JKR truly knew what she was about when she chose April 1 for these two’s birthday. So go ahead and spread a little mayhem in honor of the twin Messrs. Weasley today. Just don’t let Molly or Minerva catch you!
La Rowling once said of Charlie Weasley that, “He’s more interested in dragons than women.” I must confess my imagination took this tidbit of info and ran somewhat wild with it 🙂 Here Be Dragons was the result of this flight of fancy. In celebration of Charlie’s birthday, please enjoy this snippet from my HP fanfic, Here Be Dragons…
On the morning of December 12, 2002—in the pitch-dark of precisely 5:07 a.m.—Charlie was awakened by an astonishingly fantastic blow job already in full swing. Barely conscious and certainly not in full enough control of his faculties to belay the (hopefully not embarrassingly quick) imminent orgasm, Charlie moaned and shuddered his completion mere moments later. Still gasping in recovery, before he’d even managed the chance to ask, Thanks, but what the hell’s the Welsh breakfast for?, Sasha’s head emerged from under the comforter, grinning.
“Happy thirtieth birthday, Charlie.” He kissed him on the way out of bed.
Charlie managed a grunt in reply, his head still spinning.
A few moments later, Sasha bounded back into his room leading a small parade of packages. “I know you don’t want me to sing to you,” he chuckled as the gifts lightly settled onto the comforter in Charlie’s lap.
“Thanks anyway,” Charlie agreed, laughing. Among Sasha’s many talents, carrying a tune was not one of them.
Sasha snuggled back under the comforter. “Open the one from your mother first.”
Charlie obeyed, unwrapping another homemade balaclava (her traditional birthday present for him), this one knitted in a dark navy yarn, soft yet sturdy. The practical gift pleased him, and he planned to wear it immediately—the wind outside was howling as the latest Carpathian blizzard cooked up its worst.
The next package—this one from George—contained half a dozen Muggle paperback fantasy novels and several colorful pictures of dragons drawn by his twin boys. George and his Muggle wife usually sent Charlie books each year, and he’d amassed quite a collection now of the fantastical dragon-themed stories. Despite the fact he lived and worked with the real thing, the Muggle stories proved surprisingly imaginative.
Ginny sent an overlarge box of Honeydukes sweets populated with Fizzing Whizbees, Jelly Slugs, and Pepper Imps: all his childhood favorites. He popped an Imp into his mouth, then pulled a startled Sasha in close for a literally fiery kiss. Both men parted laughing, the residual smoke exiting their ears and nostrils.
After several more moments spent playfully thus, and with some sticky residue left on a nipple or three resulting from a thoroughly inappropriate use of a Jelly Slug, Sasha reached out for the final package: a slim, brown-paper-wrapped article whose proportions very much resembled a wall calendar. “Are you avoiding this one for some reason?” he needled.
Charlie would’ve liked to ignore it, tossing it directly into the bin where other similar gifts from past years had gone. But Sasha, for some perverse reason, wouldn’t let it drop, pestering him to open it. Reluctantly, he tore into the paper.
As expected, his brothers had again renewed his subscription to the Witch of the Month Club. Charlie pitched the calendar toward the bin, but Sasha summoned it back. He flipped through the months, the almost completely disrobed ladies pictured on each page seductively removed the final vestiges of their scant clothing. Charlie looked away, dreading another dozen skin mags destined to follow during the ensuing months.
“Why do your brothers do this every year?”
“Because they’re fucking gits,” Charlie growled. He elbowed his frowning lover. “I told you there were benefits to being an only child, and this is one of them. No stupid presents from idiotic brothers for you.”
“But why this?”
“They think it’s terribly funny,” Charlie grumbled. All of them were married men now—even Percy, his last fellow holdout against the institution of matrimony, had finally caved and taken a bride September last, leaving Charlie the sole remaining Weasley bachelor.
“What is funny about looking at naked strangers?” Sasha asked. “It’s sad, if you ask me. I feel sorry for the families of these women exposing themselves for money.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, love,” Charlie said, unwilling to debate the contentious relationship between pornography and feminism at the moment.
“Do you think it might mean something more?” Sasha asked carefully. “Something… malicious?”
Charlie understood the question he was really asking: Do you think they know our secret?
“My brothers dearly adore taking the mickey out of everyone, but I don’t think they ever mean any real harm.” Charlie sighed as he fell back onto his pillow. “They imagine I’m terribly lonely here, and this sort of thing is what I ought to pine for.”
“They’ve been listening to your mother too much,” Sasha said.
“Yes, well, she does have a habit of constantly bangin’ on about things and can be rather difficult to tune out,” Charlie granted.
Sasha gave the facial equivalent of a shrug, conceding Charlie’s point. Then he smiled smugly. “Ready for your present from me?”
Charlie smiled back. “Thought I already got it,” he chuckled.
By some sleight of hand and a well-placed Disillusionment Charm, Sasha produced a sizeable package from under the covers Charlie hadn’t noticed before. When Charlie accepted the foot-and-a-half-long thing from him, he recognized its solid weight heralded something significant.
“What the hell is it?” Charlie wondered aloud, poring over the leather-clad box, looking for clues but finding none.
“Open it and see, fool,” Sasha pushed.
Charlie gave him a stern, searching look. Something told him Sasha had gone overboard this time.
Sasha rolled his eyes. He pointed at the little brass hinges, then mimed the lid opening with his hands. “It works like this, little one.”
Charlie shot a weak glare his way, then gasped at the sight of a gleaming dagger resting upon black velvet within. Made of Goblin steel, the blade was a modified hourglass shape that came to an unquestionably lethal point. The pommel resembled a fancy, winged W, and the hilt was split open, the negative space reducing its weight without compromising its strength. A decorated black leather sheath lay alongside it like a lover.
“My God, Sash,” Charlie breathed, running his fingertips along its length. He’d only ever dreamt of owning an actual Goblin blade, and this specimen… Well, it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.
“Do you forgive me now for your rude awakening so early this morning?” Sasha teased.
“I don’t know what to say,” Charlie stammered, the sting of tears in his eyes. Sasha earned an only slightly larger salary than he did (based solely on seniority)—he must’ve tapped into his recent inheritance from his mother to purchase such an expensive gift.
Sasha’s arm wrapped around Charlie’s shoulders. “Promise me you’ll use it in good health.”
Charlie nodded, still unable to speak, then allowed Sasha to pull him closer in a sideways hug.
“I’ll just go start the coffee, shall I?” Sasha announced a few moments later. When he exited the room, Charlie knew, regardless of the pretense, he’d been left alone to compose himself.
Breathing deeply, Charlie summoned self-control. He’d never be in a financial position to reciprocate Sasha’s gift, so the best he could do was prove himself worthy of it. He dressed quickly, layering shirts and jumpers, long johns and lined trousers, doubling up socks within his dragon hide boots, in preparation to face the cold outside. He carefully threaded his belt through the slits of the new knife’s sheath, marveling at the weapon’s balance and lightness holstered at his waist.
Sasha wore a pleased smile when Charlie joined him in the kitchen. Coffee, toast, and some warmed-up mutton stew awaited on the table. “It looks good on you,” Sasha said over the rim of his mug before taking a drink.
“Thanks,” Charlie managed to say without becoming overemotional again. He meant to say more, but Sasha waved him off.
“It was my pleasure,” Sasha replied.
Charlie knew that would be the end of it, so he tucked into breakfast.
“And now, it is my regrettable duty to inform you that your presence is required at Afumaţi tonight at eight p.m., whereupon you will be subjected to a surprise party in your honor.” Sympathy rang clear in his voice. “Please don’t take your fury out upon the messenger.”
“Ah, fucking hell,” Charlie groaned, letting his spoon fall into his stew, splattering the table.
“I was unable to spare you from being subjected to this torture,” Sasha said with a wince. “Which is largely the reason for your happy wake-up head: I wanted you to enjoy at least some part of your birthday.”
“Why does it have to be there, of all places?”
“Who do you think instigated this stupid idea?” Sasha retorted. “It sure as shit wasn’t any of us.”
Charlie pushed the bowl of food away, his appetite sapped. The prospect of attending any sort of party, much less as the guest of honor, fell so far down his list of favorite things to do as to be invisible. Top that off with the knowledge that Ileana Bălan would be the hostess for the evening, and Charlie’s stomach twisted with nervous dread. She’d been pouring on the meaningful glances and come-hither body language for the last four years, convinced there was some metaphysical destiny meant for them because he’d “saved” her during the Battle of Hogwarts. Yes, she’d gotten herself backed into a proverbial tight spot, and he happened to be the closest available wizard to come to her aid, but that was all there was to it. They’d dispatched the Death Eater together as equals, but she’d insisted on telling anyone who’d listen how she owed her life to him ever since.
“My guess is you’ll be getting quite a present from your girlfriend tonight,” Sasha jabbed.
“Don’t you start.” It was bad enough the rest of the keepers teased him about Ileana’s soft spot. This party promised to make the situation ten times worse, at minimum. “That settles it. I’m not going.”
“She’s already strong-armed the rest of them with threats of calling in their bar tabs if they don’t show,” Sasha warned. “None of them has the balls to piss off Ileana. And if we have to be there, you can bet your sweet ginger arse we’re dragging you along .”
“Fucking hell,” Charlie groaned again, utterly defeated…
You can read the rest of this story for free, archived at The Petulant Poetess.