Curves or Angles?
Charlie Weasley had never been one to just let things go. Sure, he believed in tactical retreat, but he had never backed down from a challenge. And he was going to get one that was for sure. Said challenge, in the form of a certain raven-haired Gryffindor 6th year boy, was currently entering the Burrow through the front door, following the Weasley patriarch, Arthur.
He'd just been picked up from number four, Privet Drive, and looked a little worse for wear in his hand-me-down clothes, covered in bruises that didn't look at all accidental. Haunted green eyes lit with an inner fire that couldn't be mistaken for anything but genuine happiness, Harry seated himself in the only empty chair at the breakfast table, between Charlie and Ginny. The aforementioned dragon handler didn't believe that the seating arrangements were at all random; Ron was seated next to Hermione, who was visiting for the remainder of the summer, and Harry had conveniently been stuck next to Ginny.
'Mum sure is pushing for One Big Happy Weasley Family', he mused as he reached for the butter dish, only to find someone else had already scraped the blasted thing clean of any trace of dairy products. Sighing, he picked up the dish and slipped into the kitchen to replenish the butter supply.
Finding a stick in the cold cupboard, the wizarding equivalent of a refrigerator, he stuck it on the heavy ceramic dish and walked back into the dining room. Mrs. Weasley was talking to her husband, and as he passed them, he caught a bit of their quiet conversation.
"Arthur, I know they're a bit young, but we should plan ahead for these sort of things. Harry and Ginny are perfect for each other, dear, why Ginny's hair is even the same color as Lily's. As I hear it, even Harry's grandfather married a redhead!"
"I know, dear, but I still think that we should let it alone. If they're meant for each other, they'll figure it out for themselves."
"Arthur, they're young still, they don't know what love feels like. If we were to do a bit of matchmaking, and they see that they're so perfect for each other, they'll realize it so much sooner!"
"Molly, that's all the more reason to let them figure things out for themselves. If they really aren't suited to each other, I'll not begrudge them finding someone else. Dear, I think you're getting too attached to the idea…"
"Even you can see how they are growing closer, Arthur! Look at them!"
The bespectacled wizard glanced in the direction she pointed out and sighed. Harry was caught up in an animated conversation with Fred and George about the joke shop (not that the two eldest Weasleys knew that). Ginny wasn't even looking in Harry's direction, instead opting to talk to Hermione about something or other.
"Dear, they're not even looking at each other."
"No, but look at their hands."
Arthur obediently looked at their hands, and saw that both had one on the tabletop. Nowhere near each other's, though. Sighing, he decided to let matters lie and changed the subject.
Charlie walked on, the urge to groan aloud almost overwhelming him. His mum was at it again. She'd tried to do the same thing to Bill, and that had ended up a hell of a lot worse than anyone had expected. Well, no one had figured on Bill already having a girlfriend while Mrs. Weasley pushed him towards another woman.
Mentally wincing, he set the dish on the table and seated himself again, not so accidentally brushing against Harry as he did so. The raven-haired teen was facing the other way, but Charlie could see his ears taking on a pink tinge, even if Harry wasn't about to admit it.
Dinner passed agonizingly slowly, and when it was finally over Charlie breathed an audible sigh of relief. He'd survived a full Weasley family dinner without any incidents for once. He shuddered just thinking about the long-forgotten evening gathering when Ginny was three. She'd been sitting in his lap and had accidentally squashed something very important with her knee. Aside from that, he still couldn't look at turkey stuffing the same way, and he had vague memories of Fred prodding the salami with his mother's wand and turning it into a condom. He'd been lucky; no such incidents had happened from him, mainly because he spent most of the time chatting with Bill about Quidditch or guys. Yes, you heard him. Guys.
Charlie was gay. As in he liked guys, and not girls. He played for the home team, preferred wands to holsters, liked angles more than curves, whatever you wanted to call it. The point was, he was attracted to a certain someone, someone he believed to be unattainable. Yet Harry James Potter didn't seem to mind the fact that he was a guy and not a longhaired, pretty-faced, ridiculously curvaceous girl.
Later that evening, Molly Weasley was faced with a predicament. Ron's room had been infested by doxies, and while it was being fumigated no one could sleep in it. So where to put Ron and Harry, who usually roomed with her youngest son? Ginny's room was out- she wasn't quite that desperate to get them together, and besides, Hermione was sleeping in there, too. Ron could room with Bill, she decided, and Harry with Charlie. Both of her eldest sons played for the home team, but Ron was related to them and she doubted Harry would reciprocate any of Charlie's feelings, real or imagined.
So it was that Harry found himself in Charlie Weasley's bedroom, only feet from the object of his affections as the aforementioned object slept on, unawares.
Shifting in his sleep, the redhead turned on his side and came face to face with Harry, stretched out bare-chested on the cot next to his bed. Absently, half-asleep and figuring he was imagining things, he bridged the gap between them and planted a chaste kiss on the youth's lips.
Harry's eyes widened in shock, but he returned the favor eagerly. Tongues battled for dominance and breath grew quick and ragged as they kissed desperately, their pent-up hormones getting the better of them as they clashed.
Moaning, the smaller boy crawled off of his cot and into the redhead's bed, shoving him onto his back. He then proceeded to straddle him and silenced his intake of breath with a slow, drawn-out kiss. Charlie, growling deep in his throat, rolled them over so he was on top and attacked Harry's exposed neck with relish, leaving a trail of hickeys and lovebites everywhere he touched the smooth, pale skin.
They didn't go any farther than that, neither of them quite ready to take things all the way; sleep claimed them, and Harry was content to wake up in his favorite Weasley's arms. Charlie was ecstatic; he'd managed to bag the one guy he never thought he could have. His hold around the dark-haired boy's slim waist was loose but firm as he buried his face in dark, silky locks, breathing in the scent that was distinctly Harry.
Soap and raspberry shampoo, he decided. It was a good blend.
Nipping lightly at the other boy's lip, he climbed slowly out of bed, aiming on getting dressed for the day. A pair of hands pulled him back, and a dazzling smile told him he wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.
Later, as they finally got themselves together and put some clothes on, Charlie asked, "Curves or angles?"
Harry's only reply was, "Angles all the way, Char."
Hope you liked the story; let me know what you think. Should I keep writing Harry/Charlie?