Charlie Weasley sipped slowly at a glass of scotch, eyes half closed as he gazed around the gathered crowd. Yet another Weasley wedding had brought the growing family together, but it was likely the last--at least until the next generation grew up and started pairing off. Watching little Victoire work the room, he had no doubt that it would happen, and soon.
He thought about heading outside, to escape the crowd and the noise and the constant barrage of company and questions, but it was February, it was cold, and he was comfortable right where he was. Percy's strong-willed fiancée had insisted on a Valentine wedding, and she had got her wish, complete with a light dusting of snow on the ground providing perfect contrast to the deep red colors she had chosen for everything from the flowers to the table napkins. Unlike the other family weddings, this one was at the estate of Audrey Cogsworth and not in the backyard of the Burrow. Her family owned a large manor house in the country and had magically enlarged the ballroom to accommodate the hundred or so guests for what they felt was surely the wedding of the year.
Which was probably why at least half a dozen reporters were covering the celebration, no doubt invited by Audrey's haughty, self-important mother. They milled around, snapping tacky photographs and chatting with guests in whatever dark corner they could find. Most of the Weasleys seemed to be ignoring them; the Cogsworths appeared to be reveling in it. Charlie had wondered what Percy was getting himself into, marrying into such an arrogant and affluent family, but he seemed to enjoy it, and the rest of his family rolled their eyes, because that's just how Percy was. Charlie couldn't wait to leave the stuffy company of wizarding high society and head back to the uncomplicated routine of the Burrow, and from there back to the peace and quiet of Romania.
George suddenly appeared and threw himself into a chair, a half-empty glass of elf-wine in his hand. He sipped it with a grimace and eyed Charlie's drink. "Where did you get that? It's much more civilized."
"The witch at the bar is hiding it," Charlie said. "But I talked her out of some."
"Of course you did," said George, rolling his eyes. "You're still allowed to do that."
"Do what?" asked Charlie, half-listening. A dark-haired woman with heavy eyeliner was standing at the bar, then walked away with a scotch as well. She went to stand behind a nearby plant, watching the party with a thoughtful look on her face. In spite of how obvious she appeared, Charlie found something about her intriguing. She did not seem to be enjoying herself much, and in fact appeared somewhat lonely.
"Chat up the ladies, of course," replied George, bringing him back to the conversation. "You're the last, you know."
"Either you're talking in riddles, or I'm just getting old and need to have my hearing checked," Charlie laughed. "The last what again?"
"You're the last man standing, the last Weasley to get married--you're still free to browse." George wiggled his eyebrows and laughed, then reached out to claim a sip of his brother's scotch. "Ah, that's good."
Charlie pushed it toward him. "Take it. I'll get another."
"Oh, interested in the witch at the bar then?" asked George. He took the scotch without hesitation.
"No, not really," shrugged Charlie, shaking his head. He glanced back at the dark-haired woman with the scotch, who sighed as she sipped her drink. She was wearing a teal-colored dress of satin and lace that accentuated a beautiful figure.
"Someone else, then?" pressed George. "The barman, perhaps?"
Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Did mum put you up to this?"
"No, but she's grumbling again," George replied. "She wants more grandchildren. And she really wants to see you married--one way or the other."
Charlie gave him a crooked grin. "I don't play that side." He added silently to himself, At least, not all the time. Neither George nor his mother needed to know one thing about his personal private life and what a compound full of mostly men got up to in the wilds of Romania. Nor did they need to know his views on dating and marriage and, good Godric, grandchildren.
"Well, what's the problem, then?" asked George. The scotch was empty and seemed to have loosened his tongue more than usual. "Just not found the right girl, or not even looking?"
"I'm married to my work, Georgie," said Charlie. "You know that. I'm happy where I am."
George made a rude sound with his lips. "Fat lot of good a pride of dragons does you on a cold winter night. Come off it, what's wrong with settling down? It would get Mum off your back, you know."
"I'm not interested." Charlie turned and gave his brother a pointed look. "I seem to recall you saying the same thing, once."
George grinned ruefully. "The ceremony was a bloody nightmare, but being married isn't so bad." He paused and gave Charlie a furtive, but excited, look. "And I think being a father will probably be okay as well."
"Seriously? That's fantastic!" He clapped his brother on the back, happy and yet resigned at the same time. George was right: Molly Weasley would be thrilled to have another grandchild, but it probably wouldn't lessen her interest in another daughter-in-law one bit.
"Yeah, we haven't told anyone yet, though. The little Snitch is due this autumn." He grinned a bit stupidly, as new fathers were wont to do. Charlie could imagine Harry or Ron doing the same soon, as the family seemed to be expecting such an announcement from them as well, but he really couldn't picture himself feeling that same flush of pride. He simply had no desire to marry or procreate.
"Congratulations, brother," he said again. "I think that calls for a toast." He motioned at the empty glass, and George nodded as he gazed fondly at his wife, talking with the bride on the other side of the room. Charlie stood and headed back to the bar that had been set up in the corner of the ballroom. He once again noticed the dark-haired woman with the scotch standing nearby, her glass now empty. Instead of returning to George, he impulsively asked for two glasses of champagne and walked toward where she was still watching the party from the privacy of the large plant.
"Weddings not your thing either?" he asked, coming up beside her. He held out a glass of champagne, and she took it with a slighty embarrassed look.
"That obvious, then?" she asked.
"A bit." Charlie shrugged casually and smiled at her. "Of course, you're probably sick of writing about Weasley weddings by now."
She looked genuinely surprised. "How did you know--?" she started, and Charlie couldn't help but laugh at the look on her face.
"You're alone," he pointed out. "You're not one of Percy's guests, and it's unlikely you're one of the Cogsworth's guests, otherwise you'd be mingling more. You're studying the room from behind a plant, mentally taking notes, and I'm guessing you've a quill somewhere to write it all down later." He paused and couldn't help but smirk. "You're with the Daily Prophet, and you're bored."
She clicked her tongue and took a sip of champagne. "You're half right, Mr. Weasley--or can I just call you Charlie?"
He grinned at her own perceptive nature. "You can, yes, as long as you tell me your name first."
"Daphne Greengrass." She cocked her head at him, dark eyes sparkling. If her makeup was a tad overdone, it still brought out the green flecks in her eyes and the smooth contours of her cheekbones and lips. Charlie couldn't help but admire her beauty, and yet he suspected there was much more behind it just from their small exchange.
"You were only half-right, Charlie," she repeated, inclining her head toward the crowded dance floor. "I'm not with the Prophet, and I'm not alone. I came with someone, but he's chatting up some bloke from the Ministry." She took another sip of champagne and smiled at him. "However, I am studying the room, I do have a quill to write it down later for Witch Weekly, and I am desperately bored."
He mock-punched the air in victory. "I knew it!" He winked and she laughed. "Too bad you're with someone, I might have asked you to dance. Or at least given you a good quote for your piece. I'm an expert at this now."
Daphne straightened, a glittering look in her eye. "I'd take the dance if you asked," she said. "But I'd much prefer the quote."
Charlie sipped his glass of champagne, debating what to do next. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this woman yet, only that he wanted to know more about her. It was getting warm and crowded in the ballroom, and surely some privacy couldn't hurt. He set his glass down on a nearby table.
"Care to join me for a walk in the gardens?" he asked.
"As long as I get my quote," she replied. They headed toward the French doors at the back of the room and strolled out onto the lawn. The Cogsworths had placed a large marquee over the garden in the back, set with warming spells so the guests could enjoy a breath of fresh air under the stars. They walked the path slowly, admiring the snow-draped garden and making small talk about the wedding ceremony and grandiose reception.
"So are you really covering the wedding, or are you here with your absent date to enjoy all this?" Charlie finally asked, motioning around them. They came to a secluded bench set under an arbor covered with winter roses. Charlie motioned to Daphne and she accepted the invitation to sit. He joined her, their legs just barely touching on the cool stone, and he suddenly found it more difficult to concentrate on their conversation.
"Both," she replied. She shivered and rubbed her hands together, and Charlie had to stop himself from putting an arm around her shoulders. Instead, he set another warming spell over the arbor, then conjured her a simple blanket. She relaxed and smiled at him.
"Thank you," she said. "I am supposed to write something, but only as backup. And Andrew was coming, so I tagged along with him instead of lurking by myself. I didn't think he'd leave me so quick."
Charlie was intrigued: she sounded bitter and resigned about both her assignment and her date. "What do you mean, backup?" he asked, deciding to ignore the absent date.
Daphne sighed. "I'm not a staff writer yet. I'm actually just an assistant. I'm supposed to do all the research and legwork, and then someone else writes it up. Bit of a drag, really."
"You'd rather write yourself?" Charlie asked.
"I'd rather write, yes," she replied, looking into the distance. "But not this drivel."
Charlie burst out laughing, and she gave him a curious look. "Sorry, didn't realize I was just drivel to you," he said. Her hand flew to her mouth when she realized the implication behind her words, but she finally joined him in laughing.
"I'm sorry," she said, giving him an apologetic smile. "It's part of my job, chatting you up. Apparently I need a bit more practice."
Charlie moved closer, somehow sensing that she wouldn't pull away. "And are you now?" he asked.
"Am I what?" she replied, gazing up into his eyes with a sly smile. He grinned down at her.
"Still practicing?"
"Not sure anymore," she murmured, just before he leaned down to kiss her. He heard her intake of breath as their lips met, but she responded almost instantly, returning the kiss quickly and with unexpected passion. There was far more to Daphne Greengrass than a disgruntled reporter looking for a story.
She finally pulled away, eyes sparkling playfully. "Can I quote that?" she asked, and Charlie winked.
"No, that was off the record," he said.
"Well, since we're off the record," Daphne replied, and now she moved even closer, so their arms were touching as well, "tell me about yourself. I like to know my…subjects better."
Although he could think of many other ways to get to know one another better, Charlie found it unexpectedly easy to talk to her. She knew exactly the right questions to ask and how to put him at ease; she would make a great lead writer when she had the chance. He told her about his job in Romania, about his travels elsewhere, even a bit about his family. Yet every time he tried to turn the conversation toward her own life, she skillfully evaded his questions.
Finally, he threw up his hands and laughed. "Stop! You're relentless!" he exclaimed. "Is this for your story or for you?"
She smiled coyly, but he was sure there was something there now, and not just a writer working her subject. "A bit of both," she replied.
"Well, I'm not saying anything else until you tell me something about yourself," Charlie insisted. He crossed his arms over his chest, and she raised an eyebrow at his sudden stubborn turn. "I like to know my subjects better as well."
"Are you going to write me up, Mr. Weasley?" she asked teasingly. "I thought you worked with dragons."
"I do, and they are far easier to train than evasive reporters," he replied. He leaned closer, almost desperate to kiss her again. Something about her was so intriguing: a confidence tinged with resentment, as if there were a piece of her missing. He wanted to know what it was almost as much as he wanted to kiss her.
"I'm not being evasive," she whispered, but she turned her lips toward him and they came together once again, and this time Charlie groaned deep in his throat, because Merlin could she kiss a man. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close and ignored the tiny voice in his head telling him she was a reporter just fishing for a story. He could very well end up splashed across the front page of Witch Weekly and he didn't care. He wanted her, wanted her body and her story.
"You are evasive and difficult," he said softly when they pulled apart. He begin to nuzzle at her ear, her neck, while still speaking softly. "I've told you all about myself, and all I know about you is that you're an assistant at Witch Weekly. Tell me more."
She leaned into his kisses with a soft sigh. "You know me--or at least, my family. My father is Charleston Greengrass, owner of Obscurus Books and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamut. My mother is a former writer for the Daily Prophet. And my younger sister just married Draco Malfoy. You must have seen that in the papers." She said the last without hiding the bitter edge to her words. Charlie pulled up and gazed into her green eyes.
"You sound unhappy about that last," he pointed out, hoping he sounded sympathetic and not just curious.
"It's the Malfoys," she responded, rolling her eyes. "They should be in prison, not marrying into families far better than them."
Charlie nodded. "I agree with you there. The lot of them are gormless gits. But there's more." He briefly wondered if Daphne had been interested in Draco, but his instinct told him no. There was some reason he felt a connection to her, something beyond their playful banter, something they had in common…
"Your family wants you to get married now too," he guessed. "Have grandkids, live happily ever after, the end." Her eyes widened briefly, but she nodded with a cynical smile.
"Very good. Ever think about leaving your dragons for a career in investigative reporting?" she asked. Charlie laughed.
"Not at all. I only guessed right because I can relate. I was just talking with my brother about the same thing." He sat back, but at some point he had taken her hand and now he let his fingers trace lazy circles on her palm, enjoying feel of her soft skin. She glanced down at their intertwined hands, then sideways at him.
"You have no desire to get married someday either?" she asked, sounding curious. "Does your family bother you about it?"
"They bother me every time I come home!" Charlie laughed. "They're convinced I must be hiding someone in Romania, since they just don't understand how I could possibly be happy there, alone."
"And are you?" she asked. "Hiding someone?" He shook his head.
"No. I have my work. My dragons, my friends, my family. It's enough."
Daphne turned away and sighed. "At least you have all that."
In that moment he knew her, and for all they had in common, she was also so very different. She was alone: unhappy with her job, her coworkers, her family. He felt an inexplicable desire to protect her from that, to make her happy.
"What is it you want then?" he asked softly. "What are you really looking for?"
She stood abruptly and began to walk away. He hurried after her, determined to finish whatever it was that they had started. Reaching out for her, he pulled her to a stop, holding her hand tight; she didn’t resist. "Tell me."
"I want what you have--a job I love, not some dead-end lackey position. A family that cares about me." She swallowed as if trying not to cry. "And I want to travel. I want to see the world, and meet people, and then write about it." Waving her hand at the house behind them, she laughed bitterly. "I can't stand this stuff. I want to be free. That's what I want, Charlie Weasley."
He could tell she meant it. It was as if talking to him--someone who had had almost exactly what she wanted--had unleashed a flood of resentment and regret. And in some sense he understood that. At one point, he had been unhappy with his life as well. He had wondered if being away from home, from his family, had been the right thing for him. He had wondered if he was supposed to be a dragon tamer, roaming the wilds alone. But he had soon settled into life in Romania, relishing the open air, the dragons, his companions. He had found his calling and had eventually gained his family's support, even if they gave him a hard time about marriage. It was obvious Daphne had not found any of that yet. He wasn't sure he could help her, but he wanted to try.
"Ever been to Romania?" he asked casually, once more trailing his fingers across her hand. She looked at him in surprise.
"No, I haven't been anywhere," she said. "But I don’t think I'm cut out for dragon herding."
"You could write about it," he suggested. "It's rather fascinating, if I do say so myself."
She arched an eyebrow. "I'm not sure the readers of Witch Weekly would be interested in Hungarian Horntails."
"So write it for something else. Write it for the Prophet, or the Quibbler, or even for yourself." He took both her hands and looked down at her very seriously. "Look, I just met you, but I can tell you are special. And I can tell you need to get out there and find yourself before you lose that spark to the dull drudgery of tagging along with your gay best friend and writing up society weddings for the rest of your life."
She stared at him. "You're right: you did just meet me. How can you know so much about me?"
Charlie wrapped his arms around her waist and gazed into her eyes. "I don't know. My inner reporter, I suppose. But I like you, that much I know for sure." He kissed her for a third time, long and leisurely and wonderful, and she responded once more. He was about to take it further when there was a sound behind them--a loud cough that he immediately recognized with a silent groan.
"So that's why you never came back with my drink," drawled George behind them. Daphne raised a questioning eyebrow, but Charlie merely rolled his eyes in response before turning to his brother.
"Sorry, Georgie, but she's better company than you," he replied. George laughed even as he glanced around his brother, trying to get a glimpse of Daphne.
"Of course she is," he replied flippantly. "Must be nice to browse so freely, big brother. Now, why don't you two lovebirds come back in? Percy's about to smash some cake in Audrey's face."
"Really?" Charlie asked, somehow doubting the scene.
"Of course not," George tossed over his shoulder as he walked away. "I'm sure it will be completely chaste and boring, which is why I've rigged a little surprise. You won't want to miss it." He left them in the garden, laughing to himself as he hurried back to the ballroom.
"A surprise?" asked Daphne curiously.
"You'd have to know George to understand," Charlie replied. "Come on, he's right. We won't want to miss it." He took her hand, squeezed tight, and started back toward the house as well. "Plus, you've got some quotes now so maybe I can get my dance."
Daphne laughed. "I'd like that. Are you much of a dancer?"
"I train dragons." Charlie winked at her. "Of course I can dance."
He pulled her to a stop just outside the ballroom. "Can I see you again, after tonight?" he asked. Inside, the guests had gathered around the bride and groom, posing for pictures in front of a three-tier chocolate cake.
"I thought you were going back to Romania?" she said.
"Not for another week," Charlie replied. "And I meant what I said: come to Romania. I'd be happy to show you around. It would be a perfect jumping off point to see the rest of Europe."
She nodded slowly, a sly smile spreading across her face. "I think I'd like that. You just better make sure it's worth my time."
"I'll give you the story of the year!" Charlie laughed as he pushed open the doors to the ballroom.
"You already have," Daphne murmured. "Thank you."
He didn't stop to think what she meant, for at that moment, the top of the cake exploded in a riotous blast of color, confetti flying everywhere and covering the startled guests. Percy looked furious as he brushed the glitter and sparkle from his new wife, but to Charlie's surprise, Audrey was actually laughing. And then she smashed a piece of cake all over Percy's face, and the guests burst into laughter and applause.
Charlie danced with Daphne the rest of the night, and when they said good night, he kissed her one last time, relishing in the sudden, unexpected rush of a new relationship. As he watched her leave, he had little doubt that he would see her again. He looked forward to meeting her in Romania. And he wondered if he had at last found his match, someone who might just make him reconsider everything he had thought about love and marriage.
When his face was splashed across the front page of Witch Weekly the following week with the headline of 'Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor', he realized his mistake too late. He set out for Romania, alone but with no regrets, a renewed sense of independence strengthening his decision to remain unattached. His family might be disappointed in him, but he knew that the solitary life of a dragon trainer was the life he was meant to live.
And if, by some chance, she were to come to Romania, then he would simply treat her as another one of his dragons to be tamed. All in a day's work for the last man standing.
* * *
Last Man Standing by Gmariam
Chapter Endnotes: Not much to say about this one, really. Thank you to Carole for finding some dumb mistakes. ;) Hopefully that's it, at least until the next time I mention FALL. And hope you liked it. Poor Charlie. :(