Four Weddings and a Dragon - Charlie Weasley

Chapter 18

Yellow-green firelight flashed through the library of Malfoy Manor as half-dressed Charlie Weasley arrived just before sunrise to find his wife sitting on the floor in the arms of the first boy to ever have kissed her. Charlie was still off balance from the force with which he'd thrown himself through the Floo, but Draco Malfoy's wits were level, keen, and quick. In an instant, Draco was yanking Hermione to her feet and hopping away from her.

"Oh look, Madam Weasley," he was saying as he sprung behind the armchair, holding the back of it with both hands, trying to look casual but ready to use it as a barrier should anyone come at him. "It's your husband, up early to come study with you."

Hermione was indeed looking at Charlie but, with the low blood pressure from her pregnancy she was light-headed from getting up so quickly. It left her wobbling on her feet next to the reading table.

Charlie might have been slightly off kilter when he arrived, but those years of playing as a competitive seeker weren't for nothing. His vision had taken in the entire scene of the library before Malfoy managed to break himself and Hermione apart. Charlie had seen them together. But what he saw now was his pregnant wife standing alone, looking like she might faint. All other concerns were secondary to that, and he was bounding across the room, sliding over the surface of the table to stand beside her, steadying her. Only when he was holding onto her himself, one arm around her waist, the other supporting her shoulders, did he divert his attention to glare across the room at Malfoy.

"What is the matter with you?" he bawled at Draco. "If you're going to be pawing at my wife, at least be careful about it."

Hermione braced herself against Charlie's bare arms and chest. "I'm alright. We were just - " She paused to take a deep breath through her nose, still woozy.

Draco was very foolishly opening his mouth to speak for himself. Fortunately for him, before he could say anything, Astoria flung the library door open. Her dressing gown and night clothes were just as angelic and floaty as the rest of her wardrobe, but she brought no serenity into the room, only more chaos, driving the already pounding emotional tempo even higher.

She folded her arms, clucked her tongue and said, "Well if it isn't the Weasleys, back in my library already. You're looking well, Charlie," she said, blinking slowly, making no attempt to hide how much she admired him as he stood shirtless in the centre of the room. "And you, Hermione."

Astoria may have been looking at Charlie, but her behaviour was pointed at her own husband. Draco rose to it immediately, darting out from behind the safety of the armchair, shrugging off his thick, lavish dressing gown and advancing on Charlie.

"Don't catch cold in this chilly old place now, Weasley," he said in a falsely jovial way, draping the robe over Charlie's shoulders like a bad valet.

"Get off me, I'm not wearing that. It reeks of daffodils and cats," Charlie said, shrugging it to the floor.

Draco huffed in frustration. "It's eau de narcissus and kneazle musk," he said, stooping to pick the dressing gown up off the ground himself, trying to no avail to get it to stay in place over Charlie's broad, smooth shoulders. "It's a fine French cologne, and a quality garment, Weasley. Help yourself to it."

"Come now, Draco, you heard him," Astoria said, drawling, imitating her husband's usual manner of speech, highlighting how agitated he was sounding now. "Clearly Charlie is fit and strong enough to withstand the draught from our heritage window panes. He's more than welcome to make himself comfortable here, in whatever state of dress."

Draco said nothing. He grit his teeth and grappled for Charlie's wrist, trying to cram it down the empty sleeve.

Charlie jerked his hand out of Draco's grip, recoiling far enough that it looked like he might finally be winding up to throw Malfoy across the room. Draco hopped back a step, his hands sprung at the elbows, ready to defend himself. Whether the husbands were faking their fighting poses or not, Hermione lunged between them anyway, snatching the dressing gown away from Draco.