percyficmod (percyficmod) wrote in percy_ficathon, @ 2007-09-11 15:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic, percy/neville, pg-13, slash |
A gift for inell!
Title: The Art of Living
Author: TBA
Giftee: inell
Pairing/Characters: Percy/Neville.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6.790
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to a number of people and organizations, all of which are certainly not me. I am making no money off of this.
Summary: Percy is starting to realize that reasonable, rational decisions aren't necessarily good ones.
Author's Notes: Dear inell, I hope you enjoy this. Thanks go to the usual suspects – to J, for bearing with me, cheering me on and betaing, to I, for listening to me whine and holding my hand, and to O, for being the most understanding and helpful boyfriend a girl could ask for :)
Percy wasn't the sort of person who often did things just because he felt like it. He was much rather the sort of character who thought everything out, considered every move and its potential consequences and then made a reasonable, rational decision.
Provided, of course, that his capabilities for reasonability and rationality had not been exhausted in the past... year.
And right now, his ability to be level-headed and sensible had been exhausted to the point that Percy wondered if perhaps he ought not change his modus operandi altogether.
It probably wouldn't have changed anything, he knew. It wouldn't have changed the things he wished he could go back and change. He looked over at where George was sitting beside their father, looking oddly lopsided without his other half.
He felt almost alone, set apart, like he didn't belong. He knew it was only because up until tonight, his had been the empty space at the Weasley family table. They'd make room for him again, he knew, despite all his faults. Coming here and staying to fight – even if it hadn't been remotely sensible – had been the right thing to do.
He jumped when a hand was laid on his shoulder and someone slid into the empty seat next to him. Someone with a sword.
"I kept counting Weasleys and coming up with an extra head," Neville said quietly. "I didn't see you arrive, Percy."
"You wouldn't have," he replied, trying to keep the self-deprecation out of his voice. "I came late."
Neville shrugged. "You're here. That's what counts." He hesitated, then said, "I'm sorry about Fred."
"Thanks." There was a heartbeat of silence before Percy dared to say what he'd wanted to say ever since he'd found out. "I'm really sorry about your parents."
Neville smiled tiredly. "So am I."
"You look like you could use some medical help, by the way," Percy added.
There was a chuckle. "Still looking out for me?"
"Habit."
"Aaaah."
The silence between them was comfortable and Percy couldn't help comparing this young man, a warrior in his own right, with the nervous and frightened kid he remembered from his last year at Hogwarts. It had been a year full of books and library visits for Percy, but he'd also been Head Boy and one of the duties he'd taken on was making sure that third-year Neville Longbottom, who wasn't supposed to know the passwords to Gryffindor Tower lest he accidentally hand them to Sirius Black – again – was safely in his bed in the third-year dormitory.
It looked like Neville's last year at Hogwarts had been somewhat different.
They were both lost in their own reminiscences and so neither of them noticed the owl until it pecked Percy rather sharply on the wrist, drawing a yelp.
There had been owls flying around all night, which was to be expected; people were hearing from loved ones and spreading news. Percy, however, couldn't think of anybody who would write to him – all of the people who might have were right there in the Hall with him. It was a Ministry of Magic owl, though, and the letter bore the official seal – neither of which made any sense to Percy.
"What does it say?" Neville asked.
Percy shrugged and slid a thumbnail under the seal. He read it twice before wordlessly handing it over to Neville to read.
"Dear Mr. Weasley," Neville read out loud. "Could you be persuaded to reconsider your previous resignation?" There was a pause. "It's signed by Shacklebolt."
"I know."
"He asks for a response as soon as possible."
"I know."
"What are you going to do?"
Percy sighed and laid his forehead on the table. "I have no idea."
There was another long silence before Neville laid a hand on his shoulder. "What's your gut feeling about it? What was your immediate reaction?"
A slow smile spread across his face as he thought about it. Maybe he should try doing something because he felt like it again. He lifted his head off the table and met Neville's eyes. "I should go."
"Yeah, you should. Go. Now. Before you change your mind," Neville replied. "I'll tell your mother where you've gone." Percy nodded at him and then left to find a place where he could Apparate.
+++
They were eating at their desks and a few offices had been set up with bunk beds so that they could kip when they absolutely had to. By the time they'd managed to sort the innocent from the guilty in Azkaban, Percy wasn't even sure what day it was anymore, much less how long it had been since the Battle of Hogwarts.
He'd arrived to find the Ministry plunged into frantic activity, department heads ousted with no one to take their place, some of the previous administration turning to run once they realized they'd been on the losing side, and others promoted in their place with little regard for their abilities to get anything done. The place was absolute chaos and somehow, despite all that, the Wizarding population of Britain needed to be governed as usual.
Percy was barely seeing straight the day he wandered down a corridor somewhere in Magical Law Enforcement (he was actually refusing to admit that he might be lost) and heard familiar voices drifting from around a corner. Too exhausted to question his instincts, he simply walked towards his younger brother and Harry, who seemed to be talking some sort of strategy with a female witch.
When he finally rounded the corner, he found Ron and Harry deeply engaged in conversation with Hestia Jones, with Hermione listening in and Neville standing around, trying to pretend to be interested.
"Whoa, Percy," Ron said when he caught sight of him. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I don't know. What day is it?" The light seemed unnaturally bright. Perhaps he should have another cup of coffee?
"It's Thursday," Harry informed him, looking rather amused.
He was still trying to calculate how many days it had been when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and the deep voice of Minister Shacklebolt rang through the room. "Goodness gracious me, Weasley, I seem to recall sending you home to rest more than eight hours ago."
Percy tried to hide it but his knees almost buckled. "I had a nap in the bunks, Minister," he replied. "I wanted to make sure the last documents for the new inmates in Azkaban were accurate."
"Then it can't have been a very long nap," the Minister said. "You need rest, Mr. Weasley. Go home and come back tomorrow afternoon."
"It's seven PM," Harry supplied helpfully.
"Mr. Weasley, perhaps you'd take your brother home?"
The words were aimed at Ron, but before he could reply, Neville had interjected. "I'll take him, I was leaving anyway. You keep on plotting."
Percy bemusedly watched everyone nod in agreement and the Minister join the conversation that had been going on before Percy had shown up.
"C'mon Percy," Neville said, taking his shoulder and steering him towards the lifts. "Let's get you sorted."
The early evening air was cool and went a long way towards waking Percy up properly. Of course, once he felt more or less human again – about ten steps from the Diagon Alley entrance – he wanted to go straight back and keep working, but Neville wouldn't hear of it.
"This is a bit of a role reversal," Percy sighed as he and Neville matched steps towards the side street where Percy had a second-floor flat.
"It's time I repaid all those late-night excursions of yours to the portrait hole to help me out," Neville said, smiling. "Besides, you got me out of a meeting I rather wanted to skip."
"Oh?" He wasn't sure he'd still remember what Neville told him in the morning, but he was rather curious what meeting he could have been going to in the Ministry.
"Ron and Harry are going to work with the Auror department. It's in shambles; they've got to start from scratch and do a complete overhaul."
"That's true for a lot of departments."
Neville chuckled. "Yeah, but the Magical Law Enforcement is rather vital. Anyways, they wanted me in on it. Wouldn't take no for an answer, actually. Your brother is very insistent."
"It's a Weasley trait," Percy started, then stopped, confused, before backing up a few steps and turning towards his door.
"You're so tired you've forgotten where you live, but you still wanted to go back to work?" Neville laughed from behind him.
"Shut up, Longbottom," Percy grumbled, unlocking the door and leading the way up the stairs.
+++
He woke up to cooking smells wafting through the apartment. The light slanting in through his window told him it was somewhere in the vicinity of noon, which made him catapult out of the bed in horror before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be at work until some time in the afternoon.
He had a vague memory of telling Neville that of course he could sleep on the apartment sofa, but not much else after that. Neville had to be responsible for the cooking smells and the intermittent singing that was emanating from the kitchen, but just in case he'd been invaded by cooking and singing burglars, he decided to check for himself.
Neville was standing in front of the stove, pointing his wand at a large pan. He was wearing an undershirt and one of Percy's towels, wrapped around his hips. The Wizarding Wireless in the window had the volume turned down low, probably out of regard for Percy, a fact which was entirely negated by Neville singing along at the top of his voice with Celestina Warbeck.
Percy couldn't help himself. He laughed.
Neville turned around, eyes wide, then he wagged a finger at Percy. "You wouldn't laugh if you saw yourself in the mirror! Shower before food, go." He made shooing motions with his hands but he was blushing down to his shoulders.
Percy privately agreed with Neville once he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. He climbed into the shower before he could dwell on it.
One tank of warm water later – and Percy considered extending the water supply by magical means, but he was far too hungry and Neville's pan had smelled much too good – he stepped out of the shower and took a good long look in the mirror. He'd gone gaunt in the past year. His mother would have a stroke once she'd take a proper look at him. His hair was too long and he had the beginnings of a beard, though both those things were easily fixed.
He tried not to meet his own eyes in the mirror while shaving, knowing they were full of guilt and self-deprecation. He was relieved when he could go back to his kitchen where Neville was dishing up greasy things onto two plates.
"I half expected you'd drowned by now," Neville commented.
"About to send out a search party?"
"You'd need that in this apartment. Merlin, this place is huge. How can you afford it?"
Percy looked around at the pristine white walls of the kitchen. It was a nice place. A really nice place. And empty, to the point of echoing. All this seemed so stupid now, so pointless. "I can't, really. You must've seen there were only two plates in the cupboard. Two glasses. Two sets of cutlery. I've no idea where you found the pan." Percy shook his head. "I'll be moving out, soon as I find something better."
Neville looked at him between forkfuls of scrambled egg. "The pan," he said, "came from a kit on the bottom shelf of the cupboard beneath the sink that was titled 'Mrs. Skower's Bachelor Wizard Cooking Magic!'"
Percy felt his ears heat up.
"I did notice the place was a little Spartan, but some people like it that way. How come you've got this place if it's too big?"
Percy looked down at his food and listlessly poked it. He was still hungry but he wasn't sure the food could fit past the lump in his throat. "It was the address," he whispered. "It's a really nice address, in a good neighbourhood. I wanted to… to show them I could do well without them. That I didn't need them."
Neville looked up at him for a moment, then said gently, "Eat, Percy. It's in the past, isn't it? Things will move on from here and it will get better. You came through where it counted, and I'm sure they can see that."
Percy forced down a few more bites until it became easier. He knew Neville was right but the guilt still churned in his belly, making him cast about wildly for a different topic of conversation before Neville could go on with dissecting his soul.
"So… you don't want to become an Auror," he said, remembering the meeting that Neville had dodged by taking him home.
Neville looked at him oddly – maybe because Percy was still trying to rephrase his last thought inside his head, or maybe because he was blatantly trying to change the subject, but he replied. "No, I don't. I'm not… I mean, I fought because I had to. I didn't have any other options. I think I was pretty good at it, but I didn't particularly like it."
"If the stories I've heard are any indication, you were really good at it. Actually, I saw you, you were brilliant."
Neville blushed. "I just cut off the snake's head because Harry asked me to," he said somewhat defensively. "It wasn't like I had a plan. Actually, I still have the bump from where the Sorting Hat dropped the sword on my head. If I hadn't been on fire at the time, I'd have had an aneurysm from shock."
Percy inhaled some of his fried tomatoes at that statement and then he couldn't help it. He almost fell off his chair, he laughed so hard.
+++
Percy was still giggling like a girl when he pulled on his cloak to go back to the Ministry. Neville was rather red-faced but he hadn't been able to stop himself from laughing either.
"So what do you want to do?" Percy asked, trying to get their conversation back on the track it had been on before their laughing fit.
Neville shrugged and waited while Percy locked the door to the flat behind them. "I don't know," he told Percy while they wended their way through some early-afternoon shoppers in Diagon Alley. "I would like to do something I'm good at. Something to do with Herbology, maybe? I really would just like to be involved in this…" he waved a hand around. "All this."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Percy started, and then he remembered something that brought him up short. He was so surprised, in fact, that he stopped in the middle of the street and Neville walked a few steps without him before he noticed.
"Percy?" he asked curiously.
"Of course," Percy said. "Why didn't I think of you before?" He caught up to Neville with a few long steps and walked fast towards the Ministry entrance. Neville had to half-jog to keep up with him.
Once they reached the Atrium, Percy pulled an empty memo parchment from a box near the sign-in counter and wrote a hurried note to the Minister, sending it towards the lifts, before taking Neville's arm and half-dragging him towards the Floo points.
"Where are we going?" Neville asked as they queued for the powder.
"You'll see," Percy said conspiratorially. Neville just raised his eyebrows but allowed Percy to drag him towards the fireplace and throw in Floo powder.
"St. Mungo's, Curatives division," Percy said clearly once he stepped into the fire, and then yanked Neville in with him.
The journey was mercifully short. Two full-grown wizards on the same Floo hop was somewhat ill-advised, if only due to tight spaces, making it necessary for them to get very close.
Neville was looking at Percy with some amusement as they dusted themselves off, having promptly fallen over each other as they tried to exit at the correct grate. "You do realize that you've effectively brought me to the St. Mungo's Potions laboratory, don't you? Since the late Professor Snape can't tell you about my lack of prowess with Potions, you could ask your brother – I think I only almost killed him three times."
Percy snorted, then strode the short distance down the hall towards their real destination. "Potions," he said, throwing open the double-doors, "are not the problem."
Walking into the moist air of the greenhouse was nearly like walking into a wall. The hot, humid air hung around in pools, occasionally disturbed by a draft. The scene in there was one of near-devastation; there were numerous shattered panes of glass, pieces of which glittered off of every surface. Some plants had been cut down to the roots, others were wilting as they watched.
"What happened?" Neville asked softly.
"Parting gift from the previous administration. They torched the supply-store and killed the attendants." That put a determined look on Neville's face. "They've been taking as they need, but… nobody knows how much can be taken, some of these plants need special treatment, others are already dead from over-harvesting…" he trailed off as he realized that Neville had already made a decision, judging by the way he was sizing up the place.
"I'll need new glass. Mending isn't good enough. And let's go see if those bastards didn't turn off the water supply as well," he said, marching towards the back of the greenhouses.
+++
Ron appeared in his doorway around dinnertime, flanked by their father, Harry and… George. "I hear you managed to spirit our resistance hero away to some greenhouse," he said, leaning against Percy's desk.
"Well, yeah," Percy said. "Seemed like his talents would be wasted playing Aurors and Outlaws with you two."
Ron shook his head but he was smiling. "We're here to take you to dinner. No arguments, Perce."
Percy raised his hands. "Just let me get my cloak."
As he stood up there was a volley of swearwords from the inner office, where the Minister worked. Percy got there first, but only because he was already on his way in that direction. Minister Shacklebolt looked up with surprise as five men burst into his office, wands at the ready. Then he laughed.
"No need for alarm, though thanks for the quick reaction. My inkpot exploded all over my desk, that's all," he said, chortling. "Tergeo," he said, pointing at the mess.
The ink didn't budge.
"Oh, bugger," Percy said empathically. "Sorry about that, Minister. I thought I'd asked someone in the front office to send an inter-office memo. Detergeo," he added, waving his wand and the ink started to fade away.
"They're marked, you see," he continued, crossing the floor towards the desk and picking up the next pot, turning it over. "If there's a lightning mark on the underside, it explodes the 121st time you dip your quill."
Everybody in the room stared at him. "Uh," he said, suddenly embarrassed. "It was just… we came up with it, and a few other tricks, just to make things… harder."
There was a peculiar look in George's eyes as he crossed the floor to Percy and took the inkpot out of his hands, examining it with interest.
"Is this perhaps why almost every desk in this building has a mysterious curse on it that makes it wobble?" Harry asked, his eyes glittering.
"It just shrinks one of their legs, really slowly," Percy replied. "Same principle as with vanishing keys. They also have a jumbling charm on, so it's impossible to find anything in the drawers."
"Wow," Ron said. "Anything else in here cursed?"
"Uh, yeah. The pencil sharpeners. Don't come near them unless you're sure they're harmless." Ron's eyes widened. "Oh, and the family portraits. That one was really neat. We had a different thing wrong with them every week. The best one was when they kept sneezing." Percy thought about it for a minute. "Also, if someone complains about the tea in the pot being perpetually cold, let me know. I think I remembered to reverse all of those, but you'd be amazed to learn how many teapots there are in this place."
They were all staring at him now. The corner of George's mouth had been lifted up into a half-smile, though, and the look on his father's face was a mix of pride and amusement.
"I take it this is also the reason that a copy of the Wizarding Census documents turned up on my desk earlier this week, despite all copies allegedly having been destroyed by the mysterious fire in the records department," Shacklebolt asked.
Percy just nodded. "It wasn't me, really, there were quite a few people who…"
"Oh, shut up, Weasley," said the Minister's secretary, Mr. Bell, from the lobby in front of the office. Percy hadn't even realized the door was open. "Don't let him tell you it wasn't him. If it wasn't for him, nothing would have been done around here to oppose the Death Eaters." Percy felt the heat rising in his face. "Tell them about the parchment, Percy," Mr. Bell added, laughing.
"Oh, Merlin, Minister," he said. "The Ministry won't have to buy parchment for the next eight years or so."
+++
The entire household seemed to be laughing. It was a good feeling to be responsible for all that joviality, Percy thought. He was being described as some sort of rebel commander inside the Ministry, which was absolutely not true, though. He tried to tell Neville as much, though with the noise in the kitchen, he wasn't sure that he could make himself understood, even if the two of them were sitting side by side.
Things had quieted down a little once tea had been served and Percy found himself sitting alone, nursing a cup of tea and a biscuit at the corner of the kitchen table, when someone slid into the seat next to him.
"Never took you for a prankster, Perce," George said quietly into his ear.
"I learned from the best," Percy said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.
George smiled – a real smile, something Percy had not expected. "He would have been so proud of you, Perce."
The emotions floored him. He wasn't sure how to react – at this point, he wasn't even sure how to breathe. George's image blurred as tears filled his eyes. "I am proud of you."
George slung an arm over his shoulder and pulled him close for a moment. They pulled away at the same time and George pulled out the inkpot from the Minister's desk. "Now, explain to me how you make it so that it explodes only on the 121st dipping…"
When Neville went in search of Percy some time later, he found the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, Percy drawing a diagram to explain how he managed to only affect just one leg of an office desk with his shrinking charm.
+++
Gradually, the Ministry settled. Slowly, things got better. Minister Shacklebolt was voted into office as a long-term Minister, much to the delight of most of the Ministry workers. Percy got promoted from Junior Undersecretary to Senior Undersecretary – a move that was almost entirely ceremonial, as Percy had been doing the job for a while. He did appreciate the pay rise, though.
By the time autumn rolled around and people wanted their Flu Tinctures, Neville had the greenhouses of St. Mungo's well in hand – well enough, in fact, that he could supply the entire Wizarding population, something that had never happened before.
Neville kept insisting that Percy was not to be trusted with his own working hours, and would show up at least twice a week to make sure that Percy was being properly fed. Percy privately thought that Neville was probably spending too much time around Healers, but it wasn't like he minded it – actually, if he was entirely honest to himself, he rather enjoyed Neville's visits.
This Neville really wasn't anything like the Neville that he'd met as a Head Boy and helped into the Gryffindor Common Room on more than one occasion. This Neville actually seemed to have a sixth sense about when Percy was working much later than he probably ought to be, and needed helping to his bed.
This was likely how Neville knew to show up late on a Friday night, when the entire Ministry, apart from the floor of the Magical Law Enforcement, had gone dark. He just waltzed in like he owned the place – Ron had probably let him in, Percy realized – and said simply, "Minister, I am going to steal your Undersecretary."
"By all means, go ahead," Shacklebolt said. "You seem to be the only one able to make him eat food and sleep in a bed."
"Thank you, Minister," Neville said, smiling. "Does he have work during the weekend?"
"No," Shacklebolt had said at the same time as Percy answered, "Yes!"
"You were here last weekend, Mr. Weasley. Take this one off," Shacklebolt had said. Percy had learned from experience that there was no arguing with the man about this – he was determined not to have his staff overwork themselves.
This was how he found himself, on a Saturday morning, re-potting plants in Neville's balcony-cum-garden-cum-jungle.
There was something rather satisfying about sitting on his knees, digging in earth, putting plants in and patting them down. Not in the least because the process involved getting dirty, which was a luxury Percy rarely allowed himself.
By noon he had managed to work off most of his aggravation, which Neville unerringly sensed from the other end of the space they were working in.
"I read the Prophet this week. Looks like a frustrating business," he commented.
"Yeah," Percy replied. There was a silence in which Percy felt more and more like an arsehole, before he finally broke and gave a real answer. "The most frustrating bit isn't that there were more Death Eaters than we thought there were, the frustrating thing is that they keep refusing to admit that they're Death Eaters now. As if calling themselves something different while they do the same stupid, hateful things will absolve them of responsibility for You-Know-Who."
Percy was relatively certain that the plant he pulled out of the earth just then wasn't a weed, but in his frustration he threw it on the compost heap anyway. There was a long silence. Then Neville stood up and came over.
"I'm going to go get us something to drink," he said. "You might want to attack the weeds over there in the herb garden next."
Percy weeded in a blinding rage, until he heard Neville's footsteps approaching again along with a clink of bottles. Neville set down a bottle of Butterbeer next to him, before going off to sit at the tiny little table that was scooted away in a corner of the balcony. Percy worked for a minute longer, clearing the bed entirely before going to sit with Neville.
"In addition to all that," he sighed, once the silence was stretching towards a little uncomfortable, "my landlady has up and sold the house. I have to be out by the end of the month." He plucked morosely at the label of the bottle, coming loose with the condensation.
"Well, you never liked the place either, anyway," Neville said soothingly.
"I know," Percy said, "but I hate moving. And I've no idea where I'm going."
"Well," Neville said, blushing slightly. "Maybe I can help with that. This place is way too big for me anyway… I've been renting the extra room to Dean, but he's moved out already – he and Hannah Abbott are moving into a cottage in Hogsmeade, actually. It'd be kind of small for you, but you can use the living room and such, and it'd be stable." The words came out in a rush, reminding Percy of how shy Neville had used to be, making him wonder if perhaps Neville hadn't gotten over it but just hid it better.
"Are you serious?" he asked, incredulous. "Neville, that'd be absolutely brilliant! Thank you!"
+++
Despite his mother's protestations ("There's plenty of room at the Burrow, dear!") Percy moved into Neville's apartment piece-by-piece over the next few days. Percy's meagre belongings didn't require a lot of fuss, merely a few trips with shrunken furniture in one's pockets.
There was a short period of adjustment, while Percy got used to shutting the door to his bedroom while changing and Neville laid down the law regarding food supplies and kitchen etiquette.
They turned out to be well-matched as housemates. Neville liked cooking, while Percy, left to his own devices, would have subsided on take-outs and cereal. Percy, on the other hand, didn't mind cleaning and found laundry downright relaxing, while Neville seemed intrinsically incapable of picking up after himself.
"You know, I never would have figured you and Neville as good friends," Ron said one evening after Percy had spent most of the day helping them out down in Magical Law Enforcement. It was several weeks into Percy and Neville's 'domestic bliss', as his siblings had teasingly taken to calling it. "But so far, he's had a good effect on you."
Percy felt the blood rise in his face and cursed his Weasley complexion which made him blush like a maiden whenever he got uncomfortable. "I can't pretend I have any idea what you mean," he said, knowing he sounded pompous.
Ron smirked. "Well, for one thing, you're packing up to go home, along with the rest of us."
His cheeks felt like they were aflame. "Well, what's so wrong with that? It is nine o'clock." He didn't meet Ron's eyes as he shovelled papers into his briefcase pell-mell. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with his little brother. Or anybody.
"Well," Ron said, drawing the word out, "for one thing, most of us have spouses waiting. And I seem to recall a time when it took a full-body-bind and a Mobilicorpus to drag you away from your desk before midnight."
Percy mumbled something indistinct about Shacklebolt's time-off policies and started pulling papers back out of his briefcase. In his haste to leave, he'd apparently thrown his wand in there and it was most likely at the bottom, if he knew his luck at all.
"Second," Ron went on, pretending not to enjoy Percy's discomfort, "I'm pretty sure that once you get home, you'll actually have dinner. A hot dinner, no less."
"So what?" Percy asked, really irate now. Where the hell was his wand?
"Well, I know you must've tried to block it out, but I still remember your attempts at cooking, back when we were kids. So either you have managed to acquire some culinary skills, which I doubt, or Neville is cooking."
"It's not like he cooks for me," Percy said, now attempting to stack up his papers and get his things in order, hoping his wand would show up. "He keeps a plate warm, is all."
"And pray tell," Ron asked, "how does he know that he ought to keep a plate warm for you for later?"
"Well, I let him know, of course," Percy huffed. His wand was not among his papers. It had to be in one of the side compartments of his briefcase. It might have been pushed in there when he was squishing all the papers in…
"You let him know," Ron said, amusement clear on his face.
"Of course I… You're making us sound like an old married couple," Percy ground out. He'd patted down all the pockets inside his briefcase and his wand was not there.
"Yeah. You might want to think about that, Perce," Ron said, suddenly serious.
Percy flushed again. "You might want to withdraw your nose from my business, Ron," he replied trying to match Ron's tone. "Where the hell is my wand?" he added, throwing his hands up and sitting down hard in the nearest chair.
Ron made a show of surprise. "Oh, is it your wand you were looking for? Oh, sorry, Perce, didn't I see you with it over here?" He rummaged in the papers he was sitting in front of and withdrew the offending article.
Percy was there in a flash, snatching the offered wand. "You are a bastard, Ron," he ground out between his clenched teeth, before shucking the now organized papers into his briefcase and taking off at high speed. Ron's chuckles followed him down the corridor.
+++
The most annoying thing about Ron was that he was right. There were things being left unsaid in their apartment, all sorts of nuances and undercurrents in their interactions, which was odd because he and Neville were both rather straightforward by nature.
Percy had been decidedly not thinking about it. He had been determinedly not thinking about it since before they even started living together.
There was no ordering his subconscious around, though, and during the night, things he was deliberately attempting to repress would come out full force. It was therefore somewhat disconcerting to be woken up from a recurring Neville-centric dream by the real thing banging on his door.
"Wake up, lazybones," Neville shouted to accompany the incessant banging. "It's a beautiful Saturday morning and you're helping me in the garden!"
"I didn't realize," Percy grumbled as he sat down to breakfast, Neville plopping a coffee mug in front of him without being asked, "that moving in here would make me your galley-slave in the garden. As a matter of fact, when I moved in here, you had a balcony, not a garden."
"And then you were kind enough to do all the expansion spells for me," Neville replied, "which tells me that you may whine but you secretly enjoy it. Besides, you look good all dirtied up."
The silence following that statement was thick enough to cut with a knife. Neville had slapped a hand over his mouth as soon as the words were out and was staring at Percy, eyes wide.
"Uh, Neville," Percy said, his face flaming, "did you just flirt with me?"
"Um. Yeah," Neville replied. He was blushing too, which made Percy feel just a little better. Then he asked, in a voice barely above a whisper, "Do you mind?"
He was looking rather nervous, refusing to meet Percy's eyes. "Uh," Percy said. "Not at all."
There was a long, wildly uncomfortable silence. "I'm just going to head to the garden," Neville finally said, looking everywhere but at Percy. "Just… come along when you've finished breakfast?"
"Sure," Percy said, then watched Neville all the way through the living room until he stepped into the balcony garden.
There was a more or less constant stream of unintelligible gibberish in his head as he finished breakfast and went to find Neville outside. It continued all through the morning and well into the afternoon, and since they were working in silence and in separate parts of the garden, there was nothing to distract him from his nonsensical inner monologue.
Percy was used to having an inner monologue. That was how he usually thought things out and made sensible decisions. This time, though, he wasn't sure he could think things through. Was there a rational move to be made?
He thought about that for a long time, as the sun rose higher in the sky. Finally, he heard Neville get up and go back into the apartment and knew that he'd gone to fetch their semi-traditional afternoon beer.
Maybe there wasn't a rational move. Maybe it was one of those things where he should just… do what he felt like doing.
Irrationally enough, what he felt like doing involved scratching a nonexistent itch on his cheek with his dirty fingers, leaving a long streak of dirt down the side of his face.
Then he stood up, wincing at his protesting knees, and made his way to the little table in time to see Neville put down two bottles and turn around, probably to call Percy from the garden. He seemed startled when he looked up and realized that Percy was standing right there.
"I was just about to call you," he said.
"I was just about to tell you that I couldn't wait for the drinks any longer," Percy replied and tried to smile as normally as he could.
They sat down in silence and took their first sips, before Percy noticed that Neville was staring at him.
"What?" he asked, though he thought he could probably guess the reason.
"Uh," Neville replied, "you have dirt on your face."
"Oh," Percy said, then shrugged. "Well, you seem to think it suits me, so…" He let the sentence trail off, hoping that he wasn't being too forward.
Neville stared at him, open mouthed and blushing, before suddenly smiling back at him. "Are you flirting with me?" he asked, sounding delighted.
"Why, yes, I believe I am," Percy replied archly. "I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," Neville said as he stood up and came to stand over Percy. There were a few moments – heartbeats – of silence, before Neville leaned down to kiss him, then pulled him up from his chair.
Their journey towards the bedroom was interspersed with kisses and stops where they pushed each other up against the walls, their hands wandering under t-shirts and beneath waistbands, discovering places that made the other moan and sigh and cry out. They were laughing as they fell through the doorway of Percy's room and straight into his enormous bed – the only luxury Percy had allowed himself, it now turned out to have been a very smart purchase.
They were both wearing work clothes, which could be discarded by throwing them out the window if they so desired – as Neville did to Percy's balled-up t-shirt, in retaliation for it having covered up Percy's "virtue" for far too long – and it was almost too easy, too much fun, getting their clothes off and crawling underneath Percy's pristinely white, billowing sheets.
Percy was still laughing when Neville pushed him down into the pillows and covered his mouth with his own. He couldn't remember laughing this much in years.
They were both rather shy and inexperienced, but their instincts turned out to be good and the time spent discovering each others' bodies was in no way wasted. Neville's learning curve turned out to be rather steep, and Percy had always been a quick study. They both knew that there were things they didn't know, but for now they seemed to do well enough, giving each other as much pleasure as they possibly could.
Sunset was illuminating the walls of Percy's bedroom by the time they even considered leaving the bed. There were muddy handprints on the sheets where Percy had clenched his hands, and a matching set on the pillows on either side of Percy's head where Neville had leaned over him.
Their legs were entangled under the blankets, Percy's longer frame curled rather protectively around Neville, who was giggling as Percy relayed the story of how Ron had stolen his wand and given him unsolicited advice on his – their – love life.
"Oh, man," Neville laughed. "I think Hermione rubs off on him or something. I didn't think I was that obvious."
"Hey," Percy protested, "I didn't think I was being obvious either."
"You were very not obvious," Neville informed him. "Until today. Thank Merlin."
Percy laughed. "Same here. You clearly had to be blunt to catch my attention."
"That having been said…" Neville sighed and snuggled deeper into the bed – and Percy - "This bed is much nicer than mine. Mind if I stay?"
Percy tightened his arms around the other man and sighed into his hair. "Stay for as long as you like," he said, and meant it. After all, while it wasn't rational, all he felt like doing was staying in bed with Neville, kissing and touching and laughing, until the memories of the past year faded into the distance and the regrets grew easier to bear. Perhaps now that the world was slowly being set to rights it would be a good idea to spend some time enjoying it.
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