Heroes and Hobbits
Title: Heroes and Hobbits
Author: auntbijou
Rating: G
Pairing: Percy and Hugo… oh, GET your minds out of the gutter, it’s G, fer gossakes!!!
Summary: Heroes aren’t always the world-saving kind. Sometimes, they’re just there to read a good book.
Warning: It’s sort of epilogue compliant, given that we have no idea what Percy does for a living.
Words: 1,659
Disclaimer: It all belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just like to play in it from time to time while I hone my craft!
A/N: Happy belated birthday, emiime!! Sorry it took me a day longer than I expected, but here it is, and oh, I do so hope you like it!
“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…”
“Whassa hobbit, Uncle Percy?” The little blue eyes were guileless and filled with endless curiosity.
“Well, why don’t you let me keep reading?” said Uncle Percy, touching the tip of the little nose with a finger. “And then you’ll find out?”
Hugo settled against Uncle Percy’s chest. Uncle Percy wasn’t as broad as Uncle Charlie, or as muscley as Uncle Bill, and he didn’t make Hugo worry about something crawling up his shirt or making him sprout feathers like Uncle George did, but his chest made nice rumbles when he laughed, and his heart beat was slow, and steady, and full of comfort. Uncle Percy smelled of tea, and peppermints, and books, and ink. And sometimes, he smelled of the herbs in Uncle Neville’s garden, or of Gran’s treacle tart. Hugo snuggled into Uncle Percy and listened to the rumble of his voice as he read.
“Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort.”
“Why’d he live in a hole?”
Uncle Percy smiled, and Hugo smiled back. That was his favorite part of Uncle Percy, the smile. Uncle Percy was usually so solemn, but when he smiled, it lit up his whole face, it made him look so young, and only then could Hugo ever believe that his Uncle Percy had ever been anything like a boy. “Well, one way to find out is to…”
“Listen to the story!” Hugo finished, giggling.
“Yes, you little monster,” Uncle Percy said with a laugh, tousling his hair. “Do you want me to read this to you, or not?”
“Yes! Yes, yes, read!” demanded Hugo, and he settled down again, peering at the page and reaching to touch the words with a chubby finger as his uncle read each one.
“It had a perfectly round door like a porthole… a porthole is a round window on a ship or boat,” said Uncle Percy before Hugo could finish drawing in a breath to ask. “Now… It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats - the hobbit was fond of visitors…”
Hugo smiled and pressed his ear to Uncle Percy’s chest, letting the low rumble of his voice wash over him, sighing happily as he wound one little hand in his uncle’s jumper, and the other hand was fisted under his chin. The arm around him cuddled him a little closer, and when Uncle Percy turned the page, he dropped that hand to pat his nephew’s legs comfortingly. “ This hobbit was a very well-to-do hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses have lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected…”
Uncle Harry had had adventures, and so had his mum and dad, even though, to look at them, they didn’t seem the sort to go out and have adventures. They were just… well… Mum and Dad… and just Uncle Harry, who liked to take him on broomstick rides and play all sorts of games with him. Hugo blinked slowly, and looked up at Uncle Percy, who was willing to sit quietly with Hugo when he didn’t want broomstick rides, or to be swung around, or tossed in the air till he threw up. Uncle Percy, who would curl up in a chair with him to read whatever Hugo wanted, or would lay on the floor with him, putting puzzles together, or would hold his hand patiently as he drew swirls and curls, and lines with a quill, until it was suddenly a lion on the parchment. Uncle Percy, who could be a little stiff and prissy sometimes, but always had time for Hugo when he wasn’t feeling sociable, or just felt different sometimes, and even Mum couldn’t understand. Uncle Percy looked down at him, the light flashing on the lenses of his glasses before they tilted enough so that Hugo could see the blue-green of his eyes again. “What are you thinking?”
“Mum and Dad, they had a’ventures,” said Hugo, almost sleepily, not wanting to admit he was thinking about how happy he was just to be here, curled up in Uncle Percy’s lap, listening to him breathe, and the crackle of his bones as he shifted in the chair to get more comfortable.. “S’ere a book about it?”
“Oh, yes, but I don’t think you’re ready for it yet.”
Hugo sat up and leaned to press the tip of his nose against his uncle’s, blue eyes staring into blue-green. “Why not?”
Uncle Percy snorted with amusement, and that fogged up his glasses. Pushing Hugo gently back, he took off his glasses and handed them to Hugo, along with his handkerchief, and he watched as the boy gently wiped them off before handing them back.
“Did I do it right?”
“Splendid! I can see much better now.”
Hugo laughed drowsily. “Good. Now, why can’t I read Mum and Dad and Uncle Harry’s book?”
“Because, in order to understand their adventure, I think you need to read this adventure first.” And he held up the book they were reading.
“Oh.” Hugo settled back comfortably in the curve of Uncle Percy’s arm and draped himself across the lean thighs again. “So… read!”
Uncle Percy laughed. “Is that the way it is?”
“Yes!”
Shaking his head, Uncle Percy settled the glasses on his nose, tilted his head back and began again. “This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gained - well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.” At that, Uncle Percy grew quiet and stared into the distance for a long moment, an odd expression on his face. Hugo grew impatient and poked his stomach, making him grunt. “Oh, sorry, Hugo… where were we?”
“A respectabbubble hobbit,” said Hugo solemnly, just managing to avoid a yawn.
Uncle Percy raised an eyebrow, but returned obediently to the book. “The mother of our particular hobbit - what is a hobbit? I suppose hobbits need some description nowadays, since they have become rare and shy of the Big People, as they call us. They are (or were) a little people…”
Uncle Percy’s voice faded to a drone, and Hugo smiled as he let his eyes drift closed, his hand fisted firmly in the soft, woolen jumper under his cheek. The fever potion was making him pleasantly drowsy, and he was nice and warm, cuddled up against his uncle like this. The sound of his mother working in the kitchen drifted through the open door, and it was comforting and familiar, even as the drone of the man under his ear, and the soft press of the evening breeze from the nearby window. Hugo dreamed of little people in yellow and green, with furry feet and curly hair, living in a green land and the rounded doors of their homes behind them. The green hill with the Party tree, and Gandalf’s fireworks, laughter drifting through the trees, and a single clear star…
Percy looked down at the curly little head on his chest and smiled when soft snores reached his ears. Finally. It had only taken six pages of The Hobbit to relax the child enough for the fever potion to take effect. Hermione came into the room and smiled with relief. “Thank you, Percy. He never goes out for me like that.”
“It’s a gift, I guess,” said Percy quietly as he handed her the book, then rose carefully, folding the limp body close to his chest, and he followed her to Hugo’s room. “I used to read to Ron when he was little, and it put him right to sleep, too.”
Hermione looked over her shoulder as she folded back the covers and chuckled. “That explains a lot, I think.”
Percy grinned. “Well, at that time, I was a pompous little git, and read books that were way over his head. You’d have gone to sleep, too!” He settled the child on the bed, and watched while Hermione covered him before touching Hugo’s cheek. “Well, his fever should start going down, now that he’s finally asleep. Wizard Flu is so hard on the little ones.”
“At least he doesn’t moan and complain like Ron does!” They shared a smile over the bed. “How long will he sleep?”
“Oh, a good six or seven hours.” Percy nodded and used his wand to cast several diagnostics over the small body. “I think he’s had it the worst out of all of you, but I also think he’ll get over it the quickest. I’ll leave a potion for when he wakes up. He’s going to be very achy, and a little grouchy, but you’ll know he’s on the road to recovery the first time he snipes at you.” He straightened and sighed.
“Time for a cuppa?” Hermione led the way to the door. “So nice having a Healer in the family.”
“Nice for you, but sometimes, most inconvenient for me!” said Percy as they left the room.
In his sleep, Hugo smiled, curling into his pillow, and clutching the stuffed dragon Uncle Charlie had given him closer. Hobbits danced through his dream, while he clung to Uncle Percy’s hand, and tried to be brave, just like Bilbo Baggins.
Author: auntbijou
Rating: G
Pairing: Percy and Hugo… oh, GET your minds out of the gutter, it’s G, fer gossakes!!!
Summary: Heroes aren’t always the world-saving kind. Sometimes, they’re just there to read a good book.
Warning: It’s sort of epilogue compliant, given that we have no idea what Percy does for a living.
Words: 1,659
Disclaimer: It all belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just like to play in it from time to time while I hone my craft!
A/N: Happy belated birthday, emiime!! Sorry it took me a day longer than I expected, but here it is, and oh, I do so hope you like it!
“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…”
“Whassa hobbit, Uncle Percy?” The little blue eyes were guileless and filled with endless curiosity.
“Well, why don’t you let me keep reading?” said Uncle Percy, touching the tip of the little nose with a finger. “And then you’ll find out?”
Hugo settled against Uncle Percy’s chest. Uncle Percy wasn’t as broad as Uncle Charlie, or as muscley as Uncle Bill, and he didn’t make Hugo worry about something crawling up his shirt or making him sprout feathers like Uncle George did, but his chest made nice rumbles when he laughed, and his heart beat was slow, and steady, and full of comfort. Uncle Percy smelled of tea, and peppermints, and books, and ink. And sometimes, he smelled of the herbs in Uncle Neville’s garden, or of Gran’s treacle tart. Hugo snuggled into Uncle Percy and listened to the rumble of his voice as he read.
“Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort.”
“Why’d he live in a hole?”
Uncle Percy smiled, and Hugo smiled back. That was his favorite part of Uncle Percy, the smile. Uncle Percy was usually so solemn, but when he smiled, it lit up his whole face, it made him look so young, and only then could Hugo ever believe that his Uncle Percy had ever been anything like a boy. “Well, one way to find out is to…”
“Listen to the story!” Hugo finished, giggling.
“Yes, you little monster,” Uncle Percy said with a laugh, tousling his hair. “Do you want me to read this to you, or not?”
“Yes! Yes, yes, read!” demanded Hugo, and he settled down again, peering at the page and reaching to touch the words with a chubby finger as his uncle read each one.
“It had a perfectly round door like a porthole… a porthole is a round window on a ship or boat,” said Uncle Percy before Hugo could finish drawing in a breath to ask. “Now… It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats - the hobbit was fond of visitors…”
Hugo smiled and pressed his ear to Uncle Percy’s chest, letting the low rumble of his voice wash over him, sighing happily as he wound one little hand in his uncle’s jumper, and the other hand was fisted under his chin. The arm around him cuddled him a little closer, and when Uncle Percy turned the page, he dropped that hand to pat his nephew’s legs comfortingly. “ This hobbit was a very well-to-do hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses have lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected…”
Uncle Harry had had adventures, and so had his mum and dad, even though, to look at them, they didn’t seem the sort to go out and have adventures. They were just… well… Mum and Dad… and just Uncle Harry, who liked to take him on broomstick rides and play all sorts of games with him. Hugo blinked slowly, and looked up at Uncle Percy, who was willing to sit quietly with Hugo when he didn’t want broomstick rides, or to be swung around, or tossed in the air till he threw up. Uncle Percy, who would curl up in a chair with him to read whatever Hugo wanted, or would lay on the floor with him, putting puzzles together, or would hold his hand patiently as he drew swirls and curls, and lines with a quill, until it was suddenly a lion on the parchment. Uncle Percy, who could be a little stiff and prissy sometimes, but always had time for Hugo when he wasn’t feeling sociable, or just felt different sometimes, and even Mum couldn’t understand. Uncle Percy looked down at him, the light flashing on the lenses of his glasses before they tilted enough so that Hugo could see the blue-green of his eyes again. “What are you thinking?”
“Mum and Dad, they had a’ventures,” said Hugo, almost sleepily, not wanting to admit he was thinking about how happy he was just to be here, curled up in Uncle Percy’s lap, listening to him breathe, and the crackle of his bones as he shifted in the chair to get more comfortable.. “S’ere a book about it?”
“Oh, yes, but I don’t think you’re ready for it yet.”
Hugo sat up and leaned to press the tip of his nose against his uncle’s, blue eyes staring into blue-green. “Why not?”
Uncle Percy snorted with amusement, and that fogged up his glasses. Pushing Hugo gently back, he took off his glasses and handed them to Hugo, along with his handkerchief, and he watched as the boy gently wiped them off before handing them back.
“Did I do it right?”
“Splendid! I can see much better now.”
Hugo laughed drowsily. “Good. Now, why can’t I read Mum and Dad and Uncle Harry’s book?”
“Because, in order to understand their adventure, I think you need to read this adventure first.” And he held up the book they were reading.
“Oh.” Hugo settled back comfortably in the curve of Uncle Percy’s arm and draped himself across the lean thighs again. “So… read!”
Uncle Percy laughed. “Is that the way it is?”
“Yes!”
Shaking his head, Uncle Percy settled the glasses on his nose, tilted his head back and began again. “This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gained - well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.” At that, Uncle Percy grew quiet and stared into the distance for a long moment, an odd expression on his face. Hugo grew impatient and poked his stomach, making him grunt. “Oh, sorry, Hugo… where were we?”
“A respectabbubble hobbit,” said Hugo solemnly, just managing to avoid a yawn.
Uncle Percy raised an eyebrow, but returned obediently to the book. “The mother of our particular hobbit - what is a hobbit? I suppose hobbits need some description nowadays, since they have become rare and shy of the Big People, as they call us. They are (or were) a little people…”
Uncle Percy’s voice faded to a drone, and Hugo smiled as he let his eyes drift closed, his hand fisted firmly in the soft, woolen jumper under his cheek. The fever potion was making him pleasantly drowsy, and he was nice and warm, cuddled up against his uncle like this. The sound of his mother working in the kitchen drifted through the open door, and it was comforting and familiar, even as the drone of the man under his ear, and the soft press of the evening breeze from the nearby window. Hugo dreamed of little people in yellow and green, with furry feet and curly hair, living in a green land and the rounded doors of their homes behind them. The green hill with the Party tree, and Gandalf’s fireworks, laughter drifting through the trees, and a single clear star…
Percy looked down at the curly little head on his chest and smiled when soft snores reached his ears. Finally. It had only taken six pages of The Hobbit to relax the child enough for the fever potion to take effect. Hermione came into the room and smiled with relief. “Thank you, Percy. He never goes out for me like that.”
“It’s a gift, I guess,” said Percy quietly as he handed her the book, then rose carefully, folding the limp body close to his chest, and he followed her to Hugo’s room. “I used to read to Ron when he was little, and it put him right to sleep, too.”
Hermione looked over her shoulder as she folded back the covers and chuckled. “That explains a lot, I think.”
Percy grinned. “Well, at that time, I was a pompous little git, and read books that were way over his head. You’d have gone to sleep, too!” He settled the child on the bed, and watched while Hermione covered him before touching Hugo’s cheek. “Well, his fever should start going down, now that he’s finally asleep. Wizard Flu is so hard on the little ones.”
“At least he doesn’t moan and complain like Ron does!” They shared a smile over the bed. “How long will he sleep?”
“Oh, a good six or seven hours.” Percy nodded and used his wand to cast several diagnostics over the small body. “I think he’s had it the worst out of all of you, but I also think he’ll get over it the quickest. I’ll leave a potion for when he wakes up. He’s going to be very achy, and a little grouchy, but you’ll know he’s on the road to recovery the first time he snipes at you.” He straightened and sighed.
“Time for a cuppa?” Hermione led the way to the door. “So nice having a Healer in the family.”
“Nice for you, but sometimes, most inconvenient for me!” said Percy as they left the room.
In his sleep, Hugo smiled, curling into his pillow, and clutching the stuffed dragon Uncle Charlie had given him closer. Hobbits danced through his dream, while he clung to Uncle Percy’s hand, and tried to be brave, just like Bilbo Baggins.