Scratching the Surface by Luvscharlie

Warnings: Explicit Sex

A/N: Originally written for the 2010 charlieficathon on Live Journal.

There were days Charlie wondered why he ever bothered to roll out of bed. The war was over, the Romanian Dragon Reserve was pretty much back in order… you know, as much order as there typically was, which wasn't a hell of a lot on the best of days. All that taken into consideration, you'd think that things were better, right? Well, you weren't the one face down on a stretcher with your naked bum exposed for the entire world to see as you were being whisked down the corridors of St. Mungo's. Nope, that would be Charlie Weasley. And wasn't he just the lucky one? Charlie, though not a fan of sarcasm, had recently decided that sarcasm must be a fan of him… after all it invaded his brain and his life so often lately.

"Coming through. Out of our way. Burn victim here!" Charlie heard them say as he was jostled along at a brisk pace.

He couldn't see any of the people around him, but their voices were far from encouraging. The gurney had a space cut out for his face, so that all he could see were the faint shadows of feet and the floor as he was pushed along.

"So what are we going to do with this one?" he heard a male voice say.

"Damn, another dragon keeper!" said another.

"What's wrong with dragon keepers?" said yet another voice from somewhere around Charlie.

"You must be new here. Worst patients ever. They whine, they bitch, all tough guys until a needle comes out and then it's whine, whine, whine. The last one saw a tiny little needle and bolted for the door rupturing all his sutures and…"

Charlie cleared his throat loudly. "I burned my arse. My ears are still in perfect working order, just in case you all happened to forget."

The chatter around him subsided, and Charlie assumed they were all a bit red-faced at the way they'd talked about dragon keepers in his presence. Of course, he would have been wrong, or so it seemed, because a few minutes later the chatter resumed as though he wasn't there.

"So who drew the short straw and got assigned to this one?" said a deep male voice.

"Woo hoo," Charlie said, with a wave of his hand. "Still hearing you." He was ignored and would have glared so they could see him, but that would have required him to roll over and his throbbing bum kept him from acting upon that idea. He wondered if it was still smoking, hoping maybe it could set off a smoke detecting charm somewhere and divert the attention from his arse.

He tried to tune them out, even humming to himself, so as to ignore them.

"Give it to the new girl."

Now he wasn't even a he, he was an it. Keep on humming. Just ignore them. Get your bum all bandaged and then you can part company with this bunch of word-he-does-his-best-not-to-say 'cause Madame Helga makes him put his hard earned Knuts in the swear jar if she hears him back on the Reserve—so he thought it instead—fuckers, the lot of them.

"Here we go," someone said as his stretcher was pushed into an examining room. "It's all yours, Bulstrode," said one of the earlier (yet still just as annoying) male voices.

"Oi," Charlie exclaimed from his face down position on the gurney. "I'm not an 'it'," he called to the rapidly retreating shoes. They weren't even good shoes at that. "I'm a—"

He was cut off by a female voice, who finished his sentence. "…an obese white male with—" There was the distinct scratch of a quill as she spoke.

"WHOA! Hold it right there, whoever the fuck you are. I am not obese. There's not an ounce of fat on me. Have you never heard of stocky? Stocky does not mean fat!"

Bulstrode snorted. "I am your healer, Millicent Bulstrode—or your healer trainee if you want to be technical. Now, if you'll let me finish my notes- you're a five foot eight inch male—"

"Five foot nine and a half," Charlie retorted.

"Fourteen stone…"

"Thirteen, and not a stone more!"

"In your dreams, short and pudgy."

No one had ever dared to cast aspersions upon Charlie Weasley's physical attributes. He was speechless… but only for a moment. He couldn't let that comment go unchecked. "Well—well, muscle weighs more than fat!"

"Oh, like I haven't heard that a half dozen times already today. Everybody has an excuse. I've used that one a few times myself."

"I am not fat!" Charlie exclaimed flexing a finely toned bicep. "And I'll have you know women find me extremely attractive."

Again with the scratching of the quill. "Note to self: check for brain injury. Patient clearly suffers from delusions. Or these 'women' are in dire need of a pair of spectacles."

"Oi!" Charlie exclaimed. This bird was the most annoying creature, including the dragon he'd just had a tangle with, that he'd ever come across.

"And has an affection for vowel sounds because he keeps saying 'oi'. Perhaps the patient suffers from a speech impediment as well as a scorched behind. By the way, how did you manage to set your tail on fire?" Millicent asked with a hearty laugh.

Charlie was furious; she wasn't even attempting to hide her amusement at his misfortune. He attempted to roll over and meet her eyes and shrieked in pain.

"Patient squeals like an eight year old girl."

"O—I mean, hey, that hurt, you twisted witch."

"Has low pain tolerance," Millicent continued, as the quill scratched its way across what Charlie assumed was a medical chart.

"I'll have you know, madam, that I do not have a low pain tolerance. A rumour like that getting out about a dragon keeper would ruin his reputation."

"Oh, great!" Millicent said with a sigh. "Another dragon keeper. I should have known; they never give me any of the good cases. Well, I guess that explains the charring on your bum. We former Slytherins—doesn't matter how freaking good we are at our jobs—always get the problem patients. And you dragon keepers are nothing but a lot of overgrown babies."

And that was it. She had crossed over every line Charlie had ever thought about drawing.

"Let me just tell you something—you, you, you—what was your name again?"

"Suffers from memory deficit." That annoying scratch of the quill began again.

"I do not!"

"Do too. Has denial issues as well. My name is Healer Trainee Millicent Bulstrode… as I said before.

The obnoxious scratching noise began again as Millicent made notes in his chart. Charlie wanted to break that quill into a million little pieces.

"Jesus, you like titles as much as my brother, Percy. Could you make your name any longer?"

"First of all, I remember your stick-up-his-arse brother, so I know that for the insult it is. Besides, it's 'Millie' to my friends, of which you are not."

Charlie grumbled to himself. "Bet you don't hear 'Millie' often if only your friends get to say it."

"Um-hm, sticks and stones and all that rot. And really, it's not terribly smart to piss off the girl with the needle."

"YOOOOWWWW!" Charlie felt a sharp jab of pain in his right buttock. "Has anyone told you that you're terrible at your job?"

Millicent gave a snort. "It's a bit ironic, don't you agree, that you'd have something to say about how someone performs their job. I'm not the dragon tamer who looks like his behind was the planned main course for an all you can eat dragon barbeque."

"Well— I mean—Fuck." Charlie couldn't think of a retort. She had him there. So he grasped on to the only reply he could find. "Any idiot knows you can't tame dragons. I am not a dragon tamer—"

"—well not a very good one anyway," Millie interrupted.

"URGH, YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE!"

"Oh, how that wounds me," Millie deadpanned.

"I demand another healer!" Charlie shouted. "Someone with a bit better bedside manner would be nice, not that it would take much to have a better bedside manner than yours."

"You want another healer? Not a problem." Millie walked around his stretcher and for the first time Charlie caught a glimpse of her calves. They were full and sturdy with a nice shape, and she wore sensible shoes. He never understood women who wanted to wear those spiky little heels if they were on their feet all day—it was just like begging for medical problems with your legs and feet later. He raised his head enough to get a good view of the back of her as Millie called down the hall for someone named Angela, and he liked what he saw. She was a hefty girl, buxom with long brown hair and round hips.

Charlie had never been attracted to stick thin women with flat chests and nothing to hang onto. Frankly, his brother's "beautiful" veela wife wasn't even remotely attractive to him.

He tore himself away from his thought when a very pretty young girl entered the room. "Angela," Millie said gruffly, "Charcoal Behind here would like a new healer." It was Charlie's first glimpse of Millicent's face. She was plain, but in a way that Charlie thought was rather pretty. Her eyes were a lovely chocolate brown, almost the exact shade of her hair, and her fair skin was unblemished and creamy. If someone sealed her mouth closed, so she couldn't speak, Charlie thought he might have even asked her out.

"Oh," the girl named Amelia, Amy—oh he was never very good with names—the girl who wasn't Millie's voice was little more than a whisper. "Um, okay, I guess."

Millie handed over Charlie's chart and turned for the door. "Oh, by the way, Angela," she said looking back into the room. "Your last patient, Mr. Thompson, how is he doing today?"

Charlie was astonished to see the young girl's eyes well up. "Oh dear," she sobbed. "He—he—he didn't make it."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Millie said, not sounding remotely sorry, Charlie thought. "That's like three in a row for you this week, isn't it? What a run of bad luck with patients you're having. Tsk-tsk. Well, good luck with this one, he's a right pain in the—well, you know, the place the dragon seemed fond enough of to want for dinner."

"Wait! Wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," Charlie exclaimed as Millicent turned on her sensible heel and walked out of the room, leaving him alone with Angela the Patient Killer.

… and that was Charlie's first meeting with Millicent Bulstrode, who was to become a far bigger pain in his bum than those burns ever were.

Several months later, life on the Reserve was back to normal, as was Charlie's behind despite the failings of his healer. That whole ordeal was a nightmare he preferred not to think about… until it was tumbled directly into his path, quite literally.

The day was crisp, winter was coming fast to Romania, and the dragons were in a state of lethargy. Pre-hibernation was always a slow time at the Reserve. The dragons spent their time filling their bellies to sustain them throughout the long winter's sleep. The dragon keepers were prone to get a little thick around the middle in the winter months as well—though all that was gone by the end of the spring. Dragon keeping was hard work, and the keepers stayed in shape, regardless of what some people thought, and why that one healer's words about his physique bothered him so, Charlie wasn't sure. He'd always been in top shape. Short, stocky and muscular. Perhaps he was more vain than he realised.

Charlie was just heading down to the mess hall for dinner when he ran smack into someone carrying far too many boxes to see where they were going.

Boxes tumbled this way and that, and the girl went sprawling in a heap. She fought her way up, brushing off any attempts Charlie made to assist her. When recognition dawned, Charlie gaped.

"Close your mouth or a bug is going to fly in it."

"You! What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Millie simply smirked. "Besides being knocked over by an idiot who doesn't watch where he's going, you mean? I'm the Reserve's new healer. It's your lucky day, huh? Shame to see you up and around. I was sure Angela would do you in like the rest of them."

Charlie scoffed. "Dragon keepers are tougher than you give us credit for."

"We'll see about that, I guess. I've been banished out here to no man's land to tend them."

"Guess this wasn't your job of choice then?" Charlie asked.

Millicent looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. "No one with half a brain would choose to live in the wilderness with fire-breathing monsters all around."

"Is that so?" Charlie said with a snarl. "Are you always such a ray of sunshine? I was going to offer to help you with your boxes, but you know, I think you can handle those all on your own. Besides, I'm sure you wouldn't want help from this half-brained individual."
Millicent stomped her foot in frustration making Charlie smile and wink at having finally gotten the best of her. He turned on his heel and chuckled when he heard her shout at his back.

"Oh, as if I'd ask you for help anyway!"

"Later, Sunshine," Charlie called back to her.

Charles Weasley, is that how I raised you?

Charlie's mother's voice rang clear in his head and stopped him in his tracks. It was amazing that this far away she could still guilt him into action, but he could imagine the snarl on her face and the disapproving tone of her voice, so he sighed deeply and turned back towards Millicent Bulstrode. "Here, let me help you with those."

"Well, it's the least you could do, seeing as how you knocked me down!"

See, this is what he got for being a nice guy! "You weren't watching where you were going. And for the record you ran into me!"

"As if. You should make an appointment with me to have your eyes checked, Dragon Boy. What with you getting old and all, you could probably use a good pair of spectacles."

"I'm 28!" He might not have been nearly so sensitive about that subject except he had noticed that his vision was a bit fuzzy at distances lately. Still, he was not old, and who was she to give him grief?

"See, that's what I mean. Old!"

"You are impossible." Charlie looked at her and was a bit surprised to see the look on her face. It was a look of dread, as though she were waiting for him to do or say something. "What?" he asked at the expectant expression.

"Well aren't you going to make some crack about my weight? That's the way this works you know. I call you names, you call me names, and we both walk away in a huff. It's… normal."

Charlie cocked an eyebrow. "There is nothing normal about that."

She seemed unsettled, thrown off course, out of her element. She expected the insults. Charlie would bet they had come to her for as long as she could remember. "You know, Millie," she seemed thrown by his use of her name, and given how bad he typically was with names, he was a little unnerved that hers had stuck with him, "not everyone thinks anorexic is attractive and—"

She turned away, a flustered expression upon her face and walked off before he could say anything more, hurling a final insult over her shoulder as she walked away.

Just like a woman, Charlie thought. No matter their shape or size or personality type, they were always going to have the last word. He picked up the strewn boxes and carted them off to the Medical Tent.

Charlie was a bit surprised to find that Millicent settled into her job at the Reserve rather quickly. She fussed and complained and rarely smiled, but Charlie thought that would have been no different regardless of where she worked. And it galled him to no end to admit that she was actually a hell of a healer… you know, if you could get past her calling you a baby fifteen times as she stitched you up, or holding your nose and forcing a potion down your throat that you thought tasted bad and were refusing to take. Lucky for Charlie, he'd managed to stay healthy and only heard these stories from the other Keepers.

In fact, for the most part, he managed to avoid Millicent Bulstrode all together. And that was just fine with him. She, for lack of a better description, unnerved him. There was just something about her that seemed to set him on edge. He heard the others discussing her looks—more accurately calling her names, which annoyed him, and more times than not he started to comment then remembered that he didn't like her very much either. She certainly wasn't his favourite person, but he'd never been a fan of name-calling, and frankly, he found her rather attractive… there was just something—nothing he could define—but definitely something. Also, she seemed a somewhat wounded individual and throwing shots at the downtrodden was beneath him and should have been beneath the other Keepers, in his opinion.

Most disturbing of all, was that despite her wretched personality, Charlie continued to find himself attracted to the witch. She was full-figured, curvy and Charlie imagined she would be soft in all the right places. Her tits were large and Charlie certainly liked them; if she bent over to pick something up, affording him a view of cleavage, his cock would twitch and his denims would tighten and he would inevitably think of what it would feel like to slide his cock between them, see her tongue dart out of her mouth and over the head and… and then she'd open her mouth, demand to know what he was staring at, call him some vile name and that would be that.

Charlie found himself wondering about her at night when he was alone in his tent, and the resulting reaction from his cock was even more troublesome than Millicent Bulstrode's insults. Her tits weren't the only thing he thought of. She had a beautiful mouth when he wasn't imagining sliding his cock between her tits, he was imagining her lips closed around his length and his cock sliding and out…

The water in the shower was hot and steamy and after the day he'd had, Charlie needed it. He had spent most of the day chasing a rampaging Welsh Green who had crushed all but one of her hatchlings in her desperate attempts to get away from her young. The dragon simply had no maternal instincts, whatsoever, and even before today's incident, the health of the hatchlings had been rapidly deteriorating. The Keepers had made the decision to try and remove the young dragons from their mother's care, and the result had been disastrous. Only one baby remained, all the others having been crushed by the frightened mother, and though they'd hoped another female would care for the remaining hatchling (that had worked several times in the past) none of them seemed interested in doing so. Thus, the Keepers had put the hatchling in a pen of its own and were attempting to feed it, somewhat successfully.

Dunking his head beneath the water to remove the suds, Charlie's mind wandered away from his tasks of the day and straight to Millicent Bulstrode. His mind was his enemy, it seemed, these days. Millicent Bulstrode was a smart-mouthed, foul tempered, pain in the arse, and she filled his every waking (or not) fantasy. He imagined kissing her so that she couldn't cut him with her sharp tongue, sliding his hands up her back, grasping the back of her neck and—Charlie took his cock in hand beneath the warm spray, water coursing down his chest, over his stomach, and began to work his hand back and forth, pulling and stroking himself—he imagined bending her over, shoving aside her healer robes and pushing down her knickers and—he was almost there, so close, a few more pulls and—

"Honestly, I see more of your arse than I do of your face… not that it's always easy to tell the difference."

"EEP!" Charlie shrieked. "What the hell are you doing in here?" He wheeled around, remembered his erection and did his best to cover himself.

"Oh god, I did not need to see that. Now I'll have to scald my eyes." Millie's voice was unaffected, and she wasn't the least bit upset. (Of course, she was wearing a robe, rather than at the complete naked disadvantage Charlie found himself.) She threw a towel in his direction and he reached to catch it, remembered to cover himself and watched the towel float to the floor three feet out of his reach.

"Turn around!" Charlie said in an attempt at modesty.

"Okay, okay! Keep your pants on!" Millie chuckled. "Well, that might be hard for you to do, huh?"

I really am going to have to kill her—or fuck her or—NO! Kill her. She is infuriating! Killing her was definitely the answer. Charlie shook his head in an attempt to free himself of the 'fucking her' thoughts, thankful that she had at least turned around, so he grabbed the towel and wrapped it quickly around his waist. At least his erection had diminished as his humiliation grew.

"Now would you like to explain what the hell you're doing in the men's shower?"

"Well," Millie said, turning back in his direction, "I just hadn't seen your arse in so long that I had to have another peek."

Well, it wasn't like she was the first woman who had wanted a look at his backside. It was a rather nice backside if he did say so himself and Millie being so forthright was such a nice change and—he must have smiled as he was lost in his thoughts—

"Oh for Merlin's sake, pillock, they call that sarcasm. Ever heard of it? The women's showers have no hot water, and it happens to be freezing out and I'd rather not catch my death—though at the moment that's preferable to having to look at your bum." She turned on her heel and walked out leaving Charlie speechless and to his own chagrin hard… again.

There was no other explanation, Charlie thought. He was a sadist, plain and simple. He must be. Finding Millicent Bulstrode attractive was definitely something only a sadist would do. Thus, he must be one.

The next morning Charlie awoke to a raging stiffy. He'd been having one hell of a good dream about—much to his dismay—Millicent Bulstrode. He also awoke to screaming and shrieking outside and a very terrified Millicent Bulstrode hurling herself through the door and directly onto his bed. She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him in front of her.

"Make it stop! Make it go away. For love of Merlin, get rid of it! And did I say EWWWWW, because this calls for an EWWWW of epic proportions." Millicent must have noticed his state of undress as he chose to sleep starkers even in the winter. Warming charms on beds were a wonderful thing. "You know, I could stand one day where I don't have to look at your bare arse, but even your arse is preferable to that thing!"

"Um, thank you—I think—and what the hell are you doing here, what are you talking about and get out of my bed!" Charlie nodded his head as he ticked these things off on his fingers. "Yeah, I think that covers it." He stood and walked nonchalantly to his discarded jeans of the day before and began to pull them on.

"I'm not getting out of this bed until you make it go away because it will grab my leg again and I don't like it when it does that because it's scaly and slimy and yucky and did I say I don't like it? Because I REALLY don't like it."

The girl was in hysterics and pointing at the flap of his tent where a small green head was poking through. The great amber eyes scanned the tent, spotted Millicent and shot towards her at a run, trilling its delight at discovering her once more. The hatchling leapt onto the bed, Millicent leapt off and they began to make laps around Charlie's tent, with Millicent screaming, "Get it! Get it, you moron. Make it stop!" and the dragon giving chase.

Charlie nabbed the small dragon on its next pass by him and gathered it up in his arms close to his chest. It trilled and cooed but made every attempt at escape, its eyes trained on Millicent the entire time.

"Oh thank God," she said, collapsing in the nearest chair. "Now you can shoot it or something."

Charlie smirked. "Let me get this straight. You live on a dragon reserve and you're afraid of dragons?" Frankly, Charlie was surprised the girl was afraid of anything, much less admitting her fear.

"I heal people. I do not heal, go near, or in any way associate with giant lizards. They are, well, yucky."

She did not just say 'yucky'—except she completely had. Someone was off their game this morning with her defences down.

"Also," Charlie said, "you realise this is a place to preserve dragons rather than shoot them, right?"

Her eyes were still somewhat wide when she answered. "Well, yeah. Normal dragons, but that one's broken… or something."

Chuckling, Charlie stroked the dragon's head. "I thought you were in Slytherin. You're supposed to like reptiles."

"Snakes. I'm supposed to like snakes. And well, I don't even really like those. This thing has legs and claws and—eww that tail—and just gross." She shuddered visibly. "So go shoot it now, Dragon Boy."

"I'm not going to shoot it. First of all, it's just a hatchling. Secondly, its mother abandoned it. Though it seems to have found its own replacement."

A look of sympathy passed over Millie's face for a moment, and Charlie wondered what might have happened to her family after the war. Had they been Death Eaters? Were they still alive? He didn't have long to contemplate her situation because Millie looked at him confused. "Well where would it get a replacement—OH NO!" She stood and began to back away until she was flush against the tent.

"Oh yes. And once a Welsh Green latches onto something, convincing them to let go of it, isn't nearly as easy as you'd think."

….and that was how it started…

For the next week, the Reserve was nothing but hysterical laughter at every turn. Well, everyone was laughing except Millie.

The hatchling had clearly chosen Millie for its surrogate mother, and it had quite the penchant for escaping its pen. It would allow the Keepers to feed it and care for it somewhat, but as soon as it saw Millicent walking across the Reserve it would take off after her at a brisk run—her shrieks and screams and 'shoo, go away's became commonplace on the Reserve. And she certainly got her exercise in as the dragon was quick and she had to work hard to get away from it. Watching her go from the Medical Tent, where the baby dragon sat outside patiently all day waiting for her, to her tent at night became something the Keepers lived for, Charlie included. She'd attempt to sneak out under the back of the Medical Tent because the dragon was sat patiently at the door flap, but the minute she was outside the dragon was right behind her, running to catch up as she raced to her tent.

When she would come to breakfast, her hair ruffled from the morning jog/run/attempted escape, the Keepers would start.

"How do you like being a mother, Bulstrode?" Alec would say.

"The kid looks just like you," Jeff would agree.

"I do see a resemblance!" Hank would concur with Jeff.

And on more than one occasion, one of the three would leave the dining hall wearing Millie's breakfast on his head.

Charlie simply sat back and watched, and at night, when he was in his tent, if Millie had to leave hers for some reason, he would chuckle at the shrieks and 'shoo's that he heard as she ran across the Reserve.

… and then it all changed…

Charlie had just settled down on his bed, a rather racy magazine in his hand, his shorts loosened for further activity (after the magazine, or during). A storm had blown up outside and the thunder cracked over head as Charlie turned to his page of choice and stared down at a woman who was all hips and tits with curves in all the right places—and gods she was gorgeous, and he reckoned she would just purr when he slid his cock into her—his hand slid into his shorts grasping his half hard cock and he began to stroke and-

"WEASLEY!"

He nearly jumped off the bed as his tent flap was thrown open and Millicent came charging in screaming his name, the little Welsh Green clutched in her arms. He had grown and Charlie noted she was having trouble carrying him.

"Do you ever knock?"

Her face was rain-coated and she ignored his question. "Fix him. You have to fix him," she said, near hyperventilating. "Something's wrong with Lyle and you have to fix him," she gasped.

Charlie's mouth was agape as he stared at her, dumbfounded.

"What are you waiting for? Stop staring at me and fix him, you overgrown weasel."

Charlie's training kicked in, and he began to look the dragon over. Something was definitely wrong. He was unresponsive and his colour was off. "What's wrong with him?" Charlie asked.

"I don't know, you big dope. That's why I brought him here. The big stupid thing can't move. I went to go and check on him—I mean he's too stupid to get himself in out of the rain, so I had to make sure he wouldn't drown and well, he hates thunder—and he was just lying by my tent not moving and soaked and now you have to fix him. Don't let him die, okay? Don't let him die."

And Charlie was shocked to see that tough-as-nails Millicent Bulstrode was crying.

"I'm going to need some potions from the Medical Tent and—"

Millicent was already rushing back towards the tent flap and out into the rain.

"I haven't even told you what I need yet."

"I'll just bring everything," she said, arms waving madly.

"Don't you want an umbrella?" Charlie shouted at her back, but she was already gone.

Millie was back before Charlie would have thought it was possible, and she was carrying a box stacked high with potions and books and bandages (though Charlie couldn't imagine what she thought bandages would be needed for). "Here, I brought everything," Millie said, out of breath. "Did you figure out what's wrong with Lyle?" She pulled off her wet cloak and tossed it on the nearest chair.

"Lyle?" Charlie asked.

"Lyle. The dragon, you dunderhead!"

"I'd worked that out. But Lyle?"

"Yes, Lyle. You got a problem with that, Weasley?"

Charlie stifled a chuckle. "No, just surprised is all."

"Well, I had to call him something."

"I thought you just spent your time running away from him. I'm a little surprised you stopped long enough to give him a name," Charlie said, continuing to check "Lyle" over rather than look at Millie.

"Well he's kind of cute when he's sleeping. And he sleeps outside my tent and someone has to check on him in the middle of the night—I mean, one of you idiot Keepers might come along completely pissed and fall on him or something. Then you'd probably blame me for him getting hurt and—" Millie's voice trailed off.

"Well, we can't have that, can we? I believe that Lyle here has a cold."

"Oh, thank—" Millie caught herself and cleared her throat. "Well, I mean, that's good. I'm sure he's a valuable creature and—"

Charlie held up a hand to stop her prattle. "I know a cold is fairly common in humans and nothing to worry about, but in hatchlings it's quite serious. I'll watch him tonight, but I don't want to mislead you. He's not out of the woods yet. I'll keep him in here by the fire and watch him tonight. He needs to stay warm and dry, and I'll prepare a potion to help with his fever."

"He has a fever?"

"Yes, a rather high one."

"How do you— ugh, I don't even want to know." Millie shook her head in disgust.

"You can go on back to your tent. I'll keep him here tonight and watch him." He gave the dragon a potion and he expected it would sleep a lot during the next few hours, and in the meantime, Charlie planned to go back to his magazine.

"I'm not leaving him here with you," Millie said, and for the first time, Charlie noticed she was dressed in nothing more than a night shirt and she had kicked her boots off at the doorway. "He might need me."

Charlie was going to have a hell of a time hiding a hard on wearing nothing more than his denims, but it wasn't like he'd had much advance notice of his visitor's arrival. So he did his level best to get her to leave. "Need you for what? You said yourself that you don't heal dragons. Leave him with me, and I'll make sure he's fine. This is my area of expertise, you know?"

Millie was undeterred. "But when he wakes up, he'll feel better if I'm here. People want their mothers when they're sick, so why should dragons be any different?" Millie rationalised.

And this was the time she chose to be rational, Charlie thought with a resigned sigh. "So now you're his mother?"

Millie's reply was defensive. "Well he thinks I am. You said so yourself. Probably the old age, memory slipping and all that you've forgotten your own words."

"And to think I was starting to believe you might even be half human," Charlie retorted, then stalked over to his closet and pulled out a pair of shorts and tossed them over to her. "You can at least put on some clothes. I have no more desire to see you starkers than you have to see me," Charlie lied.

Millie looked down at her night shirt as though just remembering her state of undress. She reached for the shorts, but then the dragon made a sound like a cough and she abandoned them and rushed to the dragon's side. "Oh, why won't you fix him? I promise if you'll just make him better, I'll be nice to you from now on. Just because you can't abide me, don't take it out on him. Please make him better."

Charlie went to where she was squatted down beside Lyle. He put a consoling hand on her shoulder. Her affection for the little hatchling was evident on her face. "I promise I'll do everything I can to make him better. For right now, he needs to sleep, and since it appears neither one of us is going to be getting any rest, I'm going to put on the kettle."

A few minutes later, Charlie handed Millie a warm cup of tea and joined her by the fire, taking a seat on the opposite side of their patient and leaning back against an overstuffed arm chair and doing his best not to notice how the fire outlined Millie's curves against the cotton of her white nightgown leaving little to the imagination, though she had put on the shorts. He grasped for a topic of conversation. "So Lyle, huh? That's an interesting name."

"Uh huh." Millie shrugged and continued to watch the little dragon.

Charlie tried again. "So where did you come up with it?"

"What are you even—" Millie shook her head, frustrated.

"Fine then. You think of something to talk about."

"Okay," she snarled rather than said. "I have a topic: fix my dragon."

"There's nothing left to do but wait, you know, and apparently snap at the person who's trying to help you."

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "But he just looks so sick. I never thought I'd be wishing for him to leap across the room and chase me again, but I'd give just about anything for that right now."

"So you're over your fear of him, then?"

"Um, no. Because he is a dragon, block head. Dragons are not puppies, and unlike that dragon you have inked there on your chest, they are not harmless or sexy—I mean, sweet or…" She was staring at Charlie's tattoo, and seemed to find it difficult to pull her eyes away. "But he needs me—or at least he thinks he does—and he's rather cute when he's sleeping—did you know he snores?—and he doesn't care that I'm not super model pretty. He only cares that when it's cold outside, I put a blanket down for him to sleep on, and I share my cheese with him sometimes and, you know, when he's not chasing me and scaring me out of my wits, I rather like him. And he wants me to be with me, all the time. He'd wait outside the Medical Tent for hours just for the pleasure of chasing me back to my tent at night… and it's stupid I guess, but I rather like that he wants to be with me so much."

"Careful there, someone might start to think you have a heart."

Millie traced a pattern on the rug with her finger. "He's not gonna—I mean, you won't let him die, will you? Because then I'll be all alone here and—"she gulped"—well I don't want to be alone again. I won't even mind all the teasing from the Keepers about him, if he'll just get better. He can chase me all he wants."

Charlie thought Millicent was talking more to whatever god might listen than to him. Making promises and deals to be good and kind and sweet—that might be going too far, but he thought she'd certainly promise the moon, if that were what it took to make Lyle better. And he made a mental note to kick the next Keeper who gave her a hard time about the dragon.

So… Charlie offered her an olive branch… which she quickly snapped into pieces and jumped about on, well figuratively anyway…

"He's lucky to have you, you know."

"Oh shut it, Weasley. You can give me a hard time all you want, just as long as you make him better. 'Old Fat Millie' always good for a laugh. Well you all can laugh behind my back all you want—or even to my face—just make him well again."

"Oi! Hold it there. I was being serious. Defensive much?" Charlie held up his hands and Millie looked sceptical.

"He really is lucky. It's not every dragon that has someone who'd come rushing out in a storm, into my tent, lugging him even though it's all she can do to carry him because she was worried about him. The fact is if he'd been out with his mother in the field, we probably would have never known he was sick, and he would have just died."

A visible shudder ran over Millie at the thought. "You really are just as alone as I am," she said to the little dragon, who sensed her presence and rolled so that he could curl up at her knee and rest his head on her leg. Charlie noted that the dragon's desire to be close to her made her smile, and she rubbed its snout. "What a pathetic duo we make, Lyle," she said with a sigh, and the dragon began to trill its contentment as it slept. "By the way," Millie said, meeting Charlie's eyes, "sorry to come barging in and interrupting your wank, there."

He could feel both his cheeks and ears heat up. Damn her. "Well on that note, I think I could use some more tea," he said. "Want a refill?"

"No, I'm fine." She paused for a second as though debating whether to continue on. "You're a little strange, you know that?"

"Says the woman with a dragon for a child," Charlie retorted.

"Touche," she said, but continued on undaunted. "No, I mean, no matter how much I try to goad you into it, you never call me names or make mean comments about the way I look. Why not?"

Charlie wasn't sure what to say. He could lie. Lying would definitely be the easiest thing, and it wasn't like Millicent Bulstrode had given him much incentive to open up to her… and that's exactly what he planned to do—though apparently his brain failed to inform his tongue of this plan—and this came tumbling past his lips: "What's to make fun of? You're very pretty. I'd fuck you."

And apparently his brain failed to inform his tongue how very not-charming that statement was. And for its insolence, Charlie seriously considered biting down hard—that would show his stupid tongue. Instead he stood there a little mortified, but he couldn't help noticing that Millie was smiling up at him.

"Really?"

"Look, I'm really sorry," Well thank you, brain. NOW you decide to work. "That was totally out of line. I didn't mean—"

"Well of course you didn't mean it," Millie snorted. "Why would someone like you ever say that about someone like me?"

And now his brain might work if it had any idea whatsoever it was supposed to think. So he had hurt her feelings by apologising for being rude. Maybe this was a Slytherin thing. Now, how to fix it? "I mean, I would—fuck you that is." He slapped a hand over his face, and though he only meant to think it, his damned tongue spilled his thoughts out again. "Damn, Weasley, you are one charming bloke. Don't know how any woman can resist you. The things you think aren't necessarily supposed to come out of your mouth, and well great, I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

Surprisingly, once again he noted that Millie seemed to have perked up. "So you thought those things? I mean, of course you didn't. I'm just being stupid. No one ever says those things about me, much less thinks them—I mean honest-to-goodness thinks I'm attractive—what a joke." Perhaps her tongue had turned traitor too. Charlie gave the tea a speculative look and tossed the remainder of the leaves from the tin into the fireplace.

"Maybe the tea's cursed," he said aloud. "Nothing like having your most secret thoughts broadcast out for the world to hear."

"Then you did mean it?" Millie asked, tentatively, stroking Lyle's chin. Charlie noted that the dragon had flipped onto his back and all four feet were now straight up in the air as he alternated between snoring and trilling.

"Well, that's a lovely pose," Charlie said pointing at Lyle, then he rushed to say the words before he chickened out, "and yes, I meant it." There. Done. It was out, for better or worse. He closed his eyes and braced himself to be smacked. But the smack didn't come. When he popped open one eye speculatively, Millie was positively beaming at him.

"If you change your mind, or decide you didn't really mean it," she whispered, "could you just not say so? I'd kind of like to think you did."

Birds! Charlie would never understand the way their minds worked. Most women, he thought, would have slapped him silly for what he'd said and cursed him as rude and crude, and Millicent Bulstrode, who'd apparently received few compliments in her life, was elated to be talked to so crudely.

"You know, I think you're strange too," Charlie finally spit out, at a complete lack of anything else to say.

"Thanks," she said with a smile.

In the next week, Lyle made a full recovery and things went back to normal (somewhat) on the Reserve. Millie was back to shrieking and running from one building to the next with a fully recovered Lyle bounding in behind her like an overgrown puppy chasing a rabbit. A couple of times Charlie noted, that Lyle got close enough to grab Millie's robes and send her toppling back to land squarely on her arse—once in a puddle. She got up cursing and scolding, but Charlie smiled when he saw that she'd taken to tossing the dragon snacks outside the Medical Tent as he waited for her during the day. On days when the clinic wasn't busy, she could be seen leaning out the tent flap and talking to her rapt audience. She still seemed to find his desire to chase her terrifying because, as Lyle grew, he was a little scarier. But Charlie also noticed that at night time, there was always a blanket in front of Millie's tent which Lyle was curled up on, and on nights when it rained or snowed, the blanket and Lyle were both missing, and Charlie suspected they were inside beside Millie's fire. While still frightened, she had started to take her duties as Lyle's mother quite seriously; after his brush with illness, she was determined that he would stay healthy.

Now, if only Charlie's head were normal again. He simply could not get Millicent Bulstrode out of his mind. Though she'd gone back to being as obnoxious as ever to him, he couldn't stop thinking about the girl that had spent that night in his tent. And that when the hard surface was scratched away, Millicent Bulstrode was simply that—a girl who craved a few compliments and had no idea how truly attractive she was.

So he spent many an evening wanking away to images of Millie naked and moaning beneath him; Millie down on her knees before him, the way his cock would look filling her mouth, how every time she started to mouth off he'd push it between her lips once more.

It was during just such a fantasy (thankfully this time he was still fully clothed) when she once more barged into his tent. Honestly, he was going to have to work on his wards because this was becoming a habit. He did at least hear her before she entered this time fussing at Lyle to stay put.

"Civilised people knock, Millie," Charlie said at her intrusion, and going a bit red around the ears over the thoughts he was having before she entered.

"So I've decided I want you to do it," Millie blurted out.

"Huh? Whuh? Huh?"

"Fuck me. You said you would, you know, and I've decided I think that's a good idea."

Charlie was thankful he happened to be sitting because he thought if he was standing he might have toppled over. He repeated, "Whuh?"

"You're not very articulate this evening, Weasley."

"That's because you've clearly lost your mind," Charlie replied. "You don't just walk into someone's tent and say I've decided you should—well you know what you said. Normal people do not do that."

"You're kind of cute when you blush like that. You know, in a big, stupid, adorable puppy kind of way."

"Um, thanks… I think."

Millie clapped her hands together and then began to unbutton her shirt. "Okay, let's do this now."

"Oi, what are you doing?"

"Egads, you're not one of those do it with your clothes half on type of guys, are you? I mean, it's not like I'm a virgin or anything, but the other blokes I've been with were those type of guys, and it wasn't all that much fun for me. Frankly I expected better of you. I mean I've heard of your reputation, and it's really quite good. I do hope this isn't going to be a disappointment."

Charlie motioned that she should come and sit beside him on the sofa. He was certain if he tried to stand his knees would buckle and his reputation would take a rather large dent if that happened, what with swooning being rather… well, not masculine.

Millie sighed. "Well, I was hoping for a bed, but I guess the sofa will do."

Charlie rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted. He very much wanted this, but also wanted to do it the right way. He actually couldn't believe that the subject of his most recent fantasies was standing in his tent volunteering to do exactly what he wanted her to do, and he was going to turn it down. Clearly, there had been a head injury at some point that he wasn't remembering. But it must have happened because it took all his common sense when it happened. Or maybe it was her head injury because this was certainly not what he expected of her. "Did you bump your head?"

"Huh?"

Charlie shook his own head. "Long shot, but I thought I should ask."

"Are you okay?" Millie asked.

"I'm not sure. Could you pinch me or something?" Millie did… hard. "Okay, definitely not a dream then… and OW." Charlie swallowed hard. "Do you want to go to dinner?"

"Um," Millie seemed indecisive. "It's not going to cut into my sex time, right? Because I've had fast, and I was really hoping for more from you." Millie frowned. "Wait, are you asking me out on like a date, Weasley?"

"Well, that was the general idea?"

"Hm, well you know, nobody's ever done that before. I guess that'd be all right."

Charlie stood and nearly pushed her out the door—walking was difficult he was so hard—plus his head was reeling. "I'll meet you at your tent tomorrow at half six."

"Oh, so we're not having sex tonight?"

"Urgh," Charlie moaned. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but no. I'm taking you out on a proper date tomorrow, so dress up. We can see what happens after that."

He heard Millie mumble something further about his strangeness as Lyle followed happily behind her.

Charlie had just finished buttoning his shirt when Millie arrived at his tent. She even called out before barging in this time, a serious improvement on manners… you know, for Millie anyway. Charlie turned to greet her as she was coming in… and his breath hitched… she looked… well, breathtaking.

He simply stood mouth agape as Millie prattled on… "I know you said you'd come to my tent, which is very gentlemanly of you, by the way, Weasley, but I had to find someone to entertain Lyle long enough to get away, and I wasn't sure that would be possible if- why are you staring at me like that? Is there something on my face? Did that bastard Kevin put a sign on me somewhere—I swear I'll hex him into next Sunday—and you're still staring, which is really sort of freaking me out here—"

"You look amazing." It was the first time Charlie had seen her with her hair piled up on her head in curls, and her lips were bright red—she was wearing make-up. The black skirt she wore hit her at just below the knee and the black pumps she wore showed off her calves so that Charlie couldn't stop looking at them. She wore a jumper in the green of her former House, and it was long and flattered her full figure.

"You clean up pretty nice yourself," Millie replied. He had donned a pair of khaki pants and a blue button down shirt. "But your staring is making me feel funny… so if you could stop that."

Charlie shook his head in an attempt to shake himself from his stupor. He garbled something that came out something like guh-guh-guh.

"Um, I think I'll do the Apparating this time. I prefer to arrive with all of my parts attached as they are now."

Charlie found his voice… somehow. "I'm sorry, it's just—well wow. And we're not Apparating tonight. We have an international Portkey, which I might have had to promise my firstborn to obtain, so let's be off, shall we?" He took Millie's hand, picked up the old Firewhisky bottle, and it whisked them away in flash of nauseating colour landing them right outside the Leaky Cauldron.

"What are we doing here?" Millie asked, and Charlie noted that she seemed somewhat nervous.

"Eating. Tom's fish and chips are top notch. And frankly, I don't get over this way nearly enough. So… I figured tonight was a good night to remedy that."

Millie seemed reluctant to go through the door when Charlie opened it. "What if we see someone we know?"

Charlie cocked a grin. "Then we'll say hello and tell them to bugger off and let us finish our date. Now in with you, I'm freezing my bollocks off out here."

Millie walked into the crowded Leaky with Charlie close on her heels, his fingers lacing through hers. He noted that her hand was clammy as he spotted a booth towards the back that would at least afford them a small amount of privacy and led her to it. They both ordered fish and chips and Charlie got them a pitcher of ale, which they both drank greedily and in silence, then ordered another.

"You feeling okay?" Charlie finally asked. "We've been here twenty minutes and you've yet to insult me."

"A bit nervous, I guess. I mean we might run into people we know and what will they think of me and you—you know, being out together and— what if we run into your friends?"

The look on her face spoke volumes. Gone was the self confidant young woman who had rushed into his tent the previous night and blurted out that they should have sex. Of course, maybe it had taken every ounce of her resolve to get up the courage to do that. Now she seemed to once more be that girl who had been so shocked he could find her pretty on the night she'd brought Lyle to his tent. He did his best to lighten the mood. "Ashamed to be seen with me then?" Charlie asked.

"Of course I am. You're a buffoon." She was all false bravado, once more doing her best to hide her discomfort.

The fish and chips came and Charlie's mouth began to water. You just couldn't get fish and chips like Tom's anywhere else. Millie popped a bite of fish into her mouth, closed her eyes and her face went dreamy.

"Oh. My. God." Her eyes were still tightly closed. "That is fucking orgasmic!"

Millie's eyes popped open and went wide as her face paled, causing Charlie to turn and see what had startled her so. His parents were right behind him and his mother was staring down at Millie in stark disapproval.

"Hello, Charlie," Arthur said with a grin. "We didn't expect to see you here tonight. When did you get into town?"

"Um-hm," his mother snorted. "Comes all the way to London, but does he even bother to tell his mother? Much less come to see her? No, of course not. I mean, after all, she is only the person who gave him life."

Arthur smiled sympathetically at Charlie, and patted his wife on the arm.

"Um, er, um," Charlie stammered. Well, this just wasn't going well at all. He took a deep breath and did his best to salvage the situation. Millie had gone from pale to bright red and looked mortified. "Well, I got an international Portkey for the evening."

His mother continued to stare at Millie, and his father, bless him, reached forward a hand in greeting. "Arthur Weasley. And your name, dear?"

"I'm sorry," Charlie stammered. "I seem to have forgotten my manners tonight. Mum, Dad, I want you to meet Millicent Bulstrode. Millie and I work together at the Reserve."

"Oh," his mother seemed relieved. "So this is a 'work dinner' then. Well, I think that's just lovely."

Millie seemed to not know how to react. Apparently, meeting someone's parents was as new an experience for her as dating.

"No, Mum," Charlie corrected. "Millie is here as my date."

"Um-hm," his mother said, the relief now gone from her face.

Arthur once more directed the conversation. Thank Merlin for Dad!

"What do you do at the Dragon Reserve, Millicent?" he asked, showing interest.

"I'm—I'm a healer, sir." Millie chanced a furtive look at Molly and swallowed hard at the stern look on his mother's face.

But Charlie knew his mother, and particularly knew her soft spots, and if it was the stretching of the truth, well, it was for a good cause. "Mum, Mille was my healer at St. Mungo's when I got the really bad burn. That's how we met. And I recommended her for the job after she took such good care of me."

Millie shot him a surprised look, but Molly softened immediately. "Oh, so you took care of my Charlie when he was injured?"

"It's a comfort to know that they have you there at the Reserve, Millicent," Arthur said. "I'm sure Molly and I will sleep better knowing that there's a well-trained healer there now, should there be an accident. Molly just hates that Charlie's so far away, and of course, a mother does worry, don't you, dear?"

"Well yes, that is a comfort. With such a dangerous job, it will be nice to know there's someone there taking care of him."

Millicent put on her best smile before she answered. "I'll do my best. Though he is a bit hard-headed."

Boy, do something nice for someone and they turn on you! And with that statement, Molly's reserve about this young lady that her son was on a date with completely vanished. "Truer words were never spoken, dear. You have no idea what a time I had raising this one. I mean, up a tree one minute and before you could even climb up to get him he was down and shooting off in another direction. Don't even get me started on the year he got his first broom—Dear heavens, I thought my heart was just going to fail every time that child—"

"Dear," Arthur interrupted, gently. "I'm sure these two would like to get back to their dinner before it gets cold. We look forward to seeing you again, Millicent, and it was lovely to meet you."

"Indeed it was," Molly said with a nod, looking a bit irritated and having her story cut short. "And we'll be expecting Charlie to bring you to the Burrow for the next family dinner. You know, the next time he is in town—in which he will be stopping in to see his mother."

"Come along, dear."

And even Charlie had to laugh when he heard his parents walk away and his mother saying, "What a lovely young lady. I like this one, don't you, Arthur?"

"Well, you've charmed my mother."

"I can't believe she heard what I said. Merlin, I thought I was going to die. I was praying for a hole to just swallow me up."

Charlie chuckled at the relief visible on Millie's face and took another drink. "By the way, was the ginger what gave them away as my parents?"

"Well no, I remember seeing your mum when she came to the school during my fourth year. It's not so much her I remember as that bloke she was with. Boy, was he ever the subject of a few of my wet dreams and—"

"New subject, please," Charlie interrupted, feeling jealousy creep in.

"Okay, sure. New subject. Let's start with the fact that you are so going to hell, you know?"

He sputtered. "What?"

"You lied to your mother," she said calmly. "You shouldn't lie to your mother."

"Would you rather I said, 'Mum, Dad, this is Millie. She abandoned me in the hospital, left me to die, and I was daft enough to date her anyway'?"

"Point," Millie said around a mouthful of fish. "Neither of us really come off very well in that version of the story, do we?"

"Not so much."

Watching Millie eat was fascinating. She relished every bite, savouring the taste of the fish, the chips, and not even hesitating when he asked her if she wanted pudding. She did, and when the pudding came, she sank her spoon into it, popped it in her mouth and her eyes rolled back in her head a bit.

"You must try this."

The look on her face was one of the most erotic things Charlie had ever seen, and his cock twitched in response, his trousers growing tight. He wondered if that was the face she made when she came—and Merlin was he dying to find out.

She sank the spoon back into the pudding leaned across the table and pressed it to Charlie's lips… and she was not exaggerating… it really was almost as good as an orgasm. "My God. That is heaven. Give me another bite."

"Get your own, jerk."

And they laughed and they chatted through the pudding and another pitcher of drinks, and Charlie found himself more smitten than he was before, and he hadn't thought that possible. She opened up some, talking about the time right after the war, though when the conversation drifted to family, she clammed up and Charlie knew there was a lot she wasn't telling him. Still, it was a start and he wasn't pushing.

They were both rather pissed when they got back to the Reserve. That third pitcher had probably not been the best idea, but Charlie wasn't ready for the evening to end. He took her hand to walk her toward her tent, but Millie pulled him the other way. "Lyle will be testy that I left him. You probably shouldn't walk me back. Ending the date with a second degree burn might not be a good idea." He laughed that her words were slightly slurred. "I'll walk you home instead."

"Well, that's definitely a different way to end it, though preferable to a burn," Charlie said, wrapping an arm around her as they walked (staggered was more appropriate) back to his tent.

"This is the part where you kiss me goodnight," Millie said, outside his door.

"Thought you'd never done this before?"

"I haven't, but I'm not a moron. Besides I've done other stuff, just not the date thing." She closed her eyes, turned her face up to him and waited.

Charlie's hand stroked over her warm cheek and he leaned down, gently pressing his lips to hers.

They broke apart and Millie cocked open one eye. "Really? That's the best you can do?"

"Oi! I was being a gentleman."

"Fuck that!" Millie said, grabbing his face between her palms. She kissed him hard, her body pressed against him. She nipped his lower lip and Charlie's lips parted to allow her access. Her tongue plundered his mouth, exploring freely, her hands moving from his face to tangle in his short hair.

The thought of kissing her had made him half-hard. Being kissed by her, like this, had definitely got his cock's attention as all of his blood rushed south. He wrapped his arms around her, running his hands up and down the broad expanse of her back. Her tits pressed against him were driving him wild, and he greatly wanted to touch them, but held off. One hand explored the soft curls that she had piled atop her head, finding a pin and pulling it out so that they tumbled freely down her back. They felt like silk as he twined the locks through his fingers, walking her back into his tent as they kissed passionately-and backing directly into a very angry Lyle who roared his displeasure at having been abandoned for the evening.

"I think Lyle knows your back," Charlie said against her face.

"Ooh, bad Lyle! Bad Lyle!" Millie scolded. "Mummy's trying to have sex and you go and ruin everything. Bad boy! Go home!"

The dragon cocked its head at her, seemingly confused.

"Right this second! I mean it, Mister. Home! Now!" Millie stomped her foot and pointed her finger toward her own tent.

And Charlie's mouth fell open, when the dragon hung his head and began to lope away… sulkily. Lyle looked back at Millie once and made a pitiful mewing sound. "Don't you be sassy with me!" she shouted. And away Lyle went like a well scolded child.

"How did you—" Charlie started, but Millie took him by the arm and tugged him into his tent. "You know, I don't think I even want to know."

"Impressive, huh?" Millie asked. "Yeah, well don't be too impressed. He'll be back. He's rather relentless. He's just not used to being scolded like that." Millie clapped her hands together. "Now, take off your clothes."

"Whuh?" Charlie's head was reeling. She said it was such authority that he had found himself reaching for the button on his trousers immediately then stopped. "You know that's not exactly the way I wanted this to happen."

"Well, do you want it to happen with a dragon in your bed because it looked like it's going to storm out there and Lyle's afraid of thunder? So let's get on with this, shall we?" Millie clapped her hands together again and started to pull her jumper over her head.

Charlie put up his hands and shook his head to try and get a grip on the situation. "Wait here, and don't get undressed," Charlie said. "I'll be right back."

"Time is wasting," Millie shouted at his back, and he could still hear her grumbling as he left the tent saying something regarding his stamina and how if things continued at this pace she wasn't going to get to enjoy herself at all before motherly duty called.

When Charlie re-entered his tent, Millie was sitting on the sofa looking annoyed and tapping her foot impatiently.

"Where have you been?" she asked angrily.

"Strangely enough, finding a dragon sitter. You don't hear that every day."

"Finding a what?"

"Look, Millie, I'm not going to rush this, and you're clearly not going to slow down as long as you're worried about Lyle, so I got one of the other Keepers to agree to let Lyle stay with him tonight."

"Oh," Millie said, looking uncertain.

Charlie closed the distance between them and pulled her to him. "Now, where were we?" He grasped her chin and tilted her head up to him, leaning in to kiss her. His mouth closed over hers, tongue darting into her mouth—and then she was pushing away from him.

"Did you tell them that Lyle's afraid of thunder?"

Charlie sighed, exasperated. "Yes, I told him."

"Oh, we—well, that's good then." Her hands stroked down Charlie's shirt, popping open the top button, then another and sliding her hand inside, warm against his skin.

He groaned, and this time when he kissed her it wasn't gentle at all. His kiss was needy and desperate and his hand slipped beneath the hem of her jumper, sliding up her back and tugging at the clasp of her bra. It didn't give willingly. Her breasts were large and the bra clasp was difficult (almost like a suit of armour, and every bit as effective as a medieval chastity belt—it was one of the drawbacks to being attracted to big tits—with them came big bras that sported clasps-o-doom.) He had just worked the final hook free and was sliding his hands beneath it and around to cup her breasts—almost there-and she pushed him away again and started for the door.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"Keep your pants on! I'll be right back. I just think I should go and get Lyle his blanket. He really doesn't like thunder, and he's used to me being with him when it storms, and since I'm not there, you know, he might need his blanket."

Charlie grabbed her arm and spun her back around. "The dragon is fine," he growled, "but if you leave, my balls may well explode." His hands slipped beneath her jumper again, beneath her bra and finally his hands were cupping her breasts, kneading them, brushing his thumbs across her nipples, and revelling in the gasping noises she made with each pass he made over the sensitive tips. He felt Millie tug the button on his trousers and pull down the zip, her hand stroking up his length through his pants.

"Come on," Charlie whispered. "I'm fairly certain you requested a bed for this," he said with a wink and led her to his bed. She sat down on the bed as he stood before her and she worked his trousers and pants down his thighs. Her mouth moved towards his cock, and she licked her lips in a way that Charlie thought might well make his brain explode… or worse yet his cock… and if that happened his reputation with women would certainly take a hit.

Her tongue snaked out, licking his tip, the underside of her tongue stroking slowly over the head and around. He grasped her shoulders to keep from falling, his knees shaking with want. There was a giant clap of thunder and distant yowl of terror and quick as a blink, Charlie found himself on his arse on the floor as Millie bolted for the door of the tent. "I'm sorry," she said as she rushed away, "but he's scared and he needs me and I have to—I just have to." And with that she was gone.

"Knock, knock," Charlie called from outside Millie's tent before entering. He put his hands on his hips, shook his head and chuckled when he saw the dragon curled up on his blanket before the fireplace with his head in Millie's lap, trembling.

"I hate him, you know," Charlie said, pointing at Lyle, but he was smiling all the same.

"Don't listen to Mr Grumpy, Lyle," Millie said consolingly, though the look she gave Charlie was uncertain as if she feared she may well have ruined things between them.

Charlie closed the distance between them and sat down beside her.

"I am sorry, you know?" she said tentatively. "But he's just a baby and he doesn't have a mum, you know except me, and—"

Charlie interrupted her explanation with a kiss, long and searing, pressing against her and wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

Millie's hand slid inside his still half-unbuttoned shirt, her face upturned to him and backlit by the fireplace. "Gods, how I want you right now," she whispered.

"Thunder storms don't last forever. I can wait. Though I've reconsidered and if you still want me to shoot him, I might be tempted," he replied before kissing her on the head, standing up and walking back to his own tent.

He looked back once though and saw Millie smiling at him.

The next night, Charlie had to work a long shift due to a new dragon arriving on the Reserve. The men working under him that evening learned very quickly to take their chances with the dragon rather than ask their boss a question. He was, to put it mildly, less than pleasant.

The night after that brought an accident. An intern trainee had the ever so bright (read: not bright at all) idea that if you stood very still a dragon couldn't see you. So he did—stand very still that is, and got stepped on by a young Ridgeback. Millie, of course, was required to care for him that evening.

By the third night, Charlie's sexual frustration had reached its peak. He brought his tray to the table Millie always sat at in the dining hall and scooted as close to her as possible. "Tell me you're free tonight," he growled.

"I'm free tonight."

"Really?"

"No, but you sounded like that was the answer you really wanted." Millie took a bite and grinned at him. "You seem desperate, Weasley."

Charlie grabbed her hand, pulled it under the table and placed it on his crotch. "I'm dying. Dying."

"Boy, someone has a serious case of Drama Queenitis today." Millie lowered her voice significantly, "Now give me back my hand before someone sees you." She tried to pull it away, but Charlie held fast.

"My death is going to be on your conscience."

"You missed the memo, I guess. I don't have a conscience. Ask anyone here."

"Millie, I mean it. I—"

"Shush," she said. "I have a report to file with the Department for the Care and Control of Magical Creatures on the accident, but I'll see if I can submit it by owl rather than in person. However, the Department Head's a real stick-up-his-arse kind of bloke, so I have to finish it tonight."

"I've heard that. Would that 'real stick-up-his-arse kind of bloke' happen to share my last name?"

"Rumour has it that would be true. I see you don't dispute my stick up the arse comment," Millie said with a wink.

Charlie shrugged as he took a bite of his stew. "No, that sounds like Percy to me. But what if I get you an extension on that report?"

"Well," Millie said, drawing out the word. "That would make me completely free for the evening."

"Consider it done. I have to make one final round to check on the new dragon, so what do you say my tent at half nine?" Charlie asked.

"I'll be there."

"Do something with Lyle, yeah?"

Millie smirked and nodded.

Charlie was pacing in his tent when Millie thankfully arrived without her usual tag-a-long. She was a half hour late and still in her healer robes; her hair was a tangled mess.

"You okay?"

Apparently it was the wrong question. Millie was furious. "I hate your brother. I just spent two hours preparing that damned report because he refused to give me an extension. And the next time I actually see him in person—cause I'll have you know I Portkeyed in and he had already left for the evening, the bastard—I plan to shove that stick so far up his-"

Charlie grabbed her and began to kiss her. "You want me-kiss-to kill-kiss-him for you?"

"Well, killing-kiss-seems drastic. Might make your mum dislike me. Kiss. But could you pound on him a bit?"

"Done." Charlie gasped. "I'll even hold him while you do some pounding yourself."

Millie broke free and pushed him away a bit. "It's hard to believe we're finally doing this, huh?"

"Are you nervous?" She certainly looked nervous… and delicious.

"Maybe a little… or a lot. Um, yeah. I guess I am."

Charlie reached out a hand and stroked it down her cheek. "I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have pounced on you the minute you got here. We don't have to rush."

Millie pulled him back to where his bed was again… back to where they had been before Lyle's episode with the storm. "I think," she said, "that we were somewhere about here when we left off before." She reached for the zip on his trousers, but Charlie batted her hand away and pushed her back on the bed, following her down. He wanted to do this the right way and not rush it.

He cupped her face with his hand, stroking a finger down her cheek and over her bottom lip. Her tongue darted out, licking at his finger. He replaced his finger with his mouth, kissing her tenderly, sliding his tongue against hers.

Millie reached for the buttons on his shirt, and though her fingers shook, she managed to get them unfastened, and pushed it off his shoulders. Charlie shrugged out of it and tossed it to the floor as her fingertips ghosted lightly over the dragon inked on his chest. He groaned at her touch but allowed her to explore him at leisure. His hand pulled at the buttons on her robe and pushed it apart to find the suit-of-armour-bra beneath. "That again," he snarled.

Millicent chuckled and reached behind her back and with a quick flick the bra was unhooked.

"How did you do that?"

"Well," she said with a smirk. "I grew these when I was about fourteen, so I have a few years of practise."

"Fourteen? Did any male ever look at your eyes when they talked to you?"

"Not student, nor teacher," she said in agreement, pulling the bra from her shoulders and suddenly looking a little shy to be baring herself before him.

Charlie kissed her as his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs playing over her nipples until they were hard pebbles that made her gasp when his lips closed over one. Her fingers sank into his hair, pulling him to her, arching her back when he increased suction. Her groans of appreciation had Charlie's cock hard and straining the confines of his trousers, but he was in no rush, he could get lost in her tits for hours. They were large and lush, warm and pliant beneath his hands.

He was reluctant to leave her tits for further exploration, but Millie became demanding, arching her back and pressing up against him. Finally, she'd had enough and used the advantage of her weight, and took him by surprise when she attempted to roll him to his back. Even with the element of surprise on her side, Millie was no match for Charlie's stocky physique and muscled fitness. He held her down fast, pinning her to the bed.

"Don't be a buffoon, Weasley," she said, pushing hard against his shoulder.

Charlie relented with a chuckle and allowed her to take control. When she wanded away the remainder of their clothes and took his cock in her hand, he was very glad he'd relented. Millie licked him base to tip and Charlie raised himself up on his elbows to watch her. How many times had he imagined her mouth on him since she'd come to work at the Reserve? And not even his wildest fantasies had come close to reality. Seeing Millie's mouth wrap around him and slide down his cock as she looked at him through heavily lidded eyes sent his pulse raising and caused his heart to beat in triple time. "I'm not going to last if you keep doing that," he choked out, though the words came hard, as there was nothing he really wanted more than for her to finish what she'd started.

She released his cock with a 'pop' as it left her mouth and crawled back up the bed towards him. He pushed her to her back and began to kiss her, as his hand explored, rubbing at her thighs and cupping her mound when her legs opened for his touch. His fingers slid over her folds, wet and slick as he stroked her. She moaned her appreciation and arched into his touch when his thumb found her clit. His fingers parted her as his thumb made slow circles bringing her close and then pulling away when she seemed right on the edge of orgasm.

Charlie removed his hand and she whimpered at the lack of contact. He kissed her lips her chin, her jaw, and whispered into her ear, "Ready?"

Millie clasped him to her, hooking her ankle behind his waist as he slid into her warmth. She met him thrust for thrust, digging her fingers into his back when he slid a hand between them to torment and tease at her clit as she tightened around him. His thumb pressed hard and his thrusts sped up, Millie moaned something like 'yes' and spasmed around him, pushing Charlie over with her so that his body shook as she clung to him.

"That was—" Millie gasped, though she said no more, simply drew in deep breaths of air.

Charlie rolled to his side and pulled her to him, she came willingly and snuggled in. "Well, don't say bad because I have a fragile ego."

Millie just laughed and was about to say something when Lyle came tearing into the tent with Madame Helga close on his heels. "You rotten beast!" Helga shouted.

Charlie scrambled for a blanket throwing it over him and Millie in an effort to cover their nudity. Madame Helga, however, seemed not to notice Charlie's mortification. She, in fact, had been after Charlie for years to find himself a nice girl and settle down. She wasn't Millie's biggest fan at first, but the two had grown on one another after a while and she was one of the few people who actually liked Millie on the Reserve. Helga was, of course, delighted to see them in bed together. "Oh, you two! Aren't you just—Oh I think I just might cry this very minute."

"Might you do that outside?" Charlie asked, his ears burning hot.

"What? Oh. OH! My word. I am so embarrassed. Of course, probably not as embarrassed as you two are and—I'll just-" Madame Helga acknowledged this might not be the appropriate place for her to be standing at the moment, and attempted to grab Lyle and haul him out. "I'll just get the beast and be on my way, so you can, well you know—Oh, I am just so excited about this and-"

"Madame Helga!" Charlie shouted.

"Yes, yes. Off I go. Sorry, dears."

Lyle put up a fight, but Madame Helga put up a larger one and he finally relented to be dragged away from Millie's side. When the tent flap finally closed, Charlie looked up at Millie and grinned. "You sure you don't still want me to shoot him?"

Millie kissed him hard, sliding her tongue into his mouth and any talk of shooting Lyle was forgotten… for now.