We Sorta Kinda Just Happened (A Drarry Story)

Chapter 25

Waving a letter that had chicken scratched lines that resembled Ron's handwriting, Charlie walked towards them, coming to a stop directly in front of their path.

"Piggy is resting in my tent," He said, "I was just reading Ron's reply letter when you pop up here with the guy who has been tricking newbies into taking his night shift." He glowered at Reginald.

Reginald didn't even bother to act like he was regretful.

"It's a rite of passage," he stated plainly, "that I get you into a regrettable situation during your first week. You told us not to treat...him...any differently. Certainly not my fault that the guy is so green that you could mistake him for grass."

Charlie huffed and his glare grew harsher.

"He is not green, just...trusting. Far too trusting of someone like you. And because of your insistence on your ridiculous acts with no motivation, we have one of our best workers severely injured, but can't get him help because of some faulty charm he cast that causes people not to be able to be within five feet of him."

Spreading his arms, palm out, Reginald shrugged.

"This the kid who scurries away from you in fear when you say B-A-T-H. It's not like anyone was begging to be near him." He chortled.

For a second, Charlie's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and his hands that lay at his sides made fists. Slowly, with obvious effort, his features relaxed and unclenched until he turned to Harry with a toothless smile.

"Harry," he greeted tightly, "how about I get you to my tent and we can settle down there, hm?"

Clasping his shoulder, he led him deeper into the camp. Reginald waved back, smiling lopsidedly to him when Harry looked behind. Afterwards, Charlie set an even brisker pace, shouldering roughly past crowds that got denser with each step. Everyone gathered around an obvious circumference that had a lone, curled up figure laying prostrate. It was a young man, not much older than himself, and Harry bristled at the thought of Reginald mocking him.

Though, as they got closer, it seemed like it had some truth lying in it. An acrid smell hit his nostrils with a vengeance, making him jerk his head back. It didn't smell like anything he could name, but he knew it was horrible, and it could quite possibly be frying his nose hairs with a sizzle. Charlie noted his reaction.

"We found him," he said, as he shoved away another spectator, "while we were looking for a dragon that had run off. He was lying underneath its wings, and the dragon nearly slashed off someone's face when we tried to get him away from her. Sort of adopted him, really. No one knows where he came from, but he's got a knack for taking care of the dragons. So he stays, helps, and we give him food, shelter, and pay just like we would anyone else."

Charlie's boots slipped across the ground, losing traction as he pushed in vain against an invisible wall. His hands flailed as they lost their grip on the barrier over and over. Hearing the scuffling, the young man looked up at them with wide eyes and started to scoot closer. Before even moving a foot, the wall lurched and Charlie got pushed backwards. Collapsing down again, the young man's stare seemed to see past Charlie and his agonized attempts, past the entire crowd.

"It...hurts." He barely croaked out, gesturing at his leg with a bloody, scraped up arm.

The leg was twisted at a unnatural angle, seeming to be bending in more places than his knee. Taking all of the young man in, he saw jagged lines dripping with crimson blood curling around his torso. Bruises littered his thin arms and copper hair hung in sooty curlicues down his neck. His uniform was the same as everyone around him, a loose, long-sleeved shirt tucked into a pair of practical brown pants, but both were stained red and torn in multiple places.