Chapter 3 - May 1992

Chapter 3

May 1992

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"We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!" – Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Chapter 14

* * *

The setting sun burnished the low, grey clouds, tinting them with vivid red, orange, and apricot hues. The spring night to come promised to be mild, at least compared to previous wintery ones. So mild that Charlie'd worked up a sweat and shed his jumper as he'd mucked out Norbert's improvised stable while Sasha had filled the low trough with brandy. Norbert lay on his side nearby, staring dazedly at them. While Norwegian Ridgebacks weren't particularly fond of human flesh, they were as aggressive as they were precociously sparky.¹ Thankfully, even though the three-week-old beast was the size of a very large hog, he was yet small enough to be somewhat easily Stunned.

Charlie and Sasha had fashioned this enclosure to house the little Ridgie for the next year or so. Both the fencing and the shelter were made of flame-resistant stone, quickly conjured together in such a manner as to be easily enlarged to accommodate a growing dragon. Charlie and Sasha had set Norbert up in a protected area close by their keepers' hut in order to decrease the chances other dragons would go after an unparented juvenile for an easy snack.

A small group of Charlie's acquaintances had delivered Norbert to Ridgebit Reserve a little over a week ago. He'd met them as a student during his frequent visits to the Ddraig Cymry² Reservation in Wales and developed friendly working relationships with the staff there. The connections had been further cultivated since he'd begun work here, and the Welsh and Romanian reservations were now working cooperatively on an experimental hatchling-fostering program, trying to improve the genetic diversity of both their Welsh Green herds.

Normally, an immature dragon would spend its first year in the lair with its parents and siblings until reaching fledgling status at about a year old, whereupon its parents would teach it how to hunt. Until then, Mummy and Daddy would regularly bring kills back to the nest for their babies to peck at. Only once the dragonlets had achieved flight would they finally be nosed out of the lair for good.

Since their reservation didn't have a breeding pair of Norwegian Ridgebacks this year – the only pair they did have had clutched last year – the keepers as a group decided they didn't want to risk attempting the new fostering experiment with Norbert. As aggressive as Ridgies were, they were afraid the almost-fledglings would tear the much younger and smaller Norbert apart between them (they'd already killed the runt of the clutch last January), assuming the mother even accepted him into the nest in the first place.

Which left Charlie Weasley to play foster mum to "little" Norbert for the next twelve months, seeing as it was his old friend they were doing a favor for. Ghenadie Negrescu, the Head Keeper at Ridgebit, had made Norbert Charlie's personal responsibility above and beyond his regular duties, with instructions to keep careful records of everything he did and observed in the process. Sasha had gamely volunteered to help, and nearly all of the other keepers had popped by over the past few days to take a look. Most of them had shaken their heads in varying degrees of amusement, skepticism, and befuddlement at the project.

Leave it to Hagrid... Charlie thought with a quiet, wry chuckle. How the hell Hagrid had come into possession of a Ridgie egg was a baffling question. And one with no promise of an explanation on the horizon, either, as Hagrid was keeping decidedly mum on the subject. Some blasted Scandinavian poacher, no doubt, Charlie grumbled to himself.

When an unfamiliar snowy owl had arrived at keeper hut number eight almost two weeks ago with a letter from his youngest brother, he'd been surprised and a little worried. He was glad to read little Ron was making friends with Hagrid – he missed the big fellow (whom he considered a friend first and an adult staff member of Hogwarts a distant second) and wondered if he'd been a bit lonely this year without his frequent company.

It had also been interesting to note that Ron had borrowed this particular owl from no less a personage than Harry Potter. His mum had already mentioned in her letters how Harry had taken quite a shine to little Ron, but Charlie had learned to temper most of what his mother gushed about regarding any of his siblings. After all, the way she talked, Percy was practically Merlin's second coming. And while Ron's apparent predilection for landing himself in trouble's way looked like it might rival Fred and George's some day, Charlie'd put aside those concerns and done what he could to help his little brother and old mate out of this current legality-skirting scrape.

Charlie's Welsh keeper friends had only just left that morning, returning to Wales with two newly-hatched Greens in the same clever transport crates suspended from chains dangling between their brooms they'd used to bring Norbert over. As nice as it had been to see them again, catching up on home-country news and sharing tales of dragon-related adventure that only fellow keepers could truly appreciate, Charlie was looking forward to a quiet hut tonight after having hosted guests for the past week.

Checking one last time on Norbert's vital signs before they left, Charlie paused long enough to vigorously scratch the little guy's haunches, careful to keep clear of the razor-sharp dorsal ridges. The poor fellow was sloughing his skin again, and judging by how often he could be seen rubbing himself against the stonework, the process must've itched like hell. Then he quickly hopped the fence after Sasha and cast a Rennervate on Norbert, who growled and snorted smokily in response.

"Why didn't you take a job on one of the British reservations?" Sasha asked as they made their way back to the hut.

"The MacFustys don't care much for outside help," Charlie explained. The Scotsmen and -women were understandably proud of the impressive Hebridean Black population they maintained, but they only liked to share them with the rest of the wizarding world on their own terms. And they certainly didn't deign to employ anyone outside their own clan.

"And I grew up with Ddraig Cymry practically in my own backyard. Made my dad take me loads of times when I was little. I was the youngest Junior Keeper on record there," Charlie boasted jokingly, and Sasha laughed with understanding. Every dragon reservation on the planet offered the same little parchment certificates and tin badges to every kid who dropped by the visitors' center. "But when it came time to make a decision, I reckoned I wanted to see more of the world, you know?"

Sasha nodded, picking up on what it was Charlie hadn't said. Like Sasha, Charlie had longed for bigger, better things than he'd had whilst growing up. Not in a material sense, but rather relating to opportunities for adventure and personal fulfillment. Much as he loved his family, it felt good to have the better part of a continent between him and them. Here, he had the freedom to be the person he wanted to be, unencumbered by smothering parental assumptions and expectations. He liked being on his own, working a demanding and risky job, facing the physical and mental challenges of keeping dragons.

Similarly, Charlie knew Sasha could have applied to work in one of the Russian reservations but had chosen not to. Only his choice to leave his homeland had rather larger ramifications – his parents were keepers themselves in the Caucasus, and he'd been raised on the rez³ there. Sasha had turned his back on his childhood home in more ways than Charlie had done.

"Plus, Ridgebit Reserve is far more prestigious," Charlie added a little proudly. "I figured I'd try for the best first and consider Cymry a fallback. What about you?"

Sasha shrugged. "Figured Romanian was easier to learn than Chinese."

Charlie bit back a little smile, immensely glad Sasha hadn't wound up on one of the several Himalayan reservations instead of here. How lucky can I get?

Several of the other keepers spoke a smattering of English, but none were as fluent as Sasha. It was the primary reason they'd been partnered by the Head Keeper, after all. Sasha had been teaching him both some Russian and Romanian over the past winter, and Charlie had been trying to use Romanian as often as possible, considering the majority of reservation business was conducted in that language. He'd mastered several key dragon-oriented phrases (You are on fire, and Watch out for that pile of dragon shit, were some of the earliest ones) as well as a few choice swear words.

Once inside the hut, Charlie lit the stove and began heating up the ubiquitous mutton stew and chewy bread every keeper subsisted on, for they shared the reservation flock with the resident dragons. He'd found it so delicious his first week on the rez. By November, he'd had to force himself to choke it down, he'd been so sick of it. Now, it was just what he ate, in the same way that water was what he drank and air was what he breathed.

As twilight deepened, the glow of the firelight grew. They seldom bothered with lighting the wall sconces unless they had a lot of recordkeeping to do. The furnishings in the common area were rudimentary: a table and benches for eating and paperwork, the med cot in the first aid nook, and storage lockers for both scientific and survival gear. Their dormitory rooms were so small that the bed, chair, trunk, and small table inside each left little room for anything else.

But what the hut lacked in size and luxury it made up for in coziness. While blizzards had roared outside all winter long, he and Sasha had holed up within, snug and dry. With the fire lit and the lights on, it was a bright and cheery place, the worn wood and stone appointments lending a charming effect that reminded Charlie of the best parts of growing up in the Burrow. And they'd lately fallen into the habit of transfiguring one of the table's benches into a comfortable old sofa for a few hours after dinner, into which they'd slouch down and relax – at least as much as the state of things between them would allow for relaxation.

For Charlie and Sasha had been dancing around their mounting attraction to each other for the past six months, limiting themselves to long conversations in the dark and increasingly frequent snogging sessions in front of the fire. Frustratingly for Charlie, these activities were nearly always followed by solitary wanking in the shower or in his tiny dormitory. He'd waited patiently for months for Sasha to tell him they were ready, that it was time to take things to another level.

And now that they were finally alone again, just the two of them, Charlie was determined the wait was over. He'd make sure something more would happen between them tonight.

They ate their dinner with little speaking. The meal was neither rushed nor artificially drawn out, and the quiet silences that fell between them were familiar and companionable. Charlie bided his time, offering to do the washing up even though he'd done the cooking, too. He felt Sasha's eyes on him as he worked, causing a delightful tension begin to build inside him.

Charlie could honestly say he was glad Sasha had insisted on waiting. He knew beyond all doubt it had been the right decision. Or at least he could recognize it was true in hindsight – Charlie granted it had been quite frustrating in the moment. But they'd followed Sasha's suggestion, spending the winter and spring getting to know each other better. He'd learned about Sasha's history, his opinions about matters profound and mundane, his dreams for the future, and Charlie'd shared his own in turn. He'd come to appreciate Sasha's lively wit, his patience, his unassuming strength and self-assurance. They'd built a trust and respect between them that could now serve as a foundation for something more than an occasional climax of convenience. Charlie didn't know exactly where this thing between them was going, nor was he ready to try to define it. But he was confident it was something significant. Meaningful. And quite possibly life-altering.

All that waiting and talking and learning had done nothing to quell his physical attraction, either. Had intensified it, in fact. In Charlie's eyes, Sasha's dark good looks had grown from ruggedly handsome to stunningly gorgeous. His powerful body had morphed from admirably fit to bloody magnificent. And the low, rumbling purr of his voice was nothing less than drop dead sexy.

With a flick of his fingers, Charlie sent the dishes floating back onto the shelf and turned to face Sasha. This time, instead of resuming their usual seats on the transfigured sofa and staring dazedly into the fire, Charlie took Sasha's hand and led him to his room. Without a word or moment of hesitation, Sasha followed.

Standing at the foot of his little bed, they silently undressed each other while they kissed in the dark. Charlie's fingertips tingled with excitement, efficiently working the buttons of Sasha's shirt, the fastenings of his trousers. As each article of clothing was opened, he slid his hands inside, grazing warm, firm flesh. Concurrently, Sasha's broad, strong hands worked their special magic on Charlie, stoking his anticipation with each firm caress. He imagined the air between them began to glow with their shared heat, their mingled desire.

Naked now, Sasha gently pushed him down to sit on the edge of the bed, then climbed up behind him. His hands on Charlie's chest, arms, and back felt warm and wonderful, both soothing and stimulating at once. Charlie leaned his head back, twisting to face him, and kissed him deeply, tasting him. He willingly surrendered the lead now that Sasha had finally agreed to give him what he wanted, whatever Sasha imagined that happened to be. Charlie trusted him to know better than he did himself.

Sasha edged backward, then pulled Charlie's shoulders until he lay back on the bed, his legs still hanging off the edge. His eyes had perfectly adjusted to the room's dimness now, and Charlie looked up at him from his new vantage point: his head between Sasha's knees as he sat back on his heels, smiling down at him. Then Sasha bent to kiss him, their heads twisting sideways to meet at a more agreeable angle. Charlie's nose was filled with the homey, mildly spicy scent of him.

Sasha kissed his way down his throat and chest, hovering above him on his hands and knees. His tongue toyed with his nipples, and Charlie lifted his head off the bed slightly to plant similar open-mouth kisses on Sasha's torso. Sasha played with his navel, dipping first the tip of his nose, then the tip of his tongue inside. Charlie copied him even as he chuckled a little at the ticklish sensation.

Sasha kissed along the trail of ginger hair that led from his navel to his prick, and the picture of what was about to happen became clearer to Charlie. He did the same, firmly establishing the you-lead-I'll-follow precedent, silently agreeing to the terms. He felt no qualms about what was expected of him, only eagerness to participate.

He wanted this. He'd wanted it for a very long time now.

Sasha showed him by example how to curl his hand around his long, dark cock, stroking softly with a loose grip. Like him, Charlie let his hot breath waft over the sensitive flesh, open-mouthed and tantalizing. A warm, wet tongue ghosted across the shallow slit at the tip of his penis, and doing the same, Charlie tasted a droplet of the faintly sweet, briny essence of his first lover.

Sasha sank down onto him, into him, and Charlie nearly came undone. The heavenly warm, soft welcome of Sasha's mouth was dizzying, the sensations of friction and suction so exquisitely disorienting that Charlie grunted with the effort it took to claw his way back to a modicum of self-control.

"Don't," Sasha whispered, pulling off of him with a long suck that made Charlie's toes curl. "Don't hold yourself back, Charlie," he said as if speaking into his cock, licking and kissing it tenderly. "You have nothing to prove. No judgment. Just feel good."

Sasha plunged downward again, and Charlie felt the head of his cock bump the back of his throat. He whimpered as he sought more, filling himself to overflowing with his lover, with his desire, with their mutual pleasure. Sharing what he felt. Giving what he received. His arms wrapped around Sasha's iron thighs, his hands gripping his firm arse, pulling him in deeper, closer.

He only wanted this. He only wanted more.

An explosion shuddered through Charlie, the likes of which he'd never felt before. Fountains of pleasure gushed forth, like he was hemorrhaging joy from every inch of his being. His consciousness melted away and his soul sang as if liberated from a lifetime of imprisonment, soaring upward and outward as if attempting to permeate the universe all at once.

"Bozhe moy!"⁴ Sasha cried out as he pumped into him. Charlie felt his partner's deep voice rumbling from his chest, absorbing the vibrations with his body. He opened his throat as wide as possible and drank in Sasha's pleasure, which only served to amplify and perpetuate his own.

Giddily intoxicated by his first taste of passion, Charlie lay limp and exhausted, used up and wrung out, utterly blissful. Sasha shifted himself around and lay next to Charlie, guiding him up fully onto the bed until their bodies aligned to enable the maximum amount of contact. Shortly thereafter, warm and relaxed, Charlie drifted off to sleep in his lover's arms.

1- Details from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. This book is lovely and funny but, like the rest of canon, thin on facts when it comes to dragons. (Pretty much all of canon's input is summed up right here.) In regards to these creatures, I stuck to canon wherever possible, but I've invented quite a bit of my dragon biology, basing it on an amalgam of dinosaur, bird (primarily raptor), and lizard physiology and behaviors.

2- Ddraig Cymry = "Welsh Dragon" in Welsh. JKR invented the Welsh, Scottish, Swedish and Romanian preserves' existences but left them nameless; the names are my invention. She also alluded to the existence of other preserves, and I have specifically located a few of them to fit my story.

3- "The rez" is a common phrase heard here in my neck of the woods: Arizona, USA. It refers to the various lands ("reservations") designated for occupation by Native Americans here. Charlie and Co. have adapted it for their own use in my story.

4- Bozhe moy! = "My God!" According to this website.