Still, where did the lighter fluid come from? (emiime) wrote in percy_ficathon, @ 2008-07-11 11:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic, nc-17, percy/neville, slash |
A gift for sarka! (Part 2 of 2)
13 June 2005, Botanical Gardens, Lokrum, Croatia.
The eccentric breadth of the Muggle collection, as he worked his way through it, gave Percy some warning of what he could expect to find beyond the gates to the magical gardens. Trees from regions around the world with Mediterranean climates formed a patchy canopy over huge cacti and sprawling succulents. He may have barely missed taking an O in Herbololgy, but even a beginner could identify this as a garden whose neglect had begun well before the war, and which had only recently seen the attention of clippers and spade.
Passing beyond a spectacular aloe, Percy paused briefly to admire the simple charm that protected the door to the garden. Set in a tall wall of dry fit stone, it bore a red and white warning sign. To a Muggle tourist, the sign would read monastery use only, while a monk would see nude beach beyond. Grinning as he Alohamora’d the door, he found himself glad to have approached the garden wand in hand.
“Help! Over here--”
The cry was cut short as the young witch, evidently the would-be rescuer, joined her companion in the flailing mass of limbs that composed the largest venomous tentacula that Percy had ever seen.
“Pomoć! Help! Over here!” Percy took up the cry for assistance as he began a series of nonverbal cutting charms, trying to work his way towards the center of the mass and the two screaming girls.
Neville and a few young wizards came skidding into the clearing, only to find themselves blocked by a lumbering liana that had uprooted itself and wandered over to investigate the ruckus.
The next several minutes, characterized by tension, deft wand work, and unrehearsed group effort with Neville and the young wizards, led to the recovery of a pair of much worse the wear witches. It was the sort of thing that almost any of his brothers would have loved, and which would have dominated the conversation at Sunday supper. Percy, however, tended to think of such incidents in terms of failure of planning and the inevitable administrative fallout that followed. And he preferred his improvised collaboration either in the form of a classic jazz recording or when performed horizontally.
As such, he mustered all of his restraint and bit back the lecture that was assembling itself in the back of his mind. Percy checked over the girls, looking for more severe wounds, while Neville stood to his side and seemed to be scanning their surroundings for other threats. It was the sort of behavior Percy was used to seeing after the war, and he waited for Neville to settle his nerves and recognize him.
“Hvala. Za djevojke i za sebe.” Neville finally caught his breath and looked directly at him. “Percy?”
“You’re welcome Neville. I didn’t know you spoke Croatian.”
“I learned a little when I started planning this project. And the translation charm is usually enough to get me through. Although I’d never tried to coordinate a fight… Percy, why are you here?” As he spoke Neville’s expression had changed rapidly from gratitude to confusion, with a tension around the eyes that Percy hoped was a result of their struggle and not his sudden appearance.
“Headmistress McGonagall told me where to find you. And I owe you an apology.” Brevity had never been Percy’s strong suit, but another bit of George’s advice had been stuck in his head lately. And it was true that if his mouth was shut, he was far less likely to stick his foot in it.
“Minerva told you I’d be here?” Neville shook his head and glanced behind him to the small crowd of student witches and wizards. “We’ll have to talk later. I should get these two back to the hospital wing.” Reaching down to draw up the two lightly mauled witches, he asked, “Can you look after the rest of the group for me for a bit? We’re working on dividing the larger fanged geraniums near the North gate. There shouldn’t be any problems, assuming no one else goes sneaking off.” Neville swept a glare across his students that left little question that additional troublemakers would be speaking not to the quiet visiting professor but to the famous former Auror.
10 June 2005, Percy’s Flat, London
Percy looked at the clothing spread across his bed before turning to his dresser and doubling the number of socks and pants he’d placed on the pile, and then added his parka. He knew it was overkill, but having once been dispatched from Guyana to Tibet without the chance to stop for clean clothes, he’d become something of a habitual over packer.
Shaking his head, he started resorting the pile, replacing some of the boxers with more fashionable and better fitted briefs. A couple of pair of swim trunks, two spare pair of glasses, and a straw hat completed the mound.
Picking up his passport, he was comforted by its familiar weight. The cover was sueded slightly from wear; its shape cupped lightly to match the curve of his body, and the back was marred by the alternating blue and white sticker the security staff at the Charles de Gaulle portkey point had applied. Why they thought a permanent sticking charm was necessary was a subject of much debate amongst travelers, but it was somehow comforting to see it there. Laying the passport atop a similar rectangle of lodestone to mask its magical signature, he tucked it into a pair of socks and placed them with the others.
A well practiced series of anti-wrinkle charms, shrinking spells, and a quick pack bundled the lot neatly into his overnight bag.
A few minutes sorting through his desk and files finally turned up his personal passport. It wore the same burgundy color as his diplomatic passport, and was superficially similar. Inside, however, it contained only the entry and departure stamps from the family trip to Egypt and from one visit to Charlie in Romania. His working passport had more than a hundred additional pages layered in with a shrinking charm, and a disturbing propensity to scream Diplomatic Immunity while it attempted to defend his luggage. He probably shouldn’t pack it at all on a personal trip, and he was fairly certain that rolling it into a pair of socks wasn’t the most advanced smuggling technique. Unfortunately, a career as a ministry official meant that the smugglers one came in contact with were not of the successful variety. Hopefully he wouldn’t need it, and the only mess he’d be sorting out over the next two weeks would be his personal life.
Setting his personal passport and a pocket edition of Erskine May atop the bag, Percy finished his scotch and turned off the wireless to prepare for bed.
13 June 2005, Dubrovnik, Croatia.
It had taken hours longer than Percy had expected for Neville to return. Having finished dividing and replanting the fanged geraniums, he had let the students eat their sack lunches while he cast about for a similarly non-threatening subject for them to turn their attentions to.
They spent that afternoon cutting back and relabeling the extensive collection of Salloe, a sickly yellow plant that looked much like its Muggle relatives. Percy had become familiar with its cultivation when his mother added it to the garden. Small jars of collected sap waited in the pantry for Charlie and himself, as it was as effective on wounds caused by dragon fire as it was on the effects of the tropical sun on fair skin.
The first half of their meal had been occupied with choosing a wine and with Percy’s description of the afternoon and the progress that the various students had made, all couched in oblique terms that wouldn’t upset their fellow diners. Staring into his glass, a Kozlović white from the Istrian region that Percy had already decided to bring home a bottle or two of, he considered the situation while Neville began to describe his plans for the next day. While the restaurant was striking, the multilingual tourist menu and crowded outdoor seating suggested that Neville had chosen a location where a simple thank you dinner could not be misconstrued as a date. This message was reinforced by the early hour, having come to dinner directly from the ferry. Percy was far too good a diplomat not to recognize that his apology, or rather his promise of an apology, had not yet been considered or accepted.
“I was hoping we could talk,” Percy waved his hand discreetly to indicate the other tables, “perhaps somewhere a little less Muggle.”
“Percy, why are you here?”
“I told you earlier, I owe you an apology. I tried to catch you at Hogwarts a couple of times, but you were always out. And the letter I wrote seemed too much like a memo even to me.”
Neville grinned. “But how did you find me?”
“Headmistress McGonagall told me where you’d be. I know these sorts of projects are always underfunded, so I took some time off from the Ministry to help out. I couldn’t think of a better way to apologize.”
Neville glanced at his watch for what Percy realized was the third time.
“Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”
As Neville explained that the headmaster of the Zagrebački Academy was concerned about the injuries his students had suffered and the adequacy of their supervision, Percy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. There wasn’t someone else, it was just work and politics.
Neville continued, “So I’m due at the Academy in an hour or so, and I should really go change into a proper robe first. Can we talk tomorrow?”
“Certainly. I’ll bring lunch.”
Leaving a stack of brightly colored Kuna on the table, Neville thanked him again and rushed off to his apartment with a quick goodbye.
14 June 2005, Fort Royal, Lokrum, Croatia.
Two prefects had been assigned to Neville to assist in controlling his class. It was a clear case of overkill, even if his students were a mix of the typical eager overachievers and remedial laggards of any school’s summer session. But in spite of the implicit lack of trust, there was an upside to their presence, as Neville was quite comfortable leaving them to oversee a long lunch while he and Percy wandered the island.
Following a trail that began in the Muggle portion of the gardens, Percy led them up a steep slope lined with large crushed stones.
“Napoleon’s forces built this trail and the fortress above. France had assisted the then independent Republic of Ragusa to maintain her independence, but it wasn’t much later that this fortress was built and he demanded the city surrender to him.”
The two men paused before entering the fortress, a simple stone tower with a commanding view over the old walled city and its harbor. While both were in good shape, the march up the hill was poorly shaded by the narrow cypresses that lined the trail, and it had progressed unrelentingly uphill without switchback or pause.
After it was clear Percy had caught his breath, Neville proceeded into the echoing interior of the tower and began to climb its circular stairs. “Have you been studying Croatian history then? Or just that of Dubrovnik?”
Following him up, and trying to focus on the question rather than being caught admiring Neville from behind, Percy answered. “The one is a lot like the other in miniature. They were both small states that sat at the intersection of the interests of great powers. They both made deals that compromised their sovereignty to attain their goals. And they both came to regret those compromises in time. There are some valuable lessons there for our Ministry, I think.”
Percy looked down from the crenellated stonework and pointed at a large black rubber bladder nearly the size of his office. “What’s that?”
“Water,” Neville replied. “The monastery collects rainfall to meet most of their needs, but with so many tourists on the island in the summer, the city posts a fire watch, which wouldn’t be able to do much without water.”
Percy opened his bag, extracting their lunch. Settling down on a shady bit of the battlement, he laid out a selection of peaches and grapes, hot fish sandwiches dressed liberally with capers and tiny pickled okra, and a large bottle of mineral water.
After watching Neville practically devour the sandwich, Percy began to speak again.
“I really am sorry about how I treated you in Kumasi. I was rude. I was inappropriate. And I was wrong in claiming that it was you who had done something wrong.”
Percy kept his eyes focused down at the peach he was disassembling into neat sections, unwilling to meet Neville’s eyes and gauge his reactions. He knew that if he did, he’d start to see this as a negotiation, as something that could be won.
“After Oliver, I think I was afraid to let anyone see me for who I am. I think I was afraid that we’d be noticed, and that you’d throw me away too. And that was terribly unfair. Because you’re not him and I never should have treated you as if you were.”
“It took me a while to realize why I’d been so glad to see you in Ghana. And it wasn’t just your various talents.” Percy grinned a little as he heard Neville chuckle. “It was because I’m happy when I’m with you. And then I thought about how you must have felt. And… I’m sorry.”
After a brief pause, Percy concluded, “I just hope you’d be willing to give me a second chance.”
Neville’s hand caught his chin and brought his gaze up from the remains of their lunch. Swiping his thumb across the corner of Percy’s mouth, Neville replied, “You’ve got peach on you.”
Week of 20 June, 2005. Dubrovnik – Hvar – Lokrum, Croatia.
Percy answered the knock at his door wearing only a pair of chocolate brown corduroy trousers, continuing to rub at his damp hair with the hotel’s towel while he let Neville into his room.
“Join you for breakfast?” Neville asked his question with the unforced cheerfulness of a man for whom coffee was a treat rather than an aid to consciousness.
“Sure. Just let me finish getting ready.” Percy stepped into bathroom to brush his teeth, and upon his return found Neville standing before his armoire, holding the band collared shirt he’d laid out to wear that day.
Percy pulled on his socks and shoes while Neville considered his wardrobe. Finally he pulled out a washed silk shirt the colour of wheat straw. Holding it slightly to the side, he paused to trace his fingers lightly across Percy’s chest. “Wear this one instead.”
Gathering himself while he buttoned the shirt, Percy stared intently at the shorter man. “Are you giving fashion advice now?”
“I just wanted to see how many gardening date outfits you’d packed.” Neville grinned. “And trust me, I like you better in this one.”
----
“I still can’t believe that you can’t swim.”
“I’ve told you about my Great Uncle Algie. I don’t even like to think about Blackpool. And I can dogpaddle.” The note of defensiveness in Neville’s voice was unmistakable and uncharacteristic. Percy knew that he owed his current level of fitness to his constant access to hotel pools, but he was still surprised that he was so much more comfortable in the water than the stronger ex-Auror.
They had been working on the Lokrum garden for nearly two weeks, and had spent the first weekend dealing with some of the more dangerous specimens while Neville’s students were off. But with a little pressure Percy had managed to pry Neville away for a quick trip to Hvar. A couple of hours north of Dubrovnik by boat and an instant by Apparition, the island’s two main towns were perennial tourist attractions. But away from the towns, like this rocky stretch of coastline marked by a few scattered pines that defined the lower boundary of a field of lavender, it was possible to spend the whole day without seeing another person.
The shore swept up abruptly to where Percy stood, a rocky cliff face of perhaps seven feet here but descending to a low gravel shore just thirty or so feet away. Neville stood somewhat further back from the edge, obviously also enjoying the view but less willing to risk the plunge.
Percy idly cast a series of spells, determining the depth of the water below the cliff as he toed off his shoes and preparing his strongest sunblock charm before he began to remove his clothes. He bit back a smile as he dropped his linen slacks and heard Neville’s gasp.
“Those have got to be the smallest trunks--” Neville realized that he had stopped changing midway and finished stepping into the long board shorts they’d found for him in town before continuing. “You swim in those?”
Percy glanced down at his speedos, a dark forest green with a broad white slash on the side that went nearly transparent when wet. “Do you like them?”
Percy stretched high, then turned away from Neville and folded himself almost in half to stretch his lower back. Feeling Neville’s gaze on his back, he wrapped his toes over the edge of the stone, bounced once on the balls of his feet and then dove.
Rising to the surface of the sparkling blue water, he shook his hair clear of his face and looked up to see Neville peering over the edge.
“Come over here to the shallow bit,” Percy called out as he began to move away from the cliff. “I promised I’d teach you the backstroke, and I’m not going to make you jump.”
The board shorts might not be as visually stimulating as his trunks, but he had no doubt that an afternoon in the water with Neville would have its own rewards.
----
Neville and Percy climbed the steep stone steps behind the Franciscan Monastery, stopping only when they reached the top of the city wall. The view, as Percy had expected, was phenomenal. The opposite of what they had seen from Fort Royal, here the foreground was composed of red tile roofs, church steeples, narrow passageways, clotheslines and windows, while in the distance the island of Lokrum sat surrounded by the Adriatic and a dusting of sailboats making their way back towards the harbour for the evening.
Neville’s voice finally broke the silence. “We should start walking if we’re going to make it around before nightfall.”
They turned south and passed over the Pile Gate, high above the Stradun, the polished marble thoroughfare that divided the old city. Here again they encountered steps as the wall ascended the rocky heights that defined the city’s coastal side, and as they reached the top of the last narrow stair, Percy reached out and quite deliberately took Neville’s hand in his own.
They walked that way in silence, a quarter of the way around the wall until they reached the nearest point to the island, overlooking the Church of St. Ignatius on the inland side. The top of the wall was broad here, the protruding point marked by a tiny stone tower just large enough for a single man to step out of the wind and warm himself.
Pausing here to watch the sunset that was just beginning to color the island and the city, Percy began to explain why so few of the rooftops were made up of older tiles of varying hues. But he’d barely mentioned the siege of the city during the war between Croatia and Serbia when Neville abruptly pulled him into the tower. Ducking uncomfortably to avoid the low stone ceiling, Percy found Neville’s mouth pressed to his own, his half-hearted protests stoppered by Neville’s darting tongue.
Descending the steps above the town aquarium in full darkness, they’d only made it half way around the city. Yet taking Neville’s hand in his own again, Percy felt little disappointment. Thinking hopefully of the future, he thought that they could always come back again.
---
Office of the Minister,
Barring any immediate needs of the Ministry which would conflict with this request, please extend my leave for an additional week Please owl immediately with your reply.
Percy Weasley,
Special Assistant to the Minister
12 November 1998. The Ministry.
The realization that the former Headmaster and his father had been right, that there was a war and that he was on the wrong side of it, had come disturbingly late for Percy. Worse still he knew that role he had inadvertently assumed, that of the useful idiot, did not give him access to information that would be helpful to whatever resistance existed.
So he’d stymied their plans where he could, misrouting lists of Muggleborns that were intended to be delivered to the Snatchers, delaying requests for action from the gutted and corrupt Auror’s office. And he still had access to some information, so he’d started making copies. Rosters of the Snatchers, records of the reallocation of seized properties, decisions not to investigate deaths in custody, all these and more he copied and saved.
When the tides turned, when the beginnings of good government were restored, he brought Minister Shacklebolt to the archive he’d created out of an expanded broom cupboard and formally offered his testimony to the Wizengamot. He knew the risks he was exposing himself to, the possibility of attacks by the quislings and collaborators he was preparing to expose. And just as much, he knew that he’d be expected to offer his memories for the Penseive, and that before it ended he’d testify more than once under veritaserum.
He’d never expected to make it through that without his desires also being revealed. So he’d left the Ministry on time for the first time in months to eat supper at the Burrow and to tell his parents. Over the next week he told all of his brothers and Ginny. Charlie took it worse than he would have liked, George barely seemed to notice, and Ginny insisted she’d always known, but in the end they were all there for him in the Gallery when he stepped into the Wizengamot chambers and took the potion of his own free will.
The remaining Aurors, the Order, and the DA were quartered in the Ministry itself during those dark days, the problem of providing security for so many locations across wizarding Britain leading many to seek shelter in the offices turned bunkrooms. The spasms of violence that wracked the country after the forces of darkness lost their leader and sought new directions and new goals meant that the members of those security forces were coming and going at all hours.
That was where he quite literally ran into Neville, bouncing off of the lean and intense young man that little resembled the somewhat lost and round-faced boy he’d remembered. They had attempted to pass through a door from opposite sides and collided in the middle. Percy had been wandering the corridors, waiting for his latest dose to wear off before he went to the canteen for lunch, and as he helped Neville up from the floor he couldn’t help blurting out, “Sorry, handsome.”
Neville replied with a quick series of questions, trying first to decide if he’d heard right and then plumbing the depths of shared desire. After that his questions could best be described as variations on the statement, “Do you like it when I do this?” Although he never made it to lunch, Percy had left the tiny conference room on the sixth floor flushed, with mussed hair, and a certainty that kissing a bloke was so much more rewarding than his awkward schoolboy fumbling with Penny.
They didn’t talk about it after that first day, Neville realizing how he’d taken advantage of Percy’s state. They talked about everything else though, from the Gobstones cup to the likely teaching roster of the soon to be reopened Hogwarts. When they were both free, they were together, sometimes only talking and sometimes so much more. It lasted a few months, but as the first trials ended and Percy resumed a position of trust in the Ministry his hours grew longer. At the same time, the hunt for escaped Death Eaters expanded to the continent, and Neville was away for increasing stretches of time.
Their pattern of not talking about their relationship continued, and shortly they drifted apart. A few months later, Percy discovered the Muggle bars, and not long after he ran into Oliver there. And like with Neville, it felt for a while like it had been fated to happen.
28 June, 2005. Dubrovnik, Croatia.
Percy had begun to walk towards his hotel when Neville tugged at his hand.
“Let’s go to my apartment.”
Rushing through the darkness, through side-streets and up narrow stairways, Neville paused once to kiss him, and once again to reach over a garden wall for a pair of ripe pomegranates. Tearing the fruit roughly open, they each tried to separate the arils from the white pulp and tried to feed each other, accidentally smearing pulp across each others faces in the moonlight and sucking at fingers sweet with juice.
Crossing the garden outside of Neville’s apartment, Percy pulled him around rather than ducking beneath the clothesline, just aware enough to avoid pulling down someone’s laundry and streaking it with red juice in their lust.
Evidently they’d both tried to Alohomora the door, and it flew open with a bang, fairly bouncing on its hinges as it tried to move further out of the way. It was the sort of thing that was guaranteed to set a juice-covered wizard to giggling, and Percy was helpless to avoid joining in. He grabbed Neville in his arms and swung him about, only to come to rest abruptly against the opposite wall and jarring loose a small framed image of the national flag which crashed to the floor.
Neville stopped sucking at the hollow of Percy’s neck momentarily. “We’ll have to fix that in the morning, or the cleaning lady will kill me.” Percy laughed as Neville dipped his head again, tearing at the buttons on Percy’s shirt to lick along his freckle dusted collarbone.
Somehow, through a combination of determination and magic, the door was closed and Neville had been striped of all but a pair of dark grey boxer briefs, while Percy’s shirt lay puddled on the floor behind him. Having staggered into the kitchen together, Percy hoisted Neville up on the counter and began to lick at his chest.
“I’ve decided--” Neville spoke between deep shuddering breaths, “that I’ll--” Percy worried briefly at a nipple with his teeth, and Neville gasped. “accept your apology.” Percy dragged his lightly stubbled chin down Neville’s torso, still chuckling lightly when he began to nuzzle at the fabric struggling to contain a very eager erection.
Finally opening his mouth to cup Neville’s cock, Percy felt him thrust forward sharply. Struggling to maintain his balance on the counter with his arse lifted above the edge, Neville’s arms shot out, knocking an assortment of glasses and mugs to the floor and sending a spray of sharp fragments throughout the kitchen and into the small front room.
“Which way,” Percy asked, backing off slightly yet leaving his lips pressed against the fabric covering Neville’s dick. “Which way to the bedroom?”
Sliding back up the lightly haired torso to draw the other nipple into his mouth, and wrapped his arms around the other man while strong legs wrapped around his waist, Percy followed the half grunted instructions towards the bedroom.
The second time they bounced off a wall, sending another picture crashing to the floor, they heard the door of the apartment above open, followed by heavy steps continuing along the deck. Evidently having tucked his wand in the waistband of his pants, Neville attempted to cast a silencing charm between thrusts against Percy’s stomach.
Successful finally on his third attempt, Percy laid Neville back on the bed and drew his pants down, licked once up and down the full length of his erection, and then stepped back to undress himself. This sort of thing, the performance of it, always made Percy self-conscious, and he closed his eyes as if that would somehow hide his embarrassment.
When he was wearing nothing but a pair of seamless white briefs gone translucent in places with sweat and desire, he looked up to find Neville stroking himself while he watched.
Reaching out to playfully bat his hand away, Percy growled, “No. That’s mine.”
Certain now that Neville was watching him, Percy turned once slowly, basking in his gaze while he lowered his briefs to the ground.
“I like what the swimming has done for you.” Neville seemed to have regained a measure of control with his brief respite, and he sat up to pull Percy to him before lying back down and rolling to straddle him.
The weight of the stronger man lying atop his legs, sliding with delicious friction, began to overwhelm him as Neville’s tongue traced at pathway towards his groin, drawing a trail of freckles as he had their first time together.
The sensations growing stronger, Percy tried to turn about, to draw Neville into his mouth and complete the circle, but found himself held in place with a powerful grip.
Afraid of coming too soon, Percy flexed sharply to grasp Neville about the waist. When he opened his mouth to object Percy quickly flipped back and then spun, leaving himself pressed against Neville’s back, one arm wrapped around his chest and the other caressing his flank. Somewhere in the exercise, a small bedside table and the water glass atop it had gone crashing to the floor.
“How’d you--”
Percy nipped playfully at Neville’s ear before answering his incomplete question. “Five brothers will teach you a thing or two about wrestling.”
“I only want the one,” Neville replied, gently thrusting his arse back against Percy’s cock.
“Want you,” Neville continued, more succinctly. “Want you in me. Now.”
Leaning aside and stretching to reach for a wand gave Neville the room to turn and face Percy, and he pulled his knees towards his chest. Percy cast the necessary spells, cleaning and stretching because they were both far to eager to manage it slowly by hand, protection because while they may have been each other’s first, they were no longer young and foolish.
“Now!” Neville commanded, and Percy aligned himself and pressed steadily forward, his moan of pleasure interrupting the stream of nonsensical endearments he realized he’d been uttering.
Fully sheathed finally in the heat of Neville’s flesh, he pulled back and set up a slow rhythm of long thrusts deeply at odds with the urgency they’d displayed before, drawing another rumble from Neville.
“Harder! I know you want me.”
Taking the permission he’d been hoping for Percy began to thrust more quickly and shallowly. Resting much of his weight on the back of Neville’s strong thighs, he reached between them with one hand to tweak his partner’s balls, stroke along his cock, and tug gently at his foreskin, trying all the while to keep the pattern of his caresses unpredictable.
The bite of Neville’s fingernails in the skin of his arse, pulling him further in while he called out Percy’s name told him his lover was close. So he pushed himself further upright, changing the angle until he knew from the gasps where the passage of his cock was stroking, and began to thrust wantonly.
“Oh, Oh Yes!” Percy yelled aloud with uncharacteristic abandon, a spray of wetness against his chest and a similar yet wordless cry telling him that Neville’s release had closely followed his own.
Slowing his thrusts, Percy parted Neville’s legs and withdrew, laying atop the younger wizard for a brief kiss and smearing the sticky evidence of their shared lust between them.
Sometime later, when both were breathing regularly, Neville found one of their wands in the bedclothes and conjured a sheet to cover them.
“You know, we’re going to have to levitate to the loo in the morning. I think we’ve got broken glass everywhere.”
Percy lifted his head from Neville’s chest to look and realized he couldn’t actually see what was on the floor.
“Um… you didn’t notice what I did with my glasses, did you?”
Neville reached up to the headboard, and released the sticking charm he’d used to pin them out of range of flailing limbs, settling them back on Percy’s face and uttering a quick cleaning charm on them.
“I love how you forget them in the thick of things.”
Percy leaned in for another kiss, and then quietly asked, “Is it too soon to just say I love you?”
1 July, 2005. Dubrovnik, Croatia.
Percy looked up from his packing to find Neville flipping through his pocket planner.
“What are you doing the first week of August?”
“Zimbabwe. There’s a good chance the Matabele drive for an independent Ministry is going to accomplish something this year, and we need to touch base with them and the Shona. Just to remind them that we’re hoping to see another Czechoslovakia rather than a civil war. Are you free after the 15th?”
“Remedial sessions start then. It should be a big year, between the usual hopeless cases and the second year Slytherins who tried to prune their Mandrakes with incendio. Practically burned the whole of greenhouse two before I found my earmuffs and got it under control. I should be free on weekends though.”
Percy, already grinning at the story felt his smile broadening. “Excellent. I’ll mark my late August weekends as no crisis times then.”
Percy stood to continue his own packing while Neville sat down with his academic calendar. He tucked his shaving kit into his bag and glanced at their paired schedules. Pretending not to notice that Neville had carefully noted his upcoming birthday, he leaned in and stole a kiss.
“The portkey’s not for hour, you know.”