Home at The Burrow, and fic writing, #1
Yes, I'm safely here with my comrades in crime, Lena, Wolfie, Kosh and pghpatronus. We're already delved into the FiestaWare cauldrons bowls and picked out two characters and two prompts; minimum 200 words, maximum 1000 (mine's 21 over. oops). I ended up with Percy, Harry, Slughorn and Fawkes. Fic is as of now untitled.
Harry/Percy
PG-13 (language, m/m kissing)
Warfic, angst
Harry dashed down the ruined teeth of stairs until he stood outside what had once been the Slytherin Common room. Pulling a knife from the charred holster on his waist, he made a thin cut across the inside of his left pinky, smearing the few drops of blood across his right palm. Through clenched jaws, he tersely incanted the clipped syllables, holding his hand up to the webbed wards that blocked his entry. With a sizzling shimmer, the wards dropped. Wresting open the door, he shoved his way through before shutting it behind him and re-casting the thin membrane of safety. It had held, so far, and the current moment was all that he knew he had.
"Percy! Percy?!" he shouted into the stone enclave, nearly certain that he should've returned from his mission at least an hour ago.
"In here," Percy's voice sounded from the former prefect's bedroom. Harry's pulse raced at hearing Percy's ragged baritone; both lover and one of his last remaining confidants, Harry was only too aware that one day he would probably call out and hear deathly silence in reply.
"You all right?" Walking the few steps down the corridor, Harry wiped at the layer of grime and residual curse smoke on his face that no cleansing spell could remove. Percy stood in his stained, ripped uniform, staring at a piece of parchment clutched in his hands.
"Perce?"
Percy turned around slowly, his eyes a dull granite as flat as the walls around them. With a trembling hand, he held the fluttering scrap out to Harry, the sharp knob of his Adam's apple rising as he swallowed.
Harry strode forward, allowing his fingers to linger on Percy's as he gingerly took the curved parchment. It had weight to it, not like the nearly see-through remnants of paper that most of the Order used for correspondence. The buttery feel against the pads of his calloused fingerpads caused a shudder of gooseflesh on his arms; nothing this officious would come without cost. He read the note, blinked a few times, then read it again.
He raised his eyes up to meet Percy's owlish, stunned gaze.
"Bloody hell," Harry said disbelievingly, before shaking his head, his eyebrows furrowed. "No. This can't be. It must be a fake. We'll get Slughorn to test it-"
"It's genuine," Percy rasped and cleared his throat.
"Can't be. Fucking hell." Harry rubbed at his temples, beginning to pace in front of his lieutenant. "If they can make something that looks this authentic-"
"Harry. The carrier."
"What?"
Percy grabbed Harry above the elbow, his grip strong enough to stop Harry in his tracks. It was still disconcerting to him, seeing Percy without his glasses, but both of them had realised early in the War that they couldn't afford to be handicapped by their sub-par vision. The spellwork had been tricky and relatively untested, and they weren't sure how long it would last. If nothing else, there was now no chance they'd end up blinded by shattering glass in their eyes, nor blind due to the loss of their spectacles. Percy jerked his head toward the corner, his knotted auburn hair sliding over his shoulder. Harry had been so caught up in the adrenaline rush of finding Percy and himself still alive for another day and by the utter surreality of the message in his muddy fingers that he'd managed not to notice the striking bird perched above their bed.
A low, melancholy trill confirmed that Fawkes was no fatigue-induced hallucination. Harry took a deep breath, his gaze sliding back to Percy's pale, gaunt features. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, smearing and commingling the filth from the battlefield as he shook his head.
"Percy. Minister for Magic?"
The frayed whisper of affirmation fluttered across Percy's lips. "The others were massacred; Malfoy, we think. I was seventeenth in line, Harry. Seventeenth," he repeated.
"Why the fuck were they together in the first place?" Harry couldn't help it; he curved his arms under Percy's threadbare robes to pull their bodies together. They didn't have the luxury any more for affection, no time even for snatched kisses of passion or gratitude.
"They weren't. You know the rules, and so did they. It was a three-pronged assault. What the hell am I going to do?" Percy leaned back, running one hand through his matted hair, the other gripping the waistband of Harry's trousers. "I can't be the figurehead for the Wizarding world! This is insanity!"
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. "It's all madness, Percy. You'll do what you have to; it's the only thing left for any of us."
They stood in a fractured peace, Harry rubbing his hands against the small of Percy's knobbed spine. The muted but commanding call of the phoenix forced them out of their short-lived reverie. "You have to accept," Harry murmured. "I'll protect you. Everyone in the Order will. But there's got to be a leader, someone to keep things from sinking into anarchy."
"I can't do it," Percy insisted, panic edging his voice. "The Order needs me for tactics. You need me as a strategist! I can't be holed up, waiting for the War to end to govern whoever's left alive."
"Sign your name, Percy. I'll make sure there's a world, you make sure you're ready to lead it." Harry tried to sound as confident as he could, but he could tell that he felt just as much a pawn as his lover did.
Percy nodded curtly before crushing his lips against Harry's. The kiss was greedy and desperate, and over far too soon. Harry stood mute as Percy rummaged through the splintered remains of the desk drawer and found a quill, signed his name to the parchment, and handed it to Fawkes. The phoenix took the note in its beak, tilted its head to acknowledge both young men, and flew out into the corridor.
"Good bye," Percy said, his voice strangled.
"This will be over," Harry promised, shoving his hands into his pockets as Percy walked through the doorway without a backward glance.
Harry/Percy
PG-13 (language, m/m kissing)
Warfic, angst
Harry dashed down the ruined teeth of stairs until he stood outside what had once been the Slytherin Common room. Pulling a knife from the charred holster on his waist, he made a thin cut across the inside of his left pinky, smearing the few drops of blood across his right palm. Through clenched jaws, he tersely incanted the clipped syllables, holding his hand up to the webbed wards that blocked his entry. With a sizzling shimmer, the wards dropped. Wresting open the door, he shoved his way through before shutting it behind him and re-casting the thin membrane of safety. It had held, so far, and the current moment was all that he knew he had.
"Percy! Percy?!" he shouted into the stone enclave, nearly certain that he should've returned from his mission at least an hour ago.
"In here," Percy's voice sounded from the former prefect's bedroom. Harry's pulse raced at hearing Percy's ragged baritone; both lover and one of his last remaining confidants, Harry was only too aware that one day he would probably call out and hear deathly silence in reply.
"You all right?" Walking the few steps down the corridor, Harry wiped at the layer of grime and residual curse smoke on his face that no cleansing spell could remove. Percy stood in his stained, ripped uniform, staring at a piece of parchment clutched in his hands.
"Perce?"
Percy turned around slowly, his eyes a dull granite as flat as the walls around them. With a trembling hand, he held the fluttering scrap out to Harry, the sharp knob of his Adam's apple rising as he swallowed.
Harry strode forward, allowing his fingers to linger on Percy's as he gingerly took the curved parchment. It had weight to it, not like the nearly see-through remnants of paper that most of the Order used for correspondence. The buttery feel against the pads of his calloused fingerpads caused a shudder of gooseflesh on his arms; nothing this officious would come without cost. He read the note, blinked a few times, then read it again.
He raised his eyes up to meet Percy's owlish, stunned gaze.
"Bloody hell," Harry said disbelievingly, before shaking his head, his eyebrows furrowed. "No. This can't be. It must be a fake. We'll get Slughorn to test it-"
"It's genuine," Percy rasped and cleared his throat.
"Can't be. Fucking hell." Harry rubbed at his temples, beginning to pace in front of his lieutenant. "If they can make something that looks this authentic-"
"Harry. The carrier."
"What?"
Percy grabbed Harry above the elbow, his grip strong enough to stop Harry in his tracks. It was still disconcerting to him, seeing Percy without his glasses, but both of them had realised early in the War that they couldn't afford to be handicapped by their sub-par vision. The spellwork had been tricky and relatively untested, and they weren't sure how long it would last. If nothing else, there was now no chance they'd end up blinded by shattering glass in their eyes, nor blind due to the loss of their spectacles. Percy jerked his head toward the corner, his knotted auburn hair sliding over his shoulder. Harry had been so caught up in the adrenaline rush of finding Percy and himself still alive for another day and by the utter surreality of the message in his muddy fingers that he'd managed not to notice the striking bird perched above their bed.
A low, melancholy trill confirmed that Fawkes was no fatigue-induced hallucination. Harry took a deep breath, his gaze sliding back to Percy's pale, gaunt features. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, smearing and commingling the filth from the battlefield as he shook his head.
"Percy. Minister for Magic?"
The frayed whisper of affirmation fluttered across Percy's lips. "The others were massacred; Malfoy, we think. I was seventeenth in line, Harry. Seventeenth," he repeated.
"Why the fuck were they together in the first place?" Harry couldn't help it; he curved his arms under Percy's threadbare robes to pull their bodies together. They didn't have the luxury any more for affection, no time even for snatched kisses of passion or gratitude.
"They weren't. You know the rules, and so did they. It was a three-pronged assault. What the hell am I going to do?" Percy leaned back, running one hand through his matted hair, the other gripping the waistband of Harry's trousers. "I can't be the figurehead for the Wizarding world! This is insanity!"
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. "It's all madness, Percy. You'll do what you have to; it's the only thing left for any of us."
They stood in a fractured peace, Harry rubbing his hands against the small of Percy's knobbed spine. The muted but commanding call of the phoenix forced them out of their short-lived reverie. "You have to accept," Harry murmured. "I'll protect you. Everyone in the Order will. But there's got to be a leader, someone to keep things from sinking into anarchy."
"I can't do it," Percy insisted, panic edging his voice. "The Order needs me for tactics. You need me as a strategist! I can't be holed up, waiting for the War to end to govern whoever's left alive."
"Sign your name, Percy. I'll make sure there's a world, you make sure you're ready to lead it." Harry tried to sound as confident as he could, but he could tell that he felt just as much a pawn as his lover did.
Percy nodded curtly before crushing his lips against Harry's. The kiss was greedy and desperate, and over far too soon. Harry stood mute as Percy rummaged through the splintered remains of the desk drawer and found a quill, signed his name to the parchment, and handed it to Fawkes. The phoenix took the note in its beak, tilted its head to acknowledge both young men, and flew out into the corridor.
"Good bye," Percy said, his voice strangled.
"This will be over," Harry promised, shoving his hands into his pockets as Percy walked through the doorway without a backward glance.