--JRR Tolkein
"Weasley?" Draco asked, repeating the name on the office door in surprise. "What are you doing here?" Weasleys were one of the things he'd been happy to leave behind in England, along with Hogwarts and the too-fresh memory of a lost war.
"I work here," the Weasley said calmly, not seeming to take offense. "Have done for ten years."
"Oh," Draco said, trying to cover his surprise with what he hoped was a businesslike tone. "In that case, you should be able to direct me to a Mr. Borbely." This was the director of the reservation, whom his father had ordered him to contact during breakfast this morning.
"Ileana Borbely is out for a while," Weasley said with a little smile on his face. "She is on maternity leave, so it'll be a while. Anything I can do for you?"
Draco was skeptical. For one thing, maternity leave didn't sound like the kind of benefit that a Malfoy business would extend to its employees. Secondly, he wasn't sure that a Weasley was someone he should be associating with, even a fit, muscular type of Weasley with a sarcastic smile on his face. Perhaps especially that type. On the other hand, his father had been very clear in his instructions. "Take a look around the place," he'd said, "Make yourself familiar with the way it works." It didn't take long for Draco to decide that he'd prefer spending time with a Weasley to explaining his failure to follow instructions to his father.
"Show me around the place," Draco said. When the Weasley looked at him evenly with one eyebrow cocked, Draco amended quickly, "Er, if you have time, that is."
"Sure," the Weasley said, with an easy smile. "I have to go out and check on a couple of the Blacks anyway." Draco frowned at him as he bustled around the room. He was not used to asking favors of people; he was used to demanding things and getting them right away. This was not a positive development, so far as Draco was concerned. But at least he was getting what he wanted, he told himself by way of reassurance.
The Weasley picked up a big duffel bag from the floor and swung it over his shoulder, then glanced back and smiled at Draco. It was a bright smile, but clever and a little bit wicked all at once -- not Gryffindor at all, that smile. "Come on, then," he said, and Draco followed after.
They walked through a small door in the side of the office; it was opposite to where Draco had entered but he still expected to find more corridors and offices. Instead, the door opened directly to the outside. Draco found himself on the edge of a rolling meadow, surrounded by steep hills which gave way quickly to mountains, creating a vast bowl-shaped valley carpeted with green and walled with steep rock. Overhead, dragons soared in flight, wheeling and gliding like birds of prey. One of the dragons, a big-bellied creature with a shiny red hide, let out a roar and a long mushroom-shaped cloud of flame erupted from its mouth. Across the valley, a sleek dragon with black hide and a spiny tail lifted off the ground, beating its wings to raise itself skyward.
Draco realized that his mouth was open. Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away from the dragons and turned to Weasley, who was looking at him with something in his eyes that might've been approval. "They look even better up close," Weasley said, and set off down the hill toward the closest paddock. Draco scrambled to follow.
In their headlong flight ("dignified relocation," according to Lucius) out of England, the Malfoys had passed through several of Lucius's other business concerns before landing at the dragon reserve in Romania. They'd been to an upscale furniture factory outside Dublin, where the hides of magical creatures were sewn into charming ottomans; stopped at a workshop for Dark potions ingredients that was always full of a fog of musty, insidious smells; and visited a workshop near Prague where house-elves worked around the clock operating vast machinery which turned out robes for Madam Malkin's. Every place they went, the manager welcomed Lucius with fear and a servile demeanor, but hanging back, Draco saw a ripple of speculation and curiosity follow behind. These places were the foundation of the Malfoy empire, but it was clear to Draco that his father was far from the beloved dictator that he imagined himself.
The dragon reserve was different, though. "A foolish affectation of my father's," Lucius said dismissively, "in his senile years." Draco remembered that it had been Abraxas Malfoy who had named his grandson after the dragon-shaped constellation. "It's not at all profitable. I'm thinking of closing it down."
Following Weasley down a steep path, with dragons wheeling in vast circles overhead, Draco could see that the dragon reserve was different from the rest of the Malfoy empire in many other ways. The keepers were dressed in rugged clothing and dirty boots, the wizards unshaven and the witches in entirely unfeminine garb -- but they were entirely focused on their work and passionate about the dragons. They showed none of the exhaustion or fearful servility of the overworked employees of the other establishments. And best of all, they seemed hardly to know Draco's connection to the place.
"New keeper?" one of the witches asked, pushing her hair out of her face and leaving a streak of dirt along one cheek. She was dressed in leather trousers like the rest.
"Just a visitor," Weasley said easily, with a friendly smile. Draco felt a stab of jealousy, and imagined what it might be like to have that smile directed his way. "I'm showing him around a bit."
She laughed. "You'll hook him in for sure. Once they get a glimpse of these beauties, they always come back." At that, the emerald-colored creature sunning itself in the corner of the paddock rolled over and let out a yawn, smoke escaping through its nostrils toward the sky. "That's my cue," she said, with a grin. "See you, Charlie. New guy."
"That's a Welsh Green, right?" Draco asked, feeling unaccountably uncomfortable with the suggestion that he might consider joining the ranks of these rugged, outdoorsy people. In reality, his visit might signal an end to their entire establishment.
"Yep," Weasley -- Charlie -- said. "You've seen them before?" Out here, in the grassy, windy valley, he looked right at home with his ridiculous freckles and his leather trousers.
Draco licked his lips and looked away. "A bit," he said. "There's some ferals near our country home in Powys."
"That Green colony is really rare," Charlie said, nodding. "They're incredibly intelligent -- they've adopted a nomadic lifestyle, and they feed off sea creatures instead of livestock, so they've avoided Muggle notice for years." Draco turned and looked at Weasley in surprise, watching the way his face lit up as he detailed the characteristics of this one small colony of dragons in a faraway country. It was strange to see such a Ravenclaw-like absorption with facts and theories come from the mouth of a red-haired, muscular Gryffindor. "We've got a dragonet in for observation now. You should come by sometime and see her."
"Yeah, all right," Draco agreed, feeling a bit warm under the collar. Which was ridiculous. This wasn't any sort of a date. It was merely a business obligation. A professional meeting. An intellectual discourse. Right, that was it.
"Hey, you want to meet Norbert?" Charlie asked, and this time he turned his smile on Draco, broad and bright and full of teeth and dimples and freckles. Draco's heart stopped beating for a moment, and he knew he was sunk.
"Uh, sure. Who's Norbert?" he asked, once he regained his voice.
That night, after a long day of tramping about over hill and dale with a Weasley, of all people, Draco fell into an exhausted sleep.
At first, his dreams were a jumbled mess, taking him from Hogwarts to London and Dublin and Prague. He dreamed of people he knew to be dead, and people he'd never met in life. He saw himself back in school with his old friends, relaxing in the Slytherin common room with Blaise and Pansy, and it felt as though they were reunited for a short time although he knew he might never see them again.
Then the dream shifted, and Draco saw himself in a grassy meadow with Charlie. The sun shone down, warm and dappled by the trees that surrounded them, and gave everything a golden glow. Charlie smiled, but this time the same combination of teeth and lips and freckles and dimples looked sexy and inviting, instead of just warm and friendly. Charlie reached out a hand toward Draco and gestured him closer.
Although he knew it was a dream, knew it was something pathetic and possibly shameful to give in to these kind of base urges in this way, Draco allowed his dream-self to go. He stepped closer, feeling the grass soft against his bare feet as he drew closer through the meadow.
"I'm so glad you came," Charlie murmured, pulling Draco down to the soft grass and running one hand through his hair. "I waited for you." He rolled Draco onto his back and pressed a warm kiss to his lips, pressing his firm body fully against Draco's and entwining their legs.
While waking, Draco never let himself give in to these kinds of urges. He'd always lived up to his parents' expectations, always been the dutiful Malfoy heir, always averted his eyes from the curious gazes of wizards and escorted Pansy to society functions. But tonight, he let those duties go and gave himself up to his desires. He pushed away the sure knowledge that it wasn't real, let himself live in the dream.
"I wanted to come," he told Charlie, arching his back and rutting against him, as pleasure flooded his senses, and the sun's glow turned Charlie's hair to gold.
Feeling a bit apprehensive, and not a little turned on by the faintly-remembered remnants of his dream, Draco stepped through the door of the Dragon Reserve offices again the next day. He wiped his palms on his sleeves in what he hoped was a subtle way, and tried to ignore the fact that all the people who worked there might be losing their jobs very soon, in service of the Malfoy conglomerate.
The door of Weasley's office was open, but Draco stopped in the doorway anyway, and just stood and watched. Inside, Weasley was standing with his back to the door beside a counter that ran the length of the room. He was wearing Muggle jeans that were molded to the shape of his muscular backside, and a thin t-shirt that was rucked up so that an inch or so of tanned, freckled skin showed at his waist. And he was talking to someone.
Draco didn't intend to eavesdrop. He might've, if given the chance, but what happened instead was entirely unintentional eavesdropping. Weasley was not just speaking. He was murmuring, whispering, sweet-talking... he sounded very much like he'd sounded in Draco's dream only a few hours before. A dream which was still quite fresh in Draco's mind, and in other parts of him as well.
"Mmm, yeah, that's how you like it, right there," Weasley said distinctly.
Draco choked, and attempted to cover it with a fake cough.
Weasley turned, and suddenly Draco could see who he had been talking to: a creature about the size of a common kneazle, covered in shiny green scales, perched on the countertop and gazing at Weasley with a lovesick expression on her face.
"Didn't mean to interrupt your private time, Weasley," Draco said, but he made no move to leave.
He was rewarded with another of Weasley's broad, bright smiles. "Malfoy, come in," he said. "There's someone here I want you to meet."
Feeling simultaneously pleased and nervous, Draco stepped through the door and closer to the tiny dragon, who was regarding him curiously.
"Virginia, may I present Draco Malfoy." A veteran of a full decade of formal charm school, Draco could not help but be amused. He gave a deep bow, as if he were being introduced to the Queen herself.
"How do you do?" he said, addressing the tiny dragon, who inclined her head regally in response. "You bring them indoors?" he asked Weasley. "Isn't that a fire hazard?"
"Not with this one," Weasley said. "Her fire ducts aren't fully developed yet."
There was an old-fashioned scale sitting on the counter, with two large silvery plates connected by a wobbly balance arm. Weasley urged the dragonet toward it with one gloved hand. "C'mon girl, up you go." In response, she opened her mouth as if to roar, and let out something that sounded more like a squawk.
Draco smiled and stepped closer, reaching out one hand toward the dragonet. He opened his mouth to say something complimentary about her, but stopped when Weasley, who wasn't even looking at him, reached out and grabbed him by the arm.
"You know I said she's not a fire hazard?"
Draco nodded. "Yes?"
"Doesn't mean she's as cuddly as she looks. Her teeth are sharper than needles." Weasley still had a tight grip on Draco's forearm, which he used to pull him back away from the counter.
Draco shook off Weasley's grip on his arm and frowned down at Virginia, who was currently clattering around on the scale as if she were trying to get comfortable. She looked more like a household pet than anything dangerous. "If she's so dangerous, why don't you--"
At that moment, Virginia let out a piercing squeak and launched herself into the air. As graceful flight went, it wasn't much; but as an attack charge, it was effective. She landed claws-first on Draco's shoulder, which was protected only by a thin layer of fabric. Eight tiny spears pierced through his skin and sank into the flesh of his shoulder.
"All right, ouch." Ouch was the understatement of the year: his shoulder felt like it was on fire.
Weasley looked as if he wanted to laugh, but his voice was low and soothing. "Stay calm, Draco."
Draco took a deep breath and let it out again, trying not to move or think too hard about the way his first name sounded rolling off Weasley's tongue like that -- or about Weasley's tongue at all, really. That was not the path to calm.
"You warned me about her teeth," he said, trying to get a look at the dragonet out of the corner of his eye without moving around too much. "Never said anything about those claws."
"Try to avoid the teeth," Weasley said. "Trust me on that one." He stepped closer until Draco could feel his body heat. Weasley reached up and held out one gloved hand in front of Draco's shoulder, then used his other hand to scoop the dragonet off Draco's shoulder and onto his own hand. "Hush," he said softly. "I've got you," and for a moment, Draco wondered if he was talking to him or to the dragon.
He wouldn't have thought it was possible, but as soon as the claws came out, another, stronger wave of pain swept through Draco's shoulder and down his arm. He sucked in a deep breath, and tried not to shake too noticeably. Pressing one hand to the wounded area, he staggered to a ratty chair and fell into it.
A moment later, or possibly it had been many moments -- Draco wasn't sure -- Weasley reappeared, bending over him and looking concerned. "Here," he said, "let's see the damage." He was so close and warm and vivid that even his freckles were absurdly attractive, and Draco was having trouble not flashing back to his dream from the night before. Warm, sweaty skin and tangled tongues and limbs intertwined and...
Weasley waved his hand in front of Draco's eyes and snapped his fingers. "You in there, or do I need to get the smelling salts?"
"I'm fine," Draco snapped, coming back to himself with a stab of hysteria. "My shoulder's fine."
Weasley raised one eyebrow and looked like he was trying not to laugh. "I don't think so." He reached around and without a by-your-leave, began to unfasten Draco's robes at the neck, his fingers brushing against the places he'd been kissing in Draco's unconscious fantasies just a few hours before.
"What are you doing?" Draco asked, his voice even. It was quite an accomplishment, all things considered.
"I need to take a look at your shoulder," Weasley said, not even pausing in his process. "Unless you have some objection."
Draco wondered how he could ever have thought this man was un-Gryffindor in any way. It was beyond imagining at the moment. Being a full-blooded Slytherin himself, he did not voice any objections, and let Weasley continue on with undressing him.
"She was protecting me," Weasley said after a moment.
"What?" Draco had been resolutely not thinking about playing connect-the-dots with Weasley's freckles and his own tongue. "Wait, what?"
"Virginia," Weasley said, "is a bit attached to me. She was just protecting me from attack."
"Oh," Draco said, feeling stupid.
Weasley pushed open the robe and slid it down off Draco's shoulder. "Ah, that's not so bad."
Draco craned his neck and saw a curved line of tiny puncture wounds, bright red against his pale skin like a constellation of freckles. Weasley pressed his wand to the smooth skin and whispered, "Episkey," over and over again like a mantra, and the marks knit themselves closed and disappeared. Draco almost felt sorry.
Weasley ran one thick, work-roughened thumb over the freshly-healed skin. "Might bruise," he said, "but I think you'll live."
"Thanks to you," Draco said, looking up at Weasley's lips, and wishing for the first time that he had even an ounce of Gryffindor courage. Just once, he would like to rush headlong into something horribly ill-advised, to leap first and weigh the risks and benefits later. The smart thing to do would be to button up his robes and make a dignified exit, but he didn't make a move.
A long moment passed, and Weasley traced a circle on Draco's shoulder, sending sparks of sensation skittering across his skin.
"C'mon," he said finally, "let me make it up to you."
Then he did the last thing that Draco expected, and led him across the room, back to where Virginia was waiting on the counter.
Draco's steps slowed. "This didn't work out so well last time."
"Don't be frightened," Weasley said, skritching the dragonet behind what might've been her ears.
"I'm not frightened," Draco lied reflexively. Belatedly, he realized that he'd agreed to get up close and personal with that needle-clawed creature again, and could've kicked himself.
"C'mere," Weasley said softly, but Draco didn't move.
Leaving Virginia where she was on the counter, Weasley walked back to where Draco was standing, took his arm gently and led him toward the dragonet. Draco didn't know what he was getting himself into, but Weasley's bulk was reassuring, and when they reached the counter, he squeezed Draco's arm and didn't move away.
"Feeding them is the best way to build trust between a dragon and a new keeper," Weasley said.
"I'm not--"
"Here, give her this and she'll love you forever." Weasley uncovered a plate full of small cubes of raw meat. "Just put a couple in your open palm, and keep your fingers tight together."
"If she bites off my finger, I expect you to give me one of yours," Draco said, frowning as he picked up the meat with two fingers.
But when he placed the meat on his palm and stretched out his hand toward Virginia, she didn't try to eat his hand at all. She jumped and squeaked, dipping her head towards Draco's hand and quickly snatching up the meat, which vanished down her throat with impressive speed. When the meat had disappeared, she leaned close and nuzzled the side of Draco's hand, then extended her long black tongue and licked at him.
Draco grinned. "That tickles. It's... soft."
"It's only the claws that are sharp," Weasley said, smiling down at the tiny dragon. "She's soft on the inside."
They stood in silence for a moment, until the dragon made a discontented sound and moved away.
"Rather like someone else I know," Weasley said.
The room suddenly felt very hot. Charlie hadn't made any attempt to move away – his arm was still tucked under Draco's own, their sides pressed lightly together.
Draco thought about his father saying, "I think I'll close the place down," and of his own reason for coming here in the first place. He looked down at the little dragonet, now idly grooming her scales as if the two wizards didn't exist at all.
"Don't count on it," he said bitterly. There was nothing sweet and romantic about his visit here, no matter how much he would have liked to pretend otherwise. He wanted to pull away from Weasley and leave the reserve forever, as if his own presence was the thing damning it to a premature closure. He wanted to drag Weasley close and kiss the daylights out of him. He wanted to shake the entire reserve until money fell out of it and made it profitable. Instead, he just stood next to Weasley and watched the little dragon.
After a long moment, Weasley spoke, his gaze still on Virginia. "You know, appearances can be deceiving," he said. "Take Virginia here. At first glance she looks like a dangerous creature, all teeth and fireballs."
Draco had to smother a laugh at that. Weasley sounded like a proud father.
"But if you take the time to really get to know her, look beyond the spines and scales to the creature within... you'll find she's actually quite a little cash cow."
Draco blinked twice and looked up at Weasley. "What?"
"I may be a Gryffindor, but I'm not stupid, you know. I know what the owner's sudden appearance means at a place like this. But just because this place isn't making money now, doesn't mean it never has. In your grandfather's day, he had it turning a nice profit." As if he was embarrassed by his little speech, Weasley stepped away, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.
Draco just gazed at him, open-mouthed. Without being asked, without any projections or fancy charts or stuffy lawyers, Weasley had entirely solved Draco's problem. He'd shown him a way out of closing the reserve, another option that could take the place of this nomadic lifestyle where all he ever did was visit factories and watch his father threaten people. It was clever, it was unexpected, it was downright Slytherin.
Weasley looked up and caught his eye. "What?" he asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Draco took a deep breath and let it out. There had never been a better time than this, he knew that for certain.
And finally, after two full days of trying to marshall his meager courage and failing miserably, Draco found that he could be a little bit Gryffindor himself. He stepped forward, took Weasley's freckled face in his hands, and kissed him soundly.