? Harry raised his eyebrows. "Huh. Didn't know I knew anyone in Bucharest…"

He did, it turned out, however brief and accidental the acquaintance.

It was the hair that gave him off. That and the freckles.

"…Weasley?" The man turned around, an eyebrow sort of raised but not quite. "Charlie Weasley?"

"Yup."

Then Harry, much to his eternal embarrassment and sappiness, attacked the man he barely knew, had met a grand number of three times, with a hug. "It's damn good to see you…"

"Well—"

"Shut up. I miss the Burrow."

"So do I, Potter—"

"—Harry—"

"—but you don't see me attaching myself to any of the redheads around." Harry sniffed. It took a mere second for Charlie to sigh and bring his arms around Harry's back in an awkward, affectionate hug. "Good playing, by the way."

Harry grinned and pulled back. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Charlie gave Harry a pat on his shoulder, then nodded towards the bar. "Beer?"

Harry nodded. "Hell, yeah."

"God," Harry groaned, eyes twinkling madly, "I thought your mum was gonna kill me when I said I'd got an offer from a Quidditch team in Romania… She looked absolutely furious…"

"I don't doubt you." Charlie smiled ruefully. He ran a hand through his messy hair. "Bill went to Egypt, I went off to play with dragons, Percy ran off, the twins do…whatever it is that they do and causes Mum to go prematurely grey. Then you, her great and utter pride—" Charlie gazed at him. His eyes twinkled and there was a dangerous smileplaying around the corners of his lips. "—tell her you're going abroad. To Romania. Where the dangerous dragons are. To play Quidditch" Harry began chuckling softly. It wasn't long before Charlie joined him. "Yeah," he said. "More beer?"

"Sure."

Much later, after they had a neat collection of glasses in various shapes and forms on their table, Harry frowned and turned to Charlie. He stared at him above the brim of his glasses. "Are you trying to get me drunk?" he wondered, not too seriously.

Charlie shook his head. His eyes were a bit glassy, but his lips were curved into a nice smile. "No. No. Maybe. I'm getting myself drunk, and you…too, obviously."

Harry nodded slowly in agreement "Okay, right."

"Potter!"

Harry's head shot up and his glasses slid down low on the tip of his nose. "Yes?" A blur came closer. A blur with hair Weasley red. Harry smiled brightly. "Ivanov! Hi! This is Charlie Weasley, he tames dragons, and you have just as great hair."

"You too much to drink, Potter," Ivanov muttered and could only Harry nodded sheepishly in accord. "It suit you." Harry scooted closer to Charlie as Ivanov moved in a chair, inviting himself to their table.

"Suits me?"

Ivanov nodded and poked Harry's cheek, stained red by the drink. "Makes you pretty, Potter."

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. He scooted closer to Charlie again, because while Ivanov was very easy on the eyes with his long red hair and steely grey eyes, he was a bloody promiscuous libertine. Charlie turned and grinned. "It does, doesn't it?" he asked.

"You're not supposed to agree, you know."

Spread eagle on his bed, Harry stared, without really seeing, at the ceiling of his small, cheap one-man cottage. He hurt. No, no… He didn't hurt; he ached. Badly. He was never going to fall off his broom ever again. Of course, that was a vow he had made many times – and one he never seemed capable of keeping, but it was still an important one to make regularly. Quidditch wasn't really a winter sport – not with the harsh winters mountains brought. Supposedly, they were 'taking it cool' for a while, but the coach was drilling him even harder than before and Harry had a hard time seeing how that was supposed to allow him to relax more in order to prepare for the spring and summer.

There was a knock on his door.

Harry groaned loudly. "No…I can't get up…I never have visitors…" A second knock soon followed, and it prompted Harry to cry out, "Yes!" and try to stand. Then he tried to walk. When he was halfway through his quaint kitchen, the door creaked open. Harry froze on the spot. "Who's there?" He nervously fingered his wand.

"Harry?"

Harry relaxed and sank to the ground. "Charlie," he moaned. "What are you doing here…?"

"Officially, I'm extending Mum's Christmas invitation. Unofficially," Charlie murmured, crouching in front of Harry, a teasing smile on his lips, "unofficially I'm here because I broke my wrist and my boss gave me the weekend off to 'recuperate'. How're you doing?"

"Got knocked off my broom." Harry scowled. "Again." He narrowed his eyes as he stared at Charlie's worn jumper. "I think they're aiming at me with their bloody Bludgers because the former Seeker, now reserve, is jealous because I took his place because I'm much better than he ever was."

Charlie nodded. His cracked lips twitched as if he were holding back a much wider smile. "And how many potions did they shove down your throat?"

"…too many," he admitted. "But I'm still sore." Harry grimaced, and then used the cupboard and Charlie's shoulder to get back up on his feet, wincing all the way as his muscles pulled and bruises protested. "Christmas? So soon?"

"Time flies."

"Yeah…it certainly does." Harry smiled wryly. "Especially when you're having fun."

"So you are having fun?"

Harry nodded. "Oh yes. They may think I'm a pansy Englishman—"

"Pansy?" Charlie interrupted with a chuckle.

Harry shrugged and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Pansy Potter," he repeated. "Anyway, I'm still the best. Well. Sort of. Krum's the best, around here, but I'm getting a reputation. Which is good, right?"

Charlie nodded. "I suppose, yes."

"Mmmm. Do you want dinner, by the way?"

"Yes, please," Charlie said slowly. He rubbed his hands over his stomach in demonstration of his hunger, and it rumbled mere seconds later. Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "I was kind of expecting that. You know, common sense and manners and all that."

"Great," Harry muttered. "Another Weasley glutton."

"Oi!" Charlie whacked him over the head. Harry easily ducked out of the way. "I haven't eaten since breakfast and no one eats more than Ron."

"Harry," Charlie called just as Harry came out of the bathroom the next morning, wearing naught but the towel flung around his hips. His wet hair clung to his skull. "You have a Floo call."

Harry's shoulders slumped. And Charlie had answered it, of course. Which meant that someone on his team knew that Harry'd had a man over. Great. Pansy Potter. Wonderful.

"Ah, Potter." There was a smirk on his teammate's face that made Harry feel vaguely uncomfortable. Harry wished he was wearing more, somehow, despite the fact that they had seen each other naked several times after matches and practices.

"Hello, Ionescu. What can I do for you?"

"Well," he drawled, "I drew the short stick."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You drew sticks about checking up on me?" Ionescu nodded, and Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

A leer, and Harry looked away briefly. "So I can see. Nice catch, that one."

"No, wait—! We're not—!" Harry protested, but Ionescu was already gone, the connection broken and Harry was left sitting in front of a crackling fire with his hand a bit too close to the flames. Harry pulled it back with a hiss.

"Harry? Are you actually gay or are you just letting them assume you are?"

Harry started, his eyes wide. He clumsily turned around to look at Charlie. "Well," he said. "Sort of both, I think."

"'Sort of'?"

"You see," Harry admitted sheepishly as he stood up and crossed his arms over his chest, "I hadn't really given it much thought until they began calling me Pansy Potter… And I began wondering why. And they looked more amused than dissuaded when I protested, so I just stopped and let them…believe what they wanted."

"What?" Harry asked apprehensively, eyes slightly narrowed and moderately wary.

Charlie grinned mischievously at him. "Nothing." Harry's left eyebrow slowly rose. "I just told Mum to step back because I was bringing company this time around." He winked as Harry let out a soft sound of dismay. "How much do you wanna bet they think it's a girlfriend?"

"I'm not betting on lost causes, mate," Harry muttered. "I can't believe you let them think you're bringing— What if they think I'm your boyfriend or something?"

Charlie shrugged. His eyes twinkled. Harry just shook his head. Then Charlie narrowed his eyes in concentration as he disappeared. Moments later Harry had disappeared as well as he Apparated to a spot just outside the back door of the Burrow; he easily picked up on and followed the trail Charlie had left behind.

"—so who is it—? Harry, dear!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. Harry was immediately swept up in a hug that he readily and happily returned. "It's so good to see you again, dear boy! Oh, but you're so skinny!" She shook her head, her hands resting on his, admittedly, bony shoulders. "And would you believe that Charlie actually has a girlfriend, dear?"

Harry pursed his lips and frowned. "Mrs Weasley," he said wryly, "I'm the company. Charlie merely thought it amusing to use the excuse of 'guiding' me as—"

"Charlie Weasley!" she cried. Harry smirked gleefully as Charlie almost cowed back. He slipped inside the burrow without either party the wiser.

"Why are you smirking?"

"Put Charlie on the spot."

Bill laughed. Harry's smirk transformed into a wide grin. "Brill, innit?" he asked.

That night Harry was a bit surprised to find himself sharing a room with Bill and Charlie instead of with Ron, as usual. He had almost expected Bill to share with his wife, rather than a brother and a friend.

"Mum's a bit old-fashioned," Charlie said with a shrug. "Can't have Hermione sleep with Ron and she can't have you staying with Ginny and with our old rooms gone, we're lacking space."

"So Fleur sleeps with Hermione and Ron shares with Ginny, which gives us a room?" Harry shook his head, a tiny smile on his lips. "Infallible logic, that. Who am I sleeping with, then?"

Almost at once Bill took a huge step back. "Charlie of course. Who else? Me? I don't think so!"

"No," Charley said dryly, "Far be it from you to resist slipping into old habits, eh?"

Bill glared. "Would not," he muttered. He pointed at Harry. "You share with Charlie. I have a wife."

"Of course," Harry said quietly, then winked at Charlie as the man draped an arm over his shoulders. "I'm his girlfriend after all." Charlie burst out laughing.

"And what a lousy girlfriend you make! Never offers to make breakfast, never offers to cook dinner, won't let me sleep in your bed—"

"Shut up."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Maybe I shouldn't let you share— Charlie? Hey—!" With a loud groan, Bill was knocked to the ground. Charlie sat on top of him with a mocking, daft smile on his face. "What do you think you are doing, little brother?" Bill asked calmly.

"Oh, knock it off, Billy, you haven't been able to win over me in a game of wrestling for years, now. You're going soft." Charlie patted Bill on the stomach, as if to prove his words.

Bill grew still, then he raised an eyebrow. "Soft?" he growled. Charlie's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he remembered a crucial fact he had forgotten or ignored. "Tomorrow," Bill continued, "is the full moon."

Harry's eyes widened at that and he suddenly remembered what had happened in his Sixth Year, and how Bill now would be…different now and how Charlie indeed could have a slight…problem if he wanted to win.

"Ow," Charlie whispered as Harry's elbow knocked into his, sore, side. Harry bit back a grin and accidentally did it again. "Ow."

"Oh, sorry," Harry said airily. "Are you hurt?"

"Cheeky bastard."

Harry chuckled softly as he turned around to lie on his side, face to face with Charlie. "You know…I accidentally slept with a werewolf once, and—"

"—if it's anything like a vampire then I don't really need to know. But. Just, how do you do that by accident, mate?"

Harry flushed a bit and shrugged with difficulty. "I, um, didn't know. Well, I kinda got it after a while. Eyes and teeth and claws and all that. Um. Yes, but, no. It was very. Intense."

People tended to forget that magic wasn't something he had grown up with and that he therefore didn't always take it for granted. People like Charlie — and the werewolf he'd slept with — had known about magic all their lives, grown up surrounded by tales and creatures Harry hadn't even known existed until he was eleven. That a werewolf's ears were subtly un-rounded at the tips if you looked close enough or that their teeth were somewhat sharper than a human's, but not as long and impractical as a vampire's, were things they had grown up with and subsequently been told to stay away from. Harry had never even heard about it.

Well.

The werewolf community certainly couldn't accuse him of hating Dark Creatures, at least. If he ever went public with it, that was.

Nightly conversations, often tended to defy all logic and follow a twisted, spirally red thread, if that, and Harry wasn't really sure how their hushed conversation had changed from sex, strange sex partners, to Muggle television, to brooms and rabbits and sweeping and kites, to what they were discussing at the moment. Which was, namely, Harry's nickname.

"—you know, honestly, at first I was confused if they thought my name was Pansy, or if they thought I was apansy."

"Sheltered much, Harry?" Charlie asked dryly.

"I'm Harry Potter, Charlie; who would even dare to question my macho heterosexuality?" Harry rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Anyway, that's part of why I accepted the offer in Romania. No one really gives a damn there. All they want of me is to catch the bloody Snitch, and do it when it's the most beneficial. And I'm a Seeker; I could maybe be a Chaser, but the way I'm built… So what if they call me Pansy Potter? I win the games for them!"

"Are you two quite done?" Bill suddenly said quietly, tiredly.

Harry blinked. "Bill…" He had forgotten entirely about him. By the wince on Charlie's face, he gathered that he had as well.

"Goodnight!"

(Or, rather, as Harry heard it: 'go to sleep, you damn bastards!)

"—I zink eet eez very cute, Bill."

"I don't. It's my brother."

"Still," Fleur insisted, and Harry forced his eyes open, "zey look like little boys."

"Eh?" he groaned.

"'Arry!" Fleur's head appeared directly above him and her blonde hair falling over her face into Harry's. He sputtered. She aimed a beautiful smile at him. "Good morning!"

Harry frowned and after several seconds of consulting, his brain managed to produce the proper word as well as slowly prompting him to wake up properly. He muttered, "…Fleur?" She nodded. Harry's frown deepened. "…what're you doin' 'ere?"

"Waking my 'usband, little 'Arry."

"M'not little!" Harry glared petulantly, then turned his face away and burrowed into the warmth that was so delicious and tempting and just made Harry want to go back to sleep all over again. He dimly thought he should enquire as to what Heating Charms Mrs Weasley used, and start using them on his own miserably cold bed back in Romania.

"I did not know zey were involved, Bill," he heard Fleur say not so quietly, but wasn't awake enough to wonder who she meant; his eyes were slowly sliding shut again.

"They're not."

"Non?"

"Non," came a slightly teasing, slightly affectionate repeat.

"Non," Harry mumbled to himself. Cute word, that…

"Billy…?" A rough, raspy voice suddenly yawned. "Time's it?"

"Early enough. Around nine, I think."

"Huh. Breakfast?"

"Molly eez working on it."

"Neat." Harry dimly wondered why the flat surface he was resting against rumbled and felt so warm. "Pansy?" that same — rather sexy, really — voice said and someone gently shook his shoulder.

"M'not Pansy…m'arry…"

Someone laughed and they weren't alone. The woman sounded really beautiful when she laughed. "Well, then, Harry, how about you get up?"

"I'm sleepy."

"The way you two were talking last night, I'm not surprised," Bill continued wryly.

Harry frowned. Two? Last night? Harry slowly opened his eyes and tried to focus on whatever it was that was right in front of him and looked suspiciously much like skin, with an abundance of freckles. He ran a hand over it in a decidedly leisure manner. Oh. A pretty fit masculine chest. A rather familiar one at that… "Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"You've got tons of freckles here."

Charlie stretched and shifted under him. Harry lay still, rubbing the liberated spotted skin. "It's hot."

"You flatter me, Harry."

"Well," Harry said tiredly, thickly, "you're definitely worth it… Breakfast?" he asked hopefully as he rolled onto his back. He stared at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. Not that he could see much anyway without his glasses on. "I forgot to water my plant."

"It's been dead for weeks, Harry."

Harry glared and crossed his arms, but didn't look away. "No, it's not. They look like that."

"Dead, you mean?"

Harry yawned. "You don't even have a fish in your bowl, Charlie. I'm at least making an effort."

"A wasted effort."

"Shut up."

"Wonderful comeback, as usual…"

Harry glowered, then muttered, "shut up."

Having left three days after Graduation, Harry hadn't really seen any of the Weasleys since June and now December was almost over. There had been no Ron or Hermione, dorm mates, no Ginny… Just Romania and teammates and Charlie every once in a while – and he had never really known Charlie before running off to Romania to make an attempt at living. So he thought it would hurt more, would come as more of a surprise than it did, but right then Harry just felt detached.

"—and I really like him, and we have fun and he makes me smile, you know?"

Harry nodded, mind still stuck somewhere on why he wasn't surprised.

Ginny smiled sadly. "You disappeared, Harry. I wasn't going to wait forever."

"No, no…that's not it… I'm…glad, actually. And I'm sorry, for being a coward." Ginny looked sceptical, so Harry thoughtlessly blurted, "I think I'm bisexual."

Ginny blinked.

Swallowing, his throat uncomfortably dry, Harry nodded, blotches of red on his cheeks. "Right." Then he whirled around and fled the kitchen.

"Charlie," Harry cried, panicked and almost scandalised, "I told her I was bisexual! My ex-girlfriend!"

Charlie didn't have much to say about that, but Harry took comfort in the fact that Charlie still had an arm around him – that they were still hugging, sort of… Leaning against each other in a completely manly, masculine way. Well, it was actually Harry who was doing most of the leaning, but Harry reckoned that since Charlie didn't exactly refuse to let him, then it was perfectly reasonable and all right.

"Are you?"

Harry stilled, and he sucked on his bottom lip as he mulled it over. "…I don't know. I mean. I've…slept with men and stuff, but…anyone can do that, really…"

"True." A brief squeeze of his arm. "It's the falling in love part that matters, right? If you can actually see past what sex someone has enough in order to give all that unconditional love."

"Huh."

Charlie winked before he added, "Dragon Keepers tend to be a bit more pragmatic than your average dull, dimwitted Quidditch player."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

Wrapped up in a thick, fluffy bathrobe, Harry cradled a cup of tea in his hands. Eyelids drooping down over somewhat alert eyes, he sighed. He really, really liked Charlie's place. His own cottage had been more of a necessity, and as a direct consequence it wasn't particularly homely or inviting at all, unlike but Charlie's. Charlie's quaint little cottage was perfect. It was one and a half floors. Most of everything was on ground level, but the bedroom was on the first floor. It didn't take up the whole area, though, which meant Charlie had a balcony.

Harry was in love with it.

"You should have plants, here," Harry murmured as he heard the door behind him open and close.

Charlie chuckled. "I tried. They died."

"Poetic." Charlie shook his head. He wrapped an arm briefly around Harry's shoulders before he leaned forwards, with elbows resting on the railing as he gazed out at the thick forest and the glimmering river far out in the distance, by the horizon. "Who's Jules?"

"Workmate."

"His toothbrush—"

"Yeah, I know. Him and his wife argue a lot."

"Oh."

"Mmmm."

Harry nodded slightly. He contently sipped his tea and gazed out at the forest. "Bill Floo called by the way."

"Yeah?"

"Said something about a birthday?"

Charlie blinked; he looked somewhat confused as Harry curiously met his eyes. "There are too many of us," he muttered after a while

"Hmmm?"

"It's probably the twins."

Harry turned to lean his hip against the railing. He bit his lip, the cup of tea held close against his chest. "Five years on the same team and I never knew their birthday. Do you have dinners, or…?" He took a slow sip, green eyes fastened intently on Charlie's.

"Want me to escort you again, Harry?"

Harry grinned. "Would you?"

It was another lazy morning, a week or so later, when Harry, once again dressed in the ridiculously comfortable bathrobe, hair an absolute mess, opened the front door. Harry blinked, squinting slightly, and then he exclaimed, "Bill! Right?" His eyes squinted further. "I forgot my glasses on the sink…"

"Right." Bill nodded as he clasped hands with Harry before moving inside. "Morning, Harry. Where would my brother be?"

"In the shower. I think. He threw me out of there," Harry mumbled through a yawn, "so he had better be in the shower. Tea?"

"Sure." And Harry nodded before stumbling off, one hand stretched out in front of him as a precaution should he accidentally walk into something. "How blind are you?" Bill asked curiously.

"Blind," Harry answered dryly. "I see blurs, but that's it. I've been told that, maybe, next year I can look into having my sight corrected. If they've matured enough, or something. Bloody Healers and their gibberish. You're a long way from Egypt."

"Mmmm. You're a long way from…wherever you're from, too."

"But considerably closer," Harry felt obliged to point out. He smiled, then set about preparing tea. The fact that he didn't have his glasses on and still could do it with success was testament enough that he really spent far too much time at Charlie's than he should.

But Harry really loved Charlie's balcony.

"Oh!" Harry suddenly exclaimed as he set the kettle down on the hob. "D'you want breakfast, by the way?"

"Yeah, Billy, stay," Charlie called from another room, "Harry puts Mum's pancakes to shame. Harry!"

"Yeah?"

"Where's my—?"

"Bedside table, I think. Get my glasses, too, would you? They're on the sink in the bathroom?"

Edited 14/3-08

TBC.