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 he’s hallucinating from lack of sleep.
The Romanian reserve is loud that morning—handlers 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.“Don’t—” he starts.
But the Horntail doesn’t strike.It snorts, puff of smoke leaving its nostrils.
Instead it leans down and Merlin help him—you place your hand between its eyes.
The entire reserve freezes.
One of the younger handlers whispers, “She’s dead.”
Because the dragon… rumbles.
Not a warning.A pleased sound.
You scratch just under the ridge of its jaw where the scales overlap. The Horntail’s wings loosen. The tension drains from its shoulders.
Charlie’s heart is pounding so hard he can hear it in his ears.
“That’s impossible,” someone mutters.
Charlie whispers, almost reverently, “No… that’s talent.”
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.
He’s studied dragons since he was a boy. He’s 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.
'I’m 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 he’s approaching a sacred relic.
“You,” he says faintly, “have just done something that professionals train decades not to even attempt.”
You brush ash off your sleeve casually. “He just wanted someone who wasn’t afraid of him.”
Charlie stares at you like you’ve personally rewritten magical law.
“That’s a Class XXXXX dragon.”
“That's a bit dramatic,” you reply.
Charlie laughs once, sharp and breathless. 'Merlin, you’re brilliant.'
He steps closer, eyes bright with something almost feral in its intensity.“Do you have any idea,” he says, voice low with awe, “how extraordinary that was?”
You tilt your head. “Are you mad?”
“Mad?” He looks scandalized. “I’m in love.”
The words slip out before he can stop them.The handlers behind him choke, some snicker though Charlie does not care.
He’s looking at you like you’re the rarest magical phenomenon he’s ever encountered and that is saying something, given he works with dragons daily.
“You rode a Horntail,” he continues, pacing a little, hands through his hair. “Without a saddle. Without restraints. Without being incinerated.”
“He likes you,” Charlie repeats weakly. “Of course he does.”
He studies you, then glances back at the dragon, who is now watching him with smug, smoldering eyes.
There’s a beat of silence.
Charlie squares his shoulders.“All right,” he says decisively. “Two options.”
“Yes. Either you join the reserve officially because I refuse to let that talent go undocumented or you marry me.”
The handlers choke out a laugh as Charlie shrugs, utterly serious. “I’m flexible.”
You laugh shaking your head, the Horntail growls approvingly.
Charlie grins at you, sunlit and reckless and completely, hopelessly smitten.
“Honestly,” he adds, voice softening, eyes warm and certain, “any witch who can tame a dragon like that… deserves a Weasley.”
And from the way he’s looking at you?
He’s already decided you’re going to be one.
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