InsaneJournal

Reasons Why (Percy/Harry, G)
Title: Reasons Why
Pairing: Percy/Harry
Rating: G
Word Count: 2215
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.
Summary: Percy's got a lot of reasons he'd like to kiss Harry, but there's one he didn't count on.
Notes: Originally posted to LJ on 4/21/07. Now that I've reread this, I'm amazed at how well-adjusted these two are here--my Percy/Harry usually has a much larger dose of angst!



Percy was only on the third box when Harry dropped in.

It was moving towards normalcy, this habit Harry had developed. He stopped round at Percy's flat on a regular basis now, and it had been long enough since the first time he appeared, unannounced, that Percy couldn't remember how the visits had begun.

Harry gazed at the file folders stacked on the coffee table, the boxes lined up along the sofa, and the overflowing rubbish bin by Percy's feet, and asked what Percy considered to be one of only two logical questions Harry could have asked at that moment.

"Tea?"

Percy nodded and smiled up at Harry. "That'd actually be nice, thanks. I got a bit lost in this mess, lost track of time—oh, tea's in the cupboard just to your left there."

"I know where it is, Perce," said Harry, and he hummed a little to himself as he started the kettle and rattled cups and spoons around in Percy's tiny kitchen. It was so utterly domestic—particularly the humming, how funny that Harry did that—that Percy paused in his perusal of a particularly thick mass of parchment and just watched for a little while. He didn't think—or tried not to think, anyway—of how nice it would be to have Harry as a permanent fixture in his flat. He'd long ago decided it could only be detrimental to their friendship to keep harbouring his little domestic fantasies. Percy smiled and sighed and binned the parchment, then started on the next bulging folder.

It wasn't until Harry was settled on the other end of the sofa (the armchair being quite filled with an overflowing box and a potted plant) that he asked the only other logical question he could have asked at that moment.

"What's all this, Perce?"

Percy sipped gingerly at the steaming mug Harry handed him before replying.

"Scrimgeour's effects. Some of them, anyway. The bits he willed to me. I have no idea what sort of system he kept, either for his will or for his files, and I've no idea why I ended up with most of this." Percy sank back into the sofa cushions, closed his eyes, and let the steam from his tea fill his senses.

"I can help you go through it, if you like," said Harry, and Percy smiled, his eyes still closed.

"Nice of you," he replied, and he opened his eyes and was about to protest—Harry needn't waste his Saturday on this—when Harry leaned forward, set down his tea, and hefted half the contents of one of the boxes along the sofa into his lap.

"That's awfully nice of you," Percy repeated, "And I'd protest if you didn't actually look interested."

"I am interested," said Harry, "It's not every day a bloke gets to go through the dead Minister's things."

Percy chuckled. "They're not the most interesting of his things; I suspect he left those to friends rather than to employees. Still," he sighed, binning another stack of dusty parchment after stomping down what was already filling the bin, "You're welcome to it. I'm making three stacks, you see, and obviously throwing quite a bit of it away…"

Harry grinned at Percy all through the explanation of his system, and Percy couldn't help smiling back. Once, their hands accidentally brushed, and Percy had to suppress the feeling that welled up inside him when that happened—he wasn't a schoolboy anymore, trying to impress Penny Clearwater, he was a grown man having completely inappropriate domestic daydreams about another grown man.

"And this lot, we bin," he said, doing so and stomping down the parchment again with his foot as he avoided Harry's eyes for just one more moment, just long enough to staunch the flow of emotion that was really getting out of hand from one simple touch.

"All right," said Harry, and he began going through the rest of his stack of parchment. After twenty minutes or so, Harry stretched and yawned.

"When do we get to the good stuff?" he asked, and Percy smirked.

"I told you," he said, "He left the good stuff to his friends. He left me to clean up after him. Who knows, though—keep at it and we might find something interesting."

It was only a matter of minutes before Harry found something interesting.

"Percy," he asked, extracting a half sheet of parchment from yet another file folder, "What's this?"

Percy shoved his specs up his nose and continued to sort out his own stack of papers. "I don't know—show me and I'll tell you what it is."

"Um," said Harry, then "Well."

Percy sat forward and placed the folder he'd been going through on the coffee table, then picked up the bin and headed for the kitchen with it.

"It's got your handwriting on it," said Harry, looking back over his shoulder at Percy.

"Well, let me see it," said Percy, returning with the empty bin and snapping the parchment from Harry's hand as he passed.

Percy glanced at the parchment as he sat. It certainly was his own handwriting, and it didn't take more than that first cursory glance to realise exactly what the parchment said.

There was a bulleted list of five items on the page, an underlined title across the top, and a smear of ink at the bottom where, Percy remembered, someone had come in unexpectedly just as he had begun his sixth point. He'd shoved the parchment into the file he'd been working on for the minister, and apparently he'd never got it back out again.

Which meant Scrimgeour had probably seen it.

Which absolutely didn't matter now, because Harry had seen it, which was approximately ten million times worse.

Percy drew in a breath and looked up at Harry. Harry gazed back at him, his expression neutral.

"Where did you get this?" Percy asked, and Harry held up a file folder. As Percy leaned forward just a little and reached for it, neither man took his eyes off the other.

"In there," Harry said unnecessarily, as Percy looked down at the folder with its neat label: 424th QWC Security Final Arr.

Yes, that was it, that was what he'd been working on that day, and Percy couldn't believe that that was what he was focussing on at the moment, instead of doing some serious explaining, back-pedalling, and damage control, in approximately that order.

"Listen, Harry," he began, then stopped. How to explain a parchment entitled Reasons to Stop Avoiding Harry and Just Kiss Him and See What Happens?

"I'm listening," Harry said. He hadn't moved from his spot on the end of the sofa and was, if anything leaning forward a little. Percy didn't blame him—it was a curious artefact he had uncovered. Surely anyone would want to know details on a parchment that bore his own name in such a very specific title across the top.

"This isn't what it seems," said Percy, and before the sentence was out of his mouth, he knew how bad the lie sounded. Of course it was exactly what it seemed, and Percy knew that Harry knew it.

"There's another Harry, then?" asked Harry, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. Percy swallowed hard and exhaled, not meeting Harry's eyes but rereading the list he'd made.

"No," he said, folding the parchment over and creasing it with his thumbnail, "You're the only Harry I know." The only Harry I wish would make me tea every morning, the only Harry I still want to kiss and see what happens.

"Well, then," prompted Harry, and Percy looked up and sighed and folded the parchment over again.

"I made this list over a year ago," he said, and Harry cocked his head a little.

"So then you don't still want to kiss me?"

Percy couldn't speak for a moment, as his heart had quite inconveniently leapt into his throat and was choking him rather badly. Of course he still wanted to kiss Harry; the very idea of it made him go tingly all over.

"Yes," he managed, then, horrified at his unintentional forthrightness, Percy blushed and choked and spat, "No."

"Which is it?" Harry asked. His expression was as neutral as it had been since the unfortunate discovery of the list, and Percy wished Harry would do something he might've done when he was younger—get up and walk out, or shout, or tear the list into tiny bits and never come round again. This calmer Harry was, at times, a distinct improvement over his teenaged self, but at the moment, was really more than a bit distressing. And he always managed to ask those uncomfortable questions with his head held high; always had been able to, and that only added to Percy's torment.

"It's yes," said Percy, raising his chin and looking Harry in the eyes. He could feel the blush spreading to his ears and down his neck, and oh, how he wanted to look away, but he didn't. And Harry didn't. And they just looked at each other for a long moment, until Harry finally spoke.

"Why don't you, then?"

Harry's voice was low, but in the silence of the flat, Percy heard him perfectly. Harry sucked his lower lip between his teeth a moment after he'd asked the question, and Percy inhaled sharply.

"What…did you say?"

"You heard me, Perce. Why don't you?"

Percy licked his lips. His mouth was dry and his damned heart wouldn't get back down in his chest where it belonged. He tried desperately not to lean forward as he formulated a reply.

"Because…well, there're a lot of reasons, aren't there? You're Harry Potter. You dated my sister. You're probably not queer. You're—"

"—It was a rhetorical question, Perce."

"Rhetorical?"

"Yeah, rhetorical, it means—"

"I know what rhetorical means."

"Then you know I didn't actually expect an answer."

Percy paused. Harry was definitely leaning forward now, his lips parted and his green gaze intense, though somewhat softened by his smudged specs.

Percy licked his lips again and leaned forward a little himself, the answer obvious, but he hardly dared—

"What did you expect, then?" Percy's voice was little more than a whisper.

Harry leaned over the stack of papers that separated them and put a hand on Percy's knee.

"Oh," said Percy, and he brought a hand up to Harry's neck and wrapped it around the back of his head and somehow, more quickly than anything had ever happened before, he was kissing Harry, both his hands tangled in Harry's hair and Harry's small, strong hands on Percy's own shoulders and one of them—Percy wasn't sure who; maybe they did it together—knocked the stack of parchment out of the way, onto the floor, and Percy gasped as Harry pressed his whole body against Percy's own. Harry was a fierce kisser, and Percy broke away, gasping, after what might have been ages but what wasn't nearly long enough, and he stared at Harry through two foggy layers of glass.

"You—" he managed, then, "Why?" Percy's fingers were still tangled in Harry's hair, and he curled his finger into a wild tendril.

Harry gave a little shrug and a smile. "Why d'you think I've been coming round so much?"

Percy started to pull away, unused to being in such an intimate embrace, particularly with Harry, but Harry wrapped his arms around Percy's back and wouldn't let him move.

"I thought...because we were friends," Percy said.

"We are friends."

"But you kissed me."

"Well, properly, you kissed me," replied Harry, laughing a little, which set Percy to laughing, too.

"So I did," he said, and now that he was finally cleared of all doubt as to Harry's intentions, Percy decided it was all right for him to press Harry to the sofa cushions and encircle him with his arms and kiss him properly, slowly, the way he'd wanted to for god, so long.

And he did.

And Harry kissed him back, their mouths moving languorously now that there was no hurry to hurdle the last barrier between them, and Percy laughed into the kiss when their glasses clacked together, and Harry smiled and planted kisses on Percy's lips, nose, cheekbone, then pulled back and looked right at him.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, Perce," he said, his voice coming from somewhere deep and true.

"It doesn't matter," said Percy, smoothing the hair back from Harry's forehead and kissing him there.

"Why not?" asked Harry, sounding only a trifle put out.

"Because," Percy replied, still somewhat in shock that this was all actually happening, "It can't possibly be longer than I've wanted it. And besides," he continued, stifling an interjection from Harry as he took off Harry's glasses, then his own, and stretched to lay them on the coffee table, "We've both done it, now, haven’t we?"

"Yeah," agreed Harry, smiling up at Percy, a little cross-eyed without his glasses on, "Thanks to you and your list."

"I've always been efficient that way," said Percy, his mouth twisting into a smile, and he moved in and held Harry tightly and kissed him again, and he didn't let him go.