Pairing Snape/Charlie Rating hard R Warnings Snape is alive, but that's the only deviation from canon intended. Summary Snape gets a chance at a new life, but perhaps not the one he expected. Disclaimer Just borrowing for fun. Word count 4,023 Author Notes Thank you to my beta C for all her help.
Above the Clouds
"Charlie! Hey, Charlie!"
Charlie thought he could hear something, and pulled his heavy scarf down from around his ears, braving the icy mountain air. He could feel the tingle on the tips of his ears as they numbed already. He turned, and could see Appleby's huddled figure making his way up the slope.
"Charlie," Appleby huffed as he drew closer. "Good man. Need you to do a delivery."
Charlie groaned. "Today? I thought Denny was doing them. I've not even made half my rounds yet, and you know Henry is going to be difficult without his mate again."
"Denny's doing most of them." Appleby had the grace to look guilty. "But there are packages piling up for the West Ridge hut, and it looks like his new papers have arrived too, so we can't really wait for your day."
It wasn't that Charlie minded going up to the West Ridge. Most days he trudged up the difficult trail he enjoyed the view, and he seemed to be the only one who didn't find the company up at the tiny house off-putting. The fresh fall of snow would make it trickier, though, and he was already running late.
Still, if their unsociable guest's new identity papers had come through, that was pretty big news. Charlie could be back at the office by five to sign off and collect the packages, an hour each way… he could do that, even if it meant not eating until seven thirty or eight o'clock.
"Okay." Charlie almost laughed at the relief on Appleby's face. "I'll go later, leave everything on the desk if I'm not back before you get off. I can always lock up."
"Thanks, Charlie." Appleby clapped him on the shoulder, and Charlie watched him trudge off back down to his nice warm office. Settling his scarf back over his ears, which felt warmed almost instantly, he resumed his trek up to the northernmost reserve where several dragons, including a grumpy, out of sorts Horntail, awaited him.
It was almost six by the time he picked up the packages from the office, and the sky was a deep, dark blue. It was a clear evening though, no sign of snow in the air, and Charlie knew the way well, so he wasn't concerned. He grabbed a couple of snacks from the emergency stash in Appleby's drawer and sorted through the packages. All the ones lying on the desk were for the West Ridge hut and its occupant, and Charlie had to empty his big hiking backpack out to make room for them all. A couple of smaller ones fitted neatly in his pockets, and the envelope of documents he kept under his jacket to keep it flat and dry no matter what.
It wasn't a hard trail out to the West Ridge, but it wasn't ideal on just a couple of snack bars since breakfast. Charlie knew his mum would have a fit if she knew he wasn't eating properly, but everything seemed so much effort and he just didn't have time most days to get lunch. Still, it was almost seven thirty when he knocked on the door of West Ridge House. Up here he could hear the Horntail carrying on again, and see the bursts of flame glowing in the distance.
"It's late," a cold voice snapped, and Charlie realised the door had opened while he wasn't paying attention. "What are you doing here?"
"Mail, " he said, unperturbed by the lack of welcome. "And it's not like you ever sleep."
A long face framed by wavy fair hair scowled back at him. "I sleep when it's convenient," the man said. "Not when convention dictates I should."
Charlie just shrugged and waited for the man to open the door properly, which he did finally, if with a bad grace.
"You, on the other hand, look like you haven't slept since the last time we spoke."
There was a good reason for that, Charlie thought. He wasn't sure he'd had a full night's sleep in months. It was none of anyone else's business, however.
"Here," he said, ignoring the comment. "You probably want this first." He pulled out the envelope of documents and passed it over before pulling his backpack off and unloading it.
"Is this…?"
"Yeah."
Usually the refugees they had passing through were pretty enthusiastic about their new lives, or at least getting the hell off this mountain and starting something permanent. Charlie didn't think Monkswood seemed too keen, if the way he was eyeing the envelope suspiciously had anything to do with it.
Maybe he just didn't want to open it in his presence. That was probably wise. And Charlie should go, anyway.
"Drink?" Monkswood had the whisky out, and if there was one thing Charlie appreciated about coming up here, it was that Monkswood only kept the good stuff in. The bottle was almost glowing in the firelight, so tempting. But he knew where staying for a whisky would lead, and his stomach was already rumbling.
"I can't," he said, and he hoped it wouldn't mean it was the last invitation. "I'm running late, and I haven't eaten yet, so I can't really stop long tonight."
"As you like," Monkswood said stiffly, and that was what Charlie had been afraid of.
"Next time?" Charlie offered, and he tried a smile. "I really would rather stay for a bit, but-"
"You could-" Monkswood stopped, as if he couldn't make himself say the words, but he cleared his throat and tried again. "I was about to have dinner, if you would care to join me?"
Apparently being well fed made Charlie really easy, because it took only two glasses of whisky instead of the usual four before he found himself face down across Monkswood's rickety iron bed shouting "Harder, fuck, harder," while Monkswood breathed hot and wet down the back of his neck.
"So-demanding," Monkswood panted out, but he set his hands down either side of Charlie's shoulders and leaned into him more, pushing himself in deeper, making Charlie cry out loud. "This is what you come here for, isn't it, Weasley?"
"Shut up and-fuck me," Charlie groaned, and gripped the bedclothes tightly. He felt Monkswood pull out slowly, tortuously, and slam himself back in. It was too much, it was perfect, it was not fucking enough, but he came loud and explosively on the end of Monkswood's cock as he had done every time before.
It was strange getting dressed again almost sober. Monkswood wasn't as far gone as usual either, all restless and still casting glances at the unopened envelope where it lay on the dresser.
"Just open it," Charlie said, pulling on his jeans. "I won't look."
Monkswood gave him a look, so he added, "I'm not allowed. Has to stay a secret." Monkswood slid one finger under the seal and tugged, and Charlie busied himself straightening his socks and finding his boots.
"Okay?" he asked, when Monkswood read it silently, and the man nodded.
"More than I expected," he said, and Charlie thought there might have been guilt there. "I'm not sure I-" but he stopped there. He looked strangely humbled, almost lost. "It's better than I deserve."
On impulse, Charlie pulled him in for a kiss, but Monkswood turned his face at the last moment.
"What?" Charlie asked. They didn't normally kiss, it was true, but tonight was different.
"This wasn't a date," Monkswood said, his tone cold again. "Don't get the wrong idea."
"Right," Charlie said. "Because you're so friendly with everyone else, this isn't anything out of the ordinary for you."
Monkswood scowled. "Maybe this is just fucking, have you considered that, Weasley?" he sneered.
"Yep." Charlie finished lacing his boots and stood again. "But I've also considered that we might be friends, at least." He shrugged. "And friends kiss sometimes."
"I could be anybody," Monkswood said, and his eyes were as hard as his voice. "You should be more careful who you call a friend."
"You think I don't know," Charlie said, and he knew he was right when panic flared in Monkswood's eyes. "Because I call you Monkswood and keep reminding you to keep the glamour up even in my company?"
"Nobody is supposed to know," Monkswood said, and his face was growing paler by the second. "I was assured that only the head of the organisation knew who anyone was, and that-"
"That's me," Charlie said, as gently as he could. "The refugee resettling was my idea, and I'm the only one who knows who anyone is. Was. And you know, no offence, but you're kind of distinctive even under that."
"But the-" Monkswood gestured at the envelope that contained his whole new identity, his future.
"Set up so that even I don't know who you will be," Charlie said. "It's the safest way. But I'm the one who thought you would be happiest up here on the Ridge instead of sharing a hut down in the valley like the others, and I'm the one who covers for you when potions ingredients arrive, and who makes sure nobody knows about the lab you have set up here."
Monkswood looked as confused as he did shocked.
"I'm the only one who knows you used to be Severus Snape," Charlie said. "And I still think I should kiss you goodbye."
The press of lips in return was only slight, and not particularly satisfactory for Charlie, but considering who he was dealing with he was prepared to call it a victory.
To Charlie's surprise, although he did his best not to show it, Snape came down to socialise every few days after that evening.
Most nights of the year someone or other would make extra food, and having so many extra visitors around parties and gatherings weren't uncommon once they saw they were actually going to be able to leave again. Most of the people currently staying at the reserve had their new documentation now, which meant they'd be leaving in a month at the outside, and that often led to a thaw in their attitudes.
Charlie had hoped for it, but he hadn't really expected Snape to follow the usual pattern. The frequent invitations to walk back up to the West Ridge with Snape for a nightcap were welcome too - Charlie didn't mind if anyone found out about him and 'Monkswood'. It wasn't that. But people were nosy, and he was often interrupted for some crisis or another in the middle of the night- the perils of being known as a night owl and living in the hut closest to the office.
Charlie was always careful to be back in his own bed by the early hours, just in case.
"I have to go soon," he said, from underneath Snape's arm, which was growing heavier by the moment. He was drowsy from the whisky and Snape had consumed considerably more than he had, he was certain of that.
"Mm." There was no sign of Snape moving, however. Charlie lifted up the arm covering him with some difficulty and slipped out from underneath it. His clothes were scattered about the floor, even more widely than usual, and by the time he located his missing socks Snape was snoring loudly.
Charlie sat down on the bed fully dressed and looked at him. The fair hair was fading to black, the glamour wearing off gradually as Snape slept. He'd have something more permanent to go with his new identity, of course, but for the first time Charlie wondered if this was why he was never invited to stay the night. The slightest suggestion of a hooked nose shimmered under the short straight one Snape possessed, and Charlie couldn't help but watch as the man he'd known since he was eleven years old emerged from under the illusion.
Severus Snape had a furrowed brow even in sleep, his face pale and drawn from all the time spent locked away in his house instead of out in the fresh air. Charlie couldn't remember seeing him out and about it daylight since he'd arrived and settled in here. Charlie wondered where Snape, or whatever his new name would be, would end up when he left the mountain. Wherever it was, he would no doubt lock himself away once more.
Snape murmured something nonsensical in his sleep, and Charlie couldn't help chuckling. He was sorry for it when Snape's eyes opened, although it took them a moment to focus on him.
"Just leaving," Charlie told him, and leaned down for the now customary goodbye kiss.
Outside the snow was piled up against the door, and the trail down from the Ridge was almost entirely obscured. There was no way Charlie was making it back down to his hut tonight.
"Nothing doing," Charlie said, stepping back inside. "I can sleep on the sofa," he added when Snape was silent, and he turned to find Snape behind him, staring at himself in the mirror over the fire. He closed the door and locked it firmly, and put his hand on Snape's shoulder gently. Snape was still staring, first at the reflection of both of them and then at Charlie when he turned to face him.
"Everything okay?" he asked, when Snape still said nothing. It was awkward, Snape's face combined with the relationship he had with Snape. Or was it Monkswood?
"Don't be ridiculous, boy." Snape gave him a push towards the stairs, so Charlie supposed it was okay. It was strange heading back up there to the rumpled bed, not stumbling up with whisky burning his tongue and his shirt undone. But it was kind of nice getting into bed with Snape instead of Monkswood, and to have his arm around someone comfortably rather than just rushing to have one of them buried inside of the other.
In the morning Snape's side of the bed was empty when Charlie awoke, and he was surprised at his own disappointment. It was almost worth it for the breakfast that awaited him when he headed down to the kitchen, and certainly for the view from the window over the mountain.
"I never realised how far you could see from here," Charlie said, sitting down to a plate filled with bacon and eggs. "It's a beautiful view."
Snape just hmmmphed, but Charlie noticed that the table was set up to make the most of the view, and that the ugly old blinds had been removed from the kitchen windows since Snape had moved in, so he wasn't falling for it.
"I have to make my rounds near here anyway this morning," Charlie said. "The trail will be safe enough in daylight." He swallowed a mouthful of egg and continued. "You should come with me."
Snape scowled, but Charlie could tell it was half-hearted at best. "Why on earth should I want to do that?"
"The view from the northern enclosure tops even this," Charlie said. "It's worth the walk for that. And to meet Henry."
"Who," Snape asked, his mouth veering between a sneer and a scowl, "is Henry?"
"This," Charlie said, gesturing with a broad grin for his favourite dragon," is Henry."
Snape, or rather Monkswood, now his glamour was back in place, looked where Charlie gestured. If he'd been expecting a magnificent specimen of dragonkind, Charlie was quite sure he was disappointed. Fortunately Henry spied one of his younger relatives trying to sneak up on him at that moment and took off in a rage, driving the younger dragon off with massive burst of…
"Hot air?" Snape said, his expression bemused. He held out a hand to where Henry's gout of scorching hot flame should have reached him, and it shimmered in the heat haze. There was a line of slightly melted snow on the route the flame would have taken, but nothing like he'd seen before.
"Yeah." Charlie laughed. "We've no idea why he can't produce fire like the others, but he's probably the oldest dragon we have here and it may just be something that happens. That's what research is for though, right?"
Monkswood looked interested, which was the first time he'd shown anything of the kind since he'd arrived.
"That would explain the curmudgeonly behaviour," Snape said, watching Henry charge at another youngster, sending it flapping up into the air.
"Oh, he has a bit of a temper," Charlie said, "but he's annoyed because we took his mate away. Just a touch of Scaleblight, that's all, but we had to quarantine her for something that contagious. Nothing we've dosed her with has made much improvement, so we'll just have to wait it out."
Charlie didn't think much of it when Snape followed him all the way back down to the reserve, other than rejoicing that he'd actually got some fresh air in the man's lungs for once. 'Monkswood' looked healthier than Snape had; the illusion had more colour in his cheeks to start with, but Charlie thought even he looked better for getting out and about a little.
"You don't have much potions stock," Snape observed, watching while Charlie measured out doses to take to the quarantine pens. "Are you running low?"
Charlie looked up at the shelves. "This is well-stocked for us," he said. "Potions are expensive, and not many people like to deliver up here. Too many breakages, and they charge extra for cushioning charms."
Snape snorted derisively. "Ingredients are more reasonable, and the potions aren't difficult to make."
"Nobody has the time." Charlie closed up his backpack and hoisted it onto his back. "I'm probably the most experienced potion maker we have, and I'm sure you remember-" what I was like at school, he was going to say, but Snape froze and Charlie remembered he couldn't really say that here.
"There are plenty of potions experts," he said, his voice low, "and for all they know you were in my class at school."
Snape relaxed, but only a fraction.
"I have some brewed that may be of use in your work," Snape said. "If I bring them down, you could always say I obtained them in gratitude…?"
Charlie shrugged. "We'll just say you donated them, and leave the rest well alone," he said. "And, well. Thanks."
"If you want to thank me," Snape said, with a sly glance at the sun sinking low over the peaks, "you can always return the dinner invitation?"
It was only when he stepped through the doorway into his hut with Snape close on his heels that Charlie remembered why it was a bad idea to bring him here. To bring anyone here.
To his credit, it took Snape a fair while to ask. He made it all the way through Charlie's hastily prepared meal and half a bottle of wine before he gave in to his obvious curiosity.
"The photographs," Snape began, but Charlie had already thought of so many different ways to answer the enquiry he was bound to hear that he didn't get any further.
"My roommate," he said, and wondered exactly what magic of language made the word sound, to him and obviously to Snape from the look on his face, like so much more than its basic definition.
"I should-" Snape said, starting to get up, but Charlie put a hand on his arm and after a moment he resumed his seat.
"Former roommate," Charlie corrected. After thinking it through for the past hour or more he was still no closer to coming up with a concise story, so he settled for the bare bones of the facts. "He worked at the Ministry through the war, undercover."
Snape's shocked expression showed he had no illusions about what that had meant. Of course, he would have more idea than most. Charlie still wondered if that should bother him more than it did.
"The things he had to do," Charlie said, almost to himself. "And he couldn't tell anyone he had to, didn't have a choice but to keep up the act." Charlie swallowed, hard. He hadn't told anyone before, and everyone still thought Dougal was a traitor. "He didn't get out quickly enough when it was all over. He was killed by people who thought he really was one of them. A Death Eater lackey. Nobody is ever going to think any differently of him."
"I'm sorry," Snape said, and Charlie was grateful for the sincerity in his borrowed voice. He was even more grateful when Snape got up to take his leave.
It was only when he sank thankfully into his bed that he realised Snape might have been waiting for an invitation to stay the night.
Snape didn't appear the following evening, nor the few after that. Parcels arrived addressed to the West Ridge house as usual, but Charlie found excuses not to go up; the man was leaving soon, there was no need to make the parting harder on either of them.
He was so busy not thinking about Snape that the departure day came sooner than he expected. He checked into the office in the morning to find a large box of assorted potions, and the shelves already filled to the brim with shiny, neatly labelled bottles.
Snape must have done little else but brew potions since Charlie had last seen him, he thought with a pang. He debated with himself for a moment, then headed over to knock on Appleby's door.
When Charlie came out of the office, Snape, or Monkswood, was waiting outside with a couple of others. One of them was holding a red boot, obviously the portkey. One of them, a dark-haired little witch, was looking at her watch every few seconds.
"Not long now," she said, and looked excited.
Snape just looked bored.
"I, um," Charlie faltered. "I'll miss you." The witch and the portly wizard suddenly found the view extremely interesting. Charlie ignored them and pulled Snape to one side.
"I trust the potions will be of use," Snape said, as if Charlie hadn't spoken. "I gave Greg some of the Frogliver Ointment to try on Queenie a couple of days ago. If he's been applying it properly you should see some improvement in her condition very soon."
"That's-" not what I wanted to talk about, Charlie was going to say, but it kind of was. "That's great, really great." He took a deep breath. "I think you should stay."
Snape looked at him as if he were insane.
"Just-" Charlie shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "I asked Appleby, and he said we can afford a potion maker, especially with the Ministry paying out for the refugee resettlement. If you wanted to stay," he said, his voice hopeful.
"That would…" Snape hesitated, and Charlie could see his glance stray over to his hut. His hut, filled with pictures, and memories, and him.
"Dougal isn't coming back," Charlie said, and there was hardly any prickling in his eyes when he said it this time. "The refugee programme is his memorial, and it's done a lot of good. It's time I moved on, got my act together."
Snape nodded. "Perhaps a change of residence would help," he said, and he glanced at Charlie as he said it. "There's plenty of room up at West Ridge if there are too many memories down here."
That sounded like an acceptance to Charlie, so he decided to take it as one. He took Snape's bag from him, and with the witch and wizard looking after them puzzled, he started to walk away from the departure point. He was about to ask Snape if he wanted to come on his rounds with him or go and unpack again, when there was a shout from behind him, and he turned, shielding his eyes from the early sun that was blinding him against the snow.
"Looks like Queenie is feeling better," he said, with a grin, as the enormous dragon flew after Greg, heading back for the top of the mountain and her mate Henry. "I think your new career is going to work out."