Chapter 1

Author's note: this story is a spin-off from my other tale, "George & Annie: An Unofficial Biography." Though my intent is for this work to stand alone, a couple of the non-canon characters you'll meet here hail from there, in case you're curious. This story takes place throughout the canon years from books 1-7, then will go a bit beyond that. It is, for the most part, canon compliant. Thanks in advance for reading!

Chapter 1

October 1991

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"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. – Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Chapter 6

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Charlie's face had gone numb, and he sniffed his runny nose frequently. The rarified air was knife-edge cold, and whenever the sun occasionally peeked through cracks in the heavy cloud cover, he had to shield his eyes from the glare off the snow, even wearing his light-responsive tinted flying goggles. His fingers, nearly frozen, were wrapped around his broomstick.

On the job, he flew just above ground-skimming altitude along a mountainous ridge in Southern Carpathian range. When a steep drop-off suddenly opened up in front of him, he reckoned he'd reached his destination. Just to make sure, he touched down on a craggy overhang that looked down into the jagged valley below and checked his map of the reservation. A strong gust of wind buffeted him as he replaced the map in his pocket, sending snow swirling around him.

Perfect spot for a nest, he thought, the sharp, bare cliffs completely inhospitable to anything but a dragon's lair. His keen eyes searched the area below and the sky above, but marked no movement save that of the drifting snow. He listened, but only wind met his ears.

Merlin, but it was gorgeous up here! He'd only been in Romania for not-quite three months now, but it was everything he'd ever dreamed of. Stunning vistas like this one before him were everywhere he turned. Top it off with the fact he got to work with dragons every damn day, and life was bang on perfect for Charlie Weasley, rookie dragon keeper!

Dragons had always been his passion, ever since he was a little boy. Their power and majesty, their danger and mystery all drew him in. And now he lived and breathed them for real. He didn't think he could ever tire of it, no matter how tedious and menial the tasks the veteran keepers assigned him. Not even barreling dragon shit for export could dampen his enthusiasm.

The day he'd arrived at the Ridgebit International Dragon Reservation¹, he'd been assigned to keeper hut number eight along with a friendly Russian bloke named Sasha Vasiliev. They'd quickly developed a warm camaraderie even though Charlie was technically his trainee, being a few years younger and fresh out of school. They'd already slipped into an easy, low-key friendship based upon their shared interests in dragons, Quidditch, and other outdoor pursuits. Sasha was so knowledgeable about the dragon species kept here on the reservation – even more so than Hagrid had been! – and Charlie'd learned vast amounts from his partner already.

His job that morning was to keep tabs on a reported nesting female Romanian Longhorn as part of the reservation's breeding program. Her eggs were doubly valuable – the shells were an expensive potions ingredient, and the babies within critical to the survival of the herd and valuable in their own right – and therefore supremely tempting to poachers. Charlie's task today was to count the eggs and verify she was still sitting them.

As there was no way to scale the nearly sheer cliff face that plunged below him, he decided to hop back onto his broom and hover down for a look-see. Slowly, keeping as close to the rock face as he dared, Charlie descended.

Perhaps a dozen meters below the crest, the wall opened up into a shallow cave of sorts. He halted his descent when he reached the apex of the opening, leaned carefully over the side of his broom, and peeked inside. His quarry lay coiled like a cat, her nose tucked up under her tail. Her dark green scales made her difficult to see in the gloom of the hollow, but her namesake long, golden horns gleamed distinctly. Charlie's heart raced to be so close to her: she was a magnificent specimen!

And yet, he needed to get closer still. In the dimness, the bronze-colored eggs he could just barely glimpse within the circle of her body had a certain sheen to them, but he couldn't see well enough to count them accurately. Charlie skirted the edge of the cave's opening, sinking a little further down the cliff face.

He froze when she snorted awake, blinking her eyes open. Several tense moments later, during which Charlie had flattened himself against the rock, holding his breath and praying the wind wouldn't change direction on him and betray his presence, he heard the distinctive rumble that proceeded inflammatory exhalation. He squeezed one eye past the edge of the opening and watched as the mother breathed gentle fire over her eggs.

Amazing! Bloody amazing! Charlie wanted to shout in his excitement. Daring to lean as far as his nose into the opening, he was in perfect position now to tally her clutch the instant the flames died down. Three! Same as Sasha found last week. Oh, well done, my lovely girl! What a good mummy you are! he silently praised her.

And then the beast's sapphire eye rolled, fixing itself with pinpoint accuracy upon him.

Charlie had precisely one second in which to think: Uh oh.

Mama Dragon roared in alarm, the sound blasting through the narrow valley, rebounding off the far rock wall. Charlie's skull rattled with the reverb. He took his leave of the irritable expectant mother, sailing off forthwith, rocketing up the cliff face. As soon as he'd cleared the overhang, he breathed a sigh of relief, confident the broody female wouldn't give chase, wouldn't dare leave her eggs long enough.

He marveled at the creature's stunning beauty, her terrifying fierceness, as he soared eastward, heading back toward the hut to file his report. Her eggs had practically glowed with heat from her fire, almost like metal. According to his calculations, another six months and they'd be hatching – sometime during the spring thaw.

Out of nowhere, a deafening bellow nearly startled him off his broom. Another Longhorn going the opposite direction – presumably the female's mate – crested a ridge just as Charlie did. Charlie veered skyward at the very last second, managing to avoid getting roasted and flying straight into his gullet by inches.

The male rolled a backward somersault in midair, redirecting his course in pursuit of Charlie. His body thrumming with adrenaline, Charlie shot forward, randomly sinking and veering and climbing. For a brief moment, he considered attempting to Apparate to safety, then abandoned the idea. He'd always been crap at Apparition, and in a stressful situation like this, already on the run, he knew better than to chance it. Nor was a Disillusionment Charm an option: not only could dragons see through any magical disguise, they had an extremely keen sense of smell. Even if Papa Dragon couldn't see Charlie, he could smell him.

No spell was going to save him now.

Serpentine! Feint! Dive! Climb! his Quidditch-Seeker-honed brain commanded as his eyes scanned the horizon for hope of salvation. Unfortunately for Charlie, like many predators, a dragon on the hunt responded to movement. The more he darted and swooped to avoid the bursts of fire, the easier it was for his adversary to visually follow his course. And he could hear the dragon was gaining...

There! He zoomed toward a stand of trees, praying he'd get there before Papa Dragon overtook him. His only chance was to outfly the beast a few seconds longer and get lost in the forest ahead. Maintaining a flight path as random as a butterfly's, slicing through the air as fast as magically feasible, he tucked his head, making himself as streamlined as possible, and fled.

The dark evergreen refuge loomed ever larger ahead, and he let himself think he just might make it. Fifty meters shrank to thirty, and Charlie made a beeline for the trees, abandoning evasion for pure speed. Then a bloodcurdling scream erupted behind him, followed a fraction of a second later by a raging inferno that seared his left shoulder, arm, and side of his face.

Charlie roared in pain, momentarily blinded and disoriented. In the next instant, tree limbs clawed at him, tearing at his clothes and snatching him off his broom. He crashed to the ground, skidding through a snow bank for what felt like a mile but was actually more likely a few meters until coming to a stop, wrapped around the trunk of a tree.

He lay motionless for several moments, waiting for air to return to his lungs.

He was alone in the copse, thank Merlin. And alive, judging by the acute pain in his chest and arm. The dragon had veered away when Charlie had dived into the forest, unable to follow into the narrow confines of the thick stand of trees. The beast roared in frustration, though, his anger palpable.

He eased himself onto his back and caught sight of the furious monster as he circled around in the air above the copse for another pass. Perhaps twenty meters away from where he now lay, the dragon barreled toward the exact spot where his quarry had disappeared into the trees, then unleashed a punitive burst of flame. Charlie curled himself into a ball, chanting the spell Sasha had taught him that produced a fire-repellant bubble around him he hoped would stand the onslaught, but braced for failure. The dragon roared before turning around and heading back to his mate.

When a huddled Charlie finally unfolded out of the fetal position, the smell of smoke was thick in the air. He coughed, then nearly passed out from the resultant pain in his chest. Shakily rising to his feet, staggering a bit until he found his balance, he summoned his broom. He reckoned it wouldn't do to let a forest fire rage unabated, nor would his fellow keepers wish to attract the attention of any well-meaning Muggle fire brigades, though he doubted any were close enough to see this far into the reservation. Easing the broom between his legs, then easing it into the air, he hovered around the burning trees, muttering, "Aguamenti," to douse the flames.

Two hours later, Charlie limped into keeper hut number eight, woozy from pain and a possible concussion. The flight back had taken significantly longer – considering how difficult it had been to stay on the broom, he'd flown at a firstie's pace, slow and steady. He reckoned he'd cracked a few ribs, and his left arm felt like it was still being subjected to a bath of pyretic breath. He stumbled into the little area where the first aid supplies were kept but managed only to collapse on his stomach on the small cot there, out cold.

*

It was after sunset when he came to. A neat little fire was chasing away the chill in the hut now, but the flickering light had jolted him awake with a stab of fear. Fire!? He sucked in a breath, then cried out from the pain that action caused.

A low, deep rumble hushed him. "Why didn't you summon me back?" the familiar voice of his partner scolded him, his accent adding weight to the already heavy sound.

"Passed out... I think..." Charlie barely breathed, fearing to attempt anything more. He heard glass and ceramic clinking about as jars and pots were fished out of the cupboards, then a small vial was held to his lips.

"Drink," he was commanded.

Charlie shifted a little, opened his mouth, and allowed the potion to be poured in. He grimaced at the foul taste, which caused his burned face to hurt worse. Thankfully, the pain relief followed moments later, and he finally managed a real breath for the first time in hours.

"This burn on your back is bad," Sasha reported. "Your shirt must come off."

Resigning himself to try to obey what was certainly going to be a very painful request, Charlie began to lift himself off the cot. A second later, Sasha spelled his shirt away, Vanishing it into thin air.

"Don't do that!" Charlie cried angrily. He shot a glare at his new friend, then remembered Sasha was also his superior. He dropped his head abashedly. "I don't have that many shirts," he added by way of explanation. Winter was approaching, and he'd need all the clothing he owned during the alpine blizzards to come.

"You only have one skin, fool," Sasha scolded him. "There was not much left of the shirt, Weasley, and what remained was charred and stuck to the flesh. Because you didn't call me sooner."

Charlie nodded carefully, still finding the sound of his surname odd on the Russian's lips. In his accent, it sounded like Veess-lyee, with a sibilant, drawn-out hiss in the middle of the word. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Sasha dosed him with another potion – Charlie recognized its uniquely awful taste as Skele-Gro, confirming his guess about his possibly cracked ribs. Then Sasha gently cleaned the burns on his shoulder and face with soft, warm flannels. Next, he liberally smeared an aloe-based ointment over the wounds, the fiery pain in Charlie's raw skin instantly cooling on contact. When Sasha left the little cot's side to fetch some other necessity, Charlie found he immediately missed the soothing feel of his confident, skilled hands. He shivered slightly, the wet aloe chilling him.

"Will you learn from this, Veess-lyee?" Sasha grumbled. "A careless keeper is a dead one."

"I know! I know!" Charlie groaned. "There's no such thing as a lone dragon." It was a rookie mistake, and he was embarrassed by it. Still, he had looked about him first – just not well enough or long enough to locate her mate, apparently. He'd be even more thorough next time.

"Especially in clutch season," Sasha added sternly.

He now stood before Charlie, so tall that he had to crane his neck to meet his gaze from where he sat on the cot. Sasha held what looked like a poultice in one hand and a roll of gauze in the other, a jar tucked under his arm. It struck Charlie then how large Sasha's hands were. How he looked forward to his soothing touch again. It had felt so comforting...

Slowly, Charlie rose up from the cot, then turned around to present his injured back to Sasha. He added a little more gooey aloe salve to his shoulder, and Charlie caught himself leaning into the contact. The pain of his injuries, the tension in his body were both ebbing away wherever his hands touched. And in the chill of the room, half-undressed, Charlie felt the warmth of his fellow keeper's closeness.

Gingerly, Sasha laid the plaster on his shoulder burn, then began to wrap it with the gauze to hold it in place. One of the requirements of a keeper's job was to be able to perform both emergency and routine Healing protocols, as well as competently brew the potions and ointments to replace the hut's stores. Charlie had apprenticed with Pomfrey at Hogwarts for the past three terms for precisely this reason and had become reasonably proficient.

But Charlie granted Sasha was truly gifted at it. Never accidentally bumping or jostling his injuries, the man's hands had expertly treated and dressed his wounds. Already, Charlie felt little more than an occasional momentary twinge from them. He took a deep breath, feeling his ribs fully knitted together once more. He let his attention focus on the warm palms now smoothing the bandage into place, their pressure lulling him to relax. He felt the soothing comfort and warmth emanating from them and sinking into his stiff muscles, his weary bones. He felt... a soft brush of lips on the back of his neck?!

Charlie stiffened, suddenly fully alert.

He was surprised and... not angry, not offended, but... Well, nothing else, actually. He was further shocked by how the unexpected kiss caused an instantaneous yet non-negative reaction within him. He feared this a little – why exactly wasn't he pissed off about it? It was presumptuous and inappropriate as hell... wasn't it?

"I don't know about you, but where I come from, blokes don't usually do that to other blokes," Charlie stammered, spinning on his heels to face Sasha.

Sasha returned his gaze. Charlie tried to identify what it was he saw in his eyes – not fear, not anger, not sadness... just a piercing intensity he could not name. Then a tiny smile cracked the rugged, dark visage. "I promise you, Veess-lyee, that some blokes do exactly that in every corner of the world."

Charlie's mind began working at lightening speed. It occurred to him that Sasha had quite possibly just come out to him. He searched within himself – How do I feel about this? Sharing my home with a pouf? His answer came quick and clear: still not angry, still not afraid, but... curious?

"A-are you... gay?" Charlie choked out awkwardly.

Sasha's face fell into disappointment. He turned to leave, muttering, "Da, golubóy."²

"Wait!" Charlie reached out, grabbing his arm to stop him from leaving, noting in the process how Sasha's forearm was as thick as a tree limb and steely with muscle. He'd hardly managed to pick up more than a couple words in Russian since he'd arrived – Sasha's English was more than adequate, so there hadn't been the necessity to learn more – but he knew that da meant yes.

Sasha halted, looking Charlie in the eye once again. In response, Charlie's heart sped up, his insides churned, and every nerve itched. He'd never felt this reaction – this physical chaos – to anyone before, male or female.

As a teenager in school, he'd felt sexual urges, but they were anonymous and amorphous, often as a result of a generic sex dream populated with sensation alone, rather than corporeal fantasies about an actual person or any specific individual attraction. That is, he might've felt them on rare occasions he'd had attention to spare, when he wasn't obsessing over Quidditch or occupied by his studies or prefect duties. He'd asked his older brother about it once – this marked lack of sexual interest when everyone else around him seemed to be in lust's adolescent thrall – and Bill had suggested perhaps he was just a late-bloomer and to never mind it. Charlie had gladly followed his advice and not spared it another thought since, assuming it would happen for him when he met the right girl (not that he was in any hurry to do that).

But now... all he could think of was that kiss. Not dragons. Not flying. Not pain. Not girls. He stared at Sasha's lips. That kiss...

Sasha lifted off his shirt, cocking his head to the side, as if curious as to what Charlie's reaction might be.

All the bare skin between them, the faintly spicy, delicious scent that had suddenly been atomized into the air, only stoked the strange, stirring feeling further. Charlie licked his own lips, a hollow hunger now aching within, and found himself leaning a bit closer just to breathe it in.

Sasha lightly rested one large hand on his bandaged shoulder, halting his forward progress. Then he cupped the uninjured side of his face with the other hand, brushed his cheekbone with his thumb.

Charlie was mesmerized by the touch as well as the view, his eyes darting from Sasha's dark eyes to his soft, dusky lips and back again. The realization that he not only didn't mind Sasha's uninvited advance... but that he wanted even more of it... came as yet another surprise. He wanted another kiss. Wanted to feel that electrical charge jolt through his body again.

"Put your arms around me," Sasha dared him.

Charlie obeyed, awkwardly twining his arms around the other man's waist. Solid as any tree trunk, Sasha's torso was hard and muscled. Firelight glinted off the shiny scars on his skin, which was randomly dimpled with divots from older injuries and scabbed in a patch near the shoulder. Soft, welcoming body heat drew him even closer.

Sasha leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips to Charlie's.

Something savage within Charlie roared awake. Like the dragon that had pursued him that afternoon, it was vital and primitive, aggressive and insuppressible.

He kissed him back.

And out of the blue, Charlie was having a snog. His first ever, truth be told. He pressed against Sasha and gave himself over to the inner-dragon, consuming everything in his path, gorging on the charged attraction. The brush of his groin against Sasha's was both heavenly and insufficient – he was as hard as he'd ever been in his life. When Sasha's pelvis began to grind against his a little bit, he felt dizzy with the rush of pleasure that resulted.

Charlie kept waiting for a sense of indignation, an angry revulsion, a shamed realization to set in. A man was shoving his tongue in his mouth, groping his arse and rubbing his erection against Charlie's own. But all he could think of was how much he liked it. How he wanted to do the same thing. How he wanted more.

Sasha released his mouth and muttered something – "Hochy tebya."³ Charlie assumed it was Russian because he hadn't a clue what it meant. Surely he hadn't lost his mind to the point he failed to understand English anymore, had he? Then Sasha kissed the spot where Charlie's jaw, throat, and ear met, nearly causing his knees to buckle, scattering his thoughts completely.

"What's that?" Charlie gasped a few moments later. He barely recognized the low, raspy moan coming from his own throat.

Sasha barely paused while devouring Charlie's neck with nipping kisses. "I said I want to fuck you," he growled in English against him.

"Oh..." Charlie mumbled, at last feeling a faint inkling of trepidation begin to war with the fiery lust within him. Was this the point where he would finally come to his senses? Or would he really allow another man to violate him?

Then Sasha sucked on the base of his neck, and instantly, lust was in the ascendant once more. Sasha continued gnawing on Charlie's throat and collar, making his way back up to suck on his earlobe. Charlie suppressed an urge to whimper. He stroked the hot, bare skin of Sasha's back, his palms rippling over rigid muscle there, hoping to disguise the fact he was holding on for dear life.

Sasha's lips brushed Charlie's ear while he whispered, "Want to suck each other off or fuck asses?"

Charlie wondered if something was getting lost in the translation from Russian into English. Not that he didn't understand the foundational mechanics of sex – even gay sex – at least in theory. But his mind was just too scrambled to fully appreciate the repercussions of the question just posed to him, even though the words were in English. How am I supposed to know? he wanted to ask. Instead, he stammered, "I-I... Th-that is... erm... I dunno."

Sasha pulled back and looked Charlie in the eye again, reading something there. "You have not done this before?"

Charlie minutely shook his head.

Sasha lifted one questioning eyebrow. "Not with a woman, either?"

Charlie shook his head again, even slighter this time.

Sasha took a full step back, pulling out of Charlie's embrace. "Virgin!?"

Charlie's arms drop to his sides. "I've never even really... erm... kissed anyone before," he mumbled, feeling smaller and colder and very silly for some reason.

Sasha heaved a big sigh. "Ah, Veess-lyee..." he groaned, running his fingers through his hair, then rubbing his eyes with his palms.

Charlie cleared his throat awkwardly, half mortified, half indignant. "Sorry, but... is this a problem, then?"

Sasha gave him a pained smile. "Not for me, no. Problem for you, I think."

Charlie was confused. He noted Sasha's English was getting stilted, his accent thicker and more difficult to decipher. Was this the reason he couldn't understand what was going on? Or what had just happened to stop it?

"You are not sure you want men before me? Before this just now?" Sasha asked.

Charlie shrugged. He couldn't recall ever really wanting another person, regardless of gender, before this moment. And now, he wanted so much from Sasha, so badly... it frightened him a little bit.

"So maybe just horny, yes?" Sasha pressed. "Maybe regret later, eh? Then, no... friends..." he said, waving a finger back and forth between them.

Charlie swallowed hard, reckoning he was beginning to understand the situation a bit better. Things were possibly moving too fast for Sasha, and probably himself, if he was truly honest about it. "I think we can still be friends... either way," he hurried to add, hoping the kissing might resume soon. Despite his minor misgivings, he was far from ready to wholly abandon the effort.

Sasha gave another sigh. With a thoughtful frown, he reached out for Charlie's hand. "Still... a first time should not be like this. Not hurry and rough. Not almost strangers."

Charlie closed his eyes and thought the sensation of Sasha's calloused, chapped hand entwined with his was the most wonderful thing he'd ever felt – warm and powerful. Although not a sexual sort of touch, it was almost as good – more like the comforting, healing touches from before. And while he wanted to argue Sasha's point, insisting he was ready and willing to participate, he sensed he had no reliable ammunition with which to fight.

"If you don't want to..."

"Yes," Sasha chuckled, "I do want to. But... later, yes? Better friends first."

"You want to get to know each other better?" Charlie clarified, just to eliminate the possibility Sasha was recommending they fuck other people before each other. The mere thought of which nearly slingshot him into a panic.

Sasha nodded. Patiently, with careful English, he echoed Charlie's words. "Yes. I want to get to know you better first. I want to know all about Veess-lyee." Then he grinned.

Charlie returned the smile, glad Sasha had not yet let go of his hand and broken all physical contact between them. "You can start by calling me Charlie."

"All right, Charlie."

Author's note #2: I freely confess the Russian I've used throughout this story came from online translation sources. I did make every attempt to consult multiple sources for confirmation. My apologies if it is inaccurate. I have also concluded that the transliteration from the Cyrillic to Latin alphabet leads to a surprisingly large variation in spelling of words, so please allow for some flexibility here.

1- Harvey Ridgebit is a canon character, albeit an obscure one, and not my own creation. (All the keepers you will meet in this story, with the exception of Charlie, are mine.) JKR invented the Romanian dragon reservation; I named it after its founder.

2- Da, golubóy = "Yes, gay." Golubóy strictly means "light blue" and is reportedly Russian slang for a homosexual male, according to this website.

3- More Russian... Hochy tebya = "I want you," according to Savva.