Notes: This is a soulmate!AU begging to be written. Please don't hate me. Well, hate me because of how it turned out, but not because of the premise. This one's for Sam (MissingMommy) for the GGE.

Sammy dear, happy birthday, and happy belated GGE! *all the yellow hearts* so I started writing this in a moment in which you wanted fluff, even if you're an angst fan - so now a few weeks have passed, I settled for neither. I don't know what this is. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

This Place

He first sees it on the mirror when he brushes his teeth. There it is, on his chest, a silvery mark that wasn't there before. It's not one of his drunken tattoos. It's not drawn in memories and dreams but the promise of a certain future.

He looks at it closely.

It's a dragon.

Good. Now everyone will leave me alone with my dragons. As it should be.

You're taking a shower when you feel it happen. It's painless; it barely tingles below the running water. Lines run on your skin like spilled ink, forming a red and yellow stain that takes shape after a few seconds.

It's a dragon.

Of course I love myself. I'm awesome.

You chuckle at your own joke.

You stumble upon that ad a few days later. Your father reads the news and you happen to stare at the back of the newspaper, and that moving picture of an Hungarian Horntail catches your eye. You remember the drawing under your clothes, that little ball of warmth and fire.

Dragons.

You take a bite off your toast. You ask for that last page. Nothing much, you reassure your father, just looking for a job.

You're sipping on your coffee, too bitter now, pretending not to stare at the creature that caught your eye. The page is at face level. Your stare is hidden.

Nothing interesting for the Ministry, you tell your father, putting it aside. You try to sound bored.

You have never been one for adventures, have you? You prefer to walk the long, safe road to fortune and comfort. You always believed that this is what would make you happy.

What is happy, even? Is it staying in a home where the air is stale? Is it doing what you're meant to, not questions asked? They are not going to be happy anyway, no matter what you do, because the road they've laid down for you is out of question.

Two weeks later, you announce that you're going on a trip.

The reserve is making you feel better every day. Long gone are the oppressive walls of the manor, and you can smell freedom everywhere you go. The stone cabins, the trees, the smoke... it's all blended together into a scent you will remember for a lifetime.

You're lucky to be a good flier, too. When you're not busy learning, your actual job consists in guards. It's an easy one. You fly over the territories and watch that everything is alright. That day, a month into your new job, is the first one you've needed to send a distress signal, when a small fire caught far from where the main base was.

"I think you'll be ready to start handling them yourself soon," says your mentor, once the danger is under control. "You have a good head over your shoulders."

"I know."

Charlie Weasley is good-looking and hard-working, with a power over himself that you find admirable. He's permanently smiling and almost permanently shirtless, perfectly aware of his tough physique. His ginger hair glows in the sun, almost mocking you. But other than those little things, you couldn't have asked for a more capable mentor. Even if you'd complained at first. You expected him to give you a hard time for being who you are, didn't you? Even though he's been nothing but professional.

Oh, you were wrong. So wrong.

"I will talk to my supervisor to see what we can do for you." He showcases a perfect grin. "How are you liking it here?"

"Well enough."

"Do you miss England?"

"Not a bit." The words are out before you could stop them. "There's nothing for me in England."

"Can relate to that." He doesn't sound bitter. "See, I got this one a few days ago." He points at his chest. "Mum wants be back, but I think it's trying to tell me to stay exactly where I am."

You look at the place he points at. Etched into his skin, you can see a grayish dragon, whose eyes seem to be looking straight into yours.

"Nice tattoo."

"Do you believe in those things?"

"What things?"

"Soulmates."

That's when it hits you. Your heart beats fast and you think, think hard, of your own red dragon and could it be...?

"I guess," you say coolly. "My parents have them."

"That's the thing. My parents say they have... but is it really to be trusted? You can... you can fall for someone, and try to believe it has to be about them."

"We've all seen it happen."

"Do you...?"

You're surprised, Draco, that he would ask such a personal question. The fact he'd shared the information with you doesn't mean you have to, right? But you know. You're certain as you'd been back in England...so far it has been right.

Besides, you think, examining him intensely. It could've been worse.

"I want you to see." You take off your shirt in two quick motions. "Look at it. I thought it had something to do with my own name, but that one... that one is more me."

You let him take it in. It's red and yellow, fire and passion, and it just occurs to you that it was ridiculous you had, at first, thought it referred to you... because it's so unlike you.

"Put on your shirt," he says. "You're insane."

"Why should I put on my shirt? Yours is off." Charlie doesn't have an answer. "Maybe I'm insane, maybe I'm not. You have to admit-"

"I see it," he interrupts you. "Alright. Just please tell me you're not one of those people who will push through this no matter what, because we're totally meant to be." His sarcasm is evident. "I've seen enough of that to know how it ends?"

On one hand, you know Charlie is right. On the other hand... well, you've come all this way already.

"What harm is there in trying to make things work?"

"I never wanted this."

And you hate yourself for saying, "me neither."

"How sad it is that we have matching marks," Charlie says.

"I thought you didn't care."

"I can't believe you do."

You're sitting on the local pub over a couple of beers. Nothing much. Nothing threatening. Just a mentor and his trainee sharing a bottle of beer. Either way, Draco, you're certain he wouldn't have said anything, hadn't the two of you been drinking for a while.

"Maybe it's all in my head, Weasley. But the undeniable fact is that we're here, and that's one thing I'm not imagining."

"You have a point."

"Why are you so skeptical, anyway? I thought Gryffindors were supposed to believe in these things."

"I thought Slytherins weren't. It's a good thing we're grown men out of Hogwarts, then, who have long realized that stereotypes lie."

"Let me guess." You say, and then do your best to sound mocking - which doesn't take effort, really. "Slytherins aren't all evil."

"Gryffindors aren't all reckless." His voice matches yours.

You find yourselves sharing a laugh.

"There's something about this place..." you can't finish your thought.

"Indeed. But that's not why you came here."

"It wasn't."

Charlie lets silence set in, deep in thought, and you can tell he is not to be interrupted.

"Dragons are my life," he says slowly. "It makes sense, but what I want to know, Malfoy... is there anything about you, other than your name?"

You shrug. "I think it just told me where I needed to go."

He stays quiet for another minute. "That makes sense."

Your heart skips a beat. It seems like a lifetime ago, when you could've hated this man with all your might. Because of his name. Because of his blood. Because of things that held little importance once you were away from the place that had imposed them to you...

Now you're here. You're free. And right now, Charlie Weasley might be exactly what you need.