Four Weddings and a Dragon - Charlie Weasley

Chapter 22

The door to the kitchen of the Grangers' London house banged into the wall, pushed wide open by a tall, red-haired man with his own hand held over his eyes. "Hey!" Ron Weasley called blindly into the house as he felt for the threshold with his foot. "Charlie? Hermione? Say something. You're not snogging on the table again, are you? 'Cause I'm coming in. So Make yourselves decent."

A scoff sounded from inside the kitchen. "Stop your shouting and shut the door, Weasley."

Ron dropped his hand, quick-drawing his wand, tensing into a battle stance. "Malfoy! What in the bloody blazes are you doing in here?"

"Making pastry, obviously," Malfoy said, ignoring the wand trained on him as he opened the oven door with unnecessary flourish and slid a baking tray inside.

He wiped his hands on Dr. Ann Granger's abandoned apron, leveling a stare at Ron without another word of explanation.

Ron took a careful step closer. "What'd you do to Charlie?"

"Baked him a pie."

Ron was scoffing now. "George said something about the pair of you coming by the shop on a date, but I laughed it off."

"A date?" Malfoy smirked. "No, he's well out of my league. Not to mention he is entirely FAITHFUL to Hermione."

Ron cringed. "Fine. So what ARE you doing here, playing house by yourself?"

"That's none of your business, is it?" Malfoy said, untying the apron from around his waist and flicking the flour out of it, sending a cloud of white dust floating like a magical puff of smoke into Ron's face. "Suffice it to say I'm here as a guest, making myself useful."

"A guest?" Ron coughed. "But how can they - "

"Oh, you know Charlie and Hermione," Malfoy said, standing close enough to nudge Ron's wand aside. "So forgiving, aren't they? Forgiving to a fault. It's ridiculous, really. I'd have thought you'd know all about that."

Ron snatched the apron out of Malfoy's hands and threw it to the floor. "Now you listen here - "

"Ronald!" Hermione gasped, coming into the kitchen just as Ron grabbed a fistful of Malfoy's shirtfront.

Charlie was behind her, breaking into a laugh.

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione said, prying his fingers off Draco and pushing his wand back against his chest. "No idiotic heroics today."

Charlie spoke to her as if neither of the other men were there. "Which one of them do you reckon started it, love?"

She clucked her tongue. "I'd put 50/50 odds on either of them."

Draco looked like he was about to argue, to defend himself. But then he closed his mouth, took a quiet step back. Throughout the kitchen, it felt like a light had just gone out. He took a deep breath and turned toward the door. "I'll leave you to it."

Ron looked almost sorry. "What is with him?"

"Personal matter," was all Charlie would say.

Ron huffed. "And that gives him the right to come in here and sashay around like he owns the place? I don't get it. Hermione hates him, obviously. And you - Charlie, how do you even know him?"

"Leave it, Ronnie," Charlie said, an elder brotherly authority in his tone that ended the conversation. "What've you brought?"

Ron remembered the packet tucked under his arm. He shook his head. "Right. This is from Mum. Some baby clothes she saved from when you were little, or something."