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Summary
It never should've been a surprise that Charlie Weasley fell in love with someone named after dragons. He just never expected it to be so easy.
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"Draco Malfoy was something of a gorgeous mess. In the way one of the dragons would destroy a pen and then nudge you with their snout as you fixed the crooked and burnt beams. He was the embodiment of smudged lipstick on teeth, water rings on coffee tables, and wrinkled parchment refusing to smooth out. These imperfections that people groused at but they were forever present, never to be ignored.
He was something so alive, eating Charlie up like kindling to a flame. And maybe he’d end up burnt, but then Draco could kiss the fresh pink skin left behind. He had a mean streak with a delicate hold, his arms and words like a cradle. Draco was the definition of nuance, someone Charlie wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted to meet before and yet he’d come to him. Found him in Romania when Charlie hadn’t even known he was waiting to be searched out."
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The death of his mother haunted Draco more than any memory of war. Running away from England hadn't been a hard decision. Neither was running into the arms of Charlie Weasley.
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Bookmark Notes:
Finished