Amidst The Ashes

Chapter 6

Neither of them spoke. They walked, close but not touching, through the still-too-silent corridors. To Neville it felt as if an age had passed between the time he'd woken with Charlie until now. The portraits were motionless; the stone muffled their footfalls, the suits of armor stood frozen. The castle had yet to wake up for the day. Students would not be down to breakfast en masse for another hour, yet a lifetime had passed and Neville was changed.

The two men drew to a halt as if by some plan or design once they reached the Entrance Hall. From this point, the path to Charlie's room diverged from that leading to the tower and the one leading to the grounds.

"Come with me?"

"Stay with me?"

They spoke in unison and stood looking at each other as their mingled voices faded. Neville wanted to touch Charlie, to have Charlie pinch him or kiss him awake and tell him that the last hour had been a dream, or a nightmare. Instead he stood still and waited for Charlie to answer both questions, his own and Neville's. Will we spend this day together, or part now in token of a larger parting later?

Charlie breached the distance between them, taking Neville's hand in his own. "Where to first? The Tower or the turret or the greenhouses?"

~~~~~~~~

They trudged slowly up the many stairs to the Tower. An early student or two brushed past, but neither was concerned about the looks they received for their clasped hands and their pale faces. Neville drew his companion to a halt before the portrait of the fat lady and waited for her to acknowledge him.

She sighed heavily when she turned from her mirror, brush still in hand, and gestured at him. "Well? Don't tell me you've forgotten again."

Neville shook his head. "I remember, vaguely." Charlie's hand squeezed his own before letting go as Neville spoke the password: Innocence.

~~~~~~~~

The sojourn in the Tower was brief. Neville threw robes, shoes, under things and his Herbology text into his bag. Seamus and Dean had been sent out several days before. Ron, he now believed, was at Grimmauld Place, and Harry... Neville turned away from the sight of Harry's empty bed and retrieved parchment, ink and quills from the desk.

Charlie had silently followed Neville into the dorm and now stood looking out the window toward the Quidditch pitch. Neville straightened slowly, wondering if he had forgotten anything. He surveyed the room again as he did so, almost despite his will.

Ron's bed was rumpled, the result of a screaming match with a house elf in their sixth year. A Chudley Cannons poster hung crookedly over his bed, one corner torn off. The orange-clad players chased each other in a pattern that even Neville knew by heart. He'd seen it nearly every day for seven years.

Dean's bedside table was buried in a sea of white paper. There were pictures of friends and foes alike in that pile. Neville studied one that lay turned toward him. He noted that the girl looked sad, haunted. They all looked haunted these days.

The green of Seamus's curtains was faded but true. Neville smiled as he remembered the battle that had gone on for months in their first year. It had mostly been Ron that had turned the curtains crimson whenever Seamus left the room, but the Irishman had never given up. As they all grew to respect him they had grown to respect his colors. The seventh year boys all knew now that green to Seamus was not Slytherin, but family and country and pride. They knew too that once part of his family, Seamus would die to defend them. In Seamus's eyes, each of them had fallen under the shade of the laughing shamrock.

Neville's own space was both neater and less ornamented than the others. His plants he had returned to the greenhouses or given away. He had no time to tend them properly here in this room. Trevor had died at the end of sixth year and Neville had stored all mementos of him, not wanting to be reminded of his first friend. The silver frame that had held a picture of Frank and Alice Longbottom was empty - his parents' image shrunken now and magicked into part of his talisman.

Neville looked last at Harry's space. There was nothing unique there, save a few pieces of old Quidditch gear that peeked out from under the bed. It was a school four poster, plain and unadorned. There was nothing there to show that it was the resting place of a hero. Neville felt suddenly smaller as he stood looking at that bed. He couldn't fill Harry's shoes.

Charlie crossed the room to Neville as he lingered, staring at Harry's bed. The dragon keeper blocked the view with his body and drew Neville into his arms for the first time since dawn - an eon ago. "We'll find a way Neville, and he'll survive. It's what he does best."

~~~~~~~

The library was musty, old books filled with ancient knowledge leant tangible presence to the air. It smelled of books, a scent known to every student or scholar or armchair warrior. Neville breathed deeply as he ran his finger over the spines of old volumes. Charlie stood nearby, doing the same.

The Restricted Section. Neville would always think of this section of the library in capital letters. It had meant hallowed and dangerous things, books cloaked in secrecy, dark magic and mystery. He had free reign there now, unfettered access because something truly dark and secret was awake in the world. War toyed with them all and books like these were no longer items of boyhood fantasy, they were tools. He shook his head as if to clear the melancholy, but it would not leave. Gloom lingered here, like the dust and the shadows and the scent of age that clung to the volumes under his hand.

"This one, I think," Charlie said, placing a dark brown tome on the table. "What did you find?"

Neville pulled out a hideous looking book bound in sickly yellow leather. At least he hoped it was leather. "This and the one already on the table." The younger man crossed the short distance to stand by Charlie. Potent Poisons for Pernicious Pests (or People) was black with red lettering. Neville considered the book and thought how tacky it was that the letters dripped as if they had been written in blood. Parlor tricks were no longer frightening. He added his own offering: So You Think You've been Poisoned? Paranoia or Patricide? How to Find Out!. It now resided next to the one Charlie had found: Analytical Toxicology for Alchemists: Application and Amelioration.

"Charlie, I'm going to need a dictionary just for the title of that one." Neville said.

"Nah, you can use a modified version of the translation spell on anything you don't understand. I, however, am fully aware of that fact that you don't give yourself enough credit." Charlie put his arm around Neville's shoulders and they stood silently for a few moments contemplating the books, and the reason for them.

Finally Charlie sighed. "I'm not comfortable with you having these, or taking them openly to Grimmauld Place. If we really believe that there is a traitor, and I don't see any other option at the moment, then these make you more of a target."

Neville shrugged. "I'm not a target, Charlie. No one will think of me that way."

"Stop it!" Neville was shocked to hear anger in Charlie's voice, anger mixed with sadness. "You don't give yourself any credit, Neville. Maybe that's why no one else does." Charlie's hands were on his shoulders suddenly and Neville raised startled eyes to him.

Charlie sighed, "Shit, that came out wrong. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be harsh. What I meant was that you think no one else gives you credit. You never see yourself, Neville, and I wish I could change that." Charlie ran a hand through his hair and tried again. "I care about you dammit! I don't want you hurt, don't you understand? Please don't underestimate yourself. Don't downplay your strengths or your intelligence to me. Neither of us deserves that."

Neville opened his mouth to reply and then closed it, staggered both by Charlie's declaration and by his confidence in him. "Charlie I..." The fingers on his shoulders tightened and Neville watched as a tendon in that tanned throat stood out and then relaxed. "I'm sorry. I don't think about it, I...." Neville swallowed. "I care about you too, you know," he whispered, dropping his head.

He heard Charlie sigh, and then he was being held against that chest again. Charlie kissed his hair and held him tight, so tight that Neville's ribs hurt, but he didn't think of complaining. "It's dangerous. I've seen you. You handle yourself well and you think on your feet and you need to know that, because it will keep you safe. Do you realize what Dumbledore asked me to do? He asked me to risk everything that matters, please don't put yourself in even greater jeopardy. I..... Merlin, I don't want to talk about this."

Charlie's voice was thick and odd and Neville couldn't move his head to look at him because of the hand in his hair, couldn't pull away because of the arm around his torso. He settled for winding his own arms around Charlie's waist and kissing the neck his face pressed into. "I'm sorry. We won't talk, not about that, not about anything relating to what we have to do. Except to say this: I'll be careful. Promise me you will be too."

Charlie nodded and Neville wished he could see him properly. He contented himself with running his hands up Charlie's back and relaxing his own body against him. He knew, he understood, he felt. Time had not stopped but instead was hurtling forward and soon they would be apart. Everything hurt. The morning had burst more than the bubble Dumbledore created; it had shattered the illusion of peace amidst the tumult. Nothing was peaceful. All was desperate.

After an indeterminate time Charlie stepped back. He drew his wand and pointed at the books. The lettering changed. Pernicious Pests - How to Guard Your Garden. So You Think You Have Mites? Infestation or Imagination. and Analytical Plant Husbandry for Herbologists: Application and Advancement. "No one in their right mind would pick up any of those. Let's get on with this shall we? How long will it take you in the greenhouses?"

Neville gathered the altered books, shrunk them and stuffed them in his knapsack. He stepped close and kissed Charlie's cheek. "Not long, an hour or two. Less if you help me."

~~~~~~~~

For someone so vibrant and athletic, Charlie had an amazingly gentle touch. The plants responded well to him. Neville smiled as he watched the other man stroke one of the petals of the green flower he was potting. Less than two hours, and they were done. Each item had been potted, labeled, environmentally sealed and set in a crate. Neville crossed the room to seal this last plant and smiled at Charlie.

"Thanks, I never could have gotten this done so fast without you. You have a bit of the gardener lurking in there somewhere."

"Mum," Charlie said. "She insisted that her boys know how to 'Do everything that needs doing. I'll not raise any useless boys; you'll be proper men as well as proper wizards, able to take care of yourselves and your families'." Charlie had placed his hands on his hips in parody of his mother, and there was a smile in his eyes.

Neville laughed, and then bowed in proper courtly fashion before him. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I'll testify that your son Charles is very good with his hands. Very good indeed." He nodded seriously and then winked at Charlie.

"Why, Mr. Longbottom! What are you implying?" Charlie attempted to look stern but failed. They both laughed. The laughter was too loud and lasted too long, and Neville was certain that they both knew this, but he was unable to stay it.

"Come with me," Charlie said. He looked at his watch and then took Neville's hand. "It's only 10:00. You don't have to leave until 8:00 tonight. Even if we play it safe and plan to be back by 6:00, that still gives us eight hours."

Neville nodded but was confused. "Come with you? Where?"

"Away. There are some things I'd like to show you. Away from this place." Charlie's hand tugged him closer.

"But Charlie, what about Dumbledore? And the mission? What if they need us?" Neville wanted to go. He wanted to go anywhere with Charlie. The small cowardly part of him wanted to run away and never look back, leave this war and all its dirt and pain and turmoil behind and never look back. He wanted to run and find that mythical sunset and the country of Happily Ever After and live there with Charlie and the dragon. He wanted to be childish and thoughtless and free. He wasn't. He had honor if nothing else, the one and only thing his Gran had ever given him credit for.

"He can contact us." Charlie ran his thumb over Neville's bracelet. "We can both apparate. We can take brooms with us and stash them near Hogwarts' gates, if you like, so we could be to the castle in less than five minutes."

It sounded wonderful. Neville didn't need to know where they were going. The opportunity for a stolen afternoon with Charlie was beyond tempting and he was weakening. Charlie's arguments were logical. They could be back quickly.

Neville made one last attempt at prudence. "Charlie, I'm a terrible flier. Truly terrible. I'm not being self-deprecating, I broke my wrist on my first flight. Brooms hate me."

"No matter that," Charlie said. "I'm a fair flier."

Neville knew that that was an understatement in the extreme. The twins and Ron, even Harry, had gone on and on about how Charlie could fly. Neville had seen him on a broom only once, but he'd moved like bird and Neville's breath had caught.

"We'll just take one broom, then, and you can ride with me."

So you want me to ride your broom, do you? The thought jumped unbidden into Neville's mind. His face flamed even as the muscles in his stomach contracted in reaction. He shivered and willed himself not to react further. Inappropriate, Neville.

Charlie grinned and Neville could have sworn that the other wizard was reading his mind. He wanted to look away, embarrassed, but forced himself not to. Charlie winked, took two steps to close the distance between them, and kissed him. "You game?" he asked.

Neville was not sure exactly what Charlie was asking, if he was game for journey or alternate activities but the answer was the same. "Yes, absolutely."

~~~~~~~

The Carpathian Mountains were cool even in May. Neville had been given coordinates to apparate to, along with a picture and Charlie's assurances that the area was safe. They stood now just outside a small, well, "shack" was really the only word for it.

"Come inside for a minute. I have an old jacket that will fit you, and I want to change." Charlie led the way inside.

The cabin was larger than it looked from the outside. This did not startle Neville, as he was used to magical buildings. What did, however, was the décor. The room he stood in screamed Charlie Weasley. He could not precisely say why, but he would have known in an instant who lived here, even if he had not been with the man himself. The floor was covered by a rich rug, obviously Persian but old and worn. There was a rearing golden dragon in the center with patterns in rich colors weaving outward. The rug was not magical, the dragon did not move, but it was well made. Two comfortable-looking wing chairs in dark, soft leather sat companionably in front of the huge fireplace. There were swords hung above the mantle, sheathed, and of various lengths. A hulking brown wardrobe stood against one wall, facing the foot of the bed. The bed itself was of medium size and a bit lumpy looking. The headboard was carved in a simple swirling pattern and appeared to be mahogany. There was a patchwork quilt tucked in carefully over ivory-colored sheets. An afghan lay across the foot of the bed, Mrs. Weasley's handiwork no doubt. There were books about dragons on the floor near the nightstand, which nightstand held candles and dragon-hide gloves and odd bits of metal and paper. There was a table and a cupboard in the far corner. The table had a wooden bowl with, Neville assumed, magically preserved fruit in it. A handmade mat sat underneath. In a deep male voice, the mirror over the nightstand called out "Charlie love! Welcome back," when the dragon keeper walked in front of it. There were pictures on various surfaces around the room, brothers and parents and sister, together and in small groups; along with pictures of dragons and a few of various landscapes. It was homey and comfortable. Neville stood watching Charlie and feeling like he had been given new insight into the man simply by being allowed inside what was obviously a private personal space.

"Have a seat. You up for a bit of a tramp? I just want to throw on some leathers and a jacket and we're off. You're already wearing boots. Just dump the cloak and I'll grab you a jumper and my old coat and we'll be away in a minute."

Neville sank into one of the armchairs, finding it to be just as comfortable as it looked. He watched Charlie. The man walked to his bed and sat, pulling off his boots. He had flung his cloak on a hook near the door as he entered. Charlie stood, shucked off his trousers and walked over to the wardrobe. Neville's mouth went dry and he did not even attempt to stop himself from drinking in the sight of the muscles of Charlie's legs, the curve of his arse. Neville licked his lips unconsciously before drawing his bottom lip in between his teeth. Moments later Charlie was sitting back on the bed pulling on what could only be dragon-hide pants and a form fitting navy blue jumper. His movements were casual and easy, as if he undressed and dressed in front of Neville every day. Maybe it was just a reaction to growing up in a house filled with people, but Neville silently hoped that it was sign that Charlie was comfortable with him, and possibly a bit flirty. Surely Charlie couldn't be completely oblivious to the way this affected Neville?

Neville made a small "mmmm" noise as Charlie stood and then bent over to re-lace his boots. The mountains outside were likely lovely, but the view inside was just fine as well. Neville was a bit bemused, therefore, when Charlie crossed to him and held out a soft almond-colored jumper and a worn brown leather jacket.

"Here you go then. Are you going to take off that cloak or what?" Charlie's fingers helped themselves to his cloak pin and the cloak was on a hook next to Charlie's in seconds. "Put these on, I'll just grab my gloves and we're off."

Neville did as he was told, drinking in the smell of outdoors and Charlie that clung to the wool as he pulled it over his head. The jumper was warm and soft, and the coat, when he slipped it on, fit surprisingly well. It was a bit long in the sleeve, but was a fair fit otherwise.

Charlie stopped in front of him then and looked him over. "Good enough. I like seeing you in my clothes. This is my home, by the way. No name, just the place I live when I'm in Romania. I forgot to welcome you. Welcome." Charlie kissed him then and Neville responded eagerly, winding his fingers in Charlie's hair and closing his eyes.

"Mmmm, nice. No distracting me now or we'll never make it out of this cabin and there really are some things I'd like to show you."

Neville smiled and kissed Charlie once again, amazed that he was comfortable doing so, and more amazed that it was allowed. "Alright."

Hand in hand they left the cabin, taking a path to the right that wound up and away from the sheltered nook in which the building huddled. They walked silently, up and up. The mountainside was formed of dark gray stone, most jagged, some less so. Deep green pine trees crowded against the path in places and overshadowed it in others. Their footfalls were silenced by a blanket of needles that lay generations deep on the cold earth. The wind blew softly and brought with it the scent of loam, rock and pine. It was fresh and crisp. Charlie's hair blew forward across his cheek, making Neville want to push it back behind his ear so that he could see him better.

They finally came to the top of one outcropping and stood looking down into a bowl-shaped valley. Mountains surrounded this small biosphere on all sides. Trees ringed a clearing on one side of the valley and a deep, clear stream cut through both the clearing and the forested areas. The black gaping maws of caves dotted the hills here and there. Smoke rose in various places, seemingly from rocks - rocks which were oddly shaped and varied in color. It was not until one of the rocks moved, hurling itself skyward, that he realized what he was seeing.

"Dragons." Neville took an involuntary step backward as the black shape loomed ever larger in the sky. It was flying toward them.

Charlie's arm wound around Nevillle's waist and drew him to his side. "Yes, my dragons." Charlie's voice was proud and possessive and Neville looked away from flying lizard to see his face. Charlie glowed again, he vibrated slightly and Neville could feel him yearning to join the dragon in the sky.

"Tell me." Neville said softly.

Charlie did. They ended up sitting on the edge of the precipice, feet dangling over the edge. Charlie talked for ages. Neville learned the name of the valley and about the climate. He learned the name each dragon, its history and genealogy; how Charlie got each burn scar on his body, and from which beast. His eyes grew damp when Charlie told him about the baby dragon that had died, despite all that Charlie could do. He beamed at him when Charlie recalled the first dragon he had ever been allowed touch; the one that had adopted him as her own and followed him like some caricature of a huge canine. The reserve was remote and very few people worked there. The ledge they sat on was warded to Charlie's signature. No one ever came here unless accompanied by one of the five members of the team. Charlie had never brought an outsider here before.

They never stopped touching, all the time they sat on that ledge - hand or shoulder or thigh, feet twining around each other when they swung their legs, hair brushing fingers or cheek. It was intimate in a way Neville had never shared with anyone. Charlie's soul was in this place, and its heart in him. Charlie knew every leaf, every creature, every hole in the rock. He loved every dragon as both child, friend and mystery. Neville looked at the wild rocks, the deep trees, the shining fierce lizards; he saw Charlie in them all. He was wild and free and strong; fire and magic and beauty. He would fight for what was his. Neville felt privileged, honored to be welcomed here, to see it all through Charlie's eyes. He knew deep in his heart that he would never forget this place, the sound of the wind in the trees, or the names of the dragons. No matter what crowded his thoughts this would always stand - clear, unblemished and perfect in his mind.

Charlie fell silent at last. The sun had passed the mid-point and hung high above the lace-like clouds. Charlie's arm was around Neville's waist, fingers on his hip. Neville leaned slightly, shoulder against chest, and lay his head back on Charlie, kissing his jaw. "Thank you." The words were simple, but they resonated and vibrated around them. Charlie would understand how much this meant to him. Neville had stopped wondering how he knew these things. He just did. "Go to them, Charlie. Do what you need to do."

Charlie moved with athlete's speed at that, and Neville found himself on his back with Charlie straddling him, kissing him passionately but tenderly at the same time. "Neville." His name had never sounded so foreign. It was not a word or a moniker but a touch, a declaration, something deep and strange and wonderful.

Charlie moved again, stood and drew Neville up as well. "You knew. You know, without my saying. I knew you'd understand - what this place means, what they mean to me." He gestured towards the dragons and the trees and the rolling river. "I know it's too soon, and awkward and I should wait. I know it shouldn't be possible to know, but I do." Charlie paused and waited for Neville to meet his eyes.

Neville stood utterly still, hands on Charlie's waist, looking at him. "What do you know?" he asked.

"I love you."

Neville opened his mouth to speak or to gasp or just to breath he didn't know which, but Charlie covered it with his own. The kiss was sweet and brief and just a bit tentative. "Don't say anything. You don't have to do anything you're not ready for, but....it's true, and I don't know how long we have... I just wanted you to know."

The voice in Neville's head, the one that always told him he wasn't good enough, that he'd never measure up, that he was meant for shadows and small things, was stilled. Charlie's eyes, his voice, the feel of his hands, the impossible words - these had silenced that voice in a way that nothing else had ever been able to do. He felt free suddenly and light, and all the things he never let himself think, never allowed himself to feel, were liberated as well. He brought his own hands up to Charlie's face and let his thumbs trace cheekbones and forehead and jaw line. He ran a gentle finger down Charlie's nose and over his lips. Charlie endured it all, motionless, eyes such a deep blue that Neville could have swum in them. "I love you, too."

Charlie closed his eyes.

Neville kissed him then, soft, closed-mouth, gentle, tender beyond anything he had ever done. Kissed him once, then again, then a third time - to which Charlie responded, before Neville drew away. "I'll wait for you. Here or back at the cabin, wherever you want."

"Here," Charlie said, "just here." Then he was gone, down the mountain and away to see his dragons. Neville stood on the rocks and watched him, and he did not feel the cold at all.