Harry Potter and all its indicia are © JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. I own none of the copyright, and this fanfiction makes no money.

Pairings: Harry/Charlie, Harry/Ginny (references)
Rating: R for language and non-explicit descriptions of m/m sex
Warnings: Ambiguous ending, infidelity, slash
A/N: This is a companion piece to my Harry/Draco story, Phoenix Tears, and it depicts the relationship between Harry and Charlie which is referenced to in that story. It is not necessary to read this story to understand Phoenix Tears, as this story tells in greater detail some of the flashbacks of Harry/Charlie which take place in that story rather than cover new material. It can also be read as a Harry/Charlie oneshot on its own, although if you do so please be aware that this is a companion story to a Drarry fic, so no happy ending for Charlie.

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Phoenix Tears- Charlie's Tale

I know what you think of me. Sick. Perverted. Selfish. You think I'm nothing but an older man who should have known better than to prey on an emotionally-vulnerable, confused eighteen-year-old. You think I'm the black sheep of the Weasley family, and I let my dick take priority over loyalty to my sister, don't you. But it wasn't like that, you know. You've only heard Harry's side of the story so far. Perhaps now, you'd like to hear mine too. Because I'm really not a monster. I am just a normal bloke, who fell head-over-heels in love with completely the wrong person.

The first time I noticed Harry Potter- noticed him in a way other than my little brother's skinny best mate, I mean- was at Bill and Fleur's wedding. He was wearing dress robes that showed him off perfectly, clinging to his frame, which had filled out nicely since the last time I'd seen him, three summers previously. It made me feel uncomfortable at the time; I was twenty-four, he was barely seventeen. Practically paedophilic on my part. And, of course, there was the added complication that he was arse-over-tit in love with my little sister. Or so I thought then, anyway. Still, my wandering eye roved when I was certain no one was looking- I'm only human, after all- and strayed far too often to his arse than was perhaps decent. Did I fancy him then? No, not really. But he was definitely easy on the eye. Either that, or it had been far too long since I'd last had a shag. Still, after the wedding I returned to Romania, to my life and my dragons. I dated a man called Alexandru for a few months. Nothing too serious but we had a good time together, the sex was brilliant, and I all but forgot about Harry. In a romantic sense, anyway.

The next time I saw him was nine months later at Hogwarts, he was squaring off against Voldemort- yes, I can say his name now, even if Ron still can't, that's just one of the many things Harry taught me- in the Great Hall, and I just remember being in total awe of his nerve and courage. I think only Dumbledore himself would have been able to face him like Harry did. Harry's eyes blazed with determination, and I knew then as much as I knew anything at all that Voldemort was doomed. Then, with a final 'Expelliarmus!' old Mouldy Voldy fell. Was it sexual attraction I felt towards Harry then? No, of course not. Come on, I'd been fighting all night, and my brother had just been killed. But I know that, even then, I felt a pull towards Harry, and that I'd just witnessed something incredibly special.

When I asked him to come back to Romania with me for the summer, I promise it wasn't some part of my Grand Evil Plan to seduce Harry. You don't know what it was like for him straight after the War- Harry was hounded, by Press and fans alike, anytime he went anywhere that wasn't specifically warded against them. He wasn't even left alone in the Muggle world. Harry was grieving too- he'd lost more people by the time he was eighteen than most people do in a lifetime- and my offer was a genuine one of friendship, purely platonic in nature. Of course I was aware of my growing attraction to him- I'm not an idiot, despite what you may think of me- but he'd just started going out with my sister again, and I wasn't about to fuck things up for them. Besides, I could see that Harry really just needed to get away from everything for a while. Yes, I flirted a bit with him- I'm only human, after all- but I thought it was harmless. I certainly never thought Harry would flirt back. But he did, you know. Oh yes. I'm not even sure he knew he was doing it; you know what Harry's like. And I'm quite certain that the amount of time he spent staring at my chest when we were out with the dragons was not just his attempt to look closely at the Chinese Fireball I have tattooed above my heart.

My relationship with Alexandru had fizzled out around March, and I was a normal, healthy, red-blooded man. By the time mid-July rolled around, I think I was sporting a permanent erection; I'd have had to be blind not to have noticed Harry's fine form. Until you've seen the object of your wank fantasies stripped half-naked, drenched in sweat, and panting hard all the time, while wielding power of the likes you've never seen before, you cannot possibly know how hard it was for me to resist him. Because I had to admit to myself now that my feelings definitely went past platonic. It was still only superficial attraction though; I mean, I liked Harry as a person very much, certainly, but it was a physical thing still at this point. I had it under control.

I never intended to do anything about it, right up until Harry's birthday. Let me guess- Harry doesn't know who kissed who first; he just suddenly found himself pressed against me. Am I right? Why am I not surprised. Well, let's set the record straight on that, shall we? He kissed me. No ambiguity at all. I'd be lying if the thought to kiss him hadn't entered my mind, but- despite receiving some very mixed signals from Harry- I was still sure he was committed to Ginny at this point. That thought flew out of the window the second Harry's lips pressed to mine, all firm, and determined, and warm. OK, so we'd both been drinking, but there's no way either of us had drunk enough so we didn't know what we were doing. We can't blame this on Firewhisky.

It wasn't the best kiss of my life. Don't think that our lips met, and there was a bunch of cliché crap about fireworks, and flowing rivers, and how the whole world suddenly felt right. Please remember that I was kissing a slightly pissed, inexperienced man who'd barely reached his majority, and obviously didn't really know what he was doing. But what Harry lacked for in skill, he made up for in enthusiasm, and it was a kiss full of passion, a release of weeks of tension between us. I groaned as I started to get hard, and felt the unmistakable hardness of Harry's own erection pressed firmly against me. Honestly, I could have snapped and rutted against him until we were both coming in our pants like adolescents, and I have no doubt he'd have let me too, but I held back. And it wasn't long before Harry broke the kiss and looked into my eyes. Sure, there was definite arousal in his own eyes, but there was something else too: fear. He turned around and bolted for the door. Seconds later, I followed. Not an easy thing to do either, when you have a rock-hard erection.

I expect you know how fast Harry can run. Well, I'm no sloth either, but I struggled to keep up with him as he tore through the forest. But eventually I did. I remember sprouting some bollocks I'm quite sure Harry didn't believe for a second about how it was only a kiss, and that we were both pissed, but it calmed him enough to return to the house with me.

For two weeks things were somewhat strained between us; we were awkward, and a bit formal with one another, and Harry couldn't quite meet my eye. Every time he did, a most gorgeous blush spread onto his cheeks, and it would turn my mouth dry. I wanted nothing more than to throw him down on the nearest surface and kiss him until he couldn't remember his own name. But I respected his wishes; I could see the internal war he was having with himself over his sexuality, and the last thing I wanted was to get involved with someone who was just experimenting. So when Harry announced he was going back to England for a few days to see Ginny for her birthday, it was a small relief. I didn't go with him: I had to stay and work- or so I told him anyway. The truth was, I just couldn't face being around Harry and my little sister being all lovey-dovey together. So I waved him off with my blessing, thinking that the break would do us both some good. I didn't realise quite how much I would miss him, how much I'd got used to having him around. I pined, damn it! Like some pathetic puppy waiting for its master to return home. And I was also worried that Harry would decide to stay in the UK until his Auror training started in September, and that I missed my chance.

I hope you're starting to see where I'm going with this now. There were real, genuine feelings involved here. I bet you thought we shagged straight away, didn't you? Do you know nothing about Harry? For someone who managed to cheat on his girlfriend, then base an entire marriage on a lie, he's pathetically noble, you know. But Harry obviously figured a bunch of stuff out those few days back in Blighty, because within seconds of me opening the door and stepping outside when I heard the crack of Apparition, his lips was pressed firmly against mine, his fingers threaded tightly in my hair, and he was gasping into my mouth as our tongues joined.

This was the best kiss of my life.

"Missed me, then?" I managed to say around Harry's tongue. He simply chuckled and ground his hips into mine, showing me with his body just how much he'd missed me. And who was I to turn him down? One of the good things about living in the Romanian forest near a dragon enclosure is that there are no other people around. Well, unless you count the group of lads I work with, but they were all at work at that moment. We were alone. And both extremely turned on. So if I pushed him against the wall of the house and all but humped him until we were both coming into our trousers like a pair of fifteen-year-olds- well, the old Muggle proverb is right. Absence definitely makes the heart grow fonder. And the cock grow harder, apparently.

When Harry confessed me that he and Ginny had never gone beyond kissing, I felt elated. I won't lie. Knowing that I was the first person to make him come? What a rush. I knew then, that whatever he and Ginny got up to in the future, I would always be the first person who touched him and made him fall apart.

Oh, and didn't I touch him, after that initial frottage session up against the wall!

We had progressed from rubbing off against each other to hand jobs by the end of the week. I gave him his first ever blowjob at the end of August. He lasted forty-two seconds, and couldn't have looked more embarrassed about it. But show me a bloke that says he lasted longer than a minute or so when being sucked off for the first time, and I'll show you a liar. He didn't know that I'd come around the same time as him… and I was twenty-five, and touching my own cock, for Merlin's sake. Talk about your lack of control! Did I feel guilty? Of course. Some part of me knew that what we were doing was wrong, that Harry didn't have a fucking clue what he actually wanted, and that someone was irrevocably going to get hurt by our affair but by then I was way too far involved.

It was Harry's final night in Băneasa when we made love for the first time. And that's what it was: love. If our first orgasm together was simply horny, desperate, have-to-come-right-now fucking, then this was the one-eighty opposite. I took Harry's virginity in love. We even had candles! I'd never bottomed before. Harry doesn't know that. Before, sex was always about getting off, having a quick orgasm to relieve the tension. Having another man's cock up my arse just didn't appeal in the same way as fucking someone did. I'd never trusted another lover enough to bottom for him before. But… for a first time- our first time- it just seemed the most natural thing in the world to let Harry be my first. So, in a way, we took each other's virginities. And you know what? It was perfect. OK, so it hurt, and was awkward, and at one point the lube made a really awful squelching noise that left us both red-faced and embarrassed, and all those other completely imperfect things that first-time sex usually contains- but being with Harry in that way felt more right than anything had ever. I stared into his green, lust-filled eyes that weren't completely focusing properly, and I was gone, coming so powerfully I performed wandless magic and exploded a pillow. Harry came soon afterwards, a deep groan followed by breathless panting, as he collapsed onto me. He made some comment about how he was glad I was his first, and I replied by saying I didn't think Ginny would agree. I immediately wished I could snatch the words back, because Harry looked pained for a second, in a moment that should have just been wonderful. And then he said it. I love you. I kissed him- deeply, and for a long time, which made us both aroused again. I can't ever remember getting an erection so soon after sex before. He was still inside me and I could feel him getting hard again as we kissed, and before I knew it we were both fucking again, bringing our bodies to orgasm for a second time. It took a while before I had my breath back enough to look into those eyes I adored so much and say, "I love you too."

The following morning I begged him to stay with me. I repeated the words of love. But Harry refused. He couldn't meet my eye when he told me he had to go back, and I knew he didn't just mean to England. He was going back to Ginny, back to lying, and pretending. Despite everything we had shared in the last two months, the fact we loved each other, he was going to stay with her. I'm not sure what I felt. Fury, hurt, confusion, certainly, but also betrayal. Mixed in with that was the knowledge I had no right to feel that way; that the betrayal was not mine to feel. This would be how Ginny felt, if she ever found out about us. I'd gone and done what I said I wouldn't ever do: I'd fallen for a confused eighteen-year-old who didn't know what he wanted, and it was all going to get extremely messy. I just slammed the door shut on Harry and waited until I heard him Disapparate before I let myself punch the wall. Yeah yeah, I know. Completely my own fault. Don't worry; I am far from under the impression I'm some sort of innocent in all this.

So, Harry returned to England, back to Ginny, and for the next couple of months I tried to get on with my life. He sent owls asking when he could come and visit, or asking me to come to The Burrow, but I ignored them. But I couldn't run forever, and Christmas came far too quickly for my liking. I've stayed away at Christmas before, but not this year, not the first we all had without Fred. I couldn't do that to my parents. No- there were no more excuses. I had to return to England. I returned on Christmas Eve.

Everyone was delighted to see me, of course. Ginny hugged me tightly, and I forced my arms around her guiltily in return. Over her shoulder I spotted Harry, standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, abominable hair exactly as I remember it looking after I'd run my fingers through it, staring at us intensely. I lost my words. I'd managed to convince myself that what I felt for him was just lust, and that it was over.

I was so wrong.

We made it until after dinner that night before we were kissing in the kitchen, foamy hands from the washing up we were supposed to be doing soaking each other's shirts, while the rest of my family sat in the living room, singing carols and swapping bittersweet stories of Christmases past. I suddenly realised what I was doing, and roughly pushed him away. Harry's mouth was red and swollen, I'm sure mine must have looked the same, and if anyone had walked in at that moment it would have been immediately obvious what we'd been doing.

"I can't," I stammered, then I charged out of the kitchen, leaving Harry alone. We didn't speak again after that for two days.

It was a difficult Christmas that year, and don't you think for a second I don't know it was all my fault. Well, half my fault. I'd never be so magnanimous to take the blame for Harry's fuckwittage.

"We've slept together." Harry's confession came on Boxing Day, just after breakfast. My hand faltered on the glass of milk I was holding.

"Are you looking for congratulations? A certificate of achievement?" I replied icily. Harry shook his head. He looked exhausted.

"It's… it's not the same," he said. "As it was with you. I miss you, Charlie."

"You chose her." I literally spat the words out, and Harry winced slightly, wiping my spittle from his cheek. "You fucking left me."

"I love you." Harry bit his lip after these words, as if he was admitting something horrible.

"Harry, you don't know what you want," I said.

"I know I'm… you know," he said.

"What? Gay?" He winced at the words as if I'd slapped him, but he nodded.

I knew then. Harry wasn't running from me. He was running from himself. And until he admitted to himself who he was, nothing was ever going to change. He was just going to cruise along, burying his head in the sand, pretending everything was fine.

"You can't even say it aloud, can you? My sister doesn't deserve you," I said to him. Harry glared at me.

"Like you have any right to take the moral high ground here, you sanctimonious prick."

"I don't want to be someone's bit on the side," I said. "A dirty little secret."

"Just… give me time," Harry said, reaching out to stroke a finger across my cheek. Yes, I'll admit it. I trembled at his touch. "I'll sort it out. And- and maybe we can be together- just us."

I knew he was lying. He knew he was lying. And, for the first time since this whole mess began, I lied to myself, told myself that Harry would one day be mine, even though I knew that would never be the case. But I was in too deep by now, as you already know. I couldn't give him up. I would take whatever I could, because until he put a ring on my little sister's finger, there was always that chance, that little glimmer of hope, that one day Harry and I could be together.

I made love to him for the first time that night. We snuck out of The Burrow after everyone else was asleep and went to Grimmauld Place, which Harry had been renovating for him and Ginny to live in once she's finished her final year at Hogwarts. No, I'm not going to give you all the details about how it felt to top Harry Potter- that's Harry's story to tell, after all- except to say that I had this overwhelming need to claim Harry as my own, to be with him in a way that my sister wouldn't. Because even if she and Harry spent a lifetime together, she would never know how it felt to be inside him, to claim him, to see him writhing on the cusp of both pleasure and pain, as she thrust into his body. No- this was something only we would ever share. I wanted- no, needed- to have a part of him that she never, ever could. I shuddered as I came, trembling as I said the word, "Mine."

We cleaned up quickly afterwards, and I vowed to myself it wouldn't happen again. That was the second lie I told myself that night.

And so the Great Love Affair of Harry Potter and Charlie Weasley began. He would visit me in Romania about once every couple of months, and I came home much more frequently, much to my mum's delight. We didn't just have sex; we did 'couple' things too, like go out for dinner, or cuddle on the sofa, simply content in each other's company. When we were together it was so wonderful that it was far too easy to pretend Harry didn't have this other life that I would never be a part of, and I stopped asking when he was going to leave Ginny. I just accepted the situation as it was, because having a piece of Harry was better than having none of him at all. Months slipped by into a couple of years, and I managed to convince myself we were happy.

Then I got 'that' owl. The one from Ginny, full of gushing shit about how Harry had asked her to marry him, and she had accepted, along with a nice, thick wedding invitation with gold embossed lettering. At first I just read and re-read the letter in utter blank shock, completely disbelieving what I was reading. It took perhaps half an hour for the words to sink in, before I felt any emotion at all. And when I finally did feel something… well, my world collapsed. I admit now that the tears came- I sobbed my heart out as I tore the invitation to pieces then Vanished the entire lot with a flick of my wand. Then I grabbed a bottle of Firewhisky from the kitchen and drank the whole thing. I always knew that Harry would ask her one day, but the longer we kept up our affair, the easier it was to convince myself it wasn't ever going to happen.

Harry found me, passed out on the sofa, three hours later. He had come to tell me about the engagement himself in person, can you believe it? Like that would somehow make it all better, or soften the blow. He'd had no idea Ginny had sent the owl. We rowed that night, after I'd sobered up.

"It's best if we end this now," he said. "It's not as if we can continue after Ginny and I are married."

"Why?" I asked. Harry turned scarlet.

"I'm marrying her because I want to have a family more than I want anything- or anyone- else in this world," he said acidly. "I'm not going to ruin that just for a fuck."

The words hurt, more that I was prepared to admit to be honest. Oh, don't worry. I'm not expecting you to feel sorry for me.

"We are more than that." I croaked the words out, willing Harry to agree.

"We can't be. Not anymore. I'm so sorry, Charlie." Harry took my hand in his. "You know the life I've chosen. I can't carry on anymore."

He left then, and took a huge chunk of my heart with him. I didn't hear from him for about three months. I guess this is what happens if you mess around with your sister's boyfriend. Don't shit where you eat, and all that. But that is not where my story ends. Oh no. Despite his certainty that we were over, we were 'together' a handful of times more after our little 'talk'. Moments of weakness, Harry called each of them, and told me after each one that it would not happen again. More lies. I even sucked him off in the toilets of the pub in which we held his stag do, his friends and my brothers' laughter ringing into the cubicle from the bar just the other side of the door. But I could feel that, during each of these encounters, Harry had emotionally detached from me. I was desperately trying to hold onto what I'd already lost. I was just too idiotic to see it at the time.

I tried one more time to convince him to leave Ginny, Merlin, even leave England, and come and live in Romania with me. But he refused.

"We're over. Completely," Harry said, two days before the Wedding of the Century (as the Daily Prophet bastards were calling it) and there was just something about the tone of his voice, the way he held himself this time, that told me this was definite. I was never going to kiss those lips again, never hold that firm, Auror-toned body against my own. I was never again going to stare into his green, lust-blown eyes as he came. I swallowed hard.

"You really mean it this time, don't you?" I said, although it wasn't really a question. I heard my own voice and it sounded eerily calm. Looking back now, it must have been disbelief. I all but collapsed into a chair as the realisation of what I was losing- already lost- sunk in. "You're actually fucking doing it this time."

We yelled at each other again then. I told him that the whole wedding was a sham, and I think I even called Harry a coward. A word I'd never expect anyone to use when describing him, but that was what he was being. And you know what? So was I. I could have stopped the wedding in a heartbeat- one word from me and Ginny would have called the whole thing off. But I didn't. I told myself that I didn't want to upset her, but that's hardly true is it? Given I'd been fucking her fiancé since he was eighteen? Ginny still thought Harry had lost his virginity to her, for Merlin's sake! No, the reason I didn't say anything was because I was too scared of losing my family. I'd already lost Harry. I couldn't lose them all too.

"Just go, please," Harry whispered, and I walked out of the Silenced bedroom of my parents' house. Never have I been more grateful for the woods surrounding The Burrow, which absorbed my screams of fury perfectly nicely. I somehow returned to the house, and must have drawn on acting skills worthy of winning an award to get through that fucking wedding without raising suspicion, but I did. To everyone, even Ron and Hermione, Harry looked like he didn't have a care in the world. But only I knew that those eyes were void, that the smile was slightly forced. My stomach roiled as the official told Harry that he may kiss his bride, and I was forced to watch as he kissed Ginny as if his life depended on it.

I watched them take to the floor for their first dance, watched as Harry held Ginny close against him and whisper something in her ear, which made her giggle, then he waltzed her around the dance floor to some Muggle song that Harry chose.

And then she asks me, "Do you feel all right?"
And I say, "Yes, I feel wonderful tonight."

I feel wonderful because I see
The love light in your eyes.
And the wonder of it all
Is that you just don't realise how much I love you.

What an utter steaming pile of dragon crap.

Ironic, isn't it, that the first time I was attracted to him was at a wedding, and now here I was, at his own and fighting back tears. Some people would call that karma. I expect you would, too.

My Portkey left for Romania at six the following morning. One hook behind the navel and I was hundreds of miles away from Harry, and my sister. I'd royally fucked everything up, and there was no one to blame but myself.

I still don't know how none of my family suspected anything. Harry and I hadn't hid the fact we were friends, after all. I guess Harry played his part of the doting husband impeccably. No one would ever have guessed that their Golden Boy was a flaming shirt-lifter who loved to take it up the arse now, would they?!

And that should be the end of my little tale. Except it's not. Because Harry and Ginny didn't live Happily Ever After, whilst I, in the role of Evil Wizard was banished from their kingdom, did they? When I first received the owl telling me Ginny was pregnant I saw red, and I think every single item of glassware in the house was obliterated so badly even Reparo couldn't fix anything. Here was I, life in tatters, while Harry seemed to have everything he'd ever wanted. How perfect for him. Then, when another owl came just a few weeks later telling me what had happened, that they had lost the baby… How was I supposed to go to the funeral, and comfort both Harry and my sister, knowing what I had done? I got a Howler from my mum for not turning up, but I just couldn't do it.

And so I accepted my role as the outcast, the one destined for a life on his own. I had even begun to make peace with all of that. Until this morning. You see, Mum sent me an owl telling that Harry and Ginny have split up. Harry had dropped the bombshell that he's gay- can you believe it? He finally got up the courage to be true to himself, to stop living a lie. And I'm not quite sure I'm entirely ready to give up on him.

So I apologise if the ending to this tale seems somewhat abrupt. You can see yourself out, can't you? Because you see this old pocket watch? It's a Portkey, and it leaves in thirty seconds. It's taking me home. Back to The Burrow, back to England, back to Harry.

Because I have to give this one last shot. I've never got over him, and I have to at least try, don't I? Think what you want about me, hate me if you must, but I'm a Gryffindor to the core, and I'm going to fight harder this time for the man I love.

Song lyrics are from the song "Wonderful Tonight" By Eric Clapton