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It should have been like any other Sunday afternoon. Nothing was blatantly off. There was a drifty, summer breeze going, blowing the daffodils outside of Harry’s kitchen window against the glass, the sky holding just a measly enough sum of clouds to interrupt the blue. And, most predictably, Harry was running late. 

A quarter to noon found him scrambling around his house in Lake District, at top speed no less, a tooth brush dangling from his lips as he assembled what he needed to take to the Burrow for lunch. 

Eventually, with some of yesterday’s fresh baked bread, courtesy of himself, and yet another brand new sponsored broom under his arm, he stepped into the green flames of his kitchen floo and called, “The Burrow!”

When he reached the familiar grate and looked out from the fireplace into the hodge podge living room, the overstuffed sofas and carpeted floor that symbolized a second home, he stepped out. 

And into chaos, it seemed. 

There was no one in the sitting room, which was rare, but Harry could hear loud voices coming from every other direction. In the hallway, most near, it sounded like Ginny was arguing with George. 

Harry caught the words, “My room—a flat of your own—closer than the store—” as if they were both right there in the sitting room with him. 

“YOU’RE A WIZARD, JUST APPARATE BACK!” Ginny screeched. 

“But I never see Charlie!” 

“No one ever sees Charlie!” Ginny shouted back. 

Harry froze. 

Charlie? Was Charlie coming?  

Upstairs, there was more chatter, of which sounded like Ron and Percy. It also sounded like they might be having the exact same argument. 

Harry slipped dazedly out of the sitting room, following the ruckus into the kitchen—”Harry!” George and Ginny greeted from the foyer as he went by, to which he gave an absent wave. 

In the kitchen, Molly was cooking with an urgency that Harry might not have ever seen before, and when it came to Molly and cooking, Harry didn’t know that there could be an unseen phenomenon. 

Arthur stood just behind her, saying, “Molly, you don’t need that much—it’s only one more mouth to feed.”

There were dishes littering almost all of the counter's surface area. And a few on the kitchen table behind Harry as well, he realised, as he peeked over his shoulder. 

“Huh,” said Harry, feeling blind-sided. 

“Harry!” Molly exclaimed, dropping her spatula. It clacked into the sink. 

“Hello,” Harry said shyly, leaning his broom against the wall and putting the homemade bread on the table, “Sorry to interrupt. And sorry I’m late.”

“Oh, no one is on schedule today, Harry,” said Arthur. “We’re all a little out of sorts, as it happens.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, accepting the hug that Molly rushed to give him, all soft and warm and a head shorter than him, “I heard Charlie’s coming.”

Molly beamed up at him. 

“Yes,” she said. “He’ll be ‘round in a little while. We’ve been trying to prepare…”

Molly glanced over her shoulder at her masterpieces, her grip on Harry loosening. 

“How long has he been in town?”

Two pairs of anxious eyes. 

“We were under the impression that… he reached out to you?” asked Arthur.

“Nope.”

“Well. Ah, well,” Molly said, wringing her hands. “It’s only been a few days, I’d say… We’ve only managed to catch him once, he’s been rather busy…”

“Oh. Swell,” said Harry, smiling in a manner that probably read as rather manic.  

There was a tense moment of silence. 

Harry cleared his throat. He eyed the food littered around the kitchen. He knew Charlie—he loved Charlie—and this seemed like overcompensation at its finest.

“What’s the… occasion?” Harry asked carefully. 

“Oh, no occasion, Harry,” Molly said, stepping away. She returned to her stove as Harry looked at Arthur expectantly.

“Er, not quite, anyway,” said Arthur. 

“Only,” Molly said, not looking at Harry, “there’s a new reserve opening up in Scotland…”

Harry’s mouth promptly dropped open. 

“Yes,” Arthur affirmed. “According to the Department of Magical Creature Control. In November, is when they’re opening it.”

“That’s in a few months,” Harry said blankly. 

“Right it is,” Arthur said, clearing his throat. 

“So this is a seduction,” said Harry.

“Harry!” exclaimed Molly. 

“You’re seducing him with pies,” said Harry, pointing to the three that were sitting steaming under stasis charms on the counter. 

“They’re his favorite,” Molly said looking away.

“I happen to know that.”

Molly looked at Harry then, their eyes connecting, her face going uncomfortably soft. Well, uncomfortable for Harry, anyway. 

“Oh, Harry, will this be strange for you? I thought everything was good between you two,” said Molly, Arthur shifting his weight awkwardly behind her shoulder. 

Well, of course they had told everyone that. 

“No! I mean, yes, it is. I mean, a warning would have been nice. And I haven’t actually seen him since—but neither really have any of you… I suppose. So that’s selfish to say. It’s just that… well. It’s not strange, is all. Not exactly,” said Harry walking towards the kitchen table and sitting at it. 

He looked to Molly and Arthur and found them wearing twin expressions, although they were strangely hard to decipher. Other than the unerring pity, that is, but that was usually there. 

Not pity, empathy, Hermione would say. Same difference. 

“Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked, clearing his throat. 

“Upstairs with Ron and Percy, I reckon,” said Arthur, moving towards the door now. “I’m going to go make sure my other children aren’t killing each other. It’s wonderful to see you, Harry.”

He squeezed Harry’s shoulder tenderly as he walked past, even though Harry had been round less than a week ago. Sometimes he just stopped by after work for a meal, or to see if there were any Weasley siblings with their children around. He felt he didn’t see them nearly often enough since he moved to Lake District. 

Harry looked at Molly, then, whose focus was carefully back on her creations. She looked to be garnishing the pies with brown sugar. 

“When did you say he was coming?” Harry asked. 

“In an hour or so,” said Molly. 

“Okay,” said Harry, dragging his fingertips across the worn edges of the table. There was a fresh bouquet in the middle, definitely picked from Molly’s garden. There were always flowers on the table. This bouquet, however, had tiger lilies. Charlie’s favorite. 

Harry looked down, his own face feeling uncomfortable to wear, like he didn’t have complete control over it. 

A small hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up into Molly’s lovely brown eyes. So dissimilar from most of her children’s. 

“Dear. If you would like to wait in the garden, so you can speak to him before his siblings get to him…”

Harry blinked. 

“Oh…” 

Molly smiled. 

Not that there was anything to be resolved, really. That was all dead and over. But if it was just to say hey without the eyes of Charlie’s family on them, holding expectations for the interaction to go any specific way, then maybe it would loosen the pit in his stomach.

Harry released a short breath. 

“Yeah, will do.”

He patted Molly’s hand on his shoulder. 

An hour later, Harry slipped out of the backdoor and into the garden. 

He could just barely hear Molly yelling, ordering them all into the dining room to find their places at the table. 

The creaky door swayed partway shut behind Harry and then flapped in the wind a few times as he waited.

Not even a full minute later, Charlie Weasley popped into existence, landing meticulously on the grass beside the old picnic table rather than in any of the flower or vegetable beds. 

Harry hadn’t seen him in going on three months now. He looked unthinkably good, wearing his usual work boots, a black t-shirt, and jeans. Not even ripped ones. Harry raised his eyebrows.  

“Hello,” Charlie said, looking caught. He stood blinking at Harry now, lips parted. “Er…”

“Hello,” said Harry. “Welcome back.” 

Charlie’s expression went wry.

“Yes, thank you,” he said. “What’s with the surprise greeting?”

“What’s with the surprise visit?”

“Touché.”

His eyes sparkled in the sunlight. He approached Harry amicably, looking like he was going to hug him. 

“How long have you been in town?”

“Less than a week.”

“Likely story.”

Charlie stopped just in front of him, a warm look in his eyes that Harry knew meant he’d missed him and just as equally that he wasn’t going to say it.

“It really has only been a few days. I’ve barely seen mum and dad,” Charlie said. 

“It shows. They’re in a right state, anticipating your arrival. It’s a blatantly disgusting show of favoritism, honestly.”

Charlie huffed a laugh then, eyes falling to his feet, annoyingly modest as ever. 

“It’s good to see you,” Harry decided to voice, because two could play the casual game. 

Charlie’s eyes jerked back to him at that and stayed. 

“Yeah? I… I was going to owl you. Just to let you know about…” He trailed off with a gesturing wave of his hand.

“That’s cool,” said Harry, putting a hand through his already undoubtedly riotous hair. “I’m not… I just wanted to greet you first. Say hi, clear the air, all that.”

Charlie shoved his hands in his pockets, eying Harry thoughtfully. 

“Okay,” Charlie said. He bit his lip. 

“Molly’s idea,” Harry said.

“Ah,” Charlie said, sounding hesitant all of a sudden. 

His hair was pushed behind his ears—longer, almost to his chin, and pushed back, as always. As always, until a strand inevitably fell into his face and then what would Harry do? Probably find a butter knife to kill himself with—

Charlie cleared his throat. Scratched at his scruffy chin. 

Does he have to look like that? 

“We should go inside…” said Harry, turning. 

“I was trying to give you space.”

Harry paused. 

“Yeah, I can tell. Otherwise, I might’ve known you were in England before twenty minutes ago.”

“Are you… mad at me?” Charlie asked. 

Harry cleared his throat and shook his head. 

No. What right did he have to be? 

Anyway, this had accomplished exactly nothing. And he didn’t know what Molly’s motive was, but he was sure there was one. Molly, the woman who had birthed Fred and George Weasley, he had to remember. Who had probably suggested this as some kind of scheme, now that he thought of it. Bully for her. Bully for him. Harry turned again to go inside. 

“Wait. Hang on a second,” Charlie said quickly. 

And then he moved in, and Harry wanted to sigh with his whole chest, but he braced himself, being hit instantly with a barrage of scents he was trying desperately to forget about. Harry didn’t protest once, though, as Charlie stooped down—which was a joke, he was only like half an inch taller than Harry—and wrapped him in a big and warm and familiar hug. 

Harry closed his eyes. Fuck this. 

He patted Charlie’s back like an incel, because it was one thing to have a ridiculously hot ex-boyfriend, but it was another thing to pretend like you’d never had hot, steamy sex with said ex-boyfriend, which you still thought of pathetically often. Which was exactly what Harry couldn’t help thinking about when hit with Charlie’s smell again. No problem, he thought to himself, the smell of cinnamon and smoke tickling his senses. Again. He couldn’t do this again. 

Even as he returned the hug, wrapping his arms around Charlie’s middle. Just for the moment.

“It’s good to see you,” Charlie said behind his ear.

Harry sighed into Charlie’s t-shirt, one that was familiar enough that it might as well have been one of Harry’s own. He only had like, five. 

“Yeah. It’s good to see you, too.”

There was a short, uncertain moment of silence that honestly could’ve gone any way as they met eyes after pulling away.

But then, George promptly burst through the back door. 

Because of course he didn’t have enough patience to actually stay where Molly placed him. What had they been thinking?

“Charles!” George yelled very loudly upon throwing the door shut. It creaked stubbornly.

“Georgie!” Charlie exclaimed. He released Harry with a momentary, held bit of eye contact that Harry would hopelessly dwell on later, probably.

But now, George rushed to wrap Charlie in an embrace, so Harry watched as they came together with matching, enormous smiles on their faces. It made something inside of Harry float. He’d forgotten how much Charlie just.. completed things around here. Well, he hadn't—that was the problem.

Everything just made a little bit more sense when Charlie stepped into the house. The three of them made their way through, Charlie’s arm around George’s shoulders. Charlie blinked at the tiger lillies on the kitchen table as they passed on their way to the dining room. Bill and Fleur had arrived in the time that Harry was outside, and Charlie entering the dining room was like a bomb going off. Everyone was ecstatic to see him.

“Dinner time,” Molly called, interrupting the noise and beaming at the sight of Harry, Charlie, and George together. 

Harry just knew he would get interrogated later. 

Charlie, in perfect Charlie fashion, seemed to add it all together rather quickly. He grew increasingly quieter over dinner, and it wasn’t too long that Harry had to wait before he broke. 

“So. What’s the occasion?” Charlie asked, well into the meal. He was wedged between an eager Ginny and an even more eager George. 

The chatter around the table faded to quiet. Molly looked startled, glancing at Harry curiously. Harry, who only clutched his fork very hard and shook his head minutely, as he hadn’t said a word. Though that had been his exact wording earlier, hadn’t it? 

“Er,” said Molly. “Well.”

“We wanted to finish dinner first,” said Arthur, as it had passed the hour for lunch in their wait for Charlie to arrive. 

“Finish dinner first?” Charlie repeated. “Finish dinner before what?”

Percy’s fork clattered onto his plate all of a sudden.

“Oh! Charlie, are you going to tell them about the new reserve?” Percy exclaimed.

“What? No, I—” Charlie floundered, shooting Percy a quelling look. 

“I saw that they posted your name,” Percy said, forehead scrunched. “It was up in the Department for everyone to see.”

“That’s not—I hadn’t decided anything, yet. But thank you for bringing it up,” Charlie said, face in his hand, now. 

“Percy… for fuck’s sake, mate,” said Ron, Hermione rolling her eyes. 

“Ronald!” Molly exclaimed.

“My mistake. Percy, you dunce,” Ron corrected. 

“Sorry, reserve?” Ginny cut in. 

George looked at her expectantly. 

“I was not informed either,” she said dryly. “That true, Charlie?” She asked, looking at her brother. 

“Yeah,” Charlie sighed, sounding exhausted all of a sudden. 

Charlie glanced at Harry, then. The look felt so weighted that they both had to look away.

“In Scotland,” Arthur responded, shooting a stern look at Percy, who shrank a little in his seat. “They’re opening a dragon reserve, very soon. Charlie, we didn't know you'd known about it.” 

“Why don’t I know more about this?” Hermione asked for no good reason. 

“They haven’t announced it publicly yet,” said Arthur. “They’re still hiring for positions.” 

Charlie glanced at his father and then dropped his gaze to his plate.

Harry knew instantly from the gesture that Charlie was overwhelmed. 

So, like an idiot, he clapped his hands together once and announced, “Quidditch?” rather loudly into the silence. Because once a martyr, always a martyr, apparently.

Ron’s head snapped up immediately. 

“Yes,” Charlie said, beating Ron to it, his eyes cutting to Harry’s.

“But,” Molly protested, looking at Charlie’s plate, which was mostly eaten, mind, and saying, “You haven’t finished your food.” 

“We can put a stasis charm on it. It’s going to get dark soon, anyway,” said Charlie, putting his napkin down and getting up. 

“You can just cast a lumos!” protested Molly.

“Not if we want any chance of catching the snitch, we can’t,” said Charlie, meeting Harry’s eye again. 

Harry raised from his seat as well and could feel the beginnings of a smile he couldn’t contain. Any excuse to get Charlie in the air. 

Playing Qudditch, as it turned out, was not a very good idea. 

Charlie was, obviously, absolutely ace as always. The best Seeker in Hogwarts history for years until Harry had shown up to steal the title. And, even still, no one seemed to know for sure who was better. The Weasley siblings had almost lost their heads that first, bittersweet summer right after the War, with nothing better to do than try to figure it out and pitting them against each other every chance they could get. 

Five years later and Harry was ready to settle the score, once and for all. 

Ginny, George, Ron, and Hermione had followed them out to a good, grassy spot away from the house—Hermione was getting better and better at handling a broom. This called for a very distracted Ron Weasley. That was fine by Harry, as they, for once, were on different teams. 

Anyway, Harry was too busy hanging out high in the air, mindlessly circling Charlie. It all held an air of camaraderie even, just some friendly competition. Sure, Charlie’s hair fluttered in the wind in waves and the setting sun glinted off of the metal in his ear as he sat on a broom like it was nothing.

Whatever. 

The real trouble came when Harry caught the snitch. Or more like, when Harry caught the snitch and Charlie caught Harry’s fist, both of them having expertly grabbed for it at the exact same time. The momentum of this happening at top speed, from opposite directions no less, sent them on a hazardous spiral through the air, the wind sounding like a train passing by Harry’s ears. Thankfully, they ended up tumbling off of their brooms at a distance not too far from the ground. They still landed in a tangle of limbs and half-hearted groans and laughter, however. 

“You wanker,” Harry said, laughing still, and shoved at Charlie, although it was really no use. He was utterly pinned. 

“I literally had it!” Charlie exclaimed, apparently still caught up on the snitch.

“Then why is it in my fist?” Harry asked, exhibiting the snitch by holding it aloft and out of Charlie’s reach, just to be an arsehole. 

“If your hand hadn’t been there—!”

“But it was!” Harry said, laughing, his head tipping back onto the grass with a thunk. 

Harry shoved his hand into Charlie’s stomach, getting him halfway off of him. This, unfortunately and quite annoyingly, instigated a wrestling match. Not exactly uneven, because although Charlie was bulkier, Harry had no shame or limits. In fact, Harry had just managed to get him pinned, laughing uproariously at this result—there was a part of Charlie’s ribs that he knew for a fact to be ticklish and he had used it shamelessly against him—when Ginny’s voice came into the picture, saying, “Okay, okay, break it up, you two.”

Harry looked up, breathless and grinning wider than he could remember doing in months, as she and the other three walked towards them, having just landed. 

“So we won,” said Harry braggingly, just as Charlie tipped him off of his chest. 

Harry fell into the grass with a happy sprawl, content to languish there for the rest of the night. It was kind of dark now, and there were stars. 

“Now, I don’t know about—” Charlie was protesting good-naturedly. 

“Oh, just let him have it,” said Ron wryly, rolling his eyes. “Look at him, he’s practically glowing.”

Ron waved a hand at Harry and turned to start going inside. They were on a hill a little ways away from the house, though the orange glow of the windows were still easily visible as night fell.

Charlie got to his feet with a stretch of the muscles in his back, and everyone else started walking away. 

Hair wild, Charlie looked down at Harry and reached down a hand, saying, “Come on.” 

Harry hesitated. It was just them now as everyone, whether purposefully or not, left them behind. Harry watched them go, the four of his friends glowing in the dark because of the reflective charms that Hermione had cast just in case the sun fell faster than they’d thought, with the assumption that they wouldn’t run into each other that way. Well. 

Harry wrapped his hand around Charlie’s in a firm embrace and in moments he was levered to his feet, courtesy of a strong pull. 

Upright, Harry looked down and brushed stray grass strands off of his clothing, saying, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Charlie said, taking a step back. 

They stood there, idle, for a moment. And this was exactly the moment Harry was trying to avoid. But. Well, here they were. 

They met and locked eyes, and Harry knew then that it was going to have to happen. 

“So,” Charlie said.

Harry sighed. Please, please just get it over with, he begged internally. While thinking this, he tucked his hands into his pockets against an incoming night breeze and looked at his shoes. 

Charlie offered, “My mum said you stopped coming round for a little while.”

Harry looked up abruptly, taken off guard. 

“When did she have time to tell you that?” Harry asked incredulously, a little miffed. 

“In a letter. You know, written correspondence? The way you reach someone who's far away,” Charlie said wryly. 

Harry looked away at the implication. 

When it became apparent that Charlie wasn’t going to say anything else, Harry said, “I took a little break from weekly brunches, that was all. It wasn’t really a thing.”

“Harry.”

Harry looked back at him at that. He was never able to resist that specific way that Charlie said his name—like he was asking for a favor, everytime, like Harry had something he needed. 

Harry swallowed the waves of forlorn his heart was giving off. 

“I don’t understand,” said Charlie. “It’s not like you were ever going to catch me around, why cut off your support system—”

“Are you lecturing me, right now?” Harry asked, frowning. 

Charlie’s lips snapped shut. This had been a problem when they were together. This had been the problem. 

“I needed a break from seeing people who reminded me of you in every way. Is that an acceptable enough answer? Do you want to read my journal, too? Anyway, clearly seeing as I’m here, I couldn’t stay away for long,” Harry said.  

Charlie must have known he wouldn’t stay away for long. Harry needed Molly’s hugs. He needed Arthur’s support. He needed them in a way that was separate from Charlie. 

“I don’t like that I could’ve taken that away from you,” said Charlie. 

Harry stared. He met Charlie’s eyes for the first time, not realising that he’d been avoiding them until he found the blue in the dark. 

Harry took a step back before his heart and brain even synched up enough to tell him that he needed to. 

“Good,” Harry said, very platonically. “I mean, cool. That’s, yeah, nice. I—I love your parents, you know they…”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, looking down, sweeping a hand through his hair. 

“So yeah,” said Harry, “Good talk,” when what he wanted to say was, can you be everything I want, but like, a little bit less?

“Was it?” Charlie asked, a smile creeping onto his lips.

No. Ugh, fuck you.

“We should probably get back before people think we snuck off to shag,” Harry said instead.

Charlie smiled at the sentiment, the humor lying where, Harry had no idea. 

“Yeah,” Charlie said, following after Harry as he stepped through the bramble of the unkempt lawn. 

“Which Ginny would never let us hear the end of,” Harry added.

“Mm. That’s funny, I think you accidentally said Ginny instead of George,” Charlie said behind him, their shadows painted dark on the grass beside them. He’d missed having him so close.

Fuck. He clenched his hands into fists in his pockets.

“How’s Romania? Any fit new wranglers?” Harry asked to cut off the image of that last morning, Charlie hovering over him, lazy and sleep rumpled, that morning before—

“Cub,” Charlie sighed.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. Harry.”

“Don’t call me that either,” he said to be annoying, stepping over a little divet in the ground.

“Okay, what do you want me to call you? Lord Potter of Lake District?”

If he’d been walking close enough to reach, Harry would have elbowed him in his thick, toned stomach. 

“Fine, don’t answer,” Harry said. “Kind of a suspicious question to avoid, though. Almost makes me think that—”

“Harry,” Charlie said, not heeding Harry’s request, “There are no fit new wranglers. I wouldn’t start up with someone so soon after you.”

Harry side-eyed him.

“Oh?”

“Have you?” Charlie asked.

Harry swallowed then, because getting a taste of his own medicine was actually not very nice. Well, that and he had to endure the knowledge of lonely nights, of a mourning that he’d thought had sunk permanently into his skin, to the point where he just wore it around like a jumper. It was the knowledge that there wouldn’t be anyone else for a long, long time, so easy to sink into once you’d accepted it. 

“Nope,” said Harry.

They were encroaching upon the house’s wards now. 

“You don’t resent me, do you?” Charlie asked suddenly, coming to a stop before they could reach the Burrow's back garden. 

“For which part?” Harry asked. 

“All of it. Seriously. No bullshit.”

“No bullshit?”

“Yeah.”

“Charlie,” Harry said reasonably, “Of course I resent you. I resent you for… being, like, older and hot and clever. I resent you for knowing it. Merlin, do I resent you for looking like that, I know I already said that but—and I resent you for not at all being my first serious relationship and still making me feel like you were.”

Harry waved a hand at Charlie carelessly, as if this gesture could explain everything more than anything he said could. 

He started towards the house and then stopped just as quickly.

“And,” Harry chimed in, on his own tangent, mind, his finger in the air, “I resent you for apparently thinking that I could just send you letters and that it could be all casual and that we could be, like… mates. As if I wouldn’t just ask you to come home. As if I would be able to not say all of the…”

He knew Charlie was staring at him in a way that he should really aim to prevent, but oh well because Charlie had asked. He’d asked. 

Still, Harry could feel that gaze, hot on the side of his face, as he looked at the grey tinge of the horizon, not yet black. 

“We should go inside,” Charlie said.

“Yep,” Harry said, turning carefully away. 

Charlie snagged his wrist in a gentle grip and pulled him right back. 

That being said, it was Harry that turned fully to face him. It was Harry that beckoned him with his eyes, and it was Harry that leant into Charlie’s space, before Charlie could say whatever he was going to say, and kissed him instead.

Harry yearned for a time machine at the rugged feel of Charlie’s stubble once more, like slipping into a dream you suddenly remembered was a memory. The supple press of his lips, the smell of his shampoo, the way he seemed so stunned that Harry was doing this because Charlie never seemed to grasp that Harry simply burned for him. That he’d walked into the sun.

And, well, breakup aside, it was a great kiss. 

Charlie seemed hesitant at first, but he kept Harry right where he was anyway, and kept pulling him back for more, lips catching, Harry’s hands grasping his hip and the neck of his t-shirt. 

“If anyone sees,” Charlie said into Harry’s mouth, their stubble catching, “we’ll have a lot of awkward explaining to do—”

“Whatever,” said Harry, “Come back to mine.”

“You have clearly lost your mind,” Charlie mumbled as Harry pecked at his lips, not sounding too bothered about it. 

“No,” said Harry, angling to get closer. 

Charlie’s lips disappeared, then. Harry worked his eyes open to see Charlie stepping away. 

“Hey,” Harry said, snagging the front of his shirt with a few fingers. “Wait.”

“Harry, if we do this, we’re right where we were four months ago,” Charlie said seriously.

And, unfortunately, that’s what did him in.

“God damn it, Charlie, I am not any better off than I was four months ago!” Harry said, shouting before he meant to be. 

Charlie blinked, looking like he wanted to take another step back from the impact of that, but Harry still had a hold on his shirt. 

“I don’t know, maybe you are and good for you. But I’ve been, like, completely miserable!” Harry said, on a roll now, “The last four months have felt like a year!” 

“Harry,” Charlie said, voice lowered. 

“What do you expect me to do? Do you think I’ll actually be able to move on? Because that’s rubbish. You’re all I really want, I don’t want space, you’re all I’ve ever wanted and I told you that—”

The back door creaked open, then. 

“Guys?” They heard and both swivelled to meet Ron’s eyes in the dark, his face drawn down into a disquieted moue. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Charlie said, genuinely contrite. “Did mum…?”

“Sorry,” Harry added. 

“It’s alright.”

There was a pause.

“I’m making tea. Just me,” he added pointedly.

“Alright,” said Harry.

He dug the tip of his shoe into the dense earth, wishing for death.

“You coming?”

“In a minute,” Charlie supplied. 

Ron gave a nod and a sympathetic smile, seemingly aimed at both of them, which was a very Ron show of loyalty to each of them. Then, he went. 

Harry turned back to Charlie, who just said, “We’ll talk about this later.”

Harry blinked.

“We will?”

“Yes. After, okay?”

Harry bit his lip.

“Okay.” 

So they went back inside and he tried not to assume too readily that this meant what he wanted it to mean. 

They joined everyone for tea, Harry finding a place between Hermione and Ginny this time. Charlie on Ginny’s other side. Eventually, the pair of siblings, second eldest and youngest, began telling a joint story of a Quidditch match that they’d both listened to on the wireless, the retelling disjointed and excitable and everything that Harry loved about both of them. 

Well, okay, there were a few more things he loved about Charlie. That didn’t bear thinking about, though, in light of recent circumstances. He tried to be as casual as possible for the rest of the night. He told Ron that it was nothing, that they were just still sorting things out when Ron asked him about it alone in the kitchen. 

Now, he tried not to show too much. Specifically due to Hermione’s presence right at his side. She could practically smell trouble. 

When the night wore down, though, there was no avoiding it. 

Harry was in the kitchen once more, having his final chat with Molly. 

“And I’ll see you next Sunday?” She was asking.

“Yes,” Harry said, smiling. She never failed to ask now, always wary of him not coming. It endeared Harry, to know that he was wanted. It also made him want to cry a bit from guilt for all the time he'd missed.

“Good, good. I’m holding you to that.”

And then Charlie appeared in the doorway.

“Hello, dear,” Molly said, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. 

“Hey,” he said, smiling back, seemingly compulsively. 

“No rush on the new job, Charlie, by the way. We just wanted you to know as soon as possible. So you had time to consider… But it seems you’re a step ahead of us, anyhow. Still.” 

Molly trailed, eyes crinkling appealingly. It was manipulation in its purest form. 

“I…” Charlie stalled, “I know, mum. Thank you.”

“Ah, well. Harry’s off, aren’t you Harry, dear?” Molly said, turning back to look up at him. 

“Yeah, I’m going, too,” Charlie posited. He fell hesitantly away from the doorway and further into the kitchen. 

“Oh?” Molly said.

She looked, almost frantically, between them. 

“Er, yeah,” Harry said, trying not to watch Charlie too keenly. 

Harry leant down to give Molly a hug, sinking into  the warmth of her returning it. She pulled away sooner than usual though to look at Charlie askance. And then between them once more. Finally, Charlie came to be hugged as well.

He met Harry’s eyes over Molly’s shoulder as she embraced him. 

She seemed to clutch him just the slightest bit too tight, Harry noticed. 

Belatedly, he dropped Charlie’s gaze, letting them have their moment. 

“Well,” Molly said when they pulled away. 

There was a small pause. 

“Be safe.”

Harry’s face went significantly warmer. 

“On your journeys home,” Molly continued. “If you’re… well, be safe. And Charlie, let Arthur know if there’s anything amiss in your flat.”

The flat Charlie moved into a little over a year ago when he’d decided to stay in England for a while. Harry’s gaze dropped at the mention of it. The memories that accompanied it. His lease was almost up, Harry nonsensically knew, and if Charlie didn't come back to England, it would expire like something forgotten. 

“Okay,” Charlie was saying, “I’ll drop by tomorrow in the morning.” 

Molly frowned. 

“You’re leaving tomorrow?”

Charlie winced. 

“I got Monday off, but I have to get back by Tuesday morning. The portkey’s tomorrow night.”

“Ah. Okay,” she said and patted his cheek. 

Charlie met Harry’s eyes then, and all of the things that were unresolved passed between them. 

“Alright, you two, off you go then,” said Molly, “Don’t give an old woman hope.”

Harry smiled sadly at her and nodded toward the door, Charlie right on his heels as he stepped through the back door and into the garden. 

Harry paused and they exchanged a long look, before Charlie walked to the picnic table and sat himself right on top of it, then beckoned Harry to join him. 

Sighing, Harry did. 

They sat there quietly for a few long moments until either of them found the courage to say something. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out,” said Charlie. 

But Harry didn’t know how to break his own quiet—and definitely not after that.

“I could’ve written you,” Charlie continued. “Honestly, I thought you needed some space. And when my mum told me you distanced yourself, I figured… I figured needing space was an understatement.”

Harry shrugged. 

He said, “I needed you to be there and simultaneously knew that it was a problem, so. What can you do?”

“You tell me,” said Charlie sincerely.

“Well, I want… I want you to come home with me tonight.”

“And then what?” Charlie asked dubiously.

“We get everything off our chests in the morning.” 

“When I said we’d talk later, that wasn’t the part I thought we’d be deliberating over.”

“But you’d hoped,” Harry said cheekily.

“Harry, the last time we spoke, you were buying a portkey for me to go back to Romania.”

“I didn’t—” Harry sighed and put his face in his hand. “I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

“If you had asked me not to go, I wouldn’t have.”

“They needed you—”

“But that wasn’t the problem, was it?”

“No, the problem,” said Harry, releasing a sigh, “was you always holding your tongue or, or treating me like I’m breakable, or worse, like you know better than I do about what’s best for me.” 

Charlie went quiet for long enough that he began to worry. 

Then, “You… do this thing that I’m not sure you’re aware of.”

Harry’s head jerked towards him. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” Charlie said, mouth quirking wanly. “You’d get all… uncertain. Sometimes. As if you couldn’t trust that our relationship was real. That someone wasn’t going to take it away.”

Charlie met his eyes, but Harry found himself without words. 

The house glowed with life before them. 

“I’m sorry that it felt like that,” Harry said, clearing his throat. 

“It felt like I was… taking advantage, somehow.”

“Charlie,” Harry huffed. “When you love someone, that’s how it is. You’re, like, my whole world. Of course I was a little eager to please and a little scared... not to, I suppose.”

He didn’t bother censoring the present tense. 

Charlie put his chin in his hand. 

“Hm.”

“‘That all?” Harry asked.

“It worried me, is all.”

“I care about your opinion.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t care about my opinion that much.” 

“Charlie—”

“Maybe if you didn’t, it wouldn’t feel like I’m lecturing you when I’m looking out for your best interest.”

“Okay, noted, fine. Maybe it does feel shitty because you’re older and have your shit together—and always just seem so… at ease. Like you have everything figured out.”

“I don’t have anything figured out.”

“Now you’re messing with me.”

“Harry, up until a little over a year ago, I was spending all of my time away from my family. Hiding, because everything about being in Romania was simpler. Being in a relationship with you was the most risky thing I’ve done in a while, I think.”

“Says the dragon wrangler.”

“Alright, alright. Well. Passions are worth taking risks for,” said Charlie, and Harry saw him raise his arm to rub a hand over his stubble. 

When Harry glanced at him, he found his mouth curling into Harry’s favorite smile.

“Come home with me,” said Harry.

The smile became tinged with amusement. 

“Harry.”

“I know, I know, it’s a bad idea and we might regret it, etcetera. But what if—we don’t.”

Charlie gazed at him. 

But Harry knew one thing. It was that if he had to watch Charlie walk away now, the rest of the night would be bloody awful. 

“Okay,” said Charlie.

He glanced at the house briefly.

“Okay,” he said again with more finalty, “Come on.”

Harry was a step behind, as Charlie got carefully off of the picnic table. He followed, belated in his surprise at actually getting what he wanted. 

Something about his slowness had Charlie shaking his head fondly. He stretched his hand, and Harry looked down at his palm, aloft for Harry. 

Harry wrapped his hand around it. 

They landed in front of Harry’s house after a quick and precise apparition—Harry didn’t even need to touch his wand anymore to do so. He kept a firm hold on Charlie’s hand. 

Who was too busy taking in a deep breath to really notice.

“I forgot how it smells here,” he murmured. 

“Yes, yes, smells even better inside, come on,” Harry said, tugging on Charlie’s hand as he pulled him forward to take the wards down. 

Charlie snorted behind him, but didn’t comment. 

Harry had just barely forgotten about the luxury of having Charlie in his space. His home. That and he had one nosy, overly talkative neighbor across the way that had definitely noticed Charlie’s absence, and he really didn’t need her to make an appearance and inflame the already sensitive situation. 

So he ushered Charlie inside, leaving the salt air behind them as soon as they closed the door. 

Charlie sighed upon entering, glancing around. 

“That plant’s new,” he said, nodding towards the fern in the bay window. 

“A Valentine’s Day gift from Luna,” said Harry.

“Luna gave you a fern for Valentine’s Day?”

“Yeah. She said, ‘your broken heart is negatively affecting your chakra, Harry. Plant life is good company in the meantime.’ Or some such rubbish.”

“Sounds like Luna,” Charlie said, glancing sideways at him. 

Harry shook his head and walked further into the house, leaning into the kitchen to flick the light on as usual. 

He heard Charlie sigh behind him. Which he did often, usually at the end of a long day or when he spent too much time with his family—but Harry turned back to find him hovering by the plant. He tugged gently on one of its leaves and watched it bounce jubilantly back and forth. 

“It’s a nice gift,” he said.

Harry approached him. 

“Maybe not for a broken heart,” Charlie lamented, and looked up when Harry neared him enough to invade a stranger’s quota of personal space.  

“Don’t mope,” said Harry.

He started tugging Charlie in the direction of his room, wondering all the while how subtle he should be about it. 

“I really like Luna.”

“Luna really likes you, too,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. A little too much, at that, based on the few times they’d met and Luna insisted upon reading Charlie’s palm every time. 

“Also I’m not sleeping with you.”

Harry shot a frown over his shoulder. 

“What does that have to do with Luna having a crush on you?” He asked grumpily. 

“She doesn’t. And—nothing, but the point still stands.” 

Harry sighed and pulled him all the way down the hallway to his room. His house wasn’t overly large, which was what Harry loved about it. It was set up as one long hallway with rooms coming off of it, kitchen to the left, sitting room to the right, and then upstairs was just a guest bedroom and ensuite bathroom. Harry’s room and bathroom were at the end of the first floor hallway. 

Arriving there, Harry walked inside to shrug off his thick shirt jacket, Charlie joining him inside. 

“Want some joggers?” Harry asked, glancing at Charlie’s jeans. 

Charlie nodded, sitting on the end of Harry’s bed without seeming to think about it. 

Harry tried to kill his smile as he rummaged in his dresser for the joggers Charlie had left behind, and then paused in that process and grabbed a grey pair of his own instead, afraid Charlie might confiscate them. And then what would he wear to sleep while he thought pathetically about how Charlie wasn’t there, in his bed, poking fun at him while he got ready?

“Here,” Harry said, throwing his own joggers over his shoulder. 

A swish of fabric suggested that they’d been snagged from the air. 

“Gee thanks, joggers a size too small.” 

Charlie wasn’t much taller than Harry at all, but he did have more breadth to him.

“I don’t need your Weasley-brand sass right now,” Harry said, turning and taking a few steps back to him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Charlie, smiling slightly. “I’ve heard it all before.”

Because Harry always said it.

He watched as Charlie unbuttoned and stripped off his jeans and then slid into the joggers. Harry was only granted a raised eyebrow. 

“Couldn’t you have gotten uglier in the last four months?” Harry asked without thinking. 

Charlie chuckled and reached for him. Harry went, feeling the relief like a building pushed off his shoulders. The joggers looked good on him. He was pulled into familiar, strong arms and thought he might actually weep with it, Charlie’s t-shirt threadbare against his fingertips, something smoky and cinnamony hitting his nose. He dug his nose into the fabric. Charlie gathered him up until all of Harry’s height and angles and quirks were somehow in his arms, his to hold. Harry loved being pulled into Charlie’s chest like he was being saved for later. 

“I missed you like hell,” Harry mumbled, so he wouldn’t actually cry and because he didn’t know what else to do. 

“Harry,” Charlie said, mouth against Harry’s shoulder. 

“Oh,” Harry said, something occurring to him all of a sudden. Because Harry wasn’t the only one who’d missed him. “Oh, your siblings are going to be so pissed you didn’t spend the night at the Burrow. That’s all they could talk about before you arrived, was who was staying where.”

“Shit,” Charlie whispered. 

Harry reared his head back to look at him and winced at the grim guilt in his expression. 

“It’s okay, you can just go back first thing in the morning.”

“Oh, I have your permission?” said Charlie, smiling. 

“Yes,” Harry said, pressing his nose against Charlie’s.

“I missed you, too.”

Harry blinked at him, and then, gradually, lowered his eyes.

“We… we don’t have to talk about the job.”

“Okay.”

“But.”

“But,” said Charlie, and Harry knew he was smiling again. 

“But. If you did come back,” He looked up then, “Charlie, I would never even dream of making it seem like I was okay with you leaving again. I'd... I'd want to fix things.”

Because he had to say it. 

Charlie sighed and pulled Harry close, hand clasped warm around the back of his neck. 

“Harry, there’s nothing to fix. I have no hard feelings about anything that happened.” 

“How about me?” Harry asked, shifting in Charlie’s hold until he was in Charlie’s lap. “How do you feel about me?”

“I—”

Harry kissed him, though, rendering the question redundant. He was surprised they’d managed to talk for this long, frankly. 

And that was how they stayed, trading kisses and cuddling at the end of Harry’s bed until Charlie deemed it late enough to stay the night. 

“Oh, debating it, were you?” asked Harry, pecking at his jawline. 

“You invited me to come over, you didn’t officially invite me to stay,” Charlie replied, tone colored with amusement. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

Because unless Harry asked him not to, Charlie stayed. He always stayed. He’d simply never ask him not to again. 

And they could take things as slowly as they needed—as slowly as physically possible, Harry corrected silently, slipping his fingers under Charlie’s top.

He and Charlie… they were kind of trouble. Just a little. 

He remembered the first time Ginny cornered him about his attraction towards Charlie, which was so evident between rigorous Quidditch matches and looks stolen across the table; how she’d said, all narrow-eyed, “Are you shagging my brother?” 

And the way Harry had stared at her and, thinking he was eighty percent joking as he hadn’t fully understood his sexuality at the time, said, “No…? But who wouldn’t want to?” 

It was a strange phenomenon that followed in which she was outraged enough that she just forgave him, as if being that angry would have taken too much energy. But obviously she had taken him seriously, and he realised thereafter that he had some things to think about. 

That was only several months after the war. Charlie hadn’t even moved back yet, was only visiting sporadically—it took him five years to get around to it, to realise that he was in fact needed. 

And Harry hadn’t waited. Not at all, not for anything. He’d fallen in love in the interim. Twice. The first occasion being a muggle named Henry and the other; Draco Malfoy, if you'd believe it. He’d found parts of himself that he’d never gotten a good look at before and marvelled that that could be the case. That one didn’t know everything at eighteen. 

He’d drank. 

He’d wept. 

He’d joined the Auror force, and left. 

He’d made a bit of an arse of himself in the papers. 

He knew this because the first thing that Charlie had said to him upon arriving home was, “You’re making a bit of an arse of yourself in the papers, mate.”

And that night, Harry had kissed him, because at the time it felt like Charlie was the only one who cared enough to ask him to do better, enough to take care of him. 

It turned out that this wasn’t exactly true. He was just the best at it. 

“We should sleep if I want any chance of making it to my parents’ in the morning,” Charlie murmured into his hair. “And back to my undoubtedly volcanic siblings.” 

Harry huffed a laugh. 

“So go to sleep, then.”

Charlie rolled his eyes and pulled himself out from underneath Harry, getting to his feet.

“Oh, what a brill idea, I’m so glad you came up with it,” he said, pulling Harry's duvet out from under his pillows. 

Harry laughed falling onto his back on the duvet, unconsciously tipping his head back, effervescent with happiness. 

Charlie chuckled right back at him, saying, “Up, up,” as he tried fruitlessly to pull the blankets out from under him. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair and just looked at Charlie. 

Charlie stepped closer until his thighs met the edge of the bed and grabbed Harry quite easily. Harry yelped and pretended to struggle a little, Charlie laughing once more, as he brought Harry bodily into the bed along with him, sliding in with an arm wrapped around his middle. 

They settled beneath the sheets in a lump of limbs and harsh breaths. 

“Satisfied?” Charlie asked wryly, breath hitting the back of Harry’s neck.

Harry rolled over to look at him, settled on his stomach.

If someone had told him that morning that he would have Charlie in his bed again by the end of the night, he might have self-destructed on the spot. Now, he felt settled, his chest quiet for once.  

“Yes. I mean,” Harry said, his eyes trailing down Charlie’s chest, “Well, yes. But.”

“But?” Charlie asked as Harry stared at his nipples, hard through Harry’s t-shirt. 

“I could be more satisfied,” Harry began. 

“Mm. I don’t want to complicate things, Harry,” Charlie murmured softly.

Harry traced a line down the inside of his forearm. 

“At least not until I’ve made a decision about what I’m doing,” Charlie was saying. 

Harry sighed and shoved his arms under his pillow, making it a more sufficient cushion for his head. 

“Understandable. Decisions good, complications bad,” he grumbled. 

Charlie looked like he was fighting a smile. 

Harry was mystified by the fact that he found it so funny, Harry's tendency to turn into some hormone-addled teenager whenever it came to Charlie’s… anything. But it quite literally cracked him up, to Harry’s unending ire. Sometimes Charlie would even toy with him, see how quickly he could make Harry come or, worse, keep him on the edge until he was out of his mind. 

Harry could only wish that were happening now. 

“Are you falling asleep?” Charlie asked, still sounding amused. 

“Yes, because if I don’t I’m going to burst a blood vessel.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” said Charlie, the rumbling quality of his voice when he was being quiet soothing and close to Harry’s ear.

“Because I don't have an adequate response to explain how painful it is to go four months without touching you, I'm just going to go to sleep. Goodnight.”

Charlie chuckled quietly and said an even quieter goodnight. Then, he shuffled closer, his heat feeling pleasant and welcome in the slight chill of their current seaside location. He curled himself around the side of Harry’s body, and Harry, as was routine, fell asleep. 

Harry woke up to the sound of a voice. Then, he realised it was the voice of the man he loved, which was very irregular as Harry had chased him away. 

He waded in sleepy confusion for a few moments, dread over another lonely day filling him in the pink darkness of his closed eyes, a fuzzy film over his mind.  

Then, with the effect that wakefulness often had, the confusion vanished in an instant. 

“—then, so, I cancelled the portkey.”

“Charlie! That’s wonderful. I’m thrilled, son, this is great news.”

“Yeah, you have to be quieter, though, Harry’s still asleep.”

“Oh, but I need to go get your mother—”

“Dad. Please don’t get mum. It’s six am.”

There was a pause.

“Possibly you’re right.”

“Yeah, seems like more of an afternoon affair, doesn’t it.”

“It does, I suppose. So you’re coming in the afternoon, then? I suppose you have a lot of time now, but please feel free, of course, of course, I’m so excited!”

“Me too,” and it sounded like he meant it. 

“Bring Harry, too, if he’s, you know, up for it!”

“Yeah,” there was a brief pause, “Yeah, I’ll ask.”

“Okay, I’ll be seeing you after work, then. I’m… I’m proud of you.”

Another pause.

“Thanks, dad.”

“Alright, I’ll let you go. See you.”

“Bye,” said Charlie so quietly that Harry barely heard. 

Harry laid there, blinking absently at his ceiling. He listened to the footsteps coming back towards his room in a somewhat dazed manner.

The sound insulation in this house really was terrible, he thought nonsensically. 

When Charlie walked in and found Harry awake, he stopped abruptly in his tracks. 

“Did I wake you?” He murmured, eyebrows pulling inwards in concern as he came on bare feet back to Harry. 

Harry watched him, brain connecting slowly to his body, and he shook his head slowly. 

Charlie put a single knee on the mattress and sighed, saying, “I forgot you can hear right through the walls. I wasn’t thinking.”

Harry reached out a hand and it found Charlie’s thigh, the fabric of Harry’s own bottoms soft between his fingers. 

“S’okay,” he said. 

“How’d you sleep?” Charlie asked, leaning closer now. 

This brought his face closer to Harry’s, freckles and sharp lines and kind eyes in sharper, finer clarity as Harry’s glasses were probably on the floor, like they always ended up whenever he accidentally fell asleep with them on.

“I slept great,” Harry said, blinking at him. He still felt dazed. 

“Good,” he replied, with a smile. 

“Charlie,” Harry began.

The look on Harry’s face must have fully registered, then. 

“We can talk about it. Over breakfast,” Charlie said, expression growing serious. 

“There’s nothing to talk about. I heard enough to deduce that you might have cancelled your portkey.” 

Charlie sighed. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I wanted to wait until after breakfast to tell you.”

“To tell me that you cancelled your portkey.”

“To tell you that I’m taking the job, as you’ve probably already deduced, you goof.”

“Charlie. Fuck,” Harry said, torn between grinning and descending into a panic. 

“Harry?” Charlie asked. 

Harry sat up, feeling breathless, too much so to even see the hand Charlie had reached out to steady him until it was on his knee. 

“Sorry. I think I’m jumping to the conclusion that you’re doing this for me and I’m really trying not to do that.”

“Well, that’s useless. I am.”

Harry stared at him. 

“And my mother, Harry. And my dad. My siblings, who have already somehow gotten tired of writing me really lengthy letters summing up their lives.”

Charlie propped his chin on his hand and watched him. 

“How does that include me?” Harry asked, just to make sure.

“Because I want to be with you,” Charlie said, tone sincere. 

“You called your dad from my floo.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so…”

“To be fair, my mum probably told him that we left together.” 

Harry sank his front teeth into his bottom lip, trying to eliminate his smile. 

“I didn’t think about that.” 

“Fair enough, you had a lot on your mind,” Charlie smiled at him. 

They watched each other for a moment. Charlie cleared his throat. 

“I do have to go back to Romania for a few weeks. Tie up loose ends, clean out my stuff. Or the small amount that there is.” 

“Okay,” Harry said, and then his mind went whirring. “I’ll come with you.”

“What?”

“I’ll come with you. With me there, it’ll only take a few days.” 

The corner of Charlie’s lips ticked upwards. 

“How modest of you,” he said.

Harry, done with the nonsense, honestly, rolled over onto Charlie’s chest. 

“Oh?” said Charlie, raising an eyebrow. He looked up at Harry, face so handsome from this angle, eyes bright blue in the light coming through Harry’s open window.

Harry planted his lips against Charlie’s cheeks and left them there, the skin warm. 

“Yes,” Harry said, muffled. “Now be a good boy and comply.” 

Charlie laughed brightly, and if the sound were visual it’d be like incandescent stars across Harry’s bedroom. 

It always went like this, Harry pretending to be bossy until Charlie took charge, and Harry welcomed it with his whole chest when Charlie rolled them over. When he hovered like he knew exactly what Harry wanted because he did. And Harry loved him for it. He loved him.

Harry didn’t get to truly have Charlie until they were back at Charlie’s flat that night, which had fared relatively well despite its owner’s neglect. 

That morning, Harry, having a small, unburstable ball of warmth in his chest and a growing awareness of Charlie’s nerves about seeing his family later in the day, had just curled himself around Charlie like an air plant. 

Of course, he’d coaxed Charlie into a few long kisses, but they didn’t take it any farther from there. They’d lazed around in Harry’s bed for the entire morning, clothes ruffled and expressions peaceful, before resigning themselves to the inevitable, incurable mess that would be the afternoon. 

As Harry and Charlie had both expertly predicted, all of the Weasley siblings were full of ire over his and Charlie’s joint disappearing act the night before. They learned this rather immediately. 

“Charles Weasley!” came George’s voice from the floo in the sitting room, when Harry and Charlie had only just decided to get out of bed. 

From Harry’s kitchen table, Charlie made a face like someone was midway through the act of killing him. 

“What do mean Charlie? Harry more like,” came a resounding protest, and then in a more shouty manner, “How could you? My own best friend!”

Harry, already on his way to his sitting room, lazy and unamused on socked feet, stepped across the threshold with a sternness he usually reserved for martyrdom. 

“You probably saw us kissing last night, Ron,” said Harry upon arriving at the floo. “What did you think was going to happen?” 

“I chose to miss that part,” said Ron’s head. “I’m forcefully forgetting it. Of course I was obligated to stick my nose in when I heard yelling. What do you think of me?”

“Yelling?” came Hermione’s voice, just out of frame, and Harry put his hand to his face.

“How many of you are over there?” Harry asked direly.  

“All of us. You saw us preparing to camp out yesterday. Don’t play the victim,” said Ron. 

“Sorry, yelling?” Hermione reiterated, tone annoyed, most probably, at being ignored. 

“Yes, well—it’s them, so, there was bound to be yelling,” Ron said placatingly. 

Harry just stood there, arms crossed over his chest, most likely wearing an offended expression. 

That hadn’t even been the worst of it. Harry had to get to his knees and start hissing threats when George and Ginny appeared in the flames, heads fighting for dominance. They were the most upset, but Harry wasn’t having any of it.

“Listen, you absolute idiots. Charlie has some big news to share with you and we’ll be over later. Merlin. So could you just stop being psychopaths before he gets fed up and decides to go back to Romania, anyway?”

“Wait… WHAT?”

Shit.

Charlie got over the spoiler. And Ginny and George, thank Merlin above, rather quickly got over Charlie ditching them when he promised to spend the entirety of Tuesday and, in addition, Tuesday night at the Burrow. 

Ron, with a pointed threat to both of their bollocks, made peace with the fact that they were starting up their relationship again. 

And all was proposedly well at the Burrow. 

“—and I’ll take you out on Friday so you can smoke me on your new broom,” Charlie was saying in the frame of the open backdoor of the Burrow, a breeze smelling like newly blooming flowers blowing into the room. 

“Deal,” Ginny said, eyes narrowed.

Of course, then ensued an argument about who would be sleeping where the following night. 

With a look across the room, Charlie beckoned to Harry with his bright eyes. And they went quietly through the door together, prepared to face this next part with the other perfectly in view.