A Preference for Dragons (Kingsley/Charlie, rated R) Title: A Preference for Dragons Author: mindabbles Prompt: # 157; The Minister realises the post as Minister comes with a lot of benefits: one of them is the hordes of witches who are hunting the good-looking former Auror. Only the young witches don't hold Kingsley's interest, not since [insert older-than-Trio male] seems to have taken an interest in what Kingsley is doing. (suggested by snapelike) Pairing/Characters: Kingsley/Charlie, Bill, Fleur Rating: R Word Count: approx. 5,500 Summary: Kingsley is a powerful man, a competent Minister, but somewhere along the line, he’s lost a part of himself to his position. He finds a sanctuary in his friends’ home; a sanctuary where he may just be safe enough to find himself again and fall in love. Warnings: None. This is essentially a sweet romance with a bit of hands down the pants, and some very light social commentary. Author's Note: Thank you to sec38 and angela_snape for their wonderful beta work, and again to sec38 for her encouragement when I literally lost it, and for the words for the summary.
“...has been seen with numerous single witches on his arm as we head into the spring season. And so, speculation continues, and rumours abound regarding the gentleman who may be known as the Minister for Magic, or may be known as ‘ Eligible Bachelor Number One.’ Back to you, Lee.”
“Thank you for that, erm, enlightening report, Justin. And now, we turn to Luna Lovegood, special correspondent for tonight’s editorial comment. Luna, welcome to the WWN2 evening news.”
Kingsley dropped his head into his hands and squeezed. The pressure on his temples provided only a modicum of relief. “Bloody Jordan,” he grumbled, and began planning their next conversation, during which the questionable quality of the content of certain reports on the WWN2 would feature heavily.
Almost everyone Kingsley knew had tried to set him up with their friends, daughters, and nieces. He never had more than one dinner with any of them, hoping people might tire of his personal life, or lack thereof, at some point. He had not had anything more than a brief holiday tryst since before the war, and his low romantic profile, instead of quelling what was beginning to feel like hysteria, seemed only to fan the flames.
As much as society had changed in the past couple of years, Kingsley could not imagine that wizarding Britain was ready for a gay Minister and he knew he wasn’t ready for any more ‘speculation and rumours’ about his personal life. If he was the subject of gossip columnists now, he didn’t dare imagine what might happen if they knew the truth, as deadly dull as it currently was.
“Minister?”
“Yes, Susan?” Kingsley looked up to see his assistant standing in the doorway, shifting back and forth on her feet. “Is something the matter?”
“Sir, we have it from Downing Street that The Other Minister is planning a trip to Eastern Europe,” she said, the words tumbling out on top of each other. “Sir, he wants to offer diplomatic support and to look into why certain districts seem to be faring better than others.”
Kingsley sighed heavily. He had known this would come up eventually. Some members of the magical community in Romania and parts east, including British wizards and witches living abroad, had apparently been ‘interfering’ in the troubled region through what should have been inconsequential spells. But it could hardly escape notice when a loaf of bread quadrupled in size or heating oil burned three times longer than it should.
“I thought we had an agreement. I thought our liaison had it all sorted,” he said. He would never, ever, go back to the war and he certainly didn’t long for his time at Downing Street, but sometimes he thought of the simplicity of good and evil, a known and common enemy, with something close to nostalgia. “I’ll go and see him tomorrow.”
*
Kingsley Apparated to the wind swept expanse of earth surrounding Shell Cottage. One had to be precise here. The ground fell away suddenly, severe white cliffs plunging into the sea. Long grasses and scrubby bushes, stunted by the unforgiving sand and stone underneath, covered the ground in a carpet of lush greens and hazy purples. He took a slow, deep breath of the tangy sea air, feeling the tension of the day and the film of London dissolve in the salt and mist.
Before he was Minister, he’d had fantasies that he’d be able to change everything, creating a just and equitable utopia. He wasn’t a frivolous man, and he and his staff had accomplished a great deal. And then, the first year of sweeping changes had given way to a hectic monotony and there simply hadn’t been time for some of the things he’d wanted to do next.
There were so few places these days where things were as simple as they seemed at first glance. So few times when the words he said were what he really meant, when no one was angling for something from him, and no one was watching the way he held his fork or opened the door as if they held significance. He rarely had a meal these days that was not somehow taken over by politics and rumours.
Here at his friends’ home, he could eat in peace and they would talk about things other than the situation in Eastern Europe, the recent negotiations with the National Union of House Elves or the latest photo of him in the Prophet. He couldn’t remember this level of gossip surrounding Fudge, but then again, Fudge had had to deal with things he didn’t.
He raised his hand to knock, and before he could tap on the door, it flung open. Bill stood in the doorway, smiling broadly.
“Hello, old man,” Bill said, stepping aside to usher him in.
“Old yourself,” Kingsley retorted, “I’m just getting started.”
“So I hear,” Bill smirked and hung Kingsley’s cloak on a rack by the door. “Eligible Bachelor Number One.”
“I see your taste in entertainment has taken a nose dive.”
“Just trying to keep my finger on the pulse,” Bill chuckled. “Go on into the dining room. Dinner’s almost ready. I’ll go and round up some drinks. Firewhisky?”
Kingsley nodded and walked to the dining room, breathing in the delicious scents coming from the kitchen. The room was comfortable and inviting. He glanced at the table and blinked hard. There were four place settings.
Fleur came in, smelling of sea air and carrying bunches of fresh herbs from the green house. Her cheeks glowed from the fresh air and her loose robes draped around the swell of her belly.
“Bon soir, Fleur,” said Kingsley. “Are you well?”
“Bon soir, Kingsley,” she said brightly. “Quite well, now that some of the earlier unpleasantness has passed. I did not see you arrive.”
Kingsley gestured at the table and opened his mouth to ask who the other dinner guest was, but Fleur said quickly, “Forgive my being a terrible hostess, but I must give these to Bill for his sauce.” She waved the fragrant bunch of herbs and hurried in to the kitchen.
Four place settings.
He had to deal with the unexpected, the possibly disastrous, the delicately diplomatic, on a daily basis, but here, the sight of four place settings almost brought tears to his eyes. Never in a thousand days would he have thought Bill and Fleur would join the ranks of those determined to set him up.
He raised his hand to his forehead and pressed against his temples. He began to invent an emergency that needed attending.
“Hello, Kingsley. Bill said you looked like you could do with this sooner rather than later.”
Kingsley turned toward the clear, mellow voice, and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Charlie holding a tumbler of Ogden’s Old in each hand.
“Not so much now as I thought I might, but thanks,” he said, smiling and taking the drink that Charlie held out to him. “How are you?”
“Can’t complain,” Charlie said. “So, what’s better?” Charlie leant one elbow on the sideboard, and Kingsley noticed tip of a greenish-blue tail curling over Charlie’s collar bone under the loose neck of his robes.
“Sorry?” Kingsley asked, taking a small sip of the whisky and enjoying the smooth beginning, overlaying the subsequent heat.
“You said you don’t need the drink as much now as you’d thought you would. What’s changed?”
Kingsley smiled at the prospect of an evening with good food, plentiful drink, and relaxed company stretching before him.
“The company.”
*
The dining room filled with sumptuous smells as Bill brought in platter after platter of delicious food. In the years since the war, Bill had become something of a gourmand and all of his family and friends benefited heartily from his new-found skill.
Kingsley had to admit that he’d carried a bit of a torch for Bill since before Voldemort’s defeat. You couldn’t have a pulse and not carry a bit of something for Bill - he was a good friend, gorgeous, the cooking didn’t hurt, and the loneliness didn’t help. He fancied Bill just enough to feel that little bit of a rush around him and add fodder for later fantasy, but not so much that it got in the way of their friendship.
Bill and Charlie were alike in many ways, although they were absolutely contrasted in others. Bill was classically handsome, with the now fading scars adding interest more than detracting from his looks. Charlie was good-looking in a more raw way, with his labour-toned physique and tightly shorn hair. Where Bill made you feel at home and would offer you anything he had, Kingsley had the sense that Charlie would make you laugh and leave when the brandy had been drunk. Kingsley had never known him to stay around for more than a few weeks, but he always seemed to show up when he was needed.
“Bill, it seems the Minister’s goblet is empty,” Charlie laughed and reached for the decanter of heady red wine.
“Here, he is Kingsley, never ‘Minister,’” Fleur said, with a charming smile. “I think this is why he comes, is it not?”
“Well, the food’s nothing to laugh at,” Kingsley said, pausing with a forkful of salmon in midair. The rich, oily fish was a perfect complement to the blackberry-deep wine. The luxurious meal combined with the slight undercurrent of tension he was imagining between himself and Charlie was making him feel positively drunk.
“So, what pries you away from your beloved dragons?” Kingsley asked.
“You don’t know?” Bill asked cautiously.
Kingsley shook his head.
Charlie cleared his throat and paused as if he weren’t certain he would answer.
“There’s a small dragon preserve starting in the north of Scotland, Hebridean Blacks. Evidently, the MacFusty’s have nothing to do with it. Hagrid heard of it and wrote us. He was afraid the bloke taking it up didn’t love dragons enough and might be planning to sell off their body parts. I volunteered to come and check it out, help out if he means well, report him if he doesn’t. Err, I was sure he at least had a permit.”
Bill and Charlie were both eyeing him warily, but it was Fleur who spoke. “It’s doubtful that Kingsley must be bothered with such details as permits,” she said.
“Fleur’s right. I’ll ask Susan to make sure it’s registered and to let you know. That’ll give you an indication of his intentions, anyway,” Kingsley said. He smiled gratefully at Fleur. An unexpected benefit of the friendship with her had been consistent gentle reminders to let some things be done by someone else.
“Yeah, I hear you’re busy enough, what with fending off all the marriage proposals,” Charlie said. He licked a drop of wine off of his goblet. “You do know that you’ve apparently been seen on the arm of at least a dozen witches this week alone. Rumour has it that you’re stringing them along, marrying no one, because you’ve a secret someone that you’re hiding,” his tongue darted to the rim of his goblet again, and trailed along the edge. He glanced at Kingsley, with a twinkle in his eye. “But I’m sure Bill would have told me if that were the case….”
“And do you know what I’ve heard about why you’ve never married?” Kingsley shot back. He felt a grin starting on his lips, and his eyes dropped to Charlie’s mouth, waiting to see what that tongue would do next.
“I don’t know,” Charlie said, looking interested. “What have you heard?”
“I wouldn’t repeat some of them, but to hear your mum tell it, it’s because you prefer the company of dragons to women,” Kingsley said, raising his goblet to his lips and his eyebrows to his forehead.
“Right then, the lesson here is clear,” Charlie said, fixing him with a penetrating look. “Believe none of what you hear.”
Kingsley’s eyes dropped to Charlie’s strong hands cupping his goblet. He raised his left hand to turn the gold hoop around and around through his ear lobe. When he glanced up again, he found twinkling brown eyes still trained on him. Then it hit him: it wasn’t just the food and the wine and the loneliness. He was being chatted up.
“I think it is time to serve desert,” Fleur said loudly, jumping up. Bill got up to help her, and as he turned to the kitchen, Kingsley saw that he had a silly little smile on his face.
*
The first thing Kingsley did when he got home that night was owl Susan to ask her to check whether or not there was a permit for a dragon preserve in the north.
The second was to pull off his clothes and slide his hand over his cock, with images of red hair, sturdy shoulders, and sparkling brown eyes, flashing in his mind.
*
The dragon preserve was indeed unlicensed, and the breeding pair had been stolen from the colony on the islands.
Kingsley never used his position for personal favours. Never.
And that is why he only recommended Charlie Weasley to stay and help the Aurors sort the problem with the dragons and see them returned to the MacFustys’ care because Charlie was already in Britain, and he was the most qualified dragon keeper for the job -- or so Kingsley told Susan to write in the memo.
During the next month, he was invited to Bill and Fleur’s more than he had been in the previous six. He found himself looking forward to the evenings at Shell Cottage more than ever. If he were being honest, he didn’t just look forward to them. He anticipated them all day with an embarrassing near-giddiness that he hadn’t felt since he’d been a second-year and had his first crush on a lanky, messy-haired, seventh- year Quidditch player.
They had developed a routine. Kingsley would arrive as soon as he could get away from work, bringing something for the meal. Once he’d made the mistake of bringing bread and had had to watch Fleur attempt to be gracious while slicing what she referred to with a forced smile as, English bread. From that day on, he’d brought wine. Apparently, although he knew nothing about bread, he was capable of choosing wine. Bill or Fleur, or sometimes both, would cook a lovely meal and insist that they didn’t need any help – leaving Charlie and Kingsley to talk or play chess until the table was laid.
Tonight, Charlie had already been waiting for him. He was sitting on the blue brocade couch, hands resting on his knees as he lent forward to look at the chess board. His hair was wet from a recent shower and he ran his hand through it as Kingsley stepped into the room.
“Hello there,” Charlie said. His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, the gentle crow’s feet on his young face a product of constant exposure to sun and wind and heat and cold. Charlie’s easy warmth was infectious and for a moment the two men fairly beamed at each other. Kingsley wondered, not for the first time, why he hadn’t yet gathered his nerve and just asked Charlie if he were interested.
“Hello yourself,” Kingsley said. It had been so long since he’d been on anything resembling a date, since he’d considered someone he actually knew as a potential date, that he found he no longer knew how to do it. It suddenly occurred to him that he might ask Bill if it were true that the only reason Charlie was never with a woman was because he preferred the company of dragons.
“You could have brought bread tonight,” Charlie said, with a slow smile and a nod toward the bottle of wine in his hand. “Fleur’s out with Ginny and Luna.”
Kingsley laughed and placed the wine on the sideboard. “Ah, is she giving them wedding planning advice?” he asked. The fact that Harry Potter had recently become engaged had, for a day, almost overshadowed the gossip about his own non-existent personal life.
“Nah. Well, Ginny maybe. But from what Fleur’s told me, and laws as they are, I doubt Luna will be planning a wedding,” Charlie said, and he winked.
Normally Kingsley did not like people who winked; he saw it as an evasive, not to mention classless, way of communicating. But on Charlie, the wink struck him as neither a dodge, nor low-class. He cleared his throat and ignored the heated flush he felt in his cheeks.
“Oh,” he said. “I see.”
“Do you?” Charlie asked, a bemused smile playing about his lips.
Kingsley glanced at the door to the kitchen, half expecting Bill to walk through the door and save him from answering.
“I’ll open the wine,” he said, and rushed to the kitchen.
Steam rose from the pots covering the cooker. A spoon made gentle, clockwise circles in a delicate-looking sauce, soup simmered in a cauldron, and a pile of half-peeled apples lay on the table. It looked as if Bill had Disapparated mid-preparations. If something were wrong, Charlie would have told him. What was wrong was that Kingsley had doxies duelling in his stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this nervous. He wasn’t used to feeling uncertain in any circumstances. But he hadn’t found himself in this particular circumstance since before the war.
He pulled down two goblets, uncorked the wine with a satisfying pop, and poured out the cool, golden liquid. I hope Charlie likes it, flitted across his mind. He groaned and shook his head as he pushed open the door.
“Where’s Bill?” he asked, handing Charlie a goblet of the crisp, dry white wine that the sommelier had promised had undertones of apple and Abyssinian fig.
“He had to pop over to a neighbour’s for cinnamon, or cloves, or something he was missing for desert.”
“Oh,” Kingsley said. The fact that he and Charlie were, for the moment, completely alone, slowly took shape in his mind. Suddenly he was talking about the political strife in Eastern Europe, and the concern that some well-meaning wizards may have put a bit of a snare in diplomatic relations. He cursed himself for choosing that particular topic, as it occurred to him that Charlie may well have been part of the Good Samaritan bit, but he couldn’t stop talking.
“The issue at hand isn’t so much that someone’s done something helpful, mind you. It’s more the cross contact issue, so…”
“Kingsley,” Charlie said. It was a soft sound that came through full lips, glistening with wine and curved with a small smile.
“…I was thinking I might need to make a trip east this year. The situation isn’t improving and the liaison doesn’t seem to have a handle…”
“Kingsley,” Charlie said, more insistently.
“…on it, so-“
“Kingsley,” Charlie said again, but this time he had raised himself from the couch and was suddenly next to Kingsley. “I’m glad some starving Muggles had some bread, but I don’t want to talk about it right now. Although your making a trip east later this year might be of interest, depending.”
“Depending upon what?”
“Upon your reaction to my kissing you.”
Kingsley realised three things in that moment. One, he’d known for weeks that Charlie was interested. Two, he was the bloody Minister for Magic, and would not be outmanoeuvred in any diplomatic situation. Three, this was a challenge, and he would be the one doing the kissing.
He grasped Charlie’s hand, large and warm and strong, the marks of his work evident everywhere their skin made contact. He just had time to register a flare of triumph in Charlie’s eyes as he leaned in to lick the wine off Charlie’s lips. The acidic tang of the wine met the heat and silk of Charlie’s mouth; the contrast made Kingsley moan softly. He felt Charlie smile against his mouth and then squeeze his hand, where their fingers were entwined. Charlie’s other hand moved to smooth over the small of his back, and Kingsley felt all the tension of the past weeks gather, low and hot in his body.
He lifted his free hand to thread through the short, spiky, just-damp hair and let Charlie pull him closer. He was already hard as stone from one kiss, and had a split-second flare of embarrassment as their bodies pressed together. Then Charlie groaned and pushed back and he could feel Charlie hardening against his thigh.
Hot, wet kisses trailed across his jaw and down his neck. He felt a swath of heat as Charlie painted his way back up to his mouth with his tongue.
How much better the kisses were when they were more than a prelude to throw-away sex.
And there was the quandary.
“Ah,” he gasped. “I, I,” he stammered. It was so fast and so good and he couldn’t just do this. He gave that privilege up when he accepted the office. “Charlie, wait. I have to say something.”
“You are not about to tell me you’re a virgin,” Charlie said, his now-sultry voice laced through with laughter.
“I’m not out. Nobody knows. I don’t know how to do this with…with a friend.”
“What?” Charlie asked breathlessly. His hand was massaging small circles on Kingsley’s arse and his lips found an earlobe, and Kingsley wanted this so badly.
“Charlie, Charlie,” he insisted. “Everything I do makes the news. I don’t have relationships. I don’t ever have flings with anyone I know, anyone in our world. I don’t have a personal life.”
“Bill knew,” Charlie said, looking at him incredulously. “Why the hell did you think he’s been working at setting us up for a month?”
"Oh," Kingsley mouthed. Looking back, he knew that as well.
"And this doesn't have to mean anything more than it means. I'm not going to pine away if you don't owl me in the morning," Charlie said. "I'm not exactly famous for long-standing relationships either. I like you, respect you. I think you're sexy as hell, and I've gathered that you may feel the same about me." He whispered the last as he trailed his hand down the front of Kingsley's robes. The neck of Charlie's robes had slipped askew. Kingsley stared at the tip of the dragon tail on his collar bone, and he desperately wanted to find out where the rest of that dragon lay.
"Yeah," he said, or tried to say. It was more of an inelegant, swallowed grunt. He lost the ability to speak when Charlie's large hand pressed against his erection and gently squeezed.
Charlie laughed, full and bright, against his cheek, and he realized that for the first time in years, here was someone who was worth the risk.
"Do you want -- "
Kingsley cut off Charlie's question with a kiss, gently pulling Charlie's bottom lip between his and revelling in the sensation when Charlie began to respond and kiss back.
He moved his fingers, hurrying and fumbling, to unfasten Charlie's robes. He could feel the rise and fall of breath and the beat of a pulse in the warmth of Charlie's skin under his hands. His belly was soft and pale, with a smattering of freckles and downy, ginger hair that made Kingsley want never to stop touching.
"Mmm," Charlie hummed, and he leaned into Kingsley's touch.
He felt Charlie's hand slip into his pants and cup and caress his arse. Desire radiated out through his body from each touch of the hand and he thought his spine might melt. When he gasped, "Charlie, please," Charlie slid his hand around to the front, and Kingsley finally felt those strong, calloused fingers begin to stroke.
With a tremendous effort, Kingsley gathered his wits enough to reciprocate and moved his hand from Charlie's belly to his cock.
Charlie was thick and hot in his hand, and there was the pull and slide of Charlie's hand along his length, and his heart started to race and his body scream more. A hot mouth was suddenly on his, tongue darting out to lick, teeth nipping, and low moans vibrating through Kingsley's body and that was just enough, and he was thrusting hard and spilling over Charlie's hand.
"So close," Charlie grunted and Kingsley sped his hand to the rhythm of his own pounding blood until Charlie gasped, "Fuck, yes," and Kingsley felt his body tense in his arms, and liquid heat pulsing onto his stomach.
"Ah. That. Oh, I," Kingsley panted. He gave up trying to speak and pressed his open mouth to Charlie's, kissing him fiercely.
"Yeah," Charlie whispered, breaking the kiss to gasp for breath.
The room around him slowly began to come back into focus as they stood there, catching their breath, foreheads leaning together, each with one hand still shoved down the others' pants, hands holding softening cocks.
"We should probably –" Kingsley started, but he was interrupted by the sound of a sharp intake of breath from across the room.
"Erm, yes, well now," Bill stammered. "I think I forgot the cloves." And he banged forcefully into the kitchen door on his way out.
*
Kingsley let his eyes fall shut again. Charlie was moving over him slowly, languidly now, their bodies touching at knees and hips and chest. He reached up to pull Charlie's mouth to his and moaned softly as their tongues curled around each other, and Kingsley could no longer tell Charlie's taste from his own.
The light of a single candle flickered in Kingsley's bedroom, giving a golden hue to Charlie's skin and deepening the red of his freckles and hair.
Charlie pulled away from the kiss with a contented sigh. He pressed his lips to Kingsley's jaw, before flopping onto his back on the dishevelled bed. Kingsley reached for Charlie's hand and weaved their fingers together.
"I'd always heard that Ravenclaws were supposed to be brilliant, but I never fully appreciated the fact," Charlie said, looking like the cat what got the cream.
They had a new routine. Invitations to Bill and Fleur's were still frequent. Sometimes they went, sometimes Charlie didn't make it back from Scotland in time, and sometimes Kingsley had to stay late at the Ministry. Regardless, Kingsley could count on his fire glowing green sometime before midnight, and Charlie's voice calling, "Want some company?"
The travel arrangements alone had taken a fortnight, but the Hebridean Blacks were now safely returned to the MacFustys’ care. After helping them restore the dragons to health, Charlie's work in Britain was done. He'd be going back to Romania after the weekend.
Charlie shuffled closer and turned to lay his head on Kingsley's shoulder. His breath, soft and even, warmed the skin over Kingsley's collar bone.
"I don't want you to go," Kingsley blurted out.
"Don't look so surprised," Charlie said, flashing a grin. He rolled his head to place a kiss on Kingsley's chest. "I am fairly spectacular."
"I mean it. I've become accustomed to this," he said, wrapping an arm around Charlie and rubbing small circles on his back. "It's familiar and, well, nice. It's comfortable. It's as if I have to put on someone else, someone who doesn't fit as well, when I'm not with you."
"You make me sound like an old shoe. I'd like to think I'm rather more exciting than that," Charlie said, laughing.
"With how things have been lately, you have no idea how much 'comfortable,' means," Kingsley said. "And I wouldn't have thought I’d left any doubt that I find you exciting."
"So, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I don't want you to leave, and failing that, I don't want this to end because you do," Kingsley said.
"I'd like that, continuing this, that is,” Charlie said, his voice softer and more sincere than Kingsley was accustomed to hearing.
"I've been thinking about something else. Something you said when we were talking about the, err, possible wizard interference in Muggle affairs in your neck of the woods." Kingsley paused as Charlie lifted his head off his chest to look at him. "You said that Voldemort was dead, but that didn't mean the Order's work was finished."
"That must have been during one of my overzealous moments." Charlie said, the laughing tone back in his voice.
"No, you were right. We had a vision when we were fighting Voldemort. I'm afraid I'd begun to lose sight of that," Kingsley said. When he’d first become Minister, everything had been so clear. Send the Dementors packing. Clear out the dead wood and the useless rules. Repair and rebuild relationships.
Over the past few weeks, he’d realized just how much had changed, and how much of himself he’d lost. With Charlie’s fond gaze on him, he felt a rush of energy. And it was like coming home.
“That’s not all I’d lost sight of,” he said. His heart beat faster.
"I’d gathered there might be more," Charlie said, sitting up, so that they were eye-to-eye. He reached out and took Kingsley’s hand, and held it in both of his.
"I think it’s high time I put the gossip mongers out of their misery.”
Charlie blinked, but he didn’t look away, and he said slowly, "Are you sure? You said you thought it could end your career. I've seen your competition. You could still do a lot of good just by staying in office."
"I think I could do a great deal more good being honest,” Kingsley said.”People will accept it and let me do my job, or they won’t. I’d like to know either way. Look, I'm already the first Black Minister for Magic, I may as well be the first gay one -- known, that is.” He smiled and turned his hand over in Charlie’s, and grasped Charlie’s hand in both of his. “And there’s you. This may be premature, and I may send you running right now, but if I'm not single, I don't want people saying I am, and I don't want people saying you prefer dragons.”
“Maybe you don’t have to make a big pronouncement,” Charlie said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe we simply start being seen together, give them something to talk about.”
Kingsely chuckled as a vivid image of Charlie, in impeccably tailored dress robes, arriving on his arm to the Ministry’s Annual Ball, popped into his head. That would certainly cause quite a stir.
“As tempting as that sounds, I would rather have more control over what’s said,” he said. “If they’re going to talk, let it be the truth.”
"If you want me with you when you do it, I'll be there," Charlie said. His expression was soft and sincere, and Kingsley could feel it like something bright and tangible in his chest.
Charlie moved his hand to smooth over Kingsley’s knee, and he was smiling with something that looked like pride. Kingsley reached out and placed his hand, where the blue-green dragon lay, over his heart.
"I don't want to spoil our last weekend together. Monday, I’ll call Lee Jordan."
"Kingsley? This is not our last weekend together."
The candle sputtered as the wick began to burn away, momentarily interrupting the fluid movements of the light. Kingsley leaned his weight onto his hand where it touched the dragon, and pushed Charlie back down onto his bed.