Entry tags:

118, charlie, kingsley, kingsley/charlie, weasley_fest

Title: The Cat and the Lizard
Rating R
Featured Character or Pairing(s): Kingsley/Charlie
Summary: Charlie has moved back to Britain to help with the war effort, and is working at a pub in Brighton. Kingsley comes to stay with him after being attacked by Death Eaters.
Word Count: 4,207
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my beta, Minnow.

Written for the weasley_fest, here



Kingsley closed his eyes and Apparated, then opened them again to find himself in the garden of Shell Cottage, struggling to catch his breath. That had been a very close call: the Death Eaters who ambushed him were obviously highly skilled and he still didn't know how he had managed to escape.

But he had, and that was the important thing. Bent almost double from the stitch in his side, and limping because of the curse that had hit his leg, he walked to the door and knocked. Bill, the Secret Keeper of the cottage, had given some of the Order members the address to be used in emergencies. And if this wasn’t an emergency, then Kingsley didn't know what was. He needed a place to hide and nurse his injuries. Of course his own flat was off-limits now; it probably had more Death Eaters surrounding it than that bastard Voldemort.

He heard feet shuffling inside, the rustle of robes being pulled on hastily and wondered if he had interrupted something important in the newlyweds' life. Oh, well, there would be plenty of time for that later. It wasn’t as if he had planned on being ambushed and almost killed and-

"Who's there?" Bill did sound a little annoyed, so Kingsley had probably arrived at a very importune time.

"I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror and Order member. My Patronus is a lynx and I warned you and your guests about the fall of the Ministry during your wedding. You, Bill Weasley, Secret Keeper of Shell Cottage, gave me permission to come in an emergency."

The door opened and Bill helped him inside. "What happened, Kingsley?"

"Fucking Death Eaters attacked me when I inadvertently took the name of their Dark Lord in vain. I’d just found the body of a fellow Auror, a Muggle-born who was on the run. The "Fuck V" came naturally," Kingsley snorted, "and less than a second later a whole gang of the buggers landed in front of me. I managed to duel them and escape."

Bill showed him to a chair, and Kingsley collapsed into it. "Fleur!" Bill called out, "Can you come downstairs and try to heal Kingsley's leg?" He turned to Kingsley, "She's much better at Healing Charms than me."

"And you're probably rather better than me," Kingsley joked, wincing as he stretched out his leg. It was bleeding, but the injury didn't seem to be that serious.

Fleur arrived, still fastening the belt around her satin dressing-gown. "I'm sorry," Kingsley apologized sheepishly. There was no doubt now that he had indeed interrupted the Weasleys.

She just shook her head and winced when she saw his leg. "Zis is horrible! What happened?"

"An unfortunate encounter with some lovely Death Eaters, who wanted to give me something to remember them by," Kingsley answered, taking his first good look at the wound. It was hard to identify the spell: probably a blotched Severing Charm. It must have been cast just as he was Stupefying the Death Eater, and he was glad of that. Otherwise, the Charm would have amputated his leg.

Fleur brought some astringent potions and, while Bill was brewing tea, managed to fix Kingsley's leg. "You have to stay off it for a while," she said. "You don't want it to start bleeding again."

Kingsley took the cup of tea from Bill's hand. "I don't think I can manage that, Fleur. I’m a wanted man now. I can't go back to my flat so I’ll have to find somewhere else to hide."

"Well, it’s not a great idea to go house-hunting," Bill said. "At least not until your leg heals."

"So what am I supposed to do? I have nowhere to go." Kingsley shrugged.

"Well, you can stay here," Bill offered. "Even when your leg is better. The cottage is small, but we always have room for friends."

Kingsley shook his head. "No, Bill, thanks. I couldn't impose. You're newlyweds and you don't need an extra – and rather large – body around."

"But zis is an emergency," Fleur exclaimed. "We don't mind."

"We really don't, Kingsley. But, if you prefer, you could go to my brother Charlie's."

"In Romania? I can't be that far away. I have to be in England."

"He's not in Romania now. He stayed over here after our wedding, and he’s running an underground escape facility in Brighton, for Muggles in danger from You-Know-Who. He's working in a pub, posing as a Muggle himself, and he's been very successful in getting people out of Britain."

Kingsley had only met Charlie a couple of times, but he wasn't surprised that the man was doing something so risky. After all, if you were used to working with dragons, smuggling people out of the country was probably a piece of cake. "I could do that, and also help him."

"Of course. Let me warn him and you can be on your way."

"Not until his leg is fully healed," Fleur said in a voice that defied either man to refuse.

***

Charlie was snoozing in front of the Floo, a Quidditch magazine open on his lap and a half-empty tankard of beer on the side table. It had been an especially hard day, but he had finally managed to get the Clearwaters to Calais. They had been one of the toughest cases, not only because of the sheer size of the family – larger than the Weasleys! There were ten Clearwater children – but also because the Clearwaters wouldn't leave without Penelope, their oldest daughter. A Ravenclaw of extraordinary intelligence, Penelope had been kept under strict surveillance in a special room at the Ministry. It seemed that the Dark Lord didn't mind using a clever half-blood to write propaganda, even if she was doing it in order to keep her Muggle-born father and the rest of her family safe. She didn't know they had been in hiding for months now, and kept working as efficiently as before.

Though Penelope had no communication with the outside world, Arthur knew her guard from the old days. He was partial to a drink or two, and susceptible to the strong Sleeping Potion that an ally in the Ministry had supplied. It hadn’t been too hard for Arthur and Charlie to step over the snoring man, break into Penelope’s room and take her to Brighton.

As soon as the Clearwaters were all reunited, Charlie, his adrenaline still high from the break-in, had whisked the whole family across the English Channel. He was exhausted this evening, so exhausted that he'd fallen asleep and completely forgotten the date he'd made with the blond bloke who'd visited the pub several times that week, with the obvious intention of sweet-talking the barman, Charlie himself, into something even better than a pint of beer.

He was woken with a start by a voice calling his name, which seemed to come from the depths of the chair. After a moment’s blankness he remembered who and where he was, and fumbled in his trouser pocket for the two-way mirror that their father insisted all the Weasleys carried, now that the Floos were disabled and the owl post so risky.

Bill's scarred face appeared in the small glass, and Charlie was relieved to see that he looked quite cheerful. All the same, he asked, "What’s happened, Bill? Is everyone all right?"

"Yes, as far as I know. How are the Clearwaters?"

"In Paris, by now. They'll go to Switzerland tomorrow. They should be fine there." He yawned. "But I hope you didn't wake me up to ask after the Clearwaters."

"No, I didn’t. But I’m glad they’re all right. And I don’t see why you’re not sleeping in your own bed, instead of a chair."

Charlie shook his head. "Actually, I was trying to stay awake. I think I may be in trouble now. I had a hot date and I'm afraid I missed the appointment."

"So you should thank me for waking you up. If you rush, you may still find him waiting for you. After all," Bill winked, "a hot Weasley arse is something worth waiting for."

Charlie laughed. If Bill was joking, then everything was fine. Especially when Bill was joking openly about Charlie's homosexuality. It had been hard for Charlie to come out to his family, and even more so to his older brother, the one he was closest to. Bill had been unexpectedly supportive, though, and had told Charlie that he'd guessed a long time ago. With Bill's seal of approval, it was easier for the rest of the Weasleys to accept Charlie's sexual orientation, and it was Fred who had suggested that Charlie settle in Brighton, "the gay capital of Britain" as he put it.

After his years in the very straight dragon camp, Charlie was glad to be in a place where he could be himself. He could flirt with whomever he wanted, he could ogle the nice bodies on the beach without receiving a scowl, and he could have sex whenever he felt like it. The job in the pub was a magnet for other young, good-looking men, who were very happy to talk to the handsome red-haired barman. And do more than talk.

"I may do that. But I'm sure you didn't contact me to act as an alarm clock."

Bill became more serious. "No. Actually, I have someone to send your way."

"Muggle-born or half-blood?"

"Neither. Pure-blood, Order member."

"Who's that?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"The Auror?" Charlie remembered the tall, very hunky black man he'd met a couple of times. "What happened to him?"

"Caught by Death Eaters. He managed to get away, but his cover has been blown. He needs a hiding place. His leg is badly hurt, but Fleur has managed to heal it a bit. He wants to help you with your Muggle smuggling, too."

There was only one problem with having Kingsley with him: the few times Charlie had met the man, he'd been very attracted to him, but he'd failed to pick up the wordless signal that would mean Kingsley was attracted to him: Kingsley seemed very straight. Charlie wondered how it would be, to have a man – an attractive man – living with him while Charlie was sleeping with other men in his bedroom.

He shrugged. Kingsley needed a place to stay and it was not up to Charlie to pander to his sensibilities. If Kingsley objected to Charlie being royally fucked by another man in his own bedroom, in his own flat, then Kingsley could find somewhere else to live.

"When is he arriving?"

"Fleur wants his leg to be completely mended before he takes off, but I think he's worried about...imposing on a newly-wed couple. He wants to leave as soon as possible."

"Send him over whenever he's ready."

***

The following evening, as Charlie was coming home from the pub, he saw the shadow of a very tall man leaning against his door and instinctively drew his wand. If the man was a Muggle robber, he would never know what had hit him.

But the man limped towards him with his hand outstretched, and he recognized Auror Shacklebolt, none the worse for wear after his ordeal with the gang of Death Eaters. He was looking good, and flashed a toothy grin at Charlie, whose groin stirred at the sight. It seemed such a waste that this wonderful specimen of manhood preferred women to his own kind: or, more specifically, to a red-haired, freckled man with a dragon tattoo on his back.

As he ushered Kingsley into the flat, he wondered if the man also had a tattoo. Charlie would love to check it out. Even if he couldn't touch, it would be nice if Auror Shackelbolt shared Charlie's penchant for walking around in his underwear.

***

A couple of days later, Charlie had ascertained that (1) Kingsley didn't mind walking around in as little clothing as modesty permitted and (2) he did have a tattoo, on his broad chest. It was the face of a lynx, not a ferocious one with teeth bared to attack its prey, but the calm, calculating face of a feline observing someone it considered inferior. The artist had done justice to the personality of the cat – beautiful, mysterious and sensuous, just like the man who sported the tattoo. Charlie was sure that if the tattoo had been charmed to have sound, the lynx would purr with the deep, slow tone of Kingsley's voice.

One day as they were eating breakfast, the top of the lynx's ears poking out of Kingsley's wife-beater, Charlie closed his eyes briefly and imagined the lynx pressed against the dragon on his back, while Kingsley bit on his neck and pounded inside him. It was a glorious image, but unfortunately a rather too effective one, and Charlie had to excuse himself from the table and rush to the bathroom. He smiled vaguely at Kingsley, who was watching him curiously as he scraped his chair back, and mumbled, "Too much beer last night."

Charlie’s close proximity to such a sexy man was not doing him much good. That night he arrived home long after the pub had closed, having had a less than satisfactory encounter with the blond bloke he'd been so fond of before Kingsley's arrival. He knew he was doomed when he had to shut his eyes to avoid seeing the pale hand holding him, wishing it could have been a dark chocolate brown instead.

Kingsley was awake when he arrived home, looking anxious. "Charlie," he said with an audible sigh of relief, "I was starting to worry about you."

Smiling enigmatically, Charlie answered simply, "Met someone interesting at the pub."

Kingsley roared. "Good for you, man. Glad you got lucky." He shook his head. "Can't wait for this damn war to be over. I’ve been too on edge even to think about anything so pleasurable."

Which, to Charlie's ears, meant that when Kingsley finally got around to doing it, he would have an incredible amount of pent-up sexual energy. He stifled a groan, pretended he was yawning and rushed to bed. There he had a slightly more satisfactory release, with his eyes closed and the nice imagery of the lynx and the dragon romping together.


***

As soon as Kingsley felt that his bad leg wouldn't jeopardise Charlie's mission, he volunteered to take the Finch-Fletchleys to safety. Justin, a classmate of Ron's, was most reluctant to move to France. He wanted to send his parents to safety and then stay behind in England. He claimed that he was part of Dumbledore's Army and it was his duty to fight beside Harry if necessary. Charlie was getting impatient with the delay, and was about to Stun Justin and carry him across the Channel when Kingsley came to the rescue. With his deep, commanding voice, he convinced Justin that he was much more useful alive than dead, and his first duty was to take care of his parents. Then he promised Justin that he would be Summoned right away if they needed his help in any battle.

Justin agreed immediately, and Charlie was impressed by the forcefulness of Kingsley's voice and his reasoning. The man was a born leader. Charlie had a very weak spot for born leaders and he had to control himself, lest he jumped Kingsley in front of the innocent and very scared Finch-Fletchleys.

***

As the protected boat disappeared over the horizon, Charlie announced that he was going to work. He was already late as it was. "I'll be home just after closing time," he told Kingsley, "and I'll see you there."

"Actually, I was thinking about coming to the pub with you. I could do with a pint."

Charlie bit his lip. The pub was certainly not the kind that Kingsley would appreciate. But he couldn't just say no – it was a public place, after all. And he also felt like coming out to the man. They were living together and Charlie might bring the blond bloke home one day, so the sooner Kingsley knew, the better.

"Well, it's a...different kind of pub. It's...a gay pub."

Kingsley nodded. "Brighton has a large gay community," he said matter-of-factly.

Charlie perked up a little. "You don't mind?"

"What? That Brighton has a large gay community or that the pub is gay?" Kingsley asked with a grin.

"The pub."

Kingsley shrugged. "No. The beer is good, yeah?"

"Very."

"That's all that matters."

"You'll probably be hit on, though," Charlie warned.

"And I can say no, if I'm not interested."

Charlie looked at Kingsley. The "if" raised some tantalizing possibilities.

"Could you be interested?"

"I prefer the other kind of pubs – and clientele. But I'm not exclusive, if you know what I mean."

Oh yes, Charlie knew what he meant. A bisexual who preferred women. The sort who fucked men but didn’t have long-term relationships with them. "Well, I only like one kind – the kind I meet at the pub."

"I know."

"How do you know?" Charlie was shocked. Had Bill said something?

"I can pick up your vibes, Charlie."

"My vibes?"

"You've been ogling me."

Charlie was sure his face was as red as his hair. "I...but...I'm sorry, but..."

"No need to apologize. If you weren't a friend, I wouldn't mind trying it with you."

"What does friendship have to do with it?" The only part that mattered to Charlie was the "trying it with you".

Kingsley sighed. "I told you, I prefer women. I have had sex with men, and it wasn’t bad at all. But I can't see myself in a long-term relationship with a man. And I wouldn't have casual sex with a friend. It's a dangerous proposition. It can create ties, and that wouldn't be fair, would it?"

Charlie chortled. "Ties? Kingsley, we may not be alive long enough to create ties. You’re right, I have been ogling you, I would love to have sex with you, and I am willing to take the risk that I might fall in love – or unbearable lust – with you in a one-sided relationship. Time is short, life may be even more so, and, frankly, I would like to enjoy it to the fullest while I can. So, if you were serious about wanting to try it with me, let's go to the pub, you can drink a very fine pint while I work, and then we can...try it."

Kingsley pondered Charlie's words for a few seconds, then nodded.

***

Kingsley obviously didn't have much practice, but he knew what he was supposed to do. He was an eager and fast learner, though, and Charlie managed to teach him all he knew in the time they spent together.

At night, they would lie together, tired but with a renewed desire for each other. They had sex, they talked about the war, wondering where Harry was, whether he was still alive and able to defeat You-Know-Who. On one of those nights, spent after lovemaking, Kingsley observed casually, "My lynx gets along well with your dragon."

Charlie craned his neck. "They do get along. Who'd believe that a cat and a lizard could be so friendly?"

"The Cat and the Lizard. That's a good name for a pub, isn't it?"

"It is. Maybe after all this madness is over, I can stay in Brighton for good and have my own pub." Charlie chose his words carefully. The sad part for him was that he had, in fact, created ties with Kingsley. The man was not only a great lover, he was also intelligent, with a very pleasant disposition. He was selfless, had a sharp wit, made Charlie laugh easily...in short, he was the sort of person it was very easy to fall in love with. And Charlie had. But he would never admit it. He'd known the risks from the beginning.

"I think that’s a very good plan," Kingsley whispered, kissing Charlie's neck and moving off him. Non-committal words.

Charlie curled in a fetal position, his back to Kingsley. "Will you come for a pint?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound like he was begging.

Kingsley edged closer and enveloped him in his arms. "I'll try."

Charlie had to control himself: he wanted to move as far away as possible from Kingsley and his "I'll try." What was wrong with a simple, "Of course," even if it was a lie and he would never come?

Fuck love, Charlie thought, his eyes open for most of the night, while Kingsley slept soundly next to him.

***

Bill's ibis Patronus flew into the living-room as Charlie was about to leave for the pub. "The battle is about to start," it said, and it didn't take Kingsley more than one second to Disapparate. "Be safe," was the last thing he said to Charlie.

Charlie spent some time casting charms in his flat to erase all traces of Kingsley’s stay there. If they lost the war, he didn't want any Death Eaters finding out about the people who had been smuggled out of the country and going after them. Then, wand at the ready, he Disapparated in his turn and joined the throngs of friends and families who would fight to the death for freedom and justice.

***

Once or twice, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kingsley engaged in battle. He thought that one of those times Kingsley had seen him and nodded in recognition, or encouragement, maybe. He didn't care which. He just hoped that Kingsley would be safe.

Then it was over. Voldemort lay dead and Charlie's first concern was to ascertain that the rest of his family was all right. He could see that Kingsley had survived too, but he was already shooting orders right and left, and never once did he look at Charlie.

And then he was made Minister for Magic.

That was the heaviest blow for Charlie. He’d still had a tiny flicker of hope that Kingsley would really try to come to Brighton, as he'd promised. But that was an Auror's promise, not something the highest authority in the country could do. As a Minister, Kingsley would probably get married and have children and live a normal life. A life in which there was no place for a gay lover.

***

The memorials were held a few weeks after the battle. The bodies of the fallen had been buried by their families and closest friends in small, private ceremonies. But the Minister had decided to honor each of those heroes with a public memorial, attended by the whole Wizarding community. These memorials were held in strict alphabetical order. As such, Fred's was the last.

It was an emotional event, and Kingsley's closing speech was inspired, thanking the Weasleys for their unwavering support for what was right and for their ultimate sacrifice. Afterwards he stepped down and greeted each member of the family personally.

When it came to Charlie's turn, Kingsley pulled him into a bear hug. Charlie reciprocated almost feverishly. He wanted that touch so badly that he didn't care if his fervor seemed strange.

"Thank you, Charlie, for everything," Kingsley said, as they disengaged. "For your efforts and especially for your hospitality," he added.

"Don't mention it," Charlie answered, looking straight into Kingsley's eyes. "It was a real pleasure." And then, because he felt he had nothing to lose, he went on, "Remember, you're always welcome at my new pub."

"Definitely opening it, then?"

"Yes."

Kingsley looked at him for a few seconds. Then, with a mischievous grin, he asked, "Would you take on an investor? A partner, maybe?"

Partner? A word loaded with possibilities, possibilities that Charlie shouldn't even think about. But he couldn't help it.

"I'd love to have a partner," he answered.

"Consider it done, then," Kingsley said, in a voice that Charlie felt was full of hidden meaning.

"Shall we call it The Cat and the Lizard?" Charlie was confident that the answer would be a resounding "Yes!"

"No. That's not an appropriate name for the establishment."

Charlie's face fell a little. Had he been misreading the signs so blatantly? "What do you suggest, then?"

"Something a bit grander. Like The Lynx and the Dragon, maybe?"

Charlie grinned broadly. "Yes, that's a better name. And it will be a great partnership, I'm sure."

"You'll have to be patient with me, though. This...business is all very new to me, and I may need some guidance. And I won't be a very prominent partner, because of my Ministry duties. But I'll do my best."

"Your best will be enough, as long as I know it's there. And maybe one day we can open another one in London?"

Kingsley nodded. "Sooner rather than later, with any luck. When do you plan to start?"

Charlie considered the question. He was very excited about the idea of opening his and Kingsley's own pub, but that could wait for a week or so. "I was thinking about taking a few days off here in London. Do you know of anywhere I could stay?" he asked with mock innocence.

"Please stay with me. I'd love to reciprocate your hospitality," Kingsley answered in the same tone.

Life was good, Charlie thought. And he hoped it would be long. Very long.