Entry tags:

character: harry, character: percy, genre: angst, genre: slash, pairing: percy/harry, rating: nc-17

Merrily We Roll Along (Percy/Harry, NC-17)
Title: Merrily We Roll Along
Pairing: Percy/Harry, mentions of canon pairings and Percy/Anthony Goldstein
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4946
Warnings: None.
Summary: How did you get here from there? (What happened to Percy and Harry in those lost nineteen years.)
Disclaimers: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and Stephen Sondheim owns Merrily We Roll Along. I own nothing but my ideas.
Notes: All my most heartfelt gratitude goes out to freckles42 (Here's to us. Who's like us? Damn few.) for her cheerleading and the brainstorming sessions and all the help, and for just being generally awesome. Written for el_em_en_oh_pee for Valensmut 2008.


But the vapour was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody's faces. Detached from their owners, voices sounded unnaturally loud. Harry thought he heard Percy discoursing on broomstick regulations, and he was quite glad of the excuse not to stop and say hello.... (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Nineteen Years Later)

---

Yesterday is done (One year earlier)

Percy was up and dressing before Harry had caught his breath.

"Why?" Harry queried, an arm slung across his stomach, his legs still spread, one knee up, as casual after sex as he always had been.

Percy turned away from the spectacle.

He searched for a while to find his tie, which was slung over the back of a chair. When he'd finished knotting it around his neck, he turned again and regarded Harry for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said, but he couldn't make himself sound sorry at all. He sat on the bed, and Harry moved closer as if for a kiss, but Percy bent and began putting on his shoes.

"Why do you have to leave so soon?" Harry sounded like a child, and his petulant words hung like a fog in the darkened bedroom.

Percy blew out a breath and his shoulders slumped. He stared at the floor.

"I can't do this, Harry," he said, almost inaudibly. "I thought I could. But I can't."

"But—" Harry countered, sitting up and covering himself with the duvet.

Percy shook his head. "You made your decision," he said. "I can't be your second choice. I won't."

Harry scrambled to his feet. "Percy," he implored, "that's not—"

Percy raised a hand, cutting Harry off.

"I've had enough trouble for a lifetime, Harry."

He sucked in his bottom lip to prevent himself from saying anything more, then Disapparated.

---

We get continued next week (Six days earlier)

Percy had, of course, heard that there were married couples who had "arrangements". He'd never been fond of the concept. Marriage was a commitment like any other—a person didn't make an arrangement when he found himself unfulfilled by the choices he'd made, the life he'd created.

But that was exactly what Harry was proposing in the letter that Percy held balled up in his fist.

Ginny, it would seem, was unaware of Harry's idea—at least for the moment. That was what Percy gathered from reading between the lines. He smoothed the parchment out on his kitchen table and reread the letter, his eyes scanning over the handwriting which had once been so familiar.

I miss you. I love Ginny, but I miss you. I'm sick of pretending to be this all right married hetero normal bloke when all I want is you.

I can't even remember the last time we saw each other.

You should see the kids. They ask about you sometimes.

Percy sighed and closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He knew he would go, in the end, no matter how much he debated with himself. Because the stitches with which he'd mended his heart were splitting at Harry's earnest plea, and he ached and shivered as if with fever.

Sunday, the letter said, and Percy nodded. And waited.

---

Too many lives are at stake (Three years earlier)

Percy hadn't expected to see Harry. He should've, of course he should've; Harry was a part of the family now more than he'd ever been. But even with all his worrying and planning, Percy hadn't even entertained the prospect of running into Harry.

He lifted his chin and nodded at Harry across the garden, receiving in return a wave and a smile. Harry bent, then, to encourage the dark-haired children clustered around his knees to do the same, but Percy hurried to his seat before the two boys and the little girl could be persuaded to comply. The music had begun, after all, and it wouldn't do to be late to his own brother's wedding.

At the reception, Percy escorted Angelina around the dance floor for the duration of a single waltz, at George's insistence, then retired to the darkest corner of the tent with a glass of whisky.

Harry found him. Percy stared into his glass as Harry came closer, moving so casually that Percy might've screamed if he were in a different place.

"Hey," Harry said when he finally stopped. He stood there with his hands in the pockets of his dress robes, shifting from foot to foot, then let out a breath and Summoned another chair, settling next to Percy.

"Funny thing," Harry said then, and Percy arched an eyebrow, shifting the ice in his nearly empty glass, swirling the whisky and water together.

"Oh?" Percy said finally, not looking up, when Harry didn't speak for a moment.

"Yeah. I was watching you dance out there with Angelina, and—you had your hand on her back, just there, and I tried to remember what it felt like when you used to touch me." Harry paused and cleared his throat. "But I couldn't."

Percy nodded, still watching ice and whisky melting together. This wasn't something he'd expected, either, but this was something he'd thought about, mostly when late-at-night was changing over to early-in-the-morning and sleep was nowhere to be found. When he was alone in his wide bed. When he longed, and when he ached. When he told himself it had been long enough.

But he never really believed it had been long enough.

Percy cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"Your children look well." The last word caught in his throat.

"Thank you," Harry replied, "They are."

"They're what you wanted," Percy countered, "So that's…well, that's good."

Harry nodded, then shook his head. "They're not all I wanted. What I said earlier, about not being able to remember what—"

"Don't," said Percy, cutting Harry off with a wave of his hand. He downed the remainder of his drink and stood.

"Perce. Hey." Harry stood, too, and circled his fingers around Percy's wrist.

Percy stopped, as if Harry's fingers were handcuffs. He couldn't move, and he found himself staring down through two sets of lenses into the eyes he so missed.

Percy's hand went to Harry's back, and he pressed it there as he had done to Angelina. Harry closed his eyes.

"Now you remember," Percy said. Harry released his grip on Percy's wrist.

"And now I have to go," Percy continued. "You go, too. Find your family."

---

Where's the day I'll have started forgetting? (Three years earlier)

Anthony Goldstein began as Percy's secretary—his assistant, Anthony always insisted, though that wasn't his title—and ended up in his bed.

Percy almost couldn't help himself—Anthony was a dark-haired young man with glasses and too-long eyelashes, and though he was nothing like Harry in spirit, the physical resemblance was enough.

For a while, anyway.

And after their first clumsy encounter in a supply closet at the Ministry, they were soon coupling on a regular basis, mostly at Percy's flat, though there was the occasional stop at Anthony's dark little room and once on Percy's desk, after hours.

But it turned out that the physical resemblance wasn't enough. There was no fire inside Anthony as there had been inside Harry, no laughing defiance, just an excellent worker with a tidy desk and an unerring sense of punctuality.

And no matter how hard he thrust into Anthony, Percy never stopped wishing it were Harry there beneath him. And no matter what Anthony said, Percy never stopped hearing Harry's voice calling out.

Soon enough, Anthony was Percy's ex-secretary and ex-lover, and neither of them seemed to mind.

---

It's sort of a family knack (Two years earlier)

The letter was short—Harry's missives always had been—and, after skimming its contents, Percy burned it.

Baby born. Girl, called Lily. You should come and see. H.

---

Turning and reaching and waking and dying (One year earlier)

The t-shirt was worn thin across the shoulders and the chest; it was one Harry had liked to wear under his Quidditch uniform at school, claiming it was lucky. He'd even worn it under his jumper the first time he and Percy had gone to dinner—and later that night, they had both got very lucky, indeed.

Percy unfolded the shirt from where he kept it hidden in the bottom of his top drawer, under his pants and socks, next to a little box that contained his Prefect and Head Boy badges from school. It might've once been a bright red, but the colour had softened and faded so much over time that it was heathered, nearly pink.

Percy curled onto his bed, kicking off his shoes, and brought the shirt up to his nose, imagining he could still smell Harry's scent on it. He couldn't, of course—too many years had passed since Harry had last worn it—but Percy inhaled all the same.

He let out a little whimper as he unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down, along with his pants. He wrapped the whisper-soft shirt around his thickening cock and began to stroke himself, keeping his touches light at first until he was fully aroused.

He let out a soft sigh, then, and began to jerk himself in earnest, fondling his balls with his left hand, keeping Harry's shirt wrapped around himself with his right. He curled forward, gritting his teeth—nearly there, nearly there—and he let Harry's name escape his lips as he came, spurting his release into the shirt, his fluid soaking through the fabric for the twelfth, twentieth, hundredth time.

Percy let out a shuddering whine as he came down from his orgasm, still clutching his souvenir of Harry around his cock. He blinked open his eyes after a moment and wiped himself clean with the shirt, then dropped it on the floor and tucked himself into his pants.

He'd clean the shirt later, he told himself, as he slipped into slumber.

---

We'll all get together on Sunday (One year earlier)

"Ginny's had the baby."

Percy blinked, still holding onto the door with one hand. He hadn't even got it open all the way before Ron had made his breathless announcement.

"Oh," he said, and he shoved his glasses up on his nose. "That's—isn't it—"

"Early, yeah," said Ron, pushing past Percy into his flat and moving to the kitchen. He filled a glass of water at the sink and downed it in one go. "But he's fine. A little small, but he'll be okay. 'S a boy; they've called him James. After Harry's father, you kn—"

"Right. I understand. Look, Ron, is there anything in particular you want from me? Because I've got plans tonight and I need to start getting ready." Percy knew he sounded callous, but it was better than breaking down, which was what would happen if he let his guard down. He didn't, in fact, have any plans that night besides settling down with a book and a butterbeer, but Ron didn't need to know that.

Ron's mouth hung open for a moment, then he set the glass down on the draining board and walked toward Percy.

"Your sister," he said very deliberately, "has just had a baby."

"Please give her my heartiest congratulations," said Percy. He held the door open for Ron, but Ron didn't move. The tips of Ron's ears began to turn red.

"We're all getting together for dinner on Sunday," Ron said through clenched teeth, "All of us. Including you. You don't get to miss this, Percy, not one fucking moment of it. Stop being a twat, get over Harry, and think about someone other than yourself for a change."

Percy felt the blood draining from his face. He slammed the door and crossed the room, standing inches away from Ron.

"Shut up," he hissed, "Shut up, Ron. Don't tell me to get over anything." He jabbed one bony finger into the centre of Ron's chest. "You don't know what happened. You don't know the half of it. So give Ginny my congratulations. I'll send a cheque and a bonnet. And go back to your own family." He almost said more, but stopped himself, his finger still touching Ron's chest.

Ron heaved a breath, then let it out slowly through his nose. He jerked away from Percy's finger and marched to the door, wrenching it open.

"Sunday," he spat, just before he slammed the door.

Percy immediately made plans to be in Scotland on Sunday.

---

Thieves get rich and saints get shot (Ten months earlier)

"Penny? Can I come through?"

Percy couldn't see what Penny was doing—she had her back to the fireplace—but she called out for him to come on through and gave a little wave over her shoulder.

He nodded and flooed in, starting to speak before he had even brushed the soot from his jumper.

"Today's the day."

"Oh," said Penny, and she turned, her eyes full of unspoken sympathies. "So it is." She spoke gently, and it was only after Percy had seated himself in the armchair across from her, ready to dive into an ocean of self-pity, that he noticed what she was doing.

"Oh—god—I didn't mean to—you could warn a person!" Percy turned his head and stared at the bookcase.

Penny laughed and shifted the baby to her other breast, adjusting her robes. "Percy, when are you going to get used to this? Ethan's hungry. I am merely a slave to his whims."

"Fine," said Percy, not without a trace of bitterness in his voice. "I'll wait."

And he did, though Penny implored him to talk. He waited, reading the titles on the bookshelf, his head cocked to one side, until Penny rose, buttoning her robes, and put the baby in his bassinet.

"Now we can talk," she said, returning to her chair.

"That's—there's nothing, actually, to talk about," Percy replied, still staring at the bookshelf. He leaned forward, sliding his hands along his thighs. "I just couldn't be alone today."

"Of course not," replied Penny, and they lapsed into silence. Percy stopped staring at the bookshelf and stared at his hands instead, and Penny shifted in her seat.

"Would you like some tea, then?" she asked, rising, and Percy jumped to his feet.

"Yes. Very much. I'll get it." He was eager for something to do—staring wasn't taking his mind off anything—and Penny followed him into the kitchen and watched as he began getting out the tea things. He pulled two cups from the cupboard and held a third in his hand, raising his eyebrows in a question.

Penny shook her head. "Roger's not home; he'll be quite late tonight."

Percy nodded and put the third cup back, busying himself making tea—Earl Grey for himself and some herbal concoction for Penny that she claimed was beneficial during breastfeeding.

When they'd settled once again in the living room, Penny curled into a corner of the sofa and Percy took the opposite end, watching tendrils of steam escaping his teacup.

"They've probably done it by now," Percy said after a few moments' silence.

"Yes," said Penny. Percy had always appreciated her ability to know when to talk and when to keep quiet, and this was no exception. He'd meant it when he said there was nothing to talk about, but since he'd sat down again, things were creeping into the back of his mind, and though Percy didn't exactly want to talk about them, they wanted to be talked about.

And once Percy started talking, he couldn't stop. It was quite late by the time Ethan's fussing interrupted, and Percy glanced at the clock on the mantel as Penny began to change the baby.

"I should go," Percy said, rising. He stretched, his joints cracking, his muscles aching, his head pounding. He stifled a yawn and took off his specs and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, which felt like they were full of sand.

"Don't go," said Penny, "You don't want to go back to that flat tonight. Sleep here. Roger won't mind. I'll make up a bed for you on the sofa."

"I couldn't impose like that," Percy said, but his protestations were weak and he was secretly glad of Penny's hospitality.

The bed she made was nearly as comfortable as Percy's own once had been, and he drifted away under the goosedown quilt nearly as soon as he had settled in.

A while later—minutes? hours?—Percy rose to consciousness at a door banging shut and heavy boots on the wooden floor. There was a lighter footfall then—Penny, rushing in in her bedroom slippers—and as Roger started to speak, she shushed him.

"Percy's on the sofa. I made him stay."

"He all right?" asked Roger, and Percy tunnelled further under the quilt and searched for sleep again.

"No," replied Penny, "He's definitely not all right. Harry and Ginny were married today."

---

You never wanted enough (Four months earlier)

"I never did ask where you're living until the wedding." Percy stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Harry scan the cupboards for any of his belongings he might have missed.

"Ron and Hermione are putting me up in their guest room," Harry answered, his voice too precise.

"I see," replied Percy, though he actually didn't see why any of this had to be happening.

Harry stopped his search and turned, putting his hands in his pockets, then taking them out and crossing them over his chest. He bit his lip.

"I guess I never stopped hoping you'd change your mind."

Percy nodded. "I had hoped the same about you."

A silence separated them and Percy shifted, bracing himself in the doorway.

"I still love you, Percy."

"Don't forget your mug," Percy said. "The yellow one. There, on the draining board."

---

How did you get there from here? (Three months earlier)

"So that's it, then." Percy forced his expression into one of cool detachment, though he felt anything but cool and detached.

"I suppose it is," said Harry, and a trace of regret seeped into his tone.

There was nothing more to say, and Percy knew it. He wasn't going to change who he was, what he wanted from life, for anyone.

Not even, god damn it, Harry. His Harry, who looked so small and so lost standing there by the floo with a single bag in hand, containing (Percy knew; he'd peeked) Harry's shaving kit and his toothbrush and a few changes of clothes.

Harry took a breath as if he were going to speak, held it for a moment, then, shaking his head, blew it out in one long regretful sigh.

"You wouldn't—" he began.

"No," said Percy. "I—I'm sorry."

They looked at each other for a long moment, so much to say but neither of them saying any of it, until Harry turned and stepped into the fireplace.

Percy turned away before he had to watch Harry disappear.

---

And before you know where you are, there you are (Two days earlier)

Percy's stomach roiled and his every muscle ached, particularly the ones in his jaw—he'd been grinding his teeth in his sleep, he supposed—and in his back.

Harry moved between rooms with apparent ease, and Percy wanted to shout at him, to strike him, to do anything to get his attention and let him know everything he was about to lose.

Instead, he made himself his fifth or sixth cup of tea that day—he'd lost count, and the tea wasn't even comforting any more, just something to do—and watched it steam.

They'd made their final decision the night before—only hours, before, really, in the very early morning, after a night of words as weapons—neither man budging from his position. They'd reached the decision nearly simultaneously, Harry practically daring Percy to agree to it, Percy refusing to back down.

"You really want children that badly," Percy said, taking off his specs and rubbing his eyes.

"Yes," Harry said simply, "I've told you that, and told you that, and you've never really believed me."

"I believe you," Percy said. He paused, taking his time putting his glasses back on and adjusting them. He felt rumpled, dirty, like yesterday's socks balled up and thrown into the laundry hamper. They'd been talking for hours and getting nowhere.

"And Ginny—" said Harry, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging.

Percy nodded and shifted, running a hand through his hair. "She's—available."

"You don't have to say it like that," Harry said. "She's not some kind of incubator."

"But she's making herself available to you for the purpose of producing offspring which will, presumably, all have messy black hair and brown eyes and play a brilliant game of Quidditch." Nothing even seemed real anymore. Percy floated, his head against the back of the sofa, his eyes closed, his mouth moving automatically, forming words he hadn't had time to think about before they strung themselves together like beads.

"Percy. Don't."

"I'm not doing anything," said Percy then. He opened his eyes for a moment, then closed them again. "You should be having children, anyway. Should've already had them by now. And I won't—won't have them in my life. So, Harry—go."

He'd said it. The whole night had been building up to this moment, Harry pushing and pushing and pushing as he always did, and Percy's patience had snapped without his even realising it.

"Go," he repeated, his voice softer, "You should just go."

---

I want it the way that it was (Two months earlier)

Percy sighed and tried to remember a time when they didn't have this argument daily.

"I just want them," Harry explained, not for the first time. "I want to give them what I never had. I know that probably sounds, I don't know, a bit much, but Perce, it's true."

"So you've said," Percy replied, "And you've heard my side of it just as many times as I've heard yours, so I won't remind you of how I grew up surrounded by too many children and how I treasure my freedom and how I'm ready for a quiet life with you and Hermes and maybe a cat or a dog someday, and all the rest of it."

Harry sighed and cocked his head at Percy. "Do you want to have sex?"

"What, right now? No."

"Fine." And Harry stood up and left the room.

"Wait," Percy called after him, "Harry, yes, I do."

He didn't. What he wanted was anything that was left of what they'd had.

Harry re-entered the room, standing just inside the doorway. "You do?"

"Yes," said Percy, rising, "Come here." He held out his arms and waited. After a moment, Harry walked forward into the embrace.

"It's been a while," Harry said, nuzzling his face into Percy's neck.

Percy shivered. "It has." He put one hand on Harry's chin and tilted his face up for a kiss. Harry parted his lips and let out a little moan, holding Percy tightly, one hand on his neck, the other travelling downwards to cup and caress his arse.

Percy thrust forward, already turned on despite his earlier misgivings. "Bedroom?" he murmured, dropping kisses down Harry's neck.

Harry shook his head. "Sofa. Now." And he pressed forward, his erection insistent against Percy's, tumbling them onto the sofa, and then everything was a blur of kissing and pushing and unfastening until there was skin against skin everywhere and Percy was gasping and writhing as Harry sucked on his nipples and reached down, down to grasp his cock.

Percy returned the favour, smearing the precome that was already welling up down the shaft of Harry's cock, then sucking on the index finger of his other hand and tracing it over Harry's arsehole.

Harry shuddered. "Perce, yes." Percy continued his light touches over Harry's hole, scraping a fingernail across it, and Harry bucked forward, keening.

"Fuck me," he growled, "Now." Harry pressed his own wand into Percy's hand—it was longer than Percy's, and Percy fumbled with it for a moment before he managed to press the tip of it just inside Harry's arsehole, working it in and out in that particular way that made Harry moan just so, before murmuring the spells to lubricate Harry and to open him for Percy's prick.

"Roll over," Percy murmured against the flushed skin of Harry's throat, but Harry shook his head and thrust his arse against Percy's prick.

"No, just fuck me, Perce," moaned Harry, and he sat up, reaching back with both hands to guide Percy inside him.

Percy lifted his hips, straining, until Harry had manoeuvred himself so that Percy's cock was nudging at his entrance. He employed all the restraint he possessed and managed not to thrust forward too quickly as Harry eased himself down the length of Percy's erection, gasping, his eyes rolling back in his head.

When Percy was fully sheathed inside Harry, they were both still for a moment, but only a moment, and then Harry began to move. Percy grasped Harry's slender hips and forced him down harder and harder onto his cock, all the while thrusting upwards.

It had been too long since they'd last done this, and Percy didn't know about Harry, but as for himself, masturbation was no substitute. There was nothing, nothing like being inside Harry, and Percy held even harder onto Harry's hips, likely leaving fingerprint bruises.

"Mine," Percy panted, thrusting up, up into Harry's arse, "You're mine."

"Yours," Harry agreed between gasps, fisting his cock even as he slammed himself down onto Percy's.

"Love you, love you," Percy chanted as he felt his orgasm approaching, and he choked on his mantra as he tensed in anticipation of emptying himself inside Harry.

Harry nodded and whimpered something in reply, something that sounded like Love you, and then he let out a great gasp and came, spattering himself all over Percy's belly and his own hand, a few stray drops landing on Percy's chin and arm and neck, and Percy came then, too, a few seconds later, filling Harry's arse as Harry collapsed onto him.

They lay there, stuck together with Harry's come, for what seemed like forever but which turned out not to be nearly long enough.

"I've missed that," Harry said a little while later, leaning against the bathroom counter and watching Percy brush his teeth.

Percy nodded, spat into the basin, and rinsed.

"Just a bit of a rough patch, maybe," said Percy, straightening up and putting his toothbrush away. "We'll make it, won't we?"

Harry hesitated for the smallest fraction of a second before replying in the affirmative, but in that pause were spoken thousands of things, not a single one of which Percy hadn't already thought.

---

This must be what happy means (Three years earlier)

Percy was used to all of Harry's quirks and annoyances. He didn't mind so much anymore when Harry sang off-key in the shower or let the kettle whistle for too long or folded down page corners instead of using a bookmark. Because when Harry sang in the shower it meant he'd probably be in the mood for a good shag when he got out, and when Harry let the kettle whistle too long it meant he was probably putting together a plate of biscuits to go with the tea, and when Harry folded down page corners—well, all right, that was still annoying, but at least Harry was reading.

And they'd both discovered—and revelled in the fact—that domestic bliss meant something a little different from the dream they'd always taken it to be, that comfortable messes were all right, and that nothing was ever really going to be perfect, but maybe that didn't matter as long as they had each other.

And when they hit a rough patch, as sometimes happened with two such stubborn Gryffindors living under the same roof, they'd learned what to do.

Just roll.

---

It started out like a song (Two years earlier)

Voldemort was two years gone, but Harry Potter was still making headlines.

Boy Who Lived Lives for Boys, the Prophet trumpeted, but Harry just laughed. Percy was mortified, but he tried his hardest to see it all from Harry's point of view.

"I've finally figured out what I want," Harry said, curling into Percy on the sofa and tossing the wadded-up front page into the fireplace, "So what do I care what they say? I'm happy, Perce. Finally figured out I was chasing the wrong Weasley, and found out that the right one liked me back. Who wants any more from life?"

Percy stared into the fire, ruminating, but Harry broke his concentration by pulling him down for a kiss.

"Anyway, Perce," he said when the kiss had ended, "I'm not going to let them bother me. I've had enough trouble for a lifetime."

Percy put his arms around Harry and held him close.

All was well.