InsaneJournal

Stupid for Each Other (Harry/Charlie, PG-13)
Title: Stupid For Each Other
Pairing: Harry/Charlie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3336
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.
Summary: It's hard to keep secrets at the Burrow.
Notes: Originally posted to LJ on 1/5/07 for nedsagirl's birthday.

Harry paused, a forkful of runny eggs halfway to his mouth. Surely Bill hadn't said what Harry thought he'd said…had he?

Bill leaned forward in the silence. "Did you hear me, Harry?"

"I, er." Yolk dripped from Harry's fork onto the plate and his eyes followed it. Better to look at his breakfast than at Bill, certainly. Bill, who was leaning predatorily across the table, whose eyes, Harry knew, were fixed upon him, and whose voice held the promise of a grin.

"I'm serious, you know. If you're ever up for a quick one, you just find me, Harry. Just let me know. Now that you're of age, I don't feel so bad offering." Bill rose from the table, taking his plate and his glass with him to the sink. Harry chanced a glance at the tall redhead, and immediately regretted it when Bill caught him looking and winked at him.

Harry shoved the forkful of rapidly-cooling eggs into his mouth and swallowed, then looked again at Bill and said rapidly, "I don't think so, Bill, if it's really all the same, I mean, er, no offence, but I'm just not, well. You're. I'm. Er. I'm sorry."

"No problem, kiddo," said Bill fondly, ruffling Harry's hair as he passed. Harry scowled slightly, both at the nickname and at the gesture, and he stabbed forcefully at the lone sausage on his plate.

"If you change your mind, you let me know," Bill said from the doorway. "No strings. No…hard feelings." Bill grinned, evidently pleased with his pun, and left.

After a few silent moments in which Harry did little more than blink rapidly, then drop his next forkful of eggs down his front, Charlie entered the kitchen, yawning and scratching his shirtless, freckled belly.

He glanced around before dropping a quick kiss on Harry's tousled head.

"Morning," he said, smiling, "Sleep well?"

"Would've done better with you," grumbled Harry, dabbing rather forcefully at his stained T-shirt with his napkin.

"Me, too," Charlie admitted, "Miss you at night."

"Me, too."

"Still not ready to tell?"

Harry considered this for a moment, though he already knew his answer. He wasn't ready for the rest of the Weasley family to know about him and Charlie. He wasn't certain exactly why—he just knew he wasn't ready. He liked the quiet understanding he and Charlie shared. It was theirs—and in the Weasley family, so few things were private, so few things were yours alone. Harry wasn't ready.

"Nope," he said, not looking at Charlie.

"It's all right."

There was a comfortable silence, then Harry took a deep breath. "Charlie, Bill was just here, and—"

"Did he leave already? Bugger. Wanted to ask him about the Cannons game; he said he could get tickets through work." Charlie sat next to Harry and took his wrist, but dropped it immediately and stood, moving away from the table as thudding footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Fred and George burst into the room then, as obnoxiously alert as they always were of a morning.

"Harry!" shrieked George, as if the twins had just returned from a year in Deepest Africa and not simply a night in the room they still shared whenever they were home. Fred and George plopped down on either side of Harry, jabbering a mile a minute about some new cream they'd invented, and needing testers, and how they'd been working on it for—

"—ages and ages, really, Harry, and you're the perfect bloke for the job. What d'you say, eh?"

Harry was only half-listening to the twins as he watched Charlie moving about near the cooker, adding milk to the cup of tea he'd made and inhaling deeply. He looked over at Harry and the twins and smiled, then turned to the cupboard, presumably in search of breakfast.

"Sure," Harry replied absently as Charlie turned around, showcasing the broad, muscular back that Harry knew so well, had mapped out so many times with hands and mouth.

"Great!" exclaimed Fred, clamping a wide hand onto Harry's thigh, a little too high for comfort. Harry shifted in his seat and swallowed hard. George's hand landed on his other thigh, even closer to his crotch than Fred's was. Harry cast his eyes frantically towards Charlie and shifted again in his seat, but Charlie was rummaging deep in the cupboard, and was no help at all.

"What, er…" Harry swallowed hard again as Fred and George pressed closer to him. "What exactly did I just agree to?"

"You'll see," teased George, with a wink reminiscent of the one Bill had given him only a very few minutes ago.

"Just be in our room tonight after supper," said Fred in a low tone, much too close to Harry's ear, his fingers travelling up Harry's thigh. Each twin gave one last squeeze, and then they were gone as quickly as they had come in, and Harry was left with an unfortunate half-erection, a glazed look in his eyes, a lack of understanding about what, exactly, had just transpired, and a stone-cold breakfast.

"What was that all about?" queried Charlie, ambling back towards the table. He'd apparently found one of his father's disgusting Muggle granola bars in the back of the cupboard and actually seemed to be enjoying it. Normally Harry would have made a face at Charlie's idea of sustenance, but this was no time for making faces. This was quite possibly a time for mild panicking. After all, it was not every morning one was molested by three Weasleys before one finished one's breakfast.

"I—Charlie, your brothers—Fred and George, and Bill, too, I think they—"

But he was interrupted once again by a Weasley entering the kitchen. Harry sighed a little, wondering which of Charlie's brothers was going to start chatting—or feeling—him up this time.

But, thank god, it was Mrs Weasley. At least there was, Harry hoped, very little chance of her accosting him.

She dropped a stack of Harry's clean underwear by his breakfast plate and tousled his hair much as Bill had done (but, Harry expected, with an entirely different agenda) before she bustled over to Charlie to examine his breakfast.

"That's hardly a proper meal, young man," she scolded. "I don't know what sort of thing you're used to when you're in your own house," (Harry coloured, knowing exactly what Charlie usually had for breakfast in his own house, as Harry had spent more than a few mornings there, but he really, really did not need to be thinking about waking up with Charlie's naked form pressed to him right at this moment…) "but in this house, you'll eat right. Eggs and sausages, I think, and toast, and there're tinned tomatoes, you can fry those up, and have you at least had some tea?"

Charlie laughed gently and pulled his mother to himself in a crushing hug. "Mum, I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

Mrs Weasley cuffed Charlie lightly on his bicep, and he let go, still grinning. "Not here, Charlie Weasley. So long as you're under your mother's roof, you'll abide by your mother's rules. And those rules include a balanced breakfast." She bustled to the cooker and Summoned tins and pans and all manner of cooking implements and began preparing Charlie's breakfast.

"Mum, seriously—Mum! I can—I'll do it." Mrs Weasley looked askance at Charlie, one thin eyebrow raised, but something in Charlie's manner must have convinced her that he was not going to burn down the kitchen or possibly the entire Burrow, and that he would certainly somehow manage to clean up after himself, and so she reluctantly let him at the stove, swooping up her laundry basket and tutting only a little before she left the kitchen, continuing her clean-clothes deliveries.

The smell of fried tomatoes and sausages soon filled the little kitchen, deliciously potent enough to wake the dead.

Which, apparently, included Ron.

The youngest Weasley brother slumped gracelessly into the kitchen, scruffy robe open over his ancient T-shirt and pale legs protruding from shockingly orange boxers, and collapsed at the table. He yawned widely and scratched under his arm, behind one ear, and (presumably, from the relieved look on his face and the direction his arm moved under the table) between his legs before he finally took notice of the fact that there were, indeed, other occupants of the kitchen.

"Oh. Mornin', Harry," Ron mumbled, rubbing his bleary eyes, "Mornin', Charlie."

Harry nodded a somewhat wary greeting at Ron. Though he honestly doubted Ron would go the Fred-and-George (and Bill) route, it had been an odd enough morning already, and he didn't want to take chances.

But by the time Ron and Charlie were halfway through their breakfasts and Ron had awakened a bit and hadn't cast so much as a single fluttered eyelash Harry's way, Harry reckoned he was safe, that the earlier uncomfortable coincidences had been just that, and that he could now move on with his day.

He moved on exactly as far as the bathroom before he was proven wrong.

Harry was brushing his teeth and studying his reflection in the mirror, wondering if there was the slightest chance that Mrs Weasley actually had a point with her constant harping about how badly he needed a haircut, when a sound came from the doorway, and there was Ron, shifting from foot to foot.

"All right, Harry?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow and nodded. Ron wasn't one to interrupt when one was brushing one's teeth and pondering potentially serious matters, unless Ron himself had a serious matter to discuss. Something was up.

Harry spit into the basin, then went to work on his molars. "'Sh'madder, Ron?" he managed around his toothbrush.

"I. You, um. Can I close the door?"

Harry nodded again. Something was definitely up.

And the instant the door was closed, Harry found out what.

Ron pressed himself close to Harry, trying to get his mouth somewhere near Harry's, which was, unfortunately for Ron's agenda, quite soundly occupied by a toothbrush and a rather large amount of wintergreen-flavoured foam.

"Ron! 'Mbrshn m'teef!" Harry jerked back and immediately regretted it as he cracked his head against the bathroom mirror.

"Watch your head, dear," the mirror advised him kindly.

Harry scowled around his toothbrush and rubbed the back of his head, but he couldn't move forward again, as he was trapped between the sink and Ron's suddenly and enormously threatening mouth, which, along with the rest of Ron, was advancing once again on Harry.

Harry twisted away—it was a new-found advantage to being smaller than Ron, that he could twist away from a situation such as this—and positioned himself between the toilet and the door, ready to make a break for it if Ron came at him again.

But Ron didn't. He stared at Harry with determined eyes and flushed cheeks, but he didn't move. He gripped the sink's edge with long, white-knuckled fingers, as if to anchor himself.

They spoke simultaneously.

"Wha'th' bloody—"

"Harry, I'm—"

"Go'head."

"No, it's—"

"Lemme shpit."

Ron nodded and moved aside and Harry spit into the basin and rinsed out his mouth, then turned on Ron, gesturing with his toothbrush as if it were his wand.

"Seriously, Ron, what in sodding hell is—"

But there came a banging on the bathroom door, and Ginny's voice with it, asking when the bloody hell they were planning on evacuating the bathroom, because "some of us have got more important things to do today than prance about the bathroom, you great pair of girls".

Harry and Ron rolled their eyes and Harry opened the door. It was Ginny's turn, then, to roll her eyes, and she did, in passing, ignoring the pair of them and slamming the door rather more forcefully than necessary in their faces.

Harry snorted. Well, he'd rather be ignored than molested, at least.

He turned to finish his confrontation with Ron, but Ron was nowhere to be seen. Footsteps above Harry's head indicated that Ron had scampered up to his attic bedroom, quite probably to hide until his embarrassment dissipated.

"Fine with me," mumbled Harry in an undertone, "Bloody idiot. What the hell's he playing at, anyway?" He continued mumbling to himself all the way out to the garden, where he threw himself down on a bench overgrown with vines and tore up a handful of grass, shredding the green stalks as he brooded.

He stayed out in the garden for most of the rest of the morning, and was lying on the grass, enjoying the sun on his face, when a shadow fell across him. Harry blinked his eyes open and looked up. A tall, thin figure loomed over him, its arms crossed, its robes moving gently in the lazy breeze.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry groaned quietly.

"Sorry to wake you," said Percy as Harry sat up, "Or were you only resting? At any rate," he continued, not waiting for an answer, "I've come to give you something. Will you stand up, please?"

Harry did, though he wasn't quite sure why. Percy stepped closer, biting his lower lip, and Harry had never really realised before how tall Percy was, taller than Ron, even. And Harry realised too late that the reason he was taking notice of Percy's height was because Percy was entirely too close to him, and he managed only a half step away before Percy grabbed Harry by his thin shoulders and kissed him.

Percy's hands moved onto Harry's back, though Harry pressed his hands against Percy's chest, and Percy's tongue worked at Harry's mouth even as Harry, who had instinctively opened it when Percy's lips met his, struggled to close it.

Finally Harry wrenched away, shoving hard at Percy's bony chest, and Percy stumbled backwards a little way on the grass before regaining his balance and adjusting his spectacles.

"Well," he said then, clearing his throat, the faintest of smiles playing at his lips, "That's all."

And Percy Disapparated.

Harry paused a moment, blinked, drew a deep breath, and shouted.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!?"

He was answered only by the twittering of birds in the trees surrounding the garden and a faraway hoot that might have been Hedwig. Harry stomped off toward the Burrow, breathing hard through his nose, his jaw set in determination. He was going to find Charlie, he was going to tell him what was happening, and he was going to get to the bottom of the Weasley brothers' weird behaviour.

Harry didn't have to go far to find Charlie. He threw open the kitchen door, and there he was, sitting calmly at the table with a cup of tea—and Bill, Percy, Fred, and George.

Shit.

"Hey, Harry." Charlie smiled.

"Charlie, I—your brothers—they—wha—I—" Harry sputtered, his face turning crimson, not certain how or where to start.

Ron walked into the kitchen then, and Harry pointed a shaking finger at him.

"He tried to kiss me!" Harry shouted, "This morning, in the bathroom!" Harry turned on Bill. "He propositioned me, for god's sake! They—" he pointed at the twins, who were shaking with repressed laughter, and his voice rose in volume. "They—they—they touched me! And Percy snogged me, in the garden, just now!" He balled his hands into fists and stood, shaking with rage and confusion, in front of Charlie, who merely blinked at him, his mouth open a little.

"Wow," commented Bill coolly, "Sounds to me like the only Weasley you haven't done anything with is Charlie."

"You gonna take care of that, then, Harry?" asked Fred, with an attempt at concern that was belied by the tears of laughter streaming from his eyes.

Harry blinked. A thought was forming in the back of his mind and trying to push its way through the confusion and anger. It was something important, or at least it thought it was, and as it finally made its way through the crowd of emotion, Harry's mouth rounded in an O.

"You…" he trailed off, not entirely certain he was right.

But then, he rationalised, when had that ever stopped him before?

"You knew!" he said in a shocked whisper. "You knew!" Every last Weasley in the room save Charlie was grinning madly at Harry. Charlie only sat there, his mouth still open, his brow furrowed.

"Yeah, they know," he said finally, turning to glare at each of his brothers in turn, "But they promised they'd leave you alone until you were ready to tell. Isn't that right?" He was looking hard at Bill, who had an absolutely guilty look on his face.

"Well," Bill began, "Maybe we got tired of waiting." Charlie leaned threateningly towards Bill, but Harry interrupted.

"You knew about me and—?" Bill smiled, Fred and George laughed even harder, Percy smirked, and Ron nodded.

"'Course we knew, mate," Ron said, slinging an arm across Harry's shoulders, "You and Charlie are absolutely stupid for each other. Doesn't take a genius to see that."

"So you don't…mind, or anything?" Harry was feeling dumber by the moment. Of course they knew—Mr and Mrs Weasley must have realised it as well, and Ginny, too, and—

Charlie stood then, shoving Ron playfully.

"Hands off, Ronnikins," he said, smiling, "He's mine."

Harry slumped into Charlie's embrace, resting his forehead against Charlie's chest. "I can't believe they knew," he mumbled, snaking an arm around Charlie's back. It was decidedly odd to be embracing Charlie in front of all his brothers, Harry decided, but it was something he could definitely get used to.

Charlie moved his hand into Harry's hair and dropped a kiss onto his head. "I am so sorry about these idiots, Harry. Bill knew—he just knows things, don't ask me how—but he promised he'd keep it quiet. I told him you weren't ready." He kissed Harry again.

"It's all right, now, I guess," replied Harry, "I mean, it's weird, but it's okay, isn't it?" He grinned up at Charlie and Charlie bent to capture Harry's mouth in a kiss.

"Get a room!" shouted Fred, tossing a wadded-up section of the Prophet at the pair of them. Harry instinctively shot out a hand to catch it and chucked it right back at Fred from his safe haven in Charlie's arms. He reburied his face in Charlie's chest, so grateful to be there, and laughed when his ammunition apparently hit its mark—Fred swore, and Charlie laughed, too.

"Sleeping in my room tonight, then?" Charlie murmured into Harry's hair. Harry only nodded against Charlie's warm chest—the room was filled with laughter and jovial epithets, but Harry heard none of it, wrapped as he was in Charlie's arms.

He turned his face upwards and smiled, and Charlie's lips met his again, and there was the Prophet page thrown at them again, but Harry didn't care. He laughed into the kiss, which started Charlie laughing as well.

"Let's go," said Charlie, releasing Harry from the hug and draping one brawny arm across his shoulders.

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Do you care where?"

"I don’t care." Harry smiled again as they passed the kitchen table around which five Weasley brothers were now squabbling over the rest of the newspaper, the novelty of Harry and Charlie having worn off already.

"Tell me one thing, Charlie," said Harry, after several silent sunlit minutes spent leaning against Charlie's legs in the back garden.

"What's that?" Charlie stroked a hand fondly through Harry's hair, and Harry twisted around to look at him.

"How did Bill know?"

"I told you, he just knows things. And apparently, according to my eloquent little brother, we're stupid for each other."

Harry settled back against Charlie's legs again, turning his face to the sun.

"I can live with that," he declared, and a moment after he said it, he realised it was true.

It was a bit of all right, really, to discover that nothing else mattered.