InsaneJournal

Percy didn't look up when the shadow fell across his desk. He knew it was Harry. It was always Harry. Every bloody morning at ten past nine, the Boy Who Lived came strolling in to the office he and Percy shared as if he bloody owned the place.

(All right, so maybe he sort of did, in a way, what with the whole of the Wizarding World owing him life debts, and all, but Percy really didn't think that was any excuse for tardiness. Though it was nice, particularly on rainy mornings, to have the office to himself for an hour or so and have the opportunity to light a nice fire and work undisturbed for a while—but still, still, there was no excuse. None.)

Percy sighed and shoved a stack of file folders to the side and opened the topmost file of the next stack, then sighed again when Harry's shadow didn't move away.

"Do you mind?" he asked, squinting up at the messy-headed boy and adjusting his glasses, "Only I'm rather buried here, and I've a lunch meeting, and you're blocking the light."

Harry only frowned a bit and shoved his dripping fringe out of his face and shifted the bundle he held in his arms.

"Erm," he said, then "Well."

Percy gave his most exasperated sigh of the morning and slapped his quill onto his desk. He was not in the mood.

"What is it?"

"Well, it's only that your desk is nearer the fire, so I was thinking we could make a bed under there." And before Percy had fully processed what Harry had said, or, indeed, ask if he'd gone completely round the twist wanting to put beds under desks and god only knew what other rubbish, Harry deposited the raggedy bundle he held in his arms onto Percy's desk. Percy snatched the open file out from under whatever-it-was before the whole thing got ruined by rainwater and scowled, then he peered at the bundle.

"What—" he began, but he stopped short when the bundle twitched. Percy curled his lip a bit, wondering if this was Harry's idea of a joke.

"It's a dog," Harry said by way of explanation, and he folded back a corner of what once might have been a blanket. "A puppy, I guess," Harry amended, and Percy drew back a bit. But huge brown eyes peered up at him from within the blanket bundle and a tiny dark paw ventured out, and Percy leaned forward just enough to verify the creature's identity.

"All right, it's a puppy," he said, "But what's it doing here?"

"Here on your desk?"

God, the boy was unbelievably thick sometimes. "Well—yes, here on my desk, here in the office, here in the Ministry! Why have you brought a puppy to work with you?"

"Oh," said Harry, and he blinked a bit. Percy stood and crossed his arms while he waited for Harry's synapses to make the necessary connections.

"It was outside," he began, "And it's raining, you know, all miserable, and the poor thing was all huddled up—it was the only decent thing to do, Perce." Harry shrugged and scritched a finger along the puppy's nose.

"Right, well." Percy considered the animal, which was now pawing half-heartedly at the rag he'd been wrapped in. He extended a finger to its little velvet nose. He wasn't heartless—he did like animals (generally on an individual basis, but there wasn't much a person could dislike about a weeks-old puppy) and he wasn't about to put another living thing back out into the rain.

"So make him a bed, then," Percy said, and Harry smiled. Percy supervised as Harry transfigured tissues into blankets and arranged them under Percy's desk, then laid the puppy in amongst them.

"D'you think he'll be all right?" Harry asked when the puppy had settled in and given a great puppy yawn, then dropped off to sleep.

"He'll be fine," Percy snapped, and he moved his chair back where it belonged, effectively cutting off Harry's view of the puppy. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm even further behind, so if you'd care to retire to your own desk and get some work done or whatever it is you do over there all day, I'd appreciate being left alone."

Harry made a face but didn't speak, moved to his desk and began his morning ritual of rearranging the photographs and knick-knacks on his desktop.

Percy gave the softest of sighs and bent over his work once again, ignoring the gentle tug that came moments later on his right shoelace.

***

Harry left early that day (every day, not that Percy was counting, because it had nothing whatsoever to do with Percy, but one can't help but notice when one's office mate goes strolling blithely out at quarter of five in the afternoon) and Percy just gave his by-now-patented long-suffering martyr's sigh (which he would never have admitted was a martyr's sigh because that would mean he was considering Harry in his assessment of his situation and that was not only unnecessary but also highly annoying) and let the boy go.

And jumped up a moment later, scooping the puppy into his arms and chasing Harry down the hallway to where he was just stepping into the lift.

"You forgot—" he panted, "—him. Her. This." And Percy shoved the bewildered animal into Harry's arms. Or tried to.

"Oh, I can't take him!" protested Harry, pressing the puppy back into Percy's arms.

"Wh—you—you brought it in!"

"Well, yes," said Harry, holding the lift door open, "But I can't take him home. George has got a cat and I just don't think it'd be a good idea. You'll have to take him, Percy." And Harry stepped back into the lift and gave a little wave and—was that a smirk?—as the door closed and the lift descended.

Oh buggering hell.

Percy regarded the puppy, holding it at arms' length. It was a sweet little thing, all eyes and paws and sleek black fur, and it darted out its little pink tongue and peered solemnly up at Percy and pawed at his cuff.

"All right," Percy said in his best No Nonsense Head Boy voice, "But only for tonight. Tomorrow we find you a proper home."

***

The next morning, the puppy was in its den under Percy's desk, snoring lightly (Percy hadn't known puppies could snore, and he'd slept poorly himself due to the combination of the snoring and the intermittent whining, and he kept nudging the puppy under the desk with the toe of his wingtip, but it wouldn't stop) when Harry ambled in at twenty past nine.

"The puppy snores," Percy said by way of greeting.

"I know," said Harry, grinning, "He was doing it a bit yesterday. Cute, isn't it?"

"Hardly," snapped Percy, and he bent back over his work to signify that the conversation was closed. Harry lingered for a moment, then sighed and moved on to his own desk, where he commenced his morning time-wasting rituals.

The morning passed with the comfortable silence that Percy and Harry were usually able to settle into. Percy worked, Harry puttered about, and the puppy slept. And snored.

The puppy commenced whining as lunchtime approached.

"He's hungry," said Harry, startling Percy out of the reverie brought on by a particularly complicated (and needlessly fussy; Scrimgeour really tended to overcomplicate things) spreadsheet.

"Pardon?"

Harry gestured towards Percy's desk. "Your puppy's hungry. He's whining."

"First of all," Percy said, raising a finger in the air, "He is not my puppy. And secondly, he's not hungry. I fed him thirty minutes ago when you were engrossed in your floo-call with your bookie. He had a bit of corned beef, and he had some water."

Harry at least had the grace to look ashamed at the nature of his floo-call, but a grin broke through.

"He has to go out, then," Harry said, the grin twitching into what could only be called a smirk, "Better hurry. And you'll want to take an umbrella."

Percy scowled. It had been raining for over twenty-four hours straight and the puppy had needed to go outside at least a dozen times—probably more, but Percy really didn't care to count—during that time. He heaved a sigh and scooped the animal up from its den, grabbed his cloak and his umbrella, and, with as much dignity as he could muster, left the office and hurried outside so the puppy could do its duty.

When Percy returned a full quarter hour later (honestly, couldn't it just go without making a big production of it and sniffing everything on the street?), Harry had gone to lunch. (Early.) Percy sighed and pulled out the rest of the leftover corned beef he'd brought for his own lunch, along with leftover peas and mash, cast a warming spell, and began to eat, getting back to work on the spreadsheets (a-ha, this might be easier than it looked) and doing his best to ignore the puppy's plaintive whining.

"No," he finally snapped, glaring down at the animal, "This is my lunch. You've had yours."

The puppy stopped whining and cocked its head to the side when Percy spoke.

Damned cute little thing.

Percy sighed and scooped it up into his lap and fed it bits of beef and mash (the latter of which the puppy delighted in licking off the tips of Percy's fingers, though it didn't seem to care for the peas).

"Just don't tell Harry," Percy admonished the puppy, "The last thing he needs is to know I went all soft on you." Percy paused and closed his eyes. He was having a conversation with a dog. Work must really be getting to him.

Maybe he should start going out for lunch.

***

As the clock hands made their way towards four-thirty, Percy watched out of the corner of his eye as Harry began to gather up his things to leave. Harry stood, finally, and made his way to the door, but Percy flicked his wand and slammed the door shut just as Harry reached it.

"Take the dog," Percy said, "I don't care about your roommate's bloody cat. I'm not spending another sleepless night with him."

"It's your brother's cat; I should think you'd have a bit of respect for familial—oh, but wait, you don't," Harry retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Percy set his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and stood. "My family and I have a mutual agreement. Unspoken. People have those sorts of agreements when they're not speaking. And as it's none of your business, you'd do well to keep out of it. And take the puppy with you." Percy crossed his arms just as emphatically as Harry had. Harry wasn't the only stubborn one in the office. Percy could play this game, too.

"Listen," Harry said, drawing his wand, "You're going to have to keep the dog for a while. It likes you. And it needs a home."

"And if I don't?"

"If you don't," replied Harry, levelling the wand towards Percy, then giving it a sharp upwards jab, "Then I'll shove this up your arse so you'll have a reason to walk around like you've got something lodged up there."

Percy narrowed his eyes to prevent that from going wide. That should not have been arousing. Oh, god. Why did his body always have to react inappropriately?

"Sorry, Perce," Harry said, that wicked smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "He seems to have taking a liking to you." At this, the puppy gave a tiny yip from its haven under Percy's desk.

Percy rolled his eyes. "Traitor," he mumbled. And after he'd shared half his lunch with the beast, too.

"Harry, seriously, I can't keep this dog. You've got to take him, or find a home for him. He's not my responsibility!"

"Come on, Perce. You love responsibility!" Harry's grin grew even wider, and Percy fumed. That was simply not true. There were conditions. Percy didn't love responsibility when responsibility came in a hungry, whining, yipping, snoring, needing-to-go-out-every-hour package. Percy loved responsibility when he didn't have to get his hands dirty.

And he would have explained all of that to Harry, except that Harry had slipped out the door and made his way to the lifts before Percy could put it neatly into a witty retort.

Percy bent and picked up the puppy. "I'm putting an ad in the Prophet tomorrow," he said.

The puppy whined.

"Don't test me," Percy muttered, and he stared at the clock and waited for the hands to work their way to five o'clock.

***

Percy really did have every intention of placing an ad in the Prophet the very next day. But then his morning meeting ran long (and Percy hoped Harry would remember the promise he had made to take the dog out when he whined, and he prayed that there wouldn't be a puddle under his desk when he returned) and in the afternoon, Harry took up the puppy's cause once again.

"What are you going to name him?"

"Hm?" Percy tended not to listen the first time Harry said anything, as it was rarely anything he wanted to hear.

"What are you going to name the puppy?"

Percy glanced over at Harry, who was grinning like an idiot, tapping a quill against his chin as if he'd been doing actual work instead of (Percy suspected, and his suspicions about Harry were rarely incorrect) the Quibbler Report's rearranging crossword puzzle.

"I'm not keeping him," sighed Percy, "Therefore I'm not naming him. I'm putting an advertisement in the Prophet tomorrow since you seem to be incapable of taking care of your own strays."

"Roger's a good name for a dog," Harry said, as if Percy hadn't said anything, "Or Louis or Jacky or Spike."

Percy lifted an eyebrow. Spike?

"What if I just name him Harry Potter? Suppose I'd get a few responses to that Prophet ad, then?"

Instead of protesting, as Percy had hoped, Harry actually giggled.

"Brilliant!" he said through his laughter, "I love it. Percy Weasley, don't ever let anyone tell you that you don't have a sense of humour."

Percy scowled.

The puppy whined.

"Harry Potter!" Harry chuckled to himself, bending over the crossword once again.

Percy looked down at the dog, whose pleading eyes were turned up at him.

"If you'll excuse me," Percy announced to the room at large, "Harry Potter and I are going outside for a moment."

Percy could hear Harry snickering all the way down the hall.

***

Percy awoke the next morning far earlier than he normally did, and, for a moment, wondered why. Percy's internal alarm clock was pretty accurate. It took a few sleepy seconds before he realised that the reason he was awake was that someone was breathing hot puffs of air across the back of his neck.

Percy jolted into a sitting position, smashed his glasses onto his face, and turned to see Harry Potter snoring blissfully, his head on Percy's pillow, his leg twitching as he dreamed. There were black hairs on Percy's white pillowcase and a small puddle of drool near where Percy's head had been.

Percy felt his lip curl in an automatic expression of disgust.

"Dogs do not sleep on beds," he announced with all the energy he could muster at—Percy peered at the clock on the bureau—five-fifteen in the morning.

Harry Potter, however, did not appear to care that dogs did not sleep on beds, for he went on sleeping, his front paw joining his back one as he scampered through dreamland's clovered fields.

Percy sighed and picked up the still-snoozing puppy and replaced him in his own perfectly serviceable bed in the corner (the bed that Percy was still cross he'd spent so much money on, damned highway robbery it was at those pet stores), turned his pillow over, and went back to sleep.

Only to be awakened not a half hour later by a plaintive whine from the foot of the bed.

Percy groaned. Dogs were ridiculous creatures. Granted, he'd only ever had a rat and an owl in his life, but he'd always subscribed to the school of thought that pets should be low- to middle-maintenance, with easily cleaned droppings, soft voices, and little need for interactive exercise.

Harry Potter was proving to be, like his namesake, more than a little annoying, high maintenance, ravenous, loud, and exceedingly small-bladdered.

And yet, Percy thought as he dressed, pulling a jumper over his head and stepping into a pair of loafers, there was something vaguely endearing about him.

The dog, of course, that was—not the Hero of the Wizarding World. The Hero hadn't a single endearing quality as far as Percy was concerned. Well, except that he was somewhat good-looking, and not entirely an idiot, and his jokes weren't always stupid, even if Percy pretended they were, but his saving graces were few, and—no, no, no. Percy shook his head to clear it. He was obviously overtired, thinking this much about Hero Harry when Dog Harry needed to go outside.

As he stepped outside, Percy realised he'd forgot his umbrella.

The rain soaked into Percy's last clean jumper as Harry Potter took his time finding an acceptable place to go.

***

The offices of the Prophet were closed all day. Percy walked away, Harry Potter snoozing in his arms, mumbling to himself about that being no way to run a business and how could they not have heard him pounding on the door and he knew they were in there and what were they going to do, not put out a paper that day?

Only they did put out a paper, and apparently it was only the main office that had been closed all day, and Percy muttered to himself again that afternoon, wishing he'd investigated further and had been able to place an advertisement before the weekend, as he lined Harry Potter's under-desk bed with the classifieds.

Percy emerged from under his desk just as Hero Harry (and it really annoyed Percy that he kept thinking of Harry as such; why couldn't he think of him as Human Harry, or Harry Number One?) was attempting to slip out the door.

"No, you don't," Percy said, "We need to talk."

To Percy's surprise, Hero Harry (No, not Hero, just Harry!) stopped, turned, and smiled.

"What's up, Perce?"

Percy was taken aback.

"Why are you so cheery?"

"Because it's the weekend, finally, and because I'm off to have a hot shower and a shave before my date tonight."

"…Oh." Percy drew a blank in the way of a response. Harry was going on a date? Of course he dated, of course, with that whole Hero thing he had going on—but in all the time they'd been working together, Harry had never once mentioned a date, let alone been this cheery about one.

Of course, neither had Percy, but that was because his dates—no matter that he hadn't had one in over a year—were none of anyone else's business.

"What do we need to talk about?"

Oh, right, Percy had needed to talk about…something. His mind was in a bit of a jumble with Harry's unexpected announcement (and why should it be so shocking?), and Percy was thankful, then, for the noise that sounded suddenly under his desk.

"Harry Potter. Er. The dog. You've got to find a home for him."

Harry made a face at him. "I thought you were keeping him."

Percy shoved his glasses up on his nose. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"Well," said Harry, moving over to Percy's desk and perching atop it, "You've named him, for one."

Percy slumped back in his desk chair. "Not really."

"What's this 'not really'? You call him by something, he has a name, doesn't that mean you've named him?"

"Er," said Percy, biting his lip. Being bested in a match of logic by Harry Potter was, in a word, upsetting.

Harry grinned.

"It's not actually his name," Percy said hurriedly, to wipe that satisfied smirk off Harry's face, "It's what I call him. It's…it's a parody of a name. No one would actually name a dog Harry Potter."

"But you did." Dammit, since when was Harry so pragmatic?

Percy sighed. Suddenly, he had a headache.

"Yes, I suppose I did." Percy took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with one hand, vaguely waving Harry out the door with the other. "Go on your date, then, Hero Harry."

…Oh, bollocks, had he really just said that aloud?

"What did you just call me?"

…Apparently he had.

Percy's headache intensified, and he didn't look up.

"I've got to differentiate between the two of you somehow," he mumbled, still rubbing his eyes, "Seems the most logical way. Hero Harry and Dog Harry. I could call you Opposable-Thumbs Harry if you'd prefer."

Percy didn't have to look up—he could hear the smirk in the Hero's voice when Harry replied.

"Hero Harry's fine with me, thanks," Harry said, "You can call me that around the office, if you'd like."

Percy snorted.

"Not in the bedroom, though," Harry murmured, his face so close that Percy felt the Hero's hot breath, "Afraid I'm all booked up for the weekend."

And by the time Percy processed what Hero Harry (dammit, Harry, just Harry!) had said, lifted his head, and put his specs back on, Harry (yes, just Harry!) was gone.

But Dog Harry, it seemed, had more pressing matters on his mind.

Percy tried very hard not to sigh as he stood outside in the rain, waiting for Harry Potter to find the perfect place to leave his mark.

***

By Sunday, Percy Weasley had made quite a bit of headway in his relationship with Harry Potter.

Granted, Percy had spent far more time sitting on the floor than was usual for him, but—dammit—he was actually growing to like the beast.

Harry Potter was a quick learner. Percy was fairly certain that a dog so young shouldn't already know that it should whine to go outside, but that behaviour had seemed almost instinctual in Harry Potter. And when, on Sunday afternoon, Harry Potter displayed complete command of every trick Percy could think of for a dog to do (which, to be fair, weren't that many—but sit, stay, and speak were certainly nothing to be sneezed at), Percy began to suspect something.

"You're magical," Percy said as Harry Potter sat stock-still in front of him, brown eyes wide and solemn.

Percy held out a hand.

"Shake," he commanded.

Harry Potter cocked his head to the side.

"Shake," Percy said again, more emphatically this time, and he pushed his open palm closer to Harry Potter.

Harry Potter blinked, then became distracted by a moth.

"Maybe not," murmured Percy, as he watched the puppy track its quarry.

If he had to have a dog, it would've been a far sight better to have a magical dog than any other kind. But it looked as though Percy had been wrong—maybe Harry Potter wasn't magical.

But (Percy smiled when Harry Potter caught and released the moth, then scampered after it again) maybe that was all right.

***

Percy kept fidgeting at work on Monday morning, and he couldn't keep his mind on his work.

He'd left Harry Potter alone in his flat (honestly, he couldn't keep bringing him to work—it was at best irresponsible and at worst illegal and he didn't much fancy Scrimgeour finding out about the dog under his desk) and he couldn't help but construct elaborate scenarios in his mind wherein Harry Potter destroyed everything that Percy owned with his deadly little claws and razor-sharp teeth.

Percy leapt up from his desk and grabbed his cloak from its hook.

Harry looked up, blinking.

"You all right, Perce?"

"Yes—just forgot something—back in a moment—"

Percy practically ran to the lifts.

At home, nothing seemed to be out of place. Percy crept through his flat, expecting at every turn, through every door, to see before him utter destruction.

But nothing was out of place. His fears had been unfounded. Percy pushed open the bedroom door to find Harry Potter curled up on his pillow—Percy's pillow—snoring.

Percy sighed.

"Dogs do not sleep on beds," he announced, as if this were a new piece of information for Harry Potter, who had tried to creep onto Percy's bed every night so far.

Percy picked the puppy up and laid him, still sleeping, on his own bed in the corner.

"Stay," he commanded the slumbering animal, and he backed slowly out of the room and headed back to work, where Hero Harry had, apparently, been awaiting his return.

"Harry Potter all right?"

Percy shot a look across the room as he hung up his cloak. "What makes you think I went to check on him?"

Hero Harry grinned. "You love him."

"I—!"

"You do," taunted Harry, "You're going to keep him, aren't you?"

It was at that moment that Percy realised he was.

And there was no use fighting it.

Percy smiled as he sat back down at his desk. It had been a while—a long while—since Scabbers had been his (and Percy generally tried to disassociate the knowledge of Scabbers's true identity from the nice times he'd had with his pet) and Hermes, while useful and grand, was hardly affectionate.

And…yes. Despite his inherent messiness and all the other qualities that Dog Harry shared with Hero Harry, Percy thought the dog might make an all right companion after all.

As for the Hero…

"How was your date?"

Percy surprised himself with his question, but he was in such good spirits after assuring himself that his flat hadn't been destroyed that he felt an inexplicable warmth toward all beings named Harry.

Harry looked up, smiling.

"Not bad," he said, and got up and moved to make tea at the rickety table in the corner that served as tea station, storage space for Harry's stash of Quidditch magazines, and a stand for a potted plant whose tendrils were threatening to take over the room.

Percy nodded and bent over his work, and, a moment later, Harry spoke again.

"Why do you ask?"

Percy cocked his head to the side. "Because I'm in a good mood, I suppose."

"Fair enough. Earl Grey?"

"Please."

Percy and Harry never really talked about their private lives. Of course, there was a reason for this—a number of reasons, really. They'd never been friends at school—Percy's ambitious path and Harry's adventuresome one had seen to that, not to mention the difference in their ages—and their adult lives really weren't all that different from their school days. Percy continued in his mildly successful Ministry career, showing up on time for work every morning in pressed robes and with a willing attitude, and Harry—well, there was that business with the defeat of the Dark Lord, and then—

—and then what? And then he'd chosen, from all the jobs offered to him after the war, the one situated four feet away from Percy Weasley.

Something didn't quite add up.

Percy shook the unbalanced equation from his mind as Harry set a steaming cup of Earl Grey in front of him, and, his good mood not dissipated by mental maths, he smiled his thanks.

"So, what did you do this weekend, Perce?" Harry perched himself on the edge of Percy's desk, and Percy cocked his head to the side, considering whether the potential for conversation was worth the five (ten?—not that he was hoping for it) minutes he'd lose of work.

Percy stopped considering and started talking to Harry about his namesake.

Apparently they talked about their private lives now.

…Huh.

***

Weeks passed, as weeks do, and Percy and Hero Harry were becoming, for lack of a better word, friends. Percy would never have expected it, but then, he never expected to be daddy to a rapidly-growing mutt, either. And honestly, he was rather enjoying both of his new roles.

Percy didn't get a lot of work done on Monday mornings any more. Harry had dates most weekends, and he liked to recount them (possibly only for his own benefit, but Percy didn't mind much—it gave him a vicarious thrill he never would have admitted to anyone to at least hear about someone going on successful dates—or dates at all). Percy was surprised when he found out Harry was dating both men and women—not surprised at Harry's fluid sexuality, but at the fact that the papers hadn't picked up on it.

Maybe "alternative sexuality", as Percy had once heard it expressed (though he loathed the term) wasn't as big a deal as Percy had always feared it was.

Or maybe Harry had a lot of money and knew who to pay off.

Or maybe Harry didn't care, and so the papers didn't care—and it was this theory that proved to be true when Percy finally, delicately, asked.

"Oh, they ran a story about the Great Gay Saviour of the Wizarding World, once—can't believe you didn't catch that one; it was huge—I have a clipping somewhere—but I didn't react, because I don't care, and they just sort of lost interest. It's more fun for them when you fight back." Harry shrugged and changed the subject, though Percy's mind wandered. That was exactly what his mum had used to tell him when he was being teased by his brothers—If you don't react, darling, they'll stop, they really will. But Percy had never been able to play it cool—he was as hot-headed as any of the rest of his family and the teasing continued apace.

He was so lost in the should-have-done memory that he didn't hear the question Harry asked, only knew from the cadence of his voice that a question had even been asked.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said I'm going to the Burrow this weekend. For the whole weekend. Fred and Angelina are back from their honeymoon and everyone's getting together. And—well, I was wondering—do you want to go?"

Percy blinked. "To the Burrow?"

"Well…yeah." Harry had asked the question as if it were the easiest thing in the world—and for him it probably was, for he'd taken the place of the phantom ninth Weasley.

"No," snapped Percy, but at Harry's hurt look he tacked on "Thank you for the invitation. But no."

"I thought not," said Harry then, "But it was worth a try."

Not really, thought Percy, and you know that.

They passed the rest of the afternoon in silence. At quarter to four, Harry cleared his throat.

Percy ignored him.

"Erm, Perce? Just—I'd feel like an arse if I didn't warn you. So I'm warning you. Your brother's coming round at four to drop some things off for me."

Percy wanted to ask which brother? but he refrained, only cocked an eyebrow at Harry.

"And?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "And—and I thought you might want to—er, to not. Be here. You know." Harry sighed in exasperation. "I'm trying to help you out, Perce. Like friends do."

"Like—" Percy sighed as well, resignedly. "Thanks, Harry." There were a few things he could take care of down in the International Magical Office of Law, come to think of it, and Percy extracted three file folders from a drawer and turned to leave, but ran smack into a tall, thin redhead at the door.

"Percy," said Ron, by way of greeting, and his tone wasn't entirely unfriendly, but Percy didn't much care to wait to find out the current level of animosity, and he swept past his brother without a word.

***

That night, Percy sat with Harry Potter on the floor of his flat, his shoes and socks off, his legs spread to an entirely undignified degree, tossing a bottlecap for Harry Potter to retrieve. Harry Potter did so with glee and agility, chasing the bottlecap wherever it rolled and returning his quarry to his master's hand in moments.

"Clever boy," Percy praised, tossing the bottlecap again, but his heart wasn't in the game. He kept thinking of his brother, and, by extension, his family—thought of Hero Harry celebrating birthdays and weddings and holidays with them, a son and a brother as Percy had never quite been.

It wasn't as if he hadn't anyone—Percy had his share of friends at work. (Well, acquaintances, a little voice in the back of his mind insisted, and don't you dare start enumerating the pathetic list of your recent dates.)

All right, then. Percy had two people who mattered in his life, and that was enough, wasn't it?

And did it really matter that his friendship with one of those people was superseded by that person's friendship with Percy's estranged family?

And did it matter that the other of those people wasn't a person at all, but a dog?

Percy sighed and tossed the bottlecap again.

He should really start going to bed earlier.

***

When Percy finally did make it to bed, well past midnight, after depositing Harry Potter in his own bed in the corner and admonishing him to Stay, he couldn't sleep. This was hardly an unusual occurrence—Percy found it difficult to shut his brain off at night, and was usually reduced to counting backwards from one thousand—but the problem tonight was a particular sort of loneliness that Percy thought he'd overcome.

He needed someone.

A wank might do it, he thought desperately, to rid himself of the longing for a warm body and strong arms and warm, even breaths against his neck, and he shoved down his pyjamas and his pants and went to work.

But the effort was a fruitless one—Percy's mind kept drifting back to Hero Harry.

I'm trying to help you out, Perce. Like friends do.

"Help me now, then," Percy muttered through clenched teeth, "Help me get off and get to sleep."

And Percy's mind dredged up a memory, then, one he hadn't dwelled on since it had happened, and Percy gasped.

Harry perched on the edge of his desk—You can call me that around the office, if you'd like.

Hot breath on his ear—Not in the bedroom, though; I'm afraid I'm all booked up for the weekend.

Percy bit his lip and considered his predicament, then decided that no one would ever know, and that restful sleep was worth more than moral uprightness at half-past twelve on a work night, and he stroked himself to an image of Harry bending just a little further, that warm breath against Percy's ear being followed by an even warmer mouth, turning his face up to capture that mouth in a kiss—

—Harry coming over the desk at him, tearing at robes, and oh god was this ever inappropriate, and—

Percy bit the skin off his lower lip, tasting iron and seeing stars.

Right.

Well.

That couldn’t happen again.

Percy cleaned himself, rolled over, and went promptly to sleep.

***

The sky was darkest blue, just starting to show light around the edges, when Percy awoke to a by-now-familiar sensation.

He rolled over to face Harry Potter and tapped the dog on the nose, interrupting his humid, steady breathing.

"Dogs do not sleep on beds," Percy yawned, but his eyes were already drooping shut by the end of his admonishment, and besides Harry Potter was warm and soft and—

"Oh, bloody hell," Percy sighed, stroking the dog's velvet head and wrapping an arm around his comforting mass, "Right. But only this once."

He slept well.

***

"I need you to go to Rome."

Percy blinked and looked up. He hadn't even heard the Minister come in.

"To—Rome, sir?"

Scrimgeour dropped a box on Percy's desk. "To Rome," he repeated, "To the Ministry there. This needs to be delivered in person. You'll be speaking to a Mr Puntorosso; he's—" Scrimgeour chuckled a bit "He's the Italian version of you, essentially. Give this directly to him when you arrive; in the morning he'll have a package for you to bring back to me. You'll need to leave right away."

"Oh—" Percy managed as Scrimgeour turned on his heel and strode away. "Sir—"

Of course there was no use in protesting. Scrimgeour turned his head over his shoulder, not bothering to turn all the way around, a quizzical eyebrow cocked.

"Yes, Weasley?"

Percy deflated a little. "Er. Just. I'll leave right away, sir."

Scrimgeour didn't reply, only turned once again and shut his office door a little more forcefully than was probably necessary.

After a moment's thought, Percy turned to Harry, who had watched the whole exchange silently with a smile dancing across his face.

"Could you—"

"I'll take care of Harry Potter for you," Harry replied before Percy could even get the question out.

Percy smiled. "Thanks." He sighed and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and began making a list for Hero Harry so he'd know exactly how to take care of his dog.

Percy was nothing if not thorough.

***

Rome was hot and full of tourists, and Percy was certain he was acquiring more freckles by the moment, thanks to the oppressive Italian sun. Puntorosso was a seriously annoying man, younger than Percy, who spoke little English and who raised a patronising eyebrow at Percy when he apologised for not speaking Italian, and made him wait for what seemed like ages before even acknowledging his presence.

Percy grumbled to himself in his hotel that night—they could at least have put him up in a wizarding hotel. This converted convent (the crucifix above the bed was vaguely disconcerting; the bidet possibly more so) really wasn't where he preferred to spend his weekend.

Percy sighed. It would be the weekend, too; Puntorosso had informed him in clipped and broken English that Minister Scrimgeour's package wouldn't be ready until Monday.

He couldn't floo-call Harry, being stashed in a Muggle hotel and all, and he didn't know the first thing about Rome's wizarding population, so he couldn't very well just walk down the road to the nearest owlery. Percy sat in his hotel room and fretted about Dog Harry, he took a walk and fretted about Dog Harry, he sat in a trattoria and fretted about Dog Harry.

He couldn't believe he spent the entire time thinking about the dog, but he did. Well—he thought about Hero Harry as well, a bit, but only in the context of fretting about the dog.

Certainly not when he was trying to sleep in the thick Roman night air.

Right.

Well.

Percy slipped a hand down his pants, already cross with himself.

It was going to be a long, stupid weekend.

***

"You should have been there, Perce. It was a lot of fun." Harry set Percy's Earl Grey in front of him and stood still for a moment, then added, "They miss you, you know."

Percy blew across the surface of his cup and took a tentative sip. God but Harry made a perfect cup of tea.

"They do not," he said to his teacup, and he scowled, immediately cross with himself for sounding like a petulant teenager.

"Yeah, Perce, they do." Harry dragged his own chair over to Percy's and sat mere inches away, sipping at his stupid English Breakfast tea and tipping back in his chair, chin held high as if he were about to impart some titbit of wisdom unto Percy.

Percy ignored him and bent under the desk to check on Harry Potter. The dog was sleeping soundly—he hadn't made a noise since he curled up at Percy's feet that morning, after giving his master a thorough welcome-home tongue bath.

Percy scritched behind Harry Potter's ears and the dog yawned, his pink tongue lolling, but he didn't open his eyes.

"You can't ignore the situation, you know."

"Oh, and what do you exp—damn!" Percy smacked his head on the desk as he emerged.

"What do you expect me to do, O Wise Saviour of the Wizarding World?" scowled Percy, rubbing the spot on his head where a lump was rapidly forming. "Crawl back to them on my knees and admit I was wrong? I know I was wrong—they know I know I was wrong—there's no need to address it! I've never got on with any of them and we're all happy just as we are!" Percy slapped his palm on the desk for emphasis.

Harry regarded him for a long moment over his teacup.

"You're happy?"

"Oh, don't go getting all bloody existential on me, Harry."

Harry bit his lip, paused. "I—um, I don't know what that means, actually."

Percy tried not to smile. Harry was really cute when he was confused. (Oh no, you don't! It's bad enough you thought of him when you—but—stop that! Stop that right now!) Not that Percy really knew what existential meant, exactly, either, actually, but it sounded good, and Harry hadn't called him on it.

So.

The two men regarded each other in silence.

Harry, of course, was the one to break it.

"So you're happy, then?"

"Harry—"

"You didn't answer me."

"I—yes, yes, I am. I've got a nice flat and a nice job and a nice companion, thanks to you, actually. I like my life rather a lot."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "Companion?"

"The dog."

Harry broke into a grin. He looked almost relieved, though Percy couldn't fathom why that would be.

"Right," Harry said.

"Right," Percy replied. His chair rocked a bit. He looked down. Harry was pushing at the wheeled base of Percy's chair with his filthy trainers.

"You're pushing my chair."

"I know." Harry leaned forward to set his teacup on Percy's desk. Percy leaned forward to move a stack of papers out of harm's way.

And he inhaled sharply when Harry kissed him.

Everything went still.

Percy opened his mouth to say what the hell was that? but he couldn't breathe, much less speak.

Harry, apparently, took his open mouth as a sign that Percy thought that Harry should kiss him again.

And he did.

And finally Percy moved, wrenched himself away, sat back in his chair, face ablaze, one hand white-knuckled where it gripped the edge of the desk.

He probably wasn't going to fall off the edge of the earth if he let go, but it certainly felt like it, and, as his world had abruptly gone topsy-turvy, Percy thought it best to hang on.

Harry was looking at him.

Harry was saying something.

"Wh—" Percy managed through dry lips, "What?"

"Can I show you something?"

"Er," said Percy, "I—I think you just did."

Harry furrowed his brow and leaned forward intently, placing one hand just next to where Percy was still gripping his desk.

"Was that all right?"

Percy bit his lip. His throat was tight and he was hot and cold all over.

"Er," he said again.

Harry sucked in a breath.

"It was all right. Yes." Percy's words were barely more than a choked whisper, but he'd said them, and that was what mattered.

Harry grasped Percy's hand and tugged him over to Harry's desk.

"Please, Perce—I want to show you something."

Percy followed wordlessly, his hand beginning to sweat in Harry's, but he didn't dare break the connection between them. Everything was so surreal and tenuous, and Percy didn't want to lose it.

Harry knelt in front of his desk and Percy followed suit, and Harry tugged open the bottom desk drawer with his free hand.

An eerie light emanated from the drawer, and it took Percy a moment to realise what exactly he was seeing.

"Your drawer…is a Pensieve?"

Harry smiled and took his hand from Percy's. "No. There's a Pensieve in my drawer. A Demi-Pensieve, actually, but it works the same way. Small enough to fit…well, in a desk drawer, that's the only difference."

"Ah—right." Any other time Percy would have felt like a prize idiot, but he just wiped his palm on his robes and leaned forward.

"Why do you have it?"

Harry looked at Percy and bit his lip. "Can I show you first and explain later?"

Percy felt quite young all of a sudden.

"Well, I'd like to know…"

"All right—just—I'm supposed to be putting my war memories in it for historical purposes. That's what I do over here all day. They brought it up for me from the Department of Mysteries. That's all." And Harry cut himself off abruptly and put his wand to his own head.

Percy watched as Harry closed his eyes, his face contorted into a grimace of concentration as he pulled the wand away. A silver strand of memory was attached to it, and Harry didn't breathe until he had deposited it in the bowl of the Pensieve.

And nor did Percy.

Harry exhaled, then, and looked at Percy. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Percy's hands began to shake, and he went cold. "Where am I going?"

Harry grasped Percy's hand. "I'll go with you." And with that, he leaned forward, pulling Percy with him, until they were falling into the mist of Harry's memory.

***

Percy wasn't sure where he had expected to land, but the Burrow was certainly not at the top of his list.

The house was teeming with life—three generations of redheads, plus Hermione, Angelina, Fleur, and Charlie's "friend" from the dragon preserve who had some Slavic name that Percy could never be bothered to remember. Hero Harry sat among the children on the floor with Dog Harry in his lap. Bill's and Ron's kids were cooing over the puppy, patting his head and poking at his pink belly.

Percy flattened himself against the wall as his mother bustled by with a plate of biscuits fresh from the oven, and, after a moment of only visual, he was able to hear the memory as well.

"—absolutely covered in dragon dung!" said Charlie, and everyone laughed.

Percy reached instinctively for the only person he knew to be entirely real.

"Harry—why are we here?"

Harry grasped Percy by the wrist. "Just wait."

The room grew unexpectedly silent, then, as happens at twenty past the hour most hours, and a few of the Weasleys looked at the clock.

Percy noticed his mum wasn't looking at the clock on the wall, the one that told the time, rather at her special clock. All the hands, save one, were pointing at "Home".

Percy's own hand pointed to "Lost".

Percy's dad put a hand on his mum's shoulder. "Be thankful for what we've got, dear," he murmured, too low for anyone but Harry and Percy to hear.

"I know, Arthur, darling," Percy's mum replied, "I just miss my boy."

Percy's dad put his arms around her, and they stood still for a long, private moment. Percy turned his head away. He looked at the wall, then at his shoes.

"Why are we here?" he mumbled.

Harry didn't answer, only closed his fingers more tightly around Percy's wrist.

Percy let him.

Charlie came over, then, and put his arms around his parents.

"Don't mourn him," Charlie said, as weirdly instinctual as he'd always been, "Percy's a good egg, you know. Just mixed up. He's still a part of us."

Percy heard his mum sniffle in the embrace.

"Harry, let's go," he said, but Harry only put a finger to his lips and kept watching the scene.

It was embarassing, that's what it was, especially as his parents' weakness became apparent to everyone else in the room and Percy himself became the general topic of conversation. Phrases such as just a bit misguided and saw him down the market last Sunday; he didn't see me, were as surprising to Percy as compliments would have been. He generally assumed that his family either didn't talk about him at all or, alternatively, spoke negatively of him every chance they got.

The memory went on for a few minutes more, just long enough for Percy's cheeks to be set ablaze.

***

When they were back in the office, Percy found it hard to breathe for a moment.

"So," said Harry, turning to him, "they do miss you."

Harry always was one to state the obvious.

"So I see," Percy replied, and he ran a thumb over his lips in an automatic gesture of comfort.

"Now," said Harry, raising his wand once again, "let me show you something else. Please?"

And without even waiting for a reply from Percy, he touched the tip of the wand to his head again, and again pulled out a silver strand of memory, dropping it in the Pensieve and watching it swirl there.

Harry took a deep breath. "You're still here," he said all in a rush, not looking at Percy. "You haven't run screaming from me, so I—well—do you want me to go with you?"

"If you like," said Percy, nodding, a little afraid of what this memory could possibly entail, but finding himself trusting Harry nevertheless.

***

They were on a farm—or what looked to be a farm, except that instead of cows and ducks and things, there was, behind the old farmhouse, a long, flat stretch of grass with—

—Quidditch hoops at either end?

"Harry, where are we?"

"Shh," said Harry, grinning, "Here I come."

And, indeed, as he spoke, his memory self descended silently from the sky, executing a perfect landing right outside the farmhouse door. Memory Harry propped his broom against the house and knocked. The door swung open almost immediately, and there was—Percy squinted—Oliver Wood.

What the hell?

Oliver greeted Memory Harry with a clap round the shoulders and the two of them strode off together, over Oliver's Quidditch pitch (and Percy snorted a bit at the extent of Oliver's obsession, even if he was Puddlemere United's star player) and towards a close-to-collapsing barn.

The audio in Harry's memory suddenly switched on, and Percy could hear all manner of country birds twittering in the trees.

He nudged Harry. "Why's your audio faulty?" As if that was what mattered at the moment.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. I never did have the best attention span. Come on." And he quickened his steps, Percy right beside him, following Memory Harry and Oliver into the barn.

"Here they are," Oliver was saying, and Percy squinted again in the dim, dusty light filtering down from the barn's rafters. There was a wriggling mass of something there in the corner of the barn, and Memory Harry crouched down and extracted—

—wait a minute—

Percy turned to Harry, his brow furrowed, blinking rapidly. "You said you found him! On the street!"

"I lied," said Harry, grinning, "Just watch, okay?"

"I thought you had a cat," Oliver said, watching as Memory Harry stroked the slumbering puppy's tiny nose.

"I do," said Memory Harry, "Well, George does. But he's not for me. He's for Percy."

Oliver paused a moment, then nodded. "Well, that'll be the one you want, then. Doesn't do much but sleep all day. And I think he's the most magical of them—must be more Crup than Labrador, that one." Oliver smiled and rubbed the back of his neck, shifting from foot to foot. "You really think old Percy wants a dog?"

"No," replied Memory Harry, "But I think he needs one." He wrapped Harry Potter securely in a piece of cloth that he extracted from his pocket, and the two men walked out of the barn together, Harry and Percy right behind them.

"You're going to have to stop chasing him sometime," Oliver said as Memory Harry mounted his broom, Harry Potter tucked safely away for flying, "You don't know him as well as I do. Percy's funny, Harry. He's fussy. He's—"

"I know," said Memory Harry, cutting Oliver off as he hovered on his broom, "But I—well. You know how I—well, how I feel. Anyway, I was a Gryffindor for a reason." He gave Oliver a cheeky grin and took off, one arm pressed against the precious bundle he carried.

***

"You lied to me."

They were back in their shared office again, on the floor behind Hero Harry's desk. Dog Harry had wandered over to them sometime during their trip into Hero Harry's memory and was asleep at Percy's feet.

"Come on, Perce, I—"

"You lied to me, and you've been—" Percy coloured a bit; it was embarrassing to say it though Memory Harry had shown not a hint of unease when Oliver had said it earlier. "You've been—chasing me?"

Harry coloured then, too, and traced a line in the carpet with his forefinger. "Why did you think I chose this office?"

"Well, I—I always wondered that."

They spoke in hushed tones, hidden behind Harry's desk, and as they spoke they edged closer so finally their knees were touching. Harry leaned forward, putting his hand on Percy's knee. Percy lifted a trembling hand almost to Harry's face, then thought better of it and ran his thumb over his own bottom lip.

"Let me—" and Harry put his other hand on Percy's face, stilling the nervous thumb.

And he asked this time, and Percy nodded, unable to speak after all he'd seen, and Harry kissed him again. Percy closed his eyes. We shouldn't be doing this, he chided himself, Not here, not now—not ever—we shouldn't—but he brushed the condemning convictions away and concentrated on kissing Harry. Kissing Harry, who was practically in his lap, his hands in Percy's hair as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

A door slammed, and Percy jerked away from Harry, holding his breath, frozen there on the floor behind the desk, praying that Harry Potter wouldn't betray them with puppy noises. Harry's hands were still in Percy's hair, and his eyes were wide, but he grinned stupidly. Percy held up a warning finger. It was Scrimgeour—Percy would recognise that limping gait in those heavy boots anywhere. Scrimgeour paused in front of Percy's desk, muttering something under his breath, and there was a scratch of quill on parchment, then departing footsteps, and the door slammed again.

Only then did Percy breathe.

Harry moved closer.

Percy looked at Harry, then down at the dog—who thankfully had slept through the whole thing—then back at Harry again.

"What—"

"Are we doing? I don't know, Perce, but I like it—don't you?"

Percy pretended to consider his answer before he gave it. He squeezed shut his eyes, just feeling Harry in his arms, finally admitting to himself what he'd wanted all along.

Something small and warm climbed into his lap.

Percy opened his eyes.

"It's like we're a funny little family," said Harry, and the last barrier around Percy's heart burned.