Waking up
Charlie drifted in a haze, the remnants of chaos swirling in his mind like smoke. Faint echoes of laughter and conversation brushed against his consciousness, pulling him from the depths of darkness. A warmth enveloped him, wrapping around him like a soft blanket, but he couldn’t quite grasp where he was. Each sound—the clinking of metal, the soft murmur of voices—felt distant, as though he were submerged in water, straining to hear the world above.
As he began to awaken, the scratchy fabric of a makeshift cot beneath him jolted him into partial awareness, the rough texture rough against his back. He could feel the coolness of the stone floor beneath him, its unyielding surface grounding him in the moment. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and something else—something metallic and sharp. His heart pounded in rhythm with the distant sounds of a room that was simultaneously familiar and foreign.
With each passing moment, the laughter grew clearer, mingling with the muffled sounds of a room that was filled with both joy and the somber weight of their recent battle. As he lay there, snippets of conversations reached him—fragments of reassurance and disbelief, threads of relief woven through the chaos that had engulfed their world only moments before.
A deep voice broke through the murmur, resonating with a warmth that made his heart flutter. “He’s waking up,” it said, sending a flicker of hope through the fog of his thoughts. The voice carried a note of urgency that nudged him further from the shadows, urging him to find his bearings.
Charlie blinked, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. A gentle pressure wrapped around his hand, warm and comforting. Someone was holding it, squeezing it momentarily before letting go. The sensation lingered, a tether to the world that was slowly coming into focus.
With a heavy effort, he turned his head toward the voice, struggling to open his eyes. The effort felt monumental, as though lifting lead weights rested upon his eyelids. As his eyelids finally parted, the brightness of the Great Hall flooded in, illuminating a scene that felt surreal in its calm after the storm.
Seated beside him was Dragoș, looking utterly exhausted yet undeniably beautiful. His dark hair was tousled, with stray locks falling across his forehead, and his skin was smudged with dirt and streaks of what could only be blood, remnants of the battle they had just fought. Despite the chaos surrounding them, there was a softness in his expression—relief mixed with worry—that made Charlie’s heart skip a beat. The way the flickering candlelight caught the lines of exhaustion on Dragoș’s face only deepened Charlie’s admiration.
“Charlie!” Dragoș breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, but it was filled with so much emotion that it resonated deep within Charlie’s chest.
Before he could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps approached, and Charlie's gaze was pulled away from Dragoș. His mother, along with his siblings, rushed into view, their faces a whirlwind of concern and joy.
“Charlie!” Molly Weasley cried out, her voice breaking with a mix of relief and love as she rushed to his side. Without a moment's hesitation, she enveloped him in a fierce hug, her arms wrapping tightly around him, as if she feared he might vanish again. The warmth of her embrace filled him with comfort, chasing away the lingering shadows of the battle.
“Don’t you ever do that to us again!” she scolded, pulling back just enough to brush his hair off his forehead, her fingers gentle but firm. The concern in her eyes was palpable, each line on her face telling a story of worry and love that had been etched there over years of raising children in a world rife with danger. “You had us all worried sick. I told you not to be reckless! You know better than that!”
Charlie offered a sheepish smile, a hint of warmth spreading through his chest at her fussing. “Mum, I—”
As she scolded him, he felt a wave of gratitude for the life he had, for this family that cared so fiercely. But amid the warmth, an uneasy thought crept in. “Is… is the battle over?” he croaked, his throat dry as he tried to make sense of the whirlwind around him.
Molly’s expression shifted slightly, the joy in her eyes mingling with a lingering sorrow. “Yes, love, it’s over,” she replied softly.
Arthur stepped closer, a proud but weary smile on his face. “Harry did it, Charlie,” he said, his voice steady and filled with a quiet reverence. “He killed Voldemort.”
The weight of those words hung in the air, wrapping around Charlie like a heavy cloak. Harry had done it. A sense of relief washed over him, mingling with disbelief. He struggled to process it, the implications of such a momentous event reverberating in his mind.
As he gazed at his family, their faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight, a sense of warmth filled him—until his brow furrowed. Something was amiss. He scanned their faces, searching for one familiar smile, one familiar spark.
“Where’s Fred?” he asked, a tightness creeping into his chest. The joyous atmosphere shifted, a palpable tension weaving through the room as his family exchanged glances, their expressions darkening.
Molly’s lips trembled as she fought to find the words, her voice thick with emotion. “He… he isn’t here, Charlie.” The struggle to force out the words was visible in her expression, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
George stood slightly apart, his face paling, and Charlie watched as his brother’s eyes glistened, the façade of strength crumbling before him.
Charlie felt his heart drop into his stomach, a heavy weight of dread crashing over him. No. No, not Fred. “Is he… is he dead?” The question was a whisper, choked by fear, as tears began to brim in his eyes.
Molly’s eyes widened, panic flaring across her features. “No! No, Charlie!” she exclaimed, her hands shaking as she reached for him. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to make it sound like that! He’s not dead.”
Relief washed over Charlie in a wave, though it was tinged with confusion. “Where is he, then?” he asked, urgency creeping back into his voice.
“He’s at St. Mungo’s,” Molly said, her tone softening as she brushed a stray tear from her cheek. “He’s hurt, but he’s alive. He’s resting.”
Charlie exhaled deeply, the tension in his chest loosening just enough for a flicker of hope to shine through. He rubbed at his eyes with trembling hands, trying to chase away the tears that threatened to spill over. The thought of Fred—of being without him—had been unbearable.
“Thank Merlin,” he murmured, a shaky breath escaping his lips.
But as he dropped his hands back into his lap, a sudden stinging sensation shot through his palms. Frowning, he looked down and saw the split skin on his knuckles, raw and angry from when he lost his wand and had to resort to punching.
How had he not noticed this before? He flexed his hands experimentally, a grimace crossing his face as pain radiated from the wounds.
Molly’s sharp eyes caught his discomfort immediately, her brow furrowing with concern. “Charlie, you need to take care of those hands. We can’t have you making them worse,” she admonished gently. There was no real scolding behind the words, only the warmth of a mother’s endless love and worry.
“I can take care of them,” Dragoș said, his deep voice cutting through the murmur of the hall. He leaned forward slightly, concern evident in his expression. “I’ve tended to worse before. I’ll sort him out.”
Charlie felt a faint smile tug at the corners of his lips, but it didn’t last. George, standing just behind their mum, shot him a look—one raised eyebrow and the faintest curve of a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. It was subtle, but it was there.
Charlie caught the look and knew immediately what George was thinking. Normally, he would have rolled his eyes, maybe fired back a sarcastic comment. But instead, his heart sank. The joke fell flat without Fred here to share it. George was trying—trying to lighten the mood, to inject some normalcy into a situation that was anything but normal—but it only reminded Charlie of who was missing.
Fred would’ve said something by now, Charlie thought, his chest tightening. He missed the way the twins would gang up on him, how relentless they were when they got going. He missed Fred’s laugh, his mischievous grin, the way he could make even the darkest moments seem bearable.
Charlie gave George a small nod of acknowledgment, appreciating his brother’s effort, but he couldn’t force the usual banter. The absence of Fred’s teasing left a hollow space that Charlie didn’t know how to fill. He missed the way Fred could be so infuriating, so annoying—but in a way that Charlie had always found strangely comforting.
Molly, oblivious to the exchange, smiled at Dragoș. “Thank you, dear,” she said, her tone full of gratitude. “You’ve been such a help today.”
As she turned her attention back to Charlie, Charlie couldn’t shake the ache in his chest. Fred should have been there—grinning, piling on with George, making some ridiculous joke at Charlie’s expense. It was all wrong without him. And for the first time, the empty space Fred left behind felt unbearable. The twins had always been a force together, bouncing off each other in a way that no one else could match. Now, without Fred, George’s attempts to fill that void were like half a joke—hollow, lacking the spark that Fred always brought.
Charlie missed it. He missed him.
Arthur’s voice broke through his thoughts, grounding him in the present. “Your mum and George will be heading to St. Mungo’s to be with Fred,” he said, his voice calm and steady, though his eyes were lined with the exhaustion of the battle. “I’ll take the rest of your siblings home, get them settled.”
Charlie nodded, though the weight of Fred’s absence still pressed down on him like a stone.
“I’ll be back soon,” Arthur added, catching Charlie’s eye. “You won’t be alone. I’ll stay with you until you’re ready to come home and rest.”
Charlie forced a small smile, grateful for his father’s steady presence, but his heart still ached. The battle was over, but the fractures it left behind—the wounds that weren’t just physical—seemed like they would take much longer to heal.
"Alright," Molly said, straightening herself as she prepared to leave, brushing her hands over her worn robes. Her face softened as she looked down at Charlie, a mix of relief and exhaustion in her eyes. “We’re going to check on Fred now.”
Molly turned her attention to Dragoș, her tone firm but warm. "Don't let him leave that cot," she instructed, her hands gesturing towards Charlie. "No matter how much he insists. And believe me, he will insist."
Charlie opened his mouth to argue, but a quick look from Molly silenced him.
Dragoș smirked, his tension easing as he turned to Molly. "Don't worry," he said, voice carrying a hint of amusement. "I've got this under control. Charlie will be staying right where he is." He shot Charlie a pointed look, clearly daring him to try anything.
Molly’s eyes softened as she smiled at Dragoș, a genuine warmth breaking through the weariness on her face. “I like you,” she said with a nod of approval, her tone light yet sincere. “I’m glad I finally got to meet one of Charlie’s friends from the dragon reservation.”
Charlie groaned, sensing where this conversation was heading. He opened his mouth to protest, but Molly had already shifted her attention fully to Dragoș, speaking as if Charlie wasn’t even there.
“Charlie is as stubborn as they come,” she continued, a touch of exasperation mingled with affection. “Always has been. He was born with a mind of his own, and it’s only gotten worse over the years.”
Dragoș’s smirk deepened, his eyes darting to Charlie with a teasing gleam. “I’ve noticed,” he said, his voice filled with amusement.
Molly chuckled, clearly pleased that Dragoș understood. “Oh, you’ve only scratched the surface, dear. He doesn’t like being fussed over, and Merlin knows he’ll push himself to the edge before admitting he needs help. You’ve got to keep a close eye on him, or he’ll get himself in trouble faster than you can blink.”
Charlie rolled his eyes but stayed quiet, knowing better than to interrupt once Molly was in full motherly flow.
“He needs people around him who know how to handle him,” Molly added, her gaze lingering on Dragoș, approval written in her expression. “People who won’t let him push himself too far. You seem like one of those people.”
Dragoș’s expression softened at her words, his teasing smile slipping into something more thoughtful. He glanced at Charlie again, something unspoken passing between them before he turned back to Molly.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble,” Dragoș promised, though his eyes sparkled with the hint of a challenge.
Molly’s smile widened, clearly satisfied. “Good. Because as much as I love him, he’s a handful.” She reached over and gave Charlie’s hair a playful tousle, ignoring his huff of protest. “We’ve all had to learn how to handle him over the years.”
Charlie shot a pointed look at Dragoș, who was now chuckling softly under his breath. “Oh, don’t encourage her,” Charlie muttered, feeling both fondness and embarrassment bubbling up inside him.
Molly gave him one last affectionate look before straightening up. "Alright, then. We’ll go check on Fred. You listen to Dragoș, you hear me? And stay in that cot.”
With that, she gave Dragoș one last nod of gratitude and then turned toward Arthur, ready to leave the Great Hall.
As the footsteps of his family faded into the distance, Charlie let out a long breath, sagging back into the cot. He glanced sideways at Dragoș, who was still watching him, amusement lingering on his face.
Dragoș opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, Charlie cut him off. “Don’t even start,” he muttered, already knowing where the conversation was likely heading.
Dragoș paused, then threw his head back, a full, hearty laugh erupting from him, the sound filling the now quiet Great Hall. The sight of it—the way Dragoș's eyes crinkled at the corners, the genuine warmth in his expression—made something in Charlie’s chest stutter, catching him off guard. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Dragoș laugh like that, so unrestrained and joyful despite everything they’d been through. For a moment, the exhaustion and heaviness of the battle faded away, replaced by the brightness of Dragoș’s laughter.
Charlie found himself staring, captivated by the way Dragoș’s face lit up, the way his sharp features softened, making him look younger, more carefree. It wasn’t often Charlie saw that side of him, and for some reason, it stirred something deep inside, a sensation he didn’t quite understand. His heart gave an unexpected lurch in his chest, and Charlie quickly turned his gaze away, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
When Dragoș finally stopped laughing, his face still glowed with amusement. “I like your parents,” he said, voice still laced with a lingering chuckle. “Especially your mum. She doesn’t hold back, does she?”
Charlie snorted, rolling his eyes though he couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “She’s always been like that. Once she decides she likes you, you’re practically part of the family whether you like it or not.”
Dragoș chuckled at Charlie's response, shaking his head. “I can see that. Your mum’s... formidable. In a good way,” he added with a grin before his expression shifted, eyes trailing down to Charlie’s bruised and bloodied knuckles. “Alright, I’m going to find something to clean those hands off. Stay put.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He wasn’t exactly in any shape to go anywhere, not with his body feeling like it had been hit by a rogue dragon.
Dragoș stood, dusting off his tattered robes before turning on his heel and striding toward the far end of the Great Hall. Charlie watched him disappear among the remaining healers and survivors, the steady clink of potions and whispered conversations filling the hall. Alone again, Charlie flexed his fingers, wincing at the sharp pull of torn skin. He couldn’t quite believe the battle was over—that Voldemort was gone. Yet, the pain in his hands and the dull ache in his heart were stark reminders that some wounds, both physical and emotional, would take far longer to heal.
Moments later, Dragoș returned, holding a small basin of water and a clean rag. He knelt beside Charlie, placing the basin on the floor with practiced care. Without a word, he dipped the rag into the cool water and gently wrung it out. Then, he reached for Charlie’s hand, holding it in his own as he began to wipe away the dried blood and dirt, the touch surprisingly tender.
Charlie hissed as the rag brushed over a particularly raw spot, the sting shooting through his fingers. “Fuck, that hurts.”
Dragoș immediately paused, his expression tightening with guilt. “Sorry,” he muttered, though a flicker of exasperation crossed his face. “But honestly, Charlie… this is your own fault. What were you even thinking?” His voice softened with a teasing edge as he added, “You’re unbelievable.”
He shook his head, dipping the rag back into the water, muttering under his breath, “Don’t be reckless, I said. Be careful, I said.” His dark eyes flicked up to meet Charlie’s, now filled with a blend of concern and amusement. “What in Merlin’s name made you think punching Death Eaters was a good idea?”
Charlie let out a huff, both defensive and slightly amused. “It wasn’t like I just shoved my wand in my pocket and decided to start hammering away.”
Dragoș raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for more of an explanation.
“I got separated from my wand in the middle of the fight,” Charlie explained, his tone becoming more animated. “First instinct—use my fists. What else was I supposed to do? Wait around for someone to hex me?”
Dragoș gave a half-smile, shaking his head as he resumed cleaning Charlie’s hands. “Of course that was your first instinct,” he said, voice dry but affectionate. “You’ve always been one to throw yourself headfirst into danger.”
“Worked, didn’t it?” Charlie shot back, wincing slightly as Dragoș pressed a bit too hard on one of the more painful cuts.
“Barely,” Dragoș muttered, though his tone lacked any real sting. He gave Charlie a look, one eyebrow raised in a mix of teasing and genuine concern.
Dragoș’s expression softened, his hand stilling for a moment as he looked at Charlie. “I was really worried when they brought you in, you know,” he admitted, his voice dropping in volume, though the sincerity rang clear. “You… you looked like you were dead.”
Charlie’s throat tightened at Dragoș’s words. He hadn’t thought much about how he must have looked after the battle. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, guilt threading through his voice. “I shouldn’t have been so reckless.”
Dragoș just shook his head, continuing to clean Charlie’s wounds with a little more care now. “You can’t help it,” he said, almost fondly. “Reckless is your natural state.”
A small smile tugged at Charlie’s lips, but it quickly faded. “What about Ilinca, Andrei, and Nicolae? Are they okay? Where are they?”
“They’re fine,” Dragoș reassured him, dipping the rag into the water once more. “They left after the battle, once we’d found you and knew you were alive.”
Charlie blinked in surprise. “And you stayed?”
Dragoș paused, the rag hanging in midair as his eyes flicked up to meet Charlie’s. The intensity in Dragoș’s gaze caught Charlie off guard, and for a moment, Dragoș hesitated. His brow furrowed slightly. Then, with a deep breath, he continued cleaning Charlie’s hand, though his movements were slower now, more deliberate.
“You’re my best friend,” Dragoș said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, but each word was filled with a raw honesty that struck Charlie in the chest. “I’m not close with a lot of people… you know that.”
Charlie’s heart stuttered at the vulnerability in Dragoș’s words, the way they seemed to carry so much more than what was being said. Dragoș was usually the calm one, the one who kept his distance emotionally, and yet, here he was—staying when everyone else had left.
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night,” Dragoș continued, his gaze never wavering from Charlie’s now, “without knowing if you were okay.”
Charlie swallowed hard, the weight of Dragoș’s words sinking in. He wasn’t used to this kind of tenderness from Dragoș, and it both surprised and moved him in a way he hadn’t expected.
“I wanted to be here,” Dragoș finished, his voice softening even more, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of Charlie’s hand as if to emphasize his point. “I wanted to be here when you woke up.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of what had just been said hanging between them. Charlie’s chest tightened, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the pain in his hands or the exhaustion from the battle.
Charlie took a deep breath, feeling the warmth in his chest bloom. “I’m really glad you stayed,” he finally said, the words tumbling out before he could second-guess them. The sincerity in his voice seemed to resonate in the air between them.
Dragoș smiled softly, the tension easing as he focused on finishing his task. He carefully wiped away the last remnants of dirt and blood from Charlie’s hands, then reached for the bandages. The touch was gentle and steady, and Charlie couldn’t help but appreciate how Dragoș was both attentive and focused.
As Dragoș tied off the last bandage, he hesitated for a moment before asking, “So, do you know of any good inns around here?”
Charlie frowned, instinctively sensing something off in Dragoș's tone. “Why? Are you planning on staying at one on holiday or something?”
Dragoș sighed, glancing down at the floor as if weighing his words. “I missed the international portkey back to Romania because I stayed,” he explained. “I don’t think there will be any for a while with the Ministry rebuilding. I’ll need somewhere to stay until I can sort things out.”
Charlie felt a surge of indignation at the thought. “You’re not staying at an inn!” he exclaimed, his voice sharper than intended. “You can’t be serious.”
Dragoș frowned, his brow knitting together in confusion. “Well, where do you expect me to stay then?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.
Charlie opened his mouth to respond, but the answer was so obvious that it almost felt silly to say out loud. “You’ll stay with me,” he insisted, a resolute look crossing his face. “At the Burrow. It’s my childhood home, and I’m not letting you be stuck in some dingy inn.”
Dragoș’s expression shifted to one of surprise, his eyes widening slightly as he took in Charlie’s unwavering conviction. “Charlie, I can’t just impose on your family like that,” he protested gently.
“Why not?” Charlie shot back, feeling the urgency of his own argument. “You’re my best friend, and you deserve a proper place to stay. It’s already decided. I’ll talk to my mum about it. She’ll insist, too.”
Dragoș looked taken aback, his eyes widening at the warmth in Charlie’s words. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, and then, slowly, a smile broke across his face—a smile that made Charlie’s heart skip.
“Okay,” Dragoș said, almost shyly, “if you insist, I suppose I don’t have much of a choice.”
“You don’t,” Charlie said, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. “It’s settled, then.”
Just as Charlie settled back against the cot, feeling the weight of his exhaustion creeping back in, Arthur appeared, making his way over with a purposeful stride. He looked relieved to find them both there.
“How are you feeling, Charlie?” Arthur asked, concern etching his features as he bent slightly to get a better look at his son.
“Exhausted,” Charlie replied, wincing as he shifted. “My body hurts all over.”
Arthur nodded knowingly, a sympathetic expression crossing his face. “That’s understandable after everything. Do you feel okay to make it back home to the Burrow?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Charlie said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
Arthur turned his attention to Dragoș, his brow raised in inquiry. “And how about you, Dragoș? How are you feeling?”
Dragoș appeared surprised to be asked, a hint of color creeping into his cheeks. “Uh, about the same, I suppose,” he replied, glancing briefly at Charlie before meeting Arthur’s gaze.
Arthur nodded, his expression shifting slightly. “And do you think you’ll be able to make it back to Romania anytime soon?”
Dragoș shook his head, the reality of the situation sinking in. “No, not really. I missed the international portkey, and with everything going on, I don’t think there will be any for a while.”
Arthur’s gaze softened as he glanced between the two friends. “That’s what Molly and I thought. You know,” he added, a hint of warmth in his voice, “Would you like to stay with us at the Burrow? It wouldn’t feel right to have you out there alone, not after all this.”
Dragoș blinked, his surprise evident. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden—”
“You won’t be,” Arthur assured him. “We’d love to have you."
Dragoș looked at Arthur, the surprise still evident on his face. “Uh, I don’t know…” he began, but then his gaze shifted to Charlie, who was smirking at him, clearly reveling in the situation.
With a resigned sigh, Dragoș turned back to Arthur. “Charlie is already insisting that I stay with you all, so I don’t think I have much of a choice in the matter.”
Arthur chuckled, the corners of his mouth lifting in a warm smile. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, because Molly has already decided that you’re staying with us. I just thought I’d ask to make you feel like you had somewhat of a choice.”
Dragoș laughed, the tension easing further from his shoulders. “In that case, I’d be happy to stay with you all. I really appreciate it,” he said, the sincerity in his voice matching the gratitude in his eyes.
“Good,” Arthur replied, his smile widening. “We’ll make sure you feel right at home. Now, let’s get you both back to the Burrow.” He glanced back at Charlie, his expression softening again. “You okay to travel?”
Charlie nodded, feeling a sense of warmth wash over him at the thought of being back at the Burrow with his family—and with Dragoș. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Alright then,” Arthur said, giving them both an encouraging nod. “Let’s get you two settled.”
Charlie took a deep breath and swung his legs over the side of the cot, ready to stand. But as soon as his feet hit the ground, a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he staggered, nearly toppling forward.
“Ce naiba!” Dragoș exclaimed, lunging to catch him. He quickly swung one of Charlie's arms around his shoulders, anchoring him against his side. “What are you doing, you idiot? You can’t just jump up like that.”
Charlie chuckled weakly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. “I’m fine—just needed a moment.”
Arthur moved to support Charlie on his other side, his brow furrowing with concern. “Easy now, Charlie. There’s no rush.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Charlie said, gratefulness coloring his tone. He turned to Dragoș, a smile breaking through his exhaustion. “And thank you, too. I really appreciate you being here.”
“Always,” Dragoș replied, giving him a reassuring squeeze before stepping back as Arthur prepared to apparate them.
“Hold on tight,” Arthur instructed, wrapping an arm around both of them. With a sudden whoosh, they were whisked away, and the familiar landscape of the Burrow came into view as they materialized just outside the door.
Dragoș’s eyes widened in amazement as he took in the sight of the crooked, warm-toned house that seemed to be alive with charm. For a brief moment, he was lost in admiration, but then his focus shifted back to Charlie, who leaned heavily against him.
“Alright, let’s get you inside,” Arthur said, gently nudging Charlie forward. As they walked toward the door, he added, “Once we’re in, we’ll help you to the bathroom so you can take a shower. I’ll grab you some clothes from your room, too.”
Charlie nodded, feeling a sense of comfort wash over him as they entered the Burrow. The familiar scents of home—freshly baked bread, the hint of dragon hide, and something sweet—welcomed him back. They made their way through the bustling kitchen though the sight was a blur in his mind.
They climbed the stairs slowly, Charlie leaning heavily against Dragoș. Arthur turned to Dragoș just before they reached the bathroom. “You can take a shower in the other bathroom at the same time. I’ll get you some of Charlie’s sleep clothes to wear tonight,” he said, a fatherly warmth radiating from him.
“Thank you,” Dragoș replied, a hint of relief in his voice.
As they reached the bathroom door, Arthur opened it wide. “In you go, Charlie,” he encouraged, guiding him inside with a gentle push.
Charlie stepped in, the bathroom’s cozy atmosphere wrapping around him like a warm hug. He closed the bathroom door behind him, the soft click of the latch echoing in the small space.
He quickly stripped out of his grimy clothes, tossing them aside without a second thought. As the last remnants of his soiled attire hit the floor, he felt a rush of relief. Charlie stepped into the shower, the tiles cool beneath his feet. Reaching up, he turned the faucet, and the sound of running water filled the room.
The moment the warm water cascaded over his sore limbs, Charlie leaned against the wall, letting out a long sigh. The heat enveloped him, washing away the tension and pain that had settled deep in his muscles. He stood there for a few minutes, allowing himself to relax, savoring the sensation of the water as it flowed over him.
When he finally began to scrub his body, he was relentless, working to remove every trace of the grime and blood. He could feel the warmth soaking into his skin, and it felt like a fresh start. The lather of soap clung to him as he scrubbed vigorously, determined to rid himself of the battle's aftermath. He lifted his hands to his hair, massaging in shampoo and scrubbing closing his eyes as the suds streamed down his face.
In the midst of his shower, the bathroom door creaked open slightly. He was startled but relaxed when he heard it was his dad, quietly leaving a pile of clothes on the sink counter.
After a few more moments under the warm spray, Charlie turned off the shower and reached for a towel, wrapping it around himself as he stepped out. The towel felt plush against his skin, a small comfort amidst everything. He quickly pulled on his underwear, followed by a pair of soft sweatpants and a t-shirt, the fabric soothing against his still-sensitive skin.
Once dressed, he opened the bathroom door and found Arthur waiting patiently in the hallway. “Feeling better?” his dad asked, his voice filled with warmth.
“Much,” Charlie replied, a hint of relief in his voice.
“Good. Let’s get you to the kitchen,” Arthur said, guiding him gently. Charlie leaned against his father for support as they made their way down the stairs.
When they entered the kitchen, the familiar aroma of food filled the air. Arthur helped Charlie sit at the table, settling him comfortably before heading to the counter to prepare supper. “I’ll make us some sandwiches,” he said, his movements brisk and efficient.
Just as Arthur began assembling the sandwiches, Dragoș walked into the kitchen, looking relaxed and a bit disheveled in one of Charlie's old t-shirts that hung slightly loose on his frame. His dark hair was still damp from his own shower, curling in a way that framed his face.
“Hey,” Dragoș greeted, a warm smile breaking through his playful demeanor as he slid into the seat next to Charlie.
Arthur turned toward them, “Just making some sandwiches for supper,” he called up the stairs. “You two hungry?”
Charlie nodded, glancing at Dragoș, who mirrored his enthusiasm. “Starving,” Charlie admitted, feeling the lingering fatigue from the battle finally fading in the comforting atmosphere of the Burrow.
Arthur nodded at them before turning back to the counter, where he resumed assembling the sandwiches with swift, practiced hands. The kitchen was filled with the comforting sounds of rustling paper and the soft clinking of plates as he laid everything out.
“Here, let me help,” Dragoș offered, shifting slightly in his seat.
“Sit, rest,” Arthur replied, waving him off with a grin.“You’ve done enough today.”
“So, Dragoș,” Arthur began, wiping his hands on a dish towel before leaning against the counter. “What do you do at the Dragon Reservation? I assume it’s more than just chasing after them?”
Dragoș chuckled, leaning forward a bit. “I’m a dragon handler like Charlie,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice, “but I’m not as good as he is.”
Charlie protested immediately, shaking his head vehemently. “He’s lying! Dragoș is one of the best dragon handlers we have.” He shot Dragoș a teasing glare. “Right, Dragoș?”
Dragoș shot back, his expression mock-serious. “The only one better is Charlie himself.”
Arthur laughed at their bickering, the lightness lifting the atmosphere around them. “How do you like it out there?”
“I love it,” Dragoș replied, his eyes lighting up. “Working with the dragons is incredible, and I especially love working with Charlie.” He glanced over at Charlie, a warm smile softening his features.
Charlie couldn’t help but beam back. “The dragon I’m in charge of was mated to the dragon that Dragoș is taking care of,” he explained to his father. “My dragon laid eggs, and we’re working together on monitoring them. When they hatch, we’ll take care of the hatchlings together.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re doing something you enjoy,” Arthur said warmly, looking genuinely pleased. “Where did you grow up, Dragoș? And where did you go to school?”
Dragoș smiled, a hint of nostalgia flickering in his eyes. “I grew up in Constanța, in eastern Romania,” he replied, his voice rich with the lilt of his homeland. “It’s a beautiful city, right by the Baltic Sea. I went to Durmstrang for my schooling.”
Arthur smiled at Dragoș’s answer as he finished preparing the sandwiches, placing them on a large platter in front of Charlie and Dragoș. The assortment of fillings—crisp lettuce, juicy tomatoes, slices of ham, and a hint of mustard—made the simple meal feel special after the chaos of the day.
“Here you go, boys,” Arthur said, gesturing for them to dig in. “Dig in! You both look like you could use a good meal after everything.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Charlie said, his stomach growling as he picked up a sandwich. He took a big bite, savoring the familiar taste of home. Dragoș followed suit, clearly enjoying the meal just as much, his eyes lighting up at the flavors.
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments, the sounds of chewing and soft conversation around them creating a warm, familial atmosphere. Charlie glanced around the kitchen, taking in the bustling activity as his siblings filtered in, each carrying a mix of exhaustion and relief from the day’s events.
As they finished their sandwiches, Charlie could feel the heaviness in his limbs returning, the exhaustion creeping back in now that the warmth of the food and the comfort of family surrounded him. He looked at Dragoș, who had already stood up, ready to assist him.
“Ready to head upstairs?” Dragoș asked, a gentle smile gracing his lips.
Charlie nodded, appreciating the way Dragoș moved closer, placing a steadying hand on his back. Together, they made their way toward the staircase. Charlie felt the warmth of Dragoș’s touch, the strength in his grip, and for a brief moment, he couldn’t shake the flutter of something unfamiliar stirring in his chest. Why does it feel so nice? he thought, but he quickly blocked the thought out, attributing it to the lingering effects of exhaustion and stress.
“Just up here,” Charlie murmured, gesturing to his room at the end of the hall.
Dragoș nodded, and they climbed the stairs together, Charlie leaning slightly against Dragoș for support. It felt comforting, and a strange sense of safety enveloped him, something he hadn’t expected. When they finally reached his room, Charlie pushed the door open and staggered inside.
As soon as he entered, the familiar scents of home—a mix of wood, old books, and a hint of dragon smoke—washed over him. It felt so comforting, almost like a blanket wrapping around him. Charlie made his way to the bed and collapsed onto it, the soft mattress welcoming him like an old friend.
“Charlie?” Dragoș’s voice was soft, laced with concern as he leaned over, brushing a few stray hairs from Charlie’s forehead. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Charlie mumbled, feeling his eyelids growing heavy. “Just tired…”
As Charlie closed his eyes, he could still feel the lingering warmth of Dragoș's hand on him, the softness in his voice echoing in his mind. The last thing he heard before drifting off was Dragoș’s voice, calm and reassuring.
“Goodnight, Charlie.”
And with that, sleep washed over him, pulling him into a deep, peaceful slumber, leaving the chaos of the day behind.