Alright imma send in the Charlie Weasley request again: Can I ask for some headcanons of him reacting to reader somehow taming and even managed to ride a dragon HTTYD style? I feel like he would drop down on his knees and ask reader to marry him on the spot.
A/n: I am sorry this took me so long, I get over whelmed and last year was not a good year for me and now with my back injury is just making shit worse.
And I couldn't figure out a way to make these a hc so its a drabble.
The first time Charlie sees it, he thinks heâs hallucinating from lack of sleep.
The Romanian reserve is loud that morningâhandlers shouting in multiple languages, chains clanking, the deep, volcanic rumble of irritated dragons echoing off the rocky cliffs. Charlie Weasley is halfway through a lecture about keeping a safe perimeter when the Hungarian Horntail in the far enclosure goes quiet.
A stillness, Charlie swears that you can hear a pin drop by how still it is.
That dragon does not go quiet.
The Hungarian Horntail lowers its massive, spiked head. Smoke curls from its nostrils. Its tail lined with jagged barbs, swishes once...a warning for whoever is the person that dares to go near it.
No protective shield charm. No bait. You're not even trembling like most tamers would. No instead you speak softly, hand out stretched.
Charlie stops mid-sentence.âDonâtââ he starts.
But the Horntail doesnât strike.It snorts, puff of smoke leaving its nostrils.
Instead it leans down and Merlin help himâyou place your hand between its eyes.
The entire reserve freezes.
One of the younger handlers whispers, âSheâs dead.â
Because the dragon⌠rumbles.
Not a warning.A pleased sound.
You scratch just under the ridge of its jaw where the scales overlap. The Horntailâs wings loosen. The tension drains from its shoulders.
Charlieâs heart is pounding so hard he can hear it in his ears.
âThatâs impossible,â someone mutters.
Charlie whispers, almost reverently, âNo⌠thatâs talent.â
And then you do something that makes him forget how to breathe.
Not recklessly, confidently. You move like you understand the rhythm of its body. One hand gripping a horn ridge, one foot finding purchase between armored scales.
The Horntail shifts its weight to accommodate you.
Charlie takes one step forward, instinct screaming at him to intervene but the dragon crouches and then launches into the sky.
The wind explodes outward as thirty feet of muscle and wingbeat thunder into the sky.You are astride a living inferno and you're laughing.
Heâs studied dragons since he was a boy. Heâs dedicated his life to understanding them. He respects them.
That is not how this world works.
The Horntail banks sharply. You lean with it naturally, low over its neck, fingers tangled securely in scale ridges.
Charlie feels something dangerous spark in his chest.
More of Awe, an possessive admiration.
A thought crashes into his head, uninvited and crystal clear.
'Iâm going to marry that woman.'
The dragon lands in a controlled, heavy descent that rattles the earth. You slide down its side, pat its flank, and murmur something affectionate.
The Horntail nudges you.Nudges you. Like some sorta cat!
Charlie walks toward you slowly, like heâs approaching a sacred relic.
âYou,â he says faintly, âhave just done something that professionals train decades not to even attempt.â
You brush ash off your sleeve casually. âHe just wanted someone who wasnât afraid of him.â
Charlie stares at you like youâve personally rewritten magical law.
âThatâs a Class XXXXX dragon.â
âThat's a bit dramatic,â you reply.
Charlie laughs once, sharp and breathless. 'Merlin, youâre brilliant.'
He steps closer, eyes bright with something almost feral in its intensity.âDo you have any idea,â he says, voice low with awe, âhow extraordinary that was?â
You tilt your head. âAre you mad?â
âMad?â He looks scandalized. âIâm in love.â
The words slip out before he can stop them.The handlers behind him choke, some snicker though Charlie does not care.
Heâs looking at you like youâre the rarest magical phenomenon heâs ever encountered and that is saying something, given he works with dragons daily.
âYou rode a Horntail,â he continues, pacing a little, hands through his hair. âWithout a saddle. Without restraints. Without being incinerated.â
âHe likes you,â Charlie repeats weakly. âOf course he does.â
He studies you, then glances back at the dragon, who is now watching him with smug, smoldering eyes.
Thereâs a beat of silence.
Charlie squares his shoulders.âAll right,â he says decisively. âTwo options.â
You blink. âOptions?â
âYes. Either you join the reserve officially because I refuse to let that talent go undocumented or you marry me.â
The handlers choke out a laugh as Charlie shrugs, utterly serious. âIâm flexible.â
You laugh shaking your head, the Horntail growls approvingly.
Charlie grins at you, sunlit and reckless and completely, hopelessly smitten.
âHonestly,â he adds, voice softening, eyes warm and certain, âany witch who can tame a dragon like that⌠deserves a Weasley.â
And from the way heâs looking at you?
Heâs already decided youâre going to be one.
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