Work Text:
It’s a shame the other boy is a Malfoy. His parents might accept anyone else once they got past the whole gender thing, but a Malfoy? No chance. Still, the pale blond, the easy flush, the mercury eyes, the shape of his smirk, the effortless grace and stick straight back that makes Charlie want to snap him out of it, melt him into pieces, put him back together again a little different than before, a little more confident and relaxed than before.
It’s a shame the other boy is a Weasley. It’s not like his parents would accept anyone of the opposite gender, but he’d be disowned for even considering a Weasley. He can’t help but notice the forearms, strong and scarred, corded with muscle, the shoulders, broad, a virtual wall of muscle, the hands, well calloused and nimble, long lines ending with blunt-tipped fingernails that he can’t help imagine running through his hair, scratching at his scalp. Draco notices the glances, of course, and does his best not to focus on them. It’s his business and his business alone what happens behind his bed-curtains though.
The smirk looks even better on kiss-swollen lips, ravaged and picture-perfect hair mussed. Quicksilver eyes wide and hopeful for a moment before remembering that this - they - can’t happen, but Charlie catches himself wondering if it even matters now. Half their population is dead, so surely a Malfoy and a Weasley getting together wouldn’t be that big a deal. Charlie remembers the rant his mother had gone on about the fist fight that had devolved into condemnation of the Malfoy line in general and knew that even now, his parents would never give them the chance to be together. Still, shady corners of dark alleyways belong to no one, and no one looks too close at them.
The shoulders had been just as broad as he’d hoped, and the fingernails even better than he dreamed. If they felt better than even that while grasping and pulling at his hair while urging him on, Draco would tell no one. He highly doubts that either of them would mention any of this to anyone, and the proprietor of this shady little inn wouldn’t say anything either. Substantial bribes were so very useful, and anyone would take that amount of money and be happy about it in the war-torn economy. If it ensured that no one would find out and that his position as Malfoy Heir was safe, Draco would pay any amount of money.
Charlie remembered the faint glitter of gold in Draco’s hair and wondered idly if he couldn’t examine it in the sun. He snapped himself out of his, smiled at his partner over breakfast, and ate his eggs with vigor. They had so little time, every moment counted, and Charlie would not waste his time with trivial matters like wondering what sun-warmed skin would feel like, taste like. Even if he wanted to publicly claim the other, watching him accept his Potions Mastery from the shadows of an alleyway running off the courtyard the official ceremony was conducted in. Charlie slid under the table to do some more celebrating of his own.
Draco wanted to watch Charlie wrangle dragons. Was that too much to ask? To see the muscles rippling under the skin, the brilliant display of magic and intellect, the deep connection tamers and their dragons share, and the individual quirks each dragon possessed that his partner could only ever tell him about. Draco had picked up enough Romanian to be at least slightly proficient if a job ever opened up near the Reserve. In the meantime, he’d just have to show his appreciation in a different way. The growled Romanian expletives were ones Draco would never use but was glad to understand.
Las Vegas was both more and less than Charlie had expected, lit up at night but relatively quiet during the day. He tugged his other after him off the airplane - which had taken not an insignificant amount of time on his part to get tickets and Confundus charms on the Muggles to show the right papers - and both eagerly set off to explore the muggle world. Charlie knew a bit more than his partner, he had to with Arthur Weasley for a father, but they’d both learn and experience this side of civilization for the first time together. Charlie was determined to not lose too much of his hard-earned money gambling. Luckily for him, his other was as possessive of his gold as Charlie’s large reptilian charges, even though the plastic chips he was hoarding represented the money being traded around the table and were not actual pieces of gold.
Las Vegas had a magical district. Who knew? It was less of a district than a couple shops, but still. Buzzed off the alcohol and winning way too much money and intrigued by the feel of the building in front of him, Draco tugged his other inside. To his delight, a bonder waited inside, smiling at them knowingly while holding out a pair of rings that look strangely tailor-made to them. He doesn’t take too long to worry about the secrets that smile holds, but instead pulls his partner in front of the mostly hooded figure. Draco replies to the questioning look in those beautiful eyes with a firm nod, and the ceremony begins. He really hopes their hotel had good soundproofing later, as neither of them took the time to throw up a silencing charm.
The ring is unobtrusive, and it takes Charlie’s friends and co-workers nearly a week to notice it. He blushes when they ask him about it, and tells them that his husband is a brilliant man and far too good for him. They demand to meet him, of course, and Charlie firmly but gently brushes them off, even though he is glad they didn’t react poorly to the revelation of the gender of his spouse. Though dragons sometimes want the shiny gold for their own, the ring is his, and no one will remove it from him unless it is his other. Not even his death will remove the ring’s substantial protections or it from his finger.
The ring matches his clothes perfectly, and it takes his fellow Wolfsbane researcher four days and five outfits to decide that something significant has happened and ask about it. Draco answers that he is happily married, and does not bother to correct the researcher’s assumption that it is to a woman. Everyone knows that Heirs of Ancient and Noble Houses aren’t anything but straight, after all. He focuses back on his research, and his fellow does the same after a pause. The fact that he was gone for a week longer than expected is not mentioned by either of them, nor are the extra protections and precautions placed on the ring and taken in the procedures.
Bill is the first to notice the ring, and he slings an arm around Charlie’s shoulders before asking who the lucky girl is. The fact that this happens at the mandatory biweekly dinner means everybody in his family finds out that he’s married at the same time. Charlie closes his eyes, braces himself, and quietly responds that his husband is the most perfect man on the planet. Molly’s fork drops to the plate before she can stop it, and everyone’s stares, spouses included, weigh heavier than they ever have before. Charlie excuses himself shortly after his quiet statement when it is clear that no one is going to remark or even react to that statement. He clears his dishes and Apparates away, hands shaking far more than he’d ever experienced, silence ringing in his ears.
Lucius is a shell of the man he once was, but he still notices when his son shows up for their weekly dinner with a ring on his finger. He interrupts the silence to ask his son if he got married without telling them, a threat implied somewhere between the smooth, slippery words. Draco replied evenly, not cowed at all, that he had been happily married during his vacation and lapsed back into silence. Not even Narcissa’s attempts to ask him about the vacation are met with answers. The dinner ends with an update on his latest research breakthrough before Draco strides off the grounds and Apparates away. Narcissa tells Lucius that he must have found quite the man and levels him with a look when he tries to deny it. Lucius folds a moment later, remarking that as long as it wasn’t a Weasley, he didn’t mind too much.
They find out eventually, of course. If it hadn’t come from the front page picture, a rather romantic photo of their anniversary kiss in the dark doorway of an inn, for which Charlie wants to sue both the paper and the inn, for falsely advertising the strength of their privacy wards, of the Daily Prophet, the reaction might not have been so bad. Charlie shields Draco from the yells and any spells his family might be tempted to throw until Ron’s black eye and swollen mouth make it clear that he won’t tolerate anyone badmouthing or harming his husband in front of him. In turn, Draco shields Charlie from the cold rage and disapproval of his parents, not shocked when his father disowns him on the spot. The disappearance of the Malfoy Heir Ring is not unexpected but leaves his hand uncomfortably light until Charlie reaches over and laces their fingers together.
They buy a house in the country, and Draco works on a subset of pregnancy health potions by himself. Charlie changes to the Dragon Tamer on-call, a position that means he can focus on his art while still working with the dragons he loves if he is needed or wants to. Draco finds himself unwinding from the stiff society rules and prejudices he’d lived by and picks up a book on Muggle sewing machines out of curiosity. He finds himself buying one after he patents one of the potions he’d been working on. It immediately brings in money, and Draco takes a breather to focus on operating the infernal thing and producing a decent piece of clothing out of it. If he can no longer buy the fashions he wants to wear, Draco will make them for himself. Charlie tastes and touches sun-warmed skin whenever he feels like it now, and is rewarded by loosening shoulders and relaxing posture.
His focus shifts to baby clothes after a while, and he makes all the clothing their children could wear while banned from potions experimentation by his worried husband. He’s working on the clothes they’ll need as when learning to run around and to ride a broom, durable, colorful, and easily customizable, when Charlie takes one look at his pale face and tight posture and rushes him to St. Mungo’s. Several potions of his own creation and hours later, their first children, twin girls, Aurore Marion and Elizabeth Borelia, sleep peacefully in Draco’s arms. Draco, exhausted and in love with his daughters, can’t help the pride that his potion worked as well as it did. Charlie, catching the smirk and thinking along the same lines, leans over and carefully capture’s Draco’s lips in a kiss, both of them focusing on each other and their miraculous daughters - the first in centuries of Malfoys and just as many generations of Weasleys, discounting Ginny - to sooth the pain of their absent mothers.
Draco is working on matching princess ball gowns that will match Charlie’s illustrated storybook for the twins’ birthday when he hears a hesitant knock on the door. They still live in the same comfortable house, despite the profitable patents of potions Draco created and the art and childrens’ books Charlie publishes. Charlie still works at the Romanian Dragon Reserve as a consultant, but his children are more important to him than the dragons are. Draco stretches the kinks out of his lower back from his third pregnancy - he’d always wanted a big family after his lonely childhood, and Charlie agreed without reservation - and walked over to the door after locking the door to his workroom behind him. He worries about the girls, all three of them, hurting themselves in there, not to mention the possibility of a pair of mischievous troublemakers finding surprises-in-progress for their birthday.
Charlie wanders out, holding their toddler on his hip. They never have visitors, so both of them are curious to see who it is. Both of them are suitably shocked to find Molly Weasley and Narcissa Malfoy on their doorstep. The twins come running up and stop suddenly, hiding behind Draco’s legs at the sight of new people. Narcissa and Molly both look unsurprisingly overwhelmed, and Charlie, hesitantly hoping for the best, sighs and invites them in.